22 - Fic writer - Belle |she/her|đšđŠ Feel free to dm, send request/asks, or ask to be added to a tag list. Iâm always glad to hear from you allđ
Hello everyone! I'm Belle and welcome to the master list! This page is definitely a MDNI page and I would like to mention that I try to keep most of my works gender neutral. The only time they aren't is when more mature topics are being discussed.
Requests (open)
Rules: The only characters I currently write for are Obi-Wan Kenobi, Roman Sionis, James Bond, Benoit Blanc, Kuroo Tetsuro, Gojo Satoru and Nanami Kento. Most requests will be accepted and there's a very slim chance I'll say no. The only guideline I really have is to ask for the characters mentioned above. I will also mention that I may be slow to getting to your request so please have patience!
Tag List: Please fill out this form or feel free to send me an ask/comment/dm to be tagged
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I apologise for the insane amount of links. It hurt me more, trust me.
Hereâs a little teaser to a new fic Iâm writing. Now, Iâm not going to tell you who itâs about and imma let you guess. It could be a twist, it could be opposite. Is it the one whoâs already been named or is it the unnamed? Iâll let you all guess after reading. Anyways, I will hopefully be posting the full fic in the next coming week. It is going to be a medieval au and Iâm so excited because Iâve been trying to write one for so long! I hope you all enjoy the teaser and please let me know any thoughts or ideas that I can maybe add! Iâm happy to be backđ„°
Warnings: slight cursing, pining, thatâs all really
- - -
Tired. You were so damn tired from running place to place trying to stay hidden. So fucking tired. The only saving grace has been that your protector has made sure youâve always had a soft bed to sleep in wherever youâve gone. He somehow always knew what towns were safe for at least the time we were there.
Was he your knight in shining armour? No. At least not in shining armour. No, his armour wasnât shiny but instead dull. Not that his armour was not well kept. It was well burnished but you could tell that it wasnât the newly forged steel that all newly appointed knights prided themselves with. His armour had the wear of daily travel along with true battles that were once fought almost a decade ago when he was nothing more than a boy still and you were sitting in your fatherâs manor waiting for your knight to return.
You still remember seeing him riding back on his, no, your horse. He hadnât yet had the money to buy his own with only being newly appointed as your fatherâs guard just before the war began. You had begged your father to not let him go, but he was the best swordsman your father had. Your words, unlike usual, were useless in this particular debate even if your father did share your sentiments.
Every night you still remember how you wrote to him almost every day, sending bundles of letters to him every week when the postman stopped by to gather your fatherâs correspondence to the other political members about the war. The postman, a friend of yours through your knight, made sure to deliver those letters to him personally; one friendly face to another for something so personal. He would apparently relay how you seemed to be holding up in the absence which provided your knight some piece of mind while he was gone besides your letters.
Although the war was considered to be short, the year that it went on for seemed like decades. What helped pass the time was your father letting you actively help him in his politics. You helped him carefully craft his letters to other lords and high families about what the battles were like which also helped you slightly with keeping tabs on him.
Then, when the Gojo family would visit for meetings with your father, the annoying son, Satoru, would sometimes keep you company and allow for you to take your mind off of the dreaded situation.
Satoru trained with your knight and as much as you knew Satoru wanted to court you, you also knew he was too close to your knight to do something like that. They were too close of friends. So, although heâd flirt and suggest, Satoru never forced anything on you and refused his family when they suggested they officially court the two of you. No matter how annoying he may have been, you admired him for having the respect that so many men lacked.
After all of those months, you watched as your horse carried him to your door. You watched as he tried his best not to slump from exhaustion in the saddle in front of your father. Only you would know from the years of growing up together, his mother being one of the kitchen aids. To those who looked at him from the outside, he sat with a straight back and looked as if he was returning from the glory of a war won.
To you⊠well, you could see the smallest slump in his shoulders that usually wasnât there. Even from a distance you could see the exhaustion in his face. His hand was gripped around the reins tight, not comfortably and confident like you knew from before. Only you would know and your father could tell by the look on your face that something was wrong, leading him to offer your knight a full meal and a full day's rest before returning to duty at the manor.
Sorry if I tagged you even if youâre not in the fandom. Iâm just really excited to be back writing and posting and wanted some old friends to see my first writing in a whileđ
Hi everyone! I apologize the full version of this is taking so long! Iâm having a couple issues trying to think of how to end this fic offđ please be patient with me thank you!
Hereâs a little teaser to a new fic Iâm writing. Now, Iâm not going to tell you who itâs about and imma let you guess. It could be a twist, it could be opposite. Is it the one whoâs already been named or is it the unnamed? Iâll let you all guess after reading. Anyways, I will hopefully be posting the full fic in the next coming week. It is going to be a medieval au and Iâm so excited because Iâve been trying to write one for so long! I hope you all enjoy the teaser and please let me know any thoughts or ideas that I can maybe add! Iâm happy to be backđ„°
Warnings: slight cursing, pining, thatâs all really
- - -
Tired. You were so damn tired from running place to place trying to stay hidden. So fucking tired. The only saving grace has been that your protector has made sure youâve always had a soft bed to sleep in wherever youâve gone. He somehow always knew what towns were safe for at least the time we were there.
Was he your knight in shining armour? No. At least not in shining armour. No, his armour wasnât shiny but instead dull. Not that his armour was not well kept. It was well burnished but you could tell that it wasnât the newly forged steel that all newly appointed knights prided themselves with. His armour had the wear of daily travel along with true battles that were once fought almost a decade ago when he was nothing more than a boy still and you were sitting in your fatherâs manor waiting for your knight to return.
You still remember seeing him riding back on his, no, your horse. He hadnât yet had the money to buy his own with only being newly appointed as your fatherâs guard just before the war began. You had begged your father to not let him go, but he was the best swordsman your father had. Your words, unlike usual, were useless in this particular debate even if your father did share your sentiments.
Every night you still remember how you wrote to him almost every day, sending bundles of letters to him every week when the postman stopped by to gather your fatherâs correspondence to the other political members about the war. The postman, a friend of yours through your knight, made sure to deliver those letters to him personally; one friendly face to another for something so personal. He would apparently relay how you seemed to be holding up in the absence which provided your knight some piece of mind while he was gone besides your letters.
Although the war was considered to be short, the year that it went on for seemed like decades. What helped pass the time was your father letting you actively help him in his politics. You helped him carefully craft his letters to other lords and high families about what the battles were like which also helped you slightly with keeping tabs on him.
Then, when the Gojo family would visit for meetings with your father, the annoying son, Satoru, would sometimes keep you company and allow for you to take your mind off of the dreaded situation.
Satoru trained with your knight and as much as you knew Satoru wanted to court you, you also knew he was too close to your knight to do something like that. They were too close of friends. So, although heâd flirt and suggest, Satoru never forced anything on you and refused his family when they suggested they officially court the two of you. No matter how annoying he may have been, you admired him for having the respect that so many men lacked.
After all of those months, you watched as your horse carried him to your door. You watched as he tried his best not to slump from exhaustion in the saddle in front of your father. Only you would know from the years of growing up together, his mother being one of the kitchen aids. To those who looked at him from the outside, he sat with a straight back and looked as if he was returning from the glory of a war won.
To you⊠well, you could see the smallest slump in his shoulders that usually wasnât there. Even from a distance you could see the exhaustion in his face. His hand was gripped around the reins tight, not comfortably and confident like you knew from before. Only you would know and your father could tell by the look on your face that something was wrong, leading him to offer your knight a full meal and a full day's rest before returning to duty at the manor.
Sorry if I tagged you even if youâre not in the fandom. Iâm just really excited to be back writing and posting and wanted some old friends to see my first writing in a whileđ
synopsis â youâve hated gojo satoru since he insulted your precious glitter stickers at age sixâand heâs made it his lifeâs mission to annoy you ever since. but after thirteen years of bickering, teasing, and showing up uninvited, one cracked smile during your date announcement makes you wonder: is hatred and annoyance truly the only emotions he can teach you?
tags â enemies to lovers, one-sided (?) pining, gojo being a complete menace like he always is, two year age gap, reader and gojo are both in college, not super slow slowburn, jealous!gojo but he covers it up with being annoying, reader is suguru's little sister, brother's bestfriend!gojo, fluff, idiot(s) in love, eventual smut, gojo being in denial and everything hitting him all at once â previously
wc: 7.4k
likes and reblogs are appreciated! chapter starts off from where we left off here
Youâre starting to think youâve called on every god you can name just to get you out of this moment.
The night isnât bad. In fact, itâs goodâbeautiful even. Sunaru had planned it all with such care it felt like heâd studied romance down to a formula. He showed up at your door dressed neatly, his manners polished and deliberate.
He opened doors, guided you with a steady hand, and brought you to a restaurant that looked like it belonged in a drama set. Everything about it was perfect, the kind of date most people would dream about. Which means you should be enjoying it. You should.
But the conversation felt⊠practiced. Every word chosen like he was walking a line, careful not to cross it. His jokes came at the right times, and you gave back the right reactionsâsmiles, the occasional laugh. He was funny, genuinely. And still, your thoughts wouldnât stay put. They kept pulling in the wrong direction. Toward Satoru.
Of all people, why him?
You should be angry with yourself. Angry for weighing Sunaruâs perfect effort against the memory of someone who had never bothered to treat you gently. Satoru, who laughed at your low exam scores. Satoru, who pushed your buttons just to watch you snap. Satoru, who pointed and howled whenever you tripped, whether there was an actual rock or not. Satoru, who cleared out your pantry and met your complaints with nothing more than a noncommittal shrug.
Annoying. Infuriating. Impossible to deal with.
And yet, here you were, sitting in front of someone who was the epitome of perfectionâwhile thinking of the one person who thrived in chaos.
He was everything Satoru wasnât.
That was his only flaw, a voice in the back of your head whispered, taunting.
Because the very same perfection left no space for the unfiltered chaos your body had grown accustomed to. The perfect champagne, lit candles, and silk table cloths seemed to grow pale next to the takeouts, really bad dramas, and mismatched socks that unknowingly grew synonymous to his name.
Sunaruâs perfectly curated movements only reminded you of the way Satoru barged into your life; unforgiving, loud, and messy. The way his laughter and nonsensical jokes filled space without trying. Sunaru felt like a dream carefully constructed. Satoru felt familiar.
When Satoru had left for college last year, something unfamiliar settled quietly in your chest. At first, it was easy to ignoreâso faint it almost felt imagined. You went about your days as usual, only sometimes catching yourself drifting back to the night of your birthday party.
You brushed it off every time, convincing yourself it was nothing more than a slip, a lapse born from a haze, from vulnerability, from the dizzying trace of his cologne that had lingered far too close.
You told yourself it didnât mean anything. That it couldnât. It shouldnât.
So you buried it. The memory, the feeling, and the weight of everything it stirredâall shoved into the deepest corners of your mind. Left there. Unspoken. Almost forgotten.
It started during your finals week. Caffeine-fueled and sleep-deprived, your body was one mathematical equation away from breaking down. Your hand gripped your pencil so tightly your knuckles had turned white, the eraser worn to nothing from constant mistakes. Sheets of paper littered your desk and the floor around it, scrawled over with half-finished solutions and crossed-out formulas. Empty coffee cups and cheap energy drink cans sat abandoned in the corners of your desk, their faint smell mixing with the dryness of ink and paper.
Your eyes kept moving over the same problem, numbers twisting and swimming together until they no longer made sense. The frustration clawed at your chest, hot and sharp, and before you realized it, your vision blurred. A stinging heat gathered at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. âFuck, this is so stupid.â
God. You were actually crying over math.
You blame the caffeine for the way your mind drifted to him without warning. You blame your fatigue for imagining his voice beside you, casually breaking down complex formulas into simple, manageable steps like it was the easiest thing in the world. You blame the stress for making you remember how he never once lost his patience, even when the simplest equations went straight over your head. You blame everything but yourself for remembering how even though heâd laugh at your scores, heâd pick you back up with a smile, the peach candy you loved, and a promise to help you through your next exam.
It was easier to pin it on exhaustion than to admit that, somewhere in the middle of your frustration, the thought of Satoruâs presence made the weight on your chest feel just a little lighter.
This marked the first of your moments of weaknesses, as you like to call it. You held your phone in hand, your thumb hovering over his number. You were tempted to call him, to rant about how stupid your professor was, and to ask for help.
But you didnât.
Instead you closed your phone, went back to your equations, and convinced yourself that this was just another slip up. Definitely not because you were starting to miss the way he taught you with patience. Definitely not.
The next time it happened was during your PE class.
The gym was suffocatingly hot, the kind of heat that clung to your skin and made every breath feel heavier than the last. Sweat dripped from your temples and rolled down the side of your face, soaking into the collar of your shirt. The squeak of sneakers on polished floorboards echoed around you, sharp and unrelenting, a hundred basketballs hitting the ground at different rhythms until it blurred into one overwhelming noise.
Your teacherâs voice cut through it all, sharp and scolding. âHow many times do I have to tell youâdribble properly! Use your fingertips, not your palms!â
You felt your temples throb. Overstimulated was an understatement.
Beside you, Mira leaned in, her voice just a notch above a whisper. âIf I wasnât lacking in units, I wouldâve never taken this stupid ass class.â
The corner of your mouth twitched, but you didnât quite manage a laugh. Your palms were slick with sweat, and the basketball you were holding felt heavier than it should. You bounced it against the floor, trying to keep time, but the rhythm slipped out of you as your exhaustion piled on. The sound was too loud, too repetitive, and the harder you tried to control it, the more it seemed to bounce away from you.
You felt a migraine building in your temple. You assumed it was the result of countless all-nighters that ranged from being caused by binge watching your favorite shows late at night, or the aftermath of it. If you knew that this is what ridiculously low amount of sleep would cause you, you wouldn't have chosen to stay up and watch a show with your favorite celebrity crush in it. Because as you shifted your weight to chase after the ball, you didnât see the other one rolling lazily into your path until it was too late.
Your foot landed on it, and the world tilted sideways.
There was no grace in the way you fellâjust the sudden, sharp thud of your knees hitting the hardwood floor, pain blooming up your legs so fast it stole your breath. The ball in your hand skittered away across the gym, and you clutched at your ankle instinctively, a hiss tearing from your throat before you could stop it.
The sound around you dulled, the way it always does when pain comes sharp and unexpected. Miraâs gasp reached you distantly, like she was underwater, her sneakers squeaking as she rushed to your side. Other voices joined in, some surprised, some concerned, all of them blending into the same blur. The ache in your ankle did not die down, if anything it intensified. Suddenly, all the pent up fatigue you had stored for days came crashing down on you at that exact moment.
And thenâsomeone crouched beside you. A tall shadow fell over your hunched frame, a steadying hand slipping under your arm before you could collapse sideways. The grip was firm, almost too familiar, and when you blinked through the sting in your eyes, you saw him.
Or at least, you thought you did.
Broad shoulders, easy reach, the way his height seemed to dwarf everything around himâyour chest lurched with recognition that shouldnât have been there. For a split second, the ache in your ankle dulled, replaced by something else entirely.
âSatoruââ the name slipped past your lips, soft and cracked, like it had been waiting at the back of your throat all this time.
âHuh? Are you okay?â The boy froze. Not because he was Satoruâbecause he wasnât.
Your eyes adjusted, blinking away the haze of pain, and the pieces fell back into place. A classmate. Tall, sure. Built in a way that tricked you for one cruel moment. But not him. His brows pulled together, his face unfamiliar and confused, his voice nothing like the one youâd expected. His hair wasnât the pale snow-like white youâd grown familiar with, and his eyes didnât resemble the sky in any way.
âCan you stand?â he asked carefully.
The words knocked you back into reality faster than the fall ever could. Heat flooded your cheeks, hot with humiliation, sharper than the ache in your ankle. You swallowed hard, blinking down at the floor, praying Mira hadnât caught the name you let slip.
You nodded too quickly, fumbling to brush it off. âY-yeah. Justâjust slipped.â
But the weight in your chest told you otherwise.
The encounter reminded you of that afternoon.
You could still remember how his usual carefree stride shifted into something deliberate, every movement calculated as if the slightest misstep might make things worse. Satoruâs voiceânormally laced with cocky remarks and teasing laughter, had been stripped of its bravado. In its place was something steadier, edged with worry, threaded with a panic he tried hard to disguise.
You remembered how He had crouched down without hesitation, his back turned toward you in silent insistence, and before you knew it, he was carrying you with your arms looped around his shoulders. His hands were firm around your legs, holding you in place with a steadiness that almost contradicted the chaos of who he was. The sting in your ankle had been sharp and unrelenting, but there had been something in his presence that dulled the pain, something that made you feel less like a burden and more like you belonged there.
And now, with the ache flaring in your leg again, you wishedâagainst your better judgmentâthat it was him. That he was here to haul you back to familiarity, here to shoulder the weight of your clumsiness without making you feel like a nuisance.
That afternoon had marked a quiet shift, one you hadnât wanted to name. A sign that the two of you had been inching dangerously close to something different, something you werenât sure you were ready for.
And maybe thatâs why, you unconsciously pushed the memory down your unconscious. Pushing it down and praying that you'd forget a moment of vulnerability had always been easier than confronting it. So, why, out of all possible timings, were you remembering it now?
âWhy is your pantry always empty?â Miraâs voice carried from across the room, muffled by the sound of cupboard doors swinging open and slamming shut.
You didnât bother answering right away. Instead, you stayed seated at the counter, crunching down on the bag of chips youâd dug up from the back of your drawer. It definitely didnât count as a meal, but for a college student on a budget, it was salvation in its simplest form.
Mira pulled away from the pantry with an exaggerated sigh, holding up her hand like sheâd just brushed against something unspeakable. âThis has more dust than snacks. Honestly, what do you even eat here?â
You shrugged, licking the salt from your fingers. âFood.â
She gave you a flat look. âThis? This isnât food. This is⊠a cry for help.â
You smirked but said nothing, too lazy to defend yourself.
Her silence stretched just long enough to make you think sheâd dropped itâuntil she spoke again. âYour dependence on Gojo is showing.â
That made you pause mid-crunch. Your brows furrowed. âI am not dependent on him.â
âUh-huh.â Mira leaned against the empty shelf like a prosecutor delivering her closing argument. âSo when was the last time you actually had to restock before he left?â
You threw her a face, lips pressing into a thin line. She had you there.
Back then, groceries never felt like a problem. They just⊠appeared. Sometimes in bags at your doorstep, other times shoved into your arms with some half-baked excuse. Bought too much. Your mom told me to drop these off (which you later found out she absolutely never did). Or the laziest of them all: a sent picture that showed a couple of bags on your doorstep. For someone who had considered sweets as a food group, he had always made sure you were eating well. You blame it on his wallet that didnât seem to have an end.
Your gaze flicked to the corner of the room where his ridiculous reusable bag used to sitâsome eco-friendly tote covered in cartoon cats that he insisted on using. You hadnât noticed its absence until now, like the corner of your dorm was a little emptier without it.
âSee?â Miraâs voice snapped you back. She grinned knowingly. âYou didnât even try to deny it properly.â
You rolled your eyes and crumpled the empty chip bag into your fist. âItâs called being a broke college student, not dependent.â
âSure.â She didnât sound convinced. âIf you say so.â
You pretended not to hear the teasing lilt in her voice, but the words stayed long after Mira moved on, settling heavy in your chest.
Because the truth was, you hadnât realized how easily heâd ingrained himself into your routine until he wasnât there anymore. Little thingsâthe way youâd gotten used to opening your fridge without worrying about it being empty, or how he always seemed to know when you were about to run out of instant noodles. Heâd fill those gaps so seamlessly that you never noticed they were gaps at all.
Now, staring at your barren pantry shelves, the hollow space felt louder than Miraâs teasing.
But it didnât mean anything. Of course it didnât. That was just Satoru being⊠Satoru. He had a habit of worming his way into places he didnât belong, making himself indispensable without ever asking permission. You were just feeling the absence of his noise. Thatâs all.
Still, you caught yourself glancing at the pantry again, at the corners that seemed too bare, and wondered if maybeâjust maybeâMira wasnât entirely wrong.
You werenât exactly gifted when it came to math, proven by the fact that youâd literally cried over it not even a month ago (and maybe again just last week, but, really, whoâs counting?). Numbers had a way of knocking you flat, formulas taunting you from the page until frustration spilled over.
But if there was one equation you knew too well, one that never failed to solve itself, it was how to mess with your own head. How it could drag back things you swore youâd buried, memories you thought youâd outgrown, and feelings you told yourself youâd forgotten.
First, the equation started with alcohol. Classic. Stress had you digging through your pantry like a scavenger, hoping to find something youâd definitely regret the next morning.
What you had in mind was a sad little cup of ramenâthe kind that was probably 70% sodium and 30% regretâbut instead, your eyes landed on an untouched bottle of cheap red wine shoved into the back corner.
Not exactly dinner. But at that moment, who were you to say no?
Youâd like to blame your low alcohol tolerance for everything that followed. One glass in and you were already humming along to sad songs, the kind of songs you swore you didnât relate to until the alcohol decided otherwise. Your voice cracked, and you laughed at yourself, but there was something heavy in your chest that made the lyrics sting a little too much.
Two glasses in and you were on your phone, thumbs flying across the screen as you spammed your friends with over-the-top confessions of love. Every âI LOVE YOU!!â came with teary emojis, the warmth in your stomach convincing you that they had to know just how much they meant to you.
By the third glass, you found yourself rereading old messages of your past fling. Laughing at the embarrassing moments where you were still awkward, and cringing at pick up lines you thought were hot in the spur of the moment.
Four glasses in and your emotions had tipped into frustration, words spilling out in a one-sided rant to the potted plant sitting by your desk. It wilted quietly under the weight of your complaints about professors, deadlines, and how unfair life was, and how your neighbor kept you up at night by their ridiculously loud snoring. It was comforting, to a drunk person at least. No judgment but also no comfort.
And by the fifth glass, there was nothing left to do but stare. The wall blurred in front of you as your thoughts drifted, your body feeling both too heavy and too light at the same time. It was a kind of emptiness that wasnât loud but wasnât quiet either, leaving you suspended in a fog where you couldnât decide if you wanted to cry or laughâor both.
It was sometime around your sixth glass that you decided your apartment needed cleaning. A bold move for someone who could barely walk in a straight line, but alcohol had a way of gifting you sudden bursts of productivity that felt life-changing in the moment. At the very least, it kept you busy and away from pouring another drinkâsmall victories.
You started with the living room. Candy wrappers crinkled as you stuffed them into a trash bag, the ghosts of midnight sugar binges leaving sticky fingerprints on your hands. Empty coffee cups clattered together, evidence of too many late-night cram sessions youâd barely survived. Chip bags, crumpled worksheets with half-solved problems, notes you swore youâd âreview laterâ but never didâthey all went the same way: the trash. By the time you stepped back, the room looked less like a battlefield. For once, you could actually see the surface of your table.
Your bedroom, however, was another story. You stood in the doorway, swaying slightly as you stared at the heap of clothes swallowing your chair whole. âMore room for improvement,â you muttered, as if convincing yourself.
You started with the closet, tugging at hangers, folding clothes halfheartedly, until your hand brushed against something shoved to the very back. A cardboard box, corners softened with age. The word "keepsakes" scrawled across the front in black marker, the letters rushed and uneven, like theyâd been written in the middle of packing up a life.
That was the second part of the equation. Memories. Specifically, the ones you thought youâd buried, left to gather dust in the corners of your mind.
If youâd been sober, maybe you wouldâve shoved it back and closed the door. But the wine in your veins made you reckless, made you want to poke at things better left untouched. So you sat down cross-legged on the floor, box in your lap, and pried it open.
Then came the letters. Folded notes passed around during classes, still inked with messy inside jokes that barely made sense anymore now that you had forgotten the context. You flipped one open, laughed at how stupid the joke was, then folded it back up carefully as though it deserved respect for surviving all these years.
It was fine. All of this was fine.
Until your fingers brushed against something differentâcrinkled plastic wedged between two envelopes. You tugged it free, and your lips twitched. A snack wrapper. Not just any wrapper, though. The corner had a doodle in black ink, a pair of round glasses and an obnoxious grin. Gojoâs handiwork, no doubt. You could almost hear him defending it as âartâ while stealing the last piece of candy right out of your hand.
You shouldâve tossed it into the trash pile immediately, but instead, you found yourself smoothing out the plastic, thumb running over the faded ink. Dumb. It was so dumb. Out of all things to keep, why this?
You set it aside, convincing yourself it was just an accidentâthat it had slipped in there with the rest of the clutter. But the moment you dug deeper, the more those accidents started piling up. A movie stub from that one film heâd dragged you to, swearing it was âcritically acclaimedâ when it was actually the dumbest comedy youâd ever seen. A gum wrapper folded into the shape of a crane, lopsided and ridiculous, the kind of thing only he would waste his time on.
One by one, the harmless items were replaced by things that hummed with his presence. Subtle at first, but undeniable.
And suddenly, the box didnât feel so harmless anymore. Blame it on the alcohol, or maybe the weight of recent events, but your mind had already wandered back to him. Again.
You began to wonder when it startedâwhen youâd begun to see Satoru in a way that didnât fit the box youâd always kept him in. When he stopped being just the annoying eight-year-old who once insulted your prized sticker collection, and became someone else. Someone who wasnât just familiar, butâunsettlinglyâvery much a man.
Your thoughts trailed to the night of your eighteenth birthday. Secluded from the noise of the party, the two of you had found yourselves tucked away in the safe quiet of your room.
You remembered it vividly. How could you not? It lingered in the smallest of gesturesâthe ghost of his hand brushing your necklace whenever you clasped it, the way his grin softened when you handed him your drawing, holding it as if it was something worth treasuring. Those details had carved themselves deep into your memory, refusing to fade, no matter how much you tried to bury them.
And in the midst of all the teasing, all the banter that had defined your relationship for years, something else had stirred. Something warm had found its place in your chest. Something warm that only felt familiar whenever he was near.
Usually, youâd blame it on the alcohol. The bitter liquid was an easy scapegoat for every unfiltered thought that slipped past your guard. But were those memories really buried if they came back on their own? If they haunted you even in the quietest nights, when the world was calm and you had no excuse but to admit you missed him? And you had. Every time. Without really questioning why.
When you glanced up from the paper crane, your gaze landed on the full-length body mirror at the corner of your room. If you were sober, you wouldâve had the sense to look away, maybe even laugh at yourself for being dramatic, but much to your demise, you werenât. The wine made you linger.
And thatâs when you saw herâyour seventeen-year-old self staring back at you. Not just some hazy version of you, but the girl who rolled her eyes at every stupid joke he cracked, who swore she couldnât stand him yet never noticed how her steps matched his when you walked home together.
She looked smug, arms folded, lips curled in a faint smirk you remembered hating at the time. But beneath it, there was something softer, something you never admitted was there.
You credit your pride for how long you withstood the fact that his corny jokes and equally annoying personality were anything more than a nuisance. But in the quiet corners of your bedroom, drunk off something that tasted like morning regrets, the reflection felt like proof you had been lying to yourself all along. A crack had appeared in what once was your unshakeable pride. A crack shaped far too much like him.
Waking up with a headache that could practically split your head in half was not ideal. Your so-called âcleaning missionâ looked less like a mission now that you were sober, and more like the aftermath of a girl who clearly had alcohol infused into every drop of her blood. Clothes scattered across the chair, papers half-stuffed into drawers, a pile of snack wrappers shoved lazily to the sideâit was chaos. Still, you wouldâve taken the chaos over what actually greeted you.
A text from your brother lit up your phone.
Come home this Christmas break. Internship done. Satoruâs staying with us for a while.
Youâd be surprised if you didnât wake up tomorrow to a noise complaint from your neighbors because of how loud you screamed at the text.
You stared at the words like they were a death sentence. A war crime. A felony. It wasnât just the hangover making your stomach churnâit was the undeniable truth that you werenât ready for him. Not after weeks of thinking about him when you shouldnât. Not after your eighteenth birthday had wormed its way back into your thoughts, uninvited and relentless.
Youâd take ten more glasses of cheap wine over this. Fuck it, maybe even fifteen. You were convinced that no matter how many prayers you pray, how many wishes you wished, there was no way youâd make it out of your break alive, if it meant being in the same radius as Satoru.
Dropping your phone face-first into the mess of your bed, you tried to breathe. âThis is fine,â you muttered, staring blankly at the ceiling. âTotally fine. No reason to panic. Seeing him after a year can't be that bad... right?â
Except your chest was tight, and your pulse picked up anyway. Because you could already see it: Satoru strolling through your front door like he owned the place, sunglasses perched stupidly on his nose even if it was cloudy, grin spreading like heâd just caught you in some embarrassing act. And of course, heâd have something to say. He always did. Whether it was a comment on how messy your hair had been, how you looked homeless, or how the chips you were eating left its trail on the corner of your mouth.
In a fit of desperation, you grabbed your phone again and dialed Mira.
She picked up on the third ring. âYou sound like death and despair. But more like death,â she greeted flatly, over the crunch of what you assumed was potato chips.
âI am death. Like, deadass, maybe Iâm the grim reaper but Iâm the only one Iâm killing.â you muttered, throwing an arm over your face. âMy brother just texted me.â
âAndâŠ?â she asked, unimpressed.
âAnd Satoruâs staying with us for a while.â
There was a pause. Then, âOkay? And?â
You sat up, staring at the wall like it might validate your panic. âWhat do you mean âandâ? Mira, do you know what this means?â
âThat youâll see him again? Congrats, reunion arc unlocked.â The sarcasm was bleeding in her every word.
You let out a strangled noise. âDonât say it like that. Itâs not a reunion. Itâs... Itâs a nightmare. Heâs going to walk into my house, give me that stupid grin, and justâ thenââ You cut yourself off before you could spiral out loud about the grin.
Mira sighed like sheâd been through this a hundred times before. âYouâre being dramatic. Itâs just Gojo.â
âJust Gojo?â you repeated, clutching your pillow like a life raft. âThatâs like saying a tsunami is just some waves. Heâs not âjust Gojo,â Mira. Heâsâheâsââ
âA guy,â she interrupted. âA tall guy with white hair, bad sunglasses, and equally bad humor. Actually, scratch that, he can be a bit funny sometimes.â She added as an afterthought.
You groaned and flopped back down on your bed. âYou donât get it. Heâs going to ruin everything.â
âEverything being⊠what?â she asked, and you could hear the smirk in her voice. âYour fragile sense of denial? Your perfectly curated reality that doesn't include your repressed feelings?â
âI donât have denial! And I'm very much self-aware, thank you.â you snapped, too fast.
Silence on her end. Then, with irritating calm, âSure, babe, of course you are.â
Your mind drifted against your will, traitorous as ever. To the way he always leaned too close when teasing you. The way his voice could slip from obnoxiously loud to disarmingly soft without warning. The way his hands, long-fingered, and steady, had once touched yours every time he held something out of your reach. All of it stitched itself into your memory whether you liked it or not.
âHeâs likeâŠâ You searched for the words, fumbling, âlike mold. Persistent. Impossible to get rid of. He justâsticks.â
Mira barked out a laugh. âYouâre comparing the guy youâre lowkey in love with to mold?â
âIâm not in love with him!â you hissed, sitting up so fast your head throbbed in protest.
Her laughter only grew. âDenial, table for one.â
You groaned, collapsing back onto your bed. âYouâre the worst.â
âAnd yet, the most correct.â
Her words echoed long after you hung up, heavier than they shouldâve been. Because sheâd planted it there, right in the middle of your chestâthe thought youâd been trying to outrun. That maybe, just maybe, she wasnât wrong at all.
And with the weekend closing in like a countdown, you werenât sure if you had the strength to keep running.
The days that followed felt less like days and more like a ticking clockâloud, merciless, taunting. You couldnât scroll through your phone, walk to class, or even take a shower without hearing it somewhere in the back of your mind. A metronome of doom. Tick. Tock. Home this weekend.
Five days. That was all it took for your life to turn into one long spiral.
On Monday, you sat in class staring at your professorâs slides, the words blurring together into meaningless lines. It wasnât statistics or formulas on the screen anymoreâit was his stupid grin flashing in your brain like a neon sign. You shook your head hard enough to make Mira nudge you, whispering if you were alright. You werenât, but admitting that would mean acknowledging the exact problem youâd sworn not to. So you forced a smile, mumbled about being tired, and ignored the way your pen kept doodling a pair of round sunglasses in the margins of your notes.
Tuesday, you found yourself cleaning again. You told yourself it was therapeutic, something to help ease your stress, but the truth was harsher: you couldnât sit still without remembering. The silence of your dorm was suffocating, every corner reminding you of a time when Satoru would just barge in uninvited, arms full of groceries you hadnât asked for, acting like he belonged there.
You caught yourself rearranging snacks on your shelf and realized how empty it looked compared to back then. The word dependent whispered in your head, Miraâs voice wrapping around it smugly. You shoved the thought away, only to dig through old boxes you had no business opening. By the end of the night, you were surrounded by little keepsakes and too many memories to pretend you were unaffected.
Wednesday was worse. You dreamt about him. Not vividly, not romanticallyâjust enough to shake you. A laugh, a touch on your shoulder, the way he said your name like it was his favorite word. You woke up with your heart racing and an ache in your chest that felt unfamiliar and unwanted. You buried your face into your pillow and told yourself it was just a dream, but the echo of it followed you all day. Every time your phone buzzed, you half-expected it to be him, even though he never texted. He wasnât supposed to.
By Thursday, dread had sunk its claws deep into you. You tried bargaining with yourselfâmaybe you could come up with an excuse not to go home. Exams, projects, sudden illness, literally anything. But your brotherâs text was final, immovable. Internship done. Satoruâs staying with us for a while. You knew if you didnât show up, youâd just make it worse, draw more attention to yourself, and that was the last thing you needed. Avoidance wasnât an option. Neither was escape.
And so Thursday evening found you pacing your room like it was a cage. Mira had long stopped entertaining your paranoia, brushing you off with a breezy âYouâll live.â But you werenât so sure. You imagined walking into your house, imagined Satoru on the couch like nothing had changed, his long legs sprawled out, his presence filling every corner of your living room the way it always did.
You imagined his teasing the second he laid eyes on you, how heâd smirk and call you something infuriating, how heâd look at you like he still knew you better than you knew yourself. The thought made your stomach twist, half in annoyance, half in something you didnât want to name.
The scream you almost let out would've caused you a hundred of judgmental stares. Attempting to find peace, you sat in the library, pretending to study, but all you did was watch the clock tick toward the hour youâd have to pack your bag. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Every second felt like a shove closer to something you werenât ready for. Every second felt like a part of your sanity was diminishing.
And then Saturday morning came.
You woke up with that same weight in your chest, heavier now, pressing down like gravity itself had decided to mock you. Packing your bag felt surrealâlike you were loading up not clothes and toiletries, but the remnants of your dignity. Every folded shirt was a reminder that soon youâd be walking through your front door and seeing him again. That heâd be there, larger than life, like no time had passed at all.
The bus ride home was unbearable. The engine hummed steadily beneath you, people chatted quietly in the seats around you, but none of it reached you. Your headphones played something soft, something meant to distract, but all it did was make your thoughts louder. You couldnât stop fidgetingâtugging at your sleeves, tapping your foot, scrolling aimlessly through your phone just to keep your hands busy.
What if heâd changed? The question lodged itself in your mind and refused to leave. You tried to picture him now, older, maybe more polished. His internship had been overseasâmaybe heâd learned to carry himself differently, maybe heâd grown into that height and confidence. Maybe heâd found someone there.
The thought made you feel something unfamiliar. You told yourself you didnât care. That it didnât matter. That you were only dreading this because he was annoying, insufferable, the walking embodiment of a headache. But the way your heart beat faster at the thought of seeing him again betrayed you. You were curious, no matter how much you wished you werenât. Curious about how he looked now, how he sounded, if his voice had deepened, if he still laughed the same way. If heâd remember the little things. If heâd remember you the same way you couldnât stop remembering him.
The closer you got to home, the worse it became. Every stop the bus made felt like another step toward the inevitable, another moment for your thoughts to spiral into places you couldnât control. You wanted to jump off and run in the opposite direction, but you also wanted the bus to drive faster just to end the torture of anticipation. You pressed your forehead against the glass and shut your eyes, but there was no escaping it.
Because no matter how much you denied it, no matter how much you tried to bury it under annoyance and excusesâSatoru Gojo was waiting at the end of the road.
And you didnât know if you were ready for him.
âIâm home!â you called, more out of habit than expectation. The house answered with a hollow quiet â dad probably gone to work, mom likely deep in the steady choreography of cleaning before your brother arrived. The words that slipped out of you would usually land warm, the kind of comfort that tasted like warm homemade soup, fresh folded sheets and the ease of familiarity. Today they felt like a verdict.
Because saying it aloud made the text real. It sealed the weekend into a fact: any minute now someone would step through the same front door youâd just crossed, grin spread like heâd never left, confidence radiating as if he hadnât quietly upended you from halfway across the world. You pictured him â sunglasses, that ridiculous tilt of his head â and your stomach clenched. Even miles away, Satoruâs presence had a way of lingering, like the faint echo of a laugh you couldnât stop hearing.
You dragged your fingers over the banister, trying to steady the nervous flutter in your ribs. Somewhere in the house a clock ticked louder than usual. The cicadas suddenly started humming louder. When did your jacket suddenly feel so textured? And why does your hair suddenly look messy? The air around you started to feel heavy and anxious.
âYou look different.â
âFuck!â Your whole body flinched, hands flying to your chest in a desperate attempt to steady your racing heart. You turned, only to make your first mistake. Standing there was the ghost that had haunted you since last month, and the sight of him knocked the air clean out of your lungs. Maybe you werenât even a millisecond away from a heart attackâmaybe it was already happening.
Satoru Gojo, the man who once embodied every bad thing in your lifeâyour dread, your irritation, the bane of your childhood existenceâwas now standing right in front of you. Except now, he wasnât just that. He was the same Satoru, but⊠not entirely. His face still carried that unmistakable mischief, the same striking features youâd grown up glaring at, but there were faint new lines of definition along his jaw, a sharper focus to his expression that hadnât been there before. It wasnât dramatic, but it was enough to throw you off balanceâlike noticing a picture frame had been tilted ever so slightly and suddenly nothing else in the room looked right.
And taller. Definitely taller. Broader, tooâyour eyes darted down before you could stop yourself, catching the way the sleeves of his shirt stretched just a little tighter around his arms, how his frame filled the doorway in a way it never used to. Not overly so, not enough to scream some drastic transformation, but just enough that your brain stumbled, scrambling to reconcile this version of him with the boy who once shoved you off the swing set and claimed your favorite popsicle.
Your breath caught, shallow and unsteady. Pathetically, your first instinct was to laugh, because how dare he just exist so casually while you stood there seconds away from collapse? He was holding a toothbrush, of all things, frozen mid-motion like youâd startled him, toothpaste still clinging stubbornly to the bristles. The absurd normalcy of it made everything worseâthis stupidly ordinary moment clashing with the riot in your chest.
His head tilted, forehead scrunching in that way that was painfully familiar, the kind of look that once warned you he was about to say something insufferable. But right now, it didnât feel like that. There was something quieter in his eyes, something that made your pulse trip over itself.
Then came the brow raise. Simple. Classic. A single, stupid motion youâd sworn you were immune to after all these years. And yet, your stomach twisted like it was the very first time.
And in that instantâbetween the toothbrush in his hand, the toothpaste on the bristles, the subtle new weight to his presenceâyou realized just how much trouble you were in.
âAm I that hot that the first thing you do when you see me, after a year by the way, is scream?â
And of course, like the menace he is, he ruins the moment with the most irritating statement you can hear from a man. You hand left your chest and instead met his arm (which now felt like they could lift a car. You ignored that.), hitting him with as much force as you could muster.
âOw! What was that for?!â He practically whined, rubbing his forearm as if you actually had done damage. âA year has already passed and somehow youâre still stupid as ever.â You snarled, hands crossing over your chest. Just like before. He rolled his eyes with that smug grin and made his way to the kitchen. âYou mean still handsome as ever,â He slurred as he finished brushing his teeth over the sink.
You stayed rooted in place, watching as he moved around like he owned the house. Like he always had. The towel was slung lazily over his shoulder, toothpaste still faintly clinging to the corner of his mouth, and somehow that small imperfection annoyed you more than anything else. He hadnât even been here for five minutes and already he was acting like he never left. Typical Gojo behavior.
He caught your stare, tilting his head in that infuriatingly casual way of his. âWhat?â he asked, voice light and teasing. âYou miss me that much already?â
You scoffed before you could think. âMiss you? I barely survived the last time you were here.â
âReally?â His lips curved, eyes glinting with the kind of amusement that made you want to throw something at him. âI distinctly remember you crying when I left.â
You gaped at him, scandalized. âCrying? Please. That was relief. Pure relief. Absolute bliss.â
He grinned like heâd just won something. âSure it was."
You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, crossing your arms again. You wanted to say something sharper, something that would cut right through that smug confidence of his, but your brain was uncooperative. Because now that the initial shock had worn off, you were noticing things. Little things.
He was still the same Satoruâthe same lazy posture, the same teasing glint in his eyesâbut there was a subtle shift in how he carried himself. Broader shoulders, firmer stance, a quiet self-assurance that hadnât quite been there before. The kind that comes with growing into yourself, maybe. And you hated that you noticed. Hated that you even cared enough to notice.
He turned toward the sink, rinsing out his toothbrush as if your entire nervous system wasnât currently malfunctioning behind him. The sound of running water filled the silence, giving you too much room to think.
You told yourself it wasnât a big deal. It had been a year, after all. People change. He just⊠filled out a little. Thatâs normal. No reason to spiral over it.
And yet.
When he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned lazily against the counter, flashing you that same insufferably confident grin, your pulse betrayed you. It skippedâjust slightlyâbut enough for you to notice.
âStaringâs rude, you know,â he said, smug as ever.
You snapped out of it immediately, glaring. âPlease. Youâre not that interesting. A dried leaf is more interesting than your whole personality." You state in a matter of fact tone.
âOuch.â He clutched his chest dramatically. âOne year apart and youâre still mean to me. Some things never change.â
âSome things should,â you shot back.
He chuckled, pushing himself off the counter, brushing past you like it was the most natural thing in the world. The scent of his cologne hit you as he walked byâsubtle, familiar, like something that shouldnât matter but somehow did.
âIâll take that as a compliment,â he said, already halfway to the living room.
You turned just in time to see him stretch lazily, his shirt lifting a little higher than necessary. It was such an innocent movement, yet somehow the most irritating thing youâd seen all day. He caught your expression and smirked knowingly, as if heâd just read your thoughts.
You glared. âYou havenât changed at all.â
He flashed a grin over his shoulder. âGood. Iâd hate to disappoint you.â
Your hand twitched, tempted to throw the nearest object at him. Maybe the towel. Maybe a chair. Anything.
Instead, you sighedâlong and heavyâand muttered, âThis is going to be hell,â mostly to yourself.
Because it hit you then, as you watched him plop himself onto your couch like heâd never left: he was still the same insufferable, cocky, impossible man youâd known your whole life. Only now, he was taller, broader, andâfor reasons youâd refuse to acknowledge out loudâmore distracting than ever.
And with that realization came another: there was absolutely no way this vacation was ending in peace.
wow... hello... id honestly be so surprised if there are still people reading this after like the two month break but if you are just know ure a real one đ€đ» i am SO sorry for the late update college has not been nice to me if anything its literally hard fucking me but not in the way i want. did i say this was supposed to be the last part? a lie. and as always ur thoughts will always mean very much to me, feel free to comment! i love reading them <3
Hi! Sorry for disappearing everyone and for taking so long to answer this question.
I do have an ao3 account! Itâs Mrs_Kenobi_19, my old account name on here! Iâm still in the process of putting fics from here there but everything I plan to write in the future will be posted on both.
Speaking of, I will be slowly starting to post more fics as well as my own original story! I will be posting the prologue soon as Iâm very excited to share it!
Thank you all for the continued support of my writing even with my disappearance. It warms my heart to see people still enjoying themâ€ïž
"Does it hurt?" Satoru whispered, staring down at his hands still shoved into fists turned white with anger. With despair. With the gut wrenching twist he hadn't felt in so long and that he silently had wished he'd never have to feel again.
The world danced around you both, the clanging and yells of pain and triumph ricocheting through the cold air. It complimented the smell of blood and look of it as it ran down the sides of your white shirt, sinking into the ground with a kiss. One soaked in death.
"Only a little." He heard you whisper, his eyes, though covered, were all on you. Bright and beautiful and all at once, just as he always was. You grinned at them, and he wondered how.
"You're dying." He stated coldly, staring at the sky. He couldn't ask the clouds to bring you back down when you finally left the body behind him. He couldn't beg or plead or threaten them with his name or his sight. They would laugh in his face, just as they had before.
"I know." You replied, a small choke passing your lips that glistened with the same crimson as below. "Nothing a cursed technique or a shot of liquor could do for me now... it's my time you know."
His jaw clenched, oh you, darling, you and those tricky letters, how he hated when you said those words. From sorcerer to sorcerer, each dropped at their time and he was made to watch you tremble, to shake his head but refuse to question whatever god or deity or force would will it upon his friends so young. Their time. Such a small clock. Such little hands. So why did it seem like his was so large? Still ticking and ticking and driving him forward while all of those were left at numbers behind him.
"I-" "Hate that phrase... I know." You choked again, but this time you didn't stop, coughing and seizing, his body reflexively turning around to help you. But there was nothing he do. Not then, not now.
"One day, you'll learn to accept it." He swore he wouldn't, because if seeing that light in your eyes dim in the way all six of them watched now meant that he would have to tell that force it was right, he would take an oath of silence for life.
"You will. You've already begun too."
Those words haunted him. They haunted him the few hours between the moment you laid in his arms until the moment you were back in them.
on todayâs episode of ârev accidentally disregards the polls she madeâ, we have this fic :3 I actually adore this one, it was so fun to write!! hope you enjoy <3 also⊠thank you sm for 1k followers đđ«¶đ» thatâs huge, I appreciate everyone sm đ„č
gn!reader, no physical descriptions. fluff fluff fluff. alcohol mentions, drunk reader. dialogue heavy at the start.
âYou need to propose to me.â
Kuroo, who is enjoying his drink, begins to choke. âI what?â
You roll your eyes with a barely concealed smile.
âNot for real, silly, just a fake one.â
He looks at you like youâve gone insane. âIâm not following.â
âWeâre broke university students, do you really think we can afford to pay for more than two drinks tonight? If you propose, I bet people would make a drunken mistake and offer to buy us a celebration round.â You wiggle your eyebrows at him as he continues to give you that same incredulous look.
âThatâs-â he cuts himself off before he can finish that thought and starts with a new one. âI doubt that would work. I mean, maybe at a restaurant with free dessert, but a bar? Really?â
âIâve seen it done in stranger places!â You defend yourself. âBesides, youâve been sipping on your drink for the past 25 minutes. If the ice had poison in it, youâd be dead by now,â you lean back and cross your arms.
Your boyfriend just shakes his head. âYour mind is a very interesting place. Alright, fine. Weâll do it, but if it doesnât work thatâs going to be really embarrassing. Hand me your ring, Iâll do it when more people are around.â
You only have to wait another ten minutes before a group of business men having a meeting a couple of tables over appear to be drunk enough to invest in young love.
Your boyfriend nods once to signal that heâs going to do it and soon enough heâs on one knee, fake tears forming at the corners of his eyes and a dusting of pink on his cheeks that make you want to kiss them.
(Your heart jumps that the thought that he could do this for real one day).
âYouâre the love of my life,â he begins, and you make a mental note that he either has a bright future in acting or his drink really is too strong, despite his insistence that he could handle it earlier.
A lady one table over gasps and draws more attention to the performance in front of the customers.
âAnd I absolutely adore every single thing about you. I had a whole plan for this, but with the way youâre looking tonight, I canât wait a second longer. Weâve managed to get many years together already, and Iâd be honoured to spend the rest of our lives just like this. Will you marry me?â
Youâre genuinely touched at his words and the sincerity in his tone almost makes you forget itâs fake.
Not wanting to make your audience wait much longer, you make a big show of nodding your head and jumping into his crouched form with a loud âyes!â
Drunken cheers are only background noise while you press against his chest. His heartbeat eliminates the chance of you focusing on anything but him.
Kuroo tips his head down to whisper, âthink we pulled it off?â
You nod against him and start to get up. He looks over to see one of the drunk business men coming over to greet you.
âCongratulations on your engagement! Let us buy the happy couple some drinks!â
The manâs face is flushed and he gestures to his table. âOrder whatever youâd like, itâll be put on our tab.â
You fake surprise. âOh my goodness, thatâs very generous of you, but we could never take advantage of your kindness like that!â
This time Kuroo takes over. âAh⊠well, thank you, sir. Rest assured we wonât go too crazy.â
The man laughs and claps him on the back. âWhat a polite couple of kids you are! Reminds me of me and my wife,â he winks before heading back to his table, whistling some tune.
You spin around and look up at your boyfriend with a smug grin. âSo what are we getting first?â
A couple of hours later, youâre both stumbling into your campus apartment, giggling and trying to shush each other despite not having any other roommates.
You somehow manage to get through your night routines and fall back into your bed soon after. Youâre a far more wasted than Kuroo is (he always drinks less than you to be able to take care of you), so he tries to get you to sip on some water.
He watches you with a silly grin as you fiddle with your âengagementâ ring. Youâve since slipped it back onto your index finger where it originally was this evening, but you move it back to your ring finger and fiddle with it.
âI thinkâŠâ your words are slightly slurred and laced with sleep. âI mean, I know⊠that I donât want my real engagement ring to be diamond.â
His grin widens so much his cheeks begin to hurt. âNo? So what will it be, baby?â
You form your own smile. âIâm sure Iâll love whatever you come up with. You know me best after all.â
He forces you to take another sip of water when your words donât get any less coherent. While you drink he thinks of the ruby ring tucked away somewhere at Kenmaâs house. Youâre far too good at sniffing out clues and heâs never been good at keeping secrets from you.
Youâre still in university, itâs far too soon to get engaged for real- youâve both always said you wanted to wait until youâre done with school- but heâs been saving up for that ring since high school. heâs always knows you would be the one for him.
So when the time comes heâll be ready. With a speech much better than whatever he said tonight.
âAlright, letâs get some sleep. Youâre going to have the worst hangover tomorrow, you havenât had that much to drink in a while.â
You tug at his wrist before he can shut the lamp off. âWait, donât you want to celebrate our engagement?â
âSleep, baby.â
You pout a bit. âDonât you think we celebrated enough tonight?â
You stare at him and he sighs. âThereâs plenty of time for celebrating our fake engagement some more tomorrow,â he shuts the lamp off and wrangles you down with him. âNow itâs time for sleep.â
ââm not tired,â you mumble, obviously lying. âI could go all night.â
You settle onto your pillow and he strokes your cheek. âI know, sweetheart, youâre a fighter.â
You nod as you begin to doze off.
He notices the ring still on your finger and he smiles softly.
The hangover youâll be sporting tomorrow will definitely have been worth it.
i came across your mendacity fic and i wanted to know if you ever got past chapter 1?
Hi!
Yes I do actually have a part 2. I havenât posted it yet but I am planning to soon! Life has been kicking my butt and I havenât even had the opportunity to read or write anything in a Long ass time. But stay tuned! Iâll also probably be posting something thatâs an original idea from me!
â gojo, geto, nanami, sukuna, and toji hearing the babyâs first laugh
a/n: guess who's back, back again then I will be gone again (probably)
GOJO SATORU:
your husband is, admittedly, a very funny guy.
his humor always manages to get to people one way or another, so even if he doesnât get a laugh, he certainly gets some sort of reaction.
not with his little angel though, the one person that he would die to see her laugh.
no matter how much tickling or raspberries he blew, it was never a laugh, merely a smile or a very short giggle if he was lucky.
he would come across a ton of videos of babies having hearty laughs and simply wished to be able to get the same reaction out of his daughter.
it is the reason he is currently burying his face in your chest and whining, âI feel like she thinks I am just not that funny.â
âsatoru, she is still a baby,â you hum, fingers carding through his hair, âyou know that babies have different views about what is actually funny; actually, I saw baby not long ago at a photo of number eleven. it was so cute!â
âbut I tried everything! even the unusual!â he huffs, standing up to retell all of his failed attempts, âI tried dropping stuff, quickly stirring a liquid, lightly touching her with a balloonâeverything!â
he looks at his daughter with his best puppy eyes, âcome on, d/n! isnât there anything that would you laugh a belly laugh?â
a little idea pops into your head. giggling, you sneak off leaving your daughter trying to comfort her wailing papa the best she can.
d/n is caught up with satoru until you finally come back and she smiles, âmama!â
âhi baby!â you grin before smacking your husbandâlightly but not so lightlyâwith a roll of newspaper.
he yelps, ây/n! why would you do that?!â
but he is cut off by his little girl laughing, and I mean laughing so hard she kind of leans back.
you wait until she is quiet again before smacking him with the roll one more time, and she, once more, starts laughing heartily with small little wheezes and a long breath in the end when she calms down.
your husband, mortified, picks his daughter up, âd/n! youâre not supposed to laugh when papa gets hit! youâre supposed to get sad!â
she starts giggling and kicking her feet, putting her hand lightly on his nose. she tilts her head confused, and satoru thinks he knows what she is waiting for him to say. he shanât falter!
at least, thatâs what he thinks.
d/n takes matter into her own hands and smacks him on the forehead, resulting in him yelping and her going into a laughing fit that lasted a minute or so.
how unfortunate that his most precious takes pleasure in him being hurt.
his head snaps towards you, but he guesses that it makes sense since you also love teasing him so much.
a bunch of devils he says! two cute devils he laments.
GETO SUGURU:
geto is convinced that he was blessed with two angels, her cute little twins from his beautiful wife, you. he is also convinced that they would do no wrongâwhich is like what wrong can a baby a couple months old do anyway.
he ignores how gojo screams about being bullied by the girls, how that one mean babysitter was yapping about how they most definitely threw their toys at her intentionally, and how miguel syas that the girls always hide his glasses because they love seeing his stressed face.
to geto suguru, his daughters could do no wrong.
aside from that, he also noticed that his daughters love playing with hair, sometimes eating it which makes him scream but oh well.
for the most part, they know to treat their fatherâs hair gently as they watch you and himself do it.
thatâs why he never thought that his darling angels would get their first belly laughs by pulling on his freaking bangs.
each twin holds one of the bangs and with all their baby power, they pull and pull almost like they want to tear it off his head.
and while he adores that his daughter are laughing so muchâfor the first time tooâthat they stumble back almost turn red, but he really doesnât want to bald before heat least reaches his 50 or something.
another problem is that you never interfere unless he straight up screams for your help.
that made him realize how much of a common occurrence it is and he finally decided that he needed to put his foot down.
so he sat his girls downâincluding you because youâve tolerated the violation of your husbandâs hairline so muchâand took a deep breath.
âgirls, we need to learn that papaâs hair is fragile and we shouldnât pull on it so much,â he turns to you with the quirk of an eyebrow. âright, honey?â
you barely hold back your smile before nodding and loyally supporting your husband, âwhy, of course, my love!â
he rolls his eyes, âso, be good girls and donât pull on my bangs, please?â
one of the twins, while the other frowns and starts fussing. you lock eyes with your husband, and you both try to telepathically figure how to handle this, until your other twin starts crying.
now, you have two crying babies.
congratulations!
so your husband concedes and kneels in front of them, bravely offering his bangs. almost instantly, they stop crying and start pulling the bangs on their respective sides.
they start laughing and squealing again, and geto starts to think that balding is a small price to pay for his angelsâ happiness.
he should probably stop calling them that though.
NANAMI KENTO:
now, in constrant to nanami, his daughter came out all bubbly and smiley, and it had nanami going as soft as a marshmallow.
it also didnât help that d/n is convinced that her dad is indeed a marshmallow in which that she could only touch him softly.
she would gently pat his cheeks, press clumsy little kisses to his forehead, and squeal in order to cuddle with you or him. she also is extremely empathetic and starts crying whenever she sees someone hurt or genuinely frowning.
that was also the reason why gojo adored her since her crying cut anyoneâs session of bullying him short. though, of course, he buys her a ton of toys to make up and comfort her.
he fails to realize that the true way to comfort her is to place in your arms or nanamiâs.
like that one time when she bumped her head lightly and started crying profusely, throwing punches at gojo who was supposed to be babysitting herâpoor choice but who am I to judge. she screamed and squirmed, demanding she be comforted.
however, none of the toys gojo bought were working.
and the two of you were called into a mission, so he literally is rendered helpless. that is until nanami returns a tad bit early than planned, and satoru couldnât have been more relieved.
he hurriedly places d/n in kentoâs arms, and the little girl takes a few seconds to realize who is holding her now.
she looks up, smiling at her dad. he instantly smiles back, âhey there,â he hums, âdid you miss me?â
anyway back to what i was saying: a very sensitive and empathetic baby, right?
so when one day, you have your girl perched on your lap and nanami is going all out with scolding gojo, no one expects your daughter to burst one laughing.
you giggle, looking at her, âd/n, you like seeing papa scold uncle gojo?â
gojo gasps, âwhat?!â
you usher your husband, âbabe, try it again!â
nanami nods with determination and gathers everything gojo ever bothered him with and translates it into a bunch of very child-friendly insults.
with each reproach, gojo deflates and d/n starts laughing more, squealing and wheezing. your husband abandons the crushed gojo and goes to hold d/n in his hands, âyou okay there?â
she squeals and reaches for her feet, eyes never leaving her fatherâs. you coo, âshe is so cute!â
âI never imagined my daughter would laugh at the sight of me, out of all people, scolding gojo.â
a very wounded gojo screams, âwell I sure did! you family of haters!â
your husband frowns, but before he can talk, d/n cups his face and starts babbling a bunch of nonsense. nonetheless, your husband hangs onto every bit of said nonsense.Â
gojo takes that chance to flee to the hills.
meanwhile, youâre holding a camera and recording the lecture(?) your tiny angel is giving your husband.
RYOMEN SUKUNA:
your baby is the son of the all-mighty king of curses.
the man who sends terrors throughout the lands, the mere sight of his face is enough to cause someone to pee themselves.
everyone cowers in front of him, except you and more recently his son. on the contrary, in fact, your son canât help but cackle whenever his dad puts on his âscaryâ face.
the first time it ever happened was when you were strolling the palace with s/n in your arms.
you know not to enter the throne room whenever sukuna has the villagers over to âhear their complainsâ as it almost always ended with him slicing one part of their body off.
you figured that it would be okay to at least pass by it since they always had the door closedâthat started when you gave birthâbut to your surprise, the door was open this time, giving you and your son a front row seat to sukuna degrading his subject.
âyouâre wasting my time,â your husband states, and the villagers starts panicking.
âa-apologies my lord, pl-please grant me a-another chance!â
your husband scowls, âand now youâre ordering me around?â
the villager starts crying and kneels to the ground. on the other hand, your son couldnât have been laughing more. his laugh echoed so loudly in the room that it drew everyoneâs attention.
sukuna stares at the baby in your arms and scowls again, ây/n, why is he here?â
your son squeals and starts laughing again, hiding his face in your chest. you light up at his laughter, and sukuna finds himself livid at how the scene makes him feel contentâuntil he notices the villager staring at you as well, what a short-lived happiness.
swiftly, sukuna slashes the villagers into cubes, and your sonâwho came out of his hiding spotâbursts into a fit of giggles that has you wondering just how much of sukunaâs sadism was passed to your darling son.
while you ponder over that, sukuna quickly makes his way to you, dismissing all the servants and tasking them with taking out the trash.
when your husband is right in front of you, you look up at him with a frown, âmy son is laughing at torture, sukuna.â
âhe is probably laughing at how pathetic the man looked,â he says as he smirks and pulls you close.
you huff and bounce s/n lightly, âshut up, old man.â
sukuna quirks an eyebrow and leans to be on your eye level. his hand is placed on your head, and he threatens, âyouâre insulting your husband?â
s/n gasps lightly before harshly latching on sukunaâs face, fingers digging into his second pair of eyes. sukuna does not give any reaction except standing up to his full height.
your son, however, is relentless and is still hanging onto your husbandâs face.
you donât know how to react. sukuna doesnât know how to react.
s/n just lets out a series of battle cries.
FUSHIGURO TOJI:
if there is anything that toji is doubtful of is whether his son actually loves him or not.
why you ask? well, the only thing that gets the kid laughingâaside from you laughing or smilingâis literally any inconvenience that happens to him.
he remembers that one time when shiu was over to discuss some business, nothing out of the norm. megumi was on just sat on his high chair beside toji since you were at work.
toji was just sipping on his coffee when he burned his tongue, âgosh damn it!â
shiu was about to make fun of him, but megumi beat him to it as he started laughing heartily, even taking breaths in between to calm down but to no avail.
tojiâs eyes widen as he stands up to go to his son, âno way youâre laughing at me gettingâwhat the hell?!â
toji groans after he bumps into the table, glaring at his son who starts laughing all over again. meanwhile, shiu chuckles and teases toji, âI think your son just loves you so much, doesnât he?â
your husband rises to his feet, quickly carrying megumi and lifting him in the air. he grumbles, âI want my wife back.â
another time was when you guys grocery shopping.
you had most of the list crossed out and the only thing left was the frozen vegetables. easy, right?
so you, your husband, and son quickly made your way to the sectionâsince megumi wanted to go to the park later to play with yuuji.
megumi stays in your arms, while toji goes to grab them. considering how unlucky this man is, the bag slips from his hand and falls flat on his face, and it freaking stays there.
to your darling son, comedy had never reached this peak, so he lets out a guttural laugh.
you want to join in on the laughter, but you noticed that toji is standing still, with the bag on his face.
so you walk to him, gently taking off the bag and teasing him, âyou okay, champ? that made quite the noise.â
âdonât even start,â he groans and buries his face in your shoulder, ignoring the wheezing megumi. he then starts complaining, âthey keep whining about how he is a quiet and shy kid, but he sure ainât with me.â
âisnât that a good thing? Itâs important for him to feel free around his dad.â
he turns his head towards you, a frown plastered on his face, âno kid laughs whenever his dad gets ridiculed by life.â
âyou told me that you laughed when your dad fell down a flight of stairs,â you deadpan.
âthatâs because my dad is an ass; I am not,â he pauses, âfor the most part.â
apparently, megumi senses his dadâs distress and starts slowly patting his head, albeit shyly. he lowers his gaze and mumbles, âsoây.â
tojiâs eyes widen and he is frozen in place for a moment. your son takes note of that and starts staring him in the eye, waiting for his reaction.
your husband doesnât take long for a small smile to break out as he lets a small sigh, ââs okay kid,â he hums and pets his head.
"We're Not Promised Tomorrow." Chapter 20 "...How Do I Say I'm Sorry?"
Pairing: Obi-Wan x Fem. OC
W/C: 5.2 K
Warnings: lots of angst, injuries, fighting, high emotions, blood, panic, stress.
A/N: Happy New Year everyone. I hope the holidays were good to you all and if you do not celebrate then I hope the season was filled with lots of joy, laughter, and good vibes. The angst train continues in the chapter but this is its last stop (for now evil smile) after this chapter, the fit will turn a coroner into one of my favorite parts of this whole fic. If you have made it this far, I appreciate you sticking with it. Thank you all for any support that you give and happy reading.
Masterlist can be found here.
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Emily had cleaned her whole apartment, sterilized everything, and had thrown away Obi-Wan's torn and bloody tunic.
She placed his boots next to her tea table, folded his pants, belt and gathered his lightsaber, placing them on one of the sitting chairs in her living room
It was late; by her recollection, it had to have been at least a half hour after midnight. She was exhausted and emotionally drained. The dull throb in her head seemed to match the pain in her soul.Â
The 7 P.M sparring session felt like it was a lifetime ago but it had been only hours since the incident.Â
She had checked on Obi and he was sleeping soundly. He didnât have a fever anymore and she had used the Force to again assess his injuries. His nose was almost completely healed and his insides were improving. Thank the Maker for Bacta.Â
Emily had changed her clothes when she had stopped by her room. She changed into her clean black sparring pants and a white short-sleeved top and laid down on the couch in the darkness of her apartment; the only light that came in came from the floor-to-ceiling windows that brought the chaotic, outside world of Coruscant inside in her sanctuary.Â
The fight that happened earlier in the evening seemed like forever ago...but the ache in her heart was as strong as it was the minute Sorv had entered the Arena and challenged Obi. Rolling over, she buried her face in the pillow and pulled her blanket up over her head, creating a cocoon of safety. She wanted to kick down the door of her bedroom and run to him. To throw her arms around him and break down all over again. To be completely vulnerable with her person was something she needed right now, even if she was royally pissed at her person.
She was so happy that he was alive and going to be okay. Yet, She also wanted to scream at him and tell him what an inconsiderate jerk he had been. Additionally, he acted like a complete macho, overprotective, stubborn male peacock who needed to strut his stuff to prove a point.
Attempting to sort through her emotions and control them (like a good Jedi) she allowed her mind to wander as she rolled back over and stared at the scenery outside of her wall of glass. The lights twinkled on the buildings and spreaders raced in all directions; it was truly the planet that never slept.Â
âMaybe he was right. Maybe Jedi arenât supposed to have personal relationships. Itâs not like we have training with how to handle ourselves with our own emotions....let alone other people's emotions.âÂ
She drifted off to sleep as her stomach twisted itself in knots.Â
----------------
Emily could feel distress around her. It was bearing down on her as if it was trying to suffocate and swallow her. She had become hot and sweating. Restless from tossing and turning, as if she was trying to fight whatever was bearing down on her; It was as if her body was trying to burn itself from the inside out.Â
The feeling of sweating and burning woke her up, causing her to sit upright and gasping for air, fighting the suffocation. For as hot as she had been in the dream, when she woke up, the apartment air was cool and the mood peaceful. Assessing herself, she wasnât even warm or that sweaty... nothing like what she felt while asleep. She looked around confused.Â
Her t-shirt and pants were dry, with no sweat or liquid present.Â
She extended herself through the Force, still confused. Had it just been a dream or a vision?
No, the source of heat and stress was coming from the apartment; that was shown to her through the Force. She could feel the pull of heat and an oppressive weight centering around her.
She tried to follow its weight to the source, her eyes darting around her quiet apartment. When her eyes landed on her bedroom door, it felt as if her head were on fire.Â
âOBI-WAN!â She gasped in a panic.Â
She vaulted off the couch and sprinted the short distance into her room, practically breaking the door open with the speed and weight she hit it with.Â
She burst into the doorway and found him in a pool of sweat and fidgeting in his sleep.
âNo, no, no, no, no, I thought we were past this!â She hissed as she ran to him and ripped the covers off of him.Â
Turning, she ran out of the room to her refresher and grabbed two big towels and a small one. She turned on the faucets and soaked them in cold water. Emily ran back to her and placed the cold towels along his body.
She laid the compress on his forehead, dabbing at the sweat, and then sprinted to the galley-style kitchen to grab some ice and more towels.
Making two makeshift ice packs, she placed one on top of the forehead compress and the other by his side, the two main sources of heat.Â
She was already tired and worn out and didnât know how much use she was going to be so the ice and cold compresses would help her bring down his fever naturally, buying her more time and wiggle room.Â
Kneeling, she placed her hands on his chest and stomach and started commanding the Force to flow through her.Â
She visualized everything she loved about him. His smile, those amazing blue eyes that gleamed like the oceans on Naboo, his wit and his corny jokes...how he was always a gentleman; usually so full of care, love and gentleness. The way he silently cared so much about his friends. What a great Jedi he was; centered, balanced, and brave.Â
Oh, how much she loved him; If love was tangible. She visualized the fever being cooled from his body, visualized her mending his muscles and tissue, healing him.Â
She had sat there and commanded continuous use of the Force for hours and hours. She would not give up on him despite how she felt about him at the moment. She had loved him her whole life, she would die trying to save him if she had to.
Emily felt like she was losing her grasp on reality. She had never healed someone for this extended amount of time. She was becoming woozy and she felt like her energy was draining itself from her body.Â
 She was unaware of his state as her head slumped forward and she passed out.
The sunlight was coming through the blinds as it peaked into the bedroom apartment.Â
Emily had passed out on the floor, her head still resting on the side of the bed, hands still on his stomach and chest. The cold, wet towels had pruned her skin and made her shiver.
There was a faint beeping noise that was bothering her, causing her to wake up.Â
It wasnât coming from the bedroom, it sounded from somewhere else in the apartment.
She was too tired to move. Maybe if she ignored it would stop? Then she could just go back to sleep.
After two minutes of continuous buzzing and beeping she begrudgingly got up and stumbled into her living room.Â
The sound was coming from Obi-Wanâs pants.Â
She sleepily fumbled with them until she found a comlink in his pants pocket.Â
âMaster Kenobiâs Comlink.â She said groggily.Â
âWho is this?â The voice on the other end sounded.... hostile... accusing and even a bit...stunned... as if they werenât expecting her to answer; which in fairness to them, they weren't.Â
Their tone caused her to become more alert.Â
âWho is this? You called this line?â She didnât want to give anything away that she didnât have to.Â
âThis is Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker, his mission partner... Now I ask again, who are you?âÂ
She relaxed.Â
âHi Anakin, sorry for the guessing games, itâs Master Marblu.â
There was a pause; he didnât answer right away.Â
âHi, Emily.â He sounded lighter, more smug sounding. She pictured that stupid, self-satisfied smile she was probably wearing.Â
âIs Obi-Wan there? He was supposed to meet us at the hangar for a mission this morning, and heâs lateâŠ.very late. Considering he's never late for anything, I knew something had to be up.âÂ
Someone was giggling in the backgroundâŠEmily listened harder...yes it was definitely a girl giggling.Â
âI donât think heâs gonna make it to the mission today, Anakin. He was in an accident last night in the Arena. We were sparring and he did something stupid and heâs pretty injured. Heâs sleeping right now and he couldnât move if he wanted to.âÂ
âIs he alright?!â Anakin's tone had changed quickly from amusement to worry.Â
âHe is fine now. He was worse last night. Like I said, heâs sleeping and his injuries are healing for the most part. I patched him up last night, I have a med kit in my apartment. Are you able to do the mission without him? I could step in if you need me to.â
She didnât want them to worry about him if she could get him on the mend and keep him there. She additionally didnât want to leave him alone in her apartment in that condition, but she didnât want his team stranded either. Maybe Xira could babysit him while she was gone if she had to?
âNo, that's okay Emily, but thank you. You just take care of him for us while weâre gone. Weâll be back tomorrow afternoon and weâll check in on him. Keep me posted if you need anything, Iâm always here.âÂ
âThanks Anakin. Iâll keep you posted and heâs in good hands, I promise Iâll take good care of him.â
âWell now, donât take care of him too well if you know what I mean, heâll become spoiled.â
Now he and the female voice were laughing. What were they insinuating?Â
âBye Anakin and Ashoka.â She spoke in a sing-song, teasing tone. She had a hunch of what they were getting at despite them supposedly being in the dark.Â
âBye Emily.â He teased her back.
The comlink disconnected.Â
Well there was no going back to sleep after that, she was awake now for sure.Â
She noticed that the chronometer in the bedroom read 8:30 A.M. as she took the towels off of him and put them in the hamper in the refresher. His bandages would need to be changed again but she didnât want to wake him up just for that yet, it could wait a while longer.Â
She made herself a cup of cinnamon tea but kept the pot boiling; heâd be awake soon and knew how he'd love a cup.Â
She had a blend that she had gotten from another healer in the Medical Wing that was specifically designed to help speed up the healing process as it was loaded with special vitamins and herbs.Â
She was sitting on her couch reading the morning news on her datapad when she heard the bed shift and squeak in her room.Â
âHe would try to get up by himself.â She huffed irritatedly, rising to her feet.Â
âNope; lay back down.â She commanded as she briskly walked back into her room.Â
He ignored her.Â
She placed her hands on his shoulders and gingerly forced him back on the pillows.Â
âThereâs nothing you need that I canât get for you.â She told him, sitting down on the side of the bed as she helped him settle himself.Â
He made a grumpy "hmph" sound as he fumbled with the covers.Â
âHow are you feeling?â She asked, touching his forehead. His skin felt the coolest it had since the event.Â
She took his face in her hands and titled it slightly in different directions to examine his nose. âYour nose has healed and isnât broken anymore, so thatâs good.âÂ
He sighed as he surrendered to her fussing.Â
âIâm fine, I just wanted to get up and stretch... you donât have to help me. I donât want to inconvenience you.âÂ
âNo, you need to stay put.âÂ
He put his head back on the pillow and huffed in annoyance again. If she hadn't been so angry with him from the night before, she would be amused with all the huffing he was doing. Like an annoyed Bantha calf who was being smothered by his mother.
His groggy voice brought her out of her daydream of a little Bantha calf taking a temper tantrum. âWhat was the horrid beeping noise this morning?â
As soon as he asked the question, a wave of recognition washed over him causing him to jolt forward and grab her hand despite the dull ache of pain in his side.Â
âTHE COMLINK! IâM LATE FOR A MISSION!â He tried to use her as leverage to get out of the bed but she stopped him.Â
âEasy killer, easy. They already called looking for you and I sent them off without you, you need your rest, plus you couldnât go in this condition if you wanted to.âÂ
He formed the same irritated expression that was on his face during their fight last night.Â
âYou answered my comlink? What was your excuse for having it? Where was I? What did you tell them? And that wasn't your call to make...âÂ
âSlow down and calm down. First off, I told Anakin that you were hurt because you did something very stupid in the Arena last night, which you did, and that you were too injured to show up today. I told him I had to take you back to my apartment to heal you and I was letting you sleep. And guess what, like the independent, big boy he is, Â Anakin wished you well and went on his mission with Ahsoka and the troops. I told him enough of the truth and surprisingly well it works well...when people listen.â She smiled a sarcastic smile.Â
He rolled his eyes and looked away from her. âHe has a big mouth, he probably found it amusing that you answered and now he wonât be able to keep his mouth shut about it; fantastic.â
âMmmmm I disagree. He was amused, thatâs for sure but I think you're making a bigger deal out of it than he did. Nothing incriminating happened last night, for once, and we can honestly abide by that story if we have to. Someoneâs bound to notice the damage in the Arena and the trail of blood that you dripped from the Arena to my apartment. â She folded her arms across her chest.Â
He shook his head and chose to move on and drop it. He was tired, sore, and still angry about the previous evening. Yet, one fight with Emily was enough for a lifetime, never mind two in less than 24 hours. As angry as he was, he didn't want to fight with her again if he could help it.Â
His hands felt the sheets on the bed that were still cold and wet.Â
Changing the subject, she scoffed at the annoyance of damp, cold sheets. âWhy is the bed all wet and cold?â
âYou were running a very high fever at various points in the night. I grabbed a bunch of towels and ice packs and threw them on you... I sat down to heal you and further bring it down too. Last I remember it was about 4 in the morning and I was blacking out from exhaustion.â
There was no emotion in her words. They were blank and matter-of-fact. Like he was just another patient again. She had kept up that demeanor since last night. Obi-Wan knew what she was doing; she was detaching herself from her emotions to not fight with him either.Â
His eyes snapped to hers, âYou had to heal me again?âŠ.." His mind started racing as he was now fully processing her words. You were able to hold out for that long after everything that happened last night? For almost two hours?â Unlike her, his expression and voice was full of emotion as he was starting to understand what it means when someone loves you.Â
âYup.â Short, sweet, and to the point was still her preferred method of speaking to him.Â
Before he could say anything else she got up from the bed. âI want you to drink a cup of tea, it's a special health blend from a friend whoâs a healer and will help you get better quicker, so no arguments. We can't have you hanging around in this bed forever." She spoke to him from over her shoulder as she left the room.Â
Leaning back against his pillow, he let out a long deep breath and blinked rapidly; he was misty-eyed. Thatâs three times now in 24 hours she saved his life or sacrificed herself or her well-being for him.Â
While he was still being a total jerk....an ass....completely terrible to her. Even though he could tell that she was insanely angry at him, she had done everything to save his life. He knew she still felt this way, if he extended himself, he could feel it in their bond and her in her Force signature.Â
âBecause thatâs what you do when you love someone you fool. You stand by them and take care of them through thick and thin....even when they do not deserve it."Â He stared at the ceiling.Â
Alright, enough now Kenobi. Be a man, when she comes back you need to use your words. You are always preaching to Anakin about patience, humility, and using your words. It's time to listen to your own teachings matter how difficult it is." â He spoke to himself, self-loathing brimming. However, this new experience did give him a new perspective on Anakin's Padawan years.Â
Emily came back shortly after his thoughts had settled with a steaming mug of the ruby-colored tea. âDrink.â She commanded as she handed it to him.Â
Normally, he liked tea and this one was very pleasing. Fruity, with a hint of spice; very flavorful. He took two large sips and could feel the warmness spreading through his body. It tingled as it flowed through him.Â
He closed his eyes, relishing in the relief it brought.Â
âWow, this stuff really works...I can feel it going through me, and I've only had two sips...â
âKeep going; finish the whole thing.â It was a pointed order from her.Â
He wanted to talk to her instead of focusing on the tea, that was more important to him. But if he knew her, she wouldnât let him do anything until the cup was finished.Â
He took the rest of it in large gulps that burned his throat, but he didnât care.Â
He placed the mug on her bedside table. Rising slightly and shifting his position to be more at eye level with her, he took her hands in his.Â
His touch caught her by surprise; and threatened to make her crack; allowing all the emotions she had been holding back to burst. She was still angry at him, figuring her curtness had communicated that. She had stuffed all of her emotions down and was being a âgood Jedi.âÂ
That is until he touched her and he looked at her with those eyes that made her heart stop beating, reminding her of a calm ocean after a rocky storm.Â
She tried to pull away from him, but he put up a gentle resistance, keeping her in place.Â
âPlease. Donât run from me.â Obi-Wan whispered to her. His glossy blue eyes looked at her seriously.Â
She could see the sadness in them and could feel it in his Force signature. His voice was soft and quiet as if he was afraid to use it.Â
âWhat is it? I'm sure whatever it is, it can wait, you need your rest.â Her voice was raspy and throaty. She shifted her eyes to his hands, if she looked at his face instead with those beautiful eyes, she was going to become emotional again and she was tired of crying. The rollercoaster of emotions had taken its toll on her.Â
Yet Obi-wan held fast. He moved so that he held both her hands in one of his, and used his other hand to lift her chin, ever so gently, so that their eyes met. âI owe you the biggest apology. EmilyâŠyou saved my life three times yesterday, and if you hadnât done it the first time, then you wouldnât have been able to do it the other two times. I was able to have that fight with you because you saved my life, and I chose to take the path of frustration, arrogance, and anger in the moments when I should have been thanking you and telling you how grateful I am to you; because I am grateful. I am so incredibly grateful...Throughout his childhood, I was always there for Anakin, but no one was there for me in that way....he was like Padawan, kid brother and son all mixed into one. I didn't know someone could love me that deeply to you...My Darling; sometimes I can't believe that someone loves me enough, let alone that you are that someone...that you love me enough to fight back for me like that, to push yourself to your brink more than once, for me.âÂ
Her lip started to quiver. Â
"I love you more than anything...but please, you have to understand why I am so angry with you....even if I shouldn't be. Please tell me you understand how you have not made yourself a target of that sick and vile human....the thought of him makes my skin crawl and my blood boil...I almost can't bear it..."Â
His eyes bore into hers as he gripped her hands tighter. "why Em? Why did you do that? He's going to harass and toy with you every opportunity he gets... His focus was on me and I was trying to keep it there..."Â
Emilyâs eyes were watering. â......He was hurting youâŠ.â The tears started falling rapidly as her breath came out erratic gasps.Â
That was it. It sounded so basic, so simple; but it was no less true. She would never let anyone hurt him if she could help it. It didn't matter that it was someone who was once a friend and fellow Jedi, but had now become a borderline vindictive and manipulative psychopath.Â
Obi-Wan softened. He couldn't stand to see her cry, and she had been doing so much of that lately.Â
 Leaning forward, he used his thumb to wipe away every tear that fell from her warm and gentle chocolate eyes.
As she attempted to control her breathing, He gave her that half-smile he was famous for.Â
 âIt seems as if someone is as protective of me as I am of them.âÂ
They chuckled together while he now held her face in his hands. His thumbs continued to dry her tears...the lightsaber-worn pads of his thumbs rubbed themselves soothingly into her skin.
âEmily, the thought of leaving you alone in life makes me worried sick. If I had died, my last thoughts would have been about you. How much I love you and how sick with regret and worry I would be that now I canât be there for you, that you would have been at his mercy in that moment ... I know what I did was wrong, I should have listened to you and denied his challenge.....Yet I donât regret fighting him, he needs to be stopped and I wanted it to be me who did it. Iâm sorry, Iâm still angry about what happened. I donât like what you did. Just as you had to witness your fears last night, one of mine is not being able to protect you; itâs who I am and I won't apologize for it. Now that you stepped in, you technically have to fight him to finish the challenge. Heâs not going to forget about that.âÂ
âIâm still upset too. If you hadnât accepted then none of this would have happened. I told you to just walk away, and everything would have been fine. I understand why youâre upset, that you donât want me to fight him because heâs unstable, but I couldnât let him hurt you, I just couldn't, I snapped. Iâm sorry, I was scared and angry. Then when you started yelling at me, between what Sorv did, Mual's visions, and what I saw during the fight, I just lashed out at you in anger, I said things I shouldnât have and Iâm sorry.âÂ
She removed his hands from her face and held them.Â
Obi-Wan returned the jester, holding her hands lovingly. âThen let's agree to disagree because we arenât going to get anywhere; we were both right and we were both wrong it sounds like. We had our reasons for the way we reacted. To be perfectly honest, I canât fight with you. It hurts me too much and itâs a waste of time because itâs not going to solve or change anything. Not only that, weâre allowing him to come between us, and I wonât allow that, not him. If weâre going to fight then let it be about something better than him. Iâm sorry I was horrible and rude. Thank you so much for being there for me. My Dear, I love you. If this situation comes up again, I pray Iâm around. Iâll let you do what you feel you have to do when the time comes because I do know you can handle yourself, but I will step in and end it if I have to; Iâm done with his games.â
She leaned forward and gently hugged him, mindful of his side. Her head was buried in the crook of his neck. He wrapped his arms around her and leaned back so that they were resting on the pillows.Â
âObi-Wan there isnât anything you canât protect me from. Youâve never failed me. The reason you failed last night was because you fought fair and he didnât. You aren't a monster like he is and I donât know if you ever could be, but thatâs why I love you and not him. I donât want you to be a monster. Yes, I agree. We did what we did, it is what it is and we have our reasons. If he comes back looking for another round, weâll go from there. But honestly, I donât know if I even accept his challenge, itâs not worth it. Heâs not right in his mind; Iâd rather involve the council sooner rather than later.â
She couldnât see his face, she was still buried in him. He raised his eyes to the heavens and thanked the Force she didnât feel the need to go after Sorv. He wouldn't stop her from accepting his challenge, because that would be the double standard that they argued about, but heâd absolutely go with her to the challenge. Knowing that she would have to fight that madman made him want to turn into a monster if it meant protecting her.
He placed a loving kiss into her hair. âWeâll go from here if it ever comes up again. We seem to have an understanding. For now, let's move on. My time with you is more precious and important than to waste it arguing about him and his foul games. I love you, I will always protect you, and stand by you. Always.âÂ
She lifted her head and kissed his lips. âWhy do you get to have the big mushy lines that quell my anger and suddenly Iâm in love with you all over again?â She was smiling.Â
âAh, because thatâs just it My Love. Iâm a stupid fool who is hopelessly and uncontrollably in love with you. And unfortunately for you, My Dear, you happen to love this fool back. I mean...Iâm irresistibly handsome and charming so you have no shot of resisting me and I get infinite chances at making you smile again.â He teased her.
He closed the distance and attempted to kiss her but she was laughing. He still kissed her anyway.Â
Emily giggled, turning into his advances, and easily found his lips.Â
âI donât know about infinite chances but you might be onto something with the charming and handsome part. And you're right. I do love you back. Sometimes Iâm scared at how much I love you back and maybe itâs okay that you know that.â His beard tickled her as snuggled back into him.Â
He held her close and rested his forehead against hers. The day had started with them being miles apart from one another even though they were under the same roof. Now, the distance was gone and their hearts were whole.Â
They lay there for the morning, drifting in and out of sleep, content to be next to one another.Â
By early afternoon she had changed his bandages. She ran to his apartment and grabbed him a new, clean tunic. They changed and dressed and went to speak to the Jedi Council.
 They gave their somewhat altered, slightly rehearsed statement of the story together, to Council. Rehearsed and altered only in the sense that they left out their argument and this morning's words of love; everything else was as exactly as it happened.
After they were dismissed, Jedi Master Sorv Deprov was escorted by two temple guards into the Jedi Council Chamber. Normally Obi-Wan sat on the council but given that he was involved in this matter, he was not allowed to sit as an active council member during Sorvâs questioning. Â
Master Derprov neither accepted or rebutted the charges against him as Master Windu repeated the accusations and Master Yoda questioned him for his side of the story..
 When the council spoke to him, the Jedi master in question simply just stared back at them, blankly; void of all emotion.Â
Luckily for Emily and Obi-Wan, their story matched up with the cracks in the Arena wall and the pool of blood on the ground, because Sorv, mysteriously, had not a scratch on him.
Given the fact that Sorv made no effort to defend himself or add any input to the story, and given his reputation for struggling with aggression, the Council unanimously ruled in Obi-Wan and Emilyâs favor.
Sorv was suspended from the field until further notice, temporarily stripped of his clone regiment until his sentence was served, and was confined to the Temple and its grounds. Additionally, he had to engage in group meditation with Master Yoda three times a week to gain control of his anger and emotions.Â
âI accept my sentence.â Was the only thing Sorv said during his questioning, the empty stair plastered to his face. His eyes were hollow, void of emotionâŠMaster Yoda thought that even rage would be acceptableâŠnormal for the master evenâŠbut emptiness ... the elder Jedi found that even more concerning.Â
âA closer eye I will keep on him, during the meditations, I will.â Yoda thought to himself as he watched the suspicious Jedi be escorted out of the chamber.
you turn to nanami, blinking once, twice, three times as you process what he's just said. arriving home after a ten-hour shift is draining, but of all people, you'd expect him to understand how draining work can be.
"you're telling me i work too hard? you, who hasn't taken a vacation day in three years?"
he rolls his eyes without any malice, gaze softening once they focus back on you.
"exactly. i'm an expert on the topic, so you need to listen when i tell you to take a break. it'll be good for you."
brow furrowing with confusion, you lean back against the plush cushion of his couch and mull it over.
"take a break ... how? i can't exactly quit."
"you could stay here for a while."
his statement is followed by several moments of weighted silence. through it all, he doesn't shift his gaze from your face, taking in every flicker of emotion that crosses it.
of course, you've stayed over here many times before, and he's stayed at yours as well. but the way he's asking now feels more ... formal. like he's inviting you in, like he wants you to feel like more than just a guest. like he needs this as much as you do. like your presence will be respite for him, somehow, through the long and unrelenting days.
"stay for how long?" comes your only question, delivered quietly and with more than a little hope.
"until the break is over," he mumbles fondly. "until you stop looking so tired. until it gets easier for me to watch you get out of my bed to go home in the mornings."
"so ... it could be a while?"
a soft, adoring grin spreads across his face, one that reaches the corners of his eyes and makes you smile in return.
a/n: Adding on to highschool delulu Gojo based off a tiktok I saw
After a tiring day of exorcising curses, you, Gojo, Geto, and Shoko are on the train back to Jujutsu Tech. All of you are exhausted and are sitting in comfortable silence side by side.
Gojo's on your right, seated at the very end of the seats with you beside him; Shoko is on your left, followed by Geto. Gojo and Shoko are on their phones while you and Geto are asleep. When the train comes to a halt, your head sways a bit before laying on Shoko's shoulder, and soon after, a flood of passengers board the train. Mostly students and adults who are just done with club activities or work.
Gojo sees your head laying comfortably on Shoko's shoulder and immediately gets jealous, so he quickly shifts you from her shoulder to his. You wake up a bit, but Gojo quickly pats you with his arm that's slung around you in a comforting manner and tells you in a sweet voice to go back to sleep.
Shoko looks up from her phone and rolls her eyes, telling him how childish he is. Gojo squints his eyes and sticks his tongue out at her before hugging you closer to him and continuing to scroll on his phone.
A group of high schoolers sees this and giggle to themselves at Gojo's behavior. Shoko chuckles to herself and wonders if only they really knew how much more he's truly obsessed with you.
cozy boyfriend satoru who uses you as his body pillow. who wraps his long arms around your waist and squishes his cheek against your shoulder. who nuzzles his nose into your neck, and softly breathes against your skin as he falls asleep.
your arm is feeling tingly, but you donât want to disturb him. he looks so soft when heâs relaxed, you completely forget that heâs the strongest being in existence. it gives you a chance to play with his feathery hair, to slowly twirl the angelic locks between your fingers. to trace the shell of his ear, and tenderly massage the back of his neck.
you canât help but smile, holding in a giggle as you bite your bottom lip. itâs cute when he wakes up - eyes heavy, and he pouts innocently in your direction when he gazes up at you from underneath frosty lashes to ask: âwhatâs so funny?â
heâs too adorable, too cute for his own good - you canât help but kiss the top of his head and squeeze his frame thatâs snuggled right up into you. your touch gently lulling him back to sleep đ„șđ„șđ„șđ„ș
Pussydrunk Nanami who comes back from a stressful mission and finds his pretty girlfriend sleeping on the bed in his shirt. He undoes his tie, and his jacket and blouse hit the floor in no time. Kento gently hovers over you, planting gentle kisses on your neck eventually moving down to your neck and collarbone. His cold fingertips slip past the shirt, rubbing the warm flesh of your stomach and hips softly. "Baby..." He kisses up to your ear, nibbling on it, his voice thick with lust. When you don't wake up, he lifts up the shirt over your breasts, leaning in, Kento takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on it. Your mouth parts slightly, and your breathing gets heavier. Moving onto the other nipple, he spreads your legs, his erection brushing directly at your clothed pussy, that's when a quiet moan escapes your lips, your eyes open. "There you are..." Nanami moves on, kissing down your stomach all the way to your inner thighs, your legs spread allowing him to go further. Your hands fly to his blonde hair, running through it as he bites into your inner thighs, leaving small marks in his wake. His eyes look up at you as he slides your panties down your legs, he didn't even take his glasses off. Without another word, he starts to lap on your pussy, flicking his tongue on your wet folds. Your hips buck, a loud whimper follows. His fingers dig into your thighs, his mouth working magic on you. Kento continues to assault your cunt, alternating licking and sucking your clit and teasing your entrance with your finger. "You taste amazing, baby." He grunts against your wet folds. Nanami hated working overtime but he loved coming home go you and waking you up like this...
-> a/n: just some unedited selfship coded shenans with my husband hehe :3
âI donât like you anymore.â
âWhat?â
âYou heard me. I donât like you.â
Kurooâs expression scrunches in bewilderment when you shrug off his arms, his confusion evident in the deep wrinkle between his brows and the curl of his lips.You have your back to him so you canât see his soured face but you can imagine what it must look like as you rinse off another soapy glass under the hot water.
âWhy?â
âYou know why.â
âI donât.â
âFigure it out then,â you sigh, turning off the tap and towelling your hands dry before skirting around him to get to the living room, where you promptly plop down on the sofa. Kuroo trails after you like a lost kitten, mentally trying to figure what exactly youâre trying to get at. He replays his day in his mind. He woke up, got ready for work, kissed you goodbye before leaving for the office and then came home 9 hours later and made a beeline for the shower before sitting for dinner with you and-
Oh shit.
âBaby, are you mad?â he asks, tentatively taking a seat beside you, to which you respond by shuffling away.Â
âNo. I just donât like you.â
âBut you love me, donât you?â
You nod, a quick yet hesitant jerk of your chin. âI do. Just donât like you very much.â
âIs it because I didnât give you a kiss when I got home?â Slowly, he shifts closer to you, biting back a smile when you twist your head to look firmly away from him.
âYou didnât even say hello to me,â you sniff.
âAw, baby,â he coos gently, placing his hand on your forearm. But you snatch it away and huff loudly.Â
âDonât âaw babyâ me! Youâre so rude and insensitive and- and- god! Youâre such a dickhead!â
If this was a serious argument, Kuroo would be hurt by your words but right now, heâs rather amused by your cute reaction. So he tries again, twisting you in his direction with a firm grip around your waist that you donât resist, and heâs presented with a deep, grumpy scowl - itâs such an adorable look on you.Â
âDid someone miss me?â he teases lightly, pinching at the apple of your cheek before you wrench your head back in annoyance.Â
âNo,â you lie. âWhy would I miss a horrible man like you?â
He gasps dramatically and tugs you closer until your thighs are touching. âThatâs not very nice.â
âYouâre not very nice.â
âWell, I missed you an awful lot,â he says, nuzzling his face into your neck even as you try to halfheartedly squirm away.Â
âYouâve got a funny way of showing it!â
âI also had a very long, exhausting day. Things slip my mind sometimes.â
âOh, so Iâm just a thing, am I?!â
âBaby,â he whines, dragging the word out. âIâm sorry, okay? I didnât mean to ignore you like that.â
âHmph!â You pout and turn your face away from him again, even though heâs got you trapped in the circle of his arms. With a sigh, he lifts you bodily and plops you in his lap so that you have no choice but to look at him as he presses you close to his chest.
âLet me make it up to you,â he says, leaning in for a kiss, but youâre stubborn as ever and tip backwards and out of reach.
âNo!âÂ
âWhy not?â
âCos I donât like you!â
Kuroo readjusts his grip and follows you down, curving his body over yours until he can flutter tiny, feathery kisses over your collarbone. His soft lips and hair tickle your skin and you canât hold back the giggle thatâs bubbling in your chest at the sensation. The first burst of laughter makes him grin. âGotcha.â
From there, he pitches forward a little more and simultaneously pulls you towards him with a hand splayed between your shoulder blades so that he can steal a kiss from your lips. You donât stand a chance when his mouth brushes yours, melting into him instantly as your arms loop around his neck to pull him closer. Kuroo kisses you until youâre thoroughly breathless and just a little bit dizzy from how his tongue roves your mouth. When he pulls back, thereâs a dopey little smile on your face and your lips are plump and shining. He kisses the corner of your mouth and noses at your cheek with a smirk.
âBetter?â You hum and nod, wriggling closer to him. âAm I forgiven?â
âYeah,â you sigh and he chuckles as you rest your head on his shoulder.Â
