nana

21 years old 🫦

[honeysweetbearr]

PHOTOBOOTH

f. megumi x reader wc: 393 cw: nonchalant gumi(not really, idk), cutesy fluff, a kiss, lmk if i missed anything!

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The photobooth was stuffy. Megumi was only doing this for your satisfaction (and because he loved the way your eyes lit up when he agreed). “Can you hurry? I don’t fit in here.” He watched as you adjusted the photobooth settings, a concentrated look on your face.

“Shh, you fit just fine!” Plus, you were in his lap, so he literally had all of the seat to himself. After jamming four quarters into the coin slot, you turned your head to look at your boyfriend, “Smile, Megumi.”

He wanted to be nonchalant so badly, but you knew exactly how to crack him. His lips tugged up in the slightest grin, which was just enough to make you feel giddy. You looked back at the camera and pressed the button to start the pictures.

Large numbers counting down flashed on the screen. When it came down to number one, both of you smiled and let the machine do its job. When the first picture registered, you couldn’t help but giggle, “Okay, okay… do a heart pose with me.”

He knew you were serious, and it was hopeless to argue. He lifted his right hand to finish your heart, staring at you when the camera flashed. “Aww, that one’s so cute! Two more, what should we do?”

Megumi shrugged, “A kiss?” His arms looped around your waist, holding you close. You agreed and pressed your lips onto his, waiting for the camera to take the picture before pulling away. His cheeks were burning up, and the photobooth wasn’t helping.

Megumi rested his chin on your shoulder, burying his face into the crook of your neck. You smiled, knowing he was feeling shy about the whole situation. “One last one, Megs…” Your boyfriend lifted his head, still resting against your shoulder as he looked into the camera.

The camera took the shot, you in his lap while he held you close. A few seconds later, two strips of pictures came out of the photobooth. “One for you, one for me!”

He took the strip of pictures, admiring them as if they were newly discovered treasures. He smiled, knowing exactly where he would put these up in his room. He loves when you force him to do these kinds of things because, at the end, the results always made him so happy. So happy to have you.

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mar's note: kinda sloppy and rushed</3... but after watching the episodes that dropped today, i had to write for him!

Ი︵𐑼. ©𝗵𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘆𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗲𝘁𝗯𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗿 𝟬𝟭.𝟬𝟴.𝟮𝟲

[someonealreadyhadmynickname]

"the interview" Was this your first fanfic posted here? It's so cute and enjoyable to read 😭 I hope you'll come back whenever you can!! Please!!

Hi! It is! Most I had written for tumblr were headcanons, and for a long time I wanted to post fanfics. Since English isn't my first language, I had tons of drafts that never saw the light of day because I didn't feel confident. But then I opened my ellipsus after almost a year of abandoning it, and I thought "hey, this isn't bad!"

I am excited to keep working on projects I had left abandoned! Thank you for taking the time to send an ask. It helped a lot encouraging me to keep posting! I hope I can upload another Levi work soon

[someonealreadyhadmynickname]

the interview

pairing: levi ackerman x reader

You decide to check your backpack one last time before knocking on the door. Your books, the flashcards, several messy sheets with class notes… Unsurprisingly, the contents remain the same as the last time you looked. Your hand trembles as you feel around the bag, not knowing what you are looking for.

God, Levi is going to think you are a weirdo. Who gets this nervous for a quick study session? You even arrived fifteen minutes early. Wait, is that too much? Maybe you should wait outside for a bit.

He talks on rare occasion. During the first weeks, you were sure he was there for easy credits. But the first time you heard him answer a question you became speechless. Even the teacher's mouth opened a bit. Every word that comes out of his mouth has an intention. Unlike your classmates, he doesn't talk if he doesn't have a point to make. It is embarrassing to admit, but every time you raise your hand during a lecture, you hope Levi is looking at you.

You wanted to think you had left a good impression. Why would he ask for your help if not? That's why the idea of fumbling this terrified you. Once he got to know you, would he still believe you were clever?

Even the way you knock fills you with doubt. Are three knocks okay? Were they too soft? Is it too soon to knock again, harder this time?

A redhead opens the door. She has to be younger than you, she still has those chubby cheeks all highschoolers have.

"Oh! Sorry, I guess I got the wrong address… Does Levi Ackerman live here?"

The girl's face, neutral until that point, shifts immediately into a pout. She raises an eyebrow before staring at you. She doesn't try to hide her intent. Her gaze goes from your feet to your head and then lowers again, examining you.

"My brother had to leave for a few minutes," she gives you a toothy grin as if she hadn't scanned you seconds ago, "come in. You can wait in the living room."

You thank her and walk in. Levi never mentioned a younger sister. Although, you two never talked outside the classroom. Even if you had seen them together, this girl looks nothing like him. With those round, shiny eyes and red hair.

"So…" she elongates the 'o', swinging her body as you sit on the sofa, "would you like something to drink? What's your beverage of choice, water, juice… do you like tea?"

Trying to be polite, you ask for a glass of water.

"You don't like tea?"

"Ah! Yes, I do," You raise your hands in defense. Why do you feel so jumpy in the presence of this girl? Thinking the reason she insists is because she has tea prepared, you ask for some. And yet, she leaves the room saying something about putting the kettle on.

You can hear her dropping stuff from the other room. She yells way too loud something along the lines of "sorry, just looking for something!" and you wonder why would she say something like that. It takes her less than three minutes to literally run back to the living room. Before addressing you once more, she looks at the stairs. You follow her gaze but almost immediately turn back to her as she talks again.

"Are you and Levi friends?"

"No, we only share this developmental psychology class." You try to be nice once again. Smiling at her, you attempt to make this interaction more of a conversation rather than a rapid fire of questions. "Are you in high school?"

"Yes. Is Levi helping you study?" The girl isn't mean about it, but she changes topic immediately.

"Actually, he asked me for help…"

Her eyes widen. Finally quiet for a moment. "In psychology?" After an uncomfortable silence, she nods to herself slowly, "so he needed help, with psychology, and asked you to come..." As she speaks, a terrifying smile creeps into her face.

Levi's sister takes a seat in front of you, placing her elbows on top of her legs and laying her head on her hands.

"What's your name?"

"Do you own a car?"

"Where are you from?"

"What do you think of Levi?"

"How often do you clean the bathroom?"

"Do you like animals?"

"Do animals like you? They have great instincts, you know?"

As you keep answering her questions, you start to relax. Is like you are having a chat with one of the children you've worked with as a nanny before. This girl means no harm, even if some might find her behaviour rude. In a way, her energy is endearing.

Once again, you try to shift the conversation.

"You seem to really like animals. Do you own a pet?"

The stranger throws herself on the couch, her arms and legs limp as her eyes roll.

"Levi says we can't get one because we don't have a backyard. Not even a small one!"

"Not even a hamster?"

"I tried to sneak in a guinea pig once. But he was too loud, my older brother found out immediately. He helped me build a birdhouse but it's no the same…"

Your laugh fills the room. The image of Levi finding a guinea pig hiding in his house is too peculiar. He has such an emotionless stare it is difficult picturing him surprised.

"Hey, sometimes I walk my neighbor's dogs on the weekends. You can join me if you'd like," her body straightens, sitting on the couch. "I think you'll like them. They are huge, almost as tall as me when standing on their hind legs."

"Really?!"

"Yeah! Sometimes they drag me all the way to the park. It'd be good to have someone so energetic around to help me."

As her rambling fades, she tilts her head with a small smile on her face.

"You are actually very pretty."

You accept her compliment, about to tell her she is pretty too, but she cuts you immediately.

"So what's your body count?"

"What are you doing, Isabel?"

The intruder's voice makes your bodies jerk toward the stairs, where Levi stands.

"Oh! Are you back already?" Your eyes move to the front door. Where you too focused on the conversation that you didn't hear him coming in? Could there be a backdoor?

"Back? From where?"

The girl, whose name now you know is Isabel, seems to asses the situation way faster than you. She gets up. Her lips pressing into a line.

"I was sure you weren't home, big brother. I was waiting for you with your classmate." Isabel scratches her head, laughing with a carefulness that seemed out of character.

Levi seems to understand something, but you are not sure about what. "What are you doing?" He repeats his question but his words seem to carry a new intention, the corner of his eyes wrinkling.

"I was preparing tea for her!" Your impromptu host helps you get up (although a better way to describe it would be yanks you from the couch). You stumble a little as she grabs your backpack and places it in your arms. "I'll bring you a cup too. You should start studying. Don't waste [Name]'s time."

Your study partner remains silent. He doesn't say or do something, his face doesn't even change but you can feel the air shifting. Why do you feel intimidated?

As you two walk upstairs, you fail to notice how Isabel takes a peak from the kitchen, mouthing "I like her" when her brother briefly turns his head.

notes: If you wrote something months ago, and felt it was trash, I strongly encourage you to read it again. I hand't touch this draft in a year, and when I read it I liked it a lot haha. Then got doubts again about publishing because I didn't know how to decorate the blog lol. I hope to write more this year. :] please encourage me to keep realeasing these

[dreemmachine]

just my humble attempt at raging against the machine

[dreemmachine]

i made a follow up! if this blows up, pls remember it is illegal to be mean to me. and i am a small artist you can give money to btw ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

the physical media depicted: lucky leaves by krill, worry by jeff rosenstock, self titled by babytooth. i love to tiny doodle album covers :)

[kthologue]

that girl — gojo satoru

synopsis. gojo is hopelessly obsessed with the girl he secretly chose to marry—who has no idea he’s been in love with her for years.

notes. new series alert! it will be another collection of oneshots of high school gojo pining over his childhood crush who has been oblivious to it all :)

series masterlist

“Who’s that girl on your homescreen? Is that a new model?”

“Nah.”

Suguru frowns. That’s weird. Normally, Satoru Gojo would happily elaborate, brag, and maybe even pull up her entire gravure catalogue. But this time, Suguru got nothing but a clipped response and a flicker of something almost… shy.

So of course, Suguru grins. “She’s cute. What’s her name?”

Immediately, Satoru tilts his phone away, thumb locking the screen like it’s classified. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Shoko perks up instantly from her desk, cigarette forgotten between her fingers. “Wait, you’re hiding your phone? Since when?” Her lips twitch. “What, Gojo finally caught feelings?”

“I don’t ‘catch feelings,’” Satoru says, nose scrunching as he waves her off. “It’s the other way around. I’m immune to that kind of stuff.”

“You’re blushing,” Suguru notes, deadpan.

“I’m not blushing,” Satoru shoots back, face tinted pink.

“Oh, he totally is.” Shoko smirks, attempting to peer at his screen. “Who is she?”

“It’s no one,” he says too fast and all too defensive.

Shoko leans back, exhaling a lazy puff of smoke. “So you’ve got a secret crush.”

Suguru grins. “I’ve never seen you like this before. What’s she got that the rest of the world doesn’t?”

Satoru’s grin falters for just a second, and that’s when they know they’ve hit something real. He’s not entirely joking. 

“She’s… something,” he admits quietly enough that it almost doesn’t sound like him. “You’ll meet her soon.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow. “Oh? She exists?”

“Yup. Very real. In fact, you’re gonna be seeing her at Jujutsu Tech soon.”

That makes both of them look up.

“Wait—she’s a sorcerer?” Shoko asks, blinking.

Satoru nods. “Starting as a first-year next semester.”

“So she’s a student too,” Suguru says slowly. “You’re into a first-year?”

“Relax,” Gojo sighs. “She’s only one year younger than me.”

Shoko stares. “Still weird.”

But he only laughs, leaning back against the wall, expression softening in a way that neither of them has ever seen before. “She’s not just anyone. I’ve known about her for a long time.”

Suguru tilts his head. “Known her? Or watched her from afar and set her as your wallpaper like a pervert?”

Satoru smirks, though the tips of his ears redden. “You could say I… kept an eye on her.”

“Kept an eye?” Shoko repeats, incredulous. “Gojo, what are you—”

He cuts her off by standing, sliding his hands into his pockets like the smug idiot he usually is, only now there’s something almost giddy underneath. “You’ll find out soon enough. I’ve been serious about her since I was a kid.”

That gets their attention. Both of them stare.

“...What?” Shoko says flatly.

“Yeah,” Satoru says, stretching his arms over his head like it’s no big deal. “The clan wanted to set up an arranged marriage, right? I told them I’d handle it myself.”

Suguru blinks. “Wait. You picked her?”

Gojo’s grin widens. “Mhm.”

“You’re telling me,” Shoko says slowly, pointing at him, “that the Gojo clan gave you the right to choose your fiancée… and you used it to pick a girl you’ve been secretly obsessed with since childhood?”

“‘Obsessed’ is a strong word,” he says breezily. “I prefer destined.”

Suguru pulls a face. “You’re unbelievable. Does she even know you?”

“Is that really important?” Gojo asks cheerfully, ignoring them. “Can’t wait for you to meet her. Though, fair warning—she’s a little shy.”

"Maybe because she doesn't know you?" Suguru mutters.

Shoko stares at him. “Gojo, that’s insane.”

He just hums, turning toward the door, that smug little smile never leaving his lips.

“Maybe,” he says, stepping out into the hall whilst laughing to himself, leaving Suguru and Shoko in stunned silence, somewhere between disbelief and secondhand embarrassment.

[kthologue]

the prophecy — gojo satoru

synopsis. the time you found out that gojo satoru was fine with devoting his life to you.

contents. fluff, angst, somewhat established relationship, ooc, an unhealthy amount of yearning, clan politics (3.6k words of it), highschool!gojo

notes. a commission for the lovely @borntoexplore11-blog ! enjoy!

Gojo Satoru’s life began as a prophecy. Before he could speak, the elders of the Gojo clan had already written the script of his existence. Every precise hours he would train, the techniques that would mold his hands into weapons, the meals that would balance his cursed energy—each carefully curated. From the moment his six eyes opened, the world bowed and whispered: the one will change everything. 

For sixteen years, the plan held. His days were filled with relentless regimens. The elders spoke of him as though he were a divine tool of arithmetic. He was the balance restored to the fragile scale of the jujutsu world.

So when he asked, politely at first, then with the ease of someone who had never been denied to attend Jujutsu Tech in Tokyo, the elders hesitated. They calculated the risk. And then, perhaps believing that even a god-child needed the illusion of choice, they relented.

It was the first and greatest mistake they ever made.

At Jujutsu Tech, you entered his life. And in a twisted stroke of fate, you became a disruption to a millenia-old prophecy. You were unremarkable in the way that comforted him: a second-grade sorcerer in training, still learning how to steady your cursed energy when emotion surged too high. You laughed too loudly, you cursed under your breath when your weapon splintered, and you never once treated him like the myth he had been raised to be.

And for the first time, Gojo Satoru felt the world tilt off its axis.

Geto Suguru noticed it before anyone else. “You’re staring again,” he said one afternoon, sun filtering through the practice yard trees. Gojo didn’t look away. You were sparring against Nanami, breathless but determined, sweat beading at your temple as your weapon rang against his.

“I’m analyzing technique,” Gojo replied, too quickly.

“Is that what they’re calling it now?” Geto murmured.

Shoko Ieiri only snorted from where she lounged nearby, cigarette between her fingers. “It’s cute, really. Watching you pathetically try to flirt by pretending to correct [Name]’s form.”

Gojo ignored them both, though the tips of his ears burned beneath his white hair. You had turned then, mid-bout, meeting his poorly hidden gaze with a look that dared him to comment. And something in his chest, bursted.

From that day, nothing the elders planned for him quite fit anymore. His focus faltered. He started to skip evening meditations, trading them for rooftop conversations with you, where the Tokyo skyline flickered like static beneath your feet. Sometimes Geto joined, lying back against the cool concrete, eyes tracing constellations that didn’t exist. Other times, Nanami and Haibara stopped by with convenience store snacks, their laughter filling the night.

He told himself he could keep it separate. He could be the clan’s weapon by day and your quiet admirer by night. But the heart has its own logic, and when you smiled at him, when you said his name without reverence or fear, the universe narrowed to the sound of your voice.

The elders noticed. 

It began subtly; through missions reassigned and quiet reprimands delivered through proxies. But when none of it severed the bond between you, they resorted to something crueler.

The letter arrived that morning, heavy parchment stamped with the Gojo crest, the seal pressed deeply. He broke it open without ceremony, eyes flicking over the neat calligraphy, the words threaded with the measured coldness of his clan.

You are to recall your attention to your studies and to the matters befitting your station. Attachment breeds recklessness, and recklessness unbecomes the Six Eyes. You are reminded that sentiment clouds judgment. Do not stray.

He read it twice, then folded it once, cleanly, and dropped it into the nearest waste bin without looking.

The window before him glowed faintly with the early light of spring, sunlight tangled in the branches outside, dust rising like pollen in the air. For a moment, he simply stood there, hands in his pockets, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth at the disbelief that those fools still thought their words could cage him.

And then he saw you.

You were sitting beneath one of the courtyard trees, legs crossed, sunlight spilling across your shoulders. A stack of mission reports rested in your lap, and Shoko’s old lab coat hung off you like an afterthought, sleeves too long, collar smudged with ink.

Gojo stepped outside, the faint crunch of gravel beneath his feet making you glance up.

“You look suspiciously domestic,” he said, coming to a stop in front of you. “Should I be worried you’ve gone soft on me?”

You looked up, squinting against the light, and gave him a half-smile. “Should I be worried you’ve been watching me long enough to make that observation?”

He tilted his head, feigning thought. “Probably. Though in my defense, you’re hard to ignore.”

“Flattery before noon,” you mused, flipping a page. “That’s new.”

“I got a letter today,” he said, ignoring your jab. “From home.”

You didn’t look up this time. “Ah. Let me guess something heartfelt about filial duty?”

His grin sharpened. “Something like that. They think I should stop… straying.”

“From what? Humanity?”

“From propriety.” He crouched beside you, elbows resting on his knees. “Apparently, I’ve been distracted.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And are you?”

He leaned closer, so close you could see the faint silver ring in his lashes, the soft rise of amusement in his cheeks. “Constantly.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You’re radiant,” he countered without hesitation. “Also, I heard a rumor.”

“Oh?”

“Something about a promotion.”

You blinked, then looked away, pretending to fuss with the stack of papers. “It’s not official yet. I still have to complete one more mission.”

He reached out, plucked the top sheet from your lap, and scanned it briefly. “Second-grade sorcerer. Look at you. Climbing ranks while I’m out here ignoring family correspondence.”

You tried to hide your grin. “Someone has to make this school look respectable.”

“Respectable is overrated,” he said lightly, still holding the paper. “Besides, second grade suits you. You’ve always been a little too brave for the lower ones.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “That almost sounds like approval.”

“I wasn’t aware you needed it.”

“I don’t,” you said. “But it’s nice to know you’re watching.”

His gaze lingered, too long to be casual. “That’s the problem,” he murmured. “I can’t seem to stop.”

The warmth in his tone startled you. There was none of that teasing lilt in his voice. You met his gaze, and for a moment neither of you spoke. The breeze shifted, brushing loose strands of hair against your face; he reached out and tucked one behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a little too long. His thumb brushed the curve of your jaw, a touch both casual and reverent.

“I read once,” he said quietly, “that love is the one thing that makes gods mortal.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t love,” you whispered.

He laughed softly, eyes bright, voice all sunlight and defiance. “Too late.”

The words hung between you like a vow, or maybe a curse.

Your promotion to second-grade sorcerer should have been a celebration. Shoko smuggled sake from the common lounge, Geto toasted to “mediocre achievements for once,” and even Nanami, ever serious, cracked a smile. Gojo had stood beside you, the ghost of pride in his grin, already planning some extravagant gift he’d never admit to buying himself.

So when the summons arrived the next morning, a solo mission in a decaying Tokyo ward, you took it with naïve eagerness. You wanted to prove yourself. 

Satoru, ever clingy, had begged to go with you, his usual arrogance stripped raw by something perilously close to fear. “You just got promoted,” he said. “Let me come, I’ll stay quiet, I promise.”

You’d laughed. “You? Quiet?”

“I can be subtle.”

“You’re literally wearing Gucci sunglasses. I’m sure even your underwear is designer.”

Gojo blushes at your comment.

“Have you been imagining me in nothing in my underwear?” He splutters. “How scandalous!”

But beneath the teasing, you’d seen the unease flickering in his smile. He had learned, in the way animals sense storms, that something about the mission rank of suspicion. Yet you went anyway, convinced you had to.

And so you walked into the dark alone.

The building loomed half-devoured by shadow, its walls veined with cracks, and the windows were boarded shut from the inside.

You deduced that it wasn’t to keep intruders out, but to trap something in. The air itself was foul with cursed residue, thick enough to sting your throat. It shouldn’t have been this strong. Not for a second-grade assignment.

You’d been briefed on a lingering curse. It was supposed to be low-threat, mere cleanup work. Yet the moment you crossed the threshold, the energy pressed against your lungs like a living hand. It spasmed, fluctuating in rhythm with your heartbeat.

Something was terribly wrong.

At first, you thought it was fear tightening your chest. Then the cursed energy shifted. Something was watching you.

That wasn’t possible. Curses of this level didn’t think. They didn’t wait in silence, gauging your steps. They didn’t whisper your name through the static of the walls.

They sent you here to die, it breathed, a voice coiling through the plaster, vibrating through your bones. You wanted to call it a trick of your nerves, but deep down, you knew the truth. Someone had signed your mission report knowing exactly what you’d walk into.

The curse struck before the thought could finish forming.

The impact caved the air out of your chest, ribs splintering with the sound of snapping branches. You flew backward, crashing through a wall that crumbled on contact. The dust hadn’t even settled before it was on you again, a distorted shape, too vast for the room, its laughter wet and jagged.

You staggered to your feet, pain flashing white behind your eyes. Your cursed tool flared in your grip.

“Special grade,” you rasped. The words tasted like disbelief.

You swung. Metal met flesh that wasn’t flesh. Sparks scattered as its claws raked against your weapon. The sound was unbearable, scraping metal screaming in the air, your own pulse roaring in your ears. Every block was a desperate attempt at survival, and every strike was a prayer for one more second.

Your cursed energy buckled. You moved on instinct alone, carving through the dark, your breaths sharp and shallow.

Then, somehow there was a break. An opening.

You drove your blade upward, pouring everything you had left into one final strike. Light erupted. The curse split apart with a shriek that shook the walls, its form dissolving into smoke and ash.

Silence followed. A silence so complete it felt sacred.

You swayed where you stood. The weapon slipped from your fingers.

The realization came as the pain did: slow and inevitable.

You weren’t supposed to survive this. Someone had made sure of it.

And as the world tilted, as blood filled your mouth and the ceiling split into spinning fragments of dark and light, you understood what that whisper had meant.

You were never meant to win.

Gojo had never felt dread before. Not once. Not when a curse lunged for him as a child. Not when his life was threatened by assailants. He had always been untouchable, an orbiting god among mortals, unscarred by fear.

Until that moment.

He’d been in the courtyard with Geto, sunlight slanting through the branches, when the auxiliary manager stumbled through the gates, knees buckling with a weight that wasn’t theirs.

Your weight.

Your body hung in their arms, limp and blood-slick, your uniform torn and blackened by cursed energy burns.

Geto froze, his easy smile slipping into something unrecognizable.

Gojo turned.

The world slowed, sound folding inward, color leaching from the edges of sight. He didn’t even remember crossing the distance. One moment he was standing in the courtyard, the next he was there, eyes uncovered, blue and bottomless.

The manager stammered, voice cracking. “It was a-a misclassification. It was supposed to be Grade 2, but—”

But Gojo wasn’t listening. His gaze was fixed on you.

Your chest rose once. Barely.

The Infinity trembled around him. The grass flattened outward in concentric rings, as if even space itself recoiled from his grief.

“[Name],” he breathed. The sound came apart in his throat.

He reached for you, hands shaking despite himself. The strongest sorcerer in the world, and he was afraid to touch you, afraid that if he did, you’d turn to dust in his palms.

Shoko appeared at the edge of his vision, sprinting from the walkway, cigarette gone, eyes wide. “Move!” she barked, cursed energy already igniting in her hands.

But Gojo didn’t wait. Space folded with a soundless ripple, and suddenly they were in the infirmary, light snapping back into place around them.

“Stop— stop warping the field!” Shoko shouted, shoving him back. “You’ll kill them faster than I can save them!”

Her words hit like a slap. He went still, fists trembling at his sides, blue eyes flickering with barely contained violence. The Infinity hummed between breaths, distorting the edges of the room.

Shoko’s reverse cursed energy glowed white-hot against your wounds. “Don’t do this to yourself,” she muttered, voice tight. “Not here. Not now.”

Minutes passed like lifetimes.

When Nanami and Haibara arrived to the infirmary, they stopped dead at the threshold.

“We heard the mission report,” Nanami said quietly. “They knew, didn’t they? They sent a second-grade sorcerer on a special-grade mission.”

Gojo didn’t answer. The silence around him was a living thing.

Finally, Shoko spoke, eyes still on her work. “She’ll live,” she said.

Gojo exhaled, not relief, not quite. The sound was low and dangerous, the air itself vibrating with it.

“Who signed the mission order?”

“Don’t,” Shoko said, glancing up. “Satoru—”

“Who?”

No one spoke. They didn’t have to. The truth hung heavy in the air.

Hours bled away before anyone moved. The storm of cursed energy had long since stilled; the compound slept uneasily, pretending peace.

Gojo didn’t.

He sat by your bedside, still, his white hair limned in moonlight. The usual brightness in him: the smirk, the drawl, the infuriating ease had been stripped bare, leaving only silence. His glasses lay discarded on the nightstand beside him, useless in aiding his headache. Without it, his eyes looked almost human in the dim light, though the blue still burned faintly beneath exhaustion.

When your breathing evened, he exhaled for the first time in hours.

You stirred, lashes fluttering.

Gojo sat up immediately.

“H-how long was I out for?” Your voice was hoarse.

“Long enough,” he murmured. The words were soft, but something inside them was fractured.

He didn’t waste time with comfort. He told you everything, from the falsified intel to the mission order forged under another name. Each fact fell like a blade between you, deliberate and slow.

“They thought hurting you would remind me who I serve,” he said finally. His tone was calm, too calm. The kind of calm that sits at the edge of catastrophe.

You swallowed. “Satoru—”

“I would’ve destroyed them.” His voice didn’t rise, but the air seemed to tighten around him. “If Shoko hadn’t stopped me, there’d be nothing left of this compound but glass and ash.”

His hand rested near yours on the sheets. When you reached for it, his fingers twitched, hesitating, then giving in. He didn’t squeeze back, but he didn’t pull away either.

“I still can,” he looks at you earnestly. “Just say the word, and—”

“You can’t fight your own clan,” you whispered.

A sound slipped from him. A hollow laugh. “We’ll see.”

Silence bloomed again. You could feel the Infinity stir faintly, like something restless in his pulse.

He looked down at you, studying the faint tremor in your fingers, the half-healed wounds Shoko had left bandaged in glowing threads. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I could’ve kept playing their game. The obedient weapon, the heir they wanted. I could’ve done it forever.”

Your throat ached. “Then why not?”

He met your gaze. For a moment, you saw what the world saw, infinity reflected in two blue irises, so vast and merciless. But then the edges softened.

“Because then you smiled at me,” he said quietly. “And suddenly, everything they built stopped making sense unless you were in it.”

The words hung there, fragile and irreversible.

“You’ll get yourself killed for me one day,” you said, voice barely audible.

His lips quirked upward. “Then I’ll make sure it’s spectacular.”

You wanted to tell him not to. That the world wasn’t his to burn, no matter how much it deserved to be. But the words never came. His trembling hand brushed your cheek lightly, and the Infinity faltered. The distance between you disappeared.

Gojo Satoru, the untouchable, the invincible, sat before you like a man on the verge of breaking.

And you realized, with a kind of terrible clarity, that whatever they’d tried to destroy between you, whatever fragile thing had taken root in defiance of fate, had only made him more dangerous.

Outside, Tokyo slept under the indifferent stars. Inside, the strongest sorcerer in the world watched you breathe, and somewhere deep within the Gojo estate, a thousand-year-old clan began to understand the cost of birthing a god who had learned how to love.

The days after bled together. Morning light slipped through the infirmary windows, pale blue to gray, gray to soft gold, but inside, time felt suspended.

Shoko was always there, cigarette tucked behind one ear, coffee cup balanced on a stack of reports. Her movements were mechanical, but her hands never wavered when she pressed them against you, cursed energy pulsing steady and warm. “You heal like a cockroach,” she’d mutter. You’d try to smile, and she’d roll her eyes, muttering something about idiots with hero complexes.

But it wasn’t Shoko who haunted your half-sleep. It was Gojo.

You’d feel him before you saw him. Even without speaking, he filled the room. When he did appear, it was always the same: glasses off, posture lazy, shoulders tight. His presence was impossible to ignore, but he said nothing. He would stand near the window, light haloing his hair, gaze fixed on the horizon as if he were afraid that looking at you too long would undo him.

The first time you caught him there while awake, your voice rasped through the quiet. “You planning to stand there until I die of boredom?”

His mouth curved. “You’d have to die first.”

You huffed, wincing. “Tempting, if it gets you to stop staring.”

“Who’s staring?” He moved closer, grin widening. “Maybe I’m just admiring Shoko’s work. She’s done miracles keeping that mouth of yours functional.”

You threw him a look. “Funny. I don’t remember ordering sarcasm with my medical care.”

“I don’t remember you being this grumpy when you were unconscious.”

You almost laughed, almost. “You were watching me sleep?”

“I was making sure you didn’t stop breathing,” he said, too quickly, too honestly. Then, as if realizing what he’d admitted, he smiled again, smaller this time. “Besides, you snore.”

“I do not.”

“You do,” he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Tiny little growls. It’s cute.”

You groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “You’re the worst.”

“You love it,” he said lightly. But something in his tone faltered just for a heartbeat before he continued. “They sent another letter, by the way. From the clan. Told me to refocus. Study and avoid... distractions.”

Your gaze flicked up. “I see you didn't listen.”

He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Mm. I folded it into a paper crane and set it on fire.”

That startled a laugh out of you, rough but real. “How very mature of you.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m growing as a person.”

“You’re regressing as a sorcerer.”

“Maybe.” His voice softened. “But for the first time, I don’t care.”

The humor drained from the room like a tide going out. You blinked, watching him, the strongest sorcerer alive, hands shoved into his pockets like a boy with a secret. He looked so human.

“You’ve never been good at lying,” you said quietly.

“I’m great at lying.”

“Not to me.”

His lips twitched, almost a smile, but his voice came out raw. “You almost died, and all I could think about was how much worse it would be to live in a world without you. That’s not what I was taught to feel.”

You didn’t answer right away.

He shifted, leaning against the edge of your bed, so close you could feel the heat rolling off him. “You know what they raised me to be.” He exhaled, slow. “But now I think, maybe I was meant to protect one person, not the world.”

You swallowed, the air too thick to breathe. “That sounds like treason.”

He smiled. “Then arrest me.”

“Gojo—”

“Satoru,” he corrected gently. “If I’m breaking all the rules, you could at least call me by my name.”

You hesitated, then: “Satoru.”

The word tasted dangerous. He looked at you like he’d been waiting a lifetime to hear it.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. His hand brushed against yours.

Finally, you said softly, “They're going to hate you for this.”

“They already do.” He leaned closer, grin returning. “Besides, it’s easier to hold the weight of the world when you have something worth fighting for.”

You laughed under your breath. “You make it sound noble.”

“Oh, it’s not,” he said. “It’s selfish as hell.”

And for the first time since the mission, you realized the truth: Gojo Satoru would never belong to the world again. He’d chosen something smaller and infinitely more dangerous.

[pixelartpeach]

Reblog to give a trans person a fresh and perfectly ripe mango wait huh

It's the wikipedia image??? How big could it be

What

Huh???

[bonesbeetle]

can see the pores on that thang

[crow-with-a-pencil]

Reblog to give a trans person a shockingly high resolution mango

[indiewritesxoxo]

faking it

iou | previous chapter | chapter index

everyone has a price - even suguru geto

synopsis: with no friends and a wallet full of cash, you concoct one last idea to make your final semester one to remember. paying everyone's favorite pretty playboy to pretend to be your boyfriend to complete your college bucket list before you start the life your family is forcing you into. but you might be buying far more than you bargained for.

pairings: broke!Geto x rich!Reader x dropout!Sukuna

content: mdni, angst and fluff, college au, fake dating, pining, yearning, Geto is a bit of an asshole, reader is VERY awkward lol, making out, seven minutes in heaven, skinny dipping, secondhand embarrassment, emotional hurt, protective Geto + Sukuna

art by @aransmind !!

Something Gojo threw was probably a bad idea for your first party in hindsight.

You had to park blocks away, pulling Sukuna's hoodie off and setting it down on your passenger seat after folding it neatly, smoothing out the wrinkles before checking your reflection in the mirror one last time. Your skin still smelled like him, but you couldn't bring yourself to spritz more perfume over your clothes, like his scent was some shield to protect you from the snakes and vipers out tonight.

The second bad idea was the expensive bottle of wine in the blue gift bag, glitter tissue paper sticking out the top.

But you couldn't fight everything that was engrained inside you, the polite and practiced habits, trained to be grateful, thankful for anyone who put up with you.

Drunk partygoers passed by while you locked your car, slipping your keys inside of your purse and clutching it and the gift bag against your chest while you stepped out into the street, narrowly avoiding tripping in the holes in the pavement as you walked alone up to the house it was obviously being hosted at.

A few people sober enough to see you stared, but none of them were the one you were looking for.

You had to squeeze past a tight throng of bodies to get through the door, music and voices all mingling on top of each other, familiar panic squeezing everything inside your chest, organs straining against your rib cage the longer you looked around and couldn't find Geto.

A girl you recognized from your labs noticed you when you walked through the living room, giggling and nudging her friend to point out out.

She wasn't the only one.

Now that you were inside, it felt like everyone was snickering the second they realized you were here.

Gojo found you first.

"You made it," He leaned down to talk to you, excited enough to disarm you, help ease the worst of the apprehension. "Come on."

You followed him there, grabbing the edge of his shirt to not lose him in the crowd, watching him wave off other people before the dim hallway turned into the tile of the kitchen, all bright wallpaper and expensive appliances, cups and alcohol littering every surface, but not nearly as many people congesting it.

"What's that?" He asked, gesturing to the bag before you uncomfortably shuffled on your feet and held it out for him.

"It's uh, nothing, really. Just something to thank you for inviting me," You answered, waiting for him to grab it so you could look away.

"I'd never say no to present," He winked, laughing as he ripped out the tissue paper and glitter got on his jeans and scattered across the floor. Gojo proudly held up the wine, twisting it around to read the label before grinning. "Thanks."

You nodded, not sure what to say to keep the conversation from dying.

But Gojo was the kind of guy who could talk to a wall without getting bored.

"What's your handle?" He asked, looking over his shoulder at you before putting the bottle up on a high shelf, like he already decided to save it for something else. He pulled out his phone next, typing something into it just for his eyes to flick back up expectantly for your answer.

You blinked at him for a second, glossy lips parted before you realized that most likely looked stupid.

"Oh, like on Instagram or-?"

"Any of them," Gojo laughed again, pouring you a beer from the tap on the counter before walking back over with an easy smile.

"I, um, don't use social media," You admitted with a shrug, hating how much of a loser it made you sound like. You sipped your beer instead, cringing at how bitter it was and still drinking more so you didn't seem rude.

"Seriously?" He cocked a brow up, scrunching his nose like he couldn't believe it.

"I don't really have many friends," You mumbled, barely keeping yourself from frowning at thought you didn't actually have any friends. "Just thought it'd be kinda embarrassing to create an account if I don't have people to add."

"I could be your first," Gojo gladly offered. He didn't miss a beat. Didn't make you feel like a loner. Just volunteered.

You opened your mouth to stammer through a response before a warm hand suddenly pressed against your spine.

"Hey," Geto murmured in your ear, soft and smooth, sinking into your skin.

You froze. Brain malfunctioning at the warmth and how close he was, lips grazing just barely against your skin.

"Hi," You breathed.

He sighed, but it was more of a calm exhale, not holding any disappointment or disapproval. You looked back at him just to pause again at the way he was looking at you, half-lidded and hazy, loosened up by however many drinks he had.

"Let's put your purse somewhere safe," He gestured down at it, taking you upstairs and pulling out a key from his pocket to unlock a door, grabbing your purse and walking inside with it before coming back out to lock it again.

"Oh, um, thank you," You breathed.

Geto didn't say anything else, but you let his hand guide you back out into another living room, smaller than the first, but with less people crowding around. He took the seat in the corner of the couch, pulling you down next to him, one of your legs half on his lap, his hand over your skirt.

"Satoru texted me that you were here," He said, all that confidence he just had simmering down to something softer, more unsure now that you were almost alone. "You could've called me."

"I didn't want to interrupt if you were talking to your friends," You mumbled shyly, glancing around the few other people too drunk to pay attention to you.

Paying Geto didn't make you feel like less like an inconvenience to him.

Even if he was in a good mood tonight.

"You're supposed to be my girlfriend," He reminded you with a chuckle.

"Oh," You laughed with him, but even that sounded clumsy. You hurried to finish the rest of your drink, leaning over to place it on the edge of the coffee table. "Yeah."

Geto was just a good enough actor to sell the scene for the both of you.

"I've, um, never had a boyfriend before," You confessed, not sure what saying it would do, but hoping it'd make you look less inept rather than more.

He frowned at that, but before he could say anything, Gojo made his second appearance, leaning over to wrap an arm around each of you and squeezing you together.

"You look good together," He teased, winking at Geto.

You wondered if he meant it, or if maybe it was some inside joke. One you were secretly the butt of.

"Don't you have some sorority girl to make out with?" Geto rolled his eyes, brushing his arm off with a light huff.

"Relax," Gojo hummed, the dim yellow lights bouncing around in his eyes, carefree, shoulders rolled back like there wasn't anything weighing them down. "I just had a small suggestion."

"Sure you do," Geto dryly replied, his hand on your thigh suddenly squeezing. Probably just for show.

"There's a closet over there with your name still on it," Gojo goaded, almost sloshing his drink over the rim of his solo cup pointing over to a small wooden door.

"What?" You didn't get it.

"See how cute she is? You've never played seven minutes in heaven, have you?" Gojo's teasing wasn't mean-spirited, it was oddly sincere, in his own way. His attempt at being considerate rather than condescending.

"I haven't," You admitted, chewing on your lip.

Did it seem desperate?

It wasn't like you actually wanted to be stuck in a confined space with a guy you knew didn't like you.

You just sort of expected Geto to shut it down.

But then Geto was grumbling and getting up, guiding you over to it while Gojo cheered and drew every state that wasn't already focused on you over.

The door shutting felt like the lid to your coffin closing.

The light hanging overhead was white but dim, barely giving off enough light to dispel the shadows..

You hadn't pictured being locked in a closet with your pretend boyfriend to be so embarrassing.

He was still glancing at the thick door, his mind still on the other side of it. You pushed aside the shoes littering the floor to sit down against the wall, underneath all the coats hanging up. Knees to your chest, not particularly caring if Geto got a peek of the lacy panties underneath your skirt when he was uninterested in the rest of you.

You studied the floor, counting the scuffs in the wooden grain just so you wouldn't have to look up at him. You were surprised when he sat down in front of you, glancing at him with wide eyes.

"What are you doing?" He murmured.

"I-I just figured-" You started to stammer only to abruptly shut yourself up when he reached out to graze his thumb against your cheek. It wasn't adoring. Not dazed or dripping in desire. Just curiosity. Like you were a puzzle he couldn't quite piece together.

He was softer like this. All those harsh edges and high-strung worries you shared dulled by the alcohol in his system. What was in yours had only left that faint tingle of warmth in your chest and stomach, but when he tilted his head to the side and stared at you, you couldn't help but question how much of that feeling was from him.

"We still have six minutes left," Geto shrugged, scrutinizing the way your mouth was parted in shock, how wide your eyes were when he leaned in and brushed his lips against your own.

"Geto-" You breathed when he pulled away, his nose still grazing against yours.

"You should at least get the full party experience," He murmured, pulling back and swiping his thumb over your bottom lip.

"You don't have-" You started to dismiss, but then he was leaning in again, the taste of beer and cherry lip gloss on your own lips and something faintly sweet on his.

And then he was tugging you into his lap, not really enough for you to actually straddle him, but your legs awkwardly swinging over to one side and his arm wrapped around your back to almost cradle you against his chest.

His tongue tracing your teeth, exploring your mouth, while his palm pressed down through your thin shirt, the heat of it practically branding you. Geto took the lead like he did with everything else, sucking on your bottom lip before leaving a trail of soft kisses over your jaw and down your throat, chuckling at the way his teeth skimming over your tendons made you gasp.

You had to remind yourself you were paying him for this.

That as much as it tasted real, he never would've touched you if you hadn't paid him.

You stiffened in his lap, and he immediately noticed, pausing to look at your face to see what was wrong. "You okay?"

"Yeah," You lied.

You didn't want to ruin the moment - even if it was fake.

He went back to kissing your neck, his sturdy fingers taking your jaw and tilting it so he had better access, his canines sinking in as he sucked hard and you squirmed in his arms.

"Just got a remind them you're mine," He murmured.

Yeah, that was supposed to be the point, wasn't it?

A loud knock on the door startled you, Gojo's perky voice calling out from outside that the time was up and for Geto to come out with his pants on and zipper up.

You hurried to stand, brushing off your skirt and wiping at your lips, even more flustered than you had been when you showed up.

Geto pulled open the door with his usual unreadable stare despite the onslaught of teasing from Gojo, the other stares glued to both of you walking out, the whispers being spread.

But then Gojo laughed, and the tension broke.

A handful of people approached, guys and girls, all of them talking and giggling, switching from subject to subject, mostly stuff you were clueless about or happened in classes you weren't in. A few times, you tried to interject just to get talked over, standing on the fringes and watching him get swallowed up by the group. Silently listening and nodding and trying to laugh at all the right times, even when all you got was an eye roll or flat-out ignored.

You slipped away while he was still distracted.

No real goal in mind. Just squeezing past people and looking through all the rooms. Giving yourself a house tour since it wasn't like anyone else would show you.

You might've just left if some of the girls from before hadn't found you about to grab a second drink from the kitchen, Suguru standing at the counter and chatting, while you clung to the shadows.

"You're Suguru's girlfriend, right?" A blonde one giggled, lips pursed together and eyes all big and bright.

"Um, yeah," You swallowed, preemptively setting the cup down at the counter while they all exchanged looks.

"We're about to go skinny dipping out back," She added, pointing at a glass door. Thick blinds covered it, making it almost impossible to see through to the backyard.

"Yeah, you wanna come with us?" One of the other ones grinned, tossing her hair back.

You glanced behind you, but Suguru was distracted taking another shot, too absorbed in another conversation to even notice. "Sure."

It was the worst idea yet to think they had anything other than bad intentions.

But you wanted to believe them. Wanted to ignore the feeling screaming at you in your gut when you followed them out to the pool and let them guilt you into stripping after they took off their clothes.

Convinced that since they jumped in, it was safe.

The second your clothes were piled up and you were in the water, they were all scrambling to get out, laughing at you when they snagged your clothes and ran off, leaving you naked and freezing in a pool just feet away from a house full of people.

As if the night couldn't get more embarrassing, Gojo found you. Lipstick stain on his neck and red solo cup in his hand, blue eyes hazy as he stumbled outside and you reluctantly called out his name. His reaction was slow, sliding around the greenery until he noticed you in the pool.

"What's up?" He slurred, almost falling in to join you when he walked over and bent down. His eyes went wide the second he noticed your absent clothes, the way your hand was covering your chest to barely conceal your breasts.

"Some girls stole my clothes," You muttered, giving him the short version of events, breath hitching and hot tears forming in the corner of your eyes, but you refused to blink and let them fall. "C-could you help?"

"Shit, okay, sure," He frowned, brows scrunched together in shock for a second before starting to strip off his clothes.

"What are-" Your voice died when his underwear hit the concrete, turning into a squeak as you glanced away.

"Wear mine," He offered, getting in the pool with you.

You scampered out before you had more company, dripping water without even a towel to dry off, definitely flashing Gojo as you hurried to pull his t-shirt over your head and slip on his boxers.

Looking like you just fucked Gojo was better than being naked.

"Thank you," You murmured, looking back at him where he was content to lounge in the pool, nude or not.

"Course," He hummed. "Suguru's in the kitchen if you're looking for him."

All you wanted was to get your keys and go.

Call this whole stupid idea off and return to receiving the cold shoulder from the rest of the school. Clearly, you were wrong to think they'd ever see you as a real person.

You hurried through the kitchen. Didn't spare a glance for anyone else despite the jokes you knew were directed at you. Just headed straight for the upstairs bedroom where Geto had locked up your stuff for safe-keeping. You tried the knob just to make sure no one else had snuck in before pulling out a hair pin and bending it into a straight line, sticking it through the small keyhole and jiggling it around until you felt the pins inside start to unlatch.

There were a few odd perks from being kept under lock and key your whole life. Including learning how to pick them.

It only took thirty seconds for you to get it unlocked, pushing the door open and sighing with relief when you saw your purse still on the bed. It only took a second to realize it was probably Gojo's room, the blue comforter and the photos of him plastered on the wall. A couple sets of keys were on the nightstand, a wallet you guessed was Geto's. For a moment, you considered shoving cash in it for tonight's payment, but you decided against it. You'd give it to him Monday and cut everything off clean. This was it.

You were about to snatch your stuff and go, but you paused again, glancing around the room over to the open closet, clothes on the floor and barely any on the hangers, hurrying over to get Gojo something to wear too.

Geto was standing behind you by the time you grabbed everything and turned around. Leaning against the doorframe and studying your soaking wet frame, the oversized clothes hanging off them.

"Where are you going?" He asked, his voice strained.

"Home," You sighed, tossing Gojo's clothes to him. "Gojo's going to need those. He's in the pool."

"So come with me," Geto offered, broad shoulders basically blocking the way out. "What happened?"

"Some friends of yours invited me skinny dipping," You muttered, staring at the floor while you talked. A hard lump had formed in your throat, making it even harder to get your words out. "They took my clothes and left me in there. Gojo gave me his."

There was something about the way he watched you that made you feel like you were on trial, that he constantly wavered between the verdict depending on what you said, the way you blinked, how you moved.

You didn't look up at him.

Couldn't.

"Will you at least let me walk you to your car?" He eventually asked, and in the edges of your vision, you are watched his knuckles turn white from gripping the clothes so tightly.

"If you want to," You quietly answered, wondering if that had a cost too.

You waited for him to come back when he went to give Gojo his clothes, sitting on the edge of the bed and feeling like a pet that had been left in the rain, cold and shivering as you held your own arms, rubbing little circles into your own skin trying to soothe yourself.

Your phone buzzed in your purse, only pausing to dig it out and see a few missed messages from Sukuna asking if you would come in tomorrow.

The second you opened it and the message was marked as read, he called, your thumb hesitating to answer.

For some reason, it felt more mortifying for him to know about how awful the night had gone when he'd seen how nervous you were earlier.

He scoffed the second you picked up.

"What time do you want me there?" You quietly spoke into the speaker before he could speak first.

"Are you drinking?" He huffed, his way of asking if you'd be hungover in the morning.

"I only had one beer like, an hour ago," You answered, but the taste on your tongue was a different kind of bitter now. "I'll be fine."

"Having fun?" He wryly asked.

"Um, no, not really," You murmured, voice small, watching a water droplet hit Gojo's floor from where you were still dripping.

"The hell are you doing there then?" He asked. The real question was why the hell had you even shown up? Just to have your own personal pity party?

"I'm about to leave," You sighed, sniffling and rubbing your face with your other hand. Streaks of makeup were left on it, mascara and eyeliner and glitter all sticking to your fingers.

"Are you crying?" He bluntly asked, and you hadn't been, but the question splintered the last of your shield, getting choked up trying to stop yourself from crying.

"No," You grumbled, sniffling hard in your attempt to hold it together.

"Liar," He huffed. "Do you need me to pick you up?"

"No," You repeated, wiping your eyes again, refusing to let yourself break in a house with all these other people.

"Text me the address and I'll be there." It sounded more like a demand than an offer.

"I can drive myself," You protested, just for Geto to show back up in the doorway. You paused, uncomfortably shifting before talking into the speaker. "Look, I'm leaving now, okay?

He made a disgruntled noise, hanging up before you could. What were the odds he'd throw a fit if you didn't text him when you got home?

Geto cleared his throat across from you.

He was staring.

"Sorry, it's just my boss," You mumbled under your breath before shoving your phone back in your bag.

"Calling you now?" Geto asked, as if he cared what the answer was.

"He just asked if I could come in tomorrow," You sniffled again, recollecting yourself. If you couldn't cry over the phone with Sukuna, you certainly weren't going to do it in front of Geto.

You didn't need to add crybaby to the list of terrible things he thought about you.

It was awkward walking down the stairs and out through all the strangers who still didn't like you onto the street. He didn't say much, just studying you how he always did.

Didn't it get boring?

It wasn't like there was anything he'd find interesting about you.

"Which girls did it?" Geto eventually grimaced.

"It doesn't matter," You breathed. You knew better than to engage in any kind of retaliation. It happened. You'd live. Why dare them to do something like it again?

"You can tell me." You couldn't, not really. If you did, then you'd just be hurt when he wouldn't do anything about it either.

You kept your mouth shut.

Just let him walk you the rest of the way to your car. He'd commented the first time he saw it that he was surprised it wasn't pink. And actually? You used to have one. Until it kept getting vandalized. Small stuff, usually, gum stuck to the side, little dents and dings you suspected were intentional, but then someone keyed it, and you had to get something more inconspicuous.

It was just another unfortunate facet of life.

Geto wasn't the kind of guy who'd give you pity points anyway.

You figured he'd just walk off now that he'd finished his work, free to have whatever fun he wanted.

Convinced that he'd be gone by the time you opened your door. But he didn't budge, standing behind you more like a bodyguard than a boyfriend.

"Have a good night," You murmured, unlocking you car without looking over your shoulder. Slipping into the seat and about to shut the door before he suddenly grabbed it, the breeze on your exposed skin making you shudder again.

"I'm sorry," He abruptly apologized, brows furrowed and flustered as he slotted himself between you and the door to keep you from what? Slamming it shut with his fingers still there? "I was a shitty date tonight."

"It's not your fault," You shrugged. His real friends were there. You'd never expected any more from him than the occasional arm around you or a peck on your cheek.

Making out was certainly more than enough.

The image you had in your head for how you wanted tonight to go never would've come true anyway.

"You should at least call me an asshole," He spoke slowly.

"Why?" You quizzed, tilting your head to the side. There was another brittle wind, and you turned away from him to grab Sukuna's hoodie from the passenger seat, pulling it over your head to warm up.

His jaw clenched, glancing down at the fabric you were drowning in before looking back into your eyes.

"I should've stayed by your side," He said, all his muscles still locked tight like something was annoying him.

"I shouldn't have come," You awkwardly laughed, anxiously rubbing the back of your neck under the soft material of the hoodie. "Honestly, this whole thing was a terrible idea."

Geto hesitated, watching every raw emotion flicker across your face. Regret and embarrassment all rolled into a painfully tight lump bobbing in your throat.

"You didn't do anything wrong," He forced the words out, frowning at whatever expression you were wearing.

You couldn't help but giggle at that when it felt like everything you did had been wrong.

"Well, thanks anyway," You managed a tight-lipped smile, before looking down to dig through your purse for cash. You'd stopped to withdraw extra on your way here, counting the bills one more time before holding it out for him to take. "Let's just call this whole thing off, okay?"

"What?"

"All I really wanted was to make some friends, and I just thought since everyone likes you, maybe they'd give me a chance if you liked me too," You shrugged, holding out the cash further for him to grab just for him to stand there and stare. You didn't want to look at him anymore. "It was stupid of me."

"It's not," He quietly said.

"I appreciate you trying," You thanked him. You didn't want to sound pushy, didn't want to shove it at him, but he didn't move.

"Let me try again."

"What?" You once again didn't understand. Weren't getting the what or why behind it.

Did he just want more money?

"The aquarium was on your list, right?" He asked, thin brows furrowed together.

"I mean, yeah, but-"

"Skip your lecture on Friday and we'll go. I'll help you make some friends, okay?" He spoke firmly, like he'd already come to some decision in his head about you.

An insecure sliver if you wondered if he just pitied you too much to hate you anymore.

"You will?" You heard yourself ask, waiting for him to say nevermind.

"Yeah," He nodded.

This time though?

You couldn't bring yourself to get your hopes up.

Being late for work was one of the few firsts you hadn't planned on.

Your body was exhausted, muscles sore like you'd slept wrong, blinking back exhaustion as you rolled over and squinted at the sun cutting through the curtains. You were yawning when you grabbed your phone out from under your pillow, but someone might as well have dunked your head underwater when you tapped on it and realized you'd be at least fifteen minutes late at best.

Scrambling to get ready through the sleepy haze, hastily scrounging through your closet for a fresh pair of jeans and not bothering to change out of Sukuna's hoodie or even put on makeup, only deodorant before grabbing your phone and keys to get out the door.

Sukuna was waiting for you when you got there.

Arms folded across his chest, gaze slinking over your jeans and his slept-on hoodie drowning you.

"I'm sorry," You pushed your lips together, rubbing your eyes for the thousandth time since you woke up.

Sukuna poked the hickey you'd forgotten about.

"Shitty night?" He cocked his head to the side, and you couldn't discern what was burning behind his eyes. It wasn't like he was the kind of guy to care about professionalism enough to be bothered by the bruise poking out underneath your collar. Choso and Yuki came in with them all the time. Was it irritation that you were late then?

"Yeah," You sighed, shrugging as you say your purse down. "I'm sorry I didn't have time to make your lunch this morning."

He scoffed, and you stopped breathing for a second.

Wondering if maybe this was the moment you were no longer worth keeping around.

If you'd get to add fired to your list of experiences.

But then he pushed his hair back, running his fingers through the stray strands, flashes of silver his rings catching the light as he sighed.

"Whatever, guess I'll have to take you to lunch then."

[indiewritesxoxo]

faking it

loose change | previous chapter | chapter index

everyone has a price - even suguru geto

synopsis: with no friends and a wallet full of cash, you concoct one last idea to make your final semester one to remember. paying everyone's favorite pretty playboy to pretend to be your boyfriend to complete your college bucket list before you start the life your family is forcing you into. but you might be buying far more than you bargained for.

pairings: broke!Geto x rich!Reader x dropout!Sukuna

content: mdni, angst and fluff, college au, fake dating, pining, yearning, Geto is a bit of an asshole, reader is VERY awkward lol, sexual harassment (not from either guy), protective sukuna, uncomfortable situations, emotional hurt

art by @aransmind !!

Geto didn't like you, but he was damn good at acting like it.

Worth every penny.

His palm was warm in yours, thick fingers pressing into the back of your hand while your stuff was tucked under his arm. Shoulder and side brushing against you while he leaned down to murmur casual observations in your ear, ignoring the people staring in the halls, whispering between each other like they were baffled someone like him was with someone like you.

How had the composed and considerate Suguru Geto gotten wrapped around your conceited finger?

It hadn't quite been two full weeks, but it felt like longer. It wasn't that you savored every second of him being on the clock with you, but they still stuck with you anyway. Daydreaming about a guy who'd point blank told you he wasn't interested, that only stayed because you paid him to be there. He'd taken you to a movie last weekend, a place to be seen without having to actually speak to each other, but other than that, he'd mostly just been showing up between classes, walking you back to your car at the end of the day or taking the seat next to you to study in the library, only making occasional conversation when other people were around.

Putting on a show of pretending to be the best boyfriend a girl could dream of.

"You still nervous?" He asked, unfairly smooth, his low honeyed voice tempting you to forget the fact he didn't care if you were.

"A little," You admitted, palms clammy enough that you had to pull away, wiping them off on your skirt and about hold it back out before he slung his around your waist instead.

Your body went rigid, awkward in his arms before one of his friends called to him, choking on your own anxiety when suddenly a head of white hair popped out.

You knew who he was.

Who didn't?

Still, you'd never actually shared any classes or held a conversation with him.

"'Sup Suguru?" Gojo grinned, his face faltering for a second before he noticed you next to him, then quickly resuming his friendly facade. He stuck his hand out towards you, smiling big enough you could see his tongue stained blue, a sucker dangling from his lips. "Don't think we've met. Satoru Gojo."

"We have actually," You corrected him, the words slipping out before you could stop them, inwardly cringing and hoping you didn't sound like a bitch while you shook his hand.

Geto's fingers were stiff on your side.

"My parents had dinner with yours last year," You awkwardly added. He'd sat across the table from you texting most of the time, only looking up from his phone to eat his food and slipping out the second he finished his dessert.

"Really?" He cocked his head to the side, squinting at you and searching his brain for the memory then chuckling when he shook his head like he didn't remember. "Sorry, I was probably on something."

"I wish I was," You dryly shrugged, completely serious just for him to laugh and crack a genuine grin.

"They're insufferable, aren't they?" He stepped closer, eyes sliding over you to properly assess you.

And yeah, you weren't Geto's actual girlfriend, but part of you wanted his best friend to like you. To still be seen as a person by him and not just the cash in your purse.

"At least you got to leave," You shrugged, forcing your lips to curl up in a small smile, despite the urge to chew on them. "My parents probably would've strangled me before I could sneak out the door."

They barely even let you live in your own apartment.

"Have you met Suguru's mom yet?" Gojo chirped. You shook your head, sneaking a peek up at him, his dark hair tied up so you could see the clench of his jaw, the discomfort in his face at his family being brought up.

"No, but it's not-"

"You'll love her, she makes the best-" Gojo started rambling, so easily warming up and consequently talking over you.

You shifted on your heels, unsure how to signal to Geto you hadn't intended to lead the conversation this way and that you weren't trying to insert yourself that deeply into his life.

All you thought was maybe people would like you more if he did. That he could open the doors that had been slammed in your face. Your last few months of freedom until your family tried to tie you to someone else you had no say in.

Sometimes though, you couldn't help but wonder if it'd be so bad to be taken care of. For someone to feel obligated to protect you.

"I'm running a little late, but uh, it's nice to meet you. Again," You laughed, short and light, pulling away from Geto and glancing between them.

For a second, you almost tricked yourself into thinking there was the slightest resistance there, that Geto hesitated over releasing you.

"What time do you want me to pick you up tomorrow afternoon?" He asked instead, dark brows furrowed, studying your face like if he looked hard enough, he could find the answer there instead of having to listen to your voice.

"I can't, actually," You reluctantly admitted. "I'm working all day tomorrow."

Which was, well, interesting in itself.

You'd started working as Sukuna's receptionist almost as long as you'd been fake-dating Geto, and you hadn't decided which man was more challenging. You spent almost every night with the former, taking the late shift and helping him close up the shop, working on your assignments when there weren't any clients after you finished everything else he wanted you to do.

You liked feeling needed. Liked the simple work of scheduling appointments and ringing people up, breezing through the list of tasks he asked of you and bringing him a sandwich every day despite him scoffing at you that he hadn't been fucking serious.

At least he only ever scolded you if he had a reason. He was snippy and rude, grumbling at you over small mistakes, sure. But you'd been treated like shit enough times to know when someone meant it. And Sukuna was the kind of guy who wouldn't let anyone else disrespect you even if he'd call you a brat in the same breath.

Geto didn't have to say anything for you to see the question he'd surely be asking if Gojo wasn't there in the arch of his brow and his narrowed stare. You had a job?

"You should come to my party afterwards," Gojo eagerly invited, like he actually wanted you there.

"Yeah?" Your breath hitched, excitement you were a little embarrassed of burning through you.

Your first actual college party. Getting drunk and crawling into bed in a daze. Migraine-inducing music and crowded bodies. Whatever it entailed, you wanted it.

It was also item number one on your list of experiences you were trying to finish before your graduation date.

Some were easier. Skinny dipping. Playing a cheesy drinking game. Getting a piercing.

Others you were less confident in your ability to accomplish.

Losing your virginity without being wasted would probably be a tough one. You'd been kissed before, felt up by a few pricks in private school but had never made it past second base. You weren't delusional enough to think Geto would ever be interested in you like that. But you sorta hoped he'd make you more approachable, that someone else with at least half a heart would give you a chance if they thought he had.

"What time do you get off?" Geto asked, still playing the part of the good boyfriend. The type of guy who'd go out of his way to include you despite this being the first you heard about this party. "Want me to pick you up?"

A group of people started to squeeze by, and you had to step closer so they could get past, one of Geto's hands reflexively grabbing your wrist to tug you back into him. His other waving, a relaxed smirk on his lips, casually cool, but a piece of you was beginning to think all of it was practiced.

"I'll meet you there," You nodded, untangling yourself, the heat of him lingering on your skin even after you put more space between you. "Just text me the address."

"Don't you wanna go in together?" He asked, staring at you with yet another expression you couldn't read.

It was a little ironic, honestly. He sometimes left you with the impression he thought you were vain, stuck in your glass castle and looking down at everyone else. But from where you were standing, he was the one preoccupied with appearances.

"Your girlfriend is cute."

Geto huffed, barely containing his groan, eyes shut as he covered his face with his textbook.

He'd heard it a hundred times the past twenty four hours.

"Yeah?" He wryly replied.

Gojo could have you. Probably would've been happier to pretend to be whatever you wanted. Would've milked it and made a fool out of himself just to please you.

But Gojo didn't need money.

Wasn't that why you asked him instead? You knew Suguru was too broke to say no?

It wasn't like it was a secret he wasn't rich like Gojo. That he actually needed the scholarship he had - unlike you.

"Never seen her at a party before," Gojo commented, scribbling doodles where he was supposed to be taking notes.

"Don't think she's ever been to one," He shrugged.

It was painfully easy to see how eager you were to accept. To accommodate him like you were convinced one wrong word would make Gojo revoke the invitation.

He'd almost forgotten that you and Gojo were of the same breeding stock. Both of you just indulging in him because you could.

Geto knew he shouldn't be bitter about it. That neither of you could control your circumstances any more than he could control his.

But logic had nothing to do with the jealousy gutting him watching you chat with Gojo so casually when you were still so stilted with him.

He could admit some of his assumptions about you were off. You weren't snobby. It was closer to spacey, always distracted, off in your own head than right there next to him. Turning your face while you talked, catching yourself from biting and picking at your manicure every time you were nervous, which was a lot.

There were times where it was almost endearing, when you'd squeeze his hand for reassurance and didn't even realize it, or when you'd get excited over something simple, like him brushing the hair out of your face outside your class.

Still, you were spoiled. Noticably sheltered. Awkward in a blunt sort of way, sharp and rude without meaning to. Saying what you thought regardless of how it'd come out to others.

It wasn't hard to imagine how you'd ended up coming to him just for a human connection.

Which was why he really couldn't believe you had a job.

Was it some kind of internship set up by your parents? Another perk courtesy of nepotism? Or maybe you were an influencer or something?

He wouldn't know.

He'd blocked you on everything a few years ago.

Still, you chose to spend your Saturday working rather than with him.

"I'm a little surprised you started dating someone so close to graduation," Gojo noted, ripping out his sheet of notebook paper and tossing it across the table at him. "Especially her."

"She's different than I thought," He murmured. That much was true.

You weren't who he imagined.

Gojo opened his mouth, probably to mock him some more, but Geto spoke up again. "I bought my plane ticket."

Thanks to you.

"Good," Gojo grinned. "I was getting worried you changed your mind."

"Nah," Geto tried to sound unbothered. "Counting down the days."

"The fuck are you wearing?" Sukuna scoffed the second you pushed open the door, glancing up at his unimpressed scowl as his eyes slid over you.

"Is it too much?" You frowned, looking down at your admittedly short skirt and the low cut of your shirt. It clung to your skin, cleavage pushed up, but it wasn't like you were wearing lingerie. And he did tell you on your second day that he didn't give a shit what you wore - only after you showed up in business casual attire at first. "I'm supposed to go to a party tonight."

Sukuna sucked in his teeth, mouth twitching as he cocked a brow up.

"So you're trying to get laid?" He grumbled, his eyes flickering back down to your breasts like he'd forgotten you had them.

"No," You pouted. "I just thought this was cute."

"Close enough," He shrugged. It didn't sound like a compliment when he was grimacing at you one last time before glancing back over whatever folder he had spread out in front of him.

You walked around to his side of the counter, peeking over at his portfolio. His sketches were detailed, carefully drawn and even more beautiful when it was actually inked. Thick and thin lines expertly crafted and precisely placed, surprisingly nimble for someone who looked like they'd have a heavy hand.

So skilled and somehow still striving to be even better.

"I like that one," You murmured, pointing out a design you hadn't seen before. Probably a custom request.

"You like everything," He rolled his eyes.

"Not true," You protested, pulling it out of his hands and flipping through the pages to find the sketch of an ugly bird someone had paid him a criminal amount of money to permanently ink on their skin last week.

He threw you an annoyed look, pulling out the stool by the counter for you to sit on before grabbing the book and walking back to set up his station.

"You have three clients today," You called out, glancing over the names and times you had written down before digging out the sandwich you'd made him before heading over. He'd never told you how he liked it, only giving you varying nods or grunts of approval you used to judge his preferences.

And maybe it was just your good mood, but you'd added a slice of cake, something you'd stress-baked the night before, sitting pretty with pink icing in a glass container. You put both in the tiny fridge underneath your desk, having to move energy drinks out of the way to make both fit.

You'd fallen into your own routine here, distracting yourself from real life while you worked, answering phone calls and filling up Sukuna's schedule. Usually there was another guy that worked the shop with him to handle walk-ins, but Choso was out, so he had you tape a sign to the door just to comment on your shitty handwriting and re-do it himself.

He didn't take a bite until after his second client was finished, sitting on your stool and watching while you cleaned the windows, doing hand exercises to help his cramping fingers before he snagged the food from the fridge.

"What's this?" Sukuna grunted, scrunching his nose up as he examined the pink cake as if it was something he found in the trash.

"You don't know what cake is?" You huffed back sarcastically, your nerves already starting to fray from overthinking your plans for tonight, constantly glancing back at your outfit and wondering if it was too much after his previous comment.

"Why is it here?" He asked instead, and you could feel those intense eyes burning into your back.

"I made it," You mumbled.

And despite his attitude, he still finished both, only a few crumbs left and even washing the container in the sink after he finished.

He dug some quarters out of his pocket and slotted them into an old vending machine in the waiting room to get you a cold soda in return, setting it on the counter in front of you and popping open the tab before the walking away without a word.

"I can bring more if you liked it," You offered, barely hiding the hint of a smile creeping up on your face. You picked up the drink, taking a slow sip, the carbonation leaving a tingle on your tongue as you stole a peek over your shoulder at him.

He wasn't looking at you anyway, focused on wiping down his chair instead.

The bell attached to the door dinged, and your head snapped back to the front, already plastering on a smile and pushing through the greeting you practiced in the mirror a hundred times at home.

But the guy was the too busy staring at your tits to hear you.

"Um, hi?" You spoke louder, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as you looked over at the time. "You're the three o'clock, right?"

"Uh-huh, sure," He brushed you off, clearly not listening. "You the new girl?"

"I started last week," You muttered, getting more apprehensive the closer he got, stopping only when his belt buckle was pressed against the opposite side of the counter. "I think Sukuna's almost ready for you."

"Yeah? You have a few minutes for me, sweetheart?" He propositioned you, positioning himself to get a peek down your shirt, and you almost gagged at the thick stench of cigarettes when he got too close.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I understand," You played dumb, pretending to scratch an itch on your collarbone just to try and cover up.

"I bet your boss wouldn't notice you taking a bathroom break for a few minutes," He chuckled, reaching over to graze fat fingertips over the back of your other hand, playing with the charms on your bracket before you pulled back. "Could make you feel real good, princess."

You physically recoiled back in repulsion, barely keeping your face straight when suddenly you felt the heavy presence of Sukuna behind you.

You didn't know how much he heard, but he scoffed.

"Get the fuck out of my shop," Sukuna snapped at him.

The guy groaned, already making some excuses and gesturing towards your tits before Sukuna was rounding the corner and grabbing him by the collar to toss him out.

"Asshole," He grunted under his breath when he shut and locked the door, ripping off the note and flipping the sign from open to closed.

"You didn't have to do that," You muttered, but he just waved it away.

"You're my employee."

Yeah, employee.

It was just one of his responsibilities.

You didn't know what to say. Or if he was just waiting for the guy to go or if he'd rather you just start closing up everything else.

Before you could ask, he was moving his keys and phones off his hoodie and tossing the thick bundle of fabric at you.

He didn't have to tell you to put it on before you were pulling it over your head, thankful to feel less vulnerable, less exposed.

It was stupid to think that showing even a sliver of yourself to anyone would bring anything other than trouble.

"I'll give it back Monday," You exhaled, drowning in the warmth of it, the spice in his cologne and the hint of sweetness under it.

"Keep it."

[namism]

take me back | hange zoë

➳ categories: modern au, ex hange, female reader, angst

➳ word count: 11.7k

➳ summary: Hange Zoë realized that they didn't account for a lot of things before ending your relationship.

➳ notes: for everyone's reference, nifa, abel, and keiji are members of the fourth squad (hange's squad) and this fic was lowkey inspired by the lyrics of "kiss me better" by rihanna (don't ask lmfao it's so random). also, if you'd like, please read this on ao3 instead as i worked my butt off coding (yes, i coded instead of using screenshots) your DM's with hange. the version on tumblr is just a bunch of words, so the ao3 version is worth the read! you can find the link below :)

➳ cross-posted on ao3

ONE.

Five seconds before Hange ended your relationship, they noticed their hand clench tightly into a fist.

Three seconds later, they relaxed their hand before sucking in a deep breath and saying the three words you had always dreaded.

"Let's break up."

After three minutes of constant denial, you finally sucked up to your lover's—ex-lover's—decision and promptly stormed out of your apartment. It wasn't until the next morning did you come back to the shared space to pack your things and leave, not even daring to look at Hange's direction as you stowed away items into numerous moving boxes.

Hange remembers telling themselves to behave before you visited the apartment one last time. Knowing themselves, they would have said something stupid with the intention of taking back their words to get you back. Just before you strutted into the living room, Hange talked themselves through their crazy ideas in the mirror, eventually deciding to withdraw to the confines of their study in fear of interfering with your purposeful packing and making matters worse.

Hange got the signal from your tabby cat that you were out the door when it started making noise at the entryway. Its nonstop meowing was the go-signal for Hange to emerge from their study to find the apartment completely dulled down as it lacked the color that once filled the room.

It wasn't until near midnight that they decided to get something to eat after more than 24 hours of not having had a proper meal. With the intention of snacking a bit before hopping back on call with Levi and Erwin (their current emotional support duo who were surprisingly amazing at providing comfort), Hange walked over to the fridge to grab something to eat. When they opened the refrigerator, however, a green sticky note posted on the door caught their attention.

Adjusting their crooked glasses, Hange read the writing aloud.

"Cat food in drawer. Ask Nanaba for feeding schedule. Molecular kits to be sent this week. Nori hidden in pantry. Check all sockets. Check stove. Prepped food in fridge..."

It was at that moment Hange knew how badly they messed up. Written telegraphically, you had fit as many words as you could in the little sticky note to list all the essentials that only you would know how to do around the flat and the ones that Hange easily forgot to do. As another wave of sadness washed over them, Hange bitterly ransacked the fridge for an apple and a bottle of beer with decent alcohol content, then retreated to their study where Levi and Erwin chastised them over the screen for doing dumb and dumber things.

That essentially sums Hange's first 72 hours after breaking your heart into a million pieces. As a research scientist who's been confined at the lab for the past 15 years, those were by far the most uneventful 72 hours of their life. Hange found themselves weeping, drinking beer, ranting to Erwin and a less interested Levi, and sleeping for a maximum of two hours before doing it all over again in a never-ending cycle. It momentarily stopped when they had to work first thing the following Monday, but they relapsed quickly once they arrived home.

Hange couldn't remember the last time they drank that much beer. Their diet got worse as time passed, and thankfully Levi seemed to notice as he had come to their rescue the following evening by giving—drugging?—Hange with a sufficient dosage of melatonin in the black tea he offered. Much to Levi's surprise, Hange was down in 20 minutes without noticing a damn thing. They woke up the next morning, feeling lighter and well-rested.

Unbeknownst to them, Levi continued the routine with an appropriate concentration of melatonin until Hange was stable enough to be told the truth. They weren't bothered by the idea and were frankly more grateful than surprised. Over time, Erwin would swing by to share a cup (minus the dosage) only to leave the apartment with Levi after tucking Hange neatly in bed. Hange would wake up, feel energetically amazing despite the inevitable emptiness in their heart, and go to work.

TWO.

If you told Hange Zoë four years ago that there would come a time in which they would do something as dumb as breaking up with the only woman they were ever attracted to, you would have been called insane.

To be clear, Hange was never big on physical attraction. They were attracted to the weirdest, nerdiest, most mystifying things in the world, but attraction to humans? Certainly not. Hange Zoë, PhD (aged 27 and a certified organic chemist who had made at least a hundred drug-dealing jokes in the past eight years of studying), couldn't concern themselves with romance when it never crossed their mind to begin with. The only types of attraction they ever concerned themselves with were intermolecular forces (which they very much enjoyed learning in sixth grade chemistry) until they met you.

You were the perfect woman. Of that, they were certain. You began as friends in Hange's final year in university for their Bachelor's degree, but your friendship continued until Hange was halfway through their Master's. At that point, Hange felt as though your relationship was pretty solid given how often you spoke and saw each other outside campus. Before they knew it, they found themselves falling for you, their thoughts being muddled by images of your sweet face during the most random times of the day. Hange was wrapped around your finger and they couldn't get themselves to stop.

A month after that realization, Hange decided to ask you out in their own fashion—casually, but enthusiastic. You began dating some time after that and your relationship had been going strong ever since.

Now, after calling off the relationship with four years of dating and no rocky bumps on the road, Hange does, indeed, feel like an idiot. An imbecile. A dumbass, even. Blockhead. Nitwit. Stupid twit. A cretin. Hange could open the Cambridge Thesaurus and list out the synonyms for "idiot" because that's exactly what they are and there is no way of redeeming them from it.

"I just wished you would make the effort to spend time with me!" you exclaimed, eyebrows knitting in sorrow rather than anger, like Hange expected. "You can't even help me clean because you're so busy at your job, like— like I don't even exist sometimes to you."

Hange understands that it's their fault, but they cringe every time they recall the argument that led to the ultimatum. It started on the wrong foot. Looking back at it now, they suppose it was a chain of misunderstandings, one piling onto the other, until the tension finally snapped and dragged both of you into a full-blown argument.

"When the hell did I ever make you feel that way?!" they barked back, eyes wide and irises firm. They looked at you, waiting for an answer. "See?! You can't even answer me! Ridiculous!"

"I'm just— I'm just disappointed, okay?! Fuck, I don't know..." Head falling to your palms, you wiped your face in a stressed motion. "You never, and I mean this, you never—not once in our relationship—ever misunderstood me, so what's gotten into you? Aren't you're so clever, huh?! High IQ, high EQ?"

"Oh, please, in what world would I forget that my girlfriend exists?!" they yelled. You flinched at their tone. "I don't ghost you, I don't ignore you— I come home late, but damn, you don't know the guilt that eats me up every night because the only times I see you are when I go to bed and leave for work—"

"And who's at fault for your guilt but you?!" you retorted. "Hange, you"—you shoved a finger to their chest—"you're the one who can't take care of yourself because you're so invested in everything but your life at home! We haven't gone out in three months, like— like don't you think that's strange? Everyone is getting married, having kids, fuck, even my juniors are on their third night out of the week, yet you can't even take care of yourself unless I do it for you!"

The truth is, being obsessed with your job and anything that has to do with it is also detrimental to everyone who loves you. It never crossed Hange's mind because they haven't had this much on their plate since you started dating. There was always some time allotted for you at the end of the day, but things started to change lately.

On top of their regular job at the lab, Hange has four other things to do: tutor high schoolers for their admissions tests, teach as a part-time lab instructor at a private university, be a loving partner to their girlfriend, and be an equally loving parent to their adopted cat. Life hadn't always been like this, but they found themselves taking up more responsibilities over time until it was physically impossible to rest on most days. They couldn't even enjoy their weekends, for goodness' sake (because the high schoolers would always come knocking in their emails with more questions)—but if they were to take a break, they would return a day later to even more work.

Hange is simply not the type of person to live a peaceful life. Their peace is chaos; it doesn't help their mood when they aren't working on anything that stresses them out. Perhaps that's just the person they are. It should be okay to be this way, to always be in constant motion as long as the heart is followed and their happiness is fulfilled, but it isn't because they're risking so much of your relationship the more they work, work, and work.

You've always been supportive, but even your unconditional support can't realistically understand their position. Or that's what Hange thinks. They assume as such because your lifestyle is much freer than theirs. You have more time to yourself despite your regular 9-to-5 job. You don't have responsibilities outside of it and your personal life at home. Because of it, you decided to handle the work at the flat; Hange never had time for it anyway, much to their dismay. They had always wanted to help, but their schedule just never allowed it.

After a while, the chores automatically became your responsibility and never theirs. You had no problem with this. Hell, you even enjoyed it—you bonded with Hange's friend Levi over being clean freaks together as you always hated seeing mess. Although the duty of cleaning and keeping everything in check (including Hange and their health) soon became an irksome chore rather than something you enjoyed for the fun of it. The less Hange spent time with you, the more it annoyed you. You felt used, like some sort of maid. It was not a problem when you volunteered in a compassionate understanding of Hange's circumstances, but the least they could do was to make up for it by arriving home early or spending even a moment of intimacy.

But no, they had been so busy about other things that they couldn't provide the time. You hadn't gone out in almost three months to grab something to eat or go somewhere fun like you used to. You would take each other out to places you've never been to before regardless of how low-budget it was. You would have been happy with a simple late night trip to a fast food chain if it meant having your partner to yourself after months of no quality time, but such a trip just never came to be.

Witnessing Hange have a destructive breakdown whenever they came home exhausted was an even bigger problem. They never cried, but they were always so close to it. You would hear their frustration at one o'clock in the morning or through your heavy eyelids after being awoken by their wailing. When it got mentally tough, you would offer to stay up with them for comfort, but you were always sent back to bed or, worse, shut out from their study, where they isolated themselves.

They were awfully good at taking care of anything and anyone but themselves, so you felt the need to do it for them. And overall, the cause of your separation was a problem built on top of another. It was why you were so agitated when Hange could barely spend time with you, but your intentions came out wrong. You had explained all of this to them as you argued, yet they misunderstood your concerns as an insult to their work and commitment to your relationship.

Hange rolled their eyes as you cried. They were tired and had no time for this. They were running late for class and figured it would be cancelled at the last second because of your argument.

"Okay, let's get this over with—"

"You're mean. You're so mean, Hange." You slapped their hand away when they tried to touch you. Hange's face turned sour at your reaction. You were still crying.

"Please, can we just stop this?" they asked, voice sounding impatient. You glared at them with all your anger, but your gaze softened when Hange returned a look, weariness written across their face.

"I would never, ever, do this to you if I lived your life," you said softly. Hange remained silent. "I can do it all for you, so why can't you do it for me?"

You were right. Even with your freer schedule, you kept yourself busy with maintaining things at home that it technically felt like a second job. It didn't help your feelings when Hange was oblivious to the work and effort you did. When they cried to Erwin and Levi about this, the pair had opened their eyes to your side of the conflict and made Hange understand. Truly, they didn't account for a lot of things before ending your relationship: from the responsibility of feeding your cat and cleaning the house to understanding your partner's feelings.

Levi called Hange a moron for making you upset and a four-eyed loser for prioritizing "that nerd shit" over you. He had known Hange since high school and was aware of their insatiable obsession with science, even going as far as to believing that they would earn a Nobel Prize in Chemistry one day. Hence, when you started going out, Levi knew that they had fallen for you deeply, and anything that would break your bond could only be explained by supernatural phenomena or Hange's bewildering stupidity.

That said, Levi did the best he could to make Hange understand your viewpoint while Erwin patched their empty heart with anything but beer, apples, and Levi's special melatonin-infused black tea. Hange felt better having understood your feelings, so the next logical step was to talk it out with you for proper closure.

Except they couldn't.

You had already blocked Hange's number just days after the breakup, and your friends—unsurprisingly—weren't about to offer them any help.

THREE.

"Thanks for all of this, Nanaba."

It turns out that even with Hange's attempts at achieving the perfect work-life balance, they still can't master the duty of being a proper owner for the cat. Hange called Nanaba the day they saw your sticky note on the fridge, and since then, they have been keeping in touch with her for the cat's essentials. Hange has also been trying to manage their time better as a way of retribution that they can do better for your relationship, even though they no longer have any means of telling you (which is the harsh reality that they don't want to accept).

"Pfft, don't question it!" Nanaba pats Hange's shoulder as the cat rubs itself on her legs. "I would do anything for this little one! I've grown to like Ion so much, I want to keep him forever!"

"If only Miche wasn't allergic, I'm sure Ion would love to be your new owner," Hange jokes, mentioning Miche, one of Nanaba's roommates.

"Oh, you're just saying that. I'm sure you're a great owner. Sometimes you simply don't have the time to be perfect, and that's okay!"

Nanaba leaves a few moments later after giving Ion a much-needed head pat. Afterward, Hange and the cat decide it would be best to lounge at the living room couch and stare at the ceiling to absorb the quiet.

Ion struts over to the empty space by Hange's feet and lays his body flat. A few seconds later, he conforms his body into the oh-so-famous "catloaf" position, hiding his limbs and tail under his chunky body. Closing his eyes, Ion drifts off to sleep while a laying Hange watches the feline.

Ion, a male orange tabby Persian cat, is the devil reincarnate who happens to be your and Hange's practice child. Hange remembers you describing Ion to be the real-life twin of Garfield, the fictional cat who happens to be of the same breed. They recall questioning your choice at the adoption center upon hearing your many complaints of the feline's behavior, but you shook your head and snuggled the animal in your neck.

"This one's okay," you told them. The cat purred. "I need a little shit for a cat to entertain myself with whenever you aren't around. Also, it should be good training for a kid in the future."

Hange recalls bringing the cat home after a long day and trying their best to make friends with it. You chose the cat yourself, so it liked you more than it did Hange, but it didn't take long for it to start liking them.

"Hey, it likes me!" Hange cheered to themselves as the cat rested on their chest. You smiled. "I can't wait for it to like me better than you."

"You wish!" you retorted, seething with jealousy.

The cat was nameless for a few days as the both of you tried to come up with the perfect name, opting to call it "The Cat" for the meantime. You were against the common ones in favor of unique names, but you were also against certain names that could fool people into mistaking your cat for a human.

Hange kept suggesting the strangest names that were more often than not derived from scientific terms—you liked most of them, but they sounded too scientific for an orange cat who spends most days lazing around the flat. For lack of a better word, they sounded out of character.

That was only until Hange came home from a productive day at the lab, where they toured a bunch of interns and introduced them to their stations.

"Knock, knock," they began. You didn't reply. "You're supposed to say, 'Who's there?'"

"Is this another orange joke?" you asked. Hange shook their head.

"No! It's even better than that. Knock, knock."

You rolled your eyes, laughing.

"Who's there?"

"Cation."

"Cation who?"

"Can't ion-ly knock once? I'm positive you'll open up!"

You snickered.

"You and your silly jokes. Please don't tell me you were telling the interns knock-knock jokes at the lab all day."

"Ha-ha." Hange laughed slowly. "Wow, you totally figured it out!"

Suddenly, The Cat leaped onto Hange's shoulder, frightening them momentarily before being seized. The Cat struggled in Hange's arms as your partner hadn't learned the proper ways of holding a cat yet, but The Cat eventually nestled on their chest. A bright idea came to mind.

"Hange," you called out to them in excitement. They looked at you, intrigued. "What do you call a meowing ion?"

They thought about it silently.

Once they realized, they held up The Cat in the air, effectively surprising the feline.

"A cation!" they answered. They swayed The Cat around swiftly, confusing the poor animal who had no clue of what was to come. "You're a genius, (Y/N)! We should call this one Ion!"

It was a simple but nice name, one that you liked enough to give your partner the go-signal to name the cat as such. Ion seemed to like his name as he picked up on it quickly. It took him a week to get used to the one-syllable three-lettered name before it occurred to him that his two owners identified him with it.

At present, Hange watches Ion open his eyes and hop on the coffee table, sniffing the black tea they had prepared for themselves (this time, melatonin-free). Suddenly, he spots a particular item on the open shelf by the television and jumps over to inspect it, prompting Hange to move.

"No, Ion, get away from there."

Hange stands up from the couch and walks toward the cat. They heave it from the shelf with skilled hands, but it refuses to be picked up as it clings to a picture frame, its claws digging into the glass. Ion hugs the frame for dear life, but its grasp isn't enough to support the weight. One wrong move and it will fall.

"Ugh, put that down, you little cat! If that breaks, I swear to god!"

They manage to get the item out of its grasp when Ion is distracted. Hange decides to put the frame on their work desk in the study room, the one space in the entire apartment that the mischievous cat rarely enters, and believes it to be a fool-proof plan.

Despite all efforts, however, Ion leaps from Hange's hold and onto their work desk.

"Ion!" They grumble in frustration, seeing the cat sniff the picture frame and sit beside it. The photograph is special; it was a photo of you and Hange on your first anniversary that they never bothered to put down after the breakup because they've been clinging on to the little shimmer of hope that you would come back. It's one of the few traces they have left of you at home (and they're eternally grateful that you decided to leave it), so if the cat breaks it, it's over.

Another wave of sadness washes over them when Ion caresses the glass with his paw. Hange notices how he paws your face in the photograph, clearly missing your presence. They frown.

"I know, Ion. I miss her, too." They rub the cat's fur comfortingly. "I'm sorry for being stupid. If I could let you see her again, I would."

And they mean that. The cat misses you dearly and it breaks Hange's heart to imagine that it probably thinks you're dead. Hange isn't too deep into zoology to know if animals can understand human conflict, but they most likely don't. They suppose cat and human break ups are different.

Ion meows as his owner picks him up with a tight grip. He tries to reach out to the frame once more with his stubby limbs as Hange pulls him away from the desk, but he unleashes his claws in protest and grips Hange's shoulder in a devious attack.

"Ow— what the fuck!" Hange hisses as Ion's claws dig deep into their shoulder. They let go of Ion as he leaps back on top of the table, sitting beside the picture frame once more.

They palm their scratched shoulder, glaring at the cat.

"Alright, you want to stay in here like a sulking loser?! Fine by me!"

Hange leaves the study with the door open and the light fixture turned on just so they wouldn't forget to retrieve Ion later. As they walk to the bathroom to wash the wound and rub it with an ointment, they put on some music with the iPad Mini they rarely use.

When the device connects to their home network, a notification instantly appears on screen.

(Y/N) (L/N) recently added to their story.

Hange stands in front of the mirror, dumbfounded.

Not knowing what to do, they simply stare at the notification with raised eyebrows, feeling their chest get heavier by the second. They have an internal argument with their imaginary shoulder devil, who tempts them into clicking the notification. Nothing can go wrong, right? Well, it's just social media—yet their angelic side knocks into their conscience in hopes of waking them up from the temptation, serving as some sort of warning for any consequence that is to come the moment they snoop around your social media. Hange doesn't do anything long enough for the notification banner to disappear, effectively sealing their decision to ignore it—

Hange clicks on the notification at the last second.

The Instagram app opens, then it loads the first photo you added to your story an hour ago.

Great job, Hange. You're responsible for your actions and for your broken heart! They think.

Once your Instagram story loads, Hange recognizes you in a group photo with your friends from university. Dressed in comfortable clothing and makeup done so beautifully, Hange thinks you look stunning as usual. You look no different from the last time they saw you, but they're not quite sure how you're doing behind the sweet smile you have on your face.

Or perhaps they're just projecting their own sadness and can't fathom the idea of you moving on from them. It's a selfish thought coming from the person who initiated the break up, but they yearn so hard for you to still be in love with them against all odds.

Who's a sulking loser now? They think again.

They tap through your story, thoughts continuing to barrage their mind until the last one catches them off guard.

It seems pretty normal: a photo of the sunset with a song from an artist you like playing in the background, not until they notice the little green icon at the topmost part of the screen. They're still in your Close Friends.

They squint their eyes and read the small text at the bottom of the image.

let me see ion one more time pls. i miss everything

"What the hell?"

Breathing in deeply, Hange steps away from the iPad in shock. Dramatic, they know—and there is absolutely no way that this is real since they have been blocked from your contacts just a few days after the breakup, but knowing you, this is something that you would totally do. And it's not like you voiced out to see them—you wanted to see Ion, the cat. Hange should be jealous that the cat gets your attention in this scenario, but knowing you (yet again), you would never be the one to articulate that kind of desire. Regardless, Hange knows that you still want them. Or they pray that you do.

You must. You have to.

Hange is just surprised that they chanced upon your story since they haven't opened their Instagram account in months, and truth be told, they only had one for the sake of having a social media presence that isn't Facebook. Suddenly, the pain in their shoulder fades away, and their only goal is to find some way to respond without sounding like a selfish asshole.

They should post a story with just you in their Close Friends, something that would totally shock you like how you shocked them. Hange believes it's an amazing plan until they try to execute it. Well, they had never posted anything on their story before. Everything that they ever posted on the platform went directly to their feed which over time became a messy jumbled dump of random photos. They don't have many followers, either. You had once called them a "shitposter" with a "garbage dump of a feed", which tells Hange enough that they probably shouldn't proceed with the plan.

So, they settle for your private messages with a direct reply to your story.

Upon opening your direct messages, however, Hange's heart sinks. You didn't block them on Instagram, much less take down the customized settings in your private chat, so everything stayed the same as before as if nothing ever happened: your nickname is still "My Darling Dearest", while theirs is a matching "my beloved". Your chat theme is still the "Love" theme on Instagram with your back-and-forth messages colored pink.

Hange thinks of what to say, what to type. This will be your first conversation since the breakup, after all. They shouldn't mess it up by saying something stupid.

An idea comes to mind. Hange hurriedly exits the bathroom, iPad Mini in hand, and enters their study. They find Ion in the same position as before, laying beside your picture frame as he paws on your photograph. Hange tucks the iPad in between their armpit and seizes Ion from behind.

"A-ha! Gotcha!" Rejoicing, Hange carries the cat out of the study as he instantly goes feral in their hold. They restrain his paws as much as they can while they talk Ion into doing them a favor. "Please, Ion, don't you want to see your mother again? (Y/N)?"

At the sound of your name, the cat calms down and Hange sighs.

Man, this cat has issues.

With the behaved cat, Hange sits on the couch and places Ion on their lap, belly facing them. The cat looks at them in confusion, watching his owner pull out the iPad and excitedly open the Camera app to take a photo of his vulnerable form.

"Mrao?" the cat asks.

"Just stay still," they order.

Ion makes a face of disapproval and shuts his eyes tightly, stretching his limbs out as he tries to contain his annoyance. He wants to see you again, even if it means just staring at your photograph and burning your image in his head, as opposed to being captured and taken photos of like a show animal. He loves Hange for feeding him and taking care of him, but why would they separate him from you? He misses you so much.

"Looks good enough." Ion hears Hange mumble to themselves. He meows another time in a questioning tone to ask if the job is finally done so that he can go back to admiring your photograph. When Hange puts him down on the ground, he bolts for the study.

Meanwhile, Hange stares at the messages they had sent you on Instagram.

my beloved: Heyy... Ion misses you too... my beloved: Attached Image my beloved: hahahahhaaafh :') Seen

They sound like a nervous wreck, akin to a middle schooler who's confessing to someone for the very first time in fear of rejection. Hange doesn't expect you to reply right away, so they stow away the iPad on the coffee table while they scream into one of the couch pillows to relieve their stress. Suddenly, the device vibrates.

Hange is looking at the notification in no time.

My Darling Dearest: thank you

Their heart leaps out of their chest. You replied. You actually replied. It's a simple thank you that probably doesn't mean much to anyone else, but it means the entire world to them given the current circumstances. Hange breaks into a grin as they stand up from the couch and pace around the living room, rereading your two-word reply over and over again.

my beloved: Of course of course, don't mention it!!! my beloved: Sorry for the exclamation points, I'm not shouting :( Seen

Their celebration ends quickly, however, as Hange curses to themselves upon typing a stupid response with the apology at the end. They take a deep breath. Okay, Hange. Don't mess this up now!

They watch as the read receipt appears at the bottom of their message. A small bubble with three dots appears then disappears every so often. You continue to type for the next 30 seconds and Hange grows anxious.

When you don't reply, their shoulders fall.

"Just my luck," they mutter. Hange is left at read even after six minutes of waiting. At this point, they can't identify the best course of action after getting ignored. They guess that it's better than being left at delivered, and that they should be grateful that you replied in the first place, so they exit the app and admit defeat.

But they come back running a minute later after having realized that they should initiate. Of course you wouldn't want to talk to Hange after they broke your heart—even if you still love them dearly, it's only appropriate if you refrain from any kind of interaction... yet you had replied to their message when you could have just totally ghosted them, removed your cute chat decorations, and blocked them on every social media platform there is to exist.

Hange isn't giving up on your relationship. They can't give up on you.

my beloved: To tell you the truth, I saw your story earlier and I figured that you might want to see Ion again my beloved: I understand if you don't want to see me, but I can drop him off my beloved: He misses mom a lot! D: Seen

Hange observes just how fast you read their message and smiles to themselves when they see you typing. They're glad they pulled the "our-son-misses-you" card as it seemed to be enough to get your attention. Hange looks at their study, remembering the cat who's snuggled up with your photo. Ion would be more than delightful to hear about this.

My Darling Dearest: tomorrow 2 PM. my beloved: Oh okay!! my beloved: May I ask where? 😅 My Darling Dearest: i'm staying at nifa's my beloved: We will be there! Seen

Hange giggles, kicking their feet. They throw the iPad on the couch and run to the study. Picking up Ion from the work desk, they hoist the cat in the air as they celebrate. "We did it! We're seeing (Y/N) tomorrow!"

"Miaow!"

"I know! Okay, I'm giving you a bath tonight." Hange puts him down and lets the cat roam free. Suddenly, they remember that they have work tomorrow. It's currently Sunday afternoon and their workload is calling their name. "Fuck."

Running their fingers through their hair, they shake their head. It shouldn't matter. They have more important things to attend to.

FOUR.

"Look, I'm sorry for being an asshole. I reflected on everything I said the past month and I understand that I was wrong. Please, from the bottom of my heart, can you give me a second chance?"

"Wrrrao!"

"Ugh, get up. We're both bad at this."

Ion meows angrily a second time when Hange picks him up. It's his call of hunger. He demands food and water because he's Hange's (and your) precious cat who can do no wrong, like the king of the flat, the king of everything. Hange situates Ion on their shoulder and lets him balance there as they prepare the cat food that Nanaba had sent yesterday. He smugly watches Hange plate his meal and promptly hops off their shoulder once they put his pet bowl on the ground. While Ion digs into his breakfast, Hange disappears into the bedroom and locks themselves inside to be left alone with their thoughts.

Ever since you consented to seeing Ion—and Hange—yesterday afternoon, they decided to call in sick at work. Once that problem was out of the way (which, to their surprise, was a fairly easy process), they decided to craft an apology to rehearse if they ever find the time to insert a small discussion in your "casual" meeting.

"That's great to hear, Hange!" Erwin told them last night over FaceTime. Hange had to break the news to someone other than the cat, and since Erwin (and Levi) had been there for them since day one, they decided to tell him immediately. They were hoping to get his opinion on the matter, maybe some word of advice and a 101 on "how-to-approach-your-ex-girlfriend". But Erwin was empty-handed, equally clueless as he hadn't been in their shoes before; he never tried to get back together with an ex. He was hopeful, though. "Sorry about that. In any case, I believe you can handle it on your own. No one knows her better than you."

But Hange isn't handling this as well as they'd hoped. Usually quick with words, they thought finding the right ones for their apology would come naturally, but it hasn't. Every attempt feels clumsy, every phrase falls short. The weight of the moment presses on them, and the uncertainty of how this meeting will unfold only makes it worse. It could go right, or it could go wrong—but Hange can't shake the sinking feeling that the odds of success have never felt slimmer.

Hange wonders what's running through your mind. Did you sleep well last night after your conversation? Are your friends warning you it's a bad idea to meet up with your ex? Or maybe you're considering canceling altogether? They figure that's unlikely, though—after all, you've missed Ion like crazy. Your bond with Ion (Hange chuckles softly at their own chemistry joke) is far too strong for you to say no to seeing him. Still, they wouldn't blame you if you canceled. After all, who'd want to face the person who shattered their heart?

Regardless, Hange has been rehearsing countless scenarios, crafting a plan for every possible outcome if things don't go their way. They've already revised their apology at least four times, hoping one version will hit the right note when they see you this afternoon. In one scenario, they picture knocking on your old friend and roommate Nifa's door, leaving Ion on the doorstep, and waiting out of sight until you step outside to find him sitting there, alone on the mat. Then, they'd emerge—calm, composed—and launch into their carefully prepared speech. In another, they imagine standing at the doorway, holding Ion and a bouquet of flowers, their nerves barely hidden. They'd offer you both—flowers and cat alike—with a heartfelt apology for their foolish mistakes, hoping it's enough to bridge the gap they created.

As they sit in silence, though, Hange thinks they're going overboard. You would probably appreciate it if they brought you something other than the cat, but spoiling you with flowers and some other romantic shit when you aren't together anymore just sounds... pathetic. Pitiful. It feels like they're begging for your love through material possessions when they shouldn't. They hurt you with their words, their gestures, so they might as well patch it up by promising to do better and showing it all through their actions.

So Hange arrives with just the cat. No flowers, no chocolates, none of that romantic stuff. Just them, Ion, their keys, and wallet.

Breathing in, Hange rings the doorbell. They arrived pretty early—it's still 1:46 PM, but your and Nifa's old apartment used to be on the other side of town so they had to leave the flat early. As they wait to be let in, they stroke Ion's orange fur and pray to a transcendent being that everything will be okay.

FIVE.

A month away from Hange feels longer than it should have been. A month is a year in your book, and on some days, it feels even longer.

It's the aftermath of a breakup—an unwelcome shadow that lingers over your life. Even with a regular job to keep you busy, Hange's words haunt you, often pushing you to the brink of a breakdown. You can't seem to escape it. The moment you're alone with nothing to distract you, the discomfort creeps in, settling like a heavy knot in your stomach. Whether it lasts three minutes or five, it always ends the same, your tears threatening to spill as the weight becomes too much to bear.

To your luck, your old roommate Nifa had provided you amazing company while you tried to mend your broken heart. You met her in university when you moved out from your hometown and lived within the residence halls for the duration of your undergraduate program. When your friend group expanded, the both of you moved out of the dorms with Abel and Keiji into a four-bedroom apartment near campus, which became your home until you decided to move in with Hange three years ago. Hence, when you stormed out of your apartment after the breakup with nothing but your phone and wallet, Nifa was the first person you called.

She welcomed you to your old home with open arms, followed by Abel and Keiji who came running back home to tackle you into a group hug. You had been away for so long that they almost didn't recognize you—you had grown since you had last seen them five months ago, but you ought to think that it was the stress taking a toll on your body.

The merriment of your return drifted away as you explained to the boys why you visited. They comforted you for the rest of the evening and offered every kind of help. To say they were disappointed about the news was an understatement. Abel and Keiji were upset to learn the details, while Nifa exploded into flames—they found it absurd that Hange broke up with you and not the other way around.

"Seriously, why would someone do that to the sweetest girl out there?!" Nifa exclaimed, eyebrows knitted and face evidently furious.

You agreed with them. It was quite strange that Hange ended your relationship for that reason when it was something you could have made amends with. You had never fought in your relationship as any issue encountered was almost immediately solved with proper communication. It had always been that way since you started noticing Hange's workaholic attitude, which merely turned out for the worst.

You were lonely. On some days, you felt unloved. Hange couldn't spare you a glance as you made breakfast in the morning because they would be working away at the study the moment they woke up. The longest stretch without any real acknowledgment from them lasted four days, and it drove you mad. It was a cycle of waking up, going to work, and going to bed without them, and you had never felt more distant. You tried to invite them out to dinner in hopes of rebuilding your relationship, but you were always politely turned down.

That was arguably the worst part: they weren't mean about it. In fact, Hange seemed genuinely apologetic every time they declined. Yet as the days dragged on, the apologies began to sting. It didn't feel like them to refuse you so often. They had always loved going out with you, and even when work consumed their time in the past, they had always found a way to make room for you. This wasn't the Hange you knew.

What changed? You had wondered. Hange was always running around doing things and you were aware of that. They could never sit still because there was always something that they wanted to work on. You loved that about them; it was what you found interesting about Hange that made you fall for them harder. There is great honor in working so scholarly at a lab day and night and you couldn't be any prouder, but to do so in excess transformed it into a vice that hurt the both of you deeply.

Hange didn't know how to take care of themselves until you came into the picture. Their obsession with constantly working on things hindered them from eating regularly or looking after themselves. When their schedule got tighter the past few months and you witnessed their health deteriorating like a decreasing health bar in a video game, you got mad. Call it motherly girlfriend instincts and whatnot, but you were bothered by it.

"You didn't eat your food." You frowned upon seeing the small container with the food you cooked that morning. "What the— Hange! Why is your water bottle still full?!"

It was excessive. They weren't eating the food you packed them yet they would have the audacity to come up to you a few days later with a growling, aching stomach. "I swear, if you develop an ulcer, what are we going to do?!" You would cook for Hange whenever that happened, whether it be at 10 in the evening or two in the morning. Whenever they needed something, you were up and standing, ready to help them with whatever—and it was exactly why it hurt so much when they couldn't even hang out with you like you used to.

"I can do it all for you, so why can't you do it for me?"

Nonetheless, you didn't want to break up. No, that wasn't the best decision. It never was and it never will be. Hange is a scientist with a passion for learning, so surely they can learn to be better, yet they ended your relationship like they weren't willing to.

And even after weeks of not having Hange by your side, it still pissed you off so much that they couldn't just listen to you or make the commitment to do so. You couldn't suppress your anxiety either. Everyday, you would think about how they're doing without you being there to maintain things at home. You doubt the note you left by the fridge was enough to keep them going. While they eventually had to learn how to do things without you, there's a discomfort at the pit of your stomach that they wouldn't be able to live like normal without you around. Their regular job requires lots of time and attention on top of the many other commitments they have—hell, they probably will struggle with taking care of the cat!

Although the wound in your heart faded as time passed. While you still worried for Hange, your hurt became anger and anger became misery. You were upset—so upset, and you miss Hange (and Ion) so badly. Moving out of your apartment with not even a single word of closure stung so badly as if a part of your soul left and never returned. You would do anything in your power to get back together with them again, but was it a good decision to initiate?

"Especially when they ended it first?" Nifa spoke, rubbing her knees with cold hands as she sat across you on the living room floor. You had asked her if it was a good idea to ever come running back to an ex, to give them a second chance to make things better. "Usually not, but this kind of scenario often plays out for cheaters. Maybe it wouldn't be bad to get back together."

"I second that," Keiji said, seated on the armchair. "If they still don't change, make sure to end it once and for all."

"I wouldn’t initiate it myself," Abel added. Nifa shot him a pointed look, but he continued. "They broke up with you. No offense, but do yourself a favor—don’t go making a fool of yourself chasing after someone when you’re not even sure they want you back. If Hange wants to reconcile, let them do the begging."

You took their advice and followed your heart. You wanted to get back together because you weren't letting a single argument be the end of your relationship, and if Hange didn't want to restore your connection, you at least wanted some form of closure. On top of that, you wanted to see your cat.

So you distracted yourself.

You waited for them to reach out. Right after the breakup, you had blocked Hange's number partly to avoid the inevitable messages, knowing full well they'd try to reach out after a couple of days of silence. But you weren't ready to talk at the time, so their contact remained blocked for an entire week while you sorted through your emotions and sought advice from your friends. Eventually wanting to hear from them, you unblocked their number and left the door open for them to message you, but to your dismay, the days passed in silence and Hange hadn't reached out at all.

You looked through your private messages on different platforms yet you didn't receive any word from them. Your heart sunk at the revelation. Maybe Hange didn't want to talk to you. After all, they hid themselves inside their study when you came back to the apartment the morning after the breakup to pack your things into boxes. Maybe Hange truly didn't want to talk.

Grief consumed you in the days that followed, yet you couldn't bring yourself to reach out, afraid it would only deepen your pain. If nearly three weeks had passed without a word from Hange, it had to mean they were done with you, didn't it? Still, you clung stubbornly to the faint hope that they'd reach out one day. As the silence stretched on, however, the weight of waiting became too much to bear, and you knew you had to do something about it.

You couldn't stand it anymore. Waiting around for nothing just made you more anxious than you already were, so off to Instagram you went, removing everyone in your Close Friends except Hange. You knew they rarely spent time online except for networking sites like LinkedIn and ResearchGate, but you wanted to send some kind of signal without being too obvious.

You had gone out with your roommates the day you posted the story, so if Hange ever decided to open their Instagram after months of inactivity, it wouldn't be too obvious that you posted. When the post went through, you held your breath and ditched your phone to calm your raging nerves.

Will it work? Will they even see it? You thought to yourself, hopeful about the outcomes.

After an hour of waiting, however, you didn't hear anything from them. No view receipt, no new message, nothing. It didn't hurt that much since Hange rarely opened Instagram in the first place, but you were hoping that they would at least have the idea of coming online to check your account. Yet their account showed no activity, the green dot at the side of their profile picture missing every time you checked.

Suddenly, your phone vibrated. A notification went through.

my beloved Heyy... Ion misses you too...

The rest was history. You managed to arrange a meeting with Hange the following day under the guise of meeting Ion, but you hadn't done so without prancing around your room like a panicking idiot. You hadn't told anybody about posting your story in fear of jinxing things, so you replied to Hange with no one's help but yourself.

Now, you sit at the dining table with your roommates, who bicker over Keiji's homemade lunch about a manga series they've been following. You eat your food in silence as you think of a way to tell your friends that you had invited Hange over for a casual meeting in two hours, but you're left dry with ideas.

Eventually, it comes out of your mouth.

"What?" Abel mumbles to himself, freezing midair with the serving spoon and a bowl of chicken in his hands. Keiji drops his fork.

"You did what?!" Nifa screeches, followed by an apology from Abel for her indecency. "Girl, I— sorry, you invited them here? Like, you aren't joking?"

"Listen, I"—you gulp—"I invited them because I wanted to see the cat."

"Never mind the cat. Your ex is still coming," Nifa points out.

"Of course, I know that—"

"Are you sure about this?" Abel asks. Your eyes fall down to your plate. "Just so we're clear, we're not mad at you for having them over."

"I understand," you reply.

"We're worried for you."

"I understand that, too," you say. Abel is silent. "Look, I know it sounds dumb, but I promise I didn't invite them over just like that. I truly did want to see Ion and I wasn't expecting a reply."

"What did you do?" Keiji asks. You tell him about your elaborate plan and he nods his head in approval. "Wow. You have insane luck."

"I do, and I just— I meant it when I said that I didn't expect it, okay? You all know Hange, they're... chronically offline. Not that good with social media."

Nifa snorts. "Yeah, you could say that again. I'm surprised they even knew how to reply to an Insta story." Mashing her chicken with her fork, she clears her throat. "Well, I guess we should get going ASAP."

"You aren't mad?" you ask, surprised.

"I don't see the point. You should live your life the way you want to," she says. "Also, it makes us feel better that you're here because of a misunderstanding and not any of that cheating bullshit."

"I would have ripped their throat out if you had come here for that." Keiji seethes. You giggle.

"Don't worry. You'll never have to."

"Ugh, why am I tearing up?" Nifa dramatically pauses. She lets go of her utensils and leans over to your side. "God, come here for a hug!"

"Group hug!" Keiji rejoices, his hands automatically locating your head and giving you a couple of pats. Abel follows suit, leaning next to you.

"Just don't hurt yourself," he says as he embraces you back. Keiji and Nifa nod.

"I won't. I promise."

SIX.

Your roommates left the apartment after they finished cleaning up. They promised to hang out for a few hours at a nearby café and that they would be one call away in case you needed anything. They trusted that you and Hange won't go batshit crazy at the apartment, but if it ever came down to that, Keiji and Abel promised to arrive in three minutes tops.

The clock ticks by as the silence envelopes the apt. You're sitting on the arm of the couch as you bounce your knee impatiently. It's 1:45 PM, exactly 15 minutes before your scheduled meeting, yet you're already stationed by the door.

You inhale sharply when the doorbell rings.

Standing from the couch, you approach the entrance. You look through the peephole to check the new arrival, and your heart swells upon seeing a patch of orange fur in Hange's arms.

It's now or never.

You open the door.

"Hi. I'm here, like you asked... ha-ha." Hange laughs slowly, the awkwardness sinking in. When silence falls in the air, they look at the cat and offer him to you. "Um, anyway, here's Ion, the cat. Our cat... that we, um, co-parent together— sorry, was that term triggering? Whatever. Anyway, here he is— oh, uhuh, yep— Ion, relax!"

Ion leaps into your arms the moment he realizes that you're in front of him. You look the same as the last time he saw you, your features still recognizable by his little cat brain. Ion is also delighted to see that you aren't crying anymore. When you dashed in and out of the apartment a month ago with tears falling on your face, he couldn't handle the fear and confusion that consumed him.

The moment you catch the cat, you hold him close to your chest and snuggle his head into your shoulder. Ion does so obediently, sniffing you in the process to refresh his memory with your scent. Hange watches the scene unfold in front of them, their heart warming up and a big smile appearing on their face as Ion happily purrs in your hold. Leaning on the door, they allow themselves to get lost at the warm sight in front of them, nostalgic of the domestic life with you and your feline child.

When Ion calms down, you thank Hange sheepishly.

"Well," you start after a few seconds of quiet, "are you just going to stand there?"

"Oh." Hange's eyes shoot up. "You want me to...?"

You sigh. "Just come in."

Hange follows your request and slowly walks in the apartment. As you close the door, they look around to observe. So much has changed since the last time they visited. It's a much bigger space compared to your shared one on the other side of town to house four people, and although your creative touch is initially unrecognizable as opposed to the old days, Hange figures out that if they look hard enough, they can see your touches here and there—the flower vase at the foot of the TV and the little figurines inside the glass shelf by the dining room corner are household articles that only they can recognize in familiarity.

"Are your roommates home?" they ask. You shake your head. "So that leaves the both of us here... alone?"

You sit yourself on the couch and release Ion to let him explore the apartment. Hange cautiously occupies the space beside you, leaving some space in between to make things less awkward.

You bat your eyelashes. Nodding your head, you purse your lips and decide to let your actions do the talking. You still aren't sure if you want to initiate the conversation, so you leave the opportunity for Hange to grab.

And they notice. Taking a deep breath in, Hange decides it's the perfect time to address the elephant in the room.

"I'm sorry," they say softly. Rubbing their hands together, they decide at the last second to ditch their script and just go for it. You listen intently. "I thought about it after you moved out. I've done wrong in the past, but this has to be the pinnacle of my mistakes. I was mad, and I didn't realize the weight of my words until you left... I'm sorry."

"Is that all?"

"No." They shake their head. "Of course not. I would say more, but it gets overwhelming." Hange turns their head to the side and meets your eyes for the first time in a month. You allow them to look. "What do you want to know?"

You shift in your seat.

"Why you broke up with me." Hange looks away when they hear the sadness in your voice. "Why you thought breaking up was the best decision at that time."

"I didn't," they say. "I eventually regretted it. I still do."

"But you just let me be." You frowned. "You didn't... you didn't chase after me, you didn't run after me when I left the next day. I didn't even receive a single message after two weeks—"

"You know I wanted to," Hange cuts you off, looking back at you with a pained expression. "But I had to stop myself. I couldn't start begging you to come back without considering your feelings. What kind of person would that make me, if not even more selfish?"

They lean forward, elbows on their knees as they stare into nothingness. "I was angry. Stubborn, but angry. When you nagged at me, I just— I just wanted you away. I didn't want to be disturbed and it annoyed me when you did because I was working. I did it to push you away even though it wasn't the best decision."

"That was a mistake, Hange," you remark. Hange mutters a quick, "I know," in response. "Did you think that I could do better?"

"You could say that. For the longest time, I never thought of one to be less sufficient than the other. We were great, but I couldn't meet your needs as well as before when things were becoming busy." Hange rests their forehead on the heels of their palms and shuts their eyes. "I wanted focus. I didn't want distractions, and more importantly, I was tired."

Expression turning sour, you say, "Distraction? Our relationship was a distraction, was that it?"

"It," Hange hesitates, "it was what I thought."

Leaning back on the couch, you look away from Hange as their words sink in. Your eyes well up with tears, an irksome occurrence amid the exchange. You promised yourself earlier that you wouldn't cry as you had already done enough in the past few weeks, but they just come, and you make no effort to stop them.

"Even after everything I did?"

Hange heeds the hurt in your voice, prompting them to come closer in response for comfort.

"I-I'm sorry. I promise you, I thought things out when you were gone and I regret it. I really do!"

"A distraction," you choke out. "Ugh, god. I've never heard that one before."

"I'm sorry..." Hange says for the nth time that day. They try to come closer to see your face, but you avoid them. "I didn't have my priorities straight. I always made time for you in the past, but I just got so obsessed and I— I'm so sorry."

No response. You let your tears run while you cry in silence. Hange doesn't know what to do and the panic settles in.

"Hey… I realized how hard it was to live without you, so I'm here to talk it out." You sniff. Hange is starting to crumble. "Baby, I'm a difficult person who had an easier life because of you. In hindsight, you were no distraction. I thought that way because I was an obsessive freak, and I hate myself for hurting you! I've gotten even crankier to the point of drinking Levi's melatonin black tea, and— and—"

Ion suddenly hops on you, finding his normal spot on your lap before you decided to one day disappear from his life. Surprised, you let the cat sit on your lap as he meows anxiously at the tension in the air. Hange breathes in.

"The cat!" They cry. "The cat misses you! He scratches me like I'm a walking cat scratcher every time he demands to see you. He's been wondering where his mother went because she hasn't been home in a month!"

Hange watches Ion purr against your touch, enjoying your company as he realizes that you aren't dead after all, just gone for a very long time. He turns around from his seated position on your lap to lay on his back, his tummy showing and vulnerable to you, a sign of trust toward his owner.

Hange's heart sinks another time when you pull Ion close after wiping your tears away, a bittersweet pang reminding them of the days when they could simply glance at you and the cat, content in the quiet comfort of your shared space as they worked in their study. For what feels like the hundredth time that day, regret wells up, filling the hollow ache in their chest. If it weren't for your presence keeping them anchored, they might have broken down completely right then and there.

"I'm sorry," they choke out as they gently reach for your hand and hold it in theirs, possibly for the final time. They know there isn't a single word, phrase, or sentence out there that can articulate the graveness of their apology, but they hope to get it across as much as they can. "I'm an asshole for coming here in the first place, but if it means getting proper closure and allowing our cat to see you again, I don't regret it. I hope you can forgive me for invading your space."

You sigh. "That's enough, Hange."

"Huh?" They drop your hand in response, afraid of what's to come.

"I get it. You're sorry for what you did." Ion rolls around in your lap, soon standing on his hind legs with his forelegs reaching out to you for a hug. You hug him back. "I'm just, um, I'm just worried now, and I've been worried. How were you? Were you doing okay?"

Hange exhales in relief. "Dear, you didn't have to worry about me."

You frown.

"No, love. I want to worry about you. What kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn't?" Hange's heart skips a beat when you call them with the term of endearment. "So? How was life then?"

"I reached the conclusion that being single isn't good for me." They pout. They hold your hand again. "I struggled so much alone. I survived, but surviving isn't living. Life felt empty when I didn't have the sweetest girl making me happy."

"You're just saying that."

"No, I mean it! I love living with you, I love loving you. I know I can do that even when we're not together, but it makes my life so much fuller when you're in the picture."

They look down at Ion, who looks at them from his peripheral vision like he's judging them dramatically.

"You and Ion, of course."

"Mrrao!"

Snuggling with Ion, you kiss his nose. He purrs back in contentment.

"I just... I didn't feel as loved as I used to," you say. "I love living my life knowing that it's you who I end up with, but I must have loved you too hard. Maybe I love you too much because I want to spend more time with you, to always be around you."

"And you aren't selfish for that," Hange declares. "You deserve to be loved for the woman you are and for the love you give. You did so much for me, yet I didn't pay you back. You had every right to complain. Now that you have, I hope to make things right and compensate you for all the times I acted so dumbly. I'll make time for you again and I'll take care of myself better—I promise."

"But how do I know that you're telling the truth?" you whisper. Second chances are hard to come by. To give an ex this special chance to make things right doesn't happen to just anyone, and it rarely even works out the second time around. What is Hange willing to do for you when you've already done so much for them? "Tell me what you're willing to do. How do I know, Hange?"

"Because I called off everything I had to do today just to come here." Hange smiles a bit. That's your cue to realize that they did, indeed, skip work today just to visit you and iron things out. It's a Monday afternoon, and Hange could have simply taken a half-day shift, but they decided against it entirely. "And, as a matter of fact, I would do it again, and again, and again."

"Oh, Hange, don't waste your—"

"No, no! You got the wrong idea!" they exclaim. "I'm not going to take the entire week off just to prove a point briefly and go back to being a douchebag the following week. I figured that, out of everything, temperance is a virtue that I should work on. I want to be there for you when you need me and I will be there."

Your tears have dried at this point, having left a puffy texture on your eyes. Hange carefully massages your hand in theirs as you find the right words to say.

"Promise me this, Hange."

"I promise."

"Then kiss me if you want to seal it."

With a big grin on their face, Hange leans forward and wraps their hands around your body, laughing softly as Ion looks up in between the both of you with curious eyes. Hange pats his head, mumbles a quick apology to the cat, and kisses you gently with that silly grin still on their face. You kiss them back slowly, heart warming up to the sweet moment of having your partner back into your life to complete your little family of three.

Hange pulls away, but they stay close to you, their hands cupping your face. "I missed you so badly."

"I missed you, too. Being away from you killed me more than being with you all the time. Believe it or not, it felt more toxic." You sigh. "I want to move back in, but you need to give me a few days to… well, process things."

"Of course, take your time as needed. I can't just steal you a second time from your roommates, you know?" Hange jokes as they stroke your cheek.

"I stole you from Erwin and Levi," you deadpan, "but yes, it should be fine. Just give me time to say goodbye and pack my things."

Hange looks over to the side. A part of them feels guilty for taking you away from your roommates so easily. "You don't have to move in right away if you still want to stay here for a bit, you know? I respect your decision if you think it's too fast."

You shake your head cutely. "Cut that out! We need to pay our bills soon and I have to cuddle Ion in bed!"

"Huh? But what about me?" They frown out of jealousy. Ion yawns, like he's telling them to get over it. "Cheeky cat."

"You'll get even better cuddles." You giggle. Hange laughs along, completely missing the innuendo. They're just happy to hear you giggling again. "To start, would you like a complete family hug? Maybe you'd even want to stay for a bit. The guys won't be going home unless I tell them to—"

"Are you joking? I would love to!"

If you found Hange clingy before you broke up, then you certainly find their behavior ten times more excessive now. Upon your request, they rest their body on yours, placing their head on your chest and feeling the rise and fall of your calm breaths. They pet the cat next to them, whom Hange believes to have smiled as well when he notices your physical contact. They're right—Ion is happy. He's satisfied seeing that his two owners are back together, and that neither of you are crying anymore.

As they lay on your chest, Hange lets their mind go numb. They lay in silence, keeping their delighted reactions to themselves when you would fiddle with their hair or play with their fingers. The moment is spent in quietude, but it's perfect—the ideal time for Hange to solemnly swear to the gods, the transcendent beings, to themselves, most especially, that they will never let you go.

There are only so many people in the world that they get along with, let alone be so open to the idea of loving. Hange vows to stay true to their words, to treat you better—kiss you better—as you have always deserved.

-

ctto for the cat photo (via pinterest)

also i saw this tweet while writing and i just NFDHBFHD THIS IS SO ACCURATELY HANGE IN THIS FIC LMAO

[moluvies]

yearning ꔛ hange zoe x f!reader

a/n: i seriously cant say y/n anymore without thinking of the tiktok memes please save me . read part two here !!

words: 5.3k

cw: minor injury, confessions, they/them pronouns for hange, she/her pronouns for reader, hange w/ female anatomy, reader has female anatomy, reader is the #1 yearner!!, SMUT!! hange is a freak lowkey (obvi), face sitting, fingering hange, MDNI !!

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

You wanted to follow them into the wooded area nearby, but it seemed Commander Erwin knew you weren’t exactly prepared for whatever Hange was up to during these scouting missions. Levi was frequently tasked with following them instead, known for his abilities to keep people from dying but also his annoyance in having to do so.

You stayed back at camp, shoulders slumped where you sat at a nearby picnic table. Commander Erwin was right, obviously. You’d just be a liability if you went with them, but it didn’t stop from making you worry. Hange and Levi were fully capable soldiers. Perhaps the most capable, actually. But being apart from them always made your heart beat faster and your head begin to ache. Despite their technical skills, Hange still always managed to put themselves in danger.

"Chin up, (Y/N)!"

You looked up, finding Petra alongside Oluo with jugs of water in their arms. You simply sighed. It wasn’t a secret to your comrades how much you cared for Hange — not by a long shot. It didn’t make the constant teasing any less annoying, though.

"Your little Hange will be back in no time, dear," Oluo had added, his voice taking on a twinge of teasing that had you rolling your eyes.

"I know that. I'm just... I dont know," you shrugged, "bored."

Petra let out a lighthearted laugh, placing the jug of water onto the table beside you. "Oh, so we bore you now?" She teased.

"It's not like that," you replied with look of embarassment. "You know I enjoy your company. It's just—"

"You'd rather be with Hange," Oluo finished for you, setting his water jug down with a smug grin. "We understand, don't we, Petra?"

Petra nudged him with her elbow but couldn't hide her smile. "Leave her alone, Oluo. Not everyone can be as stoic as you pretend to be."

Oluo scoffed, crossing his arms. "I don't pretend anything. I—" His words cut off as he accidentally bit his tongue, causing both you and Petra to stifle laughter.

The sound of commotion from the edge of camp caught your attention. Rising to your feet, you squinted toward the tree line, heart immediately racing when you spotted the returning group. Levi was in the lead, his expression even more sour than usual. Behind him was Hange, but they weren't walking properly—they were leaning heavily on another scout.

Without thinking, you broke into a run.

"What happened?" you called out, reaching them before anyone else from camp.

Levi clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Four-eyes decided to get too close to a cliff edge. Turns out unstable rock is still unstable, even for scientists."

Hange looked up at you with a bright smile despite the dirty bandage wrapped around their thigh and the various scratches on their face. "It was worth it though! The view from that position let me see exactly how the terrain affects titan movement patterns when—"

"Shut up," Levi cut them off. "Get them to the medical tent," he ordered the scout supporting Hange.

"I can help," you blurted, moving to Hange's other side and slipping their arm around your shoulders. The contact made your pulse race, even under these circumstances.

As you helped Hange toward the medical tent, you couldn't stop the worried questions tumbling from your lips. "How bad is it? Did you break anything? How much blood did you lose? Why weren't you being more careful?"

Hange laughed, their voice still enthusiastic despite their obvious pain. "It's just a flesh wound! Some rocks gave way, I slid about twenty feet down a slope. The cut on my leg is the worst of it."

"That's still serious!" you protested, helping them inside the tent where medical supplies awaited.

Your hands trembled slightly as you eased them onto a cot. Being this close, touching them, supporting their weight—it was both heaven and torture knowing it came at the cost of their injury.

"Really, (Y/N), I'm fine," Hange insisted as you and the other scout helped them onto a cot. "I've had much worse. Remember that time with the experimental trap and I—"

"I remember," you cut them off, not wanting to relive that particular memory. "That doesn't make this okay."

Levi appeared at the tent entrance, arms crossed. "The bandage needs changing. It's filthy, like everything else about you," he said pointedly towards Hange.

Despite his harsh words, Levi moved efficiently around the tent, gathering clean bandages and antiseptic. You helped Hange remove their gear and boots while they continued rambling excitedly about their findings, seemingly oblivious to both their injury and your distress.

"You should have seen it, (Y/N)! The formation of the ravine suggests that titans might be using these natural passages to travel undetected! If we map them all, we could potentially predict—"

"Hold still," you murmured, gently rolling up their pant leg to reveal the bloodied bandage. Your fingers brushed against their skin, and you hoped they wouldn't notice the way your hands shook.

When you unwrapped it, you couldn't help but gasp at the jagged gash that ran along their thigh. It wasn't life-threatening, but it was deep and angry-looking.

"See? Just a scratch," Hange said dismissively, then winced when Levi approached with the antiseptic.

"Some scratch," Levi muttered. "Hold them still," he instructed you.

You placed your hands on Hange's shoulders, hyper-aware of the warmth radiating through their shirt. They smelled like earth and sweat and blood, and still, somehow, it made your heart race. Hange's face contorted in pain as Levi cleaned the wound, and you found yourself wishing you could take their pain away.

Their eyes met yours, and they tried to mask their discomfort with a smile. "This is nothing compared to what I'm going to discover with this new information," they said through gritted teeth. "The commander will be pleased once I explain my theory about—"

"The commander," Levi interrupted, "will be pleased if you return with all your limbs attached. Which almost wasn't the case today."

Your grip on Hange's shoulders tightened involuntarily. "Please be more careful next time," you whispered, your voice betraying far more emotion than you intended. "I know your research is important, but..."

Hange reached up, placing their hand over yours. The casual touch sent electricity through your veins. Their eyes softened behind their glasses, and for a moment, the manic scientist facade fell away. "I know. I'll try to be more careful."

"No, you won't," Levi said flatly as he finished bandaging the wound. "But next time, maybe we'll let (Y/N) come along. She can't possibly do a worse job of keeping you alive than I did."

Your eyes widened in surprise. Was that Levi's way of complimenting you? Even Levi may have noticed your devotion to Hange, much to your embarassment.

"That's a wonderful idea!" Hange exclaimed, suddenly reinvigorated. Their hand was still on yours, and they gave it a squeeze that made your heart flutter embarrassingly. "Next time you can come with us, (Y/N)! I could use an assistant who actually cares about my research."

The thought of being alone with Hange in the field made your stomach do somersaults. You quickly looked away, certain your face betrayed every emotion you were trying to hide.

Levi scoffed as he packed away the medical supplies. "I didn't say anything about being an assistant to your suicidal experiments, Four-eyes. Just someone to make sure you don't break your neck."

Despite his harsh words, Levi had taken obvious care with the bandaging. He might act annoyed, but you knew he cared for Hange—just not in the same breathless, aching way you did.

"There," Levi said, straightening up. "Try not to reopen it with your constant fidgeting." He turned to leave but paused at the tent entrance. "And (Y/N), make sure they actually rest. Tie them down if you have to."

After he left, Hange chuckled, then winced again at the movement. "He's such a mother hen under all that scowling."

You sat down on the edge of the cot, closer than was strictly necessary. With the immediate crisis past, your body finally remembered how to breathe normally. "You really scared me today," you admitted softly.

Hange's smile faded into something more serious, more genuine, the slight quirk of their lips remained. Like they were genuinely very sorry for worrying you. "I'm sorry about that. But you know how important this research is. Every bit of information could save lives."

"I know," you sighed, finding the courage to meet their gaze. "Just... try to remember that your life is important too. To the regiment." You bit your lower lip, heart pounding in your ears before adding, "To me."

The words hung between you, more revealing than you'd intended. You looked down quickly, studying the threadbare blanket, terrified of what you might see in their eyes.

Hange was technically your superior, but still someone you had trained with. Their passion for knowledge about the titans was always intriguing to you, their approach to leading being much different from other section commanders in the regiment. Hange's intelligence was always really attractive to you, causing you to admire them since you met them. Your admiration was always from afar, though, at least until graduation from the cadet corps and when you began serving in a squad under their command.

However, despite everyone in your proximity being able to see how attached and borderline obsessed with Hange you were, Hange never said a word about it. You were unsure if they saw what everyone else saw.

Hange was quiet for a moment—an unusual state for them. "I'll keep that in mind," they said, voice uncharacteristically soft.

When you dared to look up, their expression had changed to something you couldn't quite read—something warm and focused entirely on you instead of titans or experiments. "And next time, you'll be right there with me. I promise it'll be exciting!"

You couldn't help but smile, despite knowing that "exciting" in Hange's vocabulary usually meant "dangerous." But as you looked at their eager expression, bright eyes shining with passion despite their injury, you knew you'd follow them anywhere—cliff edges and all.

"I'll hold you to that," you said. "Now get some rest before Levi comes back and really does tie you down."

"Stay," Hange said suddenly, making your body freeze momentarily. "I'm not going to be able to sleep anyway."

It didn't take much convincing, obviously. With the most brief hint of hesitation, you nod, heart racing rapidly in your chest. "Okay, I'll stay as long as you need."

It was pathetic, you thought. Sometimes you hated how much it showed when it came to your interactions with Hange, how much your devotion and attachment was present in your every word towards them.

"It's just nice to have someone who listens to my rambling without telling me to shut up every 2 seconds," Hange says with a fond smile, adjusting their glasses momentarily as they stared off at the medical supplies in the room.

"Oh, come on," you laugh, feeling your heart flutter at even the smallest amount of praise. "I tell you to shut up plenty."

"Only when you're worried," Hange countered, turning to look at you. "Which is all the time with you."

Their words made your breath catch and a flush creep up your neck. "I'm... I just... It's not really like that," you stuttered out, the implication that you worried all the time seemed vague and wasn't necessarily accurate to your character. The worrying was specifically reserved for Hange. Everyone knew that. You just weren't sure if Hange did.

"I only really worry about you, if I'm honest," you finally said quietly.

"Am I that reckless?" Hange asked sarcastically with a grin, obviously teasing you. After a beat of silence, they sigh. "I know. Moblit and Levi have been telling me for months about a soldier who's seemed attached to me at the hip, but I guess I was too preoccupied to realize who he was even talking about. Until now, at least."

You hum, not trusting yourself to speak. The confirmation that not only Levi and Moblit knew, but now Hange was beginning to understand made your heart race to the point you might've felt a bit dizzy. "I'm sorry," you say finally. "I don't mean to smother you or anything."

"Oh, not at all!" Hange assured you, waving their hands around, dismissing any insecurities you may have had a moment ago. "I actually find it rather endearing."

You genuinely were at a loss for words, still not trusting yourself to formulate a proper response that didn't involve stuttering.

Hange shifted on the cot, wincing slightly as they adjusted their injured leg, but their eyes never left your side profile. There was something different in their gaze now—a focused intensity that was usually reserved for their research.

"You know," Hange continued, their voice dropping to a softer tone, "for someone who notices everything about titans, I've been remarkably oblivious about what's been right in front of me."

You still weren't sure how to respond. You knew you probably looked or seemed ridiculous now. Just sitting there with your mouth closed, heart racing and your foot nervously tapping on the ground.

"Hange," you started. "I'm really sorry."

"For what?" They asked, confidence in their tone (as there usually was) and a pleased smile on their face. "I may be a bit slow on these matters," they admitted with a slight chuckle, "but I'm not completely hopeless The way you look at me sometimes... it's the same way I look at a breakthrough in my research."

The statement was so distinctively Hange that you had to smile, a bit of the tension leaving your shoulders. Hange said your name, making you look towards them. Their smile was warm on their face, eyebrows twisted up in something that may have been pity. Or that's just what you told yourself.

Hange's hand came up and gently cupped your cheek, their thumb swiping along your cheekbone tenderly. The touch made your breath hitch, but the kind smile on their face eased a lot of the nervousness you held moments ago.

"I'm sorry, for not realizing," Hange stated. "It must have been hard."

You shook your head, the gesture causing Hange's hand to drop from your face. "It wasn't, just..." you hesitated, unsure where the conversation was even going. Hange wasn't normally difficult to read, but with matters of the heart maybe you were also a bit ignorant. "Just being near you made me happy," you finally said, your voice shaky and soft.

Hange said nothing for a second before turning their body more towards you, their fingers coming up to brush some hair out of your face. The gesture was intimate, but most of all gentle. Gentle with your feelings but also of you in general.

"For what it's worth, every time I'm with you I'm happy, too," Hange said. "What that says about me, I never knew," their fingers pushed hair behind your ear, staying there motionless for a moment. "Until now."

You hummed, even you not oblivious to the tension accumulating here. The way Hange smiled at you, the way your gaze kept dropping to their lips, and the way Hange seemed to encourage it with their expression. None of it passed you by, but it didn't make you feel any less nervous.

"May I?" Hange whispered, gaze dropping to your lips.

Unable to find your voice, you simply nodded.

The first press of their lips against yours was gentle, questioning. Your eyes fluttered closed as you leaned into the kiss, years of longing finally finding release. Hange's hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, drawing you closer as the kiss deepened.

You felt pathetic when an involuntary whimper left your lips against theirs. Until you felt the grin forming on their lips, which made you feel more at ease. Hange tilted their head slightly, nose brushing against yours as their tongue found your mouth.

You felt completely under their control, completely theirs. When Hange's hand met the small of your back, you shivered, but then pulled away, breathless and dizzy with the same pounding in your chest.

"We shouldn't—your leg—"

"Don't care," Hange murmured against your lips, already leaned in again, their voice taking on that familiar stubborn tone that both frustrated and endeared them to you.

Their hands tangled in your hair as they pulled you back into the kiss, more insistent this time. You could feel their smile against your lips, feel the way their breath hitched when you tentatively placed your hands on their shoulders, fingers digging slightly into the fabric of their shirt.

You melted into their touch, years of silent longing pouring into each caress. Hange kissed with the same enthusiasm they approached everything else—thoroughly, passionately, with complete abandon. Their tongue traced the seam of your lips, requesting entry that you eagerly granted.

"I've wanted this," you confessed against their mouth, "for a really long time."

Hange hummed in response, one hand sliding down to your waist to pull you closer on the narrow cot. "How long?" they asked, breaking the kiss to trail their lips along your jawline.

"Since training," you admitted, tilting your head to grant them better access. Your breath caught when their teeth grazed the sensitive skin below your ear.

"That long?" Hange pulled back slightly, looking genuinely surprised. Their glasses had fogged slightly, and you couldn't help but smile at the sight. "I'm even more oblivious than I thought."

You reached up to remove their glasses, folding them carefully and placing them aside. Without the barrier, their eyes seemed even more intense, more vulnerable. "I didn't mind," you said, pressing your lips against theirs once more.

Soon, you found yourself kissing Hange more desperately, but not as pushy as someone else might've been. Instead, you gently eased them onto the cot, their head meeting the pillow.

"You're so pretty, Hange," you said, your expression carrying the weight of the words you spoke. And they were. Their brown hair, cut choppy and usually messy in a way that you found endearing and Levi found revolting, was now splayed across the light fabric of the pillowcase. Their eyes slightly hooded and lips parted. "So pretty," you repeated more to yourself, leaning down and kissing at their jawline.

"Can I touch you?" You ask, your body hovering above theirs and your hand carefully placed on their abdomen, making sure you put no pressure on their injured leg.

"What kind of question is that?" Hange joked, but still, they grabbed your hand, placing it where they wanted it against their breast. "Don't hold back. I know you're a shy one but don't let that stop you," they said with a smile.

Your heart raced furiously just at the contact of your hand on their breast. "But, your leg..." you started.

"Will be fine. Just touch me, I really could use this anyway," Hange said, grinning. "Especially from you," they added, their hand caressing the top of your head.

You nodded with a grunt of confirmation, your head dipping again to capture their lips. Your hands met the buttons of their shirt, popping them open as quick as you could. Once the shirt was opened, you moved your mouth to kiss at their neck and then collarbone, noting the way Hange gasped out when your hands touched their waist.

Your hands trailed upwards to dip beneath the fabric of their bra, feeling the soft flesh of their breasts and the hardening of their nipples. The moment your skin met theirs, Hange arched into your touch with a quiet moan, their fingers tangling in your hair to keep you close.

"Fuck," they sighed.

Your shyness warred with the hunger coiling in your belly, but the way they looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered—made you bold. You dipped your head, taking one of their nipples into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the stiff peak before sucking gently.

"You're so good at that," Hange whimpered, body trembling beneath you at the contact that was so foreign to them until now.

Encouraged, you switched to the other nipple, lavishing it with the same attention while your hand slid down their stomach, fingers tracing the waistband of their pants. You hesitated only for a second before slipping beneath, finding the wet heat between their thighs through the fabric of their underwear. You were careful to not put any pressure on their hurt leg, continuing to lap at their nipple as they looked down at you.

"You're really wet," you breathed in admiration, your fingers touching and feeling outside of their underwear.

Hange bucked their hips impatiently.

"Please," they whined, their voice thick with need.

You exhaled shakily, finally pushing their panties to the side and letting your fingers touch their bare heat. The moment you touched their cunt, you felt how wet they were, how ready. Your fingers slid through their slick folds, feeling all the moisture that you caused physically evident.

"Hange," you said, your gaze looking down at them with a soft expression, one that expressed care and fondness.

Hange's hand met your forearm, obviously they were holding on by a thread in their restraint.

Getting the hint, you pressed your fingers against their clit, instantly hearing the sharp intake of breath it caused. You bit your lip, eyes locked with Hange's face, desperate to see their reactions to your touch.

You rub tight circles on their clit, relishing in the way Hange gasped, the way their thighs trembled.

Then, your fingers dipped lower. You started with one, pushing it into the core of their pussy. "God," Hange gasped, their grip on your forearm tightening enough to hurt but not enough to make you care. You then pushed another in, seeing the way Hange's lips parted as you did so.

“That’s it,” Hange panted, their thighs trembling around your wrist. “Just like that—fuck—don’t stop—”

You didn’t. You kept your pace relentless, watching their face twist in pleasure, their lips parted in silent moans. Their cunt was dripping now, your fingers sliding in and out with ease, each thrust drawing another breathy whimper from their lips.

Your thumb circled their clit, rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves in time with the push and pull of your fingers. The wet sounds of your fingers pumping in and out of their needy pussy filled the tent, along with Hange's increasingly desperate moans and whimpers.

Your fingers delved deeper, sinking knuckle-deep into their tight heat. Hange moaned long and low, their hips undulating. "Oh fuck," their hand fisted in your hair as they pulled you into a messy kiss, all tongue and teeth and desperation.

You fingered them with clumsy fervor, pouring all your pent-up longing into each thrust. Hange met each pump of your wrist with a roll of their hips, fucking themselves on your hand.

"That's it, baby..." Hange panted against your lips, "fuck me with your fingers...wanna cum all over your hand..."

The filthy words falling from their lips only heightened your own need, but didn't stop the way your heart pounded and your face warmed in embarassment. It was a given that Hange of all people would talk like that during, well, this, but it still made your head short-circuit momentarily. You could feel your panties growing damp, your clit throbbing in time with the frantic hammer of your heart. But right now, your focus was on Hange, on bringing them pleasure.

You curved your fingers just so, rubbing insistently over that special spot inside. Hange cried out, their pussy clamping down like a vice. "I'm coming, shit!" Their body went rigid, then shook with the force of their orgasm.

Watching Hange come undone by your touch was the most erotic thing you'd ever seen. Their face was flushed, mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy. You felt a rush of feminine pride and desire seeing the effect you had on them.

Finally, Hange collapsed back onto the cot, chest heaving. You slowly withdrew your fingers from their fluttering heat, bringing them to your mouth. Tasting Hange's essence for the first time. The flavor was salty and sweet, and you knew you wanted to spend a lifetime learning the taste of their skin.

Hange watched you through hooded eyes as you licked your fingers clean, their kiss-swollen lips curling into a satisfied grin. "I knew you'd be good at that," they murmured, reaching up to caress your cheek.

"What makes you say that?" You ask with a nervous laugh.

"If I say it, I'll be outed as a creep," Hange said ominously, making you laugh sincerely this time. You leaned down and kissed them tenderly, wanting to show them that your affection didn't come from just attraction and lust but because you've spent years admiring them.

"Now," Hange smiled, their hands wandering down your sides until they met your ass through your pants, "I want to taste you," they murmured, their voice rough with desire but the smile on their face remained. "I want to bury my face in your pussy and eat you out until you scream."

Your cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of red, arousal and nerves warring within you. "Oh god, Hange..." you laughed nervously, but it didn't stop the way your thighs trembled slightly. The idea of having their mouth on you, their tongue delving into your most intimate places...it was almost too much to comprehend.

"Please..." Hange pleaded with your name, fingers finding the button of your pants. "Let me taste you. Sit on my face," they said.

"What?" You nearly stuttered, eyes widened. "Hange, I can't-"

"Please," they repeated. "I can't really do it any other way," they added with a grin that showed you just how serious they were, "what with my hurt leg and all."

"Hange, what if—what if I hurt you more?"

They chuckled. "The only thing that’ll hurt is if you don’t let me eat you out right fucking now."

You bit your lip, the position that they suggested seeming dirty and not traditional to what you viewed as "normal" sex. But you nodded, understanding Hange's perspective and also the way your cunt ached beaneath your clothes.

Finally, you nodded, sitting up as Hange helped you slide your pants off. Now clad in just your underwear, Hange smiled at you. "Don't be nervous," they said, fingers already hooked at the hem of your underwear. "You're beautiful."

Soon, your underwear was removed, revealing the aching wetness of your pussy all in full view of Hange's eager gaze. Hange's hands gripped your ass, encouraging you to shift until you hovered over their face. You could feel their breath, hot and heavy, fanning over your dripping sex. Your heart pounded, but the ache between your legs was impossible to ignore.

Biting your lip, you slowly lowered yourself, straddling Hange's face. You let out a shocked gasp as you felt their mouth press against your wet pussy, their nose nestling into your mound. Hange groaned, their hands kneading the globes of your ass.

Hange didn't waste a second before diving in, their tongue delving between your swollen lips to lap at your dripping folds.

"Oh god, Hange!" you cried out, your hips jerking in surprise at the sudden, intense sensation. Their tongue explored your most intimate places, stroking and probing, tracing the shape of your slit. You could feel your arousal flooding out, coating Hange's chin and cheeks.

Hange groaned in approval, the vibrations of their voice adding a new layer of sensation. Their hands tightened on your ass, pulling you harder against their face. You knew they were injured, but right now all they cared about was the pleasure they were giving you.

You could feel their tongue circling your clit, flicking over the sensitive nub. Your head fell back and you moaned softly, too lost in sensation to feel shy anymore. You rolled your hips faster, fucking yourself on their face with abandon.

You moaned, fingers tangling in their hair as they devoured you, their nose pressing against your clit while their tongue fucked into you. The sounds were obscene—wet, sloppy, filthy—and your face burned at the realization that anyone outside the tent could probably hear.

You whimpered, rocking your hips against their mouth as they lapped at your dripping pussy. Their tongue plunged inside you, fucking you deep before withdrawing to tease your swollen clit again.

“H-Hange—” you gasped, hips jerking forward as their tongue curled inside you. “You—you feel so good—”

They groaned against your cunt, the vibration making you cry out. Their hands gripped your ass harder, pulling you down onto their mouth as they sucked your clit between their lips, tongue flicking rapidly.

You couldn’t stop yourself—your hips rolled shamelessly, grinding against their mouth as pleasure coiled tight in your belly. Hange moaned like they were the one being pleasured, their tongue working faster, their lips sucking harder—

And then you broke.

A strangled cry tore from your throat as you came, your pussy clenching around nothing, your thighs shaking as Hange lapped up every drop of your release. They didn’t stop until you were squirming from oversensitivity, your legs too weak to hold yourself up.

Slowly, you pushed yourself up, your body still thrumming with lingering pleasure. "We should… probably get dressed," you murmured, cheeks heating as you glanced at Hange’s disheveled state. Their hair was a wild mess, their shirt unbuttoned, and their pants still pushed down just enough to expose the bandage on their thigh.

Hange grinned, lazy and satisfied. "Mmm, shame. I was enjoying the view."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress your smile as you reached for your discarded clothes. Hange watched you with a lazy, satisfied smile as you pulled your pants back up, your fingers fumbling slightly with the fastenings.

"You’re adorable," they stated, their voice still rough. You shook your head with a big smile on your face.

As you pulled your shirt back on, you glanced over at Hange, who was struggling to sit up without aggravating their injury.

"Here, let me," you said softly, moving to help them.

You carefully adjusted their pants, smoothing the fabric over their hips before gently tugging them back into place. Then, you reached for their hair, combing your fingers through the tangled brown strands, trying to tame some of the chaos. Hange sighed contentedly, leaning into your touch like a cat.

"You’re good at this," they murmured.

You huffed a quiet laugh. "At fixing your hair?"

"At taking care of me," they corrected, their voice softer than usual.

Your hands stilled for a moment, heart swelling in your chest. "I… like taking care of you," you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Your hands lingered in their hair, your heart suddenly pounding for an entirely different reason. Now that the heat of the moment had passed, the weight of what just happened settled over you.

"...I really like you, Hange," you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Like, really like you."

Hange’s expression softened, their usual manic energy replaced by something quieter, warmer. They reached up, cupping your cheek.

"I know," they teased with a smile, laughing when you rolled your eyes. "I like you ,too. More than I thought I did, I think."

Your heart raced. You didn't even know where to go from here, but when Hange's hand met yours it put your mind at ease.

Then, from outside the tent, Levi’s voice cut through the moment like a knife. "(Y/N)!" Your head whipped around to where he was calling, seeing his short silhouette. "If you two are done defiling medical supplies, Erwin wants a debrief."

"Okay!" You called back, then turned to Hange.

"I'll, uh, check on you later, okay?" You said, turning to leave.

Hange nodded, stretching their arms with a sigh as their fingers ran through your hair once. "Levi definitely heard, by the way."

[the-forest-library]

kill the imposter syndrome in your head because not only is there someone out there doing it worse than you, they’re also using chat gpt to do it

[phantomrose96]

The alt-right's foothold into Gen-Z is frustrating and I can see from over here how they're doing it.

You've got a generation of young-adults who are learning to be adults for the first time and for so many of them it sucks. It sucks to be in your first shitty apartment where things break, and to have your first shitty car that needs maintenance, and to be working a low-paying service or retail job where you get berated all day and barely scrape by. And you go home and you have taxes to figure out and electric bills to figure out and a screen on your phone to rot into to destress.

And this is men and women, equally, in this spot. But the alt-right messaging gets to tailor their approach to gender.

And hey women, yes you working a shitty job for shitty pay, overwhelmed by financial responsibilities and car repairs, what if you actually didn't need to do ANY of that? You don't need to. And you don't need to feel guilty about it. (You're not quitting, you're not being lazy), you actually are just embracing the chance to be exactly who an ideal woman should be. You should actually be beautiful, and demure, and barefoot in a sunny kitchen, glowing, pregnant, hearing the joyful sounds of your children while you bake a roast for your wonderful husband (strong, protective, loves you, handles the finances, handles the jobs, handles all the things you hate). OUR ancestors (don't mind the dogwhistle) did this for GENERATIONS, and modern society has failed you instead!

It's offering to break women out of all the parts of their real life that suck, and do it in a way that promises they're actually being better, being more admirable, more moral, more respectable, more correct, can feel good about, can feel proud about, as a Woman as Feminine as Mother as Goddess.

And the thing being promised does not need to actually reflect reality. It's a fantasy. It is not real. For every "beautiful demure barefoot" day, you'd be having another one covered in shit changing diapers of screaming infants with screaming children while your husband ignores you because it's Women's Work (take pride!) But that doesn't matter. It just needs to sound better than the reality they're living.

Then the men are targeted too. And it's the same in that it's getting to them by appealing to pride in their gender, but the messaging is different. It's "those finances are hard but ACTUALLY you're leveling up, you're grinding, you're finance maxing." It's hard but it's the kind of hard that is a challenge you can WIN at, boast about, post about, prove your manliness. Knowing cars, knowing home repairs, knowing taxes, that's your MAN pride, and you are so elite, you are so sigma, you are the envy of everyone, you are a masculine man. Women love you. Women will defer to you. Strong, respected, moral, loyal, unshakeable. Unlike those pansy men (mind the homophobic dogwhistling) who will whimper and cry like girls. You are better.

The shitty retail job is actually humble beginnings because you're minmaxing your way to financial success (bitcoin, crypto, investments). You can sleep with any woman you want as long as you're confident, and then you'll find one who understands how smart and confident and strong and protective you are and she will defer to you as her man. She will birth your children and teach them good morals and you will make it. Our ancestors lived this way for generations (dogwhistle) and modern society took it from you.

And with that messaging it makes it clear who the enemy in all this is - modern society that has convinced women to torture themselves with high education and terrible jobs, turned them Ugly with Ugly opinions and bad hair and nasty attitudes, yelping about "rights" and "equality" (pitting them against men! TAKING things from men!) All the while, society has been trying to emasculate men--replace them with women, make them soft and emotional, make them gay, make them WEAK. We've been made WEAK.

The naive women hearing this go "I'm not ugly! I don't hate men! I DO hate my job and my finances. I've been tricked. I'm actually rebelling by declaring my goal is to get a Perfect (White) (Christian) moral husband who will make all our decisions and protect me and our children." (And when she's financially trapped in an abusive marriage...? When she's suicidal with PPD but her husband won't touch that because it's Woman Hysteria...? And when her husband leaves her for someone who was as hot as she was 20 years ago and now she's figuring out finances, health care, taxes, bank accounts for the first time in her life...?)

And the men go "They've been TAKING things from us for too long! It's time to be men again! It's time to take pride! I am strong and confident. I am in charge! I never show weakness!" (And when he's got a gun to his head due to the depression he's never been allowed to talk about as Women Feelings...? And when he's financially ruined from a crypto scheme that stroked his ego and robbed him blind...? And when he's dead from alcohol poisoning and none of his adult children notice because no one's spoken to 'Dad' in 15 years...?)

And it's so hard to fight because you're arguing against a fantasy. How do you disprove their fantasy? It's so hard to explain to them, hey you're working a shitty job where you have no future because the rich bastards took it all from you. And now you're doing their work for them. You hate society because of what they've done to it and now you're doing their work. Now you're targeting groups who've never done anything to harm you and the guys responsible are laughing to the bank. How do you explain? How do you disprove fantasy?

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

My approach to disproving the fantasy is to recite the actual reality about the lives of my grandparents and great grandparents who lived in this supposed "fantasy." To talk about how one of my grandma's sisters had to point a gun at her husband and tell him she'd kill him dead if she ever saw him again, because he was abusing their children, and how they were technically still married when they both died.

How when my great-grandfather died, he left behind seven children and a wife who didn't even have an eighth grade education, and how his family starved. She was too frail to work the fields of their farm on her own, and she had no skills or knowledge to get another job. Her eighteen year old son, who was brilliant and was going to go to college on a scholarship to become an engineer, had to give up all of that to run the farm then join the military to try to keep his family alive.

I tell them about how my grandmother slapped me when I was a child and complained about having to go to school, because she knew that going to school for a girl was a privilege, and she saw what happened when women weren't educated. She made her daughter go to college. She made her promise to never, ever be dependent on a man, and she made me promise the same. She was a typical 1950s housewife. Suicidal, young, and cripplingly addicted to Valium just to get through the day.

It doesn't really work. But I tell these stories because this is the story of not my family, but most poor rural families from this so-called "Golden age," and I hope for the love of God that someone will listen.

[dalleyan]

I was born in the 50s and lived in the 60s. It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. Divorce just wasn't done (how embarrassing and appalling), so women toughed it out in abusive marriages, or stayed with a man who cheated on her because she had no other good optioins. No money (he controlled it all - she couldn't even have a credit card in her name), no training/skill to find employment and children she would have to provide for on her own without him. Yes, being a stay-at-home Mom CAN be fulfilling and pleasant, but that is not the norm. Women didn't know about cars or finances or home repairs, etc. God forbid her husband died and she was left to deal with all that after years of being kept in the dark.

Life isn't a fairytale, much as we would like it to be.

[lokissweater]

you noticed me ⚾︎

{mlb!megumi fushiguro x f!reader}

summary: megumi fushiguro is one of the best players on the major league baseball team, and when you finally spot him on the big screen after practically dozing off at every game you went to with your girl friend? you were absolutely IN LOVE, but IN DENIAL that he could ever like you back… but he does, and bad.

warnings: MDNI. afab!reader, NASTY NASTY MEGUMI, oral sex, SMUT, pussy eating in locker rooms HEH, mentions of drinking but like tiny just once, reader is oblivious to the way megumi wants her, DOMINANT AF MEGUMI PHEWW, cursing, flufffff!!, barely any angst, DIRTY TALK, pet names, aged up characters.

word count: 12.1k (IK IM SORRY ITS A CUTE ONE THO)

authors note: you GUYSSSS i love megumi fushiguro i want him so bad and i LOOVEEE this fic!! i worked like a little worker bee for days and i really hope it makes you guys happy :] MWAH!!

want more? you can find my mlb!megumi fushiguro masterlist here!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

megumi fushiguro was the hottest baseball player you had ever seen in your life.

and you didn’t even like baseball to begin with, dozing off at every game your girl friend dragged you to because her boyfriend was on the major league team— but the one time you decided to open your eyes and pay attention to the big giant screen in front of you?

there he was in all of his emo glory.

number eighteen.

focused, half lidded eyes resembling borderline boredom as he waited for the pitcher to throw, his forehead glistening with sweat, flushed red cheeks, and his jet black hair slightly peeking over his forehead from underneath his baseball cap.

“my god—” your hand flew and you gripped your girl friends arm tightly, your jaw to the fucking floor as your eyes were gorilla glued to the screen, her quirking a curious eyebrow at you as she matched your frantic nature.

“what? what is it? who did you see? whats happ—”

you pointed your finger up at the screen, him swinging and hitting a fucking grand slam as he proceeded to get four runs with one hit, the one thing you knew about baseball besides a home run.

“that’s a— that’s a grand slam!” you pointed frantically, probably looking absolutely insane as you stood and screamed your fucking head off.

your girl friend laughed loudly, “you like fushiguro? megumi fushiguro?”

you jumped up and down, your girlfriend astonished and laughing as this was the first time she’d ever seen you energetic at a baseball game.

“he’s friends with yuji!” she yelled over the hollering of the crowd. “we can go to their locker room after and you can say hi! i heard he’s kind of mean though—”

“no!” you spun around, eyes wide and terrified. “i already know he’ll eat me alive then! i’m a loser, i can’t talk to him i don’t have game i—”

she rolled her eyes. “you’ll be fine—”

“no i can’t!” you shook your head frantically. “please he looks like the type to love bomb me and then leave me i don’t think i can handle that—”

she snorted. “are you sure?!”

you hesitated for a moment, biting your bottom lip as your eyes trailed back over to the screen, seeing megumi breathing a little heavy from running the field, his hands on his hips as he scanned the arena.

you sighed through your nose. “yeah i’m sure!”

“suit yourself!”

a year. a year you spent continuing to tag along with your girl friend to their games, staring lovesick and sad at the big screen over megumi, and standing outside far far away from the locker room once they scored another big win and not going in like you used to, waiting for your girl friend to finish up speaking to her boyfriend as you tried your best to avoid the chance of running into megumi.

she finally emerged from the locker rooms one day, a knowing smirk on her face.

“i told yuji.”

you blinked. “told him what?”

“that you like fushiguro.”

“no!” you gasped, a hand flying and smacking over your mouth. “please no im about to experience the biggest heartbreak of my life—”

“oh relax!” she grabbed your arm and practically dragged you towards the locker room doors. “he’s not even here megumi already left, but yuji wants to talk to you.”

“why?!” you exclaimed. “to let me down easy? to tell me he’s sorry on his behalf—”

your girl friend just about threw you in and went in after you as you stumbled, eyes blown wide as the air became humid and heavy, several of the players lounging about and refreshing themselves as the sound of lockers slamming shut echoed through the space— deep, broad voices laughing filling the room as yuji spotted you, his eyes friendly and polite. “y/n!”

you relaxed and smiled, “hi! you guys played really well today!”

“megumi also played really well today.”

“oh my god—” you groaned, throwing your head back as you spun around, heading straight for the exit.

“wait wait!” he laughed loudly, jogging up to you. “sorry sorry.”

“what do you want with me..” you mumbled.

he gave you a half smile. “i wanted to tell you that megumi’s weird.”

you snorted, “elaborate please.”

yuji threw an arm around your girl friend before continuing.

“you know we support your feelings and what you want…” he began.

your eyes narrowed. “why are you guys talking to me like you’re my parents—”

“but—” yuji cut you off. “i’m just gonna be straight with you. i’ve never ever seen megumi interact with anyone, let alone another woman, besides the team.”

“i don’t think i’ve ever seen him have a proper conversation with anyone on the team besides you actually…” your girl friend muttered to yuji.

yuji winced. “yeah…” he turned back to you. “back when megumi and i first got signed, he was really popular and a lot of girls would come up to him after games for his number or just to talk to him.”

“well obviously he’s a greek god,” you grumbled. “this is hurting me man get to the point.”

he sighed. “he basically scared all of them off. didn’t give a single one a chance and was kinda mean... he would either ignore them or straight up just tell them he wasn’t interested without them even being able to get a word in.”

you stared blankly.

“i tried to tell him that he needs to be nicer but he’s just not interested.”

you kept staring.

“that’s why i’m telling you this because we don’t want you to get hurt and i feel like if you try and talk to him he’s gonna be a dick and it might…” yuji looked at you sadly. “it might be a lost cause.”

you blinked.

“y/n?”

“that’s fine!” you squeaked, hands tight at your sides. “a part of me already knew. i read about it in an article, and i’ve seen his interviews.”

your girl friend looked at you with concern filled eyes. “are you okay?”

“yeah!” you waved them off. “why wouldn’t i be?”

“because your eyes are red.”

“ppffttt!” you blew out. “i’m fine! seriously. i never intended to talk to him anyways, i’m too much of a scaredy cat.”

you extended your arms out and engulfed the both of them, squeezing tight. “thank you guys for telling me though, i appreciate it.”

“y/n…” yuji trailed off.

“i’m gonna take off though, i’ll see you guys later, okay?” you waved and opened the door. “love you!”

and you scrammed, your heart in a million pieces.

it’s not like you didn’t already know. you knew, so why were you sad? why did you feel like you just got ran over by a double decker bus? why did you pathetically feel so sad?

this was the reality. you never stood a chance.

so why were you crying?

you continued walking down the hall and towards the main exit, utterly embarrassed at your sobbing and trying your best to hide it as you navigated through several groups of people, your vision entirely blurry as you were basically drowning in your tears.

you had barely escaped the crowd when you spotted a little secluded area in the lobby, trudging over pathetically and plopping down on the coushy seat as you wiped your cheeks, staring at the wall in front of you— a huge glass casing proudly decorated with the teams trophies and awards, gigantic portraits of the players on the team adorning the walls with megumi’s serious beautiful framed face right in front of you just making you feel worse.

you already knew, but regardless of megumi’s stand off ish personality, you liked it. you had curiously browsed his interviews and quotes in articles, and you always laughed at his responses, him almost every time offending the staff without even trying or knowing, and you found it so so funny, it only making you admire him and want to get to know him even more, even if it was just a friendship.

megumi fushiguro was one of the best players on the team in history, and as you closed your eyes, silent pathetic tears still slipping down your cheeks?

he never felt so out of reach.

“here.”

your eyes opened, but you literally could not see jack shit as your tears were still blurring your line of sight, you completely and utterly mortified that a stranger caught you sobbing as you wiped your face quickly in response.

“put on my sunglasses if you don’t want people to see you crying.”

the voice was gruff and lazy, but you could not care less as you took the sunglasses and settled them over your eyes, the lenses so freaking dark that you couldn’t see a single thing— your sight worse than before.

but it relieved you, as you figured no one could see your bloodshot eyes and therefore thankfully not notice you losing your mind over something so stupid.

“thank you,” you mumbled. “sorry.”

“for what.”

you felt the plush of the bench shift next to you, figuring that the stranger man sat beside you as you refused to look in their direction out of embarrassment.

not that you could even see in the first place.

“for looking like a loser.”

the stranger man snorted. “s’fine.”

you wiped your nose with your sleeve, sniffling.

“how do you see in these?” you muttered softly. “they’re making me claustrophobic i can’t see a thing.”

“that’s the point,” he hums.

“how come?”

“i get migraines everyday. they help.”

“oh i see.” you responded softly. “have you ever run into a wall because of them?”

you hear him huff out through his nose. “i did once, when i first got them.”

you giggled gently. “did you bleed?”

“no,” he spoke calmly. “i got a bump on my forehead.”

you snickered, “what? loserrr.”

you stood up and carefully tried to walk around a little, testing out how to guide yourself through the dark lenses and trying to be careful and not bump into a wall (which was literally impossible), your hands out, feeling around.

“jesus christ i’m just kidding now i feel bad. i think im gonna bump myself into a wall too so we can call it even.”

you couldn’t see, but the stranger man’s lips twitched at your comment.

“don’t do that.” he murmured. “sit back down.”

you listened and started making your way over, feeling him reach out and wrap his fingers around your wrist carefully and guide you to the bench, you plopping down on it once you felt it.

“thank you!” you responded sweetly. “…i’m actually glad i can’t see a thing right now.” you perked up, pushing the sunglasses back up over the bridge of your nose.

“why is that.”

“so i don’t have to look at megumi fushiguro’s big portrait in front of my face.”

the stranger man stopped.

“…why?”

“because he indirectly broke my heart.”

you heard a little audible laugh, and you smiled to yourself.

at least someone is having fun right now.

“how did he indirectly break your heart?”

“my girl friend’s boyfriend is yuji itadori. she spilled the beans against my will about how i have a crush on him, and yuji told me that he’s mean and he’ll basically bite my head off and tell me to scram.”

“did he?”

“uh huh,” you nodded. “they were trying to let me down easy, but it’s not like i was gonna try and talk to him anyways. i’ve gone a year without saying anything i can go on and on and on.”

the stranger man hummed.

“he’s so cool though…” you murmured, dazed. “he’s gonna be a hard one to forget about.”

“why do you like him?”

“i feel like im being interrogated,” you giggled.

you felt the stranger man lean back against the wall. “sorry, just curious.”

you copied him and crossed your arms, “mmm… because he’s really good at what he does. i admire that most of all.”

you tilted your head. “everyone berates him for being mean but i like that he’s supposedly mean for some reason…. he’s just serious about his profession and he doesn’t want to waste time. he’s also the hottest man i’ve ever seen so that definitely helps.”

the stranger man laughed a little.

“i don’t know,” you sighed sadly. “maybe i’m just demented. i am demented.”

“if yuji itadori told you the exact opposite about him, would that have encouraged you to go up to him?”

you sat in thought for a moment, but ultimately shook your head. “no. it’s too embarrassing for me and i’m also a big fat wuss so…”

you slid your fingers underneath the lenses and rubbed your stinging sore eyes. “maybe in the next life if i’m lucky, ill be reincarnated as a cool baseball man too and i won’t have to deal with this shit.”

“cool baseball man.” he repeated, tone seemingly amused.

“yup.”

the stranger man sighed. “is this why i found you crying?”

“maayybeee?” you dragged out shyly, your cheeks flushing.

it was silent for a moment, your vision completely black but his on your rosy cheeks, oddly staring that if you could see right now, you’d probably call him a creep.

“i’m sorry i made you cry.”

you jumped back.

“no not you!” you huffed. “have you not been paying attention? catch up man—”

you felt a shadow reach up and tug the sunglasses slightly away from your face, your eyes constricting against the bright lights of the hall as they tried to adjust.

and when they did?

megumi fushiguro was sitting right next to you, a tiny smile on his face dressed in all black with his teams baseball cap on.

your eyes widened dramatically and you slapped both hands over your mouth, beyond horrified as everything you had thought you were telling a stranger about him, you were telling him directly, your brain short circuiting and your body heating up like a fucking hot flash.

“oh my god i’m so sorry!” your voice was muffled, you shaking your head in absolute denial.

you immediately sprung up and grabbed your purse, slowly backing up further and further away from him.

his smile widened.

oh my god.

megumi fushiguro was smiling, a sight you’ve never ever seen during his games, practices, interviews, articles, or magazines as your cheeks increased in shade— wanting to mentally take a picture and remember forever as you knew you’d probably never see him smile like that again.

but he was smiling.

“pretend i don’t exist!” you stammered, “pretend this never happened i’m sorry this is so embarrassing keep winning your games okay and i’ll keep being an idiot far far away from you—”

“where are you going?” he chuckled lowly.

“—you’ll never see me again i’m going home and i’m going on lockdown—”

he laughed through his nose, his lips in an amused smile.

“you don’t have to do that.”

“yes i do—”

“you don’t have to forget me either.”

“that i definitely do—”

you were halfway out of the main entrance doors.

“hold on y/n—”

megumi stood, his long legs walking over to you and you froze.

y/n?

you slowly turned around, your face pale and afraid.

“how do you know my name?” you asked softly.

“your best friend is dating yuji, is she not.”

you nodded, eyes blank.

“i’ve been seeing you inside the locker room after our games for like… two years.” megumi mumbled.

oh.

oh that’s right.

you didn’t actually notice megumi until last year, when you decided to finally open your eyes for once during a game and that’s how you spotted him for the first time on the big screen in front of you, in all of his gorgeous handsome entity.

“oh.”

he raised a hand and pressed his index finger to your forehead, nudging you softly.

“dummy.”

“s-sorry..” you gave him a wobbly bashful smile, your cheeks pinky as you rubbed your red eyes.

his eyes slightly softened and he shook his head. “s’fine.”

megumi continued to stare at you, a stone cold face that always seemed to scare off the teams entire fan base, but only made you feel numb and giddy all over every single time.

you smiled wider then, and megumi’s lips twitched.

cute.

“i’m— i’m gonna go now.”

“do you have a ride home?”

you stopped. “no i was just gonna call an uber—”

he shook his head and walked past you, his shoulder brushing gently with yours with his hands stuffed in his pockets as you turned and stared at him.

he paused and looked over his shoulder.

“you coming?”

your eyes widened. “coming? w—where?”

he rolled his eyes. “i’m taking you home.”

“no!” you shot your hands out. “it’s okay! really! thank you thank you i appreciate it but—”

he stared lazily.

“come.”

you pressed your lips into a thin line and tipped your head down, taking tiny painful steps as you followed after him to the parking lot.

megumi led you from the public parking area to a secluded section around the back of the arena, one you assumed was for players and crew members only as you nervously gnawed on your bottom lip, feeling absolutely sick.

you both continued to walk down until you arrived to a private parking garage, megumi slipping out his keys from the pocket of his hoodie as you approached a shiny black luxurious car sitting neatly in a spot.

his car was really fucking nice, and you figured so being as he was one of the most popular players and probably had more than enough money in the bank— your fingers trembling as you gripped the passenger side door, settling yourself inside his plush cool leather seats and all black interior.

megumi pressed the ‘start’ button and his engine roared to life, the motor echoing through the structure as you clumsily tried to put on your seatbelt, your cheeks growing pinker with each passing second that you just couldn’t get the stupid damn thing to— click—

he reached over across the console and took the seatbelt from you, pulling it over your body and clicking it secure without a word.

“thank you.” you said softly, eyes trained to your lap.

megumi gave you a small nod and backed out of his parking space, driving around a couple of rows before making his way out with the night air softly breezing through your hair as he drove, his dash illuminated with blue lines that ran smoothly across.

“can you put your address in—”

“oh yeah!” you jumped. “sorry—”

you reached over and tapped in your address on his big touch screen, watching the way the gps registered the location and gave him the estimated time of arrival.

forty fucking minutes.

“megumi..”

his eyes looked over at you for a second before turning back to the road.

“hm?”

“i live kinda far from here and i don’t want you to drive the opposite way from where you live.”

you leaned a little, eyebrows pinched. “i can take an uber seriously, this is too much trouble i—”

“you’re already in my car.” he deadpanned.

“i’ll jump out.”

he pursed his lips, trying to suppress a smile.

“i have child lock on.”

“child lock?!” you gawked. “is this what you think of me?”

“you’re a little helpless… and you’re a crybaby.” he mumbled. “child lock stays on.”

you giggled after, your eyes shining and filled with mushy feelings for him as you nodded. “you’re probably right.”

he looked over at you then, and he smiled, softly.

“what do you do?”

you fidgeted. “h—huh?”

“do you um…” he ran his thumb over the top of his gear shift. “do you work? do you go to school?”

he’s asking you?

“i go to school!” you responded shyly but kind. “i go to a college that’s about fifteen minutes from your stadium. i usually go and meet up with my best friend after class if there’s a game.”

he hummed. “are you a big baseball person?”

you grimaced.

do you lie? do you tell the truth? do you roll down his window and attempt to jump out of the car that way?

you played with a strand of your hair. “i— i um—”

he raised an eyebrow.

“i— don’t?”

he cocked his head. “you don’t?”

you shook your head no, completely ashamed of who you are as a person as you covered your eyes.

“i knoww i suuucckkk,” you whined. “the only things i know about baseball are home runs and grand slams— which you did!”

you pointed at him excitedly. “last year! i remember you hit a grand slam! i got so excited that for once i knew what the fuck was going on and why everyone was going crazy…”

you fiddled with your fingers nervously, your eyes trained to the road. “i felt so included.”

he chuckled, and unexpectedly, reached over and gently ruffled your hair.

you then stared at him as he did so, doe eyes wide and cheeks pink.

megumi was truly just beautiful— his smooth face that didn’t have a single blemish on his skin shining under the moonlight, his black spiky hair peeking from under his cap that you had no doubt in your mind was soft and velvety.

you hated that you’d probably do anything for that man.

“i’m sorry i made you cry,” he repeated, you recognizing his words from before.

your eyebrows furrowed.

he was still thinking about that?

you shook your head furiously, “you didn’t! i swear it’s okay. i’m just crazy.”

he huffed out a laugh.

megumi thought you were odd, but in a good way. he thought everything you did was a little funny, as you were jumpy and clumsy and a crybaby and helpless, but he also took note of how polite you were. he noticed how considerate you were of him even though you were really upset, and you were kind of sweet… really sweet actually, your personality something that was totally different from the usual girls that came up to him.

well, the usual girls that used to come up to him back when he first started.

megumi pulled into your driveway and shifted the gear into park, the doors automatically unlocking.

you opened the door and stepped out before leaning down and peeking your head in.

“thank you for the ride!” you said sweetly, a cute smile on your face. “i’m sorry you had to listen to my confession against your will.”

he shook his head. “it’s alright.”

you went in to close the door.

“y/n.”

you leaned back down, “yeah?”

“are you gonna stop coming to our games?”

you gnawed at the inside of your cheek, your eyes darting around the interior of his car nervously.

“i— i don’t think so.”

“good.”

megumi watched you close his door and walk back a bit, him shifting his gear into reverse as the corners of his lips turned a tiny bit upwards.

“i’ll see you then.”

as you watched him pull out and drive away, his engine roaring down the street, you could not stop or simmer down the way your heart raced against your chest, so much so that you were afraid it was going to burst through your chest and literally kill you.

the next time you went to a game, you hadn’t told your close girl friend yet as she led you through the crowd and down to the v.i.p. lower level seats like always, a kind courtesy of yuji’s that he did whenever he could.

as you watched, you embarrassingly spotted megumi almost the minute you arrived, stars and hearts in your eyes as you watched him do his thing and work magic through the field with his absolutely insane batting, strong and purposeful as he barked orders or observed the opposing team for leads.

once his and the opposing team switched sides, megumi looked up as he jogged, his eyes seemingly scanning the v.i.p. front sections until he spotted you.

he raised a hand and gave you a little wave, and your eyes widened as you timidly, hesitantly, gave him one in return— your cheeks turning pink.

“who are you waving at?”

your girl friend pressed a cheek against yours and looked.

“who is- fushiguro?!”

you looked at her sheepishly.

as you recounted the story to her, her eyes bulging out of her sockets and screaming her head off every two seconds, her head snapped to the field.

“i have to tell yuji—”

“no!” you gripped her shoulders. “it’s literally nothing! he drove me home and he probably just feels bad for me.”

“megumi isn’t the type to make a crying girl feel better or drive her home.”

“it’s because he knows that we know yuji.”

“mm i don’t think so..” she scowled, crossing her arms in eventual defeat as she stared straight ahead.

that’s how it went for about a month.

you would come to their games, megumi would wave at you from the field or you would catch his attention and wave at him, and you would briefly speak to him casually just after his games, your conversations with him usually lasting no more than three minutes as he was often pulled by his coach or a crew member.

but even though the conversations were short, they were really nice, and the both of you never seemed to notice the people around you wanting his attention until he physically had to get pulled away.

but you still refused to go inside the locker room, knowing that was surely the place where you had to talk to him for longer than three minutes. you were too scared, embarrassingly so as you bid your girl friend and yuji goodbye from just outside the door before leaving every time, completely unaware of the way megumi would stare expressionless at you from inside.

when your girl friend invited you to the team’s yearly banquet, you flat out said no, decision firm and unmoving as she begged you over and over and over again.

“please please you have to go! you can’t avoid megumi forever!”

“what is the purpose of me going though?” you sighed, shaking your head with a smile at the sight of her dramatically on her knees over you. “for you it makes sense because you’re with yuji but what’s the excuse for me? i’m not anybody’s plus one.”

“yes you are,” she got back up on her feet and wiggled her eyebrows, “you’re megumi’s plus one.”

“bye i wish,” you mumbled, plopping down on your bed.

“okay you’re my plus one, or yuji’s! so he has two plus ones!”

she walked over and sat down next to you, resting her head against your shoulder as she sighed. “please come. you don’t have to talk to megumi okay? fine. but just come with me, i’ll have a better time if you do.”

you gave her a silly smile and thought for a moment, her sad tone swaying you as you finally gave in.

“only if you swear you won’t force me to talk to him.”

she nodded eagerly.

“i swear!”

so you stood there, nervous and biting your thumb as you frantically looked around, dressed in a pretty black off the shoulder mermaid style gown with a high slit exposing your leg— fiddling with your styled hair as you waited and waited and waited for your girl friend to come back from the dessert table with yuji.

you hadn’t seen megumi yet as you were trying to keep on a look out, because the moment you did see him all dressed up? you were sure you were going to start pathetically bowing for him on your knees in front of all these people and end your social life forever.

finally, she came back and handed you a little pastry, you thanking her kindly and taking a small bite.

“wait no!” she gasped, turning her pastry around. “fuck, i got the wrong one. i meant to get the vanilla one this is coconut.”

“i can get it for you this time.” you smiled kindly, her looking at you gratefully as you patted her shoulder, making your way over to the dessert table.

your eyes lit up like stars at the sight of it, grand and luxurious as any kind of pastry you could ever possibly think of was present— neat and gourmet-like, each adorned with elegant toppings as multiple huge chocolate fountain stations ran from the sides.

“hi.”

you jumped and looked to your right, megumi standing there beside you with a bored expression, clad in a polished black button up and slacks, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

you gulped.

“h—hi.”

“i didn’t think you’d come.”

he lazily picked up a tiny slice of chocolate mousse cake and looked at it.

“i was dragged by my best friend,” you puffed out a laugh. “she said i was her and yuji’s plus one or something like that.”

he nodded, biting his cake slice and swallowing.

“you stopped coming inside the locker rooms.”

you faltered.

he noticed that?

“oh yeah! i just—” you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “i’ve been really busy with school so i study right after…”

for some reason megumi eyed you carefully, and your cheeks grew pinker the more he blatantly stared at you as you fidgeted.

“are you—”

“fushiguro!”

you both turned your heads to the source, and you spotted an unfamiliar guy, one who you assumed was on the team with them, smiling enthusiastically and throwing a heavy arm around megumi’s shoulder.

“who’s this? i’ve never seen you talk to anyone besides us!”

megumi only spared him a nonchalant glance before he looked back over at the dessert table.

the unknown man extended a hand out to you, and megumi’s eyes snapped to it.

“hi! i’m takuma!”

you cheerfully took his hand. “y/n!”

“are you megumi’s girlfriend?”

you gawked, guilt and embarrassment already filling your body at the thought of megumi finding that comment uncomfortable and being uncomfortable because of you.

at his own banquet.

“n—no!” you shook your head, eyebrows pinched. “i came with my best friend and yuji.”

takuma unhooked his arm and let it rest beside him. “oh nice! you know yuji as well?”

you nodded, “mhm!”

the rest of the crowd began to take their seats for the awards ceremony segment, and the three of you walked over to your designated table by yuji and your best friend, who’s eyes widened at the sight of you next to megumi.

you all sat, and takuma pointed to the empty seat next to you.

“is anyone sitting here?”

“oh no!” you smiled politely. “it’s empty you can—”

“take mine ino.”

megumi pulled out the chair next to you and plopped down on it, scooting up. “it’s closer to the front.”

huh?

“o—oh!” takuma scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “okay! thanks fushiguro.”

he only nodded in response and stuck his face in his champagne glass, sipping.

and he was right. you watched as takuma navigated through the circular tables before sitting in a seat that was right smack dab in the front.

“that’s really nice of you megumi!” you chirped. “he has such a good view now!”

“mhm.”

your best friend smacked a hand to her forehead with a shake of her head, and you looked at her quizzically.

the awards ceremony was the most fun you’ve ever had, as you were over the moon for all of the players that were awarded prestigious titles and recognitions, and even more excited for yuji and megumi, the both of them combined taking award after award that by the time the event was done, your table was filled to the brim with frames, medals, and trophies.

your doe eyes glowed over megumi’s earnings, pride and admiration bubbling in your chest as you took in the result of his hard work, feeling like he was the most talented person you ever had the privilege of knowing.

he stared at your enamored look.

“you’re so cool, gumi..” you gushed, not even noticing the little nickname you gave him.

but he did.

“cool baseball man?” he responded softly, referencing your words from when you first met.

your eyes snapped to his and you gave him the shiniest smile, nodding quickly. “yeah! cool baseball man.”

megumi looked down at his awards, and after a couple of seconds, picked up a shiny gold medal hung on a baby blue striped lanyard, holding it out for you.

“here.”

your eyes traveled down.

“what?”

“for you.” he pushed the medal forward.

shock crossed your face, and you frantically shook your head, pushing the medal back to him. “no! no megumi that’s yours you earned it—”

megumi rolled his eyes and held on to the edges of the lanyard, effortlessly setting it over your head and around your neck, the medal clinking and twinkling against your chest.

“i have four others. it’s fine.”

“no but—”

he carded his thumbs underneath your hair and gently slid your hair out from beneath the lanyard, setting it delicately over your bare shoulders.

yuji and your best friends jaws were on the floor, but you didn’t notice, too busy ogling over the fact that megumi fushiguro was the kindest person you had ever met, utterly amazed that he selflessly gave you something so precious. you.

your gaze trailed down to the medal, and you softly touched it with the pads of your fingers.

“t—thank you gumi…”

his lips twitched.

you realized then that the music had started and the crowd had already dispersed to celebrate, some dancing in the center while others mingled on the sidelines or hogged the dessert table.

and you spotted your best friend with yuji, the both of them smiling adoringly at each other, laughing and dancing— something bashfully wished for yourself as you grinned softly at them.

megumi followed your gaze, and he huffed an amused small laugh through his nose.

“they met at a party didn’t they?”

you looked to him and nodded, “uh huh! i was with her. she was so scared to talk to him and i literally had to throw her in.”

he scratched his cheek. “i remember. i was there.”

your jaw dropped. “you were?!”

he nodded. “and i remember you too.”

you sat there in silence.

how long had megumi been around in your life without you knowing? how didn’t you ever freaking notice?

before you could press any further, megumi squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fingers to his forehead in pain, groaning softly.

you jumped, “are you okay? what’s wrong?”

he shook his head. “migraine. the lights are fucking with me a little.”

“oh!” you frantically looked around the table and around him. “where are your sunglasses? the dark ones the ones you ran into a wall with!”

megumi snorted and shook his head again, eyes peeking at you a bit. “it’s fine. i left them at home.”

your eyebrows rose, “you left them?”

he nodded and dropped his hand, sitting up straight and trying to open his eyes fully to seem normal, but his lids only dropped again and his forehead fell to rest against the table.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbled. “just give me a minute.”

“don’t be sorry gumi…”

you figured the rest of the night was going to be like this, and if megumi stayed, he was going to end up dealing with the dull ache in his head for hours on end and not enjoy his banquet.

but you wanted him to enjoy it. this was his night, and you didn’t want him to spend it pissed off and writhing in pain.

“do you want to leave?”

he turned his head to the side and looked at you.

“we can um—” you fiddled with the medal around your neck. “we can go outside? or we can go for ice cream…”

you tilted your head to the side cutely, and you were oblivious to the way megumi’s cheeks went a little pink at the sight.

“ill pay though!” you smiled sweetly. “it’s the least i can do for the medal you gave me.”

he gave you an endearing half smile and nodded.

your eyes lit up. “really?! okay!— wait let me just say bye to my best friend and let her know—”

you quickly stood and walked over to the dance floor, megumi watching after you before picking up his black blazer and holding it underneath an arm, wondering how the fuck he was gonna pick up all of his awards himself.

“y/n!” your best friend gushed. “you’ve been talking to megumi for hours what the fuck is going on—”

you laughed. “nothing! it was nothing but i’m gonna go get ice cream with him!”

“what?!” her and yuji said in unison.

“did he ask you?” yuji pushed.

“no!” your eyes narrowed. “of course not i’m a big fat loser why would he? i invited him because he has a migraine so—”

your best friend hummed, a smirk on her face. “oh i see... use protection.”

“huh?!” your jaw dropped. “no! that’s not—”

“y/n!”

you turned and saw takuma walk over to you, a big smile on his face. “you enjoying the banquet?”

“oh yes! it’s really great!” you smiled kindly. “the dessert table is absolutely insane.”

“right?!” takuma stepped closer to you. “they go all out every year, it’s what everyone looks forward to.”

“i can definitely see why!”

he chuckled and nodded but then turned to you, speaking quieter. “listen um… i was wondering if you were uh— well if you wanted to dance? with me? y’know… maybe get to know each other better and then—”

yuji shoved his lips to your best friends ear.

“he’s stealing megumi’s girl.”

“i know!” she whispered harshly. “what the fuck do we do—”

“i don’t know!”

“well call megumi over—”

suddenly, a tall broad figure walked in between you and takuma, your vision blocked by his back.

“sorry ino,” megumi stepped to the side a little and placed a hand on the small of your back, ushering you towards the exit. “we were just leaving.”

yuji and your best friend gave each other a low high five before their eyes darted around, putting on false ignorance.

“sorry!— it was nice meeting you takuma!” you called from over your shoulder before the both of you stepped out of the venue and into the cool night air.

megumi’s car was parked right out front, him unlocking the doors with a button just like he had done the last time, you noticing how all of his awards were set neatly in the back seat.

“oh i’m sorry gumi! did you carry these over by yourself? i was gonna help you—”

you sat yourself on his passenger side seat, the leather creaking with every movement you made.

he shook his head. “i had my publicist team do it. it’s fine.”

“oh okay…” you mumbled, still feeling a little guilty that you didn’t help him.

you went to reach for your seatbelt when megumi’s arm flew in front of you and grabbed the strap, pulling it over your frame and clicking it securely before his hands wrapped back around the steering wheel, just like he had done a month prior.

you couldn’t make out his expression, as it was blank and stone-like and not a word was coming out of his mouth as he backed out from the parking space, but you smiled at him cutely nonetheless and thanked him.

the nearest ice cream shop was literally down the road from the venue, and the drive took less than three minutes before megumi pulled in and parallel parked on the side of the street.

you both stepped out and walked inside, the shop colorful and vibrant as what looked like twenty different assortments of ice cream were on display, your eyes launching across each flavor excitedly.

“i haven’t had ice cream in a fat minute…” you murmured as you pressed your hands against the glass.

“me neither.”

“which flavor do you want megumi?” you asked him sweetly, your eyes still glued to the flavors that it made him chuckle.

“um…” he stepped forward and scanned the different colors. “i’ll take whatever you get.”

you looked at him and your eyebrows softened, “are you sure? what if you don’t like it?”

the corner’s of his lips turned upward, the sight making your heart skip a beat.

“it’s okay. i trust you.”

you ended up getting your all time favorite flavor that you never skip— cake batter, one that tastes different depending on who’s palette it is, and something you anxiously thought over as you gnawed on your bottom lip and stared, waiting for him to try it as you both sat on a park bench not too far from the shop.

“why do you look like you’re about to cry.” he snickered lowly.

your eyes snapped to his and you giggled. “i might if you don’t like what i picked out.” you plopped a little spoonful in your mouth, the cold ice cream melting and spreading over your tongue as you swallowed. “cake batter is a hit or miss for different people…”

he hummed, “how come?”

“it’s either too sweet or just nasty.”

“i have a sweet tooth.”

your eyes lit up, “so do i! i’m a big sweets person. i love love desserts and chocolate and ice cream… but i’m not the biggest fan of candy.”

“you’re not?”

“i love candy but not how i love sweets… and i wouldn’t randomly pick it out like at the store because i wanted to. most likely i would get a cookie.”

megumi liked how much you talked.

“have you always had a sweet tooth?” he pressed on, looking at his ice cream cup.

you nodded. “have you?”

“not really,” he shook his head. “i didn’t pick it up until i met—” he stopped. “…my dad.”

met his dad?

megumi spotted your confusion and continued.

“my actual dad disappeared. dunno where he’s at. all i’ve heard is that he had a bad gambling addiction so i’m guessing it had something to do with that.”

your eyes softened.

“gojo is kind of like my dad…” he mumbled. “he’s supported my sister and i financially ever since i was maybe five or six.”

“you have a sister?” you murmured, eyes big.

he nodded. “i do.”

he scooped a bit of cake batter ice cream up with his spoon and plopped it into his mouth, smiling softly. “gojo gave me a sweet tooth. he can’t go a day without it.”

you’d never heard megumi open up so much before, and you felt incredibly lucky and special to be the one to hear about his family and share a precious moment with him over eating ice cream, something you wanted to treat delicately and remember for as long as you lived.

“do you like it?” you asked softly, gesturing to his cup.

“i love it.”

you beamed, and he took in your cute smile for a minute as you ate some more on your end.

“i’m sorry about your actual dad… but i’m glad you and your sister got the support you needed when you were young.”

he nodded.

“did he encourage you to do baseball? or was it you?”

“he did initially.” he shook his head. “he was annoying at first, was a cheerleader at every game and was so loud.”

you giggled.

“but i grew to like it… and that’s what i wanted to do for a career. if it wasn’t for gojo’s funding i wouldn’t have been able to.”

you hummed, savoring the ice cream a bit before swallowing. “that’s really nice, gumi. i’m really happy you got the opportunity to grow your skill out like that…” you swirled the ice cream around your cup with your spoon. “what you have is a solid gift, and i would hate to see it not get the recognition it deserves when you’ve worked so hard to make it what it is now.”

you looked at him. “so i’m really, really glad that it does get it.”

megumi stared at you, face blank and a scoop of yet to be eaten ice cream on his spoon, his cheeks growing hot.

“i don’t know why you think so highly of me.” he murmured.

everyone thinks he’s rude.

your eyebrows furrowed. “i don’t think megumi, i know. you’re not a mean person, you’re honest and serious about the important things in your life. and if the medal around my neck that you gave me selflessly doesn’t tell you otherwise? i might have to kill you.”

he laughed, loud, his eyes sparkling. “you might?”

you bit your lip to refrain yourself from freaking out over his smooth laughter. “i might.”

you subconsciously rubbed your hands over your chilling arms then and megumi eyed it before he put his cup down, reaching next to him for his blazer and opening it up as he gently placed it over your shoulders.

you looked at him like he was the world then, doe eyes big and round and shimmering, and megumi felt like he could do anything with that look as long as it came from you— a permanent red tint on his cheeks that was entirely your doing.

“thank you..” you mumbled shyly, your eyes glued to your now empty cup of ice cream on the bench as you clutched the sides of his blazer, the smell of him wafting in your nose that made you absolutely weak.

megumi timidly, slowly, reached up and moved a strand of hair from your eyes then, and you looked up.

“pretty…” he murmured, dazed even.

his hand fell and landed gently on your exposed thigh from the slit of your dress, but instead of moving it, he let it stay there, his hand smoothing over your plush soft skin as he was completely entranced by your heavenly face, his body pulling his lips closer to yours as megumi’s breath quickened with absolute need the higher up his hand trailed up your yummy thigh.

you couldn’t say a word, he practically didn’t let you as his lips pressed delicately and timidly against your plush ones, his mouth moving so slowly and his tongue parting your wet lips for the purpose of devouring more of you, all while his fingertips reached and felt the side straps of your panties— the material alone making him erratic and desperate while his other hand gripped your waist tightly.

your mouths moved faster now, the sounds of wet smacking and lips separating to reconnect with more greed than before muffling your ears as he breathed heavily through his nose, his eyebrows pinched together in pent up everything as he finally had you with him after months of you avoiding him.

and then you pulled away with a wet pop.

“i—i’m sorry!” you covered your mouth. “i didn’t mean to kiss you!—”

what?

megumi’s eyebrows furrowed, both of your chests heaving as his cheeks and lips were blushed red.

he shook his head, “no i kissed you—”

“don’t cover for me gumiii,” your shoulders slumped, your brain so in denial that he could ever like you back that it tricked you into thinking you were the one kissing and all over him. “fuck i’m sorry… that was so disrespectful and— and weird of me and i—”

megumi’s hands slipped away from your body and he shook his head, his eyes dead locked on yours with his eyebrows pinched together. “y/n no you’re not understanding—”

“i’m the biggest creep on the planet man i understand if you don’t ever want to speak to me again—” you covered your face and leaned forward.

megumi stared at you astonishingly as he listened to you ramble apologies and dramatic insults for yourself continuously, his shoulders slowly relaxing and his lips turning into a soft knowing smile, your random speech starting to make absolutely no sense at all and his heart aching at the fact of how naive you were.

“y/n.”

you stopped. “what.”

he reached over and pulled your hands away from your face. “you’re helpless, you know that?”

“helpless and a creep.”

he laughed and shook his head. “stop it.”

he stood and offered his hand out for you.

“it’s getting late, i’m driving you home.”

megumi decided he would properly speak to you about it the next time he saw you… except he didn’t.

you started avoiding him like the plague again, horrendously horrified about what you believed you had done, thinking that it was better if you stayed away from him and fulfilled your initial task of forgetting him, no matter how much it hurt you.

you didn’t want megumi to ever be uncomfortable or experience what you believed he experienced with you. he didn’t deserve that. he didn’t deserve a pathetic little fan girl that never left him alone and hindered his work on the field, even though you wished so badly you could see him again, as the taste of his lips and mouth never left your fuzzy mind.

you kissed megumi fushiguro.

“oh my god y/n, you’re so stupid.”

“no i’m not! do you really believe megumi could ever like me back? no! absolutely not. i kissed him and i fucked up and that’s it. i’m staying away from him.”

your best friend ran her fingers through her hair and almost tore a chunk out in frustration. “it sounds like he kissed you! he had his hand on your thigh—”

“that was for stability! he—”

“no it was to feel you up!”

you shook your head side to side with your arms crossed. “nope nope nope nope—”

“y/nnnn!”

as for megumi, the next game he had he looked for you while on the field like he always did, looking forward to seeing your precious face and giving you a little wave… except he couldn’t find you. after the game, he went around the stadium and towards the locker room, inside and back out, the parking lot, his parking lot—

and he couldn’t find you.

this went on for a full three weeks of game after game nearly every day him doing the same exact thing— him getting increasingly more confused and a bit upset at your disappearance, going as far as to staying hours after his games still in his sweaty baseball uniform and cap with hopes that you’ll turn up.

except you never did.

and at the end of the third week, he had had enough.

“oh hey megumi!” your best friend greeted him, her hand fixing around yuji’s hair in the locker room after a game.

“hi.”

he stood there and said nothing, and your best friend eyed him skeptically. “…yes?”

megumi shifted awkwardly. “have you um… have you seen y/n?”

she sucked in a breath. “uh yeah. i saw her this morning.”

“this morning?” his eyes narrowed. “is she okay? why hasn’t she been coming to our games with you?”

“because—” she stammered. “well because—”

“is it our place to say?” yuji muttered.

“is it our place to know?” she whispered back harshly.

“i don’t know!”

“let’s just tell him!”

“but what if!—”

megumi rolled his eyes and huffed. “nevermind. please tell her to come tomorrow, i need to talk to her.”

your best friend gulped and nodded, both her and yuji watching the way he walked away and snatched his cap off, throwing it inside his locker and slamming it shut with his foot before picking up his duffel bag and leaving, not even bothering to change out of his dirt covered uniform.

“i’ve never seen him so stressed,” yuji commented.

“it’s because he likes her and she’s being an idiot…” your best friend sighed sadly.

so when she came to you the next day and told you megumi needed to speak to you, she amplified how upset he was to get you to feel bad and feel the urgent need to come to the game tonight, which you of course did.

and you were worried. so so worried and scared that he was finally going to tell you off for kissing him, to tell you that you sucked and that he never ever wanted to see you again in his life and that you were a disgusting human being—

but the roar of the crowd pulled you from your thoughts, the team winning once again as many began to pack their things and take their leave. you were completely and utterly shitting yourself, petrified and already heartbroken over the fact that megumi was officially going to cut you off as a friend when you hadn’t even had the chance to try and win him over yet.

and the way he played on the field tonight was way more aggressive than normal. he was louder, meaner, and didn’t take his eyes away from the ball or his opponents as he nearly got into a fight with another player, yuji and a few others needing to pull megumi apart and set him aside to cool off— the cameras and reporters having a field day in regards to him.

and that bothered you like nothing else. why the hell were they so excited over him getting angry? to amplify the brand that he upholds as the teams meanest player? as if they’ve never had a bad day a day in their lives? what was the point?

and it was all because of you, you realized.

you made him upset.

you covered your face with your hands and groaned, feeling like you wanted to cry.

“y/n…” your best friend patted your back. “it’ll be fine… he just needs to talk to you! you don’t even know what it’s about.”

“i can take a wild guess.”

she looked at you worriedly before picking up her things. “whenever you’re ready babe… i think he’s in the locker rooms by now.”

she left you there to gather yourself, and you sat there for a couple of more minutes before finally getting up and making your way to the locker rooms.

most of the fans had cleared out by now, and the sun was beginning to set as you passed and squeezed through crew members and news reporters, gnawing at your bottom lip as you turned a corner and spotted the locker room, many of the players already leaving.

just as you had reached your hand up to open the door, a firm voice called out to you.

“y/n.”

you froze, retracting your hand as you turned to look.

megumi stood there at the end of the hall, his baseball uniform still on and his cap dangling from his belt loop, hands in tight fists with his chest rising and falling, an agitated look on his face that you had never seen before.

“h—hi-”

“are you trying to forget me? is that what’s going on?”

your eyebrows furrowed.

“what?”

megumi took stride full steps towards you. “you finally talk to me, you confess to me, you disappear for a month, i wait for you, you finally show up at the banquet looking like the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen in my fucking life—”

he stopped in front of you. “takuma tries to steal you from me, i get pissed off, i fall for you at the park, i kiss you—“ he threw his arms up. “and you disappear again!”

your eyes bulge out of their sockets.

fall?

“you what?—”

“so i’m asking you again,” megumi bent his knees to look at you at eye level, his hands coming up to cup your pink cheeks and his face so close to yours you can make out the exact color of his eyes.

“are you trying to forget me? like you said you would?”

you fidgeted.

“i— i was doing it for you—”

“why for me? i never said—”

the feeling of his big hands on your cheeks was making your heart do backflips and trick shots as your wide doe eyes looked at him.

“because when i kissed you i made you uncomfortable and i don’t ever want you to be so i thought it’d be best if i left you alone—”

“okay let’s fix that right now,” his hands tightened slightly around your cheeks and he readjusted his footing, knees still bent. “i kissed you. if anything i should be the one worried if i made you uncomfortable because i put my hand on your thigh like that and for that i’m sorry.”

“no but—”

“yes y/n. i kissed you because you’re polite and you’re sweet and you’re funny, and you don’t see me as rude like everybody else does. and even though you’re naive and helpless sometimes, i like that you are. i like you.”

“but you’re megumi fushiguro…” you squeaked.

“so?”

“and i’m a loser.”

he laughed so cutely and shook his head, his pearly whites fully shining at you so big that it took you back to the first time he smiled in front of you.

“no you’re not you big dummy.”

he let go of your cheeks and placed his palms flat against the brick wall behind you, cornering you in as he let his head hang low, the top of his spiky black hair the only thing in your line of vision.

“i don’t know how else i can make you see…”

he sounded so exhausted, and your heart clenched.

“was it—” you timidly placed your hands on his shoulders. “was it actually you that kissed me?”

he nodded, head still hung.

“and do you actually like me? like— like more than a friend…”

“way fucking more,” he mumbled.

you bit the inside of your cheek as you tried to contain yourself from screaming.

you couldn’t believe it. the megumi fushiguro, number eighteen, the most handsome man you’ve ever seen and the kindest one you’ve ever met… liked you.

“i could’ve sworn i kissed you..” you spoke softly, trailing off.

“you didn’t.” his voice was firm. “i kissed you and i put my hand up your thigh…” his forehead lifted to rest on the crook of your neck as he sighed a deep breath.

“i told— i told takuma to scram at the banquet because i got jealous that you were talking to him more than me. i saw you crying in the hall that first time we spoke and i recognized you and i went up to you because finally—”

he picked his head up slowly, eyes serious. “finally, you noticed me.”

he was so close that your nose brushed gently with his.

“you’re so dense y/n…”

megumi’s eyes flickered to your lips, “i’ve wanted you since the party.”

“the party?” you murmured.

he nodded. “the party where your friend first met yuji.”

your breath hitched as you felt his hands slide down the wall and snake over your hips, holding you tightly against him as the shock of his words made your body numb and tingly.

since the party?

it all seemed to click into place then, every single moment megumi tried to get you to look at him, to talk to him, in his own discreet way that you were completely oblivious to. and you were so fucking caught up in this fog of denial, that a person like megumi could never be interested in a person like you, that it made you push him away for the longest time without even giving yourself a chance.

you were so fucking stupid.

your arms slowly wrapped around his broad shoulders, the rough feeling of his baseball uniform underneath your fingertips and arms as you pressed your nose up against his shoulder shyly, feeling so incredibly bad for avoiding megumi for so long.

“i’m sorry…” you mumbled. “i’m sorry i was so oblivious gumi.”

you felt him shake his head from the crook of your neck silently, the vibration of his heart beating rapidly against you making you sweat and melt at the same time.

“don’t be.”

“i just—” you struggled. “i just thought you didn’t like me like i liked you and i wanted to respect your space…”

“i understand,” he muttered. “but i don’t want you to respect my space anymore.”

you held him tighter.

“and—” your voice was slightly muffled by his shoulder.

“hm?”

“i liked it when you put your hand on my thigh…”

megumi stilled, you playing the night he kissed you over and over in your head again like you’ve done since it happened— the thought making you nervous and timid.

he gripped you tighter.

“did you?”

you nodded, “mhm.”

megumi without parting from you, slipped a hand under your shirt and soothed his fingers over the bare skin of your torso, your breathing stuttering, his rough hand radiating warmth.

“what else do you like.”

you gripped the fabric of his uniform.

“i like… i like the way you kissed me. and how you touch me… like right now.”

your voice was so so soft, practically a whisper as he seemed to shiver under your words, wanting more.

“what else.”

“you,” you mumbled. “your body… your hair… your face… your hands… the way you talk to people.”

“you want me?” he murmured breathlessly.

“more than anything.”

“what else do you like?”

you leaned your head back a little and pressed your lips to his ear. “the way you play ball.”

he hummed, “you like the way i play baby?”

you nodded, your heart hammering.

he lifted his face from the crook of your neck and shamelessly pressed his lips to your cheek, murmuring.

“you wanna see what else i can do?”

“what— what else?”

megumi’s face remained pressed against your cheek as he let both of his hands now snake underneath your shirt and upwards, slowly but roughly groping the cup of your tits over your bra, feeling you up as you gasped.

“uh huh..” he pressed an open mouthed wet kiss to your pink fuzzy cheek. “‘cause i can do a lot more than just be your cool baseball man.”

he roughly spun you around and pushed you up against the wall, his hands coming back up to your breasts to grope you as he shoved and rubbed his hardened clothed dick against your perky ass, your tiny skirt riding up and revealing your pretty pink panties that made him absolutely feral.

“gumi!” you gasped. “s—someone could see—”

“i don’t fucking care.”

megumi buried his nose further into the back of your neck and your hair, him being a little pervert in the most delicious and intoxicating way possible.

he dragged his mouth up against your skin and latched on to the nape of your neck, sucking and biting sloppily against it as he marked you aggressively, no doubt in your mind that a purple bruise would follow soon after as his hands slipped under your bra now, pinching your hard nipples meanly and laughing when you jumped.

you moaned and whined against the wall, your body trembling as you felt your slick arousal slip from your hole and dampen your panties, choked up embarrassment coating your face as he shoved his fingers down your skirt without warning.

“you’re soaked baby…” he whispered. “and all because i grabbed your tits?”

“megumiii…” you whined, and you squeaked as he quickly slipped his fingers in between your pussy lips and pinched your clit.

“gumi,” he corrected. “fix it.”

“g—gumi—”

“good, pretty baby...” he praised, his dick rock fucking solid against your ass at the way his fingers slipped and slid in between your lower lips without much effort, both of your chests heaving and panting as your brains frazzled erotically.

the sounds of footsteps echoed from the end of the hall and you both immediately froze, a gasp slipping past your lips before megumi quickly covered your mouth with the same hand that was just fingering you.

“shh.” he kissed the back of your head.

if anyone were to walk in and see the sight before them— megumi with his crotch pressed up against your ass, a hand pushing your top and bra up, squeezing your bare puffy tit and the other covering your mouth?

they’d drop dead.

without another moment wasted, megumi uncovered your mouth and turned you around, his tongue darting out and licking the patch of wet on your cheek from his fingers before shoving them in his mouth, sucking up your left over juice as he bent down and wrapped his arms around your legs, lifting and throwing you over his shoulder.

megumi was freaky.

your eyes widened as he walked to the double doors of the locker room and kicked it open with his foot, turning around to lock them shut before walking to a corner and setting you down gently on a bench, his palms flat beside you on the smooth wood as he towered over you.

“is— is everybody gone?”

“long gone.” he nibbled at your cheek.

“but— but what if someone wants to come in?—”

he pulled away and got down on his knees. “i’ll tell them to fuck off.”

you panted as he pressed his hands against your thighs and squeezed, spreading them apart slowly with his eyes trained to your drenched cute pink panties.

he slid his hands underneath your thighs and lifted, bending you and pressing your knees closer to you as your back hit the lockers behind you, your hands gripping the bench for dear life.

“has anyone ever seen your pussy?” he gruffed, licking his lips.

you shook your head, embarrassed. “n—no.”

“has any other man touched you the way i’ve touched you?”

“m—maybe in high school?—”

megumi sunk his teeth into your inner thigh and bit you as you yelped.

“thought you liked me.”

“i do!” you sputtered.

“clearly not if you’re being a little whore and letting other filthy men on you.”

your hole clenched.

“that— that was before you!”

he stuck his tongue out and pressed it flat against your pussy covered panties, dragging it slowly and agonizingly up until the tip of his tongue passed and flicked up against your clit, the tip moving around and around your little nub as your thighs shook.

“doesn’t matter.” he let a string of drool fall from the corner of his lips and over your ruined underwear, your eyes fluttering as you felt his warm saliva ooze in between your lips.

“and what about takuma, hm?”

you tried to open your eyes. “ta—takuma?”

“mhm. he was all over you.”

you hiccuped as he wrapped his fingers around the straps of your panties and pulled them down.

“i—”

“bet he wanted to do to you what i’m doing right now…” he hummed. “would you have let him?”

he stuffed his nose into your bare pussy and inhaled deeply, your jaw dropping as you squeezed your eyes shut.

your lack of response caused him to pull away and bite your thigh again, harder.

“would you?”

“n—no!” you shook your head quickly, strands of your hair lightly grazing your face. “i wouldn’t—”

“so who then?” he licked over his bite mark. “who would you spread your legs open for like this and let them see what a nasty fucking girl you are…”

“you gumi!” you hiccuped. “just you—”

“just me?”

megumi finally let his tongue slither itself in between your folds, slowly running over your flaps and clit as your hole continued to squelch out your arousal, pooling on the bench beneath you.

“y—yes!”

he slobbered and spit over your pussy like a starved dog, his face glistening like sugary glazed sweets.

“that’s what i fucking thought,” he hummed. “you gonna try and forget me again?”

“no!” you shook your head. “never! i can’t!”

he gripped your thighs tighter as he absolutely violated your folds then, wet sloshing and slurpings filling the air as he spat and shook his head side to side rapidly on your clit, you squealing and attempting to snap your thighs shut in response, his strong grip not letting you even if you tried.

“i—i can’t!” you cried. “gumi slow please it’s too much—”

“be a pretty baby and stop complaining.” he ran his slimy tongue over your pussy entirely before shoving it inside your hole.

you choked and clasped a trembling hand over your mouth, tears of ecstasy spilling from the corners of your eyes as you squeezed them shut.

you whimpered and moaned and cried so pathetically, so cutely in his ears that he grinned as he pumped his tongue in and out of you filthily.

“you’re so fucking sweet—” he slapped your cunt and you jumped. “good thing i have a sweet tooth.”

your legs shook violently as you began to see stars, your tight hole clenching and sputtering around nothing as you felt your release approaching.

“gumi—” your hand flew back to the bench and you gripped it. “m’gonna cum! i’m— i’m gonna make a mess—”

megumi’s hand shot up and wrapped around one of your thighs so the tips of his fingers met your clit, his digits proceeding to rub and flick it as you climbed and reached your high, a high pitched scream echoing through the steamy locker room as your pussy leaked your sweet cum on his tongue.

you shuddered and jumped at the way he cleaned up your release and swallowed it, running his tongue soothingly over the bite marks on your thighs before coming back up and wiping his glistening face with his sleeve.

megumi leaned in and pressed a gentle loving kiss to your lips, a complete turn around from the feral beast you had in between your legs— you kissing him back with just as much feel and affection.

he pulled back and got back up on his feet, you watching him ditzy as he jogged over to his locker and turned the lock until it clicked open, him rummaging inside for a little before he shut it and came back with a fresh pair of gray sweatpants.

“put these on baby,” he murmured.

you nodded sweetly and took them from him, you slipping off your skirt and pulling his sweatpants over as you watched him bend and look over corners.

“what are you looking for?” you asked softly.

he perked up then and stuck his hand under a bench, pulling out your wet ruined pink panties and holding them up high like a trophy.

“oh my god—” you covered your mouth in embarrassment. “give me those!”

“nope.” he shook his head and walked over to his duffel bag on the floor, unzipping it before stuffing your panties inside. “these are mine now.”

megumi came back up and wrapped his palm underneath your chin, tilting your face up softly before planting a sweet kiss to your swollen lips.

“and so are you.”

and that you were.

you went on many many dates with megumi after that, each and every single one so incredibly lovely and fun, a genuine connection you felt with him and each other that you had never ever felt before in your life, absolutely enamored by the way he gently treated you and made you feel like the only one that mattered in his life.

your best friend was obviously over the moon for you, squealing like a maniac at everything you told her, and always teased megumi about his lovesick face whenever you came to his games or appeared in the locker room to help him change, sort his clothes, or fix his hair.

“megumi…” she snickered. “your cheeks are a little red! are you like— sick?”

he scowled at her and turned the other way, wiping his sweaty forehead as he watched you bounce down the steps cutely and onto the field after one of his practices, a huge smile on your face that replicated on his.

the minute you jumped into his arms, he peppered your little cheeks with kisses as you giggled and ruffled his spiky hair, asking him how he felt about practice and other things after he set you down.

without anyone noticing, a journalist was on the field, and at the sight of megumi fushiguro’s beaming toothy smile as he watched you run to him, they quickly snapped a photo and published it.

one was a perfect portrait photo of his shining white smile (that later became his signature picture) and the other was a photo of his arms out for you as you ran, the both of them causing an absolute uproar that altered megumi’s image from that day forward.

megumi fushiguro was thought to be the meanest player on the team since the day he got signed.

but when he started taking more pictures with fans, kind of stopped offending the people around him, signed more autographs, and smiled occasionally at the paparazzi— all while your pretty self stood right next to him?

megumi fushiguro was sometimes the meanest player on the team.

————————————————————————

want more? you can find my mlb!megumi fushiguro masterlist here!

[someonealreadyhadmynickname]

ALL THE DECISIONS I'VE TAKEN IN MY LIFETIME WERE TO STUMBLE ACROSS THIS 🗣🙏🤯😭

[fourofdaggers]

Feelings tonight

[someonealreadyhadmynickname]

I wish everyone who sees this to thrive in 2025

[iminthetunnels]

ur future nurse is using chapgpt to glide thru school u better take care of urself

[lucyaudley]

Yep. This is terrifying. I’ve caught nursing majors, engineering majors, architecture majors relying on ChatGPT to do their homework. These are people who need to know their field well to ensure people don’t die and they’re letting a glorified algorithm cheat them through school. It’s so dangerous

[redwinterroses]

hey. hi. I work in academia. and there are a lot of student-age folks on this site.

don't do this. don't use genAI. even if your professors give you permission. even if they ask for it or suggest it. if they do anything short of directly requiring it (and I weep, because I've already seen assignments that require it) don't touch that crap. if they do require it, stick it to them. be as maliciously compliant as possible. be a nightmare.

I know it might sound easier right now -- just plug in your assignment and get the answers. you don't care about this class anyway, it's not for your major, you don't see the value of the assignment.

but for your own sake, for the sake of your education and mind, and for the sake of the future world we want to have: learn the stuff. you are not as stupid as the corporate bizzaro kings who want to rule the world think you are, so don't give them reasons to believe it.

and odds are good genAI is gonna give you corrupted info anyway -- more and moreso as the machines cannibalize themselves.

just don't do it. not even "I just do it for XYZ--" no. stop. there is no valid use of generative AI, and even using it for memes or lolz feeds the system and directly feeds the pockets of the people who want to replace you anyway.

[aaaaaadhd]

Rage reblogging this. Yesterday i got into an argument with one of my college friends who is using chatGPT to do all her work. We're psychology students. The whole group chat laughed my arguments off as if they didn't matter because "she's an artist, of course she's anti-AI" and i had to deal with it. This is a warning. If your therapist graduated in 2023/2024, ask about their opinions on chatGPT. They might lie to you if you ask "did you use it to graduate" directly, but try to make jokes about it and play it cool. If they're into it, DROP OFF. FIND A NEW ONE. Do not trust your brain to someone who didn't bother to use theirs.

[someonealreadyhadmynickname]

Does anyone remember that post about a parent teaching a child about money but it doesn't work because the child just wants to share???? I CAN'T FIND IT