⋆˚✿˖° ❝𝗜𝘁 𝗙𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗖𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗱𝗲𝗱❞ ⋆˚✿˖°

Nathan Prescott X Fem!Reader

The Rich Asshole . ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

masterlist

So i have a few conflicting emotions when it comes to this character. from when i found the game I hated this guy. Though like most people there is an ounce of remorse that we feel for this character. However, my love for him is so conflicting because as much as he is a victim, he is the reason for what happened to rachel. Anyways here is my little story with my conflicting feelings. ALSO YOU CAN SAY HE ISN’T AT FAULT BUT HE IS. just because he was lead to these decisions does not mean he still didn’t do them.

“Fuck off, Prescott!” Your voice snapped down the hall, sharp enough to make a freshman nearly drop his textbooks.

Nathan, slouched against the lockers like he owned the goddamn place, gave a slow, mocking clap. “Wow. Real mature, (Y/L/N). You kiss your mommy with that mouth?” His tone was lazy, but his eyes pinned you like a bug to a wall.

You marched toward him, shoving your bag higher onto your shoulder. “I’d rather kiss a loaded shotgun than deal with your shit for the next two weeks.”

Nathan pushed off the locker with a sneer, standing tall. Taller than you, not that you’d ever admit it.

“Newsflash, bitch you think I wanna work with you?” he snapped, crumpling the project assignment sheet in his fist. “I’d rather fucking drown in a Porta Potty.”

You jabbed a finger into his chest a stupid move, because under all that overpriced denim and leather, he was solid muscle but you were way past giving a shit. “Then drop out, Prescott. No one would miss you.”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes. You couldn’t tell because just as fast, he leaned in closer, face twisted in a sneer. “You’d miss me, sweetheart. You need someone to take your boring ass life up a notch.” His voice was low, practically a growl. “You’re so desperate for excitement you’ll probably fucking love having me around.”

“You’re delusional,” you spat, shoving past him.

But Nathan wasn’t done. He followed, keeping pace easily, his voice dropping into that dangerous, mocking tone he used when he wanted to pick someone apart. “Face it. You’re just pissed because you have to finally realized you’re not better than me.”

You whirled around, nearly slamming into his chest. “I am better than you,” you hissed, close enough to see the fine scars nicking the side of his jaw, the ones most people didn’t notice under the arrogant smirk. “I don’t have to buy my friends, or bribe my teachers ”

Nathan laughed, sharp and ugly. “Yeah? Keep telling yourself that, bitch. Maybe one day you’ll actually believe it.”

The tension between you vibrated like a taut wire, ready to snap. Across the hall, Mr. Jefferson poked his head out of his classroom door. “Everything okay over there?”

You both spoke at the same time:

“Fine,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Peachy,” Nathan drawled with a fake grin.

Mr. Jefferson raised an eyebrow but disappeared back into the classroom without another word. Nathan turned back to you, the smile dropping immediately. “We’re meeting at the library. Tomorrow. Four o’clock,” he said, his voice all business now, like he could barely stand to look at you.

“Don’t be fucking late, (Y/L/N). I don’t wanna waste more time than I have to babysitting your dumbass.”

You gave a mocking bow. “Oh, your majesty. Should I bring you a goddamn throne too?”

Nathan just rolled his eyes, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets as he stalked off down the hall without another glance at you. You stood there, fists clenched, heart pounding. God, you hated Nathan Prescott.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

The library clock ticked past 4:00 PM. You drummed your fingers on the table, glaring at the empty seat across from you. Your notebook lay open, pen uncapped. Still no Nathan.

At 4:17, he finally strolled in with all the grace of someone who gave absolutely zero fucks sunglasses on indoors, slouched walk, earphones dangling. You didn’t disappoint. “You’re fucking late,” you snapped the second he dropped into the chair across from you with a loud, obnoxious scrape. Nathan didn’t even look at you. Just threw his bag on the table, knocking your pen to the floor.

“Cry harder.”

You scoffed. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah? So’s your face, but here we are.”

You clenched your jaw, grabbing your pen. “You gonna actually contribute or just sit there throwing middle school insults?”

Nathan pulled out a crumpled folder and dropped it onto the table like it weighed ten pounds. “I already did my part. You can finish it. You’re the one who actually gives a shit.”

“You call this your part?” You flipped through the papers of barely legible answers. “This looks like it was written by a brain damaged raccoon.”

He smirked. “Well you and the raccoon have something in common. Both can’t shut the fuck up.”

You leaned in, voice low and furious. “I’m not doing this whole thing alone, Prescott. If I fail because of your lazy, coke snorting ass, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Nathan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, gaze dark and slow. “Blow me, princess.”

You didn’t flinch. You just smiled. Sweet. Cold. “I don’t do charity work.”

A few heads turned. You didn’t care. Neither did he. Nathan barked out a laugh bitter, humorless and sat forward again, voice tighter. “You think you’re tough?”

“No,” you said, deadly calm. “I know I’m better than you. You just hate that I don’t suck up to your daddy’s money like everyone else in this school.”

His smile dropped like a stone. “You’re right,” he said, quiet and sharp. “You’re not like everyone else. You’re just louder, bitchier, and a hell of a lot more annoying.”

“At least I don’t need pills and daddy’s lawyers to make it through the day.”

“Fuck you,” he muttered, but he opened the book anyway. Slouched so low in his chair you wondered how he could even see the words.

You tried to focus on your own work, but the sound of Nathan tapping his pen against the table made your skin itch. Every two minutes he let out a sigh, a groan, or muttered some sarcastic shit under his breath.

Finally, you snapped.

“If you hate this so much, maybe you should’ve told Jefferson to pair you with someone who gives a shit about your trust fund problems.” Nathan slammed the book closed so hard it made a few nearby students jump.

“Yeah, because you’re so fucking perfect, huh? Probably got your whole boring little life planned out already. Graduate, go to some shitty state school, get a lame job, marry some douchebag with a Prius ”

“At least I’m not gonna OD in my daddy’s beach house!” you hissed back, the words out before you could stop them.

The library went deadly quiet. Even the air seemed to freeze. Nathan’s eyes darkened. His whole face twisted, raw and ugly, and for a terrifying second, you thought he might actually throw something at you. Instead, he stood up so fast his chair tipped over behind him.

“Fuck this,” he snarled.

The librarian barked from the desk, “Hey! shut up or get out!”

Nathan didn’t even flinch. He grabbed his bag and stormed out, shoving the door open so hard it banged against the wall. You stayed frozen in your seat, chest heaving, throat tight. Some students stared. Others pretended not to notice. Slowly, you packed up your things, the shame burning hotter than your anger now.

You left the library with your jaw tight and your fists clenched so hard your nails bit into your palms. Screw him. Screw his smug face, his broken homework, and that goddamn mouth that never shut up unless he was about to say something even worse.

The cold air outside was a slap, but it helped. You headed toward the dorms, steps quick and angry. Until you heard footsteps behind you. You glanced over your shoulder and sure enough, Nathan Prescott was trailing you, jacket half zipped, jaw set like he’d been chewing on broken glass. You stopped. “Are you seriously following me now? What, storming out wasn’t enough for you?”

Nathan didn’t stop until he was right in front of you. Too close. “Why the fuck are you always such a bitch to me?” he snapped.

You blinked. That… wasn’t what you expected. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he bit, eyes narrowed. “We’ve barely spoken before this week, and you act like you’ve got me all figured out. You’re always ready to throw shit at me like you know me.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came. For once, he wasn’t just being snide he was pissed, yeah, but there was something else under it. Something sharper. Real.

“What the hell did I do to you, huh?” he went on, voice rising. “We’ve never had a conversation before Jefferson paired us up, and you already decided I’m the devil or some shit.”

“You’ve got a reputation, Prescott. Don’t act surprised.”

He laughed. One dry, humorless breath. “Yeah? So that’s it? Some gossip, and suddenly you know who I am?”

You crossed your arms. “I don’t need to know you. I’ve seen enough.”

“No, you’ve seen what you want to see.” He leaned in slightly, voice low. “You think I’m some rich junkie asshole with a fucked up temper and a silver spoon so far up my ass I choke on it, right?” You didn’t answer. The silence said enough. Nathan’s tongue pressed against his cheek. He nodded slowly, like he was trying to swallow something bitter. “Right. Thought so.”

You shifted your weight. “Look, you act like a dick, Nathan. You treat people like they’re beneath you.”

“And you treat me like I’m already guilty of something I didn’t even fucking do.” His tone turned colder. “So what does that make you? If you’re throwing labels at someone without even trying to know them?”

You tried to shove past him, but he stepped in front of you again not touching you, but close enough to make your blood burn. “What? Can’t handle hearing it? You’re so sure you’re better than me?”

“I am better than you.”

“No,” he said, voice like ice, “what kind of self righteous bullshit is that”

You stared at him. His eyes weren’t glazed or cocky like usual, they were clear. You hated how it made your stomach twist. “Just stay the hell away from me,” you muttered.

He didn’t move. “Then stop talking about me like you know me. Because you don’t. And judging by today?” He tilted his head slightly, mouth curled in something bitter. “You’re not half as perfect as you like to pretend.” Then he finally stepped aside, letting you pass. But his words followed you all the way down the sidewalk.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

You moved through the halls walking beside Max while she rambled about her latest photo concept. Her words blurred something about natural light, shadows, an abandoned greenhouse. You nodded here and there, but your attention wasn’t really on her. Nathan Prescott stood across the hall, leaned casually against the lockers in that crimson red sweater he always wore like armor. His hands were shoved into his pockets, posture slouched, head tilted toward Victoria, who was perched beside him. She was talking fast probably gossiping and he was barely listening. His expression was eyes distant.

“Hey, you good?” Max asked, her voice soft as she glanced sideways at you.

You blinked, pulled from your thoughts. “Yeah. Just out of it.”

She smiled lightly. “Blackwell’ll do that to you.”

Across the hall, Nathan looked up. His eyes met yours. You expected him to smirk. Or scoff. Or whisper something to Victoria that would piss you off all over again. He didn’t. He just held your gaze. There was no fire in it this time.

Then Max nudged your shoulder. “C’mon, we’ll be late.”

You turned, walking with her toward class, but the moment stuck with you like a thorn beneath skin. He wasn’t just some cautionary tale wearing expensive clothes. you weren’t as far above the mess as you liked to pretend.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

You weren’t sure what possessed you to do it. You’d barely knocked twice before the door to Nathan’s dorm creaked open, not wide, just enough for a glimpse of his sharp glare and the darkened room behind him. His eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I came to work on the project,” you replied, shifting your weight.“You bailed on the library. I didn’t have your number.”

Nathan blinked once. Then, without warning, he reached out, grabbed your wrist, and yanked you inside. “Jesus!” The door slammed shut behind you. Before you could blink again, you were standing in the middle of his room dim, cluttered, with a faint smell of smoke and expensive cologne in the air. The only light came from a lamp on his desk, casting long shadows across the mess of camera equipment, crumpled notes, and an open bottle of water. He stood between you and the door, arms crossed, expression sharp.

“You shouldn’t be in the guys’ dorm.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not that deep, Prescott.”

“No,” he said, stepping a little closer, “it’s pathetic. You that desperate to see me? You stalking me now? Perv.”

You stared at him. “Are you always this fucking dramatic?” you snapped. “I came to work. On the project. The thing that’s due next week?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You couldn’t just ask for my number?”

“like your ass would indulge me in any conversation”

Nathan scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “And barging into my dorm was the better option?”

“You ditched me. Again.” You crossed your arms, mirroring him. “I’m not playing chase the rich kid so you can pretend this group project doesn’t exist. I showed up so we can finish the damn thing.”

He stared at you for a long beat.

Then, quietly, “You’re a fucking pain in my ass.”

“I’m passing this class.”

He turned away, flopping onto the edge of his unmade bed, elbows on his knees. “Fine,” he muttered. “If you’re gonna stand there taking over my space, grab a chair. Let’s get it over with.” You hesitated. Just for a second. Then sat down across from him silently waiting for Nathan to open the shared project file. But your eyes kept drifting. His desk was cluttered High end camera bodies rested in velvet lined foam. Lenses of varying sizes were stacked in an open case like polished glass trophies. Film rolls peeked out of a drawer he hadn’t shut properly. And on the wall above his bed, pinned with silver tacks, were photos.

Black and white. Grainy. Sharp.

Some were of strangers street shots, harsh shadows and sharp angles. Others were more abstract: empty chairs, cracked pavement, tree limbs twisting through fog. You didn’t mean to stare so long. But the compositions were striking. Not what you’d expected from someone who talked like he didn’t care about anything. Nathan sat on the edge of his bed, laptop open in front of him, fingers frozen over the keyboard. he wasn’t looking at the screen. He was watching you. Eyes low beneath his lashes, The tension from earlier had settled into something quieter not calm, exactly, but less volatile. He noticed the way your head tilted slightly as you studied a particular photo on the wall, your brow furrowed in faint curiosity. You looked different when you weren’t trying to bite back. He blinked, shook the thought away like an itch under his skin, and finally tapped the space bar.

“You gonna drool or you wanna help?” he muttered, loud enough to snap your attention back.

You blinked, jerking your head toward him. “Excuse me?”

“You’re staring at my shit”

You scoffed. “I was just surprised you’re actually good at something other than being an asshole.”

A grin flickered across his lips. “Wow. Touching praise from someone who broke into my dorm.”

“I didn’t break in.”

“guys dorm remember? That’s trespassing.”

You opened your mouth to fire back then caught the way his voice softened just slightly on that last word. Not enough to call it kind. You leaned forward, finally dragging the chair toward his desk. “Just show me what you’ve done so far. We’re not gonna finish anything if you keep acting like I poisoned your coffee.” He exhaled slowly, shifting the laptop so you could both see the screen. But his gaze lingered on you a second longer before turning to the document. You didn’t notice. He didn’t say anything.

You didn’t know how it happened but somewhere between reviewing the first slides and editing the captions, the two of you had stopped biting at each other. Nathan wasn’t exactly friendly, but he was… tolerable. He made a sarcastic comment about your font choice, and you rolled your eyes but didn’t snap. You pointed out a typo in his work, and he didn’t bark back, just muttered “Yeah, alright,” under his breath and fixed it.

life is strange isnt it?

The lamp on his desk cast a warm glow across the screen as the two of you leaned closer, arguing mildly about the placement of one of the images. You caught a soft twitch at the corner of his mouth not a smile, not quite but something quieter, like he wasn’t entirely annoyed you were here anymore. You glanced at the photo on the slide. One of his shots: a boy sitting on a curb, face obscured by shadow, light cutting sharp across his shoulder. “This one’s your best,” you said before you could stop yourself. Nathan’s eyes flicked to yours, He didn’t say anything. Just stared. Then, his phone buzzed.

Once.

Twice.

He glanced down, pulled it from his pocket lazily, still half focused on the screen. But the moment his eyes locked onto the message, something in him changed. Like a switch flipped. His shoulders tensed. Jaw tightened. Whatever softness had started to settle between you evaporated. He shoved the phone back into his pocket hard. You straightened, uncertain. “Everything okay?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then voice low, clipped “You should go.”

The air dropped ten degrees.

You blinked. “What?”

“I said, you should leave.” He stood abruptly, already walking past you, pacing like the room had become too small to breathe in.

You stood, confused, watching him retreat toward the window without explanation.

“Nathan ”

“Don’t,” he snapped, not turning around. “It’s fine. Project’s fine. everything is fine. the world is fucking fine. I’ll send you the edits later.”

His voice was cold again. The weight was back in the room, that same heaviness you’d felt the first time he looked at you like you were just another person here to take something from him. You didn’t know who had texted him. Or why he looked like the ground had just shifted beneath him. But you didn’t ask. You grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder slowly. “Thanks for not being a total dick today,” you said quietly.

No response. You walked to the door, hesitating just a moment before opening it. Nathan still hadn’t turned around. So you left quietly, without another word. The hallway light stung your eyes as the door clicked shut behind you.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

Nathan laid on his back, eyes wide open, blinking into the ceiling. He hadn’t moved in hours not really. He’d thrown on a hoodie sometime after you left, curled in on himself, and stared at nothing as the hours bled past midnight. His phone buzzed again. Another message. From the same number. He didn’t read it. His chest felt tight. He could hear his own breathing too fast, too shallow. His hands twitched where they gripped the edge of his mattress, fingers white knuckled and cold. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. But it felt worse tonight. Now shame thick in his throat, desperation louder than pride, he opened the school directory, found your name, and typed your number in. He stared at the digits for a long time. Then, he hit Call.

You woke up to the buzz of your phone on your nightstand, groggy and confused.

1:47 AM. Unknown Number.

You almost ignored it. Almost. Though you firmly believed doing stuff for the plot leads to funnier futures.

“Hello?”

For a few seconds, there was only silence. Then a quiet breath. A small, almost inaudible noise. Then, “Don’t hang up.”

Your heart stilled. “Nathan?”

“Um… hi?” you said slowly. “Why are you ”

“I just…” He sounded off. His voice was low, but shaky. Like he was trying to keep it together. “I can’t sleep.”

You were quiet for a second. Not sure what to say. It was weird. You barely knew him. The guy who made it very clear he didn’t want to work with you suddenly calling you in the middle of the night? The hell? “How did you get my number?”

“School directory. Look, I know it’s fucking weird, okay? Just fuck just don’t hang up yet.”

You leaned back in your bed, running a hand down your face. The annoyance faded just a little. There was something raw under his words, something fraying at the edges.

You exhaled. “Alright. I’m not hanging up. What’s going on?”

He didn’t answer right away. You heard him breathing though sharp inhales, shallow. Like he was pacing, or panicking.

“I just needed noise or something. I dunno. It’s like my chest’s full of needles.”

Okay. That was more than you expected. You pushed your blanket off and sat up fully, rubbing your eyes awake.

“Okay,” you said softly. “Sounds like a panic attack.”

He let out a laugh. It was bitter. Dry. “No shit.”

You stayed quiet a second, then started talking. Not about anything important just things to fill the space. You told him about the way your floorboards creaked weirdly when it got cold. The dumb poster your roommate hung crooked. The vending machine that kept eating your dollar bills. You weren’t sure why he stayed on the line. You weren’t sure why you did, either. But the minutes passed, and you could hear his breathing start to even out.

At one point, he said, quieter this time, “I didn’t know who else to call.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you didn’t say anything. He stayed on the line until you heard nothing but slow, steady breathing. Then the call ended. You thought that was it. Just a one time weird moment. But the next night, your phone buzzed again.

Unknown Number. 12:18 AM.

You stared at it for a second. Then picked up. “Couldn’t sleep again?”

“Fuck off,” Nathan muttered, but his voice didn’t sound angry.

just like that, it became a thing. Not every night, but often enough. He’d call, and you’d talk him through it. Or he’d just listen while you rambled about whatever was in your head. Sometimes he didn’t even say much. You’d just hear his breathing. Then, one night, a text.

[1:03 AM] “Dorm’s a pressure cooker tonight. Need to get out. You up?”

You blinked down at it, thumb hovering over the screen. Then replied. “ok fuckboy, Where?”

[1:04 AM] “Back side of the art building. If you’re not scared of the dark or whatever.”

You pulled a hoodie over your head and slipped out the side door, keeping your steps light across the grass. You found him sitting on the low concrete wall, hoodie on, legs stretched out, a cigarette burning between his fingers. He didn’t look at you when you walked up.

“So… you make a habit of calling girls you don’t like at 1 a.m.?” you asked, standing over him.

He smirked, flicking ash. “You’re the only one dumb enough to answer.”

“Lucky me.”

He scooted over slightly. You sat down next to him, knees brushing briefly. He smelled faintly like smoke and laundry detergent. For a minute, neither of you said anything. Then he muttered, “Thanks. For not being a dick about the calls.”

You glanced at him. That was probably the closest thing to a thank you he was capable of. “Yeah, well,” you said, nudging him with your shoulder, “I’m not completely heartless.”

He gave a dry little laugh and took another drag. And for the first time since you’d met him, Nathan didn’t seem like he was pretending to be someone else.You hopped up beside him, the wall cold through your jeans. He handed you the cig wordlessly, and you took a drag, passing it back before pulling your phone from your hoodie pocket.

Three missed texts.

[1:52 AM Warren G.]

Where are you right now?

[1:53 AM Warren G.]

I just saw you from my window. Was that Nathan Prescott? Seriously??

[1:54 AM Warren G.]

[Y/N], what are you doing with him?

You stared at the screen for a long second, then locked it and shoved it deep into your pocket. You weren’t answering that.Warren was probably the reason you hated him so much. Right now Instead, you pulled a small joint from the hem of your hoodie tucked right where your sleeve met the wristband.

Nathan’s eyes tracked the motion, brow raising. “Since when do you carry?”

“Since tonight, apparently.” You lit it with a flick of a borrowed lighter, watching the paper curl into orange.

Nathan smirked faintly, but there was a flash of something in his face, curiosity. Not judgment. Just… surprise. “Rough night?”

You took a long pull, exhaled upward. “You could say that.”

You didn’t mention Warren. Didn’t mention the way your phone buzzed in your pocket like it was desperate to ruin the quiet. Nathan didn’t push. He just leaned back on his elbows, watching the smoke twist into the dark sky. What has been different from when you started interacting with Nathan more was not telling your friends everything. Warren might be the only reason you didnt like the guy that was sitting beside you. Though even hes such a stick in the mid sometimes.

“Not bad form,” he muttered.

“Thanks.”

He gave a soft snort, and for a minute, the tension dropped. You passed the joint over, and he took it without a word. The smoke danced lazily in the air between you, catching in the wind and disappearing into nothing. You leaned back beside him, body loose from the hit, brain a little fogged like your thoughts were wearing fuzzy socks on a hardwood floor. Nathan took another drag, eyes half lidded, and passed it back to you. You didn’t take it this time. Just stared forward, hands braced behind you, legs kicked out.

“You know,” you started, voice a little slower than usual, like you had to fish the words from somewhere murky, “I think I like you more than I realized.” Silence. You looked over, then quickly back at the dark stretch of campus in front of you. “I mean maybe it’s the high talking. Or maybe I’m just sleep deprived and having a brain glitch. Whatever.” You waved it off like it wasn’t a big deal, even though it felt like one. “It’s not like I know you, know you, but…”

You trailed off. The buzz of the joint mixed with the weight of that little truth hanging out in the open air now. Nathan blinked at you and then scoffed. “Wow,” he muttered with a crooked smile. “You catch feelings off one joint and a sad boy routine?.”

You turned to glare at him. “Shut up.”

“No, really. Should I light candles next time? Bring you flowers? Write you some poetry?” His grin stretched You went to snap back but then his hand brushed against yours on the concrete. Not accidental. He didn’t look at you when he did it. He just let his fingers slide over yours, catching them loosely. His palm was warm. Steady. You didn’t say anything. Didn’t look at him. Just stared at the building lights across the quad and let your hand stay in his.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

You hadn’t slept. Not really. Instead, you’d just laid there, reliving every second behind the art building Nathan’s hand in yours. he was warm. so warm. his eyes were glossy. the night ended later than any of you two could gather. Blackwell always felt a little gray in the morning, but today it there might have been a little pep in your step. Cold in the air, a small little nathan shaped warmth in your chest. You stepped into the hallway and spotted him before you were even fully through the door.

Nathan. Leaning against a locker laughing at something Victoria said, though it didn’t look real. Nothing about him did anymore. You slowed for just a second. “Shit,” he muttered, loud enough to carry. “Should’ve known the freak parade would show up early.”

Victoria snorted. “God, can she not?” Her eyes flicked over your clothes like she was personally offended by the fabric. “Every day’s a fashion crime with her.”

You froze mid step. Max and Warren were behind you, chatting, not realizing what you were walking into. Your heart stung before your brain could even process what was happening. Nathan pushed off the locker, brushing past you with a smug little smile. “Hope the janitors are getting paid extra,” he sneered, “cleaning up after your desperation.”

“What the hell, Prescott?” Warren stepped in fast, hand fisting at his side.

Nathan turned back, cocky, dangerous. “Relax, boy scout. Didn’t realize you two were still sharing notes. Or maybe it’s more than that, huh?” His eyes swept to you again, slower this time, and colder. “Figures. Nobody else would.”

ok pause. because what the fuck happened. Like yes he was an ass. the whole school knew that. Though considering the amount of time he was crawling into your messages, where the hell did this come from?

“Keep walking,” Max said lowly, stepping up beside you.

Max didn’t press. She never did. That was the nice thing about her. Since starting the school year, you both bonded on being new. well for you, relatively new and her coming back to her hometown.

Warren, though? At lunch, he was full of energy, waving you over like always. You sat down beside him and Max at your usual table under the half broken patio umbrella. He was in the middle of some rant about science fiction film logic when it happened.

“I’m just saying if a robot gains sentience, it doesn’t automatically mean it wants to kill us. That’s lazy writing ”

From across the quad, a loud snort cut him off.

“Wow,” Victoria said, not even bothering to keep her voice down. “Look who’s still wearing last season’s clearance rack.”

You blinked, confused, until you realized she was looking directly at you. Taylor giggled beside her, but it was Nathan who made your stomach drop. He pointed toward once at your table and leaned over to whisper something to Victoria. Then, loud enough for everyone near to hear “She should’ve stayed invisible. Worked better for her.”

Max stiffened beside you. “Jesus. What is their problem today?”

Warren stood up, indignant. “Hey. Why don’t you back off, Prescott?”

Nathan didn’t even look at him. His eyes were on you and they weren’t blank. They were cold. Icy. “Relax,” he said, tone bored. “Just making an observation.”

“You want me to make one too?” Warren snapped. “Like how you’re always hiding behind Victoria’s designer knockoffs?”

Victoria gasped like she’d been slapped. “Excuse me?”

Max grabbed Warren’s arm. “Not worth it,” she said quietly. You sat disguted. Nathan’s stare found you again. And just before he turned away, he said it not loud, but loud enough. “Better keep your pets on a leash.”

Then he walked off. Victoria followed, heels snapping against the pavement. The rest of the Vortex Club trailed behind them like spoiled royalty. You didn’t finish your lunch. You barely tasted anything after that. Max rubbed your shoulder gently, concern in her eyes. “You okay?”

You nodded. You lied. Because all you could hear was his voice, cold and clean and cutting a thousand miles from the one you’d heard whispering into the phone at 1 A.M. Like none of it had happened. Like you hadn’t happened.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

His eyes met yours, and for the first time all day, he was actually looking at you in the eyes. “Hey,” he said, voice soft.

You didn’t say it back.Instead, you stepped past him and into the room like it was a business meeting. Camera bag down. Laptop open. The wall between you and him went up brick by brick with every breath. “Let’s just get this done,” you said.

He didn’t argue. Just shut the door behind you quietly. You sat at his desk, the screen glow lighting your face. He hovered nearby, watching you scroll through edits like he didn’t want to say the wrong thing. Or maybe like he didn’t know how to say anything at all. “I fixed the lighting on the last three shots,” you said flatly. “Yours were a little overexposed.”

He nodded. “Yeah. You’re better at that stuff anyway.”

You didn’t respond. Just kept clicking. He moved to sit on the edge of his bed, quiet for a while before asking, “Did you still wanna use that photo by the fountain?”

“I already did.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, glanced at you, then away. “You, uh… didn’t answer my text this morning.”

You didn’t look at him. “Didn’t think it needed a reply.”

Nathan nodded, jaw tight. “Right.”

Back to silence. He didn’t bring up what happened. Didn’t ask how you were. And you didn’t bring it up either not how he’d ignored you all day, not how the only time he seemed to be kind was when it was dark out and nobody else could see. Not how you were starting to wonder if this was all he had to give. Just this. Only at night. Only when no one else was looking. You highlighted a paragraph of text and rewrote it. He leaned closer, trying to peek at the screen.

“You’re really good at this,” he said quietly.

You flinched. Not visibly but inside, your bones rattled. It felt like a visceral reaction. You kept your voice neutral. “We’re almost done.”

He didn’t say anything else. You sat there together for another half hour, finishing edits. His bed creaked once when he shifted. You didn’t look. Eventually, you saved the file and stood up.

“That’s everything,” you said. “I’ll print it in the morning.”

Nathan watched you gather your things. “You don’t have to go yet,” he said, almost hesitant.

But you did. if he had just said something, you might understand. Though there isnt enough time in the world to be chasing after rich boy problems he doesnt want to address.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

She left.

Didn’t even look back. Just walked out of the dorm like she couldn’t get out fast enough. Yeah. That felt about right. Nathan stood there like an idiot, hands in his pockets, jaw tight, listening to the door click shut. it was some kind of final answer he didn’t ask for. You don’t have to go yet. He’d said it like a damn loser. Like he didn’t spend the entire day pretending she didn’t exist. she looked at him like he was a goddamn stranger. He sat down on his bed, rubbed at his face, dragged his hands through his hair like it would help. It didn’t. It never did. Everything just kept buzzing. Loud. In his ears, in his chest, like a swarm of flies under his skin. He should’ve said something. Anything. Should’ve told her why he was being weird. Why he was quiet. Why he didn’t even look at her earlier. But how the hell do you say,

Hey, I’m scared you’ll end up in the basement of an abandoned barn if I like you too much?

He laughed. Or choked. One of the two. God, his hands were shaking again. He stood up fast, paced once, twice, kicked his desk chair just to feel something and regretted it immediately. His toe throbbed. Whatever.

He was sweating. Why was he sweating?

He pulled off the red zip up and threw it at the wall. Didn’t stick. Just slumped down like everything else. Jefferson’s voice. Crawling back in like it always did.

“She’s interesting, isn’t she?”

“Got a real… natural quality. Honest.”

“The kind of face that looks good in contrast. You see it, right?”

“She’s got potential.”

Nathan squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

It didn’t help. Jefferson’s voice was calm. Already chosen.He didn’t want that. He didn’t want her anywhere near that world.But what the hell was he supposed to do? Jefferson noticed things. once he noticed, it was over. Nathan dropped back onto the floor, breathing fast now. he’d been running. someone was pressing down on his lungs and wouldn’t stop. He clutched his shirt, pulled at the collar, trying to get air. Trying to slow his thoughts. His heart. Anything. But it wouldn’t fucking slow down.

His vision blurred a little. Pressure in his head, behind his eyes. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek just to stop himself from crying or screaming or both.

He felt like he was going to throw up. Or pass out. Or explode. or all of the above. it all might actually happen. He didn’t know what was worse, the fact that he couldn’t be normal with her… or the fact that when he was, it made him want to protect her more than anything. That protection came with a cost. A choice. A name on a folder.

She didn’t know any of it. And she couldn’t.

until there was a knock at the door.

Nathan didn’t hear it the first time. Not really. Not over the ringing in his ears, or the ragged, frantic way he was trying to breathe. His back hit the wall. He didn’t remember moving. His hands were white knuckled fists against his chest like maybe that would keep it from splitting open.

Another knock.

He blinked. Everything was too bright and too dark at the same time. His name was a whisper behind the door “Nathan?”

Her voice. It hit him like ice water. He squeezed his eyes shut harder, digging his nails into his palms. Not now. Not like this. He couldn’t let her see him like

The door creaked open.

She stepped in fast, muttering under her breath, “God, of course I forgot my charger, that’s just whatever, not like it even ”

She stopped. Frozen. Nathan was on the floor. Slumped against the side of his bed, drenched in sweat, fists clenched so tight they shook. His chest heaved, erratic. Panicked. His face was pale, eyes red rimmed, wide and glassy. All that anger she’d brought with her white hot and ready to crack across the room halted like someone slammed the brakes. Her words died in her throat.

“…Nathan?”

He still didn’t look at her. Just gasped, breath catching hard in his throat, jaw clenched like he was trying not to cry. Or scream. Or both.

Her fingers curled around the charger in her hand. For a second, she stayed rooted to the floor, her heart pounding in her ears. Part of her screamed to turn around and walk away. He deserved that. After everything. Nathan barely registered when she moved closer. He couldn’t even look at her. Just pressed his fists against his temples like that would keep everything from collapsing.

She hovered there for a second, jaw tight, arms crossed. “You’re an asshole,” she muttered. Quiet. Bitter.

He looked like he couldn’t breathe. Cursing under her breath, she dropped the charger on his desk and stepped closer. Her knees hit the carpet slowly, hesitantly, right in front of him. She crouched down between his legs, biting her lip, watching him like he was whipped animal. She didn’t say anything right away. Just reached out, unsure, and carefully took his shaking hand.

Nathan flinched. Then his eyes finally lifted, just a little. Glassy. Bloodshot. Like he didn’t recognize her at first. But he didn’t pull away.

“Jesus…” she whispered, trying to keep her voice steady. “Nathan, you’re what the hell is going on with you?”

Still no answer. His fingers twitched in hers, breath still coming fast and shallow, but her hand grounded him. Little by little. Beat by beat. She wanted to yell. She really did. Wanted to scream at him for ignoring her. For looking through her like she didn’t matter. For pushing her away with no reason, no explanation, no damn warning.

Nathan’s breath hitched. His fingers twitched under hers, unsure, but desperate for the anchor. He gripped her hand like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the floor.

“Breathe,” she said, voice flat but steady. “In. Out.”

He tried. God, he tried.

“Again.”

His lungs caught on the exhale, but he followed her voice. One breath. Then another. Her thumb moved gently across his knuckles. She didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at her. They just sat there. Angry. Shaking. Breathing.

“I’m still mad at you,” she said quietly. Just the truth.

All she could do was sit there. Mad. Hurt. Holding onto his hand like it was the only way to keep him from falling apart.

“I’m still pissed at you,” she murmured, after a long, long silence. “But I’m not gonna leave you like this.”

Nathan blinked hard. A tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it. He looked away.

And still, she didn’t let go.

Hello !! i wanted to know if you write nsfw ??

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

Hello!!! Im not very experienced with writing NSFW but Im more than willing to give it a go >:)

-Xai

Sometimes I get Insecure but then remember I’m hot and in my mind i’m married to anime characters

YAYAYAYYA

anyways follow my insta if you perpetually think of hawks @sirxaibs

⋆˚✿˖° ❝𝗜𝘁 𝗙𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗖𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗱𝗲𝗱❞ ⋆˚✿˖°

────୨ৎ────

gojo satoru x reader

geto suguru x reader

────୨ৎ────

5. what kind of woman are you attracted too?

masterlist

I felt I wasnt nurturing the bond between gojo and geto. like they are close friends and I feel the bond that they have would still remain though strained in this trope. Geto and Gojo support each other but are each other’s downfall. Like you know how in the show its the jujutusu kaisen world that was hurting each other. Make it you.

You had barely sat down with your breakfast when Gojo appeared out of nowhere, plopping into the seat across from you with a grin that immediately put you on edge.

“…What?” you asked, eyeing him warily.

Gojo leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “So.” You sighed. “So?”

He wiggled his fingers in your direction. “Tell me.”

You blinked. “Tell you what?”

Gojo tilted his head. “What kind of person you’d date.”

You froze mid bite. “…Huh?”

He tapped his fingers on the table impatiently. “Your type. Preferences. Ideal boyfriend.” He leaned in further, grinning. “Or girlfriend, I don’t judge.”

Your face heated slightly, but you quickly masked it with a deadpan look. “Why do you care?”

Gojo gasped, placing a hand over his heart as if deeply offended. “Excuse me? As your best friend, I need to know these things.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Since when?”

Gojo waved a hand dismissively. “Since always.”

You sighed, going back to your food. “And what are you going to do with this information?”

“Oh, you know.” He twirled his chopsticks between his fingers. “Just… make sure you don’t end up with someone lame.”

You snorted. “Lame?”

“Yes, lame.” He jabbed his chopsticks toward you. “Like some guy who doesn’t get your jokes, or can’t keep up with you in a fight, or, God forbid is boring.”

You gave him a look. “You realize you’re sounding like you’re hinting at something”

Gojo grinned. “Wow. Can’t believe you’d just admit your feelings like that.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “That’s not what I said.” “But it’s what you meant.” “Absolutely not.”

He watched you for a moment, unreadable behind his ever present sunglasses. Then, his smirk softened just a fraction, his voice taking on a more casual tone. “I just think you deserve someone great, y’know? Not some broody guy who thinks too much, or someone who carries the weight of the world like it’s his personal burden. Definitely not someone who overcomplicates things when they could just… I don’t know, be happy.”

Your stomach twisted, and you suddenly you had a feeling you understood exactly who he was talking about. Suguru.

Your throat tightened slightly, but you masked it with an eye roll. “Uh huh. And you’re saying you don’t overcomplicate things?”

Gojo’s grin was immediate. “Please, I’m a simple man. Good food, good company, and looking absolutely amazing at all times? That’s all I need.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Right. Of course.”

Gojo propped his chin in his palm, watching you with something suspiciously close to fondness.

Your stomach flipped slightly, but you quickly masked it. “Why do you care?”

“Because I have to care. What if you end up with a loser?”

You snorted. “I think I can handle myself.”

“Sure, sure, but like…” He gestured vaguely. “I have standards for you, y’know?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Your standards?” He nodded sagely. “Yep. And obviously, only the best will do.”

You rolled your eyes, deciding to humor him. “Alright, then. What are your standards?”

Gojo smirked. “Glad you asked.” He held up a finger. “One, they have to be funny because if they’re boring, I’ll have to personally intervene.” Another finger. “Two, they have to be cool but, like, not cooler than me because that’s just unrealistic.” A third finger. “Three, they have to be strong because if they’re not, then I’ll have to protect both of you, and that’s just exhausting.”

You gave him a deadpan look. “So basically, you just described yourself again.”

Gojo gasped, “Are you saying I would be your perfect match?”

You groaned, shoving his shoulder. “That’s not what I said.”

Gojo grinned, sitting back up. “No, no, I totally get it now.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You’ve just been too shy to admit you’re into me.”

You scoffed. “I promise you, that is not the case.”

He pouted. “Deny it all you want, but the evidence is right there.”

“What evidence?!”

“The fact that you haven’t answered my question!” Gojo leaned forward again, grinning. “Come onnn, what’s your type? Tall? Handsome? White haired?” You picked up your toast and took a pointedly long bite, refusing to answer.

Gojo gasped dramatically. “Silence? That means I’m right.” You chewed slowly, making direct eye contact. “I just don’t feel like feeding your already enormous ego.”

He leaned back, frowning. “C’mon, just tell me. Do you like the cool, broody type? The serious, stoic kind? Or are you more into, like, hilarious, handsome, and incredibly talented men?”

You shot him a flat look. “Gojo.”

“Hmm?”

“Eat your breakfast.”

He pouted. “You’re dodging the question.”

You sighed, standing up with your tray. “That’s because I don’t have to answer it.”

Gojo hummed, watching you go. Then, just as you reached the door, he called out. “You do like me, though, right?” You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response and that was definitely not the reason you left the cafeteria so quickly.

—

You walked down the hall, gripping your tray a little tighter than necessary. What was that? Gojo was always like this annoying, teasing, insufferable. Maybe it was the way he kept pressing the issue, like he needed an answer. Like it mattered to him.

You sighed, setting your tray down at the dish return. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s just being Gojo. That was what he did: push buttons, crack jokes, demand attention. But then there was that last question.

“You do like me, though, right?”

You frowned, rubbing your temples. He’d said it so casually, like he was asking if you liked a new snack from the vending machine. But there had been something else beneath it something just a little too expectant, like he cared what you would say. that was the problem. Because if it was just a joke, you could roll your eyes and move on. But if there was even a chance that Gojo was being serious…

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. Nope. Not going down that road. Gojo was your best friend. He was ridiculous and loud and overwhelming, but he was Gojo. Thinking about him like that would just cause problems. You felt heat rise to your cheeks and groaned. Shoko and Utahime have ruined my brain. Because now, instead of just brushing it off like usual, their teasing from last night lingered. “Geto’s got the slow burn, weird emo thing going for him.”

“Gojo? Oh, he’s a mess over them.” You bit your lip, glancing toward the cafeteria doors as if expecting Gojo to come waltzing through them at any moment. You needed to not overthink this. Maybe Gojo was just being dramatic. Maybe he was just teasing. You shook your head, turning on your heel. Nope. Still not thinking about it. Gojo was just being Gojo. That’s what you kept telling yourself. He teased, he poked, he demanded attention nothing new. But the way he’d said it… the way he looked at you… There was something different about it, something that lingered in the back of your mind like a stray thread you couldn’t stop tugging at. You sighed, pressing your fingers to your temples. Nope. Not doing this. Not overthinking.

You turned a corner, passing by one of the common rooms, when a familiar voice made you pause. Geto.

You hadn’t meant to stop, but something about the way he was talking held you in place. His voice was quieter than usual, thoughtful. Curiosity prickled at you, and before you could think better of it, you took a step closer, peeking around the corner to stay out of sight. Geto stood near the vending machines, his usual relaxed posture leaning slightly against the wall. His expression was softer than usual, absent of the teasing smirks you were used to. Across from him stood a second year student, who was listening intently with a playful grin.

“Yeah, she always forgets to bring water, so I figured I’d keep an extra bottle for her,” Geto was saying, his tone almost casual but laced with something gentler You blinked, confusion stirring in your chest. Who was he talking about? “She never remembers to eat in between training either,” Geto continued, a fond, almost exasperated smile tugging at his lips. “Always running around, taking care of everyone else first.” He let out a small chuckle that sounded far too tender. “So, I just make sure to bring extra snacks. Nothing big. Just enough so she won’t notice I’m looking out for her.”

The second year grinned, nudging his shoulder. “Sounds like you’re practically her caretaker at this point.”

Geto laughed softly, a sound that warmed your chest and left your heart aching. “Nah. She’s plenty capable on her own. But, y’know…” His gaze shifted away, his fingers rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s nice. Making sure she’s okay.”

Your mind whirled, trying to piece together what you were hearing. Geto had always been reliable, steady a calming presence when things got too overwhelming. But this… this felt different. It felt deliberate. Personal. You should have stepped out. Made a joke, teased him about his “caretaker” status, anything. Instead, you stayed rooted in place, eyes wide and heart thumping.

“Come on, Suguru,” the second year teased, their tone light. “Sounds to me like you’re a little more invested than just looking out for her.”

Geto rolled his eyes, but the flush on his cheeks betrayed him. “It’s not like that. I just… care about her, okay?” Your breath caught, your chest tightening. Was he really talking about someone like that? Like that?

“Uh-huh,” the second year hummed. “I think you care a little more than you’re letting on.”

Geto hesitated, his gaze lowering. “You’re really that surprised? She’s incredible. How could I not like her?” Your heart stuttered, the air catching in your throat.

The second year laughed, nudging him again. “Wow, you’re seriously gone, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Geto chuckled, a sound that was quieter and self deprecating. “Go ahead and say it. I know I’m obvious.” A beat. “Not like it matters.” The lightness in his voice faltered, and there was a heaviness that weighed the air down. You stared, caught between wanting to stay and needing to leave before your presence was discovered.

“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?” the second year asked, a little more serious now.

Geto sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just bad timing. Or maybe it’s just… not meant to be like that.”

Your chest tightened painfully, a confusing mix of emotions crashing over you. Disbelief, confusion, curiosity something deeper, something raw. The second year seemed to sense the weight of his words, and they shifted awkwardly. “I think you’re overthinking it, Suguru. Maybe it’s simpler than that.”

Geto offered a small, wry smile. “Or it’s just… complicated.”

Your breath was too shallow, your skin too warm. You had no idea what to make of any of this of Geto’s tone, his words, the vulnerability in his voice. Before you could make sense of it all, the sound of approaching footsteps snapped you back to reality. Your heart lurched, panic flooding your veins. You turned on your heel and walked away quickly, leaving Geto’s quiet confession behind. The echoes of his voice lingered in your mind, heavy and impossible to ignore. Who was he talking about? Was it someone you knew? Someone close to him? The questions followed you down the hall, unrelenting and insistent.

—

The library was quiet except for the occasional rustle of pages and the faint scratching of a pen against paper. You sat across from Geto at a secluded table, textbooks and notes sprawled between you. The plan had been to actually study, but as usual, things weren’t going according to plan. “Are you even listening?” you asked, tapping your pen against the open textbook in front of you.

Geto smirked, not looking up from where he was casually spinning his own pen between his fingers. “Hmm? Oh, of course. Every single word.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Okay. Then tell me what I just said.”

Geto finally glanced up, resting his chin on his hand. “Something about… the properties of cursed energy reinforcement?”

You deadpanned. “That was twenty minutes ago.”

He chuckled, stretching his arms over his head. “Alright, you caught me. Maybe I got a little distracted.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Geto, we actually need to study.”

“I am studying,” he said smoothly, tilting his head. “I’m studying you.”

You blinked. “What?”

His lips twitched into a smirk. “I mean, it’s more entertaining than cursed energy formulas, don’t you think?”

You rolled your eyes. “dont be weird, I kinda would like to pass and never have to be here again.”

He placed a hand over his heart in mock sincerity. “I would never. I’m just making an observation.”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Fine, if you’re not going to take this seriously, I’ll just—”

Before you could finish, Geto leaned forward, smoothly plucking your pen from your fingers and twirling it between his own. “Relax,” he said, voice softer now, less teasing. “You’re always so focused on making sure we don’t fall behind, but when’s the last time you took a break?” You opened your mouth, then hesitated. “…That’s what I thought,” he said, giving you a knowing look. “It’s okay to slow down, y’know?”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “I just don’t want to fail.”

Geto’s smirk softened into something almost fond. “You won’t. You’re way too stubborn for that.”

You snorted despite yourself. “That supposed to be a compliment?”

“Absolutely.” He twirled the pen once more before handing it back to you, fingers brushing yours for just a second too long. “Now, if it’ll help, I promise to actually focus.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He placed a hand over his heart again. “Scouts honor.” You gave him a skeptical look, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Alright… but im not helping you again if you dont focus”

“Deal,” Geto said, grinning.

And for the next hour, he actually did focus though, every now and then, you caught him watching you with that same quiet, thoughtful look. You chose not to question it. For the next hour, Geto actually kept his promise mostly. He worked through the material, asked the right questions, and even managed to answer a few on his own. But every so often, when he thought you weren’t looking, you’d catch him watching you instead of his notes. You tried to ignore it. Tried. But after the fifth time, you finally sighed and set your pen down. “Okay. What?”

Geto blinked, caught red handed. “What?”

“You keep looking at me,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “And not in the ‘I’m paying attention’ kind of way.”

A slow, amused smile crept onto his face. “Maybe I just like looking at you.”

You rolled your eyes. “. Sure. And maybe I’ll start flunking on purpose just to see if you actually take notes for once.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Alright, alright. No need for extreme measures.” He rested his cheek against his palm, watching you with something unreadable in his expression. “It’s just… nice. Studying like this. Just us.”

You hesitated, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “…Yeah,” you admitted, twirling your pen between your fingers. “It is.”

Geto smirked. “See? You do like hanging out with me.”

You scoffed, pushing his book toward him. “I never said that i dont. Now, focus.”

He laughed but finally turned back to his notes. “Yes, yes. Diligent as always.”

But then, as you flipped to the next page of your textbook, Geto suddenly spoke again. “Hey.”

You looked up. “Yeah?”

He hesitated for half a second, like he was debating something, before offering you a small, genuine smile. “Thanks. For always making sure I don’t fall behind.”

Your grip on your pen tightened slightly, not expecting the warmth that spread through your chest at the simple words. You cleared your throat. “Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta keep you in check.”

Geto chuckled, but there was something softer in his eyes now. “Guess I’m lucky it’s you, then.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but you quickly covered it with a scoff. “Alright, now you’re just trying to distract me again.”

He held his hands up in mock innocence. “Not at all. That was just a bonus.”

You shook your head, trying (and failing) to fight the small smile threatening to break through. “Just focus, Geto.”

And, surprisingly, he actually did. The library had mostly emptied by now, leaving only the faint hum of the lights and the occasional rustle of paper breaking the silence. You stretched your arms over your head, letting out a small groan as you leaned back in your chair.

“We’ve been at this for hours,” you muttered, rubbing your eyes.

Geto smirked, resting his chin in his hand. “Tired already?”

“You say that like you aren’t exhausted, too.”

He hummed noncommittally, flipping his pen between his fingers. “Maybe. But I don’t mind it. This is still better than being out there.”

You glanced at him. “Out where?”

His smirk faded into something quieter, more thoughtful. “With them,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “Normal people. Civilians.”

You frowned slightly, sitting up a little straighter. “What do you mean?”

Geto leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to the ceiling. “It’s just… I don’t know. Every time we go out on missions, I see it. The way people look at us. Like we’re freaks. Like they can’t decide if they’re grateful or terrified.” His fingers tightened slightly around his pen. “Even when we save them, they still flinch when we get too close.”

You stayed quiet, watching the tension in his shoulders.

“They don’t get it,” he continued, voice softer now. “What it means to live like this. To always have to fight. To put our lives on the line for people who don’t even want to understand us.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “Sometimes I wonder if they even deserve us.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken for a moment. “…I get it,” you finally murmured.

Geto glanced at you, eyes flickering with curiosity. “You do?”

You nodded, running a finger along the edge of your notebook. “I’ve felt it, too. The distance. The way they look at us. Sometimes it’s admiration, but most of the time it’s fear.” You exhaled slowly. “And yeah, it’s frustrating. Knowing we go through so much for people who will never truly see us.”

He watched you carefully, a hint of surprise flashing across his face like he hadn’t expected you to understand, not really. “…But,” you added, meeting his gaze, “I don’t think that means we should stop protecting them.”

His brows lifted slightly, waiting for you to continue.

“They may never understand us,” you admitted, “but that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to live their lives in peace. I don’t think it has to be us versus them, it’s just… the way the world is.”

Geto studied you for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then, slowly, he sighed, shaking his head with a small smile. “You really are too good for this world,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You snorted, nudging his foot under the table. “And you sound like you’re going to start some rebellion.”

He chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “Nah. Not today.”

You rolled your eyes. “if you do, make me your right hand man so I keep you in check. Dont want you to become an evil cult leader.”

And though the conversation moved on, the words lingered between you. Somewhere, deep down, you both knew this wasn’t the last time you’d talk about this.

—

The gym smelled like polished wood and sweat, the faint echo of sneakers squeaking against the floor bouncing off the high ceilings. Gojo and Geto were caught up in an intense one on one basketball match, both far too competitive for a game that wasn’t supposed to mean anything. You, on the other hand, were seated comfortably on the bleachers next to Shoko, sipping on a sports drink and watching them with mild amusement.

“You know,” you said, stretching your legs out in front of you as you lazily sipped your drink, “you’re actually the coolest person I know.”

Shoko, who had been half watching the game and half scrolling through her phone, let out a soft snort. “That so?”

“Mhm.” You nodded, turning to her with a grin. “You’re smart, you’re strong, you don’t take shit from anyone plus, you’ve got this whole ‘mysterious but effortlessly hot’ thing going on. It’s really unfair, honestly.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow, finally glancing up at you. “You flirting with me?”

You gasped, hand over your heart. “Would it work?”

She laughed, a real, genuine one, shaking her head. “Careful. You keep this up, and I might start thinking you actually like women.”

You shrugged. “What can I say? I have good taste.”

Shoko smirked, tilting her head slightly. “Y’know, at this rate, I might just win the bet.”

You blinked, confused. “…What bet?”

Shoko’s smirk widened. “Oh, nothing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “No, not nothing. What bet?”

Before she could answer, Gojo suddenly shouted from across the gym, “DID YOU SEE THAT?! I JUST BROKE GETO’S ANKLES!”

“You tripped me, you bastard!” Geto yelled back.

Shoko took a slow sip of her drink, looking entirely unbothered. “Guess you’ll just have to find out.” You stared at her, completely lost, while she just laughed to herself, enjoying your confusion.

“I don’t even know why they take this so seriously,” you muttered, shaking your head. “It’s just a pickup game.”

Shoko snorted, stretching her legs out in front of her. “It’s them. They can make breathing a competition.”

You both watched as Geto smoothly dribbled past Gojo, dodging his outstretched arms with an easy grace before sinking a three pointer without even looking fazed. Gojo groaned loudly. “UGH, come on!”

Geto smirked, spinning the ball in his hands. “What’s wrong, Satoru? Thought you were the strongest?”

Gojo huffed, jogging to retrieve the ball. “Oh, please. I’m just getting started.”

Shoko turned to you, deadpan. “This game is never going to end.”

You sighed. “Nope.”

She took a sip from her water bottle before giving you a side glance. “So, which one are you rooting for?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

She smirked. “Oh, don’t play dumb. I know they’re both trying to show off for you.”

Your face warmed. “They are not.”

Shoko gave you a look. “Mmm, sure. Gojo has been throwing over the top passes this entire time, and Geto? He never plays basketball this seriously. Tell me I’m wrong.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but at that exact moment, Gojo attempted some ridiculous, unnecessary trick shot spinning mid air before launching the ball at the hoop. He completely missed. Shoko burst into laughter, clapping her hands. “Oh my god, did you see that?” You stifled a laugh as Gojo landed, immediately turning to look in your direction as if to check whether you saw his attempt. You quickly averted your gaze.

Shoko leaned in, whispering, “Yeah, totally not trying to impress you.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Shoko, please.”

She grinned. “I’m just saying. You’ve got two of the strongest sorcerers wrapped around your finger, and you’re over here acting like it’s nothing.” Before you could respond, Geto casually walked over, spinning the ball on his fingertips. “Shoko, you wanna play next? Might give me more of a challenge.”

Gojo scowled. “Hey!”

Shoko waved him off. “Nah, I’m good. I like watching you two embarrass yourselves.”

You smirked. “It is pretty entertaining.”

Geto arched a brow at you. “Oh? Would it be more entertaining if you played?”

You rolled your eyes. “Absolutely not. I refuse to get caught up in whatever this is.”

Gojo, now recovered from his earlier failure, grinned. “Aw, c’mon, I’ll go easy on you~.”

You deadpanned. “gojo youll still be mean to me” Geto chuckled, spinning the ball once more before tossing it to Gojo. “Alright, alright. We’ll finish this first.”

Gojo smirked. “Good. Because I refuse to lose in front of my favorite person.”

You blinked. “Who?”

Gojo winked. “Guess.”

Shoko gagged. “I’m leaving.”

You laughed, shaking your head as the game resumed, Gojo and Geto both seemingly more fired up than before. Shoko nudged you with her elbow. “So, really, who are you rooting for?” You sighed, watching as Geto smoothly stole the ball from Gojo.

“…I plead the fifth.”

“hoe we’re not in america”

—

Gojo wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t. He was just… mildly aware that this was not going as smoothly as he’d hoped. That was fine. He was Gojo Satoru. He could recover. He could be charming. The problem was, you were making it really difficult. You were just walking next to him after the little game, completely oblivious to the fact that he was actively trying to flirt with you. And sure, maybe that was on him for being bad at it today, but also how were you not picking up on any of this? He had practically draped himself over your chair at lunch the other day. He had called you cool super amazing (which, okay, maybe wasn’t the best line, but he’d panicked). He had literally just suggested hanging out in a way that was clearly date coded. And still, you weren’t getting it.

“Are you okay?” you asked suddenly, shooting him a look.

Gojo immediately straightened up. “Me? Oh, I’m fantastic.” No, he wasn’t. He was fighting for his life.

You narrowed your eyes. “You sure? You look like you’re buffering.”

Gojo felt his eye twitch. Great. Incredible. I am exuding peak attractiveness right now. “Rude.” He tried to sound playful, but even he could hear the strain in his voice. “I was actually gonna ask if you wanted to hang out later.”

You blinked at him. “We always do”

Gojo resisted the urge to grab you by the shoulders. “Yeah, but like, something different. Maybe, I dunno, date adjacent?”

You actually tilted your head at that, confused. “Date adjacent?”

Oh my god, I’m going to die.Gojo groaned. This was so not how he pictured this going. He had imagined you blushing, maybe teasing him back, at least acknowledging what he was doing. Instead, you were just standing there, looking at him like he had two heads.

“…Are you flirting with me?” you asked suddenly.

Gojo froze. His brain short circuited. Oh. Oh no. This is it. This is my moment. Say something cool. Say something.

“…No?” he blurted.

The second the word left his mouth, he wanted to throw himself into traffic. You, meanwhile, burst out laughing. And just like that, he lost to the plot again Gojo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my god.”

“I knew something was up with you!” you cackled, nudging him with your elbow. “You’ve been acting so weird.”

Gojo flailed slightly. “I was not acting weird—”

“You totally were.”

Gojo huffed. “Okay, fine. Maybe I was being a little weird—”

“Painfully weird.”

“Rude,” he muttered. He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. This was not how he wanted this to go, but at this point, it was so obvious he was trying, so he might as well just go for it.

“Look, all I’m saying is,” he started, glancing at you, “if I was flirting, which I’m not saying I was” You raised an eyebrow. He ignored you. “hypothetically, if I was flirting, would that be, like… a bad thing?”

You tilted your head, considering. Gojo felt his heart actually skip a beat. He hadn’t meant to phrase it like that, hadn’t meant to actually sound like he cared about the answer (But he did. Of course, he did.) You smirked. “I dunno,” you said, starting to walk again. “Guess you’ll have to try harder if you want an answer.” Gojo blinked. Then he processed what you had just said.

Oh. Oh, you little—

A slow grin spread across his face as he easily fell into step beside you. “So there’s a chance?” he asked, voice light.

You just shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to find out.” Gojo chuckled, shaking his head.

—-

You hesitated, debating whether to keep walking or turn back. Geto’s voice was always smooth, steady like a calm river. But there was something else in it now, something amused yet careful, that made you pause. Curiosity got the better of you, and you leaned subtly against the doorway, just out of sight.

“…and then she just left the cafeteria,” Gojo’s voice came through, animated and exasperated. “Didn’t even answer me!”

Geto chuckled, warm and low. “Maybe she didn’t want to.”

Gojo huffed. “No, no, she was blushing, Suguru. I saw it.” You exhaled slowly. Blushing? Was it really that obvious?

“Maybe you pushed too far,” Geto mused. “You do that a lot.”

“I wasn’t pushing!” Gojo shot back, then hesitated. “Okay, maybe I was, but I had to! They never answer me seriously.”

“Ever wonder why?” Geto asked smoothly.

There was a pause. You could hear Gojo thinking, and for some reason, that made your chest feel tight. “…No?” Gojo finally admitted, and Geto sighed, almost fondly.

“Satoru,” Geto said patiently, “not everything is a game. You joke about everything. Everything. Why would she think this is any different?”

“Because I mean it!” Gojo argued, his voice rising in frustration. “I’m always flirting with her, always giving her chances to say something back”

“And maybe she doesn’t know if you’re being serious,” Geto interrupted, firm but calm. “Maybe they think it’s just a game to you, and she doesnt want to be played.”

Gojo scoffed. “That’s stupid. Why would I waste my time playing games with her?”

“Because that’s what you do,” Geto said simply. “It’s how you are. You make everything lighthearted, everything funny. But it also means that sometimes, people don’t know when you actually mean something.”

Gojo was quiet for a moment before muttering, “I… I don’t know how to not do that.”

Something in your chest twisted. Gojo, struggling with sincerity? it wasn't something that isn't real. It's painfully obvious to anyone who meets him Though if you're assuming right that this is about you, it feels weird. “Well,” Geto said, voice softer now, “maybe it’s time you figured it out.”

Gojo let out a dramatic groan. “Oh, sure, easy. Just suddenly stop being me. That’ll work.”

Geto huffed a laugh. “No one’s asking you to stop being you, Satoru. Just… maybe start showing them that they deserve more than a joke.”

A pause. “…More?” Gojo repeated, like the word didn’t quite make sense. “Yeah,” Geto said, and there was something final about the way he said it. “More. She deserve more, Satoru.” Your breath stilled in your throat. Gojo was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “You really think that’s what she wants?”

Geto exhaled, something thoughtful in his tone. “I think that if you really want to mean it, you should start acting like it.” Then, after a brief pause, he added, “And I think you’re not the only one who’s going to be trying harder.” The weight behind his words made your stomach flip. Gojo let out a low hum, considering. “Huh. That sounds like you mean something too, Suguru.”

There was no teasing in Geto’s response, only certainty. “I do.” Your mind raced. You shouldn’t have been listening, but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it not when it felt like you had just witnessed something you weren’t supposed to.

Before you could process it all, a presence settled at your side. You turned sharply, heart hammering, only to find Geto standing there, watching you. His gaze was steady, knowing. A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “Eavesdropping, huh?” The smooth timbre of Geto’s voice sent a shiver down your spine before you could even turn to face him. When you did, he was already watching you with that lazy, knowing smirk, the kind that made it clear he had caught you red handed.

Your heart lurched. “I absolutely wasnt, me walking down the hall and loud voices means inevitably someone wi—”

Geto chuckled, warm and low, like he had all the time in the world. “Relax. I won’t tell.” Your shoulders slumped slightly, though your mind was still spinning. “I didn’t mean to listen”

“Wanted to hear what everyone really thought?” Geto supplied smoothly, his voice quieter now. Your mouth opened, but the words tangled on your tongue. He wasn’t wrong. After a moment of struggle feeling strangely exposed under his gaze.

Geto hummed, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “Satoru can be… a lot,” he said, lips quirking into a small, knowing smile. “But he means well.”

You exhaled slowly, still processing everything. “Yeah, I know.” His gaze lingered, a beat too long. That easy amusement was still there, but there was something else beneath it, something thoughtful, something intent.

“He’s not the only one who cares about what you think, you know.”

Your heart skipped. The air between you shifted, suddenly heavier, like the conversation had turned into something delicate. Something that had to be handled carefully.

“What do you mean?” you asked, though you weren’t sure you were ready for the answer. Geto tilted his head slightly, watching you with that same unreadable expression. “Just that… it’s not always easy, liking someone like you.”

The way he said it sent a rush of heat to your face. You swallowed. “Geto…” His smirk softened into something smaller, “What?”

You didn’t know how to respond. Your mind was still tangled in the weight of his words, the quiet but unmistakable way he had just said it like it was already fact. Geto’s eyes traced over your face like he was memorizing something, his amusement dimming into something quieter. “You’re always looking at him,” he murmured. “But do you ever think about who’s looking at you?”

Your breath caught. “You deserve more than teasing, you know.” His voice was almost casual, but the weight behind it was anything but. “More than jokes and empty flirting.” You stared at him, feeling like you had suddenly stepped into unknown territory. He let out a soft chuckle, almost as if he could hear your thoughts. “I won’t push,” he said easily. “I know you don’t like that.” His fingers brushed against your shoulder a fleeting touch, too light to be an accident. “But just… think about it.”

You couldn’t find your voice. Geto held your gaze for a moment longer before stepping back, hands slipping into his pockets. “Give yourself a chance,” he murmured again but lower, tilting his head slightly. “But don’t forget there are other people who care about you, too.” And then he was gone, walking away without waiting for an answer, leaving you standing there mind reeling, heart racing.

It was complicated. Messy. But as you finally stepped away from the doorway, you found yourself thinking not just about Gojo’s teasing or the way he had fumbled for sincerity, but about Geto’s steady warmth, his quiet certainty. And for the first time, you weren’t just thinking about them. You were wondering what it was you wanted.

——

It had been years since you first walked through the gates of Jujutsu High, and looking back now, it almost felt like another lifetime. The first time you met Geto was a memory etched in the back of your mind, one you revisited often, though it was a little more distant now.

You’d been a first year, fresh and wide eyed, filled with excitement and nerves as you navigated the complex world of Jujutsu sorcery. You’d barely even known what to expect from your fellow students, let alone the upperclassmen. But when you first saw Geto, it was impossible not to be struck by him. Tall, calm, and exuding an effortless coolness, he had a kind of quiet magnetism that seemed to draw people in.

You remembered the first day you saw him, sitting alone in the classroom during the the morning. His dark hair fell just the right way, framing his face, and his eyes those intense eyes never seemed to miss anything. The world seemed to gravitate toward him without a second thought. there was something about the way he carried himself that made it feel like he belonged in the spotlight. You couldn’t help but be a little starstruck. It wasn’t just his looks, though. His demeanor, the way he spoke with such effortless confidence, made you feel like you were standing in the presence of someone who had everything figured out. Even back then, as a shy first year, you found yourself drawn to him. You’d always been a little shy when it came to those kinds of feelings, so you never dared to express how you felt.

You had a crush on him, without a doubt. It was something you didn’t admit easily not to anyone, least of all to yourself. You were just starting to adjust to the world outside of you and gojo, let alone figure out how you fit in it, and trying to sort out your feelings for someone like Geto only made things more complicated. But as time went on, as you became more familiar with him, the crush slowly turned into something else. You began to see the layers beneath the surface. Geto wasn’t just the cool guy who could command attention with a single glance. he was thoughtful, intelligent, and surprisingly perceptive in ways that weren’t immediately obvious. He didn’t just notice people; he understood them, in a way that made you feel like you were more than just another face in the crowd.

You remembered the first time you really spoke to him like REALLY spoke to him. , after a mission where you both ended up working together. You’d been struggling with something either your technique or just how to focus under pressure and Geto had come up to you, casual as always, and offered a few words of advice. It wasn’t anything grand or life changing, just a small adjustment, but the way he said it, the way he made you feel like he truly believed in your potential, had stuck with you.

“Don’t overthink it,” he had said, offering a slight smile. “It’s simple. Just focus on the moment.”

You were surprised by how much that simple comment helped you how much it made you feel seen. From then on, every interaction with him felt different. Instead of a distant rando, Geto became someone you could rely on someone you could talk to about anything, whether it was missions, school, or just life in general. His presence, while still commanding, became comforting in a way you hadn’t expected.

Now, when you looked at him, it wasn’t with the same starry eyed admiration of that first day. He was one of your closer friends, someone you’d come to trust deeply. The crush, though it had remained a part of you in the back of your mind, had shifted into something else, something more meaningful. You appreciate him not for the image of him you had built in your head, but for the person he truly was. The calm, steady support he offered, the way he never judged, and how he always seemed to know when to challenge you and when to step back.

You found yourself often smiling a little as you watched him, lost in thought. He was standing off to the side, talking with some of the others, his usual easygoing demeanor present even now. He had become someone you could confide in, someone who genuinely cared about the people around him. The ease of your friendship, of the way he accepted you, made you realize just how far you had come from those first days of high school.

The crush was a distant memory now, but you couldn’t help but feel a warm sense of gratitude when you thought back to that first meeting. What you had with Geto now was something far more valuable, something real. He was your friend, and in many ways, you had grown together. And as you watched him, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he had always known exactly what you needed before you even realized it yourself.

—

The halls of Jujutsu High were quieter at this hour, bathed in the deep oranges and purples of the setting sun. Most of the students had turned in for the night, and even the teachers had begun to retreat to their rooms. But Gojo sat on the training field, staring up at the sky like it might hold the answers to the thoughts swarming in his head.

Shoko plopped down next to him, stretching her legs out with a quiet sigh. “You look like you’re thinking too hard,” she remarked, tilting her head to look at him.

Gojo huffed a laugh but didn’t turn to face her. “I am the strongest, y’know. That means my brain’s gotta be strong, too.”

Shoko snorted. “That’s not how that works.” A comfortable silence settled between them. Gojo let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. The usual brightness in his voice dimmed slightly when he finally spoke again.

“Shoko…” he started, hesitating in a way that was unlike him. “What does it mean when someone makes your brain feel all… messy?”

Shoko raised a brow. “Are you asking me about feelings, Satoru?”

He groaned, tipping his head back. “Ugh, don’t make it weird.”

“You’re the one making it weird,” she shot back, amused. “What’s going on?”

Gojo was silent for a beat before his fingers dug into his hair. “I really like her, Shoko.” His voice was quieter now, like saying it too loudly might make it real in a way he wasn’t ready for. Shoko blinked, before an easy smirk tugged at her lips. “Yeah, no shit.”

He groaned again. “Come on, be helpful.”

She chuckled but softened a little. “Okay, okay. What about them is making your brain all ‘messy’?”

Gojo exhaled, shoulders slumping slightly. “It’s just… I flirt with them all the time, right? But I don’t think they ever really believe me. Like it’s just some game or whatever.”

Shoko hummed thoughtfully. “You do treat everything like a joke.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Gojo muttered, rubbing his temple. “And then there’s Suguru.”

Shoko frowned slightly. “What about him?”

Gojo hesitated before sighing. “He likes her too.”

Shoko’s expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes sharpened. Shes heard both sides of her best friends complain about their love for you “And?”

Gojo hesitated again, and that alone was enough to tell her how much this was really messing with him. “It’s Suguru,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

And in a way, it did. Suguru Geto was his oldest friend, the one who had always been by his side, the one who understood him in ways no one else did. But now, suddenly, there was this… rift. Not spoken, not fought over just there, quietly growing between them.

Shoko let the words settle between them before speaking. “So, what? Are you gonna back off?”

Gojo snapped his gaze to her, eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “Of course not.”

Shoko gave a small, knowing smile. “Didn’t think so.”

Gojo exhaled sharply. “But it’s weird, okay? It’s weird because… because he’s Suguru, and he’s never really wanted the same things as me before.” He ruffled his hair, frustration evident. “It’s like I don’t know how to feel about it. He’s my best friend, Shoko.”

“And so is [Y/N],” Shoko pointed out.

Gojo faltered. She sighed, nudging him lightly. “Look, you like her, right? I think it naive to think suguru has never wanted the same as you”

“Yeah,” Gojo muttered, quieter this time.

“And Suguru likes her too,” she continued.

Gojo clenched his jaw but nodded. Shoko studied him for a moment before shrugging. “Then stop thinking so much.”

Gojo stared at her. “That’s your advice?”

She gave a lazy grin. “Yup.”

He scoffed. “Gee, thanks, that helps so much.”

Shoko chuckled, then let her expression turn more serious. “Listen, Satoru. I get it. You don’t like dealing with feelings yours or anyone else’s. But this isn’t about Suguru. And it’s not about some stupid competition.” She held his gaze. “It’s about you and how you feel about them.”

Gojo pressed his lips together. “Yeah,” he murmured, like he was finally letting himself admit it. “I really, really like her.”

Shoko patted his back, standing up with a stretch. “Then do something about it.”

Gojo tilted his head back to look up at her, lips tugged in a lopsided smirk. “You’re really bad at comforting people”

She rolled her eyes. “And you’re a pain in my ass. Just because i chose to be a doctor doesn’t mean psycologist.”

Gojo chuckled, but as she walked away, he let his head drop back, staring up at the sky again.

no one:

Y/n this chapter:

taglist : @pandabiene5115 @inthedarkshadows000

so tired of having to cook and trying to figure out wtf to eat, can I just have like. Specialized human dog food or something, like some vegetable and protein biscuits and a special drink so that I only have to think about maybe cooking something once a day instead.

Masterlist~~

𓇢𓆸☾☼ Keigo Takami was dangerously close to losing control. He sat on the edge of the rooftop, wings sprawled lazily behind him, golden eyes scanning the city below without truly seeing it. Patrol had ended an hour ago, but he hadn’t moved, hadn’t taken off into the sky. Instead, he let the silence swallow him whole while the weight in his chest pulsed with every beat of his heart.

He was thinking about you again. Not just thinking. Obsessing. Wanting. Craving.

It wasn’t new not really. You had been his best friend for years now. The only person who truly saw him for who he was beneath the feathers, beneath the smiles and playful banter. You weren’t fooled by his smirks or his cocky remarks.

And he wanted you in every way a man could want someone.

He pressed his fingers to his lips, as if he could trap the thoughts there, keep them from spilling out. But they always found their way back in. Memories of your laugh, your hand brushing his, the way you leaned into him when you were tired. The way you looked at him like you didn’t expect anything more than what he was already giving.

But God, he wanted to give you more.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, wings twitching behind him. “You have no idea,” he muttered to himself.

No idea how he thought about you when he showered, when he lay awake in bed, when he flew above the city. How the ache wasn’t just in his chest but deep, carnal, physical. You’d never touched him like that not even close but his body remembered every innocent brush, every accidental graze of your fingers, every look that lingered a second too long.

He remembered the last time you hugged him. Fully wrapped your arms around him without hesitation.

You were warm. So warm, it branded him. And he wanted to be selfish. Just once.

He wanted to kiss you. Hold you. Lay you down and worship you with every part of himself. He wanted to hear you moan his name like a plea, like he was the only thing in your world that mattered.

His fists clenched.

But he couldn’t. Because he was your best friend. And you trusted him. He’d never risk that. But lately… it was getting harder to pretend. Harder to act like his thoughts didn’t spiral when you smiled at him, when you laughed and leaned your head back like the world couldn’t touch you. Like he was safe in your orbit.

“Fuck,” he whispered to the empty air.

His wings flared slightly behind him, agitated. He was needy pathetically so and it rattled him. You. His best friend and the woman he couldn’t stop imagining underneath him, moaning his name like a prayer.

He exhaled a shaky breath, one hand dragging down his face. His fingers curled tightly in his hair, jaw clenched. It had started innocently enough thinking about your laugh, the way you teased him, the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about something you loved. But lately, that innocent warmth had twisted, melted into something far darker.

Now all he could think about was how soft your lips would feel against his. How your body would arch into his if he finally let himself touch you the way he needed to. Keigo, who wanted to touch the curve of your waist, bury his face in your neck, trace his fingers down your thighs and hear you gasp for him. Keigo, who thought about your lips parting for him, your nails digging into his back, your breath hot against his ear.

He could already feel your thighs wrapped around him in his imagination, could already hear the sounds you’d make soft, desperate, so unlike the friend you were. And he wanted it more than he wanted anything else.

His cock was already hard, straining against the tightness of his pants, and he fucking hated how easy it was to get this way just thinking about you. It didn’t take much just the memory of your legs crossed during a casual conversation, the way your shirt would ride up when you stretched, revealing the tempting curve of your waist.

He leaned back against the cool concrete of the rooftop wall, letting his head fall back with a low groan. “Goddamn it…”

He’d been so careful. So respectful. Always the charming best friend who gave you space, never said too much, never let his touches linger for too long. But he was starving now.

Keigo wanted to taste every inch of you.

He imagined it pulling you onto his lap, letting his hands explore everything he wasn’t allowed to touch. Your thighs spread for him, your breathy moans in his ear as he whispered filthy things you never thought he’d say.

“You don’t know what you do to me… how long I’ve wanted this.”

He’d take his time with you slow, worshipful, but dripping in hunger. He’d kiss down your neck, between your breasts, over your stomach, and lower, until your thighs trembled around his head. He wanted to ruin you with his mouth, over and over, until your voice was hoarse from crying out for him.

His hips shifted as he ground into his palm, teeth gritted. This wasn’t just some passing fantasy. This was a need buried in the deepest parts of him hot, relentless, consuming.

the worst part… You had no idea. You still called him your best friend. Still crashed at his place when you were too tired to go home. Still walked around in those shorts, those oversized shirts with no bra underneath, curling up beside him on the couch like it was nothing.

It wasn’t nothing to him.

Every brush of your fingers set his nerves on fire. Every laugh you shared made his heart ache and his cock twitch.

He wanted to fuck you so deep you’d forget your own name. Wanted to hear you beg wanted to make you feel good, worshiped, ruined. he’d hold back until the day that he dies. Because you trusted him. And he’d never take advantage of that. Never touch you unless you asked him to.

But he was slipping. More and more, his fantasies blurred with reality. He caught himself staring at your lips, imagining how they’d feel wrapped around his cock. He thought about bending you over his kitchen counter when you came over to cook dinner. About tasting you after a long day your sweat, your moans, your pleasure burning into his mouth like a reward.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, palming himself through his pants now, just to ease the ache.

His wings twitched behind him as he imagined your voice in his ear.

“Keigo… please…”

Would you say his name like that? Would you beg for him to go deeper? Harder? Would you cry out for him, nails clawing at his back, thighs trembling as he pushed you over the edge again and again?

Would you finally look at him not just as your best friend, but as the man who’s been dying to be inside you? The man who loved you with everything he had?The thought was enough to tip him over, and he hissed your name into the night air, guilt and desire tangled up in his veins like poison.

He stayed there for a while, chest heaving, sweat beading on his brow as the tension drained from him but the ache remained. Because no matter how many times he relieved the pressure, no matter how many times he imagined your hands on him, your mouth, your body it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough. Because he didn’t want your body for just a night. He wanted to have you consume his entire day, everyday. He wanted you. All of you.

BLACK BUTLER IDEA!!!

I still will probably write this but I want to know if there is a demand at all for black butler content. Please like and reply if you’re up for a new fic!!!! here is a sample of what I was thinking

݁ᛪ༙The clock ticked steadily in the dim sitting room. Moonlight spilled through the large windows, catching the sharp gleam of Y/n’s eyes as she stood by the fireplace, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Sebastian entered soundlessly, like a shadow come to life. He bowed with his usual mockery of politeness.

“You wished to speak with me, Lady Y/n?”

Y/n said nothing at first, letting the silence stretch and coil between them.

She studied him the impeccable suit, the flawless manners, the thin smile that never reached his eyes. Everything about him felt wrong.

Finally, she spoke, voice low and edged with steel.

“I know what you are,” she said. “Maybe not the name for it, but I know you are not human.”

Sebastian’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it grew.

“How very observant,” he mused, clasping his hands neatly behind his back. “And what, may I ask, do you intend to do with this knowledge?”

Y/n stepped closer, her boots whispering against the rug. She tilted her head slightly, the fire casting half her face in shadow.

“Nothing,” she said. “Because Ciel trusts you. For now.”

Her eyes hardened.

“But know this, Sebastian Michaelis: if you harm him if you let him slip further into whatever darkness is trying to swallow him I will tear you apart myself. Piece by piece.”

Sebastian chuckled, the sound low and amused, like a cat toying with a mouse.

“You are quite ferocious for someone so…fragile.”

Y/n didn’t flinch. She stepped even closer, close enough to smell the unnatural, cold clean scent of him.

“You think I’m fragile?” she whispered. “Try me. You’ll find out exactly how far a sister will go for her brother.”

For the first time, something flickered in Sebastian’s gaze interest, perhaps. Amusement tinged with a thread of caution.

“Noted,” he said smoothly, bowing his head slightly. “I shall continue to serve the Young Master with the utmost…care.”

Y/n stared him down a moment longer before turning away, her heart pounding.

“See that you do,” she said coldly. “Because if you don’t hell won’t be the only place you’ll answer to.”

As she left the room, Sebastian stood still, a gloved hand resting lightly on his chest where, for a brief, strange moment, he thought he might have felt something almost human: respect.

݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙ The hem of your dress swirled around your ankles as you hurried through the entrance hall, the air thick with the scent of polished wood and new paint.

The rebuilt Phantomhive Manor loomed above you, so pristine it almost mocked the memory of ashes and ruin still seared into your heart.

You clutched the sides of your gown an elegant deep navy silk dress with delicate lace sleeves, a gift from Aunt Angelina. But you hardly noticed its weight now.

All you could hear was the hammering of your heart.

Ciel.

Your little brother your baby was alive.

You had been staying with Aunt Angelina ever since the fire, trapped in a haze of grief and guilt, believing there was nothing left. When the letter arrived, hastily penned with shaking hands by your aunt herself, you thought it a cruel dream. But now standing here the heavy doors of the manor open, the world spinning in your ears he was truly here.

A butler you didn’t recognize bowed you inside. His voice was smooth.

“Welcome home, Lady Y/n. The Young Master is awaiting you in the drawing room.”

You barely heard him. Your body moved of its own accord, feet flying across the marble, ignoring decorum, ignoring appearances. You needed to see him.The door to the drawing room creaked as you pushed it open.

And there he was. Ciel stood by the window, framed in silver light. He was wearing a black velvet suit, a rich blue eye staring outward only one eye. The other hidden behind a black eyepatch.

His posture was perfect, his chin tilted up in practiced nobility.

But he was still so small.

Still just a boy.

Your throat closed. A sob broke free before you could contain it. He turned at the sound and his eye widened, just barely.

“Y/n,” he said, voice smooth and measured, as if tasting the word for the first time in years.

Your vision blurred with tears.

Before you knew it, your knees buckled beneath you. You fell. Not out of weakness out of relief. You crashed to the carpeted floor, arms flinging around him, dragging his tiny, stiff body against yours. You pressed your forehead to his stomach, clutching him as if he might vanish again if you let go.

“My Ciel,” you gasped out, voice cracking. “My sweet boy, my precious ”

For a long, breathless moment, he said nothing. You felt the way he tensed, the way he hesitated awkward, uncertain, like a child who no longer knew how to receive love. Then slowly one small, gloved hand touched your head. Not like he used to not with the easy affection of the boy you remembered.

It was a stiff, careful gesture.

“…You’re wrinkling your dress,” he muttered, trying for irritation but failing miserably. His voice shook ever so slightly.

You let out a watery laugh, pulling back just enough to look up at him. He was trying so hard to be composed. To be grown. But you could see it the glimmer of your little brother beneath the armor. The scared, exhausted boy who had come home. You reached up, cupping his cheek gently with your gloved hand.

“You’re home,” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks. “You’re home, and I will never, ever leave you again.”

His eye softened so quick, you might have missed it if you hadn’t known him so well.

“You’re being dramatic,” he said, brushing a hand down his jacket, pretending indifference.

You smiled through your tears, standing finally and straightening your dress. You took a deep, trembling breath, smoothing his hair back with motherly care.

“You’ll have to get used to it,” you said, voice steadying. “Because I plan to be dramatic for the rest of your life, Ciel Phantomhive.”

The corners of his mouth twitched just slightly. A ghost of a smile. And you felt it you knew that somewhere deep inside, he was still your brother. you would love him with every fiber of your soul, no matter how cold he tried to be.

You linked your arm through his before he could protest, guiding him further into the room like you used to when he was a shy toddler hiding behind your skirts.

“Now,” you said brightly, “you’re going to sit with me and tell me everything.”

He sighed, a sound of long suffering patience far too old for his little body.

“…I suppose I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” he said.

You smiled, squeezing his arm gently.

“Not when it comes to me, dear heart. Never.”

You hadn’t felt this complete in so long.

But then a presence. You felt it like a prickle at the back of your neck, a gentle tug in the air, a ripple where everything should have been still. Your eyes drifted, pulled by instinct toward the doorway.

There he stood. The butler. Tall, impossibly composed, crimson eyes gleaming like molten garnets in the low light. His hands were folded neatly behind his back, posture perfect, expression unreadable.

The sight of him sent a strange chill along your spine not fear exactly, but something close to wrongness.

And something else, too something painfully familiar. For just a moment, your heart squeezed. He looks like Father.

Not exactly your father’s features had been warmer, his smiles real. there was something in the way this man carried himself, the precise way he tilted his head, the quiet strength wrapped in civility.

You tore your gaze away and turned to Ciel, lowering your voice.

“Who is that?” you asked, smoothing your skirts with trembling hands to hide your nerves.

Ciel followed your gaze casually, as if he hadn’t noticed the butler lingering nearby until now.

“Sebastian Michaelis,” Ciel said. His tone was clipped but neutral. “My butler. He’s been serving me since… I returned.”

You nodded slowly, lips pressing together.

You wanted to ask more but Ciel’s body language warned you off.

The stiff shoulders, the slight narrowing of his eye. He trusted this man. you had just gotten your brother back. You would not push. Not yet. You turned back toward the butler, offering a polite, practiced smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

“Thank you,” you said softly, inclining your head just slightly, as a lady should. “For taking care of my brother.”

Sebastian’s crimson gaze flickered briefly curiosity, perhaps but his bow was perfect.

“It is my duty and my pleasure, Lady Y/n,” he said smoothly.

ANIME

JUJUTSU KAISEN

Yuta Okkotsu

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Pure Love

Jjk Various

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ It Feels Crowded

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Matching Pyjamas

ONE PIECE

Sanji

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Oh Bet

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ All too well

Shanks

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Red Tides and Restless Hearts

Yuta Okkotsu X Reader [mild crack edition]

Hey guys do you want to see a silly thought that came to mind when I myself am dramatically in love with this character.

Synopsis: Oh my god, Geto just beat you to a pulp! Will you focus on not dying like a normal person, or will you be lame and pathetic and stare at Yuta like he’s the love of your life? (Spoiler: It’s the second one.)

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ The battlefield is in ruins. smoke and dust filling the air, debris scattered across the temple grounds. The echoes of battle still ring in your ears, but your body is too weak to move. You, Maki, Panda, and Inumaki are barely conscious, slumped against the shattered ground, too injured to do anything but watch as Yuta stands alone against Geto.

Your vision blurs from exhaustion, but you can see him, Yuta, battered and bloodied, standing firm with his sword drawn, Rika’s monstrous form looming behind him. He looks nothing like the nervous, flustered boy you once teased during training.

This Yuta is strong. Determined.

“I didn’t realize you were such a womanizer.”

Geto’s mocking tone cuts through the chaos like a blade. Even in your dazed state, you pick up on it.

You blink slowly, trying to focus. What…?

Yuta doesn’t hesitate.

“Don’t be rude,” he says firmly, his voice steady. “This is pure love.”

Your heart stops.

Then it shatters into a million pieces.

Your lip wobbles. Your breath hitches. Tears well up in your eyes faster than you can control.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, voice trembling. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

Maki, who is barely holding onto consciousness, cracks open an eye to stare at you. “Are… are you crying right now?”

You are. Fat tears stream down your battered face as you clutch your chest, completely overwhelmed.

“H-He loves her so much,” you hiccup, your body too weak to do anything but sob in place. “I c-can’t— It’s so romantic!”

Panda, equally injured, groans. “Oh no. They’re simping while dying.”

Inumaki, barely breathing, wheezes, “Salmon…”

You ignore them, still crying. “Do you hear the way he said it?! The passion! The devotion! The way he’s fighting for the one he loves!” You sniffle loudly. “I-I think I’m gonna pass out from how beautiful this is.”

Maki lets out a ragged sigh. “You’re already half-dead. Focus.”

But you can’t focus. Not when Yuta is standing there, declaring his love in the middle of battle like the protagonist of the most heart wrenching romance novel you’ve ever read.

You clutch Maki’s sleeve weakly. “I-I know I should be focusing on not dying, but—” Another dramatic sniff. “He’s just so perfect.”

Maki shoves your hand off. “I swear, if you use the last of your energy to think about—”

“It’s too late,” Panda mutters. “They’re already gone.”

You nod, eyes still sparkling with tears. “G-Gone for Yuta Okkotsu.”

Meanwhile, Yuta and Geto are still fighting for their lives. Yuta has no idea you’re in the background, weakly crying over how much you love his love.

Gojo, who has just arrived and is surveying the battlefield, pauses when he hears your quiet sobbing. He turns, looking down at you with mild amusement. “Ah,” he hums, crouching beside your beaten form. “So you’re the dramatic one as always.”

You sniffle again. “Gojo-sensei,” you whisper hoarsely, grabbing onto his sleeve like you’ve just seen heaven. “Have you ever seen love so pure?”

Gojo glances at Yuta, then back at you. His lips curl an amused smirk.

“…Yeah,” he says quietly, his voice softer than usual. “I think I have.”

alternate ending

Gojo glances at geto, then thinks to himself. His lips curl an amused smirk.

“…Yeah,” he says quietly, his voice softer than usual. “I think I have.”

Keigo Takami | Hawks X Reader

𓅰 𓅬Smoke and Feathers𓅮 𓅯

I offer you angst and disgust and sadness and brainrot

masterlist

Synopsis: You love him, hes a whole hypocrite though

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯 The knock on your door came just as you had started to relax for the night. You glanced at the clock late, even for him. With a sigh, you padded over, unlocking it without much thought. Hawks never really needed an invitation.

Keigo Takami stood in your doorway, grinning like he always did. The kind of grin that put people at ease, but you knew him better than that. His golden eyes flickered across your face, scanning for something maybe exhaustion, maybe suspicion.

“Hey, partner,” he greeted, stepping inside before you could respond. “I was craving chicken, and I figured, why eat alone when I could bother you instead?”

“You could eat at your place,” you shot back, closing the door behind him.

“Nah,” he waved a hand. “Too quiet. Besides, your place is way fancier. Food tastes better after being in rich people’s apartments.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Keigo had been your friend since you debuted at eighteen. Four years of missions, battles, and shared exhaustion had formed a bond neither of you really questioned. But lately, something about him had been…off.

“Fine. I hope to not be super tired after this.”

“Obviously.” He threw an arm around your shoulders, leading you toward the door.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯

You ended up on top of a bridge after grabbing food, the city sprawled beneath you in glittering lights. It was peaceful up here just the occasional hum of distant traffic and the rustling of Keigo’s feathers when he shifted. You sat side by side, bags of takeout beside you, a breeze lifting your hair.

“You ever think we peaked too early?” Keigo mused, biting into a drumstick.

“Are you having a mid life crisis at twenty two?”

He snorted. “Maybe. I mean, don’t get me wrong I love being a pro hero, but sometimes I think… I dunno. If I weren’t one, maybe my love life wouldn’t suck so bad.”

You smirked. “Yeah, you and your long line of failed flings.”

Keigo sighed dramatically. “Ouch. What about you, huh? Any luck?”

You shook your head, taking a bite of your own food. “No time. Not that you’d know anything about that, right?”

“yeah yeah,” he grinned. Then, after a pause, “You ever think about settling down?”

You raised a brow. “We sound like old people right now.”

Keigo chuckled, but there was something in his expression something calculating.

“Must be nice, though,” he continued, staring down at the city. “Having people to rely on. To trust.”

You frowned. Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. But before you could reply, he kept going.

“Speaking of trust, I heard some interesting things lately,” he said casually, leaning back on his hands. “The League’s been moving differently. Word is, they’ve been pulling back from certain areas, regrouping.”

You tensed slightly, but forced yourself to stay relaxed. “Yeah? Didn’t hear anything about that.”

Keigo hummed, side eyeing you. “Funny. You usually have good ears for things like this.”

You knew what he was doing. He wasn’t outright accusing you wasn’t even asking directly. But he was fishing. He knew you’d been close with Dabi, and now he was prying without making it obvious.

You took another bite of food, playing it cool. “Well, if I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

Keigo smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Appreciate it.”

And just like that, the conversation shifted back to jokes and laughter. But you knew better. Hawks was good at this game at wearing masks, at pretending.

Keigo stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. “You know, if we were normal, we’d probably be out right now. Living life, partying, dating.”

You snorted. “You’d probably be someone’s problem boyfriend.”

He gasped, “Wow. No faith in me at all?”

“None.”

Keigo laughed, but you could hear the strain underneath it. He was doing that thing again acting like everything was fine, like there wasn’t a million things weighing on his mind. You wanted to ask, but you already knew how that would go. He’d brush it off, give you some half truth, then change the subject.

Instead, you reached out, hesitating for only a moment before grabbing his hand. He blinked, caught off guard, but didn’t pull away.

“I mean it, Keigo,” you said, voice steady. “I know relationships are pretty much out of the picture for us, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. You’re important to me. No matter how messy things get, I value every second I spend with you.”

For once, Keigo didn’t have a snarky response. His golden eyes softened, the usual playful glint replaced with something quieter, something more vulnerable. He squeezed your hand slightly, as if grounding himself.

“Damn,” he muttered, looking away. “You always gotta go and say stuff like that.”

You smiled. “It’s the truth.”

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You know, sometimes I wonder if I deserve that. Having people who actually care.”

You frowned. “Of course, you do.”

Keigo didn’t answer right away. His gaze flickered to your intertwined hands, then back to the city. Whatever was on his mind, he wasn’t ready to say it.

“Thanks,” he finally murmured.

The word felt heavier than it should have, like there was more he wanted to say but couldn’t. And maybe he never would. But for now, this was enough.

You stayed like that for a while, sitting together on the bridge, hands still linked. For once, neither of you needed to fill the silence.

The silence didn’t last.

Keigo shifted beside you, the weight of his gaze pressing into your side. You could feel it before he even spoke the tension rolling off of him in waves, the way his body stiffened slightly.

“I just… I worry about you, you know?” His voice was light, casual, but you weren’t stupid. You could hear the edge to it. “The League isn’t exactly the safest crowd.”

Your stomach twisted. You knew where this was going.

“I don’t know anything, Keigo.”

He gave a breathy chuckle, but it lacked humor. “Come on, I know you’re smart. You’re always in the middle of things. You’re telling me you haven’t heard anything?”

You turned to him fully now, frowning. “I said I don’t know anything.”

Something in his expression wavered, just for a second. He rubbed a hand down his face, like he was trying to steady himself, but when he spoke again, there was something sharper underneath.

“I just” He exhaled harshly. “I don’t get it. Why won’t you tell me?”

That set something off in you. You pulled your hand away from his, frustration boiling over.

“Because there’s nothing to tell, Keigo! What, do you think I’m hiding things from you? That I’m playing some kind of double agent?”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t want to think that.”

“But you do.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his feathers ruffling behind him. “You’re close with Dabi. You’re” He cut himself off, inhaling sharply before continuing. “I’ve seen what the League is capable of. And you” He gestured at you, eyes burning. “You’re getting wrapped up in it whether you realize it or not.”

You scoffed, standing up abruptly. “So that’s what this is, huh? You don’t trust me.”

Keigo stood too, stepping closer. “It’s not about trust. It’s about keeping you safe.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “No, this isn’t about that. You’re trying to get answers out of me. Like I’m some suspect.”

Keigo’s usual mask was gone now no charming smiles, no lazy grins. His wings twitched, and his hands curled into fists at his sides.

“The Commission” He stopped himself again, shutting his eyes for a moment before reopening them. “I have to do this.”

You felt something crack in your chest. “So that’s what I am to you? A job?”

“Of course not!” His voice was sharper than before, his usual control slipping. “But if they think you know something, they’re gonna keep pushing! And if you do know something and don’t tell me, then what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“I already told you I don’t know anything! But that doesn’t matter, does it? Because you already made up your mind.”

His wings flared out, feathers rustling with tension. “You think I want to do this? You think I like treating you like this?”

You crossed your arms, biting the inside of your cheek. “Sure seems like it.”

Keigo let out a harsh breath, and suddenly, his frustration snapped into something else something desperate.

“I love you.”

The words hit like a shockwave, knocking the wind out of you. Your eyes widened, but he didn’t stop.

“I love you, okay?” His voice was rough, strained. “That’s why this is so fucking hard. That’s why I can’t just sit back and let you ” He exhaled shakily, shaking his head. “I can’t lose you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. He was breathing hard, his golden eyes wild with emotion. You had never seen him like this never seen him so raw.

The tension between you was thick, the city buzzing below, but up here, it was just the two of you. And you had no idea what to say.

“Fuck, Keigo.”

Your voice came out barely above a whisper, but the weight of it was enough to make him flinch. His wings, usually so steady, twitched behind him, like he was fighting the urge to fly away.

You didn’t know what to say. Lord knows you loved him you would do anything for him. But this? This hurt. The way he was looking at you, the way he was questioning you like you were some kind of liability instead of his friend. Instead of someone who had been by his side for years.

Your hands moved on their own, reaching up to cup his face. He stiffened at first, but then melted into your touch, his breath uneven.

You searched his face, desperate to find the trust that should have been there. But all you could see was hurt.

Hurt because he knew this was wrong. Hurt because he had to do it anyway.

And longing. Longing for something he had convinced himself he couldn’t have. Longing because, despite everything, despite the lines being blurred and the masks slipping, he wanted you.

You swallowed hard, your thumbs tracing along his jaw. “You don’t have to do this,” you murmured.

Keigo let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before meeting yours again. “I do.” His voice cracked slightly. “You don’t get it. If I don’t… they will.”

Your grip on him tightened. “I don’t know anything, Keigo.”

His brows furrowed, frustration flickering across his face before it faded into something more vulnerable. “Then why do they think you do?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Dabi and I, fuck Keigo we just talk. After fights, after missions. That’s it.”

His eyes searched yours, and for the first time tonight, it felt like he was actually listening. Like he was really seeing you.

His hands came up, hesitating for only a second before resting over yours, keeping them against his face. His touch was warm, calloused from years of battle, but there was a softness there too. A silent plea.

“I don’t want to do this,” he whispered.

Your chest ached. “Then don’t.”

Keigo let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “If only it were that simple.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to shake him and make him see that it was that simple. That he didn’t have to follow the Commission’s orders like a puppet, that he didn’t have to do this to you to himself.

But deep down, you knew that wasn’t how it worked. that was the worst part of all. The first tear slipped out before you could stop it.

Then another.

And another.

You didn’t even realize you were crying at first, too consumed by the frustration bubbling in your chest, the betrayal clawing at your throat. Your hands were still on his face, trembling now, and Keigo’s eyes widened as he felt the wetness of your tears bleed into his heart.

“Hey”

You sucked in a sharp breath, but it didn’t help. The weight of everything crashed over you all at once.

You had spent years fighting, bleeding, sacrificing to protect people to make the world safer, to do the right thing. And this was your reward? Being questioned like a criminal? Being treated like someone who couldn’t be trusted by the one person who should have known better?

You let out a broken, bitter laugh, your grip on Keigo tightening. “I’ve killed for this job,” you choked out. “I’ve bled for it. I’ve given everything to make sure people are safe. And the thanks I get is my best friend accusing me like I’m some kind of traitor?” Your voice cracked at the end, and you let your forehead drop against his. “The Commission making you accuse me?”

Keigo inhaled sharply, like your words physically hurt him.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, and before you could say anything else, his arms were around you.

He pulled you into him, crushing you against his chest, his wings wrapping around the both of you like a shield. His grip was almost desperate, like he was afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear entirely.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against your hair, his voice raw. “Fuck I’m so sorry.”

But it didn’t fix anything.

It didn’t take away the ache in your chest, the sting of his accusations, the knowledge that if the Commission had its way, he’d be forced to keep pushing.

Still, you clung to him, your fists curling into his jacket. Because despite everything, despite the pain, despite the betrayal. You still loved him. that was the worst part of all.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. But the weight in your chest, the sting in your throat it wasn’t going away.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to steady your breath, but it came out shaky and uneven. And as much as you wanted to stay in his arms, to pretend like none of this was happening, you couldn’t.

So you let go.

You pulled back, slipping from his hold, and immediately, his arms twitched like he wanted to reach for you again. But he didn’t.

You took a step back. Then another. His wings twitched, his golden eyes wide and desperate.

“I don’t…” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed, shaking your head. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

Keigo stiffened, the color draining from his face. “What?”

You wiped at your cheeks roughly, trying to catch your breath. “This us it’s just gonna keep getting worse. The Commission’s already pushing you to treat me like a suspect, and I can’t I won’t keep going through this.”

His expression twisted, panic flickering behind his eyes. “If we stop seeing each other, they’ll just use that as another excuse to build a case against you.” His voice was sharp, urgent. “They’ll say you’re cutting ties because you have something to hide.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

His brows furrowed, frustration creeping into his features. “Of course it fucking matters.”

You let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through your hair. “Keigo, how am I supposed to be around you if I know every conversation we have is controlled?” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “If I can’t even tell if you’re talking to me or to the Commission?”

He opened his mouth, then shut it, his throat working as he swallowed hard.

You took another step back. He took a step forward.

You held up a hand to stop him, your breath shaky. “I love you, Keigo.”

His whole body froze, like he wasn’t sure he heard you right. His wings twitched again, his feathers rustling in the cool night air.

“I love you,” you repeated, your voice softer this time. “And I meant what I said I appreciate you more than you’ll ever know. But I can’t trust you anymore.”

The words shattered something in him. You saw it happen in real time. His jaw clenched, his eyes darkening, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to grab you and shake you and beg you to take it back.

“Wait,” he said, and his voice almost sounded broken. “Just wait.”

But you shook your head.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered.

Keigo’s breath hitched, and for the first time since you had met him, you saw something you never thought you’d see in him.

Fear.

Not fear of the Commission. Not fear of the League. Fear of losing you.

And as you turned away, his hands curled into fists, his mind racing with the realization that the Commission had just done the one thing he never thought possible.

They had pitted you against each other.

And he had let them.

The moment you disappeared from sight, the weight of it all crashed down on him.

Keigo staggered back, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. His wings drooped, feathers trembling as if they could barely hold themselves up anymore.

You were gone.

His hands came up to his face, fingers curling into his hair as he let out a harsh, broken breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, but all he could see was you. The way your voice cracked when you told him you loved him. The way your eyes shined with betrayal. The way you walked away.

His chest felt tight too tight.

He had spent his whole life playing this game, moving pieces around the board, following orders, doing what needed to be done. He had done it all without hesitation, without attachment, without caring.

Because caring got people killed. Caring made you weak.

At least, that’s what he had always believed.

Then you happened.

And he hadn’t even realized how much you meant to him until he was watching you slip through his fingers.

A sharp, choked noise tore from his throat as he staggered forward, his hands gripping at his hair. His chest hurt. He had never felt this before not even as a kid, not even when he was forced into a life that wasn’t his own.

Because back then, it hadn’t mattered.

But you had mattered.

You had trusted him. You had let him in, had told him how much he meant to you. And in return?

He had destroyed it.

His knees hit the metal of the bridge, and he barely even registered it. His wings curled around him, shielding him from the rest of the world, but it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered anymore.

Because for the first time in his life He had let someone in. And he had ruined it.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯

The television flickered in the dimly lit room, its glow casting soft shadows against the walls. Keigo Takami otherwise known as Hawks leaned back in his seat, golden eyes trained on the screen as a familiar figure appeared.

It had been months.

Keigo’s eyes followed every headline, every news segment, every article that mentioned you.

Y/n Soars to New Heights: A Pro Hero On the Rise

Hero Y/n’s Daring Rescue Saves Dozens in Quirk Incident

Top 10 Pro Hero Y/n: The Future of Japan’s Hero Society

Each headline was another stab to his chest. He saw the numbers, the statistics, the articles that spoke of your bravery, your skill, your rise to the top. The world had watched you climb, and you had done it with grace, with skill, with everything he knew you were capable of.

“Once again, Japan’s rising star, Y/n, has taken down another villain with efficiency and grace!”

The anchor’s voice carried an air of excitement, painting you as a beacon of hope for the country. Footage played of you in action your movements sharp and calculated, your quirk flowing seamlessly between offense and defense. The crowd erupted in cheers, reporters clamoring for your attention, yet you only offered them a polite nod before moving on, as if there was always more work to be done.

Keigo exhaled through his nose, rubbing the bridge of it between his fingers.

He wasn’t surprised. You had always been relentless in your pursuit of justice. He had seen it firsthand, the way you carried the weight of expectations without complaint. But now, watching you through the cold lens of a camera, he could see what no one else seemed to notice.

You were drowning yourself in work.

News articles flooded his phone.

“Japan’s Heroine Y/n Soars Higher Than Ever!”

“Y/n: The New Symbol of Hope?”

“Nonstop Victories, But At What Cost?”

The last one caught his attention. Clicking on the article, he scanned through the words. Some journalist had picked up on it too the dark circles beneath your eyes, the way your posture stiffened ever so slightly after every battle. But the world only saw the hero. They saw the unwavering smile, the power, the perfection.

Keigo knew better.

You were running yourself ragged, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

His hands clenched into fists. He had never felt so useless before. In the past, he would have sent a teasing message, a check in disguised as banter, just to make sure you were okay. But now, his wings were clipped metaphorically and literally. The mission he was on kept him far from the public eye, and any contact with you would compromise everything.

Still, he watched.

Night after night, he kept up with your hero work through screens and articles, seeing the light in your eyes dim just a little more each time. The world was blind to it, too enamored by your victories to notice the toll they took on you.

Keigo sighed, leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

“Dammit, Y/n.”

He wanted to tell you to slow down. That you didn’t have to carry everything alone. But he knew you you wouldn’t listen, not when you thought the weight was yours to bear.

But as he watched from afar, he saw something else something he knew he couldn’t ignore.

You were drowning.

It wasn’t hard to see, not if you looked closely enough. There were the faint bags under your eyes, the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes in the photos. He could see it in the way you moved quick, efficient, but with a certain rigidity, like you were trying to keep the pieces of yourself together.

The interviews, the press events, the rescue missions. You were out there always out there. Never stopping. Always moving.

Keigo had seen this before. It was the kind of thing that had broken him.

The thing he was now witnessing in you.

You were using your work as a shield. You were burying yourself in it, pretending that the mess of the world, the constant need to be the best, would somehow fill the hollow space where everything else had fallen apart. You were drowning in your responsibilities, in the expectations of others. And he hated himself for not being able to stop it.

He couldn’t reach you.

He couldn’t be the person you needed.

The Commission had made it clear the moment you walked away they had made sure that there would be no contact, no easy path to you. They had pushed him away, forced him to see you as an obstacle, a potential threat.

He had followed the orders. He had stayed away.

But every day, every night, when he saw the photos, heard the reports of your latest success, it felt like another punch to the gut. He couldn’t reach you, couldn’t protect you. And worse he was the reason you had shut him out.

You deserve better than this, he thought, each time he saw a picture of you smiling, though it never quite reached your eyes. You deserve better than me.

The most recent headline:

Y/n’s Heroic Feat: A Mission Gone Wrong Injuries and Recovering, But Will She Stay at the Top?

The article detailed how you had barely made it out of a dangerous mission, sustained injuries, and had pushed through it, despite the odds. The photos showed you at the hospital, a bruise on your cheek, your expression cold and distant as you posed for the cameras. Your usual confidence was there, but it was muted like a shell of yourself.

Keigo’s fingers clenched around the coffee cup in his hand, his gaze locked on the screen.

There it was again you were hurting.

But he couldn’t be there. He couldn’t reach you, couldn’t protect you. The Commission had made sure of that.

Every day, it ate at him. The guilt. The fear. The constant ache in his chest. And all he could do was watch.

Because that’s all he was allowed to do.

He turned away from the screen and ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. He couldn’t keep doing this.

But as much as he wanted to move on, as much as he wanted to focus on his own missions and do what the Commission had trained him for, he knew he couldn’t.

You were out there, giving everything for a world that barely understood you.

And he was here, stuck in a cage of his own making.

“Fuck,” Keigo whispered to himself. “I miss you.”

But you were gone. And he was the one who had pushed you away.

That was the price he paid for trying to be the hero everyone needed. The cost of being a tool of the Commission.

He couldn’t even hate them for it. Not when it was his own failure that had led to this.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯

Keigo sat in the Commission’s office, his expression neutral as he listened to the orders being laid out before him. The air was stale, the weight of the conversation pressing down on his shoulders. He knew what was coming before they even said it.

“Your next mission is infiltration.”

The head of the Commission, a woman with sharp eyes and a voice that left no room for argument, slid a file across the table. Keigo barely glanced at it. He already knew whose name was inside.

“The League of Villains is growing stronger. We need someone on the inside. Someone they’ll trust. You have the skills to make this work, Hawks.”

His fingers tightened around the edge of the folder.

“You’ve already shown your ability to keep a close eye on potential threats before.”

The words weren’t just words. They were deliberate. A reminder.

A reminder that they had once given him a different mission to keep tabs on you.

And what had they accused you of?

“Suspicious relationships with certain individuals.”

“Questionable morals due to prolonged conversations with known villains.”

“Potential compromise to the hero system.”

All because you had spoken to someone deemed dangerous. All because you hadn’t followed their rigid, black and white definition of justice.

And now, they were telling him to do the same thing.

A bitter laugh curled at the edges of his thoughts, though he kept his face unreadable. So it was fine when it was for them? When it was for the mission?

Hypocrites.

Keigo wanted to tell them to go to hell. That he saw through their bullshit. That if they thought he hadn’t noticed how they twisted things to suit their needs, they were dead wrong.

But he didn’t.

Because despite the anger curling in his gut, despite the guilt gnawing at his ribs, he still cared.

He cared about the future. About a world where kids didn’t have to grow up training to fight for their lives. A world where people had too much time on their hands instead of living in constant fear.

A world where you were safe.

So he bit his tongue.

“Understood,” he said instead, voice smooth and unwavering.

The Commission nodded, satisfied.

As the meeting wrapped up, Keigo tucked the folder under his arm and left the room. His steps were light, easy, just like always. But inside, his thoughts swirled like a storm.

⸻

Later that night, he sat on the rooftop of a tall building, the city stretching out beneath him. The folder lay open beside him, the moonlight illuminating the pages.

Dabi.

He had never spoken to the guy. Only knew what the files told him. Ruthless. Unpredictable. Dangerous. The League’s arsonist. The only reason Dabi hadn’t been fully exposed was because he covered his tracks well.

And yet, there was one thing in these files that stood out more than anything else.

You knew him.

You talked to him sometimes. That alone had been enough for the Commission to put you under watch. Enough for them to wonder if you could be turned into a threat.

Keigo exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.

It felt wrong. All of it.

But he had already made his choice.

If playing the villain meant securing a world where you wouldn’t have to look over your shoulder every day, then he would do it.

Even if it meant stepping into the same shadows they once accused you of standing in.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯

It wasn’t like you had planned for things to turn out this way.

But after everything with Hawks after the accusations, the betrayal, the months of silence you had found yourself somewhere you never expected.

With Dabi.

It hadn’t happened overnight. At first, he was just another thorn in your side, another ghost you kept running into when the night was too quiet and your thoughts were too loud. But for whatever reason, the two of you had fallen into an odd sort of rhythm.

Dabi didn’t ask questions. Didn’t pry. He didn’t look at you with pity or expectation. He was just there, in the same way you were floating, untethered, existing in the spaces where heroes and villains blurred.

And maybe that’s why you were here now.

The scent of burnt concrete and gunpowder still clung to the air, mixing with the sharp, acrid smell of Dabi’s scorched skin. The battle had ended not long ago, and now, the two of you sat in the dimly lit hideout, the flickering light casting long shadows across the worn out walls.

“You looked like shit out there,” you teased, stretching your legs out in front of you as you leaned back against the couch.

Dabi scoffed, rolling his shoulder with a slight wince. “Yeah? And you looked like a damn try hard. What, gunning for some hero points?”

You snorted. “Please, like I need to impress anyone.”

Dabi grinned, a lazy, knowing smirk as he tapped ash from his cigarette onto the floor. “Right, right. Forgot you’re already Miss Popular out there. Japan’s sweetheart.”

“You’re just mad I had you on your knees.”

“dont make shit up.”

“You were about to eat pavement, dude.”

He flicked the cigarette away, leaning forward with an elbow on his knee. “Tch. Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, tossing a nearby rag at him. Dabi caught it effortlessly, shaking his head. “Annoying.”

Before you could respond, the door creaked open.

Your breath caught.

For a moment, you thought your eyes were playing tricks on you. It had been months months since you’d seen him.

Yet, there he stood.

Hawks.

He looked the same as always messy blond hair, sharp golden eyes, wings tucked neatly behind him. But there was something off about seeing him now, here, in this space. Like an image that didn’t belong in the same frame.

Your reaction must have been obvious, because Dabi’s gaze flicked between the two of you, a slow, amused smirk creeping onto his face.

“Well, well,” Dabi mused, leaning back. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing a celebrity tonight.”

Hawks smiled easy, smooth, like he was slipping into a familiar rhythm. “What can I say? Thought I’d drop by, see what all the hype’s about.”

His eyes flickered to you, just for a second.

You were still staring. You hated that you were still staring.

Months. Months. And now he was just… here?

“Guess you finally wanted to be cool,” Dabi said, standing up slowly. “Took you long enough, bird boy.”

Hawks let out a laugh, loose and effortless. “Hey, better late than never, right?”

Dabi tilted his head, watching him. Sizing him up. “So, what? You lookin’ to make friends?”

“Something like that,” Hawks said, slipping his hands into his pockets. His tone was light, playful, but you knew him well enough to catch the calculation behind his words.

Dabi must’ve caught it, too, because his smirk widened slightly, like he was deciding just how much he wanted to play with his new toy.

“Sweetheart,” Dabi suddenly drawled, shifting toward you, “you didn’t tell me you and our new guest had history.”

You felt your stomach drop.

Hawks didn’t react.

Not even a twitch.

Dabi, of course, wasn’t done. He took a step closer, slinging an arm around your shoulder in an almost lazy manner, fingers drumming lightly against your arm.

Hawks’ gaze flicked to the movement quick, calculated. But he didn’t break.

Not even a hint of irritation, no change in posture. He just smiled, golden eyes still half lidded with that same effortless charm.

“Guess she didn’t think it was important,” Hawks mused, voice smooth as ever. “Can’t say I blame her.”

Dabi’s fingers tightened ever so slightly on your shoulder, and you felt the heat of his skin even through the fabric. He was testing. Poking at the edges.

“Mm. Maybe,” Dabi mused. “Or maybe she just didn’t want you to know.”

“Now, why would she do that?” Hawks asked, tilting his head, his voice still perfectly even.

You could feel the tension between them, even if it was all wrapped in easy smiles and playful words.

You exhaled, finally moving.

“Alright, enough,” you muttered, shoving Dabi’s arm off you. “I’ve had enough for the night.”

Your tone was casual, but you knew you knew that your hands were trembling just a little.

Dabi let his arm fall away easily, watching you with amusement. “Aw, come on, sweetheart. We were just getting started.”

You shook your head, already walking past them, needing space. “Not in the mood for whatever weird macho thing you two are doing. Try not to kill each other.”

You didn’t look back.

Didn’t want to see the way Hawks was watching you.

Didn’t want to think about why he was here. And definitely didn’t want to acknowledge the way your heart was still racing.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯

The sky burned.

Smoke curled into the air, thick and suffocating, a mix of fire, blood, and the crumbling remains of the Meta Liberation Army’s last stand. The battlefield was a mess of clashing wills heroes and villains tearing through each other in a violent symphony of destruction.

And at the center of it all, Hawks stood with blood on his hands.

Twice lay lifeless at his feet.

His chest rose and fell heavily, his wings twitching with adrenaline, but there was no time to breathe, no time to process.

Because standing just a few meters away, fire licking at his fingertips, was Dabi.

The villain’s usual smirk was absent. His blue eyes burned hotter than his flames, sharp with something Hawks couldn’t quite place anger, satisfaction, something in between.

“You heroes are all the same,” Dabi muttered, taking a slow step forward. “Always so high and mighty. Always so convinced you’re better than us.”

Hawks tightened his grip on his remaining feathers. “You think Twice would’ve been better off if I let him go?”

Dabi’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “Oh, don’t give me that crap. This wasn’t about saving people. You’re just another pawn doing whatever the Commission tells you, right? Good little lapdog.”

Hawks didn’t flinch, but the words dug in.

Dabi’s flames flickered to life, casting shadows across the ruined battlefield. “Tell me, Hawks. Did it feel good? Taking down a guy who just wanted to protect his friends?”

Hawks exhaled, steadying himself. “I’m not getting into this with you.”

But Dabi wasn’t finished.

His smirk returned, slow and deliberate, and Hawks didn’t like it.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Dabi mused. “Wouldn’t want to ruin that righteous hero image of yours, huh?”

Hawks knew what this was. Psychological warfare. Dabi was trying to dig into his head, to make him hesitate. But Hawks couldn’t afford to he needed to finish this quickly.

A red feather shot toward Dabi in a blur of speed.

But Dabi was already moving.

Flames roared to life, meeting the attack head on, burning the feather into nothing. He closed the distance between them fast, forcing Hawks back with a wall of searing heat.

“You really don’t like talking about yourself, do you?” Dabi taunted, voice dripping with amusement. “Always gotta focus on the mission. But let’s talk about something more interesting.”

Hawks didn’t respond he couldn’t afford to. His feathers moved like blades, slicing through the air, but Dabi dodged, relentless in his approach.

And then Dabi said something that made Hawks’ blood freeze.

“She’s been treating me real nice, you know.”

Hawks’ entire body tensed.

Dabi grinned, sensing the shift. “Ah, so you do care.”

Hawks’ feathers shot forward in a flurry, faster, sharper, but Dabi dodged with ease, the flames around him growing wilder.

“You should see her, Hawks,” Dabi continued, voice smooth, taunting. “The way she looks at me. The way she lets me touch her.”

Something inside Hawks snapped.

He moved without thinking, faster than before, closing the distance between them with a brutal efficiency. His feathers struck harder, aiming for vital points.

But Dabi wasn’t done.

“She never mentioned it?” Dabi dodged, twisting out of the way at the last second. “How we spend our special time together?”

Hawks’ next attack wasn’t clean. It wasn’t precise. It was pure anger.

His feathers slashed out with no restraint.

Dabi barely managed to throw up a wall of fire in time, skidding back as the force of the attack cut through his jacket, slicing against his skin.

“Ohh,” Dabi let out a low whistle, shaking out his arms. “Touched a nerve, huh?”

Hawks didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His heart was pounding.

Dabi laughed, slow and deliberate, eyes flickering with something dangerous.

“That’s what I thought.”

But Hawks didn’t let him say anything else. Because in the next second, he was on him.

This fight was over.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯

The hospital room was dimly lit, the only source of light spilling in from the window. It was quiet too quiet. The kind of silence that followed catastrophe, where the air was too still, too heavy, as if the world itself was still trying to understand the weight of what had happened.

Your body ached with every breath. The bandages wrapped around your torso were tight, holding together wounds that had nearly been fatal. Every movement reminded you of how close you had been to not making it out.

And yet, all of that the pain, the exhaustion, the weight of the war it all faded away the moment the door opened.

You almost didn’t turn.

You had spent weeks expecting to see him, waiting, hoping but he never came.

Not when you needed him. Not when everything fell apart.

And yet, something in you recognized him before you even looked.

When you finally did, you felt your breath hitch.

Keigo.

He stood in the doorway, alive but barely.

His wings were a shadow of what they once were. The red feathers that had once been so vibrant were scorched, burnt at the edges, some missing entirely. His body was wrapped in bandages, his movements slower, weaker. But what hit you the hardest was the mask strapped over his mouth.

A speaker had been attached to it, taking over for the voice he had nearly lost in the fire.

Dabi’s flames had nearly ruined him.

You sat there, frozen, staring.

Your heart clenched so painfully it felt like another wound had opened up inside you.

And then you moved.

The blanket was thrown off, the pain screaming through your body as you forced yourself to stand. Your legs were unsteady, but you didn’t care. You needed to reach him.

Your hands curled into fists before you could stop yourself, and the moment you were close enough you hit him.

He didn’t move.

Your fist landed against his chest, not hard enough to hurt him, but enough to feel it.

Then you hit him again.

And again.

“You!” Your voice cracked, emotion clogging your throat, burning behind your eyes.

He didn’t stop you.

“You accused me” Another hit, weaker than the last. “You said I was playing both sides that I wasn’t loyal!”

Your breath was coming in ragged gasps now, your vision blurring as you kept hitting him, kept pushing him, as if forcing him to feel just a fraction of the hurt you had been carrying.

“Then you” Your fists trembled as they pressed against him. Your knees felt weak. Your voice cracked.

“You did the exact same thing.”

The words barely made it past your lips before they were swallowed by a sob.

You had tried so hard to stay angry. To hold onto the rage, the betrayal because anger was easier than hurt.

But seeing him now, standing in front of you alive but barely holding on It was too much.

Your fists loosened, curling into his shirt instead, gripping him as if he would disappear if you let go.

“I thought you were dead.”

Your voice broke entirely, and the dam inside you cracked, the emotions you had been holding in for months finally spilling over.

The nights spent staring at the news, searching for any sign that he was still alive.

The silence stretching on for too long.

The fear that you had lost him forever.

Your body trembled as you pressed your forehead against his chest, the sobs wracking through you with the force of everything you had been desperately trying to bury.

And then finally he moved.

His hands rose, hesitating for only a second before they touched you.

One cradled the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. The other wiped at your tears with his thumbs, his touch impossibly gentle despite the roughness of his gloves.

And then he did something he shouldn’t have.

He pulled off the mask.

You gasped. “Keigo”

He shouldn’t have. You knew it. He knew it.

But when he spoke, his voice was hoarse and broken, ruined by the burns, by the damage that had permanently scarred him but the words hit harder than anything else.

“I missed you.”

Your breath caught.

His thumb traced the tear streaked path down your cheek, his touch trembling, but steady.

“I never” His voice faltered, the pain clear in the way his throat choked on the words, but he forced them out anyway. “I never stopped regretting it.”

Your fingers tightened in his shirt, anchoring yourself to him.

“Letting them control me,” he rasped. “Letting them ruin this. Ruin us.”

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath uneven, shaky.

“I’m so sorry.”

You swallowed, your tears still slipping down your cheeks, your emotions still raw, still aching.

But you could see it now the weight he carried. The exhaustion in his eyes. The guilt that had been eating him alive from the inside out.

Even if he had a hundred lifetimes, even if he was reborn again and again, you knew.

He would regret this every single time.

Regret losing you.

Your fingers uncurled from his shirt, moving up to cup his face, your thumbs tracing along his cheekbones. His skin was warm beneath your touch, warmer than you remembered. Maybe from the burns. Maybe from the way he was looking at you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“You should’ve come back sooner.”

His eyes softened, his hands still cradling your face, thumbs still brushing over your skin as if trying to memorize the shape of you, to convince himself that you were real.

“I know.” His voice was so hoarse, so wrecked, but still so him.

Your chest ached at the sound of it.

“You scared me,” you whispered, fingers curling into his skin. “I thought ” You swallowed, voice trembling. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

His breath hitched.

“You think I didn’t feel the same?” His forehead pressed more firmly against yours. “Every day, I thought about you.”

Your heart clenched.

“I don’t want to do this again,” you whispered. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

His grip tightened. “You won’t.”

There was so much promise in those two words, so much desperation, as if he was trying to will them into being true.

You weren’t sure if you could believe it. Not yet. Not with the war still raging, not with everything still uncertain. But you wanted to.

Dabi : “Man, your girl’s been treating me real nice lately. We’ve had some… special time together.”

Hawks: “Shut up.”

Dabi: “What? You don’t like hearing about how sweet she is to me? How she—”

Hawks: “CONGRATULATIONS! YOU JUST WON A FREE ASS WHOOPING!”