𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋𝚂𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚒⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

a/n: pt 3 is finally done omfg. again, hope it doesn't disappoint anyone, I tried to flesh out their relationship before commitment. anyway off to make frat gojoooooo (with a hint of him being a sugar daddy) (spoiler?)

tags: @severetreatystatue @s-e-s-a-l-e-n-e @mxchiii @xiaoquanquans @yumekoseiko @jnnifrsbdy @skinstickets @therealcookiemonster2 @torusugar @nxutella @eremika104 @ilovemesomefineahhmen @starrysarabi @matchaveins @pjselee @xiaoszn @baddie-wise @x-aleem-x @qwertygrrrrlll @kookiieeswirl @ririkku @dina-10s-blog @volcanicnomadlocket @erenspersonalwh0re @princesspastel8 @noooo-onee @kalulakunundrum @mcunatalie @simmmxd @meikstv @jamespotteraliveversion @0-kry @luvr4gyu @jww-sjzyeirie @getosuguwife @defnotriri @aasterique @crims0nova @kentosoneandonly @awkw4rdblkg1rl @pjselee @hopeless-sewer @angelangeliki @do-youseeme @eyescoffe @angieunknown @daanydevito @skepvids @raccoonlover-11 @hi-hi-hiiii @albascardigan @dreamydaredevil @yujisdreamgirl @abielrix @michexoxo @hellokittyloverrxox @lethargicluv @mrskamikazekaito @chrimsonkitty @strwbrrie-sh0rtcak3 @iamawifey @aryasasas @z41x5 @wichu127

"sorry, kong. we'll chat another time?"

"no, you won't. go away shiu." satoru quipped, the black haired man just waves with a chuckle and moves on. he knew drunk gojo wasn't to be taken to heart, after all.

good riddance, he thought. everyone knew you were his, so why wasn't shiu getting that?

he sighed, but deep down he hated that part of himself. the obsessive part that wants to pull you away while knowing full well he's never once made any sort of claim on you. he doesn't get to play guard dog when he himself is the one who's taught everyone he's nothing more but a temporary play thing for others to use.

he knows it's pathetic, but still, he couldn't help but cling to you. it was just second nature to him at this point.

once shiu's gone, you exhale curtly. this always happened. despite your and satoru's relationship being nothing more than a tight friendship, he always got disgustingly possessive when you gave your attention to others, especially men, and especially at parties.

you sigh, then pry his other lanky arm off you with a big huff, fuck, he was heavy.

“you’re being ridiculous, satoru,” you groan, yelling over the music even though he's loud enough for the both of you, “i was only asking him how his studies were going.”

“don’t care,” satoru mumbles with his cheek pressed to your smaller shoulder. “don’t like him.”

“you don’t like anyone who talks to me.”

“mhm.”

you groan softly, this has happened so many times it’s become expected at these kinds of things. you reach for his collar and tug it, steering him away from the kitchen before he can latch back on to shiu who was now talking to maki.

“come on,” you roll your eyes. “you’re piss faced.”

he laughs boisterously, a stark change from the pout he was wearing a few seconds ago. “only a bit.”

“you’re literally swaying.”

“and? i sway when i'm sober.”

you can be bothered arguing with this meat head. instead, you turn toward the stairs and brace for impact because right on cue, his hand slides into yours and he pulls you up them.

“satoru,” you hiss, but he’s already halfway up, pulling you along behind him.

“i want to go to my room,” he says bluntly. “it's too fucking loud down there.”

he keeps a tight hold of your hand all the way up the spiral stairs with his thumb brushing your knuckles over and over, a nervous little tic he did when he got overwhelmed.

people smile and shout at the both of you as you walk pass, you think you can make out sukuna yelling his name, but he ignores all of them with a scoff like the dismissive drunk he is.

the moment you’re inside his room he shuts the door with his foot and leans back against it, still holding your hand.

this is always the part that makes your heart go all soft.

satoru looked so much gentler when he was inebriated like this. physically he’s still got that massive muscular upper body, still takes up all of your personal space and all, but he seems so fragile. like he’s set down the flashy go getter version of himself everyone else sees and picked up the one he only lets you have.

“sit,” he says dragging you toward his bed.

you smile at his slightly slurred speech and sit, he drops down beside you with his long lanky knees bumping yours. he immediately scoots closer until his leg presses against your own. his hand itch's until it's touching yours, your wrist, then your fingers, lacing them together.

he was always a little touchy when drunk.

“you okay?” you ask.

“yeah,” he says with a smile, then, “you’re really good.”

you laugh and lean back on your free hand. “that wasn’t the question, silly.”

he shrugs, flopping back onto the mattress and dragging you with him so you’re both propped up against his bashed up and faded wooden headboard. he loops his strong arm under your back and around your waist, pulling you closer to his body. okay, maybe a lot touchy.

you and satoru had a special kind of thing going on.

in freshman he spotted you from across the way at a mixer, he clocked you from the other side of the room and decided, for reasons he never really explained, that you were his person now.

he stole your cup, replaced it with a fresh one, and talked your ear off until you forgot what being nervous actually felt like, he seemed like a suave man on the outside, but this guy poured straight chronically online brainrot humour into your brain for like, two hours straight?.

by the end of the night you were sitting on the curb together, sharing fries he'd door dashed to the frat laughing like you’d known each other forever.

from then on, it was just a thing. you studied together, even though he never actually studied and mostly complained. you slept over, even though you both had comfy beds of your own.

you knew his school schedule, his little moods, the signs that meant he needed to leave a party early and unwind somewhere else. he knew when you were lying about being fine and when you needed him to just sit there and not try to fix anything.

people joked about you two all the time.

geto once asked why you didn’t just date already. satoru laughed far too loud and said that’d 'ruin absolutely everything'. you giggled too, telling yourself it was better like this, that you liked having him without the risk of romantic intimacy.

but like everything, the truth always came out.

one night where the both of you were almost blackout drunk, he took you upstairs after throwing his guts up into the toilet. you laughed at him and he flipped you off back, cleaning up then pulling you into his room like a rag doll.

he held you in the middle of the floor after you'd both toppled over, and he admitted everything to you through very crappy, slurred speech.

he told you how much he loved you, how badly he wanted you all to himself, how no one else could do it for him. you admitted the same, you told him how much you needed him in your life and how you felt more loved with him that anyone else.

you kissed, it was gross and quick but it happened. your feelings were out in the open.

for that night, at least.

morning came and the previous confession felt like small tiny fragments in both of your minds, you just couldn't remember any of it fully.

you went about your little friendship like nothing had changed. from what was left in your brains, you had a semi-clear thought on it all.

oh shit, maybe she/he likes me back?

sometimes, late at night, you’d lie next to him while he talked about nothing, sometimes you thought you caught drawls of that night in how he went quiet when you mentioned another guy, or when his hand squeezed yours that little bit tighter. but then he’d joke it away, or pull back, or remind you with a grin that you were his best friend.

so you stayed quiet, and so did he.

because being close to him like this felt better than not having him at all, loving him quietly was safer than risking losing him.

you didn’t know he was doing the exact same thing, from the other side of that line, telling himself over and over that you deserved better than him and that wanting you meant destroying his favourite thing in the world, your friendship.

now, your eyes drag over his pretty face as he stares up at the celling, letting out a long sigh that smelt like hard solo.

then he starts talking.

“god, this theme sucked actual nut sacks." he announces. “it was so bad, y/n. tell them to never do it again.”

you snort. “hm? weren't you the one hyping it up last week.”

“can you be quiet? i was lying. why are you lying to me?" he was making no sense.

“i feel like that's not... a proper answer?” you shake your head like you yourself were letting it go, he wasn't sober enough to be answering things correctly.

“rude.” he turns his head to look at you. “everyone looks stupid.”

“you’re wearing bright red board shorts and no shirt."

“yeah,” he says seriously. “so fucking stupid.”

you glance at the discarded lifeguard whistle on his desk, the red plastic stark against the silky oak. “you look fine, toru.”

“nah.” he shakes his head, hair flopping into his eyes. “everyone’s dressed like baywatch rejects. i hate it.”

“you hate fun.”

“i love fun.” he squeezes your waist as to prove his point. “this just isn’t fun fun.”

“yeah? what’s fun fun then?”

his face turns and he's suddenly looking happier. gosh, these drunken mood swings.. “like... a onesie party.”

you laugh and sit a bit closer. “of course.”

“like animals,” he adds, gaining conversational momentum. “or dinosaurs. geto would be a gorilla. choso would be like, a wolf or some shit.”

“yeah? what would you be?”

he breathes out an answer before you can even finish your sentence. “a bunny.”

“oh wow, no you would not.”

“i absolutely would. i'd buy ears and everything.” he whines with a forlorn expression, oh we're sad now? perfect.

you picture it and bite your lip to keep from smiling too hard, but he notices.

“see,” he says, now smug (you seriously couldn't keep up). “way better than 'surfer sluts'.”

you look at his shorts, then back at him. “at least the name was semi-creative?”

“tch, only thing creative 'bout it.”

he rambles on, complaining about the trashy pitbull music, about how someone spilled a drink on his nice new grey decarbra's, about how the freshmen are hella annoying this year. his hands wonder as he talks, sometimes he's squeezing your fingers, sometimes drifting to your hip, sometimes tracing the line of your knee cap? he's doing it absentmindedly so you guess it was fine.

you two chat about how shitty the party was for a good half hour, circling back to old gossip and relationship dramas, laughing and spit balling for ages. you'd never tell him but you loved these moments, where he'd laugh and talk to you like you'd known him since he was born, rather than just a few years ago.

he always looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the universe, whether you'd be out on long drives in his fancy car, or over at your dorm making really crappy cupcakes, he'd always gaze at you so lovingly. the bond between two best friends, am i right? you pushed away the thought of his lips on yours.

he sobers up a tad so the conversation is semi coherent on his end.

eventually, he circles the topic back you like he always does.

“so, you talk to shiu a lot,” he says quickly, darting his eyes back and forth from your face to gage your reaction.

“you know i talk to everyone,” you reply.

“yeah, but like.. you talk to him a lot.”

you smile at his badly hidden jealousy, “he’s in my stats class, satoru. nothing more.”

“still.”

you roll your eyes. “i asked how his studies were going. that’s it.”

he hums but it sounds very unconvinced.

“you get so weird about this,” you add. “it’s not that serious, i promise.”

he shifts closer again and his forehead drops to your shoulder. “i just don’t like when guys look at you.”

“they’re going to look at me.”

“i know.” his voice drops. “i hate it.”

you bump his knee with yours. “that’s a you problem, toru.”

“rude,” he repeats, but there’s no real malice in it.

you blurt out quickly, regretting it as soon as it pours out, "you're the only guy i'm this into, satoru, don't worry." fuck why did i say that?!

gojo's heartbeat is now thumping. she means that... in a friend way, right? of course. of course she did. no biggie...

he bites his lip as his hand goes all shake dragging up and down your arms.

you sit in silence for a bit as he and you both process, listening to the muffled frank ocean seeping through the floor boards. his thumb keeps tracing your knuckles, slower than before like he’s losing steam, getting sleepy.

to satoru, his room feels so much safer because no one’s looking at him like they want to eat him alive. not in here, with you. there's no one staring, waiting for him to be alone so they can make a move. sure, he's into it, but sometimes he jsut wants this, with you.

this is the version of him that he loves, sitting. talking. hands brushing without it being a big deal.

he wonders, not for the first time, why this version never feels like it’s allowed to want things. to want things like you.

the silence is comforting, but you make the mistake of opening your mouth. you promise you were only trying to lighten the mood, and/or distract from your almost confession earlier.

“c'mon,” you say lightly, not really thinking, “you should be thriving tonight, not sulking up here in your room. i mean, this theme was basically made for you.”

he lifts his head. “uh? what’s that supposed to mean?”

you shrug. “you know, surfer sluts. pretty fitting, no?"

you don't realise, but he goes stiff at your throw away comment, his fingers pause their ministrations on yours, his grip loosening until your fingers slide apart. he sits up straighter, and his body naturally moves away. his blue gaze dropping to the floor.

he’s heard it all before. much worse than this. louder than this. laughed off in locker rooms and kitchens and group chats.

'he's a slut.'

'a manwhore.'

'gojo’s just being gojo.'

he knows deep down he's built it, with every hook up being another brick. it was easier than being the guy who wanted one girl and didn’t know how to ask without ruining everything.

but fuck, he doesn’t want you to see him like that. that’s the fucked part. he doesn’t mind anyone else thinking it. just not you.

“oh,” he says.

you tilt your head, smiling. “oh, what?”

“nothing.”

you watch as his face turns into a distant blunt pull, you can't tell if he's still going through his drunken emotional switch ups or what.

“hey,” you say. “hey, i was joking.”

“yeah,” he mutters. “i know.”

he doesn’t look at you. oh shit.

without him pressed against you, the room suddenly inflates ten fold, when did it get so cold? the space between your bodies is small but very prominent, like a missing piece to a puzzle you'd spent hours putting together.

“toru?” you try again.

he scratches at his neck, a nervous habit you’ve seen a hundred times but never really questioned. “it’s fine.”

it’s clearly not, but you don’t push. you’ve learned when to stop.

he swings his legs off the bed and leans forward, elbows on his knees. the chatter downstairs seeps up, laughter and shouting coming through the walls. he stares at nothing, his mouth moving like he’s chewing on words he doesn’t want to swallow.

“everyone thinks that,” he says eventually, “so you’re not wrong.”

you frown, then fling your own legs off of the couch and hug into his side. “hm? thinks what?”

“that i’m just… that.”

oh.. you wince to yourself and drag a hand up and down his arm for comfort, “hey.. i didn’t mean it like that.”

“i know.” he huffs a laugh lacking all the humour it usually had. “doesn’t really matter how you meant it.”

he looks down at you, “it’s true.”

you don't know how to answer, because you know it's true, too. you didn't mean to be rash, but he was a slut. this guy averaged two girls a week and bragged to almost everyone about it, why was he getting angsty now? his constant rotation was the main reason you hadn't brought up your feeling for him since that night. who sleeps with that many chicks if they really did like someone for real?

he keeps going, words pouring now that the dam’s cracked.

“i mean, look at me,” he says, gesturing at himself. “everyone here’s fucked me or wants to. it’s kind of my thing now, not that i totally mind, it's just.. not all i am.”

“i don't think that's all you are, okay? you're my bestfriend, satoru. i know you better than that.” you're trying so hard to save this sinking ship.

'bestfriend..' he echoed in his mind, a solemn smile playing at his mouth, he wanted to be so, so much more than that.

"yeah, i know you don't think that.” he shrugs, smiling softer. “you're the only opinion i really care about, anyways.”

you tap his wrist for his hand again and he lets you intertwine your fingers. his heart blips, you don't normally initiate this type of intimacy, it was always him grabbing for your hand.

"of course satoru, don't worry,” you say.

he wants to say something else but whatever it was stays lodged behind his smile, any sadness he had was long gone, he was now hyper fixated on your hand.

"i know you wanna tell me something else."

“yeah but.. forget it,” he says almost too happily.

you squeeze his hand. “c'monn, tell me.”

he shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes again. “it’s stupid.”

“you’re stupid,” you say gently.

stupidly in love with you..

~

satoru stretches and lets out a deep, throaty groan. he somehow didn't have a hangover this morning, that was surprising.

he yawns and rolls over to bury his face into the pillow, his head feels packed with cotton and gravel, but it's not necessarily throbbing.

he's halfway through another groanish yawn when he realises the blankets that are pulled over his chest, when did they get there?

he stares at the ceiling, frowning. his comforter is pulled up to his chest with the corners tucked around his shoulders in a fashion he never ever does himself because he’s lazy and tall and always hangs off the bed. someone even kicked his shoes into place on his shoe rack.

you, of course it was you.

your face floats right to the front of his mind clear as day. your pretty little laugh, your hand in his, the precious way you were looking at him when he knocked out, you looked so beautiful.

he had morning wood and the thought of you was only making it pulsate harder. you were so kind to him, you'd always been there as an anchor, no matter what. he'd crash at your place when he felt like it, he'd squeeze into bed with you and hold you against his body.

shit, your body.. he presses his boner into the bed and groans, draging a heavy hand down his face.

“fuck.”

he's loved you for years, every girl he's ever fucked was a distraction. a distraction from the fact he never felt good enough to have you, all of you, all to himself. he hated it.

he catalogs the evidence like it’s a horrible case against him and his promiscuous ways. the kind words you'd always spewed, the way you can leave him without it feeling like you're really gone..

he racks his brain for every girl who’s woken up here and slipped out before he got to learn their last names. how none of them ever did this. how none of them stayed this gentle with him.

he tells himself thats gotta mean something.

then, he reminds himself that wanting something doesn’t mean he deserves it..

as he's having a deep, 'i love my bestfriend but i'm too much of a whore to deserve her, what the fuck do i do?' crisis for the fiftieth time this month, the door slams open.

“rise and shine, whore,” sukuna bellows, stepping into the room blowing a fat cloud of sweet vapor straight into the air. “get the fuck up. house looks like a dump.”

satoru squints at him. “i hate you.”

“yeah, yeah.” sukuna hits the vape again. “come clean. you threw up in the downstairs sink.”

“that wasn’t me.”

“it was absolutely you.”

satoru rolls onto his side and curls in on himself dramatically. “fuck off.”

sukuna snorts. “get up and mop you insufferable asshole.”

he waits until the door slams shut again before forcing himself to sit up. he scratches at his neck, then glances down at himself, he's still shirtless and in these ridiculous shorts. he grabs his geek bar off the side table and takes a hit, then throws it aside and sniffs.

he grabs a pair of grey sweats off the floor along with boxers from his draw, he strips, poses nakedly in the mirror for a good ten seconds, and pulls them on, not bothering with a shirt. he comes down the stairs barefoot, every step reminding him of how much of a lightweight he is. he makes it to the bottom and, holy fuck, the house was a mess.

empty cups are everywhere, bottles spilt into the carpet, peoples sweaty clothes strewn all over the place, what a palace.

choso is sweeping loads of trash into a big rubbish bag on the floor, nanami is wiping down the counters with a pissed off look, sukuna and toji are flipping the couch back over.

geto spots him before everyone else, "there he is,” he smiles, clapping a hand on satoru’s shoulder. “you okay?”

“no.”

geto grins. “heard you were real fucked up last night.”

satoru sighs. “don’t.”

he grabs a rubbish bag and starts scooping cups off the floor, his mind keep floating back to you, over and over again. he can still feel your hand in his, he can still see the way you'd hugged into his side when he got all quiet.

that’s the last thing he remembers before everything goes black is you.

he clears his throat. “hey.”

no one looks up.

“hey,” he tries again, louder. “did anyone see y/n leave last night?”

ino looks up like hes been waiting for a question like that, “why,” he asks. “you forget where you put her?”

satoru shoots him a look. “shut up.”

“i think she left kinda early,” nanami says without looking up. “before two.”

satoru’s chest loosens just a bit. “yeah?”

“yeah,” nanami continues. “she walked out with-"

toji stood up from kneeling besides the couch,

“shiu,” he says casually, cracking open a beer he had in hand. “she went home with shiu.”

the room goes quiet for exactly a second.

satoru stops and the trash bag slips from his fingers.

“what,” he says.

toji shrugs. “saw them out front walking to his car. sure looked cozy.”

he feels his heart beat thump, his head starts to throb and his eyes feel like they want to water and spill.

“that’s not-" he laughs weakly. “that’s not funny.”

toji takes a sip. “wasn’t joking.”

geto raises an eyebrow, watching satoru a little too closely. “you sure, man?”

toji nods. “yep.”

it feels like someone socked him in his mouth, his ears ring, the house feels claustrophobic, suddenly everything's very wrong.

you wouldn’t.

would you?..

he thinks about the way you held his hand, the way you tucked him in, all 6"4 of him, the way you told him he was 'the only guys you were this into.'. maybe that never happened ? maybe it indeed was just a figure of his imagination.. fuck, maybe his whorish lifestyle had finally scared you off..

he breathes in deep. if you did sleep with him, satoru doesn’t get to be hurt. he’s the guy who taught you this was normal, that this was so right and casual.

if you chose someone else, all that means is you learned the rules from watching him doing it over and over and over again.

his chest tightens and he laughs again. “ha. wow. okay.”

ino bursts out laughing. “are you deadass?”

sukuna snorts. “c'mon bro, you hook up with mad girls. don't be pressed when she does the same.”

geto covers his mouth, he wants to laugh but he knows he shouldn't. “that’s rough, but sukuna's right, satoru.”

gojo wipes a hand down his face quickly, blaming the hangover. “yeah. hilarious.”

“guess surfer sluts really was her thing,” toji adds, smirking.

that one lands.

satoru bends down and picks up the rubbish bag again with his eyes fixed to the floor, “i’m gonna go take the trash out.”

"okay, bro."

~

now, in your defence, while you did go home with shiu, you didn't sleep with him.

you couldn't, not when you were this deep under the satoru spell.

"thanks for letting me crash here, i didn't want to disturb gojo's sleep. oh, and yuki brought higuruma over last night. didn't wanna be up until 4 listening to them fuck."

you're half dressed under the covers, wiping your eyes as he come in with a cup of coffee.

"i got you, don't worry." he smiles from the door of his room, he let you take his luxurious bed while he slept on the equally as nice couch. shiu was surprisingly rich for a collage kid, maybe all that 'sketchy shit' as satoru liked to put it, was really selling.

he brings the cup down onto the table besides your bed and flicks your nose, "just remember your promise, gotta do that last section of the assignment for me, payment for my generosity."

"mm, wouldn't dream of leaving you without proper compensation." you laugh, taking the cup and sipping gently.

he looks from one of your eyes to the other like he's appreciating your presence, then quickly looks away and spins around.

"gotta make a few runs this morning, leave whenever you feel like it, yeah?" he throws over his shoulder.

you give him a thumbs up and he nods, waving while walking out.

the morning scuffles along, you eventually pull yourself out of his beautiful bed and get dressed into whatever clothing you could find that'd fit you in his draws. there were a few women's camis aswell as sweat pants in here, oh no, did he have a girlfriend?

as if being summoned by the universe, who else but shoko walks into the house, with her own key, no less.

she locks eyes with you for a second then smiles and waves like she couldn't care less.

"sh-shoko? what the fuck?"

"hey, y/n. is shiu still here?" she was so calm you just had to pry.

"why? are you two a thing? god, i promise this isn't what it looks like, i was just at a party and he offered to-"

"hush, i don't give a shit if you fucked him, girl. he's not my man."

phew... wait- not phew! you guys didn't even do anything!

you explain to her what went down, and she, in turn, told you why she was there. turns out she and shiu were hooking up on the dl, but she only felt for him physically, so you weren't a bother to her. "yeah, we fuck and he gives me drugs, pretty sweet deal. would recommend."

"yeah, i'm so good, thanks."

after that semi-akward interaction you gathered your stuff and got the hell out of there.

shiu's place was just off campus so the walk back to your own apartment wasn't far. like you did every morning after a party, you tried to give satoru a call. only, after the third ring, the line went dead.

satoru was finishing up the last little chores around the frat when he got your call, he stared at his phone as it rung on the kitchen bench, your name in cute heart emojis flashing on the screen.

he declined.

the last thing he wanted right now was to talk to you after shiu had been apparently digging in you. no way.

"yeesh, that's harsh, man." choso commented from his spot sitting at the breakfast bar.

"it's nothing, just busy right now." satoru tries his best to sound nonchalant but it's obvious he's still very much annoyed.

"oh yeah? you stop training when she calls you, man. you're never 'too busy.'" choso makes air quotes around that last part.

satoru sighs and chucks the last of the solo cups in the recycling bin, then takes off back up the stairs.

he shuts his door far harder than he needs to and falls onto his bed.

shiu.

the name keeps coming back, no matter how hard he tries to shove it away.

he tells himself he has no right to feel like this, none. he fucks around constantly, hell, it’s practically his brand. he’s built this whole thing around being easy, wanted and available. so why does the idea of you choosing someone else make his chest feel so disgusting?

you’re your own person. you always have been. he’s never tried to cage you, never tried to tell you what to do or who to see. that’s not him and he prides himself on that.

still.

you’re supposed to be his person.

not like that, he tells himself. not in a gross way he gets to possess but in the way you always end up together. the way you fall asleep next to him without it meaning anything and somehow meaning everything at the same time.

he massages the bridge of his nose with both hands.

get over it.

get over it.

get over it.

god, he just can't. instead, he unlocks his phone and stares at your pretty contact photo, the stupid nickname. his thumb taps call before he can talk himself out of it.

it barely rings twice before you're answering all giddy.

“toru!” your voice is so bright. “oh my god, i was just about to try you again. are you hung over?”

he feels pain coil up in his tummy.

“no,” he says flatly.

on your end, you're taken back by his bluntness “oh! uh, okay.”

he winces internally at your dejected response but doesn’t soften the blow. if he does, he’ll crack, and he can’t afford that right now.

“what’s up?” you ask, still trying.

“nothing,” he replies. “just busy.”

your heart clips like it'd been hooked onto a fishing hook.

“…hey, uh, are you.. are you mad at me?”

he scoffs sharply. “why would i be mad at you.”

your voice dips. “i don’t know. you’re being kinda blunt, i guess.”

he laughs curtly. “i’m allowed to be blunt.”

“not like this,” you say quietly. “you’re never like this with me.”

that hits him in his throat. he pretends to ignore it when in reality it throws his heart for a loop, "what do you want,” he asks, it's so clipped.

you go silent for a second, clearly recalibrating. “i was wondering if you wanted to hang out later? maybe get food or something. i can come over.”

normally he’d say yes without thinking. normally he’d already be planning how fast he could ditch whatever else he had lined up.

today, though, his jealousy makes the decision for him.

“can’t,” he says. “i’ve got a girl coming over.”

the line goes very quiet.

“…oh,” you say.

gosh, he can picture your face. the sweet little drop in your eyes you try to hide. the way you probably nodded even though he can’t see you.

there’s a mean, awful part of him that hopes it stings. not because he wants to hurt you, but because he wants proof that he matters the way you matter to him.

the rest of him despises that part. hates that when things feel out of control he reaches for the only thing that’s ever numbed really it.

he doesn’t want the girl coming over. he wants you. he always does. but wanting you feels so dangerously hard in a way fucking his feelings out never does.

“right,” you add. “that's okay.”

he should stop. he should backtrack and admit to what he really wants, he wants to talk to you about shiu, why you did it when you know he hated him, why you'd sleep with that fucker of all people, get some sort of closure. instead, he keeps going, so cruel and careless.

“yeah,” he says. “don’t really feel like cancelling either. kinda want good company.”

that’s a lie. he feels like shit. but he wants it to sting, shit, he hates that he wants that.

you swallow audibly. “okay. well. have fun then.”

“always do,” he replies, too fast.

the silence is horribly awkward.

“…i know you said you're fine, but really, toru, are you good?” you ask, one last attempt.

he exhales through his nose. “yeah. don’t bother coming over tonight, okay?”

there it is. the line he knows will hit you deep.

your voice wobbles a little, “i wasn’t.”

“good,” he says. “talk later.”

and before you can respond, he hangs up.

the second the call ends, regret slams into him full force.

“fuck,” he grumbles, slamming the phone onto the bed.

he presses his palms into his eyes and groans. what the hell was that? why did he do that?

you didn’t deserve that. he’s supposed to be your best friend, not... not whatever that was.

he tells himself he’s doing you some sort of fucked up a favor. that pushing you away now is kinder than letting you see how messy he actually is when he cares.

it sounds noble until he admits the truth. he ran because staying would’ve meant being honest with you.

he sits there for ages, replaying your tone over and over until it makes him feel nauseous.

he hates this. hates how jealous he feels. hates that he can’t say anything about it without blowing everything up. hates that he took it out on you because he doesn’t know how to handle it like a normal person.

his phone vibrates, instead of checking the notification he unlocks it, opens a different app, scrolls, and sends a message he knows he’ll definitely regret later.

gojo: come over

her reply is quicker than he'd thought it be.

xxx xxx xxx: omw ;)

he drops the phone and leans back, staring at the ceiling. this is what he does. when things get too much, he drowns them out. replaces one feeling with another until it’s all numb enough to ignore.

a knock sounds at his door twenty minutes later.

he doesn’t give himself time to think it over, he opens it, steps aside, and lets the girl in. she smiles at him, then she reaches for his arm like it's her god given right.

the door clicks shut behind them.

and even as he kisses her, his mind betrays him, flashing back to your voice on the phone, so sweet, so soft and hurt.

he squeezes his eyes shut and pushes it away.

anything to not feel like this.

~

now, the party a few days later is so much worse.

the theme is white out so the crowd looks like a sea of seagulls packed into this seats living room.

you're clad in a pretty little white dress with big white heels and matching accessories, pretty basic yet still jaw dropping.

you're walking past the tv when satoru comes into view, today, not only was his hair white, but his entire outfit was too.

he’s across the room near the kitchen island, leaning back against the counter with a drink in his hand and two girls pressed in real close. one of them is laughing like a hyena at something charming he said, her fingers hooked into the waistband of his jeans like she’s testing how far she can go. the other is touching his arm, tracing up his strong bicep.

he's too busy with them, he doesn't even spare you a fleeting glance.

you try not to look, you really, really do. but it’s just so difficult when that used to be your spot. when that used to be you next to him, stealing sips of his drink, talking shit about everyone else at the party like you were above it all together.

you frown, the conversations you and satoru had lately have been few and far between. he's dry as hell, and suddenly busy every time you ask to hang out.

you keep telling yourself it’s fine, it's all good. people grow apart all the time, it's collage! maybe he’s bored of being your friend. maybe you leaned too hard on a friendship that wasn’t meant to last.. and while you tell yourself it's fine, your chest twists and ticks and throbs with pain.

you step toward a couch where choso, shoko and geto are lounging around, all three of them clock your mood the second you flop beside them.

“hey, you good?” geto asks, passing you a drink.

you shake your head. “i’m okay.”

choso gives you a look. he's not gonna push but he'd like to. “you wanna sit here with us?”

“yeah,” you say quietly. “that’d be nice.”

you sit between them with your legs tucked up, watching the party happen around you like it’s something you’re not really part of anymore. your eyes keep flocking back to satoru like some sort of pathetic magnet.

you loved satoru's company. he was your favourite person on earth, you'd spend every second with him if you could, now he was pushing you away? you'd of at least liked a conversation about it. maybe a warning.

hes getting loud talking like he's the only person worth listening to in the entire room, patting girls on the ass and leaning in close to their necks to hear them properly.

every time he laughs or slings his arm around their shoulders, you feel your heart crack.

you miss him. god, you miss him so bad. not whatever this was.

choso nudges your knee gently. “c'mon, you don’t have to stay if it’s not fun.”

you shake your head again. “i don’t wanna be alone.”

he nods like he understands that more than you realise.

time drags on and an hour passes. then another. you try talking to other people, but it feels so wrong. your attention keeps snapping back to satoru.

he’s still backed against the kitchen island with a drink he hasn’t touched like, forty minutes, he's pretending bf to laugh at those girls terrible jokes, letting them sleaze all over him.

normally he’d lean into the gag. he'd flirt back and say something stupidly charming and let the night dissolve into a forgettable hook up.

but tonight it just feels so weird.

the girl on his left moves in with her mouth near his ear, saying something he pretends not to clock. her breath fans over his skin and his stomach churns, not with excitement but with this dull guilt that keeps scratching his lungs raw.

he looks at their faces and feels a light sense of absence.

he thinks about how easy it would be to disappear upstairs with one of them. how everyone would nod like yeah, that tracks. just gojo being gojo, and the thought makes him want to rip out of his own skin.

he didn’t want this shit tonight. he didn’t want these grabby hands all over him. he’s so tired of being wanted in the most bare minimum way.

he wanted you here.

eventually, after you'd stared holes through the back of satorus head, choso leans down to your ear. “you wanna go upstairs for a bit? i’m gonna smoke.”

you stumble over your words. “oh, i uh, i don’t smoke.”

“i know,” he says quickly. “you don’t have to. just… sit with me. i don’t really wanna be alone either.”

good, you really needed an escape right now.

“okay,” you say. “yeah. i’ll go with you.”

you stand together, weaving through the crowd toward the stairs. you can tell people are staring but you don’t look over your shoulder.

choso leads the way up, your shoulders brushing as he pulls out a pre roll with a smile.

across the room, satoru is midway through a sentence when he spots you. he wants to smile, its his reflex when he catches sight of you, but then he remembers he doesn’t get to do that right now, and the happy pull of his lips dies before it ever reaches his face.

you’re walking up the stairs with choso, close enough that your arms are touching. you’re leaning in to hear what he’s saying, head close to his mouth in a way satoru hasn’t had in days.

his put on smirk falls immediately.

“hey,” one of the girls says, pulling on his arm. “you listening?”

he pulls his wrist free without looking at her. “yeah. go get a drink or something.”

she frowns. “what?”

“look, just go,” he snaps.

both girls scatter away, muttering throw away curses but he really doesn’t care. he’s stalking over to where geto and shoko are now sitting with bottles to their lips.

“great,” he says bitterly, sitting down hard onto the couch. “first she’s fucking shiu and now my best friend? perfect.”

geto thinks for a second. “...what?”

shoko squints at him. “what are you talking about?"

satoru laughs bitterly, “don’t play dumb. i just saw them.”

geto follows his eyes to the stairs and sees you and choso disappearing around the corner. he sighs. “they’re going up to smoke.”

satoru scoffs. “yeah. sure, she doesn't smoke.”

“no,” shoko cuts in, annoyed. “actually sure. choso asked if she’d sit with him.”

satoru’s face drops into a deeper scowl, “since when does she hang out with him like that."

“since always?” geto replies. “they’re friends you just hog her, normally.”

satoru shakes his head. “this is bullshit.”

shoko sets her drink down with a dissatisfied groan. “you don’t get to act like this.”

he snaps his head toward her. “like what.”

“like you own her,” she says flatly. “you don’t.”

geto nods. “man, you’ve been pushing her away all week.”

“because she doesn’t want me,” satoru fires back. “she made that pretty clear.”

shoko raises an eyebrow. “did she now.”

“she went home with shiu.”

shoko’s face twists. “oh my god.”

geto leans forward. “that’s what this is about? you're ditching your best friend because she wanted to get her pussy ate?”

“what- no-,” satoru says. “you make it sound like-" he stop himself from spewing words he doesn't really mean. "it's just the fact she knows i hate that guy. that and everything else..."

shoko exhales sharply. “she didn’t fuck him.”

satoru freezes. “what.”

“she didn’t sleep with him,” shoko repeats. “she stayed the night because she didn’t wanna wake you up at the last function.”

the wave of relief that flows through him is euphoric, but it's followed closely by guilt. because despite everything you still chose him in the quiet ways. and he’d repaid that by pushing you as far away as possible.

geto turns to shoko. “oh, are you serious?"

“dead serious,” she says. “i walked in that morning. she was fully dressed and half asleep. they didn’t do shit.”

satoru feels like the floor drops out from under him and his heart is smudged into the wood.

“she told me herself,” shoko adds. “she was worried about you that morning, too. wanted to go over straight away and see if you were hung over.”

he's taken back by the revelation, satoru feels like he can't breathe.

geto runs a hand through his hair. “man…”

“also,” shoko continues, clearly not done, “she’s been really upset. you know that, right?”

satoru stares at the stairs. your face flashes in his mind. the way your voice sounded on the phone. so hurt.

“i'm gonna be honest, you’ve been acting like an asshole,” geto says gently. “and she’s been taking it like a champ. i'd of socked you in the jaw by now."

the music seems to disappear into the depths of his mind as he reels.

you didn’t fuck shiu.

you weren't up there sleeping with choso.

god, he thinks about the way he spoke to you. the way he brushed you off so calloused, the way he said he had a girl coming over and didn't brush her off for you, like he'd always done.

his stomach drops.

“oh fuck,” he whispers.

shoko watches him closely. “you're a real asshole, you know.”

he swallows. “fuck, i know.”

geto snorts.

satoru rubs a hand down his face, standing abruptly. “i need air.”

he takes off, on his way past he stops at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at them.

for the first time in days, he doesn’t feel angry.

he feels scared, typical gojo reading too deep into things and reacting rashly. he really needed to work on that.

~

"i don't know cho... this is the first time something like this has happened. i feel like he hates me or something... i just don't know what i did."

choso, bless his heart, had been listening to you pour your heart out about gojo for the past half an hour, blowing smoke out his open window. that last part caused his zooted brain to form a coherent thought.

"it's probably because you fucked shiu." he announces in uneven tones, he was more than a little gone.

you stare at choso like he’s just spoken another language.

“uhm?” you quiz.

his head falls to look at you from his spot by the window, he’s so relaxed he looks like gravity might forget about him any second now.

“yeah,” he nods, very sure of himself. “that’s gotta be it. gojo’s dramatic like that.”

your stomach drops, not in guilt, but in pure disbelief.

“i didn’t fuck shiu,” you say with a bitter taste in your mouth.

choso's neck rolls and he rubs his face, “…huh?”

“i didn’t sleep with him,” you repeat, “nothing happened. i crashed at his because i didn’t wanna wake satoru up and yuki had a guy over our place."

he processes this slowly with his face scrunching, the thought is buffering.

“okay,” he says after awhile, “but you went home with him.”

“yes,” you snap. “but that’s not the same thing.”

he hums, then shrugs. “dunno, sounds the same.”

you were gonna punch this loser.

“oh my god,” you mutter. “i have to go.”

“go where?” choso asks genuinely curious.

“i have to tell satoru,” you say grabbing your phone. “not because i did anything wrong, because i didn’t. but because he thinks i slept with someone he hates.”

choso sighs again. “you know you’re allowed to sleep with people.”

“i know that,” you say quickly. “this isn’t about that. it’s about him thinking i did it behind his back with someone he clearly can’t stand.”

choso nods like this makes sense to him, even though it absolutely does not. “okay.”

you pause at the door. “can you not tell anyone else?”

he raises two fingers in a salute. “your secret is safe with me.”

you don’t trust that for a second, but you’re already shutting his door.

you bolt down the stairs two at a time looking over the crowd. the stupid partys still bumping. you look for his pretty white hair, for his broad shoulders, but with everyone wearing the same color it became impossible.

you groan and head for the couch you left shoko and geto at.

“where’s satoru,” you breathe.

“uh. outside, i think.” geto responds surprised.

“yeah,” shoko adds. “went out front. needed air, apparently.”

you nod and make your way to the front door, the coolness of the night sweeps over your face and you notice a very tall man almost instantly.

he’s leaning against the lamp post across the street with his phone in one hand and his vape in the other.

he only vapes when he’s stressed.

stepping closer, you clock just how small this moment feels and how big it could blow up and become if you say the wrong thing.

“toru,” you say softly.

he looks up.

the second his eyes land on you, he feels his heart pulse.

“can we.. can we talk?” you ask.

he doesn’t answer, he gives you the most longing stare you'd ever seen. then, he steps forward and pulls you into his arms.

hard.

his biceps wrap around you so tight, his scrunched up face presses into your hair, his grip is stable and you want to cry at how passionate this feels.

he breathes out a shaky, “i’m sorry.”

you wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze him back.

“i’m so sorry,” he repeats. “i was a dick. i shouldn’t have been so rude. i should’ve talked to you, communication and all that shit.”

you move back to look up at him. “hey. hey, it’s okay.”

he shakes his head. “no, it’s not. i acted like a stuck up cunt. i thought you slept with shiu and i just… i lost my mind.”

you sigh. “i didn’t. i swear. nothing happened. i should of told you that.”

he nods quickly. “i know. shoko told me. i just… god. i’m sorry i made you feel so shit.”

you reach up and rub your thumb under his eye. a sweet gesture you’ve done a hundred times before. “i’m sorry you got that impression.”

he leans into your touch for half a second before catching himself. “i had no right to be mad even if you had slept with someone. i know that.”

you nod. “yeah. you didn’t. but i get it's because you thought i did it behind you back, especially with someone you really hate."

a beautiful, silent moment exists between you two before you step back, forcing a small smile. “are we all good?”

he lets out a weak laugh. “yeah, you're so good.”

“that wasn't the question, silly.” you add, gently.

after that, you'd both agreed to ditch this lame party and stay at yours for the night. yuki was at higuruma's, so the place was all yours.

at your apartment, you both shower separately then change into comfy sleep clothes. his essentials hoodie ends up on you without either of you talking about it. when you come back into your room, he’s flopped onto your bed with his big arms spread, staring at the ceiling.

“c’mere,” he says, patting the space beside him.

you smile and crawl in next to him, turning onto your side so your head rests against his chest. he adjusts automatically, one arm coming around you, fingers threading through your hair in slow, relaxing strokes.

it feels like safe, blissful warmth. like coming home.

you lie there in silence for a while, listening to his breathing even out.

then he speaks again.

“hey, uhm.. sorry for blowing you off for a chick, the other day, by the way.”

you lift your head. “huh?”

he grimaces. “i lowkey didn’t even have plans. i invited her over after i hung up. just wanted a distraction.”

your chest does a confusing little blip.

“would’ve liked to see you instead,” he adds quietly.

your heart aches and swells at the same time. you press your face back into his chest, “it’s fine.” laughs at your adorably muffled voice, then sighs. “i shouldn’t have done that.”

you shrug. “you’re allowed to see people.”

he hums. “yeah.”

you hesitate, then say it anyway. “i don’t care about the girls you hook up with. doesn't really effect our friendship, right?”

the words feel so distasteful and strange, but you push through.

he smiles a forlorn smile. "right.”

he pulls you a little closer, brushing his lips against your temple in an almost kiss. he threads a piece of your hair through his fingers like a coiled ribbon, feeling the individual stand's texture against the pads of his fingers. this was his therapy, the soothing lull of you, with him.

he can feel your soft breathing slow down as you knock out, the way you always do when you know you can trust him to stay with you.

and god, that trust truly destroys the last bit of careless arrogance he carried in him.

because just hours ago he was so sure you’d replaced him. that you’d looked at someone else and chosen them.

but you no, didn’t.

you never did that.

every girl he’s ever dragged into his bed flashes through his mind in quick, ugly snapshots like those old black and white movies.

they've got faces he can't remember, voices that sounds distorted and wrong, and their bodies look like every other persons. it's surreal.

he tells himself, not for the first time, that he never meant for it to get this bad. it all started as some quick fun. then it became a boarder line addiction, one he desperately wanted to break.. he feels sick at how it turned into something people expected from him, something he leaned into because it meant no one would ever ask him for more.

no one except you.

you wriggle around adorably in your sleep, your knee hitting his thigh, and it smacks him all over again how easy it would be to lose this bliss. how close he came. how close he kinda still is.

he’s been hiding behind it for so long. the flirting. the girls. the persona. acting like he doesn’t care.

but lying here with you? knowing you didn’t do anything wrong, knowing he almost burned the best thing in his life because he couldn’t get over his own shit, something in him finally snaps into place.

he doesn’t want to be that guy anymore.

he wants to be someone you can choose without any hesitation. someone who doesn’t make you doubt where you stand. someone who doesn’t reach for distractions the second things feel too hard for him to handle alone.

i’m gonna fix this, he thinks.

he’s not stupid enough to think it’ll be easy. habits don’t disappear overnight. insecurity doesn’t vanish just because he wants it to. but he can stop hiding behind other people. he can stop pretending he’s fine with the left over crumbs when what he wants is everything.

he wants to earn you.

not with big gestures or revolting drunk confessions he can’t really back up, but by showing up differently to what hes been doing. by choosing you the way you’ve always chosen him.

he was gonna stop. he couldn't be labeled a good for nothing playboy anymore,

~

"so bro, did you figure shit out with your girl?"

"what, you mean y/n? yeah, man. that's all sorted."

gojo was back at the frat the next day after a very messy, long night of staring at your sleeping face, (and fighting to overwhelming urge to kiss your pretty nose.) he was chatting it up with toji who had heard about the drama through shoko.

"just curious, are you two like.. a friend with bennies kinda situation? or what." he asks, shaking his banana protein powder violently in it's can to break apart the clumps.

satoru starts drumming his fingers against the kitchen bench, trying to sound nonchalant. "nah, man. she's just my friend. i've got other girls for that shit." he winces at that douchey response... hm, if he wanted to stop the slut allegations he needed to work on how he talked to guys like toji.

"yeah, and she's just fine with that?"

"i dunno, bro."

toji shakes his head and chuckles, then geto interrupts from the couch.

"ever think of like, oh, i don't know. telling her you're into her?"

gojo lets out a fake groan like he's sick of the question, not like he's obsessed over that very idea for around a year now. "can you two lay off? i'll tell her eventually."

"yeah right. you're gonna waste away your life fucking hoe's you don't even like, and she's gonna get a guy hitched. like shiu." sukuna chimes in from the stairs. fuck, was everyone coming down to clock his shit?

"fuck off with the shiu shit, they didn't do anything."

"yet."

he was seriously about to throw hands.

the chaos is interrupted when nanami walks through the large front door holding a piece of paper.

"i just got the theme for the next function." he says, holding it in the air. "it's that stupid white lies thing we did last year in june, remember that?"

oh, they remembered. everyone in white or coloured shirts with sharpie on the front spelling out a little white lie about each person. so much drama came from that, it was insane.

satoru faintly remembers sukuna's shirt saying, 'i'm not cheating on my girl.' and getting his wallet set on fire not long after said girl got to the party.

"sweet, that's easy to set up." toji commented. all satoru was thinking was how you were the first person he had to invite, his hand itching for his phone.

he smiles at your response and pockets his phone, his mind reeling with what he was gonna write on his shirt, as he taps a finger to his chin, the most big brain, amazing thought pops into his head.

god, i'm so suave.

his promise to himself was about to become really real after this party, he just hoped it didn't all go downhill..

you on the other hand, you were contemplating whether or not what you had planned for your shirt was too much. the instant you'd read his text about the theme, the idea immediately popped into your head.

being brave enough to actually go through with it? that was another story..

~

11pm saturday, the frat.

okay, you're really nervous now. you stand outside for way longer than necessary, your jumper covers the secret writing on your shirt, you can't embarrass yourself, yet.

you take a deep breath and walk into the familiar house you'd crashed at so many times.

it's still early, so only the people actually in the frat are there so far. you walk through slowly and the first one you clock is sukuna.

he’s got a beer in one hand (already? smh.), his white shirt is stretched across his muscly chest with thick black letters that read, i hate milfs.

you snort before you can stop yourself.

toji’s near the tv wiring up the music, his shirt says, i’m not a felon.

these guys weren't real, what the fuck.

shoko’s leaned against the counter nearby, one of those big chunky choofs in her hand. her shirt reads, i’m not addicted to nic.

you love her.

you pull out your phone and shoot satoru a text letting him know you've made it, you barely have time to lock your screen before arms wrap around you from behind.

big, hard, comforting arms.

gojo buries his face into the side of your neck, "there you are,” he says, pleased. “you smell good.”

the blush that covers your cheeks is embarrassing. “well, hi to you too.”

he pulls off and beams down at you, although, you can't help but see a slight hint of nerves in his eyes.

“missed you,” he laughs.

before you can overthink that, you notice that his shirt is covered by a loose flannel, hanging open but covering the writing on his chest.

he notices your eyes flick down and smirks. “don’t look yet.”

you scoff. “oh, so you’re hiding yours too.”

“maybe,” he says. “what about you?”

you tug at the strings of your jumper. “mhm.”

his eyes narrow playfully. “suspicious.”

"you love it."

he grins. “yeah. i do.”

he’s tugging you along by the hand, weaving you through the house toward the kitchen the next second.

“come onn,” he says. “it’s still early. let's pregame before it gets all sweaty and gross.”

the kitchen is devoid of people, satoru hops up onto the counter, then contemplates ad corrects himself.

“wait,” he says. “no. you sit.”

before you can argue, he lifts you and plops you on the bench, your face feels hot but you blame it on the lack of air flow.. or the way he’s standing way too close.

he pours you a drink keeping in mind you’re not trying to get wrecked tonight, then puts it beside you.

“there ya go, sweets,” he says.

“perfect.”

you sip, then notice his fingers tapping against the counter like a drum, oh yeah, he's definitely nervous.

you tilt your head, flashing him that gorgeous smile that always made him weak in the knees. "so.”

he looks at you. “so.”

you smile. “what’s your shirt say?”

...

his laugh is strangled and just a little too loud. “oh, uh. straight to the point, huh.”

“you know it."

he rubs the back of his neck. “it’s stupid.”

“uh huh.”

“and you’re gonna laugh.”

“probably.”

he squints at you. “you go first.”

you shake your head. “nope.”

“c’mon,” he whines. “you’re way braver than me.”

you giggle, heart doing that annoying thing again. “mm, absolutely not.”

he rolls his eyes, then comes up with a compromise.

“okay,” he says. “same time, then.”

you pause. “uhm?.”

“we'll both reveal it at the same time,” he continues. “y'know, like one, two, three.”

you stare at him. “c'mon.”

“you're so lame, pleasee,” he plead.

you roll your eyes. “okay, okay, fine.”

he grins, wide and oh so nervous. “really?”

“yeah,” you say, with your fingers are already curling into the fabric of your jumper. “on three.”

he nods. “okay.”

the moment stretches. neither of you moves.

“you count,” he says.

you swallow and nervously laugh. “one.”

his fingers fall into the edge of his flannel.

“two.”

your hands slide to the hem of your jumper.

“three.”

both of your fabrics lift.

his flannel drops open as you tug your jumper over your head, both of you frozen for a good minute as the truth finally, finally stares back at you.

i’m not in love with my best friend.

on both shirts.

identical. same handwriting style.

you stare at his chest.

he stares at yours.

then you both lose it.

you're both toppled over laughing at how ridiculous this was.

“no fucking way,” he gasps.

you wipe your eye, “are you kidding me.”

he steps closer, closing the space until he’s right between your knees, caging you in gently. his smile softens as he looks down at your shirt.

“wow,” he murmurs.

you feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with fabric.

“guess we both lied,” you say quietly.

“guess so.”

his hands caress your face ever so slowly, like he’s giving you time to slap him off but you don’t.

you stare up at him with big, wide eyes. he smiles and inches toward until your noses touch.

he leans in, “can i?” he asks, quietly.

you nod smiling harder than you ever had before. “yeah.”

then, he kisses you.

it’s soft and warm, nothing like that sloppy drunk one you both pretend you forgot.

you kiss him back deeper, your fingers drift through his hair pulling him closer, and the sound he makes against your mouth is almost whiney, wrecked.

the bliss is interrupted by someone yelling from behind you.

“about fucking time,” sukuna bellows.

you break apart laughing again, foreheads still touching. satoru groans and drops his head to your shoulder.

“i’m killing him,” he mutters.

he hops you off the counter, taking your hand. “we’re leaving.”

“where.”

“my room. like, now. these assholes are not ruining my moment.”

you follow him up the stairs both of you grinning like idiots. he's pulling you softly but quick enough the moment isn't lost.

his door closes behind you. the room is dim, only lit by the lamp on his desk, nice and moody.

he doesn’t rush you and he doesn’t pounce like he did with other women. no. he reaches out and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, “hi,” he says, dumb and fond.

you smile. “hi.”

satoru literally can't fight this urge any longer, he pulls you into his chest and wraps his arms fully around your body. your cheek presses to his chest, right over his heart, and it’s beating oh so fast. one of his hands slides up to cradle the back of your head with his fingers threading through your hair, stroking slowly.

“i’ve wanted this for so long,” he says into your hair. “like, embarrassingly long.”

you laugh softly. “yeah?”

“yeah,” he says. “i just didn’t think i was, like, allowed to? if that makes sense”

you look up at him with a confused smile. “why wouldn’t you be?”

he swallows. his eyes flick away, then back. “because i’m kind of an asshole, if you couldn't tell.”

you knew what he meant. the women, his not so shiny reputation, his arrogance.

“you're not the only one, i didn’t say anything either.” you rub the side of his face.

he smiles into you hand, “why?”

you stop. then take a breath and decide to be brave. “because you sleep with everyone. and i thought if you wanted me, you would’ve... i don't know, stopped.”

ouch, but deserved.

“fuck,” he says quietly. “i hated that you saw me like that.”

“i mean,” you shrug weakly. “it’s kind of hard not to.”

he laughs. “yeah. fair.”

he presses his forehead to yours. “that shit was never about wanting other people, y/n. it was about not knowing what to do with wanting you.”

your head just went really fuzzy at his poetic expression.

“i made a promise to myself,” he continues. “after i realised i was gonna lose you if i didn’t get my shit together. i’m done with it. all of it. i don’t wanna be that guy anymore.”

you search his face, looking for the joke, but he's dead serious.

“i didn’t think i deserved you,” he admits. “so i kept proving myself right.”

for a moment, neither of you speak. then you reach for his hand and hook your pinky around his.

“okay,” you say. “then let’s just… talk. no more of this back and forth.”

“pinky promise.” he smiles and seals it, then leans in and kisses you again. he pulls back for a second then begins to pepper your face in sweet little pecks, making you giggle at the ticking movement.

“i’ve wanted to do this,” he says between kisses, grinning like he can’t stop himself. “just whenever. whenever i felt like it.”

you laugh, hands in his hair now, tugging him back down. “you’re so silly.”

you end up tangled on his bed, just talking. his legs are weaved through yours as he kisses your face occasionally. you tell him you'd been feeling for the past, what, two years? you tell him how the women always made you jealous, how you'd wish it were you he wanted. he spills his guts just as much. he tells you how they never meant anything, how he knew he had a problem and he was working on it, for you.

three hours of straight yap fly by.

he eventually goes really quiet and clears his throat out. “hey.”

“hmm?”

“would you wanna,” he hesitates, suddenly adorably shy, “go on an actual date with me? like. flowers. dinner. me trying really, really hard.”

you smile so hard your cheeks hurt. “yeah. i would.”

his grin is blinding, him and his stupidly perfect teeth.

“holy shit,” he laughs, pulling you close again. “i got the girl.”

you smile, then drift off wrapped up in each other, both of you finally feeling secure in your feelings for one another.

"night, toru."

"good night, sweetheart."

A/N: i'll be writing some spicy/dating headcanons for this fic !!

n e ways like and reblog my shit twin 🤞🏼

As a child, you always used to follow your older brother everywhere. I mean, that's kind of a rite of passage as a younger sibling. You looked up to him, his friend group was nice to you, much to Levi's discontent, always buying you ice cream and little snacks and ruffling your hair until it was a tangled mess on your head.

You were only two years younger than him, but he acted like you were eight years old whenever you'd ask if you could go out with him and his friends.

"No—you can come when you're taller than me." He'd say, it worked when you were still smaller, but you had a little growth spurt, making you almost the same height as him. Levi hated that, being victim to endless teasing from both your parents and his friends.

 "But, I'm already almost taller than you?"

"Doesn't matter, brat." But he'd sigh, and let you go anyway. Feeling your mother's stare on him, no words needed, a simple look that stated, 'Take her with you, and don't argue,"

It wasn't like you didn't have any friends of your own to hang out with, but his were just, so cool. So different to yours. They stayed out much later and did more fun things like going to buy milkshakes and sit around idly in parks. Stuff your friends weren't allowed to do.

Plus, one particular friend of his always caught your eye more than the others. Hange.

With their comfy cardigans and messy hair, cheerful smile and bright demeanour. They were way taller than Levi, you always found that funny. How technically, he wasn't even tall enough to go out either by the standards he placed on you.

Looking back on it, you were a little embarrassed at how you trailed after Hange like a lost puppy. Eyeing their every move and following them as you tried to force their attention on you. Cringing at your younger self, you just really liked them. Wanted to be their friend, to hang out with them as much as you could.

Now, though, you had all grown into adulthood, you were in your first semester at college, at home for the first break of the year. The woes of young adulthood following you around like it did everyone else.

Levi and Hange remained best friends throughout, many of his other friends moving to distant colleges, whilst both of them stayed local, their friendship held strong.

You were currently reading a book on your bed as you heard the familiar laughs from Hange, and chattering from Levi through the open gap of your door.

You always admired their friendship, how close they were and the effort they made into retaining it. Many of your own friendships had come and gone, lost to time and petty arguments but theirs never did, not even once.

Sure, you had Mikasa, the closest you had to a best friend but she was bound to you by familial ties and family values. You often wondered if your friendship would've remained if you weren't cousins. You weren't ungrateful, though, Mikasa is a ride-or-die type of person. If you were friends with her, she'd die for you. Her own code of loyalty un-breaking in the face of silly things that'd rip other friendships apart. You hadn't seen her for a few days, though. She'd gone on some trip with her parents and boyfriend, and not wanting to ruin their family bonding time you opted to stay at home during the holidays.

Consequently, you were insanely bored. Out of your mind, even. You had read that book maybe five times? You weren't sure if you had it in you to finish it for the sixth. So, rather begrudgingly, you made your way down the stairs, to where Levi and Hange were sat playing video games on the couch.

Hange's legs were spread as their elbows rested on each knee, both of them hunched over their remotes, backs bent to feel closer to the screen. Shouting incoherently as their chosen characters were beating each other up, throwing high kicks and brutal uppercuts in a 1v1.

You watched them for a while, laughing as Levi got his ass kicked by Hange's chosen character. Claiming that Hange was cheating to make himself feel better about losing.

Hange hadn't changed much, their features were the same, albeit more pronounced and mature. It was their style that changed the most, going from dorky graphic tees to tightly cropped tank tops that exposed their arms and baggy ripped jeans that hung low on their slender hips. Not to mention the new piercings and the tats that now covered their wrists and upper chest, often poking through the collar hem.

Their hair was shorter, now, too. Layered strands falling out of its tie as shorter pieces framed the structure of their face. A curved, short metallic line pierced through their right eyebrow, along with a small band hanging off their septum on a curved nose. Hange was always attractive, for sure, but they got insanely hot. Confidence just radiated from them as they got comfortable in their own skin. You had always been drawn to them, you just got better at hiding it. The prefrontal cortex developing into self-awareness at how embarrassing it was to be so openly craving Hange's attention. Plus, they were Levi's best friend, it simply couldn't happen.

Did I mention they were also gay? You remembered when Hange first came out to Levi, nervously telling him about a crush they had on a cute barista in the city. You also especially remembered the way your chest constricted and the bitter taste that soured your tongue as Hange fawned over this cute girl they spoke to just a few times.

Levi took it well, like a good friend, besides he was gay, too— in love with Erwin. He told you about their secret kisses and conflicted feelings one night, after a bit too much to drink that he was heartbroken when Erwin moved away, and onto to better things. A disregarded potential relationship that never kicked off, he hasn't found another half since. You wished he would, he was a good person.

Hange noticed you standing behind them, head turning slightly for confirmation of your presence before turning back to try and focus on the screen. You were bent over the back of the couch, elbows resting on the cushions as you watched their game, the loose, comfy shorts exposing your thighs and a tight long-sleeved shirt with a cut down to the chest, pretty white lace rimming the hem as it sunk down. Due to your position, the grooves of your cleavage were slightly exposed, enhanced by the propping up by your elbows on the couch.

Hange suddenly started doing really bad at the game, their fumbling allowed Levi to throw them off and back them into the far edge of the screen, hit after hit until the health bar lowered fully and a low 'fatality' sounded out from the speakers.

"Fucking finally!" Levi exclaimed, shocked but happy that he won a match at long last. Hange groaned, setting the controller down, standing up to stretch their limbs, tank riding up their stomach as they did so.

"I don't even know how that happened, man." "Needa get your head in the game!" Levi was revelling in his win, clearly it must not happen very often for him. "Big talk for someone who lost every other match," Hange teased, taking a sip from their bottled water as they glanced up at you.

"Wanna play?" They asked, passing you the remote. "Nah, I'm good, would rather watch you beat Levi." "Man, screw you." Levi chuckled, knowing you weren't wrong. He had won by pure chance, and perhaps a little added distraction.

You moved around the couch to enter the kitchen for some snacks, Hange's gaze trailing after you as you walked away. Eyes falling down to subtly observe the way the hem of your shorts cut off a little too far up on your thighs, shaping around the curve of your ass as the soft fabric swished with your movements. You looked fucking good, with your hips that now filled out any pair of your jeans, smooth thighs and nice bre—

"Stop that," Levi tutted, smacking his hand hard on the back of Hange's head. "Hey! Stop what?" Hange responded, more defensively than they'd like to admit, rubbing their head over where Levi's knuckles had collided. "Staring at her," He whispered, not wanting you to hear from within the kitchen. He could hear you messing with plates and opening drawers, it was safe for now.

"I wasn— wasn't staring at her, man." "Sure. It's not like I have eyes or anything," Levi rolled his eyes, "Just don't stare at my sister like that, creep."

Hange scoffed, lowering their gaze to the remote, they weren't being a creep, right? You just got really hot, it wasn't a crime to look. It's not like they were going to actually try anything. You were Levi's little sister, for crying out loud!

"Whatever, man, let's just play," Hange muttered, loading the next match up. "Don't forget the promise." Levi murmured, eyes locked on the screen, not even looking at them as he said it.

Ugh, the promise.

The promise that Levi made his male, straight friends make to him, and then Hange, too, when they came out as a lesbian, the 'don't you dare try anything on her,' promise.

It happened one day after he caught Jean eyeing you up perversely, followed by an inappropriate comment about just how attractive you got and that he'd willingly take you out, amongst other things. Levi, being unimpressed as always, slapped him across the head, not so kindly letting him know you were strictly off-limits. That he shouldn't dare try anything, lest he face Levi's wrath.

He may have found you annoying, but you were still his sister. No matter what, he'd always want to keep you away from certain things, if he could help it. Canoodling around with Jean and ending up hurt was one of them, he didn't want another comment to be made like that in the future, so he made the others promise, too.

Hange wasn't like that, weren't a player by any means. Quite the opposite, respectful of women and monogamous, in fact, Hange had been the victim of being cheated on a few times. Never the other way around.

No, his motivations for making Hange promise were different than when he made Jean do it. Hange was his longest and most closest friend, he'd be damned if something were to happen between you, get fucked up and cost him their friendship. Didn't want the uncomfortable risk of being made to pick sides when something goes wrong and lose it all.

So that was that, you were off-limits. It was made abundantly clear. He didn't really care what you did with people he didn't know, or wasn't close with, isn't his business, frankly. But anyone in his friend group? No way. That was way too close for comfort.

"No one could forget the promise, Levi, y'never let 'em." Hange huffed, he had always been so insistent with it. "Good."

Hange hated that promise, with a passion. I mean, it's not like they intended to break it, and hurt Levi. But, come on? A promise? It's not like they'd fuck you around. You meant way more than that.

With a plate full of little cut up fruits in your hand, you stepped back into the living room, humming a random tune to yourself. Painfully, blissfully unaware of the conversation that had just taken place between them.

Hange made sure to keep their eyes locked in on the screen, especially as you sat yourself down on the floor in front of the couch, directly in front of Hange so you wouldn't block the television. Then especially as you grabbed at the squares of cut watermelon, propping it on your tongue and even more especially when Hange caught little drops of fruit juice trickling down the corner of your mouth. Their eyes darted away quickly, frenzied button smashing as they beat Levi again.

With an annoyed groan from Levi and a loud cheer from you, Hange felt a swell of pride within their chest as you rejoiced in their win against your brother. This is bad, they thought, they need to push that shit all the way down. And quickly.

—

A few days had passed, and the conversation they had the other day was completely forgotten, at least by Levi. It was eating Hange up alive. Guilt feeding at their chest as they knew none of this wouldn't end well, one way or another. It was getting harder and harder to be around you and pretend. Pretend that they weren't having weird thoughts about their best friend's sister.

Maybe Levi would make an exception for them?

Hange grunted, head in their hands as they knew that would simply never happen. Levi had made it too big an issue of it to simply back down now.

They were dreading the barbecue your family had so kindly invited them to, Hange was pretty much an honorary member of the household. Your parents absolutely loved them. Hange would hate to ruin that. Their own family wasn't as nice, or as welcoming. Hange felt extremely grateful that they had been given a second home and been able to experience what it was actually meant to be like. That couldn't all just go down the drain.

And yet, there you were.

Amongst the members of your family and invited friends, you were sitting outside on a deck chair, huddling around the table with Mikasa and another unidentified person, some buff woman with a long, blonde braid, whispering to each other, god knows what about. Your hand was cradled around the glass of your self-made cocktail, the other gesturing to match whatever you were talking about, a bright smile on your tainted dark-red lips and long-winged eye-liner to match.

Hange couldn't help but stand there and admire you. Levi's words echoed in their head whilst they looked at how the short, white dress fit around your chest. The way it tightly hugged your waist and flowed out. Levi's words repeated over and over like a mantra all the while.

I'm so fucking screwed.

That feeling soon doubled, however. Hange was sipping on their cold beer, taking a long swig of it. Their fingers tightened around the neck of the bottle as that unnamed person next to you placed their muscled arm around your waist. Comfortably and without a care in the world. Like it was so easy for them. The twist in their chest exacerbated when you leaned into their touch, placing your head on their shoulder, as you continued speaking with Mikasa.

Hange broke their gaze away as Levi shouted them over, asking for them to grab some spare cutlery from the kitchen. Being close enough with your family, Hange was often tasked with helping out. They didn't mind, honestly they'd rather go clean the whole damn kitchen if it meant not watching the way the blonde carelessly nuzzled her nose into your neck, and the giggles that left your lips. Hange wanted it to be them.

They quickly made their way into the empty house, the guests enjoying the sunshine outside as your father singed spiced meat on the barbecue. Chattering and drinking away. All of them without a care.

Hange stood there for a few seconds, trying to regulate themselves and rationalise. That the image of that shouldn't have affected them so much. They were being a terrible friend to Levi by even allowing the discomfort, by allowing the anger to be fuelled by a sight of you cuddling up to someone else. Knowing that they could never freely do so.

Hange didn't hear you step into the kitchen, about to grab some paper towels for the drink you'd spilled all over the table outside.

"Um, are you okay?"

Your recognisable voice rang out amongst the silence, Hange's head turning towards you.

"Oh—um, yeah, yeah, I'm good." Lies.

"You sure?" You stepped closer to them, placing a hand on their bicep with concern. Hange could smell the intoxicating signature perfume you always wore, vanilla with tones of lavender, "You were just kinda stood there?" Your expression was worried, brows furrowed as you looked them over.

You had always been so caring, especially towards Hange, but right now it was just stressing them out. Too confusing. It was allowing them to think too deeply on the why.

"I just... forgot what I came here for," Another lie. Yet, the way it came out from them was way too easy, one of the perks of growing up in a house where you had to evade certain truths to avoid harsh punishment.

You bit your lip and furrowed your brows, a hint that you didn't quite believe what they were spewing, but decided not to push it.

"Alright, I just came for some napkins," Your hand left their arm, "You should join us out there, Mikasa wants to ask you stuff about her course, you both study the same thing."

Greaat. Hange wanted to throw themself on the barbecue. Of fucking course.

Hange and Levi were in their last year of college, due to graduate this year. Mikasa started studying the same course, Hange remembered you mentioning it once. Normally, they'd have no qualms about helping out, but right now? Having to sit with you all, right next to the woman they had no idea you were even seeing? And watch helplessly as she touched you in the places Hange so desperately wanted to in her stead? No, thank you.

But Hange has never been able to say no to you. So with a heavy heart, and a stiff smile they nodded. "Would love to,"

—

Hange was not having a happy fun time. Having joined your table with Levi, in hopes that it wouldn't be so suspect if he was there, too. It was fucking difficult, trying to eat your dad's delicious cooking and your mother's famously drizzled salad, whilst you and the other girl, who they now know was called Abby, were chatting amongst yourselves.

Hange tried to focus on the questions about the course that Mikasa had. Tried to be helpful, not glaring at the muscled blonde that enjoyed touching you up at a family gathering a little too much. How could Levi not have a problem with this? How could he sit there and eat nonchalantly like his little sister wasn't getting felt up by this stranger you'd invited?

Hange would never be able to do this, not in a million years.

Mikasa had eventually ran out of questions for Hange, leaving the table with the typical silence that befalls over people enjoying a good meal. Apart from you and Levi bickering a little bit, and a few chatters between you, Mikasa and Abby, there was a lot of empty gaps.

Hange was usually someone that had a lot to say, with a lot to contribute to group outings, sometimes even too much. But right now? They could barely find a word to utter. Focusing on sipping their beer and finishing their meal. All whilst trying to ignore how Abby's hand landed at your thigh, with a squeeze so subtle that no one else batted an eye at it, except Hange.

They were hyperaware of all of the touches, and not proud to admit how it made their entire body seethe. Was this your new girlfriend? Hange didn't even know you were into women. Obviously, asking in the past would've probably made Levi question their motives, so they just always assumed you were straight, accepting they didn't have a chance. Hange's brain felt heavy, so full of thoughts that just wouldn't stop.

"Are you feeling better?" The sweetness in your voice didn't help, neither did the cautious look in your eyes as you asked them the question, clearly still thinking about Hange's odd behaviour from earlier. "Yeah, why?" "You've been quieter than usual, weirdo, it's freaky." said Levi, picking his food apart with a fork.

"I'm fine." They muttered, necking the last dregs of the bottle, hating how the attention had turned to them. Focus on the weird stranger feeling up your sister, not me!

After a while, Hange and Levi excused themselves, leaving the table and going to play video games in the living room, Hange thanked their lucky stars they could finally leave the table. Storming away would've brought too many questions they weren't ready to answer yet.

—

Night fell, the guests had left, your parents had gone to bed and all that remained was you and Abby chatting outside. Hange was nested on the couch in the dark, cozied up with a blanket. Levi didn't like sharing his bedroom very often, so Hange was sometimes exiled to the couch— it was a really comfortable couch, though, so it wasn't the worst scenario.

No, the worst scenario was right outside the backyard door, trying to creep inside quietly. Hange thought it was just you, at first, trying to drunkenly enter the house without waking your parents. They hadn't expected to see the Abby's silhouette trailing behind you, hand in hand.

It was dark, but certain lights from the outside were shining through the door, which was more a slidable window than a door. Hange wanted to sink into the couch when they heard your soft gasps as they could make out Abby pressing you up against the wall. Followed by the low smacking of lips against your neck as you let out a quiet moan, Abby quickly covered your mouth with her palm to keep you quiet, with a gentle, ssh. Clearly, neither of you noticed the other presence in the room, sat on the couch with an unfortunate view of the whole thing.

This was torture. Was this God's punishment for emotionally breaking Levi's promise? For having such thoughts about you and weird, romantic feelings towards you since you were both teens?

Hange shut their eyes, heart racing from accidentally witnessing the intimate sight, awkwardly covering their face with the blanket so they could see no more. Wishing that their torture would end. Unfortunately, they could still hear you kissing each other as you led Abby upstairs to your bedroom. They could still hear your door shut and the subsequent creaking of your bed right above their head.

They just didn't happen to hear the way you accidentally ended up moaning Hange's name into Abby's ear as she fucked you.

—

You were mortified.

So ashamed of your own actions as the sober morning awoke your thoughts. It had been a very awkward encounter between you and Abby.

Look, you weren't dating, it was a purely physical relationship. It started a few weeks ago when you needed some quick relief from someone you trusted and Abby happened to feel the same. You were both on the same page that there were no feelings involved, a simple friends with benefits agreement. A you scratch my back, I scratch yours, situation.

That doesn't mean that explaining to your college friend why you had moaned your brother's childhood best friend's name into her ear as she was knuckles deep inside you was a fun conversation to have. You didn't exactly fucking mean to, Hange had just looked so delicious all day, as they always did, you couldn't get them out of your mind. Plus, they were behaving odd yesterday, and as a concerned citizen, of course they had ended up on your mind? That was normal, right?

Abby was understanding, of course, she was, she was the sweetest. Even going as far as wishing you good luck and hoping that it ends up with the outcome you want. It didn't alleviate the embarrassment, though, finding yourself locked alone in the early morning hours as Abby vacated your house. You didn't want to face Hange, even if they didn't know what happened— you did, that was enough motivation to isolate yourself for the rest of eternity.

The sound of your stomach rumbling was the only thing that propelled you out from your bed, forcing you to go downstairs and feed yourself some breakfast. So imagine your horror as you saw Hange laying on the couch, awake, watching videos on their phone in the early hours of the morning, as they sometimes do when Levi doesn't feel like sharing his tiny bed. He was a notoriously late riser. Did they see you and Abby last night? You'd been a bit too inebriated last night to notice if they had been there whole time. That just makes you feel even worse.

Hange was the one you wanted. You had always wanted Hange, even when you were younger and didn't realise what that drive was called. As you grew up and realised what it was, you just shoved it deeply away for Levi's benefit, knowing he was uncomfortable with you dating his friends. What a shitty situation.

"Looked like you had fun last night," Hange spoke without looking at you, eyes stuck on their phone. They don't know why they even said that. They shouldn't have said anything at all. It was none of their business, and it shouldn't matter. You weren't theirs. It shouldn't bother them if you were dating someone else, it definitely shouldn't make their chest tighten a cold grip around their throat at the thought of you sleeping with someone else.

"Uh, did you see anything?" what a great job of not sounding suspicious.

"I saw enough to know you had fun," Hange muttered, rolling their eyes, lifting themself up into a seated position.

"I'm so sorry, we didn't realise anyone was here," The shame was visibly clear in your voice, the way it fumbled and stuttered, "I wouldn't have done that if I saw you were here."

"Wouldn't have slept with her or wouldn't have done it in your living room?" It was out before Hange could stop it, resenting the reeking jealousy hanging off their words. They had no right.

"I.. it's not like I slept with her right on top of you." You defended, not enjoying Hange's clear disappointment towards you, it didn't feel good in your stomach.

"Hm— it was close enough." stop it, Hange, what exactly are you doing? Their inner monologue shouted at them.

"Please, like you've never slept with anyone before." You crossed your arms over your chest, sighing, getting visibly more upset.

"I—you're right. I'm sorry, it's not my place." Hange ceded, taking a deep breath that matched yours. Finally looking in your direction to make eye contact. They didn't love the guilt that was riddled on your face, they shouldn't have made you feel bad for that. It wasn't fair on you.

You eased up at their words, uncrossing your arms as you placed yourself next to them on the couch. Dropping on the cushion beside them with a loud thump.

"Please, just don't tell Levi, okay? I don't wanna hear it."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Hange's expression was vague, a weird mix of defeat and weak despair, their teeth drawing in their lower lip. You rested your head against Hange's shoulder, it felt too tense, a frigid air haunting the room as they placed their head over yours.

"She's not my girlfriend, alright, we just sleep together sometimes." There was no reason for you explain yourself, not officially anyway. You just didn't want Hange to think that you were dating Abby.

Hange nodded, ignoring the punch of all punches that just punctured deep within their chest, "Don't worry, I won't say anything, dear." Their words were soft, a sudden contrast to the escalating conflict that was about to happen moments before. Lifting your head slightly, your eyes met, looking up at Hange, who matched the eye contact. Both of you just sat there for a few seconds, gazing at each other with terse silence. Both forced to sit with the uncomfortable tension.

Against your better judgement, your gaze sunk to Hange's lips, just before the sound of Levi's bedroom door opening upstairs split you two away from each other. Heart race sped up against your ears as the both of you jumped up into proper posture like you hadn't just been inches apart a second ago. Levi was whistling as he came down the stairs, and you prompted yourself to finally get yourself some breakfast.

Staying inside the house was too much for you today, it was a Friday night, you should go out and have fun! Forget all these weird thoughts and just let loose. You messaged Mikasa whilst your bread was toasting, asking if she was up for going out later. Once she answered with an agreement, you had eaten your toast and told Levi you had plans for the night. Your parents had left early that morning for a weekend get-away, leaving him in charge of the house.

—

On the Uber ride back home from the bar, you felt bad for the poor driver. He had to listen to you and Mikasa talk nonsense and laugh hysterically at literally nothing reasonable, you had to remember to give him a tip. He definitely deserves it. Nothing worse than dealing with stupidly drunk people when you're stone sober. You ended up drinking more than you intended, spilling your feelings to Mikasa who listened intently to your woes before trying to get your mind off things—off Hange specifically.

The Uber reached your house, and you said your goodbyes, making sure Mikasa was sharing the trip with you so that you could make sure she got home safely, too. Girl code, you know?

At your doorstep, you struggled to find your keys, lost deep in the depths of your tote bag. You don't even know why you still used them, they were bad for your posture and everything gets lost in them. You resorted to loudly knocking on the door repeatedly so Levi could let you in.

"Why are you banging on the door like you're being chased?" Hange said, why they opened the door and not your brother, you were too drunk to figure out.

"I.. can't find my keys,"

Hange sighed, chuckling as they let you in. Seemingly over the encounter you both shared that morning. You definitely weren't.

"Where's Levi?" You mumbled, tripping over your the doorstep as you attempted to make your way inside, clawing at the wall to keep yourself stable. You hoped that sober you wouldn't remember that.

"On the phone to your parents, they wanted him to take a photo of something they forgot to take," Hange grabbed your wrist, holding you up as they brought you inside, "Just how drunk are you?"

"Hella," you laughed, your eyes sparkling up at them. Drunkenness evident in your face just by your eyes.

"Great, your parents won't want to see you like this,"

"What—I'm fine! I got home okay?" You argued, before Hange shushed you so that your parents couldn't hear your drunken slurring, grabbing your phone from your pocket, "Need to check if Mikasa did,"

Catching Levi's attention, he twisted his neck around to see what was going on, muting the microphone from his phone, so he could speak to Hange.

"Is she drunk?" He sighed, unamused and definitely not impressed.

"Like a pirate." Hange responded, still holding you up by your wrist, you glanced at their bare arms. Putting your phone away as the notification that Mikasa's journey had ended.

"I'm not that drun—"

"Fucks sake, Hange, take her upstairs." Levi interrupted you, tutting, not wanting to turn the mic back on until you'd both gone upstairs.

Hange pretty much carried you up, following behind you on the staircase like a bodyguard, with an arm held out to ensure that you didn't fall over and break something. Once you reached your bedroom safely, Hange brought you to your bed, taking off your boots and jacket before making you lie down on the mattress. You just looked up at them as they helped you wordlessly, watched as they grabbed a water bottle from your bedside table and passed it to you.

"You should drink some of that before you sleep, it'll help you tomorrow."

"I don't need water, like I said, I feel fine..." You argued again, ignoring that the room was spinning too much as you finally laid horizontally. Alcohol was grim.

"Just drink it." Hange crossed their arms, not budging until you lifted the bottle to your lips, almost drinking half of it before setting it down. Hadn't realised how thirsty you actually were.

"There, happy?"

"Very, goodnight." They turned around to leave you, hand hovering over the light-switch.

"Hange, wait." You shouted, they turned back around to face you, as you continued, "Can you stay with me? The room is spinning—don't wanna throw up."

Hange's eyes widened, mouth splitting open. "I.. don't think that's a very good idea." Levi was right downstairs, what if he thinks Hange was taking advantage of you or something?

Your persistence was almost admirable, lips curved into a slight pout as you gaze broke through theirs, reaching over to tug at Hange's shirt, "Please, Hange?"

With this, Hange was once again reminded of their inability to say no to you, sighing with defeat as they sat just an inch on your bed, their back to you as you were laid down. The awkward distance in between made it clear that they were planning on leaving again shortly, deciding to just linger around until you fell asleep, messing with their nails to pass the time. You were taking a while to drift away though, not happy with how far they were sitting from you, like you were contagious.

Whilst they were distracted with their fiddling, you drunkenly thought it was a good idea to grab the back of their shirt. Pulling at it until Hange was laying side by side to you, you ignored Hange's surprised yelp and rested your head on their chest. It felt more secure than the pillow, the room not spinning as much.

"That's better," you beamed, happy with yourself, snuggling in between Hange's arm as you sighed contently, basking in their warmth. Meanwhile, Hange was panicking, praying that Levi wouldn't walk in and think the worst. They hoped you couldn't feel their heart speed up with your proximity, or the quickened rises of their chest with your head snuggled into them as you tucked your feet underneath yourself.

Hange tried to ease their racing heartbeat by looking around your room. It was very you. Your personality all over the walls and decorations. Hange thought you had drifted off by then, until your voice broke the calming silence.

"You're so pretty, Hange."

They turn to face you, heart skipping as they see the starry admiration in your eyes, attributing that to the alcohol.

"You've clearly had too much to drink," Hange tries to shrug it off, despite the hot red splotching in their cheeks. They messed with their eyebrow piercing, spinning it around, a habit that formed quickly after it healed.

You firm it though, the many volumes of gin in your system easing your words out, "No. I always thought it, even when I wasn't legally allowed to drink," you huffed, nuzzling deeper into their chest, almost reaching the crook of Hange's neck.

Hange was freaking out, fumbling to think of a response, convincing themself that you were just drunkenly babbling—desperate to not let a little spark of hope develop into an unstoppable force. Yet, you held firm as an immovable object, wanting them to know just how serious you were. So they just scoffed, leaning their head back against your headboard in false nonchalance.

"I mean it! I had a little crush on you when we were younger."

Hange short-circuited, you had a crush on them? Wait—what do you mean by had? Did it disappear? Dissipated and lost in the wind as your network of people expanded and Hange wasn't the only person in your close proximity? They had a crush on you, too, but it never left.

Your head fell forwards, the weight of your own head too heavy to hold up any longer as it sank lower and lower, eventually resting totally on Hange. "Always wanted you to like me back—it's embarrassing..." you mumbled, eyes fluttering shut as your voice grew more drowsy, "Maybe one day."

Just Hange's luck, right? They wanted you to fall asleep that entire time and you'd refused, but as soon as you put those blasphemous words out there, sleep had already gotten its grip on you. By the time Hange worked up the courage to look down at you, you were snoozing away, regular, soft breaths escaping as you slept peacefully— unaware of the brain damage you just inflicted.

Well, shit, what now?

—

Levi was subsequently left alone downstairs the entire night. He knew he asked Hange to take you upstairs, but they'd been up there for a damn long time, now. It's not like he didn't trust Hange, he'd trust Hange with his life and yours any day. They were not a threat in any sense of the word.

But he had this itchy feeling in the back of his head, that he just had to go check out what was happening. He took himself up the stairs, waiting outside your bedroom door for a minute to sus if he could hear anything through the walls. At the silence, he turned the doorknob and looked at the scene.

Your boots, side by side in line on the floor against your bed. Your jacket neatly folded up at the edge of the bed. And then you, cradling a half-empty bottle of water as you were cozied under Hange's arm, both fully dressed, sleeping soundly and undisturbed on their chest. Hange was gone, too. Lost the fight against sleep as their head was leaning against the headboard, not the comfiest position but he'd seen Hange sleep in way worse conditions.

You two looked.. almost sweet. Innocently sleeping on each other that it almost made Levi feel guilty about the stupid promise. Almost.

The risk was still too strong a threat. Too big a risk to chance. It's not like he was stupid, he'd clocked your attraction to each other a long time ago, he just hadn't anticipated there being emotional sweetness along with it. With a sigh, Levi closed the door and went to his own bedroom.

—

Light was beaming through your curtains, your eyes fluttered open as you awoke. Luckily, your head wasn't pounding too much, you were thankful that you got minimal level hangovers. The only thing you needed was water, throat feeling scratchy, but you just felt so comfortable. Your eyes opened properly, the strain of sleep having latched your eyes shut, a saw what you were laying on. Or rather—who.

Hange was fast asleep beside you, neck bent slightly to the side, their arm was around your back and your arm around their stomach. Your stomach sank as you noticed you had been cuddling them in their sleep, as memories of last night started popping through your mind. That's embarrassing, you thought. Looking back at Hange, you took the opportunity to admire them. Freely allowing yourself to admire their long eyelashes that casted lines of shadows on their skin, that lovely nose as it dipped into their septum piercing. Plump lips pouty as they rested. They were beautiful, breathtaking in the soft light of the morning.

Picking yourself up, you quickly made your way through to the bathroom to brush your teeth, promptly returning back to your spot on the bed.

You grabbed a water bottle, it'd been wedged underneath you during your sleep, hurting your ribs a little bit. There was half of it left, that's enough for now. Attempting to be quiet as you drank, but it was obvious that the crackles of plastic were too loud for Hange to continue sleeping, lifting their head as their gaze fell on you. "Hi." you breathed out, a cautious greeting against the silence in the room.

"Hi." Hange rasped out, voice deeper, coated with sleep. You sat up, not wanting to make Hange feel uncomfortable by leaning yourself against them any longer.

"How you feeling?" they asked, using the free space around them to sit up straight and stretch out their back, cracking as it did.

"Fine.." you responded, "uh—thank you for helping me last night."

Hange's cheeks heated up, breaking contact as they cleared their throat. So did you remember? Did you remember the haunting words you whispered into the night as you fell asleep?

"Yeah—um, no need to thank me," "Well, still—thank you for staying with me."

Hange nodded, their demeanour deflating as they failed to hold eye contact with you. What could they say? That they would stay with you forever if you asked? That they would gather you in their arms and keep you comfortable any day if it meant seeing the content smile on your lips? That they wished you had meant those sacred words?

"I'm—uh—a little embarrassed," You muttered, playing with the rimmed edges on the bottlecap, "I—"

"Y'don't need to explain—I get it, you were drunk."

Gaping up at them, you let out a sigh, "That.. wasn't what I was gonna say."

Hange was slipping away from you, their usual tender sweetness towards you covered by an uncharacteristic stiffness. You had no choice but be honest with them. Hange deserves to know the truth.

"I meant it, you know? That's why I'm embarrassed."

That seemed to grab their attention, their eyes finally meeting yours. The rise and fall of their chest increasing, eyebrows quipping up, you continued.

"I've always liked you," you whispered, "I just wish it didn't come out like that, if it hadn't maybe you'd believe me."

"But, Abby—"

"Was a distraction. A bad way of keeping myself away from you," you grabbed their hand, holding it, "'cos I don't know if you've noticed, Hange, but it's always been you."

Hange's mouth split open, lips moving as they thought of a response. You took the surprise on their face and the silence on their lips as an admission that your feelings just simply weren't returned.

"I-I know it's a lot to put on you, I'm sorry— I just couldn't hold it in—"

"I feel the same way." was their direct response, cutting you off before you could take the words back. To stop them from seeping into the walls and being long forgotten.

Biting your lip, eyes staring at one another's nervously, contrasting the serenity of the bedroom's illumination. Tentatively, you reached out a hand, placing it lightly on Hange's jaw. Letting out a soft breath, Hange's eyes fell shut, deeply nudging their face closer into the caress of your hand. Eyes only opening when they felt your body budge itself on the bed, seeing how close you now were to their lips.

"Hange," you muttered, words laced with your nerves. Your stomach rippling with uncertainty, the anticipation making you shiver as you leaned closer to them, lips inches away from theirs.

"We can't," Hange whimpered, the hesitation evident, "Levi will kill me." Their voice was so quiet, scared to utter the fact that you both knew. You're off-limits. No matter how much they craved feeling your lips on theirs. That facts remained.

"I don't fucking care about Levi."

Truthfully, you've simply had enough of your older brother being an obstacle in the only relationship you wanted. Throughout the span of your life, you've yearned for Hange, there's no way you'd allow this chance to escape you.

"If we both want this," Your dangerously sweet whispers were serpentine, like a siren sinking a sailor to their certain death. Even as your heart was racing, one of your thighs moved over Hange's stomach, until eventually you were straddling over them, Hange's dainty hands trembled as they delicately hovered over your thighs, almost scared to touch you, "Why should it matter?"

Dampening your bottom lip with a quick dart of your tongue, you leaned into them again, thighs tightening around Hange's midsection as that little black dress of yours from last night rode up, exposing more of your legs. Hange gripped the skin of your plush thighs so hard, a testament to their restrained desires.

"Why should he stop you from going after what you want?"

Your lips met the skin below Hange's ear, grazing light pecks that caused goosebumps up their spine. Hange was breathing heavily beneath you, head hanging back as they bit back sighs. Their conflicting thoughts seeping in their brain, overshadowed by the skimming of your lips burning their skin.

"Fuck—"

Hange lifted their thigh, pressing it against the centre of your legs, as your teeth sunk over their neck. Sucking on the soft skin and running your tongue over. Hange couldn't hold back a little whimper at the contact, especially as your hips began rolling, rubbing your clothed centre over their propped up thigh.

"I—I want you so bad, Hange, please."

That was it. The rope of restraint snapped, the moment had reached over its boiling point as you whimpered against their neck. Hange grabbed the top of your spine, eyes meeting briefly before they melded their lips over yours. 

You were whirling, hips grinding against Hange as your lips connected ardently. Feverishly slow open-mouthed kisses as you gasped into each other's touch. Years of mutually hidden cravings possessing your actions, feeling your tongues brushing desperately over into each other's mouths. Hange tugged at your ass, gripping at the skin through your clothes with a tight clasp.

Hange then separated your lips, looking up at you through their pretty eyelashes to gaze upon your state. With your eyes black with desire, they guided your hips into rhythm against their leg. Leaning their head up to kiss your neck, low, gentle pecks echoing within the room as you were trembling on top of them, chest rising and falling and your sinewy thighs trapping them underneath you. What a sight.

"Hange—"

Hearing their name slip from your lips in such a desperate manner, Hange felt like they should be locked up. The heavy sound of your low whimpers of their name causing a stir of their own burning heat to travel.

Levi was certainly going to kill them, good thing he's still asleep. Unaware of the way Hange was touching his sister in the next room. The whole thing was sinful, just reprehensible. The promise long forgotten, shoved to their back of their mind.

"You're fucking delightful, angel,"

Hange lifted themself up, back straight and chest tightly pressed to yours. Their hand rising from your ass to grip your lower back, fingers holding you in place to jut their knee against your core, their palm guiding your hips against them. Lips met again to quieten the gasps threatening to escape from within your throat. They couldn't deal with an interruption right now.

The pattern of movement in your hips faltered, grabbing Hange's wrist to place their free hand upon your clothed breast. Hange could feel your hardened nipple poking through the fabric, as their thumb rubbed over—god what they wanted to do. What they would do to see you without your layers, barren and exposed for them.

"I'm so—fuck— love seeing you like this," Your eyebrows were furrowed at their hushed words, teeth skimming over your bottom lip, it spurred them on more, "Thought about this so much, angel."

"Yeah?" You egged them on, pressing yourself harder against their knee, Hange could feel the dampness seeping through your underwear as your shaking hands reached down to unbutton Hange's jeans. They should've come off a long time ago, "I've thought about it, too—god—thought of your fingers, your mouth on me—fuck."

Unbuttoned jeans, and your dress just on as a formality, bunched up in folds around your waist. Hange lifted you up from their knee, your confession driving them over the edge. If only they knew how many times you touched yourself to the thought of them late at night.

Tugging the hem of your dress over your head, immediately catching the way your skin rippled from the chill in the air, nipples perked up and stiffened as your chest was heaving. A trail of hair leading down from your navel to your pussy, still covered by your lacy underwear, it drove Hange stupid.

"Shit— that's fucking hot," Hange rasped, words tight in their throat, desperately trying to keep their voice down.

Wasn't long before Hange was undressed, too. You made sure of that, ripping the shirt off their torso and helping to pull down their jeans. Both of you unclothed in front of each other. Your hands grazed over their breasts, admiring the tattoo beneath their collarbone, spread over the top of their chest, and their tatted forearms. Toned stomach twitching as your fingers travelled down from their chest to their abdomen.

Both of you just admired each other, before you brought your lips back together, open mouths chasing the sensation of each other's lips. You were straddling Hange again, rubbing yourself over their now bare thigh. Your dampness glistened on their skin with each roll, you felt fucking desperate.

"I'm burning for you, Hange—need your touch," You panted, losing yourself in the sight of Hange's slender barren body beneath you. Lost in the starry glaze within their eyes at you, tantalising. Hange groaned gently as they teased a finger on your slit through the fabric that was acting as the only barrier between your bodies, you twitched into their hand. Their knee wasn't enough, you craved more.

"What d'you want, angel?"

"Your mouth, fuck—please-"

The begging left you before you could help it, all you could think about was feeling Hange on you, anywhere, everywhere. Hange squeezed your thighs, laying their spine flat on the bed as they prompted you along their torso, your pussy accidentally grazing over their nipple, inches away from their mouth.

"Sit on my face, angel," Hange ordered, voice lowered and strained at the turned-on shock on your features. Hesitantly, you hovered over their waiting mouth, lacy underwear still on, trying to argue, "But I still have my—"

"ssh—just sit, baby." Hange was determined, hands rubbing over your bare skin as you shuddered on top of them. Silky thighs spread, opened just for them, like an unfurled deity, waiting patiently to be worshipped. They loved seeing you above them like this, aching for them. The slab of your stomach tensed as you tentatively placed yourself over their inviting mouth, feeling their wet tongue brush over your clothed slit.

The texture of the damp lace through their tongue pressing against your clit caused you to let out a shaky moan, a hand coming to grip the headboard, the other covering your own mouth. Hips began sliding autonomously over Hange's face as they sucked your pussy into their mouth, plump lips puckering over the fabric as their tongue swiped over in short bursts, with little pecks in between.

The top of your thighs started to burn from holding yourself up, legs shaking from the weight and the added sensation of Hange lapping underneath you, their muffled groans vibrating into your pussy. Hange's steady eyes were on you, watching. Their eyebrows pinched up as you both made contact. Their hands grabbed your hips, forcing you to rest your full weight on their face and ease the tension in your legs, you moaned into your palm as their tongue was closer to your throbbing centre. Spurred on by the intense way those amber eyes watched you whilst your mouth hung open. You ached to feel the wet muscle on you, to feel their warmth on you properly.

Hange's hand landed at your breast, kneading, your skin melted into the gaps between their fingers, the fat of your breast rolling underneath their hand. Hange's thumb teased over your nipple, spreading spurts of pleasure down your entire spine. Then Hange nipped the hem of your dampened, cotton underwear with their teeth and tugged it to the side, to expose your swollen pussy, leaking and throbbing in the cool air. A swipe of their tongue on your bare slit, lathering your sweet arousal on the tip of their tongue as they swallowed it, tasting you for the first time. They groaned out a muffled mm, into your centre, delighted by your taste. Before diving in to pleasure you properly, blissfully easing the tension that had built up in your core.

"That—hn— feels so good, Hange," your voice was muffled behind your palm, hips rocking over their face, coating their cheeks with your slick, their glasses fogging up with the honeyed arousal. You moved loose hairs from their face, fighting the wet strands as they clung to Hange's skin. "P-please don't fucking stop," you whimpered, gasping, losing control of your hips as you sat pretty on Hange's skilled tongue.

You could feel a coldness on your slit, realising Hange had a tongue piercing you never fucking noticed, the cold metal rubbing over your puffy centre. You leaned back, head hanging back at the chilled sensation, the contrast of Hange's warmth and the cold metal. Hange was struggling to breathe underneath you, clearly enjoying the light suffocation in between your thighs, eyes rolling back as their fingers harshly dug into your ass.

Your fingers travelled down Hange's stomach, reaching back behind you—feeling their abdomen twitch into your hand. Reaching Hange's centre, you rubbed your middle and index finger over their own swollen clit. Moaning as you felt how wet they were, their arousal matching yours in its desperation, Hange's legs spread out to give you better access. Aching for you as you ached for them.

Hange groaned weakly into your centre, lost in the scent, sight and taste of you as you played with their pussy above them, wanting to give them back some of the delectable pleasure they were giving you. Your perked up breasts were bouncing above them with the weight of gravity and the movement of your arm behind you, specks of sweat dripping down your stomach as you started losing rhythm in your hips, quickening up your rocking on their tongue, sometimes their nose would stroke over your clit, driving you further over the edge.

"Ah—fuck, 'm gonna cum," Your voice reached a higher pitch, you bit the back of your hand to stop yourself to shouting, "'m so fuckin' close, Han—gonna cum—fuuck."

Your hips twitched on Hange's face, they eagerly lapped up your arousal as it leaked from your throbbing hole, your release dripping down Hange's chin as they swallowed up what they could, like they were starved. Groaning happily beneath you as your fingers sped up against their clit.

You lifted your pelvis from their face, allowing them to breathe as you turned yourself over to focus on Hange. You placed yourself in between their welcoming, spread legs as they shook against your fingers.

"Fuck—angel.." Hange sighed, eyes closed as your fingers easily slipped inside them, lubricated by their own slick since you came on their tongue. They had been uncomfortably wet ages ago, but they were truly dripping now. Their own hips chased after your hand wretchedly as you curled three fingers against their cervix, rubbing over the squishy spot that had Hange throwing their head into the pillow. Hiding their face and mouth with their tatted wrist, their pelvis grinding into your hand whilst their body rocked from the repeated movements. 

You didn't like their face hidden away, obscured by their wrist, so you pulled at it with your free hand, tugging it down until it was trapped on top of their stomach, held down. Hange was crying out, not having a way to cover their face from being restrained, forcing them to expose their expressions as you worked your fingers diligently inside them.

"Shi—ah—keep going, fuck, please—just like that,"

In perfect circumstances, you'd have loved to hear Hange coming undone loudly for you, but right now you needed them to be more quiet, Levi was right in the next room. So, trapping their arm with your chest, you brought your fingers up to their mouth, rubbing over their bottom lip until they split open to suck in your fingers. Their sounds enveloped by your fingers in their mouth, fuck, the sight was heavenly. Your head dropped down, weakly faltering at the scene in front of you.

Hange's arm pushed your head down, moving you forcibly until your face was in front of their heat. The corner of your lips tilted into a self-satisfied smirk as you understood what they were asking of you.

"Want my mouth on you, hm?" you teased, fingers still curling into them as Hange hummed, their head feebly nodding, mouth full of your fingers. Chuckling, you lowered your head, swiping your tongue up their slit, revelling in the minute twitches of Hange's hips. The feeling of your tongue lewdly slurping up their arousal plus your fingers stretching their tight walls in a steady motion, Hange was close to oblivion. Breathlessly gaping down to watch you as you worked hard to please. The deity was in between their thighs, blithely moving your tongue down their pulsing centre.

Their hips faltered, Hange's face stiffening as their eyes rolled back, they were in your heavenly trap— how could they ever get out?

"G'na cum for me, Hange?" you mumbled, pussydrunk as Hange's abdomen tightened, their thighs taut against your head, dragging you impossibly closer. You whined into their core as Hange released the pressure of their climax into your mouth.

You popped your other fingers out of Hange's mouth, spreading their saliva around their jaw as they quivered, riding out their saccharine release.

"Fuuck," Hange's whimper was soft, spent, tired out from how hard they came. You sighed as you slipped your fingers out, lapping your digits dry of the droplets of their arousal.

"That's it," you soothed, tranquillising them as you brought your lips up to theirs, hands on their jaw as your naked chests rubbed against each other. Hange looked up at you, their eyes half-lidded as they caught their breath, both of you gazing at each other with unadulterated love in your eyes.

Feeling relatively rejuvenated, Hange's fingers trailed down to the curve of your ass, massaging the skin under your underwear, before ripping it down your thighs. They felt insatiable. Wanted this haze to last as long as possible. You yelped sharply, thinking they were too tired to continue, confused as Hange bent you over, your knees folded on the bed and your ass up.

Hange got into place behind you, caressing down your dimpled spine as their leg nudged you to spread your thighs apart. They ghosted kisses on your skin, hands rubbing over your lower body as they placed a knee in between your legs, teasing your entrance with two fingers.

"Oh, f-fuck," you gasped, head falling down into the mattress to silence yourself as Hange plunged two fingers inside you. There was no need for anymore teasing, you were absolutely dripping. Hange rocked their fingers deep into your cervix, fingertips reaching the back of your walls as your spine curved to let them in even further. A hand met your hip, squeezing the skin as they swung your hips to grind over their knee, stroking your clit as their pretty fingers fucked into you.

Hange thrust their own hips in rhythm with their fingers, imagining that they were fucking you with their strap as a proxy instead of their hands. Getting lost in their own imagination as the skin on your ass recoiled with each hit, you throwing your hips back to meet their thrusts.

"Shit—Hange," you whined, muffling into the blankets as you panted, feeling them move inside you as overstimulation struck. Your clit was so sensitive as it rubbed against their knee. Reaching your arm back, hand flailing for them to grab your hand, craving that extra connection. Hange's hand encompassed your own, gripping it as they didn't relent their movements, holding their chest against your back.

"Fuck, angel—I fuckin' love you," Hange muttered, losing grip on reality and the control over their mouth, not realising what they had just spoken into the universe. You clenched at Hange's words, tight walls sucking in their fingers as you trembled.

"Hange—hn, I love you, fuck,"

"Could be in this pussy forever, 's just fuckin' perfect," Hange drawled, more kisses at the back of your neck and you lost it. Mouth hanging open, you squirted all over the bed and Hange's knee, forcing out their fingers with a pop.

You stilled underneath them, catching your breath back as Hange kissed you through it. Turning your body to the side, in a daze, you met eyes. Truly fucked out.

Hange fell beside you, caressing your sides as you snuggled into their chest.

"Think we were too loud?"

"Hope not," you muttered, "He's a heavy sleeper," Hange chuckled at your answer. They hadn't quite come to the realisation that they had just fucked their best friend's sister into next week, breaking the one promise Levi ever held Hange to, not wanting to think about the consequences.

"You said you loved me," you whispered hesitantly, eyes closing against their heaving chest. A little fearful  of bringing it up in case it was just a heat of the moment thing, but since they said it, you couldn't stop thinking about it.

Hange stilled, feeling embarrassed that they uttered something like that during sex, they wouldn't have been as embarrassed about it if it wasn't true.

"I mean—I.. didn't lie,"

"You love me?" You looked up, it was hard to miss the way your doe eyes lightened up, specks of hope glimmering in them. Just like that, Hange's embarrassment dissipated.

"Yes, angel, I've loved you for a while," Hange moved a strand of your hair behind your ear, placing a kiss on your forehead. Biting your lip, you tried to withhold the smile that threatened to break out, failing miserably.

"I, I love you, too, Hange."

—

A week had passed, and Levi was none the wiser to the debauchery that took place in your bedroom that morning. Good, you thought, you weren't ready to tell him yet. You and Hange were in a good place, you didn't want Levi finding out and ruining everything.

Needless to say, you guys had begun secretly seeing each other. Hurried, covert kisses between you whenever he left the room. You couldn't help it, you were addicted, taking every chance you got to feel Hange against you. It'd been years waiting for this, there was no way you could go without it now. It wasn't like you could get much time by yourselves, anyway, you had to take what you could get and be grateful for it.

Dating Hange changed pretty much everything about your relationship, you were so much more comfortable around each other. That high-strung sexual tension that hung over both of you over the last few years had subsided, leaving space for an actual relationship to form where you could talk in comfort, behaving more normally around each other. That wasn't to say you didn't still want to fuck Hange's brains out, you just hadn't had a chance since that day, Levi was always hovering. You'd say he was more suspicious than usual, but why?

If he had heard anything that day, neither of you would be alive to tell the tale. He would've walked right in and killed you both on the spot. You felt like you'd been pretty inconspicuous, too, not saying anything out of the ordinary to Hange and not being touchy in front of him. Perhaps you may have been hanging around them more than usual, but would that be so suspicious?

Surely not, right?

You were craving some more alone time with Hange, wishing Levi would fuck off somewhere and leave you to it. You'd be ready to jump their bones at any given moment.

So when Levi left to go buy groceries for tonight's Hange was supposed to fixing something that had fucked up on their console. Hange's good at fixing things, often being tasked with doing so around the house. Trying to mask your excitement, not waiting to bait yourself out— you went up to your room. Waitied until Levi had got in his car and drove off before you messaged Hange to come upstairs.

Within seconds, Hange entered your room, giggling nervously as you pushed them up against the bedroom door, locking your lips on theirs.

"Hello to you, too," Hange chuckled, their slender hands grasping the sides of your head, getting the hint, as you slipped your tongue into their mouth. Hange moaning into the kiss as you slipped their shirt off, exposing their torso so you could bend your head and pop their nipple into your mouth. Rolling your tongue over the peak as Hange tightened their grip on you.

"Don't have much time, need you—now." you ordered, grabbing a hold of Hange's belt loops and dragging your bodies to the bed. Hange straddled over you as you made out in comfort, not worrying about volume for once. Hange unbuttoned your jeans, pulling them down to your ankles as you whimpered sweetly against their lips. The kiss was fiery, both feeling pent up and looking for mutual release, craving each other so badly. No more hesitation unlike the first time.

You unbuttoned your shirt, leaving it hanging open revealing your stomach and breasts, your hands coming to massage your own nipples as Hange gaped down at you, eyes darkening.

"I have something for you," you panted, eyes lidded as you smirked impishly, a mischievous glint in your eyes that intrigued Hange. You reached down below the bed, opening a box and pulling out a long, thick strap, nibbling on your lower lip as Hange stared incredulously at the toy in your hand.

"Don't you wanna fuck me with it, Hange?" the tone of your voice was too enticing, too seductive as you rubbed your fingers over the silicone. Hange tensed up, watching you tease them with it before passing it into their clasp. Trying to ignore the deep stir swirling in their core, with illicit images of you bouncing on their strap swirling around at the forefront of their mind. Hange rushed to prop it over their legs, tightening the straps around their hips and upper thighs.

"You're gonna be the death of me, angel," Hanged sighed, hands clutching your pillowy thighs. They could feel their pulse thumping in their ears with desire, eager to use the new toy on you. Not unlike you, who'd been itching to show it to your partner as soon as you got it.

"Couldn't sleep last night, Hange, couldn't stop thinking of you fucking me with it," you whined, as Hange's fingers teased your clit with soft touches, lips tilting up at your lewd words.

"That right, angel?" you nodded, "Been touching yourself thinking about it?"

"Fuck, yes.. tried to finger myself to get off, but t'wasn't the same," you huffed, feeling yourself get drenched by your own words, "can't reach as deep as you,"

Hange groaned, sucking your nipple into their mouth as they stroked your clit. You were throbbing, the last few days of fantasising left you feeling needy as fuck. Hange slid two fingers into your slick entrance, letting out a deep moan at how wet you were, at the way your pussy just sucked them right in like they were always meant to be there.

Your eyes fell shut as Hange scissored their fingers against your squishy walls, savouring the stretch to prepare you for the strap. Raising your hand to your mouth, you licked a stripe up your palm and lowered your hand to rub the silicone as it hung from Hange's hips. Hange's head fell down, watching dumbly as you rubbed your hand over it as if it were Hange's actual flesh. You'd swear they could actually feel it, too, the way their mouth split open and their breaths grew heavy. The way it provoked them to remove their fingers and edge the silicone tip over your folds, spreading your own slick all over your pulsing pussy.

"Hange—just put it in, please," You tried to push against it, feeling how Hange was separating your folds apart to lubricate the tip, "'ve been so good,"

Hange chuckled as they saw how ruined you were without them even doing anything. Slowly, they pushed the strap through your entrance, "You have been so good, baby," they pushed up until it were completely buried inside you.

"'n you're g'na take me so well, aren't you, angel?", you were filled to the brim, tears rimming your eyes as you rutted your hips into Hange's, "G'na take every single inch of me, aren't you?"

"Fuck—fuck, yes, Hange," you cried out, not withholding the volume of your moans as Hange began to thrust the silicone deep inside you, hitting the sensitive spot at the very back, "'Y're so fucking deep, f-feels so damn good,"

Hange grabbed your hips, using it as a stabiliser to thrust the strap in and out, your breasts bouncing as your body rocked, whimpering as the familiar ball in your abdomen tightened. Hange stared down at where the silicone disappeared inside your puffed folds, their expressions contorting when it'd come out soaked, with a little white ring of your cum forming around the base.

"Look so fucking good like this, all filled up, shit—and all mine," Hange rasped, fingers left marks on your legs as they swung the silicone deeper inside you. They bent down to lick your nipple, teeth latching around the pebbled peak as your back arched into them.

"All yours—ngh—don't fucking stop," Your arms wrapped around Hange's neck, keeping them close to your body as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Your legs slackened around their waist, short nails scratching at Hange's back as the pressure hitting against your cervix got overwhelming.

"W'na see you come all over my cock, fuck,"

The pressure tightened and tightened until your legs were squeezing around Hange, pulling them into you as you released, salacious whines slipping from your pretty lips. Hange moaned with you, sated that they could finally indulge in the libertine noises rolling off your tongue.

"That's it, fuckin' soak it," they muttered, "that's a good girl,"

Hange talked you through it as you came, gushing your slick all over their strap, effectively drenching your lower bodies. They pulled the silicone from your walls, the strap was lathered in your slick.

Your thighs trembled, coming down from your high, as Hange brought the strap to your lips, nudging your mouth open to lick it clean. You lapped up your own mess, Hange watching you intently whilst your tongue skimmed over the plastic. That awoke something in them, something they'd definitely mention next time, you already looked too spent.

Hange affectionally gave you kisses all over your face, praising you for being so good, that you took them so, so well.

"Y'sound divine when you come for me," they mumbled against your neck, those pretty sounds would be imprinted in their brain forever.

"Hange..." you covered your eyes, embarrassed at how loud you had been.

"No point being shy now, my love."

"Ugh," you chuckled, "We should get cleaned up,"

Hange got up and grabbed a towel from your wardrobe, drying your inner thighs off and wherever else you'd leaked your own slick on, before drying their own legs. You both re-clothed yourselves, freshening up and fixing hairstyles to look as if nothing happened. Levi shouldn't be back yet, anyway, you were in the clear for now.

Making your way downstairs, Hange trailing behind you on the stairs, you laughed amongst yourselves. However, that laughter died out immediately as you spotted Levi stood in your living room with his arms crossed, and an unreadable expression on his face.

The atmosphere very suddenly changed, the smile on your face dropped and Hange averted their eyes from their best friend, unable to look him in the eye, putting their hands into their pockets. The shamed guilt was written all over their face.

"Uh—" you tried breaking the silence, but the words got caught in your throat, Levi's glare was too haunting. There was no way in hell he didn't just hear you two fucking, and watched silently as you and Hange ignorantly made your blissful way downstairs. Your heart dropped, tears brimming your eyes as you waited for him to speak. Knowing that the peaceful bubble you and Hange had been in was about to be nastily ripped open.

"Well?" He finally spoke, eyes landing between you and Hange expectantly, "You got nothing to say?"

That last part was targeted especially towards Hange, who lifted their head to look at their best friend for the first time since both came down.

"Levi, I-I'm sorry—" Hange was trying so hard not to cry, "I didn't mean to break the promise, I'm sorry, it just—"

"Levi, stop this madness—we're both adults and I love Hange. You don't need to make them grovel and feel like shit," You bit out, sure, you felt a little bad, but this was way over the top. You weren't doing anything wrong. Neither was Hange.

"You love Hange?" He spat out, face tensing.

"Fuck's sake, yes! And for the record, the feeling is mutual, okay, we're dating— it's not like we're just fucking around for the hell of it."

"I see,"

"I know the promise means a lot to you, Lev," Hange stepped a little closer to you, and your gaze softened as they braved out a little smile at you, "But.. this is different,"

Levi stared at the both of you, almost apathetic. He looked down and sighed, tutting, "I knew this was gonna fucking happen,"

"Levi—"

"Stop, I'm... not angry." He rubbed two fingers over his nose bridge, "It's just a little weird, seeing it. Hearing it is a different matter, I'm gonna need fucking therapy for that,"

Hange cheeks burned, he could've just omitted the fact that he heard it, we all know he did, was voicing it out loud necessary?

"You're not mad?"

"I'm annoyed that you both lied to me, but I get it," he shrugged, "Just.. please be quiet from now on? And for the love of god if you have any arguments—don't come to me, I really don't wanna know."

The Tokyo streets glow with sodium lamps and neon signs that are blinking overhead. The streets are mostly empty, aside from a few stragglers and drunks passed out along the sidewalk.

It isn’t until ten minutes into your walk that you feel it—eyes. You glance around, confused. There’s no one you can see, just a small cat on the other side of the street that isn’t even watching you, finding more interest in it’s own paw. Shrugging you keep walking.

Five minutes later you cut into a narrow alley. A shortcut home you normally take after a night out with the girls, granted they are with you—safety in numbers or something. Your drunken mind isn’t really concerned with that right now, though. Your feet are cold, small stones digging into your toes where you’re walking, and you’re lucky you haven’t encountered something sharp yet.

A little bit further into the dark alley you feel it again, that heavy sense of being watched. Whipping your head around you see someone stand at the end of the alleyway. The person’s silhouette completely black, except for the stark white hair that’s illuminated by the streetlight from above. The second thing you note is how tall they are. And the third thing you notice is the eyes—they’re glowing. Piercing blue looking over at you.

He’s just… staring at you. But when he sees you looking at him, he takes a step towards you. Then another. And another. You back up, pointing a finger at him.

“Stay there!” you bark out, finger trembling slightly. “Stay,” you repeat, firmer. The man halts, one pale eyebrow lifting in amusement.

“That’s right. Good boy.” If you were sober, you’d cringe at calling a stranger good boy, but right now all you can think of is that you’re drunk, barefoot, in an alley, and this guy is, what—seven feet tall?

His face becomes clearer now, a bit of moonlight illuminating some of the planes of his face. His skin is porcelain-like, eyes like a kaleidoscope of every blue imaginable, and a smirk is on his face, clearly enjoying this entire interaction.

Right, you’re staring. You clear your throat. “I-I’m going now. You just… stay there.”

He only crosses his arms and leans against the wall, still watching. You slowly nod your head, taking a small step back. Okay, good, he’s staying right where he is. Where you told him to stay. Turning around you nearly scream bloody murder.

He’s right there.

A gasp slips from your lips, mouth dropping open while your eyes bug out of your skull. Did the alcohol in your system fuck you up so bad you somehow turned around slow enough for him to walk in front of you without you noticing it?

You crane your neck up to look at him, stumbling back slightly with the change of your head, before you steady yourself again. He’s smiling down at you, and it’s a nice smile, honestly. It would’ve been charming, if not for the fangs. They’re long, sharp, and very obvious.

Alarm bells blare in your head, muffled slightly by the badum badum badum of your heart in your ears. Impossibly blue eyes, inhuman speed, and now fangs.

“Vampire,” you whisper, voice barely audible.

The stranger’s smile widens. “Ding, ding, ding, sweetheart.”

You swallow hard, of course this would happen to you today out of all days, after being told your friend is fucking your ex and leaving you stranded, alone, in the club.

Your hand slips into your bag, fingers fumbling, digging, trying to search for the bag you had touched earlier that night. But the more you keep fumbling, the harder your heart is starting to beat. Did you make up the fact that you had the bag with you? He notices the motion, of course he does.

“Oh? Gonna pepper spray me? Call a friend?” there’s clear amusement in his voice, “Newsflash, sweetheart, I’m way too fast for that.”

Your fingers keep searching. Come on, come on, come on— There. The pads of your fingers skim over the plastic bag, and it crinkles under the motion. Bingo.

Your heart slams against your ribcage. God, please let that dumb folklore be right. You grab the bag an dump it onto the ground, a soft thud sounds through the alley as thousands of rice grains scatter across the tiles.

The vampire’s head snaps down. He stares for a few seconds, blinks, then crouches. He mutters something under his breath and begins to count, fast—really fucking fast.

You stare at this seven-foot, hulking creature for a few more seconds. Then you take one step back, and another, and another. Then you run, feet pounding against the floor down the alley.

You risk a glance over your shoulder, just hoping he isn’t fast enough to count all of that within seconds. Big mistake. He’s still counting, luckily. But… he looks kind of cute doing it, nevermind the part where he’s a seven-foot vampire.

You slow down, feet coming to a halt, before you turn back and walk up just enough to grab your phone from where it fell onto the ground.

Click.

He doesn’t look up, but the twitch of his fingers tell you he heard it. “Cute.”

Gojo has never seen something like this before. He didn’t expect to be pelted with grains of rice by a cute drunk girl he’d set his sights on the moment she stumbled out of the club. Worse, he has the compelling urge to count them all. He isn’t sure why, all he knows is that he has to count them.

It’s something he’ll look into when he gets home.

It was a smart move on your part, clearly having read some sort of vampire lore before—unless you throw rice at every creep you encounter. However you came back, feet still bare, one of your heels lay abandoned further down the alleyway.

Then you whispered something about how cute he was, as if he isn’t a whole seven feet of vampire.

Now? Now you’re sitting across from him, feet still bare and dirty with grime and small pebbles stuck to your toes—how you haven’t noticed is beyond him—heel danling from your fingers, and your dress is riding up your thighs.

You’re mumbling incoherently about your ex and your friend, not that he’s paying attention to it, all his focus is on the stupid grains of rice.

He isn’t sure why you aren’t running. You know he’s a vampire, having seen his speed, his fangs, his eyes—hell, you even whispered it, vampire. Yet you’re still sitting here, in front of him, as if you’re keeping him company.

He knows you’re drunk, he can smell it on your breath, and if that wasn’t the dead giveaway then the stumbling and walking back to a fucking vampire would be. No one would do that shit when they’re sober.

You’re recounting a story about your ex now, gesturing wildly into the cool night-air. He’s had to restart his count a total of three times already because you keep distracting him. The first time you accidentally kicked the pile when you went to sit down, apologising to him for fucking it up.

The second time you ‘accidentally’ smacked his arm when telling him something. You’d said it was accidental because you were gesturing, but he thinks it’s because he wasn’t paying attention to your story.

He can only hope that the third time just works out for him, because he really wants to sink his fangs into your glistening skin—apart from the sweat you’d certainly built up in the club there’s something else to it, maybe a shimmer you’d applied before leaving for the club earlier today.

He only has a few hundred grains of rice left when your phone rings. And just like anything else tonight, you pick it up without any hesitation.

Gojo can hear a man on the other side of the line, saying something snarky. He isn’t tuned into the conversation, but his ears could hear everything if he wanted to, but he’s still counting, and he’d rather focus on that and finally feed himself than listen to whatever is being said by you or the man.

3124 3125 3126 3127… He’s about to count the last grain of rice when you suddenly flip the phone to him, screen illuminating his skin in a mix of blue and green. 3159 grains of rice, all counted.

He finally looks up and sees a guy filling your screen. Faux blond hair with green roots, brown eyes, and a smirk on his face that quickly morphs into something else. Then you turn your phone back to yourself, slurring out a, “See, ‘m with someone. Now leave m’ alone, asshole.”

Gojo hears the call disconnect, sees the way your screen goes dark. The only light illuminating your skin now is the pale moonlight. Then you take a deep breath and promptly fling yourself backward onto the ground.

“See what I have to deal with?” your eyes find his, a small pout formed on your face while your brows furrow. Gojo doesn’t say anything, just looks at you with those piercing blue eyes. He crosses his arms over his chest and clears his throat. “I’m gonna give you a twenty-second head start, sweetheart. If I were you I’d take it.”

Your brows furrow in confusion this time, nose crinkling slightly. God, you really forgot, didn’t you?

He heaves a sigh and opens his mouth just enough to show his fangs. They glint in the moonlight, showing of just how sharp they are. You squint your eyes a bit, then they open wide again.

“Vampire,” you whisper again, voice fully trembling. But then you groan, it rumbles through your chest a bit, and kick your feet a little. “I don’ wanna runnnn.”

Gojo has to close his eyes for a second and take a deep breath. He likes the chase that comes from when people are afraid of him. Likes it even more when his prey think they can outrun him. They can’t, but he sure does like having them believe they can. Blood always tastes sweeter when there’s a hint of fear involved, after all.

He opens his eyes again and looks straight at you. Then he leans in a little, breath just shy of ghosting the shell of your ear.

“Run,” he whispers, voice sticky sweet as honey. He can see the way your eyes gloss over a bit. Then you’re scrambling upward, and dart out of the alley—your other heel clattering to the ground.

Gojo, true to his word, waits a full twenty seconds. Then he’s in front of you again, making you yelp and dash away again, stumbling over your own feet a little, crashing into the wall, scraping your hand on the rough stones.

The cat and mouse game continues for what he thinks is a full ten minutes. He can hear your heart pounding, blood rushing through your body, and your whispers of ‘Please don’t kill me, I’m way too hot’ and ‘I should’ve stayed home’ and ‘He is kinda cute, though.’

He ignores that last one.

It isn’t until you stumble up the steps of a house where he catches you. His broad chest pressed to your back, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, fingers dipping into your sides,, while the other is planted next to your head on the door.

“Gotcha,” he whispers into your hair. You’re trembling in his grip, knees almost buckling out form under you. You’re pressed flat against the front door of your house.

You were so close, all you had to do was open it and you would’ve been fine.

You can feel the way his pecs are squished against your back. He’s hunched over you, entire frame leaning down so he can nose against your hair. His muscles are bulging out of his shirt, making you press your thighs together.

It’s a weird mixture of fear and arousal that’s shooting through you. You know he’s a vampire, know he can kill you in an instant—and maybe he will drain you of all your blood—but he’s also so tall. His entire hand splayed out over your tummy now.

He chuckles when he notices the way you’re pressing your thighs together. His cold breath fanning over your skin, almost like a night breeze caressing your face. “You gonna let me in, sweets?”

You know you shouldn’t. Know you should try to get out of his cold, undead grip as fast as you can. The door is right there, one step and you’d be free of him. One big step, you’d just have to get out of his grasp. Sure he has bulging muscles and probably inhuman strength, but you can twist your way out of this, can’t you? Just do a little shimmy and free yourself.

The big hand that’s on your stomach can’t possibly keep you right there, pressed against him, can it? Nevermind the fact that he has such thick forearms and biceps and triceps even Greek Gods would be jealous of.

Turning a bit to the left, you try to see if you have any wiggle room, only for him to chuckle once more. His fingers dig into your flesh a bit harder now, indenting the skin where he touches you. Welp, there goes your plan, straight out the window.

“Promise not to kill me?” You don’t dare to look at him, afraid his eyes will put you under a spell yet again. You know you should’ve ran the first time he told you to, but you were too out of your mind to fully grasp the situation. “Mhmm, just want some of your blood.”

That seems… reasonable enough. You fumble with your keys slightly, still trembling in your grip, the keys and keychains clinking against each other. It’s the only sound in the entire street, everyone else already being in bed—which is no surprise, considering you left the club at… three or something like that.

When you finally slot your keys into the hole, you twist it open, pushing the door open to your dark hallway.

You’re about to set a foot into your house when the guy tugs you back against his chest. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Right, he’s a vampire and not just some random hookup you dragged home. A very handsome vampire, though. If you’re going out, at least it’s by a hottie. Oh fuck, he really can just kill you. I mean, he just said he wouldn’t, but he can lie about it. Then again, he could’ve killed you ten times over already.

“What’s your name?” That seems to catch him off-guard. Blinking a few times, those baby blues looking you over in wonder a few times, and you can’t help but melt into him a bit—only for you to stand up straight again when you feel how fucking cold he is.

“Satoru,” is all he mumbles out, fangs poking out slightly. He really is cute for a terrifying creature.

Nodding your head you nudge the door open even further, extending your hand into your house with a flourish. “Come in, Satoru.”

The next second you’re picked up before he all but throws you onto your couch, your body bouncing a bit before he’s on you. A yelp leaves your lips, heart pounding out of your ribs, fingers shaking slightly, breaths heavy.

Right, he is a vampire with inhuman speed and strength. Your pupils dilate a bit, hairs standing on edge when he grins down at you with those too-sharp canines. His eyes almost seem to glow in this moment, face shadowed completely.

You’re frozen in place, reality settling in like someone poured a cold cup of water over your head to sober you up.

You just invited a vampire into your house. To drink your blood. Way to fucking go.

“Ready, sweets?” He murmurs down at you, picking up your hand where it lies limp beside you on the couch, pulse hammering in your ears. He brings your fingers up to his mouth, before wrapping his lips around the bloodied appendages, tongue laving over the wounds there. You’d honestly forgotten you even had them—too busy running away from him to notice just how scratched up your clammy palms were.

His saliva stings your skin, making you pull away, only for him to hold your wrist in place. He licks a broad stripe from your palms up to your fingers, leaving behind a red trail—blood and saliva mixed together.

When you don’t answer he grins a bit wider, lips slightly red by your blood. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

With that he surges forward, one strong arm wrapping around your waist to keep you from squirming while the other quickly brushes away the hairs that are falling over your shoulder. His fangs puncture your skin just above your collarbone, and it feels like your nerves are on fire.

Your mouth opens in a scream, only to have it clamped shut by a big palm. Tears spring to your eyes, fat drops falling down the apples of your cheeks before they drip from your jawline onto the couch below.

You can feel the way your blood is leaving you. Satoru is sucking on the wound hard enough to make your eyes roll to the back of your skull—not in pleasure, but in pain. Pure agony running through your veins now.

From all the vampire lore, you whished the aphrodisiac bite was at least true. But instead of pleasure surging through you, it’s pain. Pure pain. You can feel the way your body jerks from the sensation, but Satoru just tightens his hold onto you, pushing you further into the couch.

The last thing you see before the dark takes ahold of you is the blue glow emitting from his eyes, casting the two of you in a soft, blue glare, making his pale hair stand out against the darkness of the room.

You wake up surrounded by softness. Blinking a few times you register just where you are—your own bed. Your pillow is soft and fluffy under your head, and your blanket is keeping you warm. Your head is absolutely pounding, a dull thud behind your eyes making you groan.

Just how much did you have to drink last night?

Thinking back on the night before, you can remember bits and pieces. You went out with your friend to celebrate… something, only for her to leave you alone at the club later that night.

Why did she leave you alone again?

Racking your brain, you try to fill in the gaps as good as you can. You remember drinking and dancing. Hips moving to the beat—well you tried to, but you probably were off-beat if you’re going to be honest—while your friend was laughing with you.

Then she leaned forward with a smile on her face and murmured something in your ear. What the fuck did she say that she had to leave?

You furrow your brows, closing your eyes once more. Right, right, it’s coming all back to you now. She told you she was dating Naoya out of all people. Even after you’d told her every minute detail about that scumbag, she still chose to be with him, destroying your trust in the process.

Fucking bitch. And then she just up and left you there to get home by yourself.

Okay, now you know why your head is pounding—having drank waayyy too much alcohol to at least have a good night by yourself. But how did you get home?

You pat around your bed to search for your phone, twisting your neck to look to your left side, only for a hiss to leave your lips when you feel just how much your neck hurts. Your hand shoots to the spot, only to find gauze under your fingertips.

Gauze? Why is there gauze on your neck out of all places.

You rub your head with your other hand, only to feel small scabs on your fingertips. Opening your eyes you look at your hand, only to see it being scabbed over at some places.

Right, you scratched your hand on the wall when running away from that cute vampire. …Wait, what??

Sitting up you look around your room, to hopefully see said vampire, but he’s nowhere to be found. A laugh bubbles up in your chest and leaves your lips. A vampire, how stupid is that. Your drunken mind probably made all of that up.

Seeing a weird silhouette in an alleyway sure is scary, so you just began to run back home. Yeah, yeah that must be it. Your drunken mind having conjured up a whole story about a guy that doesn’t exist. Vampires aren’t real; they’re just myths made up to scare children.

So why is there gauze on your collarbone?

Your head is pounding all the same, these silly questions surely can wait until after you had some water, or coffee.

Standing up you’re about to walk downstairs when you hear someone… humming? Your shoulders immediately tense up, feet planting themselves in their place. Why is there someone in your house?

Grabbing the nearest object—a vase with fake flowers, because nowadays it’s too much to ask guys to get you some flowers—you tiptoe down the stairs, careful to not make a sound. It’s one thing if there’s someone in your house, it’s another when they know you’re there.

On the last step you hear someone call out to you. “Oh, you’re awake. That’s good!”

You nearly drop the vase in shock, fingers slipping slightly, before you tighten your grip again. Your heart hammering out of your chest, goosebumps littering your skin, and before you can even do anything, a tall, white-haired man walks into view.

And suddenly everything from last night slams back into you. No, your mind hadn’t simply made up Satoru, it’s real. The gauze on your throat a bitter reminder that there are, in fact, vampires roaming the earth.

“What the fuck are you still doing in my house?” you ask him, setting the vase down onto your kitchen counter before walking up to him. You poke your finger against his arm, testing to see if he really is real, or if you might still be drunk. “You’re real, right?”

Gojo just chuckles at you, his fangs poking through his lips at your question. His fingers wrap themselves around your wrist—ice cold to the touch, making you tremble slightly from just how cold they are—stopping you from poking him any further.

“Duh, you can’t make up a face this pretty.” He gestures to his face with a small pout on his face. Okay, conceited much. You scrunch your nose up at that, looking him dead in the eye—the same eyes that glowed last night while he was feasting on you - is that the correct term? You’re not sure, but you don’t really care, either.

“As for your question, I stayed because I might’ve drained you a bit too much. The alcohol in your system made your blood thinner, so I had a harder time gauging just how much I drank. So I stayed to be certain you wouldn’t pass awa— anyway. Alcohol makes your blood taste bitter, by the way, Certainly didn’t help you weren’t as afraid as I wanted you to be,” he mumbles that last part under his breath.

“Not as afraid as you wanted me to be? I thought my heart was gonna crawl out of my mouth— can you let go of me? You’re cold as fuck,” you try to tug your wrist out of his grasp, only for him to tighten it just slightly, slender fingers enclosing around your wrist.

Grinning he leans down slightly, back hunched just slightly as he looks you in the eye. “Why? You didn’t seem to mind me touching you last night.”

You inhale sharply, the memory of him pressed against your back flooding your mind. His strong chest pressed against your back while his hand was splayed out over your tummy making you all hot and bothered— no, you can’t think like this, fucking stop it.

“Yeah, well, that was just me being drunk,” you mumble out.

He takes a step forward, and another, while you walk backwards, until your back hits the wall. The wall scratching your back slightly, straightening your spine. His hand plants itself next to your head, leaning forward until his nose is almost brushing yours. “You sure that’s all it was? I’m hurt, sweets. You’re saying you don’t find me cute anymore?”

Gulping you press your thighs together, your panties damp under your sleeping shorts, core hot and achy. There’s no denying he’s hot—not quite cute as you called him last night—but should you really do this? He’s a vampire, hot, sure, but still a bloodsucking creature. His grin widens when his eyes flick down to your thighs.

You know you shouldn’t do this. It’s irresponsible, downright stupid, but you can’t deny to yourself that he’s making you horny by just existing.

And suddenly a thought enters your mind, like someone whispered in your ear. Your friend—now ex-friend—is dating your ex. It makes your stomach flip a few times, trying to make sense of the situation you’re in right now.

Fuck it.

Your hands find his pecs that are flexed with the way he’s standing, fabric doing little to hide them. Your finger trails down to his abdomen where you can feel the clearly built muscles. You bat your lashes at him, tilting your head just slightly. “And what if I said I thought you were hot?”

“Then I’d ask to have another taste— a different taste this time,” he murmurs down at you. That’s all you needed, fisting the fabric of his shirt and pulling him down to meet you. Lips crashing against each other in a messy battle of teeth and tongue.

He groans into your mouth, carefully nipping at your lower lip, puncturing it slightly. He sucks on the little droplets of blood before he claims your mouth once more. Copper filling your taste buds, making you moan out slightly.

Then he suddenly picks you up, hands under your thighs while yours find purchase at his broad shoulders, clutching onto them, nails digging into his skin just slightly. He chuckles against your mouth, “I’m not going to drop you.”

And true to his word, he doesn’t drop you, but he does bring you upstairs at speeds you’ve never dreamed of having. He carefully lays you down onto the bed, matrass groaning under both your weight just slightly.

His lips disconnect from yours, and he has to keep himself from groaning out at the sight of your bloodied, kiss-bitten lips. All swollen for him. Gojo peppers featherlight kisses down your throat, until they find the gauze just above your collarbone.

Yelping you look down at him. He’s grinning up at you, blue eyes crinkling slightly while he carefully places another kiss onto the gauze. “That hurts, dickhead.”

“Hmmm, just showing my little blood bag some appreciation,” he purrs before his lips trail further down, all the way until he’s seated onto the floor, cold breath ghosting on your thighs, leaving behind slight goosebumps. “I’m not your personal blood bag.”

He just winks up at you before pressing a kiss to the fat of your thigh. Then one a little higher, another one to the apex of your thigh, and one on your hipbone. You’re squirming out at the feeling of his lips—cold to the touch, but oh so careful.

His fingers hook around your pajama shorts, looking up at you for permission. When you nod he pulls them off you, leaving you in your panties. His pupils dilate when they see the wet spot, “You’re soaked. All this for me?”

Rolling your eyes you look down at him, leaning on your elbows. “How about you touch me instead of being such a conc— oh fuck,” your head lolls back onto your shoulderblades, eyes fluttering shut slightly. His thumb presses onto your clit.

“What was that, sweetheart?” he chuckles when you moan out at the pressure he applies through your panties, thumb circling your twitchy clit. “That’s what I thought.”

He leans down to lick a broad stripe over your panties, moaning out at the taste of you—so sweet, and oh, how he wishes you weren’t drunk last night so he could’ve had a taste of this pussy earlier—lips wrapping around your nub and sucking on it slightly.

“Shit. Fuck— Satoru, right there,” your hand finds his head, fingers threading through his silky locks, pulling on them slightly when he sucks even harder, cheeks hollowing out. Pleasure shoots right through your core, thighs threatening to snap shut. Something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the white-haired man under you, big palms clasping your thighs and keeping them spread riiight open for him. “Just get those panties out of the way already!”

He releases his lips with a pop, making you sigh out. Grinning up at you, one of his fingers comes up to your swollen folds, rubbing them slightly—still with that damn fabric in the way.

“Someone’s eager. You want me to get rid of these cute panties?” He tilts his head slightly before his fingers creep further upwards,, until they hook into them, making you think he’s finally going to get them off you. Instead he pulls the fabric upward, stretching it over your poor twitchy cunt, “But they look so good on you— yeahhh look at that.”

His eyes are zeroed in on where the fabric disappears between your pussy lips slightly, stretching the fabric even further until you’re pushing at his head, whining out.

“Please, please just get them off,” you whine out, tears gathering in your eyes from the way he’s just playing with you, taking his sweet time while your hole is pulsing around nothing. He chuckles once more before letting the fabric snap! against your skin, having you gasp out.

“Guess I should give this pretty pussy what she deserves, huh?” He gives a few taps to your clit, thighs twitching with each pass of his fingers, before he finally hooks a finger around the gusset and pulls it aside, revealing your cunt to the open air.

Without any preamble he dives in, tongue flat against your twitchy clit. Your back immediately arches with the swipe of his tongue—this time without any fabric between the muscle and your aching clit.

One of his slender, cold fingers plunges itself into your soppy hole. Your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging on it slightly, moaning out at the intrusion. “Fuck— right there.”

He thrusts his finger in and out of you before adding another one. The cold touch such a stark contrast to your hot, needy core it has you keen out. Your legs are trembling in his hold, one of them still spread open by his other hand, while your own creeps down to hold your other leg open for him.

“Such a good girl,” he mumbles out against your core, pleasure shooting through you. He curls those long digits inside of you, trying to find that one spot inside of you while he very lightly nips on your clit, your walls clamping down on his digits. His fingers keep thrusting and curling inside of you, finding finding findi— you loudly moan into the air, head thrown back. Found it.

“F-fuck, Satoru, keep them there ‘m so close,” you sob out, thighs tensing up slightly while he continuously hits your g-spot with perfect precision. Your orgasm crashes over you, tiny fireworks exploding in your tummy. “Cumming— cumming.”

He stays down there, lapping up the slick that’s gushing out of you. Cold tongue dipping into your hole alongside his fingers, opening you up even further for him.

You go limp in his hold a minute later, and he finally detaches himself from your mound—lips shiny with spit and your arousal. Then he pulls his fingers from your hole, stringy juices webbing between his fingers when he spreads them, looking at them in wonder, before putting them in his mouth and moaning out at the sweet, sweet taste that’s you.

“Think you’re ready for me, baby?” He stands up already unbuckling his belt, and you have to swallow once you see his bulge. Fuck. He’s ginormous. You shouldn’t be surprised, this guy is seven-feet tall, everything about him is enormous compared to you, but still you can’t help the way your eyes are almost bulging out of your skull.

He pulls out his cock—angry, red tip swollen and glistening with pre—and wraps his fist around it, giving it a few tugs.

“That’s not gonna fit inside of me,” you blurt out, eyes transfixed on where his hand is still wrapped around his dick. He smirks at that, of course he does. He’s probably heard it a million times before, but of course you had to say it.

He leans forward, tip nudging your clit, coating himself in your arousal. “Relax, it’s gonna fit.”

Gulping you lay back slightly, opening your legs even further to accommodate him. He smiles at that, one hand clamping around your waist while the other guides his member towards your entrance. Taking a deep breath in, he pushes inside your fluttering walls.

A high-pitched moan leaves your lips, sweat breaking on your skin. The stretch is unbelievable—your walls fluttering uselessly around him, and this was just the tip. He hisses at the feeling of your walls clamping down on him—yes, actually hisses, fangs on full display. “Fuck, loosen up baby.”

His fingers come down to your sensitive clit, rubbing on it to keep you distracted from the intrusion—not that it helps. He pushes another inch inside of you, and tears are starting to spill down from your eyes, disappearing into your hairline.

Gojo looks at you, blue eyes almost completely black now. He can feel the way his dick twitches when he sees your tears. Leaning forward he balances on one forearm, tongue lapping up your tears, groaning at the salty taste of your tears.

“You’re too big,” you squeal, hand uselessly pushing against his abdomen. He merely presses a kiss to your cheek, then to the corner of your mouth, and finally his lips claim yours, tongue tracing the seam of your sealed lips.

He stays still like that for a little while, letting you get used to the way he’s stretching you out. When he feels you loosen up slightly he pulls his hips back until just his tip remains and pushes back in again, a bit further this time.

You moan out into his mouth, legs wrapping themselves around his waist, and your hands entangle themselves in his hair. “That’s it, knew you could do it.”

With a few more thrusts he finally bottoms out, his hips meeting yours. Tears are flowing free down your face and he has to resist the urge to just bite you with how cute you looked. Fuck, what he wouldn’t do to get a taste of you again—your blood surely much sweeter now.

He looks down, only to grin. Would you look at that. “Look down, sweetheart. See how well you’re taking me?” he grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger and angles your head down. Blinking a few times you look down and—oh! The print of his cock fully visible, bulging your tummy where he’s buried.

“You’re so deep,” you mumble out, slight awe in your voice, only for a broken moan to leave your lips seconds later. Gojo pulls out and thrusts back in, tip smooching your cervix. Again. And again. And again.

A creamy ring starting to circle around his base, balls slapping against your ass with each harsh thrust. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, leaving behind crescent shaped marks. You’re sobbing out into his neck, vision blurring slightly.

“Mhmm, I know.” He presses down onto your stomach where he can feel his own cock through your womb, and it has you keen out even more. Moans and groans and the lewd plap plap plap! of his hips fill the room.

Your legs begin to tremble, cock plummeting in and out of your soppy hole, the squelch it makes has your face heat up, a pretty blush forming on your face as you feel yourself near your second orgasm. After a few more thrusts, you come around him, clear liquid gushing out of you, spraying onto his abdomen, thighs and the sheets below you. Your vision whites out completely while your back arches, mouth forming an ‘o’ that you can’t seem to close.

Satoru hisses when he feels your walls clamp down onto his girth, speeding up his thrusts slightly. “Fuck, lemme cum inside, please.”

Your mind doesn’t register his request at first, too busy trembling around him. It’s only when he starts whining that you take note of his request. “Yes, yes ‘toru. ‘S okay.”

“Shit- need you to say it. Say it out loud for me, pretty,” he pleads with you, his own thighs tensing up slightly. “Y-you can cum inside, S’toru.”

That’s all it takes. He thrusts once more before stilling, his fat tip snug against your cervix while he spills inside of you. Ropes of cum keep coming, emptying his balls inside your greedy cunt completely. His forehead dropping down to yours.

The two of you lay there for a few moments, trying to catch your breath—well, it’s just you who has to catch their breath, but Satoru stays there for you—and calm down slightly.

“Soooo, you need permission to cum inside too, huh?” you giggle at the seven-foot vampire. He just groans, eyes fluttering shut. “Shut up.”

Perm tags: @tojiscreampie @etheralpanic @yoonsucks @liliklei

JJK tags: @mousedit @sugurusbadhabit @cactusvolumes @satorusdollie @kcandy-flosz

©CursedKisss do not copy, steal, plagiarize, or feed my works into AI. I will send Mahito after you if you do.

“y/n…” They begin, moving their glasses from the spot on their face towards the top of their head, pushing their bangs backward in the meantime. Their brown eyes stare at you for what feels like forever, their mind hiding behind an ocean of thoughts and an expression you can’t quite decipher this time around.

They want you to stay, to hold you in their arms as they sit here in the comforting silence of your presence, but instead, they shake their head, trying their best to remove any thoughts of what your warmth would do to them. A heavy sigh makes its way past their lips, the eyebags under their eyes more present than ever as they begin to talk again.

“Please, I’m fine,” they respond. What Hanji fails to realize is that their voice did a slight tremble, not noticeable to anyone else but you know them better than the palm of your own hand. They are the pure representation of your heart beating outside of your chest, so seeing them in such distress is enough to make you act against direct orders, consequences be damned.

“You are not,” you respond. Their office is a mess, their research papers scattered around with drawings and models of flying boats, new weapons, and ways to improve the Survey Corps all around. A thousand and one ideas, some connecting and some just scattered around the wind. 

The whiskey bottle that until a few weeks ago rested full to the brim on their bookshelf now finds itself on its last few sips, the curtains are drawn so no amount of light other than the small candles at the edge of their table can exist in the room and you even notice a few shards of broken glass, probably meaning that they have dropped a cup or two, either from exhaustion or from not being able to see in the dark.

“When was the last time you ate anything?” You ask, gently taking the whiskey glass out of their hand. You notice a small blush creeping its way onto their cheeks as their eyes pointedly avoid yours and, by these simple reactions, you can tell it has been a while, “You’re losing weight.”

They try to reach for the glass once more but you shake your head, pulling it further away. Even though they are stronger than you and could easily take it back if they wanted to, they don't. Instead, Hanji leans against their desk, crossing their arms in front of their chest as they let out a heavy sigh. They want to lie, to tell you they are fine, and pretend like nothing is wrong, but before a single false promise about their well-being can make its way past their lips, you speak up again.

“I can tell you haven’t been sleeping,” your voice is soothing, not an ounce of frustration or anger behind it, just plain worry. You take a step closer, fully prepared for another rejection but it doesn’t come this time around, though you still don’t dare take a deep breath until the moment your fingertips brush against their left cheek, just slightly beneath their eyepatch, “you look exhausted.”

“Now that’s just rude!” An exhausted chuckle escapes their lips as they nuzzle their face into your hand, their expression contorting from anguish to a somewhat relaxed one and it causes your heart to nearly stop for a second before between at three times the usual speed, you are convinced they can hear it from where they stand. “I’ll have you know that I look awesome.”

It’s your turn to chuckle, your worries melting away for simply a second before coming back at full force, knowing way too well that redirecting attention and humor have always been Hanji’s favorite ways of avoiding a serious conversation.

“Hanji…” You start, your tone of voice sounding just as exhausted and defeated as theirs. It drags a loud sigh out of their chest, but as their mouth opens to complain, you continue, a begging tone in your voice as your eyes fill with unwashed tears, “Please, just talk to me.”

That look is enough to cause a painful bang to shoot throughout their body, their heart dropping to their stomach with the knowledge that it is their fault that you look this way. So, without even realizing it, they are already taking a couple of steps forward, hands tightly grasping at your hips as they lean their forehead against yours.

“I’ve just been so busy,” they whisper, the broken tone in their voice creates a tight knot in your throat and the sensation only grows stronger as they continue to speak, “Paperwork, meetings, and any free time I have I go to the lab, trying to complete some old experiments I’ve had from years ago. Even if I try to sleep, I just… Lay there, staring at the ceiling, maybe getting two or three hours here and there.”

You sigh, your arms immediately wrapping around their neck as you pull them close. Their eyelashes bat against the skin of your neck as they close their eyes, a shaky breath escaping them as they inhale your scent, focusing on the way your body feels and smells.

At that moment, an idea hits you. Without disturbing the hug, you look around the messy room, quickly taking in the setting before noticing that, for once, their couch rests next to the window, uncluttered and undisturbed. 

Reluctantly, you pull away from them and the first thing you can hear is a grunt of disapproval. Once your eyes meet again, their pupils are so big, they could only be compared to a puppy dog that has just discovered steak for the first time, pleading, begging even, “Why’d you do that?”

Without an answer, your hand slides with theirs, fingers lacing and fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. Their palm is slightly wet, though you can’t quite place if it is from the condensation from the whiskey glass they held earlier or if it is from nervous sweats. Regardless, all you can focus on is how warm their presence feels close to you.

You don’t speak, instead, you just guide their body towards the couch, their feet dragging behind you, “what are we doing?” They ask, their eyes already fighting to remain open in a combination of the exhaustion and the fuzzy feeling from being drunk, the comfort you bring them doesn’t help either. They are clearly forcing themselves to stay awake, wanting to spend all of this time with you instead of stubbornly trying to push you away.

“We are not doing anything,” you respond, taking a seat on the couch. Your free hand brushes against the spot next to you and they quickly catch onto what you are hinting, your words finally clicking in their head as they flash you a confused look, “You, on the other hand, are going to sleep for a while.”

Their eyes widen for a second as your words take them by surprise, a small groan of protest making its way past their chapped lips, “mmmmm, noo, I can’t… I have so much work that I need to get done… I don’t... Have time to sleep.”

Carefully, you bring your hand towards the back of their head, pulling the ponytail holder out of their hair to make sure they are more comfortable for the next step, which includes guiding their head down towards your thighs. It doesn’t take much effort nor does Hanji put up much of a fight, their body is completely exhausted after all.

“Mmmm,” they whine, their voice filled with a mixture of exhaustion and stubbornness, almost like a child who refuses to lay down for nap time, but once again, they don’t put up a fight, “damn it, how could I ever say no to you?”

“You can’t,” you chuckle, your fingers beginning to comb through the knots in their hair, detangling the strands, your nails gently scratching their scalp while you are at it, “I promise I will be here when you wake up. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your words are soft, carrying so much love that it is almost impossible for Hanji not to melt on the spot. The warmth of your legs combined with the feeling of your fingers going through their hair is finally enough to relax their overly exhausted body, their eyes finally closing and you use your free hand to remove their glasses, hanging it up on the neckline of your shirt.

“Finnneeeee,” Hanji whines once more, turning their body over so their face is buried in your stomach, their slim body now curled into a small ball on the couch and you can’t help but smile at the sight, “but do not let me sleep for more than thirty minutes. An hour, tops.”

You lift your eyes slightly to take a look at the clock on the wall, a gift from Kiyomi to celebrate your relationship. Silently, you take note of the time and look back down at your beloved, a soft, whispered “okay” leaving your lips.

“I’m serious,” Their voice starts sounding more sluggish by the second, their mind already starting to drift off but they fight back sleep for a few extra minutes, just enough to finish the conversation between the two of you, their voice extremely drowsy, “I’ll be mad if you don’t wake me up.”

“I would not dream of doing such a thing,” you respond, unsure if they recognize the mischievous tone in your words or not, but truly hoping that, if they do, they are simply choosing to ignore it. Even so, the way you speak brings them so much comfort, a sense of peace they haven’t felt since becoming commander, “just sleep, my love. I’ll be here.”

The moment Hanji hears you whisper that promise, the certainty that you will be here when they wake up, it’s like a switch flips inside of their mind and they finally allow their body to relax against your touch. Much like a cat, they purr as you continue to run your fingers through their hair, unable to avoid the smile that is now stamped on their lips.

“Thank you, love you,” they whisper, their voice is barely audible and you almost miss it. You don’t even have time to respond before they are completely asleep, the weight of the countless sleepless days finally catching up with their body.

When the first hour passes, you look up from your book, your eyes landing on the clock before making their way down towards Hanji’s face. They look so peaceful, their breathing is so calm and even that it soothes your own worries away and it takes every ounce of your strength not to lay down and nap with them. 

The decision to let them continue their slumber is an easy one. Eventually, you notice a small smile that tugs the corner of their lips in their sleep and you can’t help but wonder and hope that they are dreaming of you. Nevertheless, your fingers continue to go through the strands of their hair, even if it makes flipping the pages of your book a bit difficult, you manage to find a solution by placing it down on the armrest of the couch before using your pinky and ring fingers to hold the object down while the remaining digits flip towards the next page.

Another hour goes by and you start to ponder if you should wake them up. Maybe letting them sleep for this long wasn’t such a good idea, especially since you know they have to return to their duties as commander of the Survey Corps, such as continuing their research and sketching plans for the flying boat. But you can see it in their expression, the small specs of the bubbly person they used to be finally showing back up on their features as they sleep, small reminders of the bright light that has saved you from darkness more times than you can count.

You gasp softly when Hanji stirs slightly in your lap, your heart clenching in your chest as you continue to look down at them, scared that you moved too much and it caused them to wake up. Their expression is still undisturbed, almost like a cat that has just found the warmest spot on the window sill and you catch yourself smiling at them. A silly, love-sick smile that only they can bring out of you.

As the third-hour rolls by and you are trying to convince yourself that it is time to wake them up, you hear a knock on the door and your entire body freezes. You find yourself torn by the two options:

1) Do you say something loudly enough for the person on the other side to hear and risk waking Hanji up in a stressful way before throwing them directly into a situation in which they need to be the Commander, and not the bubbly Hanji Zoe you once loved so dearly.

2) You silently hope that the soldier on the other side will either go away soon or open the door quietly. The couch, though it is by the window, still has a perfect view of the front door to their office, so the person would quickly notice the situation and you would be able to calmly wake Hanji at your own pace, without any negative or stressful interactions.

A second, more forceful knock comes and you notice Hanji slowly starting to shift on your lap. The annoyed expression on your face morphs into one of anger and, as the shadow on the door side moves to knock for a third time, you decide to throw a pillow at the surface.

The person stops midway with their movements before their hand slowly comes to rest on the knob, twisting it slightly as the door quietly swings open. In front of you stands a very nervous scout, one of the new recruits, who hasn’t even been able to choose a specialty yet. His hands are trembling and he nearly drops the stack of papers he holds in his grasp, eyes bugging out of his skull as he looks at you and the sleeping figure on your legs.

“P-paperwork… F-for the C-Commander…” His voice is quiet and trembling, almost as if he is stepping directly into a monster’s lair. You realize in this moment just how intimidating Hanji is in everyone else’s perspective but your own and you can’t help but smile. You nod and gesture your head towards their desk, placing your index finger in front of your lips.

“I-it’s from… Instructor S-Shadis,” he says in the quietest of whispers, but you could already tell. Keith Shadis’ ugly handwriting was something you could identify from a mile away if you had to, “r-reports about… T-the ranking c-ceremony.”

“Thank you,” you mouth the words softly, your fingers moving on Hanji’s hair. They look so small and calm, almost like a harmless kitten, a direct contrast to the authoritative figure that can command an entire room with just a single look in their eye.

The boy nods, his trembling legs making their way towards the wooden table and carefully placing the new stack of paper next to the old ones, trying his best to make sure it is neatly organized while desperately avoiding eye contact with you. He does a quick salute towards you before eagerly exiting the room and you can nearly hear his breath of relief once he is out of sight, outside the closed doors.

You shake your head before looking down at Hanji once more to see a smile on their face. You roll your eyes, “how long have you been awake for?”

The smile on their face grows bigger, their eyes opening slowly to look at you, still a blurry image from the lack of their glasses but still enough for their heart to beat slightly faster, “since the first knock.” Of course, you think to yourself, “How long was I asleep for?”

You look at the clock, and a part of you wants to lie, say it’s only been thirty minutes or so but when you look out the window, you realize the sun has already started to set, making it impossible for such a thing to be even remotely believable. You sigh again.

“Around three hours…” You respond in a sheepish voice, avoiding their gaze. Immediately, Hanji sits up, placing their glasses above the bridge of their nose and looking at the clock on the wall. Once they look back at you, you can see the slightly irritated expression on their face and you feel like you could just shrink and disappear under such a harsh gaze.

“y/n, you promised!” They blur out and you can tell it isn’t anger or irritation… It’s an intense pile of anxiety, hidden behind the harsh facade they attempt to put up. They’re scared that something went wrong in the period they have been sleeping, like the Survey Corps might have fallen apart and they were doing something so useless such as taking a nap. A single thought is going through their mind, those words they have been chanting like a mantra since the fateful day in Shiganshina.

Erwin Would Never.

You stand up a mere second after them, watching closely as their hands grip the edges of the desk and their head hangs low, hips tilted forward in a desperate attempt to hold themselves upright. It breaks your heart to see them like this and, no matter how much you agree with Erwin that Hanji should be the next Commander, you can’t forgive him for leaving such a massive responsibility on their shoulders.

So your arms wrap around their waist, your cheek finding a perfect spot in the area between their shoulder blades. You nuzzle your face against their vest, nearly purring as you do. The smell of Hanji’s skin, mixed with a little bit of sweat as a result of their nap awakens the butterflies in your stomach and the only thing able to bring you out of your thoughts is the broken sound of their voice.

“How long were you going to let me sleep for?” They whisper, a hint of desperation behind their tone and you notice they are shaking. You tighten your grip around them.

“For as long as you needed,” you respond and, at the sound of their quiet sob, your heart shatters. “You haven’t been eating or sleeping, you are drinking in the middle of the day and, well, you are pulling away from me.”

With a long sigh, they turn around, a defeated expression on their face, “Y/n, I’m a mess. I’ve always been a mess. I’m always overthinking things, I’m mean, I’m stubborn, please. I need to catch up on my work, it’s so much paperwork and it just keeps piling up…”

“Hanji, you’re spiraling,” you whisper, fingertips almost featherlike as they brush against their arm. You hope and pray and nearly fall to your knees begging that they will listen to your voice, that they will give you time to make your case and prove that they are so much more than anything they are thinking, but they continue.

“Erwin’s one mistake was making someone like me the commander,” they whisper in the most defeated tone you have ever heard. It’s like something in your mind snaps and you immediately grab a hold of their wrist, flipping them around before pressing your body against theirs on the table.

“Now you listen to me and you listen good,” your voice is stern in a way Hanji had never heard before, it’s filled with pain, heartache, and still so much love, “Erwin wouldn’t have made you Commander if he didn’t think you would be a perfect choice. And I agree.”

Hanji wants to protest, they want to contradict you but the desperate look in your eyes convinces them to remain silent. Instead, they focus all of their attention on your words, into the amount of effort it takes you not to break into tears as you listen to their self-deprecating words, the doubt in their mind. They focus on the way your lips move and how desperately they want to kiss you.

“You are the reason why we were able to eradicate titans outside the wall, you created the thunder spears that were enough to scare off the armored titan,” you continue, the trembling in your hands is so intense you can barely contain your grip on them but you don’t let go nevertheless, “Moblit sacrificed himself for you because he believed you could guide us towards the world outside the walls. Erwin entrusted the Survey Corps to you because you are the most brilliant person any of us has ever seen. Please, just… Tell me you at least believe me.”

They don’t respond, not because they don’t want to, but because their voice won’t come out. It’s as if their brain has lost connection with their vocal chords and all they can focus on is the tears that threaten to fall from your eyes. 

So in one swift move, Hanji grabs a hold of your wrist and immediately switches places with you. You can’t help but yelp quietly, especially when you feel their hands grasping at the back of your thighs as they lift you. Your hands reach behind you, carefully assessing the area while trying not to mix any of their paperwork, but Hanji doesn’t have a single care in the world that isn’t you at this moment.

Their eyes hungrily stare at your lips and, with a silent nod of their head, you push away all the papers that were once so neatly organized on their desk. Once you are sitting down and your legs wrap around their waist, Hanji wastes no time in sealing their lips with yours, a delighted hum escaping your body once they do.

You wrap your arms around their neck, allowing your fingers to venture through the messy strands of their hair. Their fingers dig into your hips, strong enough to nearly leave a few bruises but neither of you care, the need you have for each other overwhelms any and every other one of your senses.

Their tongue slowly glides on your lower lip before they gently take it in between their teeth, pulling the skin towards them. After a few seconds, they let go and immediately begin to silently beg for entrance, using the tip of their tongue to nudge your lips apart and it doesn’t take you long to indulge.

They pull you closer to themselves, your bodies pressed together without a single inch of free space as they hold you, nearly afraid that you might disappear the second they loosen their grip. It’s the first time you have kissed in what feels like forever, even if it has been just a few weeks.

You can’t help but focus on the taste of whiskey in their mouth, it’s completely different from anything ever made inside the Walls. It nearly tastes “expensive”, for the lack of a better word. It’s been hours since they have last taken a sip and the flavor is still so vivid on their tongue. So much so that it nearly burns once your saliva begins mixing.

It’s only when the need for air becomes unbearable that the two of you pull away, a small string of saliva connecting your bodies. You run your tongue over your lip, breaking that connection and still getting one last taste of them. The sight causes a shiver to run down Hanji’s spine and they smile, gently placing their forehead against yours.

“I needed that,” they whisper, a smile stamped across their face and you nod, “I’m sorry for pushing you away, I’m just… Having a lot of big feelings that I couldn’t express but I have you now.”

“It’s okay, just don’t forget that I am here for and with you, okay?” You whisper back in a love-filled voice and they smile once more, nodding their head as their grip around you tightens ever so slightly, “You still taste like home.”

“Yeah? And what does that taste like?” They chuckle, nuzzling their nose against yours, enough that you can feel their glasses against your face.

The tub is old, chipped porcelain, barely long enough for one tall person let alone two. But the water runs hot here and Hange lets it fill while she peels off the rest of her uniform with the absent-minded efficiency of someone who’s been undressing in a hurry for years. Shirt, trousers, bandages already half-unwound from earlier in the day. She doesn’t try to hide anything. Doesn’t turn away.

When she steps in first, the water sloshes and immediately clouds a faint rusty brown from old blood and dirt that never quite leaves the creases of skin after an expedition. She sinks down with a long, shuddering exhale, knees drawn up because there really isn’t room otherwise. Her head tips back against the rim. Eyes close behind fogged glasses that she hasn’t bothered to take off yet.

You climb in after her, careful, fitting yourself between her bent legs so your back rests against her chest. The water is almost too hot. It stings the newer scrapes on your shins, but you don’t care. Her arms come around you almost automatically, just there. Chin finds the crook of your neck. You feel her swallow.

For a long minute neither of you speaks. Just breathing. The soft lap of water whenever one of you shifts. Steam curling up around your faces.

Then your eyes catch on her left forearm, resting along the edge of the tub beside you.

The scar is ugly. Jagged, raised, badly stitched even by field standards. You remember the day: the horse had gone down, she’d taken a titan’s backhand to the ribs and still managed to cut its nape while falling. Someone had dragged her behind a tree and stitched her up with whatever thread was left in the emergency kit.

Your fingers drift over it now, barely touching.

“…This is still terrible,” you murmur.

Hange snorts softly against your shoulder. “It closed, didn’t it?”

“It’s going to pull every time you reach for something heavy. And it’s ugly.”

“I’m ugly,” she deadpans, but there’s no real humor behind it.

You turn your head just enough to catch the edge of her expression. She’s staring at the ceiling, jaw tight.

Without asking, you reach for the small tin cup on the ledge, fill it with clean water from the tap still trickling, and pour it carefully over the wound to rinse away the last of the bathwater silt. Then you take her arm in both hands, gentle, turning it so you can see the stitching better.

“Let me fix it,” you say.

She opens her mouth, probably to deflect, then closes it again. After a beat she just nods once.

You don’t have proper suture thread here, but there’s a roll of clean linen strip and a tiny pair of scissors in the cabinet. You work slowly, snipping the worst of the old stitches, cleaning the line again with soap and water, then re-closing it with neat, even loops. Not perfect, your hands shake a little from the heat and the closeness, but better. Much better.

Every time she twitches, you pause and press your lips to the skin just above the wound. Not a kiss so much as an anchor. She doesn’t flinch after the first time.

When you’re done you wrap fresh linen around it and tie it off. Then you lean back again, letting your head rest fully against her collarbone.

Hange’s arms tighten around you.

She doesn’t say thank you. She never does when it matters this much.

Instead she reaches for the cracked bar of soap, lathers her hands, and brings them up to your hair.

Her fingers are long, calloused, surprisingly careful. She works the soap in slow circles over your scalp, thumbs pressing gently at the base of your skull where you always carry tension. You didn’t even realize how tight you were until you feel yourself melt against her.

Water drips from her forearms onto your shoulders. She keeps going long after the soap is rinsed, she just combs through your hair with her fingers, untangling knots you didn’t know were there, massaging the sore spots behind your ears, down the column of your neck, across the tops of your shoulders.

"Mmhm." A soft whine escapes your mouth without meaning to.

"Feels good?" she asks, you can hear the tiniest smile in her voice.

"So good."

You turn your face into the side of her throat. Breathe in soap and copper and the faint lingering smell of gunpowder that never quite leaves her hair.

Her hand slides down your arm, finds your wrist under the water, and simply holds it. Thumb stroking over your pulse.

“I missed this,” she whispers, so quiet you almost don’t catch it over the drip of the faucet. “I missed you.”

You turn in her arms just enough to press your forehead to hers. Glasses clink gently against your nose.

“Me too,” you breathe.

Neither of you moves to get out.

taglist: @vcmpirus @cherryvvave @lunaestelarbaby @edawgz@munji-tunj i@thecardinalsinnerwp

When the car halted, your parents delivered you to the doorstep of an otherwise neat house if it weren't for the forced pink paint on specific areas. A Mary J. Brown, as she called herself, greeted you at the door, with a plastered smile at your parents as though promising she can return you straight. You wanted to scoff, roll your eyes, maybe. But your mom taught you to be nice to aging ladies. 

“Ma’am, I’m sorry for the inconvenience here but I don’t think my parents’ speculation was right from the beginning,” you tried to reason, not even a minute in her office. You smiled, made your point, that's what you’re great at. “I’m not a homosexual.”

“Now, it’s normal to be in a stage of denial. You won’t even suspect that your actions are unnatural!” she smiled again as if in casual conversation. 

Unnatural? 

She brought out a drab gown, matching with an ugly footwear and explained that it was part of the first stage. You wanted to politely refuse and call all of this a kinder synonym for lunacy but you’re not very sure of the lady's breaking point. 

She passed you to a girl named Hilary for a tour around the camp, the bright pink haunting you at every corner. Even the pink uniforms reminded you of napkins, detergents, and cupcakes but not in a nice way

The bright glittery pink assaulted your eyes as Hillary opened the door.

“This is where we sleep but there is no inappropriate behavior allowed,” Hilary said as a caution. 

You blinked, “Inappropriate? Like swearing?”

Then a different voice spoke, “No, inappropriate as in fucking or setting the room on fire, that sort.”

The person said over the book they were reading.You could only make out a mess of brown hair tied into a ponytail, and deep brown glasses until they set the book down.

You only realized that you’ve been staring when the person waved a hand and smiled. Your cheeks heated in embarrassment and you forgot to wave back when Hilary ushered you outside. The tip of your ears heated even more when you realized that your underwear was peeking out of the dress you’re wearing.

“Well, nevermind, Hange. They're a bit weird,” Hilary said, standing next to the list of what seemed to be your fellow campers with the label “HOMOSEXUAL” above. 

“Surely, harmless, right?” you laughed, just a small questioning ha-ha. 

“Not sure about that yet,” Hilary responded vaguely. “We all passed the first step just yesterday.”

She pointed to a checklist of five rows. It seemed like a long grocery list with names on it but you remembered what Ms. Brown said earlier. You can become straight in five easy ways! That's way less steps than making pancakes. 

Your name still left the first box unchecked and you have a terrible intuition that this day would not pass without the check mark upon it.

-

As always, your intuition did not fail you but this time you’re not happy about it. No sooner, it was time to meet your fellow campers, sitting around you in nursery blue and pink uniforms, They did not look too interested in the process themselves.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. How do you do?” you smiled. This was like a first day in class, right? You just need to introduce yourself and go.

Right?

Ms. Mary Brown instructed them to introduce themselves. You’re somehow glad you don’t have to endure this pastel hell alone.

They introduced themselves one by one, their names flying out of your head anyway, try as you might to listen. Each introduction was punctuated by “I’m a homosexual” which you’re not surprised at by now since you’ve been hearing the word repeatedly today.

Hange did not have their book this time, but they were twirling a pen in one hand. They can't sit still very well. When it was their turn, they stopped twirling the pen, and smiled, “We met earlier.”

“Hange,” Ms. Brown wore a smile of warning.

They only chuckled and stood up. “Now, now, I’m just confirming. I’m Hange. I’d say I like stars, insects, and chemistry but mostly girls. That's what got me here. Certified homosexual here. Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

And like the time you first met, you’ve been staring again. Staring at the way their eyes shine in lovely shades of brown, or the way their hair frames their face, or how much genderless elegance they present even if they're obviously a nerd. You reckon they could dress up a certain way and they'll pass as a boyfriend in front of your parents. 

Then, you caught yourself. 

Wait.

Those are homosexual thoughts, right?

You chuckled nervously, the name of the guy who introduced himself after missed your ear entirely. You’re losing focus here.

When it’s your time to overcome the first step and admit your homosexuality, you repeat the practiced list of reasons you’ve been listing in your head since the car ride there.

You were then met with follow up questions, ones that grew more prickly in the skin, especially at the mention of intimacy with the opposite sex. You’re horrified at the thought of any phallic flesh at an arm’s length from you and it shows. Eventually, you’ve grown tired of the denial stage, any retort you can think of hitting you back with the reality that you are, indeed, a homosexual.

“Fine!” you screamed in frustration. “I’m a homosexual!”

The frustration dissipated into relief as they all clapped their hands. But the realization did not feel like a ton of bricks, or icy water trickling down your spine. It felt…different.

It felt like entering a whimsical amusement park of unknown rides and you picked a particularly risky rollercoaster. It was both fun and dreadful and you didn’t quite know how to put the two together. 

As they left one by one, you were handed the bright pink uniform. You rubbed on the fabric and sighed, you’re a homosexual. Something you’re denying hours ago.

“Hey, Y/N,” a voice called, that one your ear familiarized with the most.

“Hey, Hange,” you returned their greeting.

“See you later,” they beamed, and in a quieter voice, “Nobody really follows the lights-out rule, we can play board games all night.”

And then they winked and you almost blacked out.

“Sounds fun,” you couldn’t suppress a giggle anymore. “I look forward to it.”

-

After you took a long shower and changed into the bright pink uniforms, Hange was true to their word that nobody follows the light-outs rule. Even Hilary was reading a ridiculously heterosexual pocket book as if it’s a textbook. Sinead was smoking by the window, briefly glancing at you before putting headphones on.

Hange was setting up a Snakes and Ladders board game at the foot of the bed.

“Y/N!” Hange tapped the carpeted floor across from them, ushering you to sit and start a game with them. You did so, remarking that you liked Snakes and Ladders. 

“We’re gonna start off easy. I have a feeling you’re gonna beat me on this one,” Hange joked, rolling the dice which landed in two. For a while, it felt like you’re old friends at a slumber party. Joking around, exchanging stories in each of your turn while poor Hilary was chastising both of you to keep it down. 

“Are there no other books allowed here except those?” You asked, pointing to a tall pile of romance books near Hilary’s bed, a man and woman always displayed intimately on the cover. 

“Well, Ms. Brown allowed real textbooks. I have biochemistry and astrophysics over there,” they pointed at their bedside table. “Told her I need to read some material for the upcoming college.”

“And you need this large pile of board games too?” you joked, tapping the pile of board game boxes beside them with some names you can't even recognize or pronounce.

“Of course I do. I reckoned I’ll be bored out of my mind here so I brought these along. There's nothing to learn here.” Their voice had an edge of bitterness in it and you wondered how much they've grown to hate this place.

“Except being straight that is,” you responded, rolling the dice again and groaning when it landed on a snake.

Hange scoffed, laughed bitterly and said, “That's not something to be learned.”

“You don’t think so, huh?”

“Yes. These people are insane.”

“I agree with you,” you whispered and caught yourself too late.

“You do, huh?” they teased. “Christian, cheerleader girl with a boyfriend?”

“Oh, please,” I rolled my eyes. “You might add homosexual to that too.”

“Welcome to the club, then.”

For the rest of the night, you played board games, willingly learning the ones you don’t know about. It tickled your brain in an amusing way, and you couldn’t think of any fun ways those games can be played without Hange. 

-

No sooner, the long list of activities in Step 2 began: rediscovering your gender identity.

Ms. Brown made it clear with a list of feminine activities, and the more you read the tasks listed there, the more you realized you didn’t like much of it. It can't mean that you’re doomed to homosexuality, of course. Some things can be learned.

“This is tedious,” Hange groaned, staring at the ceiling, anything to avert their eyes off the floor to be cleaned. “I hate cleaning.”

“Unfortunately, it’s essential,” you frowned, taking a soapy scrub. “We better finish it fast.”

Hange wasn’t too happy about it, that's the darkest you’ve seen their mood turn since meeting yesterday. They kept drawing on the floor with soap which didn't help. 

“Hey, Hans, look here,” you ushered them close and whispered. “I know you really love challenging stuff and this is no fun for you. But how about this…”

You traced a soapy finger over their area, even going over them until you reached the wall. Then you went by their side again and grinned, “Have it done in 10 minutes.”

They scanned curiously around the area and whispered. “But that’s…”

“Impossible?” you teased, adjusting a 10-minute alarm on Hange's watch.

Then they smiled, the competitive sparkle in their eyes alive at once as though the whole floor was a board game.

“Improbable. But I can manage,” they declared and got to work as quickly as they could manage. 

You went on with the gamification strategy for the rest of the step 2, although some other activities needed more patience like sewing and manicure. Without much of their stubborness, you recognized Hange had steady hands and managed most of the task efficiently. On their stubborn days, they would sneak out of the camp and climb the highest tree near the pond so they could read in peace. Ms. Brown will always send you off to fetch them, and it only takes a minute of persuasion before you give up and sit on the tree with them anyway.

It was the first time you’ve seen birds up close, or for small insects to crawl willingly at someone's hand.

“It loves you,” you whispered in awe as a miniscule green fly flew at the back of their thumb.

“It’s a torpedo bug. Siphanta acuta,” Hange had to bite their lip to contain the excitement. “It’s harmless. Look closely.”

You did so, watching the unmoving bug with leaf-like wings. It looked at ease in Hange's hand.

Suddenly, Hange gasped softly, looking at you, or looking past you, you’re not very sure.

“Something landed on you too!” they gushed in a hushed whisper.

“Another torpedo bug?” you asked curiously and realized they were looking at your shoulder.

“No,” they pushed their glasses up and squinted, “Hubner’s wasp moth!”

“Is it harmless?” 

“It is,” Hange spoke softly, inching closer. 

You sat still, lest you will scare the harmless moth off your shoulder.

“It’s my favorite moth, you know. I used to see them in my grandma's garden.” Hange's smile was too pure and soft that your heart jumped around your ribcage. It didn’t help that they were sitting too close. “Lemme get it for you.”

The torpedo bug flew out of their hand as if on cue and their steady right hand inched closer on your shoulder. You didn’t dare to turn your head as your hair might brush the moth away so you stared at Hange's focused face, their slightly creased brow, the tiny light brown freckles on their cheeks that you didn’t notice before, and their rosy lips. The beating of your heart rang in your ears, if you moved an inch closer your lips could touch their cheek. 

“There, I got it,” Hange breathed out a chuckle as the moth settled on their index finger. “Beautiful, isn't it?”

And truly it was such a beautiful thing to behold. The symmetrically patterned wings, the deep brown and dandelion of its body, and its harmless nature made it all the more interesting. Its warm radiance resembled Hange in a way you could not explain. Maybe it was the way they sit by the window in the morning, reading and waiting for you to wake up so they can convince you to sneak out. Or when you both bring your pancakes outside during breakfast so your eyes can take a break from the bright colors inside and stare at the peaceful garden to watch the butterflies flutter about the tulips. 

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, your heart was in a terrible lovestruck frenzy that you almost forgot Hange and the moth. Does love always feel like a heart attack?

Hange carefully placed the moth on a wide, lime-colored leaf dipping from its branches and turned to you. 

“Ready to go?” they asked and you nodded. Then froze for a moment when you realized how high up you’re both at.

-

“Woah, woah, easy…” Hange held you by the waist when you almost slipped down while scooting over the branch. “Don’t go falling on me now. Ms Brown will kill me!”

You shared a laugh as you responded, “Your fault for always running off to high places.”

“We’ll sneak somewhere else next time.” It sounded like a promise. You wanted to ask more but the perils of coming down that tree allowed you nothing but listening to Hange's insructions.

“Put your foot down there.” or “Grab that branch.” You were embarrassed to admit that you’re in survival mode. 

Hange climbed down much faster, even with a thick book tucked in their arm. You both ran back inside just in time for lunch. The remaining activities went on until you forgot that you might be in love with your new best friend.

-

It helped that your relationship was dressed in an innocuous name: best friends. The kind of best friend you'll write to after graduation, one where you can meet up every few months to have drinks with, the one you'll ask to be your bridesmaid on your wedding day. That kind of girl friendship, right?

You only realized how complicated it was to give the name a definition when you enjoyed holding their hand when the others weren't looking, or when you indulge on their late night rambles until you fell asleep on their bed, or that time you almost blacked out when they kissed a thank-you on your cheek. It dawned on you that you might be doomed, walking straight to the point of no-return. But you can't imagine holding anyone's hand and liking it if it wasn’t Hange's. 

One morning, Ms. Brown initiated another activity that might help: finding what might be the root of your homosexuality.

The others confided one by one but when your turn came, their expecting eyes became unbearable so you said, “I’ve been thinking but I can't think of anything. Maybe there's nothing?”

“There certainly must be a traumatic or influential event that led you to the wrong path, isn't there?” Ms. Brown responded.

“Or maybe it’s just the way it is,” Hange butted in, your knees pressed flush as you sat beside each other.

Ms. Brown sighed and said, “That can't possibly be, Hange. Now while we wait for Y/N’s answer, why don’t you go ahead first?”

Hange had a bored expression upon their face and said, “Can’t think of any either. I’ve been like this since forever.”

“How about influences at home, or at school?”

Hange laughed then, “Ms. Brown, I think you just want me to say that the all-girl boarding school I attended made me gay.”

“That's an entirely plausible reason.” 

“Except that I dropped after two months.”

You were slightly surprised. Everyone is.

“And why is that?” Ms. Brown asked.

“Can’t bear the homophobic lunatics,” Hange said, looking directly at Ms. Brown. “So I transferred to a science high school.”

You smiled, and couldn’t help yourself. You said, “That's cool. How was science high school?”

“Better. And there is more equipment. You can use the astronomy club's telescope whenever you want!”

Your next question was cut short when Ms. Brown interfered, “Now, we are here to identify your roots, not celebrate it. You better identify it well, especially you, Y/N, and write a reflection about it.”

Ms. Brown then dismissed the meeting.

As you walked away, Hange giggled and said, “It’s so easy to piss her off.”

You both shared a low five and laughed as you headed back inside.

“Besides, finding a root? That's ridiculous! For all I know, this conversion camp made me gay,” you chortled.

Hange gave you a curious smile, “Good job, hon, you defeated the purpose of this whole camp.”

“I’m very proud of myself, thank you,” you gave a comical bow.

“So… what part of this camp made you gay, huh?” Hange faced you then continued, “Is it an act of defiance, a certain influence, someone…?”

With each question they seemed to appear closer, and it sent your heart into another gymnastics. You can tell that Hange will keep pestering you about it until you give in.

“Nope, never gonna tell you,” you grinned. “And you'll never catch me.”

You took off into a sprint, the cheerleading training finally had benefits as you outrun Hange along the whole camp. You were winning until Hange strategize and used a shortcut, tackling you to the grass until you both rolled down the shallow dip in the garden.

You laughed until your stomach hurt, laughed even harder when grass and dirt stuck to your pink uniforms and for a while everything felt right. It felt like falling down into your childhood storybooks but in this case, it wasn’t just friendship that you felt.

Hange peeked over the mound of grass and said, “Ms. Brown doesn't come here often.”

They turned to you and smirked, “What do you think we should do?”

“Something she won’t like,” you grinned, your eyes settling to Hange's lips and it did not take them a minute to understand.

“How about this…” Hange whispered softly, eyes trained on your lips before kissing you. And it felt like sparks, like the first burst of citrus in your lips. But they hesitated, struck by a thought that such a kiss wasn’t meant to last. You pulled them by the color, whining silently, begging for  the kiss to last until you’re satiated. That's all the permission they needed to continue, to kiss you like it was the last time, until you were gasping for breath, until your lips remembered the shape of their own.

You can't wipe the smile off your face after. Even Ms. Brown was fooled that you were starting to enjoy her noon lectures. 

You kissed Hange in the bathroom again, and again when you knew nobody was looking. 

-

That night, you stayed up late to write the reflection Ms. Brown assigned earlier. You wrote a whole childhood best friend shtick just to make Ms. Brown shut up. It comes as a struggle when you’re too preoccupied replaying the kiss on your head. Although half of what you wrote was fabricated, some truths stuck out and you’re afraid it will grow undeniable for the days to come.

Looks like you’re not coming home heterosexual after all. 

On the bed next to you, Hange did not seem to be completing the assignment. The pencil movement only indicated sketches and if you squinted closely, quick labels. It must be requiring them a lot of thought since their brows scrunched more than ever and they were drawing phantom signals in the air. 

You watched them for a while and fell asleep in your notebook, unaware of Hange's good night kiss on your forehead just before lights out.

-

Ms. Brown woke everyone up early for another lecture outside. Something about the negative consequences of homosexuality, sodomy and evil, and more things you don’t care about. You read your reflections out loud in the class but you weren't listening for the most part. 

When the lecture ended, Ms. Brown reminded you of focusing on lectures, and gave both of you and Hange a long stare as you walked away. 

It was Hange's idea for the both of you to take on gardening tasks. It was that or inside that hellish camp, they explained. You were convinced they just like staring at leaf bugs or digging out earthworms. You did not mind very much since you enjoy admiring the flowers, and stealing glances at Hange. 

Today, Rock, Ms. Brown’s son, is in the garden, picking out weeds and removing pests. You wished he'd leave soon so you can carry out gardening tasks without anyone watching.

Hange saw him plucking a frog out of the flower bed and called out to him, “Hey, tough guy, unhand the amphibian, will you?”

“The what?” Rock asked as if he didn’t understand.

“The frog,” Hange repeated simply, laying out their hands. “Hand it here.”

He did so and said, “Keep the critters away, Mom doesn't like them around the plants.”

“Alright,” Hange walked away with the small frog ushering you to head to the pond with them. You had to wait it out until Rock is done weeding after all. Hange cooed happily at the frog as if playing peek-a-boo with a baby. You’re surprised the frog hadn't jumped out of their hand already.

You both sat behind a huge tree near the pond, your toes can touch the water if you stretched your legs.

“God bless the frogs, they're not homophobic,” Hange chuckled, setting the tiny frog down near the pond. It stayed for a while before hopping into the water, and to a lily pad nearby. 

You were leaning at Hange's shoulder as your eyes followed the frog. You don’t know what to say, the grass felt soft beneath you, the sun was a soft honey yellow in the sky, and words did not feel so necessary at the moment.

So you pressed a light kiss on Hange's cheek to which they responded with a lopsided grin.

“Is that the best you can do, cheerleader?” they asked, very much aware how challenging you can end up.

“Of course not.” You surprised them by straddling their lap, sitting there comfortably as if it was made for you to sit on. It was one of the rare occasions where you see Hange blush, especially when their own teasing returns to them.

“Alright, you win,” they admitted and you shrugged as if it was the most natural thing.

“I wish I could sit on you like this with better clothes,” you frowned, plucking at the pink uniform skirt you never liked.

“Or none at all,” Hange offered.

“Pervert.”

You kissed again, deeper than yesterday, with more yearning unleashed and breaking free into a fit of passion. Hange's hand teased the edge of your skirt and you guided the further. The need to feel them everywhere, in every inch of your skin, came stronger. You wished and wished that you could be anywhere else, somewhere quiet, like your bedroom when you’re home alone. Those times where your parents take three day business trips, but instead of just blasting music in the house or ordering a large pizza while you watch chick flicks, you have Hange. How fun and light and beautiful things could have been! It felt like true love, like a movie screen bursting into a classic love song at a first kiss. 

When you tire out, you perch your head on Hange's shoulder. The rustling of the leaves, and the chirp of the birds sustained both of your silence.

Then Hange spoke, “We can go somewhere you know…”

“Where?”

“I’m an expert runaway, we can go anywhere.”

Hange felt you smile on their shoulder. “Good luck saying that to Ms. Brown.”

“I may have a way.”

You looked Hange in the eyes and saw that mischievous glint once again. They are serious about running away.

“Try my left pocket,” they instructed. “My hands are kinda full here.”

You rolled your eyes and chuckled as you reached for their left pocket, “They won’t be if you weren't holding my ass.”

You felt a thick bunch of paper in their pocket and pulled it out. Once unfolded, the paper showed a rough draft of the camp’s ground plan, including directions of nearby infrastructure around.

You were about to ask what the map is for when they gave you another instruction, “Now, my right pocket.”

You reached for it and felt a small matchbox. Looking closely, it has a white illustration of a rooster on a rainbow background with the word “COCKSUCKER” arched above. You shook the box and the half-full contents rattled.

“You can't be serious, Hange…”

“Humor me.”

For a while, you were stunned, your mind spiraling into a vast plane of possibilities, of the things to come and the things to be left behind. Your thoughts clamored against your skull until Hange gave a feather-light kiss on your knuckles. Then everything fell into a hush.

“What do you say, my Juliet?”

circle by @ynsbrightorbs - a classic, timeless. one of the first hange fics i really fell in love with. in fact, give me anything by ynsbrightorbs and i'll drink it tf up. their current wip 'Be All Things' is an actual masterpiece, so beautifully written and always keeps me on my toes, their writing peers through my soul and fuck its so amazing. (sidenote - ynsbrightorbs on the random chance ur reading this, im in love with u n your writing)

steel heart - SwansMateForLife - AMAZING! dorky, but lethal medieval knight hange? again, incredibly written, and have never been bored during a single chapter.

my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder - @joefruitsalad noticing a theme here? i LOVE medieval hangecore. amazing story, hilarious and the relationship between hangexreader is fantastic, 1000/10.

hopelessly devoted to you - Joe_fruitsalad - ongoing, hilarious, reader is disgustingly downbad that you can't help but follow her into the fire. i love this fic so much, pretty much anything joefruitsalad writes tbh.

her lady love - raizoe9 - one of the first ever hange fics i ever read, amazing, adorable, heartbreaking.

coming home - jjbugs - i cannot describe how much i adore this fic, excellent writing and story progression. angsty in a way you can't swallow but still need to, also ranchhand hange... i mean, say less right?

cinnamon and honey - esotericlover - only two chaps are out so far, and in two chapters im so invested.

hot mic! - zoehanielle - 10/10, still ongoing and i pray everyday that it gets updated bc i need to know what happens. amazing. also hilarious.

a game of composure - @zraiusxo -there's four parts, i still think about this fic to this DAY, zraius pls come back the kids miss u

silence - rbinswing - pure smut tbh. librarian hange... horny as hell, hot as hell.

favor. - orphan_account - coughs... amab hange. incredibly horny smutty oneshot.

save a horse, ride a cowboy - @myplague - oneshot, one of my absolute faves, 10/10 no notes except i wish it was longer

dancing with devils - orphan_account - this one was wild, prepare.

coffee talk - rbinswing - so fluffy, amazing, adorable.

best kept secret, and your biggest mistake - gatoru - one of the best oneshots i've read, hands down, genuinely gave me brain damage. cannot recommend it enough

smoking guns - inconsistent_taunt - similar to dancing with devils, wild as hell, good as fuck.