summary: you are forced to navigate what your relationship means when it’s falling down the order of Garrett’s priorities.
request: yes/no
warnings: swearing, garrett being a bad boyfriend.
word count: 4.04k
authors note: okay I actually really liked this, like acc ended up crying at the end of writing this so if you get emotional easily, grab yourself some tissues.
You had been cursed by the plague of being a hopeless romantic.
Fairy tales had been thrust into your life as a young girl since before you could walk, you knew all the lyrics to every Disney princess song by the time you were six.
By your tenth birthday, you had a book made that had every single wish and want that you had for your future boyfriend.
Your parents swore that if your second love for running hadn’t come into your life. You would have lived each day to dream.
By the time that you were 18, you had experienced twelve new kisses, three boyfriends, one of whom was a sexual partner too.
You had nothing against any of them, but when each one ended, you never seemed that phased, as if you knew it was going to end.
It was because you knew that you hadn’t met your person.
Or at least that was the case until Garrett Graham came into your life.
You'd met at a hockey party, argued over a game of beer pong, and kissed in the kitchen an hour later. Garrett Graham had smiled against your lips and you laughed at everyone else who swore that he was going to be the boy to break your heart.
With every anniversary or milestone that you two have reached. You swore that they were all wrong and that you and Garrett were truly meant to be.
Your friends joked that he was your very own Noah Calhoun, as the man was practically a shadow of himself if you weren’t around.
He showed up to every track meet with flowers as he sat right next to your parents, cheering you on while you ran down the finishing straight. And if your parents couldn’t make it, then Garrett gave them the world’s longest play-by-play afterwards.
The two of you were perfect together. By the end of sophomore year, the boys joked that your wedding would happen before you both graduated. Tucker had these long thoughts about how he’d design your wedding cake. While Dean and Logan argued over who would be the officiant of the wedding.
You never told either boy, but you knew that it would actually be Beau who filled that slot.
Most days when you had downtime, you spent them sitting on the boys’ couch. Most of the time, you were attempting to do work or edit your training schedule. Before, it was Garrett who would try to distract you.
Smothering you in kisses or pulling you into his arms as he shut your laptop. But now, it was Dean looking over your shoulder to see what you were working on or Tucker offering you a snack. Occasionally, you even got an appearance from Logan, who taught you the basics of mechanical work.
And that day seemed no different “sorry babe, I can’t do our date tonight.” Garrett leaned over the couch as he pressed a kiss on your cheek.
You held back a sigh as you turned your head to face him “why is that?” You asked as you frowned, a little upset, actually, “Hannah rescheduled our tutoring session.”
Dean awkwardly sat next to you as you forced yourself to smile, “tell her I say hi!” The blonde swore in that moment that you were squeezing your laptop so hard you might almost break it.
Garrett nodded before he left for the door without a second thought “okay so am I just like a fucking idiot or does everyone else see that?”
Logan nodded from the kitchen, “third time this week now?” And that was what almost made it official.
You got up as you shook your head “I am going to go throw myself off of a cliff before I hit him.” You announced to the boys who all frowned “just talk to him seriously.”
You knew Tucker came from a good place, which is why you didn’t tell him how wrong he was “we have just found a way to stop fighting with each other-” you sighed as you looked to the front door where Garrett left from.
The truth was that for the past three weeks, the two of you couldn’t go a few minutes without fighting.
The topics varied.
Sometimes, Garrett felt like you didn’t care that he was stressed with being captain. Other times, you felt like the little time left in your schedules should be used on each other.
And when it got particularly bad, you actually stopped keeping track of what seemed to set the two of you off.
This date night that Garrett kept bailing on was meant to be the real proof that the two of you had turned a page.
That the rough that you had been dealing with was just weeds in a garden, not rot within the house.
Dean clicked his tongue “bit hard to fight him when he keeps on seeing her instead.” She was Hannah Wells.
You met her a few times in passing, the girl complimented your pace and you always loved the way that she was so friendly at Malone’s.
She had started tutoring Garrett in philosophy a few weeks ago and was Garrett’s newest excuse for why he was too busy for you.
Training, film review, school, tutoring, if there was an excuse to get out of seeing you, you had heard it.
At the beginning, you really didn’t mind, you knew he was busy because he had all of these responsibilities.
But a responsibility is telling your girlfriend that you need to reschedule your anniversary date, hours in advance. Not when you were sat at the restaurant, a glass of wine in and the waiter actually ended up giving it to you on the house as he felt bad.
For every excuse that he gave you, you found another help make his case.
And by now you were starting to get a little more than just irritated “I am going to bid you boys farewell and hope that you are having more sex than your captain before I say anything else!” You shoved your laptop in your bag as Logan frowned when Dean laughed.
He stopped what he was working on in the kitchen as he came out to face you before you left “you know, girlfriend or not, we are your friend too.” Dean and Tucker nodded at his words.
It made you softly smile “love you, boys.” You kissed your fingers before you waved them goodbye.
As you left the house, your nose scrunched, because that place stopped feeling like Garrett’s. In fact, it was starting to feel a whole load like there was a river between the two of you that neither one was ready or willing to cross.
Garrett called out your name when he saw you.
You didn’t turn right away.
That was new for you. Normally, you’d turn instantly, instinctively, like muscle memory. Like gravity.
But this time, your body lagged behind your pride and even your brain as you contemplated ditching the heels you were in to break into a sprint.
He caught up quickly anyway.
Athletic stride, slightly out of breath, like he’d been running through excuses before he even got to you.
When he stepped into your line of sight, you finally looked at him.
And something in your chest tightened at how normal he looked. Like he hadn’t just not shown up to one of the most important nights you’d had planned in weeks “I got held up,” he said immediately.
Not an apology.
Not yet.
Just the explanation he must’ve rehearsed on the way here.
You blinked once, “you didn’t come.” He looked at how gorgeous you looked that night.
You’d never tell him that you bought the dress specifically for that night.
His mouth opened, then closed again. Like he’d expected you to argue with him instead of just stating it plainly, “I tried,” he said, softer “coach pulled me in after practice and I lost track of time. Then film ran longer than it should’ve and-”
You nodded slowly, cutting through it without raising your voice “I sat there for an hour without anything from you.”That stopped him.
Properly stopped him.
Because now it wasn’t a scheduling issue or a misunderstanding or something messy he could rearrange into something forgivable.
It was just time“I know,” he said, rubbing a hand through his hair, frustrated at himself more than anything else now.
Garret sighed as he rubbed his face with his hand “I should have called or texted or.” Then list stopped when he noticed how you frowned
You weren’t interested in an excuse, especially not from him tonight “you should’ve come,” you interrupted quietly as you knew Coach Jensen would never force the guys to stay for review.
Silence settled between you.
Not the loud kind. Not the angry kind.
The kind that felt like it had been building for weeks and finally found somewhere to land.
You looked past him for a second, at the path behind him, at the restaurant district lights in the distance “I kept telling myself it was fine,” you said, almost to yourself.
You pushed your hair up behind your head “that I just needed to be understanding this week.” A big game was coming up against another highly ranked team
Your fingers tightened slightly around your phone “but I’m starting to feel like I’m always the one making space for you.”His jaw flexed. He looked like he wanted to interrupt, but didn’t.
That was the worst part.
Not denial.
Not defensiveness.
Just him listening like he knew he didn’t have a clean answer, “I really didn’t mean for tonight to go like this.” And that was the problem.
Because Garrett never meant for anything to ever go like this.
Yet somehow it always did “I know,” you replied.
And you did.
That was what made it worse.
Because even as you stood there, remembering how embarrassed you felt when you left the restaurant alone. Your throat tightened, but your voice stayed steady “I just wish you were there tonight.” You felt stupid for keeping things to yourself; you wanted Garrett to act like things actually mattered.
That landed differently.
He stepped closer, slower this time, like he was afraid of pushing you further away “I’m here now,” he said, wishing that it was enough.
A young couple exited one of the buildings behind Garrett with their hands locked into each others and grins on their faces.
The boy leaned over to say something that made the girl laugh and you knew exactly how that felt.
Because Garrett used to be like that with you.
You could feel it in the way you weren’t reaching for him. In the way he wasn’t touching you yet either.
Like both of you were suddenly aware that something fragile had been stretched too far “I don’t want this to become normal,” you said, making the boy clench his teeth.
His eyes snapped to yours at that.
“What?”
“This,” you clarified, gesturing slightly between you “you not being there. Me convincing myself it’s okay.”
His expression tightened “I promise that it won’t,” he said immediately. Too fast. Too certain.
You shook your head once “please don’t promise me that if you don’t mean it.” That hit him harder than anything else you’d said.
Because you were right.
He couldn’t say he’d give you the world if he only planned on showing you one town.
He stepped closer again, but slower now, more careful “I messed this up,” he said honestly “I did. And I hate that I did it tonight of all nights.”
You looked at him for a long moment.
Really looked.
Not at the hockey player everyone talked about.
Not at the captain people relied on.
Just at the boy who was standing there like he didn’t know how to fix something he couldn’t outwork.
The same boy who told you during your freshman year that he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have you “I don’t need you to hate it,” you said softly. “I just need you to show up.”
That time, he didn’t argue.
He just nodded once, like he was taking the weight of it fully.
Then he stepped forward, and you didn’t resist it.
But you didn’t fully lean in either.
His arms wrapped around you anyway, steadying you like he could physically hold together something he was scared he was losing.
After a moment, he shifted slightly, and you felt his hand rest at the back of your head.
And then he pressed a kiss there.
Just quiet.
Like a promise, he didn’t know how else to say out loud.
When he pulled back slightly, his voice was low “I’ll make it up to you,” he announced as he hooked his fingers under your chin.
Garrett wanted to tell you that you looked gorgeous, but somehow the words never left his lips “I’ll make it up to you properly.” And as you nodded, Garrett let his jacket hang on your shoulders before the two of you walked back to your dorm.
By the time that drunken Shakespeare had come and gone, it was official that everyone knew something was going on between the two of you.
The IT couple of Briar U had cracked, because they weren’t as perfect as everyone had started to believe.
You tried to ignore the rumours about Hannah and Garrett, but you knew you were just an idiot.
It had been days since the two of you had spoken, almost a month since Garrett sent you a good morning or goodnight text.
The boys kept their promise as they continued to check up on you. In the first two weeks, it was because they really did miss you. But by now they were worried.
It was the fact that there was no real end in sight because Garrett still spoke about being your boyfriend, when he seemed to remember your existence.
And you still let your eyes settle on the door, as you waited for your Garrett to walk back in.
For him to tell you that he was so sorry for the way he had you feeling like it was your fault.
It had been weeks of you swearing that you were fine.
And that should have been something that the boys listened to, but they knew you better than that.
You had been going on late-night runs every day, and each time you wanted to stop you couldn’t.
The two of you had texted occasionally, throughout the time apart. But you hadn’t see the boy in person.
It wasn’t even vocalised between the two of you that there was something wrong.
And that was what left your runs to be the longest ones you ever did.
Because somehow, your anger drove your feet.
Further and harder than you ever thought was possible.
The quiet and clear sky somehow managed to soothe your mind.
And on this particular night, it seemed that Garrett had the same idea when he stood outside of the library.
He was in the middle of a tutoring session, and he craved the break he got from the solitude.
So when he saw you running, part of him thought that he would have ducked to go back inside.
But instead, his feet drove him directly into your path “hey,” he nodded as you pulled your AirPod out of your ear.
You cocked your head “hi.” You pursed your lips together, a little surprised that he was talking to you.
It had probably been over a month since Garrett initiated a conversation with you in person.
You crossed your arms as you waited for him to talk “how are you?” The small talk between the two of you felt weird.
And you had to admit that you weren’t a fan of it “I’m glad to hear you still remember how to talk to me.” Your words were honest, and it was what hurt.
Garrett scoffed, “of course I know how to talk to you.” The look you gave him said otherwise.
“Yeah but can you look at me for more than five minutes?”
The boy pinched the bridge of his nose “what are you playing at?” He looked up at the sky, making you almost laugh.
You felt tired, actually, you felt exhausted “when you got onto that stage with her, you didn’t even look at me.” You weren’t accusing him about anything.
You knew that Garrett would never cross a line with Hannah. But it was getting hard to make your heart hear it in the same way your brain did.
Garrent let out a harsh sigh, unsure of wht he was having this fight with you again “you know I love you,” if you weren’t paying attention, you would have sworn that he was actually asking you a question.
Your chest ached as you fiddled with the ring on your finger. It had been one that Garrett gave you for your 20th birthday “but are you in love with me?” Silence followed, and that was the true nail in the coffin.
Of course he did, his brain almost short-circuited at the absurdity of the question, “what’s that supposed to mean?” His hands landed on his hips as he grew defensive.
You sighed as you paused your run time on your watch “look I don’t want to fight tonight.” You announced as you watched the boy scoff.
The hockey player frowned, “don’t push me away like this.” He pleaded as he shook his head.
Tears welled in your eyes “I am holding on for dear life Gar,” you had felt like you were barely able to keep your head above water for weeks now and you hated it.
You hated that you cared so much for someone who felt like they were pushing you away.
But you hated more that Garrett could check out of the relationship that made you feel like you were in a fairytale.
That he could stand in front of you like every time he made up an excuse to not see you, wasn’t killing your confidence every time “I need you like you are the best reason that I have each day to smile.” The words pressed into his chest as he couldn’t remember the last time that he made you smile, “but I need you to need me back!”
Silence loomed over the two of you.
And that somehow hurt the most.
Not that you didn’t think that Garrett no longer cared, but that he couldn’t even try to offer an argument to you.
You pressed your hands against the sides of your head “why won’t you just let me all the way in!” The question came as Garrett backed away.
Throughout the years he always found the perfect excuse to not have you meet his dad. It seemed that everyone in his circle knew his father but you “of course I let you in I love you!” Garrett argued back as you shook your head.
It was a topic that you knew came with baggage “I know your comfort meals.” You found out after your first fight when Garrett begged Tucker to help him make it for you “I know that your favourite movie to watch is a chick flick.”
The edges of his mouth curved upward as he smiled “but I don’t know what scares you in this world.” Your voice broke “or why you love hockey.”
“Or why you’ve met my whole family and your dad doesn’t even know that I exist.”
It cut deep as Garrett always envied how sweet and loving your parents were, they looked at you like you were the best thing since sliced bread.
Garrett reached for your hand but you pulled away “I am so tired of feeling sad.” You shook your head as tears openly streamed down your face now.
You sniffled harshly, “god I’d rather feel nothing at all than have to go through one more fucking moment of whatever this is.” Your heart felt lighter as you spoke, getting the thoughts you so desperately needed to let go of out of your mind.
The boy shoved his hands into his pockets “what am I meant to do about that?” He rolled his eyes, feeling like this was another fight.
But instead, you merely sighed, “I don’t know anymore, Gar.” You chewed at the inside of your cheek to try to convince your mind that this wasn’t the thing that was hurting.
You used the back of your hand to wipe the snot coming from your nose “y’know, I really thought that in this break we’ve had for the last week that you would come back first.” You actually laughed at that, cursing yourself for how clearly foolish you had been.
He stayed quiet “that you would come back and tell me that you realised there was no one else you could be with but me,” Garrett watched as you looked away, Hannah had started walking towards the two of you.
You couldn’t even fault the girl as she sent you a comforting smile, stopping in her tracks when she saw that you had been crying “I wanted you to tell me that you would rather be alone than live one second in this place without me.” Venom laced your words even if you didn’t mean for it to happen.
Garrett sighed as he raked his fingers through his curls “I never meant to hurt you,” his words should have provided you with some comfort.
They should have made you realise that this wasn’t your fault “but you did Garrett.” You shrugged as you somehow were left feeling worse.
You stepped back as he stepped forward, as the cold autumn breeze brushed around campus, it was clear much like how the seasons were changing from fall to winter, that there was an end between the two of you too.
Still you hoped that Garrett would find a way to fight.
And still you ended up disappointed “I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed,” Garrett knew that when things were going well he was a part of the reason why you were on cloud nine.
But when he was gone, he was the reason why you were sad. Even if it was an event for you, his lack of presence would be the thing your brain lingered on.
Part of you wanted to tell him that he was your dream in human form.
But that part had been hurt one too many times by him to speak, “and I’m sorry I wasn’t a girl worth loving.” In that moment, your words captured everything that you had been feeling for weeks.
Garrett watched as you turned around, not bothering to put your AirPod back into your ear as you carried on the rest of your run.
He clenched his hands as he knew he couldn’t go after you. Yes Garrett loved you, but he wasn’t sure how he was meant to treat you with the value that you deserved.
You were the one who reminded Garrett how to laugh in rooms where he was meant to be quiet. How the worst days could be made better by simply talking to you, because somehow you always knew what to say to put his mind at ease.
The boy never spoke to Phil about you because you were a light in his world that his dad worked so hard to keep dark.
So when he watched you leave, Garrett didn’t know what to do, because part of him wanted to run after you.
But there was a quieter part that knew you deserved the right to leave him and the shitshow that was his world. Because that was what he always assumed would happen anyway, so that was why he never let you in fully.
Because at least once you left you wouldn’t pity him if you didn’t know his full story “you should go back inside, it’s cold out here.” Hannah’s voice was kind, but Garrett didn’t let his eyes fall from where you ran to.
“I’m good.”
Because if he did, then he’d have to admit that he was far from it.
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Hi!!! Do you have any good recommendations for Off-Campus fanfics featuring poly relationships? I’ve been looking but can’t seem to find any (the only one I found involves Beau and Dean, and I need more). I feel like I’m going crazy because I keep seeing the same fics over and over again 😭. I also started reading a fic with the three guys and Tucker’s sister where she was very innocent but unfortunately, I lost it 🫠. So, if you have any recommendations, I’d love to hear them, please!
michael robinavitch/the pitt x medstudent!robinavitch!reader | masterlist
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coming back to your hometown and seeing how your father interacts with his younger coworkers already made you wish your relationship was different. But having him constantly remind you of such really made it hard to heal, especially on your birthday.
Summary: Having studied Valyrian history and sorcery, you perform a ritual to save Jace's life after the battle of Gullet, except he's not quite who he used to be after he comes back from death's doorstep.
a/n: Reader is Daemon's daughter but it's not indicated from which marriage, take your pick.
The sea was grey that morning, mirroring the stone of Dragonstone itself. You stood at the window of your chamber, a heavy tome resting against your chest, its pages filled with script so old the ink had begun to flake away like dried blood. Below, the waves crashed against the volcanic rock, and high above, the clouds swirled in a slow, mournful dance. The whole world seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for a death that had not yet come.
Jacaerys had been lying in the maester's chamber for eight days.
You had counted each one. Eight days since Baela had landed Moondancer on the cliffs, screaming for help, her face streaked with salt and soot and grief. Eight days since they had carried his body, his body, not him, you had refused to think of it as him, from the dragon's back, wrapped in a cloak soaked through with seawater and blood. The Battle of the Gullet had been a victory, they said, but it did not feel like one. It felt like the world had been cracked open, and all the light was spilling out.
You remembered the sight of him when they brought him in. His face had been so pale it was nearly grey, his lips bloodless, his dark hair matted with salt and gore. Three arrows had struck him. One in the shoulder, one in the side, and the third, the one that made the maesters exchange those terrible, silent looks, lodged in his neck, just above the collarbone, so close to the great vessels that carried life through the body that even the most experienced of them had hesitated before touching it.
He had not drowned, they said, because he had been found clinging to a piece of driftwood, his fingers locked around it so tightly they had to pry them loose. Vermax had not been so fortunate. The young dragon had crashed into the waves, pierced by bolts and arrows, and the sea had taken him. Jace would have felt that, you knew. Even bleeding out into the water, he would have felt his dragon die.
You had not wept when they told you. You had stood very still, your hands clasped in front of you, and you had listened, and then you had gone to your chamber and opened the oldest book you possessed and begun to read.
Now, eight days later, you had read everything. Every scrap of text, every fragment of lore, every whispered rumor that had ever been committed to parchment about the old Valyrian ways. You had read until your eyes burned and your head ached and the words blurred together like blood in water. And you had found something.
The accounts of King Maegor the Cruel were not pleasant reading. His reign was a litany of atrocities, his name a curse upon the lips of even the most loyal Targaryen historians. But buried within the chronicles of his brutality was a single, strange thread: the story of his survival after the Trial of Seven. Maegor had fallen in combat, struck down by blows that should have killed him. He had lain insensible for nearly a moon's turn, his wounds festering, his body failing. The maesters had given him up for dead. And then, somehow, he had risen. He had opened his eyes, and he had stood, and he had walked out of that sickroom with a fury that would consume the realm.
The official histories attributed this to the will of the gods or the strength of his dragon blood, but you had found other writings. Theories scrawled in the margins of old texts, penned by maesters too afraid to speak openly. They pointed to Tyanna of Pentos, Maegor's wife. She had been rumored to practice dark arts, blood magic, the forbidden sorceries of the East. And there were those who believed that when Maegor lay dying, Tyanna had not healed him. She had remade him. She had poured life into him through sacrifice, through the transfer of vital essence, through a ritual that bound flesh to will and pulled a soul back from the abyss. Some texts even dared to name what he had become: a fire wight, a creature of flame, animated not by the natural processes of the body but by the burning power of blood and magic.
It was, the most cautious of the writers had noted, remarkably similar to the tales told by the red priests of R'hllor in far-off Asshai and Volantis. Their god could raise the dead, they claimed, could breathe fire back into cold lungs and set hearts beating again. But the price was always blood. Always life. Always a piece of the one who performed the working.
You had closed that book with trembling hands and gone to find your father.
Daemon Targaryen had returned to Dragonstone three days prior, summoned by a raven from your stepmother. Rhaenyra had called him back from Harrenhal not to mourn, but to act. The war had paused for no grief, and the Queen needed her husband's fire and his ruthlessness and his terrible, unwavering certainty. You had watched him arrive on Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm's crimson scales a slash of violent color against the grey sky, and you had seen the way his face had tightened when they told him about Jace.
Now, he stood in your chamber, the door closed behind him, turning the pages of your book with the same hands that had wielded Dark Sister for decades. His expression was unreadable.
"This is dangerous knowledge," he said at last. "Where did you find it?"
"Here," you said. "In the library. In the vaults below. Dragonstone is old, father." You swallowed hard. "Tyanna was not the only one who knew these rites. The Valyrians practiced blood magic for thousands of years. They used it to bind their dragons, to shape the very stone of their towers. This is just…another application."
Daemon looked at you, and for a moment you saw something flicker in his gaze. Pride, perhaps, or recognition. You were his daughter, after all, no matter which marriage had produced you. You had his blood in your veins, his fire, his refusal to accept the world as it was when you could bend it to your will instead.
"You want to do this for the boy," he said.
"He is my betrothed," you said, and your voice cracked on the word despite your best efforts. "He has been my betrothed since I was old enough to understand what the word meant. I was meant to marry him, father. I was meant to stand beside him when he took the throne. I was meant to…" You stopped, pressing your lips together, forcing the tears back. You would not weep. Not yet. Not while there was still something you could do.
Daemon was silent for a long moment. Then he closed the book and set it aside.
"The maesters believe he will die," he said. "They will not say it to Rhaenyra's face, they value their heads too much for that, but they have stopped trying to remove the arrow from his neck. They say it is too close to the artery. They say he has lost too much blood. They say even if he wakes, the wound will fester and poison him from within." His jaw tightened. "He is dying, daughter. Slowly but surely. If you do nothing, he will be dead anyway."
"Then I have to try," you said.
"Yes," Daemon agreed, and there was something almost gentle in his voice, something you had not heard from him in a very long time. "You do. And I will help you."
"Rhaenyra..."
"Rhaenyra must not know." Daemon's voice hardened. "She is already half-mad with grief. If she knew what we were attempting, she would forbid it. Or she would hope too much, and the disappointment would destroy her if you failed. No. This stays between us. I will stand guard outside the door. I will make certain no one disturbs you. Whatever you need, candles, herbs, a blade, I shall provide it. The rest is up to you."
You nodded, your heart beating so fast you could feel it in your throat. "Tonight," you said. "It has to be tonight. The maesters say the hour just before dawn is the most dangerous. If he survives until morning, it will be a miracle. I need to act before then."
Daemon reached out and put his firm hand on your shoulder. "You are my daughter," he said. "You have my blood. Whatever you need to do, do it without hesitation. Do it without doubt. The magic will know if your will wavers."
"I won't waver," you said.
He looked at you for a long moment, and then he nodded. "I know you won't."
The hour was late when you made your way to the chamber where Jacaerys lay. The castle was quiet, the servants and guards moving through the corridors like ghosts, their footsteps muffled by the weight of impending tragedy. Everyone knew. Everyone was waiting. The heir to the heir, the bright young prince who had flown to the Gullet with fire in his heart, was slipping away, and there was nothing anyone could do.
Except you. You could do something. You would do something.
Daemon walked beside you, a silent shadow in black and red. When you reached the door to Jace's chamber, he stopped and turned to face you.
"I will be here," he said quietly. "No one will enter until you open this door from the inside. Take as long as you need."
You nodded, not trusting your voice, and pushed open the heavy wooden door.
The room was dim, lit only by a single candle on the bedside table and the faint glow of the hearth fire. The windows were shuttered against the night air, and the scent of medicinal herbs hung thick in the air: poultices and tinctures and the smell of boiling wine used to cleanse wounds. But underneath it all was the smell of blood, old and new, and the sickly-sweet undertone of a body fighting a losing battle against death.
Jacaerys lay on the bed, and the sight of him made your heart clench like a fist.
He was so still. Jacaerys, who had always been in motion, always talking, always planning, always reaching for the next thing, lay utterly motionless beneath the furs. His face was ashen, his cheeks sunken, dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes. His lips were cracked and dry, parted slightly, and his breathing was so shallow you had to watch his chest for a long moment to be sure it was still moving. The arrow had been removed from his shoulder and the one from his side had been cut out, the wounds stitched and bandaged. But the third arrow, the one in his neck, was still there. The maesters had cut the shaft short, leaving only a few inches protruding from the swollen, angry flesh, but they had not dared to remove the head. It was lodged against something vital, and any attempt to pull it free would tear the vessel and kill him in moments.
You stood beside the bed for a long time, just looking at him. Remembering.
You remembered the first time you had met him, when you were both children, before you understood what betrothal meant. He had been solemn and serious even then, trying so hard to be worthy of the inheritance that had fallen to him. You had thought him stuffy at first, too concerned with duty and honor to be any fun. But then he had smiled at you, a quick, surprised smile, and you had seen the boy beneath the prince, and something had shifted in your heart.
You remembered the day your dragon died. The Battle of Rook's Rest. The sky had been full of fire and screaming, and you had been on your dragon's back, trying to stay alive, trying to fight, trying to do something, anything, to help. And then Rhaenys had fallen. Meleys had plunged from the sky in a tangle of scarlet wings, and Vhagar had turned. The ancient she-dragon had fixed her terrible eyes on you, and Aemond's voice had echoed across the battlefield, shouting something you could not hear over the roar of wind and flame. He had wanted to take you, you learned later. A prize. A hostage. A trophy to hang on his wall. But your dragon had fled, faster than Vhagar could follow, and had carried you all the way back to Dragonstone before succumbing to her wounds. She had died on the beach, her great head resting on sand, her eyes fixed on you with an apology you could not bear to receive. You had held her until the light went out of her, and then you had stood and walked up to the castle and begun to plan how you would make the Greens pay.
Jace had held you that night. He had not said anything, there was nothing to say, but he had held you, and let you weep into his shoulder, and when you were finished he had kissed your forehead and told you that you were the bravest person he had ever met.
Now he was dying, and you were going to save him, no matter what it cost.
You set down the small bag you had brought with you and began to prepare. From the bag you drew a candle of black wax, a small silver knife, a bowl of beaten copper, and a roll of parchment covered in the symbols and words you had copied from the old texts. You arranged them on the floor beside the bed, your hands steady despite the trembling in your heart. Then you drew back the furs and looked at Jace's wounds.
The bandages on his shoulder and side were fresh, changed that evening by the maesters. But the wound in his neck was the one that mattered. You leaned close, examining it in the dim light. The flesh around the arrow shaft was red and swollen, hot to the touch even from inches away. The skin had begun to take on a greyish tinge at the edges, and when you inhaled carefully, you caught the faint, foul scent of corruption beginning to take hold. The maesters were right. If the arrow was not removed, the infection would spread. It would poison his blood, and he would die in fever and delirium. But if they tried to remove it, the arrowhead would tear the great vessel in his neck, and he would drown in his own blood in moments.
Unless you changed the rules.
You had studied the accounts of the Valyrian blood mages for years. You had devoured every scrap of knowledge you could find about the old sorceries, the fire magic that had raised the Freehold to its terrible glory. And you had learned that blood was the key. Blood was always the key. Blood was life, and life was power, and power, properly channeled, could reshape the world.
The ritual Tyanna of Pentos had used, or something very like it, was described in fragments throughout the texts you had found. It was not healing in the traditional sense. It was something older, darker and more profound. It was the transference of life force, the binding of spirit to flesh, the rekindling of the inner fire that kept the soul tethered to the body. The subject would not simply recover. They would be remade, their body repaired not by natural processes but by the direct application of magical will. And the cost would be paid in blood. Not Jace's blood. Yours.
You knelt beside the bed and lit the black candle. The flame burned with a strange, bluish light, and the air in the room seemed to thicken, growing heavy and still. You picked up the silver knife and positioned the copper bowl on the floor before you.
"I don't know if you can hear me," you said quietly, looking at Jace's still face. "But if you can…hold on. Just a little longer. I'm going to bring you back."
Then you set the blade against the inside of your left forearm and cut.
The pain was immediate. Blood welled up from the wound, you held your arm over the copper bowl, letting it drip down into the metal basin. The candle flame flickered, then steadied, burning brighter than before. You closed your eyes and began to speak.
The words were High Valyrian. They were harsh, full of consonants that scraped against your throat and vowels that burned on your tongue. You had practiced them for hours, mouthing them silently in your chamber, but speaking them aloud was different. They had weight. They had presence. Each syllable seemed to hang in the air, resonating with something deep beneath the world.
We ask the Lord to shine his light, and the debt of blood to be paid.
With fire and blood, the debt shall be paid.
Your blood continued to flow, more than you had expected, more than seemed safe. The copper bowl was filling, the dark liquid swirling in the candlelight, and you felt a strange pulling sensation in your chest, as if something vital was being drawn out of you along with the blood. The candle flame rose higher, no longer blue but a deep, angry red, and the shadows in the room began to move.
You reached out with your bleeding arm and pressed your hand against the wound in Jace's neck, your fingers circling the broken arrow shaft. The moment your blood touched his skin, you felt it: a connection, a bridge, a channel opening between your life and his. You could feel his weak heartbeat, fluttering against your palm like a trapped bird. You could feel the poison spreading through his veins, the infection that was eating away at his flesh. And you could feel the arrowhead, a cold sliver of metal lodged against the pulsing wall of his artery, a hairsbreadth from the arms of the Stranger.
No, you thought, and poured yourself into him.
It was like falling. Like drowning. Like being unmade and remade in the space of a single heartbeat. Your vision went white, then red, then black, and you were somewhere else, somewhere vast and dark and full of fire. You could feel Jace there, a flickering ember in the darkness, barely holding on. And you could feel something else, something vast and hungry, watching you from the shadows. The magic. The old power. It wanted what you were offering. It wanted the blood, the life, the sacrifice. It wanted you.
Take it, you said, or thought, or screamed into the void. Take whatever you need. Just give him back to me.
The darkness surged forward, and you knew nothing more.
You woke in your own bed, with sunlight streaming through the windows and the sound of shouting echoing through the corridors.
For a long, disorienting moment, you had no idea where you were or how you had gotten there. Your body felt strange, heavy and hollow at the same time, as if someone had scooped out your insides and replaced them with lead. Your left arm throbbed with a dull, persistent ache, and when you lifted it to look, you saw that someone had bandaged it. The white linen was spotted with red, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped.
The shouting grew louder. Footsteps pounded past your door. Someone was calling for the maester, and someone else was weeping, and beneath it all was a rising tide of voices, excited and frightened and disbelieving.
And then you remembered.
You sat up so fast the room spun around you. You grabbed the bedpost, steadying yourself, and swung your legs over the side of the bed. Your head pounded, your vision blurring, but you forced yourself to stand, to walk, to open the door and step out into the corridor.
A serving girl was running past, her eyes wide and her face flushed. You caught her arm.
"What's happening?" you demanded, and your voice came out rough and strange, barely recognizable as your own.
"My lady!" The girl's words tumbled over each other in her haste. "It's the prince! Prince Jacaerys! He's awake! He's awake, and the maester says his wounds are healing, and the Queen is with him now..."
You let go of her arm. She kept talking, but you were already moving, pushing past her, walking as fast as your unsteady legs would carry you toward Jace's chamber.
The corridor outside his room was crowded with people, servants and guards and minor lords, all craning their necks and whispering among themselves. They parted when they saw you, their eyes wide with surprise or curiosity or something else you didn't have the presence of mind to identify. You didn't care. You didn't care about any of it. You only cared about the door at the end of the corridor and what lay beyond it.
Daemon was leaning by the door. He saw you coming, and his expression flickered, relief and what might have been pride or might have been concern. He stepped forward to meet you.
"It worked," his voice was pitched low so only you could hear. "The maester examined him this morning. The swelling in his neck has gone down. The corruption is receding. They were able to remove the arrowhead safely an hour ago. He is weak, but he is alive, and he is awake."
You closed your eyes for a moment, swaying on your feet. The relief that flooded through you was so intense it was almost painful. "I need to see him."
"Rhaenyra is with him now. She has been there since they told her. She is…" Daemon paused, searching for the right word. "Overjoyed. She thinks it's a miracle."
"It is a miracle," you said.
Daemon's eyes met yours. "Yes," he agreed. "It is. But not the kind she thinks." He put his hand on your shoulder, steadying you. "You did well, daughter. Better than I dared to hope. But be careful with him, he hasn't quite come back to himself yet."
He opened the door, and you stepped inside.
The first thing you saw was Rhaenyra. The Queen was sitting on the edge of the bed, her silver-gold hair unbound and disheveled, her face wet with tears. She was holding Jace's hand in both of hers, and she was speaking to him in a low, urgent voice, her words tumbling out too fast to follow. She looked exhausted, wrung out, the way a person looks when they have been holding themselves together for so long that the relief of letting go is almost as painful as the fear.
And then you saw Jace.
He was sitting up against the pillows, his dark hair brushed back from his face, his eyes open and alert. The bandage on his neck was fresh and white, and his color was better than it had been in days, still pale, but no longer grey, no longer the ashen hue of a corpse waiting to happen. He was thinner than before, the bones of his face more prominent, but he was alive. He was alive.
He looked up when you entered, your eyes met, and you felt as though your heart would burst.
"Jace," you breathed.
His expression shifted. For a moment, he looked almost confused, as if he didn't quite recognize you. Then his face cleared, and he smiled, a small, tired smile, but a real one, and held out his free hand to you.
"There you are," he said. His voice was hoarse, rough from disuse, but it was his voice. "I was wondering when you would come."
You crossed the room without thinking, barely aware of Rhaenyra moving aside to make space for you. You took his hand, his fingers closed around yours, and he was warm. He was warm. You had been so afraid that he would be cold, that the ritual would have taken something essential from him, that he would be a shell wearing Jace's face. But his hand was warm, and his pulse beat steady in his wrist.
Except.
Except there was something different in his eyes. A gleam. A light that hadn't been there before. When he looked at you, you felt the weight of his attention, focused and intense. There was none of the softness you remembered, none of the gentle uncertainty that had always lurked beneath his princely composure. This was a Jacaerys who had looked into the darkness and come back with something of it still burning behind his eyes.
"Your Grace," you said to Rhaenyra, remembering your courtesies even as your heart hammered against your ribs. "I came as soon as I heard."
"He's going to be all right," Rhaenyra said, and her voice broke on the words. "The maester says he's going to be all right. I don't understand it. None of them understand it. But I don't care. My son is alive." She pressed a hand to her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks again. "I'm so relieved. I thought I'd lost you. I thought I'd lost both of you."
She meant Luke, you realized. Lucerys, who had died at Storm's End, whose death had started the cascade of violence that had led here. Rhaenyra had lost one son already. She could not bear to lose another.
Jace's expression softened. "I'm here," he said. "I'm not going anywhere. But if I could speak with my betrothed now. Alone, if you don't mind."
Rhaenyra hesitated, looking between the two of you. Then she nodded, pressing a kiss to Jace's forehead before rising from the bed. "I'll be just outside," she said. "I'll send for some broth. You need to eat. You need to regain your strength."
She left the room, and the door closed behind her with a soft click. You and Jace were alone.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. You were still holding his hand, and he was still looking at you with that strange, intense gaze, and you didn't know what to say. What did you say to someone you had pulled back from the edge of death? What did you say to someone who might owe their life to a ritual you barely understood and a power you had no right to wield?
"You did something," Jace said at last.
You opened your mouth to deny it, but the words wouldn't come. His eyes were too sharp, too knowing. He could see right through you.
"Yes," you said quietly. "I did."
"What did you do?"
You told him everything. You were too tired to lie and too frightened to hold it in, and because he deserved to know what had been done to him.
When you finished, he was silent for a long moment. Then he reached up with his free hand and touched the bandage on his neck, his fingers tracing the edge of it with a strange, detached curiosity.
"I died," he said. "Didn't I?"
"No," you denied quickly. "No, you were still alive. The maesters said..."
"The maesters said I was going to die. They said there was nothing they could do." His eyes met yours again. "I remember the water. The cold. I remember Vermax screaming. And then…nothing. Darkness. Just darkness, for a long time. And then something else. Something pulling me back. It felt like fire. Like dragonfire, but inside me. In my blood. In my bones." He paused. "Was that you?"
You swallowed hard. "I don't know. I don't know what I did. The texts said the ritual could transfer life force, could bind spirit to flesh, could rekindle the inner fire. But they didn't say how. They didn't say what the cost would be. I just…I couldn't let you die. I couldn't. Not when there was something I could try."
Jace looked at you for a long moment. Then he pulled you toward him, and before you knew what was happening, his arms were around you and your face was pressed against his shoulder and he was holding you so tightly you could barely breathe.
"You foolish, brave, tricky woman," he murmured into your hair. "You could have died. You could have killed yourself. For me."
"There was no choice," you said, your voice muffled against his chest. "There was never a choice. Don't you understand? Without you, there's no point. There's no point to any of it."
You felt him exhale a shaky breath. His hand came up to stroke your hair, gentle despite the new strength you could feel in his grip. "I understand," he said. "I understand better than you know."
You pulled back slightly, looking up at him. Your eyes were wet, you realized. You had been crying without noticing it. He reached up and wiped the tears from your cheeks with his thumb, his touch warm and achingly familiar.
"When I was pulled from the darkness," he whispered, "I dreamed. I dreamed of fire and blood and a throne made of swords. I dreamed of our enemies burning. I dreamed of Aemond Targaryen dying in the mud, with my hands around his throat. I dreamed of victory, absolute and total, with no mercy and no quarter and no hesitation. I dreamed of everything I was too weak to do before." His voice hardened, and that gleam in his eyes grew brighter, more dangerous. "I'm not weak anymore."
You stared at him. There was something new and terrible and fierce in his voice. The boy you had known was still there, but there was something else now, something that had been forged in the darkness and brought back with him into the light.
"The Greens took my brother," Jace said. "They took my dragon. They took my birthright. They tried to take my life. They tried to take you." His hands tightened on your arms. "They will fail. They will all fail. I am going to recover from this. I am going to get out of this bed, and I am going to be there when my mother takes King's Landing. And then I am going to find Aemond Targaryen, and I am going to make him pay for every drop of blood he has spilled."
"Jace," you said, and you didn't know if it was a warning or a plea or a prayer.
"When I woke up," he continued, as if you hadn't spoken, "I felt different. I feel…more. More alive, more aware. Better, altogether." He laughed without humour. "I feel like someone lit a fire inside me and it's never going to go out. Is that what you did to me? Is that what the magic made me?"
"I don't know," you whispered. "I didn't know what it would do. The texts said…"
"The texts said Maegor came back changed. Crueler. Stronger. Unstoppable." Jace's eyes met yours. "Maybe that's what I am now. Maybe that's what you made me."
"No. You're not Maegor. You're not cruel. You're not..."
"I'm not what I was before." He said it calmly, as if stating a simple fact. "I can feel it. The part of me that hesitated, that second-guessed, that worried about being good enough, worthy enough, it's gone. Burned away. All that's left is the fire." He cupped your face in his hands, his palms were warm against your cheeks. "But I'm still me. I'm still yours. That hasn't changed. That will never change."
He kissed you. It was not like the gentle, tentative kisses you had shared before. It was fierce, demanding, full of that new fire, and you found yourself responding to it despite your fear, despite your uncertainty. His lips were warm, his hands were strong, and he was alive. He was alive, and that was all that mattered.
When he pulled back, his eyes were still burning with that strange, fierce light. "You brought me back," he said. "You gave me a second chance. I'm not going to waste it. I'm going to win this war. I'm going to put my mother on the Iron Throne. I'm going to marry you, and we are going to build a dynasty that will last a thousand years." He smiled, and it was a crazed and beautiful thing. "I swear to you."
You looked at him. Your betrothed, your prince, the boy you had loved since before you understood what love was, and saw the man he had become. The fire in his eyes. The steel in his voice. The fury and the purpose and the unshakeable certainty. The old texts had warned that those brought back by blood magic were never quite the same. They came back changed. They came back wrong. But looking at him now, you couldn't bring yourself to believe it.
He wasn't wrong. He was more.
"Rest now," you said, pressing him back against the pillows. "Regain your strength. The war will still be there when you're healed."
He caught your wrist, his strong grip still surprised you. "Stay," he said. "Stay with me."
"I'm not going anywhere," you promised.
You stayed by his side as the days passed, watching as his strength returned with unnatural speed. The maesters marveled at his recovery, calling it a miracle, a blessing from the Seven, the indomitable will of the dragon blood. They didn't know. They couldn't know. Only you and Daemon knew the truth, and you kept it locked away in your hearts, a secret that bound you together in shared complicity.
a/n: Comment if you'd like to be added to this series' taglist.
Rn I'm tagging those who commented that they'd like me to post this fic: @ilovefoolishknights @mellowpeacequeen @disturbedturtle @pinkypurplez @oh-miniso @brlghtflame
a/n: Liked the fic? You can donate on Ko-fi, your support helps me write more: https://ko-fi.com/catbayunthestoryteller <3
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Please stop filling the ‘x reader’ tags (and smut/angst/fluff) with responses to your inbox
I’m searching for a fic, not your response to an ask.
it’s not x reader, it’s not a oneshot/blurb/chapter, so please don’t put it in the tag where people go to find fics.
I get that people may really love a fic of yours! and will send things in your inbox and you have every right to answer them and the praise is well deserved!
but I’m clicking on the tag to read fics, not to read the responses to your asks as if it’s an Instagram stories “ask me anything” question box…
I specifically avoid blogs where I see their inbox in tags more than I see their fics…
no hate to anyone! Please don’t take this as me hating on you or saying you should not respond to your inbox, you should! Just don’t do it in the ‘x reader’ (smut/fluff/angst) tag!
I acknowledge that this is hypocritical, as I’m using the tags im asking people not to use in posts that aren’t a fic - but I’m using them ONCE, to spread some awareness of me asking this, to the tags, some people may agree with me and agree it’s annoying and some may not.
Either way, this is ONE post, I won’t tag them again, so you can go back to browsing for things to read :)
Why do toxic fanfics keep popping up on my fyp, like no I don't want Gojo cheating on me, fucking me as an apology and me actually FORGIVING him???. I need a man who is OBSESSED with me and wouldn't even think of looking at another woman. The only fanfics that truly still my hunger are yander fics.
below is a list of fics for the found family au series;
✩.* you've corrupted her } garrett graham x fem!reader
in which dean misunderstands a conversation between sabrina and tucker, leading to an entirely unsolicited birds and the bees talk, before later discovering that y/n is far less innocent than he originally believed - much to garrett’s amusement.
✩.* sunset skies } garrett graham x fem!reader
in which allie, y/n, sabrina and grace chase a sunset from the hockey house roof, only to end up stranded while the boys swing wildly between panic, frustration, and overwhelming relief trying to get them down safely.
✩.* fill in the gaps } dean di laurentis x fem!reader
in which dean is always the one quietly stepping in whenever garrett can’t, filling the gaps with a kind of friendship that feels safe without ever asking for recognition.
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BABE AND RAPTURE: A DARK(ish) JACK ABBOT X READER SERIES
➥ You're living with your doctor after he offered you a place to stay, and despite the HR nightmare that is letting your much younger, financially struggling pregnant patient live with you, things are great! You're so thankful to Dr. Abbot for helping you get back on your feet...and you'll stay that way when you can't realize that it's only a matter of time before you can't leave him.
THIS SERIES IS SOMEWHAT NON-CHRONOLOGICAL
the thought post that started it all.
TAGS: obsession, manipulation, eventual smut and all warnings will differ with each oncoming blurb or chapter, but I can guess there will be unprotected sex, rough sex, breeding kink, insanely toxic power dynamics, you're literally pregnant and broke and jack's needing you enough to take advantage of that. technically stalking, pregnancy fetish but be flattered because jack didn't have it before you entered his life, he watches pregnancy porn of ladies that look wayyyy too much like you. financial manipulation, co-dependency in all forms. somebody get HR and maybe the police because what jack has with you isn't allowed. jack may or may not think he is now the father to your baby.
・。PART ONE: BABY GATE || Dr. Abbot is a nice man. You can't thank him enough. But you catch him making his house more…permanent for you and your baby on the way, as if you’ll still be here when she comes. As if you’ll be here for a long time. He just likes being prepared, you think.
・。 PART 1.5: NOTHING TRUER THAN FACEBOOK || Dr. Abbot takes to Facebook to prove to you that you should stay home. With him. Not that it’s your house.
・。 PART TWO: YOUNG, SINGLE MOM TO BE (COMING SOON) || You, a single and struggling mother-to-be, find yourself at the Pitt after a collapse at the bus stop. It isn't so bad, you meet a handsome, older doctor who seems very dedicated to helping you. And in your struggles...and growing attachment to him, you can ignore the red flags (professional and otherwise) when he offers you a place to stay.
MISC CONTENT
✫ (buying doctor-themed onesies...) ✫ (he definitely stands outside her door...) ✫ (no one wants to fuck a pregnant woman more than jack wants to fuck you) ✫ (sleepy in labor) ✫ (more of "dad" jack's delusions) ✫
☄︎ Warnings: each chapter will have their own but overall - Angst (love hurts!), slow burn (ish), fluff, reader being blind af, i don't have a proofreader, idk my tenses so i flip flop
☄︎ Pairing: f!Reader x John Logan, f!Reader x Dean Di Laurentis
☄︎ Rating: PG - 18+ (these chapters will be noted so can be skipped)
☄︎ AN: This was born from this post. I saw it and my mind immediately started racing. The respose to the first one posted was amazing, so I've turned this into a series. Thank you so soo much for all the wonderful comments and engagement.
Idc, normalize kink shaming. Cause y'all be using “don’t kink shame” and “it’s fiction” to excuse being into incest, pedophilia, cannibalism, etc. Like, be so fr, you ship a 14 year old with a 30 year and want to see two brothers f*ck each other. I don’t engage with things fictionally that I don’t like/wouldn’t want to do in real life. Yes, I’m judging you.
呪術廻戦 after overhearing you playing piano, satoru seems to have fallen hard for you. the only problem? he's not allowed to date. but who's to stop him.
TAGS ⎯⎯ pianist f! reader & soccer player! gojo ┆ 9.7k words . fluff , a bit of angst , unsupportive parents , geto will be ooc (?) college au , brief smut, gojo falls first and hard . fic reupload art by @/soyboba91 on twt
If you were to tell gojo three years ago that he had fallen in love during college, the boy would have laughed in your face.
But it's true, Gojo is in love.
And not with a cheerleader from his games, a sorority he'd hooked up with or a stripper he'd have charmed with his stupid grin.
But with a pianist.
A very gorgeous and talented one who he would sit down next to hours on end, listening to the new song you had learned to play. a beauty he would die for. And most importantly, the girl that he is one minute away from getting down on a knee for.
And it all started with a forgotten notebook.
⟢
"Where the fuck is my notebook." Gojo muttered, searching his backpack twice. Then he looked in his locker, his gym bag, under the bench, even. His eyebrows furrowed until a groan left his lips.
It wasn't like it magically grew a pair of legs, but he still looked behind the vending machine as well. Just to be extra sure.
"This cannot be happening.." The last he needed was losing the one journal he actually used and the one that had his homework in it, especially not after a long night of practice that had his limbs feeling like spaghetti noodles. He just wanted to go home and drool into his pillow, sleeping off into another world.
"Looking for something?" Suguru chimed in, watching as his friend pulled out everything from inside his locker. His soccer uniform dropped onto the floor but Gojo was too exhausted to even care.
He shot a scowl towards the pierced boy. "My notebook man.. I lost it."
Gojo tried to recall where he had last used it. But there was no hope with how fried his brain was. He dropped his body dramatically onto the bench with a whine that sounded like it had come from a child.
"I have Monday's assignment in there."
"For what class?" Suguru slipped on his shirt over his body, closing his locker shut before turning to Satoru. "Biochemistry.." That’s when the memory hit him straight in the face.
He had left the notebook in his class, on the desk he sat in right next to the window.
Gojo immediately stood up, causing his head to feel dizzy, grabbing his bag to place on his broad shoulder. "Gotta go, see ya." He gave his friend a quick harsh pat on his back, rushing towards the door.
How could he be so dumb to leave it behind?
He has been so focused on his upcoming winter game that he was in a rush to get to practice on time.
You’re late three times to practice? You’re out.
The walk to his science class was a blur. Dodging small talk from other teammates and the cold weather practically freezing his balls off.
By the time he reached his biochem room, the hallway was eerily quiet as he slipped into the classroom.
There it was, sitting right there on his desk.
He could almost cry tears of joy.
Gojo let out a breath of relief, retrieving back the journal full of doodles and important notes. But most importantly, a poorly drawn portrait of his professor as a disgruntled frog that would definitely get him in trouble if said professor got his hands on it.
He clutched it close to his chest dramatically.
The door clicked quietly behind him. He was about to head towards his car that was parked in front of the field when a sudden sound floated down the hallway, reaching his ears.
It was music.
Well, a piano.
That's what it was.
The notes were as delicate as the raindrops that were hitting the window.
His head tilted to the side, following where the tunes were coming from in between the crack of the door.
Gojo knew he should have just gone home and attempted to get more than four hours of sleep for once, but the sound had him entranced like a siren call.
And that's when he saw you for the first time.
You looked so focused, eyes locked on the keys under your pretty fingers. You haven’t noticed him yet, peeking through the crack of the door like a creep.
Gojo held himself closer, steadying his body on the door, trying to get a good look at you. Maybe he could make out your face if he leaned in just a bit closer. But he only managed to fall, causing the door to open wide and for you to freeze.
Your fingers hovered over the piano, eyes blown wide completely startled.
"Oh my gosh- I am so sorry!" he exclaimed, pushing himself off the ground, wincing at the feeling of a now forming bruise on his knee. He was tripping over his words, trying to explain why he was even peeking in the first place, but he fell silent when you approached him.
You had to be an angel with the way you were staring up at him. "Are you alright?" your voice was even better. It was so gentle.
'Angels play the piano.. I had no idea' gojo thought.
"Uhhhhh, yeah. yeah, I'm alright." He answered quietly, eyes drawn to your lips. "You play really beautifully"
"Oh, thank you."
"Yup!" With that, he rushed out the door, face blushed to the max and heart beating faster than it does when he's out on the field. 'Holy fuck, who was that beauty?' His hand felt light.
Way too light.
He looked down just to see that he had forgotten his notebook, again.
Gojo would rather dig a hole and die in it than go back and face you after his sudden departure.
Your footsteps clicked on the floor, tilting your head to see gojo standing there, contemplating if he should turn around or not. "Hi again, you forgot this.."
You lifted up his journal.
"R-right, I forgot about that." He let out a nervous chuckle, reaching behind him doing a little grabby motion with his hand, back still turned towards you.
You were confused by his behavior but didn't question it, gently placing the book in his hand.
"Thank you." The flushed boy squeaked out.
You bit back a smile, watching as he tried to discreetly sneak a look at you over his shoulder.
"No problem!" you chirped, turning around to walk back into the music room. He let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding, body now turned to fully face your figure as you walked away.
"... Wow." he whispered.
⟢
"And then she smiled up at me, like the prettiest smile I have ever seen. I'm not even joking that girl is heaven sent. I regret not running after her because oh my god, Suguru- Suguru are you even listening to me?"
"I’ma keep it a buck, fuck no." Suguru grumbled, scrolling on his phone which was far more interesting than the summarization Gojo has been giving him for the past two hours.
"You're an ass." Gojo grumbled, flopping on his belly on his bed, messing up his navy blue covers. "Let me see if she has instagram.. wait fuck, I dunno her name."
"Wait, you have a crush on a girl whose name you do not know?" The black haired boy stared away from the screen, looking up at his enamored best friend.
"Well like I was saying, she slipped from my fingers last night. I was too shocked from her ethereal face to even process anything"
"Then I don't fucking know what to tell ya, just leave me the hell alone."
Gojo hummed. "Whatever." he swung his feet in the air, twirling around his hair as he thought back to you. His friend gave him a look of disgust because never in his 15 years of being friends with Satoru had he ever seen him in love.
It freaked him out.
⟢
Gojo brought the ice pack to his cheek, mumbling a curse under his breath. The daydreamer was knocked out of his pondering when the soccer ball hit him straight in the cheek bone, smacking him hard enough to bruise.
He received a quick scolding from his coach on how he needed to get his head out of his ass and start playing harder now that the final game was closing in.
One second he was imagining you and your sweet smile and the other he was on the ground. He physically couldn't stop thinking back at you and the events of last night. Gojo threw away the bag with the now melted ice in a nearby trash can, slowly making his way to the music room.
'please be there, please be there, please please please!'
And then..
"Thank you god..." he whispered at the sight of you.
You were walking so peacefully, flipping the pages full of music in your hands, trying to pick which song to practice tonight. A stupid smile grew on Gojo's face. You had on a simple but cute white blouse and a brown skirt, the typical outfit you'd expect a pianist to wear.
You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, too focused to notice the 6 foot boy practically stalking you in the dark. He did a little inner cheer, beaming with happiness after you finally looked up, making eye contact with him.
"Oh, hello." You greeted him sweetly. "You're the guy who face planted yesterday, right?"
He froze, embarrassed.
"Yea.. I'm Satoru." He held the door open for you, watching as you entered before closing the door behind him. He flashed you his dorky but genuine smile but quickly regretted it. 'Why the hell did I do that? What's wrong with me?' Any negative thoughts disappeared the second you giggled, making his brain short-circuit.
"I'm y/n."
He gave himself a pat on the back at achieving your name. "y/n, huh?" He tested it out himself, looking around to prevent himself from ogling you.
"So um, last night, I didn't get to listen to you finish playing that song."
You grabbed the back of your skirt, sitting down on the piano chair, patting the fabric down so it didn't stick up awkwardly.
"The one I was doing before you so rudely interrupted me?" Your focus shifted back onto him, scooting on the piano seat to make room for him.
He was surprised at the offer, but quickly acted on it. The muscular boy happily sat down next to his new crush.
"I can play it again if you'd like. It was love me by Elvis Presley." You positioned your fingers on their assigned keys, glancing at Satoru.
The simple eye contact drove him crazy. Gojo could feel the back of his neck heating up but shook it off as you began to play.
Your fingers glided around the keyboard out of pure memory. It made him hold his breath so he wouldn't miss hearing a second. His eyes weren't set on your hands but on your face, fully focused. It was enough for his heart to run wild. Not like it wasn’t already.
You ended the song with one final push on the keyboard, looking up at him and the stupid smile that was plastered on his face.
"That was good.. really good"
"I know." You grinned. He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as his tongue darted out to lick his slightly chapped lips.
"Do you play?"
Gojo hummed. "Nah. I’d like to, but I’m too busy with soccer."
"You play soccer?" You asked curiously.
"Yeah, you couldn't tell from my sweat?"
"I thought you just had a bad sweating problem."
Gojo let out a groan. "that's fuckin' embarrassing." He dragged a hand down his face.
a snort escaped you unknowingly, making him turn to look at you again, forcing you to bring your hand up to cover your mouth in embarrassment. "Sorry."
"For what?"
He did not care. like at all.
"Um.. nothing. So, is listening to me play the piano all you came back for?"
The hand that previously rubbed his face now made its way to the back of his neck, nervously rubbing it.
"Sort of, I came back mostly because I wanted to get to know you. I've never seen you before and I just.. I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me sometime." His own words surprised him. That is not at all the reason he showed up.
A faint blush attacked your cheeks. "Really?" Your voice softened even more.
"Yeah, really."
You were hesitant, but eventually nodded. "I'd really like that."
But he was thankful his mouth spoke involuntarily. “Yeah? Great, that’s great..”
⟢
Gojo gently closed the door behind him, letting out a tired sigh. His hands were covering the bottom half of his face, not being able to process the fact that he asked you out, and you said yes.
He began walking to his dorm, ready to tell Suguru what happened. His hands were shaky, opening up his phone to stare at the new contact on his list. Yours. He clicked on the edit button, replacing the number with your name.
“Suguru!” Gojo yelled after entering his room. “Bro bro bro,” he smacked the exposed back of his friend, to which Suguru responded by smacking it away. “I did it, I asked her out and I got her number.”
Suguru grunted. “So?”
Gojo rolled his eyes. “Dude, can you at least pretend to be proud of me? Fuck you so negative for?”
Suguru placed his phone down, shifting to lay against his elbow to face gojo. “Just confused and weirded out that you’re serious about a girl. You’re always sleeping around so yeah, it’s fucking weird that you’re suddenly Mr. Lover Boy.”
Gojo’s eyebrows furrowed. "Oh, I'm sorry if it's so "strange" for you to acknowledge that I can actually feel love."
He felt hurt at the fact that he was seen as incapable of feeling such strong sentiments towards someone. Yes, it was right that he used to stick his dick in every girl that would give him bedroom eyes in the past just for fun, but he's calmed down. And right now, he even more so now that you have entered his life, and he doesn't expect you to leave anytime soon.
"Your parents won't like it if they find out you're getting distracted."
Gojo's parents have this stupid belief that if a woman were to appear in his schedule, it would mess up his future. Soccer has been his top priority since grade school, having games every other month and practices every day for hours. Even when he tried explaining that he no longer enjoyed the sport, he got shamed.
"You have talent, son." His father would remind him.
But Gojo didn't want to kick around a ball.
He never wanted to.
He wanted to push his fingers down the keys of the piano, just like you did. He wanted to learn how to read music and to perform on big stages that didn't consist of roaring crowds cheering when a goal was scored, but a quiet audience that appreciated the art he was creating.
That was a dream that he cherished for years, keeping it a secret from everyone, especially from his un-supportive family. If they found out he would rather play an instrument rather than play a sport? He’d be a huge disappointment.”
"They don't have to know." Gojo shot back.
"They'll find out eventually. Just don't waste your time with her, we both know how batshit crazy your family is."
"I'm fucking aware and I don't need to hear it from you right now."
Suguru was sitting properly now, scowling up at the now agitated boy. He knew he was being an ass, but he was just looking out for gojo. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.
"You clearly do if you're actually considering going out with her."
"I'm not considering, I am going out with her."
It was a back and forth argument that seemed as if it had no end.
"Whatever, you better not come crying to me when they hear about this. You already know what I will say."
I told you so.
Gojo was already making his way to his room, shutting the door loudly. He hated getting reminded of his parents. Even in college when he thought he'd finally get away from them, they still continue to haunt him.
He fell over his bed, taking off his shirt and bringing the covers up to cover his torso. He took deep breaths, scrolling on his phone before opening up your contact again.
His fingers began moving.
Satoru
'Hellooo. Me, you, cafe tomorrow?'
He held his breath, awaiting your response.
You replied shortly after, which he was thankful for.
You
'Hi! Yes sounds yum! what time?'
Skipping practice shouldn't harm him. He hasn’t missed any yet, so it’d be his first strike. If it meant sacrificing it for you, he would do it.
'Does 3 work for you?'
'Mhmmm, I have to be back before 8 tho!'
He chuckled. Did you have a curfew at 20 years old?
'Alright, noted. See you then.'
'Okay goodnight ! <3'
Oh my god.
You sent a heart and you said goodnight.
That clearly meant something right? You are interested in him, you sent a heart. He bit his inner cheek to prevent a stupid giggle from slipping out. He hearted your message, exiting the app.
From outside his door, he could hear Suguru turn on the tv, probably to play some video game of his. Gojo sighed, standing up to go join him despite the previous argument. He was still his best buddy at the end of the day.
"Make room." He murmured, pushing the black haired boy's feet off the couch to make space for him to sit on.
Suguru handed him the second controller without a question, splitting the screen into two. They played in silence until the sun fully set and the moon rose.
⟢
You patted down your blouse, turning to your side to stare at yourself in the mirror. Is this too little for a first date? Or was it too much? No boy has ever asked you out, not because you were unattractive, far from that actually, but because you always kept to yourself.
Many saw you as boring, shy, timid, unapproachable. But Gojo saw past that.
You did a little spin for yourself, showing off your pretty outfit. This should be good.
Gojo on the other hand was panicking as well.
He didn't know if he should just throw on another of his polo shirts or a sweater. He had his clothes spread out on his bed to make it easier for him to choose.
He settled on a brown patterned sweater with his white shirt underneath and his usual black jeans.
After receiving the message that you were ready, he rushed out the door, bringing the car’s engine to life.
Gojo went over potential lines, like the hopeless romantic he had grown to be.
"Looking as gorgeous as ever." No, way too soon to say that. "Nice rack." No no, definitely not that. Shit, should he have gotten you flowers? Wait, he doesn't know which you prefer. He should first figure that out and then get you some. You looked like a tulip girl, or maybe roses?
His nose scrunched up. Did he put on cologne today? Did he stink? what if you thought he smelt bad.
What about his hair? Did it look greasy? He took a double shower today, shaved his entire body, just in case.
All negative thoughts left his head once he reached your house. You were standing out there waiting for him, looking around cutely with your hair blowing around a bit from the winter wind.
He clenched his jaw close, not wanting it to fall open.
Your eyes landed on his car, face brightening. You gave him a little wave, adjusting the strap of your purse on your shoulder as you made your way down the street to him.
Gojo came back to earth, jumping out of his seat to go over to the passengers side, opening the door. "You're so pretty." he complimented, watching you sit down.
"Thank you!" You happily chirped.
He walked over to his side once again, typing out the location of the cafe on the console, previously where your address was written.
You both began with small talk. How your classes were going, why you even chose the university, all of that.
“So, why soccer?” You asked.
“Well, like I said, my parents wanted me to do something impressive, y'know? I’ve been playing since I was like five. It’s the only thing I’m good at.”
“I highly doubt that.”
Your words made his cheeks warm up.
“Why piano?” He forced himself to speak, praying you hadn't noticed the way his hands were gripping the steering wheel.
You hummed in thought. “I don’t know actually. I’ve always liked music and I thought the piano was cool, so I just stuck to it. I tried out guitar before but piano was easier for me.”
Gojo listened intently, almost as if your words were the most important things to ever exist.
“I play for the school from time to time.”
"Is that so? I'll go and support you if you promise to come to my game."
You nodded. "Deal! I'll even wear your jersey."
Fuck. he'd like that. a lot.
"Noted." A breathy chuckle left him.
Your destination wasn't far, but traffic made it seem as if it was. "Think we're here." He looked around, parking the car just as the generated voice set on the map spoke out.
'You have arrived.'
⟢
The date went well, really well.
You even went as far as holding hands as the two of you made your way into the heart of the town center, admiring the Christmas decorations they had set up, laughing at the way they made The Grinch appear.
“Hold on, stand over there let me take a picture!” He pointed over at the cardboard cutout of the character with a silhouette of a person with a hole cut out where the face should be, allowing people to place their head in.
You smiled after posing.
The phone’s camera snapped, taking a couple of pictures.
‘Gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous.’ Gojo grinned, showing you the captures he had taken to you once you made your way back to him.
“Let’s take one together!” You offered.
His heart beat overtook the holiday music playing, beating loud as hell as you got closer to him for the picture. He gulped, shyly wrapping his arm around your shoulder, forcing himself to look at the camera and not you.
But eventually the day came to an end, and with your curfew hour approaching, he drove you home.
"Hey so um, I was wondering if we could do this again soon?" He internally cringed at how desperate he sounded.
"Of course. I mean, obviously."
Satoru bit back a smile, knowing it was no use with the way his face was shifting to a soft pink color.
He pulled up to your now familiar house, watching you gather your things, unbuckling your seatbelt.
He quickly scrambled out of his seat, rushing over to your side to open the door. You chuckled at how hard he tried, but you appreciated it.
"Thank you."
You both stood in front of each other, the silence heavy. He leaned in, wanting to close the small distance in between you two, but the sound of your neighbor's dog barking snapped him back into reality.
He cleared his throat, taking a small step back. "So um, I'll see you."
"Yeah, see you." You took a couple of steps before turning back around. “I had a lot of fun today, Satoru.”
You reached up on your toes, pecking his cheek gently. A gasp broke from Gojo before hearing the soft clack of your heels disappear with every step you took up to your front door, turning around one last time to wave goodbye at him.
Gojo's hand slowly made its way to touch the area where you had kissed him.
There's no doubt.
He was in love.
Gojo made his way into his dorm room, locking it behind him.
He threw his sweater onto a chair, leaving him in his undershirt, making his way to the couch, plopping down on it. His forearm laid over his forehead thinking back to you and how well your date went.
He smiled softly, clearly satisfied.
Suguru heard the door close, indicating his friend had come home. He went out to greet him but the view of him laying on the couch, eyes closed but smile intact, his face shifted. He knew gojo was in too deep.
And he knew that sooner or later, shit would go down.
⟢
"No no.. that one's an eight note." You pointed at the music sheets in front of you.
"It deadass looks like a sixteenth note." He argued.
"No it doesn't!"
"This is way too complicated.." Gojo groaned, resting his head on his hand all while he averted his gaze from the papers to your pretty face.
He admired you, hand already reaching to fix a strand of hair, thumb lingering on your cheek.
"Satoru focus.." You whined, clearly distressed that your date couldn't understand the difference between two notes.
"Can't. You're too pretty."
His lips grazed yours for just a second, and in that second alone he was able to tell that one kiss wasn't going to be enough.
Your hands placed themselves on his shoulders, previously on the piano seat, returning the sweet short pecks he kept initiating.
His hands went behind your back, bringing your body closer to his.
"Quarter note.. treple clef-" He mumbled against your lips.
"Treble clef." You corrected him.
"Whatever."
After four successful dates, Gojo finally got what, or who, he wanted. You. He finally got you.
And he was the happiest bastard on earth.
“Want to go to the mall, baby?” He said against your lips, tugging at your lower lip.
“Mmm, yeah okay!” You chirped before wincing at his biting. “Ouch! Toru!”
He grinned, licking at where he bit. “Sorry. I just love these pretty lips so much.”
“Yeah yeah..” You rolled your eyes, laughing at the sudden tickle attack he declared against your tummy, poking at the sides.
“Let’s get going.”
⟢
The shoes were put on display so any shoppers could get a brief glance at it before deciding if it was worth buying or not. You stared at them for a while. They were a pretty pair of Mary Jane's. Low heeled but had some chunk put into the platform part and they had a strap that wrapped around the ankle. The bow in the middle of it was small but it added so much to the design.
You always asked your mom for a pair whenever you went out with her and your sister. She always dismissed it, saying they were too expensive. But here they are, only $40.99. Your gaze turned to look at the big poster they had plastered on the window. a new month's deal. 'Buy one get one 50% off!'
Gojo approached you holding a bag full of pizza bits and a single large cup of lemonade intended for the both of you to share from Weltzels pretzels. He took the sight of you looking at a pair of shoes so intently, almost like you were debating buying them.
"Do you like those?" He asked, offering you the small warm bag of food before he took a sip of the drink in his hand. You happily accepted the treats before shrugging. "Not sure."
He hummed. "You've been staring at them for a while now."
"They just remind me of a pair I used to want when I was a kid. But they were always "too expensive" so my mom never got them for me. But she was always willing to drop a grand on bags she would never even use." You saw at the corner of your eyes Gojo reaching to grab a piece of the pizza from the bag.
He didn't say anything for a while, just staring at the shoes as well as he chewed on his pizza bit. Then, he turned and walked off into the store, leaving you standing confused. Your eyes followed as he talked to an employee, pointing at the pair of shoes displayed on the window. Specifically, the pair you wanted. The clerk nodded before disappearing behind the door that read 'workers only!'
"Um, baby?" You whispered out, following him inside the store to where Gojo was standing, still sipping onto his comically large drink.
"Uh hey what are you doing?" You asked once you reached him. He glanced back at you, reaching to grab another piece from inside the bag. "Checking if they have those shoes in your size."
You mumbled his name awkwardly as you shifted the now empty bag in your hands because that biggie ate them all. He took a bite from the treat before feeding it to you. "Shh, I'm working."
The worker returned with a box in his hand. "Size seven?" Gojo nodded, taking the box in his hands, gesturing for you to sit down on the seats provided by the store. "Hey you don't have to.."
"I know," he interrupted. "I want to."
He got down on one knee, placing the cup he was previously sipping on next to you. His hands moved to open up the shoe box, carefully taking out the pair of black mary janes. "Give me your foot" he patted his knee. "Here."
"I can put them on myself.."
"I want to, love." He said sternly, forcing your foot to rest on his knee. "I'm going to stain your pants-" you mumbled embarrassed. He squeezed your calf before slipping off the shoes you were wearing right now, grabbing the shoe, carefully putting it on your right foot. "Not too loose or tight?"
You shook your head. "No.. they're.. they're perfect." He hummed, his skilled fingers adjusted the strap on your ankle handling you like you were the most valuable thing to him. He looked up at you, his expression softened the second your eyes met. "Just like you." Your eyes widened the second he said that, blush overtaking your face.
You tried saying something but nothing came out. Not like you could with the way your throat was drying up. I mean, your boyfriend of what, a month (?) was offering to buy you these expensive shoes out of nowhere. You reached for the cup of lemonade next to you as he worked on your left foot, only to realize he already finished the drink as well.
Is this the type of greed they talk about in the bible?
"Stand up." he ordered in which you complied. You looked down at the fresh pair on your feet, walking around a bit to test them out.
"You like 'em?" he asked again. You turned to him, walking to be right next to him. "Yeah, I like them. A lot"
He hummed in acknowledgment. "Well, go and look for another pair. They have the bogo discount anyway, so might as well take advantage of it." He stood up, brushing his jeans from the small stain you left behind.
"No.. no that's too much! This is more than enough! Besides, you shouldn't be spending so much on me, you already paid for dinner today-"
"Baby, seriously. I don't care if I drop a grand on you, you can make it up to me by allowing me to kiss you numb. Go get another pair." He looked around the store before his eyes landed on a pair of converse. "Get some converse, your black ones are all beat up."
"I like them that way." You argued as you took off the shiny shoes before replacing them with said beat up converse. "Well I don't. makes you look like a sad homeless lady. I want my girl to have pretty clothes to match her pretty face."
You sighed, feeling your heart warm up.
"I'm not throwing these converse away. They hold too many memories."
His hand reached for yours. "Yeah no, we can burn them ceremonially later." He brought your hand up to his face, kissing your knuckles one by one with his pink tinted lips.
He was so entranced by your face, he failed to notice the pair of eyes staring you both down.
⟢
“Hey baby!” You coo’ed into the phone, hearing your boyfriend's tired grunts from the other side.
“Morning my pretty girl.” He yawned, dragging a hand over his face.
“It’s four toru, did you just wake up?”
Gojo carefully sat up, watching his bedsheets pool down at his lap, exposing his bare chest. His nipples hardened at the cold air, and he didn’t have to be fully awake to know that he was hard.
Rock hard.
Your voice wasn’t helping out at all.
“Just calling to ask if you’d like to come watch me perform later?”
Your question snapped him from his horny ass thoughts. “What? Baby, you’re having a show later? Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
Usually, he knew when you had piano practices and performances.
“I just.. didn’t know if you wanted to sit down for two hours.”
Gojo sighed, not liking the way you even considered thinking he could be bored from watching you do what you love.
“If it meant watching my girl play, I’d gladly sit down for more than a couple hours. I can sit for decades.”
“Toru..”
“I’ll be there. When did you say it was again?” He rubbed at his eyes, feeling his crusties fall down.
“Today at seven.”
He froze for a split second, remembering he had practice. It had completely slipped from his mind.
“Seven..” He repeated softly to himself. Practice was at five, and it lasted two hours and a half.
He had gotten in trouble from ditching last time so he could take you out. ‘Three strikes, you’re out.’ But it would only be his second. He could handle another scolding from his coach. His voice was already echoing through his mind.
The pause rushed to fill it. “It’s okay if you can’t. I know I’m asking last minute, it was just-”
“I’ll be there,” he cut in.
“Are you sure-”
“Positive. I'm positive sweetheart.” His voice was firmer now.
“Wait, don’t you have practice today?” You faintly remembered him telling you a couple days back how his schedule had changed from practice going from every even day to every odd day.
“Yeah, but you really think I need it? I’m as ready as ever”
“Toru..”
“Seriously baby, I’ll be there for you.” His eyes shifted back down to his raging boner. “..Can you come over before you go over to set up your piano though?”
“Oh, yeah, is something wrong?”
“... Just need you.”
Gojo wasn’t a virgin, far from that actually. but with the way his body was warming up and heart beating a thousand miles an hour, he could be mistaken as one.
He waited patiently for you to arrive at his dorm.
Fuck.
Would your panties be pink? Or would they be black.
Or better yet, blue?
“Yo.” Geto knocked at Gojo’s door, despite it already being cracked open. “I’m heading out now to go to practice. You coming?”
“Uh, yeah. I just need to do something quick then I’ll make my way over.”
“Don’t miss again. The coach will be on your ass like last time.” He chuckled, waving bye at the white haired boy.
Gojo bit the inside of his cheek, laying back on his arms, deep in his thoughts as always. You were worth it.
That’s not a question.
⟢
“Oh my god, fuck. Yes baby, fuck!” Gojo closed his eyes, panting like a damn dog on a sunny day.
The way your puffy folds were stretched over him only encouraged him to go faster and harder, hitting your cervix at a perfect angle.
“Pretty fucking pussy, you’re so goddamn pretty, look at you.”
Your performance dress was sitting on the ground while your panties were ripped in the middle, right at your entrance.
“Toru!”
You whimpered, hiding your face in his pillow. "Don't hide yourself from me, baby. wanna see ya.”
The headboard was hitting against the wall with a thud and Gojo could only pray that the other students staying at the dorms couldn’t hear them.
He buried himself deeper into your cunt, bottoming out.
“You’re too big…” you squealed, gripping onto the now wet bedsheets.
“I know. And you’re too tight.”
His hand shifted to grope your ass, fondling the plush meat, hips not stopping or slowing.
Your breathless pleas were like music to his ears.
“My pretty girlfriend.. mmm aren’t you so pretty?” he praised. The veins in his arms were more evident now. One was appearing on his forehead in concentration, trying to figure out the best way to make you cum.
You were a virgin after all.
Profanities spilled from both your lips, feeling yourself clench harder around him. A ring of pre was forming just at the base of his cock, like a damn tattoo.
“Babe! T-think I’m close!”
He grunted lowly. “Don’t cum just yet.” The squelches have now turned sloppier, and louder, and hotter.
His white bangs were sticking to his forehead no thanks to the thin layer of sweat that had formed.
“Not done with you yet.”
His hands placed themselves both on your hips, thick fingertips rubbing you lovingly before flipping you over without slipping out.
He wasted no time smacking at your cunt, watching your wetness fly into the air with each spank.
“Satoru…!” You felt lightheaded in the best way possible. Your drool dripped down your chin, watching him thrust in and out. The hair that trailed down his belly button to join his pubes just made you tighten onto his aching cock even more.
How could your boyfriend be this beautiful?
Gojo hesitated, pulling you closer to his hips, latching a hand lightly to your neck.
“Is this okay?”
You nodded feeling him squeeze it.
The sounds of your breathy moans, messy cunt along with the smack of his balls that hit your ass with every thrust had you both in a trance.
So much so that you didn’t seem to notice the door shutting and the sudden appearance of Geto who was frozen in his place, looking absolutely mortified.
“What the fuck.”
His voice broke through your needy whines. “Satoru!” This time his voice sounded harsher, angrier.
Gojo’s movements came to a halt, keeping his grip on your waist. His body covered you, blocking you from his friends' view. But he knew for a fact that Geto already had in mind who was in the bed with him.
You quickly brought the sheets to your chest in an attempt to cover yourself.
“... Ever heard of knocking?” Gojo mumbled.
“The door was fucking open. I could see you from the kitchen.” Geto did not advance from his spot on the doorframe. “Don’t tell me you actually got with her.”
Gojo hasn't told him about the two of you yet. Or anyone really.
You never questioned it, thinking he’d want to take it slow before he introduced you to his friends let alone family. You had just started dating a couple weeks back. But the way his friend said it ‘don’t tell me you actually got with her.’ left a bad taste in your mouth.
What did he mean by that?
“Geto, seriously get out of the room.”
“Your parents are going to kill you Satoru,” He was more animated now, hands waving in the air angrily. His own thoughts didn’t let him process the way Gojo used his last name on him. “Aren’t you supposed to be at practice right now? What the hell are you doing man-”
“I said get out!” You’ve never heard Gojo’s voice beam like that.
Ever.
It got across though. Geto slammed the door shut, storming off.
Gojo sighed, staring at the wall before averting his gaze down to you, smiling softly. “Guess the moment is over, huh?”
Your fingers twitched on his shoulders, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Why’d he say that?”
His eyebrows furrowed, face shifting to one of concern at your shaky voice.
“Hey hey, baby, it’s okay shh..”
His softening cock slipped out of you with a small pop, arms circling around you to bring you into a hug.
“My family.. Is an ass. A big fucking ass. They’re strict with me, especially my love life. They think they know what’s best for me but fuck, no they dont. I know what’s right for me and that’s you, love. It’s you.”
His lips grazed at your cheek, pecking lightly.
“It’s been you since I laid eyes on you.”
⟢
His words looped over and over in your head as you mentally prepared yourself for your upcoming performance.
From behind the curtain, you peeked out to see him sitting in his designated seat, head tilted down at his digital camera, adjusting the settings, waiting for you to come out so he could preserve the moment forever.
Your teeth sank into the inside of your cheek, now becoming a new habit of yours, pacing back into the backstage area.
If you've practiced the song multiple times, you shouldn’t be nervous.
Right?
Wrong.
Because the problem wasn’t the notes or the tempo, it was that you’d chosen this song with him in mind.
“Want to watch La La Land?” Satoru mumbled earlier that month, scratching the back of his neck while the other lazily clicked away at the remote control.
“Sure!” You tossed the blanket over your bodies, snuggling close to his warm bare chest. “How are you not cold?” You pressed your cheek against him.
“Hm?” His eyes landed on you after pressing ‘play’. “I am cold. I just want to show off my amazing muscles to my amazing girl.”
“Weirdo.”
Neither of you have watched the film before. but somehow ended up falling in love with it. You with the music, and him with the storyline.
“I hope we never end up like them.” His voice was a whisper, silently wrapping his arms tight around you.
“Toru-”
“Never, ever leaving you, baby. Fuck soccer and you know what, fuck piano too. Don’t leave me.”
You heard your name be called out, indicating you were next.
You quickly patted down your skirt with trembling hands, stepping in front of the mirror to make sure your hair, makeup, posture, everything was perfect.
The stage manager gave you a nod and you finally stepped out.
His eyes landed on you immediately, smiling lovingly up at you. You could feel your chest tighten as you sat at the piano, fingers already hovering over the keys.
From the distance, you could hear the sound of something clicking, his camera.
You inhaled before pushing down your fingers, allowing the melody to unfold. You’d discreetly look over at him, seeing how he stared at you so preciously.
By the final note, your hands had stopped shaking.
The room erupted in applause, the loudest coming from Satoru. You bowed, eyes never leaving him even when you stepped offstage, rushing towards him.
“Satoru!”
He didn’t let another word come out of you, automatically cupping your cheeks, pressing his lips against yours.
“Such a cruel girl.” He pecked again. “You picked that song on purpose didn’t ya?”
You giggled. “Maybe.”
His thumb rubbed under your eye gently.
“You did amazing, sweetheart.”
⟢
Satoru has come to notice that the only way you were able to practice piano was using the school’s.
And with Christmas approaching, he figured it’d only be appropriate if he got you one of your own.
His hands covered your eyes, leading you carefully to the living room where your present was.
“Alright, 3..2..1.”
His hands fell allowing you to see. you blinked, eyes adjusting to the bright lights on the tree.
Your jaw dropped.
In front of you was none other than a console piano. It wasn’t like the one in the music room where you practiced in and the only place you knew that had the instrument available for use, but regardless it was beautiful.
And completely yours.
“You like it?” He asked, rubbing your back. You nodded excitedly. “Of course I do! Thank you!” Your face was as bright as the Christmas lights, beaming at the new piano that sat in your living room.
“I'm glad..” he whispered, letting go of you so you could look at it closer.
You squealed, slightly jumping up and down at it. he groaned at the recoil of your ass which was visible under your plaid skirt.
“It's so gorgeous!” your fingers pushed down on the keys.
“Just like you.”
“So cheesy” You said before bursting into laughter as his hands found your stomach, tickling you. You braced yourself on the piano's surface. That's when you felt it.
His very prominent boner that was straining his pants.
Gojo noticed that you noticed.
A smirk appeared on that stupid face of his. “How about we check how sturdy this sucker is.” He placed a hand on your gift.
Gojo’s hips snapped forward with a ruthless pace, each thrust making you hit against the brand new instrument and begin to rattle with all his strength.
His breath was coming out in short pants, chest pressed up against your back, pinning you harder against the surface of the piano. You whispered out his name like a prayer, every sound you made reached his ears and that only seemed to push him even further.
“So goddamn beautiful.” He praised.
At some point, words became too difficult for you to say, resulting in you answering with only moans and whimpers. gojo’s fingers were digging into your hips, leaving crescent like marks on them. He kept pounding into you harshly, tip already brushing against a sweet spot inside you.
“Right there!” You begged along with a loud mewl.
Your skirt was bunched up in his hands, almost tearing the fabric apart as he felt himself grow closer.
“Here?” he began going deeper, watching you fall apart. The bounce of your ass was not helping, especially with the way it slapped against his thighs. His lower lip was in between his teeth, letting out grunts of his own spill.
You were both thankful your parents weren’t home. He wouldn’t want to ruin the image they had of him this quickly. Of the perfect guy for their daughter already fucking her numb over her christmas present.
“Think m’cummin!” You sobbed out, reaching behind you to grab his waist for support. He coo’ed softly, hand leaving your skirt to hold your hand in his. “Me too baby, let’s finish together alright? I'm cumming inside you. no way am i able to pull out this tight fuckin pussy.”
You nodded.
“Please fill me up!” Gojo grinned once he heard that. “If ya say so darling.”
Your legs gave up on you at the feeling of his warm seed filling you to the brim. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, mouth open with sounds still coming out as your orgasm hit you as well.
“Good girl baby.” His arms were wrapped around your waist, pecking your temple lovingly. “Stay with me..”
You both stayed in that position, dick still twitching inside you before softening, forcing him to slip out with a loud squelch that made you cringe.
“M’guessing you loved your gift?” He reached down for your panties, sliding them back on you but not before watching his semen ooze out of your cunt along with yours. He fought the urge to stick his tongue in you to clean the mess up, but he could tell you were already overstimulated, so he decided to eat you out some other time.
And by that I mean in a few hours.
“Yeah.. thank you.. so much..” You whimpered at the sting on your ass after he slapped it. Gojo quickly zipped his pants back up, pushing his hair back with a pant.
“Of course my love. you better play me every song you know on it.”
“Will do..” you smiled weakly up at him.
“I'm gonna go get ya water, cmon sit down on the couch sweetheart.”
You did as he said, carefully sitting down. The feeling of his cum sticking to your panties just made you clench your thighs.
Why did he have to be so sexy?
You stared back at your piano, admiring it. You were already thinking of all the songs you would play from sunrise to sunset.
Gojo walked back to the living room holding a glass of water, handing it over.
“My final game is coming up.. So I have lots of practice to do. Hope the piano keeps you occupied while I’m away.” His arm wrapped over your shoulder, bringing you closer.
“Mmmm that’s right.”
“Wanna head over to a restaurant, baby?” He never hesitated in asking you, and he urged you to never be afraid in asking him for whatever you desired.
“I’d really love that.”
“Good good, let’s get going then.” He stood up, offering his hand to you.
“Uh, no way am I going out to eat like this.”
His eyebrow twitched in confusion. “Like what?”
You motioned downstairs, lifting your skirt to show off the wet mess.
Gojo laughed, smacking your thigh lightly. “No no, you gotta head out like that.”
“Absolutely not!”
⟢
The dinner consisted of nothing but him staring at you.
“Babe, eat.” You urged.
“Can’t, the view is too nice.”
After eating out, you both settled in heading over to his place.
His laugh quieted down as he pulled into the parking lot, seeing two familiar snow colored haired people. He could feel his heart sink and blood boil.
“Stay here darling.” He ordered you, squeezing your thigh. You mumbled a soft ‘ok’, attempting to look behind you out the window to see what was going on.
He got out of the vehicle, walking around to where the people he wanted to see the least were standing. His mother was biting her nails anxiously like a mad woman. His father had his arms crossed over his chest, a serious look displayed on his face.
Then there was Suguru. looking as guilty as ever.
And it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on.
“Is that the girl?” His mother asked. She had never expected her son to be going out with a girl instead of sticking to his schedule. How dare he? “Is that your little girlfriend?” Her voice rose up.
“What did we say about relationships?” his father reminded him.
But all gojo could think about was the fact that they found out because of the tan boy standing not far away.
“Are you fucking kidding me.” He stared at the one person he thought he could trust. His hands shot out to grab Suguru's shirt collar.
“You told them?!” He was practically screaming in his face. But Suguru kept looking unbothered, as if he didn’t practically ruin Gojo’s life right now.
“Son, calm down.” Gojo's father said sternly.
“No, no how the hell am I supposed to calm down. You all keep getting in the way of my life. My life!” He was at the point of crying tears out of frustration.
“She is just a girl, Satoru.” His mother said. “She woo’ed you with a few tunes so what, it’s not going to bring money into the family, is it? You need to find yourself a good woman. But right now, your focus is on your career. Not a girlfriend, and especially not her.”
“You are no longer the one to decide what you think is best for me. I love her, mom. I don't care what you think, just know that I am not listening to anything you say.”
That shut his mom up real quick, shooting him a death glare, one that would have 6 year old Gojo in tears by now. But he kept his head high.
“Satoru, you have to understand that we want what’s best for you.”
“No,” He interrupted, turning to look at his father now. “You want what’s best for you.”
He then turned his head towards Suguru, whose eyes were set on his shoes, knowing he completely lost his best friend's trust. It's not like he had a choice either but to tell the truth. His and Gojo's family were close, and he knew that if he were to lie to Gojos parents when they asked him why the coach had informed them that their son was on the verge of being kicked from the team, the families would have even more conflicts.
Gojo wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but instead he walked right past the new stranger.
“Can you hear me out for a second.” Geto caught up to him, ignoring the putrid sobs coming from Mrs. Gojo. “Satoru.” he called out.
“Look man, did you really expect me to lie when they came to the dorm, worried sick that you missed two practices? What was I supposed to say?”
“Tell them I was sick, that an emergency came up, I don’t know but you could’ve come up with a shitty excuse.”
“Just for them to find out I didn't tell the truth and have our families fight over me being a liar?!”
Gojo was breathing heavily, eyebrows furrowed and jaw set tight. but his face fell as soon as he remembered you were still in the car.
He shook his head. “They can stay the fuck out of my life. And so can you.”
Geto froze at that. “You don’t mean that.”
“Trust me, I mean every bit.” The air around them felt heavy. “You chose them over me.”
“Gojo, the families-“
“You're just a damn puppet. Same as I was, but I learned to stop playing the role. Do you think they actually see you as their son? They see you as an accomplishment.”
He rushed down the stairs, approaching his car where you were still in, head hung low nervously as you played with the skin around your fingernails, clearly worried. His parents were standing outside the building, shooting dirty looks towards your way.
“I'm driving you home.” Gojo said after entering the car, closing the door shut and clicking his seatbelt on. “Mind if I stay with you for a bit, baby?”
His eyes met yours.
“… Did they want us to break up?” You asked quietly, scared to hear his response.
He immediately grabbed your hand in his to reassure you. “You know I would never ever do that. You're everything to me no matter what they think or say, I'm not letting things end between us. Got it?”
You hesitated, not wanting his parents to hate their only son because he chose you over them. “But what if they’re right? What if you can do better?”
You heard.
Of course you heard. Not like they were being quiet.
His hold tightened. “Don't you start with that.” That's the last thing he said as he drove to yours, address no longer needed on the ups no thanks to the amount of times he’s been over.
You worried over what his family would think of him now.
Would they hate him because of you?
⟢
The bed felt surprisingly cold.
Your boyfriend's back was turned towards you and even though his back muscles were on full display, you couldn’t ogle without having something eating you up from the inside.
“Toru.. baby can we talk about earlier?”
“Love, if you’re going to tell me that they’re right I swear to god-”
“No,” You sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it down to the small of his back. “I just.. I feel like we shouldn’t wait until morning to discuss it.”
Begrudgingly, Satoru turned around, meeting eyes with you. “I will never ever break up with you because my family thinks they know what is best for me. I cut them off on the spot. They’ve got no say in what I do with my life nor with the woman I love. I told you once and I’ll tell you again. I love you, okay?”
Your heart warmed and you felt your worriness ease. “I love you too.”
“I’ve been wanting to get rid of them for a long ass time anyways.” He yawned, throwing an arm around your waist. “Just finally got a good excuse to do so.”
Your lips met in a small but sweet peck.
“Now let’s go to sleep.. Big game tomorrow.”
⟢
Suguru seems to not have caught on to the fact that his former best friend no longer wanted to be a part of his life anymore.
“Satoru, seriously let’s talk.” He begged like a desperate ex.
The white haired boy only rolled his eyes in response, walking past him to reach his locker. “I don’t need you messing with my head before the game. Told you to stay the fuck away from me and I meant it.”
He quickly tugged off his shirt and replaced it with his white and teal jersey before slamming his locker shut and turning to walk out. Suguru’s hand placed itself on Satoru’s chest only to get pushed off almost immediately.
Satoru walked out, hearing the sound of the crowd cheering. He looked around until he spotted you sitting not too far from the front.
He smiled stupidly at himself knowing he was right where he wanted to be.
⟢
You stared at him like he grew three heads.
“Uhh yeah babe, I think I remember our whole love story. I was there.”
“Okay well yes but I’m retelling it because.. Because..” Satrou groaned, looking off to the side where two waitresses were standing, nodding at them.
Before you could look towards the direction he was staring at, a familiar song started playing.
Love me.
The same one you played for him all those years ago.
“Oh, hey-”
“Shhh..” He brought a finger up to your lips before standing up. Satoru reached into his pocket pulling out a small black box. “Baby.. light of my life.”
Your eyes watered, already knowing where this was going.
He got down on one knee.
“Will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?”
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GUYS, can we stop normalizing the dadcest…like nooo, makes me so uncomfortable and it keeps popping out everywhere, like why you wanna act like a kid and get fucked by “dad”? like it’s not even daddy kink it’s straight up just wanting to fuck your dad, HELLO. don’t even get me started in the “pet play” shit, like why you wanna be a dog or cat..i don’t get it.
