vee

Bombshell situation...

❀ He'd ignore her, even if she specifically wanted him and tried to pursue him the minute after she arrived

❀ If she tried again, he'd tell her that he's taken and that he's already in a relationship

❀ It would be comedic in a way if the girl told the camera in the confessionals that she's 'never been rejected before', and he made a similar one right after saying 'he's never been so annoyed by someone so aggressively before.'

❀ Also, his ahh would have the MOST confessionals like let's be frfr ong...

Surprise surprise!! America's shady asf and couples him up with the bombshell

❀ The recoupling happens, and America votes to couple him up with the bombshell to "test the connection." The second her name is read out next to his, his face goes so flat, everyone sitting on the couch is in shock, even Ariana herself.

╰┈┈┈➤ He doesn't say a word to her when you have to scoot over for her to sit next to him. If anything, he's shady enough to scoot over himself, and thankfully, Childe (who scara is best buddies with...) is right next to Scara, and Scara presses up against him in disgust of the bombshell not taking a hint.

❀ You're either single and sleeping alone, or you've been coupled up with some random guy who's way too excited about finally talking to you after scara practically claimed you from day one and shooed away any boy who tried talking to you.

❀ The first night, he has to sleep in bed with the bombshell, but as everyone's getting ready to sleep or is still showering, he goes over to your bed first.

┊ He sits on the edge of your bed, one leg tucked up, facing you. he doesn't say anything dramatic; he just sits there and talks to you like nothing changed. about dinner, about the challenge earlier, just basic conversation,

┊ He kisses you before the lights go out, soft, deliberate, his hand on the side of your face. In front of the bombshell (if there's one on your bed), especially in front of the bombshell he's forced to sleep with across the room.

┊ He doesn't acknowledge that the kiss is a statement because, to him, it isn't. It's just a routine he does before bed

╰┈┈┈➤ Then he tells you goodnight, and he gets up, walks over to the bombshell's bed, lies down at the very far edge with his back to her, and falls asleep within 3 minutes. He doesn't even say goodnight to her; he just treats her like a wall.

❀ The next morning, the bombshell tells the girls in the glam room that sleeping next to him was "like sleeping next to a corpse that hates you." She says it while you're in the room, and you don't say anything, you just grin at the thought that America was wrong and that they can never break your connection.

╰┈┈┈➤ He also brings you breakfast that morning, not the bombshell, and he kisses you after he sets the plate down. Giving the bombshell a nasty side-eye before leaving the room.

❀ His ranting confessionals about this would be so long that they can be their own episode... The producers have to cut out most of what he says and save some juicy parts for Aftersun.

❀ On the second night, he's done. Completely over it. He grabs your hand and a blanket and walks you both to the Soul Ties area, the big couch bed in the villa where couples go to "deepen their connection."

┊ You both sleep there because he's not spending another night next to a woman he doesn't know, while his girlfriend sleeps across the room next to some guy who keeps trying to spoon her

╰┈┈┈➤ He tells the confessional camera the next morning: "I don't care what America voted for. America also voted for... disgusting... things I won't say on camera. I sleep next to my girlfriend, end of story."

The Bed Situation (When You're Both Coupled Up)

❀ He's a light sleeper in the villa, and the communal bedroom doesn't make it any better.

┊Someone's always whispering, shuffling, doing something under the covers that he can hear and doesn't want to hear.

┊He has made passive-aggressive comments to at least two couples about the volume of their nighttime activities.

╰┈┈┈➤ "If I can hear your knee crack from six beds away, you need to rethink your angle."

❀ He sleeps with an arm over your waist every night. Every. Night.

┊He also pulls the covers off you in his sleep because he runs cold, and every morning you wake up with zero blanket and him fully cocooned.

╰┈┈┈➤ He denies this.

Drama and Gossip

❀ He is, without question, the most dramatic person in the villa while simultaneously insisting he "doesn't do drama."

❀ He doesn't start it, but he absolutely fuels it.

┊He'll sit at the kitchen counter, eating cereal, listening to two people argue, and drop one sentence that makes everything 10 times worse.

╰┈┈┈➤ Then he'll leave and tell the confessional camera he "doesn't know why everyone's so emotional."

❀ He gossips exclusively with you and Childe.

┊The three of you on the daybed, whispering, is the most consistent recurring shot in the season.

╰┈┈┈➤ Fans call it "the council" because every major villa decision somehow traces back to one of those daybed conversations.

❀ He ranks everyone in the villa by how much they annoy him, and the ranking updates daily. He tells you the rankings every night before bed like it's a bedtime story.

❀ When someone comes to him for advice, he gives the most brutally honest answer possible and then gets confused when they're upset.

╰┈┈┈➤ "You asked me what I thought. I told you what I thought. Why are you crying? Do you want me to lie? I can lie, but I won't, because I respect you enough to tell you that your partner is actively flirting with someone else, and your response to it is pathetic."

❀ He has made at least one person cry during a villa discussion. Not intentionally. He was just being honest, and their emotional threshold was lower than he anticipated.

❀ He actually loves the drama. He'd never admit it, but the way he leans forward when an argument starts, the way he pulls you closer to whisper commentary in your ear while two people scream at each other by the pool. He's invested. He just performs disinterest because caring would be out of character.

Childe Bro-ship

❀ If Childe is in the villa, they become inseparable within 48 hours. Scara doesn't admit it's because they like each other; he only says that "he's the only one here with a functional brain stem."

❀ Their dynamic in the villa is the same as everywhere else.

╰┈┈┈➤ Childe is loud and charming and befriends everyone, Scara tolerates him specifically, and no one else, and the two of them working out together in the villa gym has become a fan-favorite recurring segment.

❀ Childe spots him on the bench press and makes jokes the entire time. Scara threatens to kill him between sets but doesn't switch gym partners.

❀ They have a bit where Childe tries to get Scara to join the boys' group chats and bro activities (pool volleyball, cooking competitions, the post-recoupling debrief), and Scara refuses every time but always ends up nearby, listening, pretending he's on the phone they gave each islander.

❀ Childe tells the confessional camera, "Scara is my best friend in this villa, and he would stab me if he heard me say that. But he'd visit me in the hospital, and that's how I know he cares."

Breakfast

❀ He makes you breakfast every single morning. This is non-negotiable. The kitchen is his territory from 7:30 to 8:15 AM, and anyone who interrupts his process gets a look that could curdle milk.

❀ Heart-shaped eggs every morning, heart-shaped pancakes when he's in a good mood. Regular pancakes when he's in a neutral mood. No pancakes when he's annoyed.

╰┈┈┈➤ The shape of your breakfast is how the entire villa, and fans, gauge his emotional state for the day.

❀ If any other islander tries to eat the food he made for you (you trying to kindly share with any of your friends), he will actually lose it. "That's her plate. That plate has her name on it. Metaphorically. But the metaphor is binding."

❀ One time, Childe ate one of your eggs as a joke, and Scara didn't speak to him for six hours.

Challenges

❀ He refuses to kiss anyone but you in challenges. Point blank.

╰┈┈┈➤ The challenge says "kiss the islander you find most attractive" and he walks across the entire line of people, past every bombshell, past every single person, and kisses you. Every time. Without hesitation.

❀ When a challenge requires him to kiss someone else, he gives whoever it is the most dead, lifeless, closed-mouth peck that has ever been broadcast on national television. It's so devoid of effort that the editors have to add a sound effect to confirm that lip contact was made.

❀ The contrast between how he kisses other people in challenges (dead, lifeless, clearly suffering) and how he kisses you (full, deliberate, his hand on your face, the kind of kiss that makes the entire villa go "OOOH") is a meme on TikTok that already has thousands of parodies.

The Confessional Camera

❀ His confessionals are the most-watched segments of the season.

❀ He delivers the most devastating one-liners with the flattest expression possible, and the editors don't even have to add music because the silence after his sentences does all the work.

┊"I've been here for three weeks, and I've seen more emotional breakdowns than a therapist sees in a year. These people need medication, not a TV show."

┊"She asked me if I'm open to getting to know her. I said no, and she had the audacity to ask me why. I told her that I already know someone, and knowing two people sounds exhausting."

┊"The boys had a meeting about 'loyalty' today. I didn't attend because I don't need a group discussion to remind me not to cheat on my girlfriend. That's called being a normal person."

╰┈┈┈➤ "America, if you're watching, stop coupling me with people I don't know. I will not perform for you. I will sleep on the couch. Try me."

❀ When asked by producers to describe his feelings for you, he stares at the camera for four seconds and says, "Next question." But the look on his face during those four seconds tells the audience everything they need to know.

I have a Discord now! 18+, for readers, writers, and anyone who wants early wips and a place to chat!! (link)

Those words still ring hollow, a repeating drone of his voice as you watch the familiar city pass by the windowpane. It is Gotham, but not. Unfamiliar stores fill the streets, similar roads but not quite, small inconsistencies that are enough to remind you that this isn't your home.

That the person in the driver's seat beside you is a complete stranger.

"Who am I to you?" You question, casting your glance back to that stiff, perfect posture of his as he makes a turn towards his apartment.

That hug from earlier, if you could even call it that, still lingers like a shadow, casting goosebumps over your skin whenever the memory overstayed its welcome.

You spot the whitening of his knuckles, the pads of his fingers squeezing into the steering wheel before the colour returns, as if his composure never faltered.

"You were my assigned partner." He answers briskly.

Were. There's finally one consistency, at the very least. To your relief, the version of you here didn't seem to get along with him either.

Your small amusement is quickly diminished at the rise of another concern of yours. If there was another version of you running around this city, you can't even begin to fathom the potential fractures of reality if an encounter truly happened.

You're already playing a huge risk in letting this Damian assist you. Still, you had no one else.

Your comms had contacted him, not that it was to any surprise of your own once the initial panic died down. It wasn't likely that you still had a connection to your own world, much less an existing channel with your Damian. It was pure luck that you still had use for the device at all. Or at least, you hoped you could consider it luck.

Your gaze lingers over his features. The likeness between him and your Damian was uncanny. The same nose bridge, freckles, and even that faint scar running down his jawline. It was all so familiar that you had to snap yourself out of it when you found your body conditioning itself into safety, as if forgetting he's a stranger.

"Well, I hope you'll let bygones be bygones." You answer wryly. "There wasn't anyone else I could contact. If you can help me find a way back home, I'll be out of your dimension in no time."

The silence grows terse. A shift has occurred, even if you're unsure on the why. You had only stated the obvious. Perhaps his moods were in line with what you were familiar with after all, and that is no soothing relief if it meant having to face that same temperament that landed you here.

"I'm already offering my help." Damian answers after a moment, as if he's finally settled for a response he was satisfied with.

"I hope so." You mutter, eyelids falling shut in your exhaustion. The sight of the city was making you nauseous. "It's kind of your fault I ended up here. The other you, anyways."

He hums, finger tapping once against the steering wheel. "Typical."

This Damian has an apartment akin to a serial killer's. The barest necessities, minimal decorations—it's as if every surface has gone untouched. If you hadn't seen it with your own eyes when he unlocked the door with his thumbprint, you would've assumed no one had ever stepped foot within these walls.

"Ever heard of decoration?" It lands wrong, and you internally wince. It's difficult, to not fall back into that same push-and-pull when you see Damian's figure in your peripheral vision. To not be mistaken with familiar company.

He watches you for longer than he should. He keeps doing that, the staring. "There's no reason for me to do so." He answers eventually.

Your brows furrow. Something about his responses from the moment you met him unnerved you, as if he's leaving his words purposely vague. Clues buried within that mask of his, where an unanswered story that didn't belong to your reality lingers in his.

"Where am I currently in your dimension?" You decide to settle at the sofa, stretching out your limbs. "If she's still in Gotham, I need to be careful not to be seen."

Ever since you arrived, your body has been aching horribly. It hadn't been this obvious when you had arrived, but now, it's stinging down to your nerves. Maybe the adrenaline had finally worn off, and you're left to deal with a body unequipped to the frantic mess your mind is trying to sort out.

"It won't be a problem." He answers, lips pursing into a thin line. "She's gone."

Your head tilts questioningly to meet his gaze, but he avoids yours. Pulling open his kitchen drawer, there's a taut tension in his body as if he's been expecting your question and dreading it all the same.

Gone could mean anything. Out of the city borders or—

Your eyes flicker down to his disappearing hand, and find his reappearing fingers gripped around pain ointment. Your stretch pauses halfway, the strange alertness of being noticed without your permission sending a chill down your spine.

Forcing your hands down back to your sides, you eye him warily as he makes his way round the couch, stopping before you. His hand extends, lifting his offering silently.

It's unfamiliar, and even if you try your hardest to reason to yourself, that this isn't the Damian you know, it doesn't make it any easier to allow him to assist you. You half expect mocking, a glimpse of his smirk when your gaze flickers to the ointment held out in front of you.

A low breath escapes his lips, and you expect him to give in. To understand that you don't require more of him other than his specific assistance to send you home—only for him to lower himself.

Damian Wayne—even if he isn't the one you're used to—is kneeling down to meet your gaze. Your breath stops, your chest seized tight as you stare at him, unable to hide your surprise.

He doesn't falter, his fingers mindlessly dipping into the ointment before placing the jar by your side. His free hand goes to grip your wrist, tugging gently to expose the bruises trailing along your arm from your fall.

"If it is me you have come to for assistance." He mutters with a click of his tongue. "Then, I expect you not to be stubborn."

You swallow, your jaw ticking as you find your tongue heavy with a lack of an adequate response. His unwavering concern, this intensity can't be tied solely to you. There has to be a reason for why he is looking at you this way.

"What did you mean?" You ask quietly. "By gone?"

His fingers, still coated with the ointment, brush gently over your thudding pulse. His gaze finally lifts, but you can't read him. There's a pull to his gaze, and the answer reveals itself by the time you recognise what is held within his eyes isn't irritation or indifference. It was grief.

"She's dead."

It's a strange feeling to know you're stepping into a world where a version of you used to exist. A sick form of good luck, a technical elimination of complications.

Except that it's only made everything more complicated. You had no idea on how to deal with the Damian in front of you now that the truth's been revealed.

When he first admitted that he wasn't the Damian you knew, you had quickly assumed that whatever dynamic he shared with you from this dimension was a parallel to the one you shared with your Damian. Forced tolerance, a begrudging partnership. No, you had needed to assume it so. Anything different would have shattered this fragile alliance you had with the stranger sitting across you, because despite everything you felt about your Damian—you relied on him as a partner.

Now, you weren't sure if you could trust the Damian in front of you. You had assumed that if he answered your questions, you would have cleared the air—but it has only raised more.

You can feel his attention while you're thinking. You swear with the intensity of his gaze casted onto you which you pretend not to notice, it's as if your existence only materialised when his eyes are on you. There's a strange urgency in his unblinking stare, as if to remind himself that you're still in front of him.

It's too much. It was the same back when he first saw you as well. Damian hasn't mentioned his strange reaction since, and his lack of an explanation for why he had embraced you clues you on nothing still, on what you meant to him.

"I'm not her." You mutter after a moment. You don't know why, but you feel you have to say it.

There's some form of attachment he must've had with you, and you couldn't let yourself be tangled into the mess of what's been left behind. This isn't your world, and the last thing you needed was a blur of that line.

"I know." He answers quickly. Without pause, as if he's been repeating it to himself before you had even verbalised it.

Your hesitance must be palpable because he lets out a sigh not long after, heavy from his chest.

"I didn't offer you my help because I think you're—" He swallows, pain etched into the lines of his grimace. "I understand that you are alone in this world. That some mistake of mine from your end caused this. I am taking responsibility for it—to bring you back. There is nothing more to it."

You watch him as he did to you, noting a delicate fragility to him you've never seen before. You had been so wrapped up in your situation, that you failed to notice the frantic quality of his gaze or the exhaustion plaguing his features. As if being around you—drained him from the impossibility of seeing you alive and breathing.

"Okay." You answer eventually. "I believe you."

His shoulders, tense and taut, finally loosen slightly at your response.

"Do you—" Your voice is plagued with exhaustion, and you struggle to find the words, the composure to hide your desperation. "—have any idea on how I'll be able to get back?"

Relief flickers briefly in his gaze, replaced with a familiar efficiency that slots over the dark pool his eyes held mere seconds ago. This, you were used to. Whenever he was asked to perform a duty, that was when you both cooperated the easiest.

"If it were me, I'd predict that there will be a two-way mechanism." He suggests automatically. So, he had been considering his own theories this entire time.

Leaning in, his elbows pressing against his thighs, he continues. "An entry will not be possible without a tunnel. To find the connection and restart it as you had before in your dimension, it should trigger an opening."

"I also considered the possibility of a tunnel." You frown, your fingers drawing a thin, edged line across the sofa's fabric. "The only problem is that when I arrived, before contacting you—I looked around the premise. I really tried."

"There was no opening." You admit, dread digging slowly into your bones.

"Perhaps it will only be activated if it was triggered in the same process as before." He suggests.

"...Doesn't that rely on Damian—" You falter, meeting his gaze. "—my Damian restarting the trigger on his side?"

He nods, even as his lips purse slightly at the mention of the other him. "Your only chance depends on him coming to the same realisation we have."

You draw a short breath. "Shit."

Damian doesn't hesitate when you ask by the third hour of silence—to accompany you back to the construction site when the passing hours has done enough in driving you insane.

You hate waiting. Your Damian knows that. This Damian seems to know too.

He follows you like a silent shadow, tracing your steps and overlooking the same rubble caused by your fall as you try to find an anomaly. Anything that proves to your stubborn anxiety—that you are actually doing something to feel less trapped.

"There is nothing here." He states.

"You don't know that." You wish your voice sounded stronger. "I wasn't in my right mind when I landed. I might identify something I missed."

His jaw ticks once, but he doesn't stop you. He doesn't argue—and that unnerves you. The Damian you know doesn't hesitate when picking a fight, and frankly—you miss that. You needed something to distract you—and he was merely standing there like he was watching a phantom.

"I thought you said you would help." Your voice breaks.

Fuck. Swallowing back your revealed fright, you finally slump down onto the dust-covered concrete, pressing your palm against your eyes.

You hear a shuffle, the fabric of his coat landing heavy next to you. You uncover your eyes, catching him as he crouches beside you. His gaze meets yours head-on—and you nearly drown in the weight of it.

"There's no relief in digging through a dead-end." He mutters, peering over your features. "It'll only worsen the thoughts."

You grow quiet. You didn't need a verbal confirmation, not when just his gaze alone tells, that he wasn't only talking about your situation. Your chest heaves, the scent of concrete filling your nostrils.

The silence stretches, an uncomfortable sensation of helplessness filling the air.

"...Do you like pizza?" He asks after a moment.

Blinking once, you must've misheard it. You can't help the snort that escapes you, the sound broken and unsteady. "What?"

"I dislike it." He mutters. "The ones in Gotham. It's too much grease, and lacking of any true nutrients."

That... sounds very Damian of him.

You raise a brow, and his lips purse together. Letting out a regretful sigh, he gestures with a tilt of his head. "There's an adequate franchise down the street."

Lifting himself off the ground, he holds out his hand towards you. "Since this dreadful day has been awfully unproductive, I suppose a meal like that is befitting."

Your gaze flickers between his hand and that unfamiliar, warmth in his eyes. Of how you had been in a similar position mere hours ago when he had offered you pain ointment. Of how he has been consistently extending his hand towards you, accompanying your side—ever since you entered this dimension.

This time, you take his hand.

Strangely enough, the fluorescent lights of 'Gotham City Pizzeria' and the smell of floor disinfectant—combined with the peculiar sight of Damian lifting a soggy pizza slice with a grimace did lift your spirits. If this was your dimension, you would have bothered with taking a picture to capture the sight of him clashing with an environment so strongly, but you couldn't afford to let this rare moment of normalcy be dimmed by that reminder.

"Should I be concerned that the Damian Wayne in this dimension consumes Gotham pizzas?" You murmur, wiping a streak of tomato at the corner of your mouth.

His lips quirk up slightly. "Even I have my faults."

Clearing his throat, he murmurs. "Your turn."

You raise a brow, confused.

He leans back, dusting his hands against the napkin. "I haven't learned anything about you since you arrived."

Oh. You had assumed that he didn't want to. Outside of the boundaries of your circumstance, he hasn't really pushed much further other than details he needed to have, to piece a solution together.

"What do you want to know?" You shrug.

His lips tilt upwards again, more intently this time. "Do you like pizza?"

Your smile lifts instinctively. "I do, detective. How'd you guess?"

His smile strains a little, and you realise why.

"Ah." You murmur.

"No." He stops you before you can retreat. "Don't stop on my account. I want to know what you like."

You swallow, fingers running over the crust flakes coating your thumb. You suppose you could answer, there wasn't any harm done. "I do like pizza. It's the only thing that's comforting enough after a long night of patrol. I think when I enter a familiar place at an hour like this, when there's no one else around, it's like the world closes in to exist in just this spot, y'know? I get to forget about my worries for a little while."

He nods, listening to you speak as if he intended on memorising every word. Like he may miss the chance to do so ever again.

"So, why'd you pick this place?" You return the question.

"...As I told you before, I'm not fond of it."

"So, why are you here?" You push.

A slow exhale escapes his mouth. "I suppose, it was like you said. Comforting—in a sense, to be surrounded by something familiar."

You can see him struggling, on what to say and what to keep buried. This provided company of his—it's like you're digging into a wound he's openly showing you.

"What else do you like?" He reiterates.

Your smile reappears, almost easing. "Need a full catalogue?"

"Yes." He answers almost immediately. It takes the breath out of you, the humour still stuck on your tongue with the way he looks at you, all-consuming. "I would."

"I suppose... I could tell you things I never told anyone." You whisper almost conspiratorially. "Something tells me you'll keep quite a good secret."

His lips lift, curving a small dimple by his cheek. "I swear."

"I guess..." Leaning your cheek against your palm, you take your time in truly looking at him. "I always did like your eyes."

He blinks, not expecting your answer. "My eyes?"

"Yeah." Your grin comes easier to you now, seeing him uncharacteristically flustered. "Made me unreasonably jealous at times. Green eyes like that, and you spend half the time glowering."

He scoffs lowly, but it holds no bite. "I wasn't aware there was a way to utilise them."

"No, you do it right when you're not thinking too hard." You murmur, lost in thought. "When you don't pretend to be strong, your eyes go soft. Just around the edges."

The moment those words leave you, you realise you're pushing too far, saying something so intimate, it should have never been verbalised.

He watches you, and to your dismay, he does it right then and there. The sharpened edges around his gaze softens, and so does Damian.

"You're direct." He mutters, almost fondly.

You swallow, averting your gaze. "So I've been told."

"I like that."

You shift your focus back to him immediately, a soft thudding in your chest. He has never averted his gaze. Rarely, you realise, does he pull his attention away from you. It's like he's treasuring it, the small impossibility of this conversation, of your presence in this pizzeria illuminated by the neon lights.

"Do you feel like you're dreaming?" You ask. "It feels like I know you even though I shouldn't."

His lips quirk. "It is a fair exchange for reality, if I get to meet you."

Your heart is thudding louder now, and you don't find it instinctive anymore to avert his gaze, no matter how much the depth feels like drowning.

"A once in a lifetime phenomenon." You declare. "Let's not waste it."

Gotham's cityscape takes a less intimidating turn in the weeks following your exploration with Damian, as the hidden beauty within begins to reveal itself. The confusing streets become interesting puzzles, a guessing game on what road could be an alternative to the ones you frequent in your dimension. When night falls? That's when this Gotham truly sings, coming alive.

Without the late nights being reserved for the sole purpose of patrol, Damian guides you within the ins-and-outs of alleyways, leading you through slot machines, bars that still had the hum of human company despite the late hour. Eventually, you both land on a rooftop that lets you oversee the entire city.

It's terrifyingly easy to enjoy his company when you're not busy pretending otherwise. There's a symphony to your shared steps, the trailing of his shadow that plays out like a familiar, comforting rhythm.

"It's different." You mutter almost excitedly. The faint buzz of exhaustion from the late hour leaves you increasingly lax, your hand tugging at his sleeve towards the Wayne Tower in the distance. "Ours is all red hues and sharp angles. I like yours more."

He hums, sounding amused. His gaze is still trained on you, not focused on your pointed finger towards the building at all. Letting out a huff, your hand, numbed by the freezing wind, lifts to cup his cheek.

He blinks, a rare vulnerable expression crossing his features at your touch.

"Stop looking at me." You gesture, trying to tune his head towards the cityscape. "You're missing out."

"No, I'm not." He answers honestly.

You blink, hand faltering over his cheek, but he raises his own to cover yours.

"Sorry." He murmurs, lashes lowering with his gaze as he closes his eyes momentarily. "Allow me to be a little selfish, just this once."

Your fingers shake in response, but you don't remove your hand.

"That's not very fair of you." You mutter.

"I suppose I have never practiced that trait well." Opening his eyes, you're faced with that tenderness, the one that leaves you breathless. "Does it make me hateful?"

"No." You answer honestly. "You've always been bad at that."

"At being fair?" He asks.

"Making me hate you." You admit quietly.

His gaze softens imperceptibly. "I suppose we're both not very good liars."

The touch of his cheek burns your skin. This is dangerous, your mind faintly warns you. You promised yourself to never hesitate in your decision, not even after meeting him. You were always meant to go home.

He spots your hesitance, and his warmth falters. His lips set back into that familiar, distant line as he lets your hand go.

"I apologise if I over-stepped." He says before you even have time to clear the air.

"No, that isn't it." You wince, drawing your hand back to scratch at your cheek. "I was just thinking. Maybe—it isn't so bad if I could stay a little longer. There's no guarantee on when the portal will open again, so it's not a ruled out possibility."

Your suggestion is a toss into the wind. A complete silent, interpretation that maybe that's what he'd like as well.

You don't even have time to process the slight hope in his gaze, the consideration of your words before something—no everything seizes. Your body collapses to the ground, the pain of your atoms glitching, seizing to exist, and reforming again, is nearly indescribable.

A near howl escapes your bitten lips as you crumple towards the floor, only for Damian to catch you in his arms, down on his knees in front of you. Your fingers grip tight around his wrists, steading yourself as your vision blurs in and out. By the time you've strained your neck to look back up at him, you see the pain contorting his expression, wiping it loose of all composure.

"I—I'm okay." You breathe out, even as you can feel how cold and clammy your skin has become.

He doesn't answer. He merely stares, a rush of emotions flooding too fast through his mind for you to read, before it falters. His grip is your only anchor, but he's trembling too.

"This isn't a good sign." He states, dread falling over his features. "You must return, soon."

"So, you're saying—" You recall his words faintly. "The longer I stay in this dimension, my body will begin to disintegrate?"

Those technical words, theories that sound ridiculous on paper, thread thinly in a reality where your body was now a self-destructive timer. He gives you a short nod, his dark circles illuminated by the hologram of his research. Despite it being your life on the line, he looks wrecked.

What had started out as a happy night, ended with the reminder that you're not only endangering yourself but him. He's faced losing you once, and your existence in this dimension that should have never happened—he might go through it all over again if you don't find the portal in time.

"Damian." You call out, spotting the weak composure he's trying to display. "Look at me."

He refuses to listen, or maybe, he's completely blocked everything out with his gaze trained on the coordinates and running calculations. Standing up from the couch, you move slowly towards him to not startle him. Your hand briefly touches his arm, and he flinches.

"Damian, we've been over this." You speak as calmly as you can. "There's no opening unless it's opened from my side."

"Then, why hasn't he done it?" He snaps.

You blink, taken aback by his reaction.

"I can't—" He swallows, jaw clenched as he stares at you with a raw agony. One he's been hiding from you since you arrived, that you had caught a brief glimpse of when he first embraced you in his panic. "I won't fail you again. I refuse to."

"Damian." Your brows furrow, hands intertwining with his to force him to feel your touch. "I need you to breathe."

His chest heaves, and you recognise a panic attack before he's even verbalised it. Pulling him towards the sofa, you force him to sit, hands still connected with his.

"It isn't fair." Damian shakes his head. "Nothing ever is. Either way, it feels as if I'm losing you all over again."

Your breath trembles in his admission, and you can do nothing but sit here and listen.

"It was my fault." He confesses, grief-stricken. "A mission gone wrong—and my arrogance. I had overestimated the ambush, and we were cornered."

His body goes still as he drowns in his memory. "You hadn't hesitated stepping in the way. I could do nothing but watch."

"I am unworthy for many things." His voice lowers, with such an encompassing belief in his words. "But not being able to save you? That is a punishment I will never recover from."

"To lose you again." He mutters, broken. "I won't know what to do."

"Damian." You whisper. "I'm scared too."

He looks up at you then, and tears are welled in the corners of his lashes.

"But I'm glad." You emphasise, squeezing his hand. "That it's you, that you're the one here with me."

He blinks, barely able to process your words. "Why?"

"Because you have been by my side, from the moment I arrived." You answer genuinely. "Even if it hurts you, and I know it does. You stuck around, and you got to know me. You didn't have to do that, not when it costs you everything to do so."

He swallows, his expression shattered as he listens.

"I would have never known this side of you, if you hadn't found me." You push forward. "And no matter how terrifying it is to be in a whole other dimension without knowing if I'll make it home, it doesn't change that I'm glad I met you."

He breathes out, as if your words were a sucker-punch to his gut. His eyes trace over your features, a hidden longing unravelling the longer he carried out his intent focus, wanting to capture everything.

"Can I be selfish one more time?" His voice is a quiet plea, and you don't resist to how weak it renders you.

You nod gently.

Leaning in, his fingers tremble as he reaches up to brush away a stray strand from your cheek. His warmth lingers over your skin, eventually brushing over your cheekbone as his gaze pours into you. He looks at you the same way he had countless times before, and you had never been able to put it to words. Till now.

When his lips touch yours, it feels like a goodbye. A wish made impossible, fulfilled for only a mere moment. It's softer than you ever expected, gentle in a way you had never been treated from anyone else before.

When you open your eyes, you watch his expression carefully draw back into his composure. He's doing it for you, picking up the pieces that's broken so you won't have to face it.

"Let's get you home." He promises, and you believe it.

As the days pass by, with your body experiencing more frequent glitches, Damian's kindness runs a deeper wound above your heart. Whenever you insist that you're fine so he can focus on his work—he merely accompanies you by your side like some personal torture he inflicts on himself. Whenever your body seizes into another episode, split between the fractures of reality—he's there, waiting for you to reach for him so you can feel real again.

He listens with a seared focus now whenever you tell him stories, of yourself—of your world, like he's running out of time. You both are.

It's the seventh day, when the daily scans of the construction site run by Damian finally begin to detect increasing abnormal activity from where you landed.

"The debris movement seems to reverse every time I run the scan." He mutters. "As if there's a disruption in the space."

You swallow dryly, eyeing the replay he's showing you. "Do you think it could mean.."

"Yes, I'm certain." Damian nods firmly. "The portal is being triggered on the other side. The only concern now is when we should be at the site."

This... is it. Despite everything you've prepared and anticipated for, the obvious fact that you should be relieved you have a chance of making it home—the realisation comes with a bitter-sweet note.

Damian doesn't comment further past the facts. He merely focuses on the hologram screen, inputting commands to verify an estimate window to make rounds at the construction site. Despite calling himself selfish, you had never seen him so composed, silent on his true thoughts of this discovery.

"In two days." He answers, staring unblinkingly at the figure. "We won't miss it."

That settles it. In two days... you're going home.

"I hate waiting."

"I am aware." Damian murmurs.

"Stop agreeing with me." You sigh.

"Alright."

Your head snaps, an unamused expression taking over your features.

His gaze flickers from his device to meet yours briefly, and his lips quirk up slightly. "Sorry." His voice doesn't sound apologetic at all. "You've made it too easy."

You can't help but scoff, chin leaning against his shoulder. "This is worse than the glitches."

"Have I mentioned that you're a horrible liar?" He mocks.

"Numerous times." You hum, eyeing the scan with a narrowed glance. "What if your calculations are wrong?"

"I ran over them one thousand and fifty-three times." He frowns. "The chance for error are near zero."

"Wow, from the looks of it—you seem rather eager to get rid of me." You tease.

"Was I that obvious?" He shrugs.

"Who's the bad liar now?" You tease.

He opens his mouth, ready to produce some quick retort—but something catches his eye.

Shifting your gaze to follow his, you catch movement from where the ground had been stagnant. The rubble—is beginning to move in an anti-clockwise direction.

"Now." Damian stands abruptly, a hand wrapping around your waist to lift you to your feet.

The shift in the atmosphere as a distant rumbling occurrs beneath your feet, it's much more aggressive than you expected. Damian tugs you back, just in time before a fracture cracks in the ground.

"The portal." You recognise, eyeing the glow beneath the fissure, something dreadfully familiar.

Your breath is almost winded, coming up short as you stare at the formation in trembling anticipation. Your gaze whips to Damian, your heart slamming against your ribcage—only for your words to fail you when you meet his expression.

Broken, that's all you saw. The same way he had seemed when you first met him.

"Damian." You call out, hesitant, but he shakes his head.

"I never got to tell you." He starts.

Your brows furrow. He had been nothing but honest since you got here. There isn’t a wound that he hasn’t uncovered in front of you, no vulnerability he hasn’t revealed. You know him, because he had let you.

"I want you to know that I am glad." He confesses, his voice picking up in pace. He sounds terrified that he won't be able to finish what he's started. "That I got to know you. There wasn't a moment where I regretted it, not even for a second."

"I must tell you." His voice cracks. "That I'd choose you, in a hundred lifetimes, no matter what reality, I'd always choose you."

The words are lost on your tongue. I'd choose you too. He has to know, even when the tears well up in your eyes.

He holds you tight, as if he's trying to sear this very embrace into his memory. "At least, I'll know now that somewhere out there, the person I am in your world was able to bring you back. That a version of me didn't lose you."

"I know it's selfish." He whispers. "But I wish I could keep you."

Contrary to his words, he lets go of you the moment he says it, his arms parting from your frame to remain firmly at his side. He's restraining himself, you realise. Damian, the very image of self-control, is barely keeping himself together. He’s letting you go, and in doing so, he’s saving you.

"Thank you." He murmurs in goodbye, casting you a solemn smile. "For sparing me the mercy of meeting you again."

"I hope he understands just how fortunate he is." A bittersweet smile graces his lips. "That he'll cherish you, and protect you always."

You think you ask him to wait. For more time. You remember briefly on how your hand extended towards him, before the portal had pulled you in. It was silent after that, and the loss of something indescribable hits you by the time the world comes back—roaring to life.

Tumbling onto the ground, you choke out a breath, saliva coating your lips as your fingers press numbly into the ground.

You're home. A quick glimpse of your surroundings is enough to confirm the familiar machinery, the abandoned lab. Yet, flashes of Damian's unmoving gaze before his frame completely disappeared, staring at you like he wanted to commit you to memory.

How could he have called it mercy, when he was so shattered?

Your tears slipped, and you feel a strange gap in your chest.

A rushed call of your name echoes before you can even name the emotion that consumes you. The syllables barely forms in your mind, as your head whips up in a daze. Your tear-stained expression is broken, completely unhidden—when you see Damian. Your Damian.

"Damian." Your voice croaks out. The name sounds strange on your tongue.

He freezes, unsure on how to process this version of you. Whatever he expected when he got you back, he must've never anticipated this. The version that has just lost him, and a part of you always will.

Pushing yourself to your feet, you stumble in your steps before collapsing into him. You're convinced he'll push you away, as he always does.

What you didn't expect was the steady warmth of his arms wrapping around you. Tense, but protective—as if he were trying to fend off the inner turmoil that's consuming you.

"It's alright." He mutters, voice stiff but his grip doesn't falter. "You're safe. I am here."

That breaks a silent sob out of you, and you bury your face into his chest. He doesn't push you for answers, nor does he distance himself. He remains planted exactly where he is, grounding you with his presence while you mourned for something that should have never been yours, and what you should have never lost.

He is embracing you so tight, it gave you a violent sense of déjà vu. The lines are blurring, and you can't find it in yourself to be angry when you know you should be.

"I am sorry." He mutters, voice breaking in composure. "I did this—I am sorry. I failed you."

"No, you didn't." You answer, your voice hoarse. "You brought me back."

It was the truth, broken into a hundred pieces.

In time, you will tell him. Of how he protected you even in another dimension. Of how that version of him will forever know that in another reality, he had saved you. That there was a Damian who didn't experience losing you.

Of how you'll never forget him. Even when he's out of bounds, but forever engraved into your existence, a memory that should have never existed.

But for now, you'll let yourself rest, knowing that you're home.

likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333

[extra pov] - alt! damian + reader’s damian after her return

dc masterlist -> damian + other dc works

WAYNE MEDICAL WING LIGHTS WERE TOO BRIGHT for someone who’d just stopped being technically unconscious, but damian surfaced like someone annoyed at being dragged from a nap he didn’t consent to, an insult so personal his eyelids twitched before they even opened. the brightness pressed through his skull like it was trying to etch itself directly into his brain. sterile white, the kind that had never once existed in a place he trusted. he cracked his eyes open anyway.

bad choice.

the ceiling came into focus in pieces: harsh tiles, vents humming cold air downward, a hairline crack near the corner he’d catalogued months ago during someone else’s medical emergency. except this time it wasn’t someone else lying flat on their back in a bed built for recovery and compliance. it was him. which meant something had already gone terribly wrong.

the sheets were tucked too tightly, pinning him with all the subtlety of a net trap. the IV line tugged whenever he moved his fingers. his throat tasted dry, surgical dryness, not dehydration, and every breath carried that over-sterile antiseptic scent that hospitals diffused like perfume. it stung in a way memory recognized before consciousness did.

he hated it. he hated it viscerally, instinctively, the way you hate an enemy you’ve fought before.

a chair creaked. dick. of course. no one else sat that way, half-slouched, half-alert, like a golden retriever trying to look responsible. “hey, baby bat,” dick welcomed softly, which was exactly the wrong volume. “back with us?”

damian squinted at him as if being spoken to was rude. his voice, when it came, sounded like someone had replaced his mouth with cement. “why,” he croaked, blinking slowly, “are you here.”

“you had surgery.”

damian paused like the word needed to be decoded. then his eyebrows knit together, slow, offended, gradually outraged. “i didn’t agree to that.”

dick huffed a tired laugh. “yeah, well… it was kind of an emergency. and you were unconscious. and also? you literally signed the consent form before the anesthesia.”

damian stared at him, long and unimpressed. “forged.”

“it wasn’t forged.”

“i do not sign things.”

“you sign things all the time.”

damian shut his eyes briefly, like acknowledging that was beneath him. then he opened them again, narrower, sharper, but the effect was ruined by how unfocused the pupils were, drifting like his thoughts kept hitting walls before reaching their destination. the air was too clean. the lights too white. the smell coiled into his chest and pulled memories he’d rather leave buried, metal tools, cold hands, the way the world looked when he was small and helpless and expected to endure instead of resist. nothing specific, just impressions. sensations. hospitals always woke old ghosts.

his jaw tightened. he wasn’t supposed to be the one in this bed. he didn’t get hurt. not enough to be downed like this. the last patrol replayed in flashes — a blade catching him off-balance, the impact hot, surprising. he remembered the pain, but not falling. not blacking out. that made his stomach twist.

failure. vulnerability. unacceptable.

dick watched him with that older-brother sensitivity that always made damian bristle, like being perceived was an attack. “before you say anything,” dick added, “you did not lose the fight. you didn’t mess up. you got blindsided by a meta with a strength boost and you still managed to take him down. you just… didn’t stay upright afterward.”

damian glared. “i don’t recall being horizontal.”

“because you passed out.”

another glare. this one personal. dick raised his hands. “don’t look at me like that. i didn’t make you lose consciousness.”

damian’s fingers twitched against the sheets. the fabric felt wrong, stiff, overwashed, hospital-issue. the kind meant for patients who stayed still. he hated being still. he shifted slightly, and something tugged sharply at the back of his hand. his gaze snapped downward.

an IV. taped in place. tubing snaked up to a bag overhead, dripping fluid into his bloodstream without permission. his entire expression went cold. “remove it.”

dick inhaled sharply. “damian—”

“remove it.”

“don’t— okay, don’t—” dick took two hurried steps forward as damian’s fingers curled around the line. “don’t you dare pull that out. i mean it. don’t.”

“i am not a lab specimen.”

“you’re not,” dick agreed. “you’re someone who needs fluids and pain meds because you were— what’s the word— oh yeah— stabbed.”

“it was minor.”

“it was internal.”

damian blinked at him, insulted. “i don’t want it.”

“too bad.”

there was tension in damian’s shoulders. that hyper-focused alertness from childhood, when beds were places you recovered because you weren’t allowed to move, not because someone cared. his muscles remembered even when he didn’t think about it. his back never fully pressed to the mattress, his hands never fully relaxed. his breath always came measured, as if steadying itself for violence. the medical wing amplified that tension. the smell. the lights. the machines. everything too reminiscent of control.

he’d been so busy cataloguing exits and shadows and the exact height of the IV stand that he hadn’t even noticed how his own body felt until—

oh.

there it was.

the meds hit him. that soft, warm fog rolling in, blurring everything he tried to focus on. his thoughts glitched, trying to line up in formation and instead tripping over themselves. “grayson,” he said, voice suspicious, “did you put something in my blood?”

dick, who’d been leaning on the side of the bed like a worried parent pretending not to be one, blinked back. “uh—no, bud. you were asleep during the operation, remember? anesthesia? pain meds?”

damian stared at him like dick had just recited a riddle in an unfamiliar dialect. “i was… asleep,” damian repeated. “you let them do that.”

“you needed them to do that.” dick corrected.

damian’s eyes narrowed, though the effect was ruined by how glazed they looked. “i do not need unconsciousness to survive.”

“you do when your insides are trying to become your outsides.” dick muttered.

damian ignored him entirely, still watching him with a narrowing-bandwidth intensity. “you allowed it.”

“you signed the form.”

“forged,” damian said, again, instantly, with the complete confidence of someone who barely remembered what a pen was. “i would not voluntarily be medically compromised.”

“it wasn’t forged,” dick sighed. “you filled it out. you even wrote your full name at the bottom—very neatly, might i add.”

damian frowned like he was conspiring against him. he opened his mouth to deny it… but then a wave of dizziness rolled through him, like someone had tipped the room on its axis. he went still. his eyes went a little wide. “i feel… peculiar.”

“that’s the painkillers.”

“i dislike them.”

“i can tell.”

damian shifted, which was a mistake, his brain lagged behind the movement by a full second, like his consciousness had to sprint to catch up with his body. “my head is—” he paused, searching the ceiling as if the correct vocabulary word was written there. “—float-adjacent.”

“you’re high, dami.”

“i am not—” damian began, then stopped mid-denial, staring at the wall with deep betrayal. “i am.”

“yep.”

“i dislike this.”

“we’ve got that part,” dick said gently. “but you’re safe. and you’re okay. and it’s temporary.”

damian’s eyes tracked dick’s face like it was the only stable object in a shifting landscape. his brow furrowed with an almost childlike confusion. “i… don’t remember agreeing,” he murmured. “or anything. i was… focused. then pain.” he paused, blinked. “…then nothing.”

“that’s normal.”

“…where’s—”

but the name got lost on damian’s tongue.

not forgotten, more like the conveyor belt of his brain jammed halfway through delivering it. he blinked, confused, mouth still slightly open like the word might tumble out if he waited long enough. dick straightened, alert. “where’s who, bud?”

damian stared back at him, unfocused. something flickered behind his eyes, something searching, reaching. but whatever it was refused to surface. his brows knit, annoyed at his own mind for failing him. “…i don’t—” he frowned, as if the thought had slipped between his fingers. “i knew it. i know it. i just… can’t… hold it.”

dick softened. “hey. it’s okay. you’re still coming out of anesthesia.”

“i dislike that.”

“i know.”

“it makes me stupid.”

dick smiled. “you’re not stupid.”

“i am,” damian insisted, deadly serious. “my brain is… delayed. treacherous.”

“you’re just drugged, kiddo.”

damian frowned. the door opened before dick could say anything else, tim walking in first, rubbing his eyes, followed by cass. tim raised his coffee cup. “look who’s conscious.”

cass tipped her head.

damian’s eyes snapped to them—well, halfway. they snapped, stalled, then drifted into their direction like his neurons were buffering. “you are loud,” damian announced.

tim blinked. “we… didn’t say anything.”

“your face is loud.”

tim nodded solemnly. “makes sense.”

cass stepped closer, tracking damian’s micro-movements with an ease that came from years of knowing how to read bodies better than minds. damian tried—tried—to push himself up. his arm trembled. his shoulder lifted a fraction. cass reached out with one finger and pressed it lightly to his sternum. damian went down like gravity had increased selectively on his body alone. his eyes went wide. “that is unfair.”

cass offered a tiny smile. “doctor’s orders.”

“i do not listen to orders.”

“you listened to hers.” tim added dryly.

damian glared at him. or tried to. the effect was softened by the fact his eyelids kept drooping like they were too heavy. “she cheated,” damian muttered.

cass watched the way damian’s eyes refused to work with him and smiled shyly. “you’re high.”

“i am not—” damian started, then hesitated, as if realizing halfway through the lie that he didn’t have the cognitive precision to pull it off. “i am… moderately under the influence.”

“that’s one way to put it.” tim mumbled.

damian’s head tilted back toward dick like his mind was circling back to unfinished business. “i was asking.”

“about who?” dick asked.

damian stared at him again. long, slow, pondering with the full force of a malfunctioning operating system. he opened his mouth, then closed it. frustration etched across his face. “…gone,” he said finally. “i lost it.”

“it’ll come back.”

“i hate this,” damian declared. “i hate hospitals. i hate beds. i hate drugs. i hate this room. i hate—”

“oh boy,” tim breathed. “here we go.”

damian lifted one hand. studied it. flexed his fingers—delayed, clumsy. he stared like his own hand had betrayed him. “my reaction speed is compromised. this is humiliating.”

“don’t worry,” tim said cheerfully. “we’re taking mental notes.”

damian shot him a bleary glare. “i will end you.”

“in your current state?” tim asked. “you couldn’t even end a game of tic-tac-toe.”

“i could,” damian insisted, leaning forward as if to intimidate him, except his torso only made it two inches up before cass’s finger sent him right back down again. damian let out a low, affronted noise. “stop that.” he told her.

she shook her head.

damian’s eyes narrowed, then drifted, then narrowed again as if the glare needed to be reinstalled every few seconds. he sighed, long and dramatic. “i should not be in this bed.”

“you were stabbed,” dick said gently.

“everyone gets stabbed.”

“not in the liver.” tim said, absolutely delighted to be here, absolutely delighted that damian wasn’t at full power to stop him.

damian blinked. “my liver?”

“yes.”

he frowned, deeply betrayed. “i use that.”

“not today you don’t.”

damian ignored him, attention wandering again, circling back toward the hole in his memory like a bee drawn repeatedly to the same window. tim rocked back on his heels, arms crossed, grin already sharpening. “so,” he began casually, “speaking of things you ‘use,’ want to talk about the stuff you were saying while you were unconscious?”

dick’s head snapped toward him. “tim. no.”

tim ignored him completely. “because wow. i didn’t know you had a romantic side. like—it was actually kind of sweet? a little embarrassing? honestly extremely embarrassing.”

damian’s face twisted. “what are you—”

“you kept saying,” tim continued, pitching his voice into a dreamy falsetto, “‘my beloved… come back… come here… where are you…’” he clutched his chest dramatically.

“I did not say that,” damian barked, though it came out slightly slurred, tragically soft, devastatingly unthreatening. “drake is lying.” damian announced to the ceiling, as if the ceiling could issue a rebuttal.

except —- then damian froze, not visibly, internally, like someone had pulled the emergency brake on his thoughts. the hazy warmth in his veins pulsed, rising like heat behind his ears. something in his chest tightened, memory stirring sluggishly but insistently. the drugs softened everything except that. that memory. that wanting.

the warmth in his bloodstream pulsed again, stronger, like a tide he couldn’t fight. he blinked slowly, vision blooming and fading at the edges, and in the middle of that blur, something clear rose to the surface. you.

your face. your voice. your hands brushing the hair off his forehead last week. your breath against his neck in the quiet hours. your laugh that he pretended didn’t undo him. he inhaled sharply, like the thought of you punched through the haze. tim, seeing the shift, took a step back. he knew this was no longer teasing territory, this was damian’s guard dissolving in real time. dick moved a little closer. “damian?”

damian blinked again. confusion, longing, frustration, and beneath all of it, a tenderness so raw it seemed to surprise even him. “where’s…” his voice wobbled, more breath than sound. “(y/n)?”

tim’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. cass’s head tilted, studying him. damian didn’t notice their reactions—didn’t even register that he’d slipped. the meds made the truth feel natural, inevitable, impossible to contain.

“i want her here.”

dick blinked rapidly. “her?”

“yes, her,” damian muttered like they were stupid for being confused, tone clipped but dreamy, like he was trying to be irritated through marshmallow fog. “she should be here.”

dick tried gently, “who—”

“(y/n).” damian snapped. “the one i— the one who—” he cut himself off, annoyed at how hard the words suddenly were. his tongue felt slow. his brain fuzzed.

everything except the wanting.

“i’d much rather be with her than you guys.”

damian pushed on, voice dipping into something warm and unrestrained and utterly unlike him. “she doesn’t talk so loudly,” he mumbled, glaring at tim for existing. “and she doesn’t hover.” a pointed look at dick. “and she’s gentle.” he added, a little dreamily, glancing at cass.

cass’s eyes softened. dick’s heart did a little somersault. tim opened and closed his mouth like a stunned goldfish. damian continued, because the drugs had him rambling, pouring out affection he’d buried so deep even he forgot it was there. “and she smells nice,” he said, brows furrowing like this was deeply important. “and she holds my hand when i’m hurt. why isn’t she here.”

“d,” dick said softly, “we… didn’t know she existed.”

“that’s not my problem.” damian glared at the wall. “she should be here.” he shifted, trying to sit up, but cass stopped him again. he slumped back instantly, blinking up at her like she’d just used dark magic. “i need to talk to her,” damian insisted. “she’s probably worried.”

damian’s face, already soft from the medication, creased in a way none of them had ever seen. not anger, not annoyance, something else. something gentler. unguarded. dangerously unguarded.

he frowned. a slow, heartbreakingly earnest frown. “…she should be here,” he murmured again, more wounded this time, as if the room’s failure to produce you was a insult.

tim whispered, “we’re in uncharted territory,” like a man narrating a nature documentary about a dangerous, delicate creature.

dick pulled a chair closer. “we’re not keeping her from you,” he said. “no one knew you wanted her here.”

damian scowled. “i always want her here.”

tim choked on a laugh. cass elbowed him. but damian wasn’t done—if anything the words were pouring out faster now, because every thought of you made the meds tug him deeper into that warm, floaty honesty. “she knows how to touch my hair the right way,” he admitted, cheeks flushing faintly. “you don’t just— you have to go with the grain, not against the—” he gestured vaguely at his head, missing by several inches. “she knows. why isn’t she here.”

“she doesn’t know you’re awake.”

“you should have told her,” damian argued, scandalized. “you should have— obviously you should have—” his breath stuttered, foggy frustration ripping through him. “i want her.” he repeated, smaller.

“okay,” dick said. “okay. we’ll get her. just… try to relax.”

damian tried to glare, but it melted halfway into a woozy pout. “i won’t relax until she’s here.”

dick exhaled, long-suffering but soft. “i’ll call her. just—stay in the bed. stay horizontal. stay… not ripping out your IV.”

damian made a grumpy sound that was supposed to be dignified and was absolutely not.

you arrived like someone who had run every red light between your apartment and the wayne medical wing. you hadn’t even finished tying your shoes when the call came—an unfamiliar number flashing on your screen, a clipped voice saying, “hi, uh, this is dick grayson—damian’s brother—please don’t panic, he’s okay, but he’s asking for you and we… think you should come.”

you barely remembered hanging up. or grabbing keys. or the elevator door almost closing on your shoulder. ten minutes, maybe eleven, but it felt like one long breath held in your chest. in those ten minutes, everything in your head spun: damian doesn’t get hurt. damian doesn’t call for anyone. damian doesn’t need.

so what could’ve happened for dick to sound like that? what could’ve happened for damian to ask for you?

the security staff let you through without question—dick must’ve put your name on some list, because no wayne employee is normally that chill about strangers sprinting through sterile hallways with fear in their eyes.

your boots echoed off polished floors. the medical wing always had that cold, expensive, unnecessarily white look—a place built to fix bodies, not calm nerves. you followed the signs, heart hammering, palms damp.

room 3B.

your hand hovered on the handle for half a second—half a breath—because you had no idea what version of damian you’d find on the other side of the door. injured damian? angry damian? scared damian?

you pushed the door open.

damian had not relaxed. if anything, he had stewed, curled miserably in a hospital bed that looked like it was offending his entire lineage by existing. his hair was a mess. his eyes were half-lidded and glassy. a deep, irritable crease sat between his brows.

when you stepped in, the room shifted. dick straightened in his chair, relief flooding him. tim blinked like he couldn’t believe you were a real person. cass smiled at you like she’d expected this all along. but damian—

damian’s eyes snapped open like someone had turned the sun directly toward him. the transformation was instant. his whole face softened and brightened all at once, surprise flickering into recognition, recognition melting into something warm and wreckingly tender. “beloved,” he breathed.

and it was so quiet.

then he tried—immediately, stupidly, disastrously—to sit up. “no—no, no,” dick sputtered, grabbing his shoulder, flattening him instantly.

damian blinked up at him, betrayed for the thirtieth time today.

but then his gaze dragged back to you, heavy, warm, intoxicated—not just by meds but by relief. “you’re here. finally.”

your heart dropped somewhere into your stomach. “of course i came,” you started, glancing wearily at everyone in the room but stepping closer. “you called for me.”

“i needed you,” he said, so matter-of-factly it felt like the room stopped breathing. “i told them. repeatedly. they were slow.”

“hey—”

dick shot tim a glare.

damian reached for you without hesitation, fingers outstretched, messy and uncoordinated but desperate. cass gently caught his wrist to keep him from yanking at his IV. “come here,” damian insisted, eyes locked on yours. “i hate this place. i hate all of them.” he gestured vaguely at his siblings. “i want you.”

your lungs forgot how to work. “dami,” you murmured, stepping to his bedside, taking his free hand carefully—careful because he was loopy, careful because he was fragile, careful because he was looking at you like you were the only real thing in a world made of fog.

he exhaled, shoulders sinking in relief the moment your skin touched his. “yes. that. stay.”

and suddenly you’re the idiot standing in a hospital room surrounded by the waynes. you don’t look at any of them. you can’t. eye contact feels like a trapdoor.

because this is the exact scenario damian spent months avoiding. the one he insisted would “complicate matters” or “invite unnecessary scrutiny” or “destroy our operational advantage,” which was his very dramatic way of saying he didn’t want his family to know he had feelings like a human being.

and now he’s clinging to your wrist like a toddler afraid you’ll evaporate. your voice tries to work but it comes out small. “uh… okay. i’m here. not going anywhere.”

dick makes a soft, amazed sound, like he’s watching a wild animal eat out of someone’s hand for the first time. tim is frozen in place, eyes narrowed like he’s trying to run a facial-recognition scan on the situation. cass just looks deeply entertained. damian doesn’t notice any of it. he’s too busy hauling your hand into his chest like he needs the pressure to stay anchored.

he nudges closer to you on the pillow—well, he attempts to, but he’s so high that the movement is less “smooth shift” and more “gentle toppling.” you catch him before he face-plants, hands awkward around his shoulders, and he… softens. actually softens. melts into your touch like he’s never heard of pride in his life. “don’t leave,” he mutters. “they’re awful. you’re the only tolerable one.”

his siblings watch this happen with the energy of people witnessing a natural disaster in slow motion. your heart does something inconvenient. “i’m not going anywhere,” you say again, softer.

he’s going to regret every single word of this when the pain meds wear off. damian relaxes immediately, head tipping toward you, completely unconcerned that half his family is witnessing this emotional striptease he’ll definitely deny later. then his hand paws clumsily at the air until it finds yours again. he drags it to his chest, then up toward his jaw, nudging, nudging, nudging like a disgruntled cat demanding to be held exactly the right way. you blink down at him. “what are you doing.”

“you know what i’m doing,” he mutters, pushing your palm against his cheek like he’s molding clay. “closer.”

“i am close.”

“not enough.” a pout forms soft lower lip pushed forward in wounded royalty. “you’re supposed to…” he gestures with his other hand, fingers fluttering like he’s trying to summon the word. “kiss me.”

your body goes rigid. “damian. your entire family is three feet away.”

tim chokes on spit. dick makes a strangled noise. cass is already covering her smile with her hand. dick, bless him, claps his hands together. “alright! great time to take a break. we’re gonna… uh… give you two some space.”

“a lot of space,” tim adds, sprinting for the door like the room is on fire.

cass pauses beside the doorway, gives you a thumbs-up, then closes the door behind them. immediately, muffled bickering erupts.

“you didn’t record that?”

“i’m not filming our brother in the hospital!”

“coward.”

“guys, shut up—”

“i can’t believe he said kiss me—”

“cass stop laughing—”

“OH my god—”

you drag a hand down your face. “this is mortifying.”

damian doesn’t care. damian cares zero percent. damian is busy guiding your hand back to his cheek and pressing into it like it’s a heat source keeping him alive. “they’re idiots,” he announces, voice thick with anesthesia and indignation. “loud. insufferable. invasive.” he blinks heavily, lashes brushing your wrist. “i’m glad they’re gone.”

“they’re right outside the door still arguing.”

“they’re always arguing,” he says, sleepy venom coating every syllable. “they argue about toast.”

you try not to smile. “and you don’t?”

“i argue with purpose.” he says this with the gravitas of a dying king. “they argue because they’re incompetent.” his fingers curl around your wrist and he tries to tug you closer again. “come here,” he murmurs, cheeks pink from more than medication. “you’re being difficult.”

“i’m being respectful.” you correct.

he frowns. actually frowns, like you’ve just informed him gravity is optional now. “disgusting.” he sighs like a martyr. “just kiss me.”

his fingers skate clumsily up your wrist, slipping twice before finally hooking behind your hand, dragging it back to his cheek with the determination of a drowning man reaching for a lifeline. his pulse flutters beneath your palm, fluttery in that way that tells you the meds are hitting harder. “i need one,” he murmurs, barely audible. “just—one.”

“damian—”

“please,” he whispers. he looks at you like you’re the single point of focus in a world that’s tilting. pupils blown, cheeks flushed with medication and emotion he can’t register enough to restrain. he’s trying so hard to keep his eyes open, to hold onto you, to stay with you in the haze.

the battle between logic and instinct lasts all of four seconds. maybe less. you lean in, careful, so he can pull back if he wants. he doesn’t. he meets you halfway, or at least tries to, except he misjudges the distance and bumps your chin first, blinking like the world betrayed him again. you soften. cup the side of his face, steady him, then you kiss him.

it’s gentle. warm. barely there at first, just the press of your mouth against his, letting him feel it, understand it. his breath catches, a soft inhale against your lips like he can’t believe he got what he asked for. then the tension melts out of him all at once. his shoulders sag. his hand slides up to clutch weakly at your shirt. he makes this tiny, involuntary sound—half sigh, half relief—like the kiss untied some knot inside him he didn’t know was choking him. he kisses you back clumsily, lazily, chasing the contact with unfocused devotion. the kind of kiss that says i’m not fully here, but what i feel for you is.

when you finally pull back—because he’s still recovering—his eyes remain closed for a moment, like reality hasn’t quite caught up. they open, glazed and adoring in a way he will absolutely deny to the grave. “that,” he murmurs, voice dropping like he’s drifting toward sleep. “better.”

you smooth his hair back gently. “yeah?”

he nods against your hand, eyelids lowering again. “you fixed the… everything.” his lips twitch like he wants to smile but doesn’t have the energy. “kiss me again later.”

you can’t help it. you laugh. “we’ll see.”

he hums—hums, like he’s some exhausted, medicated cat settling into sun-warm sheets instead of a post-surgery assassin with a reputation to maintain. for a few minutes, everything is strangely easy. soft. he drifts in and out, eyes half-lidded, expression mellow in a way that would terrify gotham’s criminal underground. he asks you three questions in a row (“what time is it… why does the ceiling breathe… can you make the bed stop tilting?”), only for his attention to wander halfway through the third answer.

you stroke his hair and he melts like warm wax, that stiffness he always carries dissolving like you’re seeing a piece of him that only exists under anesthesia and around you. “you should rest,” you observe.

“i am resting.” he sounds offended you’d suggest otherwise. “i’m the picture of—” he yawns without warning. “—discipline.”

“sure,” you say, hand smoothing down his cheek. “very disciplined.”

he narrows his eyes, but the effect is ruined by how heavy his eyelids are. “mockery is unbecoming.” he drifts again, fingers twitching once like he wants to pull you even closer but can’t muster the energy. ten more seconds pass before he murmurs, barely audible, “don’t be gone long.”

your chest folds in on itself. “i won’t.”

but you still have to go. he needs his siblings updated. you need to breathe something other than recycled medical-wing air. and—let’s be honest—you need to apologize for walking in and accidentally detonating a family-secret bomb.

you pry his hand gently off your shirt, not easy, because he makes a soft, grumpy noise at the loss, and settle it over his blanket. “i’ll be right back,” you whisper.

he scowls, soft and half-asleep. “you better.”

you slip out. the door clicks shut behind you, and immediately, the hallway noise stops. immediately. like a switch. one second there’s muffled arguing, sharp whispers, annoyed sighs, something that sounds suspiciously like tim saying “that’s not fair, cass, you can’t hit people in a debate—”

and the next? dead silent.

you step fully into the corridor. three faces turn to you at once, frozen mid-conflict like you just walked in on a crime scene. dick stands with his arms out like he was physically separating people. tim looks defensive, hands half-raised, mouth half-open. cass is calmly holding what looks like tim’s hoodie string, like she’s been yanking him back into line.

they all stare. you blink. “…hi,” you say. it comes out small. painfully polite. the kind of greeting you use when you’ve just barged into the batfamily’s private meltdown because your secret boyfriend couldn’t keep quiet on morphine.

dick straightens so fast you actually hear the click of his spine. “hi! hey! um. hi. wow. okay. you—you came out.”

tim elbows him. “of course she came out, she used the door—”

cass smacks the back of his head without looking.

“ow???”

you exhale slowly. “so… um. i guess i should say—sorry? for all of that? he’s… not usually like this.”

three pairs of eyes give you the exact same expression:

oh we know.

you swallow, fingers twisting together because suddenly you’re seventeen again and meeting someone’s parents in a too-small living room where everyone is staring. “right,” you say. “um. so. i’m—” the word lodges in your throat. girlfriend.

technically true. emotionally true. secretly true. publicly, though… this was supposed to come out months from now. carefully. intentionally. maybe after damian finished having a internal breakdown about letting anyone know he had feelings at all. definitely not in a fluorescent hallway with him high on enough pain meds to take down a rhinoceros.

you clear your throat. “i’m… his—”

they all lean in a fraction. like wolves scenting vulnerability.

“—girlfriend.”

silence. not the casual kind. not the “oh okay” kind. no. this is the thick, suffocating, batfamily kind of silence, where shock ricochets between them. you want to die.

“wow,” dick finally says, voice high and bright and absolutely panicked. “so you’re—uh—wow. okay.”

tim takes a step back from you like you’re a rare cryptid. “wait, wait. damian—our damian—has a secret girlfriend and he didn’t tell anyone?”

“it wasn’t—” you rub your face. “it wasn’t my idea to keep it secret.”

every head turns toward the door behind you. the door damian is behind. three simultaneous: “of course it wasn’t.”

you sigh. “he didn’t… want the attention. or the questions. or the—” you gesture vaguely at the cluster of energy in front of you “—this.”

dick nods so hard you’re briefly concerned for him. “yeah. okay. right.”

tim crosses his arms. “he trusts none of us with his personal life. unbelievable.”

cass tilts her head, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “he likes her,” she says simply.

everyone turns to her, startled by the rare verbal input. she shrugs. “i watch him.”

you’re still mortified.“i’m sorry,” you say again, because apologizing feels easier than existing in this moment.

“no, no,” dick insists. “don’t apologize. we’re just—processing.”

“poorly.” tim adds.

“yes, poorly.”

you glance at the door, then back to them. “he… didn’t mean to tell you. he’s just… really high.

tim snorts. “yeah, we noticed.”

but then—dick softens. visibly. his whole posture loosens. “we’re… glad you’re here. really.”

cass nods once. tim looks like he wants to be annoyed, but deep down, he’s already building a spreadsheet called damian’s girlfriend: things to investigate. you inhale, steadying yourself. this is fine. you’re here. damian’s safe. they’re… intimidating, but also weirdly welcoming in a way. dick takes a half-step toward the door. “he’s probably freaking out that you’re gone.”

you grimace. “…yeah. he’s not subtle right now.”

tim snorts. “understatement of the century.”

you all slip back into the room—well, you walk in, and the batfamily kind of fans in behind you like an unnecessarily dramatic procession—and immediately you’re met with a very specific sound: damian huffing.

he’s upright again, God knows how he managed it with stitches and sedation, blanket bunched around his waist, hair a complete disaster, eyes sharp but unfocused and dark with irritation. he looks like someone who’s been abandoned in a desert for hours, not eight minutes. the second he sees you, everything in him unclenches. the frown softens. the shoulders drop. the tension behind his eyes dissolves like sugar in tea. “finally.”

you take a slow breath. “i was gone for like ten minutes.”

“ten minutes,” he repeats, scandalized. “i could have died.”

dick, behind you, mouths jesus christ into his hands.

you step closer and damian instantly reaches for you, hands out, grabby, zero dignity, all instinct. he looks like he’s two seconds from climbing out of bed and onto you. “i told you,” he mutters, leaning toward you with the gravity of someone confessing state secrets, “i can’t sleep without you.”

your brain stalls. his siblings collectively short-circuit behind you. “you’ve… never said that.”

“i’m saying it now.” he tries to sit up even straighter, immediately winces, then stubbornly ignores the pain. “i hate it when you disappear. it’s—” he squints, trying to find the word in the fog of anesthetic swimming through him, “—unacceptable.”

“unacceptable,” tim echoes under his breath, shaking his head like this is the best day of his life.

damian hears it and snaps—not very effectively, because it’s slurred and soft and deeply non-threatening—“shut up, drake.” then he turns back to you, expression going gentle again so fast it’s whiplash. “come here,” he says, voice lower, sleepy, warm. “please.”

you move without thinking. “better,” he mumbles, leaning into your palm. Leaning. “i hate hospitals.”

“i know you do.”

“they smell like fear and bleach. drake smells like bleach too. it’s suspicious.”

tim throws both hands up. “what—why—what did i even do?!”

damian doesn’t answer, mostly because something else catches his attention. his gaze drifts back toward the IV taped to his hand like he’s just spotted an enemy combatant. “…it’s still there,” he mutters darkly.

you can practically hear dick’s soul leave his body. “damian—”

too late.

damian’s fingers curl, determined and clumsy, reaching for the line like he’s about to solve all his problems via self-sabotage “nope,” you say quickly, sliding your hand over his before he can yank. “don’t start with that.”

he blinks at you, startled. “but it’s in me.”

“yes,” you say calmly, “and it’s supposed to be. if you pull it out, it’s going to hurt, you’ll bleed everywhere, and dr. thompson will throw a fit.”

damian glowers at the IV like it personally betrayed him. “i do not consent to its presence.”

“tough,” you say softly. “leave it.”

and something miraculous happens.

he listens.

he actually stops. his fingers relax under yours, he gives one final deeply offended exhale, then slumps back against the pillow, letting you guide his hand away from the tubing entirely. dick stares at the exchange like he just watched a unicorn descend from the ceiling. “you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

tim narrows his eyes. “yeah, no, I want that in writing. he listened? willingly?”

damian doesn’t even look at them. his attention is fully back on you, as if he’s forgotten anyone else exists. “you’re better at giving orders,” he mumbles, voice slurred and honest.

your eyebrows shoot up. “i didn’t give an order.”

“yes you did,” he insists, even poutier now. “and i liked it.”

tim chokes. you press a hand over damian’s, trying not to laugh. “okay. well. thank you for listening.”

“i listen to you,” he says, like it’s obvious. “you make sense.”

and then—inevitably—damian’s gaze drifts, catches something on the wall-mounted TV across from the bed, and brightens in a way that is actually alarming. “tch. finally,” he mutters. “something decent.” it’s… an anime. some shonen fight scene paused on a commercial break. “they always have commercials on. americans have no discipline.”

“do you—watch that one?”

“i watch everything,” he says, as if this is another well-known fact. “i have criteria.”

“criteria,” tim echoes. “oh this I gotta hear.”

damian lifts a finger dramatically, like he’s addressing a senate hearing. “strong character arcs. accurate sword technique. no filler episodes.” he narrows his eyes like the concept personally offended him. “most of them… disgraceful.”

and then—god help you—he turns his head toward you and says, in a tone so earnest it almost knocks you over: “if i recommended shows to you, you would watch them. properly.”

tim inhales sharply. “are you ASKING her to watch anime with you? publicly? in front of witnesses?”

damian blinks once. twice. “yes?” he says, baffled that this is even a question. “why wouldn’t i? she listens.”

dick puts a hand over his heart. “this is the most emotion he’s displayed since he was born.”

damian ignores him completely because a new thought has struck him, and he must share it immediately or die.

“and she likes animals,” he says. “this matters.”

you look around. “…does it?”

“yes.” he nods, solemn. “people who don’t like animals are not to be trusted. it is… foundational.”

“i mean—true,” you mumble, trying not to laugh.

“she,” he says, pointing at you again, “lets titi sleep on her jacket. on purpose.”

tim freezes. “wait. the demon cat? on their clothes? and—no blood?”

you shrug awkwardly. “she’s actually very sweet—”

“HA,” damian cuts in, triumphant. “i told you.” then, with no transition at all: “titi likes her more than she likes you.”

this is addressed to the entire batfamily.

gasps. outrage. betrayal. you pat damian’s arm, trying to settle him down. he looks up at you instantly—immediate, instinctive. “don’t go again,” he says, like you abandoned him for years instead of stepping outside to apologize to his siblings.

“i’m right here,” you soothe.

he exhales, satisfied. “good. if you leave, they talk. they always talk.” his voice drops to a whisper, conspiratorial. “they gossip.”

“WE DO NOT.”

damian waves a dismissive hand. “yes you do. you gossip like… hens.”

“hens??”

“LOUD hens,” damian corrects, settling further into your side. “and idiotic.”

you choke on a laugh as all three brothers erupt in overlapping offended noises. and you’re just sitting there thinking—

yeah. he is absolutely, utterly, painfully doomed when he sobers up.

STARTED 11.22.2025. POSTED 11.24.2025.

  ⸝⸝  masterlist  .ᐟ  𝜗𝜚

©️ latedeparture

She turned her head toward him, and the smirk on her face was dangerously smug. “So,” she said, cracking her knuckles, “when are you gonna admit it?”

Zuko blinked. Was it so obvious that even his friend could point it out?

“Admit what?”

Toph huffed, stomping the ground as if that would shake the stupidity out of him, though it did give him a good rattle. “That you totally have a crush on Queen Pebbles.”

His face went hot instantly—burning hot, hotter than any flame he conjured. “Wh—what? No! I—That’s not—Toph, that’s ridiculous!”

“Uh-huh.” She crossed her arms. “Suuure it is. And I’m actually a graceful fire fairy who dances in the moonlight.”

Zuko groaned into his hands. “I don’t… I’m not… she’s just—”

“A queen?” Toph supplied. “A friend? Someone you spend way too much time with these days?”

Zuko opened his mouth to object, but she kept going.

She ignored him, leaning casually against a pillar she had earthbended from the floor. Perks of being the best earthbender of the century, she supposed. “Look, I’m just asking because my queen—your queen, technically, but I get to call her mine because I’m one of her guards—has been smiling a lot more recently. And every time she does, it’s because someone with good hair and issues shows up.”

“I do not have issues.”

“You literally set your own pants on fire two weeks ago,” Toph deadpanned.

“It was one time!”

“And it was hilarious.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Anyway, Sparky, it’s not my business… well, actually, it is my business because I am sworn to protect the Queen with my life. So if she’s got some lovey-dovey crush situation brewing with some guy, I gotta know.”

Zuko nearly choked on air. “She—[Name]—she does not have a lovey-dovey anything with anyone!”

“Mm-hmm.” Toph hummed like she could see every twitch in his face. “But you do.”

“I—!” His voice cracked. Arguing at this point was useless when he kept on setting himself up for failure. “No, I don’t!”

“I mean, seriously, Sparky,” she said, tapping her bare foot against the stone with each point she listed, “you’re here, like, every week. Sometimes twice! You spar with her, you go on ‘walks’ with her, and yesterday I even heard you two laughing about… what was it? Rocky the turtle duck?”

He groaned louder. “He has a big head! It’s funny!”

Toph grinned so wide it was almost cruel. “Sure. And Queen Pebbles just happens to think it’s cute too, right?”

“She didn’t say cute,” he muttered.

“She didn’t have to,” Toph shot back. “I can hear her heartbeat when she’s around you. It does weird fluttery things.”

Zuko froze.

Toph’s grin only widened. “Oh yeah. Now you’re listening, huh?”

“Toph,” Zuko whispered, throat suddenly dry, “are you saying—”

“I’m saying she’s got a soft spot for you, Sparky.” She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And apparently you’ve got a soft spot for her too. Big shocker.”

Zuko’s whole face was on fire. He felt like he might actually combust. “I do not have a— a—”

“A crush?” Toph snorted. “Please. You’re one bad joke away from writing her poetry.”

He sputtered, absolutely mortified. “I don’t write poetry!”

“Yet,” she corrected, pointing at him. “Give it a week.”

Zuko rubbed his hand over his face, wishing the ground would swallow him. “This is completely inappropriate. She’s a queen. I’m a Firelord. We have responsibilities. Politics. Duties. There’s no space for—for—”

“Crushes?” Toph finished again.

He groaned. “Will you stop saying that word?”

“Nope.”

He paced the courtyard, running both hands through his hair. “Besides, [Name] isn’t—she’s just—she helps me remember to relax. And she jokes around with me. And she—she gets these creases near her eyes when she smiles, and she snorts sometimes when she laughs too hard, and she’s good at making everything feel normal—”

He clamped his mouth shut. Too late.

Toph had already started cackling.

“Oh Spirits, you’re gone,” she howled. “You’re absolutely gone for her!”

Zuko turned away, mortified down to his soul. “Toph, please—”

“No, no, this is great,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes even though she couldn’t see him. “I’m telling Sokka. And Aang. And Katara. And Suki. And—”

“Toph!”

She smirked. “Relax, Sparky. I’m not actually gonna start a gossip war between nations. I like my job here too much.”

Zuko sank onto one of the courtyard benches, burying his face in his hands. “This is a disaster.”

Toph sat beside him, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Hey. It’s not a disaster.”

He looked at her with a hopeful expression. “Really? What should I do?”

“Uh, tell her?” she suggested casually. “Or don’t. But seriously, you’re not subtle. The guards have started a betting pool.”

His head snapped up. “What?!”

“Oh yeah,” she said proudly. “I’m winning, by the way.”

Zuko stared, horrified. “Toph, I— this— this is—”

“Calm down, Firelord.” She patted his back—hard enough to make him stumble upfront. “Relax. You’re not doing anything wrong. [Name] likes hanging out with you. You like hanging out with her. It’s cute. Sickeningly cute. Like watching two turtle ducks learning how to swim.”

“Toph…”

“Yeah?”

“That’s… weirdly insulting.”

“Thanks.”

He didn’t even bother arguing.

“Point is,” she continued, sighing exaggeratedly, “it’s mutual. You both like each other. A lot. So stop being a terrified turtle duck about it.”

He stared at the ground, heat crawling up his neck. “Even if that were true… I wouldn’t know what to do with that.”

“Start with this,” Toph said simply. “Don’t run away.”

He blinked. “Run away from what?”

“From her,” Toph said, tilting her head. “Because she’s coming.”

He heard footsteps before he saw you—light, quick, almost bouncing. You pushed open the courtyard doors, smiling as the sunlight cast a soft lighting on your face.

“There you are!” you said brightly. “The cooks want to know if you prefer fire flakes or not-so-spicy fire flakes—”

Zuko jolted upright, snapping into a stiff posture like he’d been caught doing something illegal.

“Oh, Toph, you’re here early! Good timing. We made too much food.”

“Perfect!” Toph cheered, already dragging Zuko toward the kitchen by his sleeve. “I was just talking to Sparky about something super important.”

You blinked, curious. “Super important?”

Zuko shook his head violently. “No. No, she wasn’t. Nothing important happened. Nothing was said.”

Toph grinned. “Oh, plenty was said.”

You looked between them, then laughed. “Alright, now I’m curious.”

Zuko made a strangled sound. “No, you’re not.”

But you stepped closer anyway, poking his cheek lightly. “You look flustered.”

“I’m not flustered.”

Toph snorted. “He’s definitely flustered.”

Zuko prayed for the floor to open up and swallow him whole once again. Toph, of course, stomped once, making the ground tremble just enough to make him yelp and grab your arm for balance.

You blinked down at his hand on your sleeve, then back up at him. “Whoa there. Careful.”

Zuko let go immediately, face burning. 

“Sorry.”

But you didn’t tease him. Instead, you gave him a smile—soft, warm, easy—and it only made everything worse in the best possible way. “Come on,” you told them. “Food’s going to get cold.”

Toph shot him a smug look as they followed you into the kitchen.

“You’re welcome, Sparky,” she whispered.

“For what?” he hissed.

“For pushing you,” she replied smugly. “Because if it’s up to you two turtle ducks, you’ll blush at each other until you’re eighty.”

Zuko opened his mouth to argue, but then you glanced back, catching his eye. You nodded toward him—and for a second, Zuko forgot how to breathe.

Toph heard that, too.

Her grin widened.

“Yep,” she muttered, “I would definitely have to play matchmaker at this point.”

“what kind of jellies are these again?”

“moon jellyfish!” you turned your head and smiled at him, pecking the side of his forehead. “their sting isn’t strong enough to penetrate the skin… that’s why it’s safe to pet them.”

he hummed, eyes watching you caress the little baby jellyfish softly with your finger, the rest of them fluttering and pumping about around your wrist as you giggled, the sensation of their soft tentacles tickling you.

“they’re cute!” he smiled contently, lifting his head from your shoulder to then dive his nose into your neck, you laughing and squirming at the feeling.

“do you know any other facts about them baby?” he muffled against your skin.

you simmered down and thought for a moment, your hand moving from the baby jelly over to a bigger one and running your fingers over the top of its head— the smooth slimy texture fascinating to you as yuta picked his head up to stand upright.

“whenever they’re short on food, they can shrink down in size and save their energy that way.” you lifted your arm, little droplets of water sliding down your skin and tattering down quietly to the surface below, your hand drawing back to grip the edge of the tank and looking sweetly at yuta. “so it’s less demand for food and things.”

he stared at you warmly, a literal lovesick stupid smile on his face as he listened to you continue on with your little list of facts about the moon jellies, his ears basically perked up and alert as they drank in everything that you had to tell him— it being that way ever since your pretty timid self came to one of his frat parties two years ago.

and yuta loved to hear you talk about your interests and the smarty things you knew, that still unchanging and him in absolute wonder every moment he spent with you at how much information your little mind held, and he felt like his idiot num nut brain was funnily smarter now solely due to you.

because yuta before you was an absolute dick, and every time he thought about his former lifestyle he cringed at the stark difference— throwing rowdy parties each night as the president of his frat, playing beer pong for the hell of it, and getting shit faced with not an ounce of regret in his system, him sleeping with anyone he wanted and desired, and never even having to lift a finger in efforts at it either until he met you.

but yuta was ashamed.

so incredibly ashamed of his awful habits, and thanking his rotten luck that you gave him another fucking chance after blowing his first meeting with you, him working hard for an entire year straight just to get you to look at him the same way you looked at your friends, and to get you to trust him and win you over despite his awful reputation.

you changed him… wholeheartedly and for the better, his reputation no longer of a sleazy good for nothing piece of shit who whored around, but of just yuta okkotsu— president of his frat, still the most popular guy to ever fucking exist and throwing massive parties every week… but of also a guy who loved his girlfriend, a girl that took him off the market with just her presence alone, and a girl he was lucky enough to have by his side despite everything.

but though yuta’s new reputation was flourishing and grand, it didn’t mean his old one just— eradicated and didn’t follow him everywhere he went.

everywhere you went.

because it did, and he knew of the whisperings of his past every time he walked you to your lectures in the halls… how he had slept with so and so that one time, or how he did this that other time, and he was utterly remorseful over the fact that you had to hear those things too, knowing he wouldn’t like it in the slightest if it was the other way around no matter how many times you reassured him that it didn’t bother you.

and it’s precisely because of his old reputation that he was terrified of you thinking he was using you in anyway shape or form... that you were just another body count to him and that the minute he got you in bed with him he was going to leave— that particular gossip following him everywhere relentlessly and him feeling fucking sick over the thought of you hearing and believing it.

“can all jellyfish do that?” he asked, lifting a hand and mindlessly playing with a strand of your hair. “shrink in size?”

you shook your head. “not all! but a few others can too… moon jellies are just the best at it.”

he nodded, a content smile still on his face as he hiked up the straps of your purse over his shoulders, holding it for you and gladly doing so while you enjoyed yourself looking through the different informational panels of the exhibit— the aquarium being one of yours and yuta’s favorite places to go whenever you went out together on dates, the number of times you’d both been there literally irrelevant as it was deemed your designated special spot for the two of you, yuta often taking you there after classes, or randomly throughout the day to spend time with you and love on you-- doing it all amongst the fishies, jellyfish and penguins that you both had come to recognize and name.

“you having fun flower?” he asked, swinging an arm around your shoulders as you began walking out of the jellyfish exhibit. “you hungry at all? we could eat really fast before seeing buddy if you want.”

you smiled.

buddy was the penguin you and yuta decided to take ‘ownership’ of and was the sole reason why the two of you visited the aquarium so much to begin with— to see the chubby and puffy little penguin that was noticeably friendlier and more interactive than the rest of the flock, and you liked to think that buddy recognized you too every time you guys peered at him through the glass walls— your boyfriend always saying that the little furry thing was a part of his frat and second in command.

“oh let’s see buddy now!” you quickly interlaced your fingers with his hand that was around your shoulders, slightly nudging yuta in the direction of the penguin exhibit. “i don’t wanna keep him waiting.”

“heh, okay!” yuta’s cheerful breathtaking smile made the heat quickly rise to your cheeks. “and that’s very true… he’ll get grumpy like last time.”

you laughed. “i’m pretty sure that was because the staff was a little late on giving him food…”

“mmm— don’t think so!” you passed through the entrance of the exhibit and turned left, other families and kids staring intently at the different penguin habitats and nurseries as you walked by, majority of the enclosures housing from baby penguins to those who were just learning to grow and take independence. “it’s because he missed us flower.”

you both reached the primary habitat that contained a handful of adult penguins waddling about and jumping from big rock boulders, an ample sized body of ocean water in front that allowed them to go for a swim or splash their little wings if they wished, you and yuta approaching the front and eyes immediately scanning for buddy.

“do you see him..?” yuta spoke softly, his eyelids squinting over the rocks.

“nuh uh…” you shook your head, peering around and eyeing every penguin in attempts at spotting buddy in particular.

“oh! there! over there!” you speedily pointed to the far left, buddy on his chubby tummy on top of one of the highest boulders in the sanctuary, soaking in the cold icy temperatures of the habitat while taking a nap like a respectable little king, his body softly moving up and down in even breaths.

“really?! where?” yuta stepped closer to the glass wall, his gaze desperately scanning for buddy and shoulders slumping when he still couldn’t spot him. “oh no baby i think i need fucking glasses—”

you giggled, tilting his chin more to the left and pointing to the sleeping bird. “there silly… he’s taking a nap on his belly.”

“oh i see him!” his charming face broke out into a smile. “aw man we came at a bad time then flower… he might think we ditched him for the day and be mad at us next time we come back.”

you faltered and visibly frowned at the thought, yuta picking up on it and quickly fixing his demeanor.

“oh— but it’s okay! it’s fine!” he delicately patted the top of your head. “i’m sure he’ll forgive us… and maybe he’ll wake up before we leave?”

“hopefully…” you sighed softly through your nose, a little grin growing on your lips. “what if i just— start tapping on the glass to wake him up?”

yuta laughed and shook his head. “baby that’s something i would do don’t do that.” 

he brought you in by the arm around your shoulders and squeezed you lovingly into his chest.

“you’re hanging out with me too much…”

“well duh.” you giggled. “is this your way of saying you wanna cut back?—”

“oh what the!?—” his eyes whipped in your direction, frantically shaking his head side to side. “i’d actually rather give up my dumb frat position than do that flower.”

you gasped then, jaw running slack.

“yu it’s not dumb, and don’t gamble with things like that for me either… you work really hard for the status you have and i would hate to be the reason it goes away.”

that was the main concern you had when you first started dating yuta, and shamefully still a concern now actually… because throughout the year yuta spent trying to win you over and prove to you that he wasn’t a player, hot headed and awful anymore, something that you were so incredibly touched over and impressed about and so fucking happy that he did without you even having to ask— the worry of you being the cause of his depleting reputation because of your status never went away regardless, and it quickly bubbled up in your mind as soon as you saw the disgruntled reactions of his crowd.

and you normally wouldn’t care about things like that, the rumors and gossip that took no time at all to surface easily thrown to the back of your head because of yuta… for he was everything you’d ever wanted and more as he continued to shower you in that same amount of love, affection, and attention that he gave you when you first had met.

yuta's kind reassurance of the rumors and for you to pay them no mind wasn’t entirely necessary to you either, due to the fact that you adored his silly jokes and flamboyant frat boy behavior so much and loved him so much that you simply just didn’t need it.

at first.

until you started noticing that yuta never… initiated things with you past kissing or making out throughout your first year together.

but it’s not like you ever did either— your frustratingly timid and shy personality never allowed you to even utter a peep of suggestion about it no matter how much you wanted to take things further, though intimate things like that weren’t a deal breaker nor was it of great importance to you anyways, as just spending time with him was more than enough and all you wanted and needed… except—

you’d seen the way yuta was with girls before you.

so why was it so easy for him to be intimate with them and not with— you? 

and they never needed to ask either…

“flower?”

“huh?” you jumped slightly, your eyes shooting up and meeting a concerned faced yuta. 

“you okay?” he blinked. “did you… hear what i said?”

“oh! i’m sorry yu i didn’t…” you peered up at him shyly with pinky cheeks, your bashful look spurring his little heart on as he gave you a smile and quickly pecked your forehead.

“that’s okay! i just said you’d never be the reason for something like that baby…” he smoothed a hand down the back of your hair, mind a little preoccupied by how silky it felt. “and i don’t care if it goes away either. also buddy’s awake.”

you perked up, eyes immediately darting to his former sleeping place and seeing him now fluttering his furry wings, gradually stretching and moving his little limbs before hopping down from his rock and waddling, both you and yuta funnily gushing and waving your arms around to try and catch the birds attention, yet undoubtedly looking absolutely insane to the rest of the guests around you as you both hopped and flailed around.

“buddy!” yuta whisper-yelled. “hey! look look!”

you giggled as he jumped up and down then with floundering arms, his car keys that were hooked through his belt loop jingling with every hop along with the charms on your purse, your hand flying to your mouth then to stifle your laughter once you noticed the odd stares parents were shooting at him as they passed by, their gawking children clinging to their coats and sleeves.

“yu!” you spoke in between hiccups of laughter. “i think— you’re scaring the kids—”

“oh!—” he froze, hands still up in the air as he looked side to side over his shoulders, a sheepish smile creeping on his face once he realized that he was in fact eliciting bewildered glances and judgmental stares, his arms coming down immediately after as he peeked over at you with blushing cheeks.

“oh man...” he laughed, completely fucking embarrassed and scratching the back of his neck. “how much of a stupid idiot did i just look right now…”

you quickly shook your head and giggled some more, standing up on your tippy toes to plant a sweet kiss to his rosy cheek.

“i was doing the same thing yu it’s okay!” you cutely smiled, your eyes switching back to the habitat in front of you, pointing. “it got buddy’s attention though!”

the chubby bird excitedly flapped its wings before trodding over to where the both of you stood, you gushing and cooing as he hopped over pebbles and moved through other stubby penguins just to get where the two of you stood behind the barrier, the penguin tilting its little head to and fro in curiosity as he peered at you both.

“hey little man!” yuta grinned, bending down a bit and placing his palm flat on the glass, you doing the same as you leaned closer to get a better look at the bird. “you okay?”

you sent a tiny wave to the penguin, him flapping out his wings again in return and waddling even closer to the glass, you softly gasping and head snapping up to your boyfriend.

“i think—” your wide eyes shifted back to buddy. “i think he does recognize us…”

“that’s what i’ve been saying flower!” yuta laughed boyishly, swinging an arm over to place a hand on your waist, giving it an affectionate squeeze. “i know i’m a dummy dumb but never about buddy.”

you snorted and gently nudged his side with your shoulder. “you’re not a dummy dumb baby don’t be silly.”

“kay!” yuta funnily cheesed, leaning down to press a quick peck to your cheek before turning his attention back to buddy, the penguin oddly now excessively fluttering its wings and puffing up its chest over your interaction, honking and squawking more than usual as it waddled over to your side now instead of yuta’s.

“wha—” your boyfriend gawked, eyes narrowing at buddy. “what i can’t kiss my girlfriend? why not?”

buddy honked again and hopped in place on its little feet, yuta’s eyes only growing further into slits.

“what?” you giggled. “what’s wro— mpf!”

he cupped your cheeks and mushed your lips with his, buddy letting out a loud string of honks and squawking through the other side of the glass as yuta basically tongued you down, your cheeks instantly heating up at the random raunchy display of public affection.

he came off your lips with a smack and looked to the penguin again, his eyes then widening at the distressed state buddy was presumably in, jaw hanging open and frantic gaze switching to yours.

“buddy wants my girlfriend…” 

“huh?!” you laughed. “yu he’s—”

“you think i’m gonna let you in my frat now little man?” yuta let your face go and threw his hands up. “you were my second in command!”

“baby he’s a penguin what are you on about—”

“yeah a penguin that wants my girlfriend.” he mumbled, crossing his arms and bitterly looking off to the side. “i feel betrayed.”

you giggled, cheeks buzzing and pink as you reached up and patted the top of his head.

“c’mon yu let’s go it’s okay.” you interlaced your fingers with his and gently tugged him with you. “let’s go get something to eat—”

yuta pointed to buddy as you pulled him away.

“you’re out of the frat.”

“yuta!”

“what?!”

a total of ten more minutes was spent of you trying to drag him out of the exhibit and him still picking a fight— yuta in utter disbelief that buddy backstabbed him and wanted the same woman he did, him sulking and muttering the entire way to the sandwich shop to pick up lunch, you laughing at his silly behavior as you led him through the aquarium corridors and pathways to go to the flower exhibit, that being yours and yuta’s usual munching spot ever since you first came to the aquarium at the start of your relationship.

and although visiting the aquarium was something you both always did— specifically on a weekly basis and multiple times throughout it… the two of you loved it, especially yuta, for he was content in doing absolutely anything with you just so long as you were having fun and happy and with him, your regular endeavors of touching jellyfish, seeing buddy (even though he was currently on probation), and buying lunch at the usual deli spot next to the aquarium was something he loved and floored over just like you did, a thing he looked forward to everyday and unabashedly texted you constantly to see if you were up for another trip to your little usual spot.

but that’s precisely how yuta neglected to see how he was unawarely making you second guess yourself— your needs, because due to the fact that he was the happiest man alive by just your presence alone and didn’t need anything else, he failed to catch your disappointed frowns or taken aback blinking eyes when he rejected your shy little advances at a little something more than just a smoochie smooch, advances that were so humiliatingly tiny and fleeting that you never blamed him for missing them in the first place, and only blamed yourself for not being more obvious, frustrated for being upset over something like intimacy when it shouldn’t be on your mind as much as it was.

“did you want the same thing baby?” yuta asked, speaking over his shoulder with a little smile as you stood behind him. “or something different?”

“the same thing is fine!” you sweetly replied. “oh! but can i do curly fries with it instead of chips? if that’s okay?”

yuta laughed at your apprehensiveness, placing a hand on the back of your head and bringing you in to press a kiss to your forehead, fingers carding gently through your hair after.

“you don’t have to ask like that flower you know that.” he grinned, his hand moving from your hair to the side of your face, thumb softly caressing your pretty cheek. “whatever you need is always okay.”

you blushed, lips pursing shyly to the side as you nodded and thanked him gratefully, yuta shining another kind smile your way before dropping his hand and stepping forward to the cash register to order and pay— two delicious and stuffed deli sandwiches with chosen sides ready at the pick up counter within minutes.

the bag of food crinkled underneath yuta’s arm as he held it up against his chest, the other extending an offering hand out for you that you quickly took in response, the both of you leaving the deli shop and blissfully walking the familiar path towards the flower exhibit like muscle memory.

“let me have my bag yu, i feel bad that you’re carrying all of that yourself…” you spoke worriedly, arm already lifting for the strap on his shoulder.

“i’m alright!” he chirped, shoulder purposely moving away from your trying grasp as you passed through the entrance of the greenhouse— the complex fumigated with lovely mixtures of different floral scents that filled your nostrils as you walked through. “don’t worry flower it’s fine.”

you quirked a brow, a defiant hand reaching out for your bag anyways but it only met with yuta jerking his shoulder away from you again.

“yu!” you laughed, both hands now reaching out repeatedly and him playfully dodging every attempt you made, cute boyish snickers slipping past his lips as he moved quickly to avoid your grabbing fingers. “please you’ve been carrying it all day let me help you—”

yuta swiveled away from you and turned, him walking backwards as your purse jingled on the other side of him and unreachable from where you stood.

“nope!” he shook his head side to side. “but thank you baby! you’re sweet.”

you shot him a lighthearted glare.

“i’ll leave you for buddy if you don’t give me my purse—”

his jaw dramatically dropped and you giggled, a scoff leaving his open mouth as his eyes narrowed.

“now he’s done it.” you both stopped at your usual spot— a pretty little emerald green bench that sat underneath various potted voluminous flowers, hanging from the ceiling from chains and providing cooling shade from the slight sunny warmth of the greenhouse. “he’s gone behind my back and wooed you.”

you laughed, taking a seat with him as he set the bag of food in between the two of you.

“he ‘wooed’ me ever since we first met him silly.” you teased, reaching inside the bag and pulling out yuta’s sandwich, unraveling it from it’s wrapping for him before carefully passing it over. “he’s a cutie.”

he pouted, taking his food and setting it down on his lap. “and you don’t think i am?”

your cheeks heated at the cute face he was making, grabbing your own sandwich and unfolding the wrapping.

“buddy’s not president of a frat.” yuta spoke through a mouthful of his deli. “buddy didn’t try to win you over for a year straight. i did.”

you giggled, resting your head on his shoulder as you plopped a curly fry in your mouth.

“that’s very true.” you hummed. “but buddy did try to share his lunch with me that one time, remember? his fishy?”

yuta swallowed, looking down at you then and smiling fondly.

“you’re right he did.” he craned his neck and took the curly fry you were offering for him in between his teeth, chewing after. “i can’t compete with that can i?”

“nuh uh.” you grinned. “sorry yu! maybe if you give me a fish of your own i’ll reconsider hehe.”

he laughed loudly and kissed the top of your head.

“i can do that!” he spoke smugly. “shit i’ll give you five fish instead of just one. i bet buddy can’t do that.”

you giggled again and lifted your head up from his shoulder, carefully grabbing your deli and taking a bite out of it, plopping another curly fry into your mouth after to chew simultaneously.

“deal!” you chirped. “i’ll be waiting for my five fishies then.”

“but do i get something in return?” he smiled brightly, the suggestive tone in his voice making your face heat up and your heart simmer up with hope, you gnawing on the inside of your cheek as you tried to fucking calm yourself and not jump to conclusions.

“like what?” you asked, ever so cutely tilting your head to the side that it made yuta’s cheeks heat up.

“likeeee…” he looked up in giddy thought. “like you—”

a blaring ring cut through the tranquil atmosphere of the greenhouse, yuta dropping his sandwich on his lap and huffing as he dug through his pockets for his phone, him pulling it out and checking the caller i.d. before rolling his eyes and setting his sandwich down on the open bench space next to him, standing.

“i’m sorry baby it’s one of the guys…” he sighed, slight agitation in his chest as he diverted his attention to your pretty face. “i’m just gonna check what he wants really quick… is that okay?”

you frantically nodded and waved him off. “yes! yes yu that’s totally okay don’t worry! take your time.”

he gave you a soft smile, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your cheek, stepping away.

“i’ll be back!” he called over his shoulder as he walked, quickly answering the call after and pressing the phone to his ear, striding a short distance away from you.

“what man?” 

you laughed at his grumbling as you heard it from afar, you already used to him frequently taking calls from the boys in his frat about upcoming events, expenses and member behaviors— not minding one single bit every time he had to step away for a moment to take care of issues, because you knew and wholeheartedly understood that his role was the most prestigious and demanding responsibility in his life at the moment, your heart warming at how apologetic he was each time he was forced to take a call… and you more worried about him and how stressed out he must be about having to basically babysit and watch over 35 different men and take care of their fuck ups.

“oh my god…” you heard him mumble, taking a bite out of your sandwich as you curiously listened in on the call. “why would he do that?”

your brows slightly furrowed in concern, a little anxious as you watched the way he rubbed a hand over his forehead exhaustedly.

“this is the second time he’s done this and i’m gonna get marked for his stupid shit again.”

marked?

you’d heard yuta use that phrase before… but the logistics of it you still didn’t really get nor remember clearly from what he had told you previously, the only thing you could really recall was that he’d already been marked once in the past.

he heavily sighed.

“no… no— tell him he’s banned from leaving the frat until i get there later tonight i’m serious. he can’t leave.”

yuta slowly started making his way back over to you, his eyes to the ground as he held the phone up against his ear.

“alright… thanks for calling. make an announcement to the rest of the boys that i’m holding a meeting when i get there please.”

you heard him bid his final goodbye’s before hanging up the phone, him stuffing it back in his pocket and lifting his other hand, scratching the back of his neck in irritating thought as you watched him come over, wide eyed.

“what happened?” you asked softly, gaze following him closely as he slumped down next to you on the bench with crossed arms, his brows pinched together.

“hm?” his eyes flickered to yours. “oh nothing flower… the VP just called me about some frat stuff.”

he made it seem like it was nothing, but the bouncing of his knee and the way he used his index finger to pick at the skin around the nail of his thumb… told you otherwise.

“yu…”

“yeah?”

you reached over and untangled his crossed arms, gently taking the hand he was picking at in yours to stop him from doing it, an anxious expression on your face.

“what does marked mean? and who’s banned from leaving the frat?”

an amused smile slowly spread across his lips, his grip on your hand tightening earnestly.

“you being nosy baby?” 

you blushed.

“sorry!” you blurted. “i didn’t mean to… you just looked really upset so i got worried.”

he shook his head, bringing your interlocked hands up to kiss the back of yours.

“i’m just teasing flower it’s okay.” he spoke quietly, a weird far-off look to his eyes as he stared down at your hands, the gnawing feeling in your chest only growing the longer he sat there without saying anything to you— a pinch between his brows.

“what’s wrong?” you tenderly squeezed his hand. “are the guys okay?”

“they’re being baboons.” he heavily exhaled, annoyed. “do you remember toma?”

“toma?” you tilted your head. “the one who started a fight with that other frat?”

“yeah, him.” he picked a curly fry from the food on your lap and took a bite. “he went back to their house with a few other guys and threw bricks at their windows.”

you gasped.

“and they lit off a firework inside.”

a hand flew over your mouth, your eyes blown fucking wide as yuta continued to irritably shove curly fries in his mouth.

“and the fucked up part is, is that i’m gonna be the one that eats shit from it by administration.” he continued, swallowing and bitterly shaking his head. “i really shouldn’t have let toma off easy from last time…”

“but why would you get in trouble yu?” you asked. “you didn’t do anything it was toma.”

he looked at you a little sadly, but more stressed out than anything.

“because i’m president baby…” he let go of your hand and picked up his sandwich. “i’m responsible for whatever they do and go down with them if they mess up. that’s what being marked means.”

you frowned, feeling totally annoyed at toma for being such a selfish stupid idiot for what he did, but feeling more agitated over the fact that yuta always seemed to get the short end of the stick when it came to their mishaps just because he was president, when all he’s ever actually done for the frat is keep them out of trouble and amicably successful, it’s level of popularity and recognition one the previous president failed at as yuta had thousands of applications each year with new brothers trying to enroll.

“toma’s a freshman so… i get it, but—” he took a small bite of his sandwich and spoke through a mouthful. “he’s fucking stupid.”

you giggled softly, leaning back on the bench and crossing your arms before speaking.

“what’s gonna happen with you and administration?” 

“depends on how much that other frat complains.” he swallowed. “it’s destruction of property and basically almost killing someone with that firework… so i could be expelled. and toma.”

you froze, your head whipping in his direction and you baffled at the way yuta continued to chow down on his sandwich like he didn’t just say something like that.

“are you kidding me?” you breathed out. “expulsion?”

“that or i lose my position.” 

and yuta still didn’t show any signs of fear or anger as he stole more curly fries from your lap… but you on the other hand… were freaking the fuck out.

“yu oh my god—” you placed an exasperated hand over your forehead, chest ragged as you thought of all of the things yuta could lose when he worked so fucking hard to get them throughout his entire college career. 

“there— there has to be some kind of appeal we can do maybe— maybe if we get the rest of your guys to back you up it could be just toma getting expelled or—”

yuta slowed his chewing and looked your way, an expression of endearment crossing his face over how much you cared about him and his life, a little laugh escaping past his lips.

“it’s okay flower… don’t worry.” he reached up and placed a flat hand on top of your head. “i’m on good terms with administration so they won’t do anything like that.”

“how do you know though?” you murmured, eyes falling to your lap. “toma committed a crime yuta. i don’t think they’ll let you guys off that easy.”

his hand slid from your head down to cup under your jaw, gently lifting your face to look at him.

“i’ll handle it… okay?” he pushed softly. “don’t stress yourself over my frat stuff baby it’s not good for you.”

he leaned and placed a cute peck to your lips, letting your jaw go after and smiling at the blush on your cheeks.

“the most they’ll do is put us both on social probation or give us a warning… but either way i’m personally putting toma on social probation for being a fucking airhead.”

“social probation?” you softly spoke. “what’s that?”

yuta felt a sense of pride for himself every time you asked him about specifics on frat boy terms or rules, it being the only thing that he could really teach you and help you learn as he was a dummy dumb and didn’t know much about anything else, a complete contrast from your smarts and knowledge that he loved to drink up any time you told him special facts, or explained to him things he didn’t get (and would sometimes pretend he did when he actually didn’t to save himself the embarrassment…).

so whenever the opportunity came up of your sweet shy voice asking him about his fraternity? he was absolutely floored.

“we basically can’t host parties or events for some time.” he explained. “i try my best to never land our frat in social probation because it fucks up our relevancy… we basically go dead for a bit and other frats or sororities forget about us until we host the next event.”

“what?!— that’s bad tooo!” you whined, a hand flying over your forehead again as your brain tried to come up with ways to avoid this in addition to the potential expulsion, yuta only laughing and wrapping a hand around your lifted wrist.

“baby no— it’s okay!” he spoke between giggles, lowering your arm. “its really not that bad… i want social probation.”

“why the hell would you want that?” you pouted.

“because i get to spend more time with you.” he grinned, a big and shiny one too as he quickly smooched your cute cheek and leaned back on the bench, shoving the rest of his sandwich in his mouth. “i won’t have to spend time organizing parties or events and instead hang out with you flower.”

your heart fluttered on fucking overdrive in your chest, you shyly looking away then and mirroring him by leaning back on the bench, a silly smile on your face.

“more time to visit buddy too?”

“no.” he spoke firmly, and you giggled. “i put buddy on social probation we can’t go see him.”

you giggled some more with a hand over your mouth, yuta looking at you with hearts in his eyes as his ears greedily swallowed down your precious laughter to commit to memory, him reminded once again of how much of a sweetheart you were— but also of how easy it was for a man like him to lose you entirely because of his social stance and the people that he was surrounded with.

and at the thought of that, yuta subconsciously reached over and wrapped his arms around your waist, slowly pulling you snug and flush against his body as his insecurities overtook his thoughts for a moment.

“yu?” you snaked your arms around his neck and embraced him back, your brows furrowing. “are you okay? what’s wrong?”

“i’m fine.” he replied simply, but his hold on you only tightened.

you frowned. 

“are you finally worried about what administration’s gonna do?”

he snorted and shook his head against your shoulder. 

“fuck no.” he pulled back just enough to plant a kiss on your forehead. “i don’t care what they do flower… and you shouldn’t either okay?”

he was worried about driving you away.

and it wasn’t too often when his mind drifted to the thought, but it happened often enough that it sometimes kept him up at night on particularly bad days, and especially when he happened to catch another rumor about either of you that made him hope with everything he had that you didn’t end up catching it too.

but you always did. and you kept it to yourself that you did.

but funnily enough, it was like you and yuta were sitting pretty on a see saw and the stupid metal thing switched positions to you being the one at the top instead of him— you now lost in your thoughts as he remained grounded and okay, driving you home at the end of the day after your aquarium date with your hands folded tightly over your lap, silent as the quiet murmur of his car radio filled the air.

maybe if you just— sort of made a move now… yuta would get the hint? and maybe something intimate would finally happen? … maybe?

you anxiously gnawed at your bottom lip and stared out the window, swallowing down your nerves as you tried to come up with a way to instill something steamier between the two of you for the time being, and a way that wasn’t out of your comfort zone either as you were too pathetically shy to try something obvious.

but you knew that either way… you had to just— attempt it.

“oh! your parents aren’t home baby.”

you snapped out of your thoughts and looked up, your parents car sure enough not in the driveway as yuta pulled in, your heart hammering in your rib cage as you took that as a definitive sign to initiate something with him in the best way you knew how.

“do you wanna…” you pursed your lips. “do you wanna come in? for a little bit?”

he unknowingly beamed and nodded. “yeah! i do flower.”

you let out a nervous breath and nodded, hands shakily opening the passenger side door and you both stepping out of the car, shutting them behind you before beginning to walk up the path to your front door, you getting your keys out to unlock it and pushing it open once you did.

yuta had been to your house plenty of times before already, but your parents were always home.

this is the first time he was over where they weren’t.

“do you want something to drink?” you asked sweetly, him walking over and plopping down on your living room couch. “like… like soda? or beer? i think my dad just bought a pack—”

“oh no it’s okay!” he patted the spot next to him. “just sit with me baby.”

butterflies swarmed in your stomach as you nodded, nervously walking to the couch then and sitting down next to him.

“do you have a lot of homework for tonight?” yuta gently placed an arm around your shoulders. “i won’t stay too long if you do so you can do it.”

you quickly shook your head.

“no! no i don’t have any. you can stay as long as you want.”

he grinned.

“sweet!”

his handsome face sent another wave of nerves and need through your body as you breathed in deeply through your nose, your hands going cold over how anxious you were.

“tomorrow we should—”

you grabbed his face and brought him down, shoving your lips to his and cutting him off as his eyes blew wide, his cheeks immediately growing a bright shade of red while you kissed him in such a way that you’ve never ever done before, yuta’s palms quickly clamming up as he tried to simmer down the nasty thoughts that flew through his mind then.

why did he always have to be such a whore?

your hands slid down and around his neck before he even had time to think, his flying to your waist as smooching wet noises from your moving lips only fueled the fire and had him breathing erratically, knowing he was so fucking fucked if he didn’t put an end to this now.

“flower—”

you muffled his attempt with your god sent kisses, the way you were so aggressive with it shooting blood straight to his cock and causing him to completely miss the way you pulled him on top of you down on the couch, your pretty plush thighs around his waist making him choke against your mouth and force himself off of you without another second.

“w—what?” you drew your hands back against your chest, fearing that you did something wrong as he stared down at you with swollen lips and a heaving chest, his back upright.

“i—” he wiped his wet mouth with the back of his hand, shaking his head and trying to look at anything but the sight of you under him and the way your legs were spread around him.

“nothing! heh!” he laughed nervously, bashfully scratching the back of his neck as he moved away and created distance between you both, failing at catching the hurt flashing through your eyes.

you felt like you did something wrong.

“s—sorry if i squished you or—”

“no!” he blurted. “no you didn’t. it’s okay.”

then what?

you shyly tried to lean in again to continue, when yuta suddenly sprang up from the couch and stepped back, the abruptness of it making you flinch and stare at him wide eyed.

yuta needed to take a breather now before he ended up stripping you naked and— and hurting you…

but unaware of the fact that he already did.

“i’m gonna—” he struggled. “i’m gonna call one of the guys.”

what?

“i’ll be outside.”

“yu—”

he hastily walked to the front door and opened it before he stepped out, quickly closing it behind him and cutting you off, leaving you dumbfounded as you slowly sat up in silence and thinking you had done something wrong… you were sure of it.

horrifying embarrassment flooded your entire being then as you tried to blink back tears, feeling like a total loser and awful that you didn’t know how to properly initiate anything with him, you growing a little sick over the fleeting reminder of his past rendezvous and other girls doing it so successfully… that you were ashamed of yourself for being unable to do something as simple as fucking make out with him.

you quickly wiped the little tears that managed to slip from your eyes and stood, unsure if you even wanted to see him now because of your pathetic mess up, your desperate gaze searching around the kitchen for something to do to take your mind off of it as you walked over, your line of sight landing on the small pile of dishes left by your parents and you immediately going towards the sink— turning the faucet on.

a couple of more minutes passed before you eventually heard the front door open and click shut, your heart rate fucking escalating and feeling mortified again as footsteps came up from behind you, your eyes literally gorilla glued down to the dishes you were washing.

“the boys are killing each other right now.” yuta sighed, leaning against the counter next to you with his arms crossed. “the VP told me they’re divided in half trying to see if they should kill toma or not.”

you laughed softly, rinsing off a small glass cup under the running warm water and thankful that your hair was blocking your view of him.

“i thought they would all want to kill him for what he did.” you spoke.

“most of them do!” he slid closer. “but some of them think it’s funny… and the others are losing it over landing in social probation.”

you hummed, setting each rinsed off dish carefully on the rack next to you as you went.

“what about toma? do you know if he regrets—”

you stiffened at the feeling of yuta taking your hair in between his fingers and gently pulling back, brushing it behind your ear as you finally made eye contact with him, yuta shooting you a breathtaking smile— one that was so fucking contagious that you couldn’t help but reciprocate.

“sorry baby… i didn’t mean to cut you off.” he leaned back and crossed his arms again. “i couldn’t see you.”

you shook your head, standing on your tippy toes and pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek.

“no it’s okay!”

yuta had the power of having anyone and anything on their knees and at his feet with simply just a look of his godly face, and whether he knew it or not you weren’t sure of— only that the population of anyone and anything included you as well, for the minute he smiled at you in the way that he always did, you forgot entirely the shame and embarrassment you were shitting yourself over from the events prior.

though yuta did know…. he’d always known. but he stopped giving a fuck about it from the moment he met you— the only person he wanted by his side and the only opinion he cared about and strove to please, completely disregarding anyone else and putting you first above anything in his life, including his fraternity, him never listening when you fought him about it and told him he shouldn’t do that, because he felt as if he definitely should.

always and without fail.

“i feel bad keeping you here though if they’re having a full blown melt down over there...” you smiled sheepishly. “you should be there with them yu.”

he pouted.

“but what if i said i didn’t want to?” he quipped, tilting his head. “hm?”

you shot him a look, and he sighed, shoulders dropping.

“i know…” he took a step towards you and swung his arms around your shoulders from behind, mushing his cheek against the side of your head as you continued to wash dishes. “the VP was literally crying on the fucking phone and i couldn’t hear him well over the yelling in the back.”

you laughed, picturing the silly vision of a bunch of frat boys arguing and fighting over not being able to throw parties or go to events for a while, it probably seeming like the end of the world for them if they’re not able to interact with other sorority girls, and living instead on what felt like a dead deserted island devoid of alcohol and beer pong until yuta came to be the saving grace and lift their violations.

drying your hands on a nearby kitchen towel, you turned around in yuta’s hold and gave him a cute smile.

“go baby.” you pushed softly. “they need their papa.”

he playfully rolled his eyes.

“they’re full grown men and yet i still have to teach some of them how to do their laundry.”

you quirked a brow.

“didn’t i show you how to do that?”

“…no.”

you burst out laughing again at the embarrassed and flushed look on his face, his eyes darting away from yours and looking off to the side.

you craned your neck to kiss the tip of his pink nose and grinned, his gaze shifting back to you with a slow smile spreading across his lips.

“i’ll see you tomorrow.” you spoke gently. “and keep me updated on what happens when you get there okay?”

“mkay.” he loosened his hold on you and stepped a bit back, you affectionately squeezing his side as he did. “i’ll call you tonight if i make it out alive.”

you giggled, nodding as he released you entirely and began walking over to your front door, you following closely behind and opening it for him once you both got there.

“bye flower!” he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “i love you.”

you shyly smiled and leaned against the side of the door as he stepped out. 

“i love you too yuuuu.”

he stopped and turned his head to look at you from over his shoulder, sheepishly pursing his lips.

“can i just stay—”

“no!” you laughed, extending an arm and gently nudging him away by the shoulder. “go silly…. your frat’s gonna end up in flames if you don’t.”

yuta chuckled, knowing you were funnily actually correct and not over exaggerating in the slightest, the two of you well aware that his fraternity brothers had the tendency to be a bunch of reckless morons if he wasn’t there to guide them or make sure they weren’t stepping over the line.

and sometimes… (almost always though), he wished he could stop everyone in his damn college campus from stepping over the line like he could with his frat guys, their ridiculous and ludicrous rumors about his relationship with you never failing to set him off and make him anxious that you’ll worry your precious mind over it and believe them.

yuta tried to keep you away from that as much as he possibly could.

anytime you both took strolls throughout campus, or decided to visit that nice little student run bakery that you loved so much every morning, if he ever saw someone— anyone that was in his circle, that he knew for a fact had insinuated those rumors, or if they simply just had a nasty fucking attitude and he didn’t want you to get caught in the middle of it, he would gently steer you the other way with a hand around your shoulders and a loving little smile on his face, shielding you from a world of undeserving popularity, dishonesty, and calculated disingenuous foolery that only served to benefit the wrong people.

and yet still… all of that was his world after all.

and yuta couldn’t shield you from everything.

“who? yuta okkotsu?”

your ears perked up, gaze flickering from your notebook up to the two girls that sat in front of you during your afternoon lecture, pencil stilling in your hand.

“yeah him! the one that got with layla a while back.”

layla?

you pursed your lips in distaste, sighing a little through your nose and shifting your attention back to your notes, feeling a little silly for being bitter over a girl yuta got with before you.

but he got with her nonetheless… something he still hadn’t done with you.

“oh to be her…” one of them sadly sighed. “i would give anything to get dicked down by him.”

your jaw silently dropped, not knowing whether you should be bothered by that statement or laugh.

“i heard he has a girlfriend now though.” the other spoke.

“hah?! who?”

“dunno.” she shrugged. “someone told me it’s some nerdy girl that’s in the same year as him. she’s really easy to miss.”

you internally rolled your eyes and lightly pushed your notebook to the side, deciding to divert your attention towards your laptop screen instead.

“you’re fucking joking right?”

“nope!”

“that’s such a waste.” she expressed. “why would he be with that when he could be with layla? everybody wants layla shit— even i want layla sometimes.”

“you’re such a bitch!” her other friend cackled and smacked her arm. “but no yeah… i give it a year max. i heard he doesn’t whore around anymore, but considering how long he chased after me for a quick fuck? there’s no way he’s suddenly just— a saint.”

“do you regret rejecting him?” 

“yes oh my god— i was trying to be mysterious and different but he ended up just fucking someone else that same night—”

you hadn’t noticed how hard you were gripping your pencil until a cramping pain shot through your knuckles, you instantly relaxing and setting it softly off to the side.

“fuck! you know what?” one of them jumped up excitedly. “i actually heard he’s still seeing layla!”

the other gasped. “you’re lying!”

“no i’m not i swear!” she snatched her phone from the desk and frantically typed away. “ricky— you know ricky? he said one of layla’s close friends spilled that they talk so much and meet up sometimes to fuck—”

“stooop his poor girlfriend! oh my god someone needs to tell her—”

you slammed your laptop shut and stood, you never one to skip out on lectures or leave early but not giving a single fuck at the moment as you packed up, physically unable to hear anything else and feeling straight up nauseous at everything they were saying, drowning out the rest of their rambling as you swung your bag over your shoulder and pushed your chair in, walking out of class and leaving your lecture hall as a whole.

they’re just rumors.

they’re just two bitches with nothing better to do and were weirdly obsessed with your boyfriend's personal business.

yuta would never do that to you…

but was he— was he that obsessed with layla before you? and did he seriously fuck around with every girl he could possibly get his hands on?

so what was so different about you? his actual girlfriend?

“flower?”

you stiffened, eyes snapping up from the floor and landing on a surprised looking yuta, waiting for you by your class like he always did.

“you’re out of class already?” he tapped on his phone to wake it up. “it doesn’t end for another thirty minutes i was gonna go get my car from the parking lot to get you—”

you hated yourself for feeling like he was the last person you wanted to see… but you just couldn’t help it.

“i left.”

your simple quiet reply took him a bit off guard.

“you left?” he tilted his head. “but you never leave class early… are you feeling a little rebellious today baby?”

he smiled big and expected a pretty giggle from you at his teasing then— but he got nothing.

your face was still stoic, and with a small pinch in between your brows.

“mhm.”

his smile wavered.

“o—okay…” he put his phone back in his pocket. “well— the boys are organizing for our fundraising event… and i— i was gonna ask if you could help me with our booth banner and decorations baby? everything we made looks like chicken scratch and you have pretty handwriting…”

your heart clenched so fucking hard in your chest, wanting to say yes with everything in you, but the annoying stupid gossip from earlier soliciting bitter jealousy in your mind that unfortunately overpowered everything else.

“i’m sorry yu…” you mumbled, eyes looking away. “i don’t feel that great today so i’m just gonna go home. i’ll help tomorrow though if that’s alright.”

“oh— you don’t feel good?” yuta frowned, stepping closer. “what’s wrong?”

yuta caught the way you took a step back, and he blinked.

“i just feel nauseous is all.” you weakly smiled. “i’m gonna go home for the day and hopefully feel better in the morning.”

you felt nauseous?

“what did you eat today? let me take you to get some meds—” 

he tried to place a soothing hand on your back, but the way you moved away from him again set off a thousand blaring alarms in his head.

“i—it’s okay!” you stammered, hugging yourself and starting to walk in the opposite direction towards the parking lot. “i’m just gonna head home yu i’ll text you—”

“flower wait—”

yuta quickly caught your hand, his eyes flooded in absolute worry and confusion as he looked at you.

you were never like this with him.

and— and any time you were sick you always wanted to be with him to let him take care of you.

“what yu?” you mumbled, your sad gaze finally dragging up to look at him in the eyes.

“baby what’s wrong?” he asked softly. “i feel like it’s something else.”

you bit down on the inside of your cheek.

“i just feel nauseous.”

“well then come to my frat okay? you can— you can take a nap in my room and i think i have some nausea meds somewhere—”

his grip on your hand tightened a little.

“or maybe we can take a walk somewhere and that’ll help? like at the aquarium? we can visit buddy—”

yuta’s frantic blubbering to try to get you to stay with him sent a shooting pang of guilt through your chest, it breaking you from that weird and awful headspace you were in as your eyes softened.

you shamefully realized then that it really wasn’t fair you were treating him like this… especially because he quite literally didn’t do anything at all— you feeling silly and awful that you rejected his advances and were off with him when all he was trying to do was help you feel better.

the rumors and gossip was something that was completely out of his control… and you shouldn’t punish him for that.

you took a small step forward then, giving him a tiny hesitant smile.

“we can… go to your frat yu.”

he perked up.

“yeah?” 

“yeah.”

you timidly reached up and softly slid your arms around his neck, yuta immediately responding by pulling your body snug against his with a squeeze, relieved that you agreed to come home with him and that you were letting him touch you again— pecking the side of your head before letting go and gently leading you to his car.

but the tight feeling in his chest didn’t go away.

it was nagging at him, and annoyingly so as he tried to dumb down his stupid insecurities and not overthink on the drive to his frat house, trying to settle himself with the reasoning you had told him and trying not to think about the way you kept dodging his hands, that you were just a little sick is all…

so then— why had you looked so upset?

and yuta’s turmoil only grew once he started to juggle the possibility of it being not something you felt, but something you heard.

a rumor.

“a woman! yuta brought a woman!”

“it’s y/n idiot.” yuta shot back to one of his frat brothers, sending you a playful eye roll as he closed the door behind you upon arrival.

“oh it is! hiii yyy/nnnn!” a different one spoke up, a handful of them huddled over a large table in the dining room with a sheet of white poster paper laying in the middle.

“hiii.” you shyly spoke, a sweet polite smile on your face that yuta swooned over as he placed an arm around your shoulders, leading you to the table.

“what the—” yuta’s eyes squinted over the poster paper as you slapped a hand over your mouth, stifling a laugh and your eyes darting over how horrid the layout design of the banner was for their fundraising event, your boyfriend not exaggerating in the slightest when he said it looked like chicken scratch.

men.

“how did you guys manage to make it worse?!” yuta exclaimed, loudly laughing as he leaned over the table and pointed at specific weird smudges and drawings. “i was only gone for an hour!”

you giggled and leaned over with him, some of the boys making room for you so you could properly take a peek at their so-called vigorous work, your amused eyes gazing over the messily painted bold black lettering and the odd random drawings of smiley faces and money.

yuta burst out laughing again.

“who the fuck drew this?!” he pointed to a specific drawing of a weirdly shaped stick man holding a tray of cookies, the smile on its face so cartoonishly huge and toothy that you had to bite down hard on your bottom lip to prevent yourself from laughing, not wanting to offend whoever it was that drew it.

“it was toma!” someone from the crowd spoke up.

“toma?!” yuta shook his head incredulously, scanning the faces of his brothers until they landed on an annoyingly familiar pair of eyes— the culprit hiding behind a few other guys and snickering.

“what?!” toma whined, stepping through the boys and crossing his arms. “i was trying to help out.”

this was the first time you’d properly seen toma up close (and meeting him altogether actually), you not particularly accustomed to him yet like the other guys since he was a freshman, him having just come in for the year and you not really knowing much about him besides from the stories yuta’s told you, your recollections of the shit he’s done and said making it obvious that toma was rowdy and reckless in nature.

“with that?” yuta laughed again. “why’s the mouth bigger than its own head?”

“because he’s happy.” toma shrugged, a playful little curl to his lips. “he’s just so jolly to be selling cookies at a fundraiser, and i wanted to show off my rare artistic talent for the frat!”

“oh yeah? that’s what you wanted?” yuta leaned his weight on the side of his hip. “draw me some cute pictures on a piece of paper then, i’ll put them on the fridge for you and your probation buttheads to see.”

several brothers snickered while toma slumped, a distressed look on his face.

“yuta please i helped out so you’d lift my probation!” he exclaimed, freezing and cowering under your boyfriends sudden glare. “…maybe?”

in regards to toma’s outbreak, administration ended up just giving yuta and his entire frat a warning upon him meeting with them last week, leaving it ultimately up to him to decide what he wanted to do with toma and the pack he led to the other frat house, and yuta keeping true to his word to you, put them all on a three month social probation with no fucks given.

“are you nuts?” yuta chuckled. “you’re looking for parole with a drawing like that?”

“your girlfriend likes it! look she’s laughing!” all eyes shot to you and you froze, your giggles instantly halting and a hand flying over your mouth.

“sorry! i don’t—”

yuta shot him another menacing glare, deadlier than the last one as he picked up a marker from the table and chucked it at toma, it landing right smack on his forehead and clattering to the ground, the rest of the boys boastfully laughing.

“i’ll tell yuta to make your probation four months if you don’t get out of my face right now.” the vice president spoke up, moving through the crowd until he reached the front. 

yuta shrugged. “oh i was already gonna do that.”

“no! why?!” toma threw his hands up in desperation. “for what reason?! because of a drawing?!”

“it’s the only poster paper we have toma.” your boyfriend grumbled. 

“and you’re not even supposed to be down here around the fundraising shit.” the vice president spat. “you’re supposed to be upstairs with the rest of your—”

“i came down ‘cause i was thirsty!—”

“you drew on the poster paper!—”

“yu.” you murmured through their continuous bickering and yelling— tugging on his shirt to try and get his attention, his eyes flickering to yours and head quickly coming down to listen.

“what happened baby?” his grip on your shoulder tightened a little. “is it your nausea?”

“oh! no i’m okay now!” you smiled. “i can do your guys’ fundraiser poster still, i’ll just flip it over to the blank side and work there.”

“aw flower that’s okay! not when you’re feeling a little sick...” he looked at you fondly, a kind half grin on his lips as he placed a flat palm on top of your head.

“no honestly i’m alright!” you quickly shook your head and looked towards the poster and the rest of the boys, them still fighting and blaming each other over nonsense that had to do with social probations, the ruined poster, and sorority girls— wanting to ease them a little in anyway you possibly could, as well as mentally make up for the stupid white lie you had told him earlier.

yuta’s hand slid from your head back down to your shoulder, apprehensive.

“are you— are you sure?” his eyes shifted to the poster. “i feel bad making you do the work i’m supposed to be doing…”

“you’re not making me do anything silly.” you reassured with a small laugh. “i wanna help yu… its really okay. honestly.”

a gradual beaming smile spread across his face then, the hand on your shoulder pulling you in and yuta pressing a big fat kiss to the side of your head, enamored by everything that you were as he leaned back and nodded gratefully, letting you go.

“thank you flower—”

“okkotsu these beasts are out of control.”

the vice president struggled through the moving pushy crowd to reach the both of you, looking so utterly pissed off and overwhelmed as he elbowed and shoved to get face to face with yuta, a tad bit out of breath.

“they’re freaking out over toma’s fuck up and now they somehow think the fundraiser’s fucked up and i actually do think we fucked up—”

“hey— it’s okay! relax.” yuta placed a hand on his shoulder. “why do you think that? we’re not—”

“because the posters fucked.” he huffed out, trying to even his breathing. “so then we look like the biggest shitheads at the fundraiser by default and everyone’s gonna buy the sorority girls cookies instead of ours so then we’re gonna be broke and we can’t throw parties without money— why are you laughing.”

yuta covered his mouth and shook his head.

“i’m not— sorry—”

“this is serious man my god!” he slapped yuta’s hand off his shoulder and glared. “they’re about to brawl over toma’s stupid drawing i can’t control them and you’re laughing?!”

his gaze quickly shifted to you.

“y/n he’s awful dear god help me—”

“alright okay— i’ll deal with them don’t worry.” your boyfriend looked at him pointedly. “you do that too much.”

“what, give a shit? my bad sir honestly my effing mistake—”

you giggled and yuta laughed at his sarcasm, lightheartedly shoving his shoulder.

“go to bed man you’ve been dealing with this all day.” he sent him a sympathetic smile. “y/n offered to do our poster and i’m gonna help so we’ll be done by morning—”

surprise crossed the vice president’s face, his eyes flickering to yours once more.

“actually?” 

you nodded with a smile.

“oh thank god—” the color seemed to return to his face, him placing a hand on his chest and feeling relief wash over him as he looked at you, reciprocating your smile. “thank you y/n. seriously.”

“mhm! no problemmm.” you responded kindly. “but rest please. you’ll make yourself sick if you keep stressing like this…”

you’d lost count how many times you’d seen the vice president lose his shit over anything that had to do with the frat, it evidently obvious how much he cared for the boys and the fraternity despite his humorous verbal abuse— him being possibly the only brother in yuta’s frat that you respected and trusted out of anyone else in there, and often went to him whenever you had questions about their upcoming events or things in relation if yuta wasn’t available.

“alright.” the vice president sent you both a small smile before turning around to face the rowdy men-filled crowd, raising his hands up.

“okay away from the table! everybody leave and go to bed we have a fundraiser tomorrow! cabinet will deal with it just away— toma what the fuck are you still doing down here?!”

“i have to talk to yuta!” he whined. “you were hogging him the entire time.”

the crowd began to disperse as toma made his way forward.

“he’s not gonna lift your probation stupid.”

“i know!” he spat. “it’s about something else.”

yuta quirked a brow.

“something else?” 

there was a devilish glint to his eyes, and yuta internally rolled his, turning to the vice president.

“it’s okay.” he placed a gentle palm on your lower back and softly ushered you forward. “can you show y/n where the materials are for the poster please? i’ll be there in a minute.”

the vice president nodded and smiled politely at you, beckoning you over to the table where the ruined poster lay, markers and paint brushes and little cups of paint scattered about in disarray as you approached.

yuta’s attention shifted to toma, crossing his arms.

“what is it? you alright?”

“are you cheating on your girlfriend?”

yuta froze, brows immediately pinching together.

“what?”

toma shrugged. “are you? it’s what i’ve been hearing.”

“hearing?” he stepped closer. “from who?”

“dunno. like— almost everyone. too much to say.”

yuta’s heart dropped.

who the fuck was saying that?

“no you moron i’m not.” he snapped. “but… if you can figure out who’s spreading it… i’ll— consider lifting your probation.”

toma lit up.

“will you?!”

“i said consider.”

yuta’s face was blank and cold, wanting to quickly put an end to the conversation as it was making him fucking queasy, nodding his head up towards the stairs.

had you heard this rumor?

“go up before the VP chews you out.”

“good idea!” toma flashed him a goofy thumbs up and scrambled away to his designated room, yuta shaking his head as he walked over to you and the vice president, his eyes cast down to the ground in pensive thought.

why couldn’t people just leave you and him alone?

“—and we literally only have blue, yellow, red, and green like the most rancid colors—”

“oh that’s okay!” you laughed. “they’re primary colors i can mix to make new ones if i need to.”

“great!” the VP smiled. “i’m going to bed.”

“go man.” yuta chuckled, patting a friendly hand to his back. “thank you again.”

he nodded and began making his way to the staircase, hopping up the steps. 

“i’ll set up in the morning for the fundraiser and handle the guys!” yuta loudly mentioned. “will you just check attendance for me please?”

“yeah!” the vice president called out from down the hall, his voice gradually fading with each step until he was out of earshot, leaving just the two of you in the middle of the huge dim living room.

you looked to the poster and grabbed the ends then, flipping it over to the clean blank side and picking up a nearby spare pencil to begin sketching.

“i was thinking of writing your fraternity's name in calligraphy up here—” you pointed to a spot a little above center. “and then ‘cookie sale’ down here? do you like that?”

“sounds great flower!” yuta smiled big. “what’s calligraphy?”

you giggled, picking up a ruler and drawing a faint straight line across to make sure you weren’t going crooked as you went. 

“it’s kind of like cursive but just a bit chunkier.” you explained softly, starting to sketch out the loopy lettering. “it looks really pretty on projects and advertisements.”

yuta hummed, peering over your shoulder from behind you as you worked.

“and then i was thinking of drawing little cookies floating around? and stars? or maybe—”

“you know i love you right?”

you stopped, shifting your body slightly in his direction to reveal an anxious looking yuta, worry splattered all over his face as he waited for your response.

was… he okay?—

“of course i d—”

“and you know i’d never do anything to hurt you right?”

you fully turned your body around now to properly face him, your eyes filled with concern as you put your pencil down.

“i do baby…” you softly replied. “are you okay? what’s wrong?”

yuta sighed through his nose and shook his head, placing his hands at the edge of the table on either sides of you, his head slumping down to gently rest against your forehead.

“nothing.” he muttered. “i just— think.”

“you just think?” you lifted your arms and slid them around his shoulders, giving him a little comforting squeeze. “about what… hm?”

“you.”

he was always thinking of you.

every morning, every evening, every night.

there wasn’t ever a time that yuta wasn’t thinking of you— of how you were, if you were feeling okay and if you’d gotten enough to eat in the morning… if you still loved him.

because unfortunately, there also wasn’t ever a time that yuta wasn’t thinking about the different ways he could lose you, since his past always seemed to come back to haunt him and damage the only good fucking thing remaining in his life, fearfully living on the edge and awfully insecure despite his reputation, one that was programmed for him to be thoughtless and careless and something he actually was once before.

but yuta wasn’t that person anymore.

except it still wasn’t enough.

“really?” a blush rose to your cheeks with a cheeky smile, you leaning back the tiniest bit. “and what about me yu?”

the corner of his lip quirked up— his face a little tired, but soft.

“how smart you are.” he spoke quietly. “and pretty. with pretty handwriting.”

you giggled, the sound filling yuta’s chest with warmth and the crinkles by your eyes making him stupidly swoon, bringing you in closer by the waist and pressing a delicate kiss to the tip of your nose.

“please tell me you know that.”

your brows furrowed a bit.

he’d never been this— serious with you before and stating things that were already the obvious, the way he clutched tighter at your waist and the sunken defeated expression he wore, was something that indefinitely alarmed you as your eyes quickly scoured over his features. 

“yuta.”

his eyes flickered up to yours.

“yeah flower?”

“what’s wrong.” you pushed gently, your hands slipping down from his shoulders to cup his cheeks. “why are you telling me this?”

“because i need to.” his head slowly tilted, cheek leaning into your touch. “i need you to know.”

“but i do know.” you shook your head. “you’re telling me things i’ve known since we became friends yuta…”

he still didn’t look alleviated in the slightest by your words, and you frowned.

“remember earlier when you asked me what was wrong? after i’d left class early?”

he silently nodded against your hands.

“the way you felt then about wanting to know is how i feel now.” you explained. “i can tell when you’re thinking too much about something baby…”

he sighed deeply through his nose and his eyes fluttered shut.

he didn’t want to bombard you with his insecurities or make you feel like it was your job to pull him from those agitating depth full thoughts… and he didn’t want to make you feel responsible for any of it either.

it was all just— him.

and everybody on campus who didn’t know how to shut the fuck up too, for it made his overthinking worse.

“i’m scared i’m gonna mess up.” he admitted, laughing humorlessly. “and ruin what we’ve built.”

“huh?” your eyes slightly narrowed. “why do you say that?… you won’t—”

“the rumors flower…” he mumbled, head lifting from your hands. “everyone’s apparently waiting for me to fuck up just because they like who i used to be better.”

your eyes softened, palms coming down to rest flat against his chest as you listened.

“i hate that they can’t accept i’m with you… and i hate that i let them bother me so much.” 

his hands and arms lifted from your waist to wrap around your head instead, caging you into his embrace. 

“i hate that they talk about you.” he whispered in your hair. “i hate that i can’t do anything about it.”

everyone on this stupid freaking campus could drag yuta through the dirt and say he was a loser and a sleaze, that he was an awful human being and deserved to rot in the deepest pits of hell— as he wouldn’t mind any of it in the slightest if it meant sparring you completely.

if he could, if you’d let him… he would drop it all for you.

“you’re not gonna mess up anything...” you breathed out a soft laugh as you pulled back, your fingers coming up to card and caress through his soft raven strands. “and if you do, that’s okay! we’ll just fix it baby.”

the scent of his citrusy cologne wafted through your nostrils, the smell one of the most comforting things in your fucking life as you sunk your nose further into the fabric of his clothing then.

“i’m sure there’ll be moments when i mess up too.” you murmured against him, gently. “but we’ll deal with it together… so you shouldn’t let what anyone says about anything affect you so much okay?”

you leaned back again and gave his head a little pat.

“you look so stressed and i don’t like it.”

he chuckled softly and picked his head up, eyes peering down at you for a moment and staring before he lifted his head completely, his posture a little straighter as he nodded.

“i’m sorry.” he sheepishly smiled. “i just get in my head sometimes.”

you smiled back warmly, shaking your head and understanding to the fucking max where he’s coming from, for you were silently in the same exact position right at this moment and yet too cowardly to seek reassurance like he was rightfully doing.

“s’okay!” your hands slid from his hair down to his chest, standing on your tippy toes to give him a tiny peck on the lips. “don’t be sorry.”

yuta couldn’t control the rumors or what people had to say about the both of you.

but what he could control, were his actions and his words to you… and it was almost like he wanted to prove a point to every single dickhead on campus and make them see, believe and comprehend that you weren’t just a toy for him to disgustingly use and have a simple fling with, deciding in that moment to prioritize your happiness and satisfaction above all else.

he needed you to know that he wasn’t using you.

so he created distance.

and although it wasn’t distance that was detrimental or cruel to you or your relationship, it was enough of a distance that you noticed right away while helping out at his fraternity’s fundraiser the next day— you offering to assist the vice president in keeping track of the total number of cookie sales and stock, refilling the stands and glass casings whenever it was needed while yuta dealt with the boys, him networking with other frat guys from several different universities as well and charming them with his usual second nature charisma, anyone who spoke to him succumbing up to it so much that they’d be swayed enough to buy packs and packs of cookies.

you’d even witnessed stampeding crowds of sorority girls and staff buy dozens of batches simply because yuta kindly flashed them a handsome smile and an enthusiastic hello, you sat at the booth blinking in dumbfounded amazement as the vice president worked the register and cashed in wads of dollar bills, the shelves cleaning themselves out quicker than you thought.

but every time you tried to talk to yuta or give him a kiss… it was almost hurried from him— interlocked fingers that were fleeting and only lasted a couple seconds, yuta squeezing your hand with a grin before letting go and walking a different direction without even letting you get a word in, or embraces that were too short and fucking weird, him sort of treating you like a best friend instead of his girlfriend as he barely pecked your forehead or cheeks or literally anywhere that wasn’t your lips.

you tried to tell yourself that he was just busy and probably had a lot on his mind, understanding completely that he had responsibilities to attend to for the day and feeling irritated at yourself for being a bit upset.

though you couldn’t help but wonder why this time it felt so… different.

because usually, even when yuta had things to do for the frat or events to cater to, he never once let you off on your own for too long, and he always showered you with affection and kisses that made your cheeks heat up and heart palpate into literal oblivion that you’d have to cup a hand over his mouth to get him to simmer down, a bashful silly sorry from him muffling against your palm in return.

and you realized then just how attached to your boyfriend you actually were… and way more than you initially thought.

you missed him.

the vice president glanced at you from over his shoulder and smiled, chuckling a bit as he finished up tending to the latest customer and closing the register.

“you okay?” he waved to someone in the crowd on the other side of the booth before turning back to you. “you look bothered. is it too hot?”

“oh! no i’m okay! thank you.” you shook your head, smiling politely.

he smirked.

“you miss yuta?”

your cheeks went pink and he burst out laughing, reaching to type a few things on the register’s touch screen.

“us selling cookies is one of our biggest fundraisers, and its where we make most of our money for the year so— yuta’s usually all over the place during it.”

you listened intently, nodding along as he breathed out tiredly through his nose and walked a bit away from the booth, sitting down on the chair next to yours.

“i don’t know how i’m gonna do this by myself next year man…” he mumbled with closed eyelids, tiredly crossing his arms. “yuta’s like a machine. i don’t know how he handles the guys and the frat and whatever else in between without crashing out like me.”

a sense of pride for your man bubbled up in your chest then, it always nice to hear the vice president or anyone for that matter speak highly of yuta and his abilities, the work he’d put into the fraternity for the majority of his college life so insane and admirable, that there was no doubt in your mind he’d leave behind a blueprint and had set the standards fucking high for the next presidents to come.

“are you applying to be president for next year?” you asked.

he snorted.

“fuck no. i could never fill yuta’s shoes.”

he peeked an eye open and you gave him a look, him laughing in response.

“what?”

“i’ve seen you handle the frat so well all of the time what are you on?”

“four cans of energy drinks.” he muttered. “and cookies from the batch of burnt scraps.”

you giggled, leaning back against the chair and looking on ahead— yuta in the middle of the grassy field surrounded by girls, members from other fraternities, and anything alike as you watched him converse and be silly with them all, a sweet smile on his face that you wished you could see up close for a bit, since he hadn’t stopped by the booth at all for the majority of the day and was instead working the field to bring in customers.

“i think you’re the most qualified out of anyone to take over yuta’s position next year.” you spoke gently. “so i hope you do apply.”

“i yell at the boys too much… yuta knows a good in between when needed.” his head lulled tiredly to the side. “and i don’t know if i’m gonna be able to handle the rejection if he says no.”

your jaw hung open, a bewildered look on your face.

“why would he say no? if anything it’s already yours—”

his head snapped in your direction.

“is it? how do you know? did he tell you? i feel like you’d know tell me right now—”

“tell you what?”

you straightened up upon hearing the familiar voice of your man and looked, a big smile stretching across your face once you saw yuta standing there on the other side of the booth, a cute half grin on his lips as he leaned against the table with palms on the surface.

“yu!”

“hi flower!” he beamed. “you okay?”

“uh huh!” you stood up, stepping closer to the table and leaning against it, mirroring him. “are you…?”

“i am!” he nodded, walking around the table and swinging an arm around your shoulders. “i’m exhausted though i don’t wanna talk to any more people i can’t do it.”

you giggled, little butterflies fluttering in your tummy at finally having him next to you and his attention for the time being.

“i feel like a walking corpse.” the vice president huffed out. “we can pack up early? we hit our goal in the afternoon i think we should send the boys back to the frat to set up for the after party.”

“sounds good!” yuta smiled, turning his head down to you. “you’re still going right? to the party?”

“mhm!” you nodded. “i just need to go home and get ready… do you need help setting up for it?”

“oh no flower that’s alright!” he squeezed your shoulder lovingly. “you’ve already done so much for me… just go get ready baby and call me so i can pick you up okay?”

“kay!” you cheesed, leaning up to give him a kiss when yuta suddenly turned his head to the side, your lips landing on his cheek instead.

what—

you pulled back, trying to keep a neutral expression on your face as you took a step forward and out of his arm around your shoulders, a growing ache in your chest over the fact that he’d been doing this all day.

did it look like you were going in for cheek kisses? or kisses that were anywhere but his mouth? it wasn’t— obvious?

maybe… maybe it was just you. 

maybe you were messing up again.

“thanks for making the poster by the way and helping out y/n.” the vice president mentioned, snapping you from your thoughts. “it looks so freaking good i don’t think we’ve ever had a banner look that great.”

you smiled brightly and nodded. “it’s okayyy! i hope i helped you guys out a little bit.”

“flower you did more than a little bit.” yuta laughed. “we sold so many cookies because i heard there was a pretty girl by the register… heh.”

a wave of heat rose to your cheeks and you playfully rolled your eyes, waving him off as you stepped away from the canopy tent.

“call me please when you’re ready!” yuta called out to you, you turning your body a bit and showing him a cute thumbs up before facing forward again, him and the vice president watching you walk across the busy field and towards the campus parking lot.

the vice president spoke up after a few seconds of silence.

“is it true?”

yuta’s gaze switched to his.

“what is?”

“that you’re cheating on y/n with layla.”

his face dropped, brows furrowing as yuta moved his body to look at him properly.

“you’ve heard the rumors too?”

he nodded.

“where?”

“everywhere.” the vice president responded plainly. “i hear them in class, out of class, in the student lounge, when i go take a piss—”

“from— from who?”

the borderline frantic desperation in yuta’s tone made the vice presidents gaze flicker to his, eyeing his solemn eagerness to know information that he regrettably couldn’t give concretely, but also eyeing his body language and expression to see if yuta was indeed guilty, or just a victim to annoying gossip once more.

except this time around… it was cruel. 

“it’s from multiple people that i don’t really know.” he sighed. “i just hear it floating around.”

yuta groaned and ran both hands down his face in exasperation, bitterly shaking his head while his mind ran rampant for the thousandth fucking time over the rumor of his supposed infidelity.

“so is it true?” the vice president repeated.

“no.” yuta spoke firmly, harshly. “no i would never do something like that to her. ever.”

there was another moment of silence.

“alright.” the vice president leaned back in his chair, his eyes tiredly closing again. “because it’d be a shame if you were… she’s a nice girl.”

“i know she is…” yuta mumbled, sluggishly walking over to the seat next to him and plopping down on it. “i’ve been trying to figure out who’s spreading that rumor but it’s fucking everywhere that i can’t figure it out. even toma asked me about it.”

the vice president snorted. “toma?”

“yeah.” yuta put his elbows down on his knees and leaned forward, an arm coming up to rest his cheek against the heel of his palm. “i told him if he could figure out who was doing it i’d consider lifting his probation.”

“huh?!”

yuta looked at him apologetically.

“i know… i hope it’s okay with you.” he dropped his arm and gazed on ahead. “i was only gonna lift a month off, and that’s even if he can find out who.”

“toma’s gonna stop at nothing to figure out who just because of that.” the vice president laughed. “it’s alright man... i’d do the same if i were you.”

yuta solemnly nodded.

“i’m scared of what she’s heard. i don’t want her to get hurt by any of it.”

“have you talked to her about it?”

he shook his head. “kind of… only generally but not specifically about the cheating rumor—”

“wha—” the vice president gawked. “that’s the one thing you should be talking to her about yuta she’s gonna hear it eventually—”

“but that’s the thing if— if she hasn’t yet i want it to stay that way…” he mumbled, head hanging low. “so i can try and get rid of it before it upsets her.”

“i don’t know if that thought process is a good idea or not.” the vice president spoke warily. “it kind of looks like you’re trying to cover up the fact that you are cheating—”

“i’m not—”

“then do something about it.”

the vice president stood up, arms raising up over his head to stretch and loosen up his tired limbs, them falling limp at his sides after. “talk to layla directly at the party tonight and find out if it’s her or not, then go from there.”

yuta’s brows pinched.

why the fuck didn’t he think of that sooner?

“i’ll ask around for you too.” the vice president swiped his backpack from the grass and shrugged it on, taking his jacket then from the back of the chair and tossing it lazily over his shoulder.

“but your best bet is toma.”

and the vice president was right.

because the minute yuta picked your stunning self up for the party later that day, utterly obsessed with the way you dolled up and him trying to take it all in for himself, his phone wouldn’t stop fucking buzzing inside the pocket of his pants and breaking his looney trance— him having to literally rip his eyes away from you and begrudgingly shove his hand around for his phone until he found it.

“who is it?” you laughed softly, buckling your seatbelt once you got in the car and reaching up to pull down his sun visor, sliding open the small vanity mirror and readjusting your hair a little.

yuta nearly drooled.

“oh! uh—”

he snapped his head down to see message after message pile in from toma, all of which were back to back and without a freaking break as they nearly blew up his phone, the nonstop vibration against his palm irritating him as he unlocked his device and went to toma’s contact.

toma: yo

toma: prez

toma: hello

toma: answer me right now

“it’s just toma.” he shook his head, thumbs prepping to type a response.

toma: HELLO

toma: YUTA

toma: ARE YOU IGNORING ME

toma: I BRING NEWS ABOUT YOUR CHEATING SCANDAL!

his eyes widened.

toma: LIFT MY PROBATION

yuta: say that again and i’m extending it

yuta: what did you find?

toma: wouldn’t you like to know ;)

toma: bet your girlfriend sure would!

toma: let me stay at the frat for the party and i’ll tell you

yuta: five months

toma: NO OKAY FUCK IM SORRY

toma: seriously though come to the house before i leave and i’ll tell you

toma: it’s too much to type and i’m lazy

“is he okay?” you asked kindly, sliding the mirror shut and closing the sun visor, turning your head to look at him.

“yeah he’s fine baby.” he looked up and smiled, leaning across the console to press a sweet kiss on your cheek, settling back in his seat and shifting the gear into reverse to pull out of your driveway. “you have everything?”

why wasn’t he kissing your mouth?

“mhm!” you nodded. “how many people did you guys invite?”

“it was an open invite.” he pushed the gear to drive and accelerated down your street back to his fraternity.

you scoffed in amazement.

“open invite?”

usually the parties yuta threw with his frat brothers were of select invite only, ones that consisted of anyone with any type of popularity alongside whoever they decided to bring also of status, you realizing that you were probably the only one there who didn’t have anything to their name in comparison to the others.

but with the invite now extending to absolutely anyone? and his parties already to begin with rowdy and insane?

you expected yuta’s frat house to turn into a shit show.

“what?” he laughed, turning his steering wheel to the left. “it’s a lot of people isn’t it?”

“you’re gonna have half of the student body in your house.”

he laughed again and shot you an apologetic look, him continuing to drive through the familiar avenues and paths that led up to his fraternity, when you quickly noticed the streets looked a bit more packed than usual— almost every single curb lined up with mass amounts of vehicles that were parked damn near back to back with no room left to even get out, you spotting small portions of dressed up crowds walking down the sidewalk the closer you got to his frat, already being peppy and noisy as they cackled and carried down packs of alcohol in their arms.

yuta had invited nearly the entire student body on purpose.

to find out who it was that was spreading that piece of shit rumor about his infidelity.

your boyfriend pulled into the driveway, your ears already picking up on the booming bass of the music inside as yuta flashed his lights at people who were in the way, him slowly inching through to get in the open garage as your eyes wildly scoured over the amount of students crossing the lawn or surrounding his car, empty red solo cups and trash littering the grass out front when the party had literally just started an hour ago.

there were so many people, more than you had ever seen at his previous parties.

yuta lifted an arm and pressed the small garage remote that was hooked above on his sun visor, the wide door loudly sliding shut in response as he drove in a little further before cutting off the ignition, him pulling his keys out and hooking the carabiner through one of his belt loops.

“you okay baby?” he smiled kindly, lifting his head to look at you and setting a hand down on his steering wheel. “i’m sorry about all the people… i know its a lot.”

you shook your head and gave him a cute grin, actively pushing down the fuzzy nerves that started to push up your throat for the sake of not being a burden, you not wanting to be annoying in the slightest about the crowds and just let yuta have fun, with this being his last fundraising after party and all.

“don’t be sorry yu its okay.” you reached across the console and took his hand, interlacing your fingers together. “you guys deserve to unwind like this after today right?”

he beamed and nodded, his grip tightening and eyes flickering down to your pretty little dress that made him swallow and quickly divert his gaze away, lips pursing to the side with pinky cheeks as he tried to get his head straight and remind himself over and over of the distance, of not playing into everybody’s stupid beliefs and hurting you.

but it was so fucking hard to when you were just so gorgeous to him, fondness creeping up in his chest then as he randomly thought of the night he first saw you at that one party he hosted a year ago— just as pretty if not more.

yuta was so unbelievably glad that you had rejected him then, for it woke his entire self up to the possibilities and beauty of actual genuine love rather than just quick fucks, the normalcy of meaningless hook ups something he had shamefully grown accustomed and desensitized to since high school.

your rejection had woken him up to you.

“yuta..?”

he blinked, eyes snapping back to you.

“yeah! yes flower?”

you giggled softly. “i asked if you wanted to go inside? i’m sure everyone’s been wanting to see you…”

he simply shrugged and brought your hand up to his lips, kissing the back of it.

“but i wanna see you.”

you snorted. “you are seeing me silly… you see me everyday! hehe.”

and yet it wasn’t nearly enough. it was never enough.

yuta reached across the console with his unoccupied hand and ran his thumb over your precious cheek, his touch delicate as he silently looked at you with a little glimmer in his eye, taking in the sight of you before retracting his arm and smiling.

“stick to me the entire night please.” he squeezed your hand. “if at any point you get tired or a little nervous baby just let me know. we’ll go up to my room and call it, okay?”

your heart fluttered at how considerate and sweet he was, you nodding in response.

“mkay!”

you had never seen the frat look so full and feel so humid in your fucking life, you gripping tightly onto yuta’s hand as he led you through sweaty drunk bodies and narrow hallways, keeping close to him and trying to ignore the curious confused stares you got that eyed you both as you passed, shyly switching your gaze or turning your head altogether to evade it.

the stares weren’t anything new to you, as practically with every event or party yuta threw you received them without fail, the act a given at this point as no one seemed to ever remember your face or what you looked like no matter how long you had been around yuta already, you actually preferring it that way as it allowed you to be on campus without any weird instances from random individuals asking about your relationship with him.

yuta periodically looked over his shoulder at you to make sure you were still there and okay, his head turning back ahead and scanning every single fucking face he saw in the hopes of recognizing the vice president, or better yet— toma, him desperate to find him and get as much information as he possibly could to put an end to that horrific rumor before it got to you.

“okkotsu! heeey man! how’s it going?—”

you’d lost count of how many people had come up to your boyfriend to greet him or pat him on the shoulders, you next to him through it all and not minding one bit as you kept your fingers interlocked with his— your other hand clutching at his bicep while he mingled and charmingly laughed with his crowd, some even greeting you as you surprisedly reciprocated and shyly replied back, each time yuta caressing your knuckles reassuringly with his thumb— encouraging you, a kind look to his face that eased your nerves like nothing else ever did.

“you still doing okay flower?!” he yelled over the thumping music, pulling you to a little corner by the kitchen and leading you to stand against the wall, him shielding you from the crowd as he turned his back and faced you. “you feeling tired?!”

you shook your head no and sweetly grinned at him. “i’m good yu!”

he smiled and nodded, setting a hand on top of your head and giving it a gentle rub, careful of not messing with your prettily styled hair too much.

“you want anything to drink?!” he looked up and craned his neck around the wall to scope out the kitchen. “i bought a pack of sunny d and had one of the boys put it in the fridge for you!—”

“yo! okkotsu!”

yuta snapped his head over his shoulder, your own eyes peering around your man’s frame to see one of his frat brothers standing just a few feet away, pointing out into the crowd behind him with his thumb.

“toma’s still here! he’s looking for you!”

your brow quirked a little at the way yuta instantaneously straightened up and turned out a little more, wondering why toma’s presence elicited that reaction from him as his hand went from your head down along your arm, his thumb reaching your fingertips and lightly grazing over them.

“where is he?!” he asked over the music.

“out front on the porch! he’s getting ready to leave!”

yuta raised his other palm and thanked him before quickly turning back to you.

“i’m gonna go see what he wants okay flower?” he hurriedly kissed your forehead, you a bit perplexed at his urgency as you hesitantly nodded along.

“let me look for the VP really quick so you won’t be alone—”

“no yu its okay!” you let out a breathy laugh and shook your head. “go baby ill just wait here until you get back.”

he held your gaze for a moment, apprehensive.

“i— i don’t know flower!” he looked over his shoulder again, angling his body around and sweeping the crowd with anxious little eyes, turning back around to you. “i don’t wanna leave you by yourself i’d rather have someone with you—”

“yu.” you pushed gently. “it’s fine. i won’t move from here ill be in the kitchen waiting for you… okay? go baby go see what toma wants.”

yuta’s pupils were swimming in worry as he stared, feet planted on the floor and hesitant to move as he thought about the millions of things people could say or do to you while he was gone, him gnawing at the bottom of his lip as he continued to anxiously caress over your fingertips.

“o—okay—”

“okkotsu here!—”

both of your heads snapped to the right and saw the vice president, his face flushed red and goofy like as he extended a beer bottle out to yuta.

“why are you empty handed—”

“oh thank god!” yuta breathed out, taking the bottle from his awaiting hand and pulling him in with an arm for a heavy pat on the back, the VP drunkenly quirking a brow and blinking.

“what i do—”

“can you stay with y/n for like— ten minutes?” he quickly ushered. “i just gotta talk to toma really quick!”

“toma?!” the vice president spat. “the fucks he still doing here he’s supposed to be out of the house—”

“he will be once i talk to him!” your boyfriend replied by his ear. “but can you please just be with y/n for a few? I don’t wanna leave her by herself!”

the vice presidents gaze switched to where you were standing then, seemingly just noticing that you were there as his eyes lit up and he nodded, a friendly big smile growing on his face that you responded with a bashful timid one of your own.

“okay great! thanks man!—”

yuta took a few steps towards you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in snug and craning down a bit to rest the side of his head against yours.

“i’ll be back okay?” he spoke in your ear.

“o—okay but— you really didn’t have to get the VP to babysit me—”

“no i know baby i’m sorry.” he ran a soothing palm down your back. “but i worry...”

he peeled away from you and pouted. “but just hang tight alright? stick to him.”

you sighed a little through your nose and nodded, you going on your tippy toes then with puckering lips to give him an obvious goodbye smooch, when yuta turned his head again and made your kiss land on his cheek instead.

it looked like he had rejected you.

and yuta failed to see the hurt flash across your face once more as he stepped off to the side and turned, slipping his way through the crowd and basically get swallowed whole by the mass of it, you quickly losing sight of him as your shoulders drooped a little in disappointment.

what were you doing that was so wrong? usually yuta never went more than literally thirty minutes without a kiss from you… but so far he had broken his own record and went the entire day.

what was so wrong with you?

“y/n! do you want a sunny d?”

you jumped a little and turned, seeing the vice president in the kitchen now rummaging through the fridge, a small singular giggle slipping past your lips as you watched him struggle to even get his arms through, him shoving hoards of beer cans and alcohol packs off to the sides just to get his hands in the back.

“i’m pretty sure— fuck— one of the guys put a pack in for you—”

you walked over and carefully crouched down next to him by the fridge, peeking your head in and trying to spot the familiar orange liquidy bottles, more giggles tumbling out as you realized that the sunny d pack was quite literally right in front of the vice presidents face— front and center amongst the mountains of alcohol and trash.

“wait— hehe— i think—” you pointed through your little snickers. “i think it’s right there— oh!”

your arms shot out and you quickly grabbed onto his shoulders just as he was swaying off a little too much to the side, stabilizing him as he cackled and shook his head, his own hands fumbling for the edges of the fridge and gripping them.

“sorry! sorry i’m drinking my sorrows away so i’m drunk also here—”

he loopily pushed a bottle of sunny d in your arms, you scrambling slightly to retrieve it before it dropped to the ground from your hands, the both of you standing from your crouched position.

“thank you.” you smiled sweetly, your brows furrowing a little then. “why are you drinking your sorrows away?”

“because yuta’s graduating and i’m gonna have to deal with this shit on my own.” he swiped an open beer bottle from a nearby counter and took a swig. “he told me just before the party that i’m— hic!— president for next year—”

you gasped, eyes blowing fucking wide as you slapped a hand over your mouth in shock.

“oh my god!” you grinned. “congratulations! you should be so proud!—”

“i should be dead.” he muttered, dramatically drooping his upper body over the kitchen island and sulking. “i’m a dead man. after the fundraiser toma ran around the house naked which then turned into everyone running around the house naked and i couldn’t get anybody to put their fucking clothes on—”

“you—”

“i’ve never seen so many dicks in my life i didn’t even want to see any of their dicks—”

“hold on—”

“whatever happened to asking first? to consent?— OH GOD!—”

the VP sprang off the counter, spun in your direction and grabbed at your shoulders, you stiffening with big eyes as he shook you.

“you’re graduating too! what am i gonna do without you and your calligraphy?! the— the banners?!” his gaze darted over your face as he looked at you crazed and in a state of utter psychosis. “i don’t know any girls! just you by default! i’m gonna have to do bake sales with toma’s stupid fucking stick figures—”

you’d given up in trying to bring the vice president down from his erratic panicked high, deciding the best thing to do then was to just keep your mouth shut and let him ramble on his drunken worries and fears as he shook you, you laughing through it and lightly patting him on the back in comfort, knowing that deep down the VP was elated to have been granted a position so prestigious and accomplishing as you’d heard him wish on it ever since you’d met him, his emotional meltdown just a given and something that came with accepting a position as demanding as yuta’s.

he would be filling shoes that were seemingly impossible to do so in the first place… but you were more than sure that he was the one man that was actually more than qualified for it out of the flock.

and you’d wondered then as the vice president continued to shake you, if yuta had successfully sought out what toma wanted and if he was making his way back over to you sometime soon…

he wished.

“i need names toma names!”

“i tried!” toma flailed his arms out. “i swear to god i tried! but how do you think it looks when i try to come up to layla’s posse and chat them up?! they chewed me out every time i tried!”

he had a point…

“the only info i could get was that it’s her minions who are spreading the rumor.”

yuta’s gaze moved to his, arms crossed as the two of them stood in the middle of the front porch, the area thankfully deserted as the majority of students were inside.

he suspiciously eyed him. “how do you know that?”

“i stood outside the girl’s restroom by the east wing for an hour.” toma replied plainly. “god knows what the hell they were doing in there but— some of her friends were talking nonstop about it.”

yuta snorted, a palm cupping over his mouth as he thought about how much of an idiot creep toma must’ve looked standing outside of the girl's restroom like that.

he had initially planned to confront layla directly, but learning now that it may have not even been her that was at fault, made him feel a little bad and apprehensive about accusing her out of nowhere inside…

he dropped his hand and nodded. “and— and what about layla? is she spreading anything?”

toma shrugged. “dunno. didn’t get that far because i got yelled at.”

yuta laughed and shook his head, raising an arm to pat a heavy hand on toma’s shoulder in gratitude.

“alright, thanks man.” he smiled. “i’ll lift a month off your probation.”

“a month?!” toma gawked. “i thought you said the whole thing!”

“you barely gave me anything idiot.” yuta bent down and picked up his beer bottle from the ground. “you’re lucky i’m even lifting time off otherwise i would’ve added—”

“NO!” toma screamed in absolute terror, hands latching out to desperately clutch at his shirt. “i’m sorry thank you mister president...”

“okay.” he chuckled boyishly. “now go before the VP sees you—”

“i love you mister president—”

“go.”

“say hi to your pretty girl for me—”

“five months probation—”

“NO!”

you’d lost track of how long it had been since yuta left, as you were too preoccupied babysitting the VP— trying to keep him from blacking out and stay on his two feet as he swayed about the kitchen, blubbering about his position next year and then randomly switching from time to time to some girly he had a crush on in his economics class, your heart warming every time he spoke about her cutesy smile, but most of all genuinely worried about him as he almost nearly tipped over one of the keg stands in trying to perform a cartwheel in the middle of the kitchen.

if yuta saw the way that he was when he was supposed to be looking out for you… you figured your boyfriend wouldn’t be to happy with it— the biggest fear you’ve had yet quickly brewing in your chest over the vice president getting his up-and-coming position revoked.

“hey! let’s drink some water yeah?”

the VP whipped his head up, him funnily crouched in a corner and hugging his knees to his chest.

“is this what its like?”

you tilted your head as you opened the fridge, your eyes frantically scouring for a bottle of water and grabbing it once you spotted one, closing it back up and walking over to his sniffling self.

“what is?” you softly asked as you crouched to his level, uncapping the water bottle and offering it out to him.

“to have a girl give a shit about you?”

you giggled, shaking your head side to side as you watched him gratefully take the drink from your hands, chugging it down.

“just talk to her… i’m sure she’d love to go out with you!” you tried to reason. “you never know unless you just— try.”

his puffed out cheeks made you laugh again as he swallowed. “y/n you don’t get it i’m a loser she could never look my way—”

you playfully rolled your eyes. “you’re vice president of a frat. next year president. if that doesn’t get her i don’t know what will.”

he miserably shook his head and hung it.

“the difference is i’m ugly. yuta’s handsome. my boy has no trouble at all—”

“you’re not ugly—”

“layla! have you spoken to yuta tonight at all?”

you stilled, your face falling a bit as you kept your eyes on the VP, him still too drunk and teary to realize there were people in the kitchen now, you grateful that the both of you were out of sight in a tiny little corner so you could take a listen without them noticing.

“no.” she heavily sighed. “i haven’t seen him much at all actually… shame.”

you heard shuffling and the clinking of glass as you eavesdropped, praying that the vice president didn’t blabber out anything else and spoil your cover.

“i did.” a different voice spoke. “he’s with his girlfriend that’s why.”

you heard an exaggerated gasp from somewhere else.

“you saw her? what’d she look like?!”

“i couldn’t really see she was a bit far… but she is here with him.”

“geez, i’m surprised he’d even bring her around after just being with you layla. that’s embarrassing.”

your heart dropped.

“that’s their business not mine.” another spoke, you recognizing it to be layla’s voice again. “if he wants to humiliate her like that, that’s on him.”

… what?

the vice president stirred, about to open his big fat mouth when you sprung out and muffled him, his dazed little eyes confusedly looking at you.

“you’re so lucky though layla!” one gushed. “no one has been able to sleep with him lately except you.”

maybe… maybe the reason why yuta never initiated anything with you, the reason why he evaded your kisses and flat out treated you sometimes like you weren’t his literal girlfriend—

was because he was getting his fill somewhere else.

and somehow through your mental storm, the vice president realized that there were people in the kitchen now, but not just any people… but exactly who and what they were talking about, his own eyes blowing wide in panic.

the girls continued to chat as your hand slid away from the VP’s mouth, your gaze casted downward as you made an attempt to stand, when his hand suddenly shot out and grabbed yours.

“y/n—” he fought with everything in him to push down the alcohol for two fucking seconds and get his head straight. “where are you going—”

“i’m just gonna go find yuta… okay?”

your voice sounded it’s usual sweet and collected, but it was your body language that completely gave it away to him that you were not okay in the slightest.

“wait— just stay for a bit don’t— don’t listen—”

“stay here i’ll be back.” you mumbled, shaking his hand off and standing upright. “don’t try to stand please you’ll fall.”

“sweetheart whatever you heard it’s not true alright? you know that yuta would never—”

your mind wasn’t even registering what the vice president was saying at this point, you feeling your heart actively shattering in your chest as you made your way through the kitchen, passing by the group of girls and guessing that the one in the middle was layla— stunning and breathtaking and everything you’d expect yuta to hook up with and choose over you.

they didn’t even spare you a glance as you walked past them and out of the kitchen, weaving your way through the waves of sweaty people as you tried to spot yuta— you having no idea where he was and just going by the piece of information you had learned earlier of toma being out on the front porch, hoping that he somehow was still there as you squeezed through bodies, the air still humid and suffocating and it for some reason making your chest ache even more.

you wrongfully felt like you had to prove a point… like you were just as capable of being the embodiment of someone like layla that earned a rightful spot at being yuta’s girlfriend, something he not once ever made you question and yet— you shamefully succumbing up to the beliefs of his crowd no matter how many times you told yourself it wouldn’t happen.

you could only take so much… and the thought of losing yuta shook you like nothing else.

it made you desperate.

just as you practically shoved your way out of the main area to get to the front door, you spotted yuta— sitting on a short random stool by the entrance with a half drunken beer bottle in hand, cheerfully conversing with a few of his brothers with that same charismatic smile and attitude that swooned millions, you swallowing the lump in your throat as you hugged yourself and slowly walked over.

“yu..?”

your familiar quiet voice made him stop talking and snap his head in your direction, him straightening up as he sent you a kind smile.

as soon as he went back inside after speaking to toma, yuta got caught up with a few of his frat members in regards to details about upcoming events, kicking himself over the fact that he didn’t realize how long he was actually gone for as he noticed how upset you looked right now, wondering where the hell the VP was.

“hi pretty flower!” he grinned, faltering when you didn’t smile back at all.

“can we—” you stammered. “um—”

yuta extended an offering hand out, you hesitating for a moment before you decided to just take it, him gently pulling you in to stand in between his legs and moving that same hand to cup over the back of your thigh.

you hated that his touch sort of… stung.

“sorry baby i couldn’t hear you.” he gently spoke, looking up at you with such sweet eyes that it nearly made you want to forget what you’d heard in the kitchen. “what’s wrong? i’m sorry i was gone for so long i got caught up with some of the guys.”

“n—no its okay.” you weakly smiled, and his brows furrowed at that, his hand beginning to caress over the back of your thigh.

had something happened while he was away?

“i need to um… talk to you in your room upstairs.” you shyly pursed your lips to the side. “if that’s okay…”

oh!

he reached up and took your chin in between his thumb and pointer finger, bringing your face down to plant a little kiss to your cheek.

“it’s always okay flower.” he beamed, standing and taking your hand in his as he took a swig of his beer. “you wanna retire for the night?”

not exactly.

but you nodded, him then immediately bidding some of his brothers goodbye while he tugged on your hand and led you upstairs, your head facing the ground and anxious as you both walked through the hallways of the frat house and away from the noise, eventually arriving at yuta’s door as you chewed the shit out of your bottom lip, him pushing down his lever door handle and opening it.

“you feeling a little tired?” he asked gently, closing the door behind him as you both stepped inside, facing you after. “we can call it a nigh—”

you fisted yuta’s shirt and yanked him down, cutting him off with your mouth on his as his eyes flew open, your raunchy little kisses feeling awfully familiar to that one night he was over and almost stripped you naked over them, already catching himself getting dangerously close to that again as he squeezed his eyes shut and gripped at your delicious waist.

stop stop stop—

but he couldn’t bring himself to put an end to it as he deepened the kiss, your heart fluttering at that as you led him to his bed through your sloppy make out, moving about until the back of his legs hit the edge of his mattress and he plopped down, you instantly climbing onto his lap and straddling him.

yuta felt like he was about to die over the overwhelming feeling of you perched pretty on his lap, or the way the straps of your tiny dress loosened and fell erotically over your bare shoulders— revealing a little more cleavage to him that took everything he had not to flip you on the bed and stuff his face in there.

he had to stop this… he needed to stop this to avoid losing you like everybody wanted him to, like everybody expected him to.

at the feeling of you taking his hand from your waist and sliding it down your godly body to cup your ass, yuta’s eyes snapped open and he forced his lips off yours, the both of you staring at each other in alarm with heaving breaths.

“wh— what yu?” you spoke breathlessly, you dazedly leaning in again to continue smooching when he literally dodged your lips and moved his head back, like— like you were just some random that tried to kiss him.

that was your final straw.

you sat there frozen and heartbroken as he shakily grabbed your hips and carefully sat you down on the bed next to him, him standing and wincing at the feeling of his hard dick being choked out by his jeans as he tried to block out the sight of you on his lap like that.

“man i’m so tired heh!” he began. “i’m gonna go take a quick shower—”

the sound of you suddenly sobbing made him whip his head down to you, his face utterly falling once he saw your trembling shoulders-- crying into your hands as broken hiccups and whimpers filled the air.

holy shit.

“baby? baby what’s wrong—” he quickly bent down and cupped your cheeks, his heart dropping to his ass when you practically ripped his hands off you through your tears, sniffling as you scooched back on his bed to get away from him.

oh god.

had you— had you heard the rumor?

“oh my god.” he breathed out. “you heard didn’t you? the— the rumor about layla—”

you sobbed harder at the mention of her name, and yuta’s fingers flew to dig inside the strands of his hair.

“flower i swear to god—” his chest grew erratic as he was one hundred percent convinced you were about to end things with him. “with everything i have that it’s not true—”

he dropped his arms and desperately dug around the pockets of his jeans, pulling out his phone once he found it.

“here!” he shakily unlocked it and tossed it on the bed in front of you. “here baby here please take it there’s nothing in there that—”

but you only slowly shook your head and continued to cry in your little hands, yuta feeling like he was about to lose it.

“no?” he breathed out. “why not? why—”

he frantically shoved his hands in his jeans again and pulled out his car keys, tossing it out in front of you as well as his wallet and anything else he could find in there that he thought would somehow help you believe him.

“here my— my keys are there and— and my wallet please look at them and please don’t cry—”

yuta reached out again for you, his trembling hands just barely cupping over your upper arms when you tore yourself away from him again, each time you did that making it feel like his skin was on fucking fire, burning and blistering and stinging with every hiccup that slipped past your lips.

he’d done what he was terrified of doing all this time.

he’d fucked things up with you.

“baby please don’t break up with me—” his voice cracked as he spoke, him sinking down on his knees with arms over the bed. “please i don’t know— i don’t know if i can take that i—”

“why don’t you want me?”

he froze, the little quiver in your voice absolutely shattering his heart.

“what?—”

“you never— you never touch me you never initiate anything with me—”

“flower—”

“you don’t even fucking kiss me anymore yuta…” you sobbed, wiping at your flooding tears as you sniffled. “and then— i’m in the kitchen with the VP and layla is in there talking about how you sleep with her and—”

he stood, grabbed your upper arms and held you still over your squirming and nudging to push him away, keeping you in place with wild eyes as he forced you to look at him.

“i would never in a million fucking years cheat on you y/n.” he seriously pushed. “never. everything that her and her friends are saying is fake i even— i even got toma to spy on them so i could figure it out—”

“you still don’t get it!” you sobbed. “the issue is you’ve never wanted me like you’ve wanted layla—”

“what the fuck?” he spoke incredulously. “baby i’ve never wanted that girl—”

“then why don’t you ever do anything with me?! or— or want me—”

you realized then how silly you sounded, embarrassment quickly washing over your system as you looked down and diverted your gaze with pinky cheeks, quieting down with your sniffles.

yuta’s eyes softened then, the dots clicking in his stupid pea sized brain over what you meant, the ache in his chest only growing in mass at the realization that whatever idiotic fucking plan he had about not hurting you, about enlisting distance and avoiding being affectionate with you to prove a point to everybody else, was utterly and entirely wrong.

of course it was wrong… how could he ever think that it wasn’t? how could he ever think that you’d respond positively to it or— or be okay with it?

if you ever did what he had done, he would absolutely die inside— hating himself for letting the speculations of others get in the way of his relationship with you.

his hands slowly slid up from your arms to your cheeks— gently cupping them and wiping your tears with his thumbs as you trembled.

“you have no idea how badly i’ve wanted to do things with you—”

“you’re lying!—”

“no!” he lowered his hands and wrapped you up tight in his arms, stuffing his nose into your neck. “i want you baby i want you so bad i go fucking nuts—”

how could he have neglected his girl and her precious little needs for this long..?

you continued to sniffle and shake in his arms, trying to steady your breathing as he then leisurely let you go, you too preoccupied in your thoughts of regret and ashamed at yourself for being a brat, that you failed to notice the way yuta was unbuckling his belt until you heard the tiny metal clasp clang, his face still in your neck.

“m’sorry pretty flower…” he murmured, your teary eyes widening at him slowly tugging and sliding his belt through the loops of his jeans. “i haven’t been taking care of you have i..?”

“yu—yuta—”

he planted a knee on the bed and crawled on, his upper body coming onto you and giving you no choice but to go down with him— you softly landing on your back and frozen in place with a palpating heart, him in between your thighs.

“i’ve never wanted to fuck a girl so bad in my life.” he hotly breathed out in your neck. “since we met baby…”

he picked his head up and casted his gaze down, placing his palms on either sides of your plushy thighs and sliding up your dress, further and further until it pooled around your waist and revealed your god forsaken pinky panties— see through and showing him your pretty glistening lips that made him suck in a breath and groan.

“i don’t give a shit about layla.” yuta hooked an index finger in the underside of your panties and pulled it to the side, taking a pervy peek at your pussy in the flesh. “i don’t give a shit about this stupid frat or anyone but you.”

butterflies swarmed wildly in your tummy as you watched him pop open the button of his jeans with his other hand, tugging it a little down along with his boxers until his cock literally jumped out, your words caught in your throat as you drank in the sight of him giving it a slow yummy pump, his tip already leaky and red.

“i’ve been ignoring my pretty girl and not fucking her like she deserves…” he murmured, the sudden feeling of his tip running up and down your gaping cunt making you squeak, you quickly gnawing on your bottom lip after and trying so hard to bite back your moans out of embarrassment, but it nearly impossible with the way he kept teasingly rubbing his dick over your swollen clit over and over.

“i’m sorry flower—” he positioned himself. “but i’m too impatient to take off anything else okay?”

you blinked up at him, yuta looking directly at you and fucking possessed by your gorgeous face and your gorgeous body and your gorgeous pussy, his chest heaving as he tried his best not to just throw you around and shove his cock inside.

“o—okay—”

he lined his dick up with your hole. “and m’not using a condom.”

your walls clenched at him saying that, him hovering over you as he took your wrists and set both of your hands on his shoulders before moving an arm down, pulling your panties out to the side even more.

“mkay?”

he absolutely refused to use a condom— another obvious factor that set you apart from his previous hookups, something your silly little mind shouldn’t have even compared yourself to in the first place.

why fucking would he if he’d decided the moment he saw you he would never let you go? never let you out of his sight?

you frantically nodded, your hands clutching at his shoulders then as you eagerly opened your legs a little wider for him, yuta losing it at that and shooting you a wild horny grin.

“good job baby…”

he placed both hands on your soft hips and slowly eased himself in your slippery little cunt, you immediately gasping at the sudden yummy unfamiliar stretch and tightening your grip on his shirt, a whimper escaping your throat as you attempted to loosen your hole and let him in.

“i know flower i know—”

yuta was aware that he had to go easy and gentle with you, that you (thankfully) weren’t used to cock in general… but he nonetheless found that he had to physically restrain his hips from pistoning inside you and making you cry on his dick, something he’d thought about for what felt like ages now.

your little moans and mewls spurred him on as he carefully pumped inside you, his head thrown back with a wide-open mouth and closed eyelids, practically drooling as he got off to the sound of your squelching pussy sucking him in, the mattress rocking underneath you both.

“you— you okay baby?” he lulled his head down to look at you, struggling to even keep his eyes open as he kneaded at your hips and fucked you.

“mhm!” you nodded, your sultry sparkling eyes peering up at him so sweetly that he nearly busted inside of you. “but— mm!— yu—”

“what happened baby..?”

“wanna— wanna go on top—”

yuta swore he saw the heavens then, the grip he had on your hips tightening as he held your gaze with desperate eyes, unbelieving of the privilege he was about to experience as he without another word pulled out and flipped you both over, you letting out a tiny squeal mixed giggle as he excitedly settled beneath you.

“tell me how okay?” you softly spoke, and he quickly nodded, placing a sweaty palm on your torso and carefully guiding your hole to his tip again, you holding the base of his cock as you tried to contribute and line it up, yuta assisting you by stretching your panties to the side out of the way with his free hand.

“just— sink down on it pretty flower—” he panted, you listening and slowly letting your pussy engulf his puffy tip again.

“like— like this?—”

yuta licked his lips and nodded, him unable to fucking speak as his hands found yours and interlaced them, his heart pounding and head reeling in euphoria as you started gradually lifting your hips and submerging him inside of you— your cute little self whining and bouncing so cute on it.

“gooood baby good.” he heaved. “just— god just like that please—”

your pace quickened and his jaw dropped, you absolutely lost in the feeling of him stuffing you so full as you felt his warm cum already leaking outside of your hole— sticky skin slapping together and yuta’s moaning and groaning only growing louder by the second.

“am i— hic!— am i doing okay?”

“jesus more than okay—” he took you by surprise and snapped his hips up, your tits nearly spilling over your dress at the force as he started thrusting into you at a rapid pace, you crying out as you tightened your interlocked hands and squeezed your eyes shut over the pleasure, already feeling your orgasm itching itself into your system and tickling at your swollen clit.

"f— fuuuck yu—" you gasped, your pretty moans going directly in his ears making him fucking shudder and mess up the rhythm he had going for a split second, never in his life hearing something so sugary and sacred.

"m'so fuuuull—"

"yeah?" yuta wildly smiled as he pounded, loving that he was the one that got to stuff you full of his cock and snatch you up before any other stupid man got to, your red plump lips and pinky cheeks that read nothing but an expression of being fucked out spurring him on so much that he nearly choked, wanting to be the absolute only one that ever got to see you this way.

"you're being so fuckin good for me baby—"

never in yuta okkotsu’s career of being a former man whore did he ever cum this quickly into sex.

but the sight of you pretty and angelic on his cock, bouncing through his pounding and whimpering your little heart out while he watched you literally squirt over his dick as you finished, his head struggling to register that he was finally fucking you full on his bed after all this time—

was the perfect explanation as to why he broke his own record.

yuta let go of your hands and lunged himself at you, wrapping his arms around your torso and yanking you down to lay on top of him, the cage he had around you locked tight as he shoved his nose into your hair and drilled his hips up to fuck you faster, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at his ruthless speed.

“m’gonna cum.” he choked out. “o—okay?”

“fuck! yes yes yes—”

“inside.”

“yes yu please please!—”

at the sound of you begging for him he released, shooting his heavy stringy load through your gummy hot walls as he loudly groaned into your neck, both of you gasping and heaving for air as he stilled his hips and let his balls completely drain inside, him holding you like his life utterly depended on it.

eventually yuta slightly loosened his hold and moved you up a little to slide his dick out, the air steamy and humid as you both panted and swallowed— trying to catch your breaths and come down from the blissful horny mess the two of you just participated in.

yuta slid a hand up to hold the back of your head, him turning his to press tiny little kisses to the side of your forehead, waiting and basking in the tender moment you just shared before speaking.

“i’m sorry i haven’t been paying attention to you flower…” he spoke gently. “i let what the rumors were saying get into my head and i—”

he struggled for a bit, you carefully pulling back to look at him properly and pouting over the guilty expression on his face.

“i wanted everybody to stop saying and thinking that i was just using you for a fuck.” he mumbled. “and i was trying to prove it to you too so… i thought it was best if i stayed away like a fucking idiot.”

you giggled softly and pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek, him blushing at that.

“you’re so silly yu...” you kindly smiled. “you’ve never needed to prove anything to me. ever… you know that.”

“i know but— everyone was saying so much shit and i got scared that it’d make you upset and it did—”

“yuta i’m dating you not them.” you gently emphasized, your hand coming up to card through his raven locks. “i couldn’t care less about what they have to say… but if you start letting it get into your head like that yu, its gonna bleed onto us and affect us. okay?”

he solemnly nodded, eyes looking up at you in shame.

“so don’t let it.” a gorgeous smile grew on your lips then. “i’ve always believed in you yuta… i don’t need anybody else’s two cents to know that, much less if they’re saying the awful things they’re saying now. they’re stinky for that.”

yuta laughed and gave you a kiss, wholeheartedly agreeing.

"i love you pretty girl."

and he believed in you.

from the moment he met you in his kitchen, from the moment your shy pretty voice rejected him in the sweetest way possible, from the moment he started working his ass off to win you over for a solid year straight— yuta believed in you.

in the both of you— in what you could purely grow and create despite the two of you being born and raised on complete opposites of the social wheel, defying the idiotic supposed laws of society and finding love in the most unlikely circumstances.

the chances of life bringing you together was one in a million, and yuta was grateful to have landed in it despite everything, for he couldn’t imagine a life where he wasn’t your man and took you on frequent trips to the aquarium, visiting a silly little penguin who wanted his girl just as much as he did, and eating lunch with you in the loveliest of flower gardens that withheld the nickname he had for you so fittingly.

his reputation upon graduating was no longer of a sleazy good for nothing piece of shit who whored around, but of yuta okkotsu— president of his frat who reigned for three years straight, the most popular guy to ever fucking exist, the only one who ever managed to throw massive parties every week…

but of also a guy who simply loved his girlfriend.

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

“But the absence of a tsahìk-”

“Mawey- do slow down.” For not the first time since their trek started, Gojo is turning his head behind him. He might have been a firm leader, but he wasn’t unfair. He watches the Herwi hunters that extend from his feet to far beyond hills of ice and frost - some middle-aged and weathered by the snow already, some fresh-faced and cold with the eagerness to prove themselves. Following them were six-legged canines they called txeylan—powerful hinds pulling sleds piled high with hunt. “The younger ones are having trouble keeping up.”

Gaping, the elder looks between his leader and the younger members near the middle of their group. Flanked by older Na’vi. “But- but olo’eyktan-”

He’s looking up at the irritated sky, “I will see no further talking.”

Though there is an easy smile across his face, the elders know not to cross him. Senior in age—only age. 

They bowed their heads and looked away above all because he is their leader, but below that - deep, deeeeeep below what their prides would allow them to ever admit - because they knew he was stronger. The strongest.

The heir born of a blizzard, Satoru of the snow. 

It was said he opened his eyes during the coldest night of that year. Ice-blue. Bitter blue. Like the pools of crystallized water that the Herwi people would dance their celebrations upon - and that night they held the longest celebrations to date. Arms in arms and singing songs. And giving thanks and giving the young his first taste of snow. 

And though the position of olo’eyktan had an aspect of inheritance to it either way, it was undeniable that the world had just borne their future leader.

He’d grown up taller than other Na’vi his age. Stronger. Stormy flurries wherever he stepped, and a blizzard himself. 

There almost seemed to be a gap between him and everyone else.

Gojo had been sixteen when he was officially granted the mantle of ‘The Strongest’ by the clan. It was only about time, and only because of the elders’ reluctance that it’d taken this long.

And now it was impossible to say whether he was more loved or respected as a leader: the more boisterous of the younger Na’vi certainly loved him, the elders couldn’t stand him, the ones of mating age just couldn’t get enough of him. Though it was all for naught.

In all the twenty-eight years that he’d sifted through these snows - in all the ten years since he’d come of age - Gojo hadn’t so much as looked at another with a degree of infatuation.

Not for a lack of propositions- in fact, if you asked his attendants then they’d tell you that Gojo had a surplus of propositions. At least five Na’vi would stroll up the familiar pathway to his underground hut, calling out sing-song wishes to braid his hair, to walk amongst the ice glaciers together, to mend his fur clothes. 

Hopefuls. 

His attendants were ordered to send them all away with a gift from the olo’eyktan and a firm rejection (though, Gojo finds that that certainly didn’t deter them…)

They just didn’t seem to understand why such a suitable young Na’vi seemed to be waiting…watching…for something even he himself didn’t seem to understand. Always turning his blue eyes to the skies, ever since he was a child, always, always-

Gojo stops in his tracks.

One of his arms raises to halt the procession behind him. 

The Na’vi hunters freeze.

The Na’vi hunters let their tails swish.

The txeylan sniff the air.

Gojo’s long pointed ears twitch in every direction before resting in a single direction up ahead - where the belly of the snow seemed to swell with something. Something that the recent snowstorm had swallowed.

“Olo’eyktan…” One of the younger Herwi behind him whispers. “What is it?”

“Mawey. It might be a dead snow beast.” He hisses, though he knew that wasn’t right. It wasn’t uncommon for even the creatures of these terrains to be bested by nature. But something about the figure in the snow was…different from the hounding things they hunted. Much more delicate, much more scrunched in on itself.

Gojo keeps his hand held high in the air and passes on his hunt to the nearby clansmen. Still holding onto his bow and arrows, he edges closer. “Ì’awn- the clan stays here while I investigate.” Leaving no room for a word edgewise.

The wind whips his long hair and kuru as the Na’vi steps closer. And some maddened part of him almost feels that it was as though Eywa, their goddess, herself was trying to get him to stay away.

But an even madder part of him wanted to get closer—needed to get closer.

He was being drawn in.

Making not even a single noise with his padded feet, he’s crouching down before the unmoving figure and using his long skeletal fingers to wipe away those dredges of snow. 

Away from a face—

He gasps.

The rest of the Herwi startles behind him, “What is it- what is it, olo’eyktan?”

“Is it a snow beast? Must we commence the rituals-”

“Cease! Are those fingers it has-”

“Five?”

But Gojo doesn’t answer their queries, instead he’s silently pressing his ear to the swell of the body’s chest and—ba-dump!

Listening to that faint heartbeat.

He’s not sure how this little human was still alive, and he pulls back to look at them- the first he’s ever seen. Gojo has already heard the whispers from other Na’vi clans, of these aliens named mankind whom had settled upon Pandora a few years ago.

He’s heard about humanity’s wits, their machinery, their greed.

He’s heard of the way they’ve hurt his people.

But he’s never seen one up so…close. Were they all this small? How could something so small be so destructive?

Gojo tilts his head down at you and runs one of his cold indexes down the side of your masked face, did they all look so hurt by the cold? He can’t imagine that it didn’t hurt- after all, the only reason that the Herwi had managed to reside in these mountains for hundreds of years was because of its harsh environment. Not human nor animal nor Na’vi wanted to be here—but Gojo always loved this place, as did his people.

He wondered whether it was such passionate love or hate that drew the little human in his arms to climb such peaks. To come this far. 

He can’t help but lean down and scoop the human up into his arms.

“O-olo’eyktan what is the meaning of this-”

“Fnu- shhhh.” Gojo responds in his native language, “She’s resting.”

The olo’eyktan carries the human all the way back the treacherous path to his clan huts.

And every time he looked down, he could see the way that smaller body fell and rose with each faint breath. He could see the flying of human-made coats that did nothing to fight off the cold of Pandora. He could see the pen and notebook stuffed inside it as if they were the most precious treasure of all.

He can see you.

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Day #1 in the Herwi village: 

Woke up in what seems to be the healer’s hut, a wide insulated space that is more or less steeped into the underground with a berth of the entrance AS (above snow). Capped dome on top. Walls are composed of wooden planks on the interior flanked by compact ice from the outside, decorated in the thick furs of what appears to be snow beasts. Long book shelves. Kindling lantern of something bioluminescent and emitting heat. Shockingly warm inside. Vents are present but small to prevent an excess of thin air. Separate storage spaces and areas for examination, implications of advanced surgery and medical procedures taking place far beyond what we humans can understand.

Though Herwi healing techniques seem to be similar to that of other Na’vi clans (particularly the Omaticaya) in terms of relation to Eywa and natural resources, it must be noted that Herwi healing makes prominent use of ice for anti-inflammatory and vessel constricting methods.

Sparse presence of herbs and more emphasis on pressure points (for a copy of the Herwi circulatory system diagram see Page 8…), though the olo’eyktan reassures that there are a multitude of flora endemic to the Pandoran heights. 

The olo’eyktan seems particularly eager to give a tour?

With your eyes blinking open…you think you’ve died and gone onto whatever there was afterwards.

It would’ve been just like you to meet your demise during the pursuit of your research- the higher-ups at your laboratory predicted the same thing. The last thing you remember before blacking out was feeling faint - weeks of hiking up this arduous peak and you’d run out of your provisions a few days ago, surviving on only melted ice to fill your belly. At least, until the sudden threat of a snowslide had resulted in you abandoning your tent and bags behind for escape.

From then on it had only been: you, your pen, your notebook with your research, your translator, and your burning passion to find the Herwi.

It was no surprise that you didn’t last long.

But you suppose you just didn’t expect the ‘afterwards’ to be a blue, blue summer sky. 

Oh—how you missed the cloud-frothed ocean of blue down on Earth. It was never quite the same on Pandora, and you’re just beginning to wonder whether heaven was really home-

“Yawne, txen?”

Before your muddled mind realizes that this really wasn’t your sky after all.

What you were looking up into were the eyes of a Na’vi warrior.

He’s leaning his overlarge body above yours, and you’re pressing yourself flatly against a mattress—one that was made of copious amounts of furs and the softest spun wool to make you feel as though you were floating up on the clouds.

But the farther you’re getting, the more he dwarfs you with his curious peering.

Closer.

And the only thing you can do is look up into his handsome blue face- the lightest of blues you’ve ever seen. 

Now, you have to start this off by saying that every single Na’vi you’ve seen was beautiful—every single one of them. 

But you don’t think you’ve ever seen someone like him before: long white hair, blue eyes almost like a Metkayina, and glowing spots scattered like snowflakes across his cheeks. Heavy eyelids. Taller than your average Omaticaya. Perhaps a bit bulkier, as well.

If you tilted your head just past his looming figure then you could take in the tufted fur clothing he wore, slightly more coverage than of Na’vi from the more tropical areas; with patterns of rosettes peaking out wherever his skin was exposed and dotted like a fainter version of a snow leopard’s. From your own planet.

But you were not on your own planet.

Far from it.

You’re realizing with a jolt that he was one of the Herwi clan-

“Are you…” And though you’d dreamed and wished and hoped for this day for so long—right now you find yourself absolutely speechless. “Are you- fuck.”

To which he only beams- “Nga lu rusey- oh, nga lu rusey.” His pearly white teeth are on full display, one little dimple crinkling at the edge of his smile. He just looks so handsome like this that you almost lose your breath- no. It must be the hypothermia that’s getting to you. It must be. And if you didn’t know any better then you’d have said that he almost sounds utterly relieved—“Oe'm lefpom. Txen? Lu nga txen? Tsal pung?”

“I ah…” Mouth dropping open. Shit—your translator!

Before he can say anything more, you’re digging in your coats- or at least attempting to. It doesn’t take long for you to shuffle behind the thick blankets and realize that you weren’t wearing those humanly thin layers you did when climbing up the mountain. Well-fitted for the Earth’s cold, but not for the harsh ever-winters of Pandora.

Instead you were wearing…a thick woolen coat?

Much too large on you- almost comically so. It had sleeves that reached a few feet past your fingertips, draped down to your toes, and enough space that you could hide at least five of you inside it. 

No translator.

No pen. No notebook-

He sees this smaller figure fluttering about worriedly and tilts his head curiously, “‘Upe lu nga fwew?” Before handing you your notebook and pen from a table behind him.

“Pardon? Ah- thank you so much—!” You beam at him, and he beams back. But looking into his blue eyes once more, you feel a sudden sense of helplessness wash over you. “But I’m sorry, I still can’t understand you.”

At this the Na’vi furrows his pale brows - you’re not quite sure whether he knew what you were saying, but he seemed to have picked up on your emotions. Nudging his large face against yours with a purring sound, “Yawne? Oe'd tìng aynga.”

And a part of you somewhat melts- “I said I really can’t- hahah.” You half-heartedly try to push his incessant face away with a laugh, taking particular delight in noting how happily his tail was swishing. Fluffier with more fur than you’ve observed on other types of Na’vi, also covered in pretty rosettes that swayed to and fro.

It’s right now that you wished you had the patience to stay behind and immerse yourself more in the Na’vi language lessons your laboratory had provided. Most scientists didn’t even go out into the field until they were experts - but you were too antsy, too greedy to know. Something seemed to have called you here whether it cost you your life.

Given you’d picked up on some phrases here and there, but it seems that the Herwi had a different accent from the clips played in those listening tests. Slightly softer, slightly more of a whisper.

Like the breath of winter, his words cooled your mask and heated up something entirely different inside of you. “Oe pey ngim krr.”

Before you know it, the Na’vi clasps both your hands in his—and you’re startled by just how large they are, just how cold. You’re analyzing the way his pale fingers hold your own as if it was all that was tender in the world.

Intertwining.

“Ngim krr.” He looks at you with those azure eyes seriously, opening up the palm of your right hand and touching his to yours. Palm against palm. Breath against breath. “Nìt'iluke.” 

You get the feeling that you were missing something very important- “I’m sorry I really wish…I’m so sorry to ask any more of you- I really am. But have you happened to see my translator anywhere?”

“Tìnga’prrnen?” He cocks his head in confusion, trying to mouth the word.

“Erm- yes?” Hoping that he understood you, “My translator—” You emphasize the syllables- “It’s a little device to understand you-”

You’re gesturing between the two of you- and you swear you see the light blue Na’vi pale. “Tìnga’prrnen? Oe?”

“Yes?” You knew that ‘oe’ referred to oneself.

He balks- maybe you were getting through to him? “Nga new ne kanom oe tìnga’prrnen-”

“Skxawng.”

Before he’s suddenly cut off by a hard smack to the back of his head- and you’re looking up just in time to see another Herwi Na’vi enter the hut. The dimorphism between this particular strand of Na’vi wasn’t anything too prominent, you find - both were tall, both were pale, both had long tails and rosettes scattered across their agile bodies.

The only real difference was that the one at your bedside was more rugged, with even more pure-white beads woven into his hair. Though that you could chalk up to their separate duties within the clan.

She walked inside as though she owned the place, throwing her long loose hair behind her shoulder. She doesn’t even flinch as she shuts the other man up—as she brings out a black earpiece from behind her and hands it to you. “I believe this is yours. It was dropped in the rush outside.”

“O-oh!” You’re surprised to find that it was none other than your translating device. Taking it gratefully, “Thank you so so much.”

“Don’t mention it.” 

At your baffled expression - as far as you knew, the Herwi were the last remaining uncontacted clan of Na’vi, with no knowledge of humankind nor their many languages. “I learned your language from my books-” Gesturing around her - you were right to assume that this was her hut, filled to the brim with ointments and books. Mostly of Na’vi origin, but you could spy a few in English and Japanese. “-sent by friends in the Omaticaya. I find your human stories are…quite amusing.”

“I see.” You breathe.

She gestures at herself, “Ieri Shoko of the heart.” Then at the male Na’vi member, “Gojo Satoru of the snow. I apologize for him, he is our olo’eyktan- also the one that found you.”

“So you’re my saviour.” You’re looking towards him- Gojo once more. He catches your eyes and looks away with a pale blue hue dusting his face. “Irayo nga.” Giving your thanks (one of the few phrases you could speak with complete confidence). 

You’re looking towards him- He shudders, “Oe ke ronsem tsonta lu tìnga’prrnen.”

As soon as he’s saying it, Shoko smacks her hand on her forehead- and you wonder what exactly he means. 

So without further ado, you’re fixing the earpiece onto yourself.

“Idiot.” Shoko’s turning back to Gojo, “You know that’s not what she meant?”

Gojo crosses his arms and huffs- “I’m just saying I wouldn’t mind if it’s for her-”

“Not even Eywa could make that happen.”

“Getting preg-”

“Hello?” Testing—and if the way both Na’vi jerk their heads to you in slight surprise is anything to go by, then you’d say that the translator was working rather well. It was less an earpiece that translated and more a device to target that part of your brain that communicated and understood foreign languages.

Allowing you to both understand and speak in the dialect of the Na’vi - an invention by yours truly, of course. You’d (as close as) perfected it just last year for this expedition. “Can you understand me?”

Gojo stares at you with wide blue eyes.

With his pretty lips parted.

With his tail swishing back and forth.

“I see y-”

“We understand you.” Shoko nudges him roughly in the ribs, “I apologize if we’re a bit startled- it’s the first time we’re seeing a human in person.”

“I could’ve guessed that.” You giggle, flickering your eyes over to the starstrack Na’vi. Though you were equally as such. Somehow you speaking in his language just seemed to make him…“But I want to emphasize that I come in peace- I just want to learn as a scientist, not even my laboratory knows exactly where I am. And I intend to keep it that way.”

Shoko crosses her arms and looks gravely at you, “What do you want?”

“To learn. To research you and your people.” You look between them both, “To confirm the existence of the Herwi clan has been a dream of mine for a long time- not for the papers or the accolades, but because I just wanted to know you.”

“And how can we trust you?” Shoko says, getting nudged by Gojo afterwards.

“I won’t reveal anything you don’t want me to.” Determination dripping in your tone, “Not even if they kill me for it.”

They appraise you, and it’s silent for a beat before Shoko looks at Gojo.

And Gojo nods.

Shoko shoots you a barely-there smile, “Well…human, what do you want to know?”

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.

After you woke up, it was after a long talk and almost three or so hours later that you’d gotten up- Shoko and Gojo had both rushed to your side. Waving them off, you’d attempted to shrug off the coat and hand it back to Gojo - long since realizing that it was his - but he’d almost been offended by the gesture.

Refusing. 

He’d kept a hand behind on the small of your back to steady you with every step climbed towards the entrance. And once you were out- you could practically feel the storm freeze around you.

Colder than cold.

The Herwi looked at you with fear.

They stopped in their tracks and didn’t even look to breathe until Gojo had followed right after. And standing beside him like that, you’d been made too aware of the drastic height difference between you two. The average Na’vi was about nine to ten feet tall, though by the look of it the Herwi of the snow were much larger than their oceanic counterparts—slightly thicker, with limbs that were long and covered in sparse fur to protect them from the cold.

The Herwi average was about ten feet, you’re finding.

Though Gojo stood at a proud eleven feet (11’1 as you come to interrogate out of him more precisely later on) and rested his hand gently upon your shoulder. They had faint scars on them that marked him as a warrior, and you could feel the slight callouses send shivers across your coat-swathed body. His tail curled around your thigh.

You don’t think you even came up to his stomach-

“My people…” He announced in booming Na’vi. “-as some of you may know from the hunt today, we have a guest.”

You shift at the stares.

“More importantly, my guest. And we will make her feel welcome like family.”

“Family?” The whispers came.

“But she is one of the sky people…”

“Part of the family is…but if the olo’eyktan says so…”

“I’ve never seen him so casually touchy with someone before-”

“Shhhhhhh!”

“I understand if you are scared, and to those who wish it- you are free to leave and never interact with her while she is here.” Though none of them do move. Fixated. “But to those who aren’t, I urge you to share the beauty of our culture.”

To which you’d gulped before introducing yourself as you had to Shoko and Gojo.

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Day #2 in the Herwi village: 

The governing system of the Herwi is quite reminiscent to that of other clans - made up by a singular olo’eyktan or olo'eykte, accompanied by a tsahìk (though Gojo assures proudly that he is not mated as of writing this), and a council of clan elders that act as an advisory board.

Most decisions are made solely by the wisdom of Gojo himself, though large choices require a vote from the council as well as his people. Such requisites are rare, however, as it seems the olo’eyktan’s impact extends to the non-council people in such a way that they trust him with everything. (For more on the lovely reception and the sheer popularity of Gojo Satoru see Page 11…)

Governing seems to be harmonious if a little quietly tense in regards to certain elders that disagree yet are ultimately obeisant to their olo’eyktan.

This scientist in particular caused a little stir in the Herwi leadership once a research visit was proposed by the olo’eyktan to the rest of the elders. Though initial reactions had been reluctant, after a terse discussion, ultimately six moons had been granted to collect all appropriate research (due to be checked by the elders prior to leaving). No more. No less.

Six moons should be more than enough!

Shoko might have let it slip that it was Gojo who used his privilege as olo’eyktan to convince the council…and he wasn’t too happy that they’d granted you merely six moons (five days if you’re counting the first night there) to stay here. He wanted to gawk at this new human more, you supposed.

But you were so very grateful to each and every one of them either way - even those wizened elders who scowled at you suspiciously wherever you passed. Though even glares seemed sweet when you were living your dream, hm? And it best be believed that you were taking advantage of every single second you had with the clan - every single second.

Because this was exactly what those cigar-smoking higher-ups had laughed at you for. 

They thought you were chasing a myth.

The Herwi people had been so gracious as to offer you an empty hut, despite Gojo’s fervent insisting that you take his and he can simply tough it out in the cold outside-

And the next day you were up early- perhaps a little too early for the olo’eyktan who’d apparently tracked your trail and followed you around for an hour. Before he finally managed to stop you in the middle of your field study - helping out a young Herwi mother take care of her crying toddler, whilst learning about Herwi childcare techniques - and raised his bag full of food.

Breakfast.

You’re smacking your hand against your forehead as you’d completely forgotten - not quite out of the ordinary for when you got too immersed in your work. But it was different when you had someone seeking you out to take care of you…

And so after sharing the abundance of breads and berries and soups (far too much for but the two of you) with the Herwi mother and child, the two of you sit outside her hut and admired the view of the village. The soft half-sun that melted across the capped peaks, a buttery layer of light that was not even half as bright as on Earth.

But somehow gentler.

Gojo’s raising one berry to his lips before- “Ah…” His mouth drops when he takes a glance at you- more accurately, at your masked self. And he’s stopping in his movements, “Excuse me for just a second, beloved.”

“Oh? Of course.”

You watch as he’s standing up and sprinting light-fast towards the edge of a great steaming lake in the horizon. His figure’s crouching down and cupping his hands in the sparkling water, bubbling with fury. Gojo brings it up to his face and whispers a mantra that you couldn’t quite determine. Not from where you were sitting.

Before carefully bringing it right up to you- “Drink, beloved.” 

He gently leans down to let his fingertips meet your mask.

And you’d had no option—you consider it for science, though a part of you knew you didn’t have to linger your lips so much on his cold skin- but you lift your mask up and drink it.

Once the water floods your throat, you knew something was different.

Your lungs quiver.

Once.

Twice.

And you’d found yourself able to breathe—

Breathing on Pandora.

“How did you…” As you gasp, Gojo reaches out and removes the mask off of you completely. He’d let the earpiece stay on, of course, but lightly grazed his cold digits against the shell of your ear and made you shiver. “I don’t even know what to say- thank you. I didn’t even know this was possible—no other Na’vi clan let alone a mere human has discovered a way to let us breathe normally on Pandora.”

“For you. Lake Yapay.” Gojo says, large hand still cupping your face. “It steams great billowing heat in the day, and freezes by night. Here in Herwi, we use its water to expand our lungs during snowstorms.”

And you want to write it down- you know you should, but the pen in your fingers won’t move. Or more accurately, your fingers won’t move.

He continues, “This land is alive and works in mysterious ways. It has worked for you, beloved, as I knew it would.”

“Thank you again, olo’eyktan.”

“Satoru.” He interjects.

“Satoru.”

He smiles as if it meant the world.

And so your feast commences.

“You have to remember to eat.” Gojo says to you as he scoffs down a sweet paste made of ice-blue berries, “How will you brave the winter storms otherwise? Of course, I will protect you—and yet still.”

“Well, I sure hope I survive six more nights for my research then, hm?” You joke.

But you hadn’t expected Gojo’s face to darken, for him to shake his head. “It’s not fair.”

“Pardon?”

“Six more nights…” And you hadn’t exactly expected him to be so…invested in your research - you admit that you would benefit more from a longer period of studying the Herwi, but you were ready to take what was given. He looks down at the glaring snow and whispers—more to himself. “It’s not fair. I will correct it.”

“Correct?”

“Oh?” And you look from him to the village straight ahead, “Well, I’d be happy either way, Satoru.”

Just then that little Na’vi you’d been helping to watch over before comes waddling and giggling out of the hut to hold onto you- and you pick her up readily.

Gojo took one look at the two of you and shivered.

Shivered.

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Day #3 in the Herwi village: 

Hunts are an imperative part of the Herwi lifestyle—not only is it how the people are nourished, but it’s a social activity, it’s a coming-of-age activity. 

As aforementioned, hunts are commenced and led by none other than the olo’eyktan. A large group of Herwi warriors shall trek across the icelands in one unit, and it was quite interesting to note that most of the younger hunters are positioned in the middle where they are less likely to get injured during such a trip.

It is in the middle of their hike that Gojo will alert when the group is to split up: Snow beast hunters and snow marine stilts. Divide and conquer seems to be the only strategy that somehow tames such an unforgiving environment, and Herwi marine-hunters seem to be picked from the most patient of warriors. They carve out a hole in the middle of frozen bodies of water (never Lake Yapay, this divine body is never harmed) and each positions themself atop a tall icicle beside it to escape prowling beasts and currents. Crouched and ledged atop one, the sheer core strength and balance is divine once they cast their lines and wait.

On the other side of things, we have the Herwi beast-hunters. Using a large variety of weapons, the most popular is noted to be the bow and arrow - used by the olo’eyktan himself. They stalk in the cold white billows of snow with not even a single shiver, they lay in wait for hours, they tire their prey out.

And nevertheless this scientist found today’s hunt rather interesting…

The third and fourth days had passed by in much the same fashion - except for the slight tweak in your routine that included opening your hut door and finding the olo’eyktan standing there every single morning.

Always with food, always with a smile, always with some interesting niveous flower for you to press into your notebook. Then afterwards the two of you would set out to help you interview the Herwi people of all ages and backgrounds, to take samples, to explore the natural fauna, to even join Gojo on one of his Hunts on the third day. 

They admitted that they didn’t focus on hunting as much as they normally did on that trek, too enamored with this strange little human that had showed up one day and had their olo’eyktan glued to her side.

You interviewed hunters and elders (well, the ones that didn’t ignore you completely or were on the verge of cursing you out until they caught their leader’s eye) until your mouth hurt. And Gojo had taken you into the best spot with natural Pandoran fauna, making you jot down notes until your fingers cramped.

Once the sun was beginning to set and the Na’vi were getting ready to head back to their village for the night, you’re taking the opportunity to interview some of the young hunters. Gojo was off in the distance making up for the slightly lowered hunt by ice-spearing more snow beasts. And you were more than happy not to distract him while he took care of his olo’eyktan duties- after all, the other hunters were nice. Never having seen a human before, they’d been more than happy to answer your questions.

Ribbing each other, guffawing as they answered, placing their hands down on you and ruffling your head from above.

Almost as if you were a plaything- and you admit it was in the name of science, you didn’t mind it too much until a particularly boisterous hunter about Gojo’s age had kept swatting at you no matter how many times you politely moved away. Until he’d caught you on the scruff of your coat and tried to lift you up—

You hear the sound of bones breaking before you realize what it is.

Whipping your head behind you in an instant to see that Gojo was behind the other hunter and pulling his hand hard enough that you hear other Na’vi cry out. 

He lets go of you, of course, and you watch with widened eyes as Gojo then bandages his fellow Na’vi’s arm himself. Though you note that he doesn’t apologize.

Gojo didn’t leave your side for a single second after that.

That night after the dinner by the lake, Gojo walks you to your hut and sleeps outside in the bitter cold- no matter how much you tried to get him to take up the bed inside. He’d insisted.

After mating, he’d said.

You wonder whether your translating device was malfunctioning…

(See Page 26 on Herwi possessiveness…).

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Day #4 in the Herwi village: 

Beads.

A well-known part of Na’vi culture, one of the most recognizable, perhaps. The scientific community has written long and extensively on the importance of bead-sharing in the Omaticaya clan, however, this scientist shall be the first to detail the beauty of how this tradition extends to the Herwi clan.

According to the artisans of this village, beads aren’t fashioned through molten stone or seeds or clay—given the availability of such in this environment. Rather, they’re made with snow.

Never-melting snow.

Yes, the design of hona beads from snow is a practice unique to the Herwi clan. Broken off from the hardest icicles growing at a peak of Mt. Hoet said to touch the sky, not only is it a treacherous passage to get to those specialized bits of ice, but the process of making the beads finds itself just as arduous. These icicles are then welded into delicate beads and dipped into the waters of Lake Yapay at night, letting them soak and then carried to freeze at the highest peak once more.

This process is repeated until the beads are as hard as diamonds on Earth- perhaps even harder. Never-melting. Never-breaking. Never-forgetting. Though not too hard so that the Herwi will be unable to carve unique patterns and symbols special to themself. Rinse. Repeat.

Though the clear meaning of such is ambiguous, it is most certainly a way of showing appreciation - as one would have to love someone very much to do this, no?

It was on your fourth day amongst the Herwi clan that Gojo didn’t show up with a beautiful flower or trinket from the terrain- instead, he’s bounding up to you with a string of beads and knotting it against the side of your face.

Pushing it back and taking you in with it.

Without a question.

“Satoru, did you…” You’re holding the line of beads up to the sunlight and watching the little patterns glimmer. They were slightly frosted and flurried like the smallest of snowglobes, “Did you make this for me?” 

And you swear they had the most intricate design of clouds on them, swirling and tumbling.

“Of course.” He smiles proudly. “Us Herwi are taught how to design our very own hona beads ever since we were children, and as Na’vi coming of age we walk up the path to make the first one for ourselves…as adults we make one for our family or…” Mates.

“And this- god, I need to…write about this but I can’t even imagine how long this would’ve taken.” 

“Four days.” Gojo cocks his head and looks down at you- and that brilliantly confident grin of his plasters across his face once more. “For most it takes four years, but for you I did it in four days.”

“Oh, they’re just amazing.” You run a hand down the ice-cold globules, “Thank you, Satoru.”

He holds your hand as he leads you out into the village.

Gojo tells you that night to wear those very beads to the clan dinner - once a week (at the very least) after a particularly successful Hunt, the Herwi people will get together for a massive feast. You’d heard excited whispers about it from the public you surveyed, and it seems that the olo’eyktan had chosen tonight.

Night had begun to fall, and you were dragged playfully by some younger girls straight to the edge of this vast frozen lake. Past snow-capped huts that stuck out of an even more snow-capped ground like eager heads, and ice-jeweled trees and frozen rivers and pathways lit with bioluminescent algae trapped in lanterns of ice.

It was a world in frost.

Where Na’vi had gathered with their families, their friends, their food—all in an array of tables that circled the crystallized body of water like a wedding ring.

Under the snowy night sky they communed. 

“You are wearing my- I mean your hona beads.” Gojo had beamed as he eventually caught up with you and guided you himself. He led you by hand again - even though you weren’t exactly quite sure why…at least it kept you from being toppled over by the other tall Herwi rushing to snag their own seats. “You look beautiful with them, beloved.”

And you weren’t quite sure what to say- though the bubbling pit at your stomach certainly wanted you to tell him something. Instead you divert the topic, “You hunted today as well, yes? Is there anything here that you hunted?”

To which he looks at you with a rather cocky smile, “Beloved, I have hunted more than half of the feast tonight. Trust that you will enjoy it.”

And you might have joked about him being presumptuous- but you really did enjoy the feast.

Under a star-studded sky and glimmering lanterns that twinkled like the freckles upon Gojo’s face, he led you to the very head table that no other Na’vi dared touch. It was rather obvious that this one was meant for the olo’eyktan himself, but what was curious was when your seat had been placed right next to his.

Perks of being a special guest, you suppose?

Shoko was beside you and shot you an amused smile, before preening for another Herwi next to her with a scar that ran across her face and half-braided hair. 

“Utahime.” Gojo had whispers in your ear, “Shoko’s mate.” 

“Ah- I see!” Pen quivering in your hand, you’re jotting down your observations in your notebook under the table. “Perfect. I’m quite curious about the mating rituals of the Herwi, you see. Do you suppose I’d be able to ask them some questions later on in the night?”

“Don’t ask them questions- ask me.” Gojo huffs. Brows furrowing. Lower lip jutting into a pout.

He leans over and wraps his arm around the back of your chair. Squirming, “O-oh…but you’re not mated yet, are you, Satoru?”

“Nope!”

“Right…” But then how could you ask him about mating if he wasn’t—nevermind.

Because just then the group in charge of cooking for the clan had rounded the tables and begun placing their most savored delicacies on top of them. Meats upon vegetables upon berries that you’d seen growing naturally across the mountainside they lived on. It was steaming hot and everything that you could dream of.

Whether you didn’t like meat, whether you didn’t like vegetables- there was always something there for you.

Most of the richest dishes were allocated around the olo’eyktan and your single table, stuffing the surface to the brim until you had to squeeze next to Gojo for space. Of course, he didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps too busy piling his place with the sweetest treacly milks and frozen desserts that he could reach.

After dinner came the dances.

It happened every night after the community dinner when everyone - full and satisfied by then - would start humming and chanting their ancient hymns. Echoing into the sleepy snow and the ever-young night, someone would pull out two snow beast-skin drums by then. Thumping away to the songs of the snow. 

Children ran off and made snow-prints and snow-fights in the mountains of powder. Family members would begin drowsily feeding each other and insisting they eat more. Others traced their own hona beads and promised they’d make ones for the one they love.

More would punch small holes through the frozen lake and bring the water up to their mouths, of which a sudden blow would make the water freeze and scatter out into the air in twinkling snowflakes. Emulating the stars themselves.

Snow-breathers. 

They’d sing, they’d sound, they’d show off and then…the first mated couple would walk onto the middle of the frozen ice.

Then the second.

The third.

The fourth and the fifth and the sixth-

What a way to end the night, love warming the cold air and couples twirling around each other with their tails intertwined. Usually, you’d be content to clap and attempt to sing along—

But then Gojo stands up- and you almost believe he was ready to leave the table altogether…until he’s reaching his hand out to you.

You.

And you look around in slight surprise- almost as if expecting someone to materialize right beside you and take Gojo’s hand instead. But the only thing you’re getting is Shoko’s approving nod from next to you, before she lets herself be dragged by Utahime onto the frozen lake.

And so you’d danced.

Rather an interesting sight considering the height difference, you admit—but it was beautiful. Gojo scoops you up into his arms with one steadied underneath you, the other holds one of your hands in his. 

So much larger. So much more powerful.

And yet so gentle.

He twirls you around to the music and you laugh at the wind stinging your face.

“Satoru, you’re going to drop me—”

“I should rather die than drop you.”

“But- but what of the other Herwi that will be mistaken?” You ask then, already sensing the envious looks that were thrown your way. 

“There goes my dream of being tsahìk, I’m almost sure of it now-”

“But I haven’t been able to try my luck with the olo’eyktan yet-”

“Oh shush, girl! You seriously think any of us had a chance?”

You look into his handsome face, eyes trained on you despite all the whispers and disturbance amongst his people. Only you. “You won’t be able to find a mate this way.”

Something unreadable in his blue eyes, flickering with fire from the tables and something else entirely. “Perhaps I don’t want one.”

“Well that would be entirely your decision.” You place your hands on his broad shoulders, flexing as they move you around with ease. “But it seems in Herwi tradition, the olo’eyktan is wont to take a mate.”

He raises a white brow, “And who should you believe must be my mate then?”

You didn’t quite know how to answer that.

Averting his eyes- and those of the Na’vi staring at you two. “W-well, Herwi has many fine women and men. Reykol is the best singer.”

“I do not want Reykol.”

“Tìtaron is a good hunter.”

He pulls you closer, “Yes, she is a good hunter. But I am better, and I do not care for Tìtaron.” Reaching up one hand to brush away the snowflakes that had begun dusting your face, “I believe I have already been fated to. Even before I was born, I have already chosen.”

You swallow, “Who, Satoru?”

He only smiles.

“Who?”

But he does not answer, you’re twirled around once more and the moonlight catches your dangling beads.

“Is that…”

“Surely our leader isn’t saying what we think he is saying-”

“But look at him, he looks so…happy.”

You turn your head to catch the fact that most of the Herwi were looking at you, whispering behind their hands. In hindsight, you think that perhaps it was not a coincidence that they ogled you - and particularly the hona beads that you’d been gifted. Not a coincidence at all.

You wore his signature because you were his.

And they all knew you were his.

.

.

.

Day #5 in the Herwi village (the last day): 

Leaving tomorrow, a perceptive scientist may notice that there is only one thing missing from this comprehensive research into the Herwi clan.

The source of Eywa.

As a deity to all Na’vi people, her influence seeps into the songs and prayers of even the highest terrains on Pandora. Into the healing. Into the well wishes. Into the belief system of a people so accepting and harmonious that their tree of Eywa does not need to be visibly present for her will to be carried out.

But as for where she resides here…

Your fifth and final day was less research and more saying your goodbyes to all the friends you’d made in the Herwi clan. You’d be leaving first thing tomorrow, before the sun even rose, according to the sternest of the elders. 

Gojo hadn’t met you outside your hut that morning, and you’d idled away the time packing and repacking your bag of samples and books. Thrice, before you started to believe that he might not come after all.

But that was alright, ultimately believing that he’d show up later on in the day, you visited all the healers, the hunters, the dancers, and the chefs. The mother and toddler you’d grown close to on your first day here, and even a stray elder that had sought you out to bow goodbye. 

All the young Na’vi and the old Na’vi.

All the Na’vi that had come to not fear you and the Na’vi that had found you endearing at first sight.

They’d warmed up to you since you first came here. They gave you gifts, each of them, and your heart ached as you thought of leaving. 

Goodbyes were always painful - but perhaps one most of all. Gojo.

He still hadn’t met you by the end of your route, and you’d circled the village about twice by the time you were done. He was nowhere to be seen.

It was almost as if he’d disappeared into thin air.

It was with a heavy pit in your stomach that you started to head back to your hut—your last dinner with the Herwi people would be in a few hours. Afterwards, Gojo had previously arranged for you to be accompanied by some of the clan’s best warriors on your trek down. 

You just thought that’d include him.

Perhaps you could sleep it off until the final dinner- and you were shutting the door just behind you…

Before sounds a hurried, hasty knock—

You open the door to see the olo’eyktan of the Herwi tribe.

Panting. Covered in snow.

“My apologies, I have spent the day clearing the pathway for us.” Gojo huffs out, leaning against your door frame with one hand. The other reaching out to you—“Come with me, beloved?”

.

.

.

The Herwi source of Eywa was inside an ice cave.

One that would get blocked when the goddess herself did not wish to be seen, one that Gojo had torn through layers of packed ice to burrow a pathway for the both of you. He’d carried you all the way to the gaping mouth of blue ice and ghost snow.

Closing in on you like arms of rime beckoning you to the tree of Eywa. The Tree of Winter.

The cold embrace of a mother.

One you were still not quite sure whether you were allowed to see—but Gojo knew he wanted you to see. He saw you. 

At the end of the cave was an ice column about eighty feet tall and naturally formulated to look like the winding branches of a tree. Dripping to the ground in phantom white snow, each one delicate and graduating from white to blue. There almost seemed to be a glowing aura about it.

Clear mirrors making up the tree’s vines. Honed tips of the icicles rising from Pandora and stabbing down towards it. The top of the tree reached where the cave roof was hollow, beaming a circle of light from the skies that donned Eywa in innocent pink.

You gasped at the white snowsprites that bounced off of the tree and onto your two bodies. 

Where Gojo stand with his back straight, his meaty thighs spread—pearly white teeth biting down to stop himself from fucking moaning at the feeling of your mouth sliding up n’ down his hot cock.

While you were standing.

You didn’t even have to get on your knees.

His eleven foot figure loomed above you, one hand on the back of your head and the other pumpin’ his furious erection. Your maw slips down his puckered tip and he shivers- bucking ever-so-slightly and hitting the back of your throat dead-on—

And yet he wasn’t even fully bottomed out.

He wasn’t even fully bottomed out.

The sudden realization makes you claw at the sides of his blue skin with a whine- direct vibrations that make the puckered tip lodged inside your mouth twitch. He’s sploshing out even more syrupy pre like he couldn’t stop it.

He’s not even trying and it’s already so much, cascading like a waterfall down the front of your chin.

“Now- hah, now.” One of Gojo’s prolonged fingertips reaches out to smear away the slippery sheen across your face- at least, that’s what you think he’s doing.

But instead you’re feeling him curve his rude digits between your lips and push those dewy droplets inside. Shovelling his cock just a little bit deeper, “S’not good to waste it, beloved. Open your mouth and take it all like a good girl, yes?”

“Mmmpf-” A damn miracle that you could get out that much sound in the first place. You’re pulling off to answer, and Gojo jerks his hips a lil’ to chase your damp mouth. “You’re saying you want me to take it all—?”

He shivers, leopard-like tail twitching. “Yes.”

And right before your very eyes, you can see his shaft throb even bigger. 

Harder. 

The prettiest bluish-pink on his tip, one with a divot that leaks out a line of precum. You’re following it with your dazed eyes- before the next thing you’re seeing is a close-up of it.

Gojo has his massive hand plastered to the back of your scalp and is pushin’ your head in, digging his dripping wet tip against the back of your throat. With a groan, the Na’vi pins you to him and hammers out a few sloppy thrusts of his cock.

Again and again.

Slurp after slurp—

“Gonna take it all- hah- my entire cock inside that pretty mouth, yes?” He’s cocking his head to the side and asking down at you sweetly. And he might look all in control, but Gojo’s voice fucking breaks at the very end of his sentence. 

Right in synchronization with the way you were draggin’ your sizzling tastebuds down the veiny sides of his erection. Just the cutest tongue that was eagerly lapping up everything he was giving—“Doesn’t matter if you’re a lil’ human, you’re gonna take the leader’s biiiiig cock, aren’t you?”

Removing yourself from his thickened tip with a wet pwah! “Y-you’re really serious about the-”

“Yes.” 

And he’d apologize for cutting you off later- hell, he’d grovel at your feet if he has to. But right now all Gojo can think of doing is holding onto the back of your head and strollin’ his thumb down the column of your throat. The olo’eyktan can feel that fat cylindrical intrusion where his cock was pumping in and out- and he’s sliding his fingertip dooooooown that bulge. “Aren’t you a scientist, beloved?”

“Y-yes?”

“Then aren’t you curious about just how far a human can take Na’vi cock?”

“Well…” You blubber out, “I guess so-”

“Then consider it for your research.” With each syllable he’s cutting your breath off by thudding his cockhead against the roof of your mouth. “Then just fucking- haaaaah—” And you’re finding that the pre Na’vi cock exuded was actually rather sweet- almost like honeydew flooding up your mouth n’ being slid all round by the intrusion of his shaft. “-take it.”

“Mmmpf—ngh.” Tears were streaming down your face by now, wetting your cheeks and making the Na’vi wipe them away with his thumb.

“Don’t cryyyyy—” He’s airily calling out, almost nothing like the level-headed Na’vi you’d met before. “Big girls don’t cry. Don’t worry- m’gonna give you all of my cock, beloved.”

“S-Satoru-”

But each of your broken yowls were being bullied back in with his bludgeoning wet tip, bruisin’ away its splitted end anywhere and everywhere. 

He swabs into the tiniest nooks and crannies inside your mouth with his sheer size, leaving your knees utterly weak where you were still standing. He’s holding your head up to his cock- “C’mon- feel.”

You peer up at him in confusion.

“Feel for your research.” Fluttering his long pale lashes down at you, a sultry smile spreads across his lips. “How many loooong thick inches you’re being given. How many veins are filling ya up. How many times I hit the back of yer throat like this-”

A shuddering slam right where you were most tender. “Please-”

“M’helping you with your- fuck, research.” He chuckles down lecherously, “By shutting that smart human mouth of yours up.”

“Fuck-”

“Feel it- just feel.”

He thrusts so hard that his heavy ballsack smacks! against your chin, “Feel the way that lil’ mouth of yours can barely even take me. Feel how fat my balls are with cum just for you. Count them? Wanna calculate the girth?” Until it was stinging a permanent girth on your skin, rubbed raw with impact. “Feel the way I- ngh, bruuuise your throat n’ those sensual lips until anyone that talks to you knows I’ve been here.”  He’s babbling on stupidly by now, eyes falling more n’ more half-lidded by the minute. He’s holding on tightly to your restless head and shoves- “Feel the way I fuck my mate—”

Gojo trails off as if shocking himself, and you’re snapping your teary eyes up to him with a muffled- “What?”

But you don’t know whether it’s on cue, you don’t know whether it’s the startle of being caught- but Gojo’s slamming his cocktip way past the back of your throat and cumming.

Oozing out hot dollops of cum that take over your pretty mouth.

Shaft throbbing furiously. Balls twitching like no other. He throws his head back and squelches straight down your throat, and you can feel the thickness of it plug up your voicebox.

So sweet.

So much.

And you’re not sure whether it’s a Na’vi thing or it’s a Gojo thing that he’s cumming so much in one go.

Loooooong miry stripes that trickle down the sides of your mouth- he leans down and pushes them back between your lips with one of his thumbs. Ivory sap constantly leaking down onto your tastebuds, he feels the heady slip n’ slide of his cock against those wads of cum. “Fuh-fuck…”

And then he’s not moving, merely clasping the back of your head and bringing you firmly up against his slender pelvis. 

Your nose rubs against the tufts of white on his abs before you realize that he’d just bottomed-out—just once, like he’d promised. 

And it was enough to send you reeling, feeling the pushback of his swabbin’ tip. Pouring out even more heady liquid every time he was draaaaging down your velvety tongue. 

The tip of your tastebuds flicks his sensitive slit just right and you can feel him pulse deep inside. “Feel me in there?” Gojo’s groaning from above. “Feel how much I ache for you. Feel the volume of my cum- are you counting it?”

“I-I—”

But evidently your half-sob wasn’t enough.

And the Na’vi is reaching down and pinching your nostrils together with his free hand. “Ah ah- focus on your research, beloved.”

And you’re struggling uselessly against his mean action, to which Gojo watches with a predatory gaze at the way you huff n’ sputter. And he has the audacity to snicker-

“I really can throw you around like a ragdoll, huh?”

It’s as if the realization had just struck him and he’s shuddering. 

It almost feels like ages before he’s finally pulling away with a loud plop!

An excess of your cum was leaking out of your maw and threatening to drip onto the floor- “Tch, this is a sacred place, my human.” He’s rasping out—swipin’ up the frothed white cum as if he wasn’t absolutely desecrating you. Pushing those clingy wads between your maw.

He then guides his honed tip to glide across your lips, gluing your lips shut with all his seed.

And Gojo can’t help but admire you- peering up at him with his towering height. All covered in his syrupy slick and speechless, unable to talk even if your voicebox had been left intact.

He smiles, tail swishing happily to and fro. “My human.” Gojo leans all the distance down to kiss you upon your sopping wet lips. “My m- pretty human. My pretty human…”

But you don’t have enough sense at the moment to ponder too long on his little slip-up before he’s bending down close with his hoarse mouth against the shell of your ear.

Making you feel so sensitive.

“-did ya get enough research yet?”

And then he’s good on his other promise: throwing you around like a ragdoll.

Before you know it, Gojo’s thundering down onto his knees upon the frozen floor - taking you right along with him. He grabs his fur coat from a little ways away and makes you rest down on top of it. With ease.

Back flat on the coat. Legs spread high in the air.

Twisted around the back of Gojo’s neck and locked in place-

“Satoru-” You look around the Tree of Winter that only seems to glow even brighter, the snowsprites buzzing. “-are you sure we should be doing this h—oh.”

Gojo doesn’t say anything - he doesn’t have to.

He’s merely unhinging his jaw and letting his loooong pinkish tongue drip out. It was glossy with ravenous saliva, thick at the base, and curved at the tip. The end of it dripped tantalizingly with spittle- almost torturously. 

Achingly needy.

There was an almost feline quality to it that made your thighs clench.

“N-nevermind.”

The only thing you’re managing to get out before Gojo had his tongue stuffed against your wet core and swabbin’ away until you saw white—“M-mmmpf.” His mouth was just so large that he could engulf your pussylips with a single bite, honed canines grazing the outer edge of your cunt while he kisses inwards. “My pretty mate- my tasty mate.”

It’s almost as if he was pussydrunk already.

With just a single slurp of his curvaceous tongue glidin’ up and down your slit, Gojo has his blue eyes rolling to the back of his head and his hips bucking. Wildly. “Why didn’t Eywa tell me that you’d taste so good-”

“Oh my—” Your back arches while his thickened fingertips come between your legs to pinch your puckered pussy into his mouth. Pushing you against him even more - greedy. “Shit, it just feels so-”

Smack!

And without a single warning, Gojo has his roverin’ fingertips slamming down on your pussy. Straight on top of your slit where your clit was hidden, it sends shockwaves of both pain and pleasure up your spine.

You’re gasping and staring down at him-

“Now now, no cursing- be good before Eywa, hm?” That damn hypocrite - and you could see it in that sultry smile of it. Gojo was getting off on the way you’d squirm your cunt restlessly against his face, sighing into the way he starts fucking your pussy once more. “Or else m’not gonna eat this pretty pussy of yours out, ya hear?”

You gape, “That’s not fucking fair-”

Smack!

“What was that, beloved?”

“I said—”

Smack!

Smack!

Smack!

Until Gojo’s leaving your pussy raw and needy, and even then he wasn’t done with you- he has the audacity to purse his plump lips and spit. Spit. Letting the sharp strike of saliva make you shiver—

“What was that?” He asks you in such a breathy tone, such a ruined tone. Gojo spoke like if you told him you needed him right now then he would simply shatter. 

And you can only gulp at the state that he was in - you’ve researched Na’vi during times of high pressure, during battles, during their coming-of-age ceremonies. But never had you met one that simply seemed so…feral. “I-I’ll be good, Satoru.”

He smiles like he’s been wanting to hear those exact words for years.

Fingertips jittering with excitement, he then reaches for your intertwined ankles with his tail. 

Locking them in place, Gojo murmurs. “Good…” Before he’s getting ready to dive straight back into your sweetened cunt once more, “Because you better not run-”

And you don’t get to ask just what might constitute you running from his mouth. His tongue.

You don’t get to ask just what it meant when he looked at you with that dark inkling of something carnal, as if he was about to devour you whole.

You don’t get to ask anything, in fact, and whatever questions were already in your throat burst into a zillion pieces at the feeling of him pushing his tongue inside your hole. Properly.

Not lapping away coquettishly on your outer cunt, not slurpin’ up all your treacly juices.

Gojo had his tastebuds stuffed inside your entrance and was draaaaagging them all across every orifice inside of you. Thrusting his entire length in and out at a rapid pace, you could feel the edge of his chin hitting your base with every movement.

Inside and out.

Inside and out.

But the sheer speed of him wasn’t even the bit makin’ you the most dizzy- see Gojo’s Na’vi tongue was something amazing. Something incredible. 

Just so large and lavish that it was stretching your walls out like never before.

“P-please-” You don’t think you’ve ever felt anything like this- the way that Gojo’s textured tongue would mold against your walls, the way he’d pinpoint even the tiniest orifices with his flexible tip, the way he’d expand and contract his tongue purposefully. Until you saw white. Bucking—“Please it just feels so-”

“Where’d ya think you’re going?”

And the slur in his voice makes you pause- “Wh-what…?”

The last thing you’re managing to get out before Gojo tightens the rude grip of his fingertips on your pussylips. And the other one of his hands holds onto your waist to haul you back down onto his mouth- you hadn’t even realized that you’d been edging away in sensitivity. 

“Didn’t I tell you not to run?” Spankin’ those rugged fingertips of his down on your clit once more. You get the feeling that Gojo’s meanly choosing your clit because he knew that’d make you clench ‘round his tongue even more. “Don’t run. Don’t even move.”

“You’re just so fucking- ngh, big and you expect me not to move?” You wail out in indignity.

“Well, who told you to fuck a Na’vi warrior?” He’s countering, those half-lidded eyes of his twinkling with humor. “Better yet- who told you to fuck the olo’eyktan-”

And you suppose you had no explanation for that.

Especially not even Gojo was pumping his thickened tongue into you so fast that any and all explanations in your throat start to dissolve. Instead being replaced by the most pathetic whines and groans as he keeps fucking your pussy greedily.

As though Gojo was a man parched.

Because your wettened pussy was more refreshing to him than the waters of the lake- and if he could, he’d have his head stuffed between your legs every second of the day. Simply slurpin’ up every dewy droplet that escaped out of you, Gojo catches even those tiniest of wads.

Slipping his looooong tongue inside—you’re driven damn near mad once he slithers his length in and grazes your g-spot.

Hips bucking, eyes snapping open. “H-how did you even manage-”

“Ah ah—” His familiar tut, and soon enough you’re glued back down onto his pretty mouth again. Gojo doesn’t even need to try to ease you pliably back onto his face no matter how much you try to run- but oh, it was just so fun to watch your sultry surprise. The way you only got wetter when he manhandled you. “So this is that cute lil’ g-spot human have, hm? I thought it was just something in Shoko’s anatomy textbooks.”

“You- you read her textbooks…” You ask.

“All day and all night.” Gojo replies with a smirk, his ears twitching as he hears the quickening of your heartbeat. “Only Eywa knows how much I’ve touched myself imagining this.”

“Oh—”

It hits you like a flash of lightning- and so do the sudden swipes of Gojo’s tongue reaching your sweetest spots. Thud-thud-thud-thud he’s ricocheting against your bundle of nerves rapidly, making it echo like your own heartbeat in your ears. Thud-thud-thud-thud—

“Shit-” And suddenly you understand- you thought you understood before? But no, now you understand why Gojo had been telling you not to run away initially.

“Don’t run.” He warns.

Because all you’re feeling are the large stripes he’s licking up your slick walls, and the only thing you can think of doing is bucking. Rutting. Reaching for his lips wildly- though your body moves torturously as if you didn’t know whether you wanted more or to run away—“Shit.” 

“Don’t run.”

But how could you not run from it? How could you not even move when Gojo had your body teased n’ toyed with till absolutely no end?

He was hammerin’ his tongue against your g-spot furiously—and you were sure by now that he has the exact pattern of his tastebuds bruised right on that area. Shapin’ your velvety walls to his tongue, Gojo dives in just so animalistically.

And you can’t help but buck. You can’t help but arch your back. You can’t help but reach your hand out and attempt to grab onto something- anything for dear life. 

Again and again. “Shiiiiit is it even allowed to feel this good-”

But the Na’vi leader merely stops your hands with his own, folding them neatly into his hair. Holding onto his clammy scalp- “As Eywa wills it.” He smiles and your cunt’s just so sensitive by this point that you can feel the exact degree of curvature of his grin. “Which reminds me…”

And for your profanity you’re getting three more direct spanks, “Shit-”

One more.

Before you feel him then twist his fingertips on your throbbing clit and pinch- “Ya reeeeally can’t be a good girl f’me, huh?” Gojo asks you with a smile, though there was a hint of something in his voice that reminded you why exactly he was the olo’eyktan of such a large clan. “Look at you—”

“Sh-shit, that feels so-” But he isn’t listening, and you’re fighting the heels of your feet against his broad back. 

“Look at you.” He’s tightening his tail on your ankles and dragging you back down. He’s spitting down through clenched canines, every single word sending sparks up to your hazy brain. Barely even working by this point, surely. “Swearing. Squirming. Moaning like a slut and trying to escape- as your leader, I should punish you, beloved.”

“No more pussy spanking—” You whine, “Just makes me so sensitive…”

“I’m not talking about pussy spanking, beloved.” To emphasize his point he gives just a light tap on your sensitive nub once more.

It leaves you shaking to wonder just what else he has in store for you- though you don’t have to let your mind grapple in the dark for too long. Because in absolutely no time - just a few more vulgar thrusts of his tongue - you’re feeling the sudden plump intrusion of something slender at your hole.

It certainly couldn’t have been his tongue, because you knew what that ridged texture felt like. 

It certainly couldn’t have been Gojo’s cock, because you’d tasted that and you knew he had a much larger circumference. 

So that left only one option—Gojo had your pussylips spread apart and your entrance gulping up every inch of his fingers. They just looked so stark with their blue color disappearin’ into your hole, and Gojo’s increeeeedible length making you feel so full. 

Two of them were all that were shovelled inside- and yet he was already stretching for your very cervix on his first thrust inside. He scours the spongy end of your pussy then slides back out—in and out, in and out, in and out.

Each time his knobbly joints push against your g-spot and left you crying-

“Feel my fingers inside you?” Gojo rasps ruthlessly, his mouth wrapped around your throbbing clit. Groaning at the way you grow even wetter- Na’vi senses were strong, and he could smell the impending orgasm on you. “Feel the way I reach for your- hah, womb all inside? Feel the way I can fuck a baby in you so easily?”

“Yes-” You answer to them all, “Yes yes yes yes—”

And before you can say anything more, his powerful tail hauls you down. Bashin’ in even deeper with his plush fingertips. “Feel the way I’ve found eeeevery cute spot of yours? Feel the way I know your pussy inside and out?”

“Yes- fuck.” And you don’t even care if you’re ‘punished’ any more for breaking Gojo’s stern rules. Gojo himself was slamming his knuckles red and raw against your cunt, fucking his human’s tight pussy. “Fuck, I’m gonna-”

“Feel the way m’making you mine—?”

“Satoru, m’gonna cum-”

“Note it down in your research.”

And then you’re exploding straight into your high - and you know it’s the best you’ve ever had.

Your eyes fall shut and the only thing you’re seeing behind them is pure black with stars of white, pulsing against your bleary vision in time with the furious throbbing at your cunt. Little zaps of pleasure shoot all the way down to the tips of your toes every time he’s moving his maw across your core. Sharp. Sensitive. He’s wedged between your legs and lappin’ up each pulse.

Sluuuuurp—!

Long, aching drags of his tongue. They’re roverin’ over the most sensitive spot of your clit, meanwhile his fingers were glazed in slick n’ fucking you stupid already.

Gojo thrusts you through your high as if he was angry at you. As if he can’t get enough. As if he’s losing his damn mind and you n’ your pussy are the only reasons why-

It takes you only a minute more for your wave of bliss to taper out, fully riding through it. 

And then only another minute more for you go from fucked straight to overstimulated by a few more of his rovering thrusts. He swabs your g-spot once more and you think you’re bawling- “S-Satoru, I’m already done-”

But he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even seem to hear you.

In fact, you couldn’t sworn that he was grabbing onto your right thigh with his free hand and keeping himself plastered even more into your cunt-

“Satoru—!” You’re calling out helplessly, “Satoru, I’m already- ngh, done-”

“Mhmmmm?” Muttering something wet underneath his breath, and you have to strain your ears to actually hear him. Breathy. Panting. “Research- fuck! More…”

“I can’t even- oh.” It was almost dangerous just how potent he was with his mouth and fingers, and before long your thighs were starting to shake with sensitivity. Causing you to grab onto his scalp even tighter and-

“O-oh.”

And accidentally tug on the long braid of white hair thrown over his shoulder—his kuru.

Did that manage to…

Your breath hitches, and you’re reaching out to graze your fingers down his kuru once more-

“Fuh—fuuuuck.” Gojo throws his head back in a voice that almost sounded like a whimper, his slick lips quivering. His skin covering in goosebumps. His erection throbbing from where you could spy him. His entire large body shakes with the zaps of hypersensitivity going down his spine, “D-don’t think you know what you’re getting into, beloved…” His murky breath clouds out in front of him. 

“You sure?” You challenge - what a privilege it was to see him break.

The olo’eyktan grits his teeth—-“I’m warning you…”

But when were you ever one to listen to warnings?

Without thinking much of it, you tighten your hand ‘round his kuru and tug—

And then he’s on you in a split-second.

He’s not even moving- he’s grabbing onto your hips and bodily puuuulling you right back down till your cunt lips kiss his cock. He’s pushing your legs up until your kneecaps hit your tits. He’s hunching his entire body forwards and-

“Sh-shit.” Your eyes widen, “Satoru, did you just-”

“Yes.”

Just you teasing his kuru is enough to make Gojo spuuuurt out in creamy wads of cum once more, coating the outer part of your pussy in a thick layer. It feels hot and wet on top of you, streaming down to drench the coating. Before he’s swervin’ his swollen tip inside and fucking you-

No hesitation. No preparation.

You’re getting what you deserved, and that was to be fucked like an absolute anima by the Na’vi.

“You don’t know what you’ve done.” He’s spitting- straight into your hotly opened mouth. Those sharp canines of Gojo’s nipping at your bottom lip, “You don’t know what you’ve done- you don’t know what you’ve done-”

“Shit, shiiiit—Satoru.” Moaning out his name like a broken record player. He’s bullying out harsh semi-thrusts against your cunt that leave you scrambling for breath- just shovin’ his puckered tip inside, just tasting the inside of your pussy with his cockhead, just trying to fucking fit.

“Sayin’ my name like that and you don’t even fucking—” Before Gojo feels your soppy walls clench tightly ‘round him, and his lips part a little before racing down and spitting on your cunt. “Fucking fit.”

“You say that like it’s so easy-” You sob out. 

He was pistoning his hips into you ferally.

The only thing he was doing was stretchin’ out your cute hole a few times, just so big that you’re being push-push-pushed up the fur coat you were splayed out on-

A hand at your throat.

“Don’t. Fucking. Run.”

And you don’t have the chance to tell him that you weren’t actually running and in fact it was just his roverin’ hips forcing you upwards- but before you could do that, Gojo’s already rendering you speechless with his cock.

He’s grabbing an even tighter restraint of your neck.

He’s manhandling your entire body down like he’s crazed.

He’s juuuuuust barely managing to squeeze in a sultry inch of two of his massive length- the mere sensation of that in itself enough to send your mind bursting into a heap of stars. It was almost numbing on your lower half, to have this much of him fitted inside you.

Stuffed inside you.

Throbbing inside you.

And it seems that the only one more affected by that fact wasn’t you - it was Gojo Satoru himself. Head falling into the crook of your neck. Tail flinching as it now wraps around your right thigh. Mouth parting with an agonized groan.

“F—fuck.” He’s echoing out hollowly into your ear, “Fuck, you’re so fucking…tight.”

Gojo spits out the word as if it was the very reason the olo’eyktan was shattering right about now. And almost on cue, those sopping wet walls of yours clench ‘round his tip and makes the Na’vi yelp—

“Fuck, don’t do that.” He’s shuddering through his sloppy strokes, his split-ended tip filling you up with dewy precum. “Fuck, don’t do that unless you want to be taught what happens when you pull on the kuru of a Herwi like me, little scientist.”

“What happens?” You ask innocently.

“S’why I’m telling you to fucking—oh.”

Just a few more pulsating clenches of your cunt, and Gojo shivers as though he’s being held hostage by your wet walls.

He bears his canines and snarls at you in the way you’d seen Na’vi do when they want to signal, to intimidate, to mate. 

But you stare up at the olo’eyktan of the Herwi clan with determination.

And he’s giving you one final probe-

“I’m going to get you fucking pregnant.”

He breathes out against the shell of your ear, almost like the last whisper of his sanity before Gojo stares into your wide heart-eyes—and he’s reeling his hips back to plunge.

Uncaring how unready your poor entrance was.

Uncaring how your tiny human body shakes underneath his larger one.

His fat cock swipes between your glittery folds and puuuuushes against the instinctual restraint of your hole, all the way until you start to tremble- and he knows he can’t push any more. He knows he can’t break you.

He’s fighting back every sudden primal urge in him that just wants to fuck you all the way inside- and furiously pumps his solid inches back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Keeping a hand always on the top of your stomach for when he’s feeling his hard globular tip push upwards.

Gojo was just so big that he could feel himself sinking in from the outside-

“And that’s not a promise, beloved.” Gojo’s pale brows furrow as his cockhead starts swabbin’ even deeper after each thrust, “That’s not a promise- that’s not even a challenge-”

“Th-then—?” He’s pushing doooown on your overstuffed core and you find it hard to breathe, both pressures from between your legs and from Gojo pushing on your cylindrical tummy bulge was just…

The olo’eyktan grins when he watches his cute lil’ human struggle to take his entire cock, the bluish hue of it spreading apart your thighs. He reels his slender hips back in quite the long drag—before ultimately hammering- “It’s an oath. Before Eywa.”

A divine oath.

Added to the fact that Gojo was slamming his ruddied tip into you with each syllable- and you could never forget about the sheer size difference. The way that it helped him bend over you and fold you in half as though nothing but a lawnchair—your ass was cleanly dangling off the floor with how much Gojo was bending you.

A mating press. The meanest one you’ve ever seen.

You’re hit with the sudden inclination that you weren’t about to walk out of here any time soon.

And Gojo seems to be doing well on that fact- he hadn’t completely bottomed-out yet, but he was still drilling into you with such fervour. Streaking his cum from before across every inch of you, a layer of white that you feel from the inside.

Feverish cocktip swabbin’ all the way at the back of your cervix, full balls smacking your cunt.

Every time he was hurtling his hips forwards, it almost felt as if the ground beneath you was trembling. 

It almost felt as if he was hitting each of your geysering spots without even needing to try. Just so big that the veiny sides of his cock rubbed n’ dubbed up against those orifices unfairly. 

It almost felt as if you were losing it-

“So I think you’ll have a loooot of fuckin’ research, beloved.” Gojo snickers, his tail flicking you playfully. And at this point you’re not even sure what the conversation was about, just knowing that it was the background music to the lecherous thwacking of his hips on yours. 

So hard that you could feel the wads of his high from before glazing your insides. Dripping all the way near the rim of your cunt before being pumped back inside.

He pushes down on top of that bulge once more and watches you whine, “I almost don’t want to, mmm, ask what it’ll be about…”

“Ohhh, y’know—” Gojo trails off airily, something shaky in the back of his tone that sends shivers up your spine. It makes you almost content to know that you’ve gotten him so pussydrunken- but then again you weren’t too far behind. He tilts his head to the side and looks at you through partially closed eyes, smiling. “-human-Na’vi babies.”

And it’s with that that Gojo finally - finally - drills his cock all the way to the hilt.

Bottoming out.

His breath catches at the realization.

Blue eyes widening. Mouth watering.

It feels so different to have your hot innards surrounding him entirely- and fuck, Gojo wasn’t even sure whether a human like you would be able to take all of him. But it seems that you really were made for him, yes? Every curve and edge of you. Every bit of your cunt that he gives an experimental buck into, before pumping inside like a madman-

Pounding you into the smooth ground of the celestial temple.

It feels like you’re being thrust into heaven itself because of the way he was so big, big, big—all the way from the purple-ish tip that was zig-zagging your walls, to the oversized tummy bulge he was fucking into you, to the way he had you folded. Manhandled.

Gojo’s only lasting a few strokes before he’s crushing you to him so hard that it almost hurts- “Right here—right here.” The hand atop your stomach pushes down where his ruby-red tip was kissin’ and kissing at your womb. “You’re gonna have a lot ta research about fucking- ngh, getting bred by the fucking olo’eyktan. A lot to research about carrying my next heir, yeah?”

“Yes…” Arching your back into him.

“And then here—” That very hand now drifts down to the in-betweens of your pussylips and rubs his thumb over your clit. He’s drawing little circles and hearts on top of your sensitive nub that makes you wrack with pleasure, “Yer gonna have to research giving birth to such a biiiig baby, beloved.”

You shiver at the thought, mostly excitement.

And he purrs as he rubs his cheek against the sweaty crown of your head, “But s’okaaaaay- I’ll help you through every step of it, beloved. My mate.” The Na’vi’s staring down at you lovingly, fucking you filthily. “M’gonna breed you all full, okay? You might just have to research more about Na’vi phenotypes- heh.”

You can only nod. “Please…”

And before you can dwell too long on that last particular word—mate—he’s continuing. “And then you don’t have to worry ‘bout a thing- I can take care of eeeeverything. I’ll wash our kid. I’ll dress our kid. I’ll feed our kid. I’ll do everything and anything just please-”

“Y-yes?” Your voice cracks.

And he winks down at you almost mischievously, “Let’s do some research together on when I’ll be able to breed you all full of my cum next, hm?”

And with only a few more vicious thrusts, you’re feeling your second wave of pleasure tonight take over. You knew it’d been bubbling inside your veins for some time now- and right now it almost felt as if that euphoria was overflowing.

Overspilling.

Just like the gushing wads of slick that drivel over the front slit of your cunt and leave you so wet that you feel like a waterpark. Just rhythmic bursts of your high that leave your body loose and limp, shaking a bit every time that Gojo’s cockhead plummets inwards.

Head muddled.

Eyes rolling to the very back of your head.

This might just be the best orgasm of your entire life, and your wave of pleasure is looooong and drawn-out with how many times Gojo thrusts his cock in to fuck you through it. “Shit, Toru—” 

Again and again and again.

Each time hitting the target of your g-spot dead-on and watching as you gush around him even more. 

You were at Gojo’s complete mercy…almost.

Shaking. Your hands find themselves in his hair once more- or more precisely grazing the long length of his kuru. “Satoru.” You’re breathing out as he shivers carnally, “Satoru, I want it- ngh, inside.”

His eyes widen, “Demanding something of the olo’eyktan, are you?”

“Inside, Toru.” Desperate now.

To emphasize, you’re lightly tugging on his kuru and watching as it makes the Na’vi above you shudder. His cock pouring out heaps of precum that only act as a warning for something…more. “F-fuck, better keep this all in until tomorrow-”

At the very least.

You’re honestly not sure if you can keep it all in even now—because then Gojo’s throwing his head back and cumming long and hard. Harder than he ever thinks he has before- his seed dribbles out of him like a gooey waterfall, taking place inside every nook and cranny you have.

Heavy balls clenching almost aggressively as they empty out inside you.

He’s swervin’ each ounce of it inside by dragging his globular tip, that reddened cockhead making you swear you taste Gojo all the way at your throat. 

Flooding.

Your toes curl, it almost feels as though he’s fucking you into a third and fourth high altogether-

“Until tomorrow-” Gojo barks out through his smoky tone, “Until always-” After reaching his high so many times in one night, his sparks of euphoria just rip through him. And you can feel the sheer intensity of it by the way his slippery slick thwacks! against the back of your pussy, hot and heavy. It seems to inflate you from the inside, “Until we have our…fuck.”

And it’s not like Gojo to let up a sentence. Especially one that wavered with emotion.

“Until I have…” He starts again, blue eyes twinkling. “…you.”

Right now he was cupping the side of your face with his left hand- accidentally…or perhaps not…dslodging the translating device from your ear.

And then the Na’vi olo’eyktan leans with his forehead pressing down on top of yours.

Dragging his hand down the side of your head, where his beads for you twinkled in the glow of Eywa’s tree. Breathing out the words—“Oel ngati kameie, muntxa si.”

He looks at you with a slightly sad smile as if he was almost bitterly glad you didn’t understand. Though little did he know…“Oel ngati kameie, Satoru.”

And the look on his face was worth all the time you’d spent poring over Na’vi language books with Shoko these past few days. At least you understood this.

You grin, “I did a bit of research myself.”

He holds you tight, he holds you as if he wanted you two to become one.

More so.

Eventually—after about four or so more rounds, and once you were thoroughly shattered and kept on begging for it, Gojo had swiped his long kuru into his hand and raised it up to you. You yourself didn’t have one, but if there was anything you learned from being with the Herwi people—it’s that love comes in all forms and differences.

You press your lips to his flower-like nerves at the very end of his braid. Immediately, a rush of something between you two and you understand what he meant about being mates.

You feel what Gojo sees.

You feel what Gojo smells.

You feel what Gojo hears.

You feel what Gojo tastes.

You feel what Gojo feels.

You feel complete.

.

.

.

Day #6 in the Herwi village (day after the mating):

The ancient of the Herwi clan were one of the only believers in fated mates, of one who had been destined to walk beside you upon this good planet through Eywa’s will. It was said that life does not flower until one meets one’s fate, not even the skies shall migrate, not even the ice shall melt. 

Two souls bound to meet.

And until then one can only look up, up, up…

This scientist was found in quite the curious position as mate to the olo’eyktan on the morning after.

Re-entering the village, hand-in-hand, it was inevitable that the Herwi people would stare. Not only was it quite past the deadline of six moons given, but each bore resemblance of a mating session that could’ve been spotted a smile away.

Bite marks. Bruises. Slight falter in walking.

Not to mention that it seems word had spread about the…inoccupancy of the Tree of Winter just the night prior. (Additionally for more on Herwi stamina read Page 69…)

Circling back, the stares were rather unabashed. Some gasping. Some ribbing. Some tuts by elders of the clan who then again turned around with a smile.

It was obvious that they had been praying for the olo’eyktan’s happiness for a long, long time.

It must be noted that congratulations were doled out heavily at the communal dinner that night. Food. Dances. Parades.

It must be noted even further that preparations for coronation at the Herwi tsahìk shall be taking place in a week’s time. Who would have thought, a human being a tsahìk? Who would have thought that humans had fated mates as well?

For this scientist’s final note, preparations are already being planned meticulously for the arrival of a new heir to the Gojo name.

And that leaves the scientific community with one last thing, now that fluency in the Na’vi language is on the path to be attained: the glossary.

Tsahìk - Head shaman, high priest, interpreter..

Olo’eyktan - Male clan leader.

Mawey - Calm.

Txeylan - Best friend.

Ì’awn - Stay.

Fnu - Be quiet.

Txen - Awake.

Nga lu rusey- oh, nga lu rusey. - You’re alive- oh, you’re alive.

Oe'm lefpom. Txen? Lu nga txen? Tsal pung? - I’m happy. Awake? You’re awake? Are you injured?

‘Upe lu nga fwew? - What are you looking for?

Yawne? Oe'd tìng aynga. - Beloved? I’d give you anything.

Oe pey ngim krr. - I’ve been waiting a long time.

Tìnga’prrnen - Pregnant.

Tìnga’prrnen? Oe? - Pregnant? Me?

Nga new ne kanom oe tìnga’prrnen. - You want to get me pregnant?

Fì'u - This.

Irayo nga - Thank you.

Oe ke ronsem tsonta lu tìnga’prrnen. - I wouldn’t mind being pregnant.

Lake Yapay - Lake Steam.

Hona beads - Endearing.beads.

Mt. Hoet - Vast.

Kuru - Neural queue.

Oel ngati kameie, muntxa si. - I see you, my mate.

Oel ngati kameie, Satoru. - I see you, Satoru.

A/N. It must be acknowledged that Herwi culture was influenced by some aspects of Inuit culture, as well as some aspects of my own Sinhalese culture! Both such beautiful cultures that I was honored to research more in-depth on. Also this Na'vi vocabulary bank was used, and for longer Na’vi sentences this translator was used and might not be fully accurate ahhh-

When he walked into the classroom and spotted you again in the second semester, a quiet recognition settled in his chest, the subtle surprise of realizing someone else had survived the same academic gauntlet and ended up here too.

It was rare to see a familiar face that was not tied to his major, rarer still for it to be someone he vaguely remembered for reasons he could not immediately place.

He remembered your handwriting from group work signs in sheets, the way you always underlined titles twice, the fact that you asked questions that were thoughtful without trying to impress anyone.

Someone who arrived a few minutes early and claimed the same seat near the aisle. Someone who sighed softly when the professor went off on a tangent, who laughed under your breath at jokes that barely landed. Tim noticed these things without meaning to, the same way he noticed patterns everywhere else in his life. None of it felt important at the time.

You were just another student, another name on the roster, another presence in a room full of them.

If anyone had asked him then, he would have said meeting you meant nothing at all.

Just a coincidence.

Just shared schedules and overlapping paths.

But it kind of changed when he started to interact with you.

It was never anything important, never anything that felt like the start of something. Small comments exchanged before class, a quiet complaint about an upcoming exam, a brief conversation about how unbearable the assigned readings were. Mundane things. Things he would not have remembered on any other day.

And yet, he found himself listening.

He listened when you talked about how you always forgot to bring a charger and lived in a constant state of low battery panic. He listened when you mentioned grabbing coffee after class, not as an invitation, just as information offered into the air. He listened to the way your voice softened when you spoke about things you liked, even when the topic was painfully ordinary compared to.. well, Tim’s night life.

Somehow, you had decided to sit next to him through these lectures.

You went on about your weekend plans, part time jobs, a professor you could not stand.

Tim told himself it was nothing.

He was just being polite.

Just filling the silence like everyone else did.

But somewhere along the way, he realized he was paying attention in a way he did not with anyone else.

He remembered details he did not need to remember.

The brand of pens you preferred, the way you tapped your fingers against the desk when you were thinking and the way you slightly lift your shoulders when you laughed, like you were surprised by your own amusement.

The conversations never lingered long.

They ended when class began, when one of you packed up your things, when life naturally pulled you in separate directions.

Still, he caught himself replaying them afterward, cataloging your words as if they held weight simply because they had come from you.

It unsettled him, a little.

How something so ordinary could start to feel significant.

That was when it started, when he began to have this small, itsy bitsy, nothing serious kind of crush on you.

“It was just proximity,” he told himself, over and over, as if repeating it enough times would make it true. As if that alone explained why he started waking up earlier than he ever had before, setting alarms he did not need, just so he could take his time.

Why he stood in front of his closet longer than usual, choosing something awfully comfortable yet still deliberate, still stylish in a way that looked effortless if no one thought too hard about it.

He paid attention to things he normally did not.

Made sure his hair did not resemble a bird’s nest, fingers combing through it until it sat just right. He actually showered in the morning now, instead of the night before, letting the hot water wake him fully as he went through the motions with more care than necessary.

He chose a scent that lingered without being overwhelming, something clean, something he thought you might notice if you were close enough.

And then there was the mirror.

He’d lowkey snap outfit flicks.

Sometimes, it would be little videos or photos perfectly timed to show off how his clothes fit just right, and the fact he could fit your aesthetic, or match your outfits like what couples usually do (you guys barely interacted more than 15 minutes and he doesn’t even have your instagram, because he’s a wimp to ask, even though he had found you on Instagram easily).

Everyone likes a guy that could dress and match them, right? Right.

He’d pick a song that matched the vibe as well, something cool but casual, and post it to his Instagram story, followed by hundreds of thousands of people since he’s famously one of Bruce’s adopted sons, which comes with perks and downsides (this was one of the downsides), but without making a big deal out of it.

Then, of course, he’d save those stories to his highlights, making it easy for you to stumble across them whenever you felt like it. All so you could— whether you wanted to or not— notice just how cool and awesome his fits were.

Yeah, he was a total D1-plotter, and he wasn’t even the slightest bit ashamed of it.

Because, really— if girls could do it, why couldn’t guys?

He has a second account as well, only followed by his close friends, his annoying older brothers and Damian too, but he absolutely could not wait for you to eventually be added to his spam account.

One that had more outfit flicks saved neatly in his highlights. Another filled with his friends getting up to shenanigans he would never post publicly on the main, the kind of moments meant only for people he trusted.

Mixed in between were appearances from his brothers, candid shots and blink and you miss it videos that felt oddly domestic for someone like him, and then there were the miscellaneous things. Late night thoughts typed in tiny text, blurry city lights, half eaten food, dumb memes, moments that did not need context to matter.

And because Tim is a show-off, he’s definitely bringing his skateboard to ride around campus today, so he could catch your attention, most likely talk to you, compliment your outfit of the day, ask for your Instagram, and uh, talk about how long he’s been skateboarding and if he could do a kickflip, which he abso-flipping-lutely could do one.

Not only that, he also had a highlight of videos of skateboard tricks too on his spam account, clean landings, a few near wipes, proof that he actually knew what he was doing and was not just carrying it around for show.

And boom.

There ya’ go.

Simple as that.

A small plan with a big hope: to get a little closer, one casual skate session and maybe even one date with you.

Before he knew it, Tim was out of his apartment, cruising down the sidewalks with the breeze tugging at his jacket, the familiar hum of wheels against concrete keeping his mind sharp. Up ahead, something, or rather, someone— caught his eye. A familiar figure, moving at their own pace, completely unaware of him approaching.

“Yo, Miro!”

Tim called out, his voice cutting through the morning air with an easy confidence.

He stopped smoothly, catching his skateboard with one hand and tilting it casually within his hold, like it was no effort at all.

“Hey, man!”

Miro greeted him with a laugh, already extending his hand.

Tim understood immediately, muscle memory kicking in as they went through the usual handshake without missing a beat.

Their knuckles met first, fingers bumping, followed by their fingers interlocking for a brief second, It ended with a solid dap up before Tim tugged Miro in for a quick side hug, shoulders knocking together in an easy, comfortable way that spoke of routine and familiarity rather than anything forced.

“You freshened up today, bro, tryna impress someone?”

Miro pulls away with a raised brow, clearly noticing the way Tim’s hair sat a little too neat to be accidental, the whole look pulled together in that effortlessly intentional way. And then there was the scent— something clean, subtle, and lingering just enough to be noticed when he stepped closer.

Tim scoffed, rolling his eyes as he shifted his grip on the skateboard. “What? Nah,” he said a little too quickly, which absolutely did not help his case.

He shrugged like it was nothing, like he always looked this put together, like the extra effort not been deliberate at all.

But the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying him.

“Can’t a guy look good for himself?” He added, tone light, defensive in that way that meant Miro had hit a nerve that made Miro whistled a teasing tune, nudging his shoulder against Tim’s own.

He leaned back on his heel, pretending the conversation was amusing rather than mildly exposing, even as the smell of his cologne hung in the air, undeniable proof that, yeah— he had definitely freshened up for a reason.

“You’re such a liar, Tim. Is it that girl you’ve been tellin’ me about in your class?”

Tim’s shoulders deflated.

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice dropping just a notch, “she’s the pretty girl I’ve been telling you about.” He confirms, glancing away for half a second, jaw tightening like he was bracing himself. “I wanna ask her out, but I’m flippin’ nervous.”

Miro immediately cooed in mock sympathy, dragging it out just to be annoying. “Aww,” he teased, pressing a hand to his chest. “Look at you. Tim Drake, nervous over a girl.”

Tim shot him a look, equal parts warning and embarrassment. “Don’t,” he muttered, shifting his weight, skateboard tapping lightly against the pavement. “This is serious.”

Miro just grinned wider, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Nah, I get it,” he said, still not letting go of the teasing tone. “She’s got you down bad.”

Tim huffed, rubbing the back of his neck.

Miro was more than just some random guy he talked to in passing that happened to be going in the same direction, but he was an actual friend.

They had shared a computer science class in their first semester, ended up sitting next to each other by chance, and somehow never stopped talking after that. What started as borrowing a charger and comparing notes had turned into easy conversations, inside jokes, and a familiar presence that made long lectures more bearable.

Miro is also the kind of friend who notices things.

And if anyone was going to call him out for putting in extra effort, for being nervous in a way he rarely was, it was Miro and most likely Steph.

Which made admitting it out loud both easier and infinitely more embarrassing.

“Are we still going out for drinks with Steph, Zinnia, and Ezra?” Tim asked, a little too quickly, very obviously changing the topic before Miro could dig any deeper into his small crush.

“Mhm,” Miro hummed, an entertained smile tugging at his lips at the sudden change of topic as he nodded along. “Though Ezra said he’s bringing his girl to meet us, even though he doesn’t want to.” He shook his head, a small frown settling in. “Don’t get why Ezra’s ashamed of her. It’s cool if he brings her along, y’know?”

Tim frowned at that, brows knitting together. “Ashamed?” he repeated, tone sharper than he intended. He shifted his skateboard under his arm once more, jaw tightening.

“That’s… weird, I didn’t know he had a girl.”

“Right?” Miro pitched his voice, pulling a drink from the side of his bag. “Like, either you’re with someone or you’re not, hiding her just makes it worse and yah’ I didn’t know either.”

Tim nodded slowly, the thought sticking with him longer than he expected. The idea of being embarrassed by someone you chose to be with rubbed him the wrong way.

He exhaled, forcing his expression back to neutral.

“Ya’ think it’s like a situationship? I thought he was still hung up with ya’know who.”

Miro snorts at that.

“Nah,” Miro said immediately, waving it off. “Even though Ezra keeps talkin’ about how many people he’s getting and all that, he’s been telling me she’s a keeper and that he’s moved on from that big ol’ crush.”

Tim hummed at that, thoughtful, eyes briefly dropping to the pavement, letting Miro run his mouth to fill the silence between them as he took a swig of his bottled water. “Man, how does Ezra do it?” Miro muttered, kicking a pebble. “Dude has the charisma that could probably rival Nightwing.”

Miro scoffs, but Tim raised a brow at his own words, the comparison landing heavier than he expected.

His older brother’s vigilante name had a way of doing that, slipping into conversations uninvited and lingering longer than necessary, becoming a symbol to Gotham and his charm that had women posting forums about how they bet he looks good underneath that mask.

Dick had always been like that, though.

Effortless charm, easy smiles, and the kind of presence that pulled people in without trying.

“I would pay to see Nightwing and Ezra going toe to toe,” Tim mused, lips quirking up as the image formed in his head.

He already knew how it would end.

Ezra would lose.

Badly.

Even with a pretty face, it did not come close to Dick Grayson, which he could honestly admit— it was a fact that everyone and their mama knew.

That was just an unfair comparison.

Dick’s face is literally a public service at this point, plastered across magazines and billboards, the undisputed #1 lethal face card of the Wayne family, according to Reddit, Twitter, and an article that had statistics, polls, and the golden ratio of their face displayed on Gotham Gazette’s ranking on the Wayne family.

It was the kind of face that launched headlines, sponsorships, and unnecessary levels of public adoration.

Tim shook his head, half amused, and half resigned.

It was wild growing up next to that kind of genetic overachievement that did things to a person. Still, he could not deny it. If charisma were a competition, Nightwing would win without even realizing he was playing.

Tim was fine with that.