#(( you know I considered putting this one in the queue

[micamone]

absolutely fuckin terrifying realizing suddenly a blog you liked hasn't been there for months. what the fuck do you mean laskulls is dead (deactivated since march) how long has this body been here in the woods

[outeremissary]

The reproductive horror/breeding kink aspects of DUrge still absolutely floor me. One of the most guys of all time.

[handfulofmuses]

Xever: this kid??? is mad???? at me????

It's really just his whole reaction during that scene. Mondo is for understandable reasons mad and walks towards him and looms over him and Xever has no idea what to make of that. He does not get up, his eyes remain and his face lifts with that expression while his eyes nervously keep glancing around.

He genuinely did not seem to expect that, this kid is suddenly standig up to him.

What makes him get up and yell out that Jason is a traitor?

All while he is giving his new friends a high five. His instant reaction to it feels like a twisted form of jealousy. Most of what he taught Mondo comes from his own experience. Xever was alone while living in the streets and in the comics he actually was betrayed by a friend before he got into the Foot.

I think the parallels between these two are fun. Xever grew up on the streets and needed to steal to survive, the only friend he had betrayed him and he landed in prison. The one person who got him out encouraged his worst traits

Mondo was kicked out by his parents after he turned into a mutant and was living alone on the streets until he met Xever who likely encouraged his worst traits as well, but he finds genuine friends.

When Mondo prepared his attack on Xever? He actually takes a step back and shields himself at first.

Twice he was caught off guard that Mondo was actually mad at him.

[bratbarzal]

Sunsets in the Summer (LH43)

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader (a follow up to LIH/TSOU - reading is encouraged but not required to enjoy)

WC: 9.6k

Description/Warnings: some brief snapshots into the LIH!lovers second summer together while they figure out their flow as a couple - fluffy, suggestive interactions and mentions of sexual acts (including some brief hand action but not a detailed description) with fade-to-black smut, no angst!! hallelujah (some brief insecurity but not expanded on enough to be angsty), usual amounts of sarcasm and banter and cursing probably- rushed tbh so doesn't flow too well but I think it's cute lmao

A/N: I WAS GOING TO QUEUE THIS TO POST WHILE I'M AWAY IN A COUPLE OF WEEKS BUT IT IS MEG'S BIRTHDAY SO I PUT MY ASS TO WORK TO GET THIS DONE!!! PURE FLUFFY BLISS FOR THE ICON THE LEGEND AND THE MOMENT HERSELF!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY @star2fishmeg I LOVE YOU A LOT HOPE YOU HAVE YOUR DOLLS TO HAND AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY!! (if anyone reading this hasn't already send your love to meg bc she deserves it!! from the day I posted LIH part 1, she's been nothing but supportive and wonderful to me, and 3 seconds on her page will show you she's one of the kindest-natured and most wonderful people on here)

I had a couple requests for Luke and LIH!reader's first proper date, and one that was for how they spend their summer, so I sort of combined them to create this, it's a bit of an unstructured jumble of little moments between them, but I hope you guys don't mind it turned into a hybrid of requests! If you do want me to write individual moments feel free to send in another request, I don't really ever want to let these two go!! But to answer the question about their first date specifically - I genuinely think they just jump right into cutesy/dorky date nights, and Luke would eventually deep that they haven't done anything ~grown together - which is where the idea for the end of this really came from 💕

It doesn’t take long for you and Luke to get into a routine once you’ve come back out to Michigan in the summer.

You spend most of your days together - aside from when he’s at a check up or a physio appointment, or you’re out with Ellie or a few of your other friends still lingering in the area - and end up back in the same place every night - curled up against Luke’s good side in bed, your leg slung over his, and your face smushed into his peck by the time you wake in the morning.

Except for the few times he’s up before you.

Like now, when your eyes flutter open slowly to an empty space beside you.

His pillow is a little crinkled, his sheets are haphazardly straightened back out, and the spot where he had been laid is still warm - so you know he can’t be far.

After relieving your bladder and brushing your teeth, you slip into a shirt he had strewn across the chair of the little vanity he had set up for you, letting it fall to the top of your thighs as you amble throughout the house with little regard for anyone else you might bump into.

You sort of have a one-track mind when it comes to mornings with your boyfriend, and you honestly forget to consider who might not want to catch a slight glimpse of your ass cheeks so early in the day.

You find him in the kitchen, as assumed, and you almost think you’re half asleep when you take in the state of him.

His hair is a soft but unruly mess, and his briefs are so barely pulled up you can almost see his ass cheeks - as perfect as they are - the structured muscles of his back almost forming an arrow to point down, and you can only see those muscles because he’s for some reason wearing one of your shirts. How he got that on, unassisted, with the sling, you’ll never know. 

You’d laugh if it wasn’t so hot - if the fabric wasn’t stretched so tight across his broad shoulders that it makes him look even thicker.

And because you can’t laugh, you pretty much groan as you draw in on him, wrapping your arms around him from behind and pressing your face into his back.

“Morning, baby,” he drawls, his voice raspy and low, and good god, you’re fighting to consider the fact you aren’t alone in the house. You’d climb him like a god-damn tree already if you were.

“Missed you,” you mumble into his spine, your palms flat in the strip of stomach between your top and his briefs, and his skin is so warm you want to keep your hands there forever.

“Making you breakfast,” he says, wriggling a little out from your embrace so that he can show you - two slices of toast with unevenly chopped banana, and an adorable, crooked smiley face drawn on each one with honey. 

You love him so much.

It must slip out without you even realising it because he turns in your hold, his free hand travelling slowly down your body until it lands at your hip and pull you flush to his, and he tells you that he loves you too.

He leans down for a kiss - sugary sweet, like he’d licked his fingers or something from the syrupy residue of honey on them - and you lean into it, revelling of the feeling of his large hand slowly curling around the back of you, fingers curling around the globes of your ass and squeezing.

And you let him turn the two of you until the base of your spine is pressed back into the counter, your hands running through his unruly curls and your tongue chasing more and more of the sweetness of his kiss.

“People eat in here,” you hear Jack as he steps into the kitchen, and you part from Luke slowly, slipping another peck against his lips before you glance around his slinged-shoulder at his older brother.

“What do you think we’re doing?”

You don’t even intend the double entendre, but seeing his face curl up in disgust almost makes it worth it.

“Too early for your crap, dude,” Luke huffs, his hand still in place, and you see him wince when he cranes his neck back.

“What is this, Freaky Friday?” Jack snorts as he opens the fridge, nodding towards the two of you and your weird clothes-swap mishap.

You bite your tongue to stop yourself mocking him straight back, and Luke spares you a knowing look as he waits for Jack to get what he assumes is the greek yoghurt he usually has for breakfast and go back upstairs.

He’s been getting on your last nerve all week, and he knows it.

Ellie is away on another family vacation, already, and you’re pretty sure Jack has formed an alliance with Quinn to cock-block you and Luke to fill his time, but you’re hardly gonna point the finger.

You’re trying to be better.

“Freaky Friday is where they swapped lives, not clothes.”

“You knew what I meant,” Jack huffs, slamming the fridge closed behind him and glaring at the two of you as he grabs a spoon out of the cutlery drawer for his yoghurt. “You look like a dork.”

“You-,”

And Luke’s hand on your ass squeezes before you can carry on, like a warning.

“Don’t you all have training this morning?”

“Gonna be leaving in ten,” Jack confirms, “So if you two could maybe wait until we’re gone to be gross, we’d all appreciate it.”

You press your lips together, a sardonic smile flashed toward him when he smirks over at you, and you watch as he retreats - the tension only seeping from your shoulders when he’s out of sight and out of mind.

“Maybe that can be our thing,” Luke leans forward and mumbles into the curve of your neck, just low enough for the sound not to travel in case Jack is still around, and the combination of his hand grazing the soft flesh of your thigh beneath the hem of his t-shirt, and the way his lips just brush the sensitive skin below your ear makes your breath hitch in your throat. “Freaky Fridays,”

Your eyes flutter shut as you shudder against his him, “Why do I get the feeling you aren’t talking about swapping clothes?”

“We could have a fuck-it list,” and you can hear the smirk without even opening your eyes to look at him, “Cross off all sorts of positions while everyone’s out training on Friday mornings,”

“You’re not gonna be in that sling forever, babe,” you chuckle, finally looking up at him craning your neck a little due to the proximity, and he stays leaning, your nose almost bumping his where he’s in the same position. “You’re gonna end up joining them at some point.”

“All the more reason for us to get started immediately,” his eyes glimmer with mischief when you meet them, “No time to waste.”

You can’t even bring yourself to fight it when he’s looking at you like that - all charming and intentional - not that you want to, anyway. You’re not oblivious to how weirdly fortunate the two of you are to be in this situation, as much as his injury was upsetting at first. It’s the only reason you have so much alone time with him, even this early in the summer. 

And you’ve been limited thus far - the start of your relationship being a little jumpy between the end of his season, the end of your school year, and everything that followed with his injury and you going back home. You’ve barely had the opportunity to bask in the honeymoon period - especially now that you’re at the house and his brothers are around.

“Fine,” you acquiesce, “Fuck it.”

The two of you barely make it the promised ten minutes before he’s propped up against the headboard of the bed you now share, and you’re straddling his lap - following the seams of his sling along his chest with kisses that make his spine tingle, and he’s listing off all the positions he says he’s wanted you in since you first hooked up last year.

While the two of you slowly work your way through Luke’s Fuck-It List - a little limited when it comes to his current lack of mobility - you also make more of an effort to do things just the two of you.

It starts with movies, because of course it does, and Luke insists you go to watch them at the actual movie theatre. You share a bucket of popcorn, and you rest comfortably under his arm slung over your shoulders, and it all feels so normal and right.

And you do that a couple of times before you decide to switch it up a bit. If you’re going to be making the conscious effort to start up date nights, you should really be trying out different things, you think.

Which is what has you sat behind the wheel of Luke’s BMW and driving him to an undisclosed destination, drowning out his constant questions about it by turning the radio up, and singing along to his country music playlist he’s been forcing on you for too long, now.

You’re quite proud of this idea for a first attempt, and you can’t help but glance over to gauge his reaction when you pull up to the venue and put the car into park. He’s quiet as he works his way out of the car, still insistent on being a gentleman and opening your door despite his shoulder.

“Mini golf?” He asks as he helps you out of the car, his fingers interlacing with yours as you hit the gravel and bump the driver’s side door shut with your hip. “This is your genius date idea?”

“You said you felt left out at the course,” you pout, sidling up beside him until you’re pressed together, craning your neck up a little to meet his eye, “I wanted to give you the next best thing while you’re still in the sling.”

“I’d still need two working arms for a putter, babe,” he chuckles, lifting his arm over your head with your hand still in his until it’s wrapped around your shoulder, your hips bumping as you walk side by side up to the kiosk. 

“You could beat me with no arms and a blindfold, I’m pretty sure,” you tell him, “But if you want to go somewhere else we can, I just thought this would be cool. It’s nice out tonight, and I don’t think there’s any chance of your brothers gatecrashing.”

Luke hums, leaning a little to press his lips to the side of your head, “It is nice to get out from under Quinn’s supervision,” he agrees, and you smile up at him when you register the levity of his tone. “Can barely look at you without him having something to say about it.”

“Imagine the scandal if you knocked me up at mini golf,” you gasp, and he gives one of those easy, heart warming laughs that almost make you stumble in your step. “We might have to fake a scare, just to send him into cardiac arrest.”

“You’re evil.”

“You’re the one who loves me,” you shrug, reaching into your back pocket for your phone when you reach the cashier, keeping a hold of Luke’s good hand despite him trying to pull it away so he can’t sneak his own card forward to pay. The teenager behind the counter hands over two putters and two balls without even glancing up from his own phone, and you twirl out from under Luke’s arm, pulling him up the path toward the start of the course. 

“You gonna let me stand behind you and tell you what to do?” He asks as he follows you, smiling despite the fact you’re facing away from him at the quick burst of laughter you release.

“When have I ever let you tell me what to do?”

“Was worth a try,” and he’s still smiling, big and broad, when you swivel back on your heels to face him. You drop his hand to give the putter over, and throw the balls down onto the start of the first hole, kicking one onto the line and the other off to the side.

“I’ll tell you what,” you look up at him as you step closer, “Why don’t we make things interesting?”

“Interesting, how?” He smirks, a teasing tilt of his head causing your lips to twitch up.

“I don’t know,” you hum, edging just a little more toward him, “Winner gets-,”

“Head,” he finishes, almost immediately, and your eyes widen in response, hardly expecting the speed in which it comes out of him. It’s not exactly like the two of you haven’t been intimate back at the house - you’re making steady progress with the list - but there is the whole hardly ever alone thing to consider. “In the car, so no one back home can interrupt.”

“That was quick,” you snort, pressing your fingertips into the flat surface of his belly, avoidant of his sling, feeling the ridges of definition beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. “You’ve been giving that a lot of thought, huh?”

“Got a lot to time to think when we’re in the car and I’m not the one driving,” he explains, “Don’t have to focus on the road, so I get to look at you,” he coos, craning his neck a little and seemingly pushing past the slight discomfort when he does so, dipping to your level, “Get to think about your pretty mouth when you’re singing along to the radio.”

And it makes your spine tingle, just how easy it is to slip in a sweet observation with something so forward. He’s so good at doing that - masking burning desire with gentle adoration. 

“Fine, winner gets head,” you agree, extending onto your tiptoes to make closing the distance easier, and softly pecking at his waiting lips until you part with a teasing smile, because kissing him seems so much more efficient than a handshake to seal the deal.

“Beauty before brains,” he offers, pointing to the starting line with his putter and quickly avoiding your attempt at a playful shove.

You step up, anyway.

The first hole is an easy one, although you know from past experience at this exact course - a favourite amongst your sorority sisters for bonding activities - that there’s a trick to a good shot. 

The last time you were here, you figured out that aiming for one of the stones that line the green is the key to a hole in one - and you shoot your shot with ease, the ball ricocheting off the surface and making its way straight to the desired target. All you can do is watch with a smile.

“Oh my God,” he groans, staring wide eyed as the ball putts and drop into the hole with an almost comical plonk, “You’re hustling me!”

“Who, me?” You gasp, feigning offence with a slacked jaw and widened eyes - both of which do little to hide the smile that’s twitching at the corners of your mouth. “I’d never.”

You bite your lip in amusement as he stands there, his gaze lingering on the course like he can’t quite believe you just potted a hole in one, already, and you amble up beside him, curling a hand around his free bicep and leaning up.

“You want me to stand behind you and tell you what to do?”

“You’re going down,” he scoffs, shrugging you off to tee himself up at the starting line.

“No, baby,” you call out, pointing your putter over to him as he looks back at you, his own pretty lips parted in defiance as you wink and tell him, “You are.”

You think it’s sort of embedded into the very fibres of your relationship that you and Luke will always resort back to movies - and for as much as you’ve been trying other options for dates, like the arcade where he thrashed you at air hockey, or the trips to the mall, where Luke thought buying one thing from each joint in the food court would be a good idea and you had to drive home with your jeans unbuttoned from the bloating - so it’s no surprise when the weather’s acting up, and you still don’t really like venturing out anywhere during a storm, Luke has the genius idea to finally sit you through the entire Star Wars movie franchise, beginning to end.

It’s something you’ve been putting off for a while, and it’s not that you’re against it, per se, but the thought of having to dedicate the brain power to remembering a bunch of random stuff almost gives you a headache.

The two of you are just settling in together on the couch, practically knotted up like pretzels with the way you’re snuggling up to him, when Jack and Quinn return from the store with Cole Caufield in tow.

“Sick, it’s like a home theatre in here,” Cole exclaims as he leads Quinn and Jack into the room, the eldest sibling biting back a knowing smile when he meets Luke’s horrified gaze, “What are we watching?”

“We’re not watching anything,” Luke gestures between the lot of them with his good hand around your shoulder, before he angles his head down toward you, “We’re watching Star Wars.”

“Prequels first?” Jack gasps as he reaches for the case by the TV, flashing the cover back over to you, “That’s not okay.”

“Good thing you’re not the one watching, Jack,” Luke argues back, and he visibly loses the will to argue when all three of them sink down onto the remaining couches and seemingly get comfortable. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“It’s raining out, Luke, what else are we supposed to do?”

“Literally anything, anywhere else?”

“It’s fine,” you tell him, cozying up a little extra, because it sort of works in your favour to have them insert themselves into this situation. “They’re right, we can’t hog the TV.”

“Yeah, Lukey, you can’t hog the TV.”

You roll your eyes and ignore Jack, settling back into Luke’s side and absentmindedly stroking at his belly as the movie tees up - and what starts off as unintentional, innocent petting, slowly drifts as time ticks on. 

“What are you doing?” Luke whispers covertly, eyes stuck on the screen as your fingers trace along the bare skin that is revealed between his hoodie and his sweats, scratching softly until you can move the elastic a little to unveil more of his hipbone.

You know you shouldn’t tease him - but your whole plan to get out of sitting through Star Wars in the first place was to try and distract him - and the only thing you can think of that’s worse than sitting through all three prequels is sitting through them with his brothers around. 

“Just touching,” you whisper back innocently, nails tickling at what you know is very sensitive skin.

“You’re teasing,” he corrects you, a quick flash of a knowing gaze sent down at you, but his hips still shuffle beneath your touch - like he’s giving you further access - and your lips twist at the movement.

There are telltale signs of arousal - sharp intakes of breath when your touch travels a little too low to be innocent, the constant rolling of his neck and shoulders like he’s trying to keep his head in the game, and, obviously, a shift in the front of his sweatpants, a subtle, gradual tent forming beneath the fabric that becomes harder and harder to ignore, no pun intended. 

“You don’t seem to mind.”

Luke sighs as he shuffles again, his eyes darting to where his brothers and Cole sit on the other couches, making sure none of them are looking before he looks back down at you.

Your eyes lock on his as you bite back a smile - a wordless agreement between you both taking place, and you wriggle up a little, yourself, from where you’re situated against his side - high enough that you can sort of cover the movement of your hand with the rest of your body, and press a firm kiss the the sharp line of his jaw.

He can’t help the satisfied hum that comes out when your fingers slip beneath the waistband of his pants, edging down slowly, and it only takes a second to realise he isn’t even wearing underwear.

You try not to giggle into his flesh, nipping playfully as you move in your ministrations.

He probably had no intention of sitting the whole way through Star Wars, himself - not tonight, at least.

“Who’s teasing now?” You barely even make a sound, so close to his ear that you don’t need to and he can make out what you’re saying, “Commando, Luke, really?”

He smirks, and you see the smile settle as he stays looking forward.

“You get handsy when you’re bored.” 

“Oh, now I’m predictable?”

He glances down before he meets your eye again, quirking his brow in a wordless response, as if to say, am I wrong?

And the only way to bite back a scoff is to kiss him - a kiss that starts out soft and subtle, but escalates before you even realise. His palm caresses your cheek, long, slender fingers tucking your hair behind your ear,  your hand is down his pants, and your tongue is in Luke’s mouth, his soft lips closing around the muscle until the sloppy sound of him sucking on it is too loud to mask. 

And then you’re knocked out of your reverie with a harsh smack of a pillow against your back - the two of you darting apart and your hands slipping out from under his waistband. 

“What the fuck?” Luke whines, and you both glare in the direction of the other three guys in the room - the three guys you, honestly, shamefully forgot were even there for a second.

“Knock it off, you’re being gross.” Jack frowns, leaning differently in the absence of a cushion behind him. 

“Yeah, keep it PG, you two,” Quinn adds, “I’m under strict instruction to keep an eye on you both.”

“Ew,” you frown, “It’s giving Peeping Tom.”

“No, it’s not,” he scoffs, despite the way Luke snorts out laughter from beside you, “It’s giving responsible older brother.”

“It’s giving dude who isn’t getting laid,” Cole chimes in, and you and Luke simultaneously hum in agreement just to annoy Quinn even further.

If they’re all going to intrude on your date night, the two of you may as well have your fun with it.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Quinn turns his attention to the blonde currently lounging back into the opposite couch, “Do you want to sit here all night and witness those two swapping spit and getting handsy?”

“I can think of worse ways to spend my Friday,” Cole shrugs, and the rest of you all let out some form of grossed out exclamation - Luke shuffling out from beneath you to throw the pillow back in his general direction - watching as it smacks straight against Cole’s face and cuts off whatever the hell he’s about to add onto that about you.

“We’re going upstairs,” Luke huffs, pushing himself up off the couch and grabbing your hand - and you don’t put up any sort of protest, obviously,letting him drag you behind him as he throws out a, “You’re on a 24 hour timeout from even looking at my girlfriend,” he jabs a pointed finger towards Cole, and you bite back a smile at how hot you find his possessiveness - a trait he so rarely lets take over, but you can’t help but get excited when he does.

And as gross as the thought of Caufield watching you was - and as much as you sort of know he’s joking - you’re honestly thankful, because Luke isn’t the kind of guy to let that slide when you’re both safe behind the closed door of your shared bedroom, and he’s pushing you back onto the bed before you even have a chance to think about it.

“Are you done yet?”

“Almost.”

You watch Luke’s tongue poke out of his mouth in concentration as he dramatically swipes the paintbrush against the canvas you set up for him earlier - the bare back of which has been taunting you for at least fifteen minutes since you finished your own portrait.

Tiktok said this would be cute.

Painting each other as you share a pizza and sip at what is quite honestly a borderline undrinkable glass of wine - you won’t be trusting Luke on a liquor store run ever again. 

But you probably overestimated your creative abilities.

Your portrait of Luke looks like a haunted blob of sickly pale skin and messy brown curls, and the longer he takes to paint you, the longer it stares back at you and you hate it.

He’s gonna hate it - and what was supposed to be a sweet, stay-at-home date idea, turned into something stupid.

You feel stupid, and maybe it’s the extra fifteen minutes he’s spent perfecting his creation that’s making you feel worse.

“It isn’t being hung in the Louvre, Luke,” you roll your eyes, leaning forward onto the table with your chin tucked in the clammy palm of your hand. 

“That’s what you think,” he snorts, finally laying the brush flat on the surface beside his easel and tilting his head to peak at you from the side. “I’m finished.”

“Okay, who’s going first?”

“Uhh,” he narrows his eyes at his own work before they flick back up to meet yours, “You first,”

And you can’t help but pout a little as you grasp at either side of the canvas, fingers clenching a little as you build up the nerve.

“I’m not an artist, okay,” you glance over at him, a begging look in your like a silent plea to take it easy on you, “It isn’t the best.”

“Baby,” he pouts back, “You could have smeared your boogers on there and I’d love it.”

“That’s disgusting,” you cringe, but the sentiment sort of helps you build up the courage to flip your easel around, wincing as you watch and wait for his reaction.

He stares at it for what feels like a whole minute, gaze going side to side and up and down like he’s taking in every single brushstroke, and you find yourself holding your breath in anticipation of his feedback.

“Do I have a lazy eye?”

“What? No,” you frown, quickly swivelling it back to take another look. His eyes are a little crooked - you’re drinking wine, you're bound to have a shaky hand - but you wouldn’t call them lazy. “Is it that bad?”

“It's no worse than mine," he snickers, pushing his chair back and nodding his head to the side of him - a gesture for you to come over, and when you do, and you're stood before him, he parts his legs for you to perch yourself on one of his thick, muscular thighs. 

You circle your arms around his neck, trying to balance yourself and ignore the heat in his gaze when he watches you do such a mundane and routine thing, his hands gripping at your waist to help you.

“See,” he nods toward the painting, “I’d personally hang it on our wall but I think it’s obvious why.”

Despite the fact you don’t think you’ll ever get over him referring to anything in this house as part-yours, you manage to gloss over that small fact when you take in the monstrosity in front of you.

It’s so bad your jaw drops a little, and you try not to outwardly laugh to avoid offending him.

“Luke-,”

“Before you start-,”

“You started with my boobs didn’t you!” You accuse, swatting playfully at his chest as you let a smile overcome you.

“What?” He scoffs, “No, why would you think that?”

“They’re huge,” you snort, shuffling a little on his lap as he steadies you with a hand on your hip, “It’s like you painted them too big and ran out of room for everything else.”

You watch as a soft flush spreads across his cheeks, sheepish and self-conscious as he casts a glance back over his painting whilst trying to ignore your own eyes on him. His face scrunches a little, crinkles forming around his eyes and nose as he really takes in the lack of proportion, and you can’t help but smile at how cute he is.

“Alright, maybe I did,” he pouts, “Is that so bad?”

“I look like a balloon animal!”

“It is a little disproportionate,” he admits, his bottom lip jutting out in a way that makes you want to kiss it, and you roll your eyes to fight the urge. “We should have done naked paintings, then I’d be winning.” 

“You wanna draw me like one of your French girls?” Your tone is still sultry as you mock him, and watching the slow, suggestive curve of his lips does little to fan out the flames of attraction in the pit of your belly. He’s so pretty, it’s stupid - especially up close, and that’s after you’ve spent the past 30 minutes glancing up at him to try and do justice to all the intricate, beautiful parts of his face with a cheap paint set and a brush that was falling apart.

No wonder you were so insecure about your attempt. 

You don’t think there’s even a colour you could mix that would capture the unique hue of his irises - a soft combination of maybe blue, maybe green that you can’t even begin to think where you’d start when it came to creating it, yourself. And the smattering of little freckles and beauty marks that litter his skin - you’d never quite map that constellation correctly. The soft curl of his hair, the smooth curve of his lips, the unwavering dedication he has to whatever the hell is growing below his nose - you wouldn’t get it right in a million years.

Maybe him painting you as 70% boobs and 30% everything else is the better picture overall.

“Nah,” he smiles soft, his gaze drifting around your own face like he’s thinking the same thoughts - lingering on your mouth a little too long before he says, “Do wanna take you upstairs, though.”

You smile, too - easy and unwavering - and you feel a familiar heat creep up your neck before you press your lips to his in a slow, amorous kiss.

His knee bounces in a quick jolt as he responds, his hand rising to cup your face and hold you against him, mouth moving until his tongue swipes against the seam of your lips, deepening the moment into something neither of you would want to retreat from.

You honestly can’t remember life before he kissed you like this - how you ever even lasted a day of denying your feelings for him, because you don’t think you could ever love anyone like you love Luke.

It’s something that seems to consume you, regardless of where you are - whether it’s painting stupid portraits together or it’s watching movies or it’s sitting out on the deck chairs on the back porch and talking to his brothers - just his presence, just knowing he’s close by and the way he feels about you is exactly the same settles you beyond what you can put into words.

“Jesus Christ-,”

You both groan in frustration as you part, turning to glare at Jack as he interrupts you, the kitchen door swinging closed behind him.

“Quinn, they’re at it, again!” He calls out, lips curled in disgust as he makes his way over - empty beer bottles stuffed between his fingers that he throws into the recycling with a clink.

You don’t want to move from Luke’s lap, so as Jack nears the table, you don’t even think to get up - despite the fact that he’s heading straight for the painting you really don’t want to hear his criticisms of. 

“How cute!” He coos, but you can see straight through him - his lips curling into a borderline sinister smile as he picks up the little canvas. “She even got your lazy eye, Lukey!”

“I knew it!” Luke gasps, his fingers squeezing at your sides, teasingly.

“Hey!” You shoot up, reaching over the table and snatching it from his grip before turning to your boyfriend. “I did not give you a lazy eye!”

“Did he paint that zit that’s coming in right there,” he points to his temple as his eyes narrow your way - and event though you know you don’t have a zit coming in, you bring your hand up to cover the side of your face, anyway. 

“She doesn’t have a zit,” Luke defends you before you can do it, yourself, and your features soften just a touch when you glance his way.

“Let me see-,”

Jack reaches out for Luke’s painting, and the two of you leap forward to yank it away before he can get his hands on it, yelling out, “No!” In unison.

“It can’t be that bad, Luke,” he snorts, eyes narrowing on you in particular as your cheeks burn with embarrassment - it’s not like they’re your actual boobs, and it’s not like they’re even anatomically accurate, but you don’t want Jack of all people seeing you portrayed like that. “Mom kept your paintings on the fridge at home until like two years ago, I know you’re a shitty artist.”

“M’not a shitty artist,” Luke grumbles, specifically turning to you as you both still clutch one hand each at the canvas. 

“I know, baby,” you coo, your tone overtly-sweet and sickly in a bid to make Jack’s stomach turn - and make him go away, “Don’t listen to Mr. Meany, he doesn’t get you like I do,” and then you lean back in to kiss him, your pout turning into a grin when you hear his brother’s exaggerated gagging from the other side of the table.

“You both make me sick,” he huffs as you hear him leave, and you and Luke resume your previous position, fingers loosening on the painting until it drops to the floor. His hands clutch at your hips, and yours move to settle on the broad expanse of his chest to balance yourself a little better, shuffling until you’re straddling his lap - and still so consumed by your love for him that you couldn’t care less who else might end up disrupting you.

“We could rent some bikes?”

Luke’s suggestion comes out in a muffled yell, his head half in a large storage box in the garage as he roots around for god-knows what, and you perch yourself on the workbench by the side while you wait for him.

The two of you have been trying to figure out how to spend the day together - the other boys having taken the boat out with their friends - so many friends that there wasn’t space for you to tag along and Luke didn’t want to leave you behind on your own.

It’s beautiful out, and you had wanted to go out on the boat, so everything else seems dull in comparison.

A trip to the mall is a waste of the sunshine, even though you sort of want to visit the bookstore, and spend hours just walking around and holding Luke’s hand, and going to the park just seems boring, even if you do rent some bikes while you’re there. It would get tiring pretty quick, and as much as you think you could spend time doing nothing with Luke and still be happy, you sort of had your heart set on something else.

“I don’t know if I trust you not to fall off,” you tell him, swinging your legs as you place your palms flat on the surface, leaning forward to try and get a look at what on earth he’s doing. “What are you even looking for in there?”

“I’ll tell you when I find ‘em,” he mumbles, and you roll your eyes, looking around the rest of the garage and waiting for an idea to spark.

“What about that boat?” You point to the smaller vessel, covered in a faded tarp and perched on a rusted trailer. 

It’s a lot smaller than the other boat the boys take out - probably fits two or three people, max, from what you can see of it, and a lot older, too - but if it gets you out on the water with Luke, and you can lay beside him as it sways on the tranquil water, skin to skin while the sun shines down on you - it’ll do.

“That’s Quinn’s,” Luke tells you as he retreats from the box, putting the lid back in place before he moves on to the next one down. “I’ve been explicitly told that if I touch it, I die.”

“Why does Quinn have his own boat?” You ask, jumping up and stepping towards it. 

“Don’t know,” Luke calls a little louder, knowing you’re further away without even checking, like he has an instinct for where you are at all times. “Came home one summer and it was just in our parent’s garage, Dad said if he didn’t move it, it was getting sold, so it just sits in here.”

“And he doesn’t use it?”

“Can’t,” Luke shrugs, “I’m pretty sure it’s written off, I think it was just a project to keep him busy when he was injured or something, he hasn’t touched it in a while.”

“Why doesn’t he sell it, then?”

“Don’t know, not his keeper, babe,” Luke’s voice is a little clearer, now, and you crane your neck back to see him standing up straight, a pair of old rollerblades in his hands and a big grin on his face. “I could teach you to skate?”

You gasp as you make your way back over, “Are they my size?” 

“They used to be mine, so they might be a little long, but we can pad your feet up with socks.”

“Is it the same as skating on the ice?”

“The mechanics are pretty much the same,” Luke shrugs, handing you the rollerblades so he grab some of the pads that were in the box with them and close it back up, “But if you master this, we’ll get you some actual skates, and I’ll take you down to the rink to teach you.”

Ice skating is never something you’d considered before - even when you would watch Luke play, the thought of it was always daunting - but since the start of summer, you sort of like learning all the stuff Luke knows or loves. You like watching him play golf, like listening to him nerd out about his historical movies, like playing chess for some reason, as dorky as that is, and you even enjoyed Star Wars when the two of you managed to sit down together and watch all of the films - and skating seems like the final boss, in a way.

It’s exciting, like the last piece of a puzzle.

“Might have to get your dad to teach me,” you suggest, “You fall too much for me to learn from you.”

He teasingly swats at your ass with a pad, and you snort out a laugh when you see the amusement shining in his pretty eyes, leaning up when he bends a little to kiss you chastely.

“It’s part of the Hughes charm,” he mutters just after your lips part, “You’ll fit right in.”

And you try to ignore the way your heart hammers at the thought of fitting right in with the Hughes clan in a way you never really did with your own. Despite your previous problems with Jack, and despite Quinn’s newfound hobby for cockblocking you all summer, you honestly think they’re accepting of you too.

And that’s without taking into account Luke’s parents, who welcomed you back to Michigan with open arms, even if your place in Luke’s life wasn’t this solid the last time they saw you last summer.

For the first time in your life you do fit right in, and you’d be doing yourself a disservice to deny it.

You’d be doing Luke one, too.

So all you can do is smile as he leads you out into the driveway, and he sets up a little course for you to practice your skating - cones and obstacles that you do your best not to trip and stumble over, but when you do, he picks you straight back up, dusts you off, and lets you go again. 

He’s patient, and he’s gentle, just like he’s always been with you, and if this is what it’s like to be a Hughes, - and as crazy as it sounds considering how fresh your relationship still technically is - you have a fleeting thought that one day you’d want to be one, for real.

“Do you think Jersey’s nicer than New York?”

You’ve been an anxious mess for the entire week before you and Luke flew out to stay with your mom - irritable and snippy and emotional - but now that you’re here, things seem to have settled.

It’s only a long weekend - three days and you can go back to the safety and security of the lake house, with the rest of the summer ahead of you and every passing day having you fall more and more in love with Luke Hughes - and your mom is actually being good company for once.

She’s present, having taken time off of work to make sure she’s around to properly acquaint herself with the first boyfriend you’ve ever brought home, and she’s sober, and she’s actively trying to get to know him.

The two of them have pretty much ticked off every other topic of conversation by the time she gets to your big move, and you can’t even let yourself stress about it.

You’re sat in between Luke’s legs on a chair out in the backyard, your stomach full of barbecue food, a cold bottle of beer gripped between your fingers, and your back pressed firmly to his chest, and there’s no way you think you even could still feel anxious in such a position.

Luke somehow manages to rinse those feelings straight out of you with just one touch.

For as much grief as your mom gave you when you first came home at the beginning of summer, you think your time away might have calmed her about the whole NYU thing - and maybe seeing you with Luke, seeing how sturdy and serious the two of you are, is quelling her fears, too.

“I mean I haven’t lived in New York, so I might not be a fair judge on that,” he chuckles, “But I like it. Feels a lot more relaxed, I think.”

“And you live with your brothers?”

“Just one of ‘em,” he says, “Jack, he plays on the same team as me,”

“So the two of you won’t be moving in with each other,”

“Mom,” you cringe, rolling your eyes at her even asking such a question when you’ve literally sat her down and talked her through your shared housing options.

“Not yet,” Luke says, easily, and you turn back a little at how casual he sounds about it.

The two of you haven’t really talked about it - not in depth, at least. He has no intentions of moving out of his and Jack’s place, as far as you know, and you’re definitely not moving in - the lake house during summer is bad enough in his brother’s company, no matter how civil the two of you have become. 

“Not yet?”

“Well, it isn’t not ever,” he snorts, “I think we’re quite good at living together, I’d like to do it again. Would much rather live with you than live with Jack for the rest of my life.”

As if it’s that simple. The rest of his life.

“She’s a great cook,” your mom chimes in, like he needs her making a pros list. “And she always picks the nicest smelling detergent for laundry, I always get compliments on my uniform at work.”

“Mom,”

“She never forgets anything from the store, either, even when it’s not in her notes,” Luke adds - because clearly he already has a list. “Like I’ll be cursing myself thinking it’s too late to let her know we don’t have salsa, and I forgot to tell her in the first place, but she always remembers anyway."

“Oh my god-,”

“Exactly!”

And Luke’s arms tighten around you, a teasing embrace that you don’t really want to shake, not now, not ever. “If she’ll still have me by then, I think we’d revisit it next summer, but at least we’re closer now than we were before. I’ll still be around for her.”

Your mom smiles softly at his clear adoration for you, and when she meets your eye, you feel a sudden wave of relief wash through you. There’s something in her gaze that reads like approval - and for a woman who, this time last year, told you that there isn’t a single man out there worth your time, or who won’t hurt you - she doesn’t have to say anything for you to know she’s eating her words. For a woman who lost all faith in forever when she divorced your dad, you’re grateful to see her entertaining the idea of it when it comes to you and Luke.

“Don’t worry, I think she’ll keep you around,” she reassures him, a subtle wink sent his way as your cheeks go burning hot - and you divert your gaze to avoid the depth of her perception, eyes lingering on the softened pink hues of the summer sunset you all came out to watch.

You think you’ll keep him, too.

“This is so fancy,” you sigh, something between awe and anxiety swirling through your brain at just how nice this restaurant is - so different to all the other date nights you and Luke have spent together over the course of the summer.

But summer is coming to an end, and Luke said he wanted to try something different.

“My mom told me about it,” he replies, eyes glancing up from his menu to meet yours, “Which I realise loses me cool points, but I promise she has good taste.”

“Your mom is cool, babe,” you laugh, “No points lost.”

“I mean, it’s better than the club, right?”

It’s definitely better than the club - and not only because you’re not reminded of having to work there last summer every time you tag along with Luke for an afternoon on the course, or a trip to the bar.

“Yeah,” you smile softly to reassure him, “It’s nice, it’s just weird, I think.”

“Weird?” He frowns.

“Not like weird,” you’re quick to cover your tracks at the sight of his expression, like a wounded animal, and guilt nips at your stomach. He’s trying to do something nice. He’s giving you a chance to get all dressed up, and he sent you to get your hair blow-dried at one of the nicer salons in town, and it is a treat to be pampered.

You just sort of like all the other stuff the two of you have been getting up to a little more.

But you can put on your big girl pants and enjoy it, for his sake.

“I just mean like, I feel like I need Duolingo to help me out with this thing,” you chuckle, waving the menu a little in your hands. 

You need to be more grateful, you think.

He’s making such an effort.

In one of his nicest suits, tailored to perfection - and the two of you had a little bit of a walk from the car, you got to see how good his ass looked when he paid for the meter a couple blocks away, bending to read the machine and giving you the perfect view - he honestly looks so good it’s almost alarming.

And you think you do, too. You feel good, at least - especially with how Luke looked at you when he came out of the bathroom and saw you in this dress back in the house. Black satin, a sweetheart neckline just begging for his gaze to linger, and it fits like a glove, too - you swear he was starting to drool at one point.

“Yeah, it’s a little excessive, actually,” he sighs, his finger hooking into the knot of his tie and loosening it a little.

“Baby, I promise, it’s nice-,” you reach over to wrap your fingers around his hand, and it turns, palm-up, until you can properly interlace yours with his. “I’m just not used to this sort of place, but it’s gorgeous, I really appreciate all the effort you put into tonight.”

“I’m sorry that it’s the first time we’ve done it,” he frowns, “I promise I’ll try and do better-“

“Wait, what?”

Do better?

You don’t think for a second he ever has to try?

This summer has been like a dream, and the dates the two of you have gone on have far surpassed anything you’ve ever experienced in any other relationship. 

Nights together watching movies - a routine the two of you kept up every Sunday, and even more throughout the week - even if that was with his brothers, or his friends, or even his parents, a couple times.

Days out on the lake, wake surfing, or just treading water. Swimming, socialising, sailing, sunbathing - a maintained sense of calm providing comfort over the past few months that you wouldn’t trade for the world.

Mini golf, portrait painting, lego building, cooking together, shopping together, even nights as a group, doing whatever activities anybody else wanted to do.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so happy - and Luke is at the core of it all.

“You don’t have to do anything better.”

“I just feel like all our dates so far haven’t been super involved,” he sighs, “Like I fought so hard to get you, I should be trying harder to keep you.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“Jack said-,”

And you can’t help it - in as serious of an environment as this is - you reach over the table and swat at his head with your menu. It’s really more of a light tap, but the surprise of it jolts him a little, widened eyes staring back at you.

“What the hell?”

“I thought we knew better than to listen to Jack, babe.”

“But he said-,”

“Don’t make me hit you again.”

He narrows his eyes your way, a warning, almost, and you roll your own eyes in response, a quick squeeze of your hand to let him know he can carry on.

“He said he makes a point of being the one to take charge of the dates, ‘cause Ellie told him it makes her feel valued. And I know we don’t listen to Ellie, either,” and thank god he does, you think - because for as much as you’ve forgiven the both of them for the gigantic mess they made of yours and Luke’s relationship back in the Spring, Jack and Ellie are still gigantic morons, and their relationship couldn’t be any further from yours if they tried. “But it just made me thing back on all the stuff we have done together this summer, and how I sort of left it to you to take the reins.”

You suppose that’s technically true - a lot of times you came up with the ideas, but it’s not like he never contributed. It’s not like he never made an effort, or you felt like he didn’t care.

“You do realise I like being in control, right?” You ask, your lips twisting a little to soften the blow when he meets your eyes again, and you drop your menu to free up your other hand, leaning forward and reaching for his free hand, too. 

“I’m very aware, actually,” he snorts, and you’re sort of relieved to hear it - because you know deep down that you and Luke understand each other on a deeper level than you’ve ever experienced before, and to hear him second guessing it sort of stings. “And I like you being in control,” he adds, thank god. “I just feel like I always leave it to you to organise stuff like this, without even realising I’m doing it, and I guess I feel bad.”

“I like looking after this stuff, Luke,” you admit, a little sheepish, though you don’t really know why. Maybe it’s leaving this sort of unspoken for so long, or maybe it’s past experiences of guys who would feel emasculated by you adding, “I like looking after you.”

“Really?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“I don’t know,” he pouts, “I guess I just thought you’d want to be with someone who looked after you,”

“You do.” You assure him, and you could probably list a thousand ways in which he’s already proven that. “Looking after me goes beyond dates,” you tell him, “It’s about how you make me feel.”

“And how do I make you feel?”

You’re thankful to see the way a slow, sure smile creeps up on his face - like whatever thoughts Jack had infected him with before - whether intentionally or not - have been eradicated.

“You know how you make me feel,” you smile back.

“Yeah,” he nods, self assured and seriously sexy. “Still want you to say it, though.”

“How about we get out of here and you let me show you, instead?”

And you don’t think you’ve ever seen him move so quick.

He’s practically dragging you out of the restaurant in under a minute, making sure to thank and tip the maître d' on the way, and the two of you barely make it back to his car before he’s pouncing - his kiss firm, his adoration clear, and your love continuing to grow with every waking moment you spend in his company.

“Is that the last box?” You ask as Luke places it gently down beside the others he’s just hauled up to your apartment from the truck he rented to have your stuff shipped over from storage in Michigan.

He’s been pretty insistent on helping you move in - he’s been pretty insistent on helping with everything, and you couldn’t be more grateful for his input, if you’re honest.

He’d come out to Jersey to check out potential apartments with you, had given advice on all the best areas, with all the best travel access to get yourself across the river - because the thought of living in a different state again, despite just how close the two of them are, just didn’t sit right with you when it came to deciding where you’d live while you went to graduate school.

And now he’s brought up every single box without you having to lift a finger - so far from the slinged up version of him you’d started your summer with a few months ago, which is really wonderful to see. He’s worked really hard to rehab his injury, and you’re so proud of all of his progress, beyond using it to your own advantage.

You can’t wait to spend the next year watching him thrive.

He makes you so happy you could probably burst if you give it too much thought.

“Yep,” he smiles, and he flexes his muscles at you with a suggestive wiggle of his brows, “You think me bringing all these up 5 flights of stairs is enough for people to start thinking I have the potential to bulk?”

“I’d say you’re plenty bulky,” you say, beaming up as you practically skip over to him, placing your hands on his muscular chest and leaning to press a kiss to his lips, “Gonna miss my big strong boyfriend while you’re away for the weekend.”

Him and his brothers have a little trip planned for the three of them, and as much as you want to spend your first few nights in your new apartment with him, you know how important it is leading into the season that they get their sibling time in - especially with Quinn.

“I’ll come straight here when I get back on Monday,” he promises, kissing you again and again until you start to feel a little dizzy, his strong, calloused grip on your waist guiding you back towards the couch that the landlord left behind for you - and while you’re quite keen to christen a few of the spaces while you have the chance, you can’t contain your excitement for much longer.

“I got you a present.”

“I’m supposed to get you something, I’m pretty sure,” he scoffs, watching as you spin on your heels, retreat back to the table you were standing at when he came in, and come back over to him - placing something small and cold in his palm.

A key.

A key to your apartment.

“So you don’t have to call ahead.” You tell him, although obviously it means much more than that.

He smiles - that same pretty smile that got you hooked over a year ago, now - and you smile straight back.

He lifts his hands to cup at your beaming cheeks, the cool metal of the key pressing into your skin - not that you mind - as he pulls you in to kiss you, again. His excitement is clear, and you're quickly consumed by the familiar thumping of your heart that will never go away when you're around him.

Finally the two of you have somewhere you don’t have to worry about interruptions, or rushing, or hiding away.

Finally you have somewhere - and someone - that’s just yours. 

another a/n: I didn't know how to end this lmao!! but I hope you all enjoy!!

[mononijikayu]

therapy — nanami kento and gojo satoru.

“Seriously, Satoru–kun.” you muttered. “Why are you here?” Satoru smirked, leaning back against the bar. “What, I need a reason to drink?” You gave him a flat look. “You don’t drink. Well, that I know of. Last time I made you drink tequila, you looked at me funny after just one shot.” “Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a good ambiance, or the sweetness, or the smell.” he quipped, gesturing vaguely to the dimly lit space around you. You snicker at his words. “Plus, I have a sixth sense for finding people who look like they’re about to make bad decisions.” You huffed a small, tired laugh, shaking your head. “And you think that’s me?”

GENRE: alternate universe - actor/s au!;

WARNING/S: nsfw!, r-18, afab! reader, use of she/her pronouns, romance, angst, hurt/comfort, hurt, love, fluff, humor, light-hearted, falling in love, long-term relationship, toxic marriage, healing, age gap, emotional distress, relief, mental health issues, resentment, trauma, depression, confessions, cheating, profanity, drama, bitterness, explicit, sexual intercourse, making out, scratching, biting, multiple orgasms, kissing, rough sex, p-i-v sex, fingering, oral sex (f! receiving), creampie, praising, bodily fluids, mention of bodily fluids, mention of trauma, mention of emotional distress, mention of cheating, mention of sexual innuendos, depiction of emotional distress, depiction of cheating, depiction of sexual activities, actor! nanami, actor! gojo, housewife! reader;

WORD COUNT: 19k words

NOTE: this probably published while im still abroad, so this is automated put out by the queue!!! this took awhile and there were stuff i wanted to add, but that didn't work out. still, this means there'll be a couple more chapters and this isn't the finale. that being said, i think i love this chapter a lot and so did @areyna who graciously proofread this and was the very first victim and winner of this entire chapter. i hope you enjoy it as much as i did writing and as much as areyna did proofreading it!!! i love you all <3

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the good life ― masterlist.

YOU DON’T WANT TO BE HERE. But this is what has to happen if you are planning to stay together. You purse your lips, watching the old grandfather clock ticking away against the wall. The office smells like lavender and old books, a forced attempt at making the space feel welcoming. It doesn’t work. 

The tension between you and Kento is thick enough to suffocate, coiling in the silence as the therapist, this woman who seemed to be someone too young to understand marriage, let alone the wreckage of a twenty-five-year one, continued to flip through her notes. But she was all you had at this moment. So, you let your mouth stay shut.

“This is a safe space, you two.” she says, offering a practiced smile. “I want you both to feel comfortable expressing yourselves.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I don’t think comfort is possible when my husband’s only here because his company forced him.”

Kento exhales sharply, hands clasped on his lap. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh, it’s not?” You turn to him, eyes sharp. “Then why are we here, Kento? Pray tell.”

He presses his lips together, a telltale sign of his irritation. “Because we need to fix this.”

“You need to fix this.” you correct. “I’ve been living in the mess you made.”

The therapist clears her throat, interrupting before the conversation spirals into yet another argument. “Let’s take a step back. Kento, why don’t you tell us what you hope to achieve from these sessions?”

He hesitates, as if he hasn’t even considered it. Then, he sighs. “I want us to be able to talk again. To be... something other than enemies.”

You resist the urge to laugh. Enemies. As if you asked for this war. As if you asked for all this trouble. The therapist turns to you. “And you?”

You stare at her, then at your husband Kento, then down at your fragile hands, sharp nails digging into your palm. As if wanting to wound, as if wanting something that echoes some sense of the hurt you feel. 

What do you want? An apology? A time machine? A different life?

“I want to stop being angry.” The words slip out before you can overthink them.

The room is silent for a beat too long. Kento looks at you then really looks at you. For the first time in years, he actually looks at you. And for a second, you remember who he used to be. The man that actually loved you, the man that actually takes care of you and wants you. 

The man who didn’t hurt you. You wanted to look at that Kento you once knew all over again. That Kento before fame, before the affairs. Before the resentment built a wall so high you forgot how to climb over it.

Maybe therapy was a bad idea. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s the only chance you have left. The words hang between you, fragile and uncertain. I don’t want to keep hurting you. I don’t want to keep being hurt by you. I can’t do this with you anymore.

Yet those words are never said, they shouldn’t be said ever again. It’s too late for that, though, isn’t it? The damage has already been done a long time ago. And it was never going to be possible to fix. Not even when you wanted to, not even when he wanted to. The thought of staying is just the thought of foolish fools.

It was now etched into every sleepless night, every forced smile at industry events, every moment you swallowed your own misery for the sake of keeping up appearances. A single sentence, no matter how sincere, cannot erase twenty–five years of betrayal, resentment, and loss.

You inhale deeply, forcing yourself to keep your composure. “You say that now,” you murmur, not looking at him. “But where was this concern when I was at home raising our children alone? When I was waking up to rumors about your latest affair? When I was becoming a ghost of myself, while you—” 

“That’s unfair—”

“It is not unfair.” Your voice falters, thick with emotion. “While you were out there playing the perfect leading man for everyone but me, I had nothing. And you know it. You always have and you never did a damn thing about it.”

Kento doesn’t flinch, but you see the way his fingers curl slightly against his knee. He always does this when you fight nowadays. He always absorbs the hit without reacting, as if that makes him noble, as if his restraint somehow makes up for everything.

“I know I hurt you.” he says after a long pause.

You laugh, but it’s hollow. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

The therapist interjects gently, “Sometimes acknowledging the pain is the first step toward healing.”

You shake your head. “Acknowledging isn’t the same as making amends.” You turn to Kento, your voice sharp. “Do you even know what you took from me?”

He meets your gaze, but there’s uncertainty in his eyes. “Tell me. Tell me, so I can understand and fix it.” he says, and for once, he sounds like he actually wants to hear it.

You exhale shakily. “I was never supposed to be just your wife.”

The words taste foreign on your tongue, like something you buried so deep you forgot how much it mattered. It has been twenty–five years. Your youth was gone, it was long over. How could there be anything left of you now, when he had robbed you of all of it?

“I had dreams, Kento. I had plans for myself before you—before this.” You gesture vaguely between you. “But the moment you started rising, the moment your career became more important than anything else, I was expected to put mine aside. Because someone had to take care of everything you didn’t have time for. Someone had to be the constant in the chaos of your life. And it sure as hell wasn’t going to be you.”

His brows furrow, and for the first time in a long time, you see something beyond detachment, beyond his own grief and beguilement. Perhaps it was truthful guilt, maybe. Or honest regret. But neither of those things change what’s already happened.

“I never asked you to give up your life for me.” he says quietly.

You scoff. “You didn’t have to. I was forced to. You were never going to let me have an abortion. You always wanted children. And I didn’t.”

Nanami Kento stares at you, his face unreadable. But you see it—the brief flicker of something behind his eyes. Shock? Guilt? Maybe even hurt. “You didn’t want them.” he repeats, as if he needs to hear it again to believe it. “Our beloved children?”

You scoff, shaking your head. “I didn’t plan for them. I didn’t ask for them.” Your voice rises, filled with years of buried anguish. “I wasn’t ready, Kento. I wasn’t allowed to be ready to leave chemistry behind. Because you—” you jab a finger toward him. “—made the decision for me. You knew I didn’t want this, and you didn’t care.”

His jaw tightens. “That’s not fair.”

“Not fair?” Your laugh is sharp and bitter. “What’s not fair is being forced into motherhood before I even had the chance to figure out who I was. What’s not fair is raising children alone while their father is out playing the devoted family man on magazine covers.”

His expression darkens, but he doesn’t interrupt. Maybe he knows he can’t argue against the truth.

You inhale sharply, trying to steady yourself. “And don’t twist my words. I love our children, Kento. But loving them doesn’t erase the years I spent resenting what I had to sacrifice. It doesn’t erase the hell my body went through to bring them into this world. The sickness, the pain, the tearing, the bleeding. Do you even know what it’s like to almost die giving birth? Do you care?”

His face pales. “I—”

“You weren’t there, Kento.” you cut him off. “Not really. You were there for the photos, for the press, for the illusion of a happy family. But when I was crying in the middle of the night with a newborn that wouldn’t stop screaming, when I was too exhausted to function, when I was losing myself piece by piece. So, where were you?”

Silence.

His hands clenched into fists on his lap. “I thought you were happy.”

Your breath catches, something breaking inside you.

“You thought?” you echo, incredulous. “That’s the problem, Kento. You thought. You assumed. You never asked, you never listened. You just expected me to play my role.”

The weight of your words settles over him, pressing down like a tidal wave. He swallows, looking away. “I wanted us to have a family.”

“And I wanted a choice.” Tears sting at the edges of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall.

“I love our children,” you say, voice thick with emotion. “I love them more than anything. But don’t you dare act like this was easy for me. Don’t you dare act like I didn’t suffer to give you what you wanted.”

He exhales, his shoulders sagging. For once, Nanami Kento who was always celebrated, untouchable, always in control. He looks utterly lost at what to do now. Kento looks down, his expression unreadable. And for a moment, you wonder if he finally understands—or if this is just another scene in the performance of his life.

What could he do to make it all better, easier for you?

How could he erase the bitterness and the anguish of twenty five years?

The therapist clears her throat, cutting through the thick tension like a knife. “Let’s pause for a moment.”

You turn to her, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, your emotions still raw and thrumming under your skin. Kento’s warm caramel gaze remains fixed on the floor, his crestfallen face suddenly unreadable.

“I can see that this is an incredibly painful subject for both of you.” the therapist continues, her voice steady but firm. “But if we’re going to make progress, we need to shift the way we approach it.” She looks between the two of you. “Right now, you’re both speaking at each other, not to each other.”

Your jaw tightens, the sting of frustration still hot in your throat. “I am talking to him. He just doesn’t want to hear it.”

“I do, I know I am.” Kento says, his voice quiet but certain. “I’m listening.”

The therapist nods, acknowledging his words but keeping control of the conversation. “Good. Then let’s slow down. Let’s take a step back and focus on what’s happening here, in this room, right now.”

She turns to you. “You’ve carried a lot of pain for a long time. And you’re finally letting yourself express it. That’s important. But I want you to ask yourself. What do you need from Kento at this moment? Right now, not in the past, not for the things he can’t change. What do you need today?”

You blink, thrown by the question. What do you need? For so long, your mind has been caught in the past, replaying every betrayal, every sacrifice, every moment you felt abandoned. But the therapist is asking you to focus on the present, and the shift feels jarring.

You glance at Kento, who lifted his face and started watching you with an expression you can’t quite place or ever explain. You took a moment for yourself. One inhale, one exhale. Then, finally, you speak.

“I need you to acknowledge what I went through.” you say, voice quieter now, but still firm. “Not just say you thought I was happy. Not just say you wanted a family. I need you to really, truly see what it cost me.”

Kento nods slowly, his throat working as he swallows. “Okay.” His voice is rough, like the words are hard to get out. “I can do that.”

The therapist turns to him now. “Kento, what do you need from your wife at this moment?”

He hesitates, and for the first time in this session, you see something raw in his eyes. Something unguarded. “I need to know if there’s still a chance that this is still working,” he says quietly. “If all I’ve done….if everything I’ve broken is beyond repair.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy with uncertainty.

The therapist watches you carefully, then speaks again. “Neither of you has to answer that today. Right now, all we need to do is be honest about where you are, and what you’re feeling.”

She leans forward slightly, her gaze soft but unwavering. “And it’s okay if the answer isn’t clear yet.”

You exhale slowly, glancing at Kento once more. Maybe you don’t know the answer yet. Maybe that’s okay. The air in the room is thick with emotion, the weight of your words pressing down on both of you.

“I don’t feel like I know what to say about any of that.” you whisper, your voice quieter now, but no less full of pain. “It’s one thing to stay, it’s another to fix the relationship.” Your fingers tighten in your lap. “You hurt me. And I still don’t know how to cope.”

Kento remains silent, but his body tenses beside you. 

You can feel his gaze on you, waiting, bracing.

The therapist speaks up again, her voice even, grounding. “This isn’t about placing blame—it’s about understanding.” She turns to Kento. “What do you hear when she says this?”

He exhales slowly, like he’s picking apart your words piece by piece, trying to find the truth beneath them. “That I took you for granted.” he finally says. 

His voice is quieter now, rougher. When he looks at you, it’s not with the usual detached acceptance of your anger. It’s something rawer, something closer to regret. Something that breaks from that egotistical sense of self.

“That I expected you to stay, no matter how much it hurt you.”

Your breath catches, but you don’t let yourself react.

Because he’s right. He did expect you to stay.

Through the betrayals. Through the nights spent alone. Through the resentment and the exhaustion and the quiet, suffocating grief of losing yourself to a life you never truly wanted. He expected you to endure it because that’s what you’ve always done.

The therapist watches the exchange carefully, then speaks again. “Kento, understanding that is important. But what does that mean for you now?”

Kento’s gaze doesn’t leave yours. “It means I can’t keep pretending an apology is enough.” he says, voice rough, strained. “I can’t just ask you to move forward like the past doesn’t exist.”

You swallow, your throat tightens.

The therapist nods. “And you?” she asks gently, turning back to you. “What does it mean for you to hear him say this?”

You hesitate. Because you don’t know. You’ve wanted acknowledgement for so long. You’ve craved it, ached for it. And now, sitting here, hearing your husband Nanami Kento say the things you always needed to hear, you realize something terrifying. 

Recognition doesn’t erase the past. Understanding doesn’t heal the wounds. And now, you have to decide whether you want to heal. So, you don’t say anything. Because for the first time, he’s finally right. But the question remains—does it even matter anymore?

The room feels heavier now, as if the walls themselves are absorbing the weight of your words. Kento’s admission lingers between you, a quiet acknowledgment of what you’ve always known but never heard from his lips.

But does it change anything?

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning back against the stiff leather couch. “And what now?” you ask, voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you. “Now that you finally understand, what are you going to do about it?”

Kento hesitates, like he hasn’t thought that far ahead. Of course, he hasn’t. He was forced into this session, just like you were. Maybe he thought showing up was enough. That the act of being here, of listening, would be enough to fix the unfixable.

“I don’t know.” he admits, and somehow, that makes you angrier than anything else.

You let out a sharp breath, shaking your head. “Typical.”

The therapist interjects gently. “This process isn’t about quick solutions. It’s about identifying the patterns that have brought you both here and seeing if they can be changed.” She glances at Kento. “You’ve admitted to taking your wife for granted, to making choices that hurt her. But what are you willing to do to make amends?”

His jaw tightens. He’s always been careful with his words. All too trained by years and even decades in the industry to say just enough without ever saying too much. But now, there’s no script to follow. No director to guide him.

Finally, he speaks. “I want to rebuild what I broke.”

You laugh, the sound bitter. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that, Kento? Turning back time? Undoing years of neglect and infidelity?”

His expression hardens. “I know I can’t change the past. But I don’t want this—” he gestures vaguely between you, much like you did earlier, “—to be how it ends.”

Your stomach twists. “You think there’s still something left to save?”

A long silence stretches between you. Kento doesn’t answer, and you don’t think he even knows the answer himself. You knew very well what that meant. Even he himself does not know how to do anything about a marriage he broke.

The therapist’s voice is soft but firm. “Maybe the better question is—do you want there to be? Both of you?”

You blink, caught off guard by the shift in focus. Do you?

For so long, your anger has been the only thing holding you together. It’s easier to be furious than to admit how much it hurts. How much it still hurts. But wanting something and believing in it are two very different things.

You glance at Kento, the man you once loved more than anything. The man who shattered you, piece by piece, over two and a half decades. Do you want to salvage what’s left? Or is this therapy nothing more than a final autopsy of a marriage long dead?

“I don’t know.” you finally admit, the honesty sitting heavy on your tongue.

Kento flinches, just barely. But it’s enough for you to see it. Maybe, for the first time, he’s realizing that there might not be a way back from this. Maybe he should’ve thought about that before he broke you.

YOU DON’T KNOW IF YOU BELIEVE IN THE GODS ANYMORE. But you knew that it would mean a lot to your daughter Keiko for you both to visit the temple for prayer. She believes in the power of the gods a little bit more than you do. That’s why she suggests going there, at the very least to shake the nerves from the upcoming medical board licensure exams. 

The grounds of Yushima Tenman-gū are alive with quiet devotion.Perhaps equal to that during the New Year visits made by the people within Bunkyō ward. The scent of incense clings to the air, blending with the crispness of the late afternoon. 

Students and parents move through the space with careful steps, their voices hushed, their prayers whispered. Some clutch omamori charms tightly in their hands, while others write their wishes on ema plaques, their hopes hanging alongside hundreds of others, swaying gently in the breeze.

Your daughter Keiko moves ahead with purpose, stepping toward the main shrine, her back straight, her hands already reaching into her bag for a coin to toss into the offering box. She has always been like this, always so steady, precise. She was a young woman who knew what she wanted and how to chase it.

You linger behind for a moment, watching her.

The last time you had come to a shrine like this, you were still young. You had prayed for a future that felt distant yet full of possibility. Back then, you had imagined a life built on your own terms. A future of a career. A love that was chosen, not endured. A freedom that was never granted to you.

And now, here you are, standing in the shadow of everything you lost, watching your daughter reach for the things you never got to have. You don’t know if that makes you bitter or relieved. But you knew that there was pride and joy, and perhaps that blossoming of envy on the corners of your heart.

Your son steps up beside you, hands in his pockets, his posture more relaxed but no less thoughtful. “You should pray too, mom.” he murmurs, his voice barely above the wind.

You swallow, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest. Pray? For what? For your daughter’s success? 

Of course, you want that for her. You have always wanted the best for your children, even when motherhood was something that had been forced upon you. Even when resentment had gnawed at you in the darkest hours of the night, when exhaustion had made you wonder who you might have been if things had been different.

For your son’s peace? He’s always been the quieter one, observing more than speaking, carrying a kind of stillness that reminds you too much of Kento. You wonder if he ever saw through the illusions of your marriage. If he ever realized how much of yourself you had lost trying to keep the family whole.

Or maybe you should pray for yourself. The thought startles you for a moment. You weren’t particularly religious. But every time you visit a temple, you know you have spent so much of your life praying for others, for their futures, for their happiness. But what about you? Do you even know what to wish for anymore?

Your feet carry you forward before you can think too hard about it. You reach into your bag, pulling out a singular coin, the cool metal pressing against your palm. Stepping up to the offering box, you toss it in, the small clink of it landing echoing louder in your ears than it should.

You press your hands together, fingers trembling slightly as you close your eyes. And then….there was nothing. No words come to mind. No clear wish forms in your heart. You stand there, empty, uncertain, the weight of a lifetime of silent suffering pressing against you. 

The gods, if they are listening, must already know. Maybe prayers don’t need to be spoken to be heard. Maybe standing here, finally allowing yourself to be present. Not as a wife, not as the woman Kento Nanami had molded to fit into his world, but simply you is enough. Maybe this is where healing begins.

As you step out of the shrine grounds, the late afternoon sun filters through the trees, casting long shadows on the stone path. You were sure the blue hour was about to come any time soon. The air is crisp, and the scent of incense still lingers faintly, wrapping around you like an unspoken farewell.

Kenshin walks ahead, his hands tucked into his pockets, his pace just slightly quicker than yours. You don’t call out to him. He’s always been the type to process things quietly, to put distance between himself and heavy conversations. Keiko, on the other hand, stays by your side. You can feel her glancing at you before she finally speaks.

“We’ve talked about it, mom.” she says, voice soft but firm.

You blink, turning to her. “What?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Kenshin and I. We’ve talked about you and Dad. About what’s been happening.”

Your chest tightens, your breath hitching just slightly. You don’t know why it surprises you—of course, they’ve noticed. Of course, they’ve thought about it too. You could only take a soundless breath. 

The thought of your children being such people, who think about their wretched parents instead of their own lives. You can only think you have such good kids, but also guilt that they have to deal with such a thing at all. This was after all the mess of overbearing adults. 

“I already told you and your brother that this is a mess me and your father must deal with on our own.” You tell your daughter with a sigh, feeling the cold air brush against your cheeks. “You have your own lives to live too.”

“We know.” Keiko says, her hands resting on her jacket pocket. “But we still think about it. That’s just how it is.”

“Oh?” You raise a brow at her. “Then you’re too stubborn.”

She snickers. “Where do you think I got that from?”

You shake your head. “You’re too much my daughter.”

“Hm, aren’t I?”

The world around you keeps moving as you both become silent. The students walk past, the hum of distant conversations, the rustling of trees as the wind weaves through them. You purse your lips, feeling the wind become rougher and colder. For a moment, you wish that spring could come and remove the cold of autumn winds from your life.

"We think it’s better if you leave him." She suddenly says, picking up the conversation again.

Your daughter has always been straightforward, unafraid to speak her mind. But hearing it from her, hearing that it was words that came from both of them….it feels different, feels too much like a crashing wave battering you in a typhoon.

You inhale sharply, your fingers curling into fists at your sides. “Keiko… I told you, that’s not something you and Kenshin should have to worry about.”

Her gaze doesn’t waver. “How could we not?” she asks, her voice gentle but firm. “You think we haven’t noticed? The way you look when you’re with him? The way you don’t look at him anymore?”

You don’t answer.

Because what is there to say?

She isn’t wrong.

Your breath catches, the words sinking in faster than you can process them. Keiko watches you carefully, her expression unreadable, but there’s something knowing in her gaze. Something that makes you feel exposed in a way you weren’t expecting.

You shake your head, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground. “That isn’t the point, Keiko.” you insist, your voice wavering just slightly. “Me and your father are in therapy. We’re still not making any decisions.”

Keiko doesn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am sure.”

“You know for a fact that therapy just makes you even more angry at Dad.” she points out. “You come back from those sessions exhausted, and not in a good way.” She sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, a habit she’s had since childhood. “Really, I know you love him. But how is that enough to stay?”

“Look, I just—-”

She pauses, then adds, almost too casually, “You aren’t as smiley as when you’re with your new friends. Gojo–san and his group of friends, right?”

Your breath stutters. You want to argue. To tell her she’s wrong, that she doesn’t understand, that your marriage is complicated and layered and full of history she hasn’t lived through. But you can’t. Because she’s right.

With Kento, you feel like you’re drowning in old wounds, forced to relive them every time you try to mend something that might already be broken beyond repair. But with Gojo Satoru and his friends… Gojo, especially…..it’s different. 

The weight isn’t there. 

You can breathe. 

And maybe that’s what scares you the most.

Keiko tilts her head, studying you. “You like them, don’t you?” she states, as if confirming something she already knew. “Gojo–san, especially.”

“They’re just friends.” you say quickly, too quickly. “Gojo–san, exceptionally.”

“I didn’t say they weren’t.” Her lips twitch slightly. “But they make you happy. That’s all I’m saying.”

You don’t respond, your thoughts a tangled mess. Keiko doesn’t push, but she doesn’t look away either. Her silence is deliberate, patient—giving you space to deny it, to argue, to deflect. But you don’t. 

Because what is there to say? That she’s wrong? That Gojo Satoru and his friends are just a temporary distraction from your crumbling marriage? That you haven’t caught yourself laughing a little too easily when he teases you, or feeling lighter in his presence in a way you haven’t felt in years?

You swallow, glancing away, but Keiko hums knowingly. “See? You can’t even say I’m wrong.”

You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face. “Keiko, this isn’t about that.”

She shrugs. “Maybe not. But it matters.”

You exhale, trying to steady yourself. “I don’t even know what I want right now.”

Keiko’s expression softens. “You don’t have to.” She shifts closer, lowering her voice like she’s afraid of saying it too loudly. “But Mom… doesn’t it tell you something? That you feel happier with them than you do with Dad?”

Your chest tightens.

Because you know what it tells you.

You just don’t know if you’re ready to accept it.

YOU HAVEN’T BEEN TO A BAR IN NEARLY TWENTY YEARS. Well, at least by yourself. The amber glow of the bar lights cast a soft haze over the room, reflecting off polished wood and half-empty glasses. Low murmurs of conversation drifted through the space, but they barely registered in your mind.

All you could feel was the crushing weight of everything that has been happening in your life as of late. Your marriage, your children’s quiet acceptance of your inevitable decision, the unraveling of twenty-five years of your life right before your eyes.

So you did the only thing that made sense. You walked. Not toward anything in particular, not with any real destination in mind. Just away. Away from the conversation with Keiko, away from the heavy silence that had followed it, away from the empty hotel room waiting for you. And somehow, you ended up here. Alone.

The bar was dimly lit and upscale, but not the flashy kind. It was more of a quiet, intimate retreat for people who didn’t want to be seen, who came here to disappear into the background. It was perfect. You slid onto a barstool, resting your elbows on the counter, your head feeling too heavy for your shoulders.

"Whiskey neat, please." you muttered, barely sparing the bartender a glance.

The glass was placed in front of you moments later, golden liquid catching the light. You curled your fingers around it, but you didn’t drink. Not yet. Instead, you sat there, staring at the reflection of yourself in the mirrored wall behind the shelves of expensive liquor. 

The woman who looked back at you was someone you barely recognized. Tired eyes. Set jaw. A kind of sadness so deep it had settled into your bones. One that you could never imagine for yourself all those years ago. Where has that bright eyed young woman gone?

And then the thought came, sharp and undeniable—Fuck. This is it. This is the moment I finally drown.

The realization clawed at your chest, a quiet sort of devastation. You didn’t even hear him approach.

"…Didn’t think I’d find you here."

Your breath caught. You froze. Your head snapped up, and there he was. Gojo Satoru. Tall, sharp, annoyingly out of place in a bar like this, with his white hair and easy grin and the kind of presence that drew attention even when he wasn’t trying to. 

He wasn’t wearing his usual sunglasses, and his infamous blue eyes—too bright, too knowing was settled on you like he’d already figured out why you were here before you had even admitted it to yourself. You swallowed, gripping your glass a little tighter.

“What are you doing here, Satoru–kun?” you asked, voice quieter than you meant it to be.

Satoru tilted his head slightly, his grin lazy but his gaze sharper than usual. “Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.”

Your fingers twitched against the glass. 

Of course, of all people, he would be the one to find you here.

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to steady your grip on the glass. 

"I asked first, didn’t I?" You whispered back at him. “You can’t ask a question with another question. That’s just….stupid.”

Gojo Satoru couldn’t help but let out a low chuckle, stepping closer before sliding into the barstool beside you like he belonged there. Like he belonged in this moment, with you. Almost all too perfectly. You purse your lips into a flat line.

"Just passing through, like I always am." he said, casually resting his forearm on the counter. "Didn’t expect to see you here, though. I didn’t think you would be in Bunkyō.”

“Well, that’s a long story. No, actually I can summarize it. But not right now.” You hummed, noncommittal, taking a small sip of your drink. 

The burn was sharp, settling deep in your chest, but it didn’t ground you the way you’d hoped. And then you suddenly fell back into that silence, the silence you were trying to escape with the bounty of burning alcohol pushed down your throat and probably being drunk enough to dance to the beat of the music.

Satoru leaned in slightly, eyes flicking over your expression. "What’s wrong?"

You scoffed, shaking your head. "Do I really have to say more about it? I thought I’ve told you enough about it."

His grin softened, just a little. "Well, I wouldn’t mind repetitive stories."

“I have too many of those.”

“Hm, then tell me one.” He leans against the table, getting closer to you. “Go on. I’ll listen.”

You looked at him for a moment, suddenly mesmerized by the look on his face. That tender wonder. You gulped soundlessly as you saw the smile on his lips warmer than all the other times you’ve ever seen it. You drank another sip.

Then and there, tender silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Not like the suffocating stillness you had grown used to with Nanami Kento—this was different. It was… lighter. Easier. And that was dangerous in its own way.

"You’re drinking alone." Satoru pointed out eventually, his voice quieter now.

You let out a breathless laugh, swirling the liquid in your glass. "I guess I am."

"Didn’t seem like the type."

You glanced at him. "And what type is that?"

Satoru studied you for a moment before answering. "The type to drown alone."

The words hit you harder than you expected. Because that’s exactly what you had been thinking before he showed up. Before he sat down beside you, pulling you out of your own head without even trying.

You looked away, eyes tracing the rim of your glass. "Well….." you murmured. "Maybe I didn’t want to be found."

Satoru tilted his head, considering. Then, lightly, "Too bad. I found you already, didn’t I?"

You rolled your eyes, lips twitching slightly despite yourself. "You’re insufferable."

He grinned. "That’s what they all say."

Gojo Satoru didn’t look away. If anything, his bright eyed gaze felt heavier now. It was as if it was all too perceptive, all too knowing. You couldn’t help but shift in your seat, fingers tapping absently against your glass.

“Seriously, Satoru–kun.” you muttered. “Why are you here?”

Satoru smirked, leaning back against the bar. “What, I need a reason to drink?”

You gave him a flat look. “You don’t drink. Well, that I know of. Last time I made you drink tequila, you looked at me funny after just one shot.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a good ambiance, or the sweetness, or the smell.” he quipped, gesturing vaguely to the dimly lit space around you. You snicker at his words. “Plus, I have a sixth sense for finding people who look like they’re about to make bad decisions.”

You huffed a small, tired laugh, shaking your head. “And you think that’s me?”

Satoru’s grin faded just slightly. “I think you look like someone who needed company but didn’t know how to ask for it.”

The words landed uncomfortably close to the truth. You turned your gaze back to your drink, the ice melting slowly, thinning the whiskey bit by bit. Had that been what you wanted? Company? A distraction?

“Frankly, I really don’t know what I need right now.” you admitted finally. The words tasted bitter.

Satoru watched you for a moment before calling over the bartender. “Two more, here.” he said smoothly, nodding at your glass. “Thank you.”

You frowned. “I didn’t say I wanted another.”

He shrugged. “Then you can watch me drink it.”

You sighed but didn’t argue, because some part of you. That stupid, brave, brutish, dangerous part of you didn’t actually mind his presence. Not in this way. Not in this closer, unimaginable way that you knew you shouldn’t be.

The bartender set down two fresh glasses, and Satoru lifted his own glass with a lazy smile. “To bad decisions, [name].” he said, raising it slightly.

You rolled your eyes. “That’s a terrible toast.”

“Fine, then you pick one.”

You hesitated, glancing at him, then at your untouched drink. After a long pause, you exhaled and murmured back at him. “To not drowning alone.”

Gojo Satoru stilled for just a fraction of a second before his smile returned—quieter this time, almost too genuine, almost too warm, almost too real and only for you. He clicked his glass against yours. 

“To that. And more.” he agreed.

The whiskey burned less the second time around. Or maybe you were just getting used to it. The way it settled deep in your chest, loosening something tight inside you. Gojo Satoru didn’t say much after your toast. 

He just sat there, nursing his drink, letting the silence stretch between you in a way that wasn’t suffocating. He had that kind of presence, you realized. One that filled spaces without making them feel crowded. It was unnerving.

You had spent so many years in a marriage where silence meant distance, where unspoken words festered like wounds. But this was different. This was easy. Dangerous in its own way. Too much and you know it would be far worse than dangerous. 

He called for a third round of whiskey and then a fourth and then a fifth. By the time you lifted your last, you didn’t remember how many he called for. You didn’t stop him at each call for a round. In some ways, you realize you needed this as much as he did. These bad decisions. 

Satoru tapped his fingers idly against the counter, glancing at you. "So, princess." he said finally, "What now?"

You blinked at him, surprised at his nickname for you. You felt your cheeks flushed, perhaps more than from the alcohol. "What do you mean?"

He tilted his head, studying you. "You’re in Tokyo, alone. Kids are off doing their own thing. Husband’s…well, not here. Obviously." He waved a hand, trailing off as if the rest of that sentence didn’t need to be said. "You’ve got time to figure out what you want."

You swallowed. "I don’t know what I want."

Satoru hummed, nodding like he understood something you didn’t. Then, he stood up, stretching lazily. "C’mon."

You frowned. "Where?"

He grinned, like it should’ve been obvious. "A walk."

You stared at him, unsure. Gojo Satoru wasn’t the kind of person who waited. He was the kind of person who decided things for you, who swept you up in his pace before you even realized you were moving.

And maybe that was why, when he held out his hand, not to take yours, just an invitation. Perhaps that’s why you quickly considered it. For the first time in years, you considered something that wasn’t dictated by your marriage, by your children, by duty or guilt or obligation.

You glanced down at your hand. At the simple gold band circling your ring finger, there was never an engagement ring. You after all got married in a haste. But at one point, it was everything to you. It had once meant something. A promise. A commitment. A life built together.

But now, it was a weight. A reminder of everything you had held onto for too long. You took a moment to look at it. You swallowed the bile down from your throat. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. You opened your eyes and let it slide off.

The cool metal felt foreign in your palm. Perhaps lighter than it should have been. You set it down on the polished wood of the bar, the sound small, but deafening in your ears. Gojo Satoru’s gaze flickered to it, his expression unreadable.

But he didn’t say anything.

He just smiled at you.

And when he turned to leave, you followed.

YOU SHOULD HAVE WORN SOMETHING WARMER. The night air was cold. You didn’t notice. Your body was moving, one foot in front of the other, step after step. But everything else felt distant, muted beneath the raw ache in your chest. 

Your breath came unsteady, uneven. Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms just to feel something. Anything to ground yourself at this moment. You knew you weren’t just trembling from the cold.

Your throat was raw from holding back everything that threatened to spill over. Your eyes were swollen, the evidence of too many emotions crashing into you all at once. Your soul felt like it had been ripped apart and yet, there was nothing left to do but keep walking.

Satoru walked beside you. His presence wasn’t loud, and wasn't intruding in a moment where you needed to comfort yourself for something you had done. He didn’t try to fill the silence with meaningless words or tell you it would be okay when you both knew it wouldn’t. Well, not yet.

He had simply draped his jacket over your shoulders without a word, the warmth of it seeping into your skin. Hands shoved into his pockets, his usual easy, relaxed gait unchanged.

It was like he wasn’t just walking beside a woman who had shattered right in front of him. Like he wasn’t carrying the weight of everything you had left behind.

Minutes passed. You weren’t sure how many. The city lights blurred together, neon signs and distant car horns blending into the background of your grief. And then, finally, he looks at you tenderly. "…You alright?"

His voice was quiet. Not teasing, not playful, just gentle. It almost broke you, how careful he was with you at everything and anything. It was crazy. It wasn’t something he had to do. And yet he does.

You let out a laugh, one that was harsh, bitter, something close to a sob. You didn’t know if it was the effects of alcohol or a broken heart. But you didn’t want to know.

“No.” you rasped. “Not even close.”

Gojo Satoru didn’t flinch at the sharpness of your voice. If anything, he looked like he expected it. Like he would have been more surprised if you had tried to lie. "Yeah." he murmured. "Didn’t think so."

You exhaled your breath shakily, tilting your head back to stare at the sky. The city lights drowned out most of the stars, leaving behind only a few faint specks of brightness in the distance. It just truly felt fitting.

"I don’t even know what I’m doing, not anymore." you admitted. The words felt heavy in your throat, like they had been waiting to be said for years. "I don’t know where to go. I don’t know what comes next."

Satoru hummed, tilting his head as if considering your words. "Does it matter right now?"

You turned to him, frowning. "What?"

"Does it matter?" he repeated simply, kicking a stray pebble along the sidewalk. "Knowing where you’re going? Knowing what’s next?" He shot you a sideways glance, something unreadable in his expression. "You already left the bar. That’s enough for now, isn’t it?"

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him it wasn’t enough, that nothing about this was enough.  But you stopped. Because, wasn’t it? You had left. Not just the bar. Not just your ring. But the life you had convinced yourself you were trapped in. You did that.

And maybe you didn’t know what came next. 

Maybe the thought of facing it still made you sick with fear.

But for the first time in a long time, you did something for you.

Even if you didn’t know where you were going.

You let out a breath, slow and uncertain, and Satoru must have seen something shift in your expression because his grin returned on his beautiful lips. Though it was small, teasing, just a little softer than the usual he gives to others. In some ways, this smile somehow felt crafted only for you.

"See? You’re thinking too much again." he said, nudging your shoulder lightly. "Just walk with me for a little while, yeah?"

You swallowed. You nodded. "Yeah." you whispered. "Okay."

“Okay.” He whispers back, nodding at you.

Silence once again follows through both of you.

“…How old are you?” you finally croaked.

Satoru blinked. “…Thirty-five. Thirty-six this December.”

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Jesus Christ.” you muttered. “I’m twelve years older than you.”

Satoru grinned. “And?”

You stared at him. “And this means you should be hitting on girls your own age,” you deadpanned. “Not dragging miserable, middle-aged wives out of bars.”

Satoru just laughed. “I wasn’t hitting on you.” he said smoothly. “Well….not yet.”

You scoffed. “Right. Because asking a married woman out for walks around the park was totally innocent. And especially tonight, after getting her quite hammered.”

Satoru grinned. “Hey, in my defense, I didn’t see the ring.”

You snorted. “Bullshit.”

He shrugged, completely unfazed. “Okay.” he admitted. “I did know when I met you again. But in my defense those aren’t the first times we met. I didn’t know you were married then.”

And fuck. That hit like a sledgehammer. Your mouth parted, but no words came out. Your throat seized as something cold and sharp coiled around your chest. “…What?”

Satoru just smiled, slow and knowing. “I knew you from a long time ago. I told you that, didn’t I? That it was nice to meet you again.”

Your brows furrowed. “How?”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, as if to make sure you caught every word. “You remember when you visited the university? And you spoke to a student—”

Your breath stilled. A hazy memory surfaced. Years and years ago, standing in a lecture hall, speaking to a room full of eager, wide-eyed students. A boy in the back row, watching you with quiet intensity. And then later, conversed with you.

“That was you?” you whispered.

Satoru laughed, bright and unguarded. “I was also the student you saved. The one Yaga talked about. The one you gave your every savings for.”

The air seemed to shift, heavy with something you couldn’t quite name. “This is just…..”

Satoru’s voice softened, just slightly. “Because of you, my mom and I got through it. I got through it. I’m here because of you.”

A lump formed in your throat. 

You swallowed hard, unable to look away from him.

“I owe you a lot, you know?” he murmured.

And for the first time that night, you didn’t have a comeback.

The weight of his words settled in your chest like a stone, pressing against ribs already too tight from years of swallowing everything down—regrets, sacrifices.

All the quiet ache of knowing that your choices had never really been about yourself. You had convinced yourself a long time ago that what you did didn’t matter, that time swallowed up good deeds as easily as it did mistakes.

But now here he was. Living, breathing proof that something you did had meant something. That someone remembered.

You exhaled shakily, gripping the edge of the table as if it could anchor you.

“I—I didn’t think anyone remembered that,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru tilted his head, watching you carefully. “Well, I did. And so did my mom.” His grin softened, losing its teasing edge. “She still talks about you, you know? Calls you an angel and she hasn’t even met you yet..”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. “An angel….” you repeated, shaking your head. “God, if only she knew.”

Satoru didn’t look away, didn’t flinch at the self-loathing curled around your words like a second skin. If anything, his expression darkened. Not with pity, but with something else. Something knowing. 

“You are an angel.”

You shook your head. “I am not.”

“She does know, as well as I do, that you are.” he said quietly. “She knows you saved me when no one else would.” His fingers drummed lightly against the wood of the table before he leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. “But I don’t think you ever saved yourself, did you?”

Your stomach twisted. “That’s not—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head. “That’s not how life works.”

Satoru didn’t move, didn’t blink. “No. But it could be. If…if you just let me help you too.”

A sharp breath escaped you, half a laugh, half something much more fragile. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the weight of old regrets pressing down on you, but either way, you felt exposed. Raw in a way you hadn’t been in years.

You had spent so long being someone else’s something. A wife, a mother, a prized trophy on a shelf, a puppet on a string, a prisoner to something you never wanted. You had forgotten what it was like to be seen. Really be seen.

“I don’t know what you expect from me, Satoru–kun.” you said, voice quieter now, more uncertain.

Satoru was silent for a moment. Then, with an almost lazy motion, he reaches across from you and lets his fingers brush against yours. “I don’t expect anything, [name].” he said simply. “I just wanted you to know—you weren’t forgotten.”

Your breath caught in your throat. It was such a simple thing. A simple touch. A simple truth. And yet it cracked something deep inside of you, something you had been holding together with nothing but sheer force of will.

Before you could stop yourself, before you could think better of it, you turned your hand over, letting your fingers curl around his. Just for a moment.

Just long enough to remember what warmth felt like. Just long enough to wonder if maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late to be something more than a ghost of who you used to be.

The air between you shifted, charged with something fragile yet electric. A slow, inevitable pull. Your fingers were still wrapped around his, neither of you moving, neither of you daring to shatter the moment. But then you did.

You leaned in, just slightly, drawn to him by a force you couldn’t name. He mirrored you, his body tilting forward as if answering a call he had always known existed.

Satoru’s breath fanned against your lips, his gaze flickering down for a split second before finding your eyes again, an unreadable mix of longing and restraint simmering in his expression.

“I wanted to do well by you, everyday I breathed. Everyday I lived and did — I did because I wanted to be someone you could be proud of.” he murmured, his voice lower now, rougher. “All my life.”

Your breath hitched. “Satoru….”

“I just…” He exhaled shakily, his other hand coming to rest lightly on the table between you, as if he were grounding himself. “I just knew I wanted to be there for you. To… to love you in my own way. Even from afar.”

You felt your pulse in your throat, the weight of his words settling over you like something warm, something dangerous.  “When I met you, for the first time….I just…” he continued, his tone almost reverent. “All I could realize was when certain atoms collide, it’s instantaneous. And it’s inevitable.”

“Chemistry.” You whispered under your breath. 

“Yes.” He smiles at you. His fingers tightened ever so slightly around yours. “And that’s how I feel for you.”

You sucked in a breath, the confession settling deep inside your ribs, winding around your heart like something ancient and undeniable. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, slowly, you brought your free hand up, barely touching the fabric of his sleeve. Testing. Searching. 

You didn’t know if it was the alcohol. You didn’t know if it was the cold driving you mad or the full moon settling down below the two of you. But it was something. Something was driving you to this feverish madness.

“Satoru.” you murmured to him, meeting his eyes.

His name felt heavier in your mouth now, heavier than it had ever been. His grip on your fingers tightened. His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came. There was only the space between you. And the question of what came next.

One second, there was space that needed to be filled. It was charged, trembling, unbearable. But then all you knew next was that his lips were on yours. Soft at first, testing, teasing—then something broke.

Satoru exhaled sharply, his hand sliding into your hair, tilting your face to deepen the kiss. His mouth was warm, insistent, tasting of want and something older, something inevitable. You gasped against him, and he groaned, fingers tightening like he was afraid you’d slip away.

But you weren’t going anywhere. Not now. 

Not when he kissed you like this.

Not when you finally felt wanted.

YOU COULD ONLY MAKE IT TO THE HOTEL A COUPLE BLOCKS AWAY. It happened too fast. One moment, you were standing there, breathless, teetering on the edge of something dangerous. The next, your mouth collided with his. No thought. No hesitation. Just pure, burning, reckless agony. And fuck. Satoru didn’t stop you. He grabbed you.

Fingers twisting in your hair, an arm locking tight around your waist—hauling you against him like he’d been waiting, aching, starving for you to break all night. And god. You shattered. You melted into him, your lips frantic, your hands trembling, your body screaming for something you hadn’t felt in years.

Because fuck, as much as you didn’t want his touch anymore, you wanted to be touched. You wanted to feel wanted. And for so long, Kento hadn’t touched you like this in so long. And it killed you. It killed you that it was Satoru making you feel this way.

But god.  You couldn’t stop. And you didn’t want to stop. 

His mouth was devouring yours. It was hard, fast, desperate. Like he was trying to drown himself in you. You let him do it in any way he wanted, in any way he saw fit. You let him consume you, ruin you, unmake you.

His massive hand slid down your back, fingers digging into your hip, grinding you against him like he couldn’t get enough, like nothing in the world could ever be enough. And fuck. It felt so wrong. It felt so good.

“Fuck, fuck….” you gasped against his mouth, nails biting into his shoulders. “We— we can’t—”

“I don’t care, darling.” Satoru growled, his lips crashing against yours again. “I don’t fucking care.”

You knew he broke you then. 

And fuck, you let him.

You kissed him harder, fingers twisting in his shirt, yanking him closer until there was nothing between you but heat and desperation. Because you needed this. You needed to feel something. You needed to feel something sharp, something real, something that burned away the ache you had been carrying for years.

Gojo Satoru was destroying you in the way you needed. He bit your lip, sucked your tongue, groaned against your mouth like he was coming undone. Like you were undoing him. It made you dizzy. It made you feel happy to be reckless.

Because fuck, Nanami Kento hadn’t touched you like this in so long, hadn’t made you feel like you were something worth breaking for. But Satoru was willing to ruin and undo you. And you let him. You let him take you. Let him grab you, manhandle you, drag you through the dim-lit bar like he had already decided you were his and he wasn’t letting go.

The cold wall met your back, shocking against the heat of his body pressing into yours, caging you in. His hands were rough and desperate and starving. They slowly slid over your waist, your hips, gripping, claiming. Like you were something he couldn’t survive without. Like he had waited for this. For you.

"Tell me to stop, darling." Satoru's voice was a raspy whisper, his breath hot against your ear.

His forehead pressed urgently against yours, his bright blue eyes burning with a fierce intensity against your own. You couldn't bring yourself to utter those words back at him.You didn't want him to stop. Not now. Not ever.

"Please." You breathed, your voice trembling with need. "Don't stop."

Those two whispered words were all the encouragement Gojo Satoru needed. He snapped, his control shattering like fragile glass. His mouth descended upon yours in a brutal, desperate kiss, his lips moving with a hunger that stole your breath away. 

His hands were everywhere, touching, claiming, possessing. They gripped your hips, your waist, your thighs, as if trying to memorize every curve of your body. Satoru's fingers tangled in your hair, tugging sharply as he angled your head to deepen the kiss.

Satoru's hands slid up your welcoming thighs, his every touch burning through the fabric of your dress. He gripped your waist firmly, his long fingers digging into your flesh as he yanked your hips into his. And then you felt it. The hard, throbbing evidence of his desire pressed against you, as if he was on the verge of losing all control.

"Fuck, fuck…." he growled, his teeth sinking into your neck. "I knew you'd feel like this—"

"Satoru!" you gasped, your head slamming against the wall as your entire body shook. He was everywhere, his touch overwhelming, his presence consuming.

"I don't care, darling." he rasped, his mouth trailing down your throat."I don’t care if it's wrong. I don't care if you're married to that bastard. I don’t care if people catch us. I don't fucking care. Please, please, please. Please let me have you. Please let me love you." 

You swallowed hard, your entire body trembling and shaking under the weight of his words, his touch, his need. His breath fanned hot against your exhilarated skin, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. Waiting, anticipating. Then, barely a whisper, but enough to shatter everything. 

"Yes." you breathed. “Yes, yes, yes. Take me, Satoru. Please.”

Satoru felt himself frozen at your words. His fingers twitched against your waist, his tender lips hovering just above yours, as if he needed to hear it again, needed to make sure he hadn’t imagined it.

"Say it again, darling." he rasped, his voice wrecked, desperate.

"Yes….yes…." you whimpered, your hands fisting his shirt, pulling him closer. "Yes, yes—"

That was all it took.

Gojo Satoru snapped.

A ragged curse tore from his throat as his mouth crashed into yours, swallowing your words, your hesitation, your everything. His hands gripped your hips, lifting you against the wall, his body pressing flush to yours, unrelenting.

"I knew it." he growled between frantic, feverish kisses. "I knew you wanted me."

And you did. God, you did. Nothing else mattered. Not the world outside, not the ring on your finger, not the promises made to another. Because right now, you were his. And he was going to ruin you for anyone else. 

Satoru was devouring you, his mouth hot and hungry on your skin. His hand slid up your dress, his fingers trailing dangerously close to where you were aching for him. And you were already soaking wet, your body betraying you, begging for his touch. 

Satoru groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder. "Fuck, darling." he rasped, his voice strained with need."I need you."

His fingers found your center, slipping easily into your wet heat. You gasped, your hips bucking against his hand. Satoru's thumb circled your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. "So fucking wet." he murmured, his breath hot against your ear." So fucking good, aren’t you?”

You knew you shouldn’t. You knew you had a husband out there somewhere, wasting his life. You knew you had two kids somewhere in this city. You knew this was wrong. It had been twenty five years. Twenty five years of neglect. Twenty five years of loneliness. Twenty five years of loving someone who made you miserable.

Yet, it all seemed to fade away under the warm touches Satoru was gifting you tenderly. He was the only thing that mattered at this moment. His hands, his mouth, his body — they were the only reality you cared about right now.

His fingers moved inside you, stroking and curling, hitting spots that made your vision blur. Satoru's thumb pressed down on your clit, rubbing firm circles that had your legs shaking. You let out a mewl as you tried to keep up with him. 

"So fucking good, aren't you, precious girl?" he murmured, his voice a low, seductive purr. 

Satoru's fingers pumped faster, his thumb pressing harder, pushing you closer to the edge. "Come for me, pretty." he commanded, his voice rough with desire."Show me how good I make you feel."

Your body responded instinctively, your hips grinding against Satoru's hand as he brought you closer and closer to the brink. His fingers curled inside you, stroking that spot that made your toes curl, while his thumb circled your clit with expert precision.

"Come on, pretty." he urged, his breath hot against your ear. "Let it all go.I want to feel you fall apart in my arms."

And with a final, devastating thrust of his fingers, you did.Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as pleasure consumed you. You cried out, Satoru's name falling from your lips like a prayer.

He held you through it, his arms wrapped tightly around you, his fingers buried deep inside you as he rode out your climax. When the waves finally subsided, you slumped against him, boneless and trembling. Satoru pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his touch surprisingly tender.

"That's it, pretty girl." Satoru murmured, his voice soft and soothing. He withdrew his fingers slowly, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean. His eyes never left yours, watching your reaction as he tasted you. 

"Delicious, aren’t you?" he said, a smirk playing on his lips.He lifted you easily, carrying you to the nearby couch and laying you down gently. Satoru knelt between your legs, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your dress up to your waist. 

“You’re so….” You whimper at him, feeling the ecstasy of the pandemonium called pleasure. You look at him, your wet core getting wetter still. “I want more. Satoru, please. Give me more.”

"Don’t worry. I'm not done with you yet, darling." he said, his voice low and dangerous. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down slowly. "I'm going to make you come apart again and again, until you can't remember your own name."

He leaned down, his breath hot against your core."Until the only name you know is mine."

“Then make me feel good.” You whisper to him. “Make me feel it hard and good.”

He smiled at you, pressing a tender kiss at your wet core before scooping you up in his arms, carrying you to the bedroom with a predatory grace. He laid you down on the bed gently, his eyes never leaving yours as he crawled over you. 

His hands slid up your thighs, pushing your dress up to your waist. Satoru's fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down slowly. He tossed them aside carelessly, his gaze fixed on your exposed center.

Satoru leaned down, his breath hot against your core."I've had years of wanting for this, darling of mine. Like you." he murmured, his voice rough with desire. “I’ll make it feel good.”

And then his mouth was on you, his tongue parting your folds and delving deep. Gojo Satoru licked and sucked, his mouth moving with a hunger that stole your breath away. He found your clit, circling it with the tip of his tongue before sucking it between his lips.

Satoru's tongue flicked and circled your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. He sucked gently, then harder, alternating between the two until you were writhing beneath him. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he feasted on you. 

Satoru's tongue dipped lower, thrusting into your entrance and fucking you with a relentless rhythm.Your hands flew to his hair, gripping the strands tightly as you held him against you. Satoru groaned, the vibrations adding to the intense sensations coursing through you.

He pulled back slightly, his breath hot against your core. "You taste even better than I imagined." he murmured, his voice strained with desire. 

Without warning, he buried his face between your legs again, his mouth moving with a renewed fervor. You felt Satoru's tongue plunged into you, curling and stroking, hitting spots that made your eyes roll back. You throw your head back hard, mewling like a little kitten.

"Oh god, Satoru!" you cried out, your hips bucking against his face. His tongue was relentless, plunging into you and curling in a way that made your toes curl. Satoru's hands gripped your thighs tighter, pulling you closer as he devoured you.

"Fuck, you're so wet." he murmured against your core, his voice muffled."I can't get enough of you." 

He sucked your clit between his lips, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging sharply as the pleasure built inside you. "I'm going to come." you gasped, your body tensing. 

Satoru looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Come for me, pretty." he commanded, his voice rough. "Come all over my face." 

And with a final thrust of his tongue, he sent you spiraling over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as pleasure consumed you. Satoru's tongue continued its relentless assault, drawing out your climax until you were a trembling, boneless mess. 

He drank in every drop of your release, his groans of satisfaction vibrating against your core. As the waves of pleasure finally subsided, Satoru kissed his way up your body, his lips trailing over your stomach, between your breasts, until he reached your mouth. 

He captured your lips in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue."You're mine now, aren’t you?" he murmured against your lips, his voice possessive."I'm never letting you go. Never.”

As you slowly came down from your high, Gojo Satoru's words echoed in your mind. You were his now, and he was never letting you go. The realization sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through you. Satoru's hands roamed your body, his touch gentle yet possessive. 

He kissed your bruising lips ever so deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth as if he was trying to memorize every inch of you. When he pulled back, his bright eyes searched for yours, filled with a fierce intensity.

"Tell me what you need, my darling. My pretty darling." he said, his voice low and commanding."Tell me how you want me."

You hesitated for a moment, your heart racing. But the desire burning in Satoru's eyes, his burning desire for you, was everything that was poisoning logic in your mind. You shudder with pleasure at the way his body pressed against yours, the memories of his touch. All of it all pushed you over the edge.

"I need you inside me, Satoru." you whispered, your voice trembling with need. "Need you to fill me whole, make me forget everything but you. Please, please. I need you to make me feel good.”

Satoru's bright blue gaze immediately darkened with desire at your words. He  captured your lips in a searing kiss once again, bruising them over and over with his affection, with his desire until he reached your jaw and then your neck. 

You feel his hands gripping your hips possessively. He moves to see your face once again. You looked at him as much as he looked at you. Like you were the only people that mattered in the world. That this was the only thing worth keeping in this world. Like this was the purest union made by the heavens above.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll forget your own name, pretty. Like you want me to." he growled against your jaw. He reached between your bodies, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants with hurried movements. Soon, Satoru freed his erection from every article of clothing. 

You could see the hard length pressing against your thigh. You could see how hard it was, how eager it was to desire you, to want you. To meet you closer. You purse your lips as you try to move as much as you could, trying to get Satoru closer to you.  

He smiled slyly as he positioned himself at your entrance, the tip teasing your wet folds. "Look at me, pretty." he commanded, his voice rough with need. 

You do as he pleases and meet his gaze, your breath hitching as you feel him slowly push inside you. Satoru's eyes never left yours as he filled you inch by inch, his thickness stretching you deliciously little by little. When he was fully seated, he paused, allowing you to adjust to his size.

"Fuck, you're so tight, my precious darling." he groaned, his forehead resting against yours.

"You’re so good already. So loving of me. So eager to let me build a home in you.”

Satoru began to move, his hips pulling back slowly before thrusting forward again. He set a steady rhythm, each stroke hitting deep inside you and sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you onto him as he drove into you. 

Everything about desiring someone was brutal. You could only let yourself scream and cry as he pushed deliciously in and out of you, like it was a game of push and pull. Sweat permeating through your skin, blending over and over like it was a battle between the two of you and the bed and the sheets. 

Your nails digging all too well at the small of his back, letting them dig and dig until you were sure you were drawing blood. His mouth opened widely as it moved towards  your neck, placing a sea of kisses in tune with his thrusts, before biting you, marking you. Almost as if a hunter to its prey. 

The room is filled with the sounds of your bodies coming together, your moans and Satoru's grunts and groans, and cries and tears. The sloppy sounds of the body getting louder and louder with every heightening of that cacophony of desire that only fools would have, fools who could find themselves caged in the wanton desire to love and to be loved.

It was better than what Gojo Satoru had imagined all his life. It was more than he could ask for. It was more than he could have hoped for. Your passion, your darkness, your affection, your body and soul and even your heart. It was all there for him to hold, to keep, to have. Because you had given it so freely. You had given it to him to keep safe and hold dear. 

You have been waiting for so long for someone who could keep your heart steady with the right tenderness, the right intentions, the right sense of love. And he knows it's too soon and he knows you haven’t said it yet. But you trust him enough to hold it, even if it was just for now. And he will do what he can to do it all. 

Because he believes in love.

He believes in being in love.

And he believes in loving you.

"You feel so fucking good, my precious baby." he panted, his breath hot against your ear. "I've dreamed of this for so long." 

He angled his hips, hitting a spot that made you see stars. Satoru's mouth found yours, swallowing your cries as he pounded into you with increasing urgency. His hands roamed your body, squeezing your breasts, teasing your nipples, as if he couldn't get enough of you.

"Come for me again, pretty." he demanded, his voice strained with his own impending release. “Let go for me like the good girl you are.”

Satoru's fingers found your clit, rubbing firm circles that pushed you closer to the edge.His thrusts became faster, harder, his hips slamming against yours with a force that shook the bed. You could feel your orgasm building, your body tensing as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you.

"That's it, pretty baby." Satoru urged, his voice low and gravelly. "Come all over my cock. Milk me dry."

His words, combined with the relentless assault on your senses, sent you crashing over the edge. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, your body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

Satoru's movements became erratic, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you and came, his release hot and thick as it filled you. He collapsed on top of you, his body trembling with the aftermath of his orgasm.

The room was thick with heat, the scent of sweat and sex clinging to the air like an unshakable truth. Satoru's weight pressed against you, his breath hot and uneven against your shoulder, his body still trembling in the aftermath.

For a moment, neither of you moved. 

Neither of you spoke.

Then, reality crept in.

You felt the damp sheets beneath you, the way your legs still shook, the lingering pulse of pleasure thrumming through your veins. But more than that, you felt the weight of what you'd just done pressing down on your chest, threatening to steal the air from your lungs.

Satoru shifted, pressing a lazy kiss to your collarbone. "God, you’re perfect, aren’t you?" he murmured, voice still husky, still lost in you. "I should’ve never let you go."

Your fingers twitched as they rested against his back, your mind screaming at you to move, to say something, to do anything other than just lie there, tangled in sheets that weren’t yours, with a man who wasn’t your husband.

"Satoru..." Your voice was barely a whisper, but he caught it. He always did.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his usual cocky grin absent, replaced by something raw, something real. "Don’t." he said, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "Don’t say you regret it. Not yet."

“I don’t.” You whispered to him, your tone a bit sore. 

“Okay.” He breathed.

“Okay.” You say, letting your eyes settle on his.

The weight of guilt never came and you didn’t expect yourself to feel it. The silence between you was thick, stretching out like the space between lightning and thunder. The kind that comes before a storm.

Satoru's arms were still wrapped around you, his breath warm against your skin, his grip possessive. Like he was afraid to let go. There was no ring on your finger anymore. No tether to a life that felt like a lie. Just this silence, just his peace, just you and him.

"You’re thinking again." he murmured, lips grazing your temple, voice hoarse from exhaustion. “Too loudly too.”

You exhaled slowly. “Shouldn’t I?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, but there was no amusement in it. Just something raw, something unsteady. “You always do.” he muttered. “Even when you don’t have to.”

You hesitated, your fingers twitching against his skin. “Satoru…”

“Stay.”

The word was barely above a whisper, but it felt heavier than anything he’d ever said before. Your heart slammed against your ribs. His grip on you tightened, his fingers pressing into your bare waist, his lips ghosting over your jaw. 

“Stay with me here. Even for a little while.” he murmured again, softer this time, like a prayer. “No more running. No more pretending.”

You swallowed hard. You should’ve hesitated. 

You should've thought about it. But you didn’t. 

“Okay.” you breathed in response to him.

Satoru stills as he looks at you and then smiles. His grip loosened for half a second. Like he couldn’t believe you’d actually said it. But then he was pulling you closer, his lips crashing into yours, his entire body trembling with something unspoken.

There was no more speaking after that.

Instead the world woke up and met the sun.

And both of you stayed asleep, in each other’s arms.

YOU HAD NO REGRETS WHEN YOU SAID WHAT YOU SAID. Kento didn’t even realize he was screaming. Didn’t realize his hands had curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. Didn’t realize the therapist had sprung from her chair, eyes wide, uncertain whether to intervene or let the storm run its course.

But he did realize one thing. Your hands were bare. No ring. No symbol of what you had built together. Nothing. You said that you left it in some bar in Bunkyō because you couldn’t bear the sight of it on your hand.

“Who the fuck was it?” His voice was rough, cracking at the edges. “I asked you, who the fuck was it?”

You didn’t answer, looking at him with a serene look. Perhaps it’s what’s making him even angrier. Just as much as over the years of you knowing that he had cheated and never saying a word and when you did, saying you could care less.

His jaw clenched. “Who was it?”

Silence once more blisters him.

And then Kento completely lost his mind.

“Was it Toji?” he spat, desperate for a name, a face, something tangible he could blame, something he could destroy. “Was it one of my co-stars? Some fucking fan? His manager? Who the fuck was it?”

You laughed at his words, as though they were the most ridiculous things you’ve ever heard. But there was nothing warm about it. It was empty. Hollow. Like something that had decayed a long time ago.

“It doesn’t matter, Kento.”

“The fuck it doesn’t.” he snarled. His breath came fast, shoulders tight, entire body brimming with fury. His world was splitting apart, cracking open like a wound, bleeding something ugly and raw. “You cheated on me, and you think it doesn’t matter?”

Another laugh. This one is even colder. “Did it matter when you did it?”

Kento froze. “Don’t you—”

You tilted your head, eyes sharp, waiting for him to lie. 

But he didn’t, he knew he couldn’t, he knew he couldn’t do it.

He was a worse monster than you, a far worse beast than you.

He can never come here and say that you were the bad one.

“Did it matter when you spent years fucking women who weren’t me?” Your voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of something deadly. “Did it matter when you looked me in the eye every night and still went to set and fucked someone else? Did it matter, Kento?”

His lips parted, the start of a denial forming on his face. “Don’t turn this on me—”

“It was always on you.” The words cut through the air like a blade. Kento flinched. “Toji’s wife wouldn’t cheat with you if she wasn’t so miserable being cheated on by Toji. I wouldn’t have looked fucking elsewhere, if I didn’t suffer twenty–fucking–five years of misery because of you!”

“Years, Kento. Years.” Your voice was shaking now, but not from grief. From something blistering. Something that had been burning inside you for too long.

"I did what I could to make everything work." Kento argues back, looking at you with a shattered look. "I worked and worked and lived with your hatred and your resentment—"

“But you cheated first. You cheated for years. And I sat there. I sat there and I waited for you to love me again. I cried myself to sleep, I tore myself apart, I bled myself dry trying to be someone you wanted.”

He inhaled sharply, but you weren’t finished. “You didn’t care. You never fucking cared. You just kept cheating. You just kept hating me. And I let it happen. Because I loved you.”

Silence. The therapist was motionless, her presence insignificant in the wreckage between you. Kento’s breath was unsteady. His hands trembled at his sides. You just looked at him. And for the first time, he saw it. Not anger. Not pain. Nothing.

The part of you that had once belonged to him was gone. And the worst part of it wasn’t because of what you had done. It was because of what he had done first. And he knew he had no excuse. He had no excuse to be angry, or to be jealous, or to feel wronged when he did worse than you  ever could.

Nanami Kento’s face was crumpling. Tears streamed down his face, unchecked, his body shaking under the weight of something unbearable. Regret. Shame. Pain. It was crushing him, hollowing him out from the inside, but you didn’t care. Not anymore.

“I loved you, Kento. I still do, some part of me still does. And I don't think that will go away. You were my first in everything, father of my children, I acknowledge that. ” you screamed, voice splitting, raw and wrecked. “But then, I loved you more than life itself. I gave you everything. And you threw me away like I was nothing. And I am exhausted of living like I can deal with it.”

Your breath hitched violently, hands trembling as the words ripped free from your throat, words that had been festering for years, rotting inside you like something diseased. You tried to get yourself in control.

“You made me hate myself.” Your voice cracked, and Kento’s body jerked like you had struck him. “You made me hate being a mother. You made me despise my own existence. And I still stayed. Because I thought…” your voice shattered, ragged and broken. “I thought you’d come back to me.”

Nanami Kento’s face collapsed, his breath stuttering as if your words had reached inside his chest and torn something vital from him. His lips parted, but no sound came, just a shuddering breath, just pain.

“I never stopped loving you.” he croaked, but his voice was so weak. So desperate.

You laughed. But it wasn’t humorous at all. There was nothing joyous about the laughter that comes from a broken soul. Instead, it was agony, twisted and sharp, curling around your ribs and bleeding out into the air between you.

“Yes, you did.” The words came like a death sentence, final and absolute. “Because you couldn’t do anything but hate me. Because I caged you in a life that made you just as miserable.”

Kento couldn’t help but flinch, and you felt it. You felt the way your words carved into him, felt the way his entire body recoiled, as if only now he was beginning to understand the damage he had done.

“You looked at me like I was nothing. Like I was some chore you had to come home to. Like I was a burden. Like I was the reason you were miserable.” Your breath caught, but you pushed through, letting the poison spill, letting the truth burn through the air between you. 

“You hated me, Kento. And I felt it. I felt it every single day. I felt it when you wouldn’t touch me. I felt it when you came home smelling like someone else. I felt it when you rolled over in bed and pretended I didn’t exist.”

Kento let out a ragged breath, but he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t argue. Couldn’t deny a single thing. Because it was all true. He had done this. And now, he was paying for it. He has to pay for it. That’s the only way he could ever make it all better.

“Baby, please—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Your voice was sharp, final, cutting through him like a blade. Kento froze. Because fuck. You meant it. You weren’t his baby anymore. Because you had decided it yourself. You can’t continue being miserable. Not when Satoru had shown you what joy could ever look like.

“…I didn’t mean to hurt you.” he rasped, voice wrecked, broken beyond repair. “I didn’t mean—”

“But you did.” you cut in, your voice rising, trembling with the sheer force of it. “You did, Kento.”

He looked so small. So fragile.

But you didn’t stop at that.

Your anguish had been waiting for this.

“You killed me.” Your breath caught, your whole body trembling as the rage inside you cracked open. “And you just.....” A sob tore from your throat, your entire form crumpling. “You just watched it happen.”

Kento sucked in a sharp breath, shaking his head, but you weren’t finished. You don’t think you ever will be. You fix your composure once again, trying to ensure that you would not go off and break down in front of him.

“You watched me rot away. You watched me turn into nothing. And you didn’t stop. You just kept cheating. You just kept killing me. And I let it happen because I thought......” your voice cracked painfully. “I thought if I could just hold on, you’d love me again.”

Kento opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him speak.

“But you never did.” Your voice was barely above a whisper now, drained, defeated. “You never fucking did.”

Nanami Kento was sobbing. His entire body wracked with shudders, face buried in his hands like he could hide from the truth, like he could make it go away. He could never make any of this go away.

“I did love you—”

“You stopped loving me when you couldn’t have a wife and a mother for your children.” You whispered to him. “You stopped loving me when I couldn’t be the woman you thought I could be. We both knew that.”

The words were sharp, merciless. You were gone. Your voice was wrecked. Your body crumpled. Your face drenched in tears.

“I died, Kento.” you whispered, the words so quiet, yet they carried the weight of a decade’s worth of pain. “I died a thousand times. Every time you fucked someone else. Every time you looked at me like I was nothing. Every time you come home smelling like another woman. I died. And you didn’t care. You just let me rot.”

Kento’s whole body was trembling now, his hands in his hair, his face contorted with something close to agony.

“And now?” You laughed. And god, it was empty. “…Now you know how it feels.”

Kento collapsed. His whole body sank into his chair, breaking apart, sobbing like he was dying, like the weight of everything he had done was finally crushing him. And you didn’t even flinch. Because you were already dead, and now he wasn’t the one bringing you back to life. It was Satoru.

“…Who was it?” he choked, barely able to get the words out.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.”

“No, it doesn’t, Kento.” Your voice was hollow. Shattered. Like there was nothing left inside you to give. “Because I’m not sorry.”

Kento screamed. Like he was burning alive. Like he was finally feeling the agony he had inflicted on you for over a decade. The therapist could only watch as you gathered your belongings and looked at your pathetic husband.

Kento Nanami finally knew how it felt.

And it was killing him over and over.

And perhaps that was your greatest revenge.

IT FELT SO DIFFERENT NOW THAT ALL OF THAT WAS OUT. Perhaps that’s why the drive home was silent. Yet it was not the peaceful kind. It was the suffocating kind, taking you over.

The kind that coiled around your throat and pressed into your chest, heavy and unbearable. And it will never be the same again. That was what the future held now. Nothing but misery for both of you.

Kento’s knuckles were bone-white on the steering wheel, his grip so tight it looked like he might snap it in half. His jaw was clenched, his breathing uneven, but he said nothing. You sat beside him, motionless, hands limp in your lap. 

There was nothing left to say. And if there was, you were too exhausted to even allow yourself to say anything. You can tell Kento was just the same. Perhaps that’s why you were sure there could be nothing that could ever be discussed like that again between you and Kento. 

Nothing would change the way you both had suffered in each other’s arms. And just as much, nothing that hasn't already been ripped out of you in that sterile therapy room, nothing that wouldn’t just reopen wounds that had long since festered. You would just be miserable.

When you finally pulled into the driveway, the house loomed in front of you. It was ever so silent, sickeningly empty. In this so-called home. Or at least, it used to be. Nothing of it was left to even be considered a home.

The weight of it settled between you as Kento stepped inside first, lingering just past the threshold like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to cross it anymore. His shoulders were rigid, his chest rising and falling in slow, shaky breaths.

He didn’t look at you when he finally spoke. “…We should talk about the divorce.”

His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. 

You laughed. Not because it was funny. Because it was pathetic.

“Like the therapist said?” you scoffed, your voice cold, edged with something bitter and exhausted.

Kento swallowed hard. His throat bobbed once, twice—like he was trying to force the words down. “…Yeah.”

Silence.

He still wouldn’t look at you. And when you finally met his gaze, you almost wished you hadn’t. He looked sick. He looked like he couldn’t talk about it without having to deal with the misery of it all again.

Your husband’s face was pale, drawn tight with something that looked dangerously close to grief. His eyes were sunken, rimmed with exhaustion, his entire body stiff like he was holding himself together through sheer force of will.

“…Do you want one?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

Kento’s breath hitched. His face twisted—like the question had physically hurt him. “…I don’t know,” he admitted, voice breaking.

Silence all over again. It stretched between you, hollow and endless. Kento exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers into his temples before dragging his hands down his face. He looked like a man unraveling.

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore, [name].” he said finally, voice wrecked. “I don’t want to trap you here. I don’t want to be the reason you hate your life.”

His breath wavered, thick with something desperate. “So if you…” He swallowed hard, looking at you now—really looking at you. “If you want to leave, I won’t stop you.”

“Kento—”

His voice cracked. “I swear to god, I won’t stop you.”

Your throat locked up. “…But do you want me to leave?”

Kento’s face was completely crumpled. His entire body folded in on itself, his breath stuttering, his eyes filling so fast it looked like the weight of the world had just crashed into him. He looks at you, the shell of the man he used to be.

“No.” he sobbed, his voice wrecked. “No, I don’t.”

There it was.There it fucking was. The ugly truth. The selfish desperation. Kento didn’t want you to leave. Even after everything. Even after the cheating. Even after all the ruin. He still wanted you. Even if you would both be miserable.

“…Then why are you saying this?”

Kento swallowed thickly, his hands trembling at his sides. “Because you hate me, [name].” he choked, his face completely destroyed. “I can’t keep making you miserable. I can’t keep being the reason you…” His voice cracked. “…You  keep being miserable and despise yourself.”

He exhaled sharply, a ragged, broken sound. “So if leaving me will make you happy again, then please. Please do it. Just….” His voice broke. “Just don’t stay here if it’s killing you.”

You just stared at him. The man who had spent years tearing you apart. The man who had crushed you into dust and expected you to survive it. The man who, even now, was finally ready to lose you just so you wouldn’t suffer anymore.

“…And what about you?”

Kento’s throat collapsed. “What?”

“What if I leave?” you croaked, your voice so small, so fragile. “What happens to you, Kento?”

Silence bellows the world all of the sudden.

Kento’s face completely crumbled. “…Then I die alone.” he finally admitted, his voice shattering. “I will never remarry. I will….I will continue with the misery of my own creation.”

You froze. “.....You don’t have to.”

“I deserve that.” Kento sobbed, his body wrecked. “I deserve to die alone. I deserve to rot in this house without you. I deserve to feel everything I put you through. So if you…” His voice cracked painfully. “If you want to leave, I won’t stop you. I swear to god, I won’t stop you.”

You couldn’t even breathe. You could see it. Kento’s despair, one he had made for himself. The way his body crumpled. The way his chest caved in. The way he was already mourning you, like he knew you were already gone. And it should’ve felt vindicating. It should’ve felt like justice. And yet, it just felt sickening.

“…I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” you finally croaked, your voice wrecked.

And Kento completely broke. “…I know.” he sobbed, his entire body collapsing.

Silence. Unforgiving. Endless.

“…I still love you.” Kento’s face obliterated.

“…I know.”

More silence in the utter destruction of twenty-five years.

“…Do you still love me?” you finally whispered.

Kento let out the most painful sound you’d ever heard. “…Yes,” he sobbed, his voice completely wrecked. “Yes, I do. I never stopped. I just—” 

His voice shattered. “I just didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know how to love you right. And I killed you. I destroyed you. And I don’t….” His voice broke apart, sharp and desperate. “I don’t deserve you anymore. Not like I used to.”

You couldn’t take it. You just turned and walked toward the bedroom. Because god, you couldn’t look at him. Not like this. Not when he was falling apart at the seams. Not when his face was wrecked with something so raw, so painful, that it made your chest tighten in a way you weren’t ready to face.

“…Where are you going?” Kento choked.

“To bed.” you rasped. “.....I’m exhausted.”

Silence was the commonality you both have more than any sort of love now. You went ahead and changed out of your clothes. Soon enough, Kento just followed, still dressed in his clothes. He didn’t say a word as he changed into something else. 

He stands there for a moment, unsure. When he did move, his footsteps were hesitant, barely there, like he was afraid to take up too much space. Afraid to breathe wrong. Afraid to do something, anything that would send you running out that door for good.

And when you climbed into bed, still completely distant, like you were already halfway gone, Nanami Kento stood there for only a second, hovering at the edge of the mattress like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to stay.

Then, slowly, hesitantly… he slid in beside you. It was so pathetic. The way his hand shook when he reached out to touch your waist. The way his face completely crumpled when you didn’t respond. The way his body broke apart when you just lay there, staring at the ceiling, like he wasn’t even there.

“…I’m sorry.” he croaked.

You didn’t answer.

“…I’m so fucking sorry.”

And still, you didn’t answer.

So Kento just continued to curl into your side. And you do not stop him. You do not stop him from trying to gain some warmth from your body, as though it was the last time. Like he was dying. Like he was trying to cling to your ghost.

He then starts sobbing. Not the quiet kind. The soul-shattering kind. Just gripping you, holding onto you like you’d disappear if he loosened his grip for even a second. It was as though someone had gone and died.

“Please don’t leave me.” he choked, his entire body trembling, caving in, coming undone. “Please don’t leave me. I’ll fix it. I’ll fix everything. I’ll do anything, baby, please. Just don’t leave me.”

You just stared at the ceiling. Completely empty from the thought. You were exhausted from loving him. Perhaps that is you were so certain of the truths you had long believed. You had long walked past that door and left.

Even if you still love him, you knew you couldn’t be with him like this. 

Not ever again. You deserve better than that. 

You deserve someone like Satoru.

"I THINK PEOPLE LIKE US IN MARRIAGES, especially ones like ours, were always meant to be indestructible. At least that’s what people want to think of it as." You said almost nonchalantly, a faint smile drawing on your face.

"People have had expectations about your story to be perfect, no?" The interviewerer leads, looking at you with intrigued eyes. "That was what was expected out of a marriage with someone living in fame."

You nodded, leaning forward to be more comfortable in your chair. " Correct. That's what people wanted. A grand love story, perfectly composed, enduring through all things. But love isn’t like that, is it? It’s not a script you can follow forever. It changes, it falters. And sometimes, it fades."

You sit back in the chair, hands folded in your lap. The interviewer watches you carefully, waiting for you to go on. You glance away for a moment, gathering your thoughts, before your voice softens.

"We started out well. He was... everything people assume he is. Steady. Thoughtful. Reliable. And in the beginning, that felt like safety. Like something I could hold onto. But over time, that steadiness began to feel like distance. Like a fortress I wasn’t allowed into."

“Does this mean you don’t blame him?” The interviewer asks, pen tightening in the hand. “I mean, I know you have not revealed everything and anything, Mrs. Nanami. But you don’t blame him for everything?”

"I didn’t blame him for anything until the cheating. I think that’s quite interesting, isn’t it?” You say in a soft whisper. “In some ways, I think there is no great villain in the story, no explosive fight that shattered everything at once.  Even with my sufferings in the marriage. Just a slow unraveling, with every message of sorry women. It’s intriguing and heartbreaking all at once.”

“You got messages from all the women?” The interviewer’s brow furrows. 

You smiled somberly. “One after the other. But not everyone. Some were not sorry. And I don’t blame them. But I’m grateful for that. They gave me a gradual realization that we were living beside each other, rather than with each other. Like we were both carrying the weight of this marriage but never quite meeting in the middle."

The interviewer tilts their head. "Did you feel lonely?"

You exhale, a sad smile tugging at your lips. "Yes. And the worst part is… so did he. I think he knew we hated each other and hated me. I could see it, even if he wouldn’t say it."

"Do you really believe your husband resents you, mam?" The interviewer quizzed you, frankly. "In the truest of senses?"

"Well, there wouldn't be more than three people in a marriage if it wasn't true." You mewled back to them, laughing softly. "The way he stayed out later, the way conversations became shorter. We were both retreating, both trying to pretend we weren’t. But silence is loud in a marriage. And ours was deafening. That made it obvious."

“You’re nicer than most wives, Mrs. Nanami.” The interviewer looks at you, a stunned look echoes. “Such a long time of your life was stolen from you, if this is the case. I mean, to stay silent about it for so long. It is a pandemonium of misery.” 

There’s a pause, the kind that hangs heavy in the air. “Hm. But that's only 'cause I've escaped it now. I have no more anger in my heart because I’ve released it all. My life isn’t over, well....at least I hope it still isn’t. Of course, I do not know where to begin. But I’m sure I’ll find everything little by little.”

The interviewer hesitates before asking, "Yet you’re still together?"

"For now. But sometimes, staying feels like waiting for something to break. And I think we both know… it already has." Your empty fingers trace the edge of where your wedding band was at one point. “That’s just what marriage is sometimes.”

"Twenty-five years is a long time, isn’t it? It sounds impressive when you say it out loud. A quarter of a century. Enough time to build a life, raise a family, grow old together. But do you know what twenty-five years is? It's quite a long time to be lonely."

You pause, fingers grazing the armrest of your chair, as if searching for something to anchor yourself to. The interviewer doesn’t interrupt. They wait, giving you space to find the words. Because how does one describe such a quarter of a human life?

"At first, I thought marriage was about endurance. That if you stayed, if you worked hard enough, if you were patient enough, everything would eventually be alright. I told myself that love was about sacrifice. About quiet suffering. And so I endured. All of it."

"I endured the nights spent waiting up, pretending not to hear the whispers that followed him. I endured the rumors, the looks of pity from people who knew before I did.” Your voice drops to something softer, something almost fragile. “And when did I find out? I endured that too. Because what else was I supposed to do? Walk away from twenty-five years? From everything we built, from the life we created together?"

You shake your head, almost laughing at the thought. "People think cheating is about passion, about reckless desire. But sometimes, it’s just... boredom. Resentment. Hatred. The slow, creeping realization that the person you married doesn’t make you feel alive anymore. Even if they gave everything in the marriage. And I think that’s what happened to him.”

The interviewer nodded back at you, sighing. “And how does that make you feel, Mrs. Nanami? That this was the case for almost all the years of your marriage and having to pretend that it wasn't? In some ways, you seem to be more veteran actor than most and you played well at it.”

“Somewhere along the way, I can only describe it as me becaming a part of the furniture." You retort, thinking of how to word this thought in your head. "You could say that I was comfortable. Definitely reliable."

"I see. It was like you didn't feel if you were even something beyond something so transparent and invisible."

"Yes, I guess you can say that. I was always there. But like most, he wanted something new. He gets bored." You say after letting yourself think for a while. You smiled. “And I was the stable. I wasn’t exciting for him to enjoy anymore. And he leads a glamorous life. You all know that. That’s what the life of the star is.”

There’s a sharp inhale from the interviewer. "And what did you do about it?"

Your gaze meets theirs, steady despite the weight of your words. "Nothing. I did nothing. I smiled for the cameras. I held his hand at premieres. I played the role of the devoted wife because that’s what was expected of me."

The interviewerer nodded. "Why did you feel like you had to keep playing that role over and over again? You always said the world has no place in your bed. But now that you are speaking on it.....How do you feel about it?"

"That's a good question." You nodded back at the interviewerer. "I think it's more or so because the world doesn’t want to hear that a marriage like ours, the kind that looks perfect on the outside, is built on silence and suffering. They want the illusion. And I gave it to them."

"I told myself it was for the children. For stability. For dignity. But really? It was because I didn’t know who I was without him.” You let out a slow breath, shaking your head. As though you were disappointed in yourself. “When you’ve spent your whole life being somebody’s wife, you start to forget who you were before that. And maybe that was the most miserable part of all. Realizing I had made myself so small just to keep this marriage alive."

The interviewer hesitates before asking, "Do you regret staying?"

Your lips pressed together, as if weighing the question carefully. Finally, you tell them an answer.  "I regret losing myself. I regret thinking that being chosen was the same as being loved. And most of all, I regret believing that staying silent made me strong. Because real strength isn’t in enduring misery, it’s in knowing when to walk away."

"People always say, ‘Why didn’t you leave?’ as if it’s that simple. As if walking away from twenty-five years, from a shared history, from a life built together, is as easy as packing a suitcase and closing the door behind you."

The interviewer continues to jots down what you say. You pause, folding your hands together, the weight of the past pressing down on your shoulders. They do not interrupt you. Thus, you continued.

"But leaving isn’t just a decision. It’s a destruction. It’s tearing apart everything you’ve known, everything you’ve built, and stepping into the unknown. And the unknown is terrifying, isn’t it? So instead, you convince yourself to stay. You tell yourself it’s not that bad. That it could be worse. That you’ll fix it."

"In some ways, it becomes quite the habit doesn't it? If you keep telling yourself this, it becomes something unescapable."

"That's right. That's why you can just go on one day and you wake up realizing that you’ve spent years, decades even living in a marriage that only exists in photographs and press statements. A fiction you created in yourhead. A marriage that is alive to the world, but dead behind closed doors."

The interviewer leans in, their voice careful. "When did you first know it was truly over?"

"I think I knew long before I admitted it to myself.” A humorless smile tugs at your lips. “Maybe it was the first time I caught him lying. Maybe it was the first time I looked at him and felt nothing at all. Or maybe it was the day I stopped waiting for him to come home."

“You must have wanted to have a way out.” 

"There were so many moments I could have left.” You admitted to them. “When I should have left. But I told myself I had a duty to this marriage. To our family. To our children. To the version of myself that once believed in forever."

The interviewer watches you carefully. "And now?"

You lift your head, eyes clearer than they’ve been in years. "Now, I realize that duty shouldn’t come at the cost of your own happiness. That silence isn’t dignity. That staying in a broken marriage doesn’t mean you fought harder—it just means you suffered longer."

"I think, in the end, I stayed because I wanted to believe that love could survive anything.” A pause. “That if I just held on a little longer, if I just endured a little more, we would find our way back to each other. But love shouldn’t be something you have to endure when it doesn’t work out, should it?"

The interviewer shakes their head. “No, not at all.”

"Right." You say softly. "It shouldn’t."

Interview leaned back, looking at you. Almost satisfied. “Then what do you plan to do now, Mrs. Kento?”

"Now, I leave." You smiled at him, a genuine one. “For good.”

The words land like a final act, like the closing of a book that the world thought would go on forever. But fairy tales always end, don’t they? Some with love, some with loss. And some like yours, with the quiet realization that the dream was never really yours to begin with.

The interviewer exhales, as if they too have been holding their breath, waiting for this moment. "That’s… final."

"Yes, of course." you say, nodding. "There is no going back."

"Does he know?"

"Oh, he knows. Maybe not in the way you’d expect.” You smile, slow and knowing. “There was no screaming, no dramatic confrontation. No shattered glass or slamming doors. We already finished that at therapy…..there was just silence when I moved out. That same silence that’s been lingering between us for years. And in that silence, he knew. We both did."

The interviewer studies you carefully, as if trying to place the expression on your face. "You don’t look angry anymore, I suppose. More joyous."

"Because I am." You laughed at the interviewer’s words. “I am happy about leaving. So, why feel hatred and anger again?”

"Not even after everything?"

You let out a soft breath, tilting your head. "Anger would mean I still care about what I spent twenty–five years suffering. That I still have something left to give to the marriage. But I don’t. Not anymore."

The weight of those words settles between you. The interviewer shifts slightly in their chair, adjusting their posture, as if bracing for what comes next. The interviewer is silent for a long moment. 

"What do you want now?" They asked you softly.

You smile, and this time, it’s real. The first real smile in a long time. "I want peace. I want mornings that aren’t heavy with unspoken words. I want a life that is mine, not just an extension of his. I want to wake up and not feel like I’m drowning in a marriage that’s already ended."

A pause. Then, a quiet, knowing laugh. "And I want a holiday. A long one. With a good whiskey on hand, of course."

The interviewer chuckles, but you see the way their expression softens. "Do you think you’ll find love again?"

"I think… I want to find myself first. I’ve spent twenty-five years being someone’s wife.” You tilt your head, considering it. Smiling to yourself, thinking about Satoru. “I think it’s time to find out who I am without him. But….It’s not out of the question."

The interviewer notices your smile and finds a twinkle in their eyes. But they do not ask further. They nodded at you. “Well, I hope that it all works out for you, Mrs. Nanami.”

“Thank you.” You shyly smiled at the interviewer. “But can I ask you a favor?”

“Anything, mam.”

“Call me [Last Name] [Name] when you type this all out. You know, for the world to read."

epilogue

Higuruma Hiromi sighed tiredly as he started to type the article that was set to go to print in just a few hours. His fingers moved methodically across the keyboard, the soft clicking, clacking of keys filling the quiet room. 

He inserted a picture into the document. It was a picture of Nanami [Name] and Nanami Kento in some photoshoot they did together. He carefully adjusted the placement before continuing his work. It had to be good or the printing department would kill him.

Just as he was about to refine the wording of the next paragraph, his phone buzzed against the desk. With an exasperated sigh, he reached for it, barely glancing at the caller ID before answering.

“Hello? This is Chief Editor of Tokyo Calling, Higurama.” he muttered, rubbing his temple.

On the other end, Satoru’s voice came through, light and easy, as if he weren’t calling at the worst possible time. “Hiromi–kun! Just wanted to say thanks for your hard work.”

Higuruma shook his head, already annoyed. “What do you want, Gojo?”

Satoru chuckled. “Come on, can’t I just call to express my appreciation?”

“You never call just to appreciate me.” Higuruma deadpanned, leaning back in his chair. “You want to ask about the article.”

“Bingo!” Satoru said cheerfully. “It’s coming out soon, right?”

Higuruma rolled his eyes, shifting his gaze back to the screen. “You already know that. You’re the one who gave me the information.”

Satoru laughed, entirely unbothered. “Still, thanks for your hard work.”

Higuruma exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he hung up. “Whatever.” he muttered, already reaching for his coffee cup as he prepared to get back to work.

Higuruma stood up, stretching his sore shoulders as his gaze drifted across his office. Papers were scattered across his desk. All the printed interviews, transcriptions, and photographs, all laid out in organized chaos. 

Among them were undeniable proofs: Nanami Kento’s alleged infidelity, the person he was with, and even more damning details that hadn’t yet been written into the article.

He walked over to the bulletin board on the wall, where a few key photographs were pinned up. There were quite a few Gojo Satoru seemed to keep tabs on. Nanami Kento in a dimly lit restaurant, seated across from someone who was most definitely not Nanami [Name]. 

Another picture captured a fleeting touch, hands brushing together in a way that seemed far too intimate to be innocent. Below it, neatly typed notes, detailed accounts from anonymous sources, whispers of meetings that shouldn't have happened, moments that had gone unnoticed until now.

Higuruma rubbed his temples, sighing. He wasn’t the kind of person who enjoyed digging into people’s personal lives, but a story was a story, and this one was already on its way to publication. It was big. It was scandalous. It would get attention. And Gojo Satoru was happy to provide it for him. 

Well, he did owe him a little bit of help. He can’t do anything about it. It was annoying, to be sure. But the idiot made up for it by making Higurama a lot of money. That made up for the troubles and they were now even.

His phone buzzed again, this time with a message. He picked it up and saw Satoru’s name flashing on the screen.

Satoru: So… Do you think this will hit big?

Higuruma narrowed his eyes, his grip tightening on the phone. He glanced back at the evidence, then at the half-finished article glowing on his computer screen. This wasn’t just a report. This was a revelation that would change everything.

After getting his cup of coffee, he continues to work on it. Higuruma Hiromi finished the report a little while later as twelve am strikes on the clock, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he reread the final draft. His eyes flicked across the damning headline once more:

Nanami [Name] and Nanami Kento Are Separating!

A breath left him. One he hadn’t realized he was holding. He purses his lips softly and then nods. He was done. It had to get sent away. Carefully, he clicked Send, dispatching the article to the publishing department. There was no turning back now.

Minutes later, he stood by the printing machines, watching as the pages rolled out, each one carrying his words, his investigation, the weight of undeniable proof. The bold letters of the headline practically screamed from the front page, demanding attention.

This wasn’t just another article. 

It was going to cause a stir. 

A public unraveling of a seemingly perfect marriage.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, already expecting Gojo Satoru once more. His breath hitches as he reads the text. His lips pursed into a flat line. Isn't he a fool to love this much? To love to the point of destruction?

Higurama shakes his head and takes a deep breath, calming himself. He shouldn't go into a tangent about this. He did his job. He did his part. And now Satoru and him were even. He shouldn't question things he had no business about.

Satoru: Nice work~ My beloved darling is free, all thanks to you!

Higuruma Hiromi exhaled sharply, tucking his phone away. He had done his job.

Now, the storm was coming.

And no one can stop it now.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Seeing Stars 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Summary: You struggle to be star struck by the world's most famous super soldiers. (grumpy!short!reader)

Note: Guess this is happening.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The lights, the noise, the crowd, it's all a bit much. You move out of the way of another Red, or, Black Widow cosplayer only to nearly bump into a rather short but broad Thor. At least, you think you have those right. You don't know. Bonita is more into this stuff. You're more here for moral support, or more realistically, to carry her bags.

Didn't she tell you she was trying to cut down her spending? You've already tallied up more than you'd spend on groceries on a single poster and a bobblehead hero. Which one was that? The one with the metal arm…

You jostle against Bonita to keep from brushing against a stranger. You're not much for human contact as it is, but you'd rather it be here than that guy in the Spiderboy outfit doing twirls. You can respect the passion but it's all over the top. Someone's going to get hurt.

"Alright, signature time!" Bonita claps her hands and leads you over to a long queue behind a velvet cord. A man in black asks for her VIP pass. She shows it and you see the not so subtle total on the receipt; $500! That's robbery. These Stark Industries-issued heroes don't need all that.

You keep your grumbles to yourself and cross your arms to follow her. The man stops you too. You reel back and give him a glower.

"Relax, I'm carrying milady's things," you raise the bag and bobblehead. "I'm not interested in having a class photo."

"Please, sir, she's not really into any of this," Bonita adds with a cute smile. He considers her and drops his shoulders. He waves you through.

You shuffle along with the line of bodies. You lean to the side as you try to see the front. It zigzags back and forth. You're going to be here forever.

"Why couldn't Mo come with again?" You drone.

"Because he's a butthead," she whines. "Couldn't even pay me back for getting the tickets on pre-sale so he can miss out!"

"I didn't pay either," you mutter.

"Yes, but you're more fun. My brother's spoiled. He deserves it."

You nod and move with her as the queue shifts again. It's easy for her to come out and spend all this money. She still lives at home. You're not judging her but she also doesn't seem ashamed of it either. As happy as you'd been when you got out on your own, you sometimes wonder what it'd be like to have people to fall back on.

"It's going to be so cool. I got a photo with both of them! EEEEE!" Her squeal has you touching your earlobes.

"Both of them," you nod dully.

"Captain America and the Winter Soldier," she exclaims and claps her hands. "Do you think they'll like my outfit?"

You look her up and down. She wears a star-spangled corset and a red and white striped skirt. She's like an excitable flag. You shrug. "It's cute, but you must be cold in here," you peer up at the high-ceilings and the fans swirling the air around.

"Nope! Too excited," she assures you.

"Cool."

You might not be into any of this but you try to be a supportive friend. Bonita's a bit flighty but she's not a bad person. Really, you admire how into things she gets. You have your things but she's about as interested in those as you are in super soldiers.

She chatters on about the photo. Do you think they'll sign it too? Oh, she needs to put it right above her desk. Obviously, it's going to be her phone background. You nod and peer around vaguely.

She thrives in place likes these. Bright, loud, and chaotic. You'll take something warm to drink and a book. She'll join you if you throw in some face masks and the like.

It's more than hour before you're in sight of the front table. Your feet hurt from standing mostly in one spot. You stretch your neck one-way than the other as you near the head of the line. You stand right by the stanchion where the cord opens.

Someone emerges from behind the curtain and you have to quickly step out the bouncing soldier's way. Is it considered stolen valour or an homage? As you move, your elbow hits someone else and you spin to face the unexpected figure.

"Oh," the man catches your elbow as you look up at him. Dark beard, dark hair past his chin, wide shoulders, and straight posture. His blue eyes seem familiar. "Sorry, miss. I'm just trying to get back to my station."

You sidle closer to Bonita as she gasps. The man brushes his fingertips down your sleeve as he passes and heads for the table. He stops to speak with the person handing out merch then proceeds behind the curtain where the flashes have been steadily flickering behind.

"Gosh, can you believe that?"

"Believe what?" You stare after him.

"That was him. Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier," she exclaims. You blink at her and she scoffs.

"God, you're so lame. I can't believe you had no idea."

"I dunno," you pop your shoulders up and down. "Not my thing but that's cool."

"Oop!" She hops on her toes as the person at the table calls for the next in line, "that's me."

"Have fun," you say as you move aside with her haul.

She skips up to the table and shows her phone again. She takes the SWAG they offer her as they explain the next step and point behind the curtain. As she disappears behind it, you hear her squeal. You wonder if super soldiers have super hearing. That must've hurt.

You sway as you wait. Your name cuts through the air as you space out staring at a banner and you look over as Bonita waves from behind the curtain. You hesitantly cross the floor, expecting to be stopped.

"They want you to join!" She says.

"What?" You stop a foot away from her head as it appears to float between the curtains.

"Sure. They said why not? Since you waited in line."

"Oh, no that's… fine. I'll stay out here."

"Come on," she huffs and grabs your wrist, dragging you through. "Here she is!"

You step through and scan the space. There's the photographer patiently waiting behind the camera. Across from the lens, two large men stand with smiles that you can tell are all for show. This is a paid appearance for them.

"Hey, how about it?" The blond asks and beckons you over.

"I guess if you want me too, Bonnie," you say to your friend without acknowledge the man you know to be Captain America.

She brings you over with her and stands you between her and the brown-haired sidekick. Bucky steps closer and you wince as his hand goes to your lower back. You suppose it's normal given that you're getting photos but you want nothing more than to growl at him.

"Alright, everyone set?" The photographer looks at the camera and adjusts the lens. "Smile."

The flash goes as you refuse to follow orders. You're not much on smiling. You stand there like a mannequin as your vision speckles from the light.

"Oh, Steve, um, will you pick me up for the next one?" Bonita asks. You cringe and step away from Bucky's hand. He looms close as you squirm.

"Sure," Steve accepts breezily. He lifts her with no effort at all as you give a skeptical look.

"How about you?" Bucky touches your arm again and you draw away reflexively.

"No thanks," you curl your shoulders inward as you try to shrink down. "I'm good."

"Alright," the photographer says, "everyone together."

"Um, I think I'm going to step out, actually--"

Too late. Bucky puts his arm over your shoulders and crowds you as Bonita poses in Steve's arms. Your eyes round in horror and the camera blinds you again. She's really going to owe you for this one.

[ghostblogging]

Hi. I don't know what to say. Falestine has been forced to evacuate not just one but twice in the past month. She has run out of money completely and with food becoming scarce and aid being dangerous she is now having to survive on as little as possible. She has lost her old tent and was forced to make a new one on the street out of cloth to stay in. All while having to take care of baby Youssef, who barely just had his first birthday. Please, please, I'm begging you! Donate. She is already having to through so much, consider how much you could afford to give. Anything helps, it all adds up! At the very least share her fundraiser, and put it on your queue so the donations don't dry up.

Things are dire. But we can make sure she makes it through this.

[bambisnc]

𝒦𝖨𝖫𝖫 𝖬𝖤 𝖲𝖮𝖥𝖳𝖫𝖸 ⚜ like you want me euthanized

                  ୨ৎ ─── 西村力; as the rival prince you sneak out to meet at night

ft. royalty au % angst + oneshot + 1.4k && w. implied yearning mentions of being a pawn reader is lwk a tsundere / ki is a menace swearing ˖ ✧

[ 陰 ♡ ] : so sao paulo by the weeknd happened heh. also how do u work the queueing / scheduling thing askinf for a friend. also also someone make me a layout i cannawt w/ ts pmo icl

                  🔗. 𝗀𝗈 𝗍𝗈 𝙁𝗶𝗟𝗘 ᰈ̠ 𝗡𝘼𝗩𝗶𝗚𝘼𝗧𝗘 ✮ 𝗖𝙇𝗶𝗖𝗞

you weren't supposed to be here.

tomorrow was the day that would see envoys from a neighboring kingdom, kwangya, being greeted into your own land.

your parents had been more than clear with their instructions on how you were to behave in front of them, how you were to dress, how you were to carry yourself.

how you were to speak, smile, stand and so on. 

with the dawn of the new day, you would be promised wholly to its second prince in return for their monetary and political support.

being a pawn in the game of nobility was something you had long become accustomed to. the inclination to speak up against a decision imposed on you had simply died down after one too many punishments.

and yet.

yet, as the grandfather clock in the piano room���right next to the tall window which had been your way out—chimes once, it is reiterated to you just how late it is for a "harmless" nightly stroll.

you try not to think about the man who’d been the one to incite this unnatural behavior which was so out of the carefully docile persona you put out. 

all it had taken was one teasing remark. “you’re too much of a little puppet, hm? it’s almost cute.”

nishimura riki spoke too much for his own good.

“i worry about you sometimes,” he'd said.

bullshit. you hate him and he hates you and that’s how the world works.

“you? sneak out? no offense, doll, but i’d sooner believe the moon’d fall from the sky.”

you had let slip your careful smile in favor of glaring at him. you were not just a puppet.

(except you were. you knew this and you knew he wasn’t a stranger to the fact either.) 

but a white hot flash of wanting to prove yourself—you recall not being able to fathom why, at that moment, why would you even care about his opinion?—forced a firm, “i’ll do it.” out of your lips before you could even take a moment to think about it.

the brief startle on his features was almost worth it.

that is, of course, until it was buried behind the infuriating smirk that was so nishimura riki that it made you recoil a little.

he’d spent the whole evening afterwards and the few of the following days calling you out on how you were just bluffing and, really, he’d love to see you actually pull something like that.

it had seemed odd for a moment. to consider a simple rendezvous to be of such high stakes. 

but the underlying implications of the act soon caught up.

unknowing is bliss just as much as it is a necessity to be aware, after all.

the innocence of the act to prove that you were in control, would be lost completely should a stray palace worker chance upon your meeting.

because when you’re a member of a royal family, then it is on you to uphold the honor, the dignity and the duty that comes along with the title.

if only as a mere facade.

it barely even registers that you’ve reached your destination due to being too caught up with your own jumbled thoughts. 

something obstructs your line of sight. a hand, not close enough to touch but close enough that you can feel it’s warmth on your cooler skin. 

you’d panic, normally, but a soft brush against your ear and the low voice immediately following is enough to let you know exactly who it is behind you.

“well, well. color me surprised.”

ni-ki’s presence is overbearing.

as much as you hate to admit it, he is everything and more required of a prince. the calm nonchalance and unspoken dominance is only one of the things that you despise about him (and begrudgingly also find yourself in awe of.)

“and here i was so sure you wouldn’t show. thought you’d leave me out here in the cold all alone.”

you lift your hand to swat his off of where it rests and turn to look at ni-ki, retort all ready. but the very little space that is present between both your figures is something you hadn't accounted for. 

it takes a minute for you to get over your apprehension disgust.

you simply settle for an eye roll.

“hm? cat got your tongue?" there’s that smirk again. you wonder if he does it on purpose. if his aim to provoke you is so great that he’d risk all to achieve it. “don’t leave me hanging, now.” 

“no. it’s merely too cold.” a feebler, more tame response than what you’d usually hurl towards him. maybe the lowered temperature (or the lack of sleep) is making you soft.

he hums in agreement. ni-ki’s movements are fluid, easy, practiced when he takes off his own warm coat and drapes the garment over your shoulders, tugging you imperceptibly closer in the process.

“not really dressed for midnight excursions, are we?”

“it is well past midnight.” but you suppose he’s right. your flimsy excuse for nightclothes are hardly appropriate.

he laughs at that and the rich sound rings clearly through the garden.

you hate it. he should know better—should know to be quieter, unless he wants for everyone in a 2 mile radius to be drawn to the place. “do you always have to have the last word?” 

“…” sheer pettiness makes you fall silent.

a beat of awkward silence.

your attention can’t help but be drawn to the clean, cedar-like scent which seems to have rather quickly overtaken your senses. the only way you can describe it is to be purely and totally nishimura riki.

you hate it. hate that you find yourself finding comfort in it, hate that he’s so close to you.

you hate that you want him closer.

“c’mon doll. gonna leave me hanging now?”

it takes you another minute to speak up again.

“what do you want.” and you do everything in your power to ignore the bite lacking in your words.

if ni-ki notices, he doesn’t comment on it. his expression however, falters at your response, if only briefly.

“a thank you for the coat would be appreciated.” his voice is still soft. as if in a conscious effort to match your own.

you scoff instinctively. it gives you something to do, something that isn’t hyper focusing on how you’re leaning into the pseudo embrace of his warmth. “you … why did you call me out here?.”

there’s barely any space between your chests—ni-ki’s hands still fiddling with one of the buttons on the oversized garment covering your figure—yet his sharp gaze never strays one bit.

“maybe i wanted to see if you’d actually do it,” he says finally. “sneak out. meet me.”

“i didn’t do it for you.” but you did. you’d rather die than have to admit it to him, though.

he shifts suddenly then, face dropping to be level with yours, “no? then who, doll?”

you open your mouth before realizing you have to pause to think. 

“hey,” he pipes up again, effectively shutting up any defense you could come up with, “you’re shivering. ‘s it still too cold?”

you realize with a start that you’d really like to shut him up. with a kiss, maybe. or a slap, if you’re feeling nice. 

“no just. just tell me why you called me here.” you say instead.

a silent beckoning. you simultaneously hope and dread his answer for apprehension that it will be exactly what you want to hear.

“i just wanted to see you. one last time.”

last time? 

“what’s that mean? don’t tell me you’re finally running away. got too tired of being a pain in the ass for me?”

he laughs again and this time you hate him for stalling. it’s too late, he’s too close and you’re ... way too confused. 

“i won’t ever get tired of that. of you.” his words drip with the signature effortlessness you’ve come to associate him with, and yet.. something’s different. “i meant i wanted to see you while you can still spare time for little ol’ me.”

spare time? doesn’t he know of the countless nights you’ve spent so far thinking about things you so desperately want to say; waiting with bated breath for a chance to verbalize them. despite knowing in your heart that there’s hardly a possibility that you’ll get to. of course you could spare time for him—

oh.

one last time. he meant to spare him one last chance to see you before you’re promised to someone else.

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific @jessxxxfwd @evanesceki @soobundle1009 @weedatthegasstattion @flipitkickit @douqhnxtss @soona-huh @amoressb @nicholasluvbot @manariee @rinrinninnin @ddeonuswife @douqhnxtss @lovenha7 @amatabelle @i-am-not-dal @liyahhhh620 @elleetlalune @eunwonji @s0shroe @wensurr @unhakies @starniras ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[se4ttlellie]

BOYFRIEND - VI

Warnings : Cheating, smut, fingering (user receiving), swearing, party, wlw relationship, use of pet names, use of y/n, kinda au, alcohol use, dirty talk, mirror sex, exhibition?

Summary : In which, the reads boyfriend is being a dick and Vi helps her out

Authors Note : I truly promise that I don’t have anything with cheating bc it really seems like it rn 😭 but I was literally listening to “Boyfriend” by Dove Cameron and I was like “yup let’s write a fucking fanfic about this” so here you are. I’m really sorry if this has been done before, it probably has but I’ve never seen it so, here’s my rendition. Enjoy! <3

Reader is purple

Vi is pink

Song lyrics is italics

__________________________________________

Your boyfriend was being a real dick recently, spending no time on you, forgetting your anniversary, getting angry all the time and it’s just getting on your fucking nerves. So, who do you go to?

Vi.

You lay with your head on her lap as she strokes your hair. You are just ranting about your boyfriend, probably talking her ear off but she truly doesn’t mind.

“He’s such a dick! Like, why can’t he put the fucking PS5 down for like a minute and pretend like he has an actual girlfriend right fucking here! Ugh!”

Vi can tell that you’re really worked up but she doesn’t really know how to help. Tonight was supposed to be a fun night, you were supposed to go out and have fun but, once again, your boyfriend killed the mood.

“Come on, let’s forget about him, go to the bar and just have fucking fun, y/n. Don’t let him ruin a good night with your best mate.”

Slowly, you nod, sitting up and running your fingers through your hair. You let out a deep sigh, standing up and grabbing your bag.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Let’s get dressed and we can go.”

“Alright. No need to apologise, love.”

She gently hugs you from behind as a little bit of reassurance, resting her chin on her shoulder and rubbing your stomach. You notice that she is a little more touchy than usual but you don’t really read into it too much.

You get dressed, slipping on the perfect, sexy red dress and pairing it with your one pair of expensive shoes, your Louboutins that you bought yourself a while ago and never wore because you were too scared to scuff them.

Vi walks out of the bathroom in a much more chill outfit and scans you up and down. She whistles, making you laugh and hit her arm, causing her to pull her arm back and laugh too.

“You look hot.”

“I know, thank you. Don’t look too bad yourself.”

Vi, as per, is in a more masculine fit, sporting a pair of black trousers and a button up, white t-shirt with a few of the buttons undone and her sleeves rolled up. The rolled sleeves shows off her muscular, tatted arms perfectly.

She gracefully takes your arm, linking it with her on before grabbing your bag for you and leading you out of the door once you’re all ready.

You arrive at the bar, annoyed at the long line of people. I mean, you’d have to assume considering it’s a Friday night but it’s still annoying.

Turning around to Vi, you rest your head on her chest and she kisses your head, stroking your hair. She looks down at you, her arm wrapped around your shoulder and she leans down to whisper in your ear.

“Are you okay, cupcake?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, just still a little bummed about Alfie.”

She nods, understandingly before noticing that the line is finally moving and you’re closer to the front. She gently squeezes your hip to alert you to move forward.

You finally make it into the club after getting past the annoyingly flirty bouncer and the queue that seemed to last forever.

Once inside, you immediately go for the bar, needing some drinks. You order your favourite drink, feeling someone behind you. You look behind and see Vi, holding her card.

“Vi, I can pay for my drink.”

“I know you can but so can I.”

You roll your eyes before quietly thanking her and taking the drink from the bartender. You take a sip, feeling the familiar burning sensation as the liquid flows down your throat. Fuck this is strong.

After a few drinks and seeing a few pretty girls (and paying for a couple drinks) you and Vi head to the dance floor, dancing and singing to whatever song comes on.

As the song switches, you instantly recognise the song as “Boyfriend” by Dove Cameron and smirk. You feel Vi’s arms around your waist and you smile, letting her hold you and seductively sway with you.

“You reckon we got a lesbian DJ?”

She laughs, nodding because of the particular song choice. You’re both dancing with each other, singing the song when she spins you around, backing your body into hers. She presses you against her chest, her arm still firmly around your middle as the chorus approaches.

You blush, a little surprised by Vi’s boldness and, more importantly, hand placement as her arm is wrapped snugly around your middle. You place your hand on her arm, rubbing up on her a little.

As the chorus plays, you feel Vi’s hot breath on your neck, whispering the lyrics into your ear, causing you to tense up.

“I could be a better boyfriend than him. I could do the shit that he never did.”

You swallow hard, involuntarily tilting your head to the side as you feel your best friend’s lips press to your neck. You reach your hand back, grasping her hair as she kisses up and down your neck and shoulders.

You can kind of smell the alcohol on her breath and you know that she is a little drunk but you know that she is sober enough to know exactly what she’s doing and, more to the point, what it’s doing to you.

As Vi kisses your neck, you stand there, confused. You know that you’re enjoying this but you also know that you have a boyfriend back at home. As if Vi knows exactly what you’re thinking, she whispers in your ear.

“Don’t think about him, baby. You know you like this because, if you didn’t, you’d have told me to stop already.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Vi.”

You spin around, abruptly pressing your lips to hers, your arms wrapping around her neck as hers link around your waist. She presses into you, pulling you ever closer as her tongue slides into your mouth.

You let out an involuntary moan, causing Vi to smile against your lips. You already know what she is thinking but you kiss her again before she can make a comment.

Her hands sneakily slide down to your ass as you continue kissing, your chests pressing against each other. Slowly, her hands move closer and closer to your thighs, gripping them softly.

“Make it any more obvious you wanna finger me, Vi.”

She laughs, picking you up and carrying you off the dance floor. You kick and flail a little until you realise where she is taking you. She takes you to the bathroom, sitting you down on the sink and closing the door.

You continue to make out, now able to hear each other’s breathy moans and deep breaths as you get lost in each other’s touch.

Suddenly, she reaches down and lifts up your dress, grabbing your panties and looking up at you before pulling them down. You give her a simple nod, as you know that she was waiting for consent.

“Words, princess. I’m not gonna do this unless I know you want it.”

“Yes I fucking want it Vi! Please.”

She smirks at your begging, kissing your chest. Pulling off your panties, she wastes no time in gently rubbing circles on your clit, making you let out a loud moan. You grab onto her shoulders, throwing your head back.

Slowly, she slides a finger into you and then two. She kisses your neck as she starts to pump her fingers in and out of your hole. She smirks, sucking on your neck as she murmurs something.

“You’re already dripping. How long have you been thinking about me touching you like this, y/n?”

You can’t tell if her question is rhetorical or not but, hopefully it is because you couldn’t answer anyway, due to the amount of pleasure you’re currently receiving. You wrap your arm around Vi’s shoulders, pulling her in for another kiss.

You moan against her lips, feeling her fingers thrusting in and out of you faster now. You try your best to keep kissing her but you’re losing your breath so your head just falls forward onto her shoulder.

“Fuck, Vi. Yes, fuck, right there.”

You let out a really loud moan as she hits your g-spot perfectly, her fingers curling to get just the right spot. A small whimper leaves your mouth, causing Vi to speed up even more.

Your thighs start to shake against her fingers and you know that you’re close. She kisses your temple as your head rests against her shoulder.

“Look in the mirror baby, I want you to see how good you look when I touch you like this.”

You obediently nod, looking in the mirror and seeing your fucked out face and messed up hair. You keep your eyes on your reflection as you finish all over Vi’s fingers.

She softly continues to thrust into you, riding out your high as you now look away from the mirror and into her eyes. Your eyes are lidded and exhausted and she has a wicked smirk on her face.

Pulling her fingers out of you, she immediately puts them in her mouth to lick off your cum. You don’t know if you’re turned on or not but you certainly know that you can’t do a round two.

“Fuck, Vi.”

“Feel good princess?”

“Mhm.”

Vi laughs, pulling you into her arms and stroking her hair as she sees how exhausted you are. She kisses your head again, rubbing you back.

“Should we get you home, baby? Maybe we can have a bit more fun there.”

“Okay…”

__________________________________________

Taglist : @belliexpog @elliesanqel @ellieslvvt @bloodywilliams @xx2849 @sofaiscomfy @ashlynlovestlou

[hoshinasblade]

What you think Soshiro would do if he found out his gf was insecure about her stretch marks?

this is one of the most recent asks so thank u anon for sending!! im still in the process of going over my posts and editing some stuff (mostly changing my tags lol) and answering asks and putting them on queue. i just really like this one so im posting now (might have some typos as im in my phone hoho). hope u guys like it 🥰

"i don't know," you said as you try to bury your face on the big mug of beer you are drinking. "i haven't even been naked around him, like ever." the last sentence was almost a whisper, as if you were saying it to yourself more than confessing it to your nosy friend.

"aren't you guys dating for months now?" you were expecting this response, sure, but you don't think you were prepared for an answer at all. "honestly girl, your man is like, really hot," your friend picked up a french fry from the plate in front of you and took a bite before speaking again. "if that was me, i would be naked with him 25 hours a day."

"we only have 24 hours a day," you reminder her.

"exactly," she winked at you in response.

you did not want to admit it but your friend, a college batchmate from way back, was not entirely wrong. landing a guy like vice-captain hoshina soshiro was never in your bingo card, and truthfully, had it been another girl that he chose to date, you are pretty sure he would be getting some action.

yes, action meaning naked time.

sex.

it was not that you are a prude, or worse, a conservative who thinks that women are ought to be virgins otherwise they are worthless. and it wasn't also that you haven't done some things with your boyfriend hoshina as well, considering how you are very much aware how he's so good with his hands. no, the issue is that except for that one time during your fourth month together when it almost happened, you have not gone all the way with hoshina at all.

you simply attributed it to him being a gentleman, but hoshina did not dare ask when you stopped him that one time. but you should have known that at some point, he is going to want to know why it seems you don't want to be intimate with him.

"is it me?" he asked, trying to hide the slight hurt from his face. "i don't have bad breath, do i?"

count on hoshina to crack a joke during such a serious situation. he just got home from his scheduled weekend duty that night, and although claiming that he's exhausted from work, hoshina was apparently not tired enough. so a chaste peck on your lips turned to a heated makeout session that turned to him taking his shirt off.

he was kissing the soft skin down your neck towards your chest when you froze just as he was about to take your blouse off.

"come on, talk to me." hoshina's voice was gentle, and an annoying voice inside your head murmured something along the lines of how he deserves someone better, with how you're acting right now. "hey, it's okay if you don't want to talk about it. i don't mind. but if something's wrong, i'd prefer if i know about it."

you sighed. hoshina doesn't necessarily deserve someone better; he just deserves the truth.

instead of telling the truth, you showed it to him.

as soon your top was off, your fingers started tracing the thin, white lines on the skin near your ribs. these lines look like thread that stretch to your sides. you even have some close to your inner arms. you were avoiding hoshina's eyes when you pointed out how these stretch marks extend until your hips.

"i think i just feel weird about other people seeing it," you said. "i mean, they don't look pretty."

now that you've said your piece, you felt a bit relieved. in reality you know it sounds so shallow, superficial even. but as a girl - as a woman - you were no stranger to other people's expectations of how you should physically look. in the end, perhaps you just did not want to disappoint hoshina by showing him just how imperfect you are.

you were surprised when hoshina unbuckled his belt and began undoing the buttons of his pants. mouth agape, you just did not foresee this reaction.

"w-what are you doing?"

hoshina stripped until he was only on his boxers. stretching one of his legs out in front of you, his hand slowly lifted the hem of his underwear until you can see the flesh of his upper thighs.

"oh i have those too," he said, showing you white, indented streaks up to his hips. "i think you get them when you grow, i'm not hundred percent sure."

hoshina's forefinger continued trailing on his own skin. "it's okay if you don't think they're pretty, you know. not everything has to be beautiful. what you have to remember is that having stuff like this, is completely normal."

you should have known because it was after all the reason you love him - everyone might admire vice-captain hoshina soshiro mainly because of his leadership skills and out-of-this-world physique, you fell for him because he's the most reasonable and kind man you have ever met.

"i love you, you know that right?" you asked.

hoshina could only chuckle. "and all these time i was worrying you didn't want to be naked with me because you were hiding a tattoo of narumi's face somewhere there."

it was your turn to laugh. hoshina grabbed one of your hands, caressing it. "hey look, it's just skin, okay? it's just skin but it's still you." looking right at you, hoshina smiled. "it's still you, and i love you."

[pinkcannibal]

I just need your thoughts on Misty. Just full unhinged freaky deaky Misty… and would you ever consider writing a fanfic like eat your young but for Misty? Cause I would be all over that.

freaky weird milf who is not Normal about affection or boundaries or social queues. my beloved. (also. im not sure!! my focus right now is my main fic, so we will see <33)

most of the fandom likes to paint misty quigley as this like, sexless thing that is probably a virgin well into her 40s but that is completely untrue. source? me.

this woman fucks and you all need to accept that. s1 date scene?? her manipulation tactics?? misty push up bra scene??? do i need to mention the one single bed and hand cuffs in her basement?? The natalie scatorccio calling her hot/pretty???

she Knows she's weird and off putting but she also knows shes hot to a certain demographic. they tried so hard to make christina ricci unattractive but thats impossible so u have the absolutely insane sex appeal of misty quigley that lesbians just. flock to

i know she had sex with women during college. and regularly likes to visit dyke bars when she can. shes so eager when she eats cunt and is completely and utterly devoted to being good at it.

strap game? weirdly good at it. like yeah she's 5'1 and if you're tall its gonna be awkward, but its compensated for the fact that this woman is so earnest and needy in wanting to make you come that her thrusts and rhythm and grunts next to your ear turn into something that have your eyes rolling back into your head

absolutely no boundaries like i said. she says weird freaky inappropriate things during sex and never apologises for it. "god you feel good. so fuckable and wet and slippery" or "ive always wanted to have sex in a hospital bed, [queue a dorky snort laugh] can we try that?" or "fuck, i bet you'd feel warm around my cock even on a morgue table" while literally fucking you from behind.

she'll agree to anything as long as it makes you feel good, and makes you want her, but she still wants control. conceding it after the wilderness, and how ostracised she's been, can never happen again.

if you want to call her names, like "mommy" or "daddy" or titles that have certain dynamics associated with them, she WILL make you embarrassed about it. she'll mock, pout, giggle and say "aw, did somebody have a rough childhood?" but still earnestly call herself that and be tender and sweet about it in the aftermath

she looooves a forced intoxication kink. bring it up to her and misty quigley.exe will stop working for half a second before she's practically floating on air

[almostmylove]

Sleepover with each batfam members

A/n:I did not put in Cassandra or Steph since I don’t know much about them and I don’t want to miss characterize them from the little information I have( I’m going to read the comics soon trust) try to spot my favorite character!!!

None of the pictures belong to me!!!!!!

( you can think of it platonic or romantic i think it works either way🤷‍♀️)expect maybe for Alfred.idk

Summary:you’ve managaed to convince the batfam to take a break for once, lets see how it would go

Alfred👴🕴️

Place: Wayne manor

Its rare for Alfred to take a hour or day off but when asked with those pleading puppy eyes it was hard to say no to the one he considered his child.

He considers you like a children of him tho he does with everyone but more or so with you. But when you first asked him his immediate response was to direct you to dick or something else in the house but you insisted it be him.

Tho initially states that he is “ too old” to be having sleepovers and has a lot of things to do that doesn’t stop him from making your favorite cookies and other snacks( you going along with progress)

Out of curiosity you ask him about his childhood and you guys end up watching shows and movies that he used to watch back in the day. That something else that you never knew about him but he surprising used ( and still) loved telenovelas

Somewhere along the movie or show you fall asleep and wake up in the crips morning of sunrise with food (and freshly baked cookies) at your bedside and a small yet subtle smile from Alfred.

Bruce Wayne🦇

Place: Wayne manor

It's really rare for bruce (cough cough!) batman, to the have the night off but today is different. Most of the villians are locked up and stayed that way

He was planning on working on a case since he still had work but when you asked him he couldn't just refuse since he promised you a long time ago he would make time.( he could take back his promise to you at a perfect time) plus it wasn’t every day that Gotham was quite ( mhmm wierd).

I think he would be type of guy of guy to put action movies and skip to the action part just to analyze them (he woukd never admit but he takes a little bit inspiration from them).

Also Maybe some disney movies for old times sake since he probably liked that before his paresnt died. But he would be attached to them since he got to watch too many and it was more of a new thing back then. ( damn he’s old)

As for snacks probably popcorn for the both of you and a bit of wine for him tho if you want some he would probably serve you some. ( unless you are a child of his or something)

The rest of the night goes pretty well. Sometime the batboys “accidentally” stumble upon your movie and start joining in.

Dick is the first one to join and then the rest come in as if in queue ( in age too). After a while He apologizes and leaves leaving you with the remaining batfam. Alfred stop by and hands you guys some snack in a tray of freshly baked goods.

After the movie is over you excuse yourself to to find Bruce and you find him in the batcave , leaning on the chair and taking a Power Nap. His screen displays a case that recently happen so you leave him be.

You don’t happen to notice that on the very top corner of the monitor is a live video of you and and the batboys watching the movie with you no longer there.

Barbara Gordon💻👩‍🦽‍➡️🦇

Place: Barbara’s house

I have a feeling she would like action horror or romance and if you guys had a hard time choosing one, you would try via coin flip.

Head for horror and tails for romance

HEADS WIN!

You guys ended up watching a horror movie which probably wasn’t a good idea. Gotham was slow and calm which most people would expect you to be relaxed and calm but that made you guys even more worried. Like nurses say “never say it’s a slow night” since it means something big is going to happen

For snacks you guys would definitely order pizza and fries with a side of soda. Probably not the healthiest but who cares a movie night is the perfect time!( you guys would later regret that since you end up spilling food from a jumpscare)

In the end you two end up being too scared and paranoid that you guys ended up watching Barbie

( specifically barbie a Christmas coral and Barbie: a mermaid tale) on dvd and some how falling asleep on the floor, cuddling each other for safety

Listen you might be judging but even tho both of you are skilled, hard to crack people because of your double life , it still doesn’t stop movies from scaring you.

Dick Grayson🤹‍♀️

Place: bludhaven apartment

You guy would definitely have the sleepover in one of his apartment in bludhaven ( my mans rich or daddies movie but it could be his police officer salery🤷‍♀️)

He would like to have everything prepared in advance so that you guys don't have get up and miss parts of the movie. You guys would probably also do skin care like clay mask with the bandana that holds your hair out while gossiping or just talking about stuff and future.

(He definitely tried juggling your skin care products to see if he could still do it. Nope but close enough).

I feel like you guys would be watching a random romantic movie and since none of you guys read the description that one of the main love ingress going to die so you two ended up crying in the end ( him more than you)

For this one he would bring out one of his favorite cereals from his cereal collection which is littered in limited addition cereals.

For snacks Definitely pizza but instead of regular you guys get the spilt one. Half pineapple and half your favorite toppings. He ends up finishing his side and takes some of yours.

Afterwards you guys head to sleep but a new movie pops up peaks your interest ( something about superheros and you guys watch it until he falls asleep.

You bring his drowsy body and place it in his bed and head to sleep yourself

You aren’t too sure why he insisted on having the sleepover even tho he had a long day tomorrow. Well you did mention wanting to have a sleepover but that was months ago

Doesn’t matter tho cuz I’m the morning you woke up with glowing skins( same with Grayson) and an added chain to memories of connections

Jason todd🔫💪

Place: his place and out

In my opinion instead of just hanging out at his house/apartment or at the wayne manner i think he would like to watch a movie in the theater maybe hangout a bit in shops and then go to his place and watch a movie when you guys are cozy and relaxed

This one is a bit complicated but i think he would like to watch a slice of life first. It would only to see how it would look like to live a normal life and worry about normal problems (his death).

•You guys would maybe make home made hot/chile dogs and that was when you fortunately found out that Jason liked to grill. Surprise right?(HE CAN COOK GUYS)

The night would go pretty quickly going movie after movie but then Jason would urge you to go to sleep becuase its bad for your health to to stay up too long. It wasn't fair why'd he have treat you like a child it was only 3 am( same tho)

With reluctance from you and lesson on why sleeping is important from Jason you went to sleep but not before telling him to do the same. He nodded and with a soft hum later back and closed his eyes.

What a lair he was

Tim Drake💻👾

Place:Wayne manor

It didn't take too long to convince this man to have a sleep over with you as he had just finished a project that he had been working on for a week snd wanted a bit if time to relax(shocker. dw guys he just invented a way to teleport lol).

Im not too sure what types of movies he would like but i really think he would like super hero movies or shows and stuff that makes you learn so you guys would maybe put on shows like odd squad or wild krats. after a while you guys would change it to movies like karate kid and all you would hear is Tim cheering for the main character.

You guys would eat a lot of junk for that night like donut, ice cream ( nepolitain icecream), chips, soda etc and of course coffee. One of guys had the bright idea to mix the food together as a small experiment on the side and eat it. Probably not the best idea but at the moment it sounded fun.

Even tho all the hyper foods were severed and you needed a way to take your energy out so what’s better then movement

Just dance and Mario cart it is!

It was a surprise when drake pulled out his Nintendo to play a game snd suggested to play a bit.

You were crushing it at both games , too bad he crushed you at Mario kart but you got your come back in just dance.

it wasn't a surprise that Tim would fall asleep after that despite die to the insane amount of coffee he was running on.( you took away his coffee)

You let him sleep, wrapping a blanket around him and take off any accessories he might have like earbuds and stuff that might hurt him

In the morning it would be Alfred that find you guys and tucks you two into bed . You guys never know that there’s a small photo of that morning in plastered in Alfreds memory book with both of your names at the bottom surrounded by familial names and photos.

Damien Wayne ⚔️🤺

God damn, why was it hard to talk to this boy about.

It took about a whole month of you asking for him to finally but reluctantly gave in. He always said that “sleepovers were a waist of time” when he could be doing his better stuff ( he didn’t have anything better to do)

The sleepover would definitely take place in his room. Like hell he would risk anyone see you guys having a sleepover especially by dick (he would tease him none stop)

The words that he would say over and over again were "sleep overs are for kids, very childish i would never be caught watching a cheesy kids story". Little did he know what you had in store for him.

When you started putting on the lion king he stood up and almost left. If it wasnt for alfred pointing out how he had accepted the deal and couldn't back out now or he wouldn’t be up to the Wayne standers. ( Alfred’s the best). That seem to hurt his ego a bit and grumply sat down next to you

He sat very reluctantly and seemed very disinterested for the start of it until scar killed mufasa ( scar kinda reminded him of his gramps, maybe just the looks?)

After that he locked in like crazy maybe even being more interested in the movie then you.

Alfred would make some Sabich Sandwich ( vegan? This do before batcow)

You'd definitely fall asleep like 3/4 into the movie and Damien would let you. He couldn’t let you see the rang of emotions he went through in those few minutes.

In the morning you woke up in Your bed with a note on your bedside table, reading a great time watching and a possible discussion on the events of the movie+ an invitation by him to another movie night in secret

He wouldn’t be able to live if Jon or his brothers teased him on it or worse started to join

For next time is waiting to watch zootopia or maybe something else?

[broodwoof]

ooh saw a good post, queued it as i am the queue mutual, but it got me thinking about a lot of things

but very simply put: what we as dragon age players know has no relationship to what the characters know, and this is explicitly intentional

as players we gain access to a wealth of specific knowledge. but even we, as players, are not given hard truth all the time - the codices throughout all the games are written with a deliberate in-world bias

like the one codex that states that sexism does not exist in thedas, and then ppl getting upset because it obviously does? well.... gestures at our world.... bet you anything you could find countless modern articles saying that sexism does not exist/does not exist anymore/does not exist here, wherever 'here' is to the writer

have your feelings about it! but i'm just saying that the codices are deliberately written with bias. DAO literally gives you different codices depending on your race. treating them as Absolute Truth is going to lead to personal frustration when they are inevitably revealed to be limited, biased, and sometimes entirely wrong

the way the crows are written and talked about through the series vs. what we hear from one single character (zevran my beloved) who remains loyal to the crows while also trying to leave them while ALSO not wanting to display vulnerability vs. what we see from (one) particular house in veilguard so many in-game years after DAO... the way qunari are written about and how variable it is ("they're monsters" vs. "they have a real culture")... the way the grey warden order is discussed... the way that knowledge and opinion of magic varies wildly... the way that certain cultures handle their mages and magic being better, but other cultures not knowing or even deliberately suppressing that knowledge...

again, ppl will have their feelings about all of this and that's fine. but using a codex or something we as players learn from a prior game/dlc to point out a seeming "retcon" is not really engaging with some of the underlying themes of these games. the biases have been confirmed repeatedly. this was a real intent right from the inception of this series

and hey, it's natural! we literally play as the warden, as hawke, as the inquisitor, and now as rook. it's hard to set aside our knowledge from prior games. but in-game, within the narrative itself, those characters don't have deep knowledge of what the other characters do/have done. hawke certainly knows of the warden, but cannot recount every battle, every codex, every conversation the warden had with people. thus, hawke cannot make use of every bit of knowledge the warden - and we as players - gained through that game. further, hawke's understanding of what the warden did is colored by biased recountings and an emphasis on certain story beats over others

in DAI, in early conversation with cassandra, she tells the inquisitor about the time she "single-handedly" slayed a dragon... and how twisted that story had become over its retellings. and, i mean, solas' everything. the evanuris. but i like referencing cassandra in this because this is something that happened in a single lifetime, yet has already grown into a fanciful tale that discounts a huge amount of what actually happened

she knows that mages helped save the day and protect the divine. we know that, too. but the world of thedas? the vast majority of those who know the story do not know that mages helped. and, again, this was within one lifetime. many who know the story were alive when the real event took place. but it doesn't matter! because they weren't there, and they're hearing about it from other people, who heard about it from other people, and so on, and at various points things were dropped or added

and, hell, the entirety of DA2 is a story told by varric to cassandra. i know some people get frustrated with considering that aspects of it may have been falsified because that makes it hard to figure out the truth (and that's fair!), but i think it's worth acknowledging that this narrative direction was not only intentional, but utterly explicit. we literally see varric telling cassandra the story of DA2

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 30/12✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@pandorainabox ha chiesto: Hope this isn't a dumb question,but do you plan to/already are posting the bio parents ah anywhere where it can be viewed all in one piece? With the between posts in tumblr,it gets confusing and I still don't quite know how to navigate it so I was curious if I could binge read it anywhere all in one clean read? (I constantly want to re-read it lmao,it brings me so much joy,its so damn cute!!) Anyway apologies for the random question!! I love your work,you're doing so good and I hope you have an absolutely wonderful rest of your day/night! Thank you so much for taking your time to read and respond if you do so!! 💚💚🌙

i mean… I THINK the masterpost is the easiest way to read it for now (and once you read one chapter you press “NEXT” at the end of it.)

if I would put it, let’s say, on Webtoon (which I can’t) it kind of would be the same thing. A list if chapters, when you click on one it opens the chapter with the 10-20 panels and then you click the “next” to go to the next one.

i don’t think putting all chapters from one part would be nice since it would be a super duper long list of panels (and the page would take a lot to load with so many medias) and one Part of the comic contains multiple arcs.

i’m open to suggestions though!

@robinpika ha chiesto: I was just wondering why is wukong kaiju form unstable? What inspired you to go that route

it was an headcanon of my of why we never see it in the show, even though it is present in JTTW AND war forms are… well normal in LMK, so I figured he must have a reason why he didn’t use it, considering it could have spare them a lot of trouble giving its power.

@imafluffycupcakey ha chiesto: I can't find the option to ask anonymously oof— Enyway this is Tumblr and that's what I'm here for. Ever made a design for a Red son and MK kid? From your AU I mean (ignoring every nature law for a second). Also, where did you got that name for MK from? Is something from Jurney to the west? Mainly thanks to your AU I am going to try and read that book (has more them a 1000 pages :') )

we all subconsciously agreed that the spicynoodle lovechild is Kai from lego ninjago and MK real name is his name in the chinese dub.

@avencaeheng ha chiesto: Can you reccomend any websites to watch lmk? 🙏

You can find MOST of the episodes on youtube. BUT you need also the specials to understand the story. If I link you a site in 2 weeks it will be down. The best is that you join the Lego Monkie Kid Fanspace discord. They have links to see the show and they update them every once in a while.

@astro-lmk-enjoyer ha chiesto: Another silly headcanon <3 Since MK unlocked he’s monkey form he started teething like a baby monkey but… adult. I don’t know how baby monkey teethe but when dogs teethe they get a lot more bite-y and the bites hurt a lot more than before teething. I can imagineMK getting a lot more bitey with things, like chewing food longer then needed be and maybe when he’s play fighting with the baby monkeys he bites one and it chirps and Wukong is like: ! One of my children is in need! And he discovers MK is teething and does something idk yet. After having given my evidence… Do you think this would happen? Does MK have fangs in his human form like how some people draw him?

hi! I guess he did have a period in which he had a little teething.

no, his human form doesn’t have fangs, because his human form is just a kind of glamour/shapeshift. In the AU the monkey form became his normal form (since it always has been his original form to begin with)

toomanylegos ha chiesto: Hey, I just want to say I absolutely adore your ShadowPeach comic and the beautiful art with it. I went through nasal surgery on the 19th, and seeing an update from you really helped soothe my nerves about it, so thank you! I can't wait to see more updates throughout my recovery :D burry-penguin ha chiesto: As a spicynoodle shipper I love your work sm and what ur doing for this community KEEPING US FEED FOR DAYSSS!! 🔥🍜 🔥🍜 You’re so amazing and keep doing what you’re doing because you’re a damn good story teller and artist. You’ll go so far someday! You’ve helped put a smile on my face on my best and worst days just from seeing each new update and going absolutely fuckin feral over it and I thank you for that 🫶 imafluffycupcakey ha chiesto: Not really a ask. I would just like to say I inhaled your AU comic like a vacum cleaner in less them a day, also big fan of the art style. Anonimo ha chiesto: I'm recovering from a toxic relationship and the shadowpeach bio parents au is helping me think through everything ,, The love these monkies show me how relationships are supposed to make you feel good... thank u

turtlewearingclothes ha chiesto: Howdy! I just wanted to say thank you for making your amazing comic, and being the reason I got into Lego Monkie Kid. I've heard of the show, but I never watched it. Then I came across your comic like, 2-3 weeks ago? And after binging it, I decided to watch the show, and now I'm obsessed lol. Thank you!

AWWWW THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE!!!♥️♥️♥️

@selfdestructivecat ha chiesto: Hey so I recently binged your LMK comic because I absolutely fell in love with your ISAT x COTL comic and knew anything you made would be amazing. I’ve never seen LMK though so I’m sure I lost some of the context (it was still so good though, I’m really rooting for everything to work out for the characters!) But I decided to give the actual series a try because of the comic! And here was where I planned on writing you a message after a few episodes to thank you for getting me into a new series, but… I’m on episode one. I only watched the intro. Dude. IM ABSOLUTELY HOOKED. THE ANIMATION! THE STYLE! THE CHARACTERS! I’m so so excited to watch more (which I’m gonna do now!) but thank you so much for bringing this series to my attention!!!

ahaha welcome to the club!, now you can enjoy both comics!

@therivergirl ha chiesto: I remember back in the beggining of eclipse arc you mentioned that Mac feels insecure about his body being part of the reason he's hesitant to take of his clothes even in front of Wukong and it being part of the reason (aside from basic decency) that Wukong looked away. And now in this part Mac appears butt-naked to help Wukong out, adding yet another layer of vulnerability...gah! (Maybe I should finally watch LMK because I feel I would be doubly obsessed with this comic then...)

For Mac being exposed was the last of his issues considering that what he was seeing was Wukong at his lowest and most naked. Now excuse me while I cry.

@astro-lmk-enjoyer ha chiesto: You probably know Chang’E’s story from LMK, but did you know there is a second version of her story that I like better? In the second version Chang’E and her husband(I forgot his name), are getting used to living as mortals after being kicked out of heaven. But someone hears of the immortal elixir they have and try to steel it while Chang’E’s husband is out hunting. After getting beat up a bit she decides to drink the elixir so the robber couldn’t get it. But she instead went to the moon so she could be closer to her lover. Her husband dies because he’s still mortal, and Chang’E is left be herself. I have silly little headcanon the day MK and the others went to the moon was her and her husband’s anniversary 🙃 Bye <3

AH. OK.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Do you think that wukong and macaque act like cats?

as in they would purr? I moslty think Wukong wants to cuddle and stroke his head on Mac neck like a cat, while Mac is that one cat that sometime is annoyed when people touch him but eventually let them do it.

Anonimo ha chiesto: ✨Hear me out :3✨ MK can hear the past. He heard the fight of of prentice and held his eye like he was getting hurt by Wukong and not Macaque. So now picture this: MK has a vision again, his this time it is about how the monk used the circlet on him :3

AHAH. NOW HE CAN’T SEE TANG THE SAME WAY AGAIN. FUCK.

Anonimo ha chiesto: When I first found your comic in your TikTok account, I thought it was something very silly... How very VERY wrong I was.(As I get shot 57 times.) I hope you are taking very good care of yourself because when I downloaded Tumblr to keep myself updated to your comics(which was somewhere around 13-16 December probably) there are a LOT of panels. I enjoyed the newest and most recent parts of the shadowpeach bio parent au and can't wait for the next!!! Don't work yourself to the bone too much! Remember to take mental and physical breaks.

AGHDMHSMFYS THANK YOU!!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: Are there others who flirt with MK ? He looks good, is very powerful and has a sunshine personality. I bet there are others who are interested in him

I guess there haven’t been any for NOW.

Anonimo ha chiesto: After reading the post about swk's circlet, I srsly want him to look at mk and say "oh, hey we're matching!" ... "OH SHIT WHY ARE WE'RE MATCHING?!"

NOOOOOO!!

@delightfulcupquakequeen ha chiesto: Hey there!!! Been awhile sincenI've written an ask, just wanted to send love and being greatful that you are doig this amazing AU!!!! Appreciating ever pannel you make and gosh dammit hitting me right in the korokoro!!!! Keep being your fabulous self!!! Until next time!

THANK YOUUUUU

@l1br4rycrypt1d ha chiesto: Feel free to ignore this if it's spoilers for the comic, but are we gonna get to see the Gold Star of Venus? Just curious, since you reblogged the meme post that mentioned him during the takeover

There will be a small space for them as well, yes.

@kaothedemon ha chiesto: Fun fact, while I doubt Pigsy has all of Zhu Bajie's powers, his ancestor did have a kaiju form, which he could use if he ate a fuckton I'm sure it's not gonna appear in the story, but the idea of Heaven having to deal with 3 Kaiju dads (+ theoretically a sworn uncle) is extremely funny to me (picture courtesy of OSP's latest JTTW episode cause even when I read the book there weren't any illustrations of this)

I SAW THAT!! Man now they must add it to the show. Yeah I don't think he has ALL of Zhu Bajie's powers (I don't think he would ever want to have them) but it would be interesting if it was a high stake situation

@roseltelle ha chiesto: I think Macaque would actually enjoy working/ volunteering at the playhouse specifically doing shadow plays. But he does regular plays as well. His favorite days are when classes of children come in for field trips. Wukong often paints the backdrops, scenery, and other items for plays. They both enjoy their hobbies.

Awwwww yeah I think Macaque would totally love that.

@lmk4ever ha chiesto: Can you imagine Wukong just being out of it after he distracted the celestials for too long in his war form?

I think that as soon as he sees Macaque again he immediately switch back and become behaved again.

@peach-fury ha chiesto: I think I know the answer but theoretically... Who's war form/kajiu is stronger Wukongs or Macaque's and how would it go? I don't know it started as a thought. Now I can't stop laughing.

Wukong's is stronger.

blbllblblblll ha chiesto: do you know the pronunciation of xiaotian? ive been stuck on how to say his name for so long 😭

I know that the "Qi" is pronunced "Chi" and I think "xiao" is pronunced the same as you would read it, while I THINK the "t" in "tian" is more of a mix between a t and a c/k? I aint chinese and the way I pronounce things or read them is probably different from u cause I'm italian.

eerieqloss ha chiesto: Okay question, is Wukong's war form bigger/taller than MK's?

it's taller.

@elliboom ha chiesto: I was wondering, will Erlang Shen ever appear in the Shadowpeach parent series? (And questa domanda la scrivo in italiano giusto per levarmi un’altra curiosità in futuro, preferisci che le domande vengono scritte solo in inglese o vanno bene anche in italiano? So che non ci sono molti italiani ad essere fan di LMK e JTTW, posso capire la scelta di scriverli solo in inglese per rispetto e far capire ai altri fan, e generalmente per scrivere le domande uso google translate, perché faccio pena con la grammatica inglese, mi scuso se in futuro farò domande con qualche errore 🥲🥲)

Si apparirà. Manda pure in italiano shalla ahah.

[tales-of-wocdes]

Ok, longer... let's call it devlog+etc. incoming.

I mentioned that I have been having some trouble with ending C3. That is because towards the end, there are basically two ways C3 can end, and a slew of POV:s in different places happening around the same time.

I was having a lot of trouble with placing the POV:s at the end of C3, and how to get where I want C4 to start... There are some logistical problems with "how could that possibly happen" to get there. I will put a slight spoiler under the line at the end to explain where I want C4 to start :D I still need to consider how much the end of C3 will affect C4 too.

So my solution... End C3 with MC, and do the POV:s all after in an interlude, part of which happens at the same time as end of C3. The sneak peek of that is above in a very fancy font, that I personally find hard to read :D

C3 has some other POV's sewn in, but they were starting to be so end heavy that it would have been constant jumping around, so I think this will help... I hope. It is still jumping around, but without MC in the mix.

These are not meant to be super long POV's, just one or two "pages".

Since this was meant to be a part of C3, I want to finish it before moving on to testing and proofreading what will be "C3 + Interlude" update now. Though I have been doing some surface level stuff as I go, i.e. fixing the obvious red bits that show up as I go. So there is a way to get here by playing C3.

I think the Lexia and Havard ones here are mostly done, not counting editing etc. I still need to to write the twins.

Now onto the... sort of bad news. I will be traveling tomorrow, for at least until the start of next week, perhaps longer. I will likely be unable to code or write. At home, I use a desktop for this. While traveling, I can see tumblr on my phone, but I will not be answering asks etc. on my phone :D

I have a long queue of both new asks, and old reblogs coming (I think 35 so one per day will last a while :D). I have 3 asks still in the drafts that I might not finish before leaving. I do need to actually pack and stuff :D

I think that's it. If you made it this far, thanks! The promised C4 starting plan under the line.

------------------

I want C4 start with meeting the twins and the whole C4 will be mostly about that, or so I plan. However, my problem is about how to make that happen. Let's just say that the plan is not for an "official meetup".

I know some people were probably hoping it would happen in C3, but I think it is long enough as is.

Does it feel slow? Hell yes. And I do feel a bit bad about that since everything takes so long. But this is roughly where in my original estimate for the ending of C1 was... So yeah. Now it is the ending of C3. I am so good at planning, as you can see :D

[decaffeinatedbreadsublime]

Rajesh Koothrappali x Female!Reader: The Comic Con Redemption

Author's Note: I love Raj very much and want to rewrite moments from the series including a girlfriend for him to pretend he didn't end up alone.

P.S.: English is not my first language, and this is my first imagine. Sorry for any mistakes.

Warning: none

Summary: You've just been promoted to Girlfriend of the Millennium.

(gif just to illustrate their happiness, lol)

Raj sighed, disheartened. "The tickets sold out… I didn’t get any."

It was another tense day at the opening of Comic Con ticket sales. The friends had gathered at Sheldon’s apartment, all agitated, each with their laptop in hand. They frantically pressed F5 until they managed to get into the virtual queue—if they managed to.

"I didn’t get one either," Howard replied. From the frustrated faces of Leonard and Sheldon, it was evident they hadn’t succeeded either.

"This was supposed to be the best Comic Con in the last 20 years," Leonard lamented. "I can’t believe we’re going to miss it."

"Now I know how Mexican immigrants feel when they’re barred from entering the United States and living the American dream they desire so much," Sheldon commented, his voice monotone in a sad tone.

"…No, Sheldon, you don’t know," Leonard said. Despite the frustration, he didn’t agree with Sheldon’s exaggerated drama.

When you arrived at the apartment from your shift at Caltech’s Computational Mathematics lab, where you worked as a researcher, the atmosphere was similar to a funeral. The last time you saw them this sad was when Tony Stark had died.

"Oh, no," you said, going to your boyfriend Raj’s side and sitting on the arm of the chair he occupied. "Don’t tell me another superhero died… when Tony Stark died, you were in mourning for three days, it was horrible."

"It’s worse," Sheldon said. "We didn’t get tickets to Comic Con."

"I already had my cosplay ready," Leonard sighed.

"Speaking of which," you stood up, took the bag that was still on your shoulder, and pulled out four identical pieces of paper. "Julie’s husband, who was my roommate at Harvard, works in event organization and is organizing this year’s Comic Con. I got four tickets for you guys."

You placed the tickets on the table, and everyone stood still for a few seconds, completely immobile. Sheldon picked up one of the tickets from the coffee table, analyzed it cautiously, and held it up to the light to verify its authenticity. When he finished, he put the ticket back on the table and sat up straight, in complete silence.

"Well?" Howard asked.

"They’re real," Sheldon replied.

"Y/N, YOU GENIUS, WONDERFUL WOMAN!" Raj instantly shouted. He quickly got up from the chair, went to you, gave you a hug that lifted you off the ground, and spun you around. Then he kissed you intensely.

"Why didn’t you tell us you had the tickets?" Leonard asked.

"Julie’s husband could only confirm if he could get them 30 minutes before the official batch opened," you explained. "I didn’t want to say anything before to avoid creating expectations. And when I got them, I called Raj five times, but he didn’t answer. So I called you guys, and no one answered. But I decided to get the tickets anyway, and if you managed to buy some, I could sell them, so it would be a win-win situation."

"We were doing finger stretches to avoid cramps while buying the tickets," Sheldon explained. "That’s why we missed the call."

You laughed. "Well, I guess you owe me one."

Raj hugged you again, kissing your temple. "Consider me your servant for the next weeks."