#EX!ACT!LY!

[nataliawoods]

[doorknobgirls]

I really love watching videos of women telling stories on tiktok but oh my godddd these girls have got to stop dating men. Heterosexuality is a disease they're infecting these girls with

[justafriendofxanders]

was thinking about leverage dnd classes and i think the obvious choice for sophie is bard, but i don't think that's quite right, because her whole thing is that she's NOT a very good actor. she's not an Artist, she's a grifter. i think one of the reasons why sophie struggles with acting is because then the goal is art/self-expression/a desire to communicate with and be seen by the world (something she has a whole crisis about) while the goal of grifting more readily aligns with her own (facilitating a con). like bards are ultimately a class that's about supporting/"inspiring" others through creative endeavors (getting stronger by improving your craft), while other charisma casters like warlocks are about power and ambition (getting stronger by selling your soul); but i think sophie's talents are closest to those of sorcerers, whose powers are more innate and something to be learned to be controlled. sophie's struggle isn't that she's not good enough at her job, but that maybe she's TOO good at it to the point she doesn't know who she is, and that her powers may in fact hurt others. if anything, she's a sorcerer carrying around a lute and charming her audience into clapping for her when her performance flops

[aquarianshift]

beans.

bob dylan in durango me and my dodge durango

alias patgarrettandbillythekid for halloweekend :}

+bonus glasses

[holydivers]

saw someone in a youtube comment complaining about 'astarion's "Nice Guy™" behavior' and like. there are many complaints one can make about him but where on earth are you getting that

[capinejghafa]

Honestly, the starter ex could of been over at various times. that being said, i do think there's an audience for this book! It reads like how to lose a guy in 10 days plus 27 dresses mix with latine feels. If that's your jam I'd rec it. For me all the better moments were just bogged down by the plot. At a certain point, it just no longer made sense to continue the original plot. 2.5/5 because it wasn't for me, but maybe a 3-4/5 for someone else.

[animebltches]

if you can’t trust your friends, who can you trust?

SAY IT AGAIN USOPP

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - EIGHT

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of pregnancy; abortion.

MASTERLIST

Topper prided himself in keeping out of people’s business.

He hadn’t noticed anything was off with you on his own, he wouldn’t have; he didn’t do the whole “emotional radar” thing.

But Rafe had practically cornered him, demanding he figure out what was going on with you.

You were his cousin, after all. 

That didn’t stop the way his stomach twisted from thinking about lying to you, or how every part of him had always silently rooted for you and Rafe. He’d loved seeing you two together. You were a mess most days, for years, sure, but it was the kind of mess that made sense in a way, and Topper couldn’t help but admire it.

You were like fire and gasoline.

But that was before the break-up, before everything got fucked.

Now, you were just… distant. He never knew how to approach you without feeling like he was crossing a line, but the way you’d passed out on Rafe at the beach had him worrying in a way that was more personal than he wanted to admit.

He wasn’t a thinker, not really, he liked simple things: good waves, cold beer, and not getting roped into drama.

But there he was, standing outside your door with Korean fried chicken. He didn’t do feelings, and he didn’t do heavy conversations. Rafe owed him big for this. The conversation had been good, even when you started talking about Sarah and Ruthie. 

Topper was all in—laughing along, throwing in a dumb joke here and there, the usual. It felt nice, like when you were kids, sneaking your dad’s beers and pretending you weren’t gonna get caught.

But then he had to go and ruin it by asking if you were okay.

You went all stiff, then weirdly far away, laughing it off like he’d just asked you to explain calculus or something. You mumbled something about being fine and then bolted to the bathroom before he could even follow up with his usual Topper-brand wisdom.

He sat there, feeling uncomfortable, which wasn’t a thing he usually did. You were acting off, and it was messing with him more than he wanted to admit.

Finally, he decided he needed to move, so he got up to grab some water. Except, as he walked past the counter, his hip caught a pile of your mail, and an envelope went sliding to the floor.

“Crap,” he muttered, crouching to grab it. It was just some random envelope, but there was a phone number written on the front in messy blue ink.

Topper didn’t think about it—because thinking wasn’t really his strong suit—he just whipped out his phone and typed it in. Curiosity, man. It got him every time.

He hit call. He wasn’t trying to snoop or anything. It was just one of those things you do on autopilot, right? Call a number just to see who answers? Except this time, someone did answer.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Then:

“Women’s Health Center, how can I help you?”

His brain short-circuited, full-on panic mode. He stared at the phone like it had grown a second screen, then frantically hit the hang-up button just as the bathroom door creaked open.

You were back.

Topper, sweating for no reason, slapped the envelope back on the counter like it was about to explode and turned to you with a smile that definitely didn’t match his pounding heart.

He got out of there as soon as possible, as he drove to meet Rafe, the whole thing was still playing on a loop in his head. That phone number, the voice on the other end of the line, the way you’d acted when he’d asked if you were okay—he couldn’t stop trying to force the pieces into place.

Something was going on, he wasn't sure what, and he wasn’t exactly the guy you went to for deep insights, but he felt something was up.

When he pulled into Tanyhill, he spotted Rafe leaning against his truck, scrolling through his phone with that permanent scowl he seemed to have these days. He barely had the car in park before Rafe was pushing off the truck and heading his way.

He climbed out, doing his best to act normal—which, for him, meant cracking the same goofy grin he always did. His mind was still spinning with a dozen half-formed thoughts about that phone call, that clinic, and how the the fuck he might fit into all of it. 

The only thing he knew for sure was that Rafe knowing could be catastrophic. Like, meteor-hits-earth catastrophic.

“You gotta chill,” Topper said, slamming his car door shut and giving Rafe a once-over. “Why do you look like you’re about to punch somebody?”

Rafe just glared, shoving his phone in his pocket. “What’d you find out?”

He blinked, thrown by how fast he cut to the point. “Nice to see you, too. Second, what makes you think I found out anything?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Top. Did you figure it out or not?”

“Yeah, I figured it out,” Topper shot back, crossing his arms. “But why the hell did you make me go through all this work if you already know what’s going on?”

Rafe shrugged, leaning back against the truck like this was all just some casual conversation. “Didn’t think you’d actually get it, to be honest.”

“Bro, I’m not that stupid. How did you get to the bottom of this shit? I’m still confused as fuck over here.”

Rafe’s mouth twitched like he was deciding whether to smirk or yell, hesettled on neither. “She passed out on me, remember?”

“So?” Topper shot back, frowning. “I’ve seen you pass out for, like, way less.”

“It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t a hangover or heat stroke, it was different. And she’s been weird lately, avoiding everyone.” Rafe leaned back against his truck, arms crossed, talking fast. “The hospital did blood work.”

Topper, who’d been zoning out halfway through his little doctor act, suddenly perked up.

“Wow,” he mused, dragging the word out. “Okay. So, how’d you take the news? I mean, shit, you look pretty calm for once. Didn’t think that was in your wheelhouse."

Rafe frowned, his sharp blue eyes narrowing, the crease between his brows deepening like it always did when he thought someone was wasting his time. 

"The fuck are you talking about?”

Topper shrugged like this was totally normal. “I just expected you to, like…freak out or somethin'. Throw a punch, maybe.”

“Throw a punch about what?” Rafe snapped.

“About—” Topper paused, squinting at Rafe like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “Wait. What are you supposed to do?”

Rafe’s hand twitched toward his jaw, fingers brushing over the stubble there, a telltale sign that he was gearing up to lose patience. He didn’t wait for Topper to answer before shaking his head, the movement quick and irritated. 

“Don’t do that, man,” he added, pointing a finger “I’ll help her figure it out. What else can I do?”

Topper tilted his head, genuinely impressed. “Damn. You really matured, huh? I mean, good for you.”

“Top, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Rafe demanded, his tone sharp now like he was finally catching on to the fact that they weren’t on the same page.

Topper blinked, “I’m just saying you’re handling it better than I thought. Especially since she’s not—uh, showing yet.”

“Not showing what?”

“…The bump?”

He immediately realized he’d said the wrong thing, or maybe the right thing, but in the wrong tone, with the wrong level of context, and—okay, maybe he should just stop talking. 

Abort mission, abort mission. Topper immediately wanted to crawl into a hole. Dude, shut up, shut up, shut up.

“What the fuck?” Rafe’s voice cracked; his eyes blazing as he stepped closer. “What bump?!”

His laugh fizzled out under Rafe’s glare, it was starting to feel less like “concerned ex-boyfriend” and more like “interrogating cop.” He felt a bead of sweat slide down the back of his neck. 

Cool. Stay cool.

“Wait,” Topper held his hands up, trying to physically stop the situation from spiraling. “What do you think is wrong with her?”

His brain was spinning in a way it wasn’t built for. He was a simple guy—he liked clear problems and easy fixes. But this? This was a category-five disaster, and he was stuck right in the middle of it.

Rafe let out a sharp breath through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair, the small strands sticking up in every direction.

“I think she’s got a fucking infection! Why the hell would I think she’s pregnant?”

Topper hesitated, glancing toward the house like maybe Sarah or Wheezie might miraculously appear to save him. No such luck.

“Well fucking shit,” Topper blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush. His heart was pounding, and he was pretty sure he’d just signed his death warrant. “I—I didn’t say she’s pregnant, okay? I found this number, and it was for a women’s health center, and—fuck, man, I’m dead. I’m so dead.”

Rafe grabbed him by the collar, yanking him close. “Start talking. Now.”

“I wasn’t snooping, okay? It just—happened. I wasn’t trying to get in her business, but—”

“But what?” Rafe barked. His other hand twitched at his side, curling into a fist before flexing out again, a warning of how close Topper was to eating pavement, but Rafe wasn’t the one he feared right now.

You were going to kill him.

He could already picture the look on your face when you found out—those cold, furious eyes, the way your voice would drop, he was officially dead meat. He gulped, his mouth dry as his brain scrambled for something—anything—that wouldn’t get him killed or disowned.

“You better explain what the fuck you mean by ‘happened,’” Rafe growled, his grip tightening, giving Topper’s collar a shake, just enough to make his point clear.

Topper was done, leaving nothing but pure panic and the faint, distant sound of his voice saying things he definitely shouldn’t. 

“I called the number!” Topper yelped. “I didn’t even mean to, it was—dude, she’s gonna kill me, and I mean that literally. She will.”

“Not if I kill you first,” Rafe shoved him back, his grip finally loosening, his face unreadable now, which was somehow worse than when he’d looked ready to punch him. “You’re telling me you think she’s pregnant? And you didn’t remember to tell me sooner?”

“I didn’t!” Topper said quickly, panic bubbling over. “It’s not like she’s gonna tell me this kind of stuff.”

“Did she say anything to you? Anything about seeing a doctor or being sick?”

Topper shook his head so fast it made him dizzy. “I asked if she was okay, but she just brushed it off and changed the subject.”

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, both of them staring each other down.

“No, no way. She’s probably… I don’t fucking know, changing her pill or something.”

Topper raised an eyebrow. “Changing her pill?”

“Yeah,” Rafe said quickly, “Or—what else do they do there? Those check-up things. Maybe she’s getting one of those.”

“Uh-huh,” Topper replied, not convinced but also not dumb enough to call him out on it outright. “Sure. Just a… routine check-up?”

“Exactly,” Rafe agreed a little too loud, his tone almost defensive as he started circling again, his hands gesturing wildly. “They don’t just deal with… y'know. They do all kinds of shit. Tests, prescriptions, all that stuff. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Topper scratched the back of his neck, his expression caught between agreement and unease. “I mean, yeah, they do other stuff… but don’t you think—”

“I don’t think anything, there’s nothing to think about. She’s fine. She’s—she’s fine.” He stopped pacing, standing rigid with his hands on his hips, glaring at the ground like it had personally offended him.

“Okay,” Topper started, his tone cautious. “I get that you don’t want to jump to conclusions, but—”

“I’m not jumping to conclusions!” Rafe barked, spinning around “You’re the one making it into something it’s not! She’s not—she wouldn’t—she hasn’t told me anything,” He muttered finally, “And if she’s hiding this… from me…”

He’d never seen Rafe like this—angry, yeah, but there was something else there, either way, it wasn’t good. His glare burned into him, but for the first time, there was hesitation behind it. He wasn’t just mad—he was scared. Topper couldn’t decide if that made him feel better or worse. 

“Holy shit,” Rafe muttered, gripping the side of his truck for balance. His vision going fuzzy as his heart raced like he’d just sprinted a mile. “Holy shit, what if—what if she is?”

“Dude, breathe,” Topper said, stepping closer cautiously like Rafe was a live grenade. “You don’t even—”

“Even if—if—she was, how the hell would that even—” He cut himself off, his face twisting like he couldn’t decide whether to finish the thought or abandon it entirely.

Topper didn’t need him to finish, he understood exactly what Rafe was thinking. The timeline, the breakup, the way everything had gone down between you.

Rafe’s breath hitched as he let go of the truck and paced a few steps, his hands on his hips, muttering under his breath. “No. No way. It’s not—she’d tell me, right? She’d fucking tell me.”

Images started flashing through his mind in rapid succession, each one more ridiculous and unhinged than the last. You, standing in some clinic, staring at a test with a blank expression. You, trying to figure out how to tell Rafe.

You, holding a baby—Rafe’s baby—in your arms.

“This doesn’t make any sense. We were careful. She’s just stressed, girls go through shit. Hormones or whatever. Right?”

“You’re asking me? I barely passed bio. I’m not exactly a walking textbook on—” He stopped himself, seeing the look on Rafe’s face. “I don’t know what’s going on with her, okay? But if this is what I think it is, you gotta handle it right. Don’t screw it up more than it already is.”

“And if I don’t handle it right?”

Topper forced a shaky grin, even as his stomach twisted in knots.

“Then I guess I’ll see you in hell, man. Because she’s gonna kill us both.”

Rafe’s hands went to his hips, his thumb brushing the edge of his pocket as he stared past Topper, he was trying to work out an equation that wasn’t adding up.

“She hasn’t said a word to me,” Rafe muttered, “Not at the hospital, not since. And you think…” He trailed off, dragging a hand over his face. 

Topper shifted on his feet, resisting the urge to bolt to the other side of the world.

“I guess, but I swear, it wasn’t on purpose.”

Rafe shot him a look, his brows knitting together, and Topper felt like he was under a microscope. “You called a random number. How does that ‘just happen’?”

He huffed, throwing his hands up. “I was grabbing some water, and her mail fell, and there was this number—I didn’t think! I just… acted.” He groaned, his head falling back as he stared at the sky. “I didn’t mean to put two and two together, but what was I supposed to do? You’re the one who made me go digging in the first place!”

“You really think that’s what’s going on?” Rafe asked finally, his voice quieter.

“You said she’s acting weird, and then there was that number, and…” He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Do you even understand what this means? If she’s—if there’s a—” He broke off, “I’d have to—Jesus Christ, what would I even do? I’m not—God.”

His hands gripped the edge of the truck bed so hard his knuckles turned white, the veins in his arms standing out as he glared at the ground like it had personally offended him.

“If she didn’t tell me—” His voice was low, quiet in a way that made Topper wince because he knew what came next.

“Maybe just... ask her?”

 “Ask her?” he repeated, his voice disbelieving.

“Yeah, you know,” Topper said, gesturing vaguely. “Talk to her? Maybe find out what’s going on instead of losing your shit over worst-case scenarios?”

Rafe shook his head, “No. If she wanted me to know, she’d tell me. She’s... she’s dealing with her own stuff. It’s not my place to push.”

 “Since when do you not push?”

“Since now,” Rafe snapped, though even he didn’t sound convinced.

“Rafe—”

“No, seriously,” Rafe interrupted, his voice rising now, the tight restraint unraveling with every word. “If she’s—if she’s going through this, if she’s pregnant, and she didn’t tell me?” He let out a bitter chuckle, “What the fuck does that say? About me.”

Topper opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. This felt like a minefield, and if anyone was good at stepping on the wrong spot, it was him.

Rafe pushed off the truck, he couldn’t physically stay still. His eyes were burning as he raked a hand through his buzzed hair.

“I was—fuck. She thinks what? That I wouldn’t show up for this. She didn’t tell me because she doesn’t think I deserve to know.”

“That’s not true,” Topper said quickly, stepping closer, but Rafe’s empty laugh stopped him.

“Isn’t it?” Rafe’s voice was hollow now, all the fire drained out of him, turning his head slightly, just enough for Topper to see his throat working as he swallowed hard. “What the hell have I ever done to make her think I’d be there? That I’d—” He broke off. “Shit. I wouldn’t blame her. I can't even fucking blame her.”

“You still care about her, right?” Topper pressed, knowing he didn’t have to ask to know the answer.

Rafe’s head snapped up, “She’s the only thing I’ve ever cared about.”

He nodded slowly, “Then prove it.”

The envelope sat exactly where you’d left it, the faintest corner of folded. You froze for a second, your pulse quickening.

No. No way.

It was fine. Fine.

The number wasn’t even labeled—just digits scrawled hastily, you hadn’t touched it in days. Still, you couldn’t stop the tiny seed of panic attaching itself to your chest. There was absolutely no way Topper could’ve seen it, let alone put two and two together.

You exhaled slowly, placing it back on the counter.

He didn’t see it. He couldn’t have seen it.

Then why had he acted so… off? The pale face, the sudden excuse, the jittery energy—it was all so unlike him.

You shook your head, trying to push the thought away, a million things could’ve set him off. 

Maybe Ruthie had texted him something awful, or maybe he’d remembered he had to pick up his dry cleaning before the shop closed. Knowing Topper, it was probably something stupid and unrelated to you entirely.

Still, the nagging lingered as you cleaned up the counter and threw away the napkins. You glanced at the envelope one last time, then slid it into a drawer and shut it firmly. Whatever was going on with your cousin, it couldn’t have anything to do with that. It was impossible. And yet…

You sighed, rubbing your temples. 

“Pregnancy brain,” you muttered to yourself. “Making me paranoid over nothing.”

Of course that didn’t stop your heart from jumping every time the drawer creaked, or when you saw anything even remotely similar to that envelope’s color lying around the house for the entire night. Not that he’d ask, of course—Topper wasn’t the confrontational type, especially not with you. But he noticed things. And when he noticed, he worried.

The next morning you sank onto the couch, hugging a pillow to your chest. Topper was close, but he wasn’t like Sarah. She had been able to look you in the eye and say, You know I’m here, right? and mean it without any strings attached. Topper, though…

Your fingers itched toward your phone, even though it was stupid to call her so early over this. Still, you needed someone to remind you that you weren’t losing it, that Topper’s weirdness had nothing to do with anything serious.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you found Sarah’s number, pressing the call button. She picked up on the second ring, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You could picture her, sitting in her car or probably stretched out somewhere in Poguelandia with her feet propped up on a table, looking concerned.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just…” You trailed off, fiddling with the edge of a pillow. 

“Topper’s been acting strange. And I think I’m just overthinking it, but it’s making me crazy.”

She made a sound between a hum and a laugh. “So the Topper panic spiral. That’s what we’re dealing with?”

“Basically,” you muttered, trying to keep your tone light. “But this time… He was here last night, and I thought he saw this random piece of paper I had with, you know. A number on it.” You took a shaky breath, embarrassed for how paranoid you sounded. “But he couldn’t have, right? I mean, it was buried under five other things.”

“Okay,” Sarah said slowly, clearly choosing her words. “First, let’s just say that if he did see anything, which he probably didn’t, he wouldn’t assume the worst. He’s your cousin; he knows you don’t tell him everything, and he respects that. Right?”

“Yeah… I guess.” You chewed your lip, feeling a little stupid for even calling her.  “But what if he does put it together, Sarah? I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

“He won’t,” she reassured, like she could see right through your anxiety. “And you don’t need to feel bad for wanting to keep this private. You’re allowed to handle it however you need to. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

You exhaled, the knot in your chest loosening a little. She always knew how to talk you down, "Okay,” you murmured, and a shaky laugh slipped out. “Maybe I'm being paranoid.”

“Pregnancy brain,” she teased, and you couldn’t help but smile.

You hung up feeling marginally better.

Sarah had a way of calming you down, but the uneasiness stayed with you, the way it always did when you couldn’t fully explain something.

But the relief was fleeting, by lunchtime, the nagging voice in your head was back. Topper wasn’t malicious, but he did have a habit of talking without thinking, and the last thing you needed was for this to get out before you were ready. Not only was this a huge scandal, but it was your business.

You busied yourself with small tasks—folding laundry, wiping down the counters, pretending that everything was fine. It wasn’t until almost noon that your phone rang. The hospital’s number flashed on the screen, and your stomach dropped.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Miss Thornton?” the voice on the other end asked politely, too polite for comfort.

“This is she."

“This is Linda from the hospital. I’m calling about your recent bloodwork. We had a bit of an issue with our system, and unfortunately, there was a delay in getting back to you. We also lost some patient information temporarily—”

“Wait, what?” you interrupted, not liking where this was going, “What do you mean you lost information?”

“Oh, nothing to worry about,” Linda said quickly, as if that would make you feel better. “We managed to recover most of it, but in the meantime, we had to rely on emergency contact information to reach out. Dr. Harris called yours last night.”

Your breath caught. “Called... my emergency contact?”

“Yes.”

“Sarah Cameron? She didn’t tell me someone called.”

“She’s not listed as your emergency contact in our system, Rafe Cameron is. It might be an older record?”

Fuck.

Your heart was in your throat. “What... what did he tell him?”

“He only left a generic message asking for you to follow up about your bloodwork. Nothing specific.”

“Nothing specific,” you repeated, more to yourself than to her. Relief and panic warred within you. If Rafe knew, he’d already be there, the night before, demanding answers. Right?

“We need you to come back in. It’s possible you may have an infection, and we need to run a few more tests.”

You didn’t even hear the rest of her explanation.

Your fingers felt numb as you mumbled something that vaguely resembled agreement and hung up.

Infection, that was what she’d said. That was all it was. Not… not anything else. If it were anything else, they wouldn’t have just called—they’d have told Rafe.

“Stop,” you muttered aloud, shaking your head. “Stop spiraling.”

But your brain wouldn’t listen.

“Generic message,” Linda had said, but did it sound generic? What did he think when he got it? Had he laughed it off, or was he running his stupid pristine bedroom, piecing together clues you hadn’t even realized you’d left?

You didn’t want to text Sarah again.

You could imagine her smirking, “I told you, he’s not going to magically grow psychic overnight.” Yeah, sure, but this was Rafe.

He didn’t need magic. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on Sarah’s voice in your head. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”

Except it didn’t feel like that. You hadn’t thought about Rafe as your emergency contact in months, hadn’t needed to. 

You sank into the couch, hugging your knees to your chest.

“This is so stupid,” you muttered, but your voice didn’t make it feel any less real. You weren’t even sure what you were spiraling over anymore. The envelope? The hospital? The baby?

“Okay,” you said out loud. “Okay, it’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

The sound of your voice didn’t even convince you. Your brain wouldn’t stop jumping from one thing to the next, spinning every scenario you didn’t want to think about. 

What if he did know? If that was enough to set him off, to make him call someone, pull some strings...Shit, what if he did show up, and you had to explain why you were dodging everyone and keeping things from him and—stop. 

Stop. 

You were doing it again. The spiraling. The pregnancy brain Sarah teased you about like it was some sort of cute quirk, but wasn’t cute.

You sat up straight, squeezing the couch pillow so hard you thought it might burst. Breathe. Just breathe, you’d made it this far without imploding.

You glanced toward the drawer again, the one with the envelope. You should’ve burned it, shredded it first. No, you had to keep it—just in case. But just in case of what? Just in case you needed more reasons to feel like a lunatic.

Oh my god. What if Topper saw the stupid number, and then Rafe got the hospital call, and then—bam—suddenly, they had the whole damn thing figured out?

You could feel it already—the panic. You liked to think they were both too stupid for their own good, but they were also observant. Rafe, that bastard always knew how to put things together faster than anyone. 

What if—what if it’s that simple for them? What if they both saw it, and then they were just sitting there, having some stupid-ass conversation, connecting dots you didn’t even realize were dots?

No. Stop. Stop thinking like that.

You were getting carried away, jumping to conclusions like some manic soap opera character. You weren’t that girl. Not really. But the thought of them talking—Topper with his concern and Rafe with his overbearing intensity.

Your fingers tapped a frantic rhythm against the pillow. The idea of him figuring it out? Oh, that made your skin crawl. Not because he’d be cruel—no, that wasn’t his style. He’d just be so… himself.

Overwhelming, determined to “fix” things for you, even when you didn’t ask for it. 

You groaned, dropping the pillow and standing abruptly, like the movement might kill the growing dread. No, you told yourself firmly.

You weren’t spiraling over things that hadn’t even happened yet.

But the voice in your head, the one that always sounded a little too much like Rafe, had other plans: What if it’s already too late?

You paced the living room, arms crossed tightly over your chest. This was ridiculous, you were ridiculous. Nothing had happened, nothing was going to happen. The number wasn’t even that suspicious, it could’ve been anything.

You groaned again, flopping onto the couch like the dramatic mess you were currently embodying. Rafe had probably gotten the hospital call, rolled his eyes without a second thought, too busy with his new precious life.

Your stomach churned, and you pressed your hands against it instinctively. It wasn’t showing yet—thank god—but you couldn’t help the way your mind spiraled back to it, to all the ways this could go wrong.

You grabbed your car keys without thinking, maybe it would clear your head. A drive—that’s what you needed. Get out of the house, and put some distance between you and the stupid envelope, the phone calls, all of it. You turned the knob, yanked the door open—

—and froze.

Rafe’s hand was raised mid-air, clearly about to knock. You didn’t even try to hide the way your breath hitched. 

Oh, no. No, no, no.

Standing there on the porch like he hadn’t just derailed your entire plan. As if it was still perfectly normal for him to show up unannounced, one hand shoved into his pocket and the other gripping his phone, his head tilted in a maddeningly familiar way.

His hand hovered uncertainly on the doorframe as you stepped back, your arms folding protectively over your chest. He didn’t push past you, didn’t move his weight forward—just stood there.

He glanced down at the spare key still in his hand, turning it over like he was considering whether he even had the right to use it. “They called me last night.”

Okay, he was just here because of the hospital, a coincidence, that’s all it was.

“And? You could’ve ignored it.”

His hand flexed at his side like he didn’t know what to do with it. “I thought something might be wrong.”

“It’s not.” Your voice was clipped, cold. “They called the wrong number. End of story.”

He didn’t rise to the bait.

“I thought—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “I thought you were sick.”

“Like I said, it was a mix-up.”

His jaw ticked. That tiny muscle in his cheek twitched, the one that always flared when he was suspicious.

“Funny, they didn’t sound mixed up when they said your name,” he drawled, his tone probing. “Wanna try again?”

“Mind your fucking business,” Your voice was defensive, and you hated the crackle of guilt in your chest when he flinched. “I don’t need you to pretend to care. Why are you even here?” you snapped, taking a step back. The space between you felt vulnerable. “Don’t you have someone else to worry about?"

You felt cornered with every second he stood there.

“We need to talk.”

Maybe if you acted calm, like nothing was wrong, he’d stop looking at you like that. Vulnerability wasn’t something you were good at, he’d already taken too much. He always took too much.

“I don’t owe you shit. Not explanations, not answers, nothing. Leave.”

He didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.

Rafe didn’t know how to let shit go, not when it came to you, he didn’t back away.

“You’re right,” he said, surprising you. “You don’t, but I’m not leaving until we talk.”

The way he said, it wasn’t even a threat. It was worse than that. It was calm, resolute, like he’d already decided, and nothing you said or did could change it. 

That scared you more than anything.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you hissed, “Whatever you think you know, you don’t.”

He arched an eyebrow, his eyes flicking to the edge of the couch where your phone still sat, “You sure about that?”

“God, you’re always like this. Always overstepping, always assuming—”

“I know."

All the noise in your head—your spiraling thoughts, your excuses, your endless denials—went silent, except for the way your heart thudded in your chest, so fast, it hurt. He hadn’t raised his voice, but those two words hit you like a kick to your chest.

No, he couldn’t—he didn’t, he was bluffing, he had to be. Air caught in your throat, and for a moment, you thought you might choke on it. He didn’t move, didn’t repeat himself. He couldn’t know.

Your tongue went dry. 

“What are you talking about?” You couldn’t breathe. It felt like someone was squeezing your chest. You shook your head again, more violently this time, stepping back, “You don’t know shit.”

“I think I do.” His voice was quiet, and that made it worse, it wasn’t cold or angry; it wasn’t even accusing. He didn’t sound like he wanted to be right, he just sounded tired.

You prayed to come up with something—anything—to deflect, to deny, to keep the truth buried where it belonged. 

“You’re delusional,” you took another step back, putting more space between you and the man who had always known you too well.

He just shook his head, “You don’t have to lie to me, you’re scared, you’re not even trying to hide it.”

It was the way he stared with those stupid blue eyes, he was peeling back your layers. He always did that, made you feel like he could see something in you that you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

“Oh, fuck off.” You threw your hands up. “You don’t know shit about what I’m feeling. You’ve got no right to—I’m not lying.”

It still hurt how much you missed him, hurt to even look at him.

“Don’t pull this cryptic bullshit with me, if you’ve got something to say, say it.”

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

The thing you’d been running from, denying, hiding, you simply stared at him, trying to decide if there was any way to lie your way out of this.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You tried to laugh, but it came out strangled, desperate. “T-That’s insane. You’ve lost your mind.”

Rafe wasn’t gloating or triumphant—he just looked… resigned, he’d pieced it together before he showed up.

“Don’t do that. Don’t lie to me, not about this.”

You wanted to scream, to shove him, to do anything that would make him stop looking at you like he cared. Like he knew you. Because if you stopped long enough to think about it, you knew it was over.

He’d already seen it.

“I mean it, Rafe.” Your hand tightened on the door, nails digging into the wood. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

God, this was so fucked. You wanted him gone, but wanted him here, needed him to leave you alone, but at the same time, you hated that he could just leave.

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

You thought about what he’d do if he knew—really knew. Not just the vague sense he had now, but the details. Would he try to stop you? 

Your lip quivered, and you hated yourself for it. “You’re wrong.”

You stared at him, at the way his shoulders hunched slightly, his usual confidence worn down. You hated him for being calm for once in his fucking life, for being here, for not letting this slide when it was none of his fucking business.

“Am I?”

Your hands clenched tighter, nails biting into your palms. “Why? Why do you even care? It’s not like you—”

“Because it’s mine.”

Your breath hitched again, and this time, you couldn’t hide it. You wanted to deny it, to throw something—hell, anything—back at him to make him shut the fuck up. But your throat felt like it had shut off entirely, and your mind had gone blank.

“I—” you stammered, shaking your head violently, “No. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re—”

“Hey, hey, just—just stop,” he said, his voice careful, as if he was trying not to spook you. “I’m not—Jesus, I’m not here to fight with you, okay? I’m not here to make this harder.”

Your chest heaved, a bitter laugh escaping before you could stop it. He was too late—late to care, late to help, late to fix anything. Five days, that’s all you had to get through.

Five days until you didn’t have to think about it anymore. 

This is the right choice, you told yourself for the hundredth time. You couldn’t bring a baby into this mess.

“You’re doing a hell of a job at that.”

“I just want to help. If you let me—”

“No,” you interrupted, grabbing the edge of the door. “I’m fixing it.”

“Fixing—?” Rafe’s brow furrowed, his confusion almost comical He started to step forward, but you stopped him with a resentful glare that made him stop. “What does that even mean?”

“It means you can take your fake concern and shove it up your ass.”

His brow furrowed. “It’s not fake—” His face twisted in confusion, mouth opening like he was about to argue, but you didn’t give him the chance, slamming the door in his face, so hard the frame rattled.

“Of course. Of course, it’s mine,” you muttered to yourself, mocking his stupid, self-righteous tone.

You leaned back against the door, sliding to the floor, arms crossed over your knees as your brain whirred like it was trying to kill you.

It wasn’t like you had a choice.

Technically, you did, but what were you supposed to do? Keep it and become a tragic sob story? The words almost felt like you’d ripped them out of someone else’s mouth, right or wrong didn’t even matter anymore. There wasn’t space in your life for this—for him, for a baby, for any of it.

A muffled knock sounded from the front door—tentative, like he was giving you a moment.

“Go away,” you yelled, your voice hoarse.

“Open the door.”

Your thoughts taunted you with memories and possibilities you didn’t want to entertain. The way Rafe had looked at you—like he knew—it was unbearable.

How had he put it together? Maybe you'd slip up in tiny ways, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for him to follow. You hated yourself for being so careless, despised him even more for being so fucking relentless.

You wiped your cheeks roughly, not realizing you’d started crying until your sleeve came back damp.

“Please, just open the door. We can talk—just talk, okay?

“No,” you muttered to the empty room. “No, I’m not doing this.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, leaning your head back against the door and pressing your hands over your ears to block him out. 

“Don’t shut me out like this,” he begged. “I can’t—fuck, I can’t stand it when you do this. Just open the door. Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”

He had a key. If he wanted to, he could let himself in at any moment, but he didn’t, that wasn’t the Rafe you were used to.

Before, he'd have barged right in, shouted until your ears bled, and demanded answers. He would’ve tried to fix it or destroy it, maybe both. 

You hated that he still acted like he cared, that he was trying to be so fucking reasonable now, when just a few months ago, he would’ve lost it, broken through any barrier to get what he wanted.

This was worse, this Rafe was wearing you down.

Another hushed plea made it through the door, but all you could think was how thin the wood felt, how it barely drowned the sound of his voice. A new door might be better, something heavier, more solid, that could drown out everything—the desperation, the crack in his voice.

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, and you bit hard on the inside of your cheek to keep them from falling. 

“I know you’re scared,” he continued, “And I know you think I’ll screw this up—God knows I probably will. But please don’t keep me in the dark. Just tell me what’s going on.”

You pictured flipping through hardware store catalogs, weighing your options: oak? steel? soundproofing foam?

“Please,” Rafe whispered, and the rawness in his voice scraped against you like nails on a chalkboard. You tilted your head back against the door, willing yourself not to cry again. 

Steel doors don’t warp as easily as wood.

You swallowed hard, your body aching as you fought the sob threatening to escape. He didn’t deserve this—didn’t deserve to sound so wrecked over you. He'd done this to himself.

Your fingers twitched against the door handle, the temptation to open it curling around you, but instead, you thought about bolts.

Deadbolts, a second lock could work, something he couldn’t get through even if he had the key.

His voice wavered again, you thought he might start crying, too, yet all you did was glance at the base of the door. A better seal would muffle the noise more. Maybe weatherstripping? That could help.

You pressed your hands tighter over your ears, as though it would help. It didn’t. Nothing would—not until you replaced the lock, the door, the memory of him standing there and breaking himself open for you.

God, you really needed a new door—and a new heart.

One that didn’t twist at the sound of his voice, that didn’t flinch every time he called your name like it was a prayer. A heart that didn’t feel for him, you told yourself, over and over, like a mantra. If you could just stop the way your chest tightened at his pleas, stop the ache in your ribs when he said he couldn’t let this go.

You wanted steel walls, that could keep everything out—his voice, his touch, the memories of all the good parts of him that had kept you hanging on for so long. Because of this heart? It was useless, too soft, too easily swayed, still willing to believe him, even when you knew better.

“Please, just talk to me,” Rafe begged. You bit your lip hard enough to taste blood.

You couldn’t help but wonder if this calmness came from Sofia.

Perhaps she was the reason he’d changed, maybe she had somehow made him different, had softened the sharp edges of the guy you used to know. She was calm, collected—nothing like you. It hurt like a bitch, the thought that someone else could make him this patient. You wondered if she’d taught him how to handle his emotions, how to be this way—he’d learned some secret he never bothered to share with you.

You couldn't let yourself go there, couldn't let the bitterness of that thought settle in your mind for too long.

“Talk to me.”

No. Not this time.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

@rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron

@serrendiipty @sunny1616 @yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog

@psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[sayangrafayel]

LADS react to you singing your heart out to a BREAK UP (RAGE) SONG!

Sometimes you can be in a happy and healthy relationship but damn those break up songs are just so good.. you know!? How would the boys react to finding you singing your heart out to the lyrics? 🎤

Sylus, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Caleb

Sylus

Just watch as I crucify myself for some weird second string loser who's not worth mentioning! My God, love's embarrassing as hell! (Love Is Embarrassing - Olivia Rodrigo)

You and the twins and Mephi are jamming to the song singing along to it and having a little dance party.

"Sweetie...?" "Oh hi, Sy!" "What is happening here?"

The twins keep trying to scare him into thinking you're actually mad at him, when he finally clarified everything with you, the twins.. well, good luck for them. (Dw you will defend your boys so they won't face harsher punishment)

Xavier

If that was casual then I'm an idiot, I'm looking for an answer in between the lines, lying to yourself if you think we're fine. You're confused and I'm upset but we never talk about it.. (Sharpest Tool - Sabrina Carpenter)

You and Xavier were out with your work friends, you guys went to a karaoke bar. You were tipsy when Tara hands you a mic and tell you to sing so you just chose the song you currently like!

Xavier was silent the whole time you were on the mini stage, this happened before, you were tipsy and he picked you up from a bar and you told him how he makes you question everything.. (Xavier's Close Feelings tender moments)

But as you come down you gave him a little hug and smile and he gets reminded that it was in the past, way in the beginning of your relationship. Now, it's simply just a song you like. :)

Rafayel

Shout out to my ex, you're really quite the man. You made my heart break and that made me who I am! (Shout Out To My Ex - Little Mix)

He was in one of his boring and long meeting when he scrolled on his phone and see the video on your moment post.

He suddenly left without saying a word and rushed to you.

Called you, screaming and (crying) "HELLO? LAST TIME I CHECKED WE WERE STILL IN A HAPPY RELATIONSHIP!? I LEAVE FOR AN HOUR AND I'M YOUR EX NOW???"

Zayne

Is it insensitive for me to say get your shit together, so I can love you? Is it really your anxiety that stops you from giving me everything? Or do you just not want to? (Renegade - Big Red Machine, Taylor Swift)

When he heard you singing it his heart sank. What is happening. Why did you suddenly sing that? Did you relate to it? Did you feel that way about him? Did he make you feel that way?

He wanted to talk about it but he was scared of your answer. You weren't wrong. But you weren't right either. It was not anxiety that's stopping him from giving you everything...

He tried to show his affections in words and actions even more the next day and you were so confused, you ask him why and he explained that he's trying to be a better boyfriend, but you tell him he's been the best even before he tried to be more!

(I'm so sorry Zayne girlies the hurt/comfort just felt right here)

Caleb

Tell me how's it feel sittin' up there? Feeling so high but too far away to hold me? You know I'm the one who put you up there. Name in the sky, does it ever get lonely? Thinking you could live without me! (Without Me - Halsey)

He saw you singing your heart out during a karaoke on your friends' moment post.

"Sorry, have I been away too much? I should fly back and see you more often, I'm so sorry, honey..."

Drowns you in gifts and of course that forgiveness for Caleb coupon is gonna come out too. You were so confused as to why your boyfriend is acting this way.

[luviestarz]

mark lee fic recs!

⪩⪨ Operation: First Kiss - @ncityrave (Mark turns to his friends for help to build up the courage for his relationship's first kiss.)

⪩⪨ Sunday Kind of Love : Frat Mark - @smileysuh (Mark is fine with having a crush on the girl in the library. He’s fine watching her from afar. And he’s fine with never speaking a word to the girl who he spends many nights chasing in his dreams. But fate, and a few nosey frat brothers, think Mark would be much better if he was forced to talk to the cute girl from the library that he can’t seem to get out of his head.)

⪩⪨ tis the damn season - mark smau - @najaemism (in which your ex-boyfriend comes back to your hometown—and he wants to talk to you.)

⪩⪨ Delphinium - @ncteez (It wasn’t intentional. You don’t even know why you cared that he didn’t believe in pre-marital sex, but it didn’t stop you from arguing with him about it. You didn’t intend to win the argument either. Then again, he kind of let you.)

⪩⪨ 9:10 PM - @neochan (possessive! mark)

⪩⪨ WITH YOU | MK.L - @sehunniepotwrites (There are many things Mark Lee wants to do with you. He wants to walk you home. He wants to dive into the deep blue sea with you. He wants to go on a drive with you at his side. But mostly, this crazy, head over heels in love boy just wants to make it with you.)

⪩⪨ spidey boy ; 이민형 - @martiniblues (mark has tried to hide his secret identity from you for as long as possible, to keep you safe, of course. little does he know that you’ve untangled his web of lies long ago and will do anything in your power to get him to admit it. just when you've had enough of him lying to you, he ends up getting caught in the act trying to save your life.)

⪩⪨ eyes on me. (m.l) - @mrkis (mark wants you to keep your eyes on him as he pleases you.)

⪩⪨ GOLDEN HOUR. | L.MK - @onyourhyuck (You’re a waiter and Mark Lee the local biker and infamous bad boy loves the eggs your diner makes, but now he wants a taste of you.)

⪩⪨ madly in love - mark lee - @p0ckykiss (mark had always been the hopeless romantic type)

⪩⪨ it’s too bad you’re married to me | m.l - @yojeongin (all mark ever does is use weaponized incompetence to get out of small tasks you ask of him. when he finally realizes you resort to his close friends to do what he can’t— nothing can prepare him for what’s in your pandora box; now karma is set in motion.)

⪩⪨ Pretty Boy. (m.l) - @ncteez (Mark’s favorite thing to do is sit alone at the library and enjoy the knowledge that his university offers. In contrast, your favorite thing to do is go to parties and enjoy as much chaos as possible. However, upon realizing your grades have dropped drastically due to this lifestyle, you have no choice but to approach Mark for help. or the one where your new favorite thing to do is seduce the most inexperienced man you’ve ever met and watch how desperate he gets for you.)

⪩⪨ gelato | lmk - @hazyhae (a high slip up cost you mark lee years ago, and you’ve spent years burying your memories of him ever since. the universe has other plans for you when your old friend starts a new career, smoking his way back into your life.)

⪩⪨ ꒰ 𝐍𝐎 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ꒱ 이민형 - @loserlvrss (one thing about your boyfriend, mark, is that he would always take care of you — even if you were annoyingly drunk — and he was embarrassingly in love)

[misswynters]

Headcanons: Sevika as your partner

Sevika as your lovely partner (lesbian wife)

warnings: nsfw themes below the banner, fluff

She will 100% be loyal to only you and take care of you.

Sevika has a soft side that she only shows around you. She’ll deny it if anyone else mentions it, but you catch her looking at you with a gentle, almost protective gaze. She’s not always good with words, but her actions (ex. making sure you’re comfortable) speak louder.

Sevika’s naturally protective and will go out of her way to take care of you in small, endearing ways. She’ll remind you to drink water, make sure you’re eating enough, and will even get a bit grumpy if you neglect yourself.

Behind closed doors, Sevika loves it when you lean into her or snuggle up on her shoulder. She’ll casually drape an arm around you while watching something together, or pull you onto her lap when you’re alone. The moment anyone else is around, though, she’s back to her gruff self.

After a long day, Sevika loves just lying in bed with you, talking about anything and everything. She rarely opens up, but at night, she’s more vulnerable and lets you in on her thoughts and memories of growing up in the Undercity. Those quiet moments are when she’s the softest and most open.

Sevika has learned a few recipes over the years and will occasionally surprise you by cooking a simple but delicious meal. She loves watching your face light up when you taste her food, and even though she’d act nonchalant, it clearly makes her happy to see you appreciate her cooking.

Sevika has a secret stash of pet names just for you, like “sweetheart” or “love.” Her voice goes a little softer when she calls you by them, and she usually tries to keep them reserved for quiet, intimate moments. But you’ve caught her murmuring them under her breath more often than she realizes.

She tries to keep up her tough exterior, but sometimes you catch her doing little things like gently brushing a stray hair from your face or adjusting your clothes to keep you warm. When you point it out, she just grunts and tries to change the subject, but it’s clear she’s letting her guard down with you.

Sevika gives you these soft, almost awed looks when she thinks you’re not paying attention. It’s as if she can’t believe someone as sweet and kind as you has a place in her life, and she’s quietly grateful for it.

Sevika knows how to take charge, and she’s not shy about it. Whether she’s guiding you with a firm hand or whispering orders into your ear, she makes it clear that she’s in control. She loves seeing you respond to her authority and takes pride in knowing you trust her to lead.

She doesn’t flaunt it, but Sevika can be a little possessive. She’ll wrap an arm around you in crowded places, keeping others at bay with a glare. When she’s with you, she makes sure everyone knows you’re hers without saying a word. There’s something reassuring and thrilling about her subtle displays of ownership.

Sevika exudes a quiet confidence that makes you feel safe and wanted. She’s incredibly attentive, learning every little thing that makes you melt and using it to her advantage. She’s slow and thorough, making sure you feel every touch, every kiss, knowing exactly how to leave you breathless.

Sevika loves taking her time. She knows exactly how to make you flustered with lingering touches and meaningful glances, enjoying every little reaction. Whether it’s a hand on your lower back or a low whisper in your ear, she’s a master of the slow burn, watching your anticipation build until you’re practically begging for her attention.

Her voice drops an octave when she’s in a dominant mood, each word wrapped in a tone that sends shivers down your spine. She knows the effect it has on you, and she’ll use it to her advantage, murmuring softly but firmly as she takes her time with you, savoring every moment.

Sevika may be strong and powerful, but she’s also incredibly careful with you. She holds you with a gentle firmness that makes you feel secure, as if she could shield you from the world. Her hands move with precision, every touch deliberate, giving you the perfect balance between strength and tenderness.

Sevika is unafraid to give you all her attention. She watches your reactions as you take her, focusing on what you need, and isn’t satisfied until she’s sure she’s left you thoroughly happy and exhausted. It’s an intense, almost possessive attention that makes you feel cherished and adored in a way that leaves you craving her touch.

Oh! also she has a playful side to her dominance, often teasing you just to see how much you’ll blush or squirm. She loves making you flustered with a smirk, reveling in the way you react to her touch or voice. It’s her way of showing her affection and keeping things light-hearted even when she’s completely in control.

Like in my previous writing, she’s into biting! it don’t matter where you bite her. on her shoulder, hand, etc. SHE WILL ENJOY IT!! (trust me!)

Her favorite positions (with strap) would be the mating press and missionary. If it’s a quickie then i’d say standing up. AND 69. can’t forget about that. She be eating you out more than you would. Absolutely wild

Using a hexcore strap whenever she wants to, though there could be an occasional switch where she would ask you to use it on her. Especially when she’s feeling lazy.

taglist: @444fernz @kylorey25 @prentisslove @lilfroggyy @kissyslut @ab2ysw1fe @xxblairslairxx @cestlaprincesa

banner: @cafekitsune

[iwanttobepersephone]

YES EXACTLY THAT YES THANK YOU

Hey has anyone ever talked about how traumatic holding Pritchards dead body was for Halt and how maybe whenever he gets a really bad depressive episode one of the things that keeps him going is promising himself to never have to make Gilan or Will do that?

Cause if they have I haven't seen it

[robynlilyblack]

Begging for forgiveness or asking permission?

Fred Weasley x fem! shy! reader

Summary: After years of forbidding anyone from dating their daughter, a certain redhead finally gains the courage to ask their permission

Warnings: swearing, mentions of food, eating, drinking and alcohol, mutal pining, best friends to future lovers, ex Hufflepuff reader, overprotective wolfstar dads, non volley au, pure fluff

A/n: 2.3k words, apologies for any mistakes, happy new year everyone, based on this request from a little while ago ♡

Navigation | Fred Weasley Masterlist

Fred fiddled with his fingers, slow, unsteady breaths leaving his lips as he tried to ease his nerves. The confidence he’d had last night was gone now that he sat at breakfast. The chatter around him was lively, fun, he could hear his twin recounting one of his favourite pranks from last year to the rest of the table, but all he could think about was you.

You and he had been friends for years now. It all started in his fifth year when he collided with you at a corner while running from your respective prankees…

Start of flashback

“Ugh…fuck…” Fred groans, gritting his teeth as he felt the impact of his arse on cold stone before his eyes flick up, registering your figure across from him, whining with your eyes closed, hand to your head as he realises he just ran full pelt into you “Are…ahh…are you alright?” he asks, wincing a little as he moves to his knees, kneeling before you with his hands hovering around your head, unsure whether it was appropriate to check on you

“Been better” you giggle a little, hand falling from its place as you look up at him “Are you okay?” you ask, smiling shyly as you notice his wary hands before he moves them 

He relaxes at your smile, chuckling to himself as he hums “A bit achy but I’m alright” he assures and your smile brightens, however the conversation is interrupted by two distinct yells 

“Weasley!”

“Lupin!”

In that moment, Fred was bamboozled, his eyes darting between Filch, angrily approaching down his corridor, and a rather pink-looking Snape coming up yours. Luckily, you weren’t in such a daze. Grabbing his hand, you tugged him up.

“Come on” you say in a hurried yet sweet tone

“Yes, ma’am” he smirked, allowing you to lead him as you hopped quickly through one of the archways and across the courtyard to your escape.

End of flashback

After that, you and Fred met often. Your friendship wasn’t exactly secret, but to your family and friends, it all appeared surface-level. They didn’t know about the pranks you both pulled together back at Hogwarts, or how you would gush to each other about everything and anything, or how you both purposefully chose flats nearby after graduation. No, to the rest of the world, you and Fred were nothing more than acquaintances and neighbours.

“Morning” you greet the table softly, a sleepy smile across your face as you walk over to the kitchen, automatically melting into the conjoined hug of your parents

Fred can’t help but smile a little as he looks away from the scene and back to the table. Over the years, your friendship has grown into something more. There hadn’t been some defining moment when his friendly sentiment matured into love, it was the gradual kind of love, slow, inevitable, until his heart only had room in it for you

“You alright, sweetie?” Fred's head raises at Lily’s voice across from him “You’ve been quiet this morning?” she checks in, her maternal affection warming his heart

His parents were spending the Holidays with Bill and Fleur as she was too close to her due date to travel this year, and the Potters had been more than happy to invite the rest of the Weasley clan to stay with them instead

“Oh, I’m grand” he brushes off her concern “Think I had a bit too much firewhiskey last night” he jokes, earning some laughs from those around him and a small shoulder squeeze from George

George, however, knew he was lying. He’d noticed how different his twin had been acting lately, especially this holiday. Still, he kept his distance, knowing Fred would come to him eventually, just he always did. That didn’t stop him from worrying all the same

“You sure?” he whispers, eyeing his twin

“Yeah, I’ll be okay, promise” Fred assures, gifting a fond smile 

Conversation flows again once more as Sirius and Remus join the table, recounting the previous evenings events and filling those who tapped out early on the later escapades. You sit down a few moments later, carefully carrying your mug of hot chocolate, being cautious not to lose any of your marshmallows along the way

“Merlin y/n…” George chuckles as you take a seat across from him “...you want some hot chocolate with those mallows?” 

You smile quietly at the teasing, though Fred’s sure if he was any closer, he would be able to feel the heat from your cheeks

“Leave her alone” Ginny jumps to your defence, gently elbowing her brother “You’re just jealous you don’t have one” she teases him back before shooting a wink in your direction

You giggle at that, as does Fred, looking at you fondly as the table settles back into quiet conversation. It doesn’t take long for your eyes to meet his, sleep still clinging to them as you mouth a small ‘hi’. He returns the greeting, and your soft eyes linger on his for a few moments before your smile deepens, and you turn away beginning to fill your plate with the mornings feast

Fred was sure you felt the same way as he did. Nothing was ever said aloud, but there were clear signs, from the soft grazing of hands to stolen glances at lips, even moments like the one just now, littered with quiet confessions and longing. But today was the day that was all going to change. Today was the day he would ask you to be his, but first he had to overcome one major obstacle…your parents.

They were the overprotective type, to the point every boy in this room, plus Ginny, had been given the talkfrom them at one point or another, practically forbidding them from ever dating you. Fred got the talk during his final year at Hogwarts when you and he were paired together in  Herbology. Word had gotten back that you and he had been spending time together in the library. Of course, after he explained you two were merely working on your project, they lightened up, but he never forgot how relieved they were, nor how his talk seemed far more intense upon hearing others recount their own

“Alright” Sirius announces as he stands up, Remus following “Anyone need anything else from the shops? Last orders before the shops shut” he claps his hands lightly 

“We need some more rum for the pudding” James asks, earning a hum of acknowledgement from Sirius, while Remus shares a knowing look with Lily who had, in fact, helped him in polishing off the last of the rum the night before

“Dad, could we get some big marshmallows to make s’mores?” you speak up “With the good chocolate?” you add shyly, flashing those adorable eyes of yours that they could never resist, not that they ever did

“Of course, pup” Remus chuckles, secretly excited himself, now had an excuse to buy more chocolate for his stash without arousing Sirius’ suspicion “Well, if that's everything, we’ll be off”

Remus and Sirius gave a quick wave as they headed out of the room to grab their coats while Fred sits in thought. This was his chance, an opportunity to grab your parents alone 

“Where are you off to?” George asks as Fred stands up, drawing the attention of the entire table

Fred flashes a smile, mostly for you and George as your brows furrow in concern “I’m going to give them a hand. Could use the fresh air to wake me up” he says, keeping up his hungover façade, everyone seems to buy it except yourself and George, however, you both let it go for now as he heads off to catch up with your fathers 

Fred hurried out into the cold, his coat only half on as he spotted your parents. 

“Merlin they walk fast” he mutters, jogging to catch up while his thoughts race 

This is it. Just ask. They’re reasonable men. They won’t murder you on sight… probably

“Hey! You two need a spare hand?” Fred called, finally tugging his coat into place.

The men turn around, glancing at one another before pleasant surprise crosses their faces 

“Course, more the merrier. Young lad like yourself can help us carry” Sirius shrugs happily while Remus gestures, hithering for him to join

As they all trecked through a fresh coat of snow, the conversation is light. They ask of his family, the shop, his and George’s plans for expansion to Hogsmeade next summer. Fred is thankful, it gives him the chance to actually connect with them one on one, he asks about their school days, their best pranks, the map. He even learned how they came to the decision to adopt you, leading to a small ramble from Sirius about how proud he was of you on the way back…

“...you know she's just like Moony when he was young…” he says, referring to your shy nature “...though she does have a cheeky side, I know this will surprise you, but she’s a little chatterbox when she gets going…” he continues on

Fred tries his best to hide his smile. It did not surprise him, he adored your rambles, especially that little bounce you did when you were excited 

Remus chuckles, gently interrupting his husband off “As much as I love your chatter my love. I’m curious to hear more about how you're doing?” he redirects, his voice kind but pointed “You’ve told us about the shop but…” he trails off, searching for the right words

Sirius, as usual, cuts straight to the point “A little birdy may have let slip that you’re going through a bit of a dry spell” 

Fred’s eyes widen, cheeks reddening as he’s taken aback “Ugh…well…umm” he strugges, unable to find words, which only made the couple in front of him chuckle

“I’m sorry Fred, my husband lacks a degree of subtlety…” Remus says, shooting Sirius a look but said man is seemingly unbothered, likely stuck on the word husband and the love sick glow it gave him “What we mean is we’ve noticed ourselves you’ve been a little off since you got here, like your mind is elsewhere” Remus continues “And, well, we may have been talking to George last night. I asked him how things were going with Lee; he mentioned that you’d stopped going out much. He seemed quite worried about you”

Fred lets out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck “It’s true. I’ve stopped going out as much as I used to” he agrees, though he did not expect this to be the direction this conversation was going

“Growing out of it?” Sirius’ asks, head tiltin with an understanding smile “Happened to me once upon a time” 

“You’re half right” Fred admits with a small nod “I have grown a lot since Hogwarts but…there also a reason why nothing ever worked out for the long run” his voice steadies, realising the conversation was leading in the direction he needed it to, his thoughts becoming clearer

This is it. Just say it

“Is there someone special?” Remus asks softly, and Sirius’ expression shifts from mild curiosity to sudden realisation, Fred Weasley, major flirt and prankster extraordinaire has fallen in love

Fred’s eyes flick between the two men, inhaling deeplt before speaking, his voice filled with conviction “Well…that's actually why I offered to help today. I’m in love with your daughter” 

Silence

Fred watches their eyes widen in surprise before their expressions become unreadable. The weight of his confession lingered in the chilly air and he braces himself. They clearly hadn’t been expecting that, and there was still a very real chance he was about to decked at the side of the road 

“You…” Sirius blinks a few times, shaking his head slightly “You…love her? Not just some passing infatuation or…forbidden fruit nonsense?” he poses holding himself back, his tone wasn’t cruel but the question stung nonetheless

Fred stands his ground, his voice firm yet sincere “I do. Very much. I know I haven’t always been the most shining example, but…loving her is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. She’s my best friend. I feel safe around her, seen, listened to…even adopted her rambling” his voice softens, getting a little embarrassed at his gush “She’s my favourite person…don’t tell Georgie” he adds at the end with a nervous laugh

Remus’ expression remains stoic, but Sirius’ soften slightly at Freds sincerity 

“Are you begging for forgiveness…” Remus finally asks “…or are you asking for our permission”

Fred’s lips quirk into a small smile “Permission” he confirms without hesitation

Remus and Sirius stare at him for a moment, then glance at one another, something unspoken passing between them

“Do we mess with him?” Sirius whispers to Remus, his hand covering his mouth as he lets a cheeky grin slip through

“As fun as that would be, I think he’s waited long enough” Remus replies softly ”...and so has our pup” 

After a few more moments to let Fred think they were really debating the issue Remus turns back towards him and nods “Yes” he says simply

Fred blinks “Seriously?” 

Sirius rolls his eyes playfully “Yes, seriously. But if you hurt her…” his tone turns deadly sirius “We will kill you” he warns

Fred smiles wide, relief and joy washing over him “Understood” he nods, but his excitement can no longer be contained “Thank you!” he lunges forward pulling them both into a tight hug, practically lifting them off the ground

Sirius chuckles “Alright…alright! Put s down before we change our minds”

Fred awkwardly sets them down, cheeks red but still wears a huge smile, one that wont be getting wiped off anytime soon. The three resume their walk back to the Potters, but on the way back Sirius glances over his shoulder at Fred

“So, when are ya planning on telling her? Tonight?”

Fred freezes mid step

Remus stops too, a knowing laugh escaping him “You have no idea, do you?”

“Honestly?” Fred admits, a sheepish grin spreading across his face “I didn’t think I’d get this far”

Thank you for reading ♡

[moon-my-beloved]

neighbors (tf141 x fem! reader)

Introduction: the universe is never on your side.

wake up, go to work, eat, read, and go to sleep.

that had been your routine for the last couple months ever since you moved in to your new place. your new home.

it really didn’t bother you at all. the solitude, the quietness, the undeniable lack of socialization you had, it was okay with you even if might have looked like the most miserable life to others.

it was a great place to the say the least. your last resort to finally getting the fuck out of the apartment you had shared with your now ex-roommate. you couldn’t bare living there another day hearing her constant sexual acts with every guy she brought in like they were some kind of rabid animals. gross.

there was really no need to say goodbye either. jumping out of your bed in excitement when you got the message from the real estate agent that the place was ready for you to move in.

finally, finally after so many years of busting your ass and saving just enough, you had your own place. not hesitating to pack your things that same day and shove everything into your old but still functional car.

you were free.

the moving was tedious and exhausting, working your muscles out when your furniture finally arrived and giving an awkward smile to your next door neighbor which you later got to find out that her name was charlotte, but insisted on you calling her just auntie lottie. she was a nice old lady, mid 70s who frequently brought you some of her delicious homemade baking with every new recipe she came across. who were you to reject free food?

auntie lottie was probably the only person you had actually talk to ever since moving in, occasionally sitting on her porch just to chat or helping her out with her garden at times.

it was one friday afternoon where the weather was a bit too cold to sit outside and found yourself sitting on auntie lotties couch as she talked about her children, grandchildren, or just the latest gossip. you were more on the listening end of the spectrum, at times putting in your two cents when she asked of your families whereabouts and pointed out ‘how such a young lady shouldn’t be living by herself! you ought to have a husband by now.’

you knew she didn’t mean it with bad intentions but it made your cheeks heat up in embarrassment with the reminder that you were truly utterly unsuccessful when it came to relationships. sure, you had your fair share of partners and they never lasted longer than a few months before they were heading out the door when they realized your lack of intimacy.

it just never felt right and you really couldn’t blame them, despite it leaving an ache in your chest. you really don’t quite remember how the topic of conversation was brought up but she had mentioned that your other neighbors just across from you would be here soon.

“really? I thought no one lived there..” furrowing your eyebrows in confusion as you brought the cup of tea up to your lips. it had been empty ever since you got here. no visible cars or sign of life making itself known for you to determine if someone actually lived there. you just figured it was empty.

“they’re an odd bunch but they’re sweet and handsome. most of the time they’re gone. no worries though, I’ll introduce you to them, dear.” you really weren’t fond of that idea and by the way her eyes wrinkled with that sly look she gave you, a worried chuckle made its way past your lips.

“sure, that would be nice.”

true to her word, they arrived the very next day.

the engine of a black SUV waking you up from your three-hour nap that had your joints popping back in place after stretching your limbs out of their locked positions with how long you had been lying down on the couch.

that wasn’t really what caught your attention though, fighting off the idea of just going back to sleep before your ears caught on the multitude of voices from outside. reluctantly, you get yourself out from the confines of your soft blanket and sit up on your knees to open one of the blinds with your fingers.

your eyes widened at the sight before you. four big men, all of them carrying a variety of duffle bags make their way out of the car. some of them stretching after what you presume a long drive.

you can’t quite get a good look at them but you could tell they were all pretty good-looking even from the distance. starting with the one who probably had better hair days with the way his mohawk was a total mess, leaning against the tallest man you have ever seen as he rubs the sleep off his eyes. skull mask doesn’t seem to be bothered by the shorter man’s tactics. an arm wrapped around his waist to keep him from falling face first on the pavement as they make their way to the front door.

flicking your eyes towards the other side of the car, you zero in on probably the most gorgeous guy you have ever seen. he wears a cap, the UK flag displayed on it and you almost gasp when he turns just enough for you to see how smooth his skin looks. totally not jealous. the last of the group finally gets out from the drivers seat. he looks older than the other three but his stance screams authority and respect once he adjusts himself. these were the neighbors lottie was talking about?

but before you could ponder the fact that you were living across four big scary men, mutton chops turns around towards your direction and makes eye contact with you.

you flinch away from the window a little too hard, tumbling your way over the couch and down onto the floor.

“shit!” you quickly cover your mouth, lying on the ground in defeat and your pride more broken than it already is for at least a few minutes before you slowly get yourself up and warily open the blinds again only to find that they had already headed inside.

letting out a small sigh of relief, you sit down on the cold floor. tilting your head back to rest against the cushion of your couch as you beg to any god out there that they didn’t catch you basically eyeing them down.

auntie lottie will definitely hear about this on your next ‘girls night’.

a/n: this is me forgiving myself after not uploading something for 2-3 months.? I’m sorry ;-;

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader

synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 16.7k

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation

series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter < spotify playlist

Who needs enemies when you have people like a shitty landlord, an evil woman who calls herself Satoru’s “girlfriend”, and of course—a deadbeat, horrible mother. A mother who cares more about herself than the baby she carried for nine months, the one who didn’t care whether you heard about her “special activities” that took place late at night when she thought you were sleeping, a mother who values materialistic things more than family. The kind of mother who’s holding onto you for dear life like you’ve just come back from the army. You feel completely disgusted, utterly infuriated by the act she’s putting on. You wish you had the strength to push her off immediately, but it seems that even time can’t heal certain wounds. 

How annoying.

“I missed you so much, baby girl,” your mother says, rubbing your arms up and down in what you assume is supposed to be a comforting manner. “What have you been up to? Oh, you’ve grown so big! I’m so proud of you.” Her eyes drift over to your right, landing first on Satoru. The tick in her jaw is unmistakable. And when she looks down at the much younger boy, blinking his wide eyes up at her curiously, you of all people know best she’s this close to lashing out. Her smile dampens, eyes narrowing into tiny slits.

As if on cue, you bring Koji behind your back. When she peers up at you, lip curling in preparation for a tiny scoff, Satoru steps in front of you. 

His presence is an like immovable wall, his towering frame casting a long shadow over your mother. You don’t even need to see his face to know the expression he’s wearing—sharp, unamused, and carrying that thinly veiled amusement that only makes him more infuriating to people like her. “Ah, so you do remember me,” Satoru drawls, his tone bordering on mockery. “Was starting to think you might’ve conveniently forgotten.”

Your mother’s nostrils flare. “Of course, I remember you,” she says, voice sickly sweet, but there’s an underlying venom in it, a warning that you know all too well. “How could I forget you? But I’m not here for the likes of you.”

You bite your tongue, fingers twitching at Koji’s small body pressed behind you. You don’t need to turn around to know he’s peering around your waist, big blue eyes filled with confusion. He doesn’t understand what’s going on, and doesn’t recognize the tension seeping into the air like a poisonous fog. And you want it to stay that way. “Why are you here?” you ask, keeping your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you.

Your mother’s eyes flick back to you, sidestepping slightly, and for a split second, something ugly flashes across her face—resentment, bitterness, something you’ve been familiar with since childhood. But just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone, replaced by a saccharine smile that makes your skin crawl. “Can’t a mother come to see her daughter after all these years?” she says, feigning hurt. “I just— I missed you, baby. I wanted to make things right.”

A cold laugh bubbles up in your throat, but you swallow it down. You don’t believe her. Not for a second.

Satoru scoffs, shifting on his feet as he crosses his arms. “Right. And I’m the tooth fairy.”

The air around you feels tight, suffocating like a noose slowly constricting around your neck. You can feel the weight of the past pressing down on you, every horrible memory clawing its way back up, threatening to drown you. She doesn’t get to do this. She doesn’t get to waltz back into your life like she’s entitled to it. “I don’t have time for this,” you say, finally finding your voice. You shift Koji further behind you, fingers tightening around his small hand. “You need to leave.”

Her smile wavers, her perfectly painted lips twitching at the edges. “Baby—”

“Don’t call me that.”

The words come out sharper than you intended, but you don’t regret them. Not when her expression finally cracks, revealing the ugly truth beneath.

For a second, just a second, she looks like she might actually argue. Like she might lash out the way she used to when you were younger—when she’d lose her temper and hurl words like daggers, words meant to make you feel small, to break you. But she holds it all within a facade, eyebrows simply raising as a chuckle of disbelief leaves her lips. “Oh, so…this is how you’ve become all these years while I wasn’t around? First, you’re pushing me away, and second, you’re doing it for what? For…this?” She gestures to the three of you in a lazy manner. “Plus, I get to meet my grandson, do I not? That’s one of the privileges of being a grandmother.” The word leaves a bad taste in her mouth like she can’t fathom the fact that she is indeed one.

You feel your stomach churn, bile rising in your throat. Grandmother. The word sounds wrong coming from her like it doesn’t belong—like it should disintegrate the moment it leaves her lips. Your grip on Koji tightens, and you feel him shift slightly behind you. He doesn’t understand the reality of what’s happening, but he senses it—how the air is heavier, how your body is tenser.

Satoru, beside you, lets out a low, amused hum. “Privilege?” he echoes, tilting his head as if the word itself is funny. “You think being a grandmother is a privilege you’re just automatically entitled to?”

Haruka’s lips press into a thin line, her fingers twitching as she folds her arms across her chest. “I don’t see why not,” she says coolly. “Blood is blood. Family is family.”

You scoff, the sound dry and bitter. “That’s rich, coming from you.” She narrows her eyes, but you don’t stop. “You don’t get to show up out of nowhere and act like you have some sort of claim over my son and I,” you say, voice unwavering despite the storm inside you. “You lost the right to be my family a long time ago.”

Her nostrils flare slightly, but she doesn’t lash out, doesn’t throw the fit you know is bubbling under her carefully constructed mask. Instead, she exhales slowly through her nose, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I see,” she murmurs. “So you’ve been brainwashed.” Her gaze flickers to Satoru, mirth pooling in her eyes. “By him.”

Satoru actually laughs. A full, genuine laugh like she’s just told him the funniest joke in the world. “Oh, that’s good,” he muses. “That’s real good.” Then, his laughter fades, replaced by something much sharper, much colder. “Hate to break it to you, lady, but your daughter has a brain of her own. And she knows exactly who’s worth keeping in her life.”

Your mother’s jaw tightens and it looks like she might slap him. But then her gaze falls back on you, assessing, calculating. You brace yourself for whatever she’s about to say, but somehow, it still knocks the air from your lungs. “You think you’re any better than me?” she asks, voice laced with condescension. “You think just because you ran away, just because you played house with him, that you’re suddenly the perfect little mother? Sweetheart, you are me. You’ll see that soon enough.”

But you won’t let her win. Not this time. Your fingers tighten around Koji’s, grounding yourself, and when you speak, your voice is unwavering.

“The difference between us,” you say slowly, deliberately, “is that I would never do to my son what you did to me.”

A flicker of something—shock?—crosses her face. Then, she steps back, smoothing a hand over her coat like she’s wiping something unpleasant off of her.

“Well.” Her tone is clipped, her posture stiff. “I suppose we’ll just have to see about that.”

“I’m no—”

“But look at this!” Her arms widen as she steps back, a dramatic sweep of her gaze taking in the lingering eyes and hushed whispers of the other families. Some look away quickly, feigning disinterest, while others openly stare, their curiosity outweighing their manners. You swallow hard, your pulse hammering in your ears. The attention prickles against your skin like a thousand tiny needles, suffocating and unrelenting. “It’s truly such a picture-perfect scene,” your mother continues, her voice dripping with mockery. “A loving man, a beautiful child, and you, playing the devoted mother.” She tilts her head, eyes gleaming with something cruel. “Tell me, do you ever stop to wonder when it’ll all fall apart?”

Satoru shifts beside you, his jaw tightening. You can feel the protective energy radiating off of him, the way he’s this close to stepping in and shutting her down. But you don’t want him to—not yet.

Because she’s wrong.

Because she doesn’t get to do this. Not anymore.

You take a deep breath, straightening your spine. “You don’t know anything about my life,” you say, voice steady despite the fire burning in your chest. “And you sure as hell don’t get to stand here and act like you do.”

Your mother clicks her tongue, unimpressed. “I know enough,” she muses, her gaze flicking back to Koji. You immediately shift, shielding him with your body.

Her lips curl into a smirk. “You can try to keep him away from me all you want. But at the end of the day, you’ll realize that blood isn’t something you can run from. Besides Y/N, I still love you, I always have and always will.”

The words hang in the air like a death sentence.

Koji, sensing the tension, clings to your leg, small fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans. You don’t dare look down at him, don’t want to acknowledge just how much of this he’s absorbing. Satoru exhales sharply, patience finally wearing thin. “I think we’re done here,” he says, voice clipped, his hand resting firmly on your lower back. A quiet but undeniable claim. “Let’s go.”

Without another word, he’s ushering you and Koji to his car, pushing past your mother who stumbles back a bit on her two feet. She scoffs and stares daggers into your heads, but neither you nor Satoru look back. Wordlessly, he’s opening the passenger door for you, opening the back for Koji, and helping him get into his booster seat. He closes both doors with finality, rounding the car and going to the driver’s side. Before he opens it, he looks back over at Haruka. “You stay away from all of us. I have a good set of lawyers.”

“Is that a threat?” She calls out.

“It’s a promise,” is all he says before getting in and shutting the door. He’s quickly starting the car and driving you both away from the mess your mother’s arrival had made. Quiet envelops the interior of the car. Koji peering at his father and then you, biting his lip and swinging his feet back and forth in an antsy way. “Mama, why did the woman look like you? Is she grandma?”

But you don’t say anything. Focusing on the loose thread of your coat sleeve, fingers clenched tightly. Your body is stiff as a board like it’s anticipating something. Satoru peeks at you from the corner of his eye and after he assesses you won’t be saying anything, he looks forward. “She is.”

Koji tilts his head, his brows furrowing in confusion. “But… you don’t like her?”

Still, you don’t answer. Your fingers curl around the loose thread, twisting it between your thumb and forefinger. Your pulse is loud in your ears, drowning out the steady hum of the engine.

Satoru’s grip tightens on the steering wheel. “No,” he says simply. “Mama doesn’t.”

Koji goes quiet for a moment, digesting the information in his small way. Then, with the kind of innocence only a child could possess, he mumbles, “Then I don’t like her either.”

Something inside you clenches painfully, but still, you can’t bring yourself to say anything.

Satoru sighs, reaching out with one hand to gently squeeze your thigh, fingers firm but reassuring. It’s not much, but it’s enough to pull you back, to remind you that you’re here, in the present—not trapped in memories you don’t want to relive. “She’s not gonna bother us,” Satoru murmurs, eyes flicking toward you again. “I won’t let her.”

You want to believe him.

You need to believe him.

But as the car speeds down the road, your heart tells you otherwise. Your mother never shows up without a reason. And whatever she wants this time…

It won’t be simple.

“I…I don’t know what she could possibly want from me,” you mutter shakily, face screwing up at the familiar burn of tears at your eyelids. 

“Don’t worry about that, don’t worry about anything. She’s not going to bother you and if she does, I’m right here.” His thumbs are small, soft back and forth motions on your thigh. The gesture brings you a tiny sense of serenity. In other circumstances, you would’ve pushed him away and told him not to do that anymore. However, you find yourself doing the opposite. Dwelling in his touch, hesitantly putting your hand on top of the back of his. His palm turns upright and carefully intertwines your fingers with his. 

Your heart does somersaults. 

He brings your hand up over to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss on your knuckles. “She’s wrong, you know,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, meant only for you.

You gulp. “...about what?”

“Everything.” 

The word lingers between you, settling into the silence like a whisper of reassurance, a promise unspoken yet deeply felt.

Everything.

That you’re like her. That you’ll turn into her. That you’re anything less than the mother Koji deserves, the woman he—Satoru—still sees beneath all the walls you’ve built. Your fingers twitch against his, gripping just a little tighter. The warmth of his hand is grounding, pulling you away from the storm inside your head. You inhale slowly, trying to steady your trembling chest, blinking away the tears that threaten to spill. Your head turns towards the window, biting down on a quivering lip as the car comes to a halt at a red light.

Koji—truly unaware of the depth of the moment passing between his parents, but still trying to integrate himself somehow. “Papa, are we going home?”

Satoru doesn’t take his eyes off you when he answers.

“Yeah, kid,” he says, squeezing your hand. “We’re going home.”

“This is my son, Satoru.” Yamato’s voice greets the pair of father and son as they enter the conference room. They shake hands and Yamato sits back down next to Satoru, who’s currently leaning back in his seat with a blank look, swiveling from side to side. Yamato nudges his son’s foot under the table in silent command.

“Nice to meet you,” Satoru says, still not rising from his seat.

“Nice to meet you, this is my daughter, Himari.”

Kenji ushers his daughter to sit down next to him, both of them across from Yamato and Satoru. Already, he’s dreading this. In typical boy nature, his eyes rake up and down the girl sending him a coy smile, biting the inside of his cheek in confliction. Sure, she’s pretty. Brown hair, pretty brown eyes, a slender figure, a nice glow to her complexion. But she’s not you. It’s only been a year and a half and Satoru still can’t rid his mind of you. Certain scents, music, and places, they all remind him of you. He’s not sure if he hates it. His father, ever the businessman, has sprouted the seed in his ear about him moving on and that his “friend’s” daughter is single. He always brushed him off, but of course, he can’t run away from his duties forever. 

Her lips don’t even look twice as delicious as yours did. 

Still, Satoru plasters on a charming—if not slightly detached—smile as Himari tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, feigning shyness. He knows this game, knows the expectations that sit heavily between their fathers, silent yet thunderous. Himari tilts her head slightly, watching him with interest. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Satoru,” she says smoothly, her voice pleasant but calculated. “Our fathers talk about you a lot.”

Satoru leans back further in his chair, legs spreading just enough to make himself comfortable but not enough to look sloppy. His father would kill him for that. “All good things, I hope.”

Kenji lets out a good-natured chuckle. “Of course. Himari’s been quite interested in meeting you, you know.”

“Oh?” His gaze flickers to her, catching the way she twirls a ring around her finger. Flirtation, subtle and practiced.

He can already tell what this is—what they expect. A business transaction wrapped in tradition and expectation, sealed with marriage papers. A pretty wife from a good family, one that would benefit them both. But Satoru has never been one to follow a script. His mind drifts, unbidden, to you. To how you never needed to be calculated to get his attention, to how your laughter wasn’t poised but effortless, how you never looked at him with an agenda, only with love. That’s what’s missing here. That’s why his chest feels tight, why the scent of jasmine perfume instead of your lingering marshmallow, floraly makes his stomach churn. Because no matter how pretty Himari is, no matter how perfectly poised she sits across from him, she isn’t you.

And she never will be.

The rest of the conversation flowed in one ear and out the other. The only thing keeping him somewhat grounded to Earth was the feel of her foot playfully caressing his leg up and down under the table. The first time it happened, he cleared his throat in awkwardness, shifting in his seat in hopes she’d get the memo. Instead, she only moves her chair closer to the table, extending her leg out slightly more. Yep, pushy.

“....as I was saying before, Yamato. Tenka Couture can give the Gojo Group exactly what they need. We can help you expand into the fashion and entertainment markets. Even international ones. Together, we can both strive globally.”

Kenji's voice carries on, confident and smooth, but Satoru barely registers a word. His fingers drum against the polished mahogany table, his expression unreadable as he feels Himari's foot trail further up his leg. He exhales sharply through his nose, schooling his face into neutrality. If his father notices his discomfort, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Yamato is far too focused on the conversation at hand, nodding along as Kenji lists off strategic benefits, figures, and projections. Satoru flicks a glance at Himari. She’s watching him through her lashes, lips curled into a knowing smirk. She’s enjoying this—enjoying testing him, enjoying the idea that she has any sort of power over him.

It grates on his nerves.

His mind drifts again.

Would you have done this? No—definitely not like this. You were never one for games, never one to wrap yourself in artifice. When you touched him, it wasn’t planned. It was because you wanted to. Because you loved him. And yet, here he is, sitting across from someone who doesn’t even know him, who only wants what he represents.

He sighs, his patience wearing thin. “Sounds like a great deal,” Yamato replies, leaning forward. “But tell me, Kenji—what exactly is the catch?”

“Well,” Kenji chuckles and laces his fingers together. “Of course, I believe the best way to go about this is through our children. Although I know this is the modern era and I don’t wish to put a rush on things, I think it would be best if my lovely daughter married within at least…ten years. It gives them enough time to get acquainted with one another, and us enough time to grow closer as businesses.” 

Satoru feels his stomach turn. Marriage. Of course, that’s what this is really about. It was never just about business—it was about leverage. About power. About cementing alliances in the most permanent way possible. His grip tightens on the armrest of his chair, fingers digging into the fabric. Himari’s smirk only widens, like she’s already won, like she knows he won’t fight it.

Because what choice does he have?

Yamato doesn’t even hesitate. “That’s a reasonable timeline,” he muses, nodding. “It allows them to build a solid foundation, get used to each other. I think it’s a wise decision. But if you don’t keep up your end of this deal, there will be consequences.”

Satoru’s jaw ticks. Ten years. Ten years of forced interactions, of pretending, of playing the role his father expects of him. Ten years of being bound to someone who is nothing more than a stranger. Ten years without you. Kenji leans back in his chair, satisfied. “Of course, it’s all up to them in the end. But I trust that with time, they’ll see the benefits of this arrangement.”

Himari finally pulls her foot away from his leg, but the ghost of her touch lingers like an itch he can’t scratch. Satoru exhales slowly, forcing himself to stay composed. He knows how this game works. Knows his father expects compliance, and knows he has to play along—for now. But deep down, something in him burns. Because you’re still out there. Because despite everything, despite time and distance, he knows exactly who he wants.

And it isn’t her.

But despite everything, he found himself wrapped in her sheets exactly one week from the dreaded meeting. The sex was okay, but he couldn’t stop your face. The days passed on in a slow manner, and over that course, he was slowly beginning to heal from you and your guys’ relationship. He stopped feeling guilty for being intimate with another woman and he was able to visit that cute cafe you loved so much without feeling nauseous as soon as he stepped in. However, he didn’t even actually make it official with Himari until he just turned 27. 

He remembers a conversation with Himari. 

“I want a lot of children.”

Satoru had merely hummed in response, swirling the whiskey in his glass as he leaned back into the plush seat of the lounge they were in. It was late, the warm glow of the ambient lighting casting soft shadows over Himari’s face. She looked expectant, eyes searching his for a reaction.

“You do?” he finally said, taking a slow sip.

“Yes,” she smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “At least three or four. I want a big family.”

He glanced at her over the rim of his glass, expression unreadable.

“I just think it’s important, you know? Family. My parents worked so hard to build what we have, and I want to continue that. Raise my children in a secure environment, with traditions, stability…” She paused, tilting her head. “Don’t you?”

Satoru’s grip on his glass tightened.

Once upon a time, he might have said yes. Might have dreamed about what it would be like to have a family of his own. But that was before. Before he learned that love wasn’t enough to keep someone from leaving. Before he learned that no matter how tightly he held onto something, it could still slip through his fingers. Back then, he had imagined forever with someone.

Now, he wasn’t sure he even believed in the word.

So instead, he just offered a half-smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah,” he murmured, swirling the last remnants of his drink. “That sounds nice.” Himari beamed, satisfied, but Satoru only glanced away, gaze settling on the ice melting in his glass.

He’s always thought back to that conversation. Did he want kids? Did he want a big family? Hell, he doesn’t even know. 

But now, as he watches you and his only son curled up on the couch together, holding each other as you both sleep peacefully. He can still make out the redness around your eyes from your earlier crying session while Koji was busy playing with his toys. Comforting you felt easy to him—like second nature. And you welcomed his words, his hug, even the very small, faint kiss he planted on your temple. 

He feels a little bit like a creep just watching you guys sleep. But now, the answer has come to him. 

He wants a big family with you. He’ll quite literally die from happiness overload if you have more of his kids. Maybe the next one will look more like you?

His face scrunches up, holding his chest and falling back onto the free cushion of the couch. It feels like his heart is being squeezed, in a good and bad way—like something warm and unbearable all at once. He squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling slowly through his nose. It’s stupid to never realize just how much he’s always wanted this. A family. A home. Something real, something his. And now that he knows it’s possible, now that he has Koji, has you back in his life in some fragile, complicated way, the thought of losing it again makes his stomach twist.

He turns his head, watching the slow, even rise and fall of your breaths. Koji is nestled against you, his tiny fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt. His son. His.

Satoru lifts a hand to his chest, pressing his palm over the ache. He thinks of all the years he missed, all the moments he could have had. First words, first steps, birthdays, bedtime stories—things that should have been his to witness. He should be angry. Maybe he still is. But right now, he just feels...overwhelmed.

A soft noise leaves your lips as you shift slightly in your sleep, your brow twitching like you’re dreaming. Without thinking, he reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His fingers linger a second too long before he pulls back, swallowing hard.

God, he’s so fucked.

Because now that he knows what he wants—now that he knows he wants this family with you—he has no idea how to keep it. Or if you even feel the same way. But the way your face relaxes ever so slightly, subconsciously leaning into his touch, he starts to believe that he may not be the only one.

“So, are you going to be putting your two weeks in?”

“What? I mean, I haven’t been looking at other jobs yet.”

Hana hums silently, cleaning the counter. Your brows furrow in confusion at her behavior. She’s not being outwardly rude, but you can sense something is still on her mind. “You’re not…upset I’m moving, are you? We talked about this.”

Hana lets out a soft sigh, setting the cloth down before turning to face you fully. “I know we did,” she says, crossing her arms. “But talking about it and actually seeing it happen are two different things, you know?”

You tilt your head, watching her carefully. “I thought you were happy for me.”

“I am,” she insists, but there’s something tight about the way she says it. “It’s just… you’re really leaving. And I guess I thought—” She stops herself, shaking her head. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

Your frown deepens. “Hana.”

She exhales through her nose, looking away. “It’s just… I thought you’d maybe consider staying. That something—someone—would make you stay.”

Your stomach twists. You don’t need her to say who she’s talking about. “Hana…”

She waves a hand, forcing a smile. “Forget it. It’s your choice. I just— I’m gonna miss you, that’s all.”

A lump forms in your throat, but you swallow it down, managing a small smile. “I’m gonna miss you too. We’ll still stay in touch, even after I find a job out there, I promise.” Your arms encircle her waist in a hug, to which she reciprocates. 

“I know,” she murmurs, squeezing you tightly. “But it won’t be the same.”

You rest your chin on her shoulder, taking in the familiar scent of coffee and vanilla that clings to her. “Nothing stays the same forever, Hana.”

She huffs a soft laugh, pulling back just enough to look at you. “Yeah, yeah. Look at you, all wise and mature now.”

You roll your eyes, nudging her playfully. “I’ve always been wise. You just refused to acknowledge it.”

Hana smirks. “Sure, sure. Just don’t forget about me when you’re off living your new fancy life.”

“Never.” You say it with conviction, and you mean it. No matter what changes, she’ll always be a part of your life. 

Hana studies your face for a moment before sighing. “Alright, enough of this sentimental crap. Let’s finish cleaning up before we open.” You laugh, but as you turn back to your task, you can’t help but feel the weight of her words settle deep in your chest.

You grab a rag to clean up the tables, but just as you do so, Hana’s phone that was laying up right near the register dings with a text message. You glance over carelessly, the ping catching your attention. But what you didn’t expect to see was someone’s name that sends bolts of frustration up your body. Brows knitting in the middle with your lip down turning. You lean forward to get a closer look, but the phone is being snatched from your vision. Looking up, Hana’s face has contorted into what you can assume is guilt, shoving the device in her back pocket. A moment of silence passes between you two.

“....Hana, why the fuck are you still texting Naoya?”

Hana stiffens, her fingers tightening around the rag in her hands. “It’s not what you think,” she mutters, turning away to wipe down the counter with unnecessary force.

Your stomach twists. “Not what I think?” You let out a humorless laugh. “Hana, I thought we agreed—no, you agreed—that he was bad news. That you were done with him.”

She exhales sharply, still avoiding your eyes. “I was done. I am done.”

“Bullshit.” You toss your rag onto the nearest table and cross your arms. “If you were done, you wouldn’t be hiding your phone from me like a guilty teenager.”

She finally looks at you, jaw tight. “It’s not that simple.”

Your patience is wearing thin. “It is that simple. You cut him off, like you said you would. You don’t let him manipulate you again, Hana. You don’t let him back in.”

She flinches at your words, and for a moment, you see the conflict flash across her face. Then, just as quickly, she schools her expression into something neutral, almost detached. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but this is my business. Not yours.”

You stare at her, feeling like you’ve just been slapped. “Not my business?” You shake your head in disbelief. “After everything he’s done? After how he treated you? You really think I’m just gonna stand here and pretend I don’t care? He left you to the wolves shitfaced and let you almost do hard drugs, Hana.”

Her gaze drops, but she doesn’t respond.

“Hana,” you say, softer this time. “Please. Tell me what’s going on.”

She hesitates, fingers curling at her sides. And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she says, “He said he’s changed.”

Your breath catches. The frustration in your chest morphs into something heavier—something dangerously close to heartbreak. “Changed? You think a guy like that has changed within only a week or two?”

“He apologized, Y/N. He came over and—”

“You let him come over?” You scoff out in disbelief. 

Hana’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t meet your eyes. “It wasn’t like that. He just… showed up. He wanted to talk.”

“And you let him in?” Your voice rises despite yourself, frustration bubbling over. “After everything he put you through that night, you actually listened to him?”

Her shoulders stiffen. “People can change, Y/N.”

“Not him,” you say flatly. “Not Naoya. You know that. We talked about this.”

She exhales sharply, gripping the rag like it’s the only thing grounding her. “You don’t get it.”

“No, I do,” you counter. “I get it too well, Hana. Because I was there. I was the one picking up the pieces. And now you’re telling me that a few days is all it takes for him to be a better man?” Hana stays quiet, but you can see the cracks forming in her expression—the doubt, the guilt. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. “Look, I love you. And I know it’s hard to walk away from someone like him. But he hasn’t changed. He’s just found a new way to manipulate you. I don’t want you going through something like that again.”

Her lip trembles, and for a second, you think she might break. But then she forces out a bitter chuckle, shaking her head. “You always think you know what’s best for me, don’t you?”

You stare at her, caught off guard. “That’s not what this is about—”

“Isn’t it?” She meets your gaze now, eyes flashing. “You can’t control me, Y/N. I’m not some helpless kid who needs saving.”

Your heart sinks. “I’m not trying to control you, Hana. I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

She swallows hard, looking away. “I can handle myself.”

“Yes, you can. But I’m your friend, that’s what friends are for.”

“Are you my friend, Y/N?” She huffs out, throwing the rag on the counter and crossing her arms. “Because from what I see, it’s kind of hard to believe that. You rarely like coming out with me anymore, you take days to respond to my texts, and I only see you at work.”

Your jaw grits, putting your rag down. “It’s not like that. You know I’m busy with Koji, with Satoru, with everything. I’m trying to be here for you in every way that I can be.”

Hana scoffs, shaking her head. “Right. And somehow, ‘being here for me’ means judging me every time I make a decision you don’t like?”

Your chest tightens. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” She throws her hands up. “I get it, Y/N. You have a whole life outside of this job—outside of me. And I’ve tried to be okay with it, I really have. But it just feels like… like I’m not a priority to you anymore.” Her words hit harder than you expect. You part your lips to argue, but nothing comes out. Because, deep down, you know she’s not entirely wrong. Hana exhales, her shoulders sagging. “I miss you, Y/N. And yeah, maybe Naoya isn’t the best decision. But at least he wants to be around me.”

That stings. More than it should. You run a hand through your hair, trying to gather your thoughts. “Hana…”

But she’s already turning away, grabbing the rag from the counter. “Forget it. We still have stuff to clean.”

The weight of it lingers as you watch her move away, your stomach twisting with something between guilt and frustration. But you’ve always been persistent. Your feet work with a mind of their own, following her to the section of booths in the corner. “Hana, stop this, okay?”

“Stop what?”

“Stop making stupid decisions, please.”

“So you can have a man who can give you anything under the sun, but when I do it, it’s wrong.”

You grab hold of her arm to stop her. “What the hell? Are you serious? Is that why you’re going after him? Because he has money. And Satoru and I aren’t even together, Hana. What are you talking about?”

“And so what if I’m doing it for the money?!” She yanks her arm back. “Why is it so fucking wrong of me to want security?”

“Because it’s shallow and not like you.”

Hana’s eyes flash with anger, and for a second, you think she’s going to snap. But instead, she takes a deep breath, clenching her jaw. “I’m not asking for your approval, Y/N. You’ve never understood me, and maybe you’re right, maybe I’m not the same person I used to be, but I’m doing what I think is best for me right now. You and Satoru have your perfect little world, but I don’t have that. I don’t even have my own damn apartment without scrambling for rent every month.”

Her words cut through the air, harsh and raw. You didn’t realize how much the frustration had been building for her until now. “I’m struggling too—”

“Not when you have a fucking billionaire baby daddy,” she swiftly interrupts you.

You feel a lump form in your throat, and the guilt from earlier rises again, twisting in your chest, biting your lip hard. "That's not fair, Hana. You know things aren’t perfect with him and me. You think just because things aren't goinging great for you, it's okay to throw everything you’ve built away for something that isn’t real?"

Hana exhales sharply, wiping her face with a frustrated hand. "You think I don’t know that? I’m just trying to survive, Y/N."

"Survive?" You step closer, your voice trembling. "You think this is survival? I’m not telling you what to do. But you're choosing him over us—over yourself. You know Naoya isn’t good for you. What happens when the money’s gone, or when he gets bored?"

Her eyes meet yours, hard and unflinching. "I don’t need your pity, okay? And I don’t need you to tell me what’s best for me. I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

For a long, tense moment, the silence hangs heavy between you two. You want to keep fighting, to say something that’ll make her see reason, but you don’t know if it’s worth it anymore. She’s made up her mind. “Hana…” you start, but she cuts you off, her tone icy.

“Just drop it, okay? I’m not going to continue having this argument with you.”

Your heart aches, but you nod, stepping back slowly. She won’t listen to reason right now. And maybe, just maybe, you’ve been pushing too hard. “Fine,” you mutter, your voice smaller than you want it to be. “Do what you want.”

Her gaze softens for a split second, but then it’s gone, and she turns away, heading back to the counter. You’re left standing there, feeling the distance between you both grow. Your chest feels hollow like something inside you has cracked wide open, leaving behind an aching, empty space. The sting of her words lingers, each syllable embedding itself into your skin like tiny, invisible splinters. You shouldn’t be this hurt—you shouldn’t care this much. But you do. Because it’s Hana.

She’s been by your side for these couple of years, through every high and low, through every moment when you thought you’d collapse under the weight of everything. And now, she’s slipping through your fingers, walking a path you know will only lead to heartbreak. You can feel her pulling away, and the worst part? You don’t know how to stop it. Frustration curls in your stomach, hot and tight, twisting into something almost unbearable. You want to shake her, make her see that she’s making a mistake. But deep down, there’s something else gnawing at you, something ugly and uncomfortable—doubt.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe you don’t understand her. Maybe, in trying so hard to protect her, you’ve been pushing her away instead. The realization is bitter, and it tastes like loss. Your fingers curl into your palms as you watch her retreat, her shoulders tense, her posture stiff with unspoken words. You could call after her, one last attempt to fix this. But your throat feels tight, and your voice is nowhere to be found. So instead, you just stand there, watching her go. Watching the distance between you grow wider, wondering if you’ll ever be able to close it again.

The rest of your shift had passed by with an awkward tenseness that even the other employees could notice. You clocked out without saying bye to Hana, heading home after calling off from your second job. You almost forgot you even invited Shoko over to help you pack until she rings your doorbell. Straightening yourself up, you push off the table and go to open the door. 

“Hey,” she greets, giving you a simple smile.

“Hey,” you reply back, stepping aside to let her in. A faint scent of cigarettes follows her inside as you close and lock the door. 

“So,” she begins, doing a small look around. “Where is he?”

You nod. “Koji! Come here, please!” A tiny pitter-patter of feet is heard, coming from his room and in front of you two. He looks up at Shoko, head tilting with curiosity. You crouch down to his height. “Koji, this my friend, Shoko.”

Koji blinks up at her, his big eyes studying her with an adorable mix of questioning and caution. He clutches the hem of his shirt, shifting on his feet as if trying to decide whether she’s someone worth trusting. Shoko, ever patient, crouches down a little and offers him a small, lazy wave. “Hey, kid,” she says, her tone light but warm. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Koji doesn’t say anything right away, still watching her like he’s figuring something out. You can tell he’s analyzing her the way he does with new people—quiet, observant, waiting to see if she’s friend or foe. You smile, reaching out to smooth down his hair. “She’s really nice, baby,” you reassure him gently. “And she’s gonna help me pack today.”

His eyes flick between you and Shoko before he finally nods, accepting the introduction in his own quiet way. Then, after a moment, he shifts closer to you, pressing a small hand against your knee like he’s making sure you’re still there.

Shoko tilts her head, amusement flickering in her gaze. “He’s a smart one,” she muses. “Doesn’t trust just anyone, huh?”

You chuckle softly. “Sometimes no. He takes a while to warm up to people.”

Koji stares at Shoko a little longer, then finally, with the tiniest voice, he asks, “Do you like dinosaurs?”

Shoko’s lips curve into a lazy grin. “Oh, I love dinosaurs,” she says without missing a beat. “Stegosaurus is my favorite.”

Koji’s eyes light up, his grip on your knee loosening as his excitement builds. “Me too!” he exclaims, his earlier hesitation already fading.

You let out a quiet breath, relieved to see him opening up. Shoko throws you a knowing glance before reaching into her pocket. “Wanna see something cool?” she asks, pulling out her phone. She taps on it a few times before turning the screen to him. “Look at this—real fossil pictures.”

Koji gasps, stepping closer, his tiny hands gripping the edge of her phone as he stares in fascination.

You shake your head with a soft laugh. “Well, I guess you’ve won him over.”

Shoko winks at you before looking back at Koji. “Guess that means I can stay, huh?”

Koji nods quickly, his earlier shyness completely gone. “Yeah! You can stay!” Your heart warms at the sight of them, a small, fleeting moment of peace settling over you. Even just for a little while, it feels like everything is okay.

Packing has never been your favorite thing to do. Having to look through year-old things, deciding if they’re worth staying in your life or not, buying boxes, the clutter that fills the place, everything about it is just exhausting. Shoko watches as you sigh, standing in the middle of your living room with your hands on your hips, surveying the mess of half-packed boxes, scattered clothes, and random trinkets from years past. "You look like you’re about to combust," she comments dryly, flopping onto your couch and lighting a cigarette.

You huff, rubbing your forehead. "I might. I hate this shit. It makes everything feel… real."

Shoko chuckles, watching you with an unreadable expression. "Because it is real," she says simply. "You’re leaving." 

Her words settle in your chest like a weight, heavy and suffocating. You know that. Of course, you do. You made this decision, you accepted the keys from Satoru, and you started packing. But now, as you hold a picture frame in your hands—one from a time when things were different, when you weren’t a single mother trying to keep everything together—it hits you all over again. You sit down on the floor with a tired sigh, staring at the photograph. It’s an old one, faded at the edges. Gojo's arm is draped around your shoulders, his usual grin on full display while you lean into him, laughing at something you can’t even remember anymore. It was before everything went to hell. Before Koji. Before the distance.

Shoko’s gaze flickers to the frame in your hands. "You keeping that?"

You swallow, fingers tightening around the frame. You should toss it. It’s just a relic of something that doesn’t exist anymore. But your hands won’t let go.

"...Yeah," you murmur, almost to yourself. "I think I am."

Shoko doesn’t say anything, just nods and leans back, letting you sit with your thoughts.

Packing has never been your favorite thing. But maybe, just maybe, there are some things worth holding onto. You place the picture frame into your box of memories, standing back up with a big exhale. 

“So, have you been looking for jobs near where you’ll be staying now?”

Her question briefly reminds you of the argument with Hana, but you have a good poker face. “Not yet, I mean, I was just thinking of doing the commute.”

“That’ll be far, won’t it?” She sits on the couch cushion.

You nod, tapping your finger along your elbow. “Yeah…or this one lady gave me her business card a while back. She said to call if I was interested, it might be closer to the new place, but I haven’t checked yet.”

“Oh, sick,” she nods, taking a sip from a glass of water you gave her earlier. “Why haven’t you called yet?”

“I—I don’t know. It seemed a little suspicious to me, just the way she came off. But maybe I’m just being superstitious.” 

Shoko raises an eyebrow, swirling the water in her glass. “Suspicious how?”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, crossing your arms. “I don’t know… she was really persistent.’”

Shoko snorts. “Yeah, that’s how you end up in a pyramid scheme or an underground fight club.”

You roll your eyes but chuckle, shaking your head. “I mean, I doubt it’s that extreme. But something about it didn’t sit right with me. Maybe I’ll give her a call, though..”

Shoko shrugs. “Can’t hurt. Just don’t sign anything unless you know exactly what you’re getting into.” She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “You’re gonna be okay, you know that, right?”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “I mean, yeah. I hope so.”

She gives you a look—one of those knowing, slightly exasperated ones. “No. Not ‘I hope so.’ You will be.”

A lump forms in your throat at the certainty in her voice. Shoko wasn’t the type to say things just to make people feel better. If she said it, she meant it. You exhale, some of the weight in your chest loosening. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “I will be.”

She grins, leaning back into the couch again. “That’s the spirit. Now hurry up and finish packing before I start judging your terrible organization skills.”

You roll your eyes as you two get back to work. “Oh, and you don’t have to stay until nine anymore. Satoru said he’d help me when he gets off work.”

Shoko raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Oh? Satoru’s coming over to help you pack? How domestic.”

You groan, shoving a pile of clothes into a box with a little too much force. “Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything,” she says, raising her hands in mock innocence. “I just think it’s funny. You two aren’t together, but he’s making house calls to help you pack. Almost like—oh, I don’t know—a boyfriend would.”

You sigh, sitting back on your heels. “He’s just helping, Shoko. It’s his way of making up for lost time. And, you know… Koji.”

Shoko hums, taking another sip of her water. “Uh-huh. Sure. Just be careful, alright? Satoru has a way of worming his way back into places.”

You look at her, your stomach twisting a little at the implication. “I know.”

She doesn’t press any further, just gives you a small nod before grabbing another box. “Alright then. Let’s finish this up before your not-boyfriend gets here.”

You and Shoko actually end up doing some pretty good damage, clearing out most of the living room and kitchen within a couple of hours. The place is filled with half-sealed boxes, stacks of clothes, and random knickknacks you forgot you even owned. Koji occasionally tries to help out before going back to playing in his room, door open. The air smells faintly of cardboard and dust, and every so often, you hear the rip of packing tape as one of you secures another box. Shoko moves with practiced ease, taping up a box labeled kitchenware while holding a cigarette between her lips, the ash barely hanging on. “You sure you need all these mugs?” she asks, giving you a pointed look.

You glance at the open box filled with an assortment of cups—some gifted, some bought on impulse, and a few holding sentimental value. You chew your lip. “...Maybe.”

Shoko snorts. “I’ll take that as a no.” Without waiting for your response, she plucks a random floral-patterned mug and sets it aside. “This one’s cute, though. I’m keeping it.”

You shake your head with a small laugh before focusing on your own task—sorting through a box of old papers, receipts, and letters you should’ve thrown out years ago. Some of them you skim through, lingering on certain notes or reminders scribbled in the margins, while others you crumple up without a second thought. At one point, Shoko finds an old sweater buried at the bottom of a pile and holds it up. “Didn’t you steal this from Satoru?”

Your hands pause over a stack of mail as you glance at the familiar fabric. It’s an oversized hoodie, worn at the cuffs, with a faint scent of something you refuse to acknowledge clinging to it. You exhale, shaking your head. “Borrowed. And forgot to give back.”

Shoko raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push. Instead, she tosses it onto the “maybe” pile. “Right. Borrowed.”

By the time you finish packing up Koji’s toys that he hasn’t been playing with recently, the apartment looks emptier, more like a place in transition rather than a home. You stretch, your back aching slightly from crouching on the floor for so long. Shoko leans against the counter.. “So, when’s Satoru supposed to get here?”

You check the time on your phone, suppressing a sigh. “Soon, I think.”

She nods. “Good, I think I’m gonna head out now. I have a charcuterie board and some wine waiting for me at home.”

You scoff, shaking your head with a small laugh. “Of course you do.”

Shoko smirks as she grabs her coat. “What can I say? I have taste.” She slings her bag over her shoulder, stretching slightly before making her way to the door.

“Thanks for helping,” you say sincerely, following her.

She shrugs. “No problem. Besides, watching you stress-pack was mildly entertaining.”

You roll your eyes, but the fondness in your expression betrays you. “Yeah, yeah. Enjoy your wine and fancy snacks.”

“Always do,” she says with a lazy grin, stepping out into the hallway. “Oh, and tell Satoru I said hi.”

You hum noncommittally, leaning against the doorframe as she walks off. The second she’s out of sight, you sigh, rubbing your temples. The apartment is eerily quiet now, save for the occasional sound of Koji shifting in his room and the faint rustling of cardboard boxes.

And now, all that’s left to do is wait.

And waiting was what you did.

You should’ve assumed that when Satoru didn’t give you an exact time of when he’d be off of work, it would be late. You’ve already showered and changed into one of your comfortable nightgowns you have since a good majority of your other pajamas have been packed. Koji has been washed up also, getting him ready for bed. You read his favorite lullaby and kiss his cheek as he drifts off to sleep, silently peeling out the room and closing the door behind you. You won’t be moving out until hopefully a month from now, since your lease is month to month. But you’ve always enjoyed getting a head start on things, especially something as big as this. 

The apartment feels different now, half-packed boxes stacked in corners, the once-cozy clutter of everyday life slowly disappearing. You stand in the dimly lit living room, rubbing your arms as the silence settles over you. Moving still doesn’t feel real. You glance at the clock. Satoru still isn’t here. With a sigh, you walk into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. The faint hum of the refrigerator is the only sound accompanying you as you lean against the counter, tapping your fingers against the cool surface. Your mind drifts—back to your conversation with Hana, to Koji’s peaceful face as he slept. The weight of everything presses on your chest, but before you can dwell too much, a soft knock at the door pulls you back.

You already know who it is.

Setting the glass down, you push off the counter and make your way to the door, unlocking it with a quiet click. And when you open it, there he is—Satoru, standing in the dim glow of the hallway light, looking a little tired but still offering you a lopsided grin. His shirt is unbuttoned at the top, sleeves lazily rolled up, with black slacks and shoes. 

“Hey,” he says, voice lower than usual. Tired. 

“Hey,” you reply, stepping aside to let him in. “you’re a little late.”

“Yeah, sorry. Some stuff in the office, got held up.” 

You nod, not exactly surprised. You’ve grown used to his unpredictable hours, but it doesn’t make it any easier. “It’s fine. Just… been waiting around for you,” you mutter, rubbing the back of your neck as you lead him inside.

He gives you a look, something soft behind his usual nonchalant expression. "I know. I’m sorry about that."

"It's okay." You give him a faint smile, though it doesn't quite reach your eyes. "Koji's already asleep. I made sure to finish his bedtime routine before I started getting things ready here."

Satoru hums in acknowledgment, putting his jacket off and hanging it over a chair. His gaze drifts to the boxes scattered around the room, some already taped up and others half-opened. It’s a stark reminder of the transition you’re about to make, and you can tell he’s thinking the same thing, his face momentarily tight before he shakes it off. “I see you're making progress,” he says, stepping over to the couch and sitting down.

You lean against the doorframe, watching him with a small sigh. "Yeah, just... still a lot to do. Not sure where I’ll even begin with everything. Packing up a life feels… strange."

He looks up at you, his expression serious. “I get it.” His voice drops a bit, almost too soft, as if he’s carefully measuring his next words. “But you don’t have to do it alone. I’m helping, remember?”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten, and for a moment, you forget about the tension between the two of you, the things unsaid and still hanging in the air. “I know,” you whisper back. "Thank you."

“Don’t thank me too much,” he waves you off. “Where should we start?”

You glance around the room, the dim light casting soft shadows on the packed boxes. It feels like the room itself is holding its breath, just like you, waiting for something to break. "Well," you start, standing up and walking over to one of the piles of clothes, "I guess we could start with the things I don’t need immediately. Like these clothes." You pull out a few items, folding them quickly and placing them in the box. "That should make a dent in it."

Satoru watches you for a moment, then stands and stretches, clearly ready to dive in. "Alright, clothes it is. But if we're doing this, we're doing it right," he says, a glimmer of teasing in his tone. "I’ll help you with everything. You won’t even have to lift a finger."

You roll your eyes, but there’s a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "You’re acting like I can’t handle it myself."

"I know you can," he replies, his voice softening. "But if I’m here, let me do my part."

You hesitate for just a second, looking up at him. His offer feels real, no strings attached, and part of you wants to take him up on it. But the other part— the one that’s always been fiercely independent— resists. "Alright," you say finally, looking away to hide the conflicted thoughts running through your mind. "Start with the clothes, then we’ll see where we’re at."

He grins. "You got it."

And so, the two of you begin. It’s quiet at first, just the soft rustle of clothes and the occasional murmur from either of you. But with Satoru’s easy presence next to you, there’s a strange comfort in it. The tension between you both hasn’t disappeared, but it feels more manageable now. Like it’s being pushed aside, at least for tonight.

It’s a pretty peaceful endeavor. Of course, your eyes keep flickering over to the way his forearms clench tight, showing off his pretty web of veins as he lifts one box to stack on top of another. And of course, he can’t help but steal quick glances at your legs peeking out from your dress, or that cute little noise you make when you lift something. The silence between you two feels almost comfortable, but there's an undercurrent of tension that’s hard to ignore. You catch Satoru's gaze more than once, his eyes briefly lingering on you before darting away, as if he’s trying to shake off a thought that keeps circling back.

However, the air in the room feels heavier, charged with unspoken thoughts, though neither of you acknowledges it. Your movements become a little more deliberate, and more calculated, as if both of you are trying to stay focused on the task at hand. But it’s hard to ignore the quiet heat building between the two of you, a tension neither of you seems willing to break.

Every time you glance at him, there’s something different in the way he holds himself—more aware, like he's suddenly hyper-conscious of your proximity. It’s not the usual Satoru, the one with all the jokes and playful teasing. This Satoru is more subdued, like he’s fighting the urge to close the distance. You try to ignore it, pushing the box into its designated spot, but his gaze keeps catching yours. And when you don’t look away fast enough, the corners of his mouth curl, almost imperceptibly. That look, that silent acknowledgment of the way you’re both aware of the other... it makes your heart beat a little faster, a little harder.

You catch Satoru's gaze more than once, his eyes briefly lingering on you before darting away, as if he’s trying to shake off a thought that keeps circling back. And you can't seem to stop noticing the way his muscles move under his shirt, the flex of his arms, the casual grace in the way he lifts the boxes. He’s not even trying to look impressive, but it’s hard not to find something magnetic about the way he carries himself—like everything he does is effortless, even in the midst of something as mundane as packing up boxes.

You try to focus on your task, but the way your mind keeps wandering back to him—his presence so close, his every movement in your peripheral vision—makes it hard to concentrate. It’s like the room has shrunk, and all the air between you is charged with something unspoken.

"You're staring," Satoru says, his voice light, a playful hint in his tone. He lifts another box, his eyes meeting yours briefly. "Trying to get an up-close look at all this muscle, huh?"

Your cheeks warm, and you quickly glance away, pretending to straighten out a stack of books. "I wasn’t staring," you mutter, but there's no real conviction in your voice.

Satoru just smirks, clearly amused, but doesn’t push. Instead, he adds another box to the growing pile and turns his attention back to the task at hand. There's an ease in the way he works, but it’s also clear that he’s making a deliberate effort to keep the mood light. Maybe to balance out the underlying weight of everything else. The two of you fall into a quiet rhythm, the soft rustling of cardboard and the occasional clink of items being packed the only sounds filling the space. You don’t want to admit how much you’ve missed this—having him here, helping, being part of something so domestic. He moves through your space like he belongs, like he’s done this a million times before, and maybe that’s what unsettles you the most. Because there was a time when he did.

You kneel down to wrap some plates in newspaper, but Satoru beats you to it, his long fingers brushing against yours as he takes over the task. It’s brief, fleeting, but the contact sends a jolt through your skin, making you stiffen for just a second. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything—he just works, his movements efficient but unhurried.

More of Koji’s many toys are the next thing to go into a box, and you pause for a moment, running your fingers over the worn edges of a tiny action figure. It’s one of Koji’s favorites—one Satoru had bought him one time on a whim. You remember the way he handed it to your son with an easy grin, the way Koji’s face had lit up like it was the best gift in the world. Your chest tightens as you place it carefully in the box. “You okay?” Satoru asks, his voice softer now. You glance up to find him watching you, his usual playful demeanor replaced with something quieter, something real.

You nod, swallowing. “Yeah. Just… I don’t know. Packing makes things feel more real, I guess.”

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I get that.”

For a moment, it feels like he wants to say more, but the words never come. Instead, he shifts his attention back to the stack of boxes, lifting one effortlessly and carrying it to the corner of the room. And then, something catches his eye. It’s stacked on top of the coffee table and he’s not sure how he didn’t recognize it earlier, but it’s distinct. The handwriting, the doodles, everything. 

“You still have that?” He juts his chin towards its direction.

You stop and look over, following his gaze to the precious box of memories your younger selves made. Your hands still over the box you were taping up, your eyes tracing the old box stacked neatly on the coffee table. It’s a little worn now, the edges fraying, the ink of your younger selves’ handwriting faded but still legible. The weight of nostalgia settles in your chest like a stone.

Of course, you still have it.

You glance at Satoru, catching the flicker of recognition in his expression. His usual carefree smirk is nowhere to be found—just something softer, more thoughtful, as he takes a step closer. “I didn’t think you’d keep it,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing over the lid.

You hesitate, swallowing past the sudden tightness in your throat. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Satoru exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Thought maybe… after everything, you would’ve tossed it.”

You know what he means. That box holds pieces of the past—old photos, handwritten notes, ticket stubs from nights you thought would last forever. Memories you both tried to move on from but never really could. You shrug, running a hand over the lid. “Some things are worth holding onto.”

His eyes flicker to yours, something unreadable in them. His fingers hover over the edge of the box, like he’s debating whether to open it. “Do you mind?”

You shake your head, and with careful hands, he lifts the lid and takes a seat at the couch. The moment he does, the past spills out between you—photographs with scribbled dates, pressed flowers long since dried, a crumpled receipt from that diner you both used to sneak off to.

A photo rests on top, slightly curled at the edges. It’s of you and Satoru, years ago, faces close together as you both made exaggerated, ridiculous expressions for the camera. His arm was draped around you, his signature grin in place. He looks through another few, one of you both wearing Ring Pops, a picture of you guys sitting underneath a tree, ones of you two kissing, and sweet, but cheesy cards with his writing on it.

You wonder if he remembers the moment any of them were taken. If he remembers how he stole your fries right after, laughing when you swatted at him. If he remembers how easy things used to be. He exhales slowly, running a thumb over the corner of the photo. “We were such kids,” he muses.

You smile faintly. “We were.”

For a moment, neither of you say anything. The weight of everything unspoken lingers in the air between you. The past, the present, the things you both wish you could take back—it’s all there, packed into a small shoebox of memories you never really let go of. And maybe, just maybe, neither did he.

Satoru flips through the photographs slowly, his fingers lingering on each one like they might disintegrate under his touch. His lips quirk up at a few—like the one of you wearing his sunglasses, pouting at the camera while he made a stupid face behind you. Or the blurry snapshot of a festival, fireworks exploding in the night sky above your laughing forms.  

But there’s one that makes his expression falter, something unreadable flickering in those bright blue eyes. It’s an old candid, one you don’t even remember being taken. You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor of what used to be his apartment, surrounded by scattered papers and empty takeout boxes. You’re mid-laugh, head thrown back, completely unguarded. And Satoru—he’s looking at you.  

Not at the camera. At you.  

His gaze in the photo is something raw, something unfiltered. And looking at it now, years later, it almost makes your breath catch. Satoru exhales, running a hand through his hair. “I forgot about this one.”  

You shift beside him, peering over his shoulder. “Me too.”  

Liar.  

You remember exactly when it was taken. You remember the warmth of that night, the way the two of you had spent hours talking about everything and nothing. You remember how he had looked at you then—like you were the only thing in the world worth looking at.  

And the worst part?  

You think, maybe, he’s looking at you the same way right now.  

You swallow, forcing a chuckle as you reach for another old memory. “Oh god, do you remember this?” You hold up a wrinkled concert ticket, the faded ink barely legible. “We got lost on the way home and ended up at that weird little gas station in the middle of nowhere.”  

His laugh is warm, genuine. “Yeah, and you made me go inside alone because you swore it looked haunted.”  

“It did look haunted.”  

“It was just old, Y/N.”  

You grin, nudging his arm. He nudges back, something familiar settling in between you both. Something easy. He looks down at another photo, one of you two curled up on what used to be his childhood bed, he’s taking the picture. You’re asleep on his shoulder, a small wet spot from what can only be your drool, as he sports a dorky grin. 

Your heart flutters at the way his eyes linger on your face, smiling in a way that makes you sit beside him, knees brushing together. “You always fell asleep so quick.” 

You chortle quietly. “Well, yeah. Your bed was comfier than mine.”

“It was. Comfier than my hotel from last night too,” he fakes a wince. 

You blink, head tilting. “You got a hotel? I thought you said you were going home.”

His lips purse, looking at you. “Yeah, well…I changed my mind.”

“Why?” Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. 

He hesitates, like he’s not sure he should tell you the truth, but ultimately decides to. “Well…I don’t know. I realized I didn’t really want to go home yet, but I didn’t want to be too far from you guys either, and I felt weird asking to stay.” He rubs his neck awkwardly.

Your breath hitches, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. His words settle into your chest, warm and heavy, lingering in places you’ve tried to ignore for so long. “You didn’t want to be too far…” you echo softly, letting the sentence trail off, like saying it out loud might make it feel realer.  

Satoru shrugs, but there’s something vulnerable in the way he does it—something unsure. “Yeah, I guess.” He looks down at the photo again, his thumb brushing absently over the image of your sleeping face. “I mean, it’s stupid, right?”  

You don’t know what to say to that. Because no, it’s not stupid. Not to you. You wet your lips. ��You could’ve just…stayed here, you know.”  

He lets out a short chuckle, shaking his head. “Could I have?” His voice is quiet, careful.  

You hold his gaze. There’s an unspoken conversation happening between the two of you, the kind that doesn’t need words. The kind that comes with knowing someone for so long that silence says just as much as anything else.  

Finally, you look away, your fingers playing with the hem of your nightgown. “Yeah,” you murmur. “You could have.”  

The air between you shifts—something delicate, something dangerously close to feeling like before.  

Satoru exhales through his nose, rolling his shoulders like he’s trying to shake something off. “Well,” he says, forcing a smirk, “maybe next time I’ll take you up on that.”  

You give a small laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Because you don’t know if you mean it. If you could really handle him here, in your space, in your life, so close yet still so far.  But when he leans back against the couch, his arm brushing against yours, when he picks up another photo and grins at some long-forgotten memory—you think, maybe, you wouldn’t mind. 

He continues to indulge in the sacred beauties of what your past has to offer. It’s another quiet affair, words feeling too loud for such a fragile moment like this one. You smile when he does, laugh when he does at another cringey picture. And soon, his eyes begin to glaze over with emotion. Your eyes widen slightly at the sight, a small gasp almost falling from your lips at the rawness he’s so willingly showing right now. Instead, you say nothing, biting hard on your lip and forcing your eyes on your hands in your lap. 

“Y/N…” he murmurs.

When you look back up, he looks like he’s barely holding it in.

“I…I just…I….I’m not happy. With everything, myself, with—with what I’ve done and said before. It’s been haunting me so much nowadays and no matter what, I can’t help myself. I feel guilty, disgusted, and…and I regret it. A lot. I’ve been confusing you, but myself too. I feel like I disappoint every single time, no matter what….I’m so sorry.”

You don’t even know how to respond to that for a few seconds. You gulp, finally finding your voice. “Satoru….” You whisper, trying to find the right words. “I—I should be the one telling you that.”

“You have before.”

“I know, but it doesn’t make up for my mistakes, either.”

“It doesn’t. But I’ve been hearing you apologize so much recently, it’s time you hear mine.”

The weight of his words hangs heavy in the room, thick with the kind of sincerity that makes your chest tighten. You try to process it, try to let the impact of his confession settle into something that makes sense. But the words seem to fall short—guilt, regret, disgust. The rawness in his voice cuts deeper than you expect, unraveling something you didn’t know was tied up inside you.

His eyes are full of turmoil, and you can see how much it costs him to open up like this. His usual confidence, the front he wears so easily, is nowhere to be found. In its place is a vulnerability so unguarded that it almost frightens you. And in this quiet, fragile moment, it feels like time slows down. 

“I’ve heard your apologies, Satoru,” you whisper, voice barely audible. “But you don’t have to keep apologizing. Not for this.”

His expression falters for a second, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. "But—"

You shake your head, a soft smile tugging at your lips, though it doesn’t feel like enough to wipe away the heaviness in the room. “I’m not perfect either, Satoru,” you continue, your voice gaining strength with each word. “We both made mistakes. And I’ve hurt you too. But we’ve hurt each other.” He looks like he wants to argue, but you press on, finding courage in his honesty. “I’ve been holding onto the past just as much as you have. I can’t change it, but I need to stop pretending it doesn’t still affect me. It’s been haunting me too. But I can’t keep holding onto it. Not if I want to move forward. We’re older now, wiser, more mature. There’s Koji, and…and I don’t want things to feel…horrible between us. I want us to find peace together.”

Satoru swallows hard, and the muscles in his jaw tighten. His hand reaches for his forehead, rubbing it like he’s trying to push the weight of everything out of his mind. “I don’t know what to do, Y/N. I’m trying. But it feels like I keep screwing up.”

“I know,” you say quietly. "We both do." The words are out there, and now all that’s left is to let them breathe. Neither of you can change the past, but maybe...you can learn to let it go. 

He nods slowly, as if trying to absorb it all, and after a moment of silence, he looks back at you. His eyes are tired, but there's something softer in them now, something hopeful. He wipes his eyes. "I don't know where we go from here, but I don’t want to keep running from it."

Your heart stutters in your chest. You don’t know what the future holds either, but for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel the weight of the past starting to lift, even if just a little. "Me neither," you whisper, your voice shaky with emotion. "But maybe we can figure it out."

“Together.”

“Together.”

His lips curve up into a genuine smile full of nothing but warmth, adoration. The smile he gives you is like the first rays of sunlight after a storm, bright and full of life. It’s soft, unguarded—something you haven’t seen in a long time. It reaches his eyes, a spark of something familiar and comforting that makes your chest tighten in a way you haven’t felt in ages. The weight that’s been hanging between you both, the heavy unspoken truths, start to feel a little lighter.

You find yourself leaning into the moment, your breath steadying as his gaze softens, his hand subtly inching closer to yours. He doesn’t push it, but the offer is there, unspoken, a silent invitation to bridge the distance that’s always seemed too wide. You could almost hear the quiet rhythm of your heart in the silence between you, pulsing steady and sure.

“I know there’s some things that don’t call for forgiveness, I understand that. It goes both ways. But I want you to know that I want to be better for Koji, and for you. I want to be here for you, even if it’s just to co-parent.” He says. 

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the sincerity in his voice almost overwhelming. It’s like he’s finally seeing the bigger picture, the shared weight of the past, and the future that still holds a flicker of possibility. His willingness to be better for both Koji and you feels like a balm on a wound that’s been open for far too long. You look down at your hands, fingers trembling slightly as the gravity of the moment presses on your chest. You had always known that, beneath all the tension and mistakes, there was something worth salvaging, but hearing him admit it brings a kind of clarity you didn’t know you needed. 

“Maybe,” you start, your voice faltering for a second, “maybe we don’t need to fix everything all at once. But I think we can make it work. For him, and for us... no matter what it looks like.” 

You glance up, meeting his gaze. There’s an unspoken understanding between you two, the kind that doesn’t need words. He’s no longer just apologizing—he’s actively offering a future where you’re both better versions of yourselves, learning, growing, and being there for Koji. The idea of co-parenting with him, of sharing that responsibility and maybe even more, feels like the first step toward something that might just heal all the old wounds. You don’t know what the future holds, but for once, it doesn’t feel as daunting as it did before.

The air between you thickens with every breath, heavy and charged. The weight of what he said lingers in your chest and you begin to forget about everything else. It’s just you and him, the past and the future all blending together in this shared space. You can feel his presence more than you ever have before—closer than ever, his warmth radiating off of him, his gaze never leaving yours.

Satoru shifts slightly, his knee brushing against yours, sending a spark up your spine. It’s not just the physical closeness; it’s the way the emotional tension seems to stretch and wind itself tighter, knotting in your gut. His eyes flicker down to your lips, just for a split second, but it’s enough to make your heart race, to make your breath hitch in your throat. You inhale shakily, eyes darting between his eyes and his lips, unsure of whether it’s the right moment. His hand, almost instinctively, moves toward yours, brushing the back of your fingers lightly. It’s barely a touch, but it sends a wave of heat flooding through your body.

"Y/N..." He says your name in a low, almost desperate whisper. It's a quiet plea, and it’s as if he’s asking for permission—permission to cross that line, to go past the familiar territory you’ve shared for so long.

You’re frozen in place, caught between the pull of your past and the undeniable attraction of the present. Your pulse quickens, and for a moment, all the doubts, the reservations, the walls you’ve built, seem so far away. “Is this...” You start, but the words die on your tongue, replaced by the sudden proximity of his face to yours. His breath is warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

He doesn’t need to answer. His eyes tell you everything you need to know—the vulnerability, the desire, the hope, all wrapped up in the way his lips hover just inches from yours.  Your hand slowly finds its way to the side of his neck, your thumb brushing against the soft skin of his pulse, a silent invitation.

Time seems to stand still for what feels like an eternity. Both of you internally weighing out the pros and cons of this situation, but all you can come up with are the pros. You’re not sure who moves first—whether it’s him leaning in, or you, but in the next moment, his lips are on yours, tentative at first, as if he’s waiting for you to pull away. 

But you don’t. You don’t pull away.

The kiss deepens, slow but insistent, the taste of him, the feel of his mouth, everything feels so raw and real, like you’ve both been starved for this connection. Every lingering touch, every brush of skin, sends a flood of emotions coursing through you. His head tilts, cupping his hands against your cheeks. It’s not just the kiss—it’s everything that’s been left unsaid, the apology, the longing, the shared history—it’s all colliding in this single moment.

And even though it’s a long time coming, you know it’s about what comes after, the mess and the beauty of what you’ve both been through. But for now, all you can focus on is him—the way he feels against you, the way everything else seems to fall away, leaving just the two of you.

His head pushes closer, kissing you with a tender firmness that has you encircling your arms around his neck to bring him closer. Happily, he scoots closer to you, one hand drifting down to your waist. His tongue swipes gently across your bottom lip and you part your lips. The wet muscles invades your mouth in a way that feels so reminiscent. Your tongue tangle together in a sensual, slow dance. 

Subconsciously, you’re leaning more and more back until your back hits the couch cushion. He’s hovering above you now, the hand that was on your cheek planting itself beside your head to keep his stability. You nibble gently at his lower lip, the low moan he lets out makes you feel so embarrassingly warm.

After a few minutes, he pulls back for air, practically panting. Your lips are red, kiss-swollen. Looking up at him with wide eyes like you can’t believe what just happened. He’s almost beginning to question whether he misread the situation but he glances down, noticing the way your legs part for his body to slot between. 

The moment hangs between you two, thick with unspoken understanding, as if neither of you wants to break it but both of you are struggling to catch your breath. Your chest rises and falls in time with his, and your mind races, unsure if you should stop or let this continue. But the way his body is so close to yours, the heat radiating between you, the warmth of his hand on your waist, makes it hard to think clearly. 

His eyes flicker between your lips and your eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation. But all he sees is the way your chest heaves, the flush of your skin, and how your body silently shifts beneath him as if you're inviting him closer without needing to say a word. Satoru’s hand remains by your head, bracing himself, but his other hand trails a path along your side, grazing the curves of your body, feeling the pulse of warmth beneath your skin. He leans down again, his lips brushing against your ear before trailing a kiss down to your neck, a soft sigh leaving your lips. His touch is gentle but possessive, as if he’s reclaiming something that’s always been his, as if this was meant to happen all along.

You tilt your head back, giving him more access, your fingers threading through his pale hair, pulling him closer. You can feel the way his heart races against your chest, matching the intensity of your own. His lips find yours once more, and this time, the kiss is more urgent, more demanding, as if he’s trying to make up for all the time that was lost between you two. It’s overwhelming, the way your body responds to him. You’re caught between wanting more and wanting to hold onto this fragile moment, the one where everything feels right, despite the potential mess that surrounds it. Every touch, every kiss, sends a jolt of electricity through you, reminding you of the connection that has always been there, buried deep beneath the surface.

But you pull back for a brief second, your breath shaky, trying to regain control of your racing heart. “Satoru...” Your voice is barely above a mutter, and his name on your lips feels like a whispered confession.

His eyes darken, and he leans in again, his forehead pressing against yours. “I’m not going to rush you, Y/N. I just need you to know…” His words trail off, but the intensity in his gaze is enough to fill the silence. 

You’re both teetering on the edge of something that could change everything. But in this moment, it’s not just about the kiss, or the heat between you two—it’s about the vulnerability, the trust that you’ve both allowed to fill the spaces that have been vacant for so long. And as his lips brush yours again, you can’t help but wonder if this is the beginning of something new—or the rekindling of something that was always meant to be. “I know,” you murmur against his lips. 

“Good,” he gives you one last lingering kiss, before titling his head down your jaw, kiss after kiss pants your smooth skin until it reaches your neck. Soft nibbles and sucks make your body feel like it’s on fire. A small moan leaves you, and you feel the way his lips smile against your neck. He reaches a particularly sensitive spot, your back arching into his body. He hums in acknowledgment, like he’s silently applauding himself for getting it right after all this time still. 

The sensation of his lips on your skin sends a rush of heat through your body, every kiss and nibble sparking a fire deep within you. The tender yet possessive way he touches you makes your head spin, and you can’t help but sink further into the feeling of him, his hands pulling you closer, his breath warm against your neck. His lips never stop moving, finding every spot that makes you shiver, every place that makes your body hum with need.

You grip his shoulders tighter, urging him closer, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as if holding on to something real amidst the storm of emotions flooding you both. His touch is a contradiction—gentle yet firm, warm yet filled with an intensity that makes it impossible to pull away. “Do you remember how we used to…” He doesn’t finish the thought, his voice a low whisper against your skin, but the way he pulls back to look into your eyes tells you everything you need to know. His eyes are dark, pupils dilated, a quiet desperation there that matches the frantic rhythm of your heart. 

You swallow thickly, barely able to form words. “I do…” you breathe out, your voice shaky as you push yourself closer to him, your lips nearly brushing his as you speak. 

His hand slides lower, resting at your hip, fingers pressing into your skin with a possessiveness that leaves no room for doubt. The heat between you two builds with every passing second. You wonder how you’ve gotten here, so tangled in each other’s arms, so lost in the intensity of everything that’s been left unsaid between you. His lips find yours again, more urgent now, as if he can’t wait any longer, as if this is everything he’s been craving. Your body responds instinctively, your hands moving to undo the buttons of his shirt, and in that moment, there’s no hesitation, no uncertainty—just a shared understanding that this is something more than just a kiss, more than just a fleeting moment. With each kiss, with each touch, the tension between you both only grows stronger, and you can’t help but ponder the idea of how much longer you’ll be able to hold back.

“Missed this….missed this….god…” he groans into your mouth. 

And you’re suddenly reminded of the fact that your son is sleeping peacefully in his room, the walls aren’t very thick ,and this—this should not be happening right now. It’s not right; you two aren’t even together, he has a fucking girlfriend, for crying out loud. 

What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing?

Your body feels jittery with nerves and anticipation, the reality of the compromising situation settling in. Are you technically homewrecking right now? Or are you innocent because technically…he knows where his real home is. His lips against you feel nostalgic, but even better than what you remember. Heart pounding in your chest, breathing short—panting and he’s barely done anything.

You’re brought down back to Earth when a sneaky, warm palm squeeze softly at the inside of your thigh. You gasp unintentionally, hand shooting out to grip his wrist weakly. Half-lidded gaze meeting yours, his face is the epitome of a man on the brink of losing it.

The grip of your hand around his wrist caused a shiver to run down his spine. He liked the way you could feel how quick his pulse was, how excited he was to put his hands on you. He shifted you further back, lifting the back of your head up to lay it onto the pillow. His head bowed, his mouth hovering over your pulse point, but pausing just before he could touch you. “Let me just have a taste,” he murmured. “I won’t go any further. I just…I need this. Please.”

“Y-you always say that…” you manage to breathe out. 

“And usually I stick to that.”

Usually. 

His lips connect with your neck once more. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your skin, and his grip on your thigh and wrist tightened slightly. His tongue flicks over your pulse, and he places a second kiss, and a third. He moves down your neck, pressing kisses and soft, sharp nips to your skin. He wanted to mark you. “Just a taste.”

You find yourself barely contemplating—the rate at which you’re actually answering his shocking request baffles you. But you can’t bring yourself to care about the consequences of your choices right now—just trying to feel. A shaky nod. 

Honestly, fuck his girlfriend. 

His speed is fast, movements quick and hurried like he can’t wait, like he’s just been given permission to take a bite of his favorite sweet that he hasn’t had in so, so long. You gasp when he’s moving down your body, lifting your legs up by the back of your thighs and over his shoulders—his head finding placement between your thighs. 

“Thank you, thank you,” he whispered, his voice breathy and eager. The moment you nodded he was all over you.

He’s keeping your legs hoisted up, pushing your dress up and out of the way. He positions himself to lay on his stomach between your legs, his hands running up and down your thighs. The position is almost comical to you, his large frame barely fitting onto the small couch you own. But it’s his determination—his desperation that’s keeping you going. 

He was already breathing heavily, desperate. And he was still begging. “Just a taste.” he repeated. “Just a small one.”

He noses at your thigh, inhaling your perfect scent. Your hand finds rightful placement between his strands, looking down at the way he bunches your nightgown at your hips, revealing a pair of….plain granny panties. 

Immediately, you cringe. Legs moving to close shut, but his hold on them keeps them wide open for him to sniff at your heat like a dog. “So good….so pretty…”

Your cheeks feel hotter than your entire body, flooding with embarrassment as he continues to smell. His warm breath hitting you through the material and you flinch. “S…Satoru….I’m sorry…”

“For what?” His voice is muffled, but his eyes still flicker up to meet yours. 

“F-For not being better prepared. I’m sorry,” you gulp. 

He scoffs, kissing your inner thigh. “What are you talking about? You think I care about that? You know me, Y/N. You could have the biggest bush known to man with decade old underwear and I’d still want some of you.”

You grimace. “Satoru!”

He chuckles softly, kissing the crease of your thigh. His fingers softly rub your plush skin, easing your tense body. You let out a big puff of air, eyes raising up to the ceiling when he moves back to your underwear. Giving you a tiny kiss above the fabric, you bite your lip. Your fingers slowly begin to rub at his scalp, he momentarily stops as he basks in your touch. Humming in approval. 

“….please don’t stop,” he whispers, followed by his fingers latching onto the hem of your underwear. 

You let out a shaky sigh, hips lifting slightly to help him. He pulls down the fabric in a methodical way, giving you enough time to register what’s happening and possibly pull away if you feel like it. Again, you don’t pull away. The granny panties move down your legs until he’s tossing it to the side on the floor. And once his eyes zero in on your glistening cunt waiting for him, his pupils dilate ever wider (if possible). “Wow,” he sighs in fascination. 

His stare always makes you feel bare, but especially now. You can’t help feeling self-conscious about the way you look down there. Not that there’s anything wrong, but you know he’s been intimate with another woman. Your mind swirls with implications that he’s secretly hiding his disgust behind a dopey smile and mesmerized, gleaming eyes. Your hips twitch. “I—sorry.”

“For what?” He asks again.

“If I look different.”

“You look as beautiful as you always do, maybe even more,” he replies easily, the sight of your pussy capturing his full attention as he leans closer. “Can I show you, please? I love it so fucking much.” 

God, his mouth. His bright blues make eye contact with you once more, waiting for an answer. Finally, you nod. “…yes, Satoru.”

And that’s all the confirmation he needs. You gasp out as he dives in, sucking first at your puffy clit that peeks at him. Instinctively, your fingers tighten around his hair, hips jerking up, but he pushes them back down. He moans when your sweet taste melts on his tongue like ice cream, tongue prodding and swirling in circular motions. Your head tilts further back, mouth agape, trying to keep up with his speed. 

But you never could. 

“S-sa—” you’re cut off when he spits roughly, subsequently whimpering in a shivering manner when his tongue enters your squeezing hole. “F-fuck…oh….fuck, Satoru.”

“So good,” his tone sounds like a whine, fingers tightening around your thighs while he forces you closer to his mouth, almost like he’s trying to suffocate himself in you. His mouth works your pussy in a way that makes you see stars, pleading for more. 

His teeth nibble very softly at your clit, followed by a wet kiss, and then a slobbery suck. He’s always worked messy, your wetness drowning his face in it, running down until it pools onto the cushion beneath you. He shoves his face deeper, the tip of his perky nose poking your nub while his mouth focuses on your hole. He tilts his head, almost like he’s french kissing your pussy, moaning and mumbling nonsense. You make out small things like ‘so good’, ‘yes, please, yes’, and ‘how fucking good you taste’. 

You bite down on your free hand to keep your noises within hold, but of course, that proves meaningless against Satoru’s ruthless mouth. “A-ah…S-Satoru…I—”

His tongue moves back into your quivering hole, feeling the way you squeeze and he can only wonder how good that would feel against his hard cock that he’s rutting shamelessly into the cushion. Your thighs close around his head, eyes rolling back when a familiar warmth coils at your lower gut, hips jerking and toes curling up. 

He senses it, doesn’t need to ask. 

He continues his ministrations, making noises that sound so fucking obnoxiously hot that you feel a countdown until your warm cum oozes out in such a captivating way. He’s lapping it all up, not letting a single drop go to waste. Your chest heaves, panting like you’ve just run a fucking mile. Even after you’ve cum on his tongue, he’s still eating you like he’s starving. 

You whine and whimper, pulling at his strands. “Satoru…c-can’t….ngh….”

“Just…a little…more…” he pants. 

And you honestly have no objections. Even if you feel overstimulated, even if you wish he’d give your pussy a damn break from his vicious mouth. It’s all worth it in the end when he pulls back, his mouth and chin coated in your juices. 

And he still looks like he hasn’t had enough. 

It’s a sight that feels straight out of a romance novel. A man so desperately yearning for a simple eating that he looks almost crazed. But to him, it’s not simple. It’s everything. Every part of you is everything to Satoru. Your reactions are a bonus, your hazy eyes, parted mouth, strands of hair sticking to your forehead…it’s all worth it. 

His eyes tear up again, a broken laugh falling from his lips. “Beautiful. Always have been, always will be.”

You can’t speak, offering a noncommittal huff. 

He leans down, kissing the corner of your mouth. You stick your tongue out, faintly tasting yourself. He gives another to the tip of your nose, for forehead, then finally your lips before he’s nuzzling his face into the side of your neck. 

Your chests meet each other in timed rises, arms feeling limp as you wrap them around his neck. No words are spoken, just allowing yourselves to be present in the moment—in each other’s touch. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles against your neck. 

Your throat is dry as you respond. “…m…mhm…”

He laughs again, softer this time. Feeling his arms loop around your waist and tugging your body closer to his like he’s trying to fuse you two. He inhales deeply. “…can I stay?”

You breath out, fanning his ear. “Yes, please.”

His smile is ever-present, letting his eyes flutter closed. Your arms tighten around him, bringing him as close as physically possible. He lets you do so. 

The silence between you two feels comfortable, almost like the world outside this moment has fallen away. You can hear the steady rhythm of his breath, and the way his body feels against yours makes you realize just how much you've missed him—his presence, his warmth. His hand runs gently up and down your back, a soothing, almost instinctual motion, and you feel your heartbeat steady with it. The vulnerability, the tenderness in his touch, it's as if he's trying to make up for the lost time, showing in every quiet movement how much he's there, how much he cares.

"Are you okay?" His voice is soft, and there's an undercurrent of something raw in it.

You nod against his shoulder, not trusting your voice for a moment. The weight of everything—the past, the future, the unsaid words—feels less heavy in this space, this fragile moment where nothing is expected of you. You just are, and for the first time in what feels like forever, that’s enough.

“I am now," you whisper, holding onto him just a little tighter, as if you’re afraid that if you let go, this peace might slip away. He hums in agreement, his fingers tracing light patterns on your skin. 

As you drift off to sleep, you don’t question the dampness of the tears you feel hit your neck or the way his breath hitches. 

a/n: hi guyssss! thank you for ur patience. I'm a little self-conscious about my transitions between scenes in this chap and i wish i could’ve dragged out the mom scene more but the wc was looking 🫣🫣🫣 anywho I really hope u enjoyed :)

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[rex-rambles]

➤ YOU CAME? YOU CALLED | MAX VERSTAPPEN

summary: you don't mean to call Max when you get mugged on the streets of Monaco, but he shows up anyway

pairing: max verstappen x ex!reader

wc: 2.6 k

warnings: angst with a happy ending, discussions of break ups, mugging, minor bodily harm, and insecurities

➤ MASTERLIST

You hadn’t really meant to call Max. You’d memorized his number by now, typed it into your phone enough times, but you’d never meant to press call. 

You’d never meant for him to pick up. “What’s wrong?” It wasn’t a surprise, that something terrible must have happened for you to call him. 

It wasn’t like that, once. Once, you’d been madly in love and called every evening you could, spent every hour together, but love runs out eventually. That honeymoon feeling wears off, and you’re left fighting in the dull heat of Monaco’s late nights, storming off a yacht for the last time. 

“It’s nothing,” You manage to say, hanging up, and letting your head drop into your hands. It was nothing, in the grand scheme of things. Being mugged at knife point wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened to you, you weren’t even really hurt. 

The paramedics insisted on bandaging up your hand, where the knife had managed to cut you, but it shouldn't have been anything major to Max. Before that doomed fight, he had been acting like every time you left the house you were heading into a war zone. Telling him you were mugged? At knife point? You would be proving him and his need to control you right, and even if you wanted him here, you'd never admit it.

“It’s nothing?” The paramedic asks, staring down at where you're perched on the sidewalk. “You need a ride home.” 

“I’ll be fine.” But you don’t move, and the paramedic doesn’t believe you. “I called the wrong person.” You finally say, pretending to dial another number and pressing the phone to your ear, and you pretend to have a conversation with someone who cares about you and is worried the normal amount and rushing here as quick as they can. 

The paramedics get a more important call, and you’re left on your own on the sidewalk, thinking of whether you should call a taxi, or just walk when the sound of a motor cuts through the night. It would be an ignorable noise, if you hadn’t known Max for so long. 

It would be an ignorable noise, if you didn’t know the exact make and model of the car, and the man behind the wheel. At a speed you can’t fathom for Monaco’s tight streets, Max and his Valkyrie appears, and it isn't lost on you that Max came, in his fastest car, when you called.

You try not to let it jump-start all those feelings tucked away in your heart, watching the car come to a screeching halt in front of you. With little regard for anyone else out on the street, he parks in the middle of it and is at your side without caring to close the car door.

“I don’t care if it’s nothing,” he says, a soft anger in his voice. “What’s wrong?” 

“I…” you don’t want to admit you were mugged, because then it’ll turn into a thing about strength, about you needing Max, and you’re not ready to admit that yet. “You came.” 

“You called.” He says, coming to crouch before you. “You know I’ll always answer.” 

His eyes drop to your hand, and he pauses, slowly raising it up into the streetlight. You know he can tell it’s fresh, and his eyes flick up to yours with a dark expression. “It’s nothing.”

“Stop lying to me, liefje.” The word slips out, you think, Max so used to saying it. It had only been a month without being called that, and you hate to say you missed it. “Nothing has to happen between us again, but you need to tell me the truth. What happened?”

Rather than answering, your eyes drift past him to his car, and you realize you'd never told him where you were. “How did you know where to find me?” You ask and Max sighs, slowly letting your hand rest on your leg as he debates his answer.

Knowing him, it was probably some hidden air tag or something on you, but if it had been in your purse, it was long gone from now. “You never unshared your location." He answers finally, and you spare a glance down at your phone on the sidewalk. It wasn't his fault, you suppose, that he wanted to know where you were at all times with the fame he was accustomed to. You just weren't used to being known like that, being controlled, even if it was for your safety. "Now, for the last time, what happened?” 

“I was mugged.” You admit quietly, and Max’s head snaps up to look at you, shock plain on his features. "I don't sleep well alone, so I've been going for late night walks, and I know you're going to lecture me about not being safe, but I want to live my life, Max." The words just sort of tumble out, the whole reason you separated now hanging between the two of you. "I know you want to protect me, but it-"

“Are you hurt? Your hand?” Max cuts you off, and you raise it up to wiggle your fingers in an attempt to show you're fine, but the stretch makes you wince.

“I tried to grab it out of his hand, but he made off with my purse.” It had hurt like hell, but somehow, your pride hurt more. 

You were tired of doing everything wrong, of being told where to go and when, or how to act. You just wanted to be alone with yourself for once, and you ended up on the other end of a knife. You didn't want to say Max was right, but maybe he was. “You tried…to grab it.” 

“The knife, so he wouldn’t stab me.” Without much ceremony, Max reaches out and pulls you into his arms, hand coming up to cradle your head as he presses it into his shoulder. 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispers into the top of your head, and tears spring up before you can help it. 

You’d held it together this long, but it had been terrifying, and Max’s arms felt like a home you hadn’t realized you’d miss. He seems to sense your tears, gently rubbing circles into your back. 

“And I am going to lecture you about walking alone at night,” he continues, making you scowl into his chest, “But it doesn’t have to be with me.”

“What?” You wrench back, staring up at him as if you didn’t hear that right. 

He stares right back, watching the few stray tears run down your cheeks, and you realize, in that instant, what he's saying. "I want to keep you safe, but...you're not happy like that. If...if you need someone who doesn't smother you to be happy, then you should have that person, and take them on your stupid late night walks."

Were you smothered? It wasn't the wrong word, you suppose, but it wasn't like Max had meant it to be as painful as it was. He could have anything he wanted, anyone he wanted, but he was so protective of what he had, like he couldn't stand to lose it.

And yet, for you, for your happiness, he was willing to let you go again. The tears well up once more, for your hand, for the fear of being mugged, for Max, and confusion overrides the sympathy on his face.

"You...don't want that?" Max infers softly, and you shove against his chest to create some space between you as you try to figure out what to say.

That you still love him? That despite the smothering, he was the first person you knew to call, the first person you wanted to call, and he came, in his fastest car, to come get you?

That he was telling you to find another man to be happy with, to protect you, when you just wanted him? "Listen, you can't just go walking on your own, this is what happens!"

"I should be able to!" You snap, taking a heaving breath as you try to calm yourself. "I just-I should be able to do what I want, Max, with who I want. If I want to walk with you at night, it shouldn't be because I need some protector, but because I want you."

"Do you want me to walk with you at night?"

You blink at him, tears slowing as you try to figure out what he's asking you. "Of course I do, Max." You answer softly. "I always did."

"Then why didn't you say something?" You'd tried. You kept asking to go out, and he'd tell you that it was too dangerous, and it would become an argument before you could even ask him to join you.

"I did, but you always made it about how I can't go out at night. And if it wasn't late night walks, it was just doing random errands on a day off, or going on a girl's trip, or wandering around all the places you were racing." You know he didn't mean to be controlling, but he was. The only way to get space was to walk away from him, and it hurt like hell. Max opens his mouth, and you quickly shush him to continue. "And before you go off on some tangent about how it's not safe, I get it. I mean, I got mugged tonight! But the potential of something bad happening doesn't mean to stop the good from happening, too."

Max's eyes drop from yours, turned to look down the street. In this light, it's hard to blame him for anything at all, but it wasn't fair. Not to you, and not to him.

"Max," You offer quietly, "Look at me."

"You scare me." Max says, voice barely audible in the night. Turned away, you almost pretend he didn't say it at all. "I've never felt this way before, about anyone. I'm terrified something is going to happen to you, and it's going to be all my fault."

"Love, that's not-"

"My first race, you got lost in the crowd. Someone could've...could've done terrible things to you. That time you got ambushed by paparazzi, you got lost in Montreal, I just...I've only ever wanted you to be safe and happy, but..." But you weren't happy like this, despite how safe you were.

And Max was finally realizing it. "But you let the safety part control our relationship. I promise you Max, nothing bad is going to happen to me because you weren't there."

"But it did tonight." You suck in a breath, coming to gently cradle Max's face in your hands, and forcing him to look back at you.

If it were anyone else this stubborn, you would give up this fight, but it's Max, whose life is fast-paced and hellish at the best of times. You hadn't realized how much of this was about him, and his abilities, and not you and your restrictions. You were still mad at him, justified for walking away, but the longer he was close to you, the more your resolve broke.

This wasn't supposed to end in heartbreak. This was supposed to be a bump in the road where Max realized he was being overbearing, but how can you truly be angry at anyone for caring?

He wanted you safe, but he needed to realize that the ways he was going about it weren't right. As he'd said, there's a difference between safe and smothered, and you had stepped away before it had gotten to that point.

And even now, having gone against him, and gotten hurt, it was alright in the end, and as stupid as it was to say, he needed to realize that. "And?"

Max blinks twice, as if trying to calculate how you came to that conclusion. "And what?"

"And I'm fine. I'm a bit banged up, and without a purse, but I'm alive, and I'm with you." Max opens his mouth to speak again, and of his own will, he shuts it promptly. You let out a sad laugh at his restraint, and he cracks the barest smile in response.

"Only you could turn a mugging into a good thing." Max leans forward, gently resting his forehead against yours, and it takes a fair amount of restraint to not kiss him. "I'm sorr-"

"You can't apologize for something you didn't cause." The last thing you need is for him to blame himself for you getting hurt because he wasn't there.

In this life, there are always going to be things out of your control, but it's up to you and Max to work together against them, rather than let that anxiety rule over everything.

"Then I'm sorry for you thinking you couldn't call me." Tears swim in his eyes, cracking open to look at you, and you move your head back to look at him properly.

"You know, I really didn't mean to call you at all, but it was just sort of instinctual." Max nods solemnly, like he's committed some great sin, and you gently run your thumb over his cheek. “It’s a good thing, I think.” 

“You think?” 

"If you think I'd never call you again because you care about me too much, you are sorely mistaken." You smile, and Max attempts the same. "I'm sorry for putting distance between us the way I did, but I think we needed it."

"Need is a strong word." Max mutters softly, endearing in the way he tries to frown and fails. "I just...I don’t know how to do this any other way." You expect another argument, but instead, Max hesitates. It's obvious he has something to say, but instead, he very gently pulls back to press a kiss to your forehead. "But if you'd let me...we can try?"

That's all you want. For him to hear you, to understand you, for him to just try. You know he won't suddenly be perfect overnight, and neither will you, but it's enough to just try.

His eyes flicker down your face, quickly returning to your eyes, and that same old guilt returns, and without much thought, you lean forward to press a kiss to his lips, and instantly, he's melting in your arms like that touch was all he needed, moving his hands to your hips to gently guide you towards him again. "I can do that," You whisper against his lips. "We're going to try, and you're going to try to understand that whatever happens, it's not your fault. Never was, and never will be."

"And you are going to try and not get lost as often, okay?" You press another quick, chaste kiss to his lips.

"Deal." You and Max just stare at each other, curled up on some sidewalk in Monaco, and you both realize the strangeness of it at the same time. "Take me home?" You ask softly, and without a word Max is up and on his feet, hand extended to help you up. There's a joke to be made here, about him being eager, but you save it for a night with a bit less emotion. He helps you into the Valkyrie and gets in the driver's seat, but he doesn't turn on the car, or plug himself in.

Rather, he turns to look at you, reaching over and taking your bandaged hand in his. "I love you." He says, unlike how he's ever said it before. It's not a statement, a confession, or some poetic thing, it's just the truth.

He says it, as if no matter what happened tonight, if you stormed away furious or made up, he'd say it all the same.

He says it with the understanding that you'd call, and he'd come find you, no matter what. And, gently squeezing his hand in yours, you know it's enough to make this work.

"I love you too."

a/n: i can't really explain where all this came from besides a good, sad playlist and a 2 hour road trip :) enjoy