#I know those two are different but who cares?

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Can you please do a George having a daughter the same age as Kimi, and he finds out there dating, and freaking out?

The boyfriend/teammate

"I can't believe he thinks he's faster than me through Sector 2," Kimi scoffed, tossing a protein bar toward Yn, who caught it effortlessly.

They were sitting on a low wall just behind the hospitality area, the warm hum of the paddock swirling around them. Mechanics rushed by, PR people clicked down the walkways in sharp heels, and the ever-present sound of tires being rolled echoed nearby.

"You are faster," Yn said with a smirk, unwrapping the bar. "But he's not wrong about your starts. Those are a disaster."

"Okay, rude," Kimi mock-pouted. "I'm trying my best."

"Your best almost ended up in the pit wall in Bahrain."

Kimi blinked at her. "That was one time."

Yn arched an eyebrow. "Two."

"Okay, fine. Twice. But we’re not talking about that anymore. We’re talking about how awesome I am in Sector 2."

"Your ego needs its own garage space."

Kimi grinned, leaning back on his hands. "You love it."

Yn flushed, just barely, the warmth rising in her cheeks not from the sun.

She did. God help her, she really did.

Yn had grown up in the paddock. Her earliest memories included race day adrenaline, the scent of burning rubber, and her dad’s voice on the radio. By the time she was twelve, she could tell the difference between tire compounds just by looking. By fourteen, she was helping her dad review telemetry.

And now at eighteen, she had the run of the paddock like it was her second home.

Which was great.

Except for the part where her dad’s new teammate was annoyingly charming and exactly her type.

Kimi was just a few months older. He was confident, a little too pretty for his own good, and had a laugh that made her stomach flutter.

It had started slow. A shared joke here. A walk back from the media pen. Watching data together. And then... more.

Now, they snuck hand squeezes behind hospitality tents, exchanged texts all through the night, and once, memorably, made out in the motorhome when the team was at a strategy meeting.

But they'd kept it quiet.

Until now.

"You what?!"

George stood in the team’s motorhome, eyes wide, voice somewhere between a shout and a squeak.

Yn winced. "Dad, calm down."

"I am calm!" George said, clearly not calm. "You’re dating him?"

Kimi, ever unbothered, lifted his hand in a little wave. "Hi."

"Don’t 'hi' me! I trusted you! I mentored you! I— I— I taught you how to heel-and-toe!"

"That was very helpful, thank you," Kimi said earnestly.

George flailed. "Kimi!"

"Dad," Yn said, stepping between them, voice steady. "It’s not like we planned it. We just... started spending time together. You know how often I'm around."

"Yes, and I trusted him!"

"I’m still me," Kimi offered. "Just with your daughter’s number now."

"Not helping!"

"Sorry."

George paced a few steps, hands on his hips, then turned to his daughter.

"Yn. You’re my little girl."

"I’m eighteen."

"My baby girl."

Yn groaned. "You let me drive a car at Silverstone at fifteen."

"Exactly! Because I trust you! But this—this is different."

"Why? Because it’s Kimi?"

"Yes! No! I mean—he’s my teammate!"

Kimi raised a finger. "I’ll never crash into him on purpose."

George stopped pacing. "On purpose?"

"I mean—I wouldn’t crash at all. Sorry. That came out wrong."

George sighed dramatically and sank onto the couch.

"This is going to be a disaster."

"Or not," Yn said softly. "Dad... we care about each other. A lot."

George looked up at her, then over at Kimi, who looked surprisingly earnest. He’d taken his cap off, ruffling his hair like he always did when nervous.

"I’ll take care of her," Kimi said. "Promise."

There was a long pause.

George sighed again. "I need coffee."

The next day, the entire paddock knew.

Not because they told anyone.

Because George told everyone.

"Did you know my daughter is dating Kimi?" he said to a stunned Toto at the morning briefing.

Toto blinked. "...Congratulations?"

"Thanks. I think. Maybe. I don’t know!"

When Max wandered into the lounge later, George cornered him.

"She’s seeing Kimi."

"...And you’re telling me this why?"

"Because you’ve known him for years! Should I be worried?"

Max blinked. "About what? That he’s gonna crash her into a wall of roses? He’s the most boringly respectful guy I’ve ever met."

George frowned. "That's what worries me. No one is that respectful."

Later that afternoon, Kimi was cornered by a swarm of drivers in the cool down room.

"You’re dating George’s daughter?" Lando asked, grinning wide.

"Please tell me you told George in the car."

"No, it was in the motorhome," Kimi muttered.

"Coward," Pierre said, flopping onto a beanbag. "I would’ve done it in the garage. With the radio on."

Oscar leaned over. "Are you scared of him?"

"Terrified," Kimi admitted. "He keeps looking at me like he’s imagining pit stop sabotage."

George, for his part, was trying to be supportive.

He just... had moments.

Like when he stood outside the motorhome while Kimi and Yn were inside, dramatically clearing his throat every five minutes.

Or when he "accidentally" sat between them at dinner.

Or when he started casually asking Kimi about his intentions. Every day. In public.

"So, Kimi," George said, strolling up with a totally fake smile, "where do you see yourself in five years?"

Kimi blinked. "...Still racing, maybe. Traveling. With Yn, hopefully."

George narrowed his eyes. "Mm-hm."

"You asked," Kimi said defensively.

"Just making sure we’re on the same page."

Yn rolled her eyes so hard she almost tipped over.

But slowly, things softened.

George saw how Kimi waited for Yn outside of interviews. How he held her hand protectively in crowded media zones. How he watched her with the same tenderness George remembered in Carmen’s eyes when Yn was born.

One evening, George found them sitting under a canopy of stars behind the paddock, Kimi’s jacket wrapped around Yn’s shoulders, her head on his shoulder.

George didn’t interrupt.

Just watched for a moment.

Then smiled.

The race that weekend was a blur of chaos—rain, safety cars, unexpected pit stops. Kimi managed a podium. George finished just behind.

As they stepped off the podium, champagne-soaked and exhausted, George nudged Kimi.

"Nice drive."

Kimi turned, blinking. "Thanks. You too."

George gave him a long look.

Then smirked.

"Hurt her and I’ll replace your steering wheel with a baguette."

Kimi grinned. "Noted."

"Good. Now go kiss your girlfriend before the photographers find her."

And with that, George walked off, already planning to call Carmen and tell her everything.

Kimi ran straight to Yn, swept her up in a hug, spinning her slightly before pressing a kiss to her lips. She laughed into it, arms wrapped tight around his neck.

"He smiled," Kimi whispered.

"My dad?"

"He didn’t even flinch."

"Wow. Progress."

"Do you think he likes me now?"

Yn grinned. "Let’s not get ahead of ourselves."

Back in the motorhome that night, George flopped onto the couch beside Carmen.

"She’s in love."

Carmen looked up from her book. "We knew that."

"With Kimi."

She smiled. "I know."

George groaned. "I’m not ready."

Carmen kissed his cheek. "You don’t have to be. You just have to be there."

He sighed. "Do you think I can still scare him a little? Just to keep him on his toes?"

Carmen smirked. "Oh, absolutely. That’s a father’s job."

George nodded. "Good. Tomorrow I’m sending him a list of dating rules."

Carmen raised an eyebrow. "Color-coded?"

"Laminated."

She laughed, leaning into him.

And in the next room, Yn and Kimi lay curled on the couch, watching old race replays, fingers entwined, hearts full.

Love, it seemed, had found its place on the grid.

Even if it had to dodge a few protective elbows along the way.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you!

Also, please ignore that the ages of the people don't really make sense. Thank you!

Another also, thank you to 🐴Anon for your kind words (OMG, I have an anon (can I even say that?)).

To answer some questions, yes I can speak German because I'm from Austria. About writing Part 2's for some stories, I'll have to think about that.

Thank you for all your kind words and support!

Special shoutout to @heyitspapayaontop for defending me with their life. Now that's what I call a real girls girl

-🤍🦢

[mononijikayu]

what was i made for — gojo satoru.

You paused. “Even if that means you’re technically with someone else’s wife?” “Baby, I’m with you. Not your paperwork. Not your status. Just you.” He grinned, leaned across the couch, and kissed your cheek. “And besides, if I ever feel insecure, I’ll just buy you a vacation home to stroke my ego.” You rolled your eyes, but your heart softened anyway. “I already have a vacation home.” “And?” He raised a sly brow. “You can have another one. Again, I’ll buy you one. Pick whatever you like.” You become flustered. “You’re ridiculous.” “Yeah, I know. But you love me.” “.....That I do.”

GENRE: alternate universe - actor/s au!;

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

WORD COUNT: 18k words

NOTE: this is probably the happiest chapter in the story. which means that something else will happen with time. there's about two or three chapters in this part of the story. toji's is almost finished too, but that takes time. we're about to see the end of the cheating au!!! thank you so much for reading it and loving my work and writing!!! i love you all so much~ see you in the next chapter!!! <3

masterlist

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the good life ― masterlist.

THINGS MOVED ON SO FAST IN A BLINK OF AN EYE, YOU COULD HARDLY CATCH THEM. It’s been four years since you and Gojo Satoru began… whatever this beautiful whirlwind was. Love, romance, partnership, a second chance.

Many people can call it what they will, those who know behind the scenes. But you were certain that these few years were the best years of your life.

At first, it felt strange, even unfair that you were living these experiences without a care in the world. It was all like you were stepping into sunlight too soon after the storm. Yet the more you saw the smile on your face blossoming, the more your hand was warmed by Satoru’s own, you started to think that the strange feeling was gone. 

Your amicable separation from your estranged husband Nanami Kento had been quiet, civil and weirdly calm. There were absolutely no fights.

There was no betrayal of confidence in that table, sitting across from each other in the home you once shared together. This was not what you expected for yourself after being married to him for nearly three decades. But that was just what it was.

You two were just people who grew apart, slowly and inevitably, like leaves falling from the same tree but drifting in different directions. Two miserable people who can’t bear to be miserable together any longer. This was for the best. At the very least, you both weren’t going to kill each other like that anymore.

Before long, you both were sitting in front of your lawyers and discussing everything. A legal agreement, a legal separation in a sense. Not yet divorce. That was what Kento and you had talked about at length that morning, after not seeing each other for a long time.

It wasn’t sentiment, exactly. Well, at least that’s what you like to think. Perhaps it was practicality, perhaps with a thread of stubborn care. Nanami Kento insisted on it. Even if you didn’t want anything to do with it at all. 

“Kento, I do not want your money.” You shake your head at him. “The kids can have it.”

“Look, the law states that if something happens to me, as my spouse, you’re entitled to half. All of it!” Kento jabs a finger at the paper like it personally offended him. “To be honest, you have more entitlement to all of it than anyone else.”

You scoff. “That doesn’t mean I want it. I’m not some fortune-hunting widow-in-waiting. You knew that when we got married.”

“I do know that.” he snaps back, exasperated. “That’s exactly why I’m giving it to you.”

“Oh, well, thank you, Your Royal Highness.” you mutter. “Shall I curtsy, or do we just skip to the part where you fake your death and live in a cabin in Norway?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You still want to keep your little charity empire alive, right?”

“Yes, of course I do—”

“Well, surprise!” He cuts in smoothly, that old lawyer–glint returning to his caramel eyes. “The money for that comes from the fund tied to this account”—he wraps the page with his knuckle—“which, might I remind you, was created by us, for you. The only way it keeps going is if you take the damn money.”

You cross your arms. “Fine. But we’re only selling the main house. Not the summer or winter homes. The kids still love those. They’re the only places where no one cries during dinner.”

“That’s a done deal.” he says too quickly. “But I’m giving you the full sale from the main house. All of it.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “Why does this sound like you’re trying to bribe me into being your ghost–wife?”

He sighs and crouches in front of you, resting his arms on your knees like a man about to confess a war crime. “Because I’m thinking about the long term. When I die—”

“Don’t say it like you’re ordering takeout, gosh.”

“—you get half of everything.” he continues, unbothered. “The kids get the other half. I’ve already set it up.”

There’s a beat of silence before you say flatly, “That’s a very unsexy way to say you still care about me.”

He grins, crooked. “I stopped trying to be sexy when we started arguing about hedge funds in our pajamas.”

You shake your head, trying not to smile. “You’re a pain in my ass, Nanami Kento.”

“And you’re the reason my accountant drinks.”

“Are you sure it’s not because of you?”

“I give him gifts.”

“I do too. That’s why you pay him double, don’t you?”

“Only because he likes you more than me.”

You both fall quiet in that moment, still looking into each other’s eyes. You could feel all of the tension shifting, even just slightly. A mutual understanding weaving through the sarcasm and legalese like it always has. 

Finally, you sigh. “Fine. We’ll sell the main house. You keep your weird death–plan. I’ll take the fund. But if you die on me in the next five years, I am haunting you.”

“That’s fair.” He nods solemnly. “You’ll probably be a very stylish ghost.”

“Oh, I will be in heels.”

“Gosh, that blue eyed bastard rubbed on you too much.”

“I can say the same thing about your new play thing.”

“It’ll be over in five months. Don’t be ridiculous.”

You snickered at him. You let yourself sit back, arms crossed, legs tucked under you like a queen on her crooked little throne. “After all that and the cheating, Nanami Kento…..You and I really are better as friends.”

He flinches, just a little. Enough for you to notice. “You’re not gonna let that one go, huh?”

“Oh, I’ve let it go. That’s why I’m fucking your co–star.” you reply coolly. “Well, not all of it. There’s still some anger. Right into the bonfire of my dignity, along with your cufflinks and that hideous espresso machine your secretary picked out.”

He presses his lips together like he’s deciding between biting them or biting his own tongue. “That machine cost three grand.”

“And couldn’t even steam milk right. Fitting, really.”

Kento lets out a huff of something halfway between a laugh and a groan. “You know, it’s weird how you can make me feel guilty and impressed at the same time.”

“I’m gifted like that.” You tilt your head at him. “But you know I’m right. We were always better when we weren’t trying so hard to be something... storybook. Friends with a shared mortgage and matching towels was a lie we told ourselves to make brunch less awkward.”

He nods slowly, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Yeah. Friends who actually like each other, instead of married people tolerating each other’s toothbrushes.”

“Exactly.” You pause. “No one tells you how quietly devastating that kind of cohabitation is. One day you’re in love. Next, you’re arguing about throwing pillows and whose turn it is to pretend they’re happy.”

Kento’s eyes soften. “I did love you. I hope you know that.”

You smile. It's sad and dry and a little crooked. “I know. I loved you, too. Just… not enough to live in a sitcom with a laugh track made of resentment for the rest of my life. Not after Satoru loved me so well.”

“I know.”

There's silence again, but it's the calm kind this time. The “I see you” kind. The kind that only comes after the worst of the storm passes and you’re standing in the wreckage, somehow still upright.

“So…” he says after a beat. “Do I still get to crash at the winter house when the city drives me crazy?”

“As long as you don’t bring any dates there.” you reply. “That’s the only ground rule. I won’t bring Satoru either. It’s just for us and the kids.”

“Deal.”

“And if you break that, I’ll have the kids hide your socks in the freezer. Actually, throw you in the river.”

He grins, standing up and offering you his hand like it’s some kind of truce. “You really are a menace.”

“And you dear fool….” you say, taking it. “You are tragically still in love with your ex-wife who has better taste in furniture.”

“Touché.”

You both laugh ever so earnestly, honestly. It was a sharp, honest, tired laugh and for the first time in a long while, it feels real. You knew it was. That was the last time you met him in a few years.

The kids see him still, to be sure. But not enough. They still aren’t on the best terms, after all. Though your estranged husband sends greetings and gifts, he keeps himself busy with project after project. But perhaps that was for the best. 

Even after your paths diverged, he did as he promised and still funds your charity work. In fact, doubling what he has given over the years. And gave the money from the sale of the house. No questions asked. No comments. The wire transfers came in like clockwork. It was always clean, quiet, and consistent.

Gojo Satoru found out about it early on. You’d braced for a reaction. Almost anything from jealousy to disapproval. But he’d just blinked, snorted, and said:

“Well, it’s the least your absentee husband can do. Dude skipped out on being your soulmate, the least he can do is pay rent on your greatness.”

You laughed, surprised at how easily the tension melted away around him. “You’re not even the slightest bit weirded out?” you asked him once, months into your relationship.

Satoru glanced up from his phone, where he was reading something with that smug, unreadable look of his. “What, that your ex is still investing in your humanitarian ambitions? Please. If anything, I respect the hell out of that. He knows you’re worth betting on.”

You paused. “Even if that means you’re technically with someone else’s wife?”

“Baby, I’m with you. Not your paperwork. Not your status. Just you.” He grinned, leaned across the couch, and kissed your cheek. “And besides, if I ever feel insecure, I’ll just buy you a vacation home to stroke my ego.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart softened anyway. “I already have a vacation home.”

“And?” He raised a sly brow. “You can have another one. Again, I’ll buy you one. Pick whatever you like.”

You become flustered. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, I know. But you love me.”

“.....That I do.”

There were days when guilt stirred quietly in your chest, especially when you caught yourself smiling at Satoru in the middle of an ordinary day. Just cutting vegetables in the kitchen, waiting in line for coffee, brushing your teeth side by side. That deep kind of joy felt… undeserved, sometimes.

But Satoru never made you feel like you owe anyone an apology.

He had a way of grounding you without anchoring you. He never demanded explanations. He never needed to be assured that he was loved. He just… was. He was everything you could ever dream of and more. 

He was steady and unshaken. So sure that whatever you gave him. Your time, your touch, your quiet little smiles—it was more than enough. And maybe that was what made you love him more fiercely than you ever expected.

One morning, you stood at the stove in one of his oversized shirts, stirring miso soup while he wandered in half-awake, hair a chaotic mess of white and pillow–pressed waves. He slid behind you without a word, arms slipping around your waist. His face pressed into the crook of your neck.

“You smell like tofu and betrayal, baby.” he mumbled.

You laughed, leaning back into his warmth. “Betrayal?”

“I was supposed to wake up before you and impress you with breakfast. Now I have no choice but to pout dramatically for the next hour.”

You turned in his arms, spoon in hand, raising a brow. “We both know you were never going to wake up first.”

He gasped, pressing a hand to his heart like you'd wounded him. “I could have. If I believed in myself. And if you hadn’t drugged me with your love and a weighted blanket.”

“Maybe I’ll drug you again tonight.”

He smirked, eyes glinting. “Now that’s romantic, baby.”

But behind the jokes, the little routines, the comfortable touch of familiarity, you knew he saw it too, that quiet shadow in your eyes on some nights.

The way your tender gaze drifted just a second too long when Nanami Kento’s name was mentioned on the news. The stillness in your shoulders when letters came in with his name on the envelope.

You never talked about it much. Well, at least not directly. You found yourself curled up on the balcony with wine and a blanket between you, Satoru carefully nudged your knee gently with his. He looks at you with stars in his eyes, with love in his eyes. 

“You don’t have to feel bad.” he said, not looking at you. “For loving someone who loved you well. That’s not a wound. That’s just… life. And you don’t have to tuck it away for me.”

You swallowed, the knot in your throat rising too fast, too suddenly. “I never wanted it to feel like I was splitting myself between you two.”

“You’re not, baby.” he said, finally meeting your eyes. “You’re here. With me. That’s all I need. What you shared with Nanami doesn’t take anything from what we have. If anything, it just proves you know how to love deeply. And I’m lucky you chose to do it again.”

Your eyes blurred, and he let you fall against him, his hand smoothing over your hair as if keeping you from falling apart entirely. “I didn’t think I could have this again.” you whispered.

He pressed a kiss to your temple. “You can. And you do.”

And somehow, you believed him.

IT WAS A LOT, LEARNING HOW TO BE INDEPENDENT AGAIN. At that time, you bought your first apartment in a long while. It was supposed to be liberating—exciting, even.

A fresh start, a space all your own. But no one warns you that real estate hunting in the city is just emotional roulette with better lighting. The search was insane. 

Open houses felt like war zones. Every place you liked had at least one dealbreaker: too exposed, too small, too haunted by the spirit of bad interior design. And the ones that ticked all the boxes? Snatched up in seconds by people with deeper pockets or better poker faces.

You were melting down daily. The need for privacy, for a place that didn’t come with a paper-thin wall and neighbors who fought like they were auditioning for a reality show.

It all felt like too much. You’d walk into listings and walk right back out two minutes later when you realized the "third bedroom" was actually just a glorified closet with a weird smell.

Enter: Satoru’s mother, Gojo Sasaki.

A force of nature in kitten heels, wielding real estate knowledge like a weapon of divine intervention. She insisted on tagging along “just to make sure no one sells you a shoebox and calls it a penthouse.” and thanked every deity you half-believe in that she did. 

She brought snacks. She brought printouts. She brought energy. She fought brokers with a smile that could freeze lava and charmed doormen into giving her the real scoop on the building. And despite your initial protests, you were grateful. Deeply, surprisingly grateful.

You were sitting cross-legged in the back of yet another overpriced studio with water stains on the ceiling, staring blankly at the fake marble countertops when you sighed. “If I die here, tell the coroner I wanted better flooring.”

“I told you we should’ve skipped this one, sweetheart.” Satoru’s mother said, arms crossed, sunglasses still on indoors like she was ready to assassinate a broker if necessary. “That listing said ‘charming’ which we both know is code for ‘run.’”

You cracked a tired smile. “How do you always know these things?”

“Sweetheart, that’s simple.” she said, linking her arm with yours, “I survived three housing markets, two recessions, and your boyfriend’s rather stupid ‘minimalist’ phase. I know things. Now come on, we’re getting coffee and pretending this didn’t happen.”

You had no idea how you would've survived that apartment hunt without her. Satoru was off filming with Suguru for their big duo project. It was some morally ambiguous, slow–burn, guns–and–gloves drama where both of them looked like trouble and sin on-screen. 

Which meant you were left with a string of missed calls, loving texts like “you find a place with a bathtub yet? asking for my muscles” and a FaceTime from a desert set where he looked like a mirage with eye bags.

So yeah, you were mostly on your own. Except... not really.

“Let me guess.” you said after touring a third apartment that day, this one with a layout that made no architectural sense. “They called this one something like blah blah blah modern oasis. Or something like that.”

“Open-concept disaster is more accurate, sweetie.” she replied, flipping through her printouts with a level of judgment only a mother–in–law could wield. “Also, did you notice the neighbors? That man with the parrot who said he sings at night?”

“He does. I heard him through the vents.”

“That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

You laughed, even as you leaned heavily against the hallway wall, overwhelmed. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

She looked at you then—not with pity, but with that calm, razor–sharp gaze Satoru inherited. “Yes, you can. You’re just tired. And stressed. And madly in love with my idiot son, who thinks sending you something called memes is emotional support.”

You choked on a laugh. “You noticed that too?”

“Oh honey. He sends me the same ones. I’m quite confused about them, but all the same it’s what it is.”

Eventually after a long search, you found it. Tucked on a quiet street, the sixth place on what had become your no chance in hell sort of day. A sunlit living room, solid walls, a balcony just big enough for four chairs and a wine night. You stood in the middle of the room, blinking like you'd been hit by soft light and maybe.

Satoru’s mom placed her hand on your shoulder. “This is the one.”

You swallowed. “Really?”

She nodded. “You already relaxed. You haven’t done that in weeks. Also, the plumbing is from this century. And sweetie, you can afford this. It’s good to lavish on yourself.”

You turned to her. “You think he’ll like it?”

She smiled. “He’ll love it. But more importantly, you do.”

When Gojo Satoru finally returned back to Tokyo, the first thing he did was come to your new home. It was hard to get everything ready by yourself but your kids and Sasaki–san helped out and got everything done just before noon. You wouldn’t have gotten anything done in time if you did it all by yourself.

Your beautiful boyfriend came with his messy white hair, voice still quite a bit hoarse from late–night reshoots. You smiled at him and helped him take off his coat. You put away his coat in the coat hanger as he bothers himself with the slippers you laid on the floor. When he was done, you let your lips pressed to his. He smiles into the kiss, deepening it.

“Well, that’s quite a welcome after a long day.” He whispers against your lips, when you both separate. “Happy about that.”

“Hm, you always are.” You whisper back, smiling back at him. “I’m glad you could come.”

“Of course. Any time with you is precious time spent.”

You giggle. “You always flatter me.”

“My girl deserves nothing but the best, you know?”

“Welcome to your part-time residence, babe.” you said to him, moving to give him his own set of keys. “No parrots from creepy rich old guys. No cursed plumbing. Room for your life–size cardboard cutout of yourself.”

He blinked, grinning. “Wait—you found it? Like this is it?”

“She did, with my mapping, of course.” his mother said, arms folded proudly. She had just come from the kitchen. She was making dinner for the three of you. “You could say this was the diamond in the rough, son.”

Satoru looked between you both, stunned. “I leave for a bit and suddenly she’s your daughter and I’m the in–law?”

“Oh, honey, definitely.” his mother purred. “In my mind, it was when you told me you liked her. That was twenty odd years ago. But I digress.”

“Duh, she’s my mom now, baby.” You snorted. “She’s part of the deal now. You lose me, you lose her.”

“Noted, we switched roles.” he said, pulling you into a kiss before turning to her. “So do I get a closet?”

“No.” you and his mother said in unison. 

“Oh, come on! I gotta buy my own?”

“Son, that’s the least you can do.” His mother says as you and her hooked arms into the kitchen. “Pull your weight!”

“You tell him, ma!”

Gojo Satoru shakes his head. “I’m outnumbered now.”

“And don’t you forget it, honey!”

You started hosting dinners there, at first nervously, then with growing comfort. Satoru’s many friends who were loud, messy, chaotic in the best way began to fill your space with laughter, empty bottles of wine, and stories that tangled into the early morning hours.

They weren’t just his friends anymore. They became yours, too. And that has made you very happy. You hadn’t had friends in a very long time. Many had only been countless faces in the sea of your estranged husband’s stardom. Relationships in his world were fast paced. You hated it. But it was not the case with Satoru’s own pride. That you had adored so much.

Geto Suguru always offered to help with dishes, even if he did them all wrong. Ieiri Shoko brought a new dessert every time and left her lighter on your bookshelf without fail.

Haibara Yuu always complimented your cooking with such sincerity it made you blush, and Shoko’s girlfriend, Utahime Iori often stayed behind with you to help clean and vent about her day.

Gojo Satoru would lounge on your couch like he paid rent, socks mismatched and grin ever-present, always somehow finding the softest throw blanket before anyone else. He moved through your space like he belonged there, because he did. 

It wasn’t official, not yet. There was no key permanently on his ring, perhaps that’s just going to be the case for a long long time. Yet he does not care. And neither did you. His presence clung to the place like sunlight caught in the curtains. It was warm, familiar, impossible to ignore.

Sometimes he’d show up late, well past midnight, hair still damp from the shower, smelling like hotel soap and whatever cologne Suguru dared him to wear that week. He never made a big entrance. Just a soft knock, or sometimes no knock at all. It was just a quiet door click and the shuffle of his sneakers. 

He wouldn’t say much. Maybe just murmured his loving words to you before setting his bag down and collapsing onto the couch like gravity worked harder on him than anyone else. His head would find your lap within minutes. His breathing would slow the moment your fingers slipped through his hair.

“What are we watching?” he’d mumble, half-asleep.

“Something stupid.”

“Perfect.”

And that was it. That was the whole language between you some nights. And it meant to you more than anything in the world. This beautiful shared silence, the hum of the television, the weight of his trust resting quietly on your thighs. This was everything you had dreamed of for all those dark thirty years.

There was still a drawer in your bedroom that held unopened letters from Kento. There was still a part of you that carried the shape of another life. But Satoru never asked you to erase it. Instead, he brought light into the corners you didn’t know were dim.

He never rushed your healing, never tried to step into places that weren’t his. He just… waited. Patiently. Kindly. With that unwavering presence that made you feel safe without ever making you feel small.

Sometimes, in the hush of a Sunday morning, he’d make coffee before you even woke up, padding around barefoot with bedhead and the sleeves of his hoodie covering his hands. You’d find him standing by the window, sipping from your favorite mug like it was his, bathed in soft light, looking at peace.

He never said it, but you knew he liked being there. Not just visiting. You saw it in the way he knew where the sugar went, how he refolded the throw blankets without thinking, how he started bringing over books and leaving them by your bed.

Other times, he brought Sasaki–san with him. Announced only by the scent of pastries or expensive perfume. She’d breeze in with a tote bag full of skincare samples and gossip swiftly declaring to you words she said best. 

“You look tired. Lie down. I brought a cooling mask and judgment.”

“I’m fine, ma.” you’d always say, even as she was already applying something that tingles in a concerning but oddly pleasant way. “Really.”

“Lying makes you puffy.” she’d reply firmly. “Come and be a good daughter and let me help care for you!”

When she didn’t bring him, she came alone happily. This was usually after one of his longer shoots. As if she knew the exact moments you needed a little something soft and strange to anchor you again. 

She’d brew the fancy tea no one but her understood, talk about vintage cookware, offer unsolicited but accurate relationship advice, then leave like she hadn’t just recalibrated your entire emotional frequency.

There was one evening you found your boyfriend Satoru asleep in your bed, sprawled diagonally, stealing your side like a cat. His mother was in the kitchen, humming and slicing fruit with the precision of a surgeon.

“I go and change his position, ma.” you said, leaning in the doorway. “He’ll catch a cold.”

“Add a blanket, nothing more than that, sweetie.” she replied without looking up. “He only sleeps like that when he feels safe. Let him.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t need to. Because he did. He was safe. And somehow, so were you. You stood there for a moment longer, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his hand had flopped over to your pillow like he missed you in his sleep. 

His socks were still on. Still once more mismatched and rather dirty. One of his feet brutishly hung off the edge like he hadn’t quite figured out how to fit in a bed built for two. “He’s overworked again, isn’t he?”

“He snored loud a little earlier, so that’s true.” his mother added, casual as anything. “But only when he rolled onto his back. Suguru used to throw a pillow at him when they roomed together in their early days in the business. You could try that. Or just pinch his nose and pray.”

You snorted. “He’s lucky I love him.”

“He is lucky, sweetie.” she said, pausing to hand you a slice of apple, crisp and chilled. “But so are you. My son is a storm, but he doesn’t land where he doesn’t mean to.”

You took a bite. Sweet. Cold. 

Sharp at the edge, like the things she never said out loud.

“I know.” You whispered to her tenderly. “I’m very lucky.”

Later, when she’d gone and the house had gone quiet, you slid into bed next to him, gently nudging him to scoot over. He murmured something incoherent, squinting one eye open. He looks at you, drooling.

“Mmm… 's it tomorrow already?”

“Almost. You’re on my side, you know.”

“Your side is warmer.”

“Because I warm it.”

He grinned sleepily, latching onto you like a koala. “Exactly.”

“You’re a menace.”

“You love me.”

You buried your fingers in his hair, resting your cheek against his. “Yeah. I really do.”

He looked at you softly. “You know, I used to think home was a place. But now I think maybe it’s just wherever you are.”

You didn’t answer right away. 

Just reached for his hand, lacing your fingers with his.

Because what do you say to something like that?

You’d stopped believing in forever a long time ago. But maybe this wasn’t about forever. Maybe it was about now. This sliver of time where you were both here, both whole, both willing to try. So you let him stay a little longer than that wrapped in your arms. You let yourself believe a little more.

A little while later, he was out again in seconds, breathing slow and steady. And you lay there, listening to the rain tap softly at the windows, his warmth bleeding into you, your heart quieter than it had been in years. 

Both of you, safe. For once, completely and irrevocably safe.

PEOPLE HAD STARTED TO NOTICE EVERYTHING, WITH THEIR KEEN LITTLE EYES. Not just fans or critics, but colleagues, directors, interviewers who had worked with him for years.

Gojo Satoru had always been brilliant, undeniably talented, magnetic on screen. He was the kind of actor who could make silence feel like dialogue. But something had shifted in the air with him.

There was a new depth to his performances, a stillness beneath the chaos. Like he had nothing to prove anymore, just something honest to offer. A kind of clarity. Vulnerability. Everything had become more intense, more overwhelming, more real.

“He’s always been good to work with.” one director said in an interview. “But now he’s present. It’s like he finally stopped running like he’s running out of time. He’s started walking at a pace that he can feel leisurely about.”

“Oh definitely!” The actress he worked with smiled back at the director’s words. “Gojo–senpai really has become so much more of a human being, in a sense. It’s hard to explain. But there was just something about him these days.”

“Maybe he’s in love?” The interviewer posed to the cast and director, with a smile on her face.

“Or maybe he’s sleeping well.” Another actor snickered to the side.

“Maybe he’s earning more money!” The actress once again snides, earning laughter. “Bonus is upcoming, senpai! Be even more radiant!”

Besides that, people started to take notice of how he was no longer chasing project after project the way he used to. He still worked, still showed up, still delivered. But the rhythm was different now. Softer. More deliberate.

He took longer breaks between all the roles he’s been taking little by little, turned down parts he would’ve once jumped at with eagerness, and merely smiled unapologetically, bright eyed even, when asked about it in interviews.

“Life’s too short to never rest, you know?” he said once, shrugging. “And there are places I want to be. People I want to be with. Just gaining a new perspective in life lately.”

He was traveling more, and not alone. Sometimes fans would spot him in quiet corners of other cities. His hands tucked into his pockets, sunglasses low on his nose, walking next to you like the world wasn’t watching. 

You were laughing beside him, or reading on a train while he leaned on your shoulder, or slipping your hand into his without fanfare. You had no worries in the world as you stood together with him as his equal.

There were photos of you both by the coast in Italy, wrapped in shawls and laughter. Or in Kyoto, at a food stall, faces lit by lantern light. Or somewhere quiet and nondescript, where only the lucky few realized who they were seeing and chose not to interrupt. 

There were no worries about everything else either. Gojo Satoru held the media and the people with the palm of his hand. His fansites refuse to post anything about his private time, at his manipulative request accompanied by fan service. And his little text to Higurama Hiromi makes every headline go away.

No one knows and no one seems to care. That’s why you can say, your boyfriend just seemed lighter. Not in the way someone loses weight, but in the way someone puts something down. And everyone could see it, even if they don't know why. 

But you knew everything too well. You knew everything the world didn’t. And that’s what mattered. You were the beginning and end of his happiness. That’s why he wasn’t escaping anymore. He was arriving.

He stopped talking about needing to disappear into a role to feel alive. Stopped measuring his worth by the size of the screen or the buzz of the press. Instead, he started asking questions like, “Do you want to stay another day?” or “What if we took the long way back?”

He started calling his agent less. Started denying any guest appearances left and right. Started singing and goofing around more. Started sitting in silence with you like it was a conversation worth having. Everything was done with you by his side. 

Life lived like this had everything to do with stillness. With safety. With love that didn’t demand, but invited. It had everything to do with the nights he spent asleep with his head on your shoulder. 

With the mornings you brought him coffee before he asked. With the apartment full of his friends who had become yours. With your laughter echoing through every room he’d once thought he’d only pass through.

You became the reason he didn’t need to run anymore. And he didn’t say that out loud all the time. He didn’t need to. But he told you in the way he looked at you when you weren’t watching. In the pictures he took of you on film, quietly, reverently. In this way he always waited to fall asleep until you were beside him.

Gojo Satoru hadn’t changed for the world. He’d changed because, for the first time, he didn’t have to be larger than life to be loved. He just had to be here. He can just be himself in the world locked away like this with you.

The villa was still. Except for the echoes of your heavy breathing and the soft creak of the mattress beneath you. Days had blurred into nights, or maybe it was the other way around. You didn’t know anymore. You can’t think straight. 

You had no sense of time anymore, not with Satoru constantly between your legs, his hands all over you, his mouth pressed to your skin like he’d die if he stopped. And you let him. Hell, you craved it just as much.

You and Satoru in blissful isolation here in Switzerland. No paparazzi, no cameras, no media. It was just the two of you in a secluded villa where no one could see how utterly undone you had both become. 

What started as innocent stolen moments quickly turned into madness you could only crave because of him. You hadn’t left the bed for days. You didn’t want to. There was no need to do so And he was happy to oblige. Pamper you with your wants.

Your body ached, raw from his touch. You could feel his teeth, his tongue, his fingers all over you. They were all too rough and brutish, but you didn’t care. The sheets were soaked, clinging to your damp skin. 

Your thighs still trembled from the last time he was inside you, and yet, here you were again. On your back. On your stomach. Bent over. Under him. Over him. There was no end to it. You’d lost count of how many times he’d taken you, but your body kept begging for more.

"You’re crazy, baby." you gasped in nonsensical tones, your voice hoarse from the endless screams he’d pulled from you. Your nails dug into his back, his sweat-slicked skin hot and feverish beneath your touch.

Satoru just laughed, breathless, his bright blue eyes blown wide with something feral. His white hair stuck to his forehead, and his beautiful mouth was red and swollen from kissing you senseless everywhere and anywhere.

"And you're just as bad, aren’t you?" he rasped, his hand gripping your jaw to force your mouth open before his tongue slid inside. It was messy, all teeth and desperation, but it only made you dizzier.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pooling all the wetness of your bodies all around you. You kept pulling him deeper into you and you wanted more. You want him to overtake you. You needed it. You needed him. Your mind was gone, reduced to nothing but a hazy, animalistic desire to keep him inside you.

"Fuck, fuck. Baby, baby…..hoooooo…..hu—" you sobbed, arching against him as another orgasm barreled through you, unexpected and violent. 

Your rigid body seized around him, walls fluttering as you felt his cock throb. But he didn’t stop — he never stopped. Not when he had you all for himself to pamper and to love. Even when you came, he kept moving like a man possessed. It didn’t help that you kept encouraging him too.

"You’re not tired yet, are you?" Satoru's voice was wrecked, but his grin was sinful. His hands tangled in your hair, yanking your head back so he could bite down on your throat, leaving yet another mark. "You can take it, can’t you, baby? My good girl can keep up, right?"

"You’re insane……" you gasped, but your hips still lifted to meet his thrusts, helpless under his touch. "We’ve been in bed for days."

"And I’ll keep you here for more if you let me." His teeth grazed your jaw, his hand sliding down your stomach until his fingers found your already oversensitive clit. You jolted, legs clamping around him, but he just chuckled darkly. "You’re not tapping out, are you?"

Tears burned your eyes from pleasure, from overstimulation, from the sheer intensity of it all. "Satoru—"

"I know, baby." He kissed you, swallowing your cries as his thrusts turned bruising. "I know."

Your nails raked down his back, leaving angry red marks bleeding all over, and his answering groan shot straight to your core. His grip on your waist tightened, possessive and desperate, like he couldn’t get deep enough.

"We’re so fucked up, aren’t we?" you whimpered, head spinning. "We haven’t left this bed—fuck…fuckkkkkk. W–we haven’t eaten—"

"Don’t need food, baby." he bit out, his pace rough and frenzied. "Need you. Only you, mmm…."

And you lost it. Again. Your body locked up, mouth open in a silent scream as another orgasm wrecked you, and Satoru followed seconds later, spilling inside you with a guttural groan.

But even after, he didn’t move away. He didn’t pull out. Instead, he collapsed on top of you, his weight heavy and grounding, and you felt his cock twitch again. Still hard and excited.

"You're fucking deranged, you bastard—what the fuck, you feel too good….." you whispered, your voice shaking. “You still feel so big, oh my god…..”

Satoru lifted his head, his grin dangerous and boyish all at once. "And you love it."

And you did. Because when his mouth dragged down your chest and his hands gripped your thighs again, you didn’t stop him. You spread your legs. You let him take you again. And again. And again. Until the sun rose and set and rose again and you still hadn’t left the bed.

Because he wasn’t done with you. And you weren’t done with him.

The air in the room was becoming more suffocating than ever before. It was highly toxic, thick with sweat, sex, and the sheer heat of your bodies colliding over and over again. You didn’t know how long it had been. Hours. Days. Time didn’t exist anymore. Not here. Not in this bed where Satoru refused to let you leave.

Your limbs felt boneless, pliant beneath him. Your voice was completely gone, too hoarse and too raw from screaming his name until you couldn’t anymore. Your throat burned, your entire body ached, and yet… you still wanted it.

Satoru hovered over you now, his face flushed, his white hair clinging to his forehead. His pupils were blown wide, eyes glazed with something primal. Something unhinged. He hadn’t let you go. Hadn’t let you leave this bed. Hadn’t stopped touching you. And you didn’t fight it, not once.

"You look ruined, baby." he rasped, his voice cracked from hours of panting and groaning your name. His thumb traced your swollen lips, still slick from his last kiss. "So pretty like this. All fucked out and begging me to keep going."

"I’m not—" your protest died the moment his hips snapped into you again, knocking the air from your lungs. Your back arched off the mattress, another shattered moan tearing from your throat. "Fuck, fuck…..Satoru, Satoru, what the fuckkkkkk……I can’t—"

"Yes, you can, baby." he cut you off, voice like gravel as he drove himself impossibly deeper. "You always can." 

His hand found your throat, not tight enough to cut off your air but firm enough to make your head spin. "You think I’m stopping now? After everything we’ve done?" His grip tightened slightly, his pace punishing. "After the way you’ve been screaming for me like a little slut?"

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t form words. All you could do was feel. And God, you felt everything. The thick drag of him inside you, the sting of his teeth on your skin, the burn of your overstimulated nerves. You’d come too many times to count. The sheets beneath you were completely ruined, your legs trembling with each thrust. But he wouldn’t stop.

Did you even want him to?

"S–satoru….please, I’m close, I’m close. Give me….fuck—" you begged, your voice cracking, unsure if you were begging him to stop or keep going.

"Please, what?" His grip on your throat tightened, his other hand gripping your thigh so hard you were sure it would bruise. "Please fuck you more? Please don’t stop? Please fill you up again?"

Your eyes rolled back. "Y–you bastard—"

"Yeah, baby." Satoru growled, teeth sinking into your shoulder. "That’s what I thought."

It was insane, he was insane. The way he wouldn’t let you out of his grasp, the way his body was still ravenous for yours despite having already taken you more times than you could count.  And he still wanted to take you more.

You felt his cum leaking out of you, sticky and hot. But it didn’t matter. Every time he finished inside you, he never let it go to waste. He’d push it back in with his fingers, murmuring, “Not done yet, baby. Can’t waste it.”

And here he was still hard, still fucking you like he was trying to break you. “Baby, you can do it. I know you can.”

"I can’t—I can’t…holy fuck….. babe—" you sobbed, tears pricking your eyes from the sheer overstimulation. Your body trembled, your legs kicking weakly, but he just growled and forced you to take it.

"Yes, you can. You did it already, didn’t you?" he snarled, his hand moving from your throat to your jaw, forcing you to look at him. His face was twisted in something dark, obsessive. Like he’d die if he didn’t keep you like this. "You’ve been taking it so well, baby. You think I’m letting you stop now?"

Tears slipped from the corners of your eyes, your mind barely tethered to reality as his thrusts turned brutal. "I’m gonna break you, like you break me." he promised darkly, his tongue dragging up your jaw. "You’re gonna leave here and never forget how I fucked you like this. Never."

You sobbed, but your body betrayed you. It was another violent orgasm ripping through you, and your walls clenched so hard around him that he cursed, his hips stuttering. "Fuck! that’s it, baby. You take it all, it belongs to you. Fuck, fuck…..take it, all. Take it!"

Your body arched again, screaming his name, and you felt his cum spill inside you for what had to be the fifth time that day. But Satoru still didn’t stop. Even as you trembled and gasped, trying to push at his chest, he caught your wrists and pinned them above your head.

"I’m not done." His voice was wrecked, but his cock was still hard inside you. "I said I’m not done, baby."

"Satoru…please. I’m full of you.”

"You will." His teeth bared in a dangerous grin. "You’re gonna stay here, in this bed, until you can’t fucking walk."

And you believed him. Because the hunger in his eyes wasn’t fading — it was getting worse.

The moment you tried to push at his chest again, his grip snapped.

"Don't fucking do that, baby." Satoru growled, his hand flying to your throat again, pinning you hard into the mattress.

His cerulean eyes were wild, almost rabid, pupils dilated so far there was barely any blue left. His chest heaved, his cock still buried deep inside you, still hard, despite just filling you moments ago. "Don’t fucking push me away."

"I can’t —" your voice cracked, absolutely wrecked, tears streaking your face as your body spasmed beneath him. "Satoru, I can’t — I can’t take anymore —"

"Yes, you can." His grip on your throat tightened, his teeth bared like an animal. "I’m not done with you. You’re not leaving this fucking bed until I say you can."

Your body jerked as he pulled his hips back and slammed into you again. It was too deep, too hard, too much. Your scream was choked, his grip blocking the sound, and your eyes rolled back as another orgasm shattered you. Your thighs clamped around his waist involuntarily, but he didn’t let up.

"Fuck, yes," Satoru groaned, his head dropping back, white hair sticking to his sweat-slicked skin. "That’s my fucking girl—keep squeezing me like that. Fucking take it. Take all of it."

"Satoru — I —"

"What?" His hand released your throat only to grab your jaw, forcing you to look at him. His hips were still punishing, rutting into you like he’d die if he stopped. "You wanna stop? Huh? Is that what you’re crying for?"

You couldn’t answer. Your mouth opened, but only broken sobs fell out as your body twitched beneath him. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe. Your brain was scrambled from overstimulation, but your body still craved him. It was like a drug you couldn’t quit.

"Nah, baby." Satoru’s voice was dark, twisted, and unrecognizable. "You don’t get to fucking quit. Not when you keep coming around my cock like this — you like it. You fucking love it. Look at you."

Your eyes were blurred with tears, but you couldn’t look away. His face was pure madness. Everything about him was flushed. You could see his teeth gritted, brows furrowed as his eyes bored into yours with deranged obsession. Like he was watching you come apart and thriving off it.

"Satoru, the butler’s going to come soon! H–he said he’ll bring up supper! Y–you…fuck! You heard him on the phone earlier!” you choked out, voice cracking. "We….we have to stop—"

A laugh fell from Satoru’s lips, his grip on your jaw bruising. “Baby, don’t worry. Do you think they’ll care?" His thrusts got harder, splitting you open again and again, like he wanted to break you. "You think they’ll care about me making love to the love of my life?”

"Satoru—"

"Let him watch, if he wants.”

Your body froze. "W-what?"

"You heard me." His voice was eerily calm, but his grip on your jaw trembled with fury. "If he walks in here and sees you like this and sees you all fucked out and dripping with my cum , let him watch.”

“That’s….Satoru….You—” Terror shot down your spine, but it was overshadowed by the way his words only added to the arousal building in your gut again. "Y–you’re insane!"

"I know." Satoru grinned, manic and unhinged. "I fucking know. And I don’t care. Let him stare. That’s all they’ll ever get. But baby, I get to love you like this for the rest of our lives. I don’t care if they all stare.”

“Satoru, you’re being an….fucking…..idiot!” You croaked to him, your nails digging harder against his back. Arousal tightening against him. “You’re….fucking…..fuckkkkk.”

"I don’t care babe!" His hand flew to your thigh, spreading you wider, shoving himself deeper into you, making your back arch from the intrusion. "I don’t care what they do. You’re mine now. ‘m yours too. That’s all that matters. You get that, baby? 

"Satoru. Fuck you, you brat—”

"Say it, baby." His hand left your thigh and grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him again. "Fucking say it. Say you’re mine."

Your stomach twisted. Your mind was unraveling. "I’m yours….fucking yours."

"Louder." He bottoms down, slowing a little bit, to hear your words clearer.

"I’m yours.....Fucking yours, only yours.....Fuck, fuck, you’re getting deeper…..and….and fucking hell, you’re fucking mine. You fucking hear me? Fucking mine, you…you bastard!"

"I’m fucking yours, babe. Forever and ever. How’s that sound?” He starts once again, moving deeper and then picking up the pace. “Love it babe. Love it.”

"You….you better fucking do.” You groaned loudly, wrapping your legs higher, meeting his thrusts at the fastening speed.

“Of course, I do.”

You bit his neck, tighter and tighter. “G–good….you bastard. Fuck, more. More, Satoru. Deeper…..fucking deeper!”

His groan was visceral, chasing your command with all he could. Your lover had become more animalistic than before. His mouth devoured yours, tongue shoving in deep, teeth biting down hard on your bottom lip until you tasted blood. His thrusts turned inhumane and accursed, like he was trying to carve himself so deeply inside you that you’d never forget.

"That’s it, fuck. You’re perfect. You’re my everything." he panted against your lips. "That’s my fucking girl. Mine. Fucking mine…..I’ll kill anyone who touches you. I swear to fucking god, baby….I’ll kill for you. Anyone, anything. Just to have you with me."

And you believed him. Because the unhinged, murderous look in his bright blue eyes wasn’t pretend. You knew it was real. Gojo Satoru had officially snapped. Days locked in this villa with you, keeping you in bed, not letting you leave. It had broken something inside him. And now he couldn’t stop.

"Satoru….fuck, fuck, babe. I can’t anymore…..I’m gonna come!"

"Again." His hand slapped your thigh. "Come again. I wanna feel you fucking milk me dry, baby. Don’t stop—"

"I can’t, you’re too….fuckkkkkk, fuckkkk….You feel good.” You cried and cried, weeping as you held him tighter, feeling euphoria you had never thought before possible.

"Yes, you fucking can."

And you did. You came so hard you almost blacked out. Your vision blurred, your body convulsed, and your mouth opened in a silent scream. And the second you did, Gojo Satoru had his final stand off.

"You fucking feel so good. Fuck, fuck, baby." His hands bruised your waist, his cock jerking deep inside you as he spilled again. It was once more hot, thick ropes of cum that filled you to the brim. “Fuckkkkkkk!”

Your entire body arched, twitching as his thrusts stuttered, grinding deep as if he was trying to force his seed even deeper. "Shit, baby…..you’re so full of me….Fuck, baby, I can’t stop wanting to fill you good!"

And he didn’t. Even after he came, his cock didn’t go soft. He just kept thrusting, fucking his own cum back inside you, his mind completely broken. “Satoru, you’re—”

"I’m gonna put a baby in you, baby." Satoru panted wildly, his voice dripping with obsession. "You hear me? I’m gonna keep you here….I’m gonna fuck you until you’re full of me. I’m gonna put a fucking baby in you.”

"Satoru, baby…..I’m full of you, fuck!”

"Mine, mine, mine—"

And you couldn’t escape his tightening hold.

Because the terrifying part was a truth you didn’t say out loud.

You didn’t want to part from it all.

THE SHOWER WAS MUCH NEEDED TO BE SURE. And you were lucky to shower before the butler actually arrived. He hadn’t shown up just yet. And that was a relief to you.

You had hit Satoru for a while, because you were flustered coming to your senses, knowing a man could have seen your partner fucking you well. Satoru merely laughed.

You can only thank whatever higher power had mercy on your debauched souls. You both needed at least ten minutes to pretend you hadn’t been trying to devour each other since sunrise.

The air in the bathroom was thick with steam, clinging to your skin like a second, hotter layer. The mirrors were already fogged up, the scent of expensive soap and something headier. The sweat, breath, skin were all just hanging in the air. 

But neither of you noticed. Not really. Not with your chest heaving and your back against the cool tile, and Satoru’s mouth still tracing the shape of your jaw like he was mapping it for memory.

Your legs were trembling, practically useless, so he held you there with a firm grip around your hips, his broad frame still pressed to yours like he hadn’t decided to let you go yet.

“I was a little rough, wasn’t I?” he murmured, voice low and scratchy from the things he'd groaned into your ear an hour ago. He pressed a kiss just below your ear, then another to your collarbone. “Sorry, baby. Got carried away.”

You laughed, breathless, fingers sliding through his damp hair. “You say that like I didn’t scratch half the skin off your back.”

He chuckled, low and pleased. “You did. It was hot.”

“You were hot, ‘toru.” you corrected, tilting your head back as he kissed a new bruise blooming near your neck. “Still are.”

He hummed against your skin. “You bit me. Hard.”

“You liked it.”

“I love it very much.” he said with a grin that made you squeeze your eyes shut from the sheer intimacy of it. “I love everything you do to me.”

Your fingers ghosted over the angry red lines down his shoulders. “I should apologize too.”

“For what?” he whispered, thumb brushing under your chin to lift your face back to his. “Making me lose my mind? Making me say filthy things into your ear until you forgot your name? No, baby. Don’t apologize for that.”

You shivered at the memory, skin still tingling, still tender in places. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re irresistible, baby.” he replied, as if it were a fact of nature. Then softer, almost reverent, he added, “You should see yourself right now. Hair wet, skin flushed, legs still shaking. You ruin me.”

You swatted his chest, not with any real force. “We have at least ten minutes before the butler arrives, Satoru.”

“Plenty of time, baby.” he said without missing a beat, already reaching for the shampoo like this was normal. Like he hadn’t just wrecked you and then made it romantic.

You huffed, leaning your forehead against his chest, his warmth anchoring you to the moment. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m in love with you.” he whispered, fingers combing through your hair like you were something delicate and sacred. “That’s even worse.”

And just like that, the steam wasn’t the only thing making the room feel so impossibly full. So soft. So much. You let out a quiet laugh at his words, closing your weary eyes as the water poured over both of you. 

“Then help me not look like I just crawled out of your bed, and maybe the butler won’t quit.”

“No promises, baby.” he smirked. “But I’ll try.”

“Hm, so will I.”

“Give me five minutes, baby.” he breathes into your ear, voice thick with heat and mischief.

His lips ghost along your skin like he’s trying to brand you with just his breath. The warmth of his words, the low timbre of his tone. It’s almost worse than the hands that haven't left your body since you stepped out of the shower.

Your cheeks flush instantly, the color blooming high and hot, because you know exactly what five minutes means in Gojo Satoru’s language. And it’s never five. Ever. You know your lover way too well for that.

“Actually… just two minutes, at the very least.” he amends, already trailing kisses down your neck like a man possessed. “You don’t even need to do anything. Just… let me.”

“Satoru…” you gasp, voice catching as his fingers slide between your thighs again, slow and certain, right where you’re still sensitive. Still aching, still trembling from the last time you told him you couldn’t go again.

Your whole body jolts in response, hips twitching before you can stop yourself. You press your hand to his chest, not to push him away, but to ground yourself. Because you can’t. Not again. Your body is begging for a break, but your heart is already folding.

“Stop, baby…” you plead softly, breath hitching. “I can’t…”

But he’s already pressing his lips against the corner of your mouth, his nose brushing your cheek as he whispers, almost reverent, “We’ll actually eat after, I promise.”

He’s grinning—smug and beautiful and completely unrepentant. “Just one more, baby.” he murmurs like a prayer. Like a devil luring you into a sin you both know you’ll never regret. “Please.”

And the worst part is that you always give in. 

You always believe him. Even when you shouldn’t.

And unfortunately, you become as playful as him.

You shudder, legs already weak, caught in that hazy middle place between resistance and surrender. And Satoru knows it. Feels it in the way your breath stutters, the way your fingers curl around his wrist instead of pushing him away.

He presses a kiss to your shoulder, then your collarbone. “You always say you can’t. But you always let me make you feel good anyway.”

You turn your face into his neck, heart racing, teeth pressing into your lip to suppress the moan building too fast in your throat. “That’s because you don’t play fair.”

He huffs a soft, sinful laugh against your skin. “I never promised to.”

That’s why lately he seemed… happier. You indulge him, you keep him happy. You humor him. You accept him whole. You love him whole. And just as much you let him do all that for you too, you let him have devotion complete him and his life. You let him have happiness.

This is not the kind of happiness that makes headlines or gets captured in flashbulbs. Not the showy, curated kind. But something quieter. More grounded. More secure. The way his shoulders sat lower. The ease in his laugh. The glow that didn’t come from lighting or makeup, but from something, someone, steady beneath the surface.

He looked well-rested, too. For once. 

Like he’d finally given himself permission to breathe. 

And in his interviews, something had changed.

He spoke more deliberately now, less performative and more open. And when the conversation drifted toward love, because it always did, eventually, he no longer danced around it with jokes or vague metaphors.

Instead, he’d smile, tilt his head a little, and say things like: “Love is showing up, I think. Over and over. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s quiet.”

Or: “It’s not always fireworks. Sometimes it’s knowing someone remembers how you take your tea, or what song makes you cry. That kind of thing stays.”

And every time, every time, the world would erupt with speculation. The tabloids would buzz. Fans would dissect every word, every glance, every new piece of jewelry or change in wardrobe, wondering who it was.

Who had Satoru Gojo fallen in love with?

But you knew. You knew it in the way he looked at you when you weren’t paying attention, like he was memorizing you. In the notes he left tucked into your books. In the quiet gratitude in his voice when he’d say: “Thanks for waiting up, baby.” or  “I missed this so much, baby.” like it was a confession.

You didn’t need the world to know. Not really. Because when he said “she grounds me with everything.” on a late-night talk show, or “I didn’t know I could be loved like this, you know?” in a magazine profile, you knew it all too well. 

He was talking about you.

You knew, every single time—it was you.

And there will only ever be you.

When he talked about the way love had softened him, made him better, you remembered the quiet evenings on your couch, your fingers carding through his hair while he let himself fall asleep without armor for once. You remembered the mornings he spent reading next to you in bed, his knee brushing yours under the covers, like even in sleep, he needed to know you were close.

So when he said in that glossy cover story: “It’s not the kind of love that makes you lose yourself. It’s the kind that hands you back to yourself, steadier.” 

It wasn’t just a beautiful quote. It was a memory. It was true. It was you, pressing a kiss to his temple when he told you he was afraid of not being enough anymore. It was you, reminding him that he could be tired, that he could be soft, that he could be held, and the world wouldn’t fall apart because of it.

When he looked directly into the camera during a premier night red carpet and laughed shyly after being asked if he was in love and then said: “Yeah. I think I’ve been for a while. I just didn’t know what to call it at first.”

God. You knew. You were the only one who saw him on the in-between days, when he wasn’t glowing under studio lights or basking in the glow of red carpets. You were the one who listened when he questioned himself, who stayed when he asked for space but didn’t really want to be alone.

He spoke of her, you, like a story he’d lived into. Not a fantasy, not an escape. A real thing. A grounding thing. And maybe he didn’t say your name. Maybe the world would never know exactly who he meant when he smiled a little too softly, when he looked down and mumbled something private in the middle of an interview, like the memory was too precious to speak aloud.

But you knew. You knew it in the way he always texted you afterward, even if it was just a heart emoji or a blurry photo of his dressing room mirror. You knew it in the voice messages at the end of the day—tired, warm: Hey, did you watch it? Was I weird? I thought about you when they asked that love question.

You were the thread in every word he spoke about gentleness, about coming home to someone who made him feel safe in a world that never quite let him rest. The world could guess all they wanted. Whisper, speculate, make charts and guesses and fandom theories.

But the truth was never in question. Because the way he looked at you when he walked through your door after a long trip, when his whole body exhaled just from seeing you standing there—it told you everything. It was always you.

YOU WERE SATISFIED WITH YOUR LIFE, TRULY. There was warmth in your days that you never thought you’d ever find for yourself. It was quiet, earned happiness. The home you’d built was full of laughter and good food and people who loved you deeply. 

Gojo Satoru’s hand always finds yours, even in sleep. Your children, growing into themselves with humor and kindness, called or visited often, always bringing noise and stories and that joyful kind of chaos that only family can.

You had friends. You had peace. You had enough. And yet. There was this ache. Soft, but persistent. Like a door inside you that had never fully closed. You knew what it was. You always had. You wanted to be a chemist.

You’d wanted it for so long that it had once felt like a part of your blood, your breath, your blueprint. You used to dream in formulas, used to feel your hands itch for glassware and lab notes. The thought of discovery used to thrill you. It was not for acclaim or prestige, but for the simple, sacred magic of understanding how the world worked, molecule by molecule.

But life has taken you on other roads. Beautiful ones, no doubt, but different. Detours that became destinations. You made choices, built a life. You found love, more than once. You became a mother. 

You learned how to hold a family together, how to cook three meals while writing deadlines pressed down on your back, how to be present, even when your dreams whispered from another room.

And now, in your late forties, that dream felt far away. Like something belonging to a younger version of yourself. A version who hadn’t known grief yet. Who hadn’t learned how to compromise. Who hadn’t yet fallen in love with other things. With books, people, seasons, the slow beauty of an ordinary afternoon.

But still, it pulled at you. You kept circling the idea. Clicking on courses. Watching lectures late at night. Making excuses not to apply. Then reopening the tab again in the morning. You told yourself it was too late. 

Your children didn’t agree.

“Why not?” Keiko asked you once, over coffee, her voice gentle but firm, like she was already anticipating your excuses. She stirred sugar into her cup absently, but her eyes never left yours. “You tell us we can be anything. Why not you, mom?”

You opened your mouth to respond, to say something witty or self-deprecating, to laugh it off the way you always did. But nothing came out. Because Nanami Keiko had always been sharp, always seen through you, even when she was little. She didn’t ask questions unless she already knew the truth behind them.

Kenshin was sitting across from you, legs sprawled out like he still hadn’t outgrown the teenage habit of taking up too much space. But he looked up from his phone then and nodded without hesitation.

“Yeah, Mom.” he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “I’m sure Tokyo University will let you come back. You donate so much to everything there. Plus….You’re, like, crazy smart. You always will be. Plus, they’re probably waiting for someone like you to shake things up a little.”

You snorted into your tea, shaking your head. “I’d be twice the age of my classmates. Maybe more.”

“So?” Keiko shrugged. “You always say learning doesn’t expire.”

You laughed then. A reflex. An instinct. The kind of laugh that was meant to deflect, to soften the edges of the truth they were gently pushing toward you. But their words stayed with you, as your words with them. 

They lingered like a dare. Like a blessing. Like two mirrors held up to you from either side of the table, showing you what they saw: someone capable. Someone worth investing in. Someone who could. And it rattled you, in the best way. You realized you raised your kids too well.

For years you’d told them those words: dream big, work hard, don’t let anyone else define your path. 

You said it when they doubted themselves, when their grades dipped, when the world was loud and cruel and uncertain. You said it because you believed it with your whole heart. But you hadn’t applied it to yourself. Not in a long time.

Your beloved Keiko and Kenshin weren’t challenging you out of impatience or pressure. There was no timeline, no ultimatum, no “you should have done this years ago.” — not a single peep of judgment or malice. 

There was only love. 

There was only faith. 

There was only joy.

Only the gentle belief that you were still allowed to want things. And that belief, their belief cuts through all the noise in your head. You were sure that you felt it in your heart that other than leaving your horrible marriage, raising your kids was the other best thing you’ve ever done.

It made you wonder what it would feel like to walk back through the doors of that university, older, yes, but also fuller. To sit down with a blank notebook and a sharpened pencil and write your name on the first page. 

Not just as a mother, not as a partner, not as a caretaker or host or writer or planner but just as you. No prefixes. No titles. Just the version of yourself who still dreamed. The one they still believed in.

Gojo Satoru, too, had noticed. 

Of course he had, easily.

Your partner was just the best with that.

He noticed everything about you. Not just the way your eyes sparkled when you were laughing, or the way your breath hitched slightly when you were moved but the smaller, quieter tells. The ones even you didn’t always catch.

Like how your posture subtly straightened whenever a science documentary came on, how you instinctively leaned forward, completely absorbed, mouthing terms under your breath. Or how you paused mid-chop in the kitchen to rant about a show getting a chemical process wildly wrong, then blinked in surprise when he started grinning at you.

“You were listening?” you’d asked, half–sheepish. You shook your head. “Figures.

“Obviously. I’m that type of guy, baby.” he said. “You’re way more fun than the actors pretending they know what ‘stoichiometry’ is.”

So one night after a long day of promotion work, unannounced, in the middle of an otherwise ordinary evening—your boyfriend brought home a box. You looked at him confused, but he was just smiling from ear to ear.

Wrapped in paper with tiny molecules printed across it, like he’d gone out of his way to make it thoughtful, not just playful. Inside: a beginner’s chemistry set. Nothing fancy. Just enough glassware and compounds to spark something familiar.

You laughed when you opened it, touched but amused.  “Satoru, babe.” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Is this your way of telling me I need a hobby?”

He shrugged, a little too casual. “Just seeing if the lab spark’s still there.” Then he smiled, that sideways, dimpled grin that always softened you. “Spoiler alert: it is.”

He said it like a certainty. Like he already knew what you were still trying to believe. 

Because the truth was, you weren’t unhappy. Your life was full. Deep. Rich with love and memory and purpose. But beneath it all was a piece of yourself you had tucked away for safekeeping, like a glass vial labeled Someday. A part of you that had never been extinguished, only shelved.

Quiet.

Patient.

Unforgotten.

You used to think you’d outgrown that dream. That it belonged to the younger, hungrier you—the one who used to pull all-nighters solving problems no one had assigned, the one who found poetry in equations.

But maybe… it wasn’t about outgrowing it. Maybe that dream had simply needed time. Maybe it had been waiting for you to become the person who could return to it without fear. Who no longer needed it to prove anything, but could pursue it purely for the joy of becoming.

Because now you know things your younger self didn’t: How to endure. How to love. How to begin again.

And maybe, just maybe, now was exactly when you were meant to start.

Yet you did not start just yet.

The doubt was too much of a sinner.

YOU THOUGHT ABOUT IT LONG AND HARD. And it was all over your head these few weeks. You were pretty sure your partner knew that too. How could he not, when he was the one that knew you this well? 

The air between you and Satoru was thick with the kind of silence that only followed moments of true intimacy. It wasn’t an uncomfortable quiet, but a content one. It was the kind that lingered after everything had been said in quiet gasps and tender touches. 

Your bodies had tangled together with ease, finding that familiar rhythm, that soft, perfect connection that existed between the two of you. The sheets, half-draped across your bodies, barely covered the curve of your waist, and Satoru’s arm was slung lazily across you, like he had no intention of ever moving again. 

It felt like a moment frozen in time—a pause before the world outside crept back in.

Through the gentle hum of the night, the rain outside tapped lightly against the windows, its rhythm matching the pulse of your heart, calm and steady. The sound of it brought a kind of peace to the room, as though the universe itself was holding its breath with you, waiting for something. Or maybe, it was just you who was waiting.

You turned your head, just enough to catch the faintest gleam of his silver lashes against his cheek. The peace on his face was so unmistakable, so deeply serene, that you almost didn’t want to disturb it. 

You wanted to stay there forever, just existing in this little bubble of warmth and stillness. But the thought was there, persistent, tugging at you like an unspoken word at the edge of your mind. It had been there for days, weeks even, and now, in this tender moment, it finally found its voice.

“I was thinking about school again, ’toru.” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. It felt almost like a confession. It was something soft and vulnerable, spilling out as if it had been quietly waiting for permission to be heard. “About… coming back to….maybe try it again.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and delicate all at once. You didn’t look at him right away, unsure of how he might respond. You weren’t sure you were even ready to hear it, but they were out now.

Satoru’s response was instant. His eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim light of the room as they locked onto you with that spark in them that always made you feel like he saw the whole of you. He blinked, like he was still waking up from something deeper than sleep, and then his face shifted into an expression of pure warmth.

“Yeah?” he said, his voice husky with sleep, still filled with that post-intimacy softness that only made him sound more sincere. He propped himself up on his elbow, his fingers brushing across your skin absently, a touch that was both casual and intimate. “That’s amazing. You should go for it.”

There was that enthusiasm again, that effortless support you’d come to count on from him. It made your heart flutter, but it also made you feel like you were suddenly on the edge of something big. It was a precipice you weren’t sure you were ready to stand on.

You stared up at the ceiling, trying to find the right words. You wanted to believe in it, wanted to feel that same excitement he was projecting, but it felt distant, like a dream that wasn’t quite your own. 

“I don’t know…” The words slipped out, coated with uncertainty.

“No, really.” he continued, not missing a beat, his voice softening into something almost pleading now, like he couldn’t understand why you were second–guessing yourself. “You’ve been talking about this for so long. You light up whenever it comes up, babe. I think you should do it. What’s stopping you?”

He wasn’t wrong. Every time you spoke about it, about chemistry, about the passion you once felt….It was as if a light flickered in your eyes, the old flame rekindling in ways you hadn’t realized. He understood better than anyone. He loved chemistry too, as much as he loved you.

But hearing him say it so simply, so assuredly, made it feel like you were being asked to jump into something that you didn’t know how to approach. You flinched slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around your chest, a physical barrier that mirrored the one in your mind. 

“I just…” You paused, your heart starting to thump harder, louder in your chest. 

The vulnerability you hadn’t expected to feel in this moment surged, and you couldn’t shake the sense of fear creeping in. “I don’t know if I’m ready. It’s been so long. What if it’s too late? What if I can’t keep up, or I’ve forgotten everything? What if it’s a waste of time? A waste of—”

Before you could continue, Satoru’s hand found yours, his touch gentle, grounding. “Hey,  baby.” he murmured, his voice full of quiet understanding. “It wouldn’t be any of that. And you wouldn’t be doing it alone. You’d have all of us. It’s me, the kids, everyone. You’d be doing something for you, and that’s—”

His words, full of love and unwavering support, cut through the panic building inside you, but it wasn’t enough to calm the storm that was rising in your chest. You needed space. You needed time to think, not in the middle of this moment.

“I’m tired, babe.” you said, cutting him off with a sharpness that you immediately regretted. The words were out before you could catch them, but they were there, ringing in the air between you. “Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy, but it was palpable. Satoru’s hand stilled in yours, and for a moment, you both just lay there, the weight of your emotions settling between you like a gentle fog. 

He was quiet, not pushing you, not questioning your need for space, but still present. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just… aware. He sighed, a soft sound that was more for himself than for you, and nodded slowly, pulling away just a fraction, giving you room to breathe.

“Okay, baby.” he said quietly, his voice full of the kind of understanding that only came from years of knowing someone deeply. “Tomorrow.”

You didn’t mean to push him away, but you needed this. You needed a moment where the dream was just that. It was a dream, not a pressure. One night where you didn’t have to make any decisions. Where you could just breathe and let things settle.

And Satoru, as always, understood. He didn’t pull away completely. Instead, he curled back around you, his body molding against yours, a comfort. His lips pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, a promise of patience, of waiting.

“Whenever you’re ready, baby.” he whispered into the quiet of the room, his words a balm, a gentle reassurance. “I’ll be here.”

And you knew that he meant it. In the way he said it. In the way he held you. He wasn’t rushing you. He was just there. The silence between you and Satoru lingered, but it was no longer filled with tension. 

Instead, it was a comfortable kind of quiet, one where the weight of the world seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped up in the warmth of your shared space.

The rain outside had softened into a gentle patter, a lullaby that seemed to carry away the restless energy from the conversation that had almost been too much too soon.

Satoru’s arm draped over you once more, his fingers grazing the curve of your waist in a gesture that was equal parts tender and possessive. It was his way of showing you, without words, that he was still here. Still present. 

His warmth seeped into your skin, and for a moment, you closed your eyes, focusing on the steady rise and fall of his chest, the soft rhythm that mirrored your own breath. You felt the cool touch of the night air against your skin.

But there was something about the quiet intimacy of the moment that made everything feel safe, like you could be anything, do anything, and still be loved. Even your doubts, the ones that had clouded your thoughts for weeks, seemed less urgent now. Not gone, but softened—held in the gentle care of his presence.

“I know you want it, baby.” Satoru said softly, breaking the silence, his voice low, almost a murmur. “And I know you can do it. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. Don’t let fear keep you from something you’ve always wanted.”

You shifted slightly, turning to face him, finding his gaze already fixed on you, those familiar blue eyes filled with understanding and something more. A quiet conviction. A belief in you that went beyond your own self-doubt.

“I just… I don’t know if I have it in me anymore. I’m not the same person I was when I first dreamed of it.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, the vulnerability creeping in once more. “I’m not sure I’m still that person.”

He leaned in, his forehead pressing gently against yours, a subtle, intimate gesture that made your heart flutter. His breath was warm against your skin as he spoke, his voice soft but steady. He takes a moment before speaking.

“You’re still you, the same person with the same fire. You don’t lose that. Not even if you take a break for a while. It’s still there, waiting for you to reach for it again. All you need to do is trust it.”

You let out a slow breath, the weight of his words sinking in. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to take that step, to push past the fears and doubts. But there was something so terrifying about the unknown, about putting yourself out there again after all this time. What if you weren’t good enough? What if it was too late?

But then Satoru shifted slightly, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your temple in a kiss so gentle it felt like a promise. "And no matter what, I'll be here. With you, every step of the way. You don't have to do it alone."

The sincerity in his voice was enough to calm the panic swirling inside you. He meant it. You knew he did. And maybe that was what you needed to hear. Maybe that was all you needed, the reassurance that no matter where this journey took you, you wouldn’t be walking it by yourself.

You closed your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Tomorrow, then, ‘toru.” you whispered, the uncertainty still there, but tempered by something more—something that felt like courage, hidden under the layers of fear and doubt.

“Tomorrow.” Satoru echoed softly, his lips pressing to the crown of your head, holding you close, as if grounding you to this moment.

And in that moment, you knew that no matter how many times you doubted yourself, no matter how many times you felt like you weren’t enough or that it was too late, there would always be someone by your side. Someone who believed in you when you couldn’t believe in yourself.

And for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to believe, too.

THE EVENING UNFOLDED LIKE A DREAM. It was the kind of night that felt like it was tailor-made for memories. It was your fourth year anniversary, and Gojo Satoru had whisked you away to a private, elegant restaurant he’d rented out for the two of you. 

The place was intimate, with soft candlelight flickering across the tables and the hum of classical music playing in the background. The meal was incredible, an array of dishes that felt like an orchestra of flavors. Each bite seemed to deepen the connection between the two of you, like a conversation without words.

You laughed, you talked about everything and nothing. There were moments where Satoru would look at you with that mischievous smile of his, and you would feel your heart flutter as if the world hadn’t shifted, as if time hadn’t passed. You were still the same. He was still the same. And the love between you. Well, that had only deepened.

As the night wound down, the sky outside had darkened into a rich navy, the moon casting a soft glow across the horizon. You were both standing, preparing to leave, when Gojo Satoru stopped you with a soft word.

“I have a surprise for you, baby.” he said, his voice carrying the familiar warmth, but there was something else in it. Something a little more serious, a little more solemn. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes, those piercing blue eyes, held a quiet intent. “Come with me.”

You followed him out into the cool evening air, the glow of the restaurant fading as you walked toward a sleek black car that was parked nearby. He opened the door for you, helping you in with a grin that made you wonder what kind of surprise he had in store.

The drive was short, but there was a palpable sense of anticipation hanging in the air. You couldn’t help but feel like something big was about to happen, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. 

It wasn’t like Satoru to keep secrets. At least, not ones that didn’t involve teasing you in playful ways. But this felt different. Finally, the car came to a stop, and Satoru turned to you with a knowing look, a hint of something serious flickering in his eyes. 

“Wait here, okay?” he said, before stepping out and disappearing into the dark.

Moments later, he returned with something in tow. Two large suitcases, their zippers securely fastened, the weight of them making his stride a little slower than usual. He set them down in front of you, his expression soft but unreadable.

“What’s this?” you asked, your curiosity piqued.

Satoru knelt down beside the suitcases, unzipping them one at a time. When the first one opened, you could hardly believe your eyes. Piles of cash, stacked neatly in bundles, filled the case to the brim. Your breath caught in your throat.

“What is all this?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure if you were seeing things correctly. “Satoru….Oh my god.”

He reached into the suitcase, pulling out a thick stack of bills, his fingers brushing the edges of them as though they were delicate things. He smiles at you, with so much pride. That pride that could only be as pure as the driven snow.

“This is what you think it is.” he said to you tenderly. “This is the money you gave up for me. To help me escape. To get me away from my mother. The money you sacrificed when you helped me study, when you gave me a chance at a life outside of the abuse and everything that held me back.”

He paused, looking up at you, his face hardening slightly, as if the weight of it was just now hitting him. “This is the money you gave up for me to leave everything behind. And tonight, I’m giving it back to you.”

Your heart raced, confusion swirling in your mind. “Satoru, I—”

“There’s more, baby.” he interrupted, and you could see the emotion in his eyes, raw and unguarded. 

Your eyes widened. “Satoru, what do you mean?”

“This….”—he tapped the bundles of cash—“has twenty years of interest on it. You’ve been waiting for me to give this back, and tonight, I’m doing it. You deserve it. You deserve to have it back, all of it.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and the moment seemed to stretch out, frozen in time. Your mind struggled to comprehend it. It was twenty years of interest. The money. The sacrifice. The room felt suddenly smaller, the air thicker as everything clicked into place.

“I know you hate that you have to still depend on what Nanami gives you.” Your partner smiles at you. “You had to give your own savings to me to save my and my mom’s lives. I just….I wanna give your life back to you, babe.”

“You don’t have to do this.” you said, your voice trembling slightly. You reached out, your fingers brushing against the edge of the suitcase, but you didn’t dare touch the cash. Not yet. “Satoru, this is too much. I can’t….I can’t accept this!”

Satoru looked at you with such intensity, his face softer than you had ever seen it. “I want to do this. You never asked for it, but you deserved it, from the moment I left that house to start over. This is me giving you what you should have gotten all along. Every penny of it. And more, if I could give it.”

There was so much unsaid in those words. It was so much more than just the money, just the years that had passed. You were just overwhelmed by it all. You were overwhelmed by his kindness, his tenderness, his love.

It was his way of saying thank you, of showing you just how deeply he understood what you had sacrificed, even when you hadn’t said a word. It was a way for him to show you that he had never forgotten. That he could never forget what you did for him.

Tears stung your eyes, but you blinked them back, not out of pride, but because you couldn’t let the weight of this moment overwhelm you. You had always been the one who gave, who put others first. But Gojo Satoru… Satoru had always known how to turn that around, how to see you. Really see you.

“You don’t need to repay me for any of that, babe.” you said softly, but the words felt hollow in the face of his gesture. 

You could feel the magnitude of his love and respect in every inch of this moment. He was doing this not out of obligation, but out of gratitude, out of a desire to give you something back that was long overdue.

“I know, I know,” he said, his voice low, sincere. “But I want to. I need to. So you’ll know that you’re always worth it. That you were never a second thought. That you have always been everything.”

For a long moment, you just stood there, taking in what he had done for you. It wasn’t just about the money. It was about love. The recognition of everything you had given up, everything you had done. Satoru had seen it all, and now, he was giving it back to you, with interest.

And in that moment, you knew that no matter where life took you, you had everything you needed. You had love, you had respect, and most of all, you had someone who would always make sure you never had to sacrifice for anyone but yourself again.

Satoru’s gaze softened as he saw the doubt flicker across your face. He reached out and gently took your hand, his touch grounding you as you stood there, frozen in the moment, surrounded by the weight of his gesture.

"I know you don’t want my money." he said quietly, his voice steady, but his eyes filled with something much deeper. Something like tenderness. "But this isn’t just money I’m giving you. This is your money. The money you sacrificed all those years ago to help me start a new life, to help me escape the life I was living. It’s time it came back to you. You’ve earned it."

The simplicity of his words hit you harder than you expected. It wasn’t just the physical money. It was everything. All the years of pain, the sacrifice, the love, and the dreams that had been deferred. 

And now, Gojo Satoru was giving it back to you, asking you to take what was rightfully yours, to use it for something you had always wanted but never fully allowed yourself to reach for. You were finally going to be free.

He placed the money in your hands, but it felt like he was offering you something far more precious. “I want you to use this to go back and study chemistry. I want you to finally fulfill that dream, the one that’s been waiting for you. I want you to be whole.”

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. The tears welled up quickly, spilling over your lashes before you could even blink them away. Your chest tightened as everything you had held back for so long. The guilt, the doubt, the fear, it all came rushing to the surface. You felt like you were drowning, but in the best way.

You could barely find the words as you turned to him, pressing your face into his chest, the sobs shaking through your body. Gojo Satoru held you close, his hands running soothingly over your back, offering his strength and his presence.

“I don’t know how to thank you, babe.” you whispered through your tears, your voice muffled against his skin. “I never… I never thought you would—"

“You don’t have to thank me, you know.” he murmured, his lips pressing gently to the top of your head, a quiet promise in his voice. “You deserve this. You deserve everything, and I want to see you happy. I want to see you live the life you’ve always wanted, with no more excuses. I want to see you go after your dreams and never look back.”

You held him tighter, your fingers clinging to the fabric of his shirt as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded. “I don’t know if I would’ve ever had the courage to do this on my own. To really go after it. But with you… I feel like I can. I feel like it’s possible.”

Satoru’s arms wrapped around you even more securely, holding you as though he could protect you from all your fears, all your insecurities. “You’ve always had the courage, baby. You just needed someone to remind you. And I’ll always be here to remind you. No matter what.”

You let the tears fall freely now, no longer holding back the flood of emotion. You cried for the years lost, for the dreams that had been on hold, for the life you thought was slipping away. You let yourself feel it all, those tears.

But you knew that you also cried for the hope that had bloomed in your chest, the knowledge that it wasn’t too late. You weren’t too late. And for the first time in a long while, you could see the future in front of you, clear and bright.

When you pulled back, your face was still wet with tears, but the weight in your chest had lifted. You looked up at Gojo Satoru, seeing him with fresh eyes. His love, his patience, his belief in you, in your dreams.

“Thank you, Satoru.” you said again, your voice barely more than a whisper, but it was enough. It was all you could say. “Truly.”

Satoru smiled softly, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “You don’t have to thank me, just… go live your life. Go do what makes you feel whole. And I’ll be here, cheering you on every step of the way, okay? I am your biggest cheerleader.”

You nodded, a quiet promise to yourself forming in the depths of your heart. You had spent so many years unsure of who you were, of what you could be. But now, with Satoru by your side, you could see the path ahead of you—a path that was yours to walk. And this time, you weren’t alone.

“I will, ‘toru.” you said, your voice firm and full of conviction. “I will. For me. For us.”

Satoru leaned down, his lips pressing against your forehead in a gentle kiss. “I know you will, baby.” he whispered. “I know.”

And in that moment, everything felt possible. Everything felt like it was falling into place. Because now, for the first time in years, you believed that your dream, your life. Now all of it was finally within reach.

AFTER FOUR YEARS TOGETHER, IT WAS TIME. The news broke quietly, but with an undeniable weight. [last name] [name] and Gojo Satoru, after all the years of shared moments, the lingering chemistry, the journey together had finally decided to announce what had been obvious to those closest to you: you were dating.

The announcement came naturally, a soft exchange between you and Satoru during a rare public moment when your worlds collided. It was simple, understated. No grand declarations, no elaborate explanations, it was just the truth of the matter.

You weren’t the type to thrive on headlines or public speculation, and neither was Satoru. So, when reporters asked about your relationship, you both simply said you were happy, together, and content with where life had taken you. 

Neither of you felt the need to elaborate. The questions surrounding your estranged marriage were left unaddressed, neither mentioned nor speculated on. What mattered now was you and Satoru, in this present, in this space.

For a while, there was silence. The kind of silence that comes from people waiting for the next chapter to unfold. And then, it came. People started to ask everywhere and anywhere — ‘what does Nanami Kento think of this?’

In his latest interview, your estranged husband was suddenly asked about the news of your relationship with Gojo Satoru. He was calm, composed as always, his usual air of professionalism in place as he responded. 

The interviewer probed gently, curious if there was any bitterness or unresolved tension. If there was anything to say about the dissolution of your marriage. But Kento, your estranged husband, simply smiled, his eyes betraying nothing but a quiet understanding.

“I’m happy for them, really I am.” he said, his voice steady, measured. “I’m happy for her. She deserves to be happy. And I’m glad that she’s found someone who makes her feel that way. I’m not here to comment on the past, but I do wish them both well. I hope they continue to find joy in each other’s company.”

There was a pause, and then the interviewer asked what anyone would have expected. “Do you think your paths will cross again?”

Kento leaned back slightly, the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips. “I mean, we have children together. That’s bound to happen. But I’m too busy. And she has her own life. We’ll see. I’m content with where we all are. Just as she was.”

And just like that, the interview continued, the subject moving on to other topics, but the words hung in the air. It was a quiet, respectful nod to the past, to what had been and what could still be. 

The interview had been going smoothly until the interviewer, perhaps trying to pry for more details in order to farm for more views and dirt, asked the question that lingered in the room like an unwanted shadow.

“But you’re still technically married, aren’t you?” the interviewer pressed, a hint of skepticism in their voice as they glanced between Nanami Kento and the camera.

For a moment, Kento was silent, his jaw tightening just slightly as he processed the question. It wasn’t the first time he had been asked about your estranged marriage, but it always felt like an invasion of privacy, a reminder of a chapter he wished he could undo. 

Still, he had made peace with the past, and it was time the world did too. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes focused, and when he spoke, it was with a calm, steady voice. One that carried a weight of truth he hadn’t realized he needed to share.

“That’s none of people’s business.” Kento said, his gaze unwavering. “We’re married on paper, but we’re not together anymore, and she reverted to using her maiden name long ago.” His voice remained even, but there was an honesty there that couldn’t be ignored. “She’s her own person now. Leave her alone.”

The interviewer was momentarily taken aback, probably expecting more resistance, more nuance. But Nanami Kento didn’t hesitate, his words cutting through the tension like a quiet confession.

“I just realized it very late, her worth. I did a lot of wrong.” He continued, a quiet regret in his voice now. “I was the one who hurt her. I was the one who betrayed her. I cheated on her. And I—" 

“Mr. Nanami, I didn’t mean—”

“But you did. You mean to get shit out of me, of me being horrible to her. I don’t want to do that.” He stopped for a moment, collecting himself, as if the weight of his own admission settled deeper than it had in years. “It’s time to move forward. I have to live with that thought. It’s time you all do the same.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as Nanami paused, letting his words sink in. There was no need to embellish the story or offer excuses. The truth was laid bare for anyone willing to listen.

His gaze softened, but there was no self-pity in his caramel eyes. It was only the understanding that the past could never be rewritten, but it didn’t have to define the future.

“I’m happy for her. That’s that.” Kento added, a subtle shift in his posture as he leaned back, his voice gaining strength. “I’m happy that she’s free from the marriage I helped destroy. She deserves to be happy, and I hope she is.”

The silence that followed was respectful, heavy with the weight of years gone by, but there was peace in the air. Nanami Kento wasn’t asking for forgiveness. He wasn’t making excuses for what had happened. He didn’t deserve to have either. 

He had simply come to terms with the reality that you, too, had the right to move on and rebuild your life, without him. And that was okay. That’s just how it was. It was better that way. People should learn to know that too.

The interviewer nodded, clearly sensing the sincerity in his words, and the conversation shifted again, but the echo of Kento’s admission lingered, a quiet acknowledgment that even the most painful truths had their place in the light.

And for you, as you watched the interview unfold, there was a sense of finality to it. Nanami Kento had spoken of the past not with bitterness or anger, but with the quiet understanding that you were no longer defined by your history with him. You had been freed from that chapter, not just by time, but by your own strength and by the love you had found with Satoru.

Kento’s words didn’t undo the hurt or the betrayal, but they gave you the clarity that you had long deserved. It was the validation for the life you had fought to rebuild, and a recognition that, no matter what, you had always been your own person.

In the days that followed, the news spiraled, finding its way into conversations, headlines, and even gossip–filled whispers that had a way of slipping under doors and through cracks.

Some saw the romantic union between you and Satoru as a surprise, others as inevitable, but there was one thing they couldn’t deny. You weren’t the same person you had been before.

For years, you had been trapped in the shadows of your past, tethered to a marriage that had once held so much promise but had slowly become a cage. The divorce with Nanami Kento had always been painted as a sad, complicated chapter of your life, a chapter that people refused to let go of. 

But now? Now, you were free from those labels, those assumptions that others tried to write for you.

You sat across from Satoru in your favorite café, the sunlight spilling through the windows and illuminating the space with a soft warmth. The buzz of casual conversation around you felt distant, almost irrelevant. 

You could only focus on the present that you live happily now. The present that was now your reality. The present was full of laughter, soft touches, and a love that seemed as though it had always been meant to find you. 

Gojo Satoru reached across the table, his fingers brushing over yours, a silent reassurance that you were in this together. The world could be spinning with its opinions, but at that moment, all that mattered was the connection you shared.

“You know, baby.” Satoru began, leaning in slightly with a mischievous grin. “They’re still talking about us, right?” His voice was playful, but his eyes were warm, filled with something deeper than just the humor in his tone.

You laughed softly, feeling the lightness of the moment. “I know. They’re obsessed. But honestly, babe, I don’t care. It doesn’t bother me anymore.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really? You don’t care that they’re questioning everything? You don’t care that they’re digging into every detail?”

“No, of course not.” you said, shaking your head with a smile that held more peace than you had ever known. “Because I’m not part of their narrative anymore. I’m living my own story now.”

Satoru’s grin softened, and he squeezed your hand gently. “I like that. I like the sound of that. Your story. Not anyone else’s. I really really love that.”

“I spent too long living for everyone else, you know?” you admitted, your voice quiet but firm, as if you were finally speaking the truth you had buried for too long. “I let the past define me. I let what other people thought about my life dictate my choices.”

“You’ve always had a mind of your own, baby.” he said, his tone softening as he leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving you. “But I get it. You had to find your way out. And now you have. You’ve freed yourself. And here you are now.”

You nodded slowly, your chest filling with a sense of something new, something freeing. “I didn’t even realize it until now. But for the first time in years, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. I’m not defined by what’s happened. I’m defined by what I choose from here on out.”

Satoru’s hand still held yours, a steady anchor in the storm of your thoughts. “And you choose this, right? You choose me?”

A soft laugh escaped your lips, and you squeezed his hand in return. “I choose us. I choose what we’re building. I choose this love.”

The warmth in his smile matched the affection in his eyes. “And I choose you, always.” he said, his voice rich with sincerity. “Every part of you. Every piece of this life we’re building together.”

You leaned across the table, your forehead resting gently against his. The world around you continued to buzz, the voices of others rising and falling, but none of it mattered anymore.

Because what you shared with Gojo Satoru was not a story written by anyone else. It was your own. It was one that you had crafted, nurtured, and chosen to live with all your heart.

And as the days passed, the whispers only grew louder, but you were no longer disturbed by them. They faded into the background, overshadowed by the certainty you carried in your soul. You had found your way, and nothing could take that from you.

Even Kento, who had once been a constant figure in your life, seemed a distant thought. His words of acceptance from the interview lingered in your mind, but they no longer held the same weight they once had. He had let go, and so had you. 

You were free from that chapter, free from the expectations of others, free to finally be who you had always been beneath the layers of doubt and obligation. You were your own person now. You belonged to yourself.

You were no longer just someone’s wife, no longer defined by the failures of a past relationship. You were the author of your own narrative. And that narrative, at long last, was one of love, hope, and possibility.

It was a story that had only just begun.

epilogue

The bustling streets of Tokyo had never felt so alive, and yet, there was a calm that settled in your chest as you walked toward the familiar gates of Tokyo University. The campus loomed ahead, its towering buildings standing tall like silent witnesses to the passage of time. 

You had walked through these gates once before, years ago, with ambition and dreams shining brightly in your eyes. But then life, as it often does, has steered you in another direction. You were planning to enjoy it all now.

Now, as you stood at the edge of the campus once again, those dreams didn’t feel like distant memories. They felt alive, pulsing in your veins, stronger than ever. You had come back for them.

You crossed the threshold, your shoes clicking softly against the stone pathway. Every step felt like a reclaiming, a return to something you had nearly let slip away. The scent of the old buildings mixed with the faint smell of fresh ink and textbooks. It was a scent you had missed.

Entering the main building, you made your way to the student affairs office. The door opened with a soft creak, and the low hum of activity inside made the space feel welcoming, alive with the energy of students coming and going, of new beginnings being made.

You approached the counter, your heart steady despite the nerves that had once kept you from even considering this moment. You hadn’t been sure, back then, if you were meant to walk this path. But now, with each passing second, that uncertainty was fading away.

A friendly receptionist looked up from her computer screen, her smile warm and inviting. “Good morning! How can I help you today?”

You cleared your throat softly, meeting her eyes with a sense of quiet confidence. “Hi, I’d like to inquire about getting a student ID, if you please.”

She tilted her head slightly, intrigued by your request. “Of course. May I have your name, mam?”

You took a deep breath and smiled, the weight of the decision finally sinking in. “My name is [last name] [name], and I’m a chemistry major.”

The receptionist’s fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before she glanced back at you, a hint of surprise in her eyes. You can tell she was probably looking at your records. She happily nodded and smiled warmly.

“Well, it’s an honor to welcome you back, as a UTokyo student again.” she said, her voice laced with sincerity. “Let’s get you set up, okay? You’re starting a new chapter, so we should finish quick here. I’m sure there’s stuff you wanna explore on the campus.”

As she processed the necessary paperwork, you stood there, a quiet sense of fulfillment washing over you. The past years had been filled with challenges, with moments of doubt and struggle, but now, standing here, you realize how far you have come. You had chosen this path, and you were walking it on your own terms.

This was just the beginning, you knew that much. This beginning was just a part of the exciting, unknown journey you’re taking. This beginning was something you had dreamed of for so long. And it was happening. You could feel the future unfolding before you, and it was brighter than you had ever imagined.

When the receptionist handed you the new student ID, she smiled.  “Welcome back to Tokyo University!”

“Thank you….Thank you so much.”

Your shining eyes gazed at the lady and you smiled at her. Then back at your ID. It felt surreal. It was like a symbol of everything you had fought for. You saw it all in full.

Your name, your identity, your choice. The chemistry major you had once dreamed of was now a reality, waiting to be filled with knowledge, experiences, and possibilities.

And as you stepped out of the office, holding your ID in your hand, you couldn’t help but smile. You were no longer defined by what you had left behind. You were writing your own story, one step at a time.

The world, once again, was full of endless possibilities.

[janecafe]

future spouse's pac: reasons why they choose to love you every time

uno - dos - tres

paid readings available here

masterlist

©janecafe 2025

˚⊱🍀⊰˚

₊˚ʚ 𝐔𝐍𝐎 🪅 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

i just wanna be more authentic here. your person is a class that doesn't believe in love, they think it's just human fabricated and imagination well perhaps this may be because they have not yet experienced the feeling of "love". their beliefs and practices affecting their perspectives of what love really looks like. i think they're insecure about themselves have a gloomy heart about the topic of affection. so the time they infatuated with you, they will experience many first times. the reason why this person to love you is that you were the first person to show care for them, it's like a natural characteristics of you.

i think you will work with them, in a project. it will take months for this person to grow feelings and as the time you're gonna know about their feelings, it's also gonna take more time for you to mirror these emotions with them. this seems like a slow burn yet a very assured love. when i say it was their first time to in love, i speak about--a real love, the feeling is different and because they love you because of you.

the second thing is that you're not afraid to show yourself well despite the hesitation and nervousness you feel inside most of the time. you have this mindset where; "who's gonna do this? i have no one to rely on but myself needs me more". it's this positive aspect is energizing you to do the task. i heard you might be insecure and have a public speaking but this bright side of your profile always gets you to wake up in reality. although your voice comes out in a full you can feel and hear your heart banging loudly inside when interacting with strangers. i feel that you have a high frequency, you may frequently noticed people at the public, staring at you without any reason. sometimes you felt awkward and embarrassed.

another thing to add to the list is that, despite that you are someone who is quiet and gentle. you have a great humor, i think people who are close to you like your jokes but most of the time these gags are overlay from you telling the truth. its like you are saying what's real behind those. well, this person will love your humour too. you are making them laugh even with their bad days, it makes their cheeks hurt. most of time, people don't understand the two of you because you two are the ones who master of each other's understanding. they love how you try your best understand them in every way possible without judgement this is how they fall deeper to you to the point they are willing to protect you to those people who would try to harm you physically or emotionally.

₊˚ʚ 𝐃𝐎𝐒 🪅 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

ohh, la la la. they be willing to be stripped and get cold for you. love makes them crazy, i think they have a circle where most of their friends are in love in such a way they tell themselves that, "love makes you an idiot and crazy bet i'll never be like that" not until you come and knock the hell out of them. their perception on love turned around like 360° is indeed make them insane. they feel you are so rare that's why they have a strong feelings for you. even in afterlife, they be willing to chase and make love with you haha. this reading becoming out of the topic, well the thing that makes them choose to love you is that, you give them an unquestionable loyalty.

you show them the best version of themselves which they didn't know before because all this time they think they already reach that--- that they reach the top of themselves. your presence makes a huge difference to them. it's not a big deal, it's neither your fault for them to change but it was their decision. they embrace and love it. another thing is that you are a home and a light, it's like a feeling of waking up that sunlight hitting your face. they love it when you give the best comfort especially when they really need one.

i think they will pursue you in such a very long way and with the time you are gonna them love too. they'll be like; "finally, my happiness choose me". from their expectations and imagine they already love the life that you two were building.

you are their muse of art. the root of their inspiration. the star in the darkest days. they can metaphor you with everything, make you poems with so fondness of words. they're lucky that they are able to love and see you in this lifetime. and the day they will meet you, is the day they will share their wind-gentle love story.

₊˚ʚ 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒 🪅 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

the first thing i heard is that--- you make them marveled in love. they love how you send cute messages whenever they're at work. they think you are the most unexpected thing that happens in their life, they didn't expect you to come and boom their world. you shake things up i swear. they feel that they're bad person and nobody will ever love, they feel that they don't deserve you and their love. but you make them realize that love can make change. love makes you better. they love how patience you are with them and they are so forever grateful for that.

i think you give your best to match their energy and they really do appreciate your efforts. this slaps them that you are the one that they are with for the rest of their lives. they want to love you much better than you do to them.

they also love your kisses and hugs. it makes their knees weak. and trust me, they'll try their best to match and give you the best communication. your encouragement and care was the ones they choose to love you every day.

another thing, they appreciate and have a soft spot for you when they take care of them when they are sick. when you make them food even though they don't usually ask for it. although most of the time you make something stupid they realize that you are the person they want for the rest of their life. i considered that their love for you was better and stronger than others.

˚⊱🍀⊰˚

[itsxarien]

how bad do u want me | natalie scatorccio x reader

“Cause you like my hair, my ripped-up jeans, you like the bad girl i got in me.”

SUMMARY: After a quiet conversation with Coach Ben in the wilderness, you come to a realization about yourself that you’ve been avoiding for a long time - you’re in love with your best friend, Natalie Scatorccio.

warnings: nsfw, smut with plot, slight angst!

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The fire was dying again.

You and Coach Ben sat across from it, the silence thick between you. Most nights, no one really talked anymore. But tonight—tonight felt heavy, like something needed to be said. You were chewing on a piece of dried something (you didn’t ask), half-listening to the hiss of the flames when he broke the silence.

“You ever been in love?”

The question felt like it came out of nowhere. You blinked at him. “What?”

He gave a tired shrug. “It’s the kind of question you think about a lot out here.”

You stared into the fire for a long time, the heat kissing your cheeks. “No,” you answered too quickly. Then, quieter: “At least, I don’t think so.”

Coach nodded, then said gently, “What about boys?”

“I dated some, but my heart was never really in it.”You shrugged, pulling your knees up to your chest. “It’s always been like that. I tried. I kissed them. I let them take me out. But it just felt like going through the motions. Like I was acting out a scene someone else wrote.”

He looked at you, not with judgment but with something like… curiosity. “So what does feel real to you?”

Your heart stuttered. The answer lived right there, under your tongue, ready to spill. And once you started talking, it didn’t stop.

And someone came in your mind.

Natalie.

You let out a long breath and started speaking, your voice softer than usual.

“When me and Natalie were younger… I don’t think I ever realized how much I needed Natalie. But there was always something between us, something I could never quite explain.” You paused, taking a moment to collect your thoughts. "When we were at my house, my mom would always be downstairs, cooking or doing something. And Natalie and I would go up to my room, lock the door, and just... be together."

You ran a hand through your hair, trying to find the right words. “We’d lie there in my bed, close, too close sometimes. I’d press my legs against hers, feeling the heat of her body next to mine.”

“I think I always knew, even back then, that I wanted more. But I didn’t know how to say it, how to make it real.”

Coach Ben stayed silent, watching you as you spoke. His presence was comforting, and yet, there was a pang in your chest as you relived those memories.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You and Natalie were sitting on her bed in the dim light of her room, the air thick with the smell of cigarette smoke and the faint aroma of her cheap perfume. The faint sound of music played low, something from the ‘80s. Queen, maybe? You weren’t sure, but the static from the speakers added to the feeling of everything being just a little bit hazy.

She was sprawled across her bed, one leg bent, the other stretched out lazily, her ripped jeans showing more skin than you'd care to admit. Her black eyeliner smudged just slightly, as it always did, and her messy hair framed her face in the way it always did—like she didn’t care, but still somehow looked like she owned the room.

You were sitting a little too stiffly beside her, in your usual outfit of pink, a fuzzy sweater and white skirt with a flower hairclip on top of your head. A stark contrast to her—the good girl, the one who was always so... perfect.

You were used to the way people looked at you both, always wondering how the two of you ended up as best friends. You were opposites in every way. You were the quiet, perfect girl, the one who sat in the front of class and smiled politely. She was loud, messy, always caught up in something she shouldn’t be.

Still, here you were. Side by side, as you always were. Yet tonight, something felt different. You could feel it in the air, that shift that always came before something bigger, something you weren’t ready for but knew was inevitable.

“I don’t get why you hang out with me, (Y/N),” she muttered, her voice laced with something you couldn’t quite place. She turned her head, her eyes searching yours for something—maybe an answer. "I'm trouble, you know that, right?"

You glanced at her, biting your lip. You always hated when she said things like that. Like she wasn’t worth it, like you weren’t worth being around her.

“You’re not trouble,” you said, though your voice was quieter than you intended. “You’re just... complicated. But I like complicated.”

She snorted, a sharp sound that made your heart flutter in an oddly comforting way. “Yeah, sure. You like it ‘cause you’re perfect. You’ve got everything together. I’m just a mess.”

That ache you were feeling deep in your chest earlier felt heavier now. The gap between the two of you was always there, but tonight it felt bigger, harder to ignore. You looked at her again, really looked at her. Natalie—your best friend, the one who you’d known for years, who knew you better than anyone else ever could.

“Maybe I like you because I’m not perfect,” you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “And I don’t want to be.”

There was a long pause as Natalie processed your words. She tilted her head slightly, watching you closely, and then a small, almost sad smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

“You’re so good to me, cupcake,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest at the nickname. That nickname. She only ever called you that when she was soft, when she wasn’t trying to hide the part of her that was vulnerable, even if she didn’t always let herself show it.

“I’m not... I’m not good,” you whispered back, your words shaky. You wanted to say more, but the words were stuck in your throat. "You... you’ve been through so much. And you—"

But Natalie cut you off with a shake of her head, her expression turning serious. “You’ve always been good, (Y/N),” she said, her voice like gravel. "You just don’t see it. You always help me, no matter what. You keep me from falling apart."

Her words hung in the air, and you could feel them pressing down on you, making everything feel heavier. You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “You don’t have to let me in, you know? You can—"

“I’m not going anywhere,” she interrupted, her voice suddenly more forceful than before. She moved closer to you, her leg brushing against yours as she did. The proximity sent a jolt through your body, making your pulse quicken.

The closeness was something you both had always shared—laying side by side, pressing your legs together when you watched movies, when you talked about everything and nothing. But tonight, with everything hanging in the balance, it felt like so much more.

You stared at her for a long moment, the words you wanted to say stuck on your tongue. But then she spoke again, her voice quieter, more vulnerable this time.

“Promise me something,” she said, looking down at your intertwined legs. “Promise me you’ll never leave me. No matter how... messed up I get.”

You didn’t hesitate. “I promise.”

The air between you two felt thick now, like something unsaid was hanging there. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it out loud yet. You couldn’t tell her what you were really feeling, not when the world seemed so uncertain.

You were so different. She was so different. And yet, you couldn’t imagine being anywhere but right here with her.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

“She kissed me once,” you admitted, pulling your legs closer to your face.

“Said it was practice."

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Madonna crooned from the cassette player, half-muffled by your bedroom pillow.

Like a virgin… touched for the very first time…

Natalie was sprawled next to you, one foot crossed over the other. Her flannel was sliding off one shoulder, eyes smudged with the kind of liner she never wiped off before crashing at your place. She had a joint in hand, laughing at something stupid you’d said about math class.

“Wanna practice?” she asked, not looking at you.

“Practice what?”

She raised a brow. “Kissing.”

You thought she was joking. But then she rolled over onto her side, facing you, close enough to smell the weed and grape soda on her breath.

You hesitated. “Okay.”

She leaned in like it was nothing. Like you were the one being weird about it. Her lips brushed yours, soft, slow, as if she’d done it a hundred times.

You didn’t even move at first. You just felt it—this terrible, perfect spark crawling up your spine. You kissed her back, and it felt like falling. You wanted to cry, and you didn’t know why.

When she pulled back, she grinned.

You wanted her to do it again.

And she did, again and again.

When she kissed you, it wasn’t playful. Not really. It was slow, searching. Her tongue moved against yours like she was memorizing it.

Later, she had pulled back, breathless, eyes darker than the night.

“Damn,” she whispered. “They don’t kiss like that.”

You didn’t sleep that night.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

“She kissed me again, later,” you told Coach, your voice cracking. “A bunch of times. And then she touched me.”

You didn’t mean too say it out loud, but it was already gone. Out in the cold air, hanging there like smoke.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

It had been late, after another party, when she’d stumbled into your car, laughing. Her eyeliner smeared, her voice sticky sweet with whiskey.

“You’re always so soft,” she murmured, leaning against you in the passenger seat, cheek pressed to your shoulder.

“You’re always so loud,” you said back, trying to steady your voice even though your hands were trembling on the wheel.

She laughed and turned her head, eyes glassy, breath warm on your skin.

“You ever think maybe I’m loud ‘cause I don’t wanna hear myself think?”

You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t. Just drove her home in silence, the quiet between you almost unbearable.

That night, she left her bedroom door cracked open like she always did when she didn’t want to sleep alone. You followed, heart hammering like you were doing something wrong.

You helped her change. Her skirt was hitched too high, her shirt sliding down one shoulder. When she sat on the edge of her bed, legs loose and lazy, she reached for the strap of your sando, tugging them, letting it leave your shoulder.

“Wanna practice again?” she whispered, lips brushing yours.

Your breath hitched, your cheeks flushing. “Yeah,” you said, and kissed her.

God, you kissed her like it would be the last time. Like it had to count.

It started soft. Your lips, her tongue, the way she cupped the back of your neck. But she tasted like smoke and sugar and something that burned, and soon your sando was half off, her hands under your bra, skimming the bare skin of your sides.

She touched you like she meant it. Like she’d been thinking about it.

Her hand slid beneath your waistband, fingers grazing the elastic of your panties. Your hips jolted.

“Natalie…” you gasped, but it wasn’t a protest. It was a plea.

She paused, eyes locking with yours. “You want me to stop?”

You shook your head.

Her fingers dipped lower, slow and careful, until she brushed against the wet heat of you. You choked out a sound, half gasp, half whimper.

“God, you’re already soaked,” she said, voice low and rough, almost reverent.

She kissed your collarbone as she slid a finger inside, then two. Her touch was practiced, but gentle. She curled them just right, dragging them slow, deep, the heel of her hand pressing firm against your clit. You buried your face in her neck, biting down to muffle the moan tearing from your throat.

“Fuck,” you breathed. “Don’t stop.”

She didn’t. Her fingers worked you open, curling and stroking, coaxing you toward the edge until your thighs were shaking, your back arching, your hands twisted in her sheets.

You came like that, trembling in her lap, forehead pressed to hers, a quiet sob catching in your throat.

She kissed you after, messy and slow. Then she pushed you gently down onto the bed and climbed between your legs.

“Wait - ” you started, but her mouth was already there.

She kissed your thighs first, soft, dragging her teeth across the skin. Her hands pushed your legs open, steady and sure. And then-

Her tongue. Warm, slow, deliberate. She licked a long stripe up your slit, then circled your clit, teasing, tasting.

You cried out.

“Natalie -”

She moaned against you like she was drunk on it. Like she wanted to ruin you slow.

And she did.

The last thing you remembered before the flashback burned out was the sound you made. loud, raw, real - and the way she looked up at you from between your legs like you were something sacred, as she enjoyed

You never noticed but the way she looked at you, it was love.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You looked down at your lap. Your hands were shaking.

“It was my first time,” you admitted.

Coach Ben nodded, listening intently.

You thought that was it—that the conversation would taper off into silence like everything else here did. But then he looked at you again, steady and quiet, like he was waiting for something to click.

“Maybe the love you’re looking for,” he said gently, “has always been in front of you. Waiting.”

You froze.

The fire popped. Your heart did too, in a different way.

He said it like he knew something you didn’t. Like he’d seen it in the way Natalie passed you her joint with soft fingers. The way she always sat just close enough that your knees touched. The way she looked at you when she thought you weren’t looking - tired, tender, like she didn’t know how to say don’t go.

“Maybe,” he added, “you’ve just been looking for it in the wrong people.”

Your throat burned. You didn’t have an answer.

Just Natalie’s name echoing through your chest like a secret you’d been too afraid to tell out loud.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe she’d always been right there.

Waiting.

And as you return to the cabin the, faint rise and fall of Natalie’s breathing as she lay curled up on the cot, her face relaxed in sleep.

There was space next to her, an empty spot on the edge of the blanket, clearly left for you.

You smiled softly to yourself, a strange warmth blooming in your chest. It was a small thing, but it meant the world to you.

As you moved closer, the cool night air from the door fading behind you, you hesitated. You knew what you were feeling now. You couldn’t ignore it anymore. You couldn’t hide from the truth.

Coach Ben’s words echoed in your mind—Maybe the love you're looking for has always been in front of you, waiting. You thought about it again, about how, all this time, you’d been searching for something that was never really gone.

It had always been Natalie.

You gently eased into the space beside her, sliding your arms around her waist and pulling her close. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her body fitting into yours like it was always meant to. You hugged her tightly from behind, feeling the warmth of her skin seep into yours.

And in the quiet of that moment, you realized what Coach Ben had meant. You’d been looking for love in all the wrong places, convinced that there was something out there for you, when all along it was right here. Right in front of you. Waiting.

Natalie.

The love you’d been searching for, the love you had been too scared to admit, was already yours.

And as you held her close, the world outside the cabin seemed so far away. The noise, the chaos, it all faded to nothing. All that mattered was the warmth of her body in your arms and the gentle sound of her breathing.

 Coach Ben had been right after all.

THE END

[monophobix]

another non-mc au idea

reader who was in the labs with mc and caleb. she had no evol. just a normal, ordinary human put in alongside two other worldly children. she became their caretaker in there. when they were bloodied and exhausted, she was the one who eased their pain, who plaited their hair and told them stories so they could all sleep. she was the control variable for the experiments, to test exactly how far the other two could go compared to an average human.

but she didn’t get out. josephine takes caleb and mc but for some reason she ends up staying with ever. but caleb never forgets her. the way she cared for them becomes how caleb cares for mc. he remembers her dedication to keeping them happy, so he vows to honour her memory, taking care of mc, keeping her alive so readers dedication wasn’t for nothing.

but non-mc is still alive. still used by ever. a guinea pig for their experiments.

when ever gets caleb back, they already know how to create his mechanical arm. how do they know this? well they did it to non-mc. over the years, they modified her, removed and replaced her parts with metal, learned how to attach wires to ones nervous system and turn her into something more metal than flesh.

and when caleb is back at ever, he sees her again. he sees her mechanical arm, a more rusty version of his own. perhaps she has other prosthetic attributes. a metal leg, a mechanical eye, maybe her organs have been altered. yet he recognises her all the same.

oh the guilt he would feel. knowing that for all those years he was out living his life with mc, she was still suffering, never able to experience the real world. knowing that the only reason his prosthetic is so advanced is because it came at the cost of her suffering.

maybe non-mc doesn’t remember him. the years of constant abuse making her in a near constant dissociative state. maybe she was also used for the beginning of the experiments on the toring chip, leaving her mind fractured. but what little flesh she does have might remember him. the feeling of his gravity evol around her, his touch being so gentle compared to every other experience she has. maybe he can bring her back.

or maybe she does remember him. a messed up mixture of resentment and relief building at the sight of him because ‘oh thank fuck he’s alive’ and also ‘what the fuck are you doing here’ and also ‘why did you leave me behind’. perhaps they’d work together to take down ever from the inside, growing close once again.

what about mc? maybe she runs into her. caleb insists that mc can trust her, that if anything goes wrong she can rely on her, but something about her is just different. maybe mc dislikes her, feeling threatened by caleb’s innate trust in some random woman. but maybe, subconsciously, mc feels relief at the sight of her. maybe she drags the other LIs into the situation to take down ever, non-mc providing that extra motivation to take down ever.

idk bro it’s 3am i should be asleep.

[zoe-oneesama]

Chloe shows us that even if she was expelled from Paris like a villain, her influence remains strong, and people don't care what she did if she promises them a reward. Somehow, they managed to make it so that, even though she wasn't in the city, she was indirectly the driving force behind the whole situation. It's as if the series just needs her to make things happen when they run out of ideas to execute. Unexpected? Not at all. Disappointing? Definitely. Ridiculous? Absolutely.

What is your opinion about this?

I think people (viewers, not in universe) are putting more energy into this than is necessary. Chloe didn't actually do anything in this episode - she hosted an online contest and announced a winner. Those were her two scenes. It was Aurore who took it too far. Using Chloe like this is just a different spin on Aurore losing the Weather Girl contest. To me, this is a totally appropriate and clever use of Chloe.

Now, there IS something to be said about these "community" platforms that the show is introducing. We've seen two thanks to this episode - a "Bee" Community, and a "Ladybug" Community, where accounts choose hero icons to represent themselves when they like a post. The "Bee" is hosted by Chloe while the "Ladybug" host is currently unknown (though we know Marinette is a member).

In the "Bee" community, Aurore's passionate posts about weather phenomenon were basically ignored while she scaled to the Top 10 in mere hours for posting out of context photos and spreading rumors about Adrien and Marinette. But in the "Ladybug" community, the same post that would've been completely ignored immediately got multiple likes, even one from her Idol Claudie Kante.

To me, this makes sense. The "Bee" Community is hosted by Chloe and so attracts people like her, who enjoy gossip blogs over deep dives. Aurore is not exempt from this, she goes as far as copying the No.1 ranked creator instead of creating her own work and starts caring more about popularity than the prize itself. But she's accepted for who she is in the "Ladybug" Community.

Like people attract like minded people. This episode has something to say (though not very loud) about the kind of communities we attach ourselves to online, and how they effect and change us in the real world. It's important to curate your online experience and to be diligent of being too influenced by what we see and interact with online.

In the "Bee" Community, Chloe's Community, Aurore sunk low and became consumed with unimportant things, betraying her friends and caring more about being No.1 than being an authentic or even good person. And her actions got her akumatized. Even though she won the contest, she had nothing to show for it.

In the "Ladybug" Community, Aurore was embraced for being unapologetically herself and confronting her wrongs. And her actions got her recognition from the person she idolized the most.

Chloe didn't have to do anything, the community she curates (and the communities that real world people make) were all that was necessary for this akuma.

[bullet-prooflove]

6500 Follower Bingo Card Celebration: Jack - John Shen x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @miraclesabound @cannonindeez @fadeinsol @nommingonfood @yousigned-upforthis

Hitting The Bingo Square: Pistol Whipping

Companion piece to:

Dick Pics - You and John discuss your dating life in the ambulance bay during a rare shift break.

Brunch - John refuses to give up when you miss brunch with him.

Silly Little Boys (NSFW) - John's not like the other men you've been with.

In The Summer - You discover John's secret.

Tiger, Tiger - John reveals the truth between his engagement and his history.

John finds out about your history when an old DCFS file appears in an unmarked envelope on his doorstep. He’s just about to head out for a run when he trips over the damn thing, scattering the contents across the stoop. At first he thinks he’s being sued but then he takes in the pink post it, his mother’s careful cursive writing.

I thought you’d like to know the kind of trash you’re getting into bed with.

It’s one month out from the wedding and he’s been waiting for the next intervention from his parents and it appears this is it.

He hurries to gather up the loose pages before the wind can catch them and finds himself clutching the top sheet. It’s a brief rundown of the McCarthy family, pictures and names included.

He’s met two of them, he realises as he scrutinizes document in his hand.

Seamus, the father. Patrick, the brother.

It had been during a shift when he’d first become an attending. A couple of guys had been arrested because of a barroom brawl that had gotten out of hand. The two in handcuffs had pistol whipped the shit out of a guy who had bumped into them, spilling a drink. His friends had piled on and it had become a large scale bar fight resulting in six guys being hurled into the E.D with varying injuries. The original victim had been sent straight up to surgery because they’d shattered most of the bones in his face.

John had been called in to treat the older one Seamus McCarthy, because he refused to have the twelve inch gash across his scalp looked by Abbot. He’d been cuffed to the bed, blood matting in his shoulder length, greying hair as he spat at Abbot, the phlegm splattering against the tiles underfoot.

“You need to calm down” Abbot had said in that cool, gruff tone of his as he studied the heart monitor attached to Seamus’s chest. “You’re gonna give yourself another heart attack.”

“And how am I supposed to do that when the cunt who took Sissy is standing here right in front of me?” Seamus had raged as John had begun to irrigate the wound.

“I didn’t take your daughter.” Abbot had reminded him, his eyes still fixed on the heart monitor. “She left because you were whoring her out to pay for your coke habit. I just made sure she had a safe place to go to.”

“You wanted to fuck her without paying.” Seamus had accused. “I bet she was ever so grateful to her new daddy wasn’t she?”

The silence that descended over the treatment bay in that moment was deafening. John could feel the tension in the room, oppressive and malevolent as Abbot’s gaze swung to Seamus, his upper lip curling up in disgust.

“You really are a piece of shit aren’t you?” Abbot had said, distain dripping from every word. “You don’t give a fuck about her unless she’s on her back earning you a couple of grand a night.”

His stare shifts to John.

“You got this?” He asks him, stripping off his latex gloves. “Because I am fucking done.”

“Yea.” John had said holding up the staple gun before pressing it to the gash Seamus’s head. “Yea, I got this.”

It’s only now as John stands there on his doorstep, gripping those papers in his fist that he realises that the girl they were talking about, that was you.

Sissy…

Cici…

Both nicknames for Cecilia. You may have changed your last name but your photograph is staring right back at him. You look fresh faced, young but those eyes, they tell a different story, one that he’s seen a dozen times in The Pitt after one of them has called DCFS.

It breaks his heart because now he understands why you don’t talk about your family, why everything from your younger years revolves around the boxing gym. You don’t have any good memories of home, just the shame of what comes with being chewed up and spat out by the people who are supposed to love you.

You’re subdued when you arrive at his place that night. You don’t come in when he opens the door instead you linger on the stoop, wringing your hands. It’s an anxious tell, something he’s never seen in you before and it makes him want to wrap his arms around you, to chase away the demons that seem to be dogging at your heels.

“I got a visit from your mom today at the firehouse.” You tell him, your gaze fixed on something down the street. You haven’t met his eyes once since you’ve appeared, it’s like you’re too terrified of what you may see in them. “Apparently she gave you my DCFS file…”

“Yea, I tossed that.”  He says, his palm rubs over the nape of his neck. “I kinda met your dad last year in The Pitt. He said somethings about Abbot, fucked up shit.”

“Jack Abbot saved my life.” You begin, pausing to find the words as you tuck your hands into the pockets of your coat. “When I first left home I was working as a cleaner at the boxing gym. I’d stay there overnight after Greg the owner had left, wake up and make sure it look like I had just arrived. I couldn’t afford training sessions so I would just watch, try to pick up a few some tips. Jack was always there first thing, he was trying to adjust to life with the new leg. He took me under his wing, taught me the basics. It was the first time in my life that I didn’t feel powerless.”

You let out a long sigh because the hard part is coming, the part that you don’t like to tell because it just clarifies all the shit that was in that file.

“Jack picked up something was going on with me pretty early on, I had a lot of anger for a eighteen year old and I think he got a read on where it came from. His first wife Maria was a social worker, she knew my family, had an idea of why I left. One night my dad came around trying to get me to come back home. Jack was in the parking lot, he intervened. My father told him if he wanted a ride he would have to pay, and I thought this is it, this is the moment that he hands over a few hundred dollars, fucks me in the back seat of his car because that’s what I’d been taught to expect.” You bite your lower lip before shaking your head. “Jack kicked the shit out of him instead, I’d never seen my dad scared before. I think that was the moment I finally realised that the world wasn’t the way I thought it was, that there were good people out there, people who were willing to help if I just let them.

“I became an EMT because of them, because they took me in, gave me a safe space to figure out what I wanted. They believed in me and because of that I made something of myself, something I’m proud of and your mom John, your fucking mom, just looked me in the face and told me I’m not good enough for you, that I should just let you go and marry Jia. Is she right John? Should I just let you go? Or should I keep you, should I come inside that house and fuck you so hard that you won’t even want to look at another woman after me?”

There’s a fire in your eyes, it burns so bright and beautiful that he can’t help but be consumed by it. You are not your history, the same way he’s not his. You’re both something more, something wonderful, something exciting.

Something real.

“Keep me.” He whispers, his hands come to rest on your waist, pulling you close.  “You should god damn keep me.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[ducktracy]

PIG AND DUCK MANIFESTO #1: Intro to the Classics, Bob Clampett

WELCOME TO MY LATEST OUT OF CONTROL PROJECT! read this ask for context! this is going to be a very long post--one of many--and i want people to read it, so let's just dive right in.

The Classics

THE CLASSICS ARE WHERE IT’S AT. nothing will ever top them in my opinion. you’re getting the characters and their intentions straight from the source. these characters were made up of the life experiences and sense of humor and and contexts of their creators and directors, and everything that has come after that has just been a game of telephone… and not always a very good one. i’m a purist for the classics, i know and don’t even care how snobby that may make me sound. there’s nothing better than seeing these characters in their proper context. they are products of their time, and not even in the typically negative connotation that seems to come with (but it can certainly apply… sigh). i always have and always will be unflinching of this opinion.

but that’s the exciting part: they vary from short to short. with TDTEBU being your gateway, i’m going to lay some things out just as security because I LOVE GETTING TO EDUCATE NEW PEOPLE AHHHHH!! so i’m sorry if this is stuff you already know, but you can never be too careful (and i can never be too eager to play teacher AHHH I’M SO EXCITED.) BUT. 

Porky and Daffy are unique in that they’re some of the only characters who receive the benefit of being passed from director to director. most of the time, a director who debuts a certain character will be the only director who works with that character. Yosemite Sam was Friz Freleng’s creation (and modeled after himself!), and there are only two or so shorts that feature the character that weren’t by him… and one of those was directed by an animator in his unit. same deal with Bob McKimson and Foghorn Leghorn–Foghorn’s a McKimson exclusive. same with Chuck Jones and Marvin the Martian. by the time of the ‘50s or so, everyone kinda kept their own characters to themselves. the mix and match nature of the ‘30s and ‘40s was no longer really present

Porky, Daffy and Bugs are happy exceptions to this rule. it’s amusing, too, in that Porky and Daffy have both sort of been “abandoned” by their “fathers”--Tex Avery, who made Daffy, only directed three shorts with him. Friz Freleng directed a considerable amount of Porky shorts, but the last time he touched him was in 1952–Porky’s last short in the golden age was released in 1965 (1966 if you wanna count reused footage). likewise, Porky and Daffy have long been established as a pair essentially since their conception (which’d be 1937; Porky’s Duck Hunt, the first Daffy cartoon made, was obviously the first to have the star together, and they were recurringly established as sidekicks as early as 1938). they often travel together! so, because their dynamic was so set in stone, this meant that many different directors got to lend a hand in showing us how they portray Porky and Daffy. some directors portray them as best buddies, whereas others portray them as mortal enemies. sometimes they’re like a vaudeville act, with Porky playing Daffy’s second banana. sometimes they’re buddies who wanna kill each other! there are so many unique flavors and variations of their dynamic, and that’s also why i’m so huge on them: through them, we get to see the individual identities of the DIRECTORS, how THEIR individual voices compare… and considering my favorite thing about the franchise is its history and the people behind it, well, i love it HAHA. 

SO LET’S EXPLORE THOSE DYNAMICS! let’s put some relationships to some names.

Bob Clampett

Bob Clampett is my greatest artistic inspiration of all time, so this PROOOOBABLY isn’t a surprise to most of my followers HAHA. he’s always been my favorite director–i find our sensibilities are very similar, his shorts elicit these visceral and emotional reactions out of me like nobody else, and i love his stuff. i very much gravitate to his portrayal of the characters. 

it’s almost unfair to nominate him as #1, because he has the benefit of having so much history with the characters. i mean, ALL of these guys do! but he was really the first to consistently pair them together and establish them as a dynamic duo. much of the understanding of Daffy and Porky as characters, together or separate, were helmed under his direction in the late ‘30s. it’s genuinely very sweet getting to watch them “grow up”--in any sense, but, again, this was largely felt under his shorts. 

i love both the early and later Clampett pig ‘n duck joints for different reasons. the early stuff, i love because there’s such a fondness and innocence about them! which seems REALLY funny to say, because some of the shorts i have in mind when referring to this are about “Daffy tries to cut a very conscious and unwilling Porky in half with a handsaw to prove that he’s a reliable surgeon” or “Daffy gets so drunk that Porky has to save his kid in part due to Daffy’s negligence”. 

but there’s such a sweetness about these early shorts. i always point to the opening of Porky & Daffy as an example; Daffy is still at an incredibly early stage of his lifespan and is still rather incoherent. at this stage, he’s moreso a bundle of nerve endings and noises–very out of his gourd and juvenile. but whereas most modern interpretations have Porky being annoyed by this, he’s ENDEARED by this! he radiates this fondness for Daffy and it’s the sweetest thing ever. you get the sense that he just sees him as his silly little friend who can do no wrong–aw, shucks, sure he’s a bit out there, but isn’t everyone? (mentally ill duck breaking things in the background) < i stole a friend’s wording on this because it’s just stuck with me for years at how correct and true it is.

and it’s funny, Porky’s a bit of an enabler even in these shorts!! in Porky & Daffy, he’s Daffy’s manager and signs him up for a boxing fight in hopes to get some prize money. he enables a lot of his esoteric behavior, and it actually leads them to victory–i love it because it’s very cute in a funny way, it’s nice that we get to see Daffy and his daffiness celebrated rather than shamed. it reflects an innocence on both characters that’s very fitting for the time and i just… i love it! in a world of shorts that are most well known for their adversity and cynicism, there’s something so special about seeing these two goofballs join up and enjoy each others’ company, even if it’s for the use of the very warped context that they may be put into. i still like thinking that Porky was the one who decided to stuff Daffy full of bags of flour to make it seem like he’s more muscular than he really is, sort of hinting at this bit of doubt towards Daffy’s capabilities (that isn’t entirely unwarranted) and it’s just such a funny little commentary, y’know?

the opening of Wise Quacks also really scratches this itch of demonstrating a similar fondness. as alluded to earlier, Porky actually refers to Daffy as his childhood friend (“why, we were kids together–!”) in this ADOOOOORABLEEEEEEE monologue that i think about all the time. again, there’s just this… innocence feels wrong, but it is kind of innocent! compared to how their dynamic would get later on! warmth, maybe? there’s a clear kinship between the two characters, and this is unique WHOLLY to them in how genuine that kinship feels. you have characters like the Goofy Gophers or Ralph and Sam who are friends (more, in the case of the gophers lol)... but that’s the whole joke of their existence. the whole joke is that they’re buds in a world surrounded by murderous, cynical cretins who want to kill each other. which Porky and Daffy can sometimes fall into as well, though this is largely on Porky’s side… 

GETTING AHEAD OF MYSELF. anyway, i love the earnest of the early Clampett pig and duck shorts because no other character dynamic or even characters, period, have that benefit. it offers a very unique glimpse to these characters that gives them some versatility and room to work with. and i just really love how they play off of each other! i like that Porky is probably way more fond of this clearly unstable and not all there duck than he probably should be. and in these shorts (Porky’s Last Stand specifically), you get the feeling that he doesn’t really fully… understand him? and he doesn’t try to? because he just assumes him to be this silly little guy. AND, again, like in the case of P.L.S., that ends up having dire consequences (Daffy tries to warn him against a raging bull approaching him, but Porky is still stuck in “this is my silly friend who is crazy and can’t think for himself so he’s probably just up to his tricks. he’s silly” mode, is COMPLETELY oblivious to Daffy’s frantic gesticulating and pointing, and just assumes that there’s a salesman at the door. as if this is how Daffy would react to a salesman). 

this sense of innocent condescension on Porky’s part is still even present in some of the more “transitional” Clampett pig and duck shorts, like the end of A Coy Decoy–this is a short that debuts a bit of a more fleshed out Daffy. trying not to go into the entire history of the characters here–i’m sure i’ll fail–but he’s become quite a bit more lucid at this point; still hasn’t really entirely hit “puberty” yet, but he’s close to it, he can show a wider breadth of emotions and this short rides out on a lot of what P.L.S. establishes, but was limited by Daffy still being a bit more incapacitated by his neuroses. so, basically, it’s PORKY who’s in the wrong and has underestimated him! Porky basically says to his face that he’s an idiot for falling in love with a duck decoy and that he’s wasting his time. and then we see that Daffy has gotten busy in his spare time and proven Porky wrong. i love when Porky has a bit of an innocent ego like this–it’s Porky’s world and we’re all living in it, his obliviousness can often result in some unintentional condescension and i LOVE this about Clampett’s pig, and it’s just so funny to watch paired up against Daffy. especially in these moments where, for a change, he’s actually in the right! you get the sense that Porky is still stuck in the days where he’s Daffy’s boxing manager and having to sneak his robe full of flour bags to make him seem stronger, and not in the current where we now grapple with the horrifying possibility that DAFFY is the one making the most logical sense! horrid!

i’m about to move onto the later Bob Clampett pig and duck shorts (not very many 😢) but going back to my previous points about the fondness and innocence of it all… i mean just c’mon. this is cute. what other LT characters have this benefit. AT ANY POINT IN THE FRANCHISE! played completely straight too!!

WELL… it is LT, and LT is bent on cynicism and violence, and these guys certainly have it. the arrival of the war prompts these shorts to become a lot more brash and raucous, as these cartoons reflect so much about their current eras. and, with it, the characters adapt! everyone is made a bit more abrasive, bold, perhaps mean and fierce. the innocence of the ‘30s is pretty far gone… but not completely. and that’s again why i love Clampett’s pig and duck so much. they have balance.

and that’s why Baby Bottleneck is my all time favorite pig and duck short. directed by–you know who–Bob Clampett!

it’s the perfect short to me for their characterization because it has both sides of what i want from them. it has them working as an established duo, it still has those little subtle, funny themes of condescension from Porky in the tasks he assigns Daffy and way he regards him, and, most importantly, it has them trying to kill each other. 

it’s just such a great escalation and sampling of everything you could want from them. i love that they’re working together as a partnership, i love the history that it implies. there’s also a great subtle commentary of Porky giving the unceremonious task of answering all of the phones for their bottlenecked delivery service–i can just so imagine him thinking “well, Daffy never shuts the hell up, so he’ll be perfect for the job of answering all these phones while i go do my quiet, secluded job elsewhere. this’ll keep him occupied”. like having the talkative never-shuts-up guy in charge of answering all these lines.. it’s so funny at how backhanded it is!!

or Porky’s reasoning that ends up being the catalyst for the short’s conflict: there’s an unhatched egg that needs to be hatched so they know who to send the unclaimed egg to, as they run a baby delivery service. Porky’s thinking is simple: Daffy = duck. Duck = hatch eggs. Daffy = hatch egg. 

and he just asks him to do this so courteously, he’s so confident in thinking that Daffy will OF COURSE hatch out the egg because he’s a duck!!! it’s just simple facts and logic! not at all processing how unintentionally patronizing and even offensive that can come off, like “hey you’re a duck, you’ll hatch this out without objection. do this for me, egg-hatcher” LMFAO. 

and, of course, Daffy takes GREAT offense to this (despite agreeing to it at first), and Porky gets. So. Pissed. no escalation, one shot he’s smiling, seems to vacantly register Daffy’s refusal, and in the next shot he grabs him by the neck and yells at him to sit on the egg. and when he won’t he just immediately starts shoving him. no tact of any kind from either party.

AND I LOVE IT! because these guys are immature pissbabies. said lovingly. at their best they are immature pissbabies. or maybe not. i like when they’re immature pissbabies. and it’s especially made funny because we’ve seen how smiley and happy they were to work together JUST MOMENTS BEFORE. Porky is batting his eyelashes at Daffy and Daffy’s all quick and subservient, appearing at a moment’s notice… and all of the sudden they’re literally wrestling over this stupid egg. at one point Porky grabs Daffy’s hand and tries to force it on the egg–what kind of warmth is a hand gonna give the egg??? it’s not about the hatching of the egg at all, but getting to prove Daffy “wrong”, winning this pissing contest by showing “haha you touched the egg, now you have to sit on it, nyeh nyeh”

and you may be thinking, Eliza. i think you’re going a little far with this. Porky is a sweet and kind little gentleman. maybe a bit esoteric perhaps, but surely he’s not that petty, right?

WRONG! the first short they directed together, What Price Porky, literally has Porky sticking his tongue out at Daffy and going “NYEHHH” in the most wonderfully juvenile way after he “beat” him (got him to stop leading a ducktatorship–sorry–against his hens and stealing their corn). and so Porky’s behavior here is just such a wonderful little callback to that. it’s the last short Clampett directed with them, but a lot of the back and forth fighting and pettiness parallels the first short he directed with them, and there’s just something about that that gets to me!! 

and the best part of Bottleneck is that THERE IS NO WINNER. they’re both petty little idiots who brought this upon themselves, and that’s represented by having them get lodged into their own deathtrap inventions and smushed into this awful, horrifying, disgusting and wonderful pigduck baby hybrid that a mama gorilla immediately adopts without question. at least until we get a Classic Clampett “Innuendo” (in quotes because his sophomoric sense of humor is not subtle at all. i would say 60% of his shorts AT THE ABSOLUTE MINIMUM have some sort of dick joke in them, this being one of them) where the mama thinks Porky is Daffy’s talking genitalia and freaks the hell out. understandably so. they both are at a tie and doomed to live this horrible pigduck baby life for the end of time… or at least until the iris closes out. and i just love how balanced that is. we’ve gotten so many shades of their dynamic, packed in 7 minutes of mayhem, and it’s just. AUGH. a little taste of all their different shades and capabilities. also, i should mention that TDTEBU references this short very heavily–everything with the factory is a reference to this short! so, all the more fuel to the fire!

i also feel it necessary to reference The Great Piggy Bank Robbery–the source of my username! and online alias! and icon! and also my favorite cartoon of all time! it’s a Daffy short, but Porky makes a brief cameo in it as an inconspicuously disguised trolley driver and just. HOW I LOVE THAT. 

the context for the short is that Daffy accidentally knocks himself unconscious, thusly dreaming about being Duck Twacy–”the famous duck-tec-a-tive!”. and Porky showing up, i’ve always thought was so cute–like a friend of yours showing up in a dream! it implies a history with them! it’s a testament to their dynamic that they’re good enough buds for Porky to show up in his dreams. i just love how casual and real that feels, very observational and gives their dynamic and history a nice bit of depth to it. 

considering it’s the last time Clampett would work with either character, it feels like a very fitting send-off to all the years of service he put into working these characters from the ground up. i really think he was hugely influential to the trajectory of their dynamic. all of the directors were–it’s a collaborative effort! but Clampett definitely worked with them very frequently at some of their most amoebic(?), doing a lot to establish their dynamic. Tex Avery was the first to pin them together, but Clampett was the first to establish it as a running dynamic.

and that’s why his interpretation is my all-time favorite. i borrow my interpretation and understanding of these guys from ALL the directors, as we will see in coming posts, but his hits a lot of what i want out of these characters. i wish he did direct more shorts of them paired together in the ‘40s, as i’d love to see what he would have done with a more mature and perhaps explosive Porky and Daffy (a la their dynamic in Baby Bottleneck, though they’re kinda anything but mature in that, aren’t they…?). but he is largely responsible for the friendship angle and giving them an exceptionally unique dynamic that no other LT character can live up to, full stop. there’s a lot to treasure about the way he portrays them. and that’s why i’m so adamant about advertising his earlier shorts, as his black and white cartoons seem to get slept on compared to his later works… they’re so charming and formative! you can feel the history! and most importantly, you can just… feel the fondness. fondness for these characters, their dynamic, these cartoons. 

and fondness is important. i’ll probably get into this more in another post (likely the LTC or TLTS post), but a lot of modern adaptations miss that Daffy has a genuine fondness for Porky. even when Porky is shoving a gun in his face and saying he’s gonna blow his head off (real quote! real happening!), there’s this sort of infatuation from Daffy with his persistence in following Porky around–even if it’s just to heckle him for his own satisfaction. if he was that disinterested, if he really hated or was annoyed by him like so many modern adaptations can have a tendency to show, then he just wouldn’t stick around and be as persistent as he is! he could just amuse himself elsewhere! because that’s all he does–tend to his impulses! but i think there’s a real sort of infatuation–even if it doesn’t manifest in him being super smiley or happy all the time about it–he has with Porky, and this is often very misunderstood or overlooked and breaks my heart. “Daffy hates Porky like he hates Bugs” should be on Mythbusters, because not once in the originals is this ever true. i can say that with my full chest. 

and yknow? typing this, i’m realizing Clampett never did a “Daffy heckles Porky” short, maybe beyond What Price Porky. there’s The Daffy Doc, where he tries to perform non consensual surgery on him, but there’s no malicious in his intentions. he’s just batshit insane. he thinks he’s doing a good thing and is following a very warped, but nonetheless present logic. he’s not trying to hurt Porky, but thinks he’s doing him a favor. i LOVE the shorts where Daffy heckles Porky. this is why Bob McKimson is right behind. but i love that, even if Porky doesn’t understand or may very fleetingly get annoyed with Daffy in these shorts, Clampett is maybe the only director (next to Frank Tashlin, who only directed one–but a holy grail of a short, which i’ll mention later–short with them together) who doesn’t have Daffy heckling Porky. there’s a real unity with their dynamic and, well, partnership, that’s unique to Clampett’s direction. i genuinely find that touching and perhaps a little necessary. 

WHEW! AND THIS IS JUST PART 1. thank you for making it this far! i’ll be ending off each post with a list of recommendations: shorts (or episodes, for modern stuff) from each director/show that i think would be good homework viewing to get an understanding of how they’re portrayed. i’ll also be linking my in-depth analyses to each short that i’ve written one for, so if you want to learn more and dive even deeper, you can.

BOB CLAMPETT PIG 'N DUCK SHORTS YOU SHOULD WATCH (links included):

Baby Bottleneck

Porky & Daffy (CLICK HERE to read my breakdown!)

The Daffy Doc (CLICK HERE to read my breakdown!)

Wise Quacks (CLICK HERE to read my breakdown!)

Porky’s Last Stand (CLICK HERE to read my breakdown!) < this is one of my favorite reviews i've ever done, so... worth a read!

Tick Tock Tuckered (so this is actually a remake of Porky's Badtime Story, the first Clampett short he directed--this isn't one of my go-to's since Daffy's role was originally for another character, all hail Gabby Goat, but it's a rare '40s Clampett color cartoon pig 'n duck joint and i think is still nicely indicative of their dynamic. it's not one i watch often, but first timers will likely appreciate it! i've grown to take it for granted, admittedly...)

and if you still want more.. these aren't great, like, at all, but i did some commentaries on the fly of Baby Bottleneck and Porky's Last Stand back in March 2022. i highly recommend reading the review for Last Stand since there's SOOOO MUCH i packed in there that i couldn't in this, but since i haven't been able to do a formal writeup of my favorite pig 'n duck short of all time, hopefully this is a good little substitute.

ideally, my answer is ALL OF THEM, but that seems like a cheat. there's only one Clampett pig 'n duck short i'm iffy on, Scalp Trouble--can probably assume from the title it's troublesome, but, also, Porky and Daffy are incontestably the best part of the short. the gif of Porky holding Daffy comes from that short. i'll also drop a link to my analysis so you can read and enjoy the good pig 'n duck bits and ignore everything else. but they really are all worth watching!

[callsign-rogueone]

a fair trade

aaric graycastle / cam tauri x reader (sunny!!!!) words: 1.2k 🏷: progressing through the beginning of IF! this one has a lot of transitions and jumps between scenes, which is my least favorite thing ever, and a major reason why it took so long, but I wanted to show these two interacting every day and slowly becoming friends, so here ya go! the next chapter will be so much better and much longer, I promise 🥺

It’s incredibly strange to be standing in this corner of the gym again, in the same spot where Nadine had died, and Violet nearly had too, avenging her. You’d never seen that much blood before in your life – but now it’s gone without a trace. Had someone knelt there last night and scrubbed it away, or had it been erased with magic? Which option is worse? 

Aaric appears at your side, speaking softly so as not to startle you. “You’re fast, and you’re smart, but at some point you’re going to have to throw some punches,” he prods. 

That’s fair. You’re the only one of the group who hadn’t made any offensive moves in your assessment match, and the last to find a partner to fight with today. 

“Yeah,” you say after a moment. “I’ve been dreading that part, honestly.”

“Let’s see what you’ve got. Just a basic stance, first.”

You nod, settling into a position that looks something like what you’d seen Imogen do earlier — she’s probably a good bet to copy.

He shakes his head. “Your feet need to be farther apart. And if you tuck your thumb in like that, you’re going to break it. Here.”

He steps forward and adjusts your fist — not missing your inhale of discomfort as his thumb presses against the swollen joint of your ring finger. He pulls back immediately, offering an apology and adjusting the technique. “Sorry. You should be fine to just keep it loose like that, as long as you adjust the impact point — what part of your fist is going to hit your target."

Another nod.

"If you just do... this," he explains, carefully reaching out to rotate your wrist to the side, careful not to put any pressure on the bandage there, "then you can make an impact with your pointer and middle finger. It won't be as effective, but it'll work until your hand heals."

Realistically, it won't — it hasn't shown much improvement since March, and the burn doesn’t help things either — but he doesn't need to know that.

"Don't worry about it too much," he offers, sensing your apprehension. "You’ve got more strength in your legs, anyway.” 

———

Being assigned breakfast duty means fewer hours of sleep, but you’re used to being up this early, anyway – you’d be going to bed at this hour, if you’d stayed in Calldyr City, just dragging yourself into the bathing chambers to hose off the sticky feeling of the ale you’d been serving, and the unwanted attention you’d been paid.

Someone is waiting for you outside the girls’ dorms; Aaric. He looks a little shy, shifting his weight awkwardly as he speaks – at a whisper, considerate of those who have been afforded the precious extra time to rest. “I saw you got breakfast duty, too, so…”

You give him a warm smile. “Glad to have a familiar face around. Do you have any idea where we’re going?”

It’s evident that he hadn’t thought this part through. “No, actually. But it can’t be far from the mess hall, right?”

You just hum in reply, nodding down the hallway. “Good place to start.”

He’s right – there’s a little door you hadn’t noticed by the serving line, propped open for you. You can already smell the bread baking, hear the pleasant bustle of a fully staffed kitchen. Not too different from home.

....

You turn to grab another potato, your eyes catching on the one Aaric is holding -- it's mangled, cut in odd places, yet somehow still holding onto half of its skin despite him having hacked at it for a good two minutes.

So there is one thing Aaric Graycastle doesn't excel at, after all -- one thing you could help him with. But you’ve never been the type to offer unsolicited advice.

Aaric is nice, though, and he’d given you so much advice on fighting, so he probably won’t be offended if you return the favor. It's a fair trade, or close to it. Still, you choose your words carefully. “Have you ever peeled a potato before?”

“Once,” he answers, a slight blush on his cheeks. 

You cross over to his side of the table, grabbing one yourself along with a short knife. “You’re digging in too hard, and taking the meat along with it. You need to hold it more flat, and scrape, to take off just the skin. Like that,” you say with a smile, finishing yours and adding it to the bowl.

“How are you so good at this?”

“Years of practice,” you answer. “My best friend is — was —  a kitchen maid. I used to sneak downstairs to help her sometimes.”

“For once you’re done with those,” the cook announces, dropping a crate onto the end of the table with a thud. “Cored and quartered.”

“Whoa.”

“That is a lot of strawberries,” he agrees.

“It must have cost a fortune.”

His head tilts. There had always been strawberries, and a variety of other fruit laid out for every breakfast, more than they’d ever eat, but he’d never considered the cost, or what became of the leftovers. 

Thankfully you continue the conversation for him, a fondness in your eyes. “We bought a whole pound of them for my birthday once. We were going to try to make them last, but they were gone by dinnertime.”

He just offers you a smile and a soft laugh, returning his attention to the vegetables.

———

“I am a god among men,” Ridoc announces, grinning from ear to ear from where he kneels over Sawyer, the executive officer pinned underneath him in what looks like a very uncomfortable position.

“Yeah, and I’m the next queen of Navarre,” you quip over your shoulder. “Saying it doesn’t make it true.”

Aaric’s heart nearly stops. He can’t help but imagine you dressed in the fine silks of the royal court, bejeweled and shining, crowned in gold, seated beside him and Halden at his father’s dinner table — a beautiful but miserable existence.

This is better. This feels right, seeing you in the sleek black of the rider’s quadrant instead of yards of stiff brocade, being able to hear you laugh and joke like this rather than sitting quietly for the rest of your days like an ornamental vase.

Your boot connecting with his stomach and his back hitting the floor snap him out of his daydream, and knock the breath from his lungs.

Your eyes widen as you realize what you’ve done. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he wheezes, cheeks reddening as he takes your outstretched hands and lets you haul him to his feet — it takes a considerable amount of strength. “That was good.”

You can’t help but smile a little about your small victory, the only time you’ve bested anyone in combat, though you know he was definitely going easy on you. “Maybe one of these days, I’ll really win,” you laugh. 

He sounds considerably less winded as he speaks again. “We’ll get you there.”

You blink at the words he chose – not you’ll get there, but we. He’s invested in your success. That’s the squad mentality, you suppose. It’s odd, but not unpleasant. 

———

“I didn’t even know I had muscles in some of these places,” you groan, folding your arms on the table and resting your head on them. 

Visia pats your shoulder gently. “That’s good – it means they’re growing.”

Your response is muffled, but universally understood by the rest of the group, who are all similarly exhausted after a full week of Rhiannon’s extra training sessions. 

All except Aaric. “Eat,” he encourages. “It’ll help.”

[grecianotes]

CW: yandereCaleb!mentions of pregnancy and delivering! Very yandereCaleb! A little angst!

Thinking about… not so good DadCaleb!

Don’t get him wrong you being pregnant was the most happy he ever felt in his life! Now you have a more deep bond

He was static to take care of you! Enjoy those sweet moments of your pregnancy… that was until the baby started to worsening your health.

Your pregnancy were chaotic, not only because the regular symptoms of the condition, but due to your heart condition, your life was in very high risk.

He hated that. He hated that something he did was putting your life in danger. You obviously consoled him when he was crying due to the guilt, that those things just happens.

So beautiful, so kind you were, you are so suitable to be a mother, you loved your baby. Even if it was difficult for you to carry it. It was the proof that your love triumph over all the difficulties.

The day of delivery arrived. It was messy, painful, scary. You almost die while giving birth… actually your heartbeat stop and they had to resuscitate you, Caleb was so helpless… he didn’t want you to get pregnant in the first place, he knew this would happen, he should persuaded more, he should have get a vasectomy in secret to the prevent all this. It was his fault.

But the way you look your baby when you were stable enough to meet her… you cry, your little girl cry, he cried, all of you for different reasons. You made this little human, you made it. You have a family of your own, a loving family this was just the beginning of your new life! You loved your baby girl, it was instant love, and she has your eyes! the smile of his daddy it was the perfect combination of you two

Caleb hated that thing it was stealing away your attention from him, that thing that make you in pain, that thing that make you die. Literally, and you were looking at it with so much love you didn’t even look at him with that much love

He took care of her, obviously but it was for you! You love this thing, he has to admit it is pretty, especially her eyes, because they were your eyes. But he decided he hated her, not that he would show it or neglect her… he wouldn’t even dare to think to hurt her, you love her! If anything happens to the thing you would be so sad… so heartbroken… he couldn’t bare the smallest thought of that scene. You put so much effort in your pregnancy going diligently to your check-ups, taking prenatals, exercising, decorating the nursery

But the thing put you in danger, while your heart stopped he decided if you weren’t here he would just gave away the thing. The thing that kill his wife. None that happened since you were alive and recovering your health… and the resentment for the thing only grows more and more, the parasite who steal your attention, taking everything from you. He heard that women after giving birth gained a little more of weight and it was fine! He loved you no matter what you look like, but you were so skinny due to the breastfeeding… he is so worried… and the thing only grows more and more, like if it were stealing your life. And you didn’t care, you jokingly said that your daughter was so thoughtful for helping you to be in your best shape!

He didn’t though it was funny, your life in risk it wasn’t funny, that you loved the thing more than him it wasn’t funny

And worst part it is that she look just like you… with his hair that breaks all the illusion of him taking care of you if you were a baby. He had decided that no more children, even if you cried, he is getting that vasectomy in secret, you don’t have to know, he knows what’s better for you anyway, he make your wish to become mother true and who’s that’s going…

N/A: just overthinking in that kind of situations hahaha, please tell me if I made any mistakes English is not my first language feedback is very welcomed! Enjoy my first fanfic! <33

[the-peak-legend-of-first-gen]

IDEAL TYPE

Characters: Gun Park, Goo Kim, James Lee

What I belive is, rather than brawn Gun will likely be more compatible with someone more on the brainy side.

Has affinity for more feminine yet strong type like Bulma from DBZ.

Strong doesn't necessarily have to be translated into physical strength: yes he will appreciate it but you two will mostly test it out for dominace and let's just say it won't take a very healthy turn in relationship.

Part of it is due to his Yakuza upbringing and the patriarchal environment he grew up in. In the initial phase he will only seek you out for pleasure but if you are of help in the grander scheme of things and show potential for what you are capable of. Absolutely sexy

Lets be honest he will be into looks. But not very high maintenance supermodel type just keep the basics intact and a well groomed and well kept person who knows their worth.

Confidence is actually the key to his heart. No he won't coddle you and give you lot of reassurance. He will be blunt and brutally honest. Understand it's from a good place and that's how he shows his care. So if you take his advice and improve on certain areas he will be really content.

And no don't listen to him always. Show him his loopholes, where he lacks what he can do to improvise.

Overall he likes a baddie who knows her worth and value and won't bend for anyone💕

This goofball like cute girls. Period🤪

Well well his first love is money, and he isn't afraid to admit that at all.

I feel he will be more into petite women. You know to show that he will protect you from this dangerous world blah blah..

Someone laid back and relaxed who knows when to be mature and when to turn into full on clowns. So that he can have best of both the worlds

Infinite patience. Not just because of his antics but because its very very very difficult for him to emotionally open up. Is quite guarding then he lets on and needs someone to break those walls.

Well once he is in love, pretty much everything you do is cute or adorable so looks aren't that much for him. And mostly likely to go for someone normal.

I don't mean to demean it's just that you don't need to have certain potential or bring something to table for him to love you ,I believe. If there is genuine connection, Goo is more than happy🥹😁💞

I'll do Teen James and Adult James differently😤

Okay teasing, push and pull , how far you can go without reacting to his charms

Someone firm in personality . Show him, his place. Mr James Lee you might be a national level all rounder but you ain't getting this heart so easily.

Let's be honest this all comes from his thrill and the rush he feels in winning and dominating. He wants to conquer and show. So ladies in case of Teen James "Play Hard to Get" will seriously do wonders for you🤣

Also someone who has their own passions and ambitions going on. The rare moments you two get to have with each other will seriously make him very happy

Dominate him. As in discussion and disagreement are always welcome and it's a huge plus point who can be on the same wavelength as him. But don't do it for the heck of it.

I don't know why but having soft , gentle hands will be his thing. This dude is into looks and want someone beautiful but not high in priority.

If you can make him forget all his worries and the two of you can, even for a moment live like normal teenagers for a bit you are golden.

And pls don't break his heart for just showing and parading him around like a trophy. He will know from the start. So someone who really looks for him for who he is and beyond the genius. Friends to lovers💙💜

Well let's be honest James in his adulthood is a manipulative ass. So someone smart and really intellectual who can see through all this facade.

See besides all the fluff and shimmery, let's face facts this guy uses people like tools and how they can benefit him, I'm pretty sure Kitae is also just another tool in his arsenal. You need to be equally talented as him and someone who can match his level. Not an extraordinary overachiever but have your things going on.

But as Tsumiki was described in JJK " As long as she has an unshakable moral compass which doesn't deflect easily there is nothing more I can ask for". This is what fits his ideal type best.

See if he is dating you he really trust you a lot and you mean a lot but again he will hide things from you. Not for lying and deceit but you don't have to worry your pretty little head about Gang and stuff. This might put a dent but if you understand he is doing it in good faith it might work for you. Otherwise arguments 😭😞

I feel like since he is more on the calm and composed side. Someone goofy will really help. Not a full blown clown but you know a bit of comedy here a few pranks there.

He is still a tease and he loves to see your reactions. So if you are really shy he will have a lot of fun pushing your limits

Well he likes refined, elegant women. Kpop has shown him all the shades so at this stage in his life not really into looks.

A genuinely nice and kind human being who won't bend to his ways all the time and he can really trust is what gets his heart.

[postcardsfromheapside]

When you complain "if only X character had writers who loved them," what do you mean? 

Like what you do actually mean. 

I'm about to go on a rant about a particular character I see this about MOST, but this question is definitely not limited to him - I've seen it about multiple characters.

What is it you want from Anders and the writers. Because what it feels like from the posts where I see this phrase, is that people wanted Anders to be avenged in DA:I, or even Veilguard - for some of the characters to admit that maybe he was correct. Or maybe for there to be codex entries, SOMETHING that would hint that the mad apostate who blew up the chantry was justified. 

Except Dragon Age isn't like that. 

This entire series is about people who do awful things because they think they had a reason to do them, and sometimes those awful acts are completely understandable and maybe you can even justify them in context, but that in no way means that the in-world characters *have* to forgive anyone for anything, and the writers don't have to write them that way, no matter how they feel about the character. 

(I already have heard shitty things about Anders' writer, so before you @ me, please know, I'm composing this A of all, already understanding that context and B, also knowing that sometimes writers create characters who give offense on purpose, and that it's okay to like those characters without justifying their actions. Solas, anyone?) 

It's actually really frustrating as someone who is an Anders fan to see people whine "oh, if only he had a writer who loved him" as if he isn't a well-written character. 

The man is obsessive, annoyingly focused on his goals, constantly leaving bits of his unwanted manifesto everywhere. He's shitty to Fenris (although Fenris starts a lot of it and gives as good as he gets), and he probably deserved the moniker Broody as much as Fenris did. He's harsh to Merrill and quite often an unprompted asshole to Aveline. He's also incredibly kind and compassionate, and really does spend almost all of his free time living his truth: trying to save mages from terrible treatment which is only growing worse - most of which we do not see on-screen so shallow viewing doesn't make it seem quite as bad as he claims. He also freely gives of his healing talents, regardless of who comes asking, at great personal risk. Whatever you say about him, you can't claim he doesn't live what he says he believes. And then there's the fact that he's actually quite funny, and when his "moods" aren't on him, his banter with Varric and Merrill especially is very cute, hinting that there's a different person inside of him, had he not gone through everything he had since Awakening (maybe even before). If you romance him, he's passionate and caring and weirdly funny with Hawke as well, two freaks who "get" each other. 

Strange that I've managed to pull all of this out of someone who apparently the writers "didn't love", this rounded character who has multiple facets to him. 

No one in DA:I is required to forgive Anders, regardless of which storyline you take. Varric sees him as the man who blew up a portion of "his" beloved city, who got a LOT of people killed, and maybe effectively exiled his friend. Cassandra and Leliana, for all their wishes to reform the chantry, still believe in the chantry as an institution. Vivienne still believes in the circles. Solas doesn't give a flying fuck about that guy - mage freedom isn't really on his mind, except in that he's pretending to be an apostate until he sheds his disguise. Who were you expecting to exonerate Anders, exactly, with their own limited perspectives? 

To be honest, I wouldn't have forgiven him either, except in that I too have lived in a world where people's rights were slowly being stripped away by an unempathetic crazy person and the governing body that could have stopped the clown in office collectively sat back and in the end did fuck all about it. 

You're meant to think about these things, just like you're meant to think about the stuff going on in Veilguard on which people have been posting metas. Is Bioware ham fisted at this commentary? 100% But it's there. Otherwise I wouldn't have seen so many good character analyses of Anders (and other characters I've seen this complaint about). 

"If only he had writers who loved him" my sibling in Thedas they did their job, you're out here on this cloutless website crying into the void about your favorite little guy. Now go figure out why you need him to be a hero within the story itself, instead of him existing as he is and you thinking about how many people have flawed or shaded perspectives about the people who try, in different and sometimes awful ways, to change history.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

When What We Had Was Everything Pt. 3

This is a three part fic series and will complete three of my @jacklesversebingo card spaces. This first part will fill the "You won't take care of yourself, so I will." square. Pt. 2 will fill the But We Lost It square. Pt. 3 will fill the They're Out of Time square. ❤️

Summary: When Y/N really needs him, Jensen steps up, leaving all their past in the past. Can Y/N possibly do the same?

Pairing: Jensen x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Nothing too crazy. Implied smut. Groping. Making out. Some brief smuttiness. Very brief fingering. Some sexy shower time. Kissing. Angst. Fluff.

Word Count: 2,725

A/N: This series has sort of kicked my ass. I don't know why I struggled with it so much. I had a good grasp on what I wanted it to be, but the muses just weren't musing. But I've been having a lot of trouble writing lately, so I'm very proud that I finally finished this little three-parter! Thanks so much to everyone who said kind things about the series, and motivated me to finish it.

Enjoy! And if you do, *please* remember to reblog and/or comment. It makes all the difference in the world to future writing. ❤️

Series Master List || Jensen Ackles Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

Two and a half months later:

Jensen heard the knock on his hotel room door and was grateful that room service had arrived so quickly. He strode to the door and yanked it open, but froze when he saw who was on the other side.

Not room service.

“Hi.” Y/N said softly, and she folded her arms over her chest, the way she did when she was nervous and trying hard not to show it. 

“Hey.” Jensen answered, his body paralyzed. 

Y/N gave a slight shrug. “I’m a little early.”

Jensen barked out a laugh, his shock disappearing in a wave of need so strong he pounced, grabbing Y/N’s wrist and yanking her into the hotel room. She tossed aside her purse and he slammed the door shut before coming together in a frenzy of open mouths and grasping hands. 

Walking away from Y/N months earlier had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. She’d been so warm and pliant beneath his hands, her lips so tempting. He’d wanted nothing more than to take her up on the offer to stay, to spend the night with her beside him. He dreamed of her constantly and was never able to shake the memory of her. So to have her back in his arms had felt like a dream.

But he’d known it couldn’t mean what he wanted it to mean if he stayed. No matter what she said, her emotions weren’t to be trusted. He’d shown up and helped out which left her feeling grateful. Her heart was broken from the loss of her father, and she could be mixing up those emotions with what she felt for him. But quite beyond anything else, she was vulnerable, her heart tender and bruised, and he wasn’t about to prey on that. 

So, he’d walked away, praying to God he’d see her in three months time. He’d been counting down the days, and now here she was.

He tilted her head to the side to let his lips trail down her neck, sucking on her pulse point and loving the way he could feel it pound against his lips. His hands slid up from her waist to cup her breasts through her thin cotton t-shirt and bra. But it wasn't enough, he desperately needed to feel her warm, silky skin, to feel her naked and writhing beneath him. 

He tried to slow himself down, step back, breathe, but he just couldn't. He craved her like a drowning man craves oxygen. He wanted to inhale her, absorb her, needed to feel her tremble as she sought her climax, needed to hear the way his name wavered on her lips, and died on a sigh.

He slipped his hands beneath her T-shirt and pushed her bra up, lowering his head, about to pull her puckered nipple into his mouth, when another knock sounded at his door - his actual room service. 

They both froze for a moment, her hands buried in his hair and his tongue aching to taste her, before he growled quietly and quickly righted Y/N's bra and shirt. He pulled back from her as another, slightly impatient knock came. 

He moved to answer it, but Y\N grabbed his hand to pull him back. Her cheeks were pink and she pointed at his pajama bottoms that were very clearly tented by his massive hard on.

She smiled a little shyly. “Maybe I should get it?”

Jensen grinned. “Good idea.” He moved over to the bed to hide himself among the blankets there, just as Y/N opened the door. 

The room service attendant smiled a slightly painted-on smile as he wheeled a cart into the room. 

“Here you are, Mr. Ackles. Please enjoy.” He said, almost running back out the door.

Y/N closed and locked the door behind him and turned back to face Jensen, taking a few steps towards him and gesturing towards the food. 

“What did you get? Are you hungry?”

Jensen nodded. “I got a steak and potatoes, and yeah, I'm starving.” He answered, softly kicking the food cart out of the way so he could lunge forward and grab Y/N's wrist, pulling her down on top of him.

“But not for steak.”

A long time later, Y/N was happily laying in Jensen's arms. She stretched her arms above her head, so content she could almost purr. She was facing him, both of them laying on their side, covered with only a sheet as their bodies cooled. Her head was pillowed on his bicep, and her legs entwined with his. 

Jensen was absentmindedly running his fingers up and down her bare back, making her shiver. But the longer she laid there, the more she could feel the tension rising in him. 

Finally she looked up at him, and smiled softly. His fingers left her back to trail gently over her jaw, his thumb skimming her bottom lip.

Her expression became shrewd. “So which of us is going to ask the question?”

Jensen shrugged. “What question?”

Y/N scoffed quietly and answered. “You know what question. What’s happening here? What was this?”

Jensen leaned down to press the softest kiss to her lips. “Okay.” He whispered. “I'll ask it. What was this?”

She closed her eyes for a moment before pushing him onto his back and climbing on top of him, straddling his lower abdomen. She could feel his cock twitch slightly below the sheet that pooled at her waist. 

She ran her nails lightly across his chest and bit her lip before smiling gently. “This was…wonderful?” She asked, her voice rising slightly to indicate that she was still searching for an answer. 

She shrugged delicately. “I don't know, it was…unplanned. I found out you were staying nearby, or well, maybe not nearby, but near enough to get me to consider taking the chance to come see you.”

She traced patterns across his chest, connecting freckles. “I messaged Jared to find out exactly where you were staying. And I just sort of got in my car and drove.”

Jensen nodded. “Good, I'm glad you did. But,” he hesitated, “you know that's not what I'm asking.”

Y/N shook her head. “I know, but how about instead of looking for answers right now, we just…” She trailed off before leaning down to kiss him hard. 

She pulled away panting, to lay her cheek on his chest. “What if we just had this? Just tonight. For now, I mean, without asking the questions or fighting for answers.” 

She pressed soft kisses along his collarbone. “What if we stayed here? In this space?” She smiled against his skin. “And reordered room service, cause I'm starving.”

Jensen was smiling at her, but she could still see the questions lingering in his gaze.

“Please, let's just be together.” She sat up, bracing her hands on his chest and rolling her hips against him, watching the questions burn away in the heat of his gaze. 

“Let's just eat and fuck.” She said, blushing slightly at the crudeness of her words, but happy with them when she felt Jensen growing hard beneath her.

She gave a squeal as he wrapped her up in his arms and rolled her under him, before pinning her wrists to the pillow on either side of her head. 

“Fine, but you're the appetizer.”

The night was spent almost entirely in bed. They ate there, and talked there, but mostly they reacquainted themselves with each others bodies there. By morning Y/N’s muscles were incredibly sore, her lips were swollen and there was a constant, pleasant ache between her thighs. 

As the sun began to light up the room, Y/N crept from the bed where Jensen snored softly, to step beneath the steady spray of a hot shower. Her tight muscles were just beginning to loosen when Jensen opened the shower door, and immediately pulled her back against his body.

The water pelted them both as Jensen's hand swept down over belly to cup her soft mound.

His voice was low and hot in her ear. “Too sore?” He asked as he ever so gently circled his finger against her little bundle of nerves. She instantly clamped her thighs around his hand and shook her head.

“No. I mean, yes, but I don't care.” 

Jensen chuckled quietly. “I'll be gentle.”

Y/N groaned as he plucked maddeningly at the swollen little button. “No, don't be.”

After ordering in some breakfast and eating outside on the balcony in their bathrobes, they fell into a long silence.

Y/N knew the time was coming when the questions needed to be answered. They'd had their time to play and now time was running out for them. Real life was rushing towards them with all the demands and unknowns.

Finally she stood up from her chair and held out her hand to Jensen. She nodded towards the balcony door. 

“We should…”

Jensen nodded and followed her back into the hotel room. By unspoken agreement they decided they couldn't have the conversation they needed to have while wearing bathrobes. So they got dressed wordlessly, and then settled beside each other on the end of the bed.

Jensen picked up her hand and ran a blunt-tipped finger across the back. 

“Okay…so, what's the verdict? Are you here for now or for good?” His tone was slightly teasing, but his voice was tight and worried.

She shook her head. “It's not that simple, Jensen.”

“It could be.”

“No, it can't.”

Jensen let out a puff of frustration. “Why, Y/N? Why do you have to complicate what’s so easy between us?”

Y/N bristled slightly, and sensing that her defences were about to go up, Jensen turned on the bed to face her.

“Look, I just mean, what's so wrong with what we have here?” He moved his hand back and forth between them. 

Y/N turned too, lifting a bent leg onto the bed so she could face him as well.

“Nothing is wrong. Here.” She lifted her hand to indicate the whole room. “Here everything is amazing and perfect. If we could stay here, just the two of us forever, I'd be so happy.”

She shook her head. “But of course we can't. Real life exists and sooner or later, we have to face it head on.”

Jensen frowned. “And you're not interested in facing that world together? Three months ago, you were telling me you were wrong to walk away. That you'd been feeling that way for a long time.” 

He shrugged. “But I guess, that was…not real? It was just like I thought then, just confused feelings.”

Y/N shook her head adamantly. “No.” She said resolutely, then relented slightly. “I mean not completely. I was a little confused, and my feelings were definitely all jumbled up. But I did regret letting you go. I mean, I do regret it…regret letting go of us. It's just that…”

Jensen's mossy green gaze bore into her as she searched for the words. Finally she dropped his hand and stood up to start pacing. “Look, we have vastly different lives.”

Jensen rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed with this old talking point, one they'd rehashed a few times when they'd been together.

But Y/N held up her hand. “No, it's a simple truth. You live in L.A. Your life is red carpets and parties, expensive, fancy restaurants and world travel. And that's great. I mean it's good. It's yours.”

“It could be yours too!” Jensen interjected.

“I don't want it to be!”

Jensen was about to say something more but her words slammed his jaw shut and she could see the pain that entered his expression before he looked down at his lap, and swallowed hard.

“Well, there you go then.”

Y/N felt her stomach lurch. She strode back to him quickly. She stood between his knees and put her hands on his cheeks lifting his head so he was looking at her. 

“Please try to understand, I don't want a life of glitz and glamour. I'm not a glitzy girl.” She shrugged. “I like small, simple things, puzzles, books, family, closeness, home, quiet. I even work from home in my cozy little office.”

She chuckled listlessly. “I guess I grew up too fast, so by now I'm like an old lady. I couldn't survive in a world like yours.”

Jensen shook his head, frowning up at her. “Did I ever say I wanted you to change who you are? Did I ever hint that I expected my life to become yours?”

“But how could it not?”

Jensen continued without pause, speaking over her. “Do you think I know so little of you that I'm expecting you to suddenly turn into some kind of celebutante?”

Y/N frowned. “I don't know what that means.”

Jensen sighed deeply. “It means I don't want you to change your life for me.”

“But…you asked me to move to L.A.” Y/N said in confusion.

“Yeah, so you'd be close to me, not so that I could get you an agent, or pull you into some creepy Hollywood cabal.” 

“But…”

Jensen grabbed hold of her hands, which had come to rest on his shoulders. 

“Look, I want you close to me, that's all. I don't want to push you into parties and red carpets. The fact is that I don't do a whole lot of that sort of thing myself. It's not exactly my favorite either. We'll find someplace quiet and cozy, where you can live and work, just as you always have. Except,” his voice softened, “except we'd be together.”

Y/N could feel all the yearning in her heart, aching to be free. What he was saying sounded so good. The idea of a life with him, all those old dreams coming true, was bubbling in her mind and she was almost crying with how badly she wanted it. 

She took a trembling breath. “But how can you be sure that I'll be enough?” She whispered quietly. 

And as she spoke the words she knew that this was the crux of her fears - that one day he'd wake up and wonder what the hell he'd done. 

Jensen looked shocked. “Enough?” He shook his head, his face falling into a deep frown. “Baby, you're not ‘enough’. You are everything.” His voice was harsh on the last word, emphasizing its importance. 

“Everything.” He repeated, before he stood up quickly, making Y/N stumble back slightly. But he caught her arms and yanked her to him, smashing his lips down on hers. 

Y/N whimpered as he plunged his tongue into her mouth, stamping her down and claiming her completely. She clung to his t-shirt, making fists in the cotton, as she let him suck away her oxygen. If she couldn't breathe, she didn't care. Jensen was everything for her, the very breath in her lungs.

The idea that she'd ever be able to permanently walk away from that, from him, suddenly seemed ludicrous. Even if she was still scared, she knew she'd rather risk putting her heart into his hands than to feel it wither into something cold and empty without him.

Jensen pulled out of the kiss at last, his breathing harsh and his words stucato between gasps. “How…on earth…could you have…ever thought you weren't…my whole world?”

Y/N shook her head. “You never said.”

Jensen barked out a laugh. “I told you I loved you. What did you think that meant?”

“I don't know.” She said, a little bashful. “Nothing that big and grand.”

She laughed tearfully, happy and nervous about making the decision that was never fully hers to make; her heart and soul had belonged to Jensen since the first moment. 

Jensen kissed her softly and slid his hands up her arms to cradle her face between his palms. 

His voice was slightly shy when he spoke. “What did you mean, when you said you loved me?”

Y/N slipped her arms around his waist. “I meant that I love you. I need you. I want you.” She blinked up at him. “I meant that you're my everything.”

Jensen sighed and a soft smile spread across his face. “That's what I thought you meant.”

@lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33

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[miss-bushido]

The rough sex, leaves me a mess

Written for @subeddieweek , Day 2. Prompt: Manhandling

Title from the song ‘I Miss the Misery’ by Halestorm

Rating: E

Ask anyone who went to high school with him, and they would say Eddie Munson was a glutton for punishment. He could befriend anyone he wanted. Could charm and cajole and tease with the best of them. But if you crossed him? You saw firsthand just how cruel and capricious he could be.

He always knew where to hit hardest, exactly what to say to make his words cut the sharpest. It is true that words can hurt more than physical pain, and Eddie was a master at it, grinning with pride when his tormentor slunk away with their tail between their legs. Before they got too far away, he would bait them to show him just how tough they were.

That didn’t always work. Not all of his tormentors would rise to the bait, preferring to get as far away from him as possible, and soothe their bruised egos somewhere else.

A few, though. A few took the bait, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt to slam him up against the nearest set of lockers. Sometimes with enough force to bodily lift him off the ground. This didn’t seem to deter him. If anything, it spurred him on. His grin got wide and mischievous, a dangerous glint in his eye before he would taunt them further with a well-timed, “Is that all you got, big boy?”

Eddie liked to see just how far he could push things, and this last phrase was always the catalyst for what happened next.

Especially when he paired it with a subtle wink and his tongue sliding over his lips.

The first time a would-be fight between him and one of the jocks at school ended, it was with Eddie on his knees in the deserted locker room. The jock’s hand clenched in his hair as he fucked Eddie’s mouth hard enough to make him gag. That jock, a senior named Andrew, had sought out Eddie more than a few times a week after that, repeating the same scene over and over again.

Being shoved, bodily moved, forced to take another guy’s cock in his mouth was how Eddie got off. While he was sucking the soul out of whoever the lucky guy was who had his dick in Eddie’s throat, Eddie was also furiously stroking himself, replaying the scene over and over in his mind until he was coming on the wet tiles in front of him.

He never expected that these guys would touch him, would never reciprocate in kind. He never asked, but they never offered, either. He could take care of himself.

Word of mouth among the jocks spread that Munson could suck dick like a porn star. That if you roughed him up, he would be more than happy to suck you off in the privacy of the locker room.

He didn’t run his mouth after their time together, either. Any jock who had Eddie go down on him was confident that his secret sexual encounter would remain between just those in the know. It was a reciprocal transaction: they couldn’t out Eddie without also outing themselves.

This kept up throughout his high school tenure. Even as he repeated his senior year twice. There were some jocks he refused to go near: Tommy Hagan, Billy Hargrove, Jason Carver. All three of them turned his stomach in different ways. With Tommy, it was his smarmy attitude. With Billy, it was his cruelty to anyone who had the misfortune to cross his path. With Jason…it was the bad traits of the previous two combined and worse somehow.

One jock he never got a chance to go with was Steve Harrington. Mostly because their paths didn’t cross all that much, but because Eddie actually had a thing for him. True, Harrington was a mega asshole for the first two years of his high school career, but he softened up in his junior and senior years.

It didn’t seem right to antagonise him just as he got his shit together.

That didn’t stop Eddie from stroking himself raw at night when he thought about how the scenarios might go if he got Steve alone in that locker room.

*

One day in the summer of 1986, buoyed by the fact that he finally graduated, Eddie decided to treat himself to a few movies for the weekend. Wayne was on his annual fishing trip and Eddie would have the trailer to himself. He was browsing in the back of Family Video when he became aware of someone staring at him.

He turned to his left to see Steve standing there, that stupid vest and the bitchy look on his face doing nothing to diminish his model-like good looks.

“Can I help you?” Eddie asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, you can tell me why you never return your video tapes on time, Eddie,” Steve snapped, his brow furrowing as he spoke. “It would be one thing if they were just late, too, but you never rewind them, man. It takes ages to get them back on the floor.”

Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Sorry for making you do your job.” He started to turn away when Steve got right up in his space, hand clenched around his arm as he bodily moved him against the shelves.

The familiarity of the situation made Eddie gasp, eyes wide as he took in the look Steve fixed him with. It was a look he’d longed for but never thought he’d be lucky enough to be on the receiving end of.

Steve’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening on the metal head’s arm. “Nothing to say? I thought you were more than just talk.”

Eddie grinned wide, and before he could stop himself, he said, “I’ll show you what I’m made of, big boy.” Steve visibly gulped, and so Eddie added, “That is, if you can handle me.”

To his immense surprise, Steve leaned in and kissed him hard, pushing him further into the shelves. Tapes clattered to the floor while Steve explored Eddie’s mouth with his tongue and his body with his hands.

Eddie returned the kiss in kind, moaning into Steve’s mouth as he felt those big hands on his hips. “Playing it a little dangerous, aren’t we?” They were the only ones in the store, but anyone could walk in at any time.

“I locked the door, and turned the sign over to ‘Closed’,” Steve rasped, biting on Eddie’s lower lip. “There’s a couch in the break room.”

Eddie responded with a light bite of his own, sliding his hands up Steve’s back under the vest. “Lead on, then, Harrington,” he panted.

Once back in the privacy of the break room, Eddie pulled Steve in for another breathtaking kiss. Four or so years of longing built up to this moment. He pushed Steve down into the couch and knelt in front of him.

“Eddie,” Steve groaned, lips wet and face flushed as he took in the sight in front of him. “Come up here,” he said, eyes black with lust. “Wanna get you off, too.”

Eddie’s mind went blank for a moment. “You do?” he asked, almost incredulous at what Steve was offering.

Steve tugged him back up and off of the floor onto the cushion beside him. He pulled him in for a slow kiss, sliding his hands through Eddie’s hair. “I know about the r-rumors,” he stuttered against Eddie’s mouth. “Always wanted to see for myself, but I didn’t want our first time to be in a gross locker room.”

Eddie broke the kiss, eyes wide with astonishment. “Our first time?” he echoed. “You…you wanted..”

“I wanted you to suck me off, and I wanted to do the same for you,” Steve said, looking down at Eddie’s hands on his shirt. “But I didn’t…I didn’t want you to think I was like the other guys.”

“None of them ever…” He trailed off, but the implication was clear.

None of them ever wanted to touch him. Eddie was good for a suck, but it would be gay to give him any sort of pleasure back.

Steve frowned. “If you only knew how long I’ve wanted to touch you, Teddy.”

The nickname was so unexpected that Eddie gasped. In the next second, he surged forward and kissed Steve again almost desperately. “Want you so much, Steve,” he breathed. “Please. Please touch me. Hold me down, or against the wall. I’ll do whatever you want if you rough me up.”

In no time at all, Steve had Eddie on his back on the sofa, holding his hands above his head with his left hand. His right hand made quick work of getting both of their jeans unzipped and their rock hard erections out. “Fuck,” Steve groaned. “You’re so fucking big.”

“It’s because of you,” Eddie panted, eyes rolling back in his head as Steve began stroking him. “Thought about you all the time. I still do. Always wished it was your cock in my mouth back then.”

Steve groaned again, twisting his wrist slowly and deliberately, making Eddie’s cock weep with precum. He used that as lubricant to ease the glide of his hand. “You can have my cock any time you want, Teddy. You want to choke on it? Have me come all over your face or down your throat?” He gave Eddie’s wrist a squeeze on an upstroke, and was rewarded with a loud gasp and a fresh spurt of precum. “I think you want me to press you against the wall and pound into you with your legs wrapped around my waist. Not able to do anything but get fucked and take my cock until you can’t walk straight.”

Eddie let out a shuddering moan. The visual almost pushed him over the edge. “I want all of that. As many times as you want to manhandle me. Fuck, Steve. I’m going to come!”

“Come for me, baby,” Steve breathed, stroking Eddie that much faster. “Come for me while I’m holding you down and taking you like the little cock slut you are.”

Eddie let out a scream as his orgasm slammed into him, his hips bucking wildly as he came in Steve’s hand. He arched his back as pleasure ripped through him, still leaking for minutes after as he caught his breath.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, looking back up at Steve. “That was amazing.”

Steve grinned smugly at him. “I know,” he couldn’t help but say. He removed his hand from Eddie’s cock and gave himself a few strokes.

“Let me,” Eddie started, but was cut off as Steve shifted, moving to straddle Eddie’s chest, tilting his hips down so the tip of his cock slid over Eddie’s lips.

“Suck me,” he said, voice deep with desire. “Need to feel that fucking mouth around me.”

Eddie did not have to be told twice. He slid his tongue out over Steve’s tip before he leaned up to take Steve in his mouth. Steve’s hips tilted further down until Eddie’s mouth was full and he could feel Steve in the back of his throat.

“Fucking perfect, oh my God,” Steve gasped as Eddie began to suck him in earnest. He slowly moved his hips forward, which earned him a moan from Eddie’s throat. The vibration traveled up into his abdomen and it was all he could do to stop himself from coming too soon.

He squeezed Eddie’s wrists again before he took from him what he’d wanted and fantasized about for so long. The guys on the teams said Eddie sucked cock like he was made for it. It was one thing to hear it, but another to experience it for yourself.

“I’ll manhandle you every day if you suck me this good,” Steve moaned. His eyes met Eddie’s, and the mischievous glint he saw in his watery eyes told Steve all he needed to know.

And just in case the message wasn’t clear, Eddie’s throat contracted around the head of Steve’s cock, as if he was already swallowing him.

“Eddie!” he shouted as he came then without warning, groaning long as loud as he came down his throat. Eddie sucked him down greedily, and if it wasn’t for the overstimulation, Steve would have happily kept himself in Eddie’s mouth the rest of the day.

He pulled back and got off the couch, releasing Eddie’s wrists in the process. “Jesus fuck,” he murmured, trying to catch his breath.

“Still think you can handle me?” Eddie asked, voice raspy but still with that damn smirk on his face.

“Baby,” Steve said, leaning down to kiss him on the lips. “I haven’t even begun to show you just how well I can handle you.”

Eddie grinned and returned the kiss. “As long as you keep holding me in place, you can show me whatever and wherever and whenever you want.” He was quiet a moment and added, “Especially if you come over to my place tonight.”

Steve bit his lip, a smirk of his own to match Eddie’s playing across his face. “What a coincidence: the store just closed for the night.”

[justmeinadaze]

Hi darling.🥰 if you open for request, can you do blurb or short OneShot. I really want to comfort by Eddie 🥺

I always so scared to ask any questions to my abusive father, everytime I asked and he so easily pissed off, yelling at me, he never hit me, just words hurt. So I stop ask any men, it scared me. Wondering if reader scared to ask Eddie too, to think if he’s the same as the father.

Thanks so much ❤️

A/N: I gotchu, angel. ;) I hope you like it!

Warnings: Brief mentions of verbal abuse (as mentioned above in the request), the lightest of the light smut (like 2 sentences), Just Eddie being Eddie <3

You never realize how many questions one asks in a relationship until you’re too afraid to ask them. 

What’s your favorite movie? What’s your favorite color? Do you get along with your parents? How did you and your best friend meet? 

Hell, even a simple “How are you today?”, can cause that anxiety to bubble up when you grew up in an abusive household. Any question was met with hostility and you carried that with you into your adulthood. Many relationships had come and gone because either your partner couldn’t understand or just thought you genuinely didn’t care because you didn’t probe too hard into their life. 

Eddie was different. 

When you met Eddie Munson, you liked him right away especially with his outgoing charismatic personality. Oddly enough, for a while, you never had to ask any questions because any information about him he spilled willingly like word vomit as he bounced from topic to topic. 

The metalhead didn’t even notice you never asked questions until Steve absently pointed it out one day. 

“Have you told her about your dad yet? I know some girls in your past had an opinion about that.”

“Um, no I haven’t and come to think of it…I don’t think she’s actually asked about my parents.”

Teachers always said he struggled to pay attention but that wasn’t true. Eddie paid attention when he cared about something and he definitely cared about you. 

He began watching you when you spoke with your friends. Any question you had, even if it was about a boy directly in front of you, you would ask your friend instead. 

“You two are so cute together. How did you meet? He got you that necklace. I love it! Do you know where he got it from? I know Jack’s birthday is coming up, what kind of food does he like?”

It was incredibly subtle and could be glossed over by any casual observer but then he noticed you did it when he took you out on dates. If you had a male server at the restaurant, your eyes would remain downcast as you mumbled what you wanted. 

“Baby, I thought you didn’t like tomatoes? Can you remove those from her sandwich please?”

“Oh yeah! Of course, not a problem!”

He even tested you once, purchasing tickets to a concert without telling you who you were going to see. 

“Alright, sweetheart, Friday night, 9pm, best concert ever!”

“Oh my God that sounds amazing!”, you giggle as you run to give him a hug.

“Wait, wait, don’t you want to know who we’re going to see?”

“I imagine any tickets you got have awesome bands on stage. I trust you, Eddie.”

It began to bother him but not in the same way it did your exes in the past. He believed you trusted him but trust and communication were two different things. He didn’t want you to just do something because he wanted to or for you to be uncomfortable just to please him. 

As some time passed, he began to pick up on your little tells; little quarks that told him you had something to ask but were too afraid to do so.

One day while the two of you were hanging out in his room, he noticed your eyes roam the journal he had been sketching campaigns in as your eyebrows furrowed but when he turned to look at you all you did was softly smile. 

He blinked as he silently counted to five as his eyes searched your features before smiling back. 

“I’m, um, working on this campaign for D&D and I don’t know what paths I should use to kick Dustin’s ass.”, Eddie jokes as you laugh. “What do you think, honey? Do you know anything about Dungeons and Dragons?”

“I know you’re a master at it.”

“That’s for damn sure.”, he grins as he scoots closer to you. “In Dungeons and Dragons, you have to…”

Eddie spent hours explaining the game and breaking down his plans as he watched your eyes light up with wonder. 

During a double date with Steve and Nancy, they suggested going to lover’s lake for a nightly swim and a low hum only the metalhead heard had him whispering if you were sure that was something you wanted to do. 

When you confirmed and they got to their destination both his friends jumped in without hesitation as he watched you from behind. You removed your clothes sans bra and panties without even pausing but it wasn’t until you got to the edge of the water that you stopped. 

“Are you alright? Afraid of the lake?”

“No, um, no…I just I don’t know how to swim.”

“Oh, well that’s ok, baby because you’re looking at a swim champ. Way better than Harrington.”

“LIAR!”, Steve shouts, all four of you laughing when Eddie twists his arm to flip him off. 

Those beautiful chocolate eyes take in the way your gaze shifts into the void as you hug your arms around your frame. 

He silently counts. 

“Would you like me to teach you how to swim?” Your eyes light up as relief floods your face and you run into his arms. “I gotcha, Y/N.”

Now, intimacy was something he wanted to be extra careful with. Your tells were different in the bedroom but he caught on quick. The way your body and even breath responded to him changed when you were vocal. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good.”, he mewled as your nails dug into his back. 

When all you did was nod and kiss his cheek, his lifted his head from beside yours and his pace slowed. His eyes searched again till he found the silent question within them. 

Eddie counted down in his head. 

“Do you want to be on top? Ride my dick till you cum?”

You bit your bottom lip as you giggle and he kept his arms wrapped tightly around you as he spun you both around. You kissed him with passion as your hips took over and your moans echoed through the empty trailer.

The first time he ever heard you ask him something, he felt bad because he was so in his head, he didn’t even notice at first. The manager at the music store downtown had kicked him out insisting he stole something and embarrassing him in front of you.

“Fuck you! I’m nothing like my dad!”, he shouted, stomping to open the passenger side door for you before climbing into his side and speeding down the road. “This town will never fucking see me as anyone other than Al Munson’s son.”, he growled. 

“What…what did he do?”

“What didn’t he do, ya know? Asshole was a scammer, gambler, thief…you name it, he did it. I don’t know what my mom ever saw in—”

Eddie paused as his face scrunched in thought and he gradually pulled his van to the side of the road so he could turn to face you. 

“You just asked me something.”

“I’m sorry.”, you whimper as your body begins to fold into itself but his palm on your thigh makes you freeze. 

“There’s never a reason to be sorry for that, sweetheart. Oh my God, I’m so happy.”, he coos as he cups your cheeks and kisses your lips. “You can ask me anything, Y/N.”

That night you explained everything to him and he listened with open ears. From that point forward, questions flowed a bit easier and he loved every single one of them especially the playful ones.

“Do you still like me, Eddie Munson?”, you beam up at with a wide smile as your arms hug him underneath his leather jacket. 

“Pfft, no.”, he teases as he tilts down to kiss you. “I love you.”

###############

Eddie Asks Masterlist

Donate <3

[botanicsoul]

You’re My Favorite Flower

Pro-Hero! Bakugou Katsuki x (Fem) Reader

——

~ I’ve been feeling a little down about myself lately, picking myself apart more than I should. But somewhere along the way, I remembered—I’m beautiful just the way I am. That little moment of clarity inspired this fic. It’s soft, a little raw, and full of love (with a sprinkle of smut, tehehe). I hope it reminds you of your own worth too, in some small way. Please be kind to yourself—because in someone else’s eyes, you’re literally everything. Enjoy, lovelies.

❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❀ ❊ ✿

The house is quiet when you get home. Bakugou’s still at work, off saving the world while you can’t even save yourself from a few damn tweets.

You didn’t go looking for it. It found you—as it always does. Some fan post talking about Bakugou Katsuki, Pro Hero Dynamight. Gorgeous. Powerful. Untouchable.

And then… the comments.

——

@MtLadyMami25 :

“He’s so hot omg I wish he’d date Mirko or Mt. Lady or someone badass like him.”

@BakubroFan648:

“His girlfriend is cute but I feel like he needs someone stronger, y’know?”

@quirky_shins11 :

“No offense but she’s not on his level.”

——

You lock your phone, eyes burning.

It isn’t the first time. But tonight, it hits different. Maybe because you’ve already been feeling off. Maybe because he’s been working so late. Maybe because some small part of you believes it. You find yourself in the mirror again. Picking. Prodding. Judging.

Why is your stomach softer than it should be?

Have your thighs always had that many stretch marks?

Why don’t you look like those pro heroines with their sculpted bodies and perfect confidence?

What do you even bring to the table?

You whisper it to your reflection like it’s a sin, “Why do you love me?”

You don’t realize he’s home until you hear the door click shut. His heavy boots pause. Then you hear him call, “Baby? You home?”

Your breath catches. You stare at yourself like you’ve just been caught doing something wrong. You try your best to wipe the tears away but your swollen face and blood shot eyes gave you away.

He finds you in the bathroom, standing like a ghost in front of the mirror. His brow furrows instantly. “Hey… what’s goin’ on?” His voice is low, careful, and it just breaks you more.

You bite your lip, look away. “Nothing just had something in my eye, i’ve been trying to pick it out” he looked at you as if you had two heads.“Bullshit,” he says before you can finish, stepping toward you—but you keep going. “I Just… I saw some stuff online. People talking. Saying I’m not enough for you. That I’m not strong. Not good enough. You belong with Mt.Lady or maybe even someone like Mirko” you finally admit.

there was a pause he just looked at you. Your voice is barely more than a whisper when you finally ask, “Why do you love me?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at you—like that question hurt more than anything ever could.

“Katsuki,” you whisper again, tears clinging to your lashes, “Why me? People say you could be with anyone. Someone stronger. Someone who fits with you. Someone like—”

“Don’t,” he growls, stepping forward like he’s physically chasing away your words. “Don’t say that shit ever again.”

You lower your gaze, ashamed.

“Look at me.” His voice softens, and he tilts your chin up. “You think I give a fuck what people tweet about me? About us?”

You shrug. “I just see it all the time… people saying I’m sweet but not enough. That you deserve someone on your level. A hero. A fighter. Not just… me.”

He exhales hard, jaw clenching.

“Baby,” he says lowly, stepping closer, “I’d blow up fucking cities for you.”

Your breath catches.

“Swear to god,” he continues. “If it meant you’d never feel like this again—if I could burn every thought like that outta your pretty head—I’d do it. No hesitation.”

You blink fast, heart thudding.

“You wanna know why I love you?”

You nod, silently.

“Because you’re real. You’re soft in a world that’s sharp. You’re fuckin’ light in all the bullshit I deal with. You make me feel like I’m more than just some weapon. You heal me, every damn day, just by being here.” He pulls you against him, hands firm on your waist. “I don’t need a hero. I need you.”

He leans in then, lips pressing to your temple, cheek, jaw—slow and reverent.

And then, without a word, he starts to undress you. His hands don’t rush. They linger. Like he’s learning your body all over again. Shirt first—lifted over your head, his eyes not leaving yours. Then he slips your pants down, kneeling as he does. His fingers trace every dip, every curve, like they’re sacred. When you’re left in just your bra and panties, he pulls you toward the mirror.

You tense. “Suki…”

“Shh,” he murmurs, standing behind you, one hand sliding under your bra to cup your breast while the other rests low on your stomach. “Look.”

You do—hesitant, but you do. His chin rests on your shoulder. “This stomach,” he says, squeezing the soft flesh gently. “Mine. I love it.”

His hand trails lower, grabbing your hip. “These hips. Fuckin’ perfect. You know what they feel like under me? How they move when you ride me? Drives me insane.”

He slides your bra up and off, both hands coming up to cup your tits.

“These,” he whispers, kissing your neck. “So fuckin’ soft. So pretty. And I love the way they bounce when you’re under me. You ever see how wild you make me, baby?”

Your breath hitches. His hands are worshiping you like he’s trying to rewrite how you see yourself. He lifts your chin slightly, making you meet your own gaze again. “And this face,” he says softly. “I could spend the rest of my life memorizing it. The way your lips pout when you’re sleepy. The way your nose crinkles when you laugh. The way your eyes hold all that kindness that I don’t have.” You feel tears welling again—but they’re different now. Warmer. Full.

“You,” he says, brushing his lips against your ear, “are the only thing that makes this fucked up life feel like home.” Then his hand slides down—slow, deliberate. Across your stomach. Beneath your panties. You gasp as his fingers find you, already wet for him.

“And one of the things they’ll never know…” he says with a smirk, voice gravelly as he nips at your neck, “is how amazing your pussy feels.” You whimper as he strokes you, watching your reflection as your knees go weak against him.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans. “Look how pretty you are like this. All fuckin’ mine.” He guides your legs apart just slightly more, still behind you, fingers teasing your entrance.

“You think Mt. Lady could make me feel like this?” he murmurs darkly. “Think Mirko could pull sounds outta me like you do?”

His hand works you slow, lazy—like he’s got all the time in the world.

“Let me show you,” he whispers against your skin, “exactly what I see when I look at you.”

And he does.

Over and over.

Until there’s not a single cruel thought left in your head—just the feeling of him, the weight of his love, and the echo of his voice promising…

“You’re everything to me.”