#I think that Harry is in a long term relationship

[erodasfishtacos]

Is It Casual? || FWB!H ||

prompt: it's casual, right? but god, it really doesn't feel that way

word count: 6k

warnings: subspace, lack of aftercare, angst, lack of communication

author's note:

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The bar was clearing out, trivia night had come to a conclusion, and everything was winding down.

The big chalkboard in the corner still displayed the final scores, a lopsided tally where “Team Niall” had tragically lost by two points.

It was Tuesday night and everyone had work the next day which meant that there was a rush through the door and left them as the last ones to filter out because they always tended to lollygag even though most of them had early mornings.

The group of friends were all saying their goodbyes.

YN stood with Georgia near the AC vent, arm linked through hers for warmth because the cold blast from above made her huddle in closer.

Hailee and Jessa were a few feet away, still laughing about the last round of questions, and how the boys were such sore losers at every turn.

Someone always tended to leave Trivia night with their feelings hurt.

Niall, Harry, and Mitch were all arguing about the question that had them lose the game.

“Why the fuck would you say Delaware?” Harry scolds as he runs his hand through his hair, a scowl that was saved for Niall and Niall alone, “It's not even a fucking city. It's a state.”

“I got confused! Delaware is the smallest state!” Niall defends putting his hands up, pinks cheek from the beer he's had.

“No, it's really fucking not. It's Rhode Island!” Harry shouts back at him with exasperation, hands thrown up in annoyance, “Come on!”

“You're off the team,” Mitch adds in, monotone and bored as he tugged his keys out from his jean pocket - slowly but obviously trying to see himself out of the argument.

“That's bullshit! We're literally named Team Niall,” He argues with wide disbelieving eyes.

“It's not hard to change the name,” Harry adds in, agreeing with Mitch, and an annoyed roll of his eyes because even though the two have been friends since diapers - they fought more than middle school girls and made up just as quickly.

“Okay, well we work tomorrow morning and have seen enough of this cat fight,” Hailee announces as she wraps her hand around Mitch’s wrist, guiding her boyfriend towards the door.

Jessa trailed behind, waving goodnight to everyone with an amused smile tugging at her lips.

Niall is mumbling about unfair treatment as they all start heading towards the door.

“You did good,” Harry manages to slip next to YN, bumping her hip and then glancing over at Georgia, “You too. I didn't know about Montana's state flower.”

“Better do some studying before next Tuesday,” Georgia quips as she throws her arm around YN, who just laughs softly.

“You did a good job too, Harry,” YN compliments as she leads Georgia towards where they parked next to each other.

“Thanks,” He replies with a slight smile, he pauses as he realizes his car is next to Niall’s on the other side of the lot, “I'll see you guys next Tuesday, yeah?”

“Yeah,” YN said, both she and Georgia giving a small wave as he headed off.

“You two should totally date,” Georgia says as soon as Harry is out of earshot, glancing back quickly to double check, “You'd be so cute together.”

YN shakes her head with an annoyed scowl towards her friend, “We both just got out of long-term relationships. I don't think that would be a good idea.”

Georgia made a dismissive sound, clicking her tongue, “Harry’s been broken up with Lauren for, what, four months? You and Ben ended things at least three ago.”

YN bit the inside of her cheek, the familiar tightness crawling up her chest, “You literally just think we should date because we’re both single.”

“And you guys would look hot together,” Georgia doesn't disagree with her accusation, “I mean…look at him. He's insanely fit. He carried four drinks with one hand!”

YN had noticed. 

She wasn’t blind. 

She remembered the way his hand had dwarfed the copper mug as he slid the Moscow Mule in front of her before passing out three other beer bottles.

And the size of his hands… yeah, she noticed that too.

“No, I'm not looking for a relationship and I doubt he is either,” YN reiterates as they get to their cars, “He's nice but I'm not ready to commit again.”

Georgia scoffed, pressing the button on her key fob - her car chirped and blinked to life, “Who said anything about commitment? I said a date, not a full ass wedding.”

“Goodnight, George,” YN sighed, her tone exasperated but affectionate, she unlocked her own car with a quiet beep,“I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Georgia groaned, slumping dramatically with a frown coating her features, “I’ve got that god-awful presentation. You better pretend to care.”

“Always do,” YN said with a laugh as she slipped into the driver’s seat, glad the conversation had moved on. 

Her head was already too full, her thoughts spiraling the moment Harry came up.

Ben.

Just the name made her temples throb, an implosion that she was trying to avoid because it made her head hurt at least once a day, sometimes more if she thought about him for too long.

It's been three months and it's been amazing to be out of a relationship with an immature man child who got insecure when she went to trivia night so he always tagged along, needed to be included when he hated trivia and rarely ever answered correctly.

So yeah, it had been a relief. 

Being single was better than babysitting a grown man’s ego.

Georgia blew her a kiss before backing out of the parking spot with a little screech of tires. 

YN gave her the middle finger with a smirk before starting her own engine.

It seems like every week now she was bringing it up, trying to play matchmaker for two people who were healing from heartbreaks.

YN only knows a little about the break-up.

Lauren rarely came to trivia. 

When she did, she looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. 

YN knew that Harry had ended it, even though it was hard—he’d said once, in a rare vulnerable moment, that he wanted someone he could build a life with. 

Lauren didn’t want that.

She hadn’t gone easily either. 

She’d shown up at trivia twice post-breakup, trying to win him back. 

Each time, the group acted like they weren’t watching as Harry gently pulled her aside, voice low and kind, guiding her to the other side of the bar before walking her out to her car.

Ben had shown up a few times too, clumsy and bitter, trying to stake some kind of claim.

That hadn’t ended as well as with Lauren.

It didn’t end quietly because Niall and Mitch had to guide him out of the bar while Harry stood between them to make sure that Ben didn’t approach her again - acting as her makeshift bodyguard.

So now Georgia was rooting for two broken people to get together—not necessarily out of romance, but maybe just because the group missed their spark.

Missed the way YN used to laugh, the way Harry used to be sharper, quicker.

+ few minutes later +

“Hips up, come on. You’ve been teasing all night,” Harry grunts, voice low and rough the moment the backseat door thuds closed behind them.

There’s no hesitation—he’s already on her.

His hands at the waist of her skirt, fumbling big hands trying to find the zipper as he bullies her further into the space until her back hits the opposite door.

YN has to remind herself that she's just romanticizing this whole situation because it's her first time having a sexual relationship with someone she's not dating.

She convinces herself the excitement is what makes their chemistry so magnetic and nothing else but she knows she never felt like this with Ben or any other partner.

“Wasn't teasing,” YN manages to get out but she was already breathless, eager in a way she's never been with sex, her thighs dampening was a new sensation.

“No?” His tone is almost mocking, but laced with something darker—something feral, his fingers finally land on the zipper at her side, tugging it slowly down with infuriating precision, “Then your cunt isn’t needy? Am I reading the signs wrong?”

Her breath hitches.

God, she should be annoyed. 

She should be offended.

 But the filth coming from his mouth only fuels the heat already pooling low in her belly. 

The way he says it—so confident, so cocky lights her up in a way she didn’t know words could.

“What signs?” YN pushes back because their back and forth only build up her arousal even further, searching for more dirty words out of his mouth.

Harry leans in, his mouth a breath away from her ear. 

His words send a full-body shiver down her spine.

“The way you watched my mouth all night,” Harry murmurs, voice thick and gravelly. 

His fingers press insistently into the soft, plush flesh just above the waistband of her tight skirt, “Saw you clench your thighs when I took off my coat.”

“You’re full of yourself,” YN manages, but the protest comes out barely above a whisper. 

Her fingers curl into the fabric of his jacketat his shoulder, grounding herself in him because it still doesn't feel real—being able to touch him like this, have him this close. 

There’s something that happens when she’s with Harry—this overwhelming impatience, a hunger that feels heavier, more intense than lust.

Like if she doesn’t get his hands on her, in her, she might actually combust. 

“So you didn't want this? Haven't been looking forward to Trivia night for this?” Harry has this cocky smile on his face, his fingers haven't move at all from her waist and it was making her tick.

“Didn’t cross my mind once,” YN bites out, teeth clenched, her toes curling inside her boots, heels digging into the expensive leather of the car seat. 

Her body is aching to be touched—every inch of her buzzing with restless need but she’s trying to keep control of the dynamic. 

Barely.

Harry narrows his eyes slightly, amusement and heat flickering behind them as he begins to pull back.

 The shift is subtle, but she feels the loss instantly—his weight, his warmth. 

And that just won’t do.

Before he can move another inch, her other hand snaps up to grab at his jacket, fisting the fabric roughly and yanking him back toward her. 

Their lips collide in a kiss so heated it steals the breath from her lungs.

His hand flies up to cup the side of her face, fingers splayed against her cheek and jaw, holding her in place like he’s claiming her. 

The way he kisses her—hungry and messy and unrelenting, it feels like he’s trying to devour her, like he earned her mouth, like he owns it.

“Admit it,” Harry’s mouth is still against hers, barely separating to speak before he's dipping his tongue back into her mouth like he can't help himself.

“No,” YN chases after his tongue as he pulls back, trying to follow his lips because they were addictive and she wanted more.

Harry doesn’t let her take.

He sits back just enough, his body still caging her in, but now his eyes are on fire. 

That same molten look she’s only ever seen when he’s like this—turned on and completely focused.

“Why are you being difficult, honey?” Harry hums as he moves to cup her knees where they're bent around him, ghosting down her right, and dancing along the hem of her skirt, “I know what you want. Don't need to be ashamed of it.”

YN feels a swoop on her stomach, the way he spoke never managed to not get her even more turned on for him, and the whole dynamic of feeling this aroused and playful was new.

“Then give it to me,” YN huffs out as she hitches her hips impatiently,  blinking down at him - she couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

He reaches up and captures one of her wrists, the same one curled tight into his jacket. 

Gently but deliberately, he pries it free and guides it downward. 

With his other hand, he hikes her skirt up, bunching the fabric at her hips until she’s fully exposed, her thighs spread, her breath trembling in her throat.

Then he moves her hand between her legs.

It takes her breath away—literally. 

Her gasp cuts sharply through the close air of the backseat, a startled, needy sound as her own fingertips brush the soaked heat of her thong.

Harry doesn’t look away from her, not for a second. 

She can’t help the shudder that racks through her when her fingers press more firmly to her clit.

It’s not the same as when it’s his hands on her, his mouth. 

But it still eases the throbbing, even if just a little.

“Feel nice, sweet girl?”  Harry nearly croons, it sounds fonder than it should for what they're doing, what they are, and aren't to each other, “You're filthy, touching yourself like this in front of me.”

There’s something unbearably hot about the way he guides her, how he’s using her fingers to pleasure herself the way he wants.

She opens her mouth to throw the insult back at him, to call him filthy, but all that escapes is a whimper as he withdraws her hand suddenly.

He holds it between them, his grip gentle but commanding. 

Her slick glistens on her fingertips under the dim lights filtering through the foggy windows.

“Not wet for me?” Harry asks, cocking a brow with mock innocence.

“No,” she replies with a bratty edge, her chin lifting in defiance. 

She’s proud of the attitude—but it doesn’t last long.

Because without missing a beat, Harry brings her hand up to her face, rubbing her soaked fingertips across her lips until her own arousal glosses them.

He doesn’t stop there.

Harry leans in and presses his mouth to hers again, tongue sweeping over the same place he’d just marked with her slick. 

It’s possessive, greedy.

He licks into her mouth like he’s starving, and the kiss nearly sends her reeling.

“Please, I was wet for you all night,” YN finally gives in, “Was thinking about this.”

There’s no point in pretending anymore. 

She knows how patient he can be.

Harry doesn’t rush. 

He waits, teases, stretches her thin until she’s begging—and she always breaks first.

“About what? Getting your needy cunt touched?” Harry laughs meanly , albeit pleased that she relented because then he can really start being a menace, “Do you think about it all week? Do you think about me all week?”

She should say no. 

She should lie. 

Because she does think about him, not just the sex. 

His laugh, his stupid jokes, the way he looks when he’s concentrating on a trivia question.

But she doesn’t tell him that. 

She can’t.

“I want to come,” YN says instead because it seems safer than telling him the truth, she bucks her hips upwards towards his center but doesn't make contact.

“And I want you to behave,” Harry grunts with annoyance in his tone, hands coming to press her hips back down with a harshness that she hadn't had from previous partners.

She loved it.

She lets out a soft moan at the contact, even as frustration builds. 

She wishes they weren’t crammed into the backseat of his car. 

Wishes she could be stretched out on his bed, bare and unhurried, with his full weight pressing her into the mattress.

“I’ll be good,” YN says, her voice gone kitten-soft and breathy. 

It surprises even her, the way it sounds—submissive and sweet. 

Not like her at all.

“Show me what I want to see then. Be a good girl,” Harry sits back, his eyes tracing over her body, and resting down on the thick of her thigh - squeezing.

YN briefly wonders if this is how Harry had been with Lauren - dominant but attentive, and that's a twist of jealousy in her stomach that she'd rather not consider right now.

The skirt is already bunched at her waist, fabric wrinkled and forgotten. 

Her hand trembles slightly as she dips back down to her center, hooking the gusset of her thong around her fingers and tugging it aside.

It was nerve-wracking to expose the most private part of herself to the man she was crushing on so deeply, had been for so long, and even though he's seen her like this before - it still hadn't become any less intimidating.

“Fuck,” Harry curses when she does so, his hand coming down to almost curiously roll her swollen, hard bud until his thumb, “So puffy f’me. Never seen a prettier pussy.”

And it's probably just a line, he has said those words to the girls that came before her but it still boosted her ego quite a bit.

Emboldened, YN arches her hips into his touch, a pretty moan slipping out as her head tilts back, exposing the soft, pale column of her throat.

“Desperate for my touch, huh?” Harry rasps, ghosting down to tease around her entrance, not dipping in but gathering the wetness there.

“If you don't make me come soon, i'll go back in that bar and get Will,” YN threans with her own smile because she knew he wouldn't like that, “He would get me off.”

Will was one of the DJ’s who ran trivia and he had taken quite a liking to YN, had made it known, and had asked her out a few times.

Harry didn't outwardly admit jealousy but would make snarky comments about how pathetic Will was, how annoying he was, and how he just needed to do his job.

His expression hardens instantly, brows furrowing, top lip curling. 

“You think Will could get you off?” He snaps, glancing up from where his fingers still hover just shy of her cunt, “That fucker doesn’t even know where the clit is. You’d be getting licked out until next year.”

“It’d still be quicker than how long it takes you to get me off,” YN shoots back, chin tilted.

Her pulse is thundering in her ears—because she’s poking the bear, and she knows it.

Harry’s easy to rile when it comes to showing off.

He never backs down when his pride is challenged.

His jaw ticks once, eyes narrowing. 

Then, in a flash, he's had enough.

“Stop fuckin’ running your mouth,” Harry hisses finally hitting his breaking point, it was impressive because he rarely got to that point this quickly.

Before she can fire off another comeback, Harry grips her hips and yanks her down the seat, until she’s lying flat, skirt bunched at her waist, legs parted. 

The leather squeaks under her, echoing in the silence of the car.

His hands grips her ass, firm and rough, pulling her pelvis up until she arches toward him—and then he’s there, his mouth crashing onto her with no warning.

YN cries out as his lips close around her clit, tugging it into his mouth with punishing accuracy. 

Her body jolts, trying to flinch back from the intense pressure, but his grip tightens—keeping her locked in place and leaving her no room to wriggle away.

Harry’s nose nudges against her mound, his lips and tongue relentless, like a man feral.

He barely comes up for air, working her over with deep, rhythmic licks and suction that feel like they’re pulling the pleasure straight from the source.

YN reaches down to grab at him, fingers tangled in his curls as she pushes into his mouth before trying to shy away.

He moves one hand from her ass, thumbing over her seam before he's nudging two fingers in until he can pet at the front of her inner walls, scissoring them to make her feel the light, welcome stretch.

“Ye-yeah,” YN can only gasp as the stimulation grows more quickly than she's used to, his fingers and mouth are so knowledgeable , know exactly what their doing, “Oh, I'm clo-close, H.”

His eyes flick up to her, barely visible from this angle, but the glint in them is unmistakable—dark, electric.

His mouth never lets up, tongue lapping at her, lips sealing around her clit again in a rhythm that has her thighs trembling.

His fingers pump into her at a steady, sure pace, and he knows she’s right at the edge.

And then he stops.

Just like that.

He lets her drop back to the leather seat, slick and desperate, the cool air hitting her exposed skin. 

She blinks in disbelief, mouth open in shock, hips twitching in search of the sensation that vanished too fast, and watches as he rubs his face against the calf that was hooked over his shoulder.

Harry’s the filthy one, really, because he runs his tongue over where he'd just wiped off her arousal without any shame.

“No, no,” YN complains desperately, she had been so fucking close, tryin to hold it at that delicious almost there bliss for as long as possible and it was starting to fizzle, “No, I didn't come- Harry, I didn't-”

Harry comes to cup her jaw, effectively shutting her up with a thumb pressed roughly against her lip.

“If only our friends knew what a mouthy, greedy lil’ thing you are,” Harry admonishes as he tugs down her bottom lip, his nose nearly brushing hers, “I know you didn’t come, silly girl. I didn’t want you to.”

“But why?” YN snaps at him, the sensitivity was continuing to fizzle out like a sparkler come to the end of it’s life, and it left this unsettled, uncomfortable ache that she was never used to feeling because if a partner was getting her that close - she didn’t have the luxury to edge or she wouldn’t get it back then she just wouldn’t come that time when they had sex.

Harry doesn’t answer with words at first.

His hand drops sharply to her inner thigh, a slap of dominance that makes her yelp—not from pain exactly, but the sting of surprise, of being handled like that.

“Because I said so,” Harry retorts lowly, teeth clenched as his brow draw further together, “I don’t think you’ve earned it. Not sweet ‘nough for me yet.”

“I’m sweet, I’m sweet,” YN knows she sounds like a begging puppy but he was the only person who brought of this desperation in her, this unhinged beahvior where she had no shame because she wanted him so much more than she wanted to keep her dignity. 

Harry’s face softens—just a little. 

His gaze travels over her flushed face, her trembling body, her wide, needy eyes. 

Something fond flickers in his expression, just for a beat, and it makes her chest ache.

“Are you?” He murmurs, voice gone almost gentle in contrast. “How are you gonna show me?”

YN nudges forward to steal a kiss, relieved when he allows it but only for a moment before he’s biting down on her lip as punishment.

Her hand comes down to his center, gripping at him through the tight denim of his jeans, and it made her confidence skyrocket when she felt how rock hard he was for her, twitching underneath her palm at the unexpected touch.

“I’ll suck you,” YN tells him, it’s nowhere near the filth that he spills out but it still felt so foreign rolling off of her tongue, “Please, I want you in my mouth.”

“You’re already getting sweeter,” Harry croons as he bats her hand away, moving to unbutton his jeans, and shove them as well as his briefs down his thighs - he was intimidating, the size - the length and girth of him was enough to stretch the corner of her lips and make them ache, she remembers how it felt last week when she had swallowed him down and made her eyes water.

They’d only been doing this for a few weeks, with a break in between during the holidays when there was no trivia, and she still wasn’t use to handle someone as well endowed as him, her eyes had gone wide the first time she’d seen how pretty he was and he had given her this sleazy, proud smile at the time.

Harry wraps a hand around the base of his cock, thumb brushing the slick head. 

Her breath hitches. 

She’d promised herself she wouldn’t ask. 

That she’d wait for him to initiate.

But they hadn’t had penetrative sex yet, sure they’d only hooked up in his car a total of three times now but it hadn’t come up, he hadn’t mentioned even one word of it yet, and she realizes just how much she has been craving him, having him fill her up in a way she’d never felt before.

“C’mon, darling. You’re been so good for me now,” Harry hums as he thumbs over the ruddy, wet tip, it was welcoming, tempting.

“No, I -” YN cuts off because she wants to stop herself, she told herself she wouldn’t, “Want you to fuck me.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, his composed facial expression fades momentarily with the surprise of her words, and his hand stops on his length, “Fuck you?”

“Yes,” YN tries to sound sure of herself but it’s faltering, because she’s not.

“And you’ve earned that?” Harry prompts, his cool demeanor right back in place, the shock disappearing just as fast as it had happened, “Or are you being selfish and trying to get out of sucking cock now that you’ve gotten your own?”

YN’s brow furrow, “I didn’t come though.”

Harry snickers, boyishly because he’s getting off of this, “I forgot, your mouthiness has me distracted.”

And looking back, YN thinks this is what people talk about when they use the term subspace.

She’s never felt like this—never felt safe enough to let go.

Because she’d never experienced it before this point but something in her just breaks, she feels floaty and unashamed - there’s no insecurity, no worries about how desperate she’s acting because all she can thinking about is Harry.

It’s an arousal that clouds anything logical and it feels like she’s in the clouds, drifting and weightless, and that’s she’s fully relying on him to take control.

Tears prickle in the corners of her eyes, not from sadness, but from sheer overwhelm.

“Want it,” she whispers, voice cracking, “Please. I’ll s—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Harry hushes softly, his tone is more like his normal cadence and not that deep, horny rasp that he gets, “Honey, are you alright?”

YN swallows, her fingers dug into his arms, “Just want t’come.”

Harry laughs quietly, it’s one of the nicest sounds that she’s ever heard, and right now it seems like the most beautiful music to her ears.

“Okay, pretty,” Harry simpers, his demeanor shifts into something more careful, more cautious as he helps pull her up, “Not many ways to do it comfortably in here.”

Invite me back, please.

Is her needy thought, she wants to be spread out on his bed.

But his next words shut down that hope.

“Will you ride me?”

It’s not really a question. 

He’s already guiding her, and she follows without fussing. 

She doesn’t have time to mourn—he’s sitting back, pulling her into his lap, and her thighs bracket his hips as she lowers down, the thick, flushed head of him brushing against her folds.

The sight of it is obscene.

She wishes she could take a picture, frame it, live inside this moment where he’s so hard and she’s so desperate, spread open and slick with need.

YN’s impatient, she’s never felt so needy in her life, and she couldn’t believe they were actually about to have sex because even when she was with Ben - she fantasized about this more than she’d ever willingly admit to anyone, especially him.

YN goes to grip at him, to guide him but he bumps her out of the way to do it himself, his other hand comes up to cup her cheek, “Tell me what you want.”

“You, want you,” YN babbles, willing to say just about anything if that means that he’ll stop drawing this out.

Harry shakes his head, his expression suddenly serious, and voice more firm, “No, YN. What do you want me to do?”

“Fuck me, I want you to fuck me - oh,” YN cuts out with a high-pitched moan because he’s painting himself down towards to press into her folds, thumping against her clit once before he’s tucking himself inside, and once his tip has breached his hands move to her hips to start moving her to sit down on him.

And it stretches, more intense than it’s ever felt with her partners in the past but it wasn’t painful, it was just a new sensation of accommodating, and he was bringing her down slowly, pushing her skirt higher up so he could grip her bare hips.

“Jesus,” Harry grunts out, it’s louder than he’s been since they had piled into his car, startling in the otherwise quiet space apart from their heavy breathing.

YN’s eyes widen, glancing up at him, and she’s knows she must just be moony-eyed, looking at him like he was the best thing in the world, her hair was falling into her eyes, startening to dampen as it got hotter, more humid in the confined area.

Harry lets out a low chuckle, his hand come to pet the hair back and behind her eye, voice hushed and sweet as maple syrup, “I’m sorry, sorry honey, didn’t mean to startle you. You just feel so good.”

“Yeah?” YN blinks at him, it was hard to keep anything straight but he was filling her up so fucking well that she didn’t feel like she was about to rip at the seams anymore.

Harry laughs again, happy and private as he bumps his forehead against hers, “Yeah.”

YN doesn’t do much of the work, her limbs are jello and the way Harry utilizes his grip on her hips has him doing the heavy lifting, hitting her spot dead on every single time, and his rhytmn isn’t fast but it’s steady, consistent, and hard.

There’s tears trickling down her cheeks as her orgasm starts to build again, faster than expected, and she actually feels a swoop of disappointment because it she doesn’t want it to be over when it feels like it really just began.

Her clit brushes up against his pubic bone, smearing her slick there as it gives her the perfect friction, and her fingertips are digging into the skin of his clothed shoulder because he was still fully dressed and that didn’t feel quite right but it was too late now.

“Can feel you squeezin’ on me,” Harry hums as he brings her down and sits her there, stops her hips from moving as he plants his feet and starts to thrust up into her, “Are you close, sweetheart? Do you need help?”

YN shakes her head, sniffling slightly as she rolls her hips into his thrusts, “Don’t wan’na.”

Harry doesn’t stop all together but he slows his rhythm, “Don’t want to what, honey? Talk to me.”

“Don’t want to come, don’t want it to be over,” YN admits as she blinks through the film at him and the look he has on his face, well it’s one that she’s never seen before but her brain isn’t in the place to be able to decipher that right now.

“I’ll give you another,” Harry promises, his hands slipping down to grip her bum and pull her even fruther into his lap until their chests are pressing together, tilting his head up to bite at the underside of her jaw, “I’ve earned a squeeze though, haven’t I? Get me wet, darling.”

And YN wishes those words didn’t get to her as easily as they did but it works, her hilts jittling to a stop as she grinds harshly into him, head falling backwards, and he starts sucking a mark right at the center of her throat that she can’t even start to be mad about.

“You’re so pretty, never seen anything prettier on my cock,” Harry groans as he picks up his thrusts, she was sensitive, it didn’t feel as pleasant but she still wanted it, wanted to feel how much he wanted her, and he was throbbing, “Fuck, where do you -”

“In me,” YN’s hand cups the nape of his neck, it felt like there was no other thoughts in her mind.

“Fuckin’ christ,” Harry responds as he squeezes her backside hard enough that she feels pinpricks of pain, knowing it was going to leave marks, and being happy about that, a memento from the best sex of her life, “How’d I get so lucky to get you on me?”

YN doesn’t have time to respond, wasn’t going to anyways when she feels him start to pulse, twitch as he starts to come, his hips slowing to a sluggish pace as he starts to come down from it, panting as sweat beads on his forehead - it was hot, sticky in the car now after all the physical activity.

Harry moves quicker than she can keep up with, plopping her back onto the seat and pinning her against the door as he wedges himself between her thighs.

It’s filthy, it’s something she’s never had anyone do but he swipes at her entrance, tasting himself before he’s wrapping his lips around her bud, and starting that tortuous pulsing that he’d done prior, only this time it doesn’t take more than a minute because she’s already hypersensitive from the first orgasm and he doesn’t tease.

No, instead he rides her through it, chasing after her like a starving man when she rears her hips away, and whines after she’s rode it out, “Too much.”

She was still floating, still teary as Harry wipes her up with a clean gym towel he had in his duffel, hands her an unopened bottle water before helping hero ut of the backseat, and walking her towards her car with a hand on her lower back.

He gives her a hug that seems far to platonic for what they just did, things suddenly awkward like they have been after every single time they’ve done this, and then he’s opening her car door and waving ‘bye’ before he’s heading back to his own.

YN doesn’t know why she starts crying as soon as she pulls out of the lot, why she has to park on a side road because her brain isn’t cooperating, and the pit of emptiness in her chest that wasn’t there prior was now gnawing away at her.

[lemotmo]

I do get this. It was an incredibly frustrating episode for sure but I can see this.

Q. I guess I don't know what I was expecting because I have no idea what I just watched. It didn't feel like an actual episode, if that makes sense. Everyone felt slightly off and I just don't know what the reason for doing it that way was.

A. No this makes sense, anon. I said to a couple of people last night that the episode felt like the coma dream episode in terms of the way the scenes were shot and staged. It did feel slightly not reality based, which I do think was intentional. Before I go further I am going to say that for the most part I think I get what they were trying to do. I just think, as usual with Tim, he's not the virtuoso genius filmmaker he fancies himself as being, and so the execution of his grand ideas get lost in translation. Which is insanely frustrating as a viewer. The other thing I will say is making Tim and Kristen the writers for this episode specifically was the wrong choice. They each do certain things well, and other things incredibly poorly. I hoped writing together would benefit the script because what each of them struggle with the other one usually does pretty well. That was not the case here. The show is trying to pull off a long con for lack of a better way to say it. Lab Rats was the setup to the con, Bobby's death. The Last Alarm was the hidden in plain sight reveal of what the con is, Bobby's casket being empty and him being held somewhere else without the family's knowledge. Using the arson case of the dead child was a clever way to reveal the con but the success of pulling something like that off requires nuance and structure within the writing, and unfortunately that is the writing struggle Tim and Kristen have in common. Neither one of them can write nuance or stick to a proper writing structure. They can slam you over the head with foreshadowing, and they very much did in this episode, but foreshadowing cannot be the only writing tool and in this case they used it for everything. That doesn't work with an episode like this. Spending more than half the episode on a case, that on face value ended up serving as only a distraction for Athena, was an insane decision. Yes they had to establish the con in a way that wasn't obvious but a stronger writer could have done that in half the screen time, and this show has those writers on staff, but Tim and Kristen are not those writers.

Moving on, I did not hate this episode, I can see and appreciate what he's trying to do even if the execution is beyond frustrating. First I will say this is the Athena I love. She was amazing in this episode. This is how she's supposed to be written as a character. The RoboCop vigilante bullshit they usually saddle her with is not the way to go for her. The Athena of this episode is the sweet spot and Angela was unsurprisingly spectacular. Kenny was equally brilliant. I absolutely understand Chimney being the 118 character focus for this episode given what we saw in Lab Rats. Kenny is a wildly underappreciated actor and when he's given the room to shine he absolutely kills it. He's so good to watch. Letting Athena and Chimney take center stage was understandable, just not for the episode that was supposedly Bobby's farewell, again though I think that was intentional.

I also really liked the brief bits of Hen and Karen and Hen and Athena that we got in this episode. Hen and Karen's relationship is always nice to see because they're beautiful together and Hen and Athena's friendship should have more focus than it gets because their friendship is really layered and lovely. I enjoyed those moments. The brief May and Harry moments were nice to see as well. Hopefully we get more of them next season.

Which brings me to Buck and Eddie. First of all I love that Buck, even in the context of this episode, was so excited to reveal Eddie's return to Ravi, and the audience, as a surprise kind of thing. I like that they let that moment exist even though it didn't really fit the episode, but it absolutely would be something Buck would feel like was a good ta da surprise kind of thing. I'm glad they let that moment be. And Eddie looked amazing, dear god I knew it was him from the stills but I still squealed when I saw him. I missed him tremendously. The show using Ravi as a kind of barrier to prevent the audience from seeing Buck and Eddie alone was a really interesting choice as well given what Ravi has always represented on this show. I know we all live Ravi but since his introduction Ravi has always been and used as the physical manifestation of Buck's trauma. He pops up in episodes where Buck is feeling abandoned or left behind so Ravi being present in that scene as well as being the hug the audience saw Eddie give someone was a really interesting choice. The Buck and Eddie of it all was small but there was a lot within that one scene. The colors they were wearing. Buck's one line of dialogue to Eddie being 'but you're here now', Eddie eating one of Buck baked goods even though had no idea what it actually was, but it was Buck's so he ate it. Buck's entire game right now is avoidance. He's trying to do the one thing his captain asked of him, be there for his family, so Buck is purposely pushing his own feelings about everything to the side for now. Those feelings include everything that has come up about what he might really feel for Eddie. Placing Ravi in the middle of the scene was a good way to show that neither Buck nor Eddie are ready for that conversation yet. But it is inevitably coming. And when you try to avoid something the universe has a way of screaming at you until you obey. A long standing theme for Buck and Eddie. I do think episode 17 will see Eddie and Hen focus and I expect to see something from Eddie in that episode because I do think the Buck and Eddie moment of reckoning is coming in the season finale.

I think the episode felt not real for a reason. I don't think Bobby is really dead but I think Tim is trying to push most of this to the season finale given the criticism of last season's finale. I think we will have the Bobby reveal, Maddie going into labor, and the Buddie moment in that one episode. Hence the episode title being Sesmic Shifts.

Thank you Nonny! I really needed this post in my inbox today. 🤗

I'm going to let this speak for itself. I already talked about these topics in my other posts and I've got nothing new to add here.

Just this:

I'm already looking forward to the next episode. I can't help it. 🤷‍♀️ I love this show too much. I just NEED some more Eddie, preferably in some more speaking scenes this time. 🙄😋

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[twopoppies]

The only explanation I have for the questions some of your anons ask is that they have to be really young but like teens or something because the facts they use for they thinking Louis and Harry aren't together anymore are just a reflection of life inexperience imo.

There's definitely couples that are together all the time and that's what the fairy tales sold to us as the goal but in real life that's not the only option anymore and couples live their lives in a very diverse way.

I'm not saying that I'm 100% right and that they're definitely still together because the only thing I got are vibes and the not so usual hint from them but what gets me is the inability of some people to see beyond of what they know and their own biases and preconceptions.

1. When you're really look at it, there's more instances of us not knowing where they are that the opposite. We're coming from months of them being MIA but we get a month of them being confirmed apart and suddenly a relationship is impossible.

2. Do they think it's crazy that Louis would fly to London and back to Berlin just to take a couple of pics because and waste maybe 6 hours on a plane because it's really a crazy idea or because it's something that your anons wouldn't do because their circumstances are obviously different from harry and louis' ones. I don't think he actually did that but it's not a crazy and impossible thing to do.

3. After everything they have been through together I think a couple of months apart are just not that important.

I could keep ranting but I need to save something for the next time 😭

I really hope we get new music soon before this fandom eats itself

No, I totally agree with you. For some reason, large parts of the fandom can’t fathom being apart for chunks of time, or not being there for Valentine’s Day or a birthday or whatever. You may be right that it’s people without a lot of life experience. I also think a lot of people, sadly, don’t have a lot of adults in their lives who are in healthy long-term relationships.

[sadaveniren]

.

[harrywavycurly]

The Almost Bumble Fumble: Impressed

Masterlist: Here

CW: None

Tag List: @georgiarose94

A/N: This is just some fun fluffy goodness that popped into my head the other day! I have a part 2 in mind if y’all want it? Enjoy!

Summary: Harry Styles shows up on your dating app and you’re convinced it’s not really him✨

Harry only has one reason why he finally caved and downloaded the bright yellow dating app, he likes the fact he can’t be the one to message anyone he matches with first. It takes some of the pressure off of him because it’s hard to think of an opening line that is catchy and engaging enough to actually make the other person respond, and while he may be a talented songwriter he is absolutely horrible at trying to be witty and flirty through a screen and over texts. So not having to worry about reaching out first allows him to just sit and wait to see if anyone is actually interested enough in him to send him a message and so far, much to his disappointment and only a slight blow to his ego he hasn’t gotten more than a few random hellos.

Even though he hasn’t gotten the kind of response he thought he would since he downloaded the app just a few days ago, he still finds himself checking it a few times a day and that’s exactly what he’s doing now as he gets comfortable on his couch with a glass of wine in his hand. He scrolls through a few profiles and doesn’t swipe right or hit the heart button on any of them until he lands on one that seems interesting. Your profile picture is of you grinning as you stare at a piece of what he thinks is cake that’s on a plate in front of you that has a candle in it, there’s a little caption under it that says “if you can make me smile the way this cake did, you’re a keeper” and he chuckles to himself as he continues further down your profile. The most important thing he likes to look at on people’s profile is what they’re looking for on the app, because Harry knows he’s ready for a relationship and he isn’t trying to have his time wasted nor waste anyone else’s if he knows they aren’t looking for the same thing in the end.

He feels a smile tug at the corners of his mouth when he sees your response to that prompt if the exact same as his, looking for something long term. Harry takes a sip of his wine as he looks through the photos you posted on your profile, enjoying the tiny look at what you do for fun since you have a few photos at concerts and other events such as the classic group photo during a girls night out but the one that sticks with Harry the most is of you sitting on a couch with a glass of wine and a book in your hand that someone took while you weren’t looking or at least that’s how it appears. When he reaches the end of your profile he doesn’t give himself a moment to overthink it he simply swipes right and continues on his scroll through the app trying not to get too anxious as he waits to see if you’ll match with him and find him interesting enough to message.

After a few more minutes of scrolling he lets out a sigh before he takes a rather large sip of wine, just when he’s ready to call it a night and leave the silly little dating app he sees that he has a new message. He quirks an eyebrow as he goes to his messages and he can’t help the grin that takes over his face when he sees it’s from you, meaning you have to be online now since he just swiped on you not even ten minutes ago and you’ve already sent him a message.

Now what Harry isn’t prepared for is what your message says, having only gotten the different variations of Hello so far as opening lines so when he opens your message the laugh that escapes him is genuine and he feels as if you just sent him a one liner you’d possibly use on him if you saw him at a bar and wanted to start a conversation with him. He reads the message again and shakes his head as he chuckles to himself while also feeling a bit of an inflation to his ego because your opening line is tailored to him, it’s something that you wouldn’t be able to use on just anyone. Because even if they were an obvious One Direction fan it would be very risky because they might not know the lyrics to the song and be extremely confused.

“If the room was burning, would you really not notice?”

He finds himself instantly replying and when he hits send he suddenly starts to get nervous that maybe he should’ve waited a bit to reply so he doesn’t seem too eager and possibly scare you off before he can even really get to know you. But it’s too late now, so he just sips his wine and stares at the small screen in his hand.

“Honestly I don’t think I would. My mind would be too preoccupied by someone and their ability to tell little fibs.”

When he sees a new message appear beneath his he lets out a small sigh of relief because already this is the longest conversation he’s had on this app so far.

“Right well thank goodness you’re fireproof.”

He quickly replies to you and waits with a new feeling of excitement brewing in his tummy to see what you’re going to say next. But he can’t help but wonder how long you can keep this up, he will happily play along because he doesn’t want to be the one to change the subject and possibly ruin the mood.

“Exactly. I’m also very good at finding my way through dark places as well.”

Luckily for him he doesn’t have to wait very long and your response has him laughing and he’s grateful that he lives alone so no one can walk into his living room and ask him what he’s laughing at while cuddled up in the corner of his couch.

“Oh does that mean you’re not scared of the dark? Because if you are that’s okay I won’t let anything get to you and drag you down.”

He is typing out his reply and hitting send before he can even fully lean over and put his empty wine glass down on the table.

“That’s lovely of you to say but no I’m not scared of the dark. Not even a little bit. The only thing I get a little unsettled about is how quickly the night can change.”

As Harry waits to see what you’ll say he can’t stop his mind from wondering if there’s a possibility you’re doing something similar right now, sitting comfortably on your couch or maybe in bed smiling and laughing at your phone like an idiot. Because surely it can’t just be him that’s enjoying how easy the conversation is flowing, regardless of how silly it may be.

You read the latest message from this “Harry” person and laugh at how he goes about avoiding the exact lyrics of the song night changes, you quickly type out a reply so you don’t have to keep him waiting for too long.

“It does change fast doesn’t it? I’ve always thought it was a bit rude how everything you’re dreaming about is just is gone in the morning.”

After hitting send you reach over to your nightstand and grab your glass of wine and take a sip as you go back to visit his profile. You narrow your eyes as you bring the screen a little closer to your face as you scroll down to the few photos he’s chosen, most of which are also on his Instagram so you don’t let the thought that you’re talking to the actual Harry Styles cross your mind. Especially since a lot of the information needed to make a profile on the dating app the two of you are currently messaging on is very accessible, it’s just a simple scroll through Google. The only thing that makes you quirk a brow is one photo he has at the very end of his profile, it’s a photo of him sitting at a table with a smile on his face while holding a glass of wine and it’s one you’ve never seen before but that also doesn’t mean anything because there’s tons of photos and videos of Harry you haven’t seen.

When you saw you matched with him you couldn’t stop yourself from instantly messaging him, because even though you know it’s just someone using Harry’s photos to get attention you figure you might as well have some harmless fun. You know eventually you’ll decide to move on and maybe report his account depending on how weird he gets. You’re brought back to the moment when you see you have a new message, you take another sip of your wine as you read what he wrote.

“It’s very rude but there is something that even the night can’t change. Do you know what that is?”

You bite down on your bottom lip as you read the message and you get an odd feeling this person might be trying to flirt with you because the next line of the song he’s talking about is a rather romantic one, but then again you can’t really be sure. You take this moment to test the waters a bit as you type out your reply and hit send before you can second guess yourself and delete it.

“It’s you and I right? Because nothing can separate us?”

You know you’re going to have to casually change the subject soon but you can’t help but want to see just how long the two of you can keep indirectly quoting One Direction songs in a way that has ended up with the two of you in a rather pointless conversation. You feel your cheeks get warm when you read his reply, of course this Harry impersonator would send you lyrics to Stockholm Syndrome.

“Precisely. It’s safe to say you’ve got me tied down.”

You finish off your wine and place the empty glass on your nightstand before figuring out how exactly you want to reply. There’s a few ways you could go about this, but instead of going the obvious flirty route you choose to go for the comedic approach instead because that’s more of who you are anyway.

“I mean I can’t have you trying to escape the city and follow the sun now can I? Because that would just break my heart and I don’t even know where I’d go if that happened.”

You giggle to yourself as you scroll to the top of your messages and reread them, well aware that if anyone were to read them they’d be extremely confused. You also have to admit that this person is very well educated on their One Direction lyrics and you’re a bit impressed. When you get to the bottom you see “Harry” has replied and what he says makes you lean your head back and laugh as you drop your phone into your lap as you try to get yourself under control.

“I’d never try to escape because if your heart is broken and you’re just wondering around that makes me worry people will try to steal you away from me and I can’t have that. Not to mention I also have no clue where’d you go with a broken heart and I’m honestly so shit with directions so I’d be left with no choice but to walk around shouting your name.”

After a few moments you quickly type out a response and double tap his last message letting a red heart appear next to it so he knows you really enjoyed that creative use of lyrics from two songs.

“Walking around shouting my name? Absolutely not. Don’t embarrass me.”

Harry doesn’t even bother trying to hide his amusement at your message, enjoying how you managed to give him an easy way to go along with your subtle change of conversation since he notices a very obvious lack of song lyrics in your reply. And Harry being the romantic that he is finds this a great opportunity to ask something, and your answer will be one he might possibly tuck away in his mind to remember at a later date.

“Not one for big declarations of love then?”

As he waits for your reply Harry takes a moment to process the fact that even though the two of you haven’t even really had a true conversation he already can tell by your sense of humor that he’s going to enjoy getting to know you more, if you let him that is. When he sees your response he laughs and runs a hand through his hair with his hand that’s not holding his phone.

“I’ve never had anyone do a big declaration of love for me before so I’m not sure how I feel about them. What about you? Do you need a Jumbotron proposal during a sporting event or a billboard dedicated to how much I love your hands?”

Harry looks at his free hand and wonders if you’re being serious about loving his hands or if that’s just an example you picked to show him what you would be willing to write on a billboard about him. As he types out his reply his mind begins to think of things that could be considered big declarations of love or feelings that maybe you’d like, because even though he doesn’t know you he figures having some ideas on the back burner can’t hurt and who doesn’t like coming home to an outrageous amount of flowers or a maybe even having the radio play nothing but your favorite songs for a whole day.

“I am open to all types of declarations of love. Big, small, handwritten or painted on a billboard. I’m not picky.”

Now only part of that statement is a lie, Harry truly does enjoy any type of declaration of love that his significant other is willing to give him but he is a tiny bit picky. But that’s something to discuss at a later date, because it doesn’t really have anything to do with what the two of you are discussing now, he’s picky about other things but not how someone is willing to tell him their feelings about him. As Harry is getting up and grabbing his empty wine glass off his coffee table and heading into the kitchen he gets an odd notification at the bottom of the message thread between the two of you.

*accept video chat*

But before he can even hit accept or decline the message is gone and he sees you’ve typed out a quick little explanation.

“Oh god I’m sorry! Finger slipped and hit the video chat button! Sorry!”

He quirks a brow as he scrolls to the top of the messages and sees what looks like a FaceTime icon near the corner. Having not noticed it before he becomes curious and maybe it’s the wine or maybe it’s just that he’s interested in you and thinks this is a smart way to “meet” for the first time to get a better feeling of if the two of you actually can hold a conversation or not but either way Harry is typing out a quick message and hitting send before entering his kitchen.

“It’s okay. I didn’t know it was an option, I’m fine with a video chat if you are?”

You stare at his message for a solid thirty seconds before you even blink, not knowing why on earth this person would want to video chat with you when you know they aren’t Harry Styles. It’s going to be awkward and embarrassing, for them of course not for you because you already know you haven’t been talking to the tall tattooed international superstar but maybe this is for the best so you can tell whoever it is how impressed with their One Direction song lyric knowledge you are. And maybe, just maybe you’ll still find whoever it is attractive and it won’t be a total bummer of a Friday night. So against your better judgement you send him a simple response before you climb out of bed and head for the kitchen to refill your wine.

“Sure!”

You catch your reflection in the door of your microwave and instantly place your phone on the counter next to your fridge so you can adjust the monstrosity that is your messy bun. Once that’s as good as it’s going to get you look down at your faded band t shirt and decide that it’s good enough for whoever it is that’s about to video chat you, it’s after nine at night on a Friday after all so in your mind them seeing you like this is just preparing them for what they can expect in the future. As you’re reaching for your bottle of wine you see a new notification appear on your screen and you feel nervous as you pick your phone up.

*Accept video chat from Harry Styles*

You hit accept and the screen goes black before suddenly you’re looking at someone’s ceiling and you squint your eyes and bring the phone closer to your face as what appears to be half a forearm comes into view.

“Sorry love it seems I’ve dropped you.” You feel your heart begin to beat so fast you’re afraid it’s going to explode as a British accent comes from the phone, you swear it sounds exactly like Harry’s but you simply shake your head at that idea because there’s no way he’s on the other end of this call.

“Oh wow you sound just like-”

“I sound just like who?” Harry asks as he finally comes into view after he picks the phone up from where he accidentally dropped it on his counter while trying to open his wine bottle one handed. Your eyes go a bit wide as you move your phone away from your face, you feel your cheeks get hot and out of pure panic you place your phone against your wine bottle and put both hands over your face making Harry raise an eyebrow at you.

“Are you okay?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re Harry Styles.” You mumble into your hands but Harry hears you just fine making him chuckle as he pours some wine into his glass. “You weren’t supposed to actually be Harry Styles.” You explain as you spread your fingers allowing you to get a small look at Harry through the gaps, it’s almost unfair how much better he looks while taking up your phone screen than he does in his photos.

“Who was I supposed to be?” He questions as he grabs his phone and his wine glass and heads back into his living room.

“Some weirdo just acting like you to get attention on a dating app.” Harry doesn’t quite like that answer, he doesn’t like the idea of someone pretending to be him just to get attention and possibly hurt people in the process.

“Do people really do that? Pretend to be me on things like this?” You just shrug as you slowly lower your hands from your face and Harry is glad he’s already sitting down because even with your pink cheeks and distraught look in your still slightly wide eyes he can’t get over how pretty you are.

“I’m not sure? You’re actually the first Harry Styles I’ve ever come across but I mean I just-I didn’t think it was really you.” You admit with a laugh as you reach and grab your phone so you can get to your wine bottle, deciding you now more than ever need to refill your glass.

“Are you disappointed it’s really me and not some random weirdo?” He watches you raise an eyebrow and make a humming noise as if you really have to think about it before answering him.

“Honestly I’m relieved it’s actually you because if it wasn’t then I would’ve had to tell a random person how impressed I was with their One Direction knowledge.” You answer after you fill your glass up with wine, Harry chuckles as you make a face of disgust at the mention of telling someone you were impressed with them. “But since it’s you-”

“Oh are you saying you’re not impressed with my One Direction knowledge?” He says in mock offense as he watches you walk through what he can only assume is your kitchen based on the oven he sees in the background.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” You answer without any hesitation and Harry’s face breaks out into a wide grin because the look you give him is one that tells him he should’ve known that was going to be your answer.

“Well I’m quite impressed with your knowledge and your opening message was-”

“Oh god.” You say with a groan as you head into the living room, your cheeks turn a light shade of pink as you take a seat on your couch making Harry give you a soft smile to try to help ease your clear embarrassment of what you sent him because he thought it was great.

“Don’t feel embarrassed love.” He quietly clears his throat and takes a sip of his wine after the petname accidentally slips out of his mouth. “I thought it was brilliant that’s why I responded and kept it going.” He explains making you smile and it’s not until this very moment do the two of you really sit and look each other in the eyes and Harry feels his own cheeks get a little warm as you stare at him through the phone.

“You’re really pretty.” Harry laughs and runs a hand through his hair as you blink a few times and realize what you just said out loud.

“You’re really pretty as well.” He says with only a small hint of nervousness evident in his voice because he doesn’t want to come across overly flirty but he also doesn’t see the harm in telling you the truth, you are very pretty.

“Thank you.” You smile and get comfortable on your couch. “I guess it’s good to get all this embarrassing and awkwardness out of the way now right?” Harry just nods and smiles at your choice of words, giving him some hope that you’ll want to maybe do this again or possibly meet up in person if you feel comfortable enough.

“Exactly.” Is all he says with a grin making you return his smile as you sink into your couch and toss a blanket over your legs to get comfortable because something tells you that you’re about to be on the phone with Harry for a while and you don’t mind. You silently thank your lucky stars that you decided to message him when you saw he matched with you because you can’t imagine the level of regret you’d feel if you somehow found out you fumbled the opportunity to talk and possibly get to know Harry just because you thought it was a fake profile.

[pretty-little-mind33]

fluff ✿ angst ✮ hurt & comfort ✷ smut (nsfm) ♥︎

main masterlist

disclaimer — i enjoy fandom created harry potter content but i DON'T support j.k rowling in any way!!

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most popular - WILDEST DREAMS ✿ - Finding out that your ex-best friend might have smelt you in the Amortentia feels as surreal as you smelling him.

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fem!reader with an abusive ex

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James x debutant!reader

KING OF MY HEART ✿ - You and James are friends with benefits until daisies and an incident with one asshole Quidditch player stirs up some hidden (or not-so-hidden) feelings.

MAROON ✿ - James usually doesn't like violence but he'll fight anyone who bad-mouths his girlfriend.

LAVENDER HAZE ♥︎ - Having a thing for your best friend's dad was your dirty little secret. Up until it wasn't so secret anymore.

THIS LOVE ✿ - Sometimes your lovely boyfriend can have a hard time with the word 'no'.

HOW YOU GET THE GIRL ✿✷✮ - You've never had your first kiss — well not until you stupidly kiss the boy you've had a crush on since forever, the same boy who happens to be your best friend.

FOOLISH ONE ✮ - James was and would never be yours.

TIMELESS ✿✷ - James wants to take you out to one of his families' fancy parties. However, he underestimates how cruel people can be when someone is different.

ENCHANTED ✿ - Three weeks after his devastating break up with Lily, James wanted Remus and Sirius to bring him to a muggle bar in central London. Prequel to Timeless

SWEETER THAN FICTION ✿ - After months of dating, James finally tells you he's a wizard. Pt. 2 of Enchanted

YOU ARE IN LOVE ✿ - You never realized how much of an idiot your brother's best friend is until he becomes jealous.

GLITCH ♥︎ - You never intended to admit you would fuck James Potter. You hate him. Well, turns out you hate him a little less when he's touching you in ways you'd only dreamed of.

STAY BEAUTIFUL ✿✷- When you overhear some of James's friends comment on your weight, James comforts you.

SANTA BABY ✿ - James wants to make his family's Christmas special.

SNOW ON THE BEACH ✿✷ - When your eleven-year-old son comes home for Christmas break in tears, you and James are instantly worried.

NEW ROMANTICS ✿✷ - When your "friends" play a dangerously stupid prank on you, James is the last person you'd think would help you.

COLD AS YOU ✷✮ - You want your boyfriend's attention again.

I THINK HE KNOWS ♥︎ - Your boyfriend promises to watch over you when you want to get drunk.

BEGIN AGAIN ✿ - James has been persuing you for years and you've never said yes, until now?

END GAME ✿✷ - Playing Quidditch against your secret boyfriend is usually fun…

GOLD RUSH ✿✷✮ - You're a stupid drunk and James Potter is very very bad at dealing with his romantic feelings.

DAYLIGHT ♥︎ - When your boyfriend finds out he didn't make you come, his anger quickly turns into lust.

THE ALCOTT ✮ - You love James but he loves Lily. It's simple until it isn't so simple anymore.

SUBURBAN LEGENDS ✿✷ - James tries to teach you how to ice skate — in the same universe as Dear Reader

SAY DON'T GO ✿✮✷ - When your long-term boyfriend is slipped a love potion—he loses his memory of you.

SO HIGH SCHOOL ✿ - You have a massive crush on James. One you didn't think would ever lead anywhere until a drunken party in the Gryffindor Common Room.

"SLUT!" ♥︎ - Your brother's best friend teaches you pleasures you've never experienced before.

I CAN SEE YOU ✷✿ - James panics when he sees what his boggart is.

COME IN WITH THE RAIN ✷ - You comfort your darling boyfriend after an overwhelming sight at your muggle grandparents' house.

HIGH INFIDELITY ✷ - You'd kept your relationship with James a secret up until you couldn't anymore. Pt. 2 of Lavender Haze

GORGEOUS ♥︎ - You and James stumble upon an ancient book of spells rumored to enhance pleasure.

DEAR READER ✿ - You wait for your boyfriend after his game — In the same universe as Suburban Legends

PAPER RINGS ✿ - James is the best boyfriend while you're sick.

CHRISTMAS TREE FARM ✿ - You and James bake gingerbread cookies.

THE PROPHECY ✮ - A dangerous mission puts James's life at risk. You're consumed by worry and fear as you wait for news of what happened to your husband.

THE MANUSCRIPT ✿ - Telling James you're pregnant again is scary.

BLUE ✿✮ - While previously being close friends, after your fourth year you distance yourself from James and he doesn't understand why.

[f1amour]

˖ ࣪ 𖥔 DAYLIGHT — OSCAR PIASTRI

[ social media au ]

pairing: oscar piastri x sainz!reader

face claim ★ paola_cossentino

authors note: this is all fiction not hating on any drivers purposely it is just for the story. thinking of making this a little series if anyone has any requests form this pairing send them my way <3

navigation | masterlist (coming soon)

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yourusername endless bubble baths with lover boy 🫧🤍

➥ view comments below

user1 they say carlos is the good looking one of the siblings but…y/n is a goddess, she wins

user2 it’s almost been a year PLEASE TELL US WHO IT IS

carlossainz55 i would to know as well please. also please block me when you post photos like this.

landonorris same

charles_leclerc same

maxverstappen1 same (i already know)

alex_albon same

user3 she’s been in a relationship for a year and her brother and friends are yet to know is CRAZY

alexandrasaintmleux can’t wait to see you next week!! (and lover boy too i guess🙄)

charles_leclerc YOU KNOW?! TELL ME PLEASE MON AMOUR

carlossainz55 she knows but you haven’t told your family?😔

yourusername can’t wait to see you 🫶🏼

yourusername replied to carlossainz55 the family knows except you…sorry hermano. you might purposefully crash into him on the track.

lilymhe gorgeous girl ✨💗

iamrebeccad carlos is freaking out now. you basically told him lover boy is on the grid😭

user4 i love how none of the guys know but all the wags know about lover boy

user5 PAUSE. LOVER BOY IS A DRIVER OMG.

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After weeks of speculating who may be the mystery boyfriend of Y/n Sainz sister of Carlos Sainz Jr. it was revealed a few days ago that Oscar Piastri is the guy she has been going out with for almost a year now.

Y/n Sainz is known for her fashion icon status but most known for her songwriting skills collaborating with artists like Olivia Rodrigo, Harry Styles, Billie Eilish, Niall Horan, Sabrina Carpenter, Ariana Grande, and Taylor Swift. She has yet to release her own music but it has been teased that 2025 might be the year she finally shares her own musical talents.

Y/n Sainz, 25 and Oscar Piastri, 22 arrived to the Melbourne airport ahead of the Australian Grand Prix next week which is the McLaren’s driver home race.

It had become gossip around the paddock regarding who the mystery boyfriend of the youngest Sainz sibling could be as only a handful of drivers were single. Some had started speculating Lando Norris was her new beau seeing as he has a close relationship with her brother but that was shut down when Lando was asked about the rumor in an interview.

It then became a rumor that the mystery boyfriend was Williams driver Logan Sargeant as they had shared a few hugs in the paddock and were seen at the same restaurant at the start of this year. But he has then shut down that rumor confirming he is in a relationship already.

Others started speculating Y/n was seeing Lance Stroll after he left a few likes and comments on her most recent provocative posts. Y/n was the one to shut the rumor down with a simple “lol. no.” on a comment left by a fan asking if she was dating the Aston Martin driver.

Fans started speculating the fashionista & song writer was back with her ex boyfriend, NBA player Devin Booker. They were in a long term relationship for 5 years but were constantly off and on. Fans believed Y/n was making up a cover story so everyone could focus on the drivers of Formula One and who she may be dating out of all of them instead of the fact she got back with her ex.

Y/n’s team refused to comment on the last rumor. The pair did not finish on the worst terms but not in the best either and have tried their best to avoid each other at any events they attend.

Now to the one who was not expected on this rumor mill up until now: Oscar Piastri. The 22 year old had shared his crush on the girl since being a reserve driver for Alpine in 2022. He even follows a few fan pages of the girl and was always one of the first people to like her posts.

Everyone teased him about it and still did during the 2023 season which was when he started dating the youngest Sainz. Y/n has shared a few moments with the McLaren driver but nothing that would alarm anyone into thinking they were seeing each other.

MORE ARTICLES BELOW…

Y/N SAINZ SPOTTED WITH OSCAR PIASTRIS FAMILY ON A DAY OUT AT THE BEACH

CARLOS SAINZ SEEN CHASING OSCAR PIASTRI AROUND THE PADDOCK

Y/N SAINZ AND OSCAR PIASTRI MAKE PADDOCK DEBUT

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liked by yourusername, nicolepiastri, charles_leclerc, mclaren, landonorris, and 457,385 others

oscarpiastri thanks for all the birthday wishes 🎉 special thanks to the gorgeous girl supporting me throughout this race weekend and for the rest to come. i love you to the moon.

tagged — yourusername

➥ comments below…

user1 ITS OFFICIAL OMG

user2 “for the rest to come” they are endgame.

carmenmmundt my favorite couple. happy birthday, oscar!

yourusername my favorite person. forever thankful to you. we would not be here if you didnt set us up that night lol

oscarpiastri thank you, like my star said we’ll forever be thankful to you setting us up

user3 “my star” HES DOWN SO BAD. also carmen set them up?! i love this so much

landonorris happy birthday mate!

yourusername just realizing your poster comes out in the last picture 🤨

landonorris even in photos i will thirdwheel 😌

yourusername i tried adding 23 candles but they said it could create a fire hazard. loser mclaren 😡

oscarpiastri we can have a redo at home anything you want

mclaren we have to keep our papaya queen safe✨

landonorris thought that was me 🥲

yourusername you’ve been replaced 😙

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liked by oscarpiastri, carmenmmundt, carlossainz55, landonorris, nicolepiastri, alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc, and 1,495,538 others

yourusername my lover boy. my sunshine. my daylight. my world. my home. my safe space. all in one. getting set up on a date that we thought was meant to be a group dinner only to arrive at the same time expecting to see our friends but ended up just being you and i all night. it will be my favorite date ever. to know you is to know what love is and to have found a best friend in a lover. you are mine, my sunshine. te amo, oscar🏹☁️🤍🧸

tagged — oscarpiastri

➥ comments below…

user1 1m likes in 5 minutes is CRAZY. oscy/n nation has take over 😌

user2 she made him a playlist of songs that make her think of him AND RELEASED A SONG SHE WROTE AND SUNG. Y/N SINGING DEBUT!!!

user3 she wrote him a song?! what is it called?

user2 daylight! it’s the most romantic song she has ever written. give it a listen trust me you won’t regret it user3

alexandrasaintmleux my favorite couple 💗

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

charles_leclerc collab when?

yourusername when and where?😌

lilymhe so happy the guys will stop annoying us to tell them who the bf was

alexalbon yeah i won’t ever get over all the girlfriends and wives knowing about this but not us 🤨

georgerussell63 same

pierregasly same

maxverstappen1 same (again i already knew)

lewishamilton jokes on everyone i caught them making out behind the mclaren motorhome last year, they said i was the first one to know

nicolepiastri thank you for reciprocating his crush on you😂 the family loves you and how great you two are together 💕

yourusername had to make his dream come true🤷🏻‍♀️ thank you for raising an amazing son! i love you and the rest of the piastri family 🫶🏼

carlossainz55 he really makes you happy…

yourusername he really does. it’s all you ever wanted for me, right? i’m not a little girl anymore, carlos. you don’t have to protect me anymore

carlossainz55 i’ll always protect my hermanita but…i can see how much he cares about you. and how much he loves you. i’ll stop chasing him like a mad man around the paddock…for now.

landonorris good. poor lad was starting to almost pass out after he would escape you😂

oscarpiastri my greatest gift i have received is you (and deylight) my pretty girl, i’m forever going to love you until we are old and wrinkly and until our last day on this earth. i will love you in all other universes. thank you for loving me. the love of my life, you are my love and life

yourusername making me cry, osc☹️ hurry up and get to the hotel so i can kiss you

[mononijikayu]

start a war — gojo satoru and nanami kento.

Satoru exhaled, tilting his head, a lopsided smirk tugging at his lips, but his voice was quieter than usual. "Be better, huh?" He let the words hang in the air before nodding, something unreadable in his eyes. "Alright, then. Guess I better not disappoint, huh?" There was a flicker of something in your expression. Perhaps it was relief, or maybe something gentler than that. But he didn’t care to know. Instead, he lets himself drown in the small, knowing smile you gave him. "No, I don’t think you will. After all, your eyes tell."

GENRE: alternate universe - actor/s au!;

WARNING/S: nsfw! (not safe for work), possibly triggering themes - please beware!, afab! reader, use of she/her pronouns, unrequited romance (for now), fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, hurt, love, fluff, humor, light-hearted, falling in love, long-term relationship, marriage, healing, age gap (reader is 12 years older than satoru), physical abuse, mental abuse, parental abuse, domestic violence, retaliation, violence, abuse, emotional abuse, emotional distress, injury, blood, bodily fluids, fighting, mental health issues, loss, hatred, resentment, trauma, depression, desperation, domestic life, confessions, distress, cheating, cutting off family members, escaping, profanity, toxic relationship, drama, depression, bitterness, children, mention of various forms of abuse, mention of violence, mention of blood, mention of bodily fluids, mention of trauma, depiction of various forms of abuse, depiction of violence, depiction of various forms of abuse, actor! nanami, actor! gojo, housewife! reader;

WORD COUNT: 20k words

NOTE: it was hard to write this part of the series because satoru's life was really hard. i hope i was able to portray it well enough, and with good care to the sensitivity of the content. in some ways, the only wonderful thing in his life is his mother and reader. please beware. if you cannot read it yet, you can opt out from this part. your well-being is more important to me. i hope that if you can read this, please know that i love you. and if you are going through what these characters are going through, i just want you to know i'm here for you and i support you. i love you all so much, please keep safe!!! see you in the next one!!!

masterlist

if you want to, tip!

the good life ― masterlist.

taglist: @not-aya, @nanamin-chan, @qualitygiantshoepsychic, @funicidals, @zanzie, @poopooindamouf, @darlingken, @lillycore, @prosypepper, @sukioyakio, @harrie-fic-center, @yoonseokerist, @midnight-138;

TWENTY YEAR OLD GOJO SATORU THINKS HE’S USED TO IT. This was just his normal life, the accursed life he’s forced to live. He hated it, to be sure. And he thinks it's the worst outcome for any human being to live and breathe such suffering. Yet here he was, in the thick of it. He felt ever so abandoned by what god there exists on the other side.  

The beatings weren’t the worst of it when it came to his father, he thinks to himself. Gojo Satoru could take the blows, he’s known he could since he first felt the blow. He had learned how to brace for them, how to keep his face blank, how to shove the pain somewhere deep enough that it barely registered anymore.

But his poor, defenseless mother—she was the one who suffered the most. And she was too fragile to endure it, too weak to even shout or whimper or even to fight back at all. The illness had already made her frail, had stolen the color from her cheeks and the strength from her limbs. Yet destiny made her suffer more.

Satoru hated it.

He hated the way she still flinched whenever his father, drunk and staggering, raised a hand as if to strike. Hated the way her lips parted on instinct, whispering those same, rehearsed apologies—I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—for things that were never her fault.

Hated how she still, somehow, found the strength to step between them, shielding Satoru when he was the one who bore the brunt of the man's wrath, even when she could barely stand herself.

"Stay back," she would murmur, her voice trembling but her arms unwavering as she held them out in front of him. "Please, Satoru. Don't say anything."

But it was never that simple. It never was.

Because what Satoru hated most—more than the stench of liquor that clung to his father, more than the bruises he had long stopped counting—was the way his hands trembled. Not from fear. No, never from fear. It was rage. Hot, blinding, and useless.

His small fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms. He wanted to strike back, wanted to scream, wanted to do something other than stand there, helpless. But he knew what would happen if he did. It would only get worse for her.

"Don't look at him like that, my son." she pleaded one night after their father had finally collapsed in a drunken heap. Satoru hadn't said a word, but she could see the fury simmering beneath his pale, glacial eyes. "You know what happens when you—"

"When I what?" he snapped, yanking himself away from her touch. "When I make him mad? When I make things worse? As if that bastard needs something to fuel the fire. As if he needs a reason!" His voice cracked, his breath coming out sharp and uneven.

"Satoru, please—"

"Stop telling me to let it go!" His vision blurred, his whole body shaking. He wanted to punch the walls, to scream until his throat was raw. "You let him do this! You always let him—"

Her slap wasn’t hard. It didn’t hurt. But it stunned him into silence.

For a long moment, she just stared at him, eyes glassy with unshed tears, hands trembling just as much as his were.

Then, in a voice so soft it was barely a whisper, she said, "What else am I supposed to do?"

Satoru had no answer.

And that was what he hated most.

Almost as much as he hated having to hide the bruises from Yaga Masamichi when he was still in high school.

That was when it was most prominent.

Satoru had always been strong—physically, mentally, in every way that mattered. But sometimes, no matter how much strength he had, the anger got the better of him. That’s why the bruises happened. That’s why, some days, he’d roll his shoulders and feel the ache buried deep beneath the skin, why he’d clench his fists just to remind himself that he could still fight, even if he didn’t. Even if he couldn’t.

But Yaga wasn’t stupid.

Satoru knew the man saw it—the tension in his shoulders, the careful way he moved, the occasional wince he couldn’t quite suppress when sparring. Maybe it was the way he sometimes showed up to class with a faint shadow of a bruise peeking out from under his collar, or the times he kept his sunglasses on longer than necessary, even indoors.

And yet, Yaga never pushed.

Never asked.

Not directly, anyway.

"What happened to your wrist?" Yaga had asked once, his tone casual but his sharp eyes betraying his concern.

Satoru barely spared him a glance, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Training accident, teach." he said easily. A half-lie, but a lie all the same. “Just held the baseball wrong. You know how it is.”

Yaga didn’t respond right away. Instead, he studied him, gaze heavy in a way that made Satoru’s skin itch. But still, he didn’t push. "Be more careful next time, Satoru." was all he said before walking away.

And that was how it always was. Because Yaga Masamichi knew. He wasn’t born yesterday. knew that Satoru wouldn’t tell him the truth, even if it was obvious. Knew that if he did push, Satoru would just deflect, turn it into a joke, act like it didn’t matter.

Even now, years later, long after graduation, Yaga still checks up on him, whether it be a phone call or a text. Although, sometimes he tries to go himself. But that doesn’t always happen. Still, he tries to do what he can.

"You and your mother are eating enough, right? If not, I’ll send over some food there."

"Don’t overwork yourself. I know you’re taking care of your mother, but take a rest."

"You know you can call if you need anything, right?"

Satoru would just grin, waving him off. "I’m not a kid anymore, Yaga. I’ve got it handled."

But some nights, when the past was a little too close, when the phantom ache of old wounds lingered longer than it should, he wasn’t sure if that was a lie. He wasn’t sure he was actually alright. He wasn’t actually sure that he didn’t need anyone.

Geto Suguru also always noticed. And he expected nothing less of him. He was his best friend after all. He knew him better than most people, even his mother, even Yaga. Even now, years later, when they hung out like nothing had changed, Suguru’s sharp purple eyes never missed a thing.

Satoru had always been good at hiding things, even when he was a kid. All of his pain. All of his anger. All of the bruises that littered his skin like evidence of a war he couldn’t fight back in. But Geto Suguru always noticed.

Satoru would catch him staring sometimes when they were kids, when they were still teenagers. He could feel the burning gaze at his wrists, at the faint marks barely visible beneath the cuff of his uniform. His expression would darken, his jaw tightening as he exhaled through his nose.

"Let’s take him down, Satoru. You and me, we’ll get it done. You’ll be freed from the bastard." he’d say, voice low, simmering with conviction. "Let’s beat him together. Just tell me when and where. I’ll help you."

And good gods, Gojo Satoru wanted to.

He wanted so badly he could taste the urge on his tongue, could feel the violent, reckless need clawing up his throat. He wanted to see his father afraid for once. He wanted to watch him flinch like his mother does. He wants him to bleed like he does. He wants him to feel powerless, to feel like a wounded animal, to feel so weak that he begs for mercy.

But he couldn’t. Not without consequences. Not without leaving his mother in that house alone, with no one to protect her. Not without making things even worse. So he gritted his teeth, shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and told Suguru those words he hated — No, not yet.

Geto Suguru never liked that answer. He never did.

"Not yet?" He clicked his tongue, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes—dark purple, burning with frustration completely bored into Satoru like he was the idiot in this situation. "And when, exactly, is ‘yet’? When he puts your mom in the hospital? When he finally does something you can’t fix?"

Satoru hated it when he talked like that. Hated how blunt Suguru was, how easily he put words to the thoughts that already haunted Satoru’s mind. Like he was saying something Satoru hadn’t already thought of a thousand times over. His hands clenched into fists in his pockets. His headache from the pressure of his own barely contained rage. 

"I said drop it, Suguru." he bit out, voice sharp, final. “Please.”

And for all that Suguru was stubborn, he did.

At least out loud.

But his silence was never truly silent.

It lingered in the way his jaw clenched, the way his fists curled tight at his sides, the way he always positioned himself just a little closer to Satoru than before, like if he couldn’t do anything yet, he’d at least be ready for when he could.

But his silence spoke louder than his words ever could. The way his jaw clenched, the way his hands curled into fists, the way he didn’t meet Satoru’s eyes—it said everything. He wanted to fight for Satoru in a way Satoru couldn’t fight for himself. But Satoru wouldn’t let him.

Couldn’t let him. Because Suguru had parents who loved him, a future ahead of him that didn’t have to be ruined by a single act of revenge. Gojo Satoru wasn’t about to take that from him. So he swallowed his pride and his rage and let things continue as they always had. Until the night they didn’t.

Until the night his father came home drunker than usual. Angrier than usual. Until the slurred curses turned into the sound of something shattering. Until he heard his mother’s voice. It was a tone too soft, ever still and trembling, barely a whisper beneath the fury. 

"Please… please don’t—"

Satoru was on his feet before he even realized it. The room spun around him as he moved, his vision tunneling, his pulse hammering so loud it drowned out everything else. His nails bit deep into his palms, his whole body rigid, every muscle locked in place as if his own rage was the only thing keeping him upright.

Not yet, he had told Suguru. Not yet, not yet, not yet.

But maybe ‘yet’ had just arrived. Maybe this was it, maybe this time, he can’t help it. Because he couldn’t let it go this time. Because he didn’t want another time. The floor felt too far away as he took his first step. The air in his lungs burned as he took his second. 

His father’s voice—deep and volatile—spat something cruel, something his mother didn’t deserve, something he didn’t fully hear over the roaring in his head. Then another crash. A gasp. A whimper. And that was it. The last thread of restraint snapped. Satoru moved.

He was down the hall before he could think. The door was already half-open, the dim light from the kitchen spilling into the hallway, casting long, warped shadows across the floor. The smell of alcohol was thick in the air. It was pungent, suffocating, clinging to everything.

And there he was. His father stood over his mother, his chest heaving, his broad shoulders rising and falling with every breath. She was curled against the cabinets, arms wrapped around herself, shoulders trembling. A broken plate lay in jagged shards near her knees. Her hands were thin, delicate. And they were shaking. Satoru immediately saw red.

"You bastard." His own voice barely sounded like his. It was low, seething, vibrating with something ugly and raw.

His father turned sluggishly, narrowing bloodshot eyes. "What did you just—"

Satoru didn’t let him finish. His fist connected before he could think. A sickening crack echoed in the air, and his father stumbled back, knocking into the dining table with a grunt of pain. But Satoru didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think.

He hit him again. And again. As hard as he could. He let himself push until his knuckles split, but he didn’t feel it one bit. The only thing he felt was the satisfaction of watching his father fall, of watching him struggle to push himself up, dazed, stunned.

"That feel good?" Satoru’s voice was almost a snarl. He barely recognized himself. "You like that? Huh?"

His father groaned, trying to sit up. "You—"

Satoru grabbed him by the collar and slammed him back down onto the floor. "Say it again." 

His breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling so fast he thought he might explode. His hands were still trembling—just like his mother’s had been. "Say something else."

His father didn’t.

For the first time, he actually looked afraid.

Gojo Satoru wasn’t sure how long he would have stayed there, fists clenched, heart pounding, eyes burning with something violent and unforgiving. If not for his mother’s voice.

"Satoru… stop." Her hand wrapped around his wrist—small, fragile, barely a touch. But it cut through him sharper than anything else.

He turned, and she was looking at him, eyes glassy with unshed tears. She shook her head once. Not like this. Not yet. Satoru’s hands dropped. His father coughed, groaning as he pushed himself onto his elbows.Satoru forced himself to step back. To unclench his fists. To breathe.

His mother was already moving, kneeling down, pressing a cloth against his father’s bleeding lip with trembling fingers. And Satoru hated that. Hated how, even after everything, she still cared. He turned on his heel and walked out, fists still shaking.

Maybe 'yet' hadn’t arrived after all.

But it was close.

He was so close to the end of it all.

IT WAS A NICE DAY TO BE OUTSIDE. Perhaps that’s why Yaga Masamichi asked to meet today. The quaint little café was tucked away on a quiet street just outside Metropolitan Tokyo, the kind of place that had probably been there for decades. 

Faded wooden tables, the hum of an old espresso machine, the occasional clink of ceramic cups meeting saucers. It smelled of roasted beans and nostalgia, of things unchanged even as the world outside moved forward.

You arrived a few minutes early, slipping into a seat by the window, where the late afternoon sun slanted through the glass in golden streaks. The café was quiet, the kind of place where the scent of roasted coffee beans lingered in the air, where soft chatter mixed with the gentle clinking of porcelain cups against saucers.

You ordered a matcha latte and a croissant. The hunger from the long drive gnawed at your stomach, and the heat of the sun had left your throat parched. You figured Yaga wouldn’t mind. He was never one for small courtesies anyway. If anything, he’d probably just grunt in acknowledgment before ordering his own drink, something plain and bitter, like he always used to.

It had been years since you last saw Yaga Masamichi. The two of you had grown up in the same small town, running barefoot through the narrow streets as children, getting into scrapes, building forts out of old cardboard boxes. You lived just a few houses apart, the kind of proximity that turned familiarity into something close to kinship.

But life had a way of pulling people apart. He left for university in Kyoto. You stayed behind, tethered to the countryside, where the same roads led to the same places, where the seasons changed but everything else stayed the same. Well, that was until you had married Kento. 

Yet even then, you knew he was in Tokyo for a while before he moved back to the countryside to go and teach. Even then, you and him never talked again after that. There were no hard feelings, no dramatic goodbyes about all that. It was just a gradual drifting, like leaves floating down different streams. That was how it went sometimes.

Still, when he called out of the blue, his voice was exactly the same. Gruff. Familiar. Straight to the point. You thought to yourself that he hasn’t changed one bit. Perhaps that touched you quite a fair bit. At least one thing, someone from home didn’t change one bit.

"Can I meet you?" he had asked, no preamble, no idle pleasantries. "I have something to ask of you."

“What about?” You asked him in return.

“Just come meet me. I’ll ask you then.” He says, almost too bluntly. “It’s a matter that is too serious to express over the phone.”

There was something in his tone, something weighty, something that made you pause. Yaga Masamichi had never been the type to reach out unless he had a reason. He could have all these years. But he had now. Which means it must be that grave. 

So you agreed. And that’s why here you were. The matcha latte was warm in your hands, the foam swirling lazily on the surface. You took a sip, savoring the earthy sweetness, your gaze drifting out the window. A moment later, you hear the bell above the café door chimed.

You heard those heavy footsteps you could not recognize.  You didn’t need to turn to know it was him. Sometimes, there are just going to be people, no matter how many years pass, who still carry the same presence. 

You could feel the presence of a man who had seen too much, carried too much. He was broader than you remembered, the weight of responsibility settling into the set of his shoulders, the firm line of his mouth. But the moment he sat down, the tension in his posture told you this wasn’t just a casual reunion. Nor did he waste time with pleasantries.

“There’s a kid, [name].” Yaga said, folding his hands over the table. “His name is Satoru. I used to be his teacher in high school.”

“What does this have to do with me?” You gave him a confused look.

“It has everything to do with you.” He retorts, almost too gruffly. “I know it is.”

“I’m going to need more details about this, Yaga.” You sighed at him, leaning slightly into a slouch. “I didn’t drive all the way out here for nothing.”

“You didn’t drive here for nothing, I assure you.”

You gave him a sharp look. “Then start talking.”

“He’s got talent—unreal talent. The kind that only comes around once in a generation. If he had the chance, he could be something great.” He exhaled slowly. “But he doesn’t have that chance.”

You frowned. “Why?”

Yaga’s jaw tightened. “His home life is… bad. His father refuses to support him, and he’s abusive, to both mother and son. And Satoru won’t leave because of his mother. It’s been a year and a half since he finished high school, and he still hasn’t gone to college. He’s stuck, [name]. And I don’t know what to do.”

You leaned back, processing the information. A gifted kid, burdened by circumstances beyond his control. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard a story like this, but something about the way Yaga spoke. It was low, deliberate, with the weight of frustration and something close to guilt , it made this different.

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked.

Yaga met your gaze, his expression unreadable. “Because I think you’re the only one who can help him.”

You blinked. “Me?”

“I don’t know your husband Kento.” Yaga admitted. “I only knew you.”

His voice was quieter now, the weight of old memories pressing into the space between you. He exhaled through his nose, fingers tapping lightly against the ceramic cup in front of him, a steady, rhythmic sound. Like he was trying to piece together the right words.

“And if there’s anyone who can get through to that kid, who can guide him toward something better… it’s you.” His dark eyes met yours, unwavering. “You value education. I knew that since we were kids. And I know that because of what happened, you would want someone like this kid to succeed.”

What happened, huh. The words sat between you like a ghost, unspoken but present, heavy in the air. All the sudden those memories came crashing through to you, almost instantaneously did all those words, all those feelings, all those moments came to you in crashing waves that swallow you whole.

You purse your lips, leaning back slightly, fingers tightening around your own cup. “How would you know that?”

Yaga hesitated, just for a moment. Then, in a rare moment of quiet sincerity, he leaned in slightly. “Because I know you.”

“We haven’t met in nearly fifteen years, Yaga.”

“That doens’t mean you haven’t changed, about this especially. I know you don’t want this kid to be twenty forever and not have anything.” His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried. “I know you want someone else to have more.”

You felt it in your chest, in the space between your ribs, in the parts of you that had tried to move on from the past but never quite managed to. You took a deep breath, your hands unsteady as your eyes rose to meet his.

“I know you would want this kid to have something more than what you had, [name].” Yaga said to you, pleadingly. “So help me. Even just this once.”

And just like that, you understood why he had come to you. This wasn’t just about his student. It was about you. About the road you had walked alone, about the chances you never had, about the years spent trying to carve something out of nothing. Yaga knew that weight. He had seen it all those years ago, and now he was asking you to take that pain and turn it into something good.

He was asking you to give this kid a future. And the worst part of it,  you weren’t sure you could say no. You sighed once again, dragging a hand down your face. The café felt smaller all of a sudden, the air heavier. You glanced down at your untouched coffee, watching the steam curl and fade into nothing.

“You’re asking a lot of me, Yaga.” you murmured.

“I know.” He didn’t try to sugarcoat it. He never did. “But I have no one else to turn to. I know you are the only one who can make it happen.”

A part of you wanted to refuse. To walk away before this tangled you into something you weren’t prepared for. But Yaga knew you too well. He knew exactly where to press, which words to say to keep you in your seat.

You tapped a finger against the table, thinking. “Tell me more about him.”

A flicker of something crossed Yaga’s face, and you could only guess it to be some sense of relief or even perhaps gratitude. But it disappeared just as quickly, when he started to think about the student he cared so deeply about.

“As I said, his name is Satoru.” he started, leaning forward. “He’s already twenty years old. Supposed to go to college years ago, but his father gambled away his money to drink and other shit vices. And his mother’s a housewife. So, there’s no luck there. Doesn’t help that he tries to work, but it doesn’t help much when he’s too overprotective of his mother.” Your frown became prominent. “That’s horrible.”

“The kid’s too proud to ask for help.” Yaga sighed with exasperation. “He’s smart as hell, but he’s got no direction. I’ve done what I can, but he needs more than just a teacher looking out for him. He needs someone who understands.”

“Understands what?” you asked.

Yaga’s gaze was steady. “What it’s like to be left behind.”

The words landed like a stone in your chest. You clenched your jaw, looking away. The past had long since scarred over, but there were some wounds that never fully healed. You knew exactly what he was implying, and you hated that he was right.

Still, you forced out, “And you think I can do something for him?”

“I know you can.” Yaga’s voice was firm. “I know that if you meet him, you’ll see what I see. A kid who’s got everything he needs to make it but no one who’s willing to fight for him. I know maybe you could be that someone.”

You let out a slow breath. You weren’t sure if you wanted to get involved. But you also knew this—if you walked away now, you’d never stop thinking about it. “Where is he?” you asked, finally.

Yaga allowed himself the smallest smile. “In the countryside town I’m teaching in. I can try and convince him to meet you, if you want to. But it would take some time for me to convince him. I promise, though. I can make it happen.”

You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face. “I can’t meet him yet.” you say, voice quieter than before. “He might reject me and all of it outright. It’s best to rein him in slowly. So we don’t overwhelm him.”

Yaga doesn’t react. He just watches you, the way he always has—patient, steady, waiting for you to say more. But when you don’t, he nods once, accepting it for what it is. You exhale, reaching into your coat pocket and pulling out a pen. 

The napkin in front of you is thin, the paper rough under your fingertips as you begin to write. The ink bleeds slightly into the fibers, but you don’t stop. Numbers, details, instructions. It has everything Yaga needs to make sure that the young man has some options. When you’re done, you push it toward him.

“Arrange a meeting when the time is right, when you’ve reined him in.” you murmur. “But in the meantime, he’ll get this.” You nod toward the napkin. “This is for him.”

Yaga picks it up, scanning the details. He doesn’t speak, but his brows furrow slightly. You know the exact moment he realizes what he’s holding. “This is a lot of money,” he finally says, looking up at you.

You shrug. “It’s from the money I saved over the years by myself, before my marriage. Much of that is my investment. But I don’t need it…..you know my husband cares for me more than I can imagine. You can use this. I’ll talk to my accountant.”

“That’s not the point, [name].” Yaga says, voice edged with something unreadable. He sets the napkin down but doesn’t let go of it. His fingers press into the paper, thoughtful. “You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t need to.” Your voice is calm, but firm. “Besides, you were the one convincing me to help him, weren’t you? I doubt he’ll leave without his mother. This would be enough money to bring her with him. And for them to be comfortable for a while, until he could find some work to help with his day to day with his mother.”

Because it was never about Yaga’s student. Not really.

You weren’t thinking about some youngling in his twenty year of life, or how he was with too much potential and nowhere to go. You were thinking about yourself at that moment. You were thinking about your own young self, the echoes of grievous youth. You who were still waiting, still stuck, still waiting for something, anything, to change and happen. 

You lean back in your chair, arms crossing over your chest. Yaga is now watching you as you took your time, still collecting yourself. The café feels quieter now, like the weight of the past has settled into the walls, pressing against your ribs.

“I’m not saying he has to take it, Yaga.” you say after a moment, your fingers idly tracing the rim of your cup. “I’m just someone who helps. I can’t force it on him. That’s up to you. To him.”

Yaga says nothing, but you can feel the weight of his gaze, heavy and scrutinizing. “....I know.”

“Give it however you see fit.” You lean back slightly, crossing your arms. “Tell him it’s a scholarship. Tell him it’s a loan. Hell, don’t even tell him where it came from if you think it’ll make him stubborn.” A small, knowing smirk flickers at the corner of your lips. “But if he’s as smart as you say he is, he won’t waste the opportunity.”

A pause. The café hums around you. There were still those muted conversations, the hiss of steaming milk, the faint clatter of dishes from behind the counter. Yaga doesn’t answer you right away. But that was understandable. And you did not care.

Instead, he stares down at the napkin. The one with the scribbled details, the promise of a future written in ink. His fingers curl around it, calloused and rough, before his eyes lift to meet yours. There’s something unreadable in his expression, something unspoken. Maybe he’s searching for a reason to say no. Or maybe he’s just trying to understand why you’re doing this. 

Finally, he exhales, slow and deliberate. His large hands moved carefully as he folds the napkin—not rushed, not careless. A deliberate gesture. When he tucks it into his pocket, it’s with the same quiet reverence as someone securing something fragile.

“…Thank you.”

The words are gruff, edged with hesitation, but sincere. You offer a small nod, a silent acknowledgment that you both understand. Neither of you says anything else. Some things don’t need to be spoken out loud.

“Now, are you hungry or not?”

“Why are you suddenly asking now?” Yaga snickered, leaning against the bench.

“Just order before I change my mind about paying.” You rolled your eyes, drinking your matcha drink.

“Alright, alright.”

HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT TO SAY. Gojo Satoru sat across from Yaga, legs sprawled out, arms folded, the usual cocky glint in his eye replaced with something harder to place, something wary. His foot tapped against the leg of the chair, a steady rhythm, like he was keeping time with an unseen clock.

“So let me get this straight.” His voice was casual, but there was an edge to it, sharp and suspicious. “Some random person I’ve never met, who doesn’t even know me but someone who knows you, just up and decides to pay my way? Like, what, I won the lottery and no one told me?”

Yaga didn’t react. He just exhaled through his nose, already expecting this reaction. “Yes.”

Satoru snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, right. That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all week. Thanks, Yaga. I needed the laugh.” 

He slumped back in his chair, kicking his feet up onto the edge of the desk, acting like this conversation was nothing more than an annoyance. “Alright, joke’s over. What’s the real reason you called me in?”

Yaga said nothing. Instead, he reached for the folder at the side of his desk, sliding it across the surface with a practiced patience that only made Satoru more irritated. He didn’t move to take it, just eyed it like it might bite him.

“I managed everything already, just like your benefactor asked me.” Yaga said, voice firm but calm. “Tuition, housing, living expenses—it’s all handled. All you have to do is decide what you want to do next.”

Satoru could not help but just stare blankly at the folder like it was a trick, like if he touched it, the illusion would break and the rug would be pulled out from under him. “This isn’t a joke, Satoru. I promise you.”

Something in Yaga Masamichi’s voice made him stop. The usual sarcasm sitting on Satoru’s tongue dissolved. Slowly, he sat up, planting his feet on the floor before dragging the folder toward him. His fingers drummed against the cover for a moment before flipping it open.

Inside, neatly arranged, were the details like Yaga said. All the bank transfers, the college exam forms, rent agreements, even a breakdown of potential career paths. It was all there, structured and waiting, like a road laid out ahead of him.

His throat felt dry. No one had ever done something like this for him before. Gojo Satoru wasn’t stupid. He knew how the world worked. Nobody gave something for free, not without expecting something in return. His grip on the folder tightened.

“Who?” His voice wasn’t loud, but it was sharp, cutting through the silence like a knife.

Yaga didn’t hesitate. “Someone who understands.”

Gojo Satoru could feel his jaw suddenly tense. That wasn’t an answer. But the way Yaga said it, the way he looked at him, Satoru knew he wasn’t going to get anything else. So he just lets it go for now. He frowns.

He clicked his tongue, snapping the folder shut. “And this benefactor, they don’t want anything back?”

“No.”

Satoru scoffed. “Bullshit.”

Yaga’s expression didn’t change. “Believe what you want.”

Satoru leaned back in his chair, spinning the folder between his fingers before tossing it onto the desk. Silence stretched between them, thick with something unspoken. It wasn’t just about the money. It was about the fact that someone out there had seen him, had looked at his life, his struggles, and decided he was worth helping. That thought made his chest feel tight, like a weight pressing down on him.

He’d spent years clawing his way through life, telling himself he didn’t need anyone, that he could handle it on his own. And yet here it was—help, handed to him on a silver platter. No strings. No conditions. It pissed him off. Because it meant he had no excuse.

Satoru clicked his tongue again, running a hand through his hair. “So all I gotta do is choose, huh?”

Yaga nodded. “Yeah. Pick your university well.”

For a long time, Satoru just sat there, staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers. He could feel Yaga watching him, waiting, but the older man said nothing. He had learned, over the years, that pushing Satoru never worked. Eventually, Satoru leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He tapped his fingers against the folder, once, twice, before exhaling sharply.

“You know what this feels like?” he asked, voice lighter than the tension in the room. “It feels like one of those scam emails. ‘Congratulations! A long-lost prince has left you a fortune! Click here to claim it!’” He gave Yaga a dry look. “Should I be worried about malware?”

Yaga didn’t smile. “No one’s scamming you, Satoru.”

Satoru hummed, glancing back at the folder like it might suddenly disappear. “That’s what a scammer would say.”

But the joke fell flat, and he knew it. Because the truth was, he didn’t want to look at this too closely. Didn’t want to pick it apart and realize it was real. Because if it was real, then he had no excuse not to take it. His fingers curled around the edges of the folder.

Yaga, always patient, spoke again, his voice steady. “You don’t have to decide today. I just wanted to tell you.”

Satoru let out a breath that almost sounded like relief. Almost. “I feel a but coming in here.”

But then Yaga added, “But you do have to decide, eventually. Don’t let this go to waste.”

And just like that, the relief was gone. Satoru tilted his head, expression unreadable. “And if I say no?”

Yaga shrugged. “Then you say no.”

Satoru narrowed his eyes. “You’re really just gonna let me walk away from all this?”

“If that’s what you choose, then yes.” Yaga said simply. “That’s what your benefactor said.”

That was the part that unsettled Satoru the most. His whole life, every choice had been made for him, by his father, by circumstance, by a world that didn’t care whether he sank or swam. And now, suddenly, he had control. He didn’t know what to do with it.

Satoru dragged a hand through his hair, sighing dramatically. “Man, I hate this.”

“Hate what?”

“This.” He waved vaguely at the folder, at Yaga, at the whole damn situation. “This whole ‘I get a say in my future’ thing. It’s stressful.”

Yaga’s lips twitched slightly. “You’ll get used to it.”

Satoru clicked his tongue, then stood abruptly, snatching the folder off the desk. He tucked it under his arm like it weighed nothing, like it wasn’t the single biggest decision of his life. He looked at his old teacher with complex eyes.

“I’ll think about it, Yaga.” he said, already turning toward the door. “I promise.”

Yaga nodded, as if he knew that was the best he was going to get. “Alright.”

But just as Satoru reached for the handle, he paused. “…This person.” he said, without turning around. “The one who did all this.”

Yaga waited. “Yes?”

Satoru’s grip on the folder tightened. “Are they gonna want to meet me?”

Yaga considered his answer carefully. “They’re leaving that up to you.”

Satoru let out a small scoff, shaking his head. “Figures.”

And with that, he walked out into the cold winds of the evening, the weight of the neatly pressed folder pressing against his side like a decision he wasn’t ready to make. Not yet. But maybe soon.

HE TOLD HIS MOTHER ALMOST IMMEDIATELY. In some ways, Satoru knew he couldn’t keep this from her. Something this big, how can you keep it to yourself? Someone else needed to know. And he knew his mother was that person.

The folder sat in the dim glow of the kitchen light, thick with opportunity. With a future. With escape. But his mother hadn’t touched it. Instead, she sat across from him, hands curled around a chipped ceramic mug, knuckles pressed white from how tightly she held it. She hadn’t taken a sip in minutes. The tea had gone cold.

“Satoru, my son….” she murmured, shaking her head, her voice brittle. “You don’t know these people.”

He had expected this. She had always been careful, wary of kindness, of luck. Of hope. “I know Yaga, though.” Satoru said, his voice controlled, steady. “And I know this is real.”

His mother exhaled, slow and tired. “For you, it is.” she whispered. “But to me, I’m still not sure.”

The words sank in like a blade between his ribs. Satoru sat still for a long moment, his heartbeat in his ears. For a while, he had told himself that if he ever got the chance to leave, he’d take it without hesitation. No second thoughts. No regrets.

But that was before he had something to lose. Before the idea of walking out of this house meant leaving her behind. Guilt curled in his stomach, sick and twisting. He had spent his entire life watching his mother weather the storm of his father’s anger. Taking the worst of it. Absorbing it so Satoru didn’t have to. He couldn’t pay her back for that. He couldn’t undo it.

But he could do this.

“Come with me, mom.” he said.

His mother’s head snapped up, startled. “What?”

Satoru met her eyes, clear and unwavering. “Come with me, to Tokyo or Kyoto. Wherever I end up going to school.” he repeated. “We don’t have to stay here.”

She blinked, like she hadn’t even considered it. “Satoru—”

“I mean it, mom.” he said, leaning forward. “You don’t have to stay with him.”

Her fingers trembled. “And go where?” she whispered.

Satoru swallowed. “Anywhere but here. There’s enough money for the both of us.”

She let out a sharp breath, almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “It’s not that easy.”

His jaw clenched. “Maybe not, mom.” he admitted. “But staying here? That’s not easy either.” His voice dropped, lower now, pressing. “That’s never been easy.”

His mother flinched, looking away.

Satoru stared at her, his chest tight.

For years, he had tried to convince himself that his mother was fine. That his father’s anger had only ever been directed at him. That she could handle it. But he knew better. He had seen the bruises she covered with long sleeves in the summer. Heard the way her voice shrank in his father’s presence.

He had never asked why she stayed.

Because deep down, he already knew.

“You don’t understand, Satoru.” she whispered. “We can’t just—”

Satoru’s breath hitched. “Then make me understand.”

She exhaled shakily, pressing the heels of her palms against her forehead. “I don’t know how to leave.”

He reached across the table, his movements slow, deliberate, as if any sudden motion might scare her away. His fingers found hers, cold and trembling, and he covered her hand with his own. A silent reassurance. A plea.

"We’ll figure it out, Mom." His voice was softer than usual, a stark contrast to the steel in his grip. He needed her to believe him. Needed her to trust that there was a way out. "Just come with me."

She didn’t respond right away. Her fingers twitched beneath his, hesitant, unsure. He could feel the slight tremor in them, the way she curled them ever so slightly, as if she wanted to hold on but couldn’t quite bring herself to. Satoru swallowed hard. He knew what she was thinking. Knew that years of fear, of habit, of hope that things might still change were keeping her frozen in place. 

But she didn’t pull away. And that was something. For now, that was enough.  He squeezed her hand, just once. Gentle. Certain. A quiet promise. The quiet admission struck something deep inside him. Because he understood. For so long, he had felt like that, too.

His father had built a cage around them. One with invisible walls, lined with rules, punishments, expectations. They had learned to navigate it, to survive inside it. But now, for the first time, there was a door. And Satoru wasn’t walking through it alone.

He reached across the table, covering her hand with his own. “We’ll figure it out, mom.” he promised. “Just come with me.”

Her fingers curled slightly under his, hesitant, unsure.

But she didn’t pull away.

And for now, that was enough.

The night they left weeks later, the house felt heavier than usual. Like it knew it was being abandoned. Like it was trying to hold them back. Like it doesn’t want to be left empty with that crude, brutish and miserable man. But Satoru does not care. He does not want to be here anymore. 

Satoru stood in the dim hallway, bag slung over his shoulder, heart pounding like a drum in his chest. His mother was in front of him, clutching the strap of her own bag with white-knuckled hands. She hadn’t moved in minutes.

“We should go, mom.” he murmured.

His mother didn’t respond. She was staring at the walls, the floor, the furniture—like she was trying to memorize them. Like she was trying to convince herself she could step away from it all. Satoru swallowed hard. He understood.

Because for years, this house had been their whole world. Their cage, their battlefield, their suffocation. Every argument, every bruise, every silent dinner had seeped into the walls. This place had shaped them, broken them, kept them trapped. And now, they were about to leave it behind.

Satoru reached out, his hand hovering just above her shoulder. “Mom.”

She flinched, eyes darting at him. For a second, just a second, she looked terrified, she looked just as much exhausted. Not of him. Of the unknown. Of a life that is now going to be separated from the brutal one she had been forced to live.

“I don’t—” Her voice cracked, her throat working around the words. “Satoru, what if this is worse?”

Satoru inhaled sharply. That fear she felt, he knew had felt it too. The doubt. The what-ifs. The voice in the back of his head that told him maybe it was better to stay where things were familiar, even if familiar meant unbearable.

“Then we’ll deal with it, mom.” he said firmly.

His mother let out a shaky breath. “You don’t understand—”

“I do.” Satoru interrupted, stepping closer. His fingers curled into fists at his sides. “I know what it’s like to be afraid of leaving. To think that maybe… maybe this is all we get. Maybe we just take it. Live with it.”

Her chin trembled. “I just….”

“But we don’t have to.” he whispered. “We don’t have to live like this.”

His mother looked away, blinking rapidly. “This is my home, my son.” she murmured. “This is all I knew.”

Satoru’s chest ached. “No, mom. It’s not your home.” he said quietly. “This is just a house where bad things happened. It was never your home.”

Her breath hitched. “.....It’s not my home?”

“No, mom. It’s not.” Satoru pressed on, voice soft but unwavering. “Home isn’t supposed to feel like this. It’s not supposed to hurt. We can find something better. We can make something better. We’ll build a home together.”

His mother squeezed her eyes shut, one hand gripping the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping her upright.  Tears were forming at the edges of her eyes, her body was shaking. He was losing her. Panic rose in his throat.

“Mom, please.” he begged, voice cracking now. “I can’t leave you here.”

She exhaled sharply, her entire body trembling. Then, slowly, she turned back to face him. And for the first time in years, there was something in her eyes other than resignation. Something fragile. Something afraid. Something hopeful.

Satoru reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. “Come with me, mom.” he whispered. “I’m begging you.”

His mother’s grip was weak at first, hesitant.

Then, finally, her fingers tightened around his.

And she nodded back at him.

Satoru exhaled, something breaking inside him. Relief, gratitude, something bigger than all of that. He squeezed her hand once before letting go. She followed him to the door. She hesitated for only a second before stepping outside. And for the first time in years, she didn’t look back.

HE HAD A DIFFERENT PERCEPTION ABOUT THIS CITY. But it would seem that Tokyo city was quieter than Satoru expected. He thought the city would be overwhelming, suffocating with its neon lights and endless streams of people, but standing in the doorway of their new apartment, it was the silence that struck him first.

No shouting. No breaking glass. No heavy footsteps signaling trouble. Just the low hum of traffic outside and the soft creak of the floorboards as his mother hesitantly stepped inside. It didn’t feel real to him.

“Welcome home, you two.” Yaga said from behind them, setting a thick folder onto the kitchen counter. “I take it you’re getting along well with this apartment?”

“Yeah.” Satoru turned to him, still adjusting to the idea that this was happening. “I guess.”

He wasn’t dreaming, right? 

His father wasn’t about to yank him back with an iron grip, right?

 His mother lingered near the window, fingers ghosting over the curtains like she didn’t know if she was allowed to touch them. Like any second, someone would come and tell her this wasn’t hers to have. Yaga didn’t push her. He just motioned for Satoru to sit at the small, round dining table. Satoru hesitated before finally doing as he was told.

“Alright, let’s go over everything. Now that you got into Tokyo University.” Yaga exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. He flipped open the folder, tapping a few neatly stacked documents. “There’s quite a bit.”

“Looks like there’s quite a bit.” Satoru says, looking at the binder.

“Your tuition has been taken care of in full. All you have to do is choose your major and register for classes. Everything else, the apartment, utilities, and monthly expenses, and your mother’s health check ups….it’s also been covered. It surprisingly fits for one year from the money we got, so it’s going to be fine.”

Satoru’s hands clenched on his lap. “It still sounds like a scam, even when it's done already. It just still feels unreal.” he muttered.

Yaga snorted. “Yeah, well. I’d be suspicious too, if I wasn’t the one who pushed for this to happen.” He leaned back in his chair, studying him. “But don’t worry. Like I said, your benefactor doesn’t want anything from you, Satoru.”

Satoru frowned. “That also still doesn’t make sense.”

Yaga’s expression softened. “It does, knowing your benefactor, it truly fits.” he said. “Though your benefactor reminded me to tell you to study well, and take care of your mother.”

Satoru blinked, caught off guard. “That’s it?”

Yaga nodded. “And that you go to college, everyday. No classes missed.”

Satoru let out a sharp breath, disbelieving. “That’s really it?”

Yaga’s gaze was steady. “That’s really it.”

Satoru looked down at the folder, at the proof of everything Yaga was saying. His mind raced, trying to find the catch, the fine print, the part where this all fell apart. But there wasn’t one. There wasn’t anything that has been faulty throughout.

Someone—some ridiculous stranger—had decided to give him and his mother a way out. A fresh start. And all they asked in return was for Satoru to live. To be something more than what his father had tried to reduce him to. The realization settled into his bones, heavy and overwhelming.

His mother let out a shaky breath from the window. “I don’t know how to thank them.” she whispered. “This is just….”

Yaga gave a small, knowing smile. “Then don’t, Mrs. Gojo. Really.” he said simply. “Just live well. That’s enough of a thanks to the benefactor.”

Satoru swallowed past the lump in his throat. For the first time in a long time, he believed it. And for the first time in his life, he thought—maybe, just maybe—he had a future. One that was finally his own. 

The apartment felt too clean. Satoru wasn’t used to that. Everything in his life had been messy. Broken things that never got fixed, stains on the walls that told a story of fights and silent suffering. But here, the walls were smooth, the floors unscuffed, and the air smelled like citrus, like someone had actually cared enough to prepare this place for them.

His mother still stood by the window, staring out at the Tokyo skyline, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She looked so small against the view. Like she wasn’t sure if she belonged there.Satoru ran a hand through his hair and turned back to Yaga, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach.

“So what now?” he asked, his voice flat. “I just… start over?”

Yaga leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “That’s the plan.”

Satoru scoffed. “Yeah, because it’s just that easy.”

Yaga exhaled through his nose. “No, it’s not.” He met Satoru’s gaze, steady and unwavering. “But you’re not alone in this. You’ve got support now. You’ve got options.”

Satoru hated that word. Options. It had never applied to him before. It had always been one way, his father’s way, and if he fought against it, he got beat down, literally and figuratively. But now, he was standing in a place that wasn’t his father’s house. He had a bed that wasn’t covered in cigarette burns. A kitchen where nothing had been thrown in anger.

It was real. It was his. Satoru stared at the papers in front of him, his chest tight, his breath uneven. This wasn’t a dream, wasn’t some fleeting hope destined to slip through his fingers. It was happening. After everything, after years of feeling trapped, after nights of clenched fists and swallowed words—he was finally here.

This was the start. His hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles white, tension coiled in his shoulders like he was bracing for a blow. For something to go wrong. For someone to suddenly take it all away. Because that’s how it had always been.

He had learned young that good things never lasted. That the rug was always waiting to be yanked from beneath him. That every step forward came with a price. But this time, there was nothing in his way. No one to stop him. No one told him he couldn’t.

He forced himself to exhale, to relax his fingers, to release the quiet fear clawing at his chest. Across the table, Yaga sighed, watching him with that same gruff patience he always had. He gestured toward the stack of documents, the official letterhead, the crisp edges that made it all feel so real.

"Your next step is to register for school and pick your classes," Yaga said, voice steady, even. Then, with a pointed look, he added, "Take your time picking what you want to do—just don’t waste this chance."

The words settled heavily in the air between them. Satoru swallowed, nodding once, fingers tightening over the papers like an anchor. No. He wouldn’t waste it. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t do anything like that. 

Satoru ran his fingers over the papers, the weight of them heavier than it should have been. His throat felt tight, but he forced out a scoff, masking the unease gnawing at him.

"Tch. You think I’d waste it?" He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head just slightly, forcing a smirk. "Come on, Yaga. Give me some credit."

Yaga didn't blink so much as blink. He simply crossed his arms over his chest, unimpressed. "Credit is earned, not given." His tone was flat, matter-of-fact. "You might be smart, but that doesn’t mean you’ll do the work."

Satoru clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. "You sound like an old man."

"And you sound like a kid who doesn’t know what he’s getting into."

Satoru narrowed his bright blue eyes at him. 

For a moment, neither of them spoke. 

Yaga exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Look. Just don’t screw this up. That’s all I’m saying."

Satoru glanced down at the papers again, his fingers tightening around the edges. "I won’t."

This time, he meant it.

EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS WAS UNREAL. Satoru never thought he would make it this far. The Tokyo University campus stretched around him, grand and sprawling, filled with students who looked like they had always belonged here. It felt strange to walk among them, knowing that just a year ago, this had been nothing but an impossible dream.

But it was real now.

He had passed.

He was here.

Satoru kept his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, his fingers curling into the fabric as he walked alongside Yaga. It had been Yaga’s idea to come with him, but Satoru had wanted it too, though he wouldn’t admit it. He’d never been the type to need someone by his side, but maybe, just this once, he didn’t want to do this alone.

They walked in silence for a while all around the campus, the low hum of student chatter filling the air, the occasional bike rolling past on the paved paths. Then, the question that had been burning in his mind finally slipped out.

“Hey, Yaga.”

“Hm?”

They walked side by side, the hum of the campus life surrounding them. The air was warm, thick with the scent of pavement after rain, and the late afternoon sun stretched golden fingers across the rooftops.

Satoru shoved his hands into his pockets, his posture loose, but his mind wasn’t. Something had been gnawing at him ever since Yaga handed him those papers, ever since the weight of opportunity settled on his shoulders.

His voice was quieter than usual. "My benefactor—I gotta ask." He barely glanced over, keeping his tone casual, as if the answer didn’t matter. "Who is it?"

Yaga didn’t respond right away. Instead, he slowed to a stop, his gaze drifting toward an old stone wall covered in ivy. The thick vines sprawled across the surface, swallowing cracks and imperfections, twisting like they had been there forever. Satoru frowned, stopping a step ahead of him.

"Oi, what are you—"

Yaga let out a slow breath, like he was considering something. And then, finally, he smiles. "She’s your benefactor."

Satoru’s breath stilled.

He turned, following Yaga’s gaze.

And then he saw you.

You stood just past the wall, near the entrance of the university, bathed in the golden glow of the afternoon sun. The light caught in your hair, casting a soft halo around you. You weren’t looking at him—not yet—but the moment Satoru’s eyes found you, something inside him went still. 

At twenty years old, for the first time in his life, Gojo Satoru thought he had seen an angel. 

But it wasn’t just that you were beautiful.

It was something else. The way you carried yourself—poised, yet approachable. The quiet kindness in your features. The steadiness in your stance, like you had already decided you would stand by him, no matter what.

And you had. Without even knowing him. A stranger had given him everything. The weight of it settled in his chest, unfamiliar and heavy. For the first time in his life, Satoru Gojo had no idea what to say. His fingers twitched. His breath came in slow and careful, like he was afraid that if he moved too suddenly, this moment would shatter.

You turned then, your eyes finally meeting his own, and something deep in his chest twisted. How was he supposed to look at you, someone who had saved him, someone who had believed in him when no one else had—and pretend this was normal?

For the first time in years, Gojo Satoru was completely, utterly speechless. And for the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do with the emotions overwhelming him. Gratitude. Disbelief. Hope. It had been a long time since he had let himself hope for anything.

And yet, standing here, staring at you—he thought, maybe, just maybe, he could start. Silence settled between them like a held breath, thick with things unspoken. Satoru stood frozen, his mind caught in a whirlwind, unable to process the weight of Yaga’s words. 

She’s your benefactor.

You. The woman standing just a few steps away, the one who had made all of this possible, who had given him a chance at something better at freedom without ever meeting him. For the first time in a long time, Satoru didn’t know what to say.

Yaga let out a slow breath, watching him carefully before speaking again, this time with something unusual in his voice. A heaviness. A lament. “When we were kids, you know she was amazing.” Yaga said, his tone quieter than usual. “She was the smartest person I knew.”

Satoru blinked, caught off guard by the way Yaga’s voice softened, like he was speaking of something precious, something lost. “She studied here, years ago,” Yaga continued. “One of the brightest. The kind of student that professors remembered. The kind of person you just knew was going to change the world.”

Satoru’s eyes flickered to you, searching your face for something, for what, he didn’t know. But you didn’t flinch, didn’t look away, as if you had long made peace with the past Yaga was unraveling. “But she never got to graduate.”

Satoru frowned, his grip tightening in his pockets. “Why?”

Yaga hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. “She became a mother.”

The words landed like stones in Satoru’s chest. “What?”

“She became a wife.”

Satoru’s stomach twisted. There was something unspoken in Yaga’s words, something heavier than what was being said. A life that had been rerouted, rewritten. A future that had been sacrificed for something or someone else.

“She had dreams, y’know?” Yaga said, his gaze distant, like he was looking at something only he could see. “Dreams bigger than this place could even hold. But life had other plans.”

Satoru swallowed hard, a strange, unfamiliar ache settling in his throat. Yaga exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “And yet, even after all these years….” he said, looking at you now. “She's still the same.”

His voice grew firm, looking at you. “Still looking out for others before yourself. Still giving when you’ve already given too much. But how much is that a life, [name]?”

Satoru clenched his jaw, something tightening in his chest. “I….”

“She wants you to live, Satoru.” Yaga’s voice cut through the air like a quiet, unwavering truth.

“To become someone she couldn’t be.”

Satoru’s breath hitched. “Me?”

Yaga nodded at him. “Yes, you. She wants you to be free. In a way she couldn’t. So make everything count.”

That word. Free. It echoed in his mind, sharp and relentless, like it had been waiting for him to hear it all his life. He had never been free. Not from the weight of his family’s name. Not from the bruises hidden beneath his sleeves. Not from the suffocating feeling of being trapped in a life that had been dictated for him before he was even born.

Even now, even standing in this place, even holding proof that he had made it here, a part of him had still been waiting for it all to be taken away. Because nothing had ever truly been his. But then—there was you.

The woman who had given him a future, even when you had never met him.

The woman who had believed in him, even when no one else had.

The woman who had looked at his life—the one he had been struggling to survive in and decided he deserved something better. 

Satoru swallowed hard, his throat tight, his fingers twitching at his sides. He looked at you again, really looked at you this time. And in your eyes, he saw something he hadn’t seen in a long, long time.

Hope. Not just for him, but for what he could be. You had given him a choice. A chance. A way out. A way forward. A freedom he had never known. And for the first time in his life, he wasn’t afraid to take it.

HE HAD TO BE HONEST, IT STARTED WITH CURIOSITY. A passing thought, a simple question. Who was she? The woman who had saved him, a stranger who had given him everything without asking for anything in return. Yaga had said you were the smartest person he’d ever known. That you were meant for something great.

And Gojo Satoru, who had spent his life feeling like he was meant for nothing, couldn’t shake the thought. So he started searching. At first, it was just your name. A quick lookup on university records, old archives, things easily accessible. But what he found pulled him in deeper, past the point of idle interest, past the point of stopping.

Because you weren’t just smart.

You were a prodigy.

A force of nature they couldn’t handle.

Your name was everywhere, overwhelmingly so. There were the old scientific papers, articles praising your research, university newsletters featuring your achievements. There were awards, national recognitions, competitions where you had left everyone else in the dust.

Satoru scrolled through it all, page after page, eyes scanning through words that felt foreign to him. Chemical reactions, molecular structures, theories he didn’t even pretend to understand. But you had understood them. And not just understood them—you had mastered them.

He clicked on a video link without thinking.

And then—there you were.

Gojo Satoru sat back, stunned.

The screen flickered, grainy from age, but the image was clear enough. You were sitting in a brightly lit lecture hall, across from an interviewer, your hair tucked neatly behind your ear. You looked younger here, maybe barely twenty, but your eyes were sharp, your expression alive.

And when you spoke, Satoru stilled.

“This is what I love about science, you know?” you said, your voice confident, steady. “It’s everywhere. It explains the world. It connects everything—every living thing, every reaction, every change. It’s a miracle, it is life!”

You smiled, leaning forward slightly. “Isn’t that amazing?”

Something in Satoru’s chest twisted. He had never cared about chemistry. Had never cared about formulas or reactions or any of the things you were talking about. But watching you now, the way you lit up, the way you spoke like the world was something worth understanding, for the first time, he got it.

There were more videos. Clips of you working in the lab, hands steady, movements sure. Interviews where you spoke about research projects, your words quick, excited, spilling over each other in your enthusiasm. Moments where you laughed, bright and uninhibited, so full of life it made his breath catch.

You were dazzling. Not just beautiful, though you were, effortlessly so but brilliant in a way that made it impossible to look away. You were more than that. You were a diamond in the rough, among all these people. Among all mortals surrounding you, you looked like a passionate, genuine and wondrous goddess blessing all with your presence.

But then, the more he dug, the more he couldn’t find anything anymore. Everything, all of it had stopped. The records, the videos, the awards, all of it ended at a certain point. No graduation announcement. No further research. Just bitter cold silence.

Satoru sat there, staring at the screen, his fingers curled into his palms. Because he knew why. You have become a mother. And then horridly, a wife. And your future, the one that should have been limitless had been cut off, rerouted, swallowed by a life that wasn’t yours alone anymore.

Satoru exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, trying to ignore the strange weight in his chest. Who were you now? Did you still dream of the things you once wanted? Did you still love chemistry the way you had back then? Did you regret any of it? Or did you look at him—the boy you had chosen to help, the one you had given this second chance—and see something of yourself in him?

Satoru didn’t know. But for the first time in his life, he wanted to. And that realization hit him with startling clarity. This wasn’t just gratitude. It wasn’t just admiration. It was something deeper. Something consuming.

And Satoru, who had never cared much about anyone outside of himself, felt an unfamiliar pull toward the woman who had changed his life before he even knew her name. He didn’t think he could ignore it.

It didn’t stop after that first night. If anything, it only got worse. Satoru found himself thinking about you more often than he wanted to admit. At first, it was just curiosity. He told himself that. Curiosity was all well and dandy.

But curiosity didn’t explain why he kept going back, why he kept watching the same videos over and over, memorizing the way you spoke, the way your eyes lit up when you talked about something you loved.

Curiosity didn’t explain why he started reading about chemistry, things that had never interested him before. Just to understand the things you had once been passionate about. Just to know what your world looked like.

Curiosity didn’t explain why he noticed the way your voice softened when you spoke, the way you carried yourself with quiet grace, like someone who had spent too long in the shadows of what could have been.

It didn’t explain the way his stomach twisted when he thought about everything you had lost. The way it ached. The way he wanted to—Stop, Satoru, this is madness!

He cut the thought off before it could form, running a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. This was ridiculous. You weren’t some mystery to be solved. You weren’t a puzzle for him to piece together.

You were just a woman. A person. But the more he learned about you, the harder it became to see you as just that. Because you weren’t just anyone. You were someone who had been larger than life, someone meant for something extraordinary. And yet, when the world had taken that from you, you hadn’t broken. You hadn’t let it turn you bitter.

You had chosen to help him. And Satoru who had spent his life feeling like no one had ever truly seen him suddenly realized that he had never really seen anyone either. Well, until now. Until you. Until you haunted the narrative of his existence.

He didn’t know when it shifted, when the fascination became something else. Something deeper. Something sharper. But he knew it the moment he caught himself watching an old video of you late at night, long past the point of exhaustion, long past the point of excuses.

The screen flickered, your younger self smiling, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you explained something about chemical bonding. Satoru wasn’t even listening. He was watching your hands.

The delicate way you gestured, the way your fingers curled slightly when you were deep in thought. And he wondered, suddenly, what it would feel like to have those fingers traced against his skin.

His breath hitched. The thought came unbidden, slamming into him with the force of something undeniable. And that was when he knew he was in trouble. Because this wasn’t just admiration anymore. It wasn’t just curiosity. It was something more to him. It was something surely more consuming than any other drug in this world.

And Gojo Satoru, for the first time in his life, wasn’t sure if he wanted to stop it.

GOJO SATORU WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE HERE. He wasn’t even supposed to be in this part of the university today, but his feet had carried him here, as if drawn by some invisible force. And then he saw you.

You stood near the entrance of the new science wing, speaking with one of the department heads. You weren’t smiling, but there was something almost wistful in your expression, something he hadn’t seen before.

For a moment, he just… watched. It had been one thing to see you in old interviews, to read about you, to trace the remnants of the brilliant woman you had been in the past. But here, now—he could see you in real time.

And you were even more mesmerizing than he had imagined.

Satoru had spent years perfecting the art of reading people. It was second nature to him, the way he could pick up on subtle tells, unspoken thoughts lingering in the way someone shifted, the way their eyes darted or their fingers curled.

And what he saw in you made his stomach twist. You looked like someone who had built a life out of moving forward, like someone who had made peace with the things they had lost. But deep down, buried beneath the layers of composure, he saw it.

The quiet grief. The remnants of a dream abandoned, tucked carefully behind the way you stood so still, the way your fingers brushed over the edge of a desk as if testing its reality. They were all there under the surface.

Something about it unsettled him. Because he knew that feeling. That hollow ache, that quiet longing for something just out of reach. And for the first time in his life, Satoru wanted to know what it would take to bring that spark back into your eyes. What it would take to make you look at him. So he stepped forward.

“You seem important here.” he said, voice light, teasing.

The words made you turn toward him, your gaze settling on him in a way that made his pulse stutter. For a moment, you simply studied him, bright blue eyes, white hair, a sharp grin that hid far more than it revealed.

He saw the way you hesitated when you looked at him for the first time, quietly searching his face as if trying to place him in a category of familiarity, but he knew you wouldn’t. Not yet. Not like this.

“Not at all.” you finally replied, shaking your head. “Just someone who used to study here.”

“Ah, I see.” he hummed. “So, an old-timer.”

You huffed out a quiet laugh. “Not that old.”

But Satoru had already noticed the way you shifted, the way your fingers curled slightly against your palm. You didn’t talk about the past much, did you? You didn’t let yourself linger in what had been. And yet, you were here. Still standing in the middle of a building you had helped fund. Still tracing the echoes of who you had once been.

“What’d you study?” he asked, though he already knew.

“Chemistry.”

“And did you love it?”

Your eyes flickered to him again, as if the question had caught you off guard. Satoru held your gaze, waiting. He wanted to hear you say it out loud. He wanted to know if it still burned somewhere inside you.

“I did, I suppose. I fought hard to get there.” you admitted, voice softer now. “It was my passion, once.”

Once.

Satoru didn’t like that word.

Didn’t like the way it tasted in his mouth.

Because passion wasn’t something that simply faded. It was something that lived inside you, something that clawed its way back to the surface, no matter how deeply you tried to bury it. And maybe that was why he was standing here now. Because, somehow, you had become his passion.

“Still passionate about it?” he pressed, tilting his head.

You hesitated. And then, after a moment, you exhaled. “Some passions never really fade.”

Something in him tightened, he couldn’t point out which. Gojo Satoru hadn’t been expecting you to say that. He hadn’t been expecting the way those words would settle inside him, threading into something deeper.

“Passion’s a funny thing.” Satoru murmured, his voice carrying a lazy sort of amusement, but there was something deeper beneath it. Something steady, something careful. “Sometimes, even if you try to leave it behind, it finds its way back to you.”

Your beautiful bright eyes flickered toward him, searching his face, as if trying to figure out why he had said that. Satoru held your gaze, refusing to look away. You purse your lips into a flat line, lowering your gaze.

For a moment, the world around him faded—the distant hum of students talking, the soft footsteps echoing down the hall, the chatter of professors discussing research grants and department budgets. None of it mattered.

Because right now, it was just you. And for the briefest second, he thought maybe you felt it too. That quiet pull. That strange, undeniable gravity between two people who, by all logic, should have never crossed paths—should have never been drawn toward each other.

And yet, maybe they always had been. Your fingers flexed slightly at your sides, a barely-there movement, but Satoru noticed. He noticed everything about you. The way your lips parted just slightly, as if you wanted to say something but weren’t sure if you should.

The way your eyes darkened with thought, with something unspoken, something he was suddenly desperate to know. It made his chest feel tight. You inhaled slowly, as if steadying yourself. And then, after a pause, you exhaled, offering him the smallest nod.

“Maybe you’re right, I suppose.” you murmured.

Satoru’s pulse jumped. Maybe he was. Maybe passion wasn’t something you could just let go of. Maybe, no matter how much you tried to bury it, itt would always find its way back. And as he stood there, watching you, he wondered if the same could be said about people.

If some people, no matter how different their worlds were, would always be pulled toward each other in the end. If you and him would be one of them. You let your serene face relax and echo towards him, a warm smile on your lips.

“You should keep doing well.” you told him, your voice soft but firm. “You should be better. Be what I couldn’t be.”

Satoru expected those words. He had heard them before. Albeit, it was all phrased differently, maybe, but the meaning was always the same. Be strong. Be smart. Be the best. But coming from you, they felt different.

They didn’t feel like there was a demand. They felt like a hope. And when he looked at you, he saw something in your eyes that made his breath catch. It was emotion, all too raw and unguarded, flickering behind the composed mask you always seemed to wear.

It was something he didn’t quite understand yet, but it made his chest feel tight, made his hands curl into fists at his sides. Because for a fleeting moment, he thought that maybe you wanted this for him. Not because of obligation. Not because of charity. But because you saw something in him. Something worth saving.

Satoru swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He wanted to ask why you were all about it. You would surely have all the answers. Why did you care? Why did it sound like you were speaking from experience? But he didn’t.

Instead, he just held your gaze, letting the moment stretch between you. Letting it settle in his bones. And for the first time in a long time, he thought that maybe he did want to be better. For you. He would do it for you.

Satoru exhaled, tilting his head, a lopsided smirk tugging at his lips, but his voice was quieter than usual. "Be better, huh?" He let the words hang in the air before nodding, something unreadable in his eyes. "Alright, then. Guess I better not disappoint, huh?"

There was a flicker of something in your expression. Perhaps it was relief, or maybe something gentler than that. But he didn’t care to know. Instead, he lets himself drown in the small, knowing smile you gave him. "No, I don’t think you will. After all, your eyes tell."

And Satoru didn’t know why, but those words settled deep in his chest, warm and steady. Like for the first time, someone believed in him. Really believed in him. And damn it all, he wasn’t about to let that go to waste.

Not when it was you.

HE WAS SMART, HE KNEW THAT MUCH. But Gojo Satoru never thought he would take this high level of academics seriously. School had always been something he coasted through, excelling without much effort, relying on his natural intelligence to get by. But after meeting you, something shifted.

He wanted to understand you. And what better way to do that than to follow the same path you once walked? So, when it was time to declare his major, he chose to do something in science like you once did.

He told himself it was logical to do so. After all, chemistry was the foundation of so many things, from medicine to engineering, and it held the promise of a stable future. But deep down, he knew the real reason.

He wanted to be closer to you. He wanted to see the world through your eyes, to grasp the passion that once burned inside you, the same passion that had led you to this university years before him.

He sat in the same lecture halls where your name was still spoken with admiration by professors who remembered you. He read the research papers that bore your name, tracing his fingers over the printed words, imagining you writing them.

And with every experiment, every late-night study session, every moment he spent poring over chemical equations, he felt like he was reaching for something greater than himself, it was like he was reaching for you. 

He excelled. Of course he did. 

When Satoru Gojo set his mind to something, there was no other outcome. His professors saw potential. His classmates envied his effortless brilliance. He passed every exam, aced every project, and by the time graduation came, he had done exactly what he had set out to do.

He had become someone worthy of your world.

But then, life had taken an unexpected turn.

It started as a simple favor for a friend. A photographer had been searching for someone striking, someone who could hold the camera’s gaze and make people stop and stare. Satoru just happened to fit the description.

He agreed to a photoshoot, thinking nothing of it. But then, the offers started coming in. Even his mother was surprised at the amount of calls their apartment would get in all hours of the day. It just didn’t feel real at all.

So many entertainment and modelling agencies started to reach out. Many other brands wanted his face. Directors saw something in him, something beyond just his looks. They saw presence. They saw charisma. A raw, untapped potential waiting to be shaped into magnificent talent.

One commercial turned into another. One guest appearance led to an audition. And before he even realized it, his life had changed. He was no longer just a graduate with a science degree. He was now a highly paid, well beloved actor and model.

The world had taken notice of him, and for the first time, he wasn’t just a shadow chasing after your past. He was someone people looked at. Someone people admired. And maybe this path would bring him even closer to you.

Because science had allowed him to understand the person you were before. But being in this world, it would give him a chance to be part of your world now. To stand in places you might see him.To become someone you might watch on a screen, unknowingly letting him into your life.

He wondered if you ever turned on the TV and saw his face. If you ever lingered for a moment, thinking he looked familiar. If, by some twist of fate, you’d be drawn to him the way he was to you. Maybe, you’ll see him and find him handsome too. 

Satoru had always been a genius. He knew that since he was young. And now, he had a new goal. One day, you’d see him. One day, you’d notice him. And this time, he wouldn’t be just another face in the crowd. He would be someone you couldn’t ignore.

IN SOME WAYS, HE KNEW HE WAS WHAT EVERYONE WANTS TO BE. That’s why Gojo Satoru had always thought the world revolved around him. Not in an arrogant, boastful way—no. To him, it was a simple fact. People noticed him. They always had. Whether it was his height, his striking looks, or the sheer force of his presence, he had been born to be seen.

And yet, for the past few years, there was only one person he had truly wanted to be seen by.

You.

Everything in his life, his choices, his career, his calculated steps forward, all of that had been made with you in mind. So it was ironic—cruel, even—that the first person to truly look at him and understand him in years wasn’t you.

It was Suguru Geto.

This is how it happened.

Gojo Satoru had only been in the entertainment industry for a short time. He had deviated from his modelling career to step into the realm of films and TV. So, when he found himself on the set of Jujutsu Kaisen, a high-budget, highly-anticipated TV project that had the entire industry buzzing.It was just something else entirely.

He had taken the role on a whim, after finishing a film he had just done, where he played the second lead. When this script came to him, it was an offer he couldn’t refuse,his agency said it would cement him as more than just a pretty face, that this was his ticket to becoming a household name in acting.

But the moment he stepped on set, he felt it. That eerie pull. 

That flicker of déjà vu. And then he heard the voice. Smooth. Familiar.

“Didn’t think I’d see your face here.” Satoru turned—and there he was. Geto Suguru.

It had been years. Years since they had last spoken, years since they had laughed together, plotted together, ruled their high school together. And now, here he was, standing in front of Satoru, dressed in costume, script in hand, just like him.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” Satoru muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat.

Suguru smirked, tilting his head just slightly, the way he always did when he was amused. “What? You think you’re the only one who could make it big?”

Satoru rolled his bright blue eyes, but for the first time in a long time, he felt something unfamiliar clawing at his chest. Warmth. He had missed him. Even if he’d never admit it out loud. The past had never really let go of him, after all. And apparently, it never let go of Suguru either.

Satoru scoffed, shaking his head as he looked Suguru up and down. “Tch. Didn’t peg you for the acting type.”

Suguru’s smirk only grew, effortlessly slipping back into the same ease they once had, like no time had passed at all. “And I didn’t peg you for someone who follows directions, but here you are, holding a script.”

Satoru clicked his tongue, flicking the script in his hand. “Who says I’m following them?”

Suguru huffed out a quiet laugh, shoving his own script under his arm. “Some things never change.”

The words settled between them, heavier than they should have.

Because some things had changed.

Too much time had passed. Too many things had gone unsaid.

And yet, standing here now after years apart and now together face-to-face, Gojo Satoru felt the past pressing against his ribs, demanding to be acknowledged. But neither of them said it. Not yet. They knew better than to open those can of worms right now at work.

Instead, Suguru cocked a brow, shifting his weight onto one foot. “So? Are you in this for real, or are you just here to piss off whoever’s in charge?”

Satoru grinned, all sharp edges and mischief. “Can’t it be both?”

Suguru let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Of course.”

The tension of the past still hummed between them, but before Satoru could throw out another quip, a murmur rippled through the room. New voices. New energy. Satoru’s ears picked up on it before he fully registered what was happening as those whispers, low and curious, voices murmuring came just a little too eagerly.

"That guy’s here."

"You mean the veteran actor, high above on the cast list? Yeah, I heard he finally showed up."

"Took him long enough."

“I thought he wasn’t going to accept! Isn’t he too big of an actor?”

“Well, I heard his kids liked the manga. So he said yes.”

Gojo Satoru exchanged a glance with Suguru, the amusement in his friend’s lilac eyes shifting into curiosity. He didn’t know who this guy is, well at least because he hadn’t worked with him just yet. But then someone called out his name, and the second it reached Gojo Satoru’s ears, everything inside him stilled.

"Nanami Kento, yeah, that’s him!" someone else muttered. "You know, the one from 7/3 entertainment? The biggest in the country! The guy’s supposed to be a genius. No wasted effort, precise, focused—completely different from the usual loudmouths we get here."

Satoru clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. “Oi, I can hear you, y’know.”

The group of staff whispering nearby stiffened, but one had the guts to glance at him and smirk. “Yeah, we know.”

“Maybe you should shut up before I report your behaviour as unprofessional.” Gojo says to them, quieting them down.

Suguru chuckled under his breath. “Sounds like you’ve already got competition.”

Satoru huffed, flipping his script open lazily. “Please. No one outshines me.”

Though it wasn’t obvious, Satoru could feel the blood rushing in his ears. That name he had only ever seen in passing, in small interviews, in articles that always started with the same words. He hated it. He hated him.

“He’s the husband of that famously well renowned scientific philanthropist!” One of the other staff, who was just walking in, was squealing. “I don’t know her name, but I know him! Guys, isn’t he handsome?”

He frowned at those words. He didn’t want to hear the rest of it. The world around him suddenly evaporated. All Satoru could feel in him was genuine grievance, his blood boiling. All he could see was the man standing a few feet away from him. His blue eyes narrowed.

Gojo Satoru barely registered the rest of the conversation people were making all around him. The voices around him became little more than background noise, a dull hum against the rush of blood in his ears. Nanami Kento.

The name alone had already irritated him, but that—husband—that word sent something hot and unpleasant curling in his chest. His fingers clenched tightly around the edges of his script, creasing the paper.

"I don’t know her name, but I know him!"

That sentence alone nearly made him scoff aloud. Of course they don’t know her name. Because that’s how people were. They saw what was convenient. They chose the parts of the story they wanted to acknowledge.

And apparently, the part where you had built your own legacy, where you had worked and sacrificed and given away more than you ever got in return, that didn’t matter as much as the man standing in front of him now.

A man Satoru already despised without even knowing him. 

Suguru, ever perceptive, must have noticed the shift in his expression because he leaned in slightly, voice low. "You good?"

Satoru didn’t answer.

His bright burning gaze was locked on Nanami, standing a few feet away, exuding that air of quiet composure that only made Satoru’s irritation flare hotter. Because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. How could it ever be fair?

You who had given so much to the world, you who had shaped his entire future, you who had stood by him when no one else had were now being reduced to a nameless mention in passing, a footnote in someone else’s story. A footnote in your husband’s story.

And Satoru hated it.

Hated everything about him.

Before he realized it, he was already moving.

Satoru held the handshake for a second longer than necessary, testing, searching. Just waiting for some kind of crack in Nanami Kento’s composure. But there was nothing. Just that same, steady gaze. Unbothered. Detached.

Like he wasn’t even worth reacting to. Satoru could feel his teeth grinding behind his ever-present smile. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like him. But he had played this game before, so he kept up the act, slipping effortlessly into the role of the easygoing junior.

“Man, it’s kinda crazy, huh?” He let out a breathy chuckle, tilting his head slightly. “I always figured we’d cross paths someday, but I didn’t think it’d be here.”

Nanami regarded him for a moment, expression unreadable. “You know of me?”

Oh, he was going to play it like that, huh?

Satoru clicked his tongue, withdrawing his hand as he stepped back. “What, you think I don’t read? You’re pretty famous, y’know. Brilliant actor. Great reputation.” He paused for a beat before adding, “Husband of a certain famous scientific philanthropist…..I think her name is [name] [last name], wasn’t it?”

Nanami looked at him, bewildered for a while. But he gathered himself and smiled. “My wife no longer uses her maiden name. But I’m glad you know of Mrs. Nanami’s endeavours.”

That irritated him a lot. “Oh, of course, who wouldn’t, Nanami–senpai! I attended Tokyo University like her. Same department too.”

“Is that so? That sounds good. I’m sure she will be happy to hear about it.”

“Of course, it would make her feel glad that your kouhai knows her efforts for the world.” He smiles at him, tighter than ever before.

For the first time, he saw something flicker in Nanami’s expression. It was brief, barely perceptible. But it was there. And Satoru felt something sharp twist in his chest. Because that meant Nanami knew.

He knew exactly who Satoru was talking about. He knew exactly what he had just implied. And still, he didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look uncomfortable. Instead, he simply adjusted the cuff of his sleeve and replied evenly. “I appreciate the compliment.”

Satoru’s fingers twitched. “Of course, Nanami–senpai. Send my regards to her.”

Nanami gave him the same smile he wore on his lips. “Of course, Gojo–san. I’m sorry if I must cut our conversation for a little while. I have to go meet the other staff.”

“Oh, by all means, Nanami–senpai.”

Suguru, watching from the sidelines, let out a low whistle. “Damn, he’s good.”

Satoru shot him a glare before plastering on another saccharine smile. “Well, let’s get along, yeah? Nanami–senpai.”

Nanami gave a polite nod. “Of course, Gojo–san. Let’s work well together.”

And just like that, the conversation was over. Gojo Satoru turned away first, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stalked toward Suguru, his fake smile dropping the moment Nanami was out of sight.

“I hate him.” he muttered under his breath.

Suguru smirked. “Yeah. I could tell.”

Satoru’s jaw ached from how hard he had been clenching it. The entire interaction had felt like a match, a careful spar between two people who knew exactly how to play the game—who knew exactly what wasn’t being said.

And Nanami Kento had won.

Effortlessly.

Satoru could still hear the measured tone of his voice, the practiced ease with which he had responded. There had been no cracks in his composure, no hesitation in his words. Even when Satoru had practically thrown her name between them like a live grenade, he had remained completely unshaken.

That pissed him off more than anything.

His fingers flexed at his sides before curling into fists again, his nails pressing into his palms.

Suguru, walking beside him, snorted under his breath. “Relax, Satoru. You’re about two seconds away from blowing a blood vessel.”

Satoru exhaled sharply through his nose, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the tension. “He’s so fake.” he muttered, voice dripping with distaste. “Did you see that? The guy didn’t even blink.”

Suguru hummed in agreement, tilting his head slightly as he glanced back toward where Nanami had disappeared. “Yeah. That’s years of practice, man.” He smirked. “Gotta admit, though—he handled you better than most people do.”

Satoru scoffed. “Yeah? Let’s see how long he can keep it up.”

Suguru chuckled but didn’t comment. He knew Satoru too well.

This wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

THIRTY SIX YEAR OLD ACTOR GOJO SATORU KNEW ALL ABOUT THE SECRETS. But so did everyone else. Everyone kept talking about it left and right. It was in hushed whispers at the bars, murmured conversations over coffee, and knowing glances exchanged in crowded rooms. The scandal had spread like wildfire, unstoppable and all-consuming.

But despite the way they all feigned shock, despite the polite gasps and the disapproving shakes of their heads, not a single one of them was truly surprised. Because they all knew. Behind those shocked faces they put on their faces, they all knew.

They had always known, in some way or another. Some had turned a blind eye, while others had carefully looked the other way, pretending not to see the cracks forming long before they splintered wide open. But they weren’t eager to say that shit out loud. Not because they cared about Nanami Kento, not because they thought it was a tragedy. No, because it would mean looking in the mirror and seeing their own sins reflected back at them.

They had their own affairs, their own secrets buried beneath perfectly polished lives. None of them were innocent. Behind all the kindness they showed in public, behind the poised smiles and well-mannered words, there was something ugly lurking beneath the surface. Self-preservation disguised as moral superiority. They condemned him in private but would never dare speak too loudly, lest their own skeletons rattle too close to the surface.

But Gojo Satoru, he didn’t give a damn about any of that.

Gojo Satoru had never been one for morality in the way others saw it. Right and wrong had always been concepts that bent to his will, things he decided for himself. If it came down to it, he would choose his people over everything else. And you, you were his person now.

He didn’t care whether the scandal ruined Nanami Kento. Whether the man’s reputation was torn apart, his name dragged through the mud until it was nothing but a whispered warning among society’s elite. He didn’t care if Nanami lost everything, if people looked at him with disdain, if his legacy turned into nothing more than a cautionary tale of betrayal and selfishness.

Nanami Kento could have burned for all Satoru cared.

What mattered to him, in the end, was you.

What mattered was whether the wreckage left behind would consume you whole, whether the weight of it would press down on you until you couldn’t breathe. Whether it would leave you broken in ways no one else could see.

And now, years later, it was all out.

The whispers had turned into full-blown conversations, the judgment had spread like wildfire, and you were caught in the center of it all—left to pick up the pieces of a life you no longer recognized.

Satoru saw it in the way you carried yourself. The exhaustion in your eyes, the way your shoulders curled inward, as if you were trying to make yourself smaller, as if you wanted to disappear altogether. He saw the way your fingers trembled slightly when you thought no one was looking, the way your breath hitched when the silence stretched too long.

You were hurting. 

That was unacceptable.

If it were up to him, he would have razed the world to the ground to keep you from feeling this way. He would have turned every judgmental whisper into a scream, made every onlooker regret ever daring to look at you with anything but reverence. He would have made sure that the world never dared to hurt you again.

He would start a war for you if it came down to it.

He would ruin everything if it meant that, in the end, you could smile again. That you could be happy again. Because the world had taken too much from you already. And if it refused to give back what it stole—then he would take it back himself.

And that’s what he has been doing for a while now.

The horrible scandal of Nanami Kento’s long-time affairs had finally come to light just a few months ago. But with the powder keg of the media lighting the way, the news spread like wildfire, and with it came the whispers, the stares, the quiet judgment that hung in the air like smoke.

You found yourself in a secluded park in Tokyo, far away from the murmurs of the city. The sky was grey, the air crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of rain. You sat alone on a weathered wooden bench, arms wrapped around yourself as if to hold everything in place. But the weight of it all pressed too heavily against your chest, and before you realized it, silent tears had begun to slip down your face.

The crunch of approaching footsteps barely registered until a familiar presence settled beside you. A quiet moment passed before a handkerchief, white and neatly folded, appeared in your periphery. You hesitated before looking up, eyes red-rimmed and weary.

“Why are you here?” your voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

Gojo Satoru smiled, an expression that wasn’t quite teasing but not entirely gentle either. “I took a walk.”

A scoff left your lips weak and watery. You took the handkerchief from him and dabbed softly at your damp cheeks, the fabric soft against your skin. The sight of you crying and hurting broke him inside. 

“I’m sorry. This is just….” you murmured. “I was just—taking a walk, and then—” You gestured vaguely, at the empty space around you, at the quiet solitude you had craved until it swallowed you whole. “And now I’m crying.”

Satoru shook his head. “It’s fine. Take all the time you need.”

The wind rustled through the trees, sending a shower of golden leaves to the ground. You stared at them as they scattered across the pavement, as fleeting as everything else. Satoru didn’t say anything else, didn’t press or pry. He simply sat there beside you, watching the world turn as you slowly pieced yourself back together.

He watched you closely, the way your shoulders curled inward, the way your fingers clenched around the handkerchief as if trying to hold yourself together. He saw the exhaustion in your eyes, the weight pressing down on you, and it made something unfamiliar twist in his chest.

Satoru Gojo was not the kind of man who fixated on things like guilt or grief. But when he looked at you, he found himself caring in a way that unsettled him. He didn’t care about Nanami Kento’s downfall. He cared about making sure you didn’t fall with him. 

You inhaled shakily, the crisp autumn air filling your lungs. It felt sharp, grounding, but not enough to ease the weight pressing against your ribs. You tried to calm yourself down but you could feel everything overwhelm you over and over again.

“I should be angry all the time. I know I feel it deep inside me.” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I should be screaming, breaking things—something. But I’m just… tired.”

Satoru hummed in acknowledgment, tilting his head slightly. “Anger takes energy.” he said. “And you’ve spent too much of that just keeping yourself together.”

You let out a breathy laugh, humorless but not entirely empty. “Yeah. Maybe.”

The silence stretched between you again, but it wasn’t suffocating. It was steady, unhurried, like the wind threading through the trees. Gojo Satoru never rushed you. That was the thing about him. He was the strongest, the fastest, the sharpest from what you heard from everyone. 

And yet somehow, as he sat beside you, all you knew was that he knew how to slow down when it mattered. He knew how to feel the grief of someone who doesn’t know what to do at their own pace, while he sits there with them.

Your fingers smoothed over the handkerchief in your lap, tracing the embroidered edges. “It’s stupid, isn’t it?” you muttered, voice barely above the wind. “To grieve something that wasn’t even real.”

Satoru shifted, resting his forearms against his knees. He glanced at you, his usual smugness absent, replaced by something quieter. “It was real to you, [name]-san. I mean, twenty five years is a lot.” he said simply. “That’s enough. So don’t think its foolish for you to grieve.”

You swallowed, pressing your lips together to stop them from trembling. That was the cruel part, wasn’t it? It had been real to you. The version of Nanami Kento you had trusted, had believed in — he wasn’t there anymore. Because you knew he hadn’t been truly real.

And yet, he had been real in your mind all this time, in your memories for nearly twenty–five years of your life. And now, that version of him was gone, leaving behind nothing but the cold reality of what he had truly been.

You closed your eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply before exhaling through your nose. “How do you do it?”

Satoru raised a brow. “Do what?”

“Not let things get to you.” you said. “You act like nothing ever really touches you.”

For the first time since he sat beside you, Satoru looked away. His gaze flickered to the sky, to the golden leaves dancing in the breeze. “I don't,” he admitted. “I just don’t let people see it when it does.”

You turned to him fully now, surprised by his honesty. The world only ever saw Gojo Satoru as untouchable, a man who laughed in the face of pain, who carried his burdens with infuriating ease. But here, in this quiet little corner of Tokyo, you caught a glimpse of something else.

“Then why are you here?” you asked, your voice softer now.

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and something in his expression shifted. “Because you let me see it.” he said simply. “And I figured I could do the same.”

The wind picked up again, a chill brushing against your skin. This time, Gojo Satoru moved . He was reaching out, hesitating for only a moment before pulling the scarf from around his neck and draping it over your shoulders. He hesitates for a moment before wrapping it on you.

“Take all the time you need.” he repeated. “But don’t do it alone.”

You looked down at the scarf, the warmth of it settling around you. Slowly, you pulled it tighter.

And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel quite so cold.

“I wanna take a walk.” You whispered to him.

“Then, I’ll join you.” He says to you, with a soft smile on his lips. “Come on.”

You eventually stood up from your position.

The two of you walked in silence, the rhythm of your steps uneven at first, but slowly syncing into something steady. The late afternoon light filtered through the thinning branches, casting dappled patterns on the pavement. A chill hung in the air, and you pulled your coat tighter around yourself, gripping the lapels as if to ward off more than just the cold.

Satoru walked beside you, hands in his pockets, his presence a quiet but constant force. “Do you want to talk about it?” he finally asked, his voice measured, free of expectation.

You hesitated, your fingers tightening around his handkerchief. The scandal had unraveled like a slow, agonizing wound. The world had always seen Nanami Kento as a man of honor, unwavering in his principles. But now, that image has shattered. Affairs. Years of them. All the women that go through those hotel doors.

Secrets hidden so well that even those closest to him had never suspected a thing. Yet you knew. And you had held it all together. He was your husband. He was all you knew. He was your only safe zone in a world that tries to thrust you forward into the wiles of danger.

You swallowed. “I don’t know what to say.”

Satoru hummed, as if considering. “You don’t have to say anything, you know.”

But there was something in his voice, something knowing, as if he understood the words you couldn’t bring yourself to say. “I thought I knew him very well.” you admitted, your voice quieter now.

“Not all people show their true face.” Satoru huffs softly. “Sometimes it takes time to really know them.”

“All this time, I thought…” The sentence trailed off, unfinished, swallowed by the ache in your chest.

Satoru exhaled, tilting his head back slightly as he walked. “People aren’t always who we want them to be.”

You let out a short, bitter laugh. “That’s a poetic way of saying I was an idiot.”

“Not an idiot. Never that. You’re too smart for that.” he corrected. “ But even smart people can lose with people they trusted.”

You stopped walking, your gaze fixed on the path ahead. Fallen leaves scattered at your feet, swept along by the wind. Slowly, you turned to look at Satoru. His usual carefree expression was absent, replaced by something softer.

“You don’t have to say that.” you said.

“I’m not.” His tone was firm. “I want to defend you. Even from the depths of your darkness.”

The words settled between you, heavier than the autumn air. A lump formed in your throat, and for a moment, you thought you might cry again. But instead, you took a breath, deep and slow, and nodded. Satoru, ever patient, simply resumed walking. You followed.

“Where are we going?” you asked after a while.

He grinned, the playful glint returning to his eyes. “No clue. But I figure if we keep walking, we’ll end up somewhere.”

You shook your head, but for the first time in days, the corners of your lips lifted, just slightly. Maybe he was right. Maybe you didn’t have to know where you were going just yet. Maybe, for now, moving forward was enough.

And so, you walked.

The two of you wandered through the quiet streets, the city humming softly around you. Tokyo never truly slept, but here, away from the main roads and blaring lights, everything felt muted. It was like the world had given you a small pocket of peace.

The wind carried the scent of autumn, crisp and tinged with the faint aroma of street food from a distant stall. Your steps were slow, unhurried, as if neither of you wanted to break whatever fragile moment had settled between you.

After a while, Satoru spoke. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

You shot him a sidelong glance. “Says the guy who barely stops talking.”

He chuckled, unfazed. “Fair. But I mean it. You keep everything in here—” He tapped his temple lightly. “And in here.” His hand hovered over his chest.

You exhaled, shaking your head. “Not everything needs to be said.”

“Maybe. But sometimes, saying things out loud makes them a little less heavy.” He stretched his arms behind his head, tilting his face up toward the sky. “That’s why I talk so much. The words don’t pile up that way.”

You hummed, considering. You weren’t used to this at all. Someone trying to understand you, someone willing to sit in your silence without pushing too hard. Then, without warning, Satoru stopped in front of a small vending machine tucked into the corner of an alleyway.

He turned to you, expression unreadable. “Pick something.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Pick something.” he repeated, gesturing toward the machine. “Doesn’t matter what. Just choose.”

You frowned but stepped forward anyway, scanning the rows of drinks. It was full of those massive cans of coffee, bottles of tea, fruit juice in bright packaging. You hovered over a random selection and pressed the button. The machine whirred, and a moment later, a small can of hot milk tea dropped into the slot below.

Satoru went ahead and carefully retrieved it for you, the warmth seeping through his fingers as he handed it over to you with a small smile on his face. Then, he pressed a button himself, and a second can clattered into the tray.

“You’re being weird about this.” you muttered, accepting the drink.

“I’m always weird.” He cracked his open with a quiet pop. “But that’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

He took a slow sip, then met your gaze. “You didn’t think about it.” he said simply. “You just chose.”

You frowned, staring at the can in your hands. “And?”

“And…..” he continued as he closed his drink with its cap. “Sometimes, that’s all you need to do. You don’t have to have all the answers right now. You don’t have to know where you’re going, or what’s next. Just—” He gestured at the vending machine. “Pick something. Keep moving. One thing at a time.”

You looked at him then, at the way his usual arrogance had softened into something quieter, something just for you. And for the first time in days, you thought that maybe, just maybe, you’d be okay. You would be alright again.

You popped open the can and took a sip. 

It was warm. Sweet. Comforting.

Satoru grinned. “See? Not so bad.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered.

You stared down at the can of milk tea in your hands, the warmth seeping into your fingers. A thought crossed your mind, and you huffed softly, shaking your head.

“I should’ve paid for all of this.” you muttered. “I’m older than you, after all.”

Satoru stopped mid-sip, blinking at you over the rim of his can before bursting into laughter. It was loud, unrestrained, the kind that made passing strangers glance your way. You frowned, watching him with mild irritation as he wiped at the corner of his brightly lit eye.

“What’s so funny?” you asked.

He grinned, rocking back on his heels. “You. Acting like that makes a difference.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” you argued. “Seniority matters.”

“Oh, come on.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Can you let me be a gentleman for once?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You? A gentleman?”

“Shocking, I know you’ve seen it on the TV.” he said, smirking. “But I have my moments.”

You stared at him, the teasing glint in his eyes, the effortless way he carried himself, and sighed. “Fine. Just this once.”

Satoru gasped, dramatically clutching his chest. “Oh no, what an honor! I’ll cherish this moment forever.”

You nudged him lightly with your elbow, but your lips twitched despite yourself. He was ridiculous, but in a way that made the weight in your chest just a little easier to bear. He bumped your shoulder in return, his grin softening. 

“See? It’s not so bad letting someone take care of you once in a while.”

You didn’t answer right away, instead looking down at the can in your hands. Maybe he was right. Maybe, for once, it was okay not to carry everything alone. “…Thanks.” you said quietly.

Satoru didn’t make a big deal out of it, didn’t tease or push. He just took another sip of his drink and smiled. “Anytime.”

“I appreciate that.” You whisper back to him. 

And so, you kept walking, the night stretching ahead of you, open and uncertain—but somehow, a little less lonely. But at the very least, it’s not a road that makes it hard for you to breathe. Instead, there was warmth. There was tenderness. And there was care.

After nearly half of your life, you found someone who understands.

You finally made a genuinely good friend.

“You’re my first friend in maybe twenty years, you know?” 

Satoru looked at you, surprised. “That’s how long it’s been?”

“Well, when you’re a mom and a wife, your life revolves around them.” You sighed, drinking your drink carefully. “I don’t think I’ve had a life in a very long time. Well, one that’s reflective of myself, at least.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, quiet but heavy. "You're my first friend in maybe twenty years, you know?"

Satoru stilled, his usual playful demeanor momentarily giving way to something softer. He turned to you, eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. “That’s how long it’s been?”

You let out a slow breath, staring down at the can in your hands, the condensation slick against your fingers. "Well, when you're a mom and a wife, your life revolves around them."

The confession sat between you, raw and unfiltered. You hadn't meant to say it, but now that you have, it felt like the most honest thing you'd spoken in a long time. It was like you hadn’t been yourself for a long time.

"I don’t think I’ve had a life in a very long time." You took a careful sip of your drink, the warmth grounding you. "Well, one that’s reflective of myself, at least."

Satoru didn’t speak right away, and for once, you were grateful. He didn’t offer meaningless platitudes or empty reassurances. He just listened. You exhaled, rubbing your thumb over the rigid aluminum of the can.

 “You spend so much time making sure everyone else is okay—your kid, your husband. You wake up every morning thinking about what they need, what will make them happy. And somewhere along the way, you forget that you had a life before them. That you were a whole person before you became someone’s wife, someone’s mother.”

Satoru hummed, tilting his head slightly. "And now?"

You hesitated. "Now… I don’t know." You gave a short, humorless laugh. "I’m still trying to remember who I was before all of this."

Satoru took a sip of his drink, watching you carefully. “Then maybe that’s the whole point.”

You raised an eyebrow. "What is?"

"Finding yourself again, like this." he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "Not as a wife, not as a mom. Just… you.”

The thought settled deep in your chest, unfamiliar yet not entirely unwelcome.

Satoru nudged you lightly. "And lucky for you, you’ve got your first friend in twenty years to help."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "Yeah, because you’re so qualified for the job."

“Hey, I’m an excellent friend,” he said, grinning. "And, as of today, your official bad-decision supervisor. So, if you ever want to do something a little reckless, a little fun—you know who to call."

You rolled your eyes but found yourself smiling despite everything. "Noted."

And just like that, the world felt a little less lonely.

Yet if you could have known, you would hear something else.

You would hear someone’s heart skipping a beat in joy.

epilogue

Nanami Kento wasn’t the kind of man to let emotions overtake him. He prided himself on restraint, on control. That’s what he always has been. Measured, precise. He liked thinking that he was a clear cut above the rest. That’s what allowed him to be what he was after all this time.

Even when the scandal broke, when his name was dragged through the mud, when the whispers turned to accusations and the life he had so carefully built came crashing down—he had endured it all with quiet resignation.

He had accepted that he was the villain in this story.

But nothing had prepared him for this.

The photo was simple, just an ordinary snapshot, but to him, it felt like a knife twisting in his gut. You, sitting on a park bench, looking at something out of frame with a quiet, almost hesitant smile. The late autumn afternoon sun caught the strands of your hair, casting a glow over your bright beautiful features. 

And beside you, Gojo Satoru, wearing that ever-present smirk, his body angled toward you as if he had been caught mid-conversation. His arm rested casually along the back of the bench, close but not too close. Just enough to make it clear that he was comfortable beside you.

Just enough to make Nanami Kento realize that he no longer had that privilege. At least not without you looking at him with such disgust. At least not without you pushing him away from you, caging him with the distance that never once existed in these past twenty–five years.

His breath felt shallow. He tried to convince himself it was just a coincidence. Just a fleeting moment captured in time. But the longer he stared, the harder it became to ignore the way his chest tightened.

He knew you. Knew the way your smiles had dimmed over the years, knew the exhaustion that had settled into your bones from carrying the weight of a life that had begun to feel more like a duty than a love story. He had seen the way you had started to shrink, piece by piece, until the person he fell in love with felt like a ghost within the home you once shared.

And yet, here you were, looking like someone he hadn’t seen in years. Someone lighter. Someone freer. Someone who no longer belonged to him. Someone who is slowly falling out of love with him.

His hand curled into a fist beside the phone, jaw tightening as a thousand memories flashed through his mind. The long nights he had spent making excuses. The lies. The guilt. The quiet moments where he had felt you slipping away and had done nothing to stop it.

And now, Satoru was the one beside you.

Nanami had always seen him as reckless, arrogant, a man who treated life like a game. And yet, in this single image, Satoru looked at peace. And worse—so did you.

A bitter taste filled his mouth. He had no right to feel this way, but it didn’t stop the anguish from settling deep in his chest, pressing against his ribs like an unbearable weight. He exhaled shakily and turned the phone face down on the desk.

There was nothing he could do. No words he could say that would erase what had been done. No way to go back in time and fix what had already shattered. All he could do was sit there, alone in the silence, realizing that the thing he had feared most had finally come to pass.

You were learning to smile again.

And it’s not because of him.

It was all his fault, it was all his doing.

But he wasn’t going to just sit back and let it happen.

Nanami Kento had always believed himself to be a rational man, a man who weighed his choices carefully, a man who never let emotions dictate his actions. He had convinced himself that he was in control, that he could accept the consequences of his own mistakes with dignity.

But this was different. It was one thing to lose his reputation. One thing to become the subject of hushed conversations and pointed stares. He could endure all of that with the quiet resignation of a man who knew he had done wrong.

But losing you?

That was something else entirely.

He wasn’t going to let it happen.

His fingers clenched around the edge of his desk, the tension running through his knuckles, through his entire body. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He knew he had hurt you, but you were supposed to be his. You were supposed to be the one thing in his life that didn’t slip through his fingers.

And yet, there you were beside Gojo Satoru, smiling like you hadn’t smiled in years. Nanami gritted his teeth. He wouldn’t let it happen.

He had spent twenty-five years loving you. Building a life with you. Living a life where you both were content and happy with your children. His mistakes doesn’t mean he was going to lose you. You said it yourself, you would never leave him. You would only stay with him.

And if Gojo thought he could just step in and replace him, if he thought he could steal you away, that he could make you forget, then he was sorely mistaken. Nanami Kento had fought for a lot of things in his life. His career, his dignity, his carefully built reputation.

But none of it had ever mattered as much as you. And he would fight for you. Even if it meant tearing the world apart. Even if it meant going to war. Even if it meant becoming someone you could never forgive.

Because he could endure being hated by you. He could endure all of the silence, the grief, the suffering. He could endure your anger, your resentment, your rage. But he could not and would not ever endure losing you.

Not to Gojo Satoru.

Not to anyone.

Not ever in this life.

It was till death do part, after.

[imposterogers]

there’s something soooooooooooo (??) about harry osborn straight up courting peter in spiderman 2. he shows up to peter’s birthday party and is like “well I guess u could go make a move on mary jane” (knowing full well mary jane was in a committed long term relationship) “but btw ur scientific academic idol who I know ur obsessed with is working on this really cool project I could introduce u to him and then we could watch him turn on his fusion reactor together <3” and then when his date night gets interrupted by spiderman and he lowkey thinks peter is cheating on him (with spiderman) he starts a VERY public scene, slaps him twice like a scorned lover, and cries

[leverage-ot3]

okay I absolutely get and adore harry being oblivious about ot3 developments, but consider:

after breanna makes it explicitly clear she’s queer in the card game job, harry starts Researching™

he’s trying to be good, be better. he likes this girl and wants to be there to support her and be her friend, someone she can trust. it doesn’t help that she’s around the same age as his daughter, who barely wants to associate with him anymore

he learns breanna is queer and dives into researching. watching TED talks in his spare time. reading ebooks on his phone in between playing roles in a con (bringing a physical book is less convenient and he doesn’t want to wave around the fact that he’s researching like he’s trying to be performative about it). he reads about legislation and book bans and wonders about how they could work their magic through a con to fix those things. he reads about asexuality and recognizes the flag colors from the sticker on breanna’s laptop, which he files away for later

he learns a lot! he has been peripherally aware of queer stuff- it’s kind of hard not to be in the 2020s, but now he is much more informed on a lot of issues. he has memorized at least 50 different labels and terms and has an index of resources in his head (and on his phone) if anyone might need them. he wants to understand the people he loves and cares about, whether it’s breanna or one of his daughter’s friends, or anyone in his life that is queer and he doesn’t know it yet. he wants to be ready and prepared to support them!

he learns about sapphicness and bisexuality and intersex rights and the gender spectrum. he learns about karyotypes and stonewall and other queer history. he learns about kink (blushing, but still reads because it’s important!) and relationship diversity… which leads him to discover the term polyamory

he tries not to actively apply the terms he has learned on the people in his life because he knows it’s wrong to assume things about other people. BUT. harry spends a few days reflecting on parker, hardison and eliot’s interactions and wonders. he thinks about the long hugs and lack of personal space and near telepathic communication not just between parker and hardison, but parker and eliot AND hardison and eliot. how parker knows how to make eliot take care of himself, how he knows when she forgets to eat because she’s so hyperfixated on planning a con. how parker jumps on his back for fun and no matter what, he always catches her. hardison’s absence is felt when he’s gone, deeply by the both of them.

it could just be a deep friendship, he knows. they have been working and living together for over a decade, of course they would be close!!! maybe they could even be queerplatonic! (another new word he learned!)

but. still. he quietly observes, watches closely, and thinks.

[avatar-anna]

I have a requeeestt. Would you write something where ice skater y/n has her period and she has practice and it’s just NOT her day. And she doesn’t feel super comfortable telling Harry but he figures it out and just like pure fluff 🙊💗

Grumpy

part one, part two, bonus, bonus, bonus

Harry's girlfriend was a delight. An absolute ray of sunshine. The sweetest human on the plan—

"Fuck off, Niall. I bet your 'superior athleticism' wouldn't last you one ballet class."

Most of the time. She was a ray of sunshine most of the time.

Harry looked up from his phone and saw Y/n talking to a few of his teammates. They were all snickering and laughing as if what she said was funny, which only made her fists curl at her sides, and while he would've found it rather entertaining for her to take a swing at one of them, he would rather not have his friends and girlfriend be on bad terms.

"You ready to go?" Harry asked, sliding his hand over Y/n's and unfurling her fist.

Her face was set in a scowl as she looked over at the boys she'd been speaking to. For the most part they got along great, Niall specifically. They had a sibling-like relationship and often teased one another, but Niall must've said something about figure skating, and that was one thing that would make you public enemy number one in Y/n's eyes. And if she was already grumpy? Harry met his friend's gaze and tried to send a clear message with his eyes: Cut it out.

Because Y/n could throw a punch, and while she was significantly smaller than his teammates, she had a mean right hook.

Y/n gave Harry a nonverbal grunt that she was ready to leave the rink. But she did lean into the tiny kiss he placed on her cheek, which was something.

"Yeah, Harry, take your girl home. I think she's on her period or something."

"Excuse me?"

"Okay, time to go," Harry said quickly, pulling Y/n away from his teammates and sending one final look at Niall.

As they walked to the car, Y/n handed her keys to Harry unceremoniously and slipped her hand out of his to cross her arms over her chest. He could practically see the steam coming out of her ears, so he let her stew in her bad mood for a little while. She must've had a rough training session, which could mean she messed up a lot or hardly at all, but Y/n was an extremely tough critic, so it was hard to be sure of which one if he wasn't there to watch.

Y/n's arms stayed crossed as they drove back to his apartment. Harry was fine with it, knowing the grumpiness wouldn't last. It normally didn't with Harry, a fact that he was extremely proud of. Except when he rested his hand on her thigh—close to her knee, he wasn't trying to start anything—she shook it off and shifted so her body faced the window.

"What was that for?"

"For being friends with neanderthals," she muttered. "Especially that one."

"'That one' is your friend, bub," Harry said, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. "And wait—does that make me a neanderthal?"

"He was out of line. And no," she said, still facing the window, the last part almost an afterthought.

"I'll make sure he apologizes," he promised.

Harry leaned over at a stop light to kiss Y/n's temple. She didn't shrug him off or push him away, which was a good sign, though Harry now had a sneaking suspicion of what was going on. He didn't say anything the rest of the drive, happy to let his girlfriend be grumpy for the rest of the drive. As long as it wasn't directed at him, he was fine.

When they arrived, Harry shouldered both of their bags and handed her the keys to his apartment. "Go ahead and get in the shower. I'll meet you in there in a few minutes."

At that, he could practically see Y/n's grumpy facade start to crumble, but she nodded wordlessly and trudged up the stairs. Harry followed suit, setting their bags down and rustling through his small kitchen, trying to remember where he kept the emergency stash of her favorite snacks.

He realized that it was probably Y/n's time of the month. She became particularly moody around then, and it only took a couple minutes for Harry to put the pieces together. Should Niall have said anything? No, but the fact that he was right probably pissed Y/n off even more.

Harry grabbed a few things before heading down the hallway, the sound of water running growing louder as he got closer to the bathroom. He headed to his room first, setting Y/n's snacks and a couple other things down before kicking off his shoes and leaving to join Y/n like he promised.

"Need some help?"

Y/n was just standing beneath the spray coming from the shower head, not washing her hair or her face, the first steps in a detailed routine. She shrugged as he stepped into the shower, his hands smoothing over her shoulders before kissing the top of one gently.

"What's hurting?" he asked, continuing to snake his arms around her to hold her close.

"My boobs, my back, my ego, and I have the worst cramps," she huffed, but Harry detected the slight shift in her voice. Now that they were alone, she was trying not to cry. "He should try playing his precious sport while his uterine lining is shedding."

"I know," Harry said, reaching for the shampoo she used and squirting some in his hand. "Scalp only, right?"

Y/n nodded, some of the tension leaving her body when he started massaging the shampoo into her scalp. He worked slowly, trying to let the day wash off of her, murmuring to her and kissing parts of her body occasionally. When the actual bathing part of the shower was over, Harry turned Y/n around to face him, his kisses becoming more drawn out, sensual. His hands were soft, but firm, trying to knead away the soreness in her breasts and back.

Y/n sighed, eyes fluttering closed as she leaned into his touch. Both of them could feel him growing hard, it was hard not to give the circumstances, but neither of them said anything about it. Harry wasn't really focused on himself at the moment.

"Want me to use the shower head?" he asked.

Y/n shook her head. "I want you."

"Yeah?"

Peeking one eye open, she said, "Don't be so smug about it."

Harry chuckled softly and reached a hand up to hold one side of her face. "Me? Never."

For the first time all afternoon, Y/n grinned, but it quickly turned into a frown. "We can't."

"Baby, we're in the shower."

"Still, I think it's gross." But even as she said it, she moaned when he began to kiss her again.

They had this debate every time Y/n was on her period, but Harry always managed to find some way around it. For her sake, not his. He knew they both wanted to, but Y/n never believed him when he insisted he didn't mind if she was on her period. His solution was usually the detachable showerhead, but she didn't seem to want that this time.

"Here," Harry said, an idea sparking. He sat down, the tiles cold against his skin as he brought Y/n down with him. She didn't follow though, staying standing, her arms crossed over her body. "Would you get down here? I promise I won't even look. See?"

Harry covered his eyes with one hand, then raised them to show that his eyes were closed underneath.

"You promise you won't look?"

"Won't even watch you come, which is arguably my favorite part," Harry said, only half teasing.

He kept his promise to keep his eyes closed, so he couldn't tell if or when Y/n decided, though when he felt her settle over his lap, he had a pretty good idea. She draped herself over him, tucking herself close to him when he was fully settled inside her. Harry couldn't tell if she just wanted to sit like this or if she wanted more, but all he got was a contented sigh in his ear, which didn't really help.

"Okay, you can go now," Y/n said after a few minutes had passed, voice soft and a little slow as if she'd just woken up from a long nap.

Harry couldn't help but laugh a little. "I have to keep my eyes closed and do all the work?"

Y/n only nodded, not moving from where she was tightly hugging him. Harry was amused, but not all that surprised. She despised the term, but Y/n was without a doubt the textbook definition of a pillow princess. She had a pretty tough exterior, but once they were alone, she melted, becoming more needy and letting Harry take control. She liked being praised for taking all of him and behaving for him. His good girl, Harry once called her, and after she lit up from it, he called her that anytime they were intimate. He thrived off of it, Y/n's eagerness to please and the way she let him have his way with her.

Harry maneuvered himself a little, earning a few gasps and whimpers from Y/n. When he finally found a good enough position to hold her while not slipping on the slick tiles, he nudged the side of her cheek with his nose.

"I need at least a kiss first." He was keeping his word, so his eyes were still shut, but when Y/n slotted her lips over his and gripped the wet curls that were pressed to the nape of his neck, he grinned, focusing on the sensation of her kiss. With his eyes closed, Harry felt everything. Every shift of her hips, every clench she made around him, it was almost torturous, but he held off driving into her until he thought she was ready. "Thank you, bub. Be as loud as you want, okay?"

That only made her squeeze him tighter, and Harry took that as his signal to get started. It was slow as he tried to find the right rhythm, listening closely to how Y/n was reacting. Usually he was able to tell by the little faces she made, but he went off her sounds and how hard she squeezed her arms around his neck.

Harry murmured in Y/n's ear the whole time, letting her know how good she felt around him and to touch herself however she wanted. By the end of it, she was all molten limbs and tired, satisfied eyes, kissing all over his face as he smoothed back her hair. Harry gave her a couple minutes to come back down from her high before he helped her stand back up and let her get dressed while he showered properly.

Later that night, Y/n was sleeping in Harry's bed, a heating pad strapped to her back while she stayed tucked into his chest. They'd watched a couple movies and eaten her favorite snacks, and at one point Y/n crawled into his lap to ride his thigh when she claimed she needed another orgasm. Harry was happy to give her one, happy to let her use him how she liked, though he had to help her hips along after a couple minutes.

All the grumpiness from earlier was gone. She had nothing but kind words and sweet nothings and little jokes she mumbled to him as they continued watching a show they started together, which was when she promptly fell asleep. Harry was right behind her, he just had to send a text first.

Y/n's ballet training is at 8am on Wednesday. Be there.

Harry had promised Y/n Niall would apologize, and he couldn't think of a better way than his friend struggling to plié. He didn't need to add or else or any other kind of threat. It was unnecessary. Niall had pissed off Y/n, and he knew Harry would make him pay if he didn't make it right.

After sending the text he set his phone down and settled deeper into the pillows. Y/n shuffled around a little, then murmured, "Little spoon."

Harry understood immediately, turning over so she could wrap her arms around him and rest her cheek on his back. With that, Y/n fell back asleep, and Harry gave one last kiss to her knuckles before following suit.

[louisisalarrie]

Hi!

Is it possible that this long break was planned way before it even started? Not just because H might’ve asked for it for his own well-being, but also because it’s a strategy other artists have used after going through a period of major public and media overexposure.

Plus, I don’t think there’s been any real sign that H changed record labels or management. He was seen with Sony’s CEO back in March last year, and the Azoffs are still using his name for promo. And there have been a lot of rumours he's coming back this summer.

hello anonnnn, and welcome to the show! (second one in a couple of days… we so back)

Rumours aside of dropping a single/coming back in July (these Twitter “insider” accounts have been changing months for when it’s coming for like over a year now, and also if one writes July the others are going to as well to make it look more real lol), this shit is business. It’s his job, right? But it’s more complex than having a shitty boss/team at an office/hospo job and moving on and cutting all ties because they were assholes. You can start fresh with a new company. The music industry is too intertwined and he’s working with the very top bosses - he’s not gonna cut all professional relationships with them, whether he’s still working for them or not.

I think it’s quite a common misconception about H, that he’d cut all ties and never speak to these idiots again when he finishes his contract. That’s simply not how it works. It’s in his very best interest for his career to keep them in his back pocket, and that’s where they’d like to stay too. Even if he leaves/has left them, unless he outs their shit to the world (in which will seriously negotiate the longevity of his career since these assholes own so much of the industry), they’re gonna stay on professional and friendly terms, regardless of whether he comes back at all. It’s all work, and they can offer him just about everything.

Rob, Azoffs, etc. are all gonna wanna be very nice to him to entice him to come back. They’re gonna offer him more money, more freedom, anything they possibly can to keep him because he is such a huge moneymaker for them. Of course they don’t want him to leave, but also, he’s quite isolated at the same time. It’s not that easy to jump ship when you’re at the level he is.

Everyone wants a piece of Harry, and I cannot imagine how frustrating that must be for him. He’s treated as subhuman, a product, a commodity, and I doubt any other managers can offer him more than they can, so he may not be attached to them for now but he has them to come back to if he wants. He could be in the midst of negotiation, he could be entirely out of a contract, but with his level of fame… those are unfortunately the guys he’s gonna be tied to unless he outs them and loses pretty much any chance of continuing on a highly successful career.

This industry is entirely to do with relationships and networking. It’s who you know. He could go to UMG and start over there with Capitol too (UMG have a larger market share and global recorded music revenue compared to Sony and WME), but that also involves potentially dissolving his own Erskine Records, and politics and there’s just sooooo much tied into this… it’s simply not that easy. Also, Mr Azoff has his fingers a little bit in the UMG pie too.

If he entirely leaves the Azoffs and Sony, there’s a good chance he’d be fine with UMG, but not if he speaks out publicly about how Sony has treated him. He becomes a problem then, and no one is gonna touch him because then what happens if he comes out and talks shit about UMG? The Azoffs and Sony and everyone else are gonna be like “nooooo we wouldn’t do that!!! we love our artists!!!!” and if he doesn’t speak out but moves to UMG quietly, Sony still looks kinda bad and they’re all intertwined and anyway it’s one big shit show. Azoff and WME are not friends though, at all, so if he went there… he’s fracturing relationships pretty intensely. And these relationships are so, so fragile.

The long of the short of it is, him speaking out and throwing all these losers under the bus, will throw away all the hard work he’s done and all his professional (and personal) relationships with these people. I want him to speak out, 100%, but he can’t do what he does without a big management team and label behind him. It would essentially cut his ties with Live Nation too, so he’d have to move on to AEG (who are like the second biggest promoter and strongly connected to UMG), which is fine but having Live Nation in your pocket is still more valuable in the long run. However, if he leaves quietly to UMG, he’s still gonna uphold those relationships in Sony/Azoffs/Stringer the best he can in the case that everything goes to shit. Even if signed to a diff manager. But it’s just very hard for him to leave.

And that’s why I think the contract has expired and he’s staying out of it until he figures out what to do/gets what he wants. And he might sign with them again, sure, but it’s all politics and networking and until he does a tell all, he’s gonna be seen upholding good relationships and playing nice for his own sake of continuing on a career at his level. I don’t think it was planned. I could consider it being planned if it was like a year, because you’re right, the overexposure etc are all factors, but it’s been so long I just don’t think he’s still with them for now.

Sorry this is a bit of a mess I should’ve broken it down more in sections of mgmt vs label but I hope you get what I mean and I apologise that im a bit all over the shop today

[harrytheehottie]

JUNO

WORD COUNT: 2K MASTERLIST this is a part of the short & sweet fic challenge @harry-on-broadway let me know what you think 💘 hope you enjoy!

The sun was casting a warm golden glow through the windows of your living room as you sat on the couch. Harry was in the kitchen making your nightly tea as you rested on the sofa. It was a peaceful evening, like many that you have shared over the last three years. This familiar feeling and routine was something you cherished especially with the hectic schedule Harry’s life could bring.

A year ago, he finished his two year long world tour. It was an incredible feat and one that was an emotional roller coaster since it began. He had his entire life planned from the minute we all went into lockdown to the final show in Italy and these last seven months were spent just making up for lost time. He was always home when you came back from work, he was the one that was traveling on your schedule and your terms. It was a great change from how your relationship was before. You didn’t have to anticipate the day that he was going to go away for weeks at a time because you were a part of that decision making now and it only made the two of you stronger as a unit. 

You glanced at the framed photos on the mantel: you and Harry in various stages over the last three years--goofing around backstage at Coachella, the night he turned his green room in MSG into a home theater and begged security to let you two spend the night after you just got off a six hour flight to surprise him for his last show. It was the simple moments that were your favorite, the picture of you walking through the Heath, a cup of coffee and pastries in tow for your favorite weekend tradition of a Saturday morning picnic. 

This was the first year that you were able to think about the future just as it pertained to you and Harry. You didn’t have to think about how your life decisions factored into anyone else's. You always knew you wanted to have a family. He was always going above and beyond for the children in his life not just by spoiling them with gifts but checking up on them and making sure they knew that he was always there. And this became more apparent when he became an Uncle. He was always the first to offer up babysitting so his sister and her partner could enjoy some quality time, even making the trek up to Cheshire to watch his cousin's children if they asked.

So, when Harry walked back into the living room with a cup of tea for you and snacks for himself you sort of blurted it out before you had the chance to second guess the right time for this conversation. 

“I’m ready to have a baby.”

Harry’s eyes widened, completely caught off guard, “What?” almost second guessing what you just said. 

You take a deep breath, your heart racing realizing that you are not going to be able to take those words back. “I’ve just been thinking, we have talked about the future a lot as this far-fetched idea but we’re here now and…” you paused looking up at him, his expression shifting from the initial shock, he leaned closer, taking your hands in his. You knew how Harry worked and the subtle shift in energy was all you needed to continue, “I know not to think, I know I’m ready… for that next step.” 

A moment of silence stretched between you as he processed your words “You really mean that?”

“More than anything,” you admitted, looking into his eyes. “I can’t imagine going through that journey with anyone else. And it just feels good right now, us, we are so good right now and there is just no reason to wait.” 

Harry’s expression softened, and you could see the wheels turning in his mind. “It’s a big step, probably one of the biggest steps we will ever take together.” 

“Will we ever truly be ready?” You chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. “Life is unpredictable, but I want this with you.I want to build a family together.”

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting to the window. “I’ve thought about it too,” he finally said, turning back to you. “I want that. I’ve always wanted it honestly. I remember the first time you met Ruby and the way she was instantly drawn to you. S’probably when the thought first crossed my mind.”

You remembered that day. You were so incredibly nervous to meet Harry’s close group of friends. It was Ruby -- his God daughter’s 4th birthday. You had only been dating for around three months at that point. You remember stressing about what to buy her as a gift and even though Harry promised no one would think twice if you showed up empty handed. You still scoured the internet looking up every list of ‘best gifts for a 4 year old girl’ and settled on a Peppa Pig Camper Playset with all the characters. And to say it was a hit was an understatement. The two of you still joke about how as soon as Ruby opened her present she demanded that you stay after to set up the toy and play with her. 

Harry remembers watching the way you were interacting with Ruby and how her father, Ben made a comment about how he had never seen Harry so fixated on someone before like he had you. It was still early days but he always went back to that moment and how it led you to where you are now. 

“So, are we ready to do this?” You asked with a mix of excitement and nervousness in your voice. 

“You know, if we really want to be serious about this. We’re going to have to start practicing.” Harry teased pulling you closer to him. The warmth of his body against yours as his lips met yours. The kiss was soft at first, tentative like he was emphasizing the importance of the moment you just shared.  

You pulled away first, a smirk on your face, “Hmm.. practice? I’m feeling a little tired right now,” You teased with a wide yawn stretching your arms over your head. The playful banter that you know drives him crazy. Harry moves his hands to cup your face, his thumb glazing over your lips again, “C’mere” he whispers. He begins kissing down your neck, leaving small kisses along his path from his lips. You move your hands through his hair, as he scoots back on the couch, pushing your shirt up in the process and you help to take it off.

The kisses continue. He’s moving down your neck, between your cleavage and he stops right at the top of your stomach. His hands that were holding yours moved to touch your belly — picturing what was going to happen next. The commitment to a family and how you would be the home for his future baby. You were almost tearing up at the sight of him and just how careful he was already, always putting your needs first and making you his priority. 

“You’re gonna have to use your words, baby,” You whisper as Harry moves his hands to the waist of your pants. You are already ready for him and he knew it just by how much you were wiggling under him trying to get him to move faster.

“I want you,” he says in a low breathy tone before helping you get your pants off. You move your weight onto your forearms to get a good view of him. You watch as Harry slides your underwear to the side, a rush of pleasure washing over the both of you. “So wet for me…” leaving his lips as he moves his fingers up and down your slit. The juxtaposition of the sexyness and tenderness of the moment right as he slid one and quickly two digits in pushing his fingers in and out. The pleasure washing over your body, the whimper of ‘Oh yes’ and ‘Baby’ a moan escaping your lips as you rode out your first orgasm. 

His lips are immediately back on yours as you slide your hand into his pants pushing his joggers off trying to keep every part of your body touching. After being in a relationship for three years you still periodically used contraceptives especially when you are in the thick of it with his work never wanting anything to come in the way of jeopardizing this unspoken tension between the two of you. And tonight, was going to be and feel different, no more trying to locate the last spot you left condoms going on stretches of time of just trying the process. This was intentional and you felt the mutual giddyness as you slid your hand down his length pumping him once, twice, three times before Harry is ready for you. 

“M’not gonna last very long,” he says before aligning your hips before pushing in deep. Taking a couple of deep breaths as you move your hips along with Harry as you adjust to the familiar feeling of him inside you. Harry leans his head toward you leaving kisses all over him, your nails dragging up and down his back. 

“Tell me it feels good,” You whispered the sounds of your mutual pleasure echoing in the room. 

“Feels so fuckin’ good, always s’fuckin good” Harry was moving faste and harder meeting your gaze right before letting himself go inside you. His body collapsing on top of you as both tried to catch your breath from the pleasure. You had your arms wrapped around his body wanting to keep the warmth of his body on you forever. 

You cleaned yourselves up and spent the rest of the night thinking about your future and how you were going to take that next step forward. Harry was your safe space and you were his. You both knew that this next step forward would be unlike anything you’ve done before but you were both ready, as a team to make this next step. 

And one day, you will be in this same living room waiting for Harry to finish making a bottle for your future baby - and boy, could you not wait. 

[hollowed-theory-hall]

"Where do you think Harry would live after the war? I personally think he would stay at the Burrow for a while, but I can also see him coming back to Grimmauld Place. I know Harry sees the Weasleys as family, but I doubt he'd want to live there long-term. Harry's an introvert, and the Burrow isn’t the best place for someone who needs time alone. But yeah, it’s my headcanon, so I’m curious about your opinion on this."

I really like the idea of Harry returning to Grimmauld Place, though, I don't think it'll be immediately.

The first night after Voldemort is dead, he sleeps in his bed in Gryffindor Tower:

he turned away from the painted portraits, thinking now only of the fourposter bead lying waiting for him in Gryffindor Tower and wondering whether Kreacher might bring him a sandwich there

(DH)

He might stay in Hogwarts for a bit to help out McGonagall and the others. While they're going through the bodies, preparing burials, until Mrs. Weasley insists it's bad for him, and he should come stay at the Burrow with them.

I actually think Harry would decline because I'm not sure how comfortable he'd feel there right after Fred died. How he could sit there, having died and came back, but Fred just died. He didn't come back. And, I don't think most of the Weasleys would really think it's Harry's fault, but, there will be some tension there. Like, I think Harry would feel really awkward about the whole thing and like when he's upset early in DH and in OotP, he'd want to be alone.

Harry tends to go quite and isolate himself when upset, so I see him finding himself back at Grimmauld with Kreacher, secluding himself from everyone for a bit and disassociating like early in OotP:

On the fourth night after Hedwig’s departure Harry was lying in one of his apathetic phases, staring at the ceiling, his exhausted mind quite blank, when his uncle entered his bedroom. Harry looked slowly around at him. Uncle Vernon was wearing his best suit and an expression of enormous smugness.

(OotP)

Or after Ron left in DH:

She [Hermione] threw herself into a chair, curled up, and started to cry. Harry felt dazed. He stooped, picked up the Horcrux, and placed it around his own neck. He dragged blankets off Ron’s bunk and threw them over Hermione. Then he climbed onto his own bed and stared up at the dark canvas roof, listening to the pounding of the rain.

(DH)

Hary, when upset and depressed, tends to just, shut down. So I can see him going into this state in Grimmauld Place for a bit early after the war. (Except for a few visits to Andromeda and Teddy, since I think he'd take his godfather role very seriously).

That is until Ron and Hermione drop by to drag him to dinner at the Burrow.

During this first time at the Burrow is when Ginny probably corners him about their relationship, how that goes depends on what AU/ship you're writing. But even in canon (with the epilogue), I'm not sure how quickly they get back together. I mean, Ginny still goes back to Hogwarts and Harry would try to find his footing in his life, so, it's up to the writer.

Anyway, I think Harry is more likely to stay most of the time at Grimmauld Place but stop by the Burrow often enough in the year after the end of the war (after that first lunch/dinner Ron and Hermione drag him to).

This guy is going to use Sirius' bedroom again (like in DH) like the traumatized mess that he is.

Now, the question is, where is Teddy in this time?

We know during the battle he's with Andromeda, and I think Harry is going to take his godfather responsibility super seriously, as I mentioned. Harry doesn't trust adults in general, so I think, initially, he wouldn't really know what to think of Andromeda, so I think he'd be more inclined to visit her and Teddy before going to the Burrow — he feels responsible for Teddy and guilty over Fred. And Andromeda I think would feel familiar to him. I think she has the same arrogance as Sirius, she carrys a similar pain to Harry — she, too, lost everyone. They both only have Teddy.

(Yes, Harry has the Weasleys, and as much as he loves them and appreciates how Molly tries to make him feel included, I don't think he really feels like he belongs, yk?

The aftermath of Fred's death shows this well:

The Great Hall seemed to fly away, become smaller, shrink, as Harry reeled backward from the doorway. He could not draw breath. He could not bear to look at any of the other bodies, to see who else had died for him. He could not bear to join the Weasleys, could not look into their eyes, when if he had given himself up in the first place, Fred might never have died. . .

(DH)

And after the war, he skips Ginny and Molly to get to Ron and Hermione:

He spotted Ginny two tables away; she was sitting with her head on her mother’s shoulder: There would be time to talk later, hours and days and maybe years in which to talk. [...] Everywhere he looked he saw families reunited, and finally, he saw the two whose company he craved most.

(DH)

Ron and Hermione are the closest to family for Harry, not all the Weasleys. When he wants to reunite with family, it's Ron and Hermione, not Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys. (And Luna earlier, but that's because she is comforting to him in general, but he doesn't see her the way he does Ron and Hermione))

Eventually, though, he'd probably move out of Grimmauld and to a different place of his own. With who and when is more up to personal headcanon and whether you consider the epilogue canon or not.

[allwaswell16]

All the One Direction fics I read and enjoyed in Jan 2025. For more new fics, check out this month's fic roundup at @1dmonthlyficroundup ! You can find my other fic recs here.

- Louis / Harry -

✧ A Frail Farewell by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings

(M, 44k, famous/not famous) Louis can’t believe his luck when he is offered one of the easiest jobs he has had as a long-term house-sitter for the wealthy. Most of all he likes that there are no surprises until he gets the shock of his life from ex-pop star Harry Styles who isn’t supposed to be home.

✧ hard times in elmsmere by stylinsoncity / @aliensingucci

(M, 37k, time travel) for louis, being a full-fledged vampire complicates everything, not just his relationship with harry but with harry’s entire coven who took Louis in as an orphan.

✧ Enough To Wish For More by galactic_larry / @galacticlarry

(M, 33k, The Bridges of Madison County au) Louis Tomlinson just wants a few days of peace and quiet while his family are out of state. But when he meets the lead singer of a band he’s never heard of, his life and everything he thought he knew about it changes forever.

✧ On a starlit night by @lunarheslwt

(M, 24k, omegaverse) omega and future Luna Louis is holding a mating ceremony to find his mate, but what he doesn’t expect to see amongst the alphas vying for his hand, is a familiar, yet unexpected face: Harry Styles.

✧ Treat You Like A Gentleman by @justanothershadeofblue

(E, 12k, neighbors) 5 times that Harry Styles was unsatisfied by his dates, and one time Louis Tomlinson helped him find what he had been missing.

✧ Roll Like Thunder by croisblue / @forwhatiam

(M, 9k, disabled Louis) When quadriplegic Louis Tomlinson's therapist recommends he see a surrogate partner, he panics, thinking this is yet another way he's being belittled for his disability. 

✧ When Everything’s Wrong (You Make it Right) by @silverstuff50

(E, 7k, omegaverse) There is something wrong with his nest. Harry’s rearranged it a thousand times tonight, even in his foggy state just on the edge of a drop.

✧ Just Two Stars Passing By by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird

(E, 5k, omegaverse) Harry blew up on TikTok and became a fashion commentator during the pandemic. Somehow he ends up covering arrival fashion for the 2024 Euros, and somehow Louis Tomlinson already knows his name.

✧ A Wrench and a Rodent by @haztobegood

(T, 5k, Danny Phantom au) Louis just wants to study astrophysics, do some research, and graduate from Casper University. Fate throws a wrench in his plans.

✧ a naughty little christmas miracle by larryftnoctrl / @the-larry-way

(M, 4k, flirting) Louis is a luxury lingerie store employee and he's so gay. Where are all the gay men who like lingerie? Maybe the festive season will bring him a miracle.

✧ All You Want's Under Your Nose by @wishingforloushair

(E, 3k, pwp) Louis decides to treat himself to a new sex toy, but is perplexed when he sees a man in the shop placing each vibrator against the tip of his nose and sneezing. 

✧ Port and Starbord by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 3k, pirates) “Zayn,” Harry gasps. “I am your captain.”

✧ for your eyes only (i’ll show you my heart) by moon_rose25 / @darkinfinity

(G, 1k, omegaverse) omega Harry has touch depri and finds comfort in alpha Louis’ scent

- Rare Pairs -

✧ Quite Like You by @reminiscingintherain

(M, 11k, Zayn/Louis) Told in a series of flashbacks, the story of Zayn and Louis from children to parents.

✧ be still, my foolish heart by localopa / @voulezloux

(G, 3k, Zayn/Niall) "you really love me? this is not a prank, right? because then i would have to punch you and i actually really want to kiss you."

✧ Duck Crossing by @lululawrence

(NR, 2k, Louis/Diego Luna) My sister sent me to the discord without explaining what was so special about the town’s ducks, and when I went to ask about it, I somehow got roped into helping you here tonight instead, so…

[m1ckeyb3rry]

hii, i was wondering if i could submit a request for a fic🤔I don't rlly have any specific prompt but i want it to be about karasu or zantetsu, either one is fine. i've read all of ur karasu fics and they're so good! i love ur writing sm!! if u don't want to i totally understand but i also just want to tell u that i think ur writing is awesome (^◡^)

Synopsis: You become taken with your coworker’s roommate, Karasu, unaware that he’s just as fascinated by you — and maybe he has been for longer than you realize.

BLLK Masterlist

Pairing: Karasu x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 8.6k

Content Warnings: relationship dynamics many would consider…interesting…, <- never thought i’d be using THAT for a karasu fic, i’m bored of normal karasu characterization so i made him ooc, he’s like fr a weirdo icl, otoya catches strays, yukimiya is just trying to get through the workday, reader is a model, reader’s feet are mentioned a lot?? not sexually in the slightest (they’re injured so she complains abt them) but i mean it’s there ig if you’re a hater, very vague and unfinished feeling not on purpose i just gave up tbh

A/N: you sent this to me so long ago idek if you remember it LMAOAOAO i am so sorry i like fell off the face of the earth in terms of answering requests but HERE IT IS erm sorry it actually highkey sucks but at least karasu is in it…i guess…UGHHHH I HATE THIS BUT I COULDN’T KEEP PROCRASTINATING IT YOU LITERALLY SENT THIS IN THE BEGINNING OF AUGUST I’M SO SORRY MY DEAR but also tysm HAHHA you are very sweet!! i’m glad you like my writing and once again i am sorry for disappearing…

Additional: check my pinned post to make sure i have requests open; after reading the rules, please feel free to make your own!

You had never seen the man leaning against the wall behind the camera before. He wore a dark trench coat and a plaid scarf looped around his neck, and unlike everyone else bustling about the set, barking out orders and shoving each other into place, he was entirely calm. In his right hand, he held his phone, scrolling through something on it with his thumb, and in between his teeth was a lollipop — cherry flavored, which you only knew because of the wrapper lying at his feet.

“That’s not Yukimiya, right?” you whispered to the girl who was buttoning up the back of your top.

“Hm?” she said. “No, Mr. Yukimiya hasn’t checked in yet. I have no idea who that is.”

He was tall, with wide shoulders and the type of face that must have been crafted with painstaking detail by someone or another, his features keen, his eyes a brilliant shade of blue so dark they were nearly violet or black. Dark hair fell into darker eyebrows like the ink of a ballpoint pen on a paper-pale forehead, and just above his left cheekbone was a black beauty mark, which changed everything and yet nothing about him.

You supposed he must’ve sensed your gaze lingering on him, for he furrowed his brow and then lifted his chin, scanning the room before his eyes meet yours. He didn’t seem offended by the prying, his lips curling into a smile as he lifted his left hand into a jaunty wave, returning his attention to whatever he was reading on his phone before you could respond in turn or do anything to feel less like you had been caught committing some crime.

“I’m sorry I’m late!”

This must’ve been Kenyu Yukimiya, your partner for the shoot. He was handsome, too, with a harried, windswept appearance to his reddened cheeks and tousled hair; when he grinned at you apologetically, he was entirely reminiscent of a painting from antiquity.

He sat in the chair next to you as the makeup team got to work, applying the faintest touch of product so that he was not entirely washed out by the blinding lights of the cameras in your faces. You returned his smile with one of your own, polite and careful.

“Luckily, the director hasn’t arrived yet, so it’s not a problem,” you said. “Apparently, he’s strict on everyone but himself.”

Yukimiya winced as a heap of clothes was thrown at him and the finishing touches were placed on his chestnut hair. You watched him with amusement, your hands folded in your lap as he was yanked to his feet.

“Guess I got lucky this time, then,” he said, stumbling into the dressing room, the door slamming shut behind him. You stood yourself, stretching your arms and legs with a deep breath, rolling your ankles in the air, alternating as you did so, and then pacing back and forth in an attempt to accustom yourself to the monstrosities that your feet had been shoved into.

The man in the corner didn’t seem affected by the chaos Yukimiya’s appearance had thrown everyone into. You thought you saw something like a snort escape him, but otherwise he was calm — although you noticed he had tucked his phone away and shoved his hands in his pockets, opting to instead observe his surroundings with a soft curiosity.

You turned away before he could shift his attention to you once again, because your pride could not handle being caught by him a second time, and you pretended like you were entirely fascinated with putting one foot in front of the other, walking in a line so straight it was as if it had been drawn with a ruler.

Yukimiya reappeared completely ready a few seconds later, tying the laces of his dress shoes and then joining you at your side, although of course he did not need to practice walking or anything so silly. Like most men, he had been afforded the luxury of comfort; he wasn’t the showpiece of this edition, after all. You were, and so you were the one made up into a spectacle beyond natural ability or attempt.

“Everyone, in your places!” the director shouted as he entered the studio, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and the other on his hip. He was diminutive in stature and wore a ridiculously feathered hat, but what he lacked in height, he more than made up for in position, so nobody would dare to say that to him, least of all you, who could so easily be replaced.

Still, for one final time, you allowed yourself to look at the man standing all by himself, wondering if he’d offer some reaction to the getup, some indication that you weren’t alone in your feelings. You weren’t sure why it was him who you sought out; perhaps because he, unlike everyone else, was a mystery, an enigma, and so while you could map out without knowing what all the other faces in the room looked like at that moment, you needed to see his to understand it.

He wrinkled his nose into a snicker, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe his eyes, and then he took his phone back out of his pocket, maybe to give himself an excuse for laughing. It wasn’t like he really needed an excuse, because no one else was even looking at him, but then again, there was never any harm in caution.

“You’re Y/N L/N, right?” Yukimiya said to you, his hand on your shoulder as you faced the camera, waiting for the director to adjust your stances. “It’s a pleasure. I’m surprised this is the first time we’re actually talking.”

“The pleasure is mine,” you said. “And yes, it’s a wonder we haven’t worked together before, given how frequently I’ve heard your name mentioned. I’m looking forward to it.”

Something about Yukimiya served to enhance everyone he was around, and so, instead of stealing the attention from you, he somehow managed to direct the spotlight so that it shone only on your placid face. You had been expecting the opposite, but you weren’t angry about it; in fact, you couldn’t have been more pleased. It was always the worst thing when your coworker was jostling you out of the way for a few extra seconds in front of the cameras, and you thought to yourself that you’d have to find some way of ensuring you were booked with him more often.

“Amazing! I don’t think I’ve ever been so quickly satisfied by a shoot!” the director said, clapping his hands together and nodding at you both. “Excellent work. I think we can wrap up for the day. I’ll see you two here at the same time tomorrow!”

“Wow,” Yukimiya said as everyone started disassembling the set. “I thought you said he was strict.”

You shrugged as you walked over to the dressing rooms. “I thought he was.”

“Well, we probably shouldn’t complain,” he said. “Between this and practice, my schedule is booked. I have no space to be ungrateful about a little extra time.”

“Very true,” you said. “It’s always nice when things like this end sooner than anticipated. Better than later, anyways.”

The first thing you took off were those excuses for shoes, kicking them under the door for good measure and shoving your feet into a pair of fluffy slippers, wiggling your toes with a sigh. Peeling off every layer you had squeezed into for the sake of the director’s creative vision, you curled up on the bench in only your underwear, sipping on water through a metal straw and staring at the wall, hugging your knees to your chest, lost in thinking about nothing.

Only when you grew cold did you stand, pulling on a sweatshirt three sizes too large and sweatpants that puddled at your shoes, shielding you from the world as you trudged out of the dressing room, wanting to rub your eyes but knowing that you would smear makeup all over the backs of your hands. You settled instead for playing with the thread you had taped to the handle of your water bottle for exactly such an occasion, twirling the loose ends of the meticulous knots in between your fingers idly.

“Ah — L/N!” Yukimiya waved at you as you made your way towards the exit. Unaccustomed to further camaraderie after the end of the workday, you had to fight to keep your expression neutral, and when you noticed the man from earlier was at Yukimiya’s side, the lollipop long gone, you had to fight even harder.

“Is something the matter?” you said.

“No, nothing at all,” he said. “I just figured we might as well walk to the parking garage together, since it’s late and all.”

“I appreciate it,” you said. The studio you were at had only one security guard in its employ, a man that inspired pity more than fear, with a few strands of hair glued into a desperate attempt at a combover and a shirt that was far too thin to be considered professional, so you hadn’t even considered asking for an escort, figuring you would take your chances. Still, the thought of walking alone wasn’t the most appealing, and while you wouldn’t have asked for it yourself, you were glad Yukimiya had offered his company nonetheless.

“Oh! Karasu, this is Y/N L/N. L/N, this is Tabito Karasu,��� Yukimiya said as you reached the door and the other man — Karasu — used one black-gloved hand to open it.

“Is he your bodyguard or something? Thank you,” you said, nodding at Karasu for holding the door.

“He wishes,” Karasu said. His voice was rough and deep and sounded like he was perpetually in on some private joke, but you didn’t mind it, not in the slightest. “I’m his roommate — the one with a car, by the way. And a driver’s license. And the time to pick his sorry ass up.”

“What he means is that he offered to stop by on his way home to get me,” Yukimiya said.

“That’s very generous of you,” you said. “Especially considering you were there even before Yukimiya was.”

“Don’t you think? It’s fine, now he owes me one,” Karasu said, his eyes glimmering. “And I intend to collect, of course.”

“He never does anything out of the goodness of his heart,” Yukimiya said with a long-suffering sigh. “You better be careful around him, L/N. Whatever he gives you, he’ll expect the same in return.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said, though of course you had no intentions of ever being around Karasu in any way that mattered.

“We play soccer for the Japanese team, you know,” Karasu said. “You should come to one of our games, L/N. I’m sure some of our teammates would be delighted by that. Right, Yuki?”

Yukimiya sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “If you’re talking about Otoya and Aiku, then yes, but that’s not necessarily a good thing.”

“Not for her, it isn’t,” Karasu said. “For them, sure it is. But I wasn’t talking about those two, anyways.”

“Pardon?” you said.

“Ignore him,” Yukimiya said. “I don’t really know what he’s going on about.”

“It was nice meeting you,” Karasu said, picking up before Yukimiya on the fact that your steps had stuttered to a stop. “L/N, was it?”

He offered you his hand. You took it and shook, arching a brow at the firmness of his grip, which was much more in line with a businessman than a soccer player. 

“Yes,” you said. “Karasu? It was nice to meet you as well.”

“Don’t worry,” Yukimiya said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ll make my other roommate pick me up tomorrow.”

“Otoya?” Karasu said. “Good luck with that. He’ll be late to his own funeral, so don’t think you’re high on his priority list. The only time he comes early is—”

“Karasu,” Yukimiya interjected. “Don’t be crass.”

“Sure, sure,” he said. “See you around, L/N. Or maybe not.”

“See you,” you said, starting your car so that it wasn’t freezing when you got in, deciding it wouldn’t be polite to tack on a definitely not to the farewell and instead opting to stay silent.

“Bye, L/N,” Yukimiya said. “Until tomorrow.”

Although your apartment wasn’t large by any means, it wasn’t small, either, sitting at a comfortable medium that was paid for half by you and half by your brother, who was hardly ever home, anyways, but needed somewhere for his mail to be delivered. He was a free spirit, always traveling: for work, for fun, for women and wine, for anything his heart desired, which left you the entire space to yourself more often than not. People were jealous of you when they found out, but when you sat on the couch alone, a blanket pulled up around your shoulders and a bowl of salad held in between your knees, the television on only to ward away the silence that permeated the room, you wondered what they had to be jealous of.

The next day, you didn’t look for Karasu when you entered the studio, but you knew as you stepped in that he wasn’t there. There was something missing, the room a little brighter without him in the corner, waiting with an unmatched patience for Yukimiya to be done. Yukimiya must’ve made good on his threat, then, to call their other roommate to pick him up, although privately you wondered why he couldn’t just drive himself.

The shoot went even smoother the second day than it had the first, and it was a surprise the director didn’t fall to your feet and grovel at the speed with which you executed his vision. Yukimiya struck that perfect balance of workmanlike and personable, and you were content to play along with him, so all in all things moved with relative swiftness.

When you went to leave, you noticed that Yukimiya was standing by the door on his own, tapping his phone furiously. You were under no obligation to stop, but for some reason, you did, waiting awkwardly for a second before clearing your throat.

“Is everything alright?” you said. He startled, almost dropping his phone as he blinked at you.

“Yes! Yes, it’s fine, it’s just my roommate is a jerk, that’s all. Last night, he told me he was fine with picking me up, but now all of a sudden he’s busy,” he said with a scoff.

“Otoya, right?” you said. Yukimiya cocked his head.

“Yes, how’d you know?” he said.

“Karasu — your other roommate mentioned him yesterday,” you said, correcting yourself so that it didn’t seem like Karasu was someone you paid special attention to. Judging by Yukimiya’s expression, you didn’t think you had been entirely successful in the attempt, which was unlike you. You bit the tip of your tongue so that you didn’t say anything further, waiting for him to respond.

“Right,” he said.

“Why don’t you drive yourself?” you said, crossing your arms and standing beside him, facing the road as he was. 

“I can’t,” he said.

“You never learned?” you said. He shook his head, adjusting his glasses self-consciously.

“It’s not recommended I do,” he said. He didn’t elaborate further, but he didn’t have to; you recognized it wasn’t your place and hummed in acknowledgement.

“If you want, I don’t mind taking you,” you said. You didn’t know where Yukimiya lived — for all you knew, it was across the city entirely — but it didn’t hurt to extend your hand like that, especially because you had a sense that he wouldn’t even accept it.

“It’s alright,” Yukimiya said. “Karasu said he’s on his way, since last he checked, Otoya’s in the shower now, for some reason.”

“Oh,” you said. “That’s kind of him.”

“Kind?” Yukimiya said, and then to your surprise, he laughed. “I wish I knew as little about him as you do.”

“Is he a bad person?” you said.

“Not at all,” Yukimiya said. “He’s great. He’s one of my best friends, in fact; it’s just that kind and Karasu rarely if ever go together in the same sentence.”

“How can someone be your best friend if you don’t even think they’re kind?” you said, intrigued by the puzzle Yukimiya had presented you with. The way he spoke of Karasu, it was as if he were some willful spirit that occasionally deigned to lend his aid to those who could bring him some benefit, but the way the two of them treated one another didn’t seem anything like that.

“I don’t know,” Yukimiya said. “If you knew him better, I wouldn’t have to explain this. He’s a hard person to understand, and just when you think you’ve finally got it, he goes and complicates things further.”

“That sounds exhausting,” you said.

“That’s the strangest thing about it all,” Yukimiya said as a car pulled up in front of you both, the hazard lights turning on. “With him, it’s entirely natural.”

Karasu stepped out of the driver’s side, shutting it behind him and joining the two of you on the curb, grinning at Yukimiya in a way that almost felt mocking.

“Told you Otoya wasn’t to be trusted,” he said. “You’re paying for dinner.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yukimiya said, tossing his bag at Karasu, who caught it without flinching. “Put this in for me.”

“Whatever you say,” Karasu said, opening the back door of the car and throwing the bag onto the floor before slamming it shut and patting the handle for good measure. “Is that everything, your royal highness?”

“Yes,” Yukimiya said. “I’m going to kill Otoya when we get back.”

“Hm,” Karasu said. “Violent.”

“He deserves it,” Yukimiya said. “Bye, L/N. Thanks for waiting with me.”

“It’s not an issue,” you said, especially because you hadn’t done it on purpose, and even if you had, it hadn’t been for him. “I’m glad everything worked out.”

You wanted to say something more, something to Karasu in particular, but you didn’t know what or how. It wasn’t like you knew him — not a little and not at all, as Yukimiya had pointed out, and indeed you had no reason to speak to him in the first place. He wasn’t anything but your coworker’s roommate, so what did he mean to you?

Yukimiya shut his door with a hurried apology about the cold, and then it was just you and Karasu on the curb, and you couldn’t tell why, but the way he looked at you made you think he could hear every thought which was racing through your mind. 

“Yukimiya’s right. It’s cold out,” he said. “You should go home now.”

“I’m just about to,” you said.

“Are you?” he said. 

“Why are you questioning that?” you said, surprisingly affronted, although he hadn’t said anything insulting. “Of course I am. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.”

“I’m not questioning anything,” he said. “Drive safely.”

“Wait,” you said. “Will you be here tomorrow?”

“Would you prefer it if I am?” he said.

“I’d prefer it if you answered my questions instead of coming up with more of your own,” you said, which you thought would be met with shock — after all, it was a rare thing that you broke character and said anything that could be perceived as cutting — but was instead received with a snicker.

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll be here tomorrow. Early, if that’s what you want.”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” you said. “Do what you’d like.”

“I think that I will,” he said, and then Yukimiya was rolling down the window, telling him to hurry up, damnit, so he left you behind without another word, the car’s engine purring as they drove away.

You must’ve looked like such a fool the next morning, the final of the shoot, your eyes immediately going to the corner where Karasu had been that first day. It was empty, and despite yourself, your shoulders slumped when you realized that he wasn’t there, which was enough for you to break out of that strange trance. Why had you even hoped in the first place? He had made no indication that he was going to come, and you were old enough to know that hoping and wishing were certain paths to disappointment.

“Do you want me to take you back tonight?” you asked Yukimiya, sitting in a chair beside him as you waited for the director to come. It was a clumsy and roundabout way of getting to what you actually wanted out of him, but the last thing you could do was tell him the truth. What would he say, if he knew why you were actually offering? What would he think of you then?

“Hm? No, it’s fine, Karasu’s already got it. He’s at the gym with Shidou — er, another teammate of ours — right now, but he’ll be done before we are, and the studio’s closer to the gym than our apartment is, so he told me it wouldn’t be any extra trouble,” he said, and you thought he must’ve added those extra details for the sole purpose of seeing what your response to them would be, but then you remembered that Yukimiya wasn’t that kind of person. He was just telling you as a way to fill the time, not to get one over you or anything like that.

“That’s good,” you said. “Convenient.”

“Yup,” Yukimiya said. “My agent told me we’d be doing individual photos today.”

“Huh?” you said. “Oh, right. Yes, I think that’s the case.”

“That’s a shame. I enjoyed working with you,” he said.

“Me, too,” you said, and unlike most times, you weren’t lying when you did. “I’m sure we’ll meet again soon, though. There’s not so many of us our age.”

“True,” he said. “It’s a given.”

“Exactly,” you said.

“Yukimiya! You’re up first!” the director shouted, entering as he always did — like a whirlwind, leaving papers scattered and assistants flustered in his wake. 

“That’s my cue,” Yukimiya said with a long-suffering sigh.

“Good luck,” you said, glad that it wasn’t your turn just yet. The shoes you were meant to wear sat innocently before you, about two feet away, and although it was impossible for inanimate objects to be snide, they were quite close to it, glaring at you with their bejeweled straps and their impossible tall heels, tittering between themselves at the thought of the cuts already forming on your ankles, the bandages you’d have to remove in order for those terrors to slide on without fuss.

You set your water bottle on the armrest of your chair, taking up the thread and crossing it over itself in the patterns you had been taught in elementary school. You didn’t have anyone to tie these bracelets around, and you couldn’t wear them yourself, for they’d be cut away almost immediately, but the repetitive motions soothed your mind, distracting you from the red soaking through your white socks.

“L/N!” the director screamed, even though you were sitting right there and could hear him perfectly fine. “Put your damn shoes on and get the hell up here!”

Without Yukimiya there to soften the blow, you were the direct target of all of his anger. Swallowing back every emotion you had ever felt and would ever feel, you bent over and began to rip the nude-colored band-aids, stained rusty at the edges, off. Balling them up and throwing them in the trash, you stood on aching soles and pulled the shoes on, one after another, clenching your teeth and taking off your sweater so that you could waltz over to where the cameras were trained.

“Took you long enough,” the director groused. 

“Yes, sir,” you said. “How should I stand?”

“Just put your hands there, and your one leg there,” the director said vaguely, waving his arms about before striking what must’ve been an approximation of the pose he wanted you to take. You did your best to copy it, and the cameras went off, your vision temporarily fleeing and then coming back in spots as the lights faded. “No!”

“No?” you said.

“That’s all wrong! It’s horrible, horrible — you’re not even trying to do what I asked!” he said. “Yukimiya could do it, so why can’t you? Just do this!”

He did the same thing again. You weren’t sure what else you could adjust, but you moved slightly, twisting your torso at a different angle and smiling without your teeth this time. He grunted and motioned for the cameras to go again, but after a few more photos, he groaned, dragging his face over his hands.

“This is horrendous! You look entirely stiff and posed. It’s like you're a mannequin!” he said.

“I don’t — I’m not — what should I fix?” you said, unable to stop nerves from creeping into your voice and jostling it about. As difficult as he was to work with, you knew that the director was a big name in the industry, and if he only had bad things to say about you, then your entire livelihood would be threatened.

“Ugh!” he said, stomping onto the set and grabbing your arm, wrenching it down so hard you were surprised it didn’t dislocate. You chewed on the frayed flesh of the inside of your cheek to keep from yelping, allowing yourself to be pliable as he dragged your leg forward into what he wanted from you. “It’s like you’re a completely different person today! Just disappointing.”

Whatever position he had coerced you into was nothing like the one he had wanted you to imitate, but you refrained from pointing that out, holding it in place while the photographers adjusted their lenses. It was uncomfortable and made the lace lining your collar dig into your throat even more, but at least that served as a reminder for you to be silent.

“That’s enough,” the director said, massaging his temples. “We’re not getting anything more out of you.”

“What?” you said, standing normally, tired of contorting yourself for the impossible-to-please man. “What do you mean?”

“You’re lifeless. I don’t know how you managed to fool me yesterday and the day before, but I see it now. Honestly, if it weren’t for the concerning accusations I’d face, I’d just dig up a grave and pay the families half the royalties. It’d be a cheaper and better performance than whatever you’re giving me,” he said.

“What?” you said again, shame pouring over you, cold in a way that was closer to heat, ringing in your ears and coating your tongue. You couldn’t think of another response, any other way to defend yourself. If he was saying it, then it really was the truth. You swallowed, about to bow your head and shuffle off of the set for good, but then, like a bird in your peripheral vision, you noticed someone standing in the corner.

It was Karasu, and he was muffling a laugh. When he noticed you were looking at him, he dropped his hand from in front of his mouth and jerked his head towards the director, mouthing something that looked suspiciously like get a load of this guy. Your eyes widened, and then you, too, were fighting back a giggle, because you were so tired of the entire charade and your feet hurt and you wanted to go home and sleep for a few hours but this director, this stupid fucking director, couldn’t make up his mind about what he wanted from you. And now your career was ruined and you’d go back to waiting tables and Karasu was standing there, which was ridiculous, because where had even come from? But, then again, did it matter? Because the most amazing thing of all was that he was laughing. The situation was horrible and he was laughing as if it was the most entertaining moment of his life.

“There!”

You cringed as the cameras went off in quick succession, but they were faster than you, and you knew for sure they had caught you before you had cowered away. The director stroked his chin, and then, to your surprise, clicked his tongue in approval.

“Well done,” he said. “That’s the kind of genuine appeal I was looking for. If you can bring more of that to the table, then anyone would be happy to have you.”

You frowned, his sudden switch in mood giving you whiplash. Only seconds earlier, he had been berating you, and now he was praising you? You couldn’t understand what had brought about the change, but you were at least quick enough to not question it. 

“Thank you,” you said. “I appreciate the advice. And the opportunity to work with you.”

“I’ll hire you again,” he said, which sounded as much like a threat as it did a promise. “We’ll bring it out of you. Now that I know what you’re capable of, I won’t rest until I’ve perfected it in the way only I can.”

The thought of being perfected by him, molded and shaped and honed, was the most unappealing you had had in a while. You could imagine him tugging your limbs out of their sockets, rearranging them at his leisure, slicing gashes into your skin so that his clothes and accessories sat better, smoother, without unappealing wrinkles or reflections marring their surfaces.

“Thank you,” you said once more. “It’s an honor.”

“Are you alright?” Yukimiya said when you wobbled over to where your shoes and clothes were strewn about. 

“I’m fine,” you said, but you weren’t looking at him. Your distracted eyes were following Karasu as he left the studio, your eyebrows knitting together as you tried to ascertain what the point of him even coming inside had been, if he was going to leave without you — without Yukimiya. 

He didn’t come for you, a voice in the back of your head, sounding eerily similar to the director’s, said. He came to pick up his roommate, just like he promised he would.

“I can’t believe he chose you as his favorite. Maybe you’ll be his muse for the next few years!” Yukimiya said. The director was known for picking one model to fixate on for an extended period of time. His every project revolved around them, and they were catapulted into unprecedented stardom under his guiding hand, staying there until their retirement. It was everyone’s dream, and you should’ve been happy at the prospect of being next in that line, but when you beamed at Yukimiya, it was fake, the muscles in your mouth straining at the unnatural position you were putting them into.

“Who knows?” you said. “I don’t want to rely on it. It’s not a guarantee.”

“Smart idea,” he said, scrunching up his face. “I’m sorry. I’m used to soccer more than all of this. Everyone’s very…full of themselves.”

“You’re not full of yourself,” you said, shutting the door of your dressing room behind you and calling through it as you changed, hoping to delay him even slightly.

“You’ve never seen me on the field,” he said. “There, everyone’s different. You have to be, if you want to live. Ego’s a form of survival out there.”

“Doesn’t sound much different than modeling,” you said.

“A little different,” he said. “People here are just vain. That’s not the same.”

You hadn’t ever gotten changed so quickly, but in record time, you were swinging your bag over your shoulder and rejoining Yukimiya, who seemed as surprised as you were that you had finished so quickly. After all, you had a bit of a reputation for…sulking? Brooding? You weren’t sure what word they were using for it nowadays, but regardless, your proclivity for sitting in your dressing room in silence was well-known, as much a part of your character as it was a habit. 

“You’re not wrong about that,” you said. “But vanity’s a necessary evil, I think. If you want to succeed.”

“Er, right,” he said, standing in place like he was unsure of how to react. “I suppose so.”

When you did not halt but instead kept moving towards the exit, he straightened and hurried after you. You weren’t going very fast, and his strides were so long that he caught up with you before you could even brace for the biting wind that rushed in as soon as you opened the door. The two of you went along in silence, Yukimiya obviously befuddled why you were still with him but too polite to say anything about it, and it was only when you reached the entrance to the parking garage, where a familiar car was waiting, that you allowed yourself to smile.

“Man, talk about an asshole,” Karasu said, stretching like a cat as he got out of the still-running sedan. “That director is a piece of work.”

“Karasu!” Yukimiya reprimanded, which got him nothing but a sly smile from the man in question. “He’s our boss. We can’t say stuff like that about him.”

“He’s your boss,” Karasu corrected. “So you can’t say stuff like that. I can say whatever I want.”

“You’re going to get me fired,” Yukimiya said. “It’s a good thing I have soccer to fall back on, or else I’d be in trouble.”

“Go sit in the car, then, if you want to stay blameless,” Karasu said.  

“I will! And you better not bother poor L/N. I don’t want her to have a bad opinion of all of us just because of you,” Yukimiya said, jabbing his finger at Karasu, who raised his hands in the air innocently.

Today, he wore a white windbreaker over a grey shirt, and because he was not wearing gloves, you could see that there were calluses on his palms, standing out pale at the seams of his fingers. You weren’t used to seeing calluses on anyone, not when the few people you met on a semi-regular basis took such diligent measures to prevent them, but now that you were faced with them sans demonization, you found their roughness was warm and friendly, not hideous.

“He was pretty bad,” you mumbled as soon as Yukimiya had shut himself away in the car. 

“Yuki, or the director?” Karasu said.

“Don’t be horrible,” you said. “You know who I’m talking about.”

“I can’t believe he compared you to a dead body,” Karasu said.

“That’s not the worst I’ve gotten,” you said. “It took me by surprise because things had been going so well until then, but he was relatively tame, all things considered.”

“Really?” Karasu said. 

“Yes,” you said, dropping your voice to a murmur in case anyone was around, not wanting to give yourself a reputation as a whiner. “Once, someone asked me if my mother was a fish, because there was no other explanation for how I was flopping around.”

“That’s rude,” he said.

“It was!” you said. No one had ever listened to you before, least of all with such a benign expression on their face, and you were so starved of it that you could not contain yourself any longer. “Especially because I was standing still, not flopping around or whatever. Honestly, I wanted to ask him if his mother was a fish, because you know what? There was no other explanation for how he smelled!”

“Horrid!” Karasu said, beaming at you. “You should’ve.”

“Oh, no, no, I couldn’t. I shouldn’t even have said it to you,” you said, shaking your head and pressing your hands over your mouth, unsure of any other method of stopping yourself that would be nearly as effective. 

“But you did,” he said, zipping up his jacket in a swift movement. “I’ll think of something about myself to tell you in return. Give me a day or two.”

“That’s not why I did that,” you protested. “And we don’t have a day or two, anyways, so you’ll have to do it now or never again.”

“Sure we do,” he said. “We live in the same city, don’t we? I bet our paths will cross. Where do you go grocery shopping?”

“Grocery shopping?” you said.

“Karasu! You’re low on gas!” Yukimiya said, rolling down his window. 

“I go to the place across from the park on South 18th Street. Every Thursday after practice,” Karasu said. “Meet all sorts of people there. Never know who I’m going to run into.”

You could picture exactly the store he was talking about; it wasn’t where you typically went, but sometimes, if you were running low on something hard to find, you’d walk the extra few blocks. It was much bigger than the one close to your apartment, after all, and suddenly you wondered if you had seen Karasu there before, if you had seen him ten or twenty times and just not noticed.

“When do you finish practice?” you said, right before he got into his car. 

“Lunchtime,” he said. “I’m hungry more often than not.”

“It’s not good to shop for food when you’re hungry,” you said.

“Then I’ll have to do something about it before I do,” he said. “Well, it depends. Only if I have good company.”

You didn’t realize until you were halfway home what he meant by that, and by then it was too late for you to change your mind — not that you would’ve. Not that you needed to. He wasn’t holding you to anything, even though you knew as well as he did that you would be there; still, ultimately it was your decision. Your choice. 

That was a strange characteristic of his, one that Yukimiya hadn’t mentioned. Karasu didn’t ask for things; he didn’t command them, either. He only made suggestions, nudging you along until you reached the destination that he wanted you to arrive at. You had never met a person quite so adept at it, at presenting choices and questions as disguises for inevitabilities, at guiding people’s thoughts so precisely. It would’ve been unsettling coming from anyone else, but from him, it was natural. It was how he operated. Who were you to chafe at it when that was simply who he was?

The grocery store was large, but they never changed their layout, so you knew where everything was familiarly and without checking the signs. You didn’t have anything to shop for, so you decided to wander the aisles, thinking that if something caught your eye, you’d buy it without further consideration.

You found yourself staring at a bag of oranges, a bright red 50% Off! sticker slapped right on the netted packaging. Swallowing, you reached for it, but before you could, someone snatched them away, holding them in the air teasingly.

“I thought you shouldn’t shop for food when you’re hungry,” Karasu said. “And might I add, what a coincidence it is, seeing you here!”

“I’m not hungry,” you said, taking the oranges back and holding them to your chest protectively. “And I wasn’t looking for you.”

“I didn’t say that you were,” he said. “I distinctly recall saying that it was a coincidence we even met, in fact. Anyways, maybe you’re not hungry, but I am, so I should be off. Meals to eat, shopping lists to plan…it’s a busy life I have.”

“Sounds mundane,” you said. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “You’re right. That reminds me! Before I go, what is it that should I tell you?”

You couldn’t deny that that was the real reason for why you had come to the grocery store — what was he going to reveal? For as much as he knew about you, you knew frighteningly little about him, and now that you were faced with a chance to learn what kind of person he really was, you didn’t want to let it leave your grasp.

“Whatever you want,” you said. He plucked the oranges from your grasp again, and before you could complain, set them at the bottom of the small basket he held in his arms.

“How about this? I knew you were going to go for the oranges,” he said.

“How?” you said.

His eyes sparkled as he leaned closer to you, and you suddenly remembered Yukimiya’s warnings. Whatever you thought you knew about Karasu, it was likely only half or maybe a quarter the truth. Really, he was shifting and cunning, a fox and a crow, far from comprehension, not a danger but not kind, either.

“I’ll answer if you tell me something else about yourself,” he said.

“Why are you acting like I’m entering some kind of contract with a devil?” you said.

“I’m not a devil,” he said. “Just Karasu. My teammates think I’m a great guy, if the recommendation sets you at ease.”

“It sounds more like you’re trying to blackmail me,” you said. He shook his head.

“Couldn’t it be said that you’re doing the same? You’re asking questions about me and expecting that I answer when you have no intentions of reciprocating,” he said. 

You pouted, because when he put it like that, he wasn’t wrong, and it wasn’t that you didn’t trust him — because you did. You trusted him more than you should’ve, considering how guarded you had learned to become.

“I have an older brother,” you said. “He’s overseas right now. I don’t think he’ll be back for a while.”

“I have an older sister,” Karasu said. “Maybe they know each other.”

“Probably don’t,” you said. “Also, you didn’t answer my question.”

“I guess I didn’t,” he said, reaching around you to take two boxes of cereal off of a shelf. “Try again.”

“My parents didn’t want me to be a model,” you said. “They thought I should be a teacher. I’m good at it. Children like me.”

“I was going to go into investment banking,” he said. “Or consulting. One of those such fields. Maybe I still will, but soccer is fine for now.”

This was a game for him, you realized. Like tennis, but better, and so, instead of being irritated, you decided you might as well indulge it. It had been so long, anyways, since the last time you had spoken to someone freely, without concern for what they might spread about you, whose ears they would whisper your secrets in just to get one or two steps ahead.

“I threw a dress at a designer’s face once,” you said. “He didn’t like the shade of lipstick I was wearing, even though he was the one that picked it. The only reason my reputation wasn’t ruined was because he ended up liking the way the lipstick turned up digitally and promised not to say anything about it if I allowed them to use my photos after all.”

Karasu laughed, opening the doors to the fridge and taking out milk, stacking it neatly in the basket. You weren’t sure when the two of you had begun shopping in earnest, but it seemed he had forgotten about his plans to eat lunch. 

“In high school, my teammate pissed me off, so I made sure to shove him around extra when we tried out for a nearby youth team. It made him look so inept that he didn’t make the cut,” he said, taking an abandoned cart and depositing his things in it, motioning for you to put your purse in as well.

“That’s mean!” you said, but it was hard to disguise the fact that you, too, were laughing. “You’re mean.”

“His fault. He should’ve played better, anyways,” Karasu said. “I had been helping his sorry ass out for too long. He would’ve been cut regardless. You could say I just…expedited the process.”

“I’m the only one in my family who still wishes my brother happy birthday,” you said. “He’s a disappointment in everyone else’s eyes, but he lets me live with him and pays his share of the bills, so how can I disown him?”

“Between the two of us, my sister is the perfect one, so I’m afraid I can’t relate. Vanilla or hazelnut?” he said without skipping a beat. Before you could even answer, he face-palmed. “Oh, wait, Otoya hates hazelnut. I’ll get that so he doesn’t mistake it for his own.”

“I used to be a waitress,” you said. “Before I was a model. It was a lot less glamorous of a career. I don’t think my feet ever recovered from it.”

“I’m sure those shoes that you were forced into for your last job didn’t help any,” he said. “They looked inhumane.”

“They were,” you said, your ankles panging at the reminder, still inflamed and angry as they were. “Though I think anyone would’ve suffered with them on. I doubt the designer had human anatomy in mind when making them; I haven’t bled like that in a while.”

“They made you bleed?” he said. You hummed.

“Yeah,” you said, seeing no point in lying. Who would he tell? Who would even believe him? “Fashion over function, right? It was only for a few photos. They’ll be healed so quickly I’ll forget I had them in the first place. Enough about me, though. Tell me something else about yourself.”

“I sprained my wrist playing soccer as a kid,” he said. “It was a long time ago, but even now, I can feel it when it rains.”

He still hadn’t answered your original question, and you didn’t think he would, not until you offered him something of equal or greater value. But what did you have like that? What aspect of your silly life held enough weight that it would make someone like Karasu, always so ready with his wit and his charm, willing to part with something he clearly deemed to be a secret?

“I’m lonely,” you said, turning away from him, pretending to be fascinated with comparing two different brands of yogurt, neither of which you would buy. “You’ll laugh, but I think this is the longest conversation I’ve had with someone outside of work since my brother last came home. It’s nice, surprisingly. Talking to you and all. I like it.”

Or maybe you just liked him. You couldn’t really separate the two. Either way, it remained that ever since you had met Karasu, you could not conceive of a time when you had not known him, a time when you had gone home to your empty apartment and watched your empty shows and eaten your empty salads and thought you were satisfied by it all. You doubted he knew he had this effect, and you certainly wouldn’t be the one to tell him — after all, he’d probably be frightened if he found out that you had, in such a short time, grown so attached to him and his games and his conduct.

“The oranges,” he said. “You tried to buy them the first time I saw you.”

“What?” you said. Now it was his turn to avert his eyes and yours to watch him in fascination, finding it far easier to stomach a secret than to spit it out.

“It was a long time ago, but it was definitely you,” he said. “It was a Thursday, and I was just coming back from practice; this grocery store is far from my apartment but close enough to the field that, when Otoya — he was sick, so he had skipped that day — texted me that we were out of bread, I decided I’d make the detour. I wasn’t planning on staying here long, but right when I was about to leave, I saw you. You only had a packet of instant noodles and a bag of oranges in your hands. They were on sale back then, too, but—”

“But I had to put them back,” you finished for him, remembering that day as well as he did, albeit not his role. “Because I didn’t have enough money to get them, even when they were 50% off.”

“Yes,” he said. “I left before you noticed me, but I always — I always wish I hadn’t. I kept making the trip here, doing my shopping every Thursday at the same time until it became ingrained in me like routine, and I told myself if I ever saw you again, I’d buy them for you.”

“I can buy my own oranges now,” you said.

“I know,” he said. “That wasn’t the only reason I came back each week.”

“Why else?” you said.

“Well,” he said. “I can’t just tell you everything in one go like that, can I?”

You scoffed. “You can.”

“But I won’t,” he said.

“But you won’t,” you said with a sigh. “Anyways. So you knew me even before we met?”

“I knew of you,” he corrected you. “Though not as a model. Just as an absurdly beautiful girl I saw in a supermarket once and thought about occasionally.”

“So it was a coincidence that you happened to be at that shoot?” you said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“When Yukimiya told us about the girl he’d be working with, Otoya looked you up,” he said. “And despite how long it had been since you last crossed my mind as well as how much longer it had been since the only time I saw you in the flesh, I recognized you immediately.”

“You have a good memory,” you said.

“So I’ve been told,” he said. “I didn’t go with any strange intentions, if you’re wondering. I only wanted to know what kind of person you actually were.”

He wasn’t a typical admirer, taken with your celebrity or your status. He was curious, not about Y/N L/N the model, but you, the girl he nearly met in a grocery store so long ago it was all but inconsequential. You wondered what it said about you that instead of being wary, you only felt all the more inclined to reveal yourself to him. You wondered if this was some lack of self-preservation, as your brother would declare it, or if this was an innate knowledge, an instinctual understanding that the man before you was different.

Maybe he was or maybe he wasn’t. You didn’t know, and maybe, on some level, you didn’t care. Taking his hand, you set it on the bag of oranges, placing your own atop it firmly, your thumb tracing his scratched knuckles.

“Buy them for me,” you said. “And I’ll tell you who I am, plainly and without fuss.”

“Is that what you consider a good deal?” he said. “I’d say you’re a bit more valuable than a discount bag of oranges.”

“Do you think so?” you said. “Fine, then. The oranges, and a pack of instant noodles.”

“Closer,” he said. “But I’m a fair person. I can’t accept.”

“You,” you said, all in a rush. “The oranges, the noodles, and you. That’s my final offer. I’ll give you everything if you give me that much.”

He didn’t even pretend to consider it. You thought that it must’ve been what he was waiting for all along, what he had been, in that way of his, leading you towards.

“You’re a tough bargainer,” he said.

“So you agree to it?” you said.

“Sure,” he said, and when he noticed your face falling at the noncommittal nature of his acceptance, he laughed. “Yes. Yes, yes, I agree. The oranges, the noodles, and me; you can have all three as you please.”

And it was odd, but just for a moment, the reprieve lasting only for as long as his breathy chuckle, your feet ceased to ache.