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nanamineedstherapy · 1 month ago

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Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Crack, Mentions of Drugs (Edibles), Unhinged Driving, Dubious Decision-Making, Nanami’s Ongoing Suffering. A/N: This chapter gave me so much procrastination that I posted 4-5 one-shots instead of finishing it, lol. You can see the effort in the chapter name itself. Attached links to help visualize things better, but honestly, just hallucinate them. Linkin Park has never performed in Ibiza, but in this story (and our collective delusions), they have. Also, Chester is alive because I said so. The song they’re screaming at Nanami is this: Faint – Linkin Park For my rap & metalhead babes, I highly recommend this unhinged track instead, but fair warning: Do not listen while driving unless you want to accidentally recreate the Jesko scene. Linkin Park/Slipknot/Eminem-Damage A little headcanon for this series(more at the bottom): Nanami and Reader are metalheads first, people second, while Gojo listens to literally anything, but they all agree on Linkin Park. Also, Gojo & Nanami are millennials in canon, so they probably fucked heavy with Linkin Park. Lastly, yes, I know the Jesko is a two-seater but is being used for plot reasons. You have two options: hallucinate it as a four-seater or imagine Nanami sitting in Gojo’s lap like an incredibly disgruntled boyfriend. Choose your fighter. Linkin Park Fans Rise Up!!!

Previous Chapter 14 (alt ending 2.5) - He's Eldritch (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 15 (alt ending 2.6) - Ibiza

Valentine’s Day,

Few Years Ago – Linkin Park Concert, Ibiza

Ibiza had been a mistake.

Not because you weren’t having fun, but because Nanami was here too—which meant Gojo and you were actively working to drive him insane.

"Put her down!"

"She literally just jumped on me like a goddamn gecko, Kento; at least let me enjoy it."

You were currently perched on Gojo’s broad shoulders, warm thighs wrapped around his neck, arms anchored in his soft hairs as he swung side to side to the live music.

The crowd was electric—Linkin Park’s heaviest guitar riffs were shaking the very air.

None of you could quite recall whose idea it was to choose Ibiza for your honeymoon, but since Nanami rarely got the chance to attend concerts back in Japan, he was exceptionally excited for this one.

Now, however, he was deeply regretting that decision, sighing heavily and pinching the bridge of his nose, half due to the sheer volume of your yelling and half because Gojo had decided to twirl in circles with you on his shoulders.

You weren’t even holding on properly, just tugging at his hair with blind faith (full Ratatouille), your head thrown back in laughter as Gojo stumbled dangerously close to knocking over someone’s beer.

"I’m getting drinks," Nanami grumbled, already walking away.

You and Gojo were screaming lyrics like lunatics.

Directly at him.

Loudly.

“DON’T TURN YOUR BACK ON ME—"

“I WON’T BE IGNORED—"

The babysitter returned twenty minutes later, with three beers, feeling marginally less irritated—until he saw you and Gojo standing in the middle of the crowd, staring blankly at nothing.

His stomach dropped.

Something was wrong.

You were way too still, eyes wide and unfocused, while Gojo was just smiling at absolutely nothing.

You both looked nothing short of zombies.

Then he noticed the small, half-empty bag in your hand.

Gummies.

Expensive imported ones.

The kind people only sold in dark corners and called ‘magic treats.’

“Oh no.”

At the sound of his voice, you and Gojo whipped your heads toward him in eerie synchronization.

“OH NO.”

Gojo blinked at him. Then at the bag in your hand. Then back at Nanami.

“…Did we just drug ourselves?”

Nanami took one deep, suffering breath. “How many did you eat?”

You squinted at the bag. “…How many come in a pack?”

“FIFTEEN?!”

You and Gojo stared at each other.

Gojo: “…Oh.”

You: “…Shit.”

And then it hit.

Thirty minutes later, you both were Ibiza’s Most Wanted.

Gojo was hanging upside down from a railing, laughing at nothing.

You were clinging to Nanami’s back, crying about people wasting glitter.

Nanami was holding both of you by your collars like two feral turkeys.

“THIS IS WHY I DON’T DO THIS SHIT,” Nanami yelled, muffled by the concert noise, physically restraining Gojo from attempting to climb a speaker.

Meanwhile, you started giggling at your phone, trying to take a video for your Instagram story.

“Ken~” you sang.

“NO.”

“I wuve you.”

“NO.”

“Please?”

“…NO—”

Gojo suddenly grabbed Nanami’s face with both hands, his pupils the size of dinner plates.

“I THINK THE GROUND IS MOVING.”

Nanami physically winced, praying to whoever was listening to end him now.

But then—you gasped.

“Ken, I have an idea.”

He already hated it. “NO.”

Gojo gasped. “SHE’S RIGHT, KENTO!” He turned to you, planting a kiss on your head while spinning you around. “You’re a genius, babe,” he exclaimed.

No one knew what the idea was or how Gojo knew (if he even knew at all).

“That’s it. I’ve had it with you two. Give me that!” Nanami snatched the bag of gummies from your hand, reached into the cursed, demon-infested bag, shoved all five remaining gummies into his mouth, and chewed aggressively before swallowing.

He looked up at you and Gojo, smiling maniacally.

It was then that he realized.

You and Gojo had manipulated him into joining you with a disturbing level of unity.

His face paled. You both clung to either side of him. “You look so cute when you’re jealous, Ken,” you cooed.

He sighed.

One hour later, no one was okay.

Gojo was leaning against a palm tree, staring at the sky, mumbling something about the universe. Every few seconds, he’d point at a random star and whisper, “That one’s judging me.”

You, on the other hand, were fully convinced you were Batman. You’d fashioned a makeshift cape out of a cardigan and were crouched on top of a table, growling at anyone who came near. “I am vengeance,” you hissed, pointing at a wild goat. “I am the night.” The goat, unimpressed, stole your entire plate of food and ran off. “Well, well, looks like we have a new villain in Gotham: The Caprine!” you shouted, ready to chase it before concert security glared you down.

And Nanami?

Nanami was standing perfectly still, staring at his hands as if he’d just discovered they existed, realizing for the first time that he was made of matter and atoms. He poked his own arm experimentally, as if expecting it to collapse into a pile of stardust. “This is… unsettling.”

The night was ruined.

Somewhere between Gojo’s existential crisis, your vigilante delusions, and Nanami’s sudden realization that he was, in fact, a physical being, things had spiraled so far out of control that the only logical next step was to start making out.

Which—well.

That’s exactly what happened.

It started with Gojo, because of course it did. He stumbled over to you, still muttering about the universe, and declared, “If we’re all just atoms, then we’re basically the same person. So this isn’t weird.” Before anyone could stop him, he grabbed your face and planted a sloppy kiss on your lips. You, still in full Batman mode, responded by dramatically declaring, “This city needs me,” before kissing him back.

Nanami, still staring at his hands, didn’t even notice at first. But when he finally looked up and saw the two of you, he froze. “What… are you doing?”

“We’re atoms,” Gojo replied, as if that explained everything. “Join us, Kento. Become one with the cosmos.”

Nanami blinked. Then, in a move that shocked even himself, he walked over, grabbed both of your faces, and kissed each of you.

The only silver lining in this entire disaster was that everyone around you was just as messed up as you were. A guy in a banana costume was trying to serenade a palm tree, a group of tourists were arguing with a vending machine, and someone had set up a slip-and-slide using whiskey as lubricant. No one batted an eye at the three of you making out in the middle of it all.

Ibiza had been a mistake. A colossal, unhinged, gummy-fueled mistake.

Around one a.m., you three were doing the walk of shame, except it wasn’t shame, just weed.

The streets of Ibiza were alive—a blur of neon lights, pulsing music, and the three most ridiculous human beings to ever exist, stumbling their way back to the hotel.

Well, it should’ve been a normal walk back, but you all looked like a trio of escaped lunatics.

“Okay, okay—” you wheezed, giggling uncontrollably, “—but imagine... imagine if we were actually in a video game.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest. “OH MY GOD. WHAT IF WE’RE JUST NPCS?!”

Nanami blinked slowly, his expression so serious it made it funnier. “I think I can hear colors.”

“See?!” you threw your hands up, nearly smacking Gojo in the face. “He’s the protagonist right now.”

“Not fair,” Gojo pouted. “I wanna be the protagonist.”

“You always act like the protagonist,” Nanami grumbled.

Gojo gasped louder, clutching Nanami’s shoulders. “WHAT IF I’M THE LOVE INTEREST?!”

You burst out laughing so hard that you had to lean on him for support, while Nanami just groaned, rubbing his temples like he was seconds away from throwing himself into the ocean.

Gojo squinted at you suddenly. “You’re way too pretty. You’re definitely the rich main character who has a tragic backstory.”

You gasped, playing along. “Am I an heiress?”

You and Gojo collapsed into laughter.

You weren’t just high—no, that would’ve been fine.

You were also drunk off your asses, giggling like idiots, barely keeping it together.

Gojo insisted on carrying you, except his definition of carrying was throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Nanami, who had officially entered his existential crisis era, was dragging a hand down his face. “I hate both of you.”

Gojo patted your backside. “Lies. You married us. No takesies backsies.”

Nanami deadpanned, his eyes bloodshot and full of regret. “That was a mistake.”

“Oh?” You gasped, hanging upside down off Gojo’s back. “Nanami Kento. Are you saying you regret our marriage?”

“Yes.”

Gojo nearly choked on his laughter, stumbling sideways and almost sending all three of you crashing into a streetlamp.

“You’re so mean,” you huffed, kicking your feet like an upset toddler as Gojo adjusted his grip on you.

“He’s lying,” Gojo whispered loudly against your thigh, as if Nanami wasn’t standing right there.

Nanami deadpanned again. “I married a clown and his assistant.”

At some point, you insisted on walking, so now all three of you were stumbling side by side, giggling at absolutely nothing.

Gojo was elbow-deep in your bag, rifling through it like a raccoon with opposable thumbs. "Where are they?" he whined, tossing out a mascara, a pack of gum, and what looked like a card from some male investor (he discreetly threw that one away). "YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO HAVE SNACKS! This is inhumane!"

Nanami, meanwhile, was squinting at a street sign like it was written in hieroglyphics. "Is this… Spanish?" he muttered, tilting his head as if that would help. "Or did they just make this up?" He frowned. “Why are there so many Z’s? What does ‘chiringuito’ even mean? Is that a place or a disease?”

And you? You were deeply, existentially concerned about your shoes.

"Why do they sound like that?" you suddenly demanded, stopping dead in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes locked onto your heels as if they had betrayed you. You took a step. Click-clack. Another. Click-clack.

"They’re heels," Nanami deadpanned, like a man who had long given up on understanding you. "That’s what they do."

“No, but like—why do they click?” you insisted, bending down to poke at them.

Gojo snorted, pointing at you. “I told you she’s high as fuck.”

“I know. We all are,” Nanami sighed, grabbing your arm before you could walk straight into traffic. “Can we please keep moving?”

"My feet hurt," you whined, pouting so aggressively that it looked like you might actually cry. "I hate them."

Nanami removed his own shoes, then knelt to take off your heels. “Here,” he said, handing you his loafers. “Wear these. I’ll carry your heels.”

You beamed, slipping into his loafers like some kind of victorious little ogre. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, you grabbed Nanami’s face and kissed him on the lips before skipping ahead like nothing had happened.

Gojo, still rifling through your bag while looking for candies you kept in it, yelled, “I’m dying of hunger! Why is there nothing to eat in here?!”

“It’s not Doraemon’s pouch!” you shot back. “You ate everything, and now I’m starving too. Ugh, give it back before you tear it apart, you savage.”

Nanami pointed to a nearby food stall. “There’s food over there, but I lost my wallet. Gojo, did you bring yours?”

“I never bring my wallet. I don’t need to when I have you two treating me like the resident passenger princess.” Gojo grinned, unapologetic, as if this were a reasonable statement.

“Where are my cards?!” you suddenly shrieked, dumping the contents of your bag onto the sidewalk. “And why is there only lip gloss in here?!”

Gojo went completely still. "…It’s so small. Where was I supposed to put it?"

You inhaled sharply. "IN YOUR POCKET OR, BETTER YET, UP YOUR ASS?"

“Kinky.” Gojo smirked.

Nanami, exhausted, muttered, "I am so close to leaving you both here—"

"And to fit ONE lip gloss, you threw away ALL my cards?!" You continued, now physically shaking.

Gojo did what Gojo does best: he ran.

You lunged after him, but Nanami caught you around the waist like a seasoned babysitter. "Enough," he muttered, dragging you toward a nearby food stall. "They probably take online payments. Let’s just eat before I strangle both of you."

At the mere mention of food, Gojo, who had been halfway to a full sprint, immediately turned back, appearing at Nanami’s side as if he had never left.

The three of you stumbled toward the food stall, drawn by the siren call of greasy, late-night sustenance. The stall was a colorful mess of neon lights and handwritten signs, most of which were in Spanish. A stout old woman with a no-nonsense expression stood behind the counter, arms crossed, watching you approach with the kind of skepticism usually reserved for people who try to haggle over the price of a kebab.

Gojo boldly stepped up first. “Hello, madam!” he said, flashing his most charming smile. “We would like to order some food, please!” He never missed a chance to practice his English, still trying to impress you despite being married now.

The woman stared at him blankly, then grunted something in Spanish that sounded vaguely like a question.

“Uh,” Gojo said, his smile faltering. “Food? Comida? You know, like… eat?” He mimed shoving food into his mouth, complete with exaggerated chewing sounds.

The woman raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. She pointed at the menu board behind her, which was covered in words none of you could fully understand. “Elige,” she said gruffly.

Nanami stepped forward, squinting at the menu. “I think... this says ‘patatas bravas’?” he said, pointing at one item. “And this is... pan con tomate?”

You and Gojo collectively swooned over Mr. Worldwide Nanami Kento, who adjusted his glasses smugly.

The woman grunted again, nodding slightly. She pointed at Nanami, then at the menu, and made a gesture that seemed to mean, Hurry up and order.

“I’ll have the pan con tomate, please. And a bottle of water.” Nanami finished, pointing at the water bottles.

The woman nodded, scribbling something on a notepad. Then she turned to you, her expression somehow even more impatient.

“Uh, patatas bravas?” you said, pointing at the menu. “Please?”

She grunted again, jotting it down. Then she looked at Gojo, who was already leaning over the counter, trying to peer into the trays of food.

“Churros!” he declared, pointing at the tray. “All.”

The woman stared at him, then said something in Spanish that sounded like a warning. When Gojo didn’t react, she sighed and grabbed a plate, piling it high with churros. She shoved it toward him, then soon enough handed over the food to you and Nanami and turned away, clearly done with the three of you.

You grabbed your plate of patatas bravas and immediately shoved a forkful into your mouth. The crispy potatoes, smothered in spicy tomato sauce and aioli, were a revelation. “I think I’m in love with potatoes,” you moaned, your voice thick with pure, unfiltered emotion.

Nanami handed you a bottle of water. “We need to hydrate,” he said, his tone practical but slightly amused. “And maybe sober up.”

Gojo, meanwhile, was already on his third churro, powdered sugar dusted across his face like war paint. “Food tastes so much better when high.”

“Oh my god, I agree!” you exclaimed, nodding enthusiastically. Turning to Nanami, you brought some of the food to his mouth, and he ate it instinctively. “It’s good, darling,” he said, nodding in agreement.

You would have offered some to Gojo, but since he wasn’t sharing his, you felt a bit petty.

The three of you found a spot on the curb, sitting down to enjoy your 2 a.m. feast. Around you, Ibiza was alive with the sounds of laughter, music, and the occasional drunken shout. A group of tourists stumbled past, arguing over directions. A guy in a banana costume was trying to climb a lamppost. Someone had set up a makeshift dance floor in the middle of the street, and a crowd was gathering to watch.

You took another bite of your patatas bravas, savoring the flavors. “I could eat this every day,” you said, leaning against Nanami. “Like, seriously. I would marry these potatoes.”

Nanami sighed, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. “Please don’t propose to food in public.”

Gojo, his mouth full of churro, chimed in. “Too late. I already married this churro. We’re very happy together.”

You laughed, leaning back to look at the sky. The stars were bright, the air was warm, and you felt a strange sense of peace.

Once you three were done eating, you, Nanami, and Gojo stood at the food stall, drunk and high as hell, staring blankly at the old shopkeeper, who was now looking at you like she had already called the cops in her head.

"You scammers." She grunted, arms crossed over her chest.

"Excuse me?!" you sputtered, patting down your pockets as if money would magically appear.

Nanami diplomatically sighed. "We’re not scammers. We just... don’t have any cash."

The old lady squinted. "Scammers."

Gojo, absolutely no help at all, was still licking sugar off his fingers like some kind of degenerate. "Damn, these churros were worth the fraud."

"WE ARE NOT FRAUDS!" You turned on him, ready to strangle him.

The last sober neuron in Nanami’s brain was barely hanging on. "Look, we can pay online. Apple Pay, Google Pay, whatever you—"

"NO ONLINE!"The woman barked, shaking her head furiously. "No scammer money! Only cash! Or—" she paused, eyes narrowing at Nanami like she was assessing premium livestock. "Or you leave the Givenchy."

Your eyes snapped to Nanami’s expensive Givenchy dress shirt.

Gojo dropped a churro in slow motion.

Nanami just... exhaled, reaching for the top button of his shirt.

"Gakuganji’s bald head, Kento, NO," Gojo yelped.

You grabbed Nanami’s hands. "That shirt costs more than my liver; she’s scamming us!"

“I will scare her!” Gojo yelled, ready.

Nanami shrugged, already handing it over as payment. "It’s just a shirt."

The old lady grinned, practically vibrating with excitement. "Sí, sí! Is just a shirt!"

"LIKE HELL IT IS!" You were about to climb over the damn counter when she sniffed it like she had just inhaled the cure to all her problems.

Gojo lost it at that and cackled. "Babygirl, please," he wheezed, physically restraining you as you tried to murder the old woman with your bare hands.

"I AM NOT YOUR BABYGIRL!" you screamed, struggling against his grip. "MA’AM, GIVE ME THE SHIRT BACK BEFORE I—"

"No take-backs!" The woman grinned, hugging the shirt to her chest like it was her newborn child. "Good quality. Nice smell."

Gojo was losing his mind. "Babe, please, just let the old lady have it—"

"SHE IS HOLDING NANAMI’S CLOTHES HOSTAGE LIKE A WAR PRIZE, SATORU!"

Nanami placed a hand on your head like you were a particularly rabid kitten. "It’s fine," he said soothingly, his voice deep and warm in a way that had you temporarily forgetting your rage. "I’ll buy another one."

Gojo smirked. "And now you’re half-naked in Ibiza, Kento."

Nanami sighed. "Regrettably, yes."

And that’s how the three of you escaped the debt of a late-night food stall—at the great cost of Nanami’s designer shirt.

The walk back to the hotel was chaotic as hell.

Nanami, drunk and high, was relaxed in just his pants.

And that?

That was a problem.

Because apparently, Ibiza at night was full of thirsty women, and every single one of them was looking at your husband like he was a full-course meal.

You noticed it immediately.

The whispers. The stares. The not-so-subtle glances at Nanami’s broad, muscular frame, the way his exposed collarbone practically shimmered in the streetlights.

You scowled.

Then, without hesitation, you climbed him.

Not fully, obviously—you weren’t a damn spider monkey. But you threw yourself at his side, trying (and failing) to use your tiny body to block out literally six-plus feet of blond muscle.

Gojo doubled over laughing. "Baby, please, you look like a Chihuahua trying to guard a steak—"

"SHUT THE HELL UP, SATORU!"

Nanami just blinked at you. "Are you… okay?"

"No, I am NOT okay, Ken," you hissed, glaring at yet another woman who was eyefucking him. "They’re looking at you."

Nanami blinked. "And?"

"AND?" You almost screamed. "I AND SATORU ARE THE ONLY ONES ALLOWED TO LOOK AT YOU LIKE THAT."

Gojo wheezed. "Holy shit, you’re insane—"

You hissed at him.

Nanami, utterly unfazed, just patted your head again like a kindergarten teacher calming a feral child. "I belong to you. You know that."

That... shouldn’t have done anything to you.

But it did.

Gojo noticed immediately. His grin turned evil.

"Damn, sweetheart," he purred, slinging an arm around Nanami’s very exposed shoulders. "You’re acting like you don’t have two husbands."

"I AM AWARE," you snapped, before grabbing Nanami’s arm and glaring at every woman in a five-mile radius.

Nanami looked at the sky as if begging the universe for patience. "Are we almost back to the hotel?"

"Not fast enough," you grumbled.

Gojo just smirked, winking at one of the women eyeing Nanami. "Hey girl, you can look all you want, but only we get to touch."

"SATORU!"

And just like that, you had a new mission.

Protect Nanami. At all costs.

Even if that meant literally body-blocking him from the general public.

For the next ten minutes, you were practically shoving your loose top at Nanami, determined to restore his dignity.

"Just take it!" you huffed, trying to push it into his hands. "Let me—"

Nanami shoved it back at you. "I am not letting you walk through Ibiza at night in just a bra."

"Why not?!"

"Because it’s inappropriate."

"But it’s fine for you to be half-naked?!"

"That’s different."

"HOW?!" You narrowed your eyes and waited for him to dig himself into a hole because just now, Nanami Kento had walked into a trap all husbands detested—being proven sexist or weak.

Gojo was still laughing. "Sweetheart, let him be. He’s embracing his primal state."

"I WILL NOT LET HIM BE!" You yanked his arm like a stubborn child. "Take. The. Shirt."

Nanami just sighed harder, like he was already calculating his therapy bill. "I would rather die than let you walk around a strange country at night in nothing but a bra."

You narrowed your eyes further. "I thought you were my dark romance husband who says, ‘wear whatever you want, I can fight.’"

Gojo immediately wheezed. "Shit, Kento, R.I.P."

But before Nanami could kick him off, Gojo grabbed his own t-shirt and just yeeted it off in the middle of the street.

"Solidarity, Kento!" Gojo declared, now also bare-chested.

Now you were just standing there, sandwiched between two unfairly ripped men, blinking.

You turned to see everyone staring at what was supposed to be only yours. You could not fight this many people anytime soon.

Nanami, barely reacting, turned to Gojo with the deepest sigh of his life. "Why are you like this?"

Gojo grinned. "Look who’s talking, Mr. Eight-Pack Abs."

Nanami pinched his nose, his last brain cell disintegrating into dust. "Fine." He exhaled sharply and snatched your shirt from your grip, finally putting it on.

You, now finally winning, smirked.

Now, only Gojo was shirtless, twirling his discarded tee like a stripper on payday. "So, are we just walking back like this? ‘Cause I feel chilly."

Nanami didn’t even look at him. "Put your shirt back on, Satoru."

"Make me."

You rolled your eyes, grabbed Gojo’s shirt, and made him wear it like a mom. "I swear to God, if you both walk around practically naked, I will commit murder."

Gojo grinned, winking at you. "Oh? Kinda hot."

Nanami physically dragged him the rest of the way.

After a while of Gojo carrying you on his back, with Nanami walking behind to guard you, the three of you navigated through the crowds enveloped in Gojo’s infinity. Ahead, the 7Pines Resort loomed like a beacon of hope.

Except—

As soon as you reached the gates—

“Oh my God.” Gojo gasped, and you climbed down.

You and Nanami blinked at him in confusion.

“What?”

Gojo turned to you both, dead serious.

“This is a stealth mission.”

By all accounts, you should’ve just walked into your luxury hotel like normal people.

Instead—

“Wait,” Gojo whispered, pressing a hand to his earpiece (which did not exist).

“We’re undercover,” you nodded, eyes dead serious.

Nanami—who was 100% done with both of you—just sighed and rubbed his face. “We’re going to get arrested.”

Gojo shushed him aggressively. “Not with that attitude, Nami.”

Then, without any warning, Gojo flattened himself against a tree, moving slowly, eyes shifting left and right like he was some kind of secret agent.

You immediately followed suit, sliding up beside him.

Nanami stood there, staring at the two of you like he was seriously contemplating whether he could pretend not to know you.

You grabbed his wrist, dragging him into the nonsense.

“You’re Bond,” you whispered dead serious. “We’re your sexy sidekicks.”

“If I’m doing this, then I’m a respected businessman,” Nanami muttered, surprisingly complying.

"Fine,” Gojo hissed. “Now move before they spot us.”

The second you stepped inside the gorgeous, luxurious, marble-floored lobby—all three of you immediately dropped into a squat.

A rich, powerful trillionaire, a stoic ex-salaryman, and a 6’3” menace—all crouching like idiots behind a plant that was not nearly big enough to hide the three of you.

“This is so stupid,” Nanami muttered.

Gojo shushed him aggressively. “You’re ruining the mission.”

You squinted. “Where’s our target?”

Gojo was suddenly the kind of serious the higher-ups wished he was in meetings. “The elevator.”

Nanami whispered, "Follow me.”

Then—like a trio of highly trained spies (read: three unhinged drunk people)—you moved in sync.

Crouch-walking.

Stalking behind ridiculously expensive furniture.

Ducking behind a giant vase (which Gojo nearly knocked over).

Your Nanami’s loafers clicked against the marble, completely ruining the stealth, all because your foot size was not the same as his, making it feel like a child cosplaying an adult.

Nanami sighed in agony, watching his dignity disintegrate as he followed you barefoot.

At one point, Gojo cartwheeled behind a couch. (It was not a cartwheel; he almost got a concussion.)

You rolled behind a decorative plant.

Nanami simply walked normally, hands in his pockets.

You giggled into your hand, clinging onto their sleeves.

It didn’t help that the staff already knew you were high as a kite and actively ignored you.

And then—miraculously—you made it to the elevator without getting kicked out.

Somehow, despite the absolute circus you all just pulled, you reached the penthouse suite without being thrown out.

And that’s when the real problem started.

The second the door clicked shut, Gojo pressed you against the wall, caging you in with his arms.

His lips curled into a grin, but his eyes—God, those electric blue eyes—were dangerous.

“So, uh,” his voice dropped. “What do spies do after a mission?”

You grinned back.

“Celebratory sex,” Nanami deadpanned from behind you.

Gojo snapped his fingers. “Exactly.”

“You know,” he murmured, voice low, “I think we deserve a reward.”

Nanami, putting away your heels, exhaled slowly behind him. “We need water first.”

Gojo ignored him, and the heat in the room shifted instantly. He dipped down to press his forehead against yours.

“You look so fucking beautiful right now,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over your lips.

You shivered.

Gojo chuckled, his voice thick with amusement.

“She’s still high,” Nanami pointed out, taking off your t-shirt.

Gojo leaned closer, his lips ghosting against yours. “So am I.”

And then—

Nanami’s hand slid to your waist, warm and solid against your skin.

Your heart pounded.

Your back arched.

Then Gojo missed your mouth completely and kissed your cheek.

And then your nose.

And then somehow your eyebrow.

You snorted so hard it broke the mood entirely.

Gojo pulled back, blinking in confusion. "Did you just—are you laughing?"

"You kissed my eyebrow."

Gojo’s eyes widened in betrayal. "No, I didn’t."

Nanami, tired of your combined antics, sighed. "You did."

Then the second Gojo kissed you, it was over.

Your high-ass brain forgot everything—your name, your life, why you were even standing up—because all you could feel was warmth.

Nanami’s hands moved to your breast, kneading, drawing out a deep gasp while he bit your shoulder.

The high made everything—every touch—ten times more intense.

Gojo’s lips brushed against yours, teasing, grinning against your mouth.

And then—

Your legs gave out.

“Oh—shit—” Gojo yelped, grabbing you like a sack of potatoes.

“Are you okay?” Nanami immediately snapped to concern, but his shirtless self looked so serious that it just—

It just made you laugh.

Like really laugh.

And Gojo, the idiot, caught your giggles like a contagious disease.

“What—why are you laughing?” Nanami asked flatly, but Gojo was already bent over, wheezing, dragging you down with him.

You were giggling uncontrollably in Gojo’s arms, tears in your eyes, because none of this made sense, but it was so funny.

Nanami sighed, rubbing his temples.

The next few moments were a blur of—

Gojo kissing you like a starved man, hands greedy, palm pressed flat against the small of your back.

Nanami tilted your chin up, kissing you slow and deep, fingers dragging up your spine as Gojo pressed against your back.

All three of you collapsed onto the giant bed, a tangle of limbs and heat.

Gojo cursed under his breath when you pulled his t-shirt off, fingers dragging over his abs.

Nanami groaned when you got impatient and yanked his trousers loose.

Then—

“Wait.”

Silence.

Gojo paused mid-kiss, blinking.

You and Nanami looked up, waiting.

Gojo squinted, frowning. “Are we—” he paused. “Is this high making us extra horny?”

You blinked. “Has he never had an edible before?”

Nanami answered you both. “Yes.”

Gojo nodded. “Cool.”

Then he immediately went back to kissing you.

Nanami just shook his head and returned to leaving hickeys on your décolletage.

After some time, Gojo was grinning like a fool, straddling your waist and pressing kisses all over.

“You’re so fucking hot, baby, holy shit.”

Nanami was pressed against your back, his hot breath on your ear sending shivers down your spine.

“Are you even taking this seriously?” he muttered, but he was smirking against your skin.

Gojo smiled like an overexcited puppy. “We’re high, Kento!”

Nanami sighed, but his hand was already sliding up your thigh.

And then AGAIN—

Gojo gasped. “Oh my God—I’m in a threesome!”

Nanami froze.

You froze.

And then, like the traitor you were, you burst out laughing.

“WE’RE MARRIED, SATORU.” Nanami groaned, burying his face in your shoulder, hiding his laughter.

Gojo was giggling like an idiot, collapsing onto you.

And somehow—somehow—that giggling turned into kisses.

Soft.

Warm.

Lazy, slow, sweet.

You were all a mess, breathless and tangled, forgetting the world outside this moment.

In the soft haze of high and heat, all you could think was—

God, you loved them.

Ibiza had been a mistake.

But, holy hell, what a delightful one.

And the real honeymoon finally began.

---

Present Day, Japan

Warmth surrounded you.

Soft. Safe. Home.

You burrowed in deeper, letting yourself drift again, somewhere between sleep and waking, your mind blissfully blank. A slow, steady heartbeat thumped against your ear, and you sighed, nuzzling closer into the familiar, comfortable warmth of a fireplace.

Then something hard pressed against your lower back.

Your hazy brain barely registered it before all the pregnancy hormones you had been suppressing for months suddenly kicked the door down. A slow heat bloomed deep in your stomach, and before you could stop yourself, your hips rolled back, instinctively seeking friction.

Behind you, a slow, sharp inhale was taken against your hair. The arms around your waist tightened.

Encouraged by the response, you shifted again, pressing closer, rubbing against the firm heat.

It felt good.

Right.

Your body felt alive, sensitive in a way it hadn’t been in forever.

And then—oh. Oh.

A low, gravelly groan rumbled behind you, vibrations running down your spine.

The weight around your waist shifted, and suddenly, you were pulled flush against someone’s broad, solid chest. A large hand splayed over your belly, possessive yet reverent, while the unmistakable pressure of him aligned perfectly against the curve of your ass.

A hot exhale ghosted over your ear. "Fuck."

Your fingers clenched into the fabric you had been clutching in front of you, only to realize—

You were holding onto Nanami.

Face pressed into his neck, drooling onto his sweater.

Your body went rigid.

You wondered who Gojo was thinking of right now. Was it Nanami? Of course, it must be.

Another slow, gritted groan came from behind you. “Don’t go. I’m so sorry, baby. You’re my sun, and I won’t survive this void without you.”

Gojo’s hands moved and tightened over your sore, heavier-than-normal breasts, his face tucking against your neck as he ground against you once, just once, as if his asleep body was responding to yours on instinct.

Your stomach flipped—but not with affection.

Carefully, you started untangling yourself.

Nanami shifted first, a small frown pulling at his brows as he reached out for you in his sleep. You grabbed a pillow and shoved it in your place.

Like an idiot, he took it, pulling it to his chest with a small sigh.

A laugh tried to escape you, but you smothered it.

No. Focus.

Gojo was next. His breathing was steady—still asleep. Good.

You tried to sit up.

His arms, already firm around you, suddenly locked.

Tighter.

Jail-tight.

You sighed, pausing to wait for an opening. But he was clinging, his grip protective, securing you as if you were something precious that could slip away.

Seconds turned into minutes.

His warmth. Their warmth. Their familiar scent surrounded you.

Your eyelids grew heavy again.

And against your better judgment, you fell asleep again.

A few minutes later, you woke up to find Gojo nowhere to be seen and Nanami on the floor.

It wasn’t a surprise; how the hell were two massive men and your submarine-sized self even fitting on a couch?

By all logic, Nanami should’ve been on the floor long ago—he had been on the outside edge, after all.

Now, he was bundled up under a ridiculously heavy blanket, curled around a pillow like a koala—the one you’d shoved toward him. He must have fallen along with it. Thank God, or he would have taken you with him into the abyss.

His face was completely buried in it, soft blond strands spilling over the fabric, rising and falling with his slow, even breathing. He looked so peaceful, like a sun hidden behind storm clouds.

Like he wasn’t currently competing for the title of Captain Clueless McGee against Gojo these days.

“Don’t wake him up yet; his cursed energy needs a bit more to recharge,” came a voice from somewhere.

Yeah, like you were going to anyway.

You sighed, sitting up—luckily, no morning sickness today—and rubbed your eyes.

“Here,” a coffee mug with ‘The Strongest Pussy Eater’ and Gojo’s face was shoved close to your face.

You blinked at it, then up at Gojo, who was holding his own cup—which was yours, reading ‘Boobs Make Me Smile.’

You took your mug and placed it on the side table.

Gojo plopped himself down next to you, stretching his long limbs in a spidery way.

You stared blankly at nothing in particular, waiting for your brain cells to clock in for work.

Minutes passed.

Eventually, you picked up the coffee and took a sip.

…Butterscotch?

You frowned and took another sip to confirm.

Lo and behold.

Suspicion crept in. You peeked over the rim of your cup at Gojo, who was very obviously trying to hide his stupidly wide grin behind his own mug.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

In a voice low enough not to wake Nanami, you finally asked, “Are they yours?”

Gojo blinked, confused at first.

Then—like watching one single brain cell connect two dots—his expression slowly shifted.

Hesitantly, he replied, “He should be part of this conversation, right?”

He pointed toward Nanami, who was now halfway under the coffee table like a giant, well-insulated cockroach.

"Yeah, like you two kept me in the loop while che—" Your brain stalled.

Damn it, why did he look so cute?

Oh.

Right.

Hormones.

Definitely hormones.

Gojo was watching you, pretending he wasn’t, but his poorly hidden grin gave him away.

You cleared your throat, trying to reset your focus.

Before you could say anything, a deep, groggy voice came from the floor.

“You’re awake.”

Nanami’s voice was rough with sleep, his arms loosening on the pillow as he blinked at you, sleepily gauging your expression.

Gojo mock-stirred, rubbing his eyes like a spoiled prince. “Mmm, morning, pretty boy.”

Nanami immediately pulled his blanket over his head, obscuring his entire being, and groaned, “It’s too early for your shit.”

Gojo wasn’t deterred. “Our wife wants to know if they’re mine.”

Silence.

Nanami’s blanket lowered slightly. “…What?”

You took another sip of your butterscotch and sugar-overload disaster that should be declared a Turkish delight at this point and let out a small, unintentional hum of satisfaction. Fuck.

Gojo caught it.

His eyes gleamed as he leaned in, his voice way too smug for the morning. “Sugar cravings, huh?”

You tried to burrow into your blanket to escape the judgment.

Like a damn professor, Gojo took a very serious sip of his own coffee before announcing, “Sugar helps replenish energy and glucose levels faster.”

You glared. “I’m not gonna repeat myself. I know you can tell. From the cursed energy or whatever.”

Nanami, still half-dead on the floor, finally muttered, “Both ours.”

“Like spiritually or genetically?”

“Genetically.” He didn’t elaborate further.

You nodded, then your gaze snapped back to him. “Wait, that’s possible?”

Nanami looked caught off guard.

Gojo interjected, "Yeah, very rare. We are very lucky, baby.” He added a small chuckle, but underneath, he was sweating.

Then, folding his arm under his head, Nanami studied you carefully.

You poker-faced it.

Internally, though?

Something in your chest squeezed—a feeling you refused to name.

At least you wouldn’t have two Gojo clones harassing you for the rest of your life.

You simply hummed, grabbed your phone, and started texting people to take over arrangements at work. No way in hell were you going in today.

Nanami, satisfied with your reaction (or lack thereof), simply turned over and went back to sleep.

Gojo’s hand ghosted over your belly—a touch he didn’t complete.

You said nothing.

Instead, you stood up, stretching out the stiffness in your limbs. Gojo’s stupid grin faltered, softening into something smaller, something quieter, something so gut-wrenchingly fond it made his chest ache.

You ignored it and glanced at your phone, which was vibrating with a new text.

Yu 🐒: Hark, fair maiden! Prithee, unbar thy portal and grant us entry, for we hath arrived bearing the most fearsome of beasts—a creature of untamed spirit and claws sharper than the wit of your court jesters! Behold, the feral cat, a beast both noble and wild, hath graced us with its presence. Open thy doors, lest we be forced to parley with this tiny, hissing dragon upon thy stoop!

Yu 🐒: Pray, do not mention the scratches upon mine armor. 'Tis but a badge of honor.

Right on cue, a loud, impatient knock rattled the door. You perked up immediately.

“I got it,” you announced, already on your way.

The moment you opened the door, Haibara strolled in like he owned the place, several bags in hand, showing zero regard for personal space or the sanctity of your home.

Megumi, right behind him, handed you a tiny, squirming baby raccoon. It stretched its tiny arms toward you, and you gingerly cradled it against your chest.

“Wait—it’s albino?” You blinked, peering down at the little baby’s clean, impossibly soft fur.

Megumi wandered in. “He. And yes, at this point, you have a knack for collecting albino men.”

“I’m not albino. It’s the amount of my cursed energy you can’t even imagine that makes my hair white!” Gojo bellowed from the kitchen, slamming pancakes onto the griddle with the force of a man trying to prove he wasn’t eavesdropping. He was very invested in breakfast—or at least he wanted you to think so. But every few seconds, his eyes darted toward you, betraying his true focus: the raccoon.

Oh, the raccoon.

Because for Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer, the man who could level cities with a flick of his wrist, had one singular dream: to become the Raccoon King. Or, more accurately, Raccoon Dad. He wanted to hold it, become best friends with it. He wanted to whisper sweet nothings into its tiny, masked ears and maybe teach it to steal Nanami’s ugly glasses just so he could watch Nanami searching for them, grumbling. (Little did he know that within one night, Haibara had already one-upped him on that.)

But no—there you were, cradling the raccoon like it was the most precious thing in the world. Your arms wrapped around it instinctively, protectively, swaying just slightly as you soothed it.

And that’s when Gojo’s brain short-circuited.

Because if you could hold a raccoon like that—like it was a fragile, beloved treasure—would you hold his babies like that? Would you let him hold his kids? Would you—?

Gojo’s thoughts descended into chaos.

And then, like a lead balloon, he sank.

Right into the pit of his own existential despair.

So he pouted. Hard. Stirring the pancake batter with the intensity of a man questioning every life choice that had led him to this moment. The whisk clinked against the bowl like a funeral bell, and Gojo wondered if raccoons could sense emotional turmoil.

He glanced at you again. You were still holding the raccoon.

Still swaying.

Still looking like the kind of person who could effortlessly raise a family of tiny, chaotic beings.

Gojo sighed, stirring harder.

This was fine. Everything was fine.

It was not fine.

Meanwhile, Megumi had already moved on, fully ignoring Gojo's spiral. He eyed you with thinly veiled judgment. “Why are you not dressed yet?”

You, now completely wrapped up in coddling the raccoon, hummed, “I’m taking maternity leave starting today.”

At that, Megumi stilled while Gojo internally fist-pumped.

Haibara, however, was too busy bullying Nanami.

He had just discovered Nanami sleeping halfway under the table and was now poking at his ear like a child tormenting a bear.

Nanami grunted and batted at it a few times like a mosquito before suddenly startling awake, immediately two seconds away from committing murder. “Why are you poking me?”

You stifled a giggle.

Haibara, unfazed, just grinned at him smugly as if this were the greatest joy of his life. “I dunno. Feels right.”

Nanami, who had only just woken up from his half-under-the-table depression nap, sat up, dead-eyed and exhausted, then stood and dragged himself toward the kitchen to begrudgingly help Gojo.

Haibara, satisfied, collapsed onto the couch beside you.

You started, grinning like you were about to ask for his last bite of cake. “I need a huge favor.”

Megumi sighed, already knowing where this was going. “What?”

You glanced between him and Haibara. “So,” you began, shifting slightly to accommodate your ever-growing twin-infested belly, “in my absence, since there are jackals—” You spoke louder, glaring at the two traitors in the kitchen, “—who would just love to take over the company I built from scratch given my unusual circumstances—”

Both Gojo and Nanami visibly flinched.

“—I need you and Haibara to take over in my absence.”

Megumi just stared. Haibara, thrilled, looked ready to commit war crimes.

You continued, already prepared to argue. “You don’t have to do anything major. My execs will handle the details and keep me updated, but sometimes things might require your attention. And Megumi, I know you already have your own company, and Haibara, I know you’re technically retired but still somehow more dangerous than an entire intelligence agency, but you two are the only ones I trust right now.”

You paused to let that sink in.

Megumi, without hesitation, said, “I’ll do it. Don’t worry about it.”

“Not so fast,” Haibara said, his tone dripping with that unnervingly cheerful negotiation energy.

Your stomach dropped. If Haibara was feeling negotiation-core, you were doomed. You were already out of options—ideally, you’d have gone to Nanami, but handing him such power felt like signing your own death certificate. He’d probably screw you over in the name of “love” or some other nonsense.

You turned to him, already dreading whatever ridiculous request was about to come out of his mouth.

“What’s the car privilege like, and can I have my own jet?” Haibara asked, very serious.

You exhaled, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You will have access to all executive privileges I have. And you will be compensated at my salary level.”

Megumi’s eyebrow twitched. He looked like he wanted to strangle Haibara with his bare hands.

Haibara, unfazed, asked, “How much do you make?”

“You have no shame.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “And you have even less survival instinct to ask a woman that question.”

Megumi, still seething, muttered, “She’s a trillionaire.”

Haibara shrugged. “Exactly. You were thinking it too.”

Before you could throw hands, Haibara swung an arm over Megumi’s shoulder and turned slightly, as if you weren’t right there. “I would like a minute to discuss this with my associate.”

Then, in a very serious, very confidential whisper, Haibara asked, “What’s your favorite Pokémon?”

Megumi stared at him. “How many times did you hit your head in MI6?”

Haibara smirked. “Too many to count, but you should see the others.”

Then he turned back to you, completely deadpan. “I have discussed it with my associate, and we’d like to consider your preposterous proposal.”

You rolled your eyes because, one, you had heard every word, and two, they had not discussed anything. “Great. I’ll call my CHRO and get the paperwork started.”

Haibara opened his mouth immediately, but you cut him off. “No, you cannot throw parties. Yes, you can use the AR/VR hall.”

Haibara beamed. “Pleasure doing business with you. I’ve always wanted to be a CEO. Never got to cosplay that in MI6.”

He turned to high-five Megumi, but Megumi didn’t raise his hand, so Haibara high-fived Megumi’s face instead.

As Megumi pushed Haibara off the couch, you laughed while texting your CHRO, who lived just a few floors down and would be arriving in a few minutes.

---

A few minutes later, the scent of breakfast filled the air, but you weren’t impressed.

Instead, you sat on the couch, wrapped in your rage like a blanket, one hand absentmindedly stroking the tiny albino raccoon curled up against your swollen belly. It purred, content.

Meanwhile, you?

Not content.

Your husbands—traitors, both of them—were in the kitchen, pretending they weren’t the prime targets of your wrath.

Across from you, Megumi casually sipped his coffee, every bit the Corporate Toji Hybrid he was: effortlessly powerful, composed, and completely indifferent to the tension in the room. Next to him, Haibara lounged like a cat that had just knocked over a vase on purpose, his shit-eating grin locked directly on Nanami.

Megumi had already moved on, focused entirely on the tiny albino raccoon baby sleeping against your belly.

“I left his medical notes and care instructions in there,” Megumi murmured, gesturing to the bags he’d brought. He gently petted the baby raccoon’s tiny head, his voice soft. “He’s already fed, so you don’t need to worry about that. Next feeding is at 12 PM. A few more days, then he’ll be three months old, and we can move him to other food. Call me if you need anything or want me to babysit him.”

You nodded as the CHRO finished taking pictures of the baby. “He’s so smoll and adorable.”

Then she switched back to her regular demeanor, adjusting her blazer and perking up as she took her seat just as the housekeeping staff arrived with freshly brewed coffee and a plate of neatly arranged breakfast. She nodded in thanks before turning to you with a level-headed, professional tone.

“You can’t go on leave immediately,” she stated, glancing over her tablet. “As per Japanese labor laws, maternity leave must be announced at least six to eight weeks in advance. However—” she took a sip of her coffee, narrowing her eyes at Gojo and Nanami, “—we can work something out if you can provide a doctor’s note.”

You, already prepared, slid Shoko’s note across the table. “I figured as much. This should do.”

She skimmed the document, nodding in approval. “It’s solid. Given your condition, we can argue medical necessity.” She added it to her folder, then added, “Now the real problem is the board of directors. Those idiots won’t easily turn over. Pardon my language; it’s too early.” She took another long sip of her coffee, clearly needing it.

Gojo and Nanami pretended not to hear, their focus on the breakfast spread.

You chuckled, “I know. But considering they’ve been crying for me to step down, I think they’ll be more than happy to approve my leave.”

“Not with your candidates.” She lifted her gaze, deadpan, as she gestured toward Megumi and Haibara. “No offense.”

Haibara, utterly unbothered, waved a hand dismissively, leaning back into the couch with a relaxed posture. Megumi didn’t even look up from his phone, his expression unreadable as he took another sip of his coffee, unfazed by the conversation.

Your CHRO tapped a manicured nail against the table, deep in thought. “However… I believe we could expedite things by bringing in a certain classy lawyer. Someone who can bury them in so much legal jargon about the Child Care and Family Care Leave Act that they’d have no choice but to comply.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Classy, huh? Want me to stage a little run-in?”

She glanced up from her coffee, her smirk mirroring yours. “No need. He’ll come to me. We’ve got history.”

You couldn’t help but grin. This—this—was why she was one of your most trusted allies. She wasn’t just competent; she had a knack for understanding people. She knew exactly how to pull the right strings, when to push, and when to sit back and let them walk right into her hands.

Unbeknownst to both of you, the four men in the room were watching like spectators at a tennis match, their faces a mix of horror and disbelief. Gojo and Nanami, in particular, looked like they’d just been handed a life sentence. Nanami had been quietly spiraling since Hiromi saved them on your request from going to jail again, his mind racing with the unbearable thought that you might leave them for Higuruma—calm, competent, and painfully similar to him. Meanwhile, Gojo had been one wrong word away from flinging himself off the nearest rooftop, convinced that his charm and good looks were no match for Higuruma’s “mature lawyer vibes.”

It was tragic, really. Two grown men, utterly defeated by the mere possibility of being replaced by someone who probably ironed his socks.

“Don’t worry about the board; call a meeting. I’ll take care of it,” Megumi interjected.

What board was left anyway? He and Haibara had removed all the prickly members, not that they were going to share that with the class.

“Great!” Your CHRO glanced at her watch. “Alright, it’s getting late. Once everything is finalized, we’ll move forward with the announcement. We’ll need to notify the Tokyo Stock Exchange and the Financial Services Agency, given your company’s listing.”

Then she turned to you, finishing the last sip of her coffee. “A word in private?”

“Sure.”

Your brows furrowed as you pushed yourself off the couch, but you immediately froze—the baby raccoon was determined to crawl inside your t-shirt.

You sighed, reaching out blindly to shove the fluffy menace into Gojo’s arms as he passed by.

Gojo, mid-bite into a stolen biscuit, blinked in surprise before cradling the raccoon as if it were your firstborn. The little creature immediately latched onto his shirt, climbing it like a tree.

“Traitor,” you muttered under your breath before nodding at your CHRO. “Let’s go.”

Little did you know, that was the best day of Gojo’s life as he cradled the baby in his arms.

The morning air was crisp as you stepped onto the rooftop, the city skyline buzzing below. People rushed to work or school. Your CHRO leaned against the railing, her expression unreadable.

“An investor has contacted me,” she said, her tone measured.

You crossed your arms, frowning, still unsure why she was bringing it up. “Let Megumi handle it from now.”

“That’s the problem,” she countered, watching your reaction. “They insist on meeting you personally. No exceptions.”

You exhaled sharply. Of course, they did.

“That’s not creepy at all,” you deadpanned, not at her, but at the entire concept of this mystery investor.

Your CHRO continued, unfazed. “The money is substantial. More than enough to drown out the sharks circling us right now. And…” she hesitated, then added, “He’s got a remarkable PR track record. Think ‘Bendgate’—turning PR disasters into status symbols. He’s suggesting that instead of fighting the backlash, we own it. He even thinks we frame your maternity leave as a power move rather than a retreat.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Looks like he wants to do more than just invest.”

Her lips curled slightly, impressed as always by how quickly you saw through things.

“He said—and I quote—‘I protect my assets.’”

She studied your reaction. “So, if nothing else, he’s definitely planning to keep his investment safe. And if that means getting us out of negative publicity, we might as well let him.”

Your fingers drummed against your arm as you mulled over the idea. It was a good move—maybe even an excellent one. But the way this investor was approaching it—insisting on you, personally—set off more alarms than you’d like.

Still, you were never one to dismiss a game just because the opponent seemed strong.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally said, then shot her a sharp glance. “Now go.”

Your CHRO grinned knowingly but didn’t push further. She nodded and followed you back inside.

Back in the living room, Haibara immediately pulled you into a suffocating hug, taking your leave with enthusiasm.

Megumi, standing beside him, simply reached out and ruffled your hair. You glared up at him, swatting his hand away, but he just smirked in response.

And then just as they were about to leave, Haibara turned back with a-too bright for morning-grin.

“Oh, by the way—say hello to your new neighbors.”

Your entire body tensed.

“What?”

But before you could demand answers, Haibara and Megumi were already gone.

Nanami and Gojo were visibly frozen.

Gojo’s jaw hung slightly open, as if he were processing the worst possible outcome.

Nanami, on the other hand, looked like he was seriously debating throwing himself off the balcony.

After a beat of silence, you closed the door.

You didn’t say a word.

You simply went straight to the shower.

Meanwhile, in the background, Nanami was already deep into an argument with the housekeeping staff about something probably insignificant—because, as had been established long ago, you were not socially extroverted enough to ask them for anything, and Gojo sure as hell wasn’t responsible enough to handle it.

So, by default, it was Nanami’s job.

And judging by the increasing frustration in his tone, he was acutely aware of this injustice.

---

By the time you finally lowered yourself into a chair at the dining table, breakfast was already waiting—your favorite meal, prepared with precision, the portions adjusted to what your body could currently tolerate.

The scent hit first: warm, familiar, comforting.

And yet, your stomach twisted.

Gojo slid a glass of milk beside your plate, his voice deliberately light. “Gotta keep those bones strong, mama.”

You stared at the glass.

Your face remained blank, but deep inside, you were already dry-heaving in spirit.

Milk. Plain, disgusting, childhood-trauma-inducing milk.

The sheer audacity of this man.

In all the years of your relationship, not once had you willingly consumed a glass of milk. Not once.

Nanami, oblivious to your mental betrayal arc, set a peeled orange next to your plate—a habit he’d developed after his Ph.D.-level pregnancy research phase. “Eat slowly,” he advised, watching you carefully as he took a seat across from you.

You stabbed your fork into your food. The tension was suffocating.

You chewed quietly, the atmosphere thick with unspoken words. They were waiting for you to say something—anything—but you didn’t. You just kept staring at the glass of milk, trying not to grimace. Honestly, you didn’t care if anyone called you a toddler; you absolutely hated plain milk. It tasted so disgusting that you felt like throwing up every time, and it brought back memories of your mom trying to force-feed it to you.

Everything felt awkward, and the housekeepers were eyeing you with sympathy, like a zoo animal under observation.

Gojo, who had never handled prolonged silence well, fidgeted. “Do you... feel okay today?”

You looked at him, then at Nanami, and finally back at your plate.

“Fine,” you muttered.

It was a lie.

But it was also a functional answer.

The relief on their faces was immediate—like you had just spared them from the gallows.

They had no idea.

Because inside you, the twins were awake.

And they were moving.

Your hand subtly pressed against your stomach as you felt a now-familiar pressure beneath your ribs.

Like a second heartbeat thrumming beneath your skin.

You swallowed thickly.

Neither Nanami nor Gojo noticed. They were too focused on watching you eat, too distracted by their own guilt.

But then a tiny whine sounded from beneath the table.

You blinked, looking down to find the baby raccoon furiously trying to climb your leg.

Your heart cracked open.

You had read somewhere that baby raccoons did this specifically to get their mother’s attention.

But you couldn’t bend over under the table, not with the ever-expanding horror that was your current body. So Gojo, sensing your dilemma, reached down and scooped up the tiny menace.

The raccoon, immediately noticing Nanami, turned full feral.

Before anyone could react, he launched himself onto Nanami’s sweater, claws sinking in as he scrambled up like a tiny, aggressive mountaineer.

Nanami jerked, startled.

The raccoon kit, small but packed with the kind of raw, chaotic energy that only an orphaned, two-month-old menace could wield, had reached his final destination—Nanami’s head.

Perched like a crown atop the golden locks, the little beast surveyed his kingdom with an air of unearned confidence. Then, with the audacity of someone who had never known consequences, he latched onto Nanami’s hair and pulled.

Hard.

A sharp inhale. A barely restrained flinch. A flash of sheer suffering crossed Nanami’s face before it was promptly buried under his usual look of long-suffering exhaustion.

"…Get him off, Satoru," he said, his voice calm but teetering on the edge of homicide. "It hurts."

Gojo, who had been waiting for this moment his entire life, was nearly vibrating with glee.

"Why would I do that when he’s clearly bonded with you?" Gojo cooed, shaking a plastic container of raccoon-safe treats like he was summoning a beast. "Come here, little guy. Look, I got the good stuff~!"

The raccoon did not come.

Instead, the raccoon opened his mouth and started chewing on Nanami’s hair.

You, composed as ever, lifted your cup to your lips, the picture of grace despite the absolute clownery unfolding right in front of you. Your hands trembled with the effort of keeping a straight face, but you held firm, fighting for your life not to laugh (that would not be very nonchalant of you).

Very nonchalant. Unbothered. Above it all.

Nanami was none of these things.

With the measured patience of a man who had seen death and returned more disappointed than scared, he reached up, pried the raccoon from his scalp, and held him out like an HR complaint. The kit, dangling from his firm grip, wiggled his tiny limbs in protest.

"He needs a name,” he mused, just as Gojo immediately snatched the baby from Nanami’s grasp and cradled him like a long-lost son.

"Say less," Gojo grinned, his eyes sparkling with the raw, unchecked power of a man who had never been stopped from making bad decisions. He grasped your shoulder, deadly serious. "Feral Slay."

A beat of silence followed.

"You’re never naming anything. Ever," Nanami stated with the firm finality of a judge handing down a life sentence.

"Okay, okay, fine," you said, waving a hand before Gojo could start rattling off worse options. You turned to the raccoon, tilting your head. "He kinda looks like a... Bean. No, wait—Clout Save."

Gojo stared at you, horrified. "Clout Save?"

"Clout Save."

"CS for short," you added helpfully.

Gojo dragged a hand down his face. "You can’t just name him like he’s some little meow meow—"

"His name is Takahashi the ETA."

Both you and Gojo turned slowly to look at Nanami.

Nanami, straightening his sweater cuffs, exuded an air of absolute finality. "Takahashi is respectable. It suits him. ETA stands for Executive Trash Associate."

The raccoon, now named Takahashi-Clout Save-Feral Slay (depending on who you asked), chirped happily and shoved his tiny face into Gojo’s chest, burrowing close.

Except he was not actually burrowing; he was looking for skin.

Once he found it, he bit Gojo, who yelped and put him back on the table, rubbing his neck.

The baby immediately ran toward you.

And that’s when you realized he was in love with you.

Oh, not in a pet way. No, no. The baby raccoon, for reasons known only to himself and whatever god oversaw creatures of chaos, had decided that you were his one true love.

Your fate was sealed the moment you fed him milk.

"You’re his mom now," Gojo declared, delighted.

Nanami was hiding a smile behind his mug.

The raccoon, completely serious, squeaked and nuzzled closer to you, heart and soul dedicated to his cause.

Except for the fact that, beneath your ribs, your unborn child shifted again.

This time, it hurt, and your face twitched.

Nanami saw.

Gojo saw.

Their amusement faded instantly.

But you, determined to keep your composure, simply reached for the glass of milk—

And slid it across the table.

Towards Gojo.

Without a word.

His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to protest. But he didn’t.

Instead, he just took the glass.

And drank.

Because if there was one unspoken rule in this house—

It was that they would have to do anything for your forgiveness, and you wanted to test that theory.

You spent most of the day curled up on the couch, flipping through a book, deliberately ignoring how they hovered like ghosts of their own making.

Nanami busied himself in the kitchen, reorganizing the medicine cabinet so that your prenatal vitamins sat front and center—impossible to miss, impossible to ignore.

Gojo, restlessly, moved in and out of the room, each time bringing something new—first, a blanket. Then, pillows. Then, a heating pad, which he placed beside you with careful hands, his voice soft.

"For your back," he murmured, stepping away as soon as he saw the distinct lack of response.

You did not acknowledge him.

You did not acknowledge any of them.

Except, at one point, you finally shifted—moving toward the new-looking foot massager sitting in the corner.

And like a cursed spirit sensing weak prey, Gojo materialized.

"Let me help," he said, already fiddling with the controls.

You narrowed your eyes.

This was your favorite part.

Gadgets were your thing. You were the tech CEO.

Was he mansplaining?

A slow inhale.

A calculated exhale.

You were two seconds from walking away when something caught your eye. Something... off.

Your gaze narrowed at his head. "Why is this video call enabled?"

Silence.

Gojo’s hand froze mid-button press.

Nanami, standing by the counter with Takahashi in his arms, went perfectly still—then, very deliberately, took a step back, adjusting his grip on the raccoon as if he were getting comfortable to watch something catastrophic unfold. Something he’d warned Gojo about.

Gojo, caught like a rat in a cage, let out a nervous laugh. "Ahh... well... you know, in case of emergencies—"

You stared at him.

He sweated.

Then, you looked at the camera angle.

It was positioned near your foot.

If you ever used this thing, all your fifty double chins and ginormous stomach would make a guest appearance on whatever poor sap you graced with your face.

You blinked.

Gojo took a step back.

Nanami—who had stayed silent this entire time—took Takahashi’s tiny paw and slowly high-fived it, as if they were both watching history in the making.

You ignored him and sighed in relief when the machine began working on your swollen feet.

---

You didn’t realize what day it was until Gojo set a small box in front of you at lunch.

You stared at it.

His fingers drummed against the table, uncharacteristically nervous. "Just… something we got a while ago. For today."

Nanami exhaled. "It’s Valentine’s Day."

And you—

You laughed.

Before you even fully processed the words, before your mind could catch up to your mouth, your body rejected the notion so violently that it left you breathless, doubled over in sheer, uncontrollable mirth.

"Who gives a shit?"

Valentine’s Day? Valentine’s Day?

You had lost track of dates entirely. You had spent months alone, unheard, unseen. A single holiday didn’t matter.

Your laughter twisted into something raw, something ugly, something just shy of manic.

Then your eyes flicked to them.

And they looked...

Genuinely hurt??

A moment of disbelief cracked through your amusement. Since when did men start caring about things like this? Especially after ignoring you on your anniversary—a day you had actually built with them.

Your laugh pitched higher, bubbling over again.

Confused? Disbelieving? Maybe just psychologically broken? Unhinged? Who the hell knew anymore?

Gojo leaned forward, blue eyes searching yours. "We know we messed up. We know you don’t forgive us yet. And we’re not expecting you to."

Nanami’s voice, steady as always, followed. "But we want to do better. Every day. Whether you believe us or not, we’ll prove it."

Your chest tightened.

Your fingers twitched, but you didn’t reach for the box.

You didn’t push it away, either.

Gojo took that as permission and nudged it closer, his fingers brushing against yours. "Come on, open it."

A sigh slipped through your lips—quiet, almost reluctant. And then, finally, you lifted the lid.

Your breath caught.

A Canon EOS R1, the latest mirrorless DSLR. Pristine build. Four lenses—RF 100-500mm f/4.5-7.1L IS USM, RF 24-70mm f/2.8L IS USM, TS-E 50mm F2.8 L Macro. High-end, thoughtful, expensive as hell.

This wasn’t just an apology gift—this was specific.

They had remembered. Somehow, through all their fuck-ups and negligence, they had still managed to retain one crucial piece of information—your preferred camera brand.

Your fingers grazed the smooth body, and something stirred in your chest.

It had been so long.

Too long.

And—before you could stop yourself—you started word vomiting.

"First of all, this lens is unnecessary." You pointed at one. "I only take portraits. Most of the time, the subject is close to me, and if it’s a stray cat, then—okay, fine, I’d use a zoom lens. But even then, the cat would run away before I could switch the damn thing, so I used to walk around with a zoom lens anyway. Then again, this new model is way faster, sharper—and it also has better pet eye focus, so Clout can be in his element without me having to hold him down and still end up with shaky photos—”

You looked up and stopped.

They were smiling.

Like fools.

Like absolute, pathetic fools.

Your frown deepened. Why?

Gojo snapped out of his daze and scratched the back of his head, grinning. "We, uh—"

"We don’t really know much about this stuff," he admitted, shrugging. "But we know you love it. And we thought maybe, y’know..." He gestured vaguely. He was getting flustered because it was the most you’d spoken to him after months, and you hadn’t berated him.

Nanami, always the one to articulate better, leaned forward. "We thought you could take maternity photos. If you wanted. Takahashi’s too."

You hadn’t even thought about that.

You wanted to.

You really, really did.

Your grip on the camera tightened, but you fought the warmth creeping into your chest, resisting the ridiculous impulse to let them see that they had done something right.

You glanced between them. "But you don’t even know how to use this, do you?"

Gojo, pleased as hell, grinned wider. "Nope."

Nanami sighed, patient. "No, but we can learn if… you’re willing to teach..."

Your lips twitched.

You didn’t outright accept their gift, but you didn’t reject it either.

And they saw it.

The way you lingered over the camera. The way your fingers drifted to adjust the settings, the way your expression softened—just a fraction—as you tested the weight in your hands.

They took it as a win.

---

Thirty minutes later, your laptop sat open in your home office, Behance boards filling the screen—soft, dreamy maternity shoots, golden hour lighting, flowy dresses—

And then, a sharp left turn into gothic drama.

Dark veils. Heavy shadows. The Morticia Addams aesthetic. For some reason, your mind went there. The twins kicked softly, and you took that as agreement.

Your fingers moved with purpose—envisioning details.

Clout Save blissfully chewed the corner of your screen. You didn’t even bother stopping him. You had given up on that battle long ago.

Nanami noticed first.

He set a plate of cut fruit beside you, silent for a moment. Then he asked, "Need anything for the shoot?"

He was trying hard not to remember how he used to sit in this very room, hands shaking, drowning in thoughts he refused to name. How, after you had disappeared, he had spent hours here, alone—desperate, unraveling, harming himself, dangerously close to doing something irreversible.

But you were here now.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t still terrified you’d disappear again.

You hesitated, then barely mumbled, "A few things."

Nanami exhaled, slow and careful, keeping his voice light. "Prepare a list. Let’s leave in an hour. Do you want clothes or other things too? Like something for Takahashi or..." He paused, and then—softly, deliberately—he dropped the N-word.

"The nursery."

Your hands froze over your keyboard.

Your entire body stilled.

You squinted at your screen, refusing to make eye contact with him.

The nursery.

That plague you had been actively avoiding.

Your teeth clenched.

Fine. Fine.

Megumi hadn’t called, which meant things on his end were fine. You had nothing else to do anyway.

"Fine," you said, your tone final. "But I will drive."

---

Unbeknownst to you, Gojo, pacing in the other room, had his phone pressed to his ear.

"Is mania common in pregnancy?" he demanded, his voice serious. "We told her it was Valentine’s Day, and she just started laughing—like, actually losing her mind, saying ‘who gives a shit.’"

A pause.

"She never reacted like this before. She used to be busy with work, but she still planned dinner dates, even went overboard with gifts sometimes—"

Shoko, on the other end, giggled.

"I’d laugh too, bro."

Then the line cut.

Gojo stood there, scowling.

---

Forty-five minutes later, nothing fit your six-months-pregnant-with-twins body.

The rest of your clothes were too formal for the amount of walking you’d have to do.

So—without a word—you stole Gojo’s sweatshirt and Nanami’s overcoat.

The fit was loose, but you looked good. Expensive. Like some hot tomboy off-duty CEO.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

Smirked.

Then grabbed your keys and left the house, leaving the housekeeping staff to stay until you returned.

---

The Koenigsegg Jesko Absolut purred to life as you slid into the driver’s seat. There was a reason you hadn’t driven your favorite car since you got pregnant, and the men were about to learn it the hard way.

Gojo got in next to you, pouting. He had wanted to drive.

The fucker had always had his eyes on your cars, but you were no longer letting him touch them.

You’d usually just give in and let him drive, even though driving was something that soothed you. It gave you a small feeling of being in control and provided that little adrenaline hit in your otherwise overbooked, responsibility-packed life.

And Nanami, in the back, was even more annoying. The dude was obsessed with playing chauffeur, insisting on picking you up and dropping you off everywhere like some kind of overprotective GPS. Meanwhile, your cars were just chilling at home, collecting dust and probably crying from neglect.

The only ‘action’ they got was either when they were being maintained or when Gojo got Ijichi to drive him to his missions in your sweet babies while he lounged in the back like some prince.

Not today.

Clout Save was left at home, much to his dismay. You still didn’t have a seatbelt for him.

Then, without warning—

You shifted gears and slammed the gas pedal.

The car shot forward like a goddamn rocket.

It wasn’t just a car; it was the fastest production car in the world. A machine designed to dominate, to devour pavement, to leave everything in the dust—including common sense and self-preservation.

And you were behind the wheel.

Six months pregnant. With horror twins.

Gojo’s entire soul left his body.

Nanami, who had been reaching for his seatbelt, yanked it as if it were the only thing standing between him and a fiery death.

"Okay—okay—SLOW DOWN—"

You ignored him.

The engine roared, the car sliced through the streets, and the world blurred into streaks of color as you weaved—flawlessly, effortlessly, elegantly—through traffic.

Wind whipped through the open windows, tangling your hair, teasing at the loose collar of Gojo’s sweatshirt.

And Gojo was staring.

It wasn’t just the speed—it was the way you drove.

One hand steady on the wheel, the other shifting gears with Formula One ease. Your foot pressed down on the accelerator like you were testing fate itself, and you smirked—eyes bright, adrenaline humming in your veins, completely, utterly in your element.

Gojo swallowed.

Nanami gripped the door handle, jaw tight, knuckles white.

Gojo leaned sideways, his voice barely above a choked whisper.

"I hate that I find this hot."

Nanami was thinking the same thing.

Unfortunately, terror outweighed attraction.

"Slow down," Nanami snapped, his tone edged with something dangerously close to panic. "You. Are. Pregnant."

You increased speed.

The car growled beneath you, the road stretching open like a runway to insanity.

"WHO TAUGHT YOU HOW TO DRIVE?!" Gojo shouted, his voice cracking as you narrowly dodged a car, slipping through a gap that shouldn’t have existed.

You smirked.

Shifted gears.

Glanced at him through half-lidded eyes, as if this was the most natural conversation in the world.

"Toji."

Gojo turned ashen.

Nanami let out the longest, slowest sigh of his life.

"Of course he did."

---

Everything was almost fine.

Until an oncoming truck.

A massive, hulking beast of steel and certain death.

Nanami and Gojo braced themselves, hearts hammering in their ribs, the realization sinking in like cold, hard gravity.

This is it.

She’s going to crash.

They were both yelling now, overlapping, frantic—

"SLOW DOWN—"

"ARE YOU EVEN SEEING THAT—"

You smiled, innocently.

As if you held a secret—like you were dancing on the edge of something dangerous and laughing about it.

Then—

In one smooth, impossible motion, you twisted the wheel, shifted gears seamlessly, and threaded the car through the narrow gap—slipping past the truck by mere centimeters.

Gojo and Nanami felt their lives flash before their eyes.

They narrowly escaped the truck, with only centimeters to spare.

The pinnacle of modern machinery stabilized.

The only sound in the car was the steady hum of the engine.

The men were panting.

Shaken.

Physically unharmed, but spiritually wrecked.

—finally—

Nanami snapped.

"What the hell was that?!"

You didn’t even blink.

Instead, you smiled.

"You both wanted to bring me back."

Your voice was smooth, effortless, razor-sharp with something dangerously crazy.

"So this is what you’ve brought back."

They stared at you, still too stunned to speak.

Then—casually, effortlessly, unbothered—you leaned back against the seat, adjusting the loose sleeves of Gojo’s sweatshirt, shifting your grip on the wheel as if you were born in this car.

And added—

"Besides, didn’t you promise you’d protect me and shit?"

The smirk widened.

"So protect."

Then, as if nothing had happened at all, you parked inside the mall.

Effortless. Precise. Clean.

Like you hadn’t just defied death at 500 km/h (310 mph).

Gojo and Nanami didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t dare look at each other.

You got out of the car.

Tossed the keys in your palm.

Stretched—unbothered, untouchable, glowing with that reckless, intoxicating fire in your eyes.

Then you turned, taking them in.

Pale. Silent. Processing their survival.

"Are you two coming or not? I might need some ‘protecting’ from the salespeople. And just so you know, I didn’t bring any money or have a phone, so you both will be paying for everything."

Nanami exhaled slowly, forcing composure back into his bones.

Gojo ran a shaky hand through his disheveled hair.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them could.

Wordlessly—like men who had seen God and Death shake hands—they got out of the car.

And followed you inside.

---

Bonus

In your old bedroom later that evening,

"You have to accept that I’m the bigger menace," Gojo said, watching as the raccoon kit attempted to wrestle a sock off of Nanami’s foot with the tenacity of a gremlin.

Nanami glanced up from his book. "He tried to suffocate you in your sleep."

"Okay, rude; I think he just likes climbing on my handsome face," Gojo shot back, a playful grin spreading across his face.

You, who had walked into the room just in time to hear this, exhaled sharply and turned around, leaving the room in a huff.

Gojo called after you, "Oh my God, you’re jealous—"

You slammed the door behind you.

ETA Takahashi-Mochi Blanc-Sir Snowdrop the Pale-Clout Save-Feral Slay chirped happily, victorious.

---

Memes Haibara bombarded you with about your mentally insane albino criminal.

Raccoon Headcanons, (I know one of these isn't one)

A/N: So. The raccoon needs a name. Since y’all are unhinged, I’m leaving it up to you.

Bonus 🔥 Poll: What would you do if Gojo installed a video call-enabled foot massager in your house? A) Use it for evil. B) Yeet it out the window. C) Let Gojo suffer. D) Accept that privacy is a myth. What’s your theory on the investor? Business move or secret villain?? Also, a lil headcanon: Did Banana Man (Haibara) see Reader in Ibiza, or was it a parallel mission? Discuss. Share your own headcanons about this story with me please, I beg.

Another Alt Universe for this story - Glass House (Tumblr/Ao3)

Next chapter 16 (alt ending 2.7) - Placeholder: This Should Have Been Love (Tumblr/Ao3) :P

All Works Masterlist

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy @xx-tazzdevil-xx @unaaasz @thebumbqueen @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni

Taglist Open.

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1moreff-creator · 5 months ago

Text

Corrigendum - Literature Girl Insane Analysis

Updates After CH2 PT2

More than a year ago, the entire DRDT fandom was thrown on its head when the Literature Girl Insane David MV dropped. And with the help of DRDT Tumblr for mystery finding and interpretations, about a year ago I made “A Full Vivisection of the David MV,” a two and a half hour video going over everything I could. While I still think the video mostly holds up even after CH2 PT2, there’s quite a few things that require an update. Let’s go over them, shall we?

(Is this a correct use of the word "corrigendum"? I don't know, but it's close enough for me to use given the connection to the book theme we got going on :v)

As a warning, though, this post will more or less assume that you’ve watched Vivisection, as some sections might be complete gibberish without the context of my previous interpretations of this thing.

Spoilers up to CH2. CW: Suicide, murder, hanging, CH2 execution, gun violence, blood

I’ll go through the recontextualizations in order of appearance in the MV, though first:

Footnote 14 Solution, Tally 5 Correction

So these two things aren’t related to Part 2, but instead codes already in LGI. Since Vivisection came out, the footnote 14/Roman numeral I code got solved, and I’ve been informed that the solution for tally 5 I hinted at in the video was, while not wrong in the sense that you could arrive at the code using it, not the actually intended solution. Basically I said to pay attention to line breaks, when you’re actually supposed to ignore them, and that meant that one character had to be ignored when in reality the real solution works perfectly fine without ignoring it. Sorry, the line break thing was just commonly repeated advice given on Tumblr at the time and I don’t know why I never double checked how accurate it was :v

The proper solutions can be found in my Secrets Masterpost, so I won’t repeat them here. The Roman numeral I code, attached to Xander via crosswords, returned “I have always looked up to you,” which is perfectly in line with both the things David states in 2-12 and the conclusions drawn about how he feels towards Xander from the MV. As for tally 5, that will be addressed later.

Yoidore Shirazu Lyrics

Another thing that happened was the release of the Elliot MV, Yoidore Shirazu. While the MV itself is not particularly for our purposes, I'm bringing it up to double check a thing with the lyrics.

You might remember that a big chunk of Vivisection was informed by "Language Theory," the idea that some lyrics' translations were specifically changed to fit better with David. This was supported by footnote 5, "As the translation has been intentionally botched in many parts, it should not be considered accurate," as well as the fact that Coleena Wu was listed in the credits, meaning her translation was used as a base for the David MV even though there were many differences between the David MV's lyrics and her version.

Thus, when I saw that Yoidore Shirazu credited Magenetra for the English lyrics, I figured I'd check if it happened again. And yes, there are a few lines here and there where the Elliot version is slightly different from the original translation. While I won't get into all of them in this post, a particularly notable change is "my muddy, obstructed and broken vision of the future, it's not half bad" in the original changing to "my muddy, obstructed, broken future, it's not half bad" in the Elliot MV, for example.

What does this tell us about the David MV? Well, I would argue that if dev decided to change a few lyrics in an MV where word placement isn't as important as in LGI, presumably just to make them fit better with Elliot or because dev just prefers certain wording (I don't see any other reasons the translation would be different), then it's very possible that they also consciously changed a few LGI lines to fit better with David. Maybe. In other words, I believe this is an extra argument to the validity of Language Theory, though I could also see it as an argument against ("maybe dev just doesn't care about sticking so close to the translations they use") :v

Now let’s actually go from the start of the MV to the end, shall we?

Color Connection Theory: Orange

In Vivisection, I said (words more words less) that while in a vacuum orange would probably go to Ace, the context of some of the lines seemed to fit Xander better, with the argument that the trailer for the series assigns orange as the color of the first letter of Xander’s name in a hypothetical class trial. The main argument was that Orange “that guy” appeared next to Green “this guy” (Hu/Teruko, leaning Hu) and Black “you” (possibly Mai), and lumping Ace in with characters who seemed much more important than him at the time seemed… strange.

Since then, Ace has gained a notable amount of importance to this particular part of the story, given the whole blackened thing. As a result, I would argue his inclusion as Orange is now more likely than Xander’s. Take a look at the start of the first chorus, for example, and you’ll see that putting Xander as red (which would be redundant if he’s also orange) makes for a nice, neat reading in the context of this trial.

[Literature Girl Insane] Even if you cry, make noise, shout, go mad the world won’t change!

Arei: “Even if you cry about hurting Eden, you’ll still always be a horrible person.”

Hu: “Even if you make noise to make yourself useful, you’re still the same hopeless child who attempted suicide three times.”

Ace: “Even if you shout, you’ll always be a coward.”

Xander: “Even if you go mad, you’ll always be a good person at heart.”

“No matter what, you people (the world) won’t change.”

What a lovely worldview David has!

There’s also this instance, "let's play!":

[Literature Girl Insane] With anonymous hopes let's play!

Which makes sense given Ace is “playing the killing game” by… killing in the game. Foreshadowing or am I insane? These are not mutually exclusive.

Hand Holding

dev why /affectionate

So, yeah. Arei holds David’s hand the same way Ideal Country Woman does. At least we’ve got near 100% confirmation that the weird line of white pixels is not a glove or anything, but rather a bend of the wrist as expected.

Now we have to ask what Arei’s connection to this mess is. Thankfully, I can at least draw a connection between Arei and the surrounding context of the scene, so we’re not going in completely blind. As a reminder, here’s the interpretation I arrived at for the “tunnel scene” that directly precedes Miss Hand Holding’s appearance.

[Extract from Vivisection] David gives Xander the order to "escape the tunnel," so open himself up to love others. However, "but," loving David is a bad idea, because he's a monster who's better off dead. His opinion, right? So he asks himself, where should Xander escape? "Where to?" In other words, who should Xander like and be friends with?

The connection to Arei should be more or less clear, provided you replace Xander's name with her. There’s two ways to take it. Arei opened herself up to David, “escaped the tunnel on his direction” per say. And given what happened directly after, you could say it led to a “disastrous scene.” Alternatively, if David genuinely wanted to accept Arei’s proposal to be “less shitty together,” if he “escaped the tunnel in Arei’s direction,” that too could be considered a “disastrous scene” because Arei died. That one’s admittedly a pretty big if, butconsidering some of the stuff David says…

David [2-10]: Unless, of course, you were Arei. That girl wanted desperately to prove herself as a "friend" to Eden. And yet she completely lacked any experience with what "friends" were actually like. [...] What could she know about "friendship," after all? Someone like her, who had not once experienced kindness in her entire life up until now? [...] [Breaking down] It's... It's so... Ahaha. It's just so foolish. For someone to take advantage of Arei like that... It's absolutely unforgivable. All she wanted was to change. What a reprehensible person this killer is. I look forward to seeing their painful execution.

Yeah he might have cared.

So, okay, Arei can be connected to the surrounding context so this isn’t completely out of left field, but we still have the possibility of a further connection to the Mystery Girl. As you might recall, this girl is either Diana Chiem (based on certain similarities with David and because revealing Ms Naegi like this would be weird) or Ms Naegi (because Diana isn’t in the Cast List, while Naegi is). I don’t see any immediate connections to Naegi, so we’re left with Diana, who also has little connection.

Of course, the number one takeaway is that Arei reminds David of Diana (or Ms Naegi) in some way, so we can infer Mystery Girl might have supported David despite knowing about his manipulative nature, especially possible since she's positioned in the MV in a way where she's the "(so-called) ideal country." I'm about to ramble a whole lot more about other possibilities, but this is probably what we're meant to get from this.

If we’re allowing a small amount of unhingedness, another connection that could be drawn is between Arei’s family situation and David’s. Arei also had sisters, but they treated her horribly until Arei ruined their lives. Translated to Diana, this could mean that David treated her badly, that she did something to harm him, or both. If their relationship turned bad during Hope’s Peak time, it could explain why Footnote David, presumed to be David before losing his memories, claims she doesn’t exist, when Killing Game David speaks about her openly. Did he try to cut ties with her or something, and tries to pretend she doesn’t exist? Again, unhinged and probably not what the takeaway is meant to be, but we know less than zero about Diana, so it's not impossible.

Alternatively, though, it's worth noting that Mystery Girl and Arei tilt their heads in opposite directions, which could symbolize they're opposites in a way. Taken with the previous interpretations, this could mean either Mystery Girl supported David without knowing about his motive secret (opposite of interpretation 1), or that Arei's family situation is opposite Diana's, aka David had a good relationship with his sister (opposite of interpretation 2).

But speaking of insane, would you believe me if I told you that this visual similarity could, alternatively, be evidence for literally the most unhinged theory in the entire Vivisection? That is, the ridiculous deduction which is arrived at by analyzing the objects in the “suspicious gaps” attached to footnote 11, “I admit to lying. There is no one named OOOOO OOOOO. I am, and always have been, an only child," as well as the Catch-22 quote that comes directly after. Full explanation in Vivisection, but here’s the theory.

[Extract from Vivisection] So, first, I think the footnote is a double lie. David's lying about lying. He does actually have a sister but, for some reason, he's trying to deny it. He's pulling an Arturo: something happened with his sister, and he's trying to distance himself from it. That's where the snake with the blood and the safe come in, with the rope possibly implying a suicide. Remember the family history of depression? [...] So, it's possible Diana died. [...] It's also possible that whatever happened to Diana would have been hinted at in David's motive video. [...] Yeah, that's my explanation for the TV. But, why would this bad thing which happened to Diana be in David's motive video? That would imply David doesn't remember it. That's what the Snowden line could mean. [...]

Yeah remember that insane thing? Well, Arei died by hanging, so it’s possible Diana also died by hanging, aka suicide. This connection doesn’t make the theory any less unhinged, but it’s there.

I hate the things I love, and I love the things I hate

As a refresher, this screen is about Xander, indicated mainly by the references to electrocution literally framing the scene. Nothing’s actually changed here, mind you, I just wanted to point out that it’s interesting that so far, we’ve only seen David talk about Xander with love, and we haven’t really seen the whole “I hate” part yet. Curious to see how that will develop later.

suspicious gaps

Still zero clue, I’m just putting it here because it’s still killing me.

V. Right now, why do you go insane? [Ace's numeral]

We should’ve known, guys… Ace’s numeral is literally right next to Arei’s (IV), not just in song position, but numerically. Incidentally, that means both killers so far have been in multiples of five (Min with X, Ace with V), so, uh, Whit (XV), anything you wanna tell us about CH3?

(I don’t think he’ll be the CH3 killer I’m just being silly :p)

Anyways, the big update here is related to the background text, “a cat has 9 additional lives.” This was already pointed out by treescanfly, and that is that Thanatophobia, Ace’s execution, featured 9 different execution methods (scythe - illness - fire - falling - murder - drowning - lightning - firing squad (execution)). Looks like horseboy really was a catboy all along!

XIII. or [not to be?] [Teruko's numeral]

The interpretation of the quote itself, that it’s a reference to Teruko’s suicidal tendencies, hasn’t changed. It’s only gotten more explicit.

Teruko [2-16]: Killed? I doubt it. As if something so kind could happen to me.

Not much else here, though it seems Teruko might start rejecting the suffering associated with being the Omelas child given her talk with DefaultTV, so that’s fun.

Footnote 6, “[Prayer]”

So what I’m about to say is technically a connection that existed since LGI’s realease, but was just a bit too insane for me to even think about back then.

Basically, you know how Mai is referred to as a “God” in this video, because of her numeral and the arrow? Well… what if that’s connected to this footnote? And, I don’t know, Min is praying to Mai?

Again, unhinged even for my standards, but with the confirmation that XF-Ture Tech is in some form behind the killing game… anything that puts Min in a weirdly plot relevant position (such as inexplicably having a Mai connection beyond what we saw in Bonus Episode 1) should be at least written down for posterity, if nothing else.

That's my way of saying- Please write about Min, guys. I miss her :(

Footnote 12

“Majority rule” is known to be the fairest method of making decisions for a group. That's why murderers never complained when we voted for them to die.

In Vivisection, I primarily argued the meaning of this footnote through the lens that David may have genuinely believed he had driven Arei to suicide, and thus believed he was the blackened. This turned out to be horribly wrong, so we course correct.

Instead, this simply seems to be what David was hoping would happen when he pulled out the magical girl transformation, albeit stylized with an impossible 16 people vote. The screen that flashes after just seems to reflect what David thinks would actually happen if a blackened won, or just what will happen by the end of the killing game no matter what: “Everyone will be executed.” That’s based on this line:

David [2-12]: 15 lives. Some of them are very dear to you. And your own life as well. Is there anything at all that could be more important to you than those 16 human lives?

Where David talks about sacrificing the full 16 lives of the participants, seemingly without taking into account that the blackened wouldn’t actually die in his plan. Because of that, it’s inferred that David doesn’t actually think the blackened would survive even if they won the trial.

Other than that, the footnote seems to just be a direct reference to what Teruko says in the trial:

Teruko [2-15]: We determine who lives and who dies by a majority vote. In other words, the opinion of everyone who *isn't* you.

Which, uh... makes things easier, so I'm not gonna read into it much further :v

“What is the most important thing?” / Mistaken alphabet

Still no idea what these two things are about, that’s why I’m bringing them up :v

Original

[Extract from Vivisection] So, what I think is the best idea is that all the characters [referring to Color Theory] got the word. [...] I think it makes more sense to relate them to the meaning of "original style" under my interpretation, where "original style" means a change of heart.

The interpretation from Vivisection seems to hold strong, as MonoTV did actually have a “change of heart” of sorts, albeit brief. Hey we take the Ws where we can get them >:D

Two Eyed Xander

The theory discussed in Vivisection that David might hold memories from Hope’s Peak times was seemingly debunked by a tweet from the dev, even if the thread referenced in the link was later deleted. I did say in Vivisection that I didn’t believe the theory even if it was cool, so… we’re chilling.

Of course, though, we did get confirmation that David knew about Xander before Hope's Peak, so the appearance of Xander with two eyes was meaningful! Cool!

Correct/Incorrect (Tally 5)

This is going to discuss the unlisted video linked in the footnotes of Vivisection, which I am well aware most of you probably didn’t watch given the view count. In any case, the thing I said there, which I also said in my Mai post, was that tally 5 could imply David had been involved in the weird revolution against Hope’s Peak that Xander and Mai had going on. While this is still certainly possible, given what was said in 2-12, it seems more plausible that tally 5 actually references David taking on Xander’s dream during the killing game.

David [2-12]: I don't care how low I'll sink, or how despicable I'll have to become. I'll do anything to carry on Xander's ideals by ending this killing game, even if it means I have to dirty my hands.

Yeah, the dream of killing everyone, that one. I say this not only because we know David “threw away his humanity” for it, but also because the image itself shows David holding Xander’s jacket, which would imply this is being said after Xander’s death. Thus, during the killing game.

Numeral IX - Look, aside from that, give me the usual medicine [Levi's numeral]

Well, he sure needs medicine alright! Yeah that’s the best answer I currently have about what in the hell this numeral means, so we’re going with this.

That said, points to Vivisection me, because the “Levi is Jupiter protecting Earth from asteroids” interpretation ended up being pretty solid.

Clock Fork

You know, the theory that Eden was the one to rip out Xander’s eye based on the clock in LGI existed before I made Vivisection, I just… didn’t invlude it. The one unhinged theory I don’t mention ends up being true, huh? Well, there’s that. Not much else to say, if you're deep into DRDT lore you already know the implications of a bloody fork.

And… that’s about that! Although I had quite a few comments to make and things to add, actual corrections were few and far between, which I’m happy about! Mind you, there's probably a few Vivisection statements here and there I'm forgetting about, but still. Hope you enjoyed this little corrigendum, and if you made it this far, you deserve your own Jupiter-Levi to defend you in your time of need! See you later!

#drdt #danganronpa despair time #drdt spoilers #drdt theory #david chiem #arei nageishi #ace markey #i think those are the characters i talked about the most #lgi mv

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callsign-mayhem · 2 years ago

Text

to the moon and back

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Mitchell!Reader Word Count: 5.2k

You are the daughter of Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell and the lifelong best friend of Bradley Bradshaw. Nothing has ever been able to get in between the two of you, not even the feelings you’ve been harbouring for him for as long as you can remember. But when you both get called to Top Gun for what seems to be a suicide mission, you realise that life is too short to keep your love for him a secret.

Y/CS - your call sign

Use of Y/N but no description of reader

You couldn’t remember the last time you laid eyes on Bradley Bradshaw, and if you’d known you would be this affected by the mere sight of him then you would have better prepared yourself. He was in his rightful place behind the piano at The Hard Deck, performing ‘Great Balls of Fire’ with all his usual enthusiasm, and then some. His infectious personality had every person in the bar gravitating towards him, belting out the lyrics along with him as though their lives depended on it. You had to draw from every reserve of strength you had so as not to march right up to him and kiss him senseless. You’d missed him so much.

Being deployed had been difficult for you and had felt like exactly the wrong thing at the time, but eventually you realised that it was what you needed. If you’d stayed, it would have only been a matter of time until you spilt your guts to Bradley about the feelings you’d been harbouring for him since you were teenagers.

The song was almost over and so was your time for composing yourself. It was ridiculously warm in the packed bar, so taking a deep breath was no good. You resigned yourself to a few shots of something strong - liquid courage if you will - and headed to the bar to speak to Penny.

‘Y/N!’ she exclaimed, ‘what are you doing here?’ ‘I have no idea,’ you told her, ‘an assignment of some sort. I find out more tomorrow,’ you gestured to Bradley and a few of your other friends from the academy, ‘and apparently I’m not the only one they called. I don’t know whether I should be worried or relieved.’ ‘Your dad was just in here. He know you’re back?’ ‘Yeah, I haven’t seen him yet though,’ you gestured to the bottle of Jack behind her, ‘can I get one of those, please? Or three?’ Penny reached for the bottle and a shot glass. ‘Not wasting any time, huh?’ You glanced behind you to where Phoenix was patting Bradley on the back and getting everyone to cheer for him, ‘It’s been a while since I’ve seen these guys.’ ‘You mean it’s been a while since you saw Rooster,’ she smiled knowingly. You downed your shot and slammed the tiny glass back down. Penny refilled it immediately, ‘That too,’ you admitted with a wince. ‘You already know what I’m going to say.’ ‘Yes, and you already know why I can’t tell him.’

You downed your second shot and just as you were about to do your third, someone covered your eyes with their hand. You knew who it was without having to hear him speak or look at his face because you’d know him deaf and blind. Hell, you’d know him in death.

The familiar rumble of his voice in your ear set your entire nervous system alight: ‘Guess who.’ ‘Hmm,’ you pretended to think, ‘I don’t know. Hangman?’ Rooster scoffed, ‘I haven’t seen you in two years and the first thing you do is insult me? Glad to know some things never change, Y/CS.’

You spun around and looped your arms around his neck, pressing your face into the side of his. He lifted you off the floor and spun you around with all the grace of a bull in a china shop, laughing like a little kid. It felt like no time at all had passed.

‘And you’re still shooting whiskey like it’s water,’ he noted, setting you down gently, ‘so you definitely haven’t changed.’

You drank him in hungrily, trying to act like you weren’t totally out of control on the inside. In one of his dad’s old Hawaiian shirts with his aviators perched on the tip of his nose, he wasn’t exactly a brand new man. Something about him was different, though, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Even as the two of you had gotten older, you’d always seen him as the goofy kid in the cowboy hat that could make you laugh on the darkest days. Throughout high school and your time at the academy, he’d been the person you confided in about everything, and the only secret you’d ever kept from him was your ever-growing feelings for him. But now, after just over two years apart, he felt more like a stranger than ever before. Nothing had changed, but everything had changed, and you were struggling to figure out how that could be.

‘You want a beer?’ you asked. ‘Sure, but no more shots for you. We gotta be up early and I know if you carry on drinking like that you won’t get out of bed.’ ‘When you’re right, you’re right.’

You got Rooster a beer and a JD and coke for yourself before heading over to the rest of the group. There were a few people whose reputations preceded them but you’d never met in real life, and then there was Phoenix, one of your closest friends from the academy. When she saw you she practically jumped on you and Rooster had to take your drink from your hand so it didn’t spill everywhere.

‘Y/CS!’ ‘Hey,’ you giggled, ‘Phoenix, it’s great to see you too but I can’t breathe.’ ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she relented, ‘how’ve you been? I haven’t seen you since your deployment. When did you get back?’ ‘Couple of months ago,’ you told her, ‘I’ve been in South Carolina.’ ‘You’ve been back months?’ Rooster cut in, ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ ‘You know how it is, Roo,’ you said, ‘you get deployed, come home and your whole life is upside down for a while. By the time you’ve settled back in, weeks have gone by and you still haven’t had a chance to see anyone.’

He nodded, but his hurt was apparent. Hangman sidled up next to you and you’d never been more relieved by his incredibly annoying presence. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, hugging you tight. He was a massive ass, but you’d somehow ended up friends while being stationed together a few years ago. A lot of his bravado was an act, and when he let his guard down he was actually a great person to talk to.

‘Y/N Mitchell,’ he said, ‘Long time no see.’ ‘Can’t say I’m mad about that.’ His usual shit-eating grin was plastered across his face, ‘You and I both know that’s a lie.’ ‘Whatever helps you sleep at night, Seresin.’

Everyone makes small talk for a while and those who have never met before are introduced. You pull a barstool over and sit next to Bob, Phoenix’s new back-seater. She’s the first one to point out the elephant in the room.

‘So anybody know what this ‘special detachment’s’ all about?’ ‘A mission’s a mission,’ Hangman replies, ‘They don’t confront me. What I wanna know is who’s team leader. And which’a ya’ll have what it takes to follow me?’ Hangman winks at Rooster, needling him, ‘Hangman, the only place you’ll ever lead anyone is an early grave.’ Hangman looks up from his next shot and walks over to Rooster until they’re standing face to face. ‘Anyone follows you is just gonna… run outta fuel. But then that’s you all over, ain’t it, Rooster? Snug on your perch, waitin’ for juuuuust the right moment. That never comes.’ Rooster tenses visibly and you grab his arm, ‘Hey, you wanna get another drink? Feel like we’ve got some catching up to do.’

You leave the rest of the group to their game and grab a couple more drinks before heading outside. The Bronco is parked out front looking prettier than ever, paintwork glinting in the late-evening sunlight. If you had a dollar for the amount of late-night drives you and Bradley had taken in that thing, you’d be a billionaire.

You intended to sit at one of the tables outside The Hard Deck, but Rooster had other ideas. You ignored the swarm of butterflies in your stomach when he took your hand and led you down towards the beach and reminded yourself that you had no reason to be nervous; he was your best friend, he didn’t know about your feelings and nothing had changed.

‘I still can’t believe you’ve been back months and you didn’t tell me.’ You cringed, ‘I’m sorry, Bradley. I should’ve called, I know.’ ‘Mav know you’re back?’ Yeah, he’s here too.’

Your father was a touchy conversation subject and you tried to avoid talking about him as much as possible. Once you’d eventually realised that there was no way of convincing Rooster that everything he’d done had come from a place of love and concern, you’d given up trying to keep the peace. It was difficult, letting him fester in his own anger, but it wasn’t your fight. However, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t still holding out hope that things would go back to the way they used to be someday.

‘How’ve you been, anyway?’ you asked, swiftly changing the subject, ‘What’s new in your life?’ ‘The usual. Getting called down here is the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in months.’ You laughed, ‘That can’t be true. What happened to the girl you were dating?’ ‘Molly? Jesus Christ, that was over as quickly as it started. I stopped seeing her not long after you left,’ he sipped his beer, ‘what about you? Meet your future husband while you were away?’ ‘Nope,’ you sighed, ‘starting to think I’m destined to be alone forever.’ ‘What about Hangman?’ Rooster asked, Jake’s callsign sounding like ashes in his mouth.

To call your brief fling with Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin a mistake would have been putting it lightly. You’d been stationed together in Alabama for a little while and he was the only familiar person there so, naturally, you’d gravitated towards him and him to you. After getting to know each other better, one thing had led to another and you’d ended up sleeping together after one too many JD and cokes. That one night had led to another and another until you were pretty much dating, although neither of you had ever mentioned putting any kind of label on whatever it was the two of you had going on. Rooster had been up in arms when he found out, yelling at you down the phone that Jake was a complete and total asshole and that you deserved so much better, leading to the worst - and only - fight you’d ever had.

While getting involved with Jake was definitely a mistake and you didn’t plan on walking down that particular path ever again, you still stood by what you said in his defence: you have to get to know him in order to understand him.

‘You already know that’s over.’

Rooster looked at you and you had to remind yourself to breathe. You’d never wanted to kiss him more in your entire life.

‘I’ve got no idea why we’re here,’ he said, ‘but I’m glad you’re with me, Y/N.’ ‘Me too, Bradley. Me too.’

The special detachment, as it turned out, was a suicide mission. There was no other way of putting it. Your dad was immensely proud of you and your accomplishments and had never once doubted your abilities as a pilot, but he wasn’t happy that you were on this particular mission. He wasn’t happy that Rooster was on it either. After your first day of training, you went to dinner with your old man so you could catch up and talk about what you’d be in for over the course of the next couple of weeks. You hadn’t realised just how much you’d missed him until you were sitting in front of him, but part of you wished it was under different circumstances.

‘Surely me being part of the team you’re training goes against some kind of rule,’ you said around a mouthful of steak. ‘The stakes are so high, I think mostly every rule has already gone out the window.’ ‘I haven’t been this scared since I climbed in a cockpit for the first time,’ you admitted, ‘but I’ve also never wanted to be on a mission more.’ Your dad smiled, but there was fear in his eyes, ‘I don’t like that look, Y/N.’ ‘It’s the only one I got, Dad, and I got it from you.’ ‘Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about.’

White hot rage blinded you like a fire poker between your eyes. The minute Rooster walked through the doors you were racing up to him. Jake had to grab both of your arms and pull you off him to prevent you from swinging at him.

‘What the fuck was that Bradshaw?!’ you roared, ‘You got a fucking death wish?!’

He ran a hand through his hair, face flushed from the heat and the adrenaline coursing through his veins. You weren’t just angry at him for endangering his life, or your dad’s, for that matter, you were angry because you understood why he’d done it. And you knew that if you were in his shoes and you were up there with something to prove, you’d have done the exact same thing.

‘Can we not do this here?’

You shrugged Jake off and straightened out your flight suit, leading Bradley out of the room. He followed you outside into the blazing heat of the San Diego sun where you preceded to turn around and punch him so hard in the shoulder that he took a step back.

‘Jesus, Y/N,’ he huffed, ‘was that really necessary?’ ‘I don’t know, was nearly killing yourself and my dad really necessary?’ ‘I had it under control!’ You laughed humourlessly, ‘Yeah, it looked like it.’ ‘I’m not gonna have this fight with you,’ he said matter-of-factly, ‘I’m sorry for scaring you, but you have to understand-’ ‘I do understand!’ you screamed, ‘But just because I understand, doesn’t mean I can’t be pissed as hell!’

He pulled you flush against his chest and you softened immediately, unable to resist the comfort and security that came with one of Bradley’s bear hugs. If you had it your way, you’d stay in his arms like this for the rest of time.

‘You really need to have it out with Mav,’ you mumbled into his flight suit, ‘this is getting beyond ridiculous - it’s dangerous.’ He kissed the top of your head, ‘I know.’

You had to admit, dog fight football was a stroke of genius on your dad’s part. It was the perfect way to relieve any tensions between the team and also take everyone’s minds off the upcoming mission. Jake and Bradley - the two team captains - tossed a coin to decide who would pick first, and Jake ended up picking you. You suspected he did it just to get underneath Bradley’s skin, and judging by the set of his jaw as you marched over to Jake, his plan worked.

You also had Payback on your team, and between the two of you, you were carrying the whole game. You didn’t like to toot your own horn but… toot toot.

‘Come on Bradshaw!’ you yelled, smirking devilishly, ‘You really gonna let me kick your ass so spectacularly in front of everyone?!’ ‘You’ve got Payback! It ain’t fair!’ ‘Oh, so you don’t think we could win without him?!’

He was holding one of the balls and was preoccupied with insulting you, so when you ran at him at full force and snatched it right out of his hands, he was too stunned to try and stop you. Hangman and Payback both cheered, but as soon as Bradley refocused he was on your heels, and he had the advantage of extremely long legs.

Just before you could score, he came up behind you and wrapped both of his arms around your middle, lifting you off the ground and throwing you over his shoulder. You were so startled you dropped the ball and unluckily for you, Coyote was right there to pick it up and score another point for their team.

‘Put me down you cheat!’

Rooster was laughing so hard you could feel him shaking with it as he ran. He didn’t stop running until he reached the water and it was up to his waist, and then he dropped you in. It was freezing but actually quite a relief after running around in the sun all afternoon. You came up for air coughing and sputtering to find him doubled over with laughter, and you took the opportunity to drag him back down with you, pushing his head down further under the water. You knew you wouldn’t be able to overpower him long and before you could even comprehend what was happening he had a tight grip on both of your thighs, yanking you back under.

If not for the fact that it all happened so quickly, you would have spent more time revelling in the feeling of his big hands wrapped around the tops of your thighs. Your whole body broke out in goosebumps, and you knew it wasn’t from the chill of the water. When you both resurfaced you were smiling like fools and laughing like two lovesick teenagers, and you never wanted the moment to end.

‘Hey!’ Hangman called out, ‘Are you two still playing or what? I’ve got a game to win!’ With an eye roll, you yelled back: ‘Yeah we’re still playing, you couldn’t win without me anyway!’

Somehow, Rooster’s sunglasses had remained on his face throughout the entire fiasco, and you reached out and gently slid them off. He blinked against the sunlight and watched in awe as you put them on.

‘Did I say you could wear those?’ he asked. ‘Did I ask your permission?’

The two of you made your way back towards the rest of the squad, and it looked like your team was back in the lead. A sly remark about Rooster’s sabotage failing was on the tip of your tongue, but then he put his hand on your waist and pulled you into his side, ruffling the top of your head affectionately. The skin-on-skin contact was enough to drive you insane, and your words died on your lips.

‘Keep them,’ he murmured, ‘they look better on you anyway.’

When the mission got moved up, any calmness you felt dissipated like water on the hot asphalt of a runway. Your dad was now team leader and you had mixed feelings about it. You’d spent your whole life fearing for him, but knowing he was going on this mission really took the cake. And then there was the small issue of you being his kid, which would undoubtedly cloud his judgement when it came to selecting the rest of his team. For one, the chances of him even wanting you on the mission were slim to none, but then there was the worry that if he chose you, it would be seen as favouritism.

The final day of training was over and you’d been told to go and get some rest before tomorrow, and despite your exhaustion, you knew that if you were to lay down in your bunk now sleep wouldn’t come. It was one of those rare moments where the sky over Fightertown was empty and as a result, an eerie quiet had settled over the base. You were still in full flight gear - minus your helmet - sitting on the ground in the shade provided by the wing of your F/A-18. Before settling in for the night you still had to find time to shower, get something to eat and see your dad, but you were paralysed.

You dreaded to think how long you would’ve sat there if Rooster hadn’t suddenly materialised. He sat down opposite, stretching his long legs out so they were on either side of you.

‘What are you still doing out here?’ he asked gently, ‘You feeling okay?’

You were fiddling with your dog tags, a nervous tic you’d picked up in the academy, and Rooster never failed to notice. Looking into your eyes earnestly, he took both of your hands in his.

‘Talk to me, Y/CS.’ You sighed deeply, ‘I’ve never been this nervous about a mission before. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’ ‘This is the highest-stakes mission either of us has ever gone on in our careers. I would be worrying if you weren’t nervous.’ ‘Yeah, but you know me, Roo. I don’t do nerves.’ ‘You think I’m not shitting my pants at the thought of having to fly tomorrow?’ You laughed despite the lump in the base of your throat, ‘You hide it better than me, then.’ ‘You can’t keep anything off your face, Y/N. I always know what you’re feeling.’ ‘You do?’

Your heart dropped at the thought of him being able to read you so well, but in hindsight, you should have known. You’d literally been destined to be best friends since before you were born, since your dads stayed up late one night talking about their futures, wondering if they’d have kids and how well they’d get along. As far as you knew, he’d never kept anything from you, and you’d only ever kept one thing from him. You lived your life at the same pace, shared the same moral compass and wanted all the same things. You finished each other’s sentences and could have secret conversations through facial expressions, without even having to speak. If he called, you answered. If he needed you, you ran to him, and vice versa.

You didn’t need him to confirm your worst fear: he knew you were in love with him. There was no doubt in your mind and you were a fool not to have seen it sooner.

As though he’d read your mind and sensed the worsening of your anxiety, he changed the subject.

‘What do you say we go and grab a bite to eat?�� ‘Like a last supper?’ Bradley laughed, ‘You can be really morbid sometimes, you know that?’

‘It’s been an honour flying with you,’ your dad said, ‘each one of you represents the best of the best. This is a very specific mission. My choice is a reflection of that, and nothing more.’ ‘Choose your two Foxtrot teams.’ Cyclone told him.

You fought the urge to vomit down your flight suit.

‘Phoenix and Bob. Y/CS and Payback.’

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

‘And your wingman.’

The tension in the air was palpable. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of your neck.

‘Rooster.’

You could feel Bradley’s eyes on you, but judging by the unpleasant feeling that had overcome you, turning around to face him wouldn’t be a smart idea. For one, he more than likely looked just as nauseous as you and seeing him like that would only cause your anxiety to skyrocket. Secondly, he was the one person you could be completely vulnerable in front of and since it was already taking every ounce of your strength not to cry, it was probably best not to engage.

For the next hour, the seconds passed you by like cars on a highway. You listened to Warlock explain the mission for the final time, but his words went in one ear and came out the other. You stayed at Payback’s side up until it was time to go, but just as you were heading out to the flight deck, your dad pulled you aside for the conversation you’d been anticipating since he said your name.

His expression was, as ever, unreadable and you decided that it was probably a good thing that you didn’t know exactly what he was feeling in that moment. If Maverick was nervous, then you really had something to worry about.

He pulled you close and squeezed you tight, and you let out a single, strangled sob.

‘I know you can do this.’ ‘Me too,’ you were clinging onto him for dear life, ‘but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t terrified.’ ‘If I didn’t believe in you completely, I wouldn’t have chosen you.’ ‘I know, Dad.’ ‘I love you, Y/N.’ ‘I love you too. I’ll see you when we get back.’

He kissed the top of your head before letting you go and you headed out to the flight deck together. Payback was already waiting for you, but it seemed as though there was one more conversation to be had. Maverick patted Rooster on the back as he passed, throwing one final glance back at the two of you. All you could do was remind yourself over and over again that you’d be seeing him later and that you’d be going for steaks at your favourite diner back in San Diego before you knew it.

You could tell Rooster didn’t know what to say but it didn’t matter. You already knew, because you were thinking all the same things.

‘When we get home, I have some things I wanna talk to you about.’

He reached out to touch your cheek and you leaned into his hand, almost nuzzling his palm with the side of your face. Hugging him, you decided, would be too final. It would feel like a goodbye, and this wasn’t a goodbye, it was simply ‘see you later.’

‘There are some things I want to talk to you about as well,’ you smiled sheepishly, ‘but if you can read me as well as you say, you already know that.’ ‘Yeah, I know.’ ‘Fly safe, Roo.’ ‘Give ‘em hell, Y/CS.’

It wasn’t humanely possible to count how many times you’d flown. It was as natural as breathing oxygen, almost a second thought at this point. Getting into the cockpit of a fighter plane felt more like coming home than walking through the front door of the house you grew up in with your dad.

But nothing could have prepared you for that mission.

And nothing could have prepared you for the immense feeling of sheer panic and terror when your dad was hit. It was as though the bottom of your plane had dropped out and you were in freefall. If that wasn’t horrific enough, Rooster had gone after him. This paired with the chaos of the dogfight was traumatising enough that you’d forgotten how to breathe and what you were supposed to be doing. You had absolutely no idea how Payback managed to talk you down from going after both of them, but he did, as well as calming you down enough so you could fly back to the aircraft carrier.

You weren’t in the habit of being overly emotional in front of anyone who wasn’t Bradley or your father, but when you climbed out of the cockpit and Phoenix was already waiting for you, arms open, you collapsed onto her and broke down. You’d been completely inconsolable up until you got word of Rooster’s signal in an unidentified F-14.

Surprisingly, the relief came after cursing yourself for ever believing that your father could be bested by anyone. At this point, you were almost entirely sure that he was immortal. And as for Bradley, he was much stronger than everyone else realised. He gave Maverick a run for his money, and that was saying something. Phoenix was the only reason you hadn’t collapsed onto the ground when you realised they were okay and coming home, with the help of Hangman, of course. In the back of your mind, you were wondering how long it was going to take to hear the end of it from Jake.

And there you were on the flight deck with Phoenix’s arm around your shoulder and Payback’s around your waist, watching your dad and your best friend make the rockiest landing you’d ever seen. It felt as though all your internal organs were in your throat as you watched the net get thrown out, ready to catch the incoming aircraft and stop it from going overboard. The sound was near-deafening but you hardly noticed with the rushing blood in your ears. As soon as that plane stopped moving, you tore away from Phoenix and Payback and made a beeline towards the F-14, safety concerns be damned.

Your dad climbed out first, somehow steady on his feet despite what he’d just been through. But that was Mav all over, wasn’t it? He didn’t so much as wobble until you threw yourself at him.

‘Dad!’ you shrieked, ‘Are you okay? Are you hurt?’

He held you with the strength of someone who had a newfound value for their own life. He cradled the back of your head with one hand and stroked your hair like he used to when you were small.

‘I’m okay, are you okay?’ ‘You’re seriously asking me that?’ He laughed breathlessly, ‘I’m okay now.’ You squeezed him tighter than ever before, ‘I love you, Dad. I love you so much.’ ‘I love you too,’ he replied, releasing you reluctantly, ‘and I want you to know how proud I am of you for pulling that off.’ ‘It’s in my blood.’ He put his hands on either side of your face and leaned in to kiss your forehead, ‘I think you should go and speak to Rooster,’ he whispered, ‘we’ll talk more afterwards, okay?’

At the mention of Rooster, all the wind was knocked out of you. All you could do was nod at your father before he headed over to the rest of the squad, leaving you alone in front of the battered F-14. Rooster had jumped out right after your dad, but he’d given the two of you some space. You locked eyes like they do in the movies, but this wasn’t a movie. The world didn’t tilt on its axis or stop turning altogether; it was more like the two of you were the only ones in it that actually mattered. Everyone around you might as well have been frozen in time.

He was taking long strides towards you, but he couldn’t get to you quick enough so you ran to meet him halfway, not stopping until your face was mere millimetres away from his. He was filthy, covered in blood, and sweat and God only knew what else, but you were blinded by the light behind his eyes. You’d always been totally mesmerised by him, but this was something else entirely. It was suddenly very apparent to you that you would do anything this man asked of you, follow him down to the eye of any storm, love him until you took your final breath.

‘Y/N-’ ‘Don’t say anything,’ you interjected, ‘I already know what you’re gonna say, and I don’t wanna waste any more time.’

And before he could utter another word, you pressed your lips to his. The kiss started out soft but then he ran his fingers through your hair and somehow managed to pull your face even closer, deepening the kiss. He ran his tongue along your lips and you parted them for him, finally tasting him the way you’d wanted to for as long as you could remember. Your veins were thrumming with so much electricity you thought your head might explode. When you eventually parted, the space between you was too much for you to bear (you never wanted there to be any space between you and Bradley ever again) so you looped your arms around his neck just like you always did when you hugged him. His face was full of so much adoration, anyone would think you’d hung the bloody moon in the sky.

‘Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?’ he asked. ‘If it’s anywhere near as long as me, we’re going to be kicking ourselves.’ He kissed the tip of your nose and you damn-near melted, ‘I don’t want to go another day without kissing you like that.’ ‘Neither do I.’

You’d forgotten that the rest of your squad was standing a few feet away, waiting to celebrate with you. When you turned around, they were all cheering for you and Rooster and you could just about make out Phoenix’s ‘finally’ over the sound of Payback’s hoots. You knew you had to go over there and that there would be plenty of time to be alone when you got back to San Diego, but you couldn’t wait until then to tell Bradley how you felt about him. If he hadn’t already guessed.

You had to stand on tip toes to reach his ear, where you whispered: ‘I love you, Bradley Bradshaw. To the moon and back again.’ You felt him shiver beneath your touch. ‘I love you too, Y/N.’

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skzdust · 9 months ago

Text

Happy Father's Day, or:

7 times Chan took care of SKZ and 1 time they took care of him

This fic was a request from @bangchans-peach! I wrote it super fast but I loved the idea and I thought it would be a perfect little fic since it's Father's Day! I hope you enjoy it and I hope you all have had lovely Father's Days, whatever that looks like for you <3

Summary: Pretty much exactly the title :)

Pairing: None, platonic skz

Includes: Fatherly(ish) Chan and tooth-rotting fluff!

Word Count: 900

Taglist: @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!! Thank you!!!

Masterlist

----

One:

Jisung lays in bed, messing with his hands and trying to keep his mind on anything but the performance they have coming up. His phone dings with Chan’s tone.

Hey, everything alright? If you need to talk I’m here!

He hums in confusion.

What?

Chan responds in matter of seconds.

Was just listening through a couple of your demos and some of the lyrics were kinda intense, thought I’d check in

Yeah, if you have a minute, I would actually really like to talk

He smiles softly as a notification for Chan’s incoming call pops up on screen. The other members are there for him, too, but Chan can always tell when something’s up.

Two:

“No.” Hyunjin groans, resting his head on the table. “It’s bad.”

“It is not bad, Hyunjin.” Chan pauses the track. “I do think it needs some work, but I don’t think it’s bad.”

“There’s a reason I’m not a part of 3Racha, I’m not good at writing.” Hyunjin forces a laugh for his non-joke.

“That’s not true. Look at me.”

Hyunjin tilts his head sideways. Chan’s horizontal face looks reassuring.

“We’re gonna get this song, alright? We’ll kill it. We always do.”

“Mhm.”

Chan can tell it’s not helping. “Wanna take a break? I’ll get us ice cream.”

Hyunjin perks up. “Ice cream?”

Three:

“Go away.” Minho mumbles into his pillow.

The knock at his door gets louder.

“Go away!”

“I’m coming in.” He can hear the door opening, and feels the mattress dip under the weight of someone sitting by his feet.

He peeks out to see who it is.

Chan is looking at him.

“Was it something with that girl?”

Minho buries his face. “No.”

Chan sighs. “For some strange reason, I don’t believe you.”

“Believe me.”

“C’mon, Minho. Don’t be obstinate.”

Minho loosens his grip on his pillow. “You won’t make fun of me, will you?”

“Only if you deserve it.” He teases.

Minho groans, pushing his head down.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. What’s wrong?”

Four:

Seungmin places his chin on Bang Chan’s shoulder. “Channie, can we do something interesting?”

“We’re learning choreography.” Chan shrugs him off. “That’s interesting!”

“No, it’s not.”

“Shh, Minho might kill you.” He looks at Minho, who’s fixing Jisung’s pose for what might be the thousandth time, judging from the slightly murderous look on his face.

“I wanna do something else.”

Chan somehow always knows just what he means. “You want to play baseball.”

Seungmin nods. “I want to play baseball.”

Chan looks across the room to where Jeongin and Changbin are against the wall, looking entirely too bored, and Seungmin can see the cogs turning in his head. “I think we can recruit a team.”

Five:

“Old man?” Chan raises an eyebrow. “Oh, yes, of course, old man Bang Chan, on his deathbed.”

“Yeah.” Changbin laughs. “Ancient, decrepit Chan.”

“I may be an old man, but I’m your old man.” Chan points to each of them in turn. “And I say video game rights revoked.”

Everyone groans, and Jisung dissolves into giggles.

“But tonight is Mario Kart night!” Changbin whines.

“Nope, you’re the reason I’ve made this rule in the first place, my son.” Chan claps him on the shoulder. “Your brothers only have you to thank.”

“Uh oh, I’d better find a police station, I think I have six assassins on my tail now.”

Six:

“Chaaaaan!” Jeongin slides into the kitchen in sock feet, where Chan is cutting vegetables.

“What?” Chan glances over his shoulder.

“Felix beat me at Mario Kart and now he says he gets to sing my solo at the awards show next week.”

Felix runs into the room, skidding to a stop beside Jeongin. “I won! I do!”

“And you’re coming to me with this… why?” Chan finishes chopping a carrot, scraping it off the cutting board into a pot.

“Because you’re good at talking Felix into sense!”

“Felix… you know you can’t sing the solo.”

“I can!” Felix clears his throat, getting out only the first note of the part before Jeongin elbows him in the stomach and he doubles over with an “oof!”

Chan ignores this. “Besides, you know the publicists would get mad.”

“They would.” Felix grumbles as Jeongin cackles.

Seven:

“Felix!”

Felix turns around, pulling out an earbud. “Hm?”

Chan holds up his phone. “Here, I have a song I need you to listen to. It’s by this American group, The Flaming Lips.”

Felix queues it up. “Okay, this is cool.”

“I thought you might like it. It seemed like a sound you’d like.” Chan returns his phone to his pocket. “And they have more music too, but that one stuck out to me.”

Felix smiles. “I’ll check ‘em out!”

Plus one time they took care of him:

“Can I open my eyes?” Chan asks, holding his arms in front of him like Frankenstein’s creature, feeling around for anything in front of him.

Felix removes the blindfold. “Now.”

Chan opens his eyes as everyone shouts, “Happy Father’s Day!” The dining room has been transformed with streamers, balloons, and a handmade banner, and a cake on the table reads “For Our Old Man Chan!” in messy icing.

It’s all Chan can do to keep from tearing up. “You guys shouldn’t’ve!”

“It’s really the least we can do!” Jeongin smiles from behind the cake. “You’re so good to us, Chan, we’re very lucky to have you!”

Chan smiles, a big, real smile. “I’m the lucky one.”

#stray kids #bang chan #han #felix #hyunjin #stray kids fic #changbin #han jisung #skz #skzdust writes #seungmin #i.n #jeongin #lee know #platonic skz #platonic stray kids #stray kids ot8 #skz ot8

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freesia-writes · 8 months ago

Text

Ch 23: First Date, Take Two

~ Master List ~ Previous Chapter ~ WC: 2.7k

Metallica - Fade to black lyrics (youtube.com)

“Heyyyy, there he is!” Luciana’s bright voice carried across the breeze, and she bounded to meet Hunter as he approached, trudging through the sand beside the crashing waves. She greeted him with an enthusiastic hug before bringing him back to her group of friends, sprawled across the beach on a litany of thick blankets and towels with snacks and drinks scattered atop. It was a decidedly youthful crowd, making Hunter feel immediately out of place. He shifted on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck and gazing from face to face as they were introduced.

“Okay, so this is Dwigt,” she began, pointing to a moon-faced kid to his left, “That’s Scarn… Pan…” More individuals gave idle waves or nods as Hunter returned them awkwardly. “And over here is Wuphf, and this is Narddog. He’s the one who made me so scrappy,” she giggled, swatting the arm of a bulky Twi’lek sitting near where she stood. “This is Hunter, y’all. He’s gonna hang with us sometimes. Don’t be weird.”

“Yes mom,” the one identified as Scarn teased, and Luciana moved to kick some sand at him.

“Don’t mind them,” she grinned, turning back to Hunter, who remained standing beside her above the group. “Want to walk a bit?”

A quick, sharp pang dug into his side before he forced it away from consciousness. “Walk sounds good,” he said, falling into step as they headed toward the cliffs.

“You alright?” Luciana asked, and he noticed that for once she wasn’t touching him immediately.

“Yeah,” Hunter said, eternally tossed back and forth in his mind like the waves that crashed beside them on the shore. “I just…eh. This feels… I don’t know.”

“It’s alright if you’re not into it,” she said gently, the earnestness in her face matching her tone. “I know we’re different people. I imagine it might be daunting, or feel wrong, or you think you’re crazy,” she laughed. “I won’t be hurt if you need to dip at any point. I’d just love to enjoy the time with you. Whatever that looks like.”

So simple. So straightforward. Nothing to figure out, no need to labor over discerning every nuance. He took a deep breath, releasing it along with as much of the pent-up stress as he could.

“Alright,” he said, lifting his eyes to the horizon. They continued their stroll, her beach wrap fluttering in the breeze over the swimsuit it covered.

“I’m sorry for what happened with Lyra,” she ventured, sincerity in her honeyed voice. “That’s never fun.”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t believe you just never heard from her again. She ditches you on a random planet and leaves her entire life here? Maybe something happened to her…”

“Who knows,” he said, feeling a spiteful snake coiling inside of him that almost hoped something did.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, something always felt a little off with her. I thought it was just cause she was kinda new around here – she arrived on the island shortly before I did – but it never quite went away. Anyway, sorry to bring it up. I’ve been wrecked a time or two… and not in the good way,” she winked, laughing at her own joke before shaking her head. “So… moving on… How’s the shop?”

They chatted for a while about their jobs, life on the island, things they’d tried or had yet to explore. The sun had disappeared below the horizon as they began to head back toward the blankets on the beach, which had since been deserted by her friends, leaving only her towel and bag. She shook the sand off the towel, stuffing it into her bag, then pulled on a long, cozy wrap as the breeze grew chillier.

“Hungry?” she asked, gazing up at Hunter with green eyes that had a softening effect on his harsh exterior.

“Not really,” he admitted, feeling as though it were the wrong answer somehow. It was a constant back and forth… being lost in conversation that was genuinely enjoyable and then feeling wildly out of sorts and almost as though he were in some kind of strange dream.

“Alright,” she nodded with simple acceptance, lifting her bag to her shoulder. “I’ve got to work the next few days, but maybe we could meet up on Taungsday? Late dinner?”

“Sounds good.”

She reached out to squeeze his hand, offering an endearing smile before turning to venture up the stairs away from the beach, leaving him to ponder his choices beneath a blanket of twinkling stars.

* * *

Hunter washed out the pan, absently swirling the water around it again and again as Omega rattled the drawers behind him, putting away the silverware. They’d finished another cozy dinner in the cabin, Wrecker having gone home early due to a “food coma”, and they were quietly cleaning up side by side.

“So this next internship is on Plata?” he asked, regarding her over his shoulder.

“Yup,” she nodded. “I’m kind of excited, to be honest. Not for the reason you think,” she added, swatting him with a dish towel as she could almost see his thoughts about the notorious party-loving island. “It’s just a good group of people going, and it’ll be a nice break from the drama.”

“Drama, eh?”

“Yeah, everyone’s all up in arms over who likes who, and the whole thing has turned into taking sides over something that’s stupid in the first place.”

“Sounds like the war,” Hunter replied dryly. Omega exhaled, looking at him with a mixture of sympathy and humor.

“You seem different these days,” she remarked. “I mean, I know it’s been a lot, but… the bartender?”

“Something to say about it?” he invited, rubbing a plate with the soapy sponge.

“Not really. If you’re happy, I’m happy. Is she nice? Like, for real?”

“From what I can tell. She’s pretty straightforward. Says what she thinks. Keeps it simple. It’s not really anything, just… having fun.” He cringed at the last words as though they pained him to say, prompting Omega to giggle.

“Maker forbid,” she jabbed with a knowing grin.

“I know, I know.” Everyone and their general had been giving him a hard time for beating himself up so much over all that had happened. Tech’s observation at the last family dinner had been particularly piercing, as he wondered aloud if Hunter were releasing all of the frustration, powerlessness, and regret of his entire life into this particular situation. There had been an uncomfortable silence after that, until Wrecker moved the conversation along by antagonizing Crosshair and everyone returned to eating.

“I get it, though,” Omega continued, pausing her movement to look at him softly. “And if you want my two cents… maybe the universe is offering you a chance to feel more human than you ever have before.”

“I keep hearing about how all these experiences are so ‘human’, and I think I’d prefer to be a clanker if this is what it’s like.”

Omega remained silent, a small smile on her face as she patted his arm. They finished up their cleaning and turned to head to bed, pausing in the hallway to bid one another goodnight. It was only then that she spoke up again.

“Hunter, what do you want?” she asked quietly, looking into his conflicted face. He sighed, eyes roving the floor as his hand slowly rubbed the back of his neck.

“I don’t know.”

“Well maybe all this stuff is happening to help you figure it out.”

He watched her disappear into her room and remained there for a few minutes before turning toward his own.

* * *

“Hi handsome!” Luciana exclaimed, inviting him in with a flourish. She was in a black lacy bra and underwear, with a floor-length satin robe hanging loosely over it all. Hunter kept his eyes fixed very firmly on her face. “Lookin good, by the way,” she noted, checking out his outfit, which was composed of plain khaki pants and a white shirt. “I’m almost ready; make yourself at home for a few?”

He stepped into her apartment, taking it all in. The place was relatively dark, lit by string lights and small lamps with red or purple bulbs. There was artwork splashed across virtually every wall, except the far one which was made of plain brick, and the framed images ranged from eclectic portraits of animals to somewhat sensual abstract art. Plants sprouted and hung from every nook and cranny, and a few candles flickered as they filled the room with a soft, spicy scent. Scratching the back of one hand with the other, Hunter ventured from corner to corner, idly inspecting all that there was to see.

“Answer with your first thought!” she called from her bedroom. “Green or red?”

“Green,” he said after a pause where his mind ran through the colors and all that they were connected with, naturally overthinking the question in just a few seconds.

“You got it!”

She appeared a few minutes later in a pastel green dress, dainty and feminine, the top of which was held up by a single string that looped around her neck alongside the thin gold necklaces and earrings she’d added. A pair of strappy heels wove their way up her ankles, tied in the back, and her curly red hair had been pulled back loosely at the nape of her neck. His mouth felt a little dry as he noticed her lips, distinctly plump and soft with the light shine from the lipstick she’d chosen.

“Whaddya think?” she asked coquettishly, brushing the front of her dress and doing a little spin for him.

“I… uh… It’s nice,” he fumbled, genuinely clueless of how to respond. “Aren’t you gonna be cold?”

“Oh my gosh,” she laughed, taking a few steps forward to playfully smack him on the chest. “You’re ridiculous.” She turned to a closet near the front door, pulling out a beige, knee-length coat. “Just for you, babe,” she smiled, shuffling into it and extending a hand to invite him to follow.

“So, Luciana,” he began, interrupted by her grabbing his hand and pulling him a step closer.

“Luci,” she said firmly, giving him a mockingly stern expression. “And what? Would you rather stay in?” She arched a shapely eyebrow, eyes sparkling with both mirth and insinuation.

“No,” he said with an exhale, a small smile of his own finally appearing. “I’m starving.”

“Alright. Then I hope you’re ready for the best pasta of your life!”

They wove their way through the streets of Xylo for only a few minutes, as Luci’s apartment was near the Town Square where most of the restaurants were. As they rounded a corner, their destination came into view. Tables and chairs spilled out onto the cobblestoned sidewalk in front of a well-lit building with thick vines filling the trellis above the entrance. It seemed quite busy, despite it being a slightly late hour for dinner, but the host smiled broadly when he saw Luci approach.

“Miss Salentino! Welcome, welcome. Always a pleasure. Right this way,” he fawned, grabbing a couple of menus and leading them through the bustling restaurant floor. Hunter didn’t miss the eyes that flitted up and down her long legs as she gracefully followed the host out to a back patio, which was much quieter due to only a few tables being scattered across it. Their menus were placed on the farthest table, tucked into a corner with a small view of the city below, with buildings all around.

“Your server will be along shortly,” the host said with a bow, giving her one last warm grin before disappearing, and before Hunter could even open his menu, another man was at her elbow, carefully placing two sparkling glasses on the table and settling a bottle of champagne in a metal tube to keep it cold.

“Hello beautiful,” he said, then turned to give Hunter a quick scan from head to toe, offering a polite smile as he did. “And welcome, sir. Have you dined with us before?”

“No,” Hunter said, sitting up a little straighter.

“I brought him here to change his life,” Luci said playfully, pouring the champagne until the glasses were filled to the brims. “And then we might have some food,” she laughed.

“Naturally,” the server snickered, shaking his head fondly. Hunter stared between the two of them. “Well, I’ll give you two some time to settle in, and perhaps some small plates before the ‘life-changing’ entrees?”

“Sounds good! Thank you, love!” Luci chirped, and the menus were whisked away without either of them having the chance to look.

“Quite friendly,” Hunter muttered, picking up his own champagne glass and giving it a sniff out of habit.

“The owner is an old friend from my pod-racing crew on Tattooine, and I come so frequently that I’ve gotten to know most of the staff as well,” she explained flippantly, lifting her glass to him in cheers before taking a sip.

“Pod-racing crew?”

“Mmm,” she said, nodding through one more gulp before setting her glass down and leaning back in her chair. “I’ve dabbled in a thing or two during my lifetime.”

“You were a pod racer?” he repeated, trying to wrap his head around the fact.

“I started on the crew, then thought I’d try it myself. It didn’t last long,” she giggled. “Got a little boring.”

“Boring?” Hunter said in disbelief, then cringed inwardly at how dumb he sounded, even to himself.

“Well, I mean, it’s risky, but… I don’t know. It was time to move on. But it was fun while it lasted! Met some amazing people and got to learn so much about the different types of speeders and how they work. I wanted to be a full-time mechanic but it’s so dirty and complex… Too much for me!” She smiled and shrugged, gazing out at the view.

The server appeared with three small plates, each displaying a few bites of various appetizers. The quiet hubbub of the others on the patio, combined with the mouthwatering scents of the crispy rolls and fruit kebabs before them, was increasingly putting Hunter at ease, and Luci was radiating contentment. He took a deep breath and felt his shoulders relax away from his ears a bit as he gazed at the soft glow from the small candle on their table.

“So how about you?” she continued, daintily picking at one of the spring rolls. “What’s your story?”

“Heh,” Hunter said, trying to remember what he’d shared with… the other one… to keep it all consistent. “Kinda like yours, I guess, but not as exciting.” He navigated a purposefully vague story about being a butcher like his father before him, being trained in the military of his remote home planet, being sucked into the war a bit, then operating as a mercenary with his brothers before returning to a quiet life. Luci asked a thing or two about details, but he evaded them with what he thought was some pretty good acting, pretending that the memories were too painful or unpleasant to ruin the evening with.

Entrees came and went, dessert was regretfully refused due to having eaten too much already, and the empty champagne bottle was taken away along with the remaining dishes. Luci sat back in her seat, patting her stomach.

“Glad I wore a loose dress,” she snickered. “Want to walk this off and call it a night?”

As they began a slow stroll through the winding streets, Hunter was struck by just how normal it all felt. Conversation continued, everything from favorite things to flirty banter, and he offered her an arm as they made their way up some cobblestone stairs. When they finally arrived at her apartment, she stopped and turned toward him, wrapping her arms around herself and heaving a big, contented sigh.

“This was really nice, Hunter,” she said earnestly, reaching up to free her hair from its ponytail. “Thank you so much.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I… agree.”

“I think I’m feeling a little more adventurous for the next date,” she continued, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “If there is a next one…” she drifted off, lifting her eyebrows slightly in inquisitive coyness.

“Depends on what you have in mind,” he returned, feeling simultaneously proud and weird about his own playfulness.

“I’ll surprise you,” Luci said with a nod, reaching out to touch the outside of his arm as she gazed into his face. “We’ll see if you can keep up.”

Previous Chapter ~ Master List ~ Next Chapter

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moonlight-records · 8 months ago

Text

So American | LN4 & MV1

pairing: lando norris x oc x max verstappen

summary: Snippets of times that Storm, an up and coming American figure skater, being Lando and Max's favorite American soon to he partner friend

warning: fluff! some mad thirsting from Storm. but really just fluff!

FC: @/simimoonlight on instagram!

WC: 4.7K

a/n: Storm is genderfluid uses all pronouns fluently so the pronoun shifts are intentional, to showcase how they're presenting! yes! it is based off of 'So American' by Olivia Rodrigo! Yes, i did added the lyrics in! No, i do not own the song and all rights to her!! also, i blame @norrisleclercf1 for getting me on the norstappen train!!! so enjoy my first attempt at this!!

Drivin' on the right-side road. He says I'm pretty wearin' his clothes.

“Surprise!” Storm beams a bright smile at the older McLaren driver, arms stretched out wide for a hug while standing outside his hotel room. She almost cackles at the surprised expressions Lando is currently sporting before he rushes over, laughing and smiling as Lando pulls Storm into a tight hug, spinning her around before putting her down in shock. Storm is trying so hard to stay focused on Lando words as he rambles about them being here for Silverstone and all the things they’ll have to do before he stops, glances down, and laughs.

“Is this my hoodie?”

Glancing down at themselves, Storm feels her face suddenly on fire from being called out but she keeps her cool as she looks up at the Brit, “yeah. You left it at my place so now it’s mine. If you want it back, you’ll have to fight me for it and Max already took his back.”

Lando laughs as he shakes his head, “Calm down. As much as I love this hoodie, it looks much better on you. Max only took it back because Sassy loves to hide in his hoodies but I think I can part with this one if you promise to wear it often,” he beams that stupid heart stopping smile with a wink, “did you drive here?”

“Yes Lando, I drove here from the airport” making a face, “I don’t need someone to drive me around, Lando.”

“Booooooooooooooo! Return the car! I’ll drive you around while you’re here.”

“I think you just want an excuse to make fun of my driving and show me how to “properly drive” as you claim.”

“Am I wrong?”

Storm gasps and smacks Lando’s arm who is not fast enough to avoid it but he’s laughing. “Asshole!” Storm claims, “so the answer will be no.”

Crossing their arms over their chest, Storm studies Lando. She can’t help the small smile that appears on her face as Lando whines and complains that there’s no reason for Storm to drive when Lando is right here to be her personal chauffeur, especially at his home race. Storm shakes their head refusing to budge on the subject as Lando starts to coax them to put their things down so they can get drinks in the lobby.

And he's got hands that make hell seem cold.

“Jesus,” Lando hisses as his hand brushes against Storm’s hand as he takes his drink from her, “why are your hands freezing?”

“Maybe it’s because you run extremely hot all the time?” Storm counters.

“No no—put that down.”

Storm does and she blinks when Lando takes her hands into his. His hands are gigantic, completely engulfing her own, and they’re so “Lando, what the fu—”

“Storm, you're freezing. How are you okay with running this cold? And spare me the ‘I’m an ice skater’ bullshit. I know they’re all thermal so you don’t freeze.”

“How do you know that?”

“Common sense,” Lando states before speaking after a beat, “also cause I know you mentioned your tights ripping and money was a bit tight—”

“You bought me tights? Lando you didn’t have to do that. I have to pay you back—”

“No. Just take them. No strings attached. Really. Also stop distracting me from the fact you run way too cold—”

Storm laughs softly and shakes her head. They’ll die before admitting aloud that she has low iron and that she’s been taking iron pills but had forgotten to take one while traveling all the way out to the UK. Instead, she shrugs softly, “maybe it’s just the UK I’m allergic to,” she jokes with a grin.

Feet on the dashboard, he's like a poem I wish I wrote…I wish I wrote.

“Put your feet down!”

“No way!” Lando laughs as he shifts in the passenger seat with his feet up on the dashboard, “you refused to let me drive you around so now I get to play passenger princess! They do this all the time, why can’t I?”

“Cause god forbid I break short or something and then boom! Broken legs or worse, amputated legs,” Storm glances at the Brit trying her hardest to not cave and break this facade she’s put on, “I’ll buy you—fucking ice cream or something and won’t tell your trainer if you take your feet off the dashboard so I’m less stressed.”

Lando tilts his head from side to side before finally moving his legs off the dashboard, sighing dramatically as if Storm banned him from having fun. Storm laughs at the dramatic antics from the Brit but keeps driving as she steals a glance. Lando’s scrolling through his phone for something, maybe a song, but Storm can’t help but watch how his curls blow in the wind or how he’s got this glint in his eye when he focused or how sometimes he’ll end up making a duck face in thought and somehow make it work. Forcing her gaze away Storm continues driving and pushes the feelings down.

When he laughs at all my jokes and he says I'm so American. Oh God, it's just not fair of him to make me feel this much.

The days leading up to Silverstone felt like a dream that Storm did not want to wake up from. From the late night chats to the gaming to the shopping to the exploring, Storm can’t really pinpoint the last time she’s had this much fun, even if it’s just lounging around in his hotel room, Storm high out of her mind while Lando is basically giving her a fashion show for an outfit for media day.

“Your tolerance must be shit,” Storm says while sprawled out on the bed.

“It is,” Lando glances at her from the mirror while buttoning his shirt. Sea green eyes meet brown and Storm smiles and is thankful he looks away to finish getting dressed, “I’ll have some time during summer break but not much. Might have to stick to carts until the season ends.”

“One hit and you’ll be seeing god.”

“It’s better than the American on my bed,” Lando smirks in the mirror.

I'll go anywhere he goes and he says I'm so American. Oh God, I'm gonna marry him if he keeps this shit up.

“Well, this American will now stop giving fashion advice since the Brit seems to know so much more.” Storm starts, “and I guess this American just will sell her Hungary tickets a—”

“You’re going to Hungary too?!” Lando turns sharply to face Storm.

Sighing dramatically, Storm looks at the ceiling “Well, not anymore since someone would rather see God than the American.”

“I was kidding!” Lando starts and Storm just dramatically tosses her head to the sigh before Lando is launching himself onto the bed. Storm screams slightly and rolls so she’s not suffocated or injured and covers her mouth out of shock. Lando’s laughing and Storm shifts, grabbing a pillow. “Asshole!” Storm swears and smacks him with the pillow just as he sits up and she gasps before cackling at the McLaren driver falling off the bed.

I might just be in lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-love.

Silverstone was not the results McLaren wanted. They were too greedy and the calls were all off. Why were the boys being left to make these decisions? Why didn’t they do a double pit in the beginning when McLaren was p1-p2. Storm debated if a lifetime ban from the garage would be worth cursing the race engineers out but Storm decided it wasn’t worth it in the long run so instead Storm took to stepping out of the garage to not get banned.

Watching the podium from her spot in the garage, she couldn’t help but smile sadly. As much as she was proud of Lewis for getting his home win, she knew that this meant so much to Lando (and George who didn’t even finish) as well and Lando was so close. If the calls were just right maybe it would’ve been a different outcome.

Storm hears the anger in his voice when Lewis points out they pitted Lando a lap too late. She winces slightly at it before she depearts and starts making her way to see the podium, hanging closer to the back as the boys appear. She’s thankful Max is up there as well, to be a support beam for Lando. Storm refuses to imagine what this would’ve been if Max and Lando let Austria really get to their friendship, even if she hasn’t talked much even with Lando there.

When the podium is over and everyone’s finishing up, Storm is lingering around the McLaren garage. Scrolling through her phone, she glances up seeing the Red Bull driver and pockets her phone as she steps forward intercepting his path. “Max,” Storm starts with a smile, backing up slightly seeing she had startled the male.

“Oh–Justice, is it?”

“Uh, yeah but everyone calls me Storm. Call me Storm, please.”

“Okay. Storm it is,” Max smiles and nods.

“Thanks. I also just wanted to say thank you, for today.”

“You’re welcome for…what exactly?”

“Trying to cheer Lando up. I saw you really tried ever since the race ended,” Storm admits, “he really needed that so thank you. Especially after Austria..” letting her voice trail off for a moment, “it means a lot coming from you so, I just wanted to say thank you. Now if you excuse me, I have to deal with a moping Lando for the evening.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Max offers, “to have help while he’s moping. He can be–”

“A lot,” Storm finishes, “I know but…I’d appreciate that a lot.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you in the hotel lobby. We can–take him to the bar there or I can buy something on the way back and we can drink and just relax in his room.”

“Sounds like a plan. See you soon.”

God, I'm so boring and I'm so rude. Can't have a conversation if it's not all about you.

“I was thinking–are you even listening to me?”

“Hm? Yeah, totally.”

“Liar. You’re not even looking at me. You haven’t spoken in thirty five minutes. You’ve just shut me out.”

“Just because I’m not looking at my phone doesn’t mean I’m not listening. Also the fact you know how long I’ve been quiet is a bit weird.”

There’s a noise on the other end, “It’s not weird when you’re typically always talking. What are you doing anyway that’s apparently so important?”

“Looking for costume ideas for my competition,” Storm mutters while glancing at his phone for a second then back to his laptop, “what were you saying again?”

“So you were ignoring me. That’s rude, you know”

“I wasn’t ignoring you. I was just prioritizing my competition--"

"Competition for what?"

"Figure skating," Storm glances at the screen then away, "and being genderfluid sometimes suck cause that means more costumes to fit the mood. Doesn't matter since you’re just talking my ear off and probably will continue talking my ear off for another another three hours about your cats,” Storm jokes and smirks hearing the noise that comes from the other end of the FaceTime call before he starts to mimic Max’s rant.

Storm has heard the same playful rant so much that Storm has accidentally memorized it ever since the end of Silverstone with Storm and Max talking more often now, especially with Lando spending time with family and Quadrant which…Storm didn’t hate at all.

The way you dress and the books you read.

Storm was truly no better than a man or woman or person. Deep in the back of Storm’s mind, Storm is kicking himself right now for staring shamelessly at Max but how could they not? Any other time they’ve spoken to Red Bull’s current golden boy, he’s always in Red Bull merch which did not do him any justice.

The plain black t-shirt and jeans with sneakers and a backwards cap? That was doing him all the justice in the world as the two sat at the bar, waiting for drinks. Storm knew where he should look but he was going to take every inch of Max’s figure in while he could.

Storm started at his thighs. It was a shame Max didn’t wear shorts as often because he had some killer thighs. Honestly, Storm bet he could crush a watermelon easily with them…or Storm’s head. Either way, Storm would be very content. They also looked so rideable. Storm would love nothing more than to just swing a leg over and get himself off on Max’s thigh.

Moving his gaze up, Storm sucked his bottom lip between his teeth while staring at Max’s chest. The way the shirt clung to his chest was impossible to ignore. The way his muscles twitched and flex with the simplest of movements. Storm would kill to sink his teeth into his biceps or have a bicep around his waist or his throat.

Looking up more, Storm settles on studying Max’s face. How his eyes shine from the bar lights, how his jaw twitches slightly or his lips are together as he looks over before smiling brightly at Storm. Storm blinks before smiling back but glancing away, embarrassed for just staring Max down like a piece of meat.

I really love my bed, but, man, it's hard to sleep when he's with me. When he's with me.

Time really does fly when you’re having fun. Storm had come to Monaco to hang out with Lando since he had the time off but he was stuck in meetings all day. Storm didn’t really want to sit in their hotel room by themselves so they had called Max. Max was more than kind to let Storm hang out at his apartment while Storm waited for Lando to finish his meetings.

What was meant to be a few hours turned into Storm walking around holding Jimmy and Sassy while Max was in the kitchen cooking dinner. What was just meant to kill some time turned into Storm trying to explain how wonderful Waffle House was to Max and “when you guys come to Austin, I have to take you!” What was meant to just be a quick stop turned into Storm and Max on the couch watching some really cheesy spoof movie with the cats just dissecting the movie.

“Oh my fucking god it’s almost midnight!” Storm proclaims when they finally check their phone. They don’t feel as bad since Lando sent a text apologizing that he’s been in meetings all day and had to handle stuff for Quadrant and he’d make it up to them, “I need to get back to the hotel–”

“Just stay.”

“What?” Storm looks.

“I said stay. It’s late,” Max forces himself to prop himself up on his elbows, “or I can take you back but you shouldn’t be driving. All the crazies are out.”

“That’s a kind offer but it’s fine,” Storm is looking around for their jacket, “besides. If you drive me, then I won’t have a car. What am I going to do then? Huh?” Turning to face him, “have you or Lando drive me all over town?”

The silence that falls upon the apartment is almost comical. Storm is waiting for Max to answer but all instead they just get a blank face and finally an eyebrow raise as if Storm’s question was a stupid one. Shaking their head, Storm turns back around and grabs their things as there’s shuffling behind them.

“I appreciate the offer,” a silent one that is, “but really. I can handle a twenty minute drive back,” Storm turns and nearly jumps out their skin with how close Max is, who’s currently got his arm outstretched to grab a jacket, “what are you doing?”

“Walking you to the car.”

There’s no point of arguing with Max once his mind is made up. Any other time, Storm would argue but it’s late and Storm is counting their blessings that Max was letting them drive back to the hotel. The two chatted all the way there and Storm waved bye as Max watched them drive off.

Laying in their hotel bed, Storm stares at the ceiling before looking at the digital clock on their nightstand. 3am. Looking back at the ceiling, Storm tries to convince themselves that they can’t sleep is totally not because talking to Max was so easy and nice and they would’ve much preferred to stay up all night hanging out with him. They’re wide awake because they had to drive back and they’re struggling to fall back asleep.

It doesn't work but Storm can try.

When he laughs at all my jokes and he says I'm so American. Oh God, it's just not fair of him to make me feel this much.

The week in Monaco is a blur in the best way possible.

Storm found herself with Max when she wasn’t running around with Lando. For most of it, they just hung out at his apartment watching movies or Storm learning way too much about F1 while Max was on the sim. Hell, she happily sits in the corner when he streams and swallows her giggles though it doesn’t matter. The chat can see Max turning to look back at Storm with that stupid, stunning smile.

I'll go anywhere he goes and he says I'm so American. Oh God, I'm gonna marry him if he keeps this shit up.

Storm wasn’t a huge party person. Sure, they enjoyed going out but the consistent partying like other celebrities and pro athletes? Not really and they always got teased about it by their friends.

Storm found themselves out at a club in Monaco, vibing to the music as they gently sway from side to side against the wall. “I should’ve taken being teased,” Storm mutters to themselves as they glance around the club. How people went clubbing by themselves, they would never know and they gave them so much credit for being that confident. Sighing gently, at least Storm could say they tried it and it wasn’t their vibe.

“Storm!”

Perking their head up, Storm’s a bit surprised to see Max making his way over, “what are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you the same thing.”

‘He’s tipsy’ Storm thinks. Between his accent being thicker, the very slight slurred speech, and the alcohol–Red Bull and vodka–Storm deduces he’s tipsy at least. Putting their lips together, they can’t help but smile slightly as Max leans against the wall, wincing slightly when he hits it a bit harder than probably intended.

“I asked you first.”

“Lando. Well Lando and Charles. They wanted a night out and I did promise Lando ‘next time’ and well,” gesturing to the club, “here I am.”

“Ah.”

“You?”

Storm instinctively leans back slightly when Max leans in slightly, “ If I had known Lando was organizing something, I probably would’ve come with you guys but I tried solo clubbing.”

“Find anyone?”

Storm practically jumps out of her skin at the new voice. Turning their head to the side, they see Lando on the other side, clutching their shirt. Relaxing when they realize that it’s just Lando, they settle against the wall to look at the two drivers. Mulling the question over, Storm tilts their head slightly.

“Is that all you think about?” Storm quirks a brow, “not everyone is looking for someone.”

“Are you?” Max asks.

“No–” Storm internally winces at how fast they answered, “I mean, not particularly,” they correct themselves considering the only two they would want currently have them trapped between them, “I’m a bit…”

“Picky?” Lando leans in with a smirk.

“Guarded,” Storm retorts.

They notice Lando’s eye dart to Max and they glances at Max, who shoots a look back at Lando. Unsure of the silent conversation happening right now, Storm decides as much as they would love to stay and be the center of these boys' attention and talk to their friends, they decide to give them the time to talk.

“Well,” Storm announces promptly, “this was a great chat but I have to go. Been here so long, you know,” pushing off the wall and just out of their grasp, Storm turns to them with a smile, “and I have a flight to catch in the morning so I’ll see you guys!”

Storm proceeds to slip onto the dance floor as the music drowns out the pleas from Lando and Max as the crowd swallows Storm whole before they exit on the other side. They cover their face in embarrassment. How stupid could they have been? That was the perfect situation to be in with their two crushes and yet they panicked and chickened out. Hopefully something eventful happens and they forget about this interaction.

I might just be in lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-love. I apologize if it's a little too much, just a little too soon but if the conversation ever were to come up I don't wanna assume this stuff…

“That was a really good job out there. I think you’re gonna do great at World’s this year. Maybe even win.”

“Thanks coach,” Storm says, skating over to the edge of the rink with a smile before waddling off carefully to sit on the bench and take her skates off, “you think so?”

“Yeah. Just keep up with what you’re doing. Don’t overwork yourself,” coach jokes as Storm ties her boots and grabs her bag, standing up. Laughing slightly, the two exit the rink before parting ways.

Taking their phone out, Storm checks her phone as she walks to her car. She opens her messages and is greeted with pictures of Jimmy and Sassy and Lando memeifying them. She sits in her car, laughing to herself as she finally answers.

STORM - LN

There you are! - MV

Here I am - ST

How was practice? - LN

Good! Coach thinks I can win World’s this year but I think she’s being nice. - ST

No, I think your coach is right. - MV

Yeah, your coach doesn’t say that shit slightly. You’ve told me first hand. - LN

Yeah but, I don’t know. One step at a time, you know? Let me get through the competition this week. - ST

WHAT? You’re competing and didn’t tell us?! - LN

I did! I said I’m gonna be busy with practice for the competition this week! Max, back me up. - ST

Lando’s right. We were unaware. - MV

Really? Shit, sorry guys. I swore I told you guys. - ST

BOOOOOO. I wanna see you compete :( - LN

Me as well. - MV

Well, maybe next time! Or I can, you know, teach you guys how to figure skate and do something. - ST

PLEASE. - LN

For Lando to break something? I don’t know. - MV

HEY. - LN

Haha, true. Well, I gotta drive home, talk to you guys soon! - ST

Laaaame, drive safe though! - LN

Text us when you get home. - MV

Text you. I’m stalking their location as we speak! - LN

But ain't it love? Think I'm in love.

“And our first place winner, taking it by a tenth of a point is…Justice Storm Thatcher!”

Storm stood dumbly in her spot on the side before she moved as the crowd erupted in applause. Making her way onto the ice, Storm skated over to the podium, thanking the other two winners when they offered their hands to help her up, smiling wide. She bent down for her medal before standing back up, smiling brightly. She couldn’t believe that she won her competition.

After photos and congratulating the other two, who returned the congratulations, Storm made her way off the ice and hugged her coach tightly, beaming. She was speaking, they both were, but it was hard to hear over all the noise of everyone talking and leaving.

Eventually, Storm emerges from the locker room in sweatpants, sporting her leotard as a top. She’s trying to find her friends that she knew came and she turns to hear her name being shouted. Spying a hand in the air, she starts making her through the crowd, half apologizing and half not caring. She sees an opening and bursts through before stopping in her tracks at the sight before her.

“Storm!” Storm stumbles back when Lando barrels into her chest and she hugs back, not as hard as Lando, still in shock as Max makes his way over.

Pulling back, Lando puts his hands on her chest, “You were amazing!”

“I–what are you guys doing here?!”

“You thought you’d have a competition and we wouldn’t be here?” Max asks, offended.

“Well no it’s just–” Storm is baffled. She really isn’t sure what to say and Lando laughs as Max pulls her into a hug that she also semi returns.

“Are those for me?” Storm asks as she’s handed a bouquet of flowers, looking between the two.

“Of course dude. You thought we’d show up empty handed?” Lando scoffs.

“It’s not a proper celebration if we don’t go out,” Max adds, “Storm, where are we going?”

“Applebee’s.”

“...I’ve never been to an Applebee’s,” Max admits and Lando nods in agreement

“What?! You guys haven’t been to an Applebee’s?! Oh come on. We have to go! I want my bucket of alcohol–”

“Bucket!?”

“That cannot be possible,” Max shakes his head.

“Come on!” Storm starts leading the charge out of the door, “let’s go! Bucket of alcohol and half-apps! On me!”

“You are NOT paying!” Lando and Max shout as they follow after her.

When he laughs at all my jokes and he says I'm so American. Oh God, it's just not fair of him to make me feel this much. I'll go anywhere he goes and he says I'm so American. Oh God, I'm gonna marry him if he keeps this shit up…

Introducing Lando and Max to Applebee’s was better than winning any competition. They sat at a high top table, Storm seated across the two drivers. Storm nearly chokes on her water seeing the pure shock / joy that forms on the boys faces when the drinks arrive and Storm is handed a small bucket of alcohol.

“Could we just have a few more minutes to decide?” Storm asks the waiter and smiles when the waiter agrees and leaves.

“What are you getting?” Max asks.

“Appetizers.”

“You just gave the performance of your life, and you want to get appetizers?” Lando asks.

“And?”

“You need food.”

“It’s half apps! You don’t come to Applebee’s at this hour to get an actual meal, you come for drinks and half apps. Trust me,” Storm huffs seeing the look Max and Lando exchange, “I’m telling you guys.”

Lando decides to follow suit with the appetizers and Max, begrudgingly, also follows suit when the waiter comes back around. Storm can’t help but cackle when they realize how big the portions are for just appetizers and the three end up staying for roughly an hour just talking and chatting while working on their food and drinks.

Storm isn’t entirely happy that Lando and Max refused to let her pay or even help with the tip after she explained how tipping works. The three head out and the smart thing would be heading home and getting some sleep.

Instead, Storm finds herself stirring from her slumber the next morning as the sun creeps through the blinds. Rubbing her eyes, she closes her eyes and shifts hearing someone grunt. Storm tries to settle down but now she notices a weight on her and opens her eyes again.

Propping herself up on her elbows, she looks over seeing the digital clock read 2:10pm. She was supposed to stay a few hours but Max, Lando, and her had spent so long talking and goofing off that by the time someone, she can’t remember who, declared bed time, it was almost 4am.

There’s a leg tossed over hers and an arm. Storm looks around and realizes she’s between bodies. Rubbing her eyes again, her eyes focus on blonde hair tousled to her left and curly dark hair to her right realizing that the three of them ended up in a cuddle pile.

Storm makes the mistake of trying to sit up before Max and Lando both make some form of protest and Storm is pulled back down between them. Staring at the ceiling, Storm lets out a silent laugh.

I might just be in lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-love ~

#starlight library presents;#lando norris imagine #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x oc #lando norris x oc #norstappen imagine #norstappen x of #lando norris x storm x max verstappen #ln4 imagine #mv1 imagine #mv1 navigation #ln4 navigation #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #startlight library navigation #mv1 x oc #ln4 x oc #figure skater verse

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yuna542 · 2 years ago

Text

Connected (OT8 x reader)

Part 8<-

Part 9

Pairing: Han x reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Under 18 DNI!, unprotected sex (just don’t please), Suggestive Themes, Swearing, pet names, fingering, oral (f receiving), edging

Word Count: 3.8k

Note: Well well well. I‘m back. Hope you like it! Han being equally hot and a little brat is a new kink of mine. So you’re welcome. Comments, Like, Reblogs are always a blessing and if you have ideas for prompts just tell me. ~much love babes

On your first day of your new job as the personal manager of Stray Kids, you didn't expect to be standing in front of the man you made out with last night in a club. But it soon becomes clear that the Stray Kids don't just want you as their manager.

Will this passionate arrangement end your career?

"I need help"

Han's first message on that Monday evening sounded worrisome, and since you could put off the phone call to the stylist for a few more minutes, you typed a reply:

"Are you at the studio?"

"Yes. I need you now!!!"

So you set your Ipad aside and looked at yourself again in your selfie camera. Why you checked your hair and face exactly, you didn't know yourself.

Just as you were standing in front of the door to the studio, Chan opened it.

"Hey", you said in surprise, not knowing he was still here.

"Hey. Be careful, Han is very annoying", he said and that made you smile.

„I‘m surely gonna survive our moody Jisung.“

"Yea I definitely won‘t. So i'll leave you alone."

Before he could go, you hold him back by his arm.

"You have a meeting with the choreographers in 20 minutes", you reminded him.

He nodded and looked down at you with lustful eyes.

"Thanks. Is that skirt new?"

Embarrassed, you nodded and looked down at yourself. Was the black pleated skirt too short after all? Didn't he like it?

But Chan walked a few steps around you and looked at your ass before pinching it firmly with a hand.

"You're really lucky I have to go to the meeting right now", he whispered with a dangerously spark in his eyes and immediately a warm shiver ran down your spine.

"Have fun with Jisung. He really needs some cheering up."

With those words, he reached under your skirt to feel the warm flesh of your asscheeks and pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot on the crook of your neck. Immediately a sharp gasp escaped you and there he had already disappeared into the elevator.

Since the day in the studio the air around you two was even more charged with energy and you were addicted to all those little flirts that have arisen between you again and again.

Inside the studio, you found a dejected Jisung lounging on the couch in the dim light, staring holes into the ceiling.

"Hey, Hannie."

He immediately straightened up and looked at you with bright eyes.

"Finally... I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

"What's wrong?"

You walked up to him and glanced at his laptop on the desk, where a white screen shone at you.

"I've been trying to write lyrics all day. I know the tune, even the damn theme, but I just can't seem to come up with the right words!", he grumbled, tossing his phone onto the desk with the blank note on the screen.

"How am I supposed to help you with that?", you asked, confused.

"Inspiration."

"Huh?"

"I need inspiration and motivation", he explained expertly and crossed his hands behind his head.

Jisung looked even hotter than usual today. He wore beige sweatpants and a black tank top that was cut so wide at the sides that you could see his defined abs peeking out. His hair was a mess from all the hair tussling, and his bright eyes looked at you so intently that you unconsciously nibbled at the buttons of your shirt.

"I thought that seeing you and being around you would help my inspiration. So please come here and sit down! When you're near me, I can work better."

"Oh well, okay... If that’s all.“

So you sat down on the couch next to him and blinked innocently at him. You hadn't missed the needy expression in his eyes, which were constantly glued to your bare legs peeking out from under the short skirt. He sat silently at the other end of the sofa for a while and you could feel how restless he was. He wasn’t lacking inspiration. He was just horny.

But you wouldn't make it that easy for him.

He was always such a tease, that you wanted to see him struggle a little bit. That's when he turned back to you.

"To be honest, I lack motivation too... To cure my artistic block, you may have to get closer."

There was a playful grin on his lips and you were having a hard time resisting his charm anyway. So you went along with his games and moved a little closer until your shoulder touched his. Seemingly by accident, you leaned forward a bit to take a look at his cell phone, which he was holding again.

As you did so, a strand of hair fell into your face and Jisung's eyes were unashamedly focused directly on your cleavage hovering in front of his face.

"Better?", you asked hypocritically, and he opened and closed his mouth in overwhelm without a sound coming out. His hands clenched around the phone that he had to hold himself due to the fact how easily it would be to reach you and rip those clothes off of your body.

"A little. But I don't think it's enough yet."

Without further hesitation, he grabbed you by the hips and pulled you onto his lap so that your face was only a hand's width away from his.

"That's even better", he stated with amusement, letting his hands roam down your sides until they were firmly on your hips.

"How are you going to write lyrics like that?", you asked with an amused laugh, and he just shrugged.

"I have to think of some first, don't I? You can help me best with that topic."

"What do you want it to be about?", you continued to ask, not wanting to be lulled by his cologne and sparkling eyes. His fingers were already circling your hipbones and with each movement of his legs under you, your skirt pushed up.

"I want to write about love, comfort and joy... So what do you think?"

You gasped softly as he suddenly pressed your hips against him for a moment. Wearing only panties under your skirt, the sensation of your bare skin on his thighs was tingling. His gaze took on a suggestive tinge and you could see his desire from a distance.

"That sounds like a good topic", you murmured, gently running your fingers over his chest.

"Do you think, you can inspire me, honey?", he asked seductively and squeezed your hips.

"I can try", you answered and began tugging at the buttons of your shirt with your fingers.

Greedily he watched your movements as you agonisingly slowly undid the top buttons one by one. You couldn’t get enough of his impatient facial expression that looked like he could hardly sit still.

Then he became impatient and asked:

"May I? Please, I need to see your boobs so bad!"

After you nodded, he immediately set to work with greedy fingers and opened your shirt. At first your bra popped out and when the shirt was completely open, he looked at your body as if he had never seen anything more beautiful. With both hands he pushed the shirt completely off your shoulders until it fell to the floor behind you.

Now you were just sitting in your black lace bra on his lap and you could already feel something happening underneath you in his pants.

"Your boobs are fucking pretty...", he murmured, stroking up your sides with warm fingertips until he touched the fabric of your bra. Almost reverently, he stroked the edge of the bra, along your breasts, until he slid the straps off your shoulders and began spreading wet kisses down your neck. Relatively quickly, he worked his way to your neckline, where there was no place he didn't explored with his mouth.

He sucked on sensitive spots and licked over your skin, as if it tasted sweeter than anything he had experienced before.

With his hands he had already hurriedly pushed up your skirt up and freed your ass. With both hands he squeezed your ass hard and pressed you firmly against his growing bulge. There he finally drove up your back to the clasp of your bra and looked at you questioningly. You could only nod, overwhelmed by his seductive touch.

With one fluid motion, he undid the clasp and tossed the bra aside. His eyes bubbled with passion and he immediately groped your breasts with his hands.

He gently kneaded your flesh and said:

"Your so fucking hot. Do you even know that, jagi?"

You laughed softly and ran your hands over his chest. He just had eyes for you and began to suck the skin of your boobs between his teeth. His sloppy kisses and licking sent the heat between your legs and you couldn't help but grind your desperate cunt against his bulge. But he took his time to worship every millimeter of your skin and kissed again your neck, up to your jaw, until he reached the corners of your mouth.

Briefly he released his lips from your heated skin to look at you.

"So you're really okay with an arrangement with me?", he asked carefully to make sure you really agreed.

"Yes Jisung. I really want this too."

"Even though I'm lousy at flirting?", he smiled and you giggled at the memory of your first encounter.

"I'm sitting half naked on your lap with your mouth all over me... So take that as a win."

"I really do", he laughed and suddenly grabbed your chin, to kiss you deeply.

His lips tasted like caramel and coffee and you wanted to taste as much of him as possible. It was addicting and when the kiss got more and more sensual, as he touched every inch of your body, you began to rub your hips harder against his bulge. Desire burned in your veins, which is why you pulled his tank top over his head in one motion and tossed it carelessly aside. So you could finally look at his defined torso and you ran your fingers over each of his wiry abs.

Meanwhile he sucked on your nipple and kneaded the other one between his fingers. His tongue moved so sensually against your aroused breasts that you had to sigh softly. Completely absorbed in your body, he let his tongue circle around your nipple and bit into it, eliciting a hiss from you. Then he worked your skin further, sucking it so hard that red spots appeared so high up your neck you wouldn't be able to cover it up.

As he looked at his work, he grinned with satisfaction. Alarmed, you stared at him and gave him a slap on the chest.

"Ji! What if someone sees the marks?"

"Then they'll know you had fun", he replied cheekily, pressing his lips hard against yours again.

By now he was getting more and more impatient and even through the fabric of his pants you could feel that his length was already painfully hard. His hips began to rub against yours and your panties were already completely soaked.

He licked his tongue keenly into your mouth and his fast movements made you drowsy. Abruptly he pushed you back on the couch by your shoulders and knelt between your legs. With his hands he impatiently pushed your knees apart to get a glimpse of your middle.

"Fuck your so wet and your just mine right now."

"I'm just helping a friend", you teased him and looked up at him through your thick eyelashes.

A breathless laugh escaped him before he literally ripped your panties off your body. It landed somewhere in the room, as did your skirt, which he pulled off so fast it made you dizzy. Two fingers stroked teasingly over your cunt, and as he did so, his eyes bored relentlessly into yours. By the time you saw the mean grin, it was too late. He penetrated you hard with three fingers and began pumping them into you, not letting you take a breath.

The teasing between you two was obviously even stronger, when you fucked.

Immediately your hips snapped up, but he pressed them roughly back onto the couch. His thumbs circled over your clit and stars danced before your eyes, while you wheezed overwhelmed.

Now you could no longer suppress the unholy sounds.

Jisung's fingers were merciless and brought you closer and closer to the redemptive orgasm in no time. All the while he maintained eye contact, enjoying the aroused expression on your face, the half-open lips, and how your body squirmed beneath him.

"Look at you, so eager and needy to be used by me - you're such a cutie", he shot back and already the knot in your stomach was tightening. Just before the high was finally reached, he pulled his fingers out of you. Stunned, you stared at him, but he just laughed evilly.

"What the fuck, Ji?"

"Just wait, and I'll think about letting you come, honey."

If he didn’t climbed back between your legs, you would have hit him. But he started circling your clit with his tongue and you were suddenly caught in the rush of arousal again. He was insanely good with his mouth tightly pressed on your pussy, his tongue softly nudging your hole and humming against your cunt as you quivered beneath him. He didn’t rushed while eating you out. His hands pinned your thighs to your sides to keep them spread as his tongue licked stripes up the center of your pulsating pussy, triggering your desperate whimpers of need.

"You look so pretty, can't wait to feel you hugging my cock“, he grunted and grabbed your thighs harder and buried his face between your legs again. He did things with his tongue that you didn't even know were possible and the sounds of his mouth on you, echoed in your head.

His words turned you on even more and you yearned more and more for release, but Jisung was a brat and played his little games with you, as always.

He forced you to keep your trembling legs spread open, cleaning up the wetness that pooled down your thighs incessantly and onto the couch but just before you could finally come he broke off each time until you were about to cry.

"Hannie, please! Don't do this to me!"

You could clearly see that he loved the small whimpers you let out as soon as he stoped the stimulation on your pussy, feeling so empty without him filling you up and he practically was enflamed by your small tears of frustration as he continuously urged you towards orgasm only to leave you desperately on the edge, clit puffy and sensitive from his constant abuse.

"So what do you want, honey? Say it!", he commanded challengingly and you had to force yourself to actually beg him.

"Fuck me, Hannie! Please fuck me already! I want your dick inside of me, now!

That was exactly what he wanted to hear. He literally ripped off his pants and underwear and placed himself in front of your entrance. He was blessed with a beautiful thick and above average dick, that would ruin you.

Teasingly he slipped his tip through your folds and you already knew that he would stretch you out. Oh he loved the look of frustration building up on your face as he continuously had denied your release, but now he wanted to fuck you, until you would scream his name. And he definitely wouldn’t go easy on you.

He sunk his whole length into you in one motion.

His movements were slow at first and he savored every second. His arms were right next to your head and he looked deep into your eyes as his speed increased.

"Fuck you do feel amazing around me... So tight", he groaned and the interrupted orgasm rolled in with triple strength. But when you saw the gleam in his eyes, you knew he was up to something again. He visibly enjoyed the desperation in your eyes and every moan that he forced out of you, with every thrust into your pulsating cunt.

He constantly brought you to the brink of an orgasm with his length, twitching deep inside your core. Just as he got the sense that you were about to cum he hastily removed himself, cruel chuckles leaving him as you almost sobbed beneath him.

"I'm going to kill you, Hannie“, you huffed and pushed your hips against him.

Amused, he ran his hands through his hair and looked down at you. As he did so, he tried to memorize every little detail of your naked body. You were perfect and he knew he was already addicted to you and your body.

"You really want me this bad darling?", he teased.

"Shut up, idiot!" you pressed out, tears in the corners of your eyes.

He would drag it out until your high came over you with such force that you were just a fucked out mess with nothing else on your mind than his dick.

With your legs wrapped around his hips, you pulled him closer to you. He reached into your hair and pulled your head back by it as he thrusted hard into your aching pussy again. This time the ruts of his hips were exaggerated and sloppy. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head while he kept a bruising grip on your thighs, burying his dick further into your cunt. The filthy sounds of your wet pussy tightening around his length filled the room, soft curses falling from his lips once your hands tugged on his damp hair, mouth meeting his in a rough, passionate kiss while he continued his pleasurable abuse on your hole. He was stirred up even more by your pleas and bratty moans and would think of them, every time he would need to get off.

Just before you finally came, he broke off again in mid-motion. The pressure aches in every fiber of your body and you feared to faint if he doesn't finally let you release.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

Jisung's chest shook slightly as low chuckles left his kiss-bruised lips, hands softly pinching your ass as you wriggled beneath him, raising your hips to push your cunt further toward his leaking cock as soft pants and begs slipped past your glossy lips. He rubbed the head of his length between your folds, teasing your needy figure as you clawed your nails into his back.

"I can't get enough of the desperate tears in your eyes and the needy moans. You are so incredibly hot when all you want is my cock.“

"Fuck you!"

The insult crossed your lips before you could realize it. Surprised, he raised his eyebrows and looked as if you being bratty was turning him on even more. Before he could react, you straighten up, grabbed him by the shoulders and pressed him back until he was sitting under you.

This time you were the one overpowering him and you quickly sinked down on his length. Without consideration, you started riding his throbbing dick hard while resting your hands on his shoulders.

You elicited overwhelmed moans from him and you felt him twitch inside you. Soon he was gripping your hips so tightly with his hands that there would be definitely bruises left behind.

He snapped his hips into yours harder and harder and moaned: "I'm going to make you come so hard that everyone in the building will know who's fucking you right now."

It sounded like a promise he would keep, as the knot in your lower belly was so tense by now that you would probably explode. As his thrusts got even faster and he felt you tighten around him, he pressed you down on his length with both hands and that's when you finally came.

His name kept bubbling over your lips mixed with pornographic moans and whimpers and so he kept thrusting into you, making you work out your massive orgasm until the last second. It was overwhelming and you could see stars flashing in front of your eyes.

But he didn’t let go of you, instead he pushed you back onto the couch by your shoulders while you weren't fully conscious yet.

"You didn't think I was done with you already, did you?", he asked leaning over you, slowly pushing his length into your fucked out core again. Whimpering, you curled your fingers into his back and he began thrusting into you again.

He made you cum again and again until you were an absolute mess beneath him, legs trembling, tear stained cheeks and pussy aching from his torment. You scratched his back with your fingernails, trying to find something to hold on to, while your head and body felt like you were flying in ecstasy. Either you were in heaven or in hell. Your body was on fire and Jisung fucked you so good that you were a completely cockdrunk mess.

But eventually, he couldn’t hold back anymore and his thrusts became messier, until he came inside you with a growl.

Breathing heavily, you laid together for quite a while. Even though the couch was small, you snuggled together so that you could lie on it. He wrapped his arms tightly around you and pulled you to his chest.

Your legs wouldn't stop shaking and Jisung stroked your head as gently as if he hadn't just destroyed your pussy.

"You did that very well. You're really something special, darling."

His voice was like honey and he caressed you with so much loving attention that you snuggled closer, breathing in his scent and running your fingers dreamily over his chest.

"Did it help?", you asked, looking up at him.

He gave you a kiss on the forehead and looked at your face, as if in it alone he could find all the inspiration he was looking for.

"Definitely! I even have an idea for the hook already," he said with a grin, stroking his hand down your back.

"I think you're my muse."

Immediately your cheeks turned red and you hid your face against his chest.

"I'm glad if I could help“, you said sheepishly, and he lifted your chin a little with two fingers so you were looking into his eyes. The amber around his dark pupils sparkled beautifully and you lost yourself in it.

"You have to stay with us forever. Could you promise me that?", he asked, sounding way more serious. Like he was really afraid of losing something important.

"I don't plan to go anywhere“, you answered him and that's when your lips collided.

This kiss was different. It was sensual, slow and full of affection. There were hundreds of emotions all at once, all of them wrapping you in warmth. It was even as if you could feel his gratitude from his mere touch.

All of this mixed into a single feeling that filled everything like sunlight: pure happiness.

->Part 10

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