#You do take him back and get married at the end :)

[trombonechurchill]

Saw this post by @rimatsu and had to write a lil bucktommy ficlet about it (hope you don't mind!) cause I love them. Yes I'm currently in a work meeting while doing this don't ask.

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With Tommy, it’s always a little harder to get the problem out of him at first. He likes to skirt around the edges of the problem, checking the temperature of the water with little bits of small talk and jabs about how his family’s doing if Eddie tries to press in too quickly. It’s shockingly similar to how he fights too, so really Eddie shouldn’t be surprised.

Still, he feels like Tommy’s just sent him to the mat when he finally does lay what’s bothering him out, three beers in and a Dodgers game on the TV. 

“I think I want to marry him.”

Slowly, Eddie picks up a coaster and sets his beer on the coffee table. Tommy stares resolutely at the TV like he’s staring down a firing line.

“Okay,” Eddie says slowly, watching as Tommy slow curls forward, elbows on his knees, hands wrapped around the back of his head as he tugs at his own hair. “And you guys have been back together how long exactly?”

“Two months,” Tommy says glumly from where he’s trying to escape into his own shoes. 

“Right.” Eddie picks up his beer again and makes himself comfortable. It’s going to be a long night.

Buck was always more direct about a problem. He liked to latch onto things with the energy of a dog chasing a car, and tended to react with the same level of confusion any time he actually managed an answer on his own. Like the conclusion wasn’t real until he’d said it out loud a few times to someone to check how it felt.

 Eddie should probably know better than to not expect Buck to surprise him though.

“I bought a ring,” Buck says direly, sliding the box across the island with the same gravity as if he were handing Eddie a loaded gun.

“But Buck, we’ve just met,” Eddie says flatly. 

Buck throws a dishtowel at his head.

“I’m serious, Eddie, this- This is serious.” Buck motions again to the ring box on the counter, just in case Eddie missed it the first time he guesses.

“So the whole ‘we’re taking things slow this time’ thing…” Eddie starts. Buck throws his hands in the air.

“I know! I know I just.” Buck ducks his head and that smile, Buck’s ’Tommy Smile’. Well. Eddie can put up with a lot of stupid conversations  when he knows it ends with Buck or Tommy smiling like that.

[widebrimmedhatsblog]

ONYX STORM ⚡️⚡️⚡️

My thoughts below the cut! Spoilers galore. This is all from my first read through, so we’ll see what changes by the time I finish my second read. I’m still pretty jumbled up about the book (I am physically incapable of opening up goodreads and giving it a rating) and, frankly, I think my notes are going to reflect this! Also, this is thoughts for the WHOLE BOOK, so please don’t open the full post if you’re not done with the WHOLE BOOK.

I’m pasting my notes directly from the doc I took them on while reading , and adding extra post-read commentary when I feel the urge! Also this is your warning that I swear quite a bit in these! For they are candid.

ch1-10:

- i will say i thought the ch 2 epigraph was an inntinnsic clue but now im not so sure bc it’s not that rare it’s just that they kill everyone who has it ??? (commentary from future helena: this is about lilith…right?)

- tell me something, violence. why is it always you? 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

- what IS a soul. how can you take a soul apart piecemeal. why do you think he gave up part of his soul. who told you that. (CFFH: i stand by this. none of this makes any sense to me.)

- hmmmm no red post fingering! curious…very curious (CFFH: i still don’t know about this one dawg)

- the kiss beneath her ear after he helps her get dressed somebody sedate me

- god DOES garrick like imogen because mans does NOT act like it poor im (CFFH: I seriously cannot stop wondering when the hell Rebecca decided to make immrick canon because i LIKE the ship, but on my fw and if re reads it does not read like Garrick likes her, and I would say that holds true till the very end of the damn book)

- VIOLETTTTTTTT I LOVE HER she’s so fucking back (CFFH: violets characterization was my favorite thing about this book. i was really scared about xaden leaving because frankly rebecca writes violet best with him, but she held her own so much better than she has in the other two books. i always love her, but she was incredible here.)

- the bits about vi being a good duchess i Knew that was him saying he wanted to marry her (CFFH: this is an example of what i like to call RY’s “gotcha ass foreshadowing”)

- also i have always characterized fen in my head as loving the movement more than xaden i know what’s up

- i’m soooo excited about him being the duke this is so embarassing im pumping my fists

- did NOT see the samara field trip coming what the fuck

- EVEN HUNDREDS OF MILES AWAY HES STILL TSKING CARE OF EMD EKDNRNRNRN (CFFH: yeah.)

- hey guys what the fuck was that dream? did RY see the cat/violet shippers and get ideas

- WHAT THE FUCK. i saw NONE of this coming

- GARRICKS A WIND WIELDER ???? (CFFH: obviously did not age super well…however garrick was acting so sus here and his dialogue felt so off that i genuinely thought he was the traitor for a fat minute)

11-20

- WHETS RNRJRNRNRNRNRNRJEKEKKRRN

- IS THIS THE MARKED ONES SECOND SIGNET TNEORY (CFFH: can you tell i was a big fan of the marked ones second signet theory. also what’s xadens third signet then? also i feel like if EVERYONE has 2 vi will have 3! i have a theory explaining it below somewhere)

- WLSO DID XADEN FHCKINF KNOW (CFFH: they actually handled this really well i was so nervous they’d have the fight again)

- dude im like short circuiting sick to my stomach HES SOOOOOOO BOYFRIEND ? (CFFH: what on EARTH was this about?)

- well the fuck aware!!!!!!!!!

- i can’t breathe

- i need my inhaler

- LIAM WIELDINF ICE (CFFH: again, can you tell i was a big fan of the marked ones second signet theory? fun fact, i actually wanted to write it into ITHOIA but then i realized a. how much work it would be to concoct that many signets and b. i’d have to give xaden THREE, and decided to pick my battles. however i did brainstorm what signets had xaden energy for giving him a third one and immmmmm immmm having ideasssssss)

- YOURS X

- why do i agree with JFBs venin logic man

- god halden is her traumatic ex relationship goddddd (CFFH: i edited out most of my complaining, but i was super against the halden idea (per my predictions). this might get me cancelled, but it did feel fan service-y? to me? which is fine! fans deserve to be serviced! there are moments of this book in which i am the fan being serviced! but when it become clear RY was going in the halden direction, i was super stressed about how she’d handle it, and im thrilled she made him toxic. THRILLED.)

- SECOND KROVLAN UPRISING

- knowing miss yarros and her gotcha ass foreshadowing ridoc is going on that quest lmdao

- PRFOEOEKEENDJEJEN PROFESSOR RIORSON PROFESSOR RIOROSN (CFFH: not only do i stand by this, but i actually wanted to write teacher roleplay for kinktober and i didn’t bc i didn’t think the fandom would take a liking to it, but CLEARLY rebecca didn’t have those concerns)

- i am going to commit crimes against humanity your relationship did not just END SJEJEJEJENR R (CFFH: i’ve noticed miss yarros has begun to really lean on chapter cliffhangers, and frankly, it pisses me off. i understand she needs to get her bag with kindle unlimited and all, but it makes for a stressful reading experience imo. however, this one got me. this one got me SO bad i had to take a walk to calm down. i have been looking forward to professor riorson for MONTHS and i was convinced it was crashing and burning before my eyes. maybe this is why i shouldn’t read past 1 am. i know rebecca has given interviews and has said she needs there to be constant tension in their relationship or else there’s no story, and while i know what she means, THIS tension felt so manufactured to me. i also think she could pull off a war story with them just like …together. i believe in her. the story needs tension, but it doesn’t need to be between them like this, imho.)

- we live by the codex/i live by you 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫I AM YOURS AND YOU ARE MINE AND THERE’S NO LAW OR RULE IN THIS WORLD OR THE NEXT THAT CAN CHANGE THAT

- you know what we might get shadow sex in this book. we might. (CFFH: we do! and i think we can get more with asim!xaden)

- fun fact about me it took till my THIRD RE READ to see that xaden controls the shadows with his hands.

- there’s been like 3 indirect marriage references if my fucking empire of storms prediction was correct im going to scream (CFFH: so i actually didn’t get to scream because i was too busy MOURNING the lack of a RIORGAIL WEDDING.)

- PAPA SORRENGAIL HAS NAME AND ITS ASHER ?????

- ridocs blow job joke was funny i cackled

- papa sorrengail (im going to deadname him) i do love you man

- SHADOW HANDCUFFS OH MY GOS i had a seizure in my reading hammock

- he is my choice. that got me. that felt good.

- DRAAAAAAAAKE (CFFH: i may say this later, but alli (no tag bc she’s not done reading yet) made drake so sexy to me (and amy! also no tag) and i was kind of disappointed lmfao)

- vi rlly out here playing cousins or dating

21-30

- i loooooove him calling her love all the time

- it’s so crazy to me that he’s relaxed without magic but im glad! since i do think this is his ending over all

- helena bets time: the deal the krovlan rebels didn’t uphold was smth to do with the irids or the feather tails

- “xaden riorson is a lot of things, but happy usually isn’t one of them” hey man what the fuck

- this feels like a fever dream this is the dragon show christmas episode that isn’t relevant to the plot what do you mean they’re bonding over horses

- hey guys is this…capitalism?

- i can’t get over the isle kingdoms being kerch (CFFH: if you haven’t read six of crows this won’t make any sense, but if you have….)

- ARETIA IS THE SECOND MOST BEAUTIFUL THING I MVE EVER SEEN AND MY HOME IS THE FIRST (CFFH: he was ON ONE in this)

- maybe im toxic but he’s being so nice im so anxious about something going wrong 💀 like he stays in the isles or something jesus

- “even if we did, we can’t be in two places at once” + xaden acting weird ….. (CFFH: i want to say third signet but i don’t know)

- what the FUCK is going on with him like it’s really hot but it’s freaking me out

- IM GIVING DIPLOMACY A TRY NOT SURE ITS FOR ME THOUGH (CFFH: dare i say lilith parallel)

- HE WOULD HAVE IF HE’D MET HIM. knocked me on my ass.

- i have an idea i just dont like being wrong baby violet i need to give you a forehead kiss

- why is violets dad the grandpa from the inheritance games

- im going to bed fr fr now but my last minute prediction is that he marries vi to make her an aristocrat (this is wishful thinking) (also we don’t HAVE to rescue halden) (like it’s fine if we don’t)

- MY CONSORTTTTTTTT

- WHEN WOULD BE. can he propose for real. please. (CFFH: this is hurting my feelings)

- bro his LINES IN THIS ???? who do you swear fealty to/VIOLET

- he’s acting less sus…i did NOT like that epigraph abt “returning to his true nature” (CFFH: maybe im on something but idk if this was meant to reflecrt him draining the alloy or whatever it was orrrr if it was abt vi channeling somehow!)

- im almost worried he’s trying to marry her before he kills himself or something but he keeps telling her how selfish he is so maybe not (CFFH: close!)

- her EDS is also a lot better done this time around (CFFH: from a layman’s point of view, obviously, but her injuries were much more graphic, and her other symptoms were actually on page. i really appreciated this)

- oh my godddd sloane and dain.

- i feel like the bond fuckery is vi’s second signet ???? i ALSO feel like it’s sexy

- DAXTON

- PAPA SORRENGAIL HAS A MAIDEN NAME

- also bodhi TOTALLY has a second signet that little LIAR i wonder if he’s an inntinnsic too or smth.

- god imagine bodhi has resurrection

- im trying to be normal but i feel like its insane we’re just now learning where violets family is from idk!!!

- why is dain sweet in this idk also this happened earlier but vi’s dad teaching him languages FOR violet makes me want to cry

- im so fucking proud of violet holy crap

- is violet ??? unnbrian????

31-40

- FOREHEAD TAT LIKE THEOPHANIE!!!!

- violet absolutely can wield there im calling it rn shawty is MAGICAL (CFFH: i guess maybe it’s her touched by dunne ??? thing ??? and she’s somehow ??? half god ????)

- god xaden and dain love her so much

- why does rebecca never let me see xaden do her wraps for her i want to seeeeee

- they’re all in couple pairs so obviously dain and garrick are fucking next (CFFH: this was a joke but tbh…i could be convinced idk)

- god so timing wise DID papa sorrengail meet xaden’s mom !/!:!3&3’ejd (CFFH: i don’t think so ??? but maybe ???)

- not sure my thoughts on the name talia (CFFH: this is bc i picture my bestie Thalia Grace)

- the mommy issues are churning my stomach

- i loooooove aaric holy

- dude i totally thought ridoc was dead

- babe! this isn’t you!

- oh my god ?????? i was NOT expecting violet to give them the old kazzledazzle (CFFH: this is another six of crows reference in which Kaz uses someone’s child as leverage by implying that he’ll kill them, basically, except Kaz is on page morally gray. in THIS book violet is, but i don’t think she had been before now)

- this is genuinely honest to god NOT how i thought their relationship would go and it’s freaking me out

41-50

- you’re my soul JESUS what is he ON

- god poor andarna

- I KNEW HE WAS AN ARIES AND NOT A PICSES I KNEWWWW ITTTT

- she wrote him a letter 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

- i will say i’ve been wondering if the venin effects xaden experiences are more of a ptsd metaphor than anything

- is cuir trans bc i totes thought she was a woman

- ….it would be a shame to kill my last living relative….

- god the adaptations to the running landing mean so much to me im so proud of her

- violet baby i love you to pieces

- you do some of your best work on that throne ���😭😭😭 (CFFH: the amount of callbacks in this book was very intriguing to me)

- WERE HOME VI ACT LIKE IT

- i was actually rlly against xaden telling anyone he was venin but it’s all gone surprisingly well

- if lindell and lewellen are xaden and liam’s gay foster dads….dont call don’t text

- shadow handcuffs………………..

- im a fan!

- god i did NOT expect that to be the route they took? with the sex ? (CFFH: i thought they were gonna handcuff XADEN. )

- she is absolutely having xaddys dreams but idk what the FUCK the cat one was

- IS XADENS THIRD SIGNET PROPHETIC DREAMS. (CFFH: im leaning towards venin mindfuckery but who knows)

51-end

- i am actually really enjoying tairn and adarna this read although id like a dragon punnet square

- violet is so venin. xaden IS power she says while she says SHE IS power mmmmm rebecca i know your secrets (CFFH: see yall after book 4 idk)

- hi who the fuck was the high priestess and why does it matter im so confused i can see the puzzle pieces and i am flipping the table

- also crack pot theory entered my head. if xaddy gets 3 signets then vi has to get 3 signets. tairn never says naolin he always says “the one who came before” what if…hear me out…somehow it was papa sorrengail???? and not naolin ??? at least not naolin the whole time so then she’s getting a third signet from tairn

- why the fuck did vi not listen to aaric in the first place mans clearly knows what he’s talking about (CFFH: #drama)

- okay is violet a demigod. is that what’s going on

- IS HER HAIR NOT ACTUALLY SILVER (CFFH: i feel like it has to be ????)

- okay wait im thinking about the dedication thing they said earlier -> lilith is sick -> they think fetus vi is going to die -> they ??? dedicate ??? her ??? to dunne ??? (CFFH: i still don’t know actually except she’s two and not a fetus? and it was just papa sorrengail. also i think they rode tairn there LMAO but maybe im insane)

- i cant get over garrick being a distance wielder i need to check on the immrick girlies (CFFH: immrick girlies i hope you’re well!!)

- god how are the irids involved in rsc ???

- i exist for tairn, but i live for xaden okay girl okayyyy

- god does she get to keep being an inntinnsic now ?????

- THRILLED about her sleeping in xadens clothes

- were past the break up stage he’s sooooo real i love him

- core. memory. (CFFH: this is the biggest sin rebecca’s committed anachronism wise my god)

- god DID they get secret married ????

- god when they said bring your brother and i thought she meant liam was being resurrected i actually started to enter cardiac arrest (CFFH: am i the only one 😔)

- is bodhi actually his secret brother and garrick knows and we don’t because what the fuck (CFFH: i guess it could just be vibes?)

- my heart is not in my chest cavity after the liam business

- COLONEL DAXTONS GUIDE TO EXCELLING IN THE SCRIBE QUADRANT!!!!!

- i knew that was how it was going to go purely from alli’s take the second they said they had mira i was like reciting the sitq ending (CFFH: obviously i was slightly wrong but still! this is controversial but the fact that she let everyone were close to (mira/ridoc) live and only killed off tertiary characters kind of undercut the experience for me idk!)

- oh my god dain and sloane 🥹

- come back to me/only ever you

- DUKE OF ANGST

- is garrick’s distance wielding how they dealt with the fuck ass trips to aretia that didn’t work with the timeline bc that’s brilliant actually god damnit

- the bullshit about being everywhere at once means something i can feel it

- RHIANNON?????

- cannot believe that line is feirge

- hi so fun fact i don’t think jm meant to read for this many hours straight i feel like im locked in a trance

- THE ONLY PERSON I TRULY LOVE ???? ABOUT QUINN??? IMOGEN ???

- what on earth is imogen’s second signet bc i don’t think that’s how fire wielding works ????

- i cannot believe the marked ones all have second signets what the ever loving fuck

- i feel like quinn’s death was just not that impactful however imogen saying her mom and sister will know who she is made me tear up jesus

This is where I stopped taking notes!! I’m SO confused about the ending. To be quite honest, I think I’ll reblog this with my thoughts on the ending after I’ve re read it, because I’m LOST. What did Xaden show Sgaeyl ???? Who turned venin with him, because I thought Bodhi but maybe Garrick but maybe both??? how DARE rebecca now show me the riorgail wedding ?/??2?3?3$33&:! WHO does he have a DEAL with???

misc thought that didn’t make it up there:

- i LOVE how she handled Sawyer’s amputation and rehab.

[cosmicalily]

"written by the aces" - a mini series by @cosmicalily. view series masterlist, and outline here

4. "i've loved you for so long" | hwang hyunjin x fem!reader

You're taking me back, babe, to where it all started, wearing your hair up in your New York apartment, I swear, I've loved you for so long, I'd do it again and again and again and again, baby

author's note: okay so fun fact the left photo in this header is actually a pic of a picnic i went on with my friend that i took off my pinterest (ee if you wanna look at it here's the link! my pinterest is my pride and joy). i've had this fic in my drafts for ages, i adore this song and it feels SO undeniably hyunjin, i hope you enjoy!!

There were always questions as to how a broke artist afforded an apartment in New York City.

You had reasons. You worked almost every possible hour outside of the studio at a local coffee shop, and had sold several of your favourite possessions, including your prized guitar handed down from your mother. You worked hard for what you had, and you appreciated it more so that way.

That’s always how it had been. You worked hard enough for something, you’d eventually get there.

Hwang Hyunjin came from a wealthier background and also lived in an apartment in New York City, albeit much more beautiful than yours. He was beautiful, and not in any way snobby as you’d expect. He felt very deeply, and translated it into his artwork. 

He knew that if he wanted something, he’d get it, reasonably quickly. But he didn’t like things that way. 

He loved the anticipation, the slow burn, the pining and wishing and hoping, which was exactly how he felt about you.

He didn’t want his own expensive personal studio. He used the local art space, which was available to rent for a few hours each day. That was where he first saw you. All of you.

You and your posture that gave you back aches when you sat sketching for too long, the way you bit your lip when you were deep in thought, your habit of tucking your hair behind your ears only for it to flop forward again within the next few seconds. He was fascinated by you, but he preferred admiring from a distance for the moment. He didn’t want to push forward or scare you away.

You thought he was one of the prettiest people you’d seen. He seemed so comfortable with his masculinity that he wasn’t afraid to step into his feminine side, wearing his hair a little longer, dressing a little more form-fitting. His lips were plush and sometimes scarred from where he nibbled on them, and he had brown eyes, so dark yet so warm, as if they’d melt you if you stared into them for a little too long.

It wasn’t as if you ever shared a conversation before he left New York. Even though you spent a lot of time together, it was comfortable silence. You sat, on opposite ends of the studio, working on your projects, trying to avoid catching each others eyes. One time though, when you walked past to go wash your paintbrush, you accidentally brushed against him, and he noticed.

The way your cheeks flushed, and your small smile.

Hwang Hyunjin didn’t expect his life to bring him back to New York City, although perhaps a part of him had always hoped it would.

He’d spent years travelling Europe, visiting art galleries and staying in beautiful apartments and villas, swimming in the ocean in the summer and taking photos of the mountains in the winter. He was inspired constantly, and filled his life with art, food, gorgeous views and wine.

He’d gotten to a point in his life where it was expected he would be married, or at least have entered a long-term relationship. Although he met some of the prettiest people he’d ever seen, he never pursued further than dinner and a kiss on the cheek. 

He thought about you, and the way your cheeks flushed, and your small smile.

Your hair, piled up on your head in a way that was not at all structurally sound, letting fronds flop into your eyes and around your neck and collarbone.

He returned to New York a little while after he’d stayed in Paris, and spent time looking for an apartment. He’d been connected with a real estate agent, one that sold high-end apartments uptown. He decided to walk up instead of catching a taxi, and whilst walking past the studio where you’d first seen each other, he saw an advert in the window.

You were looking for a roommate, and applications were due by 5pm.

You stood on the other side of the apartment, your hair pulled up with a piece of blue-and-white gingham ribbon, taken off the wrapping of the book Hyunjin had bought you for your birthday. You wore a long denim skirt and pale yellow bralette, with lace around the edges and a soft pattern of tiny lemons across it, with one of Hyunjin’s white linen shirts over the top, unbuttoned and blowing in the wind that came through the opened window in the kitchen.

Hyunjin lay still in bed, flat on his stomach, admiring you from afar the way he always did. Even after two years, where all he’d done was live, breathe and love you, there were moments where he liked to remember how he’d fallen for you in the first place.

There were also moments where he wanted to be as close to you as possible. He shifted off the bed and walked over, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his face into your hair.

“Did you want to go out today?” he mumbled into your hair. “I feel bad that we stayed at home all day again; there’s not much point to weekends if we don’t do anything, is there?”

You looked up at him. “I didn’t really want to. I prefer being at home, anyway.”

“Good, because I didn’t want to either,” he smiled, pressing a kiss onto your shoulder. “Even though we don’t talk all the time…”

“I like our silence. We don’t feel like we have to say anything,” you finished, turning yourself around from where you were facing the kitchen bench and placing your arms around his waist. He shifted his to your shoulders, and pulled you in close, so you were flush against his chest.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” Hyunjin murmured, his forehead against yours, noses touching.

“You don’t just say it,” you whispered. “You show it. And that’s even more beautiful, I think.”

“I’ve loved you since I first saw you. And I know that you know, but I just want to remind you, that you’re what I’ve dreamed of for so long, and what I’ve wanted without realising.”

“You talk a lot sometimes, my love.”

“I mean everything I say. I like to talk about you. I like to talk to you.”

You cupped his face with your hands and brought your lips to his.

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff @starsinagreenskyxx @ashtxrie @pigeonseatmayo @modesttiger @woozarts - comment, dm or send an ask to be added!

[larluce]

First I wanted to say hello and tell you that I love your works. They really have me on the edge of my seat every time I read them.

Second. Can you imagine that Merlin, in some new alternative universe, for some reason, upon arriving in Camelot, arrives with a baby? It's all still a Merthur ending, it should be noted.

Like, we know that Merlin was already a bit of an outcast in the village for the reason that nobody knew who his father was and even more so because strange things were always happening around him.

The situation gets much worse when he finds a crying baby in the middle of a burnt tent near the village.

Will and his mother try to help him for a while, but with the visits of the evildoers to the village becoming more and more frequent, Merlin and the baby have no choice but to go to Camelot.

And so the adventures begin!

Only now Arthur wonders if they can make crowns for babies, because he is willing to marry Merlin and legally adopt the baby as his own.

And Morgana… well, she and Gwen enjoy dressing up the baby in all the clothes from her old dolls. Not to mention that she notices that by taking naps with the baby she no longer has nightmares.

The knights become, in some way or another, glorified nannies. The servants and maids must chase after a baby who never stops causing mischief in the castle.

And Merlin just wants to survive colic season and potty train his baby… and everything would be easier if there weren't a murderer or a resentful wizard trying to kill Arthur every 3 minutes.

First, thank you so much for the compliments! 🥹🤧❤️

About the concept. I love it! I don't think going to Camelot to live would be Merlin or Hunith's first option for a baby that can't control their magic at all. So I firmly believe Hunith would send Merlin with the baby there so Gaius can take them to a druid camp so they could take refuge there.

The problem is, before Gaius can do so, Merlin is made the prince's personal manservant. Merlin can't exactly deny the king and he does need the money to take care of his baby so he decides to stay to Gaius dismay. Gaius and Merlin try to keep the baby hided at first so they take turns taking care of her (in my mind is a her) in Gaius' tower in secret. It works out for some weeks but then the plague (Nimueh's Afanc) happens and Arthur searches Gaius' tower.

Arthur: (enters Merlin's room) Merlin: (running inside) Arthur, wait! Baby: (sitting on the bed, looks up at Arthur and gives a cute giggle) Arthur: (Turns to Merlin slowly) Merlin? Merlin: Yeah? 😅 Arthur: Why is there a baby in your bed? Merlin: (in panic, shouts the first thing that comes to his mind) She is mine! Arthur: ... Arthur: What? 😧 Merlin: (repeats more quietly but more firmly) She is mine. (runs to hold her up and embraces her) She is my daugther. Arthur: (thinking) But... but he is so young. (says) Where's the mother? Merlin: (with pain as he remembers the burnt tent) She passed away. Arthur: (his heart hurting for Merlin) I'm so sorry. But Gods Merlin, why didn't you tell me? I wouldn't have given you so many chores if I knew... (thinking) And I almost sacked you. I almost sacked a single father with a baby in arms! (says) And why the hell are you hiding her? Merlin: I... wasn't sure if I could keep her. Arthur: Of course you can keep her! What kind of master do you think I am? Knight x: (from outside) Sire? Arthur: (shouts back) In a minute! (to Merlin) What's her name? Merlin: Brigitta. Arthur: (repeats softly and smiles) Brigitta.

From then on, Arthur doesn't give Merlin as many chores and raises his salary considerably. And then everybody else finds out about Briggitta and go "I've only met Brigitta for a day and a half, but if anything happened to her, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself".

Some events would change, obviously, and some would remain the same but with a new perspective. I don't think Merlin would have time to make Lancelot a fake seal, for example, having to look after Brigitta and all. I can imagine Lancelot becoming Brigitta's first unnofficial babysiter, then Arthur makes it official so poor Lancelot has a salary and a place to stay in Camelot. The Poisoned Chalice episode would remain the same, except Arthur would be more in panic mode and desperate because MERLIN HAS A DAUGHTER! BRIGITTA CAN'T LOSE HER FATHER TOO!

I think it would be The Beginning of the End where Arthur and Morgana find out about Brigitta's magic and Merlin's magic. Not because they discovered her, surprisingly, but Merlin decided to tell them all the truth about her and himself after seeing how they saved Mordred. Also, since Merlin saw Brigitta's possible future in Mordred, he wants to leave Camelot too to keep her safe. Screw all what the dragon told him about destiny, his daugther comes first.

So Merlin and Brigitta are about to leave with Mordred with the druids. They are having a heartfelt goodbye with Arthur, who scorted them there, but then...

Brigitta: (cries very loudly in Merlin's arms and the earth starts shaking a bit) Merlin: I know, I know, baby, but we have to go. Brigitta: (cries more loudly and extends her little arms to Arthur) Arthur: (barely containing his tears) I'll miss you too, Biddy. But this is the best for you- Brigitta: ATHU! 😭 Arthur: (open his eyes wide) What did she just said? Brigitta: (still crying and making grabby hands at him) ATHU, ATHU, ATHU! 😭 Arthur: (tears roll down his eyes) She said my name... Merlin, she said my name! (grinning widely) Let me hold her one more time, please! Merlin: (gives Brigitta to Arthur) Druid leader: (urgently) We need to leave now! Merlin: (looking at Arthur and Brigitta tenderly and smiles) Leave, we'll stay.

I also can imagine Nimueh going after Brigitta's life instead of Hunith, and having to confront not only a very furious Merlin, but a feral protective prince.

That's how far my imagination can go. If you have any ideas of how Merlin and Arthur or other character would act in other episodes now with Brigitta in the equation, share it in the comments or reblogs. I'll be happy to read you 🥰

[cosyvelvetorchid]

You want a little bucktommy oneshot that’ll make you cry?

I was watching the episode of SWAT where Deac gives Annie ‘The Letter’ and it sparked an idea. I’ve only given it a cursory edit so apologies if there’s any mistakes.

Anyway, grab your tissues and enjoy!

🩶

Read on Ao3 or below.

**********

The Letter

Rating: G

W/C: 2,192

Summary:

Buck decides it’s time to give Tommy back his things. He add The Letter to the box he had stashed in his locker in case something happens to him.

It’s not what Tommy expects.

**********

Buck stood outside Tommy’s door with the box in hands. The box of Tommy’s things.

The first month after the breakup he couldn’t touch any of Tommys things, let alone remove them. To remove them would be to remove Tommy from his life and he was not ready to do that.

The second month it hurt too much to see his toothbrush on the bathroom shelf, or his underwear mixed in with Bucks in the drawer. He wasn’t ready to get rid of everything yet but he couldn’t stand the pain radiating through him but the constant reminders of him everyday. So he’d boxed everything up and shoved the box into his closet hoping they he’d forget about it.

The third month he was still in pain but managing. Mostly by either working or baking. Everybody was definitely getting sick of eating his cakes or breads or pies but it wasn’t like he was using drugs or alcohol to—he’d found a healthy outlet. If you don’t count the sugar. Still, when he saw Tommy for the first time since the breakup up at a scene they were both on, it felt like another lightning bolt to his heart.

He stood staring at his former boyfriend; his boots glued to the ground, not being able to remove. Tommy eventually tuned and caught his eye and of all the ways Tommy could have reacted in that moment, he chose the one that broke Bucks heart even more.

He walked away.

Buck cried himself to sleep that night. He hadn’t done that since a month after they broke up. But in the morning when he woke up he decided he’d had enough. Tommy didn’t want him anymore—he’d made that clear. Buck needed to move on and he couldn’t until he’d completely removed Tommy from his life.

He removed the box from his closet and took it to his car, leaving it in the trunk while on shift. When his shift was done he’d take the letter hidden in his locker and add it to the box before dropping it at Tommys house.

The Letter. It was something that first responders did in the event they never made it home. They’d write a letter to a loved one or one’s, and keep it in their locker just in case.

Buck previously had one in his locker from about a year into being a firefighter, addressed to Maddie. But recently, after hearing of the death of somebody at another station he realised he needed to update it now that Maddie was happily married and had a beautiful daughter.

It was then that he’d thought about Tommy and the idea of dying without Tommy knowing how he felt about him wasn’t even a question.

It was supposed to be read in the event of his death but what was the point now? He’d chosen to leave Buck so there was no need for him to keep it. If he was honest he didn’t really know why he was giving the letter to Tommy now—it just somehow felt like the right thing to do.

So, he left the box on Tommys porch—hidden to the side so no passers by could see it—and left.

*****

Tommy arrived back home from a tiring 48 hour shift. He’d spent most of it doing ground work at a large factory fire. God he hated ground work. On top of that he’d seen Evan yesterday and his heart nearly tore itself out of his chest.

He wanted to talk to him. He wanted to beg him for forgiveness. He wanted to scream how sorry he was. But he couldn’t move. It hurt too much. In the end he had to use all of his strength to walk away. Again.

He lugged himself out of his truck and up the steps of his porch. Something caught his eye and he spotted a box at the far end of his porch. He looked up and down the street cautiously but didn’t see anybody hanging around.

He lifted the lid and immediately recognised Evan’s handwriting on an envelope placed on top of a familiar blue hoodie.

Evan had delivered his things back.

Emotion bit at his throat and he struggled to hold it down. He picked up the box and took it inside, dropping it onto the sofa. He picked up the envelope and ran his fingertips over the familiar handwriting, remembering when he’d first seen it and teased Evan about it.

He put the envelope back down and walked over to the cabinet in the corner to pull out a bottle of whiskey. He down the first glass for Dutch courage and poured a second one before sitting back down and once again picking up the envelope.

He was fairly certain what it was—a letter telling him what a piece shit he was for breaking up with Evan. How much of a coward he was and how Evan had regretted ever dating him.

He should probably burn it without reading it but in a pathetic act of self hate he forced himself to open it and began reading.

“Dear Tommy,

Obviously I don’t need to explain what this letter is for and why you’re receiving it. To be honest I’m not really sure what to write so I’m just going to put pen to paper and hope for the best (and hope to you can read my “chicken scratches.”)”

“Oh my god.” He said out loud realising what this letter was. It was The Letter. The one that most first responders had. He’d never written one for Evan—not because he didn’t want to, but because he was scared that writing one would somehow jinx their relationship. The irony was not lost on him, now.

He continued reading.

“I’m writing this a week before our six month anniversary, although I’m not sure that’s a thing you celebrate? We haven’t talked about it. We haven’t talked about a lot I suppose. I don’t know if it’s because we’re caught up in the newness of us or we’re both scared to open up.

For me I am a little scared. I’ve had so many people in my life leave me that I tend to cling on to relationships that aren’t working out of fear they’ll be another person who leaves. But not with you. For the first time in my life I don’t feel like I’m clinging.

Being with you is the easiest it’s ever been with anybody. You fit so perfectly into my heart it’s as though there was already a space in there waiting for you to fill. My whole life I’ve always felt like something was missing and when you kissed me that first time in my kitchen I thought the thing that was missing was my sexuality. But I was wrong. I think the thing that was missing was you.

You’re the most incredible man I have ever met, Tommy. And every day I look at you and I am in awe. How somebody so beautiful could want me is something I don’t think I’ll ever understand. I’m not naive—I know there are things you don’t talk about, things from your past, I see it in your eyes sometimes or when a subject comes up and you quickly change it. I hope that one day you’ll feel safe enough with me to talk about those things.

Hope? I should probably have said “hoped” given that I’m likely dead right about now. Whatever is the right word I want you to know that I have no intentions of going anywhere, no matter what you tell (told?) me.

You flew into my life LITERALLY, and turned it upside down in the best way. You once asked me why I liked you calling me Evan and I think I gave a half hearted response of I just like how you say it. And while that is the truth (seriously it’s hot as hell!) it’s not just that. It’s that for the first time in my life somebody is saying my name without following it up with criticism or derision. You speak it so purely and lovingly. Like it brings you joy. I’ve never had that before.

I’ve never had somebody make me feel so seen or so wanted. You let me yap for hours about stupid things and never make me feel like I’m annoying you. You tease me but always with affection. Even when you’re mad at me you never try to intentionally make me feel bad. You make me feel like being me, being Evan Buckley, is enough.

But we can’t ignore the big dead elephant in the room. I’m dead and you’re reading this almost like a ghost wrote it which thinking about that is actually kind of creepy. Anyway, I better stop writing soon before this ends up stupidly long.

Tommy, I am so insanely in love with you I don’t know what to do with it half the time. Who you are, how you look at me, the beautiful things you say to me, those gorgeous blue eyes and those wrinkles around them that I adore so much. If I could have stayed and lived the rest of my life loving you, just know that I would have done it in a heart beat. You were it for me. Not an infatuation or some shiny knew toy after realising my sexuality.

You were my whole heart and I’m so, so sorry that I couldn’t stay longer on earth to tell you that. But hey, maybe by the time you’ve read this in the future I would have already told you in person how much I love you.

I really have to go now. We’re decorating the station for Halloween this year and I’ve seen a super cool fake corpse at a prop house down the street so I need to pick it up.

I love you so much, Tommy. You made my life infinitely better while I was here and if I made you half as happy as you made me then it was worth it.

Love,

Your Evan.”

Tommy broke down in choked sobs.

*****

Buck was finally drifting off to sleep. He was exhausted. His 12 hour shift and then the emotional weight of getting rid of the last of Tommy from his life had taken its toll.

A knock at the door echoed throughout the loft. Buck sighed in annoyance—he just wanted to sleep. He threw off the covers and padded down the stairs, grabbing some sweatpants on the way and quickly slipping them on before opening the door.

His heart jolted in his chest at the sight of Tommy standing there. His eyes red and raw, and his face puffy. He looked away—he couldn’t bear to see Tommy like this. Or see him at all if he was honest.

“I take it you’re here to drop off my stuff?” He said to the ground. When he didn’t get a response he looked up. That’s when he noticed the letter in Tommys hand.

“Did.. did you-“ Tommy couldn’t get words out. His voice was raw and hoarse and barely there. He took a shaking breath. “You loved me?”

His face gave away how much he couldn’t believe what he’d read. As though it were a ridiculous notion that he could be loved.

Buck wanted to deny it. God, he wanted to tell him no; that he didn’t mean it; that it was past Buck who’d written it and current Buck didn’t feel the same anymore.

But that would be a lie.

The love he had for Tommy hadn’t diminished in the slightest in the last 3 months. He’d wished it had—it would have made getting over him a lot easier. But it hadn’t. Tommy was wrapped around his heart and permanently etched into his bones.

He tried so hard to keep himself together but it was fruitless. The tears fell from his eyes as quick as they’d gathered in his waterline. His whole jaw and chin shook as he spoke.

“I never stopped.”

Tommy let out a loud sob as he threw himself forward wrapping his arms around Evan. His Evan. Buck couldn’t stop the matching sob from leaving his own throat as Tommy peppered his face with kisses in between words.

“I love you.. so much.. I’m sorry.. I’m so… so sorry.. I love you.. I love you.. I love you..”

Finally his lips met Bucks. The kiss was wet with tears and probably snot, too, but neither cared.

They clung to each other and cried. All of the emotion they’d both felt over the last few months pouring out of them raw and unfiltered.

They had a long road ahead of them to get things back on track. A lot of talking, probably some therapy and hard work from Tommy to build Evan’s trust in him back up.

But all of that could wait until tomorrow. Right now all they needed was to hold each other. To remember how safe the other’s arms felt around them.

The future could never be promised, but they will both give everything to try.

[chvoswxtch]

Romcom - with Hotch ? 👀🫶🏼

Girl i’ve been waiting for the right time for you to hopefully take this and do your thing with it cuz you’re amazing. I know it’s specific and long so pls feel free to do with it what you like. Also I’m not sure it fits your movie night theme, so then maybe just keep it for when you maybe do wanna write it???? Here it is, whatever….

K so like hotch and reader are like couple goals, been married long, working through everything and are just downright adorable BUT THEN hotch nearly dies…like for real gets shot in the stomach or something - something real scary. And aaaaall the time he’s mumbleling stuff, reassuringly or scared like: you cant tell my wife she’ll end me or tell her I’m fine, gonna be home for dinner…

But maybe she’s there and she’s trying her hardest to make everybody move, but Morgan is just not having it, making her stay tf back…

When she finally sees him she’s s c a r e d…so terrified of might having actually lost him, of it happening again cuz he will be in these situations again and who is she if not supportive and understanding…just scared and hopelessly in love. bye.

honey you essentially just wrote a whole ass masterpiece on your own

but you asked for my dramatic flair & I am nothing if not a dramatic bitch that lives for the ✨ t h e a t r e ✨

headcannon below the cut

if i stay starring aaron hotchner

derek knew you would physically fist fight him in the middle of that hospital hallway if he even dared to try and keep you out of hotch's room. he kept trying to reason with you, that you wouldn't wanna see him in that state, but you were not in a state of mind to be reasoned with

when you got the call from rossi that your husband was in the hospital, that familiar stone of dread sank in your stomach, nearly sending you through the floor. he didn't say what had happened, not over the phone, but you could hear the fear in his voice, which terrified you

the solemn faces of his team didn't help ease your anxiety, and the grisly details sent your nervous system into a full on meltdown. you could only pick up bits and pieces of what the surgeon explained

gunshot. loss of blood. critical condition. touch and go.

being in the bau was a dangerous job, and hotch had gotten hurt a few times over the course of your marriage, but it had never been this bad

nothing could've prepared you for the sight of hotch bruised and bloodied, laying in a hospital bed, connected to a bunch of wires that were keeping him alive, with an oxygen tube in his nose to help his weakened lungs do the most basic of human subconscious functions

panic, fear, anger, hopelessness, desperation, sadness; all of these emotions were crashing over each other like perilous tides and you were drowning beneath their tenacity

hotch was the strongest person you knew, physically and mentally. he was your rock. to see him reduced to something so fragile and broken shattered something within you. it wasn't like you were foolish enough to think your husband was invincible, but he was smart and cautious, he knew what he was doing. but today reminded you just how human he was

all you could do was sit there by his side and hold his hand while you fluctuated from silent weeping to full fledged sobbing. it didn't feel like enough, but it was all you could do. you couldn't help but replay this morning over and over in your head, analyzing every frame. had you told him you loved him? had you kissed him before he left? had you savored the few seconds before he walked out the door, not knowing that he might not walk back through it?

"don't tell my wife."

you'd been sitting there for what felt like an eternity in silence with nothing but the haunting background noise of beeping machines and chatter in the hallway. it was so faint, you almost didn't hear it. hotch still looked like he was sleeping, and you weren't sure if you'd imagined it or not

"what?"

you leaned in a little closer, and when he let out a deep exhale, the first sign of life you'd seen since you stepped into this room, you almost burst into tears

"don't tell my wife."

his speech was slightly slurred as he mumbled, and you weren't sure if it was due to the blood loss or the anesthesia that was wearing off from surgery

"why not?"

he was so out of it he didn't even seem to recognize your voice

"because she'll kick my ass."

you couldn't stop the laugh that escaped your lips at that, covering your mouth with your hand while the most imperceptible of a smile tugged at the edge of his lips

"I promised i'd be home for dinner."

giving his hand a gentle squeeze, you sniffled and wiped at your damp cheeks with a sad smile

"i'm sure she'll understand if you're a little late."

a sound that was a cross between a snort and a scoff left hotch as one of his thick dark brows subtly arched

"you haven't met my wife."

brushing your thumb over the back of his hand, you reached out with your other to gently push his hair back

"maybe this is a cosmic sign it's time for a vacation."

in the midst of gently carding your fingers through his hair, the next words that left his lips caught you off guard and made you go still

"maybe it's time to retire."

a full minute of silence passed, and then slowly, hotch's eyes opened, and as if drawn by some invisible magnetic force, the immediately found you

the pressure of him squeezing your hand, a silent gesture of not just reassurance, but also his strength returning, had tears welling up in your eyes all over again

hotch slowly turned his head to look at you, his eyes wandering over your face like he was trying to memorize every detail, and then a gentle but weak smile graced his mouth

"I won't be late for dinner ever again, honey."

I made myself emotional and now i'm gonna go cry excuse me

[leiatalon]

The Eternal Library Romance Character Descriptions:

Part of the writing process is getting to know the characters as the story progresses. I let my characters lead the way. It's one of my favorite parts of being an author.

I've been painting in more details of the game and glossary, and wanted to collect the romance character (RO) descriptions here for you.

Expanded descriptions for the ROs in The Eternal Library:

COLLIN has broad shoulders and green eyes that show bits of gold like sunshine peeking through dense forest. His dark-brown hair is seldom tamed, wild and wind-blown much of the time. Favorite activities are sparring, reading, and hunting in the forests of Crost.

The third-eldest prince, he's a scholar, warrior, and reformed trickster. The least-favorite son, he avoids his father when at all possible, until responsibility is thrust upon him. Collin needs your help to save the kingdom. He's hungry for a relationship with someone who can take him as he is: confused, with insufficient magic and generations of guilt on his shoulders as the descendant of a long line of tyrants.

DORIAN's indigo eyes shimmer with silver. Dragon ink tattoos wind around his wrists, with the hint of more beneath his collar. He wears his dark hair long, but doesn't hide the subtle point of his ears that mark him as Fae.

Bonded with a dragon, his mission is to represent the Kitherin in Minare's court and keep Princess Khanna safe until she and La'rast can be married. Dorian becomes fast friends with Prince Collin, and is the first Fae to openly walk the halls of Minare's castle in centuries.

SEVITAS is stocky and cocky with eyes the color of dark whiskey and the skills to back up his confidence. His face boasts several scars: one across his left eyebrow, one on the same cheek, and another on his chin, showing gray in his otherwise dark beard. His biceps bulge beneath his tunic. So many weapons hang off his frame you're hard pressed to count them all, but the whip clipped to his belt is impossible to miss. Seasoned warrior.

As royalty from Forellia, ANGELINA's sky-blue eyes and golden hair come from Fae blood in her ancestry. She might not have magic, but she can escape nearly anything and look elegant doing so.

Second-eldest princess of Forellia. Cunning wordsmith. Quiet rebel. Kind and witty, she craves authenticity but finds it lacking in most people in her life. Spends more time with her horse than with humans.

MARIENNA is tall and lean with sharp eyes, cropped black hair, and smooth golden-brown skin. She carries short swords and a collection of knives.

Sharp-eyed soldier. A battle-wise warrior with experience as a spy. Secretly a sculptor, though she hasn't shared her work with anyone yet.

GEMMA is petite and fiery. She has bright eyes: one green, one gray. Her sandy-brown hair is often swept up in a bun, but a few strands always escape to frame her heart-shaped face.

Friend and coworker. Castle staff, cleaning crew. Humble optimist. Loves to laugh. Has all the gossip. Once hurt and humiliated by Master Trent, she avoids him at all costs. Gemma has a subtle magic to her. Nurturing. Cheerful. Kind.

You can befriend all of these characters without engaging in romance.

This is a slow-burn romance with optional spice at the end.

This game is best played choosing a single RO for each playthrough. There is one polyamorous route with Collin and Dorian, but all other romances are monogamous and best enjoyed when you focus on one character at a time. ❤️

There will be more opportunities to spend time with each of the ROs as additional chapters are released!

Be sure to Subscribe to my Patreon! 👑 There is a free tier, so it costs nothing to become a member!

THE ETERNAL LIBRARY (Romantasy IF WIP)

What if Cinderella and the prince grew up together?

What if the king was the evil one?

What if the missing piece wasn’t a glass slipper, but ancient memories buried in your soul?

Play the ETERNAL LIBRARY DEMO for Free!

[miustrz]

TO NOT REGRET

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

PLOT: your best friend since childhood, would it mess up your relationship if you were to confess?

WORD COUNT: 1.4K

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

You felt so wrong. So messed up.

Everyone had warned you. They said having a guy best friend for so long would only end one way—you’d catch feelings for him. But you never believed it. You were married, after all. To the love of your life. Or so you thought.

He did everything for you. Everything to make you happy. You needed him, and he gave you that, without hesitation. But then one night, everything fell apart.

Your phone rang. It was Junho. In the middle of the night. Your eyes were heavy, but you picked up anyway, trying to keep quiet so you didn’t wake your husband.

“Hello? Junho, why are you calling me this late?” You rubbed your eyes, your voice thick with sleep. But on the other side, there was only quiet—then sniffles.

“Hey... Junho, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Do you want me to come to you?” Your voice shot up, the panic creeping in. Something wasn’t right.

“I... I need you. I don’t know what to do...” Junho’s voice was shaky, like he was breaking.

Your heart dropped. You could hear the desperation in his words. “Junho, where are you? What’s going on?” You stood up, looking over at your husband, still asleep in bed. For a moment, you just stared. But then you kissed his forehead, instinctively, and walked out of the room.

You grabbed your keys. The worry inside you was growing. “Junho, are you still there? Where are you? What happened?”

“I’m at the beach... at the dock we used to go to.”

You felt your pulse quicken. The dock? Why was he there, at that place? What was going on? But all you could think was, I need to be there for him.

You started the car and drove off into the night, unsure of what you’d find, but knowing you couldn’t leave him alone.

Your hands gripped the steering wheel as you followed the winding road to the beach. It was quiet now—Junho hadn’t said anything since his last words, but that heaviness hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable. You tried not to think too much about what you’d find when you got there. All you knew was that you had to be with him. He needed you.

The headlights of your car bounced off the sand as you finally reached the dock. You parked, your breath shallow. There, sitting alone in the dark, was Junho. His shoulders were slumped, his head down. He seemed so small, so fragile. In his hands, he was holding a crumpled paper, staring at it as if it were his only lifeline.

“Junho?” you called softly, stepping out of the car, your voice trembling.

At the sound of your voice, he slowly lifted his head. His eyes were red and puffy, tears still glistening on his lashes, and in that moment, it hit you. This wasn’t just about a late-night breakdown. This was something deeper.

Before you could take another step, Junho looked at you with such raw vulnerability that it made your heart ache. Without thinking, you rushed over to him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight, desperate hug.

“I’m here. I’m right here, Junho,” you whispered, trying to steady your breathing, but felt your own tears beginning to well up.

Junho didn’t pull away. He let you hold him, his body shaking slightly. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Finally, you pulled back slightly, cupping his face with your hands, looking at him with worried eyes.

“What’s going on? What’s making you feel like this?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, afraid of what you might hear.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he handed you the paper he had been clutching, his fingers brushing against yours in a fleeting touch. You unfolded it, your heart sinking when you saw the familiar handwriting. It was both of yours handwriting. From when you both were younger, back when everything felt so simple.

You read it aloud, your voice thick with emotion, “We’ll stay together forever. We’ll get married. We’ll have two dogs, and one baby girl…” You voice faltered, and the tears you’d been holding back came pouring down your face. “Junho… why are you showing me this?” you choked out, your hands trembling as you held the paper.

Junho swallowed hard, looking down at the sand between them. “Because I... I need you to know. I never stopped feeling this way about you, Y/n. I never stopped loving you.”

Your chest tightened, a wave of confusion and sorrow washing over her. You tried to speak, but the words got caught in your throat.

“I didn’t mean to ruin anything,” Junho continued, his voice quieter now, but still laced with raw honesty. “I’ve watched you be happy with him, and I didn’t want to mess that up. I didn’t want to be the one who told you this and make you question everything. But I can’t keep pretending that this—” He gestured between them, his hand trembling, “—is nothing.”

Everything you thought you knew, everything you had felt in your heart, was suddenly unraveling before you. “Junho… I—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head, trying to process his confession, his words.

Junho looked at you with that same broken expression. “I don’t want to make you choose. I just... I need you to know how I feel. And if that means letting you go, then I’ll let you go. I’ll stay in the background, like I’ve always done.”

But you couldn’t even think about that. You couldn’t think about choosing. How could you, when everything inside you felt torn between loyalty and this pull to Junho that you had been running from for so long?

“Junho, I... I don’t know what to say,” you whispered, your heart shattering. “I’m married. I love him. I love my life with him. But you… You’re a part of me, too. I never thought—” your voice cracked, “I never thought you felt this way.”

Junho nodded, his face unreadable. “I never wanted to make things harder for you. But I also couldn’t live in the shadow of what we used to be without telling you.”

You stared out at the water. “What are we supposed to do now?” you murmured, tears slipping down your face, feeling like the weight of everything was too much to bear.

For a long time, Junho didn’t answer. He just sat there, beside you, the two of you facing the endless horizon, lost in the silence between them.

Junho shifted beside you, his eyes still on the sand, and for a moment, it felt like time had stopped. Neither of you spoke, as if you were both trying to piece together everything that had been said, everything that had been hidden for so long.

And then, without a word, Junho turned to you. He reached out, his fingers brushing gently along your cheek, wiping away the tears you hadn't even realized had fallen. His touch felt like fire, soft and burning at the same time. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding as he slowly leaned in.

Before you could process it, Junho’s lips were on yours. It was tender at first, as if testing the waters, as if asking for permission. You froze, your mind screaming at you to pull away, to stop this from happening. But then you felt it—the warmth of him, the closeness, the years of friendship and longing that suddenly rushed forward all at once. Your hands moved on their own, reaching up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper into the kiss.

Junho’s lips were desperate now, as if he had been waiting for this moment, this feeling. And you, lost in the emotions, lost in everything that was happening—responded just as fervently.

When you both finally broke apart, both breathless, Junho’s eyes were filled with something you couldn’t quite describe. “I don’t regret it,” he said softly, his voice hoarse.

Your heart hammered in yourchest. You could barely process the words, but in that moment, you didn’t need to. You were overwhelmed, but in the best possible way.

For a split second, you just stared at him, your lips still tingling from the kiss, your mind racing with a thousand questions. And then, before you could stop yourself, you leaned in again, this time more certain. You kissed him back, slowly, but with a deeper hunger, as if the kiss itself was an apology, a confession, and an answer all at once.

When you both pulled away again, you looked at him, your eyes filled with emotion. You didn’t regret it either.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like you were finally being honest with yourself.

[issilya]

I hate answering this because it's something I really go back and forth on when it comes to Esha.

Like, she's a crow. An alienage elf with a fucking death wish. She probably doesn't see a reality where she doesn't die young.

It's not that she wants to die - fuck no she doesn't! Before death takes her, she will break her fingers clawing out of its grasp.

But. She's a pessimistic realist, if that makes sense. She doesn't allow herself to dream of the future, because the future is unsure and cannot be trusted. She accepts the reality she is in - the reality of being Viago's bloodhound. The reality of having to cheat death on the regular. She's fearless, but part that fearlessness on the job? It's not being resigned to her fate. It comes from the fact that she's afraid of being alive. She's afraid of the future. She's afraid to dream. She's afraid of the good times because the good times always end and hurt so fucking much when they do. So it's easier to not have them. Just resign herself to the here and now.

And then, despite all of that, she actually does enjoy what she is. She enjoys the thrill like the adrenaline junkie she is. And she's aware of it.

So it's not that she's really *opposed* to getting married. But she's also not really that into it. She never thinks it's something that happens to her, period. That's it, move on.

If that ever comes up between her and Lucanis, she goes full panic and full denial mode. Like, what do you mean? She's an alienage elf. He's the goddamned First Talon. Doesn't matter if they killed gods, there is a gap between them that makes this difficult. Uncomfortable.

And then it means actually committing to something long term. It means looking to the future. It means dreaming. And that's not something she ever allows herself to do.

All that not even taking into the account what it would mean politically. She's a de Riva, not a Dellamorte, she will not become a Dellamorte regardless of how devoted she may be. Names are who you are and what shapes you, and she would not change hers. It would be like erasing her identity. And then, what does it mean for the First Talon to marry someone who will not give him children? Because even if she ever wanted to, she can't. Does she want to? Eh, probably not, but it's not like she ever considered it knowing she can't anyway. It doesn't bother her, but it does carry weight once *marriage* is a question. Like, do you think Caterina doesn't care about having her bloodline continue? Because I'm sure she does and family pressure is helluva drug (poor Lucanis).

So I think the answer to that is... I don't know. I think she *would* get married, but it would require a lot of work to break down all the walls and shatter all the fears she has.

But once she's okay with it - oof, then there's issues about Andrastian rites vs elvish rites and all that shit. She's not disconnected from her roots. Even after all that, she still sees is as something that's important. It's not about gods, fuck the gods - it's about the community. The rites that keep the community together, the history that gets carried. She understands that, and she's not willing to just play the part of an Andastrian wife. What does that even mean for these two? How Andrastian is Lucanis, anyway?

Jokingly, maybe they almost break up over this and then decide to elope. Have a ship captain marry them because ship captains can do that. I have no idea. They're a tangled mess of opposites and conflicts and I love them. I'm not even sure they get a happy ending after all.

/edit

Yeah after considerations it's not about whether or not she wants it or how she wants it, if they get married, it would be Lucanis pulling some shit like asking her and then within 10 minutes having the ship's captain marry them, because if she has time to think, her brain will overload on panic - gotta get her while she's still in shock lmao

Hey, hope you all had a good weekend! Unfortunately, it’s Monday =/ Fortunately, it’s time for Rook Intro Hour! 🍀🌺🌼🌸

How it works: I ask you a question about your Rook(s) and you answer it with as much brevity or verbosity as you desire. You can do this whenever you want, and I’ll reblog it + add some comments! There’s no time limit— if you want to do the older ones, they are collected here! (The post is updated on Fridays!)

Today’s Question(s): Does your Rook want to get married to their LI(s)? Do they care about where? Is there a specific tradition/traditions they want to follow, when they do? Who would they invite? What would they wear?

Have fun & thanks for sharing!

[durgeapologist]

I'm confused, durge. Do you like Solrook or Solavellan? Your post bashing Solavellans contradicts your recent reblogs defending them. What are your actual thoughts on these ships? Because I cannot tell.

alright i feel like this needs to be said here and now. buckle up because this is long, and probably the only time i will be commenting on this ever again.

i do not hate the solavellan ship. i have stated many times across all my socials that i used to be a hardcore solavellan shipper. i am IN LOVE with my lavellan. i literally started playing the dragon age series because i heard about the betrayal in solas' dai romance, and i am a sucker for angst. i played through dao and da2 just to romance him with my lavellan in dai.

when dav came out, first day of release, i set my world state up to be solavellan. i redeemed him and sent her off to the fade with him. point blank.

however, even before i started shipping dreadrook, i was wary of solavellan FANS. not the ship, the FANS. i am a solas lover to the ends of the earth and back. i can get behind ANY ships that involve him. what i cannot, and will not ever, get behind is the absolute infantilization of both solas and lavellan that many solavellan shippers i have interacted with engage in.

i had to leave and the solasmancers subreddit because they bashed the fuck out of epler for having SANE and NORMAL takes on solas' villainous behavior. because: YES. solas is a VILLAIN. he is an ANTAGONIST. and for some reason, most of the solavellans i was friends/mutuals and most other VOCAL solavellans i saw refused to admit as much.

they baby solas, they baby their self-insert lavellans, and they romanticize the ship without acknowledging the (imo delicious) potentials for a tragic, toxic, and morally-grey partnership. they whiddle solas down to this abused, kicked, drowing puppy that must be saved- nay, can only be saved by their adoring, kind, never-angry-always-understanding lavellans.

i also dislike immensely the way rook gets dragged through the mud, killed off, belittled, bullied, etc. by some (not all) solavellans who cannot handle solas having insane chemistry with another character. because the chemistry between dreadrook is insane.

i could drone on for hours my issues with the solavellan fans that twist and bend the relationship dynamic between the two, but i won't. it's been regurgitated by so many people so many times, and i would be adding nothing new to the conversation.

my canon lavellan romanced solas and moved on to cullen after the events of trespasser. my canon lavellan would never leave her life behind in southern thedas to follow solas into the fade for eternity, especially not after he killed varric. if your lavellan would do that, then kudos to you! really! i am so thankful many solavellans have a way to get their happy endings! i did it the one time for the novelty, and never will again.

but i can't stand solavellans who can't admit to themselves that their pairing is just as toxic as (if not more than) the dreadrook pairing, and i doubly cannot stand solavellans that baby the fuck out of the pairing. these are two grown (pixelated) adults. they are not infants. their relationship is built on lies and deceit (again, delicious dynamic to me!) and it heavily annoys me when people cannot admit that.

THIS IS ALL TO SAY: i do not hate ALL solavellans. my bestest mutuals and online friends are major solavellan shippers. i am a solavellan shipper. i just so happen to enjoy dreadrook a thousand times more, and therefore have my lavellan married to cullen in my canon world state while my rook and solas frolick off into the sunrise together.

tldr; it's a CERTAIN TYPE of solavellan FAN that i do not enjoy interacting with. i do not think ALL solavellan fans are like this. i KNOW they are not. it's just the ones that ARE happen to be the loudest in a room at any given time. that is all.

[karizard-ao3]

If you made a teen pregnancy fic how would it go?

Since I get to pick, I choose Ranma and Akane for this one, because even though it is FAR less likely that Ranma would, of his own accord, be able to work up the courage to even kiss Akane, let alone knock her up, any time before his 21st birthday, his world is rife with magical charms and nefarious potions etc, so there is no reason that he and Akane couldn't both, through a comic series of errors, both ingest some inhibition inhibiting bon bons one night while they are alone at the dojo (perhaps Genma purchased them for Nodoka, who won't give him the time of day now that she has her son back), and, thanks to their effects, one thing leads to another and they declare their love and then consummate their relationship. They wake up the next morning back to their old selves and wildly embarrassed. They can't even look at each other. Ranma is beet red and runs away every time Akane tries to talk to him about what happened because he thinks she'll be mad at him, but him avoiding her hurts her feelings, and then it hurts her feelings even more when he finally gets brave enough to apologize and makes it sounds like he regrets it.

By the time their families return from wherever they were, Ranma and Akane are in what appears to be a run of the mill fight, so no one thinks that much about it.

They sort of make up and individually resolve to ignore what happened until a few weeks later when Akane realizes she's late (maybe she and Ranko are synced up? Or would Ranma only have the outer female sex organs but not a uterus? How thoroughly does the curse affect his insides? I guess it doesn't matter since he's not the one pregnant - although imagine an AU where Akane falls in the Spring of Drowned Boy... Oh, the gender bending hijinks).

Anyway, her period is late. She skulks off to get a pregnancy test. It's positive. She freaks out. Now she's mad at Ranma again. He corners and demands to know what he did this time. She shows him the test. He doesn't know what it means. She has to explain, and then he goes white as a sheet. Falls all over himself apologizing, promises to marry her. She is like, "No, thank you! I won't be have you marrying me out of obligation" which makes him super mad because he takes it as a rejection. It's a whole thing.

They try to hide it while they figure out what to do and how to tell their families, but Nodoka sniffs them out almost right away. You know how she is. She pulls Akane aside and asks if she is pregnant and, a little coldly, who the father is. Akane says it's Ranma and Nodoka is ecstatic. Starts tearing up and saying how her boy is a man among men because he ruined a young girl's future by getting her pregnant out of wedlock. You know how she is.

She scampers off to tell the rest of the family.

And thus, the secret is out.

The rest of the fic would be them dealing with becoming young parents, discussing whether they want to keep the baby (they do), and Ranma sorting out all his various suitors so he can show Akane that he is really serious about making it work with her when he finally tries proposing again. Maybe this isn't the order he would have picked to do things in, but he's a School of Anything Goes Martial Artist. He can roll with the punches.

I'm sure there will be all kinds of shit going on. The other girls won't take it well, and Ryoga will for sure try to kill Ranma. Kuno also will probably try to start some shit.

But, in the end, they have their baby and Nodoka babysits for them so they can go to school and Ranma and Akane make absolutely certain that Genma never, ever, under any circumstances takes the baby away to train. He is probably not allowed alone with the baby at all. But, he's a bit better as a grandpa/ panda, so they don't have to worry.

[peonyneko]

To Know You Pt.2 | OldestSon!Nanami x YoungestDaughter!Reader

Notes: Once again, this fanfic is very self-indulgent, so many of you may not be able to relate to it... I don't know how often I will post, I just like writing about it. Requests are open?? But to be veryy honest, I'm not sure if I have for request, but I'm open to discussions through the inbox/request box. Send me any anon messages~

I'll clean up any mistakes soon!

Word count: 6k+

Genre: Angst(?), Fluff, A touch/sprinkle of suggestive content (not really), NO SMUT YET

Warnings: Grammar mistakes (I'll fix it), vomit, not good eating habits, cursing, and arranged marriage things(?)

Extra info:

Nanami's Friends: Gojo, Geto, Shoko, Utahime, etc

Nanami's Juniors: Mainly Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara, does include Maki, Yuta, and Toge.

Nanami is hinted to be in his mid/late 30s and reader is hinted to be in her twenties.

---

OldestSon!Nanami who woke up from the smell of something good. Looking at the clock, to realize it’s past 11 AM, but quick to also realize his father gave him a week off. One, to get to know you better. Two, to plan your honeymoon for later on.

He notices you weren’t in bed, so after freshening up he follows the delicious scent. He watches as you look through the cabinets, very quietly, familiarizing yourself with what's there. You sigh in relief when you see maple syrup in the cabinet.

He found it… odd, to be honest. He usually was the one cooking for others, especially his younger siblings. He banned his brother, at that time in his early twenties, from entering the kitchen after he had burnt milk… Milk! (Though he is now much better at cooking.)

So to have you cook something was… fresh, but normal for an adult nonetheless. He wondered if you cooked for yourself often.

“Good morning. It smells nice,” he says, his voice rough and deep. You turn around with a spatula in your hand and next to you what seemed to be strawberry pancakes on a plate.

You nod, “Good morning… Yeah, thought I’d make something before you go to work.”

It clicks that he never told you. Shit. 

“My dad actually gave me the week off. I apologize for the confusion. I should’ve told you during our date,” he says, nearing you and grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

“That’s okay. We barely had the time,” you say, turning back to your pancakes and putting the last one on the plate. Another plate with scrambled eggs.

“Do you have work?” he asks and you shake your head. 

“I’m off for a week too. My boss found out I was getting married out-of-nowhere,” you shrugged, the words leaving your mouth so casually.

“You didn’t tell them?” he continues, bringing out plates and utensils to place on the table.

You shake your head, “Not that I didn’t. I told them, but they didn’t expect it so soon.”

OldestSon!Nanami hums, being in a similar position himself. Everyone’s jaw dropped when they found out, from Gojo’s loud mouth, not himself. He didn’t even tell Gojo! His mom did. She adored that blue-eyed lunatic. 

You fetch the water jug filling up the water cups. You both sit on opposite ends, a little far from each other. It gnawed at his chest, so he asked.

“Why did you want to get married?” The silence lingers for a while, and he could tell you, too, are looking for words to not hurt him.

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t judge your reasons. I’m sure I’m no better,” he reassures.

You licks your lips. “For my family, I guess. My mom really wants to see me get married. She’s quite old and has health problems, so I agreed.”

Nanami noticed you held your guard up, keeping a distance between the two of you. Something you’re not telling him, but he doesn’t press.

“Do you regret it?” he asks and you shake your head.

“Not if you don’t,” you whispered before taking a bite of your pancakes. His gaze lingered on you. Not if he doesn’t? 

“You’re my wife. I won’t regret the wife I chose. Yes, we don’t know each other, but I don’t want you to feel suffocated, so please do tell me anything and everything.” 

You look back at him with sparkling eyes and then you change the topic.

He took a bite of the pancakes and eggs and was surprised. He could hug you for how fluffy and delicious they are. It didn’t even take a second to know it was better than any he made.

“What do you want to do today?” you ask. 

He hums, “I have a few places in mind, where we can go, but where do you want to go?”

“Oh, what did you have in mind?” you ask and he tells you the locations after another big bite of the pancakes. His mind can’t get over how you made the pancakes this fluffy and good.

“We can go there,” you say and his ears perk up.

“Where exactly?” he asks for specifics.

“The, um, restaurant, the Salt one,” you tried to repeat what he’d said early, only to fail.

“Ah, Saltspringlis?” he clarifies, telling you that he’ll take you tonight for dinner.

OldestSon!Nanami who notices you skipping lunch and asks you about what you wanted, only for you to say you’ll eat later, stalling on it. Hours go by and he noticed you were busy unpacking your things. He helped you, in hopes that you’d take a break and go eat, but you just continue unpacking, so he asked.

“Well, I had breakfast with you and I don’t want to be full for dinner,” you say, not paying mind to the utterly confused look on his face. Huh? 

“I also forgot,” you mumble, folding another shirt into the drawer. He felt compelled to scold you, the way he used to scold his siblings for taking way too long to go eat. But he doesn’t.

“You should eat a snack,” he suggests, folding your pants and putting it in the drawer of pants. He leaves the room, bringing back an apple, then somewhat “orders” you to sit down and eat while he unpacks for you.

OldestSon!Nanami who neatly organized your clothes the way he noticed you organizing them. Who casually reaches inside the duffle bag beside the nightstand, only for you to tighten the opening, stops his hand from moving. Your eyes were panicked and with the apple in between your lips. He stops and there are a few seconds of silence between you two.

“Um, I have underwear in this,” you explain.

OldestSon!Nanami removes his hand from the bag, the feeling on lace and silk catching his attention as he does. Your face was red and he isn’t dumb. He knows that these were perhaps lingerie packed for activities, maybe by someone else. But he’s also not crass or rude. He acts like he doesn’t know what's inside, nor does he sexualize it. 

OldestSon!Nanami who takes you to Saltspringlis, a seafood restaurant, but also invites some of his friends and company juniors. Gojo and Geto come with Yuji and Megumi, while Shoko arrives with Nobara and Maki. He was glad to know you got along with them, even if they did most of the talking, you still looked pleased but…

OldestSon!Nanami who wonders why you don’t touch your food, you just pick at it. You pick at the scallops and shrimp risotto. In the hour that passed, everyone had finished their plate except you. And soon it was time to leave. 

He wasn’t angry, no, no, no! He was curious and maybe a little disappointed. 

Your marriage was arranged. He didn’t dislike you, no it was the opposite. He liked you, platonically. But he noticed you barely ate your dinner.

He grew up being told to appreciate food and finish his plate. “Others aren’t as fortunate as we are, Kento,” his mother would say. His parents didn’t force him to finish his food if he really couldn’t. But he grew up learning it’s proper and respectful to finish what you got for yourself or what was served.

His younger siblings were told the same about finishing meals, but less tied to the rule. They weren’t kept on the table until they finished like he and another one of his siblings were. And as Nanami sees from your habits, you were probably given that leniency too.

You bit into the shrimp, eating maybe a quarter of the meal before never touching it again. And soon it was time to leave. He noticed others' questions if you were hungry. “You didn’t even eat much,” Yuji, who was around your age, exclaimed. You simply told everyone you’re full. Nanami told you to get it packed to-go and you nodded, doing just that. 

OldestSon!Nanami who fought with OnlyChild!Gojo to pay the bill for everyone. In the end, Gojo beat him by a millisecond to tap it on the card reader.

OldestSon!Nanami who was a little surprised when your stomach growled in the silent car ride. He looked over to you for a second, suggesting, “Finish the food at the house.” You only nod, not saying much.

OldestSon!Nanami who was just a tiny bit irked when he saw the to-go box still in the fridge the next morning. So, once you told him with an avoidant gaze that you didn’t want it, he ate it himself.

OldestSon!Nanami and you went through the motions of your break, one week passing by fairly quickly. You both ate together for almost every meal. ‘Almost’ because you had a tendency to avoid meals and lean towards snacking. Though, at least you’d have breakfast and dinner. Two days into the break, he helped you settle in, encouraging you to decor the place however you’d want. He didn’t mind. He wanted you to feel like you belonged.

So there you were, day three of seven days of break, at a home goods store, gawking the prices as you tried to find the cheapest ones. Why are they so expensive?! Nanami, too, was looking but he looked rather unfazed. 

You found one of the shelves to be beautiful, so beautiful you wanted it. But that feeling quickly sizzled out once the price of $1,500 revealed itself on the tag. You carried on with a tight smile, not looking back. You looked everywhere, and no matter what, nothing was under $500. Even a nightstand. A nightstand!

OldestSon!Nanami who sees you silent sigh to yourself as you walk back to the same place you started off. He asks you if this store was not to your taste, but you simply shake your head, quietly telling him it’s over your budget. 

Perplexed, he leans down, “I’m well-over capable to pay it.”

OldestSon!Nanami watches you explain that you aren’t going to let him pay for it! If you like it and want it, you’ll buy it. He is just there looking back, absolutely astonished. Though, he hid it well behind his stoic face and clenched jaw. Who told you you’d be paying for these things?

“I respect that you want to pay for it, but you’re not going to. Moreso, I won’t let you. If you like something, I’ll get it. It’s for the house,” he replies, beginning to walk towards someone.

Before you can even attempt to convince him not to, he tells an employee to buy two items, giving the item number, as well. You watch him not hesitate the slightest. Even on the drive home, he doesn’t say much about what he bought, so you assumed he got what he liked. 

OldestSon!Nanami who tells you to come down the next day, because a delivery came in. You look at him in utter disbelief as the same beautiful shelf stood in front of you. He watches as your expression goes from confusion to shock to admiration and then to…

“Wait, I- Did you buy it because of me?” your brows furrowed as your voice got small. You had a sort of guilt in your voice, almost as if you didn’t want him to get it.

So he panics. “No! No… I got it because I really liked it,” he lied, “Why? Did you?”

Your face calms and you sigh in relief, “Yeah… Can I help you build it?”

OldestSon!Nanami and you who spend day 4 of your break building and moving things around the house. He notices you bump into things here and there, so he just… moves them out of the way when you shuffle around. He quietly reorganizes the pantry, so you don’t risk breaking your hip when you climb the countertop.

What? He caught you easily climbing it on your knees, as if you do that often when he’s not looking. It made you avoid his gaze for hours, with an embarrassed laugh, mumbling, “Sorry. I’ll clean it.”

YoungestDaughter!Reader who still notices him reorganizing the pantry because she’s always aware of Nanami. Who enjoys building the shelf with Nanami, her brows furrows in focus and eyes fixed on the screws. She organizes her book, usually by title and genre, but quietly places Nanami’s favorites to his eye level (knowing from his family and friends). 

YoungestDaughter!Reader who places a cup of water on the kitchen counter, knowing Nanami will just drink it. He’s done that before. What? She’s just making sure he’s hydrated. Who softly asks Nanami if he has any photos he wants to put up there.

He does. 

OldestSon!Nanami who opens up his album of high school memories and recent pictures with his juniors. All of them. Who stupidly skips past the wedding pictures, not noticing YoungestDaughter!Reader’s eyes wait in foolish anticipation.  

YoungestDaughter!Reader who is quick to move on from the slight disappointment. After all, this relationship had no feelings, it’s arranged. She smiles at the memories, but it dawns on her that she doesn’t know him… At All. Certainly not anything close to what his juniors even know. So she asks about his high school and college, hoping for any response even if it’s not a deep one.

“It was fun,” Nanami whispered, brushing his thumb over two faces. A girl and a guy. 

Silence. Horrible, awkward silence.

“Uh, what year was that?” you ask from behind him. He doesn’t talk and so you let it go. You hated this feeling, the sticky, horrible feeling of begging for him to respond or talk. 

After all, you grew up knowing to swallow your feelings and just let people be, especially if they didn’t want you. You grew up being the listener. When no one asked or responded, you wouldn’t speak either. You hated this sticky, unbearable feeling or being the only one wanting to talk.

You look through your own set of pictures, ones of your friends and family, some that you already printed to frame. You and Nanami decorated the shelf, but sadly it looked as if two roommates had done it, not a married couple. 

You keep your thoughts to yourself. You knew what to expect coming in. No matter how much his mother told this would be love, the moment you knew Nanami seemed to have… settled, you knew this is just that, a settlement. 

But you stupidly already started to enjoy his presence.

YoungestDaughter!Reader who has countless sketches of Nanami in her sketchbook, all of them in her forbidden, never-open-in-front-of-others sketchbook. All of them are drawn in the month you’ve known him.  Some doodles, others a bit more detailed. 

OldestSon!Nanami, who saw the sketch book lying around, picks it up out of curiosity, but never opens it. He respects your privacy. 

OldestSon!Nanami and you spend day 5 in the park with a beautiful garden. He noticed your eyes sparkle at the flowers, taking yet another picture as you walked around. He sends it to his mom, who replies with a dozen pink, yellow, and orange hearts for you, calling you, “So cute.” You come back to him, with a couple small flowers in your hand, dropping it into his palm without touching him, “I didn’t want to rip them off, but I found some instead.”

OldestSon!Nanami who blushes as you turn your back and continue walking as if you didn’t just give him the cutest small flowers of yellow and blue daisies.

OldestSon!Nanami who brings home salmon the next day and you cook it. He notices you eat only part of it and wait for him to finish before claiming that you're full. He lets it go, not saying anything about it.

The rest of the day you two are within each other's vicinity, but doing different things. You sketching something in your sketchbook and he's reading.

OldestSon!Nanami begins to dose off as he's reading, his book slipping from him a sliver. Despite being high alert with others, he can't help but feel a little at peace with... you.

You place your sketchbook aside, taking the blanket off yourself and putting it on Nanami instead. You take the book from his sleeping state and hesitantly tuck him into the blanket.

Nanami wakes up right when you put the blanket on him and he can't help but feel weird fluttering in his stomach. A few seconds of silent stares that happen between you two. You to him. Him to you.

"Um," you break the silence, "You should sleep... in the bedroom. You'll hurt your neck."

Nanami who hums, knowing that if he spoke, it'll be a stutter of words. He notices how you look so "caught in the act" when you did nothing wrong. He gives you a smile, clearing his throat as he stands up.

"Are you tired?" he asks.

You look back at your materials splayed out on the living room table and couch. Looking back at him, you shrug your shoulders.

"I'm not tired, but I can... keep you company after I clean up."

OldestSon!Nanami who waits 20 minutes, too giddy to sleep because you said you'd keep him company. Usually, you two went to sleep at different times. You were always staying up later than him.

OldestSon!Nanami who whispers goodnight as you settle into the bed, reading a book in your hand and small light on the book. He told you that you can keep the lights or lamp on, but you refused. You use a tiny book light

OldestSon!Nanami and you spend the night of your last day of break together at yet another expensive seafood restaurant. Nanami had asked you where you wanted to go, but you let him decide, telling him you didn’t know the place well.

You’d ordered a salmon dish with a side of asparagus. The price wasn’t the issue. He didn’t mean to get a little… irked. You took twenty minutes to order, but he didn’t mind. And by the time he’d eaten his food, you barely made a dent in yours.

He waited and waited, the conversation between you two was longer than the length you took to eat. The conversation was nothing out of the ordinary, just about both of your jobs and going back to the usual work routine. All that stuff. 

Your food long went cold and you were lingering, not touching it.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, curiously.

“Oh, no nothing. Why?” You ask, tilting your head.

“You’re not eating and your food is cold,” he points out. You look down at your plate and curl up. He should’ve stopped.

“It’s not good to waste food,” he adds, wiping his hands on the cloth.

“Yeah, um, I’m just full,” you quietly say, your neck heating up from his gaze. The same one that you got when you were younger. From many, many people.

You’d grown up similar to Nanami, but instead of being let off the hook your family yelled at you to eat and finish food. Admittedly, you avoided food because you were easily full, you’d prefer to have small portions. It didn’t help that your parents were on the poorer side. They’d guilt you about the money they spent on food.

And as Nanami said those words, you relive those memories.

“You’re all skin and bones! Why are you not eating?!”

“Fish is good for you, why are you being so picky?”

“She never eats. It’s such a hassle. What did I do wrong?.”

“I tried so many times to make her eat fish, she never does.”

“You should be happy. Lots of people can’t even eat fish.”

So, to avoid giving Nanami the wrong impression, despite heavily disliking seafood, you forced yourself to at least finish half, until you just couldn’t anymore. This month alone, you've eat more fish than you have in a lifetime.

The salmon left a bad taste in your mouth and you felt like throwing up. You would’ve had it not been for the asparagus you finished.

“Are you done?” Nanami asks, again. You nod your head with flushed cheeks, squeezing your hands in your lap. Sorry. 

He sighs and finishes paying. He barely says a word to you as you both go to the car. The food swirls in your stomach, the taste of the seafood still in your mouth palette. You didn’t get the chance to wash the gag-worthy taste away with water.

“Thank y-“

“If you didn’t want to eat out, you could’ve told me,” he bluntly said, gripping the steering wheel. He drove without looking at you, just a little bit irked. Okay, not just a little. Irked. He’s annoyed.

Gojo buys you food that you didn’t eat, then you don’t eat this time either. You never seemed to finish it, but then you eat something else much later on, ignoring the food container from the restaurant. Did you want fresh food? He’d get it. He just wanted you to be honest if you didn’t want to eat it anymore now that it’s old. Or that you didn’t want to eat with him and his friends in the first place.

“I’m not trying to force you to do anything. We’re married even though it was arranged, but I’m not here to force you,” he adds, and your stomach sinks further.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble as he drives in silence, paying you no mind. A few minutes go by. Your guilt grew more and you could physically feel his irritation.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to go eat,” you add, playing with your hands. I’m sorry. 

“Then?” He raises a brow, eyes in the road.

Your throat felt hot and your stomach swirls as the car hit a pothole. You didn’t want to admit it. You didn't want to admit that you didn’t like fish. You didn’t like seafood. Few exceptions, but fish was definitely not one. You tried to like it, but nothing ever got you to.

“I felt full,” you mumble and he is quick to click his tongue.

“Then you could’ve ordered something you wouldn’t waste. That simple,” he adds. 

He didn’t know why he got worked up. You weren’t a kid. He normally doesn’t care about habits. But you didn’t even have a full meal since breakfast. Yes, he noticed. How are you NOT hungry?

Growl! You bit your lip as your stomach made noises. Nanami sighed as he, too, heard it. You clearly were if your stomach was still growling.

“You don’t have to lie. I won’t blame you if you feel weird about going out with me. As I said, this marriage was done quickly and we’re not in love. ”

“No, I just… couldn’t finish it. I knew I probably would like it. I wanted to try, but… It didn’t taste good,” you mumble at the end. As Nanami drives, the sight of swift cars and alternating lights makes your stomach flip like hurricane swirls.

“But you got it anyway. You should’ve ordered something you could finish.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble out, your hand reaching up to cover your nose and mouth.

“No need to apologize to me. Just… it’s not good to waste food,” he said, voice flat and stern.

You felt shame rise up to your cheek as the food began to rise up your throat. You’d tried to swallow the sickly throat-wrenching feeling, but it was getting more and more unbearable. More and more the food climbed up your stomach and throat.

“Stop- Stop the car,” you quickly express, opening your seatbelt. And he does, pulling over immediately..

You stumble out of the car, and spill your guts out. Every bit of fish and asparagus you ate now spilled out on the ground. Nanami curses, his stomach sinking to the floor as you heave and bend over. He leaves the car to rub your back, his eyes brimmed with worry.

Fish usually made you queasy, especially if it smelled fishy. So you avoided it, but seeing Nanami always eat it so deliciously made you want to match his preference too. He got you water and you profusely apologized. He shakes his head, worried to no end. He checks your temperature and finds nothing. He’s there with you crouched down until your stomach calms, your arms settling beside you.

“What's wrong?”

“I’m sorry… I don’t like seafood.” And it clicks for him. Your face dropped when you looked through the menu, which had nothing but fish and scallops.

Fuck, he thought. He loves seafood, so did his entire family. It seemed like your family also enjoyed it, so he assumed you liked it too. But not once did he ever see you reach for any seafood dishes. Ever. 

He’d grown up eating anything, he wasn’t picky, moreso he wasn’t allowed to be. He didn’t care as long as it wasn’t sardines. You must’ve forced yourself to eat even half of the salmon. He carries you to the car, clicking in your seatbelt for you.

“I’m sorry,” he admits, “I should’ve told you it was seafood. It’s my fault, not yours.”

“Still it was expensive and you paid, so I can pay you back for wasting it,” your voice was so small and quiet. As if you expected him to be mad about it. As if you expect him to yell at you.

His heart aches, and he shakes his head, “No, no. What? That doesn’t matter. The price doesn’t matter. I’m your husband, it’s only a given.”

He help you get back into the car, making sure you were no long queasy. OldestSon!Nanami who has a small stash of medicine in a box of his car. He gives you a bottle of water and some nausea relief. Driving a little slower to avoid making your vision hazy and stomach churn again. Right when heard your stomach rumble, he was quick to stop at a random late night bakery.

“Do you like sweets?” He asks and you nod, only to panic when he starts to leave the car.

“No, you don’t have to! You’re wasting money,”

His brows furrow, “What? Nonsense, you threw up. And you’re hungry”

“I’ll buy it myself. Seriously.”

“No, sit here. What do you like?”

“I’m not telling you,” you insist.

“Then I’ll just get one of every flavor.”

You scoff at his ‘promise,’ “No you won’t.”

“You think?” he smirks, cocking his head to the side.

“You won’t,” you dryly chuckle, crossing your arms. You were too weak from the nausea to get up as he shut the car door, assuming he was joking. Surely, he’d just get a croissant.

He didn’t, in fact, just get a croissant. Keeping his word, Nanami comes back with a box full of pastries. Your eyes widen at the sheer amount in your lap.

“I- I can’t finish this!”

“I’ll help. Anything left over I’ll give it to friends. Please, I don’t want you fainting.”

He noticed you hesitate to grab the fancy one, the tiramisu croissant, so before you go for the plain butter croissant instead, he speaks.

“Go for it. I bought it for you,” he softly encourages. With a sheepish smile you take it, biting into the croissant.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” Nanami says, regretting his lecturing.

“You’re not a kid and you’re free to eat however much and whatever you want. I don’t mean to control you. I have no idea what got over me to act like that. I’m sorry.”

You nod your head, “That’s alright. I know you said it from a good place. I, uh, need to get better at letting you know about these things too.” 

That night, nothing big changed, but Nanami was sure of one thing: He never wants to see you sad and uneasy.

He couldn’t help that your tears made his heart ache. Maybe it was similar to the way he can’t see his juniors hurt? He just knew he didn’t want to see you unhappy. Maybe you were becoming a friend? He doesn’t know.

OldestSon!Nanami and you who still sleep with your backs faced away from each other, but closer. The distance would completely disappear if one of you flipped over. 

OldestSon!Nanami checks on you when waking up at the crack of dawn, he touches your forehead. And then realizes….

Realizes he hasn’t even hugged you, let alone held your hand. The farthest you’ve both gone was this… Him touching your forehead. And right then, he wanted to bang his head on the wall.

But maybe it was for the best? What if you don’t like him? What if you want a divorce soon? What if you liked someone else? Why would she like you? Someone so fucking old-

You groan in your sleep, moving around and facing him. His breath gets caught in his throat as the palm of his hand is now pressed between the bed and your cheek. Your hair strand cover part of your face, and fuck you looked so cute. 

An ache sew itself into Nanami's heart. He felt as though he'd ruined your life. Your love life. He wonders if you given no choice. Because why would you agree to marry him? You could've chosen anyone... But you chose him...

OldestSon!Nanami who went to sleep like that, not daring to move his hand from your cheek. So when you wake up, you wake up confused as to why you accidentally practically pinned Nanami to the edge of the bed (it was only his arm under you).

YoungestDaughter!Reader who wakes up a little excited because she gets to make him a lunchbox for the first time. She really wanted him to try one of her recipes that she made herself. She hesitates, thinking of cooking something common, but listening to her heart, she makes him something she came up with.

OldestSon!Nanami who smiles at the lunch you made him for before he headed to work. He gives you a small smile, thanking you. You smile back, shrugging and playing with the hem of your shirt, as if it was too embarrassing for him to notice it. 

OldestSon!Nanami who also drives you to your office place, making sure you went inside the office before driving to his own.

OldestSon!Nanami who got many compliments and congratulations for his marriage. He even got a couple of sad eyes from some singles. He didn’t know why. Were they sad he got married before them? (No, they were sad it wasn’t them who he got married to. Both those employees flirted with him before, but he never took the hint. Gojo and Geto knew, but they never told him.)

OldestSon!Nanami who didn’t touch the lunch you made for him, forgetting about it when Gojo practically dragged him to eat out because, “Suguru is too busy to eat with me.” 

Not only that, he didn’t even get the time to catch his breath because of how busy it got with him back in the office. When he took a shower after work, you noticed the lunchbox was heavy, opening it to only find it full and untouched. 

YoungestDaughter!Reader’s heart fell to the floor seeing the food not even halfway done. She contemplated asking him, but when he came to the kitchen with a laptop in his hand and a stoic face, her questions answered themselves. Maybe he didn’t get the time.

That day you both did not speak much with each other. Both of you had different jobs and after the week long break, there was much to catch up on for both of you

So the very next day, you make him lunch again. A different recipe with salmon and rice. You even tasted it to make sure it was good, even if you’d prefer it with chicken instead. 

Your routine of waking up together and leaving together continued for a second time. You were dropped off first and then he went about his way.

OldestSon!Nanami whose second day back was hectic, more so than the first. He didn't even get a break, let alone the chance to touch his lunchbox.

YoungestDaughter!Reader’s heart, once again, shattered seeing the lunch full. The note she left inside of “Hope today is good! Take deep breaths^^” discarded all the way at the bottom. Crunched up and discarded.

OldestSon!Nanami and you spent the day in different work rooms. You in yours. Him in his. You slept in the same bed. Close, but once again faced away. Backs towards one another. 

OldestSon!Nanami didn’t say anything when he noticed you didn’t make lunch the next day, thinking you were tired, so he made it himself. You saw him do so, as you grabbed a yogurt and canned coffee. In silence, he dropped you off and went about his way to work. This continued for the week, before he asked. He asked right when you returned from work, surprisingly returning later than usual. Much later. Perhaps two hours late.

“Why did you stop making lunch?” He notices you freeze, trying to gather your thoughts. You had just gotten out of the shower, freshly wet hair and in your baggy mix-matched pajamas.

“Not that you must. You don’t. I’m a grown man. I can make it myself. I was just… I was merely curious,” he adds, hoping to put off the pressure of answering.

“Oh,” you begin, playing with the hem of your sleeve, “I thought you didn’t like it. I didn’t want to force you to eat something you didn’t like.”

“Why’d you think that?” he tilts his head, completely lost.

“You told me one time that you went out to eat and brought back a full container, so I assumed you didn’t want to eat it. But, I shouldn’t have assumed, I’m sorry.” 

“No!” he says, stepping closer to you,“I should’ve clarified. Gojo forcefully took me out to eat. I also… completely forgot you packed me something. So it’s my fault, not yours.”

You look up at him, nodding, a hint of sadness in your eyes “So, you don’t mind eating what I make?”

He frowns, shaking his head and leaning down to you, “Why would I? Is anything wrong?”

You shake your head, as if you wanted to avoid talking about it. Before you can leave, he gently pulls your arm, leaning in close. He tilts his head to connect your face with his, a slight worry in his eyes.

“Hey, talk to me,” he whispers, “I don’t want you silently trapping your thoughts.”

You stall a bit more, before sheepishly chuckling. Shrugging as you answer, “No big deal, really. It’s a small thing that I guess I took too far. You don’t need to worry.” 

You attempt to leave, again, but he doesn’t let you. Stopping you in your tracks with his arm out with stern look, the same one he’d give his younger siblings with his brow raised so they spill whatever secret they had. You, being the youngest in your family, also know that look very well.

“Just… I- Whenever I made food for my family when I was younger, it was alway untouched,” you whisper, your eyes looking down at the floor instead of up at him. His heart aches as the words reach his ears.

You dryly laugh, “It is not even that serious, but I guess it still hurt. I remember making them breakfast one time and no one ate it. Yeah, I was a teenager and maybe it didn’t look good, but… I hoped at least one person would have some.” 

You looked so small, curling into yourself as you seem to be overthinking the memory. 

Your words getting quieter and quieter as you spoke, “It also seemed like they didn’t think I could make good food? I don’t know. It’s not even that serious, really. My older sisters were better at making traditional food anyway. Even when I got better, I always worried no one would like it, so I just wouldn’t make it.” 

He swallows the ball in his throat, feeling his heart crumble. That explains the hesitant stare you’d give him as he ate your food. Whenever you make something, you’d add a small ‘It’s probably not good.’

He noticed, but just assumed you were learning to cook, not that you were embarrassed of your skill. Hell, you were better at many dishes than him. He’d have your food over anything his family made.

He lets out a guilty sigh and hesitantly reaches for your hand, “You’re a good cook, so please try not to demean yourself. I understand this hesitance of yours, but I would never, ever leave your food to rot. I’ll eat everything and anything you make.”

OldestSon!Nanami who silent vows to always eat the lunch you pack him. And as always your cooking was nice. YoungestDaughter!Reader who encourages him to at least decide the menu, so she does not make him something he dislikes. Who tell Nanami that he’s never obligated to eat everything, just as much as he wants.

OldestSon!Nanami and you who have yet to go on a honeymoon or big trip because your works have you two so, so busy. 

A month and a half has passed and the only time you really spend is either sleeping in the same bed or drinking a late warm beverage together. Only on weekends do you ever really spend time, time that you two spent on talking and slowly getting to know each other. Though, Nanami noticed you still tend to avoid getting too deep about things. He wasn't much better with talking about his past either, so he understands.

OldestSon!Nanami, who during one of the weekends, takes you to yet another hang out with his friends and juniors. It was a small get-together a Gojo’s. Everyone, except for those driving, was a tad bit (or really) drunk. Nanami avoided drinking and you did not drink either. You were allergic.

OldestSon!Nanami who kept you in eye distance even when he knew everyone. Who felt so fucking jealous when Gojo and Geto leaned into your space to hear you over the music and loud juniors. Who pretended to “fix” your sleeve, his hand grazing the wedding ring to clean it. Nanami, who makes quick glaring eye contact with Gojo and Geto, before stepping away from you.

YoungestDaughter!Reader who isn’t dumb about what just happened. She can assume what just occurred, but she still has her big doubts. The little touch of her ring, in front of two other good-looking men (who are Nanami’s friends), left her a little speechless, but she brushes it off. Because what if it was just that simple a brush of her rings and no thought to it? 

OldestSon!Nanami who would get you everything and anything you need, even when you always refused to want anything. Never asking. Never relying. Always being okay with anything. Who notices that you always getting something on the cheaper side.

YoungestDaughter!Reader who grew to be on her own and not rely on others. Who has a hard time letting others do anything for her. Who feels overwhelmed every time Nanami takes her out because she really cannot get used to him paying for things. Her solution? Anything cheap. 

OldestSon!Nanami and YoungestDaughter!Reader who try to unknowingly dance around the other, trying to adjust to what the other feels comfortable with. OldestSon!Nanami and YoungestDaughter!Reader who have been sleeping facing each other for a month and a half. You take a glimpse of him before closing your eyes.. And Nanami taking one last look at your peaceful, sleeping face before succumbing to sleep.

----

Credits for the characters to Gege Akutami, but this plot and these versions of the character are of my own (maybe OOC sometimes), so please refrain from plagiarizing.

I am currently NOT posting this elsewhere, so if there are works of thse anywhere else, let me know!

Thank you for reading!

[mysticdreamdrafts]

Chris Redfield | Husband Headcanons

im in love with this man idk so I wanted to yell about him lol 

Chris is the type a guy who married you early on, fight me on it. That “I know we’re teens but I love you” sorta thing, ya know? Maybe y’all were high school sweethearts and just the love was real.  Maybe ya met in the military and fell for one another. Either way, it worked. Y’all stayed together and it just never died out. 

So here’s some (PRE-TRAUMA BECAUSE LORDY) hubby headcanons I think about for Chris Redfield: -Golden Retriever Hubby  -Actually really bad about remembering important dates, but will make it up to you no matter what -And like look at that face can you stay mad at him? No- -Because he doesn’t remember dates very well, prepare for random gifts literally all the time -“Happy Monday here’s some flowers because I wanted you to have them” -Breakfast in bed kinda guy -Can actually cook HELLLLLLLA well -Actually shocked you but then you remembered he’s the older brother  -Full belly laughs  -I’m talkin’ head falls back and eyes squeezed shut sorta laugh -It can make car alarms go off lmfao -Claire isn’t a fan, but you can’t help but join him when he laughs  -Protective -Very protective -He is confident you can take care of yourself, but he knows how harsh the world can be  -He doesn’t know what he would do if anything were to happen to you -We’ve seen how he cares so much about his friends. His sister. Now imagine you?? Man oh man -It can be a bit insufferable  -I imagine it would be the source of some arguments. It feels like he doesn’t trust you all the time, but that isn’t it. -It’s the world he doesn’t trust -He is stubborn too, but he’ll apologize first if he knows he’s in the wrong or being too much  -Apology kisses -Apology letters   -After an argument, be ready for a bit of silent treatment in the house. He believes time away to think about things before coming back to talk is healthy so that you don’t just both end up getting heated for nothing or say something neither of you mean -But afterward, oooo buddy he’s all about conversation -like it might take a bit to get there because he is HARD HEADED, but after he realizes your points and maybe he’s being a lil ✨extra ✨ he’ll wanna talk about being better -bad at taking photos -like a whole lotta headroom, weird angles, and atrocious mid-blink snapshots -like Chris, pls for the love of god what is wrong with you lol -lets you shave his face, he feels it’s very intimate and he loves to watch your focus face -he’ll wash your hair if you let him -hell, he’ll pamper you always -but there’s something about learning your hair type, finding out what you like, how to oil your hair, take care of you that just means a lot to him

That’s all I have for now but I’ll yell more about him later

If y’all want a NSFW version lemme know and maybe i’lllllllllll idkkkkk heeheeeeeeee~ (imma do it lol)

[evangelical04]

A Single Daffodil || 7

Summary: Getting arranged to be married to your long-time crush wasn't exactly the fairy tale romance you were hoping for. Nor is the dynamic of the marriage, with your husband treating you like you don't exist. But you're going to make this work, whether he cares about you or not. And he definitely doesn't...right?

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Word Count: 6.2K

Genre: angst, romance, unrequited love, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage au, businessman yoongi

Warnings: maybe some angst?? not really, it's pretty fluffy

Author's Note: hello hello!! i hope you're all well! sorry (again) for taking so long to get this out, but i think i'm as happy as i can be with this chapter. it's not perfect and i'm worried it'll be boring, but i like it, i think! well, i had fun writing it at least, and i hope you have fun reading it! it isn't super closely proofread so i'm sorry for any errors, i just wanted to get this posted today!!

TAGLIST CLOSED [follow asingledaffodil tag for all notifications]

@yoongisducky @kam9404 @sumzysworld @tarahardcore @viankiss @babystarcandyrecs @ktownshizzle @futuristicenemychaos @igot7fairlyoddparents @baechugff @pb89nv @peachytokki @ratherbfangirling @themwordsblog @daisies-and-dandelionpuffs @kimmalik @pastelpeachess @captainchrisstan @khaimahfe @kooklovee @whoa-jo @familiarlikemymirror3 @blueberriesm @llallaaa @purpleheartsandarock1 @lillmeowmeowsblog @this-most-assuredly-counts @kayleefriedchicken @ur-grandmum @sylviamuela @notarshia @minghaosimp @ilikekpop-c @maynina @rinkud @jesshujk @kimsaerom @suker4angst @mar-627 @maynina @pitchblack0309 @wobblewobble822 @praetae @yoongibaybee @weareatthebadlands

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The alarm blaring in your ear felt foreign and your eyes were bleary as you blinked awake, vision slowly coming into focus. Momentarily, you forgot why you’d set your alarm, having gotten too used to sleeping in the past two weeks, but your senses soon came back to you. It was your first day back to the office after your extended vacation in place of a honeymoon. 

The idea of it made you laugh slightly, like there was ever a honeymoon in the cards for you, but you soon silenced when you remembered the past weekend. Yoongi and you had gone on a semi-date, which meant that you would probably end up dating, which would lead to marriage (even though you were already married), and then a real honeymoon? Your head spun, it was too early to be overthinking like this. 

You finally silenced your alarm, dragging yourself out of your warm duvet and shuffling toward your bathroom. Sleepily completing your morning routine, you got dressed for work and made your way downstairs. You usually neglected breakfast in favor of a small snack before lunch at the office and you smiled at the kitchen counter, seeing a small container of riceballs that Mrs. Lim had likely prepared for you. You could hear her puttering around in the far room, seemingly doing laundry.

You grabbed the container, slipping it into your tote bag, and began walking to the door, before startling at Yoongi’s voice coming from the top of the stairs. 

“Y/N, wait a second,” he called, making his way down the stairs, “Want to go to work together?”

Your eyebrows raised at the suggestion, not even realizing he was still at home. Home? You supposed it was your home now. You weren’t sure when you had started to refer to it that way. 

“Sure, but I usually take the bus,” you responded, watching him gather his things and approach you at the door. 

“Oh,” Yoongi responded, slightly breathless, “That’s fine. I can take it with you.”

You thought for a moment, the Min Industries building was a block or so down from your own office, so you figured it should work out. 

“Okay, then I’m ready whenever you are,” you mentioned. Yoongi nodded, slipping on his shoes, “Let’s go.”

The two of you made your way to the bus stop in a comfortable silence, enjoying the bustling scene of a morning in Seoul. When you both reached the bus stop, Yoongi spoke up, “Do you have any specific plans this week?”

You closed your eyes, racking your brain, “No, not really. But I’ll probably working a lot of overtime since I missed two weeks.”

“Oh,” Yoongi responded, “That’s unfortunate.”

You smiled, turning to face him, “I’ll find some time for us to hang out, promise.” You brushed a stray hair off his forehead, making his eyes widen and his head quickly turn away.

You giggled softly, apparently you still had it. It was kind of fun to flirt with him. 

The bus soon arrived and you entered, scanning your card and making your way down the aisle before hearing the bus driver’s stern voice ring out. 

“Sir, your transportation card?”

You turned to find Yoongi with a confused look on his face, seemingly at a loss at what the bus driver meant. The scene made you shake your head and smile, reaching over to scan your pass once again and bowing an apology to the bus driver. You grabbed Yoongi’s wrist, tugging him to one of the empty pairs of seats and gently guided him into the far one by the window. 

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, “I’ve never actually taken the bus before.” He scratched the back of his head, you could see his ears tinging red. You squeezed his wrist before letting go, “It’s alright, I’d figured as much. It’s kind of nice to have company on the morning commute.”

Yoongi sent a gummy smile your way making you exhale harshly, it felt like one of the first real smiles you’d seen of him and it was breathtaking. His hard edges and steely eyes softened, it was a sight you wanted to imprint on your mind. You distracted yourself by opening up your phone and scrolling through some recent texts, feeling Yoongi’s presence boring into your own.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Yoongi take one last glance at you before grasping your hand in his own and entangling your fingers. It caused you to look up at him but he was already turned, facing the window, fingers still tightly gripping your hand. 

You felt the heat spread on your face but you settled into it anyway, enjoying the feeling of Yoongi’s palm against your own. The rest of the ride to your stop was largely silent, with you focused on the warmth emanating from Yoongi’s hand. You felt like a teenager with a crush. You were just holding hands! What was the big deal? Yet, it still felt like one. 

The scenery caught your attention when a cafe you frequented flew by, signaling that your stop was next. Yoongi seemed caught in the view from the window so you drew his attention by tugging gently on his hand, still flush against yours. He looked over at you questioningly before you started rising out of your seat. The bus came to a slow stop and you gently pulled him to the door, scanning your card twice quickly and exiting with Yoongi close behind. 

As the two of you stood on the sidewalk, you were unsure of where to go from here. Your office would be in the opposite direction from his, so it seemed that this was where you split ways. Yoongi didn’t seem to realize this as he began walking to his office, stopping when he felt the resistance from your hand, as you stood in place. 

He turned, ears tinged pink, “Oh, right, OK is that way. I guess this is goodbye.”

You smiled, untangling your fingers from his, “See you at home, Yoongi.”

His mouth parted before breaking into a small smile, “See you.” 

You turned quickly, feeling your cheeks warm, and started walking quickly to your building. All you did was ride the bus with him, yet it felt exhilarating, what was happening to you? You were supposed to be just friends right now, you couldn’t afford to fall this quickly.

Well, you supposed that nothing was really stopping you but yourself, but you still had your principle! You had to hold steadfast, you were the one who’d asked to start as friends first after all. 

Feeling your phone buzz in your hands, you glanced down to catch Namjoon’s name in your notifications. You opened his message while navigating through the crowds on the sidewalk, fantasizing about the iced tea in the cafe in the lobby of your building. 

From: Kim Namjoon

Good morning, Y/N-ssi! I managed to get tickets to that art gallery we were talking about, I stayed up almost all night, but it was worth it! I’ll send you the details when I’m more coherent, have a good day at work!

You smiled down at your phone, sending off a quick confirmation and well wishes for his sleep schedule. As you pushed open the doors to your office building, the cafe stationed off to the right felt like a beacon in the bustling morning office rush. The barista, Junmi, greeted you warmly as you approached the register, “Hi, unnie! It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, were you on vacation?”

You shot her a conspiratorial wink, “Something like that.” She rung up your order, knowing it by heart by now, and held out her hand for your card. You handed it over while your eyes raked over the bakery display next to the counter, but you knew you already had the riceballs Mrs. Lim provided. No way you can justify another purchase, even if it was for the softest looking croissant in the world. 

“Unnie,” Junmi exclaimed, startling you from your bread infused daze, “Your ring! Did you get married?”

“Oh,” you chuckled awkwardly, “Yeah, I did.”

“Wow, congratulations! Here, have a croissant, on the house. That’s so exciting! You’ll have to show me pictures sometime,” she smiled, handing you back your card before turning away to prepare your drink. 

As you walked past security gate toward the gate, awkwardly scanning your badge while balancing your breakfast, you took your first bite of the warm and flaky croissant. It seems like this marriage had more perks that you’d initially given it credit for.

Sitting down at your desk was a relief after navigating your curious and energetic team. You’d fielded questions about your marriage as much as you could, but you still ended up showing them a picture of Yoongi that Joohee had sent you from the wedding. Your team had commented on how handsome he looked and how happy they were for you, and from there, the energy calmed down some, with some members returning to their seats. 

The excitement had left you feeling conflicted, staring down at the picture of Yoongi that Joohee had sent. He looked handsome, definitely, his eyes were dark and piercing and his slightly tanned skin looked soft and smooth. You hadn’t realized how pinched together his eyebrows had been during the ceremony, or how bitten his lips looked. You swiped to the next picture in your messages with Joohee, seeing yourself and Yoongi during the reception. You both looked tired and miserable, making you frown at your phone. You kind of wished that you had a nice picture of you and Yoongi to show other people. Something to show when people like Junmi asked, one that made you look like a happy couple. You knew that Yeonsik had a stupidly cute picture of himself and his boyfriend as his phone’s lockscreen, and it made your stomach clench with envy. 

Maybe you should bring it up to Yoongi?

No, it was much too soon, you shook your head, dismissing the thought. 

Turning off your phone, you logged into your computer, seeing the number of unread emails rapidly increasing. You sighed, slipping on your headphones and starting some jazz so you could focus. 

Combing through the mountain of emails was tiring, but one caught your attention, even as your eyes glazed over. 

From: limheesungmarketing1@okgaming.com

RE: Influencer Campaign MIRA’S AWAKENING

Hello Team Leader Seo,

We have decided to pursue Jeon Jeongguk (user/sns:goldenboy97) as one of the main influencers for MIRA’S AWAKENING’s campaign. We have been communicating with him about ideas for the campaign and decided upon the following:

Early access - stream upon release day

PR merchandise - we are confirming designs with Graphics 2

Vlog/tour of OK Gaming on August 25 - this will include a tour of Planning Team 1 office space. Please see attached for video appearance consent form for your team and have it submitted to me by the end of the week.

We will follow up with more information as we approach the filming date.

Thanks,

Team Leader Lim

You had to read the email twice before you fully understood the contents. Shaking your head with a smile, you forwarded the email to your team and grabbed your phone to text Jeongguk. 

To: Jeon Jeongguk

Are you invading my office for your vlog channel?

The reply came almost instantly.

From: Jeon Jeongguk

morning, noona!

you finally got the news, huh?

i’m so excited, i can’t wait to see you working!

we should get lunch or dinner together that day!!

any preferences?

don’t tell hyung though

can i get your opinion on what i should wear, i don’t really go to offices often lol

You set your phone down as the buzzing continued, trying to contain your laughter. The kid was so exciteable, but his energy was contagious. You decided to respond to him later as you heard the quiet ding of more emails coming in. A sigh escaped you, you had promised Yoongi to find time to do something with him, but taking off two weeks so close to the launch date of your project and at the tail end of beta testing had taken its toll. It was clear that you’d be working overtime for the next few weeks.

Leaning your elbows against the desk and taking your head into your hands, you rubbed circles into the sides of your head. Thinking about everything you had to do was leading to a migraine and a quick look at the clock revealed that only about an hour had passed since you’d gotten to work. You felt your body sag in defeat, hearing the pings of more emails coming in. 

Pressing your head against the cool feeling of your desk, you tried to distract your mind from the overwhelming mountain of work you had waiting for you. Naturally, your mind drifted toward the past weekend with Yoongi. You could still feel the exhaustion of the emotional rollercoaster weighing on your bones, but the uncertainty of what the future would look like with him felt like prinpicks against your fingers. This weekend had changed a lot for you, changes that you weren’t sure how to deal with. 

Yoongi’s new attitude was also confusing, even though you fully knew his intentions now. The shift from trying to dismiss any ambiguous actions from him and steel yourself against any romantic feelings of your own to full transparency of his feelings toward you and your obligation to externally reciprocate was difficult to adjust to. You had been playing it by ear so far, going for a risky flirt whenever you felt cheeky, but it still felt unnatural.

It was hard to put it into words, but it felt like you were uncomfortable around Yoongi. Maybe you were still upset with him for what transpired with Jimin, after all, it was not too long ago, only a couple days really. Or maybe it was for what he said at the gala, the way he had dismissed you still irked, making you bite the inside of your cheek. Or perhaps when he’d been an hour late to your meeting before you’d gotten married, showing up with mussed hair, hickeys, and the heavy scent of a woman’s perfume. 

You blew a short and aggressive breath out of your mouth, Yoongi had really been an ass. More than feeling upset with him, though, you felt more upset with yourself for caving so quickly. You supposed it wasn’t necessarily caving since you weren’t starting out as friends through your own insistence, but you couldn’t lie to yourself. Your feelings for Yoongi were annoyingly persistent and only getting stronger with his newfound feelings and confidence in them. 

Why couldn’t you be stronger?

It felt a bit pathetic. You’d thought that you were doing so well in closing yourself off from him, shielding your heart from, not only from his attractive looks and seductive gaze, but from his biting remarks and harsh glares. As it turns out, not only did you still end up feeling hurt, but you only deeper for him despite your best efforts. Were you really even preventing anything that whole time? You bit your lip, squinting to make out emails through your blurry vision. 

Were you in the palm of his hands since the beginning?

Did you ever stand a chance?

Was this relationship more unbalanced than you previously thought?

Your eyes closed in defeat, feeling your headache envelop the rest of your brain. You wished that you could level the playing field somehow.

The harsh blue undertoned light from your computer was aggravating your headache even more. To give your eyes a break, you took a look around your office space, seeing your teammates in similar condition to you. 

The past couple weeks had been grueling, finalizing the post beta testing debugs, a last minute story adjustment, a heavy debate on the use of a mechanic your team was pushing to keep after some confusion in beta testing, and wrangling the graphics team to confirm and pack the shipment of merchandise had taken a heavy toll on your team’s morale and energy. This was always the worse part of development and production.

You’d barely seen your home since your return to work, spending over twelve hours at the office, catching the last bus home, scarfing down a mediocre, store bought kimbap, and crashing on your bed or the couch, whichever one you made it to in time. 

You weren’t going to lie, you were a bit frustrated that you’d barely been able to spend any time with Yoongi in the past two weeks, but a part of you was relieved. Your emotional state still hadn’t fully recovered and you were relishing the opportunity to delay the inevitable as long as you could. Even so, waking up on the couch with a soft blanket thrown on you and your hair brushed away from your face made your heart ache. To his credit, he seemed to be an expert in tugging on your heart. 

He was understanding, at the least. Even though you barely saw him, any time you did, he wore an empathetic expression and quietly handed you a can of your favorite fruit juice from the fridge with a small smile. Yoongi hadn’t had any complaints of your constant late nights and occupied weekends, which, in your defense, had been unavoidable and continual.

Today was no different, despite it being a Friday, your team was still working late into the night. A yawn off to your right, courtesy of Song Ha, drew you out of your drowsy trance. You blinked a few times, feeling the world coming back into focus, and glanced at the time. It was approaching nine and you could feel that nothing else productive was going to happen today. Wiping your sweaty palms on your leggings, you stood, “Okay, everyone. Let’s go home for today, we’ve done all we can. I want you all to enjoy your weekend this time, so don’t check any emails. If it’s really important, I’ll call you. Go get some rest and be ready to kick ass on Monday.”

Your team stared up at you gratefully, seemingly rejuvenated. The packing up was quick and efficient, everyone more than ready to get out of the stuffy and dreary office. As you were packing up your own belongings, your phone buzzed with a message.

From: Kim Namjoon

Hi! I hope you’re doing well. I know your game is coming out soon so you must be busy, hopefully you’re getting enough rest!

Just a question about next Friday, would you like to head over to the gallery together? I can pick you up. Let me know when you can!

Oh, that’s right, the gallery that you were supposed to go to with Namjoon was coming up in a week. You had forgotten in the chaos of work, but you resigned to text him back later. Getting home was your top priority. Though, now that you were thinking about you, you had a nagging feeling that you’d forgotten something else.

You bent down in front of your desk to log out of your computer, catching a flagged email a bit further down in your inbox, referencing the filming day that was involving your team. Your fingers snapped automatically, that’s what it was! You’d totally forgotten about Jeongguk coming to film the behind the scenes and doing a segment with your team. Rapping your desk to catch your team’s attention, you quickly reminded them.

“Just a reminder, this upcoming Tuesday, we have the filming team coming in here with Jeon Jeongguk. I think all of you signed the consent form, so you can all come to work as normal, but just be prepared that they’ll be there. You’ll have a couple cameras around and they may pull you aside for some questions, but that should be about it. Have a good weekend, guys.”

A chorus of goodbyes and well wishes rang out from your team, followed by idle chatter as they made their way to the elevator. You sat back for a minute, deciding whether you should text Yoongi to say you were coming home early or not. Was this early? It was almost nine, but it was relatively early to when you had been coming home.

Whatever, you’d just go home. No point in texting when you’d be there in about twenty minutes anyway, what would texting change?

You hauled yourself to the bus stop, feeling the heaviness of the day weigh down your bones. You’d given your team the weekend off, but the same couldn’t be said for you. You knew plenty of managers in the corporate world who could leisurely take time off work and the productiveness of their team wouldn’t change, but your team was, unfortunately, not the same. Your weekend would consist of monitoring your email for anything urgent coming in and making sure other teams were on track for the upcoming release, but at least you’d get a bit of a break. It was a bit like being on call, but you didn’t want to think about it that way, it’d make the unpaid overtime a bit too real. 

The sound of the bus approaching made you jolt to attention, stopping for a moment to close your eyes and stop your head from spinning. You had forgotten to pick up dinner, but you’d make do. There must be something in the fridge, and if there wasn’t, you’d make for some emergency fried chicken delivery. 

The bus ride home was peaceful, to your extreme delight. Late Friday night bus rides ran the risks of drunk and rowdy businessmen, energetic and loud college students, and excitable high schoolers. Thankfully, the bus was quiet and serene, soon stopping near your apartment. The trek up to the building felt more taxing than usual, dragging your feet along the pavement until you reached the elevator. The cool feeling of the elevator walls against your forehead felt refreshing, at least, but you internally groaned when the doors slid open and you had to move your feet once again. 

The click of the door to the apartment unlocking felt like an angel’s voice, and you entered the apartment only to be met with five faces staring back at you. Your eyes immediately found Yoongi’s, staring at you, a bit surprised, but he sent you a smile. You returned it weakly before trailing your eyes over everyone else, finding Namjoon and Seokjin on the couch and Jeongguk and Taehyung seated on the floor around the coffee table, seemingly playing some low stakes poker. 

How could you forget that Yoongi has his friends over on Friday nights? The gaps in your memory were starting to grow concerning. 

You gave a half wave before awkwardly closing the door behind you. What did you even look like right now? Your team had given up on any sort of professional appearance once the overtime had started and your team routinely showed up in sweatshirts, sweatpants, leggings, or pajamas at this point. If someone was wearing the same clothes as the previous day, everyone else turned a blind eye. You were sure that your hair was a ratty mess atop your head and your overly loose sweatshirt was drowning you in fabric, likely making you look like a kid playing dress up. Your concerns over your appearance dissipated when you felt a body slam against yours in a hug, arms enveloping your waist. 

“Noona! Did you get back from the office just now? You’re working too late,” Jeongguk exclaimed, squeezing you before releasing his hold.

You laughed slightly, “Yeah, things are busy since the game’s coming out in about a month, and since you get early access, we have to work even harder.”

Your joke made Jeongguk frown slightly, “Maybe I’ll catch some labor law violations in the vlog and you can win big in a lawsuit.”

You chuckled, patting his shoulder, “I’ll file after I get my new year bonus.”

You began taking off your shoes, having to face the rest of the group, who all gave you warm smiles, Taehyung and Namjoon both sending you a friendly wave. Seokjin sent a stern glare in your direction, facing his vitriol on the oversized young man behind you, “Yah, Jeongguk, leave her alone, she only just got back. What vlog are you talking about anyway?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but Jeongguk beat you to it, slinging his arms around you, a bit like a sloth hanging onto a tree, you noted.

“I get to hang out with noona all day on Tuesday since I’m filming a behind the scenes vlog for my second channel,” he responded, letting you go when Taehyung beckoned him over with the promise of a dangling chicken drumstick. 

Right, food. The chicken on the coffee table looked far too appetizing, but it felt rude of you to intrude so you tried to casually look away from it. 

“I didn’t know about that,” came Yoongi’s voice for the first time since you’d stepped into the apartment. It drew your gaze immediately, seeing a small frown on his face and furrowed eyebrows. Was he upset that you hadn’t told him? You suppose Jeongguk was his friend first.

“Ah, yeah, I’ve been so busy with work, I haven’t really gotten the chance to talk to you too much,” you said, trying to convey your guilt.

Yoongi shook his head, “Not your fault, you’d think that this brat,” he flicked Jeongguk’s forehead, who protested through a mouth full of chicken, “Would tell me that he was spending the day with my wife at work.”

Your chest bloomed at his choice of words, you’d rarely heard him refer to you as his wife, only at the reception of your wedding when talking to guests. Somehow, him using it now in such an intimate setting made your marriage feel all the more real. 

“Speaking of,” Seokjin interjected, “Isn’t your one month anniversary coming up? Are you guys doing anything fun?”

You and Yoongi both looked at each other, a bit at a loss for words. You hadn’t even thought about that, had it really already been almost a month? Somehow, it felt simultaneously shorter and much, much longer than that. You felt like you’d already spent a lifetime with Yoongi, but it’d barely been four weeks.

“I believe that’s on the same day as the gallery,” Namjoon said casually, snatching a small piece of chicken from Jeongguk’s clutches.

“Gallery,” Yoongi questioned.

“Oh, Namjoon and I are going to a gallery for an artist he introduced me to, we’d talked about when we met at that gallery a few weeks back,” you explained, trying to focus on the conversation and not how good the chicken looked. 

Yoongi seemed to be pondering his response when Namjoon caught your gaze on the food.

“Have you eaten yet, Y/N,” he questioned. 

You shook your head softly, a bit embarrassed that you were found out so quickly. 

“Join us,” Seokjin said, snatching the rest of the box from Jeongguk who pouted sadly, “You can have the rest of what’s in here and we can order more too.”

“No, you guys should eat that, it’s yours,” you insisted, feeling slightly childish with Seokjin’s suggestion.

“Jeonggukie ate most of it anyway, so we were going to need more,” Seokjin said, waving away your concerns, “We really need to start ordering multiple portions for him so he doesn’t eat all of it.”

You laughed and started toward the couch to join them, but took a quick glance at Yoongi’s expression to see if he was okay with it. The scene felt oddly familiar to you, reminding you of the last time you were invited to sit with them and you felt compelled to refuse.

Yoongi’s face looked unreadable, just like then too, but he seemed to be more deep in thought this time. He caught your gaze and smiled, though, nodding for you to join them. You gave a sheepish smile in response, making your way to the couch and sitting next to Namjoon, who had moved closer to the middle to make room for you. 

“Thanks, it’s been a long day,” you said, leaning into the soft cushions of the couch. You were going to have to be careful not to fall asleep, you were so used to collapsing onto this same couch after work. 

The food quickly arrived and the men continued to engage in conversation, making sure to include you, but you felt yourself getting drowsy. It seemed you had reached your limit when you felt your head bump into Namjoon’s shoulder in a sleep induced sway. You lifted yourself upright, blinking sleepily up at him, making out his soft smile, “Sorry, Namjoon-ah. I’m a bit tired.” You could hear yourself slurring your words. 

“No worries, Y/N, maybe we should get you to bed,” he responded, steading you again with a firm hand on your shoulder. 

If you had felt like a child earlier, you most certainly felt more like one now.

You felt Namjoon’s hands grasp your shoulders, gently lifting you to a standing position before a new pair of hands took over. 

“I’ll take her upstairs, Joon, can you make sure Seokjin doesn’t spill anything while I’m gone,” you heard Yoongi’s voice ask. Your eyes were barely open and your mind felt quite cloudy in your drowsy haze. Looking up at Yoongi, you caught his pensive expression before he looked down at you, sending you a small smile. He gently squeezed your shoulders and slowly led you up the stairs and to your room, you could distantly hear Jeongguk calling out a goodnight. 

You were barely conscious for the walk to your bedroom, feeling yourself lean against Yoongi for support. He patiently guided you, opening the door to your room and laying you down on your bed. Why did this feel familiar too?

Yoongi’s fingers brushed a few stray pieces of hair out of your face, you could feel the rough pads of his fingertips against your forehead. Almost asleep now, you barely registered yourself leaning into his touch as he brought his fingers around your face to cup your cheek. 

“Will you be okay sleeping in those clothes? Any makeup you have to wipe off,” he whispered, rubbing his thumb against your cheek. 

“No,” you mumbled, “I’m fine. Wanna sleep now. Goodnight, Yoongi-ah.”

You felt his thumb freeze its motions before he whispered back, “Goodnight, Y/N-ie. Sleep well.”

You were already asleep by the time he closed your bedroom door.

Yoongi felt conflicted over his newly realized feelings for you. In a way, it was freeing, being able to act affectionately with you without any ambiguity or restriction. Well, there were still some restrictions and maybe some ambiguity too. You were starting as friends, and Yoongi did think that was a good idea, he really did, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t dying to go further with you. 

His hands constantly itched to take yours and his eyes were always drawn to your soft and gentle smile. You had been smiling a bit more since that fateful weekend, and Yoongi was enjoying every second of it. 

Though, there weren’t really that many seconds of it to enjoy, considering your hectic schedule since your date. You’d been cooped up at your office pretty much every evening, a feeling Yoongi was familiar with, so he couldn’t fault you. Every time he managed to catch a rare glimpse of you in the house, you were either sleeping on the couch, or tiredly eating at the table. Despite your haggard appearance and exhausted demeanor, you’d always managed to smile a greeting at him and apologize for being so busy. 

Yoongi couldn’t find it in himself to be upset at your absence. Even though he was aching to be close to you and spend more with you, he knew your work was important and busy right now. Yoongi had to be patient, something he was not excited for. Your skin always looked too inviting, your lips too soft, and your eyes too alluring. He constantly had to reign in his wandering thoughts about you, even having to do a bit of overtime himself to make up for his distracted nature the past few weeks. 

Despite his growing attraction to you, whenever he laid eyes on your messy appearance with considerable eyebags adorning your sweet face, your lips forming a tired pout, in the multiple times he’d caught you sleeping on the couch when he went downstairs to check if you’d returned, his thoughts dissipated. You were clearly working yourself to the bone and Yoongi knew he couldn’t stop you, he’d been in your position multiple times. Sometimes, there was no other way around it. So he did what he could, a blanket covering your sleeping form, a small snack or candy slipped into your bag, or an extra serving of dinner waiting for you in the microwave, this was how Yoongi knew to show his love. 

Love? Was it? 

No, he didn’t think so. At least not yet. It was too early on to tell if he loved you, but he could feel himself starting down that path. He only wished that he could be in an actual relationship with you, though he knew why he couldn’t. His friends knew about the arrangement, he’d confided in Seokjin and Namjoon, but he hadn’t revealed his growing feelings for you, only that you’d decided to become friends. 

Maybe that had been a mistake, considering how close they seemed to be getting to you. Yoongi recalled how his friends had jumped at your presence when you’d entered the apartment. As he climbed into bed, he remembered how Jeongguk had stood excitedly at your arrival and immediately crushed you in an intimate hug. Had Yoongi hugged you before? He couldn’t remember, but it was all he could think about now. Jeongguk had mentioned that he’d be spending the day with you at work on Tuesday, Yoongi had never seen you in your office either. Suddenly, that single walk to work together all those days ago felt minimal compared to what Jeongguk was going to get to experience. 

You seemed to have grown close with Namjoon as well, Yoongi thought, remembering the way that Namjoon had smiled invitingly at you and the way you’d sat next him, bumping your head against his shoulder in your attempt to sleep. What was that? Yoongi felt restless, maybe he should’ve clarified his feelings to his friends so they’d know you were off limits.

Except, you weren’t. Yoongi knew that. He had no claim over you, he wasn’t your boyfriend, only your designated husband. Yoongi’s mind wandered back to the interactions between you and Namjoon, racing to analyze every interaction, despite his acceptance that it wasn’t his place. 

You seemed so comfortable with Namjoon, you’d even called his name so affectionately. Well, you’d said Yoongi’s name affectionately too, he gloated internally. That had been a sweet moment that he was going to treasure, you had been so placid and vulnerable, a side to you he hadn’t seen before. It had been hard to contain himself since he’d brought you to your room, feeling you lean against him and into his hand, he’d wanted to kiss you. 

But he knew better, he had to wait. Yoongi tried not to think about what would happen if you decided you only wanted to be friends with him and nothing more. He had already fallen so deeply for you. It was unexpected for him to fall so quickly and so hard, surprising even himself. You’d managed to wedge your way into his heart, making him uncomfortable, only to set up shop there and grow his fondness toward you. 

Yoongi’s mind drifted back to the earlier conversation, when Seokjin had mentioned your one month anniversary. Should he be planning something? He wasn’t sure. To be honest, he didn’t really want to celebrate your wedding day, it felt like it was yours. It was more for other people than anything. Not to mention, he didn’t want to call attention back to when he’d been acting so crassly. Yoongi cringed at the memory. 

Besides, Namjoon had mentioned that you two were going to a gallery that day. Yoongi was only slightly jealous, or that was what he was telling himself. Why did you have to have so much in common with his friends and be so personable? His envy grew at the fact that Namjoon would be spending so much time with you on your wedding anniversary, despite Yoongi’s earlier dismissal of it. How was it fair that the man you were spending your anniversary with wasn’t your husband, but his friend?

Maybe he should plan something for that day for when you come back from the gallery. The idea made him smile. He wanted to make it a special day for you, and with newfound determination to show up Namjoon, he would. 

previous / masterlist / next

[purble-turble]

I know TT Red takes place Season 1, but how do you think he handles S2 to S5?

There's so many ways this could potentially go, where on so many ocassions TT Red goes to the future in the middle of an adventure and gets traumatized way more than how much LBD did to MK.

Season 4 would be such a mess, especially if all of TT Red's experiences got documented in the scroll of memory once he got sucked in, and then MK and Mei had to go through so many of these futures trying to find TT Red.

AND SEASON 5. Oh dear I think I know how this would make sense now:

This is post season five and TT Red's way of going "I don't want you killing yourself all over again, this is for your protection. Just like for Wukong, I want you to be out of trouble. Please trust me I love you dearly (BUT NOT TOO MUCH) and I wanna make sure you're alive and well."

TT Red becomes an absolute wreck by the end of lmk so far and I think it would absolutely show during this sort of timeline.

Oh my god.. ok, so that Season 5 aftermath you proposed is great, but I HAVE to focus on what you said about the memory scroll for season 4 because it’s fucking amazing!

Red Son gets pulled into the memory scroll, but instead of just being his past in its relation to Journey to the West, EVERYTHING he has done, including all the futures he has had to visit, all have had an influence on how the scroll appears for him.. He’s got some wild, temporal/interdimensional nonsense going on with him that makes the scroll act in unusual ways, so honestly why are they even surprised? 😂

MK and the gang all have to find their way through a bunch of different universes in which there are different versions of themselves but also almost every one of them has a Red Son, too.. So not only do they have to watch out and not lose track of each other lest they not know which of them is which (they definitely do at points, maybe even all getting split up and ending up in a future of their own) but they also need to figure out which of these Red Sons is actually THEIR Red Son so they can jar his memory and get him back to his normal self… this is easier said than done.

Also, it gives them all a little taste of just how fucked up TT Red’s solo time adventures are sometimes. They see versions of the world where the city is destroyed, where demons have destroyed Pigsy’s Noodles, where one or several of them have died, that one where Red Son sacrificed himself and MK is left sad and hollow.. not all of them are so bad, though. Maybe they get lucky and stumble upon one where it’s way far in the future and Red and MK are happily married with a family, and MK hopes beyond hope pLEASE let this Red Son be HIS Red Son… it’s not, but boy that would have been nice if that was his, like, “true self” or whatever this scroll is doing to them.

Eventually they make it to the start of it all: Demon King Red’s timeline. MK is desperate at this point to find his Red Son, but when he makes his way into this lavish throne room and sees a king version of Red sitting on a throne, he’s like “oh FUCK no. That is definitely NOT my Red Son.” All his friends are hemming and hawing like, well, maybe it could be?? Isn’t that how Red Son sees himself? Isn’t becoming that guy what he’s afraid of??? It’s kinda shitty, but maybe the scroll WOULD turn Red Son into Demon King Red.

MK isn’t convinced. He insists that it’s NOT POSSIBLE. In fact, he uses his Smartie Kid brain and deduces that, for all the rest of them, they were lost in a role of a person that they used to be, whether it was a reincarnation or an ancestor or whatever their deal was… but Red Son has never been (and NEVER WILL BE, MK insists) Demon King Red. So they’ve been going about this all wrong. They shouldn’t be trying to find the Red Son for each of these timelines and seeing if their Red has been turned into them.. they should be trying to find wherever their own Red Son would be in within that timeline!

In the case of Demon King Red, MK remembers what he was told about his time in the palace.. he dodges a hug from the mad king, leaving his friends to hold him off, and scoots right past him to make a break for the dungeon. He finds his Red Son locked up down there- short hair, tattered jacket, square glasses and all.. but something new as well: a red circlet on his head.

When he spots MK he starts to panic, he insists that MK go and leave him there. He shouldn’t have come to rescue him- he’s not worth it! If the mad king finds MK there, it will be all over, and freeing Red Son isn’t worth the risk! MK pries open the cell and reaches out for Red, insisting that isn’t true. He’ll always be there for him, even when he’s at his lowest because he loves him! Red Son still doesn’t go for his hand, falling back and curling in on himself in despair. He insists again that that makes no sense… MK should hate him. He would be fully justified to leave Red behind to rot in this cell forever.. it’s no less than he deserves.

MK has to grab him, cupping his face forcefully in his hands and making Red Son look up at him again to stop him from spiraling. No, he shouts, that’s wrong! Red Son doesn’t deserve this! Not one bit of it! He has worked so SO hard to change himself into a better person, and the fact that he is has been through so much and seen so many terrible possible futures but is still trying so hard means he is already a thousand times better than Demon King Red. He is NOT Demon King Red, and thanks to his own tireless efforts, he never will be! All he has to do is not give up that hope to make this better.

Finally, this gets through to Red Son. The fillet around his head disappears, and he blinks a few times in confusion, coming out of the stupor the scroll had put him in… of course the two of them are still in the dungeon, which is extra confusing for Red Son, but MK just takes his hand and leads him back to his friends. They’re still fighting to hold off the scroll version of Demon King Red, and I think upon seeing TT Red Son out of his cell and back to normal, he probably morphs into a horrific, ink monster version of the king.. and let’s say this is the scene where Mei’s sword gets broken and they all get separated again, so things go back to the canon plot line :U

Gosh that was fun.. I do love fitting my AUs into the canon plot~

[fushitoru]

chapter 9: the embers a bridgerton au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

genre/warnings ⸺ enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, suggestive, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly, all they do is bicker 💀, some historical inaccuracies, mentions of sex work

chapter summary ⸺ sukuna takes you on an excurion into town at night, where you both meet a stranger that gives you illustrative insight into gojo. on the other hand, satoru has to suffer his best friend's most terrible plan as of date (10k).

a/n MWAHAHAHA i'll see you at the end :) thank you for my beta readers @/angelina7890, @/purplegemadventures, @/hellowoolf, and @/sinn-clair for helping me salvage bridgerton!gojo efknwekfnw

also note that the warnings have been updated.

prev. the lake | next. soon!

general masterlist | series masterlist

Dearest Reader,

It seems that the Gojo name has once again stirred the waters of the ton—quite literally, this time. If you were not present at Surrey Park, then you have surely missed a sight that will be etched in the minds (and no doubt dreams) of many a young lady for weeks to come.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

The rhythmic sound of the carriage wheels against the dirt road filled the silence as you sat between Choso and Sukuna, gazing out of the small window. The events of Surrey Park, particularly the lake incident, replayed in your mind with an insistence that made your temples throb. You clenched your hands tightly in your lap, as if the sheer tension in your knuckles could chase away the image of Lord Gojo, drenched and smirking as though he hadn’t just caused your heart to stutter in ways you loathed to admit.

“What a ridiculous display,” Sukuna muttered, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the seat, his tone conveying pure disapproval. “That man cannot seem to go a day without making a spectacle of himself. I wonder if he has any sense of propriety at all.”

You tore your gaze from the window, startled from your reverie. “I hardly think it was his intention to fall into the lake,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction. The memory of Gojo's intense gaze before he walked away was still fresh, leaving you both flustered and confused.

Sukuna raised a brow, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips. “Intentional or not, it is yet another reason why I cannot fathom what you—or anyone, for that matter—ever saw in him.”

You could not help but think Sukuna’s dismay was not deserved; after all, the man had fallen into the lake in defense of you. Thus, it was not as easy for you to color it obscene and vulgar as easily as Sukuna.

 “Sukuna,” Choso interrupted with a stern look, though his tone was mild. “Let us not belabor the point. What matters is that our sister is no longer tethered to that man. Speaking of which”—he turned to you, his expression softening—“how fares your progress with Duke Nanami? Has he hinted at a proposal?”

You hesitated, shifting uncomfortably under your eldest brother’s watchful gaze. “He is... cordial and kind,” you replied after a pause, your voice measured. “Our conversations are pleasant, and he is undoubtedly a man of good character.”

Choso frowned slightly, clearly unsatisfied with your tepid response. “But is he inclined to offer for you?”

“I suppose,” you murmured, clasping your hands tighter in your lap. The truth, however, was far from what you conveyed. Despite Nanami's quiet, unwavering presence, your thoughts seemed to stray perpetually toward another—toward Lord Gojo, who could unsettle and vex you in equal measure with a single look or word. The mere memory of him emerging from the lake, every detail exaggerated by the sunlight, made your heart flutter treacherously.

Sukuna’s sharp eyes darted toward you, narrowing slightly as he leaned forward. “You suppose?” he repeated, his tone skeptical. “You are not typically this indecisive, Sister. Tell me, where exactly does your mind wander?”

You stiffened, heat creeping up your neck as you struggled to mask your turmoil. “I am simply... weighing my options,” you replied carefully, returning your gaze to the window to avoid his probing stare.

For a moment, Sukuna studied you in silence, his lips pursed in thought. But he said nothing more as the carriage finally pulled into the familiar drive of your family’s estate.

Once the carriage halted and Choso helped you alight, the three of you headed into the Itadori manor. However, as soon as you crossed the threshold, Sukuna’s hand lightly touched your elbow, indicating that you should linger behind. As Choso continued on to go to his study and fell out of earshot, you turned to him, a questioning look on your face.

“Sister,” he began, his voice low but not unkind. “Would you care to join me on an outing to town this evening? I have... matters to attend to, and I thought you might find it of interest.”

“An outing?” you asked, turning to him with curiosity. “What kind of matters?” 

Sukuna’s smirk widened, his expression almost conspiratorial. “Let us call it a meeting of minds. A discussion on the state of affairs, if you will.”

Your heart quickened with excitement at the prospect. If you recall correctly, you have no plans of balls or any outings with the tons tonight, and you longed to engage with something outside of the season’s mundane practices ever since Gojo had similarly taken you into town. Sukuna had been long gone, and this ritual of yours—sneaking into town to experience political meetings—you had long been deprived of.

“I would be delighted,” you replied, unable to keep the enthusiasm from your voice.

“Good,” Sukuna said, a rare note of approval in his tone as he squeezed your arm lightly. “Then prepare yourself for something far more stimulating than insipid dances and idle chatter.”

The moon’s light shone over the two cloaked figures that were you and Sukuna. As the both of you sneaked towards an apparent meeting point that Sukuna had pre-established, your heart raced—not from fear, but from the thrill of doing something forbidden.

The brisk air bit at your cheeks as the sound of the faint crunch of gravel accompanied you both while creeping across the street.

"Keep up," Sukuna whispered, casting a glance over his shoulder. His expression held that mischievous glint you had come to recognize all too well, as though he relished dragging you into his escapades.

 “I am keeping up,” you shot back, pulling your hood further over your face. “I only hope you know what you’re doing.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and unbothered. “Always.”

Soon enough, you spotted a modest carriage tucked behind a grove of trees, its lanterns dimmed to avoid attention. A figure stood waiting beside it, cloaked and hooded, though far more relaxed than someone trying to avoid detection. Sukuna approached the man with an ease that spoke of familiarity, slapping him on the shoulder as though they were old friends.

“Toji,” Sukuna greeted, his voice carrying a note of camaraderie.

“Toji?” you repeated under your breath, squinting your eyes as you studied the man. He was broad-shouldered, with an air of roughness about him that immediately set him apart from the polished gentlemen of the ton. His sharp eyes flicked to you briefly before returning to Sukuna, clearly unimpressed by the effort you’d gone through to remain inconspicuous.

“This the sister you’ve been talking about?” Toji asked, his tone casual as he nodded in your direction.

“Indeed,” Sukuna replied, smiling as he gestured toward you. “Miss Itadori, meet Toji Fushiguro, a man of many talents.”

“Many talents?” you echoed, shooting Sukuna a skeptical look. “And which talents are we referring to, exactly?”

Toji let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “She’s got a sharp tongue, your sister. I like her.”

You narrowed your eyes at the stranger, unsure whether to feel flattered or annoyed, but Sukuna merely grinned, ushering you toward the carriage. “Come on, we’ve got places to be.”

The interior of the carriage was cramped, but warm, the faint scent of leather and smoke lingering in the air. Toji climbed in after you, settling into the opposite seat with the practiced ease of someone who’d spent many nights in carriages like this one. Sukuna took his place beside you, leaning back as though this were the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re very familiar with him,” you remarked to Sukuna, your tone edged with suspicion. “I’d like to know why.”

Toji answered for him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Your brother and I go back. He’s got a knack for finding himself in interesting situations, and I’ve got a knack for getting him out of them.”

“Is that so?” you said, arching a brow amusedly at Sukuna. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Sukuna shrugged, entirely unbothered. “Toji’s got connections. And besides, Sister, you’ll be thanking me soon enough for dragging you into this.”

But you were not one to be fooled. You narrowed your eyes, prying deeper into your brother’s words. “What type of connections?”

He sighs, shaking his head and complaining, “Ah! Enough of that. Aren’t you curious as to where we’re going?”

Your skepticism could not be quelled with a dismissive remark, but you waved it aside anyway, acquiescing. “Fine, but do not think I will rest on the matter.”

Toji, who had been silent thus far, chuckled quietly, his sharp gaze flickering between you and Sukuna. “She’s got your measure, Sukuna. You’re not squirming out of this one so easily.”

“Never does,” Sukuna muttered under his breath before changing tack. “Alright, alright. Since you’re so eager to discuss weighty matters, tell me this—are you familiar with Wollstonecraft’s latest work?”

Your brow furrowed as you tried to recall. “The Vindication? Of course, I’ve read it. Why?”

“Then you’ll have some context for what you’re about to hear,” Toji said. His voice was measured, but there was a weight to it that made you sit up a little straighter. “This isn’t just idle talk—it’s about education, equality, and liberty. Ideas that don’t sit well with those who benefit from keeping things as they are.”

Sukuna nodded, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “It’s more than philosophy, though. These people are living it. Fighting for it.”

Your pulse quickened as the conversation took a turn you hadn’t anticipated. You leaned forward slightly as you met Sukuna’s gaze. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” you began, your voice tinged with both curiosity and eagerness. “Wollstonecraft’s arguments are bold, yes, but they’re also deeply practical. Education as the foundation of equality—what could be more sensible? Yet, it threatens the very structure of society.”

Toji gave a low chuckle, his sharp gaze resting on you with renewed interest. “Well said. And what do you make of it, then? The notion that the world might be turned on its head by ideas like hers?”

Your lips curved into a small, wry smile. “I think the world could use a little turning on its head. Though, I imagine the aristocracy would sooner go to war than concede such ground.”

“That they would,” Sukuna agreed, his tone almost amused. “But it’s not just the aristocracy. The changes Wollstonecraft envisions—education for all, women stepping into the public sphere—these ideas challenge everyone who’s comfortable with the way things are.”

“Which is precisely why they’re so powerful,” you replied quickly, your excitement bubbling over. “People cling to the status quo out of fear, but fear is not insurmountable. Surely, with the right voices, the right leaders, minds could be swayed.”

Toji smiled faintly, his expression unreadable. “Optimistic, aren’t you? Most would say such change requires more than just words. Sacrifices must be made.”

“I’m not naïve, Mr. Fushiguro,” you said, straightening your posture. “I understand that revolutions—whether in thought or action—carry a cost. But is that not the mark of true progress? To be willing to bear the burden for a better future?”

Sukuna exchanged a glance with Toji, the latter’s smirk deepening. “She’s quite the firebrand, isn’t she?” Toji remarked.

“She always has been,” Sukuna replied with a shrug, though the faintest hint of pride flickered in his tone. “Keeps me on my toes.”

You ignored their banter, your thoughts racing ahead to what lay in store. “This meeting,” you pressed, unable to keep the excitement from your voice, “who will be there? What will be discussed?”

Sukuna held up a hand to forestall your questions. “Patience. You’ll hear it all soon enough. But I’ll tell you this much—it’s not just talk. These people are doing what others only dream of.”

Toji nodded, his expression growing somber. “There are risks, of course. The kind of risks that come with challenging the very fabric of society.”

You nodded, your resolve solidifying. “I’m not afraid of risk. Ideas like these are worth fighting for.”

Toji studied you for a long moment, his gaze heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, he leaned back and crossed his arms. “You might just survive this night, after all.”

The carriage hit a slight bump in the road, jostling all of you, but it did little to break the energy that now thrummed in the small space. The shadows outside grew longer as the journey continued, but your mind was alight with thoughts of what awaited—a world of bold ideas and uncertain promises, one you were eager to step into.

The rest of the ride was quiet, save for the occasional jostling of the carriage over uneven terrain. When you finally arrived, Toji stepped out first, scanning the area before motioning for the two of you to follow. You found yourself in what appeared to be a modest meeting hall, the murmur of voices already audible from within.

Toji pushed open the door, revealing a room filled with a mix of people—some finely dressed, others in simpler attire, all seated in clusters, engaged in quiet but intense discussion. It was clear you had entered a space where class distinctions mattered little, united by a common cause.

“This,” Toji said, his voice low but firm, “is where the real work happens. You wanted to see it, didn’t you?”

You glanced at Sukuna, who gave you a reassuring nod, and then back at Toji. “Lead the way,” you said, your curiosity outweighing your reservations.

The smell of pipe smoke wafted through the air, accompanying the noise of friendly claps on backs, low murmur of conversation, the scrape of chairs against the floor, and a warped sort of revelry that was present in the room. The place was almost like a tavern, and as you, your brother, and Toji made your way through the wooden tables filled with people, ongoers showed familiarity with Sukuna. The contrast with how he conducted himself here and the demeanor he adopted at balls was almost comical; whereas ladies of the ton would get an uncongenial countenance, Sukuna was even grunting in response to some of the greetings he received. It was truly a marvel to perceive, indeed.

While Toji directed you both towards an empty table for the sake of your privacy, you could hear tidbits of conversations, murmurs, and bold declarations alike surrounding you.

“Evening, Sukuna,” a burly man called out, raising his glass in acknowledgment. Sukuna responded with a grunt and a nod, his lips twitching in what might have been a hint of a smile.

As Toji directed you to an empty table near the back of the room, your ears caught snippets of conversation from the surrounding tables.

“I find Burke’s assertions about women rather daft,” a woman sniffed, her voice tinged with disdain. “To claim that their sensibilities preclude them from education—it’s an insult, not an argument.”

A man seated beside her chuckled, shaking his head. “Indeed. The irony is that these so-called rational men are the ones most ruled by their passions when challenged.”

At another table, a younger man spoke with fiery conviction. “It’s not just about reforming laws—it’s about changing the very way we think about liberty and who truly earns it.”

“And it’s not solely for the falsely-refined, immoral, and narcissistic rich; As Wollstonecraft mentioned, they are weak, artificial beings, spreading their corruption though the whole mass of society.”

You couldn’t help but smile faintly at the exchanges, the fervor and intellect on display so different from the superficial chatter of the ton. Toji and Sukuna, however, seemed unfazed, as though this kind of discourse was nothing new to them. You, on the other hand, were very excited; while Sukuna had taken you out on such excursions often, the extent of it was visiting restaurants in common clothes, and eating freshly baked bread and pastries. This was an entirely different scene, and every time someone echoed your thoughts—before, captive on your diary’s pages—out loud, your heart was set aflutter. 

However, you were a bit wary about fully joining the discussion. While you were undeniably confident that you would be able to keep rapport with those debating, you weren’t fully aware of Toji’s position within the ton. Sukuna may have his trust, but you’d rather not risk joining in; after all, if Toji even were to spread the word about your scandalous…hobbies, Sukuna would not be entirely opposed to you leaving the season without finding a husband, as he’s made clear before.

Once seated, Toji leaned back in his chair, resting his elbows on the armrests as you and Sukuna followed suit.“Quite the crowd tonight,” he remarked, his voice low as his sharp eyes scanned the room. “Seems the common folk are growing bolder.”

Sukuna grinned, leaning back in his chair as though he were entirely at ease. “It’s about time, isn’t it?”

You settled into your seat, your hands resting lightly on the edge of the table as you absorbed the atmosphere. The snippets of conversation, the passionate speeches, the clinking of mugs—all of it painted a vivid picture of a world far removed from the ballrooms and drawing rooms you had grown accustomed to. And yet, there was something undeniably captivating about it.

“What do you think?” Sukuna asked, his tone teasing as he leaned closer to you. “Not quite the spectacle of a ball, but it has its charm, doesn’t it?”

You glanced at him, your lips curving into a faint smile. “It’s… different,” you admitted, your gaze returning to the dais where the speaker was now gesturing animatedly. “But perhaps that’s what makes it so compelling.” 

As you turned, you now noticed that Toji was observing you thoughtfully and you tilted your head, giving him a questioning look, to which he spoke up, “Well,” his tone light but probing, “discussion aside. How has the glittering world of the ton treating you, Miss Itadori? I hear you’re the diamond of the season. Must be quite the... adventure.”

You offered him a polite, practiced smile. “It has been... illuminating,” you said delicately. “The season has certainly provided its share of experiences.”

“Ah, I see,” Toji drawled, leaning back in his chair and giving you a look that suggested he saw through your carefully crafted response. “Illuminating. That’s a word people use when they’re too polite to say what they really mean.”

Sukuna snorted, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “She’s being diplomatic, Toji. If you really want to know what she thinks, let me tell you—she’s been dodging proposals left and right while trying not to throttle certain lords.”

Your lips parted in indignation, but Sukuna held up a hand to stop you before you could protest. “Don’t deny it, sister. We both know I’m right.”

Toji chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Ah, now this is getting interesting. So, who’s the thorn in your side, then? Every diamond has one.”

You stiffened slightly but maintained your composed tone. “I wouldn’t say anyone is a thorn, per se. There have been... challenges, certainly, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Gojo,” Sukuna said bluntly, earning a glare from you. “The thorn is Gojo.”

Toji’s brows shot up. “Satoru Gojo? The golden boy himself? Well, that’s a surprise. What’s he done to earn your ire, Miss Itadori?”

You hesitated, unsure of how much to divulge, but Sukuna, ever the instigator, jumped in. “He courted her, dropped her, and now he’s lurking in the background like some lovesick pup.”

Toji let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Ah, that boy. Always knew he’d trip over his own arrogance one day.”

“Arrogance,” Sukuna muttered, “doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Toji smirked, swirling his glass thoughtfully. “Let me give you some advice, Miss Itadori. The one you hate, the one who gets under your skin, makes your blood boil? That’s usually the one worth keeping around.”

You scoffed, but it was half-hearted; you were intrigued. Straightening in your chair, you probed lightly, “And why, pray tell, would I want to keep someone who vexes me so terribly?”

“Because,” Toji said, leaning forward, his tone uncharacteristically serious, “the ones who challenge you are the ones who see you. Really see you. And from what I’ve heard, Gojo’s stuck around, hasn’t he? Defended you when it counted?”

You frowned, your mind flashing back to the lake incident, his swift intervention, the way he had looked at you—like you were the only person in the world. “That’s hardly enough to excuse his behavior,” you said, though your voice lacked its usual conviction.

Toji grinned knowingly. “Conflict like this doesn’t fizzle out quietly, Miss Itadori. Mark my words—this will blow up sooner or later. And when it does, when Gojo realizes he’s been an idiot and comes crawling back, what are you going to do?”

Your breath hitched at the thought, and you quickly dismissed it with a wave of your hand. “He won’t. He’s far too stubborn for that.”

“Maybe,” Toji conceded with a shrug, though his expression suggested otherwise. “But if he does, you’d better know what you want, because boys like Gojo don’t grovel often.”

Sukuna huffed, crossing his arms. “Well, I’d rather she find someone who isn’t an arrogant prick.”

“Maybe,” Toji said again, his tone calm but firm. “But sometimes it’s the arrogant pricks who surprise you the most.”

You shook your head, unwilling to entertain the notion any further. “This is all highly speculative and entirely unnecessary. Lord Gojo and I are... nothing.”

Toji’s words hung in the air, and though you tried to focus on the speaker at the front of the room, the uneasy stirring in your chest remained. Sukuna’s watchful gaze burned into the side of your face, and after a long moment of silence, you turned back to Toji, unable to resist asking the question that had been gnawing at you.

“How is it,” you began cautiously, your tone laced with both curiosity and a hint of suspicion, “that you seem to know Lord Gojo so well?”

Toji leaned back in his chair, his lips quirking in an almost imperceptible smirk. Sukuna let out a low chuckle, crossing his arms as he observed the exchange, clearly entertained. You really wanted to shoot a dirty glare at both of them, but you persisted, your gaze insistently honing on Toji.

“What makes you think I know him?” Toji asked, his voice carrying that frustratingly unhurried cadence that suggested he was enjoying your discomfort.

You narrowed your eyes, unwilling to let him deflect. “Because you speak of him with far more familiarity than most. And because you called him an ‘arrogant prick’ with such conviction that it could only come from experience.”

Toji laughed at that, a low, amused sound that rumbled from his chest. “Sharp as ever,” he remarked, glancing briefly at Sukuna, who rolled his eyes. “Fine, if you must know—I’ve known the boy since he was barely out of leading strings. My father did lots of business with his, as almost all families of the nobility do business with the Gojo dukedom. And for a time, I was … well, let’s say I was observing the business practices of the family.”

You blinked, surprised by the revelation. “Oh? Anything of note?”

Toji shrugged, his expression now unreadable at the mention of his family. “Gojo and I… crossed paths more than a few times.” He then snorted, now shaking his head at what seemed a ridiculous memory. “The boy was only four and ten when he was attending those meetings with the rest of the noble families, while the rest of the men in that room were at least two and twenty.”

“Ah.” You didn’t exactly understand how to analyze this; while you’re no stranger to the fact that Gojo was conditioned for the title of duke since his childhood, courtesy of Mrs. Tanaka, you were fazed by it every time.

“And,” Toji snorts, continuing, “the child would be the most ridiculous sight. Sometimes it felt that he was so enamored by the sound of his own voice that he hardly cared what the meeting was about.” Toji smirked, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed as if reliving the absurdity of the memory. “He’d sit there, bold as brass, making ridiculous suggestions—most of which were promptly dismissed, mind you—but he always had this way of... commanding attention.”

You raised a brow, trying to picture a fourteen-year-old Gojo confidently holding court among seasoned men of business and nobility. The image was surprisingly easy to conjure. “And no one thought to put him in his place?”

Toji let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, they tried. Believe me, they tried. But the boy’s wit was sharper than most men in that room. Even when he was wrong—and he often was—he’d somehow twist the conversation to make it seem like he was the only one making sense. Drove them mad.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought, though it was accompanied by a pang of irritation. Of course, Gojo had been insufferable even as a boy.

“He sounds as impossible then as he is now,” you muttered, earning a chuckle from Sukuna.

Toji tilted his head, a glint of something more serious in his eyes now. “Impossible, yes. But also... determined. Even back then, you could tell he had a weight on his shoulders. He wanted to prove something—to himself, to his family, to everyone in that room. I’d wager that’s still true.”

You frowned, mulling over his words. “And what exactly does he have to prove? He’s already a duke-to-be, with wealth, power, and influence beyond what most could dream of.”

Toji regarded you for a moment, his gaze steady. “Sometimes, those with the most are the ones who feel they have the most to lose. And the most to prove.”

Your chest tightened at the implication, but you quickly shoved the thought aside. “Well,” you said, forcing a lightness into your tone, “it seems Lord Gojo has always been consistent in his… unique qualities.”

Toji’s smirk returned, though there was a knowing edge to it. “That he has. But don’t mistake consistency for simplicity. That boy is a maze, and only a fool would think they’ve figured him out.”

You opened your mouth to respond but were interrupted by Sukuna’s low, dry voice. “Why are we wasting breath on that prick? We’re here for a reason, aren’t we?”

Toji laughed again, a deep, unbothered sound, and gestured for you both to follow him deeper into the meeting hall. “Fair enough. Let’s see if we can find you two a seat before you start debating the virtues—or lack thereof—of Lord Satoru Gojo.”

The sun was low on the horizon, casting the sky in a fiery orange glow as the two men rode side by side along the quiet trails bordering the Gojo estate. The rhythmic clopping of hooves on the dirt path filled the silence, punctuated by the occasional snort or whinny from their steeds. Satoru’s white steed carried him with its usual grace, while Geto’s dark horse moved with a steady, confident gait.

It was indeed a rare moment of calm. Before the season started, these silences would undoubtedly be filled with Geto’s mentions of gossip and business deals, in which investment in the Americas ended up being a damp squib. However, it seems that with the season has come Geto’s new target: his best friend himself, Satoru. And Satoru knew that this moment of calm was before the storm: Geto hopping on his arse.

And indeed, Geto, ever the opportunist, was not one to let peace linger for too long. His lips quirked into a smirk as he glanced sideways at his lifelong friend.

“So,” Geto began, his tone far too casual to be innocent, “why’d you defend her yesterday?”

Satoru groans inwardly; ever since that night of the ball after the Gojo house party, Suguru had been observing him amusedly. It even seemed that Nanami was taking interest in Satoru’s recent affairs; every conversation at White’s had seemed like Kento and Suguru were in collusion together, and it made Satoru very wary. However, outwardly, he continued, his gaze fixed ahead. “Who?” he asked, feigning ignorance. 

Geto snorted. “Don’t play coy with me, Satoru. You know exactly who I mean—Miss Itadori. The lady you so gallantly saved from a rather damp fate.”

Satoru shrugged, leaning slightly forward in his saddle. He would be the air of nonchalance if Suguru didn’t know the subtle signs: his jaw clenching and his posture a bit too tight. “She was being pushed into a lake. Anyone would’ve done the same.”

“Ah,” Suguru drawled, his smirk widening. “Anyone. Of course. But it wasn’t just anyone, was it? It was you.”

“I was simply nearby,” Satoru replied coolly, though his grip on the reins tightened, the leather creaking faintly under his fingers.

Suguru let out a hum, as though he were considering his next move in a chess match. “Nearby? Satoru, you could’ve been halfway across the field, and you’d still have found some excuse to swoop in. It’s rather unlike you to involve yourself in such... trivial matters.”

Satoru’s jaw clenched briefly, but he said nothing.

“You stopped courting her, didn’t you?” Geto pressed, his tone light but with a sharp edge, something almost teasing yet with something to prove. “And yet, here you are, defending her honor like a knight in shining armor. I can’t imagine how she feels about all this... conflicting behavior.”

Satoru scoffed, finally cutting a glance at his friend. “I doubt she thinks of it at all.”

“Hmm,” Geto mused, humming prolongedly. His voice was dripping with skepticism as he drawled, “I doubt that.” 

“I do not see how that is my issue,” Satoru responds bluntly, quelling the irritation inside him at being probed so…closely like this.

To Satoru’s reprieve, Geto had no immediate response. The two rode in silence for a moment, the quiet broken only by the rustling of leaves and the soft sounds of their horses’ hooves. Suguru, however, was far from finished, and Satoru felt that he was going to burst a vein. 

“For someone who has the ton at his feet—every mama scheming, every daughter swooning—you sure are paying a lot of attention to one particular lady,” he said, leaning back slightly in his saddle. “A lady you supposedly have no interest in.”

This was enough. “Drop it, Geto,” Gojo said, his tone low and warning.

But Suguru wouldn’t have earned the title of being Satoru’s closest friend—and now it seemed, his greatest enemy—without crossing his boundaries further, pushing them in, and pulling at his strings. He wasn’t fettered in the least. He tilted his head, a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “You know, it’s almost as if—dare I say it—you’re catching feelings.”

The words hit Gojo with the force of a thrown gauntlet, and for a moment, it felt like the air had been knocked clean out of his lungs. His fingers tightened around the reins instinctively, the leather biting into his gloves as his horse came to an abrupt halt. His pulse spiked, not from exertion but from something he refused to name. It spread through him like wildfire—hot, uncontrollable, and unwelcome.

Catch feelings? 

At some point, Satoru was afraid he had. Holding your unconscious body in his arms and foolishly pretending to be your husband in some childish attempt to play house—but no, Satoru does not have space for a mere thing like feelings. No, more like mere infatuation that he was sure would have died out by ending your courtship. 

But when he had been replacing the flowers by your bedside for the nth time, gazing upon your unconscious form once more, he had felt a sort of panic and lack of control. An unbidden feeling bubbled up inside of him, one that he quickly grew to realize, in the days leading up to the house party and you being roused from your state, that it was dangerous.

It’s an idea he’s instilled in himself since he was just a youth, and it’s a law he follows. Love and duty mustn’t cross paths; the covenant of marriage was a duty, a means to uphold the dukedom and his family’s legacy. To cross it with something like mere infatuation over how your eyes widened whenever Satoru said something outrageous, the traces of the smile you contained talking to other foolish suitors, the feel of your surprise when he walked closer to your chair, how dangerous it was for him to be alone with you in the library at night…it would certainly destroy him and the truths that he, Satoru Gojo, based his life upon.

His mind raced to rationalize, to shove the notion of feelings, something deeper than infatuation and a mere fancy, into some dark corner where it could wither and die. What nonsense. It wasn’t feelings. It couldn’t be. It was...what? Irritation? Protectiveness? The natural response of any honorable man when a lady’s dignity was insulted?

Yet, the memory of you standing by the lake crept unbidden into his mind—your face caught between fury and disbelief, the sunlight glinting off the strands of your hair that had escaped their meticulous arrangement. 

And that damnable dress—how it had dared to hint at the curves he had so traced uncountable times his dreams with his hands, with his tongue—

He could still hear your biting words, sharp and unrelenting, even as they softened into something more vulnerable when no one else could hear.

His stomach twisted. No.

His voice was clipped as he snapped at Geto, desperate to redirect the conversation. “You’re starting to pry into matters that don’t concern you.”

But Geto’s smirk didn’t falter, and Gojo hated him for it. It was as if his oldest friend could see every crack forming in his carefully constructed facade, every thin thread of composure threatening to unravel.

“You could make a fine living consulting mamas on the ton’s gossip, you know,” Gojo continued, the words escaping him with uncharacteristic sharpness. “Perhaps even advising them on matchmaking strategies. Should I make introductions for you?”

The deflection was weak, and he knew it. His heart was still racing, his chest tight as if the very idea Geto had planted was a parasite sinking its teeth into his carefully guarded resolve.

Feelings. For you.

Impossible.

And yet, as Geto’s smirk grew wider, his eyes alight with amusement, Gojo realized with a sinking dread that he wasn’t entirely sure anymore.

Geto grinned, unbothered by the sharpness in his friend’s words, and appeared ignorant of the visceral reaction Gojo just had to the notion. “Oh, I don’t need introductions. I’ve already got your whole life figured out, Satoru.”

Gojo rolled his eyes, nudging his horse forward again. “She’s not anything special to me. That’s all there is to it.”

The silence that followed Geto’s pointed observation stretched longer than Gojo would have liked. It hung heavy in the cool evening air, punctuated only by the occasional snort of their horses and the crunch of hooves on gravel. Gojo didn’t dare look at his friend, his jaw clenched tightly as his mind raced. Catch feelings. The words echoed, taunting him as if Geto had struck a nerve he hadn’t even realized was exposed.

Gojo swallowed hard, eyes fixated blankly on the trees in the surrounding scenery, silent as his usual sharp wit suddenly dulled. His silence wasn’t the confident kind that usually unsettled others—it was uneasy, charged, the kind that gave too much away. He shifted in the saddle, his posture stiff, betraying the internal battle raging within him.

But Geto noticed. He always noticed.

And when Gojo finally glanced sideways at him, Geto’s expression had transformed. His dark eyes sparkled with a glint of pure mischief, his lips curving into a grin that promised trouble. It was as though he had just uncovered a hidden treasure—Gojo’s discomfort, his tells, his unwillingness to admit what they both knew.

“Oh,” Geto said, dragging the word out like a cat savoring the moment before pouncing on a mouse. His grin widened, a wicked gleam overtaking his features. “Oh, this is rich.”

Gojo scowled, his face flushing despite himself. “What now?” he snapped, though his voice lacked its usual commanding edge.

Geto didn’t answer immediately, his gaze sweeping over his friend with an almost theatrical sense of revelation. He leaned slightly forward in his saddle, the reins in one hand as his other gestured toward Gojo as if presenting him to an invisible audience.

“I’ve got it,” Geto said, his tone deceptively casual, though the glint in his eyes betrayed the mischief bubbling beneath. “If she’s not anything special, as you’ve so eloquently put it, then we can visit the brothel tonight. Right?”

Gojo’s head snapped toward him, his jaw tightening further, but before he could respond, Geto continued, his voice laced with false innocence. “Think about it—a little distraction, a reset, if you will. It’ll clear everything up for you, including how you’re feeling.”

The silence that followed wasn’t simply quiet—it was a palpable stillness, thick with tension. Geto’s grin only grew as he watched Gojo’s reaction—or lack thereof. His friend had frozen, the reins slack in his hands as he stared straight ahead, his profile bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun.

“What’s the matter?” Geto pressed, his voice practically dripping with faux innocence. “You’re not hesitating, are you? After all, if she means nothing to you, there’s no reason not to go.”

Gojo hesitated for a fraction of a second too long, and Geto pounced on it.

“You’ve got something to prove, don’t you?” he teased, leaning slightly toward Gojo. “Come now, Satoru. Let’s see just how unaffected you truly are.”

And then, like a man trying to prove something—to himself, to his friend, to the world—Gojo finally spoke, his tone clipped, almost defiant. “Fine.”

But Geto wasn’t fooled, and Gojo knew it. He could feel the weight of his friend’s amusement, his sharp gaze cutting through every layer of pretense Gojo had built around himself. And for the first time in a long while, Gojo felt like he was losing control of the narrative.

Geto’s grin widened, triumphant. “Good. Let’s make an evening of it.”

The carriage ride was tense, at least for one of its occupants. Gojo sat stiffly on one of the plush seats, his legs stretched out in front of him, though his right knee bounced incessantly—a restless, nervous tick that betrayed the calm expression he worked hard to maintain. His hands gripped the edge of the seat, his fingers curling into the fabric as he stared out of the window, his pale blue eyes unfocused.

“This,” Satoru finally said, his voice cutting through the heavy silence like a knife, “is a truly foolish idea.”

Across from him, Geto reclined with the ease of a man completely at peace with his choices, one arm slung casually over the back of the seat. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Then why are you here, oh wise one?”

Satoru shot him a flat look, though the movement was stiff, lacking his usual flair. “Because you said so. And because if I didn’t, you’d never let me hear the end of it.”

Geto chuckled, tipping his head back against the carriage wall. “Indulging your closest friend for once in your life—what a burden.” He then sighed, as if truly wounded and continued to lament, “You’ve never once gone with me—or rather, anyone—for an excursion to the establishment.”

Satoru didn’t dignify that with a response, his gaze flickering back out the window. The city rolled by in a blur of dim lantern light and shadowed alleys, but he barely registered it. The air in the carriage felt stifling, pressing down on him despite the open window beside him. His jaw clenched as his thoughts raced, looping over the same nagging feeling that had been gnawing at him since Geto suggested this ridiculous outing.

“I don’t even go to brothels,” Satoru muttered, almost to himself. This was truly a foolish idea.

Geto hummed amusedly, crossing his arms and leaning back. “So you’ve said. But everyone indulges now and again, even you.”

Satoru turned his head sharply to glare at him. “It’s not a fancy of mine.”

Geto leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he grinned. “Not your fancy? What, women? Or fun in general?”

“Brothels,” Satoru snapped, though the edge in his voice lacked conviction. “They’re… I don’t know, pointless. The whole idea is dunce-like. Superficial company cannot satisfy me. I find the banter found in of these establishments lacking conviction, and if I wanted such artificial banter, I would have found it in the balls of the ton. I have never found engaging conversation with any of the ladies of the ton,” except for you, “and I daresay it would not be an oversight to observe that I would not get the company I desire at a brothel.”

“And yet here you are,” Geto quipped, gesturing grandly to the carriage they occupied.

Satoru sighed heavily, his leg bouncing more insistently now. It seemed as if the foolishness of this idea had cast a cloud over his heart, never truly leaving him and permeating him in a sense of anxiousness, as if something was truly amiss. “Just this once. I fear that you may never stop troubling me if I do not.”

“As if I’d believe that.” Geto laughed, leaning back again, clearly enjoying his friend’s discomfort.

When the carriage finally came to a halt, Satoru felt a sinking sense of dread settle in his chest. He stepped down with an unusual stiffness, his body tense and his movements robotic, as though he were forcing himself to go through the motions. The chill of the evening air hit him, but it did little to ease the heat creeping up the back of his neck.

Geto followed close behind, his hand coming down heavily on Satoru’s shoulder in a gesture that was equal parts encouragement and teasing. “Relax, Satoru. It’ll be fun,” he said, his tone almost sing-song as he gestured toward the entrance of the establishment ahead.

Satoru gave him a tight-lipped smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure,” he replied dryly, though the tension in his shoulders made it clear that he was anything but.

As Geto led the way, Satoru lingered a step behind, his feet dragging just enough to make his reluctance palpable. He couldn’t shake the gnawing sense of unease, the quiet voice in the back of his mind telling him that this was a mistake. And yet, here he was—following Geto into the lion’s den, his heart pounding with a mix of dread and something else he couldn’t quite name.

Suguru and Satoru’s footsteps resound on the wooden floorboards. Feminine perfume wafts through the air, but Satoru finds it a bit too strong. Unbidden, the memory and trace of your scent of sandalwood flashes through his mind, but before he can linger on the memory of your scent got stronger the closer his nose inched to the delicate arch of your neck, Suguru stops in front of him, talking to a woman at the counter. 

As if second nature to Geto, Suguru flirts with the madam in charge of the finances, but to Satoru, it goes in through one ear and out the other. He’s too busy observing the tacky decorations and abundance of flowers that seem to surround the place and the halls he can peer into. And there are women.

They crowd by, some loitering by their doors and peering at the pair that just walked in. They giggle to each other in groups, no doubt wishing that Geto may choose them today, but Satoru knows that it would not be the case, for he hears Suguru murmur something along the lines of the usual girls. While some of them are enraptured by Geto, there are just so many eyes on him.

He’s undoubtedly someone they haven’t seen before; he doesn’t look too young, one that would end the whole session too early. Gojo feels eyes on him, salaciously trailing up his body, but he is unfazed by it. It is rather the prospect of being in a room alone, of having to touch or being touched that has, for some reason, him nauseous for a reason he is yet to figure out. So he attributes it to the waste of coin, for he is sure not to take any enjoyment.

“Satoru, move along this way,” Geto waves him into the hallway he’s walking towards, now that he has sorted out the details with the madam. Begrudgingly—but not before running a hand down his face in exasperation—Satoru follows. It’s almost amusing how whoever Geto gazes upon seems to faint, his siren eyes carrying an allure to them that even makes these ladies shy. Satoru, on the other hand, keeps his gaze trained on the ceiling and traces the detail and design of the crown molding.

When it appears that Geto has finally found the room he intended for, he opens the door and walks into it.

The atmosphere inside the room was surprisingly plush, though it carried the same overpowering floral scent as the rest of the establishment. A low-burning lantern cast a warm, flickering light over the deep reds and golds of the furnishings, creating an almost intimate glow. 

Suguru strode in first, his posture relaxed and his expression bordering on smug. He let out a low whistle as he surveyed the room. “Nice, isn’t it? I always tell them to reserve the best for me.”

Satoru followed reluctantly, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. He barely glanced at the room’s opulence, his focus instead on staying as close to the door as possible without actually leaving. “I suppose it’s marginally better than the hallway,” he muttered, his tone as dry as ever. 

Suguru smirked, unbothered by his friend’s sour mood. “Come on, Satoru, don’t sulk. We’re here to unwind.” He dropped onto the sofa with a contented sigh, stretching out his arms along the backrest. “You’re supposed to sit, you know.”

Satoru raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe instead. “I’m fine right here, thanks.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Suguru groaned, motioning toward the empty seat beside him. “Just sit down before you ruin the ambiance completely. I won’t tell anyone you’re enjoying yourself—promise.”

Reluctantly, Satoru peeled himself away from the door and took a seat at the far end of the sofa, as far from Suguru as the furniture allowed. He sank into the velvet sofa with all the enthusiasm of a man preparing for execution, his long legs stretched in front of him, his arms folded stiffly across his chest. He tried to laze back, be the appearance of equanimity, but inside he was anything but.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Suguru teased, pouring two glasses of wine from a decanter on the side table. He slid one across the table toward Satoru, who eyed it skeptically before finally picking it up.

“This is still a waste of time,” Satoru muttered, swirling the wine in his glass but not drinking it. His gaze wandered toward the window, though the heavy drapes blocked any view of the outside.

Suguru leaned back against the sofa, crossing one leg over the other as he sipped his wine. “You say that, but you’re here, aren’t you? Deep down, you must’ve been at least a little curious.”

“Deep down,” Satoru said, casting Suguru a sideways glance, “I fear I may be losing what little sense I have simply by remaining in this room.”

Suguru laughed, a deep, rich sound that filled the room and echoed as if to haunt and taunt Satoru. “You’re impossible. But I’ll give it ten minutes. You’ll relax. You always do.”

Before Satoru could retort, there was a soft knock at the door. Suguru’s smirk widened, and he set his glass down, rising to answer it. “Ah, perfect timing.”

Satoru tensed, his fingers tightening around the stem of his glass. He leaned back slightly, watching as Suguru opened the door with all the confidence of a man who owned the place. When the door swung open, two women entered with an air of familiarity and charm, their laughter light as they greeted Suguru.

“Back so soon, Mr. Geto?” one of them purred, her hair bouncing with each step. Her gaze lingered on Suguru, enraptured as though she could see no one else. His friend has that effect on women, Satoru supposes. He’s definitely no stranger to it.

 “As if he could stay away,” added the other, her blonde hair catching the warm light as she smiled, all charm and sweetness.

Suguru offered a roguish grin, gesturing broadly to the room as he drew his legs apart impossibly wider. He was truly the epitome of a man relaxed and in bliss. “Ladies, your wit does me a disservice. I couldn’t possibly keep myself from such delightful company.”

The two women giggled, each draping herself over Suguru’s shoulders with the familiarity of longtime favorites. Their laughter chimed softly, though Satoru barely heard it. He was too busy trying to reconcile the absurdity of this situation with his growing discomfort.

“And who’s this?” the blonde asked, her curious gaze flickering toward Satoru, who sat at the far end of the sofa. His unease must not have been apparent to anyone but Suguru, because in Gojo’s periphery, he saw the other girl in between him and Suguru turn her head in surprise, as if she truly hadn’t noticed him but definitely seemed to like what she saw. Soon, she was moving out of Geto’s space and inching herself closer next to Gojo’s seat on the chaise, but Satoru kept his eyes trained on Suguru, awaiting his response to the blonde.

“Oh, that?” Suguru quipped, waving a hand in his direction as though introducing an unruly pet. “That is Satoru, a dear friend of mine—and a woefully inexperienced one at that.”

Satoru shot him a withering glare but said nothing, his lips pressed into a smirk as if to mask his unease and instead show amusement, an air of nonchalance.

“Do be kind to him,” Suguru added with a knowing smirk. “He’s not accustomed to such pleasures as these.”

The other woman rose with a soft laugh, gliding across the chaise with practiced elegance. “Then I shall endeavor to make him feel at home.”’

As she settled beside Satoru, he felt a strange prickle of apprehension, a sense of something amiss. Then he turned his head, and his breath caught in his throat.

It was you.

Or at least, it felt like you. The resemblance was so striking it bordered on cruel—the shape of her face, the curve of her lips, the lashes framing her warm eyes. She even smiled like you, though this smile carried a polished charm that felt foreign, detached.

“Good heavens,” she murmured, her voice light and lilting. “You’re dreadfully tense, aren’t you? Let me help you with that.”

Her words might as well have been spoken in another language, for they barely reached him. Satoru was still staring, his mind spinning as the room seemed to shrink around him. She shifted closer, the scent of her perfume—a cloying blend of florals—filling the space between them. It made his stomach turn, but not because it was unpleasant. No, it was wrong. It wasn’t your scent.

The memory of sandalwood hit him like a punch to the chest, unbidden and consuming. The delicate trace of it, how it lingered faintly whenever you passed by, how it deepened when he leaned closer, just enough to catch it at the hollow of your throat—

Her touch drew him back abruptly. Her fingers skimmed lightly along his arm, trailing upward to rest against his chest. “You must relax, sir,” she tittered, her tone teasing but soothing in equal measure. “Let me ease your troubles. There’s no need to hold yourself so tightly.”

But Satoru barely felt the pressure of her hand. Instead, all he could feel was you—the ghost of your touch from the salacious dream he’d had not long ago, a dream that had plagued him since. You, standing in his room in nothing but your night shift, your figure outlined faintly by the moonlight filtering through the window. He remembered how his hands had reached for you in that dream, the warmth of your skin beneath his palms, the sound of your breath catching as he—

“Sir?” Her voice broke through the haze, soft and curious. Her brow furrowed slightly as she tilted her head to meet his gaze. “Are you unwell?”

He blinked, forcing himself to focus, though it felt like dragging his mind out of quicksand. His throat worked, but the words caught. “I’m fine,” he managed, though the stiffness in his tone betrayed him.

Across the room, Suguru observed the exchange with a smirk, his chin resting lazily on his hand. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, I’m afraid,” he drawled, his amusement clear. “The man’s wound tighter than a clock.”

The woman beside Satoru laughed softly, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “No matter,” she said brightly, her hand trailing further across his torso. “We’ve ways of loosening even the most stubborn. You ought to be at ease, my lord,” she teases, “I have no aim to bite you.”

But Satoru wasn’t paying attention. His mind was still back in that dream, with you. It was an image he couldn’t shake, no matter how much he tried. And as she leaned closer, her hand pressing lightly against his chest, his thoughts screamed louder than ever: What am I doing here?

The woman’s touch began to drift lower, her hands brushing over his hips, and Satoru’s entire body went rigid, as though struck by lightning. A peculiar kind of heat climbed up his neck—not the kind born of desire but something closer to panic.

His chest felt tight, his breath shallow. The air in the room seemed to shrink, pressing down on him from all sides. Her laughter, sweet and tinkling, rang in his ears, but it sounded muffled as if he were underwater. He couldn’t do this—not with her, not with anyone. Not when her face, her scent, and even her touch were so painfully wrong. It was truly uncanny, something that put Satoru too much at unease

He knew he must get out of there.

In one sharp motion, Satoru stood. The movement startled the woman, her hands falling away as she looked up at him with wide, confused eyes. Similar to when you both tripped at the stream, you looking up at him, your bosom close to his—

“Sir?” she asked, tilting her head, her voice laced with surprise.

Satoru offered a dazzling smirk, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes but was charming enough to serve its purpose. He gently took her hands in his, his fingers curling lightly around hers as he raised them to his lips. His kiss was featherlight, fleeting, and entirely calculated.

“My dear,” he began, his tone smooth as silk, though a faint tremor lay hidden beneath it, “while I deeply appreciate your gracious efforts, I am afraid I must take my leave. A rather urgent matter at home has just crossed my mind.”

She blinked, startled and unsure of what to say. “But—”

Satoru stepped back, his smirk widening as he released her hands with a flourish. “Do forgive my abrupt departure. You’ve been nothing short of delightful.” He inclined his head toward her in a courtly gesture, his gaze flicking briefly to Suguru, who was now watching him with one brow arched in amused disbelief.

“Geto,” Satoru said, his voice tight but steady, “it seems I must bid you adieu. Do enjoy yourself. You appear to be in good company.”

Suguru leaned back, his arms draped lazily over the back of the sofa, an almost predatory grin tugging at his lips. “You’re leaving already, Satoru? The night’s barely begun.”

“Oh, but the night is full of pressing demands. I fear I have just remembered a pending task in my ledgers expected to be resolved tomorrow” Satoru replied breezily, though his legs were already moving toward the door. “Another time, perhaps.”

Before Suguru could respond, Satoru slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him with an almost frantic speed. The sound of his boots echoed down the hallway as he strode quickly toward the exit, his pulse racing as though he were fleeing some great calamity.

By the time he stepped outside into the cool night air, his heart was pounding, and his chest felt like it might burst. He inhaled deeply, letting the chill fill his lungs as he tilted his head back to look at the sky. The stars above were cold and distant, but they steadied him.

“Good grief.”

As the door clicked shut behind Satoru, Geto’s smirk deepened, his gaze lingering on the spot where his friend had stood moments ago. The tension in Gojo’s shoulders, the too-tight smirk that barely concealed his panic—it had all been immensely entertaining. Geto couldn’t help but feel a flicker of satisfaction. For all his bluster and charm, Satoru Gojo was, at his core, so damn oblivious to the raging currents inside of him. 

He sighs inwardly, now excited. He couldn’t wait for the theatrics that would occur soon, for his friend was a ticking time bomb—one to explode very soon.

He leaned back further into the sofa, stretching his arms along the backrest as he glanced at the two women beside him. The blonde was frowning slightly, clearly perplexed by Satoru’s abrupt departure, while the one that had approached Satoru was still staring at the door, her lips parted as if to call him back.

“Don’t fret, my darlings,” Geto drawled, his voice low and smooth as honey. He shifted slightly, letting his arm curl around the blonde’s shoulders, his hand resting lightly at the nape of her neck. “Our dear Lord Gojo is... a complicated man.”

The blonde huffed, crossing her arms in mock indignation. “He didn’t even stay long enough for a proper introduction. Was it something I said?”

“Not at all,” Geto assured her, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. “He’s simply overwhelmed by beauty. I’m afraid he’s not accustomed to the kind of attention you so graciously bestowed upon him.”

The other woman’s pout melted into a soft laugh, her earlier confusion replaced by amusement. “Well, that is rather charming, in its own way.” Geto turns his eyes away from the blond to look at the other lady and has to bite his cheek to stop the laugh from coming in. 

He truly did a good job of describing your features to the madam when requesting her.

“Indeed,” Geto said, his smile widening as he turned his attention fully to them. “But let us not waste another thought on him. I, for one, am most delighted to remain in your company.”

His words seemed to ease whatever tension lingered, and the two women exchanged a glance before smiling in unison. The blonde leaned into him, her fingers trailing lightly over the fabric of his coat. “You’re far more gracious than your friend,” she murmured, her voice taking on a playful lilt.

“I do try,” Geto replied, his tone teasing as his other hand came to rest on the woman—the one previously attending to Satoru—’s knee. “And if I may be so bold, I’d say we’ve quite the opportunity here—one we shouldn’t waste.”

She comes closer to him, remarking while looking up at him through her lashes, “I would say you’re rather right.”

With that, the three met passionately in an exchange of limbs, certainly making do…even with the lack of a certain white-haired duke-to-be.

prev. the lake | next. soon!

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n HEY BRIDGERTON!GOJO POOKIES HOW ARE WE!! this chapter was sooo messy for gojo lmaooo. we're sooo close to the slow burn arc ending and this was a biiiggg epiphany for geto. now comes the next stage of the plan 😈

one thing i also wanted to clarify (and make sure everyone noticed) was that we got the reason why gojo dropped reader. he got a lil crush and got scared :( a lot of people have been asking me about it, and a lot of people were already commenting their theories, which nailed it completely on the head. whether surprised or not, i hope it makes sense :3

also idk if this goes without saying but if you didn't like that gojo agree to go to the brothel / dont agree with sex work / dont like that geto indulges / yadda yadda pls dont make it my problem <3 im just writing what was common at the time, it's not indicative of my views on anything

gojo after realizing the woman looked like you

reblog and comment to let me know ur thots! :3

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