#and let me tell you: that place is HAUNTED

[clockwayswrites]

The Haunting of Danny Fenton, p5

masterpost please no crit or editing, I know there are mistakes. this migraine is on day 7 and killing me <3

Danny swiped his finger over one of the hanging crystals in the waiting room window of Marvelous Mina’s Spiritual Nexus: or, in other words, the old, tiny, craftsman building that was crammed between two mid rises that Wilhelmina Aleshire had inherited from her grandmother several years ago.

There wasn’t any sort of spiritual nexus in the place. Mina was actually completely inept at conversing with the dead (Danny excluded). What Mina was unusually skilled at lay in the realm of psychic readings, specifically those involving divination such as tarot and oracle cards. She was also quite good at reading living people.

(Danny might have been a little jealous of that.)

Danny had first stumbled upon Mina and her ‘nexus’ when they were both dealing with the same ghost: him from the spirit itself and her from the bereaved widower of the man. Working together had wrapped things up quite quickly. It had also actually been enjoyable.

Mina was weird, energetic, and curious. It was an overwhelming combination at times, but other times it was just perfect. It was especially welcome when Danny got into a slump of some sort, usually between jobs or partners or when he wanted to kill and then end an annoying new roommate.

Not that he would ever do that.

(But Brad came damn close.)

A crying woman came dashing out through the curtain that separated the foyer waiting room from the sitting room that Mina used for her readings. She wiped dramatically at her eyes as she got to the door, heaved a massive sigh, tossed her hair back, and headed back out into the world.

“Wow. What did you tell her?” Danny asked, not even turning to look at Mina yet, though he knew she would be standing at the open curtain on the edge between the two spaces where old, cracked black and white tiles met darkly stained hardwood painted with hena style flowers.

“Oh, you know, the usual thing people hate to hear; it won’t work out between her and her current boyfriend,” Mina said. She dropped into the seat next to Danny, and he finally turned to look at her. Her mass of dark blond hair was piled up on top of her head in a sort of gibson girl bun that looked effortlessly, messily stylish. Mina was good at that—being effortlessly stylish in a disheveled sort of way. She brushed back her bangs and continued. “He’s actually already being set to be engaged by his family to ‘someone proper’, which he’ll give into for the inheritance—which is all she was after anyways. She’ll get over it.”

“Something something fish in the sea,” Danny said. He reached out and plucked a petal from Mina’s hair. It was from a bright orange zinnia. Mina’s favorite.

Mina hummed. “And how is your fishing going, Mr. Fenton?”

“Currently in an absolute drought, no where to fish around here.”

“Danny, you live in San Francisco. A bi man such as yourself is not allowed to say there is no fish around.”

Danny scowled, “No fish that don’t want to eat me and spit me out.”

“I mean…”

“Not like that!” Danny explained, a quick blush rising on in his cheeks. “I meant like, viciously.”

“I mean…” Mina repeated with a lascivious smirk.

“I regret coming to you for help.”

“No,” Mina whined, drawing out the word. “What help? Do you have a new ghost problem? What sort of help do you need? Danny, let me help!”

Danny managed to glare at her, but only for a few moments before he relented with an over wrought sigh. “Fine, you can help. Can we go talk now or do you have another appointment?”

“Not until four,” she said. She took Danny’s hand and practically dragged him through the door to the right and into the private section of the once stately home. “Which tea do you want?”

“Dealer's choice. Whatever tea you think is best for a weird talk about a weird ghost,” Danny said. He had his favorites of Mina's diverse tea selection, sure, but she had a way of always choosing the best blend foe the day if he left the choice to her.

She narrowed her eyes as she studied Danny in a way that always made the back of his neck itch. He put up with it dutifully, but relaxed noticeably when she nodded and continued them on to the kitchen.

The room was painted a warm, coral orange. The color should have clashed with the the pale blue cabinets and pale butcher top counters, but instead it just worked. It was very Mina.

Danny sat at the table and idly scratched Hubris on the head.

Hubris was Mina’s ancient grey cat. He had one single golden eye left and used it to glare pitifully at whoever was near until the pet him. He also purred like a wood chipper.

“So give me the deets,” Mina demanded once she had set down the two cups of tea.

Danny sighed and took a sip of his tea. “They’re different. It’s not like they’re made of smoke or mist, it’s like they’re full of static. And they don’t look dead either. I actually—I finally got a got a good look at them this last episode.”

“I don’t like the way you say ‘episode’,” Mina said. Her eyes narrowed over the top of her tea cup.

“You shouldn't,” Danny said with a frown as pulled out the sketch and unfolded it. “They’re seizures, I think? Not like I’ve gone to a doctor about them. I don’t think ‘the ghost person touches me and the world goes technicolor kaleidoscope’ would go over well with a medical professional.”

Hubris opened his one eye with a snort as Mina’s cup clanged down onto her saucer.

“Seizures?! Danny! What the f! You can’t just mess around with seizures.”

“You can say fuck, Mina, we’re both adults,” Danny said dryly.

She leaned forward. “I will throw my tea at you, Danny, unless you explain.”

“But I can’t exactly. They’re not a regular ghost, and I’ve never had anything like this happen before. Mina, look. They look alive.” He turned the drawing around to face her and slid it her way. “I drew this after the episode yesterday. I saw them so clearly. Their eyes had a spark, their skin was healthy skin with a flush and everything, and I even think they breathed. I don’t… Mina, I’m worried that they’re not a ghost.”

Mina picked up the sketch carefully. Her brows were furrowed. “But if they’re not a ghost, why are they contacting you?”

Danny shook his head. “No, if they’re not a ghost, how are they contacting me. And why am I their only option?”

“Fuck.”

“Pretty much. But that’s why I’m here. I want to try things a different way. I want you to try and read for them, Mina.”

[rafecswhore]

rafe grieving about ur breakup so much to the point where he breaks down in front of u (angst and fluff?) tysm <3

authors note: I LOVE THIS IDEA ALSO hope this does you some justice; sorry for the late response !!

he thought he could handle it.

he told himself over and over that this was for the best, that if you didn’t love him anymore, he had no choice but to move on.

but fuck—why did it still feel like you were everywhere?

your name haunted him. it was in the laughter of passing strangers, in the lyrics of songs he used to hear you hum absentmindedly, in the scent of his hoodie that you wore more times than he did.

everywhere he looked, he found pieces of you. pieces that refused to fade.

and god, it was killing him.

he wasn’t supposed to be like this. he wasn’t supposed to care this much. he wasn’t supposed to be the one breaking.

but he was.

and it all came to a head the night he saw you again.

it wasn’t even supposed to happen. he had been avoiding you, staying away from places he knew you’d be, because every time he saw you, it felt like his ribs were caving in. but there you were—standing outside the party, arms wrapped around yourself against the cool night air, looking at him like you weren’t sure if you should speak.

for a moment, he thought about walking away. but then you said his name.

and just like that, he was unraveling.

“rafe,” you whispered again, like you knew. like you could see right through him.

he inhaled sharply, shaking his head, his throat tight. “i don’t—” he cut himself off, rubbing a hand down his face. “i can’t do this.”

“do what?” your voice was gentle, but it only made it worse.

“this.” he gestured vaguely between you. “pretending like i’m okay. pretending like it doesn’t still fucking hurt.”

the words slipped out before he could stop them, before he could shove them back down where they belonged. his breath hitched, his hands clenched into fists, but it was useless—he was already breaking.

“rafe…”

“you left,” he said, voice raw, eyes stormy and lost. “and i don’t know how to live with it. i don’t know how to be without you.”

the confession shattered something in the air between you.

he exhaled shakily, his chest rising and falling unevenly, and when he looked at you again, there was something in his eyes that made your stomach twist.

desperation.

“i don’t sleep,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “i don’t eat. i don’t feel like—fuck—i don’t even feel like a real person anymore.”

your breath caught.

“i pick up my phone a hundred times a day, and i don’t even know what to say to you,” he went on, words tumbling out of him in a way that felt out of his control. “i keep thinking… if i had just done something different, if i had just—”

his voice cracked.

and then, before you could even register what was happening, he was breaking right in front of you.

his shoulders slumped, his breath coming out in short, shaky gasps. his hands ran through his hair, like he didn’t know what to do with them, like he was trying to physically keep himself together.

“tell me what to do,” he whispered. “tell me how to make this stop.”

your chest ached.

because this wasn’t the rafe cameron the world knew—the sharp, confident, untouchable boy who never let anyone see him bleed. this was the real him. the one you had spent years knowing, loving, understanding.

and right now, he was falling apart.

before you could think better of it, you stepped forward, reaching for him.

the second your hands touched his face, his breath hitched, his skin burning under your fingertips. his eyes fluttered shut, his jaw clenching, and for a moment, he just stood there, letting himself feel it.

letting himself feel you.

“you’re going to be okay,” you whispered, even though you weren’t sure if it was true.

his grip on you tightened, his forehead dropping against yours. “i don’t know how to be okay without you.”

“you will be,” you promised, though the words tasted like a lie.

he exhaled shakily, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt desperate, like he was afraid to let go. his fingers clung to your back, his breathing uneven, and for a few long moments, neither of you moved.

and maybe, just for tonight, you let him hold you.

maybe, just for tonight, you held him back.

[coolemmasulivan2]

A Beautiful Mess | 2

Pairing: Lando Norris

Summary: Two neighbors who can’t stand each other, until an accidental kiss changes everything.

Word count: 3125

You can read part 1 here

Do we need somebody Just to feel like we're alright? Is the only reason You're holding me tonight 'Cause we're scared to be lonely?

It had been a week since you last saw Lando. After his visit to the school, it was like he had vanished. You knew he was home because, as always, he made sure you knew that, but beyond that, there was no sign of him.

The touch of your lips has haunted you ever since. You cursed yourself, telling yourself that you should have pushed yourself away the moment your lips met, you shouldn't have frozen.

"You're not getting it! Our lips touched." You practically yelled at your sister over FaceTime. She burst out laughing. "It's not funny. I hate him."

"If you hate him so much, why are you this worked up?" She teased you.

You frowned. "Are you implying I felt something?"

She shrugged. "Did you?"

"NO!"

At the same time, Lando was telling Max, who was stuffing clothes into his suitcase, since he was going back to Lonon, what had happened.

"It was an accident, dude!" Max said, watching his friend with amusement. "Just forget about it."

"I can't forget it!" Lando groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Our lips touched, Max. I'm getting goosebumps just thinking about it."

Max snorted. "Sounds like you liked it."

Lando spun around. "Are you insane? I meant goosebumps in a bad way. Like… I feel sick."

"Yeah, sure." Max smirked, barely holding back laughter.

You downed the last sip of your coffee, grabbed your bag, and stepped out of your apartment. Today was going to be a good day. You could feel it.

You had woken up early, gone for a run, had breakfast, and still had time to stop by your favorite bakery at the end of the street. Everything felt perfectly in place.

For once, Lando Norris was the last thing on your mind. Or at least, he was supposed to be.

You stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for the ground floor, as you shifted your bag onto your shoulder, but then, just as the doors were sliding shut, a hand shot between them, forcing them open.

Your stomach dropped.

Lando locked eyes with you, before stepping inside. He didn't said anything and neither did you. The doors closed, sealing you both inside the small space. The building had a few years, so the elevator was not that spaceous.

He looked at his watch and run a hand through his curls. He looked like he was in a hurry.

Just five more floors.

Four.

Three.

Then... A jolt.

The elevator shuddered violently before coming to a stop. The lights flickered once, then settled into an unsettling dim glow.

You both froze. Then Lando sighed, pressing the emergency button. Nothing happened.

"You've got to be kidding me." Lando muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "Great. Just my luck." He let out a long sigh, pacing in the cramped space. If the elevator had felt small before, it felt suffocating now.

You, far too calm for his liking, pressed the emergency button a few times. "Can you stop moving?" You snapped, growing irritated.

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I bothering you?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.

You shot him a look. "Yes, actually. You've been bothering me for a while now. Thanks for finally noticing."

Lando scoffed. "Excuse me if I'm not as relaxed as you!"

You could see he was nervous. "If you keep panicking like that, you're going to run us out of oxygen."

His head snapped toward you, eyes wide. "What--?! Aren't you supposed to be a teacher? That's not how you tell someone to calm down!"

"You're not a kid, are you?"

Lando let out a fake chuckle. "Fuck. Why did I have to get stuck with you?"

You crossed your arms. "Trust me, I'm wondering the same thing."

He let out an amused breath, shaking his head. "Please! This is probably going to be the highlight of your day."

"You really think you’re that special? You're just an idiot, Norris." You said, crossing your arms over your chest.

Lando smirked, taking a deliberate step closer. "Well, then it seems we're not that different, princess."

"Don't you have anything better to do? Grow up, please. That pretty face of yours isn't going to get you out of everything forever."

"Oh..." He tilted his head, his smirk widening. "So you think I'm handsome?"

You exhaled sharply. "That's the only thing you got from what I said? You're impossible."

Somehow, the space between you had vanished. You weren't sure who had moved first, but suddenly, he was close. Closer than necessary.

Lando's gaze flickered down to your lips, as he licked his own. The air grew thick. The bickering stopped and he elevator fell into silence.

Your breath caught in your throat. Every logical thought screamed at you to move, push him away, to say something, but you didn't. Neither of you did.

Lando's hand twitched at his side like he was debating whether to reach for you. His chest rose and fell in deep, controlled breaths, but you could see it. He was just as caught in this moment as you were.

Then, just as his face leaned closer and your lips were about to touch, the elevator jerked back to life.

You stumbled slightly, as you immediately took a step back away from each other. He run a hand through his hair and you looked away from him. The air was thick, but neither of you acknowledged it.

The doors slid open and without hesitation, you stepped out, ignoring the concerned doorman who asked if you were okay. You didn't spare him, or Lando, a single glance as you strode out of the building.

Lando watched you go, jaw clenched, hands on his hips. He let out a breath and muttered under his breath: "What the fuck just happened?"

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Even surrounded by a classroom full of energetic kids, you couldn't shake the thoughts swirling in your head.

Why hadn't you pushed him away? Why hadn't you moved? Had you actually… wanted to kiss him? The questions run in your mind, each one making you more frustrated than the last.

By the time you got home, you felt exhausted, not physically, but mentally. You barely made it to the couch before grabbing your phone, dialing your friend number without hesitation.

"Let's go out tonight!" You blurted before she could even say hello.

A beat of silence. Then, suspicion. "Go out as in... clubbing?"

It had been a while. You weren't exactly the party animal type, so your sudden enthusiasm was unexpected.

"Yes!" You confirmed, already sitting up. "I need a distraction. Let's get dinner and then let's go out. Call the others."

"Okay, who are you and what have you done with my responsible and sensible friend?"

"Just be ready."

Determined to wipe the morning from your mind, you took a long shower, letting the heat ease the tension from your shoulders. Then, you dug through your closet, finding a dress you barely remembered owning: it was a red dress that hugged your body in all the right places. Paired with black heels that made your legs look like they belonged on a runway and a swipe of bold red lipstick. You felt powerful and it was just what you needed.

Lando leaned against the DJ booth, his drink on his hand as his friend, Martin Garrix, animatedly talked about his upcoming tour dates.

The club was packed, people moving to the heavy bass, neon lights flickering across the dance floor. It was the perfect place to blow off steam, to forget about the week.

Or at least, it was.

But the moment you walked in with your friends, all thoughts of relaxation evaporated.

Lando stiffened, nearly choking on his drink. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

"WHAT?" Martin shouted over the music.

Lando gestured toward the entrance. "Do you see that group that just walked in?"

Martin followed his gaze, spotting a group of friends laughing as they stepped into the club. "What about it?"

"The girl in the red dress. It's my neighbour!"

Martin's eyebrows shot up. "Wait... The neighbor? The one you kissed?"

Lando rolled his eyes. "We didn't kiss."

"Yet!" Martin smirked, clearly enjoying himself seeing Lando's annoyed face. He turned back to glance at you again. "She's beautiful."

Lando made a face, scoffing like the idea was ridiculous. "She's a nightmare, that's what she is." Martin chuckled, seeing right through him. "And she's a kindergarten teacher, bet it's gonna be real awkward for some parents to see their kid's sweet little teacher dressed like that."

Martin laughed, draping an arm over Lando's shoulder. "Dude, you're so jealous already."

"Shut up. What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's obvious!" Martin smirked. "You like her. And you hate that every guy in this club is about to spend their night looking at her. I can practically see smoke coming out of your ears, mate."

"Fuck off."

Your feet ached, but you didn't care. You were having the time of your life. Hours had passed in a blur of music, laughter, and drinks, and you and your friends hadn't left the dance floor for more than a few minutes at a time.

The alcohol had done its job: Lando hadn't crossed your mind all night. (Well, except maybe now. But that doesn't count.)

Leaning against the bar, you waited for your drink when a man approached you. Tall, broad shoulders, very handsome. And exactly your type.

He flashed you a smile. "Do you come here often?"

You blinked at him before bursting into laughter. "Oh my god. That pick-up line does not match your face."

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, that was terrible. I panicked."

You smirked. "I can tell."

"Not much of a flirt, I guess." He admitted, laughing along with you.

"Clearly."

He stuck out his hand. "I'm Eric, by the way."

You shook it, still grinning. "Y/n."

Lando leaned against the railing, beer in hand, eyes fixed on the bar. He told himself he was just people-watching, just casually scanning the room, but his gaze kept landing on you.

And the guy standing way too close to you.

The guy who looked like he'd stepped straight out of a fashion magazine. Tall, charming, and irritatingly good-looking. The kind of guy who knew exactly how to play his cards.

Lando took a sip of his beer, jaw tightening as he watched you laugh at something the guy said. You were drunk and from the way the guy leaned in, so was he. Too close. Way too close.

"You look like a creep." Martin shouted over the music, snapping Lando out of his glare. "Stop looking at her."

"I'm not looking at her."

Martin snorted. "Right. You're just analyzing the guy she's with." He nudged Lando's shoulder. "Worried she might take him home?"

Lando scoffed, tearing his eyes away. "I don't fucking care."

"Sure." Martin smirked, taking a sip of his drink. He didn't press further, letting his friend drown in jealousy.

You stumbled outside, the cool night air hitting your flushed skin like a slap. Eric followed closely behind, his hand steady on your back as he helped you sit down on a nearby bench as you waited for the cab.

"You're really nice, you know that?" You mumbled, tilting your head to look at him as he sat down beside you.

Eric smiled. "Thank God. I was worried I screwed up my chances with that terrible pickup line."

You laughed softly, resting your head against the cool metal of the bench. "You saved yourself."

"I'm glad!" He admitted, his voice warm. "I had a good time tonight."

"Me too." You sighed, your stomach swirling uncomfortably. You cleared your throat, barely above a whisper as the words slipped out. "I wish you were him."

Eric frowned. "Who?"

Before you could answer, a voice interrupted you. His voice.

"Y/n?" You and Eric both turned, and there he was. Lando. Hands in his pockets, his gaze locked onto you.

Eric's eyes widened in recognition. "Wow. Lando Norris?" He sounded excited, most likely a fan.

But you barely registered his reaction. Your stomach twisted again, and before you could stop it, you shot up from the bench, turned away from them both, and emptied your stomach onto the pavement.

Lando instinctively moved toward you, but Eric was faster. He was by your side, gathering your hair in his hands and rubbing slow circles on your back.

Lando clenched his jaw, watching the way Eric took care of you. It shouldn't bother him, but it did. The guy was too perfect. A walking green flag.

"Are you okay?" Eric asked gently. "Think you can stand?"

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, groaning as you nodded. Eric helped you to your feet, keeping you steady against his side. "Where's that damn cab?" Eric muttered under his breath, glancing around.

"I'll take her home," Lando said suddenly.

Eric turned to him, brows raised. "What?"

"We're neighbors. She's most likely going to pass out on the way back."

"Yeah, we drank quite a lot." He looked between you and Lando. "Y/n? You okay with that?"

"Hm?"

"Are you okay with going with Lando? Is he your neighbour?" He asked you, and Lando could almost hear himself rolling his eyes. The guy was seriously too nice.

"Yes!" You confirmed. Lando took a step forward and stretched his hands. You blinked up at him, your head heavy. "You're so annoying. Why are you always everywhere?" Despite your grumble, your hands slowly found his.

Eric's lips twitching into a sad smile. He gently let you go as Lando pulled you closer, steadying you against him.

"Thanks for taking care of her." Lando said.

"It was my pleasure." Eric replied, his gaze soft as he looked at you. "She's something special. And I just met her, so…"

You chuckled. "I like you, Eric."

He smiled. "I know, Y/n." Then his expression flickered, just for a second. "But I'm not him, right?"

Lando frowned, watching as you only groaned in response.

Eric let out a small breath before leaning in and pressing a kiss to your cheek. Lando's grip on you tightened.

"It was nice meeting you." Eric said. "Call me sometime, yeah?" He turned to Lando, extending a hand. "Big fan, man. Nice to meet you."

Lando shook it briefly. "Yeah. You too."

Eric gave you one last glance before walking off.

Lando glanced down at you, your body leaning heavily into his side. "Come on, let's get you home."

You hummed, already half-asleep. "Still annoying."

"Yeah, yeah."

Lando pulled into his parking spot, turning off the engine with a quiet sigh leaving his mouth. When he glanced to his right, he wasn't surprised to see you fast asleep, just like he'd predicted.

Your head rested against the window of his McLaren, your mouth slightly open, breaths slow and steady. One of his Quadrant hoodies was draped over you.

Lando exhaled, leaning back against the seat as he stared at you. He'd never really taken the time to look at you before, not like this. You looked… peaceful. And you were indeed a very beautiful woman.

His fingers moved on their own, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear.

"What the hell am I doing?" Lando muttered to himself, running a hand down his face, he groaned under his breath. "I must be crazy."

Shaking off whatever the hell that was, he reached over and carefully pulled your head away from the window. Then, he stepped out of the car, circling around to your side and pulling the door open.

"Y/n?" He called, his voice quiet but firm as he nudged your arm. "Wake up. We're home."

"Hm?" You groaned, keeping your eyes firmly shut.

"Wake up. Come on."

He turned your face into the seat, snuggling deeper into the warmth. "Let me sleep!"

Lando huffed, crossing his arms as he glanced around the dimly lit garage. "If you don't wake up, I'm leaving you here." Nothing. "I cannot believe her." With a sigh, he leaned down, sliding one arm beneath your legs and the other behind your back. He hesitated for a second before carefully lifting you into his arms.

You instinctively curled into his chest, your face pressing against the crook of his neck, a small sigh leaving your lips. Lando froze for a split second, his heart racing in his chest.

Lando stepped into the elevator, shifting you slightly in his arms to press the button for his floor. You were still dead weight against him, your warm breath fanning against the side of his neck. He clenched his jaw, doing his best to ignore the way you seemed to fit perfectly against him.

When the doors opened, he carried you down the hall, stopping in front of your apartment.

"Alright, time to go home." He muttered, adjusting his grip. "Where's your key?" You mumbled something against his neck, your lips brushing against his skin. Then, before he could even react, you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. "Y/n." He tried again, shaking you gently. "Where's your key?"

Another muffled murmur. He sighed, dropping his head back against the door in frustration. Since you refused to answer him, and since he couldn't exactly rummage through your purse while holding you, he had no choice.

"Alright, you're coming with me." He muttered, carrying you across the hall to his own apartment.

He walked straight to his bedroom, gently lowering you onto his bed. As soon as your back hit the mattress, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. But just as he moved, you reached out, your fingers curling into the fabric of his white shirt, right where it gaped open.

"Stay." You murmured, eyes still closed.

Lando froze. "You're drunk!" He reminded you, gently prying your fingers off him. You groaned but refused to let go, gripping his shirt again, this time tighter. His breath hitched as your fingertips brushed against his bare chest. "Y/n!"

"Lando!" You snuggled against the pillow, your grip unrelenting. "Stay." You whispered.

Lando clenched his jaw. He should go. He needed to go. But the way you held onto him, the way you looked so small and vulnerable in his bed… it made something twist inside his chest.

With a heavy sigh, he gave in. "Fine! But just until you fall asleep." He told himself that.

And yet, as he laid down beside you, feeling the warmth of your body so close to his, he had a sinking feeling that this was only going to make things a lot more complicated.

Tags:

@lilorose25 @downsideup1989 @anayaverse @ln4-cl16-world @chlmtfilms @444-leqz @joannaln4 @notarshia

[nanamineedstherapy]

Seven Minutes in Heaven (Chapter Two)

F!Reader x Gojo Satoru

Previous Chapter 1 (Tumblr/Ao3)

Summary: It was supposed to be a normal frat party. Just a stupid game of Seven Minutes in Heaven. Just him, king of never taking anything seriously, getting shoved into a closet for a dumb dare. And yet. Now, he can’t sleep. Can’t think. Can’t stop thinking about you. And one by one, his friends are starting to realize—Whatever happened in that closet? It never really ended.

Outside in the garden, Toji mocked. "Man got a straight-up haunted hard-on."

"Wait, wait, wait," Sukuna wheezed. "Tell me why bro just made out with a ghost so hard he got a fucking boner."

"Can we not call it that?" Satoru groaned.

"That’s exactly what it was," Hiromi confirmed, shaking his head. "You got seduced by a fucking spirit."

Shiu, lying on the grass scrolling through his phone, barely looked up as he added, "Even in the afterlife, women aren’t safe from your dick preceding your reputation."

"I'm gonna kill myself," Satoru muttered, running a hand down his face.

"Ghost girl might be into that," Choso said thoughtfully, sipping a beer.

"Yo, shut the fuck up," Satoru snapped.

"You were rock hard for a literal corpse." Shoko was almost rolling in the grass, clutching her bottle.

"FOR THE LAST TIME, I DIDN’T KNOW SHE WAS A GHOST!"

"And yet," Suguru drawled, gesturing vaguely at the still-very-visible problem in his jeans.

Satoru made a strangled noise, willing his soul to leave his body.

“If I see your haunted dick in my nightmares, I’m suing." Yuki yelled.

"I have hater friends. At least she thought I was beautiful." Satoru smirked.

A collective groan echoed through the garden.

Kento dragged a hand down his face. "I hate him. I hate him."

"Fucker just got ghosted in every sense of the word, and he still has the audacity to make it about his looks." Kashimo jeered, leaning on Haibara, who was barely holding himself up.

"Kill yourself," Sukuna muttered.

"Honestly, yeah," Hiromi agreed.

Satoru just grinned. "Jealous much?"

Suguru physically sighed. "Let's go, you delusional horny disaster."

---

Satoru couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Not the way your lips had felt against his, or how you made him laugh, or how you got flustered easily but still kissed him first like a paradox he couldn’t solve—though that haunted him, too.

No, it was the way you had looked at him.

Like you had been starving.

So, Satoru did what any rational person would do.

He spent an unhealthy amount of time at the library.

Gojo Satoru. At the library. Voluntarily. His friends thought he was having a crisis.

At first, there was nothing.

No students matching your description in the recent records.

No tragic accidents or ghost stories written in the university archives.

It was like you had never existed.

But then—

One night, while flipping through the school’s oldest records, something caught his eye.

An envelope stuffed with papers.

He pulled out a diary first.

Diary of Miss L/N

(Archivist - Leather-bound, gold-embossed. Found in the ruins of the university, its final pages splattered with what appears to be dried tears. Handwritten, ink fading in places. Some pages torn. Final entries nearly illegible—written in a shaking hand, desperate and uneven.)

January 3, 1914

There is a new litter of kittens in the old courtyard! I counted five, all squirming and mewling, their mother, a thin little thing who watches me with wary eyes. I left some bread soaked in milk, though I do not think she trusts me yet. Perhaps if I sit quietly tomorrow, she will let me closer.

(If I were a cat, would I be loved more easily?)

The groundskeeper scolded me, said I am too soft-hearted, that I let animals take advantage of me. As if a kitten could be cunning! I told him there is no harm in kindness. He only shook his head.

Satoru sat back, staring at the first entry, his thumb tracing your handwriting. He didn’t know much about you—hell, he didn’t even know you were alive a hundred years ago—but he could picture you, kneeling in the courtyard with kittens, trying to be kind. He imagined the faintest smile tugging at your lips when you saw them squirming in the dirt. The idea of you feeding a stray mother cat made his chest tighten in an odd, unfamiliar way. He ran his fingers along the edge of the paper, almost as if trying to feel your presence through it.

That groundskeeper? He was an idiot. He didn't get it. Satoru couldn't help but feel a spark of frustration. You didn’t need anyone’s permission to be kind. He almost laughed at the idea that someone might scold you for being soft-hearted. If anything, he wished he could go back and tell you not to worry about those around you. He would’ve probably looked at you the same way—the way he did when you kissed him, not knowing why or how, but unable to stop himself from caring just a little too much for someone so—soft.

January 10, 1914

I do not think they like me.

Not in the way they like each other.

They are polite, of course. They smile. They call me ‘Miss L/N’ with syrupy sweetness, but their eyes flicker. I see the way their lips press together when I speak. The way their laughter dies when I enter a room.

But it is alright. Not everyone has to like me.

I just wish they did not hate me, either.

Satoru skimmed the next entry, his eyes narrowing. You were already noticing the tension in the air, weren’t you? The polite smiles, the murmurs. The fake sweetness they showed you—he could practically hear the insincerity in their voices. He frowned, shaking his head. You didn’t deserve that. Nobody should ever make someone feel like they didn’t belong.

For some reason, even though you were long gone, he found himself angry on your behalf. He didn’t understand why they treated you that way. You were probably just too good for them, weren’t you? Too pure, too gentle. He shook the thought off, the sharpness of the moment still biting at him. It made him wonder if maybe he would’ve been one of the few who would’ve actually liked you.

January 25, 1913

Viscount Salvatore looked at me today. He did not merely glance—he looked. I was in the library, carrying too many books, and he leaned back in his chair, all effortless indifference, and drawled, "Planning to read all of those, Miss L/N? Or are you building a fort?"

(He thinks I am ridiculous.)

(He noticed me.)

I almost dropped Wuthering Heights on my foot.

A frown burrowed on Satoru’s face when he read about Viscount Salvatore. You noticed him. He noticed you.

He flipped your yearbook with his other hand to find any Salvtores; there had been two in your class who’d gone to become Army officials in the first World War and then died there. Your description fit the blue-eyed one with a cocky smirk. Like Satoru? Did you have a type?

He felt a slight sting in his chest at the thought of this Viscount—some guy who probably had no idea what to do with someone like you. Still, he couldn’t suppress the bitter taste in his mouth. Jealousy? Was that what this was?

A sigh slipped from his lips. It was stupid—he was more than a hundred years too late. He didn’t even know if you’d ever seen him the way he now imagined you looking at the Viscount. The thought of another guy noticing you—really noticing you—made him want to jump from a boat. But instead, he read on.

February 2, 1914

It was a joke. Just a prank.

"She'll cry and beg to be let out," one of them whispered, giggling behind her lace glove. "Let's see if Miss Perfect is still so polite in the dark."

The door slammed. The lock clicked.

The dark swallowed me whole.

I did not beg.

I bit my tongue until I tasted iron and waited. And when they let me out—smirking, triumphant—I smoothed my skirts, fixed my hair, and walked past them as if I had not spent the last hour choking on the thick, dusty air.

They did not like that.

"A little too perfect, isn’t she?"

(They will do it again.)

Satoru’s eyebrows furrowed as his gaze lingered on the next entry. You were trapped. Locked in a closet by the very people you probably thought were your friends. It was sickening. He almost couldn't finish reading—his stomach lurched with disgust. The way you didn't beg... it said so much about you. You must’ve been used to pain by then, used to being pushed aside and ignored. But still—you walked out of there like nothing had happened, like you didn’t carry the weight of what they had just done to you.

Satoru shook his head, muttering to himself, “Cowards. All of them.” He clenched the paper tighter in his hand. He hated the idea of you facing that kind of cruelty alone, without anyone there to stop it. He could feel it—your loneliness, your frustration, your unwillingness to break. And somehow, it only made him want to be there for you more. He'd never admit it, but there was a strange urge within him to make it right—even if it was a century too late.

February 10, 1914

Today, I found a sparrow with a broken wing. I named him Edgar (after Poe, of course).

I should have left him alone. Mother says I should not dirty my hands with such things. But he was shivering—how could I leave him?

Viscount Salvatore saw me, kneeling in the grass, my gloves stained with dirt. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Then, just as he passed, he murmured, "Don’t name it. You’ll only make it harder."

He has such an awful way of speaking. Always so practical. So cold.

(He was right. Edgar did not make it through the night.)

Satoru didn’t expect to feel as deeply affected by this entry. You found a broken bird and tried to help it. Just like the kittens. Just like everything else. He read about the sparrow, Edgar, and that bitter, practical remark from Viscount Salvatore.

He rolled his eyes. That guy was cold, wasn’t he? It was almost like he couldn't even understand that you just wanted to do something kind. His jaw clenched slightly at the thought of this Viscount, cold and indifferent. Did he not understand the pain of losing something you tried so desperately to save?

“You deserved better than that.” Satoru muttered quietly to himself. He could barely comprehend it, but it stung to think of you, caring for something so fragile, and yet not having anyone there to help you when you needed it most. He could almost hear the sadness in your voice, like you were speaking not just about the bird, but about yourself.

February 13, 1914

Razor blades in my book bag today.

I did not see them in time.

A sharp sting—red seeping into my gloves, blooming against the pale silk like a dying rose.

A girl gasped.

One of them. The one who used to call me her friend.

She reached for me, hesitated. Opened her mouth—closed it.

Did nothing.

(They are all cowards.)

I smiled at her anyway.

(It is getting harder to smile.)

The entry made Satoru stop in his tracks. Razor blades? What the hell...? He had to reread the paragraph twice, the sharpness of the words sinking into him with every line. It was hard to stomach—knowing that someone, one of the people who had once called you their friend, did this to you. Left you bleeding and didn’t even care.

He felt a fire burning in his chest now, a rage that was foreign to him. A strange protectiveness, something darker, almost suffocating. He didn't know how you had kept going through all this. And yet, you had. You smiled through it all, even when everything in the world was trying to break you.

Satoru stood up suddenly, pacing around the room. He was aware of how ridiculous this was—he didn’t even know you. But damn it, you deserved someone who would’ve fought for you. Someone who would’ve taken those blades from your hands and never let you feel alone.

February 14, 1914

Viscount Salvatore pulled out a chair for me today.

The smallest thing. A flick of his wrist. A glance in my direction. A murmured, "Miss L/N."

But I have not been spoken to kindly in so long.

For a moment, my eyes burned. My throat ached.

But I said nothing. I only sat.

And when I looked up—just for a second—he was already watching me.

(What a strange, strange man.)

Satoru’s fingers lightly brushed over the paper. He didn’t know what it was, but something about that entry—Viscount Salvatore pulling out a chair for you—made him pause. He didn't react outwardly, keeping his face carefully blank, but internally? There was a slight stir of discomfort. It was such a small, insignificant thing, yet it meant so much to you. A simple gesture, something that should’ve been normal.

He imagined the quiet moment, your surprise. The thought that such a little thing could make you feel seen, even for a second, gnawed at him. A frustrated sigh left his lips. Why did it have to be like that? If he were there—if only he were there, he would’ve shown you kindness, not just with gestures, but with actions. But that was a thought he quickly pushed aside, frustrated by how much time had slipped through his fingers. He kept reading, though.

February 20, 1914

I have decided. I loathe Viscount Salvatore.

He is insufferable. He speaks in riddles and always looks as if he is laughing at me. I do not know why I bother thinking of him.

(He held the door open for me today. Said nothing. Just waited.)

(I hate him.)

A faint chuckle escaped his lips as he read the next entry. You’d decided to loathe Viscount Salvatore now. "Insufferable," you called him. Satoru almost wanted to agree, though he couldn't completely share your sentiment. He had a feeling there was more to him—more that was left unsaid. Still, it was a funny thought. Viscount Salvatore being that frustrating, mysterious figure. Satoru was intrigued by how you wrote about him with such sharpness, but the words seemed like a cover for something deeper. He wasn’t sure what, but the tension between you two was palpable.

“Is it really that bad?” he muttered, flipping the page, knowing he wasn’t going to get an answer. He felt a flicker of something, but the rest of the entry, especially with the way he “held the door open,” left him feeling... unsure. He wasn't exactly proud of it, but maybe there was some part of him that didn't want you to find comfort in anyone else.

March 2, 1914

I found a dead rat in my desk.

Its body bloated, eyes staring.

Its tiny mouth open, frozen in a silent scream.

There was a note pinned to its belly. Still feeling generous?

I swallowed back the nausea and took it outside myself.

(It is getting harder to breathe here.)

Satoru’s expression hardened as he read about the dead rat in your desk. He closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to focus. The cruel games they played—it disgusted him. He could almost feel the sickening weight of it, as if it were happening right there, in front of him. Who does that? He set the paper down and ran his hand through his hair, trying to keep his composure, though his jaw was tight.

You didn’t even flinch. You simply took it outside. There was an odd kind of resolve in the way you wrote that. No begging. No breaking down. Just... handling it yourself. It made him uneasy—how much you had to endure, and how little anyone had cared. He couldn’t imagine what you went through, not yet, but the pieces were starting to come together. The cruelty. The silence. The isolation.

June 20, 1914

I am tired.

No, not tired. Weary.

I wake up with my body braced, waiting for something—waiting for the next whisper, the next cruel trick, the next unseen hand that will shove me down the stairs when no one is looking.

I have not eaten all day.

(They will not break me.)

The word “weary” hit Satoru like a punch to the gut. He could picture you, slumped in exhaustion, never having the chance to recover. He could almost hear the quiet panic that sat beneath those words. The next cruel trick, the next shove—it was too much. His hand tightened around the paper as he read on.

He didn’t need to know everything to understand that what you were going through wasn’t just physical. It was something deeper. Something that made your bones ache and your heart heavy. And yet, here you were, still breathing, still defiant. He let out a breath, annoyed at the powerlessness he felt just from reading your words.

July 24, 1914

I am going to the party.

They said they want to start over. That it was all just foolish jealousy. That they want to be friends.

I should not believe them.

I know I should not believe them.

But I am so, so tired of being alone.

Just for one night, I want to pretend I belong.

Satoru frowned, eyes narrowing. The truth was already in your words before you even said it. He felt an odd mix of sympathy and frustration as you told yourself you were going to the party—hoping, wishing to belong, even for just one night. He had to read that part again, swallowing a lump in his throat.

He flipped the page; the diary ended. Satoru immediately scrambled to pull out another stack of papers from the binder.

Final Entries – Found Scribbled in the Dark on Stationary available inside the closet

(Archivist - Stray pages, ink smudged. Words scratched over and rewritten as if she could not make her fingers hold steady.)

July 25, 1914

They lied.

Of course they lied.

The music was loud. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and laughter. For the first time in years, I thought—maybe.

Then hands.

Grabbing. Dragging.

"Let’s see how perfect you are now."

They locked me inside.

A closet. Small. Cramped.

The door will not open.

It has been hours.

(Or has it? I can’t tell.)

No one is coming.

The change in tone was abrupt, and Satoru’s pulse quickened as he read about the party. He could feel the shift, the claustrophobia, the betrayal seeping through the paper. The scribbled words—he could almost hear you gasping for air, trapped in that small closet.

“They lied.” That one line stung. It was so raw. He couldn’t make sense of it. He couldn’t make it right. But he had to know—he had to understand why you were forgotten. He had to keep reading, even if it made his heart feel like it was crumbling under the weight.

???, 1914

How many hours has it been?

They will come back.

They must come back.

Please, please, please—

My throat aches.

I screamed until my throat bled.

No one heard.

No one wants to hear.

(They have forgotten me.)

Satoru’s hands clenched around the papers. They had broken you in ways that even time couldn’t erase. And he could do nothing. He gritted his teeth, struggling to stay composed, but it was impossible to ignore the ache that had settled in his chest. You’d screamed until your throat bled, and they had... forgotten you.

Satoru sat with his elbows on the desk, his fingers steepled against his lips as he read the next entries. He was quiet now, the usual restless energy in his body drained away, leaving only a tense stillness. The words on the page felt heavier with each line.

???, 1914

I am thirsty.

I am so thirsty.

If I press my ear against the door, I can hear the music.

(Another party?)

They are still dancing.

They are still laughing.

They are still living.

And I am here.

Satoru’s throat felt tight. He swallowed against it, as if somehow that would make up for the dryness that must have burned through yours. He could picture it too clearly—the way your lips must have cracked, your voice reduced to a rasp.

And yet, they were still dancing.

Satoru exhaled sharply. You were still there, forgotten, while life carried on just outside the door. The thought made him nauseous.

His fingers flexed against the paper. If I had been there... But he hadn’t been. No one had. That was the entire tragedy of it.

???, 1914

It is quiet.

No music. No voices.

Something has happened.

Why won’t anyone come?

Satoru’s breath slowed. You didn’t know. You had no idea that while you were trapped in that suffocating darkness, the world outside had shifted.

They left.

No one had opened the door. No one had checked. It wasn’t even malice at this point—it was worse. It was indifference.

His jaw clenched. You weren’t even aware that the world had moved on without you. You were just waiting. Waiting for a help that would never come.

July 28, 1914

Sirens.

War.

The halls are empty.

They have all gone home.

No one remembers I am here.

No one remembers at all.

Sirens. The first world war. The absence. His hand trembled. The emptiness of the halls. You had been forgotten amidst the chaos, the madness of the world falling apart. He hated the feeling of it. The helplessness. The way everything—everything—slipped away, leaving only that quiet, sickening silence. He muttered a curse under his breath, feeling a heavy weight in his stomach.

You had been alone. And it wasn’t just the physical isolation. It was the fact that no one even cared enough to remember you.

???, 1914

(Archivist - The ink is uneven, pressed too hard into the paper—her hand must have been shaking.)

I dreamed of Viscount Salvatore.

He pulled out a chair for me again.

Only this time, when I sat, he turned to me and said, "I see you."

I woke up crying.

(He will not remember me either.)

Viscount Salvatore was back in your dreams. And now, Satoru was reading about how you woke up crying. He shook his head slowly, his eyes closing briefly. Even in your lonely moments, he was there, haunting you—both a comfort and a torment. He could almost see it in his mind, the way Viscount Salvatore's distant gaze would have held some measure of regret, maybe even longing. But none of that would ever matter now.

“Damn it,” Satoru cursed under his breath. He didn't even know what he was mad at—himself, the Viscount, or fate. The whole damn situation. You didn’t deserve any of it.

???, 1914

There is no light.

I am afraid to sleep. Afraid I will wake up and it will still be dark. Afraid I won’t wake up at all.

I think I can hear something scratching. Or maybe it is just my own heartbeat.

Satoru shut his eyes for a brief second. That sentence—it was worse than the others. It wasn't just physical anymore. It wasn’t just being locked inside. It was the fear creeping in.

Afraid to sleep. Afraid to wake up and still be in the dark. Afraid to never wake up at all.

He felt sick. You weren’t even sure if you existed anymore. If you were real.

He let his head drop forward slightly, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. It was just a diary. Just words. So why did it feel like they were clawing at something inside of him?

???, 1914

I had a Mother?

Satoru’s eyes flicked back to the page, scanning the sentence again.

His stomach twisted.

You were unraveling.

That was what this was. Not just hunger. Not just thirst. Your mind was fraying at the edges, breaking apart piece by piece.

He shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable, a strange, suffocating weight settling in his chest. You had been alone for so long that even memories were slipping away.

You were forgetting yourself.

???, 1914

I dreamed of the kittens.

They were hungry. So was I.

I woke up biting my sleeve.

Satoru closed his eyes again. That dream—it wasn’t just a memory. It was your body crying out, pulling at whatever fragments of warmth it could find.

And when you woke up, you were biting your sleeve.

His lips pressed into a tight line. He didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to picture you curled up in the dark, trying to trick yourself into feeling full.

He ran a hand through his hair, swallowing hard.

???, 1914

I have started whispering my own name.

I am afraid I will forget it.

Satoru blinked. The words blurred for a second before coming back into focus.

You were losing yourself. The last thing you had—the only thing left. Your own name. And even that was slipping.

His grip on the paper was too tight now. He forced himself to relax his fingers before he crumpled it.

You had been so, so alone.

???, 1914

I do not want to die like this.

I do not want to die in the dark.

Satoru’s shoulders tensed, but he forced himself to read it again.

You knew. By then, you knew.

It was no longer just fear. It was a final, quiet understanding.

Satoru’s hand came up, fingers pressing lightly against his temple. He had read countless things in his life—reports, records, confessions. But this?

This was someone—you—begging the universe for something it had already denied you.

???, 1914

Did he ever think of me?

Did Viscount Salvatore ever notice that I was gone?

(I am so, so cold.)

???, 1914

I can hear it raining.

There is no hunger anymore.

No thirst.

Just cold.

So, so cold.

???, ????

(Archivist - Final entry. Ink smeared, nearly unreadable.)

If someone finds this—Please—Please remember me.

Satoru didn’t move.

He stared at the words, his vision blurring for a moment before sharpening again.

His throat felt tight.

His grip on the page softened, and he slowly, carefully, set it down.

Satoru wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with this—this aching, gnawing thing in his chest. He didn’t have the words for it. But as he reached for the next stack of papers.

Newspaper Articles

(Archivist - Yellowed clippings, brittle at the edges. No one speaks of her anymore.)

DAUGHTER OF L/N FAMILY MISSING – UNIVERSITY REFUSES COMMENT (July 27, 1914)

Miss L/N, the only daughter of the esteemed L/N family, has been reported missing for over a week. The university has declined to comment, insisting that Miss L/N likely departed of her own volition.

Her parents, Mr. and Mrs. L/N, have offered a sizable reward for any information regarding her whereabouts.

SEARCH FOR MISSING HEIRESS ENDS IN TRAGEDY – PARENTS DECLARED DEAD (December 3, 1916)

After two years of relentless searching, Mr. and Mrs. L/N have perished under tragic circumstances. Their estate, heavily in debt from the investigation, is to be auctioned off.

Miss L/N’s disappearance remains unsolved.

RENOVATIONS UNCOVER HIDDEN CLOSET – HUMAN REMAINS FOUND (March 5, 1957)

Construction teams working on university renovations discovered a sealed-off closet in the west wing. Inside, they found skeletal remains, still clad in a deteriorated silk gown. A diary was found nearby, though much of its ink had faded with time. Officials report that the identity of the remains is unknown, as no records exist of any missing student matching the description.

No further investigation is planned.

THE DAILY GAZETTE

Est. 1896

Thursday, March 7, 1957

PRICE: 10 CENTS

MYSTERY OF THE FORGOTTEN GIRL: REMAINS DISCOVERED IN UNIVERSITY WALLS

Renovation Workers Uncover Skeleton, Raising Chilling Questions About the Past

By George L. Whitmore

SHIZUKA CITY—A routine renovation at one of the country’s most prestigious universities took a macabre turn last week when construction workers stumbled upon a hidden closet sealed within the walls of the East Wing. Inside, they found the skeletal remains of a young woman, her body curled as if she had simply lain down and never risen again. The discovery has sent shockwaves through the academic community, raising unsettling questions about how she came to be there—and why no one ever looked for her.

The identity of the deceased remains unknown. No records exist of a missing student from the time period estimated by forensic specialists—likely the early 20th century. But one thing is certain: she was left there. Forgotten.

A Name Erased

The East Wing, once a grand structure funded by old money and aristocratic influence, had been largely abandoned for decades before renovations began last fall. The university, now bearing the Gojo family name, was once under the patronage of another dynasty—one that, curiously, has all but vanished from historical record.

Researchers digging into archived documents found faint traces of a once-powerful benefactor: the L/N family. According to a 1907 university registry, the L/Ns were among the wealthiest patrons of the institution. From Arms dealings, their contributions were responsible for much of its early expansion. And yet, no descendants remain. No estate. No legacy.

A mere decade after their peak, the family seems to have disappeared altogether. Their name erased. Their wealth scattered.

And now, this girl—the girl in the closet.

A Harmless Prank Gone Horribly Wrong?

The discovery has sparked whispered theories among university staff and alumni. Some recall long-forgotten stories, rumors passed down like ghost stories in dormitory halls. Stories of a girl. Beautiful. Intelligent. Kind. Too kind.

“She was perfect, too perfect,” said one retired professor, who wished to remain anonymous. “People resented her for it. The way the faculty admired her. The way she carried herself. There were whispers, of course—ugly, jealous things. But back then, the school was different. There were rules about what could and could not be spoken aloud.”

While no official reports exist of bullying, former students who attended in the early 1900s recall the cruel pranks that were common among the elite circles of the time. Stolen books. Torn dresses. Whispered mockeries disguised as etiquette lessons.

Then there was the incident at a party—a party that took place just before the world changed forever.

“She went missing that night,” said another source, a woman in her seventies who had attended the university in the years following the First World War. “There were rumors, of course. But no one ever spoke of it directly. And then the war came, and everything was forgotten. Just like that.”

What started as a childish prank—locking a girl in a storage closet—became something else entirely when the world was plunged into chaos. Sirens screamed. Students fled. The university shut its doors. And no one, not a single soul, remembered to let her out.

A Legacy Stolen by Time

The timing is chilling. The L/N family vanished not long after. Their once-glorious estate burned to the ground under mysterious circumstances. With their wealth depleted in a desperate search for their missing daughter, they faded into obscurity, lost to history. Meanwhile, the university found a new patron—one with deeper pockets, stronger influence. The Gojo family.

“Nothing stays empty for long,” remarked historian Dr. Henry Carrington. “Power abhors a vacuum. One name disappears; another takes its place. That’s how history works. The question is whether it was simply fate... or something more deliberate.”

What Comes Next?

For now, the remains of the forgotten girl lie in the care of forensic specialists, who will attempt to identify her and, perhaps, grant her the dignity she was denied in life. The university has yet to release an official statement, though sources indicate there are plans to memorialize the discovery.

Still, the air remains heavy with unspoken truths. A legacy buried beneath floorboards. A name erased. A girl left to die in the dark, her existence fading from memory even as the institution she was meant to inherit flourished without her.

And now, decades later, she has returned. Not as a scholar. Not as an heir.

But as a skeleton in the walls of a university that no longer remembers her name.

Satoru understood what had happened.

---

1914

The first time they locked you inside, it was supposed to be a joke. A harmless prank.

“You’ll cry and beg to be let out,” one of them whispered, a cruel giggle curling around her words as she hid her smirk behind a lace-gloved hand. “Let’s see if Miss Perfect is still so polite in the dark.”

You cried.

But you didn’t beg.

Not that night.

Not yet.

It didn’t surprise you. You’d always known people resented you. You were the only child of the L/N family—their legacy was carved in the very stone of the university. Wealth, power, influence, all wrapped in a name that commanded respect. Your family had funded these halls, shaped them. Built them.

And you were meant to carry that weight forward, to live up to expectations that came with being the heir of such a name. You studied hard, spoke softly, helped others without a second thought. You tried to meet the world with grace.

But you had made one mistake.

You were kind. Too kind.

You didn’t wear your last name like armor. You didn’t command respect with a gaze sharp enough to cut or a voice cold enough to freeze. You didn’t move like royalty among commoners. You spoke gently, smiled too much, helped without expecting anything in return.

And that, apparently, was enough to make them hate you.

They called you perfect. A fraud wrapped in silk and sweetness. A girl born to wealth, yet untouched by cruelty. It made them sick to their stomachs. They told themselves your kindness was a mask. That you were pretending. That behind your soft smile, you looked down on them.

The whispers slithered through the hallways, filled every corner of every dormitory, echoed between the benches in lecture halls. “She must think she’s better than us.” The rumors crept, fed by jealousy and disdain, each one sinking deeper, until they made it their mission to tear you down.

It started small. Stolen assignments. Ink spilled all over your uniform. Books knocked from your arms as you passed, their laughter trailing behind you like a shadow.

But then the pranks grew worse. Razor blades slipped into the lining of your bag, waiting to slice your fingers. Your tea, laced with ink, stained your lips and tongue black for hours. Dead rats left in your desk drawers, bloated and stinking, their decaying bodies a cruel reminder of their hatred.

You had friends—or you thought you did. But when you looked to them, their smiles faltered. They said nothing. Did nothing. They looked away.

So, you endured it all alone.

Then came the night of the party.

You hadn’t wanted to go. But one of the girls, the one you still foolishly believed to be a friend, begged you. She said everyone wanted to start over, that they regretted their childish jealousy and were ready to put it behind them.

You wanted to believe it. You wanted so badly to believe that people could change, that cruelty wasn’t the default. You wanted to believe that if you just endured long enough, they would see you for who you really were.

So, you went.

The music was loud, thick with the beat of drums and the pulse of electric guitars. The air was heavy with smoke, alcohol, and the scent of youth gone wild. Laughter rang out, spinning around you as people twirled under lantern light. For the first time in years, you thought maybe—just maybe—you weren’t so alone after all.

But then, hands grabbed you.

They pulled you, dragged you away from the laughter, from the light, down the dim hallway that felt colder with every step. You struggled, but there were too many of them. Nails dug into your skin, and their breath reeked of whiskey and sweat.

They laughed. “Let’s see how perfect you are now.”

The closet was small. Cramped. A tiny, forgotten storage room in the corner of the building, filled with old books and dusty supplies. They shoved you inside.

You stumbled, tripping over the rough wooden floor, your hands scraping against the splintered walls. The door slammed behind you, the sound of the lock clicking echoing in your chest. You barely had time to press yourself against the door before it shut you in complete darkness.

“Let’s see how sweet you are after this,” they jeered, and then they were gone.

At first, you thought it was a joke. Any second now, they would open the door, laughing, saying it was just a prank. The music outside was still loud. The sounds of celebration filled your ears, muffling your screams and your frantic banging against the door.

They would let you out.

Of course, they would.

Wouldn’t they?

You banged harder. Screamed louder.

But no one came.

Minutes passed. Then an hour. Two.

Your fists were raw, your throat burned from the screams, but still, nothing.

At some point, you must have fallen asleep. When you woke up, your mouth was dry, your body stiff and cold. You were still in your party dress, but your shoes were gone. You had lost them somewhere, in the chaos of being dragged.

You banged again. Screamed louder.

Nothing.

More hours passed. Maybe a day. You tried to count the time, but it blurred. The darkness stole all sense of it.

Then, one night—though you couldn’t tell if it was day or night anymore—something changed.

The university went silent.

The once-bustling halls were empty. The voices, the laughter, the music—gone.

In the distance, you heard sirens. A sound that felt like the last thread of the world unraveling.

The world was at war.

Overnight, everything collapsed. Students fled. Professors disappeared. The university shut down.

And no one, not a single soul, remembered that you were still locked in that closet.

The hunger was unbearable at first. You pressed your hands against your stomach as it twisted in agony, but after a while, even hunger faded into the background. The thirst, however, never left. Your lips cracked, your throat burned, your vision swam.

But you were too weak to scream now.

At some point, you stopped feeling anything at all.

No one remembered the girl in the closet.

Days passed. Maybe weeks. Maybe months.

But in the end, it didn’t matter.

There was only silence.

When they finally reopened that part of the university—years, maybe decades later, during renovations—the workers found a hidden closet behind the walls. They found a skeleton, still curled on the floor, clutching the remains of a tattered dress.

No one knew who you were. Your records were gone.

The L/N family was erased from history.

Your parents had searched for you. Desperately. They spent every penny, called in every favor, tore the world apart looking for their only child.

But war doesn’t care for grieving parents.

They died before they could uncover the truth. Your home burned. And with them, the name that had once shaped this university disappeared from the records.

The buildings once funded by your family were renamed. The university you were supposed to inherit now bore another family’s name.

The Gojo family.

And you?

You had simply ceased to exist.

---

Present Day

Satoru stared at the newspaper article in his hands, the words blurring as his chest tightened. It felt like someone had reached into him, squeezing the air from his lungs until he couldn’t breathe. His vision wavered, the paper in his hands turning into nothing more than a smear of ink and empty noise.

He had spent the entire night digging. Searching. Prying through the layers of forgotten history no one had cared to remember. And now—

Now, he wished he hadn’t.

His chest ached. His stomach churned with the weight of it. He hadn’t expected to find this. He hadn’t expected to feel the crushing blow of reality, the terrible, suffocating guilt that twisted through him like a knife.

You had smiled at him.

how your fingers had trembled in his hands, how your wide, nervous eyes had held so much uncertainty, yet a quiet hope. And when you kissed him, your lips soft and warm against his, it had been the kind of kiss that felt like it was long overdue—like you’d been waiting a lifetime for someone to touch you.

And now he knew why.

You had been waiting for a hundred years.

A hundred years of silence. A hundred years of darkness. A hundred years of loneliness so deep it suffocated you, a cruel weight on your chest that no one had ever bothered to lift.

He thought about the closet. The cramped, suffocating space. The darkness. The silence that stretched on for years, unbroken. The pain of realizing no one was coming, no one cared.

The students who had shoved you inside. The laughter as they walked away, their voices fading into the distance while you were left to rot alone in a forgotten corner of the university. The friends who had seen it happen and did nothing. The ones who had turned their backs when you needed them most.

Satoru’s chest tightened further, a sharp pain stabbing through him. His teeth ground together, his jaw clenched so tight it felt like it might crack. His hands shook, trembled violently, as if they could somehow undo what had been done, erase the horror of it all.

He wanted to break something. Throw something. Tear through this cursed world and go back, back to that night, back to when he could’ve stopped it. To rip open that damn door and pull you into his arms, to tell you that you were never alone. That he would have fought for you. That someone—anyone—should have fought for you.

But it was too late.

One hundred years too late.

He sucked in a shaky breath, but it didn’t help. His lungs felt tight, and his throat closed up, like something was blocking the air. His hands shook as he traced the edges of the photograph in front of him. A group of students stood there, stiff and formal, their faces solemn in that black-and-white world of the early 1900s. They were so... distant. Detached. Like they were living in a world completely untouched by joy, by life.

And then there was you.

At the edge of the group, standing out like a ghost, yet so very present. Your soft features. Your gentle eyes. Your delicate, hopeful expression that somehow still managed to look so... lonely.

Beneath the photo, in delicate cursive handwriting, the caption read: "Class of 1914. Including Miss Y/N, the only child  of  the  L/N  family—our university’s first founding patrons."

Satoru’s breath caught in his throat.

Your name should have been everywhere. It should have been on every plaque, in every building, carved into the very bones of this place. Your family had built this school, laid its foundations with their blood and wealth. You had been the heir, the future.

And yet—

No one remembered your name.

Satoru’s pulse pounded in his ears, a frantic rhythm that seemed to echo in his chest. His fingers curled into the paper, the fragile edges crinkling beneath his grip. His heart hammered in his chest as he clenched his jaw, fighting back the urge to scream.

This school, his school, had been built on the L/N family name. Your family’s legacy was supposed to be immortal, etched into the very structure of the place. And yet, all he saw now were the names of the Gojo family—his family—everywhere. The library. The dormitories. The lecture halls.

Your family had been erased.

A sickening wave of anger washed over him. He wanted to scream, to tear the world apart. He wanted to shove the truth in their faces, shove it into the faces of everyone who’d forgotten you. Everyone who had abandoned you. But more than anything—he wanted to go back.

He wanted to go back to that night.

He wanted to break down that fucking door, drag you into the light, and tell you, "You weren’t alone. You’ll never be alone again."

But he couldn’t.

It was too late.

One hundred years too late.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but the image of your face lingered. You, the girl who had been forgotten. The girl whose name had been erased from history. The girl who had waited for someone to remember, to fight for her. The girl who had suffered alone.

No one remembered you now.

But Satoru did.

A/N: Did you get who Viscount Salvatore was?

Next Chapter 3 - (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

[moonlitstoriess]

Binding Lies- Eris Vanserra x fem! reader (mini-series) Part 7

Summary: When Y/N, Azriel's secret half-sister who lives far away, and Eris Vanserra form a strategic contractual marriage to further their own agendas, what begins as a carefully crafted arrangement soon becomes more complicated. As they pretend to be a perfect couple, the lines between duty and desire blur, and neither is prepared for the consequences.

See masterlist

Previous part

Warnings: kissing scene, some angst, tension

The wind howled outside the small cottage, rattling the wooden walls and making the candlelight flicker. The scent of damp earth and burning firewood clung to the air, mixing with the faint aroma of herbs drying by the window. Y/n sat on the floor, legs crossed, watching as her mother carefully stitched a torn tunic, her movements practiced and methodical. There was something different about her that night—her usual sharp eyes distant, her shoulders drawn tight.

Y/n had noticed it all day, the way her mother had been quieter than usual, how she had barely smiled, barely looked at her. And now, in the dim glow of the cottage, the weight of that silence pressed down on her like a heavy cloak.

“Mother?” Y/n’s voice was hesitant, careful.

Her mother didn’t look up. “Yes, my love?”

Y/n hesitated, fingers twisting in the fabric of her dress. “You—you’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?”

Her mother’s hands stilled. For a moment, Y/n thought she wouldn’t answer. But then, with a quiet sigh, she set the tunic aside and finally met her daughter’s gaze. There was something haunted in her expression, something distant and aching.

“I always think about him,” she murmured.

Y/n swallowed hard. “Did you love him?”

Her mother didn’t answer right away. She turned her gaze to the fire, eyes flickering with the flames. “Once,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “A long time ago.”

Y/n curled her arms around herself, trying to piece together the fractured bits of truth she had collected over the years. She had always known her mother kept secrets. That there was more to their past than she let on. But it wasn’t until that night—until the words slipped from her mother’s lips—that she learned the truth that would change everything.

“You have a brother,” her mother said, voice soft but firm. “In the Night Court.”

Y/n’s breath caught.

Her heart pounded so hard it nearly drowned out the sound of the storm outside. “A brother?” she echoed, as if saying it aloud would make it less impossible.

Her mother nodded, and something in her face softened, like the weight of the secret had finally begun to lift. “His name is Azriel.”

The name sent a jolt through Y/n, like a puzzle piece snapping into place. She had heard of him before—whispers of the shadowsinger, of the spymaster cloaked in darkness. But never, not once, had she thought she could be tied to him by blood.

She shook her head, voice barely steady. “Does he—does he know?”

Her mother’s lips pressed together, a quiet sorrow settling in her eyes. “No.”

The answer was both a relief and a wound.

Y/n wasn’t sure what was worse: the fact that she had a brother she had never known, or the fact that he didn’t even know she existed.

A lump formed in her throat as she whispered, “Why didn’t you tell him?”

Her mother exhaled shakily, rubbing a hand over her face. “Because I couldn’t.” She turned back to Y/n, her gaze sharp and serious. “You have to understand, my love. I left the Night Court before he was born. And I—I made choices that ensured I could never return. Your father eventually found me and well…we had you. By the time I learned of his existence, it was too late.”

Y/n clenched her jaw, emotions churning inside her. “It’s not too late now,” she insisted. “We could—”

“No.” The finality in her mother’s voice cut through the air. “You must promise me, Y/n. Promise me that you will never seek him out. That you will never tell him.”

Y/n’s stomach twisted. “But why?”

Her mother reached for her then, cupping Y/n’s face in her hands. “Because some secrets are meant to stay buried,” she murmured. “And if you love me—if you trust me—you will let this one remain in the past.”

Y/n blinked back the sting of tears, her heart breaking under the weight of something she didn’t understand.

But she nodded. Because what else could she do?

And that night, long after her mother had fallen asleep, Y/n lay awake in the darkness, whispering the name of the brother she would never know.

Azriel.

Y/n’s eyes snapped open.

For a moment, she forgot where she was, her heart racing in her chest as if she were still that little girl curled up in bed, whispering a name that felt like both a prayer and a curse.

But then reality settled in.

She wasn’t in that small, warm cottage anymore. She wasn’t a child staring at the ceiling, wondering about a brother she could never meet.

She was here. In the Autumn Court. In Eris’s bed.

The weight of the silk sheets tangled around her, but the warmth at her side was far more distracting.

She turned her head slowly, her breath catching as she took in Eris’s sleeping form.

His face was relaxed in a way she had never seen before, his usual sharp edges softened in sleep. The golden glow of early morning painted his features in warm hues, his auburn hair spilling across the pillow, strands falling over his forehead.

She swallowed.

He looked… beautiful.

It was a dangerous thought, one she quickly tried to smother. But it lingered, simmering in the depths of her mind as she let herself stare for a moment longer.

Eris Vanserra was many things—infuriating, cold, calculating. But in sleep, with his guard lowered, he was something else entirely.

Something she could almost admire.

Almost.

She exhaled quietly, forcing herself to look away. This was temporary. They were temporary. It didn’t matter how peaceful he looked now, how her heart gave an odd little flutter at the sight of him. None of it mattered.

With a quiet sigh, Y/n turned onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.

The ball was happening.

She was going to meet him.

Azriel.

And no matter how many times she tried to prepare herself for it, she knew nothing would ever be enough.

Y/n hadn’t been able to sleep.

No matter how long she lay in bed, no matter how many times she closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe slowly, evenly, the storm in her mind refused to settle. The thought of him—of Azriel—seeing her for the first time, truly seeing her, had burrowed into her skull, refusing to let go.

So, at the first hint of dawn, she had given up.

And even though she hated him in that moment—hated the way he had unknowingly turned her world upside down with just a few words—she still found herself staring.

It was unfair, how easily he could rest, while she lay awake drowning in thoughts she couldn’t voice.

With a quiet breath, she slipped out of bed.

She had wandered the halls for hours, the cool air of the palace failing to clear the chaos in her mind. Her body ached with exhaustion, but she knew she wouldn’t find sleep now. Not with the knowledge of what was coming weighing so heavily on her chest.

When she found herself in the quiet wing of the palace where Samira’s chambers were, she didn’t hesitate.

Samira was by the window, brushing out her long, dark hair, when Y/n stepped inside. She barely looked surprised to see her.

“You look like hell,” Samira said bluntly, setting the brush down.

Y/n let out a weak, humorless huff. “I feel worse.”

Samira tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. “What happened?”

Y/n sank onto a cushioned bench, running a hand down her face. “Eris told me something last night. About an event we have to attend.”

Samira’s brows lifted. “And?”

“It’s not just another court gathering,” Y/n said. “It’s…all of them. All seven.”

Samira blinked. “A ball for all the High Lords?”

Y/n nodded, gripping her hands together in her lap. She hadn’t meant to say so much. Hadn’t meant to let the words slip so easily. But now that they had, she couldn’t seem to stop the tightness in her chest.

Samira considered her for a long moment. “And why does that terrify you?”

Y/n stiffened. “It doesn’t terrify me.”

“Liar,” Samira said, arching a brow. “You’re pale. You haven’t slept. And you came here before breakfast, which means you’re spiraling.”

Y/n exhaled sharply, glancing away.

Samira leaned forward, voice softer now. “What’s wrong?”

There was no way she could explain it. No way she could tell Samira the truth—that somewhere in the Night Court, a male existed who shared her blood. That he would be at the ball, standing among the others, completely unaware of her existence.

So she forced herself to shrug, forced the words to come out light and dismissive. “I just—this wasn’t part of the plan. I thought I’d only have to deal with the Autumn Court, not every other High Lord and their pompous courtiers.”

Samira studied her for a long moment before sighing. “Court politics will never be easy, but you’ve handled them before. You’ll survive this too.”

Y/n nodded mutely, though her stomach churned at the thought.

Samira hesitated before speaking again. “If it’s too overwhelming, I can stay by your side the whole night. We’ll get through it together.”

Something in Y/n’s chest tightened. Samira had no idea the real reason for her fear, had no idea the storm that was raging inside her. And yet, here she was, offering unwavering loyalty.

Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat. “Thank you.”

Samira gave a small nod. “Now, go get some rest. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Y/n huffed a quiet laugh but stood.

She didn’t tell Samira that sleep wouldn’t come. That even when she closed her eyes, all she saw was him.

Eris awoke to the cold.

It wasn’t the temperature of the room that sent a chill down his spine, but the absence. The absence of warmth beside him, the absence of her presence in the space they begrudgingly shared.

His eyes blinked open, adjusting to the morning light that streamed through the windows, casting golden streaks across the polished floors. He reached out instinctively, fingers grazing only cool sheets.

Empty.

The room was empty.

His entire body tensed as he pushed himself upright, eyes scanning the space. Her side of the bed was long abandoned, her clothes were gone, not a single sign of her lingering in the room.

She had left.

Eris swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his mind already racing as he stood. He dressed swiftly, pulling on a crisp tunic and trousers, buckling his belt with sharp, efficient movements. His fingers itched to burn something—to curl around the closest object and hurl it at the wall, but he forced his frustration down, swallowing it like bitter wine.

She was avoiding him.

His jaw clenched as he adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves, his mind replaying the moment from the feast last night.

The way she had stilled.

One second, they had been sitting together, their usual tension crackling beneath the surface as they pretended, performed for the court. Then, as soon as he mentioned the event, as soon as he uttered those words—all six courts—she had gone rigid.

He had seen it. The way her face had drained of color, the way her fingers had twitched slightly against her goblet before she gripped it too tightly, as if anchoring herself.

And then…

That question. The way her voice had wavered.

“So—so does that mean everyone from Night will be there?”

At the time, he had been too caught up in her odd behavior to fully think about it. But now…

Now, his thoughts were catching up.

His mind reached back, further than last night, back to when they had been on the ship. The first time she had ever mentioned the Night Court, the first time she had spoken Azriel’s name.

She had asked about him, specifically.

His golden eyes narrowed as he fastened his boots, every piece clicking into place, yet still making no sense.

Why had she asked about the Night Court back then? And why—why, last night, had she reacted that way at the mention of the ball?

Eris Vanserra did not enjoy not knowing things.

He was a High Lord’s son, raised to pick apart every detail, to never leave a question unanswered. And yet here he was, standing in the middle of his empty chamber, entirely in the dark.

His jaw clenched, and without another thought, he strode out of the room.

The hall was already filling with the scent of breakfast—freshly baked bread, roasted meats, the rich aroma of tea and spiced cider.

Eris’ pace quickened as he made his way toward the dining room, his lips pressed into a thin line.

She was avoiding him.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

She wasn’t supposed to be the one slipping away, not when he was the one who dictated the terms of this arrangement. Not when he had carefully crafted every move, every interaction to ensure that he was always in control.

Yet, here she was, dodging him, and he hated the way it made his stomach twist.

Eris entered the dining hall with smooth, practiced ease, his expression unreadable as his sharp eyes scanned the room.

And then—

His gaze landed on her plate.

It was empty.

The goblet beside it bore the faintest smudge of where her lips had touched. The plate had been used, the utensils slightly out of place.

She had already eaten.

Before him.

Eris’ fingers curled into fists at his sides.

She had woken up before him, left their room, and eaten before he even arrived—ensuring that they wouldn’t cross paths.

Avoiding me.

The realization burned hotter than it should have.

But there were servants in the room—several of them. And if there was one thing Eris refused to do, it was let anyone see when something bothered him.

So, without a word, without even a flicker of emotion betraying him, he took his seat.

The chair was polished, the table set to perfection, the quiet clink of dishes filling the space around him.

He picked up his fork and began to eat.

Silent.

Seething.

And all the while, his thoughts churned—about last night, about her strange questions on the ship, about the Night Court, about Azriel.

And about the female who had disappeared from his bed before dawn, who was slipping further and further from his grasp.

The midday sun hung high, casting golden rays through the sprawling gardens of the Autumn Court as Y/N sat in the grand courtyard, forced into yet another tedious royal duty. A gathering of noblewomen surrounded her, their chatter blending into one endless, droning noise as they sipped on spiced cider and nibbled on pastries.

It was a tradition—an honor, Lady of Autumn had called it—for the heir's wife to host the seasonal tea gatherings, ensuring that the females of the court remained entertained and content. To Y/N, it felt more like a slow death.

She kept her face poised, her posture impeccable as she engaged in small talk, nodding when necessary, smiling when required. It was exhausting, performing this role, weaving through the webs of courtly expectations, pretending that every word spoken didn’t bore her to madness.

Samira stood a few steps behind, always close, always watching.

Y/N barely listened as Lady Thelia prattled on about some nobleman’s daughter marrying a lesser lord, the woman’s voice lilting with thinly veiled condescension. But just as she was about to take another careful sip of her untouched cider, a sudden commotion at the far end of the courtyard caught her attention.

A young servant boy, no older than fourteen, pushed his way through the gathering, his face flushed with exertion, his chest heaving. His brown tunic bore the Autumn Court sigil, but it was wrinkled and stained with sweat.

He didn’t even bow before blurting out, "Highness—quick, please!"

Y/N immediately straightened, her heart stuttering at the sheer panic in his voice. "What is it?" she demanded, already setting down her glass.

The boy swallowed hard before rushing out, "Prince Eris—he’s been wounded, badly. He needs help!"

The words slammed into her, knocking the air from her lungs.

Her fingers curled tightly around the fabric of her gown, dread twisting in her gut. "What?" she breathed, standing so abruptly that the women around her startled. "Where? How did he—"

But the boy shook his head frantically. "No time, Princess! Please, just follow me!"

Panic seized her. She turned sharply to Samira, whose usually calm expression had faltered into something tense and urgent. Y/N barely needed to say anything before Samira gave a quick nod, her own silent Go.

Without hesitation, Y/N turned on her heel and ran.

The conversations of the nobles turned to shocked murmurs, but she didn’t care. Her mind emptied, one thought, one name consuming her—

Eris. Eris. Eris.

Y/N ran after the servant boy, her heart slamming against her ribs with each hurried step. The gravel crunched beneath her feet, the wind whipping through her hair as she sprinted through the Autumn Court’s vast grounds.

"Eris—badly wounded—" The words rang in her skull, an unbearable knot of fear tightening in her chest.

"How bad?" she demanded, breathless, as they weaved through the towering trees of the palace grounds.

"Very," the boy gasped without looking back, his short legs moving fast.

Her stomach churned. Eris was strong, fast, skilled. For him to be injured badly enough that a servant was sent running for her meant—

She shook her head. No. No, he’s fine. He has to be fine.

The path twisted, and she followed blindly, her mind too focused on reaching him to question why they were moving deeper into the estate rather than back toward the palace’s infirmary. It wasn’t until the scent of damp earth and the low, distant growling of hounds reached her ears that she hesitated.

Her steps slowed as they entered a clearing where high, iron-barred kennels stood in neat rows, each filled with massive, hulking figures of Autumn Court hounds. Eris’ hounds.

Her brow furrowed.

"What the hell?" she muttered, coming to a full stop, eyes scanning the dimly lit kennels. "Why the hell am I here?" She turned to the servant, irritation flickering through the worry still clenching her stomach. "Where is Eris?"

But the boy didn’t answer. Instead, he bolted.

"Hey!" she shouted, twisting after him. "Get back here, you little—!"

"So now you worry for me, huh?"

Y/N whirled around at the deep, smooth voice behind her.

Her breath hitched. Eris stood a few feet away, arms crossed, looking infuriatingly smug.

Her gaze flew over him, scanning—searching—for the grave injury she had been running toward in panic. But there was nothing. No blood, no limp, not even a damn scrape. He looked fine.

More than fine, actually.

"You—" she breathed, chest heaving. "You’re fine?"

And then it hit her.

Her wide eyes turned into a glare so sharp it could slice through steel. Her jaw clenched, her hands curled into fists—

"You PRICK!"

The words tore from her throat as she stormed forward, slamming her hands against his chest. It did absolutely nothing to him—he was built like a damn mountain—but she didn’t care. She hit him again. And again.

"You lied!" she seethed, each word punctuated by another shove. "You lied so you could draw me out here—!"

"Shhh," Eris tsked, his fingers wrapping around her wrists in one smooth movement. He pulled her closer, stopping her assault with infuriating ease. "Yeah, sorry not sorry, but you didn’t give me any other options."

Her glare burned hotter. "You absolute, arrogant, insufferable—"

"Flattery will get you nowhere, darling," he drawled, a smirk curling at his lips.

"I should rip your throat out," she hissed.

"And yet," he mused, his grip tightening slightly, "here you are, so terribly worried about me. How touching."

"Go to hell, Eris."

He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against her temple. "Darling, I am hell."

She snarled, yanking herself free from his grasp, but before she could unleash another string of curses, a deep, menacing growl rolled through the air.

Y/N stilled.

Eris chuckled, stepping to her side as he gestured toward the towering hounds in the kennels, their sharp eyes watching her every move.

"Y/N, dearest," he said smoothly, "meet my sons."

She blinked, glancing at the monstrous beasts lined up behind the bars. Huge, thickly muscled, their coats ranging from deep russet to ink-black. Their eyes glowed amber in the dim light, filled with intelligence, obedience.

All except for one.

While the rest sat silently, awaiting orders, one beast at the far end paced restlessly, his lips curling back to reveal sharp canines, his growl endless and unrelenting.

Eris sighed dramatically. "And that would be him," he muttered, nodding toward the growling beast. "The problem child."

Y/N tilted her head slightly, watching the hound with intrigue. "What’s his name?"

Eris smirked. "Ruvan."

The hound bared its teeth at her.

Without thinking, Y/N slowly stepped forward. Eris’ hand shot out, but she shook him off.

"Easy," she murmured, crouching before the cage. "I’m not going to hurt you."

Ruvan’s growling softened—just slightly.

She kept her voice low, gentle, murmuring quiet reassurances. The beast tilted his head slightly, his glowing eyes locked on hers. Slowly, carefully, she reached a hand toward the bars.

And for a moment, just a moment, Ruvan stilled.

Then, as if shaking off some trance, he lunged—his teeth snapping just inches from her fingers.

But before he could get any closer, Y/N was yanked backward, her spine colliding with a firm chest, warm hands gripping her waist tightly.

A breath, hot and low, ghosted over her ear.

"Yeah," Eris murmured against her skin, "that’s Ruvan. The one you should probably never go near."

Her breath hitched.

At their proximity. At the way his fingers curled just slightly against the fabric of her gown. At the heat of him pressing against her back.

She swallowed, blinking rapidly as she willed herself to move, to breathe.

Then, with a sharp exhale, she shoved away from him, fixing him with a glare.

"You’re insufferable," she muttered.

He grinned. "And yet, you’re still here."

"Not for long," she shot back, already turning. "I’m leaving."

Eris only followed, keeping pace beside her as she strode toward the exit.

"I believe," he mused, amusement lacing his voice, "you won’t be avoiding me anymore."

She scoffed, not sparing him a glance. "Oh, I definitely will be."

He clicked his tongue. "Unlikely, given that you just sprinted across the palace in a panic over my well-being."

"That was before I knew you were a manipulative, lying bastard."

He sighed dramatically. "You wound me, wife."

"Not yet, but give me a sword and we’ll see."

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. They reached an intersection in the halls—her path turning left, his turning right.

She was about to continue forward when he stopped, his voice softer, quieter.

"Y/N."

She hesitated. Something about the way he said her name was... different.

Not mocking, not teasing—just soft.

She turned, brows furrowed slightly, lips parting—

But Eris only held her gaze for a moment before giving a small, almost unreadable nod. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.

Y/N stood there, unmoving, watching as he disappeared down the hall.

Her heart beat a little too fast.

And she hated that it did.

Three hours had passed since he had last seen her. Since he had dragged her out to the kennels, watched her bristle and snap at him, only to leave before he could get another read on her.

She was avoiding him. Still.

Eris sat in his private study, the scent of firewood and aged parchment thick in the air. A map of the Autumn Court sprawled across his desk, delicate but marked with small, deliberate annotations—some in ink, some burned into the parchment with his fire. Stacks of reports from spies, lists of names—some crossed out—lay beside it.

A single candle flickered, casting jagged shadows across the room, but he barely noticed. His mind was ruthless, sharp, cutting through distractions like a blade.

His father, Beron, still believed he controlled this court. Still believed his word was absolute. But Eris had spent years working in the shadows, shifting the tides of power, bending them ever so slightly in his favor. And now, with Y/N by his side, his claim to the throne had grown stronger. The marriage had been a calculated risk—a move to solidify his position among the court's nobles. He needed her as his shield and weapon, to keep Beron’s suspicions at bay.

But that had been the easy part. The harder part was what came next.

Eris picked up a letter, scanning the words. It was from one of his informants within Beron’s inner circle. A lord—one Eris had been slowly poisoning with false trust—had begun whispering doubts about Beron’s leadership. Good.

He moved to another document, a list of the strongest warriors in Autumn, ones loyal to him rather than his father. He marked two more names with an ember-hot fingertip. Very good.

But it wasn’t enough. Beron was paranoid. No move could be made until the perfect moment. And Eris couldn’t let his father suspect a thing.

His jaw tightened. The marriage should have been simple: a way to gain power, to steady his image, to play the role of the devoted husband while quietly setting his pieces in place.

But Y/N was not cooperating. She was avoiding him, keeping her thoughts locked away. And that moment last night, when she had frozen at the mention of the Night Court—when something in her eyes had screamed secrets—it unsettled him more than it should have.

He didn’t like being in the dark.

And yet, despite his frustration, despite how inconvenient it was, he found himself drawn to her in ways that were notstrategic. It was… infuriating.

His fingers drummed against the desk. He did not have time for this. He had spent too long shaping this plan, twisting every misfortune into an opportunity. He would not allow something as reckless as feelings to disrupt it.

Eris leaned back, eyes narrowing at the map once more. There were still more pieces to shift. More alliances to solidify. More knives to position in the dark.

A ball was coming. The six other courts would be present. And that meant High Lords, powerful emissaries, and the perfect stage for subtle, deadly negotiations.

If played correctly, this event could bring him one step closer to finally toppling his father.

His lips curved into a slow, calculating smile.

Let the game continue.

The grand dressing chamber was buzzing with movement, the warm glow of candlelight bouncing off silk and gold. Y/N sat rigidly in front of an ornate mirror, barely hearing the hushed voices around her, her thoughts an absolute mess.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, she would be in a room with all the High Lords. Tomorrow, she would meet him.

Her half-brother.

Her fingers clenched in her lap, nails pressing into her palms as her mind twisted and turned, cycling through a hundred different ways this could go wrong. Would he know? Would anyone suspect?

She barely noticed the hush that had settled in the room until someone cleared their throat.

“Highness?” one of the maidens prompted, and Y/N blinked, snapping out of her thoughts.

“Oh. Yes—sorry.”

“We asked which of these you prefer,” the maiden said, gesturing toward the row of dresses presented before her.

Y/N forced herself to focus. The first dress was crimson, embroidered with golden filigree and stitched pearls. The second, a deep sapphire, shimmering under the candlelight with a bodice so heavy with jewels that she could only imagine how suffocating it would feel. The third, a pale silver monstrosity with sheer sleeves and intricate lace that swallowed the fabric beneath it.

They were all… too much.

Too glittering. Too excessive. Too drenched in wealth to the point of being ugly.

“I don’t like any of them,” she said simply.

The maidens exchanged glances before one of them stepped forward, her voice careful, but laced with an unmistakable edge of condescension. “But, Your Royal Highness, these dresses are the most expensive in all of Prythian. They were crafted by Lady Evandria’s Atelier, a designer who only makes gowns for the most elite of royals.”

Y/N bit back a sigh. “That may be so, but I still don’t like them.”

The maidens hesitated, clearly trying to find the right words to argue with her without overstepping, when Samira—silent up until now—finally spoke.

“I think I have an idea,” she said, stepping forward.

Y/N turned to her immediately. “What?”

Samira gave her a knowing look before walking over to a trunk she had brought from Montesere, flipping it open. The maidens stood stiffly, their displeasure barely concealed as Samira carefully pulled out two dresses, unfolding them before Y/N.

They weren’t drenched in excessive jewels or stitched with pretentious embroidery. And yet, they commanded attention effortlessly.

The first was an obsidian-black gown, sleek and smooth, with long fitted sleeves and a neckline that wasn’t too revealing, but still elegant. Tiny flecks of silver dusted the fabric like stars in the night sky, subtle yet stunning.

The second was a deep, blood-red dress with a fitted bodice and an asymmetrical skirt that draped effortlessly, the fabric moving like liquid fire. Unlike the dresses chosen by the maidens, it didn’t scream royalty—it whispered it, carrying the weight of power in a way that didn’t need excess to be seen.

Y/N’s breath caught as she reached out, running her fingers over the red fabric. “This one,” she said immediately, her voice quiet, but sure.

Samira smirked, as if she had known all along which dress Y/N would choose. “A good choice,” she murmured, handing it to her.

The maidens, however, were less pleased. Their expressions soured as they moved stiffly to assist, and as they laced up the back of her gown, Y/N caught the glares they were sending Samira’s way.

It was almost amusing.

But just as she was beginning to feel at ease, one of the maidens spoke, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

“Highness, forgive my curiosity, but…” The girl tilted her head, adjusting the folds of Y/N’s dress as she continued, “Have you checked if you are with child yet?”

Y/N’s entire body went still.

Even Samira’s hands momentarily froze before continuing their work, her movements more controlled now.

“What?” Y/N asked, keeping her voice even.

The maiden smiled, as if this were the most casual conversation in the world. “Well, since you and Prince Eris love each other so much, we thought you’d already be with child by now.”

The words love each other rang bitterly in her mind.

Y/N inhaled slowly, forcing herself to keep her composure. “That is an incredibly bold assumption,” she said coolly.

“Not an assumption, Highness,” another maiden chimed in, feigning innocence. “Merely an expectation. Most royal couples are blessed with an heir not long after their wedding.”

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. She wanted to snap back, wanted to tell them to shut their smug mouths—but she couldn’t. Not without giving them more to gossip about.

So she smiled, slow and sharp, as she met the maiden’s gaze. “How fortunate, then, that I decide when and if that happens.”

The maidens fell silent.

Samira hid a smirk as she finished securing the dress.

Y/N turned back to the mirror, staring at her reflection. The gown fit her perfectly, the deep red standing in stark contrast to her skin. She looked regal. Powerful.

And yet, her thoughts were elsewhere.

Her thoughts were on Eris.

On the mess she had gotten herself into.

On the storm brewing just beneath the surface.

The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows against the carved wooden walls of their shared chamber. Y/N sat at the vanity, brushing through her hair with slow, deliberate strokes, the deep red silk of her nightgown pooling around her. The weight of the day pressed down on her, the thoughts of tomorrow's ball, the suffocating expectations, and the damn maidens still gnawing at her mind.

She barely heard the door open—barely felt the rush of cool air before Eris entered.

He didn’t say a word as he strode in, his steps purposeful but heavy with something unspoken. Without so much as glancing her way, he moved toward his side of the room, shrugging off his outer coat.

The tension thickened, pressing against her skin like an iron band around her throat.

Y/N didn’t have to look at him to feel it—the weight of his silence, the sharp, unrelenting energy crackling in the air.

It had been like this all day.

She sighed, setting down her brush. “What’s wrong?”

Eris didn’t even pause in undoing the buckles of his jacket. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

Y/N let out a short, dry laugh, tilting her head as she met his gaze in the mirror’s reflection. “You have tense shoulders and a clear frown on your face that makes me feel like if you look at me for more than a minute, I will drop dead immediately. So, yes, there is something wrong, Eris.”

His hands stilled for a fraction of a second before he exhaled through his nose, as if debating whether to even entertain this conversation.

Then, at last, he pulled off his coat, his vest, and the fine shirt beneath, stripping away the layers of Autumn Court finery until he sat on his side of the bed, his back to her.

“Calanmai is approaching,” he muttered. “All this tension is just due to it.”

Y/N blinked.

“…Calamari?”

Eris’s back tensed.

“Don’t tell me it’s some other event,” she sighed, rubbing her temple. “Because if it is, I might just—”

She felt the change in him before she saw it.

A rigid stillness. A sharp inhale. Like he hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

Her frustration deepened. “Eris?”

“Forget what I said,” he said curtly, his voice clipped.

Oh, absolutely not.

Y/N turned in her seat, narrowing her eyes at him. “Nothing this, nothing that,” she muttered, rising to her feet and padding toward the bed. “And yet I’m the one who gets scolded when I don’t tell you something?”

Eris’s jaw ticked, but he said nothing.

She crossed her arms. “What is Calanmai?”

Silence.

“Eris.”

Nothing.

Her irritation flared hotter. “You always demand honesty from me,” she said, stepping closer. “But when I ask you—”

“I said it’s nothing, Y/N.”

His voice came sharp, cutting, the warning in his tone enough to make her stop mid-step.

Before she could say anything else, he rose abruptly, striding across the room and disappearing into the bathing chamber, the door slamming shut behind him.

Y/N stood there, the tension now so thick it was suffocating.

Her thoughts were even more tangled than before.

And for the first time since this marriage began, she wondered if she had finally found something that Eris Vanserra didn’t want her to know.

The next afternoon dragged on, each moment stretching longer than the last, as Y/N paced back and forth in her chambers. Anxiety twisted in her stomach like a coiled snake, its tight grip squeezing every ounce of calm from her. The ball. Tonight. The night she would face the High Lords and everything that came with it. But most of all, it meant she would be in the same room as her half-brother—the one she’d never met before, but whose presence loomed over every decision she made.

What was she supposed to say? How was she supposed to act? Her thoughts tumbled over themselves, a jumbled mess of fear and excitement. It felt like the world was about to tilt off its axis, and Y/N wasn’t sure whether she would be swept away in the chaos or crushed by it. Her nerves were raw, like threads ready to snap.

The sound of soft footsteps broke her out of her spiraling thoughts. The maidens, ever-efficient, filed into the room, moving with practiced grace. They bowed to her, their movements synchronized, and immediately set to work. Her dress hung on a nearby stand, its blood-red fabric gleaming in the light.

As the last maiden left the room, her heels clicking against the marble floor, the door remained ajar. And then, he entered. Eris.

His presence was immediate—heavy, commanding—and for a moment, he simply stood there, eyes fixed on her without a word. His gaze was intense, almost possessive, like he was absorbing every detail of her. The way his sharp eyes ran over her, making her feel naked even though she was dressed to the nines, made her stomach flip uncomfortably. It was the same kind of scrutiny a predator might give its prey.

She felt it then—the weight of his gaze. His eyes traced every line of her body, lingering on the tight bodice that clung to her chest, accentuating her breasts and collarbones. She could feel the weight of his stare, the way his gaze lingered—no, devoured—her, his focus fixed on the ruby necklace that caught the light with each subtle movement she made. The way it sparkled and drew attention to the rise and fall of her chest made her acutely aware of every breath she took.

Her skin burned where his gaze touched her. The fluster rose quickly within her, surprising her more than anything else. Why now? Why him?

He hadn’t even spoken yet, but it was as though he’d stripped her bare, rendering her exposed under the intensity of his stare. She swallowed, desperately trying to ignore the rush of heat that flooded her body. Her body was betraying her, reacting in ways she couldn’t control.

His expression remained unreadable, as if she was simply an object to be appraised. But his eyes—his eyes told a different story. They darkened with something primal, something raw, and she had no idea how to read it.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he took a step forward. His movements were deliberate, slow.

"You look..." His voice was softer than usual, smooth as silk, but there was an edge to it, like something coiled beneath the surface. His eyes flicked from her face to her dress. "Ready?"

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Was she?

She swallowed hard, a little too aware of the tension between them. The suffocating pull of it. She drew in a breath and sighed, trying to steady her shaking hands as she reached for him, her fingers brushing over his as she took his hand. "Ready as I’ll ever be."

His lips quirked into a knowing smirk, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Eris never looked at the maidens who had dressed her, nor did he offer any kind of acknowledgment to their work. His entire focus remained on her. On the female he’d dragged into his tangled web. His hand was warm, commanding, as it closed around hers.

For a second, he didn’t move, just stood there. Still, watching her. And then, with that unreadable look in his eyes, he broke the silence.

"Let’s go."

The heavy, echoing footsteps down the grand staircase felt like they were reverberating through the entire hall, each step measured but far too loud in her ears. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath shallow as she clung to Eris’s arm. Her eyes were trained on the space ahead of her, but her mind raced, trying to calm the frantic beating inside her ribcage. Why did it feel like everyone was staring?

At the bottom of the stairs, the faces of Beron and his sons, Eris’s brothers, greeted her—a sight that made her feel like an outsider. There, too, was the Lady of Autumn, radiant in her beauty. Beron, his sharp eyes gleaming, spoke first, his voice cold and clipped.

“How gracious of you both to finally make it down here after an hour of waiting.”

The words hit her like ice. Y/N stiffened, but Eris’s grip on her arm tightened, his expression blank, cold, as he replied, his voice just as frigid.

“We’ve only just arrived, Father. But if you insist…”

The sarcasm hung between them like an invisible fog.

Before Beron could say anything further, the Lady of Autumn’s warm voice broke the tension, stepping forward with a smile that was too bright for the mood.

“You look stunning, dear,” she said, her gaze softening as she turned to Y/N, her eyes taking in the breathtaking gown. “The Autumn Court is honored to have you with us tonight.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed under the weight of the compliment, but she could feel the undercurrent of something else beneath her words. Was it genuine or merely out of obligation? Y/N couldn’t tell.

From behind them, Eris’s brothers exchanged quiet words, their eyes darting between Y/N and one another, clearly amused or intrigued. But, as always, it was Baron who silenced them, his cold, domineering presence drawing their attention back.

“Enough,” Beron’s voice cut through the chatter like a blade, and Y/N felt a wave of relief wash over her. She didn’t need to hear more from them—this wasn’t the place.

The Lady of Autumn, always poised, took Beron’s arm. Y/N felt Eris nudge her slightly, urging her to follow the lead of their parents. His words were brief, “Stay next to me,” he whispered, his voice so low only she could hear it. She nodded, her thoughts swirling, her nerves on edge.

Eris’s brothers fell in line behind them, and they began to walk toward the Great Doors, the heavy footsteps of their family leading the way. As the massive doors creaked open, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

The ballroom stretched before her like a sea of shimmering faces and colors. Guests from every court were gathered there, mingling, laughing, and drinking. Hundreds of them. Her eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail.

In the distance, she caught sight of a cluster of individuals dressed in blue and white, their white hair almost glowing under the lights. Winter Court, definitely, she thought to herself, before her gaze flitted to another corner. Gold and white, with males and females draped in regal attire—Day Court was unmistakable. Helion. I remember Samira telling me about him.

Then, there were those dressed in blue and gold, so regal they had to be Summer Court. The brightness of their colors nearly blinded her.

And then... her eyes landed on the Night Court.

The contrast between the dark hues of blacks, deep blues, and rich purples felt like the night itself had come alive within the ballroom. She could pick them out easily, just from their aura, from the way they stood—different, not just by their dress but by their presence. Her gaze froze, locking onto the male at the front. Tall, imposing, dark hair... Rhysand, I assume. Beside him was a female in fierce determination, with brown, long hair, standing with an undeniable strength. Feyre. The High Lady.

Her thoughts flickered as she tried to make out the others. There was a long-haired male next to Feyre, and Y/N's eyes narrowed. Cassian, she thought. The infamous Lord of Bloodshed, as Samira had mentioned.

Next to Cassian was a female who stood apart from the others—strong, striking. Nesta. The Valkyrie. Her reputation preceded her. Her intense eyes scanned the room with an air of quiet defiance.

But before she could take in more, Eris’s voice pulled her attention away.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. “My father is about to give his speech,” he murmured. “Afterward, we’ll make our introductions. Be cautious. Helion is a bastard who loves to tease. Keep your guard up around him.”

Y/N blinked, her thoughts jumbled as she absorbed his words, but it felt like the ground beneath her feet was shifting. Helion. She remembered the rumors. A notorious flirt.

“Got it,” she muttered, though her heart was pounding too hard to keep up with the conversation.

Eris’s hand tightened around hers, drawing her closer as they took their seats in the reserved spots beside Baron and the Lady of Autumn. The crowd settled as Beron stood to address the room, his eyes sweeping over the sea of faces.

Y/N’s chest tightened as she tried to steady her breathing, but it was like she could feel every single eye on her. Her skin tingled. Every corner of the room felt like it was burning into her, their gazes weighing down on her like an unbearable burden. She didn’t know how to sit still, how to keep her face neutral. It was hard to think over the sound of her heartbeat.

Beron’s speech was a blur. Her mind was racing, replaying everything she had just seen, trying to calm her nerves, to put up a mask of poise. But it was impossible. She couldn’t remember half of what Baron said, his words lost in the jumbled mess of her thoughts.

She only knew one thing for certain: she had to survive this night.

Once Beron finished his speech, the room erupted into a low murmur of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the rustling of elegant fabric. Eris nudged Y/N, bringing her back from her spiraling thoughts. The weight of the entire ballroom seemed to press on her chest, but her gaze snapped to him when he spoke, his voice laced with a smirk.

“It’s our time to shine, princess,” he said, his tone a mixture of mockery and something else, maybe anticipation.

Y/N inhaled deeply, the sharp scent of expensive perfume and fresh flowers mingling in the air. Music began to fill the hall, the soft, melodic strains of a string quartet weaving their way through the space, lifting the tension in the air. The servants began to move more purposefully, offering trays of delicacies and sparkling drinks to the guests, weaving between conversations.

She took a moment to center herself, her heart still pounding. This was it. She was no longer an observer; she was part of the spectacle.

Y/N exhaled slowly, her nerves still frayed, but she nodded, reaching out to take Eris’s hand. His fingers curled around hers, a silent promise of support as he led her into the center of the room. The instant they stepped foot into the ballroom, the attention of every guest seemed to shift in their direction. It was as if the very air crackled with new energy.

And then, it happened.

From across the room, Helion, Kallias, and Thesan made their way toward them, cutting through the sea of faces like ships sailing into the eye of a storm. Kallias, the High Lord of the Winter Court, was impeccably formal, with his mate, Vivianne, by his side. Helion, ever the flirt, flashed them a grin that could melt ice, while Thesan remained calm, his presence a quiet but powerful force.

Helion was the first to speak, his voice rich with humor. “Well, well, well,” he drawled, his golden eyes flicking over Y/N as if she were a treasure chest he’d just uncovered. “What do we have here? Eris’s newest conquest?”

Before Eris could even react, Y/N shot him a glance, her eyebrow quirked in amusement, her voice soft but steady. “Conquest?” she repeated, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “I thought you’d have something more charming to say, High Lord Helion.”

Helion’s grin widened, clearly delighted by the challenge in her tone. “Ah, the lady has a spine. I like that.” He took a step closer, leaning in just slightly as if to whisper a secret. “Tell me, princess, do you enjoy long walks in the gardens under the stars? Or are you more of a fast-paced kind of woman?”

Eris’s grip on her hand tightened ever so slightly, a warning, though he kept his face impassive. Before Y/N could answer, Eris stepped in, his voice cutting through the conversation like a sharp blade.

“Helion,” he said, his tone both polite and firm, “if you’re done teasing, I’m sure Amira would appreciate a more civilized conversation.” His gaze flicked toward her briefly, making sure she was okay, before turning back to Helion, who simply shrugged with a dramatic sigh.

“I’ll behave, I’ll behave,” Helion said with exaggerated regret, though his mischievous smile was impossible to miss. “But one can’t blame a male for trying.”

Kallias stepped forward, offering a warm smile that softened the formality of his stature. “I must admit, Eris does have quite the taste. You look… stunning, Princess Y/N.” His voice was deep but kind, his words measured and respectful.

“Thank you, High Lord Kallias,” she replied, giving him a gracious nod. “It’s an honor to be here.”

Vivianne, standing beside him, beamed. “It’s truly exciting to see the Autumn Court make such an impression tonight. You’re even more radiant in person than in the rumors we’ve heard.” She had the warmth of someone who’d never met a stranger, and her gentle excitement was palpable. “I do hope we get a chance to speak more later. I’m sure you and I could have many lovely conversations.”

Y/N gave Vivianne a polite smile. “I’d like that as well. Thank you.”

Before Y/N could respond further, Thesan stepped up. His voice was calm, low, and laced with reassurance. “Do not let the chaos get to you,” he said, his eyes meeting hers with a steady gaze. “There are many here, yes, but few truly matter. You will find your footing soon enough. Just remember to breathe.”

Y/N nodded, grateful for his simple but effective words. "I will. Thank you, Thesan."

Then, as if everything was suddenly happening at once, Eris’s voice returned, sharper this time. “Enough small talk, people. We’re here to mingle, not to stand around looking pretty.” His gaze flicked back to Y/N with a softer look, an unspoken assurance. “Let’s get this over with.”

Helion, never one to back down from a challenge, grinned again. “Oh, come now, Eris. Let the lady enjoy the attention a little longer. It’s not every day she graces us with her presence.”

Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle at the banter, feeling a little more at ease with the playful back-and-forth.

The night stretched on, and Y/N felt herself slipping further into the crowd. She tried to keep up with the conversations, making the right faces, nodding at the right times. She had met a few more High Lords--Tamlin, the brooding High Lord of Spring, who barely spared her a glance before turning his focus back to the crowd. The Summer Court's High Lord, whose name she’d already forgotten, had been polite but distant.

The conversations blurred into one long stream of names, titles, pleasantries, until her feet ached from the hours of standing. She had kept up well, trying her best to engage without drawing too much attention. She was getting better at pretending, at playing her part, but it wasn’t easy.

It was only when she and Eris were finishing a conversation with a high-ranking member of the Day court—someone whose name she hadn’t even managed to catch—that the unmistakable, powerful voice of Rhysand cut through the crowd like a clap of thunder.

“Ah, well, I think it’s time for the formal introductions,” Rhysand’s voice rang out, smooth and commanding, drawing the attention of everyone nearby.

Y/N’s breath caught, and she immediately turned, her pulse quickening as she saw Rhysand, standing tall with Feyre at his side. Cassian followed close behind them, a playful smirk on his face, though there was a quiet wariness in his eyes, as if he too knew the importance of this moment. But it was Azriel—just a step behind them—that caused Y/N’s world to stop spinning.

The instant their eyes locked, her heart skipped a beat. The rawness of the moment crashed into her like a wave, her thoughts jumbled and frenzied. She had spent so long in the shadows of her own existence, never quite knowing how to fit into this world—how to reconcile the parts of her that didn’t belong, or the half-brother she’d never known until now.

Azriel’s gaze was intense, cold, searching. And for a brief, wild moment, Y/N felt like she was drowning. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. Every single thought she had about her life, her family, her identity—every fragmented memory of her past—began to collide in her mind.

Eris’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts, though it was a distant echo. “Focus, princess,” he murmured, a soft nudge against her side that snapped her attention back to reality.

She blinked rapidly, trying to steady her breathing as her eyes darted back to Rhysand and Feyre, who were both watching her closely, their expressions unreadable. Feyre smiled warmly, and despite the intensity of the situation, it was like a balm on a wound that had yet to heal.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you properly,” Feyre said, her tone light but genuine. “Welcome, princess Amira. We’ve been hearing a lot about you.”

Y/N tried to keep her voice steady, but it trembled despite her efforts. “Thank you,” she said, her words coming out in a soft rush. “I’m honored to be here.”

Cassian, ever the more approachable of the group, gave her a quick smile and a nod. His eyes held something between a challenge and an understanding, but it was clear he was trying to make her feel more at ease in this foreign world.

As her eyes shifted to Azriel, she caught a brief flicker of recognition in his dark gaze, but when he met her eyes fully, it was like a wall slammed down. Azriel nodded, a simple, barely-there motion, before his attention drifted, as if there had been no real connection between them at all.

The sting hit hard, deep in her chest. Her heart sank. Of course he doesn’t remember me. Of course he doesn’t know who I am. She tried to push the bitter taste of disappointment down, but it was there, lingering on her tongue. What had she expected? He was a stranger, even if they shared the same blood.

Eris, however, seemed to notice the subtle shift in her posture. The protective nature of his presence grew more palpable, as if he could feel the discomfort radiating off her. His arm subtly shifted, wrapping around her waist to hold her a little tighter, a subtle warning to anyone watching.

Rhysand broke the silence, his sharp, commanding voice drawing everyone’s attention back to him. “I didn’t think Eristo be the type to pick out a female from Monteserre. A bit of a surprising choice, don’t you think?”

Y/N tried to steady herself, forcing her focus back onto the conversation at hand, trying to ignore the way her pulse raced in her ears, the way her hands felt clammy despite the elegance of her movements. “I suppose it’s a bit surprising,” she replied, doing her best to keep her tone light. “But perhaps I’m more interesting than I appear.”

Eris’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak right away. He simply shot Rhysand a glance—cool, calculating—and then muttered, “You’re one to talk, Rhysand. The night is still young.”

A sharp chuckle rippled through Rhysand, but it was a low, dangerous sound. “Fair enough,” he said, leaning back slightly as his eyes flicked between Eris and Y/N. His eyes, dark and knowing, pierced right through her, making her feel both seen and exposed. “It’s always the quiet ones who surprise us.”

Before the air could grow any thicker, Feyre stepped in, offering a warm smile to Y/N. “Well, I’m so glad you could join us, Amira. You’ll have to tell me about Monteserre sometime. I’d love to hear what it’s like.”

Nesta, her presence like ice and fire wrapped together, also spoke, her voice soft but carrying a bite. “I’m sure you have many stories to share. It’s not every day we meet someone from a court like yours.”

Y/N nodded politely, trying to hide the discomfort that bubbled beneath the surface. Cassian gave her a simple smile, his eyes flicking to her and back to Rhysand, as though gauging her reaction to everything happening around her. His smile was brief, but it was genuine—and for a moment, it calmed her nerves.

Then, Azriel.

Azriel looked at her again, but this time, she didn’t feel like it was a casual glance. There was something there, a flicker of something she couldn’t quite grasp, but it was gone before she could make sense of it. He offered her a barely perceptible nod, the movement almost too small to catch.

And that was it.

Y/N’s heart twisted painfully in her chest. She had been foolish to think there could be anything more. He didn’t even know who she was. What did she expect? For him to remember the sister he never knew existed?

She swallowed thickly, trying to regain control of her emotions. The room felt stifling. The weight of it all pressed down on her chest, suffocating her. The air was too thick with tension, with questions, with her own tangled thoughts. She couldn’t breathe.

Without another word, her resolve shattered. Her hand tightened around Eris’s arm, and in a split second, she was moving.

“I… Excuse me,” she muttered, her voice barely audible even to herself. Before anyone could respond, she turned on her heel and hurried out of the room, her pulse hammering in her ears, her breath ragged in her chest.

She couldn’t stay. Not like this. Not with him here.

YN’s breathing was ragged as she dashed through the darkened royal gardens, the cold night air biting at her skin. She didn’t care. Her mind was in a frenzy, her thoughts crashing into one another in an endless loop. What had she expected from Azriel? He didn’t even know who she was.

What the hell was she doing, coming here? Why had she even thought—

Her feet pounded the ground, desperate, frantic. She didn’t care where she was going, didn’t care about the twisting paths of the maze she was now running through. The walls of hedges loomed on either side, sharp and untouchable, their dark green leaves rustling as she flew past. She was too lost in herself to notice the beauty of the place, to even acknowledge the fragrance of the flowers that filled the air. Nothing mattered except the overwhelming ache in her chest.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been running when she stumbled upon the center of the maze. The sudden opening was a breath of fresh air, and she slowed, her hand on her chest as she tried to steady her erratic breathing.

A grand fountain stood before her, its waters spilling from sculpted stone into a pool below, the sound of the water soothing in the quiet night. The statues surrounding it were magnificent—stone figures with graceful, flowing forms, frozen mid-motion. The moon hung high in the sky, casting its silver light down on the scene, making everything seem otherworldly. She could feel herself being drawn into the beauty of the place, the soft glow of the moonlight making the fountain shimmer as if it were alive.

She walked toward it slowly, her eyes wide with wonder. The cool mist of the water brushed against her skin, and for the first time that night, she let out a deep breath. She knelt at the edge of the fountain, her fingers brushing the surface of the water. Her thoughts, though still in turmoil, began to slow. She closed her eyes, feeling the serenity of the moment seep into her bones.

Why did he have to look at her like that? Why did he have to make her feel so... exposed? She could still feel Azriel’s gaze on her, sharp and cold, and it made her feel like she was drowning. How could she stand in front of him and pretend that everything was fine when every part of her was screaming in confusion?

"Are you going to stay lost in thought forever, or should I drag you back to the ball?"

The voice cut through the night like a whip, and her head snapped around. Eris stood at the edge of the maze, his figure a shadow against the moonlight. His tone was light, mocking, but there was something deeper in his gaze.

She narrowed her eyes. "Even in this maze, you managed to find me."

A sly smile curled at the corners of his mouth as he approached. "Well, for some reason, your scent is the one I smell the best. I wouldn’t call it that hard."

Her breath caught in her throat. "My scent?"

Eris moved closer, not quite sitting but lowering himself so his face was level with hers. "Why did you leave so abruptly?" he whispered, his voice low, his usual bravado replaced with a note of curiosity.

She shook her head, turning back toward the fountain. "It’s of no importance."

But Eris’s hand shot out, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at him. His eyes darkened, his expression fierce. "When it comes to you, nothing is ever not important." He growled, his grip tightening slightly as he leaned in. "You may not be willing to tell me your reasons now, and I won’t pry. But you best believe me, Y/N. Something is upsetting you, and I will find out what it is soon enough." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "And when I do... let’s just hope the Mother takes mercy upon whoever it is."

A shiver ran down her spine, but she pushed against him, standing abruptly. "No one, Eris. No fucking one." Her voice shook with anger, but she couldn’t stop it. "You don’t have to pretend here either! We’re alone, for fuck’s sake!"

Eris followed her, his footsteps purposeful, his voice low but laced with anger. "You think you can run from me? You think you can push me away?"

She spun around to face him, their bodies inches apart now. "You don’t get it," she said through clenched teeth. "You don’t know what it’s like to be stuck in this... this mess!"

His expression hardened, but his voice was quieter now, tinged with something more genuine. "You think you’re the only one who feels like they’re drowning? That you’re the only one who’s lost?"

(I suggesting playing this song now while reading the next scene)

The tension between them thickened, but it was the crack in his voice that made her pause. She sighed, dropping her shoulders, the fight draining out of her. "I don’t want to go back," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Eris’s smirk returned, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Well, then fuck the ball and fuck the guests." He gripped her arm, pulling her toward the fountain. "Come on."

Her heart skipped a beat. "What are you doing?" she gasped, half-laughing in surprise.

Before she could protest further, he jumped into the fountain, splashing water everywhere. She let out a sharp gasp, the cool liquid soaking her instantly. "Eris!" she yelled, but the laughter bubbling up inside her was unstoppable.

"Get in here!" he called, his voice low but full of amusement.

"No, no!" she protested, trying to step back, but he pulled her in anyway. Water splashed around them as she struggled in his grasp, but the sound of her laughter rang out, real and unrestrained, as the cold water soaked through her clothes.

The night had taken a strange turn, and for the first time in hours, Y/N let herself forget everything but the chaos and joy of the moment.

he water rippled around them, and for a few seconds, neither of them moved. Y/N was breathless, laughing as she wiped the water from her face, her soaked clothes clinging to her skin. The soft moonlight made the entire fountain glow, the mist rising up and catching the glow like sparkling dust.

"You think you can escape me?" Eris’s voice broke through the laughter, deep and teasing as he made his way toward her, slow and calculated.

Y/N quickly scrambled to swim away, her feet kicking up water as she tried to gain some distance. "You’re seriously going to make me regret this, aren’t you?" she shot back, splashing water at him playfully.

His rich laugh rang out, filling the empty space with its low, intoxicating sound. "Oh, I plan to, princess. You’re not getting away that easily."

The chase was on. She darted in a half-swim, half-dash towards the edge of the fountain, hoping to pull herself out, but Eris was too quick. He moved with effortless grace, the water barely making a sound as he closed in.

"I think I’m about to get some revenge, hmm?" He called, a teasing glint in his eyes.

"Revenge?" she laughed, her eyes flicking up to the moon, her breath quick as she tried to swim faster. "You should be lucky I’m even letting you play like this."

"Play?" He swam behind her now, his voice a breath in her ear. "You mean, I’m just your entertainment?"

Y/N shot him a mock glare over her shoulder. "You’re lucky I even bother with you."

In that moment, she felt his hands grip her waist, pulling her back toward him with a soft growl. She gasped in surprise, her heart racing from the sheer electricity of his touch. She tried to pull away again, but he was too fast. He spun her around in the water, and before she could even think, his hands found her waist again. "Not so fast," he growled, his voice low and amused.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she fought to get free, but the water only made it harder to gain any ground. She splashed at him in retaliation, sending waves of water over his head. "If you want to play rough, I’m all in," she warned, grinning through the misty spray.

"You should’ve known," Eris muttered with a smirk. "I always play rough."

She let out a squeal of surprise as he yanked her back, his laughter mingling with hers, filling the night air. The water splashed around them, as they moved in a chaotic circle, fighting and splashing, neither one willing to let the other get away.

Y/N found herself nearly slipping, but she caught her balance just as Eris lunged at her again, his hands quick and strong as they grabbed her waist. She was already laughing so hard she could barely breathe. "You’re not going to let me go, are you?" she teased, her voice breathless from laughter.

"You bet your ass I’m not," he shot back, pulling her against him with a force that nearly knocked the air from her lungs.

With a burst of energy, Y/N used her other hand to push him away, her fingers slipping against his wet skin. She twisted her body in the water, trying to make him lose his footing, but Eris was faster. He grabbed her by the waist and spun her around, throwing her off balance.

She spluttered, her heart pounding in her chest. "You really are a menace," she grumbled, but she was laughing through the words.

"A menace?" Eris raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with amusement. "Sweetheart, I’m just having fun."

Before she could respond, he shoved her back into the water, his fingers tickling her sides as she went under, sending a jolt of laughter through her chest. She came up gasping, sputtering out water as she tried to catch her breath, shaking her head in mock annoyance.

"That’s it," she said, grinning widely. "You’re going down."

Y/N lunged for him, hands outstretched, but Eris sidestepped at the last moment, laughing as he danced out of her reach. "Nice try, princess," he teased, his voice deep and confident. "You’re not getting me that easily."

She scowled playfully. "You’re too fast," she muttered, but her eyes were bright with excitement. "Just wait—"

Without warning, she threw herself at him again, but this time she was prepared. As she dove forward, she grabbed him by the shoulders, twisting his body with surprising strength and sending them both tumbling into the fountain’s deeper water.

As Y/N splashed water at him, laughing as Eris wiped his face dramatically, he narrowed his eyes, a playful glint in them.

"Really?" he asked, his voice dripping with mock disbelief. "This is how you want to play? You're playing dirty now."

Y/N smirked, leaning back, her arms crossed. "You started it," she teased. "Besides, you look like you could use a good splash of reality."

"Reality?" Eris snorted, shaking his head in amusement. "I’m already dealing with you—I don’t need any more reality right now."

"Oh, please," she shot back, ducking to avoid his next move. "You're just mad because I’m winning."

His eyes lit up, mischievous and wild. "Oh, I wouldn’t say winning just yet, princess," he quipped, lunging forward to grab her again.

She yelped, barely staying one step ahead. "You think you can catch me? You'll need more than that." She grinned, gliding out of reach again, barely resisting the urge to tease him further.

Eris’s grin widened, a wicked laugh escaping his lips. "Oh, I’ve got all the time in the world to catch you. And when I do, you’ll regret this."

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with challenge. "Bring it on, pretty boy. I’m just getting started."

Water splashed high into the air as they both struggled to regain their footing, but Y/N had managed to trap Eris momentarily, holding him beneath the water for just a second too long. When he finally broke the surface, his hair was dripping, and his face was flushed with the thrill of their fight.

"You think you can drown me?" Eris grinned, water dripping from his lips as he reached for her again.

"No," she said, but before he could grab her, she splashed a massive wave of water right into his face. He recoiled in mock horror, wiping the water away. "I was just trying to cool you off."

Eris chuckled darkly, his eyes narrowing. "You’re going to pay for that," he warned, his voice low with amusement, and the playfulness in his gaze was suddenly replaced by something far more intense. He launched himself at her with a burst of speed, knocking her backward into the water once again.

Y/N yelped, but the moment she hit the water, she grabbed his arms and twisted, trying to force him into the fountain’s stone edge. He laughed at her efforts, easily reversing their positions, and before she knew it, he had her pinned against the stone wall of the fountain.

"Now, now," Eris whispered, his breath against her ear as she struggled beneath him. "You’re getting a bit too excited."

She tried to squirm out of his grasp, her hands pushing against his chest. "I’m just trying to keep up," she teased, but she couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up inside her as he didn’t give an inch.

"Oh, I know," Eris said, leaning closer, his lips hovering just above her ear. "But you’re going to have to do more than that if you want to get free."

Y/N laughed again, a light and airy sound. "You know," she started, "you’re lucky I’m having fun. Otherwise, I’d be much more of a problem."

"Ah," Eris said with a slow grin, "so you admit I’m winning?"

Her gaze softened for a moment, and with that soft smile, Y/N tilted her head back and leaned against the stone wall. The moonlight reflected off the water, casting a soft glow around them. For a moment, everything slowed.

"Not quite," she whispered, but before she could react, Eris's hand slid around her waist, pulling her close. Their bodies were pressed against each other, their faces inches apart. She could feel the heat radiating off him, and in that moment, the playful banter slipped away.

Her breath hitched as she stared into his eyes. For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. Their bodies were still tangled together in the water, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to make sense of what had shifted between them.

Eris’s fingers tightened on her waist, his breath heavy and slow. There was something in the way he held her, the way his eyes darkened as he stared at her, that made her pulse quicken. She could hear the water dripping from his hair, his chest rising and falling just as quickly as hers. His voice was low when he spoke again, his words barely audible over the sound of the water.

"You’re not going anywhere for now, princess."

Her heart skipped in her chest. "What if I don’t want to?" The words came out in a whisper, but they felt like a challenge.

His lips parted slightly, his gaze lowering to her mouth as his grip tightened around her waist. The playful tension of moments before was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous, more magnetic.

"You don’t want to leave," Eris murmured, his voice thick with something she couldn’t quite place. "But you will, eventually."

Y/N’s heart raced as the electric current between them surged again. Her mind was a whirl of thoughts, but the moment his lips brushed against hers—slow and deliberate—her entire world went quiet.

She should pull away. She should stop this. But her hands, of their own accord, slid up his chest and gripped the back of his neck, pulling him closer. This wasn’t just a fight anymore. This wasn’t just water splashing and teasing banter. This was something else entirely.

Eris growled, the sound rumbling in his chest, and before she could second guess herself, his lips were on hers, his mouth capturing hers in a kiss that was anything but lighthearted. It was heated, fierce, raw—a kiss that told her everything about what had been building between them.

For a brief moment, she thought about pulling away. Thought about the consequences, about the repercussions.

But all she could feel was him. And that thought was so fleeting, it barely lasted a second.

Then, as his hands moved to her shoulders, pulling her closer, and her own hands tangled in his hair, she realized that whatever this was, she wasn’t stopping it. Not now. Not when every part of her wanted this as much as he did.

And as they pressed together in the water, bodies slick with liquid, she knew that this moment would change everything.

But for now, she didn’t care. Not when his lips were on hers, and his arms were around her, holding her tight, refusing to let go.

This was reckless.

And she couldn’t bring herself to regret it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @lamimamiii @batboyslutt @k-godling @littowl @jaybbygrl @kissesfromnovalie @talesofadragon @tele86 @annamariereads16 @circe143 @yukimaniac @babypeapoddd @darkbloodsly @hauntedstudentobservationus @i-know-i-can @12358 @holb32 @herondale-lightworm

[daisy-01-blog]

Manwhore! (Smau Slutty! Gojo x fem! Reader) University AU Pt 5.

Pt 4 is here

A/N: this isn't the last part!!

If there’s something that Gojo regretted, is that he ever met that crazy woman. 

They have the same hair color, so it becomes what connects them by talking about it. She was such a sweet person. He should’ve known her smile was too weird. 

He grits his teeth as he rushes to the place. 

***

“You’re sick!” you said to her in anger. 

She scoffs “I already know, tell me something I don’t know” 

“Gojo wouldn’t want to be with a crazy person like you” 

She grew a vein “now-” 

The door opens revealing Gojo, panting-he was running. 

“How did you know the place?” you asked him. 

“Doesn’t matter” he said “let her go now” 

She cackled “there’s only one way” she mutters “choose” 

“What?” he said

“There’s a gun here-” 

Without hesitation he points it at her. 

“So you choose her, huh?” she said 

“Yeah no shit” you said 

She sighed “fine, just kill me” 

“This pistol is empty isn’t it?” he said “you planned to kill both of us since the start” 

“You psycho!” you said 

“Yes I-” 

You kick her leg as she fell down 

“That was embarrassing lol” you said. Gojo rushes to save you as you and him run-that crazy bitch was soon caught by the police. Gojo decided to call the police. 

“Has she attempted any of this with your ex?” you asked Gojo 

“No” he said “I didn’t have anyone except you” 

“Is that supposed to make me flattered?” you said to him “I’m hungry, let’s get KFC” 

“Let’s choose another place” he said “I don’t know why but KFC make me sad” 

“Weirdo, but sure” 

***

You guys get some burgers, your legs are still shaking from fear-and Gojo can see it. 

“I’m so-” 

“Did she haunt you?” you mutter to him “make your life a living hell?” 

He looks down “yeah” he said quietly, he hasn’t been able to sleep ever since then. He changed phones but nothing seemed to work. 

Not to mention she’s gaslighting him, everytime he wants to call the police she told him about her dead father, or the fact that no one would believe him. 

“(Y/N), I-” 

“No” you said 

“...I haven’t even said anything,” he mutters quietly. 

You sighed “I know what you’re going to say” you mutter “but you’re not ready” 

“I like you,” he said. 

“I like you too” you mutter “but you’re not ready for something like this. She ruins your life, and I didn’t want to add more” 

“So you’re saying I should seek therapy” 

“I should too” you joke (or do you) “it’s your choice, all I’m saying is you need time” 

He nods “well, I can still ogle you-” 

You throw your shoes at his face. 

“We literally haven’t done any of our assignment” 

“Shit, you’re right” 

Taglist: @s4ikooo1 @merciless-perseus66 @ayumigotabittoolonely @tenthmilo

[dioslesbianwife]

So.. Valentine's, huh?

IT IS ME. THE EVIL 🕷️ ANON TO SEND ANGSRT. ANGST.

Jofoes breakup or divorce on valentine's. Would they mourn us? Get over it? Kill us? Crash out? Destroy our favourite Cafe? TELL ME. WOULD THEY DROWN IN DESPAIR AND ANGER, OR LET IT OUT AND CAUSE CHAOS? I MUST KNOW THEIR FACES OF SHOCK.

Pb dio, and sanatana. Santana pls. Plsplsplsplsplsplsplsplsplspls

Also hope ur doing OK ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

hii evil 🕷️ lol unhappy valentine's day to u too. haha ur sick for this/j also thank you, i'm exhausted from life lmao but doing fine, hope ur good too ❤️

Jofoes reactions to being broken up with ૮(˶ㅠ︿ㅠ)ა

Phantom Blood Dio

Dio is a master of controlling his emotions, but a breakup- especially on a day meant for love- would shatter that facade, leaving him unrecognizable. He understands the concept of loss, and he definitely feels it now. And it burns him from the inside out.Initially, Dio would react with a cold, calculating rage. He might try to coerce you into coming back, resorting to manipulation and his usual charm. If you refuse, that’s when the mask of control slips. His eyes burn with fury, and for the first time in forever, you see fear- fear of being rejected, of losing control. Dio’s pride would demand you pay. He might not kill you immediately, but the anguish and betrayal he feels would turn into a violent storm. His anger will manifest in the form of chaos: destroying anything you held dear, whether it’s your favorite cafe or the places that held your memories together. He doesn’t know how to cope with losing.In his mind, you should have belonged to him forever. He would drown in despair, but also become a force of destruction, unable to process what’s happening to him. His face is twisted with disbelief and rage, as if he can’t fathom the idea that you could walk away from him.

Santana 

Santana's reaction would be far more passive, but just as devastating. He’s not a man who wears his emotions on his sleeve, and this breakup, especially on Valentine’s Day, would have him feeling completely adrift. He doesn’t know what love really is, and he never learned to navigate those feelings, so when you walk away, it’s a gut punch that he just wasn’t prepared for.He’d likely retreat into silence for the first few days, not responding to anyone’s questions or pleas for him to explain. Santana internalizes everything. Instead of going on a violent rampage, he’ll shut down, his emotions buried so deep that it would be impossible for anyone around him to help.His face would be one of utter disbelief and confusion, as if he couldn’t comprehend the finality of the situation. There’s no one he can attack, no one to blame but himself. His sorrow would take shape in the form of quiet devastation. While he might not destroy anything outwardly, you can bet your favorite spots would feel empty, and Santana would be haunted by your absence in every corner of his life.

Wamuu

Wamuu, being a proud warrior, would be crushed by the emotional weight of a breakup. For him, love is an honorable bond, and betrayal feels like a direct dishonor to everything he stands for. On Valentine’s Day, a time for affection, his pride would be severely wounded. At first, Wamuu would try to handle it with grace, maintaining his usual composed demeanor. However, seeing you walk away would hurt him deeply, and while he wouldn’t lash out in anger, he would be left silent, almost as though something inside him had been irreparably broken. His expression would be one of quiet sorrow, a warrior who’s never faced defeat, now humbled by emotional pain. He would internalize the hurt, and though he wouldn’t blame you, the weight of the rejection would make him feel like he’s failed, especially in a way he can’t control. The breakup would leave him reflecting on his worth and questioning the sincerity of love.

Esidisi

Esidisi, ever the passionate and volatile being, would not handle a breakup with grace. Especially on Valentine’s Day, he sees love as a powerful force, one he can claim and use to assert control. If you left him, it would destroy him emotionally, but instead of retreating into sorrow, Esidisi would become consumed by a violent rage. At first, he might be unable to process it, his emotions would boil over, making him irrational and frantic. His face would twist with anger as he demands answers, and there would be no amount of pleading or manipulation that would stop him from wanting to destroy you for rejecting him. But deep down, he would be scared. Scared of losing control and scared of truly being alone. When the chaos subsides, he’d sink into an obsessive need to win you back, but he wouldn't be able to. His pride wouldn't allow him to show any weakness, and yet, the agony of not having you would gnaw at him.

Kars

Kars, despite his godlike status, has a twisted, desperate need for control—and a breakup would crack that control. He may not need you in the conventional sense, but the fact that you chose to leave him—especially on such a meaningful day—would absolutely ruin him.Unlike DIO, Kars wouldn’t explode in rage, but he would begin a careful game of manipulation to bring you back. He would take each word you said and dissect it, find the source of your rejection, and try to outsmart it. His reaction would be a cool, calm attempt to reclaim you, yet it would become increasingly apparent that the more he tried, the more he was losing you for good.His face, though calm on the outside, would show hints of confusion. The God who has everything now feels like he’s losing control over the one thing he truly wanted. When you continue to reject him, he might fall into an obsessive spiral, haunted by the fact that he couldn’t even dominate love.

Kira Yoshikage

Kira is a man obsessed with his own quiet, peaceful life—and a breakup on Valentine’s Day would send him spiraling into emotional chaos. While on the outside, he might seem detached, on the inside, Kira would be destroyed by the thought of you leaving him.He would become an absolute mess. Kira’s initial reaction would be disbelief, followed by a sense of complete helplessness. He’s someone who plans everything down to the smallest detail, and losing you—his most precious thing—wasn’t part of the plan.His face would show disappointment and defeat as he tries to process everything. He might try to mask his feelings by resorting to violence or hiding his true emotions, but ultimately, Kira would revert into himself, becoming more cold and distant. He wouldn’t lash out at you, but the guilt and sadness of the situation would haunt him endlessly.

Diavolo

Diavolo would not accept this, and no one would be able to calm him. He’s a man driven by a desperate need to control everything, and the thought of you walking away would trigger his worst fears. The betrayal would be infuriating for Diavolo, he would feel as if you had betrayed him personally. There would be no love left, only a burning need to punish you, to erase the rejection from existence. But no matter how much he tries to hurt you, the truth remains: you’ve left him. Expect a moment where Diavolo loses all restraint. His rage would be overwhelming, and he may even break everything in his path- he would definitely try to destroy whatever remnants of your love remain. His face would twist in disbelief, shock, and betrayal. But the real devastation is how empty he feels after the chaos. He doesn’t know how to exist in a world where you’re no longer his.

Doppio

Doppio, poor Doppio, would struggle the most with actual emotional processing. He’s already insecure, and the thought of you leaving would make him feel insignificant, small. For him, a breakup on Valentine’s Day would be the final straw, pushing him into a tailspin of self doubt and panic. At first, he wouldn’t even know how to react. What did he do wrong? Was he not enough? His face would be an agonizing mix of confusion and heartbreak, eyes wide with panic. He would try to plead with you, beg for an explanation, to tell him it’s a mistake. But the longer you resist, the more hysterical he becomes.His love for you is deeply rooted, and this break up feels like his heart is being ripped from his chest. His initial shock would fade into a quiet, agonizing sadness. He’s devastated in a way that’s almost too painful to watch, like a lost child who can’t quite comprehend that he isn’t wanted. His reaction would be utter sorrow and a struggle to figure out how to carry on when the love of his life has slipped through his fingers.

Pucci

Pucci is deeply devoted to his higher cause, but he’s still human underneath it all. The realization that you’re leaving him would devastate him. In his mind, he’s always been a servant of God, but his bond with you has become just as important. On Valentine’s Day, of all days, this betrayal would feel like a sign of personal failure. His initial reaction would be one of confusion– why? His stance would be rigid, as if holding onto some unshakable ideal, but there would be a certain tension in his demeanor, a momentary lapse in his composure that would show how hurt he is. The disappointment would be visible in his eyes.Pucci would become desperate in his efforts to understand your decision. He might question his faith, his path, or his ability to lead. This internal struggle would torment him, but instead of lashing out, he would try to reconcile his beliefs with the pain of losing you.

Funny Valentine

Funny Valentine would feel the rejection deeply, but he would refuse to show it outwardly. As the President of the United States, he’s used to being in control and revered, but with you, he allowed himself to feel something real- and now you’ve taken that away. Funny’s reaction would be one of stoic rage at first, but his calm demeanor would crack. You’ve left him on Valentine’s Day, and it hits his ego in a way nothing else has before. He would feel embarrassed and betrayed, his desire to maintain appearances intensified. It would be impossible for him to just move on.His face would shift from cold calculation to burning frustration, the anger hidden behind his calm voice. Funny’s pride wouldn’t let him come to terms with losing you, and he would likely spend days plotting ways to manipulate you back into his life by any means necessary.

Diego Brando

Diego would not take the breakup lightly. His whole existence revolves around his own perception of greatness, and losing you would feel like a personal defeat, the rejection stinging his pride more than anything else.At first, Diego would act indifferent, pretending it doesn’t bother him. But beneath the surface, his ego is shattered. You were his, and now that you’re gone, everything feels wrong. He would struggle with self-loathing, unable to accept the fact that someone could simply leave him.The pain would manifest in a form of guilt and self-doubt, making him question everything about himself and his worth. His face would show visible cracks in his facade, shame mixed with anger. Diego would either try to win you back, unwilling to accept the loss, or he’d fall into an even deeper, more obsessive state, fixating on the idea that he has to get you back no matter the cost.

Tooru

Tooru would initially try to maintain his calm, stoic exterior. He’s used to winning, to getting what he wants. But a break up on Valentine’s Day would cut through that cool façade like a blade. At first, he’d think it was a joke, a test of some kind. You couldn’t possibly leave him, could you? But when it sinks in, when you’re serious, when he realizes that no amount of manipulation or charm can change your mind, his whole demeanor shifts. His face would shift from cocky self-assurance to genuine hurt. Tooru’s ego would be damaged, but he’d also feel a deep loss, the kind that unsettles him completely. He wouldn’t cry, but you’d see the slow unraveling in his eyes. He would lash out, first with sharp words, then with actions, destroying your favorite places, maybe even your belongings, trying to reclaim the power he feels slipping away from him.Yet, even as he does so, Tooru knows in the back of his mind that no amount of rage can bring you back.

[lenaboskow]

eddie getting buck a bouquet with 8 red roses, one for every year they've known each other (there's also foliage and green carnations and baby's breath in that bouquet), and buck blushes and then tells eddie he's such a good best friend, so eddie rips the bouquet back out of buck's hand and uses the bouquet to hit buck over the head with it while shouting "i did not get you red fucking roses that symbolize deep romantic love, one for every year i've been in fucking love with you, and green carnations, which apparently are gay as fuck, for you to just call me your best friend you fucker" and then dragging himmmm into a filthy kiss. right there in the fire station

decided to write them instead AND add something so enjoy this unedited mess (if you don't want to read imagine buck friend zoned eddie bc he didn't realize eddie already came out a month ago)

Eddie braced himself, looking down at the bouquet of flowers in his hand. 8 red roses (a cliche, he knows), 8 green carnations, and 8 clusters of baby’s breaths. Was it a little large? Yes. But Buck deserved the best, especially on Valentine’s Day, and Eddie was more than willing to be the one to give it to him, if he let him.

The sound of Buck’s laughter brought him back to the present, and he stood straighter (ha, what a thought) on instinct. He watched patiently as Buck climbed the stairs with Hen, his face brightening when he saw Eddie standing by the counter. 

“Eddie! Happy Valentine’s Day! I got you chocolate,” he said excitedly as he made his way towards him.

“Don’t feel too special, Eddie,” Hen interjected as she walked over to the couch. “He got us all chocolate.”

“Well, obviously I got Eddie the best chocolate. You guys just got the five-dollar one. Eddie gets the forty-dollar one from the vendor off Main Street.”

Hen raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t say anything else, instead choosing to turn on the news. Eddie tried to tamp down the feeling stirring in his gut at the thought of Buck choosing a different set of chocolates for him, but if he was being honest it just gave him more motivation to go through with his plan.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Buck repeated when he was finally standing in front of him. Eddie hoped Buck didn’t notice how his hands were shaking as he took the box of chocolates from him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Buck. These— these are for you,” he said, holding out the bouquet of flowers towards him. Buck’s face lit up even more, if possible.

“Baby’s breaths, my favorite. God, you are such a good friend. Hen!” Eddie startled as Buck all but yelled across the loft. “Did you know my best friend is better than yours?”

Something in Eddie snapped. Was the baby’s breaths all he saw?

“Are you messing with me?”

Buck’s gaze shifted back to him, his smile faltering.

“No?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, snatching the flowers back from him and using it to smack him upside the head. Buck just stared in shock.

“I got you red roses with green carnations and baby’s breath, and your response is to immediately friend zone me? Fuck you.”

“Wait— green carnations… Eddie, are you trying to come out to me right now?”

“Am I— oh my God—” Eddie couldn’t hold back anymore, just placed his free hand on the back of Buck’s neck and dragged him into a rough kiss. It was messy, and definitely an HR violation if Bobby came out of his office. Buck stood still for all of two seconds before wrapping both of his very large hands around Eddie’s waist and pulling him, barely giving him enough time to make sure the flowers were safe from harm’s way.

Eddie didn’t let it go on too long, very aware of their surroundings, and pulled back after a minute. 

“I—” Buck started, but Eddie cut over him.

“You think I buy roses for anyone? Maybe that lightning strike is coming back to haunt you.”

Buck smiled. “Well, I definetly don’t buy expensive street vendor chocolate for anyone, either. I just thought you were straight.”

“I came out to you a month ago, it’s not my fault you didn’t realize.”

Eddie saw Buck trying to figure out exactly when it was, but he didn’t let him think too long before dragging him into another kiss. It was worth the papers they had to sign when Bobby caught them.

[vaguely-concerned]

just going about my day idly contemplating how some of the ways hawke can interact with a romanced anders are not at all unlike how they interact with leandra (and a bit of carver too, especially with a purple hawke), and then thought about my hawke in the timeline where he romances anders and was hit straight in the face with 'was he ever actually in love, or was he just desperately trying to renegotiate with his mother's ghost in any way he could' and now i need to lie down. this is the power of dragon age 2

[yellllowstar]

slowly I'm recovering the beauty of discovery

(creature by half•alive)

(textless + timelapse below cut)

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Seele (Honkai: Star Rail). Listen, I used to write her and I miss her a bit, and also: there's Belobog people around. And also, well, she's much more interesting than people give her credit for. Also, prepare for some 'rewriting', because Belobog's pacing in specific ways kind of blew a little bit much.

[pyrriax]

ANYWHO goodnight tumblr i'll be back on the art grind tomorrow i think 🙏

[d1anna]

i love having the weirdest dreams napping on the couch

[foldingfittedsheets]

Mattresses, unbeknownst to many, are a lot like cars. Every year new ones roll out, they’re always tweaking and innovating and you’ll never find the same one you loved decades ago when buying a new one.

Where I sold mattresses had a three month return or exchange program for this reason. New beds take a while to break in, and they’re a big expense. Your body is used to the old one. So we made sure people were loving it. If a bed got returned we’d take it back, sanitize and clean it, then sell it again on clearance.

To sell these we always had to disclose what clearance meant to customers, and they had to sign that they knew what they were getting. (FYI, not every company is as… forthright about the used bed situation)

In clearance we had beds that were floor models, we had returns, and more rarely we had old models whose line had been discontinued. These clearance beds were always final sale, so a bed could only be sold twice.

Now, the manager at the store I was working at had realized a vital fact. Clearance beds in the warehouse didn’t sell, especially old models that salespeople weren’t familiar with. And even more especially in odd sizes, like twin extra longs. So he set up a split king on the showroom floor to exhibit clearance beds, pulling all those forgotten twin extra longs out onto the showroom.

Almost all of these were brand new discontinued models. Beds I’d never learned in training were exhumed to be displayed. The manufacturers had moved on to new lines and they’d been left behind. Why would he take such in interest in selling old stock, you might wonder? Because we made double commission on the sales margin of clearance beds, and if we’d had a bed long enough they dropped the cost in the system so it was a fucking cash cow to sell these. Even with huge discounts the commissions were wonderful so it was a win win.

When I got started I was jazzed about this program, I was so on board to sell weird old brand new beds and make a ton of money. I had a wonderful older couple come in, looking for a split king adjustable set. This was a white whale sale.

The current clearance models on the floor were a latex mattress that was brand new despite being of an age to start first grade, and a tempurpedic floor model. The couple laid down and it was like magic. They each loved the bed they’d laid down on. They wanted to buy the whole shebang.

I. Was. Thrilled. I told them about the clearance program and what that meant, and they weren’t bothered in the least. I wrote up the sale then dashed into the back, fizzing with excitement to tell my manager what I’d done.

“You sold the death bed?!” He asked in delight.

I pulled up short, my smile freezing in place. “What…?”

“Didn’t you check the notes?”

I hesitated for a long beat then slowly shook my head. You see, dear reader, all beds had a personal history. Every clearance bed had logs written up by the person who took the return, as well as warehouse crew after sanitizing. It helped us know what to expect when selling them. “Wasn’t it just a floor model? You said it was a floor model…”

He slowly shook his head. I checked the notes.

It turned out, it had been sold as a floor model. The first time. But the company had made an exception and taken it back as a return two months later. Why? Because it’s owner had passed away.

I stared at the computer in horror and my manager shrugged. “They signed the clearance form. Technically it was a floor model.”

“We know for a fact that a man died in that bed!”

“What they don’t know can’t haunt them,” he said philosophically.

The man came back a week later for more sheets, utterly delighted to tell me how well they were sleeping. I clamped my teeth down around the secret of the deathbed, choosing to let them love their new bed without the stigma. Only one person would be haunted by that deathbed, and it was me.

[thethief1996]

I can't stop thinking about the news out of Palestine. Israel is sieging al Shifa hospital. Videos of people's limbs being severed off are haunting (graphic video tw). The hospital has ran out of fuel and 39 babies in incubators are fending for their lives by themselves, because Israel has stationed snipers around the hospital and is shooting all medical crew that walks into their sight.

First, the narrative was Israel would never bomb hospitals. Now, the hospitals are Hamas bases. Then, we respect journalists. Now, we have a fucking kill list of journalists because they are Hamas collaborators. First, we are not letting fuel in until the hostages are released. Now, we are not accepting the hostages back because that would stop our ground invasion and let Hamas win. And I could go on about every single lie they're making up. If you look up "Hamas rape" on google, the first link leads to Times of Israel saying Israel has found no forensic evidence of sexual violence, and only one eyewitness testimony out of 3.5k people attending the rave. If you Google "Hamas beheaded babies" the top links say they have no evidence for the claim besides word of mouth from extremist soldiers. Israeli extremists think about the ugliest goriest scene they can make out in their sick heads, tell that to a international journalist and they run away with it like it's gospel.

And children are being killed in the name of these lies. Thousands are being displaced in images that remind me of the pictures of Tantura 75 years ago, with their hands up so the tanks don't shoot them. Amputees are leaving the hospitals in wheelchairs hours after their surgeries because they are being shot at. Elders who survived the Nakba on 48 are having to walk towards Southern Gaza on foot (imagine walking from one end of your city to the other on foot), displaced again. People are cheering for the haunting images of white phosphorus bombs being dropped over Gaza. Gazan workers who were arrested in the West Bank are being thrust back into the bombings wearing numbered labels.

This is not normal. We are seeing the early stages of the settler colonial genocide of an indigenous population. Native leaders who have visited Gaza say its refugee camps look eerily like reservations. We can stop this. For the first time we are able to see wide scale accounts from the hands of the people suffering the genocide, and Israel is so scared of it they have cut all communications in Gaza.

This is our litmus test. I think we have never seen more clearly, with Palestine, Armenia, Congo and Sudan how colonialism has made our world a rotten place to live in.

The South African apartheid collapsed due to boycotts. We have to do everything in our power to stop Israel's hegemony. Even talking to a group of friends about Palestine changes the status quo. There's no world where we can live peacefully if Israel accomplishes their goals.

Keep yourself updated and share Palestinian voices. Muna El-Kurd said every tweet is like a treasure to them, because their voices are repressed on social media and even on this very app. Make it your action item to share something about the Palestinian plight everyday. Here are some resources:

Al Jazeera, Anadolu Agency, Mondoweiss

Boycott Divest Sanction Movement

Palestinian Youth Movement is organizing protests and direct action against weapons factories across the US

Mohammed El-Kurd (twitter / instagram)

Muhammad Shehada (twitter)

Motaz Azaiza (instagram) - reporting directly from Gaza.

Hind Khudary - reporting directly from Gaza. Her husband and daughter moved South to run from the tanks but she stayed behind to record the genocide. The least we can do is not let her calls fall on deaf ears.

You can participate in boycotts wherever you are in the world, through BDS guidelines. Don't be overwhelmed by gigantic boycott lists. BDS explicitly targets only a few brands which have bigger impact. You can stop consuming from as many brands as you want, though, and by all means feel free to give a 1 star review to McDonalds, Papa John, Pizza Hut, Burger King and Starbucks. Right now, they are focusing on boycotting the following:

Carrefour, HP, Puma, Sabra, Sodastream, Ahava cosmetics, Israeli fruits and vegetables

Push for a cultural boycott - pressure your favorite artist to speak out on Palestine and cancel any upcoming performances on occupied territory (Lorde cancelled her gig in Israel because of this. It works.)

If you can, participate in direct action or donate.

Palestine Action works to shut down Israeli weapons factories in the UK and USA, and have successfully shut down one of their firms in London.Some of the activists are going on trial and are calling for mobilizing on court.

Palestinian Youth Movement is organizing direct actions to stop the shipping of wars to Israel. Follow them.

Educate yourself. Read into Palestinian history and the occupation. You can't common sense people out of decades of propaganda. If your arguments crumble when a zionist brings up the "disengagement of Gaza", you have to learn more.

Read Decolonize Palestine. They have 15 minute reads that concisely explain the occupation (and its colonial roots) and debunk popular myths, including pinkwashing.

Read on Palestine. Here's an amazing masterpost.

Verso Book Club is giving out free books on Palestine (I personally downloaded Ten Myths about Israel by Ilan Pappe. If you still believe in the two states solution, this book by an Israeli professor debunks it).

Call your representatives. The Labour Party in the UK had an emergency meeting after several councilors threatened to resign if they didn't condemn Israeli war crimes. Calling to show your complaints works, even more if you live in a country that funds genocide.

FOR PEOPLE IN THE USA: USCPR has developed this toolkit for calls, here's a document that autosends emails to your representatives and here's a toolkit by Ceasefire in Gaza NOW!

FOR PEOPLE IN EUROPE: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace targeting the European Parliament and one specific for almost all countries in Europe, including Germany, Ireland, Poland, Denmark, Sweden, Netherlands, Greece, Norway, Italy, Portugal, Spain, Finland, Austria, Belgium Romania and Ukraine

FOR PEOPLE IN THE UK: Friends of Al-Aqsa UK and Palestine Solidarity UK have made toolkits for calls and emails

FOR PEOPLE IN AUSTRALIA: Here's a toolkit by Stand With Palestine

FOR PEOPLE IN CANADA: Here's a toolkit by Indepent Jewish Voices for Canada

Join a protest. Here's a constantly updating list of protests:

Global calendar

Another global calendar (go to the instragram of the organizers to confirm your protest)

USA calendar

Australia calendar

Feel free to add more.

[crippl-hacker]

Something’s living in my walls :(

(I live in a decommissioned mental asylum in a building that’s over 100 years old)