#and trying my best and I hope you are too

[gojoest]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃

━━━ synopsis: fate has a strange way of birthing love. you married gojo satoru to stay close to his father — an arranged union built to conceal a scandalous affair. but somewhere between the lies and the silence, another secret began to stir quietly in your chest. one that did not belong to his father at all. 

━━━ content warning: MDNI, fem! reader (she/her), arranged marriage, affair, infidelity, love triangle, age gap (late 50s vs late 20s/early 30s), reader���s age isn’t necessarily specified but she’s written with late 20s/early30s in mind, unreliable narrator, original characters (satoru’s parents: gojo akihito & gojo saori), falling in love, sexual themes but no explicit content, alcohol consumption in a few scenes, reader is drunk in one scene, flashbacks, character death, murder, twists, there’s a specific fire scene that is heavily inspired by the manhwa “betrayal of dignity”, pregnancy, angst with a happy ending, ask to tag if something triggering is missing 

━━━ pairing: gojo satoru x fem! reader ; gojo akihito (oc) x fem! reader 

━━━ word count: 20k+ (…idk what happened there tbh) 

━━━ author’s note: hello guys! this is the idea i first mentioned back in october and it’s finally coming to life! it’s the longest thing i’ve ever written so please be gentle and kind — to me, to the story, and to reader. i did my best to proofread while editing but apologies in advance for any typos, inconsistencies or mistakes that might’ve slipped through! i hope you enjoy the read ♡

Love can make you do crazy things.  

Sometimes it’s a silly behavior that you exhibit, one that isn’t akin to your usual self, one that makes you a bit of a fool. 

You find yourself taking detours to “accidentally” bump into someone. Your heart races at the sight of them, and you disguise your longing behind an awkward ‘What a coincidence!’, but what you really mean is ‘I really wanted to see you! I couldn’t stay away.’ It’s harmless — charming, even. 

But what happens when love blooms where it shouldn’t? When it takes root in poisoned soil, nurtured by secrecy and betrayal — can it still be called innocent? When the heart wants what it shouldn’t, when desire threatens to unravel lives and twist fates — is it still harmless? Still endearing? 

No. The fool knows better — but doesn’t care. 

Blinded by love, reason is cast aside. Judgment dulls. Morality slips through desperate fingers. The choices no longer belong to conscience; they belong to longing. 

Science says that falling in love mimics a drug high — dopamine rushes, rational thought hijacked, impulse overrides consequence. You become addicted. You crave. And in that craving, you’d do anything to have it. No matter the cost. 

-- 

The air in the room is thick. With the windows shut, the scent of sex lingers — trapped between the four walls of the hotel room, clinging to your skin and his. Your bodies lie tangled, worn out and still close. 

“Nobody saw you come in, right?” the whitehaired man beside you breaks the silence, voice low but tender. His breathing has steadied, back to its usual calm rhythm. 

You tilt your head, cheek still pressed against his damp chest. His hand, which had been trailing lazily along your bare back, moves up to cradle your neck — gentle, almost instinctive. Like he’s trying to spare you any discomfort, even now. It makes you smile, the way he always trembles for you. 

“No, no one saw me”, you murmur. “It’s not like this is the first time.” 

“It’s the first time since you got married”, he replies, his tone quieter, more guarded. 

“Is this why you’re so tense?” you let out a feeble laugh. “Nothing’s changed, really — except now we’re both married...” the smile on your lips slowly fades. Your lips part, more words caught behind them. 

...not to each other though — you want to say, but you don’t. You don’t want to break the moment. It’s been too long since you last had this. 

“Actually”, he trails off, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. 

At times like this, you’re reminded, again, how large he is. He barely shifts beneath you, just stretches one arm to grab the pack, the other still wrapped around your waist. He lights a cigarette with practiced ease, tucks it between his lips, and inhales deeply.  

“There’s one thing that has changed”, he says, smoke curling from his mouth. 

“Oh?” 

“I see you every day now.” 

A faint smile touches his lips, softening his blue eyes. He kisses the top of your head, gaze lingering on you. 

That’s right. You do see each other every day now. It’s the consequence of living under the same roof. 

“But even so, moments like this... they’ve become rare. That bothers me.” 

The warmth leaves his voice. His eyes grow distant, pale and cold. “Seems like he is keeping you too busy. Maybe he’s starting to like you.” he speaks in a dull voice. 

“You think so?” 

“He’s around the house more, with you. He used to be gone all the time. That wasn’t supposed to happen.” His tone hardens. ���He wasn’t supposed to act like this.” 

You let out a dry, uneasy chuckle. “Maybe he’s taking after you. Maybe I bewitched him... just like I bewitched you.” 

You don’t mean it. It’s just a tease, but the words land wrong.  

“Don’t joke about it”, he mutters, exhaling sharply. His brows furrow, tension creeping back into his features. “That’d be... problematic.” 

The man beside you is Gojo Akihito — your lover. The former head of the Gojo Clan. He is also the father of your husband. The current head of the clan — Gojo Satoru. 

...you only meant to lighten the mood. But just like his plan —  

It’s not working. 

-- 

Rumor has it: The clan head, Gojo Satoru, is completely enamored with his wife. 

It has become the talk of the mansion.  

“Did you see”, one maid whispers, nudging her colleague as they set the long dining table. “He brought her flowers, again.” 

“That’s nothing”, another chimes in, lowering her voice. “The other day he asked me how to make omurice. Said he wanted to learn it properly.” 

The first two maids lean in, wide-eyed. “And? What happened?” 

“I went into the kitchen early next morning”, she continues with a conspiratorial grin, “And there he was. Apron and everything. Cooking omurice from scratch. Said it was for his wife. Even served it on a fancy plate — with flowers from the garden. I think he picked them himself.” 

The maids collectively gasp, hands covering mouths, eyes sparkling. 

“He’s completely smitten”, one sighs, nearly swooning. “I heard he turned down every arranged match before her — didn’t even consider them. Then out of nowhere, he agrees to this one without a second thought.” 

“At first, I figured he just caved from the pressure”, another adds. “You know how the elders kept pushing. I thought he married her to shut them up.” 

“But now? Look at him. That’s not obligation. That’s a man in love.” 

A round of dreamy sighs circles the table. 

“Remember how he used to show up maybe once every couple of months? Only if something serious needed his attention?” 

“Now we see him every day”, one nods. “And if he’s not home, it feels... weird.” 

“He always comes back”, says another. “No matter how late. And the first thing he does is go see her.” 

“That’s not all”, the first maid says, lowering her voice even more. “The other day, he came home with a wound.” 

“No way. Him?” one of the others gasps. “He’s untouchable — who even got close enough to land a hit?” 

“Exactly. And do you know what he did? He let her clean him up. She asked for the first aid kit, and he just... smiled. The whole time. Like it didn’t hurt at all.” 

A chorus of quiet squeals follows, full of awe and disbelief. 

“He let himself be struck just so she’d fuss over him?” one whispers, covering her mouth. “God, he’s hopeless.” 

But before the fantasy could grow any richer, a sharp voice cuts through the air. 

“If you’re done gossiping”, Akihito says coolly from the doorway, “Perhaps you could focus on the work you’re actually being paid to do. Call everyone when dinner is ready.” 

The maids freeze, spines straightening, heads bowing in rapid succession. “Y-yes, sir. Our apologies.” 

Akihito didn’t linger. He didn’t need to. 

It wasn’t their chatter that irritated him. It was what they were whispering about. What they were seeing — what he couldn’t ignore. That’s what got under his skin. 

--  

“Good evening, wife.” 

You blink at the mirror just as a bouquet of forget-me-nots is gently laid in front of you on the vanity. Satoru leans in behind you, his reflection appearing over your shoulder, smiling. “You look beautiful, as always.” he murmurs against your ear. 

You shift slightly in your chair, but his hands land softly on your shoulders, holding you in place — not forcefully, but firmly enough to suggest he’s not letting you leave just yet.  

“Want me to brush your hair?” 

You sigh and meet his eyes in the mirror. “I can do it myself.” 

“I know”, he says smoothly. “But I want to.” 

Persistent. That’s one thing you’ve learned about him in the month you’ve been married — Satoru always gets what he wants. If you said no now, you wouldn’t put it past him to slip gum into your hair just so you’d have to ask for help. 

Just like he did with your slippers. 

He wanted to put them on for you one morning — for no reason other than his own mischief, you’re sure — but you refused. Later, fresh out of the shower, they were gone. All of them. Every pair. Oh no, we’re out of slippers! Guess I’ll just carry you — he said with that shameless grin of his. And he did. Said the floor was too cold. Couldn’t let his wife get sick, after all. He carried you around the house all morning. Then, right before leaving to run some errands together, he knelt, slipped your shoes on like some smug prince, and you let him — half amused, half annoyed. 

The bastard always wins. 

“Fine”, you relent now, sitting back. 

“Don’t worry”, he says, picking up the brush. “I’ll be gentle.” 

So far, nothing about this marriage has matched what Akihito told you. It was supposed to be nothing more than a formality. He reassured you countless times that his son would not even glance at you — let alone lay a hand on you; that you would probably just see him just once, on your wedding day, and that would be the end of it. But so far, Akihito was wrong about everything. 

He’s never home, huh? — You see him every day. 

He won’t touch you, huh? — Then why does he look for every excuse to be close? Going as far as to get himself injured on purpose and come back without healing himself so you’ll tend to him... Why does he always find a reason to touch your arm, your hand, your back? Why... Maybe, he wants to get in your pants? That must be it... right? Why else would he try so hard to make things work? It’s not like you two married out of love. You could’ve just quietly existed as his wife on paper; he certainly doesn’t have to bother making you an actual part of his life. 

Sure, he is a huge tease. But it’s not the annoying kind. It’s... disarming. You hate to admit it, but there’s something about him. A pull. A quiet magnetism that makes you want to lean in instead of pull away. And sometimes, you forget — forget why you came to be his wife in the first place, that this was never meant to be more than convenience serving the purposes of a scandalous affair. 

Until you remember. Until you look at him and see shadows of Akihito — the resemblance too striking to ignore. A younger version of the man who changed everything for you. 

You sigh, unable to keep your thoughts from wandering. 

“Did I hurt you?”, Satoru asks, suddenly pausing mid-stroke. 

You glance at his reflection. For just a second, there’s something soft in his expression. Worry. “No”, you say. “Just thinking.” 

“About?” 

He continues brushing, careful not to let the bristles graze your skin. Instead, his hand absorbs the pressure — the motion surprisingly tender. Then his hand drops. Light fingertips brush your neck. Two fingers lift your chin, tilting your head back until your eyes meet. “Thinking about someone else while I’m this close to you?” he asks, brows furrowed. His tone is calm, but the edge in it isn’t playful. It’s sharp. Serious. 

“Jealous?” you smirk, trying to deflect. 

He places the brush down and leans in. His head hovering over yours. There’s barely any distance left. When you both breathe out a veil of warm air falls and fills the tiny gap left between your faces. “Very”, he says quietly, his face deprived of the usual grin. “Makes me want to do terrible things to the man in your thoughts.” He’s not joking. Not even a little. 

“I was thinking about you, actually”, you reply. It’s not technically a lie.  

Not accustomed to such intimate closeness with him, heat starts to spread across your cheeks, your heartbeat acting peculiarly too. The nearness is too much. You share a bed, yes — but neither of you has ever dared cross the middle. Not yet. Why beat so fast suddenly, heart? Must be the fact he’s looming over you like this that is making you uncomfortable. Trying to break the tension, you joke. “If you’re planning on doing terrible things to yourself, make sure you don’t die. I’d hate to be widowed so young.” 

His expression falters. For a second, you see it — genuine surprise. It’s satisfying. He blinks, once, twice, head pulling back slightly, fingers at your jaw trembling with something unspoken. But it doesn’t last. He recovers quickly. 

A breathy laugh escapes him as he leans in again. “You were thinking about me? What, something dirty?” 

You scoff. “You wish.” 

“I do”, he replies instantly. “And don’t worry — you’ll get there soon enough.” 

The audacity. 

“What makes you so sure I’ll get there”, you shoot back. He grins, guiding your face back toward the mirror. “If you can’t see it up close...” He taps the glass. “Just look there. I’m kind of a masterpiece.” 

“The only piece you are is a piece of work”, you mutter, turning your head with a huff, your hair brushing against his face. You expect a quip in return. But he goes still. Sniffs. 

“Hmm... What’s that smell?” He leans closer, nose buried briefly in your hair. “I didn’t know you smoked.” 

You freeze. Akihito’s cigarettes. You didn’t wash your hair after the hotel. Damn it. 

“I don’t”, you reply, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you. 

“You smell like cigarettes.” 

“I was with a friend earlier. She smokes. Maybe that’s why.” you lie. 

Satoru watches you carefully through the mirror. “Good. You shouldn’t smoke”, he says at last, straightening up. “My wife has to live a long life. With me.” A smile tugs at his lips. A playful smirk, back to normal. 

You try to summon a sharp retort. Something clever. But all you manage is a tight, fake smile as your heart thunders in your chest. You were almost caught. 

Then— 

Knock-knock. 

“Dinner is ready, sir. Madam.” one of the maids calls from outside. 

“Hai-hai~”, Satoru casually yells out. “We’ll be down in a minute.” 

-- 

The dining room is too quiet. The kind of quiet that isn’t peace, but tension — stretched thin between the four people who sit on the table. It makes the softest sounds feel sharp. Or maybe it’s just in your head, considering the situation. 

It’s tradition, apparently — whenever everyone is home, meals are eaten together. Your least favorite part of the day. Understandably so, given the circumstances: you willingly put yourself here, fully aware you’d be sitting across from the woman whose husband you’re secretly sleeping with, and beside the son you’re technically cheating on — with his father. 

You sit beside your husband, Satoru. Across from you, Akihito — your lover, your secret. Next to him is Saori, your lover’s wife and husband’s mother — regal and silent, her expression unreadable as always, like she’s wearing a careful mask. 

No one speaks when the food is served. Just the mechanical act of eating, a silence that presses against your ribs like guilt. Your appetite has all but vanished since becoming the bride of the Gojo Clan, your stomach perpetually knotted with remorse. Sometimes even water feels repulsive. You often catch yourself wondering why you’re even doing this. Is it really love? You begin to question the choice you made, weighing it with a heaviness that never seems to lift. 

Then, as always, the silence shatters. Satoru reaches over, casual as anything, and plucks a bite of greens from your plate with his chopsticks. “Yours always taste better”, he grins, dropping them in his mouth. “Must be the way you chew”, he says with a mouthful.  

A small, soft laugh escapes you before you can catch it. There he goes with his silly antics again, you think. He somehow always knows how to tug you out of your head, whether you want him to or not. 

Akihito’s chopsticks pause mid-motion. His eyes narrow, barely, but you feel the weight of it. “Interesting”, he says, voice low and smooth, but with a faint edge. “I thought you never touched your greens.” 

Satoru doesn’t look away from you as he chews, slow and deliberate. “Tastes change.” 

The air thins. You take a sip of wine to steady your hands and avoid meeting Akihito’s eyes. You can feel them — heavy, disapproving, and not very kind. 

“They do”, Akihito replies after a moment, setting his chopsticks down with a soft click. “Although not always for the better.”  

You want to look at him, to read what he’s really thinking — but you don’t dare. Sometimes it feels like even a glance might betray you. Especially now, as Satoru shifts slightly in his seat, angling himself subtly closer to you, as if rising to meet some unspoken challenge. 

“I suppose it depends”, Satoru says lightly, the smile still playing on his lips. “Sometimes, watching someone savor something — it can spark a craving in you too.” He smiles at you then — softly — and something flutters in your chest that has no business being there. Then, he adds, with just enough weight to sharpen the air again. “But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, old man? How tastes change over time.” 

You freeze, just for a moment. Akihito doesn’t blink. His tone stays dry, his face unreadable. “Was there a point to that?” 

Satoru leans back slightly. “Just that, at your age, I’d expect you to be less surprised when people... shift.” 

Across from you, Saori finally lifts her wine glass. She doesn’t drink — not yet — but she swirls the red liquid slowly, her gaze shifting from father to son like she’s watching something she’s already seen before. They clash often, you’ve noticed. Not loudly, not outright — but it’s always there. A push and pull beneath the surface, a cold war of words and glances. 

Sometimes, you wonder if Satoru knows about the affair. He says things — subtle, but cutting — that make you pause, that make you think he might be more aware than he lets on. Maybe that’s why he’s pursuing you so intently — just to prove a point to his father. But then, there are moments when his gaze softens when he looks at you, when his touch lingers just a second too long. He goes out of his way every day just to be near you. And in those moments, it feels too sincere to be a game. You start to think he might actually mean it. That he’s not just chasing you out of spite — but because he truly wants you. 

You reach for your own glass again, taking another sip of wine, as if it might wash away the tension thickening by the second. But it doesn't. Setting the glass back down, your hand lingers at its base. Your fingers brush against Satoru’s hand that rests on the table between you two. He doesn’t flinch. Instead, his pinky curls beneath yours — just enough to be felt, not seen. You don’t pull away. You know Akihito sees it. You feel it. The tick in his jaw is barely visible, but you notice it. 

“I’ve been seeing you around way more frequently, Satoru. I hope marriage hasn’t dulled your focus”, he says, his voice smooth and pointed. “There are more important things than... comfort.” 

The irony, you think. The words sound like a joke to you, coming from the same man who orchestrated your marriage just to keep you closer and see you more freely. You barely manage to swallow a scoff. 

Satoru leans back in his chair, unfazed. “You’d be surprised”, he says lightly. “Sometimes comfort is the only thing keeping people from falling apart.”  

“It’s rare”, Saori speaks at last, “to see affection in this house. Perhaps we shouldn’t discourage it.” Her words are gentle, kind — at least, on the surface. But they carry the weight of something unspoken, a quiet complaint from a woman who has never been loved by her husband — not in the way a lover is. 

The silence that follows is anything but gentle. Her words hang in the air, delicate yet heavy, like the last note of a song no one knows how to follow. No one speaks. Not right away. You watch Akihito, wondering if he’ll respond — if he even knows how. But his expression remains unreadable, carved from habit more than emotion. Then, without looking at anyone in particular, he speaks, as if the comment never touched him at all. “I meant to tell you”, Akihito says, cutting through the quiet like a blade, “The elders requested a meeting with you tomorrow morning.” 

Satoru’s glass of water stills halfway to his lips. “Can’t”, he says casually. “I’m taking my wife out.” 

You blink. That’s the first you’ve heard of it. 

Akihito’s expression doesn’t change, but the muscle in his jaw tightens — just once, sharply — as he exhales through his nose. “You can reschedule”, he says. “The clan elders don’t appreciate being made to wait.” 

Satoru shrugs. “Neither does she.” He doesn’t even look at you when he says it, but the weight of it presses into your ribs like heat. 

The silence that follows is tight, full of things no one says. Saori watches Akihito this time, her gaze sharp as cut glass. Her husband is acting odd. And she notices everything. 

--  

Gojo Akihito was a man carved from discipline. Now in his late fifties, he was a figure both respected and quietly feared. When he entered a room, silence followed. Backs straightened. Conversations halted. People instinctively adjusted their posture — as if simply being in his presence demanded their best. His presence was weighty, not in a menacing way, but with a gravity that commanded reverence. His name alone held power — spoken softly, carefully, like it belonged to someone who mattered more than most. And he did. Shaped by the will of the elders, Akihito had been molded into the ideal head of the Gojo Clan: composed, unwavering, and dutiful. Obedience had been stitched into his bones from childhood. He was taught not to dream, but to serve. To lead with strength and never stray from what was expected. 

His path had been set before he could walk it — become strong, inherit the clan, marry a chosen wife, produce an heir. And he did. His talents bloomed early. Power came easily to him, and with it, authority. He married Saori, a woman selected by the elders, and fulfilled his role without resistance. Love was never part of the arrangement — but respect was. Even in the absence of affection, he treated her with dignity. They never became lovers — much to Saori’s quiet sorrow, for she had loved him from the very beginning. After they conceived Satoru, he never touched her again. As if it had been part of a duty — fulfilled, then forgotten. 

When he stepped down and passed the title of clan head to his son, Akihito did not fade quietly into the background. His voice still carried weight, often more so than of the current leader. To many, he remained the pillar of the clan. The rock. Unmoving. Unshakeable. Dependable. But even stone erodes, given time. Even the strongest man can change. Even a rock, under enough heat — can melt. 

-- 

Akihito wasn’t supposed to be here. The streets were too narrow, too loud, brimming with color and life in a way that felt foreign to him. He was meant to be elsewhere, at a meeting across town — another empty ritual of clan maintenance. But his driver took a wrong turn, and instead of rerouting, Akihito had stepped out, needing a walk. Needing air. Needing space from the weight that always clung to his shoulders. That’s when he saw you. 

At first, it was nothing. You were just a figure in the crowd — young, distracted, smiling faintly at your phone, coffee in hand. But something about you… stopped him. You passed by without noticing him, and the moment stretched too long. Something about you felt familiar, though he couldn’t place why. A detail misplaced in time. A memory from a life he never lived. He turned — just slightly. Just enough to watch you go. You entered a nearby café tucked between cramped buildings. Small. A little worn. Too cozy, too youthful for someone like him. He should have kept walking. But he followed you inside. He told himself it was curiosity. That he needed a moment to sit, make a call, kill time. But deep down, even then, he knew. He picked a seat in the corner. Three tables away from you. 

He returned the next day. And the next. It was irrational. Dangerous. He wasn’t the kind of man who indulged temptations. His life had been a masterclass in restraint — each step measured, each emotion disciplined out of existence. But you… You sat in the same spot each day, sipping a drink, sometimes reading, sometimes just staring out the window with that faraway look that seemed to see something no one else could. He wondered what you saw. He wondered what you wanted. He wondered what it would feel like to be the thing you looked at that way.  And he hated himself for it. 

You didn’t know who he was. You didn’t know that the man sitting a few tables away had once been the most powerful figure in one of Japan’s oldest sorcerer clans. That he had blood on his hands and responsibilities that still echoed through every inch of his life. You didn’t know that his marriage was nothing more than a political alignment. That he had followed every rule. Sacrificed every selfish urge. That he had never, in over fifty years, been in love. Not until now. 

On the third day, he stopped resisting and made a decision. He stood up, walked to your table, and asked — “May I sit?” 

-- 

Three tables. He was sitting three tables away from you — again. Just like yesterday. And the day before that. Today made the third. 

You’d noticed him immediately. How could you not? Tall, impeccably dressed, white hair, broad shoulders, and unmistakably refined. You guessed he was in his fifties, but he wore it well — almost too well. Dressed in a designer suit, he looked out of place in this cozy, slightly run-down café filled with students and twenty-somethings. Yet, there he was. 

Each time you stole a glance, he was gazing out the window, never once meeting your eyes. But something about him — his presence, the stillness in the way he sat, the ghost of a smile on his lips — kept drawing your attention. Maybe you were imagining things. But, perhaps, was he there… for you? Just as you started telling yourself it was all in your head, he moved. Ah, he’s leaving— 

No — he wasn’t. He was walking toward you. 

Your breath caught. Your eyes widened as he came to a stop at your table. 

“May I sit?” he asked, voice smooth but low, as if careful not to disturb the air between you. You blinked, pulse rising. “Why here?” you asked, managing a dry smile. “There are plenty of other tables, including the one you’ve been using for the past few days.” You motioned toward his old table. “I like the view better from here,” he replied calmly, and took the seat without waiting for permission. 

The view, of course, was you. He had resisted the pull for two days. But today, Gojo Akihito gave in. In his fifties, for the first time in his life — he fell in love. And for the first time… he broke a rule. 

-- 

He didn’t touch you. Not for weeks. Not inappropriately, not even in passing. His interest was always wrapped in respect, laced with a restraint that was somehow more intoxicating than overt desire. He spoke little, but with purpose. He listened like it was sacred. Asked questions no one else had ever bothered to. You told yourself it was harmless. That you liked the attention he was giving you. That you weren’t doing anything wrong… with a married man. It’s just a connection — nothing more. But the way he looked at you… like you were something precious, something rare, he had no right to touch but desperately wanted to — it stirred something in you. 

When he kissed you for the first time, it wasn’t impulse. It was quiet. Measured. Like a man saying a prayer before stepping into hell. And you let him. After that, the pretense faded. You started meeting behind closed doors…  

You were in love, yes. Or maybe, looking back now, you only thought you were. Not the way he was. You were free, while Akihito was chained to a life he could never escape. The deeper Akihito sank into you, the more you floated above him. Untethered. Capable of leaving. And that was what terrified him the most. He needed something stronger — something permanent — to bind you to him. 

One year into your affair, Akihito proposed something unthinkable. 

“An arranged marriage?” you gasped, your voice cracking in disbelief. “To your son?” You tried to push away from him, stepping out of the bathtub, but he caught your wrist and pulled you back in. 

“I miss you too much when you’re away”, he murmured against your shoulder. His breath was hot. His arms wrapped around you from behind, pulling you close, anchoring you to him in the steaming water. “Not knowing when I’ll see you again — it’s unbearable. And knowing it won’t be tomorrow? I hate that.” 

You sat between his legs, your bare back pressed to his chest, steam rising around you like a veil. His head dipped to the curve of your neck. You said nothing. Your lips trembled with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, with a sob that didn’t quite leave your throat. 

You spoke every day. But meetings were rare. Always discreet. Always in motion. Hotels changed with every rendezvous. Different rooms, different names, different times of arrival. You booked separate rooms but only ever used one. Because what you shared was a scandal. And the walls, anywhere, could talk. He was the former head of the Gojo Clan. A public man. A married man. And in the Gojo Clan, divorce was taboo. Unspoken but absolute. Marriage ended only with death. 

“It’s madness”, you whispered. “You’d just… hand me over to another man like that?” 

“I’m not handing you over”, he said, voice low and tired. “It’ll be just on paper. You know what Satoru’s like — he’s obsessed with his work. Sorcery is the only thing he’s ever cared about. He won’t touch you.” He paused. He knew how it sounded. But to him, it made sense. He was convinced this was the best way to keep you close. Satoru, as far as Akihito knew, had no interest in romance, no time for love. If you married his son, your place in the clan would be secured — and so would your bond to him. Even if you tried to leave him one day, you’d still be part of his world. Divorce, after all, was never an option. “Think about it”, he continued. “We’d be able to see each other more freely. People wouldn’t question it if we were spotted together — we’d be family. It would raise fewer suspicions than what we’re doing now.” 

You stared into the steam, into nothing. “...fine.” You caved. 

Neither of you knew then just how flawed the plan truly was. The flaw had a name: Gojo Satoru. 

-- 

Back in your shared bedroom, you close the door behind you and turn to face Satoru. He’s already tugging off his jacket, tossing it carelessly over the back of a chair. You squint at him, arms crossed. “What was that earlier?” He pauses, one sock halfway off. “Hm?” He looks up at you, eyebrow arched in that maddeningly innocent way. 

“‘I’m taking my wife out’”, you echo flatly. “We made no such plans.” 

He chuckles — a low, amused sound. “Ah. That.” Straightening up, he begins rolling his sleeves to the elbows, wandering toward the bed. “I was too distracted by your beauty when I got home, I must’ve forgotten to tell you.” 

You narrow your eyes. “Tell me what exactly?” 

“That everyone wants to meet you”, he says, as if it’s obvious. 

“Everyone?” you eye him. 

“My students. My colleagues. Most of them think I made up this whole marriage thing just for attention.” He grins like it’s the most absurd idea in the world. “So tomorrow, you’re coming with me. I need to show them that my wife is, in fact, a very real, very stunning person~” 

You blink. “So you didn’t just blurt it out to get out of meeting the elders?” 

He scoffs and flops onto the bed, arms behind his head. “Please. I don’t need an excuse to avoid them. I’ll meet them when I feel like it — not when they demand it.” Of course he would say that. “Besides”, he adds lazily, “I figured we could hang out a little after. Grab a bite or go somewhere. A proper date.” 

You stare at him. “A date?” — “Yeah”, he shoots. “You know, two people spending time together on purpose because they want to?” 

“Satoru”, you sigh, “you don’t have to bother with this kind of thing. This is an arranged marriage, let me remind you. We’re not... required to play house.” He tilts his head, eyes glinting with mock curiosity. “Who said couples in arranged marriages can’t go on dates? That’s a rule now? If it is, I must’ve missed the fine print.” 

He’s relentless — in a strangely charming way. Always pushing, always poking. And the worst part is... he knows you don’t exactly hate it. You glance away, shaking your head. “Alright”, you say finally, “fine” — and he immediately beams like he’s just won something. And maybe he has — in his own strange way. Satoru doesn’t need much to feel victorious. But there’s something you have noticed — how a yes from you is usually worth a trophy in his world, even if you offer it begrudgingly. 

You watch him for a moment, unsure what to make of the warmth blooming quietly in your chest. It's not love. It can’t be. Right? But it’s something. A softening, maybe. A flicker of possibility. Your fingers absently toy with the edge of your sleeve. That strange flutter you’ve been ignoring — the one he keeps coaxing out of you — is getting harder to deny. What exactly are you doing? — you ask yourself. 

And then your phone buzzes in your pocket. You fish it out quickly and glance down at the screen. 

Akihito: Come to the guest house. 

Just like that, reality presses its weight back onto your shoulders. It doesn’t look like Satoru noticed anything, but your hands are already closing the message, hiding the screen like a child caught with stolen sweets. “I’m going to the kitchen”, you say, too quickly. “I want something sweet.” 

Satoru sits up a little. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll get—” 

“No.” You cut him off, maybe too fast. “I’m not sure what I want yet, so I’ll just look around.” His gaze lingers on you for a moment. Something unreadable flickers there — brief, sharp, gone too fast. Then he leans back on his hands, still smiling. “Alright, my picky little bride. Don’t be long.” 

You force a light laugh and slip out the door. 

-- 

Akihito hears your knock — light, familiar — before the door opens. You’re still in your dinner clothes, but your hair is looser now, lipstick faded. You look comfortable, relaxed — and he does not exactly like that. You step quietly, and he lets you come to him without saying a word. For a moment, neither of you speak. 

He looks somewhat tense, but the air between you is still warm with memory — earlier today, your skin beneath his hands, your lips murmuring his name into a hotel pillow. And yet. “I’m sorry for calling you over like this”, he says finally, his voice low. “I just needed to see you.” 

You smile faintly. “You saw me at dinner.” 

“Not like this.” His eyes search yours. “Not alone. Not without... him.” 

You stiffen slightly — not defensively. Just aware. Akihito gestures to the seat beside him. You sit.

“He’s not the same”, he murmurs after a pause. “Satoru. He’s changing.” 

You don’t respond at first. You fold your hands in your lap. 

“You know what he used to be like? Detached. Cold. Always disappearing on missions. He never gave a damn about what anyone thought of him — never entertained sentiment. And now?” He scoffs softly. “Flowers. Cooking. Holding your hand under the table like some infatuated schoolboy...” 

Your mouth opens — then closes. You can’t find the right words. 

“You saw it too, didn’t you?” he asks quietly. “At dinner. The way he looks at you.” 

Your gaze falters. Not guilty — not quite — but cautious. “He’s just playing the part, Aki”, you say eventually. “He’s always been theatrical.” 

Akihito shakes his head. “No. That wasn’t an act.” There’s no bitterness in his voice. No anger. Just... disbelief. Like he’s watching something slip through his fingers that he didn’t expect to lose. “Before you came into his life, he never stayed home. Never cared about meals or traditions or people. He never had time for anything... personal.” 

You look down. 

Akihito studies your profile, as if memorizing it. The curve of your brow, the slope of your cheek. “I know I’m the one who suggested this arrangement”, he says, and his voice is more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard it. “I told myself it was the best way to keep you close. Safe. But now...” He trails off. 

You reach out, take his hand in yours. “I’m still yours, Aki”, you say gently. “You know that.” 

“I want to believe that”, he murmurs. You squeeze his hand. “You can.” 

But your voice falters, just slightly. Just enough for him to notice. His eyes flick up to your face. There’s no accusation in them. Only fear. The quiet, creeping kind that lives under the surface of a man who’s spent a lifetime being in control. 

“I know he’s not you”, you add softly. “I know why I said yes to this. You don’t have to worry.” 

Akihito nods slowly. But his silence stretches too long. You lean your head against his shoulder, and he kisses the top of your hair. Grateful. Reassured — or trying to be. But the weight in his chest doesn’t lift. Because for the first time, he isn’t sure if the threat is outside of what you have... or is growing inside it. 

-- 

“Don’t worry, they don’t bite”, Satoru chuckles, watching you fidget with your sleeves like you’re about to walk into a job interview. You shoot him a dry look. “You say that like you’re not the worst of them.” 

“Me? I’m the warm-up act. They are the terrifying ones”, he teases, nodding toward the lounge room door. You roll your eyes but don’t stop playing with your cuffs. 

“You’ll be fine”, he adds, nudging your elbow gently. “Just flash that charming smile and pretend I’m not hovering behind you like a lovesick fool.” 

“You are hovering.” 

“I’m setting the scene”, he grins. “For dramatic effect.” 

You scoff. “I’m not scared, you know.” 

“Of course not”, he nods solemnly. “You’re just fidgeting because you’re excited to meet my fan club.” You shoot him a sideways glare. He leans over, voice lowering just a touch. “They’re going to love you”, he says, softer now. “They’ve never seen me with someone like you.” 

“Someone like me?” 

“Someone who makes me behave.” 

You don’t get the chance to press him on that. He throws the door open before you can respond — and the room instantly freezes. Chairs creak to a halt. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. All heads turn. A spoon hovers midair. A can of soda stops halfway to someone’s lips. Even the air feels like it’s holding its breath. And all of it — every flicker of curiosity, disbelief, and blatant awe — is aimed squarely at you. 

“Guys”, Satoru announces, all flair and no shame, “This is my wife. Try not to scare her off.” You manage a composed smile, offering a polite nod. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

The reactions come in like dominos. 

Yuuji blinks so fast he looks like a malfunctioning cartoon. “She’s real. She’s actually real.”

Nobara lets out a dramatic gasp. “Oh my god, she’s gorgeous. How is he married to her?” 

“There’s definitely something wrong with her”, Megumi mutters, arms crossed.

“Blink twice if you’re being held hostage”, Maki deadpans without missing a beat.

Even stoic Shoko lifts her eyebrows, taking a slow drag of her cigarette. “I genuinely thought he made you up.”

Ijichi bows at the waist, glasses fogged slightly from the tea steam. “Gojo-san speaks of you often. I assumed it was... metaphorical.” Nanami says absolutely nothing. Just closes his eyes and exhales, a slow, pained breath that says this is beneath me, but also of course this is happening. 

Meanwhile, Geto is the picture of calm. Reclined on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, he simply smirks and raises his hand in greeting. “About time you dragged her here, Satoru.” 

“Don’t encourage him”, Nanami mutters without opening his eyes. 

You can’t help it — you laugh. A light, genuine thing that breaks the awkward spell in the room like shattering glass. The tension in your chest uncoils slightly, and Satoru beams beside you. 

“Oh god”, Nobara groans. “Even her laugh is gorgeous. This is unbelievable.” 

“Do you need help?” Megumi asks again, completely serious.

“She’s under some kind of spell, huh?” Yuuji whispers. “Do we do something? Help her?” 

“No need to rescue her”, Satoru says smugly. “She married me willingly” 

“That’s even worse”, Nanami mutters. 

“You guys are insufferable”, you finally say, smiling despite yourself. 

“You’re perfect for him then”, Shoko hums. 

“Alright, alright, don’t scare her off on her first visit”, Geto says, rising from the couch. He strolls over, offering his hand. “I’m Suguru. Satoru’s better half.” 

“Hey!” Satoru protests. 

You shake Geto’s hand. “Pleasure.” 

“It really is”, he replies smoothly. “Though we may have to talk about your taste in men.” 

“I’ve made peace with it”, you reply with a smirk. The room erupts into scattered chuckles. Even Megumi snorts. Satoru clutches his chest. “I feel so betrayed.” 

“Get in line”, Nanami mutters again. 

“Come on”, Geto waves you over. “Sit. Eat something. Let us dissect your personality in peace.” As you move to join them, Satoru’s hand brushes your lower back — a barely-there touch. Protective. Familiar. You glance at him. He’s still smiling like the sun — blinding and hard to read beneath the surface.  

You ease yourself into a spot between Suguru and Satoru on the long couch. Plates and cups shift around. The lounge settles into casual chaos again, but it’s warmer now — less like scrutiny, more like curious acceptance. As conversations spark up around you, you feel it — a brush at your side. Subtle, deliberate. Satoru’s hand slides across the space between you on the couch. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even look your way. But under the table, his fingers quietly reach for yours. At first, you don’t respond. The chatter of the room covers the rapid thrum of your heartbeat. It feels like everyone might notice, even though no one’s looking. And still — slowly — your fingers curl around his. 

You glance sideways at him. He’s still grinning and bickering with Geto about who’s ageing better — but there’s a flicker in his eyes when they meet yours. Something warm. Something that longs. And Satoru doesn’t look like he’s letting go of your hand anytime soon. 

-- 

Even after leaving the school and walking toward the car, Satoru hasn’t let go of your hand. Not once. And, truthfully, you haven’t tried to pull away either. His hand is warm and steady, fingers loosely laced with yours like it’s always been this natural. “They’re very chaotic”, you say as you walk side by side, the late afternoon sun painting golden highlights into his white hair. “But adorably so.” 

Satoru gasps. “How come you never say that about me?” 

“I do say you’re chaotic.” 

“Not that part”, he pouts, dragging your hand slightly as he walks. “Say I’m adorable too.”

You glance up at him with a smirk. “Why make me lie now?” 

He clutches his chest like you just wounded him. “Unbelievable. And here I was, thinking we were having a romantic moment.” 

“You pouted like a toddler five seconds ago. That was the opposite of romantic.” 

“That was endearing, thank you very much.” He sighs dramatically, unlocking the car with a flick of his keys. “One day you’ll realize just how lucky you are to have married me.”

You chuckle. “I’m still trying to figure that out.” 

As the engine hums to life and the radio kicks in with something mellow, he steals a glance at you. “You liked them, though?”

You nod. “They’re all... a lot. But in a good way. I liked them. They like you, too — though it’s hilarious how some of them thought I was a figment of your imagination at first.” 

“That’s fair”, he shrugs. “Even I sometimes think you’re too good to be real.” You don’t reply to that — partly because it’s sweet, partly because it makes your stomach twist in ways you’re not ready to admit. 

-- 

Instead of taking you to a fancy restaurant, Satoru pulls the car up near a quiet park tucked into a tree-lined stretch of the city. It’s not crowded, the evening air is crisp, and the swings creak gently in the breeze. 

“A date doesn’t have to be complicated”, he says, hands behind his head, strolling beside you. “This used to be my favorite spot when I ditched meetings.”

You laugh. “What a responsible clan head.” 

“Oh, terribly irresponsible”, he agrees proudly. “Now — race you to the swings!”

You both make a break for it, laughing as your shoes hit gravel. You get there first, narrowly beating him (because he let you), and triumphantly claim the left swing. Satoru sits on the other — except, the chains creak loudly as he settles in, clearly too tall and too big for the tiny seat. 

“God, you look ridiculous”, you say between laughs.

“Hey”, he grins. “Let me have my moment.” He tries to swing but his feet keep dragging on the ground. You get off and try to push him but fail spectacularly. “You’re too heavy!” you exclaim. He snorts. “I’m muscle and grace, I’ll have you know.” 

“Lift your legs then! That’s the only way this will work.” 

“If I lift my legs, the swing will snap and we’ll both die.”  

You dissolve into laughter, arms over your chest as you watch him try — and fail — to get any lift. “Hop off now”, you say. “It’s your turn to push me.”

He gets off, and you take over. He starts pushing you gently, and you find yourself relaxing, head tilted back toward the sky as you glide back and forth. You don’t notice how quiet he’s gone until the swing slows and you look back to find him watching you — softly, openly, with none of his usual teasing in sight. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask. He shrugs. “You look happy. I like seeing you like this.” 

Your heart stumbles. And just like that, the real world catches up — Akihito, the marriage, the plan... Guilt prickles under your skin. You’re not supposed to feel this warm around Satoru. Not this content. He notices the shift in your eyes, tension in your smile. “Hey.” He walks in front of the swing, kneeling slightly to meet your gaze. “Where did you go just now?” 

You open your mouth — but you don’t know what to say. There’s too much. You’re not even sure what you’re feeling anymore. Satoru doesn’t push. He simply lifts a hand to brush your cheek with his knuckles, gentler than anyone would expect from a man like him. “If you’re scared”, he says, “I’ll wait. But I’m not stopping.” 

You should say something — anything — but you don’t. Instead, you lean forward without thinking. Just a little. Just enough. And he meets you halfway. You kiss. It’s soft. Uncomplicated. Barely a breath long — but enough to make your stomach flip and your thoughts scramble. You pull back just as fast, cheeks feeling hot, and suddenly shoot up to your feet. 

“I—uh—I’m going to head to the car”, you stammer, already backing away. “Give me fifteen minutes. Just... wait, okay? Don’t come right now.” Satoru blinks after you as you run off, flustered. A slow smile spreads across his lips. He lifts a hand, touching his fingers to where your lips met his. “Why shy away like this now?” he murmurs to himself, chuckling. “It’s not like this is our first kiss...” 

His smile lingers, a little softer now. Almost nostalgic. He watches the direction you went, lost in thought. Because only he remembers. You’ve kissed before. But back then, you didn’t know who he was. And you still don’t remember. 

-- 

Satoru remembers it as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. The memory came rushing back the moment he saw your picture — the proposed match for the arranged marriage. The others in the room kept talking, formalities piling up like a tide of obligations, but he barely heard a word.  

It was you — the girl who stole his first kiss. The girl he never managed to find again. 

It happened years ago, sometime past midnight. He had just wrapped up a mission — a dull one, barely worth remembering — and was wandering the streets of Tokyo, eating red bean mochi with one hand and scrolling his phone with the other. Still in uniform, still buzzing from leftover cursed energy, still too wired to sleep. As he strolled past a row of late-night bars and clubs, the music leaked into the street like fog. Somewhere between neon signs and cigarette smoke, he spotted you — a girl slumped on the curb outside a nightclub, arms wrapped around your knees, head lolling sleepily to one side. You looked like you were dozing off. Alone. Vulnerable.  

He kept walking. At first. But something didn’t sit right. There were a few guys loitering nearby — drunk, leering, the kind of men that don’t need a reason to ruin someone’s night. One of them peeled away from the group and started approaching you, calling out something Satoru didn’t care to hear. He stopped at a vending machine, fingers patting his pockets as if he were looking for coins — but really, he was watching. Calculating. When the guy crouched beside you and reached out to brush your hair behind your ear, Satoru moved. Fast. “Sorry I took so long”, he said loudly, slinging his jacket over your shoulders in one smooth motion as he stepped between you and the stranger. 

The man froze. 

Satoru didn’t raise his voice, didn’t flare cursed energy — just looked at him. Cold. Unblinking. Dangerous. The guy got the message. “I was just making sure she was okay”, the creep stammered. 

“Yeah”, Satoru said flatly. “She is. Now leave.” He didn’t have to say it twice. Once the guys scurried off, Satoru crouched beside you, tilting his head. “Hey. Not a great place for a nap, you know?” You stirred, muttering something incoherent. “I’m serious”, he said, nudging your shoulder lightly. “It’s not safe out here.” 

“Can’t walk”, you mumbled. “Not sure if I’m spinning, or everything else is.” 

He blinked. “That bad, huh?”

You squinted at him through half-lidded eyes. “Are you a cop?”

“No.”

“A kidnapper?”

“Definitely not.”

“Hmm”, you leaned your cheek against your knee. “Guess you’ll do.” 

Satoru stared. “What does that mean?” You reached and tugged his sleeve, and with surprising strength, pulled him to sit beside you. Then, without warning, you laid your head in his lap. “What are you—?” 

“You’re warm”, you sighed, nestling closer. “And you smell nice. But I kind of feel like throwing up.” 

“Please don’t”, he said instantly, trying not to panic. “This is my favorite outfit.” 

You giggled. “You’re funny.”

He looked down at you, at the way your hair fanned across his thighs, at the curve of your sleepy smile. “What are you even doing out here alone?” he asked. 

“I lost my friends”, you mumbled. “Or maybe they lost me. Who’s to say...” 

“You got a phone?” 

You held it up proudly. It was dead. “Perfect”, he sighed. 

Eventually, when it became clear you weren’t going to get up willingly, he gathered you into his arms and stood. “Alright, mystery girl. I’m getting you somewhere safe — where’s your place?” 

“Wait, wait”, you slurred, squinting suspiciously at him. “I don’t know you. I can’t just tell you where I live!” 

“You’re literally unconscious on the sidewalk and I’m carrying you like a bridal bouquet. I think we’re past that point.” 

You didn’t answer. Your head lolled onto his shoulder. He sighed, glanced around. He didn’t know your name, didn’t know where you lived — but you looked about college-aged, and the university campus wasn’t far. It was the best guess he had. So he started walking.  

Halfway there, a group of girls came jogging down the sidewalk, calling some name (yours). They looked frantic — until they saw you in his arms.  “Oh god”, one of them exhaled. “We’ve been looking for her everywhere!” 

They reached out to take you, but you lifted your head groggily, blinking at him like you’d just remembered he existed. You took off his sunglasses and placed him on his head, then cupped his face in both hands, surprisingly gentle. 

“You’re pretty”, you said. 

He blinked. 

Then you leaned in and kissed him. It was soft and quick. “Thank you”, you whispered. “For keeping me warm.” 

And just like that, your friends pulled you away — you still wearing his jacket, him still too stunned to speak. He stood there long after you were gone, fingers pressed to his lips, dazed. “What a weird girl”, he muttered. 

But he’d already fallen for you. 

He tried to find you after that, of course — visited the area again, lingered by the campus, even asked around in his own way. But your name, your face... all of it had vanished like a dream after waking. Until years later — when he saw your photo again. And this time? He said yes without hesitation. 

-- 

The days begin to blend. Soft, warm mornings. Laughter over late breakfast. The rustle of flower petals against your cheek as you wake — a new habit Satoru’s picked up. You open your eyes to a fresh bouquet on your pillow, tied together with a silk ribbon and a folded note tucked inside. 

Roses are red, violets are blue, don’t open the curtains, I'm watching you ;)  S. 

You roll your eyes but smile. By now, your phone is full of messages from him — some voice notes, some texts. Some completely random, like: 

Voice message — 9:07 AM 

Hey, I found this stray cat that reminds me of you. They ignored me when I tried to pet them and just walked off. Thought that was kinda romantic~  

Text — 10:12 AM 

Do you miss me or are you pretending I don’t exist again? Be honest. I can take it. (Don’t be honest) 

Sometimes he’s halfway through a mission and still finds the time to send you a photo of some stupid little charm at a shrine that “looks cursed like you” — and by the time he returns home, you’ve forgotten how silence used to fill the rooms before he came. 

You start leaving notes back. Hiding snacks in his coat. One time, you sent him flowers — as a joke. A massive, bright pink bouquet delivered right to the faculty lounge at Jujutsu Tech. 

Yuuji nearly dropped his drink when he saw it. “Sensei, I thought you were the man in this relationship... but I guess you really shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.” 

Satoru beamed as he held the bouquet. “Listen, Yuuji, I think she’s got me on a leash. And honestly? I don’t mind it.” 

Geto didn’t even blink. “You’ve always liked being domesticated.” 

Nanami groaned in the distance. “Please take your romance outside school grounds.” 

Your life with him feels like a sitcom at times. Like you’ve somehow fallen into a slice-of-life version of your own story. And strangely, you don’t hate it.

But not all lives move at the same pace. 

Akihito watches it unfold from the shadows of his own silence. This was not part of the plan. You’re playing your role way too well to his liking. Are you humoring Satoru’s peculiar behavior for the sake of keeping the peace... or is there something more to it?

He feels the distance stretching. You reply to his messages slower now. When he calls, you sound distracted — not cold, just... somewhere else. Sometimes when he walks by your and Satoru’s room, he hears his son’s voice talking to you and it cuts deeper than he expects. Laughing. Teasing. Talking to you in a tone Akihito used to think was only his to use. 

He remembers your last few moments together, how they’ve been growing shorter. More careful. Your touches — once confident, rooted in secret familiarity — now come with hesitation. Like you’re aware of something new. Something blooming in the cracks you didn’t plan for. You were slipping. And for the first time in a very long time, Akihito doesn’t know what to do. 

He doesn’t confront you. He won’t. Because even now, he trusts you. Even now, he tells himself you would never betray him like that... But still — he’s left staring at the space beside him that used to be filled by you, fingers curled into fists he won’t raise, breathing through a storm he never thought he’d have to weather. 

--  

Evening settles softly across the room like a warm blanket. The lights are dim, casting a gentle golden hue over the shared bedroom you’ve both slowly grown used to — not just as a space, but as a kind of quiet haven. You sit on the bed with your knees tucked close to your chest, absently flipping through some old magazine you already checked out twice. Satoru is nearby, sprawled across the foot of the bed, fiddling with his phone but mostly stealing glances at you. The silence between you is easy now. Not empty, not awkward — just comfortable. 

Still, something hangs between you, unspoken but undeniably there. It’s been lingering ever since that kiss in the park. You haven’t kissed again since, but your touches linger longer now — a brush of fingers as you pass something to him, the slow curl of his hand around yours when you walk beside each other. Close, but careful. 

Tonight feels different. 

“Do you ever miss the chaos?” you ask, not looking up from the page. “Before we... whatever this is.” 

“Before we became a domestic power couple?” Satoru teases, stretching out with a dramatic sigh. “Tragic. I used to be wild. Now I fold your laundry.” You laugh. “You don’t fold my laundry.” 

“I would. For the record. If it meant you’d smile like that.”  

You glance at him now, and his expression softens when your eyes meet. The air changes. It’s in the way he shifts, propping himself up slightly on one elbow. There’s something different in his gaze — not just affection, but hunger veiled by hesitance. You feel it too. That same flutter deep in your belly. The nervous kind. The kind that tastes like anticipation. He moves closer, slowly, watching you for any flicker of hesitation. When he reaches out, his fingers brush lightly along your jaw, his thumb barely skimming your cheek. You don’t move away.

“You’ve been looking at me like that for a while now”, you whisper.

He smiles, a little crooked, a little shy — rare, for him. “Yeah. I’ve been... trying to behave.” 

Your lips part, but you don’t speak. Satoru leans in, and this time, when he kisses you, it’s slower than last time. Less impulsive. More reverent. His hand cups the back of your head gently as he pulls you closer, tasting your breath as if he’s been craving it every day since the last time. And then he pulls back. Breath shaky. Eyes shut. You blink, still dazed from the kiss. “Satoru? What are you doing?” 

He exhales a slow, uneven breath. “Waiting for you to slap me.”

You stare at him. That rare vulnerability in his voice knocks the breath right out of your lungs. “Why would I slap you?” 

“I didn’t ask. I didn’t warn you. I just... kissed you. Again. I told myself I’d wait until you wanted me.” 

You hesitate only for a heartbeat. Then, you lean forward and take his face in your hands, gently pulling him back into you. Your lips find his, and this time there’s no pause. No retreat. He kisses you like he’s trying to memorize you. Every angle. Every sound you make. Your hands find their way under the hem of is shirt, fingertips grazing bare skin, and he shivers beneath your touch. You break the kiss long enough to whisper, “Come closer.”

His forehead rests against yours. “Only if you want me to.” 

“I do”, you breathe, voice trembling but sure. “I want this. I want you.” His arms tighten around you, and it’s slow, almost reverent, the way he lays you down — like you’re something sacred. Clothes are shed without urgency, and his hands trace the lines of your body like he’s reading scripture. The rest unfolds in quiet gasps and whispered names. It's not just desire — it’s need. Familiar, frightening, warm... 

...when it’s over, the silence that follows is different from all the ones that came before. You lie beside him, heart still racing, his fingers lazily tracing circles along your arm. He doesn’t speak. He just watches you, memorizing the curve of your lips, the way your chest raises and falls. And for a moment, you forget every plan. Every lie. Every secret. For a moment, it feels like love. The kind that sneaks up on you — quiet, uninvited, and impossible to ignore. You lie tangled together, your head tucked against his shoulder, his hand tenderly caressing your bare skin. Hearts still thudding. 

Satoru is the one to break the silence, his voice light, teasing (as usual). “So... You really don’t remember me, huh?” 

You blink, lifting your head just enough to glance at him. “What?” 

“Brutal...”, he laughs. “And here I was, thinking I made a lasting impression that night.” 

You narrow your eyes, unsure if he’s joking. “What are you talking about?” 

“Nahh, I get it — you were pretty drunk”, he says, dragging the words out like a cat playing with mouse. 

“Oh god—” You sit up suddenly, sheet gathering around your chest. “Don’t tell me we’ve hooked up in the past and I don’t remember it?” Satoru bursts out laughing. “No, not like that.”

You squint at him. “Then stop being so cryptic and tell me!” 

He stretches, hands behind his head, smug and insufferable. “Let’s just say… you were outside a bar. Alone. Slumped on the curb. And I saved your life.”

You blink again. He continues, barely hiding his amusement. “Some creep tried to hit on you. I intervened, obviously. You asked if I was a kidnapper, told me I smelled nice, then fell asleep in my lap.”

Your jaw drops. “No way.” 

“Oh, there’s more,” he says with a mock-serious nod. “You called me pretty. And you kissed me.”

You gape. “You’re lying.” 

“I’m not,” he says, lips twitching. “And you stole my jacket, by the way.”

Your eyes widen. Something flickers at the edge of your memory. “Wait— that was your jacket?”

Satoru raises his brows, clearly enjoying himself. “Yep.” 

“I always wondered where it came from”, you mumble, stunned. “I kept it for years. I thought maybe someone just… gave it to me out of pity.” 

“Well, I did give it to you”, he says, softer now. “But it wasn’t pity.” 

You’re quiet for a moment, absorbing it all. “I can’t believe it. That was you.” 

He shrugs one shoulder, like it’s no big deal — but his voice betrays him when he says, “Yeah. I looked for you, you know? Went back to that street, hung around your supposed campus. Thought about that stupid night more times than I’d ever admit.” 

You gasp. 

“When your photo showed up in the marriage proposal packet?” He looks over at you, something unreadable in his eyes. “I said yes before they even finished reading your name.” 

You stare at him, stunned. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

He smiles, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Because you didn’t look at me like this before.” You lean in, heart heavy with something warm and aching. “How do I look at you now?” 

“Like you might not disappear this time.” 

-- 

You slip into your nightgown, your skin still tingling with traces of warmth and tenderness. The sound of water runs in the background — Satoru in the shower, humming something off-key. A lazy smile plays on your lips as you step out of the bedroom, quietly padding down the hallway. You tell yourself it’s just to grab snacks. Maybe a drink. Something to soothe the afterglow that’s left your heart both full and aching. 

But as you reach the kitchen and flick on the soft underlight, your body seizes.

Akihito is there. Standing in the low light like a phantom, glass in one hand, his other curled into a loose fist at his side. The bottle of whiskey beside him is nearly half-empty. He doesn’t speak right away — just stares at you, and it’s a look you’ve never seen on him before. Not like this. There’s pain, yes. But buried under that is something sharper. Something raw. 

“Akihito...” you breathe, barely more than a whisper. He doesn’t answer. Just brings the glass to his lips again, slowly, as if buying time — or trying to keep himself from saying what’s already clawing its way up his throat. Akihito, huh? You used to call him Aki... 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes narrowing slightly as he steps forward. You don’t move — not because you don’t want to, but because you don’t quite dare. He stops in front of you, closer than comfort allows. The scent of whiskey and something tired hangs on him — disappointment. His eyes flicker over your face, and you know he sees it. The softness in your cheeks. The haze still lingering in your gaze. The warmth that isn’t his. He knows. Of course he does. But he wants to confirm, one last time. 

His hand reaches toward you, swiftly lifting your nightgown to brush his fingers against your cunt, bare, still wet and sore. You flinch, instinctively stepping back — but his free hand snaps around your wrist. He withdraws his fingers, bringing them close to your face, then slowly rubs them together. Smearing the slick, laced with remnants that don’t belong to him. “You slept with him”, he says, low, flat. No question. Just a quiet accusation. 

Your breath catches. 

He leans in, close enough for his words to brush against your skin. “Do you love him?”

Before your lips can part, before your heart even finds a beat, a new voice breaks the silence. 

“Hey, I was looking for y—” Satoru enters the room, still damp from the shower, water clinging to his chest, a towel slung low around his waist, another in his hands as he rubs it through his hair. The moment he sees his father, he stops mid-step. His eyes lock at his hand around your wrist. His tone drops, his jaw clenches. He immediately yanks his hand away from you, then his eyes dart to the whiskey on the counter. “Old man, did you get drunk enough to mistake my wife for yours?” 

Akihito doesn’t answer right away, but he tenses. For a moment, he seems to fold in on himself — trying, perhaps, to remember who he is, and who he’s supposed to be. “I lost my balance for a second”, he mutters. Then without another glance at either of you, he brushes past and disappears down the hall. 

The silence he leaves behind is deafening. You’re frozen. Like glass on the verge of shattering. Guilt crawls under your skin like a fever. You want to scream. You want to run. You feel like you’ve betrayed them both. 

Satoru looks at you. His expression softens the moment he sees your face. “Hey...” voice gentle now. “You okay? You look a bit... pale.” He tries to joke, but there’s a note of worry breeding into his words. “Did I... maybe go a little too hard on you back there?” A faint smirk, halfhearted. His eyes, though, are searching.  

You force yourself to nod, to smile like you’re fine. “No. I’m okay. I just—” you glance toward the hallway, “I got startled. I didn’t expect to see anyone else awake.”

Satoru doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he doesn’t push either. He just reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch almost reverent. “Next time, tell me”, he says softly. “I’ll walk you around the house like a proper husband.” 

You laugh — weakly, but you manage it. Neither of you says what you’re thinking. Neither of you asks the questions hanging thick in the air. But both of you feel it. Something has shifted. And in the stillness that follows, all you can do is hold your breath and pretend it’s not already slipping out of your control. 

-- 

The soft creak of Akihito’s footsteps disappears into the silence of the hallway as if he is retreating from more than just a room. By the time he reaches the bedroom he shares with Saori, the burn in his chest has settled into something heavier, duller. She is already asleep, curled into herself beneath the silk sheets. He doesn’t even look at her. Akihito pours himself another drink from the decanter near the dresser, the sound of the liquid filling the glass louder than it should. His hand shakes as he brings it to his lips. He has lost count of how many glasses he had tonight. 

He believed he was in control, never imagining, even for a moment, that you might be the one to falter. He sits on the edge of the bed for a while, nursing the bitterness on his tongue, trying to down what feels like the unraveling of everything. His grip tightens around the glass until his knuckles turn white. And eventually, the weight of it — the whiskey, the pain, the loss — pulls him down. He settles in bed, fully clothed, eyes open to the dark. Only when the alcohol dulls the sharpest edges of his thoughts does sleep finally claim him. 

Saori wakes sometime later — hours, maybe. She doesn’t know what stirred her at first. The clock ticks quietly. The room is still. But then she hears it. A soft sound. A broken voice. Akihito. At first, she thinks he is awake, whispering. But when she turns to face him, she sees the tight lines on his brow, his face twisted in restless dreaming. 

...a name falls from his lips like a prayer. Your name.

“Don’t leave me...” He shifts, face turned toward her, eyes shut tight. His voice cracks in a way she has never heard before. “I love you... please... don’t go...” 

Saori doesn’t move. She doesn’t breathe. For a long moment, all she can do is stare at the man she spent more than half her life beside. The man who kept so much from her. Until now.

Everything made sense to her now. All of it. The proposal of a random girl — a nobody, by traditional standards — as a bride for the clan head. His obsessive oversight of your marriage. His silence. His sudden, inexplicable shifts in mood. All the times he came home reeking of another woman. And now this. 

She sits up slowly, placing her hand on her lap as the cold realization settles deep into her bones. Her husband has never said her name like that, even in dreams. A sharp, unfamiliar ache blooms in her chest. It isn’t jealousy — though that is part of it. It is grief. For a marriage that never really belonged to her. For a love that was never hers to begin with. She turns to look at Akihito once more. His lips move soundlessly now, breath uneven. Vulnerable in a way he has never let himself be when conscious. Saori whispers, her voice nearly a breath, “You poor, stupid man...” 

And she doesn’t know whether to feel pity, rage, or heartbreak. So she sits there — in the dim quiet, beside the man who is dreaming of someone else — and tries to remember what it feels like to be chosen. 

-- 

The morning sun spills through sheer drapes. Saori sits before her vanity, back perfectly straight, hands folded in her lap as the house attendant brushes through her hair. She stares at her reflection — still, expressionless. But her eyes, always sharp, betray thought in motion. There’s no puffiness in them, no redness, no sign of the long night she endured beside her sleeping husband and the dreams he whispered into the dark. Not a trace of it reached the surface. Because Gojo Saori does not falter. 

She was raised for this life. Trained from the moment she could walk and speak — in manners, in posture, in etiquette. In silence. In sacrifice. She was chosen for the Gojo Clan as if born for it, bred for it. A perfect match to elevate status and maintain lineage. An ideal bride, by design. Not merely beautiful, but refined. Not merely obedient, but poised. Regal in her restraint. And still, he never loved her. Gojo Akihito, the man she married at twenty-one, gave her everything a wife could ask for — wealth, status, a name that carried power. But not his heart. Never his heart. She spent years trying to earn it anyway. With devotion. With loyalty so fierce it could have moved mountains if he had only looked her way and seen her properly. 

But last night... Last night, in the hush of the sleeping room they shared for so many years, he spoke someone else’s name. Not once. Not carelessly. Lovingly. 

Saori meets her own gaze in the mirror — unwavering, unflinching. She should’ve wept, perhaps. Cried the way lesser women might. Collapsed into trembling disbelief or broken rage. But she had no time for that. No space, in the skin she wears, for such indulgence. Her family name was teetered on scandal, and she bled too much grace into this place to see it torn down now — not by a girl’s foolishness, not by a man’s longing. Gojo Saori was, above else, a guardian of the image. But the image was beginning to crack. And she was ready to protect what needed protecting.  

--  

You sit at the table, eyes tracing the rim of your teacup, steam curling softly into the morning air. You haven’t taken a sip. You haven’t touched your plate. Your stomach is tight, twisted with guilt... especially after last night. 

Satoru is full of light and ease, as he always is — grinning, teasing, tossing playful remarks into the stillness like stones skipping across a glassy lake. His hand brushes yours casually, fingertips lingering just long enough to warm your skin. It's comforting in a way, how unchanged he is. But his energy doesn’t reach you this morning. You smile when you’re supposed to. You answer when he prompts you. But your mind is far away — caught between the memory of last night’s warmth and the echo of Akihito’s voice, flat and cracked with disappointment. 

Akihito sits quietly, as he always does, but today his silence feels heavier. His fingers press against the bridge of his nose, slow and methodical, as if trying to will away a migraine. He hasn’t touched his food. His presence across the table burns into you like a brand. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, but you can feel his restraint like a tremor in the room — barely contained, always building. 

Saori is a vision of composure. She lifts her teacup with perfect posture, takes delicate sips, and sets it down with the precision of someone who has performed this same ritual every morning of her life. Her face is unreadable — not blank, but too measured. There's something behind her stillness, something coiled. But you can’t tell what. She gives nothing away. 

Satoru leans in toward you with a lopsided grin, voice dipped in mischief. His hand brushes your arm again, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he senses how fragile you feel. “You’re awfully quiet today”, he points out. You blink, startled — his voice snapping you out of your spiral — and you force a breath, a small smile. He’s trying to bring you back. The way he always does. “I didn’t get much sleep last night”, you manage, voice low and tight. 

“Tired, huh?” he echoes with a soft laugh, leaning in closer. His voice drops to a whisper, just for you. “Guess that’s what happens after a long, productive night... right?” 

Your heart stumbles. The words land like a thunderclap, disguised as a joke, but sharp enough to cut through your skin. His wink is lighthearted — harmless in his mind — but you freeze. You don’t laugh. You can’t. The knot in your stomach coils tighter, shame rising in your chest. You drop your gaze and press your lips together, every nerve on fire. 

Then comes the sound. A sharp, sudden crack. 

Akihito’s hand clenches around his teacup — or what’s left of it. Porcelain shards glint, splintered across the table and floor. His palm is cut, a slow trickle of blood winding through the lines of his hand, but he doesn’t seem to feel it. He stares at the broken cup like it’s something far away. His shoulders tense, jaw clenched. A man unraveling slowly — but silently. 

Satoru turns toward him, his gaze casual, almost detached. He says nothing. 

Saori moves immediately, her composure untouched as she rises and then immediately kneels beside him without ceremony, inspecting the wound with clinical care. Her voice is even, steady. “Are you alright?” Akihito doesn’t respond. His eyes are still fixed on the broken shards. His breath is shallow. Hollow. You wonder if he even knows where he is. Saori retrieves the first aid kit from the cabinet, her movements smooth, practiced. She tends to the cut with quiet precision, wrapping the bandage around his hand in silence. She doesn’t look at you, not directly — but her awareness is piercing. You can feel her watching, even when her eyes aren’t on you. 

You try not to flinch under the weight of it. 

Satoru watches you now. Truly watches you, and only you. There’s concern in his eyes, but beneath it, something darker — a flicker of something unreadable, as if he’s seeing straight through you. 

--  

You walk Satoru to the front of the estate, the morning sun slowly warming the stone path. He lingers, reluctant to go. “Are you sure you want me to leave?” he asks, searching your face. “You’ve been... kind of out of it all morning.”

You manage a smile, reaching up to smooth a hand through his hair. “I told you, I’m just tired.”  

He’s clearly unconvinced. “Then let me stay. I’ll take the day off, we’ll snuggle in bed, watch trashy movies, eat junk food — whatever you want.” 

“No”, you cut him off gently. “They’ll chew you out for skipping another day because of me. I’m fine, I promise. I just... need a little time to myself.” 

He watches you for a moment longer, visibly debating. Then he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead. “You better call me if you change your mind. Or even if you don’t. I just want to hear your voice.” 

“I will”, you say, trying to mean it. 

“You won’t”, he mutters. “But I’ll pretend to believe you.” 

You watch him walk away until he’s out of sight. And then the weight returns, heavy and unforgiving. You turn and head back toward your room, your steps slow. You were planning to reach out to Akihito — to talk, to finally be honest. At least with him. You need to say the words out loud. 

Halfway to your door, one of the maids appears at the end of the corridor, bowing her head respectfully as she approaches. “Lady Saori has asked if you would join her for tea in the garden”, she says. 

You blink. “Tea?” 

“She’s waiting for you now”, the maid adds.  

Your stomach twists. This is a first. Saori has never invited you anywhere, never initiated anything outside of polite formality. And now — tea? You murmur your thanks and change direction, heading toward the garden with careful steps. When you arrive, Saori is already seated beneath the wide shade of the cherry blossom tree. Everything is picturesque — the porcelain tea set arranged perfectly, delicate sweets on a lacquer tray. Not a single detail out of place. She looks up as you approach, her posture composed, her expression mild. 

“Hello again”, she says, gesturing to the seat across from her. “Please, sit.”

You lower yourself slowly. “Thank you.” 

She pours the tea herself. No attendants. No distractions. Just you and her. “We’ve never had the chance to talk”, she says, tone pleasant. “Just the two of us.” 

You nod faintly. “I guess not.” 

She picks up her cup, takes a small sip, and sets it down again. “Satoru seems happy.”

You glance at her, cautious. “He is.” 

“I can tell. He’s always been bright, but lately there’s something different. Something new. He’s softer. His laugh is more genuine.” She offers a smile. “He clearly cares for you — deeply.” 

Your mouth goes dry. “Thank you.” 

She hums softly, and then — without a change in tone — asks, “And how are things between you and my husband?”

The question hits you like a stone dropped into still water. No warning. No shift in expression.  

You stiffen, staring at her.

She doesn’t look away, “Not well, I imagine?” voice still calm. 

“I—” 

“I don’t want to hear it”, she cuts in, quiet but firm. 

Silence settles like a weight. Her voice remains calm, but the steel beneath it is undeniable. “I am not blind.” 

You lower your gaze. 

“I see the way Akihito looks at you. I see what it’s done to him.” Her fingers rest gently on the rim of her teacup. “And I know the kind of woman it takes to twist a man like him into something unrecognizable.” 

You flinch. 

“I won’t let this continue. I won’t let you unravel this family from the inside out. If you stay on this path, you won’t just break Akihito — you’ll destroy Satoru too. He’s already too attached. Too invested. And when this blows apart — because it will, like all secrets do — do you really think he won’t be the one to bleed for it?” 

You look up at her, heart pounding. Her words feel like nails driven into your spine. There’s no venom in her voce. No raised pitch. Just control. Cold and deliberate. “I’m giving you a choice”, she says. “You leave. On your own terms. Or I will make sure you have no terms at all.” 

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. What can you even say? What are you supposed to do? Argue? 

“Think it over”, she says, lifting her teacup again. “Before it becomes something you can’t come back from.” Then her eyes meet yours one last time — still poised, but with a new edge. “And don’t even think about telling Akihito we had this conversation.” she adds softly. “Unless you want Satoru to know about it too.” 

-- 

You barely make it back to your room before your legs give out. The door shuts behind you and you crash onto the bed, your breath caught somewhere between a sob and a scream. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to hold back the tears, but it’s useless now. The dam is breaking. Your shoulders shake, and the sob that leaves you is hoarse, pulled from a place so deep it feels like you’re splitting open. 

Everything was falling apart — like a chain of dominoes tipping one after another. One thing went wrong, and the rest followed, collapsing in swift, inevitable sequence. The worst part? The love blooming quietly in your chest. There’s no use pretending anymore. You can try to lie to everyone else — maybe even try to lie to yourself. But the truth is carved into your every glance, every touch, every breath, every unspoken word between you and Satoru. You love him. But you’re not allowed to have him. Not after this. Not when the damage has already begun to spill over the edges.  

You sit in the stillness for a while, until your tears run dry and resolve begins to settle in their place. There’s one thing left to do — the thing you intended before everything spiraled. You need to speak with Akihito. You pick up your phone and type out the message. 

Meet me in an hour. I’ll send you the location of the hotel. 

Then you get up, dress in silence, and leave. 

-- 

The room is quiet when he arrives. Akihito steps inside and finds you standing by the window, framed in soft, diffused light. There’s something different in your posture — something heavier. He doesn’t speak right away. He just looks at you, then takes a step forward. 

He dropped everything and came to you. Still hoping. That small, foolish hope still flickers in him — that maybe, despite everything, you’ve called him here because you’ve come back. He reaches for you, arms out as if to hold you again. But you step back. 

“No”, you say, voice tight. “We can’t do this anymore.” 

His hands drop to his sides. “What?” his voice barely comes out. You swallow the lump rising in your throat. “Aki... we can’t.” He stares at you. Then — a bitter, hollow laugh escapes him. “So that’s it?” His voice cracks. “You fell in love with him, didn’t you? And all this was for nothing?” 

You close your eyes. The silence answers for you. He paces away, running a hand through his hair, then back again. “God”, he mutters. “I thought this was the perfect plan. I thought — if I couldn’t have you publicly, I could at least have you close. Through him. Knowing he wouldn’t want you, wouldn’t touch you. Knowing that you loved me...” He looks at you now, eyes sharp with grief. “But I was wrong about both.” 

You wrap your arms around yourself. “This was a terrible idea from the start, and you know it”, you whisper. “I should’ve never agreed. I should’ve never let it get this far. I wish I’d never—” 

“Don’t”, he snaps, suddenly raw. “Don’t say you wish you never met me. Don’t.” 

Your breath hitches, but you don’t take it back. His voice lowers, thick with disbelief. “You don’t really mean it... right?”

Your silence cuts deeper than any answer.

He lets out a sharp breath, like it hurts, and moves to step toward you again, in utter denial of what’s unfolding before his eyes. 

“No”, you say, firmer this time. “Please. Just let this be the end.” 

You reach for the door. He follows. For the first time, you leave the hotel room together — not like all the other times, not hidden, not careful. You’re walking away, and he’s chasing you, hand reaching desperately for yours. 

“Wait—!” 

Akihito’s hand closes around your wrist just as you step onto the sidewalk, his grip tight, desperate — like holding on could somehow undo everything unraveling between you.

And then you hear it — a familiar voice calls your name. 

“...is that you?” 

You freeze. Shoko stands a few feet away, dressed in her uniform. Her gaze flicks from your face to where Akihito’s hand still clings to yours, and her expression changes in an instant. 

And just like that — in the space of a single day — everything you’ve tried to keep buried begins to rise. Crashing, all at once, to the surface. 

-- 

The sun is long gone by the time Satoru returns, the estate cloaked in stillness. He steps inside, calling your name softly. When you appear at the end of the hall, barefoot in the dim light, something in him settles — and then, just as quickly, something else begins to stir. You look like yourself, and yet... not. Your smile is soft but distant, your eyes shimmering in a way he can’t place. “I’m home”, he says, shrugging off his jacket. “Missed me?” 

You nod, walking up to him. You press a hand to his chest. “Little bit.” He smiles and leans down to kiss you, and when your lips meet, he feels it — the way you cling just a little tighter, hold just a little longer. It’s like you’re trying to memorize the way he tastes.  

Later, in your shared room, the lights are low and the silence is velvet. You’re already in bed when he returns from the shower, his white hair damp and tousled, towel slung loosely around his neck. He slips in beside you, cold fingers brushing your arm. You shiver, not from the chill — from the weight of what’s to come.

“You said you needed some time for yourself this morning, but you’re still like this”, he murmurs, pulling you close. “I don’t like it.”

You nestle against his chest, pressing your cheek to his skin. “I’m okay now.” 

There’s something in your voice that makes him pause. But he doesn’t push. Instead, he wraps his arms around you tighter, grounding himself in the curve of your spine, the warmth of your breath against him. 

“You smell like cotton candy”, you whisper.

He chuckles, nose brushing the crown of your head. “It’s that new shampoo. Smells fancy, huh?”

You don’t answer. You just reach for his hand and intertwine your fingers with his like it’s the last time... “Will you stay with me?” you ask softly.

“I’m not going anywhere.” he breathes.

“Good”, you murmur, voice barely above a breath. “Then, come closer.”

Satoru tilts his head down to look at you, a flicker of unease moving behind his gaze. “Of course”, he says. “Where else would I go?” 

You pull him down to kiss you again. Deep. Slow. There’s no teasing. No games. Just something desperate threaded through every movement. Like a goodbye wrapped in silk. When you make love, there’s no rush. No fire. Just the quiet rhythm of two people trying to suspend time — to stretch a moment into forever. You whisper his name like a prayer. He kisses your temple like he’s stealing a promise he doesn’t know he’s about to break. 

Afterward, you lie tangled together, your head on his chest, his fingers absentmindedly drawing circles on your bare shoulder. Your breathing evens. Sleep comes to you quickly — a peace you haven’t known in a while.  

But Satoru doesn’t sleep. He watches you in the darkness, his blue eyes searching your face, as if trying to decode something written there. Something unsaid. You’ve never look so peaceful. And, honestly, that’s what scares him. His chest tightens. Something in his gut whispers that he’s missing something. That he’s not seeing the full picture. That maybe... you’re slipping through his fingers.

“Why do I feel like I’m losing you?” he murmurs, barely audible, brushing a thumb along your cheek. You stir, but don’t wake. He leans down and kisses your forehead — gentle, reverent. “I love you”, he whispers into your hair. And for a moment, he lets himself believe it’s enough to keep you. 

-- 

A week passes. The Gojo estate buzzes with preparations for the annual celebration — Saori and Akihito’s wedding anniversary. As always, Saori is at the heart of it all, composed and efficient, orchestrating every detail with practiced grace. Akihito, on the other hand, remains distant. Detached. You barely see him around the mansion. Not a word has passed between you since that day at the hotel. It feels like he’s quietly disappearing — withdrawing, piece by piece — and yet, an uneasy weight sits in your chest. Something feels off. Unfinished. 

One afternoon, as you help Saori sort through invitations, she brings it up — casually. “Have you made up your mind?” she asks, her eyes never lifting from the stack of envelopes. You pause, fingers brushing the edge of an envelope, and answer softly — almost absently. “Who knows.” 

-- 

Morning light filters through the sheer curtains. You’re already awake, lying still in Satoru’s arms. His breath is warm against the nape of your neck, one arm draped lazily around your waist, holding you in place like an anchor. Carefully, you ease out from under his arm. He shifts but doesn’t wake. Bare feet touch the cold floor as you rise and stand in the light, allowing yourself one last look. He’s lying on his back now, hair a tousled against the pillow. Peaceful. Vulnerable in a way only sleep allows. Your chest aches. 

In the bathroom, you splash cold water on your face and lift your gaze to the mirror. Your eyes are red. Hollow. The skin beneath them bruised with fatigue. But beneath the weariness, there’s something else — resolve. When you return to the room, Satoru is stirring. He squints at you with a sleepy grin. “Come back”, he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. “I sleep better when you’re here.”  

You smile softly. “Can't. You know today’s the big day.” 

He stretches like a cat, arms reaching above his head, the sheet slipping down to his hips. “Ugh. Right. Completely forgot about that”, he groans and then rolls onto his side. You manage a quiet laugh. As he nestles back into the pillow, you linger in the doorway. “I love you.” you whisper — quietly, so quietly he won’t hear. Then you close the door behind you. And with that, the countdown begins. 

--  

The Gojo estate is nothing short of magnificent tonight. The garden glows beneath a canopy of paper lanterns, warm amber light spilling across the sea of guests. Tables are dressed in fresh flowers. Soft music hums in the background, blending into murmured conversations and the gentle clinking of glasses. Tonight is a celebration of image — Akihito and Saori’s wedding anniversary. Saori is elegance incarnate, her smile as polished as the pearls at her neck. Akihito stands beside her, composed, offering polite nods and minimal words. Together, they are the picture of grace. But the image is just that — a facade. There’s nothing worth celebrating. Nothing real about the harmony they pretend to share. 

Across the garden, Satoru floats through the evening like a disruption in the symmetry. Dressed in a loose gray suit, tie nowhere in sight, he laughs too loud, drowns juice from a champagne glass, and teases the elders with casual disrespect. No one bats an eye — it’s just Satoru being Satoru. But those who know him — really know him — can see it. He’s restless. His eyes keep scanning the crowd. At first subtly. Then, with growing urgency. You’re not out here. You slipped away earlier, saying something about fixing your dress. But that was over thirty minutes ago. Long enough for the knot in his stomach to tighten. Long enough for his laugh to start sounding forced. 

He leans toward Shoko, who’s sipping wine with a bored expression. “Have you seen her?” 

“Nope”, Shoko replies, unbothered. “Didn’t she say she was heading to the bathroom?” 

“Yeah”, Satoru’s fingers drum against the table. “But how long does fixing a dress take?” 

Across the garden, Akihito and Saori stand side by side as guests gather for the toast. She leans in, whispers something. He nods — but his gaze flickers, briefly, toward the house. 

An elder raises a glass. “To love. To strength. To bonds that stand the test of time.” 

Glasses rise.

Clink.

Applause follows. The illusion holds.

Until— 

BOOM. 

A thunderous crack splits the air. The ground shakes. Heat pulses across the garden like a wave. Screams erupt. From the left wing of the estate, fire bursts through the windows — a wall of flame swallowing the air. Smoke billows thick and choking. Music cuts out. Plates crash. Glass shatters. 

Satoru’s glass falls from his hand and explodes against the ground. Something sharp drives into his chest. He knows — you’re still inside. But before the thought is fully formed, he’s already running.

“WHERE IS SHE?!” His voice cuts through the chaos as he barrels through the guests. 

Akihito starts to follow, face pale, but Saori grabs his arm. Her gaze then snaps to her son. “Satoru, STOP!” she cries — but he doesn’t hear.

To Satoru, the world is silent now. There is only the roar of the fire and the pounding of his heart. He bursts through the estate doors, sprinting toward the source of the flames. He forgets his technique. Forgets his own safety. Forgets everything — except you.

“Please, baby— please, my love— I’m coming, please— Don’t do this to me, please—”, he keeps chanting.

The deeper he goes, the more warped the hall becomes — blackened, unrecognizable. He reaches the kitchen — but it’s empty. Panic claws up his throat. He turns, runs to the nearby bathroom. Kicks the door open. Heat smacks him like a wall. Smoke clogs his lungs. He pulls his sleeve over his mouth and steps inside.  

Then he sees it — someone collapsed near the sink, limbs sprawled. Still. His heart stops. He nearly slips as he rushes forward, dropping to his knees beside the figure. Burnt and unrecognizable. But the dress — what’s left of it — is familiar. The color. The delicate trim. There’s a necklace around the neck, half-melted, but unmistakably yours. “No”, he whispers. “No, no, no—” 

His hand hovers over your body. His throat tightens. Everything around him is heat, noise, pressure, but in his ears, there’s only silence. Like the world just folded in on itself. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until the tears hit his lips — salt and ash. “I was just with you...” he whispers, almost childlike, broken. “You were laughing with me a moment ago...” He leans in, presses his forehead to your shoulder, and breathes raggedly. Body shaking.  

Behind him, voices start to echo. Footsteps. Shouting. Geto is coming to pull him out. But Satoru doesn’t hear any of it. He doesn’t move. He can’t. For the first time in his life, it feels like he’s lost. 

-- 

The fire was quickly contained. The Gojo mansion still stands, its structure untouched. Only the left wing of the first floor bears the marks of the fire. The investigation concluded that the fire was caused by an overheating motor in the bathroom’s ventilation system, a tragic accident. Only one life was lost: yours. 

Your funeral was two days ago. A private ceremony. Satoru didn’t speak during it. He barely moved. Just stood there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his eyes hidden behind the blindfold. Quiet. In a way he’s never been. 

Now, days later, the world still spins — people still laugh, they breathe, they live. But he’s still here. In the room that was once your shared bedroom. Alone. He sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the chaos of your things scattered around the room. Your belongings — still as you left them — seem to scream your absence. He can’t bring himself to touch them. Not yet. Not ever. The book you were reading, the bottle of perfume on the nightstand, your lotion, your earrings, the brush on the vanity, and your nightgown — neatly folded on your side of the bed. It all kills him. The maids are prohibited from entering the room. He’s made sure of it. The silence of the space, with all its untouched remnants of you, is his alone to bear. 

He buries his face in your pillow, hoping to catch even the faintest trace of your scent. But it’s long gone. A strangled breath leaves him. Then another. And then... he breaks. His hands shake as he scrolls through his phone, endlessly flipping through old texts. Rereading them. The messages that still feel so alive — your voice echoing in his mind. One voicemail stands out. The one you left days before the accident. He presses play. 

“Satoru, stop leaving the toilet seat up! I’m too sleepy in the mornings to notice, but my butt definitely doesn't appreciate an unexpected ice bath.” 

He laughs. Just once. And then, he breaks again. Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer in the world, curls into himself, his body crumpling into fetal position. He cries. Not quietly. No. He cries like he’s been holding it in his entire life, like the ground beneath him finally gave way and left him with nothing to stand on. No air. No reason. 

They say he’s doing fine. Around others, he smiles. He jokes. He walks with that same easy confidence, says the right things, acts like nothing’s changed. But Geto and Shoko know better. They see it in the way he visits your grave every day. The way his shoulders stiffen when someone dares mention your name. The way his hands tremble when they’re not stuffed in his pockets. He’s unraveling. Slowly. Quietly. And still, no one knows the truth. Not yet. Not even him. 

Only Shoko does. 

-- 

You follow Shoko into the morgue at Jujutsu Tech, each step slow and soundless. She doesn’t speak. Just moves steadily toward a counter, where she sets a folder down. Her back remains to you. The silence stretches long and taut. Then— 

“I wasn’t sure what to make of what I saw earlier”, she finally says. “But the fact that you followed me here... it confirms my suspicions.” 

You try to speak, but no words come out. Only a shaky breath escapes, heavy with guilt, regret, and everything you’ve been holding in for far too long. Shoko turns to face you. Her expression is unreadable, but her eyes are sharp.

“You look like you want to say something”, she says. “So say it.” 

The words stumble out at first, fractured and raw. But then they come faster, pouring from you. You tell her everything — the affair, the reason behind the arranged marriage, the lies... everything. And the worst of it — that somehow, in the wreckage of it all, you fell in love with Satoru. You nearly choke saying it aloud, the weight of the truth crushing in your chest.

Shoko listens in silence. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t interrupt. When you finally stop, she speaks with her usual stillness. “Why are you telling me this?” Then, sharper, “Why not tell Gojo?” 

“No”, you say quickly. “I can’t... I won’t do this to him.”

She tilts her head, gaze narrowing. “You already did”, she replies flatly. “Whether you tell him or not doesn’t change that.” 

Your throat tightens. “I know... and I need you to help me.” 

“Help you?” she repeats. “Why would I?” 

“Because I don’t want him to hurt, not like this.” 

There’s a long pause. Shoko just watches you — assessing, weighing. Then she steps closer, her voice low. “But he will hurt. In a way I’m not sure he’ll ever come back from.”

You meet her gaze, desperation burning in yours. “Please.”

She says nothing, but something seems to be shifting in her. 

“There’s something that will hurt him less than the truth”, you say. “I need you to find a body. Someone who resembles me. Imbue it with my residuals — only you can do that. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Her arms cross slowly. “You want me to find a corpse?” she asks. “You want me to help you fake your death? Is that it?” 

You nod, eyes dropping. “He’ll be better off thinking I’m dead than knowing what I’ve done.” 

“You’re underestimating him”, Shoko says, shaking her head. “You don’t know what you mean to him. This isn’t mercy — it’ll destroy him.”

Her words cut like glass, but you close your eyes. “Please”, you whisper. 

“When?”, Shoko asks, and you blink. “When do you need the body?” she repeats, rubbing the bridge of her nose. 

-- 

(One month later) 

You moved away. Far away. To a small village tucked in the mountains, hidden in a forgotten corner of the country. It’s quiet here — the kind of quiet that doesn’t demand anything from you. No one knows your name here. Not your real one, anyway. You rent a modest cottage, barely furnished, but clean. You wake with the sun, tend to your tiny garden, then walk to the local pub where you started working just enough to get by. It’s simple. Monotonous. A life carved from necessity, not desire. And yet, every night before bed, you check your phone. One conversation always sits at the top of your inbox: Shoko. 

Your last message was three days ago. 

You: How is he? 

Her reply came the next morning. 

Shoko: Still breathing. Don’t ask for more. 

You didn’t. You never do. 

-- 

(Back at Jujutsu Tech) 

Satoru has just returned from a mission, and it’s clear he’s not himself. He’s sharp, but off. The usual cocky confidence has slipped into irritation, and he drifts through the halls with his mind elsewhere. Distracted. A clipboard hangs loosely in his hand, and he’s on the hunt for Shoko — she’s supposed to fill out a report. 

These days, he only drops the act around her. Or Geto. Or, of course, when alone. When he’s not pretending, he’s quiet. Drained. Nothing like the Gojo Satoru everyone knows. 

As he nears the morgue, he slows. A muffled voice cuts through the silence behind the door. It’s Shoko, on the phone. He’s about to knock when he hears it. 

Your name. 

Satoru freezes. Is he finally losing his mind? But then, there’s more— 

“...you need to stop asking.” 

A pause. Then, softer— 

“He... He doesn’t talk about you still. He’s not okay. But you knew he wouldn’t be.” 

The world stills. He doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t blink. It’s like his mind is short-circuiting. Did he hear that right? His grip tightens on the clipboard until it creaks beneath his fingers. But then, it comes again. 

Your name. 

He stands there, stunned for a moment, before his body moves of its own accord. The door opens with a slow creak.

Shoko looks up, and she sighs. “...I have work to do”, she says quietly, and ends the call.

Satoru steps inside and shuts the door behind him. He throws the clipboard aside. He is not smiling, and he’s no longer wearing his blindfold. And for the first time in a month, his eyes are fully visible — different, bottomless, rimmed in red — and they are fixed on her. “Care to explain?”, he says, voice low, flat. 

Shoko doesn’t play dumb. She doesn’t lie. She leans back against the wall, her posture shifting to something almost resigned. She exhales, a soft sound, like she’s been waiting for this moment. She knew it would come. And for the first time in weeks, Satoru’s eyes — his grief-clouded eyes — are lit by something else. Hope. 

“She’s alive.”, Shoko says. The words hang in the air between them, and Satoru’s world shifts. He doesn’t react at first. Just stands there, trying to process her words. 

Finally, his voice cracks — barely audible, barely more than a whisper, like something fragile. “You let me bury her.” 

Shoko’s gaze softens for a moment, but then she sighs, a sound that’s more exhausted than regretful. “She said it’d hurt you less.” 

“Less?” He laughs once, a shar, disbelieving sound. “Less than what?” 

“The truth.” The words come from Shoko with unflinching clarity. “She had an affair with your father.”

Shoko waits. For a reaction. For anger. For questions. For anything.  

But Satoru doesn’t blink. He only asks one question. “Where is she?” 

-- 

The Gojo estate still stands. The first floor — once scorched by fire — has long since been renovated. But beneath the surface, the scars of the past remain. For those who know, it’s impossible to forget what was lost. Akihito sits in the living room, staring down at the floor, his expression hollow. The once commanding patriarch is now a broken shell. His hands tremble as he takes a sip of his drink, his gaze unfocused, consumed by grief. He hasn’t spoken much in weeks. Every time he tries, his voice cracks. The loss of you has shattered him. Sometimes he tells himself it was better this way — better to lose you to death than to watch you belong to someone else. Even if that someone else was his son. For a moment, that thought would make it easier to breathe. But then again, what did it matter? You were gone. And something in him knew — the fire wasn’t an accident. He suspected Saori. Maybe she found out. Maybe she did this to you. Should he kill her? But that wouldn’t bring you back. And besides... the clan. He still had a duty to do. 

Saori sits nearby, her gaze fixed out the window, her lips curling into a faint, satisfied smile. Her eyes flicker to Akihito for a brief moment, but there’s no sympathy in them — only contentment. After everything, she believes fate has finally righted itself. She watches him fall apart with quiet detachment, a sense of calm in her stillness. At least now, he is more hers than he is yours. “Perhaps it was fate”, she murmurs softly, her words for no one but the walls. Akihito’s eyes remain distant, his thoughts far removed from her voice. He’s too lost to hear anything she says — too far gone to care. 

Then, the door opens. Satoru enters, no grand gesture, no announcement. His presence fills the room immediately, thick and heavy, like an impending storm. Akihito doesn’t look up. He doesn’t need to. He knows why his son is here — he can feel it in the air before he even steps further in. Saori glances at Satoru, her eyes narrowing slightly, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. She rises without a word, understanding that this conversation isn’t for her. She leaves quietly, walking past her son with only a brief, knowing look.

The door clicks shut behind her. 

Akihito slumps lower in his seat, but he doesn’t look at his son. He doesn’t need to. The way Satoru stands there, rigid, fists clenched, eyes dark and filled with fury. Akihito feels the weight of it, heavy in the room, before he even lifts his head to look at him.

“You know”, Akihito says quietly, his voice hoarse, a statement rather than a question. Satoru stands still, his jaw clenched tight, eyes burning. He doesn’t answer. The air between them crackles with the unsaid. Akihito presses on, his voice low, laced with a tremor. “How did you find out?” 

Still, Satoru remains silent. His fists tremble at his sides, his breathing shallow, ragged. The words catch in his throat, a clash of fury and hurt. When he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse and strained, as though forcing each word past the tightness in his chest.

“You broke her.” he spits, finally. “You broke the one thing most precious to me.” 

Akihito flinches, the weight of the accusation landing heavily on him. His gaze hardens, but he can’t meet Satoru’s eyes. There’s nothing to say. His son is right — he did break her. And by doing so, he broke his son as well. 

Satoru steps forward suddenly, his movements swift and calculated. The space between them closes in an instant, and Satoru’s eyes, wide with intensity, burn through the silence as he towers over his own father. There’s something primal in the air now — a rawness, an energy that could consume the entire room, the entire estate, if left unchecked. Akihito doesn’t react, he just sits there, knowing what’s coming. He accepts it. The man he once was, gone. And this son — this powerful, broken son — is the reckoning he’s been waiting for. 

“Do you have anything to say?” Satoru’s voice is barely containing the storm inside him. His hands shake, still clenched tightly into fists, but there’s a note of something darker in his gaze — an edge that suggests the breaking point is near. Akihito looks at him, pained, defeated, but remains silent. The words don’t come. 

The sound that follows — sharp and violent — could be a fist crashing into flesh or a bone snapping under pressure. It’s unclear, too quick to pinpoint. The air itself seems to shatter with it.

Satoru turns without another word, leaving the mansion. His hands are covered in blood.

Behind him, a scream shatters the silence. Saori’s scream, high and frantic, echoes through the halls. Saori doesn’t know it yet, but her time is coming too. Soon enough. 

-- 

Satoru knew. He had known for a while. It wasn’t a dramatic discovery. It was quiet and accidental, in fact. It happened early into your marriage, when you were still distant with him — polite but clipped. Somehow always guarded. He thought it was the nerves at first. Shyness. The weight of tradition. But then a month passed, and you still wouldn’t meet his eyes unless it was absolutely necessary. Still flinched when he reached for you. He could handle awkward beginnings, of course — especially for you. He wasn’t expecting a fairytale, you didn’t even remember him. But what he couldn’t handle was not knowing you, the way that you never let him in. 

So he did what a curious man with too little patience like himself might do. He followed you. Not out of suspicion of course. He thought if he observed you from a distance, he might’ve learned things you weren’t ready to tell or show him. Your habits. Anything. And then, one afternoon, he watched you enter a hotel. Alone. Odd. 

Ten minutes later, his father arrived. Very odd. 

Satoru waited. Two hours later, you walked out. Head down, hair slightly mussed. You didn’t see him. Shortly after, Akihito exited the building, adjusting his coat, wearing an expression Satoru had rarely seen on him — satisfied, secretive. And that was it. He didn’t even use his Six Eyes at first. Part of him didn’t want confirmation. Part of him hoped it was just a coincidence. But shortly after, he let his technique drift over your form. And there it was. Residuals. His father’s cursed energy. All over you. 

...and everything began to click. Your stiffness. The arranged marriage. His father’s sudden interest in choosing his bride. How Akihito had spoken of you before the engagement with just a touch too much fondness.  It wasn’t an arranged marriage; it was a cover. You weren’t his. You were his father’s. 

Satoru never confronted you, never let on that he knew. He just watched. Watched the way you disappeared for hours and returned with a soft look in your eyes that was never for him. Watched the way Akihito seemed lighter after seeing you. Watched the lie of a marriage unfold, thread by thread, every day. He never blamed you, though. He thought, maybe this was fate’s twisted way of bringing you back together. Yes, he could’ve easily destroyed it, could’ve exposed the affair and made the clan turn against Akihito. But that would’ve meant the clan turning against you as well. And Satoru never wanted to ruin you, he wanted to keep you.  

So he waited. Watched. Loved you in silence. And when he caught glimpses — that maybe you were beginning to see him, not just the son of the man you loved, that you were starting to change — that was all it took. He clung to that.

Because the thing about Gojo Satoru is that, when he wants something — really, truly wants it — he doesn’t stop. Not rules. Not family. Nothing can stop him.

You had been stolen from him once — the night on the curb, when fate gave you to him and then ripped you away before he could even ask your name. Then it happened again. His father got to you first.

Now, he wasn’t going to let you be taken away from him for the third time. No matter what. Even if it meant choosing heart over blood.

If you had faked your death and disappeared because you believed you couldn’t exist in a world with both of them, then all he had to do was remove the one standing in the way. To keep you. 

-- 

You’re wiping down the tables at the pub, preparing for the new day. Half-focused. Letting the repetitive motion ground you, steady your nerves. Trying not to think about the ghost of him that’s never really left you.  

The door creaks open behind you.

“We’re not open yet”, you immediately call out. Politely, without turning around. “Please come back in an hour.” 

Silence. Neither a response, nor footsteps indicating that the person is leaving. You glance over your shoulder, ready to repeat yourself, but the words catch in your throat. 

Satoru is standing there, leaning against the doorframe. “Won’t you make an exception for me?” he says softly. It’s meant to sound like him — teasing, light — but his voice gives him away. It’s quiet, fragile. Like it might crack if he tries any harder to keep it steady. 

The rag slips from your hands. You freeze. Then slowly, you turn. But you don’t meet his eyes. You don’t dare. “Why would you come here?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. It’s not a question of how he found you. The answer was simple. Shoko. 

He steps forward, slowly. “For you.” 

“For me”, you echo under your breath, more to yourself than to him, a bitter laugh escaping you. “For me, huh?” you repeat.

“For you.” — he says again, with no hesitation. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to shrink, as if you could fold into nothing. As if it might protect you from the weight of what he’s carrying in his voice. “Did you ever consider that maybe I didn’t want to be found?” 

“I did”, he says. “I considered a lot of things, actually.” He pauses before he takes another step, and then adds, “But the fact you did something so reckless... made me consider that you cared more than I imagined.”

You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You don’t understand—” 

“I do.” He cuts in gently. “You thought if you stayed, you’d destroy us both.” 

You finally look up, meeting his eyes for the first time, and something inside you threatens to cave, the devastation in him nearly buckling your knees. “I did something unforgivable.” 

He exhales, like what he’s about to say is so obvious it needn’t be said out loud. But he does it anyway — “I was ready to do anything for you.” 

“Even if what I did was truly terrible?” 

“Even then.” 

He takes another step, and then another, until the distance between is gone. Until he’s close enough to touch. You want to move. To put space between you, but your feet don’t listen. And his presence — it roots you in place like gravity.

“You could’ve told me everything”, he murmurs. “You should’ve told me.” A pause. “I already knew.” 

“What?”, your breath stutters. 

His eyes darken, and a faint, bitter smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “I’ve known for a while.” 

“But... Shoko... didn’t Shoko—” 

“It wasn’t her.” He shakes his head. “I found out myself.” He falls silent for a moment, like the memory stings to recall. 

“And you never said anything?” 

“I had my reasons”, he says softly. “Just like you had yours.” He lifts his hand — the lightest touch — and tilts your chin up. The gentleness nearly undoes you. You try to speak, but the words tangle with the sob building in your chest. It slips out instead — small, broken. His fingers brush beneath your eye, catching the tear before it falls. Even as his own hand trembles. “One word from you would’ve changed everything”, he whispers. “I would’ve burned everything down to keep you safe. Happy.” 

You slowly break under the weight of his words, forehead falling to his chest. You feel the tension in him — not anger, not judgment. Just ache. His arms wrap around you. 

“You were always my girl”, he breathes into your hair. “Even when you didn’t know it. Even when you were his. From the moment you fell asleep on my lap outside that club, you were mine.” 

You tilt your head up, lips trembling. “I’m... I’m really s—” 

“Shh.” 

He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, the warmth of him seeping into your skin. “I know.”

And then, his lips charge closer — you meet him halfway into a soft, slow kiss. One that is both an ache and a release all at once.

It hurts to want him this much. It hurts to know what you did. It hurts to know that he still looks at you with so much love, even when he knows it all. It hurts, that despite everything, it’s still you.  

-- 

You never thought you’d find peace again. Not truly. But now, the mornings are calm. The nights are quiet. The days pass without dread — light, easy, almost gentle. You and Satoru settled into this small life together, tucked away from the rest of the world. 

He left it all behind — the clan, the title, the crushing weight of being the strongest. Here, he isn’t Gojo Satoru, head of the Gojo Clan or the face of sorcerer society. Here, he’s just Satoru. Your Satoru. The one who wakes up beside you each morning, arm draped around your waist, murmuring sleepy nonsense into your ear. The one who insists on cooking breakfast and makes an unspeakable mess in the kitchen. The one who still leaves the toilet seat up just to hear you scold him — and grins when you do. 

Your belly is growing now — small, round, and full of promise. Sometimes he speaks to it like he already knows who your child will be. Sometimes he rests his head there and falls asleep. Other times, he lies awake with his hand on your baby bump, eyes full of wonder and fear, whispering that he hopes he’ll be good enough — for both of you. 

There are things left unspoken between you. You’ve never asked what happened after he left the clan — or more accurately, what happened before he left. You suspect the truth, of course. There’s no way not to. But you don’t press. And he doesn’t offer. 

Still, you think of Akihito sometimes. It’s impossible not to — he was a turning point, a fire you walked through to become who you are now. And sometimes, in the right light, Satoru looks so much like him. The same build, the same jawline, the same eyes.

But you know better. He’s nothing like him. Akihito, for all his love, always chose the clan in the end. His desires may have been selfish, but they were always entwined with duty. He loved you, yes. But he never chose you. Not truly. 

But Satoru did. He always chose you — even when it broke him. Even when it meant walking away from everything he was. Even when it meant taking a life — his own blood — to protect yours.

When he said, “I was ready to do anything for you”,

...he really meant it. 

[sixeyesonathiel]

Hi!! I didn’t even realize ur requests were open until I checked your pinned omg. Can u write something dark with loser reader and bully fratboy Gojo pls?? They used to be rly close like lowkey childhood besties and everyone thought they were gonna end up together, BUT he got mixed in with the wrong crowd (aka the frat) and now he’s just so MEAN. He bullies her for no reason now but like... in that messed up way where he’s still obsessed w her?? Like he knows her too well, knows what makes her tick and he uses that against her just to watch her squirm. I want toxic codependent vibes, power imbalance, him being POSSESSIVE as hell and her still clinging to what they used to be. And maybe he’s extra cruel bc he HATES that she still gets to him. Also, this is embarrassing but please write the reader as flat chested. Thank uuu

a/n: ahhh this was actually the second request i ever got on here and it made me spiral (in the best way). i literally paused all my wips to double down on this one because the brainrot was insane. i hope you enjoy what i cooked up hihi <3

cw: dark content, somnophilia, cockwarming, dacryphilia, edging, overstimulation, oral sex, fingering, spanking, nipple play, hair-pulling, public sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, filming, degradation, humiliation, sadism, drug use, alcohol consumption, jealousy, possessiveness, gaslighting, victim blaming, slut shaming, coercion, stalking, obsessive behavior, 18+ only, MDNI.

fratboy satoru who was once your north star, the kid who’d slip you extra cookies during late-night study sessions, his goofy grin lighting up your world. you’d giggle at his dumb jokes under a blanket fort, his hand brushing yours, promising forever with the kind of sincerity only a kid could muster. but that satoru’s dead, buried under the weight of his family’s collapse, his own arrogance, and the frat’s toxic grip. now, he’s a king in a jungle of red solo cups and bass-heavy trap music, his blue eyes cutting through the haze of a packed house party.

fratboy satoru who’s buzzing from the xans suguru slipped him, his veins electric after a football game win, dragging you to the frat house basement where the air’s thick with weed and desperation. the couch is stained, sagging under your weight as he shoves your skirt up, pinning you down with a hand on your chest. “don’t fucking scream,” he hisses, eyes glinting with sadistic glee as his fingers plunge into you, slick and merciless, curling deep while his other hand smothers your whimpers. “bet you’re soaking ‘cause you love this shit.” your body betrays you, clenching around him as tears stream down your face, and he’s eating it up, his grin wicked as you shatter, sobbing into his palm. “look at this pretty cunt, dripping for me like it knows who owns it,” he growls, his voice low and filthy, fingers pumping harder just to hear you choke on your own moans. he doesn’t stop there—keeps going until you’re shaking, cumming again, your thighs slick and trembling. “fuck, you’re a mess, my favorite fucking mess,” he laughs, licking his fingers clean, eyes never leaving your tear-streaked face. he doesn’t soften, just pulls you onto his lap, muttering, “stay still, or i’ll fuck you right here.”

fratboy satoru who thrives on your fragility, your too-soft heart that cracks under his cruelty. you’re in the library, glasses slipping, surrounded by textbooks, trying to claw your way through a chem assignment. he finds you, of course—slips into the chair behind you, yanking your ponytail back just hard enough to make you gasp. “thought you could hide from me?” he whispers, voice dripping with mockery, but he’s already pulling you into a cramped study room, locking the door. he bends you over the table, skirt flipped up, your notes scattering like confetti. “fuck, you’re so small, so breakable,” he pants, belt clinking as he frees himself, slamming into you so deep your nails dig into the wood. “cry for me, baby, you’re cutest when you’re a mess.” you do, snotty and pathetic, your glasses fogging as he fucks you senseless, his cock stretching you until you’re dizzy. “look at you, taking this dick like it’s your fucking job,” he snarls, slapping your ass, loving how you flinch. your tears only make him harder, and when you beg him to slow down, he just laughs, kissing your wet cheeks. “nah, you’re too fucking cute like this, all pathetic and ruined.”

fratboy satoru who’s got an unholy obsession with your tits, small as they are, worshiping them like they’re his personal altar. he’s got you sprawled across his dorm bed, the sheets reeking of weed and cheap cologne, straddling your waist as he sucks and bites, leaving your chest a map of purple bruises and red teeth marks. “fuck, these are perfect,” he groans, teeth grazing your nipple until you whimper, your hands fisting the sheets. he pins your wrists above your head, his knee between your thighs, grinding against you just to feel you squirm. “keep still, or i’ll tie you up and do this all fucking night,” he warns, eyes glinting with that mean streak, and you know he means it. his tongue’s relentless, swirling over sensitive skin, and when you arch into him, he growls, “goddamn, you’re begging for it, aren’t you? little tits driving me fucking insane.” he leaves you raw, marked, and when he’s done, he kisses you hard, all teeth and possession, muttering, “you’re my fucking angel, don’t forget it.” but there’s no softness, just his hand squeezing your bruised chest one last time.

fratboy satoru who can’t get enough of your pussy, addicted to the way you taste like it’s his last hit. “been thinking about this all night,” he says, spreading your thighs wide, his fingers digging into your ass as he buries his face between your legs. his tongue’s obscene, lapping at your clit like he’s trying to drown in you, sucking hard until your knees buckle. “taste so fucking sweet, could live down here,” he mumbles, voice muffled as he pushes two fingers inside, curling them just to make you scream. you grip the counter, biting your lip to stay quiet, but he doesn’t give a fuck—he wants the whole house to hear. “let it out, baby, let ‘em know who’s eating this pussy,” he taunts, licking you through your first orgasm, then another, until you’re a shaking, dripping mess. he stands, chin glistening, smirking. “that’s my girl.”

fratboy satoru who’s a monster when he’s jealous, his blood boiling when he spots you laughing with some nerd at a campus café. he doesn’t confront you there—just waits, simmering, until he’s got you alone in his car, parked in a shadowy alley. “think you can flirt with other guys?” he snarls, ripping your blouse open, buttons pinging off the dashboard. he reclines the seat, forcing your legs over his shoulders, fucking you so hard the car creaks. “this pussy’s mine, you fucking get that?” he spits, slapping your thigh, his cock relentless as you cry out, overwhelmed. “bet he can’t fuck you stupid like i do,” he growls, his pace brutal, overstimulating you until you’re sobbing, begging for him to ease up. but he doesn’t—he leans down, kissing your tears, smirking, “so fucking pretty when you’re pathetic.” when it’s over, he doesn’t soften, just tosses you his jacket, muttering, “cover up, you’re a fucking mess.”

fratboy satoru who films every depraved second, his phone propped on a nightstand as he’s got you bent over his desk, your skirt bunched at your waist. “smile for the camera, baby,” he taunts, spanking you hard enough to leave welts, the sound echoing in the room. the video’s grainy but vivid—your choked whimpers, the wet slap of skin, your thighs trembling as he fucks you raw. “gonna keep this forever,” he says, voice low and possessive, “jerk off to it when you’re not here.” he doesn’t share the vids, thank fuck—they’re his alone, a private shrine to your broken devotion. “look at this tight little cunt, swallowing me whole,” he groans, zooming in as you clench around him, your tears glistening in the low light. “fuck, you were made for this dick.” he cums with a grunt, watching the footage later, stroking himself to your snotty, ruined face, muttering, “you’re mine, always.”

fratboy satoru who’s unhinged when he’s high, snorting lines with sukuna in the frat house attic before stumbling to your dorm at 3 a.m. you’re asleep, curled up in a t-shirt, but he doesn’t care—he crawls into your bed, yanking your panties off, giggling like a fucking lunatic. “shh, just let me have you,” he slurs, burying his face in your pussy, his tongue sloppy but desperate, moaning like he’s getting off more than you. “fuck, i’d die for this pussy,” he mumbles, licking you until you stir, gasping as your body betrays you, cumming under his relentless mouth. he’s still high when he fucks you, slow and messy, his cock slipping in with a wet squelch. “you’re my fucking lifeline, i’d die without you,” he whispers, eyes bloodshot, but there’s no softness—just his hand gripping your throat, keeping you in place as he takes what he needs.

fratboy satoru who’s got a fetish for your panties, always checking what you’re wearing like it’s his birthright. he corners you in an empty lecture hall after class, flipping your skirt up without preamble. “let’s see what you’re wearing,” he says, fingers brushing the fabric, smirking when he sees the plain cotton. “boring,” he scoffs, pocketing them, leaving you bare. “walk back to your dorm like this,” he orders, his voice low and mean. “bet you’re wet thinking about it.” he’s right—your thighs are slick, your face burning with shame as you obey, and he kneels, licking a slow stripe up your inner thigh, teasing your clit just enough to make you whine. “so fucking needy,” he laughs, standing to kiss you, his lips tasting of you and spearmint gum. “you’re mine, don’t forget,” he adds, twirling your stolen panties around his finger like a prize.

fratboy satoru who lives for fingering you at a frat party, right in the middle of the chaos, perched on his lap like his personal trophy. the room’s a blur of flashing lights and pounding music, but he’s got two fingers buried in you under your skirt, pumping slow and deliberate while he laughs with suguru about some dumb bet. “keep quiet, or they’ll all know what a slut you are,” he whispers, biting your earlobe, his thumb circling your clit until you cum, shaking in his lap, tears welling up from the embarrassment. but he doesn’t stop—keeps going, chasing another orgasm, then another, because you’re just too fucking cute, all teary-eyed and red-faced, trying to hide your face in his neck. “fuck, look at you, falling apart for me in front of everyone,” he taunts, his voice dripping with filth. “bet you want ‘em all to see how this pussy creams for me.” you’re sobbing, mortified, but he just licks your tears, thrusting harder, making sure every drunk asshole in the room knows you’re his. when you cum again, he doesn’t even flinch—just smirks, licking his fingers clean, muttering, “good fucking girl.”

fratboy satoru who’s got you bouncing on his dick like a ragdoll, his phone pressed to his ear while he’s laughing with suguru about some frat drama. you’re in his dorm, straddling him on his gaming chair, your skirt fanned out, tits jiggling with every brutal thrust as he grips your hips, slamming you down harder just to feel you choke on a sob. “yeah, sugu, tell me more,” he says casually, but his eyes are locked on your tear-streaked face, your mouth open in a silent scream. “fuck, this pussy’s gripping me like it’s scared i’ll leave,” he growls low, just for you, his free hand smacking your ass to make you yelp. “keep it down, baby, don’t want suguru hearing how you’re creaming on my cock.” but he’s lying—he loves the idea of someone knowing, and when you cum, shaking and snotty, he mutes the call for a second to kiss your tears, smirking. “you’re too fucking cute when you’re falling apart.”

fratboy satoru who catches you washing dishes in the frat house kitchen, your apron tied tight, looking so domestic it makes his dick twitch. you’re humming softly, oblivious, and he can’t take it—you’re too much like wife material, and it’s fucking with his head. he yanks you against the sink, ripping your leggings down, and fucks you right there, the counter digging into your stomach. “look at you, playing house like you’re not my little cumslut,” he sneers, his cock splitting you open as water sloshes in the sink. “this pussy’s so wet, like it’s begging me to ruin your perfect little fantasy.” your hands grip the faucet, knuckles white, as he pounds into you, dishes clattering with every thrust. “gonna fuck you so good you’ll never dream of anyone else,” he says, biting your neck, leaving a bruise. when you cum, crying his name, he just laughs, leaving you there, panties soaked, to finish the dishes.

fratboy satoru who’s paranoid you’re dreaming of someone else, watching you sleep so peacefully in his bed, your face soft even after he’s fucked you raw. he’s high, overthinking, and can’t stand it—he needs to own every part of you, even your dreams. he slips your panties off, careful not to wake you, and slides his cock into you slow, groaning at how warm and tight you are. “fuck, even your sleeping cunt knows it’s mine,” he whispers, thrusting shallow, watching your brows furrow in your sleep. he’s gentle at first, but when you stir, moaning softly, he goes harder, waking you with a gasp as he fucks you deep. “no one else gets to haunt you like this,” he growls, cumming inside you as you whimper, half-conscious. he doesn’t soften, just kisses your forehead, muttering, “stay in my bed, always.”

fratboy satoru who’s got you cockwarming him while he’s gaming, his headset on as he barks orders at his Valorant team, crushing some rival frat. you’re perched on his lap, his dick buried deep, your thighs trembling as he keeps you still, one hand on your waist, the other clicking his mouse. “don’t you fucking move,” he hisses during a pause, his voice sharp, “or i’ll fuck you till you’re screaming and they all hear.” every time he gets a kill, he thrusts up hard, making you gasp, your pussy clenching around him. “this tight little cunt’s my good luck charm,” he taunts, slapping your thigh when you squirm. he edges you for hours, ignoring your whimpers, until the match ends and he finally fucks you proper, growling, “cum for me, show me you’re mine.” you do, sobbing, and he just smirks, leaving you to drip on his chair.

fratboy satoru who’s feeding you bites of his burger at a crowded frat party, perched on a table while he stands between your legs, his plate balanced in one hand. everyone’s too drunk to notice how he’s grinding his bulge against your clothed cunt, your skirt riding up as he presses harder with every bite he offers. “open wide, baby,” he says, shoving a fry in your mouth, his hips rocking subtly, making you squirm. “fuck, you’re so wet through these panties, like a needy little bitch,” he whispers, his voice low and filthy. “bet you’d let me fuck you right here, let ‘em all see how you take this dick.” you’re blushing, teary, trying to chew while he keeps the pressure on, your clit throbbing. he doesn’t let you cum, just keeps you on edge, smirking when you nearly cry from frustration. “eat up, you’re gonna need the energy.”

fratboy satoru who’s obsessed with edging you until you’re a babbling mess, especially after a nightmare where you tried to leave him. he’s got you in his dorm, tied to his headboard, your thighs spread as he teases your clit with slow, featherlight strokes. “you love this dick too much to leave, don’t you?” he taunts, stopping every time you’re close, your hips bucking desperately. “say it—say you’re fucking obsessed with me.” you’re crying, snotty, babbling, “i love you, satoru, please,” and he just laughs, cruel and delighted. “that’s right, my pathetic little angel, keep begging.” he finally lets you cum after hours, your body shaking, and he’s kissing your tears, but it’s not soft—just possessive. “don’t ever fucking dream of leaving me again.”

fratboy satoru who’s got a sick obsession with public bathrooms, dragging you into one at the science building during a lecture break, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. “be quick,” he snaps, locking the door, his belt already clinking as he shoves you against the sink, your skirt yanked up. he spreads your thighs wide, his cock slamming into you with a wet squelch, the mirror fogging from your ragged breaths. “love how you take this dick,” he growls, smacking your ass hard, the sound echoing off the tiles as your face crumples, tears spilling from overstimulation. “cry harder, baby, it’s so fucking cute—look at you, sobbing like a slut in a shithole like this.” your hands claw at the porcelain, your body shaking as he fucks you relentless, his pace brutal, loving how your tears streak your cheeks, snot dripping. he doesn’t stop after you cum once—keeps going, growling, “gimme another, let ‘em hear you outside.” you’re a wreck, begging for mercy, but he just laughs, cumming with a guttural groan, his seed dripping down your thighs. he kisses you soft after, wiping your cheeks, but it’s fleeting, his voice cold. “you’re okay, yeah? just us. now fix your face, you look fucked out.”

fratboy satoru who’s vicious when you try to slip away, catching you creeping out of his dorm after a screaming match over his latest stunt—spreading lies about you to keep guys away. you’re halfway down the dim hallway, heart pounding, when his hand clamps around your wrist, yanking you back. “where the fuck you going?” he snarls, his blue eyes wild with something raw, almost feral—fear masquerading as rage. he pins you against the peeling wall, ripping your jeans down, your legs forced around his waist as he fucks you right there, rough and angry, the drywall scraping your back. “you don’t get to leave me,” he spits, voice cracking, his cock stretching you so wide it burns. “this pussy’s fucking mine, you hear me?” you’re sobbing, your nails digging into his shoulders, and he’s relentless, slamming into you until you cum, crying into his neck. he’s kissing you like he’s pleading, desperate, his hands bruising as he holds you tight, whispering, “i’m sorry, fuck, don’t scare me like that.” but there’s no softness, just his grip tightening, a warning not to try again.

fratboy satoru who’s addicted to breaking you, loving how you shatter under him. he’s got you on all fours in his room, the frat house walls thin enough to let every sound carry, fucking you from behind with a sadistic edge. “nah, baby, take it,” he growls, yanking you back by your waist when you try to crawl away, your body trembling from the stretch of his cock, so thick it feels like it’s tearing you apart. “you can handle more, i know you can,” he says, slamming into you, the headboard banging loud as you sob, snot dripping onto the sheets. “fuck, you’re so cute like this,” he whispers, kissing your spine, his voice mocking as he keeps going, even when you’re shaking, cumming around him with a choked scream. he doesn’t stop, pushing you into another orgasm, his cum spilling inside you as he groans, low and filthy. after, he cleans you up, his lips soft on your swollen pussy, murmuring, “you did so good for me,” but his eyes are already glinting, planning the next way to ruin you.

fratboy satoru who flips out when he sees you chatting with a guy in chem class, his jealousy a live wire. he doesn’t confront you there—just stews, his jaw tight, until he’s got you alone in an empty campus parking lot at dusk. “think you can replace me?” he growls, shoving you over the hood of his car, the metal cold against your stomach as he rips your tights open, the fabric tearing loud in the quiet. he fucks you so hard your knees buckle, his cock driving deep, relentless, your hands scrabbling for purchase on the slick surface. “this cunt knows who it belongs to,” he spits, his hand fisting your hair, yanking your head back as he overstimulates you, pushing you past your limit until you’re crying, begging, your voice hoarse. “so fucking pretty when you’re pathetic,” he laughs, kissing your tears, his tongue licking the salt off your skin. he cums with a snarl, leaving you shaking, but he doesn’t let you collapse—carries you to the passenger seat, tossing his jacket over you, muttering, “you’re mine, always remember that.” his hand rests on your thigh as he drives, possessive, unyielding.

fratboy satoru who’s rarely tender, but when he is, it’s after he’s pushed you to the edge, leaving you bruised and trembling. after a night of fucking you senseless—your thighs marked with bites, your wrists sore from his grip—he pulls you into his bed, the sheets tangled and smelling of sweat. “you’re my only light,” he mumbles, voice low, kissing your hair, your shoulders, the purple welts on your thighs. his fingers trace the marks he left, like he’s trying to piece you back together, his touch almost reverent. “don’t hate me, okay?” he says, voice small, almost boyish, and you nod, too exhausted to argue, your body curling into his warmth. he holds you through the night, stroking your back, and for a fleeting moment, he’s that kid again—the one who’d sneak you candy and whisper promises under starry skies. but by morning, his eyes are cold again, his smirk sharp, reminding you the softness is a trap, a rare glitch in his cruelty.

[kxsagi]

“𝐢 𝐰𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞”

a/n: happy mother’s day to everyone and all their mothers! i thank all your mothers for giving birth to you and especially to all the mothers of blue lock, specifically mrs. isagi, my mother-in-law 🥰 

i also hope that everyone did something for their mother today (if you have one/are on good terms with your mother ofc). i took my mother out to a sushi lunch today and also bought her japanese snacks bc i’m the best daughter ever 😚

ft. itoshi rin, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, itoshi sae, mikage reo, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito, kaiser michael, ness alexis

itoshi rin

rin pretends he doesn’t care about holidays but has a secret “mother’s day plan” folder on his phone that he updates monthly. he wakes up early, feeds your son, and lets you sleep in like you’ve never slept before. 

your son is dressed in a tiny suit and brings you a rose (which rin bribed him to do with candy). he says, “mommy is the best” like a little robot and rin melts. 

he quietly makes your favorite meal, sets up a fancy table, and puts on background jazz like he’s hosting a five-star dinner. 

“this is excessive,” you tease. 

“you deserve more.” 

after dinner, you all cuddle up to watch a movie, and he lets your son crawl into his lap even though he complains about being squished. 

later, when you're alone, he says, “you gave me a family. i didn’t know i could be this happy.” 

(he also framed your son’s first scribble of “dad + mom + me” and put it in his locker.) 

isagi yoichi

he’s been planning this day like it’s the final match of the world cup. he's got sticky notes, alarms, and even consulted your pinterest boards. he lets your toddler daughter scribble “happy momy day” with three backwards letters on a giant pink card and swears it's the cutest thing he’s ever seen. 

he makes breakfast, which is burnt pancakes with way too much whipped cream, and wakes you up with a tray that wobbles because your daughter keeps grabbing at everything. you fake surprise and he beams like he just won gold. 

“yoichi, you used shaving cream instead of whipped cream.” 

“… i swear i tasted it and it was fine.” 

you spend the day with both of them clinging to you like koalas, and at night, he hands you a scrapbook filled with your baby’s milestones and little notes he wrote to you throughout her first year. 

“thank you for making our house a home. i love you more than football. okay, equal to football.” 

nagi seishiro

you wake up to your daughter giggling and nagi spooning you like a blanket burrito. 

“sei, it’s mother’s day.” 

“mhm. you’re the mom. just chill.” 

his idea of celebrating is you doing absolutely nothing. he takes care of everything, which includes ordering food, letting your daughter cover the living room in glitter, and binge-watching your favorite show with you while braiding your hair. 

he even makes a tower of pillows, declares it your “throne,” and lets your daughter feed you snacks like you’re a queen. 

later, you find a crumpled piece of paper with a drawing of the three of you and a note that says: “thanks for being her player two while i’m afk. love, sei.” 

he won’t say it out loud, but he thinks you’re the coolest woman alive. 

itoshi sae

he’s lowkey emotional about this day, but you wouldn’t know it unless you caught him kissing your daughter’s forehead when she’s asleep. he starts the morning by dressing her in a little red dress and taking her to get flowers. 

“you have to pick the prettiest ones for mama.” 

she picks weeds. he still wraps them in a bow. 

he lets you stay in bed while he makes an omelet that’s… fine. (okay, he ordered from your favorite café and plated it himself.) 

in the afternoon, you all go on a walk while he carries your daughter on his shoulders, pointing at clouds and trying not to smile too much. 

he gifts you a necklace with your daughter’s birthstone and says, “you’re everything she looks up to. and everything i look forward to.” 

then he blushes and acts like he didn’t just say the most romantic thing ever. 

mikage reo

reo turns mother’s day into a full-blown event. you wake up to streamers, a custom cake, and a whole itinerary. 

“9 AM: breakfast in bed. 10 AM: family photoshoot. 12 PM: picnic at the park. 3 PM: massage. 5 PM: spa bath. 7 PM: candlelit dinner.” 

“reo, i just wanted to nap.” 

your son is dressed like a tiny butler. he hands you gifts and says, “this is from me. but dad paid.” 

he spoils you rotten all day, taking photos of everything. your son gets cake all over his face and reo wipes it off with that lovestruck look. 

at night, he says, “you gave me the best gift: our family. i’ll spend the rest of my life giving back to you.” 

you roll your eyes. he kisses your hand dramatically. your son claps. the family is ridiculous and perfect. 

shidou ryusei

you wake up to chaos. your son is standing on the bed yelling, “HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!!!” and shidou is throwing heart-shaped confetti around like a lunatic. 

“you are the HOTTEST mom alive!” he says, tackling you with kisses. 

breakfast is cereal with five different toppings, and your son insists on feeding you while shidou records everything like a proud dad from a sitcom. 

he makes matching “MILF & DILF” shirts for you two and drags you to the zoo “because our baby needs to see animals that are as wild as him.” 

you end the day sticky, tired, and full of love. he pulls you close, son asleep between you. 

“you made me a dad. that’s the craziest, most awesome thing anyone’s ever done for me. i love you, mama.” 

then he winks. “wanna make another one?” 

you hit him with a pillow. he considers it foreplay. 

karasu tabito

karasu tries to act cool but is clearly nervous about doing everything right. he lets your daughter draw on his face to “practice makeup for mommy” and walks around with blush and wonky eyeliner all morning. 

he cooks breakfast (surprisingly well), plays spa day with you and your daughter, and even lets her paint his nails. 

“how do i look?” 

“like a man who loves his family,” you say. 

“damn right.” 

in the evening, he plays your favorite songs on a little speaker and dances with you in the living room while your daughter spins around in her pajamas. 

he gives you a letter he wrote: “i never thought i’d be a family man. but then i met you. and now, i can’t imagine a life without our little girl calling you mama.” 

(you definitely cry. he definitely takes a picture.) 

kaiser michael

kaiser wakes you up with a literal trumpet. no, not a metaphor. he hired a guy in a tuxedo to stand at the foot of your bed and blare a “royal mother’s day fanfare.” 

“mihya,” you groan, eyes still shut, “what the hell.” 

he throws rose petals on you like you’re queen cleopatra. “shhh. you’re the goddess of this kingdom.” 

your toddler son is wearing a tiny crown and holding a heart-shaped box of chocolates (which kaiser definitely sampled first). 

the day is full of surprises: a personal chef, a spa treatment at home, a matching set of rings with your son's birthdate engraved, and a slideshow of photos with him narrating dramatically over soft piano music. 

“this woman,” he says over a picture of you giving birth, “conquered the battlefield of motherhood with grace and a whole lot of screaming.” 

later that night, after your son is asleep and the theatrics fade, he wraps you in a hug and murmurs, “you gave me a reason to be better. and i swear, i'll never let our little prince, or his queen, go a day without knowing they're loved.” 

(you pretend not to cry. he kisses your tears anyway.) 

ness alexis

ness starts preparing days in advance. he makes handmade coupons, handcrafts a flower crown, and bakes cookies with your daughter that look… chaotic, but smell divine. 

you wake up to soft music and your daughter whispering, “mama, wake up ~” while ness tiptoes behind her holding breakfast. 

the tray has your favorite tea, little folded napkins, and a heart-shaped pancake with “mama” burned into it (on purpose?). 

he plans a quiet day: a nature walk, a drawing session, and a surprise mini tea party with your daughter and her stuffed animals. 

they all call you “queen mama.” ness is 100% in character. “would milady prefer the rose tea or the enchanted berry blend?” 

when the day winds down, he gives you a letter filled with pressed flowers and little doodles, and in his neatest handwriting, he wrote: “i’ve never felt more loved than watching you hold our daughter. you’re patient, radiant, and somehow even more beautiful than the day i met you. i want her to grow up knowing her mom is magic.” 

he reads it aloud, voice soft, while your daughter snoozes on your chest. (he also drew you as a fairy queen on the back, just because.) 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[lnracer]

Hey babe, I have a little request if you’re open to it !!

Could you maybe write something Kimi Antonelli x fem!reader where she’s still in high school and doesn’t come from money at all? Like she feels super out of place in his world — all the hotels, race weekends, the fancy people, and she kind of feels like she’s not “enough.”

But he’s just… soft. Gentle. The kind of guy who makes her feel safe, like she does belong, even when everything feels overwhelming.

I’d love something comforting, maybe with a tiny bit of angst because… identity crisis hits hard sometimes. I just feel like we don’t get enough of that dynamic. Golden boy driver and the girl who still takes the bus to school. No pressure at all! But if it ever inspires you… I will cry. In the best way.

Thank you so much if you do fill my request and of course I understand if you don’t. Have a lovely day!

Pairing: Kimi Antonelli x High Schooler! Female Reader.

Warnings: Mild angst with a happy ending, emotional arguments, self-doubt/insecurity, class difference/social disparity and hurt/comfort.

Word Count: 2.164k.

a/n: Ahh, thank you so much for the request! 🥹 It's really not the kind of dynamic I usually see around here, but I loved writing about it and I hope I was able to capture what you imagined (even the saddest and most complicated parts) I hope you like it! ☺️🩵

Her heels clicked softly against the pristine pavement of the Monte Carlo paddock, the sound nearly swallowed by the hum of engines and a buzz of conversation laced with designer perfume. She tugged at the hem of her floral sundress — a soft, pretty thing she’d found on sale weeks ago — and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, trying not to flinch under the eyes that passed over her.

They weren’t cruel. Not exactly. Just curious. Polished. Intrigued.

She knew how she looked next to them — tall women with sleek blowouts, tailored blazers thrown over slinky minidresses, legs that disappeared into Louboutins. Everything about them screamed expensive.

And then there was her. Pretty, sure. But simple. Sweet. A soft pink lip gloss in a sea of sharp red lips.

Kimi noticed. He always noticed.

“Hey,” he said as he reached her side, sunglasses pushing up into his curls. His hand found her waist like it was muscle memory, warm and easy. “You okay?”

She nodded quickly, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Just… not really used to all this.” Her voice was quiet, almost swallowed by the luxury around them. “It’s a lot.”

Kimi’s jaw tensed, just slightly. He saw the way her gaze dropped whenever another glamazon strutted by, saw the way she folded inward, like she was trying to shrink herself.

He leaned in, voice low so only she could hear. “You don’t have to be like them. I don’t want you to be like them.”

She looked up at him, surprised.

“I like your dress,” he added, brushing a finger down the strap of her sundress. “I like that you’re here, even when it’s not easy. I know this world is loud. But you make it feel quiet.”

She blinked, heart stuttering at the way he looked at her — like she was calm in the chaos.

And in that moment, even surrounded by gold watches and camera flashes, she started to believe that maybe… she was enough.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ──────

Until she didn't think so.

It was past 6 p.m. by the time they got back to the hotel suite — lavish, towering above the harbor, too many mirrors and far too much silence. Kimi was in the shower, washing away the sweat and stress of qualifying. She was curled on the edge of the bed, phone clutched tight in her hand, screen glowing with a headline that made her stomach twist:

“Kimi Antonelli’s mystery girlfriend spotted in the paddock — pretty, but painfully out of place?”

Her cheeks burned. Her jaw clenched. And the comments were worse — anonymous, faceless words from strangers, dissecting her like she was a novelty.

“Looks like she wandered in from a flower shop in the countryside.”

“She’s cute, I guess, but she looks like a schoolgirl next to those women.”

“Sweet, but not really WAG material, huh?”

She locked the phone and dropped it onto the nightstand like it burned. It wasn’t new — she’d felt the stares. She’d felt the way some of the grid girls looked her up and down. But seeing it written out, confirmed, cemented in black-and-white — that hit different.

When Kimi stepped out of the bathroom in a t-shirt and sweats, towel-drying his curls, he spotted her right away — still, quiet, distant.

“Hey,” he said gently, moving to sit beside her. “You okay?”

She looked at him, eyes glassy. “I saw something.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

She didn’t answer right away, just reached for her phone, handed it to him. Kimi read the headline, then the comments. His expression hardened. “This is bullshit.”

She gave a soft laugh, bitter and barely there. “Is it?”

He turned to her, eyes sharp. “Yes.”

“You didn’t think that the moment you brought me here? That maybe… maybe I don’t fit?” Her voice cracked. “Kimi, I’m still doing high school homework while you’re out there in an F1 seat. I don’t own a single designer anything. I smiled at Susie Wolff earlier and she looked at me like I was sweetly delusional.”

The air thickened. Kimi stood, pacing for a moment, frustration simmering under his skin. “I’m doing homework too. I’m your age too. Just because there’s money and cameras doesn’t mean I’m not still figuring things out.”

She shook her head. “It’s not the same. You’ve been groomed for this world since you were a kid. I… I still have to ask if we can split dinner when I go out with friends. I don’t come from anything, Kimi.”

He crossed the room in two strides. “I chose you. Out of everyone. And I don’t give a damn if you don’t have a designer bag or if you do homework in my hotel bed — I love that about you.”

She blinked at that. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I want to say it.” His voice was low. “Because it’s true. But if you keep looking at yourself through their eyes — those people who don’t know you — you’ll ruin us before they ever could.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Her eyes were glassy again. “I just… don’t want to hold you back.”

“You don’t.” He stepped closer, hand brushing her jaw, tilting her chin up. “You keep me grounded. Don’t push me away because the world doesn’t make room for girls like you. I’ll make room.”

He was genuinely sincere — he always was — she knew he really meant it, what she wasn't sure about was whether it would be easy in practice.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ──────

Barcelona, Spanish Grand Prix – Saturday Night

The air in the hotel suite was warm, heavy with humidity and tension. She sat on the window bench, knees pulled up, trying not to cry. Again.

Kimi stood near the dresser, pulling off his team hoodie with too much force, like it had personally offended him. “You didn’t even come to the garage today.”

She flinched. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Bullshit,” he snapped, turning to her. “You’re avoiding me.”

She lifted her eyes to meet his, voice low. “Because every time we talk lately, we fight.”

Silence. Harsh and sudden.

He ran a hand through his curls, exhaling hard. “So what? You just give up?”

She stood then, too fast. “I didn’t give up. I’ve been trying so hard, Kimi. But it’s like I’m never enough for this world. And now I’m starting to wonder if I’m not enough for you, either.”

His face twisted — hurt and anger flickering in equal measure. “Don’t put that on me.”

“Then what do you want from me?” she said, voice shaking. “To keep pretending I’m okay when the comments get worse, when I feel like your accessory instead of your girlfriend? When I’m expected to smile next to women who have million-dollar contracts and ten-year media training? You have no idea how hard it is to stay in a world that constantly tells you you’re out of place—”

He cut her off, sharp. “You think this is easy for me as well? Balancing racing, press, you—”

“Oh, I’m a burden now?”

He froze. “That’s not what I meant.”

“But you said it.” Her voice broke. “You said it and you meant it.”

Kimi looked down, breathing hard. “I didn’t. I swear.”

But it was too late. The damage had been done.

She stepped back like he’d physically struck her, arms folded across her chest like armor. “Maybe we should take a break.”

His eyes snapped up, wide with disbelief. “No.”

“Kimi—”

“No,” he said again, voice rough. “You don’t get to walk away just because things got hard.”

“I’m not walking away,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “I’m just… trying to protect what little of me I have left.”

He stared at her then, quiet, wrecked, and helpless. Like a boy lost in a world that was suddenly too big for both of them.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them knew how.

And in the silence between them, it was suddenly obvious:

They were still in love.

But maybe that wasn’t enough anymore.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ──────

They barely spoke in the car that morning.

He asked if she wanted coffee. She said no.

He reached for her hand. She pulled her sleeve over her fingers.

It wasn’t cold in Spain, but something between them was frozen.

She didn’t make it to the paddock that day. Said she had homework to catch up on. He didn’t argue. He just nodded with a tight smile, then left.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ──────

The post-qualifying press conference was routine until it wasn’t.

A woman with too-white teeth and a smug smile leaned into her mic. She wasn’t with F1 media. Not really.

“Great quali, Kimi,” she purred. “You’ve been quite impressive this season. Seems like you’re adapting quickly to the F1 lifestyle — fast cars, jet-setting, glamorous weekends…”

He nodded once. She continued, voice light but loaded.

“…Just wondering, with all the attention and, let’s say, expectations around young drivers and their image, do you ever feel pressure to — hm — upgrade your personal life to match the brand?”

A few chuckles from the room. Microphones crackled. The other drivers turned to look at him.

He knew what she meant.

She meant her.

He sat up straighter. Calm. Still. But his voice cut like a blade.

“Are you asking if my girlfriend doesn’t fit the aesthetic you expect?”

The woman blinked. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”

“Because that’s what you just implied.”

“No, I—”

“She’s not the one who needs upgrading,” he said, firm and deliberate. “She's smart. She’s grounded. She reminds me that there's more to life than this bubble. And if that doesn’t match your ‘brand,’ then maybe it’s your idea of success that needs to be rethought.”

Silence. Heavy and uncomfortable.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t offer a wink or a joke to smooth it over.

He just sat there, eyes locked on her like he dared her to speak again.

The moderator quickly moved on, but the damage — or maybe the justice — was done.

Clips went viral before the press conference ended.

And later that night, when she opened Twitter and saw the clip — Kimi Antonelli, eyes sharp, voice unwavering — defending her against the world she feared…

She didn’t call him.

But she showed up, cheeks pink from the cold, and whispered, “Thank you.”

He didn’t say anything, just pulled her into his arms like he’d been waiting all week.

“You didn’t have to do that, Kimi,” she said softly. “I didn’t ask you to defend me like that. I never wanted to cause you any trouble…”

He took a deep breath, shaking his head, guilt creeping into his chest. “I didn’t do it for trouble. I did it for you.” His hand brushed her arm, soft but desperate. “You’re not a distraction. You’re not a burden. You’re… you’re everything. You make me feel alive.”

The tears she’d been holding back slipped down her cheeks, and Kimi’s heart twisted in his chest. She looked so small, so vulnerable in this big, overwhelming world she didn’t ask to be a part of.

“I told you once,” he murmured, voice rough. “I don’t care if you don’t fit this world. You fit with me.”

She shook her head, sniffling. “But… I’m not like them. I don’t know how to… how to be the girlfriend you’re supposed to have. I’m just—”

“Stop.” Kimi wiped away a stray tear from her cheek. “You’re everything I need. You’re exactly who I need. And if I have to fight every damn person in this world to keep you — then that’s what I’ll do. I’m not in this for the ‘perfect’ girlfriend. I’m in this for you.”

She collapsed into his chest then, shaking as sobs wracked her body. Kimi held her close, his arms wrapping around her like he was afraid she might disappear if he let go.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I never meant to make you feel like you didn’t belong. I just… I just wanted to protect you. I didn’t want you to think you were alone in this.”

She squeezed him tighter, the tears soaking into his shirt, but for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t feel so alone.

“I don’t need anyone but you, Kimi,” she whispered against his chest, voice muffled. “I never did. I was just scared... I was scared I wasn’t enough for you.”

Kimi pulled back slightly, cupping her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You’re more than enough. You’re exactly what I need. Don’t ever doubt that.”

For the first time in weeks, they were both quiet — no more doubts, no more words left unsaid. They simply stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, letting everything else fade away.

And when she finally looked up at him, her eyes swollen but sincere, Kimi knew:

It didn’t matter if she fit into his world or not.

They fit with each other.

And that was all that ever mattered.

[gay-dorito-dust]

‘Have you seen Bob?’ Yelena asked as she poked her head into the kitchen.

You frowned. ‘No, why?’

Yelena sighed. ‘He’s not in his room and nobody has seen him anywhere and it’s obvious he hasn’t gone out of the tower, that much is clear.’ She didn’t know how it was possible for a man like Bob to easily evade detection like he has now, she had originally hoped that you had seen him, seeing as how you and him tended to be joint at the hip from the moment you met but seeing as you haven’t Yelena found her options having become even more limited then before.

You hummed in agreement with her as you added. ‘And the tower is ridiculous with all of it’s floors, so he could literally be in any one of them and we wouldn’t know where to start. It could take us hours or even days at best and I’m not even trying to exaggerate.’ You tried to rack your own brain in hopes of coming up with an answer to lead Yelena elsewhere, and also hope that you’re acting skills were enough to fool her as you did in fact know where Bob was and weren’t planning on letting anyone know where he was just yet for a very good reason.

Yelena sighs. ‘I’ve checked over all the floors with the system and it said that he’s on this very floor, but yet when I asked where it wouldn’t tell me as if said it’s been asked specifically not to tell anyone.’ She adds and you tried not to let your facade slip as you made a face of confusion, all the while trying to discreetly hide the two mugs of steaming chamomile tea just behind you that you were fully intending to take back to your room before the blonde assassin caught a glimpse of you.

‘That’s very strange,’ you trailed off before clapping your hands together, ‘but I’ll make sure to keep an eye out for you and let you know when and if I see him, he can’t have gone far Yelena I know he wouldn’t and he knows that too.’ Yelena started at you for a while, getting a good read of you from her stance in the doorway and getting this feeling that you were hiding something from her, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was as you were acting in a way that made it seem that you were as just none the wiser as the rest of them. So she decided to give you a bit of leniency and said ‘okay’ before leaving to continue her search.

Once you heard her footsteps fade down the hall and waited even more so until they faded completely into obscurity to then grab the two mugs of tea behind you, making your way out of the kitchen and towards your bedroom with hurried steps before opening the door and smiling when you saw that Bob was where you last left him; sitting on your bed as he played with the mint coloured axolotl plush with a small smile gracing his lips.

‘What took you so long?’ He asked, setting aside the plush as he moved from your bed to take one of the mugs of tea from your hand, cupping it between his larger, sweater covered ones as he blew on it before taking a tiny sip and making a noise of content as his eyes closed briefly.

Bob had been having trouble sleeping recently and you had offered up your room to be his safe haven when he finds that he couldn’t sleep in his own room, where you’d talk about anything and everything until you both feel asleep in the others presence, this situation has happened so often that you’ve made the Tower system prevent anyone but you from knowing where he was in hopes of letting him have some privacy from the likes of Ava, John, Alexei and Yelena. You loved your team but they were a nosy and overbearing bunch that you knew would overwhelm an poor sleep deprived, nightmare riddled Bob who just wanted to shut off his mind and be allowed to sleep in peace.

‘Let’s just say your frequent nightly escapades to my room might have caused Yelena to think that you’ve been disappearing to god knows where in the tower.’ You replied as Bob looked as though he wanted to hide away in the depths of his sweater, never to be seen again as his face burned red like cherry tomatoes and his eyes showed embarrassment.

‘I knew this wasn’t going to go unnoticed sooner or later, the others are bound to catch on.’ He says as he takes another sip of the tea in hopes of its calming properties would smooth his nerves, but it did little compared to your reassuring hand on his arm and soft smile that brought him back to reality on more occasions then not.

‘It’s fine sweetheart, I’d gladly get in trouble for hoarding you away in my room so selfishly.’ You joked halfheartedly before adding in a serious tone. ‘You deserve rest and I wasn’t about to let the others hound you for wanting something so simple as sleep, you deserve it so I’m more then willing for the choice words I’ll get for lying to Yelena sooner or later,’ you squeezed his forearm, ‘but for now let’s enjoy our teas before Alexei starts singing and demanding that we all eat breakfast together okay?’

‘Okay.’ Bob says softly with a smile as you and him return to your bed, the mint coloured axolotl sitting in between you both as you had your mugs of tea in relative peace, only ever trading conversation when Bob asked about certain things within your room, with you responding by going in depth about how important they were to you. It was what you wanted in the mornings within the Watchtower, moments where you get to have Bob selfishly and he got to have a couple of hours with you before everyone else does, smiling happily as a comforting silence then followed afterwards.

Only for you and Bob to have somehow found the silence a little too comforting as you both fell asleep once more with the mint axolotl squished between you both, your mugs sat side by side on the bedside table with matching smiles upon your faces, just as the morning truly began with Alexei loudly demanding that everyone was needed in the kitchen to start your day as a family as he walked down the hallway; compelled bypassing your room without stopping to see why you and Bob were cuddled cutely and tightly together.

[writingwisterias]

Trust fall

RE4R!Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Friends- Lovers, Best friend!Leon, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Yearning, Awkward moments, Longing, Soft Sex, Comfort, Nightmares, mating press, unprotected sex, tit sucking, hand jobs, fluff

Summary: Falling in love was inevitable when you avoid it for too long...

Words: 11.1k (I said it was long)

Read on Ao3

Poured my blood,sweat n tears into this LMAO....after a shit week at work here it is thank you @kuntprodukt for listening to my ramblings as finished it off. Dedicated to @shymoob ... also ignore the technology inaccuracy for the time period...

Taglist: @senawashere @danigirls-missions @lxzy-bxby @074calicocat @gut1ess

Day 1

Maybe he was going to be nervous as well? Surely, your anxiety was valid after not seeing him for months. The date on the calendar was circled in red pen. You had only been told it only a few days before now; his text was rather unexpected after a long period of silence. The date was to mark the start of Leon’s vacation, though it was granted as a “recovery” period from whatever mission he had just returned from. He was advised by the higher ups to stay with someone that was trusted. The mental welfare of their pawn suddenly became a concern after reading the reports he presented them with. 

However, you were no longer privy to these details, as his reputation grew the less you knew. Whenever it was because he wasn’t allowed to say or he chose to withhold the information from you himself – you didn't know. You could see the more secrets he gained, in the form of the new eyebags he had gained from the sleepless nights. Those once bright blue eyes you had grown to love in your teens now had a mixture of grey, like the storm clouds of his haunted past. 

Instead he asked you for a distraction, a few days of normality. That you could grant him, providing him with a detailed plan of fun filled days. At least you hoped he would feel the same about it. 

The sound of his car outside alerted you of his presence, the gravel of your drive crunching underneath the wheels of his jeep. It was cute how he stuck to one brand of car, coming up with some excuse of its practical use when deep down it was to replace the one he lost. The same one he saved up all summer to get so he could drive back and forth from Raccoon City to you. The brand now holds a sentimental value to him, you suppose, something that reminded him of what could have been. 

You gave one last glance around the room, trying to spy any spec of dust or crumbs that he might see as he entered. It’s not like he hasn’t seen your space a mess before, after all your teenage bedroom was a regular hang out spot instead of his dorm at the orphanage and that was never particularly the cleanest.

His features were sharper than last time you noticed as you opened the door, his eyes widening as the smile reached them despite their narrow, hollow look. Your open arms were a beacon to him, his safe place awaiting for him with a large smile and a warm heart. His arms were strong as they encircled you, biceps squeezing your form slightly as he pulled you closer. From the outside you were sure the hug looked like it was more intimate than it was but with the history you both had, it was just right and the perfect medicine he needed. 

“I’m glad you’re back” You whispered to him, pulling away slightly to gaze up at his features. The blond hair is still unkempt and draping over your favorite shade of blue, his eyes gazing down at you. You didn’t miss the shine that they lacked however, now they possessed a matt finish instead portraying someone different from that hopeful 21 year old. He was never going to be like that, that wasn’t him anymore. Maybe that's why loving the new version was just as important to you, to cradle him the same way you did when he failed an exam or when his girlfriend dumped him. He still needed you to be the same. To be something in his life that was a wall he could lean on or a bed he could rest with. A home.

“Me too” Was all he responded, the smile slowly fading into the tight lipped one he sported more often. His hands never left your arms, instead tightening their grip around your bicep. Not enough to hurt or for you to flinch back on – almost like he was testing you were real. 

Leon instantly felt the warmth of your space, a comforting hug he had surely missed since being away. The pictures of your childhood shared with him scattered around the apartment in golden frames like he was some angel and important figure in your life to deserve such luxury. “The spare room is all set up for you. You do remember where it was right?” You asked him, now leaning against the kitchen counter as you observed his unsteady steps into your home. His heavy duffel bag was clearly heavy with his baggage as it caused him to lean more on one side, its contents weighing him down in a shade of army green. “Yeah, If I get lost I’ll just scream for you” He teased. “If you do then make sure it’s like the one you did in the haunted maze that one time. I need a good laugh” 

“You and me both” 

His form retreated down the hall and you got set on making drinks, the coffee machine whirring loudly in a fight to brew the pot. A noise you had grown used to, having to choose between luxuries to upgrade in this economy. You watched the coffee slowly drip out as your mind wandered elsewhere, now finding yourself contemplating if your plans for the week were too much for him. You hadn’t really considered what Leon would have wanted this week to be, whenever it was for him to relax and lounge around or create memories he could think about whilst he was away. 

You chose the second option, the fridge decorated in a pretty list with the itinerary of the next few days which was pinned by the gimmick travel magnets Leon gifted you of all the places he’s travelled to. You hoped that by creating a list of activities to do with him you would gain opportunities to refresh the pictures on your walls. To swap out a few of the younger ones of you both with an older more recent version. After all, you didn’t have anyone else to fill them with; Leon still managed to be one of the only people that were a constant in your life despite the past 6 years being the busiest for him. Whenever he knew or not, he had set a pretty high standard for the quality of friendship you were looking for. 

Of course the plans could be subjected to change if he really didn’t want to do them. The last thing you wanted to do was add more stress in his life. Which is where the silent deal you had made came in, the one that you created after making sure that giddy teenager that was still inside you knew why it was important this week to handle your feelings. Spending the last few years in silence on your feelings even though the news of his break up 6 years ago was exciting for you. The event then caused you to create plans to ask him out once he settled in his new job. 

Maybe in another life it would have worked out that way and you could have both ended up being childhood sweethearts, the cutest couple in the precinct he would work at. Small children running around in a home filled with nothing but love. You would be adorned with a golden ring upon your finger showing off the stable relationship you both created. 

Relationships don't work in his world anymore, there were too many risk factors not only with the security he needed up hold but the target that now forever remained on his back with crazed scientists. You knew this after he ranted to you during a drunken confession a few years after Raccoon City; where he was spilling the beans about the kiss with Ada and the complicated emotions he felt after losing her. His job no longer allowed him to have attachments like that, he knew the risks and saw the outcomes of where work mixed with family. He needed to keep you safe, he wouldn't know what would happen to him if he lost you. The thought scares him more than any bio weapon he had faced recently and with his last mission there were a few nightmarish ones. 

“That thing sure sounds like it needs a replacement” Leon joked from the doorway. He had shredded his previous clothes, now dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie instead of the jeans and leather jacket. His frame had now visibly relaxed more since he dropped off the duffle bag, it was now hidden away in the spare room he would be staying in. “Maybe Santa will get me one for Christmas,” You replied, smiling at him. His laugh was loud, nodding his head in agreement, “Guess I know what costume to buy next along with a coffee machine. Oh and this is for you” 

He threw a small striped bag at you, small tears in the paper where it had clearly been through travel. Stuffed somewhere amongst his luggage. You knew it was a magnet by its familiar weight, pulling the item out to be met with the reds and yellows of the spanish flag. “Another one for your collection” He said whilst he moved from the doorway to the kitchen, leaning up against the counter in a casual manner. “You were in Spain?” 

“Only a few days, this was a particularly rough mission…” He sighed, his eyes refusing to look at the thing like even looking at the spelling of the place was a trigger. Ah so this trip was purely business and not pleasure. Instead of proudly displaying it on the front of the fridge, you placed it on the side out of sight. Unless you wanted to get up in the dying coffee machines business. You watched as his features soften when you turned around, the small action solidifying his reasoning for being here. You didn’t pry or question him on what happened, instead you offered silent support. Showing it in smaller actions, like moving a fridge magnet out of his sight. 

“You can sit in the living room and choose something to watch, you don’t have to wait with me” You said before hopping up on the counter, sitting with your legs swinging in the air. Consistent soft thuds echoing in the space as your feet softly thudded against the cabinet doors. “I’m good, besides I’m sure watching this coffee machine struggle to make a full pot is more entertaining than the shit that's on TV nowadays” He joked, his biceps contracting as he lifted his frame on the counter. The two of you were close enough that if you swung your legs out you were sure to clash with him. 

“You have a funny idea of entertaining” You laughed, poking him with your foot in a poor attempt to irritate him. You could feel his toned muscles in his thighs, despite them squishing slightly as you put pressure on them whilst they were relaxed. He let out a soft grunt as you accidentally pressed against a particularly tender spot, his hand soon rubbing the spot to ease the ache. It was your only sign that there were still a few stubborn bruises lingering on his body. 

Now you knew the location he had come from, the news covering the return of the president's daughter whilst praising the lone agent that helped her return home from spain; it didn’t take a genius to figure out where he had just returned from. Plus if you were right on your assumption it made sense that he was still healing not only mentally but physically. Yet since he had arrived you haven't spotted any signs that he was affected by it.

You could tell he had been through hell though from the amount of scrapes that littered his face. Though they were now faded to a light pink but it didn’t help your nerves. It never did. “What’s this then?” He asked, a thud sounding through the kitchen as he hopped off the counter walking towards the fridge. Your cheeks flushed with heat as he removed the numerous magnets that pinned the sticker covered week plan. You watched as he read it over, the piece of paper looking silly in his hands. “I made a plan for the week, things we can do but we don’t have to if you want to just watch movies or play games…” You stumbled, your words spewing out fast creating a blabbled mess. 

He turned to you with the paper crinkling in his hands before displaying a large, genuine smile at you. “Thank you, this is thoughtful and I can’t wait. Though I’m not carrying you ass up the hiking trail you have planned in 2 days”

“I can handle it, I picked a beginners route. Just don’t leave me behind now you are all macho man” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Don’t worry” 

Once the coffee had finally brewed the two of you moved to the living room, sipping on the beverage over gossip that you had collected since he was away. Stalking facebook together looking at all the people you had once known and how their lives panned out, joking about them in subtle jealousy at their presumed success in their lives. 

You both did it for hours in fits of giggles until it led you up to now. Where pizza now sat in your laps, warming up the large blanket you both shared. The grease catching on your shirts as you both attempted to get the slices in your mouths before the toppings fell off. Being with Leon left no room for judgment; not when you had been in every stage of each other's life since high school. Witnessing every crash out, job promotions and of course the nightmares you knew still plagued him. An unspoken rule in your home that he would forget about everything in his life. The rule was created by himself to avoid talking about it. 

One of the good things about the night is that Leon’s phone remained in the bedroom, left abandoned on the bedside table for once. It's not like he had anyone to contact anyway, his most frequent texter was besides him laughing at the stupid movies with tomato sauce in the corner of her lips. As the night went on he found himself watching the way your eyes seemed to sparkle in the TV light as well as at the feeling of your toes tucking themselves under his thighs with the pizza boxes now discarded on the coffee table in front of you. Leon craved for you to be closer. To have your weight on his lap like those weight blankets everyone suggested he got. To smell the perfume that lingered in your hair as you over sprayed yourself with the scent in the day. 

He craved a normal life with you, a relationship filled with trust, love and honesty. Something he couldn’t give you; instead he settled for the knowledge that you were in the room next to his, smiling at him softly as you both retreated to bed. The promise of good dreams leaving each other's lips in a warm goodnight.

Day 2

It wasn’t a surprise to you that you would find him awake before you, his body clock had never fully fixed itself since the training days he had to endure. Whilst they crafted the most glorious figure you had the pleasure of seeing, it must be annoying to suffer with the linger effects of the early rising. At least it would be for you. However, he didn’t seem to mind not when you heard the poor overworked coffee machine doing its thing as you padded down the corridor. The noise accompanied by the smell of bacon and eggs. 

“What if breakfast in bed was one of the treats I wanted to do for you?” You spoke, watching as his frame jolted slightly at the unexpected intrusion. You felt bad watching as he tensed, the spatula he was using to flip the bacon swaying slightly with his movements. “I didn’t mean to scare you sorry” 

Leon smiled softly acknowledging your apology as he turned around, watching your form slither into one of the stools that lined the breakfast bar. “It’s fine, I’m not normally this jumpy” He muttered, sleep still lingering in his speech, signifying to you that he wasn’t long up before you. His voice is an octave lower than normal, with a tinge of raspiness to it, the sound caused butterflies to erupt in your stomach as you tried to will the daydreams of waking up next to him away. “Bad sleep?” You asked, resting your head on your palms as you watched him. He shrugged, pouring the coffee into a mug for you, serving it with yet another tight lipped smile. “Don’t think I’ve had a good one in a few years” He muttered. 

It hurt that you knew he wasn’t lying, that he was truly plagued by all the wrong doings in his life. Things that you couldn’t even picture coming to life and hunting him down just because he wanted to do right by the world when he was a rookie. You nodded, your words silenced by a sip of the coffee. Sympathy was all you could offer him, there wasn’t much else that you could do for him that didn’t involve breaking the clear wall he had built around himself which you respected. He wanted you to be close but at arms length, your role in comfort more of a distraction for him instead of a therapist. It worked before, after raccoon city he ranted to you about everything that happened but as he grew older he knew that was a mistake now. One he wouldn’t do again, he needed you safe, he couldn’t– wouldn’t lose you.

Watching his body language carefully was a skill that had become critical in recent years. His mood showed through the way he presented himself instead of words now.

“So the aquarium today?” He asked, sliding a plate in front of you eggs and bacon displayed in a smiley face. You chuckled at the silliness of it despite everything he still manages to make you smile so in return your smile beamed at him as you looked up. “Objecting on the first day? You wound me” You joked a gasp following your words for dramatic effect. Your knife slicing through the perfectly cooked breakfast with ease; if there was one thing that leon could make, it was a really good breakfast. “No no! It's just an interesting one, I don’t think I’ve been to one in years” He defended, his body moving around the space of your home comfortably as he cleaned up after himself. “Hey, I thought one cooks and the other clean–” You objected to his activity, quickly eating the meal without choking to help him out. Only to be laughed at, his finger pointing to the clock on the wall “That rule applies to someone that didn’t sleep in and will take a while to get ready” 

“I do not!” You called back at him walking out of the room to get ready for the day. 

It didn’t take long to get ready even with Leons complaints. Leon insisted that he drove despite your protests and proclaims of his terrible driving. His jeep was comfortable at least, having his hands behind the wheel felt like he was in control for once. Your safety was his current priority whilst you sang your heart out next to him. The tickets were slightly overpriced in his opinion but then it had been a while since he had done an outing like this. “Could have bought my own seahorse with money” he mumbled under his breath as he swiped the card to pay, of course he had to treat you to this. “Maybe we can steal you one instead” You laughed. 

Leon struggled to think of a time he had been able to spend with anyone that wasn’t in a life or death situation; either on the field or by a mountain of paperwork in his opinion. He wasn’t arguing though, his pet seahorse could wait if you were going to look at him like that. He followed you like a lost puppy, your face practically glowing with excitement the closer you got. 

“Where do you want to start?” You asked him, looking at the information center attempting to memorize all the zones you could explore trying to figure out the route of the day. “Aren’t the rooms filled with the same thing?” He asked you, laughing slightly at your frown as you turned to face him. “Well yeah, but maybe there’s a certain way to view them all better?” You muttered, referring to the many other forms of information, piles of brochures in your hands as you flicked through them. Your head starts to cloud in the thoughts to ensure the day is perfect for him to look back on. 

The effort you were giving with just the route was enough to slowly melt his heart. His hand reached out for yours to tug you away from the crowd of families that were walking one way. “Let’s go away from the crowd then we can enjoy the silence together” He prompted, smiling at you softly as he tugged on your arm once again. You looked at the numerous people and then looked back at him. Your frown slowly turned into a grin again, nodding as you began to lead him. Your hand still sat snugly in his. 

There were only so many fish that Leon could honestly look at before he got bored and they all started to look the same. Maybe it was the fact he was outside trying to fit in with normal life again after so many years of living in a repeated bubble of work and you. He was trying to think of the right things to say, normal conversation topics despite having a plethora of conversation topics with you. He dissociated even though he attempted to read what you were looking at, his face offering you a fake toothy grin as you pointed at your favourite fish in the tank. 

You were so excited, buzzing with this energy that made you feel easy to be around. Yet, he could feel the lingering effect of the nightmare he faced, his eyes scanning for every exit in the room you would enter. Trying to think of the perfect path to get you out safely. 

“Hey, are you good?” You asked him finally after noticing his distracted state. Your hand landing on his bicep with a comforting squeeze and an attempt not to gawk at the firmness of it. Leon looked down at you, seeing how your face was adorned with the pity smile he's been accustomed to for years now. A frequent one that you displayed. “I’m good” He muttered, nodding his head in a bobbing motion as if that helped his case. You could see it, the truth, the hidden sadness he attempted to hide behind words displayed clear as day in the blues of his eyes. Rather than ask him to bring up what’s distracting him in such a public place you offered to change the topic. Your hand once again in his as you began to lead him away towards the next room. “I think you’ll like the next room. It’s always my favorite”

Manta rays swirled around the room in calming laps, small fish weaving in between them. The blue of the water fills the room with a calming tone. You both stood next to each other in silence, watching the fish swirl around in patterns, your hands close to touching. Close enough that if you twitched a finger it would brush against his. You admired his features in the blue light. The one harsher features now softened as the silence calmed the two of you, his eyes bright with wonder and amazement as he watched the soft swirls of the bubbles as the fish danced. For a second he looked like the hopeful kid again, dreaming of the future as he still had hope and wonder for it. “Do you like it?” You asked him. Leon smiled, a softer one than he normally adorned “I can see why it’s your favourite, it’s so pretty in here” 

The silence that surrounded the two of you was comfortable, enough for you to lean against his arm. Leon’s fingers twitched finding yours before they wrapped around your hands in a silent confirmation that you were there. 

It wasn’t until he saw the crowd filtering in through the reflection of the glass that he began to grow nervous again. The exits are no longer visible or easily accessible should things go wrong. You felt as his body jolted, his hand tightening around yours as the excited screams of children filled the room. Their hands pounding and swiping against the glass as they looked at the fish. His eyes screwed shut, his breathing slowly becoming uneven as he tried to focus on anything but the noise. The thudding sounded too familiar to the undead banging throughout the station.

It only seemed to grow louder the longer you stayed. With his eyes screwed shut he didn’t notice your face appearing in front of him, couldn’t acknowledge concern that littered all over it. Leon’s thoughts spiraled, self pity filling him quickly as he grew aware that he was fucking up again; ruining the day for you just because he could handle the noise of a few children. He felt ashamed that he couldn’t handle the crowd of people that began to surround you both. Leon’s hand was tightly holding onto yours, the grip almost crushing as you tried to calm him down. 

You called his name, he heard it in the distance, mellowed out like you were in some dystopian world. Your heart broke as you felt him flinch, his eyes shooting open in a mad panic as you placed your earphones in his ears. The music instantly filters out the other sounds allowing him to focus on slowing his breathing again. You guided his hand to your chest, breathing deeply and then holding an exhale smiling slightly as you watched his chest begin to expand in the same manner. Your smile was comforting to him as he finally looked at you. 

Leon didn’t argue when you walked him out the door, his hand gripping yours tightly like a lifeline. You could feel him squeeze it harder as his palms grew sweaty causing his grip to slip as you walked faster. The sun beamed on his skin as you both finally made it outside, bypassing the numerous knick knacks in the gift shop you had requested to view earlier. You didn’t care not when he wasn’t okay, experiencing a panic attack despite his claims that he doesn’t have them. 

You watched as he took out the headphones, passing them back to you with guilt lacing his eyes. “I’m sorry” He whispered, his eyebrows pinched displaying his emotions for once to you. He hated how his shadow loomed over you, keeping you hidden from the sunlight – preventing you from growing into the perfect person he knew you would be without him. “Don’t be” 

You said it like a fact, like it was easy to say. There wasn’t anger in your features, there wasn’t any negativity crashing against him in an angry wave like he’s faced recently. You held no expectation from him. You didn’t want him to be anything other than himself. Even if that meant he came with the burdens he carried with him. “You were enjoying your time but the kids– they sounded like–” he stuttered whilst his hands clenched at his sides, his hair falling over his eyes as he looked down in shame. “Leon, you don’t have to explain with me. It’s fine. There will be plenty of other times to steal your seahorse” You joked, smiling at the chuckle he gave off. His shoulders no longer shake because of his fears but instead waves of laughter. 

“Come on, you can drive the death trap. I need the rest anyway for our hike tomorrow” You laughed, chucking the keys from your back at him. “It’s not a death trap” He sighed as he opened the door for you, smiling at the sound of laughter. “It is when you are driving” 

Day 3

Leon watched in amusement as your face slowly formed into horror as you looked at the size of the mountain you had planned to scale. The peak was barely visible even as you craned your neck at an awkward angle to see it from under the windshield. It was hard for him to not look over you as you wore the most basic yet cutest outfit to climb in, though to ignore his request at changing your footwear. Offering him a complaint about how he doesn’t trust the strength of your ankles. “Why did I pick this one?” You sighed as you both got out of the car. Despite the ending of yesterday Leon was filled with hope that today would be better. 

His sleep was still plagued with nightmares. The echoed sound of footsteps woke him up in a fright, the duvet half spilling off the side of the bed as he scrambled out of it to scan for danger. He was however met with a sleepy version of you stumbling to the bathroom clumsily and half asleep. He didn’t fall asleep after that, instead laying in bed listening for the soft close of your door and the traffic outside.  

“You picked it not me, I had no say. Not even in the shoe choice apparently” He laughed, pulling gently on your ponytail as he walked past you. Stepping onto the threshold of the nature reserve. “Yeah well these shoes have never failed me before” You sighed looking down at the trainers you decided to wear. This was definitely the better choice of activity for him, you watched him stroll next to you relaxed. It was cute that he made sure to match your pace, clearly having enough stamina to be able to run up the hill whilst you took it easy. There was no urgency to rush this, no one was chasing him up this hill. No one was screaming his name in fear as he turned his back. It was just you and him. 

He made sure you both took regular breaks, his chest heaving slightly as the heat of the sun bore down on the both of you. His hoodie was stripped a while ago now, displaying his biceps whilst the clothing item is now hanging from the side of his bag. “I think we are just over half way” He spoke, glancing at the distance you travelled and how far you had left to go. It was an attempt to comfort you, a poor one at that. “Great. Are you still stuck on the promise of not carrying me up the hill?” You asked laying back against the rock you were perched on. His laugh caused you to smile and look at him from where he was leant against the tree. “Maybe on the way down” 

You slid off your backpack, letting it land next to you on the ground with a thud. “What are you doing?” Leon asked as you stood up, stretching out your legs briefly before turning to him. “It’s a great spot for some few photos” You admitted. Your hands already tugged the backpack off his shoulders and dumped it next to yours. Leon watched as you propped the phone up against a tree, a timer set and beeping as you ran back towards him. “Quick come here and pose” You instructed, wrapping an arm around his waist holding him close with a large smile plastered on your face. 

Leon attempted one of his own, the action not really feeling natural to him at first. Until you started to take more, running back and forth with less complaints than you had previously been doing up the trail. The infamous rabbit ears came out to play, the laughter you both shared was sure to be heard from anywhere. However, at this moment it was just the two of you. 

“Here hop on” Leon said as you set up the camera for one last photo. You turned to him hunched over, bracing himself for the impact of you on his back. You smiled widely at him, eyes full of excitement as you ran and jumped on. He gasped as he stumbled, his own belly laugh spilling out as caught himself. The photo was his favourite, you tell as he instantly begged you to send it to him despite leaving his phone at home still. It had never left its spot on the bedside table. “Come on, the next photoshoot location is at the top” He teased, sliding the backpack on his shoulders one more. He chuckled at your unenthusiastic groan, your feet scraping along the ground as you walked back to your bag. 

You smiled to yourself as Leon helped situated the pack properly on your back. Ensuring it was the right height and tightness to avoid any aches later on. His hands brushed against your sides causing you to shiver, your face flushed as you looked forward to being met with his chest previously unaware of how close you actually were to each other. “Uh– all good?” You croaked out, chuckling nervously as you watched his eyes roam your figure once more to ensure you were all good. He didn't do this back at the start, in fact he had sighed and complained as you spent a while adjusting the pack. Even going as far as to make a comment about you being a nagging mother when you pestered him about his. “Looks good to me yeah” he spoke quietly, smiling softly with a small pink tinge on his cheeks. Leon coughed once, stepping back on his heels before spinning dramatically to continue forward. 

“I’m sorry about yesterday, I should have been more considerate of the crowds” you spoke after a while, the top was closer now, your words breaking the comfortable silence you were both in. Leon didn't respond at first, his gaze landing on the scenery over the edge of the trail, following the vast shades of green as they plagued the valley. He was unsure on how to answer. It was touching that you were of such a pure heart to feel the need to apologize over something that wasn't your fault. He had every chance to change the activity, to offer something else as his first day diving into the real world again. “You don't have to be sorry,” he said, turning to look at you. He watched your feature twist into uncertainty, your mind clearly in a battle with yourself and guilt over the panic attack he experienced. 

“You've been through a lot with no real break, I should have thought about that. You just got back from that mission – warned by the government to take it easy. I ignored it in favor of a few memories” 

“Thinking about the manta rays and the silence yesterday comforted me last night” Leon stated bluntly. He wasn't lying, when laying awake in an attempt to fall back asleep he found himself thinking about the blue that surrounded them, the small moment of calmness he experienced as he watched the swirls of everything– as he watched you. He can still picture the cute smile you wore as you stared in wonder at all of it as you looked at the beauty in everything. The same way you looked at him in the carpark and when you said goodnight later on in the evening. You still had hope and wonder in the world, you weren't plagued by the horrors he has seen, by the corruption he's witnessed destroy an entire city. It was a reminder why he endured everything, why he kept going for you– it was always for you. 

“What do you mean?” You asked him, your shoes scuffing on the dirt beneath them as you paused watching his frame walk away until he noticed you stopped. “The nightmares are worse than before– because of my last mission but I thought of yesterday last night– it helped” 

“Nightmares? You can wake me Leon, I don't mind…I can sit with you or something” 

“I know but even I know you need your beauty sleep” he laughed. You rolled your eyes scoffing slightly at his comment. “Whatever” you whispered, shoving him slightly as you walked past. Not that it did anything but move his arm slightly, the mountain of muscle he had sculpted around his heart was a hard wall to defeat. “I’ll race you to the top” he teases, rushing past you in a light job. His blond hair bouncing with his movement, the smile that graced his features growing wider by the second. “Oh yeah because that's a fair challenge” you sighed as you chased after him. Not a care in the world as you both passed the public who began their descent. Your later start to the hike meant that as you reached the top you would be blessed with the setting sun, the hues of oranges and reds decorating the sky like a painting. 

It was a beautiful sight to behold as you finally breached the last climb. The clouds surround you in small wisps of white, not quite thick enough to prevent you from seeing the woodlands and valley. Leon smiled at you, a large toothy grin that he would have presented you with years ago. He finally felt free, like he was on top of everything by his own choice. Not told to scale a mountain to save a girl, there was no Bio weapon for him to fight at the top. It was just you and him. “No need to look so smug” you groaned when you finally reached the top, your lungs burning as you forced air into them. Leon snickered at your comment, his arms outstretched on top of his head as he caught his breath. You watched as his chest expanded with the movement, practically waving it in your face again causing your cheeks to flush and look away. 

You slumped on a rock next to him, leaning your head against his knee as you stared out over the clouds. His hand landed on your head, playing with the soft strands of your hair slightly. “That can’t be comfy,” Leon teased as he moved your head away slightly to sit down. Once you were both shoulder to shoulder – the awkwardness you once shared about his proximity now faded, he allowed your head to rest against his shoulder. Silence enveloped you once more but the lingering thoughts and unspoken words suffocated the two of you. Unable to navigate the landmines of your feelings that were beginning to pop up. 

You never really spent much time together anymore, his schedule always too busy for you. Your feelings were taken with him whenever he left you, yet everytime without fail he brought them back. It always felt like they grew when he did come home. That seeing his hardened features change every time he stood behind your door reminded you for how long you wanted it – waited for the chance to speak about it. Maybe in another universe he would never have slurred those drunken ideals about his relationship, never spilled the secrets of his brain that left you broken. You hope for a future with him briefly snuffed out. 

“What do you think life has in store for us?” You asked him, looking up at his face from where you were still resting on his shoulder. Leon again couldn’t answer you at first, his own desires in life either forgotten or abandoned over his choices no longer feeling like his own. This week was the first in 6 years that he was actually able to decide who to go to, where to hang out. Even if it was just as simple as this. Staring at the setting sun with his favourite person. “I’m not sure. Something good I hope” He replied, his arm wrapping around your shoulders tugged you closer to him. Shielding you from the cold that crept in the shadows as the sun disappeared over the horizon. 

“Do you think we will always be a part of each other's future?” You mumbled. “Always”

You had half a brain to not ask in what way. To not admit the feelings you have been craving to admit. You didn’t want to ruin the day with the inevitable rejection he would give. Instead you stood up holding your hand out to him to offer what strength you have to pull him up – like you always did. “Did you bring a hoodie?” Leon asked as he took off his pack to put his own on. “No I didn’t think it would be this cold” You admitted, jumping on the spot slightly to warm up your joints. “Here” 

His hoodie laid outstretched to you in his grip with a reassuring smile on his features. “Won’t you get a cold?” You asked him, sliding the fabric over your frame. It was an effort to not inhale the lingering scent of him. “The cold doesn’t bother me as much anymore, not after the last mission. I lost my favorite leather jacket right at the start” He mourned playfully. The two of you walked next to each other once more, your hands occasionally brushing against his. “The brown leather one? With the fur” 

“That’s the one” 

You sighed dramatically, pretending you weep over its loss with a smile. “That was the best one you owned,” You said. Leon nodded, chuckling at your reaction. “Well then I guess I gotta go shopping again. Good job I have my stylist here” He joked, nudging your shoulder. “It's a good job that we have a shopping day tomorrow” 

The car ride back was silent, the two of you too worn out to create any kind of conversation. His rock Cd’s filtered through the car lulling you to sleep briefly. Leon occasionally glanced at your form from where it was pressed against the window, your nose buried in the collar of his hoodie. You looked so soft – so tempting to claim and take for himself. His one good thing in this world. 

Day 4 

He was surprised to find that you were awake before him, the muffled yells of frustration catching his attention. Instead as the daylight cracked through the curtains he found no real rush to go and see what was happening, trusting that you were okay. Assuming that if something was really wrong you would have come and woken him up. Leon chose to take a brief moment to just lay there, listening to you fight with what he presumed was the Coffee machine and the low hum of the music you were playing. For the first time in four days he reached for his phone, ignoring the emails he had gotten from the reports he presented them with. Ignoring the texts from the few– one– coworker that cared about him. 

Leon was going to shop for a coffee machine, have it delivered by the end of the week for you so you wouldn’t have to fight with this one anymore. He knew you would argue if he asked you about it so he was going to do it on his own accord, getting ready to open the browser. He didn’t get that far though, not when your spam of messages caught his attention. It was all the photos you had taken yesterday. Leon smiled at the sight of the joy on your faces, smiling like you were both teenagers again. His favourite by far was the impromptu one with you on his back, your hair whipping around in a blur looking up at him with a smile whilst his beamed back. Neither of you were looking at the camera, you were only looking at each other. The coffee machine shopping was long forgotten about as he set the picture as his home and lockscreen before throwing the covers off to find you. 

“Morning” You chimed to him, a smile plastered on your face already as he walked through the door. The warmth that radiated off you was always amazing to him.  “Morning” He grumbled back, sliding into the breakfast bar like you did with him a few days ago. Unlike you though Leon didn’t wear the cute pink apron or have flour on every surface. “What on earth–” he questioned as he looked at the white footprints that started to blend together as you continued to move around the kitchen. “I tried to make pancake batter but the flour bag was stubborn, so it went everywhere” You snickered looking down at the mess you had made everywhere. “Seems I’m not as good at making breakfast as you are” 

Leon laughed, his eyes crinkling in the corners as his head tilted back slightly. His own actions shocked him, it had been years since he laughed like this. “Well at least we both agree on something” He teased, looking down at the plate you slid across to him. Heart shaped pancakes topped with some chocolate chips and strawberry sauce. It was just so effortless for you. “Cute” 

You weren’t sure what reaction you were expecting from him at the sight of the pancakes, hoping for anything but a negative one but his one word answer still made you giggle. The heat doing an olympic sprint to your face again as you watched him groan at the flavour, devouring them like you had starved him for the past few days. “I feel like the heart made me feel all the extra love” He admitted, looking up at you with his goofy smile. It was refreshing to see him relaxed now; even if it took you 4 days to reach this point. “If you count the mess I made and the screaming at the coffee machine for it to do its job then sure” You laughed, your body relaxing now he seemed to enjoy the food and the company. 

The idle chatter that filled the rest of the morning was perfect, making you both feel like there wasn’t anything wrong. No hidden feelings, no hidden secrets about the world's corruption – no it was just you and him. In the small apartment that felt like home. 

Leon sat on the bed once more, looking down at the small device in his hands going over the emails he had ignored. Replying to Hunnigan’s text chain of concern with a thumbs up emoji to at least let her know he was still alive. He knew there would be questions of where he ended up and how he chose to spend his time off. Your safety was too important for them to know you exist, their curiosity would put you in danger, even more so that the heartbroken and scared 21 year old self told you the events of that night. 

A knock at his door drew his attention away from his phone, he looked up to find you in the cutest dress, one of his older jackets draped over your frame. You were his perfect girl, proudly standing in front of him like a cute angel– a sweet for him to take. Yet, he didn't; instead he smiled and nodded at your pleas for him to hurry up, a light blush coating his cheeks as you checked him over in an attempt to be subtle, forgetting how perspective he was now. 

All Leon needed to do was reach out and grab your hand for you both to look like the perfect couple. Your arm brushed against his often, your proximity only growing closer as you both entered the busy mall. “You good?” You asked him quietly, your eyes shining with concern as you glanced at him. At first he was confused as to why you were even asking him until he looked up and remembered the crowds. The chatter of salesmen trying to get them to come over, the families running around trying to get every toy store was almost too much for him. Then you held his hand, gripped it with a gentle squeeze like it was natural for you to do so. Leon didn’t let go– not when you dragged him gently to follow you, guiding him through the crowds to the stores you wanted. Just like he would guide you through them if it turned bad. 

But it wouldn’t go bad, this was just a normal day and you were just being kind. He let you guide him into a small jewellery store, watching as you looked over the glass cages pointing at a few of the smaller pieces to try on. You presented him with your wrist, a simple silver bracelet decorated in small vines balanced around it. He helped you put it on, his rough fingertips from all the fighting brushing against your soft skin. If he pressed slightly harder he would feel your pulse, part of him wanted to know if it was going as quickly as his. If you were as nervous as he was as he fumbled with the tiny clasp. He was hyper aware of your attention, your soft delicate smile as you looked at him. 

He found his thoughts drifting to wonder what the rest of your skin would feel like under his touch. If your breath would falter when his lips grazed it in soft kisses. He yearned to see you, all of you – laid bare for him to admire and take. To be selfish to the world and keep you as the treasure you are.

Leon’s eyes softened as you admired the silver bangle, watching it as it glinted in the bright lights of the store. Something so simple pleased you, just like every magnet he gave you or the small amount of time you both got to spend together. 

“You guys are such a cute couple” 

The comment made him freeze, his hands nervously clenching at his sides as his eyes displayed his panic. Was he being that obvious? Could you see his feelings? Instead you ignored her comment, offering the salesman a smile and an awkward chuckle. He felt himself dissociate as he watched you buy the bracelet, the item still wrapped around your wrist. He couldn’t help the yearning pull he felt towards you, the way his hand itched to hold yours again, to feel the weight and warmth of it like it belonged there. 

You grinned at him, holding your hand out for him to take once more as you left as if you knew his nerves disappeared when you were close. 

“Do you have a store you want to go to?” You asked him as you both sat down a few hours later. Pools of shopping bags littered the area underneath your feet as you both waited for the burger you just ordered to arrive. Leon’s head was turned, looking out the window at all the people passing by before it turned again to look at all the people in the restaurant. Your soft smile made his heart falter again when he finally looked at you. “No– I’m all good,” He stuttered nervously. Leon could feel your knee against his, confused as to why he was suddenly hyper aware of your touch. 

“Are you sure? I feel like we have only looked at the stuff I wanted to” You spoke again, nudging his knee again as his attention drifted away. Leon smiled softly, nodding with his hair falling over his eyes briefly. “I’m sure, I have everything I need” 

Your eyes scanned over him, peering into the cracks that were slowly revealing themselves whenever he knew it or not. “Okay well once we have eaten we can leave, I know you wanted to watch that movie” You said. Leon hummed in agreement, already eyeing up the food that was now being placed in front of you both, trying to desperately think about anything else that wasn’t you. 

Day 5 

It seems to be a pattern now that he has one day free from nightmares and one that will plague him. Leave him defensive against the visions and blur of all the things that have happened to him. Ada, The station, Ashley, Krasuer, Luis…all plaguing the concerns of his dreams as a shout of his name – a taunting reminder that despite all the effort he put to make sure people are safe he failed. Time and time again. Except with you. 

Tonight, he watched them get you; take you away from him as punishment for spilling his secrets. The ones he swore to never tell. He watched them hurt you and Sherry, the only two people he still had a promise to keep safe, one that surpassed his own duties. He heard your screams, your yells for him to come and help you. The corridor he ran down was familiar, the marble flooring splashing with blood as the thunder crackled around you both. He had been here before you hadn’t. It felt like the corridor kept getting longer, his feet not fast enough to help you. Your name was a war cry from his lips, his throat hoarse and dry the more he screamed it. He pleaded with whatever curel god had bestowed this upon him to stop. Your cries were devastating, pleading and begging for him to get there faster – not saying anything else except his name. 

You had heard his yell, the harshness and fear of it causing you to jolt out of sleep. You didn’t even bother to wait to see if it stopped, not with how raw and painful it was. Instead you sprinted, the door crashing against the wall loudly probably not helping whatever nightmare he was stuck in. You found him sitting up shaking with his head in his hands. Leon flinched at the sound of your footsteps, flinched again as the thunder crashed throughout the room. “Leon?” You spoke firmly once you hit the edge of the bed.

It broke you to see his curled form, the shoulders that heaved with every sob. Your hand landed on his arm, soothing a path to his shoulder as you began to bring him into a hug. It didn’t matter you could feel his shirt damp with sweat or his tears falling onto your own as he crushed you. “Are you okay?” he whimpered, his red rimmed eyes looking you over scanning you for the blood he saw in his dreams. For the bites that littered your skin, the slashes from numerous other horrid creatures he experienced. “I’m okay” 

You smiled softly at him, holding him gently against you as his breathing evened out. He was meant to protect you, meant to keep you safe – even in his dreams he failed. 

“Leon look, I’m fine” You said, cupping his face gently to lift his head. Your smile was cute and touching, a breath of fresh air for him. He nodded, unable to find the words to say as his grip remained tight. In perhaps a poor lapse of judgment you leaned in, closing the gap between the two of you in years. It felt right and natural the way his lips crashed against yours – whilst they remained unmoving at first you felt his grip tighten on you. Holding you impossibly closer to him. Leon didn’t let you pull away once he was out of his trance, his brain working quickly to make up for the lack of reaction in a hungry and messy kiss. 

His actions spoke louder than words as he softened, whimpered at the taste of you as he gained access inside. His trust was being placed in you as you crawled into his lap; your fingers entwining in the soft strands of hair that fell on the nap of his neck. It was hard not to notice the growing bulge that was between the two of you as it began to throb and twitch beneath you. Leon’s hands fell to your hips gripping them tightly as you subconsciously began to rock against him. He damn near purred at the petting, at the long strokes you gave him lovingly like he was a feral cat. 

Perhaps he was this untamable creature that lived through his own desire to live during missions – was now purring in the lap of his long lost owner. The one that has always had his heart. The woman in red that seemed to be a recurring character in his life now forgotten about as his tongue swirled with yours in a desperate fight of dominance. To feel this, to feel you grinding against him like no tomorrow he would happily submit as long as you never stopped. The pleasure causing his dream to fade away, forgotten about as you made your presence known to him. 

He didn't think that all this was a distraction for him to get lulled back to sleep. Maybe you weren’t as hungry for him as he was for you, maybe you were crossing a line that you didn’t know about. His attachment and claim only grew stronger as he kissed down your neck, biting the flesh softly then licking the marks to soothe the pain he caused. “Leon–” You whimpered, your head thrown back allowing him more skin to taste– to explore. 

He laid you down beneath him, his erections pointed prominently at you as he kissed your lips again. The mixed saliva becomes an irresistible gloss coating your lips. Your eyes were wild as they looked up at him holding a different story to the smile your lips presented him with. “What are we doing here?” He whispered, his leg now inbetween yours. He could feel the heat of your cunt against the thin fabric of his sweats. “Whatever you want” You responded, leaving the balls in his court. After all you would have caved years ago all to feel the burn of his love as he thrusts inside you. “I want you–” 

Fuck – your grin was tempting, he could feel all his restraint leave as your hips ground on his thigh. Breathless whimpers turning into deep moans as pleasure coursed through you, as you used him for your own pleasure. The sight was beautiful, in some weird poetic way it made him feel useful in a way that wasn’t for destruction or to fix other people's mistakes. His will for control slipping if you were going to use him like this, beg for a release only he could give you. So he clenched his thigh, the hard muscle adding pressure to the movements, your face however contorting in something that looked like frustration despite the pressure that was slowly building with the coil inside you tightening. 

“What's wrong Angel?” he whispered against the shell of your ear. The warmth of it causes goosebumps to rise along your skin. “Let me help you” 

“Too many clothes– Leon I can’t– I want” 

He silenced you with a kiss, biting the lip softly whilst his hands fiddled with the hemline of your top; only breaking the kiss as he removed the fabric. He was thankful for the nightmare at this point, he didn’t have to fiddle with the clasp of a bra since you don’t sleep with one. Your tits now laid bare for him to play and worship. His tongue circled the bud tightly, flicking it every so often whilst he smiled at the hitch of your breath. The low stimulation was driving you insane, your fingers lacing in the blonde strands tugging him close to you, practically feeding your breast to his eager and awaiting mouth. 

Leon greedily sucked and licked against your tits, playing with the other one in soft gentle squeezes whilst smirking at the way you heaved them further into him. Your hips continued their grind, your cunt begging for attention as you dry humped his leg like a horny dog. His cock now painfully hard as he thought about your waiting warmth, thoughts running over the idea of finally sinking himself in you. You whined as he pulled away, the stimulation fading fast as he retreated on his haunches. “How did I deserve you?” He praised, his eyes racking over your form, his hands once again hesitant to touch your skin as the fear and guilt of his past crept in. Unable to let him go for just a second to allow him to take a good thing, to have something he sorely needed. To have you in the way he needed. A partner. A home. 

As his person. 

“Because you are good and you do good” You spoke softly, holding his hand gently as you looked up at him. “I don’t-” 

“You do” 

In his hesitation you took over, your fingers dancing along the blond happy trail that disappeared underneath the hem of his sweats. His cock already leaking large amounts of pre cum eagerly for you to play with. You watched his cock spring out of his boxers and sweats as you exposed it in one go, the tip already blushing under your gaze. Your fingers traced his balls, following the puffy vein that ran along the underside of him before curving to the mushroomed tip. Even his cock was pretty. 

Leon’s gaze fell on the bracelet you bought yesterday as it bounced along your wrist. The slow pump of his cock growing faster as his fluids loosened your movements. His body swayed with the coursing pleasure, his hands falling to your shoulders to steady himself against your fast pumps. His whines were the perfect tune, breathless and deep against the shell of your ear as he leaned over, struggling against your on-slaught of pleasure. You watched as he began to spill more pre-cum over your hands, the translucent substance looking pretty against your skin. He deserved this, all the pleasure you were willingly giving him. “Fuck- angel I’m too close…stop – please” He begged, pulling your hand away from his throbbing cock. 

Leon pushed you back, making quick work to display your cunt to him in all its glistening glory. It was tempting to taste, to devour like his last meal but perhaps another time. He groaned as he felt your arousal. The slick coating his fingers as he explored your folds, briefly swirling his thumb against your puffy clit that was begging for attention. He worked his way around your body, made sure to learn every sound that left your lips and how to make them again. Leon sunk himself inside you, the stretch of his girth painful for a second before you got distracted by him latching on your tits again. 

His finger tweaked the other nipple as he began to thrust, sucking against your breast greedily once more. The thunder was forgotten about as it continued to crash throughout the night, as was the rest of the nightmare as he lost himself in you. Holding onto the task of giving you pleasure in a desperate attempt to ground himself. You moaned at every drag of his cock, feeling him pull out to the tip before slamming back inside. The raw feeling of your bodies connecting caused you to pull him close. 

Leons hand lifted your leg above his hip, allowing him to grind deeper inside you. His balls tightened as his speed increased, mind filled with nothing but cumming inside you. To let you feel his love as deep as he could get it. You tried to tug his head back to your breast as he moved away but he rejected the offer and he now placed his hands on the back of your thighs as he pressed them down into you. You gasped at his depth, as the brush of his cock head against your cervix. His heavy balls slapped against your ass as he worked harder for your orgasm.

He watched your silent cry, he felt your walls clench around him, the gush of your orgasm as it leaked out. With a fiery desire he finally drove himself to a finish, his cock filling your gushing cunt with him, his love in the most physical form he could. 

Your legs ached as he released them, lowering them to sit around his waist as his cock still sat snuggly inside you. There wasn’t a need for words, for admissions of love and feelings as you both crossed the barriers of friends. Instead Leon kissed you, a simple but firm press. No longer fueled by the hungry desire of the connection with you. You felt him move to lay next to you, his head resting against your shoulder as you held onto him. He needed this, needed the safety of you underneath him as he protected you in sleep. The monsters in his haunted dreams would have to get him before they got you. 

The idea didn’t seem so scary anymore, not when your fingers lightly scraped against his scalp, nails scratching just enough it eased the tension in his brows. Leon’s cock was still nestled inside you softening as you laid together, not wanting to lose the connection you were both currently holding together. It wasn’t long until you felt his soft snores against your chest, his muscles losing their tension as he slipped into a deep sleep. A good one for once. 

He wasn’t there when morning came, his cum now dried against the skin of your thighs. You couldn’t hear the broken coffee machine willing itself to life anymore, you couldn’t smell the breakfast he would have treated you to. No, the house was silent, empty without him. The only sign of him being there was his phone on the table and the wrinkles in the sheets besides you. As you entered the bathroom you saw the lingering sign of him being here, a swipe against the condensation of the mirror, toothpaste dried on the sink. 

Why did everything feel empty all of a sudden? His disappearance reminds you that this was the last full day with him, your rule now broken as you dumped a decision of feelings on him. Guilt ate away at you, the sounds of his panicked screams from his nightmare still haunting you whilst you chose to jump at the opportunity to distract him in a physical form of admitting your feelings. You just didn’t want him to feel like you were using him in his vulnerable state. The shower stream was hot as it pelted your back, you watched the water run down your body washing away everything, washing away him. Maybe he was just running an errand for you, ran out of eggs or something. He will come back, he left things here, he won't leave you. Not yet. 

You felt numb as you waited, your mind filled with the feeling of him, of his mouth exploring your body. Of his silent demands of devotion he was making to you with every thrust he made. You ached for him more than before, it was cruel to wake up empty when he made you feel so full. 

It was hours until he returned, his car pulling back in the drive with the crunch of the gravel. Leon could get used to the feeling of you colliding with him everytime he returned, your body fitting against his perfectly as you hugged him. “Where did you go?” You asked, pulling away to look up at him. The coffee machine was heavy as he moved it out of the way, awkwardly stretching to place it on the table next to you both. “To get some presents and plan the last day…I lost the itinerary” He chuckled. You followed his gaze to the new machine, the box in perfect condition. “You didn’t have to–” 

“Trust me, I did. I was going to cry if I had to hear the other attempt to make coffee again. You deserve it for being so good to me. Even when–” 

“It’s okay, thank you leon” You cut him off, placing a peck on his lips – only for him to pull you closer, deepening the simple peck into something more. “What’s my surprise?” You asked, laying your head against his chest to hear his fluttering heart. Leon never replied, only instructed you to find some shoes and pulled you out to the car. 

The car ride was silent, his hand switching from the gear stick to your thigh, no longer shy with his touches as he thought about last night. Hoping to verbally claim you like he had done physically last night. It was by luck you didn’t glance back into the boot of the car. Blankets and pillows laid on it for when you both arrived at the view point. The orange hues now pale as they started to creep in with dawn approaching quickly. Part of him felt guilty for leaving you alone like that, the bed cold and empty beside you after you had spent a night helping him not feel alone anymore. He laughed at the confusion on your face as he reversed into the space. “Come on” 

You followed him out of the car and to the boot, he opened it to display the set up he had been working on. Perfect for sunset watching. “Who knew you were the romantic kind?” You teased, holding his hand as you turned to him. “Do you like it? I’m sorry I left you today, I wanted it to be a surprise…I wanted to make up for everything” He admitted. You both climbed in the boot, your back resting against his chest as he held onto you tightly. These were the moments you dreamed of with the first jeep. Wishing he would drive you to places like this when he would return from the city. 

“I used to dream of this, us together” You said, glancing up at him. The sun brightened his features, his eyes gaining the shine they once lost with newfound hope for his own future. The fears he once had still lingered yet they weren’t worth losing this. The connection and warmth he gained with you in his arms. For years he found himself yearning for you, for this. Wondering what the picket fence dream would look like if he finally gained it with you. It was his time to gain something, someone. Someone to love and hold, protect from everything he did.

“Me too, I was just too stupid to jump for it” 

“I wouldn’t say stupid, maybe you just needed to fall a little and trust I could catch you” 

“You did” 

Somehow the worry of him leaving tomorrow didn’t matter anymore. Not when he was tied to your soul and heath, with promising touches and lingering kisses he had left behind to keep you longing for more. To keep you excited for more. 

“I think I’ve always loved you like this, Leon” You admitted. Leon smiled against the crown of your head, holding you close to him as he admitted back, “I think I always will love you like this angel” 

[popcornpoppypop]

Easy

Request: Could you do a fic with Jack Abbot and a female reader where she is a nurse and feels like she’s not good enough or is panicking at work even though she’s awesome at her job? Like she’s always too hard on herself.

A/N: I too get panic attacks sometimes and boy would it be nice to have Abbot there to talk me down! Anyway, hope this is okay! Let me know what ya'll think!

Warnings: Talks of death, description of panic attack, medical inaccuracies probably.

You loved being a nurse. You were always taking care of everyone so it made sense to go into nursing. You started out in family medicine, taking care of wellness exams and ear infections. The monotony made it feel like you were wasting away You respected your fellow nurses that thrived there, but something was missing. When you decided to try emergency medicine, you were fascinated. Watching the nurses run around, knowing exactly what to do, you wanted to do that.

You were careful. Too careful. Your superiors warned you that this was a field where you can’t be afraid of mistakes, you have to be able to trust your instincts. You were over prepared to the point that you wasted material and time.

You felt like you were drowning and even on good days, you felt like you were failing. No one could pull you out of the self-hatred spiral. You just hoped to keep the bad days at bay.

But everyone has bad days.

She was just 19 years old, coming in for a sore throat. You had assessed her and deemed her stable. You never entertained the thought that it was the beginning of toxic shock syndrome. Who would?

You were covered in her blood, she had coughed it up as you hooked her up to monitoring equipment. You called for anyone to help as she flatlined. You wouldn’t let anyone else do CPR. You missed this, you’d fix this.

But you didn’t.

“It’s an easy one to miss. You didn’t do this.” Dr. Abbot put a hand on your shoulder as he left the room.

You never had a groove, but what little bit you were starting to get was forgotten. That day shook you to your core. You were even more cautious. You would do everything to make sure that never happened again.

“Y/N, you can’t keep taking this long with patients! You are wasting resources. Why the hell did you do an EKG on Mr. Summers without an order?” Dana sighed as she took her glasses off. She had been on your ass for weeks, trying to get you to figure your shit out.

“He said that his arm was bothering him, I just wanted to be safe!” You argued.

“His arm bothers him because he has arthritis.” She shook her head, giving you a sympathetic look.

“I’ll do better, I’m sorry.” You shuffled off. Your chest tightened, the world felt too close. Why couldn’t you be like everyone else in the department? They all knew exactly what to do all the time? What was wrong with you?

You ran to the stairwell, thinking you had been able to slip away unnoticed.

You tried to breathe but your mind racing caused your chest to heave and wheeze with effort. You felt yourself spiraling and couldn’t stop it. The tears streamed down your face, your hands shook. You were on the verge of passing out, your vison blurring and the edges going dark.

“Easy! Calm down, Y/N. You’re okay.” You could hear the familiar voice, but couldn’t focus on it.

“I can’t….I can’t…” You wheezed. A rough hand grabbed yours and you looked up to see Dr. Abbot. He put your hand to his chest.

“Follow my breaths. In and out. Nice and easy.” He said, keeping hard eye contact. You did your best to follow the rhythm of his chest.

“Good. You’re doing good.” He said as he pulled a stray stool over and sat you down.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened.” You mumbled, your hands still shaking.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. We all have our moments. I don’t believe that you don’t know what triggered this. You want to start being honest here?” He crossed his arms.

“I…I don’t think I’m good enough to be here.” Your voice small and frail. You heard Dr. Abbot snort a small laugh. You looked up at him confused.

“You think you aren’t good enough. That’s a crock of shit if I ever heard it.” He said, his face never changing. You never could figure out when he was joking with you.

“Everyone tells me how slow I am, I waste time and resources. Dana is always on my ass. I lost that patient and I should have known something was going on! I failed, I constantly fail!” The sobs wracked your body.

“Hey! Easy! You aren’t a failure.” He grabbed your hands. “Y/N, that girl was stable when you admitted her. I saw the records. You did everything right. It’s part of this job, no matter how right we are, people will die. You didn’t fail her. You fought for her when she needed you to.” He said tipping your chin up to look at him.

“Dana is on your ass because she knows you’re the best we got. She wants you to reach your full potential. Hell, last week you caught that silent heart attack, no one else would have done that EKG. They all breeze through patients and you take your time. Nothing wrong with either way of working. But you see things others don’t.” He almost smiled.

“I’m so scared all the time.”

“Everyone is. You learn to deal with it. Don’t let that be the thing that takes you out of here. You’re good, you should be here.” He said, his thumb rubbing circles on your hand.

“I didn’t think anyone saw me.” You said to yourself, you knew he heard.

“Believe me, we see you. I see you.” He said, his eyes kinder than you had ever seen them. Your cheeks flushed.

“You have patients, you shouldn’t be here with me.” You cleared your throat.

“No one is dying and if they are, they’ll find me. You needed me.” He nodded. “It’s okay to break sometimes.” He shrugs.

“I feel weak when I do.” You stand up and tighten your arms around yourself.

“It feels like that, but it’s just part of the strengthening process. Each break down makes you a better nurse. Means you care. The only time you get to leave is when you stop caring.” Dr. Abbott put a hand on your arm. “If you leave before that, I’ll personally kick your ass.” He smiled.

“Thank you, Dr. Abbot.” You smiled, wiping your face.

“Anytime. Get back out there. Find me if you need me.” He nodded as he watched you head back into the pitt. He wandered back in and went to his computer.

“You going soft on me, Jack?” Dana looked at him over her glasses.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” He said without looking up.

“You got a soft spot for that girl.” She smirked.

“She’s good. She’s got something we need and I’m not letting her fail.” He shrugged.

“I’m not disagreeing. I feel the same. But mind you don’t get too close. HR will have a field day.” She cocked an eyebrow.

“I’m a professional, Dana.”

“Yeah, you also a man and that lends itself to mischief. Don’t break my nurses hearts, I have to deal with it.” She laughed.

“I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t hurt her.” He cleared his throat, looking up to watch you rush around the ER.

“You’re screwed.” Dana chuckled as she typed at her computer. “That girl is going to flip your world upside down, Abbot.”

“I can only hope.” He whispered to himself.

[sharuk28]

This! omfg!

People see what they wanna see, so don't beat yourself up if you are. Just cause you know actions have a certain result doesn't necessarily mean deciding on doing it is manipulation, it just means you're aware of your actions, and that's true for every path involving choices. But if you know someone will make a decision with certain information and you willingly do what you can to make them decide on something else, I think that's actual manipulation.

I try and make my thoughts known and clear as my way of avoiding that cause of trauma with my ex especially at the end when I've been forced to defend myself, which is something I dislike doing altogether but lasting trauma go brr.

Something else I wanna share that helped me deal with a ton relating to this though, I remember a post somewhere but can't recall the details nor how truthful it is, but it was something about how people's experiences can be so different that it doesn't matter what you do in the sense that if it's something foreign to them or if it goes against their worldview, then they're just gonna not believe you regardless.

Like for me, lying in any capacity makes me feel so uncomfortable, and if I'm being lied to then I don't really care cause it's my choice to trust them yk, and I don't mind being gullible cause at least it let's me be the kind of person I want to be, to easily trust, even though it's hard. However, while most of my current friends know this, I've had situations where I've been called a liar or just "making excuses" by a few people who I've known for awhile and thought they knew me better.. and everytime I tried defending myself, which again, I dislike doing cause I like trust being forced to defend makes me feel betrayed lol, they just refused to believe me and it was exhausting.

I mean, at some point I realised it didn't matter what I said, they didn't wanna believe me and there's nothing I could do to change that. My outlook and way of doing things must've been too foreign, yk. Hope this helpsmakes you feel better, even a little. Goodluck finding a way to deal with this that resonates with the kind of person you are, though it seems you already have, but regardless, all the best! <3

there's a fine line between being wary of manipulation and becoming completely paranoid because you get very close to the realisation that pretty much all human interaction involves doing things we hope will lead to a result we like

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚝 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which you and paige made a promise to each other

There’s something about summer air in Minnesota that makes everything feel bigger than it is. The stars. The spaces between conversations. The ache in your chest when you look at someone a second too long and they don’t notice. Or maybe they do, and they don’t say anything.

You’re lying on your back on a trampoline in someone's backyard. Paige Bueckers is beside you, a little too close for comfort, a little too far to do anything about it.

The night smells like fresh cut grass and burnt marshmallows. The air’s sticky with warmth, the kind that doesn’t ask for a hoodie. There’s a party still going on inside the house, faint music filtering through the screen door—Drake, probably, or SZA. But out here, it’s just you and Paige, staring up at a sky that’s trying its best to impress you.

Paige sighs dramatically, the kind of breath that says “I’m about to say something stupid” before it even happens.

“So,” she says, breaking the silence, “what if we just... suck at dating forever?”

You turn your head toward her slowly, narrowing your eyes. “Are we starting the night with existential dread already?”

She laughs. “No, I’m serious. What if we just never find someone? What if this is it?”

You raise a brow. “You mean this as in... us lying on a trampoline hiding from people drinking warm White Claws?”

“Yeah.” She’s smirking now. “Like, this is peak romance and we didn’t even know it.”

You roll your eyes. “Speak for yourself. I’m still waiting for my movie moment.”

Paige grins, eyes catching the glint of the string lights that line the fence. “Okay, fine. But what if thirty rolls around, and you’re still single, and I’m still single—what then?”

“Then we cry about it on FaceTime and watch The Notebook in separate time zones?”

“No,” she says, voice dipping lower, almost hesitant now. “Then we marry each other.”

You blink.

She keeps her eyes on the stars like she didn’t just drop a loaded sentence between you. Like this is just a casual idea.

You shift, propping yourself up on your elbow so you can see her better. “Wait. Are you saying we make a pact?”

She nods without looking at you. “Yeah. A real one. If we’re both single at thirty, we just... do it. Tie the knot. Easy.”

You scoff. “Easy?”

“Easiest decision ever,” she says, finally turning to face you. “I already know your weird habits. You already know I leave two sips of everything because I have commitment issues.”

“You do.”

“You eat the same three things for lunch and have a playlist for literally every emotion.”

You smile despite yourself. “And?”

“And I like you better than I’ve ever liked anyone I’ve dated,” she says, softer now. “Not like, like like. Just... you’re my favorite person.”

Your heart beats louder than it should.

You mask it with sarcasm. “Aw, Bueckers. Is this your way of asking me to prom?”

“Prom’s next week,” she says with a smirk. “It’s too late. But thirty’s wide open.”

You laugh, pushing her shoulder gently. She exaggerates the motion like you tackled her. You’re both giggling now, bodies still bouncing slightly with the motion of the trampoline.

Then she quiets again. Voice small. Real.

“I’m serious, though. You and me. If it doesn’t happen with anyone else… why not?”

You stare at her.

She’s seventeen and golden and brilliant and so much more sure of herself than she should be. But there’s something in the way she says it. Not flippant. Not a joke.

Hopeful.

You take a breath. Hold out your pinky.

“Alright. If we’re both single at thirty…”

She links her pinky with yours instantly.

“We get married,” she finishes.

You nod. “Deal.”

And then, because you can’t help yourself, you whisper, “You’ll probably forget.”

She looks at you like you just insulted her entire bloodline. “I won’t.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I won’t,” she insists.

“You’ll be off winning WNBA championships and crossing people over or whatever.”

She grins, cocky. “Okay, true. But I’ll still remember.”

You shrug, like you’re not secretly hoping she means it.

“Alright then. It’s a deal,” you repeat, letting your pinkies fall apart, but not the moment.

She stares at you a second longer than necessary.

Then she rolls onto her back again, hands behind her head, eyes on the stars like nothing just shifted between you.

But it did.

You feel it.

You don't realize until much later that this was the night Paige decided what forever looked like.

And it was you.

Years have a funny way of moving fast when you're not looking. One minute you're seventeen on a trampoline. The next, you're twenty-one at a graduation party with someone else's lipstick on your cheek and your phone buzzing in your back pocket.

It’s a picture from Paige — her in cap and gown, beaming, with “UConn Legend” written in white marker across her mortarboard.

Paige: Made it. No torn ACL could stop me. Just the terrifying future ahead. Also I miss your dumb face.

You grin. Your heart squeezes a little, like it always does when she says something unexpectedly sweet.

You: Your dumb face graduated? Unbelievable. When’s the parade? I’ll bring confetti and judgment.

Paige: Confetti welcome. Judgment expected. You still owe me a post-college road trip btw.

You: You still remember that?

Paige: I remember everything.

You let that one sit too long before you respond. You always do.

You’re in Chicago by now. Paige is in Dallas, bouncing between WNBA training camp and events she’s been invited to. You FaceTime late at night — her hair in a messy bun, hoodie drawn up to her chin, bags under her eyes from practice.

“Tell me something good,” she says.

You’re curled on your couch, legs tucked under a blanket, nursing your third glass of boxed wine. “I got ghosted by a woman who said I was ‘too emotionally literate.’ So, that’s something.”

Paige groans. “God, that’s actually a compliment.”

“You’d think. Apparently knowing my attachment style is a red flag.”

She smiles. “Well, for the record, I like that you’re emotionally literate.”

You glance at her through the screen. “What about you? Any secret girlfriends I should hate on sight?”

She hesitates for just a second too long. Then shrugs.

“Nothing that stuck,” she says. “People get weird about the schedule. The travel. The fame thing.”

You nod. “Yeah. That makes sense.” There’s a pause. “Sometimes I feel like everyone I date wants a version of me that doesn’t really exist.”

She hums. “I don’t want a version of you.”

You look up.

She’s watching you through the screen.

“I just want you.”

Your breath hitches.

She catches herself. Backpedals fast. “As a friend! Like—obviously. Duh. I mean. Yeah.”

You laugh, covering your heart with sarcasm. “Smooth.”

She blushes. “Shut up.”

But later, as the call ends and you set your phone down, the echo of her voice lingers like something you should’ve held tighter.

You visit her. Not for any special reason — you just needed to get out of the city, and she said “Come over.” That was enough.

It’s late. You’re two drinks in on her couch, legs tangled under a shared blanket, watching reruns of The Office for the thousandth time. She throws popcorn at you every time you quote a line wrong.

“I swear, your memory’s gotten worse,” she says, chucking another kernel.

You catch it in your mouth. “And yours is terrifyingly accurate.”

She shifts, pulling the blanket tighter around both of you. “I remember everything. Seriously.”

You turn to her. “Everything?”

She nods.

There’s a lull.

And then she says, without looking at you, “I still remember the trampoline.”

You freeze.

“…What?”

She keeps her eyes on the screen. “That night. The pact. I meant it.”

Your throat goes dry. “Paige…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” she rushes. “I just — I think about it sometimes. How easy it felt, you know? Being with you. Like maybe we already had something people spend years looking for.”

You don’t know what to say.

She finally glances at you. “You ever think about it?”

Your voice is barely a whisper. “Sometimes.”

It hangs in the space between you.

You don’t kiss her. You don’t move closer. You both just sit there, holding the maybe of it.

And then the episode ends. The next one starts. Neither of you speaks again.

But she remembers that night too.

Your birthday. You’re in a new apartment in a new city. A new job. A new almost-girlfriend who doesn’t quite understand why your smile falters when Paige’s name pops up on your phone.

12:01 a.m.

Time’s almost up.

That’s all it says.

You stare at it.

Your almost-girlfriend is asleep beside you, breathing softly.

You don’t reply right away.

You lock your phone and turn toward the wall.

But your heart? Your heart answers back immediately.

You forget. You really do. With everything else going on — deadlines, bills, the mess of a half-put-together life — the pact feels like a dream from a different version of yourself.

You assume she forgot too.

It’s late.

Most of your birthday texts have come and gone. A few phone calls. One coworker sent a meme of a gravestone with “RIP your twenties” etched into it. You laughed politely. You don’t feel old, exactly. Just… removed. Like the years built a soft blur around who you used to be, and you're not sure which version of you today is the most true.

You spent the day with a few friends. Drinks. Takeout. Laughter that didn’t always reach your chest. Now, the apartment is quiet. Everyone’s gone. You’re in sweatpants, hoodie half-zipped, makeup long wiped away. You don’t feel particularly 30. You just feel… still.

The knock on the door is unexpected.

You glance at the time. 9:07 p.m.

Cautious, curious, you open it.

There she is.

Paige Bueckers.

In a jean jacket over a hoodie, hair pulled into a loose braid, cheeks a little pink from the cold. One hand holds a bouquet of tulips—white, your favorite. The other hand holds something small. Square. Velvet.

Your stomach drops.

“Hi,” she says.

You blink. “Are you—did I forget we were—?”

“No,” she says. “But I didn’t.”

You stare.

She shifts her weight like she might flee if you blink too hard. “I know this is a little insane. I know. I just… I didn’t want to let today pass.”

You glance at the ring box.

“Paige.”

“It’s not pressure,” she blurts. “It’s not—I’m not trying to, like, ambush you. I just remembered what we said. That night. On the trampoline. And I guess I’ve just… remembered it ever since.”

You step aside, nodding slowly. “Come in.”

She does. The air around her carries something familiar, a little wind, a little warmth, a lot of nerves.

You close the door. “You remembered.”

“Every year,” she says softly. “Every birthday. Yours, mine. I never forgot.”

You lean against the back of your couch. Your legs feel like they might give.

“And now that we’re here?” you ask.

She breathes out. Sets the tulips down on your kitchen counter. Still holds the ring box. Doesn’t open it.

“I didn’t know if I’d actually come,” she admits. “I’ve had it in my drawer for three months.”

“The ring?”

She nods. “I got it engraved. Dumb maybe, but…”

She flicks it open and shows you.

Since 17.

It knocks something loose in your chest.

“Paige…”

“You don’t have to say yes,” she says, voice quick now, scared of the silence. “I don’t even know what this is. Maybe you don’t feel the same. Maybe it’s just me still stuck in a night we barely remember the same way. But I couldn’t not come. I couldn’t—if there was even a chance, I had to try.”

You walk over slowly.

Her eyes track you like you might disappear.

You reach for the ring box, closing it gently with your fingers still over hers.

“I didn’t forget the pact,” you say.

She looks up, startled.

You laugh under your breath. “I didn’t let myself think about it. That’s different. I buried it under jobs and people and cities and time. But I remembered.”

Her voice wavers. “Then why didn’t you ever bring it up?”

“Because I didn’t think you meant it.”

She steps back like you hit her.

“I always meant it,” she says, almost breathless. “God. You think I kept texting you on every birthday because I was joking? You think I came to your city every chance I could just to hang out casually? You think I called you during every off-season just because I was bored?”

Your eyes sting.

“I thought I was the backup plan,” you whisper.

“No,” she says firmly, taking a step closer. “You were the plan. You were always the plan.”

You let the silence bloom.

There’s no music. No outside noise. Just your apartment and the hum of everything that never got said until now.

Finally, you speak.

“I’m not ready to say yes.”

She flinches. “Okay.”

“But I’m not saying no either.”

Her eyes dart to yours.

You take the ring box from her hands. “I want to say… give me tonight.”

“Just tonight?”

You smile softly. “Let me remember how it feels. Being around you. You. Not the past, not the pact. Just... this.”

She nods.

And then—almost like muscle memory—she moves to the kitchen to grab two glasses.

“You still drink that dumb hibiscus tea?”

You laugh. “Only when I want to feel mysterious.”

She pours the water. Boils it. Sits beside you on the couch like she never left.

And for the first time in years, nothing feels far away.

It’s barely morning when you wake.

Sunlight filters in through your kitchen window in faint, forgiving strokes. You’re curled up on the couch with a blanket around your shoulders and the faintest ache in your neck — a leftover from staying still too long in a moment that didn’t feel real.

Paige is sitting at the kitchen table.

She’s in the same hoodie from last night, her legs pulled up into the chair like she always did in college when she was trying to disappear. A mug of tea cradled in both hands, steam rising slowly into the soft quiet.

You watch her for a minute.

She doesn’t know you’re awake yet.

Her eyes are on the small velvet ring box sitting on the table.

Still closed. Still waiting.

Like her.

You shift, and the couch creaks slightly. She turns.

“Oh,” she says, voice low, careful. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” you reply, stretching slowly. “Been up long?”

“Not really.” She hesitates. “Didn’t sleep much.”

You sit up, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders like armor. “Too many thoughts?”

She smiles gently. “Something like that.”

You nod, rubbing your hands over your face. “Want breakfast?”

She shakes her head. “I can get something on the way out.”

You look at her. “You’re leaving?”

“Well…” She looks down at the ring box again. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted.”

“I didn’t say no,” you remind her.

She nods. “I know. But you didn’t say yes either.”

You get up, feet padding softly on the wood floor, and walk to the table. You don’t sit yet. You just stand behind the empty chair across from her and look down at the ring box too.

It looks so small from up here. Insignificant almost. But you know better. There’s a lifetime tucked into that hinge.

“I wasn’t ready to say anything last night,” you say softly.

“I know,” she replies.

“I didn’t know how I felt. Still don’t, exactly. But…” You pause. “You stayed.”

She meets your eyes. “Of course I did.”

“And you didn’t ask for anything.”

“I didn’t come to ask,” she says. “I came to remind.”

You sit down slowly. Your fingers hover over the velvet box but don’t touch it. “Remind me of what?”

She swallows. “Of what we were. Of what we still might be. Of what I’ve been holding onto every time I said your name out loud like it meant more than just ‘friend.’”

You’re quiet for a long time.

She doesn’t fill the silence. That’s always been one of her best qualities—Paige knows how to wait without making it feel like pressure.

You glance at the box.

“You really bought this three months ago?”

She nods. “Didn’t know if I’d use it. But I couldn’t not have it.”

You press your palm flat on the table. Not touching her, not yet. Just there.

“It wasn’t a joke,” she says. “It never was. Even at seventeen. I meant it. Every birthday, every text. Every time I saw you with someone else and thought, ‘God, she deserves better.’ Every year we didn’t talk for a while and I still saved your number just in case.”

You lift your eyes slowly.

“Say it again,” you whisper.

She breathes in. Steady. Strong. “You were always the plan.”

Your throat tightens.

You nod once. Just once. Then you open the box.

The ring catches the light in the most unassuming way — not flashy, not grand. Just simple. Solid. Familiar.

You slide it out, turn it in your fingers, read the engraving again.

Since 17.

You set it gently down beside your tea. And finally, finally, you reach across the table and take her hand.

“I want to figure this out,” you say. “Not out of obligation. Not because of some promise made under the stars and trampoline nets. I want this because you showed up.”

Her eyes shine, lips parting in the tiniest smile.

“And because,” you add, “you’re the only one who ever waited without asking me to hurry.”

She exhales, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “So what now?”

You squeeze her hand. “Now we don’t rush.”

She smiles, wide and quiet and a little shaky. “So… I keep the ring?”

“For now,” you grin. “Don’t get cocky, Bueckers.”

She lets out a breathless laugh. “God, I missed that.”

You lean in. Just a little. “Then stay.”

“I will,” she whispers, squeezing your hand like it’s the only thing holding her together.

And maybe it is.

The house is loud.

Your daughter is singing the Bluey theme song at full volume from somewhere in the hallway. Your son is crying because the waffle you gave him broke in half. And the dog — all seventy pounds of golden retriever joy — is sprinting back and forth with a half-eaten stuffed duck in his mouth like it’s his job to personally raise the decibel level.

You’re barefoot in the kitchen, cradling a lukewarm mug of coffee in both hands like it might save your life.

There’s crayon on the fridge.

Your daughter added a rainbow to the corner of the calendar and signed her name in uneven block letters.

It’s a mess.

It’s perfect.

And in the middle of it all is Paige.

She’s wearing an oversized T-shirt that used to be yours and a pair of shorts that are barely hanging on. Her hair is pulled into a half-bun, and she’s got a pink hair tie looped around her wrist because Jayda insists they match every morning.

She’s kneeling on the floor with your son in her lap, holding him and whispering something that makes him hiccup through his tears. Slowly. Gently. The same way she used to talk you down from a spiral when the world felt too big.

“Hey,” you say from the doorway.

She looks up. Smiles.

It still hits you. Every single time.

“Crisis averted,” she says, rubbing your son’s back. “The Waffle Tragedy will not go down in history.”

“Are you sure? I think he’s already drafting a memoir.”

Your son sniffles.

Paige whispers, “Tell Mama you’re okay now.”

He nods into her shoulder.

You walk over and crouch beside them, brushing his curls back gently. “Good job, little man.”

He reaches for you with chubby arms and mumbles, “Wuv you.”

“I love you too.”

Paige stands up slowly and stretches, arms high, groaning like she’s eighty. “I need like... six more hours of sleep and a coffee the size of my head.”

You hand her your mug. “You can have mine. I only drank half.”

She takes it and sips. “Lukewarm. Just how I like it.”

You grin. “Liar.”

She leans in and kisses you. It’s quick. Familiar. Soft. The kind of kiss that comes with a hundred other ones before it.

From the hallway, your daughter yells, “MAMA! MOMMY! THE DOG STOLE MY HEADBAND AGAIN!”

You both groan.

Paige mumbles against your mouth, “Your child.”

You pull back with a raised brow. “She’s literally your clone.”

“Emotionally. But the drama? That’s all you.”

You chuckle, standing with her now, arms brushing as you head toward the hallway chaos together. But then you pause.

She notices and turns.

You’re watching her.

The kitchen. The kids. The crayon art. The ring still on her finger, older now, a little scratched, a little worn, but still there.

“I was just thinking,” you say.

“Uh-oh,” she teases. “That’s dangerous.”

You smile. “You really did mean it.”

She tilts her head. “The pact?”

You nod. “All of it.”

Paige steps closer and takes your hand. The same way she did on your 30th birthday. Like no time has passed at all.

“I still do,” she says.

Your son tugs on your pant leg.

Your daughter runs in with the dog trailing behind her, headband around his neck like a crown.

And you?

You laugh.

You press your forehead to Paige’s and say, “God, I’m so glad you showed up that night.”

She smiles.

And you both turn, hand in hand, back into the storm you built together.

Because this?

This is forever.

And she always meant it.

[zyafics]

hi! i love your work. Can you do a insecure reader being comforted by Rafe? I need that in my life (⸝⸝⸝>﹏<⸝⸝⸝)

i am so sorry it took me so long!! i was contemplating deleting this because i thought it was so bad, but thankfully, i didn't. i hope you enjoy it! shoutout to @itneverendshere for saying she would smack the girl bsf, i hope to never become friends w ur mans

LINE WITHOUT A HOOK | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Oneshot)

Pairing — Rafe x Insecure!Female Reader

Content — Lots of insecurity thoughts, Rafe comforting his girl best friend and you get jealous, past mentions of Rafe being the popular jock and you're the social outcast, and music is a clutch for you, but lots of fluff!

Word Count — 1.7K

Song — Line Without A Hook by Ricky Montgomery

You were always a sensitive person.

It should come as no surprise that you became a sensitive girlfriend, too.

You don’t know how Rafe and you came to be. He was the stereotypical jock in high school; the one who had the entire student population in the palm of his hands, riding on waves of social admiration, and the unofficial mascot of pep rallies. You were the ostracized, quiet girl on campus; the one who could be found in the library, paging through heavy tomes, with music blaring through your earbuds at maximum volume.

Total, complete opposites.

But it happened.

Three years into your relationship should squash that unfortunate personality trait, but it hasn’t. Watching a movie in your shared apartment with Rafe, all his friends are present. Friends you don’t have a rapport with, friends you wanted there in the first place.

Yet, you’re uncomfortable. Sitting on the edge of the couch, hands tucked between your thighs, you’re trying to soothe your own deliberating nerves while everyone around is boisterous, noisy, and loud. You look to Rafe on several occasions, and he calms you down, but even then, the harbored bile in your throat doesn’t fade.

After dark, everyone leaves. They bid their farewells, pay their respects for your gracious hospitality, and when Rafe’s friends trickle out of the door, only three people remain: you, Rafe, and his best girl friend.

You never had a problem with his best friends. In fact, you pride yourself as a cool girlfriend who can tolerate her boyfriend having female friendships. You believe in that; you have to.

But Rafe’s best girl friend is going through something. Recently, she had broken up with her own boyfriend, and she was mellowing out the repercussions of losing a loved one. She needs comfort; she wanted her best friend.

To say the least, it’s awkward. They sit together on the couch, his arm slung around her shoulders, while you awkwardly gawk at them on the side. Like you’re intruding on something, an intimate moment that isn't privy to you.

And maybe it isn’t. Maybe Rafe has a right to comfort his friends, and his friends have a right to that privacy, but you can’t seem to starve that aching sense of betrayal that crawls up your stomach.

He doesn’t do anything inappropriate, his hands never travel too far from platonic territory, but you are sensitive. She’s crying into his chest, heaving through choked breaths, and you have the strongest urge to shove her off. Unfortunately, you are non-confrontational.

All you can do is watch, pathetically. Your heart feels like it’s being grated from the inside out. The more you saw him, comforting her, offering her safe words, the more you crumbled. You don’t want to say anything—he knew her longer—but you’d rather rip your heart out of your chest than deal with this.

Your foot brushes against Rafe’s, signaling. But he doesn’t take it. You do it again, and again, eyes pleading, but Rafe holds his concentration on his best friend. You don’t know if you imagined it, but you swear he pulls away.

Everything in the air drops. Oxygen stolen from your lungs, you can’t handle it anymore.

Standing from your seat, you head straight for the bedroom. You go straight to your bed, limp onto your side, and draw your knees to your chest.

You’re crying—but why? Rafe didn’t do anything; he didn’t cheat on you, he didn’t hurt you, but everything inside aches. You were being ignored in the comforts of your own home by the very person you shared a single thread of safety with. He knew you didn’t take new crowds well, like an easily-scared fawn that runs at the first sound of noises. Yes, you wanted this, but you didn’t want this.

Chest heaving with tightness, your breaths come out in shudders. You reach for the headphones on your nightstand and switch it on, flipping through your playlists for the loudest track.

Music has always been your clutch. You find solace in the rhythm and lyrics, drowning out your own damning thoughts. It’s easier to deal with the fury of another tempo than to deal with the destruction of your own heart.

This was also how you and Rafe came to be.

You were in the library, alone as always, listening to some song on wired headphones. Flipping through pages, minding your own business, you suddenly felt a breath against your shoulders, and a cool, smooth voice asked, “What are you listening to?”

It had startled you. You jumped back in your own chair and turned to see the most popular guy in school. His eyes were a warm, clear blue, and his smile was friendly, but you felt rattled.

You hadn’t spoken. You lost all abilities to.

“What are you listening to?” He had asked again, still posturing with the same level of friendliness. Somehow, you were convinced to take off one side of your headphones and allowed him a peek. He plugged in, nodding to the rhythm, and a covert smile fell upon his lips as he glanced back at you. “Nice taste.”

Now, you’re doing the exact same thing without him. Without his comfort. Without his warm presence. The volume of your song was loud and destructive, and your fingers clutched around the case of your phone for much-needed anchoring.

It’s pathetic. You shouldn’t feel this way.

But it had hurt.

The door creaks, and you don’t need to lift your gaze to see Rafe entering the bedroom. At the threshold, he fills the entire doorway, his presence so domineering, your heart skips a few beats.

But you refuse to react. Tucking yourself inwards, knees drawn to chest, arms wrapped around your calves, hoping to be swallowed by the very earth and disappear.

Or, at the very least, be as invisible as possible.

Rafe steps up to your bedside, but you don’t see him. Your back facing him, your eyes drawn to the blinds of your windows. You pretend to paint patterns, to notice everything—anything—outside of the demanding, silent presence of your boyfriend.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Rafe asks softly, his large hand lands on the side of your thighs, the callouses of his palm scraping against your skin in intimate strokes. But you can’t stop thinking about those same hands comforting another woman.

You don’t answer, scooting further into the bed, reeling away from Rafe’s touch.

He sighs, and you think: this is it. This is how he has had enough of you. A simple incident is enough to demonstrate the preview of a lifetime, and Rafe decides he isn’t meant for this type of commitment. Your heart sinks at the revelation, but you’re immobile, paralyzed by the inevitability.

Floorboard creaking, you expect Rafe to leave. Go outside. Back to his friend. That’s who he can picture his life with.

Instead, the mattress beneath you sinks, springs coiling under feathers. Strong arms wrap around your stomach, his touch causing a thousand embers to burst into flames, and he draws you into his naked chest.

All the muscles in your shoulders coil and tighten at first contact, but they slowly melt into his embrace, as if he’s the fire to a freezing day. You sink into his skin, bleed into his bones, and your chest shudders with an overflowing flood of emotions.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle, the rhythm of the music pounding against your eardrums causing you to feel everything at once. Rafe’s arms around your waist tightens. “I’m sorry,” you sob.

“Why are you apologizing?” He murmurs into the nape of your neck, cradling you closer. Almost as if he needs this as much as you do. “You did nothing wrong.”

”I—“ You choke on your own air, “I felt abandoned.”

“You aren’t,” he reassures in a soft, caring voice, the same tone he used when he first met you. When he knew how to not scare you off. “You’re never a second choice for me.”

“But with your friend—”

“She was going through something,” Rafe clarifies, and while you know that, it doesn’t hurt any less. “But when I saw you suddenly leave, I knew something was wrong. I sent her home and came here.”

He chose you, is what you should be hearing, but instead, all that pulses is the echoes of your guilt. He sent away his grieving friend because of your jealousy.

Another sob rips from your raspy throat.

“Baby, baby,” he soothes in your ear, pushing away your hair to get a closer touch. “It’s okay. Don’t cry.”

“I was jealous,” you admit with much putrid, “I’m so sorry.”

Rafe says nothing, find the phone gripped in your hand, and lowers the volume until it becomes mute. You can feel everything, hear everything, much clearer. His touch turns light, and his large palm grazes her your exposed stomach briefly, stirring butterflies.

His mouth finds the nape of your neck, and Rafe murmurs lyrically, “I want you.” He declares with utmost honesty. “There’s no one in this world I want but you.”

That should comfort you. Strip away the last barrier of insecurities, but instead, you say, “I’m not easy.”

“I don’t want easy.”

“I’m so sensitive.”

“I can handle it.”

“I get so jealous,”

He lets out a laugh, the rumbles filling his chest meets your spine. “So do I,” he confesses, “I’m the most jealous person in the world. When you said you wanted to meet my friends—I got jealous.”

Your heart stops.

“Why?” You whisper.

“Because I want you all to myself,” he says with a sigh, “I didn’t want them to see you in this new light; how beautiful you are, how kind, how perfect. You’re my safety, my light, and I didn’t want to share that with anyone else.”

Somehow, it works. You feel calmer, like you find comfort in a kindred spirit. Moments pass for you to digest this newfound information, but the weight on your chest slowly lifts. Finally, you take off your headphones and tilt your head back to face Rafe.

His smile is gentle, like he was waiting for this precise moment. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi,” you speak, and his grin widens.

“We’re okay?” He asks, squeezing your waist.

You nod, “We’re okay.”

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

[tarotbyjam24]

Pick a pile : 1st time sex with your future spouse

(18+ mdni)

Masterlist\pick a pile feedback

Hey there! Your likes, reblogs, and feedback mean the world to me 🩷. Take a peek at the piles and see which one calls to you 🫶🏻 – let me know which you choose, I'd love to hear from you! Remember, these are general readings, so take what resonates and leave the rest.

pile 1 pile 2 pile 3

If you're vibing with my readings, You can also book a personalized reading for a deeper dive! And don't miss out on my free reading offers

1st part of readings are done by @delulutarot-deactivated20250509 rest are done by me

Pile एक

Cards : justice|temperance|knight of wands

Your fs will be taking the lead in this act . They'll initiate things . They'll be the one to take responsibility and care of you . They'll hold you so dearly . Your fs will love to ride you . They can be into boundage roping too. They'll love their privacy while doing it . So they'll only do sex in private isolated places only where you both don't get caught. They'll want to pour their all into you and hope you reciprocate it too but thats not important for them . They just wanna give all of their to you. You both maybe so different from each other. But opposite attracts ✨ you both will do it while it's dawn . Flowers can be significant too. You both can be into role switching too to see which fits you best and giving a try to being a sub and dom . You both can be secretive about doing these activities as it's important to keep our life private . Dressing up before the act can be important too which will be the reason you both will get turned on. You'll feel a new energy in you after you've sëx with them. There will be sense of emotional grounding too and this sêx will lead to new beginnings . They'll only have eyes on you same goes for you . You'll be like ahfhhfh this is the only person I want . They're mine 😩💥 your heart will be on fire for them . You both will balance and fit each other in unusual ways like a art .

Where would be your first sex ?

At the work place . You or your future spouse is most like to get turned on when either of you're working hehe like your future spouse will suddenly think about you and boom now they're horny for you . Blind folds will be prominent or just sensory deprivation in general . It's possible you might have sex when moon is in waning or waxing cresent phase .

Their fav parts of your body:

your side profile specially jawline , your legs[thighs] , your hands and the way you hold them , your serious face while doing the deed 🎀 if you identify yourself as female then your whole body is sexy for them and I feel your future spouse will find your lil chubby cheeks and hairs so sexy like they give essence to you and adds spice to your beauty.

Their kinks :

okay so finding you alone ? Is that even a kink ? Definitely teaching you is their kink like anything they can teach you be it erotic or innocent things. When the sex hits them into the soul and both yours souls are satisfied ✨ spoiling you to the death , if you're not married obviously like if you doing sex with your future spouse before marriage then having marriage with you and fucking you with that married label is their kink . You doing a cheerleading dance infront of them 🎊

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Pile दो

Cards : magician|3 of swords|hanged man

Your 1st séx with them will be decorated place . They'll prepare roses and other flowers too . They'll prepare few séx toys too . They'll be the one who's dom👀 . They can be the person who has lot of stamina. They'll heal your broken heart and help you come out of those love related traumas. They'll want to prove that they're not same as others. You may have walls and may not be communicative enough about your feelings but they'll understand it all without you being vocal to them. They're intuitive enough to understand you. They'll help you relax by engaging in sexual activities with you . Since they'll want to dominate. They'll want you to lie only and let them do all the act for you . They'll hold your hands so you don't interrupt them while pleasuring you. They'll be into proving pleasures with multiple things at once . Like doing nipple play , penetration, clit stimulation all at once 💥😭 . You'll be feeling so euphoric and at edge of loosing it all and just melt away. They or you can be into hand job or just grabbing them or their boõbies . They're true magican haha 🪄 . When you're with them they wouldn't want you to shed tears or get hurt anymore. Your 1st sêx with them will heal you from past wounds . I hope you resonate. I'll love to hear from you through comments or asks.

Where would be your first sex ?

Your first sex with your future spouse will at some party or gathering like you both may have sex under the influence of some drinks . Now this party can be in hilly areas or areas where there's silence most of the times and it's reserved area where people aren't seen very much .

Their fav parts of your body:

your breasts , the way you stick out your tongue , your hands placements on their body and specially when you put hands on their face 😭 they go crazy like they could be twerking inside lmao, your lips , your pointy nose tip , when you're wrapped in sheets

Their kinks:

pleasuring you with so many things at once so that you cum very badly all over the place . Breeding kink , providing for you , making you feel secured , solving your issues are few of your future spouse's kinks

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Pile तीन

Cards : 4 of swords|10 of swords|4 of cups

Alright pile 3 , your fs may get turned on while you're asleep and they'll just want to initiate things with you . They could have been holding on to their sexùal thoughts for so long . They could've even contemplating over them . Probably they could have been even pleasuring themselves too with the thought of yours. They'll want to submit to you and beg you for having sêx with them. Lowkey you would've been wanting to fuck them too but somehow you both are not very vocal about your feelings and don't take actions either lol. It's giving all people around you realise that there's sexual tension between them and ughh it's so hot . But only you and your fs are the only people who haven't realised it yet. But when you're asleep they'll finally decide that they need to take action on these thoughts and ask you for it . You could probably even be having nightmare and them comforting you so when you wake up it'll lead to sêx to get you comfortable again . They'll fuck you so hard that you'll finally sleep peacefully for longer lol because you'll have no energy left and probably wake up again with pains 🥴 thanks to them and their cock\pussy.

Where would be your first sex ?

Okay pile 3 your sex will be somewhere where you get chance to sneak out like you've come out of city or country for some work related issues or just a conference or some competition to participate in and you do the deed there . It's possible that you sneak out from your colleagues or friends or family to have sex together haha but I feel you or your future spouse will definitely take guidance 1st from someone experienced. So that they can give outmost performance and experience 🎀

Their fav parts of your body:

your smile , your chin I feel there can be something about your chin probably it's more baby like having more fat over there , the way you put your face down when you're not satisfied enough , and ooh when you criss cross your hands it's over for them 🌊

Their kinks:

intoxication kink , trying adventures with you like exploring new positions, new places , reward kink , sub dom kink .

previous reading

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Thank you SO much for stopping by and letting me share my insights with you. Wishing you the most wonderful day/night! Sending you tons of love! - Jam

[ukulelegodparent]

I really must say I hate these posts that make it sound like vegans are a major problem here or that leave out relevant details.

Like, I don't think the reason fucking everything is acrylic and polyester mix now is the fault of vegans rather than due to the fact that polyacryl sweaters are far cheaper to produce than wool ones and you can't get quality clothing anymore. This is a fashion industry problem. Not a veganism problem. There are just not that many vegans in the world. And sure the fashion labels who are using these cheap alternatives love to brand them as 'ethical' or whatever but like you do understand that that is a marketing tactic.

Honey is also a great topic. Now, this doesn't apply everywhere. But chances are that where you live honeybees are an invasive species that is taking resources from local native pollinators. Honeybees kind of always do this but it is less of a problem where they are native. Still: if you are considering getting bees to help pollinators, consider planting some local wild flowers and leaving some wood rotting in a corner of your garden (which I hope you have BC if you're trying to raise bees in an apartment I can't help you). It will do more for endangered pollinators than a bee hive ever will. I say this especially BC for example the EU allows companies to do green washing by getting bees which, you're at best doing literally nothing for the environment by keeping bees. Also as a side I know plenty of people who eat meat who consume agave syrup in about the same quantities as I do (next to none, but then I've also never been big on honey either). Like, it's fine to make a post about 'hey, your agave syrup is harming bats' but I don't see why vegans would need to be especially addressed. But then veganism is not a monolith and my diet is certainly not representative of that of eg a Californian vegan.

Also like. Honey is also mostly glucose and fructose. Yes, it has a lot of vitamins too, but acting like agave syrup is unhealthy because of all the sugar as opposed to honey is very silly. If anything a higher fructose content is preferable over glucose considering it does have a lower glycaemic index, assuming you're not allergic. But then I also think being vegan for health reasons is fairly stupid.

I'm also willing to hazard a guess that more agave goes into mezcal and tequila production each year than goes into the production of agave syrup each year. I mean I probably drink more Tequila in a year than I consume agave syrup and I am vegan.

And while yes, if you yourself or someone you know is keeping chicken that's great! I myself hope to some day be in a situation where I can have chicken BC they are my favourite animals. And if that is your situation: eat those eggs! I know how chicken are. If an egg cracks they'll eat it themselves. But then those aren't the only eggs you're eating. You're buying the baked goods from the bakery, you're buying cookies and ready-made cakes from the supermarket, you're eating things that have non-vegan breading, egg pasta, etc. And the chicken who layed those eggs most certainly did not live in someone's backyard with plenty of space to run around and do their little chicken things. Maybe the product at least has an ecological seal so the eggs must have had one too, but even with that there are farms that have some fairly horrid conditions. Basically if you do not personally know where the chicken came from you cannot know what their living conditions are like.

I genuinely do not understand the vendetta some people on this site seem to have against vegans.

Vegans of tumblr, listen up. Harvesting agave in the quantities required so you dont have to eat honey is killing mexican long-nosed bats. They feed off the nectar and pollinate the plants. They need the agave. You want to help the environment? Go back to honey. Your liver and thyroid will thank you, as well. Agave is 90% fructose, which can cause a host of issues. Bye.

[midnghtprentiss]

yours - jack abbot x f!doctor!reader

a/n: this is for “ a doctor day” which i am so happy to be a part of. it took me some time to think about something cool but i tried my best to work with this prompt. so i really really really hope you enjoy it as much as me. i tried to be subtle about the color cause in my head it means something really bigger. 

a big thank you to @letsgobarbs @ananonymousaffair @clubsoft for creating this project!!!

prompt: The nights feel dull and tasteless without you, I try to get through them but they seem so endless.

color: pink.

word count: +3k

Everything started with an offer for you to go teach at a hospital in London. You were so excited, it was your dream since medical school and you’ve worked hard to experience the things you always wanted. It started small: residency, then you got masters and a doctorate. The job offer wasn’t out of the blue, they were watching your every move, gluing to the details of your incredible brain. 

You loved working at the ED, the adrenaline, the sight of doing something good and to actually do what you loved. You found valuable things there: friends, family and love. You found Jack there. He was your rock, the biggest supporter you could ever get and he couldn’t get in the way of you getting what you always wanted. The moment you told him what they offered he knew being selfish would kill him and letting you go would kill him either. 

The breakup was clean with a lot of tears and feelings. Too many words were said meaning the same thing: you loved him and he loved you more than anyone. 

“Will you miss me?” You whispered, cuddled with him. 

“Every day til you come back to me.” He smelled your hair, pulling you closer. 

So he let you go, even if meant to put his plans on stand by. The house, the ring, the children. He would wait and so did you. 

The day you left was the day he lost himself in his own mind. Jack was quieter, more introspective and a little sadder, Robby pointed out for Dana once. He was still capable of doing his job, of course he was. But you weren’t there to help him, to make funny remarks about him or to share a candy bar when the chaos finally stopped. You weren’t there for him to take you home, in fact, you were making yourself a home somewhere else that wasn’t with him. 

He was terrified of you meeting another person that could easily erase him from your mind. The idea of you marrying someone else haunted him more often than he could admit. He would never forgive himself if the children of another man had the eyes of the girl he couldn’t forget - his girl.

You stopped talking to each other as a silent agreement. It was easy to do your jobs if the anxiety of someone waiting for the call or text wasn’t on your mind all the time. Suddenly three months became three years and the lump in your throat, the knot in Jack’s chest, got loose. 

The countless nights you almost called him to hear his voice or text to know how he was doing, if he was eating, sleeping and trying to be a normal person. Jack almost did the same too. He dialed your number and gave up, he wrote you letters and a journal to inform you about how he was dealing with the distance.

You moved on, made friends, got yourself a home with the things you only dreamed off before and got your shit together. You were a really popular name among the medical teaching. You did some impressive research, amazing experiments and innovations on the field, especially on emergency education, the top of your field. Jack watched you from afar the whole time, he read your papers, he watched your online classes, he did everything to keep you close to him. And he waited patiently for you. 

Pitt was watching you again, they needed someone like you to teach new doctors on the night shift and to take the hospital to the next level, so they offered you another deal. 

You accepted right away. No questions asked. 

Your first call was to Robby and Dana, you decided to let them know you were coming back to work at the hospital again. They were really happy, especially Dana for getting her coffee partner back. You thought about texting Jack, but the uncertain feeling if we ever wanted to hear about you again made you tremble with fear, so you didn’t. Perhaps he already knew you were coming back. 

He did. 

The cold Pittsburg breeze brought back the familiar memories once again. The laughter, the tears, the pain and the comfort. You needed that so bad, you almost didn’t feel the moisture on your cheeks and your heavy breathing. 

Nothing like home, right?

You got into the hospital fifteen minutes before your shift started. You were overjoyed to be there surrounded by so many familiar faces. Princess and Perlah were the first ones to see you, for a fraction of seconds you almost missed their hugs. 

“You are so back! Thank God.” Princess held you tighter, shaking you in her arms. 

“I’m so glad to be back.” They let you go and you went straight to the nursing station, catching Robby and Dana’s attention. 

“I can’t believe my eyes.” Robby’s words made you blush, embracing them. “We missed you here, London.” 

“London?” You questioned him with eyebrows raised. 

“Only the best of us came back, I’m glad you did.” Dana whispered, kissing your temple. 

“I can’t wait to see you making these guys peed in their pants.” 

“It’s going to be a pleasure to make them fear me.” Robby gasped, making you laugh a little louder. 

The nurses joined in for a warm hug and some small talk, even Garcia showed up to see you and you were really surprised to find out she’s literally dating a girl from the residency. She just mouthed you that you talk more later and moved back to the OR. You really missed those people and suddenly life was so much better and lighter. 

He was watching everything from the other side of the room. His heart filled with something he couldn’t give a name right away. You looked different in his eyes. Maybe your hair, your bone structure, your cheeks. He didn’t know. Still the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.  You were there, so close to him and he was paralyzed. Frozen in his own world. 

Jack spent nights imagining how he would react when you come back, how he would take you in his arms and forget the rest about the rest, kiss your face and plead you to not walk away ever again, to make his arms home once more. But you were right there and he lost his ability to move and be a fucking person. 

You caught his eyes and gave him a shy smile. Not going straight to him, giving the time you knew he was going to need before doing something else and besides, you were so involved with the crew that for a millisecond you forgot about the butterfly in your stomach almost making you throw up there. 

He wasn’t ready to talk to you. Not yet. Jack heard the rumors, he knew you’ll be back soon to be in the hospital again. Same shift, same people, different you, different him. He hated the change. At the same time, he needed to have you right over there next to him to make sure you weren’t going anywhere far from him. His mind was racing with millions of things and most of them were about you.

By the time the shift started, you were already with the students, talking about your work and what you expect them to do and learned from you. They noticed how smillish and nice you seem just for the way you lead them through the trauma bay introducing one by one to the team. First Shen, who was too energetic by your return to stop talking and then Ellis, who were all sweet and great with everybody else. Bridget couldn’t keep her hands to herself, hugging you in all the opportunities she had. And then Jack, he was serious the whole time, shaking the students hands and quickly looking at you. 

“This is the night shift crew. If I’m not around you can always ask them for help. Doctor Shen is the sweetest person here but you don’t want to piss him off. Dr. Ellis is an amazing teacher if you want to learn something and I’m pretty sure you want to, again guys, don’t piss her off.” You took a deep breath and looked at him. “This is doctor Abbot, he is the best trauma surgeon here and if I were you, I’ll try to be nice to him, he’s a surprise box to solve problems and rage Dr. Walsh.”

You tried your best to focus on them, ignoring his hot gaze on your face, reading you microexpressions like it was his newspaper. His presence made you overwhelmed enough to stumble in a few words. They introduced themselves to them and led them to the patients they were looking for at night. 

Jack liked the new version of you. Confident, smarter, better. Watching you teach was absolutely incredible, you delivered everything without problems, making these kids really think and understand what took him years to do. The more he looked, the more he wanted to take you home and forget about the three years you were gone. 

“Want a picture, Abbot?” You teased him, leaning against the counter with a tablet in hand. 

“If looking at a pretty thing is a crime put me in the fucking jail.” He crossed his arms, locking your gaze. 

“Good to know your taste hasn't changed.” 

“We’re talking about something really serious and I don’t play about anything that revolves around you.” He admitted, coming closer to where you were. “You were missed around here.” 

“I missed being here too.” Your words sounded like a whisper as he was getting closer. 

“We need to talk.” Jack held your arm, softly caressing your skin. 

“Abbot’s pancakes?” 

“You’re still bossy, wow.” He would do whatever you asked. “Whatever you want, gorgeous.” 

“Asshole.” You dismissed him, going the other way shaking your head. 

The next hours felt like you’ve never gone away for three years. The crew was the same you remembered but better and your tiredness didn’t turn out to be an issue. At 07 am you were pretty awake, the adrenaline was making you excited and you couldn’t stop moving around the room. 

You spent at least twenty minutes explaining about your patients to the day crew before really leaving the ER. It was a great day for you, the familiar taste of doing what you love with people you love made your heart ache with happiness. You were glad to be there again. 

Jack was waiting for you at the parking lot, hands in his pockets and eyes on you. You approached him slowly, stopping a few steps away. He watched your face with a discreet smirk, shaking his head. 

He followed you to your car, making sure you were safe enough to drive to his house - the same one you shared for almost two years. The unease on your chest was making you almost throw up in your car. You parked in the driveway, watching the house from the outside for a while. He was still watching you, he couldn’t stop himself from that. 

The small garden you cultivated was still intact, the pink flowers you loved and a few other plants that weren’t there before. He took care of the garden religiously for you. That was his way of hoping you come back to him. You walked towards the entrance slowly, capturing the details you missed while away. Jack finally put the swing on the front porch, like you planned on doing to make the house seem more cozy. 

“I thought it would be nice to sit here sometimes to watch the neighborhood.” He mentioned and opened the door for you. 

The inside was the same you remembered. The picture frames, the decoration. He changed some furniture but the rest looked the same. He still kept the picture of you two above the fireplace with the same flowers you used to put there. In your heed, when he did those things brought him some hope to believe you were coming back to him.

“You still buy the flowers?” You asked, turning your face to look at him. 

“Every wednesday at the farmers market.” He nodded, walking to the kitchen. 

Everything looked the same, like you never left. Even the cinnamon smell you absolutely loved lingered in the air. 

The kitchen was absolutely your favorite place in the house. You got to spend hours sitting at the table doing your shit or just baking whatever came to your head, sipping tea and being loved. Jack had the perfect vision from the living room when you were in the kitchen. He never told you but he had a lot of pictures of you sitting there existing like you’re the only God he believed. 

He served you some coffee and went back to the other side of the counter, putting the ingredients to do the pancakes you asked. The comfortable silence was pleasant, reminding you of the morning you shared in the same way: him doing the breakfast and you enjoying the view. 

“How was London? Last time I heard you were the chief of the trauma department there.” Jack was trying his best to avoid the topic he needed to talk about. 

“It was good. Cold, rainy and absolutely no pancakes.” You joked, crossing your arms over the table. “I had a good time, did things I only dreamed of, taught a lot of people and got to travel a bit.” 

“You traveled? Where did you go?” He seemed interested. 

“I went to visit Greece, did a tour around Italy with a couple of friends, my nephews came to visit me during winter and we went skiing in Switzerland.” You sipped more coffee, smiling at the memories. “I went to a safari, Jack!” Your words slipped in a funny way and he recognized how happy you were. “You would’ve loved that.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.” Suddenly he stopped in his tracks to finally watch you. 

You appeared relaxed, leaning against the chair, hair messed in a bun, jacket already off and barefoot. Looking like an absolute dream. Like the love of his life. 

“I missed you, you know? A lot.” You admitted, looking away from him. “I almost called you so many times and never had the courage to do it.” 

“I would’ve picked on the first ring.” He chuckled, mixing the ingredients trying to not stare for too long. “I wrote you some letters and a journal.” 

“You did?” Jack nodded, making you smile larger. “I may have taken some pictures of things and places that reminded me of you and kept them on an album to give to you. I hope you enjoy the crazy selfies and the endless comments on the people.” He laughed, picturing the scenes. 

He took his time to finish the pancakes, putting them on the table and sitting across from you with his cup of coffee. The dynamics between you haven’t changed at all, he still knew what you needed before you asked and you still read his face with ease. 

“I thought I had lost you forever.” Jack declared, making you stop. “The day I let you go was the worst day of my life, I felt so powerless and selfish. I couldn’t be the reason you give up your dreams because they were in you before I was present in your life and being the motive of your unhappiness was going to kill me.” You felt your stomach drop. “The nights feel dull and tasteless without you, I try to get through them but they seem so endless. The night shift sucked without you there, our bed was cold, I barely slept thinking about you.”

“The idea of you finding somebody else and deciding to marry and have children.” He didn’t continue and you held his hand. 

“Jack, I am yours and yours only.” You squeezed his hand. “I spent a few weeks crying before bed, wanting to run back to you. The day I went on that plane I left a piece of my heart with you. The life we were building, the plans, the marriage, the children.” You mumbled with tears, chuckling. “Never crossed my mind doing those things with anybody else. It’s always been you and it’s always gonna be. Besides, European guys are not that attractive.” His jaw tensed and you burst out laughing. “I’m just messing with you.” 

“I hate this.” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. 

“Whatever you say, honey.” You winked, giggling under your breath. 

“Does this mean we can start over?” He asked, holding your gaze. 

“Always, Jack.” You smiled. 

That’s how after breakfast you ended up moving back to your place. The countless boxes with your stuff, bags filled with clothes and your favorite book collection around his living room. You were tired but nothing like the feeling of being home with him. Jack sent you to sleep a while later, finding you curled in his side of the bed, holding his pillow to smell his scent. 

He enjoyed the quietness of the morning to go through the album you made him. Pink cover with some shells and his name in gold letters. On the first page he found a small note you wrote. 

“To Jack.  I hope you know I thought about you a lot and these memories are an extension of my endless love for you.  Love, your girl.”

He couldn't contain a smile with the note, sighing as he passed to the next pages. The first real picture was you outside the hospital in London, bright smile, fearless, beautiful as ever. The note under the picture made him giggle, flushed.  

“You wished me good day before I took this. It was in fact a good day ‘cause I imagined you with me all the time.”

He kept passing the pages, amused by the great photos and the small remarks that sounded too much like you. His favorite was one of you sitting at the safari cart, wearing a pink cap, caressing a giraffe with one hand and with the other showing the necklace he gifted you a few years ago, the largest smile he’d ever seen, eyes shining and cheeks red from laughing. A look he recognized damn well. What made the picture even better was the small text. 

“I was in the safari in this. When theguide was tooking the picture the fucking lion roared next to the cart, almost peed my pants. Definitely not like Lion King, Disney lied to us. The cap was a gift from a child at the village I visited, he said it was to protect me and I truly believed in his words. The necklace is to represent you with me there and the giraffe, well, I’m in love. You would’ve loved this trip. I want to come back with you. Honeymoon maybe?”  Love, your (not so) wild girl.” 

He saw fragments of yourself, a version he was glad you enjoyed while doing the things you loved and still think about him so highly. He didn’t deserve you. Jack would never admit that you’re the light of his life, the shining star that guides him home every time he feels lost. 

You were exactly where you’re supposed to be. 

In his life, in his home, his bed, laying in his sheets with your favorite pink pajamas, being absolutely his. 

[roanofarcc]

DREAMWALKER

pairing: bob reynolds x enhanced!reader

summary: you use your dreamwalking abilities to try to soothe the storm in bob’s head. 

warnings: mentions of nightmares, trouble sleeping, childhood abuse, and themes of despression. very soft with bob getting some more much needed comfort. gen!reader. 

word count. 2.3k | masterlist

The Watchtower was bathed in silence as most of its inhabitants slept. You were among them for a while, free-floating through their dreams as your abilities overtook your sleeping form as they did every night. Your body needed the rest, but dreamwalkers’ minds never could, as when their eyes fluttered closed, their minds roamed from dream to dream of whoever was near. 

Before you moved in with your newfound team, you simply observed dreams as a passerby when you slept. But since living in the Watchtower, you learned quickly that your tough-skinned roommates suffered from an endless brigade of nightmares, whether they remembered them when the morning sun rose or not. 

You felt their fear, their regrets, the cold submergence of dread that flooded the depths of their subconscious. It was invasive, your abilities, something you could not turn off. Instead of watching their nightmares, you busied your wondering mind by re-painting the dark scenes of their minds. Shadow-filled rooms and unforgiving hands, you spun into warm homes and gentle caresses. You spent your nights scrubbing their minds of bloodstained missions and unhealed wounds, replacing them with scenes drenched in hope and reminders of the goodness that resided inside them. 

It was your secret, your silent mission to remind your friends both when they slept and when they were awake that they were not too broken that they could not be put back together. You drenched their dreams in lightness, in goodness, hoping that it would bleed into their waking form. 

That night, however, as you floated from dream to dream, one was missing. You forced yourself to wake, following your instincts to where the only mind you could not find may be hiding, avoiding the scenes of his mind that were the most complicated you had ever witnessed. 

You had never encountered a dream you struggled to fix. Even the darkest, most horrible nightmares you could reshape with ease. Memories of torture, of gut-wrenching deaths, you could soothe and redirect to soft touches and pull the sweetest memories of those lost loved ones to the forefront of that person's mind. 

Bob’s mind was the only one you had met that was so resistant. 

“You’re up late,” you said, softly approaching the hunched figure at the kitchen counter. Bob’s hands were wrapped around a mug of half-drunk tea, and his eyes looked heavy with each slow blink. 

He did offer you a small smile, but he tensed as you caught him awake at such an hour. “Oh, y-yeah.” 

You leaned on your elbows across from him at the counter, taking him in. His figure was swallowed in a sweater and hair askew, which told that he had attempted to sleep. 

“Trouble sleeping?” you asked. 

Bob nodded as his eyes slipped onto his mug. “You too?” 

“Not exactly.” His brows furrowed, confusion melting with the clear exhaustion that shaded his face. 

You hadn’t told the others of your unavoidable venturing into their minds because you knew how vulnerable dreams and nightmares were. They were personal, uncontrollable by most. While you had no judgment in any of what you had seen, the good, bad, and ugly, you didn’t want them to feel any shame. Perhaps it was wrong, but there was no controlling or preventing stepping inside their dreams unless you gave up on sleeping entirely. You only touched their nightmares, lingering just long enough to reshape the scene to something nice that would not leave them reeling in the morning. The deep, soul-boring personal things you did your best to block out and erase from your mind come morning. You would only tell when it could be helpful. 

“I was looking for you, for your dreams, but I couldn’t find them.” 

“My dreams?” Bob repeated, his fingers fidgeting with the paper on the end of his tea bag. 

You nodded. “I can only control my abilities when I’m awake,” you explained. “When I sleep, I end up in everyone’s head. Since I started living here, I make sure you guys are having nice dreams and I get rid of your nightmares.” 

Bob blinked, surprised and still confused, rightfully so. Your abilities were complicated, but he knew what that was like better than most. “You’ve seen inside my head?” he asked quietly, eyes cast downward, and lips drawn in a frown. 

“Sometimes, you're a bit trickier than the others.” He closed his eyes briefly at your words, his body leaning forward like it was too heavy for him to carry. “Their nightmares are easy to change. Yours are…are stubborn.” 

“Sorry,” Bob apologized like a reflex. It was your turn to frown. 

“It’s not your fault. If anything, I’m sorry. I just want to use what I can do for good instead of just peering into people’s heads without them really wanting me there. If I can help, it makes me feel less bad about it.” 

Glancing upwards, Bob hesitantly met your eyes that hadn’t left him. “But you can’t control it,” he said, too understanding for you but not for himself. 

“I can’t,” you said. “Just like you can’t help that void inside of you. These things are a part of us, Bob. They don’t go away, so we have to do what we can with what we’ve got.” 

He seemed to soak in your words, going quiet for a few moments before he shook himself out. “At least you can do good with yours,” he sighed. “I still don’t know how to be Sentry without…the other part taking over.” 

You reached out across the counter, gently brushing your fingers over the back of his hand, allowing him the time and space to pull back if he wanted to. Instead, he slowly flipped his hand over, and you grasped it with a comforting squeeze. 

“One day you will,” you assured him. “One day you’ll learn how to balance both. But it’s not going to work if you don’t get some sleep.” 

He squeezed your hand back. “Yeah, I don’t know if I can do that. I mean some nights are fine, but others are…uh, bad. Really bad,” he said. “I think it’s better if I don’t sleep sometimes, you know?” 

“What if I could help you?”

Bob slowly let go of your hand. He never liked to touch someone for too long, too scared he’d pull them back into a shameful, tragic, or agonizing memory. He was working on little touches: hugs from Yelena, pats on the shoulder from John, or holding your hands to calm himself down when everything was too overwhelming. 

“You said my mind was stubborn; that you had a hard time figuring it out?” he questioned. 

“When I’m free floating through everyone, it is. I don’t have direction really, or an anchor when I’m alone. But if I had a tether, I think I could chase away the nightmares.” 

Bob looked hesitant, but curious too. “How would you do that?” 

You smiled softly. “Do you trust me?” 

Without thinking about it, Bob answered, “Yes,” almost automatically. 

With his answer, his trust in you, you led him from the kitchen and into his bedroom. It was an organized mess, a reason for everything's placement in Bob’s eyes but no one else's. Books were stacked all around, and Yelena had bought little plants for everyone’s room as housewarming gifts. Bob had clothes strewn in piles, but the sweaters he wore more often were carefully placed over the back of his desk chair. 

You rounded his bed to the side he didn’t look to sleep on, by the way the pillows and blankets were settled. He watched you, lingering and fidgeting in the middle of his room. As you sat on the edge of the mattress, you patted the comforter, beckoning him to join you. 

“I-I don’t know about this,” he said. “What if I bump you in the middle of the night, I send you into a nightmare? I don’t know if I can stop that from happening when I sleep, and you could-” 

“Bob,” you said his name with such gentleness. It caused the worry on his face to start to melt just slightly. He looked exhausted, too. “You said you trust me. And I trust you. While we sleep, it’s my mind that’ll be in control, not yours, I promise.” 

He dragged his feet across the floor, pausing at the edge of his bed before climbing in. His body was stiff as he lay down beside you. You rolled onto your side, studying him. If you also hadn’t been so tired, you could have gazed at him for hours, remembering every curve of his face and curl of his hair. In your eyes, he was intriguing and impossibly handsome. 

You brushed some hair away from his face, allowing you to see him better in the low glow of moonlight and the city lights that snuck in through a crack in the curtains. Bob’s eyes fluttered before he forced them open, peering at you with a tense jaw. Dragging your fingers down the side of his face, you rested your hand on his jaw. 

“Just relax,” you whispered. For a moment, it seemed like he was going to keep fighting sleep, but as your fingers ghosted against his jaw, his eyes closed. 

You did the same, resting your hand on his shoulder as a way to tether yourself to him. It only took a simple touch for you to gain more control over the person whose mind you wanted in. For so long, you had used that ability to manipulate and hurt people, hurting yourself in the process. But you wanted to do good, to be more than a weapon. Instead of causing nightmares, you turned to easing them back into lighter dreams. 

You weren’t going to let Bob’s complicated mind fight you when he also deserved beautiful dreams instead of being tormented by the one thing no one would escape. 

Falling into someone’s head had become more graceful for you over time as you grew stronger and more sure of your abilities. There was a ghost of resistance that met you, but your sleeping form lightly curled their fingers around Bob’s shoulder and surged on, bypassing the darkness that snaked out from the corners of his mind, determined to remind him that they were still there. 

The nightmare that Bob found himself in was similar to the one you recalled occurring through a cracked floorboard in the attic he hid out in when the Void spread across the city streets. 

When you were tethered to a person, your person appeared in their head, rather than watching the scene from above in your free-floating state, unable to be perceived by whose mind you were in. You stood in what looked like a little boy’s bedroom, fit with science posters on the wall and toys scattered across a plush rug in the middle of the room. 

The toys were abandoned, and there was a coldness that drenched the room. In the corner stood a little boy, a young Bob with unruly hair and matching pajamas. He sat on the ground, holding the side of his face with trembling fingers as a shadowy figure loomed over him. A man three times the little boy’s size screamed, waving his hands around, which elicited a flinch each time from little Bob. 

Tears fell down the kid’s face, and a growing, angry redness showed on the skin half-hidden under his hand. 

You felt hot with anger and cold with sadness at the same time, the two emotions bleeding into one. You were there to change the scene, but for a moment, you stepped forward, wanting nothing more than to place yourself between the little boy and the angry man screaming how much of a burden he was. You wanted to hold the little boy, tell him how wrong his father was. But instead, you heard your name whispered from behind you. 

Spinning around, you came face to face with the grown-up version of Bob, wet eyes and something between embarrassment and heartbreak written on his face. You let out a breath, unraveling the feelings of the nightmare from around you, allowing something else to take hold. 

You let Bob’s mind to the talking, telling you the things he associated with goodness, hopefulness. Piece by piece, the nightmare fractured before it was replaced entirely. 

When you opened your eyes, a sun-soaked scene took hold. It was warm, smelled like cut grass and a distant barbecue. An empty swing set sat in a bed of mulch, which was soft under your feet. 

Young, peaceful, safe. Those words echoed in your mind as you observed the scene. 

“I remember this place,” Bob said, wearing a small smile that fit him so beautifully in the sunlight. He approached the swing set, running his hands over the dark green posts that looked freshly painted. “I used to come here when I was little, when my parents would fight. I’d sneak out and wait here until the sunset.” 

He grasped the chain of the swing, tension falling from his shoulders as he then took a seat. You joined him at the second swing, lowly pushing yourself back and forth as the chains squeaked. 

“Thank you,” Bob rushed out after a beat. 

You smiled softly at him. “You deserve more dreams, Bob. Less nightmares.” 

“More dreams,” he repeated, chewing on the words in deep thought. Then, he gazed at you, his eyes sparking and cheeks flushed as if he were a young boy who spent the day outside playing. “I-I think I have a few in mind, now.” 

Back in his bedroom, you slept with your hand falling down onto his chest, resting over his heart and head comfortably on his shoulder. 

The darkness stayed put, cast out for the night as he dreamed of you seated behind him in the one place he found solace in as a child. And as an adult, he started to find solace in you, in his dreams, and when he was wide awake.

[fawnnlvr]

club infatuation | spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x bombshell!reader

masterlist

summary: in which spencer reid decides to attend a club to experience what he didn't in his early 20s and there, he meets a beautiful woman who volunteers to show him why one should enjoy clubbing

word count: 3.1k

author's note: hiiiiii :3 i hope you all enjoy this. i know i did while writing it. i tried something new with the format of my writing so i hope its alright. thank you for reading!!! maybe part 2. sorry this reading is so long. UPDATE: i wrote this right after i found that studies showed that dancing can help with mental health. i have a strong need to rewrite it now... :(

The club was loud.

Music blared throughout the establishment with colorful flashing lights from the dance floor occasionally leaving him partially blind. This was not Spencer's normal scene. He wasn't too keen on crowded places, especially breeding grounds for human fluids and bacteria which is amplified with the factors of alcohol and the high of having letting loose for a night out.

Spencer wove through the crowd of people, politely excusing himself as he did his best to try not to make contact with anyone. He came to the club for one thing and one thing only.

Fun.

Well he wanted to experience fun. He was nearing his late twenties, his entire life filled with further advancing his knowledge and brain power with the help of his eidetic memory. Due to this memory, he has never once remembered a time where he ever felt normal. Like he belonged. Like he could consider himself apart of the rest of the people his age. He has long come to terms that something like that wasn't possible, yet there was always a desire to experience it. Just for one simple night.

Normally, his weekends and leisure time off of work were filled with 'boring topics' his coworkers didn't consider fun in the slightest. Any chance for Spencer to try and connect with the BAU outside of work through film festivals, horror movie showings, and science fiction conventions were all turned down without a spare thought.

Spencer was used to being alone. He was so his entire life, so he led himself to believe that the rejections of his colleagues didn't affect him much but it all so did. His colleagues possessed a knowledge that wasn't in his realms of understanding and that were the abilities to socialize so easily with others. When out at bars, he'd watch the girls easily make friends with a group of girls they meet and Morgan would always find a way to flirt with girls to the point where he would quickly leave the function with somebody in his arms. Spencer, wasn't quite like them.

He wasn't too sure why he chose to go this club in particular. It was a twenty minute subway ride from his home, newly opened which meant heavily popular, and most importantly, he never had a good time at clubs, but he decided on a whim, that tonight would be the night to change that.

Now Spencer was sat at the bar, seeking asylum for his sensitive hearing and eyes away from the dance floor. He asked the bartender for a mocktail, carefully making sure that he participated in safe and healthy behaviors as he is already in a place he felt uncomfortable in.

He held the drink up to his lips, taking a small sip as he let his eyes wander over his environment. The main center was filled with a lot of people dancing fervently to a pop song with more drum beats than a marching band and the constant repetition of one syllable of a word that fades into a remix of another pop song. He watched as couples drunkenly put their hands on one another. He furrowed his eyebrows at the corny smirk a man would have as he introduced himself to a group of women. Then finally, his eyes roamed towards the booths near the corners of the club, tucked in a place that was separated with a velvet rope.

Within those booths held the prettiest girl he has probably ever come across.

You.

You sat in the booth, your legs crossed over one another as you leaned back into your seat. Your booth was surrounded by a few people, all of whom looking nice but for some reason, Spencer couldn't tear his eyes off you.

He didn't mean to stare with the intent of lust or romantic pursuence, but simple admiration. You had a unique beauty he could have only ever imagined in fantasy books, but when the human mind imagines something not seen before and creatively put together, it gets blurry. Yet you were like the ethereal goddess of a fantasy book being brought into real life.

The way you carried yourself, the energy that surrounded you that he could feel even meters away, and your features made it almost impossible for him to turn away. Keyword being almost.

It seemed as if you had this feeling that somebody was staring, very intensely, and your eyes quickly glanced in the direction it was coming from. Spencer felt the heat rise to his cheeks as he hastened turned away, taking another sip of his drink with nervous gulp. His adams apple bobbing up and down to emphasize his racing heart.

His eyes betrayed him by flickering back so soon after the initial eye contact and you were still looking at him. Instead of your body facing those at your booth, it was now open towards him, arms crossed as your eyes freely roamed his entire body before stopping at his face.

Spencer could've sworn he saw you bit your lip but the lighting of the club made the validity of his eyes seem weak. He felt as if all his senses became numb the more he stared.

You stared at him with half lidded eyes, giving the effect of being simply tired or maybe your eyes were strained from the events of the day.

The only thing that snapped him out of his daze once again was when you broke away your gaze to quickly mutter some words to your friends; an apologetic yet happy smile on your face as you stood up, waving goodbye.

The bouncer that was stationed at the section protected by velvet ropes had opened it for you and Spencer noticed that you were walking in the direct path towards him. His mind started to race. Did you think he was creepy? Was the staring too much? Were you about to throw him out? He had gotten the feeling that you were a V.I.P guest since you were in an inclusive area so maybe you held power to throw out whomever you pleased.

Having an IQ of 187 did not help him at all in making a quick decision on what to do as you neared.

"Hi." You smiled as you sat down in the seat beside him, body fully facing him as you rested your arm on the bar table to rest your head on.

"H-Hi." Spencer stuttered and quickly regretted even opening his mouth.

"Come here often?"

"Considering the club just opened last month, not really. It's my first time."

"First time here?" Your soft voice inquired. Despite the chaotic sounds surrounding the two of you, Spencer felt as if you simply calmed down and slowed the world around him.

"At any club actually." He felt almost ashamed to admit it aloud but his mouth moved faster than his rational at that moment. Nervous brown eyes met yours, expecting to be met with judgement but you simply had no reaction.

"Not your thing?" You asked and he nodded, feeling understood for once.

He looked down towards his lap, the sense of nervousness not really going away, "I just came here to see what it's like. Why people find it so fun."

"What do you think of it so far?"

"Loud. Messy. Crowded. Breeding grounds for bacteria." He could go on with the list but decided it'd be better to not rant about negatives on his first time meeting someone new.

"Yeah, you pretty much hit all the points on clubbing." you laughed at his descriptions, watching the mild disgust in his face as he recounts all the things he disliked about the club and clubbing culture within the small times he's been there.

"Do you enjoy it?" he inquired, wanting to see your opinion on this event that he believed only advertised to extroverts who were good at socializing like you.

"It can fun at sometimes, but you really just need to go with someone to make it fun and to ignore all the, "you paused to think, "unfavorable aspects of it."

Spencer wasn't an idiot. He knew what you were insinuating and to some extent, he still wasn't sure if he wanted to believe it or if his mind would allow him to believe it.

Your eyes flickered to the drink on the table, his fingers her fidgeting with the ends of it. "Mocktail?"

"I don't want to drink." Addictions are something he doesn't take lightly. He doesn't want to participate in any of it really as statistics show that one can be more susceptible to an addictions if one had another prior.

Nodding your head, you left it at that. "Well drinking no alcohol and sitting by your lonesome self here doesn't quite sound like fun. To see why people enjoy clubbing, you should immerse yourself in the experience." You looked at him through your eyelashes, "Do you want me to show you?"

Completely enamored by your entire person, who was he to deny such a reject.

He nodded his head, almost too fast, and you moved his drink away from his hand while using the other to grab his hand. The two of you stood up and he simply followed your lead.

As you moved through the crowd, it was like they made a way for you. He watched as those looked towards your figure with suprise before quickly falling out your way. Oh's and small gasps escaped their mouths as if it was their first time ever seeing somebody like you.

You walked with such confidence— head held up high, indifference on your face as men tried to stop you (while you clearly held the hand of another) but you swatted them away with your hand, and you walked so professionally that one may have mistaken you for some sort of a celebrity. You might just have been one if Spencer had to guess but due to Spencer's great memory, he figured he would've known if he had.

Before he knew it, you and him were in the middle of the dance floor and you kept your grip on his hand, very loosely, as you locked eyes with him, pulling him closer.

This was different.

Spencer has never danced before. Well never danced in front of people, let alone a gorgeous woman who he considered way out of his league. And he has also never had a woman dancing in front of him. He was scared to look down, scared to see her.

That was until she brought a hand to his chin, pulling his focus down. "Come on, join me."

"I don't da—"

"Just let loose and follow my lead."

His heart must've skipped multiple beats the moment you gently grabbed his hands and placed it on your figure as you moved to the music. Hands resting on your waist, he couldn't find it in himself to get a grip because he still wasn't sure if this was alright at all.

The moment you took a step closer, making your bodies just slightly touched, paired with the friction of your movements, he was sure he was in fact not dreaming.

Loosen up. Your words echoed in his mind. His eyes searched those around him, wanting to try to copy their movements but with you so close to him, he did his best to match your movement— then he quickly stopped when he realized he was not at all coordinated or blessed with groovy rhythmic genes.

A small smile crept up on your face as his awkward movements made even him cringe.

"Sorry."

You laughed, "Let's start with what your comfortable with."

"The robot?" He questioned with a nervous chuckle.

"Okay, then let's see it, handsome."

Oh how that word flowed off your tongue so easily and carelessly yet it was the beginning of his demise. His brain blew a fuse but thankfully, the added factors of your touch had disappeared when you stepped back to watch him work.

He once again looked around, seeing if anybody was watching him about to make a fool of himself but your voice called him back to focus.

"Are you worried about people watching?" he nodded, "Shall I blindfold you with my bra?"

He laughed. It was more of a yell than a laugh because of the absurdity. You stared at him, head tilted with the most genuine yet teasing smile when you stated such a random thing like it was the best solution.

You laughed along with him, seeing his body relax a bit more. "There you go. Release all that tension in your body."

"I actually needed that for the robot so your little trick to make me laugh and dance better just actually made it worse."

A gasp escaped your lips, "You're right. Let's catch it in the air before it leaves forever." You acted out grabbing the air around him before pushing it towards his body, making little sound effects to complete it all. "Phew! Phew! Phew!"

Spencer joined in on your little show as he wiggled his body to act as if your efforts were fully affecting him.

And at the last little sound effect, you sent a flying kiss, to which he smiled, caught, and placed it to his heart.

"I can feel the music Gods taking over my body now." Spencer smiled as he mimicked robotic movements, making angles with his arms and moving very stiffly. Now this was a move he could get behind.

"Oh no, its spreading to me too." You imitated Spencer, mirroring him almost exactly.

How did Spencer get to this moment? He went from sitting alone at the bar drinking a mocktail to getting woman he deemed to have a beauty, that could compare to no other, dancing like a robot. He wasn't sure what suprised him more, the face that he was doing a nerdy robot move in front of a crowd of people (most of which already has their attention on the woman he was with) or the fact that you were doing it with him.

The fact that you adopted your dance moves for him to feel comfortable when he was so out of place and visibly uneasy, made him feel special. Like he was listened to.

After a small moment of doing robotic dance moves, his and yours eyes connect once again before your lips opened to laugh.

"That was the first time I had ever done that at a club." you admitted.

"I feel honored to be the first one to experience it."

"Well since you feel so honored, it's not everyday one gets blessed with such a scene. Although, I guess it'll be safe to say your ready for another step towards being the dancing queen as ABBA put it."

"More than ready."

You smiled, more of a smirk, as if telling him he won't be prepared for what you had in store. Sometimes Spencer hated when he was right and this was a moment that nothing could have prepared him for.

The music the DJ had played thus far was very pop and chaotic that was perfect for when one wanted to simply let loose and dance crazy. However, one glance and nod towards the DJ table, most importantly, the clock behind the table, had completely changed the scene.

Blue lights that danced along the bodies of the people of the floor had slowly faded into a purple and the music changed into this sort of jazzy but pop instrumental with a sultry voice that completely changed the mood of the scene.

"It's 10pm."

"What does that mean?"

It seemed like everybody around him had found a partner and were beginning to move in a seductive manner. Spencer looked down towards you, you seemed closer than you were before. A small difference but it had a huge impact nonetheless.

"Watch, pretty boy." you walked closer to him and turned around, pressing your back side to his chest before reaching for both his hands and guiding them to the sides of your figure. Leading his hands from the sides of the top of your waist, all the way down to your hips, and towards your thighs. Very, very slowly.

You felt his breath hitch, his heartbeat start to speed. Unsure fingers slowly finding its way as you held it.

He stuttered, "I-Is this alright?"

You gave him a small nod, before moving your body to the music, creating more friction between the two of you. The heat of both your bodies created this bond, an intertwinment that none of you were willing to break.

This was the second time you've done this move, yet this time it felt much much more intimate than before. Bodies fully pressed against one another while the mood was set with the slow and erotic music, Spencer felt the last strand of his uptightness let go.

All he could focus on was you. Your intoxicating, confident, beautiful self.

He felt a sort of confidence with you by his side, a confidence that only you brought out because you made him comfortable in the first place. A confidence that only you could've brought out of him within only thirty minutes of knowing each other.

His hands slipped towards your stomach, pulling you closer and your head tilted back in his chest to look up at him with a smile. You used one arm to rest on top of his arm that was wrapped around your waist, before using your free one to touch his face, down his jaw, and to his neck.

You both swayed to the music; he used your body to guide his. His hot breath kissed your skin.

"Hey." you softly called out.

"Yes?" he exhaled, in a total daze.

"What's your name, handsome?"

"Spencer. Spencer Reid." he sounded breathless, maybe due to the fact that the two of you shared such an intimate moment, or maybe because they two of you did that and still didn't know each others names.

He felt you stop for a moment before you completely turned around, your hands steadying his as his hands rested on your hips.

"As in Doctor Spencer Reid that wrote those articles about psychology and neurology."

"Y-You've read them?"

Your hands rested on his chest as you stared him up and down, your teeth catching your lip. "Gosh, your brain is hot and so are you. God really does have favorites."

Spencer felt his face and ears heat up even more.

"Wanna get out of here?"

It didn't take much for Spencer to start nodding like his life depended on it like he did when you first asked him if you could show him how to have fun. And just like earlier that night, you grabbed his hand and led him to a new night and adventure towards fun he wouldn't have thought was ever possible.

—

"What the actual f—" Emily Prentiss stared at the scene in front of her, utterly speechless as her jaw was like a magnet to the floor. Her eyes trailed towards the two figures leaving the establishment. Her coworker followed around this beautiful, bombshell of a girl like a lovesick puppy. She also watched as the youngest of her team was dancing with a complete stranger in a place he would've been screaming about the different bacteria.

"I am either not sober enough or too drunk." The pair had disappeared into the night and that's when Emily took a deep breath, before minding her own business and getting to work on why she came in that night.

[fromchaostocosmos]

People are not perfect.

As in people make mistakes.

As in people are still learning.

As in people can sometimes be doing their best and trying their best and yes there is room for improvement and we can recognize both things.

As in people don't speak the same language.

As in people are learning something for the first time.

As in people have disabilities of all kinds which yes can impact in this too.

For example growing up I didn't really know anything cis or trans and sex vs gender. I knew that straight and gay. When I was teenager I eventually learned about bisexuality and something called transgender.

But again didn't really know all that much. But I did my best as best I could.

There was a point when I thought I was I being accepting and I was still new and learning and it was at a time that I still thought I wanted children. So I would say "oh I have nothing against anyone who is transgender and I think they should use whatever bathroom is most comfortable to them, but I wouldn't marry anyone is transgender because I want to have children who biologically mine"

At the time I was still learning and I didn't understand how that was still not just unhelpful, but rather actively unhelpful and in many ways a cruel thing to say.

Thankfully I was able to learn. Some people were kind enough to help me and direct me where I could learn and I was also able to read about people's first hand experiences and that was helpful.

Others were not as kind and in my truly meaningful attempts to learn and understand where in what I thought was I going wrong and how I could I do better and where could I learn more I was greeted with great cruelty and mockery which was hard at that point in my life.

That isn't to say I don't understand why those people did what they did. I get it sometimes that can defense mechanism.

I do like to think or hope that I sounded earnest and sincere in questions, but you never know how tone can come across sometimes.

I will always be thankful to the many people who helped knowingly and unknowingly in my education, an education and learning process that is never over.

We have to understand that not everyone is going to have the same experiences and education. What counts is the intent rather the how well it is communicated I think.

Because sometimes people are trying their best in with what they have.

Again for example I was asked by someone IRL "why the did Hitler hate the Jews?" now most of the time a question like that I would be offended by IRL because that is really stupid question to ask.

But in this case I was not because I knew this person was not asking to be hateful or in that ha ha type of way. Rather they were being sincere. They were an immigrant to the USA and came from a country that has no Jewish people in it and no Holocaust education.

So from them this was question out of sincerity and a desire to understand. They didn't know how to ask it in a different way, better way, or a way that was less offensive.

This was them doing the best with what they had. And I understood that and could work with that.

We have to have room for nuance and understanding and at time even compassion.

This is not me saying take trolls at face value or use up your energy on those who have come clearly in bad faith. No, those don't deserve any time or energy.

It is for all the people who are trying that if you have the energy, ability, and time we should be because that is where the differences are made.

So help if help is needed, answer questions if that is what is asked, provided resources if you can, and listen to experiences and stories even when it might told not in the most perfect of ways or with the most up to date terminology.

Because again people are not perfect, people are trying their best, and there is always room for improvement. And all of these things can be true at the same time.

I was discussing the incident mentioned later in this piece with my wife yesterday and I saw another post by someone earlier doing something mentioned in here and I'm finally going to say something about it.

There is a serious problem in leftist spaces, especially online, especially on Tumblr, when it comes to language.

The way people are expected to speak just to even enter these spaces is incredibly complex, to the point of being outright hostile to those who haven’t already spent time in them. And it’s not just newcomers; people who have important things to say, people speaking from lived experiences, people who don’t have English as a first language but still deserve to be heard, are constantly talked down to or even pushed out entirely for not using the "right" words.

This gets even worse when you factor in how often new terms are coined in English, and then people are shamed for not immediately knowing or using them.

I saw someone reblog their own post saying something like, "I know for a fact more than half of y’all didn’t understand a fucking word I said here."

And honestly? That stuck with me, because yeah, I’ve felt that before. Not because I don’t value critical thinking! because I absolutely do! I just made a post on that too! but because so many of these posts are written in a way that makes them Functionally Inaccessible to anyone who doesn’t already have the right background knowledge. And at a certain point, if you actually want your words to have an impact, if you actually want to create meaningful change, then you’re going to have to accept some things:

People will not always use perfect language.

2. People will not always know the exact terminology you personally prefer they use when engaging in discourse.

3. Dismissing or attacking people for how they say something, instead of engaging with what they’re saying, is actively harmful.

And more than that, if you genuinely want people to understand and engage with the things you’re talking about, especially people who don’t speak English as a first language, especially people without access to higher education, especially people who don’t even know where to begin when it comes to self-education (because yes, that is a skill that has to be taught) then you are going to have to be the one to adjust sometimes. You are going to have to let people say things imperfectly. You are going to have to take a step back and engage with the message rather than just the words being used to express it.

One of the experiences that made me realize that I, as a non-native English speaker, was not welcome in Tumblr leftist spaces was when I spoke about real-life oppression I had experienced. I left one word out of my post, a word which honestly, was not even important when talking about an incident that had Happened To Me, not theory, not hypotheticals or any what-ifs of oppression, a story, a story about something that happened to me.

And because of that, people sat in a Discord server, picking apart my words, accusing me of awful things, and then came into my askbox throwing jargon and buzzwords I’d never even heard before, then got mad at me for being frustrated that this was happening.

Think about that. People who are directly impacted by oppression are being pushed out of spaces meant to discuss it because the way they speak doesn’t conform to certain expectations. That is not justice. That is not solidarity. That is not progress.

There is a fundamental disconnect here between theory and praxis. Ironically so many of you do not know what praxis is, because most of you engage with a lot of theory, and not a lot of praxis, you use the word praxis a lot, but, ironically, you have no idea what it means.

{to put my money where my mouth is, it means Doing Something, in the simplest possible terms}

In theory, leftist spaces should be accessible. They should be places where people can speak openly about their experiences, learn from each other, and work toward meaningful change. But in practice? There’s a gatekeeping of language so intense that many people, particularly those who are marginalized in ways beyond just their political beliefs, are outright excluded.

And this is something I need people to sit with: The assumption that the "right" language is easy to learn, or that anyone who doesn’t use it is being willfully ignorant, is an inherently privileged stance. Knowing where to find information, how to process it, and how to integrate new terminology into your vocabulary is a skill that is largely tied to education. Having the time to engage with leftist literature and theory, to stay up-to-date on every new term that gets introduced, is also a privilege. And the fact that so many people refuse to acknowledge this, that they expect perfect articulation from everyone, regardless of background, and punish those who don’t measure up, is a huge problem.

Worse still, the same people who act as gatekeepers of this language often fail to communicate their ideas in a way that is accessible at all.

This doesn’t mean that complex ideas should never be discussed. It doesn’t mean that people shouldn’t strive for accuracy in their language. But it does mean that if your goal is to educate, if your goal is to spread awareness, if your goal is to help people understand and join the movement, if your goal is to engage with fellow oppressed people, then you have a responsibility to meet people where they are. You have a responsibility to make your language understandable.

Because if people can’t even process what you’re saying, then what’s the fucking point?

And before anyone says, "Well, people should put in the effort to learn!" Let me make something very clear: They do.

People who are new to leftist spaces, or who are coming in from different linguistic and cultural backgrounds, are often trying their best to engage. They are listening, they are learning, they are processing. But if the response to every mistake, every slightly off phrasing, every unfamiliarity with a new term, is immediate hostility,

or even if it's just 'hey I see you're sharing a personal moment, but can you change your language to make me, personally, more comfortable with you discussing your oppression?' then you’re not teaching.

You’re just making sure only the people who already think and speak exactly like you get to stay in the room.

Your language, your terminology, your theory? none of it means anything if you can’t make it accessible to the people who actually need it. And it means nothing if you use it to Exclude rather than Include.