#but this year was ridiculous it sounds like

[traveler-at-heart]

Doctor's In - Part 16

Summary: Your Westview fam reunites with you and Boston as you prepare to leave the city.

A/N: I believe this is what @jerullium and I would call a filler episode but hey! Enjoy if you like Wanda fluff

-

You know what the call is about.

“Hello?” you practically sing, your eyes on the road.

“Stop that” Wanda warns you.

“Stop what?”

“Changing the music. You know I don’t like that girl!”

“Babe, Chappell is great” you play dumb.

“I’m the only redhead you can love”

“Yes, darling. Have you asked the kids yet?”

“Just about to. I’m picking them up before my mother steals my car and crashes against a police car. Again”

You want to laugh at how annoyed Wanda sounds. Honestly, you’re dying to meet her mother.

“Let me know if they agree to come so I can get your tickets”

“I can do that…”

“You’re all flying first class, and that’s final. Gotta go. Love ya”

“Me too… you’re playing her music again!” she says and you hang up, laughing.

“You guys are adorable” Val says, sitting next to you in the car.

“Yelena likes to call it ridiculously corny”

“So, not that this is any of my business… but why are you looking to work abroad if you are in a relationship with Wanda? I don’t think she’d be willing to move, right?”

“Well… that’s why I was curious about that summer program you mentioned with an NGO”

Valkyrie knew enough people and organizations to find something that wouldn’t mean moving to a different country indefinitely.

And as it turned out, you had a few common friends, including none other than Sharon Carter.

She was a couple years ahead of you in college, but you’d always gotten along. Thanks to Val, you knew she was ready to move back home -her whole family was in Boston- and you were hoping she could take an interest in working for Romanoff Medical Center.

After everything Melina had done for you (even if it was out of self interest to provide Yelena with a mentor), you didn’t feel comfortable just leaving without a thought after your contract was up.

As you go meet Sharon at the restaurant, your mind drifts to Billy and Tommy. Would they be excited at the prospect of seeing you? Wanda had only mentioned they went through a rough patch, but you were always too afraid to ask the details.

The sight of Sharon waving at you brings you back to reality.

“Carter girl” you greet like you did in college, hugging her.

“Look at you, all grown up”

“Look at you, working for WHO”

“It’s nothing, really” she shrugs it off, greeting Val as well.

There’s some talk about work, just chit chat while the waiter was hanging around waiting to take your order. Once he’s done and you have some space to talk more freely, Sharon turns to you, a smirk on her face.

“You still a player?”

That makes you choke on your drink, while Val whistles.

“What? Here I was thinking this one was a family gal”

“Wait, hold up. That’s insane. In college, she used to charm every girl. Not even the ones with boyfriends were safe” Sharon says, making you blush.

“I don’t seem to recall…”

“Jean Grey.”

“Ok, got it. No need to go further into detail” you interrupt her, suddenly remembering that yeah, you had been a bit of a player in college. “Now I’m with someone who has two kids, so I’m looking to return to Westview”

“Romanoff Medical is going to need a great Head of Trauma” Val chimes in.

“The pay is spectacular”

“Mhm. Heard Melina can be hard to deal with” Sharon says and you sigh.

“Honestly? Not as much. Not if you do your job and you’re good at it. Like me” you wink at her.

“Well, I’d be looking to start in a month or so, because I really wanna get some rest and be with my family”

“Timing couldn’t be better… except I need someone to cover for me this weekend. Do you mind?”

“That’s going to cost you a mimosa”

“Done” you say, waving at the waiter.

—

Wanda is stalling.

Things were getting better between her and the kids. There was no arguing, even if Billy had decided to quit the soccer team.

She knew they still missed you, but they were starting to heal. And your relationship was going well, but Wanda was afraid of so many things.

Of screwing it up again. Hurting the kids.

Getting hurt.

Though you’d never ever do it, she trusted you completely.

She’s still thinking about how to bring up the trip to the kids when she gets a text from you.

Y/N: Hey, it’s been a couple of hours. If you’re not ready or think it’s not the best idea to bring the kids, I get it. They always come first. Just know that I love you no matter what :)

Wanda smiles at that.

She decides to leave her study and go to the twins’ room, where they’re doing some homework.

“Hey, do you guys have a minute?” she sits in Billy’s bed, and Tommy joins them. “So, I know we haven’t spoken about Y/N. She’s been living and working in Boston”

“That’s where you’ve been traveling to” Tommy says, looking up.

“Right. And we ran into each other… started talking. She mentioned you could join me on my next trip and we’d all go around the city together. There are some cool stuff to do and see”

“Seriously? That would be awesome! Yes, I want to come with you!” Tommy says, excited. Wanda’s about to ask Billy when he jumps out of bed, running to lock himself in the bathroom.

“Wait here, sweetheart” she asks Tommy. “Billy? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t wanna go”

“Why? Are you angry at Y/N?”

“No”

“Then me?”

“No” he says, this time with less conviction.

“Then what is it?”

“You’re only making us go so you both can give us the talk” he says through the door, and Wanda decides to open it.

“What talk?” she sits on the floor next to her son, running her hands through his hair.

“The same talk Emily’s parents had with her when they were getting a divorce. About how it wasn’t her fault and they’d always love her even if they weren’t together”

“No, that’s not it at all, Billy”

“She just wants to say goodbye to us”

“I promise you that’s not it. We’re both trying hard to fix everything, my sweet boy. Have our family back” Billy turns around to wipe his face, and Wanda sighs. “Would it make you feel better if Y/N told you herself?”

That makes the boy turn.

Wanda takes out her phone, dialing your number and hoping you’re not too busy with work.

“Hey, beautiful. Got any news for me? Will I get to see my boys?”

“Y/N!” Billy jumps up, leaning his head against Wanda’s to hear you better.

“Billy? Hey kiddo. How are you? I’ve missed you so damn much”

He’s so excited he doesn’t even notice the curse word that leaves your mouth.

“I missed you too! Do you like Boston?”

“It’s alright. Would be a lot more fun if you guys came over to visit me. What do you say?”

“We’ll do some fun stuff?”

“And eat ice cream”

“This isn’t to say goodbye?”

“Goodbye? I have my ticket to Westview in a couple of weeks, Billy. You’re not getting rid of me”

“Ok, yeah! We’ll see you soon!” he says, excited. You laugh.

“Alright then. Now let me speak to your mom”

He hands over the phone, running back to his room.

“We have thirty seconds before Tommy comes running to talk to you”

“Ok, I’ll take it to say I love you and can’t wait to see you all this weekend”

“Will we stay at the penthouse?”

“I’m not sure it’s very child friendly so let’s get a suite at a nice hotel” you say, knowing the place was full of expensive things that could easily break with two kids running around.

Like clockwork, Tommy shows up, kneeling next to his mother.

“Y/N! Can we go to a Red Sox game?”

“I’ll see what I can do, buddy” you say. He keeps talking, asking questions about the city.

Billy joins in a second later, and this is the first time in months that Wanda’s seen them so happy and excited.

She can’t wait to have her entire family back together.

—

Rumor has it, Fury has found a replacement. He only schedules interviews when Darcy’s away and he asks goody two shoes Kamala Kahn to deliver all the CVs he needs to read.

She’d never move to the dark side, unfortunately.

Darcy is running out of ideas to keep the job open.

There’s one, though.

“Fuck it” she decides, walking to Fury’s office and ignoring his secretary when she says he’s busy.

He obviously isn’t, signing papers.

“Yes, Doctor Lewis?”

“I’d like to be considered”

“Considered for…” he says without look up.

“The position of Head of Trauma”

Now, that makes Fury pay attention. He smiles, removing his glases.

“I thought you wanted Y/N to come back to her old job”

“Well, she’s taking her sweet time and I don’t want anyone else running the ER. So, I’m your girl”.

“I still have to interview you” he says, pulling out Darcy’s file and reading it. “Darcy N. Lewis. What does the N stand for?”

“None of your business” Darcy snaps, forgetting she’s talking to her boss until Fury levels her with a glare. “Nora”

“Alright. Let’s start, shall we?”

—

Melina’s reviewing schedules when she hears a knock on the door.

“Ah, just who I wanted to see” she says when you walk inside.

“Have I done something?”

“Well, we have a pending discussion about your time with us, don’t we?” the woman says, and you appreciate how she goes straight to business.

“I am leaving after the three months we agreed on” you admit, sitting down in front of her.

“I assumed as much, seeing your girlfriend around these past few weeks”

“I’m sorry, I know you wanted it to not work out” you tease, and Melina huffs, offended.

“I’m not some kind of monster! If you’re happy, I am glad to hear it. I just know it’s gonna be incredibly difficult to find someone who can…”

You interrupt her rant by pushing Sharon’s CV in front of her. She skims through it, raising her eyebrows.

“She worked for the World Health Organization?”

“Mhm. Top of her class, outstanding in every way. She also brings a large network and a lot of prestige”

Needless to say, those are things Melina loves. You’re sure she’d be willing to throw another gala just to show off Sharon.

“We’d have to do a trial, show her around…”

“Already arranged it” you say, smiling. Melina keeps reading the file and you know she doesn’t need any more convincing, so you take your cue to leave. But there’s something more you wanna say, as you stand by the door. “Hey. Thank you for taking me in. You gave me a place to stay and a job when I was completely broken. I can’t imagine what I would have done without your help”

“Just make sure… she’s worth it all. That she values you as much as you do her, Y/N. This is your career, and a big sacrifice at that” the brunette says, her tone softer.

“You’re right. Thank you” you leave with a smile.

—

It feels like everyone decided to fly today. The airport is crowded, you can barely find room to walk and you know Wanda must be struggling with her bag and the two kids who are running around everywhere.

“God damn it” you sigh, hoping they’re managing through the sea of people.

You hear them before seeing them.

“Y/N!” Tommy screams. You don’t realise where he’s coming from until he crashes against your back, jumping as he hugs you.

“Hey, kiddo!” you try to turn around, only to see Billy sprinting at full speed. “Oh, oh”

He gives the final push that knocks you down, and you shriek as they climb on top of you.

“Boys! Honestly, what has gotten into you?” Wanda comes to the rescue a second later. “You ok?”

“Come here, you two” you sit up, hugging them. “Missed you like crazy”

“And what about me?” Wanda pouts. You laugh, standing up and kissing her.

“Of course I missed you too, beautiful”

Right on cue, they both groan and complain as Wanda kisses you back.

“I didn’t miss that” Tommy sasses you and you glare.

“In that case…” you grab Wanda by the waist, pulling her against you and peppering kisses all over her face.

“Baby” she laughs, and you silence her a second later with your lips.

“Blegh” they both say, grabbing their backpacks.

“Are they teens now?” you mumble against Wanda’s ear.

“No, teenage years will be much worse than this. Are you still up for it?”

“In it for the long run, baby”

Wanda has to go straight to a work meeting, but you stop by a second to greet Wendy, and make sure she gets a chance to meet the twins.

“I’ve heard so much about you!” the woman says.

“Tell Wendy what was your favorite story of hers growing up”

“Uh, the one where the kids go to space” Billy says shyly.

“And they take their dog! We have a dog too and we’d take him to space with us” Tommy agrees.

“Alright, astroboys, let them work. We’re going to a baseball game”

“Oh, no! I’m sad I’ll miss it. Have fun” Wanda lies.

You knew she’d be bored out of her mind so you decided it was as good a time as any to take them to the game.

“Yeah, those are so much fun” you say, knowing baseball is incredibly boring for you too. As Wanda says goodbye you pull her close and whisper in her ear. “I’m taking one for the team so be prepared to thank me later, babe”

“Stop” she tries not to laugh, knowing exactly what you mean. “And don’t eat a lot of junk food”

“You heard your mom”

“I wasn’t talking only to the kids”

“Rude”

As you expected, you still have no clue what’s going on but the kids enjoy eating nachos and watching men running around after a ball.

“Wow, Camarena is about to bat!”

“Oh, I met that guy in New York” you say, remembering how Zach was so excited about that player.

You really need to plan something in the summer for him to meet the twins.

As Camarena prepares to bat, you decide to FaceTime Zach.

“Where are yooou?” he says, annoyingly close to the screen. “Without me? Traitor”

“Who’s that?” Tommy says, looking away from the game for a split second.

“My brother”

“Hi, I’m uncle Zach”

“You can’t be our uncle. You’re too young” Billy huffs.

You’re about to tell them to settle when you hear the familiar sound of people cheering and shouting.

“Ah, shit. Not again”

Another ball falls right on your hand.

Tommy takes your phone, lifting it in the air and dancing with his brother as the camera pans to you.

Honestly, why are people so happy over catching a freakin ball?

Pretty soon you hope there’s another coming your way and knocks you down, because Zach is arguing over the phone with the boys.

“We should totally keep it!”

“Are you insane? If he asks for it you can get a picture with him and get him to sign stuff, that’s worth more!”

“It wouldn’t be the same”

Anyway, as the game ends you get called just like last time.

“You again?” the team manager recognises you and you shrug your shoulders.

“Hey, I’m just as surprised as you”

“Alright, how about a picture and a signed bat in exchange for the ball?”

You shake your head no and point at the kids.

“You’re asking the wrong person, pal. Negotiate with these two”

Why are you even surprised when they get all demanding? They are Wanda’s kids after all.

In the end, they get one picture each, two signed baseball balls, one of his hats and a glove.

“Come on, your mom’s waiting for us at the hotel. You two need to shower so we can grab some food”

“No shower when we’re on vacation!” they chant as you drive back.

“Nu-uh, you’re both stinky. Plus you hugged that stinky man”

“Can we have burgers and milkshakes?”

“You had nachos and popcorn and soda. Oh, by the way” you turn to look at them at the red light. “If your mother asks you didn’t eat all that. Just some popcorn”

“We can agree if we don’t have to shower”

“Shower and I’ll take you to the F1 arcade”

Billy and Tommy whisper in the back of the car, considering your proposal.

“Deal”

“Fist bump” you say, throwing one hand to the back seat so they can seal the deal.

You definitely missed acting like a kid with them.

—

Wanda was right. You’d never say it out loud because you don’t want her to get all cocky.

But the kids have been hyper ever since they arrived and you’re a little out of practice with taking care of them.

It’s day two and you’re hoping the museum can provide some distraction while you chill with Wanda.

“You ok, detka? Seems like you ran a marathon” Wanda comments with a smirk.

“I’m super fine. Just ate a lot for breakfast” you lie, but still keep her close to your side, hoping you can sit down and watch the kids run around.

And for a little while, everything’s going well. Until you stumble upon an exhibition.

“Hall of Human Life” you read out loud.

It’s like Disneyland for doctors.

“That’s so cool!” you say, watching the model of an artery with high blood pressure. Tommy and Billy pick up on your enthusiasm, following you everywhere and asking questions as they go through every station of the exhibit.

Apparently, there’s a little contest at the end and you join a group of children sitting on the floor.

“Alright” the staff woman says, looking around. “Who can tell me how many bones are in the human body?”

“206!” you shout from the back, making every kid turn to look at you.

“Correct… uh, let’s just raise our hands to answer” the woman asks, thrown off by the sight of an adult in a children’s activity. “Does anyone remember three parts of the eye? Anyone?”

You’re the only one raising your hand, and the woman gives up with a sigh.

“Sclera, iris and retina”

It keeps happening with a couple of questions and Wanda is torn between letting you crash the activity or ask you to join her in the back.

As you get ready to argue with a 12 year old over an incorrect answer, Wanda decides you better get going.

“Come here, baby”

“Ok, what you said is incorrect. 1 in 500 people have a cervical rib” you keep arguing with the kid while Wanda drags you away.

“Here” she pushes you to the back of an exhibit.

“Hey, I was just…”

“We should let the kids enjoy themselves for a bit, don’t you think?” she asks and you’re about to argue when her lips are on yours.

“Yeah, that’s alright I guess” you sigh, a shiver running down your spine when Wanda bites your bottom lip.

“So, wanna discuss anatomy with a kid or show me what you know in this little corner?”

“I’m definitely staying here” you say, making out like teenagers.

You only notice the activity is over when the kids come looking for you.

“Gross” Tommy says.

“Hey, keep that up and we’ll go through the baby section again”

“Nooo” they both run away, traumatized by the drawings.

“How I missed babysitting the three of you” Wanda laughs.

You walk down the rest of the museum, commenting on your favorite thing in each area. As you discuss if they want to go to the aquarium after having some food, Wanda decides to get some souvenirs from the gift shop, Tommy tagging along in hopes of getting a t-shirt.

“You don’t want a t-shirt, beautiful boy?” you ask Billy, and he smiles when you call him that. It’s his favorite thing, from that John Lennon song.

“I don’t want you to be alone”

“I’ll be fine. Go with Mom, help her shop for something for Pietro and Grandma”

“It’s ok” he insists. You hug him and he leans on your side.

“How have you been? Heard you’re not really into soccer these days”

“No, I only went because Tommy liked it. But it’s not my favorite thing. Plus Daniel was being kind of mean” he mutters.

“Isn’t he Dick’s… I mean, Richard’s kid?” you stumble over the nickname.

“Yeah. He was saying that it wasn’t right that mom was with you and that was why I was weird too”

You take a deep breath, turning to look at him.

“You know that’s not right”

“Yeah. Tommy kicked his ass for that. Don’t tell mom I said a bad word” he remembers and his expression makes you forget the anger for a second.

“My lips are sealed”

In that precise moment, Wanda and Tommy come back. Tommy has some dinosaur stuff that he bought for his brother and they’re busy checking everything out.

“Wow, what’s going on?” Wanda says when you pull her aside.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you whisper, shaking with anger.

“Tell you what? Y/N, calm down”

“I’m going to kill him”

“Kill who?”

“Dick, Richard, whatever his name is. He hurt Billy and I’m going to…”

“I already dealt with it, please calm down” Wanda asks.

“Unless you ran him over with your car, it’s not enough”

“I did threaten him with that” she says, which makes you laugh. “I’m serious. I did tell him I’d do it”

Wanda puts her hands on your cheeks, forcing you to look at her.

“Are you better now?”

“Yeah. You should have told…”

“I wanted to but you weren’t there. So I had to deal with it the best I could” she says and you hang your head in defeat.

You hope one day the guilt of leaving like a coward can disappear.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I pushed you away, remember? Let’s just get something to eat. Ok?”

“Ok” you kiss the back of her hand, sighing.

“Look what we got you!” Tommy interrupts, unaware of the tension between you and her mom.

He shows you a plastic dinosaur with a cowboy hat and you scream.

“Coolest thing ever!”

“Three kids” Wanda laughs, walking away as you alternate between rawr and yeehaw sounds, holding the dinosaur up in the air.

—

The kids wouldn’t get on the plane until you showed them your ticket to Westview. Even then, they complained that two weeks was a long wait.

But still, they got on the plane and you were  seeing Wanda next Thursday, as it was her final meeting with Wendy’s team.

“Love you two”

“Love you three” they answered and how you missed hearing those words from them.

Everything is still the same when you go back to work. But the kids visit has made you look at things differently.

You don’t feel so alone, and you’re more optimistic about the future. Even Lorne has noticed and is taking full advantage of your mood.

Yelena’s the one with the attitude as soon as you come back.

“Anything interesting happened this weekend?”

“Ask your friend” she says without looking up from her notes.

“What did you think of Sharon?”

“She’s fine. Whatever”

“Fine as in attractive or fine as in capable? I hope it’s the latter because Bishop won’t be happy about the other one…”

“Can you stop being so fucking annoying for a second?” she snaps, standing up to leave.

It’s like that the entire day. You ask her to do something and she complains, speaks through her teeth or simply refuses to acknowledge you.

The only thing you can think to do of is bitch about it to Natasha.

“Is your sister in her late teenage years or some shit?”

“She’s just pissed because you’re leaving” Natasha doesn’t look up either, well aware of Yelena’s behavior.

“Well, she knew I was leaving after three months! That’s hardly a shock”

“You were the one that said you’d never move to Boston and here you are” she levels you with an icy glare. “You can’t really blame her for hoping you’d stick around longer than three months”

“I guess, but still. It’s nothing personal”

“She gets attached easily. Ask mom how many strays she picked on the street”

“So now I’m a dog?” you say, and Natasha smiles.

“Yeah, like a retriever. You’re always goofy. Plus you catch all those balls like it’s second nature”

“Heard about the other game, huh?”

“I��m not going to assume what Yelena thinks or feels, but you should definitely talk to her” Natasha looks at you. “And for what is worth, you’ve made a good impact on the staff. They’re gonna miss you too”

“Are you?” you say when she stands up to leave.

“Nope. I’m taking your parking spot”

“Hey!”

She looks back and smiles. You return the gesture, knowing what she’s trying to say.

“It’s a nice parking spot” you admit. “Closer to the cafeteria”

“Exactly. See you later”

“Thanks. For helping me out with Yelena. And for wanting to be my friend even though I can be an ass” you say.

“You’re a nice ass. Wait, that came out wrong” she frowns and you laugh.

“I got the point”

Natasha smiles and nods your way one last time. And as far as you’re concerned, you’d really want to keep avoiding Yelena, but you better go and find her.

She’s in an on call room, and all but groans when you walk inside.

“I’m leaving in two weeks. Believe or not, it’s not easy for me to make this choice, Yelena. I know staying would be better for my career. Your mom is paying me shitloads of money. And the city has its charm, I’m not gonna lie”

“Ok, is there a point or…?”

“I’m coming back to Westview because… I found the one thing I never thought I’d have. A family that loves me. After my dad passed away I didn’t really have a place to call home. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here at all, because it was unfair to create an expectation. But I won’t lie and say I regret it. You’ve grown so much and you have so much talent. I’m really fucking proud of being your teacher”

Yelena looks away, and you sigh.

“Anyways, better get back to…”

“Thank you. Even if it was for a short time, I’m happy you were my teacher” she finally says, wiping a tear and smiling at you.

“Thanks, kid. We are a good team” you sit next to her, nudging her knee with yours. “One could even say we trauma bonded, huh?”

“I hate you”

—

The last thing you want to hear after a very bad shift is Lorne’s voice proposing to play a game.

“I just feel like I never got to know you!” he insists.

“Walking in on me changing clothes wasn’t enough for you? Glad you’re knocking after that, by the way”

To be honest, it was fun to watch him shriek as he saw you half naked. And how he volunteered to take the sexual harrassment course even though it was pretty obvious he didn’t mean to be a peeping tom.

“No, I mean things like, your favorite cake flavor, or favorite color. And are you a balloon girl? Or more of a glitter gal?”

“Neither. I don’t want a farewell party” you say, knowing exactly what he’s doing.

It’s stupid to throw a party to someone who’s been part of the staff for only three months. And from day one, everyone knew you weren’t staying.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” he plays dumb and you chuckle, signing forms while you check your watch.

You better get going if you want to pick up Wanda from her meeting.

“Mhm. No parties. Seriously” you hand over the charts, glaring at him.

He nods, but you don’t really believe he’ll give up. If Yelena sides with him, you’ll have to accept your fate.

“Ready to go?” Sharon says, greeting you at the hallway.

She’s been picking up some shifts, to see if she likes the job. Melina made her an offer as soon as she sat down for the interview and you’re convinced the only reason she hasn’t let you leave early is because Yelena would throw a tantrum.

“Yeah, I have to pick up Wanda. How’s everything? You like it here?”

“Very much, everyone’s nice. The facilities are amazing and it’s a very interesting challenge. Don’t tell anyone yet, but I’m accepting the job offer”

“Congratulations. They’re very lucky to have you” you say, smiling.

“Thank you, for recommending me. I’ll let you go now” she says when she gets paged.

By the time you reach the address Wanda sent out, she’s wrapping up the meeting.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt, I’m sorry” you say as you walk in on people chatting around the conference room.

“Not at all, please come in” Wendy says.

“Hello, darling” Wanda greets you with a kiss on the cheek. “We were only talking about tonight. There’s this party with some editors”

“Oh, that sounds nice” you try not to sound disappointed, because you were hoping to spend the evening with Wanda.

“Sorry for the short notice but you’re going to be my plus one” Wanda puts her arm around your waist and you relax against her.

“Can’t say no to my girl”

As you’re saying goodbye, Wendy’s assistant stops by. There’s a wave of excitement as soon as Lily shows off the baby.

“I thought it was a boy” Wanda says, approaching her.

“We did too. Apparently our doctor’s stupid. No offense, Y/N”

“Hey, I just rode in the ambulance. But congrats. What’s her name?”

“Marygold”

“I love that name” Wanda and you say at the same time.

Lily hands over the baby to Wanda, and as she cooes at the little girl, you look over her shoulder, your hand on Wanda’s waist.

“She’s such a cutie”

“You both look good with a baby” Wendy jokes and you smile.

“Babe, they’re conspiring to get us pregnant”

Wanda tries to laugh at your joke, but your closeness is distracting. She wants to focus on Marygold but gives up a moment later, and you intercept the baby before she returns to her mother’s arms.

“You’re gonna have to teach me that move” Lily comments when you sway her gently and lull her back to sleep.

“Natural talent, I’m afraid” you joke.

You’re so focused on the baby that you don’t notice Wanda’s intense gaze on you.

Of course, someone else takes Marygold and you leave with Wanda.

“So, work thing, huh? Sounds fun. Is it more business, casual?”

“Just a small dinner, nothing fancy. And we definitely don’t have to stay for long” she says, looking out the window.

“You ok?” you ask after a few moments of silence, placing your hand on her thigh.

“Yeah” Wanda turns to smile at you.

You miss the way she shivers when you squeeze her thigh, and Wanda’s sure you’re keeping your hand there in an innocent gesture.

But seeing you holding a baby, with your strong arms (that are a lot more buff now) practically made her ovulate on the spot.

She has to be extremely patient, but once you’re in your building and the elevator’s doors close, Wanda corners you, her pupils dilated.

“Wanda?” you say, completely blindsided by the way she has you against the metal walls.

“I want you… fuck. I want you to put a baby in me”

Your attention is split between her words and the fact she’s unbotting her blouse in the middle of the elevator.

“I, technically… biologically, I mean” you stutter as she reveals a black lace bra.

“You’re not even gonna try?” she taunts, undoing your pants and sinking her hand to play with your clit through your underwear.

“Fuck, not what I meant, bunny” you mutter against her temple, while she edges you. “Can you behave until we get there?”

“No” she says against your lips, swallowing your moans.

The doors open into the Penthouse and you’re about to carry Wanda to the bedroom when she pushes you away.

“Why?”

“Give me five minutes to change”

“You don’t need to change, you’re gonna be naked” you whine, taking a look at her cleavage.

“So you don’t wanna see the entire thing? It has stockings. And a thong”

“Can I rip it off of you?”

“No. They were very expensive”

“I’ll reimburse you” you insist. She laughs and you pout, but let her walk to the room, with an extra sway to her hips just to tease you.

You pace around the kitchen, like a caged animal. To be fair, last time Wanda was here you didn’t have a chance to be alone.

That makes you remember the thing you bought and stored inside the safe, just to make sure no one would find it. If Wanda wants to play dirty, you should surprise her as well.

While you adjust the new toy, the bedroom door opens and you practically sprint inside.

“Oh, my”

Wanda’s sitting in bed, her hair down. You take it all in, starting from the heels she’s still wearing, to her beautiful slender legs, the stockings held by a suspender belt.

You kneel at the foot of the bed, and she’s happy to make room for you between her legs.

“No ripping” she warns you as a hand reaches for her thighs.

“I’m not…”

“I’m serious” she says, gripping your chin between her fingers. “Say you understand”

“I understand”

“Good girl”

“You know, you should be the one begging” you say, your hands going up and down her calves while you kiss the exposed skin. “Weren’t saying you wanted me to get you nice and pregnant?”

“It doesn’t hurt to remind you I call the shots”

“Do you, now?” you smile up at her and Wanda holds her breath. She understands a second too late, that you have something of your own to tease her with.

With a chuckle, you push her thong aside and dart your tongue out, tasting her. You both moan and she places her hand in your head, pulling you closer.

You can tell she’s close when you feel her movig her hips against your mouth, so you slow down, until she’s whining.

“I didn’t say you could stop” she says.

“You better watch your tone or I’ll fuck the attitude out of you, baby” you stand up, puling your shirt up. Wanda’s hands go down your abs, which is amusing. Ever since you got back together, it hasn’t been lost on you how she eyes them and tries to get little peaks when your shirt rides up.

“Did you get a new…?” she says when her hand goes lower, feeling the strap on that you’re packing.

“See? I am putting a baby in you” you smile, pushing your thumb past her lips.

Wanda pulls your pants down, and takes the plastic cock between her hands. It takes you by surprise when she spits on it and then smears her saliva all over it. Before you can do anything else, her mouth is on it, and the pressure goes directly to your clit.

“Come on, let me fuck you” you plead, though you’re on the edge.

“Good old missionary?” Wanda pulls you down with her, your lips meeting in a messy kiss.

“God, yes, I want to hear your pretty moans” you say, lining up the toy against her cunt, and you find no resistance as you slide inside.

“Fuck, yes” Wanda moans, holding the back of your neck. You thrust harder when you feel her heels digging on your back, and she’s everywhere. Her scent is invading your nose, you feel her hot breath against your ear and her moans are all you can hear as you keep fucking her, losing control until she practically screams your name.

“Fuck, that was good” she says, as you keep moving your hips, waiting for her breathing to slow down. “I need a minute”

“Ok, I’ll just stay inside and focus on these two” you say, pulling the bra down and sucking on one of her nipples.

Wanda’s protests die down in her throat as you move to the other nipple, readjusting so you’re buried deeper inside.

She pushes you and you’re about to complain when she flips you over, straddling your lap.

“Alright then. Round two”

“Bring it, Maximoff”

—

It’s a miracle you leave the penthouse at all. Between having sex on every surface, eating and sleeping, it’s time to leave for Wanda’s work dinner.

“You look very fuckable, baby” you compliment her mini skirt, knee high boots and long sleeved sweater.

“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing all day?”

“I mean, I could picture pulling that skirt up and just fucking you against a wall” you say, laughing when she puts her head against the headrest.

“Lets forget about this work thing and go back to bed, please?”

“That’s not very professional of you”

“I know. But you’re not playing fair”

“It will be worth the wait, I promise”

Wanda gets out of the car as you talk to the valet. She walks inside, saying hello to a few people and picking up a glass of wine. She’s about to greet Wendy when a man gets in her way. It’s one of the assistant editors, though she can’t even remember his name.

“Hey, Wanda. Glad to see you made it”

“Yeah, of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world” she says, though she would absolutely miss it for more hours of hot sex with you.

“I didn’t bring anyone either, so maybe we could be each other’s date?” he jokes, but Wanda doesn’t smile at that.

“Actually, I…” she tries to say but he completely ignores her.

“As a matter of fact, I regret not doing this sooner, but I wanted to ask you out. And I know this is your last trip to Boston but I was hoping we could…”

You walk in that precise moment, smiling at Wanda.

“Hi there, sorry. Had to make sure they knew how to park the Corvette. I’ll have what she’s having” you turn to the man, who shifts on his feet, clearly uncomfortable.

“Not a waiter. I’m an assistant editor. Working on Wendy’s book. I’m sorry, I didn’t know Wanda was bringing a friend”

“I didn’t know either. Who did you invite, baby?” you play dumb, knowing exactly what was going on.

“No one, my love. This is my girlfriend, Y/N” Wanda leans against you.

“Doctor Y/L/N” you correct her before he can introduce himself. You don’t want to be on a first name basis with this asshole.

“My name’s Bobby. So, what kind of doctor? Eye stuff?”

“Trauma. ER stuff”

“Drunk people and broken bones?” he tries to joke.

“No, more like stab wounds. You’d be surprised how much damage you can do with the tiniest thing” you comment, picking up a tiny fork with a bored expression. “I mean, just the right spot and your entire carotid blows up. Gone in three seconds”

“Oh, darling, not everyone gets your medical humor” Wanda laughs a little too loud, pulling you away. “Anyways, nice talking to you, Bobby”

Bitch ass Bobby.

“Shut up” Wanda nudges your side, but she’s laughing too.

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes” she smiles when you pull her close.

“Didn’t like the way he was staring. I mean, you are beautiful and everyone should acknowledge it. But he looked like he thought he had a chance”

“Nothing could be further from the truth”

“Between this and tiny Dick back in Westview I’m thinking I should put a ring on it before they cause any more trouble” you laugh, kissing her temple.

It’s a joke and Wanda can tell, because immediately after speaking you’re gulfing down entrees and talking about your plans for tomorrow, but she still thinks about the ring she found and how it’s been sitting on a box for three months now.

“Everything ok, babe?”

“Yeah, just tired” she says, and it’s not exactly a lie, not after four hours worth of cardio.

“We can relax tomorrow. I’ll cook for you” you promise.

Wendy and other people approach you and you’re charming them in no time. It’s very amusing to learn they all heard the story of Lily’s baby and how you walked in to save the day.

Speaking of which, at some point during the evening, someone calls for a doctor.

“Huh” you comment when you spot Bobby coughing, something clearly stuck on his throat.

“Go” Wanda pushes you, but you lean against the bar, sipping on your drink.

“Don’t worry, it’s fine. He has one more minute before it gets dangerous”

But at Wanda’s insistence, you sigh and put your glass down, walking towards the man.

“Alright, here we go” you say, doing the good old Heimlich maneuver on him. Though your grip might be a little too strong as you squeeze his mid section.

Something comes flying out of his mouth and you put him down, looking bored.

“See? He’s fine” you say when you return to sit next to Wanda. He looks anything but, shaking and losening his tie. “I mean, he’s not dying”

Wanda rolls her eyes, but kisses your cheek. You spend the rest of the evening glued to her side, hands wandering down her back and gripping her waist. It’s like you’re addicted to feeling Wanda’s body against yours.

“You’re making it really hard to focus” she teases when you’re finally alone.

“I’m sorry, I guess I’m gonna miss you. I know I’m going back to Westview next week but I…”

“What?”

“It’s nothing” you look away, sighing.

“Detka”

But Wendy takes Wanda to meet some people, and you stay at the bar, looking around the room. When Wanda finally comes back, she can tell you’re tired and she says goodbye to everyone.

“Lets walk for a bit” she asks, taking your hand and pulling you towards a park. You nod and follow her, still thinking about everything you’re feeling.

Your thougts are interrupted by a street musician, singing a song you’re not familiar with.

“I know this one” Wanda says, reading your expression. “Reflecting light”

“It’s really beautiful”

“Come on” she offers her other hand, and you smile, your hands on her waist as she rests her head on your shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” she finally asks and you laugh.

“What makes you think something’s wrong?”

“I know you”

“I just…” you sigh, looking at her. “I’m going back to Westview and I have to undo the mess I left at the hospital. The city will be the same, but I’m not the same anymore… and I don’t know, I’m scared that everything will just feel wrong, or I’ll screw up”

“Sweetheart” Wanda interrupts your rambling. “I don’t think either one of us is the same. But that’s a good thing. It means we learned from our mistakes and we’re stronger. It’s gonna be alright”

“You promise?”

“I can promise you this. I’m here for better and worse”

"Sickness and health?” you joke, but your heart beats faster when Wanda looks into your eyes, nodding slowly.

“Yes, my love. Through all of that” she promises, kissing you softly.

As you sway to the soft music, you both think about the future together.

It’s looking good as long as you have each other.

[prettybugsinbandages]

Blot!reader pt. 3

Part 3 to this

This is a darker story. I suggest you refrain from reading it if you're in a fragile mental state or unable to handle darker themes.

The blankets cocooned around you were cold—an empty, sterile embrace that offered no comfort as you lay wide-eyed in the oppressive stillness of the night. Sleep slipped through your grasp, elusive and taunting, while your mind clawed relentlessly at the remnants of the day. Each memory looped endlessly, twisting tighter and tighter, until nausea churned in your gut.

Your gaze wandered—adrift—until it landed on a keychain dangling from your bag. A sudden warmth flickered in your chest, fragile and fleeting, like the ghost of sunbeam on a winter morning. Nostalgia bloomed—sharp and bittersweet, wrapped in the fondness of forgotten laughter; It was a birthday gift from a friend back home. Ridiculous, overpriced, and born from an inside joke you no longer even recalled. The small plush charm had been worn thin, dulled and frayed by years of absentminded affection it had endured.

You slipped out of your bed, your feet ghosting over the cold floor. Every step toward the keychain made your heart pound louder in your ears. Its familiar texture met your fingers, soft and worn from countless caresses. Your heart was oddly soothed by its familiarity, calming you enough to allow a yawn to escape—perhaps you'd sleep tonight after all.

You turned the small item over a few times in your hands before the memory slams into you. The sharp, metallic ping cutting through the hum of your old room. The frustration that followed, the light graze of your thumb over the broken chain. The memory was vivid and final.

You left this behind.

Your breathing grew shallow, vision blurry as realization crept up on you and the keychain fell from your hands, making a soft thump on the floor. Why was it here? How was it here? Your mind spun, raking through any and all possibilities as you stared wide-eyed at the impossibility at your feet.

A sharp sound tore you from your thoughts before a light filled the room, the sudden change nearly shattering you. A melody—soft, haunting—echoed from behind, filling your stagnant cell of a room and tightening around your ribs like thorns. You turned sharply, breath caught in your throat as your gaze landed on your phone screen, glowing in the dark and casting an eerie, cold light across the room.

The name flashing across the screen made you involuntarily let out a weak gasp as you stumbled forward, your legs like jelly. That number was muscle memory, seared deep into your mind, like a brand on your personality. You knew it intimately from endless hours spent lost in conversation. Memorized by heart, you'd traced it absently while their voice poured through the receiver, filling quiet nights with laughter, dreams, and shared secrets.

"Hello?"

The voice on the line wasn't just familiar—it was them. It echoed through your skull like a haunting melody, colder than the air in your empty lungs. You couldn't breathe. Time thickened around you, dragging you slower, and slower, yet every second screamed you were running out of it.

A connection to home. A chance you'd forsaken—the thought clawed at you, desperate and hungry like a rabid dog. Shakily, you tried to respond, but it never went through. Were you finally going mad? Was there blot in your brain? You could only laugh—thin, brittle—the sound teetering between hysteria and madness.

"I don't know why I'm doing this," They said, a bitter laugh breaking through the static. Frustration bled into hurt—and then, almost painful hope. "-but I can't seem to stop calling. That movie you were excited about? It finally comes out next week. I bought us tickets—your favorite spot in the theater. I even saved up for snacks—And the café you love afterward... You'll be there, won't you?"

The line fell silent. Only the faint, familiar hum of their fan carried through—a soft, constant whir that had always comforted you during late-night sleepovers. It had run non-stop for years and back then, you'd playfully scolded them for keeping it on constantly, unaware just how much you'd miss it on quiet nights, so far from home. The sound had become home.

"...Please come back."

The call ended—abrupt, merciless. The silence that followed was louder than any goodbye, and you so desperately ached to hear the familiar: "I'll see you tomorrow."

Desperation clawed at your throat as you scrambled to call back, your voice breaking into raw, hoarse sobs—ones long overdue that tore from somewhere once deep and forgotten. Your body was drenched in uncomfortable, clammy, cold sweat as your fingers trembled to input the number once again—to hear their voice one more time. You dialed again. And again.

The number you have dialed is not in service.

Again.

The number you have dialed is not in service.

Each polite, robotic repetition was a blade twisting deeper, shredding through you with barbed, merciless precision. Your chest convulses with the weight of silence. Nails claw at your palms, desperate for something to ground you, but the shadows stretch—long, greedy, as though even the room has given up on holding you.

The ring on your finger was cold now—cold as your own uncannily waxen flesh. The Blot was silent for once—it doesn't speak, but you can feel it behind you, its presence heavy and infuriatingly soothing. Through your blurry tears, you caught its shadow standing beside your own, the moonlight spilling through your window casting both your forms in the same pale, eerie glow.

Two shapes horribly intertwined by fate.

And both so painfully, irrevocably alone.

The following morning was a haze—thick and disorienting, like radio static stretched thin over every sense. It clung to your mind like mold, seeping into every corner of your being, wrapping tight and suffocating, leaving behind a pressure that felt almost claustrophobic. Every muscle ached with a dull, persisted throb, and your movements were sluggish—each thought, each action, wading through the heavy drag of mud. Yeah, mud was the right word. The day felt filthy. You felt filthy.

Even Cater's presence—usually a bright, irritating hum in the background—brought no reprieve. When you recoiled from his touch without meaning to, the brief flicker of hurt across his face should've been satisfying. Normally, it would've been beneath the veneer. But you didn't even have the energy to enjoy it. Instead, you offered an apology sculpted to sound genuine, knowing exactly what to say to smooth it over—words shaped like honey but hollow inside.

The constant hum of the Mostro Lounge buzzed in your ears: the sharp clink of dishes, the scrape of silverware, the low murmur of conversation, and the sizzle of meals being made. The lights overhead felt oppressive, glaring down like the unblinking eye of some unseen god, judging, dissecting every falter, every wandering thought. But still, you endured.

Plate after plate. Smile after smile.

God, you hated them. You wanted to go home. Real home.

But after that cruel, fleeting taste of what you once craved, the hollow ache of your abandoned goal came crashing back—raging, desperate, clawing for dominance like rabid dogs over the newer, uglier desire: the need to stay and become somebody here. Yet deep down, you knew. You couldn't go back. not after this. Not after what you've become. You're a plague.

How would you even explain it? How do you justify the absence—the schoolwork missed, the time lost? Surely, people had moved on. Surely, you were already forgotten and that call was a hoax. Yes, another hallucination from the stress.

The spiral was relentless as you scrubbed another dish, eyes unfocused, locked on the lazy swirl of soap and bubbles clinging to your hands. Exhaustion dragged at your eyelids like heavy weights. You turned to put the glass away—misjudged the distance.

Crash.

The sound of shattering glass echoed too loudly, but all you could do was stare. For a moment, the world dulled around you—flattened into isolation, bleak and distant. The harsh light above bore down, merciless and searing, like divine judgement cast from on high.

And in that moment, it felt like punishment. Like you deserved it.

"~~~~?"

"~~~~."

Hands gripped your shoulder—firm, insistent—and shook you just enough to jolt your vision back into focus. The world sharpened painfully around the edges, and suddenly you felt it: the weight of their stares pressing into you like hot iron.

"Shrimpy!" Floyd's voice cut through the fog, sharper now, laced with something unfamiliar—concern. He shook you again, more urgently this time. His features, usually painted in playful malice, were drawn tight with worry: brows furrowed, eyes squinted ever so slightly, lips parted as if you were trying to find the right thing to say. "Did you eat somethin' Jade gave you? If you go home now, I'll be lonely." He whined with an undercurrent of care.

His head snapped up like a hunting dog catching a scent, scanning the room for his twin. But Jade was already there—hovering near the kitchen window, gaze cool and calculating as always. Yet, not even his polished mask could fully hide the flicker of unease that crossed his face. Whatever was happening, this time, he wasn't behind it.

You forced a weak smile—another apology weighing down on your tongue. Gods, how many apologies had you made today? "My hand slipped," you muttered, voice thin and brittle. "I just felt a little dizzy, that's all."

A spark of something darker, more cunning, twisted in your chest. An opportunity—small and mean—presented itself. Last night's events made you want to lash out and draw blood from any drawing too near. "I covered your and Jade's shift last night. Barely slept."

You didn't bother to look at them, didn't need to. Instead, you crouched down, gathering the shattered remnants of the glass. Floyd's grip loosened but his presence lingered close—hovering like a shadow unwilling to let go.

Measured footsteps soon approached—Jade. His gloved hands appeared in your periphery, collecting shards with practiced precision. You could feel his gaze, sharp and dissecting, practically daring you to meet his gaze. If you did, you knew he'd carve the truth out of you without mercy.

"Perhaps you should rest," Jade murmured, voice smooth as silk but carrying a weight beneath it. "I'll speak to Azul."

You kept your gaze trained on the floor.

The Leech twins were impossible to beat on their home turf. Their games were played on familiar ground, and anyone foolish enough to challenge them there would drown before they even realized they were sinking.

That's why you needed to build your own field. Make it identical, familiar, but yours. Drag them into it—make them play by their own rules.

The moment they showed the slightest hint of interest, you pushed—forced your way into their lives and curled in close until it felt natural, comfortable. And when they grew used to the warmth of your presence, when it started to feel like maybe you belonged by their side—that's when you pulled.

One would've thought they'd catch on by now, given their intellect. But perhaps they'd grown too confident, too sure of their mastery of this endless game.

You stood slowly, rinsing your hands of any lingering shards. No words. No gratitude. Just the cold satisfaction of leaving.

Behind you, their confusion burned hot—Why? Did it really sting him that much? Was it guilt for making you cover their shifts? But you had offered, hadn't you? Just yesterday, you were draped over him with teasing smiles, laughter curling between subtle touches.

So why did it feel like all of that had shattered just as easily as the glass in your hands?

He hadn't even realized he was already planning how to win you back like a forsaken lover.

Despite your body screaming for rest, you pressed on—first to your locker, then to his office.

Azul was exactly where you expected him to be: hunched over the sea of documents, files stacked like fragile towers around him, pen scratching tirelessly across paper. The steady rhythm of ink against parchment filled the room like background noise in a familiar, suffocating routine.

Your steps were measured, each one deliberate, the certainty of your intention steeling your spine. Your gaze was cold—detached—until he finally looked up. Only then did you let it soften, just enough to mask the sharpness beneath.

You hesitated for a moment, your movements stilling. Then, without a word, you extended your hand. A simple sheet of paper rested between your fingers. Two weeks' notice.

Azul took it, scanning the words with quick, efficient movements. His pale blue eyes—sharp and calculating—let every syllable seep into him, and for a brief, flickering second, something in his composed expression cracked.

You remembered why he hired you in the first place. The growing popularity of the Ramshackle Prefects had turned you and the others into commodities. Something shiny to be displayed and capitalized on. None of you were people in his eyes; you were an opportunity. Though it changed slightly after the overblot.

Of course, Azul had dressed you up nicely—polite gestures, a crisp uniform tailored just for you. And you, foolishly, had mistaken that for kindness in the beginning. Though only after the deal had you decided to repay it tenfold.

You remembered the small acts of care, offered without expectation: meals left discreetly on his desk when he skipped lunch, snacks, glasses of water, cups of tea. Then came the packed lunches—home-made and thoughtful—each one accompanied by a small, handwritten note or doodle.

The twins had teased him mercilessly for those notes. They swiped them, tore them up, or laughed at how soft he'd gotten while internally wondering why only Azul received such things. But Azul hadn't cared—or at least, that's what he thought. Until the day he found himself opening his lunch early, not to eat but to rescue the note, tucking it safely away in his locker safe before the twins could sink their claws into it.

And then you caught a cold. No lunches. No notes. No little reminders of care.

The absence was stark. The hours felt colder, emptier, like a hollow space you had opened within his routine. It was only then that Azul realized how deeply your presence had seeped into his life—how seen you made him feel.

You had understood him in ways others didn't—or couldn't. Every little gesture, every late-night conversation peeled back a layer of armor he wore. At first, it had unsettled him—your sharp perception felt like a threat, an exposed nerve.

But you didn't wield that awareness like a weapon—well, you did. But he didn't know—You gave it to him instead, focused it entirely on him. And somewhere along the way, your gaze stopped feeling like scrutiny and started feeling like sunlight—gentle and warm, coaxing him out of his cold, dark pot again.

What began as fleeting interactions and reluctant tolerance slowly bloomed into late shifts spent in quiet companionship. You started using your breaks in his office, sitting there in shared silence that felt unexpectedly comforting.

And when he noticed the way you would occasionally drift off—curled uncomfortably on the stiff office couch—he didn't say anything. But soon after, the couch disappeared, left along with Floyd in a bad mood and a small, carefully placed peel in the leather. Enough to ensure it would be ruined later.

A replacement arrived hours later, as if pre-ordered—softer, warmer. A silent offering.

Now, standing in front of him with that thin sheet of paper between you, all of that unspoken history sat heavy in the air.

And yet, you were still walking away.

"What's this?" His voice was smooth, composed, every inch the businessman he portrays himself to be—but you caught it; the slight tremor hidden beneath the polished exterior. The way his fingers tightened around the paper, the sharpness of his gaze behind those pristine glasses. He wouldn't acknowledge the sudden weight in his chest, but you felt it all the same.

You smiled—carefully, perfectly, just as you had rehearsed. Every word chosen, every expression measured, a script you'd been preparing since the first day you were hired.

"My two weeks." Your voice was light, casual, as if it wasn't meant to sting. "There's a place in town offering better pay. You always say business is business—or whatever the saying is, right? You get it; money's important. Especially for someone like me."

Azul's world spun beneath him. It felt like the ground had tilted just enough to send him off balance. You spoke like it was nothing, like he was nothing. A simple transaction—business, just as he always said.

Why had you been so kind to him if you were just going to leave? Why the meals, the notes? Why make him believe, feel, that your presence was anything more than a convenience?

He'd been aware of how distant you became outside of work when you had friends pulling you away from him—how the moments between shifts stretched into silence. The realization gnawed at him, whispering that maybe the warmth you gave him was only temporary. So, he had given you more hours, more shifts—greedy for your presence, desperate to keep you close.

It had only made things worse. You got sick. You slipped further away.

Now this—this final nail in the coffin.

He intended to be gracious. To let you go with dignity, to say something measured and reasonable—Right. I appreciate you letting me know. This is unexpected, but I respect your decision and will support you during the transition.

But when he stood, the words tangled in his throat. His hands trembled slightly, the paper shaking as if it had physically hurt him to hold it.

"I—" The breath hitched before he could stop it. his voice was raw—small. "What are they offering? I can do more."

The desperation hit him like hot spilled tea. How pathetic he must've sounded—how weak. That old fear clawed at him, the memory of being less than, the loser nobody cared about until he forced them to.

Azul adjusted his glasses, smoothing down the crack in his armor, slipping the mask back on with trembling hands. He sat back down, shoulders straight, voice steadier. "You're a valued employee. The Mostro Lounge would hate to see you go."

You almost laughed. The way he clung to formality, as if referring to his business in third person could shield him from the sting of losing you.

But instead, you smiled—bright, nauseously fake. "Ah, really? That's amazing! I was really sad I might need to leave. I've made so many good memories here." Your voice was softer, an undertone of reassurance.

Another lie. The only memory that clung to you was that night—trapped in a booth with the Yuus, celebrating a test you'd all fought tooth and nail to pass. They laughed, smiled, congratulated each other. The students outside Ramshackle never even spoke to you. You'd sat in silence, the world dull and cold, until you excused yourself with the excuse of a headache.

The drowning feeling had returned, thick and suffocating, but it was broken—suddenly, mercifully—by the Blot ring's warmth on your finger.

"Look, my dove. Look at what you've done; Watch how easily he breaks for you." The Blot's voice echoed in your head as you focused on Azul again, noting his relief.

It almost made you feel pity. Sometimes you forget he's just a kid like you.

"I'm glad we sorted that out," Azul said, his voice soft, almost tender. "You're a person I value... At the Mostro Lounge, of course." He added quickly.

When Ortho arrived home after the movie night at Ramshackle, he found Idia sprawled across his bed, fingers deftly maneuvering over his controller. The room was dimly lit with the signature blue glow it always had, the soft glow of his monitor casting a blue tint over his sharp features. The rapid clicking of buttons and the occasional flicker of movement on the screen cast across his walls like dancing spirits amongst the steady and consistent faint hum of the electronics.

Ortho inched closer, lingering near the bed, waiting for his brother to acknowledge him.

"How was it? Anything fun?" Idia asked, his voice absent minded as he spared Ortho a brief glance before refocusing on his game. Still, there was an unmistakable warmth in his tone—he was genuinely glad that Ortho was spending time with others, getting to act like a real kid. It was nice to see.

Ortho perked up at the invitation to share more eagerly plopping down beside him. "We had so much fun, Big Brother!" His voice buzzed with excitement as he watched Idia play, making a comment about a missed hit that elicited a scoff from the eldest. "I really think you should hang out with the Prefects more. You already get along with them—why not get closer? You need to get out more anyway."

His words carried a thread of concern, though he kept his tone lighthearted. He knew his brother was reclusive and lonely, always watching from the sidelines—yearning for the kind of effortless camaraderie he only saw in anime or online gaming parties. Idia longed for connection, even if he'd never admit it.

He prattles on and on about the event, recalling the experiences sharply so Idia could properly understand and visualize things. On occasion, he'd chuckle or curse under his breath at something happening in the game.

As Ortho chattered away, he recounted the night's events in vivid detail, ensuring his brother could picture everything as if he had been there himself. He was meticulous in his storytelling, highlighting funny moments and inside jokes. Occasionally, Idia would chuckle under his breath at a particularly ridiculous anecdote or mutter a curse at something happening on screen.

Then, offhandedly, Ortho mentioned the scanning competition—the malfunction with his scanner and your unusual results.

Idia's fingers hesitated over the controller for half a second, his attention subtly shifting.

You.

During his own overblot, you had been there. Ortho had mentioned it before, but at the time, it barely registered. In the haze of everything that happened, all he could recall was Yuu. They were always at the center of things, right? It made sense.

But when he later reviewed the footage, he found himself lingering. Watching.

You stood there, unwavering. No magic, no superhuman abilities—just you. And yet, despite every overwhelming odds stacked against you, you had fought. You had thrown yourself into the fray with the kind of reckless determination usually reserved for protagonists in the stories he obsessed over. The kind of character he would've rooted for, cheered for.

And yet somehow, you had slipped from his mind.

You weren't supposed to be important.

But now... now you kept appearing, inching your way into his life, making yourself impossible to ignore.

You weren't his best friend. You weren't even his close friend. If he had to assign you a rank on his totally real and definitely well-thought-out friendship tier list, you'd probably sit somewhere around B-tier.

…Maybe B+

Which, objectively speaking, was way too high.

Like, actually concerningly high. The kind of rank that makes Idia pause mid-though and wonder just how you'd managed to climb the rankings so quickly.

At first, it was just a quiet observation—fleeting glances stolen when he thought you wouldn't notice. He studied the way your smile curved, the way the light caught in your eyes, the little details that made you you. And somehow, without meaning to, those details slipped into the margins of his sketchbook—traced in careful, unintentional devotion. A tilt of your lips here, the shape of your eyes there, fragments of familiarity woven into characters he'd never admit were inspired by you.

Then came the conversations—small at first, barely more than mumbled words and hesitant remarks. But you listened. You listened in a way that no one else did, quiet and patient, letting him ramble about his favorite games, his theories, his endless tide of niche knowledge. And when he realized you weren't just humoring him—that you actually cared—the dam cracked.

One night, in the middle of another one-sided infodump, Idia got distracted. His fingers, itching for something to do, reached for his pen, and before he knew it, he was tracing delicate patterns along your skin. Spirals, constellations, intricate designs that sprawled from your fingertips to your forearm, blooming like ink-stained confessions.

It wasn't until he pulled back—saw the quiet amusement in your expression, the way you flexed your fingers to admire his absentminded work—that realization hit him like a sucker punch to the gut.

The mention of your odd vitals tore Idia back from the faint memory. "Wait, what?"

The words left Idia's mouth before he could stop them, his fingers stilling over the controller. His character stuttered to a stop, taking a critical hit and crumbling to the ground. It was enough of a shock to make him pause the game entirely, tired yellow eyes flicking up to meet Ortho's with rare focus. "What happened? Rewind." His voice came out sharper than intended—too firm, too alert. He realized it a second too late, clearing his throat awkwardly as he restarted the game, feigning nonchalance.

Ortho didn't seem to notice—or if he did, he didn't comment. Instead, his brows knit together, worry evident in his voice. "I did a full-body scan of them and found several discrepancies. Is something wrong with my scanner or are they okay?"

Idia felt something uneasy coil in his gut at the genuine concern in Ortho's tone.

"Their heart rate was extremely low, core body temperature matched the room, and their tidal volume was... severely diminished. Either extremely shallow breathing or apneic."

For a moment, Idia said nothing. His grip tightened ever so slightly on the controller. He should've shrugged it off immediately—should've dismissed it as some weird fluke, an error, a quirk of human biology he didn't need to concern himself with. Instead, a beat of silence stretched between them before he scoffed.

"Last I checked, you're completely up to date. Dunno, maybe anemia. Or thyroid issues. Human stuff. Or people from their world are a little different. Did you scan the others?" He forced out a short laugh, trying to ignore the nagging feeling creeping up his spine.

That wasn't entirely a lie. There were plenty of mundane explanations. But the gut feeling remained, pressing down on his instincts like w weight. If something was wrong—if something happened to you, and he had the chance to help but never did—he'd never forgive himself.

Ortho was quiet for a moment, processing, before shaking his head. "I didn't scan the others. They were busy. But... Do you really think everything's fine, Big Brother?"

His lips parted, but no immediate response came. Did he? Logically, none of those symptoms screamed emergency. And yet... something felt off.

"Uh—yeah... probably."

Ortho didn't seem entirely convinced, and honestly? Neither did Idia.

That night, sleep evaded him. Idia tossed and turned, body feeling heavier than usual, his mind on an unrelenting loop of unease. He could still hear the concern in Ortho's voice, see the way his little brother's brows furrowed in worry over you.

With a groan, Idia threw an arm over his face, trying to block out the gnawing guilt.

It's nothing, he told himself. It has to be nothing.

Still, the thoughts wouldn't settle. "Low body temp could be hypothyroidism or anemia. Low heart rate? Also hypothyroidism. Hypoventilation Probably anxiety T.B.H." He muttered the justifications under his breath, fingers threading through his mess of flaming blue hair.

But if it were just that, why did it still feel so wrong?

Before he even realized what he was doing, Idia had already sat up, fingers moving on muscle memory as his PC whirred to life. The pale glow of the screen cast his room in a cold light, turning every shadow into something deeper, something reaching.

Something was wrong—horribly, sickeningly wrong. He couldn't explain the gut feeling that gnawed at his ribs, twisting his organs into a grotesque bow. But it was there. it had been there since Ortho spoke your name, since those words crawled under his skin and nested like parasites.

Idia scoured through medical databases, flipping through symptom charts, searching for anything—anything that could explain this away with something as benign as anemia or some obscure human disorder he had no business caring about. But the deeper he dug, the less he found. The words blurred together, the clinical descriptions devoid of meaning in the face of the one thread that kept tightening, weaving itself through every desperate connection.

He hovered his finger over the button. Idia had no real evidence, no real reasoning, just a gnawing dread sinking its teeth into his spine. And yet—

His tired yellow eyes lingered on his desktop.

STYX files.

Click.

The sound seems to resonate in his ears and around the room like an omen of a bad decision.

The files unfolded before him, filled with brief experiments, files and documents, half finished analyses on his peers, and—at the very heart of it—the haunting icon of the folder holding his own overblot. He knew what it did. He felt what it did. The tearing of flesh, ligament and bone, drowning in darkness—thick and murky, that sickly sweet voice invading his mind.

Coaxing. Taunting.

An overblot occurs when one's body is devoured by magical corruption—a physical manifestation of despair, rage, exhaustion, and agony. The world rarely spoke about it outside hushed whispers, fewer discussed the survival rate.

Idia knew. he studied it. Lived it. During an overblot the victim is not dying. They are being unmade. It's not suffering—it's erasure. And yet, somehow, seven of them had clawed their way back from the brink in one year—himself included.

His fingers hesitated over the keys, twitching slightly with restraint. Then he dove deeper, pushing through firewalls, bypassing passcodes with the desperation of someone who already knew he wasn't supposed to be looking. He'd face repercussions from his parents later. That was a problem for a future Idia who didn't have this black hole of despair in him.

The deeper Idia searched, the less data looked like science and the more it bled into something else. Theories. Stories. Obscure folktales and half-forgotten legends. Whispers that suggested the Blot wasn't just a corruption of magic, wasn't just something lurking inside everyone.

It was suggesting the blot was an entity.

Hours bled into one another, the cold glow of his screen the only constant as Idia scoured every possible source, every scrap of knowledge that might explain the impossible. Each article, each diagram, each desperate thread pulled him deeper into a spiral, his stomach twisting with every answer he found.

Clarity struck him like the drag of a blade against flesh. A shock. Then cold, then hot. Then pain.

His blood ran ice-cold. A nauseating weight coiled in his chest, bile creeping up his throat.

It had always been okay before. It was okay when it happened to strangers, when they clawed their way back from the brink or succumbed to the abyss. It was okay when the others overblotted, when their bodies failed and their souls burned out in a final, desperate flare of magic. And it was even okay when he had done it—because that was the way of things. You burned, you recovered, or you perished. That was the rule.

But you?

You're different. You've become everything to these people—a lifeline, a tether, a presence so woven into the fabric of their existence that the thought of your absence was unthinkable. And yet...

The truth stared back at him from the depths of his research, stark and merciless.

In an overblot, the body fails. Lifeforce siphoned away, each spell cast bleeding it out like a sieve, pushed to the very edge of the fingertips until there is nothing left. The heart races wildly until it bursts—or slow, feeble and strained and full of sorrow until it withers into stillness.

He arrived at a horrible realization, one he couldn't even voice.

Idia made a choked sound, his hand clasped over his mouth, serrated teeth pressing into his palm—though the pain went unnoticed. His yellow eyes were wide and frantic, his breathing uneven and came out in short gasps.

In that moment a terrible, demented thought intruded Idia's mind. Maybe- Maybe it'd be easier if you were. Maybe it would be more merciful if your thread had already begun to fray, if your time really was fleeting—if there was an end in sight. Whatever was wrong with you, surely had to be worse than death.

But no overblotter lingers in this state. No one teeters on the precipice indefinitely. You recover, or you die.

There is no third option.

And yet, you remained.

Suspended. Stagnant. Neither healing nor decaying. All flesh rots. He will rot. One day, his body will succumb to entropy, will crumble and return to dust like every living thing before and after.

Idia avoids you like the plague. Like you're a walking curse, an omen draped in familiarity, something he found himself trusting before he knew better. Before he started watching.

He can't bring himself to look at you when you pass in the halls, can't muster the awkward half-smile or stiff nod he used to manage. His fingers hover over his phone whenever your messages come through, but each one feels like a landmine waiting to explode—his heart skips a beat for all the wrong reasons now.

Because now that he knows, he sees.

Your chest barely rises when you breathe—if you breathe at all. The crisp morning air doesn't turn to mist on your lips like it does for everyone else. And sometimes, after the laughter dies and the conversations fade, your expression slips—just for a second. Gone is the warmth, the life, replaced by something blank and cold.

And Idia wonders—how much of you is real?

How much of what he's come to know, to like—to admire—is actually you? How much of it is a lingering echo of something that should have already faded?

It's wrong. You are wrong.

And no matter how hard he tries, he can't ignore it anymore.

You stepped out of the shower, the warm steam lingering on your skin as you made your way to your room. The quiet hum of your thoughts accompanied you as you sat on the bed, towel in hand, drying your hair. Life has been good lately, mostly thanks to the extra pay from Azul. You'd been using it to treat the other Yuus, upgrading items they needed, buying things they wanted—spoiling them in a way that felt right.

Your eyes drifted to the plush still hanging from your bag, a sharp pang of hurt striking through your chest like a harpoon. You quickly looked away, a quiet whisper of resolve settling over you. You couldn't—wouldn't—go back.

A sudden ping from your phone startled you, snapping your focus back to the present. You searched your bed, brushing against the Blot, which had been lounging lazily, as it made an almost disgruntled noise when you disturbed its comfortable position.

Idia: I need you.

The Blot let out a soft whistle from behind you, leaning over your shoulder as if to read the message itself. "How bold," it teased in its usual mocking tone, its arms slinking around your waist in an almost possessive grip, like it feared you might actually accept the invitation. "I never took that one for such forwardness."

You shoved it off, frustration gnawing at you. The relationship between you and the Blot had grown strained ever since that phone call and plush incident. The Blot insisted it had nothing to do with it, but you weren't sure you believed it. That night, it had been quieter than usual. Maybe too quiet. You shook off the thought, glancing back at your phone as two more pings came through

Idia: wait no

Idia: not like that!

Idia: Just got early access to this game I've been wanting to test. ur the only person that won't be a total normie abt it

You began to get ready to leave, tossing a glare at the Blot as it remained lounging on your bed. "Turn around," you ordered curtly as you changed, its childish huff echoing through the room in response. It had been off lately, less conniving, less manipulative. It was almost... docile. A little too docile. You couldn't shake the suspicion that it was up to something—or maybe, just maybe, it was comfortable with you.

It felt... odd. Idia, of all people, invites you to his dorm room, especially after all the awkwardness between you two. He'd been avoiding you lately, distancing himself. Had you finally worn him down? You never thought it would happen so easily, but here you were.

Not that you planned to give in anyway.

"Dressing up for a date night?" The Blot's velvety voice called out, laced with an unmistakable sense of annoyance. It was once again sprawled across your bed, arms folded behind its head, legs crossed in a relaxed posture. "You're breaking my heart, my dear."

You paused for a moment, the question lingering in the air. What would it do if you fed it the wrong answer? You let your eyes flicker back to the Blot before responding, dismissing its teasing with a shrug. "I doubt it's a date."

You gave the Blot another glance, arching an eyebrow as you met its gaze. "You have a heart?"

The Blot ignored your question completely, shooting back a sharp, almost smug response. "No eighteen-year-old guy asks someone to come to his room past curfew just to 'test out a game.'" Its tone dripped with knowing mockery, and you found yourself wondering how it knew so much about mortal behavior. "Shall I escort you, my dear?"

The Blot reappeared behind you in a sharp three-piece suit, smoothing down the fabric with deliberate care as if it were trying to impress. The look suited it, but you weren't in the mood for compliments. You shook your head, irritation creeping up your spine.

"It's not a date," you repeated firmly. "You know my goal. Don't patronize me."

You shoved past the Blot, grabbing your phone and shoving it into your bag as you made for the door.

For a moment, the Blot just stared at you, its gaze heavy and unreadable. It felt almost suffocating, like the weight of its eyes was enough to drive a chill down your spine. "Ah, I see." it chirped after a beat, its tone shifting, the edge of its gaze disappearing like smoke in the wind. "Have fun then, my dove. I'll be here... as always."

hope this part hadn't drifted too much. Once again, I'm very tired and even tho I'm writing it, I feel like I've somehow lost track of the story and I'm missing something (I'm literally not. I'm delusional) but idk. Just sleepy

taglist: @tachibubu @shirp-collector-of-fixations @goatsmilksblog @iris-arcadia @pumpkindevil @gabile18 @sugarxrt @fancyhawk45 @mewchiili @olxh @muffinenergy @citrus-cinnamon @boredselkie @tipsyon-tea @blerp-22 @is-it-night-or-day @xinfinityx @ashieeeesh @b0nesandskin @texas-fox @owl778 @ghostlysyntaxed @youwannatrade @jar-03

(I hope all the tags worked?? If I accidentally put the wrong username in and tagged a rando, I'm so sorry 🙏)

[vacate-et-scire]

༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹Baby Whats My Name◃ ۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ

There are moments Jason never thought he’d get. The quiet ones, the soft ones. The ones that don’t come with gunpowder in the air or sirens wailing in the distance.

But right now, it’s just the two of you, tangled together on the couch, your head resting against his chest, his fingers idly tracing shapes against your back. The TV hums in the background, some late-night show neither of you are really watching, but neither of you bothers turning it off.

And then, out of nowhere, you say, “So… what do you think of the name ‘Samuel’?”

Jason blinks. His fingers still against your back. “For what?”

“For a kid.”

His whole body tenses for half a second before he forces himself to relax. Not because the thought of kids scares him (okay, maybe a little), but because he wasn’t expecting this conversation at 11:42 PM on a Tuesday.

You shift, propping your chin on his chest so you can look at him properly. “I mean, we’ve talked about having kids before. Might as well get a head start on names, right?”

Jason squints at you. “Are you—?”

“No, I’m not pregnant.” You roll your eyes, amused. “I’d tell you if I was.”

He exhales, a little more relieved than he wants to admit. Not because he doesn’t want kids. But because if that day ever comes, he wants to be prepared. He wants to be ready.

Still, he hums, considering. “Samuel’s not bad. Sam. Sammy.” He shrugs. “Yeah, I could get behind that.”

You smile, clearly pleased with yourself. “Okay, your turn.”

Jason exhales, tilting his head back against the couch. “What about… Elliot?”

You raise a brow. “Elliot Todd?”

He nods. “Sounds solid. Smart. Plus, if the kid hates it, they can go by Eli or Lio or something.”

You tilt your head, considering. “I like it.” Then, after a pause, you add, “I was expecting something way more dramatic from you, though.”

Jason smirks. “Like what?”

You wave a hand. “I don’t know. Something ridiculous. Like Maximus.”

Jason’s grin widens. “Now that would be a badass name.”

“Oh my god,” you groan. “Our child is not going to be named after a gladiator.”

Jason snickers. “Fine, fine. No Maximus.” Then, after a beat, he says, “...What about a girl’s name?”

You perk up. “Okay. What about ‘Ivy’?”

Jason hums. “Pretty. Simple. Also, I know a certain someone in Gotham who might be very smug if we pick that.”

You snort. “True. She would take credit for it.”

Jason taps his fingers against your back, thinking. “What about ‘Rosa’?”

You blink. “Like… rose?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “It’s got an old-school feel to it. Plus, ‘Rosa Todd’ sounds cool.”

You test it out under your breath. “Rosa Todd.” Then, you nod. “I actually really like that.”

Jason grins. “See? I do have taste.”

You roll your eyes but kiss his jaw in silent agreement.

Another moment of silence passes, warm and easy, before you nudge him again. “Okay. What if we just went full Gotham legacy and named our kid something over-the-top?”

Jason smirks. “Like?”

You grin mischievously. “Richard..?”

Jason groans so loudly you can’t help but laugh. “Absolutely the hell not, hat's a horrible idea” he says.

“Is it, though?”

“Yes,” Jason insists. “He would gloat for eternity.”

You shake your head, still laughing. “Alright, fine. No Richard.”

Jason sighs dramatically. “Thank god.”

The two of you settle back into a comfortable quiet, your fingers tracing idle circles against his chest, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. It’s a silly conversation, maybe even premature, but the fact that you’re having it at all—that Jason’s letting himself have it—means something.

Maybe it won’t be tomorrow, or next year, but one day, this won’t just be a conversation. It’ll be real.

And somehow, that thought doesn’t terrify him. Not like it used to.

He glances down at you, lips brushing against your forehead. “Y’know,” he murmurs. “We’ll figure it out. When the time comes.”

You smile against his skin. “Yeah. We will.”

And for now, that’s enough.

[1d1195]

Buttercup - Extra I

Read Buttercup here ~2.6k words

From me: most of the asks and follow up requests were for showing how in love they are and how Harry' s going to treat her right after she wasn't for so long. Hopefully this will work 💕

Warnings: a little angsty, but fluffy overall. Maybe a little TOO fluffy. Nauseating, if you will. Like eating too many peanut buttercups.

Summary: Moving in next to Harry is one of the best thing that's ever happened to her.

It seemed like it had been raining for weeks. The wind provided an eerie soundtrack to her dreams. The rain sheeting against her window didn’t help either. She wished she had taken Harry’s offer to install a doorbell camera. However, she worried she would stare at it excessively, worried about who could be approaching her house.

Staring at the ceiling she sighed covering her eyes with her palms groaning to herself. The house was too quiet. Of course, she felt safe. It was just the wind and rain adding to her anxious mind. All she needed to do was fall asleep and in the morning everything would be fine. Her phone said it was just after two she still had ample time to sleep before her alarm went off.

Stupid Levi.

She thought she was a pretty independent person. Given that she kept her secret of leaving Levi for a couple months she felt she deserved the title. It took careful planning. Her heart had been in her throat for well over a year prior to her escape.

A little wind and rain shouldn’t have bothered her.

But it did. Every extra sound made it feel like someone was breaking in. They weren’t and she knew it. There was only one person that would try to break in and despite his threat, he hadn’t been back in the months since he showed up unexpectedly.

Two in the morning was too early. It had to be. There had to be a limit. For God’s sake they’d hardly been dating long at all. Swallowing, she put the phone to her ear and sighed as she listened to the quiet ring. One, two, not even three. “’Lo?” He murmured. Clearly, she woke him. Part of her thought she should just hang up and let him sleep. “Buttercup, baby, y’okay?” His voice clearer as she didn’t answer.

Great. Now he’s worried. “Hi,” she whispered.

He chuffed out a breath of laughter. “Hi kitten,” his voice sounded way too good. It should have been illegal to sound that good half asleep. What was the reason? “Y’okay, Buttercup?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause, and she hoped Harry fell back asleep so he wouldn’t worry about her. She could hang up and he wouldn’t even notice. She would tell him he dreamt the whole thing in the morning. “Jus’ wanted t’hear m’voice, then?” He asked.

She sighed heavily. “No...” she shook her head. “Not... no. I woke up and... forget it. I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.”

“Buttercup,” he practically cooed. “Tell me.”

His voice was too soothing. Too enticing. She was pretty sure as independent as she was that if Harry asked or said it, with his pretty voice, she was doomed. He could convince her to rob a bank just by asking. Or quit her job and rub his shoulders all day.

“M’jus’ gonna come over, kitten,” she heard the rustling of his comforter and sheets. The creak of his bedroom door and his quiet footsteps around his house.

“No!” She said quickly, sitting up and pressing a hand to her forehead. “That’s ridiculous, Harry.”

“No, s’not,” he yawned. “S’actually a great idea. This weather keeps waking me up. I need someone t’snuggle with if I want t’save any remainder of m’sleep. I’ll use m’key. See y’in a minute.”

He was gone before she could respond. She threw her covers off and hurried to the front door switching on every light she passed. As she reached the front door, Harry was closing and locking the deadbolt. “Hi, Buttercup,” he grinned, kicking his shoes off. He was soaked from the short walk, the tips of his curls that didn’t stay in his hood dripped on his face. His jacket dripped on her floor (not that she cared). “Let’s go t’bed,” he hung up his coat and pulled her by the hand as he walked back toward her room.

He switched off each light she just turned on, saying nothing about the impromptu visit. In her room he stripped his shirt off making her gulp because even though she had seen Harry many times without a shirt on, he was stunning and made her speechless. He slipped out of his sweats next and all but tossed himself beneath the covers. The poor thing seemed totally exhausted.

“C’mere, kitten,” he mumbled and lifted the covers for her to fall into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered when she was settled into his embrace. He pulled her in, so she was spooned into his body. He was so warm it was insane. She threaded her fingers between his and tucked his hand beneath her chin. His other hand outstretched below her pillow. His lips were at the back of her head. Softly he pressed kisses along the spot on her neck he could reach.

“What are y’apologizing for, Buttercup?”

“For waking you—”

“Y’didn’t wake me,” he interrupted. She huffed because she knew he was lying. Lying to make her feel better. “S’not a big deal,” he decided after a moment. “Getting t’sleep with you s’a great reward.”

“But you had to go out in the rain and it’s late—”

“M’not gonna melt, baby.” She huffed again, irritation evident in the tone of just her breath. “Talk t’me, kitten.”

“I was scared,” she whispered.

He inched his body closer to hers. It seemed impossible as the heat of his thigh on the back of hers felt like she was suntanning in the tropics. “Scared of what, Buttercup?”

She didn’t answer for a moment. “The weather was just loud I guess, and every little noise bothered—”

“M’sorry,” he mumbled and kissed her skin. “I’ll stay when we have bad weather from now—”

“Harry, that’s not your responsibil—”

“You’re m’girlfriend, Buttercup. S’not a chore or anything. S’what m’supposed to do and more than that, I want t’do it. Sleeping with you is one of m’favorite things,” he explained.

“It’s silly. I’m a grown, independent woman and I shouldn’t need my boyfriend to sleep with me because I’m scared of a little weather.”

There was a long pause. She would have thought Harry had fallen asleep if it wasn’t for the fact that he released her hand to use his fingers to trace the skin on her arm. “Y’not scared of weather, Buttercup,” he whispered. She felt her cheeks warm at his accurate statement. “Y’don’t have t’be brave for me. Y’had t’deal with a really scary thing and frankly I’m scared for you. Not because I think he’s going t’come back, but because I know y’think he might, and it scares you and s’not fair for you t’live like that. S’why I sleep with m’phone on full volume. I would sleep over every night if y’asked. I would love t’do that. Jus’ because y’don’t need a lot from me, doesn’t mean y’can’t ask nor deserve it. Y’can be independent and still need me,” he spoke slowly, his reassuring words felt elongated by the night. She felt her eyes sting with tears. Harry saw her so clearly and easily. He didn’t even have to see her to know he needed her. He was willing to lie to her about her own emotions so she wouldn’t feel embarrassed.

“Can you tell me you love me already so I can say it back?”

He chuckled and twisted her around until she faced him in the dark. He cupped her face stroking his thumbs along her cheeks. “Y’could have said it first at any time, baby.”

“Absolutely not. You would have said something mean if I said it first.”

“Mean? Like what?”

“Like... thank you or something, I don’t know. Some silly prank that would make you laugh.”

He chuckled. “S’a good idea.”

“Exactly. Laugh exactly like that. I’m not saying it first. I don’t care how ridiculous that is.”

He brushed his thumb on her lip and leaned in blindly in the dark to press a gentle, warm, firm, and lovely kiss on her lips. It made her dizzy and she couldn’t believe he liked her so much despite her bad attitude and her stubbornness. “I love you, Buttercup,” he whispered softly, his breath fanning across her face.

She couldn’t believe he loved her.

“Thank you,” she sighed dreamily. He snorted, shook his head, and kissed her forehead. “I love you, too.”

“Go t’sleep, Buttercup,” he murmured and tucked her into his chest. “S’jus’ a little wind and rain.”

She fell asleep before he finished his sentence.

*

When she came home from work, Harry was on her front step. However, he wasn’t waiting for her this time. His attention was fixed right next to the handle of her door. “Hi Buttercup,” he grinned over his shoulder as she approached. “How was your day?” He asked. She stared at him as he continued installing the doorbell camera. “What did y’have for lunch?”

She watched him silently as he worked. “What are you doing?”

He smiled sheepishly. “Nothing, baby,” he shrugged. “Jus’ making sure y’feel safe.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Harry made her feel so safe all the time. “How—”

“I should’ve done this when we discussed it the first time,” he shrugged one shoulder and then put the screwdriver he was using in the small toolbox he laid on the porch at his feet. “Can I see your phone?” He asked. She opened the bag on her shoulder and handed off her phone. He unlocked it with her passcode. “Now y’can see,” he put a hand on her lower back. “Y’can adjust the sensitivity. Y’probably don’t need t’know every time a squirrel runs across the porch,” he kissed her temple while the back of her eyes started to sting with the threat of tears. “What do y’want t’do for dinner, Buttercup?” She shrugged and turned toward him. She pressed her face into his chest. “Hey, s’matter, kitten?” He hummed kissing the top of her head. “Hey,” he chuckled. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re so nice,” she sniffled.

“Buttercup,” he sighed and squeezed her tighter. “S’what a boyfriend is supposed t’do. I love taking care of you,” he promised her. “S’normal things t’do for you. S’what y’do when we’re in love.”

“I don’t do anything like this for you.”

“Oh, Buttercup, s’not true...” he frowned. “Y’make dinner, y’rub my back, y’made our garden look so much better than I ever could’ve done. And, not t’mention y’kiss me and let me do naughty things t’your pretty body,” he smiled impishly. “So y’do sweet things all the time.”

“But you make me feel safe and I don’t—”

“Buttercup, your existence makes me feel safe. S’my job t’make y’feel safe.”

“Are you guys making out in front of the doorbell to save for later?” Louis called from the yard. “That’s weird.”

Harry flipped him off and tipped her chin up. “S’a good idea,” he winked and pressed his lips against hers.

“I love you,” she sighed.

“Thank you,” he grinned.

She shoved him and he chuckled, pulling her back to his chest. “I love you so much, Buttercup.”

*

Harry woke up to the smell of something coming from the kitchen. It seemed unlikely that Louis was cooking something because the last time he tried, he thought they were going to need a fire extinguisher. He headed down the hall. “El are y’cooking breakfast?” He yawned rubbing his eye as he did.

“Not quite,” she giggled.

Harry perked up excitedly and quickened the last steps to the kitchen. “Good morning, Buttercup, t’what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked, coming up behind her at the counter. He pressed kisses to the crook of her neck while she worked with the waffle maker. There was an upturned bowl beside her little work station. “This is sweet of you, Buttercup. S’it our anniversary already and I forgot?”

“No,” she smiled. “I just, wanted to do something nice for you.”

“You’re always nice t’me, baby.”

“Well really nice then.”

She pulled the waffle from the iron and placed it under the bowl with three others before putting the bowl back to keep them warm. Harry’s couldn’t stop his hands from roaming her hips and sides. “M’in love with this,” he sighed dreamily. He tucked his face into her neck and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Me making breakfast?” She laughed.

“S’jus’ nice, Buttercup. I would never expect you t’make me breakfast, but s’jus’ thoughtful. You’re perfect.”

“Do you want something extra? You’re being super complimentary.”

“I love you, kitten. Take the compliments,” he chuckled, his words mumbled and obstructed by the way he pressed his mouth to her skin. She focused on the waffle again and remained quiet for a few moments. Then Harry realized the error of his words. “S’probably hard to take the compliments, hmm?” She shrugged one shoulder but didn’t say anything; confirming exactly what Harry already knew. “Well, s’a good thing I like complimenting you. S’good practice for you t’get used to it,” he peppered her cheek with kisses. “Can I help y’with something?” He asked.

She smiled. “No, I’m just going to put this on the table.”

Harry was so distracted by how pretty she looked in his kitchen early in the morning, making him breakfast, he didn’t even notice how cute the table looked. There were flowers in a vase in the middle. Four plates and sets of silverware set up like they were at a restaurant. There were strawberries, blueberries, chocolate chips, whipped cream, and butter. Orange juice and a tray of four coffees from their favorite shop nearby.

“You’re incredible,” he pulled her away from the waffle iron as she set the last one. He wrapped one arm around her waist, cupped her face with the other and tipped her back to kiss her. Her lips were so soft and so warm. his heart started pounding like he had never kissed anyone before. She tasted so good, sweeter than the yummy waffles they were about to eat. He couldn’t help but smile as he kissed her. He used to love pranking her; the joy he felt was unmatched when he made her grumpy. God, kissing her was triple the dopamine, quadruple the serotonin. It felt almost illegal to be so happy. It spread all through his body.

“Harry,” she giggled against his mouth. “Breakfast.”

“You taste better,” he mumbled not pausing his kisses against her mouth.

“At least taste the waffles before you insult them,” she whispered pulling back slightly while he dotted kisses along her face while she spoke.

He squeezed her tight to his body, tucking his face back into her neck as he did. “Hey Buttercup?” His voice muffled once more by her skin and his reluctance to move from her body.

“Yeah?”

It warmed Harry how easily she answered to the little name. She was lovely. Perfect. The best thing to happen to Harry. While he hated why she had to move into their neighborhood, he was so grateful her pretty self created a home right next door. He pulled back to cup her face, skimmed his thumb on her cheek. “You deserve compliments.”

He didn’t follow it up with anything cute. Didn’t even compliment her afterwards. He wanted it to sink into her brain—even if it only sank in an inch. He would tell her every day. She deserved all the best and Harry was happy to remind her of such and do whatever he needed to make her feel that way.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He kissed her forehead. “I’ll go get El and Lou.”

“Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you lots.”

“Me too, Buttercup. So much,” he winked heading down the hall.

--

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[meadowfics]

keep your eyes on me

berlin (song jung-ho) x f!reader

based off of this request here

warnings: threats, mentions of injury, jealousy

you've never been the jealous type, or at least that's what you tell yourself.

however, there's something about the way tokyo looks at berlin, something about the way they exchange glances in silence, the way they seem to understand each other without words even in their arguments and fury.

it's been poking at you since the heist began. it's probably nothing. berlin has been yours for years now, since the moment he crossed into south korea, bloody and half-dead, desperate for escape.

tokyo has a thing with rio anyways. however, you've stood by berlin through everything, watched him rise again, rebuild himself into something terrifyingly magnificent. y

ou've seen every inch of him, every flaw, every secret...so why does tokyo make you feel like you're missing something?

maybe it's the stress. maybe it's just the paranoia that comes with a job this big. every time you see them lock angry eyes across the mint’s floor, your stomach knots up, and your hands clench into fists.

so, you decide to do something about it.

it starts small.

you stop standing at berlin's side, opting to linger near denver instead. denver, who is easy to get along with, who doesn't have the same unreadable expressions and complicated histories as berlin. denver, who laughs with that ridiculous hyena-like cackle, who doesn't take everything so damn seriously.

he flirts easily, and you let him. even though the both of you know damn well that you guys do not like each other. denver has a thing with that beautiful hostage, and you support it.

however, denver seems to notice that you're using him and he wants to piss off berlin too as revenge.

you let yourself laugh a little louder with denver. you touch his arm when you talk, lean into him when you're standing close. it’s harmless...at first.

then you start choosing denver’s side over berlin’s.

when a small argument breaks out over how to handle a hostage trying to make a run for it, berlin says to use fear. denver says to use charm. you agree with denver.

you make a point of siding with him, nodding along as he grins. berlin’s face barely changes, but you know him. you know the tension in his jaw, the slight twitch in his fingers.

so you push further.

when denver struggles to move a heavy stack of cash pallets, you rush to help, grinning as you brace against the weight with him. berlin watches from the other side of the mint, his arms crossed over his chest.

he doesn’t say anything, but you feel the weight of his stare, burning into you like a brand.

it’s working. god, it feels good.

you don’t speak to berlin unless necessary. if he gives you an order, you act like you don’t hear him the first time. you only respond when he repeats himself, your tone clipped and indifferent.

he isn’t used to this. he’s used to controlling you, to knowing where you stand, to having you in his orbit. he doesn’t like this new distance.

by the second day, berlin has had enough.

the professor is gone, caught up in his careful dance with the inspector. the others are preoccupied. the moment he finds you alone in the office, berlin shuts the door behind him and locks it.

the sound of the bolt sliding into place echoes in the small space, and before you can react, he’s in front of you, his hand wrapping around your neck...not tight, not enough to hurt, but enough to command your full attention.

“i know what you’re fucking doing.”

jung-ho's voice is low, controlled. the man's thumb brushes against your pulse point, and you know he can feel how fast your heart is racing.

still, you tilt your chin up, keeping your expression blank.

“what are you talking about?”

berlin lets out a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking his head.

“don’t play dumb, barcelona. i know you too well.” jung-ho's grip tightens just slightly, just enough to make his point.

“you think i don’t see the way you’ve been throwing yourself at denver? the way you go out of your way to undermine me?”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you repeat, voice steady, even though your whole body is tense.

“don’t you?” he leans in, lips brushing against your ear.

“you’re trying to make me jealous. trying to piss me off.”

you scoff, trying to ignore the way your skin burns under his touch.

“get over yourself, berlin.”

berlin hums, considering you. then, his other hand trails down your side, slow and deliberate, his fingers pressing into your waist.

“you want to know how i know?” he asks, almost lazily, “ it is because i threatened denver today.”

your breath catches.

he smiles, slow and sharp, like he can taste your reaction,

“told him if he didn’t stop entertaining your little games, i’d make sure he regrets it. and the hostages? well, let’s just say they almost suffered for your little stunt.”

your stomach twists. you know berlin. you know he’s capable of anything. your anger flares, hot and sharp.

“you’re sick.”

“and you’re reckless,” he counters, “playing with fire just to get a rise out of me? you should know better more than anyone else here.”

you glare at him, hands pressing against his chest, shoving him back just enough to breathe.

“maybe if you weren’t so fucking close to tokyo and arguing with her all of the time, i wouldn’t have to.”

berlin blinks, then exhales through his nose, amused.

“so that’s what this is about.” he tilts his head, eyes searching yours, “you’re jealous.”

“i’m not—”

“yes, you are.” berlin's fingers trace patterns along your collarbone.

“you think i want her?” he leans in again, lips just barely brushing against your jaw, “when i have you?”

your breath stutters. you hate how easily he does this to you, how effortlessly he dismantles your defenses.

“tokyo means nothing to me,” he continues, voice softening, but not losing its edge, “she’s a soldier. a piece in the game. but you?” his thumb presses against your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“you are mine.”

you hate how much you love hearing it.

berlin watches you carefully, reading every flicker of emotion across your face.

“say it,” he murmurs, “say you’re mine.”

the silence stretches between you, thick with tension. you should fight it. you should push him away, walk out that door, keep playing your game.

you don’t.

“i’m yours.”

berlin’s lips curl into a victorious smile, “good girl.”

then, he kisses you...hard, claiming, punishing. you meet him with equal intensity, fingers twisting in his hair, pulling him closer. berlin's grip on your neck eases, sliding down to your back, pressing you flush against him.

the heat between you is undeniable, electric, all-consuming.

when he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your lips, his hands finally leave your body.

“no more games, barcelona.”

you nod, but you both know better.

berlin may have won this round, but the game between you is far from over.

masterlist

[thehighpriestess1]

Make a wish : Secret spilled

Warning: Dark themes. Kissing scene. Mentions accident. Yandere themes

Genre: Angst, fluff

Pairing: Gojo x y/n, Nanami x y/n

word count : 20k+

Ask box | Previous chapter | fic masterlist | Other works

Geto and Shoko sat in heavy silence on the worn-out couch, the air thick with unspoken concerns. Gojo had called them both out of the blue, demanding they drop everything and come to Kyoto. He hadn’t given them much to go on—just that it was serious. Shoko hoped this would finally explain his erratic behavior, the way he had been distant, distracted, and lost in thoughts he refused to share.

Geto, on the other hand, hated being blindsided. Ever since they were kids, Gojo had shared everything with him—the good, the bad, and the unbearable. There was no secret too big, no pain too deep that Gojo couldn’t unload onto him. And yet, this time… nothing. No hints, no warnings. Just silence. His fingers curled into the fabric of his pants as he exhaled sharply, trying to swallow his frustration. He had never been good at waiting, and the longer Gojo kept them in the dark, the more uneasy he felt. They had been through hell together. They had seen each other at their absolute worst. So why was Gojo shutting them out now?

The door creaked open, and Gojo walked in, tugging at his tie as if it were suffocating him. He looked exhausted, more so than either of them had ever seen before—like he hadn’t slept in days, maybe weeks. His usual effortless swagger was gone, replaced by a sluggishness that weighed him down. He barely managed a weak, “Hi,” before dropping onto the couch across from them. His head fell back against the cushions, eyes closed, as if he were trying to organize his thoughts.

Shoko and Geto exchanged a look.

Gojo’s fingers trembled slightly as he rubbed his temples, his mind racing. Now that they were here, now that the two people he trusted most were sitting right in front of him, how was he supposed to say this out loud? Where did he even begin?

Finally, he straightened up, his usually vibrant eyes clouded with something unrecognizable. He looked at them—no, he pleaded with them.

“Hi?” Shoko echoed, raising an unimpressed brow. “You called us all the way here just to say ‘hi’?”

“Shoko—”

“No, Suguru.” She cut Geto off sharply. “This is ridiculous.” Her sharp gaze snapped back to Gojo. “What the hell is going on with you? I want to know. Now.”

Gojo’s gaze dropped to the floor, his hands clenching together. His breathing was unsteady. “I… I don’t know how to tell you.” His voice was quiet, almost fragile.

“Try,” Geto said, his tone softer this time.

Gojo inhaled deeply, forcing himself to steady his shaking hands. “Alright,” he murmured, bracing himself. “What I’m about to tell you is going to sound impossible. Completely unbelievable, even. But I can prove it happened.” He hesitated, then added, “And I owe you both an apology, though you won’t understand why just yet.”

Shoko frowned, leaning forward. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Gojo exhaled sharply. “I met Y/N five years ago… in 2021.”

Geto blinked. “Gojo. This year is 2021.”

“Please, just let me finish.” Gojo’s voice was almost desperate now. “At first… it was just physical attraction. She was—” He stopped for a second, as if even thinking about her was enough to break him. “She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. But over time, I fell for her. Not just her looks, but her kindness, her sincerity—everything about her.”

Gojo swallowed thickly, his throat burning as if the weight of his own words was choking him from the inside out. His hands trembled in his lap, his fingers twisting together, gripping so tightly it felt like they might snap. His eyes, usually so vibrant, so full of an effortless confidence, were now hollow and glassy with unshed tears. He wasn’t even sure where to begin. His voice cracked when he finally spoke, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. For the next two hours, he unraveled everything. Every single horrifying, twisted, desperate thing he had done over those five years.

He told them how it started small. Lies so insignificant they barely felt like lies at all. A half-truth here, a manipulated circumstance there. He convinced himself it was harmless. That he was just making sure you stayed close, just guiding things in the right direction. But control is a hungry thing. It grows, swallows you whole, and before he knew it, he wasn’t just nudging fate—he was rewriting it.

He controlled who you saw, who you spoke to. He made sure the people you loved—the ones who could have pulled you away from him—saw you as someone untrustworthy, someone difficult, someone selfish. He whispered poison into the ears of those around you, twisting narratives until even you began to doubt yourself. And when you had nowhere else to turn, when the world had become too unkind, too lonely—he was there. He was the only one left. The only one who truly understood you. It wasn’t love. It was possession. And it destroyed you.

Gojo's voice wavered as he spoke, his guilt crushing him under its weight. His confession was a slow, agonizing bleed. He told them how, at first, he didn’t even realize what he had done. He had been blinded by his own obsession, so drunk on the idea of having you, keeping you, that he had ignored the way you began to wither right in front of him. He ignored the exhaustion in your voice, the way your shoulders curled inward, the way you stopped fighting back.

And then one day, you broke.

You shattered into something unrecognizable, and it was his hands that had done it.

His fingers curled against his palms, nails biting into his skin as he forced himself to say it—how in the end, he had pushed you too far. How you had looked at him with hollow, empty eyes, the love you once held for him long gone, and how you made a choice he never thought you would. A choice he wasn’t sure he would ever forgive himself for forcing upon you.

Shoko’s breath hitched. Geto sat rigid, his expression unreadable.

Gojo wiped a shaky hand down his face, exhaling unsteadily before forcing himself to continue.

He explained how fate had interfered, how some force greater than him had dragged him back to this moment. A second chance to undo the irreversible. A cruel gift. A punishment disguised as mercy.

“I was given a chance to fix it,” Gojo murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “To fix me.”

The room was thick with silence. It suffocated him, wrapped around his throat like a noose.

Shoko stared at him like he was something utterly foreign, something beyond comprehension.

Geto looked at him, expression dark, unreadable.

Then—

“…What?” Shoko’s voice was flat, empty of its usual dry amusement, devoid of even disbelief.

“How can you prove any of this”, Geto asked.

Gojo looked at Shoko, “There is going to be a fire at the hospital, and you were supposed to get injured..badly. You ended up in a coma for three months and your recovery took even longer”.

“We-When is this fire supposed to happen?”. She asked.

“Today”. Gojo replied flatly. “In about two hours”.

Shoko didn’t want to believe him. But what if, what if… “What caused the fire?”.

Gojo shrugged defeatedly, “I don’t know. We never found out”.

“What if you cause this fire in order to prove your story?”. Geto asked.

It pained Gojo not being believed by his own best friend but he couldn’t blame Geto. “I know I have done terrible things but I am not a monster. I will never kill innocent people to prove a point”.

Gojo met their gazes, his own eyes wide, pleading.

Please, please believe me.

The suffocating silence continued to press down on them, heavy and unrelenting. The waiting was unbearable.

Shoko let out a sharp breath, rubbing her temples. “I need a shower,” she muttered, pushing herself up from the couch.

Geto stood as well. “Yeah… me too.” His voice was low, distant.

Gojo didn’t look at them as they left. He simply sat there, fingers laced together, staring at nothing in particular.

Shoko stood under the hot spray of the shower, steam curling around her, but the heat did nothing to ease the tension in her shoulders.

Her mind was an unrelenting storm, replaying Gojo’s words over and over again.

I was given a chance to fix it. To fix me.

It was insane. Impossible. Time travel? Fate meddling? It sounded like something ripped straight out of a bad sci-fi movie. And yet… something about the way he spoke, the way his voice cracked, the way his hands trembled, made it hard to completely dismiss.

What unsettled her the most was the raw guilt in his eyes. She had known Gojo for years—seen him at his best and worst—but she had never seen him like this before. So stripped of his usual arrogance. So completely defeated.

What if it’s true?

She clenched her fists, the water running over her skin. She didn’t want to believe it. She wanted to call him crazy and be done with it. But something deep inside her gnawed at that certainty.

What if he really had been a monster in another life?

And what if this was his punishment?

Geto leaned against the shower wall, letting the water beat against his back as he closed his eyes.

Gojo’s story made no sense. None.

And yet… he couldn’t shake the way his best friend had spoken, the weight behind his words. Gojo had always been impulsive, reckless, but never this shaken. Never this desperate.

But more than that, what unsettled Geto the most was the implication.

If Gojo had really done all those things—if he had lied, manipulated, and ruined someone just to keep them close—what did that say about him and Shoko?

Would he have done the same to them, given enough time?

The thought made his stomach twist.

He pressed his palms against his face, exhaling sharply. He hated not knowing what to believe. He hated that a part of him was even considering the possibility.

But he needed proof.

If Gojo was telling the truth, they would get it soon enough.

Shoko stepped out of the bathroom, wrapping a towel around her hair. She grabbed a comb and sat in front of the mirror, dragging it through her damp strands when—

Buzz.

Her phone vibrated on the table. She frowned and picked it up.

A notification from a news alert.

Her breath hitched as she read the words.

Fire breaks out at local medical facility in Tokyo metropolitan area. Cause still unknown.

Shoko’s blood ran cold.

She read it again. And again. It originated on the 15th floor, right where her office was.

It couldn’t be real.

Her fingers trembled as she clicked on the article, scanning through the details. The fire had started exactly when Gojo said it would. People had been injured. If she had been there, just like he claimed, she would have been one of them.

The comb slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the floor.

No. No. No.

She shot up, her legs moving before she could think.

She stormed into the living room, her breath ragged, anger and unease rolling off her in waves.

Gojo was sitting there, slouched on the couch, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He swirled it lazily, staring at the rippling surface, his expression unreadable.

“Gojo!”

He barely lifted his head. “Back already?” His voice was quiet, distant.

Shoko’s fingers curled into fists. “The fire. It happened.”

Gojo hummed, taking a slow sip of his drink. “I know.”

Something in her snapped. “FUCK!!!! FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!”

He finally looked at her then, and something in his gaze made her freeze. It wasn’t smugness, wasn’t satisfaction at being proven right.

It was exhausting. Guilt.

Shoko’s breath came in short, shallow bursts. She wanted to scream at him, to demand answers, but the words tangled in her throat.

Geto walked in a second later, towel draped over his shoulders, his face unreadable. But one glance at Shoko and the tense set of her jaw told him everything.

He inhaled sharply. “It really happened, didn’t it?”

Shoko nodded stiffly.

Geto turned to Gojo, his expression darkening. “Then tell us everything. Right now.”

Gojo exhaled, leaning back against the couch.

“You won’t like it,” he warned.

Geto’s voice was quiet but firm. “Tell us anyway.”

And so, he did.

This time, neither of them doubted him.

But neither of them knew if they could ever look at him the same way again.

Thick silence settled over the room once again. The only sound was the faint clinking of ice against glass as Gojo slowly turned the drink in his hand. His usual carefree smirk was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was something hollow in his eyes—something lost.

Shoko stood rigidly, her hands clenched by her sides. Geto, now fully dressed, leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching Gojo intently. Neither of them spoke. They didn’t know how.

Gojo finally broke the silence.

“I know how this sounds,” he murmured, voice quieter than they’d ever heard it. “I know you probably think I’ve lost my mind. And I don’t blame you.”

Shoko let out a sharp exhale, still trying to wrap her head around everything. “This—this is insane, Gojo. How the hell are we supposed to process this?”

Gojo chuckled bitterly, rubbing a hand over his face. “You think I haven’t been losing my mind over it? You think I woke up one day and just accepted this as my reality?” He shook his head, voice thick with something dangerously close to desperation. “I went through hell. I became hell. And then I woke up here. Back at the start. Before I ruined everything.”

He looked up at them, eyes pleading. “I shouldn’t even be telling you this. I know that. But I—” He stopped himself, clenching his jaw, his hands gripping the glass so tightly it was a miracle it didn’t shatter.

“I risked losing you both by telling you.” His voice dropped even lower, barely above a whisper. “I know that. But I can’t do this again. I can’t lie to you two. Not this time.”

Shoko inhaled sharply, her chest tightening.

“I had everything,” Gojo continued, his fingers digging into his knees. “I had her. I had you two. And I destroyed it. I thought I was invincible, that nothing could break me. But I broke her instead. I broke everyone around me.” He exhaled shakily, gripping his temples. “And when I finally realized what I had done, when I tried to fix it, it was already too late. She was already gone.”

Shoko flinched at the raw anguish in his voice.

“She left?” she asked hesitantly.

Gojo let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “No. I drove her away. Slowly. Piece by piece.”

He glanced at Shoko then, something unreadable in his expression. “And you… you hated her.”

Shoko frowned. “What?”

Gojo swallowed hard. “I made sure of it.”

Her stomach twisted. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Gojo exhaled. “You and Y/N… you were close. Best friends, like sisters even.” He swallowed. “She relied on you. Trusted you. And you cared about her too.” His voice lowered. “But I couldn’t have that.”

Shoko took a slow step back.

“I told you she was trying to get with Geto,” Gojo admitted, voice hoarse. “I planted the idea in your head, twisted things just enough to make it seem real. You believed me.” He let out a bitter chuckle. “You started seeing her differently. You distanced yourself. And when she needed you most… you weren’t there.”

Shoko felt like she had been punched in the gut. Though she didn’t know why y/n was, she felt a sense of responsibility towards her now.

“No.” She shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t—” But even as she said it, doubt crept in. She could see herself believing in Gojo. She had trusted him for years.

“I made you hate her,” Gojo whispered, guilt evident in his voice. “And it worked.”

Shoko felt something bitter rise in her throat.

Geto let out a sharp breath, his hands clenched into fists. “How far did you go, Satoru?”

Gojo let out a slow, shaky breath.

“I turned people against her.” He closed his eyes. “I isolated her. Made sure the only person she could rely on was me.” He looked up at them, his expression unreadable. “And I did the same to you, Shoko. I made you question yourself. I twisted the truth, made you think you were overreacting. All so you wouldn’t push her to leave me.”

Shoko felt sick.

Geto exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “And now?” His voice was cold. “Now that you’ve reset everything, what do you want from us, Gojo?”

Gojo swallowed. “I want a second chance.”

He met their gazes, his voice raw, desperate. “I don’t deserve it. I know that. But I want to do things right this time. No more lies. No more manipulation. I want to be better. And I need you both with me.”

Shoko’s fists clenched. “You don’t get to just ask us to…to believe all of this. This is too much to process!”

“I know,” he said softly. “I’m not asking for it. I just… I don’t want to lose you both again.”

The silence stretched on.

Geto exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “We’re not going anywhere, Gojo. Even though what you are saying is true..in my opinion you haven’t done anything. I believe you.”

Gojo let out a weak, relieved chuckle. “Thank you” he murmured. 

Shoko sat on the couch next to Gojo and grabbed his drink, taking a long sip, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I ..don’t want to..but I believe you too. I have people to check up on but I am here for you. I know you are not a bad person. You are fucked up in your own way but not a bad person. I agree with Geto that you haven't done anything to us so I will support you”. She rubbed Gojo’s shoulder gently. 

Gojo placed his palm over hers’ and gave an understanding nod. “Thank You”.

“But why are we here? In Kyoto?”. Geto raised a brow, half knowing the answer.

“Because she is here”.

Geo hummed and sat down opposite to him, “So you acquired Golden Ratio for…her?”.

“Yes”.

“How much did you spend on this acquisition?”. 

“30..30 million”. 

Geto nodded and smirked, “30- for a loss making company?”.

“Yes. I didn’t care about the profits”.

Geto smirked, “Of course you didn’t”.

You woke up 15 minutes before your alarm and sighed, staring at the ceiling. The weight in your chest was familiar now, pressing down as if it had been waiting for you to wake up. You had no motivation to go to work. Not because you hated your job—no, the work itself was fine—but because you would see him.

Gojo had simmered down over the past few days. No teasing remarks, no playful interruptions, no effortless intrusion into your space. He only spoke to you during meetings—strictly business, nothing more. And it bothered you. More than it should have.

You turned on your side, hugging your blanket closer. What did you even want? When he was around, he overwhelmed you. When he kept his distance, you found yourself searching for him but just to avoid him…right? His presence annoyed you. His indifference annoyed you. He annoyed you.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, cutting through your spiraling thoughts. You reached for it with a groan, squinting at the bright screen. But the moment you saw the name, the weight on your chest lifted, even if just a little.

Nanami: Coffee before work?

A small smile made its way to your lips.

y/n: Yes :)

Excitement replaced the lingering haze of your morning gloom as you threw off the blankets and got out of bed. You needed this. A moment of normalcy, of quiet understanding, something stable. Nanami.

You took your time getting ready, slipping into a soft, knitted blue dress that hugged your frame just right. Something about it felt comforting, like a shield against the uncertainty lingering in your mind. You brushed your hair quickly, not caring too much about perfection, and grabbed your things.

Before heading out, you scribbled a note for your mom, letting her know you were leaving early. Then, with a deep breath, you stepped outside, the morning air crisp against your skin.

Maybe today would be easier. Maybe coffee with Nanami would settle your thoughts. Maybe you wouldn’t think about him so much.

Maybe.

When you reached the coffee shop, Nanami was already waiting, standing tall and composed with two to-go cups in his hands. The early morning sun cast a golden glow on his sharp features, making him look even more refined than usual.

"Hi! Good morning!" you greeted, slightly breathless, brushing stray strands of hair from your face.

"Good morning, Y/N," he replied, his voice as steady as ever. His gaze flickered downward, scanning you with subtle concern. "Where’s your bike?"

"Flat tire," you sighed. "So I basically ran here."

He chuckled—just a small, barely-there sound, but you caught it. Nanami wasn’t the type to be easily amused, yet somehow, you always managed to crack through his stoic exterior. There was something about you—your carefree energy, your effortless charm—that he found… different. He never indulged in unnecessary interactions at work, but with you, he wanted more. He didn’t want to be just your colleague.

"Here you go," he said, handing you one of the cups.

"Oh, you didn’t have to," you said, feeling a twinge of guilt for being late.

"Don’t worry about it. It’s a latte with two sugars. I hope I got it right."

Your heart warmed. He remembered. He noticed things about you. You smiled up at him, and for a moment, Nanami just looked at you—calm, patient, unwavering.

"It’s exactly what I wanted," you said softly.

The two of you started walking toward the office, sipping your coffee and chatting, completely oblivious to the sleek black car crawling past on the street.

Inside the car, Gojo saw everything.

He saw how you ran up to Nanami, how you smiled—that smile. The real one. The one you used to have around him. The one he had brushed aside too many times. He watched as Nanami handed you coffee like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he’d done it a hundred times before.

Since when?

How long has this been going on?

Were you close enough that Nanami knew your coffee order by heart? Was this a new thing or a routine? 

Gojo clenched his fists on his lap, his jaw tightening as bitter jealousy curled through his veins. That should be me.

He thought about all the mornings you had made breakfast for him, the way you used to greet him with that same warm smile, only for him to brush past you without a second glance. He had taken you for granted, thinking you would always be there—patient, waiting, endlessly giving.

But you weren’t waiting anymore.

And the way Nanami looked at you, the way you looked at him—it made Gojo’s stomach twist.

His driver pulled up in front of the office, but Gojo didn’t move. He lingered in the car, gripping his knee, watching through the rearview mirror as you and Nanami walked side by side, effortlessly in sync. You laughed at something Nanami said, and the sound hit Gojo like a punch to the gut.

You used to laugh like that with him.

His fingers twitched. His heart pounded. A sharp, searing pain spread through his chest.

It wasn’t easy watching someone you had loved—and treated carelessly—be treated the way they deserved by another man.

And worst of all?

He had no one to blame but himself.

As you walked into your office, the sound of hushed giggles filled the air. Maya, Hitoshi, and Suzume were sprawled on the couch, their faces lit up with mischievous excitement. You raised a brow as you set your bag down.

���I guess this is the new hangout spot?” You plopped down in the empty seat next to them, sensing an ambush before they even said a word.

Maya barely let you settle before exclaiming, “We saw it!” She shot a look at the other two, and they nodded eagerly.

“Saw what?” You asked, lifting your coffee cup to take a sip.

Suzume bit her lip, barely able to contain her excitement. “Same cups! You and Nanami!” she squealed.

You choked on your coffee, coughing violently as you waved a hand in protest. “No… nothing,” you managed between coughs, trying to regain composure. “Nothing is going on. We just met for coffee.”

“Yeah, right!” Hitoshi scoffed, crossing his arms. “No one—and I mean no one—has ever met Nanami outside the office.”

Maya nodded sagely. “We’ve tried. Trust me, we have tried. But he always shuts us down—politely, of course.”

You nodded along, unsure of what to say. It wasn’t like you had forced Nanami to get coffee. But before you could come up with a defense, Hitoshi leaned in, eyes sharp.

“So how did you convince him?”

You hesitated. Should you tell them the truth? That Nanami had asked you? Maybe a little white lie would be better—

Too late.

Maya’s eyes widened as the realization hit her. “Oh my god. He asked you.”

Hitoshi and Suzume exchanged wide-eyed looks. You opened your mouth to protest, but no words came out.

“Yes, he did,” you finally admitted, exhaling. “But it was just work talk.”

“Work talk happens at work,” Suzume pointed out, leaning forward. “This wasn’t just work talk. I—we swear we won’t tell anyone, but you have to tell us everything!”

“There’s nothing to tell,” you insisted. “Really. We just meet for coffee before work… sometimes.”

“How many times?” Maya asked, eyes narrowing.

“T-Three times. Only.”

“Thrice?” Maya threw her hands in the air dramatically. “We work five days a week, and you’ve had coffee with him three out of those five days?!”

Put that way, it suddenly didn’t sound so innocent. But you weren’t sure what it was, either.

“I get it, okay? But there’s nothing going on,” you repeated, feeling heat rise to your face. “Now, can I please get back to work?”

Your three interrogators groaned but begrudgingly stood up, tossing exaggerated eye rolls and scoffs your way as they exited.

You let out a breath, shaking your head as you turned to your desk.

The thought of something more with Nanami didn’t scare you. You didn’t get butterflies around him, but you felt happy. At peace.

And that, in itself, was something.

The community centre project had quickly become more than just another assignment—it was personal. This wasn’t just about your career or proving yourself; it was about creating something meaningful for the people who needed it most. You poured yourself into every aspect of the marketing plan, obsessing over the details to ensure its success. You wanted people to see the centre the way you did—to understand its potential, to feel excited about what it could offer.

That’s why the idea of the viewing event had come to you. If the elders and children could physically see a miniature model of the centre—each room, the football field, the library, the recreational areas—it would make the vision real to them. It wasn’t just about presenting facts; it was about helping them imagine themselves there, making memories, building a community.

But there was a problem. The scale you envisioned for this event was far beyond what the budget allowed. The logistics, the setup, the presentation—it all required resources you simply didn’t have. And that left you with a dilemma.

You hesitated to bring it up to Nanami. He was always rational, level-headed—he would assess it logically, not emotionally. If he rejected the idea outright, if he told you it wasn’t feasible, you weren’t sure how you’d handle it. Would it feel like a failure? Or worse—would it make you question everything you had worked for? 

The air in the conference room was thick with tension, but you forced yourself to focus. You had poured everything into this proposal, perfecting every detail, knowing exactly how much it could mean for the community. You had spent sleepless nights envisioning the event, picturing the joy on the elders' faces as they saw the reading rooms, the excitement in the children’s eyes as they imagined playing on the football field.

Nanami sat across from you, composed as ever, his expression unreadable. Gojo, on the other hand, was watching you with unsettling intensity. No blindfold. No cocky grin. Just those sharp blue eyes, studying you as if he could see right through you.

You hated that he was here. Hated that he was in charge now.

Taking a deep breath, you began your pitch. “This event isn’t just about unveiling the project. It’s about making people feel like they already belong in that space. If they can imagine themselves walking through the halls, sitting in the library, watching their kids play—it won’t just be a building to them. It’ll be theirs.”

You stole a glance at Nanami, hoping to see some sign of approval, but his expression remained unchanged. “While I understand your passion for this,” he said, tone firm but measured, “we have to be realistic. The budget is already stretched, and this event—while well-intentioned—isn’t necessary.”

Not necessary.

The words landed like a slap. You had been prepared for pushback, but hearing Nanami dismiss it so easily hurt. You admired him, respected him. But right now, it felt like he was telling you that all your effort, all your ideas, didn’t matter.

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could, Gojo leaned forward.

“Nanami,” he said, his voice smooth but authoritative, “you’re not seeing the bigger picture.” His gaze flickered to you, and your stomach twisted. “This isn’t just about the logistics. It’s about momentum. You don’t get real engagement from people by throwing a few flyers at them. You get it by making them feel something.”

Your breath caught slightly. That was exactly what you had been trying to say.

Gojo turned his full attention to you now, and for the first time, he wasn’t teasing, wasn’t smug. He was serious.

“The way you described it,” he continued, voice softer, almost thoughtful, “I could see it. The way the kids would run to the football field. The way the elders would sit in the reading corner, finally having a space that feels like home. It’s not just a concept to you. It’s real. You’re not just selling an idea—you’re inviting them in.”

Your heart fluttered.

It was ridiculous. It was Gojo. You didn’t want his validation. You didn’t want to feel this strange, warm twist in your chest just because he—of all people—understood you.

And yet… this was a side of him you hadn’t seen before. A side that actually listened.

You clenched your hands beneath the table, grounding yourself. No. You couldn’t let yourself forget who he was. Gojo was arrogant. Manipulative. The kind of man who played with people like pieces on a chessboard.

So why did he sound so genuine right now?

You shook the thought away as Nanami exhaled sharply, clearly frustrated. “And how do you suggest we handle the cost, Gojo?”

Gojo smirked slightly, but his gaze remained steady. “I’ll fund it.”

You stiffened. “What?”

Gojo turned back to you, expression softening in a way that made you hate the way your breath hitched. “I believe in your idea.” His voice was lower now, quieter, like it was meant just for you. “And if funding is the only problem, consider it handled.”

Your chest tightened. This was the last thing you wanted—to owe him anything. You had spent months avoiding Gojo, keeping your distance, but now he was the only one fighting for your idea.

“I—” You hesitated, battling the war inside you. You should say no. You should push back, tell him you didn’t need his help.

But the thought of your proposal being discarded, of all your work being wasted, was unbearable.

“Don’t stress about the clearances either,” Gojo added, his voice smooth and assured. “I’ll take care of those.”

Nanami let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But keep it within reason.”

Relief flooded you, but it was quickly overshadowed by something else—an uncomfortable awareness of the man sitting across from you.

Gojo was still watching you, his expression unreadable, his lips curving just slightly, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

You stood abruptly, gathering your papers, needing to put space between you and whatever this was.

“I’ll get started.”

You turned to leave, but before you reached the door, Gojo’s voice followed you.

“You’re welcome.”

You didn’t look back.

Because if you did, you might have to acknowledge the way your pulse had quickened—and the terrifying realization that, for the first time, you weren’t sure if you hated him for this.

You had barely made it back to your desk, heart still pounding from that infuriating meeting, when your phone buzzed.

Nanami Kento – Office. Now.

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. You didn’t need this right now. You needed a minute to breathe, to process, to forget the way Gojo’s words had stirred something unfamiliar in your chest.

Still, you pushed yourself up and made your way to Nanami’s office, your pulse steady but your frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

When you entered, Nanami was standing behind his desk, arms crossed, his gaze unreadable. The door clicked shut behind you.

"Sit."

You hesitated but complied, folding your arms across your chest. “What now?”

Nanami exhaled slowly, like he was trying to contain his frustration. “I need to know if you’re absolutely certain about this event.”

Your patience snapped. “I wouldn’t have pitched it if I wasn’t, Nanami.”

His brow furrowed, but his voice remained measured. “I’m not just talking about your passion for it. I mean, have you really evaluated the risks? The logistics? The long-term impact? This isn’t just about getting people excited—it’s about whether this event is actually worth the cost.”

You leaned forward, your voice sharp. “I’ve done the background work. I’ve looked at every angle, every possibility, every outcome. I know what I’m doing, Nanami.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “I’m not saying you haven’t put in the effort. But throwing money at an idea without proper validation—”

“Proper validation?” You scoffed, shaking your head. “You think I’d bring half-baked ideas to the table? You think I didn’t think this through?”

Nanami’s jaw tightened. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?” Your voice wavered slightly, frustration morphing into something more vulnerable. “Because it sure as hell feels like you don’t trust my judgment.”

Silence.

Nanami exhaled, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He looked at you then—really looked at you. The way your eyes shone with unshaken determination, the way your shoulders were squared, unrelenting. You were so certain about this, so damn sure of yourself, and he should’ve been proud.

But all he could think about was him.

Gojo had taken one look at your proposal and, without hesitation, decided to make it happen. No back and forth, no weighing options—just effortless power, effortless money. Gojo could give you what he couldn’t, and that truth sat like lead in his chest.

But he couldn’t say that.

He wouldn’t say that.

Instead, he settled for the one thing he could justify. “I just think you should step back and look at this from all angles. We should evaluate it properly before jumping in.”

Your hands clenched. “I did evaluate it, Nanami. I wouldn’t have come to you if I hadn’t.”

He held his ground. “There’s more to this than just feasibility. There’s strategy, long-term vision. If we put this money into the wrong thing—”

“It’s not the wrong thing!”

Your voice cracked, and for the first time, real hurt bled into your expression.

“I worked on this for weeks, Nanami,” you said, quieter now. “I thought you, of all people, would understand why this mattered. I thought you'd believe in me.”

His throat tightened.

He did believe in you. That was never the problem.

But it was too late to say that now.

You scoffed softly, shaking your head. “Guess I should’ve expected this.”

The words stung more than they should have.

You turned abruptly, striding toward the door, and before he could find the words to stop you, you were gone—storming out of his office and leaving him in the silence of everything unsaid.

You couldn’t believe that Nanami didn’t believe in you. He always believed in you.

You sat on the worn wooden bench in the small garden near the parking lot, gripping the paper cup of green tea with both hands as if its warmth could steady the storm raging inside you. Your argument with Nanami replayed in your mind, each word gnawing at you.

Were you being too selfish? Was Nanami right? Did you just sell your idea to Gojo because it was the easier thing to do?

You took a slow sip, trying to swallow down your doubts, but they clung to you, refusing to dissipate.

“Are you okay?”

The deep yet familiar voice pulled you from your thoughts. You turned around, ready to answer, but the words lodged in your throat the moment your gaze met his.

Gojo stood there, a bento box in hand, his sharp blue eyes locked onto you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. The sunlight caught in his white hair, softening his features, but you knew better than to let it fool you.

Damn him.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, voice steady despite the way your pulse quickened.

“I eat my lunch here,” he said simply, as if that explained anything.

“Why here?”

Gojo shrugged, settling onto the opposite end of the bench. “I like the sun.” He opened his bento box, pulling out a pair of chopsticks before glancing sideways at you. “What about you?”

You exhaled, watching him cautiously. This was the first time you were alone with him in years. And somehow, the space between you felt suffocating—thick with everything left unsaid.

The memories came uninvited. The way his fingers once traced lazy circles on your bare skin. The way his lips felt when he whispered your name like a prayer. The way he used to make you feel like you were the only thing that mattered.

And yet, you weren’t.

Now, all you could do was sit there and watch him eat, his expression unreadable, while your own heart threatened to tear itself apart. Why did you hurt me? Why couldn’t you just love me? Why was I not enough?

Gojo felt the weight of your silence. He could feel the heat of your presence, the way your every breath unsettled him. It took everything in him not to close the distance between you, not to reach out and brush his fingers against yours. But his control was hanging by a thread.

The way you sat there—legs crossed, throat bobbing as you sipped your tea, the curve of your mouth just barely upturned in a frown—sent something dangerous curling in his stomach. He hated this distance between you.

Hated how he wasn’t allowed to touch you anymore.

I will make it up to you. I will show you that all I need is you. I will love you the way you want to be loved.

A single tear escaped the corner of your eye, but you caught it quickly, turning away before he could see.

“I just needed some air,” you murmured.

Gojo swallowed a bite of his food. “Are you upset about what Nanami said?”

“Yes,” you admitted, though that wasn’t the full truth.

Gojo hummed, setting his chopsticks down. “Why? People will question your ideas. You need to defend your ground and find someone who believes in you. It’s not that complicated.”

You stared at your tea, the warmth now forgotten. Find someone who believes in you? You had—once. And then he broke you.

You should’ve left. You should have walked away. But somehow, your body refused to move, as if something invisible tied you to him.

Gojo shifted slightly, his knee brushing against yours.

You sucked in a sharp breath, cursing the way the slightest touch of him still sent a shiver up your spine. Your body still remembered him, no matter how much your heart told you to forget.

He didn’t move away. Instead, he leaned in just a fraction, his breath warm against your skin as he spoke. “Why aren’t you eating?”

You forced yourself to focus, blinking away the heat curling low in your stomach. “I’m not hungry.”

Gojo chuckled, extending his bento box toward you. “Have some strawberries. They’re in season.”

You stared at the neatly arranged fruit, then at his hand—those long fingers, the same ones that had once traced promises along your spine, the same ones that had held you.

Your throat felt dry. “No, thank you, Mr. Gojo,” you said coolly.

His eyes darkened slightly, but he simply pulled back, taking a slow bite of one himself. The way his lips wrapped around the fruit made your stomach clench. He chewed thoughtfully before speaking again, voice low and deliberate.

“Suit yourself.” He licked the juice off his thumb before tilting his head to look at you. “Just know that strawberries don’t deserve your hate. Someone else does, but not them.”

Your breath hitched.

The way he was looking at you—it wasn’t playful, it wasn’t teasing. It was dangerous.

And damn you, because for a moment, you wanted to cross that distance.

You stood abruptly, forcing your expression into something impassive. “I’ll take my leave, Mr. Gojo. Enjoy your lunch.”

Gojo leaned back against the bench, watching you go. His lips curled, but it wasn’t quite a smirk—it was something softer, something almost hungry.

“Ms.L/n”. Gojo called out, stopping you in your tracks. Ms.L/n felt unfamiliar on his tongue. You were Mrs.Gojo. But that can be taken care of later.

“Yes?”. You turned slowly.

“Eat something. You look like you have iron deficiency”.

You were too stunned to speak. Did he know? He couldn’t have known.

“Bye-bye,” he said, voice rich and deep.

“Bye”. You whispered and left.

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure if you hated him for staying or for letting you walk away.

Suzume, Maya, Juno, and Hitoshi stared blankly as Nanami joined them for lunch, surprised by his rare appearance.

“Afternoon, everyone.”

A moment of hesitation passed before they all bowed politely, acknowledging him.

“It is so cool of you to join us, Nanami-san!” Hitoshi exclaimed with enthusiasm.

Nanami let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. He rarely ate with the team—not because he didn’t want to, but because he had always drawn a firm line between himself and his subordinates. He had his principles. He believed that distance was necessary. But today…

Today was different.

He was here for one reason. You.

Ever since your argument in his office, his mind had been an absolute mess. He had hurt you—not once, but twice. And for what? His own stubbornness? His own inability to deal with the fact that Gojo Satoru could swoop in and hand you the world on a silver platter while he could only offer cautious reasoning?

He had been unable to focus on anything since.

Coming here had been his weak attempt to make it up to you. He had hoped—perhaps foolishly—that he would find you sitting with the others. That he could sit across from you, maybe ask how you were doing, maybe… apologize, even if he didn’t know how.

But to his disappointment, you weren’t there.

Suppressing the frustration bubbling inside him, he cleared his throat. “How has work been?”

The responses came quick, casual.

“Good.” “Alright.” “No complaints.”

Nanami nodded, though his mind was still elsewhere. He glanced around the cafeteria once more, but there was no sign of you.

Trying to distract himself, he asked, “How are you all adjusting to the… new firm?” He kept his tone even, but a slight bitterness seeped into his voice despite himself.

Domain Dynamics. Gojo’s firm. The company that had absorbed Golden Ratio, that had claimed everything he had worked so hard to build. That had claimed you.

“Not too bad,” Hitoshi replied with a casual shrug.

“Some of them are actually quite cool,” Maya added.

Nanami arched a brow. “Oh really? Like who?”

“Miwa is really nice,” Maya said thoughtfully.

Hitoshi snorted. “She’s just saying that because they both have blue hair.”

That earned a round of laughter, even from Nanami.

“That has nothing to do with it!” Maya defended herself. “She’s really cool and sweet.”

Nanami turned his attention to Suzume. “What about you?”

Suzume blushed slightly at being singled out. “I’ve mostly interacted with Mr. Gojo… and I think he’s very cool.”

Nanami’s grip on his chopsticks tightened.

He forced his expression to remain neutral. “Why… is he so cool?” He kept his tone light, almost teasing, though deep inside, he already knew the answer would irritate him.

Suzume tilted her head thoughtfully. “He’s quick to make decisions, and he’s very kind. Once, he brought smoothies and pastries for the entire admin department to thank us for our help during the merger.”

Of course he did.

Nanami clenched his jaw as an unsettling weight settled in his chest. Gojo wasn’t just good at winning people over—he was effortless at it.

Nanami had spent years proving himself with diligence, logic, and hard work. Gojo, on the other hand, barely had to lift a finger to make people adore him.

“I see,” Nanami said, his voice a little too stiff, his smile too forced.

He had lost his appetite.

“I will take my leave now.” He picked up his tray of half-eaten food and stood up.

He was about to place his tray on the conveyor when Hitoshi suddenly jogged up to him.

“What’s wrong, Hitoshi?” Nanami asked.

Hitoshi stuffed his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Y/N is in the garden.”

Nanami stiffened.

He furrowed his brows. “I didn’t ask.”

“I know.” Hitoshi’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Just thought you should know.”

Nanami didn’t respond. He simply placed his tray down and walked away.

But he was already heading toward the garden.

As Nanami stepped into the open courtyard, the fresh air did little to clear the storm brewing inside him. His eyes immediately scanned the area, searching for you.

And then—he found you.

His footsteps faltered.

You were sitting on a wooden bench, a cup of tea in your hands, your posture tense yet unmoving.

And beside you—far too close for Nanami’s liking—sat Gojo.

Nanami stopped in his tracks, staying in the shadows, just out of sight.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably as he took in the scene before him.

Gojo was leaning slightly toward you, his bento box in hand, his expression unreadable. His sleeves were rolled up, his hair slightly tousled. Those piercing blue eyes, focused entirely on you.

Nanami’s jaw clenched as Gojo extended his bento box toward you.

Don’t take it.

He felt a bitterness rise in his chest. Don’t take it. Don’t let him win.

For a moment, you hesitated. Nanami could see the way your fingers fidgeted, the way your lips pressed together in thought.

Gojo, ever patient, held the box a second longer, watching you with an amused expression, as if he already knew you were going to give in.

Nanami held his breath.

Then—finally—you shook your head. “No thank you, Mr. Gojo.”

Nanami exhaled. He hadn’t even realized he had been holding his breath. A small, almost ridiculous sense of relief washed over him.

But then Gojo simply chuckled, pulling the box back. “Suit yourself.” He rested his cheek against his palm, smiling lazily. “Just know that strawberries don’t deserve your hate. Someone else does, but not them.”

You let out a small laugh, and Nanami’s stomach twisted all over again.

Gojo was teasing you.

And worse—you were responding to it.

Nanami’s grip on his tie tightened.

You were supposed to hate Gojo. You were supposed to stay away from him.

But here you were—sitting with him, talking to him, laughing with him.

For the first time, Nanami realized the extent of Gojo’s pull.

It wasn’t just about money. Or power. Or reputation.

Gojo had a way of getting into people’s heads.

And now… he was getting into yours.

Nanami clenched his fists.

This wasn’t just frustration.

This was jealousy.

And the worst part?

Gojo didn’t even have to try.

Nanami had never felt this way. Ever.

But seeing you on that bench with Gojo, watching him lean in just a little too close, his voice dropping into something only you could hear—it made something raw and primal twist inside him.

It made him want to march over there, grab Gojo by the collar, and remind him—with his fists—that there were some things money couldn’t buy.

He rubbed his face with his palm and took a deep breath, willing the jealousy away. Gojo can buy everything under the sun, but he can’t buy you.

At least, that’s what Nanami hoped. Prayed.

Your affection, your time, even your anger—they should be reserved for people who care. Not for people like Gojo Satoru, who could give you the world just because it amused him to do so.

Nanami sat at his desk, exhaling sharply as he picked up his phone.

His fingers hovered over the screen, typing out a long, carefully constructed apology—then he deleted it.

He typed something shorter. Then erased that too.

He didn’t know how to talk to you.

And it was driving him insane.

Just the mere thought that he had hurt you was unbearable.

A soft knock on his door snapped him out of his frenzied state, and he groaned inwardly. Great. Another issue to handle—one that would be far less important than what was truly consuming his mind.

“Come in,” he said, voice flat.

The moment you stepped through the door, his breath hitched.

He stood up immediately. “Y/N.”

You shifted on your feet, not quite meeting his eyes. “Nanami-san, I… wanted to apologize for how I stormed out earlier.” Your voice was softer than usual, almost hesitant. You pressed your lips together, the tension evident in your posture. “It was childish and unprofessional of me.”

Nanami let out a slow breath, his shoulders easing. You’re apologizing?

He didn’t deserve it.

He walked around his desk, closing the distance between you. His hand twitched at his side, hesitating—don’t touch her—but then…

The image of you smiling at Gojo’s jokes flashed in his mind.

And suddenly, caution no longer mattered.

Nanami reached out, taking both of your hands in his, his grip firm, warm—possessive.

Your pulse quickened.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” he said, his voice lower now, rougher. His thumbs brushed over the back of your hands, slow and deliberate. “I should not have dismissed your idea so blatantly. It was… unkind of me. I’m sorry, Y/N. Please forgive me.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed.

“It’s fine,” you managed, though your voice was unsteady. His hands felt too good around yours, the warmth of his skin sending a shiver down your spine. “I understand where you were coming from. I shouldn’t have rushed it.”

Nanami exhaled, a small, genuine smile gracing his lips.

“Thank you for understanding.”

Of course you would. You were smart. Sensible. Rational.

You weren’t his, but standing this close to you, feeling the way your hands fit so perfectly in his… for a moment, it almost felt like you were.

And then he realized—he didn’t want to let go.

The tension stretched, thick, crackling in the air between you.

Nanami’s gaze flickered to your lips. Slightly parted. Soft. Inviting.

He wasn’t supposed to want this.

Not here.

Not now.

Not with Gojo still lingering in the background, stealing the moments that should have been his.

His jaw clenched.

His grip on you tightened, his fingers curling around your wrist, like he could anchor you to him.

He wanted to make you forget.

And then—

Your breath hitched as Nanami dipped his head lower, his lips ghosting over yours. Hesitant. Testing the line between restraint and surrender.

“Nanami—”

You barely had a chance to whisper his name before he erased the space between you.

The kiss was slow, deliberate—yet devastatingly deep.

A quiet gasp left your lips as he pressed closer, the warmth of his body radiating through his shirt. His hands slid up, one cupping the side of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair, keeping you right there.

You should have pulled away.

But you didn’t.

You leaned in, hands fisting his shirt, body arching toward him as if the space between you was too much to bear.

Nanami groaned softly against your mouth, the sound low and needy.

And then—

A knock at the door.

Both of you froze.

Your breath was ragged, lips still so close that you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin.

But reality crashed in hard.

Your eyes widened as you stumbled back, your hand covering your lips, as if you could erase what had just happened.

Nanami’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his jaw tightening, his hands clenched into fists to stop himself from pulling you right back in.

The knock came again.

You took another step back.

“I—I have to go,” you whispered, your voice shaking.

Nanami didn’t stop you.

Didn’t want to stop you.

Because if you stayed a second longer, he wasn’t sure he’d have the willpower to let you go again.

You had managed to avoid both Nanami and Gojo for the rest of the day. It hadn’t been easy.

Nanami had tried to catch your gaze during the last meeting, his brows slightly furrowed, his usual stoic expression tinged with something else—something softer. You had kept your head down, pretending to take notes, refusing to let yourself look at him.

Gojo had been harder to escape.

You could feel his eyes on you, following you like a shadow. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to stop you. But every time you turned a corner, every time you walked into a room, there was a flicker of white hair in the distance, a presence that made your breath hitch in your throat.

By the time you made it home, exhaustion had seeped into your bones. You had barely taken off your shoes before collapsing onto your bed, your body sinking into the mattress as if it had been waiting for this moment all day.

And yet—

Sleep refused to come.

You tossed and turned, shifting between the cool and warm sides of the pillow, but nothing helped. Your mind was still back in that office, in the lingering heat of Nanami’s lips against yours, in the deep blue of Gojo’s stare as he watched you leave.

You kissed Nanami.

And you liked it.

But why did it feel like something was missing?

You groaned and rolled onto your side, staring at the dim glow of your bedside lamp.

Tomorrow was the weekend. At least you wouldn’t have to see either of them.

At least you would have time to think.

Because the truth was terrifying—

You weren’t sure if you liked Nanami because of who he was or because he wasn’t Gojo.

And you weren’t sure if you hated Gojo because of everything he had done—

Or because of something you weren’t ready to confront yet.

The night air was crisp against your skin as you stepped out of your apartment, the city buzzing softly around you. You hadn’t planned this. You hadn’t planned anything. But sitting in bed, drowning in your own thoughts, had felt unbearable.

So you decided to drown them in something else instead.

The local pub wasn’t particularly fancy, nor was it the type of place you usually went to. But it was quiet enough, dimly lit, and filled with people who didn’t know you. That was all you needed.

You slid onto a barstool, ordering something strong and burning, the kind of drink that numbed your lips before it reached your stomach.

One glass turned into two.

Two into three.

By the fourth, your mind had finally quieted.

“Drinking alone?” A smooth voice pulled you from your haze.

You turned, blinking at the woman who had taken the seat next to you. Dark brown hair, cigarette between her fingers, and a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

“Yeah,” you admitted, tilting your empty glass towards her. “Looks like you are too.”

She shrugged, taking a slow drag from her cigarette. “Bad day.”

“Same,” you sighed. “Terrible, actually.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Wanna talk about it?”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “I kissed my boss.”

The woman snorted. “That bad, huh?”

“I don’t know why I did it,” you groaned, pressing your forehead against the bar. “Well, I do know. He’s stupidly attractive. And kind. And so different from…” You trailed off, gripping your glass a little tighter.

Shoko hummed, swirling her drink. “Different from who?”

You ignored her question and let out a drunken sigh. “But you have to understand,” you slurred, “Nanami is gorgeous. Like, unfairly handsome.”

Shoko smirked, taking a slow sip. “Oh?”

You nodded eagerly, propping your elbows on the counter, leaning in as if confessing a deep secret. “He’s tall—like, big enough to just—ugh.” You groaned, dramatically resting your head on your arms. “And his voice? So deep. And don’t even get me started on his hands, I mean, they’re so—”

Shoko lifted a brow. “So?”

You let out a dreamy sigh, waving your hand dismissively. “Strong. Capable. The kind of hands that could ruin you in the best way possible.”

Shoko stifled a laugh. “Sounds like you had a good time.”

You groaned, sitting up. “I wish. But no. It was just a kiss. A very, very heated kiss.” You pressed your fingers against your lips, as if still feeling the remnants of Nanami’s touch.

Shoko exhaled smoke, amused. “Under what circumstances did this very, very heated kiss happen?”

You groaned again, hiding your face behind your hands. “Ughhh, it was so bad. I stormed into his office to apologize for snapping at him earlier, and then he was all ‘I should be the one apologizing’ and holding my hands, looking at me—” You huffed dramatically, throwing your hands up. “Next thing I knew, I was pinned against his desk, and we were kissing.”

Shoko let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“I know,” you wailed, knocking back another sip of your drink. “And now, I don’t even know if I like him for real or if I just—just—” You waved your hands vaguely, frustrated. “If I just want to forget someone else.”

Shoko gave you a long, knowing look before taking a drag from her cigarette.

“Well,” she mused, exhaling smoke, “if it makes you feel any better, I’m drinking because my best friend just told me that he came back from the future just to make a girl fall in love with him.”

You blinked.

And then you lost it.

A loud, tipsy giggle bubbled from your lips, turning into uncontrollable laughter.

“Wha—what?” You wheezed between giggles, clutching your stomach. “That’s insane. That’s so much worse than my problem.”

Shoko smirked, clearly amused by your drunken state. “Tell me about it.”

You wiped at your eyes, still giggling. “Who even does that?”

“Apparently, he does.” She sighed, taking another sip. “Idiot.”

You extended your hand suddenly, still grinning. “I like you. What’s your name?”

She eyed you for a moment before shaking your hand.

“Shoko.”

“Nice to meet you, Shoko,” you slurred. “I’m Y/N.”

Shoko’s fingers twitched around yours.

Her smirk faltered.

Her eyes darkened with realization.

Because this was the Y/N Gojo had been talking about.

A wave of Panic settled over her. There was no going back now. “How about some more shots?”. She cheerfully raised her glass and to her relief you agreed.

After the 4th shot, Shoko was convinced that you were hammered out of your mind, but sadly she was too. She couldn’t leave you here all alone because firstly you were a drunk woman in the middle of the night and secondly Gojo would kill her. So she excused herself and stepped out of the bar,

Wrapping her coat around herself with one hand she dialled Gojo with the other, “Pick up pick up!”.

“Hello”. Gojo’s voice seemed tired on the other end.

“I need help”.

“What happened?!”. He asked worried.

“I need y/n’s address”.

“Shoko…why do you need her address?”.

Shoko took a deep breath wondering how to explain this, “I ran into her at this bar and-”

“And what?!”. 

Shoko could hear drawers opening knowing that Gojo would be on his way here now. “I told her about your time travel thing and then I panicked and got her drunk and now she is too drunk and I don’t want to leave her alone so please send me her address so I can drop her. I feel terrible!”. She spoke in a single breath.

“Stay right there! Keep an eye on her! I am coming! Send me your location now!”. Gojo replied, his voice laced with anger and worry.

Shoko pulled the phone away from her ear for a second, cursing under her breath. She snuck a glance back at you.

You were slumped against the bar, head resting on your folded arms, giggling to yourself over some incoherent thought. The bartender had already stopped serving you, looking increasingly concerned.

Shoko exhaled sharply. “I’m at the Lantern Lounge. Sending you the pin nooooowwwww.”

Shoko let out a breath of relief when she saw the blur of white hair pushing through the crowd. Gojo was impossible to miss—towering, commanding, and radiating pure, pissed-off energy.

“Over here!” She waved him down, stepping aside as he approached.

Gojo barely spared her a glance. His eyes locked onto you.

You were still seated at the bar, your cheek resting on your palm, lazily twirling the straw in your untouched water.

Gojo clenched his jaw. “How bad is it?”

Shoko sighed. “Bad. But not catastrophic. She laughed at me when I said it.”

Gojo let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “So she doesn’t believe it.”

Shoko hesitated. “Not yet.”

That was enough to make his stomach drop.

He turned to her. “Why the hell did you let her drink this much?”

Shoko rolled her eyes. “She was already half-drunk when I found her. I just made sure she didn’t die.”

Gojo ran a hand through his hair, muttering a curse. Then, without another word, he strode toward you.

Shoko watched as he approached, something tight twisting in her chest. She had known Gojo for years, but this… this was different.

The way his face softened when he reached out—

The way his hand hovered over your shoulder, unsure whether to wake you gently or just pick you up—

The way his lips parted, as if he wanted to say your name but couldn’t—

Shoko had seen Gojo Satoru in many forms. Arrogant. Unstoppable. Infuriating.

But this?

This was a man in love.

And if you remembered even a fraction of what she had said tonight…

Everything was about to change.

“We need to drop her home. Geto is in the car. Go.” Gojo’s voice was firm as he adjusted your weight in his arms, holding you with an ease that made it seem like you belonged there.

The warmth of his body seeped through the fabric of your clothes, making you instinctively relax against him. A soft sigh left your lips as you unconsciously nuzzled into his chest, your breath warm against his collarbone. You mumbled something incoherent, words swallowed by the thickness of sleep, before your body went completely lax in his hold.

Shoko, who had been watching quietly, shook her head in amusement before making her way toward the car. Gojo carefully placed you inside the backseat, his movements calculated and delicate, as if handling something fragile. He lingered, ensuring your head was positioned comfortably before sliding in beside you.

The moment he was settled, he shifted closer, cradling your head against his shoulder with a familiarity that neither Shoko nor Geto could ignore.

“23-5 Sakuragaoka,” Gojo instructed, voice low yet steady, as Geto started the car.

Geto glanced at the rearview mirror, his sharp gaze flickering toward you before settling on Gojo with intrigue. “So this is her,” he mused, an entertained smirk playing on his lips.

“Yes.” Gojo’s answer was clipped, his attention fixed solely on you. His fingers brushed against yours absentmindedly, and he frowned at the coolness of your skin. Without hesitation, he shrugged off his cashmere coat and draped it over your shoulders, his hands rubbing gentle circles against your knuckles to bring warmth back into them.

“Do we become her friends?” Geto quipped, his amusement barely contained. “I mean, Shoko already went on a drinking spree with her. I think I deserve a fair chance to get to know her too.”

“All in good time,” Gojo murmured. His thumb still traced the back of your hand, and his eyes never left your face. “Shoko, what was she talking about?”

Shoko exhaled, hesitating for a beat before deciding to tell him, “She was talking about how she kissed someone. A guy named Nanami.”

Gojo’s jaw tightened. His gaze snapped up to meet Geto’s in the mirror. There it was. The confirmation.

“What else?” His voice was even, but Geto could hear the sharp edge beneath it.

Shoko shifted in her seat. “She was praising him. Saying how kind he is. How handsome.”

Gojo scoffed, leaning back against the seat, his arm still curled protectively around you. “Probably the alcohol.” The words were dismissive, but the flicker of something unreadable in his expression betrayed him.

The car rolled to a stop in front of a traditional two-story Kyoto house. A warm porch light cast a soft glow onto the stone path leading up to the entrance.

“This it?” Geto asked.

“Yes.” Gojo exhaled before stepping out of the car, moving swiftly to your side. He gathered you into his arms again, adjusting his hold so the coat remained wrapped snugly around you. Shoko and Geto followed closely behind.

Shoko rang the doorbell, pressing it gently twice. The three of them waited in silence.

A few moments later, the door swung open, revealing a woman with tired yet kind eyes.

“Yes?” She squinted slightly at the unfamiliar faces.

Shoko stepped forward with a polite smile. “Hi, we’re Y/N’s friends. She got a little too drunk, so we brought her home.”

“Oh! Please, come in, come in!” Your mother quickly stepped aside, eyes landing on you with concern. “Oh god, is she okay?”

“Yes, she just fell asleep,” Shoko reassured her.

Gojo’s grip on you tightened slightly as your mother’s gaze softened. A lump formed in his throat. She didn’t know him—not in this lifetime—but he knew her. He remembered her kindness, her warmth. And seeing the worry in her eyes made the guilt settle even heavier in his chest.

“Hello, ma’am,” he forced out, his usual confidence faltering for the first time in a long while.

Your mother gave him a quick nod before motioning inside. “Please, bring her in.”

Gojo stepped into the house, instinctively glancing around despite already knowing every corner, every detail. He carried you through the hallway, his footsteps quiet against the wooden floors.

“Where do I—?” He hesitated, pretending to be unfamiliar with the layout.

“Oh, her room is upstairs to the right,” your mother directed kindly.

He nodded and ascended the stairs, his movements careful. The moment he pushed your door open, a wave of nostalgia hit him like a punch to the gut. Everything was as he remembered. Even the faint vanilla scent in the air was the same.

His mind racing with thoughts he had no business thinking. You had always felt right in his arms, and tonight was no different. The scent of you, warm and intoxicating, wrapped around him. Even in this life, even in a room that he wasn’t supposed to recognize, everything about you called to him. His throat went dry as he took you in, lying helplessly in his arms.

He lowered you onto the bed with deliberate slowness, as if savoring every second he had with you before reality would inevitably tear you away again. His fingers brushed against the soft skin of your cheek as he tucked your hair away, his touch lingering longer than necessary. You looked peaceful, lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. 

Gojo swallowed hard, exhaling through his nose as he carefully pulled the blanket over you. He should leave. He knew he should. But instead, he knelt by the bed, his fingers finding yours, brushing over the delicate curves of your knuckles.

“Sleep well, Y/N,” he whispered, but his voice came out more like a plea.

You stirred slightly, your brows furrowing as if fighting off a dream. Then, in the softest voice, you murmured, “Sa..Satoru.”

Gojo stilled. His entire body went rigid at the sound of his name leaving your lips. His grip on your hand tightened involuntarily. His heart pounded, erratic and unforgiving.

“Yes, love, I’m here.” He brought your hand to his lips, brushing a kiss over your fingers, lingering against your skin as if he could brand himself into your very essence.

Your lips parted again, barely forming words, but he caught them. “I… kissed…”

Gojo clenched his jaw, a bitter taste flooding his mouth. He knew exactly who you meant. Nanami. The name burned like acid in his veins. “I know, love,” he murmured, his voice lower, rougher. “It’s not your fault, okay?” His other hand cupped your cheek, his thumb ghosting over your skin, reveling in the way you instinctively leaned into his touch. His pulse thrummed wildly.

“You are mine,” he whispered, his lips so close to your ear that his breath sent shivers down your spine. “No bad man can take you away from me. I will keep you safe.”

A soft, breathy hum left your lips in response. It was nothing more than a drunken murmur, but to him, it was permission, an unspoken tether between the two of you that had existed far longer than you even knew.

His fingers slid down to your jaw, tilting your face just slightly toward him. His gaze dropped to your lips—soft, slightly parted, and so damn inviting. A dangerous thought crossed his mind, dark and consuming. If he leaned in just a little closer, if he just… He sucked in a sharp breath and pulled away abruptly, cursing under his breath. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling harshly as he forced himself to stand. Not like this. Not when you didn’t know. Not when you weren’t his—not yet. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his entire body coiled tight with restraint. He had spent too many nights imagining what it would be like to hold you, to kiss you, to have you, and now, the temptation was right in front of him, so maddeningly close. He turned on his heel and walked to the door, forcing himself not to look back. If he did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to leave. But as his hand hovered over the doorknob, he heard it again, soft, barely above a whisper.

“Satoru…”

Gojo squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. “It’s alright my love. We will be fine”.

He had come back to make you his and he wasn’t going to stop until he did.

When he returned downstairs, your mother was waiting for them in the living room, looking relieved.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely, eyes filled with gratitude. “For bringing her home safely. I really appreciate it.”

Shoko waved a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. We just didn’t want her ending up alone somewhere.”

Your mother chuckled before looking at all three of them thoughtfully. “If you’re free tomorrow, you should come over for lunch. It’s the least I can do.”

Gojo stiffened for a moment, a pang of nostalgia hitting him again. It had been years since she’d offered him something so simple—something so warm.

“That sounds great,” Geto answered smoothly before Gojo could refuse. “We’d love to.”

Your mother smiled warmly. “Then it’s settled. Thank you again. Please get home safely.”

Gojo swallowed thickly before nodding. “Goodnight, mo’—” He almost slipped again. “Goodnight, ma’am.”

You woke up the next day with a familiar scent engulfing you—clean, crisp, with a hint of something unmistakably expensive. Cashmere and something else. Something distinctly Gojo. Your head, however, felt like it had been cracked open and stuffed with cement.

“Fuck,” you groaned, bringing a hand up to your temple as the pounding in your skull made itself known. What the hell happened last night?

“Oh, you’re finally awake.”

You cracked an eye open, only to see your mother standing in the doorway, balancing a laundry basket on her hip, her expression a mix of relief and exasperation.

“I was so worried about you! How dare you put me through that?!”

You winced at the sharpness of her tone, rubbing your eyes as you tried to sit up. “What do you mean? What happened? What time is it?”

Your movements felt sluggish, but as your vision adjusted, your gaze landed on a familiar coat draped over your arm. A coat that wasn’t yours.

Oh no. No. No. NO. Panic shot through you like a bolt of lightning.

“You went out and got drunk, but luckily, you have good friends who dropped you home,” your mom continued, completely unaware of your spiraling. “Now get up, it’s 11:40 already!”

Your mind was still reeling, trying to piece together fragments of hazy memories, when her words fully registered.

“My friends?!” Your eyes snapped open completely now, every ounce of drowsiness evaporating. “Which friends? Maya? Suzume? Hitoshi?”

Your mom shot you a look that made you feel like you had just said the dumbest thing imaginable.

“No, Y/N. Satoru dropped you.”

Your stomach flipped.

“Satoru,” you echoed, the name sitting uncomfortably on your tongue. 

“Yes, Satoru. Why do you drink so much that you can’t even remember? You worry me,” she scolded.

You swallowed hard. This was bad. Very bad.

“Wait, wait, wait… was it just… him?”

Your mother sighed heavily, shifting the laundry basket in her arms. “There was another girl… Soko Ieri… and Suguru Geto.”

Your breath hitched.

You went out drinking with Shoko. How did that even happen? You went out drinking with Gojo’s best friend too. NOT GOOD. You might have spilled a crucial secret in front of both of them. You fucked up.

The words came back from the future echoed in your head, overlapping with laughter and the distant clink of glasses. Fuck. Did you confess? Fuck. Your eyes darted back to the coat, fingers gripping the expensive fabric as your stomach twisted. Did you tell Gojo about the kiss?

Your mom, still unaware of the inner turmoil threatening to consume you, huffed. “Why are you just sitting there? Go take a shower. They’re coming for lunch.”

You barely registered what she said at first, still staring blankly at Gojo’s coat. Then, the words sank in. Your head snapped up. “Who’s coming for lunch?”

“Your friends, Y/N! It’s the least I could do when they dropped my drunk daughter home at two in the morning!”

Your soul momentarily left your body. You scrambled to grab your phone, dread pooling in your stomach as you saw a series of unread messages. From Nanami.

Nanami: Hello, Y/N. Are you free to talk? Nanami: Can we meet today? Nanami: Please talk to me, Y/N. I need to talk to you. Nanami: I will be stopping by your house at 1:00 PM today. Nanami: I am sorry, but I need to talk to you.

Your heart pounded. Oh, you had really fucked up. Within twenty-four hours, you had kissed Nanami, possibly told Gojo about the future, and were now set to have lunch with your ex-best friend who didn’t even know you, your ex-fiancé who probably now knew too much, and your ex-fiancé’s best friend—who was way too perceptive for his own good.

You were so screwed. Should you invite Nanami for lunch too?

Fuck it. You shoved Gojo’s coat off, threw your blankets aside, and rushed toward your bedroom door.

“Moooommm!” you called out.

“Yes?”

You hesitated for only a second before deciding that there was no salvaging this disaster. Might as well let it burn in one big explosion. “My boss, Nanami Kento, will also be joining us for lunch. Is that okay?”

Your mother, ever the gracious host, barely hesitated. “Yes! Shower first! Please!”

You exhaled sharply before hurriedly typing out a message to Nanami.

Y/N: Hi. Sorry for replying late. Come over for lunch at 2:00. Mr. Gojo is also coming with some of his friends. Long story, but I’ll explain everything later.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself. Then, without wasting another second, you grabbed your towel and bolted for the bathroom. You needed the longest shower of your life.

Nanami was the first to arrive—twenty minutes early, as expected.

Your mom greeted him with a warm smile, her usual hospitality on full display as she led him to the dining table, where her finest china sat perfectly arranged.

“Y/N has told me so much about you. It’s so good to finally meet you,” she said, her voice full of warmth.

Nanami, whose chest tightened the moment he saw you approach with a glass of water, forced a polite smile in return. “Thank you for having me.”

Before you could say anything, the sound of bubbling from the kitchen caught your mother’s attention, and she quickly excused herself, leaving you alone with him. The silence that followed was suffocating. You set the glass in front of him, lowering yourself into the chair beside him with a deep, shaky breath. “Hi.”

Nanami didn’t return the greeting. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

“Y/N, what the hell is going on? Why is Gojo coming to your house?”

You flinched at his tone—firm, demanding. It only made the unease in your stomach churn harder.

“I… I couldn’t sleep last night, so I went out to get some drinks. Alone.” You hesitated, trying to piece together the mess in your head. “But then I met a woman there, and we started talking and drinking, and that’s all I remember.” Your fingers toyed with the hem of your baby pink cardigan, twisting and untwisting the fabric. “My mom told me Gojo and his friends dropped me home, so I guess she knew Gojo…”

Nanami’s brows furrowed. “Wait.” His mind was already working through the inconsistencies. “How did this woman know that you knew Gojo?”

That part you hadn’t considered.

You definitely remembered drinking with Shoko. Alone. But how did Gojo and Geto end up involved? Had you told Shoko about the time travel? Had she told Gojo? A sharp pang of anxiety shot through you. You had to find out.

“I don’t know,” you exhaled, rubbing your temples. “I’m hoping to find out today.”

Nanami sighed, shaking his head. “My god, Y/N. This… this is incredibly irresponsible.”

You snapped your gaze up at him, irritation sparking in your chest. “Irresponsible? That’s what you have to say?”

His jaw clenched. “Yes! You went out and got drunk with a stranger. God knows what could have happened—”

You let out a short, disbelieving laugh, leaning back in your chair. “I am a grown woman, Nanami. I can take care of myself. Instead of asking me if I am okay, you are lecturing me about how terrible my decision was, like I don’t already know it!”

His expression remained unmoved. “I know, Y/N. But it was a reckless thing to do.”

Oh, that pissed you off. You wanted reassurance, understanding—hell, even the smallest bit of comfort. Not this. Not him acting like you were some child who didn’t know better.

“You know what else was reckless?” you shot back, your eyes narrowing. “Kissing my boss.” That shut him up.

His throat bobbed as he sighed heavily. “About that—”

“Was that a mistake too?” you pressed, tilting your head.

“Well, no, but—”

“But what?” You cut in, your voice rising slightly. “You have no idea how terrible I feel about last night, Nanami. And instead of listening to me, instead of supporting me, or—I don’t know—just offering some fucking kindness, you’re sitting here lecturing me!” You felt your throat tighten. You sniffled, furious at yourself for it, but even more furious at him.

“Please,” your voice wavered, “stop treating me like a kid.”

“y/n-”.

Nanami’s voice died down as the doorbell rang.

Your mother greeted the three of them warmly, just as she had the night before.

“Oh, you’re all here! Come in, come in!” she said, ushering them inside. “I hope you’re all hungry—I made plenty.”

Shoko smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it, Mrs. L/N. Thanks again for having us.”

“Of course, dear! And thank you for taking care of my reckless daughter last night.” She threw you a pointed look before turning back to them. “Now, make yourselves comfortable. I’ll get some drinks.”

But Gojo wasn’t listening. His sharp gaze had already landed on Nanami. The sight of him sitting next to you—too close for Gojo’s liking—sent a fresh wave of irritation surging through him. His jaw clenched as he took in every detail. The way your chair was angled toward Nanami. The way his arm rested just a little too comfortably on the table near yours. The way you looked at him, your brows slightly furrowed as if you were still caught in whatever conversation you had been having.

Something dark and possessive curled in Gojo’s chest. She was going on about how she kissed someone called Nanami. Shoko’s voice from last night echoed in his mind, and his grip on the back of the chair tightened. He hated this.

He hated the way Nanami was sitting there so calmly like he had any right to be this close to you. Like he had any right to you. Geto, ever the observant one, immediately noticed the shift in energy. “Satoru.” His tone was low, a warning. Gojo exhaled sharply through his nose before forcing a grin, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Nanami-san,” he drawled, stepping closer. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Nanami looked up at him, unimpressed as ever. “Likewise.”

Your stomach twisted.

Oh, this is bad.

You could feel the tension crackling between them like static before a storm, and you knew—without a doubt—that this lunch was about to be a disaster.

“Hi, I am Shoko Ieri”. Shoko walked over and extended her hand.

You shook her hand warmly and all the memories of the two of you came flooding in. “Nice to meet you Shoko”. You turned to Geto, “You must be Mr.Geto”.

“Suguru is fine”. Geto smiled warmly and shook your hand. 

Luckily your mom didn’t notice this short exchange otherwise you would have to build another castle of lies. 

Shoko and Geto make their way past you and follow your mom to the dinner table while you and Gojo stand in the hallway. The silence hung thick and neither of you knew how to break it.

Gojo scanned your face for any sign which would indicate you knew his secret and you scanned his face for the same. 

“Thank you for last night, Mr.Gojo”. You smiled politely.

“Not a problem”. Gojo replied. Remembering how you softly said his name, how you leaned in his touch, how comforting and right you felt in his arms. “Please call me Satoru”.

You chewed the inside of your cheek as you pondered over his request. Gojo saw the tension on your face, “Well you know. Me dropping you at night merits a first name basis relationship, right?”. He added jokingly, hoping to relieve some tension.

You chuckled, “I guess you are right..Satoru”. You smiled and let him inside. You were going to keep a keen eye on him this entire lunch.  As you walked into the dining room, you weren’t surprised to see your mother already fussing over Gojo.

“Oh, Satoru, dear, you must have been exhausted after carrying my daughter around last night!” she said, setting an extra serving of food onto his plate.

Gojo chuckled, his usual cocky grin slipping into something softer. “It was no trouble at all, ma’am. Y/N’s not that heavy.” He threw you a teasing look, and you rolled your eyes.

Your mom swatted his arm lightly. “Such a gentleman! You looked after her so well. I don’t know what I’d do if something had happened to her.” She sighed dramatically. “I swear, she never thinks about how worried I get.”

Gojo, ever the opportunist, placed a hand over his heart. “Don’t worry, ma’am. I’ll always make sure she’s safe.”

Your mother beamed. “Such a sweet boy. You must come over more often.”

Nanami, who had been silently observing the exchange, felt something unpleasant twist in his gut. He hated this. He hated the way Gojo so easily wormed his way into your mother’s good graces. The way she practically doted on him. The way you weren’t even arguing about it.

Most of all, he hated that he could sense something was off with you. You hadn’t even looked at him since your last conversation, and it was obvious you were still upset. But instead of turning to him, you were sitting there, smiling—smiling—at whatever joke Gojo had just cracked. Before Nanami could dwell on it further, Gojo made his next move. Just as everyone took their seats, Gojo smoothly slid into the chair right between you and Nanami.

“Hope you don’t mind, Nanamin.” Gojo smirked, leaning back lazily in his chair. “Thought I’d sit here.”

Nanami’s eye twitched, but he forced himself to stay composed. “Not at all.” This insufferable bastard.

On the other side of the table, Shoko and Geto shared an amused look before quietly digging into their food. Conversation flowed easily at the table, mostly thanks to your mother and Geto.

“So, what do you all do?” your mom asked, genuinely curious.

“I’m a doctor,” Shoko said casually, sipping her tea.

“Ah! A respectable profession. Good for you, dear.”

Geto smiled. “I run a few sports clubs in Tokyo.”

Your mom looked impressed. “That’s wonderful! And you, Satoru?”

Gojo grinned, lazily swirling his spoon in his soup. “Well, my company recently acquired Golden Ratio.”

Your mother gasped. “Oh! I read about that deal in the news. That’s incredibly impressive, Satoru! To achieve such success at your age, you must be very talented.”

Gojo flashed a proud smile, sending a knowing look in Nanami’s direction. “I try.”

Nanami clenched his jaw, forcing himself to take another bite instead of responding.

You, on the other hand, were drowning in your own thoughts, I need to find out how much Gojo knows. Did Shoko tell him about what I said last night? But then there was Nanami. He’s still acting like my babysitter instead of listening to me. Why is he so frustrating?

And Gojo. Satoru. Your eyes flickered to him. He was chatting effortlessly with your mother, cracking jokes, making her laugh like he belonged here.

And that was the problem. Because he did belong here. Once. Not now. Not anymore.

Nanami clenched his jaw as he caught the way you were looking at Gojo, mistaking anger for affection. It made his chest ache in a way he wasn’t ready to acknowledge. 

Your mother suddenly stood up, dusting off her hands. “I should bring out some more food. You all keep eating—I’ll be right back.”

As soon as she disappeared into the kitchen, you turned to Shoko, “I hope I didn’t do something embarrassing last night.” You tried to keep your tone light, but the question held weight.

Shoko looked at Nanami for the briefest moment before shaking her head. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

You frowned, sensing something off about her answer. But before you could press further, Gojo leaned in slightly, his voice teasing.

Nanami stood up as your mother returned with a steaming pot in her hands. “Let me help with that,” he offered, stepping around the table to take the dish from her.

“Oh, Kento, you’re such a sweetheart,” she gushed, giving him an appreciative smile. “Unlike someone I know.” She shot you a pointed look.

You groaned. “Here we go.”

“Y/n is alright”. He responded with a polite smile.

“I’m just saying, Y/N,” she huffed, as Nanami helped her place the food on the table, “you never tell me where you’re going, and you’re always out at the oddest hours. Do you know how much I worry?”

Nanami, feeling unexpectedly warm from your mother’s praise, smirked as he took his seat. “Well, she does act like a child sometimes,” he teased, glancing at you.

You instantly shot him a glare. “Excuse me?”

Gojo, who had been watching the exchange, leaned back lazily in his chair. “I wouldn’t say that,” he said, voice smooth yet firm. “She’s not a kid. A little impulsive sometimes, sure, but she’s pretty responsible.”

Your mother pursed her lips. “That’s hard to believe.”

Gojo chuckled. “I mean it, ma’am. You don’t have to worry too much. Y/N’s brave, independent, and more capable than she gives herself credit for.”

Your chest tightened at his words. There was no teasing in his voice, no sarcasm—just pure certainty.

Shoko smirked, setting down her drink. “You’re talking about her being responsible? That’s rich coming from you.”

Geto chuckled. “Yeah, remember that time you got lost in Shinjuku because you insisted you didn’t need a map?”

Gojo groaned, covering his face. “That was one time.”

Shoko ignored him. “Or how about the time you ate that entire bag of wasabi chips on a dare and nearly died?”

Geto shook his head. “He does act like a kid. Pretty often, actually.”

Your mother laughed, clearly enjoying the conversation. “Sounds like you give your friends a hard time, Satoru.”

Gojo pouted dramatically. “I think they just like ganging up on me.”

The table filled with laughter, the mood light and easy. But not for Nanami.

He didn’t miss the way your expression softened at Gojo’s words earlier. The way you actually listened when he defended you.

Nanami clenched his jaw, shoving a bite of food into his mouth to keep himself from scowling. He wasn’t trying to lecture you. He wasn’t trying to belittle you. He just wanted what was best for you. But somehow, everything he said just kept backfiring and worst of all? Gojo was making it look easy.

As the lunch wrapped up, Gojo stood, effortlessly stacking the empty plates in his hands. Your mother looked up, mildly surprised but clearly pleased.

“Oh, Satoru, dear, you don’t have to do that,” she said warmly as he carried the dishes into the kitchen.

Gojo shot her a charming grin over his shoulder. “How could I not? You went through all that effort to feed us. Least I can do is help out.” He set the dishes in the sink before turning back to her with a casual air. “Besides, if I help, maybe I’ll secure my spot as your favorite guest.”

Your mother chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, you’re already miles ahead, dear. Such a polite young man. If only my daughter had half your sense of responsibility.”

Gojo’s grin widened, but there was a flicker of something sharp in his icy blue eyes. He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “Careful now, ma’am. If you like me that much, you should just make me your son-in-law.” The words were spoken lightly, teasingly, but something about the way he said them carried weight.

Your mother laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, Satoru, you’re too good for y/n.”

Gojo smirked, tilting his head. “You say that, but I think I’d be a great addition to the family.” His voice was smooth, but his fingers drummed lightly against the counter—restless, impatient. She swatted his arm playfully. “You’re too much. You need to ask my daughter first. She is a hard one to convince”.

“Oh don’t worry about that”. Gojo winked. Helaughed, but as he reached for another plate, his grip was just a little too firm. His mind, despite the easy smile on his face, was far from lighthearted.

As the afternoon sun dipped lower, the lunch finally came to an end. Your mother, ever the gracious host, sent everyone off with warm goodbyes and an invitation to visit again. You walked outside with the four of them, the crisp air cooling the lingering heat from the dining room.

Shoko lit a cigarette the moment she stepped off the porch, inhaling deeply before exhaling with a satisfied sigh. “That was nice. Your mom’s great.”

You chuckled. “She likes you guys. Maybe a little too much.” Your gaze flickered to Gojo, who still looked smug from all the praise he had received.

Shoko smirked. “Can’t blame her.”

As you all reached the sidewalk, you turned to Shoko. “By the way… how did you know where I lived?”

Shoko glanced at Geto, then back at you, exhaling another puff of smoke before answering. “You told me at the bar.”

Your stomach twisted. “I did?”

She nodded. “You mentioned working at Golden Ratio, so I called Gojo to ask if he knew you. Turns out, he did.”

Relief washed over you. You hadn’t said anything about time travel. Thank god.

“So, you really don’t remember much, huh?” Shoko asked, tilting her head slightly.

You hesitated. “Not really.”

She let out a small breath. “That’s good.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Why? Did I do something embarrassing? ”

Shoko grinned. “Nothing too bad. Just some, uh… very honest conversations.”

“Like what?”. You asked. Your heart racing at the possibilities.

“How you found the blond one attractive”. Shoko smirked

You groaned. “Fantastic.”

She chuckled, then nudged your arm. “We should do this again—minus the whole blacking out part.”

You smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Wednesday? Coffee?”

“It’s a date.” You smiled.

Meanwhile, Geto stretched his arms above his head, looking at the two of you. “I’d say this was a successful lunch. Your mom might start adopting Gojo at this rate.”

Gojo rolled his eyes. “She has great taste, what can I say?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. But before you could fire back, Gojo stepped closer to you, his hands slipping into his pockets. The others continued chatting, but his eyes were only on you.

“Thanks for the lunch, Y/N.” His voice was smooth, but lower this time, like it was meant just for you.

You swallowed. “It wasn’t just me. My mom did most of it.”

Gojo smirked. “Still. I enjoyed myself.”

There was something in the way he said it, something in the way his eyes lingered on yours—too intense, too knowing. You were acutely aware of how close he was, how easily he could lean in if he wanted to.

And god, he wanted to. He wanted to tilt your chin up, wanted to kiss that stubborn little mouth of yours in front of everyone—Nanami included. He wanted to make it crystal clear who you really belonged to.

But he held back. Barely. Instead, he reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing your skin for a second too long. You sucked in a sharp breath, your heart slamming against your ribs, shivers ran down your spine.

He grinned. “See you around.” Then, just like that, he turned and walked away, Geto and Shoko following behind. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Nanami, who had been watching the whole exchange from a few feet away, clenched his fists at his sides. Because Gojo hadn’t just thanked you for lunch. No, that had been a claim. A warning, And the worst part? You hadn’t stopped him.

You watched Gojo, Geto, and Shoko leave and all the memories came flooding. They hurt. The taunts. The lying. The manipulation. You were not going to fall for his honey traps again. Even if your body betrayed you, your heart was going to be like a fortress. You thought about how he had made your mom swoon over him again. Was he going to turn her against you again? Lie to her about her own daughter? Buy her affection? You knew what he was capable of. Maybe you forgot for a while when you saw him but now you remembered and you hated his guts. You didn’t just want to stay away from him. You wanted him to pay.

As Gojo, Shoko, and Geto disappeared down the street, you let out a slow breath, trying to steady yourself. The air still felt charged from whatever the hell had just happened between you and Gojo. Before you could figure out how to make him pay, Nanami’s voice broke the silence.

“Y/N.”

You turned to him, still a little dazed. “Yeah?”

He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. “We need to talk.” There was something about the way he said it—serious, urgent.

You exhaled, nodding. “Fine. There’s a coffee shop down the—”

“No.” Nanami cut you off, shaking his head. “Not in public. We need to be alone.”

Alone. That one word sent a shiver down your spine, but you ignored it.

“Okay,” you said carefully. “We can stop by the office. I need to grab a file anyway.”

Nanami nodded once. “Let’s go.”

The walk to his car was silent, and the moment you slid into the passenger seat, the tension only thickened. The engine hummed as Nanami pulled onto the road, but neither of you spoke.

You stole a glance at him—his grip on the wheel was a little too tight, his jaw locked. You knew that look. He was frustrated. Agitated. With you and for some reason, that irritated you even more. By the time you reached the office, the silence had stretched unbearably thin.

The building was eerily empty, the usual hum of employees replaced by the distant buzz of fluorescent lights. The weekend lull made everything feel heavier—more private.

Your heels clicked against the polished floor as you walked into your office, flipping on the light. Nanami shut the door behind him, and the soft click of the lock sent a strange pulse through your body. The office was suffocatingly quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning. Nanami stood by the closed door, his arms crossed, his jaw clenched.

You stood opposite him, arms folded, mirroring his defensive stance.

“Alright,” you said, breaking the silence. “Talk.”

Nanami exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You’re upset.”

“No shit,” you snapped, irritation bubbling beneath your skin.

His eyes flickered with something—guilt, maybe. But mostly frustration. “Y/N, I—” He let out a heavy sigh. “Why are you acting like this?”

Your brows shot up. “Are you seriously asking me that?” You scoffed, shaking your head. “Nanami, you always do this.”

“Do what?”

“Get…I don’t know…weird”.

“Weird?”. Nanami raised a brow.

“Yes”.

Nanami’s breath was ragged, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he tried—really tried—not to let his emotions get the best of him. But it was impossible. You were standing there, fire in your eyes, pushing him, challenging him, and all he could think about was how much he wanted you. How much he had always wanted you and how much he fucking hated it.

He hated that you had this power over him. Hated the way you got under his skin, the way you made him feel things he wasn’t supposed to feel. Most of all, he hated the way Gojo looked at you. Like you were something to be treasured. Like you belonged to him.

Nanami had seen it at lunch—the way Gojo had effortlessly slipped into your space, the way he spoke about you, defended you.

And the worst part? You let him.

You let Gojo sit beside you, let him charm your mother, let him tell her not to worry about you like he had any right to. Like he knew you better than Nanami did.

It made Nanami sick and now, here you were, looking at him like he was the villain. Like he was the one making this difficult.

“You don’t get to decide what’s best for me, Nanami.” You continued when you received no answer.

Your voice was sharp, cutting through the thick silence.

He exhaled sharply, trying to rein himself in. “I am not doing this to control you, Y/N.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Then what are you doing? Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell feels like you’re trying to manage me instead of listening to me.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Then stop treating me like a child!”

“I treat you the way I do because someone has to be responsible!” His voice came out harsher than intended, but he didn’t stop. “Someone has to think things through. Someone has to make sure you don’t—”

“Don’t what?” You cut him off, your eyes narrowing. “Don’t make a decision you don’t agree with?”

Nanami’s jaw tightened. “I don’t agree with reckless choices, Y/N.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Reckless? You think I’m reckless?”

He stared at you, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “You went out drinking last night and barely made it home in one piece.”

Your eyes flashed. “But I did, didn’t I?”

“Because of Gojo!”. Nanami snapped.

“So what?!”Your breathing was ragged, “So what if it was because of Gojo? Are you upset because you thought I was being reckless or are you upset because Gojo dropped me home?”. 

His stomach twisted, shame creeping up his spine. He knew he had brushed you off last and had dismissed you when you clearly needed him. And yet—

He couldn’t shake the image of Gojo carrying you in his arms.

Like he was the one who had been there for you. Like he was the one who should have been there for you. The thought made Nanami’s blood boil.

You continued unable to stop the feelings pouring over you, “I invited you today because I wanted someone at the table who was..my friend. Whom I know and who understood me! I want some…care. Some reassurance, how hard was it for you to just say ‘it’s okay y/n, I am here’ or “Don’t worry y/n, we will get through this together’ or just ask me how I was doing! I was dying inside and you didn’t even notice it..Instead you called me a child in front of everyone! In front of people I barely knew! In front of my own mother! In my own house!”.

“You don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice lower now, more strained.

“Then make me understand,” you shot back. “I am really trying here, Kento. Failing at times, I agree. But I am trying”.

He let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it fucking matters,” you snapped. “You’re standing here acting like you know what’s best for me, but you won’t even tell me why you care so damn much.”

Nanami inhaled sharply. “Because I do.”

Your breath hitched.

His hands clenched. His pulse pounded in his ears. His restraint was hanging by a thread.

“Because I care about you, Y/N,” he admitted, his voice rough, like the words physically hurt to say. “And I hate it.”

You sucked in a breath, eyes widening.

“I hate that you make me feel this way,” he continued, stepping closer, his frustration pouring out unchecked. “I hate that every time I see you, I want you. I hate that I can’t stop thinking about you. I hate that Gojo looks at you like he already has you.” His voice was practically a growl now, laced with something dark, something possessive. “I hate that I don’t know if he’s right.”

“But he doesn’t! I am not a fucking trophy in the game between you and Gojo! And if I was so swooned by him I wouldn’t be standing here pouring my heart out to you! My mom invited them but I called you. I wanted you!”

Silence filled the room, heavy and suffocating.

You stared at him, your lips parted, but no words came out. Everything was said and Nanami realized, with a sharp pang of regret, that he had said too much.

This was wrong. This was messy. This was exactly why he had spent so much time trying to push it down.

His jaw tightened. “This was a mistake,” he said, his voice cold now. “That kiss. This argument. All of it.”

Your heart clenched. “Kento—”, Your voice cracked, “Please don’t say that”.

“We work together,” he cut you off, stepping back. “And that’s all this can be.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth, but he forced them out anyway.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral. “Fine. If that’s what you want then that’s all we shall be. I..I like you. I wanted to be with you. I enjoyed every moment of the walk from the coffee shop to here. Tell me, look at me, and tell me that none of it mastered”.

“It didn’t. We work together”.

A beat of silence.

And then Nanami turned and stormed out of your office, slamming the door behind him. The door slammed shut, and with it, the last shred of your composure shattered.

You barely made it to the couch before your legs gave out beneath you. Your breath came in short, uneven gasps as the weight of everything crashed down all at once. Nanami was gone. Not just from the office, but from whatever fragile thing had been forming between the two of you.

Your vision blurred with tears, hot and unrelenting as they spilled down your cheeks. You tried to hold them back, pressing your palms into your eyes, but it was no use. A broken sob tore from your throat, shaking your entire body.

Why? Why was this happening again? Why couldn’t you ever have what you wanted?

In one life, you had wanted Gojo to see you, to love you the way you had loved him. You had wanted him to fight for you, to make you feel like you were enough. But he hadn’t. He had broken you instead, left you alone in a world where you were supposed to be his.

And now, here you were again—wanting something that was slipping through your fingers before you could even hold it.

Nanami had walked away before anything had even begun and it hurt you. 

The worst part was that you knew he cared. You could see it in the way he looked at you, hear it in the way his voice wavered when he was frustrated, feel it in the tension between you when neither of you knew how to close the distance.

But he still left. Why couldn’t he just stay and fight for what he wanted..just ask what you wanted? 

You were ready to give this a try. You called him for lunch because you wanted him there, you didn’t think the kiss was a mistake. Yet He still looked you in the eyes, told you this was a mistake, and walked away.

A choked sound escaped your lips—somewhere between a sob and a laugh, because wasn’t this just fucking poetic?

You clenched your fists against your lap, your nails digging into your skin as your shoulders trembled. You were so tired.

Tired of wanting things that were never yours to begin with. Tired of hoping for something real, only for it to slip away. Tired of men who claimed to care, only to leave when it mattered most.

Your chest ached, deep and raw, like something was breaking inside you.

And maybe it was.Maybe this was just another piece of you shattering, another scar you’d have to carry.

Maybe this was what it meant to love and lose and keep moving forward, even when it felt like you were walking through fire. But right now, you couldn���t move.

Right now, all you could do was curl into yourself on that damn couch and let the tears come. Your chest was still heaving from the force of your sobs when your phone buzzed against the coffee table. The sudden vibration startled you, yanking you from the depths of your grief.

Gojo. His name lit up the screen. You let it ring.

You couldn’t deal with him right now. Not when your face was tear-streaked, your voice raw, and your heart a mess of tangled emotions.

But the buzzing started again.Persistent.Relentless.

Something twisted in your gut. Gojo didn’t call twice unless it was important. With a shaky breath, you swiped to answer, trying to force the tremble out of your voice. You cleared your throat and spoke as clearly as possible, “Hello?”

The moment Gojo heard your voice he knew it. 

Gojo’s entire demeanor shifted. Gone was the playful lilt he usually carried, replaced with something sharper, something entirely too perceptive.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was low, steady. Controlled in a way that only made it more dangerous.

You swallowed hard, gripping the phone tighter. “Nothing. I’m fine. Why did you call?”. 

Gojo wasn’t having it. “Where are you?”

You hesitated.

“Y/N.” His tone left no room for argument.

“The office,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

A beat of silence. Then the sound of tires screeching.

Your brows furrowed. “Gojo, where are you—”, The call ended.

You stared at the table in front blankly, phone still pressed against your ear, before slowly lowering it.

He had hung up and he was coming.

You didn’t know whether that should terrify or comfort you.

Your hands trembled as you rummaged through the small makeup pouch tucked away in your desk drawer. You had always kept it here for emergencies—though you had never expected one of those emergencies to be covering up the aftermath of a breakdown.

You dabbed concealer under your swollen eyes, brushed some powder over your face, and swiped a bit of lip balm on, hoping it would mask the evidence of your tears. Your reflection in the office window was passable—at least, to someone who wasn’t looking too closely.

Just as you reached for a file, trying to compose yourself, the door burst open. Gojo.

His presence filled the space instantly, an overwhelming force of energy that made the air in the room shift. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, his sharp blue eyes scanning the room before locking onto you.

You could feel his gaze sweep over you—your slightly puffy eyes, the way your shoulders were still tense, the stiffness in the way you moved.

His jaw clenched. “Y/N.” His voice was quieter than you expected. Controlled.

You forced a small, casual smile and held up the file you had grabbed. “Gojo, what are you doing here? I just needed to pick something up.” You tried to cover up.

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink and then, in an instant, he was in front of you. Too close. Too knowing.

He reached out, fingertips ghosting over your jaw, tilting your face up just slightly. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make you look at him.

“You’ve been crying.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, edged with something dark. Something dangerously close to anger.

You swallowed hard, trying to pull away, but his hand didn’t move.

“It’s nothing,” you whispered.

Gojo exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing the curve of your cheek before he let his hand drop. But the tension in his shoulders didn’t fade. His entire body was taut, like he was restraining himself from doing something reckless.

“Who was it?” he asked, his voice a quiet storm.

Your stomach twisted. You shook your head. “Gojo, please. Just let it go. Can you just tell me why you are here so I can go home?”. You said in a single breath trying to make him believe that you were your usual self.

His eyes flashed. “Not a fucking chance.”

You took a shaky breath, your fingers tightening around the file in your hands. You didn’t want to talk to him. You didn’t want to talk to anyone, really. But he was here and despite everything—despite how tangled and messy your emotions were, despite how much of your pain could be traced back to him in another lifetime—he was still Gojo.

In this timeline, he hadn’t done anything to you yet. Yet.

The word made your chest tighten, but you shoved the thought aside. Right now, he was just standing in front of you, watching you with a patience you didn’t know he possessed. His usual cocky grin was nowhere to be found, his teasing remarks absent. Instead, there was something else in his expression—something you couldn’t quite place.

Concern. You should push him away. You should tell him to leave.

But you didn’t. Because God, you just needed someone right now. A friend and maybe—just maybe—you could rely on him. You exhaled slowly, setting the file down on your desk. “It was Nanami,” you admitted, voice quieter than you intended.

Gojo’s expression barely shifted, but you felt the way the air in the room changed, like a string had been pulled too tight.

“What did he do?” His voice was deceptively calm, but you knew better.

You shook your head, suddenly feeling exhausted. “It’s not like that. We just—” You let out a humorless laugh. “We fought. About everything. About how he never listens to me, how he treats me like I don’t know what I’m doing. And I—I just got so angry.”

Gojo’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Sounds like he pissed you off pretty badly.”

You scoffed. “That’s an understatement.”

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharp. “And then what?”

You hesitated. “Then he said… this was a mistake.”

Gojo went still.

His fingers twitched at his sides, his jaw tightening just enough for you to notice. “What was a mistake?”. Gojo asked but he knew. 

“We kissed,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Gojo didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

He tilted his head, as if processing your words, before he let out a slow hum. “Oh?” he said, feigning curiosity. “And then he called it a mistake?”

You didn’t notice the slight strain in his voice, but it was there. “Mmhmm”. You sniffle and took a deep breath.

Gojo stayed quiet as you spoke, his face a picture of perfect calm. Too calm. The kind of stillness that wasn’t peaceful—it was dangerous.

“He called it a mistake,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hands trembled slightly, gripping the edge of the desk like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Gojo nodded once, slowly, as if he were simply processing your words. As if this was just another conversation. “I see,” he said evenly. But inside? Inside, he was seething.

He had been angry before. He had known rage, known what it felt like to have fury curl hot in his veins, to feel it claw up his throat, demanding release.

But this? This was something else entirely. Nanami had touched you. Kissed you. Had his hands on you and then he had dared—dared—to call it a mistake?

Gojo clenched his fists beneath the desk, where you couldn’t see. If you caught sight of the way his fingers trembled from the sheer force of holding himself back, you’d know just how close he was to losing control. He wanted to destroy something. To hurt something. No—he wanted to hurt Nanami.

Not just because he had kissed you. Not just because he had the audacity to think he could have you. But because he had made you cry and that? That was something Gojo would not forgive.

"Y/N." His voice was steady, almost gentle. But there was something else beneath it, something dark. “That wasn’t fair to you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “I just don’t get it,” you whispered. “I— I don’t know why I keep ending up here. Wanting something, thinking it’s finally within reach, and then watching it slip away before it even begins.It’s like I am cursed. Like I am living the same story again and again”

Gojo’s jaw ached from how hard he was clenching it, his fingers itching, burning, for something to break. You had always belonged to him. You just didn’t see it yet.

And maybe, if he had been just a little different—if he had been less selfish—he would have let you go. But he wasn’t and he wouldn’t.

Gojo exhaled slowly, measuredly, the only outward sign of his anger. “It’s not you,” he said, his voice too soft, too careful. The kind of quiet you only got before a storm. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You let out another bitter laugh. “Didn’t I?”

Gojo’s vision blurred at the edges, red-hot rage pulsing in his veins, but still, his voice stayed steady. “No, you didn’t,” he said. But this time, his words were firm. Unyielding. Because he knew exactly what you were thinking.

That maybe it was your fault. That maybe if you had done something differently, Nanami wouldn’t have walked away and Gojo hated that because he knew the truth. The truth was that Nanami was a fucking idiot.

And Gojo wasn’t sure if he was more furious at him for hurting you— or at himself for letting it happen.

Because if Nanami had just held on to you—if he had been worthy of you—Gojo would have stepped back. If he knew that you were genuinely happy with Nanami he would have stepped away for your happiness. But Nanami had hurt you. 

He wouldn’t step back now.

And now, looking at you, eyes rimmed with the evidence of your heartbreak, Gojo knew—Nanami never deserved you in the first place and if Gojo had anything to say about it, no one else would ever get the chance to hurt you like this again. Ever.

Still, he kept his voice even, steady. “You deserve better,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours like he was branding the words into your soul. “And one day, you’ll see that too.”

And when that day came? Gojo would make damn sure that no one stood between you and him.

Gojo took a slow breath, forcing the burning rage in his chest to the back of his mind. As much as he wanted to storm out of the office, track down Nanami, and make him pay for what he’d done to you, that wasn’t what you needed right now. You were what mattered.

Not his anger. Not his jealousy. You, And right now, you were breaking apart right in front of him. So he moved.

Slowly, deliberately, like approaching something fragile—like if he made a wrong move, you’d shatter entirely. His arms came around you, strong and steady, pulling you against him. The moment his warmth wrapped around you, something in you cracked.

You stiffened for half a second, your mind catching up to what was happening. To the fact that it was Gojo holding you. Your past with him flashed behind your eyes—everything that had been, everything that could have been, everything that had never been.

There had been a time when you had wanted this more than anything. To be his.

To have him hold you like this—not just because you were falling apart, but because he wanted to. Yet, despite all the pain, all the history, all the complications—you leaned into him.

Because right now, you didn’t have the energy to fight it. You just needed someone to hold you together.

So you pressed your forehead against his chest, his scent—clean and familiar—surrounding you, his arms tightening around your waist. And then, finally, the dam broke.

A sob ripped through you, raw and desperate, and Gojo felt it more than he heard it.

He felt the way your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping him like he was the only thing keeping you upright. He felt the way your body trembled against his, the weight of everything finally crashing down on you. Gojo hated it. Hated that it was Nanami who had made you cry like this.

Your breath hitched, and then the sob came—raw, broken, the kind that made your entire body shake. Gojo’s grip instantly tightened.

One arm locked around your back, anchoring you against him, while the other cradled the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, pressing you closer, closer, closer.

Like he could take the pain from you. Like he could absorb the pain. Like he could fix this.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice low, steady, filled with an honesty that even he wasn’t used to.

But he meant it. He always had.

Your hands fisted in his shirt, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in the world, and his heart clenched at the desperation in your touch.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, his lips brushing against the crown of your head. “I promise, you’re okay.” His hand stroked soothingly down your back, slow and deliberate, trying to ease the tremors racking your body.

You sobbed harder. Gojo only held you tighter.

“Just let it out,” he said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And he wasn’t.

He wouldn’t. Not this time. Not ever again.

So he just stood there, letting you break apart in his arms, his grip never faltering, his warmth steady and unwavering.

Because if he had anything to say about it, you would never have to stand alone again.

Fate stood at the corner of the office, watching the two of you embrace. He had been here for a while, just invisible. His friend next to him sighed. “I told you. They will find each other again”. He scoffed, “That’s only because you had to go and give the white haired idiot his memories”.

“It’s only fair game! And I did it because I could tell he was being drawn to her. He just didn’t know who she was”.

He shook his head in disappointment. “I thought she would choose something different. Humans really don’t change, do they?”.

“Humans can change. This experiment will prove it. He will change and she will see it”.

Fate tilted his head and smirked, “What about that guy?”. He motioned towards a blond man standing on the far side of the lobby looking in. “He doesn’t seem happy, does he?”.

His friend followed his gaze, “Yeah. He fucked up. But my bet is still on the blond”. 

“We shall see my friend, we shall see”.

@commandertorindhepard @inlove-maze @starlightanyaaa @missybrat @lem-hhn @valleydoli @definetlythinkimanalien @luckyangelballoon @sheep-infog @gojoprincesss @kanaojacksonofc @bubera974 @ginginha @mari-ho14 @mashtura @bitchycloudstrawberry @sleepykittyenergy

[campingwiththecharmings]

Good Neighbors (7)

PART 6

AN: Hello lovely people. I'm so unbelievably sorry that this took OVER A YEAR to get out. Ugh. I'm so annoyed with myself. If you're still here, thank you so much for sticking with me, I know I've been pretty MIA recently. That being said, without further ado, here is the seventh smutlet in a series set after the events of Night Moves. I hope it's worth the wait lol.

Why should you care if Santi had someone over? What’s it matter that it was (apparently) an attractive woman? It doesn’t, it shouldn’t. You and Santi are just friends. Sure, you get naked together sometimes but there’s nothing else there, he doesn’t owe you anything, he’s not yours— And you’re not his.

(Un-beta’d)

Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Words: 2,077 (can i still call them 'smutlets' if they're the length of a normal fic lmao) Pairing: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x F!Reader Warnings: pwp, kissing, ~*feelings*~ (ugh), a dash of angst, jealousy, neighbors with benefits AO3

——————

You can’t sleep, and much like all those months ago, it’s your stupid neighbor’s fault.

Your stupidly gorgeous, funny, sweet, wonderful neighbor, Santiago Garcia.

Sadly, the issue this time is not him playing his music too loud in the middle of the night. No. Instead the issue is something that shouldn’t even be an issue.

Ugh. How did you even get here?

Right. 3A. Yeah, this was all that bitch’s fault. If she’d just kept what she’d seen to herself, you’d be sleeping like a baby right now. But no, she’d had to go and open her big, fat mouth.

Why should you careif Santi had someone over? What’s it matter that it was (apparently) an attractive woman? It doesn’t, it shouldn’t. You and Santi are just friends. Sure, you get naked together sometimes but there’s nothing else there, he doesn’t owe you anything, he’s not yours—

And you’re not his.

A weight settles on your chest at the thought and you sigh. You turn on your side, looking at the clock on your bedside table; the glaring, red numbers feel like they’re burning a hole into your retinas. 

Almost 3 a.m. Just like the night you first met.

The longer you think about it, the worse you feel—was he fucking her too? Are you just one in a long line of women he has at his beck and call? Did you even mean anything to him or were you just the most convenient? 

Stop it, you tell yourself, you have no right to be jealous. Enough.

You scoff after a moment, shaking your head at your own thoughts. Jealous? Please, you weren’t jealous. That’d be stupid, right? Completely and utterly ridiculous.

You will yourself to sleep, closing your eyes and trying every technique you know to try and clear your mind.

After ten minutes, you throw your covers off with a frustrated groan and sit up, legs hanging off the side of your bed.

If there’s any hope of you getting any sleep tonight, you have to talk to him.

You shuffle quickly through your living room, out the front door, and into the hall. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you knock on his door, the sound echoing loudly down the empty hall. For a moment, you pray that he doesn’t answer, that he’s already fast asleep but you’re realistic enough to know that’s probably not what’s going to happen. You hear the drag and click of the door being unlocked and you tense slightly as it slowly swings inward.

Santiago squints out into the hall, a soft smile spreading on his lips when he sees it’s you. 

“Evening, hermosa,” he rasps, running a hand over his face. “Or, I guess I should say morning.”

“I can’t sleep,” you blurt, wincing slightly as you briefly avert your gaze. “Can we talk?”

You watch as his face shifts, his brow furrowing, head cocked slightly to the left as the smile melts away. He nods, stepping back to give you enough room to come in.

Your eyes sweep the room as you step over the threshold, searching for someone you know isn’t there (not anymore, anyway). He wouldn’t have let you in if she was.

“Everything okay?” he asks, gently touching your shoulder.

You don’t answer him right away, unsure how to even broach this topic. Santi doesn’t owe you anything, not even an explanation, really. He’s never made you any promises, never said you were the only one he was messing around with…never said he loves you.

Something sharp lodges in your chest at the thought and you close your eyes, breathing slowly in an effort to quell the panic rising in your throat.

He says your name, his voice soft, and the sharpness in your chest turns to an ache, an ache you’ve become all too familiar with recently. You push the feeling away, trying to focus on why you’d come here. 

The other woman. Right.

With a steadying breath, you turn to him, crossing your arms over your chest protectively.

“I heard you had a visitor today,” you say nonchalantly, as if this is a completely normal conversation to be having in the middle of the night.

His brow furrows again, this time in confusion. “A visitor?”

You nod in response, your jaw tight. For a moment he just stares at you, waiting for you to elaborate, but then his eyes light in realization. 

“Are you talking about Ana?”

You avert your gaze to the floor, the sharpness in your chest returning. Then a warm, low chuckle reaches your ears, the sound making your insides melt. God, do you love his laugh.

He steps closer, his fingers brushing against the underside of your chin, trying to return your eyes to his; the gentleness of his touch makes your chest ache.

“She’s just a friend, hermosa,” he explains, his voice low and soft.

Unfortunately, his words do nothing to alleviate your concerns.

“‘Just a friend’ like me?” you ask, your voice breaking despite the control you’re fighting so hard to maintain over yourself.

His eyes soften and a piece of you crumbles inside. You watch as his jaw clenches, his hands moving to cup your cheeks, holding you in place so you can’t look away from him again.

“No,” he whispers, shaking his head slightly, “Not like you.”

He holds your gaze, his eyes burning with an intensity you’ve never seen before. It makes your heart skip, your lips parting slightly at the insinuation. You want to believe it, want to believe that this thing between you is more than just sex, more even than friendship. You want to believe it, so you do…if only for tonight.

He must see whatever he’s searching for in your eyes because suddenly he’s kissing you, his lips gentle but sure as he pours everything he is and feels into it, into you. It’s different from the other times somehow, more intense, more serious, as though he’s trying to prove something. You cling to him, fingers twisting in his shirt as he slips his tongue between your lips. He steps closer, his left hand sliding down your neck and torso to settle on your hip. You sigh at the press of his body against yours, warm and solid, familiar. 

Without breaking the kiss, Santi guides you backwards, slowly steering you both in the direction of his couch. You pause when the backs of your knees touch the soft, cool leather, letting yourself get lost in the feel of him again. You slide your hands down his chest, slipping them beneath the hem of his shirt to his warm, soft skin. The coolness of your fingers makes him jump a little in surprise and you can’t help the smile that spreads on your lips. He smiles back, you can feel it as he kisses you, as he angles your head and licks into your mouth again, and it makes that now ever-present ache in your chest throb. 

When you finally part, it’s for air, your foreheads pressed together as you pant, trying to catch your breaths. He’s too far, you think. You want—no you need—to have him closer, need to feel his skin against yours, need his lips, his eyes, his hands, his everything. You need him. 

Your fingers toy with the hem of his shirt before slowly pushing it up his torso and then pulling it over his head. Santi’s eyes are glued to you, like he’s afraid to look away, afraid you’ll disappear if he does. You lean in, pressing a kiss against the hollow of his throat. Santi inhales shakily as you explore, slowly kissing a line down to his chest. He hisses when you flick your tongue over his nipples, his fingers clenching at your hip.

You wish you could live here, in this moment, this moment where there’s nothing else but you and him together. 

After a moment, he pulls you back, pulls your mouth back to his, humming contentedly when you reconnect, as if you’ve been parted for years instead of just a few seconds. Santiago’s hands slip beneath the waistband of your pajama bottoms and panties, the warm, rough pads of his fingers scratching delightfully against your skin. Slowly, he pushes them down, dragging the fabric over your ass and hips before letting them fall at your feet. Unimpeded by your clothing, he cups your backside, gently kneading your cheeks with his strong fingers as he pulls your body against his.

Slowly, you undress each other, hands lingering, reverently caressing every inch of skin revealed. Once you’re bared to each other, Santi lays you down against the cushions of his couch. The cool leather makes you shiver, goosebumps breaking out and spreading over your body. He watches you for a moment, his eyes somewhat unreadable in the darkness of the room. You can feel his gaze on you, as he drags it slowly down your body, as if committing every bit of you to memory. Before you can say anything, he leans in, reclaiming your mouth as he situates his body over yours. 

He’s so warm, the weight of him comforting, familiar, as he settles between your legs. You moan softly as his hard cock brushes against your core, the sound muffled by his mouth on yours. He groans, slowly grinding against you, each brush of him sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. It feels like you’re on fire, like you’re about to burn up from the inside out. You need him, need him to fill you, to consume you. He seems to sense your need, shifting so the head of his cock is pressed against your entrance.

He breaks your kiss as he sinks inside you, his swollen lips parting in a silent groan as your body welcomes him home. For a moment, he doesn’t move, content just to bask in the warmth of you. He finds your lips again, his kiss languid and deep, as if he can’t get enough of you, as if he wants to swallow you whole. When he finally starts to move, it’s slow, his thrusts shallow but no less pleasurable. He keeps kissing you, stealing your breath, his hands are everywhere, touching, caressing, stoking the fire inside you. The moment feels endless, a blur of hands and lips and breathy moans. 

There’s something different about this time, something different in the air, in the energy between you both. Perhaps it's the pace, your usual frantic neediness traded for something so unhurried, yet still so passionate. It feels unreal, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. It feels like love, though, you know it isn’t. 

It’s easy to forget, though, consumed by him as you are. He’s everything, he’s everywhere, all you can see, all you can feel, hear, smell, taste—

You shake as the tension twists in your gut, breathy moans escaping you with every push of his hips. He’s no better, jaw slack, eyes blown wide and dark, looking almost drunk as he so easily unravels you bit by bit. You’re so close, feeling as though you’ve been on the precipice for ages, ready to tumble over with the slightest nudge. He keeps you there, the steady push and pull of his hips drawing out your pleasure. Briefly you wonder if it’s possible to die from this, because you feel like you might. There are worse ways to go, you suppose.

Something in his eyes shifts as he moves over you, as if he’s made some important decision. He leans in, claiming your mouth once more, his kiss deep and filled with so much longing it takes your breath away. He finds your hands, splayed limply beside you on the couch, his fingers lacing with yours. He’s done it before, but somehow now it feels different, like it means more. You tell yourself you’re reading too much into it, into everything—he doesn’t feel the way you want him to, he doesn’t love you.

Your hands are still clasped when you come, his fingers gripping yours like a vice. He presses his forehead to yours as the euphoria washes over you like a tidal wave, the warmth of his breath gliding pleasantly over your skin. Then he kisses you, so gentle and sweet it makes your heart ache in your chest.

You know it’s not love, but maybe, just this once, it’s okay to pretend.

So you do.

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

Series Masterlist 🌟 Main Masterlist

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PART 8 (coming soon)

[42ap]

Why does Stanley seem to have so much more trauma than Stanford in this story?

Stanley is the guy who makes Soos go, “That sobbing sounds so familiar… Oh! Mr. Pines!” Meanwhile, Stanford is the guy who says, “Have you seen someone who looks like me but completely gave up on his own life?”

Or maybe this level of raw Bad Cat energy is something only the official creators could have produced 🏳️🏳️🏳️.

It feels odd at first, but thinking about it more, it’s actually not that strange. I was going to ask why Soos seems to be the only one who ever notices that Stanley’s mental health is barely hanging on (even though he doesn’t really think too deeply about what’s wrong). But then again, Stanley never had that many friends in the first place.

Wendy is sharp, but she’s the type who won’t pry if someone doesn’t want to talk. Soos, on the other hand, is ridiculously persistent—he would keep pushing until Stanley finally tells the truth.

As for Ford... his perception is just incredibly, unbelievably, absurdly dull when it comes to human emotions. He treats Stanley the same way he did forty years ago, not realizing that Stanley has long since stopped having the energy to play along. Which makes it look like Ford is bullying him.

I don’t think Ford is a heartless person. He’s just completely oblivious in a way that’s almost impressive. He’s too absorbed in his research, lacking common sense, and fundamentally uninterested in understanding other people on an emotional level. "Cold" is a good word for him—not because he can’t understand emotions, but because he doesn’t see the need to. After all, everyone he's ever called a friend has treated him well—even Bill spoiled him a little.

I keep wondering if he even realizes that Stanley’s inner world is bleak, crumbling, and entirely monochrome. Maybe he doesn’t, because Stanley himself doesn’t have much of a need to be cared for. Even if no one in the world truly cared about him, he’d probably still be okay—he’s good at picking himself back up.

But... since Stanley never says anything, now it just feels like a schoolboy pulling on a girl’s pigtails in a clumsy attempt to get attention—except it actually comes off more like bullying.

And then you’ve got Mabel, who’s the one peeking under the desk going, "Oh, wait, is he actually crying?" while Ford stands off in the distance muttering, “There’s no way that’s real.”

[toozmanykids]

"You're starting to suspect he didn't hire you for good intentions. To be a helping hand. No, he's testing you. Trying to see how long it takes for you to break. Well, you won't."

He hasn't been able to think about anything else since he saw her resume.

......

Days at the office had become so lackluster recently. His manners were getting prickly along the edges during business hours and after. One of his clients had even recommended that he should get a wife or a pet.

"I think you're spending too much time alone with all those numbers, Laufeyson. Alone in this tiny office all day. Alone in that 'itty bitty' apartment all night. You need to get a wife to soften you up a bit, old chap. Or a nice obedient pet. I'll be honest. More nights than not I prefer my three retrievers to warm me at night rather than the ice queen I got saddled with 37 years ago."

"Thank god you're not allowed anywhere near your sales division, Paul. Because you couldn't sell me an ice cube in the desert. Now I will bill you double if I have to sit here listening to your rants about your marriage. Again."

"Don't misunderstand me, Loke—"

"Don't call me that."

"—my ice queen has the perkiest frosty tits money can buy. Six years new and I still can't get enough of those pebbled snow mounds when I'm hot and bothered. And if we were lost in the desert, she still goes down like my popsicle is her only chance to live. It just takes more work and money and lube to get that woman warmed up enough to get going. So much investment."

"Paul, god. I did not need nor want to hear any of that. Good night, Paul."

"You need to soften those edges, Laufeyson!"

"My edges are just fine the way they are. I said, good night Paul."

But when the little ex-con's resume crossed Loki's desk, Paul's suggestion of getting a pet suddenly didn't sound so ridiculous. The training itself could be quite entertaining.

The day she stepped into his office, the possibilities suddenly seemed limitless.

...

[Regarding 'itty bitty' apartment.... Sarcastic, or condescending coming from a billionaire client? Loki likely lives a penthouse in reality? Or just some upscale uptown spacious for the neighborhood place? I'm just throwing out ideas for fun. That's all. Just for fun because you've got me so excited!!]

On Good Behaviour 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: after release, you try to get on the right track but your new boss isn’t much help. (ex-con reader)

Characters: Loki

Note: :)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your first day at work brings both excitement and anxiety. It's been a long time since you felt possibility ahead of you. You don't know that you ever really have. That's probably why you did what you did. No excuses. You made bad choices and didn't care who you hurt. 

You grab your new bag, in your brown blazer, a white satin blouse, and a black skirt, and head off. You feel like an imposter already. You get on the bus, standing as you avoid the musty seats, and figure you'll be sitting a bit too long that day. 

The office is building is just as it was before. Smaller than other business towers. The grey brick gives it an antique feel. Quaint, almost. You don't think you'll feel that way for long. 

As you enter, you recall the withering look from those green eyes. The timbre of judgment in his voice. The glint of mocking. You should be used to it by now, shouldn't you? 

You approach the office door and hesitate. What do you do? He gave you a time. You have no key. The door does not give off an essence of welcome. 

You knock and shift in your heels. You got the lowest ones you could find and they're still awful. You hear movement within. Mr. Laufeyson opens the door as you straighten your posture. 

"Good morning, sir," you greet. 

"You will fetch my coffee," he skips over any semblance of propriety. Even you know how to say hello. 

"Oh, yes sir," you reply, put off by his suddenness. 

"There is a cafe off the lobby. You must've passed it on your way in. Cortado." He demands. 

You take a breath. He could say please or thank you. You're used to a lack of manners but when you feel demeaned, you get a bit itchy. 

"Yes, sir, uh, I--" 

"You will be reimbursed. File a report," he turns away, "I would give a company card but... let's keep it all on file." 

He gets to his office door and you watch him in a silent simmer. You go to the empty desk and set down your bag. You dig out your wallet before tucking the rest underneath. 

You find your way down to the cafe, nestled between a law office and marketing consultancy space. You join the line and peer up at the menu. What did he say? C... something. Cortado, that's it right there. 

You step up for your turn. You pay for the drink and wait at the end of the counter. With your first task accomplished, you set off back to work. 

You enter the office. It's deathly silent. You can't help but look over your shoulder. Your hand balls to a fist instinctively. 

Before you can approach his door, it opens. 

"Thought I heard you," he struts out. "You may shut the door. And sit." 

You nod and offer him the cup. He points to the barren desk. You set it down and take your seat. He disappears. You frown. Was it some test? 

He emerges again, this time pushing a green leather chair. It looks much comfier than your own. He rolls it next to you and sits. You fidget and tug at the cuffs of the blazer. 

"Well, you can follow orders," he slithers. "Your attire is less... casual. The coffee is hot," he reaches for the cup and sips. "You will turn on the computer." 

You look under the desk for the tower. He scoffs and taps the laptop beside the monitor. You don't know how you missed that. 

"You will need to work outside the office at times. Now, I've a tracker installed and security, so there's no use in selling it," he warns. 

You seal your lips and nod. You won't show your irritation. Let him treat you like a criminal, at least he's paying you. 

You open the laptop and press the power button. It's very sleek and shiny. Brand new. 

"And the monitor," he directs and sips again. It's somewhat agitating to hear. 

You push the button along the bottom of the screen. He points to a post-it beside the touch pad. "Credentials." 

You type them in and hit enter. At least he's helping. Most of the courses you took were online and had zero support. You can figure things out on your own but you don't think he trusts you to do that. 

"I've had an employee ID set up. That is here," he points lower down on the post-it. "There is a folder here for you to review standard practices and expectations." 

He gestures to the smaller screen as you quietly observe. He sighs. 

"You have any questions?" 

"No, sir," you say. 

"And you understand?" 

"Yes, sir," you answer. I can read, tickles your tongue but you refuse to unleash it. 

"Wonderful, so let me take you through a few of our basic programs just so that you are set. There would be the email, then the task tracker, and finally, the most important, my calendar," he explains. 

"Yes, sir," you repeat. 

He wheels closer, his hand clasping onto the back of your chair. He keeps his cup in his other hand, extend one finger to motion to the screen. He helps you get into the inbox. 

"I recommend you review previous responses as well the templates provided in the Procedures folder." He explains. 

You bend and reach below the desk. You sift in your bag as he tuts, "whatever are you doing?" 

You sit back up with your notebook and a bic pen. You show him, "taking notes." 

He hums, "well, that is a good idea, isn't it?" 

He looks back to the screen as you flip the cover around the spirals. He's expecting you to fail, just like Dina, just like everyone else. You won't if you can help it. 

💼

You send another message to Mr. Laufeyson. For your first day, he insists on reviewing your emails. You let him know you have some waiting and go back to reviewing the folder of policy. It's not too difficult, only dry. You like that. 

How long did you live on edge, waiting for something to go wrong. It still could but there's no one actively working against you. Only your own bad habits. You just need to resist. You need to keep moving forward. 

'Send it'. His message is simple. No praise, no tips. Just approval. That's good enough for you. 

When lunch comes, you eat at your desk. You packed a plain peanut butter sandwich, a bottle of sparkling water, and small container of trail mix. Enough to tide you over. What you can spare. 

As you chew the crust, the door opens. Laufeyson sniffs and crosses his arms as he faces you. You swallow and wrap up the last bite. 

"Peanuts?" He says. 

"Oh, are you allergic?" You ask. 

"I prefer almond," he snips. "You're eating?" 

"Sir, you said twelve was my lunch." 

He squints then untangles his wrist to look at his watch, "so I did." 

You let out the heavy breath in your chest. You fold up the parchment around the sandwich and put it in your bag. Your stomach's doing those somersaults again. 

"You may finish," he says. 

"That's fine, sir, I was done," you assure him and grab a tissue to wipe your hands and mouth. You crumple it and put it in the bin. He looms close. 

"Well, if you aren't busy, another coffee would be in order." 

You look at him. You still have ten minutes. This isn't the yard, there's no guard counting down the minutes. You get up. 

"Yes, sir," you answer. 

"Oh, don't skip to the door," he says drolly. 

You tilt your head. His attitude drips from his posture as he checks his nails. You have to keep from scowling. You've been polite but he can't seem to show an ounce of decency. Well, he doesn't need to, he is your boss. 

"Just the coffee?" You ask. 

"Yes, dear, simple as," he assures flatly, as if you can't understand a coffee order. 

You bend down and grab your wallet. You put your hand on the desk to push yourself up and his shadow shifts. You glance over and his green eyes flick away from your skirt. You stand and tug it straight, worried it might have hitched up. 

"Excuse me," you sidle past him. 

"Do hurry," he bids. 

You're thankful to be away. You feel less suffocated by the guards with their night sticks, following you around as if you might make a run for the fence.  

It's busier at the cafe. You get to the counter and order. It's the same as before but even more crowded. Sweat speckles over your scalp as the walls seem to close in. 

You gulp for air as you get back to the lobby. You go up to the second floor and nearly burst through the office door. Laufeyson is by your desk, waiting. 

"Something the matter?" He muses. "I trust you didn't abscond with a coffee unpaid for?" 

You steady yourself and cross to him, offering the cup, "no, sir, it was only busy and I didn't want to be late." 

"Oh?" He arches a brow. "You seem rather worked up over it." 

"I'm not," you go around the desk and sit. 

"Ah yes, a different sort of cage now," he remarks, "no bars, just a wool blazer and a desk." 

You look at him, "I... no, it's not bad." 

"I suppose the comparison makes it tolerable," he snickers. 

"I guess," you agree and sign back into the laptop. 

"I've a client coming shortly. Please be sure to show them in with a smile." 

"I will, sir," you open the inbox. 

"You will?" 

"Yes," you repeat. 

"Let me see." 

"What?" You jerk back and pivot the chair toward him. 

"Smile for me." 

You stare at him then furrow your brow. He's taunting you. You know it. You can't let him get to you. 

You smile, or attempt to. 

"I know you might be out of practice but do try a little harder." He goads. 

You wipe your face and look down. You inhale. You smile again, this time resisting the tension tugging in your cheeks. He tilts his head. 

"Mm, you look almost like a lady," he sneers over the brim of his cup. 

You're starting to suspect he didn't hire you for good intentions. To be a helping hand. No, he's testing you. Trying to see how long it takes for you to break. Well, you won't. 

"Thank you, sir," you face the computer again. 

He sighs and struts away. The smile falls off your face and you open the newest email. You pluck away at it, falling back into a tempo between reading and typing. 

A knock comes at the door and you nearly slide out of the chair as you push it back. You get up and tap around on your heels. You brace yourself and remember. Smile. 

You turn the handle and pull the door open. "Hello, how are you today?" 

You sound stupid, like that churlish woman at the clothes shop. The man double takes and his lips slant, "I... the door says..." 

"Mr. Laufeyson is in his office," you explain.

The man nods and thoughtfully taps his chin, "ah, makes sense. He's hired a secretary." 

"Sir," you step back to let him in. 

"Aren't you polite?" He strolls in. "You might tell him Pine is here." 

"Yes, I will." 

You skirt around him and go to Laufeyson's door. You tap lightly. "Sir, your-- Mr. Pine is here." 

You wait at the door, trying to hear through it. It swings open and you teeter back. Pine steps forward, his hand outstretched. 

"Laufeyson," he shakes the others' hand. "Well, have you sorted it?" 

"You always bring me a challenge," Laufeyson waves him through then looks at you, "Pine, you take tea?" 

"As always." The man passes between you into the back office. 

"English breakfast," he points at you. "Quickly." 

[agirlsawalittlerose]

This is Me Trying

ModernAU!Aegon x OFC

Fresh out of rehab, Aegon Targaryen is looking for a way back into music when he meets Victoria, a talented but stubborn singer-songwriter who wants nothing to do with his family’s record label. Reluctantly thrown together, they form an unexpected creative partnership, finding common ground in music and shared struggles.

TW: Alcoholism, Addiction, Sexism

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 13: Sunday Morning

“Negative,” Miss Hughes announced, snapping him back to the present.

The doctor—mid-fifties, thin to the point of looking fragile, with blonde hair falling perfectly over her shoulders—was the picture of composure. Fitting, really, that she was the director of this pastel-colored hellhole with its endless supply of potted plants, the place he’d been trapped in for five months.

She held the papers confirming his toxicology results.

No shit it was negative.

Beside him, his mother let out a breath that sounded like it had been stuck in her throat for about thirty years—give or take, since the moment he was born. Aegon noticed how she almost glanced at him, her brown eyes flicking in his direction for a fraction of a second, even though she didn’t move her head.

He reached for her hand, a silent acknowledgment that he understood. But she stiffened instantly, so he let go.

“On behalf of the entire clinic, well done, Aegon.”

Miss Hughes’s voice was syrupy, overly sweet—so much so that Aegon could hear the insincerity dripping from it without even looking at her.

“He really didn’t use anything?” his mother asked, as if she couldn’t quite believe it.

Great. Thanks for the vote of confidence.

“No cocaine, no opioids, no amphetamines, not even cannabinoids,” Miss Hughes confirmed with that same artificial smile.

“Thank God…” his mother murmured, finally meeting his gaze—only to be met with resentment. Another reminder that she had never truly believed in him.

“Well, in that case, we can schedule the next follow-up in six months…” Miss Hughes began, addressing his mother, before suddenly catching herself and turning to him, as if it had only just occurred to her that he was, in fact, an adult. “…And if you’re ready, Mr. Dalton is waiting for you on the second floor.”

No, he wasn’t ready. He had no fucking interest in having his brain poked at by some shrink.

But then again, he had no fucking interest in being here at all.

The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he’d be out of here and back in London.

Mr. Dalton was younger than Miss Hughes. He still had all his dark hair—though Aegon, ever the cynic, wondered if he dyed it—neatly parted to the side in a way that looked ridiculous.

He sat slouched at his desk, the kind of studied casualness that screamed I’m cool, I’m young, I’m laid-back. But, like every other mannequin in this place, the reality was something else entirely.

“Miss Hughes said you’ve stayed clean,” he began, leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped in front of him.

“Are you surprised?” Aegon shot back, just as lazily slouching into his own seat.

Dalton chuckled—because, of course, he couldn’t pass up the chance to seem even more easygoing by laughing at Aegon’s sarcasm.

“I’m not surprised—I’m proud, Aegon,” he corrected.

Mhm, Aegon thought, not quite sure if he bought it.

“What have you been up to lately?” Dalton asked next.

“I’ve been playing a lot…” Aegon replied absently.

“Good.”

“I’m working on an album. And this time, it’s actually going pretty well.”

“Great. Music’s a positive outlet—”

No shit, Aegon thought.

“—Are you picking up where you left off?” Dalton pressed, carefully choosing his words.

Aegon stared at him for a second, debating whether he even wanted to give him the details.

“…No. I started a new project from scratch. Switched up my whole team.”

Vic’s face flooded his brain like a tidal wave.

He shut his eyes for half a second, trying to push her out.

“We’re working on the arrangement for the single now. The producer pulled together some session musicians, including the bassist—she actually plays basically everything, also she’s co-writing the song, along with a bunch of others on the album. We’re supposed to debut it at the label’s Christmas party.”

Dalton nodded along with his usual brand of forced interest.

“Whoa, big debut at your dad’s party,” Dalton remarked.

Aegon cringed. Every word out of his mouth sounded like it belonged to someone who still thought groovy was cutting-edge slang.

“How do you feel about it?”

Aegon froze for a second, actually considering the question.

Awful. That was how he felt.

Anxious. Unsteady. Like he was balancing on razor wire.

“Sick,” he muttered.

Dalton pulled out his best attempt at a sympathetic frown.

“Well, that’s only natural. What does your brother think?”

“What the fuck would he think?”

“I know you two don’t get along, but he knows what your dad is like. Maybe talking to someone who understands that pressure could help.”

Right. Sure.

Having a heart-to-heart with Aemond. As if.

Aegon still didn’t fully understand why the grim reaper had even bothered backing him up when it came to convincing their father to produce the album—let alone why he’d suddenly start trusting him enough to talk about any of this.

“I wouldn’t feel comfortable discussing it with him,” Aegon said flatly.

“Anyone in the band you trust?”

Vic’s smile flashed through his mind. Her hair on his shoulder. Her eyelashes, damp with rain in Ruskin Park. The heat of her skin under his hands, pressed against a brick wall—

“No. No one.”

Dalton nodded, not pushing it. “Well, if it ever gets overwhelming and you need to talk, you have my number.”

Aegon nearly shot back with something sarcastic—Oh, yeah, I’ll definitely call you when I’m feeling down—but then he caught something in Dalton’s expression.

Something that actually looked… genuine.

For a second, he wondered if he was imagining it. Maybe just stepping into this place was making the withdrawal symptoms return, messing with his head.

Better not risk sticking around to find out.

He nodded, shook Dalton’s hand, and got the hell out of there.

His mother was waiting on one of the chairs by the door. She shot up the second she saw him, giving him something that almost passed for a smile.

“You did well,” she said, placing her hands on his shoulders. “I need to know what I can do to help you keep getting better.”

Aegon paused, thinking it over.

Yeah.

He had an idea.

The pub was crowded—not elbow-your-way-to-the-bar crowded, but busy enough that Aegon had to duck under a flying arm and narrowly avoid a pint glass to the face.

Not that he gave a shit. He wasn’t here for the atmosphere.

He was here for Sara.

Sara was talking to the other guy who worked with her—a scruffy-looking giant who probably hadn’t touched a bottle of shampoo since 2008.

And speaking of disappointments—

Vic.

She was leaning against the counter a few feet away, elbow propped up, looking thoroughly unimpressed with whatever the guy next to her was saying. Her eyes flickered to Aegon for half a second, then away.

He ignored her.

“Hey,” he greeted, riding a sudden wave of confidence.

“Hey!” Sara trilled, almost too enthusiastically, like she was grateful for an excuse to escape the giant’s attention.

“So, have you thought about it?” Aegon cut straight to the point, leaning on the bar and drumming his rings against the wood.

Sara smirked at him, but for some reason, he got the distinct impression that no, she hadn’t thought about it. She flicked a glance in Vic’s direction.

Aegon followed her gaze, rolling his eyes.

Vic must have felt them watching her because she looked over—just for a second—before quickly turning back to the customer in front of her.

Sara arched a brow at Aegon. “Have you thought about it?”

For fuck’s sake.

No, he hadn’t thought about it. If he was here tonight, it was exactly because he didn’t want to think about it.

Sara gave him one last deeply skeptical look, then—before he could even think of his next move—announced, “I have work to do,” and disappeared into the back.

Aegon blinked at the now-empty spot where she’d been standing.

Well.

That had been a record-time rejection.

He sighed, shifting his weight onto the bar—only to find a pair of brown eyes watching him.

Vic.

She raised an eyebrow. He raised one right back.

Then, with an exaggerated air of disinterest, she turned back toward the counter.

Aegon scoffed. “Yeah, alright. You’re dying to talk to me.”

She glanced at him again. “You wish I was dying to talk to you.”

“Oh, come on. I can practically hear you itching to ask what the hell is Cinderella doing out past curfew.” He smirked, propping his elbows on the counter.

Vic snorted. “Seems to me like you’re the one dying for me to ask, Cinderella.”

Okay, maybe she had a point—but there was a damn good reason for that.

She gave him a look, waiting. “Well?”

He tilted his head. “You keeping tabs on me?”

“Someone has to.”

“Cute,” he said. “Actually, I just had my check-in at rehab today.” He leaned in a little, lowering his voice mock-conspiratorially. “Guess what? Clean as a fucking whistle.”

Vic’s expression didn’t shift much, but she paused—just for a second, just enough that Aegon noticed.

Then she shrugged. “Congrats.”

He scoffed. “That’s it?”

She feigned confusion. “What, you want a balloon?”

“Maybe a little more enthusiasm,” he said. “A confetti cannon. Fireworks. A marching band, at minimum—”

Vic didn’t even look up as she poured a pint for him. “I can grab a cocktail umbrella and stick it in your beer if you want.”

He smirked. “Wow. Your generosity knows no bounds.”

Then, just as casually, she said, “Well, I knew you’d be clean.”

Aegon paused for a moment.

He’d heard it all day—Hughes and Dalton repeating it in that irritatingly performative way—but somehow, hearing it from her, from that damn viper, despite the cold war still raging between them… it actually felt good.

That bitch sounded sincere.

Maybe he’d been wrong about the way he’d processed his fascination with her. She didn’t need a man; she needed an addict to sponsor.

Maybe Vic was a witch—like Stevie Nicks, blessing people through bodily fluids—and suddenly, not only could you resist the urge to snort a line, but you actually felt genuinely proud of yourself for it.

It was the only explanation he could come up with for the stupid boost of confidence he’d gotten from the way she’d said she knew he’d stay clean.

Aegon huffed a quiet laugh, half amused, half exasperated. “You really gotta stop hyping me up. It’s messing with my whole vibe.”

Vic smirked. “Yeah? What vibe is that?”

Aegon leaned on the counter, smirking back. “Tragic rockstar. Hopeless case. Miserable, self-destructive lost cause—”

Vic handed off another drink to a woman, then shot him an unimpressed look. “Maybe you need a new brand.”

Aegon scoffed, drumming his fingers against the counter. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a guy onstage strumming an acoustic guitar. His voice was decent, but nothing spectacular—one of those breathy, indie types who thought looking miserable while singing made them deep.

“Oh, come on,” Aegon groaned. “This guy gets a turn?”

Vic shot him a look. “It’s open mic.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, rolling his eyes.

She smirked. “And yet you sound offended.”

“I am offended. This guy sounds like he’s narrating his own funeral.”

Vic just shrugged, turning back to her work. “We let anyone sing. That’s kind of the point.”

They were both interrupted by the familiar sight of a horror movie scarecrow approaching the bar.

“This must be your lucky day, princess,” Aegon drawled, smirking. “Full house tonight.”

Aemond ignored him, stepping up to the bar—where Vic greeted him with a nod.

“Aemond,” she said simply.

Aemond nodded back. “Vic.”

Aegon couldn’t help but notice how Vic didn’t so much as blink. She didn’t look surprised to see him—if anything, it was like she’d been expecting him.

Interesting.

Aemond didn’t even glance at him before speaking again. “You’re playing tonight?”

She shrugged. “Later.”

Then, finally, he acknowledged his brother.

“How was rehab?”

Okay, that was weird.

It was one thing for Aemond not to look like he actively hated sharing air with the other eight billion people on Earth—who were, of course, all inferior to him—but to ask Aegon a personal question, and actually sound like he meant it? That was new.

Aegon hesitated for a beat before shrugging. “Fine.”

Aemond gave him a look. “Just fine?”

Aegon rolled his eyes. “What do you want me to say? They poked at my brain, asked how I was feeling, I said ‘peachy,’ and they let me go.”

“Brilliant,” Aemond deadpanned.

“I graduated,” Aegon continued, spreading his arms. “Finally unleashed, free to go out at night without a babysitter.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow. “Does Mum know?”

“She practically suggested it.”

Aemond made a thoughtful mh, clearly skeptical.

Vic, who’d been watching the exchange with mild curiosity, a rag slung over her shoulder, smirked.

Aemond turned back to her. “Too much to ask for a pint?”

Aegon was probably hallucinating, because he could’ve sworn he saw his brother’s ears go red.

Vic brushed her bangs out of her eyes, smiling at him. “Not too much at all,” she said before disappearing toward the taps.

Aegon noticed she hadn’t asked what kind of beer he wanted.

Suddenly it all clicked.

“You’ve got a little crush.”

Aemond’s jaw tensed. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“Hey, no judgment here. She’s got that whole tortured, I-drink-myself-to-sleep-but-make-it-poetic thing going on. I can see the appeal.”

Aemond’s eye flicked toward him, sharp and assessing. “What did rehab say about your addiction to being a dickhead 100% of the time?”

Aegon’s smirk didn’t waver. “Unfortunately, there’s no cure for that.”

“Hm.” Aemond looked unconvinced but didn’t press. He stood, straightening his coat just as Vic approached with his beer. “Stay out of trouble tonight. Don’t make Mum regret that stupid decision she made.”

Aegon’s grin sharpened. “Stay out of her pants. Not very professional, is it?”

Aemond didn’t dignify that with a response.

Vic was making her way toward the stage now, guitar in hand, adjusting the strap as she went. The low hum of conversation around the pub dipped slightly, just for a second, just enough to make Aegon wonder how many of these people were regulars—how many had come here just to see her.

Aemond, for one, wasn’t going anywhere.

Aegon watched him take a seat at the table closest to the stage, posture perfectly straight, hands clasped together in front of him. He wasn’t drinking, wasn’t looking at his phone—just watching Vic with a level of focus that made Aegon snort into his glass.

Unbelievable.

He leaned back against the bar, pretending he wasn’t watching.

Pretending it didn’t matter.

Jesus Christ.

Aegon turned his head, scanning the bar until he found Sara a few feet away, drying a pint glass. He leaned over.

“Hey.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You’re still here?”

Aegon ignored that. “What’s with my brother?”

Sara blinked. “What?”

He jutted his chin toward Aemond, who was still locked in like a soldier at attention. “The hell is that?”

Sara followed his gaze, frowning.

Aegon gave her a look. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

She shrugged. “I mean, I knew he came here sometimes.”

Aegon scoffed. “Yeah, well, that—” he gestured vaguely at Aemond, who was currently staring at Vic like she’d hung the damn moon—“is something else.”

Sara narrowed her eyes slightly, tilting her head as she watched Aemond for a few seconds longer. Then she just shrugged. “Beats me.”

Aegon huffed, shaking his head. “Hilarious.”

Sara smirked and turned back to her work.

Aegon took another sip of his drink, settling in as Vic adjusted the strap of her guitar and tested a chord.

Her fingers moved easily over the frets, like she wasn’t even thinking about it. Like the guitar was just another part of her, something stitched into the fabric of her being.

And then she started to sing.

Aegon exhaled sharply, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

Because fuck her.

Fuck her for this, for being so good at this, for making something beautiful out of nothing while he was stuck clawing at the edges of whatever the fuck was left of him.

Fuck her for looking like this, sounding like this—like something effortless, something whole.

And most of all—

Fuck her for that night.

For taking what she wanted, for leaving him like nothing had happened.

Aegon’s grip tightened around his glass.

Because the worst part?

He still wanted her.

[aclockworkreader]

you absolutely do not have to answer this, but I remember you expressing you largely don't know what your sexuality is and I was wondering whether you have figured things out more, or would consider yourself unlabelled or just generally queer etc?

i'll answer this here because i don't think it's something i'll talk about publicly, and in detail, anywhere else (at least for now):

i have a much clearer understanding of my sexuality now than i did a couple years ago. it's not something i'm unsure about anymore, although it's something i think will always remain fluid, which is why i don't like using labels for myself personally. when i feel attraction to people, it's not dependent upon gender, but attraction is also not something i feel very often or very easily. "demisexual" is the only specific label i've ever felt somewhat comfortable with, but even then i don't really use the term. "queer" feels pretty natural to me. but i think i have a hard time actually using it out of some weird sense of imposter syndrome, like i'm not "queer enough" to call myself that (which i understand sounds ridiculous, but i think a lot of ace-spec people feel that way sometimes). so to answer your question, i'm generally fine with either of those two terms

[mutopians]

surprising absolutely everyone (including myself) today, i decided to reread and then continue writing an au i haven't touched since 2021. at least not officially, anyways.

so if you followed me years ago for my not quite canon au where an original character got reincarnated as jason todd and adopted damian wayne, and you STILL want to see where the sequel fic with damian wayne is going, chapter seven is finally written and up!

reasons why you should check this out even if you think that you're over it like i thought i was:

alex is emotionally constipated and withdrawn! again!

i can write better than four years ago. probably.

superman's son is ridiculously adorable, as per usual.

i'm planning four other fics (and have been since 2021) so you can see SO many little lore drops/bits of foreshadowing for future chapters and fics.

jason is there. naturally.

and if you're not a damian fan, don't worry! i'm going to be mean to tim next <3

so if any of that sounds fun and entertaining, the links to the fics are up above!

[httpvomitello]

Priorities, Nova *⁠.⁠✧

Summary: Sirius Black just wants his teenage daughter, Nova, to remember his birthday. Unfortunately, she seems to have memorized every detail about Harry Potter’s eye color and smiling schedule instead.

sirius black x f!reader

sirius black & daughter platonic

The Black family household had seen its fair share of chaos, but nothing quite compared to the legendary arguments between Sirius Black and his teenage daughter, Nova. They were both cut from the same cloth—stubborn, dramatic, and utterly incapable of backing down.

Tonight was no different.

You were comfortably perched on the couch, watching the scene unfold like prime entertainment. Sirius, standing with his arms crossed, was currently staring down Nova, who sat at the kitchen table with a look of mild disinterest. The interrogation had begun.

"Potter's eyes are blue, right?" Sirius asked, tilting his head.

Nova didn’t even blink. "They’re green, with hints of light blue when the light hits just right."

You smirked. Oh, this was getting good.

Sirius’s brow furrowed. "And when was the last time he smiled?"

"Last night at 01:20 a.m., when he was laughing about something that Weasley said," Nova replied without hesitation.

Sirius slowly turned his head to you. "Did you hear that?"

You nodded sagely. "Yes, babe. Loud and clear."

Sirius turned back to Nova, voice dripping with forced patience. "Right… And when is my birthday?"

Silence.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing.

Nova’s fingers tapped on the table. No answer.

Sirius inhaled deeply, his eye twitching. "When is my birthday, Nova?"

Nova looked everywhere but at him.

Sirius’s hands went to his hips. "Let me get this straight," he said, pacing the room now like a professor about to deliver a dramatic lecture. "You know every microscopic detail about Harry Potter's eye color, his smiling schedule—which, by the way, is ridiculous—but you don’t know when your own father was born?"

Nova groaned, slumping back in her chair. "Oh, Merlin, not the dramatics."

Sirius gasped, clutching his chest like she had just cursed him. "Not the—not the dramatics?! How dare you?!"

Nova rolled her eyes. "I just forgot, okay? You’re ancient. You have, like, fifty birthdays to keep track of."

Sirius let out a choked laugh. "FIFTY?!" He turned to you, looking absolutely scandalized. "Did she just call me fifty?"

You shrugged. "I mean, you do complain about your back a lot—"

"Et tu, love?!" Sirius threw his hands up. "Is no one on my side?"

Nova smirked. "Not if you keep quizzing me like this."

Sirius dramatically dropped into a chair across from her, rubbing his temples. "Twelve years in Azkaban," he muttered. "Twelve years thinking about how much I missed. And for what? So my own daughter could betray me like this."

"Stop being so dramatic—"

"I FOUGHT A WAR FOR YOU!" Sirius shouted, standing up again, making a sweeping gesture.

Nova groaned. "Here we go."

"I LOST MY YOUTH FOR YOU!"

"You lost your youth by making terrible life choices, actually."

Sirius placed a hand on his chest again. "You wound me, truly."

You were trying so hard not to burst out laughing.

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "You will tell me my birthday."

Nova narrowed hers right back. "I will not."

Sirius exhaled sharply. "November third!" he announced.

Nova blinked. "Huh?"

"My birthday!" Sirius snapped. "November third!"

Nova frowned. "That doesn’t sound right."

"IT—" Sirius pointed an accusatory finger at her. "IT IS LITERALLY RIGHT."

Nova tilted her head. "You sure? Thought it was in the summer."

"DO I LOOK LIKE I WAS BORN IN THE SUMMER?" Sirius gestured wildly to himself.

You finally let out a snort. "Honestly, you kinda do."

"Thank you, mom!" Nova said, pointing at you like she had won something.

Sirius groaned, collapsing back into the chair. "I can’t believe this. My own child doesn’t know my birthday, but she knows Harry retina pattern—"

Nova stretched her arms lazily. "Well, maybe if you reminded me, I’d remember."

"REMIND YOU?!"

Nova nodded. "Yeah, like, I dunno, maybe say something like, ‘Hey, my birthday’s coming up, let’s do something fun.’ But nooo, you just assume I have a mental calendar for things like that."

Sirius stared at her. "You… literally remembered Potter’s smiling schedule at one in the morning, Nova."

"That was important," she said seriously.

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You’re lucky I love you, kid."

Nova grinned. "Yeah, yeah."

Sirius turned to you, still looking betrayed. "And you, love, you’re supposed to be on my side."

You shrugged, finally letting your laughter spill out. "I dunno, watching you lose your mind has been very entertaining."

Sirius sighed, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

Nova patted his shoulder. "Cheer up, old man. I’ll remember next year."

Sirius’s eye twitched. "You better."

[lokigodofaces]

I've seen posts about the Superbowl that are like, "For the non-Americans that are confused, everyone hates the Chiefs because of MAGA support," or something like that. Which I find funny because I promise you that there are tons of NFL fans that hate the Chiefs for completely unpolitical reasons.

Okay, I'm not really into the NFL. I've only seen one other game this season. I prefer NCAA football, but even that I don't pay too much attention to. But if something football related pops up on my socials I'll watch it, and my family is more into football than me. So I only have a vague knowledge, if you really want to know more got ask someone that watches more than two NFL games per season. Listen, I didn't even know about any of the political stuff with the Chiefs. But I've not been happy with the Chiefs for a while because of stuff related to the game itself.

So, the summed up vague version is that the referees have been disastrous at Chiefs games. They've made ridiculous calls that have been in the favor of the Chiefs that should have been called differently. Enough so that lots of people have joked about buying a "Chiefs jersey" just for a referee shirt to come in the Amazon package. Now I've seen people claiming that bribery has been happening, but I don't know enough to say whether that is a legitimate concern or not. But regardless of whether it's bribery or just plain bias on the refs' parts, everyone's been pissed off. Really sucks to see a slow-mo replay and see a blatant foul just for the refs to rule in the worst way possible. Also sucks to see a replay of something that isn't a foul and the refs to call it a foul.

Luckily, there wasn't much of that in the Super Bowl. I had to leave for like one minute and I heard my mom being upset about a ref's call but it was one time in the whole game so luckily something got resolved.

Also, non-Swifties have been annoyed with the Chiefs since the beginning of the season. Granted, this isn't really the Chiefs' fault and more of the media's fault. But Taylor Swift is dating Travis Kelce and the sports channels always make a big deal of how she's at the games and keep showing her and all. Which would be fine if it was in small doses. But apparently it hasn't been in small doses. So people that want to watch football are instead watching a channel focusing on Taylor Swift whenever it can. Which can understandably start to be annoying. But I'm pretty sure that's not anyone's fault but the channels'. But people just quickly got annoyed of watching their names because of this, then even more annoyed when the refs couldn't do their job.

Also, I haven't seen any hate for the Eagles on Tumblr but on other sites you might have seen some. Lots of people were PISSED that the Chiefs and Eagles were going to the Super Bowl and that one of them had to win. As far as I'm aware, the hate against the Eagles is due to the tush push. There's actually been a post rotating around here about it. Basically when they're a yard or two away from the endzone, the whole team pushes the quarterback through the other team's defensive line and into the endzone. Which is a new thing they started this year. And no one's figured out a legal way of combatting that yet. So this has enraged the rest of the NFL because no one knows what to do, but as of current rules it's perfectly legal. I guess we'll have to see if that stays the same because lots of people want it banned. Who knows what'll happen? But from what I can tell people hate the Eagles because they think the tush push should be illegal and they don't know how to handle it. There was a tush push in the Super Bowl for their first (if I remember right) touch down. But despite this hatred of the tush push, from what I've seen lots of people preferred the Eagles over the Chiefs because at least the refs didn't favor them.

Just wanted to say this because politics is absolutely not the only reason people were anti-Chiefs. Pretty much everyone on the political spectrum that watches football hates them right now. Not saying you can't hate them for political reasons, but don't assume that's the only reason because hating the Chiefs isn't a functioning litmus test for chill people.

[anghraine]

It feels extremely silly that only today did I realize that pantry and panadería are slightly similar-sounding for a reason >_>

(The English word pantry is one of the many, many common modern English words derived from Anglo-French: in this case, panetrie, from Old French paneterie, "bread room" ... Spanish panadería also has a complex etymology, but all are related to Latin panis, "bread.")

[somegrumpynerd]

@pigeonstab Oh this is fun to explore you're right

I tend to hc they don't know the story but they've picked up bits and pieces. Nightmare does not want to share, he'll avoid all attempts by others to ask about his past or what happened and he thinks he's done a fairly good job keeping them in the dark.

The problem is his boys are all Sanses. Classic Sans does not get his information by asking, he loves to read between the lines and make safe assumptions, and all his boys have a little bit of that still in them. So any time he's mentioned something off-hand or shown a bias towards one thing or another, they've been filing it away.

They don't know about his childhood (much) or what happened between him and Dream that caused all this, but they know he has a dubious past with mortals in some form and they assume it's to do with how he looks and that he feeds off negativity. They know he gets unnerved by large crowds and the sounds of apples crunching. They know he can't stand to see someone left alone in miserable circumstances.

But, alternatively, it would be really funny if he told them a fake story and they'd all been working off that the whole time