#first held by him when i was four days old

[thedensworld]

Gentle Daddy | C. Sc

Pairing: Scoups x reader

Genre: fluff, parent au

Summary: welcome aboard to the threenager stage of Seungcheol's son and how he parents him.

Seungcheol was seventeen when he met Chan, the youngest of their group. Was Chan a little brother? Yes. But at the start? Not quite. To Seungcheol, Chan was just another kid, someone he had to look after out of duty rather than choice.

As the oldest in their group, Seungcheol often became the subject of jokes about his strict ways. “Everyone, if you don’t wake up on three, I’ll give you 10 more laps of running,” Seungkwan teased, mimicking Seungcheol's commanding tone from their training days, complete with a mock-serious expression that drew laughter.

“Seungcheol hyung definitely needs someone gentle to balance that out,” Chan piped up with a cheeky grin. But before he could finish, Seungcheol raised an eyebrow and asked, “Balance what?”

Chan swallowed nervously, waving his hand dismissively as the others burst into laughter. “No, no, I was talking to myself,” he stammered.

But now, Seungcheol stood in a different scene, holding his three-year-old son, Wontae, on his arm during his birthday party. The house was filled with chatter and laughter, the kind only close friends could bring.

“Your interior is beautiful, Seungcheol. Come over and do mine next,” Jeonghan quipped, throwing a casual compliment with a hint of a request. Seungcheol rolled his eyes, scoffing.

“Appa did my room too!” Wontae beamed proudly at Jeonghan. Jeonghan’s features softened as he reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Your appa is very talented, isn’t he?”

Seungcheol discovered his passion for interior design when he was searching online for the perfect nursery layout for Wontae. But nothing he found could match the vision in his mind. After discussing it with you, he decided to take matters into his own hands. Trips to the hardware store turned into projects that filled his weekends: crafting custom cabinets, building desks, and designing coffee tables.

In preparation for the party, Seungcheol went all out—rearranging furniture, painting walls, and adding small decorative touches that showcased his new hobby.

“It’s almost as good as Mingyu’s house,” Jeonghan said with a mischievous smirk. Seungcheol chuckled, nodding in agreement. “I think taking care of others did that to me. Just like how Mingyu took care of everything for us back in the day.”

“I want to get down,” Wontae said, squirming in his father’s arms. Seungcheol gently set him down, watching with a smile as his son darted over to Wonwoo, who was showing him a video game on his phone.

“He’s going to be three, wow!” Jeonghan remarked, shaking his head in disbelief. “It feels like just yesterday when I first held him.”

“How is it like?” Jeonghan asked, a rare tone of seriousness in his voice.

Seungcheol sighed, his lips curving into a soft smile. “Go get married and have one yourself,” he said playfully.

“Jeonghan’s getting married?” Your voice chimed in as you returned from putting Wonna, your four-month-old daughter, to sleep. Both Seungcheol and Jeonghan turned toward you. Seungcheol’s eyes softened as he reached for your waist, pulling you gently into his side.

“Is she asleep?” he asked, concern blending with affection. You nodded, resting a hand on his chest.

“Don’t listen to him,” Jeonghan interjected, rolling his eyes but unable to hide the smile tugging at his lips.

“I feel really bad that you’re going through all of this right after giving birth, just for his birthday party,” Jeonghan joked, glancing around at the well-decorated room. The party was being held the day after Seungcheol’s birthday, even though Wontae’s actual birthday was next week.

“I told you, it’s for Wontae!” Seungcheol insisted, his tone defensive but playful.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Jeonghan, I gave birth four months ago. Besides, I’m grateful that Joshua and Mingyu helped with the food prep.” You nodded toward Joshua and Mingyu, who were now joined by Jihoon in the kitchen, scrubbing dishes and joking with each other.

Suddenly, a tiny voice interrupted the grown-up conversation. “Look what Uncle Hoshi got me! It’s a matching tiger onesie for me and Wonna!” Wontae announced proudly, holding up the tiny outfit with wide eyes full of excitement.

Seungcheol’s eyes flicked to Hoshi, who was now rolling on the floor, laughing at Wontae’s reaction. The older man couldn’t help but smirk, shaking his head.

You smiled and turned to Seungcheol. “I’ll go help him with his present,” you said, squeezing his arm before walking over to your son.

Jeonghan, still standing beside Seungcheol, gave him a knowing pat on the shoulder. “You know, it’s great you married Y/N. I never thought I’d see the day when the legendary Seungcheol, the training tyrant, would become the poster child for gentle parenting.”

Seungcheol scoffed, turning to Jeonghan with a mock glare. “A monster? Really? You’re one to talk,” he protested, crossing his arms but unable to suppress the grin threatening to break through.

Jeonghan just laughed, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I’m just stating the facts. Besides, we all know you wouldn’t be half as patient if it weren’t for her.”

Seungcheol glanced across the room where you were now helping Wontae into the tiger onesie, a soft smile crossing his face. The room buzzed with laughter and warmth, the chaos of their little family perfectly imperfect.

*

Seungcheol woke up a bit late this morning, the warm glow of the morning sun filtering through the curtains. A soft smile spread across his face as he took in the sight of his family already gathered at the dining table for breakfast. The sound of Wontae’s cheerful voice filled the room when he spotted his dad entering.

“Appa!” Wontae called out with excitement, his tiny hands waving eagerly. Seungcheol walked over and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Wontae’s head before his eyes found Wonna, cradled in your arms, contentedly finishing her second bottle of the day.

“Wonna Wonna~ did you sleep well, my princess?” Seungcheol cooed, his heart melting at the sight of his daughter’s chubby cheeks. Wonna wriggled in your embrace, her eyes lighting up as she recognized her father’s voice.

“You had breakfast, love?” Seungcheol’s gaze shifted to you, his tone laced with concern. You shook your head with a soft smile. “I was waiting for you.”

He grinned, taking Wonna gently from your arms. “I’ll play with Wonna for a bit. Go have your breakfast.”

You nodded, appreciating his thoughtful gesture, and sat down to enjoy breakfast with Wontae. After some quality playtime with Wonna and tucking her back into her crib for a nap, Seungcheol returned to the dining room. By then, Wontae had retreated to his bedroom, engrossed in the toys his uncles had gifted him.

“Wontae loves Mingyu’s gift,” Seungcheol said with a chuckle, recalling how his son had immediately fallen in love with the plush corgi toy Mingyu had brought him. It was amusing how Wontae adored anything Mingyu gave, no matter what it was.

You laughed as you finished your meal. “Of course he does. He’s your son, after all. It makes sense he’d have a special bond with Mingyu.”

Seungcheol joined in your laughter, the sound warm and genuine. “Thanks, love,” he said when you placed a steaming bowl of rice and soup in front of him.

“Is your head still dizzy?” you asked, sitting beside him to keep him company while he ate.

He sighed, a touch of guilt crossing his features. “Not as much, but I really need to cut down on my drinking.” A rueful smile followed. “I still don’t get how you don’t drink at all—not even a beer.”

You smiled, amused by his amazement. “The last time I drank was before I got pregnant with Wontae,” you reminded him. Seungcheol’s eyes widened as the memory came rushing back—it had been at Joshua’s birthday party.

“Right!” he said, letting out a soft chuckle at the recollection.

Before he could say more, Wontae’s voice rang out, echoing through the hallway. “Eomma! Come here!” He came running into the dining room, eyes sparkling with excitement as he tugged at your hand, eager for you to join him in his room.

“How about we stay here and keep Appa company while he finishes eating?” you suggested gently, but Wontae shook his head, determination written all over his little face.

“No! I want to show you my drawing!” he insisted, practically bouncing on his feet. “Uncle Chan gave me crayons, and there are so many colors! Even five different blues!”

You exchanged a knowing look with Seungcheol, your heart swelling at Wontae’s joy. “Alright, let’s see your masterpiece,” you said, getting up and giving Seungcheol a reassuring smile before following your son.

Five minutes later, you returned to the dining room, barely suppressing your laughter. Seungcheol had just finished eating and looked up, curiosity piqued by your expression.

“You should see what he’s done in there,” you said, eyes twinkling with amusement.

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What did he do this time?”

“You need to see it for yourself,” you urged, playfully nudging him in the direction of Wontae’s room. “I’ll take care of the dishes.”

With a grin, Seungcheol pushed back his chair, eager to see what kind of adventure awaited him in his son’s room.

Seungcheol opened Wontae's room and was greeted by the sight of his son enthusiastically coloring in his new book, using the crayons Chan had gifted him. The vibrant hues danced across the pages, a mix of scribbles and childlike shapes. Wontae’s eyes lit up when he noticed his father standing at the door. He bounded over, grabbing Seungcheol’s hand and pulling him toward his little art corner.

“Look, Appa! I drew a rock!” Wontae exclaimed, pride beaming from his small face.

Seungcheol’s eyes followed Wontae’s pointing finger until they landed on the wall. Oh my god. There, on the freshly painted surface, was a child’s drawing—a colorful depiction of what was presumably a rock, sketched in bold crayon strokes.

He froze, processing the situation. So this was why you had insisted he see it for himself. He could practically hear the smile in your voice when you said it.

“You drew on the wall?” he asked, keeping his voice as steady as possible.

Wontae nodded innocently. “But Eomma said it’s better to draw on the coloring book, so now I draw here. But sometimes it gets boring, Appa!”

Seungcheol felt a wave of relief wash over him. So you caught him and told him to stop. Thank god.

He closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath to quell the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Remember, Seungcheol, they don’t know better. They don’t understand how much work it is to paint a wall.

“Yes, your eomma is right. Drawing on your coloring book is best.” He sat down on the floor beside Wontae, the urge to scold replaced by the desire to guide. “Show me more of your drawings here.”

Wontae beamed at the invitation, plopping down next to his father and eagerly flipping through the pages of his coloring book. Seungcheol couldn’t help but smile as he watched his son’s eyes sparkle with excitement, oblivious to any worry or consequence.

Every time Seungcheol’s eyes strayed to the drawing on the wall, a chuckle escaped his lips. It was ridiculous! He wanted to be mad, really mad, but he just couldn’t muster it. “You know you shouldn’t draw on the wall, right?” he asked his son, carefully suppressing the instinct to say, “I just painted that! Why did you draw on it?!” in a booming voice that would only frighten the boy. He took a deep breath, holding back the frustration that threatened to spill out.

Wontae looked up at his father’s face, his eyes wide with curiosity as he noticed something unusual. “Why is your face red, Appa?” he asked, putting down his crayon and reaching up with his tiny hands to cup Seungcheol’s flushed cheeks. Seungcheol let out another soft chuckle, his anger melting further.

“You know Appa loves this house, right?” Seungcheol said, his tone remaining gentle and warm.

Wontae nodded, his little head bobbing earnestly.

“No one in this house draws on the walls because Appa worked hard to keep them nice and clean,” Seungcheol explained, still smiling softly despite the chaos inside him.

Wontae bit his lip, his eyes beginning to glisten with tears. “Are you mad at me for drawing on the wall?” His voice trembled as he spoke, and Seungcheol’s heart lurched. Panic surged through him—he was the one who felt like crying, not his son!

“I didn’t say I’m mad at you,” Seungcheol said quickly.

“But your face says it…” Wontae mumbled, the quiver in his voice growing more pronounced.

Oh no. Shit.

“Eommaaaa!” Wontae suddenly burst out, tears streaming down his cheeks as he ran toward you. Seungcheol’s eyes darted to the doorway where you were standing, suppressing a smile as you scooped up your tearful son into your arms.

“Why? What happened?” you asked Wontae in a whisper, stroking his back to soothe him.

“Your father wasn’t mad at you, was he?” you asked softly, glancing over at Seungcheol with a knowing smile. “Did he shout at you?” Wontae shook his head, hiccupping as he clung to your shoulder.

“No,” Wontae admitted, his sobs quieting as you continued to comfort him.

“He was just talking to you,” you reassured him, casting Seungcheol a gentle, supportive look.

Seungcheol groaned internally, a mix of confusion and self-reproach. He thought he’d nailed it—the gentle parenting that you both had worked so hard to practice. Yet here was his son, still able to sense the tension in his expression, and hurt by it despite the lack of yelling or scolding.

Seungcheol sighed, running a hand through his hair as he sat back on his heels. “We’re on this stage now,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

You glanced at him, raising a brow. “What stage?”

“The threenager stage,” Seungcheol said, his tone carrying both exasperation and amusement. “I read about it somewhere. It’s when kids start acting like teenagers—rebelling, pushing boundaries, testing their parents’ patience. Wontae’s only three, but he already knows how to push all my buttons.”

You laughed softly, shifting Wontae in your arms as his sniffles subsided. “It’s not rebellion, Seungcheol. It’s curiosity. He’s learning, exploring his emotions, and figuring out how far he can go.”

“Exploring his emotions by drawing on my freshly painted wall?” Seungcheol deadpanned, though a small smile tugged at his lips. He wasn’t truly upset anymore—not when Wontae was looking up at him with wide, apologetic eyes.

“Exactly,” you teased, setting Wontae back down on the floor. “It’s frustrating, but it’s normal. And you handled it really well, by the way.”

Seungcheol tilted his head, raising a skeptical brow. “I did?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, giving him an encouraging smile. “You didn’t yell or scare him. You explained things calmly. That’s the kind of parenting that sticks with them, Seungcheol. He’ll remember this.”

Seungcheol glanced at Wontae, who had returned to his coloring book but kept sneaking shy glances at his father. He felt a wave of warmth wash over him, mingled with pride and relief. I can do this, he thought. Even when it’s tough, I can do this.

“Okay, buddy,” Seungcheol said, crouching down to Wontae’s level. “Let’s make a deal. No more drawing on the walls, okay? If you want to draw something big, we’ll find some paper or maybe a special board just for you. How does that sound?”

Wontae’s face lit up at the idea. “A special board? Really?”

“Really,” Seungcheol promised, ruffling his son’s hair. “But only if you promise no more wall art.”

“I promise, Appa!” Wontae beamed, holding up his pinky. Seungcheol chuckled and locked his pinky with his son’s, sealing the deal.

You watched the exchange with a fond smile, stepping closer to place a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “See? You’re doing great.”

Seungcheol exhaled deeply, his smile widening. “Thanks, love. I guess I just need to remember to breathe. And to hide all the crayons.”

You both laughed softly, and for a moment, the chaos felt a little more manageable.

*

"One… Two… Three…" Seungcheol’s voice was steady as he counted while Chan, drenched in sweat, gritted his teeth to finish his push-up set. His arms trembled, and his face was etched with exhaustion, but he pushed through, determined to complete the punishment.

The door to the practice room swung open, and the rest of the group filed in, their faces a mix of confusion and amusement as they took in the scene. Seungcheol stood towering over Chan, arms crossed, while the youngest member struggled through the exercise. It was a far cry from what anyone had expected when they read Seungcheol's early-morning text asking Chan to come to the practice room an hour ahead of schedule.

"What’s going on here?" Joshua asked, barely hiding his amusement as he watched Chan squirm on the floor.

"Ten!" Seungcheol finished his count, clapping his hands in exaggerated applause. He smirked as Chan collapsed onto the floor, utterly spent. "That’s ten sets done—one hundred push-ups. Congratulations, Chan. That’s what you get for giving my son those crayons."

Chan’s pout was instant. "It’s not fair! It’s your son who drew on the wall. Why am I the one getting punished?" His voice was full of indignation, though it lacked the energy to be truly effective.

Mingyu burst into laughter, doubling over as realization dawned. "Wait, wait—Wontae drew all over the wall with the crayons Chan gave him? That’s hilarious!" He clutched his sides, nearly toppling over from laughing so hard.

Jeonghan, leaning casually against the doorframe, nodded in mock agreement. "Honestly, it makes sense. Seungcheol’s a gentle appa with Wontae—there’s no way he’d punish his precious son for something like this." He shot Chan a teasing grin. "But you? Yeah, I’d do the same if I were Seungcheol."

Chan groaned dramatically, throwing an arm over his face. "This is so unfair!" he whined, his voice muffled. "I’m the innocent one here! Gentle appa is a fraud—he’s evil!"

Seungcheol couldn’t hold back his chuckle as he crouched down to look at Chan. "Gentle appa does exist," he said with a smirk, "but only for Wontae. You and your crayons? You’re a different story."

"See?" Jeonghan said, straightening up. "I told you. Seungcheol’s priorities are clear."

Chan sat up, still sulking. "Unfair. So unfair." He shot a glance at the others, hoping for sympathy, but all he got were amused grins and stifled laughter.

"Hey," Joshua added, chuckling softly, "at least now you know not to mess with Wontae’s creative genius—or his dad’s freshly painted walls."

Mingyu clapped Chan on the back, nearly knocking him over again. "Think of it as a lesson in self-sacrifice. You helped foster Wontae’s artistic side. That’s a win, right?"

Chan groaned louder, flopping onto the floor in defeat, while Seungcheol leaned against the wall with a triumphant grin. "Alright, everyone. Lesson’s over. Let’s get to practice before he starts crying for real."

"So unfair!"

[jasmine326]

I wrote a crappy little story but I wanted to share.

it's inspired by the comic linked universe by

Four had just returned home from a forging competition in Castletown, in which he was the youngest (and shortest) smith. He had won, of course, but not before every other smith had taken a shot at him and his skill. They could insult his age and his height all they wanted and he wouldn't really care, but doubt his talent and you're in for a fight. He would have fought them all too, but he would have been disqualified, and he wanted more than anything to see the looks on their faces when he won.

After the winners were announced, there actually was a fight. The judges were the first who were targeted. When the hero had stood between them and the assailants, he was the next object of their violence. He got off with a few nicks and bruises but nothing more than he really cared about. The same could not be said for the other fighters. He smirked at the thought of humiliating all those men, but the other smiths didn't take him seriously and he really couldn't expect them to either. Ever since he had laid the Four Sword to rest and Zelda had become a busy queen, he had had no one to talk to. The silence was nice at first, peaceful even, but it grew lonely pretty quickly.

He opened the door to his home and set his pack of tools on the floor by the door to his forge. He would have gone to put them all in their proper places on a normal day, instead he put ointment on his bruises. After rinsing off all the sweat from the hot sun with a nice bath, he went to his fireplace and lit a blaze with his fire rod. The flames reminded him of times when he was with those who understood him, who cared for him. Those nights around a campfire after days of dark blooded monsters were always welcomed by the nine heroes, it was a time to recover and unwind and form a new family to compensate for the ones they were taken from. Four had never had any siblings, being that he lost his parents at such a young age, so having the sailor to look after and the older heroes to look after himself was something new to him, but he never wanted to give it up. And just like that, he had to. He didn't know how long they were all together but it wasn't long enough. All the others had friends and family to go home to that would greet them with hugs and loving tackles upon their arrival. What did Four go home to? An empty forge, a quadripartite mind, and a never ending job to keep a roof over his head. Of course, the mind issue was mostly fixed when he gave up his sword. He would still argue with himself occasionally and he would find himself thinking out loud as though talking to someone else. The shelves mounted on the wall held many little trinkets and gizmos from his travels, one of which was his trusty old ocarina, that he hadn't played since that night around the fire that his questing brothers decided was a musical night. The night he realized that Warriors didn't know how an ocarina works, he remembered as he chuckled under his breath. He reached for the ceramic instrument and fumbled his fingers over the tones. There was a song that the old man had taught him and the sailor to play, a short tune that was repetitive and easy to remember. He played quietly and slowly at first, getting used to the rhythm, but eventually he stood confidently and played at the tempo he remembered. After a few verses, he was startled by a heavy drop of water hitting the roof, but he dismissed it and kept playing. The drop turned into drops and eventually a torrent. As the rain began to grow louder, Four ceased his melody and listened to the rain's own song. The downpour continued and he smiled as he eased into his chair by the fire. Just for the moment, it was no longer too quiet, and it was the best moment the lonely hero had had in a while.

[theplantqueer]

learning that sometimes a death makes u wanna treat everything with tenderness

[tonycries]

The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 

Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 

Everything. 

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss. 

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 

Everything. 

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew. 

You’d kissed him back. 

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 

What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh. 

Shit. 

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck. 

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused. 

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there. 

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru. 

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you. 

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 

Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 ❞

❝ SATORU GOJO HAS LOVED YOU SINCE YOU WERE KIDS - HE’S GONNA MAKE YOU HIS ! ❞

✧ series: call it what you want (part one)

✧ pairing: younger!satoru gojo x reader

✧ summary: satoru gojo fell in love with you from the moment he met you at eight years old. and now, in his twenties, when he sees you again after you move back to be closer to your aunt and your cousin, suguru, he knows — he has to make you his by the end of the summer.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, eventual smut, childhood friends to strangers to lovers, fake dating, gojo is four years younger than you, rich boy!gojo, suguru is your little cousin, very fluffy, slow burn, like they don't even kiss, but they will :), love at first sight for gojo, naoya is your ex,

✧ w/c: 15,285

“Never thought we’d be doing this, did you?” Satoru muttered in your ear, breath fanning hot against your neck, “be a little quieter, sweetheart, otherwise Suguru might hear us,” 

You whine, but his fingers drag against your kiss bitten lips, until the digits slide into your mouth, as his hips rut against yours. And you didn’t think you’d ever be in position with your cousin’s best friend — pressed to the doorway of your apartment where Suguru could walk in at anytime. 

This isn't what you thought would happen when you invited him over to talk. This isn't what you thought would happen when you agreed to pretend to date him. This isn't what you thought about -- but how could you think about anything with the way his breath felt against your skin?

He loved you -- loved you since you were kids, and he couldn't let you go, not like this. Not when he had you.

Not that you even wanted him to.

You didn’t think you’d shiver as he pressed open mouthed kisses down your neck, tongue flicking against your burning skin. You never thought you’d want to moan his name, like you had, far too many times. 

“You may have never thought about this, Princess, but I sure have,” he presses a kiss to your jaw, the wet sounds your skin slapping together, as he reaches around your body, pinned on your stomach to the mattress, to rub at your swollen clit, drawing a muffled cry from your lips, “far too many times,” 

In fact, Satoru Gojo knew exactly the first time he fell for you. It was the day he first met you. 

“Be my girlfriend!” 

It was less of a question and more of a statement.  

One declared in the doorway of your room, with flushed cheeks and flowers in hand. And they weren’t your cheeks or hands, but your baby cousin’s best friend. 

The first time Satoru Gojo asked you out was at the ripe old age of eleven, but truth be told he had held this crush since the moment he saw you when he had come over to Suguru’s house for the first time, almost three years ago now.

Your fingers brushed his as you gently took the flowers, “Satoru, you know I care about you, but not like that. You’re better off seeing other people your own age, ok?” You smiled at him, the same way you always did, a slight pout on his lips as he nodded, saying nothing more. 

And you knew you were right — there was no fucking question that you were right. He was eleven and you were fifteen — an age gap untenable and unreachable.

But now—

“Long time no see,” Satoru said, lips curled in an all too cocky smile that you couldn’t believe belonged to the same blushing kid who confessed so earnestly back then, “it’s been too long,” your name rolled off his tongue with a familiarity that was the same but all too different. 

But he wasn’t a kid anymore — far from it. It had been over a decade since you had seen him, as the summer he confessed was the last one you had spent at your aunt and uncle’s home. And you and your family moved overseas shortly after that, and you didn’t return until now, four years after you graduated college, for a job offer you couldn’t pass up. 

And you didn’t realize that so much time had passed. 

But he did. 

“Eh? What do you mean you can’t help me unpack today, Sugu?” you hold the phone between your ear and shoulder, as you rip open the tape on yet another box you had hauled into the proper room to unpack, “you told me—“ 

“I told you I’d help you unpack if I had time. But now, I’m stuck at work until the evening,” you heard your cousin sigh over the phone, “But don’t worry — you’ll have help—“ 

You’re too busy trying to rip the tape off as you rip into Suguru to notice the door creaking open behind you, “Suguru, I swear to god if you’re sending a total random stranger to help me—“ 

“Not a total stranger,” a voice says behind you, and your head whips around so quick, you nearly drop your phone, gripping it, “unless not seeing me for years makes me one,” 

A mess of white locks and sunglasses tilted downward to reveal a hint of his cerulean eyes that you could never forget — but still, you barely recognize the man that has them. Even if the grin on his lips with the lilting sound of his voice told you that he very much recognized you. 

“Satoru?” Suguru’s explanation falls on deaf ears, as Satoru’s eyes don’t bother to take in your new place, all too focused on you, hands slipping into his pockets, “you—“ 

He steps forward and plucks the phone from your fingers, “Yo Suguru, I told you it’d be better as a surprise,” and you gape at him, as his grin curls wider, “yeah, yeah, I didn’t take the phone to have you lecturing me — I get enough of that from my dad,” and Suguru says something that makes Satoru’s cheeks flush, and he hangs up, before his attention returns to you, “so, shall we unpack?” 

A few minutes turns into hours of hauling boxes inside and then unpacking them. It’s relatively silent, surprisingly for Satoru. The silence was a far cry from the boy who couldn’t shut up for two seconds, telling you about the test he aced or something stupid that one of his classmates said or asking you about your day. 

Instead you watch him haul boxes like they were filled with styrofoam and air from the truck outside, and then lift his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, a flash of his abs shiny with perspiration. Your eyes dart away, suddenly incredibly fascinated with the contents of this box of kitchenware you opened up, cheeks burning, wondering when did the little boy you looked after become a man? 

“Princess, where do you want this?” Satoru lifts a box, and you can’t see the writing on it from the angle he picks it up. 

“Do you still have to call me Princess?” The embarrassing nickname your aunt had given you still stuck — the one that Suguru would always tease you with, while Satoru’s decidedly lacked any malice, “my aunt only called me that because she wanted a girl so bad,” 

“Is that why Suguru is growing out his hair now? Trying to fulfill her dreams?” You snort, as you walk over to him, “it still fits you regardless of the reason Princess,” 

You’re close, even with the box providing glancing around the box until you find it scrawled on the box underneath his arm — his very…muscular arm, veins bulging and muscles tense underneath the weight of the box—

“So this is stuff for my bedroom, you can just leave it on the floor, it’s right over here,” you lead him over and he places down the box, “I think that’s mostly it, I’m sorry Suguru made you come down here to help,” 

“You don’t need to apologize, I wanted to see you,” and you smile softly, “it’s been too long,” 

“It really has,” and your neck strains a little with how he towered over you, “can't believe you’re the same little boy I used to babysit,” 

And he rolls his eyes, “Suguru would say it’s arguable I could still use a babysitter,” and you chuckle, “I’m not so little anymore, but I wouldn’t mind if you were my babysitter,” 

Was he? No. No, he wasn’t. 

Right? 

“Stop fucking around,” you shake your head, as you head into the kitchen, “do you want to wash up, and then maybe I’ll order take out to thank you?” You’re turning on the faucet. 

You don’t notice the slight pout on his lips, one he schools into a smile as you glance back at him, blinking as you find him shirtless. 

Fuck. How was it possible for a person to be this gorgeous? Sweat slid down his body, slipping between the dips of his chest and ridges of his abs until disappearing into the fabric of his pants, or somewhere hidden— 

You look away — “I’d rather take a shower. Do you mind?” And you force your voice not to come out a squeak, busying yourself with washing your hands, just so you don’t have to look. 

“Yeah, of course, the bathroom is just around the corner. There should already be fresh towels inside,” and yet his steps grow closer, as you glance back, “uh—“ 

He’s still fucking shirtless. 

“Instead of take out, can we grab dinner somewhere? You haven’t been back to the area recently so it’s a good chance to show you around,” 

“You really don’t have to—“ 

“I want to, Princess,” he cuts you off, reaching around you to grab a water bottle off the counter, “get ready while I clean up?” 

And you bite your lip, “Okay, okay,” and he grins back, a glimpse of the little boy that beams at you when you’d praise him for a high mark on a test. 

“It’s a date!” And he’s off, disappearing into the bathroom, and you’re left there, wondering — what had you gotten yourself into? 

~~~

“So,” Satoru lifts a spoonful of his dessert — a fruit parfait with a sugar coma inducing amount of whipped cream — and you were almost relieved to see some things about him hadn’t changed. How many times had you scolded him as a kid not to eat so much sugar — and he still hasn’t kicked the habit. You bit back your chuckle, as he spoke, “did you get dumped?” 

You almost choke on your drink, as you splutter for a moment, before glaring at him. 

And yet the more they stayed the same. 

“I see you’re as subtle as you were when you were 11,” you mutter, setting your drink down, as you wipe your mouth with a napkin. Satoru tilts his head, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. 

“So you dumped him?” He leans back, “I didn’t know you had such high standards,” your cheeks burn, distracting yourself with becoming enthralled in the menu — Satoru had dragged you to a hole in the wall barbecue place (after your insistence that you didn’t want anything fancy after unpacking for hours). 

“How did you know I broke—“ and you cut yourself off at the obviousness of the answer, slapping another piece of meat on the grill, the sizzle punctuated by your words, “I’m going to murder him,” 

“Well, you’re in the right place to dispose of his body,” Satoru licks the spoon clean, before sticking it back in the whipped cream, “why did you break up with him?” 

You shrugged, “I realized he was a narcissistic prick who only wanted me as a trophy,” and Satoru whistled lowly,  “I’m done with dating losers. And dating in general,” 

“I don’t think you should give up on dating just because you had a few bad experiences,” his voice grows soft, “you deserve to be happy and taken care of, even if you have bad taste,” 

And you pout, “I don’t have-“ and he tilts his head, and you lift a few pieces of meat from the grill onto your plate, tongs clattering slightly as you set it down, “fuck, I do,” you groan, shaking your head, “that’s why I had to get out of there. Just needed a fresh start you know?” 

“Sometimes that’s just what you need,” and your lips curl. 

“Sounds like you speak from experience,” and his eyes flit up to yours, gleaming in the low light of the restaurant, cerulean irises catching the drops of light like comets across his gaze. 

“Don’t know what you mean, Princess,” he busies himself with his parfait, and you scoff. 

“Come on, half the girls in this place are glaring at me while I sit here, the waitress has been flirting with you, and now they had brought you out the biggest dessert that I’m starting to wonder if they even serve it here,” he spares a glance around, several gasps from giggling girls who avert their gazes, before his eyes are back on you. 

“Jealous?” You roll your eyes — he wasn’t lacking for ego at least. 

“More like wondering what a guy like you is still doing single,” and he sighs, leaning back, with a tilt of his head. 

“You sure are curious about me,” and his gaze softens for a moment, while he picks at his dessert, scooping the strawberry off the top, “there’s only really been one person that I really wanted,” his tone grew more serious, lips in a bittersweet smile, “but she’s never really looked me like that,” 

“Don’t tell me it’s one of those things where she rejected you and you have to have her now,” and he chuckles, shaking his head, gaze far too wistful. 

His words are slow, as slow as the ice melting in your glass, “It’s more of if I don’t have her, I don’t want anyone else,” and your heart squeezed — would you ever have someone care so deeply for you? 

“Then why haven’t you said anything?” you picked up another piece of meat off the grill, “anyone would be lucky to be with you,” and you meant it — he was blunt, but also kind, sweet, not to mention rich and you flushed as you thought back to his hiked up shirt — good looking. 

But he only stares back at you, tilting his head — expression unreadable, an emotion you can’t grasp before it’s hidden under his gaze’s tempered waters, “Are you included, Princess?” 

There’s a pause, as you almost chuckle, but your laugh dying in your throat at his expression — that same smirk, but the way he looks at you stops your mind in its tracks — only one word rolling around in your head: what? 

And your brow furrows, your lips parting in a response you don’t have — only questions, ones you don’t get to ask as Suguru slides in beside you. 

“Sorry, I’m late,” Suguru sighs, the moment broken, and you don’t catch Satoru’s expression, too distracted by your cousin, “got stuck in a staff meeting,” 

“I told you academia is hell,” you elbow him, and Suguru rolls his eyes, as he shrugs off his suit coat, “were these meetings the reasons you got held up or are they just an excuse so you didn’t have to help me?” 

“Who said it can’t be both?” And he earns a smack to his shoulder, your attention turning back to Satoru, his gaze fixed outside. 

“You’re unusually quiet, Satoru” Suguru kicks him lightly under the table, “not like you,” 

He looks at you first — and you grasp the emotion he had hid before — what was it? Sadness? Longing? — right before it’s gone again as he slides his mask back on, grinning as he always does. 

“What can I say? The view outside is much better than your ugly mug,” and the two of them begin to bicker, and you lean back in your seat, a smile pulling at your lips, even as you glanced back at Satoru. 

And now you wondered if you would ever get an answer to your questions. Or maybe, you sipped your drink, it was better not to have it answered at all. 

~~~

Satoru Gojo was eleven years old when he fell in love with you. It was from the moment he met you. 

And there hasn’t been anyone else since. 

He supposed it was inevitable in a way — since Suguru was his best friend, and his first, and when his family finally decided to enroll him in school, instead opting for private tutors, for the social aspect of making connections, of course. Because what else was your eleven year old son good for then helping to make future business deals easier? 

But Satoru made friends with the one person who couldn’t help their deals — Suguru Geto, one of the only scholarship students in the entire school. And Satoru’s want to avoid spending his days with servants or on the rare occasion, dealing with his dad’s lecture for getting in another ‘disagreement’ with one of his classmates (that ended with that classmate crying after Satoru evaded his punch and kicked him in the shin), ended up with him at Suguru’s place. A lot. 

Then soon enough, he was spending most of his summers there too. And that’s when he saw you. 

“You said your cousin’s here? Is she nice?” Satoru asked, taking off his shoes, as Suguru shut the door behind them. 

“She is, except when she’s being a pain about homework. And when she gets mad, she reminds me of my mom,” Suguru grimaced, as he walked past him, calling out for you. You rounded the corner, book in hand, and Satoru’s eyes grew wide. 

“Hey Sugu, you brought a friend?” You walked over, still clad in your high school uniform, before introducing yourself, and offering him a warm smile, “it’s nice to meet you. I’m Suguru’s cousin,” 

Satoru didn’t know what this feeling was — and he wouldn’t until a few more summers passed, and his hormones kicked in — but all he knew was that he would do anything to see you smile like that at him again. And he did — he would spend as much time as he could with you — talking to you about a test he aced, about something funny that happened at school, or even ratting on Suguru about what he was up to (earning him many knocks to the head by his best friend). But every time you smiled or laughed, it was worth it — worth every second he spent counting down the time to summer break so he could see you again. 

But he didn’t know his seconds would run out so soon — and he only learned one random day going home with Suguru, from a snippet of a conversation he had with his mom. 

“I know, I know she’s coming next week,” Satoru’s interest hadn’t been peaked by Suguru’s conversation until then, because he knew exactly who they were talking about. After all, you always came right at the start of break, and finally he could see you again — and maybe this time, he could tell you how he felt. 

“I know, I know it’s her last time here so it has to be perfect,” and Satoru’s head snapped back to Suguru, last time? “I will,” and Suguru hangs up, a sigh on his lips, “my mom is being so annoying about my cousin. So what it’s her last time staying with us? It doesn’t mean we have to—“ 

“What do you mean it’s her last time?” Satoru kept his tone steady and slow, even as his heart thrummed against his ribs as if it was a xylophone, “she always comes every summer—“ 

“Of high school,” Suguru corrected him, “she is applying to university this year — most of them are abroad, and it seems likely she won’t be back in Japan, not for a while,” Suguru continued to complain on their way back to his place, but all Satoru could do was think about you. 

It was your last summer with him. His last chance to make a move, to be something more than your younger cousin’s friend. His last chance to make you see him as a man, not a kid. 

He had to confess, his fingers curled into fists, before the end of the summer. He would make you his girlfriend — one way or another. 

And he did confess back then, Satoru thought, as he picked up a photo, wrinkled and yellowed at the corners, a picture that Suguru’s mom had taken of you and him the summer you had left. A candid of him and you looking at each other — one that Suguru’s mom had slipped to him with a knowing smile and a wink (one that had mortified him as a teenager). 

He was always looking at you — no matter where he was, his eyes always found your form, a magnet to its opposite pole, and he didn’t know how to stop you from drawing him in. It had been over a decade and he still couldn’t. 

He stared at your smiling face, the very same face that had looked at you with a smile fading to confusion this evening. He had gotten so close to asking you — to telling you how he felt — and he flips to the next picture, a scowl on his face as a picture of him and Suguru with his smug smile stared back at him. If only fucking Suguru hadn’t interrupted. 

He shook his head, flipping back to his picture of you. This wasn’t the summer and he wasn’t a kid anymore. And you weren’t out of his reach, bound for another country across the ocean. No, you were here — only a short drive away. 

And he made a promise to himself — he would get you to fall in love with him, before the end of this summer. 

~~~

You hate first days. 

“Did you see the guy waiting outside?” one woman whispered not so softly as you passed by. 

“Yeah looks like he’s waiting for her,” the other’s lips formed a frown but only to hide her smirk. 

From the time you were a kid, your first day of school was something you had all the time from your family moving around. You were always the new kid — the one who would be met with wide eyes and curiosity, only to be tossed aside a few days later. 

But this was a fresh start that you had wanted — a new job far away from where you had started, with new responsibilities — a first day you had looked forward to, until it went so downhill. 

And it was all your ex’s fault. 

You texted Suguru — is it too early to quit on the first day? 

He replies, well it’s been four hours, think you’ve lasted through one of my dad’s long winded stories longer than that. What happened? 

You glanced outside towards the front of the building. It was more like ‘who happened?’ 

It was an innocuous enough morning, of introductions, trainings, orientation, and finally computer set up. You were rifling through your paperwork, trying to figure out what sheet looked the least daunting when someone called for you. 

“There’s someone looking for you outside the lobby,” you saw a flurry of looks shared and smirks shot in your direction, and when you arrived downstairs you knew why. 

What. The. Fuck. 

You couldn’t help it. You bursted outside, “what are you doing here?” It was your ex — the very same ex who had started at the same overseas company after you both graduated and the one you had. And again, had chosen to follow you here. 

“Waiting for you to change yer mind,” Naoya tilts his head, hands in his pocket, “and I know you will, because you love me,” he raises his voice to catch the eye of several passerby, and you grab his wrist, dragging him away. 

“Fuck off,” you hiss under your breath, “I told you it’s over, and don’t you have a fucking job?” 

“Did you forget? I’m rich, another reason ya can’t do better than me,” Naoya’s lips curl into that same grin, one you knew as charming once, until you saw past his pretty pink lips and glimpsed the sharp fangs behind them, “I took time off. Did ya think it was a coincidence we ended up at the same company?” 

You gritted your teeth, “Naoya—“ and he breaks from your grip, instead his fingers dig into your wrist. 

“All ya are is me. All that you have is me. And all you will have is me,” he dared closer, breath warming your lips, as he took hold of your other wrist and tugged you close, “the sooner you accept that, the better, doll,” 

‘Doll.’ The term of endearment you had seen as precious to you. Something you always loved to hear roll off his tongue, the word you had learned to learned to reply to, even more than your own name. The one you regarded with such love had burned, burned until the flames licked your skin and knew what it really meant — a doll with strings, one he was meant to be the master of. 

“Don’t call me that,” you rip your hands away, “leave. You’re embarrassing yourself,” 

“Am I?” He tilts his head, jerking his head in the direction of your building where your offices had a clear view of this, “or am I just embarrassing you?” 

You stared out the window for a moment and you knew he was still out there — judging but the way your phone was on the verge of suicide by notification, he was still very much there. And now, all people would know of you is the new worker with a crazy stalker ex. 

I’m calling the police, Suguru’s text popped up, what’s your workplace’s address? 

You think I hadn’t thought of that, Sugu? You sigh, he’s not doing anything. He’s on a public sidewalk. They can’t do anything to him. 

Another text: when do you get out? You glance at the time, seeing another two coworkers whisper to each other, stealing looks. 

An eternity — In another two hours. 

I’ll handle it. Just wait in the lobby after work. And you frown. 

Sugu, I can handle it. I don’t need you to come down here. 

You always fought your battles. You didn’t need anything else to — or anyone else to pick them for you. Not even your baby cousin — no matter how sweet his intentions were. 

Don’t worry. I’m not coming down. And you frown, staring at the text, before your phone rings, and you groan as ‘Assistant Director’ flashes on the screen.  

You were so fired. 

You weren’t — as you shut the door of his office behind you. However, he did advise you that this company had a strict no nonsense policy and did want personal drama to be dredged up in the office. And you were given the day to sort out your “mess.” 

You scrub a hand down your face, but it wasn’t even your mess, and how would you fix it? He wasn’t going to listen to you. You sit at your desk, packing up your bag for the day. And your phone vibrates. 

Come down. 

You hesitate, But he’s still downstairs. 

Just go. 

Fuck. You sling your bag over your shoulder, piercing eyes digging into your back, vultures circling an already dead carcass, whispering still even as the elevators doors shut. 

And you almost wish they never opened when you see what’s waiting for you outside. 

Fuck. 

You grit your teeth, stomach in absolute knots as if to brace yourself for the complete shitstorm you’re about to deal with. 

“Satoru?” 

Satoru Gojo leaned back against his expensive (likely imported) car, shiny as it was new, sunglasses glinting in the light, but not brighter than the grin he gives you. He holds out your favorite drink, a tilt of his head. 

“Are you ready to go?” 

You glance around, as he places the drink in your hand, “But what about—“

“Let go of me!” 

Satoru’s lips curl, sliding his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, “Oh, I’ve gotten him handled,” 

Naoya stood between two men restraining him, both in suits, as his face contorted in anger, veins bulging, eyes darting between the two of you, “Do you know who I am? I’m the heir to the Zenin Corporation — you cannot treat me like this. I’ll have you—“ 

“Heir? Really?” Satoru stepped forward, blocking him from your view, “is that right? I thought the Zenin hadn’t decided announced a successor yet,” 

You furrow your brow — how does Satoru— but then you’re being put into a car with Satoru’s arm curled around your waist, as he opens the door and tucks you into the passenger seat. 

And now you won’t know. At least not now. 

Naoya scoffed, “And who are you to know anything about—“ 

“Have you heard of the Six Eyes Corp,” and Naoya’s eyes narrow, “you should have because we account for a large chunk of your business. And if that support were to disappear,” he flashes his blue eyes at him over the rim of his sunglasses, “I’d hate to tell them it’s because of this,” 

“You fucking liar, like you could tell anyone anything—“ 

Satoru chuckles, “You’re right, I am a liar,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “I don’t need to tell anyone. Except my father,” 

Naoya’s sneer fades into confusion, his eyes narrowed, “Don’t fucking tell me—” 

“Then I won’t,” he steps forward, hands slipping into his pockets, “but if you ever step in her presence again,” he jerks his head towards you in his car, “then I will, and you don’t wanna know what happens if I do,” he steps in front of Naoya, back blocking your view so you don’t see him grab Naoya’s wrist, blue eyes aflame with something far deeper than anger, “because it will much worse,” he squeezes Naoya’s wrist hard making him flinch as he grits his teeth at Satoru’s smiling face, “who knows? Maybe I’ll break your wrist next time.” 

He turns around, waving off the guards, as he makes his way back to his car, sliding into the driver’s seat, smile fading to concern. 

“Are you alright, Princess?” You’re watching those people drag Naoya away, his hateful gaze trying and failing to get a last look at you as the guard takes a hand to the back of his head to force his gaze forward. 

“Where are they taking him?” 

Satoru starts the car, the quiet rumble of the engine filling the silence of his pause, “just to the proper authorities. He won’t bother you again,” 

You bit your bottom lip, eyes burning with tears — and you don’t know whether if it’s embarrassment or relief, “I’m sorry—“ 

“Don’t finish that sentence,” and your eyes slide to his, a soft smile on his lips, “you don’t have anything to be sorry about. Or to thank me for,” he cuts you off as your lips part, “is your wrist okay?” 

You glance down and see the slight redness still lingered, a final parting gift, and your other hand closes over the wrist, “it hurts a little, but I’ll ice it when I get home,” 

“We’ll go to a hospital to have it looked at,” and you’re shaking your head. 

“I don’t want to sit—“ 

“Then I’ll hire a doctor to come see you,” and you stare at him, as he rolls to a stop at a red light…is that a pout? “I just want you to be ok, Princess, please,” 

You bite back a small smile, and ignore the flutter in your heart, “Fine, you win, let’s go to a walk-in clinic,” and you spot his shoulders relax, “but it’s not really fair when you give me your infamous pout,” 

He raises an eyebrow, “‘Infamous?’” 

“You used to whip that out all the time on me and on my aunt when you were a kid — it did always work,” 

“Not always,” he replies, as he turns into the parking for the walk-in clinic, “in fact, I remember a time that it specifically did not work,” 

“And when was that?” You tilt your head. 

And he smiles, “When I asked you to be my girlfriend,” and you furrow your brow, nearly forgetting the memory, until it hits you. 

“Oh my god, the last summer I spent here,” you covered your mouth with the tips of your fingers, a chuckle on your lips, “you were very direct,” 

“I could say the same about you,” and you roll your eyes. 

“You were a kid. You were way too young for me, you know that,” you unbuckle your seatbelt, “plus now I bet you could get any person you want. That’s why I was surprised why you didn’t have a girlfriend,”

“Like I said, there’s only one woman in the world for me,” his eyes find yours, cerulean bathed in sunlight, light catching across his irises, “and only one woman I ever wanted to be with,”

Oh. 

Oh. 

No, no, that couldn’t be it — you couldn’t be her, not after all this time—

You blink, “Satoru, you don’t—“ 

“Well our age difference isn’t a problem anymore is it?” Your brain is struggling to process, lips parting with no words, “Princess,” his fingers brush yours, gently grazing your hand, as your gaze finds his again, “when are you going to take me seriously?” 

“Satoru—“ 

“Just don’t say no,” Satoru cuts you off, pulling his hand away, “don’t say no and think about it,” you open your mouth only to waver at the sight of the pout on his lips and you sigh. 

It was hard to say no, especially right now. 

“Okay I won’t say no,” you slip from the car, lips breaking into a wide grin, before sticking your head inside, “don’t smile like that. It’s not a yes,” you huff, cheeks burning and stomach erupting in butterflies. 

“Not yet,” Satoru says as you shut the door, “not yet, Princess.” 

~~~

“Huh? You did what?” 

You loved your aunt. You really did. She and her husband had taken you in when your parents were too busy working to properly take care of you during the summers. But times like this reminded you—

—-she truly was her mother’s sister. 

“Well your mother was telling me that you haven’t dated anyone since you’ve been back—“ 

“It's only been a month!” You had barely finished getting unpacked, and in fact, you still had at least five boxes still stacked up in the closet, “I’m not interested in dating, I’m trying to focus on work,” you rubbed the back of your head, “new topic, please,” as you sip on your drink. 

And after the debacle Naoya had caused, you needed to — you had put up with the whispers and stares for a few days, but since Naoya had stayed away, the rumors faded with time. Now things had died down for the most part. Except for—

“Has Satoru still been picking you up?” You nearly do a spit take, but instead you choke down the water, coughing, “eh? Are you okay, honey?” 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” your cheeks burn at the thought of Satoru — he was always a bold kid, but you didn’t think he’d confess to being in love with you all this time. Especially now as a man — and not a kid, “yeah he’s still picking me up,” 

When he had confessed to you all those years ago as a young teenager, you had thought nothing of it. Except that it was a crush on his best friend’s older cousin — something that would pass easily with time. You hadn’t even thought of it in all these years. 

But now, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

Especially when he kept showing up to pick you up from work. And now you were stirring other sorts of rumors. 

After he had taken you to the walk-in clinic, he had driven you home, making sure to check if your place was secure enough, and that you weren’t too shaken up. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drop you off to Suguru’s?” he had asked, crossing his arms, “I could also drag his ass here, he owes me anyway,” 

“No, no I’m really fine,” you chewed your lip, looking down, “you sure he’s not going to come back?” and he leans down, forcing you to meet his gaze, as he tilts his head. 

“Sweetheart, you think I’d even leave your place if I thought there was a chance of him coming back?” he offers you a smile, and you scoff softly, shaking your head, “trust me, he won’t be bothering you again, not while I’m around,” and he added, “and I’m not going anywhere.” 

And you didn’t know what to do with the promise in his words. Because you knew he meant that — in more than one way. 

But even so, he hadn’t brought up his confession — not once. 

“He’s so sweet isn’t he? Suguru is always so busy but Satoru’s making time to pick you instead,” your aunt gushes, and you shake your head, your aunt did have a habit of being a little hard on her son, “by the way, would you mind stopping by the house today?” 

“Why’s that?” 

And well, how did you end up here? 

You stood in front of the entrance to a very expensive looking building with a very intimidating doorman, with a large tote bag full of food that your aunt had insisted you drop off. She had given you his address, but by the time you arrived, you realized that you didn’t even have his number. And now Suguru or your aunt weren’t picking up their phones. 

Fuck. 

You were internally debating whether to talk to the doorman or to just go home and deal with this another time, when you heard someone speak behind you. 

“Looking for someone?” You jump slightly, whirling when you see Satoru, hands in his pockets, a smile on his lips, as he lifts his sunglasses to meet your gaze, “didn’t think I’d find you hanging outside my apartment building, princess,” 

“Well, you show up outside my workplace and I’ll be showing up outside your apartment building,” the words leave your mouth without much thought, as your cheeks burn at the implication, “I mean—” 

“Is that supposed to discourage me from picking you up?” he grins, “Doesn’t sound like a bad deal to me,” 

You roll your eyes, before holding up the bag, “My aunt asked me to drop off some dishes for you. She’s worried you’re eating too many sweets,” 

He takes the bag from your hand, fingers brushing, as he shakes his head, “I shouldn’t have ever told her that I had cake for dinner,” and you snort, unable to hide your giggles, “what’s so funny?” 

“I can see a lot about you has changed, but your sweet tooth is just as bad as when you were a kid,” and you see him scratch the back of his head, “is your favorite dessert still mochi?” 

“You still remember that about me?” A smile pulling at his lips, and your cheeks burn, but you refuse to waver. 

“Well, it’s hard to forget you threw up all over the rug when you ate too many,” You bite back a smile when you spot the tips of his ears burn red, as he gapes at you. 

“Did you have to bring that up?” He mutters, a small pout on his lips, and you snort, as he can’t help the curl of his lips, “now, c’mon,” his fingers brush the small of your back. 

“Satoru, where—“ but his hand is firm as he guides you towards his building. 

He flashes you a grin as he signs you in with the doorman, “Do you think I’d let you come all this way without staying for dinner?” 

~~~

“Do you want anything to drink?” Satoru’s penthouse was nothing less than immaculate — high ceilings, pristine floors, and an interior designed living space. You swore in some places it was still shiny — and you felt very out of place in your casual wear for the weekend. 

“Just a water,” you reply, as he opens his refrigerator and you raise an eyebrow at the fully stocked compartments, “wow,” you murmur, and he’s pulling a water and a fancy looking juice out of it. 

“What was that?” He raises a brow, and you stammer a moment, “c’mon princess, share with the class,” 

“Just surprised your refrigerator isn’t just stuffed with just desserts, sweets, and ice cream,” and he hands you your water, before sitting beside you, spread out on the couch, as he always was. 

“Oh it is, it’s just very well hidden,” and you snort, as he throws his arm over the back of the couch, “I may be an adult but I’m not going to be a boring old geezer like my father,” 

“I don’t think I could ever see you becoming boring, Satoru,” you chuckle, and he tilts his head. 

“Is that a rare compliment from you, princess?” And his grin only makes your cheeks warm, as you roll your eyes.

“More like an observation,” you reply, as your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you pull it out to check — who would be messaging you now? 

Oh fuck. 

“You ok there?” 

No, no you weren’t. Because your lovely aunt had given your number to a prospective match, and now he was texting you. A lot. 

“It’s nothing,” you sigh, shaking your head, putting your phone on ‘do not disturb.” You would have dinner first, and then you’d murder your aunt after dessert, “do you want me to help take out dinner?” 

“You expect me to believe you don’t hire a chef to make these sides?” The food was spread out across the table, many of the dishes your aunt had made plated and presented, but along with sides that Satoru had made, “Suguru had made it seem as if the only thing you ever made was microwave ramen,” 

“Well jokes on him, I burned it the one time I tried,” he grinned, “but I did learn to cook, I just never bothered to cook for Suguru,” 

“And why’s that?” You take a bite of the pickled radish he had prepared. 

“Because I’m not trying to impress him, am I?” And you nearly choke slightly, as you manage to swallow, “you should know I’m so much more than a pretty face, Princess,” 

You sigh, “Satoru—“

“Have you thought about what I said at all?” 

And you had. A lot more than you cared to admit. Especially after all he had done. Everything he had to Naoya to defend you. And just about him — how sweet he’s been, how protective, how kind, and how you’d like nothing more than to do the same for him—

But…

“I have, but Satoru, our ages—“ 

“We’re both adults. We both graduated. We haven’t seen each other in over a decade,” his leg brushes yours as he shifts closer, “are you telling me you don’t feel anything?” 

You didn’t know how to answer that — not when you didn’t really know yourself. And you always knew the answer — you knew you wanted to study abroad, you knew you had to leave Naoya’s company, and you knew you wanted to live here — so why was this the one time you didn’t? And why was he the one thing you were unsure of? 

You bite your bottom lip, “But, Suguru—“ and he scoffs softly. 

“Are you really thinking about Suguru right now?” he asks, “or would you rather date the guy blowing up your phone earlier?” 

Your eyebrows knit together, “How did you know—“ 

“Well I know it’s not Naoya, and I heard from Suguru that your aunt wanted to set you up,” fucking Suguru—and your lips twist into a pout, he tilts his head, not bothering to hide his smile, “if you dated me, you could get your aunt off your back,” he muses, leaning against his elbow, “she always did say I was family, and I’m not looking to be your brother,” 

Your cheeks burn at his words, “Satoru,”

“Think about it, Princess, you don’t have to give me an answer now,” but his eyes flicker to your phone, “but I know you’ll find me once you meet any one of these guys your aunt sets you up with,” 

You grimace at your phone, picking it up to see the messages from the guy your aunt had given your number to, “fuck,” you murmur, locking your phone before tossing it away, an image of you trapped at a dinner across the most boring man alive. And then you glance up at Satoru, still a smug smile on his lips, and then back to your phone. 

“What’s your plan?” 

~~~

“So, I heard you turned down the boy I gave your number to,” 

Your aunt hardly pulled punches. 

She never did when you and Suguru were growing up — she always knew what the two of you got up to, even if you were both sure she could never find out — she always did. Even the one time that the two of you had snuck out to get ramen on a late night, Suguru’s parents were in a dead sleep — but by the time you both snuck back in, she was waiting for both of you in the hallway. But this time, she wasn’t even leading with a wind-up before swinging. 

And then she adds, eyes narrowing, “He said you declined because you’re dating someone,” 

She was going for the kill. 

She turns to grab the whistling tea kettle, turning it off, before pouring the hot water into two cups. You force yourself not to bite your bottom lip, the smallest tell was dangerous, even with her back turned, “Is there anything he didn’t tell you?” She’s placing the tea cups one by one on the tray, as if laying out her pieces on a board only to corner you. 

Your aunt frowns, “His mother told me,” great, even better — he was a momma’s boy, and now you were starting to wonder just how many bullets did you dodge,  “are you seeing someone?” 

You were beginning to regret this plan — and you don’t know why you let Satoru talk you into it. 

“You want me to do what?” You stared at Satoru as if he had suggested going diving with sharks, which is not far from what he was suggesting, “tell my aunt that we’re together. No way,” 

“Aw, am I that embarrassing to date, Princess?” And you roll your eyes. 

“Yes, for me,” and he’s tilting his head, “my aunt will immediately tell my uncle and Suguru — and I don’t know which one of them would kill you first,” your uncle wasn’t one for words or conflict, but he had a soft spot for you — and a fist for anyone that tried to come date you without his approval. 

“Eh? Doesn’t Uncle like me?” And you snort, the one sided conversations that Satoru had with your uncle that usually ended with your uncle excusing himself to get away from that “annoying moron.” 

“He doesn’t hate you but,” you choose your words carefully, “he doesn’t prefer you,” 

Satoru scoffs, crossing his arms, “Well Auntie loves me, and I had a plan for this,” and she did, she had quite the soft spot for Satoru, ever since he was a kid. You couldn’t exactly blame her — he looked like an angel, even if the words that left his mouth made it seem like the contrary, his fingers brushing against a strand of your hair, “and soon I’ll make you love me too,” 

Fucking cocky bastard, you thought to yourself, cheeks burning at the thought of the smirk on his lips, but you’re jarred back to reality as you hear the clattering of cups and spoons.  

“I am,” you reply, and your aunt’s head whips around, the clinking of the glasses cutting through the pause, “it’s new,” you add, as she sets down the tea cups, placing the tea dispensers in each one, “I wasn’t sure if I should say anything,” 

“Why wouldn’t you? This is wonderful,” she blinked, and her brow wrinkles, “unless it’s that Naoya—“ you flinch at the thought of him. 

“No, I’m done with him,” you wave her off quickly, wrinkling your nose at the thought of that bastard, grabbing the tea cup, the scent of green tea wafting from the steam that warmed your face, as you blew air to cool it off, “it’s someone I reconnected with here,” 

Your aunt raises an eyebrow, “So soon? Is it someone from work?” Again, is the word she implies with the sentence, a sharp tone that nicked your armor. 

“No, it isn’t,” and she’s sipping her tea, and you take a sip only to burn your tongue, “but he is younger,” 

“That’s not a problem if he’s not too much younger — how old is he?” and this was exactly why you hadn’t wanted to tell your aunt, it was more of an interrogation than a conversation. 

“He’s about Suguru’s age,” and she’s tilting her head, “Suguru introduced us,” and that wasn’t a lie — it was true — both in the past and now. 

“Really? And Sugu is okay with you dating his friend?” Your aunt may be gossip and a meddler, but she wasn’t a fool, your hesitation is your end, “and I assume you’re telling me all this to get me off your case and to ask not to tell Suguru,” she sighs. 

“Auntie—“ 

“You know I don’t like lying for either of you—“ 

“But—“ 

“No, I can’t—“ 

“How about lying for me?” Satoru stands in the doorway, head tilted, a smile on his lips. And your aunt blinks before she slowly puts the puzzle pieces together, a mix of emotions crossing her expression — confusion, disbelief, and maybe a hint of joy, before she settled on a neutral 

“Satoru—“ 

He frowns, “Auntie, you know Suguru will kill me for dating his cousin, please,” and then he does what he does best — pouting. 

And your aunt breaks — with a one hit-KO. 

“You must have been blessed by some needlessly annoying god,” you murmur as he walks you back to your place, sun gleaming as it gave off its last rays of light before setting for the night,  “because I don’t know how you still get her to fall for that,” 

“I was born blessed,” and you snort, as you catch sight of his smile out of the corner of your eye, “and speaking of which, when’s our first date?” 

“Straight to the point, huh?” You stop walking, hands in your pockets, “Satoru—“ 

“Don’t tell me you’re about to launch into another speech about how you can’t date me,” he gives an exaggerated sigh, “I could go back to your aunt and tell her how you broke my heart and let her pull out list of aunties who have sons who are excited to meet you—“ 

“Alright, fine, a date, but one thing first,” you step close to him, making his breath catch, pretty blues finding your gaze, the very same he would love to get lost in, before they flicker down to your lips. And he swears you can probably hear his heart beating out of his chest, thumping at the bony bars of his ribcage, and he hates it, hates how you have him twisted around your finger without trying, “Princess—“ 

You reach for him, fingers nearly about to brush his cheek, his eyes fluttering, before you flick his forehead, “ow!” 

“I was just going to ask when our first date is going to be, but if you rather I go on a bunch of blind dates—“ and he’s shaking his head, rubbing his forehead all the same, “then do you have any ideas?” 

He grins, “Plenty, but there’s one in particular.” 

~~~~

“An amusement park?” 

He sat next to you, driving, hand on the console and you couldn’t help but brush your arm against his each time you moved — and you felt as if he did it on purpose. 

He raises an eyebrow, stealing a glance out of the corner of his eye, “Uh-huh, got a problem, Princess?” 

“No I’m just surprised, we went to plenty of these as kids,” you glanced at him, his eyes concentrated on the road, fingers curling a little tighter around the steering wheel. 

You had raised an eyebrow at his choice, but now that you were here…it wasn’t a bad pick. 

You hadn’t been to one in years — not since your summers with Suguru. The screams in the distance told you there was a rollercoaster not far off, the syrupy sweetness of sugar somehow emanated from every inch of air, and the park was filled to the brim with families and couples. 

You glance at Satoru, a plain t-shirt and shorts, and somehow he still looked as if he stepped off a page of a men’s style magazine. He looked around, his eyes landing on a vendor selling cotton candy, and you hid your chuckle. 

“C’mon,” you took his hand, leading him over without a second thought, and you’re grabbing a giant cotton candy for him, made into a flower by the vendor. Satoru’s practically vibrating with excitement, slinking his hand around to sneak the vendor money before you even had a chance, “I wanted to pay—“ 

“You think I’d make my date pay?” He takes a bite out of his cotton candy, sugar sticking to his lips even as he nearly inhales a petal, “even the arranged set ups should do that much,” but it’s hard to take him seriously with blue sugar all over his mouth, “what?” 

You snort, grabbing a wet nap from your purse,“Well, you’d be surprised,” and you wipe his face, fingers cupping his chin, “some guys are a little immature,” and he stares back, and you swear you see a flush settle over his cheeks, before he turns away to wipe his lips. 

“Not me,” he mumbles, tips of his ears burning red, and you bite your bottom lip, cute. 

“Should we find a ride to go on?” he immediately grins at that, offering his arm this time, and you take it, a smile tugging at your lips. 

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. 

~~~

Oh you were wrong. 

So wrong. 

“I changed my mind, I don’t want to get on,” and before you can leave a hand catches you by the wrist gently, blue eyes judging over his rimless sunglasses, “Satoru—“ 

“It’s just a rollercoaster,” just a rollercoaster? No, it was literally your death. You stared up at the contraption above you, the echoing screams growing louder as the line crept forward — akin to a rickety boat that Charon would wade you across into hell itself. 

“No, I can’t—“ you shake your head. 

“C’mon it won’t be that bad—“ 

“So you admit it’s going to be bad,” and he’s biting back a smile, “what?” 

“I just never really saw you being scared of anything, Princess,” he sighed loudly, “I guess I’ll have to ride it all alone,” but that only serves to make many women (and men) stare at him as if to offer him their company. 

“You have options,” and he shakes his head, his hand outstretched as the two of you enter the final stretch of the line. 

“Like I said, sweetheart, there’s only ever been one option for me,” and your fingers graze his with several second thoughts, but when his fingers laced with yours, you knew there was no turning back. 

“I didn’t know you could scream that loud,” 

You grinned at a shaken up Satoru, throat probably raw and aching as he frowns, face turned away, “I’m not used to the speed, unlike you, from how I heard you drive,” and you bite back a laugh, as he fails to hide his flush from you, his ears burning red. 

Your chuckle is a badly disguised cough, “Are you pretending to be this way to make me feel better?” You tease, and he’s crossing his arms. 

“No way I’d let myself look so lame in front of you, I’m no better than Ijichi,” and you raise an eyebrow. Ijichi was a boy in Suguru and Satoru’s class when they were kids — one that Satoru loved to complain about being slow. 

“You still think about him?”

“He’s my assistant,” and you snort at the thought of Satoru still hassling that poor guy. 

“I hope you pay him well,” he’s officially pouting again.

“I didn’t know it would be that intense!” you tilt your head, as the two of you find a corner of the park that’s not so crowded and riddled with children running amok, and you watch him down a sugary soda drink he had bought from one of the food stalls. 

“You act as if you’ve never been to an amusement park,” he’s quiet for a second too long, and your eyebrows knit together, “but Suguru—” 

“You guys would go every summer, but it was when I had my prep classes on the weekends,” he runs his fingers through his white locks, “I would have skipped when I was older, but by the time I had stopped caring what my father thought of me, you had already gone to college and Suguru’s family stopped going,” 

You frown — you knew Satoru didn’t have the best upbringing — yes he had every opportunity at his fingertips, all the money in the world that you couldn’t even fathom, but you could count the number of times he’s mentioned his parents on one hand. 

“I was always so jealous when you guys would go,” he sighed, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips, “it seems silly now—” 

“No, it’s not,” you cut him off, shaking your head, “you should have been allowed to be a kid,” 

He chuckles, a noise that sticks in your chest, “Well, more than anything, I wanted to go with you,” his cerulean eyes find yours, a soft smile on his lips, “thank you for indulging me, princess,” 

“Well, you’re the one doing me a favor, right?” you tease, getting to your feet, “c’mon we have plenty of other things to do — I saw a booth with candy apples not too far over there—” you point, and his fingers are already finding yours as he nearly drags you along, a laugh caught in your throat as you can’t help but smile at his excitement. 

It’s infectious, you thought as the two of you got in line, Satoru nearly vibrating with need for his sugar fix, and you shook your head, biting back a laugh, just like him. 

~~~

“You don’t have to walk me home,” the sun had long sunk by the time you both had left, staying to catch a glimpse of the fireworks before heading back, “it’s not that far from here,” 

The two of you had opted to take public transport to the amusement park, knowing there would be next to nowhere to park or rather only the middle of nowhere to park. The cicadas were already beginning their symphony, filling the relative silence of the neighborhood now, except for the chatter heard from inside houses or outside in gardens. 

“Who would carry your loot home?” and he tilts the giant plushie to show his unimpressed face, “you barely wanted to carry this at the park, even after you begged me to win it, and I did, in one shot,” 

And he did, he had won you a giant polar bear plushie nearly as tall as you were in his hands, along with several bags of sweets he had bought on the way out, just to snack on tonight (and you seriously wondered if he ate anything that was not coated in mochi, chocolate, or sugar). 

“I don’t remember begging you — I asked you,” you cross your arms, and you know he’s smiling behind the bear, using the plushie to hide his goddamn smirk, “i did! I just asked if we could try to win it—” 

“And I remember the phrases ‘please’ and ‘i need it’ being involved in the conversation,” you felt your cheeks burn, “you still like these things, huh?” 

“What do you mean?” and he moves the polar bear under one arm, the bags in the other so you could actually see his face. 

“You always loved plushies, you had that one from your parents that you kept in your room with you all the time—” 

“Panda, I was very original with that name,” you shake your head, before your gaze turns to him, his sunglasses gleaming on his head in the low light of the streetlamps, “I can’t believe you remembered that,” 

“There’s barely a thing I’d forget when it comes to you,” and you bite your lip, heart squeezing at his words, “you look like you wanna say something, princess?” 

You reached the outside of your apartment building just as night fell, humidity still clinging to the thick summer air. The light of the lobby spilling out into the sidewalk through the glass doors, just as the streets grew quieter. 

And you do — you’re not sure if you should ask it — a question posed on a precipice of uncertainty that you didn’t know if you wanted to step off of. But you know you had to, at one point or another. 

You could just go inside, brush off his question, and leave the day at that. But a nagging question had wriggled it’s way to the forefront of your mind, and you knew it wouldn’t leave your mind until it left your tongue. 

You chew on your lip, “You say these things so easily when it comes to me, but how are you so sure?” 

And he shrugs, his eyes not leaving yours for even a second, “I just know,” 

“But how?” He’s shaking his head, stepping forward, until he’s a breath away, your eyes flickering from his gaze to his lips for a split second, your own air caught in your traitorous throat. 

“Instead of wondering why I feel why I do, I think you should wonder why you’re so unsure,” and his fingers graze your cheek, tilting your chin upwards, his touch sending heat to the far reaches of your body, and he’s leaning forward. Your eyes nearly flutter shut, as his words nearly warm your lips, but no, instead they brush against your ear, “because if I was still just that kid to you that I was all those years ago, then why aren’t you pulling away?” 

Your eyes blink open, as he pulls away, grin on his lips, as he hands you your polar bear plushie, “Satoru—“ and you don’t even know what you want to say — you want to argue, you want to say something, anything, but nothing comes out but his name. 

“You shouldn’t let a guy get that close, Princess, especially not twice,” he sighs, lips still curled, “because if you let me that close again, I won’t be leaving without a kiss,” 

And you could only stare after him as he left — fingers touching your ear he had whispered against, lips pursing, as you huff, cheeks burning as you step inside your building, burying your face in white fluff of the polar bear that looked a little too much like someone’s hair. 

“Idiot.” 

~~~~

You’re avoiding me. 

Satoru wasn’t wrong. You were — but not exactly on purpose. Or at least you didn’t think so. It had been the third time you had turned him down in the last week. Although, today’s wasn’t intentionally so. You stewed in a corner of the bar, eyes glancing at your phone — what was really an appropriate time to leave a work-sanctioned event without looking completely anti-social? 

It was never really fun coming to these events alone — but you knew if Satoru was here, you’d actually have a good time. You were almost surprised he hadn’t shown up at your place or your work to see you — all he had done is text you. And why did that almost disappoint you?

You checked the time again, met with the notification of Satoru’s message again before you swiped it away out of sight. But he wasn’t out of mind. He hadn’t been for days. You rubbed at your temples — you hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep since your day at the amusement park, thoughts spinning in circles and it was all his fault. You had done everything to get him out of your head — minimize contact, not see him, even drag yourself to an event like this — but still, you stared at your phone screen again, the ghost of his words still warming your ear. 

You couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

Fuck. What were you doing? You took a long swig of your drink, hoping the alcohol could erase some of that night out of your mind. The last thing you needed to be thinking about was Satoru Gojo. 

“So who’s the guy who has been picking you up after work?” 

You nearly choked on your drink. Really? You downed your drink, hoping you can ignore the question if you take long enough downing the searing concoction that the bartender had handed you, maybe they would let you off the hook. But as you finish the drink, you only find your coworkers staring back at you still. The hush that fell over this group of women was far too reverent for a conversation about a man. 

“He’s my little cousin’s best friend,” you reply, ordering another drink — you were going to need it, and the women exchange glances, fake smiles plastered on their lips. 

“He’s not your boyfriend?” and a strange twinge settles in your chest at the question, poking and prodding your tongue to say no, no he wasn’t, but you almost didn’t want to. 

“No, he isn’t,” and the women grin amongst each other, “if you would excuse me—” 

“Wait, wait, we just started talking, come on now,” you sigh internally, as they order another round of drinks as they corral you to their table, maybe after this you could finally leave. 

~~~

“What’s got you so down?” Suguru slides into a seat across from Satoru — Satoru who couldn’t stop checking his phone to see if you had replied. 

“What do you mean?” he sighs, he shouldn’t have sent that text earlier. He shouldn’t push so much, he’s already pushed enough with his comment. God, why the fuck did he say that? What if you thought he was a creep—what if you thought he was disgusting? What if— 

“You look pathetic,” Suguru sips his coffee in his hand, scrolling through his phone, “who is it?” 

Satoru sits up, locking his phone, tucking it away as if it would incriminate him — flashing your name across the screen like it was plastered over his mind, “what do you mean?” 

“I’ve never seen you like this, you keep checking your phone — you barely can keep track of it most of the time,” he shrugs his shoulders, “I figured you must have grew a dick and started liking someone,” 

“Look who’s talking — when’s the last time you dated someone again?” And Satoru catches the crumpled up paper Suguru tosses, “don’t get on your high horse if you don’t want the same thing back,” 

“At least I’m not waiting like a lovesick puppy over my phone,” Suguru mutters, taking another sip of his drink, and that’s when a phone ringing cuts through the silence — that was your ringtone, the very one he set to know when you’d call — just so he wouldn’t miss it, “looks like your waiting by the door paid off,” 

“Fuck off,” Satoru mumbled, walking off with his phone as he picked up, “hello?” 

“Suguru!” Satoru’s brow furrowed at the sound of your cousin’s name leaving your lips, “can you pick me up plz—“ your words were slurred, sounds of chatter cutting through the background. 

“Princ—“ you hiccuped, a small groan leaving your lips. 

“You can’t tell Satoru, he’ll come here and my coworkers won’t stop asking me about him,” you sigh again, mumbling, “why does he have to be so—ugh, it’s not fair for someone to be that pretty—“ 

Pretty? 

His cheeks burned, as he covered his mouth with his hand, trying and failing to bite back a stupid smile on his lips — it’s not fair for you to be this cute. He would have preferred ‘handsome’ or ‘perfect’ or ‘your boyfriend’ — but he could settle for pretty. 

“Anyway!” You cut his thoughts off, “could you come get me?” And Satoru bit his lip, glancing at Suguru — he could tell Suguru to get you, he could, but the odds of you letting something slip to Suguru—- “remember you can’t tell Satoru—“ 

—was really high. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right there, and I won’t tell him,” he adds, because you already had. 

~~~

“How did you find out where I work?” Satoru didn’t know after so many years that there were still new things to learn about you still — and one thing he had learned tonight was that —- you pouted at him, stumbling slightly as he came to a stop in front of your building — you were really whiny when drunk. 

“I picked you up there, remember?” he lightly flicked your forehead that only made you huff, “now do you have your keys?” 

“Do you know how annoying you are?” And he has to bite back a laugh at your scrunched up face. 

“I do, sweetheart, but I’d love to hear you tell me,” you scoff, crossing your arms only to immediately uncross to dig through your purse for your keys, tossing out several things that Satoru catches or picks up. 

“You come to my work and pick me up, and act all swoon worthy, and perfect, and you look like that—“ 

“Like what?” he can’t hide his smile this time, and your brow furrows as you pull out your keys, lips opening and closing, until you purse them. 

“Like that,” you grumble as you teeter on your feet again, before he supports you, and he swore he heard you mumble, “so disgustingly handsome,” 

And he’s glad your eyes are half closed and focused ahead, otherwise he knew you’d smack him for the grin on his face. 

“Oi, don’t—“ and you don’t listen, nearly falling over as you unlock your door, whole body weight leaned against it, but his arm slips around you, holding you up from face planting into your floor, “you’re gonna break your neck, Princess,” 

“You wouldn’t let that happen,” You break from his grip and lean up close, your breath warming his lips, your gaze half lidded, “not when you love me,” and his heart thuds against his ribs, rattling his lungs and bones alike, “that’s what you said, right?” 

You weren’t making this easy, not with your fingers now sliding up his chest, toying with the top button of his shirt, “I did—“ 

“So are you going to prove it?” And the floor feels as if it slips out from underneath him, and all he feels is you, only you — the brush of your fingers against his chest, the faint scent of lavender from your perfume that your aunt had gifted you, and the caress of your gaze against his lips, the same eyes he could easily lose himself in — if he wasn’t careful. 

But he had to be careful — because it was you. 

“But—“

“But what?” it would be so easy to kiss you, when you were only half a breath away, lips parted and gaze asking him to do so, to just lean in—but he can’t.

Not like this. 

His thumb runs down your lips, your eyes fluttering shut, fingers sliding to cup your jaw, and he leans in — feeling your breath catch—

But he only flicks your forehead, drawing a soft yelp from you. 

“I’d like you to remember our first kiss,” and he’s corralling you into bed after that, your body keeling over into the soft mattress, as he’s able to wriggle you under the comforter. Your body relaxes into the plush bed, eyes shut, as your muscles loosen and unwind, while Satoru stands over you, the exact opposite — muscles taut and mind whirring. 

Fuck.

“You never make it easy, do you, Princess?” he mutters under his breath, swallowing thickly as he scrubs a hand down his face, “good night,” his fingers ghost over the swell of your cheek, before turning to leave—

And your fingers caught him around the wrist, eyes half open as you stared up at him, a pout on your lips but now for an entirely different, but somehow the same reason—

“Stay,” one word nearly had him crumble right there — and how pathetic was that? Maybe Suguru was right — he was no better than a puppy at your beck and call — waiting by the door for his master to return. And he almost didn’t mind — if you always came home to him.  

“Princess, you have to go to sleep—“ he could easily break from your grip, fingers wrapped loosely around his wrist, but your grasp may have been very well made of iron with how you had pinned him into place — an entomologist pinning their butterfly in their display. 

“Don’t wanna sleep alone,” a slight whine in your voice makes him waver again, but he had a problem with sleeping beside you—

He shifted in place, adjusting himself, a somewhat big problem thst wouldn’t go away — no matter how many times he thought about Gakuganji in his underwear — especially when you were looking at him like that, half dressed in bed with a pout on your lips and want in your gaze—want that he never thought would be for him. 

“Please?” And that’s all it takes, his thumb rubbing against your fingers — because he could never say no to you. 

~~~~

“Are you okay?” 

Satoru was never left alone — not since he had managed to wander off alone when he was five. It took several hours and a dozen security guards to find him at a bakery, having his third piece of cake. And when he was brought home, he was told just how many ways that could have went wrong — what could have happened to him, and most of all — how badly it could have made his parents look. 

After that, he couldn’t remember a time that his hand wasn’t clutched by a caretaker or escort — from school to home to anywhere else he wished to go. But he never wished to go anywhere, not with a stranger at his side. 

It was only when he met Suguru that he was allowed to go out without someone hovering over his shoulder. But without warning — warning that if any incident would mean he would be stuck back in his daily life. But that meant when he got distracted in the pastry section of the supermarket — looking for the exclusive mochi he desperately wanted — he found himself alone, with you and Suguru nowhere in sight. 

“Suguru?” Satoru called, head whipping around, chest thudding as the white noise of the market grew louder. His gaze falls, ears ringing with all that could go wrong, back to the life with no one at his side, only strangers— 

“Toru?” Satoru’s gaze snaps up, your hands on your hips, your head tilted, “you okay?” And he’s quickly wiping away his tears, sniffling softly, your hand finding the top of his head, “i got you something,” and you hold out a mochi in front of him, and he blinks. 

“You found it?” He’s blinking and your lips curve into a pretty smile. 

“Anything for you, Satoru,” your fingers run through his hair, “Satoru? Satoru—“ 

His eyes flutter open, finding you leaning over him, your tousled hair in messy tangles, “finally awake?” And a soft chuckle on your lips as you speak, rubbing your eye, flinching as you rub your temples, “what exactly happened last night?” 

“You mean besides you calling me pretty?” And your jaw drops, biting your lip, “and begging me to stay? Didn’t know you liked my company that much, Princess,” 

You glare at him, “well with charm like that—“ you mutter, when it occurs to you, “why did you sleep on the floor? And with that?” You point to the polar bear plushie he used as a pillow last night. 

Not his most preferred bedfellow. 

Always full of surprises, his cheeks burn, and he only can hope it doesn’t show on his face, hidden behind a cheeky smile, “Didn��t know you were so eager to share a bed with me, sweetheart,” and you roll your eyes, “I have to warn you, I have a tendency to cuddle—“ and you smack him with a pillow, he sighs, “someone wasn’t too keen on sharing her pillows with me, so this was the best I could do,”

You snort, as you take the offending plushie from him, “Did you do something to him?”

He tilts his head, “Eh?” And you hold up the polar bear plush, “what could I do to him?”  

“Someone did threaten to toss him out into the ocean so he could join his family,” 

“I can do a lot of things, but I can’t solve global warming, Princess,” and you bite back a laugh, “I was on my best behavior with him last night, even though he’s a shitty pillow,” and you didn’t have to know how he had slapped him a couple times. 

But even so, you bite your lip, looking down as you toy with your comforter, “why did you come?” 

He blinks, “what do you mean?” 

“You could have sent Suguru, but you came, and you stayed, on the floor,” and he curls his lips. 

“Well what kind of fake boyfriend would I be?” And you roll your eyes, still waiting for an answer, and his voice grows soft, “you know why, Princess,” 

“I do, but I don’t,” you murmur, fidgeting with your blanket as you chewed on your bottom lip, “my coworkers couldn’t stop talking about you last night, they kept saying how handsome you are, how wonderful, how perfect—“ 

“Should I be less handsome or perfect? Because don’t know if that’s possible—“ and it earns him another whack with the pillow, but he only catches it, “you say that like it’s a bad thing,” 

“It’s not, but I don’t know why after all these years, you still want me,” you sigh, words pushing past your lips,  “you could have anyone, Satoru,” 

“If I just wanted anyone, I wouldn’t have fell in love with you,” and you bury your face in your pillow, gaze peeking down at him. 

“You say that with such ease, how do you know what love even is? I don’t know if I know what it is,” you add, mumbling under your breath, and his eyes can’t help but follow the way your fingers run through your hair. 

“I don’t think I need to know when I feel it,” Satoru sat up, dangerously close to you, within reach yet so far out of it, “do you need to know to see the sky is blue? Do you need to know to feel pain when you burn yourself?” 

“Didn’t know you were taking philosophy classes with Suguru,” and he snorts, shaking his head, “Satoru—“ 

“Like I said before, Princess, just give me some time,” his fingers reach for you, and your breath catches, before he slowly smoothed your hair out, “and I’ll win you over,” 

Your eyes flicker to his, and god, he wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss you, but he couldn’t. He had to be patient. He couldn’t push you — he wanted you to want him just as much. He would make you fall into his arms willingly, and you’d kiss him — not the other way around. 

“Want some breakfast?” your lips curl into a soft smile, the very same smile that he had fallen for time and time again. 

“You offering to cook me breakfast?” 

“Just wondering what would shut you up the quickest,” and he has half a mind to reply with ‘your lips,’ but he decides against it, “pancakes?” 

~~~

“I can feel you staring,” 

Even with your back turned to the stove, bowl in hand as you whipped the batter with the whisk, hoping your laser focus on the pancakes would help you distract yourself. But it did little when you could feel his gaze sticking in your back, spotlights on every little movement — something that wouldn’t have bothered you before — but after last night—

This was why you never drank. 

You covered your face with the back of your hand, cheeks burning, as you placed the bowl down, what had your life become? 

“C’mon you can’t just let a guy like that go,” one of the women from work nudged you — you couldn’t remember if her name was Kanae or Kanao — handing you a refill of the drink you had gotten, “he certainly seems into you from the way he looks at you,” 

“If he isn’t, I’d take him off your hands,” Saki slurred, nearly spilling her drink, “he seems to like you. Is there really nothing between you two?” 

“Not really,” you sipped your drink, if confessing to you after over a decade was nothing, “he’s just a friend,” and he was — a friend who was your fake boyfriend. 

“You know with how you started, I thought your love life would be a lot more interesting,” Kanae sighed far too loudly, as she took another long swig of her cocktail. 

“Well we’ve talked a lot about what you guys are but we haven’t asked how you feel,” Saki grinned, sloppily drunk yet somehow masterful with her questions, “how do you feel about him?” 

And how did you? If someone asked you a few weeks ago, you would said he was just your little cousin’s best friend, a childhood friend — and you wouldn’t have thought twice. But now, he has given you so much to think about. Would you be this hesitant if you two haven’t met as kids? If he wasn’t Suguru’s best friend? If he didn’t seem so far out of your league? 

Maybe. But you were never good at going for things you wanted — or accepting things as they were. Even with Naoya, you knew you should have broken up with him — you knew he was toxic, and yet you stayed — because it was easier. 

And maybe it was easier to push Satoru away than to face how you felt.

Fuck, you were too drunk for this — you needed to get out of here, “excuse me,” you manage to slip away into the bathroom, washing your face, leaning over the sink. 

You held your forehead, steadying yourself against the cold porcelain, fingers digging into the rim of the sink — eyes burning as your head throbs, a wave of nausea pulsing through your stomach. Fuck, there was no way that you could get home alone. 

You pulled out your phone and scrolled — who the fuck would you call? The only people you knew were your family and…

Nope. No. Not an option. 

You found Suguru’s number and tried to text, only to find your eyes blurring, and you knew if you sent a message he would be holding over any typos or fuck ups over your head forever. 

You found his name, your head spinning as you clicked and called. 

He didn’t pick up.

“Fucker,” you mumble, trying to hit his name again, your head spinning, and finally someone picked up—

And then you woke up in bed. A soft groan fell from your lips, knives prodding at every inch of your brain, memory blended and choppy as you drew into consciousness. You were home, your eyes fluttering open to sunlight illuminating your bedroom, a dull stiffness in your muscles that makes you stretch, turning on your side only to be met with a sight. 

Satoru Gojo. Asleep on your floor, cuddling the plush polar bear he won for you. You stared, blinking, wondering if blinking away the sleep would somehow blink away Satoru too (it did not unfortunately). So you did the only other thing you could think of — take a picture. 

As you glanced from the image to him, bits and pieces came back — from your drunken ramblings on the phone to the ones in person, your cheeks burning as you buried your face in your comforter before staring down at him. Was it possible to die of embarrassment? You were really testing those limits. 

But even so, as you watched him sleep on top of the plushie, the only thing you could wonder was why had he stayed? He could have left after you fell asleep, or even before that, there wasn’t much you could have done to stop him. But he stayed, even on the floor, rather than anywhere else. 

“So?” you didn’t need to turn from the stove to know he was grinning, “can’t I enjoy the show, Princess?” 

“If you’re enjoying it so much, how about you become part of it and help?” you offer him a spatula, as he makes his way over, leaning over you, his body brushing against yours, but you ignore it all the same, eyes focused on the task instead on the warmth blooming from his touch, “I’ll spoon and you flip,” 

The two of you work in silence, as you spoon batter onto the griddle and he flips the pancakes — and it’s only when you’re both just about done that you glance over, and his lips are curled, “What are you smiling about?” and he shakes his head, as he flips the last of the pancakes onto the stack, “Satoru—“ 

“I just never really have made breakfast like this before, or had someone make it for me,” he scratches the back of his head, “my parents always had chefs or maids or someone make me all my meals, and even when I moved out, I always cooked alone or bought my meals out,” he shrugs, as he turned the stove off, “it reminds me when you’d make me and Suguru instant ramen after we came in from playing outside,” 

You snort, “You remember that?” You would get stuck making ramen for the two of them, tossing some seasoning and sauces into the mixture along with an egg, “I always put too much black pepper. I thought you hated it,” 

“But I always finished,” he added, and he did, even if his cheeks were burning red and eyes watering by the end of the bowl. Your lips curl at the memory of him at the age of twelve downing an entire glass of water and spilling it all over the front of himself. 

“Well I can make a lot more than instant noodles now,” you have Satoru set the table while you start to clean up, turning on the sink. You hear the clink of plates and utensils behind you, as he sets them down on the table, but you can feel his gaze fall over you even as your back is turned. 

“I’m going to need some proof — there were a few times you almost burned those noodles,” and you pout, turning with your hands on your hips. 

“Oh you want me to prove it now?” You turn, running your finger discreetly up the side of the used mixing bowl, finger full of batter as you walk up to him, hands behind your back. 

“And how’re you gonna do that, Princess?” the corner of his lip quirks upwards, as you step close up to him, and god, he’s fucking tall — and it kind of pissed you off — all these boys shoot up like fucking weeds, but it didn’t mean you couldn’t knock him down a bit. 

“Close your eyes, and find out,” he raises an eyebrow, suspicious, but still he obeys — good boy, the praise runs through your head to the tip of your tongue, but you bite it and the words back alike. And you’re so close, you can see his snow white eyelashes fan out against his cheeks, and he’s so unfairly pretty, 

For now. 

You’re so close, you nearly feel his body warmth radiate your skin — and you swear you hear his breath hitch — and it would be so easy to lean forward— “Princess — what—” 

And then he gasps when you smear pancake batter down his cheek, a snort leaving your lips as he gapes at you, mouth ajar. He blinks, his hand reaching for his cheek, before he stops when his eyes flit to your batter caked finger, “You—” 

You’re giggling, trying to stop yourself from doubling over at his expression, “What? I just wanted to give you a taste of my cooking before you tried it,” and he frowns at you for a moment, before his lips curl deviously, tilting his head. 

“Is that right?” and his fingers run through the smeared batter, caking his finger tips before he’s stepping towards you, “then it’s fair, if I make you taste it too—“ and you’re trying to back up, giggles leaving your lips,  but he catches you by the wrist. 

“Satoru—“ you whine as you’re trying to squirm away, “let go!” but he only pulls you close, your body nearly bumping against his — and it was your turn for your breath to catch, cerulean irises stealing the air from your lungs as you drowned in them, “hey—“ 

“Just how much are you gonna tempt me, Princess?” and you should step away, but his fingers around your wrist send warmth blooming down your arm, straight to your chest, and you can’t bring yourself to step away. 

“And how am I doing that?” His fingers tug you closer, thumb brushing against the inside of your wrist, before he leans close. 

“You know exactly how,” and your glance flickers from his gaze to his lips, and back again, resisting the urge to shut your eyes — but you don’t have to, when he smears the batter all over your cheek. 

“Toru!” You stare at him, and he’s laughing, as you grab at him, only for him to slip away, “I’m gonna kill you—“ and you move towards the sink, batter covered bowl still inside, “oh just you wait—“ 

But your beeline is cut short by his grip, arm darting around your middle, as he pulls you back. You gasp, struggling in his arms in vain — fuck his stupidly toned arms,  “you shouldn’t start something you’re not ready to finish,” his words are said against your ear, but they rush down your body in almost a shudder. 

His lips are an inch or two from yours, you would barely need to lean to reach them — the words of your coworkers ring in your ears 

“Who said I wasn’t?” His eyes find yours, his fingers tilting your chin ever so slightly, when your phone rings. 

You jerk slightly at the sound, your eyes flickering to the name across the screen and see Suguru’s name flashing on the screen. 

“It’s Suguru,” and Satoru lets go of you, as you make your way to the phone, and you swear you hear him mutter something under his breath, “what did you say?” you don’t pick up the phone but a few texts come through anyway. 

“Nothing,” he scratched the back of his head, “what did he say?” 

“He’s asking if I wanna come over for dinner tonight, said you’re gonna be there too?” And you raise an eyebrow, as Satoru fishes his phone out of his pocket and glances at it. 

“Apparently I am,” you turn on the faucet, cleaning your face off, offering Satoru a damp tissue. “Guess this won’t be the last meal we’re sharing today,” 

“Guess not,” his fingers brush yours when taking the tissue, trying to clean the batter off his cheek but only spreads the mess. You snort, as you take the napkin from him holding his face by the chin, “so how’re we gonna play it?” 

“Play what?” You toss the napkin away, both of you taking a seat at the table. 

“Did you forget?” He stabs a pancake and places it in his plate, “we told your aunt we’re dating — and that we’re hiding it from Suguru, and you just agreed to dinner with both of them,” 

Fuck. 

✧ a/n: hi it's been quite a while T_T. sorry work has been so busy. i haven't had a moment to post, and now i had to split this up because it just got too long lmao. part two will come later, i'm going to be prioritizing my kinktober fics. thank you to @coffee-and-geto for betaing :)

✧ taglist: @satorusmochis , @celestialgojo , @sugurubabe , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @strawberryfanatic01 , @cira273 , @sobbangchan , @hiraethwrote , @peppertoastuniverse , @dreamtardisspace , @redmangotango , @h4ru-h4ruu , @anpacax0 , @theshylittleelfgirl , @hyori2 , @elliesndg , @maddietries , @roses-can-be-deadly-too, @vernasce-blogs , @mrsoikawa17 , @spider-fan72 , @haoxiaoxi , @horchatacow , @lovemoreworrylessv, @maybe-a-bi-witch , @missroki , @rubyarerosies ,, @ranatherealestsigma , @svt-backup , @catsgomurp , @sakurastorm , @forest-fruits-jam , @lemonpoppy-seed , @goddess-ofthe-godless , @notgoodforlife , @johannakhalafalla , @fushitoru , @kentosbutterfly , @augustwinesworld

[logansdoll]

professor

the students are excited to have their old biology teacher back, but you can't be that great... right?

CW: fluffy fluff, the events of Last Stand didn't happen, Logan being Logan, reader is a chlorokinetic (controls plants), love at first sight, Logan's down bad off rip

It was a couple months back when word of your return began buzzing around the mansion.

No one knew where the rumor started, or who started it, but the day wasn't even half over before the entire student body was obsessed.

Whispers muttered during class, lunchtime gossip chains, study group pow-wows.

Many couldn't believe it.

You? Come back?

No way.

Some could've sworn you were supposed to be gone for at least a few more years.

Others thought you weren't supposed to come back at all.

And a small few even believed that your arrival could come as soon as the following month.

But after a week or so of no follow up, eventually, the rumor was put to rest, interest diverted to the next, newest gossip on campus.

...

That is... until the story came out.

Apparently, one of the students—who seemed to have some sort of super-hearing—eavesdropped on a conversation between Scott and Charles, and found out you would, in fact, be returning to the school and your position as the biology teacher.

And that was all the students needed to go absolutely berserk.

It wasn't even a full twenty-four hours later before the first meeting of your welcoming committee was held, the new club already having about twenty-five members.

While they began making preparations and to-do lists for your arrival, another group began going out to your garden on the weekends, trimming the overgrown weeds and planting new flowers in their place, caring for them in the meantime.

Some students even started straightening up your old classroom, cleaning the clouded glass of the greenhouse and redecorating with your favorite blooms.

And, of course, Logan had to return from one of his trips right in the middle of it.

Now, at first, he didn't really give a shit.

But out of curiosity, he asked Rogue what all the commotion was about—especially after some kid ran past him with a trolley full of potting soil—and what he gathered was that you were some professor who left about a year ago to teach abroad.

Apparently, you were nearly every kid's favorite teacher, your fun and interactive lessons, along with your genuinely kind and caring personality, touching the hearts of damn near the entire student body.

Even kids who had never met you before were chipping in, helping out those who needed a little extra manpower.

It was almost unbelievable.

'If this chick doesn't show up, Charles is gonna have a nuclear war on his hands...'

"Guys!" Kitty shouted, running straight through the front door and into the foyer. "I think her car just pulled up!"

The following stampede could've ranked as a 9.0 on the Richter scale.

It was eight in the morning on a Saturday, and half the kids were still in their pajamas, but they all moved with lightning speed, grabbing their signs and noise-makers before running down the stairs.

A boy with super speed sprinted to the lower level dorms and woke everyone else, while a girl with the ability to stretch hung up a welcome banner over the archway.

"Hurry! She's walking up!" Kitty reported, her head halfway through a window.

Quickly, the students formed a crowd at the door, the teachers slowly descending the stairs to join them.

"Mmm. She's here already?" Jean yawned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she landed on the final step, hand in hand with Scott.

"Still as punctual as ever," he smiled.

"I'll say," Ororo grinned, crossing her robe over her chest, "She wasn't supposed to show up for another week."

Logan was less amused.

No one should have that much energy on a weekend.

Even still, he quietly settled himself off to the side, leaning up against a wall while the others joined the crowd.

'You wouldn't get this kinda reception if the President was the one coming...'

"Y'know..." Ororo started, seemingly out of nowhere, as she joined him on the wall. "I think you'll like her... she's just your type."

He turned to her, raising a brow, "Is she, now?"

Despite his playful tone, he wasn't entertaining the idea in the slightest.

All that true love-soulmate bullshit didn't exist for men like him.

He was 136, going on 137, and had loved and lost enough times to realize that at the end of the day, he'd outlive her.

So why bother?

His life would be one he forever walked alone—a fact he was slowly coming to terms with.

Or at least he thought he was.

Because as you walked through the threshold before him, flashing a heart-stopping grin, he felt all that shit go flying out his head.

You were absolutely beautiful.

And you'd think after 200 years he'd learn...

"Surprise!" the children cheered, proudly holding up their signs and tossing confetti into the air. "Welcome home!"

You gasped, dropping your bags and covering your mouth in shock as you admired the homemade decorations.

"Kids, you shouldn't have!" you smiled brighter than the sun, letting out a small laugh as they all rushed you for a group hug.

And, of course, you were happy to oblige.

"It's good to see you, (y/n)," Scott greeted, he and Jean walking over.

(y/n).

The name sounded like honey on his tongue.

"Logan," Ororo smirked, elbowing her friend in the rib. "You're drooling."

The man cleared his throat, closing his mouth and averting his eyes so they couldn't embarrass him any further.

"Some of you have gotten so big since we last met!" you cheesed, pulling back to examine each of them. "And I see some new faces, too..."

But, against his will, Logan's gaze trailed back to you, Jean's speech going in one ear and out the other.

And when it landed on your face again, he realized he wasn't the only one staring.

Your soft, (e/c) eyes were trained on him as well, their flicker of curiosity and awe completely contrasting your composed demeanor.

It made him feel hot, being subject to your gaze, and he could feel himself thoughtlessly straightening his posture, making himself appear taller, and slightly larger.

You let out a silent laugh, discreetly bringing a hand to your lips to cover it, but not before letting the man get a peak of your smile once more.

Fuck, that smile.

"Can you two quit eye-fucking? It's gross," Scott groaned, joining the two on the wall.

Logan ignored him, looking toward you with a small smirk.

Something about you gave him a good feeling... like things would be different.

Maybe love could exist for him after all...

[kat-mobile]

could i request a small fic/imagine where tommy is soft with only his girlfriend/fiancé/wife and his kids?🫶🏼

Scary? My God you're divine!

A/N: hey babes, this is actually longer than I was expecting lmao. It still is under 1000 though. I am a huge sucker for soft!Tommy so thank you so much for this request 😍. I named the baby Charlotte before I realised how much her full name sucks and then couldn't be arsed to change it, so apologies to Charlotte Shelby. This is probably also ooc but I don't give a shit, but I hope you like it anon!!! 💕💕

You knew what Tommy did, what came with his job. All the illegal affairs and cutting people up. You'd be a fool not to. But you couldn't help but feel as if the real Tommy Shelby was the one who came out when he was with you.

Ever since the start of your relationship, Tommy had always acted differently around you, much softer, always there to place a soothing hand on your back or hunch over to talk to you with his lips brushing your ear, his words meant for no ears but your own. His hardened gaze softened and the corners of his mouth would quirk up in a a miniscule smile, only momentarily but you would count that as a win no less.

Arthur had employed you to help run things at the garrison, you weren't exactly excellent at maths but you were certainly better than Arthur so you would help with the books as well as working as a barmaid. The two of you met for the first time when Tommy burst into the office of the garrison with a cut on his sharp cheekbone, he thought he would be opening the door to his brother, you thought he was the most handsome man you had ever seen. You insisted on helping and sanitising the "wound" and although he initially refused he soon gave in to your worried frown and relentless offer of help. The two of you had been practically inseparable since, rarely seeing one without the other and if one was missing they were never very far behind.

Tommy took to you almost immediately after meeting you, and Polly clocked him the very next day. The woman always was good at reading Tommy and that day was no different.

Over the next couple of months, whenever he was around Tommy barely let you lift a finger, always eager to help lift things and assist in anyway possible, never letting you out yourself in any risk whatsoever, no matter how small. At first you were offended, thinking that he was doing it because he thought you incapable, what with you being a woman, or if he didn't trust you enough to do things on your own. But when you brought it up one day, thoroughly fed up, he was quick to quell your suspicions and doubts by instead admitting his growing feelings towards you. Absolutely zero persuasion was needed for you to agree to a date with the handsome Tommy Shelby, and now three years later you're married with an adorable little four month old baby girl named Charlotte.

Tommy often refers to your small family as his greatest weakness, saying that if it ever gets out how soft he is that his reputation would never recover. But you just laugh to yourself and cuddle in closer, hand coming up to stroke Charlotte's head. No one would believe it if it got out, he has nothing to worry about.

The first time Tommy had held her you would've thought she was made out of cheap glass, fragile and likely to break at even the smallest of mishandlings. You knew from the moment that little Charlotte Shelby first opened her eyes, sharp and blue like her fathers, that she had Birmingham's most feared gangster wrapped around her teeny tiny pinky. Once the doctor had shown him how to hold the baby properly, supporting her head and all that, it was hard to separate the two.

Every night when he came home to you he would lie in the centre of the bed with you curled up into his side, head resting on his firm shoulder, and he would place the small babe to lie on his bare chest, small legs tucking up in a scrunch like a frog and cute babbles making the corners of his eyes crease.

[obsesssedblerd]

please please please, I need a part 2 to your loving dad Toji/ Preschool teacher reader fic💖💖It’s so good😭

"Who's your new teacher?" (Pt. 2)

Synopsis: Toji gets the phone number of Megumi's preschool teacher that he's been crushing on. [Pt. 1 here]

Contains: plenty of fluff, crack, megumi is four, tsumiki is seven, toji is still toji (but like he's soft for his kids and he takes care of them), reader is a preschool teacher, reader and toji are around the same age, toji being soft and a little shy, mentions of shiu, everyone is happy bc i said so

a/n: sorry that this took a while! also, barely proof-read. sorry for mistakes!

update: part 3 here

------------------

3:30pm, which means that it’s about time for the children to get picked up from preschool. Until they’re picked up by their parents, they run out any additional energy they have on the playground.

All except one. 

Instead of playing with the other kids, Megumi Fushiguro sits next to you at one of the tables of the playground with his dog plushie occupying the space beside him. He’s quiet, but relaxed and happy as he fills a page in the coloring book you bought for him and only for him. You notice him digging for a green crayon, and you hand one to him. His eyes light up as he accepts it from you. “Thank you,” he says softly. 

You smile at him. “Of course.” Your heart melts when the four year-old returns your smile, then goes back to coloring. Though you enjoyed all of your students, there was no doubt that Megumi was your favorite. According to some of the other teachers, Megumi barely spoke to anyone and always distanced himself. However, he loves being in your presence. He always lets you hold his hand when walking anywhere, or fix his hair,—you still wonder how it’s so spiky—and he talks to you the most. You enjoy his stories about his family, and his love for dogs.

“What are you drawing?” You ask when you notice that he’s drawing on a blank page instead of filling in the lines of the coloring book.

Megumi covers it and pouts slightly. “It’s a surprise. You can’t look until I’m done.” 

“Okay. No problem.” 

“Hi, Gumi! Hi, Ms. [Y/L/N}!” The familiar, happy voice fills your ears, and excitement swirls in your stomach. Tsumiki Fushiguro skips over to the table, putting her backpack down and gently hugging her little brother, careful not to disturb his coloring. Then, she wraps you in a hug, one that you happily receive. “Hello, sweetheart! How was school and soccer practice?” 

“It was fun! We’re going to have a game soon!” 

Your eyes scan the playground. If Tsumiki was here, then that meant that—

“Looking for me?” The low, smooth voice sends a small shiver down your spine.

There he is. 

You turn around and look up at a smirking Toji Fushiguro, who is without a doubt the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life. Tall, muscular, dark hair with a scar on his lip, charming, and so gentle with his two kids. Behind him was his friend, Shiu Kong, who you had seen a couple of times. He would pick up Megumi if Toji was held up at work. 

“Yeah,” you answer as you release Tsumiki and stand up, mirroring his smile. “I was. How was work?” 

Though you enjoyed the activities of your job, this was your favorite part of the day. Nearly every afternoon for the last month and a half, you would spend some quiet time with Megumi during pick-up time, greet Tsumiki when Toji came, then spend at least twenty minutes talking with him while the kids played. A few of your coworkers picked up on how often you were smiling with him, and lightly teased you for having a crush. At first, you denied it, but when you caught yourself daydreaming about him for the umpteenth time while at work, doing chores at home, or before bed, you finally accepted it. 

“Work was fine,” he answers, then gestures to Megumi. “How’d he do today?” 

“He’s perfect, as always.” 

“Done!” Megumi springs up, then stands in-between you and Toji, raising his arms above his head to show you two the picture he was drawing. 

Toji smiles down at his son. “Aw, that’s sweet, Megs. What is it?” 

You look down to see four happy, smiling figures on the paper, and even though you can tell what they are, you still let Megumi explain them. “This one’s me,” he says as he points to the smaller figure with dark hair and t-shirt with a dog on it. Next is the taller girl beside him. “This is Tsumiki!” He tilts the paper towards his sister, who ‘awws’ in response. Then he smiles up at you as he points to the woman. “This is you, and then right here is Papa.” In the drawing, you’re wearing a brightly colored dress and standing next to Toji.

Toji peers down at what Megumi drew, and asks, “Hey, how come my cheeks are pink?” 

Megumi raises a brow, looking up at him in confusion. “Your cheeks are always pink when you’re around Ms. [Y/L/N],” he says matter-of-factly. 

Toji’s eyes widen, and Shiu turns around, doing his best to stifle his laugh. “That’s not— No, they’re not-” As Toji fumbles around his words, you catch it—the faint dust of pink on his cheeks, almost missed due to the sunlight on his face. 

You don’t point out the small detail that you’re also blushing in Megumi’s drawing. 

Toji’s phone buzzes, and he fishes it out to silence the notification. “Crap. We gotta get going. Megumi has a doctor’s appointment.” 

At that, Megumi whines and clutches your hand. “I don’t wanna go, papa.” 

Your heart squeezes at the utter fear in his eyes, and Toji kneels in front of him. “Megs, I promise, there’s no shots this time. It’s just a little check-up to make sure that you’re healthy.” 

You also kneel down, and the small boy wraps his arms around you. “Don’t wanna go,” he repeats, and he sounds like he’s on the verge of tears, “it was scary last time.” 

“Aw, it’s okay, Gumi.” You rub a comforting hand up and down his back, then through his hair. “Your dad wouldn’t lie to you, and he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you. I understand how you’re feeling, though. Doctors can be pretty scary. How about this? Be brave during your check-up, and I’ll have a nice gift for you tomorrow.” 

Megumi looks up at you, and excitement replaces the fear that was in his eyes before. “A gift? What is it?” 

“You’ll have to see. It’s a surprise,” you say, and you watch as he takes a big breath to calm himself. “Okay.” He hugs you once more, and you see a relieved Toji mouth the words, ‘Thank you’ to you. 

As you help Megumi gather his things, you see Toji whispering to Tsumiki, who looks like she can barely contain her excitement. Once she’s ready, she bounces over to you. “Ms. [Y/L/N]?” 

“Yes, sweetheart?” 

“Papa wants to ask for your phone number,” then she lowers her voice to a not-so-quiet-whisper. “But he’s too shy. Also, can you come to my soccer game pretty, pretty pleaseeeee?!” 

Toji lets out a loud, mortified gasp. “Tsumiki, you were supposed to mention the soccer game and then the phone number— oh, my god.” He buries his face in his hand, and this time, Shiu Kong can’t hold back his laugh. 

You also laugh, then pat the top of her head. “I’ll come to your game, Tsumiki. I can’t wait to see you play!” 

“Yay!” She cheers, completely ignoring the fact that her father’s about to die of embarrassment. 

You approach Toji, who bashfully rubs the back of his head. “That completely backfired. I’m so sorry. If you don’t want to, I completely understand-” 

“No, I would love to. Yes to Tsumiki’s game, and yes to giving you my phone number.” 

He hands you his phone, watching you as you put in your number and texting yourself so you had his. You hand it back, then he effortlessly scoops up Megumi. “I’ll text you the details later.” 

“Perfect. See you soon.” 

Toji’s eyes soften, and he uses his free hand to push a strand of your hair out of your face. Your heart pounds fast in your chest, and your cheeks heat. “See you soon, doll,” he says.

You nearly stop breathing at the new nickname. As you wave them all goodbye, you let out a slow, blissful sigh. You got his number. Soon, you’ll be going to Tsumiki’s game, then maybe on a date with him, then—

You snap yourself out of it. Don’t think too far ahead. Focus on now. You can freak out about everything else later. 

Right now, you have to get a present for Megumi when he’s done with his doctor’s appointment.

------

tags: @sad-darksoul @binnieonabike @byul9158 @sugurubabe @namjooningera @xxkay15xx @eternallyvenus @chosoyukisgf

sorry if I missed anyone! went based off the replies in part one <3

[parkerslatte]

Fated Meetings

Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: none.

Summary: Since the babysitter Y/N usually hires had to cancel last minute, Y/N is forced to take her four year old daughter to a ball in the Autumn Court. While Y/N gathers drinks for her and her daughter, she finds her missing and in the arms of a certain High Lord.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

Y/N held onto her daughter, Sapphira’s hand tightly as she and the rest of the Inner Circle entered the ballroom. It was not ideal to bring Sapphira along to such a high profile event and it was not a good idea to expose her to such powerful fae at only the young age of five. But Y/N had no choice. The usual babysitter was away in another court and with no one she could leave Sapphira with at the last minute, Y/N was forced to bring her along. 

Of course, Sapphira hadn’t minded in the slightest. When she was born Rhys had spoiled her with glittering gowns fit for a princess. No matter how hard Y/N insisted he did not need to give her small little family anything, Rhys insisted. With nowhere to wear her elaborate gowns, Sapphira only wore them around her own bedroom and whenever Y/N read her a princess story. The young girl always pictured herself within the story, dancing with a handsome prince. Once Y/N told her she could wear one of her gowns to an event, Y/N was sure she had never seen her daughter so excited. 

Y/N glanced down at Sapphire and smiled at her daughter. The young girl’s gaze constantly bounced between everything that moved and glittered. But Y/N couldn’t blame her, she was doing the exact same thing. It was her first time in the Autumn Court and it was nothing if not beautiful. Even more beautiful than Velaris, Y/N thought. 

As the Inner Circle branched off around the ballroom, Y/N looked to her daughter. “Do you want a drink?”

“I want to dance!” Sapphira exclaimed. 

Y/N looked to the dancefloor and found it vacant, with the exception of a singular elderly couple. Y/N did not want to risk Sapphira being so exposed like that. 

“What about later?” Y/N suggested. “They might play that music you love later.”

Sapphira thought about it for a second, her brain ticking. Y/N would have loved to know her thought process. 

“Okay, mummy,” Sapphira said.

Y/N smiled at her daughter and squeezed her hand lightly. “Let’s get you a drink.”

Y/N led Sapphira to the drinks table and reached for two cups of water. If Y/N did not have Sapphira with her, she would have indulged in the champagne that was being offered. But tonight Y/N wanted to be on high alert in case anything happened to Sapphira. 

Y/N pulled Sapphira to the side of the room and leaned against the wall while she sat down on the floor. People around her glanced back at the two, some with disgust and Y/N glared at them. 

“Y/N?” A voice startled Y/N as she lightly jumped back. 

Y/N turned to the source of the voice and she smiled. “Lucien!”

Y/N wrapped her arms around the youngest Vanserra and greeted him warmly. She had always liked talking to Lucien and she always enjoyed how he was around Sapphira. Y/N knew of the hard time he had settling into the Night Court so she always made sure to make him feel welcome. 

“I have not seen you in forever!” Y/N exclaimed, stepping back from Lucien. “Is the Day Court treating you well?”

Lucien smiled. “As well as ever. I’m currently bouncing between there and here. Ever since Eris became High Lord, he made one of his priorities to repair our relationship.”

“And how is that working out?” Y/N questioned.

Lucien sighed, though it was content. “Surprisingly well, considering everything.”

“It’s good he is working on fixing everything between you,” Y/N said. 

“After he explained everything, I feel as if I understood him better,” Lucien said. “I could see hints of the brother who used to play with me to distract me from Beron when I was a child.”

Y/N smiled. “I think you would have been a difficult child.”

Lucien gasped. “I was not. I believe I was quite delightful, perhaps even more delightful than your own child.”

“You could never be more delightful than Sapphira,” Y/N said, smiling. “She is the sweetest child in the whole world.”

“I cannot argue with that,” Lucien said, a glint in his eye. “How is she? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

Y/N frowned. “What do you mean? She’s right here–”

The space where Sapphira was sitting on the floor was now vacant. All that was left was the cup of water that was still full. Y/N’s heart began to beat faster as panic rose within her. 

“Sapphira!” Y/N exclaimed, scanning the room for any sign of her daughter. 

“I can go and see if she has left the ballroom,” Lucien said, suddenly serious. “Do you want me to inform Azriel? He could probably find her quickly.”

“No, do not inform anyone from the Inner Circle. If they find out she is missing, it will turn into a bloodbath here and I don’t want Sapphira seeing that,” Y/N said. 

Lucien nodded before taking off. Y/N did the same and began the search for her daughter. 

***

It had been roughly five minutes or Y/N thought before a young maid tapped her on the shoulder. 

“Yes,” Y/N said, quite sharply. 

The maid flinched slightly but did not back away. “I believe I have just passed your daughter in the gardens, just through those doors there. She looked an awful lot like you.”

Y/N looked at the large glass doors leading to the beautiful gardens outside. Of course her daughter would sneak away to one of the most beautiful places in the court. Y/N said a quick thank you to the maid before she quickly left in the direction of the doors. 

As she slipped out, the sound of the ballroom faded away and was replaced by the slight breeze and distant chatter. One of the voices extremely familiar. Y/N frowned and hurried in the direction of the noise. As soon as Sapphira was safely back in her arms, she was leaving the court immediately. 

“See those hills over there?” The unfamiliar voice asked softly.

“Yes,” Sapphira answered.

“Those hills are special because they are home to the rarest flowers in the whole of Prythian,” the voice said. A masculine voice. 

Y/N only walked faster. 

“See at a certain time every night, they glow, not for long but long enough to light up the entire hill.”

Sapphira gasped. “I want to go there!”

Y/N closed in on the pair. The figure was holding her daughter in his arms and Y/N wanted nothing more than to put an arrow through his head. She was not very good at wielding weapons, preferring to do the healing of a wound rather than inflict it, but if he did not put her daughter down, she would suddenly become the best archer in the whole of Prythian. 

The man chuckled. “You will need to ask your mother. Speaking of which, you should go back inside–”

“That is right, Sapphira. Get away from him,” Y/N spoke up. 

As soon as Y/N spoke, the man turned around and Y/N gasped. The man holding her daughter was none other than the High Lord himself. Eris Vanserra. 

“High Lord,” Y/N said, dipping her head. “I didn’t know–”

“Y/N, please, there is no need for formalities,” Eris said and set Sapphira down on the floor. 

“How do you know my name?” Y/N questioned.

Eris smiled softly and Y/N swore it was the most beautiful smile she had ever seen. “Well my little brother speaks of you a lot and this one,” Eris nodded his head to Sapphira who was brushing down her gown, “speaks a lot about you.”

“Mummy, can I stay outside with Eris, please? He is really nice!” Sapphira said, running up to Y/N and tugged on the bottom of her dress. 

“I don’t know,” Y/N said, briefly glancing at Eris. “I’m sure he is busy.”

“In fact I am quite free,” Eris said. “I dread to go back indoors.”

Y/N stepped closer to Eris. She had never spoken to him before. Though the Inner Circle have spoken about him a lot, none of the comments were too positive. Though the demeanour of the male standing before her contrasted the image she had conjured up in her head. 

“Isn’t this whole ordeal for you?” Y/N questioned. “Isn’t that the whole reason me and my daughter were dragged here?”

“Dragged?” Eris questioned. “I believe your daughter was more than ecstatic to come tonight.”

Y/N looked down at her daughter. “How much did you tell him? You have only been gone ten minutes.”

“She did not stop talking,” Eris said. “Barely let me get a word in.”

“She is normally shy around new people,” Y/N said as her daughter stepped around her legs and closer to Eris. 

“I’m the eldest of seven children,” Eris said, “I’m good with kids.”

“Please can we stay out here a little longer, mummy? I like it here!” Sapphira said, pulling Y/N closer to Eris.

Despite the darkness, Y/N couldn’t help but admire Eris’s beauty as she inched closer to him. His copper hair was immaculately styled on the top of his head, a single strand falling in his eyes that she itched to push back. 

“I suppose we can stay here a little longer,” Y/N muttered.

Sapphira expressed her delight while Eris only smirked. “Perfect. I can show the two of you around the gardens.”

“In the dark?” Y/N challenged.

“You seemed to admire something else in the darkness,” Eris said, his voice loud enough for only Y/N to hear. “Though I can’t guarantee that the gardens are as beautiful as your view currently.”

Y/N flushed and stepped away from Eris. “Well, show the way, High Lord.”

Eris smiled and held out his arm for Y/N to take. “It would be impolite of me to not offer you my arm.”

Y/N glared at him before wrapping her arm around his. Sapphira walked just ahead of them, eager to see the rest of the gardens. 

***

Y/N watched Sapphira run around between all of the hedges fondly, she had never seen her daughter look so happy. Currently, her and Eris were situated on a bench, he lounged upon in, completely relaxed. His jacket was unbuttoned and the crown that was situated on the top of his head was in Sapphira’s hands. 

“We should get back inside soon,” Y/N said, turning to face Eris. 

“You said that ten minutes ago,” Eris teased, crossing one of his legs over the other. 

Y/N flushed once more and turned to face her daughter, who stopped to admire a large rose bush. “I know, but she is so happy out here. She has always been a happy child, but out here…it's different. Our small apartment doesn’t have a garden so Sapphira doesn’t really have anywhere to play.”

Eris studied her for a moment. “What do you do for a living, Y/N? I don’t believe Lucien has ever brought it up.”

“I’m a healer,” Y/N replied. “I help out the Inner Circle quite a lot.”

“You speak about it like you are not part of it,” Eris remarked.

“I’m not,” Y/N replied. “I just attend any matters in other courts in case a healer is needed urgently. I’m not particularly close with anyone except Azriel, he is the one who introduced me to Rhys and Feyre.”

Eris let his gaze fall to Sapphira. “And Sapphira? I assume she is not a healer.”

Y/N laughed. “No, and she would make an awful healer when she grows up, and she has never taken an interest in it. I didn’t have a choice but to bring her tonight, my usual babysitter is in the Winter Court visiting family.”

Eris smiled and Y/N was sure that the image of it would be burned into her memory. “I assume her father is busy.”

The smile from Y/N’s face faltered. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen him since the moment I knew I was pregnant with Sapphira.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Eris apologised. “I didn’t know.”

Y/N gave him a tight lipped smile. “Not many people do. We were together for three years and when he noticed my shift in scent, he was gone before I even realised what was happening. Only Azriel knows the real truth, and now you do too.”

“Well I say that he missed out,” Eris said, leaning closer to Y/N, “on an amazing daughter and her gorgeous mother.”

Y/N didn’t look away from him, in fact her gaze fell to his lips. But just as she caught herself she looked back to his eyes, only to find a hint of amusement in them. “Well, if he stuck around then I wouldn’t be talking to a rather handsome High Lord, would I?”

This time, Y/N was the one to surprise Eris. He cleared his throat and looked away. “We should go back inside.”

“Look who’s eager to get away now?” Y/N teased. 

Eris tilted his head as he leaned closer. “Sweetheart, I would need to be dragged kicking and screaming to be pulled away from you. But this whole event is still about me and there are most likely many guests wondering where I have been.”

“I–”

“Mummy!” Sapphira exclaimed. “Can we go and dance now? You said I could dance later.”

Sapphira ran to where Y/N and Eris were sitting, still clutching Eris’s crown. Y/N stood from the bench, her arm brushing Eris as she did so, she hadn’t realised how close the two had gotten during their conversation. 

“Of course, sweetie,” Y/N said and held out her hand.

“Is Eris coming?” Sapphira asked, looking up at Eris with wide eyes. 

Eris smiled and stood to his feet. “Of course.”

Sapphira smiled wide and gripped onto Y/N's hand and then Eris’s and began to drag them with all of her strength back to the ballroom. 

Y/N leaned closer to Eris. “You don’t need to come with us, if you prefer to be out here, you can say no to her.”

“Like I said, there are most likely plenty of people who are wondering where I went,” Eris replied. “And wherever you are going, I will follow.”

Y/N looked away from Eris just as Sapphira dragged them through the doors to the ballroom. There were still plenty of people inside and there were plenty of people on the dance floor. 

“This is where I must leave you both,” Eris said. “It seems that my brother is trying to get my attention.”

Sapphira looked up at Eris. “Please stay.”

“Sapphira, Eris is busy and needs to get back to his duties,” Y/N said. 

Eris looked at the young girl and bent down to meet her height. “How about this? Once I finish my duties for the evening, I will come and dance with you and your mother?”

“Eris you really don’t–”

“Yes please!” Sapphira exclaimed. 

Eris smiled and Y/N swore that she would melt. “Perfect.”

Sapphira held out Eris’s crown to him. “This is yours.”

Eris gently took the crown from her hands. “This crown always looked silly on me.” He placed the crown on top of Sapphira’s head. It was too big for her but her hairstyle kept it in place. “Why don’t you hold onto it for me? Remember this is a very important job.”

Sapphira’s eyes lit up. “I will protect it!”

Eris smiled before standing up. “I will see you later, Y/N.”

Y/N could feel many eyes on her as Eris spoke to her but she couldn’t find it within herself to care. “I will see you later, Eris.”

After bidding goodbye, Y/N thought Eris would simply leave to attend to his duties. However before he left he gently took Y/N’s hand in his, his skin soft, and brought her hand up to his lips, pressing his lips against her knuckles for a lingering moment. Her daughter giggled happily at the gesture while Y/N only held onto Eris’s hand tighter, something within her wanted him to stay. 

When he released her hand, Eris’s gaze lingered upon Y/N for a moment longer before he turned and walked away, creating a path through the many dancers on the ballroom floor. Y/N watched where he left, a lovestruck expression on her face which was only interrupted by Sapphire gripping onto her hand. 

“Are you going to marry him?” Sapphira asked.

“What!” Y/N exclaimed, looking down at her daughter. “Of course I’m not.”

Sapphira giggled happily and pulled Y/N’s hand. “I want to dance!”

With one last glance in the direction Eris disappeared, Y/N nodded. “Let’s go then.”

***

“This better be important,” Eris said as he neared closer to Lucien. 

“I see you were the one who found Sapphira,” Lucien said. “Y/N was worried sick about her.”

“I was in the gardens,” Eris said. “If anything she found me. Now, what was so important you needed to drag me away from a beautiful woman. Isn’t your mate around here? Shouldn’t you be entertaining her instead of pestering me.”

“Elain couldn’t make it tonight,” Lucien said. “And do my ears deceive me or did you say that Y/N was beautiful?”

“You certainly didn’t mention that in your stories about her,” Eris said. “And nor did you mention that Sapphira’s father isn’t in the picture.”

“Well I have a mate,” Lucien said. “My loyalty resides with Elain, I cannot go around calling other females beautiful now, can I? And you brought up Sapphira’s father to her? I knew you hadn't entertained the company of many females in the past few years, Eris, but who knew you were incapable to woo one without bringing up past failed relationships.”

“Oh, shut it,” Eris sneered at his brother. Lucien only laughed. “Is this the only reason why you called me over here?”

Lucien took a sip of his wine. “Yes. After all, I have been mentioning her quite a lot around you as of late. I thought you might need a push to talk to her and I gave you one when I secretly told Sapphira to go into the gardens earlier to find you.”

Eris glared at his brother. “You sent Sapphira out to me?”

“I did. I saw the look in your eyes the moment Y/N entered the ballroom and how quickly you left,” Lucien said. “That look in your eyes, I know you felt it. That snap.”

Eris sighed. “Can we not talk about this now?”

“We will talk about it now or you will avoid it,” Lucien said. “I knew you would like her but I never thought she was your mate, Eris.”

“Well it clearly hasn’t snapped for her, so please don’t bring it up to her until I am ready to tell her,” Eris pleaded with his younger brother. 

“Tell her, Eris,” Lucien said. “I know Y/N and I know that she deserves love, a real home. And I know that you crave the same. Tell her, from what I can see, she likes you too.”

Eris looked out at the ballroom and spotted Y/N and Sapphira instantly. Y/N looked so carefree dancing with Sapphira and Eris could only smile at the sight. That golden thread connecting him to Y/N tugged him toward her. He took the first few steps on his own. Everyone else in the ballroom seemed to disappear as Eris took a few more steps. As he continued to walk towards her, Y/N looked up at him. 

Eris felt like his heart stopped beating. The pull toward her became stronger and stronger. She was beautiful. The most beautiful female he had ever seen. The moment he had seen her walk into the ballroom he thought that. And the moment he felt the bond, he was overcome with emotion. He had left the ballroom to the safety of the gardens to process everything. Until a young girl approached him and he instantly knew who the child belonged to, he could see it in her features, she looked exactly like her mother. And she was the one to bring his mate into his life the moment she disappeared from the ballroom.

“Eris?” Y/N’s voice interrupted his thoughts. 

He hadn’t noticed but he was now standing back with Y/N and Sapphira. 

“Yes?” Eris said.

“Have you finished with your duties for the night?” Y/N asked. 

Eris nodded. “I have. Now I am yours.”

Y/N smiled and Eris. “Just for tonight, of course.”

The wide smile on Eris’s face faltered. “Yes, just for tonight.”

“Eris, can you dance with me?” Sapphira asked, gripping onto the edge of Eris’s jacket. 

Eris looked at the young girl and his smile returned. She still wore his crown and it now sat crooked on top of her head. “Of course. Will you join us, Y/N?”

Y/N shook her head. “All of this dancing has worn me out. I will get a drink for myself. I trust you to look after her.”

Eris grasped her hand in his. Sparks flew at their connection. “I will join you after we dance.”

Y/N chuckled. “Good luck trying to get her off of the dance floor.”

Eris smiled and brought his other hand up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. He allowed his hand to linger on her cheek, caressing her face gently.  “I will try my best to get her back to you in a timely manner.”

Y/N smiled and Eris swore she leaned into his touch. “Again, she will dance until she falls asleep,” Y/N replied.

“Then I’m afraid we will be here all night because I, too, love dancing,” Eris said. 

“You will need to show me some of your dance moves sometime,” Y/N said, her hand caressing his wrist. 

Eris smirked and leaned forward, his breath brushed her face. “I will happily show you anytime.”

“You better,” Y/N said.

“Eris, can we dance now?” Sapphira asked.

“Of course, give me just a second,” Eris replied. He turned back to Y/N. “I will see you later, Y/N.”

Before she had the chance to respond Eris pressed a kiss to her cheek, close to the corner of her mouth. Y/N didn’t respond as Eris stepped away, sweeping Sapphira in a dance in the centre of the ballroom.

***

Y/N remained still as she watched Eris and Sapphira dance, many moved out of the way to not disturb the High Lord. Though many gave the High Lord questioning looks as he danced with an unfamiliar girl. Y/N’s heart was racing.

“Y/N?” Azriel asked, approaching her. “Are you okay?”

“Eris…” Y/N began, but words failed her.

Azriel’s gaze followed Y/N’s and he went rigid. “Why is he with Sapphira?”

“He–” Y/N cut herself off as she finally tore her gaze away from Eris and Sapphira to look at her friend. “Azriel. Eris is my mate.”

Azriel’s head snapped to Y/N’s. “Your mate? That is not possible.”

“It is,” Y/N said. “I feel it. I feel him.” Y/N placed her hand over her stomach, feeling where the tug was coming from, connecting her to Eris. 

“Does he know?” Azriel asked, placing a gentle hand on Y/N’s shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Y/N said. “He hasn’t mentioned it.”

Y/N returned her gaze to Eris and Sapphira and her heart melted at the sight. Sapphira stood on Eris’s feet as he walked her through a dance, a carefree smile on his face. “He is so good with her.”

Though Azriel was still tense, his gaze softened as he looked at the joy on the young girl’s face as she danced with Eris. 

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Azriel asked once more.

“I think so,” Y/N admitted. “I am just shocked. I never thought I would have a mate.”

“I’m shocked too,” Azriel muttered. “Considering it’s Eris of all people.”

Y/N gently hit his shoulder. “He is a good male.”

“And you have figured that out from one conversation?” Azriel questioned.

Y/N shook her head. “I know because of how he treats Sapphira.” Y/N nods her head to the two still dancing, Sapphira with a wide smile on her face. “Be honest and say you have never seen her that comfortable around a stranger before.”

Azriel looks at Sapphira and Eris. “I haven’t.”

Y/N smiles. “And that is how I know that he is a good male. Because my daughter is an excellent judge of character.”

Azriel sighs. “Just be careful.”

“There is nothing to be careful of,” Y/N said. “But to put your mind at ease, I will be careful.”

Before Azriel has the chance to respond, Eris interrupts the conversation, carrying Sapphira in his arms, her eyes slowly closing. “I believe your daughter is ready for bed.”

“I’m not…” Sapphira mutters, as her eyes droop once more, her head resting on Eris’s shoulder. 

“I can take her back home,” Azriel offers.

“Or I could have a room set up here?” Eris suggests, looking at Y/N. “It saves you returning home too.”

There is something in Eris’s eye that Y/N could only describe as pleading. He wanted her to stay at the Autumn Court for the night. Y/N couldn’t think of any reason why she wouldn’t want to. “Only if it’s not too much hassle.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Eris answers. “I can take you both to a guest room. The finest I have to offer.”

Y/N smiled. “Honest anything will do, Eris. I’m sure that you have more important guests who will need that room more than us.”

“My two most important guests are right here,” Eris said. “Now, shall we get going?”

Y/N looked at Azriel, who she had only just realised was still standing there. “Tell Rhys where I am?”

Azriel looked at Eris, his gaze hard. Eris only stared back at the shadowsinger, nothing in his eyes to suggest any ill intent. Azriel relaxed. “I will see you when you return, Y/N.”

The shadowsinger left, not before giving a warning look to Eris. The High Lord cleared his throat. “Well, shall we get going now?”

Y/N nodded. “Lead the way.”

As Eris tried to hand Sapphira over to Y/N, the young girl clung to his jacket, seemingly not wanting to leave Eris. Eris sent Y/N a panicked look. Y/N smiled at him. “It’s okay. When she is sleepy she always clings onto people she trusts.”

The touched expression on Eris’s face was enough for Y/N to feel a pull on the bond between them. The quicker she had Sapphira asleep in a bed, the quicker she could tell Eris about the bond. 

Eris led her down a variety of hallways and Y/N couldn’t tear her eyes away from the beauty of it all. “If Sapphira were awake she wouldn’t want to ever leave.”

The smile on Eris’s face was small but Y/N didn’t miss it. “You are free to visit anytime.”

Finally the two stopped outside of two large doors, Eris pushed open the door with one arm and gestured for Y/N to enter. The room was large with a king size bed in the centre, draped by a crimson canopy. Solid gold was shaped into patterns on the bed frame. Y/N was sure that it cost more than she made in a year. There was a seating area beside a fireplace, pillows and blankets rested upon the sofa and made Y/N want to snuggle up there with a good book in her hands. 

But the most stunning feature of the whole room was the windows. They were floor to ceiling leading out onto a secluded balcony allowing for a view of the Autumn Court. Y/N couldn’t help herself but gasp. 

“You cannot seriously be allowing me to stay here?” Y/N asked. 

“I am,” Eris said, walking over to the bed. “Only the finest room for my most important guests. I have some spare clothing for Sapphira if you wish to change her. I am sure my mother kept clothing from when myself and my brothers were children.”

“No, it’s okay,” Y/N answered. “If you wake her now, I will never get her back to sleep.”

Y/N joined Eris at the bed and watched as he placed her gently down upon the soft covers. The care in his movements was unlike anything Y/N had seen before. No one except for her had held her daughter with such care before. Eris gently tucked her under the covers and pulled the blankets up as she snuggled into them. Y/N leant against the bedpost. 

“What?” Eris asked as he noticed her staring. “Like I said, I’m good with children.”

Y/N shook her head. “It’s not that.”

Eris smiled and approached her. “What is it then?”

“It’s just…I have never seen someone care so much for her before. I know the Inner Circle loves her but they have never held her or gone so much out of their way to make her smile like you have tonight,” Y/N said. “Thank you, Eris.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Eris said. “Don’t ever thank me for something as simple as making your daughter smile.”

“She just never warms up to new people as quickly as she did to you,” Y/N said. “She really likes you, Eris.”

Eris looked at his feet for a brief moment before gesturing to the sofa by the fireplace. “Shall we sit?”

“Don’t you need to return to the ballroom?” Y/N questions. 

“I have disappeared from these events before,” Eris explains. “No one will miss me. If they do, Lucien will deal with them.”

Y/N took a seat on the sofa and Eris sat next to her, his thigh brushing against hers. The pull within Y/N made her shuffle closer, seeking as much contact as possible. She craved it. 

“Eris, there is something I need to tell you,” Y/N said, suddenly serious. “It might be a lot to take in and I really don’t want you to run from the room screaming in fear.”

Eris chuckled. “Whatever you are about to tell me probably is not going to match the news I need to tell you.”

Y/N let out a breathy laugh. “Earlier, when you kissed my cheek, something snapped into place. A mating bond. You are my mate, Eris.”

For a brief moment, Eris stilled and Y/N was afraid that he would end up running from the room. But her fears were not brought to life as Eris began to laugh quietly. Y/N frowned. “What is so funny?”

A warmth enveloped Y/N’s hand. She didn’t need to look down to know that it was Eris’s own hands. 

“The news I wished to share with you is the same as yours,” Eris said with a smile. “I felt it too. The moment you walked into that ballroom. That snap I never thought I would feel.”

“And are you…happy about it?” Y/N asked, holding her breath. 

Eris frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be happy? Y/N, I never thought I would be blessed with a mate, let alone someone as beautiful and incredible as you. I never thought I deserved it.” Eris caressed her cheek as he leaned closer to Y/N. “But now that I see you Y/N, you are everything I have ever wanted. Deep down I always craved a mate, I always craved to be loved by someone unconditionally and the mother has blessed me with you. I must be the luckiest male in the entire world.”

Y/N’s eyes watered. “Oh, Eris.  You really mean all of those things?”

“Of course I do,” Eris said. “I have only known you a short time, Y/N. But everything about you I admire. And you are someone I could easily fall in love with.”

Y/N placed her hands on Eris’s chest, her fingers gripping onto the lapels of his jacket. “Eris, you must realise that Sapphira will always be part of my life and she is the most important thing to me. You say you want me, but you have to want her too.”

Eris rested his forehead against Y/N’s. “Y/N, I already know. And I already adore Sapphira, she reminds me a lot of Lucien when he was younger, before my father–” Eris cut himself off. “What I am saying is that I have already accepted her. If you choose me too, I will continue to provide for her. Whatever she wishes I will try my damn hardest to make that wish come true.”

Y/N smiled. “Don’t spoil her too much.”

“So do you accept me as your mate?” Eris asked. “Obviously we don’t need to accept the bond until you are ready. Of course not until we tell Sapphira everything, because if she doesn’t accept it then I will gladly step back and–”

“Eris,” Y/N said, cutting him off. “I accept you as my mate. I may have only known you a short time but from how you are with Sapphira tells me all I need to know about you. You are a good male.”

Eris looked into Y/N’s eyes and Y/N already had a new favourite colour. Everything about this felt right to her. It was as if everything around her had fallen into place and this was what she was destined for. A life with Eris, raising her daughter together. 

“May I kiss you?” Eris asked, hesitation evident in his voice. 

“Yes, you may,” Y/N replied.

Without any hesitation, Eris pressed his lips against Y/N’s and she could feel the bond tighten between them, pulling them into one another. Eris’s arms wrapped around her body as Y/N caressed his face, her hands brushing over his stubble before moving up to tangle in this hair. The kiss was nothing but perfect. 

The only thing that interrupted Y/N and Eris was a small mumble from Sapphira. Y/N pulled away and shot to her feet to check on her daughter only to find her still fast asleep, mumbling incoherently. Y/N sighed and sat back down on the sofa, she leaned into Eris. 

“Do you think I could borrow some of your clothes?” Y/N asked. “I don’t think this dress will be very comfortable to sleep in.”

Eris’s eyes scanned over her body. “I do have some clothes you can borrow, though it will be unfortunate not to see you in this dress any longer.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and leaned closer to him, her lips brushing over his. “If you play your cards right, I may just wear this dress again. Just for you.”

Eris smirked. “Is that a promise?”

“It will be after you get me some clothes,” Y/N answered. 

Eris got to his feet and left the room swiftly and Y/N only giggled lightly at his hasty departure. He was back only moments later with a pile of clothes in his arms. 

“You were quick,” Y/N commented, standing to her feet. 

“My room is only across the hall,” Eris answered, a faint blush coating his cheeks. 

Y/N took the clothes from his arms. “Thank you, Eris.”

Eris nodded and took a step back. “I should get back to the ballroom to tell everyone the event is over.”

“Yes you should,” Y/N said.

“I should be going now,” Eris said, still remaining where he is standing. 

Y/N is the first to give in. She dumped the clothes on the chair and pulled Eris into her, planting her lips on his. It was an addicting feeling already. Eris held onto the back of her neck deepening the kiss, bending over Y/N causing her to tilt her head back. If Eris wasn’t holding her up, Y/N was sure she would collapse from the sheer amount of emotions coursing through her veins. Some were her own and some were Eris’s, that golden thread connecting them doing its best to convey what the other thought of one another. 

Y/N gripped onto Eris tightly not wanting to ever let go. On one hand she was grateful that Sapphira had been allowed to come along with her, she had not seen her daughter as smiley as she was tonight in a while. But on the other hand Y/N wished that her usual babysitter was available so she could pull Eris down onto the bed and continue what they were doing all night, preferably with no clothes obstructing their bodies. 

Y/N was the first to pull away, panting for air. “We should stop. I don’t want to get carried away.”

Eris brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Me neither.”

Y/N kissed him again. 

However this time the kiss did not last long at all as a quiet young voice cut through the air. 

“Are you going to get married?” Sapphira’s voice was like a bucket of ice cold water poured over both Y/N and Eris, causing them to jump apart. 

Y/N turned to face her daughter. “No, we aren’t Sapphira. Eris and I…we were just helping each other with our hair.”

Sapphira huffed. “Can you get married? I like Eris.”

Eris looked down at the floor, his face bright red. Y/N chuckled lightly. “Okay, Sapphira, I think you should get back to sleep. It is late and you need to be rested for tomorrow.”

“Will Eris be here tomorrow?” Sapphira asked, pointing at Eris.

Y/N perched on the edge of the bed next to her daughter. “Of course he will.” Y/N turned to face him. “He’s not going anywhere.”

Eris smiled. “I will be here bright and early tomorrow, Sapphira.”

Sapphira smiled sleepily and yawned. Y/N brushed her daughter's hair from her face and watched as she fell back into a peaceful sleep. Once she was asleep, Y/N laughed and approached Eris. 

“Well you have Sapphira’s blessing,” Y/N said, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

Eris pulled her closer by her hips and rested his arms lazily around her. “And I’m glad to have it.”

Y/N hugged Eris. “Goodnight, Eris. I will see you tomorrow.”

Eris hugged her back. “Bright and early.”

Y/N smiled and pecked his lips quickly. “My mate.”

Eris smiled. “My mate.”

Reluctantly she let go of Eris and allowed him to leave the room. Before the door closed he turned around and blew her a kiss. Y/N smiled at the lopsided grin on his face before the door closed completely. 

Y/N changed into the clothes Eris had given her. They smelt of him and Y/N wrapped her arms around herself. She climbed into the soft bed next to her daughter and swiftly fell asleep, dreaming about her future life with Sapphira and Eris. 

[yup-thats-me]

"let's see kids who can hug mamma the first!" Your husband told or rather commanded your twin boys as the three came back from their grocery run.

Your two sons giggled as they ran towards the house and the thirty-something-old kid (your husband) too ran with them. The only visible difference being was that he was taller and was carrying three to four bags with him. He, same as his kids, had that stupid little smile on his face.

When the door barged in and her kids ran to your side, Y/n couldn't help the smile that made its way to her lips. Putting down the cup of coffee she was holding, she stumbled back a little by the force as the two little humans hugged their mother like their lives depended on it.

Smiling, Y/n was caressing her two boys lovingly. What she did not expect was to see her husband as well to join in on the group hug and forcibly make his way into the middle making the kids grumble in dissatisfaction.

"That's not fair, dad! we came first!" Your kids whined.

The man gave them a smug grin. "You think? You little seaweeds wouldn't be here if I did not come first, you know." He blew raspberries at the kids. "Also, did you not know your mother loves me the best?"

His comment earned him a smack on the head from his beloved wife. The man held his head in feigned hurt and looked at Y/n like she just betrayed him in the worst ways.

The boys laughed at their father but were quick to ask, "Do you really love Dad more than us, mama?"

Smiling she pecked the two on their cheek, and her husband too to make him stop pouting. "Well...it may be partially true."

It was the kids turn to look betrayed. "But mom!"

Y/n giggled. "I do love you boys. I love you two so much. How can I not when you are literally a part of me? I love you two." She caressed their cheek.

"But as much as it's true that you two are a part of me," she continued, "I wouldn't be able to have you with just myself. It is thanks to your father that I am given such a beautiful gift." she smiled, her eyes shining with a sadness that is not melancholic. It was the realization that her kids would someday leave her. Of course they would, they are bound to. And when they do, she'd be thankful to her husband who stayed.

Her husband smiled at her and gave his kids a nod. Upon the command, the three hugged Y/n out of the blue and greeted, "Happy mother's day momma!"

Y/n was brought back to the present, she smiled, a few tears pricking her eyes. "Thank you, boys," she kissed their cheek. "We have brought you some food as well! We'll go bring it!" The two got up and ran to the kitchen to bring whatever they brought as a gift for their mother.

In the meantime, Y/n's husband snaked a hand around her waist, pulling her close. "Thank you, baby, for being the mother of my children. Really, thank you." And this time, her husband was speaking from the bottom of his heart

[violetszone]

High-school Sweetheart

Charles x fem!reader

From this request

Summary: You had been dating Charles since high school, and you had just gotten engaged this year. Of course, that's what everyone thought; in fact, it had been four years since you got married.

A/n:No proofread was made. But i loveeeee this theme.

Actually, it had been almost four years since you married Charles. You were 15 and he was 17 when you first met and started dating in high school. You've been dating ever since. Of course, when you turned 20 or 22, both of you thought it was a very good decision to vow not to leave each other and got married in court. You woke up on a Monday, went to court, and got married. Only two people knew about this: Charles' older brother, Lorenzo, and his best friend, Pierre. Since you started living together after high school, no one actually noticed anything.

You were very close to his family, and people regarded your relationship as a real fairy tale. Arthur was even always joking about how he was still surprised that his brother hadn’t lost you.

This year, you were officially engaged to Charles. You were now 24 years old, and Charles was 26 years old. It actually made you very happy to finally be able to wear the ring given to you by your husband of 4 years. As usual, you were sitting and having Sunday breakfast with Charles's family and your friends, having a good time. You were helping Charles's mother, Pascale, in the kitchen with Kika. As you returned to the table with plates in your hands, you walked up to the men to call them from the poolside. Charles stood up, smiling, and placed his arms around you, kissing your cheek.

""How's my beautiful wife?" Forgetting that the others thought you two were engaged, you smiled and hugged Charles back. Arthur spoke as he stood behind you, "Soon-to-be wife. Charles, you immediately got into the mood." He laughed. As Charles looked at you lovingly and brushed your hair out of your face, he raised an eyebrow at Arthur and spoke over his shoulder, "What makes you think she's not my wife?" You narrowed your eyes and gently tapped Charles on the shoulder. Arthur frowned. "The fact that you just got engaged?"

Charles and you looked at each other and laughed. Pierre stood watching the events nervously. "Here we go," he said while rubbing his face. While Pierre was holding Arthur, who looked surprised, by the shoulders and walking him to the table, Arthur objected, "What do you mean, Charles? Wait a second...." Charles held your hands and led you to the table. Pascale got angry at Arthur in French and then turned to Charles. "What did you say to your brother again? Now the boy won't be silent all day."

This time, Pierre hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. "Oh no," he groaned. You smiled softly at Charles. "Tell them," you shrugged. Charles walked behind you and put his hands on your shoulders. "Y/N and I have actually been married for four years." Everyone looked at the two of you in shock. Arthur fell off his chair. Lorenzo was trying not to look at anyone while stuffing bread into his mouth. Pascale turned to him. "You knew about this!" she exclaimed. As Pierre slowly turned his back to the table, Kika pinched him. Pascale looked at Pierre this time. "You too?!" she asked in disbelief.

"We were the only ones who didn't know!" Of course, though they were shocked at first, they were actually very happy. Both approached Pascale, hugged her, kissed her, and tried to win her heart. Pascale still kept telling you that they were going to have a beautiful wedding, then she smiled at the two of you.

[cherryheairt]

Hidden Truths pt.2

Cregan x wife!reader

named reader no description, from house Glover

masterlist

part 1

thank y'all so much for the kind words and eagerness to see this part. Please forgive me for not replying to all asks being sent to inbox, you'll understand with the chap lol. The pressure was so real I had planned to write other things between pt 1 and 2 but I dropped everything to do this between work and sleep lol

changed the og ending because so many people thought it would be more fitting and I agreed lol

anon pointed out my mistake on glover and bolton im so sorry for that confusion yall it is meant to be glover originally. i made too many mistakes im a mess rn

Ernest makes it to Cregan's solar first, Ron not far on his heels. Panting, the younger speaks up first when Cregan Stark shoots them a bewildered look whilst hunched over his oak desk.

"Was Lady Stark due for some business today, My Lord?" He asked, catching his breath as Cregan sat up in his seat, attention fully on the guards.

"Not any that I'm aware of. Where is my wife?" He asked, glancing outside of his small window to the blistering storm outside. There was no way she would be anywhere except her chambers—not after he caught her soothing Brandon to sleep. The sight had melted his heart immediately, glad to see his wife finally finding it in her to go see him, to give him a chance.

Though, he could not blame her, of course. He could still remember the day he brought the Stark babe home, and how he dreaded the meet throughout his months of journeying home to Winterfell.

Aelys had been on the forefront of his mind, even through the slimy politicking of King's Landing. The wait was only made ever longer by the fact that the party Cregan traveled North with had to wait until Brandon was old enough to travel, too. Moons went by painstakingly slow, and Cregan moved to load the carriage for the boy as soon as the Maester gave his word that Bran would not be suseptible to the outdoors during long durations on the road.

Cregan dismounted his grey mare, patting her on the neck in thanks before the stable boy guided her back to her designated place. With a tense sigh, he rolled his shoulders and opened the carriage door that held Brandon and his new wet nurse. Sara, his older sister, would join the family in a few short weeks while she continued her stay at the Blackwood's. He wished she was here to console his wife in the coming days. Gods know that he cannot, not when the news of his betrayal had to come from his own mouth. As he promised himself it should be. The sinner should say his own penance, no one else. A Stark is a slave to his oaths.

Thanking Greya kindly, Cregan picked up Bran in his arms. His onyx black curls shifted against the crook of his arm as he shifted the babe to be held better. The four moon-old babe fussed as he was removed from the woman's comforting hold. As if was, Cregan was more of a stranger to the young babe than his wet nurse was. Unfortunately, the Lord had not spent the amount of time with him as he knew he should have. The thoughts and guilt racked up in his mind and burned at the back of his throat every day, leaving Cregan to promise himself that in Winterfell he would spend more time with him.

Another promise for the list.

Cregan stepped through the courtyard's archway, holding his breath as he watched his beautiful wife standing by the Keep's doors, shivering but still insisting that she come out to meet her husband. Her smile was as lovely and bright as he remembered, a much more contented and relieved smile than she had sent him off to battle with. That day, she could hardly stifle her tears back as she hugged him 'goodbye'. He felt quite the same. Cregan would never leave for Southern business again, not in his lifetime. Once had been enough to last generations, though he was sure the Stark family would not go too long before being summoned again.

Her face shifted from joy to confusion in a matter of seconds. As Cregan continued straight towards her, Bran bundled up in so many wools and pelts that it entirely engulfed the babe. She lifted her skirts to step down to meet him. Originally, Cregan had wished to scoop her up in his arms and place a sweet kiss on her cold lips, but the bundle between them prevented such things. He could not greet her so sweetly and then present the bastard to her. Ripping the bandage off a fresh wound, Cregan would not be deceitful for longer than he had been during his moons of silence in the South.

"Husband," She smiled, reaching out to touch his chilled face, pink in the cheeks and ears from exposure. "You should come inside. A feast has been prepared for you—and your men, of course." She was antsy on her feet, eager to get inside to proper reunite with her husband, no bystanders gawking.

Speaking of bystanders—Cregan's entire party had separated and dispersed around the courtyard. They met their own wives, parents, or children as they laughed and conversed. Though, the loud and joyous clamor soon died down when whispers had been spread around by those who already knew of Cregan's boy. Wives that knew Aelys well stared in pity, clutching their shawls to their chests and shaking their heads quietly at their Lord.

He fought the urge to hang his head.

She had not yet seen the babe, only the cloth surrounding him.

"Cregan?" She whispered, tilting her head with concerned eyes. "What is wrong?" His sweet, sweet wife. Her first priority had been him over anything since the days of their honeymoon—the days she had confessed to be extremely anxious about during their courtship. She was a Northern woman herself, hardened and shaped like an ice sculpture but retaining her warm heart and spirit. Cregan had intimidated her greatly, according to her giggling confession, and she had feared he may be a cruel and selfish man since he could easily do as he wished to his Lady wife. He proved her wrong, apparently, getting to know his wife throughout their private honeymoon. They had a bond like no other, always at each other's side and filling in for the weaknesses of the other during their duties as leaders.

Cregan's brow furrowed deep, blinking away as he felt his nose start to sting.

Only then, when his glossy eyes met hers silently, did she glance down to the cloths. Slowly reaching up a shaky, gloved hand adjusted the pelts so she could peer past them. Gasping at the pale babe, Aelys' eyes sharply met his. A million thoughts raced through her head, clearly showing in her facial expressions. Not assuming the worst, as she probably should have done, Aelys asked, "has one of your men died? Is this babe an orphan?" Always so trusting of her Lord husband, something Cregan had admired and was eternally grateful for throughout their marriage.

"Aelys..." He cleared his throat when his voice came out much too quiet and hoarse. "This is my son." He declared to her, and to the onlooking crowd who did not bother hiding scandalized gasps.

Her eyes blinked in rapid succession, shaking her head lightly and smiling. "Don't jest, Cregan. We have no son."

His silence met her words. When he did not cave and admit to messing with his wife, Aelys shook her head more firmly. "No." She said, whispering. Her eyes clamped shut as she breathed in and out deeply, only opening to glance down at the babe, scrutinizing its appearing and comparing every freckle to Cregan's. "Don't do this to me, please. You would never do this to me." Her words were nearly lost to the air.

"It was one time, I swear it on my honor and Stark name." Cregan told her.

"On your name?" She harshly bit, stepping away from Cregan as if he had burned her. "Your honor? You swore on your honor the day we said our vows under the Weirwood tree. Under OUR Gods. Did that mean nothing to you? Did I—" She gasped out, covering her mouth with the back of her hand and clutching her stomach. A choking sob rippled through her, and Greya stepped forward to gingerly take Brandon from Cregan's grasp. His arms fell to his side, clenching as he stopped himself from holding his wife in comfort. She could find no solace in the man who hurt her so.

"I thought you wished to wait. You told me you wanted it, too. Was it just not me you wanted a family with?" She asked, cranking her neck up to look at her shameful husband.

"Aelys, I did—I do!" He started, stepping forward to wipe a hot tear from her cheek.

Flinching away from his touch, she looked up at him with the same mistrust and solemn acceptance that he found in a dying prey's eyes. Suddenly, Aelys looked to become aware of the crowd. Glancing around self-consciously, she straightened herself upright like the people expected of a Lady Stark. "The feast is growing cold. Enjoy it while it's warm." She loudly adressed the weary party and their families, who awkwardly moved to shuffle inside the dining hall. With a final glance past Cregan's shoulder to the wet nurse, Aelys was gone.

Seeing the shared glances of horror between the two, Cregan cleared his throat. "Where is my wife, boys?"

Ernest swallowed harshly, not daring to look him in the eye. "She—she said that she 'ad business in Winter Town. That you approved of it, I swear!"

Ron nodded so quickly that his head of curls messed about and framed his face further. The snow still on their heads and shoulders had now melted in the warmth of the Great Keep, reminding Cregan of the harsh weather the guards had to bear all day. They were trained and honed for such conditions, Aelys was not.

"Yes, Lord Stark! We couldn't disobey our Lady's words." He insisted.

"You think I'd make my wife go settle business in Winter Town during a blizzard?" He growled out, standing from his seat and storming between them to his doorway, where he turned on them and saw them both flinch in shock. "Which way did she go?"

"Uhm..." they shared another glance. "She said Winter Town, Lord Stark. What other way would she have gone?"

Cursing, Cregan grabbed Ice and lifted the great sword to his shoulder. He left without another word to anybody, knowing every second counted when it came to finding her. "Bloody fools." He scoffed to himself, mind turning and thinking of places she might head to.

Clearly, not Winter Town. She had no business there, not that he knew of, and although they had not been speaking these past moons he still oversaw all of her duties as Lady. Though, her reports of dealings and responsibilities was done through the Maester rather than her own mouth. A middleman, the poor elder had become. Cregan endured the silence without complaint, knowing his own actions brought it upon him.

His actions brought her further away from him than he perhaps estimated. He knew the babe would tear a rift in their relationship, and knew it would take a long time before they could even begin to mend it—but he never wanted it to go this far.

Back to her childhood home, to the Glovers in the Motte? Or, perhaps she found a secret lover that would meet her in the storm like a destined and tragic fairytale. He would not blame her for seeking love in another, though his never faded.

His quickened pace was only interrupted by Sara. "What is the rush for, brother?" The elder woman asked, dark brows furrowed with concern. Other the past four moons she had gained her strength back, looking the picture of health now that she was back home and recovering. Cregan could barely meet her gaze, looking between her and the doors ahead.

"My wife is gone." He told her honestly, shifting impaitiently in place. "I don't know where to, but I'm going to search for her."

Sara's dark eyes saddened, face scrunching up in grief. "This is my fault. I should have—"

Cregan stopped her immediately, taking her firmly by the shoulders and dipping his neck down to level himself. "No. It is mine alone. I made the choice to do this, I shall face the consequences of my actions."

"Cregan..." she sniffed, but did not allow tears to fall so easily.

"I'll be back." He promised. "With my wife."

Was she running away?

Cregan swung open the Great Keep's door, blinking staggardly at the wind gust that slammed into him. Not bothing to close it behind him, Cregan stormed to the stables and tacked his horse up. In a matter of minutes he was off and out of Winterfell's expansive walls.

His only option was to head towards Glover territory. It was a two days ride normally, but the storm would make it double or perhaps longer. She would not be far ahead, not even two hours ahead of Cregan and unknowing of how close he might be on her trail.

There were not even hoofprints left in her wake. The snow immediately covered all tracks and left only pristine fields of white powdery frost.

He would not know where she was until he spotted her amongst the white. Cobalt, her black stallion, was sure to stand out within close enough distance.

Until he did see her, he could only wait.

And it was exactly that; a waiting game. Cregan took only three days to reach the Deepwood Motte, faster than he anticipated. He was weary and exhausted, but still pumping with adrenaline and awake off sheer will. Here, in the safe walls of Harriston Glover's keep, his mare could finally have more than a few measly hours of rest, as well as food and water.

His fingers and toes burned with the edges of frostbite. Even in his thick protective gear, he was not entirely safe. The few, small fires that he built for himself in the cold nights gave him only a semblance of warmth. Each step felt like five as his vision blurred and weaned in and out. He steadied himself on a pole, waiting for his father-in-law to come downstairs to greet him. And, if luck be on his side, his Lady wife.

He owed more than an apology.

Harriston was a stern man, though not unreasonable. He loved his children and ensured they had only the best; education, caretakers, spouses. His eldest two children married long before Aelys was even of age to be wed, both men marrying Northern girls that they'd grown up with. When it came to his youngest and only girl, the man knew Lord Stark would be a most auspicious match. The Houses had long been friends and allies, and keeping the tradition of partnership thriving through marriage was no strange thing. He'd been even happier when Aelys wrote to him weekly, describing how enchanted she had been with her new husband and thanking him profusely for giving her a blessed match.

Now, the greyed man stood in front of Cregan with a deepset frown and a fierce look in his eyes. "Lord Stark. I thought you'd be busy in Winterfell."

Cregan cleared his throat, focusing on him intently. It made sense that the man was cross with him, especially after he assumed that Aelys had sent him a few lengthy letters telling of Cregan's infidelity. "I came to see my wife, and to bring her back home."

Harriston huffed a sarcastic laugh. "You send her back home, only to come yourself first?" He gestured around with his arms up.

Cregan tensed, "first? Is Aelys not already here?"

Lord Glover matched in his seriousness. "Aelys wrote to me three days ago, informing me that you had sent her here to be away from danger."

"I did not send her anywhere."

"You mean you do not know where my daughter is?" He asked, voice low and firm as he stepped closer. Though Harriston was a fine swordsman and a battle-worn fighter, Cregan did not fear the Lord's wrath, for he could easily best him in combat.

He did, however, have the brains to fear a furious father's vengeance.

His heart nearly beat out of his chest. "And she stated that she was on her way here?"

"I think I know what she said, boy." Lord Glover hissed. "Where is Aelys?"

"She must still be out there," Cregan murmured breathlessly, turning on his heel and running out of the fort's doors and back out to the stables. Cobalt was in none of them, confirmed to him that Lord Glover was not simply lying and hiding his wife away from him.

Cregan decided to take another horse—one well rested and ready to travel in the packed snow, unlike his own weary mare. Guiding it to the doors where Lord Glover had exited and looked at Cregan with a fear unlike the learned man usually expressed, he asked: Where are the kennels?"

When Aelys left to brave the storm alone, she had not anticipated the sheer unforgivable nature of it. Living in the North her whole life, she'd long grown used to cold weather and hunting for herself. Hunts often lasted days or weeks, being times of comraderie and companionship when out in the wilderness with your people. She had not been hunting in years, much less alone.

The snow had slowed her travel significantly and clouded her navigational judgment. North became South, and East became West after so long of walking. With the skies so darkened, it was even harder to tell the time of day. With every stop she made and every fire that burnt out too quickly for her to be fully warm, Aelys had grown desperate.

She found shelter in a half-conscious act to preserve her on life. Now, curled up with only her fur-lined dress and the pelt she had brought from Winterfell, she could not help but begin to accept that she would die in this cave.

Aelys thought of her life in a few curt thoughts.

She had only lived twenty and two years. She grew up with loving parents and two elder brothers who doted on her greatly. She married Lord Stark of Winterfell, someone who took her heart quicker than she'd ever thought possible. She would die here, alone and cold because of him.

She thought of all the things she had wanted from life. Not much, for a Lord's daughter. Aelys had always wanted love and gave love in return. Trusted perhaps too much and did not gain from it. She wished for children, eventually, and could never have them now. She wished to see the warm deserts of Dorne and the lush gardens of Old Town in her retirement.

Aelys Bolton would not see anything but the North, nothing but the cold snow and frost-tippes trees around. They had grown familiar and warm.

Warm.

She was so warm, now.

Aelys closed her eyes and fell asleep, dreaming of better days.

"You do not wish to return home to a babe in the nursery?" Aelys asked, voice low and humming as Cregan lay beneath her on their shared bed. Most men did, misliking the process of pregnacy but loving the outcome, for it could only serve to benefit them.

"We will have plenty of time for babes when I come back to you." He replied, brushing his lips over her the crown of her head. "What kind of husband would I be if I left you to deal with the struggles of pregnancy and birth all alone?"

"I won't be alone. Sara is staying, too. I will have a sister to keep me company and complain all my grievances about my missing husband to her." She said amusedly.

Cregan paused in his rhythmic stoking of her spine. "Sara has asked to come, my heart."

She paused, too, lifting her head from his chest and squinting at him. "Sara can come down to King's Landing with you, but I cannot?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "She will be staying at the Blackwood's residence at Raventree Hall, not King's Landing. I would never endanger either of you by bringing you to the capitol. She has been offered guest housing by her friend, Alysanne Blackwood, during my time down there."

She huffed, conceding to his words and dropping her head back down, listening again to his ever-steady heartbeat. "Must be nice to see the Riverlands." She said lightly. "I hear they have fields of flowers growing year-round."

"And the permanent smell of fish and mildew." Cregan added with a snort. "You're not missing anything, I swear it to you. Sara and I will be gone for a short period of time. I intend to leave as soon as things are settled and put to rest."

Aelys hummed her quiet acknowledgment. There was no argument to be had, not when Cregan was set to leave in the morning. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell." She said cheekily, though there was plenty truth to the statement. Alone, she would serve as political head to Winterfell and the temporary 'Warden' while Cregan was missing in action. She had her advisors, consisting of Cregan's trusted councilmen, but the hole that she knew would sink itself into her heart already wore her into her.

Cregan laughed at her words, nodding. "Aye, my love, you will do perfectly. I'm sorry to leave you alone for so long, but I have no doubt you'll do great." He said proudly, kissing her nose. She scrunched it up at the ticklish feeling, allowing a girlish giggle to leave her throat.

"Don't be gone too long, husband. Your wife needs you here." She said, tilting her head up to meet his lips.

"I would never dream of it."

The moons passed by with no reprieve for Aelys. As Winterfell's sole head, her days were busy from dawn til dusk. Letters were exchanged sporadically with her husband while he helped Aegon iii ascend to his place on the iron throne.

Until, one day, his letters ceased. It had already been a full year without Cregan Stark, and Aelys was beginning to grow used to the lack of her husband and sister by her side. Routine had grown to be instinct for her, breezing through her duties like she'd done them all her life. The only thing missing was her lover.

Concerned, Aelys checked in with the resident Maester to ensure Cregan's wellbeing.

When he paused, lips pursed and hands clutching at his cane with a stress unlike the calm elder, he rasped out his own fears. "I, too, have received no word from Lord Stark. Though, no news has come of us death in the capitol, so he must simply be occupied."

Occupied at the end of the war? When Aegon had already been named King and all the men put to trial were either declared guilty or innocent? The brunt of the work was over and done with—told by Cregan himself.

So why was he silent for an entire moon?

It was another fortnite before the Stark wrote back to her. The letter was curt and brief.

My dearest Aelys,

Forgive my abrupt silence these past weeks. Please know that you have been on my mind throughout this entire time.

Sara has grown sick in Raventree Hall, and has not been able to travel with the host of men I have sent back home to the North. We will stay behind for another few moons while she is in recovery. I will return to you soon.

With love,

Cregan Stark.

It was shorter than his other letters by many paragraphs, pages even. Cregan left out no details when describing his miserable times in the capitol. Aelys found herself much enjoying his theatrical melodramatic retelling and was rendered bemused by this letter. Still, she continued to lead with no pause for breaks.

Three more moons later, and Cregan wrote that he was mere days away from Winterfell. Without Sara Snow, unfortunately, as she was still not entirely recovered, but his party could be postponed no longer.

Aelys rushed around Winterfell's Keep in a flurry of excitement. She ordered every room to be cleaned spotless, for rations to be saved for days until a feast could be made for their arrival, for hearths to be extra tended to, and for the courtyard to be prepared to clear the way for the host.

Finally, the days of busy bodies floating around the Great Keep came to a stop. The feast was warm and ready at all available tables. The hearths were warm and ready for sleepy heads to rest within the rooms. The tubs were filled with scalding hot water that would warm by the time they were used. Lady Stark stood for hours at the Great Keep's entry stairs in the courtyard.

She wanted to be there exactly when he walked through the archway. Despite the cold biting at her nose, the Lady stood resiliant and tall.

It was nearly in the afternoon when Cregan's party arrived. He came through first, leading as head of the host as any Lord should. A wheelhouse followed, surrounded by a small league of soliders all around it. She bounced on her heels slightly, seeing Cregan dismount from his ride. Though she found herself bemused and slightly hurt when he glanced at her and made his way towards the wheelhouse instead. Had Sara recovered enough to join and perhaps wanted to surprise her good sister? She hoped so, for she had missed her greatly. After growing up with only brothers, Aelys found a best friend and sister in Sara Snow. The whispers about Lady Stark befriending the bastard of Winterfell followed her around like a dark shadow, but she never paid them any mind.

Bastardry had never bothered Aelys before. Not even when she was a woman of noble birth and was taught that bastards were born inherently lustful, evil, and made of sin.

She waited patiently at the top of the steps for Cregan to fetch Sara.

To her surprise, he only pulled out of the carriage with a bundle of clothes in his arms. Pelts and blankets, it seemed. A plainly-dressed woman from the South stepped out after him but stayed trailing behind. A maid of some sort, though she had no clue as to why a Southern maid would need to follow Cregan back to Winterfell.

As he strided towards her, a strange and unhappy look on his face, she forced her anxiety back down her throat and raced to meet him. "Husband," she greeted with a smile. "You should come inside. A feast has been prepared for you—and your men, of course." Reaching out to caress his face and simultaneously brush flecks of snow from his loose hair, she couldn't help but stop to admire her husband's handsome features. It had felt like an eternity that they were separated, and she had begun to forget the full details of his frame. Forgot his scent in the room and his side of the bed. Nearly forgot the warmth that he provided simply from standing nearby.

The very warmth he is giving to her now, in the chilly courtyard.

His eyes appeared to gloss, his nose and cheeks pinking even more so than they had already grown in the biting air. Glancing over Cregan, she assessed quickly for signs of fatigue or illness.

"Cregan?" she asked gently. "What is wrong?" She prayed he did not catch whatever Sara had caught, or hid a wound under his mass of leathers and pelts.

When he shiftly lifted the bundle in his arms to gesture for her to look at it, she finally spared a look to the mysterious ball of cloth. She had completely forgotten about it until now, noticing the maid still behind Cregan a few yards back, head tilted down and looking at her slippers. Peeking over a fur pelt, Aelys gasped at the sight. A babe, only a few moons old by the looks of it. Her mind raced with possibilities. Why would Cregan bring a babe back instead of leaving it in more temperate climates like the Riverlands that he stayed in on the way up North?

"Has one of your men died?" She asked in a hushed tone, assuming first that one of his soldiers perhaps fathered a bastard babe before perishing in a battle or falling to sickness. "Is the babe an orphan?" Cregan did always have a soft spot for younglings, showcased clearly by his time spent personally training young squires of Winterfell. He had lost his own younger brother in their youth, and the hole had never filled from that loss of kin.

"Aelys..." he started, meeting her eyes with a soft and sympathetic look. "This is my son." Was said loud and clear for any listeners to hear.

A jest. Cregan had seldom liked to be humorous in front of crowds, or anyone but herself and Sara, but he must have been in good spirits today. Briefly glancing at the surrounding people, she found only pitiful looks from the women and severe looks from the men. Shaking her head, Aelys forced a smile onto her face and a shaky laugh. "Don't jest, Cregan. We have no son." She emphasized.

He only stared at her back. No words of comfort, no sudden burst of laughter among his men to tell her that the biggest prank in the world had been pulled on her. Just shameless silence.

He had declared her second best in front of all of Winterfell. Her people and his.

"No." She said firmly, shaking her head 'no'. She breathed in and out deeply, trying to clear her blurry eyes and woozy head. Glaring down at the false babe in his arms, she found many similarities that she wished she had not. The same straight brows that Cregan had, the same scattered freckles, the same pale skin. The only difference was the hair color—black as a midnight sky or dragonglass. The mother must be beautiful.

Moving her eyes to the maid behind Cregan, she found that the girl had a mousy blonde color to her tresses. She could not have possibly bore a black-haired babe. She felt sick, like she'd throw up and choke at the same time. "Don't do this to me. You'd never do this to me." She pleaded out, voice small and hoarse.

"It was one time. I swear it on my honor and Stark name." Cregan promised. But every word was like poison, filling her heart with a heavy black liquid and drowning her from the inside out.

"On your name?" She hissed out, uncaring of the onlookers for this one moment. She was allowed to be angry, callous, and spiteful, even. Any self-respecting woman would be. And she'd be damned if she wasn't. Any Stark woman ought to be when ruling over the entire North. Any Glover woman is.

"Your honor? You swore on your honor the day we said our vows under the Weirwood tree. Under OUR Gods! Did that mean nothing to you? Did I—?" Words spilled from her mouth before she can think properly. But she did not regret any of them, knowing she was in the right. Bile rose in her throat, pushing itself past the forced down emotions. She swiftly covered her mouth, stilling herself to prevent any more embarrassing. Subconsciously, she clutched at her empty stomach with her free hand, both mourning the fact that she'd have no children and thanking the Gods for not giving her any previously. A cry finally escaped her lips, watching the plain maid take the babe into her arms again as Cregan looked on helplessly to his wife.

Aelys found her voice again, though it was ragged and tired. "I thought you wished to wait. You told me you wanted it, too." He was a liar, the worst kind of man. "Was it just not me you wanted a family with?"

She'd rather be struck with his hand than his deceitful mouth. It would hurt much less.

"I did, Aelys—I do!" He pleaded, stepping forward to console her. His arms looked like steel traps in her louded mind.

She took a lengthy step back. She would not share his warmth, nor his love. Or his bed, his room, his damned dining room. His children. Not when he had shared it with another woman. Given her his love, his attention, his son.

She could not bear to keep herself calm any longer. Adressing the entire courtyard, who had made themselves the Stark's own personal peanut gallery, she spoke firmly. "The feast is growing cold. Enjoy it while it's warm." Without a second glance back at the Stark, Aelys excused herself to her chambers, where she emptied the contents of her stomach into the chamberpot until she could only dry-heave nothingness. These chambers had not been used since she arrived in Winterfell, instead choosing to sleep and stay in their marital ones. She would not step foot into those again unless she was dragged kicking and screaming.

Aelys awoke to strong arms lifting her from the stone floor. Groggily, she was stirred from her deep and preserving sleep. How long had she been traveling? How long had she been buried under those pelts? Time was a blur when she was in a near comatose state, dead to the world. Limbs were numbed and her body felt warm after so long in the cold weather.

"I've got you, sweet girl. We're going home." A familiar voice rung in the back of her head. Even the jolting movements of a horse trotting could not fully move her to consciousness as she fell back asleep.

When she fully gained her sense of mind, she could clearly hear the sound of two men arguing. The warmth of a hearth was next to her as she lifted heavy blankets and furs off of her body. Glancing around, Aelys found herself back right where it all started. In Cregan's room, formerly their marital chambers that she had long since moved out of. A large oil painting sat over the heart, depicting a newlywed image of her and Cregan. They both smiled brightly in the photo, much to Cregan's complaint that the painting did not make him look 'serious enough'. She only laughed and tipped the painter extra gold dragons for the accuracy.

She loved that painting more than any others they kept in the Great Keep. Now, the two faces looking down at her only served to remind her of the falsehood she lived every day while Cregan was absent. Taking care of Winterfell and the North all by herself, just to come back and be thanked by his uncouth mistakes.

Shakily standing up, she winced at the feeling coming back to her limbs. Wriggling all twenty of her toes and fingers, she ensured they still all had feeling. Miraculously, she did. The numbess still felt vaguely there, and her throat was extremely dry and achy. But at least she was alive. Even if it was back in Winterfell, she could attempt her return to the Motte as soon as the storm died down.

It had been a dreadful blizzard. Not a rare sight in the North, but usually none lasted so long. Aelys could not help but feel it was the Gods punish Cregan and Aelys for their marital spat. Something like this must be so futile and useless in their eyes and the eyes of the people of the realm, but to Aelys it was her world and her life. No one could help Aelys but herself. She'd leave these spoiled halls even if the Old Gods and the New wished otherwise. If Cregan didn't have to keep oaths, why should she?

Opening the large wooden door, Aelys found the source of the faint yelling. Her eyes widened at the sight of her father in front of Cregan, in all his gruff charm with his silver hair and beard. She hadn't seen him in nearly two years. She stayed at the archway under the door, simply listening in as the men shouted further down the hall. If either turned their heads, they would spot her eavesdropping.

"—cannot even keep her safe during Winter! Am I to expect her to stay safe during a wildling attack, or worse? Or will you be prioritizing the safety of your mistress?" Harriston shouted, veins nearly popping out from his forehead and neck in his fury. Snow still gathered on his pelt coat, meaning he had just arrived recently.

"It is my mistake that she was endangered out there—but I would never let such a thing happen again under my protection. This is her home, I cannot allow her to go back to the Dreadfort. She is a Stark." Cregan emphasized, though had a defensive raised tone.

"Was she a Stark when you bed a whore in King's Landing?"

"The situation is more complicated than that." He responded, clenching his jaw.

"Nothing could ever be more complicated than losing your wit at a brothel, Stark. There is no argument to be had. She is staying with her family, where she was intending." Harriston growled out, a tone of finality to his tone. As he swung on his feet to head down the hall, face set in a worried and seething anger, he finally spotted his daughter.

"Aelys!" He yelled in relief, rushing toward her and scooping her up into his thick arms. "We're going home immediately. We will wash our hands of the Starks once and for all."

"I will not allow that." Cregan spoke from behind. As Aelys hugged her father back just as tightly, it was a battle to keep her tears from flowing in his safe arms. She missed her father more than she knew.

Before Harristone could speak, Aelys nodded. "We will settle this." She said flatly. Her father hesitantly let her go, nodding once firmly after seeing the resolve in his daughter's eyes.

"Very well. I will wait in the dining hall for you." He sighed, walking away.

Aelys shivered in the loss of warmth again. In her bare feet and night gown, she felt the cold of the cobblestone walls and floors start to seep under her skin again. "Here," Cregan murmured, gently shifting his mass of brown wolf pelt over her shoulders and clicking the direwolf emblem into place.

She allowed it, though she did not thank him with words. She took a deep breath, looking him in the eyes. "I want to separate. Divorce, I mean." She said tiredly.

Cregan flinched, jaw ticking and heavily considering her words. "That is entirely my fault. It is in your right to ask that of me." He said, voice dimmed and not nearly half of his assuredness. "But please, hear me out."

"What could I possibly hear you out with?" She asked, exhaustion clear in her tone. She'd dealt with this situation long enough.

Cregan nudged the door back open, nodding for her to enter. Reluctantly, she led the way in and watched as he gently shut it behind them. "I swore an oath, nearly nine moons ago." Cregan started.

Her brows furrowed, bemused. "To whom?"

Guiltily, he looked down at her, looking much alike to a kicked pup. "My sister."

"To Sara? What ever for?" She grew frustrated, knowing he was beating around the bush.

Taking a deep breath, he told her everything. "Sara stayed with her friend Alysanne Blackwood in Raventree hall for the entire time I was aiding King Aegon. In that time—she fell pregnant."

Aelys' heart dropped to her stomach. The same sick feeling overtaking her. She did not say a word.

"Davos Blackwood and Sara had built a bond, much like we did." He said. "When she told Davos of the news, they both went to Lord Blackwood to plea to marry each other. He refused, not allowing his heir to marry a bastard."

"And you legitimized Brandon as your own in turn?" She hissed.

"Sara begged me to. She lived her life as a bastard—she did not wish the same for her own son. I swore to her that my nephew would never be allowed the same treatment. I knew Aegon would do it." He trailed.

"So you bring him home, and humiliate me instead? You didn't even tell me, your own wife! You chose Sara over me. She is your sister, I know, but she chose to be with Davos Blackwood." She could have taken a tea, or moved to Essos or Dorne where bastards were more accepted. There were other options, but neither Sara nor Cregan used them. "That is cruel, Cregan. It is heartless." She cried.

"I never wished to hurt you, I only wanted to protect her. It was my oath." Cregan pleaded, grabbing her hands in his.

She shivered again, though unknowing if it was in chill or her own anger. Part of her was happy that he never truly took another woman to bed—never picked another other her. Though he still hid the biggest secret in the world from her for moons. Allowed her to suffer in their shared home and withstand the pitious looks of the people and court.

"I can't trust you. Not ever again. You could not trust me with your own kin's truth, and punished me for it." She stated. She could not allow herself to cave in so easily, to fall back into his arms.

"I understand, sweet girl." He muttered, softly stroking the apple of her cheek almost mindlessly. "I will sign whatever the Maester's conjure up. You will be free to marry whoever you wish—someone who will not lie to you."

The Starks were known for their loyalty and devotedness to their oaths. If Cregan Stark had lied to his wife so easily, no lesser man could ever make her happy with faithfulness and loyalty. Aelys had accepted her life to be one of loneliness from the day Brandon was allowed into the home.

"I will stay in Deepwood Motte for the time being. From there, I will see where my path leads." She said vaguely, unknowing now of what her heart desired. "Wish Sara well for me." Aelys asked of him, leaving him behind as she wiped any straying tears from her face.

"I love you, Aelys." He said, calling softly after her.

"I know." She whispered to herself.

In the dining hall, Harriston awaited her arrival. Perking up when she entered, he knowingly took her into his arms. "I'm tired, father."

"Let's go home. Your mother has missed you dearly." He said, planting a fatherly kiss to her temple.

Aelys would not yet send word for a formal separation to the Citadel or to the King. For now, time apart was what she declared best for herself.

divider by - @issysh3ll

tags - @palomavz @emithefrog @karinalight @johnshelbywife @tojisrealwifey @baddielizzy @pearldaisy @brookiecookie @jessicar401 @hardkiddonut @littlelilly27-blog @nayaniasworld @just-mj-or-not @flaneurpastel @unsweetenedpeatea @blucesita09 @maxmegara @deeeeexx @masschotch @janniepark1997 @spongelistener @margaaaa30 @paracii @lovebabe18 @rey26 @damneddamsy @yunnifer @kenzcarson @glqmmywhqmmy @arizonadesert @blumin8 @its-your-girl-savy @dreamygirli3 @aemondloverr @zaranobiyuyu @nsr-15 @oxymakestheworldgoround @isansstuff @high-speed-r

so many tags dont work 🥲 will try to tell in comment sec

ending is ambiguous. Will she decide to divorce or eventually mend their relationship? Up to you!

might make an alt ending where he really is just a shitty guy but this had been my idea from the start (many guessed it and i could not reply to them because of it lmao)

sorry if those two scenes got repetitive, but I wanted to show the 'cregan bringing brandon home' from both of their more detailed perspectives. Cregan's shame and guilt and her humiliation and heartbreak.

so many people guessed so close (to the sara part at least) only saw Jace thoughts tho, but he's already dead long before Cregan's walk down to the South. Would have been much more dramatic, but I think Jace would never allow a child of his to be apart from him. Many people swayed me to lead them to separate instead of stick together, and it does make more sense to have her leave him in the end. Although he did not cheat he still lied and publicly humiliated her, even unintentionally, but he's a grown man who is smart enough to know consequences.

[callsigns-haze]

Meet and greet

Summary: Jake proudly introduces his daughter to the Dagger Squad in their unfinished San Diego home, where teasing and affection blend as they embrace her as part of their extended family.

Warning: Mild teasing, lighthearted banter, mentions of unfinished home construction, family bonding moments.

Word count: 1367 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

English is not my first language so I apologies for mistakes

Could be read alone or as a one-shot of the little life universe

It was a warm, golden afternoon when you first stepped into the new house in San Diego. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a rich glow over everything it touched. The house itself was bathed in this soft light, a stark contrast to its cold, unfinished interior. The air outside still held a hint of autumn chill, but inside, the sun filtered through the uncovered windows, filling the empty rooms with a warmth that softened the raw edges of the place. The floor was bare, an expanse of concrete where future hardwood would eventually go. The walls were mostly drywall—some unfinished, others completely absent—revealing exposed beams and the skeletal structure of what would one day be your home. There were no countertops, no cabinetry, and aside from the few boxes scattered about, the place was still more of a construction zone than a liveable space.

But this was the first time you’d seen it. The first time you had walked through the front door with Ellie, who was four months old now, her tiny body resting in the crook of your arm. She stirred, her bright green eyes—Jake’s eyes—blinking sleepily in the dim light as she adjusted to the new surroundings. You cradled her closer, gently smoothing a lock of her fine blonde hair that had slipped out of place. She was curious but quiet, taking in the unfamiliar shapes and shadows around her, her small mouth slightly open in wonder.

“It's... a work in progress,” you said, your voice light but laced with amusement. You glanced over at Jake, raising an eyebrow, and the corner of your lips quirked into a smile.

Jake, standing a few steps behind you, shifted his weight with a sheepish grin. He rubbed the back of his neck in that familiar way he always did when he was trying to downplay something. “Yeah, it still needs some love. And, you know... counters. And walls.”

Your chuckle echoed faintly through the empty space. “More of a construction site than a house, Seresin,” you teased, shaking your head as you walked further into what was supposed to be the living room. The sunlight streamed in through the large windows on the far wall, casting long, golden streaks across the floor.

“I know, I know,” he said, his voice softening as he moved closer, his hand resting at the small of your back. “But I wanted you to see it.” He leaned in, his lips brushing the top of Ellie’s head in a tender kiss, and she gurgled softly in response, her little fingers curling and uncurling against your chest. “This is where we’ll be someday, when it’s all done,” Jake continued, his voice full of quiet promise. “Our home.”

The words hung between you for a moment, and you could feel the weight of them—what they meant. It wasn’t just about the house, but the life you were building together. You leaned into him slightly, your eyes drifting over the exposed beams and unfinished drywall, imagining what it would be like when the house was complete. You could already see the living room filled with furniture, the sound of Ellie’s laughter filling the space as she learned to walk, as she grew up.

But for now, it was just the three of you in this shell of a house, with boxes piled in random corners and dust settling in the sunlight. And yet, there was a certain magic in it, a sense of potential waiting to be realized.

“And I figured it was about time the squad met their favourite little girl,” Jake added, his grin widening as he pulled back slightly to meet your gaze. There was a twinkle in his eye, a mischievous light that reminded you of the playful, cocky man you had fallen for, but now softened by the weight of fatherhood.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound escaping before you could stop it. “Oh God, I can only imagine the teasing that's coming,” you said, shaking your head.

As if on cue, the unmistakable sound of tires crunching on the gravel driveway reached your ears. You turned toward the front of the house just as several cars pulled up in quick succession. A few moments later, the door creaked open, and in they came—like a whirlwind. Rooster was the first through the door, his aviators still perched on his nose, even though the sun was beginning to set. He was followed by Phoenix, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, with Payback and Fanboy right behind her. Coyote lingered at the back, his easy grin already in place, knowing exactly what was about to unfold.

Phoenix was the first to speak, her eyes immediately landing on Ellie, who was still nestled against your chest, her head resting on your shoulder. “Well, well, if it isn’t the famous Ellie Seresin!” she said, her voice laced with mock surprise as she crossed the room in a few quick strides. She reached Jake first, giving him a playful shove. “I still can’t believe Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin has a daughter. The world is officially upside down.”

Ellie blinked up at Phoenix, her big green eyes wide with curiosity, her little mouth forming a small ‘o’ as she tried to make sense of this new face. She kicked her legs slightly, the fabric of her tiny onesie bunching up around her chubby thighs.

“She’s got his eyes,” Rooster chimed in, coming up behind Phoenix, a grin already spreading across his face. “But thank God she doesn’t have his attitude.”

Jake groaned, rolling his eyes but clearly expecting the jab. “Can’t you just be nice for once?”

“Nope,” Phoenix said with a smirk, leaning down to coo at Ellie. “This is payback for every time you’ve called me slow or trash-talked me in the air.”

Fanboy and Payback joined in, their laughter filling the empty space. “Seriously, Jake,” Payback said, chuckling as Ellie let out a small yawn, “I thought you’d be a terrible influence on a kid. But look at her—she’s perfect.”

Jake, his face flushed with a mix of pride and exasperation, shook his head. “I must be doing something right, then.”

“Or maybe YN’s the one keeping you in line,” Coyote piped up from the back, his grin wide and knowing. He had always been the one to see through Jake’s bravado, the only one who truly understood how much fatherhood had softened him, how much Ellie had changed him.

As the squad continued their good-natured ribbing, each of them took turns getting closer to Ellie, their teasing gradually shifting into softer, more affectionate tones. Rooster ran a gentle finger along the back of her tiny hand, his expression uncharacteristically tender. Phoenix kept making little cooing noises that made Ellie blink and smile, her toothless grin brightening the entire room.

“I gotta say,” Phoenix said eventually, straightening up and crossing her arms as she looked between you and Jake, “I never thought I’d see the day when Jake Seresin would be this soft. But here we are.”

Jake, always one to play it cool, shrugged, though the smirk on his face was undeniable. “What can I say? She’s got me wrapped around her finger.”

“She sure does,” Rooster agreed, grinning. “But don’t think this means we’re going easy on you in the air.”

The banter carried on, with the squad teasing Jake mercilessly, but beneath it all, there was a palpable sense of admiration, even love. They might have been a bunch of rowdy aviators, but in this moment, they were family. And Ellie, despite being so small, was already the centre of it all.

Eventually, Ellie dozed off in your arms, her tiny fist clutching at the fabric of your shirt as her breathing deepened. The noise of the room faded into the background, and you leaned against one of the unfinished walls, watching as Jake stood in the middle of the squad, a proud father, surrounded by the people who had been through so much with him.

In that moment, the house—still raw, still unfinished—felt like home. Not because of the walls or the counters or the floors, but because of the people inside it.

If you'd like to be tagged let me know!

[reidmania]

home sweet home | s.reid

summary; you always try to do the grocery shopping early sunday mornings before your daughter wakes up, although nothing is better than coming home to her and Spencer, dancing around the living room as the sunrises.

warnings; established relationship, husband!spencer, wife!reader, dad!spencer, mum!reader, girl dad!spencer they have an almost four year old daughter who is obsessed with uptown girl by billy joel (me) very domestic, fluff fluff fluff!

an; beartober fic 4? i think idk tbh.. so beartober is actually just bearautumn or bearfall for all u americans.. THANK YOU, short and sweet, 1.1k

The sun is barely up, casting a faint golden light over the neighbourhood, bags of groceries filling your trunk. The air is fresh and cool, a calmness hanging in the morning that feels like a secret you’re carrying home. sun is just breaking over the horizon as you pull into the driveway, the early morning air still clinging to the quiet that the day hasn’t yet stirred from. It’s a strange sight, your little house framed by dawn’s first light. The neighborhood is still asleep, the windows dark, save for one—a warm glow coming from your living room.

Balancing grocery bags in your arms, you push the door open as quietly as you can. You can hear something faint—a familiar song wafting down the hallway. You don’t need to hear lyrics to know what song is playing, uptown girl by billy joel had been on repeat for the last serval days, your daughter’s new found favourite song. You can feel the bass through the floor, each beat somehow filling the house with an energy that’s playful, light.

Your curiosity piqued, you pad quietly toward the sound. As you near the living room, you freeze, the sight in front of you holding you captive. There, in the middle of your living room, is Spencer. His hair is a little wild, uncombed from bed, and he’s in an old t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, the ones you tease him about because they’re so threadbare. And in his arms, held tight but free to move, is Kinslie, who just about to turn four, her hair a mess with similar uncombed brunette curls like her father’s.

Spencer’s dancing, moving in that awkward way of his that you love so much. It’s a careful, thoughtful kind of dancing. He sways and shuffles, occasionally spinning, his movements unpolished but joyous. Kinslie is laughing, her head thrown back, cheeks flushed, hands clutching at her father’s shirt as they twirl around. They don’t notice you. Not yet. You set down the grocery bags carefully, as if the slightest sound would break this spell, this little glimpse into their world that they unknowingly offered you.

You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms, letting yourself enjoy the scene for a moment longer. “Again?” Spencer asks, when the song comes to an end, you wonder how many times it had played. His face is animated, light shining in his eyes, and Kinslie laughs even harder, when she nods, as he twirls her around, her feet barely touching the floor. She’s singing too, in her little-girl way, mostly mumbling the words but getting the chorus with an enthusiasm that’s pure joy.

It’s all so simple, so perfect. And then, as if sensing your presence, Spencer glances over and sees you. His face lights up in that way that makes your heart swell, that makes you fall in love with him all over again.

“Hey,” he says, breathless, a grin stretching across his face.

“Hey,” you reply, a smile tugging at your own lips. “Is this what happens when I’m not around?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Why? Jealous? You can always join in,” he says with a shrug, feigning nonchalance, the wide grin on his face. But you can see it, the pride, the warmth in his eyes as he looks at you, then back at Kinslie, who’s squirming in his arms, eager for another turn. “Thought we’d start the day off right.”

Kinslie wiggles, pulling at Spencer’s shirt. “Mama, dance with us!” She’s looking up between you and Spencer with a look that’s equal parts admiration and amusement. You look at Spencer, who holds out a hand, eyebrows raised in an invitation you can’t resist. The grocery bags can wait, the rest of the world can wait. Right now, here, in this little bubble of happiness and love, nothing else matters.

You step forward, your fingers slipping into his, and he pulls you close, gently at first, testing, as though you might decide to step away. But you don’t. You laugh, letting the music and his warmth guide you as you fall into the rhythm of the song. The three of you move together, a little circle of laughter, Kinslie’s giggles bubbling over as she tries to mimic your steps, your spins, your little flourishes.

He pulls you closer, Kinslie still holding onto him, her little arms wrapped around his neck, then she’s moving to latch onto you, a laugh leaves your lips as you take her from Spencer’s arms into your own. “Maybe I should stop going grocery shopping so early.” You mumbled, it became a routine for you, on Sundays you would leave the house early, before sunrise to try and get the groceries done before Kinslie woke.

And you seemed to always come home to her and Spencer doing something new. You never minded having an early riser as a daughter, maybe she loved the mornings with her dad. You couldn’t blame her, you loved mornings with Spencer as well.

He grinned as he placed his lips gently into your hairline, he knew well enough, bending down to place a similar softer one in Kinslie’s. “Maybe we should make them evening dance parties instead.” He suggested, so you could be more involved.

You snorted, continuing to bounce Kinslie on your hip to the music, “Baby, you and Kinslie are both asleep by eight pm.” You reminded.

He just grinned, Kinslie tugs at your shoulder, interrupting. “Mama, spin again!”

You grin and spin her around, making her giggle even louder. Spencer watches, his smile widening as he joins in, his hands gently guiding your waist so you spin in sync. For a moment, you’re all moving together, twirling and laughing, the room filled with warmth and love.

Spencer gives you a soft look, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Welcome home, by the way.”

You smile, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Not a bad welcome,” you murmur, feeling the love in his gaze, in the warmth of his hand on your waist.

Kinslie reaches her hands out to her dad, eyes wide and hopeful. “Daddy, can I be big?” She’s looking up at him pleading, those eyes he wouldn’t say no to even if he wanted to.

“Course you can, kins.” You let him place his hands under her much smaller arms and take her. Big to her, meant sitting up on his shoulders. He wasted no time getting her into position, each of her small legs placed over his shoulders as he held onto her.

“How many times has this song played?” You asked, as the song played once again. So it was on loop.

Spencer just gave you a look, one that told you it had played too many times. He didn’t mind, neither did you. It was hard to get annoyed at something that made your home feel so soft.

[seresinhangmanjake]

The Harkonnen's Loves

Dad!Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Mom!Atreides!reader

Summary in bullet points:

Your and Feyd’s four-year-old son is sweet like you but has a little love for violence like his father

Feyd gives your son his first blade

Feyd is soft for his family (I just think being in love and having a family would alter this psycho man’s brain chemistry a bit)

Notes: same Feyd x reader from The Harkonnen’s Sweet Thing and The Harkonnen’s Claim. 

Warnings: a half-psycho half-sweet little boy, mention of blood and injury, mention of pregnancy.

Words: 1500

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

Your son contains a sweetness. ‘Caladan Sweetness’ you call it, because your home planet was where your sweetness was born into you. Your father, the beauty of your home, the oceans and the fields bloomed you into the soft, sweet thing that your husband loves. And though your son has never seen the world you come from, that sweetness runs through his veins. His smile, his laugh, his power to draw those around him out of their Harkonnen-built shells—that all comes from you. 

But at the same time, he is no less like his father. He adapts rather quickly to his surroundings. He has a natural curiosity for weaponry and blood and how one brings about the other. He does not hate the feel of a heart beating its final beat in his little hand—a feeling his father expressed would be better experienced young, and was done so after the slaughtering of a prisoner in front of the boy's eyes. Feyd had cracked open the prisoner's chest, taken his son by the hand, and guided his fingers into the open wound with the instruction to keep them wrapped around the organ until it no longer moved. You remember his eyes that day—round as saucers and sprinkled with excitement as he looked up at his father who ruffled his hair with a grin on his face. 

He truly is a combination of you both; such beautiful balance has already taken shape in a tiny body. He will be a warrior built and molded by his desire to understand everything his father has to teach him. And yet, he will be gentle where necessary; you hope, one day, with a wife and children of his own. But it’ll be long before that day comes. 

Then again, in some ways, he is growing so fast. For you, it could have been yesterday that you were pushing him out of your womb as your husband held your hand and kissed your forehead. At four years old, you still see him as your baby, but you acknowledge that Harkonnen blood ripens faster than the average child, and he has already begun to show signs of the man your brother prophesized him to be: one of the strongest alive; stronger even than his father. 

That is why you’ve allowed Feyd to pace your son’s training—it’s his area of expertise. It is their bond, and you don’t interfere in those moments, opting to stay just out of sight. 

“You're old enough now to have your own blade,” you hear your husband tell your son from your hidden spot around the corner. 

You can’t hold back your smile at your son's uncontained curiosity as Feyd pulls the knife out from behind his back and presents it to the boy. It balances perfectly on Feyd’s palm as tiny hands reach up. Your son pauses, but when Feyd gives an encouraging nod, he plucks it from his father’s hand. 

It couldn’t be a better fit. Not too long or heavy for his hand, but not too short or light. It’s a good starting blade to prepare him for the weapons that will grow in size as he does. 

“You will be training with me every day from now on,” Feyd tells him.

The boy looks up from the knife to meet his father’s eyes. “So I can get strong like you, Daddy?”

“Stronger than me.”

Your son giggles, a wide grin breaking open his face. “No one's stronger than you!”

Feyd's features soften as he pats his boy's cheek. “You will be.”

“Will I be strong enough to kill Uncle Paul for stealing me and Mommy from you?”

You almost snort as you roll your eyes. Of course, Feyd told him the story. It was only a matter of time before he sat him down and explained the tale of your half-brother killing—or almost killing—Feyd in front of you, then holding you hostage upon finding out Feyd was still alive and demanding you be returned to him. In exchange for you and the baby he discovered you were pregnant with, Feyd swore loyalty to your brother. But your husband will not allow his bloodline to continue for generations under the thumb of Paul Atreides. And that starts with your son. 

Feyd chuckles. “You will be strong enough to destroy your uncle and everything he loves.”

Finally making your presence known, you edge around the corner and lean against the wall. When Feyd sees you, so too does your son, and knowing the boy’s next move, Feyd takes the small blade from the even smaller hand.

“Mommy, I'm going to kill Uncle Paul!” he says joyfully as he rushes over and slams into your legs. “And everything he loves!”

“I heard!” you reply, grinning as you crouch down to his level and take hold of his hands. “But you know what? Little na-Barons who wish to take revenge on their uncles must first get a good night's sleep.”  

“Ok!”

“I'll come check on you in a minute,” you promise him before kissing his cheek and sending him on his way. Your eyes follow him running down the hall until he’s safely behind the door of his bedroom. 

Turning back to your husband and walking to his side, you say, “You told him.”

The tip of the blade pushes into his pointer finger as he lazily twirls the small weapon. “At his age, he should know who his enemies are.”

You slip between his muscled body and the table in the center of the common room where he sets down your son’s knife. With a closed-mouth smile, you hum. “And how did you start that conversation? ‘Uncle Paul made Mommy sad and Daddy mad’?”

“Something like that,” he confirms, leaning into you. His hands brace on the table, one arm at either side of your hips as he seals his lips to yours. 

Feyd’s mouth moves at a slow, hypnotic rhythm but with an intense pressure that’s glazed in possessiveness. You can taste it. That ownership. That authority. He may not always fuck you like you belong to him—sometimes it’s your turn to remind him that he’s yours—but his kisses have never been anything short of claiming. Gentle or rough, slow or frenzied, short or long enough to make you forget what world you’re in, a kiss from your husband ends with the reassurance that he wants you, he loves you, and he won’t ever let you go. 

His hands move to your neck, thumbs pressing into the curve of your jaw to hold your head still and you moan from his cool fingers soothing flushed skin. Your lips part and his tongue licks into your mouth. It plays with yours and then retreats. Teeth sink into your bottom lip, lightly tugging before he pulls back to rest his forehead against yours. 

“How's our other one?” he asks as a knuckle draws a line from your jaw to your neck to your cleavage. His eyes follow as it continues past the neckline of your dress and down your sternum, stopping at your stomach where his fingers splay wide. His eyes flick up to yours.

“Strong…like you,” you say, placing your hand over his. “...and like him.”

Your husband nods, exhaling a light sigh of relief. “Did they tell you?”

You smile. “They think it's a girl,” you answer. 

A few thumps of your heart pass as you await his reaction, but then Feyd smiles with you.

---

@avidreader73 @alwaysadreamingoptimist @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @workof-a-rr-t @midnight-serendipity @minedofmoria @aoi-targaryen

[thevoidstaredback]

Danny couldn't tell you what he expected, but it most definitely wasn't this.

Time and Space were weird in the Infinite Realms, both bending to the will of their masters and no one all at once. They didn't follow a line or a path. Time and Space did as they wanted. Fitting, considering who their masters are.

The first time Danny was ten years old, his Grandfather killed him. He remembers that, in an effort to save him, his mother submerged his body in the Lazarus Pits he and his brother had been warned about ever going near.

As it was explained to him, the Infinite Realms has a base level of sentience at the very least. She allows herself to peak into the worlds She cradles to keep an eye on them. She found Danny when his mother had lowered him into the water and She claimed him as Her own. She bent Time to Her will, making Danny a toddler again, before bending Space to drop him in the world that would most allow him to grow. She promised that She would come back for him when the time was right.

The first time Danny was fourteen, after the second time he had been ten, he died. The parents he had learned to accept as his own tried to open an unnatural gateway into the Infinite Realms. He was the one to turn it on. The electricity of the mortal world killed him, but the energy from the Infinite Realms revived him.

He remembers the whispers barely heard under his own screams. Whispers and imprints of "I'm sorry" and "I do not mean to hurt you" and "You will only grow stronger" and "Welcome back, my champion".

Danny can count on one hand the number of times he's felt safe between the first time he was six and the first time his was fourteen. He can tell you the names of exactly two places he has never felt the need to hide from.

The day Danny turned fifteen for the first time, he told his parents what happened to him. He knew, instinctually, that they would not understand, that they are researchers before they are parents. But he held onto the hope that had been trained out of him when he was first four years old. He had hoped that they would go against all odds and accept and help him.

He shut down the portal the very next day. He destroyed it and all of his parents' lives work. He would not stand by and let them hurt his people when he could not be there to interfere. He escaped back into the embrace of the Infinite Realms through Vlad's portal, giving him the Order to destroy it. The only way for the citizens of the Realms to enter the mortal worlds was to use natural portals, as unstable and unpredictable as they are. He would not risk them again.

He finds himself wandering listlessly, letting the Realms take him where She wants him to go. Sometimes She takes him to places that are completely empty, places where he can mourn what he lost without anyone finding him. Sometimes She takes him to his mentors and friends. Sometimes She takes him where he needs to be.

Danny finds the boy just as the natural portal closes behind him, the sickly green and black oozing like a festering wound.

The boy looks similar to Danny. His hair is spiked, his clothing dulled shades of a hero's costume under a black cloak, a mask covering his eyes, his body being more filled out to match his age. But Danny, on every level of understanding that he is and ever will be capable of, knows that this is his brother.

"Damian?" he whispers. The Realms push him forward. "Damian!"

Danny cradles the body of his brother, slowly sinking to the ground the Realms produce for him to land on. He carefully peels the mask from his face and lays it beside the katana on the ground.

As expected of anyone who finds their way into the Infinite Realms without proper protections, Damian has no pulse. He is not breathing. He is cold. The wound under his sternum is not bleeding.

Danny brushed his thumbs under Damian's eyes, his hands on his cheeks. "What did they do to you, ahki?"

Despite having no mortal ability to do so, Damian's eyes opened. He started ahead, blinking when his green eyes met Danny's. "Danyal?"

Tears fell from his eyes as he nodded. "Hi, Damian. You're here early."

Tears fell from Damian's eyes as well. He knew where he was. There was only one explanation. He couldn't feel himself breathing, nor could he hear his heart beat or his blood flow. There was no pain from where his mother had run him through.

"She killed me!" Damian cried into his brother's shoulder.

Danny held him tighter. "I'm so sorry," No one should ever have to go like that.

"Father couldn't save me."

"It's okay."

"Dick and Tim and Jason and Cass-!"

"Shh, ahki. You will see them again. I'll make sure of it."

The brothers held each other as they cried. The Realms wrapped Herself around the boys, comforting them as she could. Her champion and his brother, both children She had claimed and would protect.

Part 1 Storyboard

@anarinette