#hated using it every time i was forced to

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Nadezh' Interview

Summary: After Nadezh previous identity as the Firebreather, notorious Supervillain, was revealed, she thought she’d lose everything. She’s never been so happy to be wrong.

You can read Nadezh' first story (HERE)

--------------------------.

It’s decided that Nadezh will work in the finance department of Hero Force. She hates to leave her civilian job and her coworkers seeing the success of her budget fully bloom, but the other option is wearing the power suppressors 24/7, and their power frequency vibrates through her engagement ring in a way that reminds her of a bee buzzing, and she won’t take the ring off so.

The interview is a formality but they make her do it anyway. She prepares for it over the course of seven days, making Gannon rehearse every hypothetical question with her until the last minute.

Until the last minute meaning on the drive to Hero Force for the interview.

“There is a discrepancy in the packaging budget,” Gannon reads. He’s used to her driving and doesn’t flinch when she merges too quickly, and a chorus of Chicago drivers chastise her loudly. “There is a flat rate for three different sizes of package. According to the average order value and average product mix, packaging should be $3.5k—Nadezh, Hero Force doesn’t have a commerce division, I don’t think this is necessary.”

Nadezh knows the rest of this question. What steps would you take to reconcile actual and planned? “Of course, there’s the option to conduct a forensic audit, however—”

“We do have a forensic finance department,” Gannon concedes, “but that’s not—”

“—first would be to observe the whole packaging process. While there is a flat rate for all three package sizes that doesn’t mean all orders are being packaged for efficiency—”

Gannon reaches for her knee, thinks better of it, considering her foot on the gas pedal, and diverts to her shoulder. He squeezes, and all of the tension in her back magically eases. “Babe. You’re already overqualified. You’re going to do great.”

They’ve already had this argument, so Nadezh doesn’t say Overqualified? It’s amazing they’re even letting me into a Hero Force building, I could be the President and I still wouldn’t be qualified considering my past. Instead, she says, “Right. Right, thanks. You’re right. Right.”

“Right,” Gannon says seriously.

“Right,” she says and takes the next exit.

“Riiiiiiight.”

By the time they pull into the parking garage, Nadezh is laughing at the increasingly bizarre ways Gannon says the word right. The word barely has meaning anymore, and she’s fairly certain that if anyone else heard Hero Zone sounding so goat-like, they’d send him to psych for an evaluation.

Nadezh gets out of the car first, hurrying before he can say anything else that will set her off.

“Go save the day,” she says. Her face hurts from smiling. She tosses him the keys over the roof of the car after she closes the door. “I can get the train back.”

Gannon rounds the bumper and presses them back into her hand. He kisses her forehead. “No public transport from HQ.”

She blinks, the spot his lips touched tingling. “Is that a rule?”

“Our house rule,” Gannon says. He smiles reassuringly at her. “Just a precaution. I know too many people who get made getting followed out of HQ.”

Gannon always explains himself even though she never asks. Her heart is racing at our house rules. They have house rules. They’re engaged. They’re going to get married. She lifts her chin for a kiss. “I love you.”

“Love you.” He kisses her.

Kissing Gannon is the closest she feels to her powers these days. The warmth that runs through her, the heat in her cheeks, the pounding of her heart – actually she takes it back. It’s not like her power at all. It’s better than her power.

“Break it up!” a man calls from across the parking garage.

Electricity shoots through Nadezh. She didn’t hear him come up behind her. She tries to pull away from Gannon, to turn and protect them, but his hands on her shoulders stop her. Her brain catches up a moment later. Gannon is relaxed, warm brown eyes still happy. The voice is familiar.

“It’s not goodbye yet,” another voice says grumpily. This time Nadezh recognizes the speaker. When her tension eases, Gannon lifts his hands long enough for her to turn and greet Flare. He drapes his arms over Nadezh’s shoulders. Flare’s eye twitches. “There’s, like, a whole elevator ride to go.”

“There’s cameras in the elevator,” Gannon says.

Nadezh still doesn’t know what to make of Gannon’s Hero team. Omit – the leader of the team – is decent. Fast, sound decisions on the field, always knows when to retreat, which is important when your team is made of B and C-rank heroes.  His power – to eliminate an object from the enemy’s perception during battle – makes her uneasy. Despite his openness with her, she can’t erase the suspicion that he’s using his powers on her from her mind.

She likes Flare. The woman is bright and bubbly, almost six inches shorter than Nadezh, with all the energy of a hummingbird. Though she’s stationed on Gannon’s team, she’s in high demand across the city. There aren’t many fliers out there, and although her dragonfly wings aren’t exactly subtle, she’s fast enough and strong enough to conduct recon across Lake Michigan. Flare keeps Gannon safe when he’s out saving the world. Nobody sneaks up on them with her around.

Mostly.

“Us singles are feeling left out,” Omit says and tries to drape an arm over Flare’s shoulders.

Flare flits away. “Interview today?” she asks Nadezh.

“Right,” Nadezh says.

Gannon’s burst of surprised laughter lasts all the way to Nadezh’s floor where he waves goodbye breathlessly.

Even with his mask obstructing the crow’s feet she loves, Nadezh savors the memory of his joy all the way to her interview.

----.

Agent Briston isn’t like any other agent Nadezh has ever seen. He’s in his sixties, round, bald, and wearing a sweater vest under his regulation suit jacket. She thinks there’s a reason agents like him are kept out of sight. He looks like an easy target—no. She doesn’t think about people as targets anymore. She means that he looks like the grandfather in a commercial about watches, the one who takes the vintage watch off of his own wrist to wrap it around the grandson’s with an air of gravity.

“This interview isn’t a guarantee, despite your…recommendations,” Agent Briston says the moment Nadezh sits down. His desk has nothing but a computer, a notepad, and a pen. Somehow the harried look on his face makes it seem cluttered with paper. “We don’t have the budget for many staff. We need to be selective.”

Nadezh resists the urge to pull at the Hero Force regulation mask on her face or the power suppressors around her wrists. Part of her agreement with Foresight was that she’d wear the cuffs whenever Gannon wasn’t with her. The blue glow feels ostentatious, and she hopes Agent Briston won’t turn her down based on them. “Understood, sir.”

“Briston,” Agent Briston says. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Only the heroes call me sir. My staff calls me Briston.”

Nadezh nods. “I’m Nadezh Mel—”

“No last names, Nadezh,” Briston says. He pulls his glasses from a desk drawer and puts them on. He squints at his computer. “Now. Tell me.  Do you have accounting experience?”

“Yes, si—Briston.”

Briston’s thick white eyebrows raise and he abandons his computer to focus back on Nadezh. He seems skeptical. “Really?”

“I created the office budget for my last company,” Nadezh says. She has a better way to say this, she rehearsed this with Gannon— “My plan allowed for the purchase of new chairs and a copier.”

Briston stares at her. “You really have accounting experience.”

Did he not hear her? Or did she answer incorrectly? “I-I was also part of the team that allocated reinvestment funds—”

“Foresight’s recruits never have accounting experience.”

“—and payroll for over 500 employees—”

“Payroll!” Briston looks up at the ceiling. “She does payroll!”

“I—I’m sorry?” she says. She can’t read his tone. Is he disappointed or being sarcastic? She scrambles for her next interview answer. “I have a bachelor’s in accounting from Illinois State, but I plan to complete my master’s in the next five years—”

Briston makes a sound she’s only ever heard from frightened raccoons. “You’re hired,” Briston declares. He reaches over the desk to shake her hand. “I’ll draw up a counteroffer before noon.”

Confused, Nadezh shakes his hand. His grip is surprisingly strong. “Sir? The terms of my employment should already be in my file.” Foresight had made it clear she’d be starting at the bottom level of the pay scale.

“We aren’t paying my new director that,” Briston says. “We’ll start double that and see what they counter offer.”

“They? Aren’t you in charge of salary approvals?” Nadezh asks. Then, as his words sink in, “Director?!”

Briston beams at her. “Experience, a degree, and common sense! We’ll settle for 30% higher than the initial offer with a condition for an additional 10% at the next performance review.”

“Director,” Nadezh says. When Briston doesn’t answer, ignoring her in favor of typing feverishly, Nadesh says with surety, “You’re joking.”

Briston hums and doesn’t answer her.

“Right?”

----.

Briston isn’t joking.

Gannon takes a dazed Nadezh out for dinner and drinks to celebrate. The private room he reserves is in the back of a Japanese restaurant run by a former Superhero. There are flowers on the table, candles strategically placed around the room, soundproofing on the walls, and a chilled bottle of Nadezh's favorite white wine waiting. She processes all of this distantly. She makes Gannon read her employment contract between bites of sushi. Bemused, he dutifully announces her employed status and starting salary whenever she asks.

“Guess I shouldn’t have listened to the rumors about the department head,” Gannon says. Rather than surprised, his voice carries an element of relief. “You’re barely taking a salary cut with this.”

“Cut? This is a ten percent raise,” Nadezh hisses. She stares at her green tea. “Does Foresight know?” A jolt of sick fear floods with her. “I didn’t make Briston give me a raise, I swear!”

“Nadezh, of course you didn’t,” Gannon says. He reaches across the table to nudge at her clenched hands. Automatically, she unfurls them to reveal half-moon indents from her nails. He slides his palm against hers. “You deserve this.”

“But Foresight might think—”

“He won’t.” Gannon picks up his chopsticks with his left hand, content to let his right keep holding hers so that her dominant hand is free. He’s clumsier with them and frowns as he chases salmon roe around his plate. “Briston has almost unilateral say in the finance department. Nobody can sway him. He’s known for being short-tempered, cheap, and stubborn. I’m sure Foresight will just be grateful he finally hired someone.”

Nadezh narrows her eyes. ��You said you didn’t know the person interviewing me.”

“Oops?” Gannon finally catches the salmon roe under a bite of rice and pops it in his mouth. He chews innocently. “Did I?”

“Fess up.”

“It’s not like I know a lot. People say Briston fires more than he hires.” Gannon’s eyes shift to the side.  “Aaaand that he can be heard yelling whenever it’s time to calculate overtime expenses. Or whenever the armory submits their expense report. Or when the audit team comes back with city damage claims. Or when—”

Nadezh drops her head into her free hand, letting her long black hair hide her for a moment. She forgot that Hero Force accountants dealt with destroyed skyscrapers and medical leave for when you got your arms ripped off in a fight, not copiers and desk chairs. “You didn’t think to mention any of this before the interview?!”

“You were freaked out enough.” Gannon pauses in the way he does when he’s about to say what he’s really thinking so Nadezh doesn’t interrupt. She waits as he chews until he finally says, “I’m glad he bumped your salary. I was starting to feel guilty.”

Nadezh’s hand spasms around Gannon’s. “Guilty?”

“Yeah,” Gannon says. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I argued against making you leave your job. Said it made Hero Force the sort of organization everyone always accuses us of being. Overreaching and, well…cruel.”

“You didn’t tell me about that either.” Had he been thinking that this whole time? While she made him practice interview questions with her? Did he think she was forcing herself? The thought of Gannon feeling even a tenth of the gnawing guilt that lives inside her makes her want to throw up. Nadezh shakes her head and leans across the table. She’s glad for the private room and how it allows her to show him how his words affect her. “Babe, you don’t have anything—"

“I know how hard you worked for that job,” Gannon interrupts. He licks his lips. Now it’s his turn to stare at his tea. “Please, just…listen.”

Nadezh would do anything Gannon asked. She squeezes his hand again and fights the words bubbling up her throat like lava.

“We haven’t really talked since that day,” Gannon says. He’s a Hero; he makes himself look into her eyes. “I haven’t really talked. I’ve been afraid to. I know your past isn’t…isn’t good. I do. And I know that you don’t want to forget about it or pretend it doesn’t exist.”

She wants to, but she can’t. Like hunger and emptiness, she doesn’t think Gannon will ever understand the weight she carries from the harm she’s done. The screams she’d once reveled in now haunt her in ways she could never have guessed. But he’s talking to her, so she doesn’t explain. She listens.

“I feel like I’ve been making you give up everything for me,” Gannon confesses in a rush. He speaks faster as her eyes widen, like if he makes his sentences a big enough river, she won’t be able to dam it up. “Your first civilian job, your past, and your freedom to do whatever you want to do – because you could do anything, you really could – and even your powers.” He rubs his thumb over the underside of her wrist where the power suppressors sit during working hours. His face crumples. “Every morning, I will have to take you to put them on. It’s…I hate it. It feels like I’m abandoning you, or like I’m part of your punishment, or like I’m not being the partner you deserve.”

She starts, half rising from her seat. “Gannon! How could you—?”

His grip is strong on her hand, and he gestures for her to sit with a quick jerk of his chin. His eyes close tight. “Please, Nadezh.”

She quiets.

It takes him a long time to start speaking again. He remains quiet until he’s able to look her in the eyes again. “You…that day. The day you saved my and my team’s life.”

The day she thought her fairytale had come to an end. Even now, the memory of his blank eyes as she revealed the red and gold costume of the Firebreather, one of the world’s most notorious and deadly supervillains, follows her. The cold wind whipping across the ship’s deck, the pillars of ice gleaming in the sun, his team haltingly asking her if she was going to take over the boat…and his eyes. The pain that ripped through her when she realized she would lose him was worse than anything she’d ever experienced. It had made her realize that she’d been a shell for years until she met him, that she’d been nothing until he showed her a world where she could be someone. In that moment, she’d known that she’d wasted his time on a dead end. That their dream to get married would never be the same if it happened at all and she had robbed him in her greed.

But he remembers it as the day she saved his life rather than dooming his future.

“I became a hero to save people,” Gannon says. His lips thin. “How did I put it? That day at the diner? To share the relief of having the day saved.” His face twists in a way she can’t understand. “You must have thought I was so naïve.”

“No,” she says simply.

He raises their hands so he can kiss the back of hers. “Thank you. I think I was naïve. Being a hero seemed simple, looking at the world that way, like everyone wanted to be saved and, in turn, wanted to one day go on to save someone else. Every moment of salvation would get repaid. Good things would always happen to good people.”

Well, when he put it like that.

Gannon continues, “But when I saw you standing there, dressed as the Firebreather, being saved was…different. It was all different.” He swallows hard. “For the first time, I realized saving the day wasn’t so simple. You had to reveal your identity to do it. You had to put your freedom and everything you worked for on the sidelines. Even us. You were ready to do it even if it meant we never got the chance to be married. I could tell that you weren’t going to let that stop you. You were going to save the day.  Instead of being relieved, I felt afraid.”

A small noise of protest builds in Nadezh’s throat. “Afraid of me?”

“No!” Gannon’s eyes widen and he leans over the table. “No, never. Never, Nadezh. Even when that last fireball singed the toes of my boots, I didn’t flinch for a moment. I knew you would never hurt me.”

Nadezh’s laugh is watery. “So that’s why you threw out those boots.”

“Regulation is closed toe,” Gannon says gravely. He plays with her fingers. “I was afraid because I realized there was a cost that I wasn’t willing to pay, but you were.”

“I couldn’t let you die,” Nadezh says.

“I know.” Gannon clears his throat and adjusts his grip on her hand so that he can feel her pulse against his thumb. “I know. I’m not saying that’s wrong.  Just…it was hard, wasn’t it?” His brown eyes search hers. “You knew before you even left the apartment to find me that you were going to lose everything.”

“But I didn’t,” Nadezh points out.

“But that’s what you thought.”

She can’t deny that.

“Saving the day is easy when it’s just a job,” Gannon says. “That day, I realized that I’d never really been a hero. It was a job, an important one, but not one that was going to take anything I wasn’t willing to give. That same job was the reason I let myself just stand there as Hero Force took you into custody. Like a coward. I hate myself for that moment.” His voice is raw with the admission. His free hand curls into a fist. “I should have run with you then.”

Nadezh barks a disbelieving laugh. It’s inappropriate, but the idea of Hero Zone, the most honorable hero in Chicago, running away with a supervillain is ridiculous. She hides her incredulity. “That’s—”

“I’m serious, Nadezh.” Gannon’s eyes burn through her, gaze unflinching. Her pulse jumps under his thumb. “I still think that. We could run now. Settle down somewhere and be civilians. Never show up on Hero Force radar again. Like Bonnie and Clyde hiding out from the law.”

“That’s not funny.” Try as she might, Nadezh can’t find any trace of humor on Gannon’s face. Her eyes dart around the room. When she can’t find any cameras, she leans forward and hisses, “Don’t even joke about that. You love being a hero.”

“I love being with you,” Gannon says. This time when he smiles the mole under his eye disappears with the force of it. “I told you, all I want is to marry you. No job will ever be worth more than that. So…” His smile wavers for a moment before he fixes it in place. “What do you say? Will you run away with me?”

Fuck. Her mind leaps ahead. They could get a place in the mountains. She knows how much Gannon misses his hometown on the East Coast. His family has long since disappeared from those ridges and valleys, but she can see him there, facing the sun with his arms held over his head in triumph. A field sprawled out below him blooms with green and a house sits just beyond that with a gently smoking chimney. Could she belong there too? With him?

Gannon mistakes her silence. “You wouldn’t have to wear the power suppressors ever again or worry about Briston yelling or what Hero Force will make you do. It could be just you and me like we always imagined. Together.”

Is he pleading with her? Begging her to say yes?

There will always be a part of her that wants to. The greedy and selfish part that wants to keep him all to herself, like the doll in her childhood that unraveled at the seams after only a month. The part of her that could hide him away is familiar. Too familiar.

“No.”

Gannon’s face falls. “No?”

“Not because I don’t want us,” she assures. Somehow, she feels lighter. Is this what’s been sitting silently between them this whole time? She could laugh. “I do. But I think you’re misunderstanding something. You’re not the reason why I’m cooperating with Hero Force.” She thinks over her words and then rephrases. “You’re not the only reason.”

“I’m not?” Gannon backtracks. “I mean, it’s not a problem if I’m not, but I thought…well. I thought given what you said in the interrogation room…”

“You will always be the love of my life,” Nadezh says. She finds the words as she says them. She’s had a lot of time to think about this – Gannon is not the first one to think what it’d be like to run away. “That will never change. It’s just…” Private room, she reminds herself. No one will be able to hear. She confesses, “I want to change. I don’t want to be the Firebreather anymore.”

“You’re not!”

Keep him, no one can stop you, power suppressors barely work once we really get up to temperature—Nadezh stops those thoughts firmly in their tracks. “There are parts of me that still are. I was afraid when I revealed who I was, but since then look how far I’ve come. You know all of me and you’re still here.” She lets her wonder and hope leak into her voice. Some mornings she wakes up to him by her side and can’t fathom how the universe let someone with hands as stained as hers have something so good. “I have a job. I have a way to give back for all the harm I caused. I…I think confronting my past has given me a chance to grow like I haven’t done before. A year ago, I couldn’t even accept the proposal from the man I love more than life itself. Now? I know that I can walk into work every day and have those power suppressors put on me by Hero Force -not you - and I can hold my head high.”

“Not me? Nadezh, I’m your containment,” Gannon says. His expression is tortured in the candlelight. “You say it’s Hero Force, but it’s me. I’m the one holding you back. Foresight said that Firebreather was sufficiently contained by my side, he awarded me custody—”

“Are you feeling guilty over that?” Nadezh’s mouth drops open. “Gannon, seriously?”

“I feel like I’m choosing to be your captor over being your fiancé,” Gannon says.

“Just like how you knew I would never hurt you, I know you would never hurt me. I wouldn’t even have to use my powers. I know the second I didn’t want to put those cuffs on, you wouldn’t.”

“I’m still—”

“No.” Nadezh won’t allow any room for confusion here. “Gannon. Stop. I am the one choosing to do this. That day I gave you a choice, remember? I said that you could walk away and I would be—” fine is a strong word “—I would understand. I was going to keep the memory of us agreeing to get married and let you walk away.”

There’s gravel in Gannon’s voice. He reaches across the table to capture her other hand. “I would never change my mind.”

“I believe you.” He was patient with her, waiting for her to believe it. She holds his hands back. “I believe you. So here’s what I’m asking. You gave me a choice just now. Stay or run away. Please believe me when I say I want to stay.”

“Even if it means I have to be your captor?” he asks, anguished.

She nearly snaps at the question. Isn’t he listening to what she’s saying? His tone stills her. She studies him. His eyes are teary, and she can feel his hands tremble in hers. “This really bothers you.”

He nods wordlessly.

She tries to put herself in his shoes. She imagines that he’s working as a henchman who used to be a hero. She imagines putting cuffs on him before work every day, knowing that he’d be helpless if the Villain ever decided to turn on him—She winces. “Maybe we can ask Omit to put on the cuffs instead?”

“I…we could try that,” Gannon says after a long moment. He breathes in through his nose. Out through his mouth. In through his nose. Then, “I really ruined this celebration dinner, huh?”

She snorts. Both of their eyes are red and swollen despite neither of them crying. “This is about how most of my celebration dinners have gone. Better, actually. Nobody is screaming and nothing’s on fire.”

“Yet,” Gannon says.

“See? There’s still hope.” They’ve been talking for so long that her wine is warm. She grimaces as she swallows. “Hey, captor? I think it’s time you took me to a secondary location.”

“That’s not funny.” Despite his words, Gannon’s lips twitch as he stands and pushes in his chair. “I’m really upset about that.”

Nadezh follows him to the door. She caresses his shoulder, ostensibly checking him for dust, but really needing the contact. “Should I comfort you?”

Gannon drops back to put his arm around her shoulders. “Hmmm, keep talking.”

“I think I have Stockholm syndrome—”

“I change my mind. No more talking.”

Nadezh laughs. “Riiiight.”

It’s not perfect. Nadezh knows that the conversation isn’t over. There’s a guardedness in Gannon she’s never seen before when talking about Hero Force. He doesn’t believe her, not yet. But that’s okay.

She’ll be around to convince him.

(Except for 9am-5pm Monday through Friday. She somehow doesn’t think Briston would take kindly to a hero responsible for flooding the docks every other week hanging around the office.)

----

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Next week I have the continuation of my Cinderella retelling going up there first and then here later in March. You can read Cinderella here (Tumblr X) (PatreonX)

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[madamechrissy]

Baby You're No Good

Pairings - Cult leader/clan Leader Geto x F! reader

Summary - You have been promised to marry the psychotic, human hating leader of the Geto Clan, Suguru. Your heart sinks at the wedding when you realize you're likely to be ended once you've fulfilled your duty, giving him an heir. He detests you on sight, as do you, but something happens the first time you lay together, Suguru swears you're some witch, because he can't get enough of you. He becomes consumed with fucking you, with the excuse of 'having an heir' but you begin to wonder just where the lines are blurring. Would you survive this- and will Suguru survive being with you?

CW- Arranged marriage trope, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, psychotic Geto lol- lots of hate sex, Suguru calling you a stupid monkey, angsty, FULL of smut. Reader is a virgin bc she's sheltered due to been promised to him. Reader is FEISTY asf and mean right back. Explicit sex and Geto being whipped/insane/obsessed and psycho. This part- Heavy angst, hate sex, cum licking, oral (m and f recieiving) choking, smacking, say hi to Gojo, toxic relationship. WC this part- 6.5k

Will be six parts <3 Plz share/comment/ like if you enjoy!

<<<Part Two - Playlist - Masterlist - Part four (soon)

Part Three

“Fuck…” Suguru’s moaning as he’s filling you, and it’s just too much, too intimate, his silken long locks falling against your skin, his lips hovering over yours, one of your legs wrapped on his hip.

“Fuck you…” Is what you mutter back, as his cock fills you, hitting every damn spot all at once, you’re soaking him, hands gripping the blankets, trying to avoid that desire to grip him instead.

“You love it, don’t you?” You shake your head and he chuckles, slipping his hand down your tummy to toy with your clit, pressing it in circles, making you cum so damn easily. “No?”

“Who c-cares- mnh!” You’re screaming out as he overstimulates you, those lazy lidded violet eyes devouring your face, your nails grip his back on instinct, making him hiss in pleasure.

“Fuck.” He huffs again, as he feels your walls, so slick and tight, pulsating all around his veiny length. “Feel perfect-” He pauses himself, as you gasp, he’s burying his face in your neck again, fucking into you deeper and harder now, taking over all your senses while he hides his feelings.

That he’s obsessed with you should be obvious, it is obvious to fucking anyone besides you, clearly. You haven’t noticed the way he’s non stop in your presence, even as there’s a knocking on his door now, he scowls over at it, you release your nails and he glares at you.

“Put them back.” You scowl right back.

“You’re needed M-Master Geto- oh! Ah!” He’s slamming his cock deeper, using one arm to balance, as the other grabs you by your throat.

“Put them back, now. Are the sheets fucking you?”

“I like them better than y-you.”

“Annoying fucking brat…” He grumbles, shoving his cock so deep as the door knocks again. “What is it!?”

“Plans for Kiyoto, Lord Geto. We have been waiting for an hour.”

“I’m not done yet.” The wet sounds of his cock splitting you in half fill his chambers, as he chokes you harder, looking as you lose oxygen, big hand taking your pretty little neck more and more. “I’ll come later.”

“Kiyoto?” You murmur, and he squeezes harder, slamming his cock even deeper as the bed creaks with the force.

“You can still speak?” He raises an arrogant brow, you’re helpless as the fuzziness of him choking you makes you feel like you’re floating as he slams his cock so deep, tip pressing into your spongy cervix, you pulse all around him screaming silently in pleasure. “There, shut your stupid mouth.”

Suguru releases your throat, slamming his lips on yours, and you’re too weak to fight it, you let him kiss you, clinging to him desperately, and letting go for just one blissful moment. Where you inhale the scent of the sex filling the room, where you feel his taste buds on your tongue, and your tongue moves back, earning his soft little whimper that he hides.

You wish you could let go.

But how do you let go with a monster?

Suguru’s big hand comes to your thigh now, gripping it and shoving impossibly deeper as you whine out, your hips rolling for more. If there is ever a time the two of you aren’t declaring your hate or scowling, it’s when he’s fucking you into that bed, deeper and deeper, kissing you like he could love you. A mix of hatred, desire, and more and more feelings you both suffocate.

A month married to him, in his bed constantly, in whatever position he had you in, last night you’d been on top of him, as he’d laughed while you tried to ride him, but when you’d rolled your hips a certain way, you got that look. The look of whatever real Suguru Geto is inside of this shell, you got a glimpse of his tenderness when he came inside you.

Even now, it doesn’t feel all like hate, not when he slows, and he parts his lips, murmuring something that sounded like beautiful, but when you ever looked at him, asked him what he whispered, he’d shut down and flip you. He’d fuck you harder until you couldn’t remember whatever tender words may have spilled from lips that only produce hate.

You gasp now, looking up at him, when he entwines a hand in yours, it’s too much pressure in your tummy, it’s too intimate really, he shouldn’t fucking do this, and he knows it. “D-don’t…”

“Don’t hold your hand, but I can cum in you?” He whispers back, and you gulp now, nodding, while he shakes his head. “Rather me choke you again?”

“Yes.” He scoffs, slamming his lips back down again, rhythm slowing. “Stop kissing me, fuck…”

“No.” You turn your face and he exhales, biting your throat now, sinking fully in and throbbing inside you. “Fucking brat, I swear.”

“Shut up and finish- mnh!” Suguru leans up and shoves you in that mating press now, looking down at you as his hair falls loose and silky and long, brushing the backs of your thighs.

“Need my cum so bad, pathetic girl?”

“Monkey.” You finish, and he pauses, it’s been weeks since he’s said it during sex to you, shit a week since he said it at all. Any time someone else said it he’d end them, so people don’t talk that way anymore.

But the irony is it’s his creation, calling others that.

“You only shut up when I lick you, even dick apparently doesn’t work.” You flush at that, and he’s spitting down between your thighs now, obscene as he does it, running that rough thumb on your clit again as you scream out. “There we go, you can’t help yourself, feels too good.”

“Hate you. Hate you.” You’re whispering even as you shatter, milking his cock so that he cums right with you, groaning out loud, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Perfect little cunt, fuck…” He’s whispering, as he watches the creamy stripes already oozing from your little hole, moaning as he sees it, releasing your thighs. “You took so much, but you’re just pushing it all out.”

“There’s enough cum, you cum so much, ugh.” You grumble, voice breathy as he chuckles so cruelly, finally pulling out of you, dripping with your slick and his seed, sticky and glistening.

“Clean it up then.” He gets on his back now, yanking you until you’re on his face, you gasp then.

“Suguru…”

“Fuck…” He’s parting your drooling lips as you brace yourself on either side of him, feeling the tip of his tongue flick on your overstimulated clit. “Saying my name? Are you only sweet when I eat you out?”

“Shut it.” You lap at his sticky tip, he jerks in your hand, still mostly hard as he’s moaning against you, making you drip out more of his cum right on his lips, mixed with how slick you are.

“Pretty pussy so beat up.”

“Pretty, hmm?” You are met with him shoving up his cock deep, as you suck as much as you can of him, you’ve sucked him a few times now, times when you can’t help yourself.

You love to.

But you don’t want him having the satisfaction.

Though you’ve never done… this, sitting on his face while he laps you up, his huge hands on your hips, while his tongue scoops the cum pouring, only making you closer again. Your eyes roll back as you suck him deeper, losing yourself in the sensations again, it's hard to remember when his tongue devours you that he’s a mass murderer who ‘hates you’.

“Suguru…” You’re pulling back for a moment, pulling away as he flicks your clit again and again, hot breath right on your core, and he glares, yanking you back.

“Don’t run, now, let me get her ready for me again.” You just whine, pathetically, shaking your head.

“M’gonna cum-”

“Cum, then. Now.” You sure won’t be taking his orders, but he sucks your tiny clit in his mouth, shoving his cock up with a thrust of his hips, and you are cumming, just like he fucking said. Your thighs shake on either side of his pretty face, as he licks you clean, his own cock fully hard and ready again in your throat. “Finally being good?”

“Mmm, never…” He laughs at you, tapping your hips as you shakily get off him, just to yank you on top, sliding his length between your puffy lips. Your hands brace on his chest, your flushed face so gorgeous he can’t think for a moment. “Must we… so frequently? Shouldn’t I take a test?”

Suguru pauses then.

“And if you are, will you stop your duties as my wife?” He asks, while you grind on him, and you’re exhaling, trying to focus.

“What’s Kyoto?”

“Jesus… just fuck me, don’t talk.”

“That’s all we do!”

“That’s all I enjoy to do with you, it’s the only time you’re not a mean little bitch.” You glare now, leaning back and slapping his cheek, he slaps you right back, while he drags you on his cock, and you scream in pleasure, tits right in his face bouncing with the motion. “There you go, can’t help yourself.”

“Hate you… what the…” He slaps your tits now, as you whine out in pleasure, he leans up to suck one in his mouth, moaning, cheeks hollowed as he does. “Tell me nothing, hmm?”

“It’s an attack, okay? Will you focus on riding dick, your technique is pathetic.” You scowl again, rolling your hips just so and grinding with him bottomed out, smirking as you elicit a whimper.

“Whining like a little bitch, the almighty Lord Geto.”

“God I hate you.” He whispers, pulling you by your hair and kissing you again, so brutal and bruising while he shoves his cock up inside you, skin sweaty and slick from the two of you.

“Attack for what?” You whisper, close to cumming again.

“A thousand curses, will take out every non-sorcerer… f-fuck you feel so… mmm… and anyone who stops me.” You pause at that, unmoving, looking at him in horror now.

“What!?” You earn his scowl, he flips you on the other side of the bed, on top again, a hand on your mouth, as you yank at it.

“I’m killing everyone in that city that’s human. Don’t worry, you’ll be safe, you’re with me.” Your parents live in Kyoto, he doesn’t even let you argue, sinking deeper, shaking his head.

“My parents-”

“Your parents, my parents, baby they’re all gonna die soon.” You’re in horror and shock as the door knocks again, and Suguru rolls violet eyes. “I said I’m busy!”

“Satoru Gojo is here, Lord Geto. You may want to… see this.” Suguru freezes over you.

“You’re gonna kill our parents!? Everyone!? Really!”

“Have I ever made it a secret?” He scoffs, pulling out of you and making you flush in embarrassment as he looks at your body. “I said I’d make an exception, why is that not enough? What more must I constantly do?”

“I don’t know- not be a murderer psycho!?” He’s scowling again as he gets dressed, and you hastily follow.

“I’ll be out there in just a moment.” He says gruffly and you’re following him out, earning him constantly glaring back at you. “I’ll knock you out with a sleeping curse if you don’t stop.”

“Thought I was supposed to go everywhere with you, as your wife, hmm?” His jaw locks as you two step outside, the brightness blinding for just a moment, as several of Suguru’s cult members are ready to fight Gojo, who’s just smirking, turning his attention to the two of you then.

“You paid me a visit, figured I’d return the favor buddy.” Satoru says with a big grin, and Suguru smirks so damn evil, while Satoru eyes you behind the veil of white thin material, face softening a bit. “Who’s the pretty girl, and why is she near you?”

“My wife, okay?” Satoru pauses, while Suguru steps closer, crossing his arms under his wide robes. “What’s it to you?”

Satoru pulls up his white wrapped blindfold, one cerulean eye meeting yours, swirling storms that you could never forget, looking back at Suguru, glossy lips turning up in a smirk. Suguru scowls right at him, when Satoru puts his hands in the pockets of his dark blue pants, tilting his silvery locks as he steps just a bit closer, his shoes glinting under the light with each step.

“A non-curse user married to the infamous Suguru Geto.” Gojo whistles now, walking closer until he’s right in front of you.

“Arranged marriage.” Suguru says, making you tense, feeling sick to your stomach, sure you know it’s true, but…

Perhaps you thought you were a little more?

“Ah, need me to take her off your hands?” Satoru taunts, grinning as he puts his blindfold back on, and you watch Suguru stiffen, before he glares.

“The fuck you say?”

“You hate humans, I’ll take her with me. Sure she’d prefer that over certain death, hmm?”

“You won’t take her any fucking where.”

“Why, it’s forced, right?” Satoru’s lilting voice was laced with sarcasm, as he looks right through Suguru, the way you do, the way Shoko had so casually the day he last saw her, the way only people…

People he loved did.

Fuck he can’t, he doesn’t, but as Satoru brushes your hair back gently and you eye him curiously, he grips one of Satoru’s wrists tightly, and he can feel the goddamn gaze behind that blindfold. Knowing, still caring somehow, though Suguru doesn’t deserve his care, nor does he deserve you.

If he loved you enough, he’d let you run the fuck away with Satoru, perhaps he could keep you safe, from the monster Suguru had become.

But he can’t stand the thought of you gone.

“Is it because she’s pregnant?”

“What!?” Suguru demands, and he lifts his blindfold again, eyeing you with those powerful six eyes that everyone knows the Gojo heir has, as you touch your tummy, looking at Satoru in shock.

“It’s brand new, won’t even show up on a test, but you are.” Satoru’s voice is just a little soft, you could feel how he felt horrible for you, but also you could still feel the love he had for his former best friend.

“You can see?” You murmur softly, as Suguru’s lips are parted.

“I can see a lot. I see you care about her, hmm?”

“You need to leave, to prepare for when I come.”

“Suguru!” His name on your lips makes him pause, as you look at him with tears now. “You can’t do it.”

“Oh I can’t hmm?” Suguru’s struggling to remember his motives, all he can think of is that there’s a fucking baby in you already.

“You can’t do this, what life will this baby even have?”

“A better one, when the scum is off this earth.”

“Including her?” Satoru says now, and Suguru’s jaw locks, violet eyes narrowed with his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, the wind starts whipping around the three of you, as you feel Satoru’s immense energy. It’s far surpassing Suguru’s, intense to withhold as it surrounds him. “If you hate humans, you hate her.”

“That’s… she’s mine.”

“Your human?”

“She’s my…” He stands in front of you now, as Satoru grins, chuckling just a bit. “She’s my wife and has my heir, she won’t leave my fucking sight.”

Suguru never wants you to leave him, the thought makes his heart clench with fear, his very energy shifting, and Satoru picks up on it. “Oh so you’ll just kill her once she has your heir?”

“No I…”

“Why not, care about someone again?” Suguru bristles at that, at his friend seeing everything with one glance, Satoru has always been that way.

“So perceptive now, are you?”

Satoru’s jaw locks. “Now, yes, and you are blinded, can’t even see what’s here for you, can you?”

“Satoru fuckin leave, go prepare now because I sure the fuck am coming prepared to kill everyone in that city, including you.” Suguru stomps away, as Satoru sighs, stepping closer to you.

“Are you alright here?” He murmurs, you nod then, carefully. “I can get you out of here.”

“You what?” You blink just a bit, and Suguru is shouting your name, glaring at the two of you.

“You love him too, don’t you?” Satoru’s question makes you question yourself, your own heart, things you’re trying to shove back, to avoid. But it’s as if Satoru knows you better than yourself and almost like you can feel the love he himself has, the care radiating under his powerful energy.

“No! God no…” You falter, and Satoru exhales, brushing the backs of his fingers across your cheek, and you feel Suguru summon a curse right around you, making you gasp.

“Back the fuck off.” Suguru speaks through gritted teeth, Satoru just smirks, waving off Suguru’s curse like it’s nothing.

“You see them.”

“Yes, I can, some… family trait.” You murmur softly.

“Hmm, interesting. I can still take you away, just say the word.”

You hate Suguru.

Suguru is a psycho murderer.

Right?

“Or…”

“Or?” Suguru’s now got his people around him, his cult, his minions, making you sick as they gather, as if they’re putting a dent in Satoru Gojo.

“Or… you try to stop him.”

“Me!? He fucking hates me, he thinks-”

“Nah. He certainly doesn’t hate you, in fact… maybe only you can get through to him.” He rubs the back of his neck, as Suguru and his group start stepping forward. “I’ve tried, I’m… fucking tired.”

“If you don’t get through, how can I?” Your voice is hoarse, Satoru leans down a bit, voice dropping to a murmur.

“He feels something. Try to… just buy me some time could you?” You gulp now, as you touch your stomach again.

“I’ll try, Gojo.” He smiles at you then, the smile you remember has changed he's… sadder now.

“You have something on here…” He brushes long fingers against your neck, making you tremble a bit at the contact, then blush. You'd only been with Suguru and it wasn't either of your choices, so you wonder if it's just … someone else touching you? Or if it's his intense energy, but soon you notice a little piece of paper that he's placed there. “In case you need me.”

You nod, tucking it in your robes. “Thank you…”

“Good luck with… all of it.”  He disappears with one more sad look at Suguru, who's now scowling as he walks over to you. “Go to your room until I say you can leave.”

“What!?”

“Now you’ll be seen as a weakness.” He says, in disgust at the thought, looking at you furiously.

“Why, when you don’t care?” Your words make him furious, how can you not know what he feels?

“I do care, that’s the problem.”

“Oh, I’m a problem!?”

“Go. Now.” You shake your head at him, and he grabs you by your chin, squeezing it tightly. “Go to your room for the rest of the night, I will not repeat myself, or would you like your parents dead earlier?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” You say through your sobs that are rising in your throat, and Suguru pauses, guilt flashing as he sees what he’s already done to you, and he hasn’t even started.

“Now.” You rush off as he stares, and the others gather, he aches to follow you when you slam that door, when he hears your cries, but he does nothing. “Someone lock her doors from the inside out.”

******

It’s been all night you’ve been stuck in this goddamn room, and of course you have no phone in here, Suguru lets you use a cell phone to speak to your parents but he never really lets you keep it in your room. Finally, it’s gotta be late, you’ve lost sense of time but the locked windows of your room show it’s dark out, the door opens with a resounding click.

You peer and see him then, furious at you as he stands there, and you step up to the doorway. “Locking me away like this is beauty and the beast, huh?”

“Might as well be, isn’t that what we are?” He raises a brow, and you gulp now, shaking your head.

“No, you’re beautiful. On the outside.” You watch Suguru pause now, face softening a bit. “If I’m pregnant, shouldn’t I be allowed to eat?”

“I didn’t say… you think…”

“You’ve locked me in here for hours.” Your tummy growls as if on cue, and Suguru feels like…

God worse than shit.

His best friend had just been there, and now the girl he’s fallen for is starving and apparently… pregnant. If Gojo is to be believed, there’s life inside of you already, and what sort of life would it be when you’re living in constant terror from him? But Suguru is too far down this path, as much as he will make an exception for you, he will not do that for anyone else.

His family and yours included, eventually.

“So you know, your parents are on vacation.” You exhale in relief, but then instantly feel guilty.

What about everyone else?

“Can I have a phone to talk to them, please?”

He shrugs then. “Sure, I’ll have one brought to you along with dinner.”

“So I have to stay here!?”

“Until you calm down.” He shuts the door again as you glare at it, and he’s resting his head on the other side, despising himself.

“Suguru, really!?”

It’s of no use. With dinner and a phone in a little bit, you devour it, realizing then that you are starving, you’d fucked the man all morning and are apparently… carrying his baby, and haven’t eaten anything. The door opens and Suguru stands there once again, crossing his arms and looking down at you.

“You can come to my chambers if you behave.” You’ll behave alright.

Knowing it to be your chance to attempt to get to him in any way, you agree. As you walk down the halls, seeing his daughters giggling as if everything’s fine, Suguru pats them on the head as he pauses, and when they leave, he looks at you. “So if they were human, what would you do?”

“I asked you to behave.”

“Did you think of Gojo and-”

“Forget who you belong to?” He says angrily, hands on your shoulders now, heat burning you through the silk of your robes.

“It’s just all arranged, yeah?” Your retort leaves him breathless, sputtering, as he catches you by your wrist.

“It was arranged, but let me explain-”

“Nothing you say makes any fucking sense!” You're yanking your arm, now he is dragging you to his room, you're stumbling helplessly, following his quick pace until he's slammed the door behind you.

“You are mine, all mine.” He whispers, huge hands on your face, as you bite a trembling lip.

“Suguru, you can’t do this. Please.”

“Stop telling me what I can or can’t do. Why, think I’m not powerful enough?” He slams a hand on one side of your head, making you tense.

“Is that all this is, who’s more powerful? Does this mean nothing?” You take that hand putting it on your stomach now, as he gulps audibly, his already tired eyes even more heavy.

“The heir.”

“The baby, say it.”

“Baby…” He murmurs, almost in wonder for a moment, before stepping back, as you feel your heart shattering. “You’ll stay here, you’ll be safe. I’ll have guards if they come to retaliate.”

“Oh, so it’s all fine then, you’re gonna what, kill other kids!? Pregnant women!? Does that make you feel good, Suguru, so fucking strong?” You shove at him now, and his dark brows lower, jaw clenched.

“You will be safe.”

“For how long, until your hatred overtakes you, and you remember what I am. Say it, huh?” He’s squeezing your wrists, shoving you off him, pinning them above your head as he leans down, the ticking of the clock on his wall matching the rhythm of your pounding heart.

Tick tick tick.

How long until your heart stops beating?

“You’re… more.” He wants to say it then, that he loves you, a human… that he’s never felt like this, even with the love of his friends.

Nothing like it.

You scoff right at him. “Tiny, pathetic, useless, but you’re different, okay? I know that you are.”

“I’m a human. Say it. Say monkey, isn’t that what I am?” He glares at you now, shaking his head, and you laugh then, a mean little laugh. “Can’t now, why?”

“You’re… I… just shut the fuck up.” He slams his lips down on your brutally, your arms are going numb until he releases them, his tongue diving inside your mouth, drinking every bit of you up as you whine softly. “I need you.”

You blink a bit, disoriented at his words, as he picks you up in his arms, and you cling to him, tears filling your eyes. “Why? I’m pregnant now, remember?”

“You think Gojo knows?”

“He knows a lot. He knows you.” Suguru glares now, your back against that wall, as his hands grip your ass, and you feel his hard body against you. “He loves you.”

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” He’s kissing you again, as you exhale, trying to catch a breath, trying to control the storm inside of you. “No one should love me.” He murmurs against your neck, teeth sinking in, making you cling to him, nails scraping against the silk of his robes.

“Why n-not? You’re not t-too far-”

“Baby, I’m no good.” He whispers now, in your ear, and you know it’s true, you know that Suguru Geto is a fucking monster.

But you also know one thing too.

You’re in love with him.

In love with a monster who wants to end the world.

“Then why do you need me? Huh? Go get one of your girls, I’m pregnant already.” Suguru scowls as he leans back, and you bite back a moan as he moves against your hot, eager cunt.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“Why?”

“Shut up.”

“No! We won’t.” You wriggle until you’re out of his hold, and heading for his door, he presses your front against it, hand on yours on that knob. “Let me go. You said once I got pregnant, you were done. Remember?”

Suguru said a lot, a lot of bullshit.

He called you disgusting, useless, trash, a monkey… but as you look at him the way you do, you’re breaking him, in between making his desire to take you grow by every fucking minute. He cups your face, brushing aside your tears, you always cried over him, didn’t you? He’s not worth them, he’s not worth any of you, yet he’s so obsessed and greedy he still takes.

“We don’t have to stop. We both enjoy this, don’t I make you feel good?” He’s slipping his fingers, moaning when he finds your soaked panties under your pretty yukata, and you clench your teeth, eyes rolling back. “We can give this a chance, having this baby.”

“A chance?” You whisper, in between hiccups of pleasure as he keeps teasing your clit over and over, and you find yourself arching against him.

“To be together. I know they’ll be special- like you.”

“I am a fucking human.”

“No.” He’s sinking two fingers in your slutty little hole, as those sticky walls grip his thick digits so good, as he loses himself in your scent, your feel, the sound of you, every fucking bit. “You’re special, you’re more, I know it.”

“Mnh… I hate you…” You cry out as he pumps more and more, thighs shaking while he works you so damn well.

“I know you hate me. You should… go ahead, cum f’me.”

“Call me it.”

“No.”

“Useless, pathetic- weak, worthless-”

“Beautiful.”

“No!” You’re fighting it, turning in his hold, as he sucks your juices off his fingers, getting on his knees for you, and you’re faltering again. “Don’t call me that.”

“You are beautiful. Do you not know?”

“Shut up. I hate you more for it.” Your tears stream further down your face, as he tries to grip you by the hips, to drag you closer to him. “You act as if you could ever love me.”

Suguru blinks then, pressing a kiss on your tummy for a moment, making you both pause. “We can have a perfect world.”

“It’s a massacre, it’s murder, it’s not perfect! Killing everyone that doesn’t meet your standards? Suguru please just stop. Stop it.”

He scowls now, standing tall, looming right over you, your breath catches in your throat in fear. “I will not stop my plans. Gojo got you this fucked up from one meeting? Maybe you did like him then.”

You scoff now. “Your audacity is batshit. How can you be jealous of your arranged wife who is a human, that you said you didn’t wanna touch!?”

“I… you know I didn’t…”

“I don’t know shit, Suguru Geto. Except Gojo loves you, and fuck, I see glimpses of how and why. I do.” You cup his face then, he jerks back for a moment, like your touch is fire, as you cup the other side of his face. “If you love Gojo, and if you care for me one little bit, you won’t.”

“You assume I love anyone.” His words, lies, tear you apart.

You blink more tears, as Suguru lies right to your face. “You care.”

“So what!? That’s why you’ll be safe.”

“And Gojo? And those damn kids from Jujutsu high, and the people of Kyoto, children, you’ll kill them?”

“Just go. You don’t want to now that you’re pregnant, right? Leave.”

“It’s not that, it’s that I want to know if anything good is fucking inside you, Suguru please just this one thing. Just don’t attack.”

His jaw sets as he pulls your hands off, and they fall to your sides, while he glares down at you. “I’ll give him another week to prepare, you can let him know since you’re suddenly his friend, hmm?”

“He loves you. Don’t you see it? Can’t you still be worthy of it? Of… my love?” You whisper, after he’s turned away, and Suguru laughs darkly.

“You could never love me.”

“How do you know- if you’d just try, Suguru!”

“I’ll give it a week. That’s the best you’re getting.”

“Is there any room for me or this baby in whatever heart you have left, with all that hatred inside you?” You whisper, he turns to open his mouth, but you storm out of his room, sobbing as you rush down the halls, leaving him alone, picturing his friend brushing your hair back.

Gojo would be better for you, wouldn’t he?

But Suguru doesn’t think he could ever let you go, even when he brings you to tears, even when he himself feels moisture that hasn’t been there in so long, memories and images of happiness filling him. Of you and a baby, maybe they look pretty like their mom, maybe they’re fiery like you, maybe they’re…

Human.

He sinks to the ground then, head falling against the door.

What if they’re human?

You’re collapsing on your bed, in tears, trying to pull yourself together, finally getting the number Satoru had conveniently hidden in your collar, pulling it out and dialing it, sniffling. “Hello?”

“I tried… I tried but…”

“Shh, hey, calm down.” Satoru sits up in his empty home, hearing your cries, some odd ache to comfort you filling him.

If anyone knows what it’s like to love Suguru Geto, despite all his flaws and his intentions, it’s Satoru Gojo. But also… you seemed so fragile, so small in a home that all hated you. And yet he saw it in your eyes, pretty eyes, full of fear but also feelings, and then he knew that you care for him, as much as Suguru cared for you, so very clear to Satoru.

“It’s okay… it’s not all on you.” Satoru says, his voice comforting your aching heart now.

“He said another week he would give you.” Satoru sighs then, nodding.

“A week is better, more time to prepare.”

“I tried, he doesn’t… he won’t…”

“I know. You love him.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Neither should I, but I remember my best friend, the only friend I had.” Your heart tears apart for the person Suguru used to be, and now for Satoru, who you barely know, but you feel it, the longing, the loneliness.

“I don’t know if he’s in there. I don’t know if I can face him if he does it.”

“You bought me time, sweetheart, thank you okay? You can only do so much right now.” He says softly, and you take a shaky breath.

“I see why you two were close, you’re kind of comforting.”

“Comforting hmm, I don’t think I was back then.” Satoru remembers being a little shithead, conceited, cocky. “I don’t think I was there when he needed me, when he needed someone. I can’t forgive myself for it.”

“You should.” You lay on your back now, staring up at the intricate patterns on the ceiling, as the warmth of the phone touches your cheek. “What are you gonna do, Gojo?”

“Try to save everyone, of course. Should be a piece of cake.” You snort then, as he laughs a bit, deterring the situation some. “I meant it, I can get you away, somewhere safe.”

“Why would you?”

“You didn’t choose this. You’re just… a girl. You know?”

“Pregnant, really?”

“Mmm, yeah I’m pretty sure. It’s a certain energy I can pick up on, like more than one in your body.”

“I should go, I’ll be fine, I don't think he’d hurt me… in any way other than… hurting others.” He hurts you in his own ways, sure, but Suguru doesn’t realize how much he’s hurting you, pushing you away. You shouldn’t care, you should have known he was this way, but something in you loves him, against it all.

Do you love the monster or the man still inside?

“All right, if you’re sure.” Satoru says softly, cutting your thoughts off as you blink a bit.

“Satoru, will you… kill him if you had to?” He hears the fear, the thoughts he has in his own mind clearly connecting with you, the last thing Satoru ever wanted to do was kill him.

“I’d try everything else first, but I have to defend the kids, and everyone else… if it comes to it, I… shit I don’t wanna think of it.” You hear his emotions, sighing as you come to understand his meaning.

“Is there any of him left?” You ask softly, Satoru takes off his blindfold, pouring himself a drink and leaning against the counter, pressing you against his ear.

“You want to know if the Suguru you met that day is in there?”

“What was he… like, even?”

Satoru laughs a bit, without humor. “He was a little shit.”

“Well, he’s still that.” You both laugh softly, shit it’s the first time you can recall laughing since you’ve been here almost.

“He was arrogant, but he was kind, he thought we should help the weak, I argued with him. He stopped me from… doing some rash things. We lost a few people, and he grew distant, I wish I noticed… or…”

“He wanted to protect the weak?”

“Yes.” You can’t fathom that it's the same man, sighing a bit now, shifting in the bed as sleep starts to tug at you somehow, though you’re scared to even close your eyes. 

“You really loved him.”

“I still do.” He clears his throat a bit now, Satoru’s never really shared how he felt until you, a stranger on a phone, married to his former friend, but for some reason he feels you understand more than anyone. Your voice alone, speaking the words, are something he didn’t know he craved.

“I will keep trying if I can, but I can’t face him right now.”

“Just get some rest, if you need me I’ll get you away. But I hope… I hope he’s still him, somewhere.”

“Me too. Good night, Satoru.”

“Good night.” You hang up, leaving his mind whirling, thinking of your pretty forlorn face, wishing he could save you, wishing he could save his damn best friend, and everyone else. “An extra week, huh…”

You curl up and pass out shortly after, in nightmare after nightmare, hating Suguru, loving Suguru, images of Satoru in there too, of them killing each other, hurting each other. Villages burning, a city in ruins, Suguru’s curses everywhere, so vivid and real you’re tossing and turning, unable to wake up, even as you scream out loud in your sleep.

Suguru is in your chambers then, watching what he’s done, sitting by your side as you toss and turn, gently touching your forehead, sweaty from your exertions. “Shh, Princess…”

Princess.

Why’d he say that?

Why couldn’t he call you it- monkey- anymore?

“Suguru don’t… I love you…” He pauses at your words, on your lips incoherent, tears glistening in the dark room. “Don’t… you’re hurting me… never loved me…”

“I do, fuck I do.” He leans down, holding you, he’s never spent the night with you, of course you wouldn’t allow it, but he’s never even held you.

What’s he done, but fuck you good and try to make you forget how horrible he truly is? As you calm now, blinking a bit, in and out of a daze. “Suguru?” You whisper, fear in your pretty eyes, mixed with more.

He caused this.

How could you even have a baby like this?

“Go to sleep, you were screaming so loud everyone is up.” He huffs, lying to you now, and you pull back.

“I’m fine. Just go, sorry I was having nightmares.” He pulls you back against him now, his strong chest, warmth you ache to sink against, all while you try to picture a world in which he wasn’t evil, wasn’t insane, wasn’t bloodthirsty. A world where he’s just a boy and you’re just a girl, cuddling in bed.

It’s a lovely dream, but you know it’s fake.

“Get to sleep.” His soft order is met with him pulling you even closer, covering you both with a blanket, and for one moment, you let yourself believe the lie, that Suguru could be himself again. That he’d give up this insanity for you.

A beautiful lie, really.

You nestle against him, wrapping an arm around his waist, burying your tired face against his neck, and Suguru feels himself breaking in two. Part of him wants to just… go back to how things were, to be good for you, but there’s still such hatred that’s eaten at him for years. Consuming him.

He knows hatred will win.

But as he holds the girl he loves, he hopes she’ll forgive him for what he's about to do.

More angst cominggg- this will be 6 parts loves <3

taglist #1 @ur-1fav-girl @gradmacoco @arabellasolstice @saitamaswifey @rjreins @uarmyhopeworldwide @makkiihehe @dabisdolly @angelzrulez21-blog @juicu @meme848 @arcanedx @satxoru @jeon-blue @longlivegojo @silvarys @enhasrii @inthedarkshadows000 @shokosmokes @schlokki @ashdiamashi @socutesotall @staarflowerr @you-need-namjesus @pkcoleight @tasteofapplecider @erenspersonalwh0re @makingtimemine @boobsbeesbongos @sjstg3 @msniks @hhhhhhhikariiiiiiii @l1v1ngzomb1e @lilbxtchsyndrome @voideddd @maddyhehehehhe @nanamiskentos @yenayaps @alygator77 @slamonwords @nonamevenus @sugurumylove @shibataimu @spicy-woodland-queen @nonamebbsblog @notyuralycat @beabamboo @satttanx

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

My Fault London: Nick Blurbs

A/N: Kind of headcannons, kind of blurbs, all around just wanted to write for Nick :) Spicey Ver. Here!

Fast, Calculated

Nick’s car hums beneath you, the engine smooth as he weaves through the streets at an almost effortless speed. You know he’s in control, but that doesn’t stop your pulse from spiking every time he threads through tight gaps between cars like they aren’t even there.

“Nick—” you start, gripping the edge of your seat.

His smirk is almost lazy, but his eyes never leave the road. “Relax.”

“Relax? You’re going ninety in a fifty zone—”

Before you can finish, he smoothly takes a turn down an empty side street, braking just enough for the car to slide into place at the curb. His hand lands on your knee—firm, steady.

“You don’t trust me?” he asks, his voice softer now.

You exhale, your fingers still clenched against the seat. You hate that he always does this—pushes the limits, then pulls back just in time. Never reckless, but always toeing the line.

He watches you carefully. His hand doesn’t move. “I know what I’m doing,” he murmurs. “You know that.”

You swallow, heart still racing. Slowly, you force yourself to breathe.

Finally, you meet his gaze. “I do.”

His smirk fades into something almost unreadable, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your breathing and the distant hum of the city outside. Then, as if the moment never happened, he pulls away and taps the wheel.

“Good,” he says, voice back to its usual cocky drawl. “Now, you picking the music, or are we just sitting in silence all night?”

Protective to a Fault

The party is too loud, too crowded. You regret coming the second you realize how packed it is, but Nick insisted he wasn’t letting you stay home alone.

“You gotta get out once in a while,” he had teased. “Or I’m gonna start thinking you secretly hate fun.”

You had rolled your eyes, but now, as you shift uncomfortably in the too-warm space, you almost wish you had stayed home.

Especially because the guy you’ve been trying to politely brush off for the last five minutes isn’t getting the hint.

“Come on, sweetheart,” the guy slurs, leaning in too close. “One dance—what’s the harm?”

Your stomach twists. “I said no.”

“That’s not what your eyes are saying—”

And then suddenly, Nick is there, standing between you and the guy like he was waiting for this moment.

“Hey, buddy,” Nick says, voice light, but there’s something dangerous underneath. “Didn’t she just say no?”

The guy scoffs, barely glancing at Nick. “Who the hell are you?”

Now normally Nick isn’t one for talking much. He likes to use his fists to communicate. But after promising his mother promising you, not to be so violent, he finds his restraint ticking like a clock at the moment. Nick tilts his head slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Someone with a short temper and a lot of free time. You wanna find out what happens when you ignore her again?”

The guy sizes Nick up, like he’s thinking about pushing his luck. But then Nick shifts slightly, and you know he’s already decided what will happen if this guy takes another step toward you.

The guy mutters something under his breath before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

Nick doesn’t watch him leave. Instead, he turns to you, scanning your face. “You okay?”

You nod, exhaling. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He doesn’t say anything—just hands you the drink from his own hand instead of yours.

You frown. “What—”

“Mine’s not spiked,” he says simply.

The realization hits you all at once. You glance down at the drink you were holding. Had that guy—?

Your stomach churns.

Nick sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I told you,” he mutters. “You gotta stop trusting people. I get to do that for you.”

Soft Spot for Animals

It’s past midnight when you walk into Nick’s garage, expecting to find him working on his car. Instead, you see him crouched down beside a tiny, scrappy-looking kitten, offering it a piece of leftover sandwich.

You stop in your tracks, biting back a grin. “Are you—”

Nick looks up sharply. “Shut up.”

You raise your hands in mock surrender. “Didn’t say a word.”

He mutters something under his breath and focuses back on the kitten. It hesitates before snatching the food from his hand, its little ribs visible under its fur.

“You’re keeping it,” you say, matter-of-fact.

Nick scoffs. “Hell no.”

Two days later, you walk into the garage and find the same kitten curled up in his lap while he absently scratches behind its ears.

You smirk. “Not keeping it, huh?”

Nick doesn’t even look up. “It’s temporary.”

Sure.

Night Owl

Your phone buzzes at 2 AM.

Nick: Come outside.

You sigh but grab your hoodie anyway, stepping out into the night air. He’s leaning against his car, arms crossed, looking up at the sky.

“You always do this?” you ask, stuffing your hands into your pockets. “Show up unannounced in the middle of the night?”

He tilts his head toward the passenger seat. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured you couldn’t either.”

You blink. He’s not wrong, but… how does he know that?

Still, you don’t argue. You get in.

He drives with the windows down, the air cool against your skin. Neither of you speak, but the silence is comfortable. Eventually, he pulls up to an overlook where the whole city stretches below.

For a while, you just sit there, watching the lights. Then, out of nowhere, he says, “You ever think about leaving?”

You glance at him. “Where would we go?”

He taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “Somewhere new. Somewhere no one knows us.”

Something in his voice makes your chest tighten.

“You’d take me with you?” you ask quietly.

Nick turns his head toward you, his expression unreadable. Then, just as softly, he says, “Wouldn’t go without you.”

Actions Over Words

Nick isn’t the type to say he cares.

Instead, he just shows up.

When your car won’t start in the middle of the night while you’re over late at a friends house, you don’t even get through the second ring before he picks up.

“What’s wrong?”

“Car won’t start,” you mumble. “I—I didn’t know who else to call—”

“Where are you?” he asks, already moving.

Fifteen minutes later, he pulls up beside you. He doesn’t say a word—just pops the hood, fixes the problem in five minutes, then leans against the car with his arms crossed.

“Next time, don’t wait so long to call me,” he says.

You sigh, rubbing your arms. “I didn’t want to bother you—”

He clicks his tongue. “Dumbest thing I’ve heard all night.”

You smile. “So… I’m not a bother?”

Nick gives you a look. Then, to your surprise, he reaches out and flicks your forehead.

“You better not be,” he mutters. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

[wonderjanga]

Please Stop Shooting People

Captain Marvel has no problem shooting people or using a gun. It gives a few heroes a bit of whiplash every time they see him use one. Most hate it but a couple do love it.

Marvel: *in Gotham for whatever reason*

Red Hood and Marvel: *chilling together cause why not and just took down some goons*

Red Hood: “Buddy, why do you keep insisting to hang out with me?”

Marvel: *shrugs* “You’re cool.”

Goon: *makes a break for it cause he thinks they’re distracted*

Red Hood: *points a gun at the goon’s leg*

Marvel: *points a finger-gun at the goon’s leg*

Red Hood and Marvel: *simultaneously shoot*

Red Hood: *has to pause cause he heard a second gunshot and looks to Billy then the goon*

Marvel: *still has a finger-gun pointed at the goon*

Red Hood: “How did you…?”

Marvel: “My finger-guns are basically mini railguns.”

Red Hood: “That is fucking amazing.”

Jason wouldn’t be ashamed to admit that his favorite ability for the hero went up by like 55% at this incident.

Then there’s the time he’s used an actual gun, it shouldn’t be too surprising now that the JL thinks about it. I mean, Spy Smasher used one.

Marvel: *getting shot at while at a gun range, ignoring the shooter* “So wait, you and Lois are getting married?”

Supes: *also getting shot at and ignoring the shooter* “Yeah! We’re still working out the details. We don’t even have a venue, let alone guest list. Would you come?”

Marvel: “Of course! I’d love to!” *grabs a nearby gun that someone left behind when the shooter started shooting up the place and just shoots the shooter*

Supes: *has to pause and look to the guy whose now bleeding* “…OH MY RAO??”

Marvel: “What’s wrong?”

Yeah, this got to a point where the JL forced Marvel to come in and sit through an entire presentation that Batman gives about not using guns. Bruce also found out through Jason about the finger-gun thing so he made sure to include that. The presentation went on for an hour. Billy made sure to never use a gun again…

…Outside of Fawcett.

[stargazedwinchester]

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `unseen, sam winchester

Summary: You're Charlie's sister, and you get way less attention from the boys regarding that. Sam wants to change that dynamic. Word Count: 1,003 Pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!reader

Being Charlie Bradbury’s sister has its pros and cons. She’s so cool and carries fun wherever she is. The cons, though, Charlie brings you to them.

You’ve never really got on with the Winchesters, but realizing they’re close to Charlie, you can’t really escape seeing them. She practically forces you along, knowing that you won’t say a word.

You arrive at the bunker with Charlie, exiting her sunshine yellow vehicle. She shoves the iron door open, allowing herself inside. You lock the door behind you and shuffle down the stairs behind her. Dean stands in the lobby with open arms. “Charlie!” He exclaims, and she rushes toward him. “Sup, bitches!” She releases from Dean’s grip, moving over to Sam to give him a hug as well. You stand there awkwardly, making eye contact with Dean. “Hey, Y/N. How’re you doin’?” Dean pats you on the shoulder before moving over to join Charlie and Sam in conversation.

This always happens. She leaves you for them and it’s almost like you slip away into nothingness. It’s like they don’t even notice you’re there. Thank God you bring your laptop, headphones and book with you every time. As you make your way to the library where it’s quiet, you don’t notice it, but Sam’s focus is on you. Pulling out your laptop, you set it down on the table next to you. You connect your headphones and turn on some music. Taking your book out of your bag, you flitter through the pages to find your bookmark.

“Y/N?” A tall figure stands before you, making you jump. “Oh! Jesus,” You slide your headphones off of your ears and place them on your lap. “Yeah?” You look up, seeing Sam tower above you. “Can I?” He motions over to a seat next to you, and you nod. He pulls the chair up and plants himself on it. His eyes dart over you, unclear of where to begin. He huffs. You purse your lips awkwardly.

“Can I help you?” You ask, ready to put your headphones back on and drown them out. Sam hesitates. A slight smirk appears on his face before he starts. “I feel so guilty from the past times you have come here and retreated away from us. Even Charlie. I’m not sure if anyone else has noticed, but I have. And I want to say I’m sorry.” His pretty hazel eyes look up at you; genuine apology shines in them. It’s not like the brothers make you feel uncomfortable, or that you hate them. It’s the pure fact of never wanting to get to know them or having the effort to talk to them. Charlie gets along with them famously and surely that’s enough, right? Guess not.

You attempt to avoid eye contact with Sam, but he’s leant forward with his arms resting on his lap. He’s looking at you, waiting for an answer. You frown, shaking your head. “You don’t have to apologise, Sam. I enjoy being alone.” You admit. He sighs. “That’s not the point I’m trying to make… I-”

Charlie makes her way over, glaring at Sam. “What’re you doing with my sister?” She shouts at him playfully. Sam runs a hand through his hair and chuckles. “Nothing. Just, uh, talking.” He says, glancing over at you. You smile shyly at him. Admittedly, Sam is very good looking. He’s smart, careful and considerate when he needs to be. You’ve known him and Dean for a couple of years, and from what you know, he’s not allowed himself into a relationship for a long time. It’s hard to understand why, but guessing from his chaotic lifestyle, he’s avoided it all completely.

There’s a weird silence. Like Charlie just interrupted something. She stands there next to a bookcase, eyeing you both sitting next to each other. “Well, anyways. Sorry to cockblock, Sammy, but we’re heading out now.”

“Really? This hour's drive for us to just stay for two minutes?” You whine, closing your laptop and getting your bag ready. “Oh, so now you’re complaining that you don’t want to leave?” She remarks, folding her arms across her chest. You scoff. “I don’t want to stay, it was-”

Sam stands up, clearing his throat. He smiles down at you. A warm, friendly smile that you see occasionally. Sam is definitely the friendlier one compared to Dean, but this smile felt more… personal.

“I know. I’m kidding. Gosh, sisters, huh?” She mocks. You zip your bag up, glancing at Sam, who’s still looking right back at you. You lug the bag over your shoulder, and pass him a quick grin. “See you,” you hush, and he replies the same. You also say goodbye to Dean before leaving the bunker.

Entering the car, Charlie buckles her seatbelt and faces you immediately. “He so has a crush on you.”

You shove the seatbelt into the lock. “What?” You ask, completely taken aback by her comment. “Did you see the way he was looking at you when I came to speak to you? Damn, wish I had a lady that would look at me like that,” she laughs, and you internally facepalm. “No, he doesn’t have a crush on me. He came to check on me and apologise for not being more welcoming. That’s it. That doesn’t mean a thing.” You shut the idea down completely, even though you wouldn’t exactly go against it if her judgement was true to real life.

Charlie turns her whole body and folds one leg under the other, fully facing you this time. “Listen, my little Y/N. I just know when Sam has a little bit of passion for someone. He’s not very obvious about it, but when you know him…” She rolls her hands as if to allow you to finish her sentence. “When you know, you know.”

Charlie clicks her fingers. “Exactly.” She turns around and flips the engine over, a smug smirk is plastered on her face.

“Sammy and Y/N sitting in a tree…”

“Shut the hell up, Charlie.”

[kxtsukixoxo]

i hate how everyone always says bakugou is a morning person, getting up at 5 am to go on a run or to the gym

but i really believe he would be someone that HATES getting up early, he still gets everything done but especially when he is in bed with his gf he does NOT want to get up

˚.🎀༘⋆ sleeping in. ft ; katsuki bakugou

he’s so grumps (ㅅ´ ˘ `) he looks like he HATES early mornings and sleeps early if he has something important the next day

i’d like to think katsuki gets up at a relatively ‘in-between’ time not too early, but not too late, although if he’s with his girlfriend you CANNOT wake this man up, he’ll refuse to wake up even if he has a busy day. morning time with his girlfriend is morning time with his girlfriend, he’d spend the entire day in bed with you, end of discussion

“suki’ you need to wake up now-“ you huffed out, katsuki’s arms were splayed messily behind your neck as he nuzzled himself into the dip of your neck, multi-tasking as he pulled you closer, making it hard for you to leave the bed. “five more minutes” he murmured, his eyes still shut as he kissed your neck softly, you didn’t object. katsuki spent every possible minute of his day with you, like a clingy siamese cat, you didn’t even have the mornings to yourself, it was such a hassle waking him up. you’d always complain and huff out ‘it’s like waking up a kid for school!’ but deep down, you really didn’t mind, you loved that he chose to spend time with you over anything else. katsuki’s favourite mornings would be when he was awake before you, he loved watching your messy hair fall on your face, your lips slightly parted and chapped from the dryness of the morning air, your eyes peacefully shut, lashes ever so gently fluttering as he brushed your hair out of your face, falling into your embrace, he’d enjoy the next few minutes of quiet cuddling you before you woke up, and nagged him to get up, and like clockwork, it would take thirty minutes until you physically dragged him out of bed, unless it was the weekend, you’d have no objections, sleeping in til the afternoon, and somehow….he was still tired? 

eventually getting up to shower at 18:00

you enjoyed soft mornings in bed with katsuki, despite all the yelling and forcing him to get up for the first thirty minutes, his explosive nature went through the window whenever he was in your embrace behind closed doors 

©️ 2025 kxtsukixoxo  all rights reserved. do not modify, repost or claim my work as yours if you wish to use my png please credit. me.

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Not That Kind of Guy

Part Twenty One: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker x femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, sexual content/fantasizing, pervy behavior, panty/scent kink, mask kink(Ghostface), gaslighting/manipulation, public/semi-public, spitting, cumplay, nude vids/pics, masturbation, oral, PIV, dick piercing, forced orgasm, bondage/blindfolds, biting/slapping/ spanking/cutting, rape kink, NONCON/DUBCON/CNC, Somno, blood, knife, GEN. SMUT, [All possible tags listed, all may not apply] GORE, MURDER

Info: I’m back after my long sabbatical, don’t hate me. It’s shorter than usual, I just didn’t want to make you guys wait any longer [diary entries from Ani] extremely not proofread, there’s probably so many mistakes. MDNI 18+

With the front door shut, you were finally alone with Anakin again. Every time you tried to lift your head, each time you managed to turn to the side to escape the onslaught of primal kisses he’d trap your lips in; he’d pull you right back in without giving you a second to breathe.

“Stop.” His voice stern and unyielding even as he muttered it against your lips, his long fingers wrapping around your neck to further drive his statement home.

“Ani-” You squeaked, your hands resting on his biceps, fingertips digging in harder as he tightened his hold. “Just talk-”

“Shut up.” He growled, shaking you just beneath your jaw out of irritation. His eyes blazing with a ferocity you hadn’t ever witnessed with your own two eyes, only felt burn into your flesh. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“I’m not stupid!” You snapped back, quickly regretting the outburst when the back of his hand made contact with your cheek, luckily only one of his metal rings caught the skin, allowing a stinging pain to seep across the sensitive skin.

“No. Not yet.” He shook his head, standing up and unbuckling his belt. “But you will be.”

With a sharp movement he snatched a handful of your hair and guided you to the arm of the couch, kneeling on the cushion behind you as he bent you over. An audible pop of the stitches in the waistband of your pants permeated the otherwise silent room as he ripped down your pants mid-thigh. The blood rushed to your head as you scrambled to hold yourself up, grasping at the upholstery to find traction to lift yourself back up, to no avail.

“Anakin, I'm serious, I want to talk about this!” You shouted, your face feeling flushed as you struggled to hold yourself up on the tips of your fingers that barely brushed the floor.

“Excuse me?” He shouted back, ramming himself into your wet cunt as you yelped in surprise. “What did I just fucking say?” He barked rhetorically. “I said to shut your goddamn mouth.”

Anakin grabbed your hair again, pulling you up just enough to press two fingers to your lips, he let you loose, allowing your head to drop down. A loud gag emitted from your throat as his fingers hit your uvula, accompanied by a coughing fit that had your vision blurry. Your whole body jolted with each and every thrust and snap of his hips. He set a brutal pace that stole away your breath and your ability to think about anything other than the intense fire he’d lit in your lower abdomen.

“There, that’s better.” He grunted, satisfied that the only noises coming from you were wet and whiny.

“I’m only going to say this once.” He grumbled, smacking your hip before grabbing it and using your own body as leverage. “You. Don’t. Know. Shit.”

“And it’s gonna stay that way.” He added, driving into you deep and hard as you drooled around his fingers, his thumb digging into the side of your face. “Understand?”

Anakin finally removed his fingers from your mouth, allowing you a chance to gulp down fresh air and breathe more easily as you coughed to ease the itching in your esophagus. With both of his large hands enveloping your hips, he leaned forward, his chest now flush against the heated flesh of your back. The way he so gently, sweetly kissed your spine all the way up and across your shoulders, was the complete opposite to how he was manhandling the rest of your body.

His thick length stretching you perfectly, so perfectly that every time he sheathed himself it felt like a sparkler had lit up inside your stomach. With each kiss the tip of his cock bruised your cervix with, the sparkler burned brighter, popping and crackling until it fizzled down to the end. With a final burst in your core, Anakin sent you spiraling into a world where there was nothing left but him.

Your only thoughts surrounded him, each breath that was drawn in and out of your lungs, held his scent. Your skin tingled and warmed as though hundreds of his calloused hands held you within their grasp. Even the tears formed in the corners of your eyes held the same heat that you felt pool between your thighs for him. Your lips frozen in a soft ‘O’ shape as you came down from the heaven he’d tossed you up into.

“I asked you a question, you know.” He panted, his rough palms smoothing up and down your back.

“Huh?” You murmured, allowing him to continue slowly rutting up into you while his cum leaked out and formed a frothy ring of white at the base of his cock.

“Acceptable answer.” He chuckled as a smirk twitched across his mouth. He’d take your inability to comprehend his words as a sign he’d fucked your questions deep enough into the back of your mind that you’d leave it be for now.

“What?” You asked confusedly as his arm hooked beneath your stomach and pulled you up as his cock slipped out of you with a soft pop.

“Nothin’ sweetheart.” He whispered, standing behind you as he kept you steady on your wobbly legs. “We going to bed here? Or wanna go across the hall?”

“Here.” You nodded tiredly, stripping off your clothes right there in the living room before you sluggishly traveled to the bathroom to clean up while Anakin tidied up the dining table and the kitchen in his boxers.

Feeling frustrated and annoyed, you sat down on the edge of the tub to wash up a bit. Once again you’d allowed yourself to be steered away from a conversation you desperately needed to have, despite really not wanting to have it. Part of you was thankful to have avoided it, but the logical side of you was screaming at you for being such a fool. The answers to such big and burning questions were just on the other side of the wall, making odd noises to stave off the boredom that came along with clearing the table and scraping off the dishes.

If only you could get a yes or no. That’s all you really needed, just a simple yes or no. You knew it in your soul. You’d known for a while and refused to admit it. But his vague words and his aggressive reaction confirmed it.

You should be scared. Terrified.

Though it just left you feeling… hollow. Why? Why would he do this for so long and never confess it on his own? Why had he hidden himself in the first place? Did he think less of you for demanding answers? Was it only going to push him farther away, farther into himself if you kept pushing?

How could you coax it out of him? It was obvious that he knew you knew. So why was it so hard for either of you to speak about? The complacency you felt with the situation had been stagnant for so long that it was a difficult shell to break out of. You’d both become so accustomed to the secrecy of it all that it felt almost wrong to hear the truth.

You sighed, standing up, brushing your teeth and combing through your ratted up hair before steeling yourself and exiting the bathroom. As you ran a hand through your hair, you turned to the kitchen, expecting to see Anakin scurrying about. Though he was nowhere to be seen. The bedroom was empty as well, so you checked the fire escape, seeing him there with his bong, the flame of his lighter flicking to life as he took a long pull of smoke.

You stood and watched him for a moment, admiring the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, the soft curve of his lips and the way his hair curled up at the nape of his neck. Those piercing blue eyes drifted from the alley below, out to the street as he observed the city moving around him. He was so interesting to watch, especially when he didn’t know your eyes were on him.

He lost the bravado and the confidence he carried so well. His body language was more reserved and relaxed, as if he were taking off a weight from his shoulders. It made you wonder what he was carrying around with him that weighed so heavily. Was it the secret you knew of? Or something buried deeper?

After grabbing a blanket to wrap around your naked body, you walked to the cracked open window and nudged it open a bit further to stick your head out. He looked up at you with a sullen expression, making no effort to hide that he was feeling… feeling something.

“You okay Ani?” You asked quietly, sitting on the lip of the window sill despite it being horribly uncomfortable.

“As good as I can be.” He nodded, a plume of smoke wrapping around his head.

“What do you mean?” You asked, watching him tilt his head to the side as he tongued his labret jewelry.

“I mean, I’m as good as I can be.” He said flatly, a face accompanying the words that made you believe there was a hidden meaning beneath them.

“Are you coming inside soon?” You asked softly, your eyebrows swooped up in concern.

“Yeah, just give me a minute.” He nodded, his voice gruff and disinterested. He reached over and squeezed your hand, rubbing your knuckles with the pad of his thumb.

You stayed there a second longer, trying to decipher his mood and his thoughts via body language even though you knew it was useless, it was never easy to get a read on him. Even harder when he was like this. You stood and began to make your way to the bedroom when you heard his voice, softer and more diminutive.

“You do love me. Don’t you?” He asked, his voice melancholic. He wasn’t asking for reassurance, he seemed to be asking as though he genuinely didn’t believe it.

“Yes.” You said firmly, turning to look at him under the faint yellowed street light. “I do love you.” You added just to further confirm it for him.

“You’re sure?” He asked, visibly swallowing.

“Of course I’m sure.” You stepped closer, pulling the blanket tighter around you.

“Good.” He nodded, looking down at the bong he held between his knees, lighting the bowl once more and taking a long pull. He held his breath far longer than you expected him to, letting the thin line of smoke leave his pursed lips slowly, enjoying the lightheaded feeling that addled his brain.

Just as you turned to leave the living room, he called out to you again as if the thoughts swirling in his mind simply wouldn’t let him wait to speak another moment.

“You know how I feel about you, right?” He asked, his icy blue eyes holding a warmth that had been absent during your conversation up till now.

“Yes, I know.” You smiled softly, your body relaxing a bit more.

“You do?” He asked in a worried tone, like he wasn’t convinced you were being completely truthful about it. “I’d do anything for you darlin’, you know that?”

“I know.” You nodded, the smile slipping from your face as it was replaced by something harder and more serious. “Are you sure you’re okay?” You asked with concern.

“I’m alright doll. Just makin’ sure.” He nodded, his fingers drumming on his thigh as he leaned back on his elbows to tilt his chin up and look to the sky. Murmuring something about how he wished he could see the stars as he shook his head and drug a hand down his face.

Diary Entry:

I’m losing it. I can’t do this. The closer I come to confessing, the sicker I get. Literally sick. I threw up after you went to bed last night. I want to tell you. You already know, but you should hear it from me. I know that. I know it’s unfair to tell you to shut up and leave it alone, but that’s the only thing I can get to leave my fucking mouth.

It’s like I’ve been barred from telling the truth.

My mind just can’t handle the thought you may recoil and run when it’s finally confirmed for you. I guess it’s just my way of protecting myself, but that’s hurtful for you. I’m unfortunately well aware of how hurtful that it is. It was clear on your face tonight.

Twice, I tried to tell you twice. Though all that came out were my worries. I feel strange. Like I've been flattened. Is that normal? I feel like it’s not.

What does it mean?

——————————————————————————

Diary Entry:

I feel like an animal. Not just any animal. A beast, of what kind, I’m not sure. I just feel like my skin isn’t sitting right. I don’t know how to let it out. What am I supposed to do? Go fucking nuts?

That’s what I want to do. I feel like I could trash an entire grocery store and I still wouldn’t be out of energy. It’s just boiling up under my skin. I feel like my bones are too big. Look at me, using all these ‘I’ statements. Wouldn’t you know it? They didn’t do shit.

I still feel those things, putting them down on paper and claiming those feelings didn’t do a damn thing but make me feel stupid.

How am I supposed to live my life in limbo? Between stages haven’t ever been something I'm comfortable with. Yet here I am, at the end of the week, still in limbo. Floating around, high stepping to avoid squashing the fragile truce we’ve called. You haven’t asked, I haven’t told.

The words sit on my tongue like acid. I haven’t ever felt like this before, such a strong urge to tell the truth. What have you done to me? I don’t like this. Is this what it’s like to feel a sense of responsibility? If it is, then fuck it. I don’t like it.

My eyes feel goopy. My feet are heavy. My lungs are on fire. My hands are numb. My scalp is tingly. My flesh is too fleshy. My muscles are too meaty. My bones are too big. They’re too big and they want out.

DATE:

Anakin walked to work as slowly as possible. Dragging his sneakers on the sidewalk just to listen to the scraping noise the soles made. He pushed his bottom lip up and sucked the ball of his labret jewelry between his teeth, moving it back and forth with his tongue to add a different sound to occupy his attention.

Anything to quiet his thoughts.

He was jumpy, overwhelmed, nervous. So nervous. His palms sweaty and tingling as he rubbed them across his thighs roughly, friction heating up the denim while it absorbed the moisture.

Finally, he stopped at the employee entrance of the bar. Staring at the solid gray metal, wondering how badly it would hurt in he sprinted head first into it. That would be a good reason to go home… maybe he’d even be able to rattle his brain hard enough that he’d shake the voices right out of his ears.

“Sup?” Trevor asked, walking up behind Anakin and lightly smacking the back of his neck.

“Fuck you man.” Anakin grumbled, startled out of his frozen state to rub the stinging flesh on the back of his neck. His fingers threading through his hair and mussing it up to rouse himself a bit.

“What’s up with your face?” Trevor asked, holding his palm up in front of Anakin’s face and flexing his fingers, actual concern in his voice now that he stood in front of his friend.

“I’m tired.” Anakin said flatly, no reason to elaborate considering it was very clearly the truth. The exhaustion he wore on his face was a heavy weight, making it difficult to mask the stone-like expression that was his default setting.

He couldn’t even muster the energy to blink at a normal speed, his eyelids so weighty it took a conscious effort to lift them. Anakin’s words seemed sullen, as though his very voice were just as meloncholic as his mind.

“Did you sleep at all?” Trevor asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Does it look like I fucking slept?” Anakin snapped.

“No. That’s why I asked, asshole.” Trevor muttered, reaching forward to open the door but Anakin stopped him with a sound he’d never heard him make before.

It was a tiny, audible swallowing sound that appeared to have taken a great effort to produce. It was like Anakin was manually operating himself and wasn’t used to the controls. Trevor turned, glancing back at him and was about to open his mouth before he was interrupted.

“Got any K?” Anakin asked, sounding far away.

“Uh-“ Trevor frowned. He did, of course he did. His bag was in the trunk of his car. “No dude, sold out yesterday… can’t get any until next week.”

“You’re an awful liar.” Anakin’s lip twitched and he pushed past Trevor and threw open the door, clocking in before heading out front.

“April where the hell is my apron and shit?” Anakin grumbled, rifling around beneath the counter where it was supposed to be.

“Laundry day, it’s in the back room.” She reminded him, frowning at his tone and aggressiveness. She shared a look with Trevor, conveying her concern through her eyes. Trevor simply shook his head as if to say ‘Don’t ask’.

“Oh. Right.” Anakin nodded, grunting as he straightened back up and went to retrieve his apron.

The night went on as usual, though Anakin uncharacteristically declined to be the front man on the bar. No taking orders for him, only mixing drinks and cleaning up messes. He didn’t have the mental energy to make his face look polite. He didn’t even have it in him to make it neutral, he wore a scowl that just wouldn’t go away. Not even when he thought of you. If anything, his frown deepen at the mental image of your face.

“No? Actually I was hoping to talk to him.” A female voice with a flirty tone floated through the chatter, causing Anakin to look up and over his shoulder at Trevor.

“You look really familiar.” Trevor said thoughtfully, while Anakin turned back around and pretended not to hear the conversation. Focusing much to hard on cutting limes and lemons. Each chop of the knife louder, harder.

“Yeah, I get that a lot. Guess I just have one of those faces.” She lightly laughed.

Anakin froze. He knew that sound. He hated that sound. He hadn’t ever expected to hear it again. His eye twitched and his grip tightened on the knife handle, slicing a deep groove into the wooden cutting board before using the blade to scrape the fresh citrus into a bowl.

Anakin grabbed the edge of his apron and wiped the blade as he turned around to face the direction of the offending voice. Locking eyes with a woman he hoped he’d never meet in public. Reaching behind him, he jammed the blade tip onto the wood, the metal vibrating up through the handle from the force of it.

“This lady says she knows you.” Trevor thumbed toward the dark haired, brown eyed woman in dress clothes.

“She doesn’t know shit about me,” Anakin snapped, walking over to the bar top and leaning forward. “what the fuck are you doing at my work?” He growled.

“No reason to be so hostile, I didn’t even realize you worked here. I just thought I’d say hello.” She said with faux politeness.

“Is that right?” Anakin gritted his teeth, rapping his knuckles against the slick surface of the bar. “Hello and goodbye.”

“You missed your call, confirmation of your next appointment.” She said matter of factly.

“Say one more word and I will call the licensing board.” Anakin’s lip curled up in anger, stepping back slightly as he remembered there was a camera watching his movements. He couldn’t be caught acting aggressively on tape.

“Pretty sure you’re breaking some kind of law by being here, talking about confidential shit.” He said in a calm voice that was almost more chilling than the grit that came along with his anger. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Anakin, there’s really no need-“ Trevor began and was swiftly interrupted.

“Trevor, I’ll be taking a break now. If this person isn’t gone by the time I come back, I’ll be quitting and finding somewhere else to work.” He said matter of factly, taking off his apron and tossing it underneath the counter before storming off into the backroom, leaving Trevor and April in complete confusion.

“Sorry, um… here’s your margarita.” Trevor said awkwardly. “On the house for the trouble.”

“It’s really no problem.” She shook her head and waved him off, allowing him to tend to other customers.

Meanwhile out in the back, Anakin paced back and forth, wondering what the hell he could do to get out of this situation. How dare she? That damn know it all bitch. Did she search through his personal information? What the hell kind of professional would do that? Exactly why women shouldn’t work in a field like hers.

Research. He needed to do some research.

He pulled his phone from his back pocket, thumbs hovering over the keyboard after tapping the search bar in Safari. Unsure of what to type, not even certain if he -should- attempt to look for answers to the questions floating around his skull. Anakin decided to switch gears, rubbing his face before logging into an app he hadn’t used in a while.

‘Long time, no see.’ He typed, scoffing to himself as he erased it.

‘Do me a favor-‘ Nope, no good either. He couldn’t be that direct about it after going into hiding from you.

“Fuck this.” He grumbled, tugging at his hair with one hand as he sucked on his labret jewelry, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “Stupid bitch isn’t worth the trouble anyway. Right? Some damn doctor.”

Anakin stormed back inside the bar’s employee entrance, walking through the back room before popping his head around the door frame that led behind the bar. He didn’t see her anymore, but he did see a very stern faced April waiting for him with his apron.

“Don’t give me shit right now okay?” Anakin growled, snatching the apron and tying it on.

“What is your problem?” April hissed, clasping her hand around his arm, pushing him into the backroom.

“The hell? What is *your* problem?” Anakin shot back impatiently.

“You’re not yourself. Not to mention whatever the fuck that was with that lady!” April whisper yelled.

“Not your damn problem. Get back and let me go back to work.” He huffed, trying to shoulder his way past her.

“Absolutely not. That woman is still out there, thought you were going to quit if she was here when you got back.” She challenged him with a scowl.

“Whatever, I’m not letting some dumb whore drive me away from my job.” Anakin muttered tiredly, running a hand through his hair before crossing his arms.

“I figured as much.” April said with a tone of voice that seemed almost relieved. “Look, I don’t know what your deal is, but I need you to get it dealt with okay?”

“Jesus, why’s everyone on my ass lately?” Anakin barked, a little too loudly, catching the attention of one or two bar patrons. April sighed and shut the back room door for privacy.

“Because we’re worried about you!” She said seriously.

“No one asked you to be!” He yelled back, clenching his left hand into a fist. He brought it up to April’s face and slowly unfurled his pointer finger to poke her forehead with more force than necessary. “My girl is the only person who has the right to worry about me. Okay? And she knows I’m doing just fine.”

“Really? You’re sure? Because I thought friends were supposed to look out for each other.” April retorted, unconvinced by Anakin’s words and display.

“You’re not my fucking friend. You’re my coworker.” He snarled, untying his apron once more and dropping it to the ground. “I don’t have to listen to whatever speech you and Trevor cooked up. Can you handle the bar by yourselves tonight? Cause I can’t be here right now.”

“Why not? Too big a pussy to let us see some bitch get under your skin?” She taunted him, leaning forward. “Bet your little girlfriend would be real disappointed in her man if she knew that’s all it took to make you give up your own stomping grounds.”

“Shut the hell your mouth.” He growled out, teeth bared like a dog prepared to bite. “Get the fuck out of my way.” Anakin pushed past her and took long strides to reach his station at the bar, washing up and going straight back to work like he hadn’t just thrown a hissy fit. He couldn’t allow a woman to put him in his place, especially when that woman wasn’t you.

Meanwhile you laid on the couch at home in the comfort of your apartment. It’d be relaxing if not for the pile of laundry that seemed to never end. Taking a break had turned into an hour long rest with your feet kicked up and the tv blaring some nonsense. It was nice to have nothing to think about for the time being. No worries about Ghost or Anakin, both of them, one of them? Are they a them? No. He’s not. He’s one man.

One man who split himself in two.

How hard would it be to sew those halves back together? Could it even be done? Or had the separation caused a major divide within him, like magnets repelling each other. Sure, they can get close, but they may never click into place again like they were meant to.

You wouldn’t know until you tried. If you could convince him to allow it. But that seemed impossible at the moment, considering how he wouldn’t even entertain the possibility of a conversation about it…

There you go, worrying about it all again. Your mind never allowed you much peace anymore. Things used to be so much simpler, gods how you missed that. The warmth of Anakin when he would come home and hold you. The searing heat of Ghost’s eyes burning into your flesh. Both tangible. Both completely different.

They were oil and water at the beginning, repelling each other with all their strength, but even oil and water can be mixed if shaken well enough. There’ll still be small bubbles of oil, floating around the water, but it wouldn’t be nearly as cumbersome as an entire layer of oil skimming the surface of the water. It’d be more manageable, for the both of you.

One side of him was certain to catch fire. Though at this point you weren’t sure which. The well put together and loving boyfriend? Or the masked man who’s made it his mission to have you no matter what, a masked man who always carries a knife and never missed an opportunity to show you that he’s in charge?

“I need a drink.” You groaned, rubbing beneath your eyes to find that your body had betrayed you, small water droplets of salty tears sat in the corner of your eyes. You stretched and shook your head, disappointed in your own inability to keep yourself off the edge of the path you believed you were meant to take.

Your own path. One you could stroll down without worrying about anything at all, because the man you loved would be right behind you. The path lined with lillies of all colors, bright and clear skys, rolling waves of grasses in the distance, beauty as far as the eye can see. All yours. You just had to find it first.

Reaching the kitchen cabinet, you hesitated when seeing the wine glasses. There’s no reason you should use one. No one is home but you, it’s not like it’s practical to use anyway, especially if you’re planning on consuming enough to make a horse drunk. Lightly tapping the cabinet door, you halfway closed it and spun around to grab a wine bottle from the fridge, a delicious deep red.

Then, you swung your arm out to grip the handle of your favorite travel mug. The pretty patterned one that held almost a whole Brita pitcher of water. With the cork squeaking out from the place it was wedged in the neck of the wine bottle, you smiled to yourself, giving it one more tug. Finally graced with the glorious ‘bup-pop’ of the cork coming loose, you poured yourself a generous dose of big girl juice and snapped the lid down onto your cup.

You leaned down, sipping the cold red wine with vigor through the light pink straw. With the handle firmly in your grasp, you shuffled back to the couch and wrapped yourself in a blanket, deciding to choose a movie to watch. Kicking your feet up carelessly onto the coffee table, not even batting an eye at the pile of folded clothes that slid off into the floor. You weren’t in cleaning mode anymore, you were in ‘me time’ mode now. Focused solely on getting as drunk as a skunk.

“Dude, at this point I think I should probably just… I don’t know, skip town and go to the Bahamas.” You muttered, clicking your tongue rapidly to summon your four legged friend for emotional support and the valuable input she might be able to give.

As she curled up and purred against your leg, you sighed, scratched between her ears. The soft fur there was like a velvety worry-stone, petting her gave you a little peace among the storm raging inside of you.

“What do you think?” You asked, voice quiet and soft. Your tongue poking out the corner of your mouth to pull the straw in your big cup toward you. Taking a big swig of the wine, you sighed dramatically, letting yourself relax against the cushions of the couch.

Taking the tip of your cat’s ear between your fingers, you rubbed the soft, thin cartilage. Fur as smooth as the world’s softest moleskin; her ear twitching between the pads of your fingers.

“Could you be helpful, please?” You groaned, futile as it was, you almost wished that she’d meow in response, you’d even take a smack to the face. It would be better than the outward silence mixing in with the swirling vortex of conflicting opinions settling in your throat.

“So, it’s like this, right?” You sat up a little straighter, both hands on the cup between your palms. “You knew him before me. So it’s your fault for not telling me. We could’ve avoided all this fuss if you’d just moved those whiskers.”

”I don’t even wanna speak to you right now.” You huffed, holding up your cup with one hand to keep from dropping it while you went limp and let yourself slide down onto the floor, your legs beneath the coffee table. ”Just sit up there and keep being a sneaky little bitch.”

”Can’t believe you. Fraternizing with the… enemy? For so long!” You whipped your head around leaning back against the front of the couch and resting your head near her stomach. “You let him into the house! Aren’t pets supposed to be protective? It’s all your fault.” You sniffled, not yet realizing your eyes were watering.

”I’m too tired to even hold my head up to watch this stupid shit.” You scowled, angrily wiping away a tear that leaked out. Grabbing the remote, you turned it off, purposely knocking off the rest of the clothes from the coffee table. You weaseled your upper body beneath the glass coffee table, unlocking your phone to lay it screen down on the glass to comfortably watch your silly little shit while you laid there like a lazy dog. Just as you got comfortable, you realized the flaw in this plan was your big cup with its big straw. You’d have to turn your head to drink your wine and that just wasn’t going to work.

”Oh my god!” You huffed, pushing against the front of the couch and you straightened out on the rug, coming out from under the coffee table on the other side. Clumsily clamoring to a standing position, you trudged to the kitchen cabinet, searching for a different cup.

Funny how you had the energy to find a more suitable drinking glass, but not the energy to tilt your head to the side or look at the actual tv screen. Priorities, you supposed, rolling your neck on your shoulders after craning it to reach high into the cabinet. Out of all the options, none of them fit the bill for your needs. Melting to the cold tile in the kitchen, you slid into a kindling position with your forehead pressed against the cool stainless steel of the dishwasher. You rested there for a moment before shuffling on your knees to the fridge, pulling it open to grab the bag of shredded cheese.

There, in the door of the fridge, you found a perfect solution to your ‘drinking problem’. A Gatorade bottle with a twisty top. Snatching it up, you stood a bit too quickly and dizzied yourself, swaying on your feet as you grabbed an empty cup to pour the Gatorade out into. Without even rinsing the bottle, you transferred the wine over and snapped the lid back in place on your adult sippy cup. You made it back to the coffee table before having to spin around and go back, closing the door of the fridge.

Settled beneath the glass coffee table, a blanket over your lower half where you’d propped your legs up onto the couch, you turned the Gatorade bottle up and took a long pull of wine from the small opening, squeezing the bottle’s side to squirt more into your mouth before you swallowed and used your opposite hand to sprinkle shredded cheese over your open lips.

After a while of rinse and repeating these actions, your cat settled into a loaf position above you on the glass tabletop. She looked down at you with a judgemental stare, silently scolding you for the way you were acting.

“Don’t you dare judge me.” You coughed out, covering your eyes with the crook of your elbow over your face. “You’re just as bad as me! All it took was a few treats and you made friends with a fucking serial killer!” You sobbed, full chest heaving breaths that caught in your throat halfway down.

“Hello mental institution, take me away!” You wailed in hysterics, the last of your composure and majority of your sanity leaked out along with the tears pooling on the floor beneath your head at a rapid rate. “I’m an idiot who willingly let herself be an accomplice to murder! I’ve killed a man! I thought I was cheating on my boyfriend and I was totally okay doing it! Turns out I was cheating on my boyfriend, WITH my boyfriend! Who kills people! For fun!”

”While I’m confessing my sins I may as well do them all, huh?” You said aggressively to whatever powers that may be listening, if any at all existed.

“In first grade, I blamed Todd for killing the class fish, but it was my fault!” You sniffled, wiping snot across your face. “I put soap in the filter, a whole shit load of it!”

”When I was in fourth grade, I hit this girl with my mountain bike while going down the big hill near our house. Totally gross, peeled off part of her knee skin.” You took a halting breath, washing down the bile that threatened to crawl up your throat with a quick chug of wine. “I said it was an accident, but I did it on purpose cause I hated her for getting the Lizzie McGuire makeup thingy before I did, and when I finally got it, she ATE my damn chapstick like a fuckin’ lunatic! Who does that?”

”I worked hard at that stupid, sweaty fucking yard sale to get enough cash for the damn thing and when I get to show it off to her and prove I was just as good as she was, she said, ‘mm the strawberry one tastes good, can i have it?’. What the fuck? She just grabbed it and rolled it up and ate it like a toddler eating a glue stick.” You scoffed, hiccuping before shoving a small handful of shredded cheese in your mouth, complete with the salty tang of the palm sweat that came along with a mental breakdown.

Sure, you had a little bout of lunacy when you killed that guy, in self defense, you reminded yourself. But this was completely different. You didn’t crawl into yourself and hide away. No. It was like all this emotional turmoil was boiling you from the inside out and the only way to save yourself was to pull the lid off the pot and pray it didn’t spill over the sides.

“Luke’s cat.” You sobbed, curling up and rolling onto your side. “I just couldn’t stand seeing him so…” A long, self loathing groan left your lips. Your mouth open but lips connected by a thin line of saliva.

It was nearly two in the morning by the time Anakin left work. He was tired. Angry. Irritated. All he wanted was to go home and sink himself inside that velvet cunt waiting for him there. Alas, as a man with shit to do, he had to get that shit done. Passing by the apartment building, he paused in the middle of the road, lightly tapping the breaks when he realized your apartment’s lights were still on.

“Still up?” He furrowed his brows, pulling his phone from the cup holder of his car before remembering he’d gotten rid of the cameras. “Damn.” He muttered, shaking his head and cutting the wheel hard to the right, whipping into the parking lot to shut the car off and make his way up the fire escape to take a peek in your window.

What he found was a shock, to say the least. He’d never seen you in such a state before and if it weren’t for the loud and clear snores bouncing off the walls and into his ears, he’d have thought you were dead. Sprawled out on the rug, a dark red stain by your head and a Gatorade squeeze bottle of wine in your hand, clutched to your chest like a teddy bear. You’d drunk yourself to sleep. He couldn’t believe it. He was absolutely floored.

He knocked on the window with the back of his hand, loudly, hoping to stir you awake. Your slumbering body didn’t even flinch.

”Fuck me running.” He mumbled under his breath. He hated having a change in his plans, but what kind of monster would leave their girl in such a state without helping?

With a huff, he trudged back down the steps and slid down the ladder at the bottom, landing on booted feet with a grunt. What happened to the Anakin who was always prepared? The Anakin that carried all the tools he needed, he cursed at himself as he stomped toward the door, typing in the door code only to have it flash red at him.

“The fuck?” He breathed out, tugging on the door handle before typing in the code again. Flashing red light glowed in the darkness of the early morning hours once again. “Are you FUCKIN” kidding me?” He barked, pulling the door handle hard enough that the entire door rattled when he released it.

Pulling out his phone, he glanced down at the date. The door code had changed that morning. As it did on time, every time. Only, he was so in his head that he had completely forgotten about it. When did he begin to unravel like this? He should’ve never forgotten something like that, he simply shouldn’t have. He’s… he’s HIM. Angrily, he kicked the bottom of the door and called up the super for the building.

”Can you give me the new door code? I forgot to check on my way out.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose when the super asked his name. “Skywalker. Don’t you have all your tenet’s numbers?” He scoffed.

“Security stuff.” The super replied sleepily, obviously annoyed at having been woken up. “What’s the… key number?” He sniffed.

Anakin looked down at his key reading the engraved number on his apartment key. “Z3287.”

“5309.” With that said, the call dropped and Anakin heard the line go dead on the other end. Typing the new door code into the keypad while muttering under his breath. He jogged up the steps to your apartment and walked in, taking in the very strong scent of spilled wine.

“Okay.” He sighed, kicking off his shoes and locking the door behind him. He walked over and pulled you out from under the coffee table by hooking his hands under your armpits.

“Up we go doll.” He grunted, pulling you into his arms while he crouched down to gather up your limp body. “Goin’ to bed. Like you should’ve done earlier.” He murmured, kissing your forehead.

Once in your room he laid you on the bed, going to the dresser to retrieve a clean set of pajamas. He tossed them on the bed and grudgingly went across the hall to the bathroom, grabbing a wash cloth and wetting it. Wringing it out, he set to work on cleaning up your face, neck and hands. But before he could gently wipe at your cheek, he got a really good look at your face.

”Who made you cry?” He asked, grabbing your chin to turn your head from one side to the other.

He was gentle with his grip, not really asking the questions in hopes you’d answer. He didn’t want to acknowledge that he might’ve been the cause behind your sorry state. Clicking his tongue, he went back to work, gently wiping your face.

“Alright doll, let’s get you out of these.” He grunted, trying to be gentle with your limp form as he pulled off your shirt and tugged down your shorts and panties.

He paused, tempted to…

No. No. Not right now. He’s busy. Anakin reminded himself that this was only a pit stop. He had an errand to run.

“C’mon babydoll.” He grunted, trying his best to be gentle as he dressed you, but you seemed even more limp and ragged than you did the night he drugged you. Were you really that drunk? That tired? “Work with me here sweetheart.”

”Quit.” You muttered in your sleep, your arm flopping over the edge of the mattress to dangle like a noodle.

”Feisty brat even in your sleep, huh?” He chuckled lightly, pulling you toward the middle of the bed to make sure you didn’t roll off in your deep slumber.

”Ghost?” You halfway lifted up your head and slurred the single word so badly it was almost intelligible, your eyes still completely shut.

Anakin froze, his hand recoiling from your body like you’d scorched his fingertips. He didn’t speak, standing completely still, unconsciously holding his breath to keep as silent as possible. It felt like a full day had passed by the time your body lost it’s tension and melted back into the deep sleep you were in before he’d startled you.

After that, Anakin hit the floor running, making a quick escape through the front door so quickly he almost failed to make sure your door was locked. He absolutely could not let you catch him there, he didn’t want to explain himself and he really didn’t want to come to terms with the fact that you were asking for the facet of himself he was tucking into his back pocket.

“Come on.” Anakin groaned in annoyance, smacking his right cheek lightly to keep himself awake. It was nearly 3:30 AM and he hadn’t had a wink of sleep. He’d been high wired since he started his shift at the bar nearly 9 hours ago.

Currently he was fighting his sleepiness tooth and nail with a Monster Energy and chain-smoking until his new pack of cigarettes were down to just three left. The home in front of him was on the outer west side of the city, a nicer subdivision, one he hadn’t even known existed until that night. Such a nice subdivision that he had to park nearly a block away and walk around the brick barrier and wrought iron gate to enter through the bushes continuing the barrier to prevent unwanted vehicles in the area.

The home was brick, two stories. A modern structure with huge floor to ceiling windows in the living room. Only a pretentious bitch like this one would want a feature that showed off the uncomfortable and ugly, yet presumably expensive furniture, decor and fireplace in the living area.

“God this is so fuckin’ boring.” He huffed impatiently. This stakeout was lackluster compared to the countless nights he spent watching you. It was exciting, fulfilling, giving him purpose.

This just felt like a job, a stupid chore that he just had to get done.

Each house here was protected by a high quality security system. Cameras, motion sensors, automatic locks and door codes. To add to the safety features, there was also a CCTV camera fitted to every fifth street light. All provided by the same security company: Westside Watch. This made Anakin’s plan easier in someways, extremely difficult in others.

Once he’d completed his scan of the area and jotted down his findings, he stood up, knees crackling in protest when he stretched and shoved his laptop back into his bag.

“Baby, just go back to sleep.” Anakin grumbled, swatting your hand away as you tried to wake him up for the fourth time that morning.

“It’s 11:00, are you sick?” You said in a quiet voice, the back of your hand coming down to feel his forehead for the second time. He didn’t stop you this time, letting you feel that his temperature was normal.

”I’m just tired.” He huffed. “Up late.” He mumbled, falling asleep before he could take another breath.

Around 3:00 in the afternoon, Anakin finally emerged from the bedroom, looking like a hermit who hadn’t seen the sun in over a year. His hair was stuck to the nape of his neck and forehead, plastered there with sweat. Circles under his eyes so dark it looked like he’d forgotten to wash off his usual light touch of under eye kohl.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Ani.” You snickered, standing up from the nest you’d made of pillows and blankets on the couch.

“Ha-ha, you’re so funny it hurts.” He grumbled. Clearly he was still much too tired for conversation.

”Do me a solid sweetheart.” He sighed, rubbing his hands together. “I need a fuckin’… beer and a fuckin’ McGriddle.”

”That’s… unfortunately not something I can do.” You said, picking up your phone from the couch arm to show him the time.

”No way.” He snorted, in disbelief that he’d slept so late. “Shit, I was set on that for breakfast.”

”I can make pancakes and sausage?” You offered apologetically. “It’s basically-“

”It’s so not ‘basically’ the same thing.” He groaned, running a hand down his face and bending backwards, back arching as he stretched his arms out behind his head. “I suppose I could be persuaded to eat it, since you’ll be the one making ‘em.” He gave you a small uptick of his lips, not really a smile, not really a smirk.

”I can do that.” You nodded, pleased to see he was slowly coming out of his grumpiness.

“Thanks babydoll.” He roughly tugged you against him, his hand on the back of your head as he gave you a peck on the forehead. “Gotta go shower, I reek.”

“Only a little.” You snorted. Though it wasn’t really truthful. You were armpit height to him and it was abundantly clear he’d sweat like he was running a marathon in his sleep.

Once he was fresh and clean, he walked through the apartment in just his boxers, plopping himself down onto the couch, manspreading and claiming ownership of the remote.

“Would you hate me if I smoked inside?” He asked suddenly. Leaning forward with a loan grunt to swipe his nearly empty pack of cigarettes.

“No…” You shook your head, plating the ‘breakfast’ you’d made, giving him a generous amount of syrup in a small dip cup. “You feeling okay?”

”Just… y-yeah.” He cleared his throat, lighting one up and taking a long drag, the red hot cherry crawling up the end of the paper casing. “Can’t be bothered to go out. I’d have to put on clothes, fuckin’ cold out there.”

“True,” You nodded, accepting out without further question as you slid the plate down onto the low glass table in front of him. “Still want beer?”

”Of course.” He said, the tone of his words making it sound like he was answering a stupid question.

“Hey, did you ever hear from that realtor friend of Luke or whatever?” He asked curiously, tearing off a piece of pancake to dip into the syrup.

“No, not yet.” You shook your head, giving him a raised eyebrow, trying to prompt him to elaborate on his line of thinking.

“When we start looking, lets try some subdivisions, yeah?” He said, clearly not planning to look for anything else.

“Why?” You asked, kind of surprised by his response. You knew he grew up in one but you had remembered he didn’t particularly like it.

”Safety reasons, most of ‘em are like gated communities, good security and stuff.” He shrugged like he hadn’t been researching them last night.

“I mean, I appreciate your concern for safety but I’m not super keen on having close neighbors.” You said, a slight grimace on your face as you cuddled up next to him while he ate.

“Well too bad, you’re gonna be the brunch mom and I’ll be the cul-de-sac cook-out dad.” He snorted, one cheek puffed up as he chewed his food. “It’ll be fine.”

You frowned, really not amused by his lighthearted response. This was your house too and you wanted input on where it was and what it looked like. You’d be spending hundreds of dollars on it each month in payments. It was baffling that Anakin was being so nonchalant and passive about finding the home you’d raise your kids in.

“I can hear you breathing like you’re annoyed.” He mumbled, tugging a lock of your hair.

“I am annoyed.” You huffed, swatting his hand away from your hair.

“Just give it a try, would you?” He sighed, rolling his eyes. “I wanna take a look at the layout and stuff. Most of those homes are built by the same contractors. They all have a similar layout.”

”I’m not asking you to just let me have full reign over it. Jesus, you’ll have your opinion considered.” He shook his head in irritation, not liking you were questioning his wishes.

“Look, even if you do hate the idea of living in a gated community, seeing the houses, floor plans, it’ll be good for getting ideas on the kind of place we want. You know?” He explained, trying to keep his voice on the encouraging side.

“I just don’t like that you want the decision making to be left up to you.” You muttered, sitting up and crossing your arms.

“Would you want a child in charge of house hunting?” He snapped at you, gesturing to your defensive posture.

“Tell me you didn’t just say that.” You glared at him.

“I said it and I meant it. Act like an adult and I’ll give you adult privileges; like having an opinion.” He said, tone snarky and frustrated. Obviously he hadn’t shook off all his shitty attitude.

”Maybe we’ll find a place you really love, you won’t know until we go looking. If you really fuckin’ hate the subdivision thing, maybe we can steal one of the house plans of a place you like and build elsewhere.” He said, grabbing you by the inner thigh to tug you back over to him, making sure you stay close despite being upset with him.

Diary Entry:

Can’t you just listen? God you were really pushing back on me today. I was giving you options and not a damn one of them was good enough.

I just want to be able to get a feel for the layout, alright? It’ll make my life easier. I’ll be able to touch the security system panel, familiarize myself with the physical version, rather than the digital diagram. I shouldn’t have to explain myself all the damn time. Act right.

@tsugumiholic @kingdomhate @burnthecheshirewitch @exquisitcorpse @arzua10 @bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay @aliciaasky @naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn @bunnylovesani @ausskywalker @angelsadmired @slut4starwars @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie @starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @lethargic @allhailbuckybarnes-blog @shadowhuntyi @mortalheartache @fallinlovewithevil @sythethecarrot @chaoticantihero @vadersslut @luvvfromme @sweetcheesecakesblog @luvskywxlker @angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled @graveyard-stray @chiaraanatra @jediavengers @zapernz @salted-snailz @queenofchaos99 @ellie-luvsfics @dazednstars141 @hopesworld @lonaah @guiltycherries @syralix @demieyesore @hemmoxloser @ahano @astarionsgirl @popcosmi @purriteen

[daylighted]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤshield ! reader ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤpart one !!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤBITTER REUNIONS.

summary soldier boy's first stop in his grand return is to collect his suit and his shield, only to find out just how different & bittersweet things have become in his absenceㅤㅤㅤwarnings feminine rage, discussions of trauma, hurt/hurt because there's no comfortㅤㅤㅤword count 2.5k

ㅤㅤㅤTHE FLATSCREEN TELEVISION SCREEN CRACKLES IN THE LEGEND'S LIVING ROOM SPACE. on it, a basketball game, two teams that you've never given a shit about, but it's what the legend likes to watch, and so you sit on the worn-out couch and do what you've always done: endure other people's shit, and bite the hand that feeds you.

you would think by now that he knows you better than this. that you pick a fight every single time he flips through the channels with the device he won't tell you the name of, lest you figure out how to access the internet and learn how to use it. that you have smashed three of his televisions in your time with him.

frederick vought warned the legend before he'd handed you over. his words were slurred, tired, defeated — but they were clear enough to still be used against you, repeated by many who encountered you.

she is a cruel one, that shield i've reconstructed.

cruel, indeed.

"i do not want to watch," you shout across the empty space, making a furious reach across the sofa to snatch the television stick off of the other side's abandoned cushion. the bell to the door rang ten minutes earlier, and the old man had yet to return.

you glare at the screen, as if you could will it to silence with nothing but your mind. impossible, of course; at least, you hadn't been successful yet. you hated the buzz of high pitched chatter in the televised crowd, the way it crawled into the crevices of your mind through the passages of your ears and nested.

a furious growl leaves your lips, and you rise to your feet, steps away from the bright screen. you are cruel, and everyone thinks so, but you have kindness tucked away in your rage, sometimes. the score is 120-88. you take note of it, shoving the numbers into your pocket, before you slam the remote into the screen.

the shards of glass that embed into your hand don't hurt. your lips twist into an irritated scowl at the sight of them, plucking out each piece and littering it on the hardwood floor. the remote is in pieces, too, crushed in the tight squeeze of your hand.

you release your grip, letting each piece crumble to the ground with loud thumps. fury crackles through you, acid burning in your bloodstream. it is unlike the man you've been stuck with to abandon you to your own devices for so long. it is also unlike him to force you to watch something you do not like in his absences.

you liked jersey shore, and the real housewives. you liked seeing girls like you get to live lives you'd never get to. it was therapeutic and gutwrenching all at once, and that only added to the fuel of your anger, crackling inside of you.

the walk you take down the lengthy hallway into the part of his home that you were strictly forbidden from was punctuated by the echo of your stomping feet. these were the parts of the house that the legend kept locked. the front entrance, the actual living room, and the man's own bedroom. all places that he deemed his, and all places with quick access to the public, meaning exits.

it was not a laboratory. but it was not a home, either.

your fist slams on the wood of the door, right into the indent of it that you'd already created. this was not the first time that you'd broken down this door. it wouldn't be the last, with how many secrets he kept locked away from you, and how much of the world you were forbidden to see.

"open the door, legend, or i'm going to pummel your fucking skull—"

"enough of that." his voice is muffled when it cuts through your threats, close enough that he sounds like he is right on the other side of the wood. you slam your fist into it again, hard enough for the wood to splinter in the center of your indentation. "enough, indy. i'm comin' back."

"you left the fucking game on." you throw your hand backwards in gesture, even though he can't see it. that was easy enough to fix. you punch through the splintered wood, creating a fist shaped hole to the other side. "you know i hate watching men play games."

the legend is used to your antics by now, and so he doesn't flinch at the break. you see enough of his face to note the downward scowl, and the disappointment behind his dark glasses. "you don't much like the women playing them, either."

"because it is not fun." didn't he understand by now? you were a girl locked away, punished for being created and what you were shaped into. you did not get fun of your own, so you needed some kind of outlet to drown yourself into. it was no wonder that you were thought of as a monster. your only glimpses of the sunny skies were in the gaps of the legend's barred off windows. titanium, so it was not impossible for you to bend them, but it was not an easy feat.

he sighs through his nose, smoke curling around his face from the cigar in his fingers. "two minutes, indy." he holds up two fingers, as if he thought you could not fucking count or comprehend how long two minutes was. "that's all i need."

"who the fuck is in there?" another voice asks, deep and rough and familiar. so familiar. forty years was enough time to age someone — you knew this from how the legend looks now, compared to when he'd first had to take you in — and yet...

the legend's eyes dart over to the source of the voice at the same time as yours do. recognition comes in the form of a racing heartbeat. it builds, and crescendos, and suddenly you are shaking as you beat on the door again. "whoa, whoa, whoa—"

each time he got the door redone stronger. soon enough, he'd have a door made of titanium guarding his proper guests from the rest of his house, and from you.

no one could know about you, not when you were the makings of a sick imagination burrowed in an intelligent man's head.

that did not mean you didn't try. it was such a lonely life, locked away in a penthouse with a man that grew closer and closer to dying with each passing year, and no one knowing anything of what you'd become.

the anger flares, flames licking at the electric sparks in your veins. the door crumbles with one harsher hit, and you're standing in the space you're kept from. you've been here before, never permitted past this doorway, always whisked away before you can get a breath of fresh air.

"hi, sweetheart," soldier boy says, one corner of his mouth curled high in an arrogant smile. bold of him to still carry the same confidence he did back when you knew him, when now, he was in nothing but sweatpants and a zip-up jacket almost too small for his frame. his green eyes stay on you as he says over your shoulder, "she's young. can you even fuckin' keep up with her?"

your eyes flare. it's two steps to be in front of him, and the third is just for good measure, when you clock him in the chin. his head snaps backwards, surprise making him stumble backwards a step.

soldier boy rubs at the skin of his jaw, irritation as bright as your anger staring back at you. you know the calm he wears in his expression. it barely conceals a storm, brewing beneath the surface. you know it because you'd often been the weapon he chose in these moods of his. you know it because you adopted that ire yourself.

"that's enough." the legend steps over the broken pieces of his door, grimacing at the splinters littering the ground. "indy, enough."

you glance over your shoulder to eye the man's expression, trying to determine what he was feeling by look alone. he was not capable of hurting you, nothing was, but he knew how to weaponize words when you upset him, all of which only steeled your skin further.

there is not enough damage in the world you can inflict onto soldier boy to make up for the things he did with you. bashed skulls, took bullets, burnt her steel until she glowed vibrant orange. you expected him to be dead. you wanted him to have been dead, if only so you'd be spared from this moment. but you never got what you wanted. no jersey shore, no fresh air, and no freedom from soldier boy.

you raise your arm to deck him again, but his fingers close around your wrist tightly, tugging it harshly back down. his smirk says everything you need to know about how much he knows. he does not know that you've learned all of his weaknesses, and that he often left himself vulnerable in times when he thought he had the upperhand.

you yank him toward you in the same moment as you ream your knee straight into his cock.

soldier boy stutters on a groan, releasing his grip on you like you’d burnt him. you don’t relish in his pain, or the surprise that you could hurt him. it’s not enough.

the legend gives you the same disappointed look you’re used to getting from him, his head shaking in disapproval. “i locked the door for a reason.”

“you always say this.” you turn on your heel, jamming your finger into the center of his chest. you missed the days when he cowered under your anger and attitude, now it only seemed to exhaust him. “you always lock the door for a reason, and then it is just grace. you do not even let me see grace.”

“and look what happened the time you decided to break the rules.” the legend nods behind you, toward the man you do not turn to look at again. his footsteps are heavy as they approach. “this is what i keep you away from. the possibility of this.”

the urge to break every bone on the older man’s face is almost enough to overtake any rational thinking inside of you. he must see it, because he shakes his head again. “stand down.”

“where’s my suit?” soldier boy asks from behind you, and you still in place. he’s too close. every instinct of fight clicks into gear, the safety off as the bullets load up.

the legend nods down the hallway, in the direction of your space. you had so little that you could call your own. the bigger of the guest bedrooms was yours, shared only in the terms of the collectibles he kept in the expansive closet.

you knew soldier boy’s suit was in there. you could smell the tobacco and the whiskey from it, sometimes, from the safety of your bed. you sometimes could catch a whiff of cologne, on days where you let go of the mask that you were okay with being alone for the rest of your life. when you wished upon a star outside of your barred windows that just one person would find you again.

“you cannot go in there.” you are already starting down the hallway, eager to reach your room before any of them could.

all of your fury was gone. stand down was an order. a kill switch programmed into you to bury all of the tension that often broke free of your restraints. it was not safe, vought once said to you when you were a child, to have a girl who can’t break without a few weaknesses. a few. some of which you didn’t even know, but your mind did.

there wasn’t any electricity in your veins anymore, but there was bleeding desperation. no, they could not invade your space. it defeated the purpose of having it. it would force the legend to open the rooms he locked away from you, too, and you knew he wouldn’t ever. if you granted either of these men an inch, they’d take a mile, and crush you in the process.

“he needs his suit, indy.”

your nose twitches, fighting against the command still ringing in your head. you grit your teeth, jaw clenched tightly. “he needs nothing.”

“who the fuck is this?” soldier boy asks again, and he’s relentless in his pursuit now, coming for your space with the authority of a man who has never been told no in his life. “get out of the way, sweetheart, or you won’t like how this blows up in your face.”

he had hurt you before. you were not human then, but you remembered all of the aches of it. you knew that soldier boy did not goad before he hurt you, or make bold-faced threats. he was lying.

you tilt your chin up, holding the eye contact. he was an unkind man, cruel in every crevice — but so were you, weren’t you? how evil it was to see yourself reflected in a man you hated, who you wanted to break into pieces and burn so all of the tears you shed fizzled away with him. “you will not like what you see.”

soldier boy cocks an eyebrow. “y’think i’m gonna hold it over your head if you’ve got a pair of panties left out?”

you step back into your room, all clean and panty free, and wait for him to take the step to follow you before you slam the door against his nose. the door rattles in the frame. soldier boy, on the other side, grunts in surprise, before he kicks at the hinges.

“that is enough!” the legend’s voice rips through the expansive space of his penthouse, his cane clicking across the floor. “i am not losing two fucking doors to this childish shit.”

you’ve moved, now. you can’t prevent soldier boy from busting down your door, but you can prevent them from fully infiltrating your bedroom. you go into the closet, to the deeper parts lined with memorabilia that you tried to ignore every time you were in here, and snatch the army green suit off of the hanger.

your eyes catch on the shield, hung up on the back wall. useless now. all of its indestructibility existed within you now, making it nothing but a heavy disc of metal.

tucking it under one arm, you hurry back to your bedroom, the arguing male voices outside getting aggravated enough that you know the door is about to crumble.

you knew soldier boy. you knew he could not help but exert some sort of dominance, if he could, to feel more in control. but you would not be in there when he came in and saw the display left on your bed.

instead, you tucked away in your closet, closing your eyes to try and find any sort of solace in the solitude. as always, it did nothing but squeeze tight around you, trapping you in a cage of your own making.

you can hear the exact moment your door is kicked down, along with the moment that soldier boy sees his things laid out for him. his suit, unwrinkled and unmarred. his physical shield, dented and decimated and as light as a kitchen plate.

and his real shield, hiding away from the reality that your nightmares always seemed to catch up to you.

notes. believe it or not i did not start this with the idea that indy was going to be so rapunzel. but it makes sense </3 there's a lot of lore i'm going to slowly incorporate that is hinted at in here / spawned from this so <3 perfect starting point! cannot WAIT for the boys^tm to meet this lil thing. hope u guys love her like i do my lil evil princess !!!

tags. @titsout4jackles @honeyryewhiskey @ultravi0lence14 @figthoughts @stereotypicalbarbie @whyyouegg @eepwtf @rositaslabyrinth @rubyvhs @jensenacklesballsack @abox-of-rocks @sunsbaby @bluemerakis @jollyhunter @misatxox @angelblqde @bombarda-babe @unfortunate-brat @funkycoloured @chevroletdean @chiierful @cowboysandcigarettes @voidsuites @bitchykittenconnoisseur @beausling @soldiersgirl @dulcescorderitas @hyacinnths @blushpinkdoll @mccartneyqp @svbnra @h8aaz

[paigesfuturewifey]

sorry for dropping off the face of the earth, hopefully this filth makes up for it (before i drop off the face of the earth again)

The cabin’s loft was a haze of dim light and summer heat, the kind that clung to your skin and made every breath feel heavy.

You’d been roped into this trip by your parents, same as every year, but this time, Paige Bueckers and Azzi Fudd—UConn’s golden duo—had turned the annual getaway into something far less innocent. The three of you had history: Paige’s relentless taunts, Azzi’s quieter but no less cutting jabs.

Until suddenly, you just couldn’t take it anymore. Couldn’t bite your tongue, like you did every year.

You snapped back. You don’t even remember what you said. Maybe it was something about how Azzi needed to back up off you or maybe you made a stupid comment about how Paige’s stupid music was too loud and annoying: just like her.

And the next thing you knew, you ended up here.

Sprawled out on the loft’s king-sized bed, the wooden beams above creaking faintly as the lake breeze drifted through the open window. Paige stood at the foot of the bed, her blonde hair loose and wild from the day, tank top stretched tight over her toned frame. Azzi leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed, her dark curls framing a face that was all sharp edges and knowing smirks.

“Thought you could keep running that mouth, huh?” Paige said, voice low and gravelly, the kind she used when she was pissed—or turned on. She climbed onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress as she crawled toward you, slow and deliberate. “You’ve been fucking try it all day.”

You swallowed hard, heat pooling in your core despite the way you tried to hold your ground. “Maybe you’re just too easy to rile up,” you shot back, but your voice wavered, betraying you.

Azzi laughed softly, pushing off the wall to join Paige. “She’s got a point, P. But that doesn’t mean she gets away with it.” Her tone was silkier, more measured, but no less dangerous. She knelt beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off her skin, her fingers brushing your thigh like a warning.

You tried to sit up, to regain some control, but Paige was faster—her hand shot out, pinning your shoulder back down. “Nah, stay right there,” she said, blue eyes glinting with something feral. “You’ve been fucking with us long enough. See what happens when fuck around?”

Your breath hitched as Azzi’s hand slid higher, tracing the hem of your shorts. “What?” you managed, though it came out more like a whimper. “I don’t—”

“Shh,” Azzi cut you off, her lips curving into a smile that was equal parts sweet and sadistic. “You don’t get to talk back anymore, baby. You’re done.”

Before you could process her words, Paige’s hands were on your wrists, yanking them above your head and holding them there with one strong grip. Her other hand tugged your tank top up, exposing your stomach to the cool air and their hungry gazes. “Look at her,” Paige muttered, almost to herself. “All that attitude, and she’s already shaking.”

“I’m not—” you started, but Azzi’s fingers dipped beneath your shorts, grazing the damp fabric of your panties, and the lie died in your throat. A soft moan escaped instead, humiliatingly loud in the quiet loft.

“She’s soaked,” Azzi said, her voice dripping with mock surprise as she pressed harder, teasing your clit through the thin cotton. “Guess she doesn’t hate us as much as she pretends.”

Paige grinned, predatory and smug. “Told you. All that bratty shit was jus a front.” She released your wrists only to grab your chin, forcing you to meet her eyes. “Who you this wet for, ma? Say it.”

Your mind spun, caught between defiance and the overwhelming heat building under Azzi’s touch. “Fuck you,” you whispered, but it lacked conviction, your body arching traitorously into Azzi’s hand.

Paige’s laugh was dark, her free hand sliding down to grip your throat—not hard, just enough to make you gasp. “Oh, we will. But first…” you swore you could see the sadism gleam in her eyes, “you’re gonna beg.”

Azzi pulled her hand back, and you whined at the loss, hips bucking involuntarily. She smirked, peeling your shorts and panties down your legs in one smooth motion, leaving you bare from the waist down. The air hit your slick folds, and you squirmed, exposed and vulnerable under their stares.

“Look at that pretty pussy,” Paige murmured, her grip tightening on your throat as she watched Azzi spread your thighs wider. “Bet it tastes even better than it looks.”

Azzi didn’t waste time. She leaned down, her breath hot against your core before her tongue flicked out, dragging a slow, torturous line up your slit. You cried out, hands flying to the sheets, clutching them like a lifeline as she licked again, deeper this time, her lips closing around your clit with a gentle suck that made your vision blur.

“Fuck—Azzi—” you gasped, but Paige’s hand slid from your throat to your mouth, muffling the sound.

“Quiet,” she ordered, her voice a rough whisper. “You don’t get to scream yet.” She shifted, straddling your chest, her weight pinning you down as she tugged her own shorts off, revealing the damp patch on her boxers. “You’re gonna make me feel good first.”

Azzi’s tongue circled your clit, relentless and skilled, while Paige shoved her boxers down and positioned herself over your face. The scent of her arousal hit you—sweet, intoxicating—and before you could protest, she lowered herself, her wet folds brushing your lips.

Your tongue immediately darted out to taste her, inebriating and warm. She groaned above you, one hand bracing on the headboard as she started to grind against your face, slow at first, then faster, her thighs trembling around your head. Azzi’s mouth worked you harder in response, two fingers slipping inside you, curling deep and hitting that spot that made your toes curl.

“Goddamn,” Paige breathed, her voice strained as you sucked her clit, mimicking what Azzi was doing to you. “Fuck, ma. Jus like that.”

Azzi hummed against you, the vibration sending a jolt through your body. Her fingers thrust faster, stretching you open, while her tongue flicked your clit in a rhythm that had you teetering on the edge. You moaned into Paige, the sound muffled but enough to make her shudder, her pace quickening as she chased her own release.

“You gonna come for us, baby?” Azzi purred, pulling back just enough to let her words ghost over your sensitive skin. “Go ahead. Let go. We’ve got you.”

Her permission was all it took. Your orgasm crashed through you, a white-hot wave that had you shaking, crying out against Paige’s pussy as your walls clenched around Azzi’s fingers. She didn’t stop, drawing it out until you were a whimpering mess, oversensitive and dripping down her hand.

Paige wasn’t far behind. Your desperate moans pushed her over, and she came with a low, guttural sound, her thighs tightening around your head as she rode out the aftershocks on your tongue. She lifted off you, breathless, her abs glistening with sweat as she flopped onto the bed beside you.

Azzi crawled up your body, her lips and chin shiny with your release. She kissed you, deep and messy, letting you taste yourself on her tongue before pulling back to smirk at Paige. “Your turn,” she said, nodding toward you.

Paige didn’t need convincing. She slid down, hooking your legs over her shoulders as Azzi straddled your stomach, her hands roaming your chest. Paige’s tongue plunged into you without warning, lapping up the mess Azzi had left, and you keened, still raw from your first climax. Azzi pinched your nipples, rolling them between her fingers as she rocked against you, her own arousal soaking your skin.

“Too much,” you whined, but your hips lifted into Paige’s mouth anyway, chasing more despite the ache.

“Too much?” Paige mocked, pausing to nip your inner thigh. “Shut up and take it.”

Azzi leaned down, her breath hot against your ear. “You’re doing so good, baby. Letting us ruin you like this.” Her fingers twisted harder, and you arched, a sob tearing from your throat as Paige sucked your clit, her fingers sliding in beside her tongue.

The dual assault was relentless—Paige’s rough, hungry strokes and Azzi’s teasing pinches, her whispered praise turning your brain to mush. You were theirs, completely, a trembling, submissive wreck under their hands and mouths. Your second orgasm built faster, sharper, and when it hit, you screamed, the sound echoing in the loft as your body convulsed, slick gushing onto Paige’s chin.

They didn’t stop. Paige licked you through it, slower now, savoring every twitch, while Azzi kissed your neck, murmuring, “That’s it, let us have it all.” When you finally stilled, panting and spent, Paige pulled back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her grin triumphant.

Azzi slid off you, lying beside you as Paige climbed up to join her. They flanked you, their hands still possessive on your skin—one on your thigh, the other tracing your jaw. “Think she’s learned her lesson?” Azzi asked, voice playful.

Paige snorted, brushing a strand of hair from your sweaty forehead. “Not a chance. She’s too stubborn. Guess we’ll have to keep her like this all summer.”

You couldn’t argue, couldn’t even speak—just lay there, boneless and buzzing, already dreading (or maybe craving) the next time they’d decide to put you in your place.

[evilminji]

Had another Si-Oc thought >.>

My standard "you know what Would Be Cool?" Musings...

Getting reborn, as you do, ending up Force Sensitive, as can only be the case. Because really... how ELSE would you soul end up there? CHANCE? Force ghosts are a PROVEN thing! We KNOW that the Force sometimes just... deals in souls.

Ffs, it MADE A BABY.

Yes, there was Sith interference there. But that doesn't chance the fact that it went? "Eh, good enough. I'll take the chance and run with it. Thanks~☆ Mine Now~~☆ Bye~~~☆" And Chosen One'd that baby. Because ultimately? Before the plans of gods and men? The Force Laughs.

So like? Yeah. If there WAS to be a Reincarnator?

Probably the Force.

Congrats on the new, third (or second, depends on your species. Might be another number entirely, honestly. But we are averaging here so MOVE ON), Parent! They are very, very happy to see you! Love you as only a Primordial, Extradimensional, Timeless, Formless, All Pervasive, Orange-Blue Morality havin', Not-A-God Super-God CAN. Their Benevolence? Could be called another God's cruelty.

They don't MEAN too. They are just.... really, really Big. Infinite. Not organic or mortal. It's like trying to comprehend the limitations of an ant, living on a planet, circling a sun, in a GALAXY the size of a DUST MOTE. The fact that the Force can even come CLOSE? Is literally miraculous.

But of course... OC? Not the Chosen One. The favorite, special, "I have Important Things For You" child. Which.... turns out to actually? Be kinda great. The realize that quickly. Which of course, is followed by the logical follow up.

Anikin? Fuckin SCREWED. Because he IS the Favorite Child.

Oh... oh No. Oh Fuck, that is a CHILD.

How easy it is, to cast blame, to judge, when you can't FEEL the Force in your EVERYTHING. All the time. Every moment of every day. Beautiful but cacophonous, like a symphony of screaming. Like staring at the sun and never going blind. It still hurts. But it's so... so bright. So Beautiful.

Connection. To the universe itself. Soul deep and transcendent. You can feel that the universe loves you. That there is good in people. That Life itself is worth protecting. But at the same time? It is... it is so much.

Because you can FEEL the ugly too.

The greed. The hate. The suffering. Lights snuffed out, in dark places of despair. Selfish actions and deep cruelties, like barbed wire against the soul. Thorns that hook and drag. And... and you're supposed to use your words. Just... just ASK them to stop? And, What? Hope that they WILL?

It HURTS!

But pain only begets more pain. Cruelty, more cruelties still. And only the Sith, believe they can use FORCE, in any sense of the word, to change a persons nature. The Jedi build. Grow. They work together, with those who are willing, towards something better. Defend, those who can not protect themselves.

Balance and growth. Not fire and chains.

And Oc is pretty sure Anikin will agree. No one should ever be in chains. Dead maybe. Or in jail. But never, ever, in chains. (And no one ever said they were pacifists. Just not war mongers. Sometimes the only answer IS to kill your opponent. To respect their choice, but honor your commitments. Protect those you swore to protect.)

Of course... OC? Going through Jedi training. It's Pre-Anikin days. Both she and Obi-Wan are fuckin Smol. She's not even in his Creche clan. She's over here in the "wanders off, lost in their own thoughts" Chill AF Creche Clan. Not Mr. "May you Live In Interesting Times And Have Padawans JUST LIKE YOOOOOOOU" and Co., over in the... "Energetic" Creche Clan.

None of HER Creche-mates BIT people, Obi-Wan.

WE keep our fuckin teeth to ourselves, Kenobi!

So, obviously, THEY don't have a lifetime ban on the "look, don't touch" fragile plants meditation garden. Very Rich in the Force. Good for focusing. Peaceful, really. And Oc? Has the time and space? To Consider™ things. Experiment. Ponder Fandom theories. Long "lost" Cannon techniques. Maybe have one-sided chats with the Force.

.....finally get CURIOUS™.

And wonder... if? Since, you know, through the Force, she can encourage and discourage plants to grow? And somewhat control animals. Why not... micro-organisms? Say, Midi-chlorians? Force healing is all ready a thing! So the Force all ready CAN interact with the body. Effect it. Change it. What is this, but more?

Really, all she'd have to do is find them, within herself, right? They're already a part of her! Yet... not. Do they consider themselves a part of her? Or is it symbiosis? Yeah, everyone says it can't be done. Perhaps shouldn't be done. But, frankly? They said the same about a LOT of Force techniques over the years. Big leaps in progress scare the SHIT out of folks. Cause if you miss? A LOT of people can die gorey.

So she sits. Mediates. Looks. Smaller... and smaller.... and smaller....

Until she finds whispers. Humming. Chatter.

As though each and every blood cell in her body had a teeny, tiny, whispery little voice. All chattering together, talking and arguing and discussing. One great hive of progress and industry. Complaining about a lack of potassium... huh. She goes and gets some fruit. Eats it. Then settles back into meditation.

They are JOYOUS! Potassium! Yaaaaay! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

Well... what'd ya know... huh. Hello there? She tries. Only to get a whispery and very alarmed ( ˶°ㅁ°) !! BODY CAN TALKヽ(°〇°)ﾉ ‽‽‽ Y-Yeah... she can. (How are they doing that?) The conversation? Only gets more surreal from there. Filled with... a surprising number of kaomojis.

But! She DOES figure out? How to increase her Midi-chlorians count. (By asking. Supplying needed resources for the expansion.) And WITH it? He awareness blooms.

The headache is... awful. The little guys(genderless) are WAY to enthusiastic. Working way too fast. If she didn't check the next morning? They might have continued to increase, indefinitely, until her veins were SOLID midi-chlorian. They just want to HELP, you see. And if you want More? Then surely FAR TOO MUCH is better, right?

(She may have fucked up. Oh god. Ow. Fuck. OW.)

Eventually she figure it out. Only gives her healer in training Creche mate a... few near heart attacks. He'll TOTALLY forgive her! (He will not. What the FUCK OC. Experimental medical procedures?! On YOURSELF!? You're not even HEALER TRACK!!!)

So NOW? She can reliably do it to OTHERS.

Need a bit more Midi-chlorians? Nearly Jedi quality but juuuuust under that cut off? She can fix that. Come. Be a jedi. Everyone should be a jedi. In FACT~! Whoops! Oh hey. Looks like all these Midi-chlorian counters are fuckin broken! (They look perfect fi-)(Broken! :] Do Not question me) So when you find that Orohan Child in desperate need of love and care? Just bring um on back!

They're TOTALLY Force sensitive. You can just tell. It's the vibes. Look at their lil face. Vibes, man. Just hand um here. For... reasons. You go get the paperwork. A working tester. And~? Oh would you look at THAT! Perfectly within acceptance range! Neat. Called it again, didn't you, Master Koon? You really do have an eye for these things. Anyway~ off to get this little one settled~~☆ *adoring cooing noises at the baby*

Weird, huh, how there suddenly just... SO MANY random orphan babies that are force sensitive? How 'bout that >.> strangest thing.

Of course, it's a god damned open secret. Everyone KNOWS. How could they not? But? Like with most things? If they don't Officially Know™? They don't have to stop it. And it DOES help both the Force AND those kids. Can be reversed if they don't like it, later. (They asked. All hypothetical of course.) So OC is basically Temple bound, so she can receive any new kiddos. To... you know... Check Their Health, on the way to ACTUAL healers.

But she's ALSO waiting. And as her skill increases? She can FEEL midi-chlorians, easier and easier. Until it gets to the point? Where if she's bored and zoning out? Not even ture meditation anymore? She accidentally tunes into Midi-chlorian Live~☆ the talk show. (What's the latest gossip from bodies nearest to her? Oh? Your second spleen is acting funny? Better remember to tell him to get that chec-)

Palpatine can't hide SHIT. It's literally in his blood.

And MAD at him.

This is NOT what they're FOR. He's taking TERRIBLE care of his body! Fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOOOOOOU! You want power? Choke on it, you-!!!!!

Holy shit. So THATS what Sith Midi-chlorians feel like. Oh my god. They... they are SO MAD. Like tiny wasps. That have been violently shaken in a jar. She's never used the word "seething" in reference to someone before... but like...? If they COULD stab him? Man would be a thick paste at this point.

She's not sure what facial expression she makes. But it sure is obvious. As is the blatant, horrified staring. And refusal to get near him. HE doesn't notice, being to busy with the powerful. But the Jedi sure as fuck do. Because THEY sent her? Out with a Shadow. You know... just in case.

Cause she literally can not be replaced.

She not High Ranked... she's just priceless. Equal sort of significance, but in a very quiet, Soft Power sort of way. She is, after all, single handedly? Reversing centuries of slow population decline. Her entire Line promises to be the next Yoda's line. Priceless and with far reaching significance. So obviously, they're making sure that shit stays locked down.

No one is to so much as BREATHE about this.

Not until her great-great-GREAT Grand Padawan has passed their Knight Trials so HELP US. We LEARN from our mistakes! Need we bring out the records? Times we got cocky? Sith and political fuckery!? No. Oc stays INVISIBLE. There is no war in Ba Sing Se! Move along!

So like? Why is Miss Midi-chlorian Sensor and Future of the Jedi... making that face? She's literally NEVER made that face. What sort of monster do you have to BE? Huh? Shadow asks, casual as fuck, like he's not a plotting plotter who's planing terrible things, what's up?

She tells him. Palpatine has RANCID vibes. His midi-chlorians fucking DISPISE him. She's literally never seen that before. In anyone. Didn't even know that was an option. They would gleefully kill him if they could.

.....senator Palpatine is Force Sensitive?

Yes.

.......Interesting™(Ominous Intent)

Says local Shadow, who is perhaps putting together some dots. May not be getting the correct picture. But is getting the Vibe. And boy howdy, he does NOT like the vibe. Has got himself some questions. Cause Mr "uwu I'm harmless" lil mask? Only holds up? If you're willing to believe him.

Shadows don't buy that shit. Shadows? Need receipts. Full character statements and an audit on the fucking hospital you were BORN AT. Every credit you picked up off the side walk, why, and where you spent it.

Give them your Secrets. Or they'll keep digging until they find them.

uwu Their ASS. Gonna tear this bitch APART.

......huh. So THIS is why you guys keep accidentally getting married to Mandalorians on missions. (We agreed not to mention that.) (Fucker, I agreed to nothing. Shouldn't have eaten my special Me Day pudding if you didn't want me to gossip.) Man, her friends are... a trip. Uh... have fun? Happy hunting? I guess? *feral Jedi noises*

She? Continues to wait. Palpatine? Begins to have a VERY bad time. (Ha! Get fucked!)

Unfortunately, it's not fast enough to stop his dumbass plans. He just gets desperate. Figures more power is the answer. Because of course he does. So here comes the "oh nooooo~ my planets under attack~ better manipulate a child and make me president of the galaxy!" Plan. Fucker. Bastard.

She can't stop that.

But what she CAN do? Is be there. Waiting. For HIM.

Her little brother. Her son. Her center of the universe. The most important man to ever live... and also? A scared little boy. Far, far from home. The only other person who understands just how BIG the Force is. How much it weighs. How even as it crushs you... you can't bear to put it down. Not even for a moment. Because it loves you. And it hurts, that it does.

And... oh. Oh.

He is so very small.

Dirty, tired, in lovingly mended clothes that are barely beyond scrap. With bright, bright eyes like hope and starlight. He sings inside. Like freedom. Like hope. Daring to ask "why CAN'T you be kinder?", "why CAN'T we be free?". A storm of change. Bright and beautiful.

A child. Great and small, all at once.

Oc can't help but smile. Because, oh. Oh how long, she has waited to meet him, Anikin Skywalker. Welcome. Are you hungry? Cold? Let's get cleaned up. See the healers first. The council can wait.

Chips are removed and food is shared. Warm clothes, soft and new. And she can not help but smile, smile, smile. Even as her face begins to hurt. For years she has gathered. Planned. Studied and trained. As though some part of her knew. As though all for this moment. Taking one of those small hands in hers. Looking right in his eyes.

"It's going to be okay."

Because it IS. Because regardless of what they decide? OC will be with him. Regardless, she's going to go and make sure his mother is free. Not bought, not sold. Free. She has friends who can help. Will learn how to remove the chip herself if she must.

And? He IS going to be a Jedi. Even if he never become a Coruscant Jedi. Even if he decides he doesn't agree with how they do things or they decide the disagree with how HE does things. The Jedi have changed before, they will change again. Living things are meant to grow. Meant to change. And people can be both wrong and right at the same time. It's messy.

But what's important? Is Anikin is not alone anymore. And Oc is gonna help teach him. And someday? HE'S gonna break chains. So many chains. Gonna help people heal. If he wants to. (He does) But for right now? A quick talk with some old people. Maybe a nap. And we either get settled or arrange a trip back to Tatooine. To pick up your mom. In the meantime! You can figure out what classes she might wanna take. Where seems like a good place to settle. *chatting as they walk off, hand in hand*

Just? Sometimes a Padawan-ship is you, your Teacher, your OTHER Teacher, and her body guards that teach you Cool Knife Tricks and how to gamble, behind Obi-Wan's back! :D

@legitimatesatanspawn @mayfay @leftnotright @babbling-babull @hdgnj @spidori @the-witchhunter @lolottes

[pretentious-blonde]

steady

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: healing is never easy, but steve surprises even himself with his progress

warnings: ptsd, anxiety, therapy sessions, depression

a/n: angst!! robin makes an appearance too. steve is kind of smitten and he loves it <3

series masterlist

Steve slouched in the passenger seat of Robin’s car, sunglasses perched on his nose, hiding the tension marring his features. If you could see him, you’d notice the subtle clench of his jaw, the way his hands rested in tight fists on his thighs. 

He kept his eyes shut against the morning light—though the tinted lenses helped, the brightness still drilled into his temples, intensifying the dull, throbbing ache that had settled behind his eyes. The quiet inside the vehicle was unusually deliberate, a courtesy Robin extended with careful consideration.

She was never one to enjoy silence, but she was trying. Like she always did for him.

He shifted, pressing his head a bit further into the seat. The sound of tires on asphalt rolled beneath them like thunder, matching the faint ringing in his ear. It was a small remnant of older injuries—injuries he’d earned through too many head-on collisions with fists and floors. 

Still, he felt lucky. After all, pain was a familiar adversary, and these headaches came around far less frequently than they used to.

A glance at her told him all he needed to know: her shoulders stiff with concentration, hands gripping the wheel lightly, eyes skimming across the road. She gave him a little smile, more a twitch than anything. She’d barely spoken a word since he got in, not wanting to rile his migraine. It reminded him of just how fiercely she cared.

They were heading to his weekly appointment, a routine that once felt more like a punishment than a path to healing. He’d spent his first two sessions in complete silence, arms crossed, mouth sealed shut.

Steve Harrington didn't need a therapist. The idea of seeing felt like admitting defeat. But Robin—gentle, but tearful—had practically dragged him back, desperately pleading for her best friend to return to himself. 

The memory arose every time he buckled in for these drives, reminding him that sometimes letting people in was the only way to get out of the mess in his head.

“Almost there,” Robin said softly, her voice subdued. A pang of guilt flared inside him; he knew she had better things to do on her Saturday morning than play chauffeur. Yet here she was. She always was when he needed her. 

He opened his eyes as the car glided into the parking lot, the movement so careful it barely jolted him. The world outside looked too bright—even through sunglasses—and his headache began to pulse in protest. When she killed the engine, she turned to him, eyes filled with caution.

“You alright with getting in?” she asked. Her voice was as gentle as her driving.

“Yeah.” Drawing in a breath and forcing a small, wry smile. “Pretty sure I remember the way.” He joked through the dull throb in his skull.

She nodded, and he carefully pushed the door open. The sudden rush of cooler air felt refreshing. A stab of pain shot through his temple, and he winced, one hand lifting to shield his eyes from the sun. As he stood, he turned back toward her. 

“I just… I wanna say I’m sorry again, for waking you up and making you drive me. I hate—”

“Don’t.” She held up a hand before he could finish. “It’s no problem. Seriously.” 

There was reassurance in her tone, and it squeezed his heart. He hated imposing, but her unwavering support was something he grew to accept.

“What you gonna do for the hour?” he asked, a little softer now.

“I’ve got my reading material. I’m all set.” She patted a worn paperback tucked into the side of the driver's door. She waved him off, managing a playful eye-roll. “Now go. You’ll be late.”

He nodded and headed towards the entrance, stepping through the lobby steadily as not to jostle his head around. The walls were painted in cool tones that did nothing to ease the piercing sunlight still dancing at the edges of his vision.

Despite that, he managed a half-smile at the receptionist—he’d been here enough times now to know the woman, though he never quite remembered her name. He headed for Dr Avery’s office, following the familiar hallway until he found the right door.

He knocked once, the sound dull against the wood, and a voice called from within. 

“Come in.”

Pushing the door open, he hesitated, sunglasses still shielding his eyes. The elderly doctor glanced up from a small stack of files, his expression softening into a gentle smile. 

“Migraine?” he asked, and though his voice was calm, concern wove through it.

“Yeah,” he admitted with a huffed laugh, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. In response, Dr Avery rose from behind his desk, crossing the room to draw the blinds. Morning sunlight turned softer, and the shift in brightness made his shoulders relax a fraction.

“Better?” Dr Avery said, settling back into his chair. 

In one smooth motion, Steve slid his sunglasses off, resting them on his knee as he sank into the chair opposite. He closed his eyes for a second, letting the dimmer light settle over him. 

“Much,” he murmured, pressing his fingertips against his temples. 

Silence hung in the room. It was gentle in the way Dr Avery seemed to cultivate it in all their sessions. 

“So, how has your week been?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and gave a one-shouldered shrug. 

“It’s been alright,” he answered, gesturing toward his temple with the hand clutching his glasses. “Apart from, you know…”

“It’s been a while since you’ve had a migraine.” Dr Avery nodded, thoughtful. “Any idea what might’ve triggered it?”

“Not really,” Steve said, mouth tightening into a line. “Didn’t sleep too well last night.”

“Any reason for that?” came the quiet prompt.

He shrugged, gaze drifting away. “Same old dreams.”

There was a pause—a measured moment that the doctor always seemed to use to let Steve choose how much he wanted to reveal. 

“Still bad?” He finally asked when he realised he wouldn’t elaborate. 

“They’ve died down a bit this week.” He exhaled, brow furrowing. “Guess my mind’s been busy with other stuff.”

A knowing spark crossed Dr Avery’s eyes. 

“Drama with the kids?”

A snort of laughter startled from Steve’s chest, a quick bloom of humour in the midst of his fatigue. 

“No, not quite,” he said, shaking his head fondly. “Though Lucy still can’t tie her shoes. You’d think she’d have mastered it by now with all my help, but… nope.”

“Is that so?” Dr Avery asked, lips quirking in amusement.

“Yeah,” he replied, rolling his eyes in that trademark exasperation that came from too many hours spent cajoling a stubborn little girl to make bunny ears with the laces. “She should just stick to Velcro. Less drama that way.”

A comfortable chuckle passed between them, the air relaxing for a moment. But he wasn’t surprised when Dr Avery steered them back on track—he’d noticed long ago how adept the therapist was at re-centring him whenever he started wandering off-topic.

Which—in his defence—Steve was especially prone to.

“So,” Dr Avery said gently, leaning forward a bit, “what’s really been on your mind lately?”

Steve’s hand tightened around the armrest of the chair. The lighthearted spark in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something softer. He took a slow breath, like he was trying to gather the right words.

“I... I met someone…” He said slowly, feeling the words out. 

His confession hung in the air—three simple words, but they carried a weight that was far greater than the simple sentence. 

He held his breath for a moment, as though he were afraid that speaking it out loud might shatter the illusion. He could practically see Dr Avery’s features shift into gentle encouragement, the slight lift of eyebrows and a softness around his eyes. 

It was the same look the therapist always gave him whenever Steve cracked open the door to something new, something vulnerable.

Clearing his throat, tried to muster some of that confidence people used to say he had in spades back in high school. It felt a little rusty, but it was there, somewhere beneath the bruises.

“Who is this someone?” Dr Avery asked quietly. Knowing the importance of the question.

Steve couldn’t stop the small grin that crept onto his face. He fiddled with the sunglasses perched on his knee—still mindful of the headache pressing at his temples, but somehow the ache felt muted by a rush of something much sweeter. 

“She’s new in town,” he began, voice a little shy, “took over the old bookshop. You know the one down on Oak? Kids needed some books, so I asked if she could deliver them. And she did—personally.” He shook his head in astonished awe. “I mean, talk about customer service, right? Even managed to track down some of my favorite titles on, like, super short notice.”

Dr Avery’s lips curved into a smile. “She sounds nice.”

“You have no idea,” Steve replied, eyes lighting up as memories tumbled through his mind. He had to fight back the grin that threatened to become almost giddy. “When she came by the school, I asked her out for coffee. Honestly, I thought she’d say no—I mean—I barely even know her—she was just doing her job. But she said yes.” He let out an incredulous little chuckle. “Even looked happy I asked.”

“So, you met up with her?”

“Twice,” Steve confirmed, leaning forward in his seat as though admitting a grand secret. “We got coffee both times—nothing serious, but…” He paused, remembering the feeling of those events. In the coffee shop’s atmosphere, he’d felt almost normal, like he could forget the the weight of the last few years. 

“She laughed at my jokes,” he continued, voice tinged with a note of disbelief, “and I mean really laughed—not just being polite—she actually thought I was funny.”

He couldn’t quite disguise how much that simple fact thrilled him. For so long, he’d forgotten what it was like to feel that weightless. You didn’t know every part of him yet. And in that ignorance, there was a freedom he hadn’t felt in ages.

Steve glanced down at his sneakers, twisting the sunglasses in his hands as though he couldn’t quite meet Dr Avery’s gaze. After a moment, he exhaled softly and spoke again.

“She, uh… she called me a few nights ago,” he began, running a hand through his hair. “It was late—maybe past ten? I was cleaning up—you know, trying to settle down for the night. Then the phone rang. I kind of panicked for a second before I heard her—I mean, nobody usually calls that late on a school night, unless—”

He paused, eyes flicking up to gauge Dr Avery’s reaction. The therapist merely offered a small, encouraging nod, so Steve continued, his voice growing steadier as he found the story’s thread.

“Turns out she was reworking her finances,” he explained. “Something about spreadsheets and reorganising… stuff—moving money around, I don’t know. Not my thing. She sounded stressed, though. Tired. I could hear it in her voice—even when she tried to laugh it off, there was this… tension, you know?”

“She asked me if I could just… tell her about my day.” His gaze trailed to a spot on the floor, a slight smile creeping onto his face. “Said she needed something to take her mind off the numbers, something that’d make her smile.” He shook his head, as if still in mild disbelief. “And I did—told her anything I could think of. Stupid stuff. But every time she asked me more I—”

A faint flush of color touched his cheeks as he forced himself to stop rambling. He shifted in his chair, the memory clearly stirring emotions he was still getting used to. 

“Honestly,” he admitted with a small shrug, “by the end of that call, I was the one feeling better—like, just by giving me a reason to talk. It was… I don’t know.” His smile broadened as he grasped for the right words. “It felt good to be that guy again.”

Dr Avery’s lips curved in a thoughtful smile, and he leaned forward as though to speak. But Steve, caught up in the rush of the memory, beat him to it.

“I guess that’s why I’m so thrown off by how easy it’s been,” he said, voice going soft. “I was worried I wouldn’t know how to do this. But with her… it’s just been simple.”

He let out a slow breath, hands finally coming to rest on his knees, attention lifting to meet the doctor. His eyes held a sheen, a hope that felt fragile but very, very real.

“So, yeah,” Steve finished, voice hushed. “She called me, and I ended up talking her ear off. Turns out we both needed that call.”

Dr Avery, picking up on that far-off look in Steve’s eyes, nodded approvingly. 

“I’m really happy for you, Steve,” he said. “Truly. This is a big step.”

His cheeks felt a little warm, and he shrugged as if to downplay it. 

“It’s—yeah, well, it’s not like we’re official or anything,” he joked weakly, but there was a trace of a blush there that gave him away.

“No, Steve, really,” Dr Avery pressed, leaning forward. “Think about you this time last year. You’ve come a long way.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing aside. “When you put it like that…”

Dr Avery’s expression brightened with approval. “Would you like to talk about what you want to do next?”

Steve’s eyes shot back up, and there was a flash of that old charismatic grin—boyish, genuine. 

“Sure,” he said, settling a little more comfortably into the chair. And he meant it, because he knew exactly what he wanted to spend the rest of this session talking about. 

Steve wasn’t entirely sure why he was walking toward the bookshop. In fact, he was pretty certain that turning around would be the more logical, less awkward option. But even as the thought crossed his mind, his feet kept moving forward—one in front of the other—carrying him down the quiet street. The evening sun dipped low in the sky, casting the storefronts in long shadows. 

He told himself it was a casual visit—you were just on his way home. That was all. After his session this morning and an afternoon spent napping off his migraine, he needed some fresh air. Dr Avery’s words stuck in his head, all that gentle encouragement about letting himself explore how he felt. 

So here he was, hoping he didn’t look like some creep for showing up out of the blue. 

By the time he reached your door, the shop lights shone softly in the evening dim. He hesitated for a split second before pushing inside, setting off the familiar chime of the overhead bell. 

No turning back now.

“Hello?” he called softly, stepping past a stack of books near the entrance.

“Steve?” Your voice echoed from somewhere off to the side, recognising his voice.

“Uh, yeah?” he answered, glancing around the shelves.

“Round here!” you directed.

He followed your voice and turned the corner—and immediately his heart lurched. 

You were on a rickety ladder, precariously reaching for a high shelf. Before he could even say a word, the ladder lurched dangerously to one side, and his instincts kicked in, sharp as ever due to his line of work.

He surged forward, grabbing the frame to hold it steady. The sudden jolt of movement made you stumble, and you shot him a sheepish look as you clung to a shelf.

“Whoa—hey,” he said, breath tight in his chest as he stabilised you. “I spend all day trying to avoid broken bones, now I gotta to look out for yours, too?”

You looked down at him, a pang of sympathy stirring at the worry across his face. His hands remained firmly gripping the ladder, but his eyes were filled with concern.

You mumbled a flustered apology, claiming you were nearly finished. But he didn’t buy it. 

“Sure you were.” He gave the ladder a cautionary glance. “Please, just…get down? Before you break your neck?”

“Yeah, yeah. Alright.” Rolling your eyes, you began to climb down, one careful step at a time. 

Reaching the floor, you rested a hand on his shoulder for balance. It was a small gesture, but warmth prickled across the back of his neck. 

He liked being the steady one for a change.

“You need a new ladder,” he said, trying to sound more authoritative than concerned.

“If it lasted this long, it’s fine,” you scoffed, though he could tell you knew how bad it was. He bit back the urge to argue, exhaling a quiet laugh at your stubbornness.

Once you were safely on your own two feet, you turned to face him, dusting off your hands. 

“So, back already for new reading material?”

He blinked, suddenly feeling the weight of his spontaneous visit. 

“Uh—no, actually.” He cleared his throat, searching for something that sounded casual. “You were just on my way home, and, y’know…felt rude not to say hi.”

His heart tripped over itself as you offered a small smile. 

“Hi,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his.

“Hi,” he echoed, a bit breathless. For a moment, neither of you spoke. He coughed to break the silence. “So, um—doing some reorganising ‘round here?”

“Sort of,” you gestured toward two large boxes in the corner. “Got a delivery yesterday. I was putting it away before I nearly met my demise on that death trap.”

His gaze shifted to the boxes. “That’s… quite a few books.”

“Yeah,” you admitted, “my supplier wanted to clear out some stock, so he gave me a really good deal. Now I kinda regret it, because I’m gonna be stuck here all evening.”

His posture straightened. The chance to help—to be useful—sparked a little excitement in him. 

“I can stay,” he offered, maybe too quickly. “I mean—I can help. If you want.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “No, you don’t have to do that on your day off. I feel guilty just thinking about it.”

“Seriously,” he shook his head, giving you a reassuring smile. “I’m weirdly good at organising stuff. Used to work at the video store—returns master, right here.” He pointed at himself, a teasing grin playing on his lips.

He had always thought that job would never prepare him for anything, yet here it was—proof that even the worst gigs could have their silver linings. He found himself almost grateful to Keith for all the menial tasks he’d been forced to complete while working there.

You giggled at his proud proclamation, the sound sending a pleasant shiver through him. 

“I still feel bad making you work.”

“I got nowhere else to be,” he admitted, shrugging in an attempt at nonchalance, though he couldn't fully hide his eagerness. “Really. Let me help.”

“Fine, fine.” You gave in, lifting your hands in mock defeat. “You take the box on the left. I’ll take the one on the right.”

“Deal,” he said, stepping up to the nearer box. He pried open the cardboard flaps, inhaling the familiar scent of new books and packing paper. 

It took you less than an hour to reach the bottom of the boxes, with Steve finishing his first and immediately jumping in to help with yours. He wasn’t exaggerating when he said he was good at alphabetising. Only asking intermittently about which genre section he should place them in.

He sank onto the velvet couch with a satisfied sigh, leaning his head against the backrest. The shop felt cosier now that all the new arrivals were tucked away on the shelves, along with the soft lanterns overhead. He had to give it to you, this place really was charming. 

“That was faster than I expected,” you remarked, settling beside him. 

“What’d I tell you?” He shot you a playful grin. “Basically a professional.”

"You’re full of surprises," you muse, nudging his knee lightly with yours.

He shrugs, but there’s a hint of something pleased in his expression. It feels good to be praised by you specifically.

You tilt your head, watching him for a moment. "Are you thirsty?"

"A little,” he starts to shake his head. “But honestly, don’t worry—"

“Wait here.” You sprang to your feet, practically bouncing toward the back of the shop and up the stairs that led to your apartment above. He watched you go, a smirk tugging at his lips and his eyelids feeling heavier. The place felt oddly empty without your presence, but he still found it comforting nonetheless.

He felt truly at ease here, already picturing himself marking homework—messy sums and misspelt words scattered across the pages. It would be a relief not to do it under the harsh glare of the classroom lights; maybe it would even help with his headaches.

God, he was getting ahead of himself.

Light footsteps on the stairs made him blink awake. You appeared, carefully balancing two steaming mugs. The soft light from the overhead bulbs illuminated the proud smile on your face.

“Oh?” He sat up straighter, intrigued. “What’s this?”

“Hot chocolate,” you announced proudly, offering him one of the mugs as you begin quote him. “Apparently 'everyone likes it.'”

He took the mug gently, trying not to pay too much attention as your fingertips against his. 

“That they do,” he chuckled, voice low. "Thanks."

You looked so pleased—like you were giving him a gift far more precious—and it made his chest tighten. You settled in next to him again, blowing on the surface of your drink. Your gaze flicked over his face. 

“Were you falling asleep on me?” you teased.

“Never,” he insisted, taking a sip. Warm sweetness spread across his tongue, making him sigh in contentment. “Just had a long day.”

“Well, now I feel even worse for making you stick around.”

“Hey,” he said, shaking his head and lifting his mug in mock salute, “It’s worth the reward.”

A small smile touched your lips. “Fair enough.”

He cleared his throat, trying not to look too anxious as he ventured. 

“So, are you gonna be busy next week?” He kept his eyes on the rising steam so you wouldn’t catch just how much this question mattered to him.

“Not sure.” You gave a casual shrug. “Sometimes this place is packed, other times it’s dead quiet. But I like it—I get to meet new people. It’s one of the best parts of owning a shop, you know? Everyone eventually wanders in.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” He nodded. “Hawkins isn’t huge, so…makes it easier to get familiar with folks.”

“Quality over quantity, right?” you quipped, and Steve swore you shot him a sidelong look that made the tips of his ears burn. He swallowed, unable to stop a smile from creeping onto his face.

He took another sip of cocoa. 

“Right,” he echoed. Then, his heart thrumming, unable to stop from himself from blurting out the question. “See me next week?”

“Huh?” You blinked, a bit confused. 

Realising how direct that sounded, he fumbled to correct himself. 

“I mean—are you free next week? We could…do something. Grab dinner?”

He hoped his recovery was smooth, maybe he was coming on a little strong, but he couldn’t help it. It had been so long since he’d felt hopeful about something, and every time he was around you, the weight on his shoulders seemed to lift. 

Call him selfish, but if you’d let him, he wanted to soak up as much of you as he could.

A flicker of surprise crossed your features, followed by a delighted smile. “I can be free on Wednesday, I think.”

“Great.” He nodded, doing his best not to look too excited. “I’ll—I’ll book us a table somewhere. A restaurant.”

He could practically feel the adrenaline in his veins. It’d been way too long since he planned an actual dinner date, and the thought of sharing that with you felt electric.

“Do I need to dress fancy?” You grinned. It was a playful question, but he noticed a little bashfulness in your tone.

“Nah,” he said offhandedly, warmth pooling in his stomach. “You’d look beautiful no matter what you wear.”

He said it so nonchalantly that it caught you off guard and your cheeks warmed with colour, a gentle rose you tried to hide behind the rim of your mug. But he still caught the flush and felt his heart leap, safe in the knowledge that you might also feel the same as he did.

He drained the last of his hot chocolate, the flavour still clinging to his lips as he handed the mug back. 

"Thanks," he said as you took his cup.

"I think I should be the one saying that," you corrected.

He rolled his eyes, leading the way to the exit, but before stepping out, he glanced back at you. 

"See you Wednesday?"

You chuckled—he always repeated your plans back to you. It was endearing, but deep down, he needed the reassurance. When it came to you, he didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

"See you Wednesday," you echoed.

His grin was immediate and genuine, cheeks warming to match yours. With one last look, he slipped out the door, carrying that sweet moment with him all the way home.

Now, all that was left was to call Robin (obviously) and figure out what restaurant to book. He kicked himself for not asking what kind of food you liked, but he liked to think you trusted him with the choice.

It felt good—being in control again.

taglist: @daisy-is-a-writer @chiliwhore @kvroomi

[keisgirl]

2.0 ; miya atsumu

pairing; atsumu miya x reader

wc; 5k

is being miya atsumus clone the best thing in the world, or will she find a way to carve out her own identity on the volleyball court?

you grew up with the miya twins, tangled in the mess of their rivalry and camaraderie, always in the middle, always keeping up.

they called you the girl version of atsumu, from the moment you first stepped onto the court. same position, same drive, same reckless grin when you won. number seven stitched onto your back like it was meant to be there. you were quick, sharp, loud-mouthed, just like him.

and they never let you forget it.

"oi, girl-tsumu," atsumu would call, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "yer servin’s slippin’. ya gonna let me take the crown this year?"

"dream on, miya," you'd shoot back, flicking his forehead hard enough to make him whine. osamu would snicker, always watching the two of you go back and forth, never stepping in—just there to witness the chaos.

as kids, it was fun. as kids, it felt like being part of something bigger than yourself, like belonging. you bleached your hair when he did, let the color burn your scalp just to prove you could. you matched him beat for beat, dive for dive, living in the shadow he never meant to cast but did anyway.

but then you grew up. and suddenly, it wasn’t as fun anymore.

because when atsumu got praised, you got compared. when atsumu won, you were just second place, the girl version of him, as if you weren’t your own person. the name ‘miya’ carried weight, and even though it wasn’t yours, they tied it to you like a leash. you thought you could be his equal, but all they saw was an echo.

“yer too sensitive,” atsumu says one day, after you snap at a teammate for calling you ‘atsumu with a ponytail.’

your hands curl into fists, nails digging into your palms. “maybe yer too blind.”

atsumu blinks. “huh?”

“yer too blind to see that i ain’t you.”

the words hang in the air between you, sharp and cutting. you see the moment he realizes, the moment he pieces together every forced smile, every tense laugh, every time you swallowed down the bitter taste of second place.

his mouth opens, but you don’t wait to hear whatever he has to say. you just turn and walk away, wondering if you’ll ever stop being a reflection.

suddenly, you don’t play volleyball anymore.

suddenly, you’re not inarzaki’s genius girl setter.

suddenly, you have black hair.

suddenly, you don’t feel like yourself.

suddenly, you don’t talk in class.

suddenly, you’re first in grades, not in physical education.

suddenly, the girl who used to be on the court screaming at her teammates is now the one sitting in the back of the classroom, silent, unnoticed.

and people start to notice.

your teachers hesitate before calling your name, expecting the loud, confident voice that used to answer so easily. your classmates steal glances at you when tests get handed back, murmuring about how you’ve replaced your talent for setting with perfect grades. the volleyball team stares at the empty space on the court where you used to stand, the absence of your presence a hole they can’t seem to fill.

osamu, usually unbothered by everything, nudges atsumu one afternoon. “ya talk to her lately?”

atsumu scoffs, crossing his arms. “she’s the one avoidin’ me.”

“yeah?” osamu raises an eyebrow. “or maybe ya just never noticed how much she hated bein’ ya shadow.”

atsumu doesn’t have a comeback for that. because deep down, he knows. he just never thought you’d actually leave. never thought you’d change so much, that the fire in your eyes would be replaced with something distant, unreachable.

so one day, he corners you after school, standing in front of your desk before you can escape.

“what the hell’s goin’ on with ya?” he demands.

you don’t look up from your notebook. “nothin’.”

“bullshit,” he huffs, grabbing your pen and tossing it onto the desk. “ya dyed yer hair, quit the team, don’t even look at me no more—how the hell is that nothin’?”

you sigh, finally meeting his gaze. there’s something tired in your expression, something he’s never seen before. “it ain’t sudden, ‘tsumu.”

and that’s what scares him the most. because if it wasn’t sudden, then that means it was happening all along. and he just never saw it.

“i left alive, but at the same time, i felt like atsumu miya, ya know?” you murmur, voice quieter than he’s ever heard it. “like i wasn’t myself. i was just... you.”

atsumu stiffens, his breath catching.

“besides,” you continue, leaning back in your chair, staring at the ceiling. “the girls’ volleyball team can manage just fine. it’s not like we ever made it to spring high anyway.”

third year. the last year.

atsumu feels the weight of your words settle deep in his chest. there’s something final about them, something irreversible. and for the first time in his life, he doesn’t know how to fix it.

atsumu tries to ignore it at first.

he tries to act like nothing’s changed, like you’re still the same person who used to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, the one who used to bicker with him over who had the better toss, who used to swear up and down that one day, you’d be the setter people remembered most from inarizaki.

but he can’t ignore it. not when you won’t even look at him, not when every interaction between you now feels like he’s talking to a stranger.

he watches from the court, gaze flicking to the empty space on the benches where you used to sit. back when you stayed after practice even if you didn’t have to, back when you’d drill him on his serves and let him rant about whatever was on his mind. back when he never had to think twice about where you’d be—because you were always there.

except now you aren’t.

he lasts a month before he finally snaps. before he marches into your classroom after school, ignoring the way your classmates whisper as he looms over your desk.

“we’re talkin’. now.”

“no, we’re not.”

atsumu’s jaw clenches. “yer bein’ real difficult, ya know that?”

“not my problem.”

his patience wears thin. “what the hell happened to ya?”

you exhale through your nose, flipping a page in your notebook like he isn’t standing there, like he isn’t practically shaking with frustration. “i grew up, atsumu. maybe ya should try it sometime.”

“bullshit,” he hisses. “growing up don’t mean abandoning everything ya cared about. ya loved volleyball.”

“yeah? well, maybe it didn’t love me back.”

that shuts him up. because he doesn’t know what to say to that—doesn’t know how to argue against something so heavy, so full of something he doesn’t understand.

his fists tighten at his sides. “ya really just gonna throw it all away?”

“what’s left to throw away?” you mutter, finally looking up at him. and there’s something in your eyes, something hollow and tired and so unlike you that it makes his stomach twist. “i was never really playin’ for myself anyway.”

he swallows hard. “that ain’t true.”

but you only shake your head, gathering your things before standing, brushing past him like he’s not even there.

“if it ain’t, then why did it feel like i had to disappear to be seen?”

and atsumu has no answer for that either.

“ya got it bad,” osamu remarks one afternoon, watching atsumu glare at his untouched lunch.

atsumu scoffs, stabbing his chopsticks into his rice. “shut up.”

“yer miserable,” osamu continues, undeterred. “and ya know why.”

atsumu doesn’t respond, just shoves a bite of food into his mouth like that’ll stop his brother from talking. it doesn’t.

“always hoverin’ around her, always lookin’ like a kicked puppy when she ignores ya.” osamu shakes his head, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “if ya ask me, it’s kinda obvious.”

atsumu scowls. “nothin’s obvious.”

“except that ya like her.”

he nearly chokes on his food. “what?!”

osamu raises an eyebrow, entirely unimpressed. “oh, come on. ‘tsumu, ya been in love with her since we were kids.”

“yer talkin’ shit.”

“am i?” osamu leans back, arms crossed. “then why does it bother ya so much that she’s not playin’ anymore? why can’t ya let it go?”

atsumu opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. because as much as he wants to deny it, the truth is sitting right there, laughing in his face.

he’s spent years trying to outrun it, masking it with teasing and rivalry, with stupid fights and mindless competition. but now that she’s gone—now that she’s slipping further and further away—he realizes that osamu’s right.

he’s always been in love with you.

he finds you after school, waiting outside the gates, hands shoved into his pockets like it’s just another day.

“what now, atsumu?” you sigh, stopping in front of him.

he exhales sharply, staring at you like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle he should’ve figured out years ago. “yer right,” he says finally. “i never saw it.”

you blink, caught off guard. “saw what?”

“that i was losin’ ya,” he admits, voice quieter than usual. “that ya weren’t just my reflection. that ya were yer own person this whole time.”

there’s something vulnerable in his face, something raw, and it makes your chest ache in a way you don’t want to acknowledge.

“i don’t want ya to disappear,” he continues. “not from volleyball, not from me.”

you hesitate, searching his expression for any sign of insincerity, but all you find is honesty. and maybe a little desperation.

“i dunno if i can go back to the way things were,” you murmur.

atsumu nods. “then let’s make somethin’ new.”

he’s close now, closer than he’s ever been, and suddenly, you’re not just thinking about volleyball, about rivalry, about anything other than the fact that atsumu miya is looking at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“i mean it,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “i don’t want ya to just be the girl version of me. i want ya to be my girl.”

your heart stumbles in your chest, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re standing in his shadow. you feel like you’re standing beside him.

and this time, you let yourself smile.

atsumu had already confessed.

it had been awkward and kind of messy, because he’s atsumu and of course it was, but it was real. undeniable. a moment so big and sudden that it left you standing at a crossroads with no map, no clear direction except the weight of his words anchoring you to the present.

so you said yes.

not just to him, but to volleyball. to trying again.

except trying again means stepping back into a world that’s always seen you as someone else’s shadow. and no matter how much you want to believe that things will be different this time, it’s hard not to slip back into old habits.

“damn, ya even move like him.”

it’s a passing comment from a teammate, said with no real bite, but it still sticks. the way it always does. the way it always has.

you shake it off, try to ignore it, but the more you play, the more you notice it too. the way your hands twitch into the same mannerisms, the way you call plays with the same sharp confidence, the way your presence on the court starts to feel less like yours and more like his.

and maybe that wouldn’t bother you so much if you hadn’t fought so hard to be something else.

“what’s goin’ on with ya?” atsumu asks one day, watching as you linger in the gym long after practice has ended.

you don’t turn to face him. “nothin’.”

“bullshit.”

his footsteps echo against the polished floors, stopping just behind you. you know he’s waiting for you to talk, but you don’t know what to say, don’t know how to explain the creeping feeling of losing yourself all over again.

“i just…” you exhale, gripping the ball in your hands. “it’s stupid.”

“it’s not.”

he says it so easily, so confidently, like it’s a fact. and that alone makes something tighten in your chest.

“everyone still sees me as your copy,” you admit finally. “i don’t know how to play without fallin’ back into it.”

atsumu is quiet for a moment, and then, gently, he reaches out, fingers curling around your wrist, thumb brushing against your pulse.

“then stop tryin’ to be different from me,” he murmurs. “just play like you.”

your breath catches.

because you never thought of it that way before. you’d spent so much time trying to prove that you weren’t just another miya atsumu that you forgot to figure out who you actually were.

“easier said than done,” you mutter, but there’s no real bite to it.

he grins. “yeah, well, lucky for ya, i happen to be an expert at bein’ myself.”

it’s stupid. it’s so stupid. but it makes you laugh anyway, and when he leans in to steal a kiss, you let him, because for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re drowning in someone else’s reflection.

you feel like you.

playing like yourself, as it turns out, is just playing like him.

but that’s okay, you think. because this time, you’re not fighting against it—you’re making it your own.

and maybe that’s why, for the first time in inarizaki’s history, both the boys’ and girls’ teams qualify for spring high.

It happened fast. one practice game, then another, and suddenly, the tickets are in your hands, the realization sinking in. you’re going to spring high. and apparently, word has spread fast enough that university scouts are interested in watching you play.

but that’s a thought for another time.

because right now, you’re in a gym, tying your freshly bleached hair back into a ponytail, watching as atsumu scowls at you like you personally offended him.

“what?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

he gestures vaguely at your head. “yer tryin’ to steal my look.”

“please,” you scoff. “if anything, i pull it off better.”

“ya wish.”

“i know.”

before he can throw a comeback, osamu saunters over, phone in hand, suna right behind him.

“oi, oi,” suna muses, tilting his head as he looks between you and atsumu. “this is gettin’ kinda creepy.”

osamu hums, nodding. “y’know, we always joked about ya bein’ the girl version of ‘tsumu, but now? now yer just his clone.”

“take a picture,” suna says, already pulling his own phone out. “this moment deserves to be remembered.”

“yer both the worst,” atsumu grumbles, but he doesn’t move away, and neither do you.

because as much as you roll your eyes, as much as you pretend to be annoyed, there’s something warm about the way osamu adjusts the camera angle, about the way suna snickers under his breath before snapping the photo.

it’s a moment that feels like childhood and the future all at once—like proof that, no matter what happens, you’ll always have this. always have them.

spring high awaits, but for now, you let yourself enjoy this. let yourself smile as suna shoves the phone in your face, as atsumu ruffles your hair, as osamu mutters something about how he’ll use this to embarrass you both later.

it’s stupid. it’s so stupid.

but it’s yours.

spring high is everything you expected and nothing like you imagined.

the energy is electric, the anticipation thrumming under your skin as you step onto the court. it’s bigger than anything you’ve ever played in before, and yet, it doesn’t scare you. not this time.

maybe because you know you belong here. maybe because, when you glance at the boys' court in the other venue, you know he’s there too.

it’s funny. for so long, you hated being compared to atsumu. hated the way people called you his copy, his shadow. but now? now you don’t care. because you’re not his copy—you’re his equal.

but not everyone sees it that way.

on the way to the restroom before your next match, you overhear them—two university scouts talking in hushed voices.

“she plays just like miya atsumu,” one says, almost amused.

something tight coils in your chest, the words digging under your skin, itching like an old wound. but before you can turn away, the other scout hums thoughtfully.

“or maybe,” they say, “miya atsumu plays just like her.”

that gives you pause. because for the first time, it isn’t a comparison meant to diminish you. it’s a statement that acknowledges you—your skill, your presence, your worth.

and suddenly, the tension melts away, replaced with something lighter, something almost giddy.

you hold onto that feeling as you return to the court, and later, when you catch atsumu during a break between matches, you can’t help but tell him about it.

“guess what i heard?” you start, rocking back on your heels as he tilts his head at you.

“somethin’ dumb, probably,” he says, deadpan.

“nah,” you grin. “somethin’ real nice, actually.”

you pause for effect, then smirk. “some scouts said i play just like miya atsumu.”

he scoffs. “duh.”

“but,” you add, savoring the moment, “the other scout said maybe miya atsumu plays just like me.”

that makes him pause. his brows lift slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching up as he considers your words. then, after a beat, he huffs a laugh, reaching out to ruffle your hair.

“‘bout time someone got it right.”

when you step onto the court again, you play the way you always have—with precision, with instinct, with a fire that matches his in every way. you don’t have to fight against it anymore, don’t have to deny the way your movements sync up, the way your presence commands the game just like his does.

it’s a hard game. the best teams in the country are here for a reason. but you push through, setting perfect balls, making impossible saves, throwing yourself into every point like it’s the last one you’ll ever play.

and then you win. not the whole tournament—not yet—but the match, the one that guarantees you another game, another chance to keep going.

when you walk off the court, chest heaving, jersey damp with sweat, there’s someone waiting for you near the sidelines.

“ya looked good out there,” atsumu says, arms crossed, a stupid grin on his face.

“you too,” you reply, shoving his shoulder as you walk past.

but he catches your wrist, spinning you back around before you can go. there’s something in his eyes, something different. something you’re still getting used to.

“yer the real deal,” he says, softer this time. “not just ‘cause ya play like me. ‘cause ya play like you.”

your heart stumbles in your chest, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you in this massive stadium, the rest of the world fading away.

then he grins again, tugging you closer, voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “but i gotta admit, we do look good together.”

“oh my god,” you groan, yanking your wrist free. “don’t make me regret bleachin’ my hair.”

he laughs, easy and warm, and when you walk away, you don’t have to look back to know he’s still watching.

because this time, you’re not walking alone.

nevermind, spring high is chaos.

it’s sweat and exhaustion, adrenaline and pressure, the deafening sound of the crowd screaming for a win. it’s the last chance for third-years. it’s everything and nothing at once.

the boys’ team blazes through their matches, tearing down opponents like it’s their only purpose, and you do the same. for the first time in your life, you’re not just keeping up with atsumu—you’re standing beside him, in your own court, your own battlefield, chasing the same dream.

but dreams don’t always end the way you want them to.

it happens fast. the boys make it to the finals, just like everyone expected them to. but across the net is karasuno. an unpredictable team, a team that shouldn’t have even made it this far, a team that plays with something reckless and untamed in their veins.

it’s a war. point for point, neither side gives in. atsumu is sharper than ever, his sets perfect, his serves cutting through the air like a weapon. you winced when his set was a bit off then sighed when osamu reached it. but on the other side, there’s hinata. and kageyama. and something about them just doesn’t break.

and then, just like that, it’s over.

inarizaki loses.

for a moment, there’s only silence. then the reality crashes down, the weight of it pressing against their shoulders. suna looks pissed but resigned. osamu looks torn between frustration and acceptance. and atsumu—

atsumu is staring at the scoreboard, jaw clenched, hands in fists, like he’s trying to hold onto something that’s already slipping through his fingers.

you don’t say anything, don’t try to tell him it’s okay, because you know it isn’t. so instead, you wait until the crowd thins, until the interviews and formalities are over, until he’s finally sitting in the hallway outside the locker room, staring at the floor.

“it wasn’t enough,” he mutters when you sit beside him.

“it never is,” you say.

he laughs, but it’s hollow. “yer not gonna tell me we did great?”

“nah,” you lean back against the wall. “you wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

he exhales, sharp and tired, then turns his head to look at you. you meet his gaze, steady and knowing, because you’ve both lost before. you’ve both fought for something and had it slip through your fingers. you know what it feels like.

but you also know that this isn’t the end. not for him. not for you. not for any of you.

“yer up next,” he finally says, nodding towards the girls’ side of the tournament. “ya better win.”

“duh.”

and maybe that’s enough. for now.

because even in the aftermath of loss, there’s still the next game. still the next step. still the future waiting for both of you.

and you’ll be ready.

when you step onto the court for the semifinals, the crowd stirs. whispers ripple through the stands.

“number seven…? looks exactly like that number seven on the boys’ team.”

“they play the same too, don’t they?”

“no, she’s sharper, her feints are cleaner.”

“nah, atsumu’s serves are better.”

“but she’s fast. like—really fast.”

you hear it all. you always have. but this time, it doesn’t weigh as heavy. this time, when you glance towards the stands, atsumu’s sitting there with his arms crossed, a smirk on his face like he already knows you’re about to shut them all up.

and you do.

by the time the match is over, there’s no more comparisons. no more questions. you make sure of it.

you blaze through sets, direct plays with the precision only someone like you can manage. the semifinals are grueling, the longest, most exhausting game you’ve ever played. your body aches, your lungs burn, but you don’t stop—because this is your last year. your last chance. and you won’t let it slip away.

when the final whistle blows, you don’t even register it for a second. you’re staring at the scoreboard, at the impossible score, at the realization hitting you like a tidal wave.

inarizaki’s girls’ team made it to the finals.

before you know it, you’re being tackled, arms wrapping around you, voices screaming in your ears. your teammates are crying, laughing, shaking with disbelief. and when you finally glance towards the stands, atsumu is on his feet, cheering louder than anyone else.

“she’s good.”

“she’s atsumu’s twin.”

“nah,” the voice comes from a coach sitting close to the court, watching you with interest. “maybe atsumu is hers.”

when you hear it, your lips twitch into a smirk.

later that night, you tell atsumu, smugly, playfully. he groans, ruffling your hair even though it’s already messy from the match.

“shut up.”

“not my fault you got overshadowed.”

“yer my girlfriend, you should be nice to me.”

“i am nice. i let you sit next to me.”

he flicks your forehead, but his grin is unmistakable.

and maybe—just maybe—that’s the best part of all of this.

not the wins, not the competition, not even proving yourself.

but knowing that no matter what, you and atsumu will always be standing next to each other, pushing each other forward, even if the world only sees one shadow.

but the night after the boys' loss is quiet, too quiet. (maybe cause they got lectured after being praised)

even with the weight of victory on your shoulders, you can feel the air around you, heavy with disappointment. the inarizaki boys were supposed to go all the way, to take the championship, to cement their names in history. instead, they lost. and no matter how well they played, no matter how hard they fought, the sting of it is still fresh.

atsumu hasn’t said much. osamu is silent, suna is brooding, and the rest of the team is lost in their own thoughts. but even with all that, they still show up for you. still cheer for you. because you made it. because the girls' team, the brand-new, barely-established girls' team, is in the finals.

“yer gonna win,” atsumu says that night, his voice hoarse from shouting during your semifinals. he leans back against the wall in your hotel room, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “yer gonna bring back that trophy.”

“you sound so sure,” you murmur, stretching out your leg, wincing slightly.

his gaze flickers to you, narrowing. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing.”

it’s a lie. your knee has been screaming at you since the second set of the semifinals, but you didn’t say anything. didn’t let it show. you don’t have time to be injured. not now. not when you’re one game away from winning it all.

atsumu watches you for a second longer, then sighs, ruffling his hair. “don’t push too hard.”

“i always push too hard.”

he lets out a breath, something almost like a laugh. “yeah. i know.”

later that night, as the team settles in, as exhaustion weighs down on everyone, you stay awake. staring at the ceiling. feeling the dull ache in your knee, feeling the pressure settle on your chest. you think about everything that’s led you here, about the hours, the sacrifices, the moments of doubt and frustration.

and then you think about tomorrow.

one more game.

one more chance.

and no matter what, you’re going to take it.

the finals.

the first set is smooth, clean. you send a perfect toss to your wing spiker, and they score. your movements are fluid, precise,muscle memory carrying you through. you can feel the weight of every pair of eyes in the gym, hear the murmurs in the crowd.

“number seven…?” someone whispers the same phrase heard multiple times again. “looks exactly like that number seven on the boys’ team.”

atsumu’s name is everywhere, floating through the stands. comparisons, expectations, judgments.

second set, things start slipping. your sets are a little off, the timing just a fraction of a second late. you don’t miss, but you don’t feel right, either. the moment the ball leaves your hands, you can feel the weight of atsumu and osamu’s stares from the stands. especially atsumu’s.

third set. you send a toss too far, forcing your spiker to stretch for it. you grit your teeth. something is wrong.

you dump the fourth ball yourself, surprising the blockers, earning a point. but your team is still trailing by three.

fifth set. you go for a quick set to your middle blocker, jumping–-

pain. your knee gives out mid-air.

you don’t hit the floor hard, but the moment your knee buckles, the entire gym gasps. you wince, not in pain, but in frustration, in disgust. because you already know what comes next. you can already hear atsumu’s voice in your head, his inevitable lecture. he cares—he always does—but the competition is bigger than that. and you? you didn’t even last the first full game to three.

as the referee calls for a timeout and your coach rushes over, you swallow hard, forcing yourself to sit up. you don’t want to look at the stands, don’t want to see the expression on atsumu’s face. you already know what it’ll be.

but the game isn’t over yet.

and you sure as hell aren’t done.

“you’re done.”

atsumu’s voice is sharp, cutting through the noise of the gym like a blade. he stands (spawns??) in front of you, arms crossed so tightly his knuckles are white. there’s a fire in his eyes, something between anger and worry, something barely held back.

“no, i’m not.” your voice is steady, but your body betrays you. your knee screams when you try to straighten up, the weight of your stance unsteady, but you refuse to let it show. not to him.

“yer knee just gave out,” atsumu says, voice rising with frustration. “you can’t even stand properly, dumbass. ya think yer gonna play like that?”

“watch me.”

he scoffs, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. “yer so goddamn stubborn. do ya even hear yourself? ya wanna wreck yerself for this one game? ya wanna throw away everything ya worked for, all for what?”

“you wouldn’t back down.”

the words are like a slap. atsumu flinches. his mouth opens, but nothing comes out. for once, he has nothing to say.

so you press on. “if it were you, you’d keep playing. you wouldn’t give up just because of some stupid knee pain.”

his hands curl into fists at his sides. “yeah, maybe i would. but that ain’t the point.”

“then what is?” you snap, stepping closer. “you don’t get to lecture me about pushing myself when you’ve done the exact same thing! you don’t get to stand there and tell me to stop when you never have!”

his jaw clenches. “it’s different.”

“how?!”

his voice finally cracks. “because i ain’t watchin’ someone i care about destroy themselves in front of me!”

the words hang in the air, heavy, suffocating. your breath catches in your throat.

the gym is too loud, the echoes of sneakers squeaking against the floor, the sound of the crowd buzzing in your ears. and yet, all you hear is him.

you swallow hard. “i’m playing.”

atsumu exhales sharply, shaking his head, something like defeat flickering across his face. “yer impossible.”

“and you talk too much.”

he lets out a dry laugh, bitter and frustrated, but he doesn’t stop you. he just mutters, “fine. go. see how far ya get.”

so you do.

the deuce drags on. and on. and on.

34-34. then 35-34. then 35-35.

you can hear the announcers losing their minds. you can hear the crowd buzzing, the tension so thick it makes the air feel heavy. no one is backing down. no one is letting up.

every muscle in your body screams. your legs are barely holding up. every time you land, the pain ricochets up your knee like a gunshot, but you bite down hard on the inside of your cheek and keep going. keep setting. keep pushing.

38-38. then 39-38.

one more point.

one more chance to finish this.

your hands tremble as you wipe your palms on your jersey, blinking back the tears blurring your vision. not from emotion, not from frustration—from pure, unbearable agony. you can’t feel your legs anymore. your arms are heavy, your body is screaming, but you refuse to stop. you refuse to let it end here.

atsumu’s voice echoes in your head.

“ya wanna ruin yourself for one game?”

“yer impossible.”

you take in a shaky breath, shaking his voice out of your mind. you have to focus.

the next serve flies over the net like a bullet. your libero gets under it, barely keeping it up. you sprint forward, nearly stumbling, fingers reaching for the ball—

you set.

perfect.

your spiker jumps, swinging, hitting clean, sending the ball crashing into the court on the other side.

40-38.

match point.

but you don’t get to celebrate.

because the moment the ball hits the ground, the moment the whistle blows, your legs give out.

you collapse.

the world tilts, your vision spinning, the sounds around you muffled and distant. you barely register the hands grabbing at you, the voices shouting your name. all you can feel is the burning in your lungs, the numbness in your legs, the tears slipping down your cheeks, unchecked, unstoppable.

you don’t know if you won. you don’t know if you lost.

all you know is that it’s over.

[thehighpriestess1]

Make a wish : Secret spilled

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

Genre: Angst, fluff

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

word count : 20k+

Ask box | Previous chapter | fic masterlist | Other works

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

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

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

Shoko and Geto exchanged a look.

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

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

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

“Shoko—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then one day, you broke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geto looked at him, expression dark, unreadable.

Then—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please, please believe me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What if it’s true?

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

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

And what if this was his punishment?

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

Gojo’s story made no sense. None.

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

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

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

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

The thought made his stomach twist.

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

But he needed proof.

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

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

Buzz.

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

A notification from a news alert.

Her breath hitched as she read the words.

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

Shoko’s blood ran cold.

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

It couldn’t be real.

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

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

No. No. No.

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

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

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

“Gojo!”

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

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

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

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

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

It was exhausting. Guilt.

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

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

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

Shoko nodded stiffly.

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

Gojo exhaled, leaning back against the couch.

“You won’t like it,” he warned.

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

And so, he did.

This time, neither of them doubted him.

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

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

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

Gojo finally broke the silence.

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

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

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

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

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

Shoko inhaled sharply, her chest tightening.

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

Shoko flinched at the raw anguish in his voice.

“She left?” she asked hesitantly.

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

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

Shoko frowned. “What?”

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

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

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

Shoko took a slow step back.

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

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

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

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

Shoko felt something bitter rise in her throat.

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

Gojo let out a slow, shaky breath.

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

Shoko felt sick.

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

Gojo swallowed. “I want a second chance.”

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

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

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

The silence stretched on.

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

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

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

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

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

“Because she is here”.

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

“Yes”.

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

“30..30 million”. 

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

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

Geto smirked, “Of course you didn’t”.

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

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

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

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

Nanami: Coffee before work?

A small smile made its way to your lips.

y/n: Yes :)

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

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

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

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

Maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Inside the car, Gojo saw everything.

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

Since when?

How long has this been going on?

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

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

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

But you weren’t waiting anymore.

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

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

You used to laugh like that with him.

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

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

And worst of all?

He had no one to blame but himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded along, unsure of what to say. It wasn’t like you had forced Nanami to get coffee. But before you could come up with a defense, Hitoshi leaned in, eyes sharp.

“So how did you convince him?”

You hesitated. Should you tell them the truth? That Nanami had asked you? Maybe a little white lie would be better—

Too late.

Maya’s eyes widened as the realization hit her. “Oh my god. He asked you.”

Hitoshi and Suzume exchanged wide-eyed looks. You opened your mouth to protest, but no words came out.

“Yes, he did,” you finally admitted, exhaling. “But it was just work talk.”

“Work talk happens at work,” Suzume pointed out, leaning forward. “This wasn’t just work talk. I—we swear we won’t tell anyone, but you have to tell us everything!”

“There’s nothing to tell,” you insisted. “Really. We just meet for coffee before work… sometimes.”

“How many times?” Maya asked, eyes narrowing.

“T-Three times. Only.”

“Thrice?” Maya threw her hands in the air dramatically. “We work five days a week, and you’ve had coffee with him three out of those five days?!”

Put that way, it suddenly didn’t sound so innocent. But you weren’t sure what it was, either.

“I get it, okay? But there’s nothing going on,” you repeated, feeling heat rise to your face. “Now, can I please get back to work?”

Your three interrogators groaned but begrudgingly stood up, tossing exaggerated eye rolls and scoffs your way as they exited.

You let out a breath, shaking your head as you turned to your desk.

The thought of something more with Nanami didn’t scare you. You didn’t get butterflies around him, but you felt happy. At peace.

And that, in itself, was something.

The community centre project had quickly become more than just another assignment—it was personal. This wasn’t just about your career or proving yourself; it was about creating something meaningful for the people who needed it most. You poured yourself into every aspect of the marketing plan, obsessing over the details to ensure its success. You wanted people to see the centre the way you did—to understand its potential, to feel excited about what it could offer.

That’s why the idea of the viewing event had come to you. If the elders and children could physically see a miniature model of the centre—each room, the football field, the library, the recreational areas—it would make the vision real to them. It wasn’t just about presenting facts; it was about helping them imagine themselves there, making memories, building a community.

But there was a problem. The scale you envisioned for this event was far beyond what the budget allowed. The logistics, the setup, the presentation—it all required resources you simply didn’t have. And that left you with a dilemma.

You hesitated to bring it up to Nanami. He was always rational, level-headed—he would assess it logically, not emotionally. If he rejected the idea outright, if he told you it wasn’t feasible, you weren’t sure how you’d handle it. Would it feel like a failure? Or worse—would it make you question everything you had worked for? 

The air in the conference room was thick with tension, but you forced yourself to focus. You had poured everything into this proposal, perfecting every detail, knowing exactly how much it could mean for the community. You had spent sleepless nights envisioning the event, picturing the joy on the elders' faces as they saw the reading rooms, the excitement in the children’s eyes as they imagined playing on the football field.

Nanami sat across from you, composed as ever, his expression unreadable. Gojo, on the other hand, was watching you with unsettling intensity. No blindfold. No cocky grin. Just those sharp blue eyes, studying you as if he could see right through you.

You hated that he was here. Hated that he was in charge now.

Taking a deep breath, you began your pitch. “This event isn’t just about unveiling the project. It’s about making people feel like they already belong in that space. If they can imagine themselves walking through the halls, sitting in the library, watching their kids play—it won’t just be a building to them. It’ll be theirs.”

You stole a glance at Nanami, hoping to see some sign of approval, but his expression remained unchanged. “While I understand your passion for this,” he said, tone firm but measured, “we have to be realistic. The budget is already stretched, and this event—while well-intentioned—isn’t necessary.”

Not necessary.

The words landed like a slap. You had been prepared for pushback, but hearing Nanami dismiss it so easily hurt. You admired him, respected him. But right now, it felt like he was telling you that all your effort, all your ideas, didn’t matter.

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could, Gojo leaned forward.

“Nanami,” he said, his voice smooth but authoritative, “you’re not seeing the bigger picture.” His gaze flickered to you, and your stomach twisted. “This isn’t just about the logistics. It’s about momentum. You don’t get real engagement from people by throwing a few flyers at them. You get it by making them feel something.”

Your breath caught slightly. That was exactly what you had been trying to say.

Gojo turned his full attention to you now, and for the first time, he wasn’t teasing, wasn’t smug. He was serious.

“The way you described it,” he continued, voice softer, almost thoughtful, “I could see it. The way the kids would run to the football field. The way the elders would sit in the reading corner, finally having a space that feels like home. It’s not just a concept to you. It’s real. You’re not just selling an idea—you’re inviting them in.”

Your heart fluttered.

It was ridiculous. It was Gojo. You didn’t want his validation. You didn’t want to feel this strange, warm twist in your chest just because he—of all people—understood you.

And yet… this was a side of him you hadn’t seen before. A side that actually listened.

You clenched your hands beneath the table, grounding yourself. No. You couldn’t let yourself forget who he was. Gojo was arrogant. Manipulative. The kind of man who played with people like pieces on a chessboard.

So why did he sound so genuine right now?

You shook the thought away as Nanami exhaled sharply, clearly frustrated. “And how do you suggest we handle the cost, Gojo?”

Gojo smirked slightly, but his gaze remained steady. “I’ll fund it.”

You stiffened. “What?”

Gojo turned back to you, expression softening in a way that made you hate the way your breath hitched. “I believe in your idea.” His voice was lower now, quieter, like it was meant just for you. “And if funding is the only problem, consider it handled.”

Your chest tightened. This was the last thing you wanted—to owe him anything. You had spent months avoiding Gojo, keeping your distance, but now he was the only one fighting for your idea.

“I—” You hesitated, battling the war inside you. You should say no. You should push back, tell him you didn’t need his help.

But the thought of your proposal being discarded, of all your work being wasted, was unbearable.

“Don’t stress about the clearances either,” Gojo added, his voice smooth and assured. “I’ll take care of those.”

Nanami let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But keep it within reason.”

Relief flooded you, but it was quickly overshadowed by something else—an uncomfortable awareness of the man sitting across from you.

Gojo was still watching you, his expression unreadable, his lips curving just slightly, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

You stood abruptly, gathering your papers, needing to put space between you and whatever this was.

“I’ll get started.”

You turned to leave, but before you reached the door, Gojo’s voice followed you.

“You’re welcome.”

You didn’t look back.

Because if you did, you might have to acknowledge the way your pulse had quickened—and the terrifying realization that, for the first time, you weren’t sure if you hated him for this.

You had barely made it back to your desk, heart still pounding from that infuriating meeting, when your phone buzzed.

Nanami Kento – Office. Now.

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. You didn’t need this right now. You needed a minute to breathe, to process, to forget the way Gojo’s words had stirred something unfamiliar in your chest.

Still, you pushed yourself up and made your way to Nanami’s office, your pulse steady but your frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

When you entered, Nanami was standing behind his desk, arms crossed, his gaze unreadable. The door clicked shut behind you.

"Sit."

You hesitated but complied, folding your arms across your chest. “What now?”

Nanami exhaled slowly, like he was trying to contain his frustration. “I need to know if you’re absolutely certain about this event.”

Your patience snapped. “I wouldn’t have pitched it if I wasn’t, Nanami.”

His brow furrowed, but his voice remained measured. “I’m not just talking about your passion for it. I mean, have you really evaluated the risks? The logistics? The long-term impact? This isn’t just about getting people excited—it’s about whether this event is actually worth the cost.”

You leaned forward, your voice sharp. “I’ve done the background work. I’ve looked at every angle, every possibility, every outcome. I know what I’m doing, Nanami.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “I’m not saying you haven’t put in the effort. But throwing money at an idea without proper validation—”

“Proper validation?” You scoffed, shaking your head. “You think I’d bring half-baked ideas to the table? You think I didn’t think this through?”

Nanami’s jaw tightened. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?” Your voice wavered slightly, frustration morphing into something more vulnerable. “Because it sure as hell feels like you don’t trust my judgment.”

Silence.

Nanami exhaled, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He looked at you then—really looked at you. The way your eyes shone with unshaken determination, the way your shoulders were squared, unrelenting. You were so certain about this, so damn sure of yourself, and he should’ve been proud.

But all he could think about was him.

Gojo had taken one look at your proposal and, without hesitation, decided to make it happen. No back and forth, no weighing options—just effortless power, effortless money. Gojo could give you what he couldn’t, and that truth sat like lead in his chest.

But he couldn’t say that.

He wouldn’t say that.

Instead, he settled for the one thing he could justify. “I just think you should step back and look at this from all angles. We should evaluate it properly before jumping in.”

Your hands clenched. “I did evaluate it, Nanami. I wouldn’t have come to you if I hadn’t.”

He held his ground. “There’s more to this than just feasibility. There’s strategy, long-term vision. If we put this money into the wrong thing—”

“It’s not the wrong thing!”

Your voice cracked, and for the first time, real hurt bled into your expression.

“I worked on this for weeks, Nanami,” you said, quieter now. “I thought you, of all people, would understand why this mattered. I thought you'd believe in me.”

His throat tightened.

He did believe in you. That was never the problem.

But it was too late to say that now.

You scoffed softly, shaking your head. “Guess I should’ve expected this.”

The words stung more than they should have.

You turned abruptly, striding toward the door, and before he could find the words to stop you, you were gone—storming out of his office and leaving him in the silence of everything unsaid.

You couldn’t believe that Nanami didn’t believe in you. He always believed in you.

You sat on the worn wooden bench in the small garden near the parking lot, gripping the paper cup of green tea with both hands as if its warmth could steady the storm raging inside you. Your argument with Nanami replayed in your mind, each word gnawing at you.

Were you being too selfish? Was Nanami right? Did you just sell your idea to Gojo because it was the easier thing to do?

You took a slow sip, trying to swallow down your doubts, but they clung to you, refusing to dissipate.

“Are you okay?”

The deep yet familiar voice pulled you from your thoughts. You turned around, ready to answer, but the words lodged in your throat the moment your gaze met his.

Gojo stood there, a bento box in hand, his sharp blue eyes locked onto you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. The sunlight caught in his white hair, softening his features, but you knew better than to let it fool you.

Damn him.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, voice steady despite the way your pulse quickened.

“I eat my lunch here,” he said simply, as if that explained anything.

“Why here?”

Gojo shrugged, settling onto the opposite end of the bench. “I like the sun.” He opened his bento box, pulling out a pair of chopsticks before glancing sideways at you. “What about you?”

You exhaled, watching him cautiously. This was the first time you were alone with him in years. And somehow, the space between you felt suffocating—thick with everything left unsaid.

The memories came uninvited. The way his fingers once traced lazy circles on your bare skin. The way his lips felt when he whispered your name like a prayer. The way he used to make you feel like you were the only thing that mattered.

And yet, you weren’t.

Now, all you could do was sit there and watch him eat, his expression unreadable, while your own heart threatened to tear itself apart. Why did you hurt me? Why couldn’t you just love me? Why was I not enough?

Gojo felt the weight of your silence. He could feel the heat of your presence, the way your every breath unsettled him. It took everything in him not to close the distance between you, not to reach out and brush his fingers against yours. But his control was hanging by a thread.

The way you sat there—legs crossed, throat bobbing as you sipped your tea, the curve of your mouth just barely upturned in a frown—sent something dangerous curling in his stomach. He hated this distance between you.

Hated how he wasn’t allowed to touch you anymore.

I will make it up to you. I will show you that all I need is you. I will love you the way you want to be loved.

A single tear escaped the corner of your eye, but you caught it quickly, turning away before he could see.

“I just needed some air,” you murmured.

Gojo swallowed a bite of his food. “Are you upset about what Nanami said?”

“Yes,” you admitted, though that wasn’t the full truth.

Gojo hummed, setting his chopsticks down. “Why? People will question your ideas. You need to defend your ground and find someone who believes in you. It’s not that complicated.”

You stared at your tea, the warmth now forgotten. Find someone who believes in you? You had—once. And then he broke you.

You should’ve left. You should have walked away. But somehow, your body refused to move, as if something invisible tied you to him.

Gojo shifted slightly, his knee brushing against yours.

You sucked in a sharp breath, cursing the way the slightest touch of him still sent a shiver up your spine. Your body still remembered him, no matter how much your heart told you to forget.

He didn’t move away. Instead, he leaned in just a fraction, his breath warm against your skin as he spoke. “Why aren’t you eating?”

You forced yourself to focus, blinking away the heat curling low in your stomach. “I’m not hungry.”

Gojo chuckled, extending his bento box toward you. “Have some strawberries. They’re in season.”

You stared at the neatly arranged fruit, then at his hand—those long fingers, the same ones that had once traced promises along your spine, the same ones that had held you.

Your throat felt dry. “No, thank you, Mr. Gojo,” you said coolly.

His eyes darkened slightly, but he simply pulled back, taking a slow bite of one himself. The way his lips wrapped around the fruit made your stomach clench. He chewed thoughtfully before speaking again, voice low and deliberate.

“Suit yourself.” He licked the juice off his thumb before tilting his head to look at you. “Just know that strawberries don’t deserve your hate. Someone else does, but not them.”

Your breath hitched.

The way he was looking at you—it wasn’t playful, it wasn’t teasing. It was dangerous.

And damn you, because for a moment, you wanted to cross that distance.

You stood abruptly, forcing your expression into something impassive. “I’ll take my leave, Mr. Gojo. Enjoy your lunch.”

Gojo leaned back against the bench, watching you go. His lips curled, but it wasn’t quite a smirk—it was something softer, something almost hungry.

“Ms.L/n”. Gojo called out, stopping you in your tracks. Ms.L/n felt unfamiliar on his tongue. You were Mrs.Gojo. But that can be taken care of later.

“Yes?”. You turned slowly.

“Eat something. You look like you have iron deficiency”.

You were too stunned to speak. Did he know? He couldn’t have known.

“Bye-bye,” he said, voice rich and deep.

“Bye”. You whispered and left.

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure if you hated him for staying or for letting you walk away.

Suzume, Maya, Juno, and Hitoshi stared blankly as Nanami joined them for lunch, surprised by his rare appearance.

“Afternoon, everyone.”

A moment of hesitation passed before they all bowed politely, acknowledging him.

“It is so cool of you to join us, Nanami-san!” Hitoshi exclaimed with enthusiasm.

Nanami let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. He rarely ate with the team—not because he didn’t want to, but because he had always drawn a firm line between himself and his subordinates. He had his principles. He believed that distance was necessary. But today…

Today was different.

He was here for one reason. You.

Ever since your argument in his office, his mind had been an absolute mess. He had hurt you—not once, but twice. And for what? His own stubbornness? His own inability to deal with the fact that Gojo Satoru could swoop in and hand you the world on a silver platter while he could only offer cautious reasoning?

He had been unable to focus on anything since.

Coming here had been his weak attempt to make it up to you. He had hoped—perhaps foolishly—that he would find you sitting with the others. That he could sit across from you, maybe ask how you were doing, maybe… apologize, even if he didn’t know how.

But to his disappointment, you weren’t there.

Suppressing the frustration bubbling inside him, he cleared his throat. “How has work been?”

The responses came quick, casual.

“Good.” “Alright.” “No complaints.”

Nanami nodded, though his mind was still elsewhere. He glanced around the cafeteria once more, but there was no sign of you.

Trying to distract himself, he asked, “How are you all adjusting to the… new firm?” He kept his tone even, but a slight bitterness seeped into his voice despite himself.

Domain Dynamics. Gojo’s firm. The company that had absorbed Golden Ratio, that had claimed everything he had worked so hard to build. That had claimed you.

“Not too bad,” Hitoshi replied with a casual shrug.

“Some of them are actually quite cool,” Maya added.

Nanami arched a brow. “Oh really? Like who?”

“Miwa is really nice,” Maya said thoughtfully.

Hitoshi snorted. “She’s just saying that because they both have blue hair.”

That earned a round of laughter, even from Nanami.

“That has nothing to do with it!” Maya defended herself. “She’s really cool and sweet.”

Nanami turned his attention to Suzume. “What about you?”

Suzume blushed slightly at being singled out. “I’ve mostly interacted with Mr. Gojo… and I think he’s very cool.”

Nanami’s grip on his chopsticks tightened.

He forced his expression to remain neutral. “Why… is he so cool?” He kept his tone light, almost teasing, though deep inside, he already knew the answer would irritate him.

Suzume tilted her head thoughtfully. “He’s quick to make decisions, and he’s very kind. Once, he brought smoothies and pastries for the entire admin department to thank us for our help during the merger.”

Of course he did.

Nanami clenched his jaw as an unsettling weight settled in his chest. Gojo wasn’t just good at winning people over—he was effortless at it.

Nanami had spent years proving himself with diligence, logic, and hard work. Gojo, on the other hand, barely had to lift a finger to make people adore him.

“I see,” Nanami said, his voice a little too stiff, his smile too forced.

He had lost his appetite.

“I will take my leave now.” He picked up his tray of half-eaten food and stood up.

He was about to place his tray on the conveyor when Hitoshi suddenly jogged up to him.

“What’s wrong, Hitoshi?” Nanami asked.

Hitoshi stuffed his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Y/N is in the garden.”

Nanami stiffened.

He furrowed his brows. “I didn’t ask.”

“I know.” Hitoshi’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Just thought you should know.”

Nanami didn’t respond. He simply placed his tray down and walked away.

But he was already heading toward the garden.

As Nanami stepped into the open courtyard, the fresh air did little to clear the storm brewing inside him. His eyes immediately scanned the area, searching for you.

And then—he found you.

His footsteps faltered.

You were sitting on a wooden bench, a cup of tea in your hands, your posture tense yet unmoving.

And beside you—far too close for Nanami’s liking—sat Gojo.

Nanami stopped in his tracks, staying in the shadows, just out of sight.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably as he took in the scene before him.

Gojo was leaning slightly toward you, his bento box in hand, his expression unreadable. His sleeves were rolled up, his hair slightly tousled. Those piercing blue eyes, focused entirely on you.

Nanami’s jaw clenched as Gojo extended his bento box toward you.

Don’t take it.

He felt a bitterness rise in his chest. Don’t take it. Don’t let him win.

For a moment, you hesitated. Nanami could see the way your fingers fidgeted, the way your lips pressed together in thought.

Gojo, ever patient, held the box a second longer, watching you with an amused expression, as if he already knew you were going to give in.

Nanami held his breath.

Then—finally—you shook your head. “No thank you, Mr. Gojo.”

Nanami exhaled. He hadn’t even realized he had been holding his breath. A small, almost ridiculous sense of relief washed over him.

But then Gojo simply chuckled, pulling the box back. “Suit yourself.” He rested his cheek against his palm, smiling lazily. “Just know that strawberries don’t deserve your hate. Someone else does, but not them.”

You let out a small laugh, and Nanami’s stomach twisted all over again.

Gojo was teasing you.

And worse—you were responding to it.

Nanami’s grip on his tie tightened.

You were supposed to hate Gojo. You were supposed to stay away from him.

But here you were—sitting with him, talking to him, laughing with him.

For the first time, Nanami realized the extent of Gojo’s pull.

It wasn’t just about money. Or power. Or reputation.

Gojo had a way of getting into people’s heads.

And now… he was getting into yours.

Nanami clenched his fists.

This wasn’t just frustration.

This was jealousy.

And the worst part?

Gojo didn’t even have to try.

Nanami had never felt this way. Ever.

But seeing you on that bench with Gojo, watching him lean in just a little too close, his voice dropping into something only you could hear—it made something raw and primal twist inside him.

It made him want to march over there, grab Gojo by the collar, and remind him—with his fists—that there were some things money couldn’t buy.

He rubbed his face with his palm and took a deep breath, willing the jealousy away. Gojo can buy everything under the sun, but he can’t buy you.

At least, that’s what Nanami hoped. Prayed.

Your affection, your time, even your anger—they should be reserved for people who care. Not for people like Gojo Satoru, who could give you the world just because it amused him to do so.

Nanami sat at his desk, exhaling sharply as he picked up his phone.

His fingers hovered over the screen, typing out a long, carefully constructed apology—then he deleted it.

He typed something shorter. Then erased that too.

He didn’t know how to talk to you.

And it was driving him insane.

Just the mere thought that he had hurt you was unbearable.

A soft knock on his door snapped him out of his frenzied state, and he groaned inwardly. Great. Another issue to handle—one that would be far less important than what was truly consuming his mind.

“Come in,” he said, voice flat.

The moment you stepped through the door, his breath hitched.

He stood up immediately. “Y/N.”

You shifted on your feet, not quite meeting his eyes. “Nanami-san, I… wanted to apologize for how I stormed out earlier.” Your voice was softer than usual, almost hesitant. You pressed your lips together, the tension evident in your posture. “It was childish and unprofessional of me.”

Nanami let out a slow breath, his shoulders easing. You’re apologizing?

He didn’t deserve it.

He walked around his desk, closing the distance between you. His hand twitched at his side, hesitating—don’t touch her—but then…

The image of you smiling at Gojo’s jokes flashed in his mind.

And suddenly, caution no longer mattered.

Nanami reached out, taking both of your hands in his, his grip firm, warm—possessive.

Your pulse quickened.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” he said, his voice lower now, rougher. His thumbs brushed over the back of your hands, slow and deliberate. “I should not have dismissed your idea so blatantly. It was… unkind of me. I’m sorry, Y/N. Please forgive me.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed.

“It’s fine,” you managed, though your voice was unsteady. His hands felt too good around yours, the warmth of his skin sending a shiver down your spine. “I understand where you were coming from. I shouldn’t have rushed it.”

Nanami exhaled, a small, genuine smile gracing his lips.

“Thank you for understanding.”

Of course you would. You were smart. Sensible. Rational.

You weren’t his, but standing this close to you, feeling the way your hands fit so perfectly in his… for a moment, it almost felt like you were.

And then he realized—he didn’t want to let go.

The tension stretched, thick, crackling in the air between you.

Nanami’s gaze flickered to your lips. Slightly parted. Soft. Inviting.

He wasn’t supposed to want this.

Not here.

Not now.

Not with Gojo still lingering in the background, stealing the moments that should have been his.

His jaw clenched.

His grip on you tightened, his fingers curling around your wrist, like he could anchor you to him.

He wanted to make you forget.

And then—

Your breath hitched as Nanami dipped his head lower, his lips ghosting over yours. Hesitant. Testing the line between restraint and surrender.

“Nanami—”

You barely had a chance to whisper his name before he erased the space between you.

The kiss was slow, deliberate—yet devastatingly deep.

A quiet gasp left your lips as he pressed closer, the warmth of his body radiating through his shirt. His hands slid up, one cupping the side of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair, keeping you right there.

You should have pulled away.

But you didn’t.

You leaned in, hands fisting his shirt, body arching toward him as if the space between you was too much to bear.

Nanami groaned softly against your mouth, the sound low and needy.

And then—

A knock at the door.

Both of you froze.

Your breath was ragged, lips still so close that you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin.

But reality crashed in hard.

Your eyes widened as you stumbled back, your hand covering your lips, as if you could erase what had just happened.

Nanami’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his jaw tightening, his hands clenched into fists to stop himself from pulling you right back in.

The knock came again.

You took another step back.

“I—I have to go,” you whispered, your voice shaking.

Nanami didn’t stop you.

Didn’t want to stop you.

Because if you stayed a second longer, he wasn’t sure he’d have the willpower to let you go again.

You had managed to avoid both Nanami and Gojo for the rest of the day. It hadn’t been easy.

Nanami had tried to catch your gaze during the last meeting, his brows slightly furrowed, his usual stoic expression tinged with something else—something softer. You had kept your head down, pretending to take notes, refusing to let yourself look at him.

Gojo had been harder to escape.

You could feel his eyes on you, following you like a shadow. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to stop you. But every time you turned a corner, every time you walked into a room, there was a flicker of white hair in the distance, a presence that made your breath hitch in your throat.

By the time you made it home, exhaustion had seeped into your bones. You had barely taken off your shoes before collapsing onto your bed, your body sinking into the mattress as if it had been waiting for this moment all day.

And yet—

Sleep refused to come.

You tossed and turned, shifting between the cool and warm sides of the pillow, but nothing helped. Your mind was still back in that office, in the lingering heat of Nanami’s lips against yours, in the deep blue of Gojo’s stare as he watched you leave.

You kissed Nanami.

And you liked it.

But why did it feel like something was missing?

You groaned and rolled onto your side, staring at the dim glow of your bedside lamp.

Tomorrow was the weekend. At least you wouldn’t have to see either of them.

At least you would have time to think.

Because the truth was terrifying—

You weren’t sure if you liked Nanami because of who he was or because he wasn’t Gojo.

And you weren’t sure if you hated Gojo because of everything he had done—

Or because of something you weren’t ready to confront yet.

The night air was crisp against your skin as you stepped out of your apartment, the city buzzing softly around you. You hadn’t planned this. You hadn’t planned anything. But sitting in bed, drowning in your own thoughts, had felt unbearable.

So you decided to drown them in something else instead.

The local pub wasn’t particularly fancy, nor was it the type of place you usually went to. But it was quiet enough, dimly lit, and filled with people who didn’t know you. That was all you needed.

You slid onto a barstool, ordering something strong and burning, the kind of drink that numbed your lips before it reached your stomach.

One glass turned into two.

Two into three.

By the fourth, your mind had finally quieted.

“Drinking alone?” A smooth voice pulled you from your haze.

You turned, blinking at the woman who had taken the seat next to you. Dark brown hair, cigarette between her fingers, and a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

“Yeah,” you admitted, tilting your empty glass towards her. “Looks like you are too.”

She shrugged, taking a slow drag from her cigarette. “Bad day.”

“Same,” you sighed. “Terrible, actually.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Wanna talk about it?”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “I kissed my boss.”

The woman snorted. “That bad, huh?”

“I don’t know why I did it,” you groaned, pressing your forehead against the bar. “Well, I do know. He’s stupidly attractive. And kind. And so different from…” You trailed off, gripping your glass a little tighter.

Shoko hummed, swirling her drink. “Different from who?”

You ignored her question and let out a drunken sigh. “But you have to understand,” you slurred, “Nanami is gorgeous. Like, unfairly handsome.”

Shoko smirked, taking a slow sip. “Oh?”

You nodded eagerly, propping your elbows on the counter, leaning in as if confessing a deep secret. “He’s tall—like, big enough to just—ugh.” You groaned, dramatically resting your head on your arms. “And his voice? So deep. And don’t even get me started on his hands, I mean, they’re so—”

Shoko lifted a brow. “So?”

You let out a dreamy sigh, waving your hand dismissively. “Strong. Capable. The kind of hands that could ruin you in the best way possible.”

Shoko stifled a laugh. “Sounds like you had a good time.”

You groaned, sitting up. “I wish. But no. It was just a kiss. A very, very heated kiss.” You pressed your fingers against your lips, as if still feeling the remnants of Nanami’s touch.

Shoko exhaled smoke, amused. “Under what circumstances did this very, very heated kiss happen?”

You groaned again, hiding your face behind your hands. “Ughhh, it was so bad. I stormed into his office to apologize for snapping at him earlier, and then he was all ‘I should be the one apologizing’ and holding my hands, looking at me—” You huffed dramatically, throwing your hands up. “Next thing I knew, I was pinned against his desk, and we were kissing.”

Shoko let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“I know,” you wailed, knocking back another sip of your drink. “And now, I don’t even know if I like him for real or if I just—just—” You waved your hands vaguely, frustrated. “If I just want to forget someone else.”

Shoko gave you a long, knowing look before taking a drag from her cigarette.

“Well,” she mused, exhaling smoke, “if it makes you feel any better, I’m drinking because my best friend just told me that he came back from the future just to make a girl fall in love with him.”

You blinked.

And then you lost it.

A loud, tipsy giggle bubbled from your lips, turning into uncontrollable laughter.

“Wha—what?” You wheezed between giggles, clutching your stomach. “That’s insane. That’s so much worse than my problem.”

Shoko smirked, clearly amused by your drunken state. “Tell me about it.”

You wiped at your eyes, still giggling. “Who even does that?”

“Apparently, he does.” She sighed, taking another sip. “Idiot.”

You extended your hand suddenly, still grinning. “I like you. What’s your name?”

She eyed you for a moment before shaking your hand.

“Shoko.”

“Nice to meet you, Shoko,” you slurred. “I’m Y/N.”

Shoko’s fingers twitched around yours.

Her smirk faltered.

Her eyes darkened with realization.

Because this was the Y/N Gojo had been talking about.

A wave of Panic settled over her. There was no going back now. “How about some more shots?”. She cheerfully raised her glass and to her relief you agreed.

After the 4th shot, Shoko was convinced that you were hammered out of your mind, but sadly she was too. She couldn’t leave you here all alone because firstly you were a drunk woman in the middle of the night and secondly Gojo would kill her. So she excused herself and stepped out of the bar,

Wrapping her coat around herself with one hand she dialled Gojo with the other, “Pick up pick up!”.

“Hello”. Gojo’s voice seemed tired on the other end.

“I need help”.

“What happened?!”. He asked worried.

“I need y/n’s address”.

“Shoko…why do you need her address?”.

Shoko took a deep breath wondering how to explain this, “I ran into her at this bar and-”

“And what?!”. 

Shoko could hear drawers opening knowing that Gojo would be on his way here now. “I told her about your time travel thing and then I panicked and got her drunk and now she is too drunk and I don’t want to leave her alone so please send me her address so I can drop her. I feel terrible!”. She spoke in a single breath.

“Stay right there! Keep an eye on her! I am coming! Send me your location now!”. Gojo replied, his voice laced with anger and worry.

Shoko pulled the phone away from her ear for a second, cursing under her breath. She snuck a glance back at you.

You were slumped against the bar, head resting on your folded arms, giggling to yourself over some incoherent thought. The bartender had already stopped serving you, looking increasingly concerned.

Shoko exhaled sharply. “I’m at the Lantern Lounge. Sending you the pin nooooowwwww.”

Shoko let out a breath of relief when she saw the blur of white hair pushing through the crowd. Gojo was impossible to miss—towering, commanding, and radiating pure, pissed-off energy.

“Over here!” She waved him down, stepping aside as he approached.

Gojo barely spared her a glance. His eyes locked onto you.

You were still seated at the bar, your cheek resting on your palm, lazily twirling the straw in your untouched water.

Gojo clenched his jaw. “How bad is it?”

Shoko sighed. “Bad. But not catastrophic. She laughed at me when I said it.”

Gojo let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “So she doesn’t believe it.”

Shoko hesitated. “Not yet.”

That was enough to make his stomach drop.

He turned to her. “Why the hell did you let her drink this much?”

Shoko rolled her eyes. “She was already half-drunk when I found her. I just made sure she didn’t die.”

Gojo ran a hand through his hair, muttering a curse. Then, without another word, he strode toward you.

Shoko watched as he approached, something tight twisting in her chest. She had known Gojo for years, but this… this was different.

The way his face softened when he reached out—

The way his hand hovered over your shoulder, unsure whether to wake you gently or just pick you up—

The way his lips parted, as if he wanted to say your name but couldn’t—

Shoko had seen Gojo Satoru in many forms. Arrogant. Unstoppable. Infuriating.

But this?

This was a man in love.

And if you remembered even a fraction of what she had said tonight…

Everything was about to change.

“We need to drop her home. Geto is in the car. Go.” Gojo’s voice was firm as he adjusted your weight in his arms, holding you with an ease that made it seem like you belonged there.

The warmth of his body seeped through the fabric of your clothes, making you instinctively relax against him. A soft sigh left your lips as you unconsciously nuzzled into his chest, your breath warm against his collarbone. You mumbled something incoherent, words swallowed by the thickness of sleep, before your body went completely lax in his hold.

Shoko, who had been watching quietly, shook her head in amusement before making her way toward the car. Gojo carefully placed you inside the backseat, his movements calculated and delicate, as if handling something fragile. He lingered, ensuring your head was positioned comfortably before sliding in beside you.

The moment he was settled, he shifted closer, cradling your head against his shoulder with a familiarity that neither Shoko nor Geto could ignore.

“23-5 Sakuragaoka,” Gojo instructed, voice low yet steady, as Geto started the car.

Geto glanced at the rearview mirror, his sharp gaze flickering toward you before settling on Gojo with intrigue. “So this is her,” he mused, an entertained smirk playing on his lips.

“Yes.” Gojo’s answer was clipped, his attention fixed solely on you. His fingers brushed against yours absentmindedly, and he frowned at the coolness of your skin. Without hesitation, he shrugged off his cashmere coat and draped it over your shoulders, his hands rubbing gentle circles against your knuckles to bring warmth back into them.

“Do we become her friends?” Geto quipped, his amusement barely contained. “I mean, Shoko already went on a drinking spree with her. I think I deserve a fair chance to get to know her too.”

“All in good time,” Gojo murmured. His thumb still traced the back of your hand, and his eyes never left your face. “Shoko, what was she talking about?”

Shoko exhaled, hesitating for a beat before deciding to tell him, “She was talking about how she kissed someone. A guy named Nanami.”

Gojo’s jaw tightened. His gaze snapped up to meet Geto’s in the mirror. There it was. The confirmation.

“What else?” His voice was even, but Geto could hear the sharp edge beneath it.

Shoko shifted in her seat. “She was praising him. Saying how kind he is. How handsome.”

Gojo scoffed, leaning back against the seat, his arm still curled protectively around you. “Probably the alcohol.” The words were dismissive, but the flicker of something unreadable in his expression betrayed him.

The car rolled to a stop in front of a traditional two-story Kyoto house. A warm porch light cast a soft glow onto the stone path leading up to the entrance.

“This it?” Geto asked.

“Yes.” Gojo exhaled before stepping out of the car, moving swiftly to your side. He gathered you into his arms again, adjusting his hold so the coat remained wrapped snugly around you. Shoko and Geto followed closely behind.

Shoko rang the doorbell, pressing it gently twice. The three of them waited in silence.

A few moments later, the door swung open, revealing a woman with tired yet kind eyes.

“Yes?” She squinted slightly at the unfamiliar faces.

Shoko stepped forward with a polite smile. “Hi, we’re Y/N’s friends. She got a little too drunk, so we brought her home.”

“Oh! Please, come in, come in!” Your mother quickly stepped aside, eyes landing on you with concern. “Oh god, is she okay?”

“Yes, she just fell asleep,” Shoko reassured her.

Gojo’s grip on you tightened slightly as your mother’s gaze softened. A lump formed in his throat. She didn’t know him—not in this lifetime—but he knew her. He remembered her kindness, her warmth. And seeing the worry in her eyes made the guilt settle even heavier in his chest.

“Hello, ma’am,” he forced out, his usual confidence faltering for the first time in a long while.

Your mother gave him a quick nod before motioning inside. “Please, bring her in.”

Gojo stepped into the house, instinctively glancing around despite already knowing every corner, every detail. He carried you through the hallway, his footsteps quiet against the wooden floors.

“Where do I—?” He hesitated, pretending to be unfamiliar with the layout.

“Oh, her room is upstairs to the right,” your mother directed kindly.

He nodded and ascended the stairs, his movements careful. The moment he pushed your door open, a wave of nostalgia hit him like a punch to the gut. Everything was as he remembered. Even the faint vanilla scent in the air was the same.

His mind racing with thoughts he had no business thinking. You had always felt right in his arms, and tonight was no different. The scent of you, warm and intoxicating, wrapped around him. Even in this life, even in a room that he wasn’t supposed to recognize, everything about you called to him. His throat went dry as he took you in, lying helplessly in his arms.

He lowered you onto the bed with deliberate slowness, as if savoring every second he had with you before reality would inevitably tear you away again. His fingers brushed against the soft skin of your cheek as he tucked your hair away, his touch lingering longer than necessary. You looked peaceful, lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. 

Gojo swallowed hard, exhaling through his nose as he carefully pulled the blanket over you. He should leave. He knew he should. But instead, he knelt by the bed, his fingers finding yours, brushing over the delicate curves of your knuckles.

“Sleep well, Y/N,” he whispered, but his voice came out more like a plea.

You stirred slightly, your brows furrowing as if fighting off a dream. Then, in the softest voice, you murmured, “Sa..Satoru.”

Gojo stilled. His entire body went rigid at the sound of his name leaving your lips. His grip on your hand tightened involuntarily. His heart pounded, erratic and unforgiving.

“Yes, love, I’m here.” He brought your hand to his lips, brushing a kiss over your fingers, lingering against your skin as if he could brand himself into your very essence.

Your lips parted again, barely forming words, but he caught them. “I… kissed…”

Gojo clenched his jaw, a bitter taste flooding his mouth. He knew exactly who you meant. Nanami. The name burned like acid in his veins. “I know, love,” he murmured, his voice lower, rougher. “It’s not your fault, okay?” His other hand cupped your cheek, his thumb ghosting over your skin, reveling in the way you instinctively leaned into his touch. His pulse thrummed wildly.

“You are mine,” he whispered, his lips so close to your ear that his breath sent shivers down your spine. “No bad man can take you away from me. I will keep you safe.”

A soft, breathy hum left your lips in response. It was nothing more than a drunken murmur, but to him, it was permission, an unspoken tether between the two of you that had existed far longer than you even knew.

His fingers slid down to your jaw, tilting your face just slightly toward him. His gaze dropped to your lips—soft, slightly parted, and so damn inviting. A dangerous thought crossed his mind, dark and consuming. If he leaned in just a little closer, if he just… He sucked in a sharp breath and pulled away abruptly, cursing under his breath. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling harshly as he forced himself to stand. Not like this. Not when you didn’t know. Not when you weren’t his—not yet. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his entire body coiled tight with restraint. He had spent too many nights imagining what it would be like to hold you, to kiss you, to have you, and now, the temptation was right in front of him, so maddeningly close. He turned on his heel and walked to the door, forcing himself not to look back. If he did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to leave. But as his hand hovered over the doorknob, he heard it again, soft, barely above a whisper.

“Satoru…”

Gojo squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. “It’s alright my love. We will be fine”.

He had come back to make you his and he wasn’t going to stop until he did.

When he returned downstairs, your mother was waiting for them in the living room, looking relieved.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely, eyes filled with gratitude. “For bringing her home safely. I really appreciate it.”

Shoko waved a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. We just didn’t want her ending up alone somewhere.”

Your mother chuckled before looking at all three of them thoughtfully. “If you’re free tomorrow, you should come over for lunch. It’s the least I can do.”

Gojo stiffened for a moment, a pang of nostalgia hitting him again. It had been years since she’d offered him something so simple—something so warm.

“That sounds great,” Geto answered smoothly before Gojo could refuse. “We’d love to.”

Your mother smiled warmly. “Then it’s settled. Thank you again. Please get home safely.”

Gojo swallowed thickly before nodding. “Goodnight, mo’—” He almost slipped again. “Goodnight, ma’am.”

You woke up the next day with a familiar scent engulfing you—clean, crisp, with a hint of something unmistakably expensive. Cashmere and something else. Something distinctly Gojo. Your head, however, felt like it had been cracked open and stuffed with cement.

“Fuck,” you groaned, bringing a hand up to your temple as the pounding in your skull made itself known. What the hell happened last night?

“Oh, you’re finally awake.”

You cracked an eye open, only to see your mother standing in the doorway, balancing a laundry basket on her hip, her expression a mix of relief and exasperation.

“I was so worried about you! How dare you put me through that?!”

You winced at the sharpness of her tone, rubbing your eyes as you tried to sit up. “What do you mean? What happened? What time is it?”

Your movements felt sluggish, but as your vision adjusted, your gaze landed on a familiar coat draped over your arm. A coat that wasn’t yours.

Oh no. No. No. NO. Panic shot through you like a bolt of lightning.

“You went out and got drunk, but luckily, you have good friends who dropped you home,” your mom continued, completely unaware of your spiraling. “Now get up, it’s 11:40 already!”

Your mind was still reeling, trying to piece together fragments of hazy memories, when her words fully registered.

“My friends?!” Your eyes snapped open completely now, every ounce of drowsiness evaporating. “Which friends? Maya? Suzume? Hitoshi?”

Your mom shot you a look that made you feel like you had just said the dumbest thing imaginable.

“No, Y/N. Satoru dropped you.”

Your stomach flipped.

“Satoru,” you echoed, the name sitting uncomfortably on your tongue. 

“Yes, Satoru. Why do you drink so much that you can’t even remember? You worry me,” she scolded.

You swallowed hard. This was bad. Very bad.

“Wait, wait, wait… was it just… him?”

Your mother sighed heavily, shifting the laundry basket in her arms. “There was another girl… Soko Ieri… and Suguru Geto.”

Your breath hitched.

You went out drinking with Shoko. How did that even happen? You went out drinking with Gojo’s best friend too. NOT GOOD. You might have spilled a crucial secret in front of both of them. You fucked up.

The words came back from the future echoed in your head, overlapping with laughter and the distant clink of glasses. Fuck. Did you confess? Fuck. Your eyes darted back to the coat, fingers gripping the expensive fabric as your stomach twisted. Did you tell Gojo about the kiss?

Your mom, still unaware of the inner turmoil threatening to consume you, huffed. “Why are you just sitting there? Go take a shower. They’re coming for lunch.”

You barely registered what she said at first, still staring blankly at Gojo’s coat. Then, the words sank in. Your head snapped up. “Who’s coming for lunch?”

“Your friends, Y/N! It’s the least I could do when they dropped my drunk daughter home at two in the morning!”

Your soul momentarily left your body. You scrambled to grab your phone, dread pooling in your stomach as you saw a series of unread messages. From Nanami.

Nanami: Hello, Y/N. Are you free to talk? Nanami: Can we meet today? Nanami: Please talk to me, Y/N. I need to talk to you. Nanami: I will be stopping by your house at 1:00 PM today. Nanami: I am sorry, but I need to talk to you.

Your heart pounded. Oh, you had really fucked up. Within twenty-four hours, you had kissed Nanami, possibly told Gojo about the future, and were now set to have lunch with your ex-best friend who didn’t even know you, your ex-fiancé who probably now knew too much, and your ex-fiancé’s best friend—who was way too perceptive for his own good.

You were so screwed. Should you invite Nanami for lunch too?

Fuck it. You shoved Gojo’s coat off, threw your blankets aside, and rushed toward your bedroom door.

“Moooommm!” you called out.

“Yes?”

You hesitated for only a second before deciding that there was no salvaging this disaster. Might as well let it burn in one big explosion. “My boss, Nanami Kento, will also be joining us for lunch. Is that okay?”

Your mother, ever the gracious host, barely hesitated. “Yes! Shower first! Please!”

You exhaled sharply before hurriedly typing out a message to Nanami.

Y/N: Hi. Sorry for replying late. Come over for lunch at 2:00. Mr. Gojo is also coming with some of his friends. Long story, but I’ll explain everything later.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself. Then, without wasting another second, you grabbed your towel and bolted for the bathroom. You needed the longest shower of your life.

Nanami was the first to arrive—twenty minutes early, as expected.

Your mom greeted him with a warm smile, her usual hospitality on full display as she led him to the dining table, where her finest china sat perfectly arranged.

“Y/N has told me so much about you. It’s so good to finally meet you,” she said, her voice full of warmth.

Nanami, whose chest tightened the moment he saw you approach with a glass of water, forced a polite smile in return. “Thank you for having me.”

Before you could say anything, the sound of bubbling from the kitchen caught your mother’s attention, and she quickly excused herself, leaving you alone with him. The silence that followed was suffocating. You set the glass in front of him, lowering yourself into the chair beside him with a deep, shaky breath. “Hi.”

Nanami didn’t return the greeting. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

“Y/N, what the hell is going on? Why is Gojo coming to your house?”

You flinched at his tone—firm, demanding. It only made the unease in your stomach churn harder.

“I… I couldn’t sleep last night, so I went out to get some drinks. Alone.” You hesitated, trying to piece together the mess in your head. “But then I met a woman there, and we started talking and drinking, and that’s all I remember.” Your fingers toyed with the hem of your baby pink cardigan, twisting and untwisting the fabric. “My mom told me Gojo and his friends dropped me home, so I guess she knew Gojo…”

Nanami’s brows furrowed. “Wait.” His mind was already working through the inconsistencies. “How did this woman know that you knew Gojo?”

That part you hadn’t considered.

You definitely remembered drinking with Shoko. Alone. But how did Gojo and Geto end up involved? Had you told Shoko about the time travel? Had she told Gojo? A sharp pang of anxiety shot through you. You had to find out.

“I don’t know,” you exhaled, rubbing your temples. “I’m hoping to find out today.”

Nanami sighed, shaking his head. “My god, Y/N. This… this is incredibly irresponsible.”

You snapped your gaze up at him, irritation sparking in your chest. “Irresponsible? That’s what you have to say?”

His jaw clenched. “Yes! You went out and got drunk with a stranger. God knows what could have happened—”

You let out a short, disbelieving laugh, leaning back in your chair. “I am a grown woman, Nanami. I can take care of myself. Instead of asking me if I am okay, you are lecturing me about how terrible my decision was, like I don’t already know it!”

His expression remained unmoved. “I know, Y/N. But it was a reckless thing to do.”

Oh, that pissed you off. You wanted reassurance, understanding—hell, even the smallest bit of comfort. Not this. Not him acting like you were some child who didn’t know better.

“You know what else was reckless?” you shot back, your eyes narrowing. “Kissing my boss.” That shut him up.

His throat bobbed as he sighed heavily. “About that—”

“Was that a mistake too?” you pressed, tilting your head.

“Well, no, but—”

“But what?” You cut in, your voice rising slightly. “You have no idea how terrible I feel about last night, Nanami. And instead of listening to me, instead of supporting me, or—I don’t know—just offering some fucking kindness, you’re sitting here lecturing me!” You felt your throat tighten. You sniffled, furious at yourself for it, but even more furious at him.

“Please,” your voice wavered, “stop treating me like a kid.”

“y/n-”.

Nanami’s voice died down as the doorbell rang.

Your mother greeted the three of them warmly, just as she had the night before.

“Oh, you’re all here! Come in, come in!” she said, ushering them inside. “I hope you’re all hungry—I made plenty.”

Shoko smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it, Mrs. L/N. Thanks again for having us.”

“Of course, dear! And thank you for taking care of my reckless daughter last night.” She threw you a pointed look before turning back to them. “Now, make yourselves comfortable. I’ll get some drinks.”

But Gojo wasn’t listening. His sharp gaze had already landed on Nanami. The sight of him sitting next to you—too close for Gojo’s liking—sent a fresh wave of irritation surging through him. His jaw clenched as he took in every detail. The way your chair was angled toward Nanami. The way his arm rested just a little too comfortably on the table near yours. The way you looked at him, your brows slightly furrowed as if you were still caught in whatever conversation you had been having.

Something dark and possessive curled in Gojo’s chest. She was going on about how she kissed someone called Nanami. Shoko’s voice from last night echoed in his mind, and his grip on the back of the chair tightened. He hated this.

He hated the way Nanami was sitting there so calmly like he had any right to be this close to you. Like he had any right to you. Geto, ever the observant one, immediately noticed the shift in energy. “Satoru.” His tone was low, a warning. Gojo exhaled sharply through his nose before forcing a grin, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Nanami-san,” he drawled, stepping closer. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Nanami looked up at him, unimpressed as ever. “Likewise.”

Your stomach twisted.

Oh, this is bad.

You could feel the tension crackling between them like static before a storm, and you knew—without a doubt—that this lunch was about to be a disaster.

“Hi, I am Shoko Ieri”. Shoko walked over and extended her hand.

You shook her hand warmly and all the memories of the two of you came flooding in. “Nice to meet you Shoko”. You turned to Geto, “You must be Mr.Geto”.

“Suguru is fine”. Geto smiled warmly and shook your hand. 

Luckily your mom didn’t notice this short exchange otherwise you would have to build another castle of lies. 

Shoko and Geto make their way past you and follow your mom to the dinner table while you and Gojo stand in the hallway. The silence hung thick and neither of you knew how to break it.

Gojo scanned your face for any sign which would indicate you knew his secret and you scanned his face for the same. 

“Thank you for last night, Mr.Gojo”. You smiled politely.

“Not a problem”. Gojo replied. Remembering how you softly said his name, how you leaned in his touch, how comforting and right you felt in his arms. “Please call me Satoru”.

You chewed the inside of your cheek as you pondered over his request. Gojo saw the tension on your face, “Well you know. Me dropping you at night merits a first name basis relationship, right?”. He added jokingly, hoping to relieve some tension.

You chuckled, “I guess you are right..Satoru”. You smiled and let him inside. You were going to keep a keen eye on him this entire lunch.  As you walked into the dining room, you weren’t surprised to see your mother already fussing over Gojo.

“Oh, Satoru, dear, you must have been exhausted after carrying my daughter around last night!” she said, setting an extra serving of food onto his plate.

Gojo chuckled, his usual cocky grin slipping into something softer. “It was no trouble at all, ma’am. Y/N’s not that heavy.” He threw you a teasing look, and you rolled your eyes.

Your mom swatted his arm lightly. “Such a gentleman! You looked after her so well. I don’t know what I’d do if something had happened to her.” She sighed dramatically. “I swear, she never thinks about how worried I get.”

Gojo, ever the opportunist, placed a hand over his heart. “Don’t worry, ma’am. I’ll always make sure she’s safe.”

Your mother beamed. “Such a sweet boy. You must come over more often.”

Nanami, who had been silently observing the exchange, felt something unpleasant twist in his gut. He hated this. He hated the way Gojo so easily wormed his way into your mother’s good graces. The way she practically doted on him. The way you weren’t even arguing about it.

Most of all, he hated that he could sense something was off with you. You hadn’t even looked at him since your last conversation, and it was obvious you were still upset. But instead of turning to him, you were sitting there, smiling—smiling—at whatever joke Gojo had just cracked. Before Nanami could dwell on it further, Gojo made his next move. Just as everyone took their seats, Gojo smoothly slid into the chair right between you and Nanami.

“Hope you don’t mind, Nanamin.” Gojo smirked, leaning back lazily in his chair. “Thought I’d sit here.”

Nanami’s eye twitched, but he forced himself to stay composed. “Not at all.” This insufferable bastard.

On the other side of the table, Shoko and Geto shared an amused look before quietly digging into their food. Conversation flowed easily at the table, mostly thanks to your mother and Geto.

“So, what do you all do?” your mom asked, genuinely curious.

“I’m a doctor,” Shoko said casually, sipping her tea.

“Ah! A respectable profession. Good for you, dear.”

Geto smiled. “I run a few sports clubs in Tokyo.”

Your mom looked impressed. “That’s wonderful! And you, Satoru?”

Gojo grinned, lazily swirling his spoon in his soup. “Well, my company recently acquired Golden Ratio.”

Your mother gasped. “Oh! I read about that deal in the news. That’s incredibly impressive, Satoru! To achieve such success at your age, you must be very talented.”

Gojo flashed a proud smile, sending a knowing look in Nanami’s direction. “I try.”

Nanami clenched his jaw, forcing himself to take another bite instead of responding.

You, on the other hand, were drowning in your own thoughts, I need to find out how much Gojo knows. Did Shoko tell him about what I said last night? But then there was Nanami. He’s still acting like my babysitter instead of listening to me. Why is he so frustrating?

And Gojo. Satoru. Your eyes flickered to him. He was chatting effortlessly with your mother, cracking jokes, making her laugh like he belonged here.

And that was the problem. Because he did belong here. Once. Not now. Not anymore.

Nanami clenched his jaw as he caught the way you were looking at Gojo, mistaking anger for affection. It made his chest ache in a way he wasn’t ready to acknowledge. 

Your mother suddenly stood up, dusting off her hands. “I should bring out some more food. You all keep eating—I’ll be right back.”

As soon as she disappeared into the kitchen, you turned to Shoko, “I hope I didn’t do something embarrassing last night.” You tried to keep your tone light, but the question held weight.

Shoko looked at Nanami for the briefest moment before shaking her head. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

You frowned, sensing something off about her answer. But before you could press further, Gojo leaned in slightly, his voice teasing.

Nanami stood up as your mother returned with a steaming pot in her hands. “Let me help with that,” he offered, stepping around the table to take the dish from her.

“Oh, Kento, you’re such a sweetheart,” she gushed, giving him an appreciative smile. “Unlike someone I know.” She shot you a pointed look.

You groaned. “Here we go.”

“Y/n is alright”. He responded with a polite smile.

“I’m just saying, Y/N,” she huffed, as Nanami helped her place the food on the table, “you never tell me where you’re going, and you’re always out at the oddest hours. Do you know how much I worry?”

Nanami, feeling unexpectedly warm from your mother’s praise, smirked as he took his seat. “Well, she does act like a child sometimes,” he teased, glancing at you.

You instantly shot him a glare. “Excuse me?”

Gojo, who had been watching the exchange, leaned back lazily in his chair. “I wouldn’t say that,” he said, voice smooth yet firm. “She’s not a kid. A little impulsive sometimes, sure, but she’s pretty responsible.”

Your mother pursed her lips. “That’s hard to believe.”

Gojo chuckled. “I mean it, ma’am. You don’t have to worry too much. Y/N’s brave, independent, and more capable than she gives herself credit for.”

Your chest tightened at his words. There was no teasing in his voice, no sarcasm—just pure certainty.

Shoko smirked, setting down her drink. “You’re talking about her being responsible? That’s rich coming from you.”

Geto chuckled. “Yeah, remember that time you got lost in Shinjuku because you insisted you didn’t need a map?”

Gojo groaned, covering his face. “That was one time.”

Shoko ignored him. “Or how about the time you ate that entire bag of wasabi chips on a dare and nearly died?”

Geto shook his head. “He does act like a kid. Pretty often, actually.”

Your mother laughed, clearly enjoying the conversation. “Sounds like you give your friends a hard time, Satoru.”

Gojo pouted dramatically. “I think they just like ganging up on me.”

The table filled with laughter, the mood light and easy. But not for Nanami.

He didn’t miss the way your expression softened at Gojo’s words earlier. The way you actually listened when he defended you.

Nanami clenched his jaw, shoving a bite of food into his mouth to keep himself from scowling. He wasn’t trying to lecture you. He wasn’t trying to belittle you. He just wanted what was best for you. But somehow, everything he said just kept backfiring and worst of all? Gojo was making it look easy.

As the lunch wrapped up, Gojo stood, effortlessly stacking the empty plates in his hands. Your mother looked up, mildly surprised but clearly pleased.

“Oh, Satoru, dear, you don’t have to do that,” she said warmly as he carried the dishes into the kitchen.

Gojo shot her a charming grin over his shoulder. “How could I not? You went through all that effort to feed us. Least I can do is help out.” He set the dishes in the sink before turning back to her with a casual air. “Besides, if I help, maybe I’ll secure my spot as your favorite guest.”

Your mother chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, you’re already miles ahead, dear. Such a polite young man. If only my daughter had half your sense of responsibility.”

Gojo’s grin widened, but there was a flicker of something sharp in his icy blue eyes. He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “Careful now, ma’am. If you like me that much, you should just make me your son-in-law.” The words were spoken lightly, teasingly, but something about the way he said them carried weight.

Your mother laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, Satoru, you’re too good for y/n.”

Gojo smirked, tilting his head. “You say that, but I think I’d be a great addition to the family.” His voice was smooth, but his fingers drummed lightly against the counter—restless, impatient. She swatted his arm playfully. “You’re too much. You need to ask my daughter first. She is a hard one to convince”.

“Oh don’t worry about that”. Gojo winked. Helaughed, but as he reached for another plate, his grip was just a little too firm. His mind, despite the easy smile on his face, was far from lighthearted.

As the afternoon sun dipped lower, the lunch finally came to an end. Your mother, ever the gracious host, sent everyone off with warm goodbyes and an invitation to visit again. You walked outside with the four of them, the crisp air cooling the lingering heat from the dining room.

Shoko lit a cigarette the moment she stepped off the porch, inhaling deeply before exhaling with a satisfied sigh. “That was nice. Your mom’s great.”

You chuckled. “She likes you guys. Maybe a little too much.” Your gaze flickered to Gojo, who still looked smug from all the praise he had received.

Shoko smirked. “Can’t blame her.”

As you all reached the sidewalk, you turned to Shoko. “By the way… how did you know where I lived?”

Shoko glanced at Geto, then back at you, exhaling another puff of smoke before answering. “You told me at the bar.”

Your stomach twisted. “I did?”

She nodded. “You mentioned working at Golden Ratio, so I called Gojo to ask if he knew you. Turns out, he did.”

Relief washed over you. You hadn’t said anything about time travel. Thank god.

“So, you really don’t remember much, huh?” Shoko asked, tilting her head slightly.

You hesitated. “Not really.”

She let out a small breath. “That’s good.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Why? Did I do something embarrassing? ”

Shoko grinned. “Nothing too bad. Just some, uh… very honest conversations.”

“Like what?”. You asked. Your heart racing at the possibilities.

“How you found the blond one attractive”. Shoko smirked

You groaned. “Fantastic.”

She chuckled, then nudged your arm. “We should do this again—minus the whole blacking out part.”

You smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Wednesday? Coffee?”

“It’s a date.” You smiled.

Meanwhile, Geto stretched his arms above his head, looking at the two of you. “I’d say this was a successful lunch. Your mom might start adopting Gojo at this rate.”

Gojo rolled his eyes. “She has great taste, what can I say?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. But before you could fire back, Gojo stepped closer to you, his hands slipping into his pockets. The others continued chatting, but his eyes were only on you.

“Thanks for the lunch, Y/N.” His voice was smooth, but lower this time, like it was meant just for you.

You swallowed. “It wasn’t just me. My mom did most of it.”

Gojo smirked. “Still. I enjoyed myself.”

There was something in the way he said it, something in the way his eyes lingered on yours—too intense, too knowing. You were acutely aware of how close he was, how easily he could lean in if he wanted to.

And god, he wanted to. He wanted to tilt your chin up, wanted to kiss that stubborn little mouth of yours in front of everyone—Nanami included. He wanted to make it crystal clear who you really belonged to.

But he held back. Barely. Instead, he reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing your skin for a second too long. You sucked in a sharp breath, your heart slamming against your ribs, shivers ran down your spine.

He grinned. “See you around.” Then, just like that, he turned and walked away, Geto and Shoko following behind. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Nanami, who had been watching the whole exchange from a few feet away, clenched his fists at his sides. Because Gojo hadn’t just thanked you for lunch. No, that had been a claim. A warning, And the worst part? You hadn’t stopped him.

You watched Gojo, Geto, and Shoko leave and all the memories came flooding. They hurt. The taunts. The lying. The manipulation. You were not going to fall for his honey traps again. Even if your body betrayed you, your heart was going to be like a fortress. You thought about how he had made your mom swoon over him again. Was he going to turn her against you again? Lie to her about her own daughter? Buy her affection? You knew what he was capable of. Maybe you forgot for a while when you saw him but now you remembered and you hated his guts. You didn’t just want to stay away from him. You wanted him to pay.

As Gojo, Shoko, and Geto disappeared down the street, you let out a slow breath, trying to steady yourself. The air still felt charged from whatever the hell had just happened between you and Gojo. Before you could figure out how to make him pay, Nanami’s voice broke the silence.

“Y/N.”

You turned to him, still a little dazed. “Yeah?”

He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. “We need to talk.” There was something about the way he said it—serious, urgent.

You exhaled, nodding. “Fine. There’s a coffee shop down the—”

“No.” Nanami cut you off, shaking his head. “Not in public. We need to be alone.”

Alone. That one word sent a shiver down your spine, but you ignored it.

“Okay,” you said carefully. “We can stop by the office. I need to grab a file anyway.”

Nanami nodded once. “Let’s go.”

The walk to his car was silent, and the moment you slid into the passenger seat, the tension only thickened. The engine hummed as Nanami pulled onto the road, but neither of you spoke.

You stole a glance at him—his grip on the wheel was a little too tight, his jaw locked. You knew that look. He was frustrated. Agitated. With you and for some reason, that irritated you even more. By the time you reached the office, the silence had stretched unbearably thin.

The building was eerily empty, the usual hum of employees replaced by the distant buzz of fluorescent lights. The weekend lull made everything feel heavier—more private.

Your heels clicked against the polished floor as you walked into your office, flipping on the light. Nanami shut the door behind him, and the soft click of the lock sent a strange pulse through your body. The office was suffocatingly quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning. Nanami stood by the closed door, his arms crossed, his jaw clenched.

You stood opposite him, arms folded, mirroring his defensive stance.

“Alright,” you said, breaking the silence. “Talk.”

Nanami exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You’re upset.”

“No shit,” you snapped, irritation bubbling beneath your skin.

His eyes flickered with something—guilt, maybe. But mostly frustration. “Y/N, I—” He let out a heavy sigh. “Why are you acting like this?”

Your brows shot up. “Are you seriously asking me that?” You scoffed, shaking your head. “Nanami, you always do this.”

“Do what?”

“Get…I don’t know…weird”.

“Weird?”. Nanami raised a brow.

“Yes”.

Nanami’s breath was ragged, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he tried—really tried—not to let his emotions get the best of him. But it was impossible. You were standing there, fire in your eyes, pushing him, challenging him, and all he could think about was how much he wanted you. How much he had always wanted you and how much he fucking hated it.

He hated that you had this power over him. Hated the way you got under his skin, the way you made him feel things he wasn’t supposed to feel. Most of all, he hated the way Gojo looked at you. Like you were something to be treasured. Like you belonged to him.

Nanami had seen it at lunch—the way Gojo had effortlessly slipped into your space, the way he spoke about you, defended you.

And the worst part? You let him.

You let Gojo sit beside you, let him charm your mother, let him tell her not to worry about you like he had any right to. Like he knew you better than Nanami did.

It made Nanami sick and now, here you were, looking at him like he was the villain. Like he was the one making this difficult.

“You don’t get to decide what’s best for me, Nanami.” You continued when you received no answer.

Your voice was sharp, cutting through the thick silence.

He exhaled sharply, trying to rein himself in. “I am not doing this to control you, Y/N.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Then what are you doing? Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell feels like you’re trying to manage me instead of listening to me.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Then stop treating me like a child!”

“I treat you the way I do because someone has to be responsible!” His voice came out harsher than intended, but he didn’t stop. “Someone has to think things through. Someone has to make sure you don’t—”

“Don’t what?” You cut him off, your eyes narrowing. “Don’t make a decision you don’t agree with?”

Nanami’s jaw tightened. “I don’t agree with reckless choices, Y/N.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Reckless? You think I’m reckless?”

He stared at you, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “You went out drinking last night and barely made it home in one piece.”

Your eyes flashed. “But I did, didn’t I?”

“Because of Gojo!”. Nanami snapped.

“So what?!”Your breathing was ragged, “So what if it was because of Gojo? Are you upset because you thought I was being reckless or are you upset because Gojo dropped me home?”. 

His stomach twisted, shame creeping up his spine. He knew he had brushed you off last and had dismissed you when you clearly needed him. And yet—

He couldn’t shake the image of Gojo carrying you in his arms.

Like he was the one who had been there for you. Like he was the one who should have been there for you. The thought made Nanami’s blood boil.

You continued unable to stop the feelings pouring over you, “I invited you today because I wanted someone at the table who was..my friend. Whom I know and who understood me! I want some…care. Some reassurance, how hard was it for you to just say ‘it’s okay y/n, I am here’ or “Don’t worry y/n, we will get through this together’ or just ask me how I was doing! I was dying inside and you didn’t even notice it..Instead you called me a child in front of everyone! In front of people I barely knew! In front of my own mother! In my own house!”.

“You don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice lower now, more strained.

“Then make me understand,” you shot back. “I am really trying here, Kento. Failing at times, I agree. But I am trying”.

He let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it fucking matters,” you snapped. “You’re standing here acting like you know what’s best for me, but you won’t even tell me why you care so damn much.”

Nanami inhaled sharply. “Because I do.”

Your breath hitched.

His hands clenched. His pulse pounded in his ears. His restraint was hanging by a thread.

“Because I care about you, Y/N,” he admitted, his voice rough, like the words physically hurt to say. “And I hate it.”

You sucked in a breath, eyes widening.

“I hate that you make me feel this way,” he continued, stepping closer, his frustration pouring out unchecked. “I hate that every time I see you, I want you. I hate that I can’t stop thinking about you. I hate that Gojo looks at you like he already has you.” His voice was practically a growl now, laced with something dark, something possessive. “I hate that I don’t know if he’s right.”

“But he doesn’t! I am not a fucking trophy in the game between you and Gojo! And if I was so swooned by him I wouldn’t be standing here pouring my heart out to you! My mom invited them but I called you. I wanted you!”

Silence filled the room, heavy and suffocating.

You stared at him, your lips parted, but no words came out. Everything was said and Nanami realized, with a sharp pang of regret, that he had said too much.

This was wrong. This was messy. This was exactly why he had spent so much time trying to push it down.

His jaw tightened. “This was a mistake,” he said, his voice cold now. “That kiss. This argument. All of it.”

Your heart clenched. “Kento—”, Your voice cracked, “Please don’t say that”.

“We work together,” he cut you off, stepping back. “And that’s all this can be.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth, but he forced them out anyway.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral. “Fine. If that’s what you want then that’s all we shall be. I..I like you. I wanted to be with you. I enjoyed every moment of the walk from the coffee shop to here. Tell me, look at me, and tell me that none of it mastered”.

“It didn’t. We work together”.

A beat of silence.

And then Nanami turned and stormed out of your office, slamming the door behind him. The door slammed shut, and with it, the last shred of your composure shattered.

You barely made it to the couch before your legs gave out beneath you. Your breath came in short, uneven gasps as the weight of everything crashed down all at once. Nanami was gone. Not just from the office, but from whatever fragile thing had been forming between the two of you.

Your vision blurred with tears, hot and unrelenting as they spilled down your cheeks. You tried to hold them back, pressing your palms into your eyes, but it was no use. A broken sob tore from your throat, shaking your entire body.

Why? Why was this happening again? Why couldn’t you ever have what you wanted?

In one life, you had wanted Gojo to see you, to love you the way you had loved him. You had wanted him to fight for you, to make you feel like you were enough. But he hadn’t. He had broken you instead, left you alone in a world where you were supposed to be his.

And now, here you were again—wanting something that was slipping through your fingers before you could even hold it.

Nanami had walked away before anything had even begun and it hurt you. 

The worst part was that you knew he cared. You could see it in the way he looked at you, hear it in the way his voice wavered when he was frustrated, feel it in the tension between you when neither of you knew how to close the distance.

But he still left. Why couldn’t he just stay and fight for what he wanted..just ask what you wanted? 

You were ready to give this a try. You called him for lunch because you wanted him there, you didn’t think the kiss was a mistake. Yet He still looked you in the eyes, told you this was a mistake, and walked away.

A choked sound escaped your lips—somewhere between a sob and a laugh, because wasn’t this just fucking poetic?

You clenched your fists against your lap, your nails digging into your skin as your shoulders trembled. You were so tired.

Tired of wanting things that were never yours to begin with. Tired of hoping for something real, only for it to slip away. Tired of men who claimed to care, only to leave when it mattered most.

Your chest ached, deep and raw, like something was breaking inside you.

And maybe it was.Maybe this was just another piece of you shattering, another scar you’d have to carry.

Maybe this was what it meant to love and lose and keep moving forward, even when it felt like you were walking through fire. But right now, you couldn’t move.

Right now, all you could do was curl into yourself on that damn couch and let the tears come. Your chest was still heaving from the force of your sobs when your phone buzzed against the coffee table. The sudden vibration startled you, yanking you from the depths of your grief.

Gojo. His name lit up the screen. You let it ring.

You couldn’t deal with him right now. Not when your face was tear-streaked, your voice raw, and your heart a mess of tangled emotions.

But the buzzing started again.Persistent.Relentless.

Something twisted in your gut. Gojo didn’t call twice unless it was important. With a shaky breath, you swiped to answer, trying to force the tremble out of your voice. You cleared your throat and spoke as clearly as possible, “Hello?”

The moment Gojo heard your voice he knew it. 

Gojo’s entire demeanor shifted. Gone was the playful lilt he usually carried, replaced with something sharper, something entirely too perceptive.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was low, steady. Controlled in a way that only made it more dangerous.

You swallowed hard, gripping the phone tighter. “Nothing. I’m fine. Why did you call?”. 

Gojo wasn’t having it. “Where are you?”

You hesitated.

“Y/N.” His tone left no room for argument.

“The office,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

A beat of silence. Then the sound of tires screeching.

Your brows furrowed. “Gojo, where are you—”, The call ended.

You stared at the table in front blankly, phone still pressed against your ear, before slowly lowering it.

He had hung up and he was coming.

You didn’t know whether that should terrify or comfort you.

Your hands trembled as you rummaged through the small makeup pouch tucked away in your desk drawer. You had always kept it here for emergencies—though you had never expected one of those emergencies to be covering up the aftermath of a breakdown.

You dabbed concealer under your swollen eyes, brushed some powder over your face, and swiped a bit of lip balm on, hoping it would mask the evidence of your tears. Your reflection in the office window was passable—at least, to someone who wasn’t looking too closely.

Just as you reached for a file, trying to compose yourself, the door burst open. Gojo.

His presence filled the space instantly, an overwhelming force of energy that made the air in the room shift. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, his sharp blue eyes scanning the room before locking onto you.

You could feel his gaze sweep over you—your slightly puffy eyes, the way your shoulders were still tense, the stiffness in the way you moved.

His jaw clenched. “Y/N.” His voice was quieter than you expected. Controlled.

You forced a small, casual smile and held up the file you had grabbed. “Gojo, what are you doing here? I just needed to pick something up.” You tried to cover up.

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink and then, in an instant, he was in front of you. Too close. Too knowing.

He reached out, fingertips ghosting over your jaw, tilting your face up just slightly. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make you look at him.

“You’ve been crying.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, edged with something dark. Something dangerously close to anger.

You swallowed hard, trying to pull away, but his hand didn’t move.

“It’s nothing,” you whispered.

Gojo exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing the curve of your cheek before he let his hand drop. But the tension in his shoulders didn’t fade. His entire body was taut, like he was restraining himself from doing something reckless.

“Who was it?” he asked, his voice a quiet storm.

Your stomach twisted. You shook your head. “Gojo, please. Just let it go. Can you just tell me why you are here so I can go home?”. You said in a single breath trying to make him believe that you were your usual self.

His eyes flashed. “Not a fucking chance.”

You took a shaky breath, your fingers tightening around the file in your hands. You didn’t want to talk to him. You didn’t want to talk to anyone, really. But he was here and despite everything—despite how tangled and messy your emotions were, despite how much of your pain could be traced back to him in another lifetime—he was still Gojo.

In this timeline, he hadn’t done anything to you yet. Yet.

The word made your chest tighten, but you shoved the thought aside. Right now, he was just standing in front of you, watching you with a patience you didn’t know he possessed. His usual cocky grin was nowhere to be found, his teasing remarks absent. Instead, there was something else in his expression—something you couldn’t quite place.

Concern. You should push him away. You should tell him to leave.

But you didn’t. Because God, you just needed someone right now. A friend and maybe—just maybe—you could rely on him. You exhaled slowly, setting the file down on your desk. “It was Nanami,” you admitted, voice quieter than you intended.

Gojo’s expression barely shifted, but you felt the way the air in the room changed, like a string had been pulled too tight.

“What did he do?” His voice was deceptively calm, but you knew better.

You shook your head, suddenly feeling exhausted. “It’s not like that. We just—” You let out a humorless laugh. “We fought. About everything. About how he never listens to me, how he treats me like I don’t know what I’m doing. And I—I just got so angry.”

Gojo’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Sounds like he pissed you off pretty badly.”

You scoffed. “That’s an understatement.”

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharp. “And then what?”

You hesitated. “Then he said… this was a mistake.”

Gojo went still.

His fingers twitched at his sides, his jaw tightening just enough for you to notice. “What was a mistake?”. Gojo asked but he knew. 

“We kissed,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Gojo didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

He tilted his head, as if processing your words, before he let out a slow hum. “Oh?” he said, feigning curiosity. “And then he called it a mistake?”

You didn’t notice the slight strain in his voice, but it was there. “Mmhmm”. You sniffle and took a deep breath.

Gojo stayed quiet as you spoke, his face a picture of perfect calm. Too calm. The kind of stillness that wasn’t peaceful—it was dangerous.

“He called it a mistake,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hands trembled slightly, gripping the edge of the desk like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Gojo nodded once, slowly, as if he were simply processing your words. As if this was just another conversation. “I see,” he said evenly. But inside? Inside, he was seething.

He had been angry before. He had known rage, known what it felt like to have fury curl hot in his veins, to feel it claw up his throat, demanding release.

But this? This was something else entirely. Nanami had touched you. Kissed you. Had his hands on you and then he had dared—dared—to call it a mistake?

Gojo clenched his fists beneath the desk, where you couldn’t see. If you caught sight of the way his fingers trembled from the sheer force of holding himself back, you’d know just how close he was to losing control. He wanted to destroy something. To hurt something. No—he wanted to hurt Nanami.

Not just because he had kissed you. Not just because he had the audacity to think he could have you. But because he had made you cry and that? That was something Gojo would not forgive.

"Y/N." His voice was steady, almost gentle. But there was something else beneath it, something dark. “That wasn’t fair to you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “I just don’t get it,” you whispered. “I— I don’t know why I keep ending up here. Wanting something, thinking it’s finally within reach, and then watching it slip away before it even begins.It’s like I am cursed. Like I am living the same story again and again”

Gojo’s jaw ached from how hard he was clenching it, his fingers itching, burning, for something to break. You had always belonged to him. You just didn’t see it yet.

And maybe, if he had been just a little different—if he had been less selfish—he would have let you go. But he wasn’t and he wouldn’t.

Gojo exhaled slowly, measuredly, the only outward sign of his anger. “It’s not you,” he said, his voice too soft, too careful. The kind of quiet you only got before a storm. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You let out another bitter laugh. “Didn’t I?”

Gojo’s vision blurred at the edges, red-hot rage pulsing in his veins, but still, his voice stayed steady. “No, you didn’t,” he said. But this time, his words were firm. Unyielding. Because he knew exactly what you were thinking.

That maybe it was your fault. That maybe if you had done something differently, Nanami wouldn’t have walked away and Gojo hated that because he knew the truth. The truth was that Nanami was a fucking idiot.

And Gojo wasn’t sure if he was more furious at him for hurting you— or at himself for letting it happen.

Because if Nanami had just held on to you—if he had been worthy of you—Gojo would have stepped back. If he knew that you were genuinely happy with Nanami he would have stepped away for your happiness. But Nanami had hurt you. 

He wouldn’t step back now.

And now, looking at you, eyes rimmed with the evidence of your heartbreak, Gojo knew—Nanami never deserved you in the first place and if Gojo had anything to say about it, no one else would ever get the chance to hurt you like this again. Ever.

Still, he kept his voice even, steady. “You deserve better,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours like he was branding the words into your soul. “And one day, you’ll see that too.”

And when that day came? Gojo would make damn sure that no one stood between you and him.

Gojo took a slow breath, forcing the burning rage in his chest to the back of his mind. As much as he wanted to storm out of the office, track down Nanami, and make him pay for what he’d done to you, that wasn’t what you needed right now. You were what mattered.

Not his anger. Not his jealousy. You, And right now, you were breaking apart right in front of him. So he moved.

Slowly, deliberately, like approaching something fragile—like if he made a wrong move, you’d shatter entirely. His arms came around you, strong and steady, pulling you against him. The moment his warmth wrapped around you, something in you cracked.

You stiffened for half a second, your mind catching up to what was happening. To the fact that it was Gojo holding you. Your past with him flashed behind your eyes—everything that had been, everything that could have been, everything that had never been.

There had been a time when you had wanted this more than anything. To be his.

To have him hold you like this—not just because you were falling apart, but because he wanted to. Yet, despite all the pain, all the history, all the complications—you leaned into him.

Because right now, you didn’t have the energy to fight it. You just needed someone to hold you together.

So you pressed your forehead against his chest, his scent—clean and familiar—surrounding you, his arms tightening around your waist. And then, finally, the dam broke.

A sob ripped through you, raw and desperate, and Gojo felt it more than he heard it.

He felt the way your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping him like he was the only thing keeping you upright. He felt the way your body trembled against his, the weight of everything finally crashing down on you. Gojo hated it. Hated that it was Nanami who had made you cry like this.

Your breath hitched, and then the sob came—raw, broken, the kind that made your entire body shake. Gojo’s grip instantly tightened.

One arm locked around your back, anchoring you against him, while the other cradled the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, pressing you closer, closer, closer.

Like he could take the pain from you. Like he could absorb the pain. Like he could fix this.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice low, steady, filled with an honesty that even he wasn’t used to.

But he meant it. He always had.

Your hands fisted in his shirt, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in the world, and his heart clenched at the desperation in your touch.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, his lips brushing against the crown of your head. “I promise, you’re okay.” His hand stroked soothingly down your back, slow and deliberate, trying to ease the tremors racking your body.

You sobbed harder. Gojo only held you tighter.

“Just let it out,” he said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And he wasn’t.

He wouldn’t. Not this time. Not ever again.

So he just stood there, letting you break apart in his arms, his grip never faltering, his warmth steady and unwavering.

Because if he had anything to say about it, you would never have to stand alone again.

Fate stood at the corner of the office, watching the two of you embrace. He had been here for a while, just invisible. His friend next to him sighed. “I told you. They will find each other again”. He scoffed, “That’s only because you had to go and give the white haired idiot his memories”.

“It’s only fair game! And I did it because I could tell he was being drawn to her. He just didn’t know who she was”.

He shook his head in disappointment. “I thought she would choose something different. Humans really don’t change, do they?”.

“Humans can change. This experiment will prove it. He will change and she will see it”.

Fate tilted his head and smirked, “What about that guy?”. He motioned towards a blond man standing on the far side of the lobby looking in. “He doesn’t seem happy, does he?”.

His friend followed his gaze, “Yeah. He fucked up. But my bet is still on the blond”. 

“We shall see my friend, we shall see”.

@commandertorindhepard @inlove-maze @starlightanyaaa @missybrat @lem-hhn @valleydoli @definetlythinkimanalien @luckyangelballoon @sheep-infog @gojoprincesss @kanaojacksonofc @bubera974 @ginginha @mari-ho14 @mashtura @bitchycloudstrawberry @sleepykittyenergy

[fandomtherapy44]

Work Rivals Gojo Satoru x Fem! reader

Paring: Satoru Gojo x Fem! Reader

Warnings: SMUT, language

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cafekitsune

CW: 1,815

Summary: Y/n and Gojo have always been in competition fighting for who's the best. So what happens when an elevator breaks down and they are forced to face their real feelings?

Satoru Gojo, how do you describe someone who is a giant pain in my ass! My whole life I have been in consistent competition with him our whole life. It started in high school, where in each class and each test I felt like if he was just one point above me he would be laughing about it to everyone. I mean, I wouldn't know, I haven't really met him, but I knew if I was not on top, my family would think I was a failure. We both come from super old families that always expected that we were the best in everything from classes to who had the best lunch. I’m serious about the lunch thing in elementary school, our parents would send chefs to school and would make whatever we wanted.

And somehow he would always beat me, always one point ahead of me. It made me infuriated, also my parents breathing down my neck did not help. So when we finally got out of high school, I thought I could breathe and focus on myself, I was very wrong. First day Gojo had my job too. Every day got worse and worse to this little competition. Also, it wasn't great that my friend thought he was hot and would constantly talk about him.

“Y/n!” She ran after me as we went for coffee. “Did you see Gojo this morning, like oh my gosh, can he get even more perfect like I’m pretty sure he was wearing a Gucci shirt.” She sighed dreamily.

“Kai, what does it matter if it’s Gucchi or not?” I muttered while stirring my coffee in my cup. Trying to hold back my disdain.

“Um, how about the fact he’s rich too Y/n!” She shoved my shoulder in disbelief. 

“He’s not that great!” I raised my voice without meaning to everyone who looked at me.

“You talk about him like he’s the devil reincarnated but you've barely spoken to him.” Kai studied me with suspicion.

“Wait? Don’t tell me you guys used to date!?” My eyes widened at that.

“No! God No! It’s just that we went to school together.” I mumbled again.

“WHAT!” I spring up and cover her mouth and drag her into another room.

“Don’t scream that!” I swatted at her.

“Girl how could you keep that from me! That you went to school with Gojo Satoru!” 

“It’s not like we're friends we actually were in more of a rivalry then anything.” I crossed my arms looking down.

“Is that why you pretty much hate him?”

“I don’t hate him… It just annoys me how perfect he is.”

“Gotcha… well if that was me I would have hopped on that white-haired train a long time ago.” She moves her eyebrows up and down in a suggestive way.

“I know everyone would if they could.” Another thing that annoys me. 

Our elevator sucks we've told our boss like twenty times to get it fixed so you know we don’t die, but it’s still broken. I enter it sighing thinking about all the work I had to do and then I hear a voice yelling to hold the door.

“Wait, hold the door!” It was a smooth, low voice, the kind that would make any person pass out. And of course, it has to belong to fucking Gojo Satoru.

“Close close come on close!” I slammed on the button but the thing is broken so it’s slow as all hell.

“Thanks L/n.” He has a little pep in his step getting in the elevator. I roll my eyes and step to the side. I have to say he looks handsome today. A white button-up and black tailored pants. A silver Rolex on his wrist, pointing attention to his veiny-toned forearms. When he shifts, you can see his muscles bulge through the white fabric, making you want to see more. His leather briefcase scented with a light pine mixed with his cologne which was a Seawood and cinnamon musk. I hated how he could just be that handsome without even trying.

“So how is your project going?” He asks me to try to past the grueling three minutes.

“It’s fine Gojo,” I stated flatly.

“What you're not going to ask back?” 

“Why would I? I’m sure it’s going great for Gojo Satoru.” I scartiscally say huffing out my chest. 

“What’s with the attitude L/n?”

“I don’t know, Gojo, maybe it’s the fact that you don’t even have to try.”

“You don’t think I have to try!” He angrily expressed.

“Really you're playing the dumb card. Fine play it that way.” I couldn't believe him acting like he didn't know what I was talking about.

“I really don’t know what you're talking about!” He threw back. It seemed all my emotions of the last years had piled up and were being released like pompi.

“What about the fact that you have always won every competition, every test and now even at my job!” He lets the words sink in.

“You mean those stupid competitions that our parents put us in when we were kids!?”

“They were never stupid to me!” I’m practically in his face now. The anger in my veins pushing me forward.

“Oh my gosh L/n! Is that why you've always been so pissy towards me just because I've won all those things! When it’s not even my fault!” When he puts it like that, I look at my actions.

“Well, if you did-” I have to stop because the elevator stops abruptly, making me almost slam into Gojo, making him catch me.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure someone will come soon.” He tries to reassure me.

The small canvan of the elevator is now encased in a blue emergency light barely letting us each other. But I can’t even open my eyes, being terrified, if I did open them we would throw down the shaft. He notices my fear and grabs my hand.

“Hey Y/n we’re going to be okay.” With those words, I opened my eyes and did something that surprised both of us. I kiss him. I don’t know compled me do so the fear coursing through my body or maybe it was years of pent up sexual frustotion in one kiss. As soon as I realized I did I let go.

“Gojo, I’m so sorry. I-” I didn't get to finish before he pulled me right back and slammed his lips on mine. Our lips had found a groove that we didn't know we were missing. This second kiss was desperate, messy, unrealting as he lead me to hit the back mirror. Our hands clawing at each other’s bodies. When we finally let go in the blue hue I could see his lips puffy and red and mine were left with a sweet sting. In that moment, his hands go around my waist and his lips go for my neck this time.

“I've always wanted to do this with you,” he whispers in my ear, making shivers go down my spine.

BELOW

“Oh you little-” I’m shut up by him biting down on my neck. “Fuck Gojo!” I moaned out.

“That’s what I like to hear~” He purred out. Gojo licks over my hickie and makes a mess, he suckles at my neck. His tongue licks all over the sore spot. He keeps on nipping and tugging on the spot making my body junt out looking for some more relief. He lets go and my neck is left feeling the cold, I then feel his bulge through his pants on my knee. I pull him by the tie.

“Does pleasuring women turn you on, Gojo?” I tell him as I nip and lick his ear shell. He nods his head. “Then let me show you my appreciation.” I pull at his ear again and get down on my knees. I slowly pull down his pants zipper. 

“You don’t have to Y/n.” He breathed out.

“But I want to Gojo.” I can see through his briefs that his cock was already leaking pre cum. And his bulge was taking up a lot of space of the outline. I reach up and pull his briefs down his cock pop’s up. It is the biggest I have ever seen, it’s about seven inches and his head is red and puffy, ready to be squeezed. I lick my hand and start pumping it. As I touch it, it instantly gets harder.

“You're so big Gojo don’t know how I’m going to fit this.” At that I put my mouth around it. 

“Ahh shit Y/n you feel so good.” he throw his hand to the wall to steady himself. His cock pusles around my tongue. My tongue makes rings around it. I can feel veins and his taste is delicious, it was sweet and salty. Like a chocolate crossient that would melt on your tongue. I start to deep throat and he can barely stand it. It doesn’t fully fit in my mouth so I have to use my hand to ring the rest. He then grabs my hair and starts to fuck in. He starts to go faster and faster. “I’m going to cum!” He let’s go. His cock flops out. “That was… fucking amazing Y/n.” That sent confidene all through my body.

“Thank you now are you going to fuck me with that monster or not.” He smirks and lifts me up my legs wrap his waist. 

“Of course I will I got to fuck the attiude out of you don’t I?” There’s the cocky asshole I like. HE goes to kiss me again. Our teeth mashing together. His hand travels down under my pencil skirt and rips my fishnet tights at my crotch. I am soaked.

“All this is for me huh?” He slid my panties to the side and line’s uo his cock. “I’m going to go in okay?” I nod and he steadily sinks in. Just at that I felt so full. “You feel so tight, Y/n so good let me know when I can move in.” I barely hear anything because I am so distracted by this feeling.

“You can move kay.” I get out somehow and he starts slowly thrusting up. I put my arms around his neck. His cock get’s comfortablpe and thicker. His hip’s mett mine with each thrust. His balls slapping against my pussy. It goes in circles, drawing more and more out of me. 

“How is it, Sweetness?” 

“So good toru~” I moan out. He then add’s a finger to my clit to really drive it home. “FUck!” My wetness is now gushing like a waterfall.

“That’s my girl almost there right?” 

“Yes!” He pumps a couple more time’s and my pussy squzze’s and we an sexual explosion we cum together. I guess Gojo Satoru isn’t too bad.

I also have another Gojo smut fic if you like! Valentine's Day

[little-miss-of-the-sky]

THE GIRL WHO THOUGH TOO MUCH (Nam-Gyu x anxious reader)

Nam-Gyu didn't know what had caught his eye on you . Maybe it was the tone of silence among the indignation. The way you twisted your sleeves between your fingers. Or your worried expression, so worried, as if a tragedy was brewing and only you had the secret . He saw you glancing around,until you met his gaze and quickly looked at the ground again. Yet, it awakened a strange feeling in Nam-Gyu's heart, a mix of emptiness and warmth . But he forced himself to focus on those strange armed guards who had just entered. A simple player was not going to distract him . But your number, 258 , remained anchored in his head, even though he kept telling himself that he didn't need a woman acting like a frightened child . Thanos was sufficient as an ally . 

He saw you again during red light,green light, looking terrified, your eyes wide like a deer under headlights. Blood was slowly running down your cheek, crimson drops staining the green of your tracksuit. A girl was dead in front of you, shot in the head, her body resting at your feets while the light reflected on her empty pupils. Nam-Gyu hated that he cared . That every shout of the player 456, who claimed to know the game, seemed to panick you even more.  That, despise your motionless form, your eyes were full of tears and your hands began to shake dangerously . The doll began to sing again, her childish voice a contrast to the massacre it was allowing to be accomplished :

"Mugunghwa kkoci pieot seumnida".

All the players were moving in a line, following Gi-Hun command, but you didn't moved, as if paralyzed by the corpse at your feets. If you stayed like this, you will die in the next round, by shaking too much or running out of time . And deep down, Nam-Gyu didn't want that to happen . In a quick mouvement, he grapped your arm and pulled you by force behind him . The doll slowly turned her head, searching for the unlucky players who moved.  He could feel your trembling body leaning against his back, your breath gasping as you whispered hesitantly :

"Thanks you, player 124..............."

He was almost embarrassed to hear your sweet voice thanking him with so much gratitude. But a little voice in your head told him that you only wanted to use him, like so many others.  As an answer, he pushed your arm off his body and sneered :"Stop leaning on me, crybaby. I should have left you there. "

Even if you ended up surviving, he didn't expect to see you again . But your caught up with him on the countless stairs, your skin still pale from the horror you had seen. You didn't seemed sure, far from it, but you swallowed and said :

"player 124 , thanks you again for saving me. May i ask your name ? "

He though for a moment, his gaze studying you before muttering : "Nam-Gyu....."

Your eyes lit up, a faint smile rising on your lips as you exclaimed :

"Well, thanks Nam-Gyu ! "

Not Nam-Su or another nickname, you got it right the first Time . And it made his heart beat faster . And he didn't know what to make of it .

Of course, he voted to stay . Life was fucked up out there, so why would he return to it ? Soft sobs reached his ears , the muffled sounds barely louder than a whisper but still here.  And he didn't take long to find where the noise was coming from . You were here, defending a young woman who had voted to go , against the player 100 . The old man had previously manipulated her, taking advantage of her shock after the first game. Nam-Gyu could see you trying to not burst into tears, your feet nervously stomping the ground as you begged :

"Please sir, i know she didn't voted like she told you but don't harras her...."

But the old man didn't care and walked closer to you, enterring your personal space just to directly yell in your face : "Your debt is only 850 000 wons so shut up ! You don't understand ! And stop shaking, pathetic girl ! "

You looked like you saw a ghost and was scratching your arm violently, leaving red marks on the skin. The player 100 didn't seemed to care about how is demeanor was affecting you, instead turning to the others players and screaming :

"Let's play one more game and get more money ! "

And if Nam-Gyu found the argument between the old lady and her son amusing, seeing you disappear among the crowd of people was not something he would have wished . 

After the vote, he let Thanos for a moment, under the pretext of going to find someone to team up.  The truth was that he also wanted to escape the calm humiliation inflicted on him by the rapper, the constant "Nam-Su" that filled him with frustration. But he kept his complaints for himself, because reasoning with Thanos would be usuless. As he walked among the bunks, he noticed somebody curled up in a corner, alone . The nearer je approched, the more he saw the trembling shoulders, the more he heard the rapid breath . The person gripped her jacked thightly and on the fabric, Nam-Gyu recognized a number. Your number . It was you who had completly cracked, pushed to the limit by the fear of the guards, of this games, and the threats of player 100 . And anxious woman was not going to live long here, even if she tried her best . He had saw many girls at the club breaking down like that, sometimes after using his drugs. And it never ended well . 

His first though was to leave you there, to laugh about how you were so stupid to cry like that . But something was holding him back, a feeling he didn't like at all . Affection . With a sigh, he squatted down at your height and akwardly patted your back . Your lack of reaction annoyed him so he grapped your chin to see your face . A small part of him regretted his gesture when he saw your startle. Homever, he did not allow himself to break his mocking, passive-agressive exterior . He looked at you straight in the eyes, noticing your wet cheeks and said :

"you, join my team . No one would want somebody so frightened anyway"

. A long silence passed before you stood up and wiped your tears, your body shaken with soft hiccups. Your voice was trembling and hoarse when you answered :

"I accept..... Nam-Gyu...."

Your suspicious look hadn't gone away but you remembered his name . And this gave rise to a sweet warmth in his heart .

You integrated with his team quite well . At first scared of Thanos and his high state , you started liking him more when you realised that he didn't mean you any harm . Gyeong-su was delighted to have someone listening to him talking about the "great"Thanos. Nam-Gyu often sat near you, sticking you as he did to Thanos. If you couldn't get out of this shitty place, he might try to make you survive. 

(English is not my first language, i apologize for any mistakes)

Tags : @goodberguy7 , @namsgyu , @sealcowboy , @slutforsnow , @i-think-youre-a-work-of-art , @oliverisagaymuggleborn

[aphrodite-luvs]

𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader — Usage of Y/n

~ THEN ~

The walls of Cabin 10 are shaking. Or maybe that’s just you.

Luke stands in the center of the room, hands clenched at his sides, his dark curls disheveled from where you yanked at them earlier. His brown eyes, sharp and full of fire, are locked onto yours, daring you to break first.

“You’re pathetic.”

You swallow hard. “Fuck you.”

Luke tilts his head, tongue running over his bottom lip, and smirks. He steps closer, slow, predatory. “That’s not what you were saying five minutes ago, baby.”

Your skin burns, shame curling hot in your stomach. You hate him. Gods, you hate him.

But you still let him touch you.

He knows it, too.

His fingers ghost over your arm, trailing up to your shoulder, sliding the delicate pink strap of your silk slip down with ease. His voice is low, almost gentle. Cruel. “What’s wrong, princess? Don’t like being reminded of what you let me do to you?”

You slap his hand away. “You disgust me.”

Luke laughs, tipping his head back. “Yeah? That why you keep coming back?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because you do keep coming back. Every fucking time.

Luke sighs, reaching out again, this time tangling his fingers into your hair, forcing you to look at him. His grip isn’t rough, but it’s firm. Unrelenting. Just like him.

“You can hate me all you want, Y/N,” he murmurs, eyes flickering between yours, his breath hot against your lips. “But we both know you’ll still end up under me.”

And gods help you—he’s right.

~ NOW ~

The bonfire is too bright. Too warm. Too loud.

Or maybe you’re just too drunk.

The wine bottle is slipping from your fingers, your silk dress clinging to your body in the humid night air, the delicate lace pressed against your skin like a secret. Your heart is pounding, and you don’t know if it’s the alcohol or him.

Luke.

He’s sitting by the fire, legs spread lazily, a girl curled into his side. Dark-haired, tan-skinned, smiling up at him like he’s something worth looking at.

His arm is draped over her shoulder. His fingers play with the ends of her hair, twirling and untwirling, the same way he used to do with yours. He leans in, murmurs something into her ear, and she laughs.

It shouldn’t hurt.

But it does.

You spin on your heel before he can see you, before he can catch the broken look in your eyes and smirk. Before he can ruin you again.

The bottle slips from your grasp, shattering against the ground.

You don’t stop walking.

You don’t know where you’re going until you’re knocking on his door.

~ THEN ~

The Hermes cabin door slams behind you.

Luke is smirking, arms crossed over his chest, watching as you pace in front of him, silk clinging to your body, cheeks flushed from rage and want and humiliation.

“I saw you with her.”

Luke sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Gods, not this again.”

You freeze. “Not this again?”

He groans. “Y/N—”

“You were all over her!” Your voice breaks. “Touching her. Whispering to her. You know what that does to me, Luke!”

Luke’s jaw tightens. “You’re acting like we’re in some perfect little relationship,” he snaps. “Like I owe you something.”

Your stomach twists. You know what’s coming next before he even says it.

“But newsflash, princess.” He steps forward, gripping your chin, tilting your face up so you have to look at him. His brown eyes burn into yours, sharp and cruel. “We’re not together.”

You slap his hand away, eyes stinging. “Fuck you.”

His lips curve, slow and taunting. “You already did, sweetheart.”

And the worst part?

You do it again.

NOW

The door creaks open.

Luke is there, dark curls messy, shirt half-unbuttoned, brown eyes scanning your face with something unreadable. His gaze flickers down—your smudged lipstick, your bare shoulders, the pink silk of your dress slipping dangerously low.

His jaw tightens. “Y/N.”

You swallow, breath uneven. “Miss me?”

His fingers twitch at his sides. “You’re drunk.”

You laugh, bitter and broken. “And you’re an asshole.”

Luke sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Your lower lip wobbles. “I don’t know where else to go.”

His shoulders rise and fall with a sharp breath. He’s quiet for a moment—too quiet. Then, finally, he steps aside.

“Come in, baby.”

You’re sitting on his bed, knees drawn up, silk pooling around you. Luke kneels in front of you, pressing a glass of water into your shaking hands.

“Drink,” he murmurs.

You take a slow sip, fingers trembling against the glass. His eyes don’t leave you.

“Take this,” he says, pressing some nectar into your palm. “It’ll help with the hangover.”

You blink down at it, then back up at him. “Why do you care?”

Luke exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just take it, Y/N.”

Your throat tightens. “I don’t know how to be without you.”

His expression flickers—just for a second—before he schools it into something unreadable. His fingers ghost over your knee, his touch light, careful. “I know.”

Tears well up in your eyes. “Do you ever—do you ever miss me?”

His breath hitches. He hesitates. Then, quietly—so quietly you almost don’t hear it—

“Every day.”

Your chest aches. “Then why—”

“Because,” he cuts in, voice raw, “this isn’t love, Y/N.” His thumb brushes over your cheek, wiping away a tear. “It never was.”

Your lip trembles. “I think—I think I loved you.”

Luke’s hand tightens around yours. “I know baby. I know…”

The room is silent. His fingers trace slow circles against your skin, steady and soothing. His gaze softens, just a little.

“You should sleep,” he murmurs.

You shake your head. “I don’t want to be alone.”

His throat bobs. He hesitates—then, slowly, shifts onto the bed beside you, pulling you into his chest. His arms wrap around you, warm and solid, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

His lips brush against your hair, barely a whisper. “You’re not sweetheart.”

And for tonight—just for tonight—you let yourself believe him.

Xoxo Alexa <3