#he said he was going to make everything his own AND HE DID

[cherienymphe]

Basic Training XIX

Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, mentions of MURDER/violence/kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

~

“She’s better than she was when we first discovered her condition, but she’s still not where she needs to be…”

The now familiar voice reached your ears as you stared at the sheets, picking at your fingers just as you heard Peter sigh. You felt his soft hand rest atop your head, fingers gently massaging your scalp.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” the younger man murmured. “I’ve been getting her to eat more, but her appetite still hasn’t fully returned.”

There was a bit of an edge in his voice, and beyond the numb cloud you’d felt trapped in for weeks, a tiny sliver of satisfaction tickled your chest. Even if Peter had not been candid with you about what he was thinking, you knew that some part of him blamed Steve for the predicament you found yourselves in.

As he and Dr. Banner continued to talk about you as if you weren’t there, you recalled the hushed argument from only days ago that had woken you up in the middle of the night. Peter’s voice had been easy to identify—Steve’s even easier—and you’d been unable to fall back asleep right away as their muffled voices reached you through the floor.

You hadn’t been able to make out what they were saying, but you’d known that it was about you. Even though his confirmation wasn’t needed, Dr. Banner had said what everyone guessed to be true. You were pregnant before you even went down into the basement, and now, because of the actions of that day and the events that followed, Peter worried that the baby wasn’t going to make it.

You were sure that parts of him blamed both himself and you as well, but you supposed that Steve was an easier target, and you guessed that you couldn’t argue against the blond carrying a significant amount of blame. Truthfully, you didn’t care about who was to blame. You didn’t care about this pregnancy, at all.

Nevermind the fact that it just didn’t feel real to you—and that probably had to do with the fact that you weren’t even showing—but because it didn’t seem real, you just couldn’t bring yourself to consider it a priority after everything that had happened. How were you expected to care about something you couldn’t even see or feel when you had your own internal turmoil you were struggling to navigate?

Peter was stressed about a baby you didn’t even want while you were absentmindedly leaning into the touch of a murderer.

“Did you hear that?”

Peter’s gentle voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you blinked, the scene before you coming back into focus. Both he and Dr. Banner were looking at you expectantly, and when you looked between them—lips parted and brows furrowed—it became obvious that you hadn’t heard a word.

You ignored the frown on Peter’s face as Dr. Banner repeated himself.

“You need to eat even when you don’t feel like it, okay?” you looked down at that. “You’re still a bit malnourished and nowhere near the weight and health you need to be if you’re to carry this baby to term.”

It went unsaid, but there was a silent agreement that it was a miracle you hadn’t lost the baby already. At the feel of Peter’s gaze on you, you gave the older man a nod, and he seemed satisfied enough to finish up his talk with Peter. Your eyes traced the white sheets as Peter and Dr. Banner walked to the door, their voices fading as the dark-haired young man walked him out.

A small bout of relief filled you at being left alone, but it was overshadowed by the anxious feeling your codependency to Peter often brought on whenever you weren’t around him. Down in the basement, you had started to grow used to the numb feeling of being alone and isolated in darkness and silence. The days and weeks had blended together until it felt like one long endless stretch, but then Peter took your hand again and looked into your eyes and spoke to you in that gentle way he often did and…

You were back.

You were back to wanting to be around him and wanting to always be touching him and depending on him as the only thing to keep you somewhat sane—if you could even call yourself that. You needed him—to act as a shield against Steve, to reassure you that you were okay, to remind you that you were worthy of being loved. 

It was painful to admit, now because some part of you also couldn’t stand the sight of him. Since being out of the basement, you were more at war with yourself than you ever were before, and it was hell. Whenever he looked at you or talked to you, it was a constant battle with yourself to remind yourself of what he did and who he was. A battle you sometimes lost.

Even his touch made you nauseous…

“Dr. Banner’s right,” he said to you sometime later after the man in question was long gone. “You really need to be eating a lot more.”

You said nothing to that, your gaze remaining on the white sheets on your lap. You could feel Peter’s gaze on you, hoping and praying for some kind of response, but you only disappointed him.

“I’ve been trying to find a balance, you know? I don’t want to force you, but it’s important that you eat and get your strength up. I was trying to give it time, but we can’t afford that,” he continued, reaching for your hand.

You snatched it away without thinking, and you could feel him staring at you. The silence stretched and stretched, and you avoided his gaze. This tense and awkward air had surrounded you two for weeks, and you knew that a moment would come where someone would reach their breaking point.

After some time, you heard Peter slowly exhale.

“I understand that you’re mad at me,” he finally whispered. “I understand that. You’re angry and confused…and probably really hurt…”

Your eyes watered.

“...and I’m letting you have that, but…do not do anything you’ll regret.”

His words made you frown, and you stared at the wall, struggling to understand what he meant.

“If you are doing any of this just to spite me…” you whipped your head around to look at him. “If you let anything happen to our baby just to hurt me…”

Peter trailed off the longer you just stared at him, your eyes growing wider and wider at his audacity. How could you even begin to tell Peter that you weren’t even thinking about this baby? That this thing growing inside of you that you couldn’t even feel or see was so far from your mind?

For the first time in ages…you wanted to scream at Peter. You wanted to hit him like you used to and hurt him like he hurt you and make this as difficult as possible for him. The thought to let something happen to this baby just to hurt Peter had never even crossed your mind. Although, you supposed that it wasn’t a bad idea, but you weren’t like that.

You didn’t have it in you.

You wanted to tell the man before you that if you were ever going to entertain the idea of losing this baby in some way, it would be to protect them from what you felt was a worse fate. It would be because ending its life before it even had a chance to take its first breath was a mercy in comparison to what they had to look forward to, and you didn’t know what scared you more.

Raising a son to follow in his father’s footsteps or raising a daughter to follow in yours?

It was too much, and instead of saying any of this to Peter, you chose to bite your tongue and lie back down. You heard Peter sigh as you rolled over and faced your back to him, unable to finally voice your thoughts and open the floodgates that were no doubt holding everything back.

You both felt and heard Peter move closer, joining you on the bed, and you didn’t have the energy to shove him away. His hand rested on your back, gently caressing it, and his apology meant nothing to you as you sought out sleep.

Peter’s hands were tight on you as you spilled what little you had in your stomach into the toilet. His silence betrayed his attempts to hide his disappointment, but you knew that he didn’t like the sight of you throwing up when you were still eating so little.

Even if it was normal.

“I’m going to have to ask Dr. Banner what he can do about that…”

You wanted to tell Peter that nothing could really be done about morning sickness because it was…well…morning sickness. You imagined the doctor would tell him what you already knew—that while there was stuff to help reduce it, there was no guaranteed way to stop it.

After helping you wash your mouth out, he was quick to run into the room and get rid of the untouched eggs. The lingering smell was enough to make your stomach churn, and you worried that you’d be sick again. Your lashes fluttered as you slowly breathed in and out through your mouth, and you didn’t realize how long you’d been doing it until you felt Peter’s hand on your arm again.

When you opened your eyes, he had a glass of water, and you were too unwell to resist his help as he tilted it against your lips. He forced you to drink it all, and under different circumstances, you would have been moved by how concerned he was for you and the baby, but as it were, you could only think about how you were well and truly trapped now.

It was a fact before, and it wasn’t like you had a sliver of hope for otherwise or anything—long accepting your fate—but this pregnancy was like the nail in the coffin. Your eyes strayed to the painful ring on your finger as Peter guided you back to the bed, and you moved your head away from his fingers when he reached for your face.

The silence was loud.

“Are you going to hate me forever?”

The truth was that you didn’t know the answer to that. The most logical part of you guessed that some part of you would always hate him, but the part of you that had been so worn down by Peter and this house worried that a day would come—probably sooner than you think—where you would just accept Peter for who he actually was and not who you’d been conned into thinking he was.

Was that really the appropriate term though?

Had you been deceived? 

Of course you had. You’d been deliberately misled or just flat out lied to about the extent of Peter’s involvement in what happened to your friends. It was an agreed upon thing to keep it from you, so yes. You’d indeed been deceived to think Peter wasn’t as bad as he was, and yet…

Perhaps you held some blame in thinking it made that much of a difference to begin with. Whether he pulled the trigger or not—and he very much did—Peter still played an astronomical part in what happened to your friends. You wondered if making such a distinction in your mind was simply a way to ease the guilt you felt about giving in. 

You hadn’t even realized you’d started crying until Peter brushed his thumb under your eye.

“I’m trying to be patient, so patient, because I know these past couple of months have been a lot for you…but you’re scaring me.”

Peter moved closer, resting his hand on the back of your neck.

“I need you to talk to me. I need…I need to hear your voice,” he whispered. “I miss you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“I know a lot is going on in that pretty head of yours. There’s always so much going on up there,” he chuckled. “...but I can’t try to make this right, try to make this better for the both of us if you won’t talk to me.”

Peter took a deep breath.

“I need you to get healthy again so that we can start forgetting about the rough start to this pregnancy and start being happy. We should be celebrating,” Peter told you. “This is supposed to be a happy time for us, and instead I’m scared—scared of losing the baby, of losing you.”

You hated the way Peter’s voice cracked, and fighting against everything in you, you made to move out of his reach. Peter wasn’t having it though, fingers digging into the fabric of your nightgown and the skin of your arm.

“You’ve lost so much weight, and you’re not eating enough, and you won’t speak to me—stop, stop,” he bit out, pulling you back despite your attempts to get away from him. “I miss you.”

You made a noise of protest, a frustrated whine leaving your lips as he fought to keep you in his grip.

“I miss you so much, I fucking miss you, and you…”

He swallowed his words as he tried to kiss you, and the sound of the slap was loud in the otherwise quiet room. You didn’t know who was more shocked by your actions—you or Peter—and you both just stared at each other for a few moments, silent and wide-eyed.

Your chest was heaving as your breathing grew heavier, and the sight of him started to blur as your eyes watered. You didn’t know why you were pushed over the edge by Peter trying to kiss you, but your whole body felt like it was on fire and not in a good way. Your hand stung, and you took note of the way his cheek continued to redden.

Peter looked like he didn’t know if he wanted to hold you or throttle you.

Your lips trembled as the words danced on your tongue, and the tears that escaped your eyes were hot. You could see Peter’s expression soften at the sight, and you spat the words out before he could say another word to you.

“You are a murderer.”

You couldn’t tell if Peter was shocked by the first words you chose to say to him in months, but he did look stricken.

“...and you made me think you weren’t.”

You shook your head at him, more tears falling.

“You made me think you were better than them. You fed me bullshit and made me think you weren’t as bad as them,” you choked out. “...and maybe…maybe that’s my fault too. Maybe I wanted to believe that to feel better about myself and what was happening.”

You pushed his hands away as he reached for you again.

“Even though I know it’s not my fault, I feel like I could’ve done something to stop this. Fought harder, been stronger, held onto my sanity a little tighter…”

You screamed when Peter tried to interrupt you.

“None of this is my fault! It’s all your fault,” you bit out. “All of this is your fault, but I’m the only one suffering.”

Peter’s face shifted into something angry, but you continued before he could come up with whatever bullshit about how he was suffering too.

“You miss me because I won’t talk to you, because I won’t touch you, but how do you think I feel? Fighting against everything in me that’s telling me to just lay down and submit to survive, telling me to let it go to be happy.”

You were full on sobbing now, gasping around every word you said.

“Every day I have to choose between hating the man that ruined my life…and being happy. Every day, it’s one or the other, and every time I choose what’s easy, I hate myself more and more.”

You reached up to twist your hands into your hair, pulling.

“It was bad enough when I didn’t know you were a murderer…”

You stared into Peter’s eyes, and you looked between them as you dropped your hands.

“...but how can I do it now? How can I choose what’s supposed to be easy when I know what I know?” you whispered.

Peter slowly reached for you, and your shoulders heaved.

“I kept telling myself that it could be worse,” you mumbled. “I kept saying at least…at least he didn’t kill them, at least he didn’t kill them.”

Peter was gently shaking you, but you were staring past him.

“...but you did. Even if you didn’t pull the trigger—and you did—you still killed them,” you quietly breathed. “You killed all of them…”

Your gaze met his worried one.

“From the moment you decided you wanted me, you killed them. You put them in the ground the moment you decided that,” you tearfully said. “...and I told myself differently to make it easier, to make it better, but it doesn’t fucking matter.”

You slapped him again and again, and when Peter painfully gripped your wrists, you couldn’t hold in your painful gasp. You still tried to hit him, but he wouldn’t let you, and you couldn’t stop crying.

“You’re worse than they are. All of them,” you cried. “Even Steve.”

You didn’t care about the hurt on Peter’s face at that, shaking your head at him.

“At least he doesn’t deceive anyone. At least he doesn't lie…”

The words just kept tumbling out, and it was too late to stop them.

“You killed my friends and took me for yourself and drove me insane,” you slowly whispered, tone incredulous like you still couldn’t believe it. “...and if that wasn’t enough…”

You pulled on your arms again, but Peter refused to let you go.

“You made me fall in love with you.”

Peter’s movements faltered at your words, and he moved closer, looking between your eyes.

“You knew what you were doing,” you breathed. “This is what you wanted.”

You frowned at him with a shake of your head.

“You wanted me completely helpless and defenseless without you. I can’t so much as breathe a different way without looking to you first, and you know it. I find out you shot my best friend, and I’m struggling with it? Struggling?” you let out a humorless laugh. “I should hate you! I should be plotting to strangle you in your sleep.”

Peter wrapped his arms around you despite how difficult you made it, and he shushed you.

“...but what would happen to me? Where would I go? Who would even stand to be around me like this?”

Peter forced you to press your face into the crook of his neck, his hand on the back of your head and his other rubbing circles into your back.

“You’ve ruined me, Peter, and it’s exactly what you set out to do,” you sobbed into his skin. “...and I knew it was happening, but I couldn’t stop it from happening.”

“You’re not ruined,” he finally whispered into your hair.

You pushed against his chest, but he wouldn’t let you go, holding you tighter.

“You’re perfect.”

His words both validated and disgusted you. You knew he was saying them because he believed them to be true, and that was the problem. Now that he’d broken you down and scrambled your brain into loving the man who killed your friends and kidnapped you, you were perfect. He’d molded you into exactly what he wanted, and that only made you cry harder.

Peter gently rocked you, refusing to let you go, and when the hand on your back traveled to your stomach, you shuddered. As he traced patterns into your stomach and whispered comforting words to you, you thought to yourself that you couldn't even hate him in peace if you tried. He was always going to be there, comforting you during the pain he caused.

…and for the umpteenth day in a row, you had to decide between hating the man who ruined your life…or being happy.

[yanderedrabbles]

Foreign Yandere x Air Hostess Reader

He's beyond shady. Got connections and friends in all the lowest places. But you're just a little too slow to realise it.

Foreign Yandere who sees you for the first time on his first flight out of the country. He’s a sketchy guy, got a pack of fake passports in a hidden compartment in his bag, but you smile at him like you don’t see the tattoos, the scarred knuckles, the too quick hands.

Oh, you’re pretty. All the cabin crew are, but you’re something new. Exotic almost. Got him wondering exactly how different you are in bed too, got him wondering if you’d put up a fuss if he cornered you in the bathroom. Hell, you might like it. Folk always said foreign girls were down for so much more.

It’s a long-haul flight and your supervisor is bitchy about damn near everything you do. Passengers aren’t much better after twelve hours with their legs cramped up and only shitty plane chow to eat. He can see it wearing on you, can see the way your smile gets tighter after every too sharp complaint. Makes him want to beat their faces into a pulp.

His last straw comes at hour sixteen, when you’re clearly exhausted and one passenger just won’t let up. Practically screaming at you about not getting his specially ordered meal. You’re dealing with it as best you can, but everyone has a limit. He can see the tears starting to brim behind your waterline, can see you struggling to fight them back.

He stands so fast that his seat mate actually flinches. Comes to stand behind you and glares at the troublemaker. The man doesn’t let up, just switches his anger to him.

“You got a problem, huh?”

Foreign Yandere who doesn’t have a lot of English, but he knows a threat when he hears one. He leans down, shoots the man a smile filled with all the menace of a streetfighter.

“What did you say to me?” he asks, in his own language. It isn’t the standard dialect. It’s the regional kind, the type that’s as rough ‘round the edges as its speakers.

The man quails.

 “Sorry,” he mutters. But that’s not good enough.

Foreign Yandere who jerks his head at you, his message clear even across the language barrier.

Apologise to her.

The guy does. Red in the face, resentful about it, spitting his sorry through his teeth like an insult.

You look up at him, the foreigner with the hard eyes, and thank him. In his own language.

Your accent is thick, the pronunciation too rounded on the vowels. But he’ll be damned if it ain’t just fucking adorable.

“Anytime,” he tells you.

It’s not long after he’s back in his seat that you bring him a complimentary cup of coffee and a muffin. The good stuff too, not the swill that usually gets served in economy. He grabs your wrist before you can leave, grip just a little too tight without meaning to be.

“Can I see you again?”

Your grasp of the language isn’t the best, and it takes you a minute to puzzle out what he's asked. When you finally get it, you smile at him and shake your head. Rueful.

“Against company policy to meet the passengers after the flight ends.”

He lets it go. Sighs and says he understands, wouldn’t want to get you in trouble. A surprisingly polite answer from a man who looks like he never hears the word no without following it with a punch to the teeth.

But he doesn’t let it go. Not really. After the plane is deboarded, he skips lines and almost skips customs to keep his eye on you. When you get into a shuttle bus with the rest of your coworkers, he takes careful note of the hotel name scrawled on the side.

His business goes well - if you can call smuggling business that is. The boys he’s dealing with have their own plane to get him home. The kind of small jet that never lands at any airport marked on a map. He slips them all a little something extra under the table and asks if he can bring a guest.

“Will they be conscious?”

He grins. “Not if I can help it.”

Getting you is the tricky part. He borrows a suit and cleans himself up. Shows up at the hotel desk in the middle of the night and tells them he’s here to pick you up for an unscheduled early flight. He knows your name, your company, even your damn rank in the crew. Everything he says checks out. And if the receptionist that calls you thinks he looks a little rough to be a driver, she doesn’t mention it.

You show up with your uniform a tiny bit askew and a sock sticking out of your suitcase. You must have scrambled out of bed without even bothering to double check with your supervisor. Good. The less people that know the better.

He mostly keeps his back to you. Doesn’t want you to recognise him too soon. He shouldn’t have worried. You’re too jetlagged and blurry eyed to even recognise your own mother.

It’s only when you’re in his car and speeding down the wrong highway that you start to get suspicious. Start to come awake fully.

“Which company did you say you work for again?”

He doesn’t reply. You’re going to have to put more effort into learning and speaking his language. No point encouraging you by answering.

“Excuse me?”

You lean forward to get his attention and when he hears your little gasp, he knows the game is up. That you recognise him. Honestly, he’s a little offended that it took you this long. He could keep track of you through a sea of faces back at the airport after all.

“Listen, I don’t know why you’re here. But please stop the car.”

See? You’re speaking his language a bit better already.

“No chance sweetheart. You’re coming home with me.”

He can almost admire your guts when you go straight for the door, despite the speedometer showing over 200. Locked of course. He’s not an idiot.

When he finally arrives at the hangar, it takes him and two other thugs to finally hold you still.

“Fucking feisty thing,” one of them snarls when you land a good kick to his knee.

When he finally manages to prick the injection into your neck, you’re crying so hard that your mascara is running.

“You put up a good fight baby,” he comforts you as you go limp in his arms. “But I just want this more than you.”

His buddies smirk when they look at your body sprawled out on the seat.

“Nice catch. I’m mad I didn’t see her first.”

“You gonna be nice and share?”

That makes him grin. “We’ll see. If she’s too much to handle, well…”

That makes them snicker.

You shouldn’t assume someone’s a thug just ‘cause of the way they look. But in his case, those scars weren’t earned through gentle accidents.

And when he gets you home, someplace probably tropical, someplace where a missing foreigner isn't that surprising a thing, he'll show you exactly how dangerous it is to smile at a criminal and expect him to just let it go.

[adverbally]

Intention

Written for the @stmarchmm prompt “courting rituals” | wc: 913 | rated: T | cw: none | tags: Steddie, Steve & Wayne, omega Steve, alpha Eddie, alpha Wayne, early relationship, asking permission to court, non-traditional relationship dynamics

———

Steve hesitates on the Munsons’ front porch. The trailer is familiar and comforting with its worn screen door and peeling paint, the warm light and organized chaos he knows to be hidden inside. This place has become more of a home to him than the house he grew up in.

He doesn’t want to lose that now.

But he thinks about Eddie nervously asking him on their first real date, hiding his grin behind the lock of hair he tugged across his face when Steve said yes; the way Eddie’s eyes had sparkled in the glow of the streetlight outside Steve’s house when he dropped him off after dinner, just before he leaned in for the best first kiss Steve has ever had; how Eddie had carefully brushed his wrist along the cuff of Steve’s sweater so he could still smell Eddie’s smoky ginger scent for the rest of the evening.

Steve wants that, all of that and more. The promise of that has to outweigh the fear of screwing everything up.

He knocks on the door.

It feels like an eternity before Wayne answers, already dressed in his work clothes for that evening’s shift. He seems surprised to see Steve, but he pushes open the screen door between them and waves him inside anyway. “Did Ed not tell you he has band practice? He should be home soon but you’re welcome to wait.”

“No, I…” Steve takes a deep breath and stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets so he doesn’t start fidgeting with his jacket zipper. “I wanted to talk to you, actually, if you have a minute?”

Wayne looks even more baffled now but gestures for Steve to take a seat in one of the mismatched chairs surrounding the small dining table. He doesn’t join him immediately, instead going into the kitchen and silently filling two glasses with water from the tap. When he returns, he sits in the seat across from Steve and slides one of the cups over to him.

“Thanks.” Steve’s mouth is so dry that his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, but he’s not sure he can take a drink without spilling or choking on it. Not until he says what he needs to say. Keeping his gaze on the scratched tabletop, he begins, “I think you probably know why I’m here.”

“I think so,” Wayne agrees. “And I think you know I need to hear you say it anyway.”

Steve nods, thinking of Eddie’s spicy warm scent to steel himself. “Eddie said you’re not very traditional. Your family, I mean. He offered to do this because he thought I wanted to do it, and I know he would’ve, but my dad…” He cuts off his rambling with a shake of his head. “Sorry, I’m nervous. Eddie said I shouldn’t be–”

“Steve. Take a breath.”

He does, then sips from his glass. Wayne doesn’t say anything while Steve gathers his thoughts for a long moment. Finally, he speaks again, deliberately. “Eddie is incredible. I care about him. I want to be with him.” It’s a gross understatement but if he starts elaborating, he might never stop. “I don’t give a shit what my dad thinks, but it matters to me what you think. Because it matters to Eddie. You’re the most important person in his life. He’s an adult and he can make his own decisions, so I’m not asking for permission, but… I wanted to inform you of my intention to court your nephew.”

Wayne nods, a slight tilt of his head acknowledging Steve’s declaration. “I accept it.”

“Okay.” He nods back, taps his fingers along the side of his water glass, listening to the quiet ping of his nails on its surface. “Thank you.” It’s almost disappointing how anticlimactic this was. He had stressed over it for days, and Wayne just… accepts him, just like that?

Like he can read Steve’s mind, Wayne leans closer. “You’re a good kid, Steve. You saved Ed’s life, you make him happy, you take care of that pack of kids. I think you’re good for him. Mellow him out some.”

“Yeah?” The compliment makes him warm from head to toe. Steve grins down at the table. “I think he’s good for me too.”

Wayne drains the last of the water in his glass. “I’d’ve given my permission, too, if you’d asked. Not that you need it.” He rises from his chair with a groan. “I gotta head to work now, but you’re welcome to wait for Ed. Make yourself at home.”

Steve stands as well, accepting the handshake Wayne offers him. “Thanks again, sir, I appreciate it.”

“Call me Wayne, son.” His mouth twists in a wry smile. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” He claps a hand on Steve’s shoulder, then shrugs on his coat. “Make sure you’re being safe, now. I’m not ready to be a granddad yet.”

Wayne can surely see him blushing as Steve stammers, “No, we— I mean, we haven’t, I’m not—” When he realizes Wayne is fighting back his smile, he sighs, embarrassed but relieved to be in on the joke. “Okay, laugh it up.”

He waves to Wayne from the doorstep, watches the beat-up old truck kick up dust until it turns onto the asphalt outside the trailer park. The alpha’s scent lingers in the trailer, more woodsy than Eddie’s but still warm. Familiar.

Steve thinks he could get used to it.

[ipushhimback]

this… is a french braid

pairing: max verstappen x leclerc!reader warnings: none words: 850?

summary: who could have known that a braid can cause so much drama

It was the morning of the Dutch Grand Prix. You were standing in front of your daughter’s suitcase as you showed her the outfits you packed, none of which Emily agreed to wear.

“But look, chérie, this is such a pretty dress”, you said hoping that your daughter would finally agree to wear something.

“No. It is not. I want the one Uncle Charles gave me!”, your daughter pouted.

Sadly you knew that Em was stubborn. She wouldn’t just agree to wear something she didn’t want to.

“I don’t have Charles dress here… Please. Just wear one of these dresses… Or do you want to wear a jeans? With one of the shirts Papa got for you?”, you asked again, praying Emily would agree to the tiny Red Bull shirts Max got her just a few days ago.

The five-year-old scrunched her nose as she thought about it before agreeing.

“Ok. But I want pretty hair”, she said as she looked up at you.

“A braid?”, you asked as you pulled out the little jeans and Red Bull shirt for your daughter.

Emily nodded. “The pretty braid you always do. The not-just-on-the-bottom-braid.”

“You mean a French Braid?”, you asked while helping your daughter in the shirt.

“Yes. The magic braid that doesn’t look ugly after I run very fast.”

You just nodded as you grabbed the comb from the suitcase and tried to gently detangle your daughter’s curls. Methodically, you parted her hair and placed one strand over another while you listened to Emily rambling about how Uncle Charles promised her that Alex would bring Leo with her and Uncle Arthur had promised her to bring her chocolate to the track.

“And Uncle Charlie said he will give me an own car so I can drive around alone-“

“Charles said what?”, you asked shocked. “A car?”

“Yes, a car. A red one. Like his car”, Emily said dead serious.  

You just stared at her through the mirror, deciding that you’ll have to talk to Charles about that… car for your five year old daughter.

You finished the braid by wrapping a small elastic around the hair.

“Such a pretty girl”, you said smiling which made Emily giggle.

“You are pretty, too, Maman”, Em said and you had to admit, not even a compliment of Max could compare to your daughter complimenting you.

“Thank you, chérie. Now, let’s go. Papa is probably already waiting for us.”

“YES! Can I show him my hair then?!”, Emily said excitedly.

“Of course you can. Can we leave now? Is your outfit good? Braids don’t hurt?”, you asked praying that everything would be good so they could finally leave.

Emily thought for a moment but nodded eventually, making you sigh in relief.

“Amazing. Then get your backpack, chérie.”

—-

Only half an hour later they arrived at the paddock and as soon as Em saw Max she started running towards him.

“PAPA! Look at my pretty hair. Maman did a braid! The magic braid!” The five-year-old turned her head so Max could look at her hair.

“Wow! Such a pretty braid, Em!”, Max exclaimed before he looked closer.

“Liefje, this”, he looked at you while pointing at the braid, “is a French Braid…”

You looked absolutely confused. “Yes? It is the one your daughter requested after not wanting to wear anything…? Is there a problem?”

Max now looked like he might start crying. Seriously, it was the exactly same face, as Emily’s before she throws a tantrum.

“We are at the Dutch Grand Prix! She… she cannot have a French Braid! We… we are Dutch! My baby girl is Dutch!”

You looked up in the sky, pinching the bridge of your nose, while telling yourself it wouldn’t be worth it to start yelling now. After the drama with Emily not wanting to wear anything, your nerves were already used up.

“Mon cœur. I really really love you. But a damn French Braid does not mean she isn’t Dutch anymore…”

Max pouted. “But-“

“No!”, you exclaimed before you could stop yourself. “Max. Next time I will gladly let you braid her hair but today, please just accept that she has a French Braid. Ok?”

Max still looked sad but nodded. “I guess your Maman chose France over the Netherlands”, he whispered in Emily’s ear.

“But Maman is from Monaco”, his daughter said confused.

“Close enough”, Max sighed. “Tomorrow, when it is race day, I will braid your hair, ok? And we will choose a pretty dress.”

—-

The next morning you had the time of your life. You were sitting on the balcony of your hotel room while Max was in the room, trying to get Emily to wear a dress.

“Baby girl, please! This is so pretty! I beg you! Please just wear it. I am sure Uncle Charles will love it!”

You have been hearing Max beg for around half an hour now, even considered going inside to help him. But honestly, you were enjoying the sun and your coffee way too much. Max will handle it…

a/n: this was an idea i had in the middle of the night… i hope it is good hahah

taglist: @strawberryy-kiwii / @a-distantdreamer / @requiemforthepoets / @martygraciesversion381 / @l-vroom4 / @comicalivy / @sid-is-gr8 / @picklesbuddy93 / @sadiemack9 / @f1fantasys / @cloud-55 / @sunny44 / @widow-cevans / @gigicisneros / @mbioooo0000 / @sinfully-yoursss / @bravo-delta-eccho / @rue-t / @mayax2o07 / @alexanderachillesisgay / @maviesamour / @suhchenjun / @pippyth3hippy / @sweate-r-weathe-r / @joannaln4 / @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy / @aleatorio1234 

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

begging on my knees, ripping my skin off for shiu kong ANYTHING <3 ily cinna LMAOO

Bullet for my Assassin

Tags: Shiu x fem!Reader, Toji x fem!Reader, mfm, why choose, kidnapping, murder, dead dove, dark romance plot, you're being used for ransom, Toji and Shiu are morally black in this one.

Synopsis: Your dad is a wealthy CEO of Japan, but he hates you because you were born a girl instead of a boy. Toji and Shiu kidnap you and hold you ransom for money. Things ensue???

An: Hiiiii nepo baby, i know you said shiu kong anything. I hope you don’t mind Toji making an appearance. Also, HAPPY (so very late; i'm so sorry.) BIRTHDAY!!! Look, i gotta be honest. I ran out of inspiration for this fic, so I'm posting it, hoping it will revitalize some of that inspiration for a part two. That being said, let me know if I should make a part two.

Being the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in Japan was actually a death sentence. Since you didn’t have a dick between your legs, you’re obviously less than in the world of business.

Your dad pressured your mom into giving him children to inherit the company, but he didn’t want children. He wanted men to inherit the company. You were just a lowly girl!! How were you supposed to manage a company? Girls clearly didn’t know anything about finance or business. (can you smell my sarcasm)

Ruthless and cold, your father never showed you nor your mother an ounce of love. In fact, he had tried multiple avenues to try and prove that you weren’t his kid. Unfortunately for both of you, you share 23 of your dad’s chromosomes.

His anger was growing worse towards you as you got older and developed your own personality. Everything you did was wrong in his eyes. Even though the company was specifically suppose to go to his kid, your father had been toying with the idea of selling out just so you couldn’t ruin what he had built.

Not that you cared, you thought about how if you were the CEO, you’d burn the company to the ground just to spite his wishes. You’d love to see him turn over in his grave as he watched his baby burn because of his daughter.

You basically lived alone. Your mother had passed a couple of years ago due to strange circumstances, and your father never bothered to come home. There would be no point to socializing with the likes of you.

Your mother’s early death rocked you to your core. For your entire childhood, she was weary and exhausted. Your father directed his anger on her, and she couldn’t help but subconsciously put the blame on you. If only you were a boy.

She did a good job of not showing her true thoughts. She wasn’t a doting or nurturing, but she was there for you. She never raised a hand to you, never raised her voice with you, never called you mean names. That was all you could ask for whenever your dad was so vile towards you. While she wasn’t close with you, she was still your mom, and she was the closest thing to parental guidance that you had. Her death was the beginning of your lonely existence.

The mansion was like a prison for you. Since your dad was so prominent in social media, you had an image to uphold, and he didn’t want you ruining that image. So, he didn’t even give you the chance to interact with anyone outside of the house. The only way for you to escape his claws was to either get married or die, and getting married was impossible when you weren’t allowed to interact with anyone on the outside.

You preferred being alone. The empty quiet feelings was better than the anxiety you got when your father was home. He’d always start yelling at the waitstaff about something so minuscule. He harbored so much anger that the house practically turned sour when he came home.

What was the saying? If you grow up with an angry man in your house, there will always be an angry man in your house. The thought of marrying someone like your dad made you want to gouge your eyes out with a butter knife. Being alone was the best option.

Besides, the waitstaff was nice. They cared for you… albeit from a distance, but they cared. It was known that you received the worst of your father’s anger, so they empathized with you.

The house was particularly quiet late one evening. It wasn’t the normal quiet that gave you a sense of peace. It was eerily quiet, giving you a sense of dread. The sounds of hushed talking and dishes clattering was the usual background noise in the house from the waitstaff, but there was nothing right now… as if it truly was just you in the house.

The alarms would’ve went off if someone entered. Not to mention there’s security posted around the perimeter… unless your father was the reason that it was so quiet… Surely, it was just him. Maybe he sent the waitstaff home for the day?

You carefully slipped out of bed, pulling a robe on over your silk pajamas. Being a CEO’s daughter wasn’t all bad. You received luxury items in exchange for feeling void of any real human connection and your dad’s hatred!

Briefly taking a moment to wonder if you were being one of those dumb characters from a scary movie, you quickly pushed those thoughts out of your head. Your life was more of a tragedy than a horror movie.

Slowly stepping out of your room, the click of your door latching filled the space, and you held your breath for just a moment. Nothing.

You soundlessly walked down the hall. Since you were on the second floor, there was a landing where you could look over the rails to see the bottom floor.

Nothing. No- is that a foot? Is someone lying on the ground. You leaned farther over the wooden railing to see. You were surely mistaken, right? Who was lying on the floor?

The feeling of a hand pressing down on the back of your head. Fingers entangled with your hair as the unknown man gripped you from behind. His other hand was steady on your hip. You were being dangled over the side of the railing by a stranger.

Immediately, you started to thrash against his hold, panicking as you did so. “Let me go!” You shouted, kicking your feet out from behind you to try to get away from him.

Turning your head as much as his hand would allow, you only caught the glimpse of a scar on the man’s lip. He shot you a grin before pushing your body closer to the edge, almost making you topple right over the railing.

“Yeah, princess? Want me to let you go?” His voice was husky, teasing almost. It had a raspy edge to it that sent shivers up your spine as you were now trying to push back against him to get away from the edge.

Your eyes were looking at the drop, wondering if it was better to just fall than to face whatever this man was going to do you. Somethings were worse than death…

You switched tactics, pulling away from him instead of trying to get away from the rail. You were going to topple right over it. A growl of frustration left his lips as he easily yanked you away from the railing. Your body collided with his brick wall of a warm chest.

Taking a chance to look up at him, you immediately regretted it. The perpetrator had black hair that came over his forehead and pretty green eyes that you could get lost in. His lips seemed to permanently house a cocky smirk, and fuck, he was built.

“You must have a death wish, brat.” He scowled at you as if he wasn’t the one who dangled you so close to the edge.

Not bothering to answer his taunts, you quickly started to fight against him, beating against his chest with your hands, trying to wriggle from his grasp. He was massive. You were sure that none of your blows were doing anything to him.

Without any difficulty, the hulk-sized man slung you over his shoulder, securing an arm around your frame. He didn’t even flinch or bat an eye each time you hit him. Your fists did little to his toned back.

Not able to fight your way out, you use your next best defense tool: your voice. “Let me go!” You shrieked as loud as possible. “Let me go! Somebody help!” Tears coated your eyes, and your voice went hoarse from yelling.

“Let me goo~ Somebody help mee~” The man mocked you in an obscene high-pitched tone with a laugh. He had done his homework. Even if you screamed, no one would be coming to save you right now.

Every staff member in the house was deceased, and thank god your dear old dad is so paranoid that he put his mansion in the literal middle of nowhere. There were no neighbors that’d hear you either.

You were completely and utterly alone with the man who was kidnapping you. A deep sense of dread and hopelessness filled your stomach, and you continued to cry — weakly begging for anyone to help you.

The man toned you out rather easily as he carried you down the massive flight of stairs. He used his free hand to flip open a burner phone, and he dialed a number before talking.

“The security system is still down?” His gruff, no-nonsense voice returned to him as if he wasn’t just making fun of you moments prior.

Even though you knew it was likely one of his associates on the phone, you screamed for help. Hot tears coated your cheeks as your voice strained.

A firm smack to your ass jolted you, and your voice caught in your throat. Did your kidnapper really just spank you for misbehaving?

“The girl isn’t hurt. She’s just being dramatic. I’m heading to the pickup spot.” He didn’t let the person on the other side answer before he clopped the flip phone shut, effectively ending the call.

“Gonna get me in trouble acting like that, girl.” The man tsked his tongue, and he continued to effortlessly carry you around to the back entrance of the house.

You finally caught a glimpse of your poor staff members. Your heart lurched in your chest. They had families and lives. Now, they were dead on your floor because of this man.

The man didn’t say another word as you cried. He kept his one arm firmly wrapped around you as he so casually carried you out of the house. The security system and the guards had already been dealt with.

Soon, you unceremoniously shoved into the back of a black tinted car. You struggled as much as you could, kicking and scratching. You even tried to bite the man as he tied your arms behind your back.

“Keep fighting. I’ll hogtie and gag your ass.” He threatened lowly, becoming sick of this game with you. He never quite understood why people fought so hard against him when he clearly held the upper hand. It was useless.

Letting out a small sob, you laid against the backseat of the car. The leather interior felt cold and ruthless as your tears fell from your eyes.

“Come on, Toji. We don’t have all day.” The driver reprimanded as if the man was simply buckling in a toddler and not kidnapping a grown woman.

You flinched from the sound of the driver’s voice. You had been so focused on fighting against the Toji guy that you didn’t even realize there was another man idly sitting in the front seat, puffing on a cigar.

Toji tied your ankles together, but he didn’t hogtie you thankfully. Without saying another word, he slammed the door shut before getting into the passenger side seat.

You felt your heart drop as the car started to move. You had an inkling… you’d never see that mansion again. You just knew it. Even though you hated the very frame that house sat on, you longed for the empty feeling of sitting inside. You’d take the void of living in a loveless home over being taken by two men.

Your stomach churned, and suddenly, you felt ill as you faced the grave circumstances. Bile raised in your throat, and your hands struggled against the ropes that Toji had bound you with. Panic set in. You were going to choke on your vomit while you laid face down in it.

“There she goes.” Toji muttered, tone laced with annoyance before he reached back and pulled your arm so your mouth was hanging over the back seat. You threw up safely into the floor.

“I just got this car detailed.” The driver groaned as he took another puff from his cigar.

“It happens every time without fail. Ya should start puttin’ puppy pads back there or something.” Toji responded as his arm was still reached back, bracing your body.

“Yeah, because that’s not suspicious at all.” The driver responded with a sarcastic tone. It was clear that this wasn’t their first encounter with kidnapping someone. You didn’t even want to think about the implications of that.

Your adrenaline was dropping off, and while you knew you should try and stay awake — try to map out the turns the car made, you were exhausted after emptying your stomach contents into the floor.

Your head rested against the cool leather seats, and a moment later, you were out.

“It’s like fuckin’ clockwork.” Toji commented as he saw you dozing off in the backseat.

“Let me hogtie you and throw you into the back of a car, and we’ll see if you don’t throw up and pass out.” The driver grinned over at him.

“Kinky.” Was all the man responded with.

*** *** ***

The next time you awoke you were bound to a chair in a surprisingly well-lit room. It appeared to be a bedroom. Judging by the overly bland decor, you assumed this was an Airbnb or a hotel. There was no way they could’ve hauled your sleeping body into a hotel without being noticed, so it was definitely an Airbnb. Taking in your surroundings, you flinched as you finally caught a glimpse of the two men standing in your peripheral. They were silently watching you.

“So nice of you to join us, sleeping beauty.” Toji mocked with an easy grin, the scar on his lip flexing upwards. If he wasn’t your kidnapper, you would’ve classified him to be rather handsome in a very rugged sense. He just looked like the type of man who could get the job done.

“I thought we accidentally killed ya.” The driver who was now not driving remarked.

You had to be smarter with your words this time. There was no point in begging to be set free. They had already taken you to god knows where, killed your entire staff, and bound you to a chair. There was no going back for them.

“My dad has money. That’s what you’re after, right?” You bargained, taking a stab in the dark. This didn’t feel like human trafficking. This felt like a hostage, ransom situation. Little did they know, your dad probably wasn’t going to pay a single penny to get you back.

“Clever girl.” The driver grinned. He was also another handsome man with chestnut brown hair and a mustache. He seemed much more calmer than Toji, and he had a capable energy to him. You could tell that he was definitely the ringleader. Toji was simply the muscle behind the operation.

The driver took three slow, calculated steps towards you. He was still out of reach as he crouched down to be at your level. His eyes were dark brown as he carefully exam you.

“If you’re good, I’ll explain how this is gonna work.” The man said lowly. His voice was deeper than Toji’s but not as gravely or hardened. He had a voice fit for radio.

You slowly nodded, tears already sliding down your cheeks out of sheer fear.

“Good girl. Keep that same energy for the camera.” The man purred before you directed your attention to Toji. He was setting up a tripod with a nice Canon camera set up on it. He flicked the lights off, but it wouldn’t be too dark for anyone to see.

Your body started to react before you could even fully process what was going on. You rocked back and forth in your chair while crying, trying to fight against the restraints. Toji clicked the record button, and he pulled two black balaclavas out of his pocket. Throwing one at the other man and slipping one on for himself. Their identities besides their eyes were completely concealed.

The nameless man tied a piece of cloth that worked as a gag around your mouth, and you sobbed harder. This could go so many ways, and you didn’t want to consider all the possibilities. Your mind thinking up the most depraved acts.

Then, the nameless man held a voice distorter up to his mouth, like the ones that were used in horror films. Toji suddenly grabbed your hair tightly with his oversized fist, and he made you look directly into the camera.

The nameless man started the video off by addressing your dad by his full name. “We have your daughter.” He plainly stated, going silent so one of your muffled sobs could clearly he heard.

He went on a spill about the ransom and how it was going to work. They were demanding 10 million dollars to be paid in a week. It had to be paid in person by your dad, or they would mail him your body parts.

You choked out sobs and tried to scream. You were going to die. There was no way you were going to make it out of this situation alive.

Toji’s thumb ever so gently caressed the back of your head. He was still holding your hair tightly, making you look directly into the camera, but he was subtly rubbing small circled into your scalp as if he was trying to subtly soothe you.

Whatever his intent was, it wasn’t working. You strained against the rope and the gag. You cried and tried to beg your way out of this. Finally, the nameless man showed the camera a timer. It was set for 168 hours, and it was steadily dwindling down.

Then, he stopped the recording ominously. “Can’t believe we got that on the first try.” He muttered with a laugh before pulling off his balaclava. He then flicked back on the lights.

You looked at both of the men in a confused manner. They were both so calm and casual after recording a literal ransom video. It was eerie. You hated this feeling of distrust and uneasiness that settled into the pit of your stomach.

Toji ripped off his balaclava, and he promptly untied the gag before picking up the camera off the tripod and walking away.

“Alright doll, you did so good.” The nameless man praised as he crouched back down to be at your level. “I guess that means I gotta tell you how things are gonna work now, huh?”

A sheepish nod later, and he continues, "I'm Shiu, and you already know the other old fucker's name is Toji." He starts, gesturing to Toji who was lazily typing away at a computer with a death glare.

"We're not gonna hurt ya until you give us a reason to. You just gotta be good for us and do as we say, and this will be a breeze." Shiu's tone was steady and lighthearted as if he was talking about the itinerary to a vacation and not your kidnapping.

Tears clouded your vision. Your captors seemed to have thought of all the details but one. Your father couldn't give less of a fuck about you, and he likely wasn't going to pay a dime for your safe return.

"And when my dad doesn't pay you two, then what? You two kill me and mail my body off so you can move onto the next mogul's daughter?" You asked -- tone full of resentment.

"We're not amateurs, darlin'." Shiu grins at you, boldly using his thumb to wipe away a few stray tears from your cheeks. You're still bound, so you're at his whim right now. "Toji's workin' on releasing that video publicly. How could the wealthiest CEO of Japan get away with not paying to have his daughter back safely?"

You pursed your lips together, trying to think rationally. None of this felt real. Your heart stuttered in your chest. Would your dad pay to get you back if he risked ruining his reputation?

If he ruined his reputation, companies would pull their stocks and tank his company. It would be hard for him to form partnerships because other companies wouldn’t want to be associated with him. His perfectly curated baby would come crashing down.

He would have to pay to get you back.

Noticing the gears turning in your head, Shiu patted your hair gently with his oversized palm. “We also got a few other tricks up our sleeve. We didn’t do this on a spur of the moment decision, darling.”

They weren’t two petty criminals looking to make it big. These two men were the real deal. They had the knowledge and precision that it took to commit serious crimes. This probably wasn’t even their first ransom situation.

“Glad to know you plotted my kidnapping perfectly.” You muttered in a self-deprecating tone.

Shiu gave another chuckle as his hand stayed on your head. His touch was warm and unwavering. It had been years since someone showed you affection so casually.

“I’d say you’re in good hands, but…” He grinned at you, ruffling your hair before removing his hand. “You’re in capable hands.” He said before he slowly walked around behind you. “Be honest, darling. If I untie you, are you going to try to run?”

Your eyes lingered on the door of the Airbnb. Would you even make it far if you did run? Would it be worth being tied down for even longer? Your eyes wandered to Toji, who was sat strategically near the door. His gaze was still on the laptop, but you could tell that he could easily catch you if given the chance.

Shiu laughed as he could see the inner turmoil on your face. You really wore your emotions on your sleeve, not hiding that you were weighing the option of running. “You wanna see what’ll happen? Try it, princess.” He dared as his fingers worked to loosen the knots around your hands.

Your body was achy from the precarious position of being tied to the chair. You instinctively stretched, feeling your stiff muscles protest.

You looked back up at Shiu, registering that he was offering you to run. “Go ahead. Go.” He said as he nodded towards the door.

“If you make me run, I’m taking it out on your ass.” Toji grumbled from his position near the door. His green eyes were now glaring at you.

Against your better judgement, you ran. You had to run, even if it was clearly a setup. If you didn't try to get away, then someone would say that you wanted this to happen. You wanted to be kidnapped from your prison.

You barely made it to the door and swung it open before two strong arms wrapped around your midsection, hauling you up as if you weighed nothing.

"Fucking brat." Toji's voice rumbled in your ear as he lifted your body up, pressing your backside against his chest as he kicked the door shut.

Shiu chuckled as he made sure to lock it back. He really just enticed you to run to piss Toji off. He had to keep things interesting after all.

A grunt passed your lips as you were unceremoniously slung onto the plush bed in the room. You tried to kick and fight your way out of Toji's hold, but his hands expertly held you down and forced your arms above your head. You squeezed your eyes shut.

Here it comes... the part where you wish they would've just killed you...

The sound of metal jingling caught your attention, and you hesitantly opened your eyes to see Toji handcuffing you down to the headboard.

As soon as one of your wrists were cuffed and bound, Toji got up off of you. "Until you can learn how to behave and not be stupid." He muttered as he turned his back to you and went back to sit down.

Well, that wasn't what you were expecting.

"Technically-" You spoke up, looking between Toji and Shiu as they watched you with amused eyes. "I was behaving since he told me to run." You pointed out, nodding your head towards Shiu.

"And I told you what would happen if you did run. You're lucky I haven't bent you over my knee yet." Toji countered, crossing his arms over his chest with a lopsided grin.

"Yet-?"

"I haven't decided if I'm going to do it or not, but your smart mouth is pushing me, brat."

You swallow thickly, realizing what you were truly dealing with here. Your eyes leave Toji's figure, and you look up towards the handcuff chaining you to the bed.

You were kidnapped from one prison and brought to another, and yet, a strange voice in the back of your head is telling you that your kidnappers have better intentions with you than your own dad.

"Don't listen to him," Shiu's low voice rumbled, breaking your line of thought. "He's all bark and rarely any bite,"

"He killed all of my staff members," you retort, staring at Shiu with furrowed eyebrows. How could he act like Toji was anything less than a killing machine?

"Touché," was all Shiu responded with as he looked over at you with a relaxed grin.

Toji was back to lounging as he tilted his head back. His adams apple bobbing as he closed his eyes. He wasn't really going to sleep next to the door, was he?

Shiu had walked off out of sight, and you could hear him responding to a phone call.

Moving around on the bed, you figured you may as well get comfortable while you're trapped.

[hanniescookie]

is it that hard? - jww

pairing - wonwoo x f! reader

genre - fluff, idol au

warnings - none

summary - you know wonwoo likes you, but for some reason, he doesn't say it. not until you're frustrated enough to play a game on him.

author's note - kekekeke @wonkierideul // this is for you my mochi cheek-ed baby!! i hope you like it 😭 i tried, okay? i just hope it makes you smile at least, you're so dear to me my oomf (pls remind me again what it means) may you fulfill your MUA dream one day and may you get to doll wonu up 🤍 love you sm :)

-------------------------**~~**--------------------------

Being a successful makeup artist had been your dream since you were a teenager. Your love for makeup only grew with your age, and you made yourself proud after finally landing your dream job.

Being Jeon Wonwoo's makeup artist, however, was certainly not your dream. It might be a privilege, never been a dream.

It isn't that you mind seeing his beautiful face every other day while you doll it up with makeup that suits his outfit of the day. Never that. It's just that you're always too distracted to focus on your job. And Wonwoo doesn't help.

It falls out of your realm of professionalism. You've never been someone who struggles with balancing your personal and professional life, but with this man? You're terrible. Miserable.

He is too good looking for his own good, and being so close to his face half the time serves you no good. It takes everything in you to not just kiss his lips everytime you swipe some lipstick across them.

Wonwoo is not very expressive — that's a known fact. But what people might not know is that Wonwoo is a tease, a little close to a flirt. At least towards you, he is.

You hate how he licks his lips right after you're done applying lipstick just to make your job harder. What's worse is that he does it with a straight face, muttering an aplogy within a second like he didn't realize what he just did.

But you have seen it far too much to know that he does these things deliberately. You don't know if he likes seeing the huff of annoyance you let out, or if he just genuinely hates you.

Either way, you've decided that your work ethics have been compromised enough. You don't like these feelings you've harbored for the idol overtime, and if nothing is down the drain, you'll take your shot today.

When Wonwoo arrives on set an hour before his schedule, you're glad that the whole group isn't here. It's his solo schedule for the day — a photoshoot for his brand deal.

The look for today has to be a little bold, and requires more time than usual. So you start slow, focused on work and trying your best to make him look exactly like the concept demands.

And you're also focused on another task today.

"I'm quitting." You say as nonchalantly as you can, dabbing some concealer to hide a tiny acne mark on his skin.

"Huh?" He raises his brows, unsure if you talked to him.

You meet his eyes for a few seconds before focusing back on his cheek, watching the acne mark slowly disappear. You hope your game plan can work, and if it doesn't, then you're really never seeing this place again. "I said I'm quitting this job."

He continues to look at your face while you turn back to the vanity, fumbling through some eyeshadow palettes. Your heart is throbbing at the weight of his gaze, but you keep going. "I'm telling you because I know you don't get used to changes easily. You'll be more prepared when you see another MUA starting tomorrow."

You turn back, meeting his surprised gaze and you smile a little. "Close your eyes."

He takes a little while to process what you said, and you gladly wait till he does. You can see the effect of your game, and you like it so far.

He closes his eyes slowly, exhaling through his nose. It's quiet for a while till you play with a combination of two dark shades on his eyelids.

"Must you leave?"

You almost don't catch it with how quietly he speaks. Keeping the palette away, you stare at his face with his eyes closed, his question echoing in your head. Your heart swells, and a smile forms on your face. "Did you say something?"

He mutters a quiet no without opening his eyes. You know he's doing it because you haven't asked him to open them yet, and involuntarily, you feel a flutter in your chest. Usually, he would open them before you're even done, but right now he's trying to not upset you. How cute.

"I heard you, though." You say again, leaning against the vanity with your arms folded. He slowly opens his eyes, looking at you with eyes full of uncertainty. "Do you have an answer then?"

"Must I leave?" You echo his question, humming thoughtfully. "Good question. The problem is—" you pause, grabbing an eyepencil and leaning down on him. He instinctively closes his eyes, and you smile. "—that my professionalism is threatened here. I can't properly focus on my work with you, Wonwoo."

His eyes snap open before you're even done lining the pencil on his eyelid, earning a sharp wince from you. "See! This is what I mean."

"Sorry," he breathes. "I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"I don't know," you say, folding your arms neatly once again. "You tell me."

He stares at you blankly for a while, unable to pinpoint exactly where you're coming from. Then his expression shifts, as if he's reminded of something. "Scratch that. Just don't quit?"

You arch an eyebrow despite the little victory dance your insides do at his statement. "Hm? Why?"

"Because—" he pauses, trying to find words. "Because like you said, I'm not good with accepting changes. I am used to you."

You sigh, shaking your head. "Is it that hard?"

"What?"

"Saying the truth."

"What truth?"

"That you like me."

Suddenly, there's pin drop silence in the makeup room. Even the humming of the aircon feels distant, as if coming from a faraway land. All you can hear is your own pulse beating wildly in your ears.

Then with calculated certainty, Wonwoo speaks. "It is."

You feel your throat running dry, and though you know you orchestrated this little game, you have no idea why you're nervous. Do you like him that much?

"But if I say it Y/N, will you stay?"

You can't help but smile. He's cute, and you'll do anything to make him happy. You nod. "I will."

He inhales a mouthful of air, and deeply exhales it all. Licking his dry lips, he looks up in your eyes, taking your hand in his large one hesitantly.

"I like you." He says, as quiet as the room. "I've liked you since the day you first put an insane amount of blush on my cheeks and I complained about looking cute. Please don't quit on me."

You've known that Wonwoo likes you, but nothing could've prepared you for the way he admits it in his low voice while holding your hand gently. You feel your pulse quickening even more if it's possible, and a blush dusts your cheeks.

"You did look cute, though."

"I didn't want to!" He groans, and you end up giggling. He sighs then, smiling along with you nevertheless. "Is that what you say to my confession?"

You shrug, grabbing a lipstick and turning to him. "If you don't mess your lipstick up this time, I'll think about going on a date with you."

He smiles, fingers hooking in yours to tug you closer. You lean closer to him as a result, eyes widening slightly. "Whatever happened to professionalism now?"

"I can compromise a little if I get a boyfriend as handsome as Jeon Wonwoo." You answer, poking his forehead so his head rests back before you begin applying lipstick on his lips.

He does mess his lipstick after your first attempt, and it leads to you kissing him, but you go on a date with him on the weekend anyway.

[mediumgayitalian]

"Don't worry about me."

"I'm allowed to worry for people when they are doing stupid, foolish things."

"You worry about everyone."

"False. I've never worried about Cecil Markowitz a day in my life."

Nico snorts, tugging on his boot and yanking on the laces. "Right," he drawls, "and the insistence on walking him fourteen entire fucking miles to the bus stop at the end of camp was because..."

Will flushes. "Because he's stupid, okay. He's actually unwell. I checked his brain and everything. If I leave him alone too long he'll get kidnapped, and then what?" He cocks a hip to one side, crossing his arms and tapping his foot and generally just looking like a carbon copy of his mother. Nico mourns his lack of camera. He needs to send Naomi another snapshot for the Wall of You Do Act Like Me, You Little Shit. "What am I gonna do if he dies, huh? Resort to off-brand Twizzlers? I'd rather kill myself."

The frayed ends of his laces cooperate, finally. He desperately needs new combats but the thought of having to break in a new pair makes him want to strangle the nearest karpoi. Any one of them would do.

Nico pushes himself to his feet, cupping both sides of his boyfriend's scowling face and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, holding there until he feels them soften. He smiles, snickering at Will's huffy pout.

"I am doing one errand," he says, exasperated. "Just one."

Will throws his hands up. "You know who else did one errand?! Orpheus! That's right, dumbass, and he died! So!"

He waves his hands again, because obviously he cannot simply make his point with his words alone. Oh, no. His whole body needs to get involved, or else there is Not Enough Emphasis.

Gods, Nico loves him to death.

To death, and then some.

"You are more dramatic than your father," Nico says, kissing him again before pulling away. "You know that?"

"I thought you loved me," Will grumbles. "I thought you loved me, and then you go around saying such insulting things. Don't you love me? People who love me would never say that to me."

"I have actually heard that exact speech come from Apollo's mouth. Twice, at least."

"I'm about to commit a felony. It rhymes with shmassault and battery."

"Shut the fuck up," Nico says, but he's grinning. Will is scowling hard but doing a very bad job of it, and Nico can actually see the don't you dare fucking laugh you're mad at him you have to stay mad at him flashing around in his eyes.

Nico swipes his thumb gently over his freckled cheeks.

It does not take very long for him to cave.

"I'm just worried," he admits, sagging into Nico's hold. His head, as it always has, fits perfectly in the crook of Nico's neck. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to his temple.

"Knew it."

"Shut up." The quick curve of his exasperated smile twitches against Nico's collarbones. "I just mean. Gods above, Nico. It's all the way across the country."

"I shadow travelled all the way across the world, once," Nico reminds him. He runs a hand through fraying curls. "I was fourteen at the time."

"Yeah, and you almost fuckin' died."

Will pulls away, agitated, and Nico lets him. The fraying curls get worse with every tug of his twitching hands, and the sound of his own echoing pacing makes him jump. The bags are deep and black under his eyes.

Nico sighs.

"Will," he says, and words hard to keep the frustration out of his tone, "Will, sweetheart, you cleared me."

But Will isn't listening. The mumbling has started, and so has the fidgeting; the bandages around his arms twist, and twist, and tug, leaving red marks on his bruised wrists.

"Monitoring hymn," Nico hears him mutter. "Or a lifeline..."

Nico checks his watch. He's -- well, he's late, technically, but he's never been punctual even one time, so it's fine. He's got time. He flops to the marble floors, leaning against his bedpost. He watches his boyfriend, notes the flicker and flash of his glowing freckles, of his spattered burn scars.

You and I both know you will be fine, Chiron had said. He had sighed, long and aged and hard, and stared at his buzzing, fritzy student. It will be good for him. Exposure.

"Will," he calls, eventually. "Tesoro."

Will stops. He blinks, coming back to himself, to the cabin. He searches around, eyes settling on Nico's comfy spot on the floor.

He sighs, shoulders sagging. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. He stands there a long while, still except his breathing, tense.

"Everything is -- green," he says eventually, voice small. "I don't know how to stop it."

"You know how to make it worse," Nico points out, as gently as he can manage. "You've been spiraling for weeks."

"Not -- weeks."

"Since the start of the month."

"Yeah, only a few days."

"It's the thirtieth, Will."

He looks up, eyes wide. "No." He blinks. "Actually?"

Nico's smile is small and sad. "Yes."

"I thought -- I thought --"

"I know."

He doesn't really. He's watched it for years, but he doesn't -- understand, not in the way he understands the depression, the anger, the grief. He and Will have more things in common than they don't, but he doesn't spiral. Not like Will does. His pain has always bubbled and burst its way out of him, tingeing the edge of his vision red and igniting the curl of his fists. His pain has made him quick. His pain has made him quick, it has made him bitter, it has made him miserable, but it has always pushed him forward.

Will's pain gets curled up endlessly inside him, twisting his insides to knots.

It robs him, sometimes.

"Come here."

Will does. The fight has drained out of him, and there are tears in his eyes, even as he tries desperately to blink them away. His bandages lay limp at his sides, fluttering in the breeze from the still-open door.

"It's not that I don't trust you," he says, somewhat desperately. He turns so they're facing each other, criss-crossed knees knocking. "I do."

"I know," Nico says. He manages a small smile. "I always know that, Will."

"Good." His bright eyes soften in relief, fingers rubbing at his sternum. "You -- you're powerful, Death Boy. More than anyone I've ever known."

Nico raises his eyebrows. "Careful with that, Sunshine. You're going to get smited."

"Smote."

"Don't correct me when we're having a vulnerable moment."

"Don't need correcting, then."

Nico's smile widens. Will's, this time, matches, dimple flashing on his left cheek. Nico presses his thumb there, relishing in the sudden heat of Will's face and accompanying rolled, flustered eyes. He lingers, and stares, and stares, even as Will squirms, as the glow turns into something hotter than blood heat.

"I'm going to be okay, my love."

"I know."

"It's one jump. Hazel is waiting, unicorn draught at the ready in case I start swooning like a damsel."

"I know."

"Even my dad knows."

"I know."

"I would actually have to try to die, Will. Like there would have to be real effort on my part."

"Just --" he scrunches up his nose -- "I don't know what you could say that would make me less scared of it. Of losing you."

"I mean it would kind of suck if you did." He tilts their foreheads together, because it looks stupid as shit at this angle, and he knows Will'll laugh. He's right. "Since you love me and everything."

"I suppose it's one of those conditions," Will allows. "The whole caring if you up and die thing."

"Yep."

"S'a real pain in the ass."

"You're telling me. I was just fine being an emo loner, not giving a fuck about anything, and then you had to go ruin it. Now I gotta stress about your wellbeing and shit."

"Must be exhausting."

"Miserable." He reaches for Will's hands and squeezes, hard, until Will squeezes back. "It is the most important thing to me, though. Ever."

Will swallows. "Okay."

"I love you, Will Solace. Even when you are annoying about grammar and when you are prodding me about my iron levels and when you are so far in your head you're losing time." He pulls back slightly, just enough to press a kiss to Will's knuckles. "Especially then."

"I love you, too." Will swallows. "You'll be okay."

"I will."

"And you'll IM me when you get there."

"I will."

"And I'll be okay. Waiting."

Nico smiles softly. "You will be."

Will takes a deep breath. He nods. He stands, pulling them both up, and walks to the darkest corner of the Hades cabin, shoulders tense but face brave. He turns, exhaling slowly, and brushes invisible lint of Nico's shoulders, hands lingering.

"I will see you when you get back," he says.

"When I get back," Nico echoes. He kisses him again. "Worrier."

Will huffs, and Nico laughs, and he lets go, and Will lets him, and he steps into the familiar darkness, and the last thing he sees before the shadows envelope him is the trust in Will's light eyes.

[arroganceisherfavoritecolor]

riding hamzahs thigh... 😛

distraction

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Hamzah teaches you a lesson for being needy...

warnings: smut!! kinda mean!hamzah, reader is a needy hoe prob bad grammar LOL

You stood at the door way of Hamzahs room. He was currently editing a video, his face almost buried in the computer screen. It'd been hours since he had emerged from his cave. Hamzah had been real focused on editing videos lately. He would stay up late and wake up late, the cycle repeating. He hadn't touched you in 3 days, excluding the occasional kisses here and there.

So, you decided to grab his attention. You walked over to Hamzahs chair and stood on the side of it. His glasses reflected the computer screen, snippets of him and Martin playing over and over. "Hamzah." you said, maybe speaking to him would make him look at you. All he did was "hm" in response. You narrowed your eyes down at him. "Lets go to bed, its late." Hamzahs eyes were still focused on his god forsaken computer. This time, he muttered an "mhm." It was then that you realized you'd have to up your game to grab his attention.

You walked behind his chair and put your hands on his shoulders. "Its been days since you touched me, y'know. Don't you miss me?" Hamzah stopped messing with his computer for a second...and then went back to doing so. He simply nodded. You traced your fingers slowly around his neck. Despite his intense focus, Hamzah couldn't help but shiver at your touch. You could feel his adams apple bob up and down as he swallowed hard. Despite his skin tingling from you, he couldnt pull his eyes away from the screen.

"C'mon baby, lets go to sleep" you said as you pressed a kiss onto Hamzahs neck. He inhaked sharply at the sensation of your lips on his skin. He could feel his own despire beginning to spark. But he pushed it down, his focus never wavering from the task at hand. His big hands continued flying over the keyboard. You began feeling frustrated. Usually, Hamzah was desperate for you, kissing you and touching you. Now, you were the one desperate for him.

You traced your mouth back up and softly bit his ear. Hamzah jumped slightly at the sudden sensation. His fingers fumbled over the keyboard, the cursor blinking as he messed up the timeline of the video. You pulled your face away from his neck and stepped back. Hamzah slammed his hand down on the desk. He spun his chair around to face you, his eyes darkened by irritation and frustration. "You are so fuckin' needy, you know that? You expect me to drop everything I'm doing to give you some attention, huh?"

You stood there with your hands behind your back. In all honesty, you felt bad for messing up his editing of the video. Yet, you couldn't help but feel your stomach turn at his intense gaze and sharp tone. Hamzah could see the desire in your eyes, the way your breath quickened slightly. He scoffed, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. "No fuckin' way...you're getting off on me being pissed at you?" he asked, looking up at you.

All you could do was stand there, feeling like a bad dog. He let out a harsh chuckle and crossed his arms. "Fine. If youre so fuckin' needy, go ahead and get yourself off then" he said, turning around back to his computer. "W-what do you mean?" you asked, your voice slightly shaky as you were scared to piss him off further. Then you'd really be in trouble. Hamzah turned back around, an annoyed look on his face. He let out a sigh and pat his thigh, gesturing for you to come sit.

You obliged and perched yourself on his thigh, your face meeting his. You waited for him to wrap his arm around your waist and pull you closer, but it never came. So instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck to balance yourself as you sat atop of his thigh. He continued to work on his laptop, but now at a slower pace.

You couldnt seem to pull your eyes away from his concentrated face. The way his big eyes were so focused, the way his eyebrows were furrowed, the way his plump lips were locked in a pout. Hamzah glanced at you and sighed. "I told you to take care of yourself, didn't I? I dont got all day to sit here and watch you mope around like a needy fuckin' slut" he said, his eyes going back to being fixed on the computer. You whimpered at his harsh words. Hamzah wasn't usually irritated like this, especially not with you.

But in this moment, he was just so sexy, so dominant. You couldn't help but begin to move back and forth slightly on his thigh. You were only wearing a pair of thin shorts, a t-shirt and panties. It didn't take much for your touch deprived body to feel friction. Hamzah gritted his teeth as he tried to ignore the way you were grinding on him. He could feel himself slipping into your lustful whims, but he refused to let you distract him further. His fingers continued to type away at the keyboard.

You turned your head to the side, almost behind you, to watch his hands work. The same hands that gripped your body like dough, the same hands that would be around your neck at this time of night. You sighed softly, your pussy fluttering at the memory of his fingers toying with you. Hamzah glanced up briefly, catching your wistful sigh. He then averted his gaze back to his computer. You continued to grind back and forth, your speed increasing a bit with each passing moment.

You pulled your left arm away from his neck to lift up your shirt, your tits bouncing out. Hamzah flicked his gaze up to you. He could feel his pants tighten at the tantalizing sight of your breasts. But he quickly focused his attention back to editing, his jaw clenched as he willed himself to focus. You slid your hand off of his neck and let it play with your tit as you rode Hamzahs thigh with greater force.

You put your other hand back against the desk, your thighs gripping onto his as you held yourself up. You pulled your shorts and panties to the side, a slimy string of wetness connecting them. Hamzah glanced down and almost moaned. His cock was twitching in his pants, the sight of his girl reduced to a desperate whore nearly too much for him to handle. You rubbed your pussy hard against his thigh. He was wearing grey sweatpants, so not only could you see his bulge but also the trail you were leaving. You couldn't tell which one turned you on more.

As your grounded and rubbed yourself against Hamzah, you tried to replicate the feeling of his mouth by spitting on your tits. You rubbed your own saliva on your nipples, making them pebble impossibly harder against the cool air. Your mouth fell open, soft sighs and moans spilling out. Your eyes darted back and forth from Hamzahs face to his dick, the sights damn near bringing you to tears. His resolve was crumbling with each sound that came out of your mouth. "Please. Please touch me, Hamzah. I promise I'll be good-"

Hamzahs concentration finally shattered at the sound of his name falling desperately from your lips. He grabbed you by your hips and threw you onto the bed. He stood up from his chair and loomed over you. "Tell me what you want" he said, looking down at you with reluctant desire. "Need you, baby. Please" you begged, spreading your legs open. Hamzah stared down at your messy folds. Your pussy was soaked and he hadn't even touched you, not in days. He began untying his sweatpants, his gaze never tearing away from your pussy.

"You better make this worth my time."

(RAAAH this was my first time writing for hamzah hope u guys like :3)

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

For the Both of Us

Where Y/N trains for a marathon with Harry, but an injury leaves her waiting for him at the finish line.

Word Count: 2,493

Content Warning: mentions of injury

It starts as an offhand comment, something I don’t fully think through before saying it.

“We should run a marathon.”

Harry doesn’t even blink. “Alright.”

I pause mid-bite of my sandwich, glancing up at him from across the kitchen island. “Just like that?”

He shrugs, casually tying his hair up as he leans against the counter. “Why not?”

I squint at him. “No questions? No protests? No ‘that sounds miserable, why would we do that to ourselves’?”

He grins. “I like running.”

Of course, he does.

I narrow my eyes, setting my sandwich down. “I thought this was going to be one of those things where I had to convince you, and then you’d be all dramatic about it.”

Harry smirks. “Sorry to disappoint.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “Unbelievable.”

Still, there’s no backing out now. And if I’m being honest, I don’t want to.

Training in New York happens because we’re here, and it makes sense. Early mornings in Central Park, the world just waking up as we weave through runners, cyclists, and dogs too eager for their own good. The air is crisp, the pavement familiar under our feet, and for once, I don’t hate running as much as I thought I would. Maybe it’s the routine of it, the way my body adjusts to the movement, or maybe it’s just Harry, a few strides ahead, turning back every now and then with an easy grin like this is the most natural thing in the world.

“You alright back there?” he calls over his shoulder.

“Shut up,” I pant, pushing forward.

He laughs, slowing just enough to match my pace. “You’re getting better.”

“I’m dying.”

“No, you’re not.” He bumps his arm against mine. “One day, you’re gonna love this.”

I glare at him, sweat dripping down my back. “Doubt it.”

But then we go to Italy, and everything shifts.

We run because we’re already there, because it feels right, because some part of me—some stubborn, determined part—wants to prove him right. The streets are quieter in the early morning, the sun just starting to stretch across the sky as we move through small villages and winding hillsides. It’s different here, softer somehow. The air is warm, carrying the scent of citrus and fresh bread from the bakeries just opening up for the day. There’s no urgency, no dodging commuters or stopping at crosswalks, just open road and the steady rhythm of our feet against the earth.

Harry doesn’t speak much when he runs, but I can tell he’s in his element, moving effortlessly like he was made for this. I watch the way his shoulders stay relaxed, the way he breathes in even counts, the way he looks completely at ease, and for the first time, I get it.

At some point, I stop thinking about how much I want to stop and start thinking about how much I want to keep going.

And when Harry turns his head, catching my eye with a knowing smile, I realize he knew this would happen all along.

One evening, long after the sun has set and the warmth of the Italian day has settled into something softer, we sit on the terrace of our rental, sipping wine and watching the lights flicker in the distance. My legs ache, but it’s a good kind of ache, the kind that reminds me of everything we’ve done today, of the miles we’ve put behind us.

Harry stretches his legs out, rolling his shoulders before turning his head toward me. “We should do Tokyo.”

I blink at him, processing. “Do Tokyo?”

“The marathon.” He tilts his glass, watching the wine swirl before looking back at me. “We’ve done all this training. Might as well put it toward something.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “You said that way too casually.”

He grins. “Because I already decided.”

I arch a brow. “You already decided?”

“Mhm.” He takes another sip. “Figured if we’re gonna do a marathon, might as well make a trip out of it. Stay for a bit, sightsee. The weather will be nice.”

I narrow my eyes at him, suspicious. “And when, exactly, did you decide all this?”

A lazy shrug. “Somewhere between mile six and seven today.”

I groan, letting my head fall back against my chair. “I knew that second wind of yours was dangerous.”

Harry laughs, nudging my foot under the table. “Come on, you have to admit it’s a good idea.”

I lift my head, watching him. He’s relaxed, loose-limbed and comfortable in the way he always is when he’s made up his mind. And the worst part? He’s right. It is a good idea.

I sigh, feigning reluctance. “I can’t believe you’re using my own tactics against me.”

His smile grows. “So that’s a yes?”

I shake my head, unable to stop my own grin. “That’s a yes.”

He clinks his glass against mine. “Good. Because I already started looking at flights.”

The decision is made, and just like that, Tokyo becomes the destination, the marathon the reason—but not the only one. Training continues, days blending together with long runs, ice baths, and Harry reminding me that we actually signed up for this.

The trip comes quickly, faster than I expect, and before I know it, we’re stepping off a plane into the crisp Tokyo air, the city sprawling out before us in endless color and movement. It’s different from anywhere we’ve been—bright, electric, alive in a way that feels both overwhelming and exhilarating.

We settle in easily, our days leading up to the marathon filled with late-night ramen stops, temple visits, and walks through neighborhoods that feel like they belong in a different time. Harry’s the one who insists on going to every convenience store we pass, fascinated by the rows of neatly packaged snacks and drinks. I let him, if only because it means I get to watch the way his face lights up every time he finds something new.

“Are you ever gonna eat the food you actually buy,” I tease one night, watching him place yet another snack onto our growing pile.

He grins, unapologetic. “Eventually. Maybe.”

I shake my head, shoving a bag of matcha-flavored candy at him. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, tossing a Pocky stick into his mouth, “you love me.”

I don’t dignify that with a response, but the corner of my mouth twitches despite myself.

The night before the race, we sit on the floor of our hotel room, stretching out our legs and pretending not to be nervous. Harry leans back on his hands, rolling out his ankles. “You ready?”

I exhale, pressing my palms against my thighs. “I think so.”

He watches me for a beat, then nudges my knee with his. “You’re gonna do great.”

I glance at him. “You sound very sure of that.”

“I am.” His voice is steady, certain. “You’re stronger than you think.”

Something in my chest tightens, but I push past it, knocking my foot against his. “Don’t go leaving me in the dust tomorrow.”

He smirks. “I’d never.”

It’s a lie. He absolutely would.

But for now, I let myself believe him.

The morning of the marathon comes quietly, the city still stretching awake as we make our way to the starting line. The air is crisp, the kind of cool that settles into your lungs without biting. There’s an energy around us, a nervous hum of anticipation that thrums through the thousands of runners gathered, their breath visible in the morning chill.

Harry stands beside me, bouncing on the balls of his feet, loose and ready. He looks completely at ease, like this is just another run, another morning, another challenge he already knows he’ll conquer.

“Last chance to back out,” he teases, tugging lightly on the sleeve of my jacket.

I scoff, shaking out my arms. “Not a chance.”

His grin is wide, proud. “That’s my girl.”

And then the countdown begins, the crowd buzzing, the excitement thick in the air.

Three.

I exhale, steadying my breath.

Two.

Harry shifts beside me, the warmth of him grounding me.

One.

The horn blares, and we run.

Tokyo unfolds around us, the streets lined with spectators, their cheers blending into the steady rhythm of our feet against the pavement. It’s overwhelming and exhilarating all at once, the city alive with movement, the energy unlike anything I’ve ever felt.

Harry stays beside me, keeping pace with effortless ease, checking in with a quick glance, a subtle nod. I feel good, strong even, my body moving in sync with the course, my mind focused.

We pass temples and skyscrapers, bridges stretching over quiet rivers, the neon of Shibuya just a distant blur. The kilometers tick by, each one a small victory, each step bringing us closer to the finish.

And then—

It happens fast.

A misstep, a shift in the pavement, the sudden, sharp twist of my ankle. Pain shoots up my leg, white-hot and immediate, and before I can fully process it, I stumble forward, catching myself just before I hit the ground.

“Shit.”

Harry is there instantly, his hand on my arm, steady, solid. “What happened?”

I clench my jaw, testing my weight. It’s bad.

“I—” I try to step forward and nearly collapse. “—I think I’m done.”

Harry’s face darkens, his grip tightening. “Okay, let’s—”

“No.” I shake my head, inhaling sharply. “You have to keep going.”

His brows furrow, his jaw tightening. “I’m not leaving you here.”

I look at him, my chest rising and falling too fast. “Harry.” My voice softens, pleading. “You have to finish. For me.”

He hesitates, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll get to the medical tent, but you need to keep going.” I force a smile, swallowing against the frustration rising in my throat. “You trained too hard for this. You need to finish.”

His jaw clenches, his eyes scanning my face, searching for any reason to stay.

“Please,” I whisper.

A beat. A breath. And then he exhales, nodding once.

“Alright.”

He hesitates for just a second longer before reaching out, cupping the side of my face briefly, his thumb brushing against my cheek. “Don’t move too much, yeah?”

I nod, watching as he pulls away, glancing back one last time before taking off down the course.

A volunteer helps me over to the medical tent, their voice calm as they ask me basic questions—where it hurts, how it happened, if I can still move my foot. I answer automatically, my focus still on the course, my heart still pounding from the rush of adrenaline and frustration.

The tent is efficient, a blur of movement as runners come in and out, quick assessments, ice packs, stretches, taped-up ankles. One of the medics kneels in front of me, carefully rotating my foot as I wince.

“Doesn’t seem broken,” they say, pressing gently along the side of my ankle. “Probably a bad sprain. You’ll need to rest it for a while.”

I nod, barely processing their words as they wrap it up and hand me an ice pack. “Can I still walk on it?”

“Carefully. But you shouldn’t put too much pressure on it.”

I exhale, shifting in my seat. My race is over, but Harry’s isn’t. I glance toward the tent’s entrance, the noise of the marathon still pulsing just beyond it.

“Do you need to call someone?” the medic asks.

I shake my head, gripping the ice pack tighter. “No.”

Because I already know where I need to be.

I thank them quickly, carefully testing my weight before hobbling out of the tent, determination burning through the dull ache in my ankle. I won’t make it to the finish line in time to see him cross, but I’ll be there when he does.

Because if I can’t run this race, I can still be waiting for him at the end.

The journey to the finish line is slow, each step sending a dull ache up my ankle, but I push forward anyway. The marathon course winds through the city, but I take a more direct route, slipping through gaps in the crowd, careful not to put too much weight on my injured foot. My heart beats faster—not from exertion, but from anticipation.

By the time I reach the finish area, the air is thick with celebration. Runners stumble past the line, gasping for breath, clinging to each other in exhausted relief. The crowd swells with applause, cheers rising and falling like waves. I scan the finishers, my gaze moving quickly, searching.

And then I see him.

Harry moves through the last stretch, his strides steady despite the exhaustion weighing on his frame. His curls cling damply to his forehead, his arms pump with one final push, and when he crosses the finish line, his head drops forward, chest heaving as he slows to a stop.

A volunteer approaches, draping a medal over his neck, but he barely reacts. His hands find his hips, his head lifting as he drags in a deep breath—then, as if pulled by something unseen, his gaze shifts, scanning the crowd.

Looking for me.

I don’t move, don’t call his name. I just wait.

His eyes flick from face to face until they land on mine, and the moment they do, his entire body exhales. He doesn’t hesitate.

He moves toward me with purpose, stepping around other runners, dodging spectators without so much as a glance. When he reaches me, his hands find my face before I can say a word, his palms warm and firm, thumbs brushing just beneath my cheekbones. His breathing is still uneven, but his voice is steady when he speaks.

“Are you okay?”

I nod, swallowing against the tightness in my throat. “Yeah.”

His gaze drops to my wrapped ankle, his brows knitting together. “You shouldn’t be standing.”

I huff a soft laugh. “I had to be here.”

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I know,” I admit, and it’s quiet, because I know how much he means it.

He lingers, his fingers curling slightly at my jaw like he’s anchoring himself to me. His touch is careful, like he’s making sure I’m real, like he’s still coming down from the high of the race and the low of worry.

Neither of us speaks for a long moment, the noise of the world muffled around us. Then, finally, his lips twitch—not quite a smile, but something softer.

“So…” he murmurs, voice teasing but tired. “Do I get to pick our next stupid challenge?”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile that slips through. “Not a chance.”

His chest shakes with a quiet laugh, and though his hands drop from my face, his fingers brush against mine before he steps back.

And even though I didn’t cross the finish line, I don’t feel like I lost.

Because I was here.

[pepper-potts-in-charge]

Pepper didn’t turn around when she heard him approach, didn’t let herself acknowledge the way her chest tightened just at the sound of his footsteps. She had told herself she was done with this, with him. But of course, Tony Stark wasn’t so easily avoided. She should’ve known he’d follow, should’ve known he wouldn’t just let her slip away quietly into the night.

The cool air that had been such a relief to her moments ago now felt thick, stifling, as if the space itself was holding its breath, waiting for them to speak, to break the silence that seemed to stretch between them like a chasm. She wanted to be anywhere else. Anywhere but here, with him.

When he spoke, the words were so casual, so painfully Tony that it made her want to laugh and cry at the same time. "Nice night, huh?" It was ridiculous, but it was him, always hiding behind a joke, a quip, to shield himself from what he didn’t want to face.

She finally lifted her gaze, though she kept her body facing away from him, her back stiff with the tension of everything unsaid. The moonlight was gentle, casting a soft glow on his face, but it didn’t make him look any less familiar, any less him. And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

His eyes, those damn eyes, were fixed on her with a look that made her chest ache. Like he was trying to read her, trying to figure out what she was thinking, what she was feeling, and it made her feel exposed in a way she hadn’t let herself be in so long.

She took a slow breath, gathering the words she hadn’t been able to say to him for weeks. The words that had been coiled tight in her chest, waiting for this moment, and yet now that it was here, she still wasn’t sure if she could let them go.

“I didn’t think you’d come out here,” she said, her voice quieter than she’d intended, but there was something in it—something raw. “I didn’t think you’d follow.”

She felt the sting of her own words the moment they left her mouth, but she didn’t take them back. The truth was, she did want to see him again. She did want to feel this rush of warmth that had never quite left her, despite everything. Even when it only made everything feel that much harder.

SATURDAY OPEN RP! GOLDEN GALA CHARITY EVENT HOSTED BY EMERSON ENTERPRISES CEO!

The atmosphere within the main ballroom is spectacular with all the golden accents on top of black table clothes. The room is decorated to the nines with everything that could ever be done. James has his staff to thank for that.

The guests start to trickle in slowly but surely. The splendor of it all actually makes some of them gape in awe.

James knows he's going to have to go around the room talking to each one throughout the night, and maybe they will talk to each other. Tonight is about making connections and possible friendships with the people of the city. They have to band together to fight what could possibly come. This is his strategy.

This is just one step of many to take down HYDRA.

But they aren't on his mind tonight.

He greets everyone with a smile when he walks up to them. And they greet him in return when they want to speak with him.

The auction will be towards the middle of the event followed by dancing. He's pretty sure the ones with children won't stay for that.

Mingle and have fun.

Even though there are Anti-Mutant protestors threatening to show up at any moment.

At least Rumlow isn't going to be here.

//OOC Instructions: Mingle, have fun, and make some chaos happen.//

@luna-draven-barnes @wilsonfisk-thekingpin @under0-0s @the1-and-only-peggycarter @thund3randrain @thebestmerc-1 @the-daily-bugle-official-blog @nearthewaters @theoldcapsicleicle

If I missed your tag, I'm sorry, I can't remember everyone that I talked too for some reason (probably fibro brain fog) and anyone is welcome to join!!!

[peachway]

My Fault: Lando's version <3

✦ characters - fem!reader x Lando Norris ✦ warnings - mention of drugs, bit violence and little blood                    ✦ word count - 4.1k

A/N - I do not own the plot and except for few, all the characters belong to Mercedes Ron. The London Nick has my heart and he's literally Lando Norris so I decided to write a My Fault: Lando's version <33 I have changed the plot just a tiny bit. And in the series i have a used nickname for the FEM OC, 'FRESA' (meaning strawberry in spanish) happy reading ✨                                                                

Third Person’s POV -

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and blueberry muffins filled the air as Charlotte platted everything with beautiful flowers. She wanted to make breakfast for her daughter all by herself. She knew Fresa was going through a tough time after her recent breakup, and Charlotte was determined to help her daughter heal and move on.

With a warm smile, Charlotte carried a steaming mug of coffee into upstairs, where her daughter was curled up on her bed, lost in her thoughts. The sight of her little girl made her heart ache.

"Hey, sweetheart," Charlotte greeted softly, placing the mug on the bedside table. "How are you feeling?"

She looked up, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and a faint smile touched her lips as she saw her mother, "I'm fine mom. I called Theo but he didn't pick." she sniffs.

"Oh it's okay, it's just a little break. This happens in long distance." Charlotte said stroking her hair

"Why does it feel like we have broken up?"

"It's going to be fine, give it a little time." Charlotte soothes her, "Now come on, breakfast is ready."

"Mom, I'm not hungry," Fresa said, her voice barely a whisper.

"Come on, baby," Charlotte coaxed, her voice soft but firm. "You haven't eaten anything since yesterday."

"Just the coffee is fine," Fresa replied, retreating further into the cocoon of her blankets.

"I have a surprise for you," Charlotte offered, her smile widening, a spark of mischief in her eyes.

"Come join me downstairs." She said.

Fresa finally agreeing slowly got out of bed and followed her mother downstairs.

"Oh wow these muffins are really good."

On the kitchen island was Fresa's bestest cousin, Chloe.

"Chloe!!" Fresa screamed, her face lighting up with immense joy. She ran and threw herself into Chloe's arms, the two girls hugging tightly, their laughter filling the room.

"Surprise!" Chloe giggled.

The joyous reunion then settled into a comfortable hum, all sat down for breakfast.

"Wow mom you made everything?" Fresa smiled, impressed by the efforts.

"I can cook you know!" Charlotte laughed.

"I did made the muffins...I well helped with the batter." she admits and to that everyone chuckles.

"So baby I was thinking," she began, "Chloe is here for 3 days. So you both can go wherever you like, whatever you want to do, you can go crazy....and since it's your vacations, you can go to London with Chloe."

"London?" she asked with wide eyes.

"Yes. You know to see your dad." she said.

"Mom?" Fresa protested because her and her father's relationship wasn't in very good terms.

"You love Chloe right. Dad loves you too. I know he's done some stuff but he loves you baby." Charlotte says, "And you can also surprise Theo!"

"I don't know mom." she mumbled, taking a bite out of croissant from her plate.

"It'll be fun." she encouraged.

Fresa was initially hesitant, eventually agree. She did need some fresh air. And above that, she wanted to surprise Theo so bad.

Just as they landed Chloe informs that her dad had to go out on an important meeting and he was out of state and it brought a sigh of relief to Fresa. She still had to face him via FaceTime, however.

"Flight was alright, princess?" Clifford asked, his image flickering on the screen.

"Yes Dad." she replied.

"I'm out of town so stay with your sister for some time hmm?" he said, "I'll be there in few days."

"Okay." she replied.

"Call me if you any problem at all okay?" Clifford smiles. "Yes daddy." she nods.

"Chloe.." Clifford calls out.

"Take care of her. I don't want her to be involved with those guys. You Understand?" He warned.

"Understood uncle." she smiled.

"What was that about?" Fresa asked as soon as the call ended.

"Nothing." she dismissed.

"Listen baby, my boyfriend and I have take some time off work and are we currently living in one his villa near the forest."

"Okayy.." Fresa nods.

"So I'm gonna take you there. But please don't tell this to your dad. Please I request you." Chloe says.

"Why?" She asks.

"Because my boyfriend's father is kind of a rival to your dad and it's very messy. So please.." said Chloe.

"It's okay it's fine." she nodded.

Within an hour they had reached the beautiful villa. It was too perfect, mesmerising and straight out of a fairy tale. The modern white architecture blended seamlessly with the verdant darkness of the surrounding forest. Inside, the air was cool and subtly perfumed with the scent of flowers.

The first thing Fresa noticed was a framed photograph hanging on the wall in the living room: Two boys, standing on a race track against a race car. She could see the intensity in their eyes.

"Is nobody home?" she asked as only the butlers were present.

"Well, Liam is at work, and I think his brother might be in his room." Chloe replied, He's a dick. Don't fight with him,"

"Why would I?" Fresa raised an eyebrow.

"He doesn't particularly have a good influence. He's a good guy, but don't get too involved with him, okay?" "Okay." she nods.

"You can change and relax a bit, then we'll go somewhere nice in the evening." She said removing a strand of hair from Fresa's cheek.

"Can I just go to my room and disappear with my books?" Fresa said.

"No absolutely not. I won't leave you in here like a gremlin rat." Chloe laughed.

Y/n puts on her bathing suit and decides of read her favourite book by the nice warm sun. She sat by the edge of the pool, her bare feet dangling in the water. She opened her book, the gentle breeze rustling the pages, it was very peaceful and soothing. She felt a little good after months.

But her calm thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, explosive splash in the water. The splash drenching her and the book. She glances over to see a grinning idiot in the water.

"Sorry!" he called out.

He propelled himself towards the edge. His broad shoulders slick with water. Dark, wet strands of hair clung to his forehead, and the sun gave his skin a golden hue. But his eyes— were the prettiest blend of green and blue.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"This is my house. Who are you?" he countered, hoisting himself out a little. The water cascaded down his hair.

Fresa’s eyes narrowed. "Either you're Liam or his...dickhead brother."

"Lando," he said, the grin widening. "The dickhead brother. I was told you were coming. Not so nice to meet you?"

"Fresa," she replied, with a curt nod.

"Wow worse than I imagined." He laughs to himself.

"Why were you on the swimming pool edge if you didn't wanted to get wet." he asked.

"I just wanted to read and now you ruined my favorite book." she said as water dripped from pages.

Lando's grin only widened. He came a little closer, "Come on, Fresa, lighten up. It's a pool, meant for swimming, not sunbathing with literary casualties."

The tension was broken by the sound of the back door sliding open. Liam and Chloe emerged, hand in hand.

"I get you two have met?" Liam chuckled, glancing at Lando. "Fresa, this is Liam, my boyfriend." Chloe introduced.

"Hi!" she smiles backed.

"Well her name is actually y/n but we call her Fresa since she was 2 because she loved strawberries.." Chloe explained.

"Strawberries seriously." Lando snorted.

"And that is my asshole brother." Liam chuckles with a playful jab at Lando.

"Are you done?" Lando sneered and dives back into the water.

Later at the brunch table Liam and Chloe discussed about the next plans since Fresa had come to spent her vacations there. Lando sat across from her, his wet hair now dried and curled, framing his face. He looked at her taking a bite of toast and smiled. Fresa rolled her eyes, trying to ignore him, and focused on her omelette.

"So we can go out for a nice dinner tonight." Liam suggested.

"Oh no listen bro tonight-" Lando began, but Liam cut him off, "No! Anna is coming today. You're not going anywhere."

"Who's Anna?" Fresa asked.

"His girlfriend." Chloe teases.

"Thank you for answering" Lando smiles mockingly.

"Lando you can't run from it. We're going out, dinner at 7. And you can't leave the house till then." Liam ordered.

"You're not dad." Lando retorted, standing up and leaving the table.

The evening approached and everybody was ready to go out. Fresa went with Liam and Chloe whereas Lando went separately in his McLaren. Fresa was nesteled in back seat, imagining Theo face when she’ll surprises him tomorrow and about all the things they’ll do together. It was cheery drive. But the good time was limited. Fresa receives a text from her friend who was in London, attached were the photos of Theo kissing another girl. Fresa's head started hurting and she couldn't control her tears as they overflowed her eyes. She didn't wanted to ruin the mood so she didn't say anything to anybody.

After reaching the restaurant Fresa tried to be composed and to stop her emotions but she failed. She stared at the menu, the fancy letters unreadable to her.

"Chloe?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Just then, Lando's phone rang, a sharp chime that cut through the restaurant's soft murmur. He excused himself and moved away from the table.

"Yes, baby?" Chloe asked "Can I go home?" she said.

"Is everything alright? You don't look good." asked Liam. "Just a headache," Fresa lied,"Can we please do this dinner later?"

Chloe squeezed her hand, her touch comforting. "Of course, no problem. I'll call you a uber." Her eyes, though, were sharp, searching. "But if there's anything at all, you can tell me, okay?"

Lando returned, his expression tight. "Listen, Liam... I have to go." "Where?" Liam asked.

"Work," Lando replied. "I swear to god, if you're again going to that bloody—" Liam began, but he cuts him off, "No, this is important. It's Lion. He called, he wants to meet at his place."

"Okay, go." Liam's shoulders relaxed slightly, "Wait, take her too," Liam ordered, gesturing towards Fresa.

"No. She can go by herself!" Lando shook his head.

"Lando!" Liam sighs.

"She's your girlfriend's sister, your problem not mine." He argued.

"Come on Lion's place is on the way to our home...go drop her home, then you can go wherever you want." Liam insisted.

"Fine." Lando rolled his eyes, "Come." he said to Fresa, his tone rather rough, offering no comfort, only a means to an end. The night, which had started good was now a mess of broken trust and forced companionship.

The silence in the car stretched. A little uncomfortable, as Lando sped away from the restaurant.

"So you like racing?" Fresa asked to break the silence.

"I loved it. Me and Liam both," Lando replied.

"That picture.." she said, remembering the photograph on the wall.

"It’s me and Liam. We used to go karting and racing together." Lando nodded.

"You don't go anymore?" she asked.

"No, I left. He made me." a shadow passed over Lando's face, "My dad." he said.

"Your dad?" Fresa looked at him.

"Please don’t talk about him. I don't talk about my dad," he said, his voice clipped.

"Why are you getting all prickly and irritated. Such a Typical spoiled brat." she said.

Lando's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. The car swerved slightly, and Fresa braced herself. "What did you just say?" His voice was low. "Aren't you a spoiled brat too? Doesn't talk to Daddy but is still here to meet him. She hates him but loves his money." He said.

"You know nothing about me," she said, her voice a low, tremor.

"You know nothing about me either. Yet you judged me. I'm not a spoiled kid" he countered.

"Okay leave it. I don’t know what I just said." Fresa gave up.

"Is this your way of apologising? Because you're terrible at it." Lando scoffed, the bitterness clinging to his tongue.

"Why should I apologise? I've been told you're a dick and you're kinda proving that right now." she said.

"You're the one who started it," he snapped.

"I told you to drop it," she hissed.

"I would have if you had simply just apologised." said Lando.

"I'm not apologising." Fresa glares.

"Get out." he suddenly says, his voice cold and flat.

"What?" Fresa stared at him.

"I said, get out of my car," he repeated, his eyes fixed on the road. "I'm not taking you home."

He pulled the car to the side of the road.

"You're not serious?" Fresa's eyes widened.

"Dead serious," he said, his voice hard. "Get out."

They were far from the city, on a dark, deserted stretch of highway.

Fresa glares him, she gets out of the car and slammed the car door shut, the sound echoing in the quiet night. Lando drives away leaving her all alone.

He rushed through the dimly lit streets. The roads seemed the type where all the illegal shit happens. He reached at the location and pulled up beside the Camaro there. Lion was slumped in the driver's seat, his face pale and streaked with blood. "What the hell happened to you?" Lando growled, his voice tight with anger.

Lion's palms were sweaty, his eyes wide with fear. "Nothing, man, I tripped. But forget that, I have a bigger issue!" He held up a medium-sized package, his hands trembling. "My brother told me to deliver it here and told me not to open it, but I'm an idiot. It's cocaine!"

"What the hell Lion! If you wanted money, you could've just asked me. Why are you doing these kind of things?" Lando cursed, his frustration boiling over.

"Forget about that, man, help me out now!" Lion pleaded, his voice cracking. "Don't go in there then," Lando said, his eyes fixed on the entrance to the pub.

"They'll kill me, Lando!" Lion cried, his voice laced with panic. "Well what do you want me to do?" Lando asked, his patience wearing thin.

"Come with me, I will mess things up! I need some support," Lion replied, his eyes pleading. "No!" Lando shook his head

"Okay, let's go back home. The person I was supposed to deliver this will come after me because this is worth 1 lakh pounds! And I will die just because you didn't come with him there!" Lion said, his voice rising in desperation. "God, you're so dramatic. Okay, Fine." Lando sighed.

Just as they were about to go in Fresa slid into the back seat of the car. "What the hell are you doing here?" The already angry Lando snapped.

"I left my phone in your car!" she countered, a simple shrug dismissing his expressions.

Lion, perched back. "That's your new girlfriend?"

"Shut up!" Lando retorted, his face flushing. "I had called you a cab and rather than going home you followed me?"

"Yes. I had the location on so it was pretty easy." she replied.

"You could have waited for me to come back home!" he scoffed.

"You irritated me so much, now I’ll irritate you. What are you doing here anyways?" She asked.

"We need to go—" Lion began, but Lando cut him off with a sharp glare. "This isn't a game, Fresa. You need to leave. Now." he ordered.

"No" she replied with a hint of defiance.

"Ugh, my god. Okay, stay in the car. We'll be out in a few minutes," Lando said but was she going to listen? No.

While Lando and Lion disappeared into the dimly lit back room to deal with Ronnie, Fresa, alone, wandered to the front of the club. She tried to blend into the shadows, but Ronnie's brother, Robert, had already fixed his gaze on her. He slid into the seat beside her,

"Hi" he greeted.

She doesn't say anything, just smiles back.

"Not much of a talker I see."

"Drink?" He said pushing over a gin to her.

With the anger over Theo she gulped it down without thinking much.

Meanwhile, in the back room, tensions were escalating. Ronnie had discovered a discrepancy in the weight of the package Lion had delivered.

"It's opened," he growled, his eyes narrowed.

"Dunno. I just delivered it as it got," Lion stammered, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously.

"It's missing 100gms ," Ronnie said, placing the package on a scale.

"Come on man it's just 100?" Lando said, trying to diffuse the situation.

"You know how much it costs? That's gonna cost me thirteen thousand pounds," he glared.

"Thirteen thousand??" Lando repeated, his eyes widening.

"It's uncut. Pure." Ronnie said, "now I need my money."

"Fine. I'll get the money to you by tomorrow," Lando retorted, trying to maintain a composure.

"Tomorrow?" Ronnie shook his head.

"Look I can't just magically get that kind of cash okay? There's a limit on the ATM." Lando argued, frustration taking over him.

"Alright, fine. Go," Ronnie nodded, his eyes still holding a threat.

Lando and Lion sighed in relief, eager to escape. They hurried back to the front of the club only to see Fresa stumbling towards the exit door with Robert’s arm draped around her shoulder.

Lando ran over and pushes him away.

"Easy there boy" Robert yelled.

"Fresa!" Lando called. He cupped her face, his thumb gently tracing her cheek.

"She's a beauty isn't she." Robert smiled smugly.

"Fresa, look at me," Lando said, his concern growing into a burning fear.

"Lan..." she slurred, her words barely coherent. One drink couldn't do that and as far as Robert's reputation goes, he definitely drugged her.

"Here." Lando carefully lifted her onto a nearby table. Then, he turned to face Robert and his goons, his eyes a cold, unwavering stare.

"What?" Robert sneered.

With a swift, brutal movement, Lando's punch landed Robert's face. When the first blow didn't bring the man down, he struck again, this time breaking his nose. The guy falls down on the ground with the force and the temperature in the room rises.

Robert wastes no time in giving the fist back to Lando. From then it all became a chaos. Ronnie came to the front and joined in the fight. Everyone started hitting each other like crazy, they'd hit with whatever is nearby, the glasses, alcohol bottles, chairs and what not.

Nobody touched Fresa. She was just sitting in the corner, not understanding what was actually happening in front of her. When she saw a woman pointing a knife at Lando's back, she quickly grabbed a glass from the table and breaks it onto her head.

"You bitch!" The woman shouts. She slashes Fresa in her stomach and Fresa punches her back, both fell down to the ground fighting further.

"FRESA!" Lando yells as he tries to fight off Ronnie.

Suddenly faint siren could be heard outside and it wasn't long before the cops got there.

"POLICE, STAND DOWN!" The officers barge in with guns.

They got hold of Lando, Lion and Fresa and some others but Ronnie and Robert had slid out the back door. "Damn you officer, those goons ran away." Lando cussed.

"Lando Norris, you are enough for us." The officer said snapping handcuffs around his wrists.

This was bad. He was trying to get way from these types things as much as he can and now Fresa was a part of this too. She was trapped in a war she didn't understand. He needed to get her out of this. He needed to fix this. Ronnie already hated Lando and he surely won't let this slide.

As soon as they reached the station, Lando reached out to his lawyer friend, Anna. And secured their release by the following afternoon. Lando decided it was best for Fresa to stay away from her home right now so he took her back to his villa.

Fresa cleans up and sat on the kitchen island, her head pounding, her stomach churning. The aftereffects of the drug were still lingering, blurring her thoughts and making it difficult to focus. She felt disoriented and vulnerable.

Lando came in from upstairs and glanced at her as he made some ginger tea. "Here, it'll help," he said, giving her a steaming cup. "How are you doing?"

"Me? I just got drugged, stabbed and arrested. In one day! Oh I'm doing awesome!" she replied.

"I'm sorry." Lando apologises, his eyes filled with genuine regret.

"Where's Liam?" She asked.

"Dad called him back for an important case so he and Chloe went back. But they'll be here anytime soon."

"Does he know how much of a saint his little brother is?" She chuckled.

"No please don't drag my brother into this. He's clean. He'll kill me if he knows I'm involving in such things. Sorry please." Lando pleaded.

"It's okay. It was really my fault." She said.

"You told me not to come but i didn't listen and took that drink. God how stupid am I....I guess I was angry."

"On whom?" Lando asked, his voice gentle.

"My boyfriend, Theo....It was almost over between us when he moved here in London and I was trying to mend it. I thought it was because of the long distance thing but it turns out he was cheating on me."

"What a loser." Lando scoffed.

She chuckles and then hisses as she shifts in her chair and feels a sharp pain. Last night's wound.

"Can I see it?" Lando asks.

Fresa lifts her shirt and and he saw the red bandage gash above her waist, to the side. "You're bleeding through." Lando said, his brow furrowing. He hurriedly grabs the first aid box and guided her to the couch.

Then he carefully cleaned the wound. His touch surprisingly gentle. Fresa gripped Lando's shirt as the antiseptic stung, a sharp, clean pain. "I'm almost done," he reassured her.

The scent of antiseptic filled the air, an oddly comforting aroma. Fresa's gaze drifted to Lando's face, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was so close, every detail of his expression magnified.

As he finished bandaging the wound, his fingers brushed against her skin, a feather-light touch that sent a shiver down her spine. He looked up, his eyes meeting hers.

The silence continued with only the chirping of birds outside. Lando's gaze lingered on her lips. He leaned in, his breath warm against her cheek. She closed her eyes, feeling his lips brushing against her cheek.

Then his lips moved to hers, a soft, tentative exploration. The kiss was gentle, hesitant. But as she gave him access, the kiss deepened, becoming more passionate. Her hands found their way to his hair, her fingers in the soft curls.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers. A soft smile played on his lips. "Do you want go to a party?" he asked.

"A party?" she chuckled.

"No no! Not like last night. Liam and Chloe will be there too!" He laughed.

"So you're not angry at me anymore?" he asked, his eyes searching hers.

"Yes, still am," she replied, a playful smirk playing on her lips. "But maybe tomorrow, right now I'm in a little pain," she smiled.

"Wow, Chloe, look, the house is standing," Liam laughed as he entered with Chloe. Seeing them, Lando moved away, and Fresa adjusted her shirt back.

"What you kids do when we were out?" Liam asked, settling onto the couch.

"Played in the sand" Lando sneered.

"What happened to your hands?" Chloe asked, noticing Lando's reddened knuckles.

"What happened to you?" Liam asked, seeing Fresa's forehead wound.

"I, uh, don't know...I think I was drunk and I fell," she stammered a little.

"And you went for a boxing match, didn't you?" Liam glared at Lando. "You do boxing?" Fresa asked, looking at Lando. "I've told you a million times to quit, but you never listen, right?" Liam continued. "You didn't take Fresa with you, did you?"

"No!" Lando and Fresa replied in unison, their voices too quick, too synchronized, making them even more suspicious.

"Anyways where's Anna?" Liam asked.

"She's late, she had some important work so she'll come by tomorrow morning." Lando answers and Liam nods.

Anna. The words echoed through Fresa's ears. Did she just kissed Lando despite him having a girlfriend? Guilt washes over her.

[4.1k words]

[seellove]

Could You Stay a Little Longer // drug dealer!sukuna x reader

Masterlist

Chapter 2 // (12.1k words) // Explicit - 18+

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You're pursuing a master degree across the country, but are currently back in your hometown housesitting for your parents. They've told you all about their undesirable new neighbor, but when you start to get to know said neighbor, you realize he isn't all that bad. Your controlling boyfriend won't let up on you and you grapple with enjoying the company of this drug dealing neighbor boy, Sukuna. Nothing about this is going the way you planned, but is it so bad to let yourself be treated well for a change?

The cultural setting for this is technically economically depressed, rural USA where good paying jobs are hard to come by and there's not many opportunities in small towns, but it could really be anywhere that meets this criteria!

Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work: Reader and Sukuna are mid 20s, mentions of recreational drug use and drug dealing, mentions of abusive/controlling/manipulative relationship (not Sukuna), could possibly be considered cheating depending on your interpretation (not Sukuna), angst, smut, fluff, time skip, prison time, happy ending trust!

Day 3

You decide to continue cleaning out the gardens this morning, once again trying to get ahead of the midday heat. As you head towards the road, the morning chorus of birds in the trees bring a sort of serenity to the neighborhood…until you notice Sukuna’s yard looks anything but peaceful, wrecked once again. 

It’s not surprising considering how loud things were over there last night. It didn’t keep you up per se, but you definitely could hear the loud music and cars engines revving all night long. The man definitely did not seem to want to keep a low profile that’s for sure considering the neighborhood already had it out for him. Thank god for earplugs.

What is the point of cleaning up yesterday if he just trashed everything less than 3 hours later? 

You throw your earbuds in, get on your knees, and start pulling weeds. It’s tiring and uncomfortable, but you figure if you do a little at a time each day you’ll have something good to show for it by the time you leave. Attempting to try and decipher the ways of the immature, cute, bad boy across the street wasn’t something even your advanced schooling could help with.  

After some time, a shadow appears where you are working, blocking the sun temporarily.

“You’re up early tomato girl,” Sukuna’s playful voice sounds from behind you. 

“I could say the same thing. Seemed like you had a late night. Don’t you have stuff to do during the day?” you chide at him, taking out your earbuds and setting your weed pile to the side so you can turn around. 

He’s in shorts and a t-shirt with a backwards hat smothering his wild hair, red eyes hidden by a pair of shades. He’s smirking down at you and you notice he’s holding a pair of hedge clippers.

“Sweets, I’m a dealer with a suspended license, what do you expect me to be doing all day?” 

“I don’t know, counting pills. Counting money? How should I know?” you retort. 

“You’re cute for thinking that’s what I’d do all day,” he teases. 

You just roll your eyes in response, you honestly don’t care to know, it’s not something you want to know anything about at this point.

“I’m going to clean up some of these shrubs,” he gestures to some plants on the edges of the garden.

“Oh that’s not necessary-“

“I know it’s not, but I’m a grown adult who can make his own decisions. Also tired of these people who won’t get the fuck out my house, I’d rather be around someone I actually enjoy.” 

“Why do you have people over if you want them to leave early? Drugs and booze aren’t exactly conducive to people getting up and at ‘em in the morning,” you tease him as he starts working on a bush a few feet away.

“They’re my childhood friends, but they’re some degenerates who don’t do shit all day. They always promise they’ll be out by 8, but it never happens,” he sighs as he prunes his way around the shrubbery.

“Hey Kuna what’re you doing out here?” you hear a girl’s voice from the road. You look up and see two girls walking your way. They look pretty hungover, must have been some of the company from last night.

“I’m helping my neighbor with some yard work, are you all going to be leaving soon?” 

“Yeah, we were just about to go. Just wanted to see if we could buy something before we leave,” the other girl smiles at him. 

“Go ask Toji or one of the other guys, I’m busy,” he responds bluntly, not looking up from what he’s doing. 

They seem to take the hint and walk away, leaving you both alone again.

“Do you let girls sleep with you in lieu of paying?” you ask.

He bursts out laughing. 

“Fuck no, I’m actually pretty picky about who I’ll sleep with. Just never know their true intentions, especially because I’m weak for some good pillow talk. Haven’t been with anyone in a while now that I think of it since I got in trouble with the law again, maybe I’m paranoid of undercover shit or something.”  

You just nod in agreement, a surprisingly astute and mature response coming from him. It makes sense, but you’d expected him to be more free spirited and reckless. His pillow talk comment makes you internally laugh, you can totally see that being a thing, he’s so emotional and expressive after all. 

As you both continue working, your mind wanders back to your conversations with Cam last night. He’d ripped into you about Sukuna answering the phone while on your walk. 

He’d never let you have guy friends, so being around a random guy yesterday definitely set him off worse than usual. You did feel a little guilty about hanging around Sukuna, but it felt good at the same time, you enjoyed his company. With Cam not here, you had more freedom than you’ve had in ages, so you were keen to take advantage of it for a few days.

“Lemonade break?” you nudge his side as the heat starts to distract you.

“Yeah, fuckin’ brutal out here,” he runs his fingers through his hair.

You go retrieve some glasses and find Sukuna leaned back against the trunk of an old oak tree. You sit next to him, passing him an ice cold glass.

You both sit in silence, letting the cold liquid quench your dry throats, enjoying the soft breeze in your shady refuge. Sukuna’s hat is off, tufts of his pink hair dancing in the wind districting your gaze. 

“Do you think you’ll come back here after your grad school?” Sukuna asks once you’ve both cooled off.

“I haven’t decided yet. I love the area where my school is, but I do miss my family and friends here. Just harder to find a job ya know?” 

It was one of the reasons you’d moved away, to have a better opportunity at research opportunities and post graduate options for your chosen degree. 

“That’s valid,” he responds, stretching his long legs out on the grass in front of him. “Do you still have a lot of friends here?”

“I do, but a bunch of them got married pretty quick and already have a kid or two. Only a few of us are still childless,” you laugh. 

“Figures, seems to be the way things go around here. I remember my mom saying something about how no good girls will be left if I wait to settle down, but it seems like there’s still some goods around,” he turns his head to look at you, sunglasses pushed up on his head now.

“I like to think I’m pretty decent,” you laugh, averting your gaze as you feel your cheeks heat up.

“Better than the crew who I hang around,” he snorts.

“I mean that’s not saying much,” you joke with him.

“Oh please, you know what I meant,” he huffs.

“I could set you up with a decent single friend or two,” you nudge his side.

“Two? Shit, that’s just asking for trouble,” he picks at the grass between his legs, tossing it at you absentmindedly.

“They’re nurses, they’d take good care of you.”

“I’m sure they would. Maybe one day, tomato girl,” he laughs. 

“A gift for you,” he leans your way, presenting what looks like grass to you.

Except it’s not grass, it’s a four leaf clover. Some good luck in his future perhaps?

“You don’t wanna keep your luck?” you giggle, laying it in your palm so both of you can get a better look. 

“Eh, you might need it more, I’m already pretty lucky I live the life I do and haven’t gotten in more trouble.”

“I’ll cherish it forever,” you smile at him, leaning against his arm, the bark of the tree starting to hurt your back. 

You both watch as people slowly trickle out of Sukuna’s house, the line of cars parked on the side of the road disappearing after another hour. 

“You want some more vegetables?” you ask him.

“For meeeeee?” he gasps, giving you a fake surprised look.

“Yes you goof,” you laugh. 

“What’s your offer?”

“There’s some radishes and jalapeños over here,” you get up and point to some plants you had been weeding around.

“Well sure if you’re offering,” he smiles, navigating his way carefully through the garden and cutting a few of them off. 

“I’ve got some stuff to do, but would you wanna come eat dinner at my place tonight? I was gonna whip up some stuff with the tomatoes and I can go ahead and make some stuff with these too…you know as a thank you for sharing,” he says as a faint blush appears on his cheeks, spreading to his ears.

“Oh? Sure, why not. Want me to bring anything?” you respond, feeling a little flutter in your chest.

“Bring your favorite wine,” he grins at you. “I’m gonna start cooking at 5, feel free to come by anytime after then. Sounds good?”

“Um, yeah, that sounds great. Thank you,” you suddenly feel all flustered. It’s just dinner with your temporary neighbor.

In his house…but he can’t drive…so this makes sense right? 

What if Cam finds out? 

There’s no way.

You deserve this though. How many times has the man cheated on you and gaslit you into oblivion until you truly believed you were the reason for his infidelity and abusive actions, like no matter what you did it was never good enough?

You deserve to have one nice night with someone who is kind to you. Eating dinner with a friend is not wrong. Hell it’s not like you ever get to go out with your friends back home because of his controlling nature.

“If it’ll put you in a bind with…him, you don’t have to,” Sukuna’s voice jerks you from your thoughts as if sensing your inner turmoil.

“Huh? No, it’s fine. He cheats all the fucking time, god forbid I have dinner with a friend,” you retort, unsure if you are responding to him or trying convincing yourself. Probably both. 

Sukuna grimaces but quickly replaces it with his trademark smirk. 

“Great, I’ll see you later then,” he turns and walks back to his house. 

As you watch him walk away, your inner self is doing cartwheels in excitement. It’s almost like…

You like him. Crushing on the neighborhood delinquent with the mysterious red eyes and the fine ass tattoos adorning that shredded body. The kind hearted boy who’s captivated you in three short days. 

Nah, you can’t be. Like you said, it’s been three days, you hardly know him…right?

***

You were staring at yourself in the mirror, analyzing the third outfit you’ve tried on. It’s not like you brought that many clothes, but you want to look put together and like you put a little effort in!

You can’t even remember the last time you were giddy and excited for something, and that makes you sad, realizing just how shitty your relationship situation is back home, slowly bleeding the life out of you. 

You grab the wine bottle of choice, some popsicles for dessert, and lock up the house, leaving the light on in anticipation of coming back after dark. The walk across the street and up to Sukuna’s porch is over quickly, noticing for once his car seems to be the only one in the driveway. 

You knock on the door and wait, suddenly wondering what it’s going to look like on the inside. You figure it’ll either look like a frat house bachelor pad, or sleek and clean with nice furniture that could only be afforded with drug money.

You’ll soon find out as you hear heavy footsteps on the other side before the door opens up to Sukuna in an apron overtop of a t-shirt and shorts. It catches you off guard seeing him domestic like this, but it quickly fades as his excited smile greets you.

“So glad you came tomato girl, right this way,” he says, holding the door open for you. 

“Nice apron,” you tease as you place the bottle on the counter. The inside is leaning more towards sleek and sophisticated. Black kitchen table, black chairs, black living room furniture, black cabinets, some type of stone countertops, and so on. It’s not what you expected, but you can’t deny he has good taste.

“Tch, thanks. These tomatoes are really juicy and I was worried about getting them all over me,” he laughs, moving to the other side of the kitchen island to fiddle with some pots on the stove.

“So what’s for dinner chef?” you sit at one of his bar top stools across from him, scanning the area around you. Everything seems very neat and organized, you’d never suspect someone with a record lived here if you walked in without knowing him.

“My appetizer, if you will, is chips and pico de gallo. Made the chips myself, aaaaaaand, the pico features your jalapenos and tomatoes of course,” he pulls a bowl out of the stainless steel fridge and places it in front of you. Chips were already out on the counter.

“Wow you make your own chips?” 

“Damn straight, no bagged chips here,” he points his wooden spoon at you playfully. Something about this big strong man wielding a wooden spoon around in this animated way makes you giggle in amusement. Never a dull moment with him.

You take one, dip, and eat, the satisfying crunch loud in your ears. It’s so good, better than any other chip or salsa you’ve had lately.

“Soooo verdict?” Sukuna rests his elbows on the counter and stares at you with wide eyes, eagerly awaiting your response. His backwards baseball hat hides some of his unruly pink locks, giving him an almost frat boy aesthetic.

“Delicious! I’m impressed,” you say, emphasizing the warmth in your words, reaching for more.

“Sweet,” he mutters with a grin. “I know it doesn’t really go with the chips and pico, but I’ve got some homemade tomato sauce going that we’ll eat with meatballs and pasta. The theme of tonight's menu is tomatoes after all, regardless of the meal classification, so I think it fits,” his eyes twinkle with excitement. He seems proud of himself and it’s oddly heartwarming. 

Your mouth is watering because it all sounds and smells so good. This is the last thing you expected him to be doing, whipping up meals from scratch in the kitchen.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” 

“Actually, yes. First pour us two glasses of your wine, and second, come stir this sauce for me, I need to cut this pasta up.”

“Homemade pasta too?” you gasp.

“Duh, you think I’d feed you inferior boxed pasta?” he smirks as he fishes a wine opener out of a drawer, uncorking the bottle and procuring two glasses. 

“I mean most of the time, men aren’t serving me anything except disappointment, so even boxed would be impressive,” you laugh. 

“Well you’re in for a treat then sweets,” he winks and passes you his spoon. He opts to pour out the wine and sets a glass next to where you are standing. 

Sukuna busies himself with pasta, meatballs, and even some garlic bread while you stir his sauce.

“That’s probably fine now,” he eventually reaches over you to lower the heat, his chest lightly pressing against your shoulder. He’s definitely got some height on you so you don’t even need to duck out of his way.

“Come with me,” he grabs your wrist and drags you towards the back door. Out on his deck you realize there is an abundance of fresh herbs in clay pots.

“You get the basil, I’ll get the parsley,” he instructs, showing you how to properly remove the leaves. 

All of this just keeps surprising you, it makes the butterflies form in your chest again. At this point they might as well just take up refuge there. 

How can you be falling for someone with a record? A drug dealer for god sake! It seems like it has bad idea written all over it. Plus he’s said himself, he doesn’t do long term stuff. 

“Hey!” Sukuna’s voice snaps you back to reality, “I asked if you need any help?”

“N-no, I’m good, I think I got enough,” you stutter, almost convinced he can hear your thoughts. 

“Yep looks good to me,” he answers after coming over to inspect your haul. 

Once back inside, it’s only a little while longer before Sukuna starts plating everything. You are about a glass and a half deep into the wine so you’ve settled at the kitchen table, eagerly awaiting the food.

“Eat up!” Sukuna exclaims as he sets the plates down, joining you at the table.

“Sukuna this looks amazing,” you smile, “thank you again, this was so nice of you.”

“But of course, anything for my neighbor,” he responds. 

“Cheers,” he holds out his wine glass which you gladly clink against with yours. Just as he’s about to take a bite, his phone rings. His playful demeanor instantly turns to one of annoyance.

“One moment,” he gets up and answers.

“What?” he barks into the phone. 

“You absolutely will not come over here, in fact, you can tell everyone that if anyone comes over here tonight I will put a fucking bullet in their leg, got it?” he says in a commanding tone which makes you jump. 

He tosses his phone on the counter and rejoins you.

“Sorry about that,” he sits down like it’s business as usual.

“You can just flip that side of you off and on at will huh?” 

“I have to. Makes it less likely that people will fuck with me,” he explains as he digs in, “it’s just a facade though, like I’d never talk to you that way…unless you wanted me to,” he says with a sly grin.

You practically choke on your food at the bold comment. Up until this point he hasn’t taken his flirty, carefree attitude in that direction, but it churns up some type of feeling deep inside of you that you haven’t felt in a long time.

“Easy there,” you laugh, kicking him lightly under the table. 

He just shrugs with amusement and takes a long sip of his wine. 

“So when people come over here, are they picking up or what?” you decide to probe at him, the wine making you braver.

“Sometimes. I don’t keep much product here. Mainly people come by to drop off cash or get assignments. I’ve got people who report to me who handle most everything lower level like deliveries and sales. I deal with more high level stuff: managing the finances, figuring out markups and pricing, and coordinating with the wholesalers. I am the boss after all,” he grins, twirling some pasta on his fork. 

“So what’s the plan when it inevitably all blows up?”

“Excuse me? Do what now?” he chuckles while hitting you with a questioning side eye.

“You heard me, I feel like this can only be successful for so long right?” you reiterate.

“Oh ye of little faith,” he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Well, I guess that would mean I’m either dead, or locked up.” 

“That’s pretty extreme. So there’s no backup plan?” 

“My parents’ inheritance I guess. I’d go back to college with it and get a degree in something I suppose,” he muses.

“What made you drop out?” 

“Honestly my grades were shit. I was in a frat and wasting my parents money partying and fucking off, so they stopped paying and I moved back here. Got involved with my old high school buddy, Toji, with this shit and well here I am, the fucking king.” 

“Interesting. I was just curious,” you set your utensils down, plate completely clean.

“How about you though,” his crimson eyes bore into yours intensely, piercing you so sharply it catches you off guard. 

“What happens when your situation blows up?” he continues.

“What are you referring to?” 

“Your loser boyfriend. The odds aren’t good for women in abusive relationships.”

“It’s not technically abu-“

“Ima stop you right there and call bullshit on that tomato girl. I’m speaking the truth and we both know it. So again, what happens when your situation goes south.”

Your mouth is completely dry, no one has ever spoken about it in this way. 

“I guess similar to you, I’m either dead or in jail,” you retort, causing him to smile with amusement.

“Clever. I like that. Hopefully it’s neither, or at least if you’re in jail it’s cuz he’s dead,” his eyes flick back up to yours. You stare into his gaze, lips partially open as you process everything.

“That sounds so morbid but it may or not be a possibility I’ve mulled over in my mind,” you add.

“Well if you need an accomplice, you have my number,” he laughs, taking your plate and his and dropping them in the sink before coming back to join you.

“What do you say, do you think I should leave this all behind? Start over?” he says in a low tone, swirling the wine around in the glass and watching the liquid slowly settle out. 

“It’s not my place to say Sukuna.”

“Would you like me more if I did?” 

You cock your head at him with intrigue, unsure of what he’s getting at.

“I’d like you just the same. I like you for you right now. That’s why I’m in your house.”

He sighs, tapping his fingers on the table, staring up and away from you both.

“Let’s say, hypothetically, I wanted to settle down with some lucky lady. You think I’d have to stop to have a chance at that?”

You pause, hanging onto his words before answering. Is the wine making him say this stuff? You both hadn’t drank that much…

“I’d say it depends on the lady. If I was going to get with someone like you, yes, I’d probably want you to leave that life,” you give him a playful smile, “but I’m sure there are women out there who’d be content to support you in this life and not expect you to change.”

“Hmm, maybe.”

“What about me though, should I leave the man who’s holding me back?” you challenge him.

“Tch, is that even a question?” he rolls his eyes, reaching to rest his hand on yours. Your heart is pounding, thrumming in your ears, making you almost shiver in anticipation. 

“It is, I asked you after all.”

“Then yes, you should.”

“Would you like me more if I did?”

God is it the wine making you say this stuff? 

Sukuna arches an eyebrow in a wordless response, his gaze slowly moving to meet yours before shifting down to your lips and darting back up again.

“Whether you’re with him or not has no bearing on me doing this right now.”

In the moment it takes for your ears to convey his words to your brain, he kisses you. Your eyes widen in surprise, it must have happened in seconds. He’s standing up now, one hand on the table, the other gripping your chin and tipping it up while his soft lips envelop yours. 

The butterflies you’ve become painfully aware of the last few days ricochet around your insides like fireworks in the night sky as you lean in and kiss him back. It doesn’t stop there though, he’s pulling your chair out, cradling you against his chest while you cling to him, lips still locked as he moves towards his living room. 

He falls back into the couch, positioning you so you are straddling him. 

“Sukuna I-“

“Shhh, don’t talk, not right now,” his voice deepens, observing you through lidded eyes. 

And then his large, strong hands are in your hair, gripping your cheek and the back of your head as he pulls you into another kiss.

His lips crash against yours. It’s consuming, claiming, completely losing yourself in him as you force your tongue into his mouth. Sukuna groans against you, meeting you halfway, his soft tongue dominating yours as he deepens the kiss. Your noses brush against each other clumsily as you familiarize yourselves with the other’s movements. 

You feel almost out of practice, you can’t recall the last time Cam kissed you like this. His style was moreso fuck with the most minimal amount of foreplay, and even that was a generous word to describe it. If you do suck at this, Sukuna appears to have no qualms by the way his arms are wrapping around your back, pulling you against him, and devouring the shared air between you.

Your hands find his hair, dragging his hat off so you can thread your fingers through his soft strands. The scent of his shampoo wafts into your nose as you ravenously kiss him back. You shift yourself, groaning as you feel his hard bulge pressing against your groin, catching your clit even through the extra layers. 

“Fuuuck,” he moans into your mouth, starting to nip at your lower lip as his hands wander down to your ass, rolling his hips up to meet yours.

You haven’t felt this alive in literal years, so drunk off the way he nibbles and sucks at your neck while you grind yourself against him. You can feel yourself soaking through your panties, hoping he can’t feel it through his shorts. 

“Lemme go get a condom,” Sukuna whispers, his breath hot on your neck, eliciting a sharp whine from you as the image of what’s to come infiltrates your mind.

Wait, a condom? For sex? He wants to fuck you, god know you wanna fuck him too right now.

But you have a boyfriend, what are you even doing? Acting like a whore? Cam will be furious, you’ll be in trouble-

You start to panic, pushing yourself back from him abruptly.

“What are you doing? You know I have a boyfriend!” your voice cracks as he quickly removes his hands from you, leaning back into the couch to give you the space you were wanting.

“That piece of shit doesn’t deserve that honor,” Sukuna growls in response, his eyes flaring up in irritation.

“You’re taking advantage of me while I’m away from him, you’ve been putting these bad thoughts about him in my head this whole time. You’re no better than him. A criminal, a bad person,” you start to ramble on, freaking out at the thought of the fallout. If he found out.

Sukuna’s eyes flash with pain, your hurtful words piercing through his heart. 

“Right…,” he finally utters, averting your gaze and biting his bottom lip in discomfort. 

“I’m leaving before you turn me into more of a slut than I already am,” you push off of him, leaving him alone on the couch.

“You’re not being a slut! You’re allowed to be treated with fucking respect by someone,” Sukuna retorts, standing up as he follows you to the front door. 

You whip your head around to face him, hand on the doorknob.

“I’m a cheater, no better than him.”

“Is it really cheating when the person who’s supposed to love and respect you is constantly unfaithful and could even be doing so right now? You say it yourself, you don’t even know if you’re exclusive or not. Please, let me show you what a decent man can do, how you should be treated,” his eyes are so full of raw emotion, his hand pushing on the door next to you, partially caging you against it, but still allowing the option to leave. 

You look away from him, tears in your eyes. Everything is so confusing right now, the desperation on his face, the longing for him in your heart, the fear of Cam. It’s all just too much and you need to get away from all of it right now.

You pull the door open, and Sukuna doesn’t stop you.

“Good night Sukuna,” you stutter as you open the screen door, hearing it slam behind you. You move quickly to your parents house, never looking back towards Sukuna, unaware of the way he watches you leave full of hurt and confusion.

For the first time in his adult life, he was considering giving it all up. 

All of this. 

For you. 

The desire to be a better man, the man you never had, the man you deserved, was coursing through his veins. He thought you had felt the same way, what else could you have possibly meant by those questions? It felt like you’d kissed him with such passion and desire, how did this end with him staring at your back as you walked away from him?

Had he read the whole situation this badly? 

No, you had wanted this just as much as him. You break down with the realization as soon as you get inside, back sliding down against the door as you erupt into a sob on the floor. What’s wrong with you? Why couldn’t you just have an ounce of self esteem and break things off for good, let yourself be taken care of by a good man, one who’s been nothing but kind and helpful since you met him. 

You both go to sleep that night thinking of the other, of the night that could have been yours together. 

Day 4

It’s a little harder to get out of bed today. The sun was shining, not a cloud in the sky, yet here you were festering in your own gloomy thoughts. The only thing forcing you up was that the pets needed taking care of, it’s not like they did anything wrong in all of this.

The humidity is through the roof this morning, probably the worst it’s been since you got here. Normally that combined with a bluebird day means thunderstorms in the afternoon, so you decide to walk Macy in the morning to try and get ahead of it. 

You glance across the street towards Sukuna’s house. No extra cars were around and all the shades were still drawn. Based on the last few days, you’d have expected to see him at some point in the morning, but with what happened last night? No shot. That was probably the last of your interactions with him. 

As you continue your walk, you can’t help but feel guilty about everything. You’d felt scared, even terrified at the thought of hooking up with him even though you’d wanted to with every fiber of your being. The irrational fear of Cam finding out and you reaping the consequences had clouded your judgement. 

“Has he hurt you?” you recall Sukuna asking.

Yeah, he has. Your mind wanders to a dark place, recalling the most recent time he was physical with you. You’d gone out with your grad school classmates for beers one night, which in and of itself caused a blowout fight because three of them were guys. Guys with long term girlfriends and fiancés you had tried to remind him, but he wasn’t having it.

The night had ended with you and two of your male classmates being the last of your group after others had left. There was nothing remotely sketchy or inappropriate going on, just friends talking about life and plans after school. Cam however had decided to take matters into his own hands and show up unannounced, furiously locking eyes with you from across the room as the two guys sat across from you.

Things only got worse for you as he made a scene in front of everyone and practically dragged you out of the bar and into the alley, both of you yelling at each other. The fight only ended when he backhanded you across the face, accusing you of being disrespectful and using his favorite line: “and you wonder why I go looking elsewhere when you constantly act like this.” 

This. Merely existing and trying to defend yourself.

This behavior had instilled a crippling fear and anxiety of never truly knowing where he would show up. You wouldn’t put it past him to find you here. Your hometown is your one safe haven, hence why your location sharing has been off. But you can’t wipe the events of that night from your mind, no matter how hard you try.

You take a left down another road that ends with access to a creek, a place you’d loved playing growing up.

Would Sukuna even understand if you explained all this to him? It shouldn’t be his burden to bear, he probably is just looking for a fun fling, not a girl with baggage as far as the eye could see. Hell you wish you could just have a fun, no string attached night, but the devil on your shoulder can’t just let you be at peace.

You sit down in the grass and let Macy off the leash to play in the water. She loves swimming, and seeing her frolic around in the stream makes you happy for a change. Oh to be a dog just doing what you love, no romantic relationships in sight. You pull a tennis ball out of your bag and toss it into the water, watching Macy swim out to it before bringing it back. 

You repeat these motions until she’s had enough, scampering over to you and falling onto her side, panting in the heat. 

“Tired you out huh girl?” you laugh as you ruffle the damp fur on her neck. You both rest for a while longer before you begin your trek back to the house. Sukuna’s house is still devoid of activity as you head back down the driveway.

You give Macy a quick rinse off outside to get the mud and dirt off of her before letting her back in and preparing some lunch.

Turning on the TV after eating, you decide to have a wallow at home kind of afternoon given your mood. You’ll just binge something and gorge yourself on comfort snacks. 

Macy starts whining to go out after about two hours, so you get up to let her out in the yard. As you lay back down, sleepiness suddenly hits you and you drift off on the couch.

BOOM!

You are jolted awake by a loud noise, scaring the shit out of you. You look outside and notice dark grey clouds covering the sky. 

Great, the afternoon storms you’d predicted have come to fruition. The wind is gusting and rain begins to pitter patter on the roof as another roar of thunder shakes the house.

You know Macy is scared of storms, so you call out to her, trying to find her inside. After checking all her usual hiding spots, you are puzzled that she’s nowhere to be found.

Oh my god. 

You remember now, you let her out and then fell asleep!

You throw on your sneakers as quickly as you can, charging out into the yard as another round of thunder makes you cringe away from the sky.

How could you be so fucking irresponsible! 

Panicking, you run around to the back, hoping by some miracle that she’s there. You are only greeted by the wet deluge that pours down on you as the sky opens up, the fat raindrops splattering onto your bare skin almost mocking you at this point.

This is so bad.

You run up towards the street, frantically calling out to her, your voice completely drowned out by the rain, wind, and thunderclaps that have your ears ringing at this point.

After traversing one end of the street, despair starts to sink in. You are freezing, drenched from head to toe, not even knowing where your tears begin and the raindrops end as rain cascades down your face. As you come back towards the house, you see Sukuna’s out of the corner of your eye.

Maybe he’ll help you.

You literally have nothing to lose, so you bound towards his front door, happy to escape the rain under his front porch.

You bang on the door loudly.

“Sukuna! Sukuna it’s me, can you help me!” you yell over the storm, doubting he can even hear you and if he could, if he’d even want to be in your presence. He has no reason to talk to you again.

To your surprise, the front door opens and you are met with the moody version of the fun loving guy you’ve hung out with the last few days. His face quickly morphs into one of concern, opening the door and coming out to join you.

“Jesus what are you doing out here?” he inspects you, brushing water off of your face and arms.

“It’s Macy, I need your help. I accidentally left her out and then the storm started. She’s terrified of them and I think she’s run off,” you are fighting back tears, voice shaking with fear and likely from the chills that are currently wracking your body as the wind slams into your drenched body.. 

“Of course, lemme put some shoes on,” he responds without missing a beat, disappearing momentarily before coming back outside with a raincoat.

“Go back to your house, let me look for her,” he says gruffly, tucking you under his raincoat, arm slipping around your waist and guiding you out into the yard. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, listen to me please, it’s not safe to be out in this,” he says seriously as lightning streaks across the sky. 

“Gimme your car keys, I’m gonna take your dad’s car.”

“What about your license?”

“Hence why I’m taking the other car, no one will know it’s me,” he scoffs, obviously getting annoyed being out in the rain. 

You unclip your house key from the car key, giving it to him. You stand glued in place, staring at him as if paralyzed on what to do next. 

“Go the fuck on inside!” Sukuna has no patience at this point, dragging you to the front stoop and shoving you towards the door.

Time seems to pass at a sluggish pace as you wait. Five minutes turns to ten and before you know it, thirty minutes have gone by with no sign of the storm letting up. 

You almost go to call Sukuna when you see headlights coming down the driveway. Jumping up, you move to open the front door and almost collapse in relief as you see Sukuna carrying a sopping wet Macy in his arms. 

You rush upstairs to get some towels in preparation for the soaking wet mess that is about to come through those doors. You hold the door open for Sukuna to squeeze by you, standing on the doormat, water running down his legs and soaking the rug.

His pink hair looks darker now and completely is plastered to his face, eyes barely perceptible from being hidden by his wet strands.

“Oh my god, you found her! Are you ok?” you dab the towel at his face, wiping his eyes and cheeks before getting his neck and arms.

“As good as I can be,” he mutters, leaning down so you can towel off his hair. 

“Let’s get this mutt to the bathtub and dry her off,” he says. You untie his shoes and help him kick them off before leading everyone to the bathroom.

Not long after, Macy is as dry as she can be and trots off to hide under the kitchen table, tired from her little adventure.

“Thank you so much Sukuna, I-I don’t know how I can ever repay you. That was so selfless. Truly, thank you again,” you look up at him as he heads back towards the front door.

“Don’t mention it, what kind of man would I be to let a girl run around in the rain by herself. I’m gonna go now, stay dry tomato girl,” he ruffles your hair before disappearing out into the storm.

As you watch him walk away, your heart drops into your stomach. He went out in the fucking storm for a girl who hurled all kinds of accusations at him just the night before. Such an unselfish act, putting you first when he had no reason to.

You wish he’d stop, wish he’d turn around and come back. You want him to stay. Your heart burns with the need to be with him, be close to him, to apologize for everything and explain yourself. Hanging out together meant more than you realized judging by the pang of emptiness you felt as the day dragged on without him, like a part of your routine was missing.

A second chance. It’s now or never, seeing how he’s almost halfway up the driveway.

Your legs move before your brain can even send the command. You rush up the driveway, the pavement slick beneath your feet, lightning flashing in your peripheral as thunder reverberates around you. You reach for his arm, fingers slipping on his rain-slicked skin, but you do enough to get his attention as he turns around in shock.

“Get back inside! Are you purposely trying to drown yourself today!” he enunciates loudly over the storm, irritation plastered across his face.

“Come back, come back please,” you throw your arms around him, pressing yourself into his chest, your cheek plastered against the drenched fabric of his shirt. 

You stare desperately up into his face, the lightning illuminating his crimson eyes. Eyes that look troubled, as if trying to decipher your intent, trying to decide if you mean this or if you are just going to rip the rug out from under him again. 

The rain drips down his pink bangs and onto your cheeks as he looks down on you, seeming to study every part of your face.

“You know I want to,” he mutters, voice deep against your ear, “don’t do this to me if you don’t really mean it.”

“I want you Sukuna. Please, let me try again. I’ll explain, just come back inside,” you choke out, fingers twisting into the waterlogged fabric of his shirt.

In response, his lips find yours, enveloping you in a calm reprieve as the storm rages around you both. Nothing else matters, just his arms around you as you convey the desperation that exists for each other. Each brush of your noses dislodges the rain from his lashes and hair, showering you with droplets warm from his body heat. 

He picks you up, hooking your legs around his waist and intensifying his movements. He forces his tongue into your mouth, clashing with yours, exploring the softness of your cheeks and following the ridges of your gums. 

He strides back towards the house, devouring you, lips welded to yours as the wind blown rain pelts both of you.

The cold air indoors sends shivers down your skin as he opens the door, all your senses suddenly present again as the walls shut out sounds of the chaos outside.

“Where,” he groans against your lips, water dripping from both of your clothes and pattering against the hardwood floor.

“Downstairs, guest room,” you utter against his lips, fingers digging into his jaw tattoos as if clinging to him to shelter you from the storm in more ways than one.

Sukuna wastes no time traversing the staircase, kicking the bedroom door shut behind him and pressing you up against the wall, both of you groping and grabbing, tearing the wet shirts off of each other and letting them drop to the floor.

You both pause, his forehead pressed against yours, chests heaving from a combination of your passionate kissing and the chill air that suddenly hits your damp skin.

“I’m freezing,” you giggle, causing him to snort in amusement. You trace his chest tattoos with your finger, feeling the hard muscle beneath you.

“Yeah why don’t we dry off and warm up,” he plants a soft kiss on your cheek as he moves you both over to the fireplace on the other side of the room, setting you down gently on the carpeted floor.

You turn on the propane fireplace while he grabs some towels out of the attached bathroom, joining you in front of the heat.

You’re down to a sports bra and shorts, feeling a little self conscious at being so exposed, but the heat of the fire radiating against your bare skin is a welcome relief. 

Sukuna peels his shorts off so he’s just in his boxers and you take one of the towels and start to dry him off, working from his upper shoulders and down his back. You chase the small rivulets of water that’d collected in the dips and valleys of his back muscles, tracing the ink that follows a similar path. You move to each leg, encountering tattooed rings around his thighs that make your breath hitch, before turning him around to get his front side. 

You end up taking your sweet time as if memorizing the ridges of his chest and abs as you drag the towel down towards his waistband. 

He sits down on the floor, giving you easier access to towel dry his hair. You can’t deny that he looks cute with his pink locks hanging down in his eyes, but he’s soon running his fingers through his hair to give it his slicked back appearance again.

He in turn does the same for you, sliding your shorts off so you are down to your bra and panties, respectfully drying you from head to toe, not missing how his eyes burn a trail down your skin as they rove over every exposed inch like a spotlight in the dark.

Finally, he launches the towels at the wall, leaning forward to kiss you again as the fire illuminates the room, crackling flames dancing in the reds of his eyes. 

“I’m sorry Sukuna,” you say as you both pull away. His mouth twitches, eyes flicking towards the floor before looking back, willing you to continue.

“Last night, those things I said, you aren’t a bad man, you aren’t a criminal, you weren’t doing anything wrong. I wanted everything you were giving me, I was just…I just got scared. I panicked,” you say quietly, staring into the flames.

He takes your hand in his, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles in a comforting pattern.

“Cam, he has a history of showing up where I am unannounced and giving me hell for it. I don’t know, I just had the thought of him finding me, finding us-“

“I know I asked you this once before, but has he hurt you? Like beyond just words?” Sukuna interrupts you. 

You slowly nod your head, looking down in shame, feeling the tears start to build up behind your eyes.

Sukuna tips your chin up, sorrow in his gaze, caressing your cheeks as his thumbs catching the  damp streaks that inevitably form.

“It pains me to hear that, truly. You know you don’t deserve it right? It’s never justified, and it’s never, ever, your fault,” he says softly, pressing gentle kisses into your forehead. 

“I’m sorry too. I came on really strong, and I should have been more attuned to your feelings, knowing the things you’ve been through. Even if he did show up right now, I wouldn’t let him hurt you, wouldn’t let him lay a finger anywhere near you. You’re safe here with me. I promise.” 

“I know,” your lip trembles as you absorb his words, basking in their meaning. They are more heartfelt than Cam has ever given you, coming from a man you’ve known for such a brief time, even though in this moment it feels like you’ve known him forever. He’s someone you could predict, you can anticipate how he would react to things. Harming you was not a possibility.

“Why me though? You deserve to be with someone without all this baggage, wouldn’t it be easier to just have some fun with a woman that you don’t need to tread lightly around wounds that you never caused?” 

He takes your hands in his, watching how your fingers tangle with his before looking back up at you.

“And I don’t have baggage? I’ve been arrested three times now, move drugs for a living, and have a rap sheet longer than some people’s obituaries. Don’t paint me like I’m a saint, that opioid crisis they are always spouting off about? I make money off of it, people overdose and die because of what I do, what I provide them. The only difference is my baggage is self-inflicted while you never asked for yours.”

“We both can’t change what’s happened in the past, but we can change things for the future, we can help make each other better. Look, I-I know I’ve only known you for what, four days? Which seems like nothing, not even a corporate work week, but you’ve completely turned my life upside down. I know it probably sounds like I’m talking nonsense, but you’ve made me want to change everything, give all this up, and be a better man. 

And those four days, I want them to become 8, then 16, 32, 64 and continue doubling indefinitely into some number that I don’t even fucking know the name of, until I can’t even remember how it all began, just that it began and will end with you.” 

You swear you stop breathing, the air trapped in your lungs threatening to burst. Sukuna, the man you didn’t know you were looking for, found you on the same street where you started your life’s journey having grown up just 10 miles away from each other. Always so close, but never knowing it, you’d been like satellites in each other’s orbit, never finding each other until you needed each other the most. Two broken souls, using shattered pieces from the other to fill the gaps, forever binding yourselves together. 

“Sukuna,” you take a long pause, “I think I love you,” your voice quivers with fear as you utter such vulnerable words.

“And I know I love you.” he hits you with that boyish grin as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before giving you a loving kiss, a kiss that has both of you grinning into each other's mouths, giddy with the excitement of what’s to come.

“I want to continue where we left off last night,” you whisper as you trail soft kisses down his tattooed jaw, earning a soft moan from his throat.

“I’ll follow your lead, go at your own pace,” he sighs as you move to his neck, licking and sucking at his skin, taking your time getting attuned to everything about him.

It’s different being with someone you trust. Normally you’d rush into the main event, hoping to get it over with so you could get away from Cam. Emotionless sex to try and buy his favor for another few hours at best.

But now, you are at peace to just reclaim moments like these, feeling safe enough to actually take the time to appreciate every facet of Sukuna’s body and showing him how much you appreciate him.

You guide him to his back, the flickering flames still providing much needed warmth as your hot kisses make their way to his collarbone. 

“Is this too slow?” you pause, worried you’re taking too long.

“Not at all, love it,” he responds with reassurance.

You continue your exploration of his body, tongue gliding through the ridges and valleys of his muscular physique until you reach the waistband of his boxers that look like they are about to burst from the bulge in their confines. You lightly stroke him through the fabric, earning a sharp groan from Sukuna as his erection twitches under you.

He feels fucking massive, but you’re determined to find out just how large as you coax him to lift his hips. Sliding them off, his hardened length comes into view and springs back against his abs. 

“Holy shit Sukuna,” you giggle in surprise. That’s going to…take some work.

“What?” he grins, palming himself as he sits up to look at you. 

“You know what,” you brush his hand away so you can take over.

“I knowwww, I’ll help you though if you decide you wanna go that route,” he exhales as you wrap your fingers around his thick shaft, slowly pumping his length.

“I do very much want to go that route,” you whisper in his ear as you pump his cock faster, thumb running over his defined head and dragging precum along his skin to help you glide more easily.

“Fuuuuuck,” he moans, throbbing in your hand as you grip him tighter, loving how vocal he is with each stroke of his cock.

“You’re gonna have to stop if that’s what you wanna do,” he teases, looking up at you through lust filled eyes, reaching out to grab your wrist reluctantly. 

You giggle as disappointment shows on his features when you stop gripping him. 

He strips you of your remaining layers, both of you now completely bare to the other. Picking you up, he moves you to the bed, laying your head down gently on the pillows as he sits back to admire you.

“So fucking perfect,” he sighs as he runs a hand from your neck down to cup your breast, thumb rolling your nipple until it hardens under his touch. He returns the favor to you, kissing and nipping all over every inch of your body, as if mapping it out and committing it to memory. 

“Sukunaaaa,” you say his name between breathless moans as his tongue rolls your nipple in his mouth, the other being worked by his skilled hands. Your hands are in his hair, nails digging into his scalp as he continues his ministrations. 

“Can I eat you out?” 

“Holy fuck yes,” you answer quickly. Considering how fucking good his tongue felt on your body, you could only dream of how it would feel against your soaked core.

You didn’t have to wait long because seconds later his head is between your legs, hair tickling your inner thighs. He’s licking long stripes from your entrance to your clit, already making your hips buck in anticipation.

“You’re sooooo wet already,” he murmurs against your cunt, lapping up everything he can before he dives in for more.

“So-sorry, just, haven’t had this in ages,” you stutter, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden.

“Fuck, don’t apologize. Also what a sorry excuse for a man to not go down on you,” he grumbles before he starts devouring you.

It’s so messy, so sloppy, the wet, lewd sounds almost echoing off the wall with the way he plunges his tongue into your cunt. His nose brushes against your clit, making you cry out from sheer bliss at the way he’s practically worshiping your pussy, making you feel so fucking good. You can’t look away, his blown out eyes locked onto yours, watching and observing your every reaction. You feel like you might actually rip his hair out with how hard you’re digging in, but he doesn’t seem to mind, doubling down on his efforts every time you rake your nails through his scalp. 

All his attention moves to your clit, alternating between swirling it with his warm tongue and flicking against it in a way you didn’t even know you needed. You grind yourself against him, seeking even more of that perfect friction. 

Maybe you’re extra sensitive because your loser boyfriend never attempts to make you finish, but you feel the orgasm fast approaching and you have no desire to slow it. 

“Sukuna, keep going, I’m close Sukunaaaa,” you whine, losing yourself in the moment. Each perfect drag of his tongue pushes you closer to the edge, a feeling you haven’t felt in god knows how long. 

One last flick from his skilled tongue is your undoing as the orgasm tears through you, crying his name over and over as your hips buck wildly against his face. Sukuna holds you in place when you try to push off, seeing to it that his mouth never leaves your clit as each hot wave of pleasure rolls over you, making you see stars, remembering nothing but the way his name leaves your lips.

He kisses your core one final time before he moves up to kiss your lips. You feel like dead weight, relishing in the post orgasmic bliss as you taste yourself on his tongue. 

“Damnnn you taste so fucking good,” he smirks, sitting back up, cheeks glistening with your arousal, even covering part of his chin tattoos.

“Ummm I can get used to all of that, that felt fucking amazing,” you sigh, staring up into his darkened eyes. 

“You’ll never go without again,” he grins.

“I’ve got condoms in my toiletry bag over there,” you point to the bag on the dresser.

“Don’t needa tell me twice,” he leaps up, tearing the bag open which has you giggling in amusement at his eagerness. 

“Damn girl,” he holds up the roll of four condoms, letting them dangle from his hand. His naked, muscular body looks fucking divine as the light from the fire flickers against his skin in the dim light.

“I know it seems like a lot, they’re just leftover from buying some while trav-“

“Nooooo, seems like not enough considering you are here for five more days,” he gives you that boyish grin, making your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. The idea of having sex with him four times makes your pussy clench with excitement.

“Might not even be enough for tonight.”

“Sukuna!”

“Relaaaax, I’m joking, sort of.” 

He tears one off and puts the corner in his mouth, quickly rejoining you. As he lays back down next to you, his hand slides up your inner thigh, knuckles brushing against your entrance.

“I said I’d help you,” he mutters through the foil as he slowly pushes a finger into your soaking cunt. It’s sooooo deep, deeper than you could ever reach. 

He works a second one in, gently thrusting in and out, feeling the stretch transition to pleasure with each drag of his digits against your walls. You groan as he curls his finger to prod at your spongy sweet spot, stopping to stroke it a few times.

“That’s it huh?” he gives you a toothy smile, eyes almost rolling when you clench around him.

“Fuck I need to feel that on my cock,” he gasps, quickly pulling out and tearing the packet open with his teeth. He slides it on with no hesitation, nudging his way between your legs.

You feel his tip at your entrance for just a moment as your eyes lock one more time. You give him a small nod and with that, he thrusts his hips forwards, easing his way inside. You both gasp, you at the sudden stretch and him at the feeling of your velvety walls clinging to his tip.

“Hold onto me,” he utters, waiting until you grip his shoulders before starting to work you open with short slow thrusts, letting you adjust as he sinks deeper and deeper. Now you understand his request because your nails digging into his skin is the only thing to counteract the intense, full feeling his thick cock gives you. 

“Fuckkkk baby you’re so goddamn tight,” Sukuna groans as he finally bottoms out, giving you a deep kiss as he pulls all the way out and slowly thrusts back in. You swear you can feel each vein on his shaft through the fucking condom dragging against your walls with how snug of a fit he is.

“I don’t know if I’m tight, you’re just so fucking big,” you chuckle against his lips.

“Ummm, you’re tight, trust me on that sweets, I think I’ve been in more pussies than you,” he jokes back at you while giving you slow, deep strokes.

“And I think you’re big, I’ve had more dicks ins-“ 

“Okay I believe you!” he shoves his hand over your mouth and you both erupt into a fit of giggles.

Sex with Sukuna just feels fun. Playful even, just like his general personality. There’s no pressure to perform a certain way, all the self consciousness you were feeling earlier just melts away, as you both take everything in stride and enjoy getting used to and learning about one another. 

After a few more slow thrusts, you beg him to go faster which he happily obliges, angling himself towards your sweet spot which has you moaning his name.

“Kunaaaaa yes! Just like that,” you cry out, nails digging into his shoulders as his cock head kisses you in just the right place over and over.

“Yeah? Right here?” he grunts, speeding up his movements even more, causing your eyes to roll. He hooks your leg behind his waist, plunging himself even deeper into your tight cunt as he drives you harder into the mattress. 

You forgot how good sex could feel, sure the physical was good in its own way, but the emotional security while doing it with someone you care for is unmatched.

You’re truly able to let yourself go and get lost in the other person, forgetting about everything except for each other. That’s how it was with Sukuna right now, trusting him to give you what you need and being open to you telling him what you want.

“Can I be on top?” you whisper in his ear.

“Fuck yeah, get on girl,” he nips at your neck before pulling out, propping himself up on the pillows.

You wanted to feel in control and selfish for your own pleasure for a change, and Sukuna was the kind of man to let you have that. Not like he cared either way, you looked fucking great riding his cock, his eyes glued to the way your tits were bouncing in his face while you angled yourself in just the way you needed.

“That’s it baby, fuckin’ use it, use me,” his hands rest on your hips, letting you be in control while his strong arms help to steady you, the perfect team player. 

“Can you take the condom off?” you whine, wanting to feel all of him.

“Huhhh? Really?” his eyes widen and you swear you feel him throb inside of you.

“Yeah, I’m on birth control,” you slow down and roll your hips a few times while waiting for his response. 

“Shit I’m probably gonna bust in two seconds, but fuck it, I’m willing to take that chance to feel all of you, raw and gripping me like that,” he says, lifting you up, pulling the condom off, and tossing it on the floor.

You realign yourself and take him to the hilt in one go.

“Holy shit! Fuck! Ah-shit,” he hisses, head falling back hard against the headboard with a thud, eyes rolling up to stare at the ceiling.

“Oh god are you ok?” you snort at his dramatic response. 

“Maybe, I don’t fuckin’ know, but god fuckin’ move baby,” his eyes are locked onto where you are both connected, mind only focused on one thing. He feels too damn good, his perfect cock gliding through your walls, tip just kissing your cervix as you start to feel the pool of desire within you heating up again.

You become needier, bouncing faster, angling yourself so that his fat tip hits your sweet spot, feeling yourself gushing from the impending climax. Sukuna looks like he’s barely holding on, focusing so hard on…something, probably something strange to keep his composure. His fingers are gripping you so hard, likely leaving marks on your skin.

“I’m gonna cum, help me,” you whine just as the orgasm consumes your movements and you clench around him with no control. Sukuna, being such an attentive partner, takes over thrusting into you from below, letting you ride out the high as your vision goes white from the hot waves of pleasure convulsing throughout your body.

“Fuck oh my god you’re so fucking perfect,” he growls, staring up at you with awe as you start to collapse against him, catching you with his strong arms.

“It’s a miracle I lasted through that,” he chuckles as he starts to roll you both back over, locking your legs around his waist as he slowly starts to rock into you again.

“Do you really love me?” you say softly, staring up into his eyes.

“You know I do,” he groans, his rhythm starting to get sloppy.

“Mmm, I love you too Sukuna,” you sigh, feeling him throb inside of you.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum, where do you wannit?” he utters through gritted teeth.

“Inside.”

“Shit.”

“Fucking deep inside Kuna, want you to fill me up,” you moan, rocking your hips against his.

“Goddamn girl, gonna fuckin’ kill me,” he groans and with one last impossibly deep thrust, he unleashes his hot load, hips stuttering as he pumps thick ropes of cum into your pussy. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck as his body finally begins to still, his hair tickling your skin as you cling to him, melding both of your bodies together. Your chests heave against each other as you catch your breaths, Sukuna’s large body pinning you beneath him. 

“Thaaaaat, was fucking awesome,” he finally exclaims, moving to lay at your side, pulling you snug against his chest.

“You have no idea,” you sigh with contentment, snuggling up to his warm body. 

You doze off and on while pressed up against him, his heartbeat thrumming against your cheek and his fingers tracing lazy circles on your upper arm. 

“Sorry I fell asleep on you,” you give him a sheepish smile as you sit up, turning to look at him.

“Tch, l just came inside you and you’re concerned that you fell asleep on me?” he teases, eyes lighting up. He looks genuinely happy and it makes your worries wash away.

“Shut up! Just…didn’t know how you’d be acting after all that.”

“I personally adore knowing I fucked you so good you passed out,” he grins, pulling you on top of his broad chest.

“I guess you did huh, body isn’t used to it I suppose,” you say as you rest your chin on his pecs.

“Hmm, that’s okay, thought it was cute having you fall asleep on me. You’re welcome to anytime,” he replies, his warm words making you want to bury yourself in his chest again.

“Oh I ordered a pizza while you were asleep, it should be here soon,” Sukuna says.

“Thank god!” you are starving and haven't even thought about dinner.

The doorbell rings and Sukuna gets up to grab you a fresh towel to clean up with.

“I’m sorry I should have done this earlier, I can come back to help you clean up,” he says as he searches the floor for his shorts.

“You’re fine, I’ll be up in a bit,” you wave him off, but appreciate the concern.

You clean up briefly and then pull on some sweats and a hoodie, trudging upstairs to join him. You realize you are pretty fucking sore right now, legs feeling a little shakey as you climb the stairs.

The storm must have stopped while you were both downstairs, the last traces of daylight rapidly fading into night as you peek out the window. Sukuna is in the kitchen getting plates and also a glass of water for you. He gives you a drive by peck on the lips before sitting down next to you.

“So what’s the plan,” Sukuna blurts out as he tends to do, he really has zero filter when it comes to saying what’s on his mind.

“What plan?” 

“The plan for you and me.”

“Well I don’t know the plan, but we can make one together,” you chuckle, “what’s at the top of your list?”

“I want you to be my girlfriend,” he says bluntly, taking a big bite of pizza while you almost choke on yours. 

“Damn okay tomato girl, don’t puke all over yourself in disgust at the thought,” he teases while you slap his arm, trying to regain your composure. 

“No! It just surprised me is all. Can you do a long distance relationship? I still have another year for my masters at least.”

“You’re worth waiting for. We can video call and shit too, and I’ll come visit you.”

“AND, while you are in school, I can go back to school too. Maybe we can be done close to the same time,” he adds. 

“Oh really?” 

“Yeah, been thinking about it since yesterday.”

“What do you think you’d want to go for?” 

“Probably something with car maintenance and repair. Actually seems to pay pretty well for the area and I already know a lot about working on them. I thought I could finish my business degree and do the apprenticeship at the same time. There’s so many online degree choices now, I should be able to make both work. God knows I have enough money.” 

“I think that is a great idea,” you respond, getting butterflies thinking about the future together. “My parents are going to be in for a shock.”

“Ha, yeah they are. They’re usually alright with me though, hopefully they’ll come around after hearing our plans. No way I’m worse than Cam. Which by the way, you technically have two boyfriends right now, playa,” he winks at you, making you snort in response. 

“I haven’t technically said yes to you yet,” you tease as you pinch his tattooed cheek, “and yes, I will be your girlfriend Sukuna. I’ll also send Cam a breakup text after eating then block him.” 

“Good, I don’t like being the other man.”

“Popsicle?” you ask, getting up to raid the freezer.

“Yes ma’am!”

One popsicle later, Sukuna has whisked you back downstairs and has his head between your legs again, eating the “real dessert” as he called it. He stops to let you send your breakup text, saying he wouldn’t let you cum until you were only his, but after that, the man is all over you until the early morning hours when you finally tap out, unable to keep your eyes open anymore.

Day 5

You awaken the next morning to Sukuna’s arms wrapped around your body and legs tangled in yours. It must be late considering the way the sun is beaming through the window. 

You groan with discomfort, your whole body feels sore and you are absolutely famished. 

“Sukuna,” you say sleepily, shaking him.

“Hmm? What?” he responds in a sleep raspy voice, sitting up and shoving his hair out of his eyes. 

“So hungry.”

“Lemme go get us some donuts.”

Your mouth waters at the thought, a local shop in the area makes apple cider donuts that you miss so much now that you live out of the area.

“What about your license?”

“It’ll be fine, I drive all the time and it’s not an issue. I just gotta be a good boy and not drive crazy,” he laughs. 

You feel yourself about to fall back asleep so you don’t argue. He crawls over to you, planting a soft kiss on your lips before getting up.

“I’ll be back in a bit, why don’t you sleep a little more, you look…quite rough,” he snickers.

“Wow I wonder what could have possibly caused this?” you roll your eyes at him. 

“Hmm I wonder?” he jokes, throwing on a shirt and sweats that he got from his house last night. 

“Love you tomato girl…friend,” he looks so proud of himself for coming up with that, making you groan.

“You are…something,” you burst out laughing, “love you too, see you soon.”

He comes over and gives you a big, crushing goodbye hug. 

“God I wish you could stay a little longer,” he nuzzles his face into your neck.

“It'll all be okay,” you thread your fingers through his hair one more time before he leaves you to bury yourself in the sheets again, quickly letting sleep consume you once again.

You are jarred from your slumber by your phone ringing. You sit up, disoriented, realizing it’s almost 3PM, much later than Sukuna was supposed to be back. Maybe he was upstairs letting you sleep.

You pick up your phone to answer. 

“Hello?”

“This is a collect call from an inmate at the Southeastern Regional Jail, press 7 to accept.” 

Masterlist

taglist: @clp-84 @zeunys @aquaberrydolphin @nynxtea @yuujispinkhair @ssc7514

[queenariesofnarnia]

the future mrs. torres part 2 {j.t}

gif not mine!

wc: 987

part 1🩵

part 2 because @lovely-foxes-exe asked so kindly🩵 hope you feel better soon hun!!

🩵🩵🩵🩵

Sam did let you move in, he missed having you around. Best believe that you and Joaquin made it your mission to annoy Sam at every moment you could. You met his mom and abuela on facetime, a few days after he claimed you’re his future wife. They were the sweetest ladies ever, you even gave his mom your number so she can send you some baby pictures of him that you absolutely gushed over. You even sent her some of your own baby pictures. You may have ended up in Joaquin’s bed a couple of times and he ended up in yours too. You’ve been on quite a few dates. Especially since the initial interaction between the two of you there was an instant connection. You spent weeks getting to know each other, finding out what made each other laugh, what things you each couldn’t stand, and what made you the most emotional. The first date you went on was to the aquarium, it was definitely because you quoted the little mermaid the day you met. From that point on you always had the best dates whether they were at home or on a little adventure. 

By six months into dating you’ve already visited his mom and abuela, and they adored having you visit. His mom started calling you her daughter and his abuela insisted that it was okay for you to call her that as well. You started having weekly facetime calls with them and it was one of the highlights of your week. Sam and Bucky gave Joaquin a serious ‘fatherly’ talk about being with you, they were happy for the two of you but fiercely protected you. There were times you even joked with Sam to address you as Mrs. Torres just to see Joaquin’s reaction and he would have the goofiest smile on his face every time he heard you say it. When it was coming up on the two of you being together for a year Joaquin asked Sam for permission to marry you. Sam of course said yes, after giving him a hard time of course. 

Joaquin was nervous planning the anniversary date, so he called his mom to help him plan everything out. He showed her the ring that he picked for you, and she gushed over it. 

“She’s going to love it” his mom reassured him. “Where are you taking her?” she asked. 

“To a fondue restaurant, she is obsessed with cheese” he said with a smile. His mom was really excited for him. 

“Go get ready and send pictures! Love you mijo!”

“Love you too ma” he says before hanging up getting ready, he went for a black button up and black pants tucking the ring in his pocket.

 You were in your room preparing for the date option for a little black dress moment with some tights and heels like Fran Fine. You double check yourself in the mirror before making your way to the living room. Joaquin was standing there looking scrumptious waiting for you. 

“You look good pretty boy” you compliment wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands immediately went to your waist.

“You look beautiful pretty girl” he smiles kissing your forehead. Sam came bursting in like a mom on prom day.

“Let me get some pictures kids” he says pulling his phone out to take pictures “Smile pretty so I can send these to Isaiah and Buck” you both laughed at his antics as he took multiple pictures. 

“Be safe kids” he calls out the door after you two. You shook your head laughing, tossing your car keys to Joaquin. He unlocks the car opening the door for you before getting in himself. During the drive he held your hand gently stroking the back of it with his thumb. When he pulled up to the fondue restaurant you were extremely excited.

“Should’ve worn something stretchy instead” you joked, making him laugh heartily. You two were led to a private table where there was a bouquet of red roses waiting for you. Thanking him profusely you set them to your side reaching across the table to hold his hand.

“Pretty girls deserve pretty flowers” he says smiling at you. When the waiter came by the two of you ordered the type of cheese you wanted to try first. As the dinner went on through each course the ring was burning a whole in his pocket as you waited for dessert to come. When it was finally time for dessert that’s when he became extra antsy. He planned with the restaurant for this dessert. He gave one waitress his phone to record it for them. The waiter brought out a plate of chocolate covered strawberries placing it in front of you. You planned on taking a picture first before you read what the chocolate writing said 

‘Will you be the future Mrs. Torres?’ gasping you look up to Joaquin who got down on one knee while you read the plate, the ring box held the most stunning ring you’ve seen. 

“So future Mrs. Torres now?” he asked smiling. You nod enthusiastically.

“Yes” you said your voice cracking a bit. He slid the ring on your finger, kissing your hand. 

You stand up kissing him quickly being mindful that you’re in a restaurant still. The wait staff applauded you both. The waitress with the phone ended the recording handing it back to Joaquin, wishing you both congratulations. He kept his phone out to take more pictures of you to send to his mom and abuela. Making sure there was one of you holding up the bouquet and your hand (his new lock screen). 

“I’m so glad I said you were going to be my future wife when I met you” he says eating a chocolate covered strawberry. 

“I’m glad you did too” I smile at him fondly. “I can’t wait to be Mrs. Torres”

[lightning-mcquinn]

Woah, there’s no reason to get so heated. I never said he’s perfect, he does some bad things but terrible is a stretch. Like yeah, taking Robin away from Tim? He went about that completely wrong, even if he had his reasons. I will say that making mistakes doesn’t mean he’s a terrible sibling. And because I love exploring the dynamics between the Bat Family, I’m going to go through some moments where Dick was a good sibling to each of them, or at least some cute moments between them!

Tim

This is probably my favorite Batfam dynamic (with Steph and Damian being a close second) In many ways Tim helped Dick become a big brother. He felt like he failed Jason by not being there and made an effort to be more available to Tim!

Here’s some moments between the two!

When Dick trusted Tim not to use the Lazarus pit?

Or when he and Babs threw Tim a surprise Christmas party so he wouldn’t be alone on Christmas

After Tim quits being Robin, he’s nervous that Dick and Bruce won’t talk to him again. Tim’s school gets shot up and Bruce is adamant that he’s okay but Dick goes to check up on him.

Even when they’re fighting, they’re there for each other! This takes place after Dick gives Robin to Damian!

Also! I want to add that in Bruce Wayne murderer, Dick and Tim do argue because Dick is angry that Tim is doubting Bruce’s innocence, it’s a very emotional time for the two and siblings fight all the time. Hell my sister has snapped at me tons of times and I’ve snapped at her.

Jason

The biggest thing with Dick and Jason, is Dick wasn’t there a lot when Jason was Robin, because he was mostly with the Titans at the time, but when he was there, he did his best. Here’s some moments of Dick being a good brother to Jason!

Dick gives Jason his number as well as his Robin suit (this panel is quite old but DC continuity is really confusing)

Or when Jason is grounded and Dick takes him out on an adventure to help him out

And he even apologizes to Jason because Bruce compared the two

And when Jason is accused of murder, Dick trusts him when he says he didn’t do it

I will say that out of all of Dick’s siblings, he probably made the most mistakes with Jason, which kinda makes sense because that was his first time being a big brother figure. But even then, you have this little moment:

Damian

This is a major one! Dick and Damian are probably the sibling relationship that gets the most focus in current comic (which I have my own opinions on, because I hate that they put his relationship with the others on the back burner) But Dick is very essential to Damian’s character growth. And yeah they get off to a rocky start, Dick was grieving Bruce’s death and all of the sudden he’s in charge of a murderous 2nd grader. He wasn’t the most emotionally available, I’d honestly say their relationship is in the middle of parent/child and siblings. I’ve maxed out the amount of photos I can use in a post so I’ll leave you with this!

God I love them so much.

Cass

Don’t worry! I didn’t forget Cass! But they don’t have as many moments compared to the others! Like I said, I ran out of photos, but I can list some!

- If I recall correctly, Dick wasn’t the most welcoming to Cass because! He’s NOT perfect! He makes mistakes and he can be a real Dick (pun intended) but a huge thing is, he acknowledges this, apologizes to her and they agree to put it behind them! This happens in Batman and the outsiders (2007) #14

- This is more a moment of her helping him out, but in Nightwing (1996) #81, Dick gets shot, Cass visits him in the hospital and he enlists her help in defeating Deathstroke. This is an important moment because a big theme in Nightwing 1996 was Dick stretching himself thin and trying to do everything on his own, which caused him to start getting sloppy.

- In Nightwing #106 Dick teaches Cass how to make his world famous pancakes, which is adorable!

(but I mean so does almost every member of the batfamily)

And as for Duke, I’m not sure if they have any moments together?

And I can totally get your frustration that people act like he’s perfect and honestly that’s probably why I’m not the biggest fan of Tom Taylor’s Nightwing run because he made him almost into a Mary-Sue and I think a flawed Nightwing is the best Nightwing, like I mentioned how in Nightwing 1996, he insists on doing everything alone, which leads to him getting overworked, which leads to him getting shot on duty, which leads to Blockbuster realizing that Nightwing is Dick Grayson which leads to basically his whole life falling apart.

I hate the “bad sibling Dick Grayson” tag, like Dick Grayson would never. Especially in Tim centric fics. They have such a close bond in canon, Tim Drake is Dick Grayson’s #1 fan and Dick raves about Tim like every other issue in Nightwing (1996)

[supernova2205]

A Recipe for Trouble

Chef Gaz x reader

Summary: What starts as a simple cooking class to cure boredom quickly turns into something more when your charming instructor, Kyle, challenges you to a final test cooking him dinner at your place. With your track record in the kitchen, success isn’t guaranteed, but maybe the real lesson isn’t about cooking at all.

Boredom had a way of making you do questionable things. Like signing up for a cooking class despite your well-documented history of culinary disasters. You had scorched eggs, burned pasta, and once managed to set toast on fire. If there was a way to ruin a dish, you had found it.

So, naturally, a cooking class seemed like a logical next step.

The only thing that stopped you from bolting right out of the class on the first day was the instructor himself, Kyle.

He was confident, charismatic, and, unfortunately for you, devastatingly attractive. That last part made focusing on anything remotely related to food prep significantly harder.

Your first lesson began with an introduction to knife skills, and you quickly realized that chopping onions was its own form of torture. Your hands fumbled, your slices were uneven, and at one point, you nearly lost a fingertip.

Kyle chuckled as he slid a cutting board in front of you. "Alright, let’s slow down before we end up in the emergency room, yeah? Hold the knife like this, firm grip, but relaxed." His hands covered yours, guiding you through the movement. "There you go. Now try again."

You tried to ignore the way his touch lingered just a little longer than necessary, focusing instead on not making a fool of yourself.

That resolve lasted about three minutes until you managed to send half a tomato flying across the room.

Kyle blinked, lips twitching in amusement. "Well, that’s one way to do it. Not exactly the right way, but you’ve got enthusiasm."

"Enthusiasm won’t stop me from burning the kitchen down," you muttered, shaking your head. "I’m hopeless."

"Nah," he grinned, leaning against the counter. "Just need the right teacher. And lucky for you, I happen to be the best."

The lessons continued over the next few weeks, each one filled with equal parts disaster and progress. You learned how to knead dough without it sticking to everything in sight, how to properly season a dish without making it taste like pure salt, and, most importantly, how to not set things on fire.

Every lesson was a battle between your growing skills and your natural inclination for chaos, but Kyle never lost patience. If anything, he seemed to enjoy watching you stumble through the process.

"Alright," he said one evening as you both hovered over a pan of sauce that miraculously hadn’t turned into charcoal. "Moment of truth. Taste test."

You hesitated, scooping a bit onto a spoon. Your track record with homemade meals wasn’t exactly great. But as soon as the flavors hit your tongue, your eyes widened. "Holy—this actually tastes good."

Kyle grinned. "Told ya. You’re getting the hang of it."

You turned to him, a slow smirk forming. "So, what you’re saying is… I’m a natural?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You’re better, but let’s see if you survive the final test."

Your stomach dropped. "Final test?"

Kyle leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Cooking a meal all on your own. No help. Just you, the ingredients, and your questionable decision-making."

You groaned. "You’re trying to kill me."

"Nope, just makin’ sure all this hasn’t been for nothing. I’ve got faith in you."

And damn it, with the way he looked at you just then, soft, encouraging, like he knew you could do it, you almost believed it too.

Then he smirked. "And, since it’s your final test, I think it should be a special occasion."

You raised an eyebrow. "Special how?"

Kyle leaned against the counter, arms crossed, looking way too pleased with himself. "How about this you cook me dinner. At your place. Just us."

Your heart did a weird little flip. "Wait, is this part of the test, or are you asking me out?"

He chuckled, tilting his head. "Little bit of both."

You stared at him, trying to find the catch. "So, you want me to cook for you, knowing full well that my kitchen skills are questionable at best?"

Kyle shrugged. "I like a little danger. Keeps things interesting."

The teasing glint in his eye made your stomach do another flip. You exhaled, dramatically wiping your hands on your apron. "Alright, Kyle. You’re on. But if you die from food poisoning, that’s on you."

"I’ll take my chances."

The next evening, you found yourself pacing your kitchen, trying to remember everything Kyle had taught you. You had picked a simple dish, one you had actually managed to cook successfully under his watchful eye. But without him hovering nearby to save you from disaster, your nerves were getting the best of you.

When the knock came at your door, you took a deep breath and opened it to find Kyle standing there, dressed casually but somehow looking effortlessly good. He held up a bottle of wine with a smirk. "Figured we might need this."

You let him in, and he surveyed your kitchen with an amused glance. "So, what’s on the menu, Chef?"

"That… is a surprise," you said, nudging him toward the counter. "No interfering. You’re the guest tonight."

"Alright, alright," he laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. "I’ll just sit back and enjoy the show."

Despite a few near mishaps, the meal actually turned out well. You plated everything carefully and set the table, feeling ridiculously proud of yourself. Kyle took a bite and let out a satisfied hum. "Look at that. My star pupil actually pulled it off."

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in his gaze made your face heat up. "So, does this mean I passed?"

Kyle leaned in slightly, a slow smile spreading across his lips. "Oh, you definitely passed. But I think we might need a few more lessons. You know, just to be sure."

Your heart raced as you met his gaze, realizing that maybe, just maybe, this had never really been about cooking at all.

Authors note:Hey everyone! Just wanted to share a little fic for all my fellow Gaz fans out there. I still have more ideas brewing about him because I absolutely adore his charm and sass! Enjoy and stay tuned for more!!!!$

[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