#i just wish I could do something right for him for once

[sixeyesonathiel]

what happens when the strongest sorcerer, satoru gojo, meets your strongest period mood swings?

a/n: i teared up writing this. i wish men—real, emotionally available, period-bath-running boyfriends—were real.

you don’t know why you’re crying. again. maybe because the blanket slipped off your shoulder or because the strawberries he cut for you weren’t sweet enough or because the stupid commercial on tv had a puppy in it. whatever the reason, your bottom lip wobbles and you sniffle, clutching the heat pack tighter against your abdomen.

satoru is there in a heartbeat. not because he knows what to do—oh no, he’s scrambling. since this morning when you woke up groaning like a medieval knight struck down in battle, he’s been in full red-alert panic mode. he googled “how to handle girlfriend on period” three times, made a list, burned it, then cried a little in the hallway before gathering the courage to come back in. he even called shoko for backup, only to be met with unhelpful laughter and a “good luck, loverboy.”

now he’s crouched in front of the couch like he’s about to disarm a bomb, blue eyes wide behind his stupidly expensive sunglasses that are now pushed messily into his silvery hair. his lips are pursed like he’s concentrating very hard, but the little twitch at the corner of his mouth betrays his anxiety.

“operation: spoiled princess is officially in action,” he declares, voice light but eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to read the weather. his large hands cradle your cheeks with a gentleness that doesn’t match his usual chaos, thumbs brushing under your eyes like he can physically wipe the emotion away. “what’s wrong, baby? want me to punch the strawberries? i’ll do it. don’t test me.”

your nose scrunches, and despite the tears welling again, a soggy laugh escapes you. “you’re so dumb.”

“and yet so handsome. it’s really unfair to everyone else,” he sighs dramatically. his long legs fold awkwardly as he plops down beside you, then tugs you into his lap like you’re made of glass. your face smushes against the soft cotton of his long-sleeved tee, which smells like laundry detergent and a hint of something sugary—probably from the chocolate he was sneak-eating earlier.

five seconds later, your mood shifts again.

“why would you say that?” your voice rises, sharp. you pull back, brows furrowed. “are you saying other people want you? is that it? am i just some girl to you?”

satoru freezes like someone hit pause on him. “huh? what—no! what are you talking about? i just—i meant it like—baby, no, don’t cry again—”

“i’m not crying because of you,” you snap, already blinking back tears. your arms wrap tighter around your stomach. “i just… i feel gross and my stomach hurts and i hate everyone and nothing helps.”

“okay! okay,” he says quickly, hands held up like he’s facing a wild beast. his tone drops to something soft, coaxing. he leans in, his bangs falling a little into his eyes. “you hate everyone. but not me, right? please don’t hate me, i’ll literally explode.”

you glare. “depends. did you eat the last cookie or not.”

he blinks once. twice. “…i—what? baby, this is not the time for interrogation—”

“answer the question, toru.”

“…no comment.”

you narrow your eyes, pinch his side. he yelps like a kicked puppy.

“okay! okay! i did but i didn’t know it was the last one—wait, don’t look at me like that, please, i’m too young to die—”

satoru’s voice cracks just a little, and he sounds genuinely distressed now. the kind of pitiful panic that only comes from being accused by the person he loves most. “you don’t really hate me, right?” he blurts, blinking rapidly as if he could force an answer out of you by sheer will. “like… not actually? you’re just—y’know—period mad? not ‘i want to leave you and never look back’ mad?”

you sniff, pouting at him with narrowed eyes. the silence stretches just enough to make him squirm. he fidgets with the hem of his sleeve, eyes darting from yours to the pillow, to your hand still fisted in his shirt.

“because if you did, i think i’d just crawl into the washing machine and set it to spin cycle,” he mumbles, only half joking. “you’d forget all about me, but the spin cycle wouldn’t forget.”

you break. again. this time with a teary snort of laughter. your face buries into his neck, the tip of your nose brushing his warm skin as your shoulders tremble with exhausted giggles.

he exhales like a man who’s just been handed a stay of execution. his arms wind tighter around you, holding you like he’s scared you might vanish.

“i got you chocolate,” he whispers hastily, like it’s penance. “and those terrible chips you like. and i prepped a warm bath with the glittery bomb thingy you keep hoarding. also, i may have threatened the delivery guy to get here faster. i said i was a government official. please don’t report me.”

he tries to kiss your forehead, but you shove his face away with a palm.

“you smell like cheap cologne. did you use that stupid body spray again?”

satoru reels back, wounded. “excuse me, this is top-tier scent! the internet called it ‘irresistible alpha energy.’”

“more like teenage boy in a locker room.”

“wow,” he mutters, but there’s no heat in it. his thumb rubs slow circles into your back, his gaze flicking down to your fingers still tangled in his shirt.

finally, you lift your head, your eyes glassy but no longer stormy. your features soften—still tired, but laced with reluctant affection. satoru looks at you like you hung the damn moon.

“you’re the worst,” you whisper.

his grin is crooked, too relieved to be smug. “and you still don’t hate me. noted.”

he bumps his nose against yours, then gently tugs you closer. “c’mon. bath time for my temperamental goddess. i even lit the dumb candle that smells like a bakery.”

he stands, scooping you up with more care than coordination. you press your forehead to his jaw, soaking in the familiar comfort of his scent—minus the cologne.

“your skin glows with divine light… your aura purifies the air… i am but a lowly servant in the temple of your beauty…” he chants dramatically. he slips on your fuzzy socks halfway to the bathroom and nearly eats it, but catches himself just in time, shouting your name like he’s about to perish.

even if he’s overwhelmed, mildly traumatized, and definitely confused by the chaos that is your period mood swings, satoru gojo is nothing if not yours.

[formulaonecrumbs]

till death do us part 🥀

Lando Norris x deceased!reader (is that a thing idk)

summary: lando grieving the death of the love of his life

warnings: pure angst, death, grief, cause of death never mentioned, depressed lando

A/N: i don’t even know why i wrote this. it’s old, and i had one of those anxiety spirals where i kept picturing ppl i love passing away and i just bawled and bawled until i wrote this (then bawled some more) BUT I HOPE U CRY TOO :p enjoy (or don’t), u beauts ❤️

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

lando doesn’t remember the last thing you said to him.

not really.

he’s replayed your voice so many times in his head since you left that the truth’s gotten all tangled up with the imaginary — the should-have-said, the could-have-been. maybe it was something small, something boring, like “don’t forget to take the bins out.” maybe you told him you loved him. maybe you didn’t say anything at all. it’s all static now. a fuzz of memories he can’t quite grip.

he wishes he could go back. rewind. hear your voice. just once. even if it was yelling. even if it was just you asking if he wanted tea. anything.

he wakes up most mornings forgetting you’re gone.

there’s still two mugs on the drying rack. your toothbrush is still in the cup. your side of the bed still sinks like you’ve just rolled off it.

lando doesn’t touch any of it.

he doesn’t let anyone else touch it either.

his friends try. connor, max, oscar — they come over sometimes. bring food he won’t eat. offer company he won’t ask for. they speak too gently. their eyes flinch when they say your name. they never stay long.

he likes it better that way. the silence.

the quiet feels closer to you than they ever could.

still, it hurts.

god, it hurts.

everything he does reminds him of you. you, who used to hum in the kitchen while making breakfast. you, who wore his oversized hoodies and laughed when they fell past your knees. you, who called him “pretty boy” with a grin and kissed the mole right next to his nose.

lando stares at your hoodie now, folded neatly on the back of the couch. he hasn’t worn it. he can’t.

he’s tried. once. sat on the floor and held it to his face, breathing you in until he choked on it.

you’re everywhere. and nowhere.

he can’t go back to the track. not yet.

his helmet still has the tiny heart sticker you put on it after that race in monza. “for luck,” you’d said. he wore it every session after that. now it sits untouched on a shelf. dusty. forgotten. like him.

sometimes he talks to you.

soft, one-sided conversations in the dark.

“i don’t know what i’m doing,” he whispers into the void. “i don’t know who i am without you.”

he looks at your photo on the bedside table. it doesn’t answer.

lando doesn’t cry much. not anymore.

he did, for a while. for days. weeks. he cried until he couldn’t breathe, until his chest felt like it would cave in. now he just… aches. it’s quieter. but heavier.

your number is still saved in his phone. your messages, your voice notes, your blurry selfies — all still there. sometimes he opens them just to see the typing bubble. to pretend, for a second, that you’re still here. still coming home.

but you never do.

he scrolls through old videos. your laugh echoing in the background. your face popping into frame just to kiss his cheek.

lando presses play over and over. and over.

he doesn’t eat much. barely sleeps. the world outside his flat has kept moving but he’s still stuck in the moment he lost you.

he doesn’t remember the last thing you said to him.

but he remembers the way your hand fit in his.

he remembers the warmth of your forehead against his.

he remembers how you smelled like citrus and something floral and the shampoo you both shared.

and he remembers how the world shattered the second they told him you were gone.

there was no final kiss. no goodbye.

just silence.

and now —

lando sits alone in the flat you made a home, surrounded by the ghosts of everything he didn’t say.

he closes his eyes and pretends you’re just in the other room.

but you never walk out.

you never will.

and that, more than anything, is what finally breaks him.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

it’s been six months.

half a year.

lando knows because the calendar on the fridge still has your handwriting on the last day he ever saw you. a little smiley face next to the words movie night, finally. he’s never turned the page.

he still lives like you might come back.

your jacket’s still hanging by the door. your favorite cereal is still in the cupboard, untouched, but he buys it every week anyway. sometimes he opens the box and just stands there, staring at it. hoping he’ll wake up and hear your footsteps coming down the hall.

but the hallway’s always empty.

and he’s always alone.

lando went back to the track two months ago. he hated every second of it.

the first race without you was unbearable. your seat in the paddock was empty. his garage was too quiet. no smile waiting after quali. no arms around his neck after a podium.

he finished P5. they said it was a good result. strong comeback.

he didn’t care.

nothing matters now. not really. he drives because he has to. because people expect him to. but he doesn’t feel anything when the lights go out. not like he used to.

there’s no more joy in it.

just noise.

distraction.

people keep telling him you’d want him to be happy. to move forward.

what they don’t understand is — lando doesn’t want to move on.

he doesn’t want a new beginning. he wants you.

they say grief is a wave.

for lando, it’s a flood that never recedes. it drowns him quietly, every morning when he opens his eyes and realizes you’re still not beside him.

your absence lives in everything.

the playlists you made still play when he drives. his spotify wrapped was just you. your music. your voice in the background of voice memos.

you’re gone. but you’re everywhere.

and it’s unbearable.

lando avoids people now. his smile’s thinner. fake.

fans ask him to do your accent like he used to. he just laughs and changes the subject.

he hasn’t posted anything personal in months.

his camera roll is full of photos he can’t look at. videos he can’t bring himself to delete. you in the sun, you laughing, you in his hoodie.

you in every frame of his heart.

sometimes he dreams of you.

you’re always just out of reach.

always smiling.

never staying.

he wakes up shaking. empty. sometimes in tears, sometimes in complete stillness.

lando’s therapist says grief isn’t linear. that he’s doing okay.

but okay feels like a lie.

lando doesn’t remember the last time he laughed without feeling guilty. doesn’t remember what it’s like to be held and not feel the absence of your arms in comparison.

the flat is still yours. still smells like you, faintly.

some days he talks to the ceiling. some days he clutches your pillow and begs the universe to give you back.

most days, he just stares at the wall and breathes through the weight on his chest.

it doesn’t get easier.

it just gets quieter.

and the quiet is killing him slowly.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

one year.

twelve months without you.

lando never thought he’d make it this far.

not because he didn’t want to. not because he stopped loving life completely.

just because it all felt too heavy to carry without you.

but he’s still here.

and that feels both like a betrayal and a miracle.

your photo is still on his nightstand. a little more faded now. he talks to it sometimes, less often than before. not because he stopped needing you, but because the silence between his words hurts less than it used to.

he still misses you. with every heartbeat. but it doesn’t knock the wind out of him anymore.

not every time.

sometimes he even smiles at your memories now instead of crying.

like last week — he found a video you took of him in the kitchen, half-asleep, dancing like an idiot to some cheesy pop song. you were laughing so hard, the camera shook. he watched it three times. laughed with you. then cried himself to sleep.

progress.

his team has learned to stop tiptoeing around your name. they say it with softness now, not fear. they hang photos of his old races and leave the one of you kissing his cheek right there, in plain view.

lando doesn’t hide it anymore.

you mattered. you still do.

a few days ago, something small happened. something unexpected.

he was walking back from the store — headphones in, head down, hoodie up — when a little girl bumped into him by accident.

she looked up at him and said,

“you’re lando norris! my mum loved you! she made me watch all your races.”

past tense. loved.

he looked at the girl’s father standing a few feet away, eyes kind and full of something familiar.

grief.

loss.

he smiled. genuine. soft. like he understood. because he did.

he handed the girl a mini helmet keychain from his pocket — one he usually kept just for himself — and told her,

“thank your mum for that. she had good taste.”

they walked away.

lando stood there for a long time, staring at the sky.

he imagined you watching him from wherever you were, eyes warm. proud.

that night, he lit a candle.

sat on the floor. whispered into the flame.

“i miss you. i always will. but i’m trying.”

he meant it.

he still sets the table for two sometimes. he still wears your hoodie on the bad days. still listens to your playlist.

but he also lets the sunlight in now.

he opens windows. answers texts. sometimes he laughs — real, full laughter — the kind that doesn’t feel stolen.

lando knows now that he’ll never stop loving you.

but maybe that love doesn’t have to hurt forever.

maybe love, even in loss, can still grow.

and maybe, just maybe, he’s allowed to live.

even without you.

especially because of you.

THE END :>

[sqgeism]

Hi! I hope you're doing well!

I have a bit of a specific Anaxa request: we all know this guy is prickly like a cactus, and probably wouldnt show any kind of physical affection/be overly affectionate whatsoever. maybe the reader can be lightly airing all their frustrations to an unsuspecting dromas/chimera they stumbled upon, and anaxa happens to walk right by when they say "I don't know why he feels he needs to keep me at an arm's length, in the end, all i want is to be loved; and i wish the same for him."

I just feel like that sentence would make anaxa flabberghasted and make him rethink some things.

ty for reading!!

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 | anaxagoras x gender neutral reader

💌 — ; as tipsy as a boat on unforgiving seas, you rant your heartaches to a cute, clueless chimera. (that weirdly looks like your boyfriend) not knowing that the very man stands behind you, listening to you pour out every feeling he'd never want to subject you to.

love mail — say yes to me. i haven't done an event in a while, would people be interested in that (*ﾟーﾟ)? sigh finally anaxagoras solo post without the other two added LMAO this guy is so popular on my account its kind of insane. thank u anaxa... for reviving sqgeism in the big 25.. i thought this was long but it's acc kind if short forgive me anonnie LMAO

for all the good moments in your relationship with anaxagoras, there were still bad. and the bad.. could get really awful very quickly.

even if he was growing to be careful, changing, being better, he still had his 'demise'— as he called it. he was set on a mission long before you, and you've accepted that. it didn't mean that it didn't hurt when you knew he was trying to keep you away, though he says it's to keep you safe, you knew it was for another reason.

anaxagoras wasn't—for all his genius as a scholar and a teacher—very good at things that involved vulnerability. it was something he'd ripped out of his cold, dead heart, leaving it whatever remaining feelings he had left to rot. clearly not enough, he'd remark, if he could still feel it beat every time you came close. fingers brushing over his own, lips getting too close for comfort, despite being together—he was still afraid. very.. very afraid.

but you weren't angry at him for being so, how could you? for all the hurt he's faced, the terrors that follow him like his shadow, you just can't. but you feel neglected, left to freeze in an unforgiving winter. you craved warmth, but no flame could thaw your loneliness.

and so when anaxagoras, once again, locks himself in his lab for aeon's know how long.. you're off. you had the control to at least leave a note where you're going; a bar close by to let loose. but you clumsily throw it on the nearest table and walk out. the tears were becoming overwhelming, and you just needed to cry. it felt cruel to be mad, but your heart knew what it wanted. it wanted someone badly, drawn to a rose with far too sharp of thorns. but you didn't care. you knew it was a part of him, and you chose him regardless. you wonder if he knows that he's loved, and how much he truly is.

and he does. in a way that overwhelms him, that makes him be the way he is. he knows you care, and that's why when he leaves his study hours earlier, the note unseen by his sharp gaze, he panics. you're not in bed, nor the living room, you're not home. thunder claps break him out of his thoughts, and he realizes you could be out there, in the rain, for who knows how long.

he runs out without hesitation.

doesn't care if he's soaking wet, or his students that may see their half-gone professor running through amphoreus in the rain, he's afraid. for once, his cowardice it isn't of the idea of you, but losing you. he's beginning to realize that there will be something worse than his fears destroying him.

it's having you slip away from his grasp.

he's afraid of affection because he might lose you. he's afraid of everything about loving you because he might lose you. he's lost so much, it scarred him. that the closest thing to paradise surely should have been an illusion, that it was all just a ploy to put him back together and break him apart all over again. he thought it was stupid, the obvious plan set by the 'gods'.

but he was just in love, so very in love. and it could never be stupid if the center of his affection was you.

and there you are, thank goodness. you're laying against an elevated tile as you're on the floor, arms on the said tile, and underneath the bars cover as a chimera sits by your head. you're clearly drunk, cause even if his heels splashed against the puddles towards you, failing to notice. gaze fixed on the little creature as he hears you speak.

"i just don't.. understand." you slurred, your face pressed against your arms as the chimera chirps. i don't know.. why" hic "he feels he needs to keep me at an arm's length.. in the end, all i want is to be loved; and i wish the same for him."

you don't even know what those words do to him. a man of many words, brought to silence. you look like a fae in the moonlight, ethereal and breathtaking. and anaxa's sopping wet in the rain, refusing to be under the bars covers as he feels he doesn't deserve it. the harsh weather prickles his skin, but he feels nothing. nothing but the cruel twist of a dagger through his heart.

he falls to his knees, the water around him makes a large splash as you turn your head. in your dazed state, your eyes don't recognize him, but your heart does. and you move without even realizing. "anaxagoras, my love?" he feels something cover his head, and he looks up to see you fussing and using your jacket to shield him from the rain. even if you were frustrated, venting about him, you still had the heart to worry. you still tried to help him, and he's such a fool to only appreciate that now. "what did i tell you about calling me that? to you, i'm anaxa. stop.. stop forgetting."

he doesn't know what to say, and he's thankful for the conditions so you don't see the way he starts to cry. his lips are trembling as his hand slowly stops yours, guiding it to his cheek and leaning into your palm. it isn't flowery words, he's bad at anything that isn't statistical or academic, but it's a gesture of something more. "i.. i'm so sorry." he muttered sorrowfully. "i've been taking you for granted. i didn't mean to, but i did. and that's unforgiveable. you don't deserve this life, and i—"

you cut him off by pulling him in, away from the world, under the shelter and into your arms. you two probably look silly, two influential figures in your own ways in amphoreus, snuggling up outside a bar in the rain. but anaxa has long discarded the idea of caring of others opinions, all he can focus on is how your heart begins to race. like you're as startled as he is. that he isn't alone in taking this leap. and for once, he's okay with that. having someone.. to truly take care of.

you wake up in bed the next morning, your head painful and your throat dry, but you're warm. and that's when you notice anaxa behind you, arms wrapped around you securely and his head partially buried in your hair. he's.. fast asleep. which is a first, you can't remember the last time he chose the bed rather than his office chair.

but you don't complain, aeon's, how could you?

you choose to fall back into the gentle hands of slumber, looking forward to waking up next to anaxa.

[ashwhowrites]

Hi there!

Your angst is pretty great and I'm addicted to reading angsty stuff and I hardly request things so hopefully I do this right without taking your creative freedom away. I was thinking Eddie x Reader are friends, she likes him and he knows she does without telling her; he's unsure how he feels but he drunkenly makes out with her at a party or something, obviously leading her on. Once she confronts him about it, he's awkward and doesn't make a big deal about it though it meant a lot to her. You can decide their fate. If you do choose to write this, thank you. 😚

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting ❤️

Can a kiss change anything?

Y/N couldn't remember when she fell in love with Eddie. It felt as if she was always in love with him and didn't have a single day where she didn't. She wished more than anything to tell him but she was too scared. She was scared she'd make him run, drop her, ruin their friendship and never talk to her again.

She wasn't aware Eddie knew about her feelings. She thought she was good at keeping it a secret but Eddie wasn't as oblivious as people thought. He could see it in the way she looked at him, how her skin turned warm whenever he touched her, and the small changes from a friend to a crush.

He wasn't sure how he felt about it. He thought she was a beautiful girl but the idea of her being with someone else didn't twist his stomach. He enjoyed his time with her, but he didn't crave to be by her side all day. He never thought about his feelings for her until he realized hers. But even then, he didn't feel any different. He did like the attention he got from her, and how she hung on to every word he said. She made him feel confident. He liked that she had a crush but he didn't like her.

Y/N was in her own world where she pictured Eddie realizing his feelings one day and then they'll be together forever. It was fate that she believed in. He just hadn't realized it yet.

~~~

Y/N was giggling as she and Eddie took another shot. They were seated at the dead bar, spending all the cash Eddie made at the party before.

"Isn't this so much better than staying with all those losers?" Eddie said as he slammed down another shot and called for another.

"I only care about being with you anyway," she said as she gagged on the shot. "Fuck that's awful!"

Eddie ignored the first part of her sentence, laughing at her suffering from the shot. "Looks like you need another," he teased as he called for another.

"I'm so drunk!" She groaned as she placed her head on the sticky bar.

"That's gross!" Eddie laughed, "here pick up your head," he demanded. She listened, lifting her head. He placed his hand on the bar, his palm to the air as he told her to lay down on it.

She smiled against his hand as she rested. Her heart beamed at the small gesture.

"But your head comes up when the shot arrives!"

~

With the alcohol at the party plus the after-party at the bar, they were both stumbling on their way out.

"Let's take a second for air!" Y/N said as she inhaled the cold air. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. Eddie leaned against the wall as he looked at her. Even drunk he wasn't sure how he felt. Sober or not, he was stuck with the same thing.

The music from the bar vibrated to the outside, and Y/N was in a dancing mood as she sprung off the wall. She reached her hand out and grabbed Eddie's hand, yanking him into her. He stumbled into her.

"Let's dance!" She giggled, holding Eddie's hand above them as she tried to make him spin. He laughed and obeyed, letting her spin him. He tried to ignore how everything continued to spin when he came to a halt. He returned the favor, spinning her around and around. She smiled as she danced with him in the alley of the bar, no matter where she was he made everything better.

She was far too gone to balance herself, tripping over her own foot as she headed for the ground. He was quick to yank her back up, right against his chest. She breathed heavily from the fear of falling, but also from being inches away from his face. Her smile dropped as she looked at his serious face.

She gulped as she felt the tension between them. His large hands on her back made her shiver, and the warmth of his body against her was heaven. He moved one hand to cup her cheek, his mind racing with the thought that if he kissed her, it would all make sense. Her heart raced as he closed his eyes and began leaning in.

She didn't want to wait, holding his face as she brought his face down to hers and crashed her lips against his. He was caught off guard by her impatience but went with it. He moved to wrap both his arms around her as he pressed her against his chest, deepening the kiss.

She felt like she was floating as the kiss turned into a make-out. Both were seemingly heavenly, gripping each other for more as their lips worked together. She shivered as she felt his tongue slowly push into her mouth. She held back a moan as her body was pressed against the building.

Eddie could feel her eagerness as he played with her tongue. He felt a growl in the back of his throat when her hands moved to his hair and pulled. The alcohol made all his decisions. Telling him to rock his hips against hers as they panted against each other. She wanted to go further as his hands moved around her body but she didn't want it to happen while they were drunk out of their minds. But she wasn't going to stop the kiss.

Eddie pulled away, feeling no air left in his lungs. He had to admit that the kiss was amazing. But was it because they were drunk? He tried to find the answers he wanted in her eyes as she fluttered them open. But all her eyes said was to kiss her again.

So he did.

~~~

Eddie didn't remember the rest of the night, but he woke up safely in his bed. His head hurt and his stomach needed to release all the alcohol he consumed.

"I hate being hungover," he groaned as he slowly crawled out of bed. He noticed water, pills and a note on his nightstand. He threw back the pills and grabbed the note.

"Call me when you wake up"

He knew the handwriting and well he spent the whole night with her so who else would have written him a note. He waited until his head and stomach settled before he gave her a call.

~

Y/N felt sick but she wasn't sure it was because she was hungover. After their kiss, she needed to talk about it. She needed to know where they stood and if they were ready to cross over the line.

A part of her was excited. He kissed her and didn't stop it, she figured that meant he realized he liked her. She welcomed herself in the trailer, not surprised to see Eddie wearing sunglasses as he lay on the couch.

He hissed as the sun cracked through the door. She quickly closed it and walked over to the couch. She smacked his legs and he moved them off the cushion, letting her sit.

"How are you feeling?" She asked

"Fucking dead," he groaned as he clenched his eyes underneath his sunglasses. She reached over and removed the glasses, ignoring his dramatic reaction.

"I need you to be serious for a second," she sighed. It wasn't often Eddie was in serious conversations and he never handled them well. "I want to talk about that make-out session we had at the bar."

Eddie shifted in his seat uncomfortable by the topic. He had some time to think about it, even though his head felt like it was being pounded by a hammer. He felt guilty for how he felt because he didn't feel the way she wanted him to.

"Do we really need to talk about it? We got drunk and kissed. Do you know how many people get drunk and do shit they wouldn't have done sober?" He asked, he made the mistake of looking over at her. His stomach turned as a small pout formed on her face.

"So that's all it was. Just a drunken kiss?" She hated saying it out loud. She truly thought the kids would flick the switch and he'd like her back. She spent so much time hoping and wishing she hadn't prepared herself for him not liking her back.

"I'm sorry, I truly am so fucking sorry," he said as he reached over to hold her hand. "I shouldn't have done that when we were both drunk. I hate that I hurt you."

She tried to play it off, chuckling to herself. "Hurt me? Why would a little kiss hurt me? It's fine. We were drunk and I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page about it!"

"But we're not. I know that kiss meant something to you, I know you like me."

Y/N stopped breathing as she looked at him with wide eyes. Her stomach fell and his hand in hers no longer brought comfort. She wanted to deny it but it was no use. She slipped her hand out of his.

"When did you find out?" She asked

"I don't exactly remember. One day I just noticed you were different." He answered honestly.

"So you knew when you kissed me last night? Why would you give me that hope?" Her voice cracked and it made Eddie gulp.

"That's why I feel horrible! I was drunk and stupid. I've been trying to figure out if I could feel something for you and I thought If I kissed you I'd know."

She sadly nodded to herself. The truth was he didn't like her and she didn't know how to handle that.

"And you felt nothing at all?" The small bit of hope in her voice made his heart crack.

"I'm sorry," he said as gently as he could. "I wish I did to make this easier for you."

"You know, I could get over you not liking me. And I would have believed that you didn't want to hurt me. But you knew I liked you and kissed me. You knew it meant something to me and told me you'd never do it sober. You hurt my feelings."

Eddie panicked as she stood up, quickly reaching out for her.

"What can I do?" He begged

"I need space to figure it out," she sighed. "I'll call you," she gave a small goodbye and walked out.

Eddie nervously bit away at his fingernails as his stomach tightened with anxiety listening to the sound of her car peeling off.

Y/N tried to hold back tears as she drove away. She was embarrassed that all this time he knew how she felt and it crushed her to know there wasn't a single part of him that liked her and he wasn't ever going to.

She had to figure out how to move on from Eddie Munson.

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123 @emxxblog

[thirteenheavens]

Hi molliee, How about Mingyu being obsessed with readers boobs so much that he can't sleep without his hand on it, and he wakes her up by sucking on it. Arigathanks gosaimuch mollieeee

On you all night||Kim Mingyu x Reader

Notes: I can’t stop listening to love language it’s too good

Mingyu's morning wood was something you were already used to, but this time, his hands were cupping your breasts while he slept. You could feel his warm breath against your skin as he dreamed, his large hands unconsciously kneading your soft flesh. His mouth was parted slightly, and every now and then, his tongue would dart out to lick your sensitive nipples.

As you tried to gently pull away from his grip, he unconsciously tightened his hold on you, groaning in his sleep. "Mmm... mine..." he mumbled, nuzzling his face deeper into your chest. His body was pressed tightly against yours, the heat of his morning arousal making you feel even more flustered. It was going to be difficult to wake him up without causing a bigger mess than the one already forming in his boxers.

Mingyu's hands continued their possessive hold on your breasts, his mouth occasionally sucking and nibbling on your nipples. His hips were now grinding against you, seeking friction as his dream became more intense. You tried to wiggle free again, but he only moaned louder, his grip becoming even tighter. His morning wood was now pressing insistently against your thigh, and you could feel it twitching with each movement.

"Baby... please..." he muttered in his sleep, his voice deep and rough with desire. It was clear he was having a very vivid dream about you. Mingyu's dream seemed to intensify, his hips bucking against you more forcefully. His mouth latched onto your nipple, sucking and biting harder than before.

"Oh god... so good..." he groaned, still lost in his sleep. His hands squeezed your breasts rhythmically, his body moving in a steady rhythm. You could feel his cock leaking pre-cum through his boxers, the wetness spreading onto your thigh. His breathing was ragged and uneven, his face flushed with pleasure.

He suddenly let out a deep moan, his body shuddering against yours as he came in his sleep. The warmth of his release seeped through the fabric, creating a damp spot where he was pressed against you. As you gently shake his shoulder, Mingyu's eyes flutter open. He looks confused for a moment before realizing where his hands and mouth are.

"Baby...?" he asks groggily, slowly removing his hands from your chest. His cheeks turn a deep shade of red as he becomes aware of the mess in his boxers.

"I... I didn't mean to..." he starts to apologize, but you silence him with a kiss. His morning wood is still hard against you, evidence of how intense his dream was. Mingyu melts into the kiss, his hands moving to your waist instead of your breasts. "That was... embarrassing," he admits sheepishly when you break apart. His morning voice is deep and raspy, sending shivers down your spine. He shifts uncomfortably, trying to discreetly adjust his boxers without you noticing.

"But damn... that was a good dream," he adds with a smirk, his eyes darkening as he looks at your flushed face. "I wish I could have stayed asleep and finished." Mingyu follows your gaze and notices his hands still resting on your chest. He chuckles and gives your breasts a gentle squeeze, making you gasp.

"They're just so perfect," he says with a grin, his fingers tracing lazy circles around your nipples. "I can't help but touch them." He leans down to kiss the valley between your breasts, his morning stubble tickling your skin. "Maybe I should give you a proper good morning instead," he suggests huskily. Mingyu's morning arousal is still prominent as he grinds against your thigh, seeking friction once more. "Feel what you do to me?" he whispers, his breath hot against your skin.

His hands grip your waist tighter, pulling you closer as he continues to rut against you. "I need you so badly right now," he confesses, his hips moving faster. You can feel his cock throbbing against your thigh, leaving a wet trail as he moves. Mingyu's eyes are dark with desire, his morning haze completely gone.

"I want to be inside you," he growls, his fingers digging into your skin. "Need to feel your tight pussy around me." He reaches down to push his boxers off, freeing his hard length. The head is flushed red and leaking, showing how desperate he is for release.

Mingyu pulls your panties aside and positions himself at your entrance, his breathing heavy with need. "I'm already so close from that dream," he admits, rubbing the tip against your wetness. He slides into you with one smooth thrust, groaning at how ready you are for him. "You're so wet," he pants, starting to move at a fast pace.

"I won't last long," he warns again, his fingers finding your clit as he drives into you deeper. "Just need to feel you cum on my cock first."

"Cum with me, baby," you moan, tightening around him as he hits your sweet spot. The stimulation of his fingers on your clit and his cock deep inside you is driving you closer to the edge. Mingyu's thrusts become erratic, his hips snapping against yours as he chases his release. "I'm right there," he grits out, his muscles tensing. "Cum for me, Y-N. Let me feel it." Mingyu groans loudly as you grip him tighter, his fingers squeezing your breasts roughly. "Fuck, you feel so good," he growls, his pace becoming more desperate.

He leans down to suck and bite at your neck, leaving marks as he continues to play with your sensitive nipples. "Cum for me, baby girl," he commands again, his voice strained. "Let me fill you up." The combination of his words, rough touches, and skilled thrusts push you over the edge. Your walls clench around him tightly as you cry out his name, your nails digging into his back.

"I'm cumming, Mingyu!" you cry out, your body shaking with pleasure. The feeling of your walls pulsing around him sends him over the edge as well. Mingyu buries himself deep inside you, his hot cum spilling into your womb as he roars your name. "Fuck, yes!" he shouts, his body trembling against yours.

He collapses on top of you, both of you panting heavily as you come down from your highs. "That was... intense," he breathes out, still twitching inside you. Mingyu nuzzles his face between your breasts, pressing soft kisses all over them. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his hands still gently massaging your sensitive flesh.

He moves to suckle on one nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as he enjoys the afterglow. "I could stay like this forever," he sighs contentedly, looking up at you with a satisfied smile. His cock is slowly softening inside you, but he makes no move to pull out yet, too comfortable and content with your body against his.

Mingyu continues to shower your chest with attention, his lips trailing kisses up to your collarbone and neck. "I love you so much," he whispers between each kiss. His hands roam your body possessively, caressing your curves and hips. "My perfect girl," he says softly, pressing his forehead against yours. "Always making me feel so good."

The intimacy of the moment is tender and warm, the morning sunlight streaming through the window highlighting your intertwined bodies. He finally pulls out of you slowly, but keeps you close in his arms. Mingyu gently rolls you onto your side, spooning you from behind. His hands rest on your stomach, tracing lazy patterns against your skin.

"Let's stay in bed all day," he suggests with a playful nibble on your ear. "I want to keep you all to myself." He reaches over to grab his phone, quickly setting an alarm for later. "I'll make sure we're not disturbed," he promises, pulling the covers over both of you.

[heartyluv]

ahhhh i really enjoyed your camboy caleb fics 😩 can you do one for zayne? like he starts cramming to pay off his student loans for med school and i think it would be really hot if he always wore a medical mask in his content since i think he would like to keep his anonymity and it would play into his interest in medicine. keep up the good work ❤️❤️

Note: I absolutely love this idea and I love you even more for requesting it. I hope this lives up to your expectations, luvly! Thank you so much for reading and enjoying!

Rating: Explicit - !!Minors DO NOT Interact!!

Warning: Fem!Masturbation, M!Masturbation

· · ──── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──── · ·

Camboy!Zayne/Viewer!Reader

After you get home from work, the first thing you do is shower. You’re exhausted from the day, having to deal with people who believe their word is the gospel when in reality, they’re no better than you because you’re only here for a paycheck.

But it’s over for now, you’re in the comfort of your own home, and it’s a major plus that it’s the weekend. You don’t have to go in for two whole days, so you’re using this time for you. Only problem is, you don’t exactly know what to do.

You don’t want to go out, there’s no new shows you’re interested in, and there’s no one you’re particularly in the mood to call right now. Once you had dinner and you actually had time to do something for yourself, your brain couldn’t come up with one thing to do besides sleep.

That’s until you get a ping notification from your phone.

You’ve been scrolling on it in bed for the last hour, mindlessly swiping past dozens of videos and posts that held no real interest. But when you get the notification and you read it, your heart rate increases and you can’t help but bite your lip. You actually do have something to do, and you couldn’t think of anything better.

Quick Surprise Stream: Dr. Z Will See You Now.

Your thighs press together beneath your fluffy blankets as you tap it, your eyes going to the top left to see the hundreds turn to thousands as people as horny as you start to flood the stream.

You’re not ashamed to be paying a subscription for a camboy on this website you found not too long ago. He’s helped you come more times than any man you’ve ever experienced and it you haven’t had much.

The comments race and you’re unable to read any of them properly. But you don’t care. That’s not what you’re here for.

You first followed Z maybe a few months after he started doing sexual content online. No one knew his real name, only that he went by the single letter and everyone respected his privacy enough to call him just that. You were in love the first time you saw him fuck his hand, and even more so when he fucked a pocket pussy so good that you wished it was you.

From that point forward, you started paying his monthly subscription of $25 to be able to get exclusive access to the things he posts, along with thousands of others. You didn’t mind the price at all, hell you honestly believed it should be more because his work was just that good.

He’s shared a little bit of his backstory with fans, letting people know that he was using the money he makes for school. No one knew what he was going to school for exactly because he didn’t say and he’s done so many videos as different professions that you couldn’t pinpoint if you tried. He’s done one as a professor, lawyer, detective, librarian, and even a mechanic. He knew how to make your pussy weep, no matter who he played.

And he did it all without showing his face. The only thing fans were graced with were those striking eyes and a face that was always covered by a black cloth mask from his nose to his chin. You could just tell he would be the most beautiful man you’d ever see if he let you.

But you didn’t mind at all. You respected his privacy and him, and you’ve spent your fair share of money in support.

Finally, Z comes into the camera frame and you find yourself propping your legs up, bracing your feet on your bed, and spreading your legs. He always does his videos at a desk that’s in his bedroom and it’s no different now.

It’s slightly dark, but you see him just fine and the first thing you see is his slacks and his belt with a white dress shirt tucked inside as he stands. His hands are in his pockets before he takes one out and pulls the chair back, pushing the doctor’s coat that he has on back just a little to give him room to sit. The dress shirt strains against his hard muscles, making your mouth water.

You want to touch yourself, but not yet. You like to come when he does.

“Good evening,” he says softly in that heady yet tender voice you’ve grown to fall in love with. His mask is different this time, blue and white like the surgical ones. Fit for a doctor.

“Did I surprise you?” He looks into the camera and the comments seem to get faster at the way he stares so intensely.

“I thought this would be a good way to start the weekend for many of you. It’s always nice to see your doctor every now and again, isn’t it?” He chuckles deeply and you can’t help but smile. “You know I don’t do much talking, not when I’m like this.”

He sits back, letting the evident bulge in his pants show. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

He doesn’t waste anymore time, beginning to unbutton his shirt. It’s slow and torturous, but it only makes you crave him more.

“I can only imagine how pretty all of you must look right now,” he whispered as he reaches the final buttons, pulling the shirt open to reveal his impressive and strong chest.

“Dr. Z will take care of you,” he promises sweetly. “I always do.”

He leans back in his chair and that’s when you finally snake your hand down into your panties. The clink of his belt and the sound of his zipper makes you clench around nothing. You’re soaked already, you just know it.

With one hand holding your phone and the other teasing your pussy lips, your toes dig into the bed as he shimmies the pants down ever so slightly to pull himself out.

When his long and thick cock is revealed, you press your thighs together even harder, squeezing your hand in between. But quickly, you spread them again as he starts to stroke himself.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he says lowly. A finger goes down to your hungry hole, whimpering when you feel how wet you really are and he’s only just getting started.

You bring your slick to your hard clit, jolting at how sensitive you are. His movements are slow as his strong hand with veins so prominent that it makes your cunt throb, works his cock. He stares at himself before looking into the camera with lust in his gaze.

He’s watching you. It feels like he can see you touch yourself, can see you please your desperate cunt. That only makes you wetter.

He gets vocal now as you see the small bead of his cum start to form at his flushed tip. The erotic sight of his hand adorned with a watch, taking that bead and smearing it all over his length, makes your legs spread more.

His breaths are heavy as he starts to moan, cursing under his breath as his black hair falls into his captivating eyes. His abs flex with each shuddering breath and you circle your clit harder—faster.

“You’re so pretty with your hand down your pants. I wonder if you’re alone. Or if you’re watching me get ready to come with someone in the room with you. Do they know how I make you feel? Do they know how filthy you are, hm?” he teases as he fucks his fist harder.

“I know you’d feel so good around me,” he whines softly as more precum leaks. “I know you’d feel so much better than this. Nothing could compare, could it?”

You’re moaning now, your own breathing erratic as your fingers gather more of your sweet juices. You nearly drop the phone at how good you feel, but you can’t. You have to see him come so you can come too.

“I’m so close,” he warns erotically. “I wish I could fill you up. I wish I could pump you with my cum. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I’d make us feel so good. But, we’ll have to settle for this, for now.”

Your fingers go between fingering your hole to stimulating your desperate bundle of nerves, feeling that familiar sensation coil in your gut.

“Be good for your doctor, pretty. Come for me. Come with me.”

You cry out as his load shoots from his tip, thick and heavy while it pools down his knuckles as you cream all over your fingers. As he still jerks his cum from his cock, using what he’s already let go to create sticky and wet noise, you keep rubbing yourself slowly, wincing at how sensitive you are. It aches so good.

Finally, he pulls his hand back, letting his softening cock settle as you watch how his cloudy cum falls down it like a picturesque scene.

You’re enamored. You’ve never seen a cock so perfect. You wish you could feel it. You wish you could have him.

“I hope you listened and came for me. I like it when we come together.” His voice is playful and it makes you smile again. You feel stupid for smiling, but you can’t help it.

“This was just a quick one. I was thinking about you, so I wanted to let you see how good you make me feel. I have to go now, but I’ll be seeing you again soon. Sleep well for me, but if your day is just getting started, I want you thinking of the mess I’ve made in between those pretty thighs.”

He leans forward to end the stream shortly after letting you see him tuck his messy cock back into his pants and your drop your phone to the bed, pulling your hand out of your panties.

You’re hoping he’s streaming again soon. Perhaps you should finally cave and pay him for a request because if this is how you can spend your weekend, then it’ll be a weekend well spent.

[fandoms-in-law]

Wrong Twice Over

Summary: Eddie adopts Dustin immediately because he's mentioned in his soulmate words.Once he hears them though, he just wishes he hadn't discounted someones likelihood of being his soulmate and needs to make it right.

~

Eddie had never told Dustin but from the time the kid had introduced himself, he’d had a place in Eddie’s life. He was mostly thankful that the brat liked DnD so keeping him around wasn’t a hardship at all.

The reason for that were the six words on his knee, the first words Eddie’s soulmate would ever say to him, that mentioned Dustin specifically. Somehow the kid was a connection to them and he didn’t intend to let that pass.

With Lucas and Mike, he’d breathed a sigh of a relief when neither of them said the words, though he definitely hadn’t given them the chance to do so and make sense. It was just better that whomever his soulmate was wasn’t a child.

So far only a week into the new school year had passed, and while Dustin had pointed out a couple of other seniors as people who’d help him, neither of them seemed likely to care if the kid said something right or wrong.

The last person in what Eddie thought was a reasonable age range to be his soulmate was too absurd to even consider as being it: King Steve Harrington himself.

There was no chance that someone like that could be anything to him at all, even if Dustin spoke as if he was a hero.

With those thoughts in mind, Eddie had no worries when greeting his unexpected visitor with, “Well if it isn’t the king coming with threats over something.”

Steve had looked like he actually could have threats given he was holding a few pages of notes out and had gotten out of his car looking like he was on a mission.

Once the words were said though he froze, staring at Eddie and dropping the pages on the ground before seeming heartbroken and turning away. “Well that’s Dustin wrong twice over.” Was all that was said as he vanished back to his car and sped away again.

Now Eddie was frozen, knowing the sentence too well and stunned. He’d expected it to be a joke, or to be something shared flirtatiously, but instead the soulmate words he’d cherished had been hurt and upset. It broke something in him to know he’d somehow been around his soulmate in school for so long yet their first actual interaction had been so negative in the end.

Resolving to figure out how to apologise he picked the pages up and looking them over only felt worse. There were lists and lists on them, things that the new members of Hellfire would struggle with facing in a campaign as well as vague or scribbled out reasons why he should avoid them.

It looked like Steve might’ve even asked someone for help with the list since there were three handwriting styles on the page, some giving ideas for what could be done instead of the things listed, others changing his explanations for why they needed avoiding.

He didn’t know what Dustin had been wrong about, but Eddie definitely felt like he’d been wrong multiple times over about Steve and anything he’d been doing.

At least he knew for certain that he had to make it right again.

~

“Dustin! Need your help!” Eddie called, late to get to the Hellfire table for lunch and focused on the first thing he hoped could be done.

“Better find someone else to help then.” Dustin replied, turning and glaring at him venomously.

Mike also glared, while the rest of the table looked between them in confusion. “Yeah, you don’t do that shit and then ask for favours.”

Eddie looked between them, glancing around to see Lucas staring, expression controlled, where he sat with the basketball team and hopefuls wanting to try out. “I want to apologise. That’s what I’m asking for your help with.” He pulled out the letter he’d written, holding it towards the younger students.

“Why? Because you realised that high school isn’t everything even though you were preaching that all last week?” Dustin snapped. “He literally wanted me to be right. Said he’d try to help when Mike worried at movie night and believed that you’d be cool. We all did. So fuck you, whatever apology you’ve got I’m checking first.”

A throat was cleared behind him before Eddie could reply. “As will I, and all of you better hope it’s good enough.” A band student stood there, arms crossed and eyes hard as she looked over Corroded Coffin. “You spend your life making big statements and gestures so maybe try that this time. I’m taking this now.” She plucked the pages from his hands

“Robin! I need to check that!” Dustin protested, standing to follow her.

Mike rolled his eyes as they both walked away. “She means it. If there’s someone going to raise hell for Steve it’s Buckley and then Dustin. But if that was a letter for him then it’ll get to him.”

“An apology and a thank you. He dropped a list I think he wanted to talk to me about when he came round. I’m glad I have it and wish I hadn’t spoken as I did, though I thought it was just teasing.” Eddie explained, sitting down at the table as he didn’t feel the need for a speech that day.

“What do we have to do with whatever happened?” Gareth asked, looking at the freshman curiously.

Mike sighed as if it was obvious. “Band students sometimes work with the drama kids, so if she talks to the drama teacher where are we going to play? Though I think Nancy might have to get involved to manage that so I will try to avoid it happening.”

“She’d go after a club you’re part of?” Jeff asked, sceptical.

“The party sticks together. We’d accept it if Dustin decides not enough is done.” Lucas says coming over to the table, now looking amused and a glance back to the basketball group showed Robin and Dustin reading over the pages and debating just behind them. “But it sounds like you’ve made a good enough start. Just need to put some actions behind whatever you’ve written.”

The older students exchanged looks, “What party? You mean like in a campaign?”

“Close enough.” The younger pair agreed.

For the rest of lunch conversation moved back to various classes and goals for the year, but Eddie was watching where Dustin and Robin had seemingly come to a conclusion, his apology getting folded into Robin’s pocket.

~

Steve didn’t make an attempt to reach out to Eddie after getting the letter. Dustin calmed down now his initial annoyance had passed, but it was clear not everything had been forgiven.

Soulmates were meant to be perfect for each other, so despite all the ideas based on what Eddie had known of Steve that meant he acted differently, he tried to focus on things he wanted to do to apologise.

Making a character in a campaign would only work if it was one where they got Steve into the school to play, so that couldn’t happen immediately. Writing a song would also only work if Steve allowed it too, and accepted an invitation to the Hideout to see it performed, since Eddie was never going to risk arrest by playing it outside the mansion in Loch Nora.

“Time’s ticking, Munson. Are you going to make a move?” Buckley asked, waiting at his locker when a couple of weeks had passed since he’d sent the apology.

He turned, smiling at her, “Wish I could. Don’t know where to find him and am a little concerned over getting the wrath of his parents if I just turned up on his doorstep to beg forgiveness.”

“We work at Family Video. He gets the early shift during the week so either skip school to see him or come in on the weekend.” She huffed as if this was something he should’ve know. “And those assholes are never in town. I could move in and they’d never realise.”

“Lonely life.” He commented before thinking about it and looking shrewdly at her, “How often do you hang out at his and would you mind if I crashed an evening?”

Robin smirked at him, “Now you’re getting it. Talk to us instead of stewing in that head of yours. This week I’ll be there Tuesday night and Thursday. Entire party will be there on Friday so avoid it unless you know you’re a hundred percent serious over Steve, not just your soulmate.”

“Tuesday night, then. I’ll bring pizza and something sugary.” He decided.

She nodded in allowance of that but, as she turned to leave, added “And something in case he has a migraine. I heard weed can help.”

~

Steve held the door open but didn’t move out of the way of it as he stared at Eddie. “Hi, Munson, erm, are you okay?”

“Fantastic. A birdie told me you’re hanging out tonight and I offered to bring pizza so I could hopefully apologise in person?” Eddie grinned hopefully, but knew his eyes showed the internal wince when he mentioned their last interaction.

“Okay, um, come in. I did get your letter, you know. You don’t need to do anything more.” He replied, stepping back, still looking uncomfortable.

Eddie clicked his tongue, “I have to argue with you there, Harrington. I definitely need to do more, not because we’re soulmates but because you’re apparently the sweetest guy around who keeps lists of things a bunch of kids I can’t figure out your connection to need to avoid in a game it sounds like you never play. I judged you for someone I should have seen you no longer were and that need plenty of pizza apologies.”

“We, basically all of us have similar things we need to avoid.” Steve muttered, but led the way through to his living room where Robin was stretched out over one sofa.

“Munson, come in! Tell us about your day.” She called, gesturing around the room as if it was her own.

He laughed, collapsing onto the other sofa, “What do you want to know?”

“What the shitheads got up to and if they’re planning any chaos for us.” She answered easily.

Steve shook his head, moving to sit on Robin’s sofa, easily accepting it when her feet were placed in his lap. “They’re always planning chaos, if they’re not in deadly situations.”

With that the conversation flowed easily between them and Eddie began to hope that even if he’d messed up meeting his soulmate they could become something wonderful with time, and apparently, with Robin there too. He didn’t need to see Steve with her for long to know there wouldn’t be any separating those friends.

A rocky beginning can still become a great story.

[otsalezu]

Dr. Pinington One Shot 2: Lobotomy Boogaloo

Credit to the amazing @babyblankyerror for the AU and the amazing @coniferouspines for the AU of the AU! I took some liberties with it but I hope you guys enjoy! Writing below the cut, as usual.

The living room was completely silent, save for the constant tapping of Stan’s finger on any nearby surface. The man’s fidgeting didn’t seem nervous, being almost subconscious if anything. In contrast, Ford sat uncomfortably still. He cursed himself for letting Fiddleford go out for groceries on his own. He’d simply been too awkward to join the man, and his research partner took no extra time escaping the strange faux doctor in the room. 

The awkward silence gave Ford some extra time to examine just how much his brother had changed. The clothes, for one, were definitely out of place. Slightly tattered and stained, draped in a long lab coat. The silliness of the name tag and various cartoony designs stitched across the lab coat reminded him more of something his brother would have done when they were little. His hair was long and matted, as if it hadn’t been brushed in a long time. The signature curls it had once sported were completely gone. Even more worrying were the long stitches that seemed to cover his hands. They seemed expertly done, but Ford had no doubt he had done them himself. Various smaller scars littered his visible skin, barely standing out unless he squinted. 

Most concerning was the eye. Pale blue, the pupil much too small. It stared ahead, as if looking past him. He tried not to say anything, but the gaze seemed to draw the question out of him. Before he could even think about what he was saying, he had blurted it out.

“What happened to your eye?” He quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, but the man didn’t seem offended. If anything, his grin widened.

“Oh, that’s right! You wouldn’t know! Hmm…where do I start? Oh! Okay, let’s start with my old boss!”

“Your old boss removed your…?”

“No, nothing as crude as that! Let me finish, okay? So! I was a good worker, very good if I say so myself! But! I had a problem. You know me, Six. Always rebellious! Stubborn as a mule, that’s what ma always said! So my boss did a little research.”

Stan laughed, a disjointed and wheezy sound. Then, after a few coughs, his face twisted into a thoughtful expression.

“Say, brainiac, you know what a topectomy is?”

“Ah, I can’t say I do.”

“Hmm, that’s what I thought. Okay, do you know what a transorbital lobotomy is?”

The world seemed to screech to a halt. Nothing about his brother’s demeanor had changed, still the same eerie cheeriness as before. To Ford, however, he felt like throwing up. As if not noticing his brother’s change in demeanor, the doctor continued.

“Well, they needed to do it through the eye.”

He tapped the blue iris, grinning as if he;d just told a great joke.

“Isn’t it wonderful? It was all very experimental, of course. I wish they’d filmed it! Of course, I made it a bit difficult. For some stupid reason, I went down kicking and screaming. Weird, isn’t it? Well! They tried their best, but sadly I woke up in the middle. The doctor they hired wasn't a professional, not like me! So he startled easily, and…squish!”

Ford jumped at the onomatopoeia, cringing. His vision blurred slightly, as he processed what had just been told to him.

“Stan…”

“Of course, I thanked them all after. They all got free procedures!”

“Stan, you…”

“I got to take over that old doctor’s office. Very unprofessional, he barely even sterilized his station! But I was so much better than him, really. It was no big loss! But I’m not ungrateful. As thanks for him fixing me with his procedure, I modeled my new eye after his! Pretty, isn’t it? Wanna see it closer?”

“Stanley!”

The doctor startled, confusion flashing on his usually jovial face. Ford took in a ragged breath, swallowing the bile in his throat.

“Are you telling me someone tried to lobotomize you?”

“Well, yes! That’s what I just told you about. Always so silly, Sixer. But don’t look so sad! My hands have been so much steadier ever since! I’m twice the surgeon I was before!”

“Before?”

Stan opened up his lab coat, fishing out a photograph from one of the many mismatched pockets inside.

“Here! Take a look!”

The photo of Stan had two brown eyes, and significantly less stitches. He was standing near a few unfamiliar men, in what seemed to be a dingey excuse for a doctor’s office. He had the same wobbly smile on his face, though every part of his face seemed laced with fear. His hands were slightly blurry, as if they had been shaking when the photo was taken. Stan quickly stuffed the picture back in the pocket.

“What a wreck, right? I was horrible at my job! Just horrible! But now, I don’t get all anxious and shaky. You can trust me to perform any operation!”

“I’m so sorry. Stanley, I’m so—”

“Don’t apologize! It’s a bad picture, I understand!”

“That’s not—”

“Hey, why are we talking about my dumb old past! I’m much better now, that’s all that matters!”

Ford stared at his twin’s expression. It seemed just as happy as ever, but something about it was different. It was as if looking at the old photograph made him uneasy, uncomfortable. Ford didn’t understand it, but he didn’t want Stanley to be upset. Not after all he’d talked about. A pang of guilt rang out through him as he thought about how terrified he’d been just moments ago.

“Alright, Lee. We can talk about something else.”

The old childhood nickname made Stan’s face split into that unsettling grin, though it didn’t disturb Ford half as much anymore. He smiled a faint smile in return, sitting back down.

“Well, let me tell you about my first day in Gravity Falls…”

[awionetka]

𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞! ♯

3, 2, 1, go! love and deepspace boys become street racers (while possibly romancing you in the process)...

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫: fluff (?), drabble. street racer!Sylus x street racer!reader. could be treated as a preview for a (possible) longer fic.

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 / 𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 / 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥 / 𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 / 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛

𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠…

♯ million dollar man; lana del rey

♯ don't go insane; dpr ian

♯ i was never there; the weeknd

For Sylus, street racing was nothing more than a means to an end.

He had his reasons, some less morally acceptable than others, but nonetheless the rationality of his decision making could never be questioned. Nor anybody had ever tried to do so, certainly not with the amount of sheer authority Sylus emanated, enveloping all that was around him in a thick, sticky layer of awe and fear. Or perhaps, those two were just simply synonymous in their own, twisted way. Not like it mattered in the very end. Too much of either would inevitably result in him being left alone and unbothered, which was something Sylus longed for dearly.

Before he instructed his henchmen to purchase his car of choice, an impressively well kept Dodge Challenger, and made his very own tweaks to it in the quiet of his garages, Sylus had spent countless hours riding through the city on a vintage motorcycle. In a way, it helped him out when it came to street racing. Although the feeling of it was vastly different, he knew his way around the emptied streets and openly used that to his advantage. Ever the inventor, he kept surprising his rivals with the most peculiar of improvements, all of which he thought of, and constructed, entirely by himself.

The time Sylus made an appearance in the bustling nightlife spots of Linkon City was similarly particular. He was the right person at the right moment, in a place as good as any. And though he didn't exactly long for all the recognition he'd been receiving since he started racing, it certainly did earn him plenty of useful, more or less extorted, connections he was oh, so excited to put to use.

It was true, however, that after a while of getting everything he could ever wish for and more, even competing in such adrenaline boosting activities inevitably began to bore him.

That was, of course, until he heard a certain rumour one night. Sylus spotted it in passing; it was obvious that no one would dare to tell him that straight to his face. It'd been weeks since he moved all his endeavours to Linkon and staying on top proved to be less of a challenge than solving a crossword from the morning paper.

Apparently there was a reason his rivals were severely lacking in skill and experience – Sylus managed to kickstart his underground career mere days after the previous champion, sporting a name eerily similar to his own, almost kicked the bucket during a race. And now, having been brought back to a useful state once again, you were about to reclaim your number one spot.

And as soon as you were fully ready to take on that challenge, Sylus would be waiting, with a worn out leather jacket thrown over his shoulder and that one, specific quirk of his lips that didn't make him look any less intimidating whatsoever.

Oh, how enraged you were at that moment.

"That is just absurd!" Your arms spun in the air with fervour. "I need that done by tonight. Am I speaking gibberish?"

The woman in front of you shrugged, apparently not very moved by your display of force. "Yeah, well, and I need some utter peace and quiet. What do you have to say about that?"

"This is fucking insane. Insane! I cannot go back like that!"

You pointed at your beloved Mazda, now situated on a car jack in an almost compromising position. It looked positively miserable, with its mismatched rims and bits of chipped paint here and there. An image of utter and complete despair. Much like you, it had been through hell and back, and somehow made it out okay. You weren't just going to let her go as though it was all nothing.

The mechanic sighed audibly, wiping her hands off with a questionably dirty cloth, then sat down next to you.

"If you were to ask me," she began cautiously, much like one would approach a bomb of unknown origin. "I'd say that people will love that shit. Rose from the ashes and whatnot. It sells."

"I don't care what 'sells'. The only thing I need is to show that poor excuse of a racer where his place is – below me."

She scoffed, apparently deciding to give up on your case and therefore leaving you with your own problems.

"You know, Ruby..." She glanced at you above her shoulder before stepping out. "A skilful driver will never blame their ride. It's a shame, though. I really thought that you'd be among them."

You would make them all swallow their words back up. Onyx included. Him especially.

Only him.

[yourmessagehasbeendenied]

~NEVER WITH YOU, CAN'T WITHOUT YOU

tw; angst, nsfw, mdni, heavy angst once again, toxic relationship, something i call a "boomerang" relationship.

Simon and you were something not many people understood, not many people got. No one knew why you always got back with him- but they didn't feel the way you did for him, they didn't know what it was like. The break ups you two had was harsh. Worthless calls, drunk fucked up texts, desperate gifts and desperate hearts. You wished for something different, a sign from god- that this wasn't the end.

A different ending, a different life, a meaning, anything. You begged for anything, prayed, wept for what could have been each, but it never was. It was for the best, you told yourself. You were miserable, and you hated it. Getting drunk almost every weekend, giving him drunk texts and calls - leading to one night stands and filthy promises of a "second chance," for the hundredth time you promised it would be different. Fucking him, and humping his thigh like you needed it for life- he kissed you like he wanted you. Like you were air, he needed you to breathe. Always the words, "You're mine," Never, "I'm yours" while pounding his hips against you- and it felt comforting, it felt hot, you felt taken care of. Rutting his hips against you and telling you how much of a "Filthy fuckin' slut you are," for him. All for him. "Ain't that right baby girl? Ain't that right, Yeah it is. Look at this cunt clenchin' me like it needs me to fucking breathe- exactly, go on you slut, slut for me, right? Just me, just me." He fucked you like he hated you, but treated you like he loved you, afterwards. Balance. It never was different. Never for you. You never knew how he felt, you never even saw him cry, never even saw him shed a single tear for you, it made you think did he really love you? You've had several break ups, you two always got back together, he belonged to you, that's the way it had to be. Your break ups got so common you expected a second chance all the time - always just knowing, that you'd go back to him in a heartbeat, or he would come back for you. So when you appeared at his doorstep for the last time - sober this time, your eyes were baggy, red. Your lips were swollen and you were flushed, and he.. showed nothing. "Simon. Can we stop this?" You started, and swallowed. You looked up into his eyes, opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off. "No." A singular word that made your eyes widen, you weren't expecting that. You wanted to speak again, refuse to believe what you just heard- maybe he was just joking? But he spoke again. "This, was the last time. I'm not playing this game with you anymore, I'm tired of it. Go home, and move on." He said, and shut his door in your face without any emotions. So much for him telling you he loves you more. Drunk texts ended up on a blocked number- calls that were never picked up. Was it really the end? You couldn't believe it, you still loved him, you still cried over him. Spending weeks, days, months in your bed and barely doing anything, not going outside, not daring. Sunlight became a sickness, happiness became a distant hope- a distant want. He was your happiness. You drank alcohol, turned to what you promised you wouldn't, barely let anyone in - your hygiene was poor - non existent. Your hair was a mess, not being brushed in a week, your teeth neither, smoking cigarettes like it's a need. Depression. No hookups, no rebounds, no ways to cope with what had happened to you - with what he did to you. And the worst part was? You didn't even know if he ever cared. Was he pretending, just to keep you there until he got bored? It pissed you off, but you loved him. And god you denied and denied, denied denied until that was your personality, denying the truth. Your closest friends knew only, not even your mother could help, all you did was lay at home. They say time fixes things. Fuck that shit, because what the fuck did time fix? Nothing. 4 Months after that stupid fucking breakup and you still have nothing to show for it - you're still a mess- still chaos, still can't forget the way his lips felt against your soft tender skin. And how you got over it? Time had nothing to do with it. What did though, was a huge bottle of whiskey and a night out where you poured your heart to the first strange man you saw- and he told you, the most devastating sentence you wish you never had to hear. The most grieving and painful words that you'd ever heard,

"You want him to come back. He won't. He will never come back, Y/N. He doesn't love you." And it broke you. Broke you just to build you after - just to help you up and pick up the pieces putting it together like a puzzle. You slowly gained your confidence - motivation back, brushing your teeth again, brushing your hair, going outside. Shopping, cooking again instead of eating junk food. You stopped drinking and got your job back- not as good as before, but good enough. During breakups people tell you- "A few weeks after you get your life back together - he will fade, you won't remember him anymore." That was a lie. He was still in your mind all the time, seeing your favorite flower, the restaurant you always went to, his favorite foods, it all made you reminded of him. It all made you miss him even more, but you had to go through this. You had a goal, and you couldn't give up. But still you wondered each time, did he think of you, did he miss you? And then you were reminded of it all - of your relationship, and you told yourself he wouldn't. He doesn't miss you. He doesn't care at all. And maybe it was the truth afterall. ~~

"Earth to Lieutenant? I swear to god, LT, these past few months it's like you're in your own headspace. Can't even talk to you anymore," Soap chuckled, nudging Ghost. Ghost finally turned to look at his friend in the eyes. No one exactly ever knew what he felt, he always had a dead look in his eyes, never happy, never emotional. They never noticed. But this time? They weren't dead. They were full of emotions, - sorrow, could be mistaken for one who just lost someone to death, not they were the ones that were dead. His eyes were red, and Soap noticed, he swallowed. He didn't think it was that serious. His eyes weren't looking like he never felt happiness. No no, it was worse, his eyes looked like he felt happiness - and then it was killed in front of him. Like it was choked, stabbed, hung, shot to death. Broken, harmful. Soap knew why. Watching Ghost pack all of his pictures of you and him thrown out in the trashcan, broken picture frames and love letters burnt in the fireplace - He knew from the start. He spoke, looking away. "I Still don't get it, Lieutenant. You love her so much, why didn't you let her stay? Lass' came back to you, and you just told her no." Ghost's eyes darkened and he looked down at the floor. He grabbed the cup of whiskey in front of him- Tennessee, but it didn't taste good anymore, nothing tasted good anymore. "For her sake, Johnny. It was for her sake. Did you see how much better she's doin without me? Lassie is happy, I'm not, but god for fucks sake, I don't deserve to be." He said, and he poured the cup down his throat like it was needed. He slammed it down and poured himself another shot as he spoke. "I was holding her back. It's fucking killin' me Johnny, look at me. I always thought I was already dead, but It feels like I'm fucking dying. But look at my angel. Look at her, look at my pretty girl Johnny, she's shining better than she could with me. And fuck, if I could have her.." A tear fell down his face, and he sobbed the last sentences out. "She's all I ever wanted. I don't want anyone like her, I want her, I always wanted her. She's my damn way of life. But loving is letting go, and fuck love, but I love her. More than anything, I love her. And if she's better off without me," He cried now, and looked at Johnny. "I want her to have the best, and lord knows, I'm not it." Chugging the last cup of whiskey down, and he stood up, putting the empty cup down. "Headin' to sleep now." He said, and went to his room. Locked himself in and stared at the gun in front of him, debating. He cried for you, that night. And if only, he knew how you really felt. **HAPPY ENDING FROM HERE: DONT READ IF YOU DONT WANNA SEE.** ~~ 8 months. 8 Sad, miserable months after he last saw you. He still loved you, and you still loved him. You didn't contact, message or call at all - Until one day. You left him a voicemail. "For my dearest Simon. I still love you, more than anything I do. I will miss you always, I miss you now, the most. My life is successful and it feels incomplete- without you, without us. I love you forever, yours forever- Y/N." He broke that day. He sobbed to Johnny on how much he misses you too, for the first time breaking down - and he decided he was gonna make this right, change. Because you deserved better. So he's gonna be better, for you. When you two met up again, he greeted you with a hug. His girl was back in his arms, back with him, back for him. This time, at the coffee shop, he didn't say, "You belong to me," like usual. He kissed you, and you kissed back. Rubbing his palm that was on your cheek, and he whispered, "Y/N, I belong to you. Forever." And that sentence was the one engraved inside the ring he put on your finger, after 3 years.

A/N: Yeah I'm.. actually so sorry, I cried during making this I love you guys, I'm ABSOLUTELY sorry if the happy ending isn't your type its why I put a warning, but I needed it. also HEY, just a quick warning over here -

THIS IS A FANFICTION! I REPEAT, THIS IS A FANFICTION, DON'T GO BACK TO YOUR EX, IT ENDED FOR A GODDAMN REASON! HE DOESNT LOVE YOU, but in the fanfiction simon does

[willoryn]

If you think Lucifer isn't the greediest man in the world when it comes to you, just remember that he can clone himself to feel as much if you as possible all at once.

Shout out to @heart-of-the-morningstar and @damsel-loves-machines (I hope it's alright to tag!) for inspiring this xjcncn I have been infected with the Luci clone brainworms.

Fem!reader x Lucifer, multiple partners, double vaginal penetration, nipple play

You didn't know just how much you thought you could take. But as it turns out, it was quite a bit.

You were laid back on the bed. Two of Lucifer's clones were latched onto each of your breasts, their forked tongues flicking and circling your sensitive nipples. And between your legs was your Lucifer. The man himself getting to do the honors of fucking you senseless.

You cried out his name as the feeling of his cock ramming in and out of you, over and over, combined with the sensation of your nipples being so lovingly worshipped made your head spin.

But it was only the tip of the iceberg. Lucifer needed more. So much more.

"Sweetheart..." His raspy voice dripping with desperation. "M-More... I need to feel more of you... please?"

You nod, ready for anything he had in store for you. And oh, did he have something~

A fourth Lucifer appears behind you and your Lucifer stops for just a moment, just long enough for the fourth Lucifer to lift you up and slide beneath you. You now lay back against his chest.

You were going to question what was happening, until you felt the fourth Lucifer press his tip to your already filled entrance. You look up at your Lucifer, your heart pounding with anticipation. You knew what he was asking... and you'd be lying if you said you weren't excited~

"Is this okay?" He asks, searching your eyes for any sign of doubt.

You nod almost as soon as the question leaves his lips.

Tentatively, the fourth Lucifer pushes his cock into your already occupied pussy, stretching you in a way you thought would be more painful. But the sting quickly subsided when they began to move.

And then you saw stars.

The alternating thrusts of their cocks moving in and out of you, one after the other, left you delirious with pleasure. Unable to even take a single breath. All you knew to do was just stare at Lucifer, slack-jawed and in disbelief that a man, no, the very devil himself could bring you such euphoric pleasure. God, you wished you could see the way you looked right now. Stuffed full by two of your lovers... completely at their mercy as they pump in and out of your cunt, so greedy to fill you that they can't even wait their own turns.

"Fuck-! Oh my god~!" Your Lucifer moaned. Getting to feel your pussy around his cock twice, and with the added pressure of another member being inside you making it even tighter for him... it was overwhelming to say the least. He knew he wasn't going to last much longer. "C-Cumming-! I-I'm gonna cum~!"

He must have been speaking for the fourth Lucifer. Because you felt the one behind you start slowing his thrusts and his cock swelled a bit inside you before cumming, making your pussy slick with his hot seed. When he pulled out, you almost bit your lip in disappointment at the loss. You quite enjoyed being filled to capacity by your loves.

But there was still your Lucifer to attend to.

The fourth Lucifer grabbed your hips and held you in place as your Lucifer's hips moved like pistons. His cock slamming hard into you, made all the more easy and slick by the fourth Lucifer's cum that was now being pumped out of you by your Lucifer, who was aiming to fill you with a second load.

"So good... so good~!" Lucifer growls. "Gonna cum again-! f-fuck~! CUMMING~"

You join Lucifer in his orgasm. Your own body tightening around his as he fills you again. Lucifer's lips crash into yours in a messy kiss. As you two catch your breath together, the two Lucifer's tending to your breasts disappear. The fourth one gently lays you back down against the mattress and kisses your sweaty forehead before disappearing as well.

"That wasn't too much, was it?" Lucifer asks you softly, pulling you into his arms.

"No," you sigh against his chest. "It was perfect..."

You go to sleep in Lucifer's arms that night feeling so full and satisfied.

[hoiststowline]

_bluestreak x reader

aside from the usual quiet sighs of relief shared among friends when someone returns to base unharmed, Bluestreak can't recall a time when anyone was so outwardly excited to see him. it’s a reaction that brings him to his knees, patience forced to stand firm as you meet him halfway, even if he’d rather have you in his arms ten minutes ago. 

it’s an intoxicating feeling, especially when his arrival is more of a surprise than a pre-planned date, not that he isn’t counting down the minutes himself. for someone better described as a chatterbox, it’s no easy feat to keep such a secret, sincerely always wanting you to be untroubled. 

“Was that a yawn?” it takes immense effort to even scrounge the question, knowing the moment he acknowledged it, he’d have to put his foot down. “It’s pretty late, y/n. Maybe we should call it for the night.” 

it had been a decent stretch of time since the two of you last saw each other, tugged apart by unfair schedules and unrehearsed changes to once concrete plans. phone calls were even far and few inbetween, and just as soon as it started, in the blink of an eye three hours had already passed the both of you by. 

“No,” you insist, but it’s overruled by another stifled yawn. 

Bluestreak wants you to know that he always misses you, just as much as you miss him, and somehow even more, if that's humanly possible. you always retaliate, never quite concluding the conversation even if you begrudgingly admit there's some work you need to complete. you definitely miss him more, and while it may or may not be true, he always concedes to your jovial affection. 

every chance he gets, messages always conclude the same way: I miss you. 

it doesn’t feel right to end an exchange any other way, as likely the only time messages are swapped is when the two of you have been apart for longer than usual. he’d rather be physically present with you, but texting sufficed until it didn’t, mostly when he was being dragged along to his responsibilities.

“You’re lying,” Bluestreak laughs, in a teasing manner. “C’mon, I know you need your sleep. We can pick this up tomorrow.”

there’s never a guarantee as to why he never makes promises he doesn’t intend to keep. he’d go out of his way every single time if it meant speaking with you for five minutes on the phone, but such precious time was never ascertained. schedules change, rapidly at that, and as much as he wishes he could promise you the simplest thing, he couldn’t bear to have to break such trust. largely because somewhere in the back of his processor, he knew he’d break a lot of promises if he became too overzealous to make them so easily. 

“Only four more days to get through.” he adds, hoping to cheer you up some and lessen the hardship in saying goodbye for the evening. 

something twinges in his chassis at your groan of frustration, and he can practically picture you rolling over in bed and screaming into a nearby pillow. “Four days too many.” 

“Y’know…” he starts, but knows better than to propose such a bad idea. 

“I do, I know.” you mumble, curling up atop your sheets underneath a blanket or two. “M’sorry, Bluestreak.” 

Bluestreak stumbles over his words, talking far too fast to try and revise what he truly meant. “No, I didn’t- I didn’t mean it like that. I was going to suggest something stupid. You have every right to feel however you want to feel, and I feel the same way.”

sitting up, your heart skips a beat, finding something in his words that had you wondering just what he truly intended. “What were you going to say?” 

“It’s a bad idea, y/n.” but it’s on the edge of his glossa, even more now that you’re seemingly onboard with little coaxing and having no idea of what he’s truly asking. 

he had discovered some unexpected spare time before the next day, but imploring such would mean you would have to give up your much needed rest, required to be prepared for tomorrow's tasks. it remains undoubtedly selfish to even have considered it, but his desire to just see your face, if only for a little while, overpowers that notion. 

Bluestreak has yet to find a compromise to that problem. there is likely nothing that will ever satisfy that desire, so when a wedge like this is forced upon the two of you, it's difficult but circumstantially manageable. it’s not impossible, he’s trudged through it before, but it doesn’t mean that it’s automatically easy. it’s hard to not see someone you simply adore for superficially torturous amounts of time. 

it’s taken at face value, he often has to remind himself. something he has to accept for the time being, until a more agreeable solution can be uncovered. he doesn’t know when that will happen, if it ever will, but with all things considered, he can adhere to wishful thinking. 

“Can I hear it?” you entreat in a small voice, and at that Bluestreak knows he’s all but lost this stalemate. part of him wonders if he subconsciously extended such sentiments because he knew this would happen, even if he also understood you needed your rest. 

perhaps he could satiate both wants, simultaneously. 

he can’t describe the expression you make, it’s a mixture of elation and reassurance, relieved to shake the concern that’s had you wound up throughout the past month. it’s unyielding, and this time he swears there’s a glassiness in your eyes that was never there before. 

nothing takes very long to be set in motion, as the self-restraint Bluestreak once had is tossed aside the moment his hands make contact with your sides. there’s hardly any coherent words exchanged, your whispers of “I missed you so much,” dissolve into ticklish laughter, unable to suppress it as he kisses every inch he can possibly reach.

though he wishes to cater to you and ensure your happiness holds firm, Bluestreak will never turn down your sincere gestures, small fingers finding his cheeks as you place kisses all along his face. his thumbs run over your stomach, soft, gentle motions as if to remind himself that you are here, present in the moment and he hasn’t conjured this one up on false pretenses. 

“This wasn’t a bad idea.” your lips are so soft, ghosting over his cheek as you mumble sentences that have his spark doing summersaults. “You never have bad ideas, Blue.”

one hand cups your back, holding you in place against the crook of his neck. his other hand relaxes behind his helm, now nestled in his berth as you fight the urge to completely crash. it’s increasing in complexity, as his thumb now draws lazy circles over the top of your thigh, turning inward every now and then to kiss the crown of your head. 

“I wouldn’t say that.” he faintly laughs, melting as somehow you dip deeper into his touch. “This one was pretty good, though.”

after such a reunion, Bluestreak insisted you get straight to bed, murmuring that you’ve certainly had enough excitement for this hour of the day. in the morning, he’d fix the mess he assuredly created, but for now, he could be at full ease. every ounce of energy he previously had was drawn from him, joints settling as he heavily acknowledged the perfectness in such an observation. 

he stops trying to steal glances your way upon taking into account your evened out breathing, fingers halting their dancing over his plating. your cheek has smushed happily against his, and he concludes his mindless touches against your velvety clothes. 

“Good night,” Bluestreak was never a good whisperer, but this tenderness arrives without a second thought. “Sleep well, y/n.”

[thehighpriestess1]

Make a Wish: Mastermind

Warning: Strong themes. Manipulation.

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

Word count: 13k

Ask box | Previous chapter | fic masterlist | Other works

You hummed softly to Matilda as the orchards blurred past, their blossoms flickering like ghosts of memories you weren’t quite ready to touch. Gojo tapped his fingers lightly on the steering wheel — rhythm absent, mind clearly elsewhere. Tangled in thoughts. Tangled in you.

Your confession had landed like a brick to the chest. You saw the flicker in his expression, mistaking his silence for disbelief. But there was nothing for him to question. He had always known. Every word you’d spoken rang true.

He should have said something right then — told you what he remembered, what he carried with him every day. But speaking the truth aloud would have fractured the fragile thing growing between you. And he couldn’t risk that. Not when, for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, you were looking at him like he was something more than the man who had failed you.

So he stayed quiet. If pretending meant keeping you close a little longer, he’d carry the lie all the way to the grave. From the corner of his eye, he watched you. Peaceful. A little distant. Beautiful in the kind of quiet way that undid him.

He cleared his throat. “How did it feel… coming back? The whole thing?”

You turned toward him, smiling gently. “So you do believe me now?”

“I always believed you,” he replied, his voice light with effort. “I just want to understand.”

You shifted in your seat, eyes drifting to the window. “It was... unnerving at first. Terrifying. But once the shock wore off—” you inhaled deeply “—it felt exhilarating.”

His brow lifted. “Exhilarating? Why?”

But he already knew. He just wanted to hear it from you. Wanted to trace every fracture in the old version of himself — the one who let you slip away — so he’d never make the same mistake again.

You exhaled slowly, fingers curling around the hem of your sweater. “Because I’d been stuck. In this loop. Pain, loss, silence… pretending everything was fine. Coming back felt like breaking out of that. Like I was finally breathing again. Like I had a second chance.”

“Pain…” he echoed. “Loss?”

You paused. The air in the car shifted.

“Yeah. Loss of my footing. My peace. Maybe even my sanity,” you said with a laugh that was almost too quiet, too sad.

His grip on the wheel tightened. “I really messed things up, didn’t I?”

“You did,” you said softly. “But not you-you. The other you. The one who kept me a secret. Who chose his clan’s approval over me.”

He swallowed hard. “But I’m still him, aren’t I? Same face. Same voice.”

You turned to him, expression gentle. “No, Satoru. That version of you lived in fear. You…” you smiled faintly, “…you listen. You chose me.”

A silence settled between you, soft but heavy.

Then, as if afraid to break it, he asked, “How did we even start dating?”

You let out a small laugh. “One-night stand. After a company party. We weren’t supposed to catch feelings.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Classy. Sounds like me.”

“Terrible behavior, really.”

“So does this mean you trust me?” he asked, taking another smooth turn.

You leaned back in your seat, exhaling. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

He glanced at you again. “Then… your walls. Ready to let them down?”

You smirked. “My walls?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “You don’t let me spoil you. You flinch every time I try to take care of you. Sometimes, your independence feels like rebellion. Like you’re guarding yourself from me.”

You huffed. “Wow. Didn’t know you noticed me so much.”

“What can I say?” he murmured. “I’m hopelessly in love with you, but sometimes… it feels like I’m not allowed to be. Like if I show too much, you’ll run.”

You studied his face. Even with the glasses, you could see the sadness in his expression.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “Even if things are different now… I’m still not over a lot.”

“Yet here you are,” he said softly. “You should’ve told me you needed time. I would’ve waited.”

The words struck you silently. He was right. You’d kept him close, but always at arm’s length. Your heart sank.

Gojo noticed the shift in your expression. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. It’s just—this is a lot.”

“It’s alright.” You gave him a fragile smile.

After a pause, he said gently, “Tell me something I did right. Just one thing.”

You looked out the window, thinking. “You were a good friend. Always there for others. My family. Always ready to help.”

He hummed quietly, nodding. But everything you said, while true, felt distant. Detached. Not about him and you.

“What’s something I did for you,” he asked, “that you actually liked?”

You rubbed your arm, struggling. “I… I guess I liked how you always said the right thing. You always knew what to say.”

He nodded again, silent. It wasn’t quite the answer he was hoping for — but maybe it was the only one you could give.

Nanami flipped through the file with surgical precision, each turn of the page more agitated than the last. His jaw was clenched so tightly it seemed like he might shatter a molar. The frown etched on his face had settled into something permanent over the past few days, but now it deepened to something almost dangerous.

Finally, he slammed the file shut with a sharp thud that echoed through the sterile silence of his office. Papers inside shuddered at the impact. He exhaled through his nose—controlled, cold, and deliberate—then picked up the phone.

“Miwa. Come in.”

His tone was calm, but it carried the weight of a storm building on the horizon.

The door creaked open within seconds. Miwa entered with quick, polite steps, notepad already in hand.

“Yes, sir?”

Nanami held the file beside his face like it offended him. “You expect me to submit this to investors?”

She blinked, confused. “I— I reviewed the numbers three times. I thought—”

He didn’t let her finish. He slid the file across the desk like a dealer tossing a losing hand.

“You have two hours. Fix everything and bring it back before lunch.”

Miwa hesitated, catching the file with both hands. “But sir, the investor meeting isn’t until tomor—”

“Do you give me deadlines now?” Nanami’s voice dropped lower, dangerously even. His brow arched slightly, a cold challenge in his eyes.

Miwa’s lips parted, then closed. Her shoulders stiffened, and she bowed her head.

“Understood,” she said quietly.

She turned and walked out, her breath shallow as she pulled the door shut behind her. The moment she stepped into the hallway, she nearly bumped into Maya, who had been standing nearby, having overheard enough.

“Miwa,” Maya said, reaching out. Her face was knit with concern. “Are you okay?”

Miwa nodded quickly, trying to seem unfazed, but her fingers clutched the file a little too tightly. “It’s my fault. I should’ve double-checked everything.”

“Are you sure?” Maya asked gently.

“I’ll fix it,” Miwa insisted with a forced smile, the edges of her professionalism cracking slightly. “I’ll see you after lunch.”

And with that, she rushed toward her desk, flipping open her laptop with practiced urgency. Maya stood in place, her arms folding across her chest, her thoughts racing.

She'd been watching Nanami all week. There was a pattern. He hadn’t just snapped at Miwa—Hitoshi had been on the receiving end of a biting comment yesterday, and even his usual coffee run had gone untouched this morning. He hadn’t spoken more than five words in the team briefing. This wasn’t the Nanami she knew — thoughtful, composed, meticulous in words as much as in numbers. This version was distant. Cold. Preoccupied.

Something was very wrong.

She pulled out her phone and typed quickly.

Maya: Y/n, you need to talk to Nanami. Something’s off. The whole office is tense. Y/n: What happened? Maya: No clue. But it’s not just a bad day. It feels bigger. Y/n: I’m back soon. I’ll talk to him first thing.

Maya stared at the screen for a moment after sending the last message, her reflection dim in the glass of the office window. She didn’t know what was going on, but something told her this wasn’t just about a few missed calculations.

Still unsettled, Maya headed toward the break area, where she found Hitoshi hunched over a vending machine, aggressively tapping the "C2" button.

“You know that button’s not gonna listen to you faster if you bully it,” she said, attempting a light tone.

Hitoshi glanced up, chuckling as the machine finally coughed up his can of cold brew. “It fears me. That's why it obeys.”

Maya smiled faintly, then leaned against the counter. “I just saw Miwa. Nanami really tore into her.”

“Yeah,” Hitoshi sighed, popping the tab and taking a sip. “I heard the door slam. He’s been like that all week. Short-tempered. Snappy. Kind of… off.”

“So it’s not just me,” Maya said, her voice dropping slightly.

“Nope,” Hitoshi replied. “He even gave me grief for submitting the new vendor shortlist. And I triple-checked that thing.” He raised a brow. “Maybe he’s just missing Y/n.”

Maya let out a short breath of amusement. “I wish it were something that simple.”

Hitoshi tilted his head. “You think it’s something else?”

Maya hesitated for a moment, then said, “I didn’t want to overthink it, but… a few nights ago, I forgot my phone in the office. When I came back to get it, everyone had left. Lights were off except in Nanami’s office.”

Hitoshi straightened slightly. “Okay…”

“I peeked through the glass to make sure I wasn’t interrupting anything. He was in there with a man and a woman I’ve never seen before. They weren’t dressed like clients. The woman had this… corporate air, but not from our usual circles.”

“You’re sure they weren’t new clients?” Hitoshi asked, frowning. “Nanami handles a lot of private consults. He’s always discreet about them.”

“I know,” Maya said. “That’s why I didn’t say anything then. But it wasn’t a typical meeting. No documents, no presentations. They were talking, but the vibe was tense. Like something serious was being decided.”

Hitoshi sipped his drink, watching her carefully. “You think it has something to do with his mood lately?”

“I don’t know,” Maya admitted. “But my gut says yes. I’ve worked with Nanami long enough to know he doesn’t unravel without reason. And something’s unraveling.”

“Maybe he’s trying to keep something under wraps,” Hitoshi said. “Wouldn’t be the first time leadership deals with high-stakes stuff behind closed doors.”

“Yeah… but this feels personal,” Maya murmured, more to herself than to him. “And I can’t shake the feeling that it’s going to affect more than just him.”

She looked toward the hallway that led to Nanami’s office — now quiet, the door closed, the storm temporarily sealed behind wood and glass.

“I just hope Y/n gets back soon,” she added softly. “He listens to her. If anyone can get through to him… it’s her.”

Hitoshi nodded, thoughtful now. “Let’s hope it’s not already too late.”

The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of clothes being folded and tucked away. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, your suitcase open beside you, half-packed and slightly chaotic — a reflection of your thoughts.

You were folding your sweater when the door clicked open.

Gojo stepped inside, shades pushed up into his hair, wind still clinging to him like the scent of the cherry orchards. “Hey,” he said softly. “How’s the packing?”

You shrugged, not looking up. “Therapeutic. Kind of. Helps me think.”

He wandered in, lazily draping himself across the armchair like it was his throne. “What time’s the flight?”

“Same route back,” you said, eyes still focused on a tangled pair of headphones. “Early morning. The one with the layover in Helsinki.”

There was a pause. You felt him watching you. And then, for some reason, you stopped.

You turned around slowly, meeting his eyes.

“…Are you planning to come with me?”

Gojo didn’t answer at first. He simply reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a boarding pass, waving it in the air with a triumphant little grin. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

You laughed — warm, genuine — but then he reached into his other pocket and pulled out a second one. A different one.

Now he was holding a ticket in each hand, one on either side of his face, like a magician about to perform a trick.

“I brought options,” he said, voice light. “Your commercial flight… or my jet. No pressure.”

Your eyes widened, half-amused, half-incredulous. “Your jet?”

He nodded, grinning. “Private. Smooth. No layovers. Less crying babies. Bonus points for having me all to yourself.”

You let out a breathy chuckle, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, “but the offer stands. If you trust me.”

You bit your lip, heart stuttering a little. “I do trust you.”

“Then?” he prompted, eyes hopeful.

“…But I still want to be independent,” you added quietly. “It matters to me.”

Gojo nodded slowly, smile fading into something softer. “I get that. I do. But you said you’d try to let me in. Just a little.”

You looked away, guilt suddenly heavy in your chest. Your hands paused on your suitcase, unmoving.

He noticed. “What is it?”

You exhaled, the words catching in your throat. “I feel awful. You’ve gone through all of this— every twist, every hard moment — and most of it wasn’t even your fault. I blamed you for things… things that belonged to someone else. Another version of you.”

Gojo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s still me. Past or present. I don’t get to dodge that.”

“I punished you anyway,” you whispered.

“You were hurting,” he said simply. “And I was part of that pain, even if I didn’t mean to be. I’ll take it — if it means I get to be here now.”

You blinked quickly, swallowing the emotion rising in your throat.

He smiled, tilting his head. “So… what’s it going to be? Cabin 14A with a window view and a crying toddler behind us? Or cherry wine and custom playlists on my jet?”

You rolled your eyes. “Such a hard sell.”

“Just being honest.”

You sighed, picking up your sweater and pressing it to your chest like a shield. “Fine. We’ll take your jet.”

He beamed like a kid who’d won at a claw machine. “You won’t regret it.”

“I already do.”

“You’re still going to cuddle me mid-flight.”

“No promises.”

“You say that now.” He stood up and crossed to your suitcase, casually tossing in one of his hoodies. “You always get cold midair.”

You looked up at him. “Satoru?”

“Yeah?”

“…Thank you. For not giving up.”

He looked at you then — really looked — and said, quietly, “Never even crossed my mind.”

“And since when do you need a ticket for your private jet?”. You corked your head to the side and smiled.

“Oh it’s my boarding pass for our old flight, did it for the dramatics”. He grinned.

“You’re ridiculous”.

“Yet you love me”. 

Gojo leaned on his knuckles, elbows propped lazily on the armrest as he watched you, eyebrows pinched together in focus while you typed away furiously on your phone. His gaze didn’t waver.

“Who are you texting?” he asked, voice casual, but with a thread of curiosity threading through.

The soft hum of his private jet filled the cabin, punctuating the silence that followed.

“Oh, just Maya,” you murmured, eyes glued to the screen.

“All okay?” he asked, straightening up from his slouch.

You hesitated, thumbs still hovering over your keyboard. “Umm... I don’t know,” you muttered, the small frown between your brows deepening.

Gojo narrowed his eyes, interest officially piqued. “Can I help?”

You let out a dry chuckle and finally looked up at him, offering a half-smile. “It’s about Nanami.”

Gojo’s face twisted, barely perceptible but undeniably bitter. “What did he do now?”

The frustration in his voice wasn’t new. It tugged at the tail end of what had been one of the most serene holidays he'd ever had — and Nanami’s name had to sour it.

You sighed, your fingers slackening as you placed the phone on the glossy mahogany table between you. “He didn’t do anything. But Maya says he’s been acting weird.”

Gojo cocked a brow. “Weird? So... like himself?” he said with a smirk.

You gave him a flat look. “Yeah, sure. Maya said he’s been on edge. Irritable.”

Gojo leaned in slightly, elbows resting on his knees, the corners of his lips twitching. “Again — like himself.”

You let out an exasperated sigh and crossed your arms. “Come on, I’m being serious. Everyone’s worried.”

He scoffed and looked away, jaw tightening. “Everyone? Or you?” A beat. “And why are you even worried about him? He’s nothing but a conniving bastard.”

Your eyes sharpened. “Why do you hate him so much? He’s done nothing to you. He’s your business partner — you should have some respect.”

Gojo laughed. Not the joyful kind. The sharp, cutting kind. “Respect? For Nanami?” He tilted his head mockingly. “He’s not my partner. I’m his boss. I own his company.”

Your arms folded tighter as you leaned back, your tone clipped. “Well, he clearly built something lucrative enough for you to want to buy it and that deserves respect”

Gojo’s smirk vanished. His voice dropped an octave. “The only lucrative thing he did was hire you. I bought a loss-making company — overpaid for it, even — just to get close to you.”

You blinked. “Wh-what?”

He exhaled, tension surfacing. “Yes. The only reason I bought the company was because I— I found out you worked there. It was the only way I could... truly know who the woman from my dream was”

Silence fell. You stared at him, eyes wide. “You couldn’t just move to Kyoto? You had to buy a company?”

“Yes,” Gojo said without hesitation, tone suddenly raw. “Because it was the only organic way I could think of. Do you have any idea how pissed I was when I found out you worked for Nanami?”

Your tone turned sharp, defensive. “What’s wrong with working for Nanami?”

He shifted, jaw clenched. “I— never mind.”

You leaned forward, fed up. “Because of Mishki?”

Gojo froze mid-breath, the color draining slightly from his face. He turned his head slowly toward you. “What... what did you just say?”

Your chest tightened. But it was too late now. You inhaled sharply. “He told me. About Mishki.”

Gojo studied you — a long, unreadable stare. He could barely keep the fury from leaking into his tone. “And... what exactly did he tell you?”

“That... he was dating her. And you— you took her from him. Then mocked him when he confronted you.”

Gojo leaned back, slowly, lips curling into a dry smirk. “I took Mishki? From him?”

That look on his face made your blood boil. “Yes.”

“You believe him?”

“Yes.”

He tilted his head. “Why?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”. You shrugged like it was the most obvious thing to believe Nanami.

Gojo’s eyes narrowed. “Would you believe me if I told you my side of the story?”

You lifted your shoulders in a slow shrug. “Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

You sighed, voice softer now. “You had history with Mishki. Not now, but... in the other life.”

His eyes darkened, and his heart dropped into his stomach. “And what history did I have with her in the other life?”

You hesitated, then said it plainly. “You cheated on me with her.”

Gojo’s fists clenched in his lap. He wanted to shout, to scream it wasn’t true — but he couldn’t risk it. One misstep and he’d give away too much. “Did I?” he said quietly. “How did you find out?”

“I saw the messages. The late-night calls. You ditched me for her, over and over.” You shook your head, bitterly. “So when Nanami told me about her, I had every reason to believe you’d do it again. That you’d take her from him, too.”

Gojo’s thoughts spun. Two lies — one from Nanami, one from the past. He took a breath. “Does Nanami know about your... thing?”

“What?! No! Why would I tell him?”

“Okay,” he said, slowly. “Well, I didn’t take Mishki from Nanami. It’s true they were together. But there’s more to the story.”

Your voice was cautious. “Like what?”

Gojo gave a sad smile. “Where do I even begin?” He picked up the glass, took a long sip, and placed it down with care. “Nanami used to work with me. He was family. Even my father admired him — he was loyal, smart, dependable. Suguru hated him, though. Said something was off. He wasn’t wrong.”

You listened in silence.

“Nanami met Mishki at my birthday gala. I introduced them. Mishki’s family handles our North America ops. Nanami liked her immediately. I knew she was trouble — but I let it go. Until he started slipping. Missing meetings. Skipping work. Obsessed.”

You blinked slowly.

“One day, my accountant found that Nanami was embezzling money. Millions. Properties, gifts — all in Mishki’s name. I was terrified. If my father found out... Nanami wouldn’t walk away with just a termination letter.”

You leaned in, barely breathing.

“So I threw a party. Invited them both. Tried to talk to Mishki first. She denied being with him. Said he was stalking her — buying her apartments, gifts, begging for attention. I didn’t believe her because I knew the truth”

“The truth?”

“Mishki was hitting on me for years. Even when Nanami thought she was his girlfriend. Once he lied and said they went on vacation together. Turns out she was with her friends. Nanami was just... funding it. Alone.”

You crossed your arms, uneasy. “So he was giving her money and she was taking it but she wasn’t his— girlfriend?”.

“That’s who Mishki is”. Gojo’s voice dropped.

“What happened at the party?”

“At that party, I texted Mishki to meet me. I offered her money to leave him alone. She didn’t want the money — she wanted me. She... came on to me. And right then, Nanami walked in.”

Silence again. Your throat felt tight. “Even if that’s true... why mock him?”

“I didn’t,” Gojo said. “I tried to protect him. She twisted everything. Told him I stole her. He didn’t believe my texts, photos — anything. Said I forced her. I lost it. That was the final straw. Soon after, my father found out, and Nanami was gone.”

Your heart pounded. It didn’t sound like Nanami. But...

Gojo saw your hesitation. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I... I don’t know what to believe.”

Gojo’s heart clenched. You were never going to believe him. He wanted to scream and tell you that he didn’t cheat on you. He wanted to tell you that MIshki was doing the same thing again. That she was threatening him with the photos taken secretly during his birthday. That he did what he did just to save you but he ended up hurting you. He wanted to tell you that yes he was wrong to hide things, but he was tired. The pressure of his clan, the company, Mishki, all with a common goal of taking you away and he did what he did to keep you with him and it all crashed on him in the end.How could he tell you that what happened with you was the aftermath of what happened with Nanami and Mishki .He had a bad feeling that the future will repeat itself.

“I understand," he whispered under his breath. It’s all he could offer. His understanding. 

You didn’t want to believe that Nanami was the man Gojo was painting him to be but if not that then you’d have to believe, accept that Gojo was lying again for selfish reasons and it pained you to think that you were making the same mistake again. 

“Did you ever have feelings for Nanami?” Gojo asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His tone was even, too even, like he was trying to play it cool, trying being the operative word.

You hesitated for just a breath, then nodded. “I did.”

Gojo nodded too, mechanically. His knuckles clenched into the leather armrest beside him, blood boiling under the skin. He looked away for a moment, jaw ticking, then brought his eyes back to you with forced casualness. “What changed?”

You exhaled softly. “You showed up. He backed off. Things changed.”

Gojo’s heart twisted. He leaned back slowly, like the movement would keep him grounded. “So if I hadn’t come to Kyoto… you’d be with Nanami?”

You gave him a small shrug. “Maybe.”

That word—maybe—stabbed him. The worst part wasn’t the uncertainty. It was the possibility.

He tried to laugh, but it came out bitter and dry. “Why Nanami?”

You met his eyes, calm and steady. “He’s kind. Sensitive. He understands me. He appreciates me. And…”—your lips curled slightly—“he has a nice smile.”

Gojo’s throat tightened. He laughed again, quiet this time, a low scoff masked as amusement. But his fingers were digging crescents into his palms.

He watched you as you said it—all of it—and something ugly settled in his chest. You were here, sitting in his jet, tangled in his world, but a part of you still lived in that soft corner Nanami once occupied.

Even if you were with Gojo now, you weren’t entirely over him.

And for someone like Gojo—who had the world at his feet—not having all of you was unbearable.

He nodded slowly, biting back the million things he wanted to say. The jet’s soft hum filled the silence again, almost mocking its constancy.

“Right,” he murmured, lips pressed tight. “Nice smile. Why me?”. Gojo asked, looking straight into your eyes.

You sighed and leaned back, for a moment neither of you said anything, “Maybe parts of it were remnants from the other life, but most of it was you. You showed me that you were not the same person. You were kind, sensitive, even though I pushed you away you didn’t hold it against me. You cared for my friends, family, and even me.”

Gojo smiled, but the pain spread through his chest. You loved him in comparison to what he used to be. He couldn’t blame you. 

Suzume sat up straighter in her chair, spine rigid, eyes locked on the screen. Her corner desk was tucked away from the main floor—half-hidden behind a filing cabinet, shielded by tall bookshelves and the lazy hum of the old air vent. Usually, she appreciated the solitude. Today, she was grateful for the cover.

Because she wasn’t working on the financial projections she’d been assigned. She was scrolling through your Instagram.

Images bled into one another on the screen: the slate-grey fjord against golden-hour light, a candlelit table at a rooftop restaurant, that blurred shot of the northern lights glowing like a celestial fire. Gojo was in most of them. Gojo was beside you in all of them.

It wasn’t the location that stung. She didn’t care about the fjord or the Michelin-star meals or the private jet snaps. That life—Gojo’s life—was too far removed from hers to even envy. What she did envy, almost bitterly, was the fact that you were with him.

The man she’d fallen for. She knew about his feelings for you. Everyone did. She wasn’t an idiot.

She’d watched him light up around you. Watch him invent reasons to stop by your desk. Bringing you coffee when you look tired. Sneaking you snacks during late meetings. That dumb smirk on his face when you rolled your eyes at his jokes, and the soft look in his eyes when he thought no one was watching. Suzume watched and she didn’t understand. Because you? You didn’t even try. Half the time, you looked like you were barely tolerating him. You dismissed his kindness like it was annoying background noise. And yet there he was—Gojo Satoru, the man who could charm his way into any heart, wagging his tail behind you like a stray mutt.

She didn’t hate you. Not really. But she couldn’t help the bile that rose in her throat every time she asked herself the same question: Why you?

You were ordinary. Safe. Pleasant in that forgettable way. Suzume had eyes. She knew she was more striking. Thinner. Sleeker. Smarter. Sharper. So why the hell wasn’t it enough?

She leaned back in her chair, resting her head against the high backrest. Her teeth gnawed absently at the blue cap of her pen. Her gaze stayed fixed on the latest photo you’d posted: a long-exposure shot of the aurora borealis. She could practically feel him beside you in the cold—his arm likely draped over your shoulder, that stupid grin on his face, dimples out, sunglasses probably still on like an idiot.

She kicked her foot against the desk. Once. Twice. Again—harder—until the dull thud in her shin began to match the sharp twist in her chest.

She remembered the first time she saw him in the office. He’d walked in on a Monday,  hair sticking up in chaotic spikes. He looked nothing like the executives she was used to. No rigid formality. No ego. He gave the receptionist a high-five. He called the interns by name. And when she spilled her lunch on her skirt at her desk two weeks later, mortified, he’d appeared out of nowhere with an emergency Tide pen and a bag of clean sweatpants from the company gym.

He’d winked. “I carry spares. HR disaster-proofing.”

She laughed—really laughed—for the first time that day.

Then there were the late nights when the office was nearly empty. Just her and him and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights. He’d stop by her desk with his sleeves rolled up, tie loose, tired but still smiling. He always asked about her ideas in meetings. Genuinely listened. He teased her, but never meanly. And he noticed things—like when she started wearing glasses, or when she switched to oat milk in her coffee.

He made her feel seen. And maybe that’s all it took. But all of that—every shared smile, every late-night report they finished together, every inside joke—meant nothing. Because his eyes were only ever on you.

And no matter how many nights she dreamed otherwise, Gojo Satoru had never looked at her the way he looked at you.

Suzume needed air.

She grabbed her mug with more force than necessary and walked briskly toward the break room. Her heels clicked sharply on the linoleum, each step a reminder of how hard she had kicked the desk earlier. There was a dull throb in her shin now, but it still hurt less than the thought of Gojo sharing a private dinner under the northern lights with someone who didn't even seem to see him the way she did.

As she turned the corner by the hallway, she collided with something—no, someone—solid.

Her mug tilted, but a steady hand reached out just in time to stop the spill.

“Suzume,” Nanami said, brows furrowed. “You alright?”

She stepped back, blinking up at him. “Sorry—I wasn’t watching.”

Nanami looked down, then slowly back  at her. “You’re limping.”

Suzume straightened. “I’m fine. Just bumped my leg earlier. Nothing serious.”

He didn’t press. Not directly. Instead, he tilted his head, observing her like one might examine a file they weren’t sure about yet. “Mm. Still,” he said calmly, “you look… tense.”

She attempted a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Nanami glanced over his shoulder toward the corridor. “Why don’t you come to my office for a minute? You could use a break.”

Suzume hesitated. “Is this… work-related?”

He gave a barely-there shrug. “It can be.”

Something in his tone—nonchalant but warm—made it hard to say no.

She followed him. Nanami’s office was clinical but sleek, he poured her a cup of tea without asking, placing it in front of her as he settled behind his desk.

“Drink,” he said, his voice low and steady.

Suzume cupped the mug in her hands. The warmth helped. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, but she didn’t speak.

Nanami didn’t rush her. He leaned back, fingers steepled, gaze careful and unreadable.

After a moment, he asked, “Long day?”

She gave a soft laugh. “You could say that.”

“Or… something else?” he said, voice gentle, almost curious.

She raised her eyes to meet his, but he didn’t look interrogative. Just… attentive. Safe.

She shook her head slowly. “It’s silly.”

“I don’t think you’re the type to get thrown by silly things,” he replied, with quiet assurance. “But I could be wrong.”

Suzume toyed with the edge of the cup. The steam fogged her glasses faintly. “It’s just—there’s someone I like,” she said, voice low, words curling cautiously from her lips, “but he’s… with someone else.”

Nanami kept his expression neutral, not a single twitch of surprise. But inside, he already knew. Her glances, her tension, the way her eyes followed Gojo around the office like a lost thread of light — it had been obvious for a while. But now, hearing her say it out loud, was confirmation. “Hmm,” he said, as though weighing a market trend. “That can be difficult.”

Suzume nodded, staring down at the swirl of tea. “It’s not just that he’s with her… I don’t get it. She’s not—” She stopped herself. “It’s confusing. Like I’m invisible. Like nothing I do would ever be enough.”

Nanami didn’t answer right away. He let the silence stretch just long enough to make her wonder if she’d said too much. Then, quietly, he said, “Sometimes people only see what they want to. And sometimes, they’re so focused on chasing one thing, they miss what’s already right in front of them.”

Suzume looked up. There was something comforting in his tone. Not quite sympathy. Not quite advice. Something in between. “You think so?” she asked.

Nanami gave the smallest smile. “I do.”

He watched her nod, her lips parting like she wanted to say something else, but couldn’t quite find the words. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “Does he know how you feel?”

Suzume shook her head quickly, suddenly guarded. “No. God, no.”

He hummed. “Maybe he should.”

She looked away. Nanami leaned back again, pleased. He didn’t show it, of course. But there was a flicker of satisfaction behind his eyes. Her little crush on Gojo wasn’t just office gossip anymore—it was leverage. Delicate. Useful. He masked his smirk by adjusting his tie, sipping his tea as if the room hadn't just shifted in his favor.

Nanami glanced over the rim of his cup, his voice smooth, casual.

“By the way… do you know when Y/N is getting back?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, as though it were an afterthought.

He didn’t miss the way Suzume’s expression shifted—just a flicker, but enough. A tightening at the corners of her mouth. A dull shadow crossing her eyes.

“Monday,” she replied, curt and clipped. She set her cup down a little harder than necessary on the coaster.

Nanami smiled faintly, the corner of his mouth lifting as if in amusement. “Ah. Took a long break, didn’t she?”

It wasn’t really a question.

He leaned back slightly in his chair, adopting a thoughtful air. This was the moment. Time to drop the hook.

“Since we’re talking,” he said, voice dropping an octave into something quieter, more vulnerable, “can I… confess something?”

Suzume blinked and nodded, instinctively leaning forward. “Of course. I’m here for you,” she said warmly, offering a small, encouraging smile.

Nanami lowered his gaze, playing the part of reluctant sharer. “I’m in a similar situation, actually. The woman I—” he paused, allowing his breath to hitch slightly for effect, “the woman I love is in love with someone else.”

Suzume’s lips parted slightly, eyes widening with empathy.

“I had a chance,” Nanami continued, his voice soft and wounded, “a brief one. But I misread the moment. And before I could do anything… another man swooped in like a hawk. Took her from me. Effortlessly.” He chuckled, sad and self-deprecating, before shaking his head. “So I understand,” he murmured. “What you’re feeling. It’s not easy—watching someone give their affection to someone who doesn’t even realize how lucky they are.”

Suzume’s shoulders slumped, heart pinched by the unexpected vulnerability in him. “I know,” she said quietly. “We all know.”

Nanami raised a brow, a mask of subtle confusion. “Know what?”

She gave a small, almost conspiratorial smile. “About your feelings for Y/N.”

Nanami stilled. Not enough to seem alarmed—just enough to feign surprise. “Oh…” he said slowly.

“Believe me,” Suzume continued, “I’m on your team. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She seems… lighter. Calmer. Happier, when she’s with you.”

Nanami’s lips curved into something gentle—grateful on the outside, victorious on the inside. “I appreciate your confidence,” he said, voice wrapped in restraint. “But…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Never mind all that.”

“No, no,” Suzume said quickly. She reached forward on instinct, placing her hand gently over his. “Please. Let me help you.”

Nanami looked down at her hand—delicate, sincere, eager—and lifted his eyes slowly, with just the right amount of hesitance. “How, Suzume?” he asked, his smile tinged with sorrow. “No one can help me.”

“Yes, I can,” she said, nodding earnestly. “Y/N is my friend. And I want what’s best for her. I won’t sway her, but I can help her see. Help her realize that you’re the right man for her.”

Nanami blinked, like the idea had never occurred to him. Like it was too generous to believe. “You’d do that?” he asked, softly. “For me?”

“Yes,” Suzume said, with unwavering conviction. “I will.”

Nanami leaned back, hand still under hers, and smiled. A quiet, deadly smile. She had no idea she had just made a deal with the devil.

“I have a feeling something bad is going to happen”, Maya said as she slowly brought the coffe mug to her lips.

“Why?”Hitoshi asked mindlessly as he chewed on his muffin. “Y/n is coming back today, you should be happy”.

“I am happy, but..”, She trailed off as her eyes fixed on Suzume walking through the double glass door of the cafeteria. She looked, different. Her hair, usually in a pony tale, was now open and cascading down her shoulder in delicate curls. Her usual attire of straight pants, shirt and cardigan now replaced by a dress. Her tennis shoes now  replaced by pencil heels. She even had make up on. “Is that–”.

Hitoshi followed Maya’s gaze and his mouth hung open. “Oh my god. Why is she dressed like y/n?”.

“What?!”, Maya scoffed as she turned her attention to Hitohshi.

“Yes, She looks like y/n. The hair, makeup, even the dress. I think y/n has the same dress, no?”. He shrugged.

Maya hummed to herself. He was right. “Suzume!”. She called out and raised her hand to get her attention. 

Suzume smiled when she saw Maya and Hitoshi. She walked over to them with her coffee in hand. “Hello!”. She said cheerfully.

“Hello to you!”. Hitoshi exclaimed. “What’s with the new change?”.

Suzume smiled as she gracefully sat down between Maya and Hitoshi, “Oh I just wanted to experiment”.

“Experiment?”, Maya questione.

“Yeah”, She shrugged, “Do I not look good?”. She asked, looking at Maya and Hitoshi.

The surprised pair exchanged questioning looks. Hitoshi knew Maya would never ask this so he took one for the team, “You look so much like y/n”.

“What?!”. 

“Yeah”. Hitoshi shrugged.

Suzume felt attacked. She knew what she was doing but being confronted like this didn’t sit well with her. “I don’t think y/n owns a particular style”. She fidgeted with the hand of her coffee mug. “I just wanted to try something new. I thought you guys would be supportive”.

Maya sensed her agitation and gently put her hand on top of Suzume’s, “You look beautiful”. She smiled warmly. 

Maya’s voice barely left her lips before Suzume stood abruptly. “I should get back,” she said with a polite smile, brushing invisible crumbs from her dress. “Client call in ten.”. Without waiting for a response, she grabbed her coffee and walked away, her heels clicking steadily down the corridor. But her pace slowed as she turned the corner leading to her cabin.

There he was. Gojo. Coming out of your office, running a hand through his silver hair with that same half-smirk he wore whenever he was satisfied with himself. Suzume froze mid-step, ducking slightly behind the wall. Her breath caught. He looked… smug. Relaxed. That soft confidence that always made her heart twitch. But seeing it now, right outside your door—it stung like salt in an open wound.

She waited. When he disappeared down the hallway, she emerged, walking briskly toward your office. She didn’t knock—just pushed the door open.

You had just set your bag down on the couch and turned around, surprised. “Suzume!” Your voice was warm and genuine. “I was about to head to the cafeteria to see you and Maya.”

Suzume forced a smile, trying not to let her eyes drift, but they had already locked on it. The necklace. A delicate, glinting emerald resting on your collarbone. Elegant. Expensive. Real. Suzume knew the clarity, the depth of green—it wasn’t costume jewelry. She came from a family of jewelers; she could identify a genuine emerald from across a room. Gojo. It had to be him. Her chest tightened like a fist.

“You look amazing, by the way,” you said, tilting your head with a sincere smile. “That color really suits you.”

Suzume blinked, yanked from her spiral. She looked at you, really looked—and for a moment, her heart twisted with something sharp and ugly. But she kept the smile on.

“Thank you,” she said sweetly. “I… I just wanted to stop by and say hi. Welcome back.”

“That’s so sweet of you,” you replied, and she hated that you meant it.

Suzume’s eyes darted once more to the emerald on your chest. “I actually have a call,just stopped by to see if you were back” she added quickly, stepping back, “so I should head.”

You nodded, still smiling. 

But Suzume was already out the door. Her composure cracked the moment she turned the corner. Her breath sped up, her heels clicked faster, her grip tightened around her coffee cup until the lid popped off.

She didn’t care anymore. The bubbling jealousy, the polished mask, the forced smiles—she had shed them all by the time she marched down the corridor toward Gojo’s office. Her heels clicked with purpose against the tiles, and she barely paused before pushing open the frosted-glass door.

Gojo looked up, his thumb still mid-text. He was alone, seated in his usual relaxed sprawl, but his bright eyes narrowed slightly in surprise. “Suzume?”

She closed the door behind her gently, slipping into the room with a too-bright smile. “Good morning!”

He returned her greeting, still clearly puzzled. “Morning. What can I do for you?”

“Oh, nothing urgent,” she said with a casual wave of her hand, her voice light, breezy. “Just wanted to ask—how was your trip?”

Gojo’s brows lifted slightly. “Uh, it was good.” He smiled politely, still trying to gauge what this was about. “Relaxing, I guess.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said, taking a step closer before tilting her head innocently. “By the way, have you seen Y/N this morning?”

There was a beat. Gojo’s expression didn’t change, but the air in the room shifted subtly. “Ye�� Why?”

Suzume gave a shrug, feigning nonchalance, but her eyes flickered, sharpening with calculated mischief. “Oh, it’s probably nothing. Nanami was looking for her. Said he had something important to tell her.”

Gojo frowned slightly, lowering his phone. “Tell her what?”

“Well…” she trailed off, as if hesitant to continue, then leaned in just a little—enough to make it seem like she was trusting him with something fragile. “We don’t really know, but... word is, it might be a confession.”

“A confession?” Gojo’s voice lost its playful edge, and now he was watching her more carefully. “Suzume, be straight with me.”

She drew back, laughing nervously. “I mean, it’s just office gossip, so who knows, right? But please—don’t tell anyone I said anything. I don’t want to be dragged into this.”

Gojo didn’t respond right away. His jaw ticked once, and though he nodded, there was something unreadable in his gaze. “Right. No, I haven’t seen her,” he finally said, lying with practiced ease.

Suzume smiled sweetly, knowing exactly what he was doing. “I see. Well, I should get back to work. Have a good day, Gojo.”

She turned and walked out, her expression cool and composed until the door clicked shut behind her. Once out of sight, she pulled out her phone and typed a quick message.

Suzume: It’s done.

Nanami: Good.

Suzume: Now what?

Nanami: Wait. I’ll tell you when the time is right.

Suzume locked her screen and slid the phone back into her pocket, her heels echoing once again as she disappeared down the corridor—this time with a quiet, dangerous satisfaction curling at the corners of her lips.

Nanami placed his phone down like he was laying a relic on an altar. His smile crept in slowly, curling his lips into something unnatural. With a smooth, silent motion, he turned his chair toward the window, bathing himself in the golden morning light. It fell across his face like a halo, warm and soft—ironic, really, given the thoughts boiling beneath his skull. It felt like a divine signal, a blessing from whatever god still dared to watch. Victory, yes. That’s what this glow was. The light of inevitability.

He had been worried for weeks. The plan—his perfect, intricate plan—had been threatened by delays, unforeseen variables, Gojo’s arrogant presence. But then Suzume walked in. So eager. So desperate to be seen. And just like that, fate had handed him a scalpel. She would cut the way forward while his true machinery turned behind the scenes. Maybe, if he nudged her just right, she could even start a fire he could never be blamed for.

Let them call him evil if they wanted. Let them whisper about his darkness behind closed doors. He wasn’t evil. No. He was in love. A love so pure, so absolute, that it demanded sacrifice. When he first saw you—eyes bright with ambition, lips parted nervously in your interview—he had felt it crack open inside him. A knowing. Like the universe had ripped itself apart and whispered your name into the hollow of his soul. He had watched you through glass and paper and screens, your résumé memorized, your past dissected like a sacred text. Every friend, every interest, every secret you thought you had—he knew them already. But it wasn’t stalking. No. It was preparation. You can’t love someone if you don’t know them completely.

And when you chose his company over Domain Dynamics, he had wept. Literally fell to his knees and wept, because the gods had listened. You belonged to him. The first time you kissed—his fingers in your hair, your breath catching like a bird trapped in his hands—he felt the world stop spinning. Time slowed, warped, broke. Nothing else existed. He’d tasted you and knew: this was home. You were home.

But then… then you left. The moment Gojo arrived, it was like you forgot. Forgot the late nights, the trembling confessions, the way you said his name when no one was listening. You abandoned him. For him. A clown in a suit. A fool with a smile. A thief. You didn’t even hesitate. And that… that was where you failed him.

He could’ve given you everything. Power, money, worship. He would’ve sold his soul—his company—brick by brick to build you a palace. But you couldn’t wait. You were too blinded by Gojo’s laugh, his charm, his glinting lies. Nanami’s breath hitched, sharp and sudden, as the fury burned hot under his skin. It wasn’t your fault, not really. You were soft. Easily misled. Like a lamb. And Gojo? Gojo was the wolf. He knew what he was doing when he set eyes on you. He knew Nanami loved you. And he took you anyway.

But he wouldn’t have you for long.

Nanami leaned forward, his hands folded like a man in prayer. But his eyes were empty, cold pits of calculation. You would come back to him. You would realize your mistake. Even if he had to break the world to make it happen. Even if he had to burn everything Gojo touched and salt the ashes.

He would have you again. One way or another. A soft knock at the door shattered Nanami’s thoughts like glass underfoot. His head snapped toward the sound, every muscle in his body tensing—and then relaxing in slow, stunned waves as you stepped inside.

You.

The light from the hallway pooled behind you like a halo, making it hard to see your face at first. But he didn’t need to. He’d memorized your silhouette long ago. His heart kicked violently in his chest, thudding against his ribs like a prisoner desperate to escape. You smiled—soft, easy—and closed the door gently behind you.

“Hey,” you said with a casual warmth, walking toward the chair opposite his desk. You moved with the unbothered grace of someone who didn’t know you were the sun in someone else’s orbit. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

He swallowed hard and stood quickly, almost too quickly. “Not at all,” he said, voice unusually tight. “Please.” He gestured to the chair, already watching your every movement with obsessive intensity. You sat down and opened your bag, pulling something out wrapped in tissue paper.

“I got you something,” you said with a small laugh, setting it down on his desk. “Just a little souvenir. I saw it in this tiny shop in Bergen and thought of you.”

He stared at the package like it was a holy artifact. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for it, unwrapping the paper with a carefulness reserved for relics. Inside was a polished piece of carved wood—a traditional Norwegian troll figurine, its expression somewhere between mischievous and wise. Beside it, a small leather keychain stamped with a Viking ship.

Nanami’s breath caught.

You thought of him. In a foreign country. While with Gojo. In spite of Gojo. He felt the earth tilt slightly beneath his feet. You remembered him. You still remembered him.

“I know it’s a bit silly,” you said, brushing hair behind your ear, “but the shopkeeper said trolls are meant to bring good luck. And I figured you could use a little luck”

“It’s not silly,” Nanami replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s perfect.”

He meant it. You had no idea what that meant to him. You could’ve given him a rock from the side of the road and he would’ve kept it in a glass case. But this—this was something you chose for him.

“How was the trip?” he managed to ask, willing his voice to stay even.

“It was amazing,” you said, your smile widening. “We went on this hike outside of Oslo—up to the top of this ridge where the fjords just stretch forever. I’ve never seen anything like it. I thought I was going to pass out halfway through, but Gojo somehow made it look easy. Of course.”

The name made Nanami flinch internally, but he held the smile on his face like a mask stapled into place. He clung to your words—I thought I was going to pass out. He made it look easy. You weren’t impressed. You were tired. You didn’t enjoy it as much as you could have. You would’ve enjoyed it more with someone like him. Someone who would’ve let you rest, who would’ve carried your bag, wiped the sweat from your brow like a lover should.

He pictured the two of you on that ridge instead. Your legs over his lap. Your laughter echoing over the fjords. His jacket on your shoulders. Not Gojo’s. Never Gojo’s.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said softly, the words laced with deeper meaning you didn’t catch. “Things weren’t the same here without you.”

You smiled kindly, eyes bright. “Thanks, Nanami. That means a lot.”

You didn’t see the way his hand tightened into a fist under the desk, veins bulging with restrained impulse. You didn’t hear the scream inside his mind that begged him to reach out, to tell you how everything—everything—he was doing was for you.

“How have you been? Things have been quite intense here with all the new projects, right?”. You smiled.

“I am better now. It was stressful but-”, Nanami looked down at the little figurine, “I feel it was all worth it”.

“That’s good to hear. Don’t stress yourself too much Kento. We are all here for you”.

Nanami smiled. He didn’t know what it was about you but your presence brought him peace. Just being in your presence felt like finding an oasis in the desert. “Thank you y/n, it means a lot”.

“I should get going”, You stood up and smiled at him, “Lots of work to catch up on”.  

As you turned toward the door, Nanami’s voice stopped you mid-step. “I was wondering…” he began, striving for nonchalance, “would you like to grab lunch today? I’d love to hear more about your trip and I could catch you up on what you missed.”

You looked back at him, tilting your head slightly. “Sure,” you said with a smile that could melt iron. “That sounds good. It’s been a while.”

His heart slammed against his ribs. You said yes. So easily. So warmly. You wanted to spend time with him. You chose to. “Great,” he replied with quiet composure. “I’ll message you when I’m free.”

With a soft “see you then,” you stepped out of his office, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you echoing like a slow exhale through his chest.

Nanami stared at the little wooden troll on his desk, the one you'd just handed him moments ago. It sat there, tiny and grinning, and yet in his eyes, it radiated something sacred. He reached for it gently, as though it might shatter if he held it too roughly. His thumb traced its carved smile.

You didn’t have a bag. That meant you had carried this in your hand. Through the corridors, past others—unconcerned about what anyone thought. You brought it straight to him. A piece of your trip. A piece of your time. Given only to him.

He closed his eyes and clutched the figurine to his chest. The heat of it, faint and imagined, felt like your warmth. Like a pulse in wood. “She thought of me,” he whispered, lips curling. “Even while she was with him.”

He leaned back, slow and reverent, placing the troll on his desk like it was a religious idol. He adjusted it carefully, so it would face him directly—as though it might speak, as though your voice could pass through it.

She hadn’t forgotten. No matter what mask you wore with Gojo—no matter how you smiled or laughed or touched his arm—your heart hadn’t changed. Nanami could feel it. Like a wire humming under the floorboards. You were still his. You had to be.

Lunch today would be just the beginning. He would listen. He would remember every word. Every pause. He’d find the tension in your stories. The disappointments. The subtle shadows you didn’t even know were there. He’d press, gently, carefully—until Gojo started to crumble in your eyes and when you were finally ready to see things clearly—when your heart remembered the truth—Nanami would be waiting. He always had been. The little troll sat smiling back at him, unaware it had become a symbol of devotion, obsession… and destiny.

There was too much to do and not enough time to breathe. The morning had been a blur of half-finished reports, emails demanding immediate attention, and forms that seemed to multiply every time you blinked. You were knee-deep in departmental approvals when your phone buzzed on your desk. A message from Gojo lit up the screen.

Gojo: Lunch? Just us?

You paused, thumb hovering over the keyboard. For a second, you considered changing your plans. But the polite smile Nanami gave when he asked you earlier flickered in your mind—and more importantly, the fact that it was a work lunch. You typed back:

You: I have lunch with Nanami today. He wanted to catch up on the Norway trip and go over some work stuff I missed.

You didn’t get a reply.

You assumed Gojo was busy. So were you. You buried yourself back into the digital avalanche.

An hour slipped by. You were focused on redlining a supplier contract when the door to your cabin burst open.

“Why are you having lunch with Nanami?” Gojo stood at the doorway, his brows drawn tight, his usual easy smile nowhere in sight.

Your eyes snapped up from your screen, startled. “Gojo, what are you doing?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “He asked me. He wanted to hear about the trip and update me on some things I missed while I was away.”

“Yeah, and why does he need to hear about your trip?” Gojo stepped fully into the room now, voice sharper than you were used to hearing.

You straightened in your chair, surprised by the edge in his tone. “It’s not that deep. It’s lunch. We work together.”

Gojo folded his arms, jaw clenched. “You could’ve just said no.”

“Why would I do that?” you asked, blinking in disbelief. “I’ve barely spoken to him since I got back. He was being polite.”

Gojo scoffed. “Nanami doesn’t do anything just to be polite.”

“What are you trying to say?” your voice rose slightly. “That I shouldn’t have lunch with someone just because you don’t like them?”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice but not the intensity. “I’m saying I don’t trust him. You don’t know what he’s like behind that boring façade.”

You stood now too, closing the laptop with a soft snap. “Gojo, this isn’t high school. It’s one meal, not a confession of loyalty.”

“And what about us?” he asked. “You think I want to sit around wondering what Nanami’s whispering to you over coffee and spreadsheets?”

You stared at him, stunned by the jealousy flickering just beneath his words. “You don’t get to control who I eat with, Gojo.”

The room was thick with silence. For a moment, you both just stood there—he breathing heavily, you glaring back at him, pulse quickened not from fear, but from sheer frustration.

“Lunch is lunch,” you said, voice calm but firm. “If you have a problem, maybe talk to me like an adult instead of barging in here like this.”

Gojo’s lips parted, but he didn’t say anything at first. His eyes searched your face, the fire in them slowly retreating. “Fine,” he muttered eventually, stepping back. “Enjoy your lunch.”

And with that, he turned and walked out, leaving the door open behind him.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and sat back down. The lunch hadn’t even started, and somehow, it already felt like the beginning of something much more complicated.

Nanami had chosen a quiet, tucked-away bistro with soft lighting and minimal chatter—perfectly suited for private conversations. The little troll figurine you’d given him earlier that morning still sat proudly on the table beside his bento, as if it had been given a place of honor. You smiled faintly at the sight, touched by the gesture, and took your seat across from him.

He poured you a cup of tea without asking, and the two of you exchanged light pleasantries. You told him about the mountain hike, the freezing wind, and how the fog had rolled over the cliffs like a moving wall. Nanami listened closely, nodding occasionally, his expression warm—invested.

But even as he smiled and responded with quiet attentiveness, his gaze never left your face. He was reading you. Measuring every pause, every breath.

“You’re back, but you don’t seem all the way back,” he said, tone casual. “Something still on your mind?”

You gave a small, almost dismissive shrug. “Just a lot to catch up on. You know how it is.”

Nanami hummed thoughtfully and lifted his tea to his lips, studying you over the rim. “Gojo seems a bit… unsettled today. Did something happen?”

You blinked at him, mildly surprised. “You noticed that?”

“Hard not to,” he replied smoothly. “He practically slammed a door in the hallway. Not like him to be that graceless.”

You laughed softly. “He can be dramatic sometimes.”

Nanami tilted his head slightly, keeping his voice light and conversational. “Let me guess—he’s not thrilled you’re here with me?”

You looked down at your food, your expression faltering just for a second. “It’s not a big deal.”

“That wasn’t a no,” Nanami said gently, almost teasing.

You sighed, letting your guard down without realizing it. “He just… asked me not to have lunch with you. Said it was about work, but I think he got weirdly possessive.”

“Hmm,” Nanami murmured, his voice soft, laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “That sounds like him.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

Nanami set down his chopsticks and looked at you with an air of reluctant honesty, his tone carefully measured. “Gojo doesn’t like sharing attention. Or space. Or people. Especially not when he thinks something belongs to him.”

You straightened slightly, bristling. “I’m not a thing to be shared.”

“No,” Nanami said quickly, shaking his head. “You’re not. Of course not. That’s what makes it so frustrating to watch.”

You let the silence linger a moment, sipping your tea. Nanami leaned forward just slightly, his voice quiet, tinged with concern. “Look… if my presence is creating tension between you two, I don’t want to cause problems. If it’s easier for you, I’m happy to step back.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the offer. “Nanami, no. That’s not fair. You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m not going to cut off a good friend just because Gojo can’t handle it.”

He held your gaze for a moment longer, then gave a small, sad smile. “You’re too kind.”

You returned to your meal, unaware of how precisely you’d been steered into that exchange. Nanami picked up his chopsticks again, but he didn’t eat right away. Instead, he watched you—his fingertips brushing the troll figurine as if it were a talisman.

She defends me. Even against him. She trusts me. She chose to tell me.

The seed had been planted. And Nanami knew exactly how to make it bloom.

Gojo sat motionless at his desk, eyes staring blankly at the glowing screen in front of him, but his mind was adrift—caught somewhere between rage and restraint. The cursor blinked in the silence like a metronome ticking toward something he didn’t want to face.

He shut his eyes and drew in a long, steady breath, trying to anchor himself. You can’t mess this up again, Satoru. Not like last time. Not with her.

But how was he supposed to stay calm when Nanami was whispering poison into your ears, turning you against him with that polished restraint and deliberate calmness? Gojo knew exactly the kind of game Nanami played—subtle, precise, emotionally manipulative in the most maddeningly rational way.

He was playing from a disadvantage—he always had been. But this time, he wasn’t going to retreat and lick his wounds. No. If Nanami expected him to burn out and spiral, Gojo would do the opposite. If Nanami thought he had the upper hand, Gojo would shift the rules entirely.

He shut his laptop with a sharp click, the sound final and decisive. Rising from his chair, he left his office without another glance. His steps were fast, purposeful—cutting through the hallways like a blade. That’s when he ran into her again.

Suzume.

She almost stumbled when their paths crossed. Gojo caught her arm, steadying her.

“Suzume,” he said, polite but unreadable.

“Mr. Gojo,” she blinked, clearly flustered. “You haven’t gone for lunch yet?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Not yet. What’s in the bag?”

Suzume’s eyes widened as she instinctively tucked the paper bag behind her back. “Oh, it’s nothing—just a delivery for Mr. Nanami. He wasn’t in, so I picked it up for him.”

Gojo’s gaze darkened slightly. “Then why are you hiding it?”

Her smile faltered. She looked away, unsure whether to lie again or fold under the weight of his stare.

“Suzume.” His voice dropped lower. Stern. Cold.

She hesitated, then slowly brought the bag in front of her, reluctantly handing it over like a child caught sneaking sweets.

Gojo opened the bag, pulled out the velvet box inside, and let the packaging drop to the floor without care. He opened the box and stared.

A necklace. A delicate butterfly pendant, glittering faintly beneath the lights—an imitation diamond piece on a chain too thick for your taste.

He let out a shaky breath, but it wasn’t relief—it was disgust, coiled and venomous. “Tell Nanami,” Gojo said quietly, snapping the box shut with a sound that echoed off the tiles, “that if it’s for Y/N, she doesn’t wear fake diamonds. Also…” he paused, offering a cruel smile, “the chain’s too heavy for her neck. She hates feeling caged.”

He pressed the box back into Suzume’s shaking hands. She didn’t dare meet his eyes.

Gojo leaned in just a little, enough for only her to hear. “He should’ve known better. Or maybe he does… but still likes playing with things that aren’t his.”

Gojo had barely taken three steps when he felt a hesitant tug at his wrist. He stopped, head tilting slightly, eyes narrowing as he turned around.

Suzume was gripping his hand—not tightly, but enough to stop him. Her eyes widened as if realizing what she’d just done. She quickly let go, her hand recoiling like it had been burned.

“I—I’m sorry,” she said softly, brushing her hair behind her ear and looking down at the floor. “I just… um… I was wondering if you might… want to grab lunch with me?”

Her voice was light, nervous. A soft flush rose to her cheeks, whether from embarrassment or something else, he couldn’t tell. For a moment, Gojo’s instinct flared—his pride wounded, his mood poisoned by the pendant still etched in his memory.

He was about to refuse. Polite but distant. He didn’t have the patience for small talk or clumsy flirtations, not today.

But then, a thought struck him.

Suzume. Nervous. Observant. A little too eager.

She was clearly trying to get on someone’s good side—and it wasn’t his. Not at first. She’s closer to Nanami than I realized. And if she’s playing messenger for him, maybe she’s hearing things too.

Gojo's expression softened instantly—like flipping a switch. He smiled, slow and disarming.

“Lunch?” he echoed, the sharpness melting from his voice. “You know what… that actually sounds good.”

Suzume blinked up at him, surprised by the sudden change.

“Really?” she asked, a small hopeful lilt in her voice.

“Yeah.” He slid his hands into his pockets, gaze leveling on her. “Lead the way.”

As they began walking side by side, Gojo's eyes flicked briefly to the velvet box still clutched in her hand. He didn’t mention it. He didn’t have to. The pieces were already moving.

Let’s see what you know, Suzume, he thought, keeping his expression light. And let’s see how much you’re willing to say if I smile long enough.

They sat across from each other at a small café tucked between office buildings, a warm breeze brushing past the awning above them. Gojo stirred his iced coffee absentmindedly, eyes flicking over Suzume as she glanced shyly down at her menu.

She had dressed up a little more than usual today. Lighter lipstick, earrings that caught the light just enough, and that tentative, hopeful look she gave him over the rim of her glass—he saw it now.

And it clicked. She liked him. Oh. Gojo leaned back in his chair, a slow grin creeping across his lips. This could be useful.

“You know, Suzume,” he said lazily, propping an arm up on the back of his chair, “I didn’t realize how cute you looked when you’re nervous.”

Suzume blinked. “W-What?”

“Just saying.” He sipped his drink with casual arrogance. “It’s kind of endearing. You should smile more—you have the kind of face that makes other people smile back.”

A visible flush bloomed across her cheeks. Suzume tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gave a tiny, flustered laugh. “I… didn’t think you even noticed me most days.”

“I notice more than you think,” Gojo said, his voice dropping just enough to feel deliberate. “You’re sharp. Efficient. Kind of wasted doing Nanami’s grunt work, honestly.”

Suzume looked away, visibly flattered. “He just trusts me with stuff, that’s all.”

“Does he?” Gojo leaned forward slightly, pretending interest while quietly watching her squirm. “Or does he just like keeping you close?”

She looked up in surprise. “You think Nanami—?”

“I think Nanami doesn’t do anything without a reason,” Gojo said simply, then gave her a wink. “But hey, I’m glad he’s careless enough to let someone like you slip through the cracks.”

Suzume giggled softly, taking a sip of her water to hide the grin. Then, hesitantly she asked, “Does Y/N… mind? You having lunch with me, I mean.”

Gojo raised a brow. “Why would she?”

Suzume shrugged. “I don’t know. You two seem… close.”

Gojo gave a soft, amused chuckle and leaned in, resting his chin in his palm. “Let me be clear about something, Suzume.”

She looked at him, wide-eyed.

“No one tells me what to do. Not Y/N, not Nanami, no one. If I want to have lunch with a beautiful and intelligent woman who clearly deserves more attention than she’s been getting…” He let that hang in the air for a moment. “Then I’m going to do exactly that.”

Suzume practically glowed.

He tilted his head slightly. “Unless you don’t want to have lunch with me. I’d understand. Could always go eat alone, sulking in a dark corner of the office.”

“No, no,” she said quickly, too quickly. “I’m really happy you agreed. I mean—I didn’t think you would, but—”

Gojo smiled. “Good. I like being unpredictable.”

Their food arrived, and as Suzume eagerly launched into a story about a client she dealt with that morning, Gojo nodded along, half-listening. Under the table, he tapped his foot slowly, rhythmically. A quiet beat of strategy.

Suzume had a crush. Nanami was distracted.

If this was going to be a game, then he’d play it with the same recklessness that had always kept people guessing and now, he had a new pawn on the board. Willing, eager, and completely unaware.

Gojo smiled again, this time to himself. Let the game begin.

The office was unusually quiet that morning. The kind of stillness that settled like fog before a storm. Suzume walked in with a little spring in her step, still replaying yesterday’s lunch in her mind—Gojo’s laughter, his voice, the way he said beautiful and intelligent. She’d barely slept.

She reached her desk, fingers adjusting the collar of her blouse, and stopped dead in her tracks.

A box. Not just any box—a Cartier box.

It sat there, perfectly centered on her desk like it had been waiting just for her. Her breath caught. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached out and touched the velvet red case, the unmistakable gold trim shimmering under the office lights.

She glanced around—no one was watching. With a shaky breath, she opened it.

Inside was a delicate Cartier Love necklace. Rose gold. Classic. Elegant. Undeniably expensive.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Tucked into the satin lid was a small note, cream-colored, embossed in neat calligraphy:

Only the best for a woman like you. —G.S.

For a full second, her mind blanked.

G.S.

Her lips parted, barely forming the words.

“Gojo Satoru…”

Her fingers traced the fine curve of the pendant. She had admired this exact design online more times than she could count. Daydreamed about someone thinking her worthy of something so precious. But this—this wasn’t a dream.

She unfastened the chain, almost too eagerly, and slipped it around her neck. The metal was cold against her skin, sending a chill down her spine. She clasped it shut and looked down at the reflection in her phone screen.

It looked perfect. Like it belonged there. She brushed her fingers lightly over the charm and smiled. Her cheeks flushed, her heart hammering against her chest.

She turned to grab her coffee, but something in the air shifted. A quiet voice in the back of her mind asked, Why would Gojo Satoru give you this? But she crushed it quickly, like snuffing out a candle. He noticed me. He said I deserved more attention.This necklace—this wasn’t just a gift. It was a message. He saw her and now, she was wearing proof around her neck.

The café across the street from the headquarters was buzzing, but your table in the corner had a little pocket of calm to it. You sat across from Suzumeand Hitoshi, Maya and Gojo sat beside you, leisurely sipping his iced coffee as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

You were halfway through your salad when a glint of light caught your eye—rose gold, delicate, unmistakably Cartier. Your gaze flicked up.

Around Suzume’s neck hung a Cartier Love necklace, the rose-gold band sitting perfectly against her skin like it had been made for her.

You swallowed and casually asked, “That’s a nice necklace. Where did you get it?”

Suzume’s fork paused mid-air. Her eyes darted to yours for a moment too long. Something about your tone made her shoulders tighten.

She gave a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s… from someone I’ve recently started seeing.”

There was something defensive in her voice. As if she thought you were mocking her—questioning whether someone like her could really wear something like that. Your brows lifted ever so slightly, not in judgment but in curiosity, though Suzume seemed to misread it completely.

Before you could say anything else, Gojo leaned forward, eyes flicking to the necklace.

“It looks beautiful on you,” he said smoothly, voice low and warm. 

Suzume’s face lit up. She tilted her chin down slightly, fingertips brushing the pendant as if to draw more attention to it. “Thanks,” she said, breathy.

Gojo offered her a small, knowing wink—quick, almost imperceptible.

Maya’s interest immediately perked up. “Oh? A new guy? Tell us more!”

Suzume leaned in, confidence blooming like a slow flower. “He’s amazing. Really thoughtful. Always knows what I like without me having to say it. Honestly, he’s the best man I’ve ever been with.”

Across the table, Hitoshi whistled, raising his brows. “He must be loaded if he’s giving you Cartier.”

Suzume gave him a look—half-playful, half-dismissive. “It’s not about the money, Hitoshi. It’s the effort. He notices the little things.”

Her eyes slid to Gojo as she said it, and she smiled again. Gojo didn’t miss the cue. He returned her smile with one of his own—charming and just vague enough to be misread by anyone who wasn’t paying attention. But Maya was paying attention.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. She watched the smile pass between them like an invisible thread.

You tilted your head, tone light but curious. “He sounds like a catch. I’d love to meet him sometime.”

Suzume blinked. Her smile tightened just a little. “Oh, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

You raised an eyebrow at her response, but before the moment stretched too far, she turned sharply toward Gojo. “So, Mr. Gojo, how was your trip?”

Gojo took a sip of his drink, eyes still glinting. “It was great. Norway’s always beautiful. The fjords, the little towns, the air—nothing like it.”

He kept his voice smooth and steady, dancing around any details that might tie his experience to you. He didn’t mention the quiet moments you shared on that secluded hike, or the way your laughter echoed down mountain paths. None of that would help him now.

Suzume listened intently, nodding as if she was memorizing every word. “Sounds like a dream.”

“It was,” Gojo said, glancing at you just once from the corner of his eye—just enough to see if you caught anything in his tone. Then his attention swung back to Suzume. “But it’s always good to be back.”

Suzume’s eyes lit up. “I’ve always wanted to go to Norway. It looks like a dream.”

“Maybe you can go with your new man”. Hitoshi commented with a wink.

“Maybe I will”. She quipped.

Gojo glanced at her with a lopsided smile. “Maybe we should.” Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “We should all go.”

You nodded, thinking nothing of it. “I wouldn’t mind going again”

Maya arched a brow at the suggestion but said nothing, simply sipping her drink.

Hitoshi chuckled. “If someone’s paying, I’m packing tonight.”

Everyone laughed, the moment light again. Suzume, however, was glowing. She turned her head, letting the pendant catch the light again, clearly relishing every second. And Gojo? He leaned into the moment, calm and unreadable, every move intentional

Nanami’s office was quiet, awash in the mellow glow of a desk lamp as late afternoon light spilled through the blinds. The hum of conversation and clacking keyboards beyond the glass was faint, almost muffled — a soft reminder that the day was still ticking forward.

Maya stood by his desk, holding a tablet, flipping through reports on the latest client onboarding metrics.

“I think if we stagger the internal review with client comms, we can bring the close date forward by at least two days,” she explained.

Nanami nodded, eyes scanning the document she’d just handed him. “That would work. Good call.”

There was a moment of silence as he leaned back, the chair creaking slightly.

Then, in a casual tone, Nanami asked, “By the way... how’s Suzume doing?”

Maya blinked, caught off guard. “Suzume?”

“Yes.” Nanami tapped his pen against the armrest, feigning disinterest. “Just noticed she’s seemed... a bit distracted lately. Not in a disruptive way — just not quite her usual self.”

Maya paused, unsure where this was going. “I guess... she’s been a little more talkative than usual. But I haven’t noticed anything serious.”

Nanami gave a nonchalant shrug, as if it hardly mattered. “Mm. I only ask because I’ve seen a few moments — in the team meetings especially — where she seemed a bit… off. And maybe a little cold toward you?”

Maya’s eyes narrowed. “Cold how?”

He held up his hands slightly. “Could be nothing. Maybe I’m reading into things. But she barely acknowledged your idea in yesterday’s review — which was strange, considering she usually backs your suggestions without question.”

Maya folded her arms. “Why are you telling me this?”

Nanami offered a smooth smile. “Just making sure there’s no tension in the team that could affect delivery. That’s all.”

Maya hesitated. Her instincts told her to be careful. But the concern in Nanami’s voice — so calm, so reasonable — made her guard falter.

She exhaled slowly. “I’ve been meaning to talk to someone about it, actually.”

Nanami leaned forward slightly, just enough to signal interest without pushing. “Go on.”

“I don’t know for sure,” Maya began, lowering her voice slightly. “But I think Suzume might be... infatuated with Gojo.”

Nanami’s expression didn’t change. Not even a flicker of recognition. “Really?”

Maya nodded, frustration creeping into her voice. “She keeps staring at him in meetings. Laughing a little too hard at his jokes. And last week at lunch, she couldn’t stop smiling at him. She even wore a Cartier necklace and claimed some mystery man gave it to her.”

Nanami leaned back again, arms crossed. “I don’t know. That doesn’t sound like Gojo. He’s... not exactly subtle if he’s involved with someone. He’d flaunt it.”

Maya frowned. “I didn’t say Gojo’s reciprocating. I’m just saying something feels off.”

“I see.” Nanami tapped the pen against his desk once, twice. Then stopped. “Maybe you should talk to Y/N about it.”

Maya blinked. “Why?”

Nanami met her eyes. “Because if something’s really going on — even if it’s one-sided — Y/N should know. Especially if it’s going to turn messy.”

Maya looked down, conflicted.

“You’re close to her,” Nanami added, voice low and measured. “She’ll trust you. Better it comes from you than someone else.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Maya gave a small nod. “Alright. I’ll talk to her.”

Nanami smiled faintly and returned to the file on his desk. “Good. Let me know if you need anything.”

Maya walked out, still unsure whether she’d done the right thing — while behind her, Nanami’s smile slowly faded, replaced by something far more calculating.

The soft golden hue of the setting sun stretched across the quiet neighborhood, casting long shadows against the pavement. Trees rustled gently with the spring breeze, their leaves whispering secrets to one another as Maya waited outside your door, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her coat. The look on her face was unreadable — a blend of concern, hesitation, and quiet resolve.

You opened the door, surprised to see her.

“Maya? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just…” She gave a tight smile. “Thought you might like to go for a walk. Clear our heads. You’ve been cooped up with those campaign reviews all day.”

You hesitated for a beat — her tone was casual, but you knew Maya well enough to sense when something was off.

“Sure. Just give me a sec to grab a sweater.”

A few minutes later, the two of you were walking down the quiet, tree-lined street, the occasional car humming past. The air was crisp, the kind that makes your lungs feel clean, and for a while, neither of you spoke. You appreciated the silence — Maya often gave you space to think when she sensed you needed it. But today, she was the one struggling with her thoughts.

Finally, she spoke.

“You ever get a gut feeling about someone and you can’t shake it?”

You glanced at her. “This about work?”

She sighed. “Sort of. It’s about Suzume.”

You stopped mid-step, then resumed walking slowly. “Okay… what about her?”

Maya took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. “I’ve been watching her the past week or so — not in a weird way, just… observing. And something’s changed. She’s constantly hovering around Gojo. Sitting closer in meetings. Laughing at things that aren’t even funny.”

You frowned. “Suzume’s always been a little… eager around new people. Maybe she’s just trying to fit in?”

“It’s not just that,” Maya said firmly. “She’s... infatuated. And I think she’s trying to get his attention. Honestly, I think she has it.”

You stopped walking. The word infatuated echoed in your mind longer than it should have. You stared ahead, lips pressed in a thin line.

“She’s been wearing that new necklace every day,” Maya added. “Said it was from someone she’s started seeing. At lunch, she couldn’t stop smiling at Gojo. He even winked at her.”

Your stomach tightened, but you kept your expression even. “That could mean anything.”

Maya gave you a long look. “I know how this sounds, okay? I’m not trying to make you suspicious for no reason. I just… something feels off. And I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t tell you.”

You stayed silent, the wind brushing strands of hair across your face.

Internally, your thoughts swirled. A week ago, you might’ve believed every word Maya just said. But now? Things between you and Gojo had shifted. He’d opened up to you. Let you see a part of him he rarely shared with anyone. You couldn’t let your past — the betrayal you swore you’d never let happen again — cloud your judgment.

“I appreciate you telling me,” you said quietly. “I really do. But you don’t have any actual proof.”

Maya stopped walking. “So you’re not going to say anything?”

You met her eyes. “Not yet. If something is going on, it’ll come to light. But until then… I trust him.”

Maya looked unconvinced, but she didn’t push. “Okay. Just... be careful, alright?”

You nodded. “I will.”

The two of you continued walking, but the silence now felt heavier — weighted with things unspoken. Behind you, the shadows of the street grew longer, the sun dipping just beneath the horizon, as if warning that some truths were better seen in the dark.

Somewhere behind you, hidden in the folds of the night, a pair of eyes watched from across the street — from the shadows behind a parked car.

A phone screen dimmed.

Someone walked away, unseen, happy that his bait had landed.

@commandertorindhepard @inlove-maze @starlightanyaaa @missybrat @lem-hhn @valleydoli @definetlythinkimanalien @luckyangelballoon @sheep-infog @gojoprincesss @kanaojacksonofc @bubera974 @ginginha @mari-ho14 @mashtura @concretewishes

[sleepntalk]

nerd!jo, wasn’t very popular with the ladies, if he was, it was mostly because they would ask him to do there homework.

but you were different, always wanting to be around him, helping him with studies, reading books with him, anything really.

—

“have you tried this book?” he showed you the book cover, and honestly. no, that book was one you’ve never seen before

“ah! no, i’ve never tried it.”

as you both were talking, some girls came in, talking crap while they walked passed, acting like it was nothing, satoru didn’t want you to bat any eye to them, since that’s what they wanted

he snapped his fingers in front of you, trying to get your attention back to him, not them!

“ignore them, that’s what they want.”

“seriously? they were talking about us, we can’t just let them.”

“y/n.”

sigh…

“okay, maybe you’re right.” you murmured

he nodded, already knowing that.

“soo, wanna try the book?” he still held the book in his hand, looking up, noticing you were batting an eye towards those girls.

“Y/N!!!” his voice raised, wanting your attention back once more

you quickly snapped your head back, now bringing all your attention to him right now.

“what?”

“are you even listening to me?”

you nodded, which was a lie, you weren’t listening

“you’re not listening.” a sigh left his mouth, eyeing you, yes he was in love with you, wanting only your attention 24/7. but today you had other plans, something he wouldn’t have expected!

“im going to talk to them.”

“wait what! are you crazy!?”

you were oblivious to how he felt about you trying to hangout with those girls, but it’s not like he could stop you, he wasn’t the controlling “weird” type.

“okay, wish me luck.” you smiled, sliding your seat out before getting up from it, making your way towards the girls who were sat at a random table in the back.

“who are you?” one of them had said

“yeah, who??” another one chimed in, this was getting awkward now..

“well, i saw you guys and thought we could maybe be friends?”

they all let out a quiet little laugh, stopping, then just smirking. “yeah.. i don’t think so”

satoru saw, which made him get out of his seat, walking towards you, grabbing your arm, and pulling you back to the table you were first at.

“hey! what the hell?”

“i know you wanted to talk with them, they were laughing at you tho.” he cared for you, wanting you to realize that, you were just stubborn.

“they were not laughing..”

“y/n, i get it. you want friends, but they are not right for that.”

sighhhh,

“why are you sighing?” he had said

“i don’t get why you have to be so.. overprotective.”

“it’s not tha—“

he pushed his glasses back up, making sure they sat perfectly.

“i care for you, that’s all.”

really? or was he just saying that so you wouldn’t talk with that group.

“you’re just saying that..”

“NO.”

..”i mean it, really.” he smiled, why did you feel butterflies all of a sudden from him, that was something you definitely were NOT used to.

“okay, im going to listen to you.” :)

he put his pinky finger up, “pinky promise?” of course you agreed to it, no longer trying to hangout with the bullies of the school.

— mb if this is cringe, when i was writing it, it sounded cute :/

[film-in-my-soul]

more than a sunshine in my eyes | 7,134 | ameizing_me3 / @ameizingme

Summary: It's shocking, that in the face of a day so beautiful and bright, he would rather watch the slow spread of Jayce's smile as he examines the peaches a couple trees down. "You okay?" Jayce's voice startles him. Not okay, Viktor thinks, but doesn't say. What can he say, really, other than "when you hold that basket of summer peaches and the light becomes ensnared in your eyes I understand why Degas did his pastels. The Impressionists painted light because they were helpless to do anything else in its wake, and every second of every day you make me wish I were an artist so I could sketch the shape of you, if only to feel like I could do something other than just behold the magic of your hands, the smell of summer in your hair, the softness of your eyes. If only to have evidence that I was worthy of its witness, if only as a testimony that I could keep it safe."

Staring Down the Barrel | 23,881 | late_june (kwiewi) / @kwieway

Summary: “I believe that these– memories, foreknowledge, whatever you want to call them– result from a bleed-over of our psyches from another time, another dimension, or both,” Viktor says. “Oh my god,” Jayce says, feeling lightheaded, “You think it's reincarnation?” “That could be one of the plausible explanations, if a little far-fetched,” Viktor murmurs, tapping the handle of his cane impatiently. “I imagine it’s something closer to—“ “—a dimensional anomaly,” Jayce breathes in understanding. “If the concept of multiverses is to be believed, then it’s possible that—“ “—these are our memories, just from another time, and another universe,” Viktor finishes, his eyes wide.

Winter | 1,707 | bluejorts / @wolverineheight

Summary: Snow falls on Piltover. Viktor has not celebrated the holidays in years.

(see more recommendations below!)

Me and my ✨genius partner✨ | 1,029 | sb_essebi / @sb-essebi

Summary: Then, Jayce planted a firm, resounding kiss on his cheek. “I’ll go tell the professor what me and my genius partner have created!” With a wave and a wink, he left. As if nothing had happened. As if Viktor’s cheek weren’t burning still from the touch of his lips. As if he hadn’t left Viktor speechless with his whole face growing hotter and hotter by the second. As if Viktor’s right hand weren’t glued to the spot Jayce had kissed as though to keep that easy affection trapped against his skin.

name a star after you | 8,340 | goldenlanternss

Summary: “Have you been drinking?” Viktor asks, frowning. Jayce grins sloppily, “Ha. Yeah. Champagne. Birthday for some—“ He waves his hand, “You know. Topsider.” He pauses and Viktor feels a little rush of affection. “You’re a topsider Jayce.” “What?” He pouts, “Since when?”

must i kill them (to make them lie still?) | 8,503 | pidgewings (violentlypan)

Summary: “You are blooming,” says Viktor incredulously. “I thought I had something from the Undercity,” Jayce says, ragged. But no - blooming is the polite word for it, and he’s never heard of it outside of the gilded streets of Piltover. There’s a cure - an easy one - in Piltover. Cait had had it once, as a young teen, for a girl from House Ferros. She had taken three weeks of antibiotics the moment her cough had become bad and it had immediately subsided. Jayce could get to Piltover, but it’s been destroyed. “I’m going to die in this pit,” he rasps.

grapejuice blues | 10,375 | wobbeegong

Summary: Jayce has a realization on his way home from buying flowers for the lab.

Never Getting Back Together (jayvik’s version) | 22,694 | Miikado

Summary: Viktor doesn’t have a last name. Viktor doesn’t need a last name, but he still gets saddled with Jayce’s during an unfortunate misprint on some legal paperwork. Word spreads, and now Jayce and Viktor find themselves accidentally married in the eye of the public. But it doesn’t stop there. OR : Jayce and Viktor get accidentally married. And then subsequently accidentally divorced.

Men of Progress | 44,283 | Zairielon

Summary: On a frozen tundra, a mystical figure makes the decision to save Jayce's life. Thus begins a journey of destiny, the indomitable strength of the human soul, and love that transcends death, all bound together by the Arcane. The Mage gives Jayce and Viktor a chance to change their fate. And the two humans push back against the natural order of time. Maybe, just maybe... life is not set in stone.

faith, it drives me away (but it turns me on) | 2,660 | yellow813

Summary: Viktor’s followers celebrate the passage of time, the end of a year and the beginning of a new one, with dancing and muffled laughter. In Viktor’s tent, time stands still for Jayce.

the touching art of communication | 4,521 | Lorrens

Summary: Jayce touches Viktor all the time. Viktor carefully catalogues all the touches Jayce gives him.

inside the star shine | 4,581 | sepiacigarettes / @sepiacigarettes

Summary: Jayce's hand is hot and heavy as it folds over Viktor's spine, and Viktor can't explain why he immediately breaks into goosebumps when it squeezes there, firmly, like a claim. Can't explain why he tilts his head back, why a small wounded sound wants to escape from behind his lips. Oh. Oh no. Yes, Viktor will always crave things he cannot have, and by some cruel twist, the latest unattainable thing is Jayce.

The Altar of Your Body | 5,085 | tardigrape / @thetardigrape

Summary: Viktor hisses and whimpers, which Jayce does his level best to ignore—and not only because he’s pushing past a desire to let go every time he thinks he’s causing Viktor pain. The noises themselves raise goosebumps on Jayce’s arms, sounding almost like— No. Jayce won’t let himself think about that. That’s a terrible idea anytime he’s around Viktor, but especially when he has his leg on his lap, has his hands on him. Jayce gives Viktor a leg massage after a long day of walking. It does not go exactly the way he expects.

I found a different buzz | 5,121 | InAllPossibilities

Summary: He stands and walks slowly to the kitchen sink and stands there, still staring wide eyed at his hands. His stomach turns. But the nausea doesn’t hit, instead a warmth spreads from his gut and sends a shiver down his spine. Jayce raises his hands closer to his face to look at where the edges are drying a deep ruddy brown. Then the smell hits him: metallic and sharp, unmistakable. He swears he salivates. And he doesn’t know why, but without thinking, he lifts his right hand to his nose to inhale.

to unbecome | 5,403 | Sinister_Queer

Summary: It was an idea that Jayce had for a while now. The kind that he turned over in his head again and again, fiddling with the hinges and the bolts to see what was gunking up the ever-turning gears in his head. It was the kind of idea that haunted him at night, clinging to the shadows and flickering across the fibers in his mind. An idea and a question. Jayce practiced the asking part of it in the mirror, sometimes. Which, in a way, might have been stupid. Maybe Jayce was overthinking it. Maybe he was letting the question needle under his skin as it coiled around an idea and made the whole world seem, at once, different and risky. Jayce had an easier time asking Viktor to marry him.

an inch away | 5,417 | vavavavoom

Summary: Viktor has lots of things on his face— two eyes, a nose, a beauty mark on his cheek that Jayce sometimes thinks about licking— but probably, Jayce reasons, he should keep that to himself.

Throes Of Wonderment | 5,734 | navree / @navree

Summary: He even allows himself a moment to think that maybe his luck has turned around. That after the explosion at his place and all the sneers from the Council and the way any hope had seemed impossibly far away just a day ago, now things are looking up. Now he has a partner and they've solved the equations and they're going to get his equipment back and maybe it will actually all work out. Until he hears the sound of shoes, of someone walking towards them, and realizes that they're fucked. Viktor must realize it too, because he immediately grabs the key ring and shoves the whole thing into his pocket in an instant as Jayce fumbles to click the light off. He's already trying to come up with some sort of excuse, some kind of plan, when Viktor, swift as anything, surges to his feet, fists a hand in the collar of Jayce's shirt, and hauls him in to press their mouths together.

Blow up the outside world | 6,630 | MGCraig

Summary: Jayce’s unfamiliarity with all the things Viktor is into is a source of humor for Viktor in opposition to the neuroticism it riles in Jayce. Which is both sexy and frustrating in equal measure. He'd like Viktor to be flustered more often. Especially if Jayce is the one wielding the ropes.

is that better? | 6,900 | ducky (conscious_mess)

Summary: It's a bad pain day. Jayce takes care of Viktor (they have 6.9k words of ceaseless sex).

My Wicked | 6,925 | BringtheKaos

Summary: Despite the predicament, despite being well and truly powerless, a bolt of heat went down Jayce’s spine at the intimate nature of it—Viktor’s knees placed just inside his own and keeping his legs spread, the warmth and pressure of that hard metal body now looming over his back… so close and yet so far away. He couldn’t help the shiver, though he tried with all his might to stifle it, and soon thereafter he was riddled with goosebumps. His poor overworked heart kicked into high gear, his breaths coming quicker and quicker as the hand that had been clamped onto his neck now slowly traced down his spine.

Centrifuge. | 7,271 | Azurita25 / @madelynejpryor

Summary: “Hey… Is everything alright?” Jayce was by their side in a second. Even if he didn’t know them, this being so clearly was magic, in the flesh, and Jayce was nothing if not drawn to magic. “It– I promise, we just do research in here. Equations, experiments– But you can leave whenever you want to!” No, they can’t, they’re fucking stuck, Jayce. “I mean– If you don’t like the lab, you don’t have to– We’ll get you back. My partner and I… Well, my partner’s the one who really comes up with the clever ideas, but we hone them together, and I’m sure we can–” “Jayce.” On instinct, Jayce whipped around to the door, expecting Viktor to be there, standing behind him, watching one of his rambles with that practiced expression that, if Jayce let himself think on it too long, almost felt like fondness. But no one was there. “Jayce.”

Cause and Effect (and Revelation, Too) | 7,291 | heckflute

Summary: Following the successful implementation of the Hexgates, Jayce gets invited to a lot of parties full of people who want to tell him how great he is. He feels a little weird about it. Viktor helps him work out those feelings via tactile learning. Or something.

I've Been Trying to Make You Special | 8,035 | FourOddApples

Summary: The thing is…they're not dating. Frankly, Jayce doesn't know what they are. Or: Sometimes in the dark, late at night, boundaries blur. Sometimes two people exist in the in-between of all the things their relationship could be, with a lot left unsaid. Jayce and Viktor have been dancing around each other for a long time.

memories crumbling under solid steel resistance | 10,724 | giopared

Summary: Jayce hasn’t had much success in previous timelines. Cities left to ruin, thousands dead. Small mistakes — a needle’s drop or a simple miscommunication leaves Jayce scrambling onto the next. Then the next, and another. All for Viktor. When he stumbles upon a timeline not yet doomed — one in a distant past, where it's Viktor is alarmingly similar to his, Jayce crumbles under the weight of his gaze.

Expected Results | 12,073 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: Viktor has been enlisted to dog-and-apartment-sit for Professor Heimerdinger while the professor attends a conference. This would be a simple task, except that he and the professor's dog are mortal enemies. And the professor has an unbelievably attractive and friendly neighbour who seems to know all about him. And that Viktor's first encounter with him involves planting his face directly in said neighbour's chest.

when the war quiets down, strike up the band | 12,393 | phiresong

Summary: "Professor Talis!" A young man strides towards them, Academy-crest pin gleaming on his jacket. Jayce raises his hand in greeting, but the kid breezes right past him and stops a respectable distance from Viktor's chair. "I tried to sign up for your class this semester, but the waitlist was miles long--" Viktor and Jayce end up in a new world. In the middle of their honeymoon. There's a lot to figure out.

Carnal Desires | 14,415 | Stargirl (JanetBaby99)

Summary: Viktor’s eyes widen. “Those aren’t the flowers I asked you to get, they must have some sort of… effect.” Jayce looks like he’s hanging on his every word. Eventually he nods. “That makes sense.” Viktor nods too. “Tell me how you feel, Jayce.” “I feel like- I’ve never been so horny in my life. Viktor, I’ve wanted you for so long now, I need to feel you or I’ll die,” he pleads dramatically. “Well, I doubt you’ll die,” Viktor scoffs. Viktor asks Jayce to bring him back a plant for their research, but Jayce accidentally stumbles into a different kind of flower, and the pollen makes him horny out of his mind. Viktor helps him through it.

heavy crown | 20,886 | vavavavoom

Summary: Jayce’s wedding goes differently than he imagined.

Jayce and Viktor Make A Porno (For Science) | 22,703 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: In the absence of other avenues of funding, Viktor and Jayce decide to go down a... less traditional route to continue their hextech research. Strictly professional, of course. Viktor never needs to know Jayce is in love with him. Jayce never needs to know Viktor's in love with him. What could possibly go wrong?

stir the heart | 46,394 | weatheredlaw / @weatheredlaw

Summary: It is the talk of both Piltover and Zaun when Jayce Talis returns from Noxus without a wife. Viktor carries on as he always does. or: viktor has no intention of becoming fodder for local gossip, but he can't seem to stop making an enemy of jayce talis, and neither can stop running into one another, despite their fervent insistence they never speak again. a regency au.

Blog Info ☆ 2025 Reclists ☆ 2024 Reclists

[samazing0831]

A Letter Never Sent - Dean Winchester x Reader

Dean finds a letter you never meant for him to read - not yet, maybe not ever. But once your secret is out, there's no putting it back. Years of longing, fear, and love unravel in the quiet of a motel room, where emotions boil over and the truth refuses to stay buried. You thought you'd protected yourself by staying silent. Dean thought he protected you by doing the same. Turns out, all you were doing was hurting each other.

Dean Winchester x Reader

1.2k words

The battered envelope sat in Dean’s calloused hands, edges worn from months of being shoved into a duffel bag, tucked away in a journal, and hidden under motel pillows. It had survived hunts, close calls, and long, sleepless nights. But it had never been read. Not until now.

Dean swallowed hard, his thumb tracing over your handwriting on the front. He found it by accident - your bag knocked over in the rush of packing, spilling out loose papers and shotgun shells. He hadn’t meant to snoop. But the way his name was scrawled across the front? He couldn’t ignore it.

He wasn’t even sure if you meant for him to find it.

With a deep breath, he unfolded the letter, his heart pounding as his eyes scanned the words.

Dean,

If you’re reading this, either I’ve left, or I’m dead. I’m sorry that this never got to you while I was still here, but I don’t think I could have stayed after giving this to you…

I’ve been in love with you for years, Dean. And I can’t tell you exactly when or how I knew, but it’s been this way for a long, long time. I can’t tell you how many times I watched you bring some girl back to your hotel room, wishing it was me. Or how many times I watched you flirt with some girl at the bars, wishing I got a taste of what you wanted to give them.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but you have to know that I was doing what I thought was best. You wouldn’t have felt the same way, and Sammy would have tried to get in the middle, and it would have been a trainwreck. So, I sat in silence, torturing myself for years, just wanting you to notice me.

Please, move on from me. Whether it’s my absence or my death, I don’t want you hung up on me, or how I felt…

I love you.

Dean’s breath hitched as he read the last line. His fingers clenched around the paper, knuckles going white as the words sank in.

You loved him.

For years.

And you never said a damn thing.

A broken laugh escaped him, bitter and hollow. Of course, you thought he wouldn’t feel the same. Of course, you convinced yourself that leaving was the best choice. Because that’s what hunters did, right? They pushed away the people who mattered most before they had the chance to get hurt.

But you didn’t get it. You were already everything to him. You had been for years.

“Dammit,” he whispered, his voice raw.

A noise in the doorway snapped him out of his thoughts.

You stood there, holding a greasy burger bag and a six-pack of beer. You froze mid-step when you saw the letter in his hand.

“How did you get that?” you asked, a hint of panic in your voice.

Dean’s head snapped up, eyes wide with something he couldn’t quite name - anger, maybe heartbreak, certainly confusion.

“You left it,” he said, his voice rough. He held up the letter between two fingers, the paper now crinkled with tension. “Tucked in your duffel, like you wanted me to find it, but not soon enough to stop you.”

Your stomach dropped as you froze in place.

“I -” You didn’t know what to say. Your chest tightened as you saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his grip on the paper tightened like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

“You were just gonna leave, huh?” he asked, his voice low but steady, though there was an edge to it. “Or worse - this was some kind of goodbye before I even knew I lost you?”

“I wasn’t planning on leaving,” you admitted, guilt flooding you. “I just… had a feeling that one of our next hunts was going to go bad. I needed to get it off my chest. But we don’t have to talk about it.”

Dean let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “Yeah, well, kinda too late for that now, don’t you think?”

He crossed his arms, clearly trying to hold it together, though the tension was palpable.

“You really thought I wouldn’t have noticed?” he asked. “That I wouldn’t have seen the way you looked at me? The way you pulled away every time I got too close? Hell, Sam probably knew before I did.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Sammy knew?” you whispered.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “So what now? You tell me to forget it? Like this - like you - don’t mean a damn thing to me?”

Your throat went dry. “I get it, Dean,” you said, voice trembling. “I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought it was better for the both of us.”

Dean’s eyes darkened, his expression hardening. “You really think you were protecting me by running away? By keeping me in the dark?”

“I thought I was protecting myself too,” you whispered. “I’m not the girl you deserve, Dean. I’m not the pretty one, the feminine one. You deserve someone better than me.”

Dean’s eyes flared with frustration, and he stood up from the chair. “You really think I give a damn about pretty?” he said, voice rough. “I’ve been through hell and back, and you’re the one person who’s been right by my side, through everything.”

He closed the distance between you two, his voice softening as he stood close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from him. “You think I don’t feel the same way?” His voice cracked. “I didn’t tell you because I was afraid. I didn’t think I’d get to have this. But here you are, and you’re telling me it’s too late. You’re telling me you want to walk away.”

Your heart ached. “Dean, please don’t do this. I’m not enough for you.” Dean stepped in front of you, blocking your way. “No,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “You’re not going anywhere, (Y/N). Not if I have anything to say about it.”

You stood there, torn. The words were on the tip of your tongue, but the fight had drained out of you. “I can’t do this,” you whispered, eyes brimming with tears.

Dean looked at you, his hands running through his hair in frustration. “You really think I’m pretending? After everything we’ve been through? You think I don’t want this, want you?”

His hands gripped your arms gently, but it was enough to make you stop.

“Don’t walk away from me, (Y/N),” he whispered. “Don’t make me lose you.”

You met his gaze, taking in the desperation in his eyes. He wasn’t going to let you walk away again. He wanted this - wanted you.

“Dean, I didn’t leave,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I just needed to get it out… but I didn’t want to lose you. Not like this.”

Dean sighed, relief washing over his face as he took a step toward you. He reached for your hand, pulling you close. “So what do we do now?”

You bit your lip, but the answer was clear.

You took his hand, trusting him completely. “Just us.”

Dean’s face softened as he held you close, his arms wrapping around you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there were no more walls between you.

No more regrets.

Just you and him.

And whatever came next.