#i should just find other people to talk to. i hope this year will be the year i stop being shy and find people that accept me

[nuwildcat]

Okay, so hopefully you don't mind this, but this drawing absolutely refused to leave me alone since I've seen it and the writing gods demanded a sacrifice in it's honor.

~~~~~~

Jayce has only a basic understanding of undercity politics; even then, he knows this is a bad idea. 

He’s been coming down here for parts for over a year now. Which means he knows all the best places. Benzo’s is reliable. Good parts for a good price. [name]’s got interesting stuff, the issue is the quality is shit. It’s just as likely to break as it is to work. But there’s one place you only go if you’re really desperate. And Jayce is desperate. 

The Machine Herald’s. 

The name is odd, but from what Jayce has heard, if you need something unique, you’ll find it there. The issue is, what price will you pay for it? Because the owner is one of Silco’s. 

Even with his limited knowledge, Jayce knows you don’t fuck with Silco’s people. But again, he’s desperate.

If he can get this last part, he’ll finally have something to share that even Heimerdinger can’t dismiss for Progress Day. 

So he’s taking the risk — crossing the line you don’t cross as an outsider, and entering Zaun. 

Ever since the weird and antagonistic truce between Vander and Silco was struck, there’s been a divide in the lanes. On one side, Vander’s people. The other, the self-proclaimed Zaunites led by Silco. There’s literally a fucking line in the middle of the square demarcating whose land is whose. 

Jayce’s whole body tenses for an attack as soon as he’s stepped across it. Miraculously, his luck holds and nothing happens. 

Peering at the little map Ekko has drawn for him, Jayce frowns and turns left down an alley. 

Ekko had called him a crazy piltie with sludge for brains when he’d asked for directions to the Machine Herald’s, but Ekko is like twelve, so most of what he says is insults.  

The building is pretty nondescript. Jayce almost walks past it, but a cog mounted over the door catches his eye. It’s been welded into its shape by combining many other smaller items, wrenches, pipes, and what looks like a set of keys.

Jayce stares up at it over the open door, trying to pick apart everything in the cog.

“You look lost pretty boy.”

Jayce jumps, too focused on the art, he missed that a man appeared in the doorway. The stranger leans nonchalantly on the door jamb, shooting Jayce an almost mocking look as the pipe dangling from his fingers slowly lets off swirls of pinkish smoke.

He’s startlingly pretty.

The combination of half-skirt, corset, and unbuttoned shirt is clearly meant to draw the eye, and draw it does. Jayce scans the man, struggling to put his finger on what it is about the man that’s so striking.

A quirked brow reminds Jayce he’s yet to say anything.

“I—uh. I’m looking for a—a part?”

The man smirks, his face only getting more attractive, which is doing nothing for Jayce’s ability to string a sentence together.

“I should hope so,” the man replies. “Otherwise you’d need to head elsewhere.” There’s a unique accent to the man’s soft voice, slightly raspy from the smoking.

Jayce chuckles, and steps closer to the shop. “I’m Jayce,” he says, holding out his hand.

The man stares at him, eyes flicking down to his outstretched hand and back up to his face, amusement growing stronger.

“Viktor,” he says, passing the pipe to his other hand before shaking Jayce’s hand. “How can I help you, Jayce?”

Jayce takes a deep breath and dives right into explaining what he’s looking for. As he talks, the other man gives him a bewildered look before a glint enters his eyes, and Jayce can tell he has Viktor’s full attention.

What follows is a three-hour discussion about mechanics that robs Jayce of half his monthly stipend, but sends him home with no less than four different parts he hasn’t been able to find anywhere else.

Viktor sees him off, once again leaning casually in the doorway with a smirk firmly in place. He’s likely overcharged Jayce for everything, but Jayce is so pleased he doesn’t even mind.

“Make sure to hurry back, pretty boy,” Viktor calls to him as Jayce walks away.

Looking back, Jayce shakes his head at the other man and shoots him a wink. He’s whistling as he makes his way back out of Zaun and the lanes. Today, was a very good day.

_______________

Jayce goes back. 

It’s dumb. So very, very dumb, but he does it anyway. They’d talked for hours that first time, Viktor able to not only understand his designs but to make them better. 

Not even Heimerdinger’s done that. 

It doesn’t hurt that Viktor is one of the most beautiful people Jayce has ever seen. And he’s dated Mel Medarda. He knows beautiful. 

There’s something special about Viktor. Fragility paired with a cocky confidence that makes warmth spark to life in Jayce’s belly when he sees the other man. 

It’s all rather new for Jayce. He’s feeling out of his depth. Especially with the way that Viktor has draped himself over Jayce after shoving him unceremoniously on the couch. Legs tossed over Jayce’s, Viktor is sprawled back on the arm, ever-present pipe dangling from his fingers. 

“What’s that for?” Jayce asks before he’s thought the question through. 

Viktor pauses, holding in the hit he’s just taken before letting it spill from his lips, pink-tinted and smoky. 

“It helps with the pain.”

Jayce eyes drift to the brace partially hidden by Viktor’s skirt. He’s only been able to catch glimpses and his curiosity is gnawing at him to see more. 

Viktor stretches, knocking the skirt to the side and putting the brace and himself on display. 

“See something you like, topsider?”

Jayce ignores the taunt, peering closer at the brace. “Did you make this?”

Viktor loses some of his bravado in the face of Jayce’s admiration. 

“I did.”

It’s a gorgeous piece of engineering, and the forge master in Jayce wants a better look. 

“May I?” He asks, fingers hovering over Viktor’s leg. 

This time there’s no false bravado. Viktor nods and watches him like a hawk. 

Gently, Jayce lifts the leg, turning it a bit to see how the various parts of the brace move. Viktor doesn’t fight him, relaxed and loose in his grasp. The brace is a seamless creation. Jayce is highly impressed, so he says so. 

“It’s beautiful.”

Viktor lets out a noise that makes Jayce turn from the brace despite how much he wants to study it. A Cheshire grin has spread on the other man’s face, and there’s a glint in his eyes that speaks of danger. 

“Jayce Talis. Are you flirting with me?”

Jayce freezes, not sure he could cobble together a response even if he could get his tongue working with Viktor looking at him like that. 

One moment Viktor’s sprawled like a satisfied house cat, the next he’s straddling Jayce, arms draped over Jayce’s shoulders. 

“You like?” he purrs. 

Jayce’s brain has stopped working. He’s pretty sure for a second there be blacked out, because now his hands are holding Viktor’s waist, gripping the corset that must act as a second brace. 

Oh fuck. Jayce stares, unable to get what he’s seeing to make sense. His hands—his hands almost span Viktor’s tiny waist. 

For a moment, there’s just static in his brain and then something clicks. His brain lights up, and he squeezes. 

“Oh fuck,” he murmurs. Still staring. 

Viktor chuckles breathily, his finger threading through Jayce’s hair and then pulling, yanking Jayce’s head back. Jayce grunts, tingles racing down his spine as heat pools in his belly.

“Careful pretty boy,” Viktor whispers, leaning down so that Jayce’s eyes cross as he tries to watch Viktor’s lips. “You’re playing with fire.”

Jayce is pretty sure he’d like to be burned.

“You look like you don’t have a clue what to do,” Viktor murmurs, lashes dipping prettily.

“I mean, technically?” Jayce blurts out. Viktor pulls back, looking down at him confused. Jayce shrugs. “Inexperienced? No. This particular situation? Also no.”

Viktor cocks his head in confusion, eyeing Jayce like he’s a specimen Viktor means to study. Again that wicked smile spreads and Jayce’s heart thumps in excitement.

Leaning down so his breath ghosts over Jayce’s lips, Viktor says, “Whoever let you wander down here should have known better.”

Jayce’s mouth drops open, anticipation and want bubbling up inside him. Just a little closer.

“Piltover’s loss,” Viktor whispers. Then he kisses Jayce.

Zaun vik and Jayce

[yourtypicalhuman09]

Same anon who gave the 5 ideas here.

I'm so happy you loved my ideas I'm so happy!🥹 (I feel a bit anxious about asking, I'm not good at social media cues so I normally just read in silence)

I do have some more ideas that I didn't want to put so my post will not be too long. And I want to share them with you.

1. (I don't know if I gave that one yet or not) Reader and their friend (s) being game development studio. it'll also make sense because Reader knows how to code and hack and because they know psychology, that will help them develop great characters and storylines that will touch people hearts in both good and bad ways.

2. If the Reader ended up teaching their friend to code and hack (especially hack) that will show a great deal of trust in them because in reality hackers don't trust each other and it's hard to make a hacker teach you hacking.

3. (Connected to 1) The first game reader and their studio made was bad (but the idea of it was good) because they were just training and trying and decided to let the world see it and judge, criticize, give advice. They even asked for advice on how to make games in the first place and it ended up with some cyberbullying, but more people given a lot of advice, from other game developers, authors, artists, and every random stranger on the internet you can find, Some were from the Batfam. The studio listened and made the game great in the end, making it one of the most downloaded games. And one of the biggest reasons is the fact that people love having a part in making something, it makes them feel connected to that thing. (Maybe that was the reader's idea using the knowledgeable psychology.) imagine the reader seeing Tim praising their game to one of the bat siblings not knowing that one of its makers are living with him. Imagine when he finds out.

4. When Alfred notes that reader doesn't seem to be chasing the families approval anymore and seems to find their peace of mind and healing he feels happy for them, because them being happy makes his job easier and he still cares about them somehow (even when they are at the bottom of his list of priorities).

5. I don't know if the reader will move out or not but imagine if the family of the friend help them move out, get a job if they don't have one? move to college?

6. Imagine the Batfam finding out that the reader spends every holiday and occasion one should spend with their family with the family of their friend for years apon years. Imagine them breaking into the house of the family of the friend and finding so many family pictures with Reader in them were either seem to fit in perfectly like this is the true family. Finding they almost have no picks with Reader, and even the only family photo reader was in with the Batfam, the reader is there at the corner, with some space between them and the batfam.

7. About the funeral of the father friend of the reader. Imagine the reader talking about the father stepping in the shoes their own father refused to step in. How he did teach them every single thing a father is supposed to teach his child, and more. And how even though this man is not their father by blood he is their father in every other way and no one can replace his place in their heart.

Thank you for reading I hope it's not that long

And can I be known as "anon 🌞"?

Ahhhh 🌞anon tysm for sharing more of your brilliant ideas! Like i said i love hearing from my readers whether its good or bad things because i know i can always improve and add onto my original idea and Jesus you don’t disappoint. thank you for another set of amazing ideas! Honestly don't be afraid to send in any kind of ask (though i do know its easer said than done😅).

This totally makes sense and its a really good idea! I'd love to include this in my story but if it doesn't fit i can always write another fic later with this plotline.

This is really smart i never thought of it that way. You're so clever!

This is very detailed, I've said this to 🍰anon but you should definitely consider writing this! I'd love to write my version of your concept but you know the concept better than me and I'd totally read your idea! If you still want I can still write it for you after i finish my main fic!

This is a good perspective on reader and Alfred's relationship but I already have something in mind. thank you for sharing though!

Wow are you a mind reader or am i just that predictable😅. I was actually planning on doing this so good on you for figuring it out!

OMG as always you have such good angst ideas! I love the idea of the Batfam being jealous of friend's family.😂

Ahhh you did it again! I absolutely love this idea! Again if you don't mind I'll probably use it.

Don't you worry about the length of your asks I love your ideas! Feel free to ask anything 🌞anon have a good day/night!

[tgmsunmontue]

White Hot - 2/? - Hangster

A TGM AU - Blacksmith + Metal-artist Jake and History Teacher Bradley.

ONE

                Jake is used to people coming and going through the forge. There’s a viewing platform large enough for about sixty people and a whole sound system set up so they can talk about what he’s doing while he’s working. It’s a few hours before any scheduled display though, and the forge is quiet considering how noisy it can get, and he hears someone mumble something and it has him looking up to find a guy watching him intently and he smiles in welcome and puts down his tools.

    ��           He’s only making horseshoes for the local farrier and the souvenir shop. While he can shoe horses, he prefers far more artistic pursuits. However shoeing horses is what opened the doors. The farrier visiting his parents ranch showing him how to do it, and then taking Jake with him one weekend to show him how to make the horseshoes. He’d found it fascinating. Has always found fire fascinating and now he gets to work and play with it as much as he wants. Right now though he has to go and make nice with a visitor.

                “Hi. Can I help you?”

                “Uh. No. Just… thinking of coming back with my kids. Uh. Students. I don’t have kids.”

                Jake nods slowly, wonders what this guy’s problem is and looks behind him, wondering if something has caught on fire but then it clicks. The guy is flustered because of Jake and that has him turning back and doing a second sweep with his eyes, the long legs covered in denim, the long sleeved button-down but with the sleeves rolled up because while it’s winter, it’s still Texas and they’re also in a blacksmith forge and Jake is only wearing his own jeans and a tank, but he’s got a thick leather apron to protect him, along with the gloves, which he slowly pulls off and he doesn’t miss the way the guys eyes track the movement.

                “Name’s Jake Sersin,” Jake says, holding his hand out. “What age do you teach?”

                “High school. History,” the guy provides and he shakes Jake’s hand.

                “Cool. You scoping it out to bring them to the village?”

                “Yeah. One of the other teachers recommended it actually, seeing as I’m new to the area. I’m just a little worried that most of the kids will have been here before, what I can get them to consider…”

                Jake thinks he’d have likely enjoyed History a damn sight more if his teacher had looked like this, because Mrs Watson was probably a lovely person, but she should have also probably retired ten years before Jake started high school.

                “What high school?”

                “Johnson High?”

                “No shit? Really? My old school… my history teacher was Mrs Watson.”

                “Yeah, she retired. I’m her replacement.”

                “Like… recently?”

                “Yeah. I’ve only been here since August.”

                “Holy shit, I thought she was old when I was there…” Jake muses and the hot history teacher is looking amused. “Well, anyway, welcome to Texas I guess…”

                “Thanks. I’ll let you go back to your, uh, work…”

                Then he’s kind of fumbling an awkward step backwards, not that there is anything to trip on, waving a hand in an awkward half-wave and he’s gone before Jake can say wait, or ask him out, so he just has to hope he’ll be back. And if Jake has to ask him out in front of an entire class of high schoolers, then so be it.

[clarisse0o]

The Mayor - Chapter 4

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect

Words: 1000

Masterlist

———————————————————————

"And then, she hits me with a 'I hope I didn’t throw you off!' Can you believe it? She’s a woman who wants to control everything and enjoys provoking people—provoking  me  specifically!"

“Well, this sounds promising,” Alessia teased. “I didn’t think she was like that; she seemed nice at the kids' Christmas party at the hospital.”

“Oh yeah, the Dragon has two faces! They’re the worst kind. She’s a real actress.”

Sitting in Alessia’s living room, we’d just finished a platter of sushi. She was laughing. Alessia, with her Italian roots, had long blond hair and bright eyes. Her laughter and infectious joy made her even more beautiful.

“The Dragon isn’t so bad to look at; you can always admire her if it helps,” she replied with a playful smile.

“Sure, with that personality, I almost didn’t notice her at all,” I replied, with a hint of bad faith.

I leaned in and pressed my lips against hers. Our tongues met in a lively dance as my hands moved along her back and then under her shirt to touch her soft, warm skin. She suddenly pulled away from my embrace.

“Is something wrong?”

“No… it’s just… we talked about this, how we should stop if we want to move on.”

She said it in a weary voice, and I frowned.

“Did you meet someone?”

“No, it’s not that. But how can we move on if we keep ending up in bed every few days?”

We’d been apart for almost a year now, without drama but with a lot of sadness. She was in a surgical program that would take her to Canada in a year, and her schedule was relentless. And with my own demanding schedule, our lives had gradually drifted apart. After yet another breakup and the usual reproaches, we’d separated. We hadn’t been in touch for months until I reached out a few weeks ago. Her scent, her voice, her laughter—I’d missed it all. And, of course, we ended up in each other’s arms, which maybe wasn’t the best idea. Since then, although neither of us considered getting back together, rarely a week went by without us finding ourselves together again.

Her comment stung. Sarcastically, I replied, “Excuse me, but the sushi and candle setup made me think this was going somewhere else tonight.”

“Come on, don’t take it that way. It’s complicated; I want to see you too. But where are we going with this? The first one of us who meets someone just leaves? Since we’re not getting back together, right?”

She threw this at me, challenging me with her deep brown eyes, almost black.

“Are you planning to work fewer than 150 hours a week? And not going to Canada?”

I’d hit a sore spot—Canada, the real cause of our breakup. She’d accepted the program without consulting me, and I’d felt left out of her life as she forged her own path without me.

“Do we really have to talk about this again? You know my workload will be much lighter in a year, and you could have come to Canada!”

“Oh sure, like I was so well included in your great plans! I’d just bought my firm, and then you announced all this! So no, let’s not talk about it. Anyway, after today, I’m done here. I’m leaving.”

I grabbed my coat and headed toward the door. She followed me immediately, grabbing my arm, pushing me against the wall, taking my face in her hands, and leaning in close to my ear.

“Stay. It’s too hard. I need you.”

Her words electrified my entire body. I let my coat drop and kissed her passionately. Our tongues joined in a fierce rhythm as I leaned against the wall, breathless. Alessia unbuttoned my blouse, letting it fall immediately. She began to kiss my neck, moving slowly down to my breasts, which she caressed gently. Her tongue circled my hardened nipples, aroused by the waves of desire flooding through my body. Her hand wandered along my thigh, moving dangerously close to my lower belly. She unbuttoned my jeans, slipping them down; I was at her mercy now, in only my black thong, standing before her. As she continued to tease my nipples, her hand gently stroked me through my underwear. She began applying pressure to my clit, making me moan even louder. She then moved lower with her mouth. I decided to shed the last barrier between us. She started kissing my intimate area, licking my lips while lightly touching my clit. She knew me by heart—my body, how to make me feel pleasure. Feeling my excitement, she slid one finger, then two, inside me, moving them faster and faster, while never stopping her tantalizing strokes with her tongue. The pleasure built within me like a sudden fire. My moans grew louder, my hands in her hair. I moved my body to feel her tongue, her fingers,  her , even more deeply within me. I finally climaxed, shuddering with pleasure. She slowly moved back up, covering my body with kisses until she reached my lips and gently bit them. I felt so vulnerable, naked in front of her while she was still fully dressed. I smiled.

“What are you smiling about, miss?” she asked, with a mischievous grin.

“I think I’m standing naked in a hallway in front of a fully clothed person; we might need to remedy this. Would you happen to have a bedroom?”

We laughed heartily. I took her hand and led her to her bedroom—our former bedroom—ready to put her through the same wonderful torment.

[donaviolet]

Friendship is the most special thing in the world because no award could be give me bigger happiness than jumping around in my room and smiling because my pookie asked me if I wanted to match pfps

[honeybard]

adhd advice will be like people with adhd struggle to get their thoughts organised. also to get diagnosed you need to get your thoughts on why you have adhd organised in advance in order to convince the doctor you have it

[iwakuraz]

whats the point in life if everybody stops liking me the moment I start feeling even just a bit sad

[the-knife-consumer]

Forgot just how upsetting gloomed korok forest is

[divinediva]

I’ve wasted so much time trying to be good…but it’s nice to remember you don’t have to be good to be loved.

[kavehayati]

Well now I just feel used ? 🧍‍♀️

[falesten-iw]

On this day last year, my family faced a choice no one should ever have to make: stay in their home in Gaza and risk death or flee south, clinging to the slim hope of finding safety. Spoiler alert: there was no “right” answer. In Gaza, there never is. Families like mine would run from areas labeled dangerous, only to be bombed in so-called ‘humanitarian’ zones. Because in Gaza, no place is truly safe.

Each time they evacuated, they had the same gut-wrenching, desperate conversations on repeat: “Should we stay or go? Where would we even go? Do we send the women and children first, or do we all stick together?” Imagine trying to make life-and-death decisions with bombs falling around you.

One evening, a family friend offered them shelter, hoping the madness would calm down in a few days. My brothers agreed to move everyone there the next morning. But the bombs beat them to it. Just hours after that phone call, Israeli airstrikes hit our friend’s house. Thirty-five people, including children, gone. They never got a chance to move, and instead, they grieved for the lives lost.

They ran to Khan Younis, only for tragedy to follow. In November 2023, Israeli bombs hit my cousin’s house. I lost three cousins, their wives, and their children. It was chaos. Pieces of people scattered everywhere. A small child’s body lay unrecognizable until my cousin realized it was her son, Odi. His head was almost gone, but she knew him. She knew him by the shape of his teeth, his little toes. That’s the kind of loss no mother should ever face.

Since then, my family has moved over 50 times, haunted by the same questions: Where can they go next? How can they afford to survive another evacuation? Will they even manage to set up another flimsy tent?

And speaking of tents, imagine trying to live in one with your children. Picture makeshift cesspits serving as toilets, which fill up in a few weeks, forcing them to dig another. Comfort? Safety? Those words mean nothing. How do you sleep at night when your ‘home’ is a tent and your bathroom is a hole in the ground?

Talking about my family and Gaza breaks me, yet it also brings me a strange comfort. I refuse to let their stories fade. Their memories are beacons in the darkness, bittersweet reminders of joy and sorrow.

My family needs urgent help to survive this ongoing nightmare. Please, donate if you can. Share our story with your friends and family. Help us keep fighting, keep surviving.

Vetted and shared by @90-ghost: Link.

Verified and shared by @el-shab-hussein: Link

Listed as number 282 in "The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet" compiled by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi : Link

Listed on the Butterfly Effect Project, number 957: Link

Additionally, Al Jazeera News has documented apart of my family's case: Link

If, for some reason, you couldn't donate via GoFundMe, you can donate via PayPal instead.

Note: There’s even a raffle for a handmade Palestinian thob if you want to participate : Link

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[nezuscribe]

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: you find yourself in a marriage that you never wanted in the first place. your husband seems to hate you and you begin to wonder if anything you used to think of him was even true. who would have though a marriage to gojo satoru would be so difficult?

warnings: 18+ mdni, arranged marriage, misunderstandings and just not talking shit out, mentions of cheating, slight angst (with comfort), eating out (fem! receiving), fingering, gojo doesn't really know how to husband for some of it

word count: 10.9K (whoops)

note: part two is up! i really had a lot of fun writing this so reblogs and comments are always appreciated! as always, thank you to @jadeisthirsting for beta reading <3

jjk masterlist

never did you think that you’d be stuck in a marriage to a man who didn’t love you, but there’s a first for everything. 

you should count yourself lucky that he’s not old and bald. he’s pretty. in fact, he’s the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. his eyes are the bluest, bluer than the sky. his hair mirrors the winter snows, and his back ripples with muscles whenever he fights. 

his agility is unlike any other man. he fights swiftly and cleanly, never taking more than a couple minutes to get rid of whatever it was that stood in his way. he’s charming with his words (or so you’ve heard), and he knows how to make somebody swoon if he really wants them to. 

and he seems to despise you.

you had known gojo since you were a child, the two of you running around each other's fields as you chased him with your wooden sword. you remembered watching him in training, wishing him good luck whenever he went on a hunt. you could even remember how he would stutter whenever he tried to talk, something he must have worked on because he never seemed to stutter anymore. 

he was always nice to you, his cheeks rosy whenever you kissed him goodbye. he was kind back then, grinning brightly whenever he saw you. 

but as time grew and you with it, and it was only a matter of years before the two of you went your separate ways. it didn’t help that once he turned thirteen he had to leave for training and fighting in whatever it was that was needed of him, but you had hoped that he would be able to write back. 

you would send him letters whenever you could, it was tradition whenever the two of you were separated for too long to do so. each letter telling him about new experiences and embarrassing things that happened in your life, but he never responded. you liked to send one every week, sometimes including little tokens you thought he might enjoy. but you stopped sending them after the first two years and stopped asking about his whereabouts after three. 

but you were hopeful that when you saw him that night so many months ago, he’d be civil with you. you were nervous, sure, but who could blame you? you had recently gotten news that his time to serve his clan was over and that he was finally back home. it wasn’t as though the two of you had left on bad graces, so you were hopeful that he would at least remember you. but he could barely meet your eyes whenever you tried to catch him from across the room, acting as if you had never existed. 

he looked so different since the last time you had seen him. he was taller than most of the people in the room, his white hair just as bright as it used to be. he had gained muscle mass almost everywhere, and you felt yourself wondering just how much training he had to go through to look this way. you could see him talking to a girl, a smile on his face as he tilted his head to look at her better. you gave him some time to socialize, not wanting to intrude on anything. 

after an hour you decided that it was long enough, and tried to weave your way through the crowd to get to him. you had tried to call out to him, waving to him despite your mother quickly shoving your hand down, saying how improper it was. he heard you and you knew that he was purposely ignoring you, so you began to feel heavy-hearted after a couple of attempts at trying to catch his attention, eventually giving up. 

and now, despite you wanting to, you can’t even blame him for hating you. 

ever since your mother caught you, alone with him, a man you hadn’t seen in so long, she had swiftly and promptly proposed the idea of marriage only a few days later. it was really to save face for the two families, but it helped that this marriage would unify the two clans. 

you were sure he had ladies lined up to marry him, and you weren’t somebody he was actively trying to pursue. you didn’t even know if he was in love with somebody else if he shared a connection with a girl who was surely not you and cursed you for taking that away from him. 

not that it mattered now. 

all you wanted was to reconcile, to catch up on all the things happening in your lives. you wanted to hear all the stories he must have racked up over the years, not for this to happen. all the things he wanted for himself were ripped away because of one night from one simple act of kindness, and so you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate him for the way he acted.

you rarely come down for dinner whenever he’s there, but when you do, you feel those eyes turn icy, tracking your every movement till you sit down opposite of him. he doesn’t say much, just mutters a quiet “good evening” and you’re sure he’s only doing it so the maids don’t start to gossip. 

whenever your hand brushes his you feel him snap back, flexing his hand as though your touch burned him. he rarely came by to ask you about how you felt, and so you stopped trying to act kindly towards him if he didn’t want anything to do with it.

any semblance of romance you had dreamed of as a young girl quickly dissipated when you realized your husband wanted nothing to do with you, so you didn’t try to pursue any sort of love, deciding it’d be easier if he just did his part and you did yours so the two clans wouldn’t worry. 

he was always gone, which might be the best for the two of you. when he’s not training new men then he’s gone in a hunt. if he’s not in a hunt then he’s somewhere in his endless home, hiding away. 

you don’t know if he does this for him, for your sake, or for everybody else. 

“did you see your husband this morning?” one of your maids said excitedly as she tugged the undergarments over your raised arm, a gleeful smile on her face as she rambled about something gojo had done. you couldn’t help but return a smile of your own, although it didn’t quite meet your eyes. 

“yes, briefly. he’s busy with having to worry about the feast,” which wasn’t a total lie. you’d seen him hurriedly brush past you, quickly glancing at you as if he had forgotten you were his wife. you felt your chest tighten up with the way he glanced at your hand, and then quickly left. 

it was only a few nights away and you knew that it was the only buzz of news anybody seemed to talk about. unfortunately, for you, it meant having to socialize with other clans. you were fine with that aspect, you’d been doing it since you were young, but this time they had a right to be nosey. you knew there would be endless questions asked about the honeymoon stage of your marriage, to which you had no answer. 

sure, you’d been making up answers to hypothetical questions, but you didn’t know what gojo would be answering with, so you were only praying some of your responses would line up. 

for a night the two of you would have to pretend to be husband and wife, and while the people around you knew you were anything, you knew you had to commit to the role for the sake of you and your family’s dignity. 

but all this worrying isn’t good for your head, you could already feel the pang as you squeezed your eyes to try and get rid of it. you tried to move on from your worries, going to comment on her necklace, it seemed new, but a knock interrupted you. the two of your heads popped up, looking at where the sound came from. 

“come in!” you called out, buttoning up the last bits of your top as you thanked myra. she nodded, bowing as she went to open the door. you could hear her faint footsteps, not bothering to look up as she greeted the person behind. you guessed it was franchesca coming with the fabric samples. 

“sir,” you heard myra say, and your head swirled around, only to see the topic of your conversation make his way into your room, excusing your maid with a swift motion of his hand. she glanced once at you and then to him, ducking her head as she left, closing the door behind her as she left you two alone. 

you felt heat prickle at the back of your neck as he looked at you and then to your room. the two of you slept separately, as per your request the first night. you couldn’t bear the agonizing silence between the two of you, and he obliged. 

he was dressed for sparring. he had a loose-fitting tunic on, and pants that would allow him to move freely and without constraint. it was in moments like these that you were reminded of the fact that gojo was the strongest warrior that any of the clans had seen, that the child who once splurged on sugar in his tea was capable (and has done so before) of taking down entire armies. 

he had matured so much since what you last remembered from him. he no longer acted rashly nor spoke without thinking about what it was he wanted to say. but you still saw him eating sweets with the same fervor he did as a kid, and it never failed to make you smile, hiding it behind your hand so nobody could hear your quiet giggle. 

it had been a while since it was just the two of you, alone, and all you could think about was that night. your cheeks heated up just thinking about it, and it seemed that gojo could tell your discomfort with the way he cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair as he began to speak. 

“good morning,” he started, his eyes darting around, never setting on yours. it was funny if it didn’t cause your heart to hurt irrevocably, at how the strongest warrior in all the land could barely look at his wife. 

if only you knew.

“good morning.” you offered him a quick, disingenuous smile, moving around until you found your vanity, rummaging through your laid-out earrings as you kept your back to him, not trusting your face to give you away if you were to look at him for too long. 

you heard him take in an audible breath, but he continued whatever it was he wanted to say. 

“with the feast coming up, i want to clear some things with you,” you turned around, looping the earrings in as you nodded for him to continue. it was such a shame he was so stunning, effortlessly attractive as the sun caught off his cheekbones, bouncing off of his chest. he rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, and you wondered if being here was just as painfully awkward for him as it was for you. 

“we should act like we’re…” he trailed off and you felt yourself itching to leave, knowing what he meant without having to say it. 

“in love?” you finished and he slowly nodded, gnawing on his lip as you brushed past him, going to find the mirror so you could adjust your jewelry. you could see him fidgeting in the corner, and for once you could see a hint of nervousness and unease on his features. 

and a part of you hurt. you would never admit out loud that you harbored a crush on him for as long as you could remember. it hurt knowing that you acting like you were in love was perhaps the lost genuine form of love you could show. 

“what if they ask about the night we met?” you ask after a couple of seconds, looking up from what you were doing. deep down, you knew somebody was bound to ask. even if it was just your mother who had caught the two of you alone in that garden, the news of it somehow spread (she was always one to talk). 

he scratches his head, shrugging as he eventually settles on an idea.

“just tell them the truth.” 

the truth. 

tell them how he followed you after you had run outside, sick to your stomach after a man, who was as old as your father, had introduced himself as a possible suitor. how gojo, the most ruthless warrior in all the land, had carefully put his hands on your back as you retched, offering you a towel he had fetched from inside to clean yourself up. 

tell them how you hadn’t seen him in years but the first thing you had done was to hug him tightly. how his hands wrapped around your back as though they were the only things keeping you afloat. perhaps they were. 

tell them how he murmured words in your hair to bring you back to reality, his thumb running up and down your arms to calm you down. how it seemed like even though it had been years since you two last saw each other, it felt so right, so normal, to be back in his arms. 

tell them how he had looked at you with such worry, such care, unlike anybody else had looked at you, and you for once felt safe in somebody’s arms. 

tell them how your mother found you two in such a compromising position, with your head nestled in his chest as he tried his very best to soothe your cries. it was humiliating and embarrassing to be caught with a man you had only seen back in your teenage years, and especially so in such a vulnerable position. 

you shake your head, scoffing at the idea, “i’ll just come up with something,” was your answer and he nods along, realizing how the story would be too private to share with people you barely knew.

“and we need a reason for why,” he cleared his throat once again, pink dusting on his cheeks as his eyes dropped to your stomach. your eyes met his in the mirror, and one of your eyebrows raised, “well, you’re not exactly looking like you’re carrying a child at the moment.” 

you quickly looked away, the tension in the room increasing as you moved away from the mirror, doing anything you could to keep your hands occupied. you flushed at the comment, your throat drying up as you glanced at your stomach.

the two of you have barely touched, much less been intimate with each other. you were glad he hadn’t forced the idea onto you, instead, leaving it to you to bring up the topic. you only talked about it, once, the night of the marriage, and then never again. you knew that it would have to happen eventually, but you couldn’t do it right now, not with your state of mind. 

you scrambled to say something. in all honesty, you had been dreading this question. you hadn’t been answering any of the letters your mother sent, and you knew people were expecting to hear the news of a pregnancy. 

“we’ll just say we’ve been so busy and preoccupied with the politics of marriage that we couldn’t… consummate.” you offered and he just shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as if this was the biggest inconvenience to him. 

you knew that this marriage was brought upon quickly and before either of you could object to it, but at least you tried to hide it away. if only he hadn’t acted so rashly that night, his hands on your shoulders, eyes bewildered as they racked over your figure. if only he had been more careful, or you were smarter in picking some place to be more concealed, you wouldn’t be put in this position. 

but neither of you was thinking ahead, and here you were. but he was certainly making sure that you knew of his contempt for this arrangement far more than you were. it was irritating, it scratched at your skin and ate away at your mind the more you saw each other.

“look,” he couldn’t take his eyes off of you, off of the way you were fiddling with the ring he had delicately placed on your hand so many weeks ago, “i can come up with whatever they ask, so just try your best to do the same.” you say, your voice tinged with anger, the ring on your finger acting as an anchor to the depths of the sea with the way it weighed down your movements, feeling your chest swell as he stayed silent, watching you as you opened the door. 

“i don’t-”

“um, i won’t be joining you for dinner, so don’t wait on me…i apologize, i need to work on some things for the feast…have a good day.” you swiftly murmured, shutting him in your own room as you left, your heart thumping erratically in your chest as you almost ran down the hallway. 

you had no idea how you were going to persuade the masses that this marriage was working if you couldn’t even persuade yourself. 

---

the feast of clans came earlier than you expected. 

you found yourself perched at the end of the table, gojo next to you, your stiff bodies mirroring each other as the people around you joyously helped themselves to the vast variety of food offered. 

you could barely touch the meal in front of you, your stomach churning uncomfortably with the sheer number of people that surrounded you. back home, you hated these feasts, opting to leave after a couple of bites and finish the rest of what you could pocket in your room, but here, as the clan leader's wife, you had no such luxury. 

“are you not hungry?” you looked to your side, gojo staring at your plate and then to you, his eyes squinting as he tried to decipher what you were feeling.

“i can’t eat,” you murmured, playing with your utensils as you swallowed thickly, “i don’t do well in large crowds.” 

he nodded once, looking out into the sea of bodies as he inched a little bit closer to you. he was donned in expensive fabrics, although his hair still messily fell all over. the candle that was lit in front of you had different hues of oranges and reds bouncing off of his pale skin, and if you didn’t know any better, the blush on his nose and cheeks could have been from the frigid winds from outside. 

“i’ll have myra save you a plate,” he said, giving you a curt smile as he went back to eating. 

you were momentarily taken aback by his comment, but tried not to show it, going back to fidgeting with your ring as you looked at the sea of people. nobody had thankfully come up to you and bombarded you with questions, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t going to eventually happen. 

“thank you,” you say, glancing at him and then back to your plate. 

“anything for my wife,” he replies. it’s only for show, you remind yourself, after all, when was the last time he referred to you as such? 

“gojo,” an old man had walked up to your table, his face lined with wrinkles and a beard, dressed in orange as he offered gojo his hand to shake, “i’m glad to see that you finally settled down.”

gojo blushed deeply, trying to offer him a smile as he motioned to you. 

“it’s hard to resist marriage when such a woman offers it.” he says, and you feel your eyes widen as you try to laugh off his statement. 

“yes,” the old man chuckles, eyeing the two of you. he looked familiar, and you were sure you had seen him around these sorts of gatherings before, “it was only a matter of time before it happened. we all knew just how much you liked her back when you were children.”

the two of you sputtered on your coughs, and you felt a little smile grow on your face as gojo did what he could to usher the man away. 

you could tell with the way he shifted uncomfortably in his seat that gojo wasn’t expecting that, and before you could realize what you were doing you found yourself talking. 

“i’m not a fan of feasts.” you quickly said, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them. it’s not like you felt you owed him an explanation, but you said it regardless. 

gojo looked up from his plate, grabbing his cup so he could wash down his bite. 

“any feast?” he asked, and you could feel the way the air shifted. he was glad you brought up a different topic. 

“one’s as big as this,” you twisted your ring back and forth on your finger subconsciously, “i get nervous in big crowds.”

“i remember,” a small smile grew on his face as he thought back to when the two of you were children, “you would hide under the tables and force me to come with you.” 

you chuckled, blood rushing to your ears at the fact that he remembered this about you. it was the bare minimum of what you remembered from him, but you had convinced yourself that he had washed every memory of your last selves from his mind. 

a rush of distant memories came to your head; nights spent under the tables, laughing as you two tried to keep your voices down as you tried to dodge the feet. you could still hear his whispers of staying quiet, trying to sneak out so he could smuggle in some pastries for you to eat.

“the adults scared me; they were always loud and insistent on asking personal questions.”

“like they are now?” he replied back, a tilt in his voice as you nodded feverishly. 

“yes!” you covered your mouth with your hand as you let out a laugh, a genuine one as you tried to look as put together as you could, “i swear, it’s even worse than when we were young. just the other day a wet nurse came to me and told me the best positions to get into when giving birth!” it really was a mortifying moment, your eyes darting all around as the old lady even took it upon herself to demonstrate the movements, but gojo didn’t seem to mind, laughing along with you. his eyes twinkled as they took in your giggly state, years since he had last seen you like this. 

“i feel like i should apologize,” he starts, having to cover his own infectious smile as he ducks down his head in shame, “i had her sent up to your chambers.”

your mouth dropped open in shock, lightly smacking his arm as he grinned at the look on your face.

“to mortify me so that i would never leave?” your thumb moves your ring back and forth and gojo watches you as you do it. 

“you seemed sick at breakfast, but i guess she thought it was a different sort of sickness.” gojo tells you as he cuts off some of his meat, not knowing just how much his words affected you. 

you had forgotten how simple and easy conversations were with gojo. although this was under a guise to fool people, you felt at ease with him, as if you didn’t have to be on guard with your emotions when he was around. 

“do you still want to hide under the table now?” he asked a couple of seconds later, chewing on a potato as you shrugged, looking around before your lips grew into an apologetic smile. 

“…yes,” you admitted bashfully and he smiled at your honest response. 

“if you want to hide, i’ll-”

“satoru!” a booming voice interrupted your endless spiral of thoughts as the two of you glanced upwards at the sound, “it’s been too long!” 

a man with hair as dark as night and a smile wider than any ocean had come up to your table. he was the first one to do so all night, but gojo didn’t seem bothered by it. he seemed to smile, crescents forming around his eyes as he took his friend's hand.

“too long,” he emphasized with a charming grin, motioning to you and then back to the man in front of you as if he suddenly remembered the two of you and never met, “suguru, this is my wife, y/n. y/n, this is one of my oldest friends.” 

you extended your hand outwards and the man, suguru, took it, placing a soft kiss on the back of it as he shot you a playful smile. he wasn’t at the wedding, but then yet again, it was a rather quick one. the only people who had attended were your families. 

“it’s a pleasure to meet you.” he greeted, and you nodded in agreement, sitting back down next to gojo. you felt his long fingers reach for yours, enveloping your hand in his as your heart sputtered at the touch. 

“likewise,” you answered and the man grinned politely before he slightly tilted his head, looking at the two of you sitting next to each other. 

“he’s not bothering you, is he? i know satoru can be fiendish when he wants to be, so call for me and i’ll take care of him.” he teased and you could only smile tightly and laugh along, gojo’s fingers slightly tightening around yours as he moved your hand to rest on his thigh. 

“i can take care of him when he’s fiendish. i just have to take the sugar away, right?” suguru snorted and gojo glared, but it was playful the way he looked at you. 

his hands were warmer than you would have expected. you could feel the indents of calluses on his fingertips, could feel his thumb moving back and forth on your skin in a calming sort of manner. he didn’t look over at you as he did it, playing it off as second nature. 

“i apologize for not having much time to get to know you, but i have something i need to talk to gojo about. would you mind? it will only take a minute?” he asked, and gojo let go of your hand at the time of his friend's voice. you had to control your urge to roll your eyes, shifting in your seat as you motioned for suguru to talk to your husband, watching as he stood from his seat, leaving with the man as they went somewhere a little more secluded. 

you watched as gojo leaned down to hear whatever it was that suguru was whispering in his ear, pulling back with a frown on his face. he snapped something that only caused suguru to reel back, cast a quick glance at you, and then shake his head in clear annoyance. 

you saw gojo look up, his eyes landing on somebody from across the room, and you followed his stare, only to land on a girl. 

she wore a dark yellow tunic and skirt, colors from a neighboring clan. you hadn’t seen her before, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t known. just one look at the men surrounding her and you could pick up on their lovesick expressions. 

she motioned for gojo to come to her with a bend of her finger, slyly brushing her hair out of her face to make it look as though it was nothing, exiting from the dining area and vanishing into one of the halls. 

you looked down in case either of the men glanced over to see if you were staring. your eyes pierced through the meat on your plate, bile rising up your throat. 

you gave yourself some time, counting up to a minute before you looked back to where suguru and gojo were, finding suguru standing alone. you looked at where the girl was and saw a flash of white hair before it disappeared, your heart sinking as you glanced back at suguru, only to find him looking at you. 

you looked back at your plate, picking up a knife and fork as you stabbed the meat. you couldn’t keep anything down but it’s best to pretend.

---

gojo didn’t return until half an hour later, and you refused to talk to him. 

“did anybody bombast you with questions?” he teased, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. he didn’t seem to pick up on your darkened mood as your fingers dug into your dress. 

“i had a woman ask me if you had disappeared with your mistress, but that was it.” you remarked, silence filling the void between the two of you and you realized that all you had thought of him was crumbling down. 

you didn’t care for your image anymore, giving curt answers to any questions somebody had asked. you could feel his stare on the side of your face but you didn’t humor him in looking over, focusing on your plate instead. 

so what if he was seeing somebody else? you would have been naive to think that he wouldn’t wander. the two of you barely touched each other. 

once all the guests had left over the course of the following days, you did everything you could to steer away from gojo. 

you no longer came down for breakfast or dinner, choosing to eat in your own quarters. if he wanted to have his own secrets, he could do whatever he pleased. 

though you rarely saw suguru after the feast, he did try to talk to you the morning after it took place. he cornered you after you had left from breakfast, his once playful demeanor turned serious as you tried your best to end the conversation. 

“what you saw last night-”

“is none of my business,” you finished, raising your hand as you cut him off, “if gojo has his own private matters to deal with, i’m indifferent to them all.” 

“you know that’s not what it was.” his hand hovered over your arm, careful not to touch you but not wanting you to leave either. 

“i ruined his life, didn’t i?” you tilted your head a bit in questioning. after all, that’s all you could hear from the women who gossiped as they folded the laundry, or behind the hands of the girls who watched you and gojo interact and the mothers who wanted their daughters to be set up with him only sneered at you from across the tables. 

“you…where’d you get that from?” his brows scrunched together in confusion as you scoffed, hoping he couldn’t see the tears welling in the corner of your eyes at the sting of your own words. 

“i can see it on his face. if gojo wants to have his own affairs, he can have them. it’s not like we’re in love. hopefully, i find my own way out so that the two of us look happier and this marriage looks somewhat presentable to the public.” 

you didn’t want to see the look on his face, but you’re sure he reported this all back to gojo because he didn’t look at you once after it. 

you heard from a maid a week later that he was gone for another meeting with a clan, a southern one from what you picked up, and that you should probably go and wish him some luck. 

leading up to the night of his departure you anxiously paced around your room, your feet padding on the floor as your nightgown swished behind you. 

you hadn’t talked to gojo at all that day, and purposefully so. 

it was petty, you know it was, to not want to see him, but a part of you still aches when you look back on that night. at how he didn’t explain where he was even after you asked, at how it was suguru he had sent to fix his dirty work for him. 

“y/n?” a muffled voice came from outside your door. 

your head shot up at the familiar sound, quietly dragging yourself out from your bed as you grabbed the candle, hovering on the other side as you waited for him to say something else. 

“are you awake?” you heard a soft thud from his side, almost as if his head or arm had hit the door. 

you didn’t answer, still, waiting. 

“i’m leaving tomorrow and i wanted to see you before i left.” your heart skipped at his words, careful not to make a sound as you near the door. 

“if you’re sleeping i won’t bother you anymore but if you’re not,” you could hear the old stutter he had coming back, his words meshing together as he tried to regain control, “and you’re choosing to stay quiet, i…” he sighed, his forehead thumping down as he rested it on the door, “i wanted to apologize for the feast. i shouldn’t have left you alone, and if you’d open the door, i would explain why…” he could see the flicker of the candle from underneath the crack, and saw the way it blew away, darkness following suit. 

you walked back to your bed, turning your back to the door as you set the candle down on your table. 

“goodnight,” his voice was quieter than before, and you felt guilty, but pushed the bitter feeling down.

a couple of seconds later you heard him let out a sigh of defeat, his footsteps leading away from your bedroom as you curled into yourself, hoping you would let your heart stop taking control of what your head should be doing. 

---

gojo didn’t return for a while, and you grew more impatient by the day. 

it normally took him and his men a week at maximum, and once two had passed, you felt yourself growing uneasy. 

you tried to act as passive as you could, but even myra could pick up on your growing apprehension. you have never voiced your worries over your husband before, but she knew this wasn’t like any other time. 

when you went to bed, the only thing you could dream about was that night, your brain re-running the images as you tossed and turned. 

“are you alright?” he asked, his hands on your elbows as you could barely speak, your blurry vision impairing your sight. you could only see a mop of white in the darkness, your stomach betraying you as you tried to keep the sick down. 

“i don’t feel too good,” you mumbled, trying to put some distance between the two of you as you pushed him away, only to feel him coming closer as he placed a hand on your forehead and then to your cheeks. 

“you’re burning up,” he muttered under his breath, guiding you gently so that you wouldn’t trip over your feet. 

“i’m sorry, you can go back inside, i don’t want to keep you out here.” you were slurring your words as you tried not to throw up on him. you wiped at your eyes so that you could see him better, only to reel back in utter shock to see the face of your childhood friend frowning down at you. 

your mouth formed in the shape of his name, going to say something else, before you hunched over, feeling his strong hands pat your back and keep the hair out of your face as you felt your world tilt on its axis. 

you ate your dinner at the table, eyeing his empty seat as you tried to shove his last night out of your mind. you shouldn’t feel this way, especially about a man who feels nothing towards you, but your little heart was churning in its confines the more you let yourself think about it.

sitting in the same spot where the feast took place only brought back the venomous taste in your mouth, and so you pretended that you were back home, eating somewhere without the worry of your life weighing you down like a thousand weights on your shoulders. 

myra tried her best to distract you, but she could see the distant look in your eyes, how your voice never seemed too genuine. she began to worry for you, but it seemed like your mind was fixed on one thing. 

until you found yourself pacing around your room, just like you were the night you last heard of him, playing with the ring on your finger as the moon carded through your window. 

“my lady,” you heard myra through the door, her voice shaky and a bit more on edge than usual, “there’s-” but before she could finish it slammed open, revealing the man you’d been biting your nails over, standing in the flesh.

his eyes were a dark blue, squinted as they looked right through you. his chest heaved as he looked like he was trying to catch his breath. you could see the streaks of blood that lined his usually clean clothes, the red that stained his cheeks and jaw. 

he looked feral, and it was throwing you off balance. 

“out.” he snapped at myra, and before you could scold him for his tone she fled, the door shutting roughly behind her. 

the two of you could only stare at each other. you didn’t know what to think after weeks of uselessly worrying over him, not knowing about his well-being, to see him here, in front of you, but looking different than he ever had. 

“are you alright?” 

you could barely get it out, the works sticking on your tongue as you took a tentative step forward, not knowing what to do with his state of being. 

he eyed the blood on his shirt, wiping at his cheeks as if he had forgotten it was there. he didn’t look too dirty, less dirty than one would expect from a five week endeavor through the woods, but he didn’t look too good either. 

“you were awake.” is all he says, his chest still moving up and down as though he couldn’t breathe properly. 

“that night i came by, you were awake. i saw your candle, i heard your footsteps.” he says this as though it’s fighting its way out of his mouth as if it’s all he could think about to tell you. 

“i,” you pretend that you don’t care, shrugging, “i wasn’t up to talk.” 

“you were with suguru.” he snaps, his tone shocking you, and he steps back as if he had shocked himself. he jammed his palms into his eyes, tilting his head upwards before he looked back at you. 

“for five weeks you were all i could think about. i wanted to come back, i wanted to tell you what i felt but we kept running into issues with other tribes and clans.” 

“what could you possibly think about that occupied your mind for five weeks?” you so desperately wanted your voice to come out strong but it sounded weak, as though you were hanging off of his every syllable. 

“you had told suguru that you were going to find your…own way out,” he took a step forward, and here you could see the scratches on his chest, the cuts on his arms, “i was praying to every god there was that you hadn’t found somebody in these past weeks, that you hadn’t…”

you could barely believe his words, not knowing if you should feel offended, shocked, worried, or a mix of all those three. 

“what business would it be to you if i did?” you hate that this was the response you settled on. hurt flashed across his face but he tried to regain his composure. 

“you are my wife-”

“and you are my husband!” you snapped and watched as he was momentarily taken aback by your outburst, but you continued your nose flaring, “you cannot argue with me on this when you left with some girl in the middle of our feast!” you felt all your emotions finally pouring out and you had no control over them, “everybody was talking about it, everybody was looking at me in pity!” your voice cracked, tears poking at your eyes as you pointed an accusatory finger at him. 

gojo looked down, running a hand through his hair as he pointed a finger back. 

“if you had let me explain myself, you would have known that she was trying to do what you thought she was. i left as quickly as i could but you would barely look at me!” you wanted to rip your hair out, cursing yourself for ever feeling any sort of worry for this man. 

“i know that this marriage was the last thing you wanted but at least you could play the part of a husband! you didn’t send a single note, anything to tell us that you were okay, that you were alive!” you heaved, fidgeting with your ring as you wiped at your cheeks, “and you come back here accusing me of adultery? all everybody could talk about was the fact that you were warming somebody else’s bed! they said a meeting never takes this long unless something…somebody else comes up.” your voice wobbles at the end, and you find yourself furiously rubbing your tears away, hiding your sniffing as though that would do anything.  

he paused upon seeing you cry, his face falling as he tried to step forward but you angled yourself away from him, hoping he’d get the hint. 

he wanted to hold you, to tell you that all the rumors you were hearing were false and that the only room he had left in his heart was for you. but he couldn’t blame you for feeling or thinking this way. hell, he was so sure that he’d open the door to find another man comforting you that he didn’t even stop to consider what must have been going through your head all these weeks. 

“one of the clans tried to attack us, and we weren’t ready for it. that is why we took so long.” 

you sniffle again, not caring for his explanation although it did soothe a part of your past self. 

“you could have at least sent a letter telling me what happened,” you fidget with your ring, your thumb running over the diamond, “everybody asked me questions that i should have had answers to, but i had no idea where you were or what you were doing…” he nods, his lips pressed into a thin line as he agreed with you. 

“you're right,” his voice was thick with emotion, the words slurring in his mouth as he found himself anchored in place, not knowing what to do. but you were rambling, your thoughts going on and on and you couldn’t stop yourself. 

“…but i know you don’t like letters, so the least you could have done was send a parchment saying i’m alive or something like that.” you rub at your nose again, feeling like all the weeks of worry we’re coming to a standpoint. 

he looked confused now, if anything, and scratched at his jaw. 

“what do you mean?” 

you scoff at the audacity, rolling your eyes as you feel anger prickle at your skin. 

“you never once responded to any of my letters. in my eyes, that must mean you have some sort-”

“letters? what letters?” 

you glance at him, taking in his shaking form. 

“come on gojo,” you feel embarrassed as he urges you to speak, having to spell it out for him, his eyes pleading with you to continue, “the ones from when you left for training.”

his mouth opens and then closes, looks at the ground and then back up to you as he shakes his head. you could hear your fireplace crackling in the background. the only sounds circling the room were the pops of ember and your breathing. 

“i…” he feels like there’s cotton in his mouth, hoping that you’re lying, “i never got any letters.” 

the fire crackled once again and you could almost hear a pin drop as you shook your head vehemently at his statement. 

“n-no, no you did. i wrote to you every week, i sent one every week for two years and you never responded and my mother said that you must have forgotten about me…” and you trail off, the tears in your eyes stoning as he furiously wipes at his own eyes, and for the first time since you had seen him fall down when he was a kid, you saw his own tears staining his cheeks. 

“nobody gave me your letters. i thought that you,” he takes a deep breath, tongue poking inside his cheek as he tried to control himself, “i thought that you didn’t care for me anymore.” 

you hug your midsection, your emotions running wild at his words. 

“i was under the impression that you hated me.” you admit, and he looks as though you stabbed him through the heart. if only others could see the powerful warrior now, stripped bare to his conscience and all he could think about was you. 

“why…why would you think such a thing?” you two inch closer without knowing it, longing to touch each other, wanting to know that the other was really there and that this wasn’t a figment of your imaginations. 

“gojo, you could barely looked at me that night at the gala and now it seems as though you, well, look at you - you’re flushed!” you’re grasping at straws, motioning towards his face,  twinged with pink as you rub at your nose, “you seem angry whenever i am near-” 

“the only person i am angry at is myself.” gojo whispers, but his voice echoed around the expanse of your skull. 

“yes, i’m aware,” you feel cold despite the fire in the corner, your tone carrying an air of know as you scorn, “i know the last thing you expected by comforting me was a marriage but-” 

“you think i am angry because i married you?” he was moving closer, his hands shaking, his eyes wet. you could see the ring on his finger glow in the dim light of the fireplace, how it shined brighter than any of the night skies, “the only good thing that has happened to me these last few months was being able to introduce myself as your husband. i know that i stripped you bare of any love you may have had for any other man, but call me selfish for feeling glad that i did.” 

you could barely focus on what was happening, his words sinking deep into your skin, going to your bones. 

“i told myself that you had forgotten about me those years i left. when i saw you that night i was so sure you had come with the intention of finding a suitor that i didn’t want to distract you, but then i saw that man come up to you…” and he couldn’t finish, choking on his words as he stuttered, and you saw a glimpse of the boy you had fallen in love with so long ago. 

“and i followed you out. if i knew that simply being alone with you would have gotten me married to you then i would have cornered you in a closet the moment i saw you enter the dining hall.” 

a tear rolls down your chin, splattering on the ground beneath you as you struggle to make sense of what he was saying. it felt as though the months of being married to him were weeks spent pacing around your own rooms, thinking the same worried thoughts, and not having the strength to confront each other about it. 

“you…you don’t hate me?” your voice is timid, almost not believing yourself as the statement tumbled out. gojo had the audacity to laugh a bit, shaking his head as strands of his hair fell into his face. 

“my every waking moment is spent thinking of you. when i was in training, you were all i could dream about, hoping that when i’d come home i could finally have you to myself. 

“you have control over my emotions, my mind, my soul, and i cursed myself for taking away your options for a husband, but the only thing i’ve wanted to do these past few weeks was to hold you in my arms. to tell you just how deeply i yearn for your love back.” 

he wiped at his cheeks, glistening in the faint light. he looked angelic, despite the grime and blood that decorated his clothing. you didn’t want to think about the men he had killed just to come back, to come back to you, and the thought of ever losing him hurt you more than when you spent nights wondering why he never responded to any of your letters. 

you couldn’t stop your feet from leading you toward him, and you could only watch as he met you in the middle, catching you with all his strength, holding you as if you weighed nothing, and it only took a few seconds before your lips collided. 

it was rushed, and messy as you felt his hands holding you as if you carried the weight of the universe. your teeth clashed, your tears staining each other's skin as your hands gripped at his hair, using it for leverage as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, enjoying the whimper that escaped your lips when he nipped at yours. 

it was what years of longing and desperation felt like. how it felt like you two just molded into each other as if your bodies were cut out with the other in mind. you felt like your heart was about to stop beating, and you knew gojo felt the same with the way he’d whine against your lips, wanting you more than you could have ever imagined. 

“we’ve been stupid people, haven’t we?” you whispered as you pulled away, trying to catch your breath as he smiled against you. if only you knew just how much he’d been wanting to kiss you like this, to see your swollen lips as you looked at him from beneath your eyelashes. you were his venus, his only saving grace, and he could only vex himself for ever making you feel anything but love. 

“very, “ he pressed a kiss to the corner of your eyes, “very,” to your nose, “stupid,” his lips were on your cheeks, feeling like he was breathing in new air at the sound of your laughter, “people.” he pressed his lips to yours again, cherishing in the way you whined at the harshness. 

he had spent months convincing himself that you no longer cared for him. weeks of perilous training to only come back to a bed and dream of a girl who didn’t share his emotions when in reality you did. he wants to track down the letters you had sent him, to read every word carefully, as if each sentence carried its own riddle inside of it. he wanted to apologize for never having the honor of experiencing your skilled penmanship, for leading you to believe that he had simply forgotten about you. 

“gojo,” your fingers curl in his tunic, your heat transferring, trying to be rational in such an irrational state of being, “you’re bleeding, i should call for the doctor.” he didn’t stop kissing your face, moving to your jaw as he smiled hearing you shudder. 

“it’s not my blood,” he murmured and you wanted to smack him for how cocky he sounded, “and don’t call me gojo.” he nipped at your lips again. 

“husband?” you found yourself smiling at the title, but he shook his head. you saw how he was trying to hide his own grin. 

“sire?” you tested it out teasingly, hating how it sounded. he seemed to agree with the way he grimaced at the name. 

“my lord?” he wanted to bottle up your laughter forever, knowing he could get drunk off of the sound. his nose nudged up at your jaw, pressing wet kisses wherever he could. 

“hmm, what about my liege?” you're curling a strand of his hair around your fingers letting him settle you down on your vanity as you spread your legs so he could slot between them. 

“my men call me that.” he says, cringing as it falls off your mouth. you pretend to think, not knowing how you were able to live without this banter for as long as you did. 

“satoru?” you felt breathless saying it after so long. but he still didn’t seem to find it satisfactory enough, a pout on his lips as he wanted you to find a better one. 

“close, but only when you’re angry with me.” you tuck that information in the back of your mind for if you ever need to scold him, your cheeks flushed as he interlocks his fingers through yours. 

“‘toru…?” his lips broke into a giddy smile, and you had to control yourself as he swooped back in for a kiss. his eyes were so much softer when he laughed, the kind ones you fell in love with so many nights ago. 

“there it is,” his voice was husky, raw as your fingers gripped at the baby hairs at his nape. he was taking your air away with him and you couldn’t find it in yourself to fight back for it. 

“i forgot how cheeky you can be,” you bite your lip to keep the moans inside, feeling feverish as his tongue ran over his love marks, not knowing what to do yourself as you scrambled to grab onto something to keep you afloat.

“you have no idea how much self-control it’s taken not to ravage you,” his breath is hot on your skin, and he’s tugging at your shirt, fingers slightly brushing upon your breasts, “every night you’d come down for dinner i wanted something different to eat.”

“stoppp,” you mewled, not used to this. he chuckles as his slender fingers work to untie the knot keeping you together, tugging at the string until it falls, revealing your naked chest, heaving as the fabric pooled at your hips. 

you wanted to cover yourself up under his heavy gaze, to take the fabric and hide, but you felt pierced by his stare. his eyes darted to yours as if checking to see if you were okay. when you gave him a timid nod, it seemed as though it prompted him to finally move. 

his fingers were gentle as they ran across your waist, large as they covered the soft of your stomach, eager as they went upwards. he looked like he was crazed and starved, as if you were his last meal and he couldn’t wait for the sweetness death would give. 

your breath stuttered as his fingers found your mounds, rubbing a soothing thumb over your nipples as his pupils grew. he was eager as he flicked them over and over, a cheshire grin growing as they hardened under his touch. 

“you’re perfect,” he murmured, dropping down so he could suckle at your tits, his spit shining in the light of the fire, and you tilted your head back, soft moans escaping as his tongue drew circles around your buds. 

“f-fuck, ‘toru, that’s,” you couldn’t even finish your sentence, his second hand coming to cup your other tit, not wanting to leave her unattended as he sucked and bruised, wanting to forever leave his mark on your untainted skin. 

“good?” he’s so cocky, and you want to smack the smug smirk off his devilishly handsome face. 

his knee is purposefully rubbing against your clothed clit, and you feel yourself subconsciously rubbing yourself against it. you hope that he can’t feel how drenched you are from him just sucking your tits, but he pinches you, pressing his tongue flat against your skin as he looks up through his lashes.

“horny from just me touching you?” he’s teasing you, it’s so painful the way you want, need him like oxygen. you tug on his hair roughly, bringing his spit-soaked lips back to yours as you bite down on his lower one, enjoying the groan you draw out from him. 

“don’t be mean ‘toru,” you taunt, and you feel him melt in your fingers, nodding to your request as he lowers himself down. 

he presses wet kisses down your torso, stopping just above your hips, his fingers hooking along the rim of your underwear, being careful and slow in his movements as he waits for any objections, making sure you’re okay with this. 

but you were in your own world, hitching your leg over his shoulders, drawing him in closer to you, sweat dotting your forehead as he licks a stripe over the cotton on your pussy, smiling to himself at the taste of you. 

you were so sweet, sweeter than any desert he’d indulge himself on. he was sure that once he had a taste of you he’d be able to repent, to go before any god, and to tell them that you were his religion.

he had spent countless nights, tossing and turning in his bed, the only thing putting him to sleep being the idea of coming home to you. running after you that night was him running home to you, regardless of where you were. he was glad he got your hand in marriage, but if he had to, he’d wait another ten years just to hold you in his arms again.

he peels your underwear off, a string of your arousal connecting to it, and he tucks it in his pants, for safekeeping. 

“you’re going to be the death of me.” he says against your heat, his nose rubbing against your clit as your eyes wring shut in pleasure. his hands grip your thighs, making sure you stay in place as he kitten licks around where you need him the most. 

“don’t let…don’t let any of your enemies hear,” your voice comes out in bits, your hand resting on the back of his head as your leg tightens around him, “don’t want them to come after me or something.” 

he snorts, pinching your thighs as if anybody could come within a ten feet radius of you without losing an eye. 

his lips come closer to where you desperately want him, a finger prodding at your tight entrance, his tongue finding your clit as he begins to suck. 

it’s all too much, the sensations far better than your own fingers have ever proved to be. 

his fingers are skilled, long enough that they reach deep within you. he sinks one fully in, your walls clamping around him as he continues sucking your clit, his teeth grazing it every so often, making your head thump against the wall. 

“talk to me, how do you feel?” his mouth discontented from your bud and you whine at the loss. he sinks in another finger to make up for it, but he doesn’t move them, waiting for your response. 

“‘s good,” one of your hands is fisting your discarded robe, trying to hold onto your senses as you desperately nod, “don’t stop ‘toru, please,” and he obliges, loving the sounds of your begging, but loving the sound of your pleasures more. 

his fingers stretch you open and you welcome the sting, your nails digging into him as you long for more. 

he switches his mouth with his hand every now and then, his tongue taking the place of his fingers as it licks at you, groaning at your taste as he eats you out with his entire being, his chin shining with your essence and his spit as his thumb rubs furiously at your clit. 

“mmhhh, just like that, fuck!” you’ve never heard your voice at this pitch, never knew it was possible to feel this way. his other hand reaches up to flick at your nipple, the extra sensation making white dot around your vision. 

you feel yourself getting closer to the sweet release, feel your wall clamp around him even tighter as that knot in your stomach builds to a crescendo. 

“come on, let go f’me, know you want to, know you can.” he spurs you on, his fingers unrelenting as they piston in and out of you, reaching that gummy spot that makes you go dumb.

“fuck, ‘toru, m’gonna, m’gonna come!” you cry out and you’re sure anybody walking past you could hear the debauchery. your thighs were starting to shake and you felt it all go black as you reached your high, your orgasm washing over you unlike anything you’ve ever felt. 

you creamed around his fingers, gushing around him as you wailed out, tears dotting your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure you were feeling. you squeezed around him, wanting to never lose what this felt like, trying to catch your breath as his mouth never stopped sucking at your nub before he was sure your climax was over. 

when he finally pulled away the only thing that could be heard was the two of you, trying to come back down as stupid smiles made their way onto each of your faces. 

he was boyishly charming as he stood in front of you, licking yourself off of his fingers as he grinned at the taste. you couldn’t be bothered to be embarrassed after having him just between your legs, but you still felt a heat blossom in your chest. 

“so…” you awkwardly start, sweat dripping down your face from just how hot the room had suddenly gotten as you avert your gaze, “what now?” 

he shrugged nonchalantly, despite the fact that his heart was about to beat it’s way out of his chest. you let him pick you off of the vanity and tucked you safely away into his chest as he led you to your bed, gently setting you down in your mountain of pillows and blankets as you felt sleep etch away at you. 

“i’m going to clean you up,” he pressed a kiss to your hair, smiling at the way you giddy smiled at whatever he did, a dopey grin on your face as your hand searched for his, interlocking you fingers with his as if you didn’t want to watch him go, “if you let me.” 

you yawn, your head tilting as he sat down at the edge of your bed, still not letting go of your hand as your fingers run through the soft pelts beneath you. 

“and what about you?” your chin points the obvious hard-on growing in his pants. he looks down as if suddenly realizing, and he plays it off by looking back up to you with a wink. you felt your mouth going dry at the size of it, not knowing if you could even be able to take something as big as that. 

“for another day,” he promises, and you’re sure he’s not going to forget it. not like you want him to.

“and then?” 

your question lingers in the air. you don’t want to wake up to him acting like this never happened, as if your feelings were only a figment of your wildest dreams. but his eyes hold onto yours, never letting go as he brushes some strays away from your face. 

“and then i get a bigger bed for my room because there’s no way i’m letting you sleep here alone after this.” his thumb runs along the palm of your hand, his fingers tracing patterns into the soft of your legs. 

“and then?” 

“and then you tell me all the things i missed out on when i was gone. i’ll tell you about the time suguru shaved my head, and you’ll tell me about anything on your mind.” 

“what if i run out of things to say?” sleep is overtaking your voice, and you’re already nodding off, not even truly knowing what you were asking. 

“then i’ll make up stories so that you’re not bored.” he finds a clean towel, soaking it in water from a nearby pitcher as he drags it slowly across your body, as if your fragile and made of porcelain. 

“how do i know you’re not a dream? you might just be,” you yawn, rubbing at your eyes as your finger traces his ring, “you might just be my own mind tricking me.” your eyes are shutting, but the teasing smile on your face never leaves. 

“because a dream wouldn’t hide under a table with you if you asked.” he whispers, kissing your lips with a soft peck as he pulls the blanket over you, letting you sleep into a slumber as he crawls in next to you, holding you to his chest just as he did that night, just as he will every night from now on, and just as he longed for those nights he wished you next to him.

[yanderenightmare]

TW: implied nsfw, implied noncon/dubcon, poly yanderes, sprained ankle, captive reader, apocolypse au, talk of fertility, murder of unnamed characters, mentions of potentially killing reader

fem reader

Just thinking about the apocalypse, the two army men who’ve long survived it in their shelter with barely any trouble, and then you, a poor girl trying hard to outrun your last captives only to run into them.  

You didn’t realize back then that it was like trading piranhas for sharks, too caught up in begging for their aid to think better of it. You should have just kept running, but your ankle was sprained badly, maybe even broken, and you were wearing so little you would most likely have died from the cold during the night if they hadn’t taken you in.

It seems unfair of them to have kept the giant bunker all to themselves, only the two of them, but you don’t judge. You would likely have kept it all to yourself as well.

This new world has bred new humans, and they’re all monsters. It’s honestly quite surprising they’d even let you in, given this is what they’re protecting, this sanctuary from the past, a comfort most people would kill their closest friend in exchange for.

Trust is all but dead, and so is honor or any other morality—you would know, you’ve lived out there for it all, only having survived by spreading your legs at the right moments. It’s a shameful tactic, and many times, you’ve wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to spare yourself and just die. What was the purpose?

This—you think. This must be it. They have showers and working hot water.

You don’t know how it’s possible—the original owners of the shelter must have been some type of millionaire. You haven’t had a warm shower since the world went to shit—years ago. It’s been a choice of waiting for rain or finding a lake, hoping it wasn’t rancid. Meanwhile, they have soap—scented soap, the lush kind you’d forgotten existed. It feels so nice you have to cry—rejoice—sobbing while lathering yourself, watching all the filth go down the drain, leaving you smooth-skinned once again for the first time in forever. You can’t remember having ever been so clean before, feeling reborn.

They have fresh clothes for you too—new socks and underwear, all clean fabrics, so much more than what you wore—pants, a shirt, and a sweater to keep warm. You didn’t know there still existed people who lived like the old days—you’d thought it was long gone, a bittersweet dream you sometimes have the pleasure of at night instead of the usual nightmares. Never had you thought you’d experience anything even remotely similar, but here you are—looking yourself in the mirror after so long, surprised to see a human looking back at you.

And they feed you. Not scraps, not leftovers, not rot, or days-old flesh from the last successful hunt—but freshly baked bread, vegetables, fruit—for fuck’s sake, they even have juice. You cry again while eating, and then you find yourself begging them again, “Please, let me stay—please, I’ll do anything. I can cook, clean, work—anything at all, I can do it, just please let me stay…”

You’re on your knees, forehead pressed to the heated metal floors—toasty and comforting, you think you could sleep better than ever right there.

“We’ll think about it,” one of them mutters as he gathers the plates. His voice was so harsh he might as well have said, not a chance. It’s clear by his frown that he’d rather send you right out again, leave you to the monsters.

“We’ll at least let you stay until your ankle heals, so don’t worry.” The other is more sympathetic, helping you up. “For now, let’s get you to bed. You must be exhausted.”

It hadn’t crossed your mind that they’d have beds—actual real soft downy mattresses and duvets and pillows. The two of you help make it together. It feels so foreign that you wonder if you might have died earlier. Some years back, you wouldn’t have thought heaven would resemble a prison cell, but now it only made sense—safe metal walls and a bed. What more could one possibly want in the world?

“I’ll wrap your leg for you if you sit.” He holds out a bandage roll, gesturing to your ankle.

Blinking, you can’t even register what he’d just offered until he’s getting down on his knees before you.

You panic, then. Bandages are hard to come by—it hardly seems worth it. “There’s no blood, you shouldn’t waste it—”

“It’ll heal better and faster this way,” he adds reassuringly. His voice is so soft and compelling that you find yourself sitting down without further quarrel, even when it makes you feel spoiled.

He’s gentle with you—holding you steady while wrapping it just tightly enough to be supportive. There hasn’t been a man who’s touched you like it.

“Does that feel okay?”

You can barely tell he’s talking to you. It’s all so lost on you that you can only wordlessly nod your head.

He fastens it just as carefully before standing. “Is there anything else you might need?”

You shake your head just as wordlessly. You can’t believe how nice he’s being. It makes no sense at all. Not in this world. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to lock the door,” he apologizes with a sheepish look once standing on the threshold.

You’d been stuck thinking about how warm the room was, trying to remember a single time you hadn’t been freezing during the night. “That’s okay, I understand,” you say. After all, what’s a locked door in comparison?

“Good,” he smiles—it’s likely the kindest smile you’ve ever seen. “Alright then, good night.”

Once again, you’re left stunned. The last time you’d heard those words spoken must have been from a loved one long since dead. It makes your lip wobble again as you say it back, “Good night.”

It's strange—they could have left you for dead but didn’t. They don’t seem gullible—they can’t be if they’ve managed to protect this place for so long—but you suppose there still exist men who have a soft spot in their hearts for helpless damsels in distress.

As you sink into the comfort, draping your duvet atop your battered body, you don’t even care about the camera in the ceiling—blinking red while watching you.

“Did you have to bandage her up?” he grumbles as the other walks into the bedroom after having said his goodnights to you. 

He’s already in bed, observing through the cameras on a tablet—you were currently curling into the duvet, wrapping it around you close for comfort. You’d likely not slept on anything so soft in a while—it wouldn’t surprise him if you preferred the floor. But no, you drift asleep quite quickly.

“You know how badly things can heal without proper support,” the other answers, regarding it as no big deal. “And besides, it’s not like we often need it—we have plenty to spare.”

He removes his clothes and crawls onto the bed as well, lifting the covers to slot himself right next to the other man, who still has a scowl on his face.

“Oh, come on…” he drawls. “She’s exactly what we’ve been talking about, isn’t she?”

The grump doesn’t answer, still with keen eyes watching you, even as you’ve fallen asleep—as if waiting for you to do something befitting a wild animal in a cage. The other’s eyes fall to the screen as well, but he only awes in delight.

“Look at her, already fast asleep,” he purrs while zooming in on your face. “I mean, did you see how she was begging earlier, what she said? I’d do anything,” he continues, almost whining. “So cute, I could have fucked her right then and there.”

The other man sets the tablet aside with a disagreeing sigh. “We’ll wait at least a week for her system to detoxify from the wasteland,” he says strictly. “I’m not touching her before then, and neither are you unless you want to sleep alone.”

The other groans then, flopping down on his back. “Yeah, yeah, you and your safety protocols,” he dismisses before a smirk creeps up his face, glee twinkling in his eyes as he looks up at his grouchy counterpart. “But then we keep her, right?”

“Tch—we don’t even know if she’s fertile. The wasteland could have made her barren as long as she’s been out there,” the other shuffles down into the sheets as well, turning to look at his partner and the awfully keen look on his face.

“So we test her. Give her a medical check,” he says, again as if it’s not a problem, even when it very well could turn out to be.

They’ve already broken quarantine rules by letting you in here—and who knows what your real objectives truly are.

“I don’t trust her,” he states.

The other pouts. “I don’t see what one little lady can do—she’s hardly a threat. And we already purged the group that was following her. I doubt any of them made it out alive.”

True, he had gone out and sent several gas grenades into the settlement. Surely, none of them managed to escape, but then again—

“Pest control only works when you kill them all, and we’ve just let one inside our own house,” he grumbles.

The other one sighs. “Okay, so if it turns out she isn’t as cute as she looks, we’ll deal with her like the rest. But if I’m right, and she really is just a harmless little thing, we keep her, and I get to have the first go.”

Suppose there isn’t anything better to do aside from killing you straight away, which would only have been a waste of food, water, clothes, and bandages. 

“Fine.”

The other grins at the agreeance, humming, “I guess until then, we’ll just have to make do with each other—I've been hard since we watched her shower.” He leans forward for contact but is shut down as his bedmate rolls around with his back turned to him.

“Tch—take care of it yourself.” Tonight has been too stressful to tug each other’s dicks. 

He can hear him whine behind him, but he settles down soon enough.

Suppose it would be nice fucking a woman again. It’s been so many years he figured he wouldn’t need it anymore. They’ve made do with each other so far. But even he can’t deny, once you’d washed all the blood and muck off, once he saw the dewy hue of your soft skin and the silk of your hair, all those plush curves, and not to mention that awfully sweet look on your face—he felt the tug in his pants too.

He'll do a medical check on you tomorrow. He hopes you’re fertile. But even if you’re not, he might give in to the other’s wishes and keep you anyway. After all, they might have many luxuries, but the comfort of pussy is one they haven’t had in a long, long, long time.

♡ BNHA – KiriBaku, BakuDeku, ShinKami, DabiHawks, EndHawks, ErasurMic ♡ JJK – SatoSugu, ItaFushi, SukuIta, ♡ HQ – Miya twins, KageHina, BokuAka, ♡ CSM – AkiDen, YoshiDen ♡ BLLK – NagiReo

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[onceinablueberrymoon]

intentionally by chance | husband!salesman x pregnant!reader

scenario: a month after seeing the salesman on his way to the airport, gi-hun returns to that subway station every day, hoping to find the salesman and confront him. this is where you come in. setting: takes place after the events of season 1, but before gi-hun hires the loan shark group to search for the salesman warnings: deception; pregnant!reader; no use of y/n; second person POV word count: 1.3k notes: salesman fluff! ♡ this guy’s been plaguing my thoughts for weeks now, so i had to write about him. my first fic in years! i like to think that S1 salesman is more chill than in S2. please enjoy! part 2 here! borders by @strangergraphics-archive

“Excuse me… Can you please help me?”

The red-haired man, who was perusing the endless options of cup ramyeon, turned in your direction, but remained planted a few feet away from you. 

“Me?” He pointed at himself.

You nodded, adjusting the items you were holding in your arms. “Can you grab me that cup of ramyeon from the shelf? I’d get it, but my hands are full…” 

The man walked over and retrieved your cup of ramyeon. As he handed it to you, he noticed your pronounced bump under your sweater and furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Miss, you’re in no condition to be carrying so much. Please, let me help you bring it to the checkout.”

With your approval, he unloaded the rest of your snacks into his arms. The two of you walked to the register, where you insisted on paying for his own cup of ramyeon. You suggested eating the ramyeon at one of the tables outside the subway station’s convenience store, but he insisted on sitting on a bench on the subway platform. 

“Is there a particular reason you wanted to eat here? It’s not the most ideal dining spot…” You slurped your noodles happily. The man ate slowly, popping his head up every so often and eyeing his surroundings carefully. 

“I’m… looking for something. Nothing you should worry yourself with,” he continued to eat his food while you gave him a skeptical look.

“Perhaps I could help? Well, as long as I don’t have to move very much,” you chuckled, patting your stomach. He gave you a soft smile before changing the topic. 

“Shouldn’t your husband be buying you food instead of you coming to get it yourself?” He gestured to your bag of snacks, and you giggled.

“My husband buys me all the food I want, but sometimes I just want to get out of the house! It’s no fun being cooped up all day,” you sighed. The man nodded in understanding. 

“It’s also nice to talk to other people, like you,” you smiled at him. He returned your smile, but then his eyebrows shot up when a sharp smack echoed throughout the platform. 

The man jumped up, his cup ramyeon forgotten on the bench. You turned to see where the noise had come from, only to find a group of students huddled around another student who had dropped their textbooks on the ground. From what you could hear, it seemed like they were holding them for a friend but couldn’t handle the weight.

The red-haired man froze for a few seconds, then sat back down, heaving a big sigh. 

“Are you alright, sir? There’s nothing to worry about – it was just some books that fell.” You tried to comfort the man in some way, but he brushed the incident off. 

“I’m fine. It just… reminded me of something,” he tried his best to give you a reassuring smile, but it didn’t convince you. “Don’t worry about me. Please eat,” he gestured to your unfinished ramyeon, “you need strength for your baby.”

The rest of your time together was pleasant, but you were still not convinced that the man’s reaction was nothing. You both finished your noodles, disposing the packaging and your utensils before parting ways. 

Once you returned home, you put the remaining snacks away and settled on the sofa. There were still a few hours before your husband was due home. You got yourself comfortable, curled up under a blanket, and drifted off to sleep.

“Rough day?”

You cracked open your eyes. All you could see was a blurry grey shape, but you already knew who it was. 

Blinking your eyes a few times, your husband’s handsome face came into focus, with his usually crisp grey suit looking a bit creased. His usual smirk graced his face as he looked down at you on the sofa.

“I should be asking you that. What happened to your suit?” You sat up and he sat down next to you, leaning his head on your shoulder.

“One prospective player became violent when he lost at ddakji for the 20th time in a row. Of course, I was able to subdue him, but it took more effort than usual,” your husband tried to press down a crease on his sleeve, but to no avail. He rested a hand on your rounded belly, gently rubbing circles with his fingers.

“How was today? I trust you succeeded in your mission?” 

You scoffed, “He was exactly where you said he’d be. I was able to have a conversation with him. We even ate ramyeon together for lunch!” 

Your husband turned to face you, an eyebrow raised. “You ate ramyeon together?” He gave a small pout, “I thought I was the only one you ate ramyeon with.”

Immediately, your face flustered as you explained yourself, “Hey, you know that I would never cheat!” Then, you scoffed, “We ate cup ramyeon, alright? Not whatever fantasy you’re imagining in that head of yours.” He laughed, pecking you on the cheek.

“Oh, but I have some exciting news,” you said with a sparkle in your eyes. “He’s still looking for you. And he’s basically gone mad trying to find you.” This caught your husband’s attention.

“While we were eating, there was a loud noise. Turned out that a kid dropped their books. But Gi-hun didn’t know that. He shot up so fast I swear I thought he was possessed!” 

Your husband seemed to take in your findings carefully, continuing his circles on your bump as if they helped him focus. 

“He wouldn’t tell me what he was looking for, but he specifically wanted us to sit on the subway platform, so I think it’s safe to say he’s searching for you.” Your husband had previously informed you that he had spotted a player he had already recruited at the Incheon Airport subway station, albeit with flaming red hair. After talking with the Frontman, he confirmed that Seong Gi-hun was indeed the winner of the 33rd edition of the Games. 

Once you shared the rest of your intel with your husband, you let out a big sigh. 

“Should I meet with Gi-hun again? It’d be useful to know his location and I could maybe gather more info,” you looked at your husband who had since sat up, but he didn’t take his hand off your bump. 

He pondered your question for a moment. “While I would benefit from knowing his whereabouts, I’m more afraid of something happening to you,” his voice sounded strained. “I wouldn’t be there to protect you and our child.” 

You leaned onto his shoulder, resting a hand on top of his on your belly. “We’ll be fine. If anything, Gi-hun was also concerned for me because of the baby,” you winked. “Maybe they’re the key to earning his trust.” 

Your husband’s lips tightened into a straight line. While he wasn’t happy that you would spend time with someone who clearly despised him, you were right — your pregnancy would lower Gi-hun’s defenses. You knew how much your husband’s schedule was impacted by Gi-hun’s constant presence on the AREX subway line. It would greatly help your husband if you could keep Gi-hun at one station while he recruited prospective players for the Games. 

Your husband kissed the crown of your head and stood up, attempting once again to smooth out the crease on his sleeve. “We’ll see. I’ll talk to the Frontman to see if we can get you any additional protection. I still don’t like the idea of you being around Gi-hun alone. If he learns of our relationship, I imagine he will use you as ransom,” he clicks his tongue, “We can’t have that now, can we?” 

You shook your head and stood up next to your husband. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. 

“For now, continue researching prospective players. I’m almost done with your last batch,” he flashed his signature smirk, which you returned with a soft smile of your own.

“On it. Rumour has it that Tapgol Park has an abundance of people down on their luck…”

[afterglowsainz]

we used to have more | oscar piastri

part 2 part 3 part 4

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

summary: while working as community manager in formula 1 you have to follow a rule of no fraternization with the drivers, which keeps you and oscar from being together

fc: different girls from pinterest

warnings: some characters have names (because there’s only so many y/f/n that i can use), some mentions of oscar’s girlfriend as her ex

a/n: so i have this one shot called guilty as sin? (that you should totally go read) and i’ve been thinking about expanding on it a little because i keep getting ideas around the same concept so welcome to an au version of my own fic in smau format, enjoy!

—

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yourusername another season, another year of trying to make f1 fun for the girlies🎀

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liked by f1wags and others

f1gossip mclaren’s oscar piastri was seen this weekend next to y/n y/l/n (the community manager of f1 social media) on different occasions. the people who sent us the videos said that oscar was the one that looked for her and approached her every time

tagged oscarpiastri and yourusername

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username yeah no

username pls lord let this be fake news

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username hoping and praying this was just for content or something

username nooo y/n is one of the f1 female icons, dating a driver would be such a setback for her 😩

username pls if she wants to date a driver then it’s her business, doesn’t take away everything she’s done for women in motorsports

username i love y/n and oscar separately, together …. uhmmm

username omg my faves!!! i hope they date they’d be so cute together 🥰

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oscarpiastri back to my roots in baku 🏎

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username good luck this year 🧿🧿🧿

username manifesting a championship as we speak 🕯

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landonorris 👊🏽👊🏽👊🏽

oscarpiastri 😉

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lissiemackintosh’s instagram stories

[caption 1: milesbaldwin, declanmurray] [caption 2: yourusername my 💗]

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yourusername always hustling as you can see 🧘🏽‍♀️

tagged milesbaldwin

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milesbaldwin i’m being attacked here pls defend my honor declanmurray miguelsossa

lissiemackintosh y/n is right miles you took two naps in one hour while we were making content

milesbaldwin !!! declanmurray miguelsossa

declanmurray girls be nice to miles

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declanmurray it’s past his bedtime

miguelsossa 🤣🫵🏽 milesbaldwin

username i love their friendship😩

username wtf oscar’s ex liked her post and unliked it 😭

liked by f1wags and others

f1gossip mclaren’s oscar piastri was seen this weekend with his ex girlfriend at the paddock together, emerging rumors of possibly getting back together after six months of breaking up

tagged oscarpiastri and exgirlfriend

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username not again

username does this man doesn’t know there’s other women alive?

username guys leave him alone he’s competing for the trophy of who can get back with their ex the most times

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[seijorhi]

All In

the beta fic you have been waiting months for <33 Ushijima Wakatoshi, Semi Eita & Tendou Satori x female reader w.c 6.8k tw: yandere themes, a/b/o, noncon, (sorta) smut, nsfw, one mention of blood and oozing wounds, implied stalking, forced claiming

“They’re good guys – good alphas. This won’t be like last time, I promise. You’ll see what I mean when you meet them,” Ayako murmurs, squeezing your hand in reassurance and offering you a brilliant grin. “They’re gonna love you.”

Love seems a bit of a stretch.

But Aya looks so… hopeful. You sigh. “You really like them, huh?”

“I really like them,” she admits, a pretty pink blush tingeing her cheeks. “You come first, though. You’re my beta, and if it doesn’t feel right, we’ll walk, okay? No questions asked.” 

A promise she’s kept more than once. Too many times. Omegas like Aya, young and vibrant and oh-so-lovely, shouldn’t have any trouble finding a pack to settle down with. Hell, alphas should be banging down the door just for a chance with her – to fuck, to bond, anything and everything in between. You’re the sticking point. The reason why Ayako hasn’t bonded into a pack yet.

Alphas have no interest in betas. They do nothing for them – can’t take a knot, don’t have heats. Betas aren’t durable enough to ride out an alpha’s rut. All that compounded by the simple fact that bonding bites between the two don’t last longer than a few months, so why bother?

You’re dead weight. Aya clings to you anyway. 

She pulls your hand to her cheek, the tender, delicate spot right beneath the curve of her jaw. Scenting, you realise a touch belatedly. Omegas have stronger scents than betas do; florals, spice, indulgent, enticing things – you once knew an omega whose scent reminded you of hot caramel drizzled over apple pie. Ayako smells like lilacs and the rain, a softer scent admittedly, yet one that screams of home and comfort and familiar things. 

Your own scent is milder. Now, on top of sea salt and that faint whisper of summer, you’ll smell a little of her. She’s claiming you as pack, as hers. Her beta, exactly as she’d said

A flutter of warmth blooms in your chest, and you smile back at her, the first genuine one of the night. 

“You look great, by the way,” she tells you. “Come on, Tendou messaged to say they’re running a bit late and we should head on in without them. Ushijima’s practice doesn’t finish up ‘til about seven, so we’ve got plenty of time for the show.” She winks and lets out a bubbling laugh and you kind of feel like you’ve missed the joke.

Nevertheless, you let her tug you into the stadium. The lady behind the ticketing counter slides across two visitor’s passes on lanyards when Ayako gives your names.

“Practices are closed to the public,” the omega explains in a hushed voice while the two of you make your way towards the door for the stands. “Apparently the team get a few passes they can hand out to whoever they like – pack, usually.”

The pass has your name printed on it. Beneath it, in bold; Ushijima Wakatoshi. 

You finger the plastic edges absentmindedly. 

There’s other people in the stands, all wearing the same style lanyard draped around your neck. Some, you think, are partners. Friends and family. Pack, like Ayako said. You spy a woman maybe a few years older than you, bouncing a toddler on her lap and pointing animatedly towards the court, another guy sitting beside her, an arm curled over the back of her seat. Others appear to be there in a more official capacity – staff, you suppose, wearing the same white polo edged in blue and gold (team colours, you guess), talking quietly amongst themselves and jotting things down on expensive looking tablets. 

They pay you no mind. Ayako does the same, dragging you right up to the guard-rail with an excited gasp. You’d been expecting them to be running laps or tossing balls in pairs or something. You weren’t expecting anything like this. 

Without the roar of a crowd, every noise on the court is amplified; the squeaking of shoes, the thwack of palms meeting leather, shouts ricocheting from both sides as they scramble for the ball.

Scramble isn’t the right word, though. It flies through the air between the players, choreographed chaos.

One of the players, a dark haired behemoth, shoots up and connects with the ball, slamming it over the net with a terrifying force – you feel the impact in your chest when it hits the floor.

A whistle rings out.

“Oh my god,” Aya breathes.

The behemoth turns, dark eyes zeroing in on your figure from across the court. His nostrils flare.

Alpha, you realise. He’s one of Aya’s alphas.

Ushijima Wakatoshi. 

“You know he’s one of the top wing spikers in the country, and he’s on the national team? He’s already got like three Olympic medals! Three!” she gushes. “He’s incredible.”

You hardly hear her. The other players on the court, his teammates, are already re-setting, a blond slapping Ushijima on the back, another hurling a teasing jab across the net – earning him a middle finger in response – Ushijima’s gaze doesn’t shift, his attention doesn’t waver. You swear you see his pupils dilate. 

Your breath is caught somewhere in your chest. 

“Are you gonna wave at the alpha you dressed so pretty for?” 

“Would you stop?” you hiss, tearing your gaze away to jab an elbow into Ayako’s side, which she artfully dodges with a delighted giggle. 

“Can’t say I blame you for drooling. I practically melted into a puddle the first time Semi dragged him into the bakery. He’s hot as hell,” she sighs. 

The problem is, she isn't wrong. Weird, heavy, way too intense eye contact aside, Ushijima is the textbook definition of ‘hot alpha’; all tall and broad shouldered, his face hewn with clean, strong lines. Add on the ridiculous athleticism, the muscles that clearly aren’t just for show – yeah, no wonder Aya’s got heart eyes already. 

On the court below, the whistle blows. More cheers. Another point scored. By the time you glance down again, Ushijima’s lost interest, his focus returned to the game, nodding at something one of the (you presume) coaches yells across the court.

The tight, prickling feeling writhing beneath your skin, that doesn’t fade as quick. 

God, you’re way too worked up about this whole thing. 

“He’s very, uh…” 

“Intimidating? No– impressive? Or were you gonna say sexy? All true, by the way. Ushiwaka’s a beast.”

The other two alphas have finally deigned to grace you with their presence. Wonderful. 

Swallowing back a wince, you turn to face the duo. “Good,” you say. “I was going to say he’s very… good.”

Aya had told you the basics, of course; Semi’s the lead singer slash guitarist in a band, Tendou’s a chocolatier. The former used to be a civil servant, the latter recently moved back from a stint in Paris, and both of them played Volleyball with Ushijima in high school. 

You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting. Carbon cutouts of their packmate, maybe, big, brawny, radiating the kind of imposing dominance that forces everyone around them – other alphas included – to sit down and shut up with a look alone. 

The two alphas before you aren’t that. 

The shorter of the two, more wiry in his build than the redhead beside him, smirks. “Good, huh?” 

He’s teasing you. They’re both teasing you. Your cheeks burn hotter. Before you can open your mouth to apologise, try and sidestep you shoving your own foot in your mouth as a first impression, Aya intervenes. 

“You should’ve seen her a minute ago, her jaw was on the ground. She’s playing it cool.”

The sound of her laugh digs at you in a way it shouldn’t. 

It’s not fair, not when you’re the one who’s acting like you don’t have a single working brain cell and she’s trying to cover for you, but it bothers you when Ayako acts like she has to smoothe over your edges, make you more palatable, more pleasing. You’re not an omega, you won’t ever be an omega, and sometimes you can’t help but wonder if Aya’s gonna spend the rest of your lives trying to compensate for that.

Her shoulder knocks with yours, a gentle bump, that same hopeful, painfully optimistic look in her eyes. 

Guilt, an old, familiar friend at this point, washes over you. 

“This is Semi,” she introduces, gesturing at the ash-blond with the ripped jeans, “and Tendou,” the gangly redhead. 

“And you must be our beta,” Semi surmises, slowly eyeing you over. 

The casual possessiveness rankles you, your tight smile freezing in place. Again Ayako simply laughs, her fingers, very deliberately, lacing with yours once more. “She’s my beta, you have yet to win her over.”

Neither alpha appears all that put out by the prospect.

Tendou, eyes crinkling with a wide, eager grin that takes you a little aback, thrusts a hand out towards you, a white gift bag you hadn’t noticed dangling from his fingertips. “Presents help with the whole wooing thing, right?” he jokes.

From your experience, yes. 

Aya’s received plenty. You, as her tag along beta, less so. 

One pack brought you a bouquet of pink and white peonies on your first date. Not quite as  extravagant as the arrangement of roses they presented Aya with, they had a lovely, subtle perfume and when you put them in a vase and set them atop your nightstand, they brightened up the whole room. You could appreciate that they’d at least tried to make you feel an equal part of this. 

They’d been willing to play pretend.

Back then, when Aya first started bringing potential packs around, you were… idealistic. Naive, maybe. 

You watched them dote on her. Lap up Aya’s attention like it was the sweetest fix. You saw the hunger. The arousal that flared, thick and syrupy, whenever she did something unintentionally appealing to the alpha inside of them – a simple stretch, nibbling on her bottom lip while she mulled over a menu, the sway of her hips as she walked up to the bar.

Oh, they were polite to you. Drew you into conversations, chatted about your job, your hobbies, the plans the two of you had for the holidays in a few weeks’ time – all the while tracking every movement of the omega beside you from the corner of their eyes.

They were nice to you. You didn’t want ‘nice’. You wanted what they so freely offered to Aya; hunger and captivated attention, a desire so thick in the air you could choke on it. 

Foolish, pretty fantasies. There’s no competing with biology, you know that. The most interesting, beautiful beta in the room is still just a beta. 

Down below, the court’s quieter, muted chatter drifting up to the bleachers in place of squeaking and thuds and the sharp trill of whistles blowing. Did the practice match finish up?

Aya squeezes your hand. Drops it. As subtle a cue as she can manage. 

Brain kicking back into gear, you step closer and pluck the gift from the alpha’s outstretched hand, an odd little shiver trickling down your spine when the tips of your fingers graze his rough palm. 

“Ah, thank you,” you say, remembering your manners at last.

Tendou’s eyes flutter shut, breathing in deep, shuddering a little on the exhale. When they open again, there’s a giddy sort of satisfaction creeping from his expression. He licks his lips, smiling wide. “Sea salt.”

“… Sorry?”

“The chocolates,” his chin juts towards the gift. “Sea salt caramel. I had a feeling, went with it. I’m not usually wrong.” He sounds absurdly proud of the fact. 

“Oh.” 

Beside you, Aya looks as lost as you feel. Semi, on the other hand, snorts, shaking his head. “You might wanna ease up on the beta, dude. She met you all of three minutes ago.”

“Yeah, but we’re gonna be besties. I can feel it.” Without warning he slings an arm over your shoulders, dragging you close to smush you into his side, unbothered by your startled yelp, the way the bag of chocolates smacks against his torso when the hand clutching it jerks out to steady yourself. “Don’t be jealous ‘cuz I’m already the favourite, Semi-Semi.”

Semi shrugs, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, leaning back against the centre railing behind him. Slowly, a smirk unfurls. A challenge. “For now.”

Plastered against Tendou’s side, swallowed up by the heat of him, the heady scent of cherrywood – of alpha – thick and strong, and with no sign of him letting you go anytime soon, you dart a glance to Aya.

Your best, oldest (admittedly only) friend, watching the three of you with a quirked eyebrow, expression otherwise indecipherable–

And then, she giggles, rolling her eyes with exasperated amusement. “Can we at least sit while you two fight over my well-earned spot?” 

You wonder if they notice the brief look of concern she throws your way as Tendou relaxes his hold and the two usher you over to a seat, Semi snagging the one to your left, Aya taking the right.

Her promise from earlier rings in your head. One word and she’ll walk, no questions asked. 

Aya needs a pack. She wants this one. She likes this one, but at some point, she’ll need one. 

Omegas don’t do well long term without mates. Right now her heats are okay, manageable with suppressants and toys – eventually those won’t be enough. They’ll get worse, come without warning, more frequently. The suppressants won’t help, she’ll ache and burn up, forgo food, water, sleep…

The lucky ones end up hospitalised. The unlucky ones either end up dead or in situations where it’d be a kindness if they were. 

“You okay?” she asks, whisper soft. Her voice won’t carry, the other two aren’t paying attention anyway. Semi’s thigh brushes up against yours when he spreads his legs wide, thumbing out a message on his phone, and Tendou’s leaning over the backrest between you, chin perched on his folded forearms, watching him type. 

One word and she’ll walk, that’s what Aya promised. 

Down on the court below, the players spread across the floor, stretching out and cooling down, half empty water bottles and sweat towels scattered around them. Ushjima’s lying on your side of the court, one thigh drawn over the other, twisting out his lower back. If he realises he’s got an audience in you and Aya, he gives no indication of caring, holding the stretch for a few seconds longer before repeating the motion with the other leg. 

“Yeah.”

If chocolates and overly tactile besties are what you get out of this, you can manage that. 

—

While you wait out front of the stadium for Ushijima to finish up, Semi smokes.

A lit cigarette dangles loosely between two fingers, the tip glowing cherry red with every drag. He stands separate from the three of you, a few feet away, because when he’d fished out the slightly crumpled packet from his jacket pocket to pluck one out, Aya’s nose wrinkled. Omegas are sensitive to strong smells at the best of times, and Aya’s loathed the stench of cigarettes ever since she was a kid and her dad would smoke on the back porch of her gran’s place. He died years ago, and to this day she swears up and down that every time she sets foot back there, she smells those Seven Stars.

To her credit, she hadn’t actually said anything, and to Semi’s, he hadn’t kicked up a fuss. He’d shrugged, shuffled on back and lit up anyway. Water off a duck’s back.

Tendou talks loudly and Aya’s giggling laugh echoes louder. Semi watches. Idle – bored, almost. 

Until his gaze shifts to you.

And stays there.

From a young age, you’re taught that alphas are stronger than betas and omegas. They’re quicker. Smarter. In the old days, they tell you, alphas were the hunters, the providers – protectors, when the situation called for it. What they mean, dressing the truth up in nicer, more palatable terms is that alphas are, down to their marrow, predators. 

Those instincts don’t go away just because society’s a little more civilised these days. 

Semi’s expression doesn’t change. There’s nothing particularly dangerous or threatening there, nothing to explain the sudden ball of anxiety that lodges itself in your stomach. 

Yet you can’t shake the sense that with that stare, every ounce of his focus rests solely on you. Every breath, every nervous twitch, shift of your muscles, all of it tracked, analysed. He stares, breathing out a slow plume of smoke, and you feel the physical weight of it bearing down on you.

He won’t bite, lunge for the kill – but he could.

His chin tilts, eyebrow lifting. A flicker of amusement, as if he knows exactly the thoughts running wild in your head. You shake them off, ignore the hammering of your heart to follow the wordless, beckoning call to his side, nudging Aya on the way past so she won’t think you’ve abandoned her. 

“You realise she’s gonna try and get you to quit,” you tell him in what you hope is a friendly, upbeat tone. 

Semi scoffs and takes another drag of his cigarette. You watch, off-kilter, a little dazed as his head tilts back, exposing the long, lithe column of his throat, and he slowly exhales.

With dark, sweeping lashes and angular features, the problem, you realise, is that Semi is distractingly pretty. An artless, grunged up sort of pretty. Pretty like pools of oil on asphalt after it rains. 

Pretty in the way that poisonous things often are. 

“She’s more than welcome to try.” He plucks his cig from his lips and extends it your way, his expression almost… goading. 

You don’t take it.

There isn’t much surprise to be found in your refusal, his pretty mouth pursing as his arm falls by the wayside. “Omega’s got her claws stuck in you good, huh.”

And that’s the rub, isn’t it. What all this boils down to. Right from the start, the very first pack you met and every pack since – Aya’s made it clear from the get-go. They don’t get her without you. You’re her beta. 

“Is that a problem for you?”

You won’t take the cigarette because Aya has issues with it. She won’t entertain you leaving her because the two of you are too fucking entangled in one another to handle extrication.

You’re pack, you’re family, you’re all each other has left, now that her grandma – the woman who essentially raised you and her – is gone. 

You won’t play second fiddle, if only because Aya won’t allow them to push you aside like that. If that’s a problem, a dealbreaker (and, historically speaking, it has been) better they figure it out now, before she – or you – gets too attached and ends up hurt. 

Semi regards you for a long moment, taking one last puff of his cigarette before he flicks it away, grinds the smoldering butt into the cement with the toe of his boot. “Don’t know yet. Guess we’ll find out.”

And you nod, because at least that’s an honest answer. 

“Tendou came back to Japan for her, didn’t he?” It’d twigged when you’d gone to hand back your visitor’s pass and the lady behind the counter made some casual comment about not expecting to see him ‘til next season.

Not back for a visit, back permanently.

Semi shakes his head, “He was always coming back. Paris was only ever a temporary thing,” he corrects. “But yeah, he made the decision to come home early when we realised the opportunity that’d fallen into our laps.”

While you don’t love the way he makes meeting Aya sound, you understand the gravity of what he’s saying. Tendou uprooted his life for her. 

You glance back over your shoulder, fiddling with the handles of the bag of chocolates he’d made for you. They’re still talking, quieter now, both of them subtly – subconsciously, probably – angled towards the two of you; Aya with that same bright-eyed look about her, Tendou like he’s just itching to interrupt and steal your attention back for himself. He, at least, might actually like you. 

“And you? Are you all in, too?”

The words slip out before you can stop them. Semi doesn’t owe you an answer, you know that. It’s not fair that you asked, it’s just– you can’t get a read on him. For all his sharp edges and the smirks that make your insides squirm, you don’t know whether this is what he wants. Wanted, maybe.

Semi surprises you. In a move too quick for you to catch, he closes in on you. He doesn’t pin you down per se. You’re not caged in, trapped between his body and a wall. Physically speaking, there’s nothing stopping you from stepping back and regaining that inch of space as he looms over your shorter frame, tilting your chin upwards with two curled fingers like he’s going to kiss you. 

Nothing except your suddenly jelly legs. 

There’s barely anything separating you. Millimetres. Heat floods your face. Your stomach tightens, blood simmering, writhing beneath your skin. Long fingers encircle your wrist, right where Aya had scented you, his thumb digging in over your fluttering pulse. A noise escapes you then, a distressed sort of whimper you thought yourself above, and Semi’s eyes flick down to your lips, something dark and hungry flaring in response. 

Alpha. Smaller than his packmates, but no less. 

“Who d’you think called him and told him to get his ass back home, little beta?” 

You swallow unsteadily–

“Time to share, Semi-Semi,” Tendou sings, snaking an arm around your waist to haul you away from the blond. To you, he says, “You wanna come say hi to our big, bad pack alpha, don’tcha?” 

It’s then you realise that Ushijima, along with several of his teammates, have finally emerged. While they wave each other off, scattering across the carpark, some heading to their cars, others in the direction of buses and the train station, Ushijima halts near the door – Aya already skipping on over. 

“Ah… yes?”

Tendou snickers. 

“Relax,” Semi tells you with a smirk, clapping your shoulder as he brushes on past. “Ushiwaka doesn’t bite.” 

As Tendou nudges you forward like an errant duckling, you fix Semi with an unimpressed look. He winks. Asshole.

Omegas, especially unbonded omegas, tend to be picky about touch and physical affection outside of pack and family. Aya, for all her moon-eyed infatuation, doesn’t throw herself at the alpha. Ushijima offers a single, wooden pat on her head, the edges of his mouth lifting in what you suppose is an approximation of a smile.

She beams all the same.

“– and this is my beta,” she introduces. 

You’re not anticipating an overly warm welcome. For one, he looks stiff enough smiling at Aya to suspect he’s not practised with the expression, for another… the whole, weird staring thing from earlier sits all too fresh in your mind. If he’d heard your awkward fumbling with his packmates in the aftermath, you doubt that’s helped endear you to him any.

Nothing prepares you for the way he turns, every speck of goodwill falling from his features when your scent finally reaches him. Cold, remote stone, eyeing you down. 

“You smell like lilacs,” he grunts, like the very concept offends him. You, a beta, wearing his would-be mate’s scent. 

—

The izakaya the alphas take you to is only a few minutes walk from the stadium, and each one of them passes in near unbearable, stilted tension. 

Aya doesn’t question you when you make a bee-line for the bathroom rather than following the others to a table, though the small furrow between her brows says plenty.

You just need a minute.

The single unisex stall offers spartan amenities at best – a sink with a cracked mirror hammered into the wall, paper towels, and a lone, flickering light above. 

Braced over the porcelain vanity, eyes closed, shaking like a leaf with remnants of ice-cold water dripping down your face, you will the frantic, sickening churn inside you to ease. 

Fuck. 

What’s wrong with you?

Ushijima could barely stand that Aya had scented you, and you’re supposed to believe he’d let you bond into the pack with her? And if he did, what kind of life would that be? You, forever on the outside, pack but not really, not in the ways that matter. 

What place does a beta have between alphas and their omega?

More to the point, how, after all the packs you and Aya have tried this with, all the the indifference and dismissal you’ve weathered, the cruel insults you weren’t supposed to hear–

Think of it this way, dude; it’s a spare hole for you to stick your cock in while the omega’s busy bouncing on my knot.

–how are you still surprised that they don’t want you?

You let a slow breath out, shoulders sagging. Okay. 

Okay. 

Straightening up, you rip a sheet of paper towel from the dispenser, dabbing to remove any trace of distress from your face. You can do this, you tell yourself. Smile, play pretend. A few drinks, some dumplings, yakitori – two, three hours max.

Nothing’s changed.

The alphas want Ayako. Ayako wants these alphas.

In spite of that, in spite of the blushing and fawning and big, lovely doe eyes that bat ever so prettily for her alphas, she’ll hold true to her promise if you ask it of her. 

No questions asked, without an ounce of resentment, she’d walk away from them. She’d choose you. 

It’d be a few weeks of moping around, picking each other up and dusting yourselves off. There’ll be other packs. Aya’s got a few years yet before her heats really become an issue. You can always try again.

The thing is… you don’t want to anymore.

They like you as a friend. You’re in the way. They wanna fuck you, but only if the omega’s otherwise occupied. You can take care of the household stuff during heats and ruts, right? Maybe one day there could be something more. 

They wouldn’t look twice if it wasn’t for Ayako. 

Every time it hurts, like clawing out pieces of yourself, and you just… you can’t anymore. You won’t.

So tonight, you’ll be the bestie. Let her have her fun, flirt with the big, strong alphas she’s so enamoured by, and then tomorrow… tomorrow you’ll find a way to cut yourself loose from all of this. Aya gets her pack and you can find a nice, normal beta to settle down with. You’ll both be happier for it in the long run. 

Wiping a smudge of mascara from under your eye, you suck in another fortifying breath, nodding at yourself in the mirror. A few hours of pretending is nothing. A piece of cake.

Focused entirely on the veneer you have to slip into, you don’t notice the large, muscular frame blocking the door until you quite literally collide with it.

“Oof– Sorry, my b–”

The words wither like ash on your tongue when you look up to find Ushijima standing over you.

Despite the resolution you’d come to mere moments ago, you’re not feeling particularly charitable towards the hulking behemoth of an alpha, and you have every intention of wordlessly skirting around him to head back to the table and join your friend, civility be damned. 

You make it all of a single step before a change sweeps over him and he stiffens, nostrils flaring like they had back on the court. His eyes bleed black, and that’s the only warning you get before he seizes your wrist in one giant hand and starts to haul you back into the stall, slamming the door shut behind you both. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” you hiss. 

“She scented you,” he growls, looking angrier than he did before. “You smell like omega.”

No, this isn’t anger. Not exactly. Ushijima’s shoulders heave with every breath, his whole frame almost shuddering, pulled taut like a bowstring primed to snap–

And that’s when realisation hits. 

“You’re in a rut,” you whisper, eyes going wide in horror. “Ushiji–” You don’t get to finish the sentence. 

Big should mean slow. Clumsy. Ushijima’s neither. 

In an instant he surges into motion, one hand clamping down over your mouth, the other shoving you forward, trapping you on the tips of your toes between his hulking body and the vanity that was your lifeline five minutes ago. Just like then, your hands automatically reach out, clutching the edge of the sink to steady yourself. Stupid, when the full weight of Ushijima pins you precariously in place anyway.

Your heart hammers, panic and terror clawing at your stomach. You aren’t an omega, you can’t take a knot. If Ushijima tries to fuck you like he wants – like his instincts are driving him to – he’ll tear you apart. He’ll break you. 

But if any part of the mindless, snarling alpha behind you recognises that, he doesn’t care. The warm body in his grasp smells like lilacs, like the omega outside, and that’s good enough.

He noses at your hair and pants, yanking your skirt up to rip at your underwear. The fabric gives easily.

While he rips and claws at his own clothes to free his cock, Ushijima stares at your reflection, watching you shake as the tears well up and spill over. There’s nothing human there, nothing cognizant. The black pits staring back at you are pure alpha, consumed by the need to fuck and breed. 

You have seconds – seconds – to brace yourself.

Ushijima drags the head of his cock along your slit just once, bends you over, and without warning or preamble, splits you in two. 

Omegas have slick to help with sudden ruts. You don’t. 

It doesn’t matter that you’re not prepared to take him, that it hurts worse than anything you’ve experienced before and you’re choking on tears and muffled wails. You scream into his hand and Ushijima grunts, bullying his cock into you one agonising millimetre at a time. 

He fucks into you like you’re made to take his cock, every thrust slamming you into the unforgiving edge of the sink while your legs scramble for purchase. You’re fairly sure you’re close to passing out when you feel the swell of his knot start to catch. 

Oblivious to your panic, the wheezing cries and pleas dashed against his palm, the alpha snarls in open-mouthed pleasure, his spare hand coming down to cover one of your own, braced against the sink. “Mine.”

With the added weight, the vanity unit rattles against the wall, and you pray that someone’s walking by and hears it, cares enough to come investigate.

You aren’t that lucky, though.

Ushijima hauls you back upright, and as his knot swells, thick and pulsing, stretching you to breaking point and spurts of hot cum coat your insides, you cling on to consciousness just long enough to watch him tilt your chin to the side, lap at a bead of sweat trailing down your neck, and bury his teeth in your skin. 

—

Three days after your release from hospital, you wake to Aya knocking at your bedroom.

“S’posed to be at the bakery,” you mumble, curling tighter into the warm cocoon of your sheets. Soft morning light spills into your room. You can’t be bothered reaching for your phone to see the time, however your internal clock tells you that whatever the time is, it’s too early.

Aya sighs, taking that as an invitation to slip inside and plant herself on the edge of the mattress beside you. “Soon. I swapped shifts so I could start a bit later. I didn’t want…” she seems to struggle to find the right words, her shoulders rising and falling in a helpless shrug. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know.”

That isn’t the problem. 

“You remember the day your mom left?” The stark flinch beneath the covers must serve as answer enough. “You wouldn’t stop crying. Gran was so worried you’d make yourself sick, kept bringing you tea, bottles of water, anything to keep you hydrated.” 

An omega like her granddaughter, the last of her alphas having passed away a few years before, she’d paced fretfully outside Aya’s bedroom door for hours while you’d sobbed into your best friend’s arms, an absolute wreck. 

A bittersweet feeling floods your heart at the memory. No one ever loved you like gran did. 

Aya continues, “I made a decision that day. I wasn’t going to leave. I wasn’t going to run off with a bunch of alphas to live out some fairytale happily ever after and leave you behind. You can blame me for what happened. I get it. If I hadn’t scented you, he–” she breaks off with a sharp inhale.

He wouldn’t have tipped into a rut.

Wouldn’t have fucked you.

Knotted you.

Bit you. 

“You can blame me for it,” she repeats, though her voice shakes and her eyes shine with tears she won’t let fall. “Hate me for it if you have to, so long as you know I’m not going anywhere. You’re still my beta, my best friend. All I wanted was to keep us together.”

Aya waits for you to say something. To forgive or condemn, and you try– you genuinely do, because blaming her isn’t fair, and you could no sooner hate her than you could carve out a lung. 

Only… you open your mouth and there’s nothing. 

The way her expression collapses before she has a chance to plaster over it hits you like a punch to the stomach. 

“Alright, lovely girl. I’ll see you when I get back – four-ish probably, unless we get hit with a late rush. I’ll try and steal some of those mini strawberry cakes to bring home too, I know how much you like them,” she rambles, patting your blanket covered knee and rising to her feet. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Aya–”

Already halfway to the door, she turns, perfect brow arched, “Hm?” Like she’s expecting you to ask for another blanket. Some tea. Nothing wrong, nothing amiss. 

“Love you, too.”

And it’s like the sun coming out from the clouds. Aya beams a watery smile, and quietly closes the door behind her. 

Sleep drags you back under before you hear the front door click. The doctors warned you about that; one of the many charming side effects you’d be subjected to over the next few weeks.

Bond sickness, they called it. An alpha’s bite formed a mating bond, and that bond doesn’t respond well when it’s neglected, say by putting several miles of distance between you and the alpha who marked you. For omegas it can be deadly if it goes on long enough. Alphas have a sense of it, but it doesn’t affect them in the same way. They don’t get sick. For you, it means a month or so of lethargy, aches, low grade fevers and chills, nausea, a veritable shopping list of symptoms that’ll ease and fade as the bond itself does. 

None of that had stopped one of the nurse’s at the hospital from suggesting that, despite the delicate nature of the situation, it might be beneficial for your health if you moved in with Ushijima and his pack until it did fade. 

It was Aya who’d jumped down her throat for that one. 

You were still in shock. Numb–

Except for the foreign, slow simmering anger lodged like a thorn between your ribs. A small piece of you that wasn’t you at all. 

—

Sometime around midmorning, you stir again.

There’s footsteps in the living room, pattering through towards your bedroom. Dancing on the edge of awake, your brain slow and sluggish, jumps to the most logical conclusion. 

“Aya?” 

You expect your door to open, that familiar bloom of lilacs to spill into your room along with your best friend, a bowl of noodle soup from the shop on the corner in tow, the strawberry cakes she promised earlier, extra pillows, coffee, her laptop with your favourite movie already queued up; comfort things she knows will help.

The door does swing open, and neither one of the tall, looming frames behind it belong to Aya. 

“Sorry to disappoint, little beta,” Semi drawls, crossing the threshold like he has every right to be there. “Your girlfriend’s busy, you’re gonna have to play with us instead.”

The blood in your veins runs cold. 

Drawing your legs up tight to put as much distance between you and the advancing alpha as you can, your eyes dart between the two, Tendou lingering in the doorway, fingers drumming against the jamb. 

“I didn’t report him. I’m not going to,” you tell them, clutching at the blankets around you so your hands won’t shake. “I know how it’ll go, I’m not i-interested in–”

Semi reaches your bed. That look he’d had in his eyes back at the stadium, dark, focused, predatory – it’s there again, sharp and gleaming. He’s smirking. 

“There’s no– you don’t need to threaten me, or-or try to scare me–” His knee hits the mattress and your voice jumps to a squeak as he climbs on up.

You squirm back against the headboard. Semi prowls closer. 

There’s nowhere for you to go. 

Tendou’s not so subtly placed himself between you and the exit, and even if you could launch yourself out of bed without Semi catching you – without your head spinning and stomach threatening to upheave – they’re alphas. You couldn’t outrun them on a good day, you sure as hell can’t fight them.  

“Please. You can go. I-I won’t say anything.”

“Fuck, that’s cute,” Tendou shivers, the deep red of his iris nearly swallowed by black. His fingers aren’t idly drumming anymore, they’re digging into the wood, splintering it beneath his grip. 

Inches away from you, Semi suddenly freezes, his attention snapping downwards to focus on something near his right hand. His nose wrinkles, lip curling. “You wanna know what I liked best about the omega?” he asks, lifting his gaze back to you. “I don’t think you really believed me back at the stadium.”

You shake your head. You don’t want to know. If they aren’t here to scare you into keeping your mouth shut about Ushijima, then–

A low, husky chuckle comes from the doorway. 

“When she’d show up smelling like the sea in summer.” 

He strikes hard and fast – seizing your ankle to yank you under him. His mouth finds the soft curve where your neck meets your shoulder and he bites down. Hard. 

Agony washes you over you, chased by fire. 

Panting wildly, your body locks up, arcing against him; against the warmth that crowds you, the hard muscles that cage you, the face now tucked into the crook of your neck, licking at the bloody, oozing wound. 

He’s there inside of you, too. Buried beneath your skin, brimming with smug satisfaction. 

“Bite her and we’ll take her home to the nest. I’m not fucking her here,” he calls over his shoulder, keeping his eyes fixed on you. He pats your hair, strokes your cheek. “Little beta needs her mates, don’t you?”

“Course she does!”

You’re gasping for air that won’t come, trembling, heart beating so frantically inside your chest you worry it’ll give out.

Tendou, bounding over with puppy-like eagerness, jumps on the bed and shoves his fellow alpha out of the way. 

“A…ya,” you rasp, weakly pushing at the large body crawling atop yours. You’re not sure whether it’s a question or a plea, but you get the sense that it doesn’t actually matter either way. 

Semi rolls his eyes – you can feel the flicker of his irritation – while Tendou, pawing at your sleep tee, pushing it up and shoving his face into the soft skin revealed there only groans, huffing at your scent like he can’t get enough. 

“Pretty omega like her? She’ll have her own alphas to worry about,” Semi dismisses, a faint frown marring his pretty face as he zeros in on the bandage over your neck. 

A split second too late, you realise his intentions. 

“No, don’t–”

He rips off the gauze.

Ushijima’s bite is puffy and inflamed. Calloused fingertips drift over the edges of the wound, Semi’s eyes boring into you as you let out a low, anxious whine. As Tendou licks and nips at your chest, working his way upwards, the blond increases the pressure, digging in.

You choke on a cry, pleasure, rather than pain, flooding and overwhelming your senses, and deep in your core, the answering surge of rabid need rips through you so viciously it punches the air from your lungs–

“We don’t fucking share.”

–and you scream as Tendou’s teeth sink into the curve of your breast, claiming you one final time.