#i'm almost having a full out mental breakdown right now

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch6. the in-laws

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 6/x

ᰔ words. 12.6k

a/n. hiii my ihm lovelies!! hope you all had a great holiday season. i wanted to get this chapter out as a christmas gift but i failed and then i wanted to get it out as a new years post but failed and then i got food poisoning yesterday and while i was rotting in bed i ended up finishing the chapter LOL. it seems i can only write when i'm under duress? but anywho. hope you enjoy haha and see you at the bottom!

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“Alright, let’s head out,” you hear Gojo say from the bottom of the staircase, followed by the sound of dress shoes on the hardwood floor, and you glance over to see him clad in a navy suit with a white button up shirt that had one singular button undone. He’s messing with the cuffs of his suit jacket as he makes his way over to you. You catch the scent of his cologne, and it’s alarming how familiar it’s become to you.

Days go by shorter lately, mainly because it’s winter, and so the sun has almost fully set by 6pm. The sky outside is a dark hue of purple, seen past the windows of Gojo’s house, and the warm, dim lighting inside makes you feel strangely nostalgic. Like in a way that feels like home.

You tirelessly tousle with your hair at the mirror hanging above the foyer table that was snug up against the wall at the front entrance. Your hair wasn’t cooperating. You attempted to curl it, for the first time in forever given you can’t remember the last time you had enough time to do your hair, so you were out of practice. It was obvious, given the way some strands were curled outwards from your face, some inwards, some straighter than others, some curlier than others, and you were about to have a full blown mental breakdown before you remember your grounding exercises– 1, 2, 3, 4.

You turn to face Gojo, who you saw in the mirror was standing behind you and watching you with amusement, and you breathe in deep. “How do I look?” you ask, petting down the fabric of your dress as you face him. The thought occurs to you–why do you give so much of a fuck how you look right now? It’s just Gojo’s family. It’s not like they’re actually your in-laws. And from what Gojo’s mother had told you, it was just an intimate little get-together with Sana’s family. It’s really not a big deal. Yet the necessity to impress still consumes you.

Gojo threads his hands into the pockets of his pants and tilts his head to assess your appearance, and you watch his gaze trace the frame of you. “Nice,” he says, “you look nice.”

“That’s it? Just nice?”

“Well, I tried to call you hot earlier, but it got me yelled at.”

You roll your eyes and grab your purse off the foyer table, “okay, whatever, I’ll take it.” And then you head towards the front door. You hear the jingle of car keys from behind you as they’re shoved into a pocket.

The outside air is chilly in a way that’s almost sobering. Gojo opens the door for you to get inside his car and the warmth of your peach cobbler in your lap comforts some of the nerves you felt. By the time Gojo clicks his seatbelt into place in the driver seat, you realize you’ve never been in his car before, or driven anywhere by him before.

The interior smells of pine and something more familiar too, with sleek leather seats that are so comfortable they make you feel like you’re floating. You know it’s a Benz, you’re just not sure what year or model, and you’d usually ask most people out of a friendly curiosity, but for some reason your pride always got the best of you when it came to him.

“I seriously can’t wait to eat that thing you made,” Gojo comments after he’s backed out of the driveway, “it looks really nice.”

“Do you have a sweet tooth?” you ask him, glancing over at him, and you try not to stare at the strong one-handed grip he has on the steering wheel as he corrects it. 

“Oh yeah,” he answers, “big time.”

“You don’t seem like it,” you mindlessly say, turning your head to glance out into the dim street, passing by houses that idly sit in this neighborhood.

“Why’s that?” he asks.

“You seem to maintain a steady weight,” you politely comment.

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Is that the closest I’ll ever get to a compliment from you?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s just science. Hard to maintain a build if you eat a lot of sugar.”

He turns onto the mainroad, and you keep your gaze plastered to the outside. “I seem to manage.”

“It’s because you're tall. Tall people get to eat whatever they want.”

You see him nod his head once in your periphery, and you take it as some form of dismissal. “Sure.”

It doesn’t take terribly long to get to Gojo’s parents’ house, just a thirty-five minute drive without traffic. He kept surprisingly silent throughout most of it, and the few moments you did glance at his face, you could even say he looked like he was deep in thought. With a creased brow, a grip on the steering wheel that sometimes faltered, sometimes strengthened, but rarely fully eased. It was all so different from his usual impulse to talk. You know that you often wish for Gojo to shut the fuck up sometimes, but the silence seemed unsettling today.

His parents’ house is large, maybe twice the size of the homes in your neighborhood, but it’s tucked away in a slightly remote area, where the next closest house is about a quarter of a mile down the road. The driveway is long and runs downhill, so you stumble a little on the high heel of your shoe when you step down onto the pebbled pavement, but Gojo holds your elbow so you don’t fall onto your face. And also so you don’t drop the peach cobbler he so desperately wants to try. You’re not sure which of the two was the bigger priority for him.

As you two walk up the driveway towards the front entrance, you hear him sigh behind you. “Just so you know, my mom doesn’t really have any sense of boundaries.”

“Ah,” you comment, “nice to know where you get it from.”

He gives you an irritated look, seen in the corner of your eye, and it’s hard to fight the small amused smile that makes its way onto your face.

He sighs again as you two make it to the top of the steps. “Seriously, though. Chances of you wanting to leave me after this dinner are high.”

“Why? You’ve got a hot older brother I don’t know about or something?”

“I am the hot older brother,” he tells you.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, and then face him fully. “You’re not the first guy that’s warned me about his parents, okay? I’ll handle my own. What good is life if your in-laws–er, fake in-laws–aren’t at least a little strange?”

He lifts his finger to the doorbell, and just before pressing it, he says, “alright, then.”

It only takes twelve seconds for the door to swing open, the aroma of fresh herbs and something more sultry like vetiver arouse your senses, along with a warmth beckoning you from the inside of the home. 

Gojo’s mother stands at the doorway, surrounded by a halo of warm lighting, and her face instantly morphs into one of delightful glee.

“Oh! My dear, you’ve made it!” she exclaims happily, and just when you think she’s about to pull Gojo in for a hug, she pulls you in for one first instead, which startles you. “How lovely!”

“Oh—” you stutter, stumbling slightly as your nose becomes buried in the fluff of her silk pressed hair, but the delicate fragrance of lilac is somehow comforting.

She pulls you away to hold you by your shoulders. “You poor thing, you’re shivering! Come inside.” She hastily ushers you inside and you can feel the heat from Gojo’s body as he follows closely on your tail.

When his mother closes the door behind you, you find yourself surrounded by the kind of warmth only a house could provide. 

You take a small look around the foyer, noticing that it’s large with tones of deep wood and a bright white and golden chandelier that hangs daintily above in the cavity of the high ceilings. Leather, wood, velvet, silk, these are the textures that you see as you look around. It’s an old-fashioned taste, with a polished grand piano off to the right in the hall and display cases of vintage dolls and porcelain plates. So very different from modern, but it’s comforting. Like a wave of nostalgia, but from something you’ve never experienced before.

“What’s this?” Mrs. Gojo asks with curiosity lilting her voice as she walks up to you and points at the casserole dish you were holding.

“Oh, it’s peach cobbler,” you say, holding it up slightly with a small smile adorning your face, “for dessert.”

“How sweet! You’re an angel,” she coos, then twists her torso towards the kitchen, “honey! Come here, will you?”

Shuffling down the hallway from the heart of the house is, who you presume to be, Mr. Gojo. He’s tall, with his shoulders slightly curved forward as he approaches you all, and you note that he looks more aged than his missus.

“Ah, this must be my new daughter-in-law,” he says, his voice gruff and crackly from years of use. You smell the faintest hint of smoke from his clothing.

You glance at Gojo, who is watching you interact with his parents, an unreadable expression on his face as his hands remain shoved into the pocket of his suit pants.

Mr. Gojo takes the peach cobbler from you and gives you a curt smile before taking it back towards the kitchen.

“Darling, I must say, you have a lovely figure—” Gojo’s mother begins to say, reaching her hand out to hover it over the curve of your waist, but just at that moment, Gojo comes up to stand in between the two of you.

“Alright, what time’s dinner?” he asks.

Mrs. Gojo glances up at him, her face immediately twisting into a frown. “Nevermind that. I want to take y/n with me back to the kitchen to help braise the chicken,” she says, grabbing a hold of your wrist and tugging you towards her.

“Oh—” you stumble slightly.

“Nope,” you hear Gojo say from beside you, and suddenly there’s a strong arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you back to his side, “she stays with me for the night.” You’d remember to blush at the feeling of being pressed flush up against him, but the shock overshadowed.

“Satoru!” Mrs. Gojo exclaims, rather loudly, and she lets out a hmph noise before placing her hands on her hips. “You’re no fun!”

“I’m not gonna let you indoctrinate her into whatever multi-level marketing scheme you’ve fallen victim to this month,” he says, his hold on your waist tightening.

“How petulant!” she says, trying to manage a stern look but Gojo doesn’t seem fazed by it, “quit acting like I’m going to corrupt her! I’m not some witch.”

“Your track record would prove otherwise,” he comments.

“Oh please, the only other time was when you brought—”

She suddenly stops speaking, her eyes going wide, and she glances at you. You cluelessly tilt your head at her.

Ah. The other woman. This mysterious ex-wife. Would you be the other woman in this case? Seeing as to how his entire family seems to walk on eggshells about the subject around you. And they all seem to think that any mention of her would devastate you, when really, you and Gojo aren’t even actually lovers.

But there’s a small part of you,

A teeny tiny part,

Revealed from the way your heart sank at the realization of who his mother was referring to,

That actually does feel some type of way about it.

You want to know who this woman was to him. Does he still think of her? Does he still love her? What happened between them? Was she the one that got away? And how does he feel about the fact that he’s now here with you?

You shake your head vigorously to get those thoughts out of your head.

It was like method acting. You stepped into the role of wife this evening, and now you feel the way that they expect you to feel at the mention of your husband’s ex-lover.

That must be the reason, right?

You slowly push yourself out of Gojo’s hold, and you try not to become hyper aware of his eyes on you as you smooth out the fabric of your dress, then you glance at his mother.

“I’d love to help you braise the chicken,” you say.

There’s a brief silence as you find your voice in this house, and then Mrs. Gojo flashes you a grin.

“Come with me, honey,” she says before wrapping a delicate hand around your wrist and pulling you towards the heart of the house.

There are pictures hung up on the walls as you brush past every hallway, along with peeling wallpaper that is peppered with florals and striped prints, sanded off from years of shoulders brushing against their surfaces in a way that creates an old, dated charm. You learn quickly that Gojo has always been pretty tall, judging from the photo of him standing with, whom you assume are his middle school friends, out on a boat, holding a bass the size of a small child. 

There’s photos of the four of them together, like one professionally taken photo where Gojo and Sana are knelt in front of their parents, and your gaze fixates on the strong grip Mr. Gojo has on his son’s shoulder, digging deep in the bone, creasing the fabric, almost desperately. Gojo looks young in the photo, maybe a recent high school graduate, and his smile is bright but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

And, God, the trophies. The trophies that adorned the surfaces of aged cedar wood dressers, seemingly random in the order they are sprawled across the display yet you know there was intention behind it too. Ballet, soccer, tennis, spelling bee, FRC, even dragon boat racing. 

“Feel free to take any of those home,” Mrs. Gojo says with a teasing tone, “you eventually get tired of staring at them.”

You wouldn’t know. Your mother never had much extra cash hanging around to take you to tennis lessons, or ballet lessons, or SAT prep, or whatever. You were lucky enough that you got into college with the cards you were dealt, but you sometimes wonder what your potential could’ve been if you had parents like Gojo did. Maybe the house you live in would be your own, and not something that your mother has spent the past forty years of her life trying to pay off. Maybe you’d have a freshly renovated kitchen and a pretty boat out on the street. But throwing a pity party for yourself right now wasn’t exactly going to get you through the evening.

Mrs. Gojo finally leads you into the kitchen, and the aroma of fresh herbs overwhelms your senses. 

“Smells wonderful,” you comment.

“I know,” she cheekily comments, “will you turn the meat please?”

You grab a pair of tongs and attempt to sear the cuts that were sizzling on the stove.

“Sooooo,” she coos, wasting no time to playfully bump her hip to yours, “how is married life?”

“Nice,” you respond, your cheeks warming slightly, “it’s nice.”

“It won’t always be that way, you know,” she muses with some underlying sense of sincerity that isn’t lost on you.

When you remain quiet, concentrating on the searing sizzling noises coming from the pan, she decides to keep speaking.

“Eventually, you two will settle in a little too much…start to care less about your bodies…and then, oh gosh, when kids come into the picture, forget about having any time for yourselves,” she continues, “some days you’ll resent him, others you’ll feel like it’s the first time all over again.” She sighs. “Marriage is a funny thing—”

“Mrs. Gojo,” you interrupt her, turning to face her, “I—…I really appreciate you, I do, but, um, I’ve already learned a lot already about marriage from my own parents. Things are fine between Satoru and me.” You look into her widened eyes. “And…if something does happen down the line, and we choose not to be together anymore, then that’s okay too.”

After all, you had to prepare her.

“But that’s the thing!” she chirps, “your generation is too—…too impatient. Unwilling to work anything out! A marriage is supposed to be hard, but also it’s something you aren’t supposed to give up on so easily.”

It’s your turn to meet her with widened eyes in response to her preaching, and her posture immediately deflates before she holds you gently by your arm.

“I’m sorry, honey…I know it’s too early to be saying all these things to you,” she says, managing a small smile, “I always forget that I’m too old to be doting on my children like this anymore.”

Your expression softens and you wrap your palm over her bony knuckles, feeling the thinness of the skin that stretches over them. In a brief glimpse, you see your own mother in Mrs. Gojo’s eyes, something familiar, a universal expression of the love a parent has for their child.

“Well…” you say after clearing your throat, “for what it’s worth, you have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Gojo.” You try to manage a small smile. “I’m—…I’m really happy with your son.”

It was hard to lie to someone like this, especially from the way there’s relief that floods her irises, a genuine feeling that is so hard to come by in these days of false niceties. You often wonder how far a single white lie can stretch before it shatters against its own resistance.

“That’s a relief,” she says, managing her own prim smile, “I’m so glad.”

The two of you finish up in the kitchen, and when you circle around back into the hall, you see Sana standing in the warmly lit family room with Gojo and their dad.

Sana catches your eye, and you purse your lips together hesitantly before walking up to her.

“Hey,” you say softly and she returns the small smile you give her.

“Hi,” she says back to you.

“Um, where’s Juno?” you ask, looking around.

“Oh, she has a sleepover at her friend’s house tonight,” Sana says, “Jun’s dropping her off, and then he’ll come by here later.”

“Ah, I see,” you comment, itching at your elbow from the awkwardness.

“Well,” Mr. Gojo says, gesturing towards the dining room, “let’s eat, shall we?”

The three of you nod at him.

It’s fascinating to watch how the family falls naturally into their chairs, an assigned seating pattern that stays consistent among all dining halls and rooms and tables in the world, one that every family has. Mr. Gojo sits at the head of the table, his wife to his left, his son to his right. Sana sits quaintly to her mother’s left, and you sit across from her to Gojo’s left. The one empty seat is left for the presence of Jun.

“Food looks wonderful, darling,” Mr. Gojo says before leaning over to place a kiss on her bashful cheek.

Your heart does something weird at the sight. A simultaneous twinge paired with a warmer feeling that follows. You hardly witnessed any affection within your household growing up, not between your parents at least, probably because you were young when they got divorced and so the turmoils and tribulations started long before you had any higher order of cognitive discernment beyond the childish interest in Disney princesses and The Backyardigans. For you, the only memories that last of your parents’ marriage are those that feel like nothing more than the frigidity of a business arrangement. Ironically similar to the one you were currently in with Gojo. Except at least yours hadn’t been initially built on a foundation of love and a promise to be there for one another until death did you two apart.

Death was knocking on your mother’s doorstep now. But your father was nowhere to be found. So much for a vow.

Mr. Gojo pours his son a glass of whiskey, single malt as read on the label. Mrs. Gojo pours you and Sana a glass of red wine, and you try to hide the grimace, because you would’ve much rather had the whiskey.

“To y/n,” Mr. Gojo says, raising his glass up into the air, “for being our newest addition to the family.”

You all clink your glasses together, then in a variety of pairings, the last one being the tap of Gojo’s glass against yours, before you all take a drink.

“So…” Mrs. Gojo speaks up, “exactly how long have the two of you been married?”

You glance at Gojo for help, which isn’t exactly an unsuspecting thing to do.

“Four weeks,” he says.

You watch Mrs. Gojo’s eyes twitch. You can understand. Her own son gets married and doesn’t tell her anything about it for four weeks after the wedding. Well, in your case, a courthouse arrangement.

“Where did you two go for your honeymoon?” she asks, and Mr. Gojo clears his throat.

You look at Gojo for help again, and mentally pinch yourself for not being more discreet about how fake this whole thing is.

But Gojo surprisingly looks at ease. “Greece,” he says, and leaves it at that.

Mrs. Gojo’s body language turns to you, clearly irritated by her son’s short and curt answers. “Did you have a fun time, dear?”

“Oh! Yes, it was a very fun time. Definitely did all the newly wed stuff. Just as normal newlyweds do, you know. Because we are newlyweds,” you say through an awkward cough.

“Like…?” Mrs. Gojo pushes, and you can tell that she’s asking out of a genuine curiosity over the itinerary you two had allegedly carried out, but you crack under the pressure.

“W—…We made love,” you say, “we made lots and lots of love.”

The sound of silverware clanking onto ceramic plates startles you out of the blissful ignorance you had to the words that you had just said. Like you were so caught up in your mind about wanting to seem like an actual real life couple to his parents that you almost forgot about the number one social rule when meeting your (fake) significant other’s parents: no references to copulation. 

You glance up to find Mrs. Gojo’s eyes are wide, a slight tinge of pink to her cheeks. The width of Mr. Gojo’s eyes match his wife’s except his expression is also duly accompanied by a furrowed, perplexed brow. Sana looks visibly uncomfortable, shifting in her seat and trying hard to put on a poker face as she pretends like she didn’t just hear what you said.

You finally glance at Gojo, who’s looking at you with the most what the fuck? face you’ve ever seen someone make, and there’s concern on there somewhere too, like he’s not even fully convinced that you’re mentally sane at the moment because why on God’s green Earth would you say something like that at a family dinner table.

Trying your best to laugh it off, you say, “ah…ahaha, d-did I say make love? I meant–I meant that we–”

“Just–” Gojo interrupts you. “Just stop.”

Everyone are still stunned silent and the flush to your cheeks grows warmer. While clearing your throat, you set your lap napkin up on the table and clumsily scootch yourself out of your chair.

“Ex…cuse…me...” you mumble under your breath, knocking the table with your knee on accident, your wine glass almost toppling all over the pretty linen tablecloth but your reflexes catch the stem to steady it. “I need to…use the restroom.” And then you head straight down the hallway without sparing them another glance.

“Use the upstairs one!” Mrs. Gojo calls out to you, “the guest bathroom is under renovation.”

“Of fucking course it is,” you mutter under your breath, but flash them a polite smile before rounding the staircase pillar and then briskly walking up the stairs.

You quickly realize there’s more personality to the house upstairs, with some clutter in the theater loft and mismatching decorations that don’t reveal the careful deliberation of an indoor designer. The master bedroom is directly to the right of the top of the staircase and you glance across the loft at a narrow hallway that leads into the three bedrooms tucked away into the heart of the house.

One foot after the other, you float in that direction as if some force were compelling you towards it. Some trance of curiosity that no human being could ever resist. It’s fine. You didn’t actually need to piss anyways.

The first bedroom you walk past is rather boring, with beige tones all around. Beige bed sheets, beige wall paint, beige lamp shade, beige curtains. But the air smells crisp, and you notice there’s a shelf that has about half a dozen plants lined up in a variety of artistic pots. Similar to the set-up Gojo has in his house at home. You walk inside and brush your fingers across the dresser surface, rubbing fine dust over the pads of your fingers, and with your next inhale, you sneeze.

A guest bedroom, you think to yourself.

The next bedroom you walk past is sweeter, kinder, warmer. There’s pink hues scattered across, the most obvious one being the pillow covers, and there are some shades of a baby blue as well. But the furniture looks modern, sleek, and new. There were two identities at war in the room, like that of a little girl and a grown woman. Neither able to find its voice among the chaos of friendship bracelets sprawled across the desk and the Louis Vuitton purse resting at the foot of the bed. 

Sana’s room, you think to yourself. 

Childhood bedrooms are like time capsules if left untouched for very long. You’ve lived in your room at home for as long as you can remember, only recently having shifted to the master bedroom. The room grew up with you. It had no chance to become some entity of its own. 

The next bedroom you walk by feels familiar, even before you walk inside. There’s a comforting feeling that envelopes just from the lighting alone. You push the door open with a gentle palm.

The culprit of any young man’s room–navy blue sheets. Stretched taut against a made-up bed that has some sort of feminine flair to it, like it wasn’t set by Gojo, but rather his mother passing by his room one day to sit in his absence, only to needlessly mess with the sheets because it gave her a sense of purpose. You go eighteen years pouring blood, sweat, and tears into raising a child, protecting them, nurturing them, being the one they lean on for all of life’s woes, only for them to pack up and leave one day. You suppose that if you were a parent, you would find melancholy in that loss of responsibility too. 

His desk is a large expanse of cedar wood with a desktop monitor and some bookshelf speakers set up on it. The PC itself has collected dust over the years but there’s a small mechanical whirring noise you hear somewhere within. The rest of the desk is mostly empty except for some unopened mail tucked away with some books, the spines creased at the last few hundred pages, but never to the end. 

You pick one of the books up, flipping the pages open, and see sticky notes on some of them. Like English literature notes one would take in class, with studious words that over exaggerate the significance of the prose just to make a teacher happy. Who cares if the curtains were blue? Maybe the author just wanted them to be blue. Why does everything in life have to have meaning?

Setting the book back down with a sigh, you walk over to the bookshelf. There are some more trophies, some sets of comic books, some strange robotic-looking figurines. Small picture frames of foreign scenery are set up in different corners wherever there is empty space, like an afterthought. 

“Hmm…” you hum to yourself, tilting your head to the side to read the vertical spine of a thick black book that was tucked flush up against the shelf's side. 

West Valley High School. Class of 2007.

With your index finger hooking the spine, you slowly pull the book out from its comfy corner. It’s heavy in your hands and you notice that there are ink smudges across the tips of your fingers.

When you open the cover, you’re met with a page filled with a variety of colors and handwriting, and you realize they’re signatures. And to no one’s surprise, most of them are feminine. With hearts, some merely outlines, some shaded in with ink, scattered across the page. Bubbly handwriting, neat handwriting, cursive handwriting, a lot of it in pinks and purples and reds. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was like those Valentine’s Day cards all the girls would sign in grade school to pass onto their crush, except imagine if all of them were intended for just one guy.

You roll your eyes as you flip the pages, seeing no end in sight to the signed ink. I mean, come on, how many signature pages does a yearbook even need? This was excessive. And, no, you aren’t bitter simply because your high school yearbook has maybe a max of fifteen signatures (four of which were from your teachers). It’s just frustrating. And confusing. Why does everyone on this planet adore Gojo except you? Is there something wrong with you? Are you the problem?

There are some signatures from boys too, most likely his friends. Otherwise, you’re not sure what random fleeting classmate you’ve only spoken to a couple times would be brazen enough to draw pictures of penises squirting in whatever empty space they could find in your yearbook, if not for his high school friends. These boys are probably in their mid thirties now, just as Gojo is, maybe with wives and kids they’re now responsible for. You wonder if they’d still find the drawings funny all the same today.

You flip the pages more, taking in image after image after image of smiling portraits. ABC…DE…F…ah, G. Hmm, there. There it was. 

Gojo Satoru.

Seems like his high school didn’t allow yearbook quotes, but you try to imagine what his would be. Probably something corny and lame, like See kids? I told you I was sexy in high school.

He looks cute though. With his hair fluffy, boyishly ruffled to pair with a charming smile that’s at ease. He just looks a little younger, that’s all. Not that much different. Perhaps a bit more scrawny, a bit more mischievous-looking. As opposed to his adult self, who appears sturdy. More serious. But you realize that cheeky part of him that comes out every now and then when he’s teasing you or pissing you off is that boy within him that looks exactly like the portrait in this yearbook that you trace with the pad of your finger. 

You close the book, suddenly a little out of breath, and then slip it back into place. Your eyes catch the shimmer of the trophy at the top of the shelf. It was shaped like a baseball glove mitt, and in the palm cup, there is an actual baseball in there with a black ink signature. You gently pick it up and turn it in your palm to try and read the ink.

Ichiro.

Your dad used to watch baseball. You’re familiar. Seattle Mariners, Ichiro Suzuki. The first Japanese player to ever make it to the Major Leagues. Ten time all-star, and tenth member of the Mariners hall of fame. He retired when you were just a little girl, but you still remember the look of awe in your father’s eyes as he stared at the box TV in the living room of your house when Ichiro took his last stand at the plate.

Gojo was also a boy at that time. Living in this house. Maybe his old man was watching that game at the same time. And maybe Gojo was watching the look on his father’s face, too. It’s the romance of life–you look up at the moon in the sky, and you know that there is someone else out there, someone that you’ll meet some day, maybe even someone that will mean the world to you someday, who’s looking at it too. But you just don’t know it yet.

Lost in endless, rather fruitless thought, you continue to turn the baseball in your hand to pointlessly assess the seams, but it slips out of your hand and onto the carpeted floor with a loud hollow thud that startles you, and when you attempt to bend down and pick it up, you accidentally push it with your toe and it rolls underneath the bed.

“Shit,” you mumble, getting down onto your hands and knees to look underneath the bed.

You see the ball rolled a few feet away, and when you reach for it, it becomes clear that you don’t have the arm span to grab it. You struggle and you struggle, the tips of your fingers barely tickling its seam, and the frustration makes you sweat a little.

“Come…here…you…stupid…thing,” you mutter. You’re sure your hair is a static mess now, too. 

You finally manage to roll it towards you a couple inches and then your palm wraps around it before pulling it to your shoulder, but not without something collateral that’s dragged along with it.

A photograph. Printed out, vintage. You pinch the corner between your two fingers and stand back up onto your two feet in order to better assess the image under the light of the floor lamp.

The first person you notice in the photo is Gojo. He looks younger than in the yearbook, but he’s wearing a suit and a tie. It’s a little big on him, ill-fitting as most teenage boys should look in a suit, like a rite of passage. His smile is less warm than the one in the yearbook too, more prim and stretched into a thin line that’s only slightly curved upwards. It’s only then when you notice the slender fingers sprawled across his chest near the collar of his undershirt, black nail polish blending in with the fabric of the suit. Your eyes trail the dainty hand, and your heart skips a beat when you see a girl standing next to him, pressed up against him, her smile much brighter than his. Pink braces line her teeth and her hair is that classic mid-2000s side-swept bang mess, but she’s pretty. Dressed in a pink-ish purple gown that almost looks like a bridesmaids dress, and you finally see the banner stretched across behind the both of them in the picture that reads Homecoming 2005. 

It’s hard to explain it, but you can just feel it somehow. That this person is important to him. Not just some last-minute date to Homecoming, or an old high school girlfriend he’s long since lost touch with. It seems larger than that, somehow. Unlike penises drawn on yearbook paper, this feels like something a person never outgrows.

Of course, people have lived fully-fledged lives before you’ve met them. Just as you have as well. But you’re overtaken by the insane curiosity to want to learn every single detail about this past life that Gojo has lived. Where did he and his friends hang out after school? When did he learn how to drive? When was the first time he got shit-faced drunk? When was the first time he snuck out of the house? And who was this girl in the picture? 

“Find what you’re lookin’ for yet?” a voice calls out, entirely startling you to where you almost jolt out of your skin, and you swiftly turn on your heel towards the entrance of the room. 

You see Gojo standing in the door frame, leaning against it with his arms crossed as he levels his gaze at you. He has a blank expression on his face, although you would say it’s more serious than playful. 

“What–...I–” you stutter, shuffling the picture you were holding behind your back so he doesn’t see. 

His eyes don’t flit to the movement. “You don’t have to tear the room apart to find my illicit drugs. You could’ve just asked.”

 You roll your eyes. “As if you would do drugs.”

“You say that like it’s an insult.”

“It is.”

“So, then, if you’re not looking for drugs, what are you looking for?”

Your cheeks are warm. “I don’t know. Petty cash? Human body parts? Playboy?”

He snorts. “Playboy? Who still has a subscription to Playboy?”

“Maybe your teenage self did.”

“I’m not that old,” he says, “I was watching porn like the rest of my peers.”

“Ew, you freak,” you say, and you grab one of his pillows and throw it at him.

He lets out a laugh before catching the pillow with ease, and then walks up to you, placing the pillow on top of your head. You half-glare, half-pout at him.

“C’mon,” he probes, “tell me why you’re hiding away up here.”

“I embarrassed myself,” you confide in him with a sulk of your shoulders. “I mean. Seriously. What the fuck was that? What a humiliating thing to say in front of your parents. I just feel so weird pretending like this.”

His expression softens. “Sorry,” he says, “for dragging you into this dinner.”

“No,” you sigh, “I’m the one that did. I forgot you can’t necessarily fake a marriage without…doing the typical couple things.”

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” he hums as his gaze flits towards the bed, “doing the typical couple things, you say?”

You roll your eyes. “In your dreams.”

“Oh, in my dreams alright,” he says with a grin.

“And if I strangled you? What then?”

“I like that. It’s kinky.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you don’t have magazines lying around?”

“Brown box underneath the bed. You didn’t look hard enough.”

You give him a disgusted look. He laughs.

“I’m joking,” he says, pushing his hands into his pockets.

“I’m not convinced,” you say, turning your body away from him slightly to keep the photo hidden behind your back.

He tilts his head at you, gaze flickering down to your other hand. Your heart skips a beat. “I could’ve guessed that.” 

His hand reaches out and you flinch ever so slightly, something he thankfully doesn’t notice, and then he’s grabbing the baseball out of your palm.

“I always thought I could sell this thing for major money,” he muses, throwing the ball up into the air to catch it. And then doing so again a couple times.

“It’s authentic?” you ask with genuine curiosity.

“Oh yeah. I caught it. First ball game my old man ever took me to, and it happened to be Ichiro’s last.”

Your eyes widen. Gojo was at that game. He wasn’t just watching it from home on some TV like you did with your dad. He was living in it.

“Wow,” you say, “must’ve been quite the game.”

“Don’t really remember too much about it to be honest, other than how stoked I was to just be there with my dad.”

“Mm,” you hum, “I’ll have to ask Mr. Gojo more about it when we get downstairs.”

His expression falters slightly, his smile dropping in the most subtle way that you wouldn’t have even noticed if you hadn’t been intently staring at his face. 

“Yeah,” he says, “maybe.”

Gojo continues to stare at the ball in his palm as he rotates it in inspection. There’s an awkward silence that settles between the two of you, and you feel the burden of conversation has suddenly fallen on you. 

“My, um. My dad was a fan too,” you say.

His eyes glance up to meet yours. “How come I’ve never met him?”

The question catches you off guard. “Wh–...I’m sorry, what?”

“Your dad,” he says, as if it was something so casual. 

“That–...well, he’s–...I don’t know, I haven’t seen him in years,” you admit, “not since…not since my mother was diagnosed with cancer.”

He stares at you earnestly, studying your expression, before he decides on saying nothing else except, “I’m sorry about that.”

You sigh. “Satoru, I–” you start, keen on the way his body stiffens slightly when you say his name, “I really don’t have the capacity for much else tonight. I mean, the questions. And the lies. And walking on eggshells around your mom.” 

“Well. I was sent up here to get you,” he says, “and I can’t exactly go downstairs empty handed.”

“Fine. Let’s just get this dinner over with as fast as possible.”

“Sure,” he easily agrees, “I’m with you on that one.”

You take a step forward to head towards the door, but then suck in a sharp gasp when you remember what was being held behind your back.

“Wait,” you say, “look away.”

“...huh?” he huffs, a puzzled look on his face.

“Just look away for a second.”

His eyebrows furrow before he lifts one in a questioning manner. But he acquiesces and turns on his heel to face away from you. “Have I ever told you how strange you are?”

“No,” you say while discretely crouching down, playing along in an attempt to distract him, “you haven’t.” You flinch a little from the sound of your hip popping, but he doesn’t seem to notice and so you bend your wrist in preparation of flinging the photo back to the abyss underneath his bed.

But you stop.

And you take one more glance at the photo.

And your stomach flips the same way it did the first time you saw it.

If you asked, would he tell you?

But the more pressing question is,

Why are you so scared to find out?

You shake your head vigorously to get rid of all your pestering intrusive thoughts. It was the stress, you played it off. A hyperactive mind leads to hyperactive ruminations. And besides, it’s just silly. Sure, there’s your gut feeling that suggests otherwise. But this girl in the photo could really just be an old friend or girlfriend that had no significant impact on the trajectory of his life. Why be the crazy one and lose sleep over this? You’ve lost sleep over plenty of other things in your life, but not stuff like this. It’s just not like you.

You fling the photo across underneath the bed and then stand up just in time for when Gojo turns around to look at you out of curiosity.

“Alright,” you say, dusting your hands off, “let’s go.”

You walk over to where he stands by the doorframe, a slight warmth to your cheeks when he doesn’t move out of your way like he usually does, but instead he leans towards you slightly as you brush past him, and your heart jumps a beat in your chest when you feel his hand gently fall to the small of your back, softly urging you forward ahead of him. A feather of a touch, yet intentional, almost naturally so, like a curious test of the boundary between you two that he’s been dying to understand a bit better. And the fact you don’t turn on your heel to face him with that same undeserved and petty rage that you always do, and instead slightly shudder at the feel of his touch, means that somewhere along the way, you’ve moved the line a little closer.

He’s hot on your trail as you walk down the stairs slowly and when you turn around the post at the bottom then make your way back to the dining room, you see his family staring at you with wide eyes.

His mother stands up. “y/n! Come sit back down, dear.”

You nod meekly, and Gojo pulls your chair out for you to take a seat before he resumes his seat next to you.

The food is slightly cold by the time you finally get to pick at it. It’s not very seasoned, either. Not enough salt for your taste. But somehow Mrs. Gojo having a phobia of sodium is a study of character that makes perfect sense in your head.

Eventually, the awkward silence is too much for you to bear, and you set your fork and knife down on your napkin with a slight bit more force than you probably should’ve.

Everyone looks at you.

You sigh. “I’m sorry for earlier,” you say, “I’m…uh, I’m just not really used to these sorts of dinners…I don’t have much family here in this town, and it’s always just sort of been my mom and me. And I—…I guess I’m just a little nervous.”

Wide eyes blink at you. Mr. Gojo shifts a little uncomfortably in his seat while Mrs. Gojo blinks her long lashes at you. Sana tilts her head, and you have no interest in seeing what Gojo’s expression looks like. You fear it’s the one you’d remember the most.

You were just being honest with how you felt. And it doesn’t take you long to realize something you probably should’ve realized earlier walking into a home like this where everything was perfect and on display with no evidence of the way a true family can crumble on the inside—a house like this does not value honesty. Your mother couldn’t afford you many luxuries in life, but you never felt like you couldn’t be honest in front of her. 

You glimpse up at Sana, and there is some knowing expression on her face. It’s almost sympathetic. As if you two were on the same page about something right now. When you glance at Gojo, you see him staring down at his plate with his brow slightly furrowed.

“It…it’s quite alright, dear,” his mother says through a prim voice, and in an attempt to change the subject, she says, “I do hope you are enjoying the chicken.”

“Ah,” you exhale, “yes. I am.”

“So!” Mrs. Gojo chimes in again as she dabs her mouth to a linen napkin. “Tell me about what you do for fun.”

You blink at her. “Oh, umm…binge watch TV? Occasionally I’ll go for a walk.”

“Ahh interesting! What about reading? Do you enjoy reading?”

“Well, the last book I purchased was a picture book about North Korean missiles…so.”

She lets out a laugh. “And where do you see yourself in five years?”

You hear Gojo sigh beside you before he reluctantly sets down his silverware and then he turns to Mrs. Gojo. “Mom. C’mon. This isn’t a job interview. Just let her eat.”

There’s a slight tinge of pink to the tips of her ears from the interrogation interruption as she glances between the two of you. She looks over at Sana for help but finds nothing other than a gaze tipped down towards a plate full of picked-at food. Mr. Gojo folds a hand over her frail knuckles as if to silently communicate, but Mrs. Gojo retreats her hands to fold in her lap underneath the table.

Feeling somewhat bad for the two of them, you turn the face Gojo’s dad. “Um…Mr. Gojo, Satoru was telling me about how you were a big baseball fan and a big Ichiro fan…do you still keep up with the Mariners?”

The man’s eyes grow wide with a visible confusion and you swear you hear Gojo clear his throat beside you.

“Ah…that’s–” he starts before the sound of the doorbell ringing startles you.

Sana immediately stands up without a word of excusal or a glance in anyone’s direction and she heads straight for the door.

You all look around at one another before Mrs. Gojo says, “must be Jun.”

You were at least glad to find you would not be the only “in-law” at the table full of a tension-laced family dinner, especially given the fact that in most of the cases where you’ve met Jun, his penchant to talk overshadows any other energy.

“What’s up, y/n!” Jun shouts when he waltzes into the dining hall, a few steps ahead of Sana. He throws his jacket over the first surface he finds, body language matching that of someone twenty years younger than he actually is. You can’t tell if it’s overcompensation for something, or if he just genuinely believes he’s still in his twenties. 

To your surprise, he opens his arms out for you to greet him with a hug, and you hesitate before standing up slightly to give him a well-meaning wrap of your arms around him, but it lacks any warmth of familiarity.

“Welcome to the fam!” he jovially exclaims before patting your arm. He then hugs Mr. Gojo, then Mrs. Gojo (paired with those cheek kisses that the French do in greeting), then daps up Gojo (to which you notice Gojo is less than enthusiastic about) before he finally kisses Sana on the cheek and then takes his seat at the other end of the table. Your eyes are keen on Sana now, watching her intently, but she remains staring at the food on her plate. You had a feeling there was someone in this room that didn’t want to be at this dinner even more than you did.

“How was traffic, Jun?” Mr. Gojo asks.

“Oh it was nothing. Took a shortcut. Backroute off of Lake City Way. Full of pot holes though.”

Sana turns to him and scowls. “While you were taking Juno to her sleepover?!”

He lifts an eyebrow at her. “Yeah? We were running late.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to take that route to get into the city! Those pot holes are so dangerous.”

“Honey. Chill. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Just last week I saw news of three plot holes on the Mercer Street intersection opened up. Three people were injured, including a young boy.”

“Okay well if I also believed everything I saw on the news was going to personally happen to me too then we’d have never gotten this far in life.”

“Jun,” Sana deadpans.

“W-Why don’t I fix you a plate, Jun? You must be tired.” Mrs. Gojo chimes in. 

Sana breathes in deep and exhales slowly before slumping down into her chair. 

“Thanks,” Jun says, easing his brow as he sits back in his chair nonchalantly, before he turns to Gojo and starts to talk about mundane things like the stock market, the recent election, something about a new bowling record, and this one Thai restaurant he really wants to try on the other end of town, all within the span of time it takes Mrs. Gojo to set a plate down in front of him.

Mr. Gojo jumps in on conversation from time to time. Mrs. Gojo listens idly, sometimes placing a laugh where she feels appropriate. Jun gets particularly animated about this incident he ran into earlier last week when he was dropping Juno off at school, a story that you notice everyone at the table is for some reason entirely intrigued by, but you suppose it’s the most interesting topic of conversation you’ve all had tonight thus far. At certain critical points of the story, Sana jumps in with a that’s not what happened, Jun and you find yourself finally settling in somewhat to the evening.

Just as Jun’s story is ending, you glance up to Mrs. Gojo and find that she’s staring at you with a smile on her face. It makes you jump in your seat a little, luckily unnoticed by the rest of the table because of Jun’s engaging theatrical hand gestures as he attempts to keep his wife, his brother-in-law and his father-in-law engaged. You would’ve expected Mrs. Gojo to avert her gaze the second yours locked with hers, but she doesn’t. She just continues to look at you with a soft smile on her face and a slight tilt to her head, like she’s getting used to the sight of seeing you at this table.

Her gaze flits downwards slightly and you follow her line of gaze, tracing it to the ring that was adorning your left hand. 

Your eyes widen slightly.

“Oh–” you stutter, the words already getting caught in your throat, “I–...I forgot to say, it’s an honor to wear your ring, Mrs. Gojo.” The table suddenly goes quiet, and you can’t tell if it’s because of you, or if it’s because there was no more story left to tell. “It’s beautiful.”

It truly felt like for every two steps you took forward, it was ten steps backwards. Because you watch the way that soft smile of hers entirely drops, her expression replaced with one of confusion, brows knitted together as she looks at you like you’ve just spoken in a language no one on Earth can speak. 

She glances at Gojo, and you don’t have to look at him  to tell that he’s stiff in his seat. You could’ve felt the tension from a mile away. 

Mrs. Gojo looks at you again. “Oh honey, that–” She glances between you and Gojo. “That’s not my ring…”

Your eyes widen, cheeks already flush from whatever’s to come.

But suddenly, and to your surprise, Sana speaks up. “It was our mother’s ring.”

You look at her with confusion. And then you glance at Gojo. And then you glance back at Sana. And then at Mr. & Mrs. Gojo.

“But…” you trail off.

“Sumiko and Daichi are our aunt and uncle,” Sana says with a strained voice, “our real parents died in a house fire when we were younger.”

You blink at her in shock.

“He didn’t tell you?” Mr. Gojo asks.

“I–” You glance at Gojo and see that he’s poking his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the glass of scotch he was twirling around in his hand.

“Of course he didn’t,” Sana interrupts, the bitterness in her voice matching the attitude she’s since displayed this entire evening. Her gaze is locked onto her brother’s face, and when his gaze flickers up to meet her eye contact, his expression is set with a tense jaw. “He never wants to mention them. He never wants to acknowledge their life. He never wants to honor them. He just wants to pretend like they never existed.”

“Sana,” he cuts her off, and a chill gets sent down your spine from the seriousness and rigidity in his voice. “Now’s not the time for this.”

“When is the fucking time?!” she spats at him, the simmering tension brewing over. Ah. Yes. The moment you had been expecting. After all, what family does not have its baggage? Sana abruptly stands up from the table, startling everyone with the clanking of silverware and ceramic from the motion. “When is the fucking time for you to admit that you never gave a shit about mom and dad dying? When is the fucking time for you to admit that we moved on to live with these people so fast? When is the fucking time for you to admit how wrong it was for you to force me to call the people here my mom and dad my whole life when they aren’t?” Her voice cracks near the end.

You glance at Mr. & Mrs. Gojo, who both look shocked, hurt, even embarrassed as they gaze down at their food. Your heart stalls in your chest for them.

When you glance back at Gojo, you see that his gaze is hardened even further now. “You’re being rude,” he says, in as steady of a voice as he can manage from the way his brow is creased with disappointment. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Sana says as she wipes at the tears with her sleeves, and you notice that she looks young like this. Younger than the usual prim and proper self that she portrays. Too young to be a mom, too young to be a wife, too young to be an adult. Like someone propelled into a life that she never wanted. “That’s always what you say, isn’t it? No answers, you just claim that I’m being childish and rude.” Jun tries to reach out to hold her hand but she snatches it away from him. Under her breath she says, “I didn’t want to come here. I should’ve just stayed home.” And with a rough swipe of her sleeve across both of her cheeks, she suddenly storms off somewhere deep into the house. Jun immediately stands up to follow her, leaving the four of you here with stale, cold food.

The timer in the oven goes off, the sound heard in the distance like a lifeline, and Mrs. Gojo immediately stands up. “Ah, must be…the roasted potatoes. I’ll be right back,” she fusses, and you avert your gaze from her face so she doesn’t feel embarrassed over the streak of a tear you saw streaming down her face.

“Let me help you,” Mr. Gojo says in a small sheepish mumble before following his wife into the kitchen.

And then there were two.

You only have a moment to process the dramatic outburst and subsequent fall-through before you turn in your chair to face Gojo, your face narrowing in contempt. You see him running a hand through his hair, entirely ruffling out any sort of neatness he had combed it into earlier, and he undoes the top button of his shirt with an impatient thumb like he was letting go of whatever image he had been trying to keep up for tonight, because after what just happened, there was no use. 

“So when were you going to tell me that they aren’t actually your real parents???” you hiss at him.

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “They’ve raised us since Sana was just three years old. I didn’t think it mattered.” 

“Okay well if I had known then I wouldn’t have mentioned the ring??? Now everyone’s left the table because of me.”

“It’s not because of you,” he quickly corrects you, “it’s because of years of unnecessary drama of which I’ve still got no fucking clue why it still gets brough up at every. family. dinner. If you didn’t bring it up, then they would’ve figured out a way to bring it up somehow anyways.”

You blink at him, a little taken aback by how dejected he was by this entire conversation.

“Are you going to go check on Sana?” you ask him.

“No,” he says without hesitation, “she’ll calm down soon enough.”

You press your lips into a thin line, contemplating his dismissal, before you let out a huff of disappointment and disapproval. You pull your napkin off of your lap, setting it up on the table, and slip out of your chair to head into the house in the direction you saw Sana storm off into, leaving Gojo to himself at the table.

As you walk down the hallway, all those pictures you saw hung up on the walls, those photos of illusion that painted this pretty picture of a nuclear family fall apart in the narrow space, those firm smiles and hesitant postures making much more sense to you now. They aren’t even his real parents. Baseball and wedding rings. Those details belonged to a life he never intended on sharing with you. 

You walk past the kitchen, stopping briefly just beyond the entrance before backtracking and you find Sana standing near the sink with her arm across her chest as her other hand wipes at her cheeks. The soft sound of a sniffle echoes in the room and you’re surprised to see that Jun left her alone.

Tentatively, you shuffle your feet across the wooden floor. She seems to make note of you in her periphery but refuses to glance up. 

“Hey…” you start when you finally make it to the space in front of her, your hip leaning against the edge of the sink counter in parallel with hers as you face her.

“I—” she starts, shuffling her palms across her cheeks again. “I am so severely embarrassed.”

Your eyes widen slightly at the honesty. “Don’t be. It’s just family.”

“No but that’s the point,” she says through a crack in her voice, “I’m thirty-one, I’m married, I’m a mom, but they’ll always just see me as some immature little brat because I always behave like this.”

You don’t know what to say. You suppose if you were a therapist, or a priest, or a mentor, or a mom yourself, or any other person with an emotional IQ higher than yourself, you would know the right thing to say to her right now. But you don’t. So silence is all that you can offer her, and you hope that it’s enough.

It seems to work in it’s own magical way, as she slowly opens herself up to you within the next passing sixty seconds. A fleeting glance up to your face. The halt of pointless fidgeting with the fabric of her sleeve. The way she stands up straighter, her hip no longer leaning against the kitchen counter, and you find that you mirror the same movement.

She clears her throat, rubbing her nose with the knuckle of her index finger, her eyes no longer glistening with tears but the corners of them look puffy.

You glance down at your feet for a moment before inhaling deep and making eye contact with her. “Hey, listen…” you say, “I’m—…I’m really sorry…about earlier today. For overstepping about the bullying. Juno’s your daughter, and I really shouldn’t have given her advice before at least running it by you beforehand. Especially for something so sensitive.”

The delicate muscles of her brow lift in surprise at your words, lids fluttering slowly as she processes your words, and the wave of melancholy is contagious as it washes through you as well.

“I’m sorry too,” she says, “for how angry I got with you. It’s just—” she hesitates, and you see that semblance of her that you’re more familiar with. Strict, stern, rough around the edges but for a noble reason. “Y’know, with kids…we tend to get overprotective over them.” Her gaze drops to somewhere beneath yourselves as if she suddenly lost confidence in her train of thought. “I’m just trying to do the right thing for her.”

A silence settles between the two of you before you realize you ought to respond to her.

“I get it,” you finally say. “I mean—…I don’t. Because I’m not a mom. But…I’m sure that when I am one some day, I’d understand.”

She finally offers you a smile in return to your words, polite but genuine nonetheless. And a soft remnant sniffle makes her ruffle her nose.

Her expression softens, and she stares straight ahead to your collarbone rather than your eyes. “She really likes you, you know?” Sana glances up at you now. “Hasn’t stopped talking about your ‘blubbery’ pancakes since last week.”

“Aww.”

There’s a sad glint in her eyes when she turns her torso away from you slightly in resignation before some hint of optimism flashes by in her face and she turns to you again.

“Do you…think you could give me the recipe?”

You want to ask her if everything is okay. But instead, you say, “sure.”

The sound of footsteps approaching is heard near the kitchen entrance and the two of you glance in that direction to see Jun walking in. He offers you a fleeting glance before taking his place beside Sana, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling him towards her before placing a kiss on her temple and saying, “hey honey.” 

You watch as she averts her gaze down to the tips of her toes.

“Feeling better?” he asks her but there’s this lack of warmth you cannot quite discern.

“Yes,” she responds, scratching at her cheek as a discreet way of getting rid of the last remaining wetness that had streamed down her face earlier.

He rubs her arm soothingly and then looks at you with a smile pressed into a firm line. “Doing alright?”

You blink at him. “Wh—…yes.”

“Say, y/n, how’s your mom doing by the way?” he asks.

“She’s…better. She’s in hospice now.”

“Palliative?”

“Well—” you say, “I guess. It’s just temporary.”

He shuffles inside the pocket of his coat and takes out something. A small card with finely printed black ink on it. He hands it to you.

“I can’t imagine how expensive that all must be,” he says, and you glance down at the card.

Carevest Capital est. 2024

Invest in a healthier you!

You glance up at Jun. Sana’s gaze has now shifted to the inside of the sink.

“I started this business,” he says, “where we’re revolutionizing the way healthcare costs are managed. In our platform, we basically invest our clients’ money into the stock market, leveraging our high-reward algorithm to maximize returns. But here’s the unique part: we partner with leading healthcare CEOs who match a portion of the profits as an incentive for stock purchases. Together, these funds go directly toward paying off hospital bills and easing related financial burdens.”

Your eyes widen at his words. The speech was practiced, one you can only assume he has pitched to many potential clientele. But there’s a hint of personable grace to it as well.

“I’m telling you, y/n, we’ve had clients who have overcome six figures of medical debt in just six months,” he says, “and you’ll only need a couple thousand dollars to start yourself up.”

You purse your lips together, your finger pinching the corner of the card. “That’s amazing, Jun.”

He smiles at you, releasing Sana’s waist. “Sorry if this kinda came out of nowhere, but I heard through the grapevine that things have been rough.”

Oh, like how your card has declined publicly at the grocery store multiple times, or how you haven’t been able to afford your insurance deductible to get that chipped off part of your bumper fixed, or the fact you haven’t paid your landscapers in over three months so your lawn now looks like a swamp? It was a small town. And people’s finances were always a topic of interest for most.

“I just wanted to offer any help I can,” Jun says.

“Thanks,” you say, returning his smile, “I’ll, um, I’ll look into it.” You push the card into your pocket.

He offers you that same firm smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before he pulls Sana to him again, placing another kiss along her hairline and the PDA seems like overcompensation on some front from the way Sana is entirely frigid to his touch. 

Maybe it was a woman’s intuition,

But you felt like something was wrong.

“Kids,” you hear Mr. Gojo’s crackly voice say as he stands leaning against the doorframe near the kitchen entrance, “let’s finish dinner?”

The three of you exchange glances before nodding and heading back towards the hall.

Your peach cobbler was apparently very good, the only thing that seemed to cut through the tension of the night. But that was the thing with family, right? You can yell and scream and cry and lecture and mope and roll your eyes at each other all you want but at the end of the day, they’re still family. Sana still seems slightly dejected though, and you can see Gojo in the corner of your eye at the table glancing up at her every other minute or so. His own way of making sure she’s doing okay, you think to yourself. Sana refuses to meet anyone’s line of sight except yours, however, which makes you feel some slight burdensome responsibility of sisterhood you had never signed up for. Nonetheless, you try to offer her a soothing smile whenever she looks up at you, and it seems to put her at ease.

The news of Sana and Jun moving seemed slightly anticlimactic, as Mrs. Gojo mentioned that they had already had an inkling that Jun and Sana would be moving closer to the city. You briefly wonder if Mrs. Gojo knew all along, but decided to make the announcement into some big affair just so that she could see her niece and nephew over a meal.

You make no more embarrassing comments. Conversation dulls into anything and everything unpersonal to you all, such as the news and weather and gossip of other people. And somewhere along the night, you relax your knee, the ball of it pressing into Gojo’s thigh underneath the table. It was wordless, innocent contact that occurs when two people become more comfortable with one another. Only excusable due to the slight buzz you felt in your veins from the wine. He’s kissed you before, yet somehow the press of his thigh against yours feels even more searing. There’s a point along the night where you tip your head to the right slightly, daringly close to resting your head on his shoulder due to the tipsy dizziness weighing in your head, and it would certainly put on a convincing show of newlywed affection for his aunt and uncle, but you manage to catch yourself. And subsequently refuse any more glasses of wine.

“Thanks for having me,” you say to Mrs. Gojo at the front entrance before she pulls you in for a hug.

“Oh, anytime dear,” she says as she gently pats your back, “please.”

When she pulls away from the hug, she holds you by your shoulders before her eyes glance down towards your left hand and the shimmering diamond that sat on the ring finger. She holds your hand in hers and lifts it to examine the twinkle underneath the lights of the chandelier.

“It really is a pretty ring,” she says, her eyes glossing over. “It looked beautiful on my sister, and it looks beautiful on you too.”

Your breath hitches slightly in your throat. “Thank you, Mrs. Gojo.”

“Please,” she says in response to the title, “Sumiko is fine.” But in less of a way in which she’s relaxing formalities, but rather in a way that acknowledges she never had the sovereignty to be called that in the first place.

You hear masculine voices approaching down the hallway as the three men make their way towards the front entrance as well. Gojo glances at you in the midst of their conversation, and he leaves the two of them to make his way over to you.

“Alright,” Gojo says, turning to face the rest of them as he stands beside you. “We’ll head out now.”

Sumiko pulls him in for a hug, then his uncle, and then obnoxiously by Jun as well. Sana fidgets with her fingers as she remains at the end of the line, and you catch a glimpse of surprise on her face when Gojo pulls her in for a hug too. You see him whisper something to her, and it’s only after she hears what he said that she returns the hug and wraps her arms around him as well.

You’re jolted out of your people-watching trance when Gojo walks up to you and takes your hand in his, shoving his other in his pocket. You glance down at the sight, the way his large hand engulfs your own. It’s warm in a firm hold, delicately squeezing your hand once right before you feel the cold air behind you when his uncle opens the door.

Well, you survived. That’s what you think to yourself as you sit in the passenger seat of Gojo’s car, watching the city lights twinkle as you two drive by. You don’t know what you were expecting. Drama? Ease? Tension? For a piece of the sky to fall and land on the roof? There was a part of you that wanted to impress. You want to be one of those daughter-in-laws that the in-laws just adore. You know, where they’re like, god am I so happy that she’s a part of the family now! The one that the mother-in-law is just so ecstatic to know that her son managed to hold down such a catch.

But any expectations and pressure dissolve with the reminder that this is all fake. Fake, fake, fake. And you’d do really well to remind yourself of that reality whenever you spent time with Gojo. Whenever you find yourself acclimating into his life for even a moment, just remember that it’s fake. Can you have a little fun here and there? Sure. Will you probably find yourself in even stranger situations going forward? Yes, because, well, that’s how life is. But it’s just fake. No obligations, no responsibility, nothing. Nada. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

But as you walk through the front door, staring straight ahead into the dark house at Gojo’s back as he sets down the keys by the foyer table, and even as you follow him further into the house towards the kitchen, that feeling inside you surges. 

A woman's intuition.

That something between Jun and Sana was wrong.

Not just routine marital issues,

Or the occasional argument,

Something worse. Something dangerous.

And it’s not something you would ever expect a man to pick up on, even Gojo.

Because it was from the way Sana’s eyes silently communicated with you from across the table,

Something so subtle, a silent plea across a shared dimension,

That she needed help.

“Hey…” you speak up softly, standing in front of the fridge. 

Gojo glances over his shoulder at you from the other side of the kitchen island, barely illuminated by the moonlight through the windows. He turns to face you. “What’s up?”

You blink at him. 

“Um, I really don’t want to overstep again, but—”

There’s a sobering thought that flashes through your mind when you recall that you have never seen yourself as the hero in anyone’s story.

Simply because you could never, ever, ever trust yourself.

You could never trust your feelings or your decisions.

Because you cosigned on hundreds of thousands of dollars of medical loans. Because you stuck around for five years with a man that didn’t love you anymore. Because you still feel naive enough to believe that your best friend who betrayed you still misses you somehow. Because you still foolishly believe your mother will be around to hold her grandchildren someday.

Because you thought that your best bet in order to pull yourself out of hell was to fake marry a man,

And then act as if it’s all real when his aunt looks you in the eye with bittersweet tears as you now wear her bereaved sister’s ring in honor, entirely unaware it was actually being worn in vain.

How could you ever trust your judgement when you behave this way? 

Never the hero. If anything, the villain.

“What is it?” Gojo repeats when he sees that you’ve been silent for too long. He tilts his head at you, his hair falling over his forehead haphazardly and he runs a hand through it to try to get it out of his face. Even in the dim light, his eyes shine a breathtaking blue.

You swallow hard.

“Um,” you say, and then glance down at the wetness you find at your heel. “The, um, the fridge is leaking again.”

He blinks at you for a solid ten seconds, and then the tension in his shoulders drops when he sulks and closes his eyes with exhaustion and defeat.

“Fuck. Okay.”

.

.

.

[end of chapter 6]

a/n. looool i really keep thinking i can post shorter chapters and them bam they be 10k+ words. but i swearrr it's just cuz i be yapping :(( anywho hope you enjoyed this chapter!! a lot of characters were kinda introduced and mm given a bit more depth in this chapter. sorry there wasn't as much romance or anything in this one though haha there will be more in the next one :0 big big thank you to my lovely ihm beta readers ayelin, jules, leni & mirl for helping me out w this chapter!! i believe i may have mentioned this before but i STRUGGLLEEEE with multi-character scenes (i'm much more comfy writing scenes that just have back n forth between two characters) so this chapter was challenginggg esp the whole dinner sequences and there were also a lot of complicated feelings at play, descriptions, stuff i wasn't sure if it was coming off the right way (and tbh am still not sure haha) but they really helped me work my thoughts out n gave wonderful suggestions too so tysm :'') much loveee!! hope to see you all in the next one <3 - ellie

➸ take me to chapter seven!

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[prodagustd]

the road not taken 07 | myg

part seven: old wounds

Summary: You really, really tried to ignore Yoongi. But once again, you failed.

<part six part eight>

—pairing: lawyer!yoongi x actress!oc

—rating: +18

—genre: brother's best friend, one sided pinning (or both?), slow burn

—warnings/tags: slow burn, angst, fluff.

—words: 9.7k

—a/note: hi friends!! can't even begin to describe the amount of mental breakdowns i had writing this but here is it!! i doubted myself too many times before posting this one (still am), idk why it was so hard to finish but i'm glad it's here, i hope you enjoy and as always, you're welcomed to discuss this part in the asks!!

series masterlist | teaser | playlist

Present

It was such a mistake to even insinuate that the years that had passed had made you wiser, or that the hurt and heartbreak had made you stronger, more decisive, or less stubborn. If anything, you continued to make the same mistakes, you were ten times more sensitive and you had developed a level of stubbornness that was almost impossible to shake. You had spent years consumed by bitterness, only to learn nothing from it, and still, you wanted to trust yourself and stop doubting every decision you made, but it was hard considering you were the same person who led yourself here. 

A few days ago, when Minnie said she just wanted to show you a few ideas to help The Alley, what she really meant was that she had already mapped out a full schedule for you long before you even knew what was going on. You assumed she might want your help with organizing things—selling tickets on movie nights to show your face for a few seconds and draw in more people, painting a few walls, or changing some light bulbs—but you couldn’t have been more wrong.

As she turned the pages of her diary, you tried to make sense of every word she was saying, remaining silent as you patiently waited for her to finish so you could finally get a chance to speak. 

“You want me to direct the end-of-year play?” you asked, needing to confirm what she had just said. “In only three months?”

Your redhead friend slowly nodded, looking you straight in the eye as if she just hadn’t gone completely crazy. 

“That’s plenty of time.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “You and I both know that’s not remotely—that’s not even half the time I would need.”

Minnie rolled her eyes and stood up, walking over to the large board behind her. It was a chaotic collage of crumpled pieces of paper, faded photographs, and yellowed old letters, all pinned in a disorganized frenzy that seemed to mirror the whirlwind of her thoughts. 

“Bullshit. You’re like… Broadway trained or something. You’re the only person who can pull it off.” 

You sit back against the chair, sighing. You wanted to help Minnie, not only because she was your best friend but because this was the place you grew up in. Yet, despite your best intentions, a wave of overwhelm crept in, making it hard to ignore. Deep down, or maybe not so deep down, you knew that the time wouldn’t be a problem, that directing was one of your secret passions and wouldn't be a burden at all, but the real problem was that you still didn’t feel prepared to show your face around.

Here was the catch: you couldn’t say no. You knew Minnie, you could make thousands of excuses and she would find a solution for each one of them, so you had two options: say yes right away, or say no until she finally made you say yes. 

“And it’s an original play, you say? Written by one of the kids?” You asked, already knowing which option would be easier. 

“Yes...” She replied softly. “You know, like the ones you used to write when you were a kid…”

You tried not to roll your eyes. Classic Minnie, guilt-tripping you until you had no choice but to agree. 

You chuckled bitterly, suddenly remembering that six months ago, you had told your therapist that you were asking for an opportunity like this—a chance to redeem yourself, something close to a miracle. Yet now, with it right in front of you, you were hesitant to take it. You had to suppress the urge to call her without notice to ask her opinion about everything. Agnes, who always seemed to be at the end of her patience with your self-sabotaging tendencies, would be sitting in her office back in the city, she would pick up your call and tell you that this could be the perfect chance to reconnect—not only with your hometown and your friends but with your old self as well. She would say this was exactly why you had decided to come back home, and you would’ve hated hearing it. You would’ve hated admitting she might be right.

You straightened up, trying to look serious. “Let me read it first,” you said. “Then we can talk about it.” 

“Mmmm… I have a better proposition.” She argued, “You read it and start tomorrow.” 

“You’re kidding,” You replied, incredulous.

She clapped her hands, sealing the deal with a finality that made it clear she wasn’t joking. “Of course I’m not. We can’t afford to waste time,” she said matter-of-factly. “We need to call the kids, arrange the theater—which, by the way, is under maintenance, but that won’t be an issue. The lights will be fixed by morning, and you can start in the afternoon. And oh, you’ll need to…”

“Minnie!” You yelled, making her stop abruptly “Stop talking and give me a second, Christ…” 

Your friend nodded, a bit embarrassed of her sudden excitement. She sat back in her chair, quietly observing you as you tried to make up a plan in your head. 

“Okay, I’ll read the play tonight, and tomorrow morning I would need to talk with the person who wrote it. Then, we’ll see if we start in the afternoon.” You stated. She nodded in contentment, but you knew she was holding back.  “C’mon, don’t look at me like that…”

“Like what?” She huffed. 

“Like a lost puppy.” You rolled your eyes “I said I will help, right?” 

“You said that, yes…” She trailed off “But I don’t want you to just help, you know? If it’s not too much to ask, I would like you to put your heart to it.” 

You chuckled, knowing that she meant every word. “I know that.” 

“Well, I hope you do.” She sighed “These kids… they were so disappointed when they found out we couldn’t pay the last teacher anymore. It’s not just about the play, it’s about everything, this place is like a second home. Hell, for most of them it’s like the first one… I just want to make it count.” 

Minnie looked at you like she could read every thought in your mind. 

“I know.” You said, feeling like a fourteen year old all over again “I understand.” 

“I know you do.” She nodded, smiling with her eyes. “Of course you do.”

You couldn’t fully believe in fate. Or in irony, or the universe having some big plan, and yet when you finished reading the script for the play you thought it was written just to fuck with you. 

The play was about some girl, June, growing up in The Alley as she tried to find herself. That was the story, that was the big dramatic theme of the play you somehow agreed to direct. How groundbreaking, how deeply, earth-shattering not cliché. And still, something about it got under your skin. Not exactly in a bad way, it felt… familiar. The kind of familiarity that made you shift in your seat, like when someone says something uncomfortably true about you, but you couldn’t argue because they were right. 

The whole who am I, where do I belong thing—hasn’t that been done a million times before? Haven’t you seen it, loved it, run away from it? Maybe that’s why it bothered you. Because it was too easy to see yourself in it.

Not that you’d admit that.

That Saturday morning you were meeting Harriet, the writer of the play that gave you nightmares last night, to discuss the script, offer a few pointers, and try to organize the first rehearsal. You exhaled sharply, it was just a play, nothing more. You tried not to overthink it, but Minnie thought otherwise. 

“So?” Minnie asked as she organized her bag. You looked up to her from your coffee, sitting at the end of her table. “Did you like the play?”

You shrugged, with eyes barely open.  “It’s good.” 

Minnie narrowed her eyes, sitting next to you. “Good?” She snorted, “C’mon, you liked it.”

“Sure, I liked it,” you said, taking a sip of your coffee. “The dialogue’s good, the pacing is solid. It’s relatable, I guess.”

“Mhm…” Minnie drummed her fingers lightly against the edge of the table. She was quiet for a beat, clearly waiting for you to say more. When you didn’t, she tilted her head, smirking like she knew exactly where this was going. “You don’t see it, then?”

You raised an eyebrow. “See what?”

“Yourself?”

God. Of course.

Here we go again. You should’ve known better than to think you’d get through a full conversation without her dragging you into some self-reflection trap.

You let out a soft scoff, lowering your cup. “What do you mean?”

“You do see it.” Minnie grinned, all too satisfied. “It’s like a therapy session in script format.”

You rolled your eyes.  “An angsty teenager who’s angry at the world, fighting her way into adulthood? Isn’t that the story of every single kid in that place?” You said, recalling the script—though you refused to admit it sounded a little too familiar.

“No, not like this,” she insisted. “It’s different. It reminded me of you.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “You always say that.”

“Because every time I say it, it’s true,” she replied, unbothered. “You know I know you like the back of my hand, right? Inside and out. You can’t hide anything from me.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Well, I know you too—and right now, I know you’re being very, very annoying.”

Minnie rolled her eyes so dramatically it made you laugh.

“You really don’t see it?” she asked again, gentler this time.

You looked away, pretending to be way too interested in the last sip of your coffee. “I see a lot of things,” you said, vaguely.

She let out a quiet breath through her nose, like she wanted to keep poking but decided against it.

“Fine.” She sighed, finally letting it go—for now—as she stood up and grabbed her empty mug. “You’re meeting Harriet today, right?”

You nodded.

“Don’t be mean to her.”

“I’m never mean.”

“You terrify people.”

“Only the weak,” you replied, standing as well. “And if she’s anything like me, she’ll be fine.”

The hallway to the main theater was dim, almost dark. Anyone walking in for the first time might assume it was just another maintenance issue—one of the many The Alley was always plagued with—but you knew better. It had always been like this. The lights flickered sometimes, the floor creaked in all the right places, and the smell of paint never really left the walls. 

Cork boards lined the walls, cluttered with wrinkled flyers and announcements for local events. Above them, big framed photos of past theater productions hung in no particular order—some crooked, most dusty. No one ever fixed them, but they had their charm.

The place was still quiet and empty, almost peaceful. Only your footsteps echoed softly as you walked, your script folded under one arm. Minnie was beside you, phone in one hand, her second coffee of the day in the other, talking nonstop about everything she had to deal with before noon.

“…and we’re out of paper towels again, and someone stole the good extension cord, so now I’m down to that weird one from the lost and found that sparks if you look at it wrong. Also, we’re probably getting fined if we don’t fix the exit sign by Friday, and—”

You let her talk. It helped you focus. Or, at least, pretend you were focusing.

Minnie knew you like no other person, but still couldn’t remember one core fact of your existence: you were not, by any stretch of the imagination, a morning person. 

And today, it turned out, that wasn’t the only thing she forgot.

You were just approaching the theater doors, head slightly bowed, mentally rehearsing the day ahead, when you heard it.

A low laugh, soft and achingly familiar. 

You turned your head slowly, as if giving yourself time to be wrong. But of course you weren’t.

Because somehow, Minnie forgot to tell you that the person handling repairs today was none other than Yoongi.

Your eyes moved on instinct. You didn’t mean to look—you just did. And there he was.

The man in question was perched on a ladder, with his sleeves rolled up and a screwdriver in hand fixing a reflector, while a tall boy held it steady, laughing as he jokingly threatened to shake it. A flicker of irritation sparked in your chest. Of course he was the one handling the repairs, of course Minnie casually forgot to mention that to you.

You turned around to shoot your friend a threatening look, but she just pushed you forward, forcing you to keep walking.

You made your way towards the center of the room, trying not to pay attention to the scene, but as the sounds of your steps filled the room. You didn’t have to look to know both of them had stopped laughing. You didn’t have to guess to feel their eyes following you across the stage like the past itself had stepped into the room and sat down beside them.

“Good morning guys.” Minnie said, dropping her bags on one of the seats. “My friend right here is going to help us with the play this morning. I think you know her, Jungkook?”

You turned around just in time to see the boy abandon the ladder and bolt towards you at full speed, while Yoongi, left stranded at the top, clung to it, visibly irritated. 

He murmured something under his breath, too quiet to catch, but your attention had already shifted to Jungkook, who was practically vibrating with excitement as he extended a tattooed hand toward you.

“Oh—yeah, of course! Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” He blurted, voice a little too eager.

You couldn’t help but smile as you shook his hand.

“Jungkook is a big fan, by the way,” Minnie added casually, completely unfazed by the way his face turned an alarming shade of red.

“Well, thanks. Pleased to meet you, too,” you said, amused. “Are you fixing the stage lights today, Jungkook?”

Jungkook froze for a second, his eyes widening slightly—stunned that you knew his name, as if he hadn’t just heard Minnie say it two seconds ago.

“Well—not me,” he managed to stammer. “I mean—yes! Me. And… Yoongi. He’s, uh, kind of the boss around here.”

Your smile didn’t drop, but you raised your eyebrows in surprise. You glance towards the ladder again, watching Yoongi descend like he had all the time in the world. You looked at him, and for the shortest of seconds, he looked at you too. 

“Is he?” You asked, turning to your friend for some kind of explanation. 

Minnie shook her head, don’t start, she wanted to say, but it was too late. You’ve already started.

“Just the boss of him, maybe.” appearing beside Jungkook and giving him a pat on the back maybe a little too hard.

Something burned inside your chest, but you were not supposed to be mad anymore. You were not supposed to be angry, you were supposed to be a functioning adult, a mature person who was able to let things go and act accordingly, but without fail, every time you were in front of him you felt like a kid throwing a tantrum all over again. 

“I must’ve been gone for too long.” You said, nonchalantly. “I didn’t know you were the one calling the shots now.” 

It was encrypted in your code, you weren’t used to biting your tongue, it was stronger than you. You told yourself you didn’t want anything to do with Yoongi, but you still desperately needed to know what was he doing here, what was that tied him to this place when he didn’t even know its name a few years ago. 

The room suddenly fell silent and you knew it was your fault but you couldn’t find the will to regret it. 

He locked eyes with you, there was a hard weight on his gaze, but it gave nothing away, like a locked door with no key, totally indecipherable. 

“I’m not.” He simply said. If what you wanted was an explanation, you weren’t going to get it. “I’m just helping around.” His words hung in the air for a moment, met with a brief silence. 

Minnie cleared her throat, interrupting the hostile staring competition you and Yoongi were having. “Yoongi and Jungkook are helping with the stage lights, but they are missing a few guys today.” She carefully mentioned, her eyes going from Yoongi to you and back. “So they are going to take more time than usual.”

“I can work in the other room, if you’d like.” You offered, looking at Jungkook. 

“No!” Jungkook was quick to say “That won’t be necessary, I mean—we won’t be a problem at all.”

“Really?” You said “I mean, I could. What would the boss say?” 

Yoongi turned to you then, and you could tell he knew exactly what you were doing. The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smirk, not quite a frown, just the ghost of something caught between amusement and exasperation. 

He exhaled quietly, like he was reminding himself not to be annoyed, because it was you. “You know it’s okay.” He said, his voice smooth, but you caught the tiniest flicker in his eyes, that slight tension in his shoulders. 

After all these years, that connection between you still remained, woven into the spaces between words, into the way you could read each other with nothing but a glance. You could still have silent conversation in crowded rooms just by looking at each other, it was not a surprise, but it pissed you off anyway.

“Let’s get to work, then,” You muttered, sharper than intended. You didn’t look at him, but you knew he’d heard everything you didn’t say.

Last week you wouldn’t have expected to end up right here, in the middle of the stage of The Alley as you were waiting for some sixteen year old to pitch you her story, and yet, you were there. The goal for today was almost too simple to fulfill, the only obstacle was that it required all the patience you knew you never had, but you were willing to try. 

The sound of the door swinging open let you know that the day started. Suddenly, Minnie and a girl who you thought to be Harriet stepped into the room. You recognized who she was immediately, wrapped in a big baby blue puffer jacket, a long purple skirt brushing against her ankles and a red hat over her dark curls,—she was impossible to mistake.

Despite the bright color and the glowing description of her that Minnie gave you earlier, Harriet kept her eyes down as she listened to your friend speak beside her, only glancing up briefly when Yoongi and Jungkook greeted her. She mumbled a quick hello, then scanned the room—until her gaze landed on you.

Her shoulders tensed the moment her eyes met yours, but she didn’t hesitate. Adjusting the strap of her bag, she followed your friend as she walked towards the stage with steady steps.

“Well, hello girls.” You got down from your seat to greet her, offering a smile. “You must be Harriet.”

Harriet nodded. “Hi,” she said quickly, like it slipped out before she had time to overthink it.

“Harriet, this is your very cool, very last-minute new director slash teacher. Sweetie, this is your brilliant teen-playwright.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Brilliant, huh?”

Harriet gave Minnie a look. “You’re embarrassing me.”

Minnie rolled her eyes, as though she was used to this kind of teen behavior.

“I’m only telling the truth,” she huffed. “We all read the script.”

You turned your attention back to Harriet, smiling as you gestured towards the desk. “I read it too. Last night, actually. I hope you don’t mind that I’m a bit unprepared. I got the job yesterday.”

Harriet shook her head quickly. “Oh no, of course not. I mean—I wasn’t expecting anyone to take over. I thought we’d just… I don’t know, keep going until the roof collapsed.”

You let out a short laugh. “That still might happen.”

“I wouldn’t even be mad,” she said, tucking a curl behind her ear. “It’d be on theme.”

“C’mon, no roof is going to collapse today.” Minnie waved off. “We have the boys on our side.”

You took a quick look towards the back of the room, where Jungkook was halfway up the ladder, the screwdriver in one hand and a sandwich clamped between his teeth like a man with very specific priorities. Yoongi stood below, holding the toolbox open, glancing between the manual in his hand and the wires poking out of the wall. He looked focused, but the slight frown on his face gave away how confused he was.

“Well, that’s exactly why I’m afraid.” You reached for the script, handing it back to her. If the roof was going to collapse, or the electricity was going to cut out, it wasn’t going to be because of you. You were seventy percent sure of that. “I scribbled a bunch of notes in the margins like a true professional. We can talk through them during rehearsal.”

“Oh, I love margin notes.” She said, her eyes sparkling as she saw your handwriting on the pages. “Especially the brutally honest kind.” 

“Oh, you’re gonna love me, then.”

Minnie perched on the edge of the stage, watching the two of you with a smug expression that screamed told you so without having to say a word. You still refused to see how you and the girl next to you were anything alike. At first glance, Harriet’s personality came through loud and clear—her clothes were colorful, her tone enthusiastic, and her writing nothing like yours had been back in the day. You used to dress in black from head to toe and only talked to people when absolutely necessary. The only thing you seemed to have in common was your love for this place.

“Minnie told me you’re like… a purebred Alley or something like that.” You joked, giving her a small grin. “It shows, I think.”

“Really?” she asked, her eyes catching the dim light of the barely functioning reflectors.

You nodded “You wrote about this place like someone who grew up here.” You said “It’s been a while since I’ve been around, but I can recognize it. It’s not something you make up.”

A small smile tugged at Harriet’s lips. “I didn’t have to make it up.” 

“I could tell,” you said, glancing around. “I’m from… a completely different generation, but when I come back, I can tell that things are still the same.” Suddenly, a loud clang echoed through the room as a heavy tool hit the floor, making you flinch. You looked up to see Yoongi mouthing a dramatic “Sorry.”

Harriet laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “Well—maybe most things, at least,” you added, raising an eyebrow. “What I mean is that… It’s important to say that, right? The years passed but the place has the same heart.”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to say.” She nodded, like you just read her mind. “I know it’s all kind of falling apart,” she said, her eyes sweeping over the dim lights and creaky walls, “but it still feels like the only place that ever made sense.”

That made your heart clench. You had your chance to run away forever and you took it without thinking twice, but for people like Harriet, there only existed places like The Alley, and the idea that it could disappear was gut wrenching. 

“I know.” You murmured, glancing at the seats in front of you, replaying memories you tried to forget so many times. “It’s like this place gets into your blood or something.” 

There was a quiet beat, both of you sitting in that shared understanding.

Then Harriet added, voice a little softer, “That’s why I wrote it. The play, I mean. It was just… my way of trying to keep it alive. Even if it’s just a story.”

You glanced over at her, your fingers drumming lightly on the edge of the script. “You did more than that. You captured the heart of it. That’s not easy.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she held your gaze. “Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Me?”

Harriet let out a soft, slightly nervous laugh. “Well, Minnie talks about you like you are linked to this place, but you know… like, you’re spiritually bonded or something. Everybody kind of knows that.” 

You blinked. Not expecting that. Not at all. 

Maybe you were. There was a time where you felt it more than ever, back when you spent your afternoons in this building instead of studying for exams you never cared about, back when the air smelled like incense and acrylic paint and some band played the same Beatles song over and over again in the other room, interrupting all your theater classes. The feeling clinging in your bones, your hand holding onto it like it was about to slip away.

But you left, more than once. First, you trade it for the chance of becoming someone else. You failed at that. Came back here, got your heart shattered and left again. And yet somehow, every time you drifted, The Alley stayed the same. Waiting.

You weren’t sure if that made you loyal or pathetic. Maybe both. 

You didn’t come back for this place, you weren’t even thinking of stepping foot here. You came back because you had nowhere else to go, because you needed something familiar to put you up on your feet and snap out of everything. But maybe this place knew better than you did. Maybe it was always supposed to pull you home.  

You sighed, feeling your chest tightened. “Like I said, it gets into your blood.” You sat back, holding the script in your hands. It was too early to think about all that. You tried to shake off all those thoughts, remembering why you were there in the first place. “But let’s not get dramatic, at least not more than necessary. I got tricked into directing your play.”

Harriet grinned. “Still counts.”

You let out a breath, shaking your head fondly as you flipped open the script again. There wasn’t time to sit in feelings. Not when you had a job to do.

“Alright,” you said, your tone shifting into something drier. “Let’s talk about the notes.”

“Yeah, right,” she said, nodding. “Shoot.”

There was a brief silence, just long enough for Harriet to hold her breath and for you to find the right page. The air shifted—calm, but expectant. “Your protagonist is stubborn as hell,” you said, not bothering to sugarcoat it. “Which I respect, totally. But the pacing in the second act drags.”

Harriet blinked. “I—I was trying to show her spiraling.”

“There are other ways to show her spiraling.” You tapped the script, flipping to your notes. “Don’t write her like she’s in a coma. You had her throwing punches in Act One, then suddenly she’s trying to hold back.”

Harriet frowned, thoughtful now. “Huh. Yeah. Okay. That makes sense.”

You caught Minnie smirking from the corner of your eye, clearly enjoying herself.

“For example,” you continued, pointing at a line, “this monologue? I liked it. She’s trying to save The Alley, she’s emotional and messy—she should stay that way the whole play, even if she’s overthinking. But in the next four pages, you wrote her like she’s afraid to raise her voice.”

“She’s not afraid,” Harriet said quickly. “She just—she masks it. Like she doesn’t want people to know how much she cares.”

You tilted your head. “Alright now, does she care or she does not? Let’s make up our minds.”

Minnie snorted.

Harriet looked around like she was hoping someone else might answer for her. Her pupils flicked nervously. “I guess… she does.”

“Exactly. So should she try to mask it?”

She bit her lip, then shook her head. “I guess she shouldn’t.”

“Okay, let’s keep her that way.” You nodded, flipping through the pages again. “Write the ugly. The parts that don’t fit into a speech. You’re sixteen, not a board of directors. Don’t try to be polite in art. You’ll bore people to death.”

Harriet nodded, eyes shining a little brighter now. “That’s really good advice.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you said, clicking your pen shut. “Most days I’m a bitch, that’s what I’ve heard of.”

You heard a squeaky sound coming from seats, catching both of your attentions. You tilted your head to look at your best friend, trying not to laugh too loud. You adjusted your reading glasses to look at her better.  “Don’t you have work to do, Minnie?” 

She smiled, not ashamed at all. “Yeah, I do, but this is more exciting.” She confessed “You two are opposite ends of the same storm. This should be fun.” 

Your gaze drifted back to Harriet, and just for a second, you saw it—something in her that echoed back to you. Maybe you weren’t so different after all.

There was no need to point out that everyone in your life seemed to know exactly how to avoid setting you off. Like when you were a kid and Simon handed you the TV remote just before you started screaming, or when Ian knew the exact moment to agree with you in the middle of a discussion—right before your frown appeared. It was like an unspoken rule: when you were mad, hell broke loose. And Yoongi knew it better than anyone. 

Which was probably why he’d barely said a word since the morning started. 

The room wasn’t particularly big, but his presence, sticking to the far side like there was some invisible line between you, made it feel that way. You were focused on other things now, but the memories this room held were almost palpable and impossible to miss, at least to you. There, in the center of the room, stood the same two chairs you’d sat in when Yoongi invited you to the Christmas movie night. You couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same. It was a twisted thought—one of those you’d buried long ago and forbidden from resurfacing—but this time, you couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t help but wonder if, when he looked at the seats or stepped onto the stage, when he walked through the hallway or passed the room next door, he caught even the faintest echo of the memory of his fingertips against your skin.

You knew it was silly, and there was no point in even thinking about it, but something sparked in your chest when you did. 

You shook your head, annoyed with yourself. Thinking like that was dangerous. It didn’t matter. It was in the past. But still—how could he be here and not think of you?

You let out a heavy sigh, knowing you couldn’t do anything about it. Either way, he was here, and that was enough to keep your irritation on a slow burn.

Lucky for you, you had enough things to do to keep yourself entertained, it wasn’t long before your actual appointment arrived.

One by one, then in pairs, then all at once, exactly fourteen teenagers trickled into the room, dragging backpacks and half-eaten snacks, tossing jackets onto the backs of chairs like they owned the place. Within minutes, the room was a mess of voices and overlapping conversations.

You stayed seated at the desk Jungkook had kindly set up onstage so you could work more comfortably, going over notes in the script with Harriet and letting the noise build around you. You didn’t know exactly what Minnie had told them to get them to come back to rehearsals, but the fact that no one seemed to notice you yet led you to believe she hadn’t mentioned your name at all. 

“Wait, is that—”

You didn’t look up right away, but you felt the shift in the room, the quiet whispers. Then, someone dropped their water bottle, the loud metallic sound echoing through the room.

Someone else whispered “No way,” in the most dramatic whisper known to man.

Harriet sighed beside you, muttering under her breath as she tried to contain her excitement “Here we go.”

You glance up from the script. “Are we all ready?” You asked, making a few of them share glances between each other, stunned. Setting the script down, you stood up from your seat. “Hi, by the way. I��m Y/N. Minnie’s friend.”

There was a short pause before the room exploded in whispers again.

“Wait, seriously?”

“That’s her?”

“Dude. She’s literally famous.”

“No way.”

You felt the weight of their stares all at once—curious, excited, wide-eyed. It wasn’t the worst kind of attention, but it still made your skin crawl a little.

You cleared your throat. “For those who don’t know me, I’m an actress. You might’ve seen me in one or two movies. Or—more recently—on the internet, for entirely different reasons. It’s been... a fun week.”

That got a few chuckles. Someone covered their mouth, like they weren’t sure if they were allowed to laugh.

“I grew up around here. Born and raised. Went to school a few blocks away, smoked my first cigarette in the park across the street—decided pretty fast that wasn’t for me.” You gave a small shrug. “I also used to take theater classes in this exact room. A long time ago... or maybe not that long ago. Honestly, it kind of feels like time never passed at all.”

Your eyes swept the space, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “That’s how I met Minnie, actually. She’s been my best friend ever since.”

You leaned against the desk. “So when she asked if I could do her a favor and step in to help direct this thing, I said yes. Mostly because she’s annoyingly persuasive. But also… because I owe this place a lot.”

You rubbed the back of your neck. “So no, I’m not here to give some big inspirational speech or anything. I don’t want this to be more dramatic than it’s already gonna be. I heard it’s been kind of rough around here lately, and I wanted to help.”

You gave a small shrug. “I’ve always loved this place—and I’m guessing you do too. I know what it’s like to start with nothing. No time, no budget, too many opinions. I’ve been in this room. And hey, if we’re lucky, we might actually make something cool.”

You paused, the silence stretching just enough to make you aware of all the pair of eyes looking at you, expectantly, like they were waiting for you to say something to make  all of this sense. God this was awkward. You hated introductions. 

Just as you were about to move on, a boy sitting cross-legged near the corner raised his hand hesitantly.

“Uh—sorry. I was just wondering… is this, like, for a documentary or something?”

You blinked at him, caught off guard “A documentary?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. You’re famous, and now you’re here, so I thought maybe there were cameras or—like, a redemption arc thing?”

A few kids laughed nervously. You stared at him for a beat.

“Okay, first of all, if this is a redemption arc, someone forgot to write a better opening scene.” That got a few chuckles. “Second of all, there are no cameras. And there will not be cameras either, so if any of you leak behind-the-scenes footage of me yelling at the lighting cues, I will sue you.” 

The room broke into laughter. The boy held up his hands in surrender. 

Then, a girl piped up from the back. “So… you’re really staying?”

You looked around at their faces and let out a breath that felt more like a decision than an answer.

You nodded. “Yes. So stop asking before I change my mind.”

A beat passed.

Then you clapped your hands once. “Alright. Let’s do something terrible before it gets good.” You turned to Harriet and handed her the script. “You’re on book duty. Anyone needs a line, go to her.”

Harriet gave you a look like she was trying very hard not to smile.

Soon enough, the whole room was in chaos. Kids dragging chairs across the floor, bumping into each other, laughing too loud, slipping into exaggerated accents for no reason. 

The cast had been picked, most of them by Harriet who ran the auditions just before everything turned into a mess a few weeks ago. They more or less knew the script, at least the parts they were in. It wasn’t a full read-through kind of day anyway. You were mostly blocking a few key scenes, trying to see who could remember their lines under pressure and who needed their cues whispered from behind a prop table.

Someone tried entering from the wrong side of the stage, again. Two kids were arguing about the new Wicked movie. A pair of best friends were giggling so hard in the background that you had to separate them like a school teacher.

You were trying to give notes in between all of it—shouting directions, answering five questions at once, adjusting someone's posture, trying not to lose your mind when the stage lights began flickering, or when the sound of the mic started to cut out. 

You sighed, knowing that you were the one who agreed to work in the same room as Yoongi. And yet, here you were, one lighting fixture away from snapping.

Yoongi was still on that damn ladder, this time closer to the stage, adjusting wires like he had all the time in the world, tossing instructions down to Jungkook, who was elbow-deep in the breaker box near the exit. They weren’t trying to interrupt rehearsal—but they were interrupting rehearsal.

You and Harriet were talking to Theo and Poly, who’d been cast as Ethan—June’s best friend and love interest—and June herself. Theo hadn’t stopped asking questions about his character since rehearsal started, and Poly just stood there, frowning at each one of them.

“So,” Theo said, squinting at his script like it held ancient secrets, “is Ethan supposed to represent the building? Or is the building a metaphor for Ethan?”

Poly pursed her lips. “I don’t think that’s…”

You blinked. “Uh…”

Harriet jumped in before you could finish. “I think the building represents June, actually,” she said thoughtfully. “And everything inside it kind of symbolizes parts of her. Including Ethan.”

You nodded slowly, doing your best not to sound confused. “Yeah. That’s… exactly what I was going to say.”

“But what if Ethan is the building? Like, metaphorically. But also kind of spiritually.”

You paused, wondering how he came up with that thought at all. “Theo...”

He perked up like you were about to confirm his theory.

“You’re not a building,” you said, deadpan. “You’re just a boy who likes a girl who is a building. Emotionally.”

Harriet nodded, hoping everything was clearer now, but the frown on Theo’s face said otherwise. “How is she… a building?” He asked. 

You opened your mouth to answer, but then, the harsh whine of a drill tore through the room, sharp enough to make a few kids flinch.

Your head snapped towards the back, where Yoongi was crouched by the lighting rig, focused on screwing something into a wooden panel. Oblivious. Or pretending to be.

You forced a smile, teeth clenched. “Love that for us,” you muttered.

Yoongi didn’t look up.

You reminded yourself that you agreed to work in the same room as him, but you still couldn’t find it in yourself not to complain. 

He finally glanced over, one brow raised. “Just fixing the lights.”

“Sure,” you muttered, trying to regain control of the room. “Maybe next time, though, you could fix the sound system while you’re at it. You know, keep things interesting.”

The kids snickered nervously, clearly unsure whether to laugh or stay out of it.

Yoongi gave a small, unreadable smile, “That’s next.” 

You blinked, then raised an eyebrow. “Great. Just give me a heads-up before you demolish the stage—we would love to watch the show.” You heard a couple kids laughing under their breaths, but Yoongi just smirked and came back to drilling. “Okay, where were we? Right, Theo, June is bonded with the building, they have many similarities...”

You managed to move on, with the help of Harriet, who tried to explain how June and The Alley had similar stories to everyone in the cast so she wouldn’t answer the same questions over and over again.

For a moment, it worked. The rehearsal went slow but chaotic, but it was nothing that you weren’t expecting. The line delivery was still bad, cues were missed and someone kept knocking over a prop chair no matter how many times you moved it out of the way. The sound glitched every now and then, cutting off halfway through a cue, making someone lose their timing, most probably Theo. The lights kept flickering, but you told yourself it was alright. 

There was something about it that made your heart warm. The kids were messy, overly passionate, but they were trying, and that counted for something. Harriet hovered by your side, notebook in hand, whispering little adjustments to you between scenes. You corrected blocking, gave line notes and reassured Poly when she forgot her monologue. It was the kind of chaos that made your head hurt, but also reminded you why you were there.

And for a little while, you forgot about a certain demonic presence in the room. Almost.

Then, another interruption, but this time you couldn’t ignore it like you were planning to do. This time, it wasn’t the sound system or that annoying drilling sound, it was his voice. 

“That panel shouldn’t be used,” he said from the back, voice deep and arms crossed as he nodded towards one of the wood panels the kids had dragged to the stage. 

You turned around to see him, giving the most lethal look you could give to anyone. He didn’t flinch. “Why is that?” You asked, impatiently. 

“It’s flagged and marked for disposal.” He explained, as he continued to work “If we use it and someone gets hurt, the insurance won’t cover it. That kind of negligence puts the theater at legal risk.”

You nodded, jaw tight, trying to remind yourself that he wasn’t doing this to be annoying—even if that was exactly how it felt. “Right. Thanks for the thrilling legal insight.”

“I am the lawyer here,” He said, like you could’ve possibly forgotten.

A few of the kids glanced between you, sensing the tension and trying very hard not to smile. Including Jungkook. 

You gave him a smile. “Yes, and our part time set designer, noise machine, and safety police. We didn’t forget.”

He snorted. “Multitasking. You should try it sometime.”

Harriet let out a gasp and then covered her mouth, pretending to cough. 

You clapped your hands. “Alright, listen up. We’re not using the panels, you heard our lawyer here. If you have any legal questions, I’m sure he’ll be happy to answer. Now come back to your positions before our legal team shut us down.” 

You turned back to the stage, feeling your pulse in your ears. God, this was stupid. You couldn’t react this way every time he opened his mouth, you couldn’t let him get under your skin, not when he was not even trying. 

You turned back to the stage, jaw tight. Let it go. He was right. Technically. And that was the worst part, he always had a way of being technically right. You should be used to it by now.

You didn’t have time for this. Not now.

Everyone kept going. You checked the time on your phone and realized there were only forty-five minutes left of class. After that, you could finally do what you actually came here to do: nothing, and you were genuinely excited about it.

You had your whole day planned: eat with your mom and Phil, take the longest nap imaginable, then wake up and lie in bed with Minnie’s cat until you got hungry enough to drag yourself up and find something to eat.

You thought nothing—not even Yoongi— could ruin it, even if he seemed to be trying really hard to do it.

But, as if he was on cue, his voice echoed through the stage like he was part of the cast himself. 

“Okay, the scene was good, but still rough around the edges. We have time to fix it, don’t worry.” You said, turning to the cast “Poly, I liked the pauses, you have great timing. Just remember that she is not trying to hold back, she’s all-in from the start, speak louder next time.”

Poly hummed, eyes on her script as she quietly mouthed her lines again.

The room went quiet, ready to dive in into the scene again, when the heavy doors creaked open drawing everyone’s attention—everyone except you, whose attention was fixed on the man standing below the stage, who happened to open his mouth again.

“You know, technically, she couldn’t just file a petition like that without legal standing.” He said nonchalantly, making you snap your head towards him.

You paused, confused. “Wait, what?”

Being completely clueless that he wasn’t being welcomed by you, he tried to explain himself “She needs to be a leaseholder, or at least have legal representation,” He said. “If not, that whole scene about the petition is pretty off.”

You weren’t sure what he was doing now. Wasn’t there an unspoken agreement between you two? Some silent rule you both were supposed to obey whenever you happened to breathe the same air. Something along the lines of no talking, no staring, no getting too close.

At least, that was the rule you’ve been following for the past four years. You thought he understood that. You thought he felt it too.

You stared at him. “Is that… really the note you felt we needed right now?”

He shrugged, like this was just helpful feedback. “If the goal is to be convincing—”

“Right. Thank you. Because legal accuracy is something essential in community theater.”

Yoongi tilted his head, still annoyingly calm. “You’re the one who said it needed to feel real.”

You didn’t even try to smile. “Yeah. Emotionally. Not in a way that’s going to put people to sleep.”

He opened his mouth again, but you cut him off. “Unless you want to audition for Guy Who Shouts Legal Objections From the Back of the Room, maybe let me direct?”

He paused, his brows lifting ever so slightly. You weren’t sure if he was about to keep pushing or finally let it go.

“Sure. You’re in charge,” he said, backing off.

You already had a sharp retort loaded on your tongue before he even opened his mouth, but as your gaze drifted towards the seats, you caught sight of Minnie, who had just slipped into the theater.

She was staring straight at you, arms crossed and eyebrows raised in that quiet, deadly way of hers. Okay, you got it, that was it. You decided to save it for now. 

It was always safest to assume that every man who had ever lived knew the first universal rule of a girl’s handbook: best friends told each other everything.

You were surprised when you came across men who didn’t know about it—like when you had a fight with Ian, and he would get annoyed when you ran to tell Minnie everything about it. Minnie would laugh and say that it was his fault for thinking that you would keep a secret from the person who has been your only confidant for most of your life.

Thinking about it now, Minnie was a nightmare to have as your girlfriend’s best friend. She wanted to know everything, every single detail, every word exactly as it was spoken, as if she had been in the room when you fought with your boyfriend. And you were probably a nightmare to have as a girlfriend, too, because you told her everything.

It was the first rule in a girl’s handbook: best friends told each other everything. As class came to an end and the room filled with overlapping voices, kids repeating lines as they hopped off the stage and chairs being dragged noisily back into place, you glanced at Yoongi, his hair a mess and hands still smudged with dust, and wondered if he’d ever heard of that rule. If not, Minnie made sure he did by the end of the morning.

She stayed to watch the end of the class, saying goodbye to every single kid as they left. When the door closed behind the last of them, the room suddenly fell silent, the only sounds were the distant voices of Yoongi and Jungkook, and Minnie’s steady step as she made her way towards you. 

You were zipping up your backpack when she spoke.

“You,” she said, making you look up. “And you.”

She pointed at you, then at the man standing in the back of the room.

“Mind joining me in my office?” she said, voice calm, but carrying enough weight to make it clear it wasn’t really a question. For a second, you and Yoongi exchanged glances, like two kids getting caught sharing notes in the middle of class.

God, it was your first day and you already screwed it up. You couldn’t even blame it on someone else. 

Yoongi exhaled slowly, and you could already feel the tension in your shoulders returning. You threw a quick, weary glance at him before following Minnie’s lead.

You walked towards the office, Yoongi trailing behind you. The building was quieter now, the murmur of the rehearsal fading into the distance. Once inside, Minnie closed the door behind you.

You searched your best friend’s eyes for a moment, looking for some kind of reassurance—but she didn’t look at you. She didn’t seem angry, not exactly, but she wasn’t happy either. Honestly, she had every right not to be. You could admit that much, at least.

“Okay, can you, uh… explain what that was?” she asked, settling into the chair in front of you. Neither of you knew what the right move was, but apparently, standing there looking dumb was it. Minnie shook her head, already regretting the question. “Actually, no. Don’t even bother. I already know.”

You gulped, suddenly nervous. You definitely weren’t expecting to get scolded by your best friend today.

“Okay, I don’t know how to say this the right way.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m well aware the two of you aren’t exactly on speaking terms. But I did think you could be in the same room without trying to rip each other’s throats out.” She looked up at you then, gaze soft but pointed. “You promised me you had no problem with him being around here.”

You felt your face heat up immediately. Your eyes widened just a little. “Minnie, I—”

“And you.” She interrupted, pointing at the man standing beside you with crossed arms. “I certainly wasn’t expecting you to behave like another teenager, Yoongi.”

Yoongi shifted his weight. You didn’t look at him, but you could hear the quiet sigh before he tried to speak.

“Minnie…” He started, voice low.

“Sorry. I’m not in the mood to hear any of this.” She raised a hand, cutting him off before he could go further. “I don’t care who started it, or what the hell it was even about. Whatever happened between the two of you in the past is none of my business. In fact—” She gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “Kill each other off if you must. But do it in the parking lot, or the park across the street. Not here. Not in front of the kids.”

Silence followed.

You stood still, realizing it was the first time someone had brought up what happened between you and Yoongi in a very long time. And it made your skin crawl. 

Yoongi stayed quiet too. You could feel his presence beside you, the way he slightly shifted, the sound of his fingers tapping once against his arm. It wasn’t much, but it told you he was biting something back. 

Minnie let out a long sigh and dropped into her chair again. For a moment, the only sound was the faint creak of the seat and the tension still thick in the room.

Then her voice softened.

“Listen, I don’t want to be a dick,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead. “If I could put you in separate rooms so you never had to see each other again, I would. Gladly.”

She looked between you, then leaned forward a little.

“But Yoongi’s working on the theater for the next month. So are you. Unless we want this place to burn to the ground before December, you’re gonna have to see each other. Even on weekdays. Even when it sucks.”

She exhaled “I’ve got a lot of shit going on right now, so can we please—please, pretty please, just try to get along? For the sake of this place and my mental health?”

You shifted your weight, arms crossed loosely in front of you as you stared at the floor. Minnie's words weren’t wrong. In fact, they hit a little too close to the truth.

“Yeah,” you said finally, your voice quiet but steady. “Okay.”

It was the best you could do without sounding defensive. Or worse, emotional.

You didn’t dare look at Yoongi. Just the idea of meeting his eyes in that moment made your stomach turn, but you heard him humming in response, quietly agreeing, too. 

“Good,” Minnie said, still firm but less sharp now. “Because I can’t babysit you two. I’ve already got a dozen kids to look after. Don’t make me regret trusting you with this.”

You both nodded, like students after detention. You glanced at Yoongi—brief, instinctive—and to your surprise, he didn’t look back either.

Minnie waved a hand toward the door with a final sigh.

“Alright. Go.”

You mumbled a quiet goodbye and turned around, being the first to leave. Your steps were quick, almost impatient, as if putting distance between you and that office might somehow erase the last five minutes from existence.

You gripped the strap of your bag tighter, nails digging into the fabric. Once you were past the main doors, you shut your eyes for a moment and exhaled sharply. 

God, you felt like such a fool. 

You were supposed to be past this. Supposed to be past him. Why couldn’t you just ignore him? Why was he so impossible to avoid? 

You shook your head and started walking again, hoping it might clear your thoughts. But the images from two minutes ago clung stubbornly inside of your mind, replaying in loop.

Then, you felt it. A hand brushing your shoulder.

You flinched and turned around, pulse jumping.

Yoongi stood there. Of course he did.

You hadn’t even noticed he’d followed you out. 

With dirty clothes, dirty hands and hair all messy, he searched for your eyes, soft but filled with concern, biting his lower lip before speaking. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I don’t want you to leave yet.”

You blinked, confused. “What?”

“Please…” he said, his voice low and hesitant. “Let’s talk.”

It wasn’t the words so much as the way he said them—quiet, and so soft it made your heart clench. 

You glanced around, suddenly aware of where you were. It was the same place you were that December night four years ago when you were waiting in line to watch the movie, cold and nervous and stupidly in love.  

You crossed your arms, swallowing the memory like a pill. “I’m not sure I want to talk right now.” Or ever.

Yoongi didn’t flinch. He flexed his jaw a little, and nodded because he knew you were right.  “Yeah,” he said, eyes dropping to the pavement for a second. “I figured.”

The wind tugged at both your clothes, making him shiver, he wasn’t wearing a coat, just that smudged white t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. There, in the early afternoon sunlight, you had the chance to look at him, to really look at him after four long years. You hadn’t realized how much he’d changed, how much longer his hair was now, how he only wore one pair of earrings, how his lips looked slightly pinker. He looked older, of course he did. The years had passed, and he couldn’t help but change. He didn’t look like a boy anymore, but like a man—and for some reason, that hurt

He dragged a hand through his hair, sighing. “It’s just… I want to fix this. Not now, if that’s not what you want. But eventually. Just… let me try.”

You stared at him, unsure if you wanted to laugh or scream. “How?”

He let out a breathy, half-laugh, frustrated. “Honestly? I have no fucking idea. But I’ll think of something.”

You gave him a bitter little scoff.

“I’m serious,” he said, stepping forward just slightly, but not too close. “I will.” 

“I’ll need something better than that, Yoongi.”

“I know,” he said, voice low. “I do.”

He hesitated, glancing away for a moment. Then he scratched the back of his neck, a little unsure, a little boyish in the most disarming way. “My mom… she asked me to invite you to dinner one of these days. What if we start there?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Using your mom is cheating.”

That actually got a real smile out of him. Soft and crooked, it made your stomach turn. “I know that too.”

God, you hated how easy it was to remember what that smile did to you.

And yet, somehow, you also knew you were about to say yes.

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the strap of your bag, eyes fixed on a crack in the pavement like it held the answer you couldn’t find inside yourself. Just say no. Walk away. But the words never came.

You sighed, voice low and reluctant. “God, Yoongi… if you piss me off, I swear—”

“I’ll try not to,” he said quickly, biting back a smile. 

You gave him a look over your shoulder, narrowing your eyes. “That doesn’t sound very promising.”

But still—you were already walking.

taglist: @kingofbodyrolls, @overtherainbow35, @namin13 , @p34rluv, @moonchild1, @yoongisoftface , @namgihours @idkjustlovingbts , @yoongisducky , @bangtansmauyeondan , @tarahardcore @wobblewobble822 @secfir @ot72025 @baechugff @heroinanne @mortal-body-timelesssoul @hiii-priestess @wii-wii @jungkookies1002 @busanbby-jjk @acquiescence804 @yoongibaybee @hsbongwater @ot7stansthings @curiouslioncutie @jalexad @lynnibear @benyhime

[playedcrowd5610]

10 of My 'Haunting the Nemesis' - Canon Headcanons

Because I am the author, and I have a lot of headcanons for this series that I never managed to bring to fruition or didn't seem very clear in the series, I'm posting a bunch of them here! I hope you like it.

Also, because I am the author, these HCs are all now 100% canon! But please share your own headcanons for this series as well. I would love to hear them. <3 (I might even end up making them canon as well.)

-

1.Knockout has Danny's phone number saved in his com-link contacts as "Scratch Magnet."

2. Danny, Knockout, and Breakdown go to a drive-in theatre every Friday night, and they each take turns picking the movie. (This was shown a little bit in the 'KO Drive-in' Chapter, but because that series is non-canon, I wanted to make it clear this movie night is, in fact, canon.)

3. Danny grabbing Jack's face to check on him in chapter 7 of 'Falling Stars' was Jack's Gay/Bi awakening. (I saw this as a few comments and could not stop laughing at the mental image. And I also got fan art of it. So sure, it's canon now. It won't have a part in the story, though, because it is not a ship, just an awakening. - Though if someone wants to make a work off of that, it's fine by me)

4. Danny can sense how old Cybertronians are in their maturity through their sparks. Which is why he calls Bumblebee "kid" in that one scene in 'Crushed Bug.' In comparison to Cybertronian age, Danny would be just older or the same age as Bee.

5. Danny is the king of the dead, and even though he doesn't actively rule, he has the right to the throne. Also, because of this, he has the ability to learn any language very quickly because, as king of the infinite realms, he needs to be able to learn the languages of thousands of universes as new ghosts keep popping into the zone. (I have covered this in a previous response post, but I also wanted to put it here.)

6. Danny is, in fact, immortal. He is not sure of this fact yet, but it is true. He will age naturally until he reaches his peak, and then he will simply stop ageing. Whether that is by his human form dying and him becoming a full ghost or if his human form stays with him as well is still being decided. (It was touched on in the Jazz chapter, but it wasn't confirmed. But Danny gets to live with his Cybertronain friends for much longer now!)

7. Ghost cores and sparks are almost identical in how they work and feel. This makes it very easy for ghosts and Cybertronians to connect and feel each other's emotions just as they would for their own species.

8. Danny calls Laserbeak his brother and calls Soundwave dad jokingly often, especially when Laserbeak calls him out when he's hurt. "Oh, come on! You snitched on me to Dad! Not cool."

9. One day, Knockout dumped a bunch of energon on Danny just to "See what it would do," and Danny ended up glowing like a glowstick for 3 days afterward. - Now, Knockout believes this is how all humans react when exposed to energon. XD

10. Soundwave did originally have his other mini-cons at the beginning of the war (Rumble, Frenzy, and Ravage), but after the years of fighting and war, only Laserbeak is left. This is one of the reasons he has gotten so over-protective with Danny; he doesn't want to lose another baby.

-

These apply to Haunting the Nemesis only and not Adopticons.

Thanks for reading my headcanons! If you want more, I may make another post. Love you all! Let me know if you have any of your own. Have a good rest of your week. <3

Ao3: Haunting the Nemesis

[iniquitousyearning]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Three- Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Thèos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, PURE SMUT, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Oral Sex (M Rec), Throat Fucking, Toxic Behaviour, Blackmail, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Humiliation, Manipulation, Gagging, Spitting, DubCon, CNC.

**here’s: one, two, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen & twenty.

As you approached the door of the familiar private classroom, a subtle sense of unease gnawed at the edges of your confidence.

Admittedly you got lost in the depths of your homework after dinner, becoming absorbed in the swirls of ink on your parchment, diligently crafting your Astronomy essay due in a mere three weeks from now. The minutes seemingly slipped away, and you realized you were running late for today's tutoring session, the devastating consequence of your intense focus on your academic obligations.

However, considering Mattheo's habitual tardiness--one of which he has mastered as well as any given art form--you assumed your delay wouldn't be at all consequential, and would most likely even go unnoticed. So without really thinking twice about it, you gently pushed open the door, expecting the room to be empty, the usual silence welcoming you as you stepped inside.

But then, to your astonishment, the room was not vacant. There he was, Mattheo Riddle, perched on the chair with an air of casual authority. His long legs were stretched out before him, feet confidently resting on the desk's edge, displaying a newfound confidence that sent a shiver down your spine. His arms were folded, his posture exuding an almost predatory assurance. His eyes, dark as the night and twice as intense, followed your every move as you stepped inside. The atmosphere crackled with tension, the weight of his gaze pressing upon you.

You closed the door with a deliberate slowness, the soft click echoing through the room like a gunshot in the silence, and his eyes locked onto yours, silently challenging you.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to show up." He taunted, his voice laced with a poisonous charm. The room seemed to shrink in the wake of his suffocating arrogance. "Guess Ravenclaws little good girl isn't so perfect after all...who would have guessed."

You rolled your eyes, a flush of embarrassment staining your cheeks as you awkwardly dropped your gaze to the floor. The weight of being late for the first time in your life was almost palpable, but you made an effort to play it off, attempting to regain your composure despite the lingering discomfort.

"Save the mind games for someone who's willing to play, Riddle," you said, slowly making your way toward him. "You have no right to talk, you're late every single week."

"Yeah but I'm not the one who turns into a sobbing mess over a less-than-perfect grade," Mattheo sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. "I don't have mental breakdowns just because I'm not the class's golden child in everything, and I'm definitely not the one who's about to graduate in merely a few months while still a fucking virgin-"

Your jaw dropped in astonishment at his audacity, a surge of indignation propelling you to slam your bag down on the desk in front of him. The force of your action knocked his feet off the desk, abruptly interrupting whatever sentence he had intended to finish, leaving him silenced in disbelief.

"At least I'm going to fucking graduate without needing someone to hold my hand like a child." You hissed, the words slipping past your teeth before you even had a chance to process them. "For someone who needs me so much, you sure don't act like you appreciate my help."

Mattheo's eyes darkened, a storm of arrogance and anger swirling in their depths, transforming his usual stoic demeanor into a deep scowl etched across his face. He rose from his seat, his tall frame looming over you, casting a shadow that seemed to stretch across the room.

"You think I need you, Raven?" He purred, wetting his lips. "You really think that?"

You steeled your jaw, strengthening your stance, ignoring the fact that your fingers were trembling like leaves in the autumn wind.

"Where would you be without me, Riddle?" You whispered, kinking your neck back to catch his dark, hungry eyes. "How many tutors did you have before me? How many other students tried to help you but couldn't stand your arrogant, no-fucks-given attitude, hm?"

Your words draped the air with a palpable gravity, silencing Mattheo completely--an unprecedented reaction, given his usual quick retorts. The revelation ignited a fierce ember within you, fueling your resolve and lending a sharp edge to your words, as if each syllable carried the weight of your determination.

"That's what I thought..." your voice was low, reverberating as a mere whisper in the air, something flickering behind Mattheo's eyes that made your lips curl into a devilish smirk. "You know that without me, you'd be here forever...maybe you've managed to manipulate me into being your little toy, but that doesn't change the truth about this whole thing...you need me, Riddle, you fucking need me..."

Mattheo blinked, the ensuing silence lingering for what felt like a painful fucking eternity--time seemed to come to a standstill, everything around you fading into insignificance, leaving just you and the cunning, arrogant boy with tousled hair in your presence.

When he finally spoke, You couldn't shake the sinking feeling in your stomach, understanding all too well that his words were laced with an arrogant twist, a prelude to something manipulative and cunning yet to unfold.

"You're right," he finally said, stepping closer. "I do need you,"

His voice dipped into a low, sinister register, and the corners of his lips curled into a sadistic smile, sending a chill down your spine.

"I need you to watch your fucking mouth," the touch of his fingers on your arm nearly made you jump, his hand grazing up and over your shoulder. "I need you on your knees begging for my forgiveness," the pads of his fingers grazed your collarbone, and before you could even comprehend it, his large hand clasped around your throat, the other finding the small of your back as he pushed you up against the desk. "And then, I need you swallowing my fucking cum like the good little whore I know you are."

Without wasting a single second of time his plush lips attacked yours, his tongue delving past your teeth with a passionate urgency. You were painfully aware of Mattheo's manipulative tactics, understanding that he was using your vulnerability to his advantage, and the rational part of your mind screamed warnings at you, reminding you of the toxicity in his actions.

Yet, beneath the surface; as his hands roamed your curves, his tongue explored your mouth; an unsettling, exhilarating feeling lingered, a strange sort of affection for the very dominance that should have repelled you.

The awareness of his exploitation only intensified the rush, a twisted form of affection blossoming amidst the wrongness of it all. It was as if the knowledge of being used had become entangled with your desires, forming a paradoxical bond that you couldn't sever. In the midst of the moral turmoil, a dark, irresistible thrill coursed through your veins, leaving you helplessly drawn to the very thing you should have despised.

"You've been a very naughty girl, Raven..." his lips fell to your jawline, hands groping your curves, bunching the fabric of your uniform within his battered fists. "You've been swearing far too much...you were late...and now you want to act like you have power over me?" When he sunk his teeth into your earlobe, you yelped, flinching as he tightened his grip on your hips. "Don't get it twisted, princess...I hold the fucking power here...look at what I do to you..."

Your entire body was tingling, your fingers latching onto the fabric of his white button up dress shirt for dear fucking life.

"Mattheo-"

His lips fell lower, rough hands gripping your hips and shoving your ass back onto the desk behind you, parting your legs on either side of his strong body as he pulled you against him.

"This is what I do to good girls like you...I turn them into naughty little whores..." he purred, licking a flat line up the side of your throat, your lids involuntary fluttering shut at the breathtaking sensation. "...naughty little whores who take my cock and swallow my fucking cum."

His hands slid up your sides, taking the fabric of your skirt along with them, and you gasped as you felt it hike dangerously high up your thighs, trembling fingers tugging it back down to keep yourself covered.

Mattheo huffed, releasing the fabric. "You're not used to being bad though, are you, princess?"

His teeth sank into your collarbone, creating a tantalizing blend of pleasure and pain that sent shivers down your spine. Strands of his tousled hair caressed your cheek, the faintest whisper of a touch sending tingles across your skin. Your lips parted involuntarily, releasing a soft whimper, while Mattheo's response echoed in a deep, guttural groan that reverberated through the air, intensifying the charged atmosphere between you.

One hand gripped your jaw as he pulled back, meeting your eyes. "Answer me when I ask you a question."

Your breath hitched, flames roaring in your veins. "No, Mattheo...I'm not..."

"Mm," he purred, wetting his lips as he stared. "Do you know what happens to bad girls, Raven?"

Your stomach twisted as he tugged you closer by the hold on your jaw, his eyes darkening with desire as they darted across your face, seemingly examining your features as though they were precarious and new.

Your voice trembled. "No..."

"They get fucking punished."

Before you could respond, Mattheo shifted his hand, shoving two rough fingers between your teeth, reaching for the back of your throat and forcing a gag. Your eyes watered, beads of salty fluid threatening to spill down your cheeks, but he was unyielding, gripping the back of your neck with his other hand to force himself further down your throat--holding you in place while he did.

Your entire body was in flames, your thighs begging, fucking screaming in a need so disgustingly dirty you'd never experienced anything remotely close to it before.

Mattheo groaned, low in his chest, his dark eyes watching every single ministration of your face as you gagged on his fingers. The hand behind your head relented as he brought it to his crotch, palming the insistent bulge in his trousers as he watched you; seemingly not having blinked once.

"Unbutton your shirt," his voice was a hoarse whisper, laced with primal desire. He pushed his fingers deeper, clearing his throat. "Seal those filthy lips around my fingers, and unbutton your fucking shirt, princess..."

You cursed the fact that his body was separating your legs because all you wanted, more than anything on the face of the planet, was to squeeze your fucking thighs together--to give your cunt any sort of friction possible. Every word from his lips was doing inexplicable things to your body, and the need between your thighs was growing so insistent it was almost painful.

Following his commands, you sealed your lips around his fingers, swirling your tongue and bobbing your head painfully slowly as you teased him, trembling fingers moving to the buttons on your blouse and undoing them one by one until your chest was entirely exposed to him--your lungs stalled, pussy clenching as you watched his eyes darken with desire while they scanned your chest covered only by your navy laced bra, the hand on his crotch moving more insistently now.

"My fucking God, Raven," he breathed, jaw tensing so tight it looked painful. "I can't believe you've been keeping all of that hidden this whole time..."

You mewled involuntarily as he grazed your chest with his free hand, pushing his fingers deeper down your throat with enough intensity to make you cough as his demeanour switched and he palmed your breast with enough force to illicit an exasperated groan. He was possessed now, something swarming his pupils that made your entire body convulse with unfamiliar and unabashed need; you were almost certain there'd be a pool of your desire on the desk between your thighs at this point.

Without warning, he abruptly removed his hands from you. Your lips, parted in anticipation of a breath, yearned for air before his mouth enveloped yours once more. In a frenzy, his hands hurriedly reached for his belt, driven by an almost desperate urgency as you both inhaled sharply through your nostrils. Your lips meshed together in a way that seemed to consume each other, as if you could breathe in one another during the kiss.

Once he'd successfully freed himself, he pulled back, shoving his fingers back into your mouth and yanking you off the desk, his throbbing length pressing against your belly as he shoved himself against you; fingers forcing another gag from your chest, watching you with a primal fervour in his eyes so intense it was intoxicating.

Pulling his fingers from your mouth again, he cupped his hand out in front of you. "Spit."

Your brows furrowed in confusion, your brain buffering in attempt to process his words until his free hand shot into your hair, tilting your head until your lips were parallel to his palm.

"Spit, Raven," he repeated. "Spit into my fucking hand."

Your stomach contorted with a mix of disbelief and unfamiliar desire, your entire being thrown off balance. Each word that fell from his lips felt like a jolt, causing your heart to stutter in your chest. His eyes bored into you, searing your skin into flames, and without another moment's hesitation, you gathered the saliva he had coerced from you and spat it into his hand.

"Mm, that's it...good little whore..." He purred, bringing it down to his cock, rubbing it into his shaft as he stroked himself, eyes never once leaving yours. "Now, get on your knees for me, pretty girl."

Your breath caught in your throat. He, of all people, had just called you "pretty," and you were certain your ears were playing some sort of trick on you. It was a compliment you never expected from him, someone you had never imagined would see you in such a way. Pulling your lip between your teeth, you did as he said, squeezing your thighs together as you situated yourself in front of his feet.

Mattheo's hand remained in your hair, firmly gripping a fistful as he stroked himself. "Hands behind your back, Raven..." he muttered. "Let me see those delicious fucking tits of yours."

Your entire body shuddered, immediately clasping your hands together behind you without a second thought.

"That's it...fuck-" he was stroking himself faster, the veins in his hands tensing with every movement. You weren't sure who was enjoying this more, him or you. "You want this, princess? You want this cock in your dirty little mouth?"

Your throat was drier than the desert, each swallow a struggle against the arid emptiness within. Fingernails dug into your own flesh with a fierce intensity, the pressure threatening to break through the skin, mirroring the internal turmoil that gripped you. Holy fucking shit.

"Yes..." your voice was a pathetic whisper.

"Don't be so modest, Raven," he sneered, slowing his pace, twisting his wrist as he stroked his shaft, eyes never once leaving yours. "Beg for it."

Your stomach was in your throat. You'd never done anything like that before, you weren’t even really sure how. "I...um-please, Mattheo..."

His eyes fluttered shut for the briefest moment, a flicker of amusement dancing across his features before he locked eyes with you once more, his arrogance wrapping around the room like a suffocating cloak.

"Bloody hell, I said beg for it...does the prissy little princess not know how to fucking beg?" his voice was a hoarse growl, his vocal cords strained with lust. "Tell me how bad you want my cock, Raven, tell me how much you need it."

You couldn't believe your ears; the turn of events in your life felt utterly surreal. Never in your entire existence could you have imagined that this is where you'd find yourself right now--merely a few months away from graduation, on your knees for the most suffocatingly arrogant delinquent in the school who was making you beg to suck his fucking dick. A man who only last year wouldn't have paid you an ounce of mind, who probably didn’t even know you existed.

Your cheeks burned, but you fought through it, the arousal in your lungs fuelling your words. "Please, Mattheo...I want your cock so bad, I want you in my mouth, I want to choke on it, I want you to fuck my throat until you cum-"

His grip on your hair tightened, simultaneous with the grip on his cock as he cranked your head back, leaning down to meet your eyes; his lips hovering mere inches above yours.

"My God, you're a dirty fucking slut, aren't you?" He purred, smirking so wide it reached his eyes, his fingers bruising your scalp. "A dirty fucking slut whose sole purpose is to let me use her mouth whenever I want, yeah?"

You swallowed, wincing as he jerked your head back further, fucking into his fist faster, harder. "Yes, Mattheo..."

He sneered, clearly loving every fucking minute of this. "Imagine if anyone saw you like this...fuck-you're fucking filthy..." his voice was breathless, if you didn't know any better you'd think he was about to make himself cum before you had the chance to suck him off. "Apologize for being such a nasty little slut and I'll let you swallow my cum."

Your thighs clenched in need, your wetness seeping through your panties at this point. Gods, you wanted him so fucking bad you thought you were going to die.

"I'm sorry," you pleaded, eyes wide as you peered up at him, nearly-speechless. "I'm sorry for being a nasty little slut."

"That's right..." he purred, directing the head of his cock toward your mouth, groaning as your pressed your lips to it. "Good girl...fuck-so good for me..."

Your entire body was in flame, hands still clasped together behind your back as both of his thrust tightly through your hair, absentmindedly sealing your lips around his shaft, revelling in his skin's heat, dragging your tongue along the throbbing, pulsing underside. Riddle growled, bucking his hips, and you took him further into your mouth, gagging as his tip slammed the back of your throat.

"You take me so well, Raven..." he breathed, head falling back on his shoulders, eyes fluttering shut as his hands urged your head along his length. "Can't believe a mouth that annoying can feel this fucking good."

You groaned in assent, sucking hard at his cock as he slowly started to fuck your throat. You were both struggling to breathe, both losing control, both lost in an ocean of primal, urgent carnality. Pleasure was straining your seams, ready to explode inside of you, drool dribbling in globs from your chin, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you tried to hold the boundaries of your sanity together.

"Mm, fuck..." Riddle's grip was crushing your skull. "I changed my mind…I'm gonna' cum on those perfect tits, princess..."

Your bones almost liquefied at this--but you steadied your knees, gagging as he started fucking into your throat faster, thrusting deep, your eyes disappearing into the back of your head as you allowed him to use your mouth as a helpless hole for him to fuck--singlehandedly loving every fucking second of it.

"Shit-" he groaned, eyes squeezed shut. "Fuck."

Your thighs clenched, brain fogged by a hurricane of lust, but when he pulled out, abruptly, your cognition returned--your vision clearing to an image of Riddle, red-faced, fucking his fist. Snarling, he jerked your hair, and choked on his moan, the sound stuttering while he shot the hot loads of his cum onto your chest and neck. He sucked down air in long, heavy breaths, waiting until the end of his release had dissipated, and then dropped you, stepping back to marvel at his masterpiece. You swore steam was wafting off your skin.

"Beautiful," he murmured. He pieced himself back together, buckling his belt. "Tell me how I taste."

Every inch of you tingled, chest heaving, jaw slack in an open pant. Keeping his stare, you brought a trembling hand to your chest, swiping his sticky cum off your tits and trailing it past your lips, slowly sucking it off your first two fingers. The taste melding with the mere prospect of what was happening elicited a low moan from your chest, and you shuddered, trapped in his gaze until you were finished.

"Salty." You teased, smirking up at him.

"Salty, huh?” He huffed, a devious grin on his face as he helped you up to your feet, rough palm grasping your forearm. "Important mineral for a balanced meal, yeah?"

You chuckled, heat swarming your skin as you stammered up to your feet, meeting his darkened eyes as you began buttoning up your shirt, taking in his newly flushed features--curly brown hair slightly sticking to his forehead before he ran a battered hand through it, brushing it back.

“Smartass,” you grumbled, turning toward the desk. “Next week we have an exam, so there won’t be a tutor session, you know that right?”

He released a breath, throwing himself into the usual creaky wooden chair beside yours. “Guess that just means you’ll have to do that again before the nights’ over,” he said. “You know, to compensate for next week.”

You rolled your eyes, failing to hide your smirk. “In your dreams, Riddle.”

“Oh, definitely not, princess.” He breathed, glimpsing you briefly. “In my dreams you do a hell of a lot more than that.”

——————

Chapter four->

[omgfangirlland]

Part 3 of fanfic writer/fan art drawer reader.. What do you think is the reaction of other villains to the fanfics? I feel like since reader already wrote fanfics of the batfams.. She'd include the people that knows them.. Like Superman x Lex Luther or Batman x Superman x Lex Luther.. Basically, stuff like that..

I want to know the reaction of the villains and their opinion of reader. (We already know that joker likes reader)

-🔱

I hear your Lex x Superman, and I raise you, Omega!Batman x Alpha!Penguin (I'm already laughing, can't see the screen from the tears btw.)

We're talking about this part one and this part two it's just crack. Pure fun.

Ok- first, Lexy- I think he's the type of person that by 10 pm he's dead to the world, not counting events and the few times he wakes up and needs to complete his weekly scheming, so, at 3 am on the clock, he wakes up sweating full of dread as he remembers that ONE time a student of some university he spoke at asked about him being in love with Superman.

The reason he gave? A specific fic written by one jokergagglingbatsballs35, where they go into detail on how his obsessive tendency of fighting Superman is clearly just the same yearning that Joker has for Batman. If he wasn't busy with the constant PR problems and his plans against Superman, he would have found you before the Joker. In the end, he doesn't, but the event still haunts him.

On the other hand, Superman is just digging their holes tbh. "Oh, we used to be friends, actually." and "I wish we still were," and xyz is just making the people who read the fanfics think that jokergagglingbatsballs35 is a 40 years old psychologist who sees right through everyone and just found a way to call it what it is without being sued.

Harley, if asked, she'll lie to your face, but she is the biggest Batman x Joker shipper as a guilty pleasure (she wants to see Joker being thrown around like a ragdoll) but her favorites are the Catwoman x Ivy x Harley fics batsis writes.

Selina and Pamela don't really care, but Selina has read one fanfiction regarding Batsy x Joker you wrote and had to put her phone down because from 8 pm it turned into 9 am and she had to reconsider her life choices.

You'd never write the sirens x Batman because you respect the girlies too much and don't think your father is capable of a stable relationship with one of them, let alone a polycule. BUT you do write Bruce Wayne x Two-Face.

Harvey doesn't care, he's heard his men whisper about it, but he brushes it off as something bored teens do to stir drama(which, he is right about).

Now, you've written exactly one Penguin x Batman, Omegaverse, Angst No Comfort, Major Character Death, and after you finished it, you had to take a week break for your mental health.

Cobblepot knows. He's read it out of morbid curiosity and has learned terms he wishes he hadn't. He's impressed and terrified and has buried the knowledge deep in the back of his mind. Now, every time Joker is mentioned, he shivers or twitches.

There's no way Waylon or Bundy know what is going on the internet, or what the internet is, respectively, and you honestly ship them with therapy.

...

John Constantine follows you on every social media and leaves likes on every x John Constantine you write, almost shed a tear on the King Shark x him, enemies to lovers to enemies you wrote. He also reads the Batman x Joker ones when Bruce annoys him.

Slade only knows about you because one of your edits ended up on the news, and he almost choked on the Chinese takeout he was eating. He doesn't care that much, but if those edits of him being the badass turn into a fail compilation of him tripping over his feet while walking, he'll have a bone to pick.

Jason has a mental breakdown when Red Hood starts being tagged into your Red Hood x Joker fic, and stupidly tries to go to you for comfort, only to be told to grow up.

If a Robin/Nightwing x Slade fic got popular, not yours specifically, any in general, Dick is puting Jason's breakdown to shame- he will cry and then try to go out for a "talk" after he finds who wrote it.

Speaking of- I mentioned how Cassandra already knows, the second to know is Duke. He's in denial. Steph knows because Cass was sloppy one day after you were "kidnapped" by Joker and it slipped her tongue. It was all the blonde needed to jump from the "yeah, that's fucked up" boat into the "this the best shit ever" boat.

Damian, Barbara, and Alfred are "too old"™️for such childish things. Alfred knows. He knew as soon as he found you furiously typing away on your laptop, and all you could say was "Omegaverse penguin x batman".

Dick, Jason, and Bruce find out at the same time, but by that time you're already in metropolis and planning to change your name and buy a little house in the country side somewhere.

I, however, feel batsis has bad luck, and someone would notice her and question it- maybe a Super being like "heyyy... You look oddly familiar. Have I seen you anywhere?" And batsis is just smiling and sweating bullets as she tries to keep her heart in check, knowing damn well they've met at a gala or in the batcave. "Nope."

[logansargeantsbabymom]

Wide Awake

Lewis Hamilton x Fem!Wolff!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, Self-Doubt, age-gap (reader is 22), slight smut (just fingering) , oh and slight orgasm denial.

(SOFIA IS A RANDOM GIRL I MADE UP!)

A/N: This was supposed to just be a one off thing but I kept writing and writing and I'm 99% sure that no one wants to read a 25k worded chapter only for it to BARELY get to the whole point/plot of the fic. so there's going to be another chapter (3 at max)

(Also I promise Too Good To Say Goodbye 7 is coming but I was hyper fixated on trying to finish this which isn't happening ) 🫶🏽😊

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My dad’s always warned me about getting involved with the drivers. He told me that they’re all too young, naive and that all they’ll be good for is breaking my heart. For the longest time, I believed him. I’ve seen the way some of these young drivers were with girls.

Max cheating on Sofia with Kelly, Lando talking to 3 girls at once and George, well George hasn’t done anything. Point is, I’ve seen how they are and I don’t want to get with one of the young drivers only to have my heart ripped out. AGAIN.

I secretly dated one of the hottest drivers, Charles Leclerc for about 2 months. All was going well we were happy, we had secret dates and maybe I thought he was the one.

That was until one day In Monaco when I showed up to the paddock for Free Practice 1 & 2 I saw him hand-in-hand with Alexandra Saint Mleux. When I saw them together and I realized everything she had that I didn’t. She was at taller than me, skinnier, gorgeous, had flawless skin and had a modeling career. In other words, she was a goddess.

Seeing them together broke my heart and all I wanted to do was curl into a ball and sob, but I couldn’t. My dad warned me about the young drivers but I still went behind his back and did the exact opposite of what he told me not to do. I deserved this.

I had made a beeline for the Mercedes garage just to get out of the public eye but I was so focused on getting as far away from Charles and Alexandra as possible that I hadn’t noticed I was running straight into someone.

I hit this person's body with such force I almost went flying back and I reached my hands out in front of me to try and grab anything for stability and at the same time I felt two hands on either sides of my waist trying to balance me.

I was feeling so many different emotions right now I couldn't even think straight, clearly. I was so angry at Charles for cheating on me even if weren’t technically even dating, sadness because I actually thought Charles was actually capable of loving me, and full fledged embarrassment because I just ran full on into someone thinking about how Charles just ruined my life. And my makeup.

I looked up to face the person I just ran into and tried to profusely apologize for my actions, but when I looked up tho I was met with the most gorgeous brown eyes I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I wanted to stare into his eyes forever but in the half a second it took me to look up I also realized who it was that I ran into.

The 7x WDC Lewis Hamilton.

Even more embarrassment coated my face as I realized that not only did I just bump into someone while trying so hard not to have a mental breakdown but I ran into the Lewis Hamilton, my dad's best and most loved driver. “Oh my gosh Lewis, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going and I really didn’t mean to run into you. Please don’t tell my dad” Honestly, it sounded pathetic. ‘Don’t tell my dad’? what are you, 12?

I stared at him in silence for about all of 2 seconds which felt like an eternity until I saw his lips curled up into a smile and heard a small chuckle come from him. “I won’t tell your dad, cross my heart” Lewis said while making an ‘X’ motion over his chest “Who are you running from? I feel like maybe I'm obligated to know since you ran right into me trying to avoid them?”

My face fell in shock. How did he know I was trying to avoid someone? I mean it wasn't rocket science, if I saw a random girl running to an isolated area with tears streaming down her face, I too am going to assume she's avoiding someone. “I- Uh, Well. See”

“It’s okay, Y/N/N, I’m not going to tell anyone. You also don’t have to tell me if you don't want to but I’m willing to help you avoid them if you do.” Lewis said as he placed a hand on my cheek.

I’ve always found comfort in Lewis’ touch. Actually, I’ve always felt comfort whenever I was in the same room as Lewis. Something about his Aura screamed ‘You’re safe with me’

As much as I wanted to, I knew there was no point in lying because one thing about Lewis is that could read people like a book. Including me. With a long, loud and dramatic dragged out sigh I reluctantly told him the truth.

“I was seeing Charles behind my father’s back for about 2 months, everything was going well and I actually kinda thought he was my person but I just now saw him hand-in-hand and all cuddly with Alexandra.” Tears sprung in my eyes and threatened to fall as I recounted what I saw a few minutes prior to Lewis.

He had a sympathetic look in his face and I could tell he genuinely felt bad for me. The hand Lewis once briefly had on my face had moved down to grab my hand before he whispered, "How about this: Tomorrow we wear almost matching outfits and we come back here also hand-in-hand. We'd be together all day and we'll be cuddly too. You know, just to make Charles jealous and regret cheating on you."

Lewis was always putting people's well-being ahead of his and it made a shy smile creep onto my face. As much as I want to, maybe I shouldn't read too much into this though, he's probably just being nice to me to stay in my father's good graces.

"Lewis," I whispered as I placed my hand on his cheek "You don't have to be nice to me because I'm your boss's daughter"

he looked a bit hurt by my accusations. "Is that why you think I'm doing this?" his hand squeezed mine a little tighter.

"Why else would you, Lewis?" his hands came up to cup my face forcing me to look at him.

"Because Y/N/N, I-" he paused, almost like he was trying to find the right words to use. "I think you're the most beautiful woman in the world. I've seen you sneaking around with Charles and it took so much in me not to go over there and tear you away from him, to show him that you're mine. I know I'm older than you but I'm wiser and I'll treat you better than he can." My jaw dropped, there's no way that Lewis Hamilton, a 7x WDC is head over heels in love with me, right?

"Lew, I-" a voice interrupted me, turning my body into stone and my blood into ice.

"Y/N!" I knew that voice anywhere and if he saw the moment that me and Lewis just shared, we were both dead.

"Dad! Hi!" I tried to sound enthusiastic but I was so flushed from Lewis' confession.

"My baby," His hands cupped my face inspecting the red all over "Are you okay?"

"Oh yeah, I'm fine, I'm just hot. You know how the sun is in Monaco." I said with a shrug, trying to change the subject

"Oh you have to go in the AC! Lewis," my dad turned to face Lewis who was already facing in our direction

"Yes, Toto?" he said as he cocked his brow.

"I need you to take my darling girl inside. She has a condition where she can't sweat which causes her to overheat and pass out. I am too busy with this race and getting everything perfect to be worrying about my daughter having a heat stroke."

"Oh, jeez, thanks dad. Just send Lewis to do everything for you" I said in a playful tone

"Of course Toto, I'll take her in right now." Lewis said as he walked over to me and linked his arms with mine.

Lewis started guiding me through the garage and to his driver's room where he opened the door and gestured me in. Once inside he closed the door before facing me with unsure eyes.

"What's wrong Lew?" I said as I cautiously walked over to him.

"What were you going to say before Toto cut you off?" his voice so low, I almost didn't hear what he said.

"I was going to say," I stopped right in front of him, our chests were touching. We were so close I could feel his breath against my skin. "I think that you have to prove what you said about treating me better than how Charles did."

Lewis grabbed my face and pulled me into a searing kiss, our tongues fought for dominance but his won. Lewis picked me up and sat on his couch with me on his lap so I was straddling him all without breaking the kiss.

His hands found their rightful place on my hips and applied pressure forcing my hips down as I rocked my hips to apply more force against his hardening cock.

"Mmm, you taste so good. I can only imagine how much better you taste when I'm eating your pussy." Lewis mumbled against my lips as his hands went just a little bit lower to stop at the elastic of my leggings. I guided Lewis' hands under the fabric to release some of the tension building in my core.

He understood what I needed and quickly started to run his middle finger up and down my fold, collecting all my juices before inserting it in my pussy. Lewis slowly moved his finger in and out of my hole while using his thumb to rub circles on my clit. His movements were slow and sensual bringing me closer and closer to my orgasm. I started rocking my hips into his palm to add more friction to my core and to chase my orgasm which I really needed right now. I was just about to go over the edge until a knock at the door quickly halted both of our movements and caused Lewis to yank his hand out of me leaving me without finishing.

"Mate, FP2 starts in 15. They need us by our cars now" The voice of George could be heard from he other side of the door.

“Oh fuck me” I grunted as I pulled myself off of Lewis’ lap

“Trust me, I was planning on it” He said with a smirk on his face as his hand came to rest on my ass before giving it a smack.

Lewis poked his head out of the door to make sure no one would see us leave, after the all clear we quickly rushed out of his room, both of us going in opposite directions as to not get caught.

————

The next day I heard a knock at my hotel door at the early hours of 6:00am. With a grunt I pulled myself out of the comfort of my warm and cozy bed and made my way to the door. Whoever was interrupting my beauty sleep was going to get a mouthful, I’ll tell you that.

“Do you know what time it is?!” I whisper yelled as I opened the door, not even bothering to look through the peephole to see who I would be yelling at. And boy do I really wish I did look because I was met with the tall, beautiful, muscular frame of Lewis Hamilton.

“Woah honey, I told you we were going to the paddock together. We need matching outfits” Lewis said while looking at me up and down "Do you by any chance have a matching Tommy Hilfiger set?"

"No?" I said, a little nervous

"Perfect, I bought you one that matches mine so put this on" Lewis said as he handed me a bag of 4 different sets.

"Lewis, there's four sets in here. Which am I wearing?" I said I let him in my room and watched as he took a seat on my bed right were I was once peacefully sleeping.

"Wear whichever one you want and I'll match it. I didn't know which of those four you'd like so I bought them all." My heart fluttered a bit at his confession.

--------

When Lewis and I pulled up to the race and got out of the car, we walked to the entrance hand-in-hand.

Charles and Alexandra were the first people to spot us and I took notice on how Charles dropped Alexandra's hand. When I saw that I squeezed Lewis' hand and leaned into him to tell him

"Lew, it's working. He dropped Alexandra's hand" I said with a smirk on my face.

"Wanna give them a show?" I cocked my brow at what he was suggesting but reluctantly nodded my head.

Without thinking twice, Lewis pulled me into a kiss, his hand finding their place to rest on my ass while mine traveled to the back of his neck to pull him deeper into the kiss.

I heard a strings of words which I'm assuming were curse words before I heard faint shuffles of feet echoing away from where me and Lewis were stood. Faint footsteps weren't the only thing we heard because next thing you know we heard clicks of camera shutters.

I pulled away from him with a horrified look on my face.

"Lewis! My dad might see those!" I don't think I was ever more scared in my life than I was in that moment. My dad can't know that I'm sneaking behind his back with Lewis. Well technically this is the second day of this 'sneaking around' but still, he doesn't know."

"Do you want to be with me Y/N/N?" He said dead serious while interlocking our hands

"Yes"

"So you shouldn't care about the pictures and your dad's opinion. Not everyone is going to accept our relationship but that doesn't matter because this relationship is between us. Not them"

"I need FP3 and Qualifying to end ASAP because I so badly want to suck your cock."

“I’m holding you to that” Lewis said as he swatted my ass. Surely the press people got photos of that and when those get out. I’m gonna have a fun conversation with my dad

It took us about 15 minutes to get the Mercedes Hospitality area because of all the fans asking for pictures, Press asking questions and other drivers asking what Lewis thinks he’s doing going out with me.

I almost took offense to that but quickly realized that they didn’t mean it in a rude way but more as a ‘you better be careful because if you break her heart, Toto will never resign you to Mercedes’ type of way.

When we entered, we were met with the angry eyes of my father.

“Lewis.” He said stern, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose “what are you doing with my daughter?!”

“Sir,” Lewis started but my dad cut him off

“Y/N/N, I told you not to go off with the drivers!” His voice raised, not too loud to be classified as yelling but a couple octaves louder than how it was before

“Actually, you said no messing around with the younger drivers. Lewis is older and more wise” I said as I grasped Lewis’ hand tighter.

“What are your intentions with my daughter?”

“Well sir, I intend to give your daughter the best life I can give her, I want to take her everywhere with me, I want to spoil her, I want to have her move in with me, I want to be her husband and I want her to be the mother of my kids.” Lewis squeezed my hand as he said that last sentence.

I never thought about being a mother, I never felt like it was an obligation of mine. I never thought that I wanted kids but hearing Lewis admit to my dad that he wanted me to be the mother of his kids sparked something in me. Lewis made me realize that deep down, I longed to be a mom and now I wasn’t going to be happy if I wasn’t.

“I will kill you if you break her heart.” My dad stated as he stared in Lewis’ eyes as if to try and intimidate him.

—————

It's not the best but I promise the plot is to die for!

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[demodraws0606]

I'm kinda peeved off that I'm seeing a few people that have the critique that Siffrin didn't deserve their "happy ending" in the end, that he was forgiven too quickly. I'm bad about this for actually a number of reasons.

(Warning this will be long because I am irrationally passionate about this, totally not because I relate to Siffrin or anything ahahahahaha)

First, logically, Siffrin's actions definitely are not as awful as people make it out to be especially not in the context of a time loop story. The worst Siffrin has done was his actions in the Bad Touch achievement and the last loop, one being purely optional. Outside of that, any tampering Siffrin had done was purely harmless, sure it's existentially horrifying but it's not like he did any actual manipulation.

You could also argue since Siffrin was in control of the loop, they are responsible for everything that was happening but we know full well he wasn't in control literally, his emotions were in control of the loop. Considering, a whole thing in this story is how acting as though you're fine and trying to control your emotions don't work, I don't think we can make the argument Siffrin was really in control.

He only wanted to trap everyone in the timeloop when it already had destroyed his mind. I thought it was obvious it was a monkey's paws situation.

The last time loop was the breaking point of Siffrin and it's one of the things he does suffer consequences from, they do get mad at him and he does apologize. What else do you want him to do ?

The Bad Touch achievement is the only thing that could be said to be "unforgivable" but it's optional and as far as I know it's hinted that Siffrin would talk about it with Isabeau. In fact it's said that even though right now they're fine and okay, they literally say they are okay to be mad at Siffrin later.

And also, it's not taking into acount the Actual feelings of his family either. They can't remember the loops and they have their own reason to not still be mad with him, so why should they hold Siffrin accountable for feelings they don't have.

In fact, the storyline strikes the perfect balance to not have Siffrin do such horrible action that he'd actually be unforgivable but still have him do enough that it shows what the loops are doing to him but....

..it's not just logically, judging Siffrin's actions as bad/good things like that is not just what's wrong with the narrative that Siffrin should've suffered more consequences. It also goes against the narrative itself.

For me at least, ISAT is a game about mental illness but also recovery. It's not coincidental a lot of people project their own mental issues onto Siffrin, it's not just a "ahahaha they're so relatable !!", it's a genuine part of the story.

I could make an entire essay about it but that's not the point, what would a story about these themes be if the ending was just "you need to repent for the things you did during your own mental breakdown"

It may seem ridiculous after all this that they'd just forgive Siffrin after all of this, but really hasn't most of the points against Siffrin's morality been coming from Siffrin themselves.

Siffrin believed he deserved to be rejected, that he deserved the suffer, that he was disgusting. It was these belief that kept him from talking about the loop because for him, everything was his fault. Not just because he created the loop but because the desire of staying with them was the very sin he hated himself for since the beginning.

So for all that self hatred to be met with, strange acceptance. It almost seems ridiculous, and Siffrin's talk with Odile in the epilogue reinforces how almost comedic it is.

It's close to reality, isn't it ? How many times have you thought you did something completely unforgivable to someone you cared about and you were waiting for them to be furious at you, but that moment never came.

Because they just simply weren't hurt enough by what happened. And sure it was definitely a bad thing you did and they were maybe mad in the moment, but you apologized. Sure there could be more consequences for what you did but what's the point in asking for them to be more mad at you ?

Shouldn't you strive to be better than beg to be hurt for your actions ?

Do you think being hurt, being yelled at would make anything better other than just feed the voice in your head what it wants to hear ?

Weird flowery talk aside, it just doesn't fit the themes and the narrative of the story is what I'm saying. Asking for more punishement for Siffrin goes against what the story is about.

It's just like complaining that the looping mechanics are too frustrating, that's part of the package deal bb !!

Fuck the idea of "repenting by suffering through the consequences" !!! Having to deal with "blinding unrelenting forgiveness and kindness" is in !!!!

[zahri-melitor]

Not that I would ever write a Titans Tower fic because of so many reasons but, if we gently massage the timeline just a lil bit here I can make such a better set of starting conditions than your average fic. That actually, you know, recognises when the story is set.

Teen Titans #29 is a December 2005 story, the same month that Dick agrees to work with Slade to train Rose (and proceeds to 'train' Rose as a villain by pointing out all the ways she needs to learn how to fight against the various members of the Society of Super Villains for the inevitable occasion they betray her dad. Oh Dick. You are so bad at being a villain. Anyway). The following month Roy shows up to go "what are you DOING DICK" at the request of Oracle and Dick kicks him around a bit in Nightwing #114.

But what if we shift events in Nightwing just a little forward, ahead of Teen Titans.

So then we can have this Roy-Dick-Rose are fighting Venom-pumped mooks fight scene...and Roy gets an emergency override from Oracle in his ear, letting him know that Titans Tower has gone into lockdown for some reason, setting off an alert.

Now, Mia's on the Teen Titans at this point. So Roy freaks out because Mia's supposed to be there and tells Dick who ALSO FREAKS OUT because the first information about the lockdown Oracle passes along has some detail about the alert giving very bad vibes (hinting that it's one of Jason's codes or something like that, or Tim's managed to set off a distress call or why am I overthinking this, it's a Titans Tower fic).

And Dick (still dressed as Ravager, I might add) turns around with Roy to go storm the Tower and figure out what has gone on, telling Rose "you wanted practice being bad? We're going to go break into Titans Tower".

And given it's Roy and Dick, they are immediately in agreement that they take Rose with them for a fun and educational trip (also Rose knows how to sneak around the Tower just as well as anyone, she's lived there before too while she was Lian's nanny, even though she's recently had her mental breakdown and stabbed out her eyeball an extra body who knows how the Tower works is helpful right now).

So the upshot of this and Dick using his very not-supposed-to-be-used JL transporter codes he nicked off Bruce, probably assisted by Dinah given she's an Actual JLAer at this very point in time and standing right next to Babs during all of these shenanigans, is that Jason Todd, in full weeb 'I'm not having a tantrum about no longer being Robin, honestly I'm not' costume turns around from fighting Tim and bearing down on him is a chick in what looks like a Deathstroke costume knockoff, a creepy red vigilante he's never seen before, and a fuming mad Roy Harper.

We go from there. Jason is having a very bad day.

There's also this angle where Dick's just been explaining to Rose exactly how bad news Talia al Ghul is almost immediately before all of this occurs, so if you want some dramatic irony there is another line to exploit...

[bellysoupset]

Hiking It Up

"Hey, Mr. Moan?" Max opened a Chesiree smile at the nickname, leaning against the doorway of Vince's classroom. It had taken him a while to work up the balls, after he made such a fool of himself in the cabin with Vin's friends and passed his stomach flu to the guy as payment for taking care of him, but finally Max felt steady enough once again to try and make right of the situation.

Vince was chewing on the top of his pen, reading his student's essays with a big frown on and looking genuinely offended, and the expression took a minute to fade as he raised his head, "yeah? Oh, hi!"

Max's smile stretched even more as he saw the frown melt into a happy grin, Vince going from a wolf to a puppy in seconds, "essay's no good?"

"No, it's alright," Vin scoffed, lowering the paper again, "except for the fact there's an explain the concept of Mutually Assured Destruction (MAD) and how it impacted the Cold War arms race prompt in the middle of it," he circled the sentence with his pen, so strongly Max cringed on behalf of the poor loser who had just tried to use AI against Vince, "I fucking hate that stupid thing."

"It's mutual," Max entered the room, sitting on one of the desks, "so, uh- Are you free tomorrow?"

Vince's eyebrows raised, essay momentarily forgotten. His cheeks turned pink, brows meeting, "are you asking me out...?"

"What!? No!" Max squealed, cursing himself. So much for confidence, uh? "No, Monacelli, I was just- Ah, forget it."

"What?" Vince frowned at him, "you were just what?"

"It's- I'm going hiking, I was wondering if you wanted to join..." Max grumbled, dragging his fingers over his beard, nervously. Honestly, his backtracking didn't make it seem like any less of a date.

Vince probably realized that, because he was studying Max as if he was the biochemist in the room and Max was a very intriguing bug he had just found- "Sure," he shrugged, "I've never hiked before."

"You've ne- Sure? You're coming with?" Max spluttered, shocked, and Vince shrugged once again, looking confused.

"Didn't you just invite me?"

"I did!" He said quickly, "I did! And it's not a date, I swear, I'd never- You have a girlfriend, I would never- It's not a date," he bit his tongue, cringed at his own mumbling. Once upon a time, Max used to have game. Now he was a fucking mess all the time.

Vince was still staring at him, openly and unimpressed as if he was waiting for Max to stop with the hysterics. The blonde let out a frustrated sigh, he always felt so incredibly out of his depth, and really Vince was not hot enough to warrant this fucking behavior. He wasn't.

"Are we leaving after lunch?" Vince asked, oblivious to Max's mental breakdown, leaning back on his chair and removing his hair tie. His curls fell around his head like a dark mane and he combed his fingers through them, massaging his scalp and probably trying to shoo away a headache, "Max?"

Okay, maybe Vin was hot enough to warrant a breakdown. Maybe.

Max squinted at him, "yeah, after lunch," he said slowly, trying to keep his tone cool and steady, "I assumed you'd be game, since you don't have the last period tomorrow."

"Yeah, absolutely," Vince shrugged, "do I need to bring something? How does it work?"

"Gym pants and hiking boots if you have them, or any boots with a rubber sole," Max got up, deciding it was in his best interest to get the fuck out of the classroom, "charged phone, charging bank if you have that, good water bottle."

"Alright," Vince opened a large smile, dimples appearing on his cheeks and Max's heart hiccupped and he almost walked into the doorway, "I'll text if I have any questions."

"Yeah, do that," Max waved at him, dismissively, before walking out without a second glance back. How he was supposed to survive a full day hiking with Vin when it was such a hard time to even invite him out, he wasn't sure.

-----------

Max was in a really good mood as the next day rolled around. It was very sunny out and he had packed a bag with everything they might need and more.

He had picked a mild difficulty hike. Nothing too hard, but nothing so easy that Vince could do it in his sleep either, he had learned the hard way to not underestimate the ex-football star.

Vince was waiting for him in the parking lot, already changed out of his normal teacher clothes and into track pants and a compression shirt, as well as a tactel jacket.

"What do you think?" He asked, all but beaming, and it took Max a second to realize what he meant. His hair was up, but this time pulled back by one dutch braid that ended in a ponytail.

"How the hell-"

"I asked Soph to do it for me," Vince's cheeks turned pink, as he lowered his head so Max could see the braid better, "I feel like a viking."

Max rolled his eyes, inspecting the braid closer and raising his eyebrows, "yeah, I can see the resemblance. Ready to go?"

"Yep!" Vince straightened up, vibrating with energy.

It was a thirty minutes drive out of town and Max checked his bag once more, before jumping out of his truck, "alright, so our goal is to get to the waterfall at the top of the mountain," he explained, checking his water bottle, "it'll be a lot of hiking up, a little bit of rock climbing, crossing a river... Nothing too strenuous though, and the final view will make it all worth it."

"Okay," Vince was bouncing on his feet, "and do we have an amount of time?"

"It's not a competition," Max snorted, amused and gesturing for the brunette to follow him into the forest, "though I'd rather we made it there before sunset."

"On it, dude," Vince continued ahead, as if he knew the way and Max rolled his eyes, letting him keep walking until he stopped, clearly lost.

"Stay behind me, dumbass," he grinned, poking Vince's ribs.

They fell into rhythm quickly. Max didn't feel like he had to slow down at all for Vin, in fact, at several moments he felt a little breathless, while Vince was still yapping non stop, seemingly unbothered by the mountain inclination.

It was only after they had to cross the river that Max noticed Vince's speech seemed to reduce. He clearly had run out of subjects: the school, gossip about other teachers, the students, the nature, little tidbits about his childhood, the game past Wednesday that Max certainly hadn't watched and Vince narrated play by play...

"Do you need a minute?" Max teased him, wiping the sweat off his brow and leaning against a tree. He took several gulps of his water, breathing out slowly to calm his heart race. His cheeks were so red from the hiking that they felt like they were burning, but at least this time it wasn't due to embarrassment.

Vince flipped him off, planting his hands on his knees, "Got- Steep..." he gasped, before letting out a little breathy burp, "ugh, I don't feel well."

Max snorted, walking closer and planting a hand on his back, "straighten up, you're not helping yourself hunched like that-" he reached for Vince's untouched water bottle, "c'mon, take a sip."

The man's lips curled in disgust, face pale, and he wrinkled his nose, "if I drink anything now, it's coming back up."

Max rolled his eyes, ushering him to drink, "you're just nauseous because you were showing off, idiot," he pushed the bottle again, "take a small sip and we can sit down for a bit."

Vince let out a groan, taking the tiniest sip he could manage, then sat down on the stomped grass and humid gravel, "I wasn't showing off," he groaned, letting his head hang between his knees, "It was easy."

"Yeah, but you're not used to this type of exercise," Max patted his arm in amicable manner, "you're a football player, you're not meant to be hiking for hours and hours."

Vince did a small shrug, showing he understood and agreed, then planted a hand on his stomach, rubbing it and bringing up yet another dainty little burp.

"Take another sip," Max bossed, sitting down as well and leaning back, basking under the sun. He fell flat on his back, not caring about getting his shirt dirty or his hair and heard Vince let out another queasy groan.

"So what do you enjoy about this?" The man asked after another minute of silence, now much less breathless, "it's very quiet."

"The nature," Max shrugged, opening his eyes to look up at the trees and the very blue sky, "the exercise itself. Pushing myself. The animals. I have a picture with a bear cub!"

"You what!? That's so dangerous!" Vince cried out, but Max waved him off, fishing his phone to show him the picture.

"It was cute," he defended, "but yeah, I like the nature-"

"Isn't it lonely though?" Vince frowned, before smiling, "very cute picture, I'll give you that."

"Thanks," Max retrieved his phone, but his smile faltered now, "I don't think it's lonely..." he defended, feebly, "I mean, I guess? I don't- I don't do this to be alone, I'm just alone in general and I couldn't just sit at home every day so..."

Vince was staring at him again, as if Max was a puzzle, and it made him incredibly uncomfortable. He fidgeted, glaring at the other man, "what?"

"Do you feel lonely?" Vin asked, softly, voice a whole octave deeper and quieter, "being alone so much?"

Max's stomach sank and he opened his mouth to deny, then no sound came out and he clenched his jaw, looking away. His eyes were burning out of sudden and he regretted being in the middle of the fucking woods with Vince and no way to avoid this conversation, nowhere to run.

"We should get going-"

"Max," Vince frowned, not bothering to move, looking up as Max raised up to his feet, "Max."

He pressed his lips into a thin line, balling up his fists and kicked a rock away, down the mountain, "I'm not your charity project," Max said, strongly, meeting Vince's eyes, "I know you think that, I can feel the judgement and I'm not- I don't want you to be my friend because you feel pity of me and I don't need-"

"I don't," Vince shrugged, frowning at him, "I think you're a dick."

Max's mouth hung open, slapped into silence for a minute, before he let out a scoff, "no, the fuck, you don't! You're always around me now! You're not- You're lying!"

"No," Vince rolled his eyes, "I think you're a dick. I think you're a guy who came from a rough background and that you became a fucking twat because it was easier to push people away than to be rejected and I think that sucks, but I do not feel pity for you. You're a dick."

Max's cheeks burned and he looked at Vince in disbelief, eyes widening, "wow. If I'm so much of a dick then why you're-"

"You're a dick. But you're loyal and you have a huge heart, you're funny even if sometimes you're a little too mean and I like spending time with you. I don't pity you, Max," Vince made a little offended face, scoffing, "but I do think you're lonely, yeah."

This time Max didn't have a single answer, he only stared at Vince, trying to swallow down the knot in his throat and ignore the prickling in his eyes, fists still tightly balled.

Vin got up, patting his ass to get rid of the leaves, then clasped a hand on Max's shoulder, "so- Which way?"

It took him a second to collect himself, so Max simply pointed ahead and let himself fall behind. They continued to walk up, in silence, while Max's mind whirled with Vince's words.

He was so in his head, that he completely missed a hole in the ground and shoved his left foot right in it and then there was a crack and Max's vision went white with pain.

He let out a scream, falling down and cradling his ankle, going deaf and blind as the hot iron pain wrapped around his whole leg- He dared to open his eyes and then saw a flash of white in the middle of the red and his stomach immediately squeezed, nausea sending up hot bile and causing him to fold in half, throwing up in the leaves.

There was a string of something being said, chanted really, next to his head and Max's spine gave up on holding him, black spots dancing in his vision-

"No nononono, Max! MAX!" Vince shook his shoulder, cradling him with one arm, "don't pass out! C'mon, please, please don't pass out!"

[fereldanwench]

i'm finally starting to feel human again and i actually have the time to do an update

so um

the update:

ya girl is diabetic (idk what type yet tho bc doctors are clowns)

so this week i learned that birth control side effects and fucking diabetic keto acidosis apparently have some overlapping symptoms lmao

all the issues i was having? the leg cramps, fatigue, shortness of breath--it's because my blood was literally poisoning me! i was also peeing a lot, but this honestly didn't register with me as being that abnormal because i have always had to pee a lot because i always drink a lot of water. i was also losing weight, but i was trying to lose weight, so again, didn't register as a bad thing

diabetes was obviously not what was my first assumption was given that all this also perfectly aligned with my birth control issues (i honestly thought i was going to have a blood clot or something but everything was fine on that front, fortunately), but it was something that was kind of at the back of my mind because my brother is also diabetic. he was misdiagnosed as a type 2 at the beginning of 2019, but after he couldn't get it into remission despite losing almost half his body weight, he found out that he's actually the adult-onset type 1 or "1.5" type of diabetic

despite me telling the doctors this, i was literally told they "don't care about the type" because my blood sugar was super high and the initial treatment is going to be insulin injections regardless. i'm trying to keep my stress levels at a minimum right now so i will forgo a rant but needless to say, NO ONE LIKED THAT RESPONSE!!! (my brother was especially pissed--he could basically be a blueprint for what i went through but why listen to patients when they answer your questions about family history when you can just ignore them!)

so yeah, i'm on fast-acting insulin injections 3x/day with meals and long-acting insulin at night, and a very carefully curated diet with lots of veggies and lean protein. my glucose levels are steadily getting lower and i am feeling much, much better, but my sleep is all fucked up from the hospital visit (on top of the time change) and i'm still a little light-headed if i move too fast

my follow-up is friday so obviously i will be asking for the tests to determine type because what the actual fuck and can hopefully fine-tune my treatment

emotionally/mentally i'm... fine. ish. lmao. seeing that my brother has gone through this and seeing how well he's been able to manage it and still live a very full life (including traveling a lot) i think has done a lot to prevent this from feeling too scary and overwhelming. he and i are very close too--he actually picked me up from the hospital so he could give me some 'betes starter gear--so i have a good support system here

but the crying comes in waves, lmao. i had a nice good breakdown last night. not knowing the type is kind of delaying my ability to process it, too, because if it's type 2, i will put this bitch into remission!!! but if it's type 1, that's gonna be a lot harder to cope with, i think

i really get most emotional when i tell other people about it bc i immediately feel the need to assure them i'm fine, lmao. and for some reason other people telling me i'll be fine also makes me cry so it's just kjdfhgjdkfgdfgdfg

anyway, i wanted to give an update since i said i would and i know i certainly appreciate it when my friends who get hospitalized let me know they're okay lmao, but despite my usual oversharing tendencies, i actually don't really want to talk about this here! at least not right now. something about it feels very personal to me, idk. maybe it's because this is such a high-judgement disease and i just don't want to fucking hear shit about it!!

and for my final thought, i would just like to say that potassium IV drips fucking suck balls, and my arms are so goddamn sore and bruised from all the stabs and pokes and prods and squeezes

[pavlovianfuckery]

i have abandonment issues and anxiety and now so do you

This is an 18+ space, if your blog is empty I will assume that you're either a bot or a minor and act accordingly.

A/N: Re-uploading all my fics after having a slight mental breakdown and deleting everything so this is kind of old, but bone apple tea and all that anyway

AO3

The Master-masterlist

Fandom Masterlist

Summary: He is so very pretty when he cries and I wanted another go at writing some quick stair sex, fucking sue me ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Pairing: Dream/F!Reader

Notes: piv sex, angst, no use of y/n

Length: 2600~ words

It's been weeks since you slept unaided, the use of pills keeping any dreams at bay, so when you finally enter the Dreaming only to find yourself in the throne room of all places, it gives you pause. Everything looks much the same as you remember. When you finally lay eyes on the aloof figure on the throne it feels like being kicked in the chest, which is less unexpected. You had imagined what it would be like to see him again many times, but nothing you had planned to say comes out, the words turning to ash in your mouth.

"Leave us." His gaze is fixed on you as he orders everyone out, and it feels as if an eternity passes between the closing of the massive doors and him speaking to you. "Do you know why I have brought you here?" Just hearing his voice again is painful, but you refuse to let it show, squaring your shoulders but not meeting his eyes, not bothering to keep your tone civil.

"I do not presume to know why you would do anything, so no, I don't." The glibness doesn't seem to amuse him, and he steps down from the throne. "That is not quite true, is it?" His voice is flat as he approaches you unhurriedly, step by inexorable step.   "If accusing me of being a liar is all you dragged me here for, I'm just going to go." You turn to go, to wake up, to be anywhere but here, but he calls out to you. "Stop." You were planning on leaving, and yet. And yet.

"Why?" You whirl around, facing him. It's a struggle to keep your voice from cracking, but you manage it, somehow."You don't want me here."  He frowns, moving closer until he's only a few paces away. "I assure you, that is not true, despite your lack of loyalty." "What in the world is that even supposed to mean?" Now you can't keep the anger out of your voice, "Since when have I ever been disloyal to you?" "Since you abandoned me to cavort with a mortal." The words are full of contempt, and it almost makes you physically recoil. "I abandoned you?" It comes out as a disbelieving laugh, more callous than you had intended. "No, you left, without so much as a word. I didn't hear from you for 6 months! I don't know if you had gotten bored of me or what, but you were gone."

"Bored?" His frown deepens. "There were matters of great import that required my attention." "Of course there were."  You had always been painfully aware of your own unimportance to a being like him right from the start but nevertheless, his words still hurt. "What did you expect me to do then, spend the rest of my life waiting for you? I didn't even know if you were coming back at all."

"You certainly wasted no time before giving yourself to another." "Did you miss the part where you up and left me for months? Not that it's any of your business anymore but yes, I slept with someone else, to try and get over you forgetting me!" "I did not forget you." Somehow, the words make it worse. "Yeah? Because that's what it looked like." Your eyes sting and you wipe at them angrily.

He's frozen, unmoving at the bottom of the steps. Bathed in the soft light from the stained glass windows he reminds you of a marble statue. Beautiful. Cold. It cuts at you like a knife until you can't stand to look at him any longer, and you turn to leave again. The way his fingers snag your wrist takes you by surprise, not expecting him to reach out. "Wait." "I did." You yank your arm back, but he grabs hold. The touch is gentle, but it might as well have been a firebrand. "Let. Go." For all their vehemence the words feel like a lie on your tongue, and as you glare at him it's obvious that he doesn't believe them either because his grip only tightens. The way he looks at you hurts, it burns and something inside your chest just shatters.

The slap is loud in the empty room, neither of you expecting it. Even though your palm tingles from the open-handed strike there isn't a mark on him of course, but that doesn't make you feel any better. When he pulls you to him, most of the fight drains out of you. "You don't get to do this, you know," you punch his chest weakly, just once as the first tears start to fall. "You can't just dump me by the wayside when you get tired of me, I'm not your fucking pet." "No, perhaps not. But do not doubt this; you are mine."

Despite everything, the close proximity has the same effect as it always has, as if he'd never left. As he tightens his arms around you his familiar scent envelops you, making your head swim. You're not sure what possesses you to brush your lips against his throat, but you do it anyway, despite your every sense screaming at you that it's a bad idea. "Forgive me." For a moment you're sure that he'll send you away, that you'll wake up alone in your bed again and the thought makes it hard to breathe. But then his fingers ghost over your cheek, brushing your tears away before guiding your mouth to his. The kiss is a brief, unspeakably tender thing, over much too quickly. Brows knitted together in something like confusion his eyes are heavy on you, searching your face. "What is there to forgive? If I had known..."

You don't wait for him to finish speaking, pulling him back down by the lapels of his coat. His lips are as soft against yours as they've ever been as you pry them open, like it would be possible to push every shred of angerpaingrief into him that way. As if he could somehow understand your hurt if only you could force him to taste it. And he lets you, even as you nip at him until you taste blood, like bright copper pennies caught in your teeth. Lack of air makes your head spin but you can't stop clinging to him as if he'd turn to smoke under your hands, to slip between your fingers to be gone by morning. "Don't leave me like that again..."

You breathe the words into him like a prayer until your knees go weak, and even then he holds you to him still, not letting go. The descent onto the stairs is a gradual one, made clumsy by the reluctance to let go for even a second. Straddling his lap is a graceless affair, but you're beyond caring.  Feeling the fabric of his coat under you is a bit unsettling, the way it cushions your knees from the unyielding stone beneath a bit too well to be quite real. It makes you feel as if you could fall into the sky of the lining of it if you're not careful. "You are aware of my responsibilities; I can offer you no such promises."  That hurts to hear more than you would like to admit, but then he continues, "I can however endeavour to inform you when my work requires my full attention."

It's not quite an apology, but it's as close to one as you're likely to ever get and still more than you dared hope for.  As the hem of his shirt rides up exposing the skin there, the urge to be closer is overpowering. "I have missed you." The way he says it is quiet but fond, the words soft enough to rival the feel of his skin under your questing hands.

Wanting to lay any claim on him that you can you suck at the sensitive skin on the side of his neck, which surprisingly does leave a mark, one that doesn't fade. When the realization dawns that he's doing that, he's keeping it there on purpose for you, lust pools molten in your belly. Repeating the action on the other side makes him groan, the sound vibrating against your lips as he tips his head back and grinds his hips up against you, giving you all the permission you need.

The bruises bloom nearly instantly, another one of his tricks, offered up almost like a gift. They dapple the flawless column of his throat prettily, but it's still not enough. The seams creak in protest as you pull the collar of his shirt down to get at more of him, but he doesn't seem to mind.  After being apart for so long, suddenly having him this close when you thought you never would again is overwhelming and you're unable to hold back a few errant tears.  "Do you have any idea what it was like with you gone?" Giving his hair a pull, you force him to look at you. 

He wets his lips before responding, an uncharacteristically human gesture. "It was never my intention to cause you harm." The tremble in his voice is barely perceptible but still undeniably there.

His lips yield to yours so easily when you kiss him again, pressing the heel of your hand against his fly. "Help me forget?" As you breathe the words into his mouth you can feel him pulse through the fabric. "Please?"

Even with his hands aiding yours it's easier than it should have been to pull his jeans down, the stiff material offering next to no resistance, a convenience courtesy of the Dreaming. Rather than removing them completely, you push them only as far down as is necessary.

His cock is just as pretty as the rest of him, you'd almost forgotten that. The skin is silky in your palm as you give him a few slow pumps, just as a reminder of what he feels like.  "Let me see you." His words make the rest of your clothing fade away like morning mist leaving you completely exposed on his lap, another perk of his realm that you had missed. The way he touches you borders on worshipful as he presses a soft kiss over your heart, gentle as a butterfly wing.

Sinking down on him slowly is difficult when you're aching like this, but you want to savour it. For now, he simply leans back and watches as your body swallows every inch of him. The way he fills you so perfectly is intoxicating, addictive. It feels like coming home. For a while you don't move, just enjoying holding him inside like this, buried to the hilt as you squeeze around him. The intimacy of it is almost unbearable, nearly making you choke up again as he gently grabs hold of your hips and guides you into a languid pace.

"Tell me he didn't make you feel like this." The words are quiet, almost pleading, his eyes shining as he looks up at you. You had thought something like that wouldn't matter to a being like him, but his fragile expression tells you otherwise. "I need to hear you say it," he gasps, the stars in his eyes finally falling. Seeing him like this nearly breaks your heart all over again. As you kiss his face with all the tenderness you can muster, moisture stains your lips, making him seem remarkably human in that moment. "You know he didn't," you fail to keep your voice steady as you stroke his hair. "He wasn't you."

The way his chest hitches does nothing to douse the desire burning its way through you, not the way it perhaps should have done. He's so lovely like this, all dishevelled, cheeks shining. It's wholly unexpected, the vulnerability of it all, making the tension in your core coil tighter. The salt of his tears burning on the tip of your tongue makes you feel like consuming enough of him in any way you can would somehow erase your stupid mistake. As if he could fill you up until there would be room for nothing else, and he would push the memory of it out of you. 

"Please come in me," you roll your hips, pleading. "I need you to."

That you would ask for it so bluntly makes him let out a desperate little sound and thrust up into you ineffectually, the bunched-up fabric around his knees making it close to impossible to gain any proper traction on the smooth stone steps. He grasps your hips more firmly, spurring you on. "Move for me." It's still a fairly leisurely pace, neither of you so much chasing release as letting it arrive in its own time.  Pleasure washing over you in gentle waves makes your thighs quake as it brings you close to your peak before pulling away, time and time again.

The squelching noises as you ride his cock are embarrassingly loud in the empty hall, but you're beyond caring about anything except that you get to have him like this again. One of his hands moves to where you are joined, clever fingers circling your clit, not directly touching you yet.  "You make such a sweet mess of me, my love."He murmurs, voice strained as he continues, "I've missed that." The words alone are nearly enough to put you right back on that precipice, making you pull on his hair with a frustrated little whine. "Morpheus, please." At that, he goes completely still, his grip like iron as he holds you in place. You can feel his cock straining inside of you, nearly spilling but not quite. "Plead with me like that," he chokes out, cheeks high with colour, "and you will receive me sooner than you might hope."

Being the one to make his composure falter has never failed to drive you wild and this time is no different. Seeing him like this after your time apart, balancing on that edge right along with you, is very nearly enough to bring you off. Furrowing his brow he bites his bottom lip, fighting to keep his control from slipping, and you realize that you're going to come regardless of if he moves or not. It's like a tidal wave on the horizon, the pull relentless long before it arrives.

"I'm going to," you struggle to get the words out, "fuck, I'm..." The way his eyes bore into yours is almost hypnotic, drawing you in. "Go on," he breathes, egging you on, "come for me." Then he flexes inside of you and with a whimper, you're lost, walls spasming around his cock. There is no way to ride the wave of pleasure and nowhere to hide from it, the only thing you can do is slump bonelessly on his lap and let it wash over you, because he isn't letting you move. He's only a few seconds behind you though, pushing in as far as he can go and emptying himself there with a strangled sound, as if he really could wash every trace of the other man's touch out of you that way.

Spent, he rests his head against your shoulder, stroking his hands down your back soothingly as his come starts seeping out of you. For a while you simply stay like that, holding each other close.  Now that you're thinking more clearly reality starts to set in, and you can't help but dread waking up. Because in your heart of hearts, you know that you will wake up alone, no matter what just happened. It hits you like a sledgehammer to the chest and without meaning to, you start to tremble.

Realizing with rising horror that this might just be A dream and not your Dream, you do the only thing you can think of; you flee back to the waking world.

⁂

The Master-masterlist

Fandom Masterlist

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[r0-boat]

Almost forgot about the zombie apocalypse one

Whb angelfication infection AU

Based off of my zombie apocalypse poll

Lore:

Angelification has gotten far worse than anyone would have anticipated. Even the angels themselves trembled in fear when they realized that it was much more than a way to convert and kill devils as they saw what their own eyes, one of their own kind, becoming infected. Not even humans are safe as the barriers between humans hell and angels have fully broken. As numbers of demon and Angel and human alike begin to dwindle.

there was still hope since All Seven Kings were still alive. However negotiation with humans are very difficult... Most angels went into hiding drowning and guilt of what they've done

The seraphim realizing that this must be a punishment from God team up with the devil's helping to push back against the infection....

Many devils still stayed loyal to their kings, Though others became more and more dangerous seeking power, as all that's left is their will to survive.

You are somewhere in either the human world or hell they can still feel that you're alive. So they are racing to find you before something else does.

Satan

Gehenna is full of nasty demons twisted by the will to survive. Many demons that are doing okay are ones you shouldn't get your self involved with.

The Gehenna faction is still strong, their castle is turned into a makeshift stronghold. And it is considered the safest protected by bloodthirsty devil's wanting nothing more than to protect their last piece of home. Is also the biggest home to many survivors demons angels and humans alike. However tensions always arise.

Satan is actually scavenging in the human world and trying to find You; with their king gone the two devils in second command are Amy and Sitri. Gehenna is honestly your safest bet But it's not perfect. Everyone from the fraction are most helpful and sometimes even go out to help other groups or factions. And they are encouraged to do so.

Mammon

With their currency now useless you would think Tartaros would fall in an instant. But are also wealthy and resources being a gold mine of food, water and other supplies. However their trades always come at a cost since they too are also surviving on these very same supplies.

Money does very little for them at the moment But if there's anything else that catch their eye They will let you know. Devils from Tartaros are mostly merchants trying to trade.

Mammon has ways to find you without him lifting a finger, like using drones or paying people with the finest treasures to bring you. Right now they need to focus on more automation So they could grow more food in the long run They are practically reliant on machines since none of the survivors in Tartaros want to actually do physical labor.

Leviathan

Foras' invisibility ability comes in great handy since he is able to sneak past most if not all attention he could go and find you while Levi deals with Hades.

Hades is actually doing quite well with a strict regimen of fighters and devil so loyal to Levi it's practically brainwashing. Hades is usually self-reliant not relying on other countries or whatnot. No one can get in but no one can get out.

Leviathan however isn't doing so good. His psychee on the verge of a breakdown as he thinks about you every night His breath shaking after waking up from nightmares upon nightmares upon night terrors. He promised to keep you safe. This isn't safe. You are not safe. He will not rest He will not sleep until you're found and once you are found he will never let you go. His subordinates are also well aware of leviathan's mental decay.

Beelzebub Bael

He has no idea where Beel is He's worried sick He doesn't even know if his king is still alive. He hasn't stepped foot in abyssos since the outbreak. Hell he doesn't even know how to contact him anymore. Before he leave all he said was "I'm going to find them." And left.

Much of Abyssos had also taken the same idea as their king as they found that scavenging for more supplies as far easier than relying on wherever the fuck Tartaros is doing and they're acting king is sure to keep this place safe for when the people return with more supply.

Abyssos is a labyrinth of secret tunnels in passageways and passwords. But for good reason since they scavenge the most they tend to have the rarest items that even Mammons would love to get his hands on.

Lucifer

Lucifer is worried about you He is worried sick but he has far more pressing matters to tend to. His new rule in Paradise lost that Only doctors and the sick can reside here. Nothing else can get in so Paradise loss is the safest place if you can manage to make it there and even then if you're healthy they'll either put you to work or turn you away.

Lucifer himself is not tending anyone He's actually studying the process of angelification and the infection and trying to reverse it. His work is far more important since he could save many many lies He just... He just needs more time.

When Lucifer isn't researching He leaves with his two brothers trying to find either samples or trying to look for any leads to where you might be. In exchange for this information they will give their services.

Belphegor

He can't sleep, how can he in the same boat as Leviathan he experiences those same nightmares and night terrors and the only thing more hassle than being awake is having a nightmare. His body is not used to This little amount of sleep. If his narcolepsy isn't taking effect then he has not sleeping plain and simple.

Human world energy drinks are a lifesaver. So he would be awake for a week pass out and fall asleep for another week. With days of night terrors. He could just use his powers to find you but with so little energy he can't even control it at the moment. But Harumon So heartbroken and on the verge of tears at his friends takes up the mental to go find you himself. Thinking that if he did everything will go back to normal.

Niffleheim being the strict regimen is a very safe place if you're willing to put in a lot of work as soon as they let you in you are trained to fight in combat and either sent to protect niffleheim or sent out to kill as many of those motherfuckers as possible. If you're lucky you might also be sent to other countries in the human world or hell to help.

Asmodeus

These devils may serve asmodeus. But they also think that Asmodeus should be king of all hell... Asmodeus does not mind their way of thinking but does not make an effort to change So with a boiling over pressure cooker it just takes the right moment... The red prison has been destroyed...

Things are not always bad in Abaddon however. Asmodeus has a cult now. They're loyalty two asmodeus is terrifying as his subordinates and members of the red prison go far and wide to recruit more members or just you know having fun with their freedom....

Asmodeus... Doesn't give two shits. I mean technically he is helping... All he has to do is tell them what to do and they'll do it. He seems to be enjoying his life as the god of his new cult... Yes he could be actually helping, but he has greater plans. He might use threats and his cult as a bargaining chip to have you completely, But those are only his thoughts.

Asmodeus potential good guy or villain: Yes???

[tunamayojazz]

Love your art, any Toge/Yuuta fanfic recommendations? Thanks so much!!

hi!! thank you so much...🥺🩷🩷 and i am SO glad you asked this. i have so many!! here are the ones i read/reread more recently along with some of the tags. tried to make every rec here different from each other hehe have fun reading!!! can't help it (if you look like an angel) by glimmiks (12.4k)

tags: college au, friends to lovers, mutual pining, IKEA

THIS WAS SO FUN TO READ PLEASEEEE i absolutely love college aus so much. and you just know the 2nd years would be the most fun and chaotic as college students. their dynamic is just chefs KISS, and it's written so well here. the mutual pining in here is truly a 10-course meal and i always go back for another round.

i'm alright if you're alright by anonymous (14.2k)

tags: spoilers up to ch146, fluff, hurt/comfort, injury recovery, fix-it, love confessions, pining

post-shibuya fic excellence. i always have such a great time reading this like inuokkos really do eat so well in this fandom. yuta pining is always so great to read like he is Longingly thinking about toge at all times im cry

Magnificently Cursed by diggingupthegrave (91.2k)

tags: dark academia, magic au, magic school au, slow burn, angst, mutual pining

i will always always recommend diggingupthegrave fics. they are easily my favorite inuokko writer pls you have to read all their inuokko fics...i saved this particular one of theirs to read for much later bc i knew it was going to change my life (7 chapters ok) and boy did it do exactly that. the way they implemented canon elements into a magic setting was so so brillaint and i savored every bit of it.

Beat the Turtle Drum by CasuallyScreaming (7.4k) tags: major character death, post-shibuya incident arc, angst, minimal comfort, no shibuya spoilers read this before sleeping the other night and honestly how i managed to still fall asleep after was my body trying to protect me from full out bawling and having a mental breakdown...i don't think i've read a lot of MCD inuokko but god this one shook me to my core. almost like the feeling of loss and grief were bleeding through my phone screen. so well written and while it's definitely mostly painful, the ending....well you'll find out :')

a special occasion by Cheshire (2.5k) tags: idiots in love, established relationship, first dates this was so so cute...!!!!!!! panda: but aren't you two already dating? yuta: well yes! no. sorta, kinda. super cozy and fluffy read!!

is this how every day begins? by mitgi (5.4k) tags: roommates, living together, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, angst i will always love me a roommate au. this fic was such a lovely read and i'm actually going to reread this right after i finish writing this! there's so much to explore in inuokko's relationship and also when it's in different settings. every time i think about how the actual source material are literal crumbs, i'm just even more amazed by how writers are able to draw out the most of what info we have and write their mannerisms so well. it all feels right and so WARM UOGHHHHH

haunted by sieling_fan (3.3k)

tags: pining, hurt/comfort, canon typical angst, character study

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

you showed up just in time by diggingupthegrave (14.6k)

tags: time travel, friends to lovers, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, slight age gap

another diggingupthegrave fic that had me crying screaming shaking throwing up because god. this was so so good. the build up had me at the edge of my seat bc like oh my god what happened? what's happening?? why is this like that? @#$%^&*()_!!!!!!!!!!!!! and when it's all pieced together? oh it ended me. read this again and again for DAYS you would think i was researching it for a thesis or something. take your time reading this btw like im so serious.

okie that's all for me from now, i have so many more to rec honestly....sending out 100000000000 hearts to inuokko writers you are my roman empire....

[alittlebitofloveliness]

I’ve always loved the idea of Buck accidentally developing a fatherly relationship with Dallas because imagine being a Cowboy kinda guy in the 1960s and finding some rat stealing from your pantry and then whoops, that’s your new son! You’re stuck with him! You love him and you will be gutted when he inevitably gets himself killed because no one can take the wild out of an animal, especially not you and you are very aware of this!

I'm not going to lie, with all the awesome headcanons and lore being created about Buck I am SUPER conflicted about my take on him. I think having him act as a fatherly or older brotherly figure to Dallas in an alternate universe would add some really interesting depth to his character and offer a bit more insight into his motivation for doing and saying certain things. HOWEVER, that said, I think within the canon universe I couldn't really ever see Buck that way and there's a few reasons for that. For one, in the little we see from Buck we know that he displays none of Dallas' gallantry, and that he's weak. Canon Dallas would abhor that weakness, and we know he uses it to his advantage, bullying Buck to get what he wants. Even PONY knows this is a hallmark of his character as he 'bullies' Buck into going to get Dallas after Johnny stabs Bob. We also know that Dallas has a dad that wouldn't care if he died and that it 'doesn't bother him'- I can't see canon Dallas forming a father/son bond with someone only a few years his senior, or really anyone at all (remember, it was the Curtis' MOM he was canonically close to, not their dad). Finally, if we establish Buck as a fatherly/brotherly influence in Dally's life we lose some of the 'shown not told' elements of his character. Dally lives alone in rented room in a (heavily implied to be) illegal bar at seventeen years old, and he is stuck in this dangerous environment BECAUSE he is entirely self sufficient and has to take care of himself. Dally living at Buck's has always been (in my eyes) a way to further establish him as wilder and more dangerous than the rest of the Curtis gang and Tulsa hoods.

SIGH. Now I'm done yapping I can explore the fun world in your ask because it really DOES offer some fun headcanons/character work. Sooooo, here's some headcanons:

-Buck is (as we know) a cowboy, and he first establishes a connection with Dallas because he just unconciously treated him like a horse he was trying to tame and lo and behold it worked

-Dally only rides in the rodeos because BUCK talked to the higher ups and got him a chance at the position. It made Buck even more mad when Dally wouldn't help him fix the races

-Buck isn't sure if Dally is completely sane because he's seen one too many violent outbursts or mental breakdowns but it doesn't bother him much, because there's a lot of folks from the east side who aren't completely right in the head. What DOES scare him is the look in Dally's eyes sometimes when he pulls out his switch

-Dally is the only 'tenant' of Bucks that Buck ever drags back to their room when they pass out drinking at the bar (Dally is convinced he's just good at taking care of himself when he's blackout drunk. He isn't, but Buck isn't gonna be the one to tell him.)

-Buck looks out for Johnny because Dally looks out for Johnny, and Dallas might go full crazy if anything happened to the kid

-After Dally died, Buck hosted a party that lasted three days and nights until the fuzz finally shut it down (it was easier to drink and party than to think about the blond haired asshole Buck had grown to love)

-Buck is the only person besides Johnny who ever saw a softer side of Dally, and it wasn't because Dally was soft with HIM but the hoods' eyes were calm and his face almost happy whenever he went with Buck to the stables to groom the horses

thanks for the ask xx

[thedaythatwas]

I was listening to my hajime playlist, and I realized hey! I may have cooked here! so, uh. posting it to share with the homies on tumblr. as you do.

basically this thing covers (my interpretation of) hajime's hope's peak arc, from his decision to transfer into the reserve course through his participation in the kamukura project. it's a narrative, so if this sounds like something you want to subject yourself to, listening to it in order makes most sense!

below the cut, I've put a quick explanation for why each of these songs ended up here. I should also add that while this is heavily inspired by DR3, I take some liberties with the show's timeline. this is about hajime's emotional journey more than show events!

note: I'd like to thank @tobyisave for pointing me to a good number of these songs! his music taste (and characterization) never, ever miss! we miss you in the komahina tag <3

Pre-Hope's Peak

so! this first bit explores hajime's mental state leading up to his enrollment in hope's peak.

Two Good Things (Modern Baseball): captures what it feels like to know that you can and should be doing better than you are, with a heavy-handed dose of self-deprecation! also. this intro. spot on. trying hard not to look like I'm trying that hard / failing miserably at everything including that / making plans in my head right before I go to sleep / tryna think of who could make a better me than me... foreshadowing, anyone?

Half as Far (Friko): similar deal here! no matter how hard he works, how high he sets his sights, hajime isn't an ultimate, and that hurts.

Thinking About the Kamukura Project

hajime has been offered a full ride scholarship to the reserve course under the condition that he considers consenting to the kamukura project. while attending hope's peak, he weighs the costs and benefits of going through with the surgery.

Are You Satisfied? (Marina): obligatory add <3 hajime isn't satisfied with his average life! lots of lyrics about ambition at the price of one's own emotional and physical wellbeing, which is very, very hajime. I was pulling out my hair / the day I got the deal, chemically calm / was I meant to feel happy that my life / was just about to change? — hajime feels like he deserves ultimate status, and is willing to stop at nothing to get it.

Apollo (Last Dinosaurs): this is hajime being *fully* ready to sign those papers. but then...

The Hinanami Arc

chiaki nanami shows up, and (...almost) manages to convince hajime that there's more to life than talent!

It's Always Sunny With You (Parentheses), Juliet (Cavetown): chiaki makes hajime feel safe and supported in ways he's never felt before. she boosts his self esteem, and for the first time in a long time, hajime is happy.

Creep (Radiohead): clearly, things go downhill. chiaki's words never fully sink in, and hajime develops even more complexes about his lack of talent. now that chiaki is showing him attention, he feels like he needs to do something to deserve it. which leads us to...

The Waterboy Returns (Modern Baseball): this is something like what chiaki might say to hajime if she knew the full extent of his mental turmoil, and more about the decision he's trying to make. a sort of "talking him off the ledge" song. rough time to be a lost soul, I'm sure / but we feel the same — underscores chiaki's insistence that ultimate or no, everyone at hope's peak has struggles of their own. talent isn't everything!

Post-Juzo Sakakura Mental Breakdown!

our favorite protagonist puncher just beat up hajime and told him he should accept that he's fundamentally inferior to the ultimates (thanks sakakura, you're the realest)! hajime loses it. as you do!

Saint Bernard (Lincoln): hajime's self-esteem is dashed. some lyrics that are *really* on the nose: tell me where I came from, what I will always be / just a spoiled little kid who went to catholic school — hajime internalizing sakakura's insistence that he'll always be below his main class peers, and — I said make me love myself so that I might love you — hajime resigning himself to the fact that he needs to become someone completely different to love chiaki.

Let Down (Radiohead): classic song that captures the feeling of getting your spirit crushed, gaining some hope, and having it crushed again. this is pretty much where hajime is at emotionally at this point. I could imagine him listening to this on loop in his dorm bed shinji ikari style.

Life Worth Missing (Car Seat Headrest): hajime reflecting on his own single-minded ambition and how his views have evolved since meeting chiaki. she's made it sound so easy to accept his talentlessness, but he just can't do it. as our speaker puts it: every laugh is a path worth following / when you put it into words / it's comfortingly bland / there's so little left to understand. in hajime's big moment of reckoning, chiaki's words can't help him. he's breaking down. as the song continues, he becomes increasingly resolved to sign the papers. he's doing it for her, even if he knows it goes against everything she's told him. the speaker ends the song with "I'm sorry." and hajime is.

Just Another Face (Modern Baseball): hajime is at rock bottom. his self-loathing is at an all-time high, but as always, he's confident that he *can* overcome himself. this time, though, that involves dubiously ethical surgery, not just hard work. he's all in now. standout lyrics: still, I can feel the need to change me from the inside / but I can't let anyone know just yet — of course, he won't be telling chiaki before he leaves, and — I'm not just another face, I'm not just another name / even if you can't see it now / we're proud of what's to come, and you (...this last bit, I read as the project board affirming his decision to sign the surgical papers. ha.)

Liminal Medical Space

hajime is going through the series of surgeries that will create izuru kamukura. even before his final lobotomy (which hajime didn't actually know he consented to, in my reading), he isn't really hajime anymore. still, he isn't who he's in the process of becoming yet, either.

Abbey (Mitski): in this middle space, the test subject still holds onto his drive. he's hungry. he's waiting. and, at the end of all of this, he'll have what he's always wanted. right?

You Could Have Been Anyone (Roar): hajime had his whole life ahead of him before he consented to the project. he forfeited his future when he sold his body and mind to hope's peak academy, which we now clearly see is mad with power and deeply unethical. he's been tricked, exploited, and betrayed by the adults he trusted. by all accounts, hajime hinata is dead now.

Kamukura

Endless White Noise (GLXO): white noise. four minutes of it. just long enough to make you feel. bored.

[breathlessasphyxia]

Tags: Boyfriend!Nanami x Academic Achiever Reader comfort, fluff, no beta, we die like sukuna

ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧

Your heart was palpitating with this heavy feeling that felt foreign to you; and in your clammy hands, your report card. Your eyes desperately scanned the paper for the nth time, hoping that by doing so, it will somehow change the written results.

So many things are going through your mind right now: Where did you mess up? Did you not put in enough effort? Was your performance this school year unsatisfactory? In the center of it all, the C in three if your subjects stood, emboldened.

Your head was so preoccupied that you failed to notice your lover's arrival. With a slumped head in hand, you struggled to maintain your composure; only wanting nothing more than to just embrace the feeling of solitude from your room and hope to every god in existence that your mother may never lay her eyes on your card.

Seeing your obviously distressed state and the familiar white paper in your hand–Kento knew something was up. Slowly, he approached your trembling form. And with a soft voice, he called out your name.

"love, what's wrong?"

Now, to others, you may look ungrateful or obnoxious to react so strongly to decent grades. And it may truly be a punch in the gut for the others who got lower results. But Kento knew you. He knows and he understands just how much you cared about your card results.

You went through countless sleepless nights, doing nothing but studying. Of course, Kento never took it personally. In fact, he was always so supportive of you! He would often buy you snacks, stay by your side and caress you softly until you finally fell asleep on his chest. So seeing you so disheartened truly broke him to pieces.

Just hearing his voice made you want to physically recoil. It should be illegal how much warmth his voice gave you. It was as if a switch had been pulled: like a lullaby was slowly coaxing your muscles to just let it go. With glossy eyes, you turned your head up to look at him.

There he was, hazel eyes filled with worry looked at you lovingly. He carefully placed his hand on your shoulder, testing the waters if you were comfortable with physical touch while being in such a vulnerable state.

And like always, his touch gave you almost instant relief. Like a hot bath that eased your aching body. You instinctively leaned closer against him, body seeking solace after such a stressful mental breakdown.

"it's just.." You paused. Your mind reeled once more, suddenly put out of focus by the sudden question: would he be disappointed? He would be. After all, he has helped you through so much and you can't even repay him with your grades? What if he gets angry at you? What if he b–

You were snapped out of your trance when a familiar pair of warm hands cupped your face, gently steering you to his direction.

"hey, hey, hey, you're fine–you're fine love. I'm here, tell me what's bothering you, hm?"

His eyes were just resonating with so much love and care. It was like someone hand sucker punched you in the guts, you back to your senses to get your shut together.

"I.. promise me that you won't be mad–dissapointed?"

"I have never felt those emotions towards you, and I am highly confident that I will never feel those emotions directed to you ever."

His thumb softly caressed the underside of your cheek, eyes focused and unwavering as it stared directly at you. Daring you to look if there is even one ounce of lie in his words; there's none.

With a shaky breath, you told him everything. From how you had always been a gifted child and how much your mother expected from you, but ever since you stepped into highschool, it was as if your frontal lobe slowly started deteriorating.

Kento listened. He had his full attention all on you, his hands gently clasping yours; his way of showing support. After you finished telling him your tale, a small smile formed on his lips.

ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧

Part Two:

This drabble was written on impulse because our card day got me actin like ts and I had no Nanami to comfort me XPP