#important enough that i need to take it with me

[p0orbaby]

if you’re still doing blurbs could you do one with alexia where she’s dating a doctor who has a very busy schedule, and alexia has a concussion in the training and gors to the hospital, and alexia sends a message to reader telling about it but r doesn’t see and when shes going to take care of the next patient it’s alexia? lmao or maybe alexia and r have a daughter and her daughter gets injured and shes the next patient and r goes feral about it idk

i changed the injury but i hope you still like it !

-

The shift is hell, as usual. You’re striding through corridors, flicking through paperwork and half-listening to one of the interns ramble about a patient they’re struggling to diagnose. Something about abdominal pain and “maybe a foreign object ingestion?” You nod distractedly, mentally filing it under deal with later.

“Just send them for imaging,” you say, not breaking your stride. “And next time, don’t say ‘foreign object’ like you’re narrating a true crime documentary. It’s unsettling”

The intern stammers out a response, but you’re already waving them off. “You’ll be fine. Go. Be great or something.” Another day, another long list of problems, it seems. You let yourself drift into autopilot, the professional rhythm of your job taking over as you stride towards the cubicle and pull back the curtain.

“Hi, I’m Dr Putellas,” you begin, still not looking up. “What seems to be—”

“¿Estás bromeando?”

You freeze. Your grip on the clipboard tightens, and your heart drops into your stomach because that voice, that exasperated, honey-warm, decidedly unimpressed voice, belongs to your wife.

Your injured wife, apparently.

“Alexia?” you blurt, snapping your head up to find her sitting on the exam table, her left leg stretched out in front of her, an ice pack balanced precariously on her knee.

She doesn’t look happy.

“Hola, cariño,” she says, dry as dust. “Fancy seeing you here”

For a moment, all you can do is stare, caught between disbelief and irritation. “What—what happened? Why didn’t you call me?”

“I did call you,” she replies, gesturing to her phone sitting next to her on the table. “Several times. Apparently, you’re very busy and important”

Your stomach twists with guilt as you instinctively check your phone. Sure enough, three missed calls from Alexia. You curse under your breath, shoving it back into your pocket and stepping closer.

“Are you okay?” you ask, switching instantly from doctor mode to wife mode. “What happened? Is it bad? Why didn’t someone—”

“Relax, doctor,” Alexia interrupts, lifting her free hand to stop your avalanche of questions. “It’s not that bad. Just a tackle gone wrong at training”

You glance at the ice pack, then at her knee, which looks swollen but not grotesque. “Define ‘not that bad.’ Can you move it?”

Alexia sighs like you’re overreacting and flexes her leg a little, wincing but managing. “See? It’s fine. Probably just a sprain”

“Sprains don’t feel fine,” you mutter, already pulling on gloves and grabbing your supplies. You kneel down, gently pressing around her knee, watching her face for any reaction.

“Your hands are cold,” she says, the corner of her mouth twitching like she’s trying not to smile.

“Your knee is swollen,” you counter.

“Touché”

You’re quiet for a moment, focused on the task. The swelling isn’t as bad as you feared, but it’s enough to set off every alarm in your mind. You sit back on your heels, exhaling slowly.

“You need imaging,” you say firmly. “Just to be safe”

“Of course I do,” she replies, her tone light but her eyes softening. “Because I’m married to the most thorough doctor in this hospital”

“Don’t flirt with me right now,” you say, though your lips twitch in a betrayed smile. “You scared me”

Her expression softens further, and she reaches out, brushing her fingers against your cheek. “Lo siento, mi amor. I didn’t mean to”

You close your eyes briefly, leaning into her touch. Then, with a deep breath, you stand up, trying to refocus.

“Alright,” you say briskly, grabbing the chart again. “Let’s get you x-rayed and figure out what’s going on. And after that, you’re resting. No arguing.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Alexia says, her smile turning mischievous. “But I might need some help resting”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Careful, Putellas. I can still make you wait for a nurse”

“Please.” She gestures around dramatically. “You’d never leave me at the mercy of hospital food”

“Not unless you keep up that attitude,” you mutter, but your heart is already lighter.

You press a quick kiss to her temple before heading for the door. “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere”

“Where would I go?” she calls after you, gesturing to her knee.

[linopilled]

⟡ cw: church boy innie, talks of sinning, awful dialogue & pacing, softcore degradation, reader has a vag & is lady coded, manipulation but its softcore, male masturbation & wet dreams, dry-humping, one (1) singular spank, cum-shot, implied oral (fem receiving), jeongin Really wants to fuck y/n!

⟡ author's note: hey guys so funny story i- *pushes you and runs away*

church boy!jeongin's first experience with temptation comes in the form of his childhood best friend.

ever since experiencing his first sexual awakening and suddenly realizing how stacked his good friend is, he has purely never been the same again. in fact, he doesn't think he'll ever come back from it. he doesn't know how he can.

jeongin had been going to the same church as you for years, only seeing the picture of perfection in your form, white lacy dresses that make you look like an untouched angel causing his cock to chub up in his slacks. he hears his father in his ear warning him about how he should be lowering his gaze, and you're a lady that should be respected as such, but in the back of his mind, jeongin's just grateful he can't hear his impure thoughts.

his second experience with temptation, of course, involves you, but merely as a figment of his imagination. he wakes up in a cold sweat, dick hard in his trousers and his boxers soaked with precum. in his dreams you'd been shoved face first into his mattress and fucked like a slut. his slut. crying like you'd never taken a dick as big as his before, and as he recants the vision from before, his cock throbs dully in the confines of his bottoms.

"fuuuuck —" he groans, gripping the base of his cock, before laying back in silence. he really needs to get you out of his system. and he does so that same night by rubbing his cock raw, wishing it was your tiny cunt instead of his hand.

the third, and final instance in which jeongin faces temptation in it's most dangerous form, you're kneeling in front of him with the most innocent look on your face. like you didn't just ask him to “show you his if you show him yours.” you're alone with him in his bedroom, both of your parents under the guise that the two of you would be studying for an important test.

“innie, jeonginnie — i just want to see.” you plead with him in that stupid fucking tone — eyes sparkling in a way that's definitely getting him hard again. his father's voice is in his subconscious again, but he doesn't listen to him this time.

“y/n-ah. i can't. but we can do something else okay? do you trust me?” jeongin asks, his palms moving forward to rest on your shoulders. your eager nod almost makes him feel guilty about the way he's about to use you.

almost.

“turn around, a-away from me. hands and knees.” he says, eyes trained carefully on you as you switch your position. his eyes trail downward to your ass, noting the way your skirt hardly covers your anything. if he was bold enough, he'd shove you forward so he could see your panties without that short skirt obstructing his view. instead, his hand trails downward to his cock, palming himself through his slacks at the sight of your ass.

“what are you going to do?” you ask him, turning your head back to look at him through hooded eyes.

jeongin opts not to respond. he lets go of his hard-on, sitting up on his knees and wrapping his hands around your waist in a firm grip. “you've no fucking idea how bad i've been craving this, y/n.” the man begins, pushing his hips forward to meet your ass. a faint gasp leaves your lips, and you wriggle slightly, but jeongin's grasp doesn't let up.

he slowly begins to rock his cock against your ass, a deep growl rumbling in his throat when his cock presses up against your cunt just right. moaning weakly, you jolt forward, panties getting wetter as you let him rub carefully against your backside. “didn't you want this too?” he speaks again, rutting harder into you when he hears you gasp once more and sees your head nodding frantically.

he takes note of your hands gripping his duvet and little choked noises spilling out of your lips in a desperate attempt to stay quiet, and he removes one of his hands from your waist to give your ass a firm slap. he laughs, watching you squirm.

“trying to stay quiet now? after you sauntered your way up into my room and asked to see my dick like a shameless harlot?” jeongin scowls, losing himself a lot quicker than he would've liked to. he's now humping your ass in a tempo that rocks your body forward, and your clit throbs, the dull friction of a hard shaft nudging your cunt through soaked panties.

still with one large hand gripping your waist so tight you're sure it'll bruise, he ever so slightly maneuvers your body, making you rock your hips against his dick. “fuck, angel. you'll make me come just like this.” he moans, mirroring your soft noises. “bet if i held you down and finally fucked you like you'd been begging for, you'd love it.” jeongin smirks, looking down at where the two of you are connected, noticing the wet patch on his front getting larger as he keeps humping your cunt.

you've officially lost it, fucking yourself back into his clothed cock and practically drooling, your mouth open in a cute little "O" shape, that makes jeongin's heart swell up in his chest just like his cock. “f-fuck, ah — innie, please.”

you don't even know what you're begging for, but your core is molten hot, orgasm building rather quickly in your gut and your small noises turning into pathetic whining.

when your noises get too loud, however, his hand comes and presses against your mouth, effectively shutting you up and pressing your cunt harder on his dick. “shhh... we don't want to get caught, don't we? just lay there and take it. let me keep humping this little cunt till i come, okay? and maybe i'll let you come too.”

“innie, innie please —” you slur, but your words are muffled by his palm.

jeongin's pace is akin to one that he know's he'll uphold once he finally gets the chance to feel you squeezing his cock. your pathetic babbles spur him on, and his hips stutter. he's close, but he doesn't want to come in his pants. not like this. you're too fucked out to notice him unzipping and pulling his cock out with his other hand, but you whine at the loss of his iron grip on your tummy.

you look back at him all teary-eyed, and that's what breaks him.

“god you'll fucking — i'm coming, i'm fucking coming doll.” he hisses, pushing your skirt up and jerking his cock to a messy orgasm, tilting his head back and groaning with every spurt of his cum hitting your ass, the back of your thighs, and finally — your covered cunt.

despite coming first and edging you at the brink of your own orgasm, jeongin is ever the gentleman. he takes your cum covered panties off with gentle hands, and pushes your face into his blankets, and makes you come on his tongue, right there on his bed.

that same night, through your window he watches you pray at your bedside, reciting hail-mary's and begging for forgiveness for indulging in sin.

jeongin's cock gets hard again. he really wishes it was you begging him for forgiveness instead.

[chiso]

Exercise burns WAY too little calories to beat a bad diet, that is very true. I also lost the weight I lost (which his 20kg since summer 2023) through diet alone. Perhaps I did SOME exercise if you count the physical strength and steps you HAVE to do when you walk around in a warehouse, but I was "fat" back then even while working there before, so I don't think it made that much of a difference.

Ofc it's fine to stay happy and learn to love yourself as you are, I just know that I for myself couldn't and I find myself way more attractive now that I lost weight and for anyone who is like me and wants to shed some kgs without a horrible diet that ends in a yoyo- I'll add what I did under here, btw this is for no profit at all, I just want to help fellow people unhappy in their skin and I thought for WAY TOO LONG that losing weight is impossible, when it's actually not that hard.

It's annoying af, I know, but calories count. Get an app that calculates your daily need of calories. It needs your height, age and weight to know the right number. Once you have that, you can extract 100-300 kcal from that total and make this your goal to eat less of that every day for a few weeks, you'll see the weight WILL get down. The scale will sometimes stay the same weight for weeks though but if you keep going you WILL see the change!

Additional to step 1- 100-300 kcal we sometimes take in just with a sweet drink or a snack. It's not that hard to eat less of it and you can still get full! You can google low kcal meals that you can eat lots of- A personal tip from me is eating thin wraps (the thinner the less kcal) with salmon or other protein fillings- since protein makes you full AND is necessary for weight loss and muscle gain. BTW don't you dare to eat less than that, it WILL hinder your weight loss, we need a certain amount of calories to work!!!!!!

Protein, you have to eat enough protein a day for this all to be lasting. I read you have to eat your bodyweight (kg) in grams of protein in a day. For example, back when I was 60kg, I had to eat 60g protein a day. But also don't beat yourself up over it if you don't get that amount daily, I didn't either, just try to whenever you can, and it'll help!

ADD your workout. I had an app that also counted my steps and automatically added the kcal I burned to my daily kcal app. It motivated me to move more because 10k steps is like 100kcal and that was 100kcal I could eat more even WHILE dieting.

Cheat meals. Important: MEAL not day, every Saturday or Sunday I had a cheat meal, sometimes even smth as big as a burger on TOP of my usual daily intake. It helps your metabolism and body to stop thinking you're starving (which makes weight loss slower) so it's not only helpful in case you're starving to eat more (bc ngl it WILL be hard until your stomach has shrinked a lil but you can do it if I did bby) but also helps your diet physically fr! So do these!!! Reward yourself for your hard work

"So does that mean I will 4ever have to count calories?" God no, I did it for over a year until I was sick of it myself. I went from 68kg down to 49kg, when I stopped counting I gained again ofc, but I still know now what contains how many calories and know by heart what I can eat and what I shouldn't. I am 52kg for months now and I don't gain anything more and even if I would, I would know now how to lose it again if it gets really bad. THAT WAS BASICALLY already it. I know not every day will be easy and sometimes you WILL mess up. The trick is not to beat yourself up over it and keep going! Wearing the cute clothes you always wanted to wear will be SO rewarding and worth it, at least it was for me. Disclaimer that I never had children, don't have diabetes, and am in my early 30ies so idk if this will work for everyone but it did for me, and if this just helps one soul my job here is already done!!

Me: Exercise does not cause weight loss. This is a fact that has been demonstrated so robustly in research that even doctors, who hate and fear evidence, are grudgingly starting to admit this.

Someone reading that post: Cool, but have you considered that exercise leads to weight loss?

Me: I am going to eat you

[gtgbabie0]

-Vi x Reader

Synopsis: {The aftermath of the war seems a little more bearable with your girlfriend there by your side}

For my other works my Masterlist is here <3

need her. Enjoy my lovelies 💕

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾

The weeks after the war seemed to last centuries, the hours dragged on painfully slow and it felt like no matter how early you went to sleep, you could never get enough to carry you throughout the day— not that sleeping was easy anyway.

The council meetings were stressful, with each member bringing a mountain of different problems that were all so important in their own right— change needed to happen and each moment you weren’t actively working was wasted, or so you say.

However the exhaustion was turning you into a mess, Vi could see it as clear as day no matter how many times you put on that sweet smile and promised her you were ‘fine’ with a warm hand against her cheek. You weren’t fine.

Vi knew you would crash and burn sooner or later, and by the looks of you, it would be much sooner than she’d liked.

“Stupid damn thing.” You huff out in anger, hands trembling in a mixture of pain and frustration as you try to open the gauze— the damn plastic concealing it might as well have been superglued together and your hands just won’t steady themselves enough to get a good hold.

You grasp at the edges of the sink basin, giving up, the porcelain cold against your clammy hands. It was a slight relief, but not enough. With a ragged breath, you drop your head slightly to avert your gaze from your reflection in the mirror. You couldn’t take it, between your injured eye and the ache in your head, you felt as if you were teetering on the line of insanity.

“Here, let me.” The sound of Vi’s soft voice ripples through the tension that clouds you, her calloused hand presses against your upper back and you sigh in something akin to relief.

A strange feeling of embarrassment curls around your already weary heart, how long has she been standing there— watching you crumble?

You shake your head stubbornly, “I can do it myself,” you tell her, in faux confidence— trying to convince yourself, biting down on the inside of your bottom lip as you try to regain control.

You take the gauze packet in your hands once more before tugging it open harshly, your elbow collides into the bottle of antiseptic causing it to hit the tiled floor with a bounce. It felt like the universe was testing you, laughing at how you kept failing.

“I know you can, just let me take care of you for once, yeah?” Vi whispers, picking up the antiseptic bottle and placing it down on the countertop— her hand falling from your shoulder blade to rest on the small of your back.

But you were so tightly coiled with your own maelstrom of emotions that you continue to try and push her away, her hand fighting yours in a push and pull. You didn’t want her to see you like this, you were better than this.

“I can do—”

“Stop it, stop. I’m helping you.” She interrupts you with a sternness in her tone that it takes you aback slightly.

You nod reluctantly, caving in with a shaky sigh as you let her turn you around to face her by your hips, your lower back resting up against the sink countertop and she notices the way you avoid her gaze, it hurts her a little.

A silence settles between the pair of you as Vi takes off the gauze that covers your eye— revealing the patch that protected the sensitive wound from possible infection. Her knuckles brush along your cheek so tenderly that you can’t help but lean into her touch, it was almost an instinct at this point.

“It’s ugly,” you state, looking up at her through your eyelashes as you watch her frown in disagreement with your words, a small scoff escaping her lips.

“It’s not— it’s healing, you’re not ugly.” She tells you, a gentle firmness dancing through her tone as she continues to admire you through loving eyes and your shoulders drop— it’d been far too long since you let yourself relax, the ache in between your shoulders could attest to that.

“Besides it adds to your flair.” She adds with a small smirk.

“My flair?” You repeat through a breathy chuckle, rolling your eye as a smile begins to teeter against your lips. It felt good to have her like this, gently stroking your face, standing close to you… it felt good to lean on her for support.

Vi’s own smile widens at the sound of your chuckle, such a sweet noise that sends a wave of comfort through her chest. Even though you were exhausted and in pain, you still managed to make her heart bleed in all the best ways, although if she’s being completely honest it doesn’t take much at all for you to bring that out in her.

“Mhm, yep, it adds a certain charm.” She nods confidently, her fingertips gently grazing along your cheekbone to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“It also makes the easiest things feel impossible, everything just feels off.” You sigh, tilting your head to nuzzle against the roughness of her palm ever so slightly.

A sympathetic look flashes through her pretty eyes, god knows it was true— too many times had she watched you lose your cool over what used to be 'simple things' as you familiarised yourself with the loss of sight. Her heart broke for you, she hated seeing you like this and she hated not being able to do more for you, to just take all your pain away.

“I know baby, I know— but you’re handling it like a champ,” Vi whispers, letting her hand drop from her face to grab a clean gauze pad, her eyes flickering between yours and her hands as she readies the fabric— offering you a small reassuring smile.

With careful fingers she places the gauze over your eye, securing it down with medical tape and she winces as you suck a sharp hiss from your clenched teeth, your eyebrows knitting together in pain— Vi quickly pulls her hands away, not wanting to cause you any more pain with a soft “Sorry, sorry,”— but you’re quick to hold her hands in your own, giving them both a comforting squeeze.

“It’s okay,” you promise her, looking at her with a faint pleading in your gaze— wordlessly begging her to hold you and not let go, to not pull away, and immediately she knows what you want. She could read you like an open book.

So without a modicum of hesitation, she loops her strong arms around your shoulders to bring you close to her body— wrapping you up in a protective hold and you could practically feel the heaviness on your shoulders lessen as you melt into her with a small pitiful noise that makes her heart clench.

“You’re not alone— you don’t have to do this all by yourself, I’m right here.” She seals the promise with a gentle kiss against your hairline before cupping either side of your face, tilting your head backwards slightly so she can meet your gaze.

Vi watches the way your eye flutters close in contentment when she strokes your cheeks with her thumbs— your fingers grasping at the fabric of her tank top almost as if you were afraid she would slip between your fingers.

But lo and behold she doesn’t, she’s standing right in front of you, cupping your face, with such a reverent expression it causes your breath to hitch in your throat and you think you would cry if you had the energy to.

“Vi,” you breathe softly, a sob threatening to spill over your lips which you conceal with a sigh as she bumps her forehead against your own— her hand rests against the side of your neck before slowly slipping to cup the back of your head, fingertips dragging along your scalp soothingly.

“I’ve got you, right here.” She replies in understanding, pressing her lips to your own in a loving kiss— one that dismantles you completely and you’re finally ready to admit you needed sleep and a day of rest… or maybe two, Vi would be there to ensure it.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾

[creamflix]

can I have nanami + mistletoe (naughty) 😈😈😈

you’ve received a gift! ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ want to check out other gifts? ・:〃➜ click here! 

NANAMI knew this was a terrible idea. he didn’t need to look up to know the mistletoe was dangling just above your heads. 

what cruel, festive prankster even hung it there? his money was on satoru.

he shifted uncomfortably in the doorway of your house, half-blocking gojo from barging in and causing chaos. the white-haired menace had just been lingering around the mistletoe, openly smirking, clearly waiting for an opportunity to swoop in.

“don’t you have someone else to bother, gojo?” nanami asked, his voice calm but laced with thinly-veiled irritation.

“oh, come oooonn, nanamin,” gojo drawled, leaning casually against the wall. “it’s christmas! and isn’t it tradition to kiss under the mistletoe? don’t be shy, I’ll take care of it for you.”

you rolled your eyes, though your heart fluttered at the implication.

“gojo, maybe you should —”

“out,” nanami said firmly, stepping forward to nudge gojo away from the door.

“fine, fine. don’t do anything i wouldn’t do,” gojo teased, winking as he finally wandered off, leaving you and nanami alone under that cursed sprig of greenery.

you turned to nanami, unsure whether to break the silence or pretend like the mistletoe wasn’t there. “so... uh —”

“there’s mistletoe,” nanami interrupted, his gaze flicking up briefly before returning to you.

“i see that,” you said softly, your cheeks heating.

nanami cleared his throat, his hands awkwardly smoothing down his tie.

“it’s... tradition,” he murmured, his usually steady voice faltering.

you bit your lip, trying to suppress the grin threatening to spread across your face. was he... nervous?

nanami kento, the epitome of composure, looked like he was debating the ethics of kissing you.

“tradition’s important, right?” you teased gently, tilting your head.

“yes. it’s... important to honor traditions,” he said, sounding almost defensive. his brow furrowed as he looked at you, his hesitation obvious.

“then what’s stopping you?”

his breath hitched, his hand twitching at his side. “i don’t want to —” he stopped himself, his jaw tightening.

“i don’t want to overstep.”

you took a shaky breath, feeling your own nerves bubbling up. this was nanami, the man you’d quietly pined after for far too long.

and here he was, standing inches away from you, looking so painfully earnest it made your heart ache.

“kento,” you said softly, reaching up to tug lightly on his tie, pulling him closer. his eyes widened, and for a moment, he froze.

then, as if a dam had broken, his hands came up to cup your face, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that stole the very air from your lungs.

his lips were warm and firm, moving against yours with a desperation that felt so unlike his usual controlled demeanor. you gasped softly, and he groaned in response, the sound deep and raw as he leaned into you, one hand slipping to brace against the doorframe while the other remained on your cheek.

you whimpered against his lips, your fingers curling around his tie to pull him closer. his breath hitched again, and suddenly his knee was nudging between your legs, the motion subtle but enough to send a jolt of heat through your body.

“kento,” you whined, your voice barely audible.

“you have no idea,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and low, “how long i’ve wanted to do this.”

you let out a soft laugh, breathless and giddy. “and here i thought you didn’t notice me.”

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours.

“notice you? you’re all i think about,” he confessed, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek.

your heart swelled, and before you could second-guess yourself, you shifted against his knee, drawing a sharp inhale from him.

“don’t,” he warned, his tone half-serious, half-pleading.

“don’t what?” you asked, feigning innocence as you did it again, this time more deliberately.

he groaned, his grip on you tightening as his knee pressed up more firmly in response. “you’re going to ruin me,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire.

“maybe it’s tradition to ruin you under the mistletoe,” you teased breathlessly, grinning against his lips.

“if it wasn’t, it is now,” he murmured, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, and this time, neither of you held back.

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

[chuulyssa]

୨・──── TELL ME I’M A LITTLE ANGEL, SWEETHEART OF YOUR CITY ────・୧

pairing ⸺ satoru gojo x reader

teaser ⸺ as a child, you were taken in by the powerful gojo clan and raised alongside their heir, gojo satoru — but never as his sibling. now, at an elite school, your fragile bond is tested when an actual noble woman enters the picture, bringing in a marriage proposal.

content ⸺ fluff, reader is an academic achiever and has a good handwriting, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, cliff hanger ending, human auctions, implied slavery, jealousy, implied torture, shoko talks about using medical tools for torture (lol), blood, implied abuse, implied grape (not at reader), magic!au, historic!au, the ages of reader and gojo throughout the story: 3, 10, 12, 15, 17

count ⸺ 22k

author’s note ⸺ thank you to everyone for waiting patiently! this is just the part one, i hope it does well to give me enough motivation to write a part two. i have so soo many ideas i’m hoping to incorporate.

🎧 ao3 wattpad

You sat next to the man, bowing deeply with him at some figure you couldn’t care less about. It had to be someone important obviously, and you knew now was the time you were going to get kicked out of a place for the tenth time in your life, unwittingly dragging this poor man with you as well. He had seemed kind enough when he had bought you off at that auction.

He wasn’t anything like you had feared. You had met other girls bonding with each other inside the cage; girls older and prettier than you, getting sold off one by one to old and creepy men who looked like they couldn’t keep it in their pants. You had dreaded meeting the same fate as them. That was, until the man who kept increasing his offer for you looked younger and stronger.

He was probably like one of those army officers you had seen at your mother’s house, who would stand guard outside your small room each night she and her happy family went out to lavish parties, to make sure you didn’t escape. Well, even if you did, you thought that was what they would have wanted, but they kept saying that they didn’t want anyone noticing your existence. Not that they didn’t have a good reason.

In your mind, you had hoped the man would win, and when he had, the triumphant look on his face made you sigh in relief; at least now you were sure you wouldn’t be used as a hole for life. But were you, though? Because the thoughts kept creeping back; the looks on the other girls’ faces when they were taken away by their new masters. But the mysterious man had made you sit on his pretty horse, taking you somewhere, away from the horrifying auctions that represented the worst atrocities made by humans.

You peered from under your hands, still in your bowing position. The person had now risen. He had dark hair and vivid blue eyes. He seemed to peer at you in as much curiosity as you were at him. That was, until a crisp voice had cut through the silence, knocking you out of your bow when it addressed your saviour to “pack his things and leave”.

“I understand, madam,” he said smoothly, getting up to leave, not before giving another curt nod. Then he turned to you. “This is where my job ends, little one. You’ll be much happier here,” he whispered, nodding at you and standing up. You almost wanted to stop him before you remembered you were told several times that you didn’t possess any human emotions. So you watched him leave, wondering how he was so sure this wouldn’t be another one of your previous houses.

“As for the child,” you snapped your head back to the dark-haired man in front of you who seemed to be giving commands, “we must decide which family keeps her. From the looks of it, she needs to be tended to,” he eyed your wounds from previous struggles you wished to forget about.

You stared at the people he was questioning, and they all looked away. This seemed like a meeting room, and the people were lined up sitting parallel to each other. Some were glaring at you like you had come to raid their houses, fuck their wives and drink their blood. None of them seemed to realize you were only a child of ten. Nervous under all the gazes, you wished to find another person you could bow to, just to avoid all the staring you were receiving.

“We will,” said the same voice you had heard earlier, and you finally looked at its source.

She had long, white hair that seemed to reach till the floor. Her eyes were light, and she looked pretty. She had a cold look on her face that made her seem frightening, though, and that was probably why you saw that none of the others could even muster enough courage to look at her eyes when she said those words.

“Well, it’s decided then,” the man said in a final tone, as if he had only bargained about the price of a few watermelons from his local vendor. “Love, if you will.”

Love? Oh, maybe they were married.

The woman stood up and everyone bowed at her again. You were about to sink back into the position before she crouched down in front of you, caressing your hair with a touch that made you look back at her.

“Come with me, daughter.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

“I have a sister now?” “Shh, and don’t call her that. I’ve already told you, she’s not your sister—”

“Does she know how to ride horses?” “Do you ever do anything else?”

“She should know how to ride horses.” “You can teach her.”

“Oh, wow, really?”

You scrambled away from the door at the sounds of footsteps returning and sunk back into the expensive bed the woman had had prepared for you. The ‘woman’ who asked you to call her ‘mom’, somehow losing the twinkle in her eye when commanding maids around, which she seemed to regain every time you spoke something.

You knew it was a trap though. If she really ‘adopted’ you and wanted you to call her ‘mom’, wouldn’t that mean you were the sister to whatever child she already had? Yet here you were, all cleaned up and changed, almost believing the charade before realizing the child was being advised not to consider you as their sister.

You bit your lip, trying not to cry. At least you weren’t at your old house thinking of ways to poison your family, or in that cage counting down for when it was your turn, or lying dead in some creep’s backyard. Maybe you could enjoy this while it lasted.

“May I come in?” A polite, boyish voice rang out from behind your door. A hushed whisper of an older woman seemed to reprimand him for not knocking, and the two started to argue.

“Yes?” You didn’t quite know how to respond professionally to the request, so your answer came off more as a question. You sure hoped the man wouldn’t scold you for your manners as well.

A boy stepped forward, and you immediately knew he was the son of the two clan leaders. Not because of his clothes, but because of his face. He had the same white hair as his mother, and the blue eyes he got from his father. Maybe blue eyes were a thing of the clan?

“Hi,” he said awkwardly, and the door closed behind him. “Mother sent me here for ‘bonding time’.” You kept staring at him, not realizing you were staring. He looked up at you and flushed. Only then did you realize, chuckling awkwardly and scratching your wrists, trying to get used to the expensive scents the maids had covered you with.

“Can I… uh,” he trailed off, staring at you, and you blinked back at him, not knowing what he was going to say.

“...sit on the bed?” You offered, and he raised an eyebrow before climbing on it, sitting in the most formal position you had ever seen.

“Do you like horse riding?” “What?”

He flushed even more. “Mother said we should ask each other questions to get to know the other better.”

“Oh.” “Yeah.”

There was another silence.

“So it’s my turn to ask a question now?” You asked. “Yeah.”

“Do you like potatoes?”

“What?” He processed your question for a solid five seconds before bursting into laughter. You kept staring at him as if he was stupid. Did you say something stupid?

“I like you!” He said in between giggles, his old formal, uptight position long lost. It was your turn to flush now. No one had ever said they even wanted you alive, let alone say that. Well, no one except for three people in the past few hours, and now this guy. You had a feeling you might prefer this over anything else for now.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The soft hum of celebration still lingered in the air. Lanterns flickered outside glowing warmly across your room. You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at the wrapped gifts and trinkets the Gojo family had insisted on presenting you earlier. It had been strange, the idea of sharing a birthday with Satoru. You didn’t even know your real birthday, so his — no — your mother announced it would be shared.

Satoru had, of course, embraced the attention, dragging you along with him to cut the massive cake. You had never seen anything like this before, and it might have shown on your face, because he had held your wrist tightly as if annoyed you were taking so long, and cut the cake with you. That was what made it impossible to shun the feelings of belongingness.

Now, the house was quiet, and the festivities had faded. But just as you were about to pull the covers over yourself, the faint sound of your door creaking open made you pause.

“Hey,” Satoru’s voice whispered, followed by the soft padding of his feet. You turned your head to see him, still in the formal robes mother had fussed over earlier, though they were now slightly askew. His hair was a mess, his face flushed from excitement — or maybe all the sweets he’d devoured.

“Should you not knock?” you asked, folding your arms. You inwardly cringed at the noble accent you had unknowingly adopted from the Gojo family. “And what are you doing here?”

“Escaping,” he said, as if that explained everything. He plopped down without invitation beside you on the bed, leaning back on his hands and gazing at the ceiling. “Mother’s got the maids cleaning up. I was bored. Figured you’d be awake.”

You rolled your eyes, but he caught the faint smile tugging at your lips. “You’re going to get us in trouble. Again.”

“What’s the point of having a birthday if you can’t even cause some trouble now?” He shot you a grin, then leaned closer to the window. “Let’s go outside.”

“What? No.” “Please, please, pretty please?”

“I am not letting my first birthday become my death day,” you scoffed at him. Taking one look at the pout on his face, which seemed to stretch all the way down to his neck, you sighed, and he knew he won. “Fine. But we’re only looking outside.”

“What!? But what’s the fun in that?” “Then go alone.”

He pouted again, but you merely looked away trying to shield yourself from his cuteness. Soon after though, Satoru relented. He slid the window open and climbed onto the ledge, grumbling for you to follow. You joined him, settling beside him as the smell of night air filled your room. The stars were brilliant tonight, like silver dust across an ink-black canvas.

“They’re so bright,” you murmured. “It’s almost… too much.”

Satoru snorted. “That’s the problem with you. You overthink everything. Just look at them — they’re pretty, that’s all there is to it.”

You rolled your eyes again but couldn’t suppress a small laugh. “Fine. They’re beautiful. Happy now?”

“Very,” he said, grinning. Then he tilted his head, closing his eyes and mumbling something to himself. He opened his eyes, looking at you expectantly. “Now it’s your turn. Make a wish.”

“What?” You frowned.

“A wish! Like for your birthday. I know we already made some during the cake thing, but this one’s private. Just for us.”

You hesitated, unsure of what to wish for, before finally closing your eyes. Satoru watched you intently as if trying to guess your wish, but when you opened your eyes again, he pretended to be fascinated by the sky.

“Oh, done already? What did you wish for?” he asked after a moment.

“You said it was private,” you shot back. “What did you wish for?”

“Not telling,” he replied smugly, crossing his arms. “What if you laugh?”

“Why would I laugh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Because you’re you.” “And you’re stupid.”

The two of you fell into another argument, but when it finally died down, it was followed by a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional sound of distant crickets. Then, out of nowhere, Satoru blurted out, “Do you think the stars can hear us?”

“What?” You stared at him.

“The stars,” he said seriously, pointing upward. “Do you think they grant wishes, like gods or something?”

“That’s stupid,” you muttered, but you couldn’t hide the faint curl of amusement on your lips. “They’re just balls of gas.”

“Well, maybe those gas balls are listening,” he said, sticking his tongue out. “You don’t know everything. Maybe they are hearing us right now.”

You opened your mouth to retort but froze. A memory seemed to resurface…

“I still don’t know why you decided to keep the child!” a deep voice was screeching at another, soft one.

“I don’t know what came over me, I swear!”“It is the spawn of Satan himself! I respect you for what you have been through, but it is time to dispose of her.”

“Dispose? You don’t mean—”

Large hands came your way to muffle the screams from your mouth.

Your fingers clenched the windowsill.

“They didn’t hear me before,” you said quietly, almost to yourself.

“What?” Satoru noticed the change in your tone, and turned to look at you, his brow furrowing. “Who? The balls?”

You shook your head quickly. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

But Satoru wasn’t one to let things go. “Hey,” he said softly. “You can tell me. I mean, if you want.”

His sincerity made your chest tighten. Normally, after the word ‘balls’, he would have made a bad joke about male anatomy. But he seemed to have read the room enough to shut up. You looked at him, his bright blue eyes watching you with genuine concern. For a moment, you thought about telling him. But then, the weight of it all felt too heavy to share. He was too young, too shielded from the horrors of the world to be able to handle any of it anyway.

“It’s nothing,” you muttered. “Just something dumb I used to believe.”

Satoru opened his mouth to argue, then seemed to think better of it. Instead, he smiled gently and nudged your shoulder. “Okay. But if you ever want to talk about dumb things, I’m here. You know, I’m dumb, so…” he tried making the joke you always did.

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you simply nodded. The two of you sat in silence for a little while longer, watching the stars. Finally, Satoru stretched and hopped down from the ledge.

“Goodnight,” he said, giving you a lopsided grin. “And happy birthday.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the warmth in his voice. “You too,” you said softly.

As he closed the door as softly as he could behind him, you stared out at the stars, wondering if maybe, just maybe, they had started listening after all.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The sound of hooves clattering against the cobblestone path filled the air as the royal carriage swayed gently on its way to the prestigious School of Royalty. The morning sun cast a golden glow on the lush green fields outside, but inside, the atmosphere was both tense and excited.

“You know,” Satoru began, leaning lazily against the plush velvet seat, “I heard there’s a whole batch of new exchange students joining today. Rumor is, one of them’s from the Silver Crescent Kingdom. Ever seen anyone from there? They’re supposed to have that, uh… ‘ethereal glow.’ You think that’s real, or just something people say?”

You barely glanced up from the notebook in your lap, furrowing your brows as you paused your incoherent babbling of equations. “If you spent half as much time studying for the exam as you do gossiping, maybe you wouldn’t need to cheat off me later.”

He smirked, unbothered. “Cheat? Me? I’m offended. I’m just naturally brilliant.”

“And naturally annoying,” you muttered, flipping to another page of hastily scribbled notes.

Satoru ignored the jab, his grin widening. At fifteen, he’d grown into someone who couldn’t step into a room without people swooning for his attention. You guessed it was just a Gojo thing he inherited from his mother. The girls adored him — some from afar, others more boldly (you still cringe remembering that one time a girl with a sorry excuse of a top was taken away by your guards for trying to get a kiss from him last year) — and the boys either envied or wanted to be him. The name “Satoru Gojo” seemed to be whispered wherever he went, and he couldn’t be happier.

You, on the other hand, had decided that the attention you receive at your house was enough to satisfy you for a lifetime, and you would rather spend your time learning something new — at least, that’s what you told your mother; that you would rather cry over your grades than guys, to which Satoru had cleverly remarked, “Why not both?” earning a glare from his mother. While you did have friends, and you did seem to be friendly with everyone around you, you would watch in dismay when most of these friends would recite their love stories, and you had nothing to share. The boys barely noticed you, too busy being gay over Satoru. But you had your books, your achievements, and the satisfaction of knowing you didn’t need anyone’s approval.

“And get this,” Satoru continued, his excitement growing. “I heard one of them’s some kind of prodigy. Like, they mastered advanced magic when they were ten. Can you imagine? Finally, someone who might be able to keep up with me. They’re a senior too, so I want to see the look on their face when they realize I’m better than them.”

“Mhm,” you replied distractedly, not bothering to look up. You were too busy with the definition of archaic spellcasting principles and the formulas for mana stabilization to muster a reply of more than a single syllable. The exam was in less than an hour, and the thought of failing even one question sent a jolt of anxiety through you.

Satoru leaned forward, peering at your notes upside down. “What’s that? Something about magic circles? You’re still on those? I mastered those ages ago.”

You snapped your notebook shut and shot him a glare. “You didn’t ‘master’ anything. You just wing it and hope for the best.”

“Hey, it works, doesn’t it?” He shrugged. “Besides, you’ll cover for me if I mess up. That’s what partners are for.”

“We’re not partners.”

“Sure we are,” he said breezily. “Partners in crime. Mischief-makers extraordinaire. The unbeatable duo.” He winked, and you rolled your eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out of your head.

The carriage hit a bump, causing you to clutch your notes tighter. Satoru, unfazed, lounged back in his seat and stared out of the window. “You know, you should relax a little. Exams aren’t life or death.”

“For you, maybe. Some of us don’t have a safety net made of charm and raw talent.”

He laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. “Wow, you really think I’m charming and talented? Thanks, baby.”

You didn’t dignify that dumb statement with a response. Instead, you turned your attention back to your notes, determined to make use of every second you had left.

The carriage began to slow, signaling their arrival at the school gates. Satoru straightened, his excitement palpable. “Here we go. Time to make an impression. Think the exchange students are going to swoon over me?”

“Only if they have no taste,” you muttered, gathering your things.

He grinned, standing and offering you a hand as the carriage came to a stop. “Come on, don’t be such a poopy.”

You cringed again before taking his hand, letting him help you down. The moment your feet touched the ground, the buzz of the school grounds surrounded you. Students swarmed the entrance, chattering excitedly about everything from the new arrivals to last-minute cramming for the exam.

Satoru strode ahead confidently, while you lingered a step behind, clutching your notes tightly. He glanced at you, running back to catch up with you. “Where’s Kuro? He’s supposed to be part of the dramatic entrance I had planned.”

“I sent him away. He was annoying me with the confetti.” “You— WHAT?”

You ignored him, continuing to walk up the stairs leading to your exam hall without looking up at anyone. Satoru jogged beside you.

“We haven’t met with any of the exchange students yet!” “Satoru, if you want to, then leave.”

He pouted, planting your face in front of yours above your notes. “You know I won’t leave you.”

“Then stay quiet and let me study.” “Alright, alright,” he said, sighing. He stared at you for a few moments, pacing around the hall with you while you muttered curses under your breath. He smiled. You always hated this one subject but felt the need to excel in it anyway. “Hey,” he said softly. “You’ll do great, you know.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, but you masked it with a scoff. “You’d better hope so. If I fail, you’ll fail too.”

He laughed again, a sound as effortless as everything else about him. “That’s true. Can’t impress anyone with an F on the paper, can I?” The loud bell rang, and Satoru moved to cover your ears with the palms of his hands. “I’ve got you covered, princess. In return, you must guarantee that I pass.”

You smiled a genuine smile at him, something you had gotten quite used to doing in the past four years you had spent with your new family. “I can’t guarantee that. Let’s go, I’m done now.”

His eyes widened comically, “What do you mean you can’t guarantee that?” You laughed at him, and he snatched your notebook from your hands. “Give me that! Oh god. I’m doomed, aren’t I?”

“Yup, let’s go now.”

The exam hall echoed with the sound of faint murmurs and the occasional nervous coughs. While theory had been nerve-wracking, at least you had been able to cram for it. But the practicals? They were a whole different beast. No amount of late-night revisions could prepare you for actual spellwork.

You clutched your wand tightly, its polished surface cold and smooth against your clammy palms. The examiner called your name, and your stomach flipped. Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward. What were the steps again? Swing your wand, say the words, and hope for the best.

You stood before the enchanted apparatus. It was a simple magical round glass that would respond to the accuracy of your spell, changing its colour accordingly. The orb pulsed softly, steams of gas floating stilly in its interior, waiting. You were supposed to transfigure a cactus into a goblet full of water. The room was silent, dozens of eyes boring into your back. 

Why did they have to make everyone do the practicals individually, and on stage?

You closed your eyes briefly, mustering every ounce of focus. With a flick of your wand and the carefully practiced words spilling from your lips, you executed the spell. Wand still in the air, you waited. And waited. And waited. Nothing happened. Then, the orb glowed a brilliant gold.

“Perfect!” The elderly professor cried, clasping her hands together. She really liked you. “Next, please.”

Relief washed over you, and you felt a disbelieving smile creep onto your face. Scooting off the stage, you climbed down the stairs to your seat. You caught Satoru’s eye and mouthed, Good luck. He was slouching on his chair, winking at you and giving you a lazy thumbs-up.

Just as you sat down, you noticed your gaze didn’t leave him. You kept looking at him, how effortlessly good he looked in his outfit, sunglasses perched languidly on his nose. He was looking straight ahead at the stage above, and you glanced at the front too. Shoko got a pale yellow glow from the orb, an easy B.

Your eyes wandered to the girl in line ahead of Satoru. You recognized her instantly, how could you not? Wavy chestnut hair that caught the light just so, impeccable posture, an air of confidence that bordered on smug, and her pink lips upright looking behind her. She was from one of the distant kingdoms—brilliant in class, annoyingly charming, and unfortunately, quite pretty. And right now, she seemed pretty happy about being positioned so close to Satoru.

It was the way she was smiling at Satoru that irritated you. Not the polite, fleeting kind of smile you’d give a classmate. No, this was different. She tilted her head slightly, her lips curved in a way that made even you highly uncomfortable. You saw her fingers brush a strand of hair behind her ear — twice, because apparently once wasn’t enough — and she leaned just a fraction closer to him.

You squinted. Was she flirting? She was flirting. Yuck. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, but your jaw tightened. Getting up sneakily from your seat, you joined the crowd they stood with to spy on the two.

“I hear the examiners this year are super strict,” she said, her voice soft and lilting. “Not that you need to worry. I’ve seen you in dueling practice — you’re incredible,” she sighed at him dramatically, eyes turned to hearts.

Satoru blinked at her, then scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, thanks? I guess?”

She laughed — too loud for a casual compliment. “You’re so modest! That’s so rare, you know.” Her eyes sparkled as she stared up at him, clearly hoping he’d reciprocate the energy.

He didn’t. “Modest? Me?” Satoru’s tone was laced with genuine confusion, his brow furrowing slightly. “You sure you’re talking about the right guy?”

You saw Geto, his best friend, stifle a laugh at that, but you didn’t find any of this funny. Geto caught your eye and immediately stopped laughing, trying to inch closer to Satoru to warn him of your incoming wrath.

But the girl kept blocking his way.

“Oh, absolutely,” she said smoothly, leaning in even closer. “I bet you’ll get top marks, as always. You must have so many admirers.”

Your grip on your wand tightened. You might not be as violent as Satoru when it came to dueling, but you couldn’t care less about that at the moment. Nor did you seem to notice the sheer number of students surrounding you.

Satoru, as usual, was utterly oblivious. “Admirers? I sure hope so,” he said with a shrug. “But thanks, I guess?”

You wanted to shake him. How could he not see what she was doing? The way her voice softened whenever she said his name, how her lashes fluttered just a bit too much when she looked at him — it was painfully obvious. And yet, Satoru treated her like he treated everyone else: polite, casual, and just detached enough to make it clear he wasn’t interested.

“Next!” called the examiner, and the girl’s name echoed through the hall.

She turned to Satoru with a dazzling smile. “Wish me luck?”

“Uh, good luck?” he said, scratching his head.

You were half a second away from gagging, Geto slipping from beside Satoru to join you, both of you dissing the situation in hushed whispers.

As she walked away, you muttered under your breath, “Unbelievable.”

Geto muttered, equally frustrated, but this was pointed towards Satoru, “Unbelievable indeed.”

Your eyes followed the movements of her wand, and you tried to calculate the exact angle by which she tilted her wand too high, the length by which her hand movement went wrong and the distance between her wrist and the cactus assigned to her. Geto shook his head at your overly focused expression.

A loud pop filled the air, followed by startled squeaks. Your eyes widened. The examiners scrambled around, now very much turned into rats! The girl froze, her wand dangling uselessly at her side as laughter rippled through the room.

You bit your lip. What were you supposed to be feeling right now? Secondhand embarrassment or vindication? Serves her right, you thought, though a small part of you almost pitied her. Almost.

The headmaster, who had been watching the whole ordeal with an amused expression, quickly restored order, probably glad he wasn’t turned into a mouse or something. He dismissed the rest of the students and awarded automatic A’s to those who hadn’t gone yet.

You groaned and Geto laughed at you, a grimacing Shoko dangling from his arm. Together, the three of you were about to leave the hall when Satoru caught up with you, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “Wild. Best exam ever. I didn’t even have to do anything!”

You shot him a sideways glance, your mood souring again. “Yeah, lucky you.”

“Wait, are you mad?” he asked, peering at you. “You’re mad. Why are you mad?”

“I’m not mad,” you said shortly, walking faster, waving goodbye to Geto, who was now left alone to deal with a hungry kitten, Shoko.

“You’re definitely mad,” he teased, catching up. “What, is it because I got an A without lifting a finger? Don’t worry, you’ll get to cheat off my usual genius self next time. Maybe you’ll even get an A+++++++ because of me… or whatever the highest grade is.”

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes. “You’re so modest,” you mimicked the girl from earlier, but he didn’t get the reference.

At break, you sat under the shade of a tree, quietly eating your snack and watching the courtyard buzz with post-exam chatter. Across the lawn, the girl was crying into her boyfriend’s shoulder, her wails loud enough to carry. You frowned, unsure whether to feel sorry for or annoyed at her.

Her boyfriend, a tall, broad-shouldered guy from her kingdom, seemed to be comforting her, rubbing her back and murmuring reassurances. Weird, you thought. He doesn’t even know he’s worse than Satoru in her eyes.

The suspension had been swift: four months for reckless and dangerous spellcasting. Watching her now, you couldn’t muster much sympathy. It was one thing to fail; it was another to fail so dramatically. It’s what she deserves.

Satoru plopped down beside you, unwrapping a burger he’d somehow acquired (probably chased after Shoko to steal her food). “Hey, isn’t that, uh... Britney? No, wait, Bridget? Or... Burger?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Burger?”

“Yeah, burger,” he said, taking a huge bite and gesturing vaguely in her direction. “She’s got layers, y’know? Like a burger.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head.

“C’mon, you gotta admit it’s funny,” he said, his grin widening. “She tries to turn on the charm, and bam! Instant ratification.”

You groaned at the pun, but laughter bubbled up anyway. Satoru’s dumb humor always had a way of disarming you.

“Heyyyyyyyy!” A voice dragged out, and you were met with a flash of dark blue hair before you were hugged tightly. “I heard your exam went great, but then, of course it did.” She patted your head. “Well done.”

“Thanks, Utahime.”

“No need to thank me,” Utahime pulled out your favourite chips from her bag and handed them to you.

“Hey, nothing for me?” Satoru wailed.

“Who the fuck are you?” “Rude.”

She ignored him and turned back to you. “Anyway, did you see any of the new exchange students? They’re good-looking.”

“So?” You munched on your chips.

“So,” she said loudly, shooing Satoru off to sit in his place next to you, “we can finally get you a boyfriend.”

Satoru snorted. “Boyfriend? Why does she need a boyfriend?”

“And,” she stepped on his foot with her heel and he skipped away across the courtyard, foot in his hand and muttering curses under his breath. “There’s that prodigy guy. You two could have been academic rivals if he was in your grade. Ugh, this is so annoying. Couldn’t he repeat a few classes? Dumbass.”

“Uh, I’m not interes—” “Yes, you are,” she looked at you with a wide, crazy smile as if daring you to disagree, and you gulped.“No wasting time watching couples break up,” she pointed at the girl in front of you, whose boyfriend seemed to have heard of the real reason she messed up her spell. Utahime lifted you by one arm and practically flew the yards to reach the main hall, where your assembly would take place to welcome the exchange students.

The assembly hall buzzed with anticipation, the crowd of students shifting restlessly as they filled the rows of wooden benches. Your arm still ached from Utahime dragging you all the way here. You, on the other hand, couldn’t help but feel drained—physically and emotionally.

The morning’s drama was still fresh in your mind, particularly the girl’s humiliating display. The idea of someone so brazenly cozying up to Satoru still gnawed at you. And now, you had to sit through an assembly to greet some mysterious prodigies who probably thought they were better than everyone else. Perfect.

“Sit here,” Utahime ordered, pointing to a spot near the front. “I need a good view.”

“Of what?” you asked, dropping onto the bench with a huff.

“Duh, the new guys. Maybe one of them will be your destined academic rival-slash-love interest,” she said dramatically, clasping her hands like a cheesy romance novel heroine.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m fine without one, thanks.”

“Oh, don’t be boring,” she said, plopping down beside you. “You need some excitement in your life. Besides, I heard some of the new guys are supposed to be really good-looking,” she whispered, leaning in as if discussing a conspiracy theory involving the Monarchy of Mars. “Like, model good-looking.”

You let out a noncommittal hum, tracing the edge of the seat in front of you with a finger. Utahime nudged you. “Don’t you care? Come on, aren’t you curious?”

“Not really,” you lied.

Utahime rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Sure, sure. But if someone walks in here looking like a movie star, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Your gaze wandered to the double doors at the front of the hall, where the new students were supposed to enter. You didn’t care much about the guys. But what if there were girls? Pretty girls. The kind with perfect skin and perfect hair and that effortless grace you always seemed to lack.

Your stomach churned. Why were you even thinking about that?

You glanced at Utahime, still chattering away about rumors she’d heard excitedly. She was bouncing slightly in her seat, her eyes scanning the room like a hawk. But you couldn’t shake the thought — what if everyone thought the other girls were prettier? You could almost smell the break up stories your dozen friends would fetch for you because the new girls seemed hotter to the dung-nosed guys of your school.

“For the next few months, I will be stuck amidst boy troubles,” you muttered, glancing across the hall. Satoru had finally joined the crowd, sauntering in late as usual. He spotted you almost immediately and shot you a wink before sliding into a seat with Geto and Shoko.

Your stomach did an involuntary flip, but you shoved the feeling down. He was just being Satoru like always. That’s all it was.

Right?

The headmaster’s booming voice filled the hall. “Welcome, students, to this year’s exchange program orientation!”

The crowd settled as the headmaster launched into a long-winded speech about tradition, excellence, and the importance of collaboration between kingdoms. You zoned out almost immediately, your eyes drifting back to Satoru.

He was whispering something to Geto, who smirked and nudged him in the ribs. Shoko looked utterly disinterested, flipping through a medical journal she’d smuggled in. Typical.

You pulled your eyes away from them. The last time you had zoned out in class because of him, your mood had been soured for the whole following hour. The sound of applause gave you an excuse out of your reverie. The exchange students were being introduced now, stepping onto the stage one by one. They were all polished, confident, and, admittedly, quite impressive.

Utahime elbowed you sharply. “Look at that one!” she hissed, nodding toward a tall boy with striking blond hair and piercing brown eyes.

You blinked. “Looks like he walked out of a painting.”

“Exactly,” she said, smirking. “He’s perfect for you.”

You groaned. “Can we not do this right now?”

Utahime ignored you entirely, listing off reasons why he’d make a great boyfriend: “Smart, handsome, probably good at magic—”

“Definitely better at cactus transfiguration,” you muttered, earning a snort of laughter from her.

Meanwhile, Satoru had twisted around in his seat, craning his neck to see what the commotion was about. When his eyes landed on you and Utahime, his expression soured slightly. He didn’t like being left out, and it was written all over his face.

“Who’s better at cactus transfiguration?” He suddenly appeared behind you.

“None of your business,” Utahime shot back, sticking her tongue out.

“Wow, mature,” Satoru deadpanned.

The assembly droned on, with each exchange student introducing themselves in turn. You tried to pay attention, really, but your mind kept wandering. Utahime’s ridiculous matchmaking schemes. Satoru’s infuriatingly perfect smile. The girl’s earlier meltdown. It was all swirling together into a chaotic mess of emotions you didn’t have the energy to untangle.

Finally, the headmaster wrapped up his speech with a flourish. “Let’s give our guests a warm welcome!” he declared, prompting another round of applause.

As the crowd began to disperse, Utahime grabbed your arm again. “Come on, let’s go talk to him!”

“To who?” you asked, bewildered. “The blond-haired guy, obviously!”

“Absolutely not,” you said, digging your heels into the ground.

But before you could argue further, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Leaving without saying hi? Rude.”

You turned to find Satoru standing behind you still, his trademark grin firmly in place.

Utahime groaned. “Go away, Gojo.”

“Can’t. I’m here to rescue my friend from your matchmaking madness,” he said, draping an arm over your shoulder.

You tried to shrug him off, but he held on tight, his presence annoyingly comforting.

“Why do you care?” Utahime shot back.

Satoru’s grin widened, but his tone was surprisingly serious. “Because she doesn’t need some random guy when she’s got me.”

He tugged you away, leaving Utahime fuming in his wake.

“Thanks for the save,” you mumbled once you were out of earshot.

“Anytime,” Satoru said lightly, though there was an edge to his voice you couldn’t quite place. “And besides, didn’t want you to end up with an annoying mother—”

You raised an eyebrow at him. Did he forget he was in a royal school where all the students and teachers were high-class nobles and the mere mention of vocabulary outside of the poshed-up ones exclusively for the rich would make him an infamous wreck in everyone’s eyes?

He caught your eye and continued, “—trucker.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

The dining table was as extravagant as ever, its polished surface reflecting the golden glow of the chandelier overhead. Plates were neatly arranged, and bowls of steaming food were placed in a perfect line down the centre. Mother sat at the head of the table, her posture so upright it made your back ache just looking at her. Across from her sat Father, whose stern expression was an almost permanent fixture at meals.

You occupied your usual spot, tucked between Satoru and his mother, a position that felt both safe and stifling. Satoru, of course, lounged in his chair as if it were a throne, pushing peas around his plate with one chopstick, clearly uninterested in the discussion at hand. It was peaceful and calm. But as soon as Satoru’s father set down his chopsticks, you knew this tranquillity wouldn’t last.

“Satoru,” his father began.

Satoru didn’t even look up, lazily poking at his food. “Uh oh. Here we go.”

“Don’t start,” his mother said sharply, and Satoru sighed dramatically, dropping his chopsticks like they were too heavy to hold.

“Fine. What is it this time? Did someone see me napping in class? Because, for the record, I was listening with my eyes closed.”

“Your instructor tells me your theoretical scores are excellent, as expected,” Satoru’s mother began, her sharp gaze sweeping across the table to land on him. “But your duel with Suguru during last week’s practice was... undisciplined.”

Satoru shrugged, not bothering to look up. “It’s not my fault Suguru got cocky.”

His father’s goblet hit the plate with a sharp clink. “And whose fault is it that you refuse to follow proper form? You’re not dueling for fun, Satoru. These exercises are meant to sharpen your skills for real combat.”

You could feel the tension grow, so you instinctively focused on the rice in your bowl. Satoru, however, leaned back in his chair, completely unfazed.

“Real combat isn’t about sticking to the rulebook,” he said lazily, resting an arm on the back of your chair. “It’s about adaptability.”

“That is not an excuse to showboat,” his mother snapped. “You might think you’re untouchable, but arrogance will get you killed one day.”

For a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes — irritation, maybe, or defiance — but he masked it with a grin. “Not likely.”

“Only because you’re naturally talented,” his mother interjected coldly. “Talent will only carry you so far, Satoru. You lack discipline, respect, and—”

“Manners,” his father finished, glaring at him.

His mother pinched the bridge of her nose. “All we’re trying to make you understand is, this isn’t a joke, Satoru. You’re supposed to be the strongest, and yet you’re constantly underperforming. Meanwhile, look at her.” She gestured to you, and your heart sank.

“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath.

“Look at her,” his mother repeated. “Top marks in every subject, excellent dueling reports, and the teachers can’t stop praising. Why can’t you be more like her?”

Satoru threw up his hands. “Because she’s a robot! Have you seen her handwriting? It’s terrifying!”

“I just have neat handwriting,” you mumbled defensively.

“Neat? It’s like a calligraphy competition on every page,” Satoru said, jabbing a chopstick at you. “She probably practices writing spells for fun.”

“She’s perfect,” his father said firmly, as if it were an unshakable fact of the universe.

“Exactly my point!” Satoru exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air. “How am I supposed to compete with that?!”

“You’ve been doing wonderfully,” his mother interrupted warmly, and you almost choked on your water. She reached to kiss your forehead and you felt fuzzy all over.

“Really?” you said hopefully.

“Yes,” his father agreed, nodding. “We’re very impressed with your progress. And your last dueling performance was flawless. Keep it up.”

Satoru’s jaw dropped. “What? That’s it? No lecture about being even better? No existential guilt trip?”

“She doesn’t need one,” his mother said simply.

“She’s already self-motivated,” his father added.

Satoru gawked at them, then at you. “Wait, are you seriously not going to roast her? Not even a little?”

His mother held up a hand to silence the banter. “Enough. We’re not here to discuss her. We’re here to discuss you and your inability to take anything seriously.”

“I take plenty of things seriously!” Satoru protested.

“Name one,” his father challenged.

Satoru opened his mouth, paused, then pointed to you. “Her.”

You nearly choked on your rice. “What?!”

“See? I take her academic success very seriously,” he continued smoothly. “She’s basically my tutor at this point. Without her, I’d probably be failing food transfiguration.”

“Food transfiguration is not the metric for success,” his father said dryly, but his lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh.

“And yet, it’s a class!” Satoru shot back. “A class I pass, thanks to her.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Please stop talking.”

“Never,” Satoru said cheerfully, ruffling your hair like you were a pet.

The room went silent for a beat, and then his father muttered, “Pass the rice.”

You couldn’t help but snort, quickly covering your mouth to stifle your laughter. Satoru’s grin widened, clearly taking your reaction as a victory.

“I’m serious about the food transfiguration, though,” he whispered to you as the conversation shifted. “You saved me from flunking that one.”

“By telling you to stop turning the chicken into a dinosaur?” you whispered back, rolling your eyes.

“Exactly. Genius advice.” Satoru sighed, slumping dramatically. "I swear, if I weren’t so charming, I’d be useless."

“You are,” you replied, teasing him with a grin.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The foreign exchange students filed into the classroom. You hadn’t met any of them yet, but the instant you saw a giggling pack of girls, dressed in a way that clearly screamed ��I’m a tourist, please give me attention,” take seats scattered around the room, you knew this would be a long class. They were chatting loudly, condescending smiles on their faces and prissy postures to back it up. One of them locked eyes with you and stood up.

The girl scanned the room, perhaps trying to find something to shift the attention of the bustling and noisy class to her. Sitting beside you, Geto didn’t even flinch as the girl cleared her throat loudly. You could feel it. She was about to open her mouth.

And open it she did.

“Do you guys feel,” she addressed her fellow exchange people, “that the culture here is a bit… Well, I don’t know what you'd call it. Primitive, I guess? It’s like they just dug it up from some ancient ruins," she said, waving a hand dismissively, as if she were talking about a dusty artefact. “This whole— uhm— ‘honour’ thing? So outdated. I didn’t find any such codes on how to behave in the culture of the South, or the West, or the South-West. Maybe it is because the people here still need to be taught manners, I suppose.”

The other students, contrary to what she had hoped, didn’t pay any attention to her. They didn’t seem to have heard her, because if they had… well, all of them were from noble clans, of course they would have a problem with it.

The girl didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

“You there!” She screeched at you, coming to a halt in front of your desk after pacing around like she was delivering an important lecture. “I heard you’re the top student. Representative, or something, they told me. Like—” she turned to face you more directly, suddenly noticing the lack of a surname on your badge “—wow, you don’t even have a last name. I heard you were from the Gojo clan. But, I mean, you don’t even have their surname? Were you picked up from some ditch or something?”

You flushed. Most of the students were tactful enough to not point that out to you, and if they did, they would return with a bruise soon after, credit to Satoru. But Satoru was in the hospital wing right now, and thankfully so, because you didn’t want him making a scene here in the middle of your Charms class. Geto’s fingers brushed lightly against your arm; he was trying to calm you down. He didn’t need to say anything; you already knew what he was thinking.

Shoko, sitting in front of you, shifted in her seat. Her fingers twitched toward her coat pocket, and you could swear you felt a chill run down your spine at the look she had on her face. Shoko’s glare was murderous, and her hand slowly moved to her doctor’s tools — just a few inches away from hurling them at the girl’s smug face.

“Don’t bother,” Geto murmured under his breath. “Let her go on. She’s not worth the energy.” His eyes never left you as he spoke, a detached smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Ignore her, Shoko.”

The girl leaned on your desk as you continued to determinedly stare at a spot on your notebook

“Oh, but wait,” she continued haughtily, “you must’ve been a mistake. I mean, the Gojo clan leaders, right? They couldn’t possibly have any sense of judgement, could they? Considering who their son is, who he’s raised by. They probably just took in anyone, huh? Just to fill the numbers. I bet they didn’t even care to see if you had any real worth.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Geto interrupted her calmly, his smile widening, a maddenned look in his eyes. “If you don’t stop right now, you might have to deal with a curse or two, because I’m not exactly one to be afraid of duelling in front of teachers.”

Alina was unfazed, leaning back in her chair with a smirk plastered across her face. “Oh, I so do. You can’t silence me. The Gojo clan is only famous because they have money and influence — nothing more.” She leaned forward again, her eyes narrowing. “And the leaders? They’re a joke. All that power, and they still let their precious son — what’s his name? Satoru? —play around like the child he is. Tell me, do you ever wonder if he’s actually good for anything besides being the ‘chosen one?’ Or is it just another piece of their precious family’s empire?”

No.

That was it.

You snapped. Your body moved before your brain could catch up. Pulling out your wand from your pocket, you let the cold tip touch her throat. The girl immediately shut up, caught off guard and not having the time to reach her own wand, which was kept on the table her friends were sitting at.

“What’s wrong? Can’t speak? I’d love to hear more from that croak of a voice you possess. Please, go on with your pathetic guesses about my lineage.”

“Don’t,” Geto warned, but you were too blinded by the ringing echo of her words about your family. Shoko was already gripping the side of her desk, looking like she wanted to step in.

“You want me to speak more?” The girl said. “I can speak more. Because I know what you are. I would have felt sorry for you if you weren’t so stuck up though. As they say, no power, no future.”

Before you could retort, or even say a quick charm to freeze her throat so it snapped in half, the door flew open, and a voice interrupted your anger.

"Both of you, in my office. Now."

It was the teacher, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, clearly fed up. Without missing a beat, you spun on your heel, flicking a glance at Geto and Shoko.

──── ୨ৎ ────

It was oddly quiet in the headmaster’s office. You sat alone at the desk, gloves pulled snug over your hands, a rag in one and a half-polished trophy in the other. The cleaning did little to distract you from the frustration you felt.

The headmaster’s words still rang in your ears: “Detention builds character, and perhaps a lesson in self-control will serve you well.”

Self-control. As if it was your fault someone had insulted your family.

The soft creak of the door interrupted your thoughts. You stilled, expecting the headmaster to return and scold you for slacking off. Instead, a familiar white head of hair peeked around the doorframe.

"What the—" you hissed. "Are you insane? If someone catches you here—"

“Wow. You, of all people, getting detention?”

Satoru leaned casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a lazy smirk on his face.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

“Came to pick you up,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Kuro was freaking out because he didn’t know why we weren’t at the gates, so I told him to head home without us.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“Relax. He’s used to me pulling stuff like this.” Satoru strolled into the room, glancing around with mild interest before his eyes landed on the pile of trophies waiting to be polished. “So... what’s the story? Did you finally snap and hex someone?”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the trophy in front of you. “Shouldn’t you be hiding somewhere? I mean, you’re not supposed to be here after school.”

“Oh, I’m cutting it. I figured detention with you would be more fun.”

You ignored him, hoping he’d get bored and leave, but Satoru was never one to take a hint. He perched on the edge of the desk beside you.

“Come on,” he said, nudging your arm lightly. “Tell me what happened.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, refusing to look at him. “Nothing. Just... a disagreement.”

“A disagreement?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That’s all you’re giving me?”

You stayed silent, scrubbing furiously at a nonexistent smudge on the trophy. But your hands were shaking slightly, and he noticed.

His teasing expression softened. “Hey,” he said quietly, leaning closer and nuzzling your hair. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you said quickly, but the crack in your voice betrayed you. You cursed under your breath, setting the trophy down harder than you intended.

“Right,” Satoru said dryly. “You know lying is a sin, right?”

Before you could stop him, he reached out and plucked the rag from your hand. You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off with a firm look.

“Enough,” he said, tossing the rag onto the desk. He grabbed your hands, tugging the gloves off gently, his touch warm and steady against your cold fingers.

“Satoru, what are you—”

“Helping,” he said simply.

You stared at him, your breath hitching slightly as he held your hands in his. His grip was firm but gentle, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “Gotten detention, I mean.”

Your throat tightened, and you looked away. “I didn’t even do much. I just threatened her, ‘s all—”

“I know,” he said. “But you didn’t have to stand up for me like that.”

“Yes, I did.” The words came out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t care. “She had no right to talk about your family like that. Or mine,” you added quietly.

Satoru’s expression softened, and he sighed, letting go of your hands only to pull you into a hug. Your breath stopped. It was so sudden and unexpected, but his arms around you were so warm and secure, and for a moment, you forgot just how cold the office was.

“Thank you,” he murmured against your hair. “For putting us first.”

You swallowed hard, your face pressed against his shoulder. You could feel his heartbeat. His vanilla scent filled your nostrils, and you couldn’t help but sigh at the sensation.

Just what were you feeling?

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. The gesture was so gentle, so unexpected, that it sent a shiver down your spine. Goosebumps prickled along your arms, and your breath caught in your throat. Eyes widening on his chest.

Satoru pulled back slightly, his hands still resting lightly on your shoulders. He studied your face for a moment, his gaze searching, before giving you a small, crooked smile.

“Alright there?” he asked softly.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. His smile widened, and he gave your shoulders a reassuring squeeze before stepping back.

“Good,” he said, picking up your gloves and the rag you had abandoned. “Because I think it’s my turn to polish these things. You’ve done enough.”

You blinked at him, confused. “You can’t just—”

“Too late.” He waved the rag dramatically, grinning. “Go sit down and relax. Perfect students need to take a break to be imperfect once in a while.”

Despite yourself, a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved you off, already humming to himself as he began scrubbing.

──── ୨ৎ ────

You sat with your detention homework in your garden after the headmaster had insisted on giving you some more ‘punishments’ for letting Satoru in his office. On the stone bench, you glared at the crumpled detention slip in your hands. The words from earlier still rang in your ears.

Wow, you don’t even have a last name. I heard you were from the Gojo clan. But, I mean, you don’t even have their surname? Were you picked up from some ditch or something?

You must've been a mistake

The nerve of that girl, whatever her name was. She had no right to talk like that. But as much as you hated to admit it, her words dug deep. Why didn’t you have the surname? Why were you even here?

You sighed, staring down at your hands, throwing the slip away and watching it skid between bushes. The gate creaked, pulling you from your thoughts. Satoru’s mother stepped into the garden. She always seemed to know when something was wrong.

She smiled warmly as she approached. “Trouble at school?”

You let out a small huff, tossing the detention homework onto the bench. “Some girl decided to remind me I don’t belong here,” you muttered. “She’s not wrong. I mean, I don’t even have your family name. I’m just... here.”

Her expression softened, and she sat down beside you. “Suguru told me it was someone from the Kamo clan. She said that, did she?”

You nodded. “She made it sound like I’m just some random stray you all picked up out of pity.”

A shadow flickered across her face, but she stayed silent for a moment, as if weighing her words carefully. Then she sighed softly and folded her hands neatly in her lap. “You don’t carry the Gojo surname yet because... you aren’t meant to. One day, you will.”

You were confused. “One day? What are you talking about?”

Her gaze softened further, and she reached for your hand. “You’re not here because of pity. You’re here because I care for you deeply. You’re family to me. And... well, you’re engaged, my dear. To Satoru.”

The words hit you like a thunderclap. “Engaged?” you whispered.

She nodded gently. “It was my decision. Not to strengthen ties or fulfill some tradition — I couldn’t bear the thought of marrying you off to anyone else. You’re important to me, and to this family. No one else would cherish you the way you deserve. No one else would love you the way I know he can.”

Your head was spinning. Engaged? To Satoru? The same Satoru who stole your dessert, teased you relentlessly, and drove you up the wall with his arrogance?

“Does he know?” you managed to ask.

A small, amused smile tugged at her lips. “Not yet. I’m waiting for the right time to tell him. You know how he is — he’d probably react with some ridiculous joke or dismiss it entirely without thinking it through.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “You mean I’m supposed to sit on this bombshell while he’s running around like an overgrown child?”

She chuckled softly, reaching over to pat your shoulder. “It’s not so bad. You’ve already grown close to him, haven’t you?”

Close. You couldn’t deny it. In the past few years, you had gone from tolerating his antics to — well, something. The butterflies in your stomach betrayed you every time he smiled or stood too close.

But this? This was too much.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you asked weakly, peeking through your fingers.

“I wanted you to have time to figure out your feelings without the weight of this hanging over you,” she admitted. “And... I wasn’t entirely sure when you’d be ready to hear it. But seeing you upset, questioning your place here, I couldn’t keep it from you any longer. Forgive me, darling.” She stood then. “You’re exactly where you’re meant to be,” she said gently. “Never let anyone make you doubt that.”

And with that, she disappeared back into the house, leaving you alone with the truth.

Engaged. To Satoru.

The butterflies in your stomach weren’t just fluttering now—they were staging a full-on rebellion. You let out a groan, slumping back against the bench.

──── ୨ৎ ────

Over a year had passed. The two of you were turning seventeen the next year, and with the increase in your age, the load of schoolwork increased too. The School of Royalty had seen so many changes. They were rebuilding the duelling grounds and organising even more clubs than before. Girls were mysteriously beginning to drop out of school, and you didn’t want to know why. There were less than ten girls in your class of fifty, and you figured this number would reduce even more as women in nobility were hurriedly married off to distant kingdoms, forced to give up their education to serve as a showpiece for the men to flaunt.

You were thankful the Gojo clan saw you as more than that, or you wouldn’t have been in the same class as your friends this year. You couldn’t bear not seeing Utahime, Shoko, Suguru and of course, Satoru.

Satoru.

The one you had realized you didn’t want if he wasn’t looking at you at all times, if he wasn’t talking to you at all times, or cracking jokes to you at all times. The one you had realized you wanted more of, more than what the two of you are now, more than what you two have ever been, more than friends, more than best friends; you wanted him more than anything in the world. Him, him, him, him. You wanted his eyes on you, his hands on you. You wanted everything about him. Everything. Every single thing—

“Hey, you alive?” His voice snapped you back to reality.

“Huh? Oh yeah.”

“I was saying,” he pulled a girl towards him by her hands and she landed on his chest with a dull thump. “This is Alina.”

You stared at her. Triumphant looking face, lips giggling into the broad layer of his front.

Wait.Wasn’t she—?

“You might remember her,” Satoru pressed. You did. Vividly.

Oh.

“She needs some duelling practice apparently, so she’s gonna be watching us from there,” he points at the stands. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s okay,” you said in a voice you didn’t know you owned. The words felt so heavy on your tongue, as if it was an entirely different person speaking them. 

“Great, thanks,” he ushered the girl back to the stands and leaned down to kiss the top of your forehead again. You blinked.

Oh, no, he didn’t see it like that at all.To him, it was just a gesture he had grown used to doing. Yeah.

You stood across from him on the training field, your stance ready and tense. The sunlight was bright today, almost too bright, and you didn’t know if it was the heat or the sudden emptiness you felt. Satoru smiled at you, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You ready?” he asked, voice nonchalant. It wasn’t the usual teasing edge. The spark was missing.

You nodded.

“I’ve got you today, Gojo,” you tried making the dumb jokes he used to make. You weren’t sure if it was working, but you tried anyway.

The sparring session started, but something felt wrong. Satoru’s movements were slower than usual, his focus elsewhere. He kept glancing at the stands from time to time, as if trying to see if she was watching him. He didn’t block your attack in time, letting you knock him down with ease.

“You alright?” You bent down to help him up, but he just waved you off, a tight smile on his face.

“Yeah, yeah. Just… tired, I guess,” he shrugged, avoiding your eyes.

Alina came running down the stands, her hands clutched on her chest, fussing over him while he waved her off too, getting up.

“Another one?” “No, thank you.”

That was the first time you had ever said no to him.

──── ୨ৎ ────

Later that week, you walked into the cafeteria, hoping to find Utahime and grab a quick meal before your History class. You were halfway into the queue before you realized Utahime had Charms class right now. After all, she was a senior of yours; she would have more schoolwork than you. So you were about to take the tray you got to one of the empty tables alone, hoping to find someone else.

And you did find someone. Satoru sat across from Alina as comfortable as ever. They looked like they were on a date. Was this why he had skipped a class he had with you?

“Oh, hey,” he greeted you when you approached, but his voice lacked its usual warmth. There was a coolness in it, like he wasn’t really there.

The girl’s voice broke into the silence, bright and too eager. “I was just telling Satoru about how I’m finally starting to get the hang of wand control now. I know he’s been busy with other stuff, but he’s still managed to help me out.”

You felt the hairs on your neck prickle.

“That's great,” you said, keeping your tone neutral. “I'm sure Satoru is happy to help.”

You tried to keep your expression even as you sat down on their table. Wrong choice. Satoru, oblivious or indifferent, didn’t seem to notice any sort of tension in the air. He smiled, nodding along to whatever the girl was saying, while you forced a smile and picked at your food.

You felt like an outsider.

──── ୨ৎ ────

That same week, after a banquet of the noble families held at the Gojo clan’s immaculate residence, you were walking alone towards the girls’ dorms when you overheard two voices seemingly arguing calmly. You pressed an ear onto the door hiding the people.

“You don’t seem to realize your Alina is the same girl who was insulting your own family,” Suguru was saying. “She got us into trouble too. You weren’t there so you don’t know how bad she talked about—”

“I know she’s not like how she was before,” Satoru interrupted loudly. “And I know you guys still have a problem with her, but you’ve got to trust me, okay? She’s changed.”

Your heart sank. “Changed?” Suguru repeated bitterly. “Really? After everything she said about the Gojo clan?”

He didn’t reply right away, but when he finally spoke, it was with that soft, almost apologetic tone.

“I get it. I really do. But she’s… trying, okay? She’s not the same person.”

You clenched your jaw, your hands trembling slightly at your sides. You felt numb all over. Uprooting one leg from your position, you walked backwards, away from your heartbreak.

“I don’t know if I can believe that, Satoru. Not after everything she did.” “I know, but please. Try, for me?”

Your back hit the pillar and you stopped. Slowly lifting feet one after the other, you walked. You didn’t know where you were walking to, but you just walked. You didn’t know what hurt more: the fact that he was asking you to trust her, or the fact that you wanted to — because you trusted him so much.

“There you are!” Utahime caught up to you. “Where did you go? How can you get lost in your own house—” You lifted your face up to her, and she looked taken aback. She inhaled, wiping tears you never realized started falling after stinging your eyes so bad, and she asked in an uncharacteristically soft voice. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Utahime—” your voice broke.

──── ୨ৎ ────

You were walking down the school halls, your mind preoccupied with your own thoughts as you made your way to the classroom. The noise of chatter and the shuffle of students faded into the background, making you realize you were starting to zone out again. You seemed to do that a lot these days.

“And I just know it will be you!” Alina’s voice cut through, syrupy, too sweet to be sincere. You froze, stopping behind a pillar. They were standing conveniently near the same path you had to cross to get to your class. Great. Now you had to bite back any snide remarks you had because poor Satoru would be upset if you didn’t.

You peeked out. Alina was leaning against the wall, her laughter light and airy as she spoke to Satoru, who was right beside her, looking at her with that familiar, careless smile he used to reserve for you, one that you had now grown to hate.

You could hear her complimenting him, the way she laughed too loudly at every word of his. “Oh, Satoru, your technique today was amazing, as always! I honestly don’t know just how you do it.” Her tone was sugary, and you cringed. You wanted to look away, but something held you in place, as if some invisible force was gripping you to that spot, making you watch the scene in front of you with red eyes and darkness underneath them.

Then you heard his voice. “Come on, Alina, you’re making me blush,” he chuckled playfully. He was oblivious, as usual (or maybe he wasn’t, and he truly trusted this woman more than his friends). But you weren’t. You noticed how her hands lingered on his arm a little too long, how her fingers curled around his sleeve possessively.

You couldn’t breathe.

You turned, hoping to slip past unnoticed, but of course, she caught sight of you. There was a flicker of something dark in her eyes before she forced a smile onto her face, calling out in that voice that made your skin crawl.

“Oh, hey!” she chirped, calling out your name. “You don’t mind sharing, do you?”

The words hit you like a slap. You were caught between disbelief and anger. How dare she speak to you like that? You glanced at Satoru, hoping he would interject, but he didn’t. He was too busy focusing his attention on her like a complete idiot.

You looked down at the floor, clenching your teeth. “You can have him,” you muttered. You didn’t want to show her how much it hurt, but it was all too clear in your voice and actions.

Alina’s smile faltered for a split second, her eyes narrowing. “Oh, are you sure?” she said, “I’m sure Satoru wouldn’t mind at all. He’s such a generous guy.”

You could hear her subtle challenge, the way she was almost daring you to react. But you didn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, you straightened up, forcing the words out with a calmness you didn’t feel.

“I’m sure,” you said simply. Not waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked away as quickly as you could, your heart pounding in your chest.

Behind you, you could feel her eyes on your back, but you refused to turn around.

You hated her. You hated the way she acted so confident. You hated how she was so entitled. And you hated how Satoru, in all his charm and glory, refused to hear a word against her; how he couldn’t see the way she was trying to wedge herself between not only the two of you but also your entire friend group.

It was always this way, wasn’t it? The more you wanted him, the farther he seemed to slip out of reach.

──── ୨ৎ ────

After a three hour long soak in your bathtub, you decided it was time to go back into your room without anyone noticing. You spent most of your time hiding away from everyone; your parents, your servants, and him anyway, so you doubted anyone would miss you. With a sigh, you wore your nightdress and pushed your bedroom door open.

Satoru was sitting on your bed, his chin in his palms as he stared at the floor, clearly deep in thought and waiting for you to return. The moment you walked in, his gaze snapped to you, and the tension in the room tripled.

“You’re back,” he said. There was something in his voice — you couldn’t point out what exactly it was, but you didn’t like how it made you feel.

“What are you doing in my room?” The words came out harsher than you had intended them to be.

He didn’t answer right away; just sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face before standing up and facing you fully. “Why are you always so mean to her?” His voice was quieter now, more frustrated than usual.

You blinked, taken aback. "Mean to whom?" you asked, trying to play dumb.

“Alina,” he said. “Why do you always treat her like that?”

You controlled the urge to roll your eyes, though you knew Satoru expected you to. You wanted to scream, but you held it back, just barely. “Oh, you mean the girl who’s been constantly hovering around you? The one who acts like she owns you?” You crossed your arms defensively. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was supposed to cheer her on and clap for every little thing she does.”

Satoru scoffed, taking his face in his hands before looking up again. “You don’t have to be so cold all the time! Can’t you just try to get along with her? She’s changed. Why can’t you just see that?”

“Changed?” You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing at his innocence. “She’s the same girl who insulted your family. She insulted everything you stand for, everything you care about, and you think she’s changed? Are you seriously that blind?”

His eyes darkened, and he gritted his teeth. “You’re always so hung up on the past! Why can’t you just move on?”

You shot him a look, disbelief swirling in your chest. “Move on?” Your voice was shaking with the effort of holding back everything you wanted to say. “Why is it that you’re the only person who sees that she has changed? Why is it that everyone else around you swears she hasn’t?”

Satoru didn’t respond right away. Then, he took a deep breath in, as if it was taking every bone in his body to control his emotions to hit you at that very moment. “Why do you care so much? Why can’t you just give her a chance?” he asked, almost pleading with you.

You stared at him for a moment too long. “Because,” you bit back, “She’s using you. And you’re too caught up in your own world to even see it.”

He took a step toward you, voice rising now. “That’s not true! She’s not using me! She—”

You threw your hands up in frustration. “You don’t get it, do you?” You were shouting now. “She is using you, Satoru! And I’m the one who’s supposed to stand here and watch while you defend her? While you act like she’s some saint who’s done nothing wrong?”

Satoru’s patience snapped, and his expression hardened. He couldn’t stand anymore of you making assumptions about her anymore. “You don’t even belong in this house! Why do you think you have a say in anything I’m doing? You’re not even part of this!” He took a step toward you, his eyes dark with anger, a final insult.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. The blood drained from your face as everything came crashing down around you.

“Oh,” was all you managed to say, your voice barely a whisper as your eyes filled with tears. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t even look at him. You felt your heart shatter into a thousand pieces in your chest.

Satoru’s expression faltered, but it was too late now.

“Leave,” you whispered through gritted teeth.

He hesitated for a second, looking like he wanted to say something more. But he didn’t. With a sharp breath, he turned and walked toward the door.

The second the door slammed shut behind him, you collapsed onto your bed, your hands clutching at the sheets as sobs wracked your body. You cried harder than you ever had before — louder, deeper, until you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your chest ached with every gasp, every sob, the pain of his words echoing in your mind.

You don’t even belong in this house!

He was right.

You don’t even have their surname? Were you picked up from some ditch?

She was right.

It is the spawn of Satan himself!

They were all right, all absolutely right, weren’t they?

Come with me, daughter.

It was a lie.

You know I won’t leave you.

Lie.

She doesn’t need some random guy when she’s got me.

Lie, lie, lie!

You know lying is a sin, right?

You clutched your chest hard. You didn’t know how long you cried, but when the tears finally stopped, all that remained was emptiness. A hollow space where something you had always held onto seemed to disappear.

──── ୨ৎ ────

“What are you doing here?” you asked coldly.

He shrugged, his usual smirk flickering to life. “Just passing by.”

“Passing by my room?” you shot back, though your voice was devoid of any emotion.

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. “Maybe… I wanted to talk.”

“What do you want?”

He hesitated, just for a moment, before forcing a laugh. “I don’t know. How are the studies? Still out to prove you’re the best in the room?”

Your expression didn’t change, and the awkwardness between you grew even more.

“Also,” he chuckled nervously, “what did you say to Utahime? I was almost killed thrice in the last two days.”

“If you don’t have anything important to say, Gojo, move.” You stepped past him, unlocking your door. You had begun locking it since the incident that night, to avoid him sneaking in when you were away and to avoid anyone walking in on you bawling your eyes out, trying to drown the repetitive voices in your head with theories about spells and charms.

“Why are you being like this?” His voice stopped you. He paused, watching you fiddle with the lock, clearly taking the hesitating actions as a cue to continue. “Like… like you don’t care.” His eyes finally met yours, and for a moment, they weren’t the Satoru you knew. There was no smugness, no teasing — just guilt.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep your voice steady. “You’re imagining things,” you said, pushing the door open.

“Am I?” His tone sharpened, and he took a step closer. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. You won’t even look at me.”

“Maybe I have nothing to say to you,” you replied, turning to him to see his expression one last time before sorrow overtook your senses again.

His shoulders were stiffened, and for the first time this night, he couldn’t meet your gaze.

“That’s what I thought,” you said, your voice quieter now. “You know exactly why, Satoru. You just don’t want to admit it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “I didn’t mean it,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Goodnight, Satoru,” you said, slamming the door in his face before he could say anything else.

The silence that followed was deafening, and on the other side of the door, he lingered. You waited, holding your breath as you leaned against the wood, but no sound came.

And just like that, the distance between you grew wider.

──── ୨ৎ ────

Your school year was nearing the end, and summer was around the corner. The days before that had been a blur. You had avoided Satoru like the plague, throwing yourself deeper into your books and classes. Even your classmates had noticed the change, though none dared to bring it up to your face.

Except for Shoko.

“Are you okay?” she asked one afternoon, cornering you in the library.

“I’m fine,” you lied, not looking up from your Curses: A Guide to Identify the Weakness book.

“No, you’re not.” She pulled up a chair, crossing her arms as she stared at you. “You’re avoiding him, he’s avoiding everyone, and the rest of us are stuck in the middle of whatever this is.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said flatly.

She groaned, leaning back in her chair. “You’re lucky this is me and not Utahime. Just so you know, he sent a message.”

That caught your attention. Slowly, you closed your book and looked at her. “What message?”

“He said he’s done with Alina,” Shoko said softly. “Said he wouldn’t talk to her anymore.”

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked quietly.

“Because,” Shoko said, standing up, “you’re both being stupid. And I’m sick of watching my friends tear themselves apart over something that could be fixed with one honest conversation.”

“Honest conversation?” you repeated bitterly. “What’s there to say? He made his priorities clear, Shoko.”

“Did he?” She raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. “Or did you just decide that for him because you’re too scared to hear what he actually thinks?”

Your jaw tightened. “You weren’t there, Shoko. You didn’t hear the things he said.”

“You’re right, I wasn’t. But I’ve seen how miserable he’s been these past few weeks,” she countered. “He won’t say it, but he’s been beating himself up about it. He knows he messed up.”

“And what about me?!” you snapped, your voice harsher than you intended. “I’m supposed to just forget everything? Pretend like I wasn’t the one he hurt?”

Shoko sighed, her expression softening. “No. But you’re not giving him a chance to make it right. He’s been trying to talk to you — hell, he even took all the hits heroically when Utahime nearly ripped him apart.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Utahime — what?”

“Oh, yeah,” Shoko said. “She had a few choice words for him. Might’ve included running him over by her carriage horses. Not my place to repeat them, but let’s just say she wasn’t thrilled with how he handled things.”

Despite yourself, a small, bitter smile tugged at your lips. “Good for her.”

“Look,” Shoko said, softening her tone again, “you don’t have to forgive him right away. But at least talk to him. He’s done with Alina, and it’s obvious you’re not over him. Don’t let this thing between you two fester any longer.”

You stared at her for a long moment, her words sinking in despite the stubborn walls you’d built around yourself. “I’ll think about it,” you said finally.

“Good,” Shoko said with a satisfied nod. “Just… don’t take too long. We’re not kids forever, you know.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

The knock on Satoru’s bedroom door felt louder than you intended. You had rehearsed this moment in your mind a dozen times already. What were you supposed to say again?

Hey. It’s me. Haha.

No no no. Hey, how have you been?

No, ugh. Hey, nice weather?

Still, when the door opened and his bright blue eyes met yours, every word you had prepared seemed to vanish. The two of you only stared at each other, he in surprise and you in embarrassment.

“Hey,” he said, trying to break the silence.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The silence stretched between you for a moment before he stepped aside, gesturing for you to come in. You did, though your fingers fidgeted nervously at your sides.

The room looked messy. The bedsheets were sprawled around as if he had been tossing and turning all night earlier. The curtains were closed so the room was in utter darkness. Yet, you needed no amount of light to see the look of sleep-deprivation he carried on his face.

Was it because of you? Because you had acted this way? Was it because he was regretting what he said to you earlier (he should, a voice in your head said, but you pushed it away)? Or was he failing his classes again? His stream was different from yours so you couldn’t meet him in school either. Or was it perhaps because of—

“I was—” you both started at the same time, cutting each other off awkwardly.

You let out a breathy laugh, and for the first time in weeks, his lips pulled upward, a glimmer of the boy you knew. “You first,” he offered, stepping closer.

“I was going to say that I…” Your words faltered as he reached for your hand. His fingers, warm and tentative, brushed yours before interlocking gently. “Oh. Wow.” He smiled at you, pulling you closer to kiss the top of your head. “I missed this,” you admitted finally, your voice breaking slightly.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, softer than you had expected him to be. “For everything. For being such a—”

A sudden knock interrupted him, and a servant’s voice called from the hall. “Young Master, Miss — Madam requests your presence in the meeting room immediately.”

Satoru groaned under his breath, but you let go of his hand, smiling as well now. “We’ll talk later,” you murmured, turning to leave.

The Gojo clan’s meeting room was one thing, but the Gojo family’s meeting room felt even more imposing. High ceilings, ornate woodwork, and an air of superiority — that was the only way anyone could describe it. Mother and Father sat at the head of the low table, their expressions unreadable.

“You’re here,” his father said. He gestured for you and Satoru to sit, and you did, sitting in a formal position with your hands on your knees, feet touching the soft pillow under you. His mother only nodded at both of you. “We’ve received an invitation from the Kamo Clan.”

Kamo Clan? You had read about a legend of theirs in your history class. A man who had dropped himself to the bottom of the hells indulging with curses to create powerful heirs. The Kamo Clan had an awful reputation — ancient, powerful, and, if rumours were to be believed, sinister.

Beside you, you felt Satoru stiffen, and whisper only one word.

“Alina?”

Of course! How could you have forgotten that? The girl who had been plaguing your school ever since she set foot in it was Kamo Alina. Suddenly, what his father said didn’t matter anymore. The way his mother was staring between you and him didn’t matter anymore. What was about to happen in his room that time didn’t matter.

“The banquet,” Satoru’s father continued, and it took a lot of effort from you to keep listening, “is an exclusive gathering of noble families from across the globe. It will take place in the south, and attendance is mandatory for representatives of our house.”

You gathered the courage to steal a glance at Satoru’s expression. The look on his face was enough to tell you he wasn’t surprised by the connection. He knew. He had known it all this time. Your hands curled into fists under the table, your nails biting into your palms, probably leaving marks too.

His mother’s voice said coolly. “Prepare yourselves. You’ll leave at the end of the week. Dismissed.”

You didn’t wait for Satoru as you stood abruptly, your pillow gliding across the floor. You made your way back to your room, trying not to look back at his face, but you didn’t make it far before he caught up with you.

“Wait!” He grabbed your arm, spinning you around to face him. “It’s not what you think.”

You yanked your arm free, glaring at him. “It’s not what I think? Really, Gojo? Because I think you lied to me.”

“I didn’t—”

“You said you weren’t in contact with her!” you snapped.

“I’m not! This isn’t me — it’s her family. They’re the ones—”

“Oh, so her family conveniently sends in an invitation to us to attend their stupid gathering at somehow the right time?”

“I don’t know? Look,” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, not at you, no, but at that darn family. “I told you, I’m not in contact with her. That is the truth. I haven’t spoken to her since—”

“Since when?” you interrupted, stepping closer. “Since you told Shoko you were done? Or since you got caught? Because it feels like right now, I’m finding out the actual truth.”

“That is not the truth, please just list—”

“Stop,” you cut him off. You had had enough. “It’s okay. I don’t know why you think I even care. I ‘don’t belong here’, remember?”

“That’s not what I meant!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the empty hallway.

You stepped back, shaking your head with a sigh. “Don’t follow me.”

“Please,” he pleaded, his voice softer now, desperate. But you didn’t look back as you turned and headed for the courtyard, away from him and his stupid, stupid noble traditions.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The journey to the Southern estate was agonisingly long, but then again, you were from the East, and crossing entire landmarks took more than weeks by unruly waters. After the travel on the Gojo estate’s huge ship, your family was met with a stout, snotty man representing the Kamo clan, in charge of dropping you to their estate by comfortable carriages. The carriage rocked back and forth, and the countryside unfolded before you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to appreciate any of it. Your focus remained on the window, your reflection glaring back at you. Anything to avoid looking at him.

Satoru sat beside you, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently against the carriage floor. The silence was so oppressive it practically screamed at both of you to make up already. His mother sat across from you, but her usual composed expression faltered slightly as she glanced between you and her son.

After what felt like an eternity, Satoru let out an exaggerated sigh, his head lolling back against the seat. "Are you seriously going to do this the whole trip?"

You didn’t move. “Do what?”

“This,” he said, waving a hand vaguely in your direction. “Acting like I don’t exist.”

“I’m not acting,” you replied coldly. “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?”

He bristled at your tone, his foot tapping faster. “Wow. Real mature.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response, instead shifting slightly in your seat to angle yourself even farther away from him. The silence returned, heavier now, and his mother finally cleared her throat, breaking it.

“Is everything all right?” she asked delicately, her eyes lingering on you longer.

“Yes,” you answered quickly, too quickly. “Everything’s fine.”

Her brow lifted slightly, but she said nothing, her gaze darting to her son. He sat rigid, his jaw clenched as he poked his head out of his own window, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Fine,” Satoru muttered after a beat, as if to echo you. His tone was harsh, though he didn’t look at either of you.

His mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t press further. The realisation seemed to dawn on her that her carefully curated plans for her son’s life — whatever they might be — were starting to crack at the seams.

Satoru’s foot finally stilled, but his irritation hadn’t seemed to disappear yet. After another stretch of unbearable silence, he tried again, his voice softer this time. "Look, I’m not going to apologize for something I didn’t do.”

“Good thing I’m not expecting one, then.”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Can you at least try to meet me halfway here? This is ridiculous.”

You finally turned to look at him. “What’s ridiculous is pretending any of this matters. I shouldn’t even be here, right? So why don’t you just—”

“That’s enough,” his mother cut in, her tone sharper than you had ever heard it. Her gaze pinned you both in place. “We’re almost there. I suggest you both compose yourselves before we arrive.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, retreating back into silence, but not before catching the slight smirk on Satoru’s face. It wasn’t amusement, though — it was frustration barely held in check. He didn’t say another word, leaning back against the seat and staring resolutely at the ceiling as the carriage rocked along. You pressed your lips together and turned back to the window.

That was when you saw it.

The estate loomed in the distance, its dark silhouette framed against the dusky sky. It wasn’t grand in the way the Gojo mansion was. No, this place had an oddly familiar air of foreboding. Its high walls and shadowed towers looked like they were whispering secrets and things long forgotten in history. The closer you got, the more a strange chill settled over you, prickling the back of your neck.

Goosebumps ran down your arms as the carriage rolled closer. The gates opened with an almost eerie slowness. There was billowing mist surrounding the entire area, and it made the scene even more creepy. You couldn’t explain it, but something about this place just felt… wrong. It wasn’t just the estate’s imposing presence or the way the evening light seemed to bend around it — it was something you couldn’t place at all.

You felt like something bad, really bad was going to happen here, or perhaps had already happened. A chill ran down your spine when you recalled the pages of absolute horror you had seen attached to the restricted books in your library, and their vibes seemed to match that of this place.

Beside you, Satoru shifted uncomfortably. You glanced at him for a moment and saw that his confident facade had slipped. His eyes lingered on the estate, as if trying to figure out just what it was that made the place seem so uncanny and unreal, like it was something straight out of a horror novel.

As the carriage came to a stop, his mother stepped out first, poised as ever. She didn’t seem fazed by the oppressive air of the place, but then again, she rarely showed any cracks in her demeanour.

You followed, your legs unsteady as they hit the gravel path. The chill hadn’t left you, clung to your skin. Satoru came last, his usual swagger dimmed.

“Remember,” his mother murmured as the servants approached, her voice low and pointed, “appearances are everything. Do try not to embarrass the family.”

You nodded stiffly, but deep down, all you could think about was how much you wanted to leave this place. Sighing and ignoring the tremble of your gut, you held your own hands and entered the estate.

The estate’s grand entrance hall was vast, its high ceilings decorated with intricate wooden carvings that spiralled into ominous shapes. A line of servants stood on either side, their heads bowed low in synchronised precision. “Welcome to the Kamo estate,” they chanted together, their voices echoing.

A servant stepped forward, addressing Satoru’s father (and not batting an eye to his mother) with an apologetic tone. “We regret to inform you that our — that is, the Kamo clan’s — leaders could not greet you in person. Urgent matters required their immediate attention, but they send their sincerest apologies and look forward to meeting you tomorrow.”

Satoru’s father met his wife’s eyes, and she nodded curtly, and the servant's eyes widened as if he realised the error he made by ignoring her and addressing only the male leader in your group. “It is of no consequence,” she replied coolly.

As the servants moved to escort you all further inside, you couldn’t help but glance around. The estate was undeniably grand, but there was something cold and uninviting about it. The polished marble floors gleamed under flickering chandeliers, and the thick, musty air clung to your skin. It felt more like a mausoleum than a home.

The servants led you through endless corridors, the silence broken only by the sound of footsteps on stone. Every now and then, you passed ornate doors or shadowy alcoves, each one looking more foreboding than the last. You tried to shake the feeling of being watched, but the creeping sensation never left.

Eventually, they stopped in front of a door, and the servant gestured to it with a bow. “This will be your room,” he said before retreating with the others.

You stepped inside hesitantly. The room was smaller, far removed from where they were escorting Satoru now, and you had a feeling his would be uncomfortably close to Alina’s. The room was smaller, colder, and had an air of neglect, as if it hadn’t been opened in years. Dust coated the surfaces, and the faint scent of damp wood lingered in the air. There were faint scratches on the walls as if someone had clawed at them long ago. The wallpaper had started peeling in places, and the furniture looked untouched, as though someone had decided only yesterday to disturb the fifteen year old cobwebs. The architecture, the layout, even the faint smell of mildew — it was unsettlingly familiar, though you couldn’t quite place why.

Satoru’s mother appeared behind you. She took one look around the room, and her eyebrows twitched into a carefully concealed scowl. “Well,” she said. “This is... quaint, to say the least.”

You turned to face her, unsure of how to respond. She gestured vaguely at the room, the bare walls, the dull, muted colours. “If you find this unsuitable, arrangements can be made. I’m sure a clan as proud as Kamo wouldn’t want their guests to feel...” She paused, her lips curling in distaste, “uncomfortable.”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “No, mother,” you said, forcing a polite smile. “This is fine.”

Her brow arched, as though she didn’t quite believe you, but she didn’t press. “As you wish,” she said softly, turning on her heel and leaving without another word.

The door closed behind her with a heavy thud, and the silence of the room enveloped you. You exhaled slowly, taking in the sparse furnishings, the musty air. You hated the idea of being a burden, but now, as you sat on the bed, watching it creak loudly, you wondered if you had made a mistake.

Late that night, you lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to get yourself to sleep.

“One sheep, two sheep, three sheep—”

What would he be doing right now? Was he still upset?

“Fuck, lost count again.” You sighed loudly. This was probably the sixth time you had tried but failed to sleep. All because of him. You closed your eyes tightly to try again.

“One sheep, two sh—”

Shit. Nature’s call.

You widened your eyes and glanced at the door, dreading the thought of stepping out into the pitch-black halls of the manor. Your room didn’t even have a washroom, which seemed absurd for a house of this size and considering who it belonged to. Clenching your jaw, you tried to distract yourself from the pressure in your bladder by examining the room, but there was nothing to look at. No paintings, no books, no trinkets — just plain walls and dull furniture.

With a sigh, you finally pushed yourself up, deciding to find a maid to help you find the washroom. You lit a candelabrum sitting next to your bed to help you navigate the area. The hallway was dimly lit, the flickering lights casting eerie shadows across the walls. You tried to stay calm, but every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet made you jump. 

You walked, and walked, and walked. The layout of the house was like a maze in itself, and every turn seemed to lead to another identical hallway. Within the span of minutes, you found yourself descending a set of stairs you didn’t remember seeing before.

The air grew colder. The scent of damp stone and decay was thick in your nostrils. You paused at the bottom of the staircase, realizing with a jolt of horror that you were in what looked like the basement of the manor. The little light coming from your candles barely illuminated the space.

A wave of nausea hit you. The place smelled like dead rats, but somehow, despite your lack of sight in the room, a lot of scenes seemed to cross your mind. Shadows in the halls. Muffled screams. The overwhelming fear of being dragged into this very basement to be punished for something you couldn’t understand. Your eyes caught on the walls, and you lifted your candelabrum up and stepped closer. There were faint marks carved into the stone. Tally marks. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds.

Your hand reached out, trembling, brushing against the ridges. A flash of a memory hit you — your hand gripping a piece of stone fully covered in blood, dragging it across a surface, one line after another. But where had it been? In a classroom, on the board? No — this was something else, something darker. Your stomach twisted, and you stumbled back, the nausea overwhelming.

“Miss?” A voice shattered the silence, and you whipped around to see a maid standing at the top of the staircase. Her face was pale, her brows furrowed, as if you had offended every fibre of her body by stepping down into this basement. “What are you doing down here?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but no words came out. The smell of the basement, the tally marks, the scenes — they clung to you, and you could only shake your head.

“Let me escort you back to your room. You shouldn’t ever be here”

You nodded mutely, following her up the stairs. She led you back through the winding halls. By the time you reached your room, the trembling in your legs had mostly subsided, though the chill of the basement still remained. She opened the door for you, offering a rigid nod before disappearing back into the dark hallways. You stepped inside, closing the door behind you, and exhaled shakily.

Your hands were still trembling slightly as you sat on the edge of the bed, trying to steady your breathing. The scenes — fragmented, disjointed — played on a loop in your mind. What were they? Forgotten memories? Flashbacks? The tally marks, the muffled screams. They were just like something out of your worst nightmares. You buried your face in your hands, feeling the sting of tears prickling at your eyes.

A soft knock at the door startled you. You hastily wiped your eyes, rising to your feet. When you opened it, Satoru’s mother stood there. Her expression softened slightly when she saw you.

“You’ve been crying,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, stepping aside to let her in.

She swept into the room, her gaze flickering briefly to the empty, barren space. “This room is unacceptable,” she said bluntly. But then, as she turned to face you, something in her eyes looked gentler, almost human — something she had always carried around you. “You should have asked for it to be changed, darling.”

You shook your head. “I didn’t want to be a bother. It’s fine, really.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she studied you. Then, to your surprise, she stepped closer, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “You’re far too used to accepting the minimal,” she said quietly. “That’s not what you deserve.”

You blinked, startled by the tenderness in her tone. Before you could respond, she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, her cool hand lingering briefly against your cheek. The gesture was so unexpected, so maternal, that your throat tightened with emotion.

“I will speak to the servants in the morning,” she said, straightening but not pulling away. “And if you ever feel uncomfortable — ever — you will tell me. Do you understand?”

You nodded wordlessly, unable to trust your voice.

“Good.” She adjusted the edge of your sleeve with a small, practised motion, as if tidying you was a second nature for her. “Get some rest. You look exhausted.”

She turned to leave but paused at the door, glancing back over her shoulder. “And whatever it is that has you so unsettled tonight... I will see to it. Do not let it weigh on your mind. The past has a way of creeping into the present, but you are stronger than it.”

The door closed softly behind her, leaving you standing in the middle of the room.

For the first time since you had arrived at the estate, you felt a sliver of comfort.

──── ୨ৎ ────

Over the next week, your efforts to blend in with the household paid off in more ways than one. Most of the maids, initially wary of you as a noble guest, had warmed up to your presence. They appreciated your willingness to help with menial tasks and often joked that you were more reliable than some of their own peers. Soon enough, their dislike for the Kamo family began to slip into their conversations.

It started one evening when you were helping two maids, Haru and Tomoko, carry water from the wells. They spoke in hushed voices, glancing around nervously as though the courtyard’s walls themselves might eavesdrop.

“I’ve always said the Kamo family has skeletons in their closet,” Haru muttered. “Well, in this case, they’re probably in the basement. You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

You nodded. “I have. It’s disturbing. What were those tally marks on the walls?”

Tomoko sighed, setting her bucket down with a huff. “No one really knows for sure. Some say it’s the number of people tortured down there. Others think it’s the number of people who died. Either way, nothing good ever happened in that place.”

Before you could press further, another maid, Aoi, cut in sharply. She was older, sharper, and rigid. Yet you had watched her pull the buckets back up from the walls with such brute force that it was no wonder she was still working for the clan despite her age. “Enough! You shouldn’t fill her head with stories. She’s a noblewoman; this isn’t her concern.” Her eyes avoided yours, fixed firmly on the stone path.

Haru rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, relax, Ms Aoi. She’s not like the rest of them. She’s helped us more than half the family ever has. Why shouldn’t she know what’s really going on?”

Tomoko nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! And she’s already seen the basement. It’s not like we’re revealing some great hidden treasure. Besides, it’s about time someone outside this house knew what the Kamo family is really like.”

Aoi crossed her arms, her frown deepening. “And what good will it do her to know? The Kamo family isn’t to be trifled with. You’re putting her in danger — and yourselves, too, for that matter.”

You cut in gently, trying to defuse the tension. “I appreciate the concern, Ms Aoi, truly. But if the Kamo family has nothing to hide, then why should talking about it be dangerous?”

Haru smirked. “See? She gets it.”

Tomoko leaned closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Do you want to know what I heard? Years ago, when the punishments in the basement were still happening, the head of the house would personally oversee them. And sometimes…” she trembled visibly. “Sometimes, they weren’t even punishing people who broke the law. Just anyone they didn’t like. Servants who fell out of favour. Merchants who got on their bad side.”

Haru shuddered. “They say the screams would echo up through the floorboards. That’s why most of the older staff refuse to even talk about it. Too many bad memories. There is also the ghost of that little girl—”

“That’s enough!” Aoi snapped. “The girl doesn’t need every grisly detail.”

“Oh, come on, Aoi. You hate them as much as we do. Don’t act like you’re above this.”

“Whether I hate them or not is irrelevant,” Aoi huffed. “You’re still being reckless. If anyone hears about this...”

Tomoko grinned mischievously. “And who’s going to tell them? You?”

Aoi gave an exasperated sigh but said nothing.

That night, you wrote letters to Shoko and Utahime, recounting the strange conversation and the haunting basement. You might have mentioned a glimpse of Satoru, too, though your thoughts on him were far more conflicted.

Shoko’s reply was predictably blunt.

Sounds grim. Torture rooms, tally marks, mysterious deaths — real classic Kamo vibes. Maybe they’re compensating for their family’s lack of charm.  But, you know, not my circus, not my corpses. Still, were they tortured with surgical precision? If so, let me know which tools were involved. I’ve got a scalpel set if you want to reenact it. Besides, I’ve always wanted to see how far someone could go with a bone saw and no anaesthetic. For science, of course. Stay alive. Bye.

PS: If you find any good booze down there, bring some back for me.

Utahime’s letter was far less chill.

That two-timing bastard is probably off doing handstands to impress some girl who can't tell her right from left. Honestly, I’m waiting for your mother to tell him the truth already. If he doesn’t start acting like your fiance, I’m going to come over there and bury him in that damn basement myself. If I had to spend more than two breaths in his company, I’d kill him. Actually, I’d kill him for free. Just say the word.

PS: If I didn’t love you, I would’ve told you to go into that basement again just for fun. But I do love you, so stay safe.

The Kamo clan leaders remained an enigma. Somehow, their presence was so secretive that their portraits were absent from every book and document in the library. You wondered if even the servants themselves had seen these people. “Maybe they’re so ugly they’re too ashamed to show their faces?” Shoko had suggested in one letter, and you still snorted remembering that.

From all your time in the estate’s library, you could only  find their names — Kamo Daijiro and Kamo Akane. Creepy. You also learned they had two daughters: Alina, the eldest, and her twin who had married into another prestigious family and no longer lived at the estate.

You still hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of Daijiro or Akane, but that would change soon. A grand gathering was scheduled for the following night, and the maids were already preparing for their arrival in the estate.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The Kamo maids worked on you, dabbing floral scents to your neck and pulling a corsage on your hands. Behind you, Aoi’s hands deftly pulled at the laces of the corset you were reluctantly being tied into. Earlier, an unexpected scuffle had broken out between the Gojo clan maids and the Kamo maids when the latter had shown up, intending to tend to you.

“She’s our priority,” one of the Gojo maids had sniffed, her arms crossed.

“Not anymore,” retorted Tomoko. “She is living in the Kamo residence right now. Your loyalty isn’t required here.”

“Well, she’s from the Gojo clan!” snapped another maid, her tone haughty.

“Yes, and?” Haru shot back. The Gojo maids had given up after a reassuring smile from you, muttering about how they are only leaving because “the Lady asked so”. 

Now, Aoi was tugging the corset strings tighter. The conversation had shifted from the petty bickering of maids to something far darker.

“You wouldn’t believe the stories this house holds,” one of the younger maids murmured, a shiver in her voice. “Do you know about the little girl?”

“What girl?” you asked. You hadn’t seen the story of any little girl mentioned in the books you had read, but you had distinctly remember a mention of her story in an earlier conversation with these maids.

“Ms Aoi knows about it best!” Haru exclaimed.

Aoi’s face darkened as she let out a long sigh. “It happened about a decade ago,” she began. “A child had appeared on the doorstep, barely an year old, mind you. The family had taken her in, but of course, they did not treat her like a daughter. They had left her in the care of us servants. I was like her mother,” she said proudly. “She had turned three, I still remember, it was her birthday that night. She spilled a glass of expensive red wine on Lady Akane’s dress. It wasn’t even the girl’s fault. She was just a baby, carrying a tray too big for her tiny hands. But Sir Daijiro… he doesn’t forgive mistakes.”

The other maids exchanged uneasy glances as Aoi huffed loudly, pausing her hands on your laces to wipe stray tears. “The girl was dragged to the basement, where they lock away the disobedient. She… she never came out.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “She was… killed?”

“Yes,” whispered one of the younger maids, her voice trembling. “It’s said her ghost still lingers. Sometimes we hear her cries late at night. And the mist that hangs over the estate? They say it’s her curse — her anger at the clan.”

Aoi nodded grimly. “I was here. I wasn’t much younger than I am now, but I couldn’t do anything to save her. All I could do was sneak her scraps of food and try to mend her torn dresses after… after the punishments.”

You were horrified. “Punishments? For a child?”

Aoi’s tears couldn’t be held back anymore. “She was just a baby,” she croaked thickly. “I’d hear her cry at night, calling for her mother. And when… when…” Haru handed Aoi a cloth to wipe her face. “When she died… it was the moment I stopped believing the Kamo family had any humanity left.”

The room fell silent for a moment, save for the sound of Aoi’s sniffling and your shallow breathing. “How can someone be so cruel?” you murmured.

“That’s why we’re all so terrified,” Tomoko confessed. “If they could do that to a child, what chance do we have? Everyone here walks on eggshells, afraid to make even the smallest mistake. The leaders haven’t changed. They’re still the same people who let that little girl die.”

Aoi’s hands resumed their work, tying the last knot on the corset. The maids stepped back. You glanced at the mirror, seeing not just your reflection but the haunted expressions of the women around you.

The little girl’s story stuck with you, her cries echoing in your mind. If the Kamo clan could be so ruthless to a defenceless child, what horrors could they unleash on those who dared to cross them?

──── ୨ৎ ────

The grand gathering was suffocating. The air was thick with the scent of incense and expensive perfumes, the soft hum of conversation occasionally punctuated by bursts of laughter. You had probably sent about fifty letters in all to Shoko, Utahime and even Geto asking them if they would come to the South, and they all had replied with repetitive no’s. You had tried to keep your head down, avoiding the heavy gazes of the Kamo guests. But you were glad to see that Satoru, for once, was sticking close to you, uncharacteristically quiet. He hadn’t so much as glanced at Alina all evening, and perhaps even all this time during the visit if you were lucky. Not that you cared, of course.

Earlier, when you had overheard his mother asking him to keep his distance from “that Kamo girl”, and you remembered how he had rolled his eyes so hard you thought they would have gotten stuck.

“Fine,” he had said with mock drama. “But only because I’m such an understanding guy. And because I want you to stop looking like you’re ready to shank me with a chopstick.”

Now, true to his word, his focus was entirely on you. Every time you caught him looking elsewhere, it was never in her direction. He had even waved off her attempts to engage him, subtly turning his back to her as though she didn’t exist.

“See?” he murmured, leaning down to your ear. “Haven’t even looked her way. You believe me now, right?”

You arched a brow, unimpressed. “You don’t get points for doing the bare minimum, Gojo.”

“Bare minimum?” he gasped, and you smiled a little. His response reminded you of the ‘old times’, as they were now. “This is maximum effort for me! Have you met me?”

“Hush now, both of you,” his father interrupted. “They’re here.”

The Kamo clan heads arrived, and the air shifted. The room quieted, all eyes turning to the doors as Daijiro and Akane Kamo entered. Their presence was magnetic, commanding. As they moved through the crowd, the guests bowed slightly, parting to make way. You moved your eyes to the carpeted floor. You didn’t want to introduce yourself to someone who would torture a little girl to death, for God’s sake.

But then curiosity overtook your senses. You had been thinking of what they would look like for ages. They were like a mystery you had been picking apart ever since you stepped foot into that basement. Now was finally the moment you would get to see the leaders who hid from newspapers, books and even their own servants. You finally looked up. And the moment you saw their faces, the world seemed to tilt.

Sharp cheekbones. Piercing eyes. Their very presence struck a chord you hadn’t felt in years. Distantly, hauntingly familiar…

Your parents.

“Hush, little baby, everything you need is right here,” your mother cooed, and you walked to where he was leading you. “Yes, that’s it. There are your favourite snacks here, and all your favourite toys. Come on. Go there.”

But you found something else to interest you. Aoi, the maid, was standing right there, watching everything, and you wanted to walk to where she was instead of your bad mother.

“Stupid girl, where are you going?” your father pushed you from behind into the basement, and you fell over its many steps. Falling, falling, falling. By the time you reached the bottom, your face felt hot with some weird liquid.

“This is your new house — for now,” your mother said finally, walking down the steps. “You have given me enough trouble. From the moment I was cornered in that dark alley, alone and frightened, till now — you have been nothing but trouble. You are a constant reminder of what happened to me that night. You shall die, die!”

“There, there, now, Akie,” you watched your father cradle your mother’s head in his chest. You tilted your head, and the force almost made you fall back to the ground. “The child will no longer remain here. I have the most secretive merchants arriving from the North to here. They will be taking this… thing away from us, away from you. And then you shall finally be free.”

The realisation hit like a crashing wave, pulling the air from your lungs. Your vision blurred, and your chest tightened. It was too much. Too much. It was unbearable.

Without thinking, you reached out, your trembling hand finding Satoru’s mother instead of him. Her warm, steady grasp grounded you back to reality, and she turned to you immediately in concern. She studied you for just half a second before realising something was wrong, horribly wrong.

“Come,” she said softly, guiding you out of the hall without a moment’s hesitation.

Satoru’s voice trailed behind you, confused. “Where are you—”

“Stay with your father,” his mother ordered firmly over her shoulder.

Once outside, the cool night air hit your face, and it made you realise the warm wetness flooding your cheeks and stinging at your eyes. She led you to a quiet corner of the garden, still holding you as tightly as possible.

“What’s wrong?” she asked gently, her eyes scanning your face. “Are you unwell?”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them. “They’re my parents.”

Her brow furrowed. “Who are?”

“Them.” You swallowed hard, finally breaking down. “They! They left me. They sold me. I didn’t know their names but… I’ve seen them. They’re…”

Her expression shifted from confusion to horror. You looked at her face. You had never seen a look like that on her ever before. She released your hand only to pull you into a tight embrace.

“You poor thing,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I had no idea. But I swear to you, they’ll never hurt you again. Not while I’m here.”

You cried on her shoulder loudly, and you could feel she was crying softly too. “Why? Am I not worth raising… Mom?” She pulled back slightly, cupping your face in her hands. “Why didn’t they come back for me?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care what their reasons were. You will be a Gojo soon. It is only a matter of time now. And you will forever, forever,  be a part of our family. I will not let the Kamos stain your history, ever.”

You sniffled. From somewhere in the hall, you could hear Satoru’s loud voice, probably causing some kind of scene.

“See?” his mother said softly, trying to distract you. “He hasn’t looked at their girl once, just like he promised. That boy might be infuriating, but when it comes to you, he’s surprisingly reliable.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips.

Satoru’s mother stood behind you. Her fingers were combing through your hair softly, as if to sooth your emotions with her caring rhythm. She adjusted your corset strings next, pulling them tighter, not harshly, but enough to make you focus on the present instead of the roaring panic threatening to take over.

Beyond the ornate doors of the gathering, voices rose and fell. You strained your ears to pick out the words, leaning slightly toward the source. And then you heard it.

A deep, booming voice. The same voice from your nightmares. The one that haunted your memories. Your breath hitched. It felt as though the walls were closing in to suffocate you.

Satoru’s mother’s hands immediately moved to your shoulders to steady you. “Breathe, darling,” she said firmly. “I’m here, am I not? You are safe.”

You nodded, though tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “I’m trying,” you whisper, clutching the fabric of her dress tightly.

And then, the voice spoke words that made your blood run cold.

“…a marriage between Kamo Alina and Gojo Satoru.”

You froze. Your heart seemed to have stopped. The room seemed to have crashed down onto you. You tried to process what you had just heard. Satoru’s mother stiffened behind you, her hands pausing mid-movement.

“What did they just say?” you whispered.

She didn’t respond, though her head tilted slightly as she listened intently to the conversation happening inside the room. You caught snippets of whispers as noble families exchanged their astonishment at the bold proposal.

Surely, Satoru’s father knows. He knows that Satoru is supposed to be engaged to you.Right?

But then you heard him speak. His voice seemed proud and approving. “An excellent proposal, Daijiro Kamo. This alliance shall strengthen both our families. I accept.”

The words hit you like a slap. Your stomach churned, and for a moment, you thought you might be sick.

“Mom?” you whispered and turned to Satoru’s mother. “Why…?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “That moron,” she hissed under her breath. Her hands fell away from your shoulders furiously. “He didn’t consult me. He didn’t consult anyone except Daijiro. Of course, he didn’t. Men like to think their decisions are final simply because they made them.”

The applause from the other side of the door grew louder. The sound vibrated in your ears as the nobles toasted the ‘union’. Your panic surged again. “What do we do?” you asked desperately.

Satoru’s mother exhaled sharply. “I shall handle it.”

When she threw the doors open roughly, the room fell silent. The silence following her entrance was not mere courtesy; it was submission. Her presence demanded it. Yet Kamo Daijiro, standing near the center with a goblet of red wine in his hand, immediately stepped forward with a smug smile. “Ah, my lady Gojo,” he began, his voice filled with condescension. “I was just about to inform you of the wonderful arrangement your husband and I have come to. My daughter, Alina, will—”

“Will do nothing,” she cut him off coldly.

Daijiro blinked, clearly taken aback by the interruption. “I beg your pardon?” he said with mock-politeness.

“You heard me,” she said, stepping further into the room. Every eye in the room was on her. “You dare discuss an engagement for my son without consulting me?”

Daijiro’s lips curled into a patronizing smile. “With all due respect, Lady Gojo, this is a matter for the men to decide. Your husband and I both agree that this alliance is mutually beneficial. Surely you trust your husband’s judgment.”

She laughed humorlessly. “Trust his judgment? You think I’m going to stand by while you play politics with my son’s life?”

She turned to glare at her husband. Satoru’s father cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable under her piercing gaze, but Daijiro waved him off. “Lady Gojo, your anger is misplaced. This is a matter of strategy. You may oversee the household, but these are decisions of power — something women cannot fully comprehend.”

The room grew deadly quiet now, and Alina seemed to have understood that what her father just said had been a mistake. Satoru’s jaw tightened at the insult at his mother, but he did not say anything yet. You were still frozen in the doorway, but you could feel that he was about to snap at any moment now.

Satoru’s mother’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Women cannot comprehend power?” Every word was pronounced clearly, and she took a single step closer. “You’re standing in my authority. Under my presence. Having begged for my appearance at this folly of an event. And you think I don’t comprehend power?”

“But this is an alliance—” Daijiro started.

“An alliance that disregards my authority,” she interrupted sharply. “An alliance that treats my son like a pawn in your political game of blind chess,” Her eyes flicked briefly to Satoru, who watched the exchange with a furrowed brow.

The room erupted in whispers. The many noble families exchanged shocked glances. Even Satoru’s father looked uncomfortable now, though he didn't dare interrupt.

Daijiro straightened, his tone hardening. “Lady Gojo, I understand you may feel... emotional about this. But this is for the good of both our families. Surely you don’t mean to disrupt an agreement between two patriarchs.”

Her expression darkened further. Without breaking eye contact, she reached for a glass of wine from a nearby tray. In one swift motion, she threw it to the ground, and the crystal shattered into thousands of shards. The sound echoed in the silence.

“The marriage is off,” she declared, her voice unwavering. “Because Satoru already has a fiancee.” She turned and gestured to you, standing awkwardly in the doorway having followed her from outside. “My future daughter-in-law, her.”

The room erupted into chaos. Gasps and furious whispers filled the air. Kamo Daijiro’s face turned a deep shade of red. The Kamo clan, the maids (who were standing outside, peering through the gates you left open, having not been allowed to enter the prestigious ceremony) and leaders alike, looked mortified at her words. 

“You cannot be serious,” Akane said through gritted teeth.

“I’ve never been more serious,” she countered.

“You have humiliated my family!” Daijiro growled, stepping closer threateningly.

At this, Satoru stood up, his sword in his hand as he placed himself between his mother and Kamo Daijiro. He tilted the weapon slightly to make sure the threat of blood was sent across to Daijiro, and blocked the way to his mother. Her eyes softened at his action, and she straightened. “This discussion is over. Take your child and leave, Kamo. I will take mine. There is no alliance to be forged here. Gojo clan!” She called to the maids, soldiers and workers of the Gojo clan who had come along with them on the journey. “We shall set off back home right now. Prepare.”

Daijiro stared at her with rage and humiliation. But when he glanced at the sea of judgmental eyes surrounding him, he knew he lost. With a barely concealed snarl, he turned on his heel, motioning for his family to follow.

Satoru fixed his sword back into its scabbard. His mother turned to you, softening again. She rested a hand lightly on your shoulder. “Come. We shall leave this place now, for good this time.”

She led you out of the hall, her grip steady and reassuring, even as the whispers behind you grew louder.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The journey back home felt strangely fast compared to the painstaking crawl southward. Perhaps it was Satoru’s mother’s fiery words that had lit a spark of patriotism among the servants, and maybe even the horses. Whatever the case, you arrived at the Gojo estate far sooner than expected.

You barely had time to set foot inside when Satoru found you. He cornered you in one of the quieter hallways. The first thing you noticed was his face; his usual, easygoing expression was clouded with something you had never seen before.

“Did you know?�� he asked.

You blinked, thrown off by the abruptness. “Did I know what?”

“That you’re my fiancee.” The words came out bitter and flat, as if he couldn’t believe he was saying them aloud.

Your breath caught in your throat. You had been bracing for this conversation, but not so soon. Not like this. “Yes,” you admitted after a moment.

He reeled back, as though the admission had physically struck him. “You knew?” His voice rose, echoing off the corridor walls. “How long? How long have you known?”

“A year,” you said hesitantly, feeling guilt rise up in your throat. “I mean… last year, your mother—”

“A year?” His voice cracked, and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “You’ve known for an entire year, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I thought she would tell you,” you stammered. “She said she’d handle it.”

“Well, clearly, she didn’t!” he snapped, spinning to face you again. “So what, you were just going to wait until the wedding invitations went out?”

“That’s not what I meant!” you shot back. “I didn’t even agree to this in the first place. I was just as blindsided as you when she told me!”

“But she did tell you, and you did know,” he repeated coldly. “And you didn’t think I had a right to know?”

“You’re acting like I had a choice!” you said, your voice rising to match his.

“That doesn’t excuse keeping it from me!” he shouted too. “You and my mom — both of you — went behind my back. You made me feel like an idiot standing in that room today.”

“Oh, we made you look like an idiot?” you scoffed. “Why? Because you were actually planning to agree to her proposal? Because you wanted to marry that witch of a woman?”

His eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you serious? I barely even looked at her if I didn’t have to!”

“That was because mother had told you not to!” you countered. “Don’t stand there and question me when you’ve been acting like you have other options.”

“I didn’t know I didn’t have other options!” he shouted. “Because no one told me! The two people I trust the most in this world, you both kept me in the dark!”

You sighed. “Satoru—”

“No,” he cut you off. “Do you have any idea what this feels like? To know that the people you rely on the most didn’t think you were worth the truth?”

“That’s not fair,” you said softly, trying to find the right words. “I was just obeying mother—”

“Obeying mother?” he laughed incredulously. “By lying to me?”

“I didn’t lie!” you snapped. “I just… didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Well, you should have figured it out,” he said bitterly. “Because now, all I can think about is how little I actually know about you. About us. About… anything.”

The air between you felt heavy, suffocating. You wanted to say something, anything to fix the look of betrayal in his eyes, but your mind was blank.

Finally, he shook his head, his voice dropping to a strained whisper. “Look… I’ve never thought of you that way before, okay? You’re… you’re pretty, but you’re like a sister to me. That’s how I’ve always seen you. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

Oh. Of course.

“I need space,” he muttered, stepping back. “I need time to think.”

© chuulyssa 2024 - do not copy, plagiarize or repost my works on any platforms. do not translate.

[kyxhiin]

Captain Marvel gets Road rage (well space rage?)

Hi guys, I know I said I'll be taking a break. But with all these idea's I just can't, also my mood has improved quite a bit from my mom's words. And also I catcher a really bad cold today and didn't have school suppressing my ideas! I know it's only been a day but I've made the decision to post but not as much as I used to. So I'll just continue on with the post!

Captain Marvel aka Billy gets intense rage from small things, rather then really big things. So he tweaks out alot on the smaller possible things. (WonderJanga post ref.)

And so by that the JL has never caught onto him. So they all thought it would've been a great idea to let Cap drive the space ship during a particularly rough traffic. (Don't know how you get traffic in space but so on forth.) He's a great guy! He teaches the Young justice members how to ride the ship! And he has mentioned more than once of him owning a plane. So the JL assumed his civilian job was a pilot. I mean, what could go wrong?

Batman, catching up on some important things as he sits in the Co-pilot seat. Robin right beside him reading an animal encyclopedia. Captain Marvel with his wide smile on the traffic waiting for whatever mess happened to be disputed.

Broodman notices alot of time has passed, when he checked the clock. A heckling 5 hours have passed and they still haven't moved. He raised his head to see how Captain was holding up.

Oddly enough.. He still had that big old smile, but something. Something was wrong, the normal smile who would butter anybody up has been replaced by an uncomfortably forced and tired one. His once excited face, has become pink-ish with pent up something he assumed? And he was just so sure that there was this big pulsing vein on Marvel's forehead.

Batman: Captain. Are you alright? You seek quite drained.

Captain Marvel in a really passive aggressively annoyed voice: Oh Haha? Really? I'm fine Mr.Batman. I'm totally fine!

Robin: Tt you're obviously lying. A flushed face, bulging stress veins, the way you grip the steering wheel. You're mad, even an idiot can decipher that.

Captain Marvel: ME? MAD HAHA NOOOOO...

Batman: Captain. You're clearly agitated, do you need a break?

Captain Marvel now losing it: ME??? A BREAK?? IT'S THESE FUGGLING IDIOTS WHO NEED A BREAK NOT ME? THESE SON OF A LEECHES BETTER MOVE BEFORE I FREAKING CRASH INTO THEM!

Captain Marvel pressing the accelerator flying over the other ships so fast that it caused a turbulence in the other area's of the ship, which included in everyone falling to their knees and wondering what the hell is going on.

Captain Marvel with a maniacal smile: HAHA THAT'S WHAT YOU GET YOU MOTHER FLIPPING BLEEPERS!

Batman, his hand reaching out to Marvel: Marvel, stop!

Captain Marvel, now realizing who he just did: Oh.. I'm so sorry Mr. Batman sir I really didn't mean to lose my temper like that. I'll do anything to make up for that..

Robin who's now staring directly at Cap' with a shocked expression: Wow..

When they all looked back to see where they were, to their luck. They were right next to the place where they were trying to go.

When Batman told the Justive League this they never believed him, for like the first time ever. He's now sure of it, cap hides his true self around everybody. But, he still managed to keep his no swearing policy intact right?

And Robin refused to back up Bruce's story, with a new found respect for the Captain. He let him pet Alfred the cat for 2 whole seconds.

[lipstickchainsaw]

Things I would've liked to see in Arcane S2, in no particular order:

Caitlyn doing some more heinous shit after becoming dictator. Let her be evil, damnit! Let her fuck up the Firelights' sanctuary to achieve whatever goal! Make some people mad!

More of a sense of the power struggle between Ambessa and Caitlyn. Let Caitlyn look into the disappearances as well, or at least give us a sense of what she thinks is going on. Maybe give Shoola something to do after even Salo left. Make the upper class of Piltover feel more alive.

Give Caitlyn the initiative in her turn away from Ambessa, mirror Vi choosing to trust Jinx while facing to Warwick here, and have it take a little more to get them on the same page.

Let Ekko and Jinx actually rally Zaun in the final act. The way they're seen by their people was a pretty big deal, and I would've liked to see that go somewhere in the climax.

Actually, have Zaun actually discuss what to do in the Noxus/Piltover war. Both sides oppressed Zaun pretty badly, so maybe there's some people who want to support Noxus (a very small group), or who figure they're happy to let their enemies fight it out. Let Sevika, Scar and the Jinxers about this.

Hell, let Sevika show up at all after episode 4! Isha was important to her too! Have her and Jinx suggest building a statue for her, like Silco did for Vander, as another notch to help Jinx stand upright.

When Jayce and Mel come back, have them reckon with what Caitlyn did to their city, and have them take some time to forge the place back together.

Let Zaun negotiate with Piltover for their aid! Give them more than just one seat on the council amongst people who already look down on them (although I think Sevika is canny enough to get the most out of it, it's a real consolation price for a group of people willing to abandon their own homies to rally to the defense of yours), and make Ekko a prominent voice here.

Warwick in episode 9 didn't really do much for me. Any of the emotional beats there were already covered in episode 6. Not sure what to do with him instead, though. Maybe make Vi and Jinx protect others from him more explicitly?

By emphasising the Piltover/Zaun conflict more, you can have Vi be more conflicted about where she falls on that divide.

Ambessa also lobbies to get Zaun on board, maybe pulls some Renni shenanigans again. Actually get me invested in that grand climax.

Same goes for Viktor, honestly. Maybe give his conversation with Mel and Jayce a bit more weight. His turn to Ambessa and Singed's side is a bit abrupt (and also very much caused by Jayce killing him, so his moral high ground in that conversation is a bit weird).

Don't make Jayce talk shit about Viktor's terminal illness, goddamnit. Heimerdinger's whole arc was about how corrosive that attitude was, and the conclusion of it was that you can't sit down on your laurels because change will keep happening with or without you. I think that makes for a much more compelling argument against Viktor's philosophy at this point.

No notes on Singed. What a ledge.

Overall, I think the show needed a bit more breathing room to build up to the level the climax was operating on. It left a bit too much of what I cared about behind to get there, and adding an act could've been a way to alleviate some of that.

[dufferpuffer]

(Note: idk the characters OP mentions or what they are from, I wanted to talk about peoples reaction to disability rep in general)

I think it's fantastic when non-disabled people talk positively about disabled characters, even if they do it a little clumsily (though not in the face of disabled people critiquing it... yeesh...) Just like with other marginalized groups. eg: we can be happy about having more PoC characters... even if we might not fully understand the nuances in their representation. We can be taught about that nuance by those who do understand - and that's how we learn to understand better. That's awesome.

The thing that's annoying, as OP describes, is that - especially for disability representation - existence seems to be the bar for entry. They see a prosthetic and go 'Wowee! Good enough :)'

Maybe existing can pass as 'good representation' for some things - like race, gender or sexual orientation (arguably - important: it depends on the particular media) But that doesn't really work for disability.

Depending on the setting and themes of a narrative, being a different race, gender or orientation doesn't alter how you can live. Having a disability, by definition, DOES alter how you live.

Example: Innocent little kids show, where a bunch of kids go on adventures together, doesn't need to display topics like racism, homophobia, transphobia etc. to be good representation. The kids can just exist the same as everyone else - just existing is enough.

But a disabled kid HAS to be disabled. Their life has to be shown as altered in unique ways - otherwise it risks being harmful. It doesn't need to be anything big, or sad, or the topic of an episode... Infact it's often better when it isn't.

+ Have a character wake their friend up early, knocking on her window - she says 'Wait! Let me get my leg on!!' + They go swimming - and she takes her leg off to swim. + It gets really muddy, so she gets a piggy-back from a friend so she doesn't get her leg stuck. + Or it DOES get stuck and someone pulls it out for her. + She's training for a race and she switches her leg to a running one. + Maybe she isn't in an episode - the other characters can't rely on her skills to solve an issue, because its Physical Therapy day.

You don't need to draw attention to it, she doesn't need to suffer - but she has to be different. She has to live with different worries. She can't just be the exact same as everyone else, because she isn't like everyone else. That's what being disabled means.

If she just does everything everyone else does, with no thought put into the fact she has a fake leg other than 'one of her legs is blue'... you are teaching that disabled people don't live differently. But we DO. We HAVE to. A little kid seeing a character never put any thought into the things they need to worry about doesn't feel GOOD. It feels WORSE.

People of minority racial groups, and people of differing identities, dream of a world where that doesn't matter, they can be the same. Disabled people don't get that dream. Having a leg re-grown...? God, even thinking about the physical therapy, training to walk again... It would just be nice if there was more understanding, more facilities and support, that some of us need to live different lives.

...I am not an amputee. My digestive organs are all messed up - and I have PTSD. That is a very different experience to being an amputee. But I can talk about what I think is good or bad representation, even if it might be clumsy sometimes, because: I understand that good disability representation is in how the character is affected by their disability, not by just existing.

And that's what I would want to share with any non-disabled person who feels excitement seeing a disabled character: think about how it affects their life. Think about the choices they make because of it.

Toph from Avatar isn't 'cool disability representation' because her blindness is accurate or realistic. It isn't. It's fantasy blindness. It's cool because she has to live differently. She uses her bending to super-power 'see' - but not in water, or sand, or for flying things... There is no 'fix' that gives her sight back. Only tools to help. ''How does blindness affect how she can live'' has been considered.

So... you have a character 'you didn't even notice had a prosthetic'. Is there no way in which she is shown to act or think differently because of it...? That's not particularly good representation. There can still be cool parts of it that are worthwhile representation, like an interesting history, or design, or function... ...but she isn't disabled unless she is disabled. Yknow...?

I really wish non-disabled folks would stop commenting on weather or not something is good disability rep, especially when people with those disabilities are critiquing the specific things these folks are bringing up as examples of why the character is so good.

I swear, if I hear one more person say "I didn't even realise Neve was an amputee, that's such good representation!" I'm going to scream lol.

Also just to clarify, I don't think Neve is bad, my feelings on her from a disability representation stance are more complicated, but her disability having such a small impact on her that a shocking number of players said they didnt even notice it until she tells you how she lost her leg is NOT what makes her good. "You cant even tell she's disabled" is not a flex. We've talked about this. Twice.

Same goes for the inquisitor and Hezencost but they're pretty minor characters so I'm seeing less of it there.

[damianbugs]

top 5 bruce and jason father-son moments?

5. DETECTIVE COMICS (1937) #596

this one is kind of nothingburger to others but it's everything to ME because i read into nothingburger things all the time. throughout bruce and jason's run as batman and robin a huge thing of notice is that in costume jason rarely ever calls bruce anything other than batman. take that as you will, secret identity shenanigans aside. but then:

this is followed by bruce busting out of the trap, saving them both AND calling him jay. it moves me everytime i read it.

4. BATMAN URBAN LEGENDS (2021)

okay im going to cheat a bit and include 2 (technically 3) moments here but they're from the same story so... i have many (MANY) issues with the cheer story but the part where jason calls out to bruce during a desperate situation, bruce shows up and jason seems genuinely surpised? FLOORED.

AND THEN. AND THEN. not only is jason's deepest joy bruce killing the joker and being a family, but bruce's deepest joy (that almost drove him mad enough to kill someone, btw) is ALSO KILLING THE JOKER AND RECONCILING WITH JASON. like goodbye. terrible awful plot with life ending revelations.

3. DETECTIVE COMICS (1937) #542

nocturna arc in general is probably one of the best jaybin arcs ever. but this moment right here...

i dont even need to add any thoughts just read this shit and really focus on the "i wouldn't shed a single tear if it [his wealth] all vanished [...] after they came and took jason away from me, i broke down and wept." "money is fine gentlemen, but it isnt real. right now only jason is real." and if it wasn't already ruining my life, the batsignal comes on while bruce is working with his lawyers to gain custody of jason again and he flat out refuses to leave because this is more important.

2. ROBIN 80TH ANNIVERSARY 100 PAGE SUPER SPECTACULAR: MORE TIME (2020)

i can't even formulate any words for this one it's just. world ending. i would add the entire thing if i could. jason "they could never make me hate bruce wayne" todd.

1. BATMAN: UNDER THE RED HOOD (2011)

in first place to the surpise of no one, i imagine. the comic entirely, yes, but specifically:

they spend literally every moment before this fighting. there is no trust. not a single moment of wavering doubt. UNTIL THIS. without evening thinking, jason takes up the role as robin and backs up batman by performing a move they've done for YEARS. jason jumps towards him and for a moment, doesn't doubt that bruce understands, and won't drop him. bruce later goes on to say that this particular move leaves his back exposed, which is where robin will usually be standing (since batman will act as a shield for the explosives he's thrown) (THAT ITSELF IS INSANE TO ME BUT WHATEVER) and for a moment wonders if red hood will take the opportunity to stab him in the back.

he doesn't.

[brbsoulnomming]

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 1

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

---

Steve's parents always locked their hearts in a safe in his dad's study at night.

For as long as Steve can remember, he watched them do it, pulling their hearts out of their chests and tucking them away in the safe in an easy, practiced motion - like a dance, like something they did without even thinking about it.

He liked it, liked watching them move in unison. It made him daydream about his own partner in the future, how they could move in sync with each other, anticipating each other's every movement and not having to say a thing to know what the other wanted.

Even his parents’ hearts were similar. They were both the same pale pink, bisected with only a few silver scars, and though they didn't quite beat in unison, it was close enough that Steve's young eyes didn't notice the difference. 

“One day,” his dad always said. “When you're old enough, your heart will go in here, too. When you're trained to be separated from it, when you're grown up.”

Steve wanted to be grown up more than anything.

But his heart never looked like theirs. Even when he got old enough to pull it out of his chest, to first show it to his beaming parents, it was a deep, unblemished red.

A kid's heart, his dad called it.

“It's not a bad thing!” his dad was quick to say. “You're young, Steven, you should have a kid's heart. Go be a kid.”

He ushered him out to play with Tommy and Carol, pleased as punch when the three of them came home to get snacks.

“You've made the right friends, Steven, my boy,” his dad said one day, while Steve was in his study, watching him take his heart out of the safe and tuck it into his chest. “Tommy's not bright, but he'll do what you say, and Carol looks like she'll be taking after her mother. Find yourself a girl who fits in, and you've got the makings of the next generation.”

Steve didn't really understand what that meant, but he liked his father's approval, and Carol and Tommy were the best friends he could ever imagine, so he guessed it didn't really matter.

—

The first time his parents leave for more than just one night, Steve protests.

He grabs onto his dad's slacks, his mother's skirts, and refuses to let go.

“Steven,” his mother hisses, a warning clear in her voice.

“Little tyke loves us so much,” his father says to his business partner, who’s waiting in the front hall. There's something in his voice that Steve's never heard before, something in his eyes that makes a chill go up his spine. “Give us a minute to say goodbye.”

His parents argue in his father's study. Steve hasn't been allowed in, so he doesn't know what they're saying, but he can hear the tone, knows it's angry. 

He's not sure what he did wrong, but it must be something, so when the door opens he flinches. 

Mom doesn't look happy, but she doesn't look unhappy, either, and Dad looks pleased, so he guesses it must not be something too bad.

“Come on, Steven, my boy,” his dad says, ushering him into the study. “I think it's time we trusted you with something.”

Steve perks up, eagerly following his dad into the office and over to the safe.

“Now, you know we lock our hearts in here every night to keep them safe,” his dad says.

Steve nods. “One day mine will be in there too.”

“That's right!” His dad is smiling again, but there's still something lurking in his eyes that makes Steve nervous. “But it's not just at night. We keep them here when we go away, too, and we need someone to stay here to keep them safe.”

The idea of being trusted with something so important outweighs the lingering nerves, and Steve lights up. “Me?”

“Of course! You're our son, Steven, the best of both of us! Who else would we trust with it?”

They still leave him alone, after that, more and more often, but Steve doesn't mind.

They trust him, and he's not going to let them down.

—

Steve doesn't really like keeping his heart in his chest. It's okay, for a while, but the longer it stays the more it feels like it's trapped - like his chest is too tight and he can't breathe, like he's more alone than he's ever been.

He doesn't think hearts were meant to be locked away, but his parents tell him different, so he listens.

They're just trying to keep him safe, after all, trying to make sure he's smart and strong and doesn't get hurt. 

—

"Ugh," Carol groans. "I'm so tired of my mom asking to see my heart at the end of the day. Like, I'm in middle school now, I don't need her checking if my feelings have been hurt."

"Mine still does it, too," Tommy grumbles. "Dad keeps telling her to knock it off at least."

Steve can't remember the last time his parents wanted to see his heart. 

"Mine leaves me alone now," he brags, because it feels like he should, even if his heart clenches painfully. 

"You're so lucky," Carol says wistfully.

"Already king of the castle, huh?" Tommy asks, jostling him with his elbow.

Steve snorts. "Yeah? If I'm king, what does that make you two? Prince and princess?"

Carol wrinkles her nose. "Prince and princess are for babies," she says. "We're not kids anymore." 

"What are we, then?" Tommy asks.

"Duke and Duchess," she says decisively. "I've read about them, they're like the second commands. The king's advisors."

"Yeah," Tommy says, bobbing his head. "We're like the royal court. The three of us can take on anything."

"Hearts out," Steve says. "That's what my dad says you have to do when you're entering into an agreement."

Carol and Tommy obey immediately, holding their hearts out in the middle of the little triangle they make. Steve holds his out with theirs. All three of them are a vibrant red, plump and solid - Steve's is a little deeper, a little fuller, than both of theirs, but he figures that's okay.

He's the leader, it should be different. 

"Now what?" Carol asks.

Okay, so, Steve doesn't exactly know. Still, he can guess, based on what his dad has mentioned about his business partners, and he confidently says, "Now we make sure all of us are worth dealing with. Liar's hearts are black, and people with hearts too broken to function are full of holes and scars, and hearts with no color can't be trusted."

The three of them inspect each other's hearts closely, then nod at each other. 

"We need to touch them, too," Carol says. "My mom says that's what you do with people you trust."

Steve isn't sure about that, but he figures it can't hurt, so they rotate hearts - Steve's to Tommy, Tommy's to Carol, Carol's to Steve, and then around in a circle until Steve's holding his own heart again.

It did hurt, a little. But it didn't feel bad, just a little scary.

It's okay, though, because it's Tommy and Carol. His Duke and Duchess, the royal court.

They'd never hurt him. 

—

"Hey Mom?" Steve asks the next time she's home when he gets done with school. "Do you want to see my heart?"

"What for?" she asks, a hint of confusion in her voice that doesn't show anywhere on her perfectly made up face. "Has it changed?"

Steve's shoulders droop a little bit. He set himself up for this one. "No," he admits reluctantly. 

She hums softly, more a vague acknowledgement than anything else, and goes back to pinning her hair up.

His mom and dad must be going out somewhere tonight. 

"Can I see yours?" he asks, wanting - something. He knows they'll lock their hearts away for him to protect before they leave, knows how much it means that they trust him with that, but sometimes he just wants to see them.

"Of course, darling," she says absently, pulling it out with a practiced motion and setting it on the vanity in front of him. 

It's still exactly the same as the last time he saw it. Steve glances over at her, but she isn't even looking at him. He bites his lip, then reaches out to touch it, his hand resting gently on top of it. 

His mom flinches, just the tiniest bit, but doesn't tell him to take his hand away. 

Steve frowns. "Does that hurt?"

"It always hurts when someone touches your heart, Steven," she replies. "That's why you need to keep it in your chest, why you need to be careful about who you let close to it."

He considers that. "But you let me touch it anyway."

"Of course," his mom says. "You're my Steven."

He likes the words, and if he were a little younger, he thinks they might fill him with warmth, make his heart flush even redder. But he's old enough now to recognize that tone - the same tone she uses when he hears her on the phone with one of her friends or one of her clients, and she thinks they're being stupid.

Steve isn't stupid. 

He pulls his hand away.

If his mom's heart hurts every time he touches it, then he won't reach for it anymore.

—

Steve is in eighth grade when they learn that people can't travel far from their hearts without suffering any ill effects.

Tommy's watched Steve's parents put their hearts in their safe and leave for dinner out while he was staying over, and he laughs when their teacher tells them that.

"Something funny, Tommy?" Mr. Clarke asks.

"Well, sure," Tommy says. "It's just that isn't true, right Steve?"

"Right," Steve agrees earnestly, eager to show off his knowledge on the subject. "Or it's not always true. Some people can go miles away from theirs, I've seen it."

He says people, and not my parents, because he knows better than to drop personal information like that in the middle of class. 

Mr. Clarke had been frowning at Tommy's laughter, but something about Steve's eagerness makes him smile. 

"You have?" Mr. Clarke asks. "Tell me more."

Aware that everyone's attention is on him now, Steve makes sure to slouch casually - he can't look too invested. "Well, they didn't just leave their hearts out in the open and unguarded. They left them with someone they trust to protect them."

Mr. Clarke's smile grows, his eyes lighting up a bit in excitement. "Ah! You found the loophole. Steve's right," he says to the rest of the class, making Steve preen just a little bit. "Heart exchanges! People can travel much further from their hearts if they're safely tucked away in the chest of someone else. They can even survive things that might have been fatal, if their heart was in their own chest."

He gives a little chuckle. "There's even anecdotes of things like soldiers leaving their hearts with their fiances as they go off to war, knowing they'll be kept safe. Romantic, if unlikely. There's been no conclusive evidence of someone able to survive such a distance from their heart for so long, even with the loophole."

Steve frowns. His parents have been gone weeks at a time, leaving their hearts safe with him. 

"What about if it's locked away in a safe, and guarded?" Steve asks. "I know - I mean, someone told me that would work."

Mr. Clarke frowns a little. "Even more unlikely, I'm afraid. There's some studies that have shown people can train themselves to go further and further from their hearts, but still not without ill effects." 

Kevin sneers. "Well it sounds like someone is a liar."

Steve bristles. 

Kevin Carson is the worst.

He's a bully. Both in the way that his dad taught him the word - the kids who are too stupid to realize that brute force will only get you so far in life - and in the way that makes Steve's stomach turn a little, choosing to pick on people who can't fight back. 

The last two years at Hawkins Middle, he'd have never gone after Steve. But Kevin wanted to be basketball captain, and Steve got it instead, and now Kevin's been dogging him every chance he gets.

It's starting to get really annoying. 

Before Steve can say anything, though, Mr. Clarke's moved over to Kevin's desk, frown deepening.

“You know better than that, Mr. Carson,” Mr. Clarke says, in his disappointed voice. “We don't ridicule anyone's curiosity journey in this class.”

Kevin scowls, but he mutters out an apology. Mr Clarke watches him for a moment longer before nodding, moving back to the front of the class to continue.

"Teacher's pet," Kevin hisses at him, loud enough for the others nearby to hear but not Mr. Clarke.

Steve's never really understood why that was a bad thing - why wouldn't you want your teacher to like you? - but he knows it is, so he grimaces.

"I just listen to Coach better than you," Steve replies. "Must be why I'm captain this year."

Kevin's expression shifts into confusion. "What?"

"You don't keep your grades up, and you're on the bench for the rest of the year." Steve shrugs, leaning back so he can show how pointless this conversation is - and open it up even more for others to hear. "Aren't you looking at an F in Mr. Clarke's class? Maybe you should have more enthusiasm for your curiosity journey."

—

Tommy punches Kevin at lunch that afternoon.

Someone starts shouting, "Fight, fight, fight!" and Steve and Carol look at each other, realize they can't find Tommy, and immediately go where the crowd has gathered. 

It parts easily as Steve and Carol push through to the center, where Tommy and Kevin are squared off warily against each other. Steve tugs at Tommy's arm, and Carol shoots Kevin a look as she helps herd Tommy off to the side.

“What happened?” Steve asks Tommy, voice low and urgent. 

“Kevin was trying to rally some of the team against you,” Tommy spits out. “Said that they should get you around back, teach you a lesson about the way things are supposed to work.”

Steve's stomach twists. It's not surprising from Kevin, but the rest of the guys are his friends.

“Did they agree?” Carol asks sharply, eyes flashing.

“No,” Tommy says. “They told him to shut up. But Kevin was going on about how you're not captain material.”

Okay.

Okay, that's better, Steve can handle that. Kevin's persuasive, but Steve can be, too, and Steve hasn't been picking fights that make the team have to run drills when Coach gets pissed at them.

He leans away, pivoting back to face the group.

“Seriously, Carson, again?” Steve demands, not bothering to hide how irritated he sounds. "You remember Coach has a zero tolerance policy for starting fights, right?" 

"I didn't start anything, he punched me first!" Kevin says.

"That's not what I heard," Steve says conversationally. "I heard you talking to the other guys, trying to get them to jump me while my back was turned. Didn't know you were a coward, Carson. You got something to say to me? Why don't you say it to my face?"

Kevin draws himself up and gets in Steve's face, and Steve hears Tommy curse and start to move forward, but Steve holds up a hand. 

Steve's not scared of Kevin, and he doesn't want Tommy to get in any more trouble. He juts his chin out, tipping his head to the side so he can look down at Kevin - Steve and Tommy started their growth spurts early, and it's only by an inch or two, but they're the tallest guys here right now. 

"You gonna hit me, Kev?" Steve says softly. 

"Maybe I will," Kevin says. "Maybe it's the only way to put you in your place. Your daddy gets you out of everything, but he can't get you out of a black eye, can he?"

Steve's not sure where anyone gets the idea that his dad gets him out of anything. His dad barely knows what's going on with his life - but he guesses he doesn't really have to, guesses it's more about his dad's reputation than anything else. 

Still, it turns his irritation into anger, and just a little bit of hurt, and Steve finds himself smiling.

"Black eyes fade, Carson. You know what doesn't?" He leans in, lowers his voice a little. "How's <lyour dad gonna react when you get kicked off the team, huh? Yeah, we all know he was a high school star - it's all he ever was - what do you think he's gonna say when you can't even be that?" 

Kevin looks like he's a second away from shoving Steve, and for a moment, Steve thinks - yeah, go ahead, come on. The stuff he's saying? Steve deserves to get shoved. 

But Kevin doesn't.

Steve pitches his voice back louder. "Starting fights at school and flunking science? Not looking good for you to play at all the rest of the year, Carson. And anyone who's not playing now can kiss their spot on the high school team goodbye."

"Yeah?" Kevin asks. "Who's going to go blabbing to Coach?"

Steve shrugs, giving a disappointed sigh. "I don't like it, but it's my duty as captain to tell Coach when someone isn't being a team player." 

It probably isn't. Technically, Steve isn't even officially the captain - their coach just wanted them to be prepared for what it's going to be like in high school, and the players all voted Steve as their unofficial captain. 

But he knows that Coach will appreciate that Steve is taking it seriously, if he does tell him about anyone affecting the rest of the team.

"What are you even pissed at me for?" Steve asks. 

It's a genuine question - he actually does want to know - but it comes out sarcastic, and he can't backtrack it. 

"Passing science? Not letting you walk all over me in Mr. Clarke's class?" he adds. "Or are you just trying to get the rest of the team to be a bully like you? You want to get them in trouble, too?"

Carol hip checks him, and - yeah, okay, he sees her point, he needs to end this before Kevin has a chance to spin things back in his favor. 

"You're not worth my time," Steve says with a sneer.

There's a beat of silence.

"Didn't you hear him?" Carol asks. "You're dismissed."

Kevin tries to pull a sneer, but with his split lip it looks more like a snarl. "Who died and made Steve Harrington king?"

Carol examines her nails, the picture of boredom. "Your spot on the high school basketball team, apparently."

“Give it up, Kevin!” someone calls out.

“Come on, man, I'm sick of having to stay late at practice because of you, can't you just chill out?” Mark Jefferson bitches.

There's a chorus of agreement, and Steve watches Kevin's face as he realizes he's not going to get any backup here. Anger flickers briefly in his expression before he rolls his eyes, huffs out “Whatever,” and stomps off.

Now that there's not going to be a fight, everyone else disperses, leaving Steve alone with Tommy and Carol.

"You need to tell me and Carol before you hit someone again, okay?" Steve says seriously. "Let us handle it first."

"Yeah," Carol agrees. "You'll get in trouble if you do it all the time - you have to only do it when someone really deserves it. When we tell you."

Steve doesn't want Tommy to hit anyone, no matter what, but he guesses Carol's right. 

He'll just have to keep an eye on them.

–

When he's home, he goes straight to his dad's study and stares at the safe.

He knows the code, but part of him doesn't want to open it up. If they lied to him about this - what else have they lied to him about? Did they think he was stupid, did they not care if he ever figured it out? 

But he knows he has to, so he opens it up, and stares at what's inside.

Nothing.

Of course his parents didn't leave their hearts with him to watch over, and he feels like an idiot for having ever fallen for it. 

Something in his heart cracks, but he ruthlessly ignores it, slamming the safe door shut again.

He doesn't care, he tells himself.

His dad's an asshole anyway.

–

Nancy Wheeler is the first person to truly hold his heart in her hands, without it hurting the slightest bit.

It makes it even worse when she calls him bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, and he feels his heart crack so deep he's not sure it will ever heal.

[bidisasterevankinard]

sentences sunday

I was tagged by @diazsdimples @midsummersmorn

guess what? I have sequel for this fix it mpreg (more likely 1 out of 3 sequels)

“Evan?”

His husband hums, still reading the wikipedia page, so Tommy takes the laptop from him, sitting it on his nightstand. 

“Hey, I was almost done,” Evan pouts and Tommy giggles, kissing this adorable face. 

“Sorry, babe, but I have something important I want to talk about with you while I am still brave enough.”

Evan rapidly blinks and Tommy grabs his hand, kissing Evan’s shoulder and then sitting on the bed, facing Evan and moving Evan so he faces him.

“Evan, you and Dany are the most important people to me. My greatest happiness,” his husband blushes and smiles and Tommy again asks himself how this sun hadn’t blind him yet. “For years, I was alone. Too lonely not just outside, but inside my body. Alone and scared. Scared to love and let people love me because it felt like I don’t deserve forever. Like I don’t deserve to keep happiness. Maybe not even feel it at all,” Evan nods, remembering their thousands of conversations after they got together, especially during therapy. “It took me a while to believe that you will stay. That I can keep you and Dany as long as I’m willing to work for it with you,” Tommy can’t stop himself from kissing his husband at this moment. “I have everything I wasn’t brave enough to dream and more than young, scared and pretty asshole Tommy deserved. And I promise it’s enough. But recently, I can’t stop thinking that maybe our family can have another little person?”

Evan adorably giggles, kissing his nose, “Tommy, are you asking about putting another baby in me?”

Tommy shakes his head in exasperation, but hugs Evan’s waist, “yes. I want another baby, because I think now is the best time as ever. I’m soon to be 45 and you are almost 36. I have only a year before I can go to retirement with a full pension. And my friend in the academy told me they would be happy to give me a job there. It’s a good schedule, not like shifts and I still will have good income, so money won't be a problem. Plus you think about applying for Lieutenant soon, as Bobby now actually thinks about retirement in a year or two as Athena planned hers too. And you need to study a lot for it. But before that we can grow our family and you would have time to grow in your career, studying during pregnancy, if you would want to do it again.” 

Tommy swallows, thinking if he's too selfish to add the next part or not. But he remembers he and Evan promised to have full open communication so he continues, but almost in a whisper.

“I also would be really happy to have a chance to share this experience with you,” he looks at Evan who nods to him with a sad smile. “We both know why I wasn’t here for you with Dany, and I left it behind. We left it behind, but I,” Tommy kisses Evan’s knuckles, “I really wish to have this experience with you.”

Evan, with wet eyes and one of the most bright smiles Tommy ever saw, kisses him before saying, “look at my browser history.”

Tommy frowns, but does as he is told.

And what he sees makes him chuckle with tears of joy falling from his eyes.

how to ask your husband about second baby

recommendations how to ask your husband about trying for second baby

how long it takes to get pregnant after stopping birth control

second pregnancy. what to expect

how to prepare your house for coming of second baby

how to prepare your oldest kid for coming of new one

Np tagging @powersuitup @hippolotamus @wikiangela @quintessenceofdust88 @theotherbuckley @weewookinard @queerbuck @repressedqueen @racerchix21 @typicalopposite @mmso-notlikethat @devirnis @loucifersbitch @lavenderleahy @bewilderedbuckley @bekkachaos @pirrusstuff @evansbuck-ley @desert--moonchild @actuallyitsellie @hyperfocusthusly @leashybebes @half-oz-eddie @bi-buckrights

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

A Song of Ice & Shadow

Part 13

You can read previous chapters here.

Summary: As Y/n spirals out of control, Feyre steps in, forcing a change that leaves the sisters at odds.

Warnings: substance abuse, mention of death, trauma, angst.

WC: 4 K.

A knock sounded on Y/n’s door. Then another, and another, insistent, until she finally opened it. She was high as hell on some new drug when she saw Azriel standing in the hallway. Squinting, she rubbed her eyes. 

“Am I hallucinating, or are you really here?” Her voice was languid, tinged with disbelief.

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, scanning her face. “What the hell did you take?”

Y/n shrugged, swaying slightly. “What do you want? I think it’s too early in the morning. I just fell asleep. Come back another time.” She moved to close the door.

A groan sounded from her living room, low and slurred. Azriel’s brow furrowed as he glanced past her. “Who’s in there?” he demanded, his tone sharp.

“I don’t know,” she replied with a lazy shrug, her lips curling into a careless smile. “I don’t usually let anyone stay over. I guess whatever I took was good enough to make me forget.” She let out a giggle, her hand hovering over the door as she moved to shut it again. But before she could, Azriel’s foot slipped into the gap, holding the door open. His expression hardened as he stepped inside, casting a critical gaze around the dim room.  This was the first time he’d been here, though there wasn’t much to see.The sparse, cluttered apartment revealed little about her, save for the state of the coffee table, scattered with substances potent enough to kill with a single wrong dose. He wasn’t sure if she was lucky or if she hadn’t taken much, but judging by the state she was in, he guessed it was the former.

On her couch lay a male, barely conscious, his eyes glazed. But one piercing look from Azriel sent him scrambling out the door. Y/n pouted, throwing herself onto the couch where the male had been seconds earlier. 

“Aww, you scared the poor thing,” she murmured with a mock scold. 

Azriel’s jaw clenched. “What the hell is this, Y/n?” He gestured to the array of vials and powders on the table. A flicker of anger shadowed his eyes, tinged with something close to concern. She shrugged.

“Feyre wants you at the house,” he informed her, his voice taut.

“Which one? Doesn’t she, like, own a dozen?” she replied with an eye roll.

“The new one.”

She smirked, “And why send their lap dog? Couldn’t she have come herself?”

His gaze darkened. “Feyre is High Lady of the Night Court. She has more important things to do.”

“Since this is not important, she can come another day. When she’s not so busy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need some sleep,” she muttered, closing her eyes and sinking back into the cushions.

“That’s not happening. I was specifically instructed to get you there by nine.”

She cracked one eye open, glancing at him with feigned irritation. “What time is it now?”

“Seven.”

“Then let me sleep for two hours, and then we can go.” She closed her eyes again.

Azriel folded his arms. “You need to look… presentable.”

“Fine. Whatever. Leave, and I’ll be ready by then,” she grumbled, rolling onto her side.

“The moment I leave, you’re going to fall asleep again.”

She huffed, opening her eyes fully to glare at him. “Fine. What will it take for you to stop talking?”

“You need to take a bath,” he replied, his voice still firm, ignoring her question.

Her lips curled into a smirk. “Well, I’m not doing that while you’re standing here.”

He sighed, his expression exasperated. “I’ll get you some food. Just be done when I get back.”

When he returned with breakfast, she was nowhere in sight. He assumed she was still in the bathing chamber and set the food on the small table before scanning her chaotic apartment. Fifteen minutes passed, and concern began to cloud his patience. He knocked on the bathing chamber door, once, twice, three times. There was no answer. Then he asked, his voice tinged with worry.  “Y/n, are you in there? I’m coming in.”

She finally spoke, her tone sharp. “Don’t you dare.”

He exhaled, relief barely masking his frustration. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

“Mother above, I was just relaxing,” came her indignant reply.

“Be out in five minutes,” he ordered.

Her laughter was faintly mocking. “I don’t take orders from you.”

Azriel’s patience thinned, his tone sharpening. He was done playing her little games “Let me make this clear: if you’re not out in five minutes, I will have to come in and get you.”

“You’re such a brute,” she muttered, but after a pause, he heard movement. 

She emerged a few moments later, dressed and looking marginally more awake. He handed her a cup of tea, his expression still neutral.

“Did you put poison in it?” she quipped, an eyebrow raised.

“If I wanted you dead, that wouldn’t be the way I’d go about it,” he replied dryly.

She chuckled, amused. “Oh? And how would you do it? Please, do tell.” 

Azriel’s eyes lingered on her, a brief flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “You really don’t care, do you?”

“What’s there left to care about?” she replied, her voice hollow. “And if you say my sisters, I will electrocute you.”

“You still have your powers?” His question was calm, but his eyes searched hers intently.

Her gaze shifted, guarded. “That is none of your business.”

—

The riverfront house loomed before them, its elegant structure casting long shadows under the morning sun. Y/n gazed up at it with a flicker of disdain. She had been here only once before, when Feyre had shown her around during its construction. They even had a room made for her, not that she’d appreciate it.

The rooms had felt cold and empty then, even with her sister’s warmth. Now, they felt like a cage.

Azriel led her inside without a word, his pace brisk and purposeful. The scent of fresh wood and lavender filled the air, but it only heightened her unease. The inside was as pristine and lifeless as she remembered. Her gaze flicked over the walls adorned with portraits, smiling faces of people she knew. But there were none of her, none of Nesta, and none of their mother. She felt the absence like a sharp knife to her chest. 

Y/n loved her mother dearly. With her, she had been different—kind, caring. Everything a mother should be. At least, that’s how Y/n remembered her. She had been four and a half when her mother had Nesta, and even at a young age, Y/n could recall how happy her mother had been before marrying her sisters’ father. He hadn’t been horrible to her; on the contrary, he had given her a luxurious life and loved her deeply. But she did not love him. She had married him for stability, and for Y/n’s sake, and then she had his children.

Although her mother grew colder with time, Y/n never felt the brunt of it. She had been her favorite, her constant, and she knew from a young age that she was destined to grow into a stubborn woman. Her mother had believed Elain would marry for love—she looked like a doll, after all. She trained Nesta to marry a prince and mostly ignored Feyre. Y/n, however, was simply allowed to be. She had been spoiled, indulged, never told no.

She had enjoyed dressing up, but not the attention that came with it. Balls were tolerated, not loved. She would attend one or two with her mother, then leave the rest for Nesta. She even endured dancing and etiquette lessons with her sister but never stayed long enough for them to leave an impression. They just didn’t interest her. What did interest her was adventure—exploring new places, finding hidden corners of their world. She had done that with her childhood friend. But that was a story for another time.

The scent of lavender snapped her back to the present, clashing with the memories that swirled like smoke in her mind. Those fleeting moments of joy and comfort felt so distant now, their warmth overshadowed by the cold reality of the house she now stood in.

Azriel led her into the spacious sitting room, where Feyre, Rhys, Amren, and Cassian were gathered, their expressions expectant. 

Y/n leaned against the doorway, crossing her arms as a smirk tugged at her lips.

“So, this is what kept you too busy to fetch me yourself?” Her tone was cutting, her gaze flicking to Feyre.

Rhys bristled immediately. “She doesn’t have to answer to you,” he snapped.

Feyre rested a calming hand on his arm, but her gaze remained steady on her sister. “You look like hell. I heard you had a rough night.”

Y/n tilted her head, her smirk widening. “That’s none of your concern.”

“It is,” Amren interjected, her voice like steel. “When you spend exorbitant sums on substances and parties...You and your sister.” She shook her head, clearly disappointed.

Y/n scoffed, ignoring her, and flicked her gaze back to Feyre. “Why is she even here?” 

“We’re here to have a discussion with you,” Feyre said evenly.

Y/n raised an eyebrow, feigning interest. “We? I don’t want to discuss anything with you.”

“You will sit and listen,” Rhys ordered, his voice cold.

Her posture straightened, her smirk vanishing. “Do not tell me what to do. I don’t take orders from you.” Her words were sharp, deliberate, and the tension in the room rose several notches. 

Cassian exhaled heavily, muttering under his breath. “Mother above. You are just like your sister.” 

Y/n turned to glare at him, her voice dripping with venom, “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Yet here you are, panting after her like a stray dog.”

“That is enough,” Feyre said sharply, her authority cutting through the brewing argument, before Cassian could respond. She turned to look at Rhys and the others. “I told you to keep out of it. You can either leave or stay and keep your mouths shut.” Then she focused on her sister again. “Y/n, you need to make some changes.”

“Like hell I do,” Y/n shot back.

Feyre softened her tone, standing up and taking a step closer. “Listen, I know you’ve had it rough. I understand how you’re feeling-”

“You understand nothing about how I’m feeling,” Y/n interrupted, her voice rising.

“Then talk to me,” Feyre pleaded. “Tell me.”

“I’d rather drown myself,” Y/n spat, her eyes flashing with defiance.

Feyre’s expression hardened. “And that’s exactly why things are going to have to change. Starting now.”

“Oh?” Y/n arched a brow, her smirk icy. “You think you can do anything about it?” 

Feyre squared her shoulders, her voice steady. “The life you’ve been living the past year is over. You will move to the House of Wind and train with Cassian and Nesta in Windhaven.”

A snort escaped Y/n as she shook her head. “Is this a joke?”

“No,” Feyre said. “Elain is packing your things as we speak. You’ll move in after this meeting.”

“I’ll do no such thing.”

Amren’s sharp voice cut through. “This is not up for negotiation.”

Y/n’s eyes narrowed, her defiance unwavering. “And if I refuse?”

“You’ll either go to the House of Wind or back to the mortal lands, Amren replied coldly, offering her the same deal they had offered Nesta.

“That’s not an option,” Feyre clarified quickly, casting a warning glance at Amren. Apparently, they forgot to mention to Amren that Y/n is not like Nesta. When it came to her pride, Y/n’s was a fortress, unyielding and absolute; she would sooner die than  allow anyone to tear her down. And seeing as she had wanted to leave long before the war with Hybern, this wasn’t an option. If they thought the threat of the mortal lands would deter her, they were sorely mistaken- she’d choose them in a heartbeat, and Feyre knew that.

Y/n’s grin returned, but it was colder, crueler. “Interesting. It’s like you knew what I’d choose.” She turned her mocking gaze to Feyre. “I’m not going back to that house.”

Feyre faltered for a moment. “Well, you can’t go back to your apartment either. You’ve burned through all your money,” Amren interjected coolly.

“Amren-” Feyre warned, her tone low, but Y/n cut her off.

“That’s fine,” Y/n said with a careless shrug. “There are plenty of ways to make money.”

“Rhys offered you so many positions, and you turned down every single one,” Feyre reminded her, her voice tight with frustration.

“And I never will. I will not work for your mate,” Y/n replied with a sneer.

“You wouldn’t last a day,” Cassian muttered. “Rhys could have every employer in Velaris turn you away with a single word.”

Y/n’s sharp gaze shifted to him, looking him up and down like he was nothing, a dangerous smile tugging at her lips. “And you think that would be a problem for me?” 

“I know it wouldn’t,” Feyre interjected. “And I know you’d rather go back to the mortal lands than face any of us or your problems, which is why that is not an option.”

Y/n’s smirk twisted, colder now. “Well, I’ll just walk there then.”

“Again, not an option,” Feyre repeated.

“So, what? You’re going to drag me to the House of Wind against my will?” Y/n’s voice dripped with mockery., her arms crossing tighter over her chest.

“If that’s what it takes,” Rhys said, his tone calm but his jaw tight with restraint.

“Lo and behold,” Y/n clapped her hands slowly, her smirk sharp. “The people fighting for freedom and free will are the same people who want to lock me up. Magnificent. Could’ve fooled me with that act.”

“Y/n, you’re not well,” Feyre pressed, her voice soft . “We’re not keeping you a prisoner.”

Y/n let out a short, bitter laugh. “Coming from the girl who let her ex lock her up for months and stayed with him? I don’t think you understand the definition of being a prisoner.”

“Do not talk to your sister like that,” Rhys said, his voice lowering as he rose up from his seat and took a step forward, his tone darkening. 

“Oh, so you and your self-righteous clowns are allowed to say and do whatever you like, but when someone else gives you a taste of your own medicine, you can’t handle it?” Y/n’s sharp gaze darted between Rhys and Feyre, her words deliberate.

Feyre took a breath, trying to steady herself. “Y/n, please don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

“What did you think was going to happen?” Y/n shot back, her words biting. “You’d just tell me to move in with that brute and Nesta, that I’d have no say in the matter, and I’d just thank you for it?”

“I- I didn’t want it to come to this,” Feyre stammered, the weight of her words visible in her expression. “But with the amount of money you’ve spent on your nightly activities-”

“Oh! There it is.” Y/n cut her off, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “You’re saying I owe you, aren’t you?”

Feyre flinched at the accusation but didn’t back down. She didn’t want to say that, but she knew  it was the only way Y/n would stay. If she felt like she owed someone a debt. So, she nodded.

“Because my life wasn’t enough for you. My help wasn’t enough?” Y/n’s said, her voice low, dripping with venom. “Fine, you got what you wanted. I’ll stay until my debt is paid.”

The silence that followed was heavy, every word reverberating in the space between them. Finally, Y/n’s tone dropped further, each word laced with ice. “I’d like a word with your High Lady. Alone.” This was the first time Y/n had called her sister that, the title a deliberate choice. The formality of it created a barrier, a cold, impersonal distance that made it clear just how far apart they had grown.

The others hesitated, exchanging glances, but eventually filed out of the room. Rhys lingered by the doorway, his dark gaze warning, before following the others into the hall. They stayed close to intervene, should things spiral out of control.

When it was just the two of them, Y/n spoke again. “Why the sudden care?”

“I’ve always cared, Y/n” Feyre reached out, her hand brushing her sister’s arm.

“Don’t touch me,” Y/n snapped, stepping back sharpy, her eyes blazing with something Feyre couldn’t quite name.

“Y/n, please. I’m your sister.”

“And you only remembered that now? Because I spent a little bit more than usual?” Y/n’s voice cracked slightly, but her expression remained hard.

“A little more than usual?” Feyre’s tone rose slightly, the tension breaking through. “Do you know how much money that was? How embarrassed I was when Rhys got the bill-”

“So that’s what this is about?” Y/n interrupted. “I embarrassed you in front of your new family?... I think you stopped caring about us the moment you became High Fae.”

“You think I stopped caring about you?” Feyre’s voice trembled, and for a moment, the hurt in her eyes was almost too much to bear. “If I did, would I allow you to stay here, disrespect everyone, spend our money recklessly, and destroy yourself?”

“We are here because of you!” Y/n shouted, the words spilling out in anger. “Sometimes, I wonder what our lives would’ve been like if you had stayed dead.” The words left her mouth faster than she could stop them. So cold, and sharper than any blade. It was the last thing she wanted to say to her sister, but now it hung in the air, irreversible. Feyre’s face crumpled, the weight of the statement hitting her like a blow. 

“Oh,” Feyre whispered, her voice barely audible. “I guess we’ll never know.” 

Y/n turned her gaze away, her expression unreadable, but her hands trembled slightly at her sides. “Once the debt is paid,” she said quietly, her voice devoid of emotion. “I want to leave. And I never want to see you again.” 

Feyre blinked, struggling to hold back tears. “Y/n, please-”

“No,” Y/n cut her off, her tone final. “We’re done.”

Y/n had perfected this- pushing away anyone who dared to show they cared about her. With those chilling words, she turned on her heel, striding to the door. She yanked it open and stepped into the hall, where the others stood waiting. Azriel’s heart ached at the sight of her in this state. He had stayed silent through it all, unable to find the right words or intervene in the confrontation. When she stepped out of the room, he couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed on the floor, the weight of his silence pressing heavily on him.

To Cassian’s surprise, Y/n didn’t say anything when he flew her to the house. The flight was quiet, the only sound the rhythmic beat of his wings and the rush of the wind. She stared right ahead, her posture tense but her face carefully blank.

They made sure to place Nesta and Y/n on two separate floors, seeing as they weren’t on speaking terms. No one knew why, and they didn’t dare ask. Feyre hoped they’d at least train together, but Y/n made it clear that she doesn’t wish to be in the same room as her sister. 

When they landed, Cassian let her step down before speaking. “You still have your Illyrian leathers from the war? You’ll need them tomorrow,” he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

“I’m never wearing that thing again,” Y/n replied, her tone icy.

“It’s going to be cold. You’ll need them.” He hesitated, clearly choosing his words carefully.

“You’ll be on your own floor. Nesta has settled in her old room. Mine is a level above, and Az’s is just down the hall from me,” Cassian informed her, his tone soft and cautious, despite the tension between them.

Y/n glanced around the sprawling House, her expression still unreadable. “He’ll stay here with us?” she asked flatly, her gaze flicking to the horizon.

“When he’s in Velaris, yes,” he replied, watching her closely. “Don’t worry, though. You won’t see him much.”

“Good.” Her voice was clipped, her eyes fixed on the mountains in the distance. But beneath her detached tone, a storm churned. The mention of Azriel, his proximity stirred emotions she couldn’t quite place, ones she had long since tried to bury. She had told herself it didn’t matter, that his presence or absence had no bearing on her. And yet, the idea of him being just down the hall brought with it an uneasy tension, one she refused to examine too closely.

Her gaze remained fixed on the distant peaks as though they could steady her. She couldn’t let her thoughts stray, couldn’t afford to acknowledge the flicker of something unfamiliar threading through her otherwise rigid defenses. It was nothing, she told herself firmly, Just an echo of some old familiarity. Nothing more.

Cassian tilted his head slightly, studying her before hesitantly asking. “Did something happen between you and Az?” 

Her head snapped toward him. “No. Why would you think that?” she replied dryly, her posture stiffening.

“It’s just… before the war, you two seemed to get closer and now-”

“Your observation is wrong,” she interrupted, her voice flat and dismissive. “There was nothing to begin with.”

“Whatever you say.” Cassian raised his hands slightly, signaling he wouldn’t push further. “You should eat something. You’ll need all the energy you can get for training tomorrow.”

“I’m not training with you. Especially not at that horrible place.”

Cassian’s brows furrowed, irritation flashing across his face. “Don’t you have a debt to repay?”

“I’d rather see that place burned to the ground than train there,” she snapped.

“You sound like Az,” Cassian muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he turned away.

—

That night was a horrible one for Y/n. She had nothing to dull the pain, to quiet the voices in her head, and mostly, to stop the nightmares. She screamed her father’s name in her sleep as she watched his death replay over and over again in her mind. 

Azriel had just returned from wherever he had been, and the sound of her screaming pulled him toward her room like a magnet. He stopped just outside her door, hesitating. He knew she didn’t want him there, or around, she had made that clear. She didn’t want his help, didn't want his presence, didn’t want anything to do with him since the war. But the sound of her suffering clawed at him, each scream like a blade twisting in his chest, a cruel reminder of how powerless he felt to reach her.

He debated whether to go in and wake her or just stand there and wait for the nightmare to pass. As another anguished cry shattered the silence, he decided to go with the former as he couldn’t just stand by and listen. He reached for the door, his resolve firm, until his shadows whispered, informing him that she had just woken up. 

His hand froze, hovering over the handle. Relief flooded him, but so did disappointment. He stood there, torn. He wanted to hold her, help her, tell her it would be okay, to be the comfort she wouldn’t let herself have. But he knew better. She would never let him in, not in that way- not now, not ever.

Inside, Y/n sat upright in the bed, her breathing ragged. She pressed her hands to her face, trying to block out the lingering images of her father’s death. The nightmares had been worse than usual, sharper, more vivid, without anything to dull the edges. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to steady herself.

Azriel lingered outside her door for a moment longer, his shadows brushing against the wood like a quiet offering of solace. When the silence in her room stretched, he finally turned and walked away, his footsteps silent as he made his way to his own quarters.

Tags: : @st4r-girl-official @judig92 @5onedirection5 @nayaniasworld @blackgirlmagicforever @stained-glass-eyes0708 @slytherintaco @aehllita @nebarious  @t0uch-starved-h0e @bravo-delta-eccho  @sylvermoon @going-through-shit @latinxbipride @i-am-infinite @azrielrot @fuckingsimp4azriel @theravenphoenix26 @hanatsuki-hime @fantanbietsson @rcarbo1 @weasleymagic @secretsicanthideanymore @spymaster03 @elaselat @minnieoo

[thelightsandtheroses]

one: florida!!!!

Call It What You Want | Frankie Morales x OFC

Summary: Daisy never expected to move to Florida but recovering from burnout in the sunshine state seems a good enough plan. Years after the death of her estranged half-brother, Tom, she finds herself agreeing to move in with Frankie Morales, Tom’s former army colleague and friend. Falling for her roommate, who is definitely keeping secrets about your brother’s death, may not be the best way to ensure a fresh start, or is it actually what they both needed all along? Chapter Warnings: 18+ blog MDNI, mentions of previous canon death and grief, references to corporate burnout Word Count: 3.7k Notes: Please note I am not from Florida, or even the US, so there’s a degree of creative license here, What I know about firefighting probably comes from 9-1-1, other firefighter shows, or google so please don’t think this is gong to be an accurate depiction of the Florida FD for Frankie. It’s fic, babes, let’s let me be a little self-indulgent. This is a rewrite of my first fic which felt too fast, too angsty and not the story I wanted to tell for a concept I really loved. It’s seen some considerable changes since then while retaining several themes, but I am so excited to share this and particularly this version of Frankie who has been rotting my brain for months and months 🔥 🔥🫠

Series Masterlist | Next. | A03

Palm trees, beaches and viral memes. That’s what I’ve always associated with Florida. It never struck me as a potential place I would make my home. I thought I might vacation there one day perhaps; some time in a distant future when I had a real grown-up life and family and we would go to the theme parks, buy overpriced merchandise and fried food and take cheesy photos before flying or driving home.

It’s funny how things work out though, isn’t it?

I pull into the apartment block with trepidation.

This is the fourteenth apartment I’ve viewed this week. Fourteen. I thought the market back in Chicago was bad but this is a whole new hellscape, or maybe it was easier because I knew more people back then. College roommates turn into post-college roommates and your circle is fully formed. It means you have people when you need to find a new place, there’s a whisper network, friends of friends.

I don’t have that anymore.

I want it though. I miss it.

I think I miss it.

The advert says that this listing is for a single room and the apartment is occupied by a group of young professional women. It’s the best option I’ve come across yet in my browsing of online postings which has taken me through several levels of Dante’s inferno. Facebook is just one above Craigslist in the hierarchy of the internet hellscapes I’ve seen recently.  One guy asked for my shoe size and asked if I routinely wore high heels before I could view the apartment. Safe to say, that one went off the list extremely quickly. It was a shame though - that listing had a double room and balcony, but I think I can see why it’s been listed for over sixty days now.

I haven’t had a roommate since college and this whole process has been a soul-crushing exercise on my already fragile self esteem. I don’t think I can take much more of this.

I take a deep breath. I’ve got this. I will find a room so I can move out of Molly’s and do something, anything with my life. Anything that’s not just existing in this strange purgatory I’ve found myself in. I’m potentially placing too much importance on the apartment here, but it’s a symbol, an omen.

It’s a fresh start. A signal to the universe that I’m here, that I’m doing something.

I feel like everything else I’m hoping and dreaming of can’t even start unless I have an apartment, and I can’t afford my own apartment and start a business so I need to find a roommate.

Maybe this is finally the one.

“It was so bad, Benny,” I say, taking a glug of lukewarm beer. “It was like being in high school over again, but worse. Infinitely worse!”

“Worse?” Benny tilts his head as he asks the question, something that only heightens my association between him and golden retrievers.

“Yes, because I’m not sixteen with a promise it’ll get better when I ‘find my people’ in college. This sucks. What was I thinking? Clearly I wasn’t. Maybe I should have stayed …” I trail off awkwardly.

“You were thinking that Florida is the perfect place to start over, which it is, Daisy,” he replies confidently.

Benny and his brother, Will, have played a considerable part in my move here. They served with my half-brother Tom.

Tom died more than five years ago - I don’t really know much about how it happened, Tom and I weren’t particularly close. There was an age difference, I sometimes felt he didn’t want me as a sister. I was only a reminder of his own parents’ relationship breakdown after all. I wish I could say we had that sibling bond but we didn’t. It’s clear to me his real siblings were the men in his team - he was their brother.

After his death though, Will kept in touch with me. I wondered if he thought he needed to fill a gap from Tom, if there was a sense of responsibility there. Tom never called me though except for birthdays and Christmas. I haven’t told Will that though.

It’s been nice feeling like I have a big brother. The irony isn’t lost on me that I feel this the most once my actual big brother is dead.

Will encouraged me to move down here, as did Molly, Tom’s ex-wife. They said I needed a fresh start and maybe they’re right.

I can’t remember the last time I felt like me. I’m not even sure what that feels like now, who I’m supposed to be and who I am really.

Florida seems a good place for reinvention though, for something new. I’m closer to the beach, to weekends spent with my toes scrunched in the sand as I sip coffee and read books. Days spent with Benny and Will

“Hey Benny,” A voice calls as I hear the front door open.

“We’re in here.“

“You remember Frankie, right?” Benny asks casually. “Tom woulda called him Catfish?”

“Uh, sure.” I don’t but I won’t admit to that. I remember the name vaguely, but that’s all. Tom wasn’t big on the details of his life with me.

“You probably saw him at the wake last,” Benny adds.

Even if it hadn’t been four years ago since I last saw him, all I can remember of Tom’s funeral is a procession of strangers and the continual vibration of my work phone as I stood in a strange graveyard. That whole day was a stark reminder of the distance between us, that my own blood was a ghost to me even when he was alive. It bought me Molly, Tess and Will though.

Frankie walks in. He’s a little older than Benny but younger than Tom was. He’s all dark eyes and curls peeking out through a battered baseball cap; softly tanned skin and that smile … that smile is something. If he could bottle that up and sell it, I’m pretty sure he’d find a captive market.

“Frankie, you remember Daisy, right? She’s moved here,” Benny says. “She’s starting a coffee van.”

“Uh - yeah.” Frankie has no clue who I am, but his efforts to conceal that are admirable. “Now you mention it, Will might have said something about that. You’re uh, staying with Molly for now, right? You were in Boston before?” I nod, wondering what Will has exactly said to Frankie about my move. “A coffee van?”

“Eventually,” I add nervously, “It’s a whole process. So, I’m actually just temping for now while I get things sorted.” I have no idea why I’ve told him that, why I still want to introduce myself based on my career, on my outward accomplishments. I’m almost surprised I haven't tried to find an old business card in my pocket or referred him to my LinkedIn profile where it neatly lists all my employable skills and experience.

 Daisy is highly skilled in project management, board engagement, data analysis  and most of all completely falling apart all of the time, but she makes a mean slide deck. Plus, guess what, she’s open to work!

“Oh, right, cool.”

“Frankie works for the fire department. He’s a firefighter pilot now,” Benny says. “Out here making me look bad.”

“Aw, I keep telling you don’t need my job to do that, Benny.”

Benny laughs heartily and throws a cushion at Frankie who catches it with ease and a raised eyebrow.

“Well, that’s definitely cooler than paperwork and admin.”

“Not really,” Frankie says, “I mean, it’s not really cool if you know what I mean.”

“Oh,” you say with a groan, “that might be the most dad joke I’ve heard.”

“It’s a classic though,” he replies lightly. “You got a soda, Benny?”

“Fridge. Wait, I just had a brilliant idea,” Benny suddenly interjects with a grin. “I mean, I’m a genius.”

“Oh yeah?” Frankie asks, one eyebrow quirking up. “About soda?”

“No, no, no. You need a roommate, right?”

“Yes?” Frankie replies slowly with the seasoned reluctance of someone who knows exactly what Benny’s brilliant ideas usually result in.

“Daze needs a room, you need a solid roommate, voila!” Benny makes a complicated hand gesture and smiles widely.

It seems too simple, too obvious but despite the terrible apartment earlier, my heart races as I wonder what if Benny’s onto something.

“Benny, I’m sure Daisy would -”

“How soon is it available?” I ask.

“Uh, immediately. My last roommate moved in with his boyfriend, which is great for him, but I’ve been struggling to find anyone suitable for it since then.”

“Suitable?” Immediately flashbacks of the weird Craigslist ads come back to me, please don’t say Frankie is going to say something odd. “What do you mean, suitable?” I really hope Frankie isn’t actually the weird shoe size guy from Craigslist.

“I have a kid who stays with me regularly. I need someone I can trust, someone safe to be around him, and someone who’s not going to be a …”

“Frankie wanted to mandate a background check,” Benny interrupts, before raising his hands at Frankie’s expression. “I said I got it! Perhaps, if you interrogated people less though ….”

“I’m not gonna apologise for prioritising my kid.”

“So, do I need a background check to apply then?”

“Nah,” Benny says, “you’re Tom’s sister, right Frankie?”

There’s a comforting weight to his words. The conviction in his voice, the simple answer that takes it for granted that maybe I’m not one of them, but I’m adjacent at least. It feels unfamiliar. I’ve never been Tom’s sister, not to Tom at least.

I feel as though I’m wearing someone else’s skin, another identity, and it’s alien but comforting. It’s an identity I never knew I could wear. One I never even knew was an option.

“You’re actually considering this then?” Frankie asks, eyebrows raised.

“Well, yeah. Benny’s heard all about my nightmare of an apartment hunt so far… unless, I mean. If you don’t want to then that’s fine.”

“Alright Tom’s sister,” Frankie begins with a soft smile.

“Daisy.”

“Daisy. “I’ll send you the info. let me know whether you’re still interested then. No pressure.” His voice is honey smooth, low and there’s something else.

His eyes.

They’re kind. Soulful even.

“I’m interested,” I say without thinking. “I’m definitely interested.”

Of course life isn’t as simple as just being interested in the apartment and one magically falling into my hands. Frankie texts me the information which is sadly towards the top end of my truly pitiful budget but includes a double room, furnishings and the apartment has a balcony which in itself is a big reason enough to say yes. I instantly conjure up a romantic image of me sipping from a steaming mug of coffee in the mornings, watching the sunrise.

It’s farcical. I hate the sunrise, or at least being up at that time. I’m not a morning person at the best of times. 

Frankie says there’s a beach view from the balcony though … if you squint, lean one arm and twist at a very precise angle. It’s something he has advised he doesn’t recommend without exceptional health insurance though so that’s definitely off the table for now. He mentioned it’s close enough that the landlord said it was a coastal view but it’s clearly not really.

Texting him feels so easy - there’s a lightness to the conversation, even as we talk about something as serious as becoming roommates. It’s why I’ve agreed to this - the next step and the one that is now filling me with dread.

The coffee shop we decided to meet at is halfway between his place and Molly’s. I haven’t been here before but I mentally take notes of the roast, of the general ambience. The brownies look amazing - the perfect combination of a fudgy middles and the solid crackly top that immediately calls to me.

It’s a neutral space though, one where we can finally make a decision of am I becoming Frankie’s roommate or not.

I think I want to.

I really can’t take another week of Craigslist -especially after watching that true crime documentary last night.

I twist the empty sugar packet into a knot, only looking up as the doorbell chimes. I see Frankie immediately.

He’s wearing a baseball cap, dark hair curling out from underneath and the Florida FD hoodie he’s wearing looks particularly well worn, comfortable. I can almost imagine how it smells.

No. No. This is a roommate negotiation.

“Hey,” Frankie says as I stand up to greet him. I immediately panic - is this a hug situation, that feels too familiar, but a handshake feels like an awkward callback to my corporate days. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.

“Oh, you already ordered?” Frankie asks.

“Yeah, sorry, I got here a bit early. Overestimated the traffic. I haven’t been here long.” Frankie looks at my almost empty mug of coffee, cocking one eyebrow.

“No worries. Do you mind if I grab a drink though? Want another?”

“Oh no, I’m good, thanks.”

“Okay.”

He walks over to the counter and I sit down and watch him carefully. This is a test really, an opportunity to try and work out his personality further. Does he talk to the barista? Is he cold or insufferable? Is he rude? These are all qualities I should be able quickly establish in just a few moments. Mum always taught me to notice these things on a date, to tease out those basics in the early days. Not that it’s foolproof. Not always at least.

Frankie seems. pleasant though, laughing with the barista but there’s almost a shyness about him. I don’t get it. From how Benny described him - a pilot, a firefighter pilot no less, I would have expected him to be as extroverted as Benny.

Frankie’s a surprise though. There’s a quietness to him, a slow and careful evaluation in each glance, in how he takes in the cafe around us as he sits opposite me. He’s assessing everything too and it occurs to me that as much as I’ve set this meeting up to work out if I can live with him, he’s doing the exact same thing.

The people pleaser in me instantly calls to attention, ready to perform and be perfect, be liked. To succeed. Automatically I straighten my posture, try and remember my very best table manners. I prepare to perform.

“What’s your poison?” I ask, which is a phrase I never use and an immediate sign I need to shift out of performance mode.

“Just an Americano.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t approve?”

“no, I guess it’s fine. I mean, I would personally recommend a pour-over and filter coffee than a watered down espresso. Something like a V60 or a -”

“I see what Benny meant about the coffee truck.”

“I’m not judging!”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, only judging a tiny bit. Mostly I’m rambling. I’m just - I’ve never got the watered down espresso thing.”

“It’s got two extra shots in if that helps,” he confides with a smirk, “I was on shift yesterday.”

“Oh, we could have arranged this for later -”

“It’s fine. The shift wasn’t too bad, even got a few hours sleep!” Frankie empties sugar into his coffee and smiles up at me.

“How did you end up in the FD then? I don’t – I don’t remember it from before.”

Frankie pauses, twisting the empty sugar packet in his hands. The silence holds just long enough I worry I need to change the conversation before he speaks. “A couple of years ago I needed a change. It’s been good, much better than commercial helicopter flights for rich people.”

“Making a difference?”

“Trying to.” A ghost passes over his eyes. I immediately realise the link - Tom. His death. Was that the trigger for Frankie joining the fire department?

“Anyway, the apartment -” Frankie starts, reaching for his phone, “I took some new photos this morning.”

His wallpaper is him with a small boy. His son. I take in the wide toothy smile on his photo, the bright shine in his eyes and the same features I can see in Frankie, accompanied by a head full of brown curls.

“Felix,” Frankie says, a soft smile on his face.

“He looks like you.”

“Poor kid.”

“No, I mean - uh, how old is he?”

“Four and a half. He stays with me on alternate weekends, if I’m off shift, and sometimes in the week if his mom’s working late or something. A lot of it depends on my work patterns but that’s the general rule of thumb.” He wrings his hands together and I wonder what the story is there.

I have limited experience with children to say the least.

I’ve reached that point where half of my friends are parents, sharing photo after photo on their social media and speaking a whole new language. In contrast, the rest of my friends appear still mentally stuck in their early twenties party mindset. I’ve never been sure where I fit in with that; I’m definitely not a huge partier, but that sort of responsibility and commitment has filled me with anxiety. Maybe it’s my choice in friendships, in love.

I try not to think about it too much, the friendships left to dust over, the dates I was too scared to go on. I threw myself into my work instead because it felt safer somehow. I defined myself by my career and made that the only metric that matter.  I poured all of myself into the corporate world for all those years and it turns out I was naive. So naive. I actually thought they cared about me.

It’s hilarious in hindsight. Now I’m in Florida without even a leaving card to commend the efforts I put in. I’m a barely remembered spectre in the place I once thought I was indispensable in. A shameful secret swept under the rug. A never repeated name.

I can’t go back to that world again.

“Are you okay?” Frankie asks, concern creasing his brow. Great, five minutes into talking about becoming roommates and he already clearly thinks I’m disturbed.

“I’m fine, sorry, must have drifted away for a second.”

“Happens to us all,” he says lightly. “So, is that a problem?” Frankie folds his arms and I get the clear sense that he’s annoyed, that I’ve missed an important cue somewhere.

“Is what a problem?” I ask.

“Felix staying at the apartment, because sorry but it’s a non-negotiable”

“No, not at all. No, I just … I drifted away, like I said.”

“Right.”

Great, this is the first apartment that feels reasonable, and Frankie seems like a nice person and I’m wrecking it. Somehow at best, I’m managing to come across as scatty and someone who doesn’t listen, and a child hater at worst.

I need to get out of Molly’s. I need to make Florida work for me.

“I do that sometimes,” I say quietly, “It doesn’t mean I’m not listening, or anything. It’s just … it’s just something that happens. I don’t have a problem at all with Felix or …. it’s your home, Frankie.”

He pauses. “If you take the room, it’s yours too though.”

“And I get why you’re being careful about who takes the room because of that. Look, I can’t promise I won’t secretly judge your coffee choices, or leave coffee grounds everywhere, or watch really terrible TV from time to time, but I …”

“You don’t have to explain. I get it.”

“You do?”

“I do.” Frankie smiles. “So, you’re still interested in the room then? You really wanna do this? I thought Benny might be putting you up to this and I won’t be offended if you don’t want to live with some random guy.”

“Benny keeps reminding me you’re not though, are you?”

Frankie shrugs and looks away, something flashing over his eyes briefly that feels a little haunted.

Since moving back to Florida, I’ve realised that, at least for Benny and Will, Tom’s death is still an open wound even now. It makes me feel worse sometimes because Will was so kind to me after the funeral, so keen to ensure I knew they’d be there if I needed them, that I could rely on them in Tom’s absence and I didn’t know how to say I’d never been able to rely on Tom. My brother spent his life a half-stranger to me and I feel like a fraud pretending we were real siblings.  In five and a half years, the Millers and my brother’s ex-wife have been more of a family to me than Tom ever was.

“It’s okay,” Frankie says, “I’m sure you’ve got far better roommate options.”

“I actually really don’t. One guy asked for foot pics, and these women kind of judged me because I wasn’t corporate enough anymore, so I don’t have a wealth of better options.”

Frankie frowns slightly.

“It’s a brutal market. And your place looks… nice and you seem like you wouldn’t ask for -”

“Some guy really asked for that?”

“I blocked him, it’s fine. It’s the internet, Frankie.”

“Sometimes I fucking hate that thing.”

“Yeah, but I like being able to shop in my pyjamas.”

Frankie laughs. “Okay, fair point. So, Daisy, do you want the room? ‘Cause if you do, it’s yours.”

My heart races. The room is mine? It’s not just that I’ll be escaping from feeling like a perennial thorn in Molly’s life, but it’s a beginning. Finally I have the chance to make something here, to be Daisy 2.0 and leave the corporate burnt out husk of my old self in the rearview mirror.

“You don’t have some weird neighbour who plays the bagpipes at 3am?”

“No, I don’t have one of those. It’s a normal building.”

“Good, just wanted to check. Okay then, yeah, I think I do. Want the room that is.”

“Great. I’ll get the agreement emailed over to you and we’ll go from there.”

“This is going to be good”

“Yeah, yeah it is.”

I think this might be the handshake part.

Tag List

If you would like to be added to to my overall taglist please let me know - I am no longer creating individual fic taglists though. As a reminder this blog is 18+ - minors do not interact and I block blank/ageless blogs. Tag lists are a bit funky at the moment, so I recommend following me or my fic account @thelightsandtheroses-fics (you can enable notifications for that account) if you want to ensure you're up to date

Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed @pedrostories @hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk @pastelnap

[awynter]

“You might not want to fire all of them,” She teased. “We might need them if they don't come off any faster." As patient as Anne prided herself on being, she couldn't help but grumble at how many layers of clothing they collectively had. If she were any less of a lady, she might've resolved herself to tearing the fabric off their bodies and making a pile of shreds on the floor. But she didn't want to behave like a savage. Not yet, anyway. For the time being, it was better to be patient. She'd waited this long, she could manage to wait a few more moments.

“Take.. them… off.” She tilted her head and repeated her words in a playfully stern tone, scolding him like a disobedient child. She held his gaze until he moved to comply with her demands, earning a pleased smile from Anne. Despite the height difference, she stared up at him with confidence, big blue eyes drinking him as if he were the only man on earth.

It took all the strength she had not to burst into a fit of giggles at their clumsy choreography. To a third party, she could only surmise they resembled some strange exotic mating call, with trembling limbs and an inability to keep their lips apart. While he stumbled about to free himself of his clothes, Anne seemed intent on distracting him with fervent, desperate kisses.

“I don’t care about a new one.” She breathed against him and shook her head. Torn clothing was a problem for later. Right now all she was him. She focused on unclasping the hooks around her waist and allowed the slightly torn binding fall to the floor. With her corset gone, the remaining layers of her skirt came loose and she quickly shimmied free of them. With a deft kick, she slid the discarded garments away. Left in only her chemise, Anne turned her attention back to him, eyes hungry and eager as she dropped to her knees.

It had been so long since she’d pleased someone like this and yet it all felt so natural with Ben. She wanted to please him, to worship him and show him how important he was to her. It had been a while since she'd acted on her desires, but she knew it would all come back to her.

George had sputtered commands the first few times she'd surrendered to his advances, but Anne had eventually gotten the hang of things well enough after a while to shut him up. But she didn’t want that with Ben. She didn’t want to shut him up, she wanted to make him moan, to hear his voice in her ears and his breath on her neck until it was louder than the ghosts in her head.

With nimble fingers, she lifted the hem of his shirt again and let out a deep, contented sigh when she saw his bare arousal. Anne bit her lip to suppress a smile, pleased to see he was as excited as she was, but she couldn’t help making a joke as she curled her fingers around his erection.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were happy to see me.” Anne shot him an upward glance and grinned as she licked her lips. Her body was torn between a million desires. She wanted to touch him, to feel every inch of him with her hands, but she also wanted to kiss him until no air was left in either of their lungs. She wanted to trace her tongue over every curve and dip in his flesh, but she also wanted to stare at him, to drink him in until she had ever corner of his existence committed to memory. She wanted him, in every sense of the word, and her devotion showed through her steady, determined strokes. “Does this feel okay?”

Anne became more confident, assertive, which in turn, eased the residual worry in Benjamin's mien as he struggled to shed his outer garments.

"Every tailor on earth should be fired," he muttered, his fingers catching anxiously on each individual button on his waistcoat. Flashing her a shy, good-natured smile, he added, "Or at the very least, just ours. If I'd known what was coming tonight, perhaps I wouldn't bothered with all the proper layers."

“Don’t worry...” Anne's expression grew impish as she tended to the lacing on her bodice, her mouth briefly meeting with his in another impassioned, eager kiss before she broke away with a soft nip at his lower lip. Her fingers made quick work until her top layer was discarded. “Luckily for you, I’m an excellent teacher.”

Benjamin grinned, his laughter soft and husky. "What, are you trying to outdo my educational prowess in my own home?"

Not that he minded. God, he'd never minded less in his entire life...

With little regard for "the proper way of things," Anne took him by the shoulders and smeared a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses along his neck, her hands fumbling with his breeches as he bit back a soft curse. Helpless, Benjamin arched into her touch, grinding his swelling bulge into her palms just as he heard her husky command.

Breathless, Benjamin echoed, "Take them off?" With a pointed tug at the lacings on her corset, he insisted, "I think I have far more pressing issues to resolve..."

Disregarding his clear desire, Anne was quick to yank the hem of his shirt free from his breeches, her eyes wild with mischief as she purred, “I’ll take care of the rest, I promise.”

Suddenly not caring quite so much about the why and the how, Benjamin eagerly attacked the buttons along his fall front, unfastening them in a clumsy rush of one, two, three, four, five, before the fabric dropped downward, and he wriggled the breeches down past his hips.

Devouring Anne's sweet kiss, he struggled to unbuckle his knee bands without parting from the addictive plunder of her tongue. He met her need with equal enthusiasm, keeping his lips fastened to hers while in an awkward, almost impossible physical feat, he lifted one leg, unbuckled the knee band, and then after righting himself, he repeated the process with the other.

Relieved once his breeches slid down to the floor, Benjamin impatiently returned his attentions to her damned corset, his hands nearly ripping the ribbons amidst his haste. "I'll buy you a new one," he muttered into their kiss.

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/767420735500271616/so-the-thing-with-content-is-that-is-literally?source=share

The thing that makes the jellyfish hat content is that it is an object containing paper mache, fabric, cardboard, and the assorted accoutrements of jellyfish hat-making (the optional but popular add-ons go listed here in your head).

and implies that the container is more relevant in this specific context than the thing contained

No. that's not an implication. That's a thing you're making up in order to have an excuse to get angry about someone using a word you don't like, but it's not true. If I say, "I dumped open the contents of the box onto the floor", it is very easily discerned by most readers I am looking for something specific that is within the contents of that box. It is insanity to insist that the word content = the container being the most important thing on Earth. If I write "he opened the small box, revealing its' content: a single, small wedding ring" and you think the box is the focus, I just flat-out don't know what to tell you.

Setting that aside: holy shit, please calm down. I'm a bit busy with organizing resources for my local trans community at the moment but I promise you, there are worse problems than someone using a word you don't like. There was an election this year - don't know if you noticed - that impacts real people. Looking at all your anon and off-anon replies, the thing I keep thinking is, "Holy shit, who fucking cares? There are actual issues going on in the world right now!"

The fact that something I sent in during a ten minute snack break at work and quickly forgot about lives rent-free in your head to this degree days after it was said is highly, highly concerning. I cannot convey enough to you how much I did not mean to set off an episode in you, and at the same time, I am also very genuine when I say this may be a hill you're willing to die on, but it's not a hill I'm willing to kill you on. I kill people on important hills and jellyfish hats ain't it, chief.

It's wild to spend my time IRL trying to help people figure out what to do if our state makes it illegal for them to get HRT in-state and then pull up my phone and see someone this pressed about the word "content". Surely your life also has an important issue you could spend time on? No one is having a particularly good time right now. Maybe focus on a thing with literally any relevance to your quality of life whatsoever? I know that sounds glib. However, having had manic episodes where one thing someone said to me sent me over the edge, I'm not being glib. I really mean it when I say that redirecting your focus onto something important helps snap you out of it. It's how I got myself out of it before I was able to get medicated for my Bipolar Disorder. I take zero joy in seeing someone forth at the mouth because one person said one word and that made them spiral. I really do apologize, and I can see that this panic is a very real, valid emotion on your end. But 'valid' here is used only in the sense of 'I believe you when you say you feel panicked', not 'the panic is a logical, proportionate response to the trigger'. (As a side note, after this many anon and off-anon messages indicating fixation and extreme emotional overinvestment, I don't want anyone saying I misused the word trigger. This is not a proportionate response to someone using one word you dislike.)

The jellyfish hat contains materials needed to construct a hat. It doesn't need ads or legal agreements in order to contain cardboard, paper mache, etc. You are trying to make a mountain out of a molehill. Likely, you are taking your anger at something that actually matters and redirecting it onto this, a thing that does not matter. I'm not saying that in judgment - we all do it - but I am not going to be replying to this further. You may have a desire to use other people's words as an excuse to spiral but you'll have to find someone else to use the reason you're losing your shit.

The hat contains the materials needed to construct a hat. It's not that deep.

--