#more than 5 chapters real not fake ???

[emberunderscore]

chat it has come to my attention that i am doing lots

[alygator77]

ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 2 ᰔᩚ

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex » 【note, there is physical & emotional intimidation in this chapter (from naoya not satoru), this is a form of domestic abuse, reader discretion advised】

ꨄ words: 12.5k

ꨄ a/n. firstly, wow thank you so much for all your kind words on ch 1 :") secondly, this series may be more than 3 chapters (maybe more like 4 or 5?) idk i'm still working out the pacing rn bc i really want the relationship to feel fluid and natural. this chapter ended up being much longer than i anticipated 😅 but as always, i would love to hear your thoughts and hope you enjoy ♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

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ch 2 // under the spotlight

Becoming a mother makes you realize you can do almost anything one-handed—though honestly, sometimes you wish you had an abundance of limbs.  

Especially now. Your apartment is a whirlwind of activity – scattered toys, half packed bags and the remnants of breakfast still on the table. You’re in the middle of prepping your daughter’s essentials, trying to make sure you don’t forget anything important. Her preferred snacks, extra clothes, diapers, and a few of her favorite toys all stuffed into a bag.

“Mama, mama, look!”

Haru’s innocent voice rings out like a melody amidst your morning clamor. Halting your frantic movements, you’re drawn to her face, lit up with pure joy as she holds up her beloved Pikachu plushie. The bright yellow toy bounces in her hands as she makes it dance.

Her innocence provides a brief, much-needed, calm to the storm of nerves brewing inside of you. After all, today’s the day you’re meeting with Satoru and his lawyer to finalize the marriage contract. Your marriage—weird.

It feels odd saying it, the word foreign on your tongue. Marriage is a concept you never thought you’d be rushing into, especially not like this.

Once upon a time, you thought you’d marry Naoya Zenin.

Back then, you were so in love with his charm, his confidence, and the way he seemed to have everything figured out. But reality had a way of shattering those illusions.

His charm turned to arrogance, his confidence to control. It wasn’t long before you realized he cared more about owning you than loving you, and now you’re left with nothing but heartache and a broken family.

But amidst your turmoil you found a precious gift—Haru.

Her infectious giggle is a stark contrast to the chaos within your mind—it always manages to pull you back from your whirlwind of worries.

You’ll do anything in your power to keep her smiling, even if that means marrying Satoru Gojo, the man who is guilty for an abundance of your headaches.

With a deep breath, you zip up your duffle bag and turn to Haru who is lovably babbling to Pikachu.

“Come here, sweetie,” you say, kneeling down with her small jacket in your hand.

She toddles over to you, clutching her comforting plushie, eyes wide and curious.

Easing her tiny arms into the sleeves, you gently help Haru into her jacket.

“We’re going to meet some new friends today,” you tell her softly, fastening the buttons with care. “One of them is named Mr. Gojo.”

“Mr. Gojo?” she echoes, face scrunching up in concentration.

Truth be told, you weren't planning on bringing Haru to this meeting, but you’re faced with a lack of options, especially since technically, you’re fired.

Well… temporarily.

Until Satoru rehires you, paying the nanny isn’t feasible with your already stretched finances, Utahime, your ever-reliable friend, is unavailable. Your neighbor, who sometimes steps in to help, is out of town, and your mom is… your mom – as undependable as ever.

At this point you'd rather be caught dead than call Naoya again.

Calling him yesterday, when your nanny bailed, was a moment of pure desperation, a lapse in judgment driven by the chaos of the day and the fear of getting fired. Not your proudest moment.

It’s no surprise he’ll likely use it against you—hold it over your head like a weapon. It’s a pattern you’re all too familiar with.

But today marks the beginning of a new chapter, one that you’re determined to make the best of for both you and your daughter—once this marriage is finalized, you’ll be back to earning a steady income again.

A sigh escapes your lips as you focus back on Haru, her innocent eyes look up at you expectantly.

“Yes, Mr. Gojo,” you repeat, giving her a reassuring smile as you reach down to tie her shoelaces. “We’re going on an adventure today, just you and Mommy.”

“An adventure!” Haru cheers, clapping her hands in unbridled excitement.

Just as you pull the last loop tight, a knock reverberates through the front door, startling you. It’s unexpected, you weren’t anticipating any visitors.

With a deep breath, you twist the handle and pull the door open. The sight that greets you sends a cold wave of dread crashing over you, your heart pounding in your chest.

Speak of the devil—Naoya.

He has an uncanny knack for impeccable timing, always appearing when he’s least wanted.

His presence is as imposing as ever—a smirk crowned on his lips, posture relaxed, hands in his pockets—exuding an air of ownership over everything that’s around him.

As if he owns you.

Damn it. You really can’t deal with this right now; you don’t have the time. Satoru is expecting you, and you need to get moving.

Leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe, he surveys you with that annoyingly smug expression plastered upon his face.

"Well, well, if it isn't my two favorite girls," he drawls, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

The frustration you feel from Naoya is vastly different from what you experience with Satoru. With Satoru, it's harmless—like dealing with a mischievous child. But with Naoya, every sight of him makes you want to flee, as if each encounter is a battle you barely survive. He reopens old wounds that never truly healed, leaving you raw and exposed.

Every fiber of your being screams in protest at the sight of him, but you force yourself to maintain composure—refusing to let him see the effect he has on you.

"What do you want, Naoya? I really don’t have time for this today."

Turning away from him, you begin gathering the last of Haru’s things with brisk, precise movements, making it clear you have no intention of prolonging this interaction.

He steps inside, smirk widening with satisfaction and tone laced with mock concern.

"Just thought I'd drop by and see how you're managing. Got your message. Heard you were looking for a babysitter yesterday.”

As expected—you’re really kicking yourself for calling him. His false sympathy only heightens your irritation, grating on your nerves as the condescension drips from his words like venom.

If you weren’t already leaving, you would slam the door right in his smug face.

Gritting your teeth, you attempt to keep your tone steady, for no one other than Haru.

"We're fine, Naoya. We don’t need your help."

In hopes to end this conversation quickly, you grasp Haru’s hand and attempt to brush past him. But he sidesteps, effectively forbidding your path to the door, looming like an unwanted shadow.

"Still as stubborn as ever, I see. How’s that working out for you?” he scowls as he peers through your apartment, “This place is a mess. And you don’t look like you’re dressed for work. Lost your job already?”

His words hit a nerve, you feel your cheeks flush with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

"We are managing just fine. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have somewhere to be."

But he wasn’t going to let you go so easily. His expression darkens, and as you repeatedly try to step past him, he halts you yet again, blocking your way like an insurmountable wall.

"And where exactly are you going? Shouldn't you be at work today?"

"That's none of your business. I really need to go," you retort, lifting your chin assertively as you force your way past him. Your shoulder brushes against his in a deliberate act of defiance.

The moment you cast him aside, he immediately pursues after—but choosing to ignore him, you close the door behind you, turning the lock with a decisive click.

As you start leading Haru towards the elevator, you adopt a brisk pace in hopes to put as much distance between you and Naoya as possible.

But he raises an eyebrow, smirk widening as he traverses after you. You hear his footsteps echoing down the hallway of your apartment complex.

"Oh, I think it is my business. Especially when it concerns my daughter."

Oh, please.

It’s painfully ironic how he pretends to care about Haru only when it suits him.

After you served him child support papers, he had the audacity to demand a DNA test, claiming he needed ‘proof’ that Haru was his. Of course, something like that takes time for the judge to arrange.

He knew that damn well—it was just another ploy to delay the process further.

As anger bubbles up within you, a scoff escapes your lips, teetering on the edge of a bitter laugh.

"Oh, so she’s yours when it’s convenient for you. Don't pretend you care about Haru now. You’ve done nothing but make our lives difficult."

Your movements are sharp and frantic until you finally halt in front of the elevator. Just as you press the button to descend, Naoya’s presence descends over you—suffocating like a dark cloud, his face twisting into a menacing scowl.

"Maybe if you weren’t so damn stubborn, things wouldn’t be so difficult. You know, if you ever need help, all you have to do is ask," the insincerity in his voice makes your skin crawl—as his words slither into your ears, each syllable is laced with a condescending edge.

You scoff, jabbing the button over and over again with mounting urgency. Can this damn elevator come any faster?

"Help? From you? I'd rather figure things out on my own than rely on your 'help'."

He steps closer, making you feel small and cornered. It’s a familiar tactic he would use to get his way—the accustomed sense of intimidation he used to exert over you returns, chilling your spine.

"Suit yourself. Just remember, you can’t keep this up forever. Sooner or later, you’ll realize you need me again,” his voice drops to a low, threatening whisper, the underlying menace making it clear that he relishes the control he still believes he has over you.

Suddenly, you feel small tiny hands gripping tightly onto your leg. Haru’s wide eyes dart between the two of you, her innocent face reflecting a nervous unease that she can’t fully understand—but you do.

Fuck it. Enough is enough. You can't let this continue any longer—screw the elevator.

With a determined breath, you scoop Haru into your arms, feeling her trembling slightly against you. "Come on, sweetie," you say softly.

Her tiny heart beats against your chest, mirroring your own anxiety. Holding her close, you immediately head towards the stairway, your stride quickening.

But Naoya's presence lingers, his footsteps echoing ominously after you.

“Really, Naoya?”

Oh, this is it. Your patience is wearing thin—he’s like a growth you can’t get rid of.

You feel Haru’s grip tighten around your neck as she buries her face into your shoulder. You have been trying desperately not to yell, for Haru’s sake, but at this point, Naoya is overstepping your boundaries.

“Just go away. The only thing I need from you is to hurry up and finish that damn DNA test,” you shout, refusing to look back as you head towards the stairs. “There was no reason for that bullshit; you know Haru is yours. I know you’re just trying to stall our court date,” you snap, your voice trembling with frustration and anger.

Naoya’s eyes gleam with a cold amusement, and the corners of his mouth curl up into a mocking smile.

"Stalling? Hardly. You’re insane, I just want to be thorough. You should understand that, being so meticulous yourself," he sneers, tone derisively sweet.

Finally, you reach the stairway—beginning your descent, Haru clings tightly to you as Pikachu dangles precariously from each hurried step.

"This conversation is over, Naoya,” your voice echoes in the narrow space. “Stay out of our lives. I only want to see you in court."

Naoya contemplates following you, lowering himself a few steps before abruptly stopping. As his voice reverberates through the stairwell, his unsettling demand bounces off the cold concrete walls, chilling you to your core.

"For now, y/n. But remember, this isn’t over. Not by a long shot. You always come crawling back to me one way or another. You’re incapable of anything without me."

There was a time when you believed those words, but you will not fall back into that same vicious cycle.

Choosing not to respond, your resolve is sharpened with one clear goal, getting Haru and yourself out of this building as quickly as possible.

The moment you clear through the lobby door, a shaky sigh escapes your lips. This day is already starting off with a bang—hopefully it goes much better at Satoru’s.

Forcing a smile for your frightened daughter, you try to mask the tears welling up in your eyes—the tremor in your voice quaking.

“Come on honey, let’s go meet Mr. Gojo.”

Time to get this marriage finalized.

ꨄ︎

You had expectations of what Satoru’s house would be like, but even those couldn’t hold a light to the real thing—it’s a stark contrast to the modest apartment you call home.

The meticulously manicured lawn, the pristine arcadian, and the large, ornate door all showcase opulence.

It’s far more luxurious than you had imagined, making you feel distinctly out of place as you step out of your car in your worn jeans and t-shirt, hair pulled up in a lazy bun.

Wait…should you have come dressed businesslike?

But you have Haru—was this supposed to be a professional meeting? Fuck.

On top of everything else, you’re already a few minutes late. Tardiness has become a tiresome trend in your life, one that exhausts you to your very core.

Traversing the entryway, Haru grips your hand tightly as you walk through the stone pathway. Her fingers tremble slightly, perhaps from the unsettling encounter with Naoya, or perhaps from the overwhelming new environment.

Nerves simmer through you once you approach the doorway, but you resolve to mask them. You weren’t going to let Naoya ruin your day—this meeting is your chance to retake control of your life.

As you reach out and press the doorbell, a soft melodic chime resonates, echoing through the spacious foyer beyond.

Within moments, the door swings open, revealing Satoru.

You immediately feel a sense of relief as you observe him dressed surprisingly casual—a fitted blue t-shirt that accentuates his broad shoulders and lean frame, paired with dark jeans that hug his long legs. His snowy hair remains tousled in that effortlessly stylish way, framing his strikingly handsome face.

It’s impossible to advert your eyes as he greets you with that familiarly confident smile curling upon his lips, and those vivid blue eyes, enchanting you with an intriguing glint.

“Hm, late again, I see,” Satoru teases, dramatically placing a hand over his heart as if wounded with an exaggerated sigh. “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t show up. Here I was, thinking you might divorce me before we even get married—” he stops, lifting his brow as his gaze shifts to the small figure peeking out from behind your legs.

“Well, well, and who is this?”

Haru’s wide eyes are filled with curiosity and apprehension. She peeps out nervously, clutching her plushie’s worn, familiar fabric for comfort.

Satoru’s smile softens as he looks at the little girl, but a twinge of uncertainty tugs at him internally. Children were a mystery to him, their emotions and reactions unpredictable.

What should he say? How should he act?

A flicker of fear crosses his mind—what if he says the wrong thing and makes her cry?

Oh God…

The thought of dealing with a child's tears makes him feel out of his depth, a sensation he’s not accustomed to. Satoru finds himself in unfamiliar territory. He’s used to commanding rooms and negotiating high-stake deals, not interacting with shy children clutching stuffed toys.

But faking confidence has always worked in the business world, and he is determined to make a good impression now.

As you notice Haru’s uncertainty, you gently caress her head, delicately coaxing her out from behind your legs.

"It’s okay, sweetie. This is Mr. Gojo, can you say hi?"

There is an air about you—the gentle ease in your voice, the way you instinctively know how to comfort Haru. It stirs something within Satoru, something he can’t quite place.

All he knows it that now he really doesn’t want to fuck this up.

"I’m really sorry for bringing her along," you begin, tone earnest as you meet Satoru with an apologetic gaze. "I hope it’s okay. I just didn’t have anyone who could watch her today. But she’ll keep to herself during our meeting, I promise."

Satoru’s expression softens further as he looks at Haru, his uncertainty momentarily forgotten. She is so fragile, so docile. In her delicate features, he sees an uncanny resemblance to you—a small reflection of your strength and vulnerability intertwined.

“Oh, it’s no problem at all,” he reassures softly. Crouching down to her level, his toothy smile is warm and inviting. “Hi there, I’m Satoru. What’s your name?”

Haru looks up at you for reassurance, her small hand tightening around your leg. Encouraged by your nod, she turns back to Satoru and whispers tentatively—

“Haru.”

Satoru grins, captivated by the softness and delicacy of Haru's voice. Though he is uncertain how to connect with a child. His mind races—

What do kids like?

What should he say next?

While his thoughts scramble, a spark of an idea forms the moment he observes Haru clutching Pikachu.

“Nice to meet you, Haru. Do you like Pokémon?”

Haru nods, her grip on the plushie relaxing slightly. There is a subtle warmth behind the apprehension in her eyes as she holds up her Pikachu toy to show Satoru.

“Yes, Pikachu.”

“Pikachu is pretty cool,” he lets out a contemplative hum as he tries to find common ground. A faint nostalgic smile plays on his features. “But you know, Digimon is even better. Have you ever heard of Agumon?”

Haru’s eyes widen with curiosity as she shakes her head, her interest clearly piqued.

Satoru’s inner child shines through—eyes sparkling with a genuine enthusiasm as his lips curl up into a grin. This is his chance to bridge the gap between them.

“Tell ya what, maybe we can watch some Digimon together sometime. How’s that sound?”

You feel Haru’s grip loosen on your leg. A faint smile touches her lips and a quiet giggle escapes as her initial shyness begins to slowly fade.

“Okay.”

There are many thoughts that come to your mind as you watch this interaction play out—the foremost being how unexpectedly gentle Satoru can be with kids. Something about him, that overconfident and sometimes arrogant man you’ve worked beside, feels different now. Almost likable.

Charming, even

But what you really can’t fathom the most is the image of a sophisticated billionaire engrossed in a kids’ cartoon. That concept alone is enough to make you suppress a laugh.

“You’re a fan of Digimon?” you raise an eyebrow.

Satoru stands up, brushing off his knees with a nonchalant shrug and a crooked smile.

“I used to watch it all the time growing up. Please, come in,” he ushers you inside the building, leading you down the grand hall.

Your breath hitches at the sight of the expansive foyer. The high ceiling, polished marble floors, and impressive chandelier casting a warm glow leave you speechless.

Following behind him, you find yourself studying Satoru’s confident strides—the movement of his back, his broad shoulders and the effortless air of authority he exudes. It’s a stark contrast to what you just witnessed moments ago with Haru.

But that alone makes him even more intriguing to you. Satoru can feel a bit like a wild card. Glimpses of tenderness hidden behind feigned aloofness—subtle playfulness followed by an exacting seriousness.

He keeps surprising you.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Digimon fan,” you remark as you follow behind him.

Satoru chuckles, scratching the back of his head.

“Guilty as charged.”

You can’t help but notice the way he avoids your gaze—is he perhaps being… bashful?

Oh, this is rich.

You really would need an abundance of limbs to count on your hands the amount of times Satoru has given you shit—making your life a daily torture is his specialty after all. Perhaps that is why you couldn’t resist letting this opportunity pass up.

“Next thing you’ll tell me is that you have a secret stash of Digimon cards somewhere,” you snort.

Satoru lets out a contemplative hum.

“Well, I did have a pretty impressive collection back in the day. Who knows, maybe I still have them tucked away in a drawer somewhere.”

“Seriously?” you are unable to hide the amusement in your voice. “You, with a collection of Digimon cards? That’s something I’d pay to see.”

He rolls his eyes with a pout tugging on his lips.

“You’re enjoying this too much. Maybe I’ll dig them out for you one day. But only if you’re nice.”

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Me, nice to you? That’s a tall order.”

A faint chuckle leaves Satoru’s lips as the spacious foyer transitions into a grand hallway. Haru skips beside you, glancing up at Satoru with a newfound admiration.

The moment you reach a large set of intricately carved wooden doors, he pauses, turning to you with a reassuring smile before pushing them open.

Inside, a cozy yet sophisticated study awaits—shelves lined with books and a large mahogany desk dominating the room.

“Yo, Suguru,” he waves flippantly, “this is y/n and her daughter, Haru.”

Your eyes are met with a man seated behind the desk—a calm and composed air about him. He is strikingly beautiful, raven hair tied back into a bun with louse tousles framing his face. As he looks up from a stack of papers, his sharp yet gentle eyes focus on you and Haru. He rises, extending a hand with a polite smile.

“Pleasure to meet you both. I’m Suguru Geto.”

“Nice to meet you as well,” you shake his hand with a subtle nod.

The presence of another stranger causes Haru’s shyness to return as she hides behind your legs again—you kneel down, smoothing her hair gently.

“Haru,” you pull out a small bag of her favorite toys from your duffle bag, “why don’t you take a seat over there and play with your toys while Mommy talks with Mr. Gojo and Mr. Geto?”

With a light nod, Haru takes the bag and settles into a comfortable armchair in the corner of the room—spreading out her treasures with a look of concentration.

You take a seat across from Suguru, with Satoru sinking into the chair beside you—posture relaxed and seemingly indifferent.

“Alright, let’s get down to business,” Suguru leans forward, “I’ve drafted the marriage contract based on the discussions I’ve had with Satoru. I’ll walk you through the main points.”

Referencing the document upon the desk, he begins.

“Firstly, as you both know, the purpose of this marriage is strictly business-related with no romantic implications. Both parties agree to maintain the appearance of a committed relationship in public and professional settings.”

Okay, easy—right?

You nod, but in the corner of your eye you can see Satoru lounging back in his chair. The mild disinterest on his face and the nonchalant way he twirls a pen between his fingers makes you grit your teeth.

He carries a casual attitude—one you shouldn’t be surprised with at this point because it’s the same infuriating aura he brings to every business meeting. But in this case, it’s a stark contrast to the gravity of this conversation. Here you are, discussing marriage and he’s sitting here as if you’re determining what to eat for lunch.

Yup, nothing’s changed. He still aggravates the hell out of you.

“Next, the duration of the marriage is set for one year, starting from the date of signing,” Suguru continues. “There are provisions for extending or terminating the marriage early, should both parties agree.”

You absorb every word as you listen intently, but Satoru seems to be in his own world. It takes all your self-control not to roll your eyes as you catch him leaning back further into his chair, now balancing it on two legs. He taps his pen against his lip thoughtfully—an indifferent expression plastered across his face.

Is he even listening?

Here you are, about to commit to a fake marriage for the sake of your job and your daughter, and Satoru looks like a bored child.

You shoot him a sideways glance, silently willing him to take this more seriously, but the moment he catches your eye he simply offers a lazy wink, making your blood boil even more.

Suguru, unfazed by Satoru's demeanor, continues outlining the contract.

“The financial arrangements are next…Satoru will include a monthly allowance to you, y/n, to cover personal and household expenses. Both parties will maintain separate bank accounts, and any joint financial decisions require mutual consent.”

You blink in surprise. A monthly allowance?

Though you had asked Satoru to cover child care, you weren’t expecting this level of financial support. Isn’t that a bit excessive?

“Wait, what?” you blurt out, unable to hide your astonishment. “A monthly allowance? For personal and household expenses?”

Satoru’s chair drops back onto all four legs with a soft thud as he leans forward, finally showing a hint of interest. He raises an eyebrow at your reaction, a lazy smile curling his lips.

“We wouldn’t want you or Haru to struggle, now, would we?”

His words sound almost considerate, but it’s the casual way he says them that makes you question his sincerity.

“Some might see you being my secretary as a conflict of interest now. You’ll still work beside me, but I can’t give you a formal salary for that role. Doing it this way ensures that all you have to worry about is playing your part. Besides,” he adds, a hint of amusement creeping back into his voice, “what kind of husband would I be if I didn’t support my wife?”

Raising an eyebrow, you shoot him a wary look, trying to gauge his true intentions. It makes sense… but is he mocking you, or is this his way of showing genuine concern? With Satoru, it’s always hard to tell.

Suguru clears his throat, drawing your attention back to the contract.

“Moving on to the living arrangements, you will both reside in the marital home here.”

Satoru interrupts, tone almost too nonchalant as he leans back in his chair and lazily stretches, “I’ve already arranged for a moving company to pack your things in a few days. They’ll handle everything.”

You blink, the suddenness of it all sinking in.

“Huh?”

“Problem, sweetheart?”

“I... I didn’t realize I’d be moving in so… soon. What about my apartment? I have a lease, and breaking it will incur a penalty.”

He waves off your concern with a dismissive hand, leaning back further with hands casually behind his head.

“I’ll pay it. Consider it handled. No point in you staying there when you’re supposed to be living here.”

Your eyes widen, taken aback by his insouciant dismissal of what, to you, is a significant expense.

“You’re sure?”

“Of course. We need to make this look legitimate, and that means living together. Consider it part of the arrangement.”

To him, solving problems with money seamed effortless.

To you, this isn’t just a contract; it’s a complete upheaval of your life.

You’re starting to really feel the difference in your two worlds.

The abruptness is a bit overwhelming, and yet, Satoru seems to handle it with the same ease he applies to all his business dealings.

It’s a bit unnerving. It’s not that you aren’t grateful, but you can’t help but wonder…does he pity you? See you as a charity act?

Suguru, sensing your hesitation, interjects your thoughts with a soothing tone,

“It’s important for appearances that you both share a residence. It solidifies the arrangement in the eyes of your colleagues and the public.”

You take a deep breath, nodding again. “Right, I understand.”

Suguru nods, making a note on the document.

“Good. Now, let’s move on to the responsibilities and obligations. You’re both expected to attend public and social functions, maintaining the façade of a loving marriage.”

Satoru who still remains leaned in his chair, now has his head tilted back, looking up towards the ceiling.

"Oh, and by the way," he begins, eyes flicking to you while his posture remains unmoved, "we'll be getting married at the courthouse tomorrow to make things official on paper. Our public ceremony will be a grand affair, but it will come later to keep the media satisfied and appease everyone."

Tomorrow?

You give a hesitant nod, absorbing the rapid pace at which your life is changing.

“Alright…tomorrow.”

Suguru flips to the next page, “In terms of termination, either party can initiate it with a 30-day notice. Grounds for early termination include breach of contract or mutual consent. Upon termination, Satoru will provide a one-time settlement payment to you, y/n.”

You blink as Suguru pushes the contract towards you, the settlement amount highlighted in bold. Did Satoru add a few extra zeros by mistake? That number can’t be correct, right?

You glance up at Satoru, who is now inspecting his nails with a look of utter boredom.

“Is this…correct?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru looks up, meeting your eyes with a casual shrug.

“Yeah, it’s correct. Consider it a thank you for playing along.”

You shake your head slightly, trying to wrap your mind around the figure. This settlement could change your life, secure Haru’s future, and give you the stability you’ve been desperately seeking.

You could pay off your medical bills for the childbirth, could go back to school. Hell, you could be free of Naoya, you wouldn’t need him or his money.

You narrow your eyes, suspicious of his sudden generosity.

"And what’s the catch?”

Satoru chuckles, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he leans forward, resting his chin in his hand.

"Come on now, sweetheart. Just think of it as me taking care of my...business partner."

Suguru clears his throat, glancing between the two of you.

“Well, there is one additional detail, y/n. The settlement is contingent on maintaining a favorable public image. Any actions or behaviors that damage Satoru’s reputation would result in the forfeiture of all financial support and settlement funds.”

You blink, the implications dawning on you. Ah, of course there would be a condition—you knew better than to think he was just being generous.

“So… I’m responsible for upholding your image? What does that even mean?”

Satoru’s crooked grin widens.

“It means no scandals, no controversies. You play the part of the perfect spouse, attend events, smile for the cameras, and keep any...personal indiscretions out of the spotlight. Simple enough, right?”

Your stomach churns as you realize the depth of his control—you thought you were escaping Naoya’s grasp, but it seems control is still a prevalent force in your life.

This isn’t just a marriage of convenience; it’s a binding agreement that keeps you in line with his public persona, ensuring that any slip-up on your part will have dire financial consequences.

A part of you can’t blame him, though. It makes sense for him to take extra precautions. The Gojos have always been in the public eye, and there have been countless rumors about Satoru's refusal to settle down.

“What if something happens that’s out of my control? What if someone tries to smear my name?”

Satoru’s eyes harden slightly, though his smile remains.

“We’ll handle that on a case-by-case basis. But let’s just say I have ways of managing the media. You just need to play your part, nothing more.”

The calculated control in his tone, juxtaposed with his unwavering smile, makes your skin prickle with unease. The room feels suddenly colder, and a knot tightens in your stomach. You thought you were stepping into a partnership, but now it feels like a performance where one wrong move could cost you dearly.

Suguru interjects, his tone professional.

“This clause is essential for protecting both your interests and Satoru’s. Maintaining a positive public image is crucial for the success of this arrangement and for avoiding any complications that could arise from negative publicity.”

You take a deep breath—this was a gamble. The settlement would secure Haru’s future, your future, but your every move would be scrutinized, and any misstep could strip away the stability you desperately needed.

Your eyes wander to Haru, quietly and innocently playing with her toys. For her sake, you were willing to play Satoru’s game, even if it meant living under the constant pressure of his expectations.

“Alright,” you say firmly. “I agree to the terms.”

Satoru’s eyes flicker with satisfaction and Suguru leans forward sliding a pen towards you both.

“Good. If you both agree to these terms, we can proceed with the signing.”

You observe Satoru as he reaches for the pen—he is back to that usual air of nonchalance; it is almost unsettling. He signs the document with a flourish, barely glancing at the terms, and you envy his composure.

When he hands you the pen, meeting your eyes with a confident smile, you hesitate for a second—then, with a determined snatch, you take the pen from his delicate hand.

Holding your breath, you press the pen to paper and sign your name in one fell swoop. Each stroke of the pen feels heavy, final, but also strangely empowering.

No turning back now.

ꨄ︎

The courthouse ceremony was as brief and impersonal as you expected.

Something about Haru witnessing you legally enter into a fake marriage just didn’t feel right—so you opted to leave her with Satoru’s nanny.

Standing in front of the judge, reciting vows, and signing the official documents felt more like a business transaction than a wedding.

Glancing at Satoru, you couldn't help but feel a bit solemn as you observed him, his expression as indifferent as ever.

This wasn't the fairy tale wedding you once dreamed of. There was no crowd, no rings, no romantic gestures—just a legal agreement with a pen on paper, binding you to him for the next year.

But then again, you knew that coming into this—it was never about romance or dreams; it was about survival and securing a future for Haru.

It was over as quickly as it began—just like that, the judge declared you husband and wife, immediately leaving you alone with Satoru right after.

Noticing your serious expression, Satoru leans in slightly as you gather the official documents.

"You look like you're attending a funeral, not a wedding Mrs. Gojo," his voice drips with playful mockery.

Hearing him call you ‘Mrs. Gojo’ sends a shiver down your spine. That was going to take some getting used to.

“And you look like you’re at a board meeting, not your wedding, Mr. Gojo,” you retort, unable to hide the underlying bite in your voice as your fingers shuffle through the pages.

A deep chuckle reverberates through the otherwise solemn atmosphere. Once you tuck the documents under your arm, you begin to make your way towards the exit. Satoru immediately falls into step beside you.

“Touché. But really, lighten up sweetheart. Gonna need to work harder to convince everyone you’re head over heels in love with me,” there’s a playful challenge in his voice.

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh.

“Well, forgive me for not swooning over this magical moment. You know, this isn't exactly how I pictured my wedding day," you mutter, trying to mask the internal melancholy whirling within you.

When you reach for the door, Satoru beats you to it, holding it open with a flourish.

"Oh? And how did you picture it?” he raises an eyebrow as his eyes gleam in amusement, “Let me guess, lots of flowers, a big white dress, and some poor guy professing his undying love for you?"

Okay, screw him. He was really not making this any better. You feel the heat rise to your face as a scoff escapes your lips—the only response you will give him.

Brushing past him, your heels click against the polished floors through the marble halls of the courthouse. As you glance to the tall, ornate windows lining the corridor, the sunlight streams through, casting intricate patterns.

“Hmm, think I guessed right,” he chuckles as he saunters after you.

“And what if you did?” you snap, voice echoing in the grand space. “Is it so weird for me to want a normal family for my daughter?”

The teasing glint in his eyes dim as his expression softens slightly. Once you reach the elevator, Satoru presses the button—the two of you wait in an awkward silence.

The moment the elevator door slides open, you both step inside, the quiet hum of the machinery enveloping you.

“No, it’s not weird. It’s just... different from what I’ve ever thought about,” he says while he presses the button to the lobby.

You huff, crossing your arms as you lean against the back of the elevator.

“What, Mr. Perfect never thought about settling down?”

Satoru's gaze drifts for a moment as he considers your question. The elevator begins its descent, the soft whirl filling the silence.

“Honestly? No, I never did. My father used to pressure me about it all the time. Wanted me to marry someone who could... 'enhance' our family’s status.” He was contemplative, and the echoes of old frustrations are clear in his voice.

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden openness.

The rumors about Satoru had always painted him as a carefree bachelor, uninterested in the constraints of marriage.

Some said he was too focused on his career, while others whispered that he enjoyed his freedom too much to settle down. There were even speculations that he had a hidden lover, or perhaps he was waiting for the perfect match to come along, someone who could stand by his side both in business and in life.

“…and you never found anyone who fit the bill?”

He chuckles, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“Plenty of candidates. None that I wanted to spend my life with. Plus, all those ‘suitable matches’ were just women trying to get their hands on the Gojo fortune. Most people just see the money and power. They don't see the person behind it.”

The vulnerability in his eyes is fleeting, and you realize that his father’s expectations must have weighed heavily on him. The pressure to find someone was not about love or companionship—it was about maintaining an image, a legacy. In a way, you both have been victims to control your entire lives.

As the depth of his frustrations become more apparent, you feel a pang of sympathy. It’s enough to make you wonder about the real Satoru. The elevator continues its descent, and you find yourself lingering on his words.

“That sounds... difficult. So why did you go through with this then? With me?”

His gaze softens; his expression thoughtful as he watches the numbers descending the floor levels. He tilts his head slightly, meeting your gaze with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Because you’re different. You didn’t come to me looking for wealth or status. You needed help, and I needed a solution. It’s honest, in a way. No hidden agendas, no false pretenses.”

A nervous flutter dances in your stomach, your fingers fidgeting with the folder of documents in your hands. The softness in his words catch you off guard, and you find it difficult to maintain eye contact.

A small, rueful smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“In a world where everyone wants something from me, I find your straightforwardness refreshing.”

Your heart skips as a warm blush creeps up your cheeks.

“I never thought you’d see it that way. I just... I wanted to do what was best for Haru.”

“And that’s what makes you different,” he replies softly. “You’re doing this for her, not for yourself. That’s why I agreed to this. Because I believe you’re sincere.”

The elevator chimes softly as it reaches the ground floor and the doors slide open to reveal the bustling courthouse lobby.

The weight of the conversation settles between you, a rare moment of vulnerability that made you see Satoru in a new light—a glimpse into his inner world.

The moment you near the courthouse door, you and Satoru push it open in an attempt to exit, but are immediately greeted by a barrage of flashing cameras and shouted questions. Paparazzi swarm around you, seeming to have materialized out of nowhere—how did they even know where to find you both?

Satoru, ever the master of public appearances, wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. His touch is warm and firm, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart through his suit.

The sensation of his hand resting securely on your hip sends a tingle through your body, a fluttering in your stomach—you realize now that this is the first time he has touched you.

“Smile for the cameras, Mrs. Gojo,” he whispers into your ear, breath tickling your skin.

You blink, heat rising to your face as you’re momentarily caught off guard by the sudden display of affection. But you quickly compose yourself, remembering the role you have to play.

Leaning into him slightly, you offer a shy smile to the cameras. The flashes intensify and the questions grow louder.

“Mr. Gojo why are you in a courthouse?”

“Mr. Gojo, what is the status of Gojo Corporation?”

“Who is this woman Mr. Gojo?”

“What is your statement on your father’s passing?”

As the paparazzi continue to snap photos and shout questions, Satoru leans down and presses a quick, gentle kiss to your temple. His lips were soft, and the warmth of his breath burned your skin. The gesture, though small, sends a shiver down your spine.

It was all for show, you reminded yourself. Just part of the act.

Yet, the unexpected intimacy lingered, making it hard to ignore the way your heart raced at his touch.

Satoru’s kiss had worked perfectly, fueling the media frenzy. The paparazzi went wild at the tender action—camera flashes intensifying and voices growing louder. They call out more questions, desperate to capture every angle of the seemingly affectionate moment. You feel the eyes of the crowd boring into you.

“Let’s get out of here,” Satoru murmurs, voice low and soothing amidst the chaos.

He reaches out, hand warm and firm as he interlocks his fingers with yours, gently guiding you through the throng of reporters towards the waiting car. His other arm subtly shields you from the crowd.

As you finally break free from the mass of flashing cameras and shouting voices, you slide into the car, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as Satoru slides beside you immediately after.

Glancing back at the courthouse, the reality of your new life begins to sink in. Once the car pulls away, a breath escapes you—one you didn’t realize you had been holding in.

“That was... intense.”

Satoru chuckles, arm resting behind your shoulder. He tilts his head slightly, allowing a few tousles of white hair to fall into his eyes. Through the soft strands, his gaze meets yours, a mix of amusement and seriousness dancing in his striking blue eyes.

“Welcome to my world," he murmurs. "Better get used to it, sweetheart. This is just the beginning.”

ꨄ︎

The following day, a moving company arrived at your apartment as promised—they packed up your belongings with swift efficiency, leaving you feeling like a spectator in your own life.

Watching your life be boxed up and loaded into trucks was bittersweet—as your small apartment, with its familiar creaks and cracks, had been your safe haven.

Everything was arranged, down to the smallest detail. By mid-afternoon, you found yourself standing in the grand foyer of Satoru’s mansion once again, this time with all your worldly possessions.

Haru, wide-eyed and excited, clung to your side, her tiny fingers wrapped around your hand.

"Welcome to your new home," Satoru says with a grin.

It felt more like stepping into a palace than a home.

He reaches down and grabs one of your suitcases, lifting it effortlessly,

"Let me show you to our room."

You feel your face heat up instantly.

"Our room?" you stammer. "Why would we need to share a room when no one is here to watch this charade?"

Satoru's grin widens, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

"Relax, I'm just teasing you. You have your own room. I just wanted to see your reaction."

You shoot him a glare, feeling a mix of relief and annoyance.

“You're impossible," you mutter, trying to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks.

He chuckles, leading you up the grand staircase, and Haru follows closely, her eyes darting around in awe at the luxurious decor. The polished marble steps feel cool underneath you, and the ornate banisters gleam under the soft lighting.

"Come on, let me show you around." Satoru says as he leads the way down a long corridor.

The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries and framed artwork, each piece more exquisite than the last.

Eventually, Satoru stops in front of a set of double doors, turning to you with a small, satisfied smile.

"Here we are."

He pushes them open to reveal a spacious bedroom. The room beautifully furnished, with a large bed, elegant drapes, and a balcony overlooking the manicured gardens below.

"This is your room," he announces, setting your suitcase down gently.

"Wow," you breathe.

It feels a bit overwhelming the moment you step foot inside. Haru, on the other hand, darts past you, exploring every nook and cranny with a delighted giggle. It was easily twice the size of your old apartment.

"This is beautiful... and a lot."

Satoru leans against the doorframe, arms casually crossing over his chest.

The soft light from the chandelier above casts a gentle glow on his features, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the curve of his lips. His white hair, tousled just enough to seem effortlessly stylish, frames his face perfectly.

"Only the best for my... business partner," he says, tone light yet carrying a hint of something deeper.

You offer a simple, "Thanks," but your voice is softer than you intended. Your eyes betray you, lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary.

Satoru's eyes hold yours with a softness that catches you off guard—a striking shade of blue that seems almost ethereal. In that moment, you couldn't help but notice the intensity and warmth in his gaze, it’s almost tender, making you feel like anything but just a ‘business partner’.

Was he always this beautiful?

You can’t help but wonder, feeling a warmth spread through you as the silence stretches on. The moment feels strangely intimate, a connection forming that neither of you expected.

Crap. What are you thinking?

Haru’s giggle breaks the spell as she jumps on your bed.

"Oh, and just so you know," he adds with a playful glint in his eye, "my room is right next door. We share the bathroom, so try not to hog all the hot water."

You blink, surprised. "We have to share a bathroom?"

Curiosity getting the better of you, you open the bathroom door and peer inside.

It was equally impressive, with a large tub and walk-in shower, all in pristine condition. The fixtures gleam, and the marble countertop adds a touch of luxury. There was another door leading directly to Satoru’s room, a constant reminder of his proximity.

"Yep. Just think of it as our first test of marital bliss. Can we survive sharing a bathroom?" Satoru's voice was suddenly closer.

You turn to find him standing right behind you, having moved from his previous spot at the doorframe. The idea of sharing such a personal space with him was a bit unnerving. An awkwardly intimate setup for such a detached relationship, but you didn't have much of a choice.

"…I suppose I'll manage.”

Satoru laughs softly.

"That's the spirit. And don't worry, Haru's room is right across from us. She's got the best room in the house actually," he adds, tilting his head to the side as a cue for you to follow him.

Haru trails excitedly behind as you walk through the luxurious hallway, her giggles echo off the walls. Opening the door, you peek inside and are struck by the sheer extravagance of it.

The room was a child’s dream—decorated in soft pastel colors, with a canopy bed draped in delicate lace, plush toys neatly arranged on shelves, and even a small play area complete with a dollhouse and a set of building blocks. The walls were adorned with whimsical murals of fairies and woodland creatures, creating a magical atmosphere that seemed straight out of a storybook.

Haru's delighted squeals bring a smile to your face, easing the last of your worries.

It was clear that Satoru had spared no expense in making her feel welcome. Each detail spoke of thoughtfulness and care, from the cozy reading nook to the vibrant rainbow-colored rug that added a playful touch to the room. How on earth did he pull all this off so quickly?

“Wow, look, Mama!” she exclaims, her eyes lighting up with joy, running inside to inspect her new haven.

A sense of relief washes over you as a tender smile forms upon your lips. At least Haru would be happy here. The sight of her so animated and cheerful makes the transition a bit easier to bear. Satoru stands beside you.

“I wanted her to feel at home," he says softly, eyes reflecting a rare sincerity.

“You've done more than that. She's ecstatic," you reply, watching Haru dive into a pile of stuffed animals with a gleeful laugh.

Satoru clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck, the gesture uncharacteristically awkward. He glances at the clock on the wall, as if searching for an excuse to end the moment.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," his tone is gentle and almost hesitant. "Let me know if you need anything. Dinner will be ready soon, see you down there?”

His usual confidence is somewhat muted—you wonder, is it you? Haru?

"Yeah,” you nod, “I’m going to put a few of my things away and then we’ll meet you downstairs."

“Right. Take your time. There's no rush."

You can’t help but replay the interaction in your mind as you unpack the essentials from your suitcase. The awkwardness between you and Satoru would pass, you hope. For now, it was enough to know that Haru is happy and safe.

Haru’s laughter echoes from her room, a sound that brings a smile to your face. She seemed to be adjusting much faster than expected, her innocent joy undiminished by the upheaval.

And to you, her laughter solidified it—marrying Satoru, this was the right call.

ꨄ︎

The past few days living with Satoru had been a whirlwind of adjustments—it wasn’t without its challenges. The mansion, with its sprawling rooms and luxurious decor, is more like a museum than a home.

The sheer size makes you feel small and out of place at times, and the constant presence of staff make it difficult to find a moment of privacy.

Satoru, however, had been surprisingly considerate. He’s a constant reminder of the delicate balance you need to maintain—attentive yet reserved, playful yet serious, a paradox that kept you on edge.

Your interactions with Satoru had settled into a routine of polite, if somewhat distant, cohabitation. There were moments of unexpected tenderness, like when he had found you struggling to open a jar in the kitchen and had stepped in to help with a playful grin.

Another time, you had been overwhelmed while trying to assemble a new toy for Haru, and Satoru had quietly taken a seat beside you, helping to figure out the instructions without a word.

Yet despite these moments, there was always an underlying tension, a reminder of the unusual circumstances that had brought you together.

As the days passed, the impending charity gala loomed larger in your mind—the first public event you would attend together as a married couple.

Satoru had taken the time to sit down with you and discuss how you would present yourselves, a task that seemed daunting but necessary.

You agreed on the basics: stay close, exchange subtle touches, and share occasional whispers to create an air of intimacy. The plan was straightforward, but the execution would be another matter entirely.

He emphasized the importance of appearing united, offering tips on how to handle the media and the probing questions that were sure to come. His confidence and ease in handling the media was something you were learning to lean on, though the pressure of maintaining the charade weighed heavily on you.

“What about Haru?” you asked, concern evident in your voice.

“We’ll leave her out of the spotlight,” Satoru replied gently. “I don’t want to overwhelm her. She takes no part in this agreement beyond being your daughter. She’ll stay here with the nanny during the event.”

Amidst all this, your phone had been buzzing constantly with missed calls from Naoya. You hadn't answered any of them—maybe you should just call off the court case?

You did just go through a life changing event, marriage, and that often interferes with the legal process anyways. The judge would need to take into consideration your new source of income for the child support payments.

Honestly, you don’t need Naoya’s support anymore.

You’ll take care of that after the gala though—right now you already have too much on your plate, spending hours with Satoru, fabricating shared experiences and finding common ground to make your relationship believable.

The task of memorizing details about his likes and dislikes, his habits, and his quirks was daunting, but you found yourself surprised at the small details you were beginning to remember about him—the way he took his coffee, his favorite late-night snack, the way his eyes crinkled just slightly when he found something genuinely funny, or how he would absentmindedly run a hand through his tousled white hair when deep in thought.

As the days slipped by in a blur of preparations and rehearsed smiles, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this carefully constructed façade was starting to take on a life of its own. Each shared glance and each moment of unexpected kindness blurred the lines between reality and pretense, leaving you wondering just how deep this charade would go.

ꨄ︎

Standing in front of your bathroom mirror, you adjust the luxurious dress Satoru had picked out for you. A deep, elegant blue fabric clings to your curves in all the right places, and the V-shaped open back that rests above your hips adds a touch of allure.

Loose cascading waves frame your face perfectly, and the professional makeup artist gave you a look that is both subtle and glamorous, enhancing your features in a way the felt natural yet striking.

You barely recognize yourself.

The transformation was astonishing, turning you from a frazzled single mother into a vision of sophistication and grace.

Was it too much? You feel out of sorts, like you’re wearing someone else's skin. The elegant image in the mirror is both thrilling and unnerving.

As you try to steady your racing heart, a knock on the bathroom door makes you jump slightly—Satoru’s door.

“Y/n you ready?” his voice calls out.

With a deep breath, you take one last look in the mirror. As you open the door, Satoru’s frame leans casually against the entryway.

The sleek black tuxedo he is adorned in highlights his broad shoulder and lean frame. His white hair is perfectly styled, contrasting sharply with the dark fabric.

He meets you with a stunned silence—eyes widening slightly as he takes you in. The cool blue of his irises seem more vibrant, gleaming with anticipation as they trace over your form.

You had never seen his eyes linger across your figure like this before—the intensity of his gaze makes your stomach flutter. Feeling a bit self-conscious, you fear what will come out of his mouth.

Does he think it’s too much?

“Wow,” he breathes, voice almost reverent. “You look... stunning.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks at his unexpected compliment, and you find yourself unable to meet his gaze.

"Thank you," you say softly, smoothing down the fabric of your dress.

Satoru steps closer, eyes locked on you. He reaches out and gently lifts your chin, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“Seriously, you look amazing. I knew the dress would look good on you, but this... you’re going to be the star of the gala,” a slow smile spreads across his lips. “Ready to knock them dead?”

You nod, trying to ignore the fluttering sensation in your stomach.

“As ready as I’ll ever be…hopefully I can live up to the part.”

“You will,” offering you his arm, he adds, “Just be yourself, and stay by my side, we’re in this together."

ꨄ︎

The ride to the gala is filled with a comfortable silence.

The city lights blur outside the window as the car smoothly navigates through the streets. You find yourself stealing glances at Satoru, admiring the way his profile looks in the dim light.

Strange.

The usually insufferable man seemed different tonight—steadfast, dependable, almost... comforting? Perhaps it’s the nerves.

His arm rests casually behind you, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder, and you’re surprised yourself how it does not bother you—in fact, it’s actually quite soothing.

Once you arrive, the grand ballroom is a stunning sight. Chandeliers hang from the high ceiling, casting a soft, golden glow over the elegantly dressed crowd.

The room is filled with the city’s elite—a sea of luxurious gowns and tailored suits mingling and exchanging pleasantries. The sight of you and Satoru together was enough to turn heads, drawing curious and admiring glances.

But the sheer number of people, the pressure of playing your part, and the countless eyes watching your every move—it’s all a bit overwhelming. You really felt out of place here.

Sensing your unease, Satoru leans in close, breath warm against your ear.

“Remember, just follow my lead.”

Guiding you with ease, his hand rests lightly on the small of your back as you voyage through the attendees—the warm gentle touch is electric against your bare skin.

Your eyes skim through the herd of people and land on a waiter balancing a tray of champagne glasses. Perhaps a drink would ease your nerves? You don’t hesitate to grab a glass as you navigate the crowd.

Satoru, ever the socialite, seamlessly traverses the room, introducing you to important figures and engaging in small talk that you struggle to follow.

Discussions ranged from market trends and corporate mergers, to the latest charity galas and art exhibitions. Trying to keep up, you nod and smile at the appropriate moments.

It’s clear that Satoru is in his element—his charm, effortless. You find yourself admiring how easy he makes it all look.

As you cling to him, the pride in his eyes when he looks at you makes you feel like you belong, even if you are just playing a part in this elaborate charade.

The evening flowed smoothly enough, with your glass of champagne acting as a steady companion. The warmth of the alcohol helps you mingle with guests, exchange polite conversations, and stay close to Satoru, all as planned. But each interaction was a delicate dance—your smiles and nods masking the nerves simmering beneath the surface.

Honestly, your mind was elsewhere—there is an undercurrent of anxiety as you anticipate Satoru’s announcement on stage, where he would publicly acknowledge your marriage during his donation speech.

When the moment you had been dreading finally arrives, you settle into a chair near the front, heart pounding in your chest.

Satoru takes the stage with a natural grace, and as the spotlight illuminates his striking figure, his presence commands the attention of everyone in the room.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, his voice resonating with a confident authority. “I want to thank you all for being here tonight. Your generosity and support make events like this possible.”

His words flow smoothly as he speaks eloquently about the cause and significance of the charity, each sentence perfectly crafted to engage and inspire—you marveled at his ability to enthrall people.

Pressing your champagne glass to your lips, you desperately hope the cool liquid can help to steady your nerves a bit more.

Then, the moment came.

“I will be donating ten million dollars to this charity,” Satoru announces, his voice carrying a conviction.

The amount causes a ripple of excitement and murmurs to spread through the crowd—you nearly choked on your champagne in shock.

Ten million?

You couldn’t even fathom having that much money, let alone donating it. The magnitude of Satoru’s status is staggering.

A smile tugs at Satoru’s lips—a genuine warmth mingling with the mischievous glint in his eyes. He pauses, letting the impact of his words settle, then lifts a finger to tap his chin contemplatively, as if he just remembered something.

“Or should I say, we will be donating—me and my lovely wife.”

Satoru gestures in your direction as a spotlight beams upon you. The crowd erupts into an enthusiastic applause, causing your heart to race the moment all eyes instantly turn to you.

There is a rush of heat that rises to your cheeks, mixing with the warmth of the alcohol. The weight of the crowd’s gaze makes your vision a bit blurry.

Beckoning you to join him on stage, Satoru extends his hand and offers a comforting smile. Though, the moment you stand, the room spins slightly—perhaps it’s from the champagne, or perhaps it’s the sheer pressure.

You can’t fuck this up.

With as much grace as you can muster, you make your way to the platform.

Satoru wraps an arm around your waist the moment you are at his side, pulling you close and steadying your trembling figure. He looks down into your eyes with a genuine look of endearment.

“Everyone, please welcome my beautiful wife, y/n,” he says softly in the microphone, his voice filled with a gentle pride.

The applause swells, and you manage a smile, trying to focus on Satoru while ignoring the spotlight’s heat and the intense gazes of attendees.

Leaning in, his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, “You’re doing great.”

Despite the orchestrated nature of your relationship, in this moment, his genuine reassurance means everything. His presence is a steady anchor in the sea of faces and flashing cameras, the only thing holding you together right now.

When the applause dies down, Satoru continues his speech, the warmth of his hand remaining on your waist as his thumb traces soft circles.

You can barely focus on his words, the dizzying reality of where you’re standing feels both exhilarating and terrifying.

The moment Satoru’s speech concludes, the soft hum of conversation mingling and the delicate notes of the live orchestra begin to fill the air yet again. Satoru leads you off the stage, his hand never leaving your side.

Almost immediately after you descend to the floor, Satoru is approached by a business associate, his demeanor shifting effortlessly into that of a seasoned negotiator as they exchange discussions of market trends, potential collaborations, and strategic ventures.

Your heart is still pounding—public speaking was never your strong suit. Despite not needing to speak, being on that stage stirred something within you.

You recall a particularly disastrous presentation in college where you accidentally knocked over the projector, sending your notes flying across the room. The laughter from the audience still haunts you, and since then, you’ve always dreaded being the center of attention.

With Satoru engrossed in conversation, you seize the opportunity to make your way to the bar—seeking a moment of reprieve. Another drink wouldn’t hurt, right?

The gleaming rows of crystal glasses and various bottles of wine and spirits catch your eye. You scan the selection, your gaze lingering on a particularly rich, deep red wine.

Deciding it’s exactly what you need to steady your nerves, you signal the bartender and opt for a glass of the robust vintage, savoring the thought of its smooth, calming flavor.

One glass turned into two—your nerves finally beginning to settle as the soothing effects of the alcohol take over your senses.

Realizing you’ve been away from Satoru for quite some time, you prepare to rejoin him—but just as you start to rise, a familiar, unwelcome voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Well, well, look who we have here,” Naoya sneers, leaning against the bar beside you, a glass of scotch swirling in his hand. “Didn’t expect to see you here, mingling with the high society.”

A chill runs down your spine and you heart drops. No amount of alcohol could have prepared you for this moment.

“Naoya,” you stiffen, clutching your wine glass tighter. “What are you doing here?”

He takes a swig of his scotch, emptying the glass and placing it down on the counter with a loud clink. Leaning closer into your space, his eyes narrow—a cold, cynical stare boring into you.

“I could ask you the same thing. This doesn’t seem like your usual scene. What’s your angle?”

Your breath quickens and you feel your pulse hammering in your chest. Adverting your gaze, your fingers brush against the rim of your wine glass.

“I’m sure you heard, I’m here with my husband, if you must know. Not that it’s any of your business.”

The sneer he meets you with makes the room suddenly feel smaller, as if his presence is suffocating you.

“Husband, huh?” his eyes rake over you with contempt suspicion, “Quite the leap from where you were a few weeks ago. Is this some kind of game to you?”

Summoning your courage, you straighten your back and meet his gaze head-on.

“Not a game, Naoya. It’s called moving on. You should try it sometime. My life is no longer any of your concern.”

Taking a step closer, he looms over you—his voice lowering to a menacing whisper.

“I don’t buy it. This whole charade… you think I don’t know what you’re trying to pull?”

For a moment, you are frozen in place, the fear and control Naoya exerts paralyzing you. Your mind races, the implications of his words sinking in.

What if he exposes you?

What if this carefully constructed facade comes crashing down?

Before you can respond, you feel an arm slip around your waist, pulling you with practiced ease out of Naoya’s bubble and right beside Satoru.

“There you are, darling. Everything alright?”

His voice is smooth and warm, and his gaze flicks between you and Naoya, narrowing as he surveys the situation. The look on your face unsettles him—something feels off.

Naoya straightens himself, leaning against the bar with a supercilious smirk as he crosses his arms.

“Just catching up with an old friend. No harm in that, right?”

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” Satoru’s tone was light but laced with an underlying steel, “I’m y/n’s husband, Satoru Gojo.”

A scoff escapes Naoya as his eyes flash with irritation, but an unnerving smile remains upon his lips.

“Yes, I’ve heard. You certainly move fast, don’t you, y/n?”

Naoya can see right through you—you fell a flash of panic. Turning to Satoru, your eyes meet his with a silent plea for support. His expression softens and he gives you a reassuring nod while tightening his grip upon your waist.

“Well, when you know, you know,” Satoru says with a charming smile, “and we knew.”

Naoya snickers, running his hand through his hair in disbelief.

“Come on y/n. How did someone like you end up with someone like him? Seems... unlikely. You don’t belong here.”

Heat rises to your face and the sudden urge to shrink away overwhelms you—your heart dropping at the sting of Naoya’s words.

Suddenly, Satoru steps closer, creating a protective barrier between you and Naoya—the playful glint in his eyes gone, replaced with a cold, steely determination.

“Watch your mouth, you don’t get to talk to my wife like that.”

“I’m just stating the obvious,” Naoya shrugs, meeting Satoru’s glare with an indifference as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “She’s out of her league here.”

Satoru’s jaw tightens, his voice low and dangerously calm.

“If you think she’s out of her league, then you clearly don’t know her at all. You’re out of line. Y/n belongs here more than anyone. So, unless you have something worthwhile to say, I suggest you move along.”

“Is that so?” Naoya raises an eyebrow. “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical. After all, you’ve always been a bit of a lone wolf, Satoru Gojo.”

Panic seizes you as Naoya’s observation hangs in the air. The last thing you need is for him to start spreading rumors or causing trouble. You realize you have to do something, and fast. Your mind races, desperately searching for a way to convince Naoya of your authenticity.

Summoning all the courage you can muster, you step forward, threading your arms around Satoru’s neck as you rest your forehead against his own. Your words are addressed to Naoya, but your eyes remain on Satoru the entire time, drawing strength from his steady gaze and the warmth of his touch.

“Satoru and I... we chose each other for reasons that go beyond what you see. We may have our differences, but we’re stronger together, and we have a connection that you can’t comprehend.”

Satoru’s eyes soften, reflecting a silent understanding and a shared resolve—his breath mingling with yours.

Feeling Naoya’s probing gaze, you know he won’t be easily convinced, and so, acting on impulse, you pull Satoru closer and crash your lips against his.

For a moment, Satoru seemed caught off guard. His eyes widened in surprise before they fluttered closed, his hands moving to rest on your hips. The world around you seemed to fade away as the kiss lingered, heat pooling in your stomach.

It was supposed to be a quick peck, just enough to sell the act. But the moment your lips met his, something shifted.

Perhaps you were emboldened by the alcohol, perhaps it was the need to be convincing, perhaps it was the way Satoru stood up for you—without thinking, you deepen the kiss, parting your lips and slipping your tongue into his mouth, making things more intimate than you originally intended.

You can feel Satoru tense for a moment, his surprise evident. But then, with a soft hum against your mouth he melts into the kiss, a hand moving to cup your face as he returns the intimacy with unexpected fervor—his other hand encircling around your waist, pulling you closer against him.

Your fingers thread through Satoru’s hair and the world around you seems to fade away—the only thing that mattered now was the heat radiating off of Satoru’s body, the warmth of his lips against yours, and the lingering sweet taste of the gala’s chocolate cake mingling with the wine on your tongue.

It was a moment that felt both incredibly real and utterly surreal.

When you finally pull back, you are both breathless. As you catch a flicker of something unreadable in Satoru’s half lidded eyes, for a brief moment, you forget about Naoya completely, about the act, about everything except the electric connection between you both.

Satoru's thumb gently caresses your cheek, his gaze softening.

Pulling yourself back to reality, you peer over to Naoya—his smug expression had vanished, replaced by a look of genuine surprise and irritation.

“As you can see, we’re very happy together,” you say sweetly, rubbing your nose against Satoru’s.

"Didn't think you were the type to move on so quickly," Naoya sneers.

A wave of exhilaration and embarrassment course through you as Naoya retreats back into the crowd. The kiss had done its job, but it had also left you with a lingering sense of uncertainty. Satoru’s touch is still warm on your skin—you can still taste him on your lips.

"You okay?" he asks softly, his concern genuine.

The question pulls you out of your thoughts, but his gaze does the opposite—your face flushes and it feels like your heart is going to pound out of your chest.

"Yeah. I... I just needed to convince him.."

Satoru studies you momentarily—knowing there is more to the story with Naoya. But he also knows now isn’t the time to pry.

He chuckles softly, his hand lingering on your waist.

“Well, I think you succeeded. That was... unexpected. You really went for it there,” he murmurs.

For a moment, it felt like you were playing a role, but the feelings stirring inside you were anything but fake.

"I'm sorry," you swallow hard, face flushing with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to..."

“I didn’t mind,” he interjects, thumb brushing against your lower lip, sending a shiver down your spine. “Just so you know, you did great. Better than I expected,” his voice low and husky.

Fuck.

You blink—Naoya is gone, but here Satoru is, still holding you so intimately, so intently.

The way he looks at you, the warmth in his touch, the tone of his voice—it makes you question the lines between reality and pretense.

“Didn’t know you had it in you.” Satoru hums, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. He leans in, his breath dancing on your lips, tantalizingly close. “But next time, let’s save the tongue for when we’re really alone, hm?”

What is he saying?

Your mind races, trying to decipher his words, his intentions. Was he still in character, or was there a hint of genuine desire in his eyes?

The electricity in the air was undeniable, and you find yourself lost in the intensity of his gaze—the crowd around you fading, their murmurs and whispers becoming a distant hum.

Satoru’s eyes held secrets you were desperate to uncover.

As you struggle to formulate your thoughts, Satoru’s hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb tracing a soft line along you jaw.

"Relax," he murmurs, "We're just putting on a show, remember?"

You nod, though your heart betrays you with its rapid pace.

“Right,” you whisper, forcing a smile. “Just a show.”

But deep down, you can’t shake the feeling that there was more to this act than either of you were willing to admit.

ahh i really enjoyed writing this chapter. okay, i was snickering at satoru's internal turmoil when he met haru for the first time. i couldn't resist with the digimon 🤭 my daughter is currently obsessed with pikachu so that's where that inspiration came from lol. also, this kiss was one of my favs to write 🥰 lemme know if you guys are interested in me making this a longer series. as always, thanks for reading 🫶🏻 → on to the next chapter ꨄ

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[adventures-in-mangaland]

Another Dead Boy Detectives Fic Rec List

Netflix sucks and I'm sad, but the Dead Boy Detectives fandom continues to be awesome, so here are some more very quick fic recs!*

Tonight's the Night You Fight Your Best Mate's Dad by Opossum_Subatomic

Everyone's Alive College/University 5+1 things fic featuring Charles bringing Edwin coffee and slowburn payneland. Also Family/Wedding Drama involving Everyone Thinks They're Dating so acute is verges on Fake Dating. This author is seriously fantastic, everything they write is gold.

You should also check out Kissing Lessons, which is a high school AU that does what it says on the tin while also giving non-binary Monty and polyamory.

Ornithology by Rosie447

Monty gets a job working at Tragic Mick's. This one's not actually payneland, being gen and Monty-centric. I know, gasp. It's a fantastic and very sweet exploration of Monty discovering his sense of self post canon and works as a great metaphor for recovery from toxic family/relationships. Also, the ex-animal solidarity and bonding with Mick is lovely.

what some circumstance stole by Chrome

The Sandman crossover featuring Edwin and Hob being kidnapped and tortured together. Their friendship is really wholesome with eventual Father Figure and Found Family Feels for the whole agency and background Dreamling.

dandelion wine (life and death in summertime) by world_wanderer

Payneland Right Person Wrong Time AU in which neither of them die but they still meet and become friends. The May/December friendship is sweet but tragic, with a bittersweet ending. Superb.

Mirror Image by Anonymous

Charles' afterlife gets taken over my an evil shape-shifting doppelganger, leaving him with plenty of time to regret never talking to Edwin about his feelings. Angsty but with Feelings Realisation and the Power of Love and Friendship vibes.

my healing needed more than time by babyseraphim

Case fic with de-aged Charles! Baby Charles is precious but be prepared for discussions of childhood trauma/abuse.

The same author has also written I'm So Aces at Babysitting, which is a really cute two-chaptered AU featuring Charles and Edwin babysitting the kid versions of each other, with bonus Crystal and Niko doing the same. It's very wholesome and the author writes little kids really well.

Pouring into me by tragedy_machine

Love me some "Charles wants to date Edwin to figure out his feelings but gets turned down" fic. Feelings are hard, OK?

thank u, next by KiaraSayre

Edwin fucks and Charles seethes. It's very funny and also features some interesting worldbuilding with the Fae.

Like We've Never Known Hurt by dearheartdont

Just cute established relationship PWP and praise kink. So good.

all of these hollows by handwrittenhello

The boys are alive again but sans memories. Can they still find each other and prove their devotion to the Night Nurse?? While also evading heavenly and hellish forces trying to keep them apart??? Very interesting concept executed well.

Suo Gân by emryses

The agency takes on the case of a traumatised Edwardian ghost searching for her missing baby... Read it for Edwin family feels.

Where Primroses Bloom by PantryJesus

Reading aloud as a love language and Watership Down feels. Idk, I'm now convinced that Edwin is kind of rabbit-coded with the whole "if they catch you they'll kill you. But first they must catch you" thing. A lovely well written fic.

I'm so sick of online love by Hse11z5

College/University AU where the boys meet through a dating app. It's cute.

you can have the best of me, baby (and I will give you anything) by aletterinthenameofsanity

Again, it's the Friends with Benefits but with real feelings and mutual pining for me. Now has a Charles PoV companion fic.

True Love's Kiss by Asidian

In which Charles curses himself with a Sleeping Beauty enchantment in order to confirm his feelings for Edwin and Crystal is the real MVP. I love this one because the boys are both SO stupid but in very different in-character ways.

I also recommend Promised, in which they kind of play the Green card angle to keep Edwin out of Hell? Which honestly needs to be more of a trope. And Tight Quarters, starring the boys trapped in a magic circle, leading to Forced Proximity induced Feelings Realization (in more ways than one! 😉).

Something I Can Turn To by DontOffendTheBees

I love some domestic fluff, in this case as an Everyone's Alive/Childhood Friends AU in which the boys are poor but happy living together. I liked how they both survive their respective traumas, but Reality Ensues.

I also recommend Lived My Whole Life Before the First Light for a lovely but melancholy Soulmate AU that goes for the "seeing colours" trope for extra wistful angst.

Dining at the Ritz by TerresDeBrume

Meeting the Parents fic in which Edwin's parents are awful and Charles is Not Having It. This has Everyone Thinks They're Dating and autistic Edwin stimming representation, plus discussions of racism, classism and ableism. The fic is also part of a great Modern AU series in which the boys attended St Hilarion's at the same time and Charles saved Edwin from a non-supernatural but still almost deadly prank. Highly recommended!

The Case of the Couples Retreat by juliasfanart

Listen, I can't get enough of undercover fake dating/relationships at a couples retreat, OK? Some minor angst but overall very cute and fluffy.

acu (aysar cinematic universe) by ObsessedWithFandom

The agency is hired to solve the mystery of Charles' death and bring his killers to justice. I'm genuinely obsessed with this series; I love its OCs and Charles having an exboyfriend gives Edwin a fun crisis. Plus haunting Charles' killers is very satisfying and cathartic. Just imagine they're Netflix execs, y'all.

*Not actually quick, as it turns out. 😅

I love doing these lists because I always think I've only got a few recs and then I look back over my recent bookmarks and I've got a metric ton of great fics to rec. You guys are so talented. ❤️

[xan-izme]

Dubble Life 5 (ATSV x reader x Batfam)

Summary: Family time was a need at the moment. And it was time reader meet one more member of the family. But the meeting of the two wasn't really friendly.

(A/N: Hey, sorry. Imma keep this short. So, the reason I couldn't post was cuz me n a friend was playing around too much, and my laptop broke cuz she decided to go all WWE on my ass, and I forgot the password for this acc. But it's fixed now. So, this chapter will be a late X-mas gift from me)

Part 4, Part 6

Damian was getting rather attached to you.

You were nothing like him. To Damian, you were weak, silly and peaceful. You just seemed so peaceful. And satisfied with just the littlest things.

The air around you just seemed inviting. Safe even.

Damian must admit he didn't like you at first, you just always seemed off to him. The lying you were doing, the fake and empty words. He didn't trust you.

But that day Joker attacked. The He saw so much of you. The real you. He saw you sad at the album store, just for a moment. But it was long enough to see. And your laughter. Your laugh and smile before were very annoying to Damian. Only because you only would smirk and snicker at him out of mockery.

But the movie made you laugh. Really laugh, really smile. At him mostly- but it was real!

Damian, he won't admit it, but he liked it when you were being yourself. And there are times he has seen you far away. Like your body was present, but your mind and soul seemed to be elsewhere. Even if you were engaging into a conversation. It was like someone completely different was speaking. Not you.

So, to bring out the real you. Damian would come with excuse of being board and having nothing better to do, and watch movies with you. Just to see you laugh, sad, angry. Just to see you.

You stared at the box on your nightstand. What was it exactly? You wanted to open it. But what if it's something you won't like. Something that will upset you more than needed.

"What is that?" Damian spoke. The boy practically came out of nowhere. But your used to it at this point. The boy is like a ninja, always sneaking up on you.

You sighed and turned your chair to start your school work.

"A box. . ." Even with your back turned from the boy. You had the urge to remind Damian not to touch it. "A box that you will not open." You turned your head to see you were correct. You had a box cutter in his hand, ready to open the box up. How or where did he get that box cutter from? You don't know, nor do you want to know.

Damian plopped down on your bed and started to examine the box. "Who was it from?" Damian saw no name to whom had sent the box.

". . . an old college of mine." You answered nice and short. Already feeling angry at the thought of Jess even knocking on your uncle and aunt's door to give the box to them.

Damian hummed and set the box down. He got up and started to go through the crates of albums you had near your bookshelf. He picked one and walked over to the vinyl player that was close to the window, near you, and started to let it play.

You smiled to yourself as Damian walked back to your bed.

Damian was trying to know what was in the box. Shaking it, knowing the wight and try to think of something that was the same size and wight that could be in the box.

It wasn't long before he fell asleep.

You took a glance to check why Damian was so quiet.

You let out a sigh when you saw him passed out. You stood up and walked over to the bed and use a blanket to cover him. You took the box away and sit back down at your desk.

It was time you had to open it. You used your super strength to open the box with ease. Once you saw what was in the box. You let out a tired sigh and leaned back in your chair.

It was a watch. The one the society uses. You see a note besides the watch. You shook your head and opened up the note what was addressed to you.

Call if you need help.

-Miguel

You crumbled the note and threw it away. And cursed to the man.

"Hijo de puta. Vete al diablo."

Unknown to you. Damian was still awake. He watched you get angry at whatever that note said. And the boy isn't that fluent in Spanish, but he does know whoever it was, you're not fond of them. On top of that.

You're hiding something. And Damian wants to get down it.

The next day, you skipped happily to the kitchen to get your fourth cup of coffee. "Another cup I see, not sleeping well Lady Y/n?" Alfred spoke. You giggled and held the warm cup close to you.

"Just need a boost. Hey, Damian said something about a dinner with everyone. Is there a special occasion?" You asked.

"Ah, yes. There is someone you weren't able to meet. Master Jason. He is available for tonight's dinner to finally meet you."

"Oh, I see. Oh, Alfred can you tell Bruce that I'm going to be out with a friend. Do you think that's okay. I leave in half an hour." You gave him a sheepish smile.

Alfred gave you a soft smile and nods "I'll inform him."

You got to your room and dressed up. You put the watch on and tapped the screen. And information of an anomaly that has been causing trouble showed up.

You walked to your bathroom and opened the cabinet. You cracked open the stash you had behind the meds and other items. That was where you hid your suit.

Just looking at it. The patterns, colors, the memories. You quickly stuffed the suit back into the stash.

"I can't do this. I can't do this." You shut your eyes tight, gripping hard on the sink. You tried to focus on your breathing to try and calm yourself, but the more you focused on your breathing, the more you noticed how fast your breathing was, which caused you to panic.

"Please. . . No, no, no. Please!" Your felt tears well up. Causing you to panic more. You began gasping for air. Trying to breath. Trying to calm yourself. But the moment you exhaled. You began sobbing. Your sobbing caused you to be frustrated at yourself. Your frustration made you cry more. You threw the bag that had your suit against the wall.

Unknown to you, a Polaroid picture of your mother slipped out.

As you were having your moment in the bathroom. Bruce had entered your room. He knocked and called out for you. But you didn't respond. So, he entered your room and didn't see you in your room.

He was confused, because Alfred had told him you were in your room. Before Bruce left to check to check if you were elsewhere. He heard something from your bathroom.

it didn't take long for him to instantly hurry to your bathroom and enter.

And there, he saw you on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably with your hands covering your face. Worry took over him as he slowly approached you.

"Y/n?" He spoke softly. But a little too soft, you couldn't hear him due to your crying and desperate attempts to breath normally.

He took another slow step closer. And something on the ground caught his eye. At first, it was the bag, then, his eyes slowly made its way to the Polaroid picture of your mother. He picked it up. He stared at it, then stared at you.

And to him, he understood. He understood all too well.

"Y/n. you're okay. You're okay." He gently put his hand on your shoulder. You flinched away, when you look up to see Bruce, you were confused. But all he did was smile at you softly and sat right next toy on the bathroom floor.

"Just breath. Okay, breath." You kept eye contact with him as he said these words. He rubbed circles on your back as he began to have you follow his breathing.

And to your surprise, and relief, it was working. You felt so, venerable. Usually, you hated feeling that way. But with your father, you felt. . . safe, to be venerable.

No words were spoken for a long moment between you two. Until you whispered

"I'm sorry." You were apologizing for this situation you had caused. But all your father did was rub your back.

"I understand," Was all he said.

"I understand"

That small moment had brought you and Bruce closer. A somewhat mutual understanding. It honestly felt like an invisible vail had been lifted between you to.

It took you an hour or so to get it back together. You left to deal with the anomaly. Just without your suit. You had an all-black disguise on, Gotham was dark and gloomy, so it was easy to blend in.

Now you're in an abandoned school, fighting off a green goblin anomaly. He was small, and nasty. Got on your damn nerves that's for sure. Once you defeated the green goblin. You open the portal and just threw the anomaly in and closed the portal.

You let out a loud, exhausted sigh.

"I swear. I have bones of a 60-year-old- ack! Jusus. . ." You had stretched and it hurt badly. Mainly your bad and knee hurt.

Suddenly. Your Spidey senses spiked up. You quickly jumped to your left and glared into the dark corridor.

"That was interesting to Watch." A voice spoke from the dark corridor. A figure emerges from the dark.

Revealing a tall man with a very noticeable red helmet that looked more like a mask.

You frown underneath your own mask.

"And you are?" You spoke up.

The masteries man spoke again, more aggressively. But this time. You hear a clicking sound. A gun. Pointed right at you.

"This is my city. And I wanna know why your here, Spider-woman."

[wttcsms]

if you feel like falling (catch me on the way down) | TWO

ᝰ.ᐟ after getting your heart broken by professional soccer player, rin itoshi, all because he loved the game more than you, you officially swear off all men — especially athletes. your publicist doesn’t get that memo, though, and you find yourself roped into a fake relationship with yoichi isagi, who isn’t just a pro soccer player, but also your ex’s rival. things could get messy. ( fem!reader )

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pairing yoichi isagi x reader (endgame), past! rin itoshi x reader word count 5.9k chapter synopsis the busier your schedule, the less time you can spend thinking about rin. the only problem is, you see something you can't unsee. nothing a bottle of tequila can't fix, right? (spoiler: tequila isn't fixing a broken heart) chapter contains partying and drinking to cope, diet culture author’s notes i have nothing to insightful to add rn, but send me any asks discussing this fic and i will have a lot to say LOL

From: fumiko.gima@apextalentgroup.com To: [USER EMAIL HIDDEN] Cc: wfitch@everlanefitch.com, mai.sasaki@apextalentgroup.com, hideakitakeda@titansecuritysolutions.com, benji1968@gmail.com + 3 others Subject: 6/19 — [NAME] [SURNAME] AGENDA Attachments: 📎 [6.19 AGENDA.pdf]

All — 

Attached is the PDF copy of [Name]’s itinerary for today. Reminder that these times are STRICT. Stay on schedule. 

Fumiko Gima

Get Outlook for IOS 

Your first alarm goes off at 4:50 AM to what you assume is the noise they play on repeat in hell (By the Seaside, an Apple classic). After waking up, you roll over in your king size bed (the problem with always choosing to go big instead of just going home is the fact that when you’re all alone, the luxury of extra space just becomes empty space) to promptly hit the snooze button. You’ll allow yourself five more minutes of sleep (as a treat). When the second alarm you set up goes off at 4:53 AM (By the Seaside, once again), you scream into your pillow, and shut it off for real this time. You knew you weren’t going to give yourself the full five minutes, but it felt really good to trick yourself into believing that you would. You always start the day with this tiny disappointment; that way, no one has the privilege of being the first person to piss you off. 

At 4:54 AM, you slide your feet into your Ugg slippers, readjust the loose straps of your silk camisole, and shuffle into your marble-floored bathroom. You rub the sleep from your eyes, brush your teeth with your pink electric toothbrush, and wash your face. By the time you’re done with your morning skincare, it’s 5:06 AM. You honestly can’t remember the last time you did your own makeup, but you bring your makeup bag with you anyway. If there’s downtime between shoots, you’ll post a faux-GRWM TikTok where you apply three miniscule dots of concealer on your seemingly already flawless skin and add a fresh layer of the brand new, limited edition Rhode peptide lip treatment that Hailey Bieber’s team gifted you. They also gave you twenty grand to do so, with a personal “hey girlie, would love to catch up with you one of these days!! life has been so hectic, sorry for not keeping in touch x btw, i just came out with a new shade of my…” text from Hailey herself. (You replied back with a “yessss, we need to meet up soon!! Also, LOVE LOVE LOVE the new shade omg 😍” — neither of you have any intention for planning a meet-up, and you don’t “LOVE LOVE LOVE” the new shade as much as you “LOVE LOVE LOVE” to deposit a fat check.) 

You’re sliding into the backseat of the glossy black SUV parked in front of your driveway at 5:14 AM. Your chauffeur, Benji, holds open the door for you. 

“Good morning, Ms. [Surname],” Benji never drops the formalities with you, except for when he’s lecturing you. Thank God he doesn’t own a smartphone; if he saw half the things Daily Mail wrote about you, his voice would be gone from scolding you so much. Even if he’s technically on your parents’ payroll and is paid to make sure you get to and from places safely, it still feels nice to have someone who cares about you enough to call you out on your shit. 

The first stop is an exclusive, members-only pilates studio. If you’re home, you have to work out in the morning, no matter what. You like your routine. Out of all the things online magazines put out about you, it’s kind of embarrassing how the most accurate one is revealing how you stay “fit ‘n flawless even after going out every night.” Most people didn’t believe it. Rin got it, though. Rin would actually work out with you, when the two of your schedules aligned, and— Time to start your workout early! Nothing takes your mind off of matters more than focusing on the burn of your core and arms. 

By the time you finish your private session, you’re walking out the studio with your puffy tote bag slung over your shoulders. Your body is still a bit damp from taking a quick shower but not drying off properly, and Benji drops you off at your first business stop of the day — ELLE Japan.

You smile brightly as the team of makeup artists surrounding you shower you with compliments. One of the girls brushing on your foundation tells you that you have really nice skin. When she goes in for a second layer, you almost consider rescinding the thanks you gave her.

The set is hectic, as expected. No matter how long these people have been in the industry, no matter how big the host is, something always seems to be going wrong. Apparently, there’s been a mishap over in wardrobe, and ELLE’s people are not very happy with how this is going to delay everything. With your hair and makeup done, there’s nothing for you to do besides sit down, be quiet, and look pretty. 

Downtime is the last thing you want. You’re used to a busy schedule, but you convinced Fumiko to accept as many projects as possible. If you have to rank at the top of the list for celebrities who emit the most CO2, then so be it. You’ll pollute the whole damn planet if it means you won’t have a single second to be alone with your thoughts. 

At 9:00 AM sharp, you go on your phone to inform your manager that the agenda is fucked. ELLE Japan is definitely going to push back this session with you for at least a good hour, which means Fumiko is going to have to explain to Your Style (the YouTube channel name for a famous fashion commentator who’s amassed nearly twenty million subscribers) why you’re going to be late for the Zoom debrief on what you two are going to talk about in an upcoming video. At 9:02 AM, you receive a text.

juli ᡣ𐭩: u know i love u 

It’s two in the morning in Paris. When Juliette said she was going to visit her father, she said it was going to be a much-needed vacation — just something chill and lowkey, like going to all the designer stores and eating croissants on a balcony. Those were her exact words. 

juli ᡣ𐭩: [photo attachment] 

Somehow, from the neon strobe lights, bodies pressed against one another’s, and the way the image is blurry because she couldn’t get her phone to focus, it feels like Juliette’s “something chill and lowkey” morphed into club-hopping all over France. You roll your eyes with affection. You should’ve known her vacation was going to turn into this; as if Juliette would eat bread for pleasure — she’s been quoted for claiming that carbs are a necessary evil. She probably hasn’t even touched a croissant for the past week she’s been there.

juli ᡣ𐭩: showing u before TMZ posts it juli ᡣ𐭩: [video attachment] juli ᡣ𐭩: do not freak out. not worth it. juli ᡣ𐭩: ugh i knew this club sucked ass for a reason 

You wait for the video to load. It’s almost as blurry and unfocused as the original image she sent, but you can tell she had to zoom in pretty hard to capture what she wanted. It’s two figures with a minimal amount of space between them. One of them is definitely a girl; she has the build of the usual French models. A thin, leggy brunette who has mastered the intricate art of Just Had Sex hair. Perfectly messy, but could never be considered sloppy. She’s wearing a sparkly, tight minidress. The fabric shimmers when the strobe lights pass by her body. The person she’s practically pressed up against is a man. Tall, lean. He’s leaning down, presumably so he can hear her better. When the video clip ends abruptly (someone bumped into Juliette, and the video ends with shaky footage and a loud “putain!”), you replay it. And replay it. And then you play it again, just for good measure.

Each time you watch the stupid video, you find something new to notice. Her red lips brushing against his ear. The way his hand hovers near her hip. The way you’re certain she’s smiling when she speaks, like the smirk of a victor. The exact same self-satisfied, smug grin you sport whenever you get a guy right where you want him. Upon every rewatch, though, one thing remains the same: you’re constantly fixated on him.

Right now, it’s two in the morning in Paris. You know that when you weren’t in this fucked up headspace you’re in right now, you’d be in bed, snuggled underneath your blankets, by 11:30 PM. You know that when you felt your best, you could be in bed, whispering in the dark to the person you felt safest with, at 10:00 PM (at the latest, because you both would have a busy day ahead and needed the rest). He likes sleeping early because he likes being well-rested. 

So why the hell is Rin Itoshi at a club right now?

At 9:39 AM, ELLE Japan gets right back on track. Before your editorial shoot for a special anniversary edition of the magazine, they get you to sit down to do a video interview that they plan on posting all over their social media. 

“This is a very special edition that will be coming out, and you are not only having the biggest spread dedicated to you, but you’re also going to be on the cover. Knowing this, how are you feeling right now, [Name]? This might be the most high-profile photoshoot you’ve done so far in your career, and that’s saying something. You have quite the impressive resume.” 

The ring lights are shining directly in your eye. The stool they have you sitting on for this interview is uncomfortable, and you have to focus on remaining balanced. Your back is perfectly straight, and your hands are folded in your lap. You blink, and you see the video playing in your mind. You have God knows how much makeup caked on right now, and you still have a long day ahead of you. Rin is at a club right now. Rin is at a club right now, with a girl. Rin is at a club right now, with a girl, and they’re basically grinding against each other, and he might just have forgotten all about you.

You smile brightly. At 9:40 AM in Japan, you let everyone know, 

“I honestly think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been before in my life! This is a great way to establish a sort of, I guess, new era of my life and my career.” 

You turn to face the camera directly, giving them a dazzling view of your pearly whites. “Not trying to rush the process or anything, but I am definitely looking forward to seeing how this will all play out in the future.” 

You’re operating on autopilot for the rest of the day. The ELLE shoot wraps up close to noon. You forgo lunch, but knowing you and your tendency to skip meals, Benji refuses to start the car until you eat the lunch his wife packed for you. It’s light and refreshing — they want you to eat well, but they’re not cruel. Even if they want to bring you a feast of a nice, hot, home cooked meal, you’ll eat it out of obligation and then suffer the consequences on set when everyone asks why you’re so bloated. You don’t even taste what you’re consuming. 

At 12:30 PM, you hop on the Zoom call and pretend to care about discussing matters such as the lack of personal style affecting the younger generations. Every topic is a trivial topic to you. The only thing worth dissecting is that damn video. You should’ve asked those twenty million subscribers to help you analyze that, instead of nodding along when the YouTuber starts going on a rant about how Shein and other fast fashion brands are ruining everything. 

Late in the afternoon, you get another text. 

kenyu: So the team wants to host a belated birthday party for me lmao. Team’s planning on having it at 10 tonight kenyu: Sending you the address right now

A party is exactly what you need right now. Endless drinks, no need for rational thinking, and you’ll be (mostly) surrounded by people who think models are all vain and vapid. No one there is going to expect a decent conversation from you, and with the state you’re in, it’s a wonder how all your sentences are even making sense. 

You give Kenyu’s next message a like in response. You were expecting a club, but when you click on the address, Maps reveals that it’s residential. Rin is gallivanting around European nightclubs, and meanwhile, the best you can do are house parties. This is how the future is playing out? 

At least even at your worst, people still think you’re on top of the world. 

Maybe life without a man dragging you down and invading your space is for the best. After all, once you got done with all your professional obligations, it’s only eight at night. You’re used to going out with whatever makeup they did for you on set at your last shoot of the day, which is a shame. You have shelves full of makeup that’s been sent to you by different brands, and one of these nights, you plan on just messing around at your vanity. 

You like living alone, you decide. You can leave all the lights on if you want, and no one complains about it hurting their eyes. You have full control of the thermostat. You don’t have to fight for counter space in the bathroom. Plus, no one can see how you’re living. 

At 9:13 PM, you’re sprawled on the cool marble floor of your bathroom (squeaky clean thanks to the housekeeper you have come once a week), and instead of rewatching that dreadful video and subsequently crying, you had a quick retail therapy session. Your new Prada heels should be coming within the next two days. 

You don’t get Benji to drive you. Nobody bats an eye at a rich girl having a driver, but it does seem kind of weird to have him drop you off at a party as if you're a tween girl getting taken to the mall. If the house is owned by one of Yukimiya’s teammates, surely it won’t be too awkward if you had to leave it there because you got too drunk to drive yourself back home? 

Because — no offense to Yuki, you’re happy he’s getting another birthday celebration — the whole point of even going to this party is to get fucked up. You already know that Juliette had a point — if not TMZ, then at least Daily Mail will be all over Rin and that girl in the club. If that gets leaked, then you might as well have your own headline to combat his. Sure, lately you’ve been out partying, but that was with other models so it doesn’t raise too many eyebrows. Rin being caught at a club is basically him hard launching the breakup. You need to raise some speculation on your side of things, too. 

you: can you get someone to pick up my car from this address tomorrow morning? you: please :) 

When you see three dots appear, you smile for real. You can practically hear her sigh and see the shake of her head.

Fumiko Gima: Yes. Fumiko Gima: Be safe.

Aw, maybe your manager does have a heart. Right before you can send her a heart, she adds:

Fumiko Gima: Don’t stay out too late. You have your first shoot at 8 AM. 

This is the message you give a heart reaction to. Maybe everything really is just business with her. 

You suppose you can’t fault Fumiko for always seeming cold. She’s your manager, not your best friend. 

In this industry, her honesty is refreshing. You normally find this to be the case, but you really feel it now when you step into the mansion and hear a cacophony of laughter swarming you from all sides. At every turn, there’s a celebrity with a drink in hand. Everyone’s leaning towards each other, as if they’re so captivated with the other’s words. 

You see an actor leading a stumbling model up the spiral staircase. To your side, you see a baseball player chatting up the daughter of one of the baseball league’s board members. Upstairs, someone’s probably snorting a line off Yukimiya’s teammate’s bathroom counter. There are only three reasons why people in your social circle attend these parties: to get fucked, to get fucked up, or to make business deals. Considering the fact that you’ve been here for nearly five minutes and have yet to see a birthday cake — or the belated birthday boy himself — you’re pretty sure everyone here has lot the damn plot for the original celebration.

When you venture some more, you end up in the massive backyard. Some people are drunkenly making out in the pool, some people are watching them, and in a table in the corner, you spot a group of girls giggling and cheering as they all do shots. Perfect. This is exactly where you need to be. 

One’s a model; you’ve seen her on a couple pages you flipped through in Harper’s Bazaar. You go up to the table and give her a bright smile.

“Hey, girl! Or should I say Miss Bazaar?” You greet her like how you think people would tease a friend. She’s not your friend; you don’t even know her name. You know she knows your name — everyone here does. And it’s because of the fact that everyone knows you that she lights up when she realizes you’re speaking to her. 

A photo op with you guarantees that even if the headline coming out tomorrow is centered on you, she’ll still be in the frame. Daily Mail will add a caption naming everybody from left to right, and she’s planning on being the one captured right next to you. 

“[Name]!” She squeals, giving you a quick side hug. “How have you been?”

All your friends, the grand total of exactly two people, know how you’ve been. You grin, pointing to the bottle of tequila they have on their table. 

“After how this day has been, I honestly just need a shot.” You play it off like a joke, and as someone pours you one, you add, “Or maybe like five.” They all giggle before throwing back the tequila straight. They might think you’re joking, but this table full of strangers are the first people you’ve been honest with all day. 

At 12:15 AM, they aren’t strangers anymore. In fact, you think they might be your best friends in the whole world. You don’t know the lyrics to the rap song blaring through the bass boosted speakers, but you’re laughing as you take another shot. The Harper’s Bazaar girl is doing another shot with you, but she has her phone in her other hand. She makes sure that the both of you are in the frame together, and a second later, she’s tagging you in an Instagram story you don’t bother to view. You’re not even following her. 

“Okay, so out of all the guys here, who looks the most fuckable?” One of the girls leans on the table for support as she asks this question. You can’t help but notice how glittery her lipgloss is. Wow, even after all the shots she’s taken, there’s no transfer. Impressive. “I say Theo Sachs.” 

“Who the fuck is Theo Sachs?” Harper’s Bazaar asks, and the whole entire table giggles. Honestly, at parties like these, laughing comes easy. In fact, you’re giggling right with them, even though you also have no fucking clue who Theo is. There’s just something so freeing in tequila-induced joy. 

“Um, the host of this party?” Glittery Lipgloss says. “Oh my God, girl, he’s like, one of the players for Bastard.” 

“The fuck is Bastard?” Another girl asks, adjusting her blue minidress. 

“The soccer team!” Glittery Lipgloss is too drunk to be fed up, but you’re sure she would be rolling her eyes if she could. 

“I didn’t know we had soccer players here. I only saw baseball players.” Blue Minidress frowns, before adding, “I would totally fuck one of the baseball boys, though. No preference whatsoever. Matter of fact, I could take the whole team.” 

Harper’s Bazaar laughs. “What about you, [Name]? Who are you taking home tonight?” 

Before you can think of something to say, Glittery Lipgloss groans. “Oh my God, she has a boyfriend.” She looks at you for confirmation. You don’t give her any, but thankfully Blue Minidress has her own insight to add to this conversation. 

“So what the fuck does that have to do with her question? [Name], who are you taking home tonight?” 

Nobody. Out of every party you’ve gone to this past month, you went back home, completely and utterly alone each and every time. It’s not even because nobody offered — they have — but because no matter how lonely you may get or feel, you don’t like strangers in your space. It took you three months of dating Rin to let him into the penthouse you were originally staying in, and that was with you being in love with him. 

Once again, you’re saved from answering when someone behind you goes, “[Name]?” 

You turn around, only to come face to face with Yoichi Isagi. On second thought, maybe this isn’t the rescue you thought it was. Drunk You can’t hold back your frown when you see him. He’s wearing a dark blue polo shirt and chinos. He looks perfectly business casual and could pass off as an off-the-clock investment banker instead of the world class athlete you’ve heard he is. Then you let out a little snort of laughter, which only makes him look more confused. You don’t want to tell him that it’s kind of funny how normal he looks. 

Not in a bad way. You’re surrounded by models for practically the whole day. Looking unattainably hot or having ethereal beauty is the one non-negotiable job requirement. Even Rin, with his stupidly long lower lashes and impossibly high cheekbones and his pretty boy resting sulking face, is serving standards some male models can’t achieve. Isagi looks like the type of guy you would have a crush on if the two of you were completely normal and attended regular high school together. 

But that’s not the reality you’re living in. Right now, you’re getting drunk with girls you don’t know, and every night, you’re making headlines. He’s a professional athlete that everyone at this table would gladly fuck just for a chance to be declared social media’s favorite WAG of the Week. The both of you could have your pick of anyone at this party, but you refuse to let anyone in, and you think Isagi might be one of those intense athletes who only care about their sport.

If that’s the case, he’s doing every girl a favor by not pretending he can commit to anything but soccer. You know someone who could use a few pointers. 

“Hi,” you mumble, and then you want to slap yourself because why the fuck are you acting like you’re nervous? But for some reason, you feel like you're a kid caught with their grimy hand in the cookie jar, like you’re doing something wrong.

“I didn’t know you’d be here.” 

“Well, it’s Kenny’s birthday party. Of course, I’d be here.” You cross your arms against your chest, feeling like you have something to prove. Before Yukimiya became his teammate, Kenyu was your friend first. Like, real friend, not just someone you leave supportive comments on their Instagram post type of friend. 

Isagi actually smiles when he hears that. “Funny. I think everyone but Yukimiya actually wants to be here.” 

You sober up a bit when you hear that. “Yeah, I couldn’t find him anywhere.” Not that you looked very hard. The minute you found this table of girls, you didn’t bother exploring the rest of the mansion. 

“He was upstairs with some of the guys. You know that he, uh, doesn’t really like these types of parties.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“You don’t seem like the type to like these parties either.” If he was anyone else, you’d be saying this to flirt. You’re honestly not sure what your intention behind this comment was, either. You’re too drunk to decide if you wanted it to be an insult (some way to defend Yukimiya’s behavior?) or just you trying to make conversation for once (you’re not normally one for small talk). 

“Caught me.” Isagi smiles easily. From now and thinking back to Yukimiya’s birthday lunch, Isagi is rarely not smiling. You wonder if he means it. Surrounded by people who only let you drink with them because being seen with you elevates their own status, you decide that the answer to that is a probably not. “I was about to head out before I thought I saw you, and I wanted to come by and…” For a second, he pauses to choose the right words to say. “Just wanted to see if it really was you.”

“Well, you saw me. Guess your business is done here.” Then you swiftly turn your back to him, as if to abruptly end the conversation. Instead, you’re drunker than you realize, and your heel ends up being wedged deeper into the grass than you expected, and you lose your balance. You think you might fall, which would be so embarrassing, but maybe not as embarrassing as what actually ends up happening.

What actually ends up happening is that Isagi is quick to wrap his arm around your abdomen, pulling you close to him as he attempts to keep you steady and upright. The girls looked shocked, but then they burst into another round of giggles, and since you’re not joining in the laughter, all you can think about is how annoying they are. You squirm around in his grasp, ignoring the whiff of fresh laundry you get from being all up in his personal space (not by choice!!!; he’s the one that pulled you in, after all!), and he releases you. 

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks you. It’s hard to glare at him when he looks so genuinely concerned. 

“Never better.” 

“Do you have a ride home?” 

What does it matter to you? Is what you want to say. 

“I’ll call an Uber.” You lie, hoping that this will end the conversation once and for all. Seriously, Isagi just killed the whole vibe of the party for you. You want to go back to drinking. 

“But I thought you didn’t do Ubers.” When Isagi calls you out on your bullshit, you soften momentarily. You almost forgot that he heard about your weird thing of having strangers know your home address. Then, you go back to giving him the cold shoulder. Sometimes, it’s a warm and gooey feeling to be known. Right now, you want to drown your sorrows in tequila and be showered with fake affection by girls who probably don’t even like you sober. You didn’t come to this party to be known. You came here for revenge. 

(You’re not going to acknowledge how drinking your sadness away isn’t necessarily showing up Rin, but for nearly an hour straight, you hadn’t thought about him, and that’s good enough.) 

When you have no response to that (wit doesn’t come easy when you’re in the condition you’re in right now), Isagi looks at you imploringly. 

“Let me take you home.” 

You shake your head childishly, almost saying nuh-uh. “Just because you don’t like this party doesn’t mean I don’t like it. I’m staying right here.” 

He finally frowns. “Fine. I’ll wait for you to finish up here, then I’ll take you home.”

“I’m with my friends right now. Leave me alone.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “Really? Which friend is going to make sure you get home safely? Yukimiya already left early.” Despite the two of you not knowing what the other is thinking, you both give wry smiles about that statement for the same reason. The party is still going on strong, despite the guest of honor not wanting to show his face and leaving early. 

“These are my best friends.” You gesture to the trio of girls you know nothing about, besides the fact that they can keep up with your drinking habits. They all smile at Isagi, who waves back before turning his attention back to you.

“Really?” He asks. “What’re their names again?”

No one has anything to say to that, especially you. When the silence gets too awkward, Isagi clears his throat and also puts his foot down.

“I’m taking you home, [Name].” 

You look at the trio of strangers you just spent hours with. Harper’s Bazaar shrugs, and the other two look away. The sting of not knowing who they are, despite them obviously having enough notoriety to be invited, makes your “best friends” not your friends anymore. Whatever. 

“Fine.” You grumble, following Isagi to his car. 

“Did you have fun tonight?” Is what he asks you as he signals to make a turn. The clicking of the turn signal is the only thing that fills the silence in the car. 

No. 

Sometimes, it’s fun in the moment, but that’s only when you’re drunk enough to trick yourself into thinking you’re having a good time. You’re more like Yukimiya (and — gross — Isagi) than they know; the whole “It Girl dominates the party scene” vibe you’ve got going on… It’s just bullshit that your PR team mixes together to get people talking. The high of being adored by everyone in a room vanishes almost immediately the minute you go home and wash off your makeup. In the bright lights of your bathroom, you stare at the sad, lonely girl in the mirror. It’s too dark outside for you to see anything out the window, but you lean your head against the cool glass, and before you know it, you’re waking up…

To Isagi groping you?

You’re groggy and confused and trying to blink the sleepiness out of your eyes, but Yoichi Isagi is definitely all up on you. You’re shocked, honestly. He looks like such a sweet guy! No wonder he was so pushy in getting you home.

He’s holding you in some awkward side hug, and he’s patting down your waist, trying to slip his fingers through the fabric of your dress, and finally, because he must be a novice-level pervert who doesn’t know the first thing about female anatomy, you speak up. 

“Gross! You can’t even feel up a girl properly! No wonder you take advantage of drunk, vulnerable girls!” 

“Ah!” He jerks back, shocked that you’re awake. Serves the pervert right. He should be backing up. You took a month of kickboxing classes (your modeling agency thought it would be the next big thing, since all the Victoria Secret models kickbox — they were wrong). “I-I wasn’t feeling you up!” 

“Then why were your hands all over me?” 

“I was looking for your key! You were asleep, and you looked like you needed it, so I just carried you to your door, but it’s locked.”

Oh. Likely story. You’re not letting him off the hook just yet. 

“Obviously my front door would be locked, dumbass. Who doesn’t lock their house?” You point to the perfectly trimmed hedges by your door. “Key’s in the bushes.”

Since you’re making no moves to get down on your knees and rifle through the bushes, Isagi sighs and does it himself. When he holds up the key, you nod in thanks, take it, and then proceed to unlock the door using your fingerprint. 

He blinks. “What?” 

“What?” You repeat back, innocently. 

“You didn’t even need the key to unlock the door!”

“Yes, Isagi. Modern technology is something, isn’t it?” And because you feel kind of bad, you offer him the chance to wash up before driving back. 

“You’re really something, you know that?” Isagi says from the kitchen sink. You’re sitting on a stool by the counter.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s nothing bad.” He clarifies. “It’s just… Rin’s a pretty private person. We always wondered what his girlfriend must be like. Sorry.” He shuts off the faucet, dries his hands. “Ex-girlfriend, I guess.”

“How do you know that?” You’ve been racking your brain, wondering if Yuki spilled your secret accidentally. Or — even worse — Rin himself confirmed it. Rin never even told anyone explicitly that the two of you were dating, so it’s not plausible that he would go blab about the breakup. 

“Well, I didn’t really know for sure until I drove you home that first time.” He admits. “I just thought you made a weird face when I mentioned Rin during lunch, and then you started acting funny afterwards. Just had a hunch, that’s all.” 

Great. So, Isagi, who’s basically a stranger to you, could read you to filth. Is there anyone else that you haven’t been fooling? How embarrassing. Being perceived sucks. 

You don’t say anything else. You can hear Isagi mumbling about something, and you make a half-hearted noise in reply, but you’re sleepy and drunk and coming to the realization that you can’t keep fooling everyone around for long. There’s no point in dancing around the topic of your breakup. It’s getting tiring, anyway. 

It is pretty exhausting to be pining after someone who’s not coming back. 

Because that’s why you’re trying so hard to keep the breakup a secret. Partly for pride, but mostly because… You’re hoping that after learning everything there is to know about you, Rin Itoshi wouldn’t go so far to cut you so deeply by leaving you. Right? He understood your level of loneliness like no one else, and he related to it. For the first time in both of your lives, the two of you suddenly found the right person to fill in all the empty spaces. 

And then he left, and the emptiness just continues to grow in infinite amounts.

You groan as you move around, only to find that you’re moving on top of your bed. You’re tucked into your sheets, and your hair is splayed across your pillow. You turn your head and see a shadowy figure exiting out your bedroom door.

“You’re leaving, too?” 

Your throat is dry, and the words come out small. You hate this feeling of hopelessness and vulnerability, and the figure pauses in his steps. 

He hushes you gently. “You should go to sleep. You’ve had a long night.” 

“Fine. Don’t stay. I don’t care.” You burrow yourself further into your blankets. 

“Do you really want me to stay?” 

At one in the morning, covered in the darkness of your bedroom, you turn every shadow into Rin Itoshi. You don’t know what you mumble in response, but you know that whatever you said, it’s directed towards him.

[lovecla]

© property of lovecla, nhl masterlist, nico hischier x you.

FAKE IT ‘TILL YOU MAKE IT, final phase.

<last chapter>

➴ chapter warnings: oral sex (f. receiving), brief arguing.

➴ word count: 2.6k

💌 from me to you: and this, my loves, is the end of fake it ‘till you make it (for now!!). thank you so much for supporting me and my stories and thank you for this playlist that got me through this chapter. anyways, i’m so excited for you all to read the rest of this universe that i’m going crazy. hope you enjoy!!!! xxx

𖧷

nicohischier

liked by njdevils, nataliebrooks, _quinnhughes and 29,103 others

nicohischier #Life 😌😁

View all 2,083 comments

user1 What does this even mean

user2 Nico are you cheating on me

user3 TOLD YALL THEY ARE LITERALLY MARRIED WITH KIDS

emmaroberts when did you even take that 😓

user4 Cap got his first hat trick and a girlfriend in less than three months

elladavis em looks sooo cute 🥹

user5 I thought i could keep convincing myself they were just friends but this ?????????

user6 Captain Dimples has a girlfriend (and she’s not me)

user7 the “#life 😌😁” is killing me

user8 user7 Like he really said Idgaf and went to sleep

user9 user8 beside emma

𖧷

YOU GRUNTED, almost throwing your phone away when you entered Nico’s apartment, which was basically your second house now.

There were tiny, somewhat insignificant things around his place that reported that you two were together, things like your hairbrush in his bathroom, your toothbrush beside his, your books and phone charger on his bedside table.

Or maybe the fact that he keeps buying the sweets he knows you like, or when he changed the brand of softener he used because you once briefly mentioned that it made your nose itch.

You won’t deny that you’re happy with the fact that he seems pleased to have you around, but you’re still not sure if you want to move in with him— your story already sounds crazy and fast paced enough.

Still, you enjoy spending your days off with him, especially when he’s also at home, which is tonight’s occasion. He’s sitting on the couch watching The Godfather when you enter the house, but you don’t even have time to properly greet him before Richard starts talking again.

“Technically, it wasn’t due until 5 p.m. today. So, no need to get your... keyboard in a knot.”

You scoff. “My keyboard in a— what?! Richard, I was waiting for your notes last night so I could approve it. I guess I didn’t factor in your busy schedule of... what was it? Two hours chatting up Emily from graphics?”

“Oh, come on,” he laughs, like he didn’t delay a week’s worth of work. “It wasn’t two hours. More like 45 minutes. And anyway, building relationships in the office is important, Emma. You should try it sometime.”

“Building relationships? Is that what we’re calling shameless flirting now?” you ask, voice filled with rage. “Good to know. Next time I don’t meet a deadline, I’ll just say I was networking over cocktails.”

“Listen, Emma—”

“No, you listen,” you say, finally tired after thirty minutes of arguing with your colleague. You place your bag on the coffee table, and almost lose your arguments when you find Nico’s puppy, almost scared eyes looking at you. “Jake, who’s a father of two adorable, sweet girls, had to stay at work way past his work hours, re-writing half of your article. Not to mention Melissa, who also had to stay late because your inspiration left her waiting for the graphics requests you didn’t submit.”

“Ain’t that awesome? That’s what I call a real team.”

“A real team?” You almost shout. Usually, as the editor-in-chief of one of the most important sports magazines in the US, you’d try to keep your cool and act professional. But you’ve been handling Richard’s bullshit for the past two months and now you’ve had enough. “I can’t do this anymore. I want you in my office on Monday so we can discuss your leaving.”

This time, Richard doesn’t have an immediate bratty remark for you.

“Was I clear?”

“M-Mrs Roberts, I—”

“My. Office. On Monday. At half past seven.”

“I’m sure we can figure this out and—”

You look at the clock sitting on Nico’s desk and smile, even though you know Richard can’t see. “Oh, would you look at that? It’s seven p.m. which means I’m not on my work hours anymore. So, we should probably just talk on Monday.” You use your best, fake happy voice. “Have a nice weekend, Richard.”

You don’t wait for his answer before hanging up on him and sighing loudly.

“Hi, baby,” you finally say, leaning down to give Nico a brief kiss. “I’m sorry for this.”

“I’m somewhere between proud and scared,” he smiles, getting up and wrapping his arms around your tired body, as you lean closer to his chest and rest your head on it. “Proud because you’re actually standing up for yourself, scared because I have never seen you talk like that.”

You shrug. “I mean, he did make Jake go home later than he’s supposed to, several times, and I’ve met his kids, I just… if it was just me, I wouldn’t be this upset but—”

“You don’t need to justify your actions, schatz. Not to me, not to anyone,” he smiles softly, and you just lean closer to his chest. He smells like home and violets. “And the guy is an asshole.”

You laugh, reluctantly pulling away from him.

“I guess you’re right,” you said. “I need a shower though. This ‘standing up for myself’ thing is tiring and nasty.”

“Better hurry, then,” Nico whispers against your mouth. “I ordered food from your favorite place.”

You moan loudly as you make your way to his bathroom. “Fuck, I’m going to have your kids.”

His laugh is loud enough for you to hear and you smile, closing the door behind you.

𖧷

YOU’RE ALMOST falling asleep on the couch when you feel it.

It’s light and sweet at first, barely noticeable. Nico had been resting his head on your belly, while you played with his hair and tried to keep up with the last episode of The Summer I Turned Pretty.

But you probably snoozed for a few seconds, and Nico saw that as the perfect opportunity for him to bury himself in the middle of your thighs.

“Baby,” you call him, and he hums back, barely paying attention to you. “What are you doing?”

“I miss you.” Was all he said, before going back to kissing your naked thighs.

You just chuckled, looking down at him, and feeling somewhat shy as he inhales your skin, probably smelling the hints of lavender your body wash left behind.

He keeps kissing you, taking his time. It’s barely anything, yet it has you throbbing under your panties, which makes you blush. It’s embarrassing how fast you melt under his touch.

He gets up, sitting on his heels, looking down at you with lustful eyes. “You’re stressed.”

“I am,” you smile.

“I want to eat you out.”

“You do?”

“I do, yeah,” he plays with the hem of your shirt, slowly moving his finger down, all the way to your black panties. “What do you think?”

“I think that’s the best idea you’ve had in a while,” you bite your lips, hiding your grin.

He doesn’t hide his, smiling widely as he quietly drags your underwear down, lifting your hips just enough to remove them from your body.

“You have such a pretty pussy, babe,” he muttered, spreading your legs, until your bare, smooth flesh mercies the open air. “I can never get enough.”

Before you can even start to feel shy about your nakedness, Nico dives in, licking a long stripe up your pussy, not paying attention to your most sensitive part, not just yet— it had you moaning anyway, though.

He attaches his warm mouth to your core, tongue messily gliding over your lips and entrance. His movements are precise and smooth, like he was born to do this.

The tip of his tongue finds your hole, dipping inside you slowly, then, he finally licks your clit, moving his wet muscle from side to side while you trash under his touch, holding onto the couch with both of your hands.

“You’re so wet, baby,” he says, voice hoarse and silvery. “Dripping, actually. And all of that for me.”

You’re about to answer when he dives into your core again, this time focusing on your clit only. He grabs both of your thighs and pulls you towards him, licking everywhere. The sound of him eating you out filling up the room, louder than the boring show you had on.

The room’s barely illuminated yet you can see him staring at you as he licks, eats and satisfies himself with your taste. He doesn’t even blink, trapped between your legs, sucking your most sensitive part.

“Ngh.”

He stops messing with your clit just to smirk and say: “C’mon, love. I know you can be louder than that.”

And then, he dives into you again, giving you all he can. And his all has you pulling his hair and moaning loudly, even with your left hand covering your mouth.

Your release builds fast, as it always does whenever Nico decides to do whatever he wants with you. The tension in your lower belly comes faster each time you both have sex, and even though you can’t explain why, you’re not bored by it, not at all.

“Nico, I’m gonna come,” you manage to say, rolling your eyes, only to close them afterwards. “F-Fuck.”

You’re rutting against his mouth, not caring that your sweet spot’s feeling overstimulated. It’s like a feral feeling, taking over your body and mind, and your only goal is to come.

You feel lucky, so fucking lucky, to have a man like him to make you see stars, and when you come inside his mouth, it’s without warning or coordination.

You’re seeing white and you’re gasping for breath as he continues to lick you, digging his short nails into your flesh so he can keep you in place— even though you can barely move, your limbs are too weak to do anything.

“N-Nico,” you whisper, gently pushing him away because you’re sure you’re about to disintegrate if he keeps going. And also because you know he’ll be there for hours with no end if you don’t push him away. “Shit.”

He smirks, and you’re sure he’ll never look this hot again. His hair is glued to his face, and his chin is shiny with your come, but so are his lips and the tip of his nose. But what really does it for you it’s the way his chocolate eyes are shining and looking at you like you’re everything.

You grab his shirt and pull him down, kissing his lips right away, tasting yourself on his tongue. It’s nasty and new, but you don’t care; you just want to feel him, be close to him.

“There’s no one else,” you tell him. “It’s just you, and it will always be just you.”

He smiles, his dimples stealing the spotlight because they make you want to live inside his cheek forever. “Hope that’s a promise, baby.”

“Oh, captain,” you hum. “It is.”

𖧷

YOU’RE SITTING on Nico’s lap when you see her.

She enters the bar with her chin up, holding her Gucci purse under her arms and softly clicking her fingers against the phone she’s holding.

She doesn’t immediately look your way, and even though you’re not sure if she knows you and your people— Mia, Ella, Luke, Jack and Nico— had chosen this specific bar to celebrate the Devils winning streak, you can’t help but feel aware of her presence.

Nico brings you back to the present moment, squeezing your waist lightly, just enough to make you look back at him.

“What does Em think of this?” you hear someone, Luke, maybe, ask, and you shrug, trying to hide the fact that you don’t know what they’re talking about.

“Keep my girlfriend out of your useless conversations, please.” Nico says, saving you once again. You give him a brief cheek kiss, taking care so you won’t smudge his cheek with your red lipstick.

“Please, you’re so pussy-whipped it’s sad to watch.” Jack says and Mia rolls her eyes at him.

“As he should.” she grins, winking at you.

“I only asked her if she thinks the last Fast & Furious movie is boring or not,” Luke argues. “I mean, Natalie almost killed me last time I mentioned it.”

“She hates those goddamn movies,” you laugh, remembering how angry she’d get whenever someone tried to make her believe that that whole franchise is good. “You should’ve known better.”

“I guess,” Luke pouts, toying with his beer bottle and Ella smiles at him. “I lowkey miss her, is that weird?”

“It’s not weird to miss your friends, Duke,” Mia fake punches him. “I miss her a lot, too. And Quinn.”

“We should visit them once the season’s over,” Ella suggests and you all agree, making plans for your next trip to Vancouver.

The conversation makes you forget about the fact that Nora is in the same place as you, and your insecurities are set aside so you can enjoy your evening with your friends.

You’re caught up with laughing and dancing with Mia and Luke when Nico reaches for you and tells you he’s going to the bathroom, and you just nod and give him a peck, before following Luke and doing the dumbest dance moves ever, making Mia laugh and curse at both of you.

You end up knocking over Luke’s bottle of glass all over you, and even though it’s hot inside the bar, you know you’ll have to dry your shirt before heading out again, otherwise it’s certain you’ll catch a cold.

“I’ll be right back, guys,” you tell Mia and Luke before looking around and trying to find the bathroom sign. Once you do, it’s a sixteen step walk until you’re standing in front of the door that leads to the bathroom hallway, only to find Nico standing there with—

Nora.

They don’t see you, and Nora’s the first to speak again. “It’s just that… you kind of just vanished after that night at my house, and you did unfollow me on Instagram. Did I do something wrong?”

“Well, Nora, you see: you did do something wrong. You kissed me even though you knew I had a girlfriend. That’s not really cool.”

You can tell by his tone that he’s upset, and the Angel sitting on your right shoulder is telling you that you should trust your boyfriend and leave the two of them alone but the Devil speaks louder and you stay right where you are.

“But…” she’s pouting and you feel the urge to punch her. “I didn’t know you and Emma were serious. If I had known, I’d—”

“You’d what?” he scoffs. “You’re still here, even after knowing that Em and I are serious, and have been for a long time now. You followed me all the way to the bathroom just to ask if I was upset with you for kissing me even though you knew I was dating.”

“Nico, you’re being too serious. Emma doesn’t need to know what we did—”

“She already does,” he crosses his arms in front of chest and leans against the bathroom door. “And even if she didn’t, I know, Nora. If you can sleep at night knowing you kissed a compromised person, that sounds like a you problem. I love my girlfriend and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t bother me anymore.”

Nora’s silent for a few seconds before she remembers Nico’s probably expecting an answer.

“I’m not saying you don’t love her, I’m just saying that I understand if you can’t talk to me because of he—”

“It’s not that I can’t, Nora, I don’t want to,” he scoffs again. “Emma is my girlfriend for a fucking reason. I love her.”

Nora’s face is red, and her hands are shaking slightly. She nods before running out of the hallway like her ass’s on fire, only stopping when she almost runs into you.

You don't do anything besides winking at her, watching as her face becomes even redder and angrier. It’s funny how she stomps her way through the bar and leaves without a single word to anyone else.

When you look back to the hallway, you find Nico staring at you, a beautiful smile decorating his lips.

“Looks like you got yourself wet, baby.” He says, pointing to your shirt.

You smile, following him to the bathroom. “Hell yes I did. But it’s about to get worse.”

[amxrany]

!! CHAPTER 7 / DIASOMNIA ARC SPOILERS !!

Hey guys I'm awake and well now let's continue (Rook's Dream):

We find ourselves in Savanclaw where we find Savanaclaw Rook and I honestly love him here he looks like a dog I left outside in the rain by accident (affectionate)

Now everone's confused as to why Rook's in Savanaclaw, but then Rook drops the bomb that Vil is in RSA and everyone's like "WHAT?!"

Stop Rook is literally just being the biggest neigevil oshi cuz he just wants Vil and Neige to be besties 😭. He's so open about it too like he's literally geeking about their interviews together to the point that he's squeezing Grim and Epel cuz he got too excited (he's so fr for that honestly). But then Sebek snaps and Rook apologizes because no one in Savanaclaw is a neigevil fan as well :((

But Ortho encourages Rook by wanting to visit his room so that they can learn about Neige and Vil. Grim questions the decision, but that's like the only way they can break Rook out of the dream, and now Rook's just murmuring to himself and how he will introduce them to Vil and Neige

Once they're near Rook's room he literally told them not to barge into his room and the gang did exactly what they're not supposed to do

AND OH MY GOD ROOK'S ROOM IS JUST????

(pov: you're in a neigevil oshi competition but your opponent is rook hunt)

SEBEK THOUGHT THIS WAS A RITUAL ROOM FOR A SECOND AND ROOK IS CURRENTLY LOSING IT 😭😭😭. Apparently Rook has been hiding his hyperfixation for THREE YEARS and he can't just let the group go...until they watch DVDs of neigevil interactions

This went on for five hours and Rook was gushing, sobbing and crying over it, Silver actually slept for the first time in the realm of dreams because of this 💀. Before the group leaves, Epel couldn't help but ask Rook if he still remembers what happened during VDC, an d Rook mentions that he remembers that Vil and Neige performed "Yahoo, Yahoo" together.

The group meets again with Idia, and they're discussing the events of Book 5, and how the entire incident during VDC might have been the root cause for Rook's dream to turn out like this. Because in this dream, Rook never transfers to Pomefiore because Vil was never in NRC to begin with. Rook was most likely haunted by that incident because he trusted Vil so much, that he'd rather have Vil and Neige be friends instead of rivals to prevent the whole overblot situation

SO NOW THE GANG IS THINKING OF A WAY TO WAKE UP ROOK BY PERFORMING ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL

(I REALLY WANT TO SEE THE WHOLE THING YA'LL TO WHOEVER HAS A LINK TO THE RHYTHMIC PLS SEND IT TO MEEEEEE)

But their positions are the following: Vil - Epel Jamil - Ortho Epel - Sebek Kalim - Yuu Ace - Grim Deuce - Silver

Basically Epel had to teach the others the entire choreography of Absolutely Beautiful and he said it's fine if they don't perfect it because in the original they weren't able to perfect it as well. But then everything suddenly goes blurry and we get dream Vil and dream Neige suddenly performing "Yahoo, Yahoo", and now Rook is back to being an oshi again.

But Epel wasn't having it, he points out to Rook that the real Vil looks more sinister and had a more sharper look to him and that he was more poisonous and beautiful. That's when Epel told Rook that he was a far worse traitor back when he voted for RSA if he tells the words that Vil wanted to hear to the fakes.

That wakes Rook up, he remembers everything now because he was wondering why he cried during their Absolutely Beautiful performance. Idia then gives Rook the "invite" to join them as well. Rook changes clothes and fights

Btw I just wanna show you guys his groovy here because it's that special to me

Idia was laughing because he now has a video of Sebek dancing and Sebek is just yelling at him that he won't forgive him if he showed it to anyone.

Surprisingly Rook mastered thew magical girl transformation faster than the gang, but they're learning. Rook also tags along with the gang to save the last person, Vil

AND WE'RE DONE WITH ROOK'S DREAM, JESUS CHRIST IT GOES FROM UNSERIOUS TO SERIOUS IT'S FUNNY. But I'm covering Vil's dream last, see you then!

Next: Vil's Dream Previous: Epel's Dream

[animeomegas]

The Quest for a Second Life - Part 2 - Potions and Magic and Sex, Oh My! (1)

ITACHI x ALPHA!READER

Summary: Porn logic, you quickly discover, is great for your soul and general self-esteem, but rather intensive on your poor heart. Your first day in an erotic pocket dimension and the horny shenanigans are only beginning. Also magic? That shit was the coolest thing you'd ever seen. GN!Dom!Alpha!Reader x Multiple Naruto Characters

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: Sexual tension and adult situations, although no explicit sex. GN alpha, but all alphas have penises fyi.

A/N: I decided to split these chapters in two because they were getting very long haha! Not much porn in this one, as it's slightly more slow burn compared to Books 2 and 3. There will be a lot of porn in the second half, but this one just needed that build up imo. It's still too early to say Happy Holidays, but seeing that @omeganronpa is sick right now, I will say 'Get Well Soon!' instead :D I tried to get this finished in time to meet the request for softboi hours lol. I hope everyone enjoys!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Epilogue

Waking up when you hadn’t been asleep was somehow worse than normal waking up, and considering how much you hated to do that, it was almost impressive.

Your head was fuzzy with disorientation, and your eyes felt glued together with enough grit to pave a driveway. All in all, you felt pretty rough. It took you a few seconds to remember where you were and what was happening, but once you managed to pry open your eyes, met immediately with an unfamiliar ceiling, everything clicked into place. You were inside your first pocket dimension.

The spike of excitement that shot through you was so strong that the grogginess dissipated almost immediately, and any thoughts about snuggling back to sleep fled with it. With some difficulty, you wrestled an arm from the heavy weight of blankets on top of you and rubbed the sleep from your eyes. Free of grit, you were finally able to examine your surroundings.

Your first thought was that you’d somehow fallen into the ‘Autumn vibes’ Pinterest board that you’d made in the middle of the night that one time when your desire to flee into the woods had been at an all time high. You were bundled up on a sofa in a living room dominated by a gorgeous stone fireplace that held a pleasantly crackling fire, various fire related tools and a small amount of wood storage.

There were floor-to-ceiling shelves everywhere, filled to bursting with artwork, old books, trinkets and pots of unidentifiable but colourful liquids and powders. Dried flowers and large, green house plants dotted every corner of the room, surrounded by candles of every shape and colour you could imagine, all of them resting on a collection of layered, patterned rugs.

Along with the sofa you were laying on, the seating consisted of a cosy armchair in a deep burgundy colour, and a little window seat filled to the brim with a mismatch of cushions and blankets.

The entire room was bathed in a warm, orange glow. It was utterly enchanting.

Distantly, over the crackle of the fire, you could hear someone humming from behind one of the doors. The voice was deep, but not excessively so, and accompanied by the occasional clanging of pots and pans.

That door must lead to the kitchen, you thought.

This little cottage felt so incredibly real and lived in. You had wondered if there would be some kind of giveaway that this was a story premise based in a fake, manufactured world, but so far you had found nothing. It was so much better than you could have dreamed.

That didn’t mean that you didn’t have questions though. Dazzled though you may have been, you needed to know a little more before you came face to face with the first omega. James had said you could communicate with her mentally, so first things first, you needed to figure out how to do that.

‘James?’ You tried using your internal monologue to speak, just with a greater emphasis and purpose than normal. ‘Can you hear me?’

‘Human alpha,’ James acknowledged, her voice sounding just as loud as your own in your head. You flinched a little at the strange sensation of a foreign presence invading your mind. Despite it being vaguely weird that someone could hear your purposeful thoughts, you were grateful to have a guide in an unfamiliar world.

‘I was wondering a bit about free will,’ you said, pausing as you tried to figure out how to phrase the question. James spoke before you could continue.

‘I’m not allowed to give humans any information about free will, religion, the afterlife, aliens, alternate realties, time travel, dead people, living people, or the secret behind the correlation between motherhood and the ability to find objects that accidentally fall into micro pocket dimensions.’

‘No, I meant like in these stories.’ You stopped, processing what James had just said. ‘Wait, motherhood and micro pocket dimensions? Is that why my friend’s mum was able to find the remote in four seconds after we searched for it for three hours that one time?’

‘What part of ‘I’m not allowed to discuss such topics with humans’ did you not understand, human alpha?’

You mentally shook your head, returning to your original point, ‘I was wondering how much free will the people in these books have. Do they have to follow a story, or a script? Will they fall in love me with no matter what I do or say?’

‘These stories are premises,’ James explained. You could so vividly imagine her face as she spoke. ‘They set the world, the rules of the universe, the people and their backstories, their motivations and inclinations, but they don’t provide a script. These characters are just as real as the people from your world by most interdimensional regulations and definitions. They have inclinations towards certain behaviours, but that is no different from your world, yes? People are defined by their experiences and behave in ways that fit their psychological profile and motivations, that does not mean they have no agency.’

You let out a relieved sigh, ‘That’s good. I was worried that they’d be forced to do things with me by the narrative.’

‘Rest assured, human, even in an erotica, if a person chooses to copulate with you, they will have done so of their own volition.’ You snorted at her phrasing, but her words were greatly comforting.

‘Wait, does that mean they can reject me all together?’ you asked, a sudden realisation popping up.

‘Technically yes. It is fairly rare… Although it does tend to happen more frequently with humans who choose erotica stories for some reason.’

Many, many people popped to mind as she said that, from incel forums to the creepy people you’d been unlucky enough to encounter in real life. You were certain that, given the opportunity, most of them would jump at a chance to live as the protagonist of an erotica novel. You were also certain that they’d immediately feel entitled to nonstop sex and a whole manner of other creepy things. It was honestly quite amusing to imagine them getting rejected by the ‘fictional’ love interests they so desperately clung to, and you wished for a moment that you could have had James’ role of fly on the wall to those rejections.

Personally, you weren’t worried about coming across as super creepy and you certainly weren’t going to be forcing anyone into anything. You were confident that, with two attempts, both literally designed to push you and a love interest together, you’d find some kind of fulfilling relationship.

The humming from the kitchen got louder all of a sudden and you wondered if you’d find that relationship with this mysterious omega.

‘Now, human, I will run through the general premise of this world to aid you in your first interaction.’ Even as a disembodied voice, it somehow felt appropriate when James cleared her throat. ‘You are in the world of ‘Potions and Magic and Sex, Oh My!’. You have taken the role of MC, a mysterious alpha that was rescued by the book’s love interest, Itachi, unconscious and in the middle of a snowstorm.’

‘Wait, what was he doing out in a snowstorm?’

‘Please try to remain focused, human alpha. MC, struggling with recalling any memory of who they are or how they got there, relies on Itachi to brew a potion to retrieve their memories. Shenanigans ensue, although the exact type of shenanigans will depend on how you conduct yourself. You have a great amount of power to affect the story, especially considering the MC is an amnesiac. As long as you account for how they ended up in the woods, the backstory is fully yours to fashion. But I advise you to heed my warning.’

You remembered it loud and clear. When picking a backstory, you were going to keep one acronym in mind: MLHH (Money, Love, Health, Happiness). That should serve your needs well. Regardless, you were glad you had time to think about the details while you were playing the amnesiac role.

The weird feeling of presence in your mind faded as James fell silent. You took a deep breath. You could do this. You were going to have fun with a pretty omega, treat him with respect, see real magic (and real porn logic), and all of that would be contained in your dream witchy cottage. As long as you avoided complete disaster, this should be one of the greatest things you’ve ever done.

It was only when the sound of the kitchen door unlatching reached your ears that you realised the humming had stopped.

Your head snapped to the side and your eyes landed on the most beautiful omega you’d ever met. This must be Itachi.

Itachi had long, dark hair that was drawn back into a low ponytail, although he’d left a decent amount loose and framing his pale, heart-shaped face. His features were sharp, especially his eyes, and although he moved gracefully, he also seemed to command attention with a presence that felt both strangely out of place and intimately natural for him.

He wore a cosy collection of warm-coloured, loose clothing, including simple brown trousers and a woollen jumper, finished with a pair of simple, black house slippers. The jumper was sliding slightly off of one shoulder, revealing an extra sliver of bare skin that was strangely hypnotic.

“You’re awake! I was just debating about grabbing some smelling salts,” he said, his intense brown eyes focused directly on you. His voice was as pretty as the rest of him.

Quite frankly, he was stunning from head to toe. You weren’t even slightly surprised that he was the romantic interest.

The man (the witch, you reminded yourself, a little incredulously) approached you until he was perched on the edge of the sofa at your waist. Without hesitation, he reached out a hand towards your head and rested the back of his palm on your forehead. He felt neither hot nor cold, and a moment later he withdrew his hand, staring down at you stoically.

“How are you feeling? Any nausea? Black spots in your vision? Can you move all of your fingers?”

“No, no, and” -you wiggled your fingers under the blanket- “yes. I’m feeling fine, just a little groggy from waking up.”

“That’s to be expected. You’ve been asleep for at least twenty-five hours. I found you unconscious at the base of a tree in the middle of a storm last night. It was so cold; I was worried you—” he cut himself off with a shake of his head. “That doesn’t matter. You’re safe now.”

“And I appreciate that,” you said, sending him what you hoped was a charming smile. “I prefer having all my fingers attached generally.”

“As most people do,” he replied, solemnly, not seeming to pick up on the joke. You almost made a woosh noise, until you remembered that for him, that had likely been a very genuine concern after finding you, so you let the joke die.

“Why were you—” the word caught in your throat, and you suddenly began to cough, only now realising how hoarse your throat was. Right, you’d been asleep for over a day.

“Oh, you must be thirsty,” Itachi said, frowning. You were overcome with a desire to make him smile. “One moment.”

You were expecting him to get up and fetch a glass from the kitchen, so when he suddenly began leaning towards you, reaching over your head towards the side table, you were a little surprised.  That was nothing however to the surprise you felt when he inadvertently gave you a rather spectacular look straight down his shirt. Your coughing spiked and your face warmed.

“Here.” Itachi leant back down, a glass of water clutched in his left hand. With his right hand, he helped you sit up before handing you the glass. You grabbed it and drained the whole glass immediately. The cool reprieve from the irritating scratching was a welcome feeling. Almost welcome enough to make you forget about Itachi’s blush pink nipples. Almost.

Realistically, you weren’t sure how could you forget a view so enticing. No, stop it, brain, now was not the time. Except… this was the time. This was a pocket dimension based around porn logic and that was your first taste of it.

Wow, who knew porn logic was so delightfully pink and round, you thought giddy.

“Are you feeling better?” Itachi asked suddenly, knocking you out of your thoughts. His jumper was firmly back in the place it was supposed to be.

“Uh, yeah, totally fine.” You knew you must have had a stupid, dazed grin on your face, but knowing about it didn’t make it any easier to stop. “You’re very pretty, by the way.”

Itachi froze, and for the first time since you’d met him, his composure slipped, a tiny, almost unnoticeable blush bloomed high on his cheeks. It was a similar colour to his—Nope, going to stop you right there, brain.

“Oh.” He didn’t say anything else, only staring at you, wide eyed. You were surprised by his surprise. Surely this man was more than used to people fawning and falling all over him; he was objectively beautiful. Although, living in the woods like this, was there anyone else to tell him that he was beautiful? “Thank you.”

The blush lingered for a few more moments before vanishing. Any amount that you had succeeded in flustering him was now locked behind that stoic, but not unkind, face.

“I need you to give me the name of someone I can contact for you, someone willing to escort you home and stop you wandering alone in the woods during a winter storm.” You could feel the gentle rebuke in his words. “I have methods of contacting the nearest towns and villages, I just need to know who to send for. Who should I ask for?”

Right, this was your first attempt at properly engaging in the story, in your character. You had almost forgotten that you weren’t fully yourself in this world. At least your supposed amnesia would be an excellent shield as you came to terms with this experience.

“I don’t know,” you said simply, trying hard to look baffled.

Itachi sent you a sympathetic frown, “You don’t have anyone to contact? Then tell me where you live, and I can escort you home myself.”

“No, I mean, I don’t remember.”

There was a beat of silence.

“You don’t remember?” he eventually repeated, brows furrowed.

“I- I don’t know where I came from, who I am, or why I was in those woods.” This wasn’t your best acting work, for sure, but it seemed like enough to convince Itachi, whose frown deepened even further.

“How is that possible?” Itachi murmured, mostly to himself. He scanned your face but didn’t seem to find anything of note. “Do you remember anything at all?”

“Only basic things, like my name and how to eat and drink.” To prove your point, you gave him your name and rough age.

You watched as Itachi’s frown melted into something a little more determined. His eyes took on a hard edge, and despite his gentle kindness, you acknowledged that he had the potential to be rather intimidating.

“I will help you,” he said firmly, looking you straight in the eyes. “I’m a witch; I can find some way to recover your memories and get you home, I promise. Until then, you are more than welcome to stay with me.”

He really was a kind man, you thought, ‘fictional’ or not.

“Thank you,” you said earnestly. “It means a great deal to me that you’re willing to help.”

Itachi smiled politely as he stood, “Then I will start searching for a spell or potion that can help. First though, you must be hungry. I think it’s time for some dinner.”

Oh, this was going to get you good; you had such a thing for pretty people cooking for you. There was just something about it that satisfied that part of yourself that wanted to be doted on. You were going to enjoy this. Actually, you should probably check one important thing first.

‘James? Does this body have any allergies or intolerances of its own? Or did I just bring mine with me?’

‘Neither. Allergies and intolerances are inconvenient for erotica stories and thus do not exist.’

No allergies or intolerances at all?

‘James, this is the best day of my life and I want to kiss you on the mouth.’

‘You are supposed to kiss the omega right in front of you, human alpha, are you confused?’

You didn’t reply. Itachi started walking back to the door he’d come from. Just as he reached the doorway, he turned back to you.

“Oh! My name is Itachi,” he said. You knew that, of course, but it was still nice to hear him say it. “Take your time getting up, I’ll set the table and finish up the cooking.” He disappeared round the corner, although he didn’t shut the door behind him.

Ignoring his instructions to take your time, you cheerfully threw back your blankets and stood up, taking a second to shake out your limbs and run your fingers through your hair. You looked exactly as you remembered yourself looking, just dressed in different clothes. You were wearing a very simple long-sleeved shirt and pair of trousers that looked like they would fit in with whatever pseudo time period this was. You wondered briefly if these were your clothes, or if Itachi had dressed you in something of his. The clothes did seem to fit you too well to be borrowed, but you weren’t sure if porn logic made everything that much more convenient. No amount of convenience with clothes would ever trump convenience with food. You had no allergies or intolerances, and you’d never develop them in the future either!

The living room looked a bit smaller now that you were standing, but it only added to the cosy vibe. You took a deep breath, savouring the smell of the firewood burning and whatever was cooking in the kitchen mingling in the air. You followed Itachi into the kitchen, feeling like you could skip with glee.

Stepping in, you were grateful you had socks protecting your feet from the stone floor. The kitchen was small, containing only the necessary kitchen supplies and a tiny, two-person table, although through the window you could see hints of an outdoor kitchen with a fire pit and grill, and a much larger dining table, probably for use in the summer. The clutter from the living room continued into the kitchen, with pots of wooden spoons, pans and dried flowers hanging on the walls, and an impressive spice cabinet that took up almost the entire back wall.

It also looked like something straight out of your Autumn Pinterest board.

Itachi was at the oven, stirring a pot of something that you couldn’t see.

“It smells great,” you said earnestly, sliding up beside him and peering into the pot. It seemed like some kind of stew.

Itachi turned, and greeted you with what seemed like his first proper, genuine smile, “You think so?”

“I do. Thank you so much for cooking.”

You weren’t quite confident enough to stake your life on it, but you were pretty sure that, if the pot on the stove wasn’t bubbling so loudly, you’d have been able to hear him purring. The way he suddenly just so happened to be pressing one hand to his mouth only supported your theory. Clearly, this omega hadn’t been praised enough in his life. Thank goodness you were here to rectify that.

“Is there anything I can do to help? I can lay the table if you tell me where everything is.”

Itachi cleared his throat (and you could swear there was a hint of a purr in there!), “No, that’s alright, just sit down, I’ll handle it.”

“Are you sure, because—”

Itachi clicked his fingers and out of one of the cabinets floated two bowls and two glasses. You watched, completely stunned as they floated to the table and set themselves neatly in front of two of the chairs. Itachi then waved his hand at one of the drawers and two forks and two spoons did the same as the dishware, laying themselves neatly alongside the bowls.

Magic.

Real life magic.

Holy shit, you hadn’t thought about the fact that he was a witch, not really. Magic was real. Itachi just laid the table with magic. You sat down heavily in one of the chairs, mouth hanging open slightly.

‘James?!’ you mentally asked, desperately.

‘I cannot kiss you, human alpha.’

‘What? No! James, is it possible for me to learn magic in this world?’ Please say yes, please say yes.

‘Yes, everyone in this world has the ability to learn at least some kind of magic. It will not become clear how much magic you have until you are actually apart of this world, but I should imagine you will at least be capable of brewing potions.’

Yep, this was definitely the best day of your life. Or afterlife? Either way, if you picked this world, you’d be able to learn at least some magic. That counteracted a lot of the downsides of living without modern technology that you had been considering. Not having modern medicine was moot if potions were just as effective. Not having electric heaters was fine if warming charms existed.

Itachi knocked you out of your thoughts when he came over with the pot and began gently ladling the stew into your bowl. You would explore magic later, right now, was time to eat.

…

You had eaten most of the stew in a silence that neither you nor Itachi felt compelled to break, although you had noticed him sneaking glances at you every so often. The stew tasted homey, hearty, slightly sweet, and all around delicious.

‘James, I am so happy right now.’

‘I did not realise humans were so passionate about stew. I will make a note.’

You shook you head lightly, vaguely amused by James’ shenanigans.

Even with the display of magic earlier, things felt weirdly normal. Baring the nip slip from earlier, there hadn’t been any other porn logic that you’d noticed. It was kind of a relief. Although you were still incredibly excited to be horny on main forever, being able to just breathe and enjoy a nice meal was good too. No one wanted to have sex shoved in their faces 24 hours a day.

You attracted yet another glance from Itachi, but this time, you noticed that he had a tiny splash of stew at the corner of his mouth. Despite just finishing establishing your relief that porn wasn’t going to be shoved in your face, you felt immediately compelled to test some porn logic. You didn’t want to ruminate on what that rapid 180 mental turn might suggest about your psyche.

If porn logic was at play, could you just… reach and wipe his mouth for him? Would he take that positively? You debated on it for a bit, but ultimately decided to try it; you had amnesia for an excuse if he didn’t take it well, and it wasn’t so creepy that he’d hate you, hopefully. He was your love interest, right? You needed to flirt with him.

“Itachi?” you said softly, shuffling your chair slightly towards him. His head snapped up to yours, spoon hovering over his bowl. “You have a little something.”

Slowly, allowing him plenty of time to reject your advances, you reached a hand out towards his face. Itachi watched you, wide eyed, but didn’t move.

Slowly, your thumb made contact with the corner of his soft lips. In what seemed like some kind of automatic impulse, Itachi’s lips fell apart slightly as soon as you touched them. You could feel his hot, stuttering breath, and as you swiped the stew away, you were treated to the smallest flicker of his tongue. You shivered as the wet warmth brushed against you; the atmosphere was electric.

You took in a breath of Itachi’s scent which was suddenly twice as strong. Yeah, you were definitely in an erotica, fuck.

Itachi’s spoon clattered back into his bowl, splashing droplets of stew over the wooden table and shattering the heated moment. Itachi stood suddenly, his chair scraping across the stone.

“I- I’ll wipe up the spill,” he said, rushing to the counter to grab a cloth.

You cleared your throat, trying to hide your smile, “Right, you do that.”

Pretty omega, inviting you to stay in his home, cooking for you, accepting your flirtations. The heat in your stomach was no longer just from the food.

The electricity died as Itachi wiped up the stew and took the bowls in one fell swoop, leaving everything feeling normal. You tried to offer to wash up, but Itachi declined, escorting you back to the sofa ‘to rest’.

“I’m going to go and check in my study for any information on amnesia. Please make yourself at home, but don’t go outside; if you faint in the cold and I don’t realise, it could end up worse than last time.”

You were about to argue that you weren’t going to drop dead the second he took his eyes off you, (you wanted to see the magical woods you were in!), but the words died when you realised that from Itachi’s perspective you were sick and had already fainted in an inopportune location once before. He was just looking out for you.

“I’ll stay inside,” you promised, reluctantly. “But you have to give me a proper tour of the woods at some point, okay?”

He inclined his head, “Of course. I won’t be long.” He then disappeared through a door on the other side of the living room.

The second he was gone you went back into the kitchen and washed the dishes.

Then, unable to see the woods, and not wanting to be creepily exploring the rest of the house without your host, you found yourself in front of the fire, searching through Itachi’s books. Unfortunately, Itachi seemed to keep all the magic books somewhere else, which wasn’t surprising you supposed, but you did manage to find a book on fairytales. How different would this world’s fairytales be? To be honest, you hadn’t expected the world to be so in depth as to have its own fairytales at all.

You flicked through the book for a few minutes, enjoying the illustrations more than anything.

‘James, are any of these stories based in truth in this world?’

‘Oh, I should think only around half have any significant amount of truth to them.’

‘Half?!’ you said mentally, trying not to choke. ‘I’m in the middle of the woods and vulnerable! What do you mean half of them are real? That big foot esque thing with horns and jagged teeth on page three isn’t real though, is it?’

‘Not anymore!’ James said, as chipper as can be.

“Right,” you said breathlessly. “I think I’ve had enough of reading fairytales actually.” You closed the book, intending to slot it back onto the shelf when a single page fell out and fluttered to the floor, dangerously close to the fire. Fuck, you were left alone for an hour, and you were already wrecking things. You snatched it up off the ground, intending to slip it back inside and not mention it, when you realised that the page didn’t look like it belonged to that book at all.

In fact, you held it up closer to your face, it looked like a potion recipe!

“’Amnesia Reversal Potion’,” you read out loud. “No way.” What were the odds on finding this? Actually, erotica books didn’t normally have complicated plots, so the odds of this literally falling into your lap were probably quite high.

You stood up, recipe in hand, and went to the door that Itachi had left through earlier, “Itachi?” You got no response. It was his study, so maybe he wouldn’t mind you just poking your head in. You slowly pushed open the door and slipped your head in. “Itachi? I think I found something to—”

Oh.

This was his study and his bedroom.

And you had just walked in on him changing.

Itachi jumped in shock, grabbing the nearest blanket and holding it over his chest while you stood frozen in the doorway.

Yep, those beautiful nipples were absolutely haunting your dreams tonight.

…

After many apologies were handed out and the awkward horniness of receiving your second accidental flashing had dissipated somewhat, you and Itachi were sitting in front of the fire together, looking over the potion recipe that you’d found.

It was dark now, and the vicious Winter wind shook the windows and billowed around the chimney. Thankfully, having Itachi pressed against your side was fighting the chill away. The hot chocolate that Itachi had made was helping too, served in mugs carved with runes that kept the delicious drink at the perfect temperature.

You had also been delighted to discover that Itachi wore glasses when reading, and he looked rather adorable when he adjusted the thick, black frames as he scanned the recipe.

Itachi made a considering noise as he went through the ingredient list, “The potion is simple to make, but has quite a long ingredients list. I have most of it, thankfully, but there are a few things I’ll need to go out and buy or collect.” He put the paper down and took a sip of his hot chocolate, making a little sinful noise of pleasure as he did. The hot drink fogged up his glasses, so Itachi took them off. “There isn’t much we can do tonight, but tomorrow I can start collecting everything we need.”

“Can I join you?” you asked, shuffling a bit closer.

Itachi seemed surprised, but soon that melted into a smile, “Of course, as long as you’re feeling up to it. I’ll charm all your clothes against the cold, just to be safe.”

A fair request seeing that he lived in the middle of a freezing forest. It did bring up some of the questions you’d had for him though. You weren’t sure if James knew about Itachi’s backstory, but it felt wrong going behind his back regardless. You’d rather hear it from him.

“Can I ask you some questions? About you?”

Itachi hesitated for a moment before seemingly forcing himself to relax, “Of course.”

“Why do you live in the middle of nowhere? Do you… have friends?” You hesitated before asking the next question. “Family?”

“I used to live in a village not too far from here,” Itachi said slowly, staring into his mug. “It’s where I was born and where my family is still living. There was an… incident, when I was a teenager. The council decided that it was in everyone’s best interests that I lived out here instead.”

“What kind of incident?” You didn’t want to push him too much, but you were deeply fascinated as to how he had ended up here. Also, to make a decision for your forever pocket universe, you wanted to know as much as possible about the omegas that’d be joining you.

Itachi gripped his mug tightly, “I don’t want you to think badly of me.”

“I don’t think that would happen,” you said with quiet confidence. “Even if you did something bad as a teenager, I’d much rather judge you on who you are now. And the person I see in front of me is someone kind, someone who tries to help complete strangers, and forgives the stupid alpha who came blundering into his bedroom at an inopportune moment.”

Itachi breathed out, amused.

“I think you’re wonderful, Itachi.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, quietly. “Maybe I’ll tell you the full story someday. In a way, I’m very grateful to have my own space, and I still meet with my family sometimes when they can make the trip to me. I do not dislike my life.”

“Tell me about your family,” you said, brushing a stray piece of hair out of his face. Itachi leant into your hand ever so slightly.

“There were four of us in our household, my father, mother, and my younger brother, Sasuke. Here” -Itachi bent forward and dragged a rather large, leather-bound sketch book out from under the sofa- “I have some sketches of him.”

He propped the book up on your laps and opened it, revealing countless sketches of trees, fruit, plants, even some of the living room you were sitting in. You noticed immediately how few there were of people.

Itachi flipped until he reached a page filled with sketches of a grumpy looking preteen, “This is Sasuke, he’s just turned 13, although the most recent sketch is this one from his 12th birthday.”

You focused on the sketch that Itachi had pointed out. Sasuke looked like he was scowling over the top of a birthday cake. “He seems… happy?”

Itachi didn’t notice the questioning tone, only smiling to himself, “He was, it was such an amazing day. I’ve met him a few times since then between our homes, but that was the last time he was in my home.”

“I can tell that you care about him a lot,” you said, gently tracing one of the drawings with your finger. “You must miss him.”

Itachi didn’t speak and you were worried that you had offended him.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

“No, you’re right,” Itachi said, giving you a sad smile. “He’s my baby brother. He’s everything to me, but that’s why I had to distance myself, to keep him safe from the burden of guilt by association.”

“Aren’t you lonely here though?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted, voice heavy like he was confessing to a dirty secret. “All I wanted when I was younger was to have people leave me alone, to have the pressure lifted for just one day, and I do relish it, being able to study the kind of magic that I want, to learn to cook and bring my garden to life, but… It’s not bad here, not at all, and once my brother is old enough to make the journey to see me by himself, I think things will be even better.”

You could tell that there was so much that he wasn’t saying, so much that he was implying, and so much about his own life that he hadn’t come to terms with yet, but you held your tongue. It sounded like he’d been pressured until he exploded, and then been punished and sent away for it. Whatever details you were missing wouldn’t stop you feeling outraged on his behalf.

With the snap of the sketch book shutting, you understood that he was ending the conversation though. You would have to give your passionate and ill-informed defence of his unknown past actions on another occasion.

Itachi leant over to put the sketchbook back away under the sofa, but on the way back up, he accidentally knocked what was left of his hot chocolate all over your lap. You gasped as you saw the liquid pooling on the blanket, the warmth bleeding into your skin moments later. You tried to push the blanket off your lap, but you weren’t fast enough to stop it leaking through to your clothes.

“I’m so sorry!” Itachi said, helping you drag the blanket off. “I don’t know what happened, I’m not normally so clumsy.”

“It’s okay,” you said, cringing at the feeling of the hot liquid rolling around. “Accidents happen.” You awkward shuffled off the couch with your hips raised to limit the damage. “At least it isn’t boiling hot.”

“Regardless, I’m sorry,” Itachi said again, grabbing a random cloth off the side table. “Stand still.” Itachi crouched in front of you and with the cloth, began dabbing firmly at the hot chocolate stain. Yes, the stain that was directly over your crotch.

You sucked in a breath, “Um, Itachi?”

“I’ll have to grab you a pair of pyjama trousers to borrow,” he said, almost comically unaware of what he was currently doing.

He continued to dab forcefully, rubbing at the stain in an attempt to limit the damage. This was going to be dangerous in about three seconds because an omega was pawing at your cock and your stupid body didn’t care about the difference between this and the other kind of pawing.

“Itachi!” you said, more urgently this time, aware of the direction your blood was now flowing.

“Yes?” He looked up at you, eyes wide, at an angle that really didn’t help resist the tide of dirty thoughts. You wondered how he’d look with that beautiful face covered in your--  

Too late. You now had a massive boner and Itachi’s hand was resting right on top of it.

You cleared your throat awkwardly, “Your hand, Itachi.”

You watched as Itachi slowly put the pieces together, his eyes tracking from his hand to the area his hand was resting on, up to your face, and finally back to your crotch. You saw the exact moment that it clicked in his head.

“Oh.” Itachi froze, hand still resting on your erection. The cloth dropped to the ground as Itachi’s grip weakened, revealing the outline of your cock straining against the fabric of your trousers. The soft, malleable fabric didn’t leave much to the imagination. “That’s… big.”

You snort-laughed, mainly out of surprise, “Itachi!”

That finally did the trick, knocking Itachi out of his trance. He yanked his hand back like he’d been burnt, “Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.”

You burst out laughing while Itachi buried his red face in his hands. It was extra amusing because it was stoic Itachi who had accidentally been two pieces of fabric away from giving you a handjob. Porn logic was equal parts horny and hilarious, it seemed.

“Don’t worry about it.” You continued to giggle through the words and helped Itachi to his feet. “Can you grab me some pyjamas and point me in the direction of the bathroom, please?”

“Right, yes, of course, the bathroom is through that door, I’ll go grab you something to wear and leave it outside the door.” Itachi scurried off, cheeks pink, and you followed his directions into the nearest bathroom, pushing open the door and closing it behind you.

It was weird to see a bathroom lit only by warm candlelight, but there were certainly enough candles to do it. Every surface had at least three candles and a plant, arranged in a way that made you once again think of your Pinterest board, but also of the massive fire hazard this would surely be if Itachi couldn’t do magic.

You leant against the bathroom door and pressed a hand over your chest to calm your rapidly beating heartbeat. This porn logic thing felt good for your soul and bad for your heart. That whole series of events had been pretty funny though, and you certainly weren’t going to complain about having Itachi’s hands on you. Even though you’d only known him for a day, you were already very happy with your choice. Actually, that brought up a great question.

‘James? How long do I have in each of the pocket dimensions?’

‘Long enough, human alpha.’

You huffed; that was so unhelpful. What was also unhelpful was your massive boner. While this was an erotica, things hadn’t moved so quickly that you thought Itachi would be down for going all the way on your first night, and you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. You wanted to move a little more slowly, to make sure he was comfortable and savour the moment. You also refused to blow this like those incels James had mentioned. You were above that which meant the boner had to go.

“Please go down?” you tried asking politely, taking off your stained trousers. It stayed stubbornly upright, not even wilting slightly once exposed to the cold air. You sighed; that never worked. Well, here goes nothing.

You moved over to the sink and turned on the cold tap, a grimace already forming on your face.

‘James, wish me luck.’

‘Why do you need—’

You yelped loud enough that some birds outside the window took flight in shock. Fuck, that was cold!

…

When that was sorted, you opened the door to find a neat pile of pyjamas, shower supplies, a towel, and toothbrush waiting for you. A quick (and almost certainly magically warmed) shower later and you were ready for bed.

Exiting the bathroom, you realised that the sofa wasn’t made up as a bed anymore, the way it had been when you’d first woken up. Itachi was nowhere to be seen, so you went to his bedroom door to find him. Having learnt your lesson from before, you knocked and waited to be called in.

“Hey,” you said softly, entering his bedroom. You watched as he extinguished some of his candles with a candle snuffer, bathing the room in a much gentler light. The large candle shaped like a black cat that he had on his chest of drawers made you smile. You hadn’t seen it the first time, probably because you’d been distracted by two very cute, pink, round things, that you were not supposed to be thinking about brain, now was not the time!

“Hello.” He turned around and you pretended not to see the way his eyes flickered straight to your crotch before settling on your face.

“I was just going to ask if we could set the sofa back up into a bed,” you said, trying not to preen under the attention your cock had garnered from the pretty omega. Maybe he’d be thinking about that while you were thinking about his pretty nipples.

Itachi averted his eyes for a moment as he put down the candle snuffer, “It’s very cold tonight.”

“It is.”

“I’m worried that I don’t have enough blankets to keep the both of us warm, and you might still be unwell from fainting in the snowstorm, so I was thinking, do you… I mean, would you want to share my bed? With me?” Itachi spoke quickly, like he was pushing the words out as fast as possible while he still avoided making eye contact.

A grin slowly bloomed on your face; he was so cute.

“If you don’t mind, that’d be great,” you said, trying to keep your grin from coming across as creepy.

“Really?” His head spun around to face you again, his hair, which you only just realised had been freed from his ponytail, fanned out around his face. “I mean, that’s great.”

You stepped closer to him, “Great.”

He stepped closer to you, “Yeah.”

Somehow that electricity from earlier was back in the air and you felt like you were being pulled into Itachi’s orbit. Without your conscious permission, one of your hands rose and gently cupped the left side of Itachi’s face, rubbing the soft skin there with your thumb.  

You searched his face for any sign of discomfort but found none. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out.  

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, reverently. Itachi’s eyes looked glossy for a moment, but he blinked the moisture away, his long, dark eyelashes fluttering open and closed as you studied him. “I know I’ve only been here for a day, but… Is it strange to say I really like you.’

Itachi took in a sharp breath, but slowly shook his head.

 “Then, may I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Itachi breathed out, immediately closing his eyes.

Good, because he was irresistible, and although you knew it wasn’t time for sex just yet, you hadn’t chosen erotica because you wanted a slow burn.

Slowly, giving Itachi ample time to change his mind, you inched your face closer to his until you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. You expected to feel his breath too, but you quickly realised that he must have been holding it. How cute. Well, there was no need to leave him literally or figuratively holding his breath any longer.

You pressed forward and made the connection, warm lips against warm lips, your own eyes falling closed now too. Itachi let out a very quiet noise of surprise that you only heard because you were so close to him. You let out a little hum of your own, less out of shock and more out of satisfaction. You may have only known him for about five hours, but you’d been wanting to kiss him for at least four and a half of them.

The outside world faded away as you gently guided his lips with your own. The sound of the wind howling and the cottage walls groaning, the fire in the living room crackling, all of it was secondary to the kiss.

With your free arm, you looped Itachi around the waist and tugged him closer until your chests were pressed against each other. Itachi steadied himself with one hand on your raised elbow and the other on your shoulder. Being this close was making your alpha instincts incredibly smug. He felt safe with you so soon, willing to be vulnerable in your presence, to let you love him.

With just a little bit more pressure, Itachi’s lips parted for you. The tips of your tongues met ever so slightly, just flicking against each other as the back of your throat now burnt with Itachi’s scent. The open-mouthed kissing managed to coax another, louder, noise from his lips.

“So good,” you murmured against him, relishing in the gasp that generated. You had been right; Itachi loved being praised. He was still hesitant though, only moving his lips in ways you had already moved them. He was allowing you to guide him. You wondered if he was lacking experience.

You caught Itachi’s bottom lip between your teeth and were rewarded when he bucked his hips forward, brushing them against yours. You shouldn’t have bothered getting rid of the erection earlier, because it was now back at full force. And by the feel of it, Itachi was joining you this time.

A strange flash of light bled through your closed eyelids and forced you away from Itachi with a confused noise. What on Earth?

Itachi whined, looking incredibly dazed with heavy lidded eyes and no control over his scent. He fisted one hand in your shirt like he was trying to pull you back. For a second, you thought you saw his eyes flash red, but it was gone in the next moment, and you wrote it off as a trick of the light.

What was that light, anyway?

Oh, damn. You glanced over Itachi’s shoulder and were greeted with the three remaining lit candles burning out of control. Their flames reached up at least two feet above the wick, and they were burning… pink?

“Um, Itachi? Your candles are kind of going crazy.”

He whirled around, still looking a bit dazed. With a wave of his hand, the candles returned to their normal height and colour. Itachi cleared his throat bashfully, “I didn’t mean to do that, my apologies.”

It was kind of hot that he got so into the kiss that he’d lost control of his magic.

“It’s okay,” you brushed his fringe from his face, making sure to be ever so gentle with him. Itachi was not a weak person, that’s something you were sure of, but he was weak for gentle affection and praise. The vaguely stoic man you had met hours earlier was nowhere to be found now, as Itachi gazed at you, eyes wide and open, vulnerable. “Bedtime, hm?”

“Okay,” he said, softly. Despite his agreement, he made no move to the bed, only latching one of his hands onto your shirt again. Softly you pushed on his back a little and guided him towards the bed. Only once you fully tucked him in did he let go of you and allow you to climb into the other side.

Disappointingly, Itachi made no move to cuddle, staying firmly on his own side, but you understood that he probably needed some space to process what was happening. In fact, he had kind of looked a little like some of your old partners had done when you’d put them in subspace. But that couldn’t be right, there was no way you had put him in subspace just from kissing him, right? No, that was ludicrous, he was probably just a little overwhelmed; you would leave him to his own space for now.

It had been one hell of a kiss though, you thought, touching your lips as you got yourself comfortable in the bed. Itachi was doing things to your brain and your body. You didn’t know if it was him, some kind of magic, or the effect of living inside an erotica novel, but every touch felt like so much more. You were chomping at the bit to eventually get to explore more of Itachi’s body and the way you could make each other feel.

You yawned, thinking over the first day you’d had. It had been really fun. You still had to consider the specifics of what kind of backstory you wanted to give yourself, but you had plenty of time to figure that out later. You didn’t know how you were going to explain wandering the woods in the middle of a snowstorm what sounded like miles from the nearest village. You were also going to have to get your hands on a map at some point so you could name an actual place that you were supposedly from. That was a problem for future you though.

The quaint, cottage core existence had been treating you well, supplemented by magic of course. It was making you feel warm and fuzzy, like part of you was being healed by living like this. It was simple and relaxing, and all around nice. Tomorrow, when the search for the ingredients began, you were looking forward to seeing more of the world.

Just as you had finally found a comfortable position on your back, and your thoughts had begun to drift, Itachi turned over so that he was facing you. You couldn’t tell if he was fully asleep, or just tired and acting on impulse, but he quickly plastered himself to your side, tucking his head into your neck, wrapping an arm around your torso, and hitching a leg over your hips, inadvertently grinding his hard cock straight into your thigh. Once he was comfortable, he let out a big sigh and relaxed completely. It didn’t surprise you that someone so lonely and gentle wanted to cuddle in his sleep.

You weren’t going to move him, and you were too tired to think about the hard warmth that was currently poking you, so you simply allowed the sound of his quiet purrs to lull you to sleep. You would make sure he was satisfied once you’d both had a good sleep.

‘Goodnight, James,’ you mentally slurred out, tucking your face into Itachi’s hair. You vaguely heard her reply before you drifted away, comfortable and completely exhausted.

Next Chapter

[mochalate]

[intro] new notification!

msby!atsumu x reader || w/c: 560 Atsumu discovers that the only thing worse than online dating, is dating advice online. a/n: oh look at that, another atsumu fic!! this one is less stressful for me though. its pretty short, with a cute little plot that won't cause me planning paralysis. making edits for atsumu is always so fun <3 i hope you'll read it!!

[chapter 1->]

r/relationship_advice • 3 hours ago

u/fattytuna95

I want to ask out my twin brother's girlfriend.

It's not as bad as it sounds. She's not really his girlfriend.

I'll try to explain.

We're colleagues, sort of. (Me and her— I'd rather starve to death than work for my brother.)

Last month, someone took a picture of us leaving the office. I was only walking her to her car but the person who took the picture wanted to imply that we were dating.

And that wouldn't have been an easy rumour for her to handle, so I got my brother (identical twin) to post a picture with her on his socials.

Obviously, just one picture wouldn't work to convince anyone, so they've been meeting up a couple times a week (they have similar interests, so they were friends already) to be seen together.

Now here's the issue— I never saw her like that before, and I thought it was just fucking annoying to watch people be lovey dovey, fake or not... but one of my other colleagues said it sounded like I was jealous.

And fuck, I am.

Do you think she'd be mad if I asked her out? I reacted pretty badly to the original picture. And I'm worried my brother likes her for real (those photos they're posting are kind of convincing...)

Edit: for everyone asking, no, I can't ask my brother. he'll know why, and if he really does like her I don't want to mess with it. and if he doesn't he won't let me hear the fucking end of it. i can hear the best man speech already.

↑ 25 ↓ •••

u/unicornpoodle • 2 hours ago

lol dude (I'm assuming you're a dude, unless you're a girl who unfortunately is built exactly like your brother) are you sure you like her and aren't just jealous of your brother being happy? fake or not

↑ 50 ↓ •••

u/fattytuna95 • 2 hours ago yeah i'm sure. I cut out a picture of one of my teammates and pasted it over his ugly mug and it made me even angrier. ↑ 35 ↓ •••

u/msbygirlie_13 • 2 hours ago

Oh hey!! I recognise you from the atsumu miya subreddit!! That's so cool you have a twin just like him!! And his brother got a gf recently too!!! (I think they're fr tho lol.)

Okay hmmm this is a tough one. wdym when yuo said 'reacted badly'??? and what was so bad about the rumour in the first place if it's an option for you now???? this is kinda weird ngl.

↑ 42 ↓ •••

u/fattytuna95 • 2 hours ago do you really they're the real deal??? I kind of laughed. And now that I look back at it, I think I might have looked way too eager to put it out there that we weren't dating. like I was disgusted or something. :( I wasn't, I just didn't want her to have any trouble. :( :( I'm sorry, I can't explain the situation any more for privacy reasons. ↑ 20 ↓ •••

u/guiltyassassin_ • 1 hour ago

well you don't have to talk to either of them... you said someone took the original photo. maybe they're still stalking?? ask them what they think?

lmfao you guys are either celebrities or highschoolers with this kinda drama

(also you keep calling your brother ugly, but then say you guys are identical? huh????)

↑ 5 ↓ •••

u/fattytuna95 • 55 minutes ago This is kind of an insane idea, but it does make sense. Maybe I'll do it. (and you wouldn't get it.) ↑ 2 ↓ •••

first chapter tomorrow! please like/reblog/reply/send me an ask if you enjoyed it :) it keeps me going lol [my other fics->] divider: @/cafekitsune

[juustokaku]

Confidentiality - Chapter 5. - yandere!ATEEZ OT8 x f!reader

Introduction: Joining a peer support group for mentally ill was a good idea for the last two times you were there. Then it's only natural for the third time to go well too, right?

Pairings: yandere!Hongjoong x reader, yandere!Seonghwa x reader, yandere!Yunho x reader, yandere!Yeosang x reader, yandere!San x reader, yandere!Mingi x reader, yandere!Wooyoung x reader, yandere!Jongho x reader

T/W: This story will include talk about mental health struggles such as body dysmorphia, paranoid thoughts and more. Possessive and obsessive behavior, stalking. Dark themes are to be expected.

A/N: Forgive me; this chapter is absolute shit! Publishing this makes me feel very ashamed and disappointed in myself. I hate this so much, but it's probably the best what I can do right now. I hope I didn't let you down and hope you won't lose your interest for this story because of this chapter. Also, this chapter has only Mingi (finally), Jongho, and the stalker, whoever that might be. I swear the story won't be about Jongho all the time although he's been in a lot of chapters, since he is important at the beginning. I hope I'm not wasting your time with this, and that at least someone will find this enjoyable :,) Thank you for reading!

Word count: 4 641

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“Is this really necessary?” 

“Just take my hand. How do you think the stalker is going to notice we’re in a relationship otherwise?” 

At Jongho’s question, you began to ponder. The stalker would notice anyway that there was something supposedly between you and Jongho, so why did you have to hold hands with him? 

Nonetheless, you grabbed Jongho’s warm hand, intertwining your fingers together. It was supposed to look romantic and make everyone think you were two lovebirds flying on cloud 9, but it looked most likely awkward. That’d work too, you supposed. After all, the first stages of relationships sometimes felt embarrassing. 

“Fake relationship, remember.” 

Jongho scoffed, “Do you think I’d be in a real relationship with you?” 

That hurt. You had been rejected before by romantic and platonic interests, but none of them had talked to you like you were a repulsive, filthy animal looming in the sewers. 

“No...” 

He just glanced at you as you gave your dejected reply. It was clearly not in his interest to make you feel loved, but it was probably better for him to be brutally honest, than fool you into thinking the act of being a couple wasn’t just pretending. 

“I hope the performance won’t be a waste of our time,” Jongho murmured. 

It had been his idea to go together to a Valentine’s Day event the city had arranged. What could be more romantic than holding hands and watching awful music performances by unknown wannabe artists while freezing to death? 

The stage in front of you was decorated with red paper hearts and white balloons in a bad taste, being a shameful insult to art. Maybe it was supposed to get people on festive mood yet it only gave everyone who looked at it a headache. You were already feeling anxious to have so many people around you in the audience, but you had to endure it; Jongho had demanded you to stay with him for your own safety. The moment you’d leave his sight, the stalker could strike.  

Just then, you saw a familiar person step on the stage with overflowing confidence. 

“Is that... Mingi?” you murmured in shock, more to yourself than Jongho. 

The man holding your hand couldn’t answer to you. Jongho was usually so calm and collected, so it amused you greatly to see him, lips parted and eyes wide, trying to make sense out of the sight in front of him. 

“Mingus Dingus in the house! Fix on!” 

A couple people from the crowd cheered at his arrival. The rest of the audience, at least 70 people, were whispering to each other and wondering who Mingi was. 

“Apparently, this poor excuse of a city doesn’t have enough money to use on events anymore.” 

“Yeah. I have no idea who this is. Possibly some homeless man, that they found from the streets and promised to give dinner money to if he performed.” 

You heard a couple men next to you talk poorly about Mingi, which made your heart ache. Mingi didn’t seem like a bad person, completely opposite actually. He was passionate about his music and had both courage and energy to keep doing what he loved. That was admirable. 

Tensing up as the music started playing, you squeezed Jongho’s hand tighter without even noticing. This performance would turn out to be a catastrophe, a total fiasco, and a hit on your already fragile mental health. You couldn’t handle seeing people fail, it just made you want to bury yourself so you would never have to see something like that again. 

But as Mingi opened his mouth and his self-written lyrics started flowing out, you found yourself flabbergasted. Even impressed. 

“Sent it off in the wind, every photo, every piece of my heart...” 

Jongho seemed to listen to Mingi’s performance as well with perked up ears. 

“It was tough for me to see a single letter, so I sent it all away...” 

Mingi’s voice made you feel all kinds of things. It was impossible to pinpoint the exact names for them, but the emotions in his voice and the lyrics hit you deep in the heart. It was something unexplainable. 

You watched the performance and the way Mingi’s eyes shined with flames of passion that could not be put out. It was something that nobody could fake; only people who truly loved what they were doing would be able to captivate like that. It was so vulnerable, like he was opening up to everyone who listened. 

Unfortunately, a lot of people didn’t bother to listen. They were leaving little by little, and by the end of the song, only about 30 people were still listening to what Mingi wanted to express through his music. 

“Come on, Y/N. Let’s leave.” 

Before you could control your reactions, you answered Jongho firmly, “No. I want to listen.” 

You would have never dared to speak like that to anyone, let alone to Jongho, but Mingi’s song had woken up both your emotions and loyalty to him as his new fan. 

It went unnoticed by you how Jongho’s expression darkened at your refusal. His grip tightened on your hand but all you cared about in that moment was Mingi. 

As the performance continued, the rest of the audience left as well. It even made you angry. Of course, people had the right to leave if a performance didn’t interest them, but how could they be so deaf to the art Mingi had created? 

It was the most freezing day of February, but you couldn’t care less about your shivering body or the cold wind that almost pushed you down. It was like even the wind didn’t care about Mingi’s songs and wanted to push you away from the stage. The way his performance set the stage on fire warmed your body and soul in the cold. 

At last, the performance ended. Mingi had given his whole soul to it, to reach people’s ears and hearts, but you were the only one whose heart he had successfully won over. 

Only two people, you and Jongho, had stayed the whole time. As the last chords of the song played, you stared at Mingi in awe, head empty and heart full. He looked at the audience he had left, and despite the lack of people, bowed deep and respectfully. He was thankful that he hadn’t been left completely alone, to perform for the emptiness. 

“Fix off.” 

Jongho tried to hold onto your hand tightly, but you ripped it away from his grip to applaud Mingi. Your lonely yet sincere claps reached Mingi’s ears, and he casted a smile for you. Then he left the stage. 

“Y/N, don’t-” 

You didn’t care about Jongho’s demand. Only thing you needed to do now was to run to Mingi and tell him how much his performance meant for you. How amazing he was. How he had managed to touch your heart. Unlike usually, you weren’t interested in the possibility of embarrassing yourself. 

Your hurried steps reached Mingi fast, although the headwind was slightly slowing you down. He was facing another direction, head turned downwards. 

“Mingi! Your performance was amazing! I never could have guessed you were that talented,” you spoke, sounding a bit too excited. 

Hopefully Mingi wouldn’t think of you as some deranged fan. 

But you hadn’t expected to see tears on his face as he turned around to look into your eyes. 

“Don’t lie to me. I know no-one liked it.” 

Speechless, you looked at Mingi’s heartbreaking expression. Warm tears were glistening in his eyes and streaming down his face. Lips pressed in a tight line, he looked somehow offended at your comment, trying to hold onto his dignity. 

“I don’t know what I was thinking, coming here. I have no talent.” 

You frowned at Mingi’s words, “Do you think I would have stayed here and rushed to compliment you, if I hadn’t liked your performance?” 

Jongho had walked up to you silently and was standing next to you, hands in the pockets of his jacket. The look on his face directed at you was even colder than the air, as he listened you praise Mingi. 

“I would have left with the other people if your performance hadn’t been good.” 

At your words, even more tears welled up in Mingi’s eyes. He looked away from you, probably feeling embarrassed to show such vulnerability in front of you and Jongho. 

“I just want you to know that your lyrics, songs and voice impressed me. They made me feel... things,” you rambled on before starting to realize you were way too passionate. 

A hopeful expression crossed Mingi’s face, before disappearing like he was afraid to get his hopes up and heart broken, “What kind of things?” 

You were getting shy under Mingi and Jongho’s eyes. It was too late to act coy now; you had already revealed your overwhelming emotions Mingi’s songs had managed to bring up to the surface. 

On top of everything, you could relate to him. He worked so hard to be seen and appreciated, but got only ridiculing snorts and ignorance as a response. Some people were born to be insignificant in others’ eyes while the rest were born lucky to be acknowledged. To be seen wasn’t something to take for granted. 

“I could relate to your songs. The emotions you showed in your performance uncovered something in me that I have tried to forget.” 

It was almost a magical moment to see Mingi’s eyes sparkle. Could have been the tears that made it look like his eyes shined, but there was more to it. All of his dreams had been accomplished when he heard that his songs finally managed to reach someone’s ears. That he had been seen at last. 

“Thank you! Thank you so much! I will never forget what you said!” Mingi suddenly grabbed both of your hands in his, holding tightly to them like you were his salvation. 

“That’s enough,” Jongho ripped your hands forcefully out of the taller man’s grip. 

Sure, Jongho had to act like you were a couple, but was it really fair to treat Mingi like that? You had already lost your confidence that had emerged from nowhere before, so you had no courage to say anything. You had to remember, Jongho was still a man and much stronger than you; it would be hard to fight back if he decided he had had enough of your attitude. 

“I can hold her hands if I want to. What are you, her boyfriend?” 

“In fact, I am. So, keep your hands to yourself,” Jongho warned Mingi. 

Mingi looked suddenly devastated, which surprised you. His mouth was agape, trying to say something. He didn’t manage to let anything past his lips other than his silent breathing. He was left behind as Jongho led you away. 

Later on, you arrived at a park. To your luck, the park still had people wandering around although the sky was already turning dark. Although Jongho had promised to protect you, you didn’t want to be left alone with any man after the sun had set. String lights set to hang from the leafless trees lit up your way as you walked hand in hand with him. 

“Look at that! An ice rink!” you gasped, pointing at an ice rink in the park, not being able to hide your excitement. You hadn’t been ice skating since forever. 

Jongho gave you a judging side-eye, “Too expensive. Let’s go drink hot chocolate.” 

You had no courage to fight back his idea, so you let him lead you to a stall selling all kinds of drinks and treats. To be honest, you felt like this was actually romantic and fit the Valentine’s Day although you were spending it with a fake boyfriend. With a man who had implied he would never date you. 

“Two hot chocolates. Sizes small and large,” Jongho said to the man keeping the stall. 

Well honestly, he was more like a boy. He looked the age of 17 and extremely bored. You couldn’t blame him since he had been holding the stall probably for hours already, trying to earn some pathetic amount of pocket money. 

You dug for your wallet, prepared to pay for the small sized drink, since Jongho most likely had ordered the large one for himself. He could have at least asked which size you wanted; the small one would not be enough to quench your thirst. 

“I’ll pay,” Jongho said and pushed a carton mug full of hot chocolate into your hands. 

The fact that he promised to pay surprised you already, but you noticed that the mug he had given you was the size large. 

“Thank you...” you mumbled, looking up in Jongho’s eyes. 

His blank stare made you uncomfortable. Why did he never smile at you? It wasn’t very convincing to never crack a smile at you, when you were supposed to act like a couple in love. 

You two found a bench to sit on under a tree. It was a beautiful spot, the perfect place for you to sit next to each other, huddle for warmth and share tender kisses – that was if you two had been actually dating. There was just one problem: the bench was covered in thick layer of snow after last night’s storm. 

“Are you really suggesting this spot? I’d look like I had wet myself after sitting on that.” 

“You can sit on my lap. That way your ass won’t get wet.” 

Jongho’s proposal made your eyes widen. He was truly shameless. 

And finally, it happened. He smiled at you – although it was a mischievous one, it was the first smile you had ever seen on his face. The emotionless man was forgotten as you watched how his cheeks, slightly red because of the cold air, rounded out and made him look like a teddy bear. 

“You’re always so closed off, trying to hide your emotions,” Jongho said. 

Look who’s talking. He wasn’t exactly the most open person in the world either. 

“I’m not closed off. Both you and Mingi saw how emotional I got over his songs.” 

Ever so slightly, Jongho’s expression darkened. His smile was long gone and he sighed in frustration. 

“I’m musical too, you know? I may not rap as well as Mingi but I can sing.” 

“Really? Prove it,” you challenged him. 

“No. You don’t deserve to hear my singing,” Jongho took a sip of his drink. 

“Fine. Then I’ll assume Mingi is better.” 

It was a risky game to play with Jongho. His reaction could be anything, but you couldn’t stop yourself before teasing him. You were getting way too comfortable. You knew it was dangerous, but you had been craving to have a friend for so long. Now that someone was actually willingly wasting their time on you, it felt like a chance to a new start. 

“I’ll sing for you one day but first, I want to give you something.” 

You raised a brow at Jongho’s statement, and your heartbeat quickened as he pulled something out of his bag. 

Could it be a Valentine’s Day gift? Maybe a flower or a heart-shaped chocolate box? 

But it had been a mistake to let your guard slightly down around Jongho. He proved to you right at that moment that he shouldn’t have been trusted. That you should have run away and hid from him when you had the chance. 

The object in his hand was unrecognizable in the dark at first. You could only see the gleam of the yard lights reflected on the object, making you finally realize what it was. 

Jongho tossed his hot chocolate cup away, symbolizing how all of his sweet gestures had been a skillful play thrown away as well, just like your whole relationship. Now his other hand was completely free to use, while the other one held a pocket knife. 

You wanted to scream or try to convince him to spare your life, but you were speechless. Only thing you managed to do was take a few, shaky steps away from him, the monster in front of you. 

He didn’t let you get further away as he followed you with a gleam in his eyes that screamed insanity. 

“Do you fear death or me?” Jongho asked calmy. 

You glanced at the park. It was like everyone had suddenly disappeared. There was no savior for you if Jongho attacked. You would lose your life alone in the darkness before anyone could have come to your rescue. 

“A-Aren’t they the same thing?” 

Jongho shook his head with a chuckle, “Death sets you free. I will never do that.” 

His words rang in your ears for a split second before you dashed. Time was running out. 

“Y/N! Stop!” 

You didn’t even hear Jongho’s shout. No matter how loud he could have screamed at you, there was no chance you’d stop. You had to run out of the park and reach other people before Jongho could catch you and brutally pierce and cut your body, until you were unrecognizable to the police. Maybe even Yunho would be the one to find you. Yunho who wasn’t the stalker despite all your baseless suspicions. 

But one of the worst things, that was possible in that moment, happened. The ground under your feet was on ice and betrayed you ultimately. Your heart almost stopped as you lost your balance. 

Your cry of pain echoed in the park as your head smashed onto the ground, although your back had received the worst impact of falling on ice. It hurt like hell, but even in all your suffering, you couldn’t think of anything else than about the fact that this was the end. You had tried to trust other people and this was the result. In your intense pain and on the brink of unconsciousness, you didn’t even notice as Jongho got on his knees next to you on the ground. 

Tears ran down your cheeks, but you couldn’t even beg for your life. It was futile. 

Last thing your mind registered before fainting was Jongho’s warm hand petting your head. 

It felt like you had been unconscious for eternity when in reality it had been only 20 minutes or so. When you finally opened your eyes, you found your surroundings familiar. The person next to you was familiar as well. 

“You fainted.” 

No words left your lips, but your eyes told everything. You were terrified and confused. 

“I brought you here after you lost your consciousness.” 

You glanced at the room. It was your own apartment, everything in their own places, but it still seemed so wrong and unsafe, because of the man in front of you. The couch you found comfortable every other day, felt way too stiff in that moment, making the pain in your back worse. 

“That doesn’t explain why I’m alive. What do you want from me?” you managed to utter out, but the wavering in your voice didn’t go unnoticed. 

Jongho turned his face away with a guilty look. It was clear he regretted something. 

“It was all just a really bad joke. I didn’t mean to scare you that much.” 

The mix of anger and relief felt odd; you didn’t know whether to scream at him or cry in happiness that you didn’t get murdered. But you were too scared of him to show any reactions. Even if it had been just a joke, only a deranged person would scare others like that for their own entertainment. 

That’s why you forced yourself to forgive him. 

“...I forgive you” you gritted through your teeth. 

“I didn’t apologize though.” 

Your anger only flared up at Jongho’s arrogant response. First, he had seemed guilty for scaring you to death, but any ounce of regret you thought he had, was out of the window. Soon, Jongho would be out of the window as well; you didn’t want to see his remorseless face at that moment. 

“Get out of my house.” 

You had turned to look away from him, because you were afraid, you’d lash out at him. 

Jongho looked even slightly hurt at your words. The frown on his face was an indication of his growing agitation and refusal to leave that easily. 

“Do you want me to say sorry then?” 

“No,” you murmured, “It’s too late for that.” 

“Exactly. And I’m not sorry anyways,” Jongho scoffed, “I had to see how you’d react if the stalker was about to kill you. Think of it as practice. It was for your own good.” 

Taking in a deep breath, you tried to stay calm. It could be dangerous to anger the man even more, although you were the only one who had the right to be angry at that moment. And God, you were furious. 

“For my own good? I got a concussion and nearly broke my back!” 

“If you don’t appreciate me looking out for you, we can end this fake relationship.” 

Looking out for you? You couldn’t believe the audacity that man had. 

“Then let’s end this.” 

Jongho seemed to be stunned by your words – as stunned as a man that stoic and cold could be. You even felt a sense of glee at the tiny look of panic on his face. 

“No. I wasn’t serious. I just felt irritated because you don’t see how I want to protect you.” 

But you didn’t fall for that. You had no intention to be a victim of his manipulation. 

As you attempted to stand up from the couch, you whimpered in agony. The pain on your back was unbearable, but you were more concerned about the piercing headache, feeling like your head was being squished by a hydraulic press. 

“Let me-” Jongho started, getting up and trying to help you. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

You stepped away from him, feeling afraid once again. Could you be blamed for that, when just a half an hour ago you feared for your life because of that man? Even though it had been supposedly a joke, you couldn’t shake off the sense of panic at Jongho walking closer. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Get out,” you sighed, “Please.” 

The bright lights in your apartment hurt your head even more, and you barely stayed on your feet. Although your eyes were getting blurry, you managed to see Jongho’s sad face and him walking towards your front door. 

The apartment was silent as you sat down again, rubbing your temples and trying to ease the pain. The heavy tension hadn’t left although Jongho had. You didn’t know how to meet him again at the therapy session in a few days. 

That Valentine’s Day had seemed successful at first, and you had enjoyed Mingi’s performance despite the heartbreak you felt at seeing his anguish. Even conversing with Jongho had been nice until his poor attempt of a joke. What was supposed to be a day of friendship and romance – even fake kind – ended up in being horrifying. 

You really needed rest, some way to forget the headache for a while, so you fell asleep on the couch. Maybe the dizziness and Jongho’s “joke” would be just distant memories after a good nap, although you doubted that you’d ever forget Jongho’s face as he had creeped closer to you at the park.  

It might have been 30 minutes or so when the sound of a doorbell woke you up. If it was Jongho, you wouldn’t even open the door, not prepared to hear his excuses. 

Reluctantly, you dragged yourself to the door, wincing in pain every step you took. One look from the peephole revealed, that instead of Jongho, there was a man with flowers. He looked serious and exhausted but his silly little cap made him look less scary. 

“Flowers for miss Y/N L/N,” the man forced a smile on his face as you opened the door. 

Your heart fluttered. Someone had remembered you and sent you flowers. It could have been your family who sent the beautiful, bright yellow roses, since they wanted to remind you that they loved you despite all of the things they had done to you. 

Or maybe it could have been from the stalker. 

Nonetheless, you had to accept the roses, no matter how much their thorns could hurt you. They could prickle you with longing or draw blood from your fingers with promises of terror, but your curiosity got the best of you. 

You set the roses down on your dinner table when you noticed that they had a little letter tied to them with a pink ribbon. 

“Your pathetic boyfriend didn’t even give you a gift. Look what I brought.” 

Your blood ran cold. It was no doubt of who had sent you this. Still, you wanted to believe it could have been Mingi instead, even though he didn’t even know where you lived. Anything but the indisputable truth that the sender was indeed the stalker. 

But it wasn’t the end of your shock. You wanted to cry when you noticed another thing as well – a pink envelope that had come with the rose, inviting you to open it. There were heart stickers on it, one of them being a shiny teddy bear holding a heart. The envelope wanted to cast a spell on you and make you so scared yet curious, that you couldn’t stop yourself from seeing what it contained. 

And it definitely succeeded in that, although you tried your best to ignore it, to leave it unopened for the sake of your own sanity. 

Seven pieces of paper were revealed to be inside of it. 

You hated these envelopes so much. You despised the drawings, pictures and letters you had to see because you were just too curious to stay in blissful ignorance. 

Six out of seven of the pieces of paper had drawings on them. They were drawings of parts of a human body. Two pieces of arms, two of legs, one torso and one head. It had been clearly one whole drawing, one whole body of a woman, before having been cut into six pieces. The head even had a pout on it and hair similarly styled as yours. 

Confused about the drawing, you prepped yourself to take a look at the 7th piece of paper. The drawing was definitely a threat, there was no doubt of that, but you craved to understand it deeper. Although the whole thing made you feel nauseous, you needed to know what kind of and level of peril you were in – and to do that, you had to bite the bullet. 

There were words on the paper, written by a hand, whose writing style you recognized. 

“I’ll cut off your arms if you try to fight back,” the first sentence said. 

“I’ll cut off your legs if you try to escape,” the second sentence informed. 

“I’ll cut off your head if your eyes wander on or lips kiss someone else.” 

After you had read the final threat on the paper, you leaned on your chair, everything seemed to have slowed down. Your heartbeat was lazy and quiet, not overwhelmingly loud like in other moments of fear like this. It was so silent both in your head and the apartment, except for the rustling somewhere close. Right now, you needed Jongho. You didn’t have anyone else; only he could help, protect, and save you. He was the only person that wanted to hear your cries and see what he could do to stop you from hurting. Cursing yourself for kicking him out of your apartment, you wondered if he’d even agree to help you anymore. Maybe he’d still hug you and find the stalker to beat him up, and maybe, hopefully, he’d know where the quiet, almost inconspicuous, rustling noise in your apartment was coming from. 

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<- Chapter 4.

Chapter 6. ->

Masterlist

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Taglist: @devilzliaison

[bosbas]

Chapter 5: I fear I have fallen from grace

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 3.4k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, a small part of the dialogue is in French, our girl is in her feels asf, some small hints of ~feelings~, Eloise being the best

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

May 23, 1816 – Of course, this author saved the most scandalous tidbit for last. It seems something dark lurked beneath the waters of the seemingly perfect courtship of Lady Montclair and Lord Barlow. Yesterday evening, Lady Montclair retired early from the Bridgerton ball, citing a debilitating headache as the reason for her early departure.

And the Duke… Well, this author can say that he had a very productive evening, indeed. A quick trip to the private Bridgerton courtyard found him locking lips with Lady Barrington in what seemed like a very passionate affair. 

But what of Lady Montclair? One can be certain she has deftly avoided a most unfortunate situation, for what use is a Duke if he is not truly yours? Shall we witness Lady Montclair's endeavors for another match this season, or perhaps she will retreat to the sunlit hills of Tuscany? Hopefully, today’s races will reveal more about her intentions.

You crumpled the gossip column in your hands, eyes wide in shock as you felt your heartbeat in your ears. It seemed like the walls of your bedroom were closing in around you as tears blurred your vision. Surely this couldn’t be true. Surely Lord Barlow hadn’t completely betrayed you so far into your courtship. There had to be another explanation. 

The longer you read and re-read Lady Whistledown’s words, the more you needed to convince yourself that they weren’t real. You felt anger rising in your chest, your chest constricting as your breathing quickened. It had to be Louis. There was absolutely no universe in which you got so close to getting everything you had worked for only for it to be taken away from you in such an unceremonious way. 

You felt tears prickling your eyes and aggressively wiped them away, too angry to care about your appearance. 

Standing abruptly and rushing to your door, you slammed it open and yelled into the hallway, “Louis!” 

If he had somehow managed to create a fake Whistledown column as his idea of a sick joke, you were quite ready to kill him. But this was your only hope. It had to be him.

Not receiving a response from your brother, you desperately screamed out, “Je vais te crever !” (I’m going to kill you!)

Rushing out of his room, bewildered at your agitated state, Louis stopped in front of your open door. “Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas chez toi ? Arrête de crier.” (What the hell is your problem? Stop yelling.)

You shoved the crumpled gossip sheet into his chest, forcing him to take a step back with the force of your push. He steadied himself on your doorframe, a questioning look on his face, and you felt your hope dwindling.

Shoving the paper into him once again, you cried, “T'as vu ça? C'était toi qui as fait ça?” (Have you seen this? Did you do this?) Tears were streaming down your face as you unsuccessfully tried to contain your emotions.

Though it certainly would have been cruel of Louis, you wished more than anything that he had been the one to do this. That Lord Barlow's betrayal wasn’t real. That you would go to the races today and see the Duke and that he would greet you with a soft kiss on the back of your hand as the two of you walked pleasantly. 

But your hopes quickly came crumbling down. Louis looked as confused as you felt, and you came to the realization that Whistledown’s words were, in fact, accurate. You choked back a sob, covering your mouth with the back of your hand as you fought to keep yourself under control. 

“Attends, attends,” Louis said nervously (Hold on, hold on). 

Recognizing that you were very much in the middle of a crisis, but having absolutely no idea why, he grabbed your hands and gently pushed you back into your room. Sitting you both down on your bed, he took the paper from your hands and smoothed it out to read as he placed a comforting arm around you, rubbing your arm up and down. 

His comforting touch did away with the last of your resolve. You started crying freely, and you could do nothing but sob into his shoulder as he read, feeling him tense as his eyes scanned the words on the page.

As he got to the part where Lady Whistledown outlined the Duke’s promiscuity, he abruptly stood up, face contorted in what you knew to be fury. You would have been relieved that it wasn’t aimed at you just this once if your situation wasn’t so dire. 

“Putain,” he muttered under his breath (Fuck).

He grabbed your hand and dragged you down the stairs with him as fast as possible. You stumbled after him, anxiety mounting as you realized he was taking you to your mother. 

What would she think now that you had lost everything? You and the Duke were finished, evidently. But you were still unmarried. You were still out in society. Could you even bear the shame of having been rejected by Arthur? Would any gentleman ever look at you again, or would Lord Barlow’s impatience reflect too negatively on you?

After what felt like an eternity, you reached the open doorway of the sitting room. You could see your mother chatting pleasantly inside, and fear gripped your chest as you realized you were about to shatter any semblance of peace she might be feeling right now.

“Maman!” yelled Louis angrily as he stormed into the room, still clutching your hand.

Your mother let out a startled gasp, bringing a hand to her chest.

“Louis, darling, you scared me! Charlotte and Edward are here,” she said warmly, assuming that you and your brother were having nothing more than another silly argument that would be resolved in a matter of minutes. 

But Louis was not in the mood for pleasantries. 

“Y/N and the Duke are finished,” he announced, slamming the Whistledown column on the table in the middle of the room. 

You sniffled as you saw the looks of confusion on your family’s faces, no longer crying but your breathing was still uneven.

“Pardon?” questioned Charlotte. “I don’t understand; I saw them dancing last night! She’ll be lucky to receive a proposal this week.”

“He’ll be lucky if I don’t kill him,” growled your brother. 

“Louis!” your mother snapped, appalled by his language. “That is not-”

But Louis quickly interrupted, reading directly from the sheet in front of him.

“And the Duke… Well, this author can say that he had a very productive evening, indeed. A quick trip to the private Bridgerton courtyard…”

As your brother read, you saw the faces in the room slowly turn from confused to horrified, and you couldn’t help the choked sob that escaped your lips. Your mother quickly reached out to you, holding you tightly to her as you cried into her dress.

“Bloody bastard,” said Edward, shaking his head once Louis was finished reading. No one commented on his strong language, given that it encapsulated exactly how everyone else was feeling. 

“Louis, go fetch your father,” ordered your mother, immediately falling into her protective mode. 

Without complaint, Louis nodded and headed toward your father’s office. 

"Y/N, my love, I do apologize terribly. We didn't catch a glimpse of anything last night," Charlotte insisted, sinking beside you on the settee.

"If I'd laid eyes on him in that courtyard last night, he'd be wishing he hadn't walked out of there," your mother grumbled with an edge to her voice.

Slightly unsure about how to react to three emotional women in one room who seemed ready to kill a man, Edward fidgeted while he decided what to do. Of course, he knew he wasn’t the duke you wanted to kill, but it couldn’t hurt to be on the safe side.

“Shall I ring for some tea? Yes, I think I’ll go fetch some tea,” he bumbled, awkwardly patting you on the head and making his escape toward the kitchen. 

As Charlotte stroked your hair and your mother held you in her arms, you heard your father’s footsteps storming down the hall. 

“Louis has explained everything,” Philippe said, crossing his arms as he entered the sitting room. “Y/N, you must go to the races today.”

You no longer had any prospects and all your father could think about were the horse races today. Was he serious? 

“I can’t!” you argued. “I’ll be a pariah! Everyone knows I’m the girl who couldn’t keep a Duke.” You choked back a sob. 

“What exactly happened between you two last night?” probed your mother, wanting to know just how badly your reputation was damaged. 

Lady Whistledown’s account did not implicate you in any way, but Catherine knew how vicious the ton could be. She needed to know what level of damage control would be necessary to secure your standing in society.

“Nothing!” you insisted, sniffling. “He said he liked my necklace, we danced, and he asked to go outside. I was unsure about whether he wanted to propose or… do whatever he ended up doing with Miss Barrington.”

Louis’ eyebrows shot up, disbelief and newfound anger taking over his features. “He asked you to go to the courtyard with him? Alone?”

“Surely you said no! That’s ridiculous!” exclaimed Charlotte, equally as upset.

“I told him I had a headache and couldn’t stay the rest of the evening,” you said, fiddling with the hem of your dress nervously. “I don’t know what I did wrong! Should I have gone with him? Did I lose my only chance at a proposal?”

“You’ve certainly done nothing wrong,” your father shot back firmly. “No daughter of mine would act in such a crass manner, and the Duke’s shortcomings are most definitely not a reflection on you. Nor us.”

Your mother sighed. “He’s right, dearest. The Duke is simply a man lacking in character, and now the ton knows he is not to be trusted. It’s a horrible thing, what he did. But you’re not at fault,” she insisted, looking at your father. “Which is why you must attend the races today.”

You groaned at the prospect of facing the ton with their judgmental stares and wagging tongues. What your parents were saying made sense, though. You rubbed your temples, frustrated that you were now in such a precarious social standing. 

Perhaps you had been right at the beginning of the season. Lord Barlow, along with Colin and Nigel and the rest of them, viewed women merely as breeding stock. There was nothing in it for you. No hope of romance, no hope of ever finding someone who could respect you. 

“If you stay home today everyone will wonder if you somehow were involved,” chimed in Charlotte, ignoring your glare. “If you go and act like nothing is wrong, you can prove that the Duke is nothing but a man with a debilitating lack of self-control.”

You looked around to the rest of your family, who all seemed to agree with your sister. 

However, seeing Edward walk back into the room followed by a lady’s maid carrying a tray, you tried one last time to get out of leaving your home today, or for the next three years.

“What about you, Edward? Do you think it’s a bad idea to go to the races today?”

“Oh, certainly not! In fact, it might be the best way to assure your future,” he said sympathetically. 

You threw your head back in frustration. He had probably heard the conversation as he walked up and didn’t want to disagree with the rest of your family, you thought glumly. Nevertheless feeling quite defeated, you slumped back in your seat and crossed your arms.

“Fine. I’ll go,” you conceded as if you even had a choice. 

The horrible feeling in your chest had subsided somewhat, but you were still devastated. At least your family was on your side. However, you were still feeling dreadfully embarrassed, and you knew being out in plain view today would only make it worse. 

---

“And you saw them?” asked Eloise, a disturbed look on her face as she walked toward the bustling paddock. 

Colin nodded, careful to keep his voice down. “I wish I could claw my eyes out. I think his tongue was so far down that-”

“Colin!” scolded Violet, failing to hide her small giggle at her son’s retelling of the previous night. 

“I’m sorry, Mother, but it was a horrific sight!” said Colin, also struggling to contain his laughter. 

But as soon as your family came into view, the Bridgertons sobered. It might have seemed funny at the moment, but Lord Barlow’s actions had the potential to ruin your future. It was doubtful that they would, since you were from a titled family and had done nothing wrong, but Colin could sense the whispers and pointed looks aimed at you as you walked toward the racetrack. 

“Oh, Y/N!” called Eloise, quickly leaving her family as she rushed to your side. “Colin’s just told me what happened. He found Lord Barlow in the courtyard last night! Are you alright?”

Colin felt a bit ashamed of himself for making light of the situation as he saw tears welling in your eyes at his sister's words. The regret gnawed at him; he wished he could have told you himself, or at least had his mother break the news more gently. Yet, time had been against them.

For all the sorrow he felt at seeing you hurt, a selfish part of him couldn't help but feel a flicker of relief that the impending marriage was off the table. But he quickly quashed that thought, not quite sure where it had come from and not caring to understand why he felt this way.

You blinked quickly to try to keep your tears from spilling as you looked at Eloise making her way to your side. Taking a few deep breaths, you grabbed onto her hand. Nodding at the rest of your family, you waited until they were a few paces ahead of you to answer Eloise.

“Oh, El, it’s dreadful,” you sniffled. “I don’t know what I did to lose him is the worst part. I can barely believe it. I thought it was Louis at first, trying to wind me up.”

Eloise cooed sympathetically. “I know, it must be horrible. I have no idea how he managed to get into our private courtyard. But at least he hadn’t proposed yet! Seeing the kind of man Lord Barlow is, it’s lucky that this happened now and not three months into your marriage.”

“I suppose,” you answered, not quite ready to see the positives in the situation yet. 

Suddenly, you heard snickering behind you and turned to see two women who looked to be your age pointing at you and talking in hushed tones. 

Turning around back to Eloise, you hissed, “The nerve! Why are they laughing at me? It’s Lord Barlow they should be laughing at.”

“I assume they would be if he was here.”

“He’s not here?”

“No one’s heard from him since last night,” Eloise remarked, linking her arm with yours as she guided you back to the stands. “And it’s all for the better. I daresay I might have given him a swift kick to the face if I laid eyes on him today.”

You chuckled, the first glimmer of lightness since reading Lady Whistledown this morning, thankful for Eloise’s friendship. Giving her arm a grateful squeeze, you found comfort in her mischievous smile.

“Our mothers are likely already planning the Duke’s demise as we speak,” she quipped, gesturing towards where your families were seated together.

But a deep weariness overtook you at the thought of being the subject of ton gossip for the next few days. “It’s all anyone’s going to be talking about for the next week, isn’t it?” you sighed.

Eloise’s heart twinged with empathy, knowing the delicate balance you now faced in the unforgiving eyes of society. She wished desperately that your worth wasn’t tied to another man’s title or fortune.

“Well, actually,” she began with a twinkle in her eye, “the real scandal will be that the beautiful Lady Y/N Montclair is still unclaimed by any suitor. You’re in a prime position to be selective now! It might just be a bit of fun.” 

You shot her a wry look. “How much more selective can I get than a duke?”

Eloise was intimately familiar with the high pressure you faced to get married. She knew that you had been preparing for this your entire life, but she also suspected you weren’t entirely aligned with your parents’ view of marriage. She had seen the uncertainty in your gaze whenever Lord Barlow walked away, the fluttering nerves you disguised as excitement.

“Tell me honestly,” she pressed gently. “Is there not a small part of you, deep down, that feels a sense of relief now that your courtship with the Duke has ended?”

Pausing thoughtfully, you mulled over her words. Maybe you weren’t actually as attached to Lord Barlow as you thought. After all, you weren’t upset that you had lost him, only that he had embarrassed you and that you had to begin your search for a husband anew. 

With a tentative smile, you nodded, admitting, “Just don’t let my mother hear you say that.”

Stepping onto the stands, you and Eloise quickly found your way to your families. Unfortunately, the only empty seats were next to Colin. You were tempted to turn around and leave, but Eloise placed a hand on your back and pushed you forward, forcing you next to your least favorite member of the ton. 

You unsuccessfully tried to hide your disdain as you sat next to Colin, who looked the picture of serenity. It made you unreasonably angry that he seemed completely unaffected by last night’s events while you had to face the social repercussions. 

“I’m sorry about Lord Barlow,” he spoke softly, a hint of sincerity in his voice that caught you off guard.

You hesitated, the anger in you momentarily waning as you looked at him. It was a rare moment of vulnerability from Colin Bridgerton, and you found yourself unexpectedly moved.

“I’m sure you are,” you shot back, tone more biting than you intended.

“Pardon?” Colin’s brow furrowed, a touch of offense creeping into his voice at your sharp retort.

“Oh, spare me,” you rolled your eyes, a familiar frustration you only felt around Colin coming back to you. “You expect me to believe you just happened upon the Duke and Miss Barrington? It’s a bit too convenient, don’t you think?”

Colin’s eyes widened, a flicker of hurt crossing his features before it was masked by indignation. Did you really think he was capable of something like that? Of making up a lie that would sabotage your future marriage to a duke? The thought stung more than he cared to admit.

“Other people saw them, you know,” he retorted, a hint of anger seeping into his words. “And I wouldn’t lie about something like that,” he snapped.

The two of you had spent enough time that he was thoroughly offended that you thought so lowly of him. You were just entrenched in your grudge against him and refused to budge. He regretted trying to be agreeable at all. 

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow skeptically, feeling your own anger rise in response. “So they just magically appeared in your private courtyard without being given access?”

Colin opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. He was too angry, too upset that you thought so lowly of him.

“Fine,” he finally bit out, his jaw clenched. “Believe what you will.”

Colin turned away, unable to face you any longer. His reputation among the ton be damned; why did you think he was some kind of monster? He supposed he hadn’t made a good case for himself, tormenting you whenever possible, but he was still furious that you were acting like Lord Barlow’s actions were somehow his fault. Why was he chronically unable to be in your good graces?

—

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[ladykailitha]

Never Hold Back Your Step... Part 9

Yay!! Another chapter of this lovely chronicle. I really do recommend going back and re-reading a bit since it's been so long.

But in this we have Harrington Sr. being an ass, the most epic confrontation I've ever written, and Dustin being sweet and asshole at the same time. The kid has range.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

****

Late at night in the last days before the school ended, they would climb up on the roof of the trailer and talk about their hopes and dreams.

Eddie had told him that he was going to try third time lucky to graduate. And then if he didn’t make it next year, he’d take the GED and walk away, ready to join Steve wherever he was. Not that he wanted to leave Eddie behind or the kids. But if he was to go to college, he’d have to.

Steve walked across that stage to thunderous applause, all his friends, the kids, Eddie and Wayne all cheering for him. Even Nancy and Jonathan had been there to cheer him on. But there, in the stands frowning at the people Steve had surrounded himself with, were his parents.

Steve knew he should feel grateful that they came at all. But he knew it was more about image and appearing to be the perfect parents than any actual interest. He saw them clap politely and then his father pulled out a newspaper and his mother fussed with her hair and makeup the whole time.

They took pictures with him afterwards with fake smiles plastered on and took him out to dinner to talk about his future. Which was all about joining the company and getting his business degree. Two things that Steve had no interest in doing.

He had hoped to get scholarships for college based on his sports so that he wouldn’t have to rely on his dad’s money, but that fell through.

He had missed the early decision deadline, because he had had his head smashed in. So he had sent the applications off at the start of the new year. But by then his grades had slipped due to the concussion and the letters coming back weren’t a good sign.

He would just have to try and reason with his dad about college and keep his fingers crossed he’d get out of this town somehow.

****

“These are your grades?” Mr. Harrington bellowed. “How are you supposed to get into good colleges and universities with these?”

The first week of June was not a good week, ever, in Steve’s opinion. It was when grades were mailed out and he had to listen to the screaming for a full week.

“I had that concussion in the middle of the year, remember?” Steve asked. “That set my grades back a bit. But I thought I would take a year of community college and build my grades back up to get into the better schools.”

“No son of mine is going to a state school!” Mr. Harrington roared. “And you can forget about that summer internship at the company! I will not have tell others that you didn’t get into a proper school.”

Steve could feel his stomach sink to the base of spine. He didn’t like where this was going. At all.

“You will get a job,” Mr. Harrington continued to menace. “I don’t mean some cushy life guard bullshit where you sit in some high tower, looking pretty, either. A real job. Retail. Build character.”

“But I already told Mr. Jones at the community center that I would lifeguard again this summer,” Steve protested.

“You go back there and tell him you have better things to do with your time!” Mr. Harrington shouted. “That new mall opened up. Starcourt. You’ll find something there.” He leaned forward into Steve’s space. “Do I make myself clear?”

Steve gulped, but nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Good.”

Mr. Harrington turned on his heel and stormed back into his office. Mrs. Harrington stood at the edge of the room, almost swaying on her feet as she would move forward to comfort Steve, but then would change her mind. Back and forth.

Steve pinched his nose and rubbed the end. He looked up at her with dead eyes. “He’ll keep moving the goal posts. You know he will.”

This time she did surge forward. “You know it’s not like that. He only wants what’s best for you.”

“Best for me?” Steve murmured, barely holding back the tears. “Or what will make him look the best? Because I’m tired, Mom.”

“It’s hard,” Mrs. Harrington said, rubbing his arm gently. “But come autumn he’ll see how well you did and maybe he’ll let you try for the state school.”

Steve knew it was a lie or whatever that she was telling herself more than she was tell him.

He pinched and rubbed his nose, forcing back the tears. He wasn’t going to cry in front of either of his parents. It only enraged his father and prompted mocking from his mother.

Oh, she hid it under the guise of ‘tough love’ but it was all tough and no love.

He thought of Wayne and Eddie. Of how they didn’t have a lot of material possessions but they had each other and their love for each shone brightly.

Steve held up his chin and nodded. Then he grabbed his keys and wallet, forcing on his shoes.

“Where are you going?” his mother huffed. “Storming off like that after a fight with your father is so childish, Steven.”

Steve turned to her slowly and blinked. “To talk to Mr. Jones about not being able to lifeguard this year and go job hunting at the mall like Dad wants?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re always so dramatic, Steven. I suppose that was why you took so well to it. Of course, if you had any real talent you would have gotten a more substantial role.”

He squeezed his hand around his keys, the ridges digging into his palm, as he fought down the bile that rose to his throat.

“I’ll be back for dinner,” Steve said through gritted teeth. He rushed out the door, careful not to slam it behind him.

He drove out to the community center and hit his steering wheel over and over as he cursed out his parents until he was exhausted.

He sighed and got out the car, making his way to front desk. “Hey, Janis, is Mr. Jones in today?”

Janis smiled at him. “Sure thing, sweetie. Just go on back.”

Steve caught Mr. Jones as he was coming back to his office.

“Hey, Steve!” Mr. Jones said cheerfully, coming up to him with a big smile. “You here for your schedule?”

Steve shook his head. “My dad didn’t like my grades and told me I had to get a real job. Sorry.”

“Shit, Steve, I’m sorry,” Mr. Jones said crumpling. “And there’s no chance he’ll let you do both?”

“No,” Steve said bitterly. “If he finds out I’m working here he’ll beat my ass. I wanted to come back, but I guess my dad had other plans.”

“Well, well,” a cruel voice said behind them, “it looks like you have an opening after all, Mr. Jones.”

Steve and Mr. Jones turned toward the voice slowly, knowing with complete dread who it was.

Billy Hargrove was leaning against the wall, arms folded and a giant smirk on his face.

“Looks like your loss is my gain, Harrington,” he said coolly.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Story of my life since you rolled into town, Hargrove. You stole my friends, the captain of the basketball team, hell you probably would have stolen my girl if she liked jocks instead of tortured artists or some shit. It ain’t new.”

“You’re just bitter that I’m the superior you in every way,” Billy said with a sneer. “The sooner you admit it, the less heartache you’ll have, pretty boy.”

Steve threw back his head and laughed. “I have other talents, asshole. I can draw, I can act, and I can fucking swim. While you were out there fucking anything with a pussy that would let your scaly ass, I was beating records and making it to nationals as part of our swim team. You are just some washed up surfer in desperate need a wave. I am a swimmer.”

He nodded to Mr. Jones who had a smug smile on his face.

Billy was taken aback. “So you do have a spine. Huh. I would have never guessed it. Not with Max and Munson doing your dirty work for you.”

Steve got right up in Billy’s face. “I didn’t go after you, dipshit,” his voice low and menacing. Quiet enough that only he could hear. “Because I just wanted to graduate. But now that I have that diploma, I’m more than ready throw hands with you. Plus we all know I had you against the ropes until you cheated by smashing a plate to my head.”

He patted Billy’s chest and waving goodbye to Mr. Jones, he walked out of there, chin held high.

****

Steve had gathered somewhere around a dozen or so applications to the stores that surrounded him and sat down in the food court to fill them out. His eyes were starting to go cross-eyed when Dustin came up to him and sat down across from him.

“Dude,” Dustin greeted. “What’s all this shit?”

Steve looked up at him and sighed. “Job applications. My dad wants me to get a summer job.”

“But you have a summer job,” Dustin replied with a frown. “The rec center. You’re a lifeguard.”

Steve sighed again and shook his head. “My dad was pissed that I only got into a couple of schools and not the good ones.”

Dustin frowned and tilted his head to the side. “Is that because of what happened with Billy?”

“That’s part of it,” Steve agreed. “But I was really counting on a sports scholarship and with how shitty everything got I didn’t get a single one.”

“But you went to nationals with your swimming though,” the gap-toothed kid grumbled.

Steve put down his pen and planted his hands on either side of his applications. “Look, bud, I get that you think you’re trying to help or whatever but my team came in last at nationals. In everything. No scout was going to give us so much as a passing glance. No sports scholarship plus missing the early acceptance deadline and having to wait for regular admissions means that I’m on a waiting list for most of the good schools, didn’t get in to the decent schools, and my dad won’t let me go to the community college. So here I am doing the best I can, okay?”

Dustin pouted but gave up on pushing the issue. He grabbed the applications and began looking through them.

“Hey!” Steve cried trying to get them back, but Dustin kept dodging him.

He set down three applications. “You can put in for all of if you want, but I’d focus on these three.” Scoops Ahoy, The Gap, and Shapiro’s.

Steve picked them and looked at them. “Why?”

“Those are going to be the ones that kids aren’t going to want to try for,” Dustin said. “And you have to get this job because of your dad. These are more likely to hire you.” He pointed to the ice cream shop. “That one is your best bet.”

Steve nodded. That was one he had been expecting to get too.

“So when are you leaving to nerd camp?” he asked, taking the applications from the kid.

“It’s called Camp Know Where,” Dustin scoffed. “Know as in k-n-o-w where. It’s really cool.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “That still doesn’t tell me when you’re going, dork.”

“Oh!” Dustin said, eyes wide. “Tomorrow. My mom is buying me the things I’ll need so I can leave bright and early.”

Steve’s expression softened. “I’m going to miss you, you know?”

Dustin nodded back. “I’m going to miss you, too.”

Someone called his name and he looked up. “It looks like my mom’s calling me. Good luck on the job search.”

Steve stood up and gave him a hug. “Have fun, okay?”

Dustin nodded and ran to catch up to his mom as Steve went back to his applications with a sigh. He really was going to miss that butthead.

****

Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

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[alygator77]

ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 4 ᰔᩚ

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, some triggers of domestic abuse (emotional abuse but it can be a bit suggestive/interpreted as physical, from naoya not satoru) » 【note, this chapter contains extreme emotional manipulation from naoya, reader discretion advised】

ꨄ words: 9.3k

ꨄ a/n. okaaaay time for some angst ya'll. this series is taking a serious turn 🥲 also, as i said earlier, originally this chapter was 20k words buuuut i decided to split it up. i know ya'll said you wouldn't mind one long chapter but it's just, there are moments that i really want to give more time to breathe. you'll get ch 5 soon though, enjoy ♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

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ch 4 // shadows of doubt

“…you sure you’re okay watching Haru?” you ask, hovering by the doorway, your fingers lightly brushing the doorframe as you steal one last glance into the living room.

The television screen casts a soft glow over Satoru and Haru, nestled together on the couch.

Satoru’s brow is furrowed in concentration as he fumbles with the TV remote, cycling through the menu. His lips are pressed into a thin line, his tongue peeking out slightly at the corner in a classic expression of someone deeply focused.

His usually tousled white hair is messier than usual, as if he’s run his hands through it a few too many times in frustration, and his sweater hangs loosely on his frame, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

It’s a stark contrast to the sharp, tailored suits you’re used to seeing him in.

But that’s because right now, he’s just Satoru—the guy who’s clearly struggling with something as simple as setting up a kid’s TV show, and yet, there’s something incredibly endearing about it.

Haru, oblivious to his difficulties, swings her tiny legs back and forth in a rhythm of excitement as she sits beside him.

It’s a picture of domesticity that feels almost too perfect to disrupt—a scene that brings warmth, but also a sharp pang of guilt.

Guilt—of what you are about to do.

“Yes, of course,” he replies without missing a beat, light yet reassuring. He glances up at you briefly, offering a warm smile. “Do what you need to do, it’s important to have time to yourself.”

Right now, it feels like you don’t deserve that smile.

The ache in your chest intensifies at the sincerity in his words, making the lie you’re carrying out feel even heavier.

Finally, after a few more clicks, the TV springs to life, and a triumphant grin spreads across Satoru’s face as the familiar Digimon theme song bursts through the speakers.

The sound seems to ignite a spark of joy in Haru, her face wide eyed as she turns her full attention to the screen.

“Besides, I promised her we’d watch Digimon together,” Satoru says, his voice laced with affection as he glances at Haru. “Now’s the perfect time. Right, Haru?”

Haru beams, her small body practically vibrating with excitement as she snuggles closer to him.

“Wow, look ‘toru, look!” she exclaims gleefully, her voice high-pitched with exhilaration as she points at the screen.

Her eyes sparkle with wonder, completely captivated by the vibrant colors and lively characters dancing across the television.

“Yay!” she claps her hands together.

A tender smile curls upon Satoru’s lips as he shifts his gaze from Haru to you. His blue eyes, always so vibrant and full of life, are soft and inviting, radiating a sense of calm—a calm that should put you at ease, but why does it fill you with more guilt?

“See? We’ve got it all under control. Go do what you need to do, and don’t worry about a thing.”

His words are spoken with such warmth and trust—it should comfort you, but instead your unease twists further in your gut.

You force a smile, trying to push away the shame that threatens to rise to the surface.

“Alright,” you murmur, “I won’t be long.”

But you linger for just a moment longer, unable to tear your eyes away from the heartwarming sight before you.

The way Satoru drapes an arm around Haru, pulling her closer as they both become engrossed in the show—you realize something profound.

It’s in the subtle details—the way he listens intently to her excited chatter, how he nods along, genuinely interested in every little thing she points out, even if it’s something as simple as a colorful character on the screen.

Satoru isn’t just watching Digimon with Haru; he’s immersing himself in her world.

He’s someone who takes the time to enjoy the things she loves, someone who listens to her with the patience and attentiveness she deserves. He’s supporting her curiosity, encouraging her to explore and express herself, making her feel valued in a way that is both gentle and profound.

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted for Haru—a stable, loving figure in her life, someone she can depend on, someone who can always be there for her. Someone who makes her feel safe, cherished, and free to be her true self.

Someone Naoya never was.

But this relationship is a contract, a charade—a lie.

And now, this new lie you’re about to bring to the table, casts an even darker shadow over this picture of domestic bliss.

There is a storm cloud, threatening to break at any moment—to drench you in an unforgiving rain. And that storm cloud is your reality.

The reality that this relationship has always been a lie, hasn’t it?

So... is what you’re doing really any different?

As you turn to leave, your body feels heavy, burdened by the deception you’re carrying with you.

Closing the door behind you, the soft click echoes in your ears as you begin to walk down the hallway, away from the warmth of the living room and into the cold reality of the decision you’ve made.

ꨄ

A soft jingle rings above your head as you push open the glass door to the coffee shop—a sound almost too cheerful considering what’s to come. Once the door closes behind you with a muted thud, your fate is sealed.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee hits you first, rich and earthy, mingling with the sweet, buttery aroma of pastries that line the display case. It’s a combination that would normally invite comfort, a location for quiet relaxation.

Today, however, that feels entirely out of reach.

Only a few patrons are scattered about, each lost in their own world—reading books, typing away on laptops, or simply enjoying company. The soft murmur of conversation barely registers in your ears as your eyes sweep across the room.

Within moments you spot Naoya, seated at a corner table in the back, a place where the dimness nearly swallows him whole, casting long shadows that seem to cling to him like a second skin.

His chosen spot is strategic, offering both a sense of privacy and an air of intimidation.

It’s a stage he’s set perfectly.

The way he sits—one arm draped casually over the back of the booth, the other cradling a coffee cup—exudes an unsettling confidence, as if he’s already decided the outcome of this meeting.

His minacious eyes rake over you and he registers the trepidation in your step, causing a shiver to run down your spine as his lips slowly curl into a predatory smirk.

Setting down his cup of coffee with a practiced ease, the porcelain clinks softly against the saucer. With a lazy flick of his wrist, he waves you over, the gesture so casual it’s almost insulting, as if he were summoning a servant rather than inviting a conversation.

You lower yourself into the chair across from him with measured deliberation, desperately trying to project a façade of composure even as anxiety, anger, and guilt roil within you like a brewing storm.

Unfortunately, the table between you and Naoya feels woefully insufficient, a flimsy barrier against the man who once wielded a terrifying influence over your life—a man who now threatens to shatter the fragile peace you’ve painstakingly pieced together.

“y/n,” he begins, his voice smooth and slick, like oil spilling over water, spreading tendrils of unease. “I’m glad you decided to show up.”

You force a tight smile, though it feels more like a grimace.

“You didn’t exactly leave me much of a choice, did you?”

A low insidious chuckle leaves Naoya’s lips, the noise grating on your nerves. His cold calculating eyes hold your gaze as he tilts his head to the side, and for a moment, you feel like a mouse caught in a trap, every avenue of escape cut off, leaving you with nowhere to run.

“Tch. What else am I supposed to do?” his tone drips with mock innocence, as if he’s genuinely puzzled. “You don’t answer any of my calls. It’s almost like you’re trying to avoid me.”

His eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of something dark and unreadable passing through them.

“You look well, though. I’ve missed you.”

The casual cruelty in his tone, the way he throws out those words—words that should carry weight—as if they mean nothing, as if he hasn’t been tormenting you.

It makes your skin crawl.

“I didn’t come here to chat, Naoya,” you say firmly. “What do you want?”

You catch a flash of his white teeth in the dim light of the coffee shop, but there’s a cruel twist to his lips, a smugness that makes your stomach churn with unease.

“Straight to the point, I see. I always loved that about you,” he drawls, his tone almost affectionate.

He leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other in a posture of relaxed arrogance.

There is a beat of silence as he pauses, as if savoring each moment of your discomfort, drawing it out and relishing the control he has over the situation.

The control he has over you.

“I think you know what I want, y/n,” he continues, tone almost patronizing, as if speaking to a child who just doesn’t understand. “I want what’s best for Haru. I’m sure you do too.”

“You’re threatening to take her away from me. How is that what’s best for her?” you scoff, though the defiance in your voice barely masks the trembling fear underneath.

His gaze roams over you, assessing, calculating, and it takes everything in you not to shrink under the weight of his scrutiny.

When he speaks again, his voice is a low, dangerous whisper that sends a shiver down your spine, cold as ice and sharp as a blade.

“Because,” he hisses, the word dripping with venom, “you’re not thinking clearly. You’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment. Haru deserves stability, a future where she’s not dragged into whatever mess you and Satoru are involved in.”

The accusation cuts deep, and despite your best efforts, you flinch slightly at his words, the reaction small but not unnoticed.

Naoya’s eyes glint with satisfaction, feeding off the fear and uncertainty he’s managed to briefly instill within you.

Before you can muster a response, he leans in closer, his tone shifting, becoming smooth and insidious, like poison seeping through the cracks of your resolve.

“Oh y/n,” he sighs, voice dripping with false sympathy, “I know this thing with Satoru is just a charade. You may think you’re merely playing house, but what you’re actually doing is setting Haru up for confusion and heartache. What kind of future is that for her?”

It’s like he’s pulled the rug out from under your feet. The air around you seems to thicken, making it hard to breathe. Because deep down, a part of you has feared how this arrangement may affect Haru.

The doubt that Naoya is sowing isn’t new—it’s something you’ve deliberately tried to ignore.

The connection Haru is forming with Satoru, the bond that’s growing stronger every day—isn’t it built on a foundation of lies?

What happens when it all crumbles—what happens to Haru then?

What if you’re setting her up for a heartbreak that she’s too young to understand?

Ah…but that’s what Naoya is good at, isn’t it?

He thrives on stirring a visceral reaction within you, on playing your emotions like a finely tuned instrument. And you know better—you know better than to believe that his actions have anything to do with Haru’s well-being.

After all, Naoya has only ever used Haru as a tool to control you, to manipulate you into doing his bidding.

He doesn’t truly want Haru—he never has.

This is just a twisted game, another attempt to bend you to his will.

“Naoya,” you begin, voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation, “this isn’t about what’s best for Haru. Cut the crap,” you snap, the frustration seeping through your words, giving you a fleeting sense of strength. “Don’t play games with me. What are you really after?”

Naoya’s response is a soft, chilling chuckle, a sound so unnerving that it slithers around you, making your skin prickle with unease.

He tilts his head slightly, regarding you with a twisted sense of satisfaction, the corners of his mouth curving into a smirk that’s as sharp as a knife’s edge.

“You’re not as naïve as you look,” he murmurs.

With a deliberate elegance, he runs his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back and straightening his posture as if ready to present himself for something significant. He then leans forward, fixing you with a gaze that feels like a vise tightening around your heart.

“I’m willing to make a deal with you.”

You swallow hard, forcing the question past the lump in your throat.

“What kind of deal?”

His eyes glisten with satisfaction, a spark of triumph lighting them up as if this is the moment he’s been waiting for all along.

“Do you remember the case that was quietly swept under the rug a few years back?” he begins, tone almost conversational. “The one that could have destroyed the Gojo family? Well of course, you don’t—because the Gojos made sure no one remembered.”

A cold dread settles in the pit of your stomach as the gravity of what he’s saying begins to sink in. You try to piece together what he could possibly mean, but the implications are too terrifying to fully grasp.

“…what are you saying?”

Naoya’s smirk widens, a cruel light flickering in his eyes as he watches your reaction.

“Oh, don’t play dumb, y/n. You know exactly what I’m talking about. The Gojo family isn’t as squeaky clean as they’d like everyone to believe. That closed case—it’s a time bomb waiting to go off, and I’m the one holding the detonator.”

With a casual elegance, Naoya places his elbow on the table and rests his chin in the palm of his hand, his gaze never leaving yours.

“I want you to help me reopen the case,” his voice now a silky, dangerous murmur. “I need inside information, something to poke holes in the Gojo family’s defense. Satoru trusts you, doesn’t he? He’s practically handed you the keys to the kingdom.”

Your blood runs cold as you grapple with the enormity of what he’s asking.

“You want me to spy on Satoru? To dig up dirt on his family?”

Naoya shrugs, the gesture so casual, so dismissive, as if the request is the most natural thing in the world.

“Spy is such an ugly word. Let’s call it… protecting your daughter’s future. You help me get the information I need, and I’ll make sure this custody battle disappears. You’ll never have to worry about losing Haru.”

You feel sick to your stomach as the full impact of his ultimatum crashes down on you.

Your skin crawls at the way he frames it—to him it’s as if he’s offering you a lifeline, a way out of an impossible situation. But the reality is, he’s trapping you, coercing you into betraying the one person who has given you a chance at a new life.

Betray Satoru?

The very thought twists like a knife in your gut.

Satoru—the man who has shown you nothing but kindness, who has gone out of his way to make you feel safe, to make you feel valued. The man who has opened his home to you and Haru, who has treated your daughter with a warmth and love that you never thought she would receive.

How could you possibly betray him? Be his downfall? The mere thought of it makes your chest tighten, your heart aching with the weight of the impossible decision that Naoya is forcing upon you.

But then, the other side of the coin looms large and terrifying: the risk of losing Haru forever. The thought of her being taken from you, of her being dragged into Naoya’s world, is a nightmare you can’t bear to even consider.

The two most important people in your life, and Naoya is forcing you to choose between them.

How can you possibly make such a choice?

“I…I can’t do that, Naoya. Satoru—he’s done nothing wrong,”

The words feel hollow, desperate, as if you’re grasping for some semblance of control in a situation where you have none.

Naoya’s expression darkens, the cold veneer of civility slipping as a more menacing presence takes over. He leans in closer, the air around him growing colder, heavier with the weight of his intentions.

“Satoru and his family deserve whatever’s coming to them,” he hisses. “You just have to decide whose side you’re on. Corporate malpractice, insider trading, possibly even a cover-up. The Gojo family has skeletons in their closet, and I intend to expose them. But to do that, I need information. Inside information.”

“No, Naoya,” you say more forcefully, your voice trembling slightly but growing steadier as your resolve hardens. “That would destroy Satoru.”

For a moment, there’s a flicker of something in Naoya’s eyes—frustration, perhaps, or irritation at your defiance. But it’s fleeting, quickly replaced by a darker, more calculating expression.

“You think this is a game, y/n?” his voice drips with disdain. “You think Satoru won’t throw you to the wolves the moment things get tough? He’s a Gojo, through and through. They protect their own, and you’re not one of them.”

A cold dread washes over you as his words echo in your mind, sinking into the darkest corners of your thoughts.

Wait…is he actually, right?

No—you push back against the rising tide of doubt. Satoru wouldn’t do that. He’s been nothing but kind, patient, and understanding. He’s given you no reason to believe he would ever abandon you, especially not in a moment of crisis.

But… then there’s the stipulation in your contract. The one that states any poor publicity to his name would result in being cut off from all financial support.

The words of the contract flash in your mind, stark and unforgiving.

You had brushed it off as a mere formality when you first signed it, a precautionary clause meant to protect his reputation. But now, under the weight of Naoya’s words, it feels like a ticking time bomb, ready to go off the moment anything goes wrong.

Doubt seeps into your veins, intertwining with the fear that Naoya’s threat might have more truth to it than you’d like to admit.

Could Satoru really turn his back on you if the situation spiraled out of control? Would he prioritize his family name, his legacy, over you and Haru?

Seeing the flicker of hesitation in your eyes, Naoya’s expression softens, adopting a mask of concern. His voice lowers, becoming almost gentle, as if he’s offering you a lifeline.

“But if you help me,” he continues, silky and persuasive, “you’ll have leverage—real power. You’ll be in control. Think about Haru. Think about what’s best for her.”

“I… I don’t think I can do it,” the words escape your lips in a trembling whisper.

Naoya’s eyes narrow, and his voice hardens.

“You don’t have much of a choice, y/n. You’re in this mess because of your own decisions. Instead of relying on me you chose him. But lucky for you, I’m offering you a way out—a way to keep Haru safe. But if you refuse, I will use every legal trick in the book to take her from you. And believe me, I will win. I always do.”

The finality in his words leaves no room for doubt—Naoya isn’t bluffing.

He’s a man who gets what he wants, no matter the cost, and the ruthless determination in his eyes tells you that he’s more than willing to destroy your life to achieve his goals.

“You’re a monster,” you murmur, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Naoya’s response is immediate, his smirk widening with satisfaction.

“I’m a lawyer,” he corrects, his tone dripping with smugness. “And I’m very good at what I do.”

You look down, unable to meet his gaze.

“What exactly do you want me to do?” you whisper.

Naoya’s eyes gleam with triumph as a victorious smirk curls upon his lips. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a slim envelope.

With a deliberate slowness, he slides it across the table, the paper making a soft, ominous rustle as it comes to a stop in front of you.

“Inside this is everything you need to help me. I want information, y/n. Information on Satoru. His business dealings, his vulnerabilities—anything I can use to gain leverage over him.”

The envelope sits there between you, a tangible representation of the impossible choice you’re being forced to make.

Your hands twitch at your sides, but you can’t bring yourself to reach for it—the burden of its contents is far too heavy.

Naoya leans back in his chair, watching intently for any sign of hesitation, his gaze unyielding. He presses you again, his voice a smooth, sinister whisper.

“You help me, and I’ll make sure this custody battle disappears. You’ll never have to worry about losing Haru.”

Your hand trembles as you extend it, hovering over the envelope. Naoya’s grin widens, his eyes gleaming with triumph, anticipating your surrender.

But just as your fingertips brush the envelope, you stop.

The smile slips from Naoya’s face, replaced by a flicker of surprise, then annoyance, as you push the envelope back across the table. The cold edge of the paper scrapes against your skin, the sound eerily loud in the tense silence between you.

“I’ll need some time,” you say finally, your voice quieter now, more controlled, though it takes everything in you to keep it steady. “This isn’t a decision I can make lightly.”

Naoya’s expression darkens, his patience clearly waning. With a swift, almost irritated motion, he snatches the envelope and tucks it back into his coat pocket.

“I’m not a patient man, y/n, you know this,” he warns, the threat clear in his tone. “You have one week. If I don’t get an answer by then, the custody battle begins. And trust me,” his tone drops to a menacing whisper, “you don’t want to fight me in court.”

“I’ll let you know,” you murmur, unable to meet his gaze as your eyes are fixed on the table between you.

Naoya’s smirk returns, a slow, victorious curve of his lips.

It’s a look that says he’s already won, that he’s confident you’ll bend to his will.

“Good girl. I know you’ll see reason. I’ll expect your call soon.”

He stands with a deliberate calmness, smoothing the front of his jacket before tossing a few bills onto the table as if this entire conversation has been nothing more than a routine business transaction.

The casualness of his movements, the ease with which he holds your fate in his hands, only serves to deepen the pit of dread forming in your stomach.

“Think it over, love. I’ll be in touch.”

With those final words, Naoya turns and strides out of the coffee shop, leaving you sitting there, feeling as though the walls are closing in around you.

You can’t shake the feeling that no matter what you decide, something precious will be lost.

ꨄ

It’s much later than you intended—a few hours past the time you told Satoru you’d be home. But after your meeting with Naoya, you simply couldn’t summon the strength to face him.

How could you possibly stand before him now?

The very thought of looking into his eyes feels like a betrayal in itself, as if the truth you’re hiding might spill out just from his gaze alone.

Naoya’s words continue to echo in your mind, twisting around your thoughts like a serpent coiling tighter with each passing moment.

You can almost hear the whispers of scandal creeping through the corridors of the Gojo Corporation.

Surely this custody battle would bring poor publicity to Satoru’s name… knowing Naoya, it would be a spectacle—a media circus designed to tarnish every aspect of Satoru’s life.

Your heart races as you picture the headlines splashed across every tabloid, the relentless swarm of reporters, cameras flashing like a thousand tiny daggers aimed at your very soul.

They’d dig into every corner of your lives, twisting facts and fabricating lies until the truth is buried beneath layers of sensationalism.

You’ve seen Satoru’s world—perfectly organized, meticulously maintained, a reflection of the man himself. But Naoya has the power to create cracks in that perfect image, to expose the vulnerabilities hidden beneath the surface.

He would ensure it—he’d savor every moment of watching Satoru’s pristine reputation crumble, brick by brick.

What would Satoru do if you told him Naoya’s intentions?

Would he support you, or would he choose to protect himself, his legacy, over you and Haru?

The very thought makes your heart ache, a sharp pang of fear twisting through your chest—fear of losing the delicate balance you’ve found with Satoru, of watching it all unravel because of Naoya’s malice.

What is the right choice to make?

The question loops endlessly in your mind, a never-ending cycle of doubt that gnaws at your resolve.

You don’t know what to believe any more.

You need time—something you don’t have an abundance of right now. After all, you can’t avoid Satoru forever—he’ll wonder where you’ve been, what’s kept you away for so long.

And so, reluctantly, with a heart heavy and unresolved emotions, you return home.

ꨄ

The faint ticking of the grand clock echoes in the house as you creak open the door and re-enter. The sound, which usually blends into the background of your day, now feels loud—almost deafening in the silence of the home.

Rounding your way to the living room, the dim glow of the television casts flickering shadows on the walls—the only thing that seems alive in the stillness.

But the sight you are met with is something entirely unexpected—something that pushes away the darkness inside of you, if only for a moment.

Satoru sits on the couch, his posture relaxed but his expression one of bemused helplessness, as though he’s found himself in a situation that he’s not quite sure how to navigate.

His long legs are stretched out in front of him, but there’s a tenderness in the way he holds his arms around the small figure resting against him.

Haru, curled up on his lap, is nestled against his chest, her tiny body rising and falling with each gentle breath as the steady rhythm of his heartbeat seems to lull her deeper into sleep. One of her small hands clutches the fabric of his shirt, as if seeking comfort even in her dreams, while the other is tucked close to her body, holding her favorite plush toy—Pikachu.

The TV is on, but the volume is muted, playing some late-night rerun that neither of them are paying attention to as the soft flickering light illuminates against them.

Satoru glances up as you enter the room, eyes brightening as he spots you. A sheepish smile tugs at the corner of his lips, a mixture of relief and quiet joy at your return.

“Hey, welcome back,” he says softly, careful not to disturb Haru.

It’s moments like this, that make it impossible to doubt him. The warmth in his voice makes the knot of tension in your chest loosen, if only a little.

You manage a small smile in return.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

As you begin to set your things down—your bag, your coat—Satoru’s gaze follows you, soft and attentive.

“Did you enjoy your time to yourself?”

It’s such a simple question, yet it’s loaded with the weight of the lie you’re living.

You force a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels, and nod, trying to keep your voice steady and light.

“Yeah…it was nice to have a little break.”

A tender smile curls upon his lips, his relief evident as he nods back.

“Good. You deserve some time for yourself.”

The words are filled with such warmth and care that it almost breaks you. But you swallow down the guilt, knowing you can’t afford to let it show. Not now.

As you make your way towards him, your gaze softens, drawn irresistibly to the sight of Haru. You kneel down beside the couch, your eyes tracing the delicate lines of her face, so peaceful and content as she rests in Satoru's lap.

“She fell asleep?” your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, shifting slightly but careful not to wake her.

“Yeah. We were watching Digimon like I promised, but she conked out halfway through. I didn’t know what to do, so I’ve just been sitting here for the past two hours.”

Your heart swells at his words—the thought of Satoru sitting there, his world seemingly paused just to let her sleep undisturbed, truly that is real… right?

You reach out and gently brush a strand of hair from Haru’s face, your fingers lingering for a moment on her cheek.

Her skin warm and smooth, her breathing steady and calm, the gentle rise and fall of her chest—each element is a testament to the trust she’s placed in this space that Satoru has helped create.

She looks so at peace, so completely untroubled and…it’s all thanks to Satoru.

You can’t stop the words from slipping out, even though they’re laced with the bittersweet ache of everything that’s happened.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your eyes meeting his. “For everything.”

He smiles at you, that soft, understanding smile that always seems to reach his eyes.

“Of course. She’s a wonderful kid. It’s my pleasure.”

Leaning down, you gently scoop Haru into your arms, cradling her small body against you. She stirs slightly, her little face scrunching up in sleep, but she doesn’t wake, simply burrowing closer to you as you hold her, seeking the comfort of your warmth.

“I’ll put her to bed,” you murmur, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Satoru watches you with a fond smile, his eyes following you as you move towards the stairway.

“y/n,” he calls after you, his tone a little hesitant.

You turn back to face him, noticing the subtle way his expression has shifted—an unspoken concern lingering in his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“There’s something I need to tell you…” he begins, rubbing the back of his neck—a gesture you’ve come to recognize as his way of showing uncertainty. “It’s kind of short notice, but we were invited to a big charity gala tomorrow night. It’s a pretty important event, and they’re expecting us to attend. And, well… we’re anticipated to do an interview this time.”

Ah—the discomfort returns in an instant, like a cold shiver racing down your spine.

The weight of his words settles heavily on your shoulders, adding yet another layer of complexity to the tangled web you find yourself ensnared in.

The thought of standing in front of cameras, of answering questions about a relationship that is already so fraught with secrets and lies, sends your mind spiraling into a storm of anxiety.

But you can’t let any of that show. Not now.

Not when Satoru is looking at you with such sincerity, his blue eyes filled with a quiet expectation, clearly relying on you to be by his side through this.

You force a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels.

“Another gala, huh?”

He nods, his expression softening slightly, but the tension doesn’t leave his eyes.

“Yeah, this one’s for a good cause, and, well, appearances matter. It’s important that we present a united front.”

Appearances matter. A bitter reminder of Naoya’s taunting words.

Satoru is a Gojo after all—and for a Gojo, appearances are everything. The pristine image he maintains is not just for show; it’s a fundamental part of who he is, of the world he navigates with such ease.

But where does that leave you? What happens the moment you mess up?

You’ve always been terrible at public speaking, and now you’re expected to partake in an interview?

Will his soft expression turn cold the moment you fail to meet his expectations?

Your heart races, but you push the fear down, locking it away behind a carefully constructed mask of composure.

“Okay,” you swallow. “We’ll figure it out.”

Satoru’s expression softens with visible relief, and he stands up, stretching slightly after having sat in the same position for so long. As his arms extend above his head, the hem of his shirt lifts, revealing a fleeting glimpse of his toned abs.

“Thanks, y/n. I know this whole public thing isn’t easy, but… I really appreciate you doing this with me.”

“Of course,” you manage to say, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. “…we’re in this together, right?”

“Yeah. Together.”

The words feel like a betrayal, a dagger of guilt twisting in your chest.

How can you say that when you know what you’re hiding?

How can you say that when you doubt the very man in front of you?

Pushing those thoughts away, you try to focus on the moment, on Satoru’s gentle, almost boyish grin. Despite it all, it’s the kind of smile that makes you want to believe everything will be okay, that makes you want to cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe, you will get through this.

There is a beat of silence as you shift Haru’s weight slightly in your arms.

You study his face—the subtle vulnerability there, the softness, it makes you think—maybe, just maybe, you can open up to him. Test the waters, gauge his understanding.

Let’s start small… what if you told him your fear of public speaking?

The words hover on the tip of your tongue, a confession that feels both terrifying and necessary.

Would he laugh? Would he brush it off with one of his easy, confident smiles?

Or would he understand, see the anxiety that lies beneath the surface, and offer the reassurance you so desperately need?

Your heart races as you weigh the options, the fear of rejection battling with the desire for connection.

Finally, you take a deep breath, deciding to take the plunge. It’s a small step, but it feels monumental in the moment.

“I’m… I’m not really good with public speaking,” you admit quietly, your gaze lowering to the floor. “Maybe we could practice a little? Just so I don’t mess up.”

For a moment, there’s silence.

When you finally dare to look up, you see Satoru’s expression softening even further, a gentle warmth radiating from his eyes as he gazes at you.

The way he looks at you, so full of understanding, so free of judgment—it makes your chest tighten.

“Of course, we can. I actually prepared a script earlier today, just in case you may need it. We can go over it together after you put Haru to bed.”

You let out a small sigh, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

“Thank you, Satoru… that would really help.”

Why did you doubt him?

Did Naoya instill that doubt? Or has it always been there, lurking in the shadows of your mind, waiting for the right moment to surface?

The question lingers, a quiet whisper that carries both regret and self-reproach.

He had anticipated your need, had prepared for it without you even asking.

On one hand you feel relief that he’s so understanding, but guilt practically consumes it because now his trust feels like a weight you can’t bear.

It seems at this point, there is no winning for you.

No matter which way you turn, you’re trapped—caught between the desire to commit to him completely and the fear that you’ll inevitably fall short of his expectations.

Your mind is at a constant battle.

“No problem,” he says, his voice pulling you back to the present. He reaches for the remote, turning off the TV, the screen fading to black as the room is cast into a quieter, more intimate atmosphere.

He glances back at you, his expression warm but focused.

“Meet you in the study after you put Haru down?”

Not trusting yourself to speak, you nod, and turn, heading up the stairs towards Haru’s bedroom.

In the quiet of Haru’s room, you smooth the covers around her small, peaceful form and press a soft kiss on her forehead.

You take a moment to just sit there, watching her sleep—a moment to collect yourself before you return to Satoru.

The soft rise and fall of her chest, the slight twitch of her fingers as she dreams, it all serves as a reminder of the innocence you’re trying so desperately to protect.

You can’t risk losing her. Haru is everything to you.

But how long can you maintain this lie, this pretense that everything is okay, when the truth threatens to tear it all apart?

The mere thought of Haru being taken away, of Naoya sinking his claws into her life, makes your blood run cold.

Right now, you want nothing more than to break down, to cry, to let the tears that have been welling up inside you finally fall.

But you can’t afford to do that. Not now.

Sometimes the difficult thing about being a parent is putting on a front that everything is okay... that everything will be okay, even when it feels like it will not be.

You have to be strong, not just for yourself, but for Haru. She needs you to be her rock, her anchor in the storm, even if you feel like you’re barely holding on.

You pull back, your hand lingering on the edge of her bed for just a moment longer, savoring the last bit of peace before you straighten up, steeling yourself for the next challenge that you must face.

ꨄ

As you enter the study, the door closes behind you with a soft click.

Satoru looks up, sitting at the large mahogany desk, papers spread out in front of him as he offers you a small, reassuring smile. He gestures to the chair beside him.

“Ready?”

You nod, pulling out the chair and sitting down, the leather cushion sinking slightly under your weight.

Leaning forward, Satoru props his elbow on the table as he studies you with soft, focused eyes.

“So, let’s start with the basics. They’ll probably ask how we met, what drew us together... you know, easy stuff.”

He slides the script over to you.

You take the paper, your eyes skimming over the questions—questions that are so casual on the surface.

They’re questions that, for most couples, would evoke warm memories and easy smiles. But the simplicity of these questions only highlights the complexity of the situation.

They should feel easy to answer—answers that would roll off the tongue naturally if your relationship was carved from normal circumstances.

But, that’s not the situation you find yourself in.

The reality of your arrangement makes each question feel like a test—a hurdle you need to clear without revealing too much.

If only it were different—if only the answers could come from a place of truth rather than a carefully constructed narrative.

But it’s not.

This relationship is a contract, a charade—a web of lies.

You nod again, the knot in your stomach tightening.

“Alright,” Satoru says, his tone encouraging. “Let’s give it a go. I’ll ask, you answer.”

He clears his throat and starts with the first question.

“So, y/n, how did you and Satoru first meet?”

You take a deep breath, the familiar answer already on the tip of your tongue.

This one is easy because it’s part of the story you’ve both been telling from the beginning. Still, your fingers fidget with the corner of the script, as if grounding yourself in the words.

“I was looking for a new job, and Satoru needed someone with my expertise. It was professional at first, but we just… clicked. Like it was meant to be.”

“Perfect,” he says, tone approving.

He leans forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Now…what drew you to each other?”

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to the script in your hands. The paper crinkles slightly under your fingers as you try to commit the answer to memory, but the words feel heavy, loaded with the pressure to say the right thing.

Satoru notices your pause and tilts his head, a gentle smile lingering on his lips.

“I was thinking we keep it simple,” he suggests, his eyes locking onto yours with a reassuring calm. “I’ll talk about how I admire how you always put Haru first. People eat that stuff up.”

“Right,” you nod, your voice a little lighter now. “Then how about I talk about how you’re always so supportive and how you’ve made Haru and me feel safe.”

Satoru’s grin broadens, the corners of his mouth curling into a familiar, playful expression. He lets out a contemplative hum, as if considering your words carefully, and then reaches over to tap the tip of your nose playfully.

The touch is light, almost teasing, but it carries with it a sense of warmth, of genuine affection.

“And you can say something about how I’m the most charming, good-looking guy you’ve ever met.”

A soft laugh escapes your lips, the sound carrying with it a sense of relief you hadn’t realized you needed—like exhaling a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Your heaviness lifts, replaced by a lightness that feels almost foreign in the midst of all the pressure.

Satoru always seems to know how to break through your tension.

It’s one of the things you’ve come to appreciate about him during this arrangement—the way he can make you laugh, even when everything else feels like it’s falling apart.

“Of course, because modesty is your best trait,” you grin, and without thinking, you poke his side gently, eliciting a small chuckle from him. “If I say that, I’m certain it would only go straight to your head.”

“Hmm, what can I say? Confidence is key,” he grins, eyes twinkling with that mischievous spark you’ve come to recognize.

You lean back and fold your arms across your chest in a mock gesture of contemplation, your eyes narrowing slightly as you consider his words.

“Confidence? Or arrogance?” you retort, a smirk playing on your lips. “It’s a fine line, Satoru.”

He gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his heart as if you’ve struck a mortal blow.

“Arrogance? Me? I’m wounded, truly,” he declares, his voice dripping with exaggerated hurt, though the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth betrays the act.

“Right…I think I might have to bring you back down to earth,” your voice carries a note of a playful challenge.

“Glad to know I can count on you,” he replies, leaning back slightly as he comfortably puts his hands behind his neck in a relaxed confidence. “But let’s not forget—you’re the one who’s supposed to be singing my praises. Remember? Charming, good-looking…”

“And don’t forget humble,” you add, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Ah, yes, the humblest,” he agrees, nodding solemnly as if he’s just imparted some great wisdom.

But the solemnity only lasts a moment before he breaks into another grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I’ve always been known for my humility.”

You can’t help but laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief at his antics. This fleeting sense of normalcy was everything you needed. It almost makes you forget the storm of emotions raging inside you.

“Wow. At this point, I think your ego has its own zip code,” you quip, rolling your eyes.

He grins, but then, with a small, exaggerated sigh, he drops his head down onto the table, resting it on his folded arms as he pouts dramatically.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try to keep my ego in check,” he mumbles, his voice slightly muffled.

Here is a man who commands boardrooms and makes decisions that influence entire industries, pouting like a child in front of you.

It’s kind of cute, actually, that the powerful CEO can be this… unguarded, this silly, this human.

In these moments, all the layers he wears—of strength, of authority, of responsibility—seem to peel away, leaving behind just… Satoru.

After a moment, he lifts his head just enough to look at you, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint.

“You know… people tell me I’m charming and good-looking all the time, but… I think it’d feel different coming from you. I wouldn’t mind hearing it… just once.”

Your breath catches for a fleeting moment as you observe a glimpse of something in his eyes, something deeper than the usual teasing.

The way he says it, with that mix of playfulness and sincerity, makes your heart flutter in a way you’re not entirely prepared for.

Would it be so bad to indulge him?

“You’re… easy on the eyes,” you say, your voice softer, almost shy.

It’s not quite the grand compliment he was fishing for, but it’s enough to make him smile—the kind of smile that lights up his entire face, making it impossible not to smile back.

“Well, I’ll take that,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm, and for just a moment, everything else falls away.

But then, as if unable to resist, Satoru props his head up in the palm of his hand and leans in just a little closer, his smile turning slightly smug.

“You know, you could say it again if you really wanted to. I mean, I’m all ears.”

You raise an eyebrow, a grin tugging at your lips as you catch onto his game.

“Don’t push your luck, Satoru,” you warn, though your tone is more amused than serious. “Let’s get back to work.”

Satoru chuckles, leaning back with a mock surrender.

“Alright, alright. Back to work it is.”

The world outside fades away—the complications, the secrets, the uncertainty of what tomorrow holds—all of it dissolves into the background as you share this brief moment of connection with Satoru.

It’s as if time itself has slowed, allowing you to bask in the warmth of this exchange, to let the comfort of Satoru’s presence ease the weight of your worries.

But the moment can’t last forever.

The reality of your situation looms just beyond the edges of this moment, reminding you of the stakes, of the careful balance you’re trying to maintain.

After all, there’s still work to be done, and as much as you’d like to linger here, in this bubble of lightheartedness, you know you need to keep moving forward.

ꨄ

The hours slip by, and you go over each possible scenario, each potential curveball the interviewers might throw your way.

The script between you becomes both a shield and a lifeline, something to cling to as you navigate the complexities of everything.

Satoru’s voice is steady and reassuring as he guides you through your responses. When you stumble—when the nerves threaten to get the better of you—he’s there with gentle corrections.

His words never harsh or critical, but rather encouraging, help you find your footing again. And whenever he senses the tension rising—the anxiety creeping into your expression—he cracks a joke, designed to draw you back from the edge of your worry.

You find yourself leaning on him more than you expected, his confidence bolstering your own, his belief in you seeping into the cracks of your self-doubt, and with each passing hour, the fear that had settled in your chest begins to ease, replaced by a cautious optimism that maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to pull this off.

After running through the script for what feels like the hundredth time, Satoru leans back in his chair—the soft smile tugging at his lips telling you that he’s genuinely pleased with your progress.

“I think you’re ready,” his voice is filled with a quiet confidence. “You’ve got this. Now, you should probably get some rest... it's getting late.”

His words are a welcome relief, washing over you like a balm after the tension of the evening. You nod, feeling the exhaustion from the long day finally catching up to you—all you can think about is the comfort of your bed.

But as you begin to stand, you notice that Satoru remains seated. His posture, which had been so relaxed just moments before, now seems slightly more tense as he appears to be focused on something distant, something you can’t quite place.

The shift is subtle, but it’s enough to give you pause.

“Aren’t you coming?” you ask mid-step, your voice tentative, a hint of concern creeping in.

Satoru looks up at your question, the distant look in his eyes fading as his focus returns to you. His expression softens, the edges of his smile returning, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“No,” he replies, tone gentle but firm. “I’ve got some other business I need to take care of. But don’t worry about it,” he adds quickly, as if sensing your concern. “You should get some rest. You’ve done more than enough for tonight.”

There’s something about the way he says it, the way he brushes off your concern so easily, that makes you hesitate.

Is there something he’s not telling you? Or perhaps, choosing to handle on his own?

There’s a slight droop of his shoulders and his fingers absently drum against the armrest of his chair—a silent rhythm betraying the thoughts running through his mind.

You want to push, to ask him what’s really going on, but something holds you back.

Maybe it’s the way his eyes seem to plead with you to let it go, to trust him when he says it’s nothing you need to worry about.

Or maybe it’s the exhaustion that’s finally settling into your bones, making it harder to think clearly, to muster the energy for another round of questions.

So, instead, you nod again, offering him a small, understanding smile.

“Alright.  Just… don’t stay up too late, okay?”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm, and though it eases some of your worry, it doesn’t completely dispel it.

“I’ll try not to,” he promises, though you’re not entirely convinced. “Go on, get some sleep. I’ll be here if you need anything.”

Making your way down the hallway, the soft light of the bedroom is a welcoming beacon at the end.

The prospect of finally getting rest is almost too tempting to resist, but as you near the door, something tugs at you—a nagging feeling in the back of your mind that refuses to be ignored.

It’s not fair, you think to yourself—pausing just before the threshold of your bedroom.

Satoru stayed up late, helping you with the interview questions, guiding you through each potential challenge with patience and care...and now, he’s left alone to handle his own business needs while you get to sleep.

There was a weariness in his eyes that you hadn’t noticed before, a quiet weight that he seemed determined to hide from you.

Why is he shouldering the responsibility when you agreed you would lead Gojo Corporation together?

The thought gnaws at you, making it hard to turn away.

You sigh, torn between the exhaustion weighing you down and the guilt pushing you forward.

Finally, you decide it’s only right to offer your help, even if just to make sure he’s not taking on too much by himself—and so, with renewed determination, you turn on your heel and quietly make your way back down the hall.

As you approach the door to the study, you’re about to knock when you hear his voice, low and serious, coming from inside. You pause, your hand hovering just inches from the wood, and listen.

“No. That’s not an option. We can’t afford any negative press right now, especially with everything that’s happening.”

Satoru’s voice is firm, almost biting, a tone you’re not used to hearing from him. The usual warmth that so often laces his words is gone, stripped away and replaced by something colder, more calculating.

There’s a pause, and you can faintly hear the murmur of someone on the other end of the line, though their words are indistinct through the phone.

Whatever they’re saying seems to only harden Satoru’s resolve.

“I don’t care what it takes,” Satoru continues, his voice dropping lower, the words coming out with an icy sharpness that feels almost like a threat. “Take care of it. Make sure this stays under wraps. My image can’t take a hit like that, not now.”

Your heart skips a beat, an uneasy feeling creeping up your spine—the warmth of the moment you shared earlier evaporating in an instant.

He sounds different—distant, devoid of the tenderness you’ve come to know… cold.

The man who just hours ago was patient and supportive, who made you feel safe and cared for, now seems like someone else entirely—replaced with this man who seems to care more about maintaining an image than anything else.

Whatever the voice on the other end of the phone says next makes Satoru sigh, a tired, almost frustrated sound.

You inch closer to the door, your breath shallow as you strain to hear more, but his voice drops lower, slipping into a tone that’s more guarded, more secretive.

“Yes, I know it’s not ideal, but it’s necessary,” Satoru says, his words clipped, as if he’s weighing each one carefully before letting it fall. “We have to protect the Gojo name at all costs. And that includes… well, you know what it includes. Just handle it.”

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest.

…what does that include? The vague words hang in the air and you feel a sharp stab of anxiety.

You feel a lump form in your throat as you back away from the door, the doubts you’d tried so hard to push aside earlier now crashing back with full force, overwhelming you.

What is he talking about? What could be so important that it needs to be kept under wraps at all costs?

Questions race through your mind, each one more unsettling than the last.

And what did he mean by “protecting the Gojo name”? Is that all this is to him—just a carefully crafted image that needs to be maintained, no matter the cost?

The thought stings, a sharp pain that cuts deeper the more you dwell on it.

You can’t help but wonder, as you stand there in the dimly lit hallway, if you’ll ever truly know where his priorities lie.

The man who once seemed so open, so transparent with you, now feels like a stranger—someone who might not be as trustworthy as you’d hoped.

Will he choose to protect you and Haru, or will he always put his image, his family name, first?

The doubt gnaws at you, growing with each passing second, until it feels like a weight you can barely carry.

You retreat further, your heart pounding in your chest, the sound of it almost drowning out the murmured conversation from the study.

The light at the end of the hallway seems so far away now, the warmth and safety you’d felt earlier slipping through your fingers like sand.

As you finally turn and make your way back to your bedroom, each step is heavier than the last—a shadow cast on everything you thought you knew.

The warmth of the bed offers you little comfort as you slip under the covers, and your mind replays the conversation over and over again.

As much as you want to believe in him, in the connection you share, the seeds of doubt have been planted.

You're uncertain if you're ready for what's to come—the interview, the public scrutiny, or the complicated feelings that have begun to tangle between you and Satoru.

But throughout all this uncertainty, there is one thing that is without a doubt evident.

You still have a decision to make.

poor y/n can't catch a break...girl is going through it. man i cannot tell you how much i enjoyed writing the coffee shop scene with naoya though, idk it was just so satisfying to write, i literally despise naoya so much lol. and satoru being so clueless with haru 🥲 he sat there for two hours 🤭 he's such a goof. anyways, i really hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and i hope you're ready for what's to come! thanks so much for reading 🥺 seriously, your comments make my day. much love 🫶🏻 → onto the next chapterꨄ

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[writingtraumaforever]

Uncontrolled Chaos: Chapter 1

Notes: I’m wanting to start some sort of fluffier story. I do a lot of angsty one-shots, but I need something soft in the mix too. So here it is! I’ve been thinking of this concept since Sonic X Shadow Generations came out and it all got me thinking about alternate timelines and dimensions and such. Be patient with me! I’m not use to writing big projects so this will be trial and error..

Summary: Chaos Control is unpredictable. And when used improperly, it can create— well.. CHAOS. Shadow wakes up after using it with the fake chaos emerald and things are definitely off. Especially with a certain blue hedgehog..

Rating: Currently T for language, but prolly will end up being mature (18+). 👀

Chapter Select: Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Support my Ao3!

Cover Art:

Start:

There has been some crazy things happen to Shadow while using chaos control. And he usually isn’t one to experiment with such abilities messily. However, he currently doesn’t have much of a choice.

In a mission alone, he found himself struggling. Which is saying something since he doesn’t often struggle at all, thus him being assigned jobs alone. But this was different. His chaos emerald had disappeared a while back due to a place called—what Rouge informed him as— Starfall Islands. She had been panicky at the time because Knuckles had disappeared, taking on guarding the Master Emerald herself and guising it as her trying to steal it when he returned. He informed her that Sonic and co. had been investigating these islands due to the emeralds being pulled there, and apparently a lot went down.

Either way, Shadow was out a chaos emerald. But he did still have the fake one the young fox had made all those years ago.

And that’s where things went wrong.

He remembered Sonic had been able to use chaos control with it, though it wiped out Sonic’s energy for a while. Either way, Shadow didn’t have much choice as he was running out of time. The detonators he had set up were nearing their end and Shadow still hadn’t made it out yet.

He pulled out the fake chaos emerald, gripping it in his gloved hand as he gritted his teeth and skated down the long halls of the supposedly abandoned GUN facility. ‘Supposedly’ because they had detected movement on their scans of it and sent Shadow to investigate only to find Eggman sniffing around with more bots than they had originally anticipated.

He huffed out labored breaths, dodging the shots from the robots behind him as he skated down the hall. Glancing down to his watch, he saw he had 10 seconds left. An agitated growl escaped him as his eyes looked up to see the exit blocked by several more bots. He could take them down and get out easy. But not within 10 seconds.

10.

Shadow’s ruby eyes look down at the amber-colored emerald in his hands.

9.

His eyes shut as he kept skating.

8.

If Sonic could do it, he could do it. He’s the Ultimate Lifeform.

7.

He tried to focus on the emerald, the minimal energy flowing through it.

6.

It wasn’t near as much as a real one.. but it could work.

5.

While concentrating, he is hit by a blast in his back, stumbling a bit with a grunt before hissing and quickly regaining his footing to continue on.

4.

Ignoring the sting, he opened his eyes, filled with determination.

3.

“Chaos—“

2.

“—Control!!”

1.

A flash of light, the facility explodes along with the badniks inside.

Shadow has that familiar feeling of the chaos energy flowing out of him and through the emerald back inside him.. moving him through reality as he envisions himself standing on the cliff side far away at the rendezvous point..

But then he feels something else.

He gasps, eyes clamping shut at the sudden loss of a massive amount of his energy. Gritting his teeth through the empty pain, he feels what can only be described as a tug..

And then a yank.

And then nothing.

•••

Shadow begins to slowly feel again.

And by slowly feel, he means absolute exhaustion.

His muscles feel as though they won’t work if he tries to move them, his bones feel like jelly. Even his eyelids don’t seem to want to open quite yet.

His ear flicks.. the sound of birds through a window to his left.

He sniffs. Sage and lavender..

Is he…?

His eyes finally flutter open, a small grunt escaping him at the brightness coming from the window that is indeed to his left.

His window.

He’s.. home..?

Trying to sit up, he grunts and finds himself unable to just yet. He doesn’t hurt so much as he just feels… drained.

Though, there is a lingering ache to his back.. must be where he had gotten shot.

He glances down at himself to see a bandage wrapped around him.. so someone must’ve found him and mended him.

Probably Rouge if he had to guess. She has a nurturing streak in her even if she’d never admit it.

He lets his head sink into his pillow, eyes fluttering a bit from how tired he is. But he’s rested enough. It’s daylight out, and which means he had to at least been out for the night. And he doesn’t need sleep.

Taking a deep breath and just about to try and force himself up, he hears footsteps.

He pauses, head lifting and eyes moving to look at the door and watch the bat enter.

Except.. the bat doesn’t enter.

Instead, Shadow is met by emerald eyes peeking inside. Opening the door fully, Sonic steps into the room holding a bottle of water. He’s smiling, soft and gentle as if approaching an infant. His ears are slightly folded back, the way he’s tense but slightly hunched screams relief. His eyes hold concern in them, worry. But he tries not to show it with how he’s all smiles and bright eyes. Shadow can see how bloodshot they are though. Has he slept?? Probably not. The dumb hedgehog is too irresponsible to properly take care of himself and-

What is he doing in Shadow’s house???

“Hey, Faker..,” Sonic says in a tone that throws Shadow off a bit. It’s not cocky and energized and loud; it’s small and breathy and almost affectionate.

Still annoying, though.

Shadow doesn’t speak, just watches Sonic with a scowl as the blue hedgehog approaches. Sonic sits on the side of the bed, Shadow’s ruby eyes looking him up and down in an ‘excuse you’ and ‘who do you think you are??’ sort of manner. Sonic either doesn’t notice or ignores this, moving to open the bottle of water for Shadow and holding it to his mouth, “Drink up for me, huh?”

Shadow raises a hand to snatch the bottle away, nearly spilling it in the process but glaring at Sonic nonetheless, “I am perfectly capable of drinking myself.”

Sonic blinks and then chuckles with a roll of his eyes, “Well excuuuse me for caring.”

Shadow grunts, lifting the bottle a bit shakily to take a long sip from it. He downs it all in one go, sighing in relief once he’s done and setting the empty bottle on his lap. He really needed that. It almost made him dizzy with the energy boost that alone gave him.

But he still felt a bit off.

Closing his eyes to take a deep breath, his attention is swiftly turned back to the blue hedgehog when he feels a hand touching his head. It rubs along the top of it down Shadow’s back to underneath his back quills and lightly scratches there.

Shadow tenses up then jolts a bit, shifting away from Sonic the best he can in the moment as his wide eyes stare at the hero in both disbelief and disgust.

“I didn’t say you could touch me,” Shadow nearly growls out, his fangs showing with how he sneers at Sonic. Sonic’s hand is returned to himself as if it had been burned, staring at Shadow a bit surprised before speaking with an awkward smile, “Sorry..” His ears flatten further to his head, looking a bit like a kicked puppy.

Shadow’s eyes narrow at him a moment before he frowns and looks around, “What are you even doing here?? How did you get here??” Last Shadow checked, Sonic didn’t know where he lived.

Sonic pauses and then looks away with a knitted brow, “I brought you back here after we found you.. You were hurt, and you wouldn’t wake up. It really scared me—“

“Who is ‘we’?? Why were you near GUN property—“

He pauses.

Blinks.

Scared???

Sonic looks at Shadow with an even more concerned look now, “GUN property? Shadow, what are you talking about??”

Shadow frowns at him, trying to determine if this is some sort of obnoxious prank of some sort.

“...What are you talking about?” Shadow asks skeptically.

Sonic chuckles a bit at that, “I asked you first.”

“I don’t care.”

“What is with your attitude??” Sonic huffs, his arms crossing impatiently over his chest, “Are you mad at me??? I get it if you’re mad, but can’t we just talk about it without you being an asshole??”

“Excuse me?!”

“I know I messed up, and I am genuinely so sorry. I never meant for you to get hurt! But I also didn’t ask for you to save my butt like that or take the hit-”

“You’re making no sense!” Shadow snaps again, feeling his head start to throb now. He was getting overwhelmed.

Why was Sonic in his house?

Why was Sonic talking about Shadow saving him when he did no such thing??

Why was Sonic comfortable enough to sit on his bed and touch him???

What is going on!?

“Calm down, Shadow!” Sonic scolds a bit softer, brows knitted with worry as he watches Shadow seethe in his stress, “Why are you being so easily-agitated???”

“What are you doing here!? Where’s Rouge???”

Sonic looks at Shadow like he’s got two heads, “Shadow, did you hit your head???”

Sonic doesn’t even hesitate, moving a hand to cup Shadow’s cheek and gently tilt his head towards him so he can get a better look of it. His other hand gently feeling through Shadow’s quills, and Shadow feels his face heating up. His cheeks puff as he tries not to explode.

It’s too much.

It’s TOO MUCH.

“Stop touching me!!!!”

Sonic immediately moves to stand up, staring at Shadow with surprise at how angry he seems. The hero doesn’t look angry, though. He looks worried. And scared almost.

Taking a small breath, he backs up a bit towards the door and then looks down a moment, “...Okay.” His eyes lift again to Shadow, looking determined, “Okay. Let’s just calm down, huh?? Let’s talk..”

Shadow growls at him, “And why would I talk to you??”

“Because I’m the one here listening??” Sonic says with a little tilt of his head, his hands resting on his hips, “...Why are you being so hostile?”

“Because you’ve invaded my home and my personal space!” Shadow sneers back, glaring daggers at Sonic.

Sonic’s hands raise a bit at that in a surrender sort of way, “Well, that’s fair about the personal space, I guess. You just woke up and you’re probably overwhelmed. But I thought we were cool on calling this our home at this point.”

Shadow’s eyes widen a bit at that, scoffing as if absolutely baffled at Sonic’s words, “Our home?? What the hell are you on about now???”

Sonic stares at Shadow looking a bit confused now as well, that worry returning again with an done expression on his face, “...That’s it. I’m calling Tails,” he huffs, turning to walk out the bedroom door.

Shadow’s eyes widen, leaning up to yell after him, “DO NOT INVITE MORE PEOPLE TO MY HOUSE!”

[randxmthxughts]

Chosen by Eywa - Crossing the Bridge - Chapter 4

← chapter 3 | chapter 5 →

contains: arranged marriage, mentions of war and grief, angst, one-sided enemies to lovers, slow burn

wc: 4.2k

chosen by eywa masterlist | general avatar masterlist

a/n: i know i haven't updated in two weeks, but it was only due to the circumstances. like i promised, i will have another chapter out during the week, bc i'm so happy that i got my visa and went to my concert, so stay stuned, babies. i hope you still like this series and will keep reading T.T

It was awkward. The way Neteyam stood in front of the tent, hesitating to walk in to avoid drawing the attention of the other healers. Awkward, how he had to shift his weight from one foot to the other every few minutes because everyone, except her, had caught sight of the future Olo'eyktan at some point. And it took Kiri to finally shove her so forcefully to look up from her task, that Y/N almost fell face first onto the ground.

The whole intention of spending time together away from the High Camp was to avoid the attention and the murmurs of the villagers about them. More importantly, to avoid running into Kaye and his new mate. But the moment their ikrans touched down in the forest, far away from the prying eyes, the pressure of performing got replaced with an uncomfortable tension. And neither Y/N nor Neteyam knew how to close that gap between them. How come weaving mats in a healing tent seemed to be easier and less stressful than taking a stroll in the lush forest of Pandora?

“Say something, show her the real Neteyam,” Neteyam muttered to himself, trailing awkwardly behind Y/N.

She, immersed in her own thoughts, walked ahead without a clear direction, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her loincloth. Neteyam desperately tried searching for an opening to deliver, and took a few larger strides not to fall behind too far.

“So… how was your day?” he finally mustered the courage to ask.

Y/N paused in her tracks, glancing back at him with a small frown, as if she couldn’t quite make out the words he said. Neteyam stopped walking too, waiting for a response.

“The usual. Lessons,” her voice lacked any enthusiasm that could have encouraged him to go on. 

“Good,” Neteyam nodded, trying to offer something else in return, “I’ve had training today.”

“How was it?” 

“The usual,” he repeated Y/N’s words with an ironic snicker, recalling his morning, “It’s either getting beaten up by your fake opponents, or by the actual bad guys. Today was the pretend one.”

He shrugged to complete his explanation, something that he had borrowed from his brother whenever he made a joke, as if to give his words a humorous meaning. And though they were quite ghastly, it coaxed a small chuckle out of Y/N. Neteyam’s ears twitched at the sound with a flicker of delightful surprise. He made her smile.

“Well, you look alright for someone who got beaten up,” Y/N gestured at his woundless body, her canines peeking out.

“I’d have to turn that compliment down, since I didn’t get beaten up today,” Neteyam smirked, “You should have seen the other guy.”

“Oh, is that so? That’s always the case with you?”

“No, I get beaten up too sometimes… though not as often,” he shrugged again, this time releasing the pressure of performing, as he admitted to a vulnerability that most warriors wouldn’t, “And even when I do, I don’t worry about that stuff.”

“Why not?” Y/N’s ears perked up in curiosity.

“Well, let’s see…” Neteyam bit back a smile, pretending to be thinking about his answer, “I have a grandmother for Tsahik, my mother used to be the tsakarem, now my sister is a tsakarem,” he paused, hesitating to add, “And my destined mate is training under the guidance of the Tsahik. So, I think I’m in good hands.”

“Right,” Y/N snorted at the comment, and for a moment Neteyam thought that he might have crossed the line his father kept telling him about, but once she turned away from him to continue walking, he noticed a ghost of a smile on her lips, and that was enough of a confirmation to send his heart into a rapid beat.

Neteyam wasn’t even sure why the reaction made him suddenly giddy but it felt like a small victory he could showcase, if his family expresses any interest in his progress with Y/N. And as he continued to trail behind her, though they mostly remained in silence, the atmosphere seemed to ease.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“It’s okay, Y/N, let’s switch,” Kiri’s tight grip on Y/N’s arm brought her back into reality.

Y/N stood awkwardly a few steps away from the two warriors in front of her - one, who looked at her with guilt but still some lingering warmth in his eyes, and the other - who studied her earnestly, looking for any signs of discomfort, as if he could make them vanish. Kiri, who was only a moment ago treating her brother, was quick to read the situation and attempted her best to resolve it. Everything just unraveled so fast, the way the group of warriors stumbled into the tent for the first time in days, seemingly wounded after an encounter with the sky people. 

Since they were practically regulars at the tent, each warrior was used to being treated by the same one or two healers, and everyone found their places right away. Kiri too, without a second thought, was immediately grabbing her older brother and getting to work. Which left Y/N standing in front of Kaye, according to the unspoken habit that had developed over the past months. Kaye had a gash across his chest that needed close inspection, but Y/N couldn’t really move, as if her feet were suddenly glued to the ground, weighed down. 

Neteyam, of course, watched the scene unravel before him, but he couldn’t do much but just contain himself from making a bigger deal out of it for the whole tent to see. His eyes darted around the room, searching for his grandmother, who perhaps could help Kaye instead, but Mo’at was already busy with placing stitches on another warrior’s thigh, and it would take a while before she would be free.

“It’s alright, I can wait for somebody else to -” Kaye cleared his throat, raising his palms in the air, as if to prevent the switch up, but Kiri simply ignored him, already nudging Y/N to the side.

“That looks bad, you need to take care of it,” Neteyam gestured at Kaye’s chest with much discontent, as if acknowledging the truth made him cringe.

Defeated, Kaye stopped disagreeing, the sting of the wound was only getting more painful when he spoke, and to be quite honest, he couldn’t wait. Y/N’s expression remained stone cold, as she watched Kiri lead Kaye to the other side of the tent. Neteyam pressed his lips into a thin line, watching them two, his irritation finally starting to seep away, the farther they got. He was almost caught off guard, when he felt a pair of cold hands against his skin.

Y/N silently kneeled in front of him, starting to treat the small scraps over his arms and shoulders. Her expression was unwavering, as if nothing had happened, and he wondered what she was really thinking about. Was this the first time she saw Kaye after their fight?

“Stop staring,” Y/N mumbled, without looking up at him, while her hands still worked their healing magic.

Neteyam shook his head to deny her request, and continued to watch her every move intently. Irritated, she hooked a finger under his chin and forcefully turned his head to the side, so that he was met with the tent wall. He chuckled weakly at the gesture but kept the new position.

“You can take a breather, you know? I’m not dying, I can wait,” he suggested.

Y/N paused to stare at the side of his face for a moment, giving him a false sense of actually contemplating his offer. Of course, she was going to turn it down, there was no way she could’ve just walked out of the tent. The scolding she’d get from Mo’at wasn’t worth it.

“I can’t,” Y/N pretended to be unbothered, her hands continuing to work over his forearm, where a few smaller cuts were in need of a soothing balm.

“Why not? I won’t mind,” Neteyam turned his face again to look at her. 

“Because I can’t leave my destined mate unattended, can I?” Y/N's voice dripped with irony, and she couldn't resist stealing a quick glance at him, searching for a reaction.

Neteyam's frown deepened, caught off guard by the repetition of his own words. Was that a bad slip? Maybe she took what he said in a way where Neteyam only valued Y/N for her skills, rather than her as a person. Disappointed with himself, he shook his head and then gently covered her hands with his own, halting their movements.

"Y/N, I didn't mean it that way," Neteyam's voice was low, and he waited patiently for her to meet his gaze before continuing, "This... it doesn't matter. I was just kidding. Go on, and take a breather if you need one."

“I know, Neteyam, I was only teasing,” the corners of her mouth twitched in amusement.

For a fleeting moment, Y/N allowed herself to forget that the love of her life was sitting and watching her from across the room. It felt exhilarating to indulge in the playful banter, teasing Neteyam and pretending that they were a blissful couple, free from the weight of their responsibilities.

“You’re teasing,” he breathed out with relief, “Oh… good.”

“Yes,” she rolled her eyes, “And obviously I can’t just take a break right now. Your grandmother will kill me.”

As Y/N returned to tending his scrapes and cuts, Neteyam bit his cheek, thinking for a moment. A sudden surge of courage coursed through him, and he made a decision, quickly standing up and pulling her gently to her feet. His hand found hers, and the movement surely caught the attention of those around them but Neteyam only shrugged, his eyes on Y/N. She was confused, and she couldn't help but glance nervously at Kaye, who had been watching the whole interaction with unease. 

“Let’s go,” Neteyam’s thick-accented voice grabbed her attention once more, and without waiting for an answer, he was already walking out of the tent, leading her by the hand with him.

Y/N had little time to react, on the way out, her eyes caught a sight of Mo’at, who shook her head at the interruption and returned back to her task.

“Neteyam,” Y/N hissed embarrassed, but his grip on her, though gentle, remained unmoving.

“My grandmother won’t kill you, if I’m coming with you,” he explained, without even glancing back at her.

“You’re coming with me? Where?” Y/N’s nose scrunched up in confusion.

“Wherever you want.”

Neteyam was never one to protest the rules. Lo’ak liked to tease him about it and call him a “goody-two-shoes,” but Neteyam was too focused on excelling rather than getting offended by his brother’s weak insults. But he also never had enough motivation to disobey. Breaking the rules only brought trouble, and after careful consideration, Neteyam had never deemed it worthwhile. But here, now, as he led Y/N away from her responsibilities to offer her a moment of peace, he decided that it was for a good reason. That it wouldn’t matter if his grandmother got mad at them and he would take the blame anyway, since he initiated it. But if it meant that she didn’t have to keep working while her past lover gawked at her, then maybe it was worth it.

When they were finally away from the tent, Y/N stood right in front of him, their hands still intertwined. Despite trying to stare down at his much bigger frame with disapproval, there were traces of gratitude in her eyes. Her tail swished with excitement, thinking of how great it felt to abandon her day’s duties and just be left alone.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice carrying an earnest tone.

"No need to thank me," Neteyam squeezed her hand, "My mother always reminds me that those who care of others also deserve care in return. I tend to forget it at times, but she's right."

He tugged at her hand once more, his gaze already wandering off to somewhere else. Without hesitation, Y/N willingly trailed behind him along the narrow path that meandered through the Hallelujah Mountains. Neteyam's grasp on her hand remained firm all throughout, neither of them sure if it was to guide her safely or simply to reassure her with his presence.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Walks with Neteyam had shifted from being an obligation to somewhat of an entertainment. They still didn’t speak much, finding peace in the quiet companionship, as they wandered through the forest, away from the eyes of the clan. In those moments, Y/N stopped feeling the pressure of pretending to be happy about her impending union with the future chief, while Neteyam was happy to reconnect with the forest. Since the relocation of the clan to the Hallelujah Mountains, his time in the forest was limited to missions or overseeing his siblings, never to revisiting his past and his roots.

And while to Y/N, this relationship had evolved into a strong foundation for friendship, Neteyam struggled with his growing protectiveness over her. It felt like she might crumble if he wasn't there to watch over, and the mere mention of her past could be her breaking point. These thoughts consumed Neteyam's restless mind, keeping him awake at night. Alongside with them, his frustration towards Kaye and the lack of respect, fueled his anger, as he delivered another forceful hit to his pretend opponent. Was it genuine protectiveness he harbored for Y/N, or was it simply his frustration with Kaye's behavior? Neteyam felt like a hypocrite. 

The future chief groaned in frustration, delivering another calculated strike, disarming his opponent, Kaye. But his anger and irritation were blinding, making Neteyam lose his focus, not necessarily in his movements but within the depths of his mind. He couldn’t stop the attacks. 

Kaye fell into his parents’ trap and mated with a woman of their choosing. Yet, he seemed content with their decision and he had no trouble leaving Y/N behind. Did he ever even love her, or was he simply leading her on all that time? Either way, Kaye had moved on, and Neteyam had to be the one who watched Y/N try to deal with the fact.

Another powerful shove, and Neteyam swiftly toppled his opponent, sending him sprawling onto his back. His spear was aimed threateningly, directly at the vulnerable spot beneath Kaye's throat. Kaye’s eyes widened in fear, as for a fleeting moment, it seemed like Neteyam might not stop. He immediately lowered his ears in a gesture of submission to the future Olo’eyktan.

“Neteyam, that’s enough,” Jake's voice cut through, jolting Neteyam back to reality.

With an almost aggressive shake of a head, as if trying to force away the nagging thoughts, Neteyam took a step back and lowered his spear. The fight was clearly over and he was the winner, but it barely even felt like a victory.

Neteyam exchanged a look with his father, who was confused with his son’s behavior. To Jake, Neteyam was one of his best warriors, always in control of his emotions and precise with his movements, and it was rare that he got to witness him being overtaken with anger. With a loud sigh, Neteyam still complied with the unspoken rule within the camp and extended his hand to his opponent to pull him to his feet.

Oblivious to the fact that the fight was twice as violent because Neteyam had developed a personal vendetta against him, or perhaps he only chose to be ignorant of it, Kaye offered a small, appreciative smile in response to the extended hand, accepting the help. He dusted off his back and thighs, and before Neteyam could sign a goodbye and leave, Kaye quickly moved to stand in his way.

“I need to talk to Y/N,” he announced, forcing Neteyam to stop in his tracks, “You must see her, right?”

Neteyam clenched his jaw, struggling to contain the anger that still hasn’t died down from the fight. Just when he started to get the things moving for himself and Y/N, just when it seemed like Kaye wouldn’t hurt her anymore, he was suddenly wanting to talk to her? She wouldn’t hide if she wanted to see Kaye, would she?

“I think it’s safe to say that she doesn’t want to talk to you,” Neteyam’s voice trembled slightly, “If I were you, I would have kept my distance. Just like you've grown accustomed to doing over the years.”

“Ouch, I guess I deserved that,” Kaye winced at the comment, “Listen, I am truly sorry for the way things turned out but I never meant to hurt her. I just want to apologize.”

Neteyam simply shook his head, indicating that the explanation fell short of convincing him. If Kaye wanted to speak to Y/N, it would only be on her terms, Neteyam certainly wasn’t going to take part in helping him.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Y/N sat in front of the healing tent in silence, the small wrinkle in between her eyebrows was turning deeper within each passing minute. She was annoyed with Neteyam, who didn’t show up, but mostly she was annoyed with herself for still being there and waiting for him. Her lesson had ended long ago, their usual routine of going for a walk right after was simply abandoned, and Neteyam was nowhere to be found. She knew that he came home a few hours ago, when she heard the shouts of the warriors, and some even came in for a check-up at the tent. So, if he was safe, it puzzled her why he hadn't come. Did he seize an opportunity and forget to warn her not to wait? 

She shouldn’t be annoyed though. Wasn’t this exactly what she wished for? To spend less time with him, to be left alone. But it didn’t feel like a win at all, just a let-down. The times when Kaye would sometimes stand her up floated her mind with insecurity. Though it didn’t happen often, she got hurt deeply every time. No amount of apologies from Kaye could ever help her overcome the fear of him simply not showing up one day and giving up on her completely. 

Shaking her head, disappointed with herself for wasting time, she stood up, ready to leave. To her surprise, just as she rose, Neteyam appeared right in front of her.

"You waited," he uttered softly, a mix of confusion and gratitude in his voice.

“You made me wait,” she retorted, her irritation impossible to hide as her eyes bore into his.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Neteyam raised his palms in the air, offering a defeat.

And that’s when Y/N noticed it. Before she could unleash the angry words she had rehearsed in her mind for the past hour, or fully grasp the tinge of pain in his voice, her eyes caught sight of something. A streak of red smeared across Neteyam's forearms, clumsily wiped but not enough to be completely rid of. Almost as if he tried taking care of it himself and failed miserably. Her amber eyes swiftly traced the path of the color, trailing from his ribcage and vanishing around his body, and without a word she circled him, to find his back, covered in awkwardly arranged leaves. She guessed that Neteyam had placed them himself, since some of the wounds were only partially covered, and there was dried off blood all over his skin.

“Neteyam, what the hell happened to you?” Y/N asked, her eyes turning bigger in shock. How long has he been in pain? Why didn’t he come to the healing tent and get it treated? Her mind was flooded with questions.

“It’s nothing,” he mumbled, turning around to face her, though his expression was painted with guilt, “Just a few scratches.”

“These are not just scratches, they look horrible,” Y/N gestured at him once more, “Why didn’t you come to your grandmother? You came home hours ago, no?”

Neteyam flinched at her words. They held the truth, but he didn't want to admit it. There was something embarrassing about getting that many wounds on his back. It meant he hadn't noticed the enemy behind him, which also signified his lack of attentiveness. But how could he pay attention when his whole reality was shifting around him? Neteyam took a step away from her, trying to force a small smile.

“Since you had to wait for so long, let’s go on that walk now, hm? I’ll try to make it up to you,” he tried nonchalantly.

But Y/N was quick to close the distance between him. She grasped his hand and without a word pulled him into the healing tent. Once inside, she gestured for Neteyam to take a seat on one of the rarely used old wooden chairs, thinking that being on her feet would be more convenient when treating his back.

“Seriously, I am okay, we can still go on that walk,” Neteyam tried to reason, but she was already hissing at him in annoyance to stop talking.

His ears lowered in defeat, which he desperately didn’t want to accept, but also secretly had craved. Because even though Neteyam was used to being the one taking care of others, it felt like a sun on his skin, knowing that somebody else was there for him. And he could tell she was mad just by the way she treated him with silence, but the anger was coming from a place of caring.

The wounds he bore were throbbing with pain, located in a difficult-to-reach place. Neteyam hadn't intended to be late; it simply took him longer than expected to dress his injuries. Yet, his heart fluttered with a mixture of relief and gratitude when he spotted Y/N still seated in front of the healing tent, patiently waiting for him. She could have easily left hours ago, so why did she choose to stay?

“You have a whole family of healers, why didn’t you just ask them for help? Why didn’t you ask me?” Y/N sighed.

Neteyam's ears twitched at the touch, a subtle response to the gentleness of her fingers on his back. Soon, the leaf bandages he had grown weary of were being carefully removed, and as she worked, a wave of empathy flowed through her, her tone turning into a softer, more understanding one.

“I know that there is some kind of pride that comes with being the Olo’eyktan’s son, and also this pressure of being perfect and never showing your vulnerabilities. But when you get hurt, Neteyam, none of it should matter.”

“I know, you’re right,” Neteyam admitted guiltily, hanging his head, “I just…”

Y/N tsksed at the incomplete explanation with discontent, taking off the last bandage. Now, fully exposed, Neteyam’s back was covered in multiple gashes arranged at sharp angles around his spine. Fortunately, they hadn't pierced deep enough to cause nerve damage, which meant that Neteyam was quick to react. A damp cloth grazed his skin as Y/N gently wiped away the brown stains of the dried off blood.

“Whether we like it or not, we are a team now,” she continued after a pause, “So you can rely on me.”

He nodded, even though he couldn't see her face. There was a sincerity in her words, something different from before. It didn't feel like mere obligation; it felt like she genuinely meant it, like she truly wanted him to rely on her.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

His earpiece suddenly crackled to life, interrupting the moment, and Neteyam immediately tensed up at the sound of his father’s worried voice. He sat up, and pressed a finger to his wired necklace, speaking into it.

“I am safe, dad, what happened?” Neteyam questioned.

Worried, and unable to hear Jake’s voice on the other end, Y/N quickly came in front of Neteyam, searching his face for clues of what was happening. The future Olo’eyktan seemed to grow more concerned, as he remained quiet to hear his father.

“What is it?” Y/N whispered impatiently, and then she felt it.

Y/N's stomach plummeted as she observed the transformation of Neteyam's expression. What was initially concern now gave way to a haunting mix of guilt and remorse. It was as if he carried the weight of something deeply troubling, something that was unfixable, probably too difficult to say out loud.

“How many of them?” Neteyam spoke again, his eyes still glued to Y/N’s, “And who exactly got shot?”

It felt like the world around her came to a stop, as in these seconds of waiting, Y/N had imagined hundreds of scenarios running through her head. And it could be anything, but the way Neteyam rose to his feet in a hurry, she feared that the worst one was coming to life.

“Is it him?” Y/N’s voice cracked, and Neteyam nodded, pressing his lips into a thin line.

“It is Kaye.”

chapter 5 →

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[notiddygothgf]

1. Fucking Great

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝ You're desperate. It's not attractive. ❞

★ c.w.: drinking

★ a/n: finals have been literally beating me to the ground like a dog but. im finally free. OMFG!!! to celebrate, i wanted to drop a lil special sum sum for u guys, even though i wasn't planning on updating again so soon. Make sure to comment and interact and whatever, I love hearing from you guys!!!

★ w.c: .4.2k

call out my name ; chapter index

PEOPLE SAY DIVORCE never gets easier. That simply is not the case. In fact, after your fourth or fifth one, moving on became second nature. Then again, that’s easier said than done – especially when it’s your job.

A little background – you were a Temporary Wife. You worked for an organization called NewlyWeds, through which bachelors, lonely men, those with far too much time (and money), and the like could “rent” wives… so to speak.

The reasons for needing a fake wife were as varied as the men themselves. 

For some, it was a matter of societal expectations—warding off nosy relatives at family gatherings or appeasing traditional parents who couldn’t bear the thought of an unmarried son. Others needed a polished facade for their careers, a stable "marriage" being the key to promotions or winning over conservative clients. Some wanted a sexual companion (which was not your area of specialty – in fact, you had never stooped low enough to actually sleep with any of your so-called husbands). And then there were the lonely ones, men who craved companionship without the complications of real commitment. 

What better way to fill the void than with a year-long marriage contract?

Whether it was to silence judgmental whispers, project an image of success, or fill an emotional void, the demand for a temporary wife was steady and unrelenting. It was your job to play the part flawlessly. And you were damn good at it. Five happy husbands – four, if you don’t count the dead one – were a testament to that. 365 Days per contract, and not a single unhappy customer so far.

Marriage was a way to pay the bills. Nothing more.

So why did this one make you feel so nervous? 

As you crossed the threshold to your new husband’s house, you couldn’t help but feel a little… well, anxious, to say the least. Your suitcase rolled to a stop behind you – a sizeable one, one that had your clothes and essentials. Of course, you would more than likely purchase more a little further down the road. For now, though, a suitcase was all you needed. 

One year. One suitcase. One ginormous house.

You had to crane your head all the way back to look at the ceiling. House is a bit of an understatement… Grey walls opened up into the foyer, where a grand staircase spiraled up to the second floor. A sleek, minimalistic design with tasteful decor. A chandelier hung in the middle of it all, what had to have been hundreds of glass pieces glimmering with light. 

Mansion would have been a better word. In all of your 5 marriages, you had never stayed anywhere so lavish. Then again, you supposed you had to have a lot of money to afford a fake wife.

He knew I was coming at some point today, you thought to yourself. It was dead silent in the house. I wonder where he is?

You towed your suitcase over to the door perpendicular to the stairs. According to the briefing you had read on the way here, you would be setting up shop in the guest bedroom, that way you could make room for all of your stuff (not that there was much of it). The guest room allegedly was tucked away near the staircase, so you tried the handle.

When it gave, you pushed the door the rest of the way open. The guest bedroom was pretty sizable. A queen sized bed with neatly tucked black sheets, a sleek, dark-oak closet with a matching furniture set, and a nightstand with a pretty lamp and a vase of flowers on it.

This is one hell of a guest room, you reasoned. It put the measly back room in your old shithole apartment to shame.

With a great amount of effort, you hauled your suitcase onto the bed, unzipping it and viewing its contents. Then, slowly, you began to unpack – setting neatly folded clothes aside, organizing them by season and type.

You changed out of your travel attire, a tailored suit and pencil skirt, which now felt constrictive and far too formal for the empty house. Digging through your suitcase, you pulled out a pair of comfortable leggings and an oversized sweater—neutral tones, soft fabric, nothing too flashy. Something “homely,” as your job often required. Sliding into the cozy ensemble, you felt the tension ease from your shoulders, the weight of first impressions temporarily set aside.

With your outfit taken care of, you turned to the task of settling in. The guest bedroom was pristine, almost unsettlingly so. You hadn’t expected a mess, but the level of order was borderline clinical. Not a single speck of dust marred the dark wood surfaces, and the flowers on the nightstand seemed freshly arranged. You suspected they were artificial, the kind that stayed perfect forever. It gave the room an impersonal feel, as though it belonged to no one in particular. Temporary, like you.

“Well,” you muttered under your breath, running your hand along the smooth surface of the dresser. “Guess I’m not the only one passing through.”

After organizing your belongings in the spacious closet, which felt like overkill for the modest amount of clothing you’d brought, you decided to explore. The house was massive—mansion, you corrected yourself again—and you figured you’d better learn your way around before embarrassing yourself by getting lost.

Starting in the foyer, you took in the grandeur once more. The chandelier overhead sparkled like a constellation, its light refracting across the grey walls and polished floors. You wandered into the living room, where sleek furniture—a monochrome mix of black, white, and grey—was arranged with a precision that felt more suited to a showroom than a home. A massive flat-screen TV dominated one wall, but it was spotless, devoid of fingerprints or smudges. No cozy throw blankets, no scattered magazines, no signs of life.

The kitchen was similarly sterile. White countertops stretched endlessly, interrupted only by high-tech appliances that gleamed under the recessed lighting. Not a single mug or dish sat in the sink, and the pantry—when you dared to peek inside—was meticulously organized, though oddly sparse. A few boxes of cereal, some canned goods, and a row of bottled water. No clutter. No warmth.

“Does anyone even live here?” you wondered aloud. The silence was your only answer. No photographs adorned the walls or countertops, no hints of personality or history. It was as though the house existed solely for appearances.

Your unease deepened as you ascended the grand staircase. The second floor was just as immaculate, the long hallway lined with closed doors. You passed a library—if you could call it that—a room filled with books arranged in perfect alphabetical order, the spines unbroken. It smelled faintly of leather and wood polish, not the warm, musty scent of well-loved pages.

Finally, you reached the master bedroom. Aki’s room.

You hesitated at the threshold, hand hovering over the doorknob. This was his space, his sanctuary. You were here to do a job, not invade his privacy. But then you remembered the briefing. Part of your role was to ensure everything ran smoothly, to maintain the illusion of a harmonious household. That included housekeeping duties. Squaring your shoulders, you turned the knob and stepped inside.

The room was as impersonal as the rest of the house, though it carried a faint trace of its occupant. The bed, a king-sized monolith with crisp, white linens, was unmade, the only imperfection you’d seen so far. The furniture matched the sleek, dark aesthetic of the guest room, but there were no personal touches. No photos on the nightstands, no trinkets or mementos.

Your gaze shifted to the walk-in closet, its door slightly ajar. Curiosity tugged at you, and you couldn’t resist taking a peek. Inside, you found rows upon rows of clothing, organized with military precision. Suits dominated the space—tailored jackets, crisp dress shirts, and neatly pressed trousers in shades of black, grey, and navy. Sweaters and casual wear were tucked away at the back, their softer fabrics and muted colors almost an afterthought. Everything was of impeccable quality, from the silk ties to the polished leather shoes lined up along the floor – everything except for the lone pair of beat-up converse hidden just out of plain sight.

So he’s got an edgy side, you thought, stepping back to close the door. Whatever picture you were beginning to form of Aki was still incomplete, but one thing was clear: this man valued control and order.

You decided to mind your business and focus on your task. Returning to the bedroom, you stripped the bed, bundling the linens into a neat pile. The mattress beneath was bare and spotless, further testament to the house’s almost eerie cleanliness. As you worked, your mind wandered.

Why had he hired you? The briefing had been thorough, but it was always the practical details: the contract, the expectations, the rules. It never delved into the personal motivations behind the arrangement. Was he one of the lonely ones, craving companionship without complications? Or was this a calculated move, a facade for career or family? This place was unnerving in its perfection. You’d lived in luxurious homes before, but they’d always carried a sense of life, of personality. This house felt like a stage, a beautiful but hollow set piece.

None of my business, you reminded yourself firmly. You’d learned early on not to pry. The men who hired you weren’t looking for therapists or confidants. They wanted a wife, and you were here to play the part. Nothing more.

With the sheets bundled under one arm, you headed to the laundry room.

Aki always looked forward to Fridays. It was her day. Every Friday at 7 o’clock sharp, his wife – yes, not yet ex wife, because they hadn’t actually started the process of a divorce yet – would meet him at Prime Cut for a steak dinner. They would undoubtedly catch up, talk about the week they had spent apart, and Aki would inevitably try to convince her to take him back like the pathetic man he was.

His watch read 6:59. She was always punctual. 

Anxiously, he fiddled with his appearance – smoothing his hands over his suit jacket, his slacks, his hair. He couldn’t see how he looked, but he hoped he looked put together. His eyes darted around nervously, searching for signs of her.

And there, at 7 o’clock sharp, she walked in. He caught a glimpse of her hair first – pink locks braided into that signature hairstyle of hers that he had grown to love. The one he had seen her do in the early hours of the morning before they had to leave for work; boar-hair brush combing through the rosy strands while she braided them. He would sit on the bed and watch her like the lovestruck fool he was.

Makima looked as polished as ever.

Aki stood up, walking over to the other side of the table and pulling the chair out for her (again, like the dog he was). She took it, muttering a soft, Thanks, and Aki’s heart soared at the sound, at the smell of her. She carried the aroma of something floral and fresh, a new perfume, no doubt. Aki, as desperate as ever, wore the same cologne he wore when the two of them were still husband and wife (as opposed to whatever they were now) in the selfish hope that she might be reminded of those days.

He cleared his throat, heart racing against his ribcage. “How was your trip over here?” He asked. “You look lovely.”

Makima smiled, adjusting the hem of her pretty red dress, the one with a low-cut neckline that revealed a tasteful amount of cleavage and accentuated the beautiful curves of her body. “It was provincial.”

"Provincial?" he echoed with a faint smile, his attempt at humor falling flat. "Did you walk here?”

"Why would I?" she teased, her tone light but her gaze sharp. She picked up the menu without waiting for his response, flipping through it leisurely. "Let’s not waste time, Aki. Order for me. You know what I like."

"Of course," he murmured, signaling the waiter. His hands trembled slightly as he recited her usual order—A glass-and-a-half of merlot, and a beer for him.

The silence between them stretched thin as they waited for their food. Aki cleared his throat again, desperate to fill the void. "Work’s been… busy. I had a case this week that reminded me of the ones we used to handle together."

Makima arched an eyebrow, her expression unreadable. "Still clinging to the past, I see."

They had only been apart for six months, in his defense. Compared to the eight years they had spent together, it wasn’t nearly enough time.

"I’m not clinging," he lied, his voice cracking slightly. "Just… reminiscing."

"Hmm," she hummed noncommittally, taking a sip of her water. "And how’s your health? Still smoking like a chimney?"

"I’ve cut back," he said quickly, eager to please. "Only a couple a day now."

Her lips curled into a faint smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Progress, I suppose."

The tension between them was palpable, and Aki felt himself floundering. He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against the small velvet box he’d been carrying all week. Taking a deep breath, he pulled it out and set it on the table between them.

Makima’s eyes flicked to the box, her expression finally betraying a glimmer of curiosity. "What’s this?"

"A gift," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "For you."

She hesitated for a moment before picking up the box, her manicured fingers deftly undoing the clasp. Inside was a pair of delicate diamond earrings, the stones catching the soft light of the restaurant. They were understated but elegant, just like her.

"They reminded me of you," Aki said, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure she could hear it. "I thought… I thought you might like them."

Makima studied the earrings for a long moment before closing the box with a soft click. "They’re lovely," she said, her tone neutral. 

“Try them on,” Aki implored her.

“I’ll try them on later,” She replied, and Aki visibly deflated at the words.

A tense moment passed, and then, finally Aki acknowledged the elephant in the room, “How is everything with your… your husband?”

The words felt like knives in his chest.

Makima tilted her head slightly, a faint smile gracing her lips. "My marriage is… good. Stable. He’s dependable, attentive, and he listens." Her tone was measured, almost clinical, as though she were describing a well-functioning machine rather than a relationship. "Everything I’ve always wanted."

Aki felt his stomach drop, her words a cold slap to his face. He tried to smile, nodding as though he could be happy for her, but the ache in his chest told a different story. "That’s good," he murmured, his voice hollow. "I’m glad."

But he wasn’t glad. Not even a little. 

The image of her with another man, sharing the moments that had once been his, twisted like a knife in his gut. He wanted to be the bigger person, to wish her well and mean it, but the truth was, he couldn’t. Not when every word she spoke felt like another reminder of how he had failed her. 

Instead, what came out was, “I don’t know why you want to go through with this fake marriage stuff. It doesn't make sense. How long are you going to drag this out?”

“I’m happier this way,” She answered calmly, like she was talking about the weather and not her other marriage. “And you’re desperate. It’s not attractive.”

Her words hurt. Bad. The slightest flinch in his expression probably betrayed that much, but he couldn’t help it. She always knew exactly what to say to keep him up at night. 

With a frown, he retorted, “You’re punishing me. What do I have to do to show you I’m sorry?”

Makima’s demeanor shifted enough for Aki to know he had pissed her off – even if she didn’t explicitly say it. Her eyes darkened, glazed over with that apathetic haze he hated as she asked, “I’m punishing you?”

Aki said nothing, letting his gaze fall to the floor. She was right. For what he did, he probably deserved this.

“Do  you really not understand the gravity of your situation?” She added, as if asking him to reiterate didn’t hurt enough. Her hands were folded neatly atop the table, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes full of nothing but apathy – yet her words bore a sharpness that cut deep. “Every day that I had to wake up and look at you was my punishment. I’m doing you a favor.”

When he said nothing, she continued, “If you don’t go through with this, Aki, you will never… see me again. I can promise you that much.”

His stomach was tied up in knots – a heady feeling of nausea burning its way up the back of his throat. It felt as if his heart had been ripped right out of his chest. Still, though he felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, he built up the strength to nod.

He deserved this, didn’t he? 

“Let’s wrap up early,” Makima sighed, dusting off her lap and standing up. “I can eat at home.”

Aki’s gaze flitted up to her, heart racing. “What?” He tried, “Sit down, let’s eat. You’ve only been here for a little while.”

She didn’t even look at him as she shouldered her bag and gathered her belongings – including his earrings. “No, thanks,” She replied. “I lost my appetite,” When she was ready to go, she finally looked at Aki (and made him wish she hadn’t). “My husband is waiting outside.”

I’m your husband.

Not him.

Me.

Aki didn’t miss the way she put emphasis on the word husband – as if this little infatuation wasn’t a contractual one. Six months of this shit was enough to have him at his wits end. Again, the thought of her happy with someone else, even if it wasn’t real…. It was enough to drive him up the wall, keep him up at night.

He furrowed his brows, “I only get to see you once a week, Makima. Can’t we–”

“That’s more than enough,” She interjected. Again, her words cut deep. 

“We’re married,” He reminded her, though it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Could he even call their relationship a marriage? They lived in two separate homes, had two separate lives, and – as of today – had two separate spouses. “We’re supposed to see each other every day, if you want to be technical.”

“In principle, yes,” She added. Her voice was calm, calculated, but the message was harsh, “In practice, I can hardly bear to look at you. We’re not husband and wife anymore. If you want to keep seeing me, then that’s something you’ll have to come to terms with.”

Then, without so much as a goodbye, she walked away.

Aki sat there long after Makima had left, the cold, untouched plate of food mocking him as the restaurant buzzed on around him. His heart felt like it had been ripped to shreds and left on the table beside her empty chair. He tipped his head back, letting out a quiet breath, the warmth of the restaurant doing nothing to stave off the chill settling in his chest.  

His fingers brushed the rim of his glass, and before he could think better of it, he motioned to the waiter. "Another round," he said, his voice gruff.  

The drinks kept coming, and with every sip, the edges of his heartbreak dulled just a little. He told himself it wasn’t to drown his pain but to find clarity in the haze. Makima's words echoed in his mind, over and over: “We’re not husband and wife anymore."

By the time he paid the tab, his limbs felt heavy, his thoughts muddled. The world tilted slightly as he stood, stuffing his wallet into his jacket pocket. At least he didn’t have to drive, he thought, as he stepped out into the cool night air. The bar was only a few blocks away from his place, and walking was safe—safer than going home and facing the emptiness waiting for him there.  

But instead of heading to his apartment, his feet carried him somewhere else. He didn’t even realize where he was going until he stood at the corner near Makima’s building, the faint glow of her apartment windows visible against the dark sky.  

His better judgment screamed at him to turn back, to leave her alone. But drunk, heartbroken, and full of misplaced determination, Aki walked toward her building. The thought of her with him—her so-called “husband”—gnawed at his insides.  

His lips on her hand, her skin, her neck…

His stomach twisted. That box had meant something. He’d agonized over it—picked out the perfect earrings, wrapped it carefully, written her name in his cleanest handwriting. And now it sat here, abandoned, like it meant nothing at all.  

Aki’s jaw clenched as his gaze flicked up to the second-story window, drawn to the warm glow spilling out onto the street. She was there. Makima. Her silhouette was unmistakable, standing close—too close—to the man beside her. Aki’s breath hitched as she leaned in, her head tilting just enough for him to see the way her lips pressed against the other man’s.  

Not just a kiss. A deep, lingering one.  

The world around him spun as nausea clawed its way up his throat. His chest burned, his heart thudding painfully against his ribs. His hands balled into fists at his sides, and without thinking, he pulled out his phone, fumbling to unlock it with freezing, clumsy fingers.  

He tapped her name. The phone rang. Once. Twice. His eyes stayed glued to the window, hoping—praying—that she would step back, check her phone, and answer. But no. The call went to voicemail.  

“Ah, shit,” he muttered under his breath, tapping redial with shaking fingers.  

It rang again, louder in his ear this time, but it ended the same way. No answer.  

He let out a bitter laugh, his voice cracking under the weight of it all. Of course, she wouldn’t pick up. Not now.

He called one more time, his voice barely a whisper as he stared up at that now-dark window. “Pick up, damn it. Pick up.”  

Nothing.  

His gaze dropped back to the car, and the box sitting in the backseat felt like a cruel reminder of everything he’d lost—or maybe everything he never really had. His breathing quickened, the alcohol amplifying the surge of anger and humiliation in his chest. He spotted a rock near the edge of the driveway, half-buried in dirt.  

The rational part of him—the one that normally reined in his impulses—was drowning in whiskey and despair. He stumbled over, grabbed the rock, and staggered back toward the car.  

“This is fucking ridiculous,” he muttered, raising the jagged stone. “She’s ridiculous. I’m ridiculous.”  

The rock crashed through the car window with a deafening shatter. Glass sprayed across the seat as the alarm screamed into the cold night air. Aki winced at the sound, his heart pounding as he shoved his arm through the broken window to grab the box. The shards scratched his hand, but he didn’t care. He yanked the box out and stumbled back, clutching it tightly in his arms like it was some kind of trophy.  

But before he could even catch his breath, he saw it: the unmistakable flash of red and blue lights cutting through the darkness.  

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, his stomach dropping.  

A patrol car rolled up slowly, its headlights illuminating him in harsh, unforgiving light. He froze, his grip on the box tightening as two officers stepped out. One of them shone a flashlight directly into his face, and he squinted, raising a hand to shield his eyes.  

“Sir, step away from the vehicle,” one of them said firmly, their voice sharp and no-nonsense.  

Aki opened his mouth, but his brain was too foggy to form a coherent excuse. “Uh... I can explain—”  

“It looks like you broke into a car,” the other officer cut in, their tone laced with skepticism.  

“Yeah, okay, fine, it is what it looks like,” Aki admitted, the weight of the situation crashing down on him all at once.  

The officer sighed, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”  

“Come on,” Aki groaned, his voice slurred as he stumbled forward. “This isn’t... this isn’t even about the car, it’s—it’s personal.”  

“Personal or not, you just committed a crime,” the officer replied.  

Aki felt the cold steel of the cuffs bite into his wrists as they clicked shut. His head swam as they guided him toward the patrol car, the box slipping from his grasp and falling onto the pavement. He glanced back over his shoulder, his heart sinking further when he saw her apartment. The lights had gone out, the window now dark and empty.  

As they pushed him into the backseat of the car, Aki leaned his head against the window, closing his eyes. “Great,” he muttered bitterly. “Just fucking great.”

a/n: if you haven't already, you should totally read my other aki story, Shameless! okay thats all, bye lovelies, hope you enjoyed! stay tuned!!! x

credits: UNKOWN ATM. I found the cover pic on pinterest unfortch. If you know the artist, please let me know, so I can credit them properly for their work!!! This is NOT MY BEAUTIFUL DRAWINGGG. I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

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