#no one else in the cast is saying that about their character…

[creamflix]

UNSCRIPTED — toji fushiguro x female reader [chapter 2/?]

summary: you’re a faceless author of scandalous smut — great at writing steamy scenes but totally clueless about real-life romance (and with no one to match your freak). enter toji fushiguro, a hot stranger you (accidentally) throw up on during a drunken night out. surprise! he’s also the future voice actor for your smutty novel’s main character. can you survive the awkwardness of your disastrous meet-cute while keeping your identity (and dignity) a secret? welcome to the chaos of your own erotic fantasy romcom!

content warning & tags: (erotic) voice artist! toji, (smut) writer! reader, smutty content!! [will be added over the course of the series], sort of workplace romance, secret/anon identity, slight social media au, meet-cute, virgin!reader, single dad dilf! toji, kid! megumi, strangers to lovers (?), she fell first but he fell harder, mentions of other characters (satoru gojo, suguru geto, megumi fushiguro, shoko eiri, brief mentions of ryomen sukuna)

notes: hi friends !! i hope u're liking the series so far <3 seems like persephone! suguru can't catch a break huh D: i wanted to highlight the same scene[s] from suguru's perspective, just to give him a lil depth :") if u want to keep up with the series more quicker, i highly suggest keeping up with the series on ao3 [for quicker updates ^^] thank you to my taglist for their support too :)

read on ao3! ● series masterlist

➤ related au: persephone [business tycoon! sukuna x reader]

the drive to megumi’s school was unusually quiet. 

normally, toji would lean into his usual “cool, brooding single dad” act — just enough to avoid attention but keep an edge. but today, he’d done something weirdly out of character: asked you to tag along. 

not that he’d admit it was for any other reason than megumi, obviously. 

nope. definitely nothing else to it.

just… kinda nice having you along for the ride, right?

the two of you settled into his car, and you couldn’t help but smirk at how the radio was suspiciously off. toji didn’t give any explanation, but you were pretty sure it was a preventative measure to avoid another “iris” moment and the resulting accidental kiss. 

which, okay, was kinda cute.

toji tapped his fingers against the wheel, casting the occasional sideways glance at you before finally saying, “so… just curious.” he cleared his throat, like he was trying not to make a big deal out of the question. “what made you, uh… you know, want to write those books?”

you blinked. “oh, my books?”

“yeah, the… passionate ones.” he coughed, looking anywhere but at you. “like, what inspired you to write those… intensely worded stories?”

you laughed, caught off guard. “okay, first of all, ‘intensely worded?’ that’s one way to put it.”

“look, i’m trying to be polite,” he said, giving you a sidelong smirk that made your stomach flip. “but seriously. i mean, it’s a specific line of work. what got you into it?”

you chewed on the inside of your cheek, feeling the familiar blush creeping up. 

“uh, well… honestly, i just thought it was something fun to try out. i like romance and, you know… writing what people connect with. people like the, um, more intense stuff, so… figured i’d give it a shot.”

he nodded, taking it all in. “huh. so, all that… stuff you write —” he paused, trying to phrase it carefully. “that’s from experience or…?”

you let out an awkward laugh, your face heating up even more. “not exactly. i… well, i actually haven’t… i mean, i’m still… y’know.” 

you cleared your throat. “a virgin.”

toji’s eyes went wide. 

“wait, you’re telling me… all that detail, the way you describe things, and you haven’t even…”

“nope.” you shook your head, biting back a smile at his shocked expression. “guess you could say i have a good imagination?”

he let out a low whistle, looking at you with something that was a mix of admiration and… something else you couldn’t quite place. “well, i gotta give you credit. you write it like you’ve, uh, lived it.”

you shrugged, trying to play it cool. “guess it’s all about the research.”

he raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “research, huh? well, you’ve got some serious talent in the ‘research’ department then. i’d hate to see what you’d write if you actually… y’know, had the experience.”

“well, maybe one day i will,” you shot back, feeling a little bolder. “and then my books will be even better.”

he chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “you’re something else.”

for a moment, the two of you just looked at each other, a silent understanding passing between you. 

the tension was thick enough to cut, and toji looked like he was about to say something else when megumi’s school finally came into view. he let out a breath, the moment effectively broken as he focused on finding a parking spot.

but as you both waited for megumi to come out, you couldn’t help but wonder what was going through toji’s head… and if he was thinking the same thing you were.

the second megumi spotted you and toji at the school gates, he was off like a shot, running toward you with all the enthusiasm of a kid who’d been waiting all day to see his favorite people. his grin was wide, and his little backpack bounced as he bolted up. and to your surprise (and toji's too), he didn’t go for his dad first — nope, he ran right into your arms like you were his personal safe haven.

“you came!” he squealed, hugging you tightly around the waist as if he hadn't just seen you yesterday. you laughed, hugging him back just as warmly, and you could practically feel the teachers’ eyes drilling holes into your back.

“of course i did,” you said, ruffling his hair. “what, you thought i’d miss out on picking you up?”

“nope!” he said proudly, pulling back and grabbing your hand as if to make sure you wouldn’t vanish.

toji stood off to the side, his hands in his pockets, trying to hide his smirk as he watched the scene unfold. yeah, he wasn’t about to complain about you being here — not at all.

as you all made your way back to the car, you couldn’t help but notice a few teachers and parents exchanging knowing looks, no doubt remembering how toji introduced you as his “colleague” yesterday. they didn’t look too convinced anymore.

inside the car, megumi settled comfortably between the two of you in the backseat, clutching his backpack like he was about to embark on the world’s most exciting road trip.

“sooo!” megumi started, a mischievous look in his eyes. “did you two have fun while i was in school?”

toji let out a tiny cough from the driver’s seat, looking at you in the rearview mirror with a hint of a smirk. “megumi, what exactly do you mean by ‘fun’?”

“i dunno, daddy!” megumi rolled his eyes in that dramatic way only an eight-year-old could pull off. “you were smiling all morning! you never do that!”

you tried to hide a smile yourself, glancing sideways at toji. “he was smiling all morning, huh?”

toji shot you a playful glare before focusing back on the road. “you got somethin’ to say about that?”

“nope, nothing at all,” you replied, suppressing a giggle.

“you’re smiling too!” megumi added, turning his full attention to you with a face that was way too smug for a kid his age. “did you like being with my dad today?”

your eyes widened as you exchanged a quick look with toji. “well, yes, i had a great time working with your dad,” you said carefully, trying to dodge the landmine that megumi had unknowingly set.

“yeah, but did you and daddy, like, do anything else? like on tv?”

toji almost choked, and you couldn’t stop a laugh from slipping out. “megs! we just talked and laughed a bit, nothing like in the movies, promise.”

megumi looked skeptical, folding his arms. “then why are you both acting all funny?”

“what do you mean, ‘funny’?” toji asked, raising an eyebrow in the rearview mirror.

“like… i dunno, all shy and weird,” megumi huffed, his brows furrowing in confusion. “like when the kids at school talk about people who like each other.”

your cheeks were definitely heating up, and you could tell toji was trying not to laugh.

“sometimes people just… act like that when they’re really comfortable,” toji explained, trying to sound nonchalant. “not everything’s like it is on tv.”

“oh,” megumi said, though he didn’t look totally convinced. 

“soooo, when are you guys gonna have a playdate without me?”

“what?” you and toji both burst out at the same time, while megumi just grinned, proud of himself for catching you both off guard.

“you two look like you want more playdates,,” he added with a shrug, like he was the expert on the subject.

toji shook his head, laughing under his breath. “how about you let the adults figure that out, hm?”

“fine, fine,” megumi said, obviously pleased with himself. “but i wanna know when you guys have another playdate, ‘kay?”

you patted his shoulder, chuckling. “deal, kiddo. you’ll be the first to know.”

as toji pulled out onto the street, you settled back, sharing an amused look with him in the mirror. and as megumi continued his non-stop chatter about school, dinosaurs, and how he wanted both of you to come to his next soccer game, you felt that fuzzy feeling again — the same one from last night. maybe having these two around wasn’t so bad at all.

toji pulled up to his house, shifting into park before a sudden realization hit him like a freight train — you were still along for the ride. it was supposed to be a quick pickup, maybe a casual goodbye once megumi was dropped off, but here you were, in the passenger seat, smiling as megumi practically buzzed with excitement beside you.

"uh… so… yeah, this is… my place,” he said, scratching the back of his head, feeling uncharacteristically awkward. he wasn’t sure if he should invite you in or just wave goodbye with some half-baked excuse. 

but before he could even finish his internal debate, megumi had his own plans.

“that means you can come see my room!” megumi exclaimed, his eyes lighting up as he threw open the door and scrambled out of the car.

“oh, i don’t wanna intrude —” you started, already moving to say goodbye, but megumi was way ahead, bounding up the steps and glancing back with an impatient wave.

“c’mon!” he insisted, practically dancing in place with excitement. “you gotta see my plushies and my legos! oh, and my origami stuff, and —”

toji opened the front door, and as soon as you were inside, megumi was by your side again, tugging at your hand with a grip surprisingly strong for a kid. “you gotta see everything!” he said, eyes gleaming.

“okay, okay!” you laughed, letting him lead the way.

toji watched, a little dumbfounded. he’d seen megumi excited before, sure, but this was a whole new level. “hey, uh, megs, maybe she’s tired. we don’t wanna overwhelm her, y’know?” he said, trying to sound casual and almost hoping you’d back out to save him from his own nerves.

“no way!” megumi protested, his voice emphatic. “she’s gotta see my dinos and my race cars and my drawings too! pleaseeee?”

“don’t worry, i think i can handle it,” you chuckled, shooting toji a reassuring look. 

he let out a sigh, feeling a mix of relief and… something else he really didn’t wanna unpack at the moment.

megumi practically dragged you down the hall toward what toji modestly called his “suite,” which was more like a sprawling kid paradise decked out in a swanky setup. it was undeniably luxurious — the kind of suite most people would call their whole apartment — but it was still a kid’s space through and through. plushies lay scattered around in a trail leading to the bedroom, where legos, crayons, toy cars, and origami creations decorated the floor in random bursts of color. every available surface was covered in megumi’s little projects and treasures.

“wow, megumi, you weren’t kidding!” you said, genuinely impressed. you walked over to a group of origami animals on his desk. “did you make all of these?”

“yep!” he puffed up his chest with pride, holding up a particularly crumpled paper crane. “this one’s my favorite. it didn’t come out great, but it’s special ‘cause daddy helped me with it.”

toji felt a funny warmth spread through his chest. he tried to brush it off, but it was hard to ignore seeing the two of you in his home, talking like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“and here’s mr. wiggles!” megumi said, suddenly pulling over a massive, well-loved teddy bear that looked like it’d been through a hundred battles. “daddy got him for me when i was little.”

“mr. wiggles is a great name,” you laughed, crouching down to inspect the bear. “i bet he’s been on a lot of adventures with you.”

“yeah, he’s been to the doctor with me, and the dentist, and he helps me with my homework sometimes,” megumi explained with the seriousness only an eight-year-old could muster.

toji chuckled, folding his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. “he’s a busy bear, huh?”

“super busy,” megumi agreed, pulling you over to his lego city next. 

“this is where the ninjas live, and over here’s where the dinosaurs hide.”

“oh, and here i thought ninjas and dinos couldn’t get along,” you teased, glancing over at toji, who was doing a poor job at hiding his amusement. “you must be the peacekeeper, megumi.”

“i am!” he laughed, then suddenly looked up at toji. 

“daddy, can she stay for dinner?”

toji’s eyes widened slightly. he hadn’t even considered dinner yet.

but the thought of you here, in his space, a part of his evening routine with megumi… it felt way too good to resist.

“uh, well, if she’s got the time,” he mumbled, scratching his neck and pretending to be cool about it. “you don’t gotta stick around if you got other things.”

“actually, i’d love to stay, if that’s okay?” you said, glancing between them both.

toji tried to act casual, even though his heart was doing a little victory lap. “yeah, sure. why not?”

“yes!” megumi cheered, already running out the door. “i’ll get the table ready!”

“is he… always this excited?” you asked, turning to toji with a chuckle.

“not usually,” toji admitted, scratching the back of his head. “guess you got that effect on him.”

the three of you settled around the table, megumi proudly munching away on his ironman-themed plate, the red and gold colors a little faded from years of use. he shot you a grin, already halfway through explaining ironman’s latest mission to save the world… for the third time.

toji, meanwhile, sat across from you, feeling inexplicably fidgety as he set down the fine china he’d pulled from the back of a cabinet. he'd dusted off every inch of those plates — his mind still spinning with why he even bothered. 

he wasn’t usually one for this kind of thing, but when he saw how carefully you ladled the stew into the bowls, he couldn’t help but notice you gave that same care to megumi too, nodding along as he chattered away about his superhero theories.

“you know, daddy never gets the cool plates out for anyone else,” megumi piped up, completely oblivious to the faint flush creeping up his dad’s face.

“oh really?” you chuckled, raising an eyebrow in toji’s direction. “well, i feel honored then. i’ll try not to drop it.”

toji groaned internally, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “kid’s got a big mouth,” he muttered, shooting megumi a faux warning look, though his own ears were burning.

“you’ve got good taste, though,” you teased him lightly, glancing down at the pristine white china with intricate blue patterns.

“yeah, well… s’just plates. they’re old,” toji shrugged, hoping that downplaying it would erase any significance you might read into the whole situation.

“old but pretty,” you said, not looking up as you ladled some stew for megumi, who was eagerly waiting with his bowl stretched out. “here you go, megumi. i made it a little less spicy for you, just like you asked.”

megumi’s eyes sparkled as he accepted the bowl. “thanks! you make the best stew!”

toji watched as you smiled back at megumi, completely absorbed in whatever he was babbling about, offering little “uh-huhs” and “reallys” as he animatedly described his favorite ironman scene. watching you like this, giving his kid your full attention even while busy in the kitchen, felt so… weird. 

like something he didn’t realize was missing, but now that it was there, he couldn’t imagine going without it.

“and then ironman totally blasts the villain’s robot suit — kaboom!” megumi finished, flinging his arms wide as if to demonstrate the explosion.

“kaboom, huh?” you laughed, sitting back in your chair, clearly enjoying his enthusiasm. “sounds intense.”

“yeah! ironman doesn’t mess around,” megumi said with a sage nod, as if passing on some universal wisdom. “but he’s gotta protect everyone, even the people who don’t like him.”

“sounds like a pretty cool guy,” you mused, glancing over at toji with a small smile. “maybe you two have something in common.”

“oh, god,” toji groaned, but he couldn’t fight the smirk that tugged at his lips. “don’t give him ideas, he’ll think i’m gonna go fight crime or somethin’.”

“wouldn’t that be so cool?” megumi interjected, eyes sparkling. “you could be like… iron dad!”

toji rolled his eyes, but he caught the look on your face — amused, warm, like you were seeing a side of him that no one else really noticed. 

and for some reason, that was way too close to the truth for comfort. 

he cleared his throat, glancing down at his stew to avoid meeting your gaze.

“maybe i’ll just stick to keeping this kid in one piece,” toji muttered, but his heart was beating a little faster than usual.

and as megumi kept up his enthusiastic rambling, it all started to feel too cozy, too right. the clinking of plates, the soft warmth in the air, the way you didn’t rush megumi but let him take center stage as he shared his endless thoughts — it all blended together into something that felt like home, even if toji wouldn’t dare say it out loud.

as you reached for another spoonful of stew, listening intently to megumi’s latest story about his lego creations, toji realized that, yeah… this felt pretty damn right.

megumi clutched his book eagerly, eyes shining as he snuggled into bed, clearly over the moon that you’d agreed to stay for his bedtime story. he gave toji a serious look, announcing, “since daddy can’t do girl voices — cuz he’s a voicing actor, but he’s not that good — you gotta help with the girl lines, okay?”

“oh, yeah?” toji shot him a mock glare. “that’s a pretty big request, squirt. you sure i can’t just, y’know, growl like a tiger or something?”

megumi shook his head, adamant. “nope! you’re supposed to be the bear prince, and she’s the bunny princess! and then they meet at the river — just read, daddy.”

toji rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t hide the faint smile as he settled in beside megumi, 

taking the book from his son’s hands. “alright, alright, let’s do this right. bunny princess and bear prince — sounds about as weird as it gets, but we’ll make it work.”

with megumi sandwiched between the two of you, you leaned over to see the page. 

“the bunny princess hopped through the forest, searching for her friend, the bear prince, who was known for his wisdom and strength,” you read in a soft voice, giving it your best princess tone.

megumi nodded, satisfied. “much better than uncle gojo,” he whispered to you in a conspiratorial tone, “his princess voice is just… weird.”

toji stifled a snicker, picking up the next line. 

“the bear prince, with his deep, growly voice, stepped out from behind the tree, saying, ‘i hear you’re lookin’ for a friend. well, look no further.’”

megumi giggled, clutching the blanket as he looked up at toji in admiration. “now that’s a good bear voice, daddy! you don’t gotta growl or nothing.”

you shot toji a playful look. “see? you’re already halfway to voice actor stardom.”

“sure, sure, as long as i don’t have to wear princess crowns, i think i’ll survive,” he smirked, giving the book back to you to read the bunny’s next line.

“‘oh, bear prince, i’m so happy to see you!’ the bunny princess chirped, hopping closer. ‘the forest feels so safe with you here.’”

toji took his turn, grinning. 

“‘that’s right, princess. stick close to me, and nothing can harm you — not even that pesky fox from the riverbank.’”

megumi, eyes already starting to droop, nodded in sage approval, mumbling, “bears are super strong…”

as the story unfolded, with each of you taking on your character’s lines, you couldn’t help but notice how megumi’s little body relaxed more and more, eyelids growing heavier as he listened to the tale of the bunny princess and bear prince’s forest adventure.

 finally, after you’d read the line where the bunny and bear bid each other goodnight under the stars, you heard megumi’s soft, even breathing.

you and toji shared a glance, both of you lowering your voices.

“looks like our audience conked out before the big finale,” you whispered with a smile, your voice barely above a murmur.

“heh,” toji chuckled, glancing at his son’s sleeping face. “usually he stays up longer, keeps asking for more.” he paused, watching you with a look that seemed to say more than his words. “maybe he’s just got a soft spot for princess voices… or maybe, you know, a good storyteller.”

a soft warmth settled in the quiet room, the gentle rise and fall of megumi’s breathing filling the space as you both stayed still for a moment, neither wanting to break the spell.

you stood up slowly from megumi’s bed, glancing down at the little guy, still out cold, his mouth slightly open as he clutched his iron man plush. the clock on the wall blinked “9:00 pm,” and your stomach sank a little — hadn’t you meant to leave hours ago? 

but when you made a quiet move toward the door, toji was right there, leaning in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets.

“you, uh, really don’t have to rush,” he said, almost nonchalant, though his gaze flicked over to megumi. “i mean, for his sake, y’know. wouldn’t want him freaking out if he wakes up in the middle of the night and you’re gone…”

“oh, of course,” you murmured, feeling a warm, slightly strange fluttering sensation at his words. 

“just… so he doesn’t get scared. yeah.”

you glanced down at yourself. god, what were you going to sleep in? your work clothes? 

toji seemed to read your mind, though, tilting his head a bit. “i think i got some old clothes you could wear if you want,” he offered, looking you up and down with that calm, appraising look that made you feel like he saw a bit more than he let on. “not the most fashionable, but they’re clean.”

“thanks, that’d be great,” you said, offering a small smile, and you turned to head toward the door to the guest room — then stopped. “wait… i think i left my phone on his nightstand.”

before you could overthink it, you turned back abruptly, intending to slip past toji back into megumi’s room. 

but somehow, in the dim lighting, the narrow doorway, the warmth of the moment… your face collided with his chest, and then, your lips met his, soft and sudden and all-consuming.

for a heartbeat, everything else fell away: the gentle ticking of the clock, the faint whirring of the a/c, even the warmth of megumi’s room. 

you felt nothing but the weight of toji’s lips against yours, the subtle intake of his breath as he seemed to register just what was happening. there was a moment of hesitation, and then his hand instinctively moved to your waist, pulling you closer with a soft, undeniable insistence.

his voice was a low whisper, barely more than a breath between you. “so… you were just gonna leave without even saying goodbye?”

for a split second, everything froze — the dim hallway, the soft, ambient sounds of the house, the fact that you were standing right outside megumi’s door, where one sleepy sound could catch you both. 

but that one breath against toji’s lips, so close, melted everything else away.

he didn’t pull back; if anything, his hold on your waist only tightened, fingers pressing just enough to send a warm ripple up your spine. his eyes met yours, slightly wide, as if he couldn’t quite believe he had you like this, so close. you could almost feel his heartbeat thrumming in sync with your own, and you let out a shaky breath, your lips brushing his again.

“this… is not what i planned when i came over,” you murmured, barely able to get the words out as your forehead touched his. “not — not in front of your kid’s room.”

“mm,” he whispered, gaze dropping to your lips, that barely-there smirk flickering across his face, “it’s a first for me too.” he held your gaze, his expression softening, something almost tender in his eyes as he raised his hand to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. 

“but if you wanted to leave… you would’ve pulled away by now.”

you bit your lip at the way his thumb lingered on your cheek, his breath warm against your skin, and before you knew it, your lips found his again. this time, it was slower, unhurried, like you had all the time in the world to feel the way his mouth moved against yours, soft and then a little firmer, as he seemed to lose himself in the moment.

he leaned into you, pressing you just slightly against the wall, his hand sliding from your waist up to the small of your back, drawing you close. the quiet was filled only with the shared breaths between you two, a quiet hum that passed between your lips, as if even the smallest sound might wake megumi just on the other side of the wall.

you found your hand on his chest, fingers curling in his shirt, pulling him a little closer, wanting to deepen the kiss even though every bit of common sense told you to stop. his lips parted, pressing small, lingering kisses along your lower lip, his fingers tracing gentle circles along your back as though he was trying to savor every second. you were barely breathing, lost in the warmth of him, feeling him melt just a little against you.

“god, you’re making it hard to stop,” he murmured against your lips, his voice almost a growl but so quiet it barely even registered.

“i don’t think i want to,” you whispered back, eyes meeting his in the dim light. he held your gaze, his thumb tracing a soft line along your cheek, but he didn’t move away, staying close, his nose brushing yours in a way that was so tender you almost forgot how precarious this was.

you both laughed quietly, the sound soft and low, the kind of laugh that was more of a breath shared between you. toji glanced back at megumi’s door, and for a second, his face softened in a way you rarely saw, as if he couldn’t help but feel this moment was just a little forbidden.

“maybe we should… try this somewhere a little less dangerous,” he muttered, though he didn’t make any move to let go, his gaze flicking back to yours.

“you mean… like a first date or something?” you murmured, lips curling into a soft smile.

“guess i don’t mind a second kiss either,” he replied, brushing his lips against yours one last time before stepping back, the space between you suddenly feeling too cold, too quiet.

as he stepped back, the reality of the hallway — the very literal door to his son’s room right beside you — set in, but the warmth still lingered, and the smile he gave you as he walked you down the hall felt like a promise for something more, something you both couldn’t wait to explore.

the “boys night” at gojo-sonic’s swanky office was nothing short of its usual absurdity, with gojo dubbing it the “greatest tradition ever” as he practically threw around the “finest” sweet alcohol like it was candy. 

toji was there, albeit begrudgingly, mostly due to gojo’s persistence (“c’mon, you’re the only one who knows how to enjoy this premium stuff!”), and suguru joined from a dimly-lit zoom window, his face half-smiling, half-tired as he sipped on a glass of his own.

“missing out, suguru,” gojo teased, tilting back his drink. “oh, but thanks for the wine, by the way. nothing says ‘wish i were there’ like sending over a box of booze from you and your business partner.”

“oh, for heaven’s sake,” suguru muttered, though his smirk suggested he didn’t mind. “it was a halloween release. figured it’d keep you all happy and…unbearable.”

toji chuckled, swirling his glass and trying not to roll his eyes as gojo feigned offense.

“unbearable? me?” gojo put a hand over his heart. “if you actually joined us in person, you’d see i’m the highlight of this ‘boys night.’ it’s practically a public service, sugu-boo. oh, and shoutout to persephone for making it possible, of course.”

“yeah, yeah, you’re a real gift to mankind,” suguru replied, his tone deadpan, but his smile lingered as he took a sip. 

“so what’re you boys talking about? since i can’t be there to hear it firsthand.”

toji shifted, debating on whether or not he wanted to launch into the mess that had been swirling in his head all week. but with the alcohol settling in and gojo’s usual chatter as encouragement, it was hard to hold back. he sighed, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair, looking anywhere but the screen.

“oh, just, y’know… kid stuff.”

gojo raised a brow. “kid stuff? you mean, how megumi’s practically obsessed with y/n?”

“please,” toji groaned, rubbing his temple. “that kid’s dragging her around like she’s his second parent.”

“sounds like he’s got good taste,” suguru noted with a grin, sipping his wine. “and from what you said last week, he’s already planning on keeping her around for life, huh?”

toji shot him a look through the screen, but he knew they were right. megumi was over the moon whenever you came around, from showing off every little toy he owned to making you part of bedtime stories. 

it was adorable, sure, but it made this whole situation way more… intense than he’d signed up for.

“kid talks about her all the time,” toji admitted, swirling his glass again. “like, even his teachers thought she was his mom or something. and she…well, she’s good with him. she’s damn good.” he looked down, a smirk tugging at his lips. “which, believe it or not, i didn’t expect when we first met.”

“ohhh?” gojo leaned in, that smirk of his spreading as he raised a brow. “and you? what did you expect?”

toji glanced away, that hint of a smirk still there, despite himself. “don’t make me say it.”

“oh, we’re making you say it,” gojo teased, sliding another drink his way. “so, you’re saying she’s…wife material?”

suguru nearly choked on his drink, and the way he was watching toji from the screen made it clear he wasn’t missing a second of this.

toji scoffed, taking a gulp to keep from saying anything too embarrassing. “she’s… special. hell, i didn’t plan on getting attached, and yet —” he paused, chuckling almost self-consciously. “i feel like a damn teenager.”

“and here i thought you were the king of nonchalance,” suguru teased, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” toji muttered, trying to shake it off. 

but the truth was, the second he was alone, he found himself thinking about you, about the way megumi’s face lit up when you were around, the way you just… fit into their little world without even trying. 

it was surreal. 

the damn wine probably didn’t help, either.

gojo slapped him on the back, clearly enjoying this way too much. “well, for what it’s worth,” he said, his voice surprisingly sincere, “megumi deserves someone good. and maybe you do too.”

toji rolled his eyes, but he didn’t bother denying it. if anything, he felt the tiniest glimmer of hope. 

that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t screw this one up.

gojo snickered, his smirk all-knowing as he raised his glass. “i’ve got it,” he said with way too much enthusiasm, the kind he only had when he was on the brink of embarrassing the hell out of someone. “toji, you and y/n could do a joint wedding with suguru and his ‘business partner.’ i mean, if suguru grows a spine and confesses, that is.”

on the other end of the zoom call, suguru’s smirk vanished as fast as it appeared, and he looked away, running a hand through his hair. “not happening,” he muttered, all but glaring at the screen. “it’s… complicated.”

gojo pouted, tilting his head in mock sympathy. “oh, come on. ‘complicated’? it’s not that deep. just throw her some wine, flash that tragic backstory, and she’ll be yours in no time.”

“it’s not that simple,” suguru snapped, though his face softened as he leaned back, sighing. 

“besides, we’re in… limbo, i guess. we’ve had our confessions, but there’s no label. not yet, anyway.”

“awww,” gojo teased, his voice dripping with feigned sympathy. 

“look at us! a bunch of grown men, all hung up on love troubles. what happened to the days when it was just work, money, and some good old-fashioned ego trips?”

“those days are over,” toji grunted, crossing his arms as he glanced at the screen. “but you’d know a thing or two about those ‘ego trips,’ wouldn’t you?”

suguru let out a snort of laughter, finally letting himself relax a little. “and don’t forget ryomen sukuna,” he added, the name alone making everyone groan. “that bastard practically swooped in to turn our business lives upside down and make everything more… interesting. joint venture or not, the guy’s insufferable. he’s like a cat, always hissing and scratching his way to the top.”

gojo laughed, tipping his drink toward the screen. “tell me about it. it’s like everyone has a thorn in their side when it comes to love these days.” 

he smirked, nudging toji. “and you, my friend, are no exception. so when’s the confession, huh? are we waiting on some fairytale moment here?”

toji rolled his eyes, swirling the last of his drink. “i’m not confessing to anyone,” he grumbled. “i’ve got megumi to think about.”

“right, right, megumi,” gojo said, drawing out the name with a grin that was anything but innocent. “and here i thought you liked y/n for yourself.”

“and here i thought you’d shut up at some point tonight,” toji shot back, but his lips betrayed him with a faint, reluctant smirk.

suguru leaned forward, his voice softer. “well, at least megumi’s happy with her around, right? maybe… it’s worth taking a chance.”

toji’s smirk faded, his expression thoughtful. “maybe.”

“see?” gojo beamed, practically giddy. “love is in the air, boys. even for the most stubborn among us.”

suguru shook his head, a smile creeping back onto his face. “well, here’s to complicated feelings and maybe, just maybe, getting them right someday.”

they all raised their glasses, clinking to their shared madness in work, love, and everything in between.

you flopped back on your bed, barely able to keep the grin off your face as you hit the facetime button for shoko. she picked up after a few rings, a cigarette lazily dangling from her fingers, eyebrows raised as she took in your expression.

“uh-oh. what’s got you looking like that?” she asked, smirking.

you let out a giddy little laugh, immediately burying your face in your hands. “shoko, i swear i’m losing it. i’m a grown woman, but i feel like a teenager. it’s embarrassing.”

“this better be good,” she drawled, putting the cigarette to her lips and leaning back, looking every bit the part of the unimpressed but totally-invested best friend.

“okay, okay,” you said, voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. “toji kissed me. twice — by accident, both times. twice, shoko!”

she let out a low whistle, blowing out a plume of smoke. “so the ‘brooding single dad’ finally made his move, huh? you know, twice starts to sound less like an accident and more like he’s got a thing for you.”

you laughed, covering your face with your hands. “oh my god, don’t say that! i can’t even handle it. and he’s just… so close all the time. it’s like every time i turn around, he’s there.”

“that sounds terrible,” she said, rolling her eyes in mock sympathy. “a tall, ridiculously hot single dad, right up in your personal space. how are you surviving?”

you groaned, flopping back dramatically. “it’s not just that! i mean, megumi’s there too, and he’s the cutest kid. he loves me, shoko, i’m actually losing my mind. i feel like i’m part of their lives, and it’s… weirdly nice?”

shoko’s smirk softened a little, her gaze warmer. “sounds like you’re finally finding something real,” she murmured, her voice thoughtful. “i mean, not just with toji, but… you know, with people. gojo insisted you needed someone to keep you on track, but honestly, it sounds like you’re just finding your own way.”

“thank you for not thinking i’m insane,” you muttered, grinning at her.

“please, i’ve been waiting for something juicy like this to pop up in your life,” she replied, flicking some ash into an ashtray with a smirk. “so tell me everything — i want the full rundown on these ‘accidental’ kisses.”

you launched into the details, recounting the flustered stammering, the way you could hardly breathe when he got that close, how you felt like you were in some kind of slow-motion rom-com. shoko didn’t bat an eye, laughing in all the right places, raising her eyebrows at the moments you whispered, and shaking her head whenever you sounded downright ridiculous.

“y’know,” she finally said as you caught your breath, “if this is what being your manager is gonna be like, i might just be here for it. international author and all,” she teased, quoting gojo.

“i’m just glad i have someone who gets it,” you admitted, voice softer. “this is all new to me… the book success, this... love life thing.”

she gave you a small, knowing smile. “well, get used to it. sounds like there’s a lot more coming your way.”

the month flew by in a series of stolen moments that made you feel like you were the protagonist in one of your own novels. 

and, true to his nature, toji somehow managed to sneak in a kiss (or two, or three, but who's counting?) whenever he found you alone at the studio, away from gojo's incessant commentary, the other voice actors, and the wandering eyes of your new manager, shoko ieiri.

you still couldn’t forget that first almost subtle kiss, right outside the recording booth. 

you’d just handed him his revised lines, trying to ignore the way his fingers brushed against yours as he took the pages.

“y’know, you keep handing me all these steamy lines,” he murmured, voice dropping, his mouth way too close to your ear. “someone might think you’re just giving me an excuse.”

“i-it’s for the story,” you stammered, and before you could process it, he leaned down, catching you in a quick, teasing kiss.

“mm. very convincing.” he smirked, straightening just as someone walked by.

“toji!” you hissed, glancing around like a guilty teenager.

“what? i thought it’d help with the performance.” he gave you a half-shrug, that lazy grin of his making your pulse jump. “gotta sell the romance, right?”

then there was the time in the elevator after one of his late recording sessions. you’d been babbling about something mundane, trying to fill the quiet, but he wasn’t paying attention to your words; instead, he just watched your mouth. 

before you knew it, the doors slid closed, and he had you pressed against the mirrored wall, his mouth on yours, hands braced on either side of your head.

“you know,” you whispered breathlessly when you finally broke apart, “if shoko sees us, she’s gonna kill me.”

“good thing we’re alone then,” he murmured, not bothering to step back, his eyes dropping to your lips. “wouldn’t want her thinking you’re getting… distracted on the job.”

“me?” you managed, swallowing a laugh. “you’re the one who can’t keep his hands to himself!”

“maybe i’ll try harder,” he whispered, brushing his thumb along your jaw in a way that felt anything but apologetic. “or maybe i won’t.”

of course, he didn’t. 

the next week, you’d been huddled over a script in the empty break room, reviewing edits from gojo. you barely heard him come in before he slipped up behind you, one hand casually planted on the table as he leaned over your shoulder.

“need any help with those lines?” he asked, voice low, right against your ear.

you barely suppressed a shiver, trying to focus on the paper in your hands. “i, uh… no. no, i think i’ve got it.”

“you sure?” he murmured, lips grazing your ear this time. “because i think i could add a little… flair.”

you turned, and his face was right there, too close to pretend this was anything but what it was. 

before you could tell him off, he closed the gap, kissing you slow and deep, like he had all the time in the world.

“toji,” you finally managed, pulling away, your face burning. “we are at work!”

he shrugged, utterly unbothered. “yeah, but no one’s around, are they?”

you glared, trying to look serious, but he just leaned back, smirking. “besides, i’d say that counts as research.”

“research?”

he grinned, eyes twinkling with a playful light. “gotta stay in character, right?”

every encounter was a tug-of-war between professionalism and… whatever this was. you couldn’t deny you looked forward to the thrill of these secret kisses, even though you spent half your day looking over your shoulder, waiting for shoko to round a corner and catch you in the act.

toji, on the other hand, was infuriatingly nonchalant. like he didn’t care if anyone saw — like he almost wanted to be caught. and he never missed an opportunity to remind you of that.

“so, what’ll it be?” he asked one afternoon as you tried to dodge his latest attempt in the hallway. “you gonna keep hiding from me? or are you finally gonna admit you like it?”

“i’m not hiding,” you replied, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks.

he laughed softly, the sound low and warm. “you’re a terrible liar.”

just then, footsteps echoed from around the corner. you froze, but toji just gave you one last teasing look and walked off, as if nothing had happened.

and maybe that was the worst part — no matter how many times he pulled you in, kissed you breathless, he could just walk away, leaving you wondering if you’d imagined it all.

toji fushiguro, love-struck fool of the century. 

and he hated it. 

he’d scoffed his way through plenty of rom-coms, rolling his eyes at any lovesick protagonist with that stupid, half-dazed smile, lips still parted like they’d just been kissed breathless. 

he never thought he’d be one of them. yet here he was, pacing around his apartment, occasionally touching his lips like some starry-eyed teenager.

“you’re acting like a damn idiot,” he muttered to himself, brushing a hand through his hair, but even that couldn’t erase the lovesick grin creeping onto his face. he barely noticed his phone buzzing with the weekly roster of sugar mamas and daddies, all waiting for their weekly breadcrumb texts from him. hell, he even felt guilty about it now. 

because compared to you? they didn’t stand a chance.

case in point: a text popped up from mona, the one who liked to send him extravagant gifts just for existing.

mona [7:40 pm]: missed u this week. dinner on friday, baby?

toji squinted at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard, debating if he should even respond. yeah, he probably should. he sighed, cracking his knuckles before halfheartedly typing out a response.

you [7:45 pm]: kinda busy friday. rain check?

there. short and sweet. 

in a past life, he would’ve at least flirted his way out of it. 

but now? he couldn’t muster up anything more. 

god, you’ve got it bad, he thought, half-annoyed at himself as he imagined the smirk gojo would throw his way if he ever found out about this pathetic show of loyalty.

and speaking of the devil —

“toooji!” gojo sang as he slid into the studio the next day, obnoxiously loud.

“man, you’ve been… awfully serious lately. not a single call from mona? or was it alicia? both?”

toji barely glanced up, trying to keep his face as neutral as possible. “i’ve been busy. work.”

“work,” gojo echoed, eyes narrowing with a knowing gleam. “right. and what kind of work are we talking about? the kind that comes with a certain… author’s name attached?”

toji’s lip twitched, but he ignored him. he figured the less he reacted, the less ammo gojo would have.

“oh, come on!” gojo crowed, leaning over the soundboard with an irritating grin. “you really think i haven’t noticed? the lingering looks, the way you sneak off for like ten minutes every time she’s around. you’re a mess, toji.”

toji rolled his eyes, folding his arms across his chest. “i’m not a damn kid, satoru.”

“coulda fooled me,” gojo teased. “god, you look like you’re on the verge of a love confession every time i see you two. why not just go full rom-com mode and declare it in the rain or something?”

“shut your damn mouth,” toji muttered, feeling his ears heat. 

the idea had crossed his mind. he thought about it every damn time he saw you smile or catch his eye across the studio. 

and it was driving him insane.

“speaking of confessions,” gojo continued, not missing a beat, “heard you’ve been turning down… basically everyone these days. sugar mamas, sugar daddies — wow, your self-control’s really kicked in.”

toji groaned, half in frustration, half in something else. it was true. he hadn’t even looked at his inbox in days. 

just not interested, he’d told himself, ignoring how pathetic that sounded.

“oh, oh, oh, don’t tell me…” gojo grinned, the realization dawning on his face. “you’ve gone monogamous, haven’t you?” he snorted. 

“god, you’re whipped.”

“i’ll let you live if you shut up now.”

gojo snickered, unbothered. “what? i’m just giving you some friendly advice, toji. tell her already. do the whole romantic declaration thing. maybe some roses. oh, or better yet, just kiss her the way you keep fantasizing about.”

toji rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “fantasizing, right.”

“admit it, you’re lovesick,” gojo replied with a smirk. “how’s that feel, big guy?”

just then, his phone buzzed again, and he glanced down to see a new message from larry, one of his sugar daddies.

larry: fancy a weekend trip? all expenses on me, baby ;)

toji groaned and quickly sent back a “no thanks, busy,” before slipping his phone away. he looked up to find gojo staring at him, practically vibrating with amusement.

“see? whipped!” gojo announced, loud enough for half the floor to hear.

“keep it down,” toji growled, but he couldn’t keep the ghost of a smile off his face. he knew gojo was right, even if he hated admitting it. he was done pretending it wasn’t true. 

hell, he could barely go an hour without wanting to text you, wanting to see you.

“you don’t get it,” toji said, more to himself than gojo. “she’s… different.”

“oh, i bet she is,” gojo said, nodding like he understood. “now, are you gonna be an idiot and keep pouting like you’ve got something to say? or are you gonna tell her?”

toji didn’t answer, just glared at him before heading for the studio door. but he knew gojo was right. 

he’d run out of excuses, out of distractions. maybe it was time he did something about this ridiculous crush.

as he walked out, he could practically hear gojo’s smirk follow him. 

great.

toji could barely keep his heart from jumping out of his chest as he slipped the little origami ring into your hand, all smooth-like, muttering, “megumi made it for you.” 

but even as he said it, he could feel the heat creeping up his neck, knowing damn well it was mostly his work.

he’d sat down with megumi, who, after a long day of being “helpful,” had finally agreed to show him how to fold paper into something that resembled a ring. and it hadn’t exactly been easy.

“so, kiddo,” toji had started, fidgeting with the corner of a bright blue square of paper. “think you can show me how to, uh… fold this thing into a ring? for… you know… someone.”

megumi squinted up at him, hands on his hips like a pint-sized supervisor. “for her, right?”

toji cleared his throat, looking away. “yeah. something like that.”

megumi snorted, already getting a bit too wise for his age. “you don’t even know how to fold paper, daddy?”

toji groaned. “it’s harder than it looks, alright? just show me how you do it.”

the kid just shook his head, exasperated, but started showing him each fold with careful, precise fingers. they worked through a couple attempts, most of which looked nothing like rings and ended up in the growing pile of crumpled paper on the table. 

it was late, and toji couldn’t remember the last time he’d concentrated this hard on something so… simple. why the hell am i doing this? he thought, glancing at the clock. 

he had work in a few hours, a whole recording schedule to plan for, and yet here he was, folding paper with his son.

“think she’ll like it?” toji asked, holding up one of the finished attempts.

megumi shrugged, but he looked oddly serious as he studied the makeshift ring. “i think she will. ‘cause it’s from you.”

something in toji’s chest squeezed at that, and he clapped a hand on megumi’s shoulder. “don’t go telling anyone about this, alright? not even your uncle gojo. especially not him.”

“why?” megumi asked, genuinely curious.

“because he’ll never let me hear the end of it,” toji muttered, trying to ignore how ridiculous he sounded even to himself. 

yeah, making a paper ring at one in the morning for someone? absolutely insane, but he couldn’t shake the thrill of it, of imagining you smiling when he handed it over.

so, fast-forward to now: the ring was in your hand, your fingers slowly unfolding to reveal it. you glanced up at him, eyes soft with a mix of confusion and surprise, and damn if he didn’t feel his heart do a backflip right then and there.

“he… made this for me?” you asked, voice quiet, almost disbelieving.

“yeah,” toji replied, trying to sound casual but failing spectacularly. “thought you’d like it.” 

he rubbed the back of his neck, fighting the urge to look anywhere but at you, but he couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at your reaction.

you turned the ring over in your hand, a small smile tugging at your lips. “you sure it was megumi who made this?”

his throat went dry. “uh… mostly,” he admitted, feeling that warmth creeping up his neck again. “i might’ve… helped a little.”

“a little, huh?” you teased, eyes sparkling as you slipped the ring onto your finger. “so, is this, like… an official thing now? sealing the deal or whatever?”

toji felt his mouth go dry, a mixture of nerves and excitement coursing through him. 

he hadn’t planned on this meaning anything official — well, maybe he had, but he hadn’t exactly thought it through. 

yet seeing you wearing it, even if it was just a silly piece of folded paper, felt… right.

he shrugged, trying to keep his voice steady. “just thought you deserved somethin’ nice,” he said gruffly. “even if it’s… you know, paper.”

your fingers brushed his, a soft, barely-there touch, and he swore his heart skipped a beat. “i think it’s perfect, toji. no one’s ever… done something like this for me before.”

he felt his chest tighten, the weight of everything he wanted to say pressing against his ribcage. 

all those dumb, sappy things he’d been feeling lately, the way he couldn’t stop thinking about you, the way he felt like a lovesick idiot every time you smiled at him. but he couldn’t bring himself to say any of it, not yet. 

so instead, he settled for squeezing your hand, his thumb tracing a soft circle over your knuckles.

“good,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. “’cause i don’t think i could stand it if you didn’t like it.”

you laughed softly, leaning into him, and he swore he felt the world narrow down to just the two of you, the faint rustle of the paper ring against your finger.

“guess i’ll have to keep it safe then, huh?” you murmured, looking up at him with that smile that made his heart do all kinds of dumb things.

“yeah,” he replied, voice low, unable to stop himself from leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “yeah, you do.”

toji’s eyes nearly pop out of his head when he spots you at the office, that damn paper ring dangling from your phone charm. his paper ring — okay, technically megumi’s paper ring, but still, the one he’d folded with his own hands. he’d thought you might just tuck it away in a drawer or something. 

but here you were, letting it swing around proudly like some priceless gem. he’s not gonna lie — his heart just about catapults itself out of his chest.

he’s doing his best to keep his cool, but the urge to grab you right then and there, haul you over to a quiet corner, and ask you out on a real date feels stronger than ever. propose even. 

god, if he wasn’t too far gone already.

“what’s that little add-on?” gojo’s smug voice cuts through the air, and you laugh, holding up your phone so the charm dangles freely. gojo squints, pretending he’s inspecting it, but there’s a glint in his eye. “who’s the secret admirer, huh? must be a serious romantic to give you something… hand-crafted.”

you shrug, grinning a little too wide. “oh, just… something someone special made for me.”

toji’s face heats up, and he tries to look busy adjusting his microphone levels. 

dammit, did you have to say it like that? he catches gojo’s gaze lingering on him, eyebrows raised. 

oh, he’s got an idea all right.

“hm, special someone?” gojo teases, nudging you, then pretending to look around the room as if your admirer might jump out from behind the studio wall. “wonder who that could be, huh?”

you shrug, pretending like it’s nothing, though you shoot a sly glance in toji’s direction. “maybe he’ll make a move someday. he’s pretty bold but… you know, takes his time.”

toji’s pulse hammers away like a damn drumline, and he clears his throat, trying to sound nonchalant. “yeah, maybe he’s just… tryin’ to find the right time or somethin’.”

“aww,” gojo coos, looking between you and toji with a mischievous smile. “poor guy. wonder if he knows he’s got competition. think he can handle it?”

toji rolls his eyes, shooting gojo a glare. “ain’t nobody competin’,” he says, voice low but firm. “whoever this guy is… he’s got it handled.”

you laugh softly, the sound filling the room, and you hold up the charm, letting it dangle right in front of him as if it’s some sort of challenge. “think he’s ready to seal the deal?”

toji’s gaze flickers to the paper ring, then to you, and suddenly he feels this overwhelming urge to just… go for it. 

he could give you a real ring, sure, someday maybe, but there’s something about this little thing you’ve turned into a charm that makes it feel so much… bigger.

“actually…” he mutters, feeling heat crawl up his neck. “i was thinkin’… maybe i could take you out this weekend. just us.” he looks at you, eyes intent, and there’s a rare seriousness in his voice. “someplace nice. no studio, no interruptions.”

you blink, clearly a bit surprised, but your smile grows, softer now, almost shy. 

“are you asking me out, toji?”

he shrugs, feigning nonchalance but failing miserably. “yeah. maybe… maybe i am.” he reaches out, tugging the charm lightly, letting it dangle between you. “figured it was about time we took this thing seriously.”

gojo bursts into laughter, clapping his hands. “ohhh, i knew it! all this sneaking around, and here you are, finally getting down on one knee — metaphorically, of course.”

you nudge gojo, laughing. “shut it, satoru.”

but toji doesn’t even hear gojo’s teasing anymore. all he sees is you, with that damn paper ring swinging from your phone, smiling at him in a way that makes his chest feel tight. 

and suddenly, the idea of getting down on one knee doesn’t seem all that far-fetched after all.

“so… this weekend?” he asks, his voice a little softer now, just for you.

you nod, still beaming. “this weekend,” you confirm.

toji, scrolling through your message with a slight frown, reads your rain check about having to edit your book draft instead of going out this weekend. 

he's in the middle of what can only be called a hurricane of preparation — megumi is zipping around the house, declaring he’ll help his dad look “very handsome” for his “playdate with the pretty lady.” in the midst of this, toji can’t even get a word in to explain that, uh, the plans may be changing.

princess [7:08 pm]: hey! i am SO sorry, but i may have to rain check today. i really thought i’d finish up the first draft of the dragon king’s sequel. but i got so behind, and now i have to edit this whole thing </3 you [7:09 pm]: can’t believe my competition is a bunch of words on a page, but…i get it.  you [7:09 pm]: any chance you could still use some company for that “editing?”

he’s barely finished typing his message when megumi tugs at his shirt, holding up a navy button-down that practically drags on the floor.

“isn’t this the one she likes, dad? wear this!” he says with a look that might as well be called “fushiguro persuasion.” toji chuckles, ruffling megumi’s hair.

“hey, buddy,” he says, crouching down to megumi’s level. “plans changed a little. she’s gotta work, so i’m going over there instead, alright?”

megumi narrows his eyes in the way only an eight-year-old can. “so... no fancy date?”

“nah, kid,” toji says, trying to sound casual as he rolls up his sleeves. “i’m just gonna keep her company while she works.”

megumi grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. “so like, a home date?” he asks, with all the implications an eight-year-old can muster.

toji chuckles, ruffling his son’s hair. “something like that.” he gives megumi a quick fist bump. “hold down the fort for me, alright? i’ll be back before bedtime.”

and with that, he heads out, his heart pounding just a little too fast for his own liking. he’s ready to face you with a low-key offer: if you’ll allow it, he’ll stay in for a “working date” and keep you company, just the two of you, with no plans other than being there.

toji ^.^ [7:15 pm]: well, what if the mountain comes to you instead of you coming to the mountain? i’ll bring snacks and stay out of your way. i’ll even help you proofread if you need it.

your heart nearly stops when you see toji’s message, and you almost drop your phone… straight into your bowl of instant noodles. 

he wants to come over? to your place? 

you glance around your apartment, and it’s a scene straight out of a disaster movie.

there’s a pile of bills stacked haphazardly on the coffee table, all of which you’re waiting for shoko to graciously come sort through for you. right next to it is a mountain of pr packages you haven’t had a chance to open — typewriters from some luxury brand, fountain pens with gold-tipped nibs, notebooks wrapped in satin, and… is that your favorite set of lingerie drying on top of the lampshade?

“oh, god.”

you glance at the time and frantically calculate: how long would it take to clear at least half of this mess? 

no, scratch that. how long would it take to get yourself presentable? you rush to your room, tossing things left and right in an attempt to find something clean and comfortable, feeling your face heat up just imagining toji seeing your place like this.

you [7:17 pm]: are you sure you wanna come over? i’m warning you. it’s, uh, very lived-in here. toji ^.^ [7:20 pm]: hey, i’m not gonna judge. besides, how bad can it be?

you stare at his reply, chewing on your lip, and quickly text back.

you [7:21 pm]: imagine a tornado hit a bookstore you [7:21 pm]: and a clothing store you [7:21 pm]: and, maybe a warehouse full of typewriters and fountain pens. toji ^.^ [7:23 pm]: you know what? sounds cozy. i’ll bring some snacks and maybe a cleaning crew if necessary 😂

the doorbell rings before you could even realise, and your heart nearly leaps out of your chest. 

you’ve got a solid three seconds to take it all in: you’re wearing a three-day-old shirt that, if you recall correctly, was originally your dad’s from the 80s, your hair’s in a bun so messy it might as well be a bird’s nest, and there are bags of trash you’ve hastily crammed into every drawer within reach.

there’s no hiding the pile of unopened pr packages by the couch, though — one of which has a half-torn label boasting a “vintage, limited-edition typewriter experience.” right next to that, there’s a fancy pen set, still in its plastic wrap, resting on top of… is that a stack of half-eaten takeout containers? 

oh, god. why couldn’t you have had a warning before he showed up?

you take a shaky breath and yank the door open, plastering a smile on your face as if this is all completely normal.

"hey," toji says, looking you up and down with an easy grin. “lookin’ cozy.”

“uh... thanks?” you blurt out, mentally slapping yourself. cozy was definitely one way to put it. 

“come on in. sorry about the… ambiance. i wasn’t really expecting to have a, uh, guest.”

you step back, and he strides in, immediately taking in the organized chaos that is your apartment. his eyes linger on the tower of pr boxes and that unmistakable stack of overdue bills. he whistles low under his breath, clearly trying not to laugh.

"so, this is the writer life, huh?" he asks, picking up a typewriter package with a raised eyebrow. "fancy stuff. do you, uh… actually use any of this?”

“i try,” you mumble, crossing your arms defensively, though you can���t help smiling. “but the whole ‘starving artist’ vibe means these typewriters just end up as very expensive paperweights. which, ironically, i can’t even afford.”

toji laughs, setting the box down before glancing around again. his gaze falls on the lampshade, where your black lace lingerie is very prominently draped. you feel your face go hot as he smirks.

“i like the decor,” he says, nodding toward the lingerie with a wicked grin.

“oh, my god,” you groan, covering your face. “listen, i was not expecting company today, so please, feel free to avert your eyes.”

"nah, i think it's got… character," he teases, leaning in just a little too close. “besides, i don’t mind a little mess.”

"well, great, because this is as real as it gets," you reply, huffing as you try to look anywhere but at him. "you’re in the trenches now, toji.”

he chuckles, moving to pick up a crumpled, half-empty bag of chips from the couch. "hey, trenches i can handle. i’ve got an eight-year-old at home, remember? my place is an organized war zone on a good day."

you snort, still feeling a bit mortified. “and here i was thinking i could at least fake having my life together in front of you.”

“oh, please,” he says, brushing a stray hair from your cheek. “you should’ve seen me back in college. this? this is nothing. plus,” he adds, his voice dropping slightly, “it’s kind of… cute.”

cute. did he actually just call your disaster zone cute?

before you can respond, he grabs one of the unopened PR boxes and raises an eyebrow. “so, what’s in this one? wanna have an impromptu unboxing?”

“toji, i swear if you open that —”

“c’mon,” he says, grinning as he peels the tape back. “think of it as the highlight of our first ‘official’ homebody date.”

you shake your head, both amused and exasperated, watching him fish out an overly ornate fountain pen, which he holds up like it’s the holy grail.

“look at this thing,” he says, turning it over with a smirk. “you could probably sign million-dollar deals with this alone.”

“or, you know, sign off on all my overdue bills.” you laugh, unable to stay embarrassed. “go on, add it to the pile. it’s practically a landfill at this point.”

he laughs, setting the pen down and stepping closer, his voice low. “listen, i get it. my place might not have bills stacked up, but it’s full of… reminders that i’m a work in progress too.”

you glance up at him, and suddenly, all the embarrassment melts away. you’re in your messy apartment, standing in an ancient t-shirt with this man who’s managed to turn your chaotic night into something unexpectedly comforting.

"thanks for not… judging," you say softly, feeling yourself relax for the first time since he walked in. “i know i’m not exactly put together, but —”

“hey.” he cups your face with a gentle smile. “don’t worry about it. you’re perfect like this. messy, comfy, real.”

before you can stop yourself, you lean in, and he meets you halfway, his lips brushing softly against yours. it’s not hurried, not desperate. just… perfect.

it hits you about a second too late — you’re kissing toji in the middle of your apartment, clutching a bag of trash. oh god, and it reeks of stale mountain dew and monster. 

classy.

you pull back with a mortified look, though toji’s face is the exact opposite, his smirk spreading like he’s just unlocked a secret treasure.

“don’t stop now,” he murmurs, glancing down at the offending trash bag in your hand. “but, uh… maybe lose that first?”

“yeah, i think we’re past the first-date mystique at this point,” you mutter, feeling your face heat up as you chuck the bag towards the corner, praying it’s out of sight enough to ignore.

“oh, yeah, you’re really blowing my mind here,” he teases, chuckling as he takes in the apartment around you. “all the caffeine fumes, that questionable takeout smell. smells like home already.”

“oh, shut up,” you laugh, covering your face, because this man is about two seconds from making you combust. “i’m surprised you even wanted to stay for dinner after walking into this disaster.”

“well,” he says, trying and failing to look innocent, “you haven’t seen the other disaster i brought.”

you raise an eyebrow as he gestures to the counter, where multiple takeout bags are somehow all stacked up.

“toji, what is all this?” you blink, shuffling over to the spread.

“look,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “i couldn’t decide what you’d like, so i just… went with options.”

options is a gross understatement. 

there’s a bag from the local thai place with an array of curries and pad see ew, another filled with boxes of sushi, and an entire tray of tacos, complete with mini bottles of hot sauce. you spot a large pizza box (of course), and is that… baklava?

“uh, toji? are we feeding a small country tonight?” you laugh, bewildered. “what were you thinking?”

“honestly? wasn’t thinking. just grabbed whatever looked good,” he says, giving you a sheepish grin. “but c’mon, if you don’t like one thing, there’s a million others.”

you give him a look, half-amused, half-exasperated, but it’s endearing in a way only toji could pull off. who even does this?

“i mean, don’t get me wrong,” you say, nudging a pizza box to make space for the taco tray, “i’m glad you thought of all the options, but… what exactly were you planning for us to do with all this?”

he shrugs, coming up beside you to open one of the sushi boxes. “eat as much as we want, throw the rest in the fridge. ‘course, that’s only if you’re not gonna make me eat it all myself.”

you snort, imagining him single-handedly tackling all of it. “if you can handle it, be my guest.”

he leans in close, voice dropping to a rough whisper. “oh, i can handle it.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re grinning like an idiot. “god, you’re impossible.”

“hey, you invited me over,” he says, opening a little container of wasabi and gesturing for you to try a piece of sushi. 

“besides, i figured it’s a good way to cover all bases. what if you didn’t like tacos? or pizza? or… god forbid, baklava?”

you can’t help laughing as you pop the sushi in your mouth, appreciating the deliciously over-the-top effort he put into this. “for the record, i love all of it. but you, on the other hand, have a questionable appetite if you thought this much food for two people was necessary.”

“trust me, if this is what it takes to keep you happy, i’ll bring twice as much next time,” he says, dead serious.

“oh no, please, i don’t think i can handle that.” you give him a look, incredulous. “i’ll end up eating myself into a food coma, and then what? you gonna carry me to bed?”

“well,” he says, leaning in again with a devilish grin, “i wouldn’t mind. but i was thinkin’ more along the lines of a movie marathon to work off the calories.”

“movie marathon and food coma?” you raise an eyebrow. “toji, you’re dangerously close to making this a slumber party.”

he shrugs, his face playful but there’s something softer in his eyes. “would that be the worst thing?”

you feel a flutter in your chest, something that almost surprises you with how much it settles you. here he is, surrounded by mountains of takeout and your chaotic apartment mess, looking like this is exactly where he wants to be. 

it’s… kinda nice.

“alright,” you say, nudging him with your elbow. “you win. let’s have the weirdest, most food-filled homebody date ever. just, uh, ignore the mess. and don’t laugh at me if i pass out halfway through a movie.”

“promise.” he raises a hand, eyes glinting with humor. “cross my heart.”

the two of you start to dig in, laughing as you make jokes about how this is probably the strangest spread of food you’ve ever seen. every now and then, he’ll steal a quick kiss when he thinks he can get away with it, and you’re reminded just how much this man has wormed his way under your skin.

you’ve got no idea where this is going, but, staring at his smirk as he attempts to down an entire taco in one bite, you kinda hope it’s somewhere good.

the two of you stand side by side at the sink, the remnants of your feast sprawled across the counter. you’re scrubbing a particularly stubborn pan when you decide it’s the perfect time to hand toji the aux.

“alright, mister fancy chef,” you say, smirking as you pass him your phone. “you get to choose the soundtrack for our post-dinner clean-up. no pressure.”

“oh, no pressure at all,” he deadpans, scrolling through your playlist. you catch a glimpse of the mischievous grin creeping onto his face as he lands on an old favorite.

the unmistakable intro of dancing queen by abba fills the kitchen, and your mouth drops open in disbelief. 

“seriously? this? right now?” you laugh, a mix of amusement and embarrassment bubbling inside you.

“hey, don’t knock it till you try it!” he shoots back, raising his hands as if to defend his choice. “it’s a classic. plus, it takes me back to that night at the bar when you were all... well, you.”

you roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face. “i was a mess.”

“yeah, but you were a cute mess.” he chuckles, and you feel the heat rise in your cheeks at the compliment.

as the upbeat tune plays on, you both start washing the dishes, swaying your hips to the rhythm. 

“you can dance, you can jive…” the lyrics echo through the air, and toji’s energy pulls you in. 

you catch him glancing at you with that smirk again, and the way his eyes light up makes your stomach flutter.

“just imagine,” he says, a teasing glint in his eye, “the two of us back at that bar. you, all over the place, and me just trying to figure out how to survive the night.”

you laugh, feeling nostalgic. “yeah, and then i somehow managed to puke all over your shoes.”

“my favorite shoes,” he says dramatically, rolling his eyes, but there’s a playful warmth in his tone. “but, honestly? worth it.”

the song builds, and you’re both lost in the moment, laughter and soap suds flying everywhere.

“see that girl, watch that scene…”

“how did we go from that night to this?” you ponder aloud, glancing at him. “i mean, here we are, washing dishes and dancing to abba.”

“it’s an upgrade he says, giving you a lopsided grin. “you know, from drunken disasters to… kitchen romance.”

“romance?” you raise an eyebrow, challenging him.

“oh, come on,” he says, stepping closer, the teasing slipping away from his tone. “there’s definitely something romantic about this. a pair of idiots like us, sharing this weird, beautiful mess.”

you can’t help but blush, your heart racing as you take in the way his gaze lingers on your lips. “digging the dancing queen…”

“you know, if this song gets stuck in my head, i’m blaming you,” you quip, trying to deflect the intensity of the moment.

“good luck with that,” he chuckles, moving even closer, the space between you almost nonexistent now. 

“night is young and the music’s high…”

his fingers brush against yours, the innocent touch sending sparks up your arm. the beat continues, your breaths getting heavier as the song builds up to the chorus. 

“dancing queen, feel the beat of the tambourine…”

you’re both staring at each other, and suddenly, the kitchen feels too small, too charged with the electricity of the moment.

“toji…” you start, but the words die on your lips as he leans in, his intent clear.

“just one kiss,” he murmurs, the corner of his mouth lifting in a seductive smile. “for old time’s sake.”

before you can reply, he closes the gap, his lips capturing yours with a gentle yet insistent pressure. 

it’s like a scene from a movie — the soft warmth of his mouth against yours, the playful scent of the takeout wafting around you, the soft glow of the kitchen light illuminating his features.

you melt into him, heart racing as you kiss him back, losing yourself in the moment. the lyrics of the song seem to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you — the world outside disappearing entirely. 

when you finally pull away, both of you breathless, there’s a glint of something deeper in his eyes. 

“wow,” he breathes, still holding your gaze. “i think i like this new tradition.”

you chuckle, still buzzing from the kiss. “yeah, who knew washing dishes could be so… eventful?”

“well,” he says, leaning in closer again, voice low and teasing, “we haven’t even finished the song yet. you ready for round two?”

you’re half-dazed, your heart racing as you sit on the kitchen counter, toji’s arms caging you in, keeping you close. dancing queen continues to play in the background, but all you can focus on is the warmth radiating from him and the way his breath mingles with yours.

“you have got to stop making these kisses a regular thing,” you tease, half-heartedly trying to sound serious, but the playful glint in your eyes gives you away.

“especially when i’m propped up on my kitchen counter like this,” you add, trying to maintain some semblance of decorum, but you can’t help but smile as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer.

“liar,” he laughs, a low rumble that sends a thrill through you. “if you didn’t like it, you would have pushed me away, not this.” he gestures to your legs around him, grinning like the cat that got the cream.

you roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the warmth spreading through your cheeks. “okay, fine. maybe i’m a little into it,” you admit, and his grin widens, satisfaction dancing in his eyes.

“a little?” he echoes, raising an eyebrow, his hands tightening around your waist. “you’re a whole lot more than a little, and you know it.”

the cheeky banter flows easily between you, and as you gaze into his eyes, you realize just how much you’ve come to enjoy this — the closeness, the warmth, the undeniable chemistry crackling in the air.

“you know, it’s a bit unfair,” you say, tilting your head back slightly to meet his gaze. “here i’m trying to be responsible and not let you distract me, and yet…” you trail off, your fingers playing with the collar of his shirt.

“and yet,” he finishes, leaning in slightly, his breath warm against your skin. “here i am, being irresistible.”

“definitely not irresistible,” you say, feigning indignation. but the way your heart races gives you away again.

“oh, come on,” he smirks, tilting his head slightly. “who else do you know can kiss you while washing dishes?”

you laugh, shaking your head, and the movement sends a wave of giddiness through both of you. “you might be right about that one,” you concede, biting your lip.

the song transitions into another upbeat section, and toji shifts his weight slightly, nudging your legs apart just enough to step closer, creating a tighter cocoon of warmth between you. 

“so, what now?” he asks, his voice dropping an octave, the playful tone replaced with something more serious, more intimate.

“what now?” you echo, feeling the tension shift slightly, the air thick with possibilities. “we could, um… finish washing dishes?”

“how boring,” he murmurs, and before you can say anything else, he dips his head down, capturing your lips again in a slow, lingering kiss that makes your head spin.

this kiss is different — softer, more explorative, as if he’s savoring the moment, the taste of you lingering on his lips. you respond eagerly, forgetting all about the dishes, the mess, everything else fading away until it’s just the two of you.

when you finally break apart, breathless, he grins down at you, that charming smirk making your heart flutter. “that’s what i’m talking about,” he says, a satisfied gleam in his eyes.

“toji, we really should —”

“don’t say it,” he interrupts, shaking his head with an exaggerated look of horror. 

“don’t ruin the moment with responsibility. just… let’s enjoy this.”

you can’t help but laugh again, the tension between you easing as you lean back against the countertop, your heart racing in a way that feels undeniably good.

“enjoying this, huh?” you murmur, running your fingers through your hair, still feeling the heat of his body against yours.

“yeah,” he replies, that charming smile still plastered on his face. “just two people enjoying a perfectly normal evening — you know, singing abba, eating takeout, and making out in your messy kitchen.”

“the most normal thing ever,” you agree, rolling your eyes, but you can’t suppress the smile that breaks across your face.

“so,” he says, tilting his head, his expression turning slightly more serious. “how about we make this a regular thing? you know, minus the messy kitchen. maybe my place next time?”

your heart skips a beat at the suggestion, and you find yourself nodding before you can think twice. “yeah, i’d like that.”

“great,” he says, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “but for now, let’s get back to the dishes, dancing queen.”

“fine, but only if you promise to keep playing abba,” you reply, giving him a mock-serious look.

“deal,” he chuckles, and as you both start scrubbing the remaining dishes, the music playing softly in the background, you realize you wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

toji walks into his house, the dopey grin plastered across his face like he just won the lottery. 

his heart feels light, still buzzing from the night with you, and he’s practically floating as he kicks off his shoes and heads to the living room. 

he stops dead in his tracks when he sees gojo sprawled on the couch, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in one hand and a look of sheer mischief on his face.

“what the hell are you doing here?” toji asks, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably as he can’t help but grin back.

gojo lifts the bottle in a mock toast. “just your friendly neighborhood babysitter, here to keep an eye on megumi,” he says, glancing over to where megumi is sound asleep, sprawled on the floor with a gaming console still clutched in his tiny hands. “figured i’d check out your bar situation while i was at it.” he gestures to the empty bottles lined up on the table. “you know, for quality control.”

toji rolls his eyes but can’t suppress the chuckle escaping his lips. “you’re a real piece of work, you know that?” he says, moving closer.

gojo leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, a grin spreading across his face as he studies toji’s expression. “but seriously, you look like you just got off cloud nine. spill. what happened?”

toji’s grin widens even more, and he can’t help but let out a little giggle, feeling giddy. “you’re not gonna believe this,” he starts, plopping down on the couch next to gojo, who leans in closer, eager for the details. 

“it was… well, it was amazing.”

“amazing? now you’re really making me curious!” gojo presses, his eyes sparkling with interest. “tell me everything! every little detail!”

toji glances back towards the sleeping megumi, suddenly feeling a bit shy about sharing all the intimate details. “okay, okay. so, we were just supposed to have dinner, but it turned into this whole thing.”

“dinner? boooring. give me the juicy stuff!” gojo teases, waving his hand dramatically. “i want the scandalous details! were there kisses involved?”

toji feels his cheeks flush, and he can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous this all feels. “yeah, there were some kisses… and then we ended up washing dishes together, and somehow —”

“washing dishes? how romantic!” gojo interrupts, dramatically placing a hand on his chest as if he’s been mortally wounded. “you’re a true romantic, toji.”

“shut up!” toji retorts, laughing harder now. “but it was nice, okay? we were just… comfortable with each other, you know? and then we ended up kissing while the song was playing.”

“which song? was it a love song? was it dancing queen?” gojo leans in closer, eyes wide with excitement. “tell me you two were blasting abba and getting all lovey-dovey!”

“yeah, actually!” toji can’t help but laugh again, the memory flooding back. “we were. it was so ridiculous, but it felt so right at that moment.”

“ridiculous how?” gojo presses, leaning back with a smirk. “were you two dancing around the kitchen like a couple of high-schoolers?”

“pretty much,” toji admits, a sheepish grin crossing his face. “i mean, it just happened, and i couldn’t help myself. i’ve never felt like this before.”

gojo raises an eyebrow, leaning back with a knowing smirk. “so, what you’re saying is that you’re head over heels for y/n? you’ve gone soft on us, toji.”

“yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” toji says, trying to sound annoyed but failing as he can’t help but feel giddy about it all. “but i think this is different. she makes me feel… i don’t know, like i’m actually living instead of just existing?”

gojo’s expression softens slightly, nodding in understanding. “that’s deep, man. i’m genuinely happy for you. but seriously, how did you go from makeouts to dinner to feelings so fast?”

“honestly? i have no idea,” toji shrugs, still riding that high. “but it just felt natural. like we were meant to do this.”

gojo is quiet for a moment, taking a swig from the bottle. 

“damn, it sounds like you really like her.”

“like? it’s more than that, i think,” toji admits, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “i’ve never let myself feel this way about anyone, and now i can’t stop smiling like an idiot.”

“good. you should let yourself feel,” gojo says, his tone lightening again. 

“just don’t forget you’re still my bro and not some mushy romantic lead in a romcom.”

toji snorts. “right, because i’m so good at playing it cool.”

“exactly,” gojo grins. “now, what’s the next step in this romance novel? are you going to take her out on an official date, or are you just going to keep sneaking kisses in her kitchen?”

toji thinks for a moment, that dopey grin returning. 

“i want to take her out. something special. not just a random dinner but a real date.”

“awww, look at you being all suave!” gojo teases, clapping him on the shoulder. “i’m actually proud of you, man. just don’t screw it up.”

“thanks for the vote of confidence,” toji rolls his eyes but can’t help but feel encouraged.

“now, let’s celebrate your new relationship status! i say we finish off the rest of these bottles and toast to your love life!” gojo suggests, already grabbing for another bottle.

toji chuckles, shaking his head. “you’re going to end up getting us both in trouble, you know that?”

“who cares? tonight’s all about you, my guy! let’s make some bad decisions!” gojo grins, and as toji laughs, the two of them settle in for a night of ridiculous stories and plans for the future — the dopey grin still plastered on toji’s face.

the day of the audiobook launch dawned bright and buzzing with excitement at gojo-sonic, and the atmosphere was electric. employees and investors milled about the sleek, modern venue, the air filled with chatter and the faint sound of clinking glasses. 

it was a low-key affair, but the anticipation crackled like static electricity in the air. you were among the few chosen to celebrate this moment, standing on the cusp of something big.

you had spent hours getting ready, and with shoko’s help, you looked stunning in your gown. it was a flowing number that hugged your curves just right, accentuating your figure while allowing you to move with grace. your hair was styled in soft waves, framing your face perfectly, and your makeup enhanced your features without overshadowing them. you caught glimpses of yourself in the reflective surfaces, a wave of pride swelling in your chest as you realized just how much effort went into this moment.

toji, on the other hand, was a mix of nervous energy and utter admiration. dressed sharply in a tailored suit, he felt a blend of pride and anxiety as he watched you mingle with the guests. but the moment his eyes landed on you in that gown, his body betrayed him. 

a rush of heat shot through him, and before he could even think, there it was — a very real, very embarrassing hard-on that he scrambled to cover up.

“shit, not now,” he muttered under his breath, cursing himself for being such a damn cliché. he quickly shifted his stance, pretending to adjust his tie as he tried to focus on anything other than the vision of you in front of him. 

like a decent man should, right?

“toji! you okay?” gojo’s voice cut through his thoughts, a smirk creeping across his face. he was leaning against the bar, a glass of something strong in hand, eyeing toji with amusement. “you look like you just saw a ghost.”

“i’m fine,” toji snapped a little too quickly, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. “just… adjusting my suit.” he gestured wildly, trying to deflect the attention away from his embarrassment.

“uh-huh. sure,” gojo replied, barely hiding his laughter. “just keep it together. we wouldn’t want you to embarrass yourself in front of everyone, especially her.” he nodded subtly towards you, who were now laughing with suguru, your charm radiating like a warm glow.

toji shot him a glare, a mix of irritation and amusement battling for dominance on his face. “thanks for the reminder, genius.”

the event continued, and you were seamlessly blending into the crowd, engaging in conversations with stakeholders and employees, your confidence shining through. 

when you shared a laugh with suguru, toji couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at how effortlessly charming you were. why the hell can’t i just say something nice instead of standing here like an idiot?

“there she is,” toji mumbled to himself, catching a glimpse of you as you made your way to the makeshift stage for the speeches. he admired how you carried yourself with such poise, the way your eyes sparkled with excitement. and in that moment, he was utterly captivated.

as you stepped up to the microphone, a hush fell over the crowd. 

“thank you all for being here today,” you began, your voice steady and clear, filled with warmth. “this launch means so much to me, and i couldn’t have done it without all the support from my friends and family. especially from those at gojo-sonic, who believed in this project.”

toji watched you intently, his heart swelling with pride. this was your moment, and you were absolutely shining. 

but as you spoke, he felt that familiar urge to approach you, to wrap his arms around you and tell you just how incredible you looked. 

but no, he stood rooted to the spot, reminding himself of the conversation they had before about maintaining a professional facade.

“and of course, a huge thank you to my amazing voice actor, toji fushiguro,” you continued, and the crowd erupted into applause, pulling him back into reality. the sound sent another rush of heat through him, and he felt like he was about to explode — both from embarrassment and pride.

“that’s me,” toji muttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. gojo was right beside him, clapping exaggeratedly with a teasing grin. “you’re gonna have to give her a proper compliment after this, you know?”

“yeah, yeah,” toji grumbled, still flustered as he tried to focus on your words instead of his growing embarrassment.

when you finished your speech, the crowd cheered, and you stepped down, a satisfied smile on your face. 

you caught toji’s eye, and for a moment, the world faded away. he could see the joy radiating from you, and all his earlier doubts slipped away.

“toji!” you called out, your eyes sparkling. “what did you think?”

“you were amazing,” he said, finally finding the courage to step forward. “really. you owned that stage.”

“thank you,” you replied, your cheeks slightly flushed. “i was nervous, but it felt good to share this moment with everyone.”

as you spoke, toji’s heart raced. he leaned in closer, his voice lowering as he added, “and you looked absolutely stunning, too.”

“oh? just stunning?” you teased, a playful smile dancing on your lips.

“okay, maybe breathtaking,” he admitted, a genuine smile creeping onto his face. 

“and just so you know, i had a minor… situation back there, thanks to how beautiful you looked. so, you know, just keep that in mind.”

your laughter rang out, the sound warm and inviting, making toji forget all about the earlier embarrassment. he realized that whatever the two of you had going on was something he wanted to cherish, something worth pursuing.

and as the night continued, surrounded by the buzz of celebration, toji felt a sense of hope blooming in his chest — this was just the beginning.

as the excitement of the launch continued to swirl around you, suguru approached, a wide smile lighting up his face. 

“there you are! i was beginning to think i’d have to drag you out from behind that mic,” he teased, wrapping you in a warm hug.

“suguru! thanks for coming!” you beamed, feeling the familiar comfort of his presence. “it means a lot to me.”

“wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said, stepping back to take a look at you. “and wow, you look incredible. seriously, how do you pull off that look?”

gojo chimed in, practically bouncing on his heels. “it’s like she stepped out of a freaking fairytale, right? she’s basically a model now. i’m just a guy over here trying not to ruin the vibe.”

shoko smiled, her eyes soft as she observed the camaraderie. “you all did great tonight. it really was a wonderful launch.”

toji stood slightly apart from the group, hands shoved into his pockets, watching the dynamic unfold. he was proud of you and knew you deserved this moment, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of being on the outside. seeing you laugh and joke with suguru and gojo tugged at something deep inside him, a mix of admiration and protectiveness that made him feel a little more possessive than he expected.

“so, what’s next for you?” suguru asked, leaning in closer, his tone genuine. “another book, or are you taking a break?”

“a bit of both, actually,” you replied, glancing at toji. “i want to explore some new ideas, maybe branch out a little.”

just then, a lecherous-looking man stepped into the conversation, an air of arrogance radiating off him. 

“well, if it isn’t the famed author herself,” he sneered, a condescending smirk plastered on his face. “i have to say, it’s impressive how you’ve managed to carve out such a niche for yourself.” “free-use woman, is that what they call it? quite the career choice, huh?”

the moment the words left his mouth, the atmosphere shifted. toji's heart raced, a cold wave of irritation washing over him. he could feel his jaw clenching as he shifted his weight, bracing himself for whatever would come next. 

the man had no idea what he was stepping into.

gojo’s expression darkened, his casual demeanor evaporating. “who the hell do you think you are, talking to her like that?” he snapped, stepping in front of you protectively. “you’re clearly out of your depth.”

shoko frowned, her eyes narrowing at the man. “that’s incredibly disrespectful. you should apologize right now.”

suguru, leaning closer to you, was already assessing the situation, his gaze piercing. “it’s brave of you to come here and talk to her, but if you think you can just waltz in and make those kinds of comments, you’re sorely mistaken.”

toji felt a surge of possessiveness overtake him, and he stepped forward, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “listen, buddy, you don’t get to come here and treat her like she’s some sort of object. she’s worked hard for everything she has, and you’re just jealous that you’ll never get anywhere close to her level.”

the man scoffed, clearly unfazed, but the looks on the faces of gojo, shoko, and suguru sent a wave of intimidation over him. “oh, what? you’re one of her little fanboys now?” he mocked, trying to play off the tension.

“she’s not just some girl for your amusement,” toji replied, his voice low but full of intensity. “if you can’t see that, then you don’t deserve to be in the same room as her.”

you were taken aback, a mix of shock and warmth flooding your chest at toji’s fierce defense. it was a side of him you hadn’t seen in this context, and it made your heart race. you quickly interjected, trying to defuse the situation. 

“it’s okay, really. i don’t mind —”

“no,” suguru cut you off gently but firmly, glancing back at you with concern. “you shouldn’t have to put up with that kind of trash talk. you’re better than that, and we’re here for you.”

“yeah,” gojo added, his expression serious. “this guy doesn’t know who he’s messing with. just because you think you can get away with it doesn’t mean you should.” he turned to the man, a fire burning in his blue eyes. 

“i’d suggest you leave before things get ugly.”

the man’s bravado faltered, and he hesitated, clearly weighing his options. 

“whatever, man,” he spat, finally backing away, a look of disdain on his face. “i didn’t want to talk to you losers anyway.”

as he walked off, toji felt a wave of relief wash over him, but it was mingled with something else — something like pride for you and his friends, who had stood up for what was right. 

he turned to you, catching your eye. “you alright?”

you nodded, still processing what just happened. “yeah, thanks. i didn’t think he’d go that far.”

“he’s a fucking idiot,” toji replied, shaking his head. “you deserve better than that.”

“you all really stood up for me,” you said softly, feeling gratitude swell in your chest.

“of course we did,” shoko replied, her expression warm. “we’re your friends, and we’ll always have your back.”

toji stepped a bit closer, and for a moment, the noise of the event faded into the background. “just remember that,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “you’re not alone in this.”

and as the night continued, surrounded by friends who cared deeply for you, toji felt a sense of belonging that he hadn’t anticipated, realizing just how much he wanted to protect that warmth — protect you.

the event wrapped up smoothly, but leave it to gojo to suggest a “girls day out” to celebrate – the “girls” in question, of course, were all of you.

“come on!” gojo insisted, practically bouncing as you all filed out of the venue. “a little lunch at this fancy new place! i already reserved us a table. trust me, you’ll love it.” he flashed that signature grin, one that sparkled with both charm and mischief.

“i thought you called this a girl’s day out?” toji raised an eyebrow, looking mildly exasperated. “you’re delusional if you think i’m your girl, gojo.”

gojo only smirked, looping his arm through toji’s despite his attempts to shake him off. 

“toji, honey, everyone’s my girl,” he teased. “besides, i knew you’d say yes deep down.”

“keep telling yourself that,” toji muttered, though a small smirk betrayed his amusement.

suguru shook his head, amused, as he watched their dynamic. “sometimes i think we enable him too much.”

“you definitely do,” shoko chimed in, already lighting a cigarette as you walked along. “but at least lunch on gojo’s tab makes it worth it.”

soon enough, the five of you strolled into the swanky restaurant, where the hostess greeted gojo with a wide smile. “right this way, mr. gojo,” she said, leading you all to a secluded table with an impressive view.

gojo waited until you all took your seats before he threw himself down, stretching out like he owned the place. “order whatever you want, my treat!” he announced, flashing a grin at the menu. “the foie gras here is to die for.”

“you’re ordering foie gras?” you raised an eyebrow, half-amused and half-horrified.

gojo shrugged, feigning innocence. “what? it’s delicious.” he turned to toji. “you’re in, right?”

toji gave him a dry look. “i don’t even know what that is, gojo.”

suguru snorted into his drink. “you’re so cultured, toji.”

toji rolled his eyes, shoving a breadstick into his mouth with exaggerated indifference. “as long as it’s not something gojo personally cooked, i’ll eat it.”

gojo gasped dramatically, clutching his heart. “you wound me! i make a mean ramen!”

shoko raised an eyebrow at him. “instant ramen doesn’t count, gojo.”

as you skimmed the menu, suguru leaned over to point out some of the more “normal” dishes. 

“i’d stick to these if i were you,” he chuckled. “unless you’re ready for gojo’s idea of exotic.”

“good call,” you replied, grinning. “i’m not trying to eat anything that still has a face.”

just then, gojo noticed a seafood platter being served at a nearby table, and his eyes lit up. “oh, look at that! who’s in for oysters? fresh from the coast, or so they say.”

toji grimaced, pushing the menu away. “you’re kidding, right? i don’t eat anything slimy.”

gojo wagged his finger at him, smirking. “toji, you’ll never know the finer things in life with an attitude like that.”

“if the finer things in life involve slimy food, count me out,” toji retorted, crossing his arms.

you couldn’t help but laugh, catching suguru’s eye. he shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. 

“some things never change, huh?”

“yeah, especially gojo’s tastes,” shoko muttered, taking a sip of her drink.

as the food finally arrived, the table was soon filled with laughter and stories, everyone swapping tales about work, life, and everything in between. gojo, unsurprisingly, dominated the conversation, though he was more than happy to playfully drag each of you into his stories.

“and then, get this,” gojo laughed, his shoulders shaking. “i convinced the poor guy i was a psychic! he walked around with a ‘cursed’ amulet for a week before he realized i was just messing with him.”

“i don’t understand how anyone falls for your crap,” toji said, shaking his head, though even he was hiding a smile.

“it’s a gift,” gojo replied smugly, before winking at you. “isn’t that right?”

“oh, definitely,” you replied dryly. “a gift and a curse.”

“mostly a curse,” shoko agreed, patting gojo’s shoulder.

after a few rounds of drinks, everyone had relaxed into the easy camaraderie, passing dishes and laughing as gojo continued his dramatic retellings, complete with hand gestures and questionable impressions.

“so, toji,” gojo leaned over with a sly grin, “how’s… life?”

toji eyed him, wary. “life’s fine, gojo. what are you getting at?”

“nothing!” gojo held up his hands innocently. “just curious about your… extracurriculars.”

toji rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as shoko smirked, clearly entertained by toji’s suffering.

suguru leaned in, murmuring to you, “you think he’ll make it through the whole lunch without snapping?”

you laughed softly. “he’s holding up pretty well, all things considered.”

as dessert rolled around, gojo ordered a massive platter of sweets “for the table,” though everyone knew he’d end up eating half of it himself.

“i swear, if you finish all those eclairs before i even get one…” toji warned, eyeing gojo.

gojo winked, already reaching for a plate. “too slow, toji! if you want something, you’ve got to seize it.”

“yeah? you wanna see me seize it?” toji reached over, snatching an éclair from gojo’s hand in one swift move.

the entire table burst out laughing, gojo’s indignant look only adding to the humor. it was one of those rare moments where everything felt right, like you were all in sync, just enjoying each other’s company.

as you leaned back in your chair, watching everyone banter, you felt a warmth settle in your chest. these were the kinds of moments you’d remember – the laughter, the shared jokes, the way each person’s personality filled the room in a way only they could.

it was a good day. 

and somehow, you had gojo’s “girls day out” to thank for it.

“suguru! where are you going?” gojo called, laughing.

suguru gave a halfhearted smile. “just… need to take this.”

you watched him go, a flicker of concern starting to build when minutes passed with no sign of his return. eventually, you excused yourself, hoping everything was alright.

turning the corner, you found him leaning against the wall, head down, shoulders tense and shaking slightly. the quiet sound of his breath catching, his barely-contained sobs – it was like a punch to the chest. 

suguru geto never cried.

“suguru?” you whispered, not wanting to startle him.

he looked up, his face streaked with tears, a raw, vulnerable expression you’d never seen. he quickly tried to brush it off, rubbing his eyes. “you shouldn’t… see me like this,” he muttered.

your heart clenched as you stepped closer. “hey, i’m your friend. you don’t have to hide from me.”

he looked away, swallowing hard, his voice strained. “it’s… her. she made her choice.” he took a ragged breath. “she doesn’t love me. she’s with someone else now.”

you felt your stomach twist at the pain in his voice, at the way his composure was unraveling before you. you reached out instinctively, placing a hand on his shoulder. “suguru, i’m so sorry. i know how much she meant to you.”

he let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. 

“i thought we had something real, you know? i thought… i thought she’d see me the same way.”

“you loved her,” you murmured, feeling his anguish like a weight pressing on your chest. “you gave her everything. sometimes people… they just don’t see what’s right in front of them.”

“maybe it’s me,” he choked, clenching his fists. “maybe i just wasn’t enough.”

you took his hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “don’t say that. you’re more than enough. she just… didn’t see it. it doesn’t mean you aren’t worth it.”

his face crumpled, and for a moment, he was silent, holding onto you like you were an anchor keeping him from sinking. 

“i feel so… empty,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

“let it out, suguru,” you said gently, wrapping your arms around him. “you don’t have to carry this alone.”

he leaned into your embrace, taking deep, shuddering breaths as he tried to regain control. you rubbed soothing circles on his back, feeling each tremble, each heartbeat, sharing in the quiet vulnerability of the moment.

“i don’t know what i’d do without you right now,” he said, his voice barely audible.

“you don’t have to,” you replied softly. “i’m here. you’ll be okay, suguru. even if it takes time.”

as you comforted him, you didn’t notice that toji had also come looking for you. he’d been watching the hallway, glancing at his watch, wondering what was taking you so long. 

a knot of worry twisted in his stomach, his mind flashing back to the earlier incident – that sleazy man at the event who had tried to approach you.

what if something happened again?

when he turned the corner, the sight he found stopped him cold. 

you, hugging suguru, holding him so tightly, your hand stroking his hair as he buried his face into your shoulder.

a strange, hot flare of jealousy surged up in his chest. 

his jaw clenched as he stared at you, his fingers twitching with the urge to do… something. here was suguru, wrapped up in your arms, his pain visible and raw – but still.

 toji couldn’t help the spike of resentment. why did it have to be suguru you were comforting?

why couldn’t you hold onto him like that?

his fingers tightened around the edge of his jacket, his thoughts spiraling. he knew he had no right to feel this way, knew suguru was hurting – but the sight of you so intimately close, your gentle words he couldn’t quite hear, only made his jealousy deepen.

his eyes narrowed as he kept watching, trying to ignore the twinge of vulnerability he hadn’t expected. why did he care so much? he gritted his teeth. 

but when you finally looked up, catching sight of him, his expression was unreadable, masked beneath a carefully controlled look. there was a subtle stiffness to the way he held himself, and his gaze flickered briefly to suguru before settling back on you.

“toji…” you said softly, surprised to see him there.

he crossed his arms, giving a slight nod in suguru’s direction. “everything alright?”

“yeah,” you replied, glancing at suguru, who gave a faint nod, still wiping at his eyes. “just… a hard day.”

toji’s eyes softened slightly as he looked at you, though his expression remained guarded. “you’re a good friend,” he murmured, barely audible, though there was a hint of something deeper behind his words.

you offered him a small smile, sensing the underlying tension. “just doing what anyone would.”

toji’s gaze lingered on you a little longer, his jealousy ebbing slightly, though a part of him still ached to be the one you held so tightly, the one you’d stayed for so long just to comfort. 

but he pushed the feeling down, knowing that tonight, suguru needed you more.

suguru excused himself to rejoin the table, likely gravitating toward satoru, who knew more about his heartbreak than anyone else there. that left just you and toji standing in your little corner, tucked away from the bustling restaurant.

he was looking at you with that smirk of his, the kind that had you already feeling flustered, but determined not to give him the satisfaction. he took a casual step forward, slipping his hands into his pockets, and leaned in close, voice low and almost playful.

“so… what’re you doing over here, all alone with me?” he drawled, eyes trailing slowly from your eyes down to your lips.

before he could say anything else, you raised an eyebrow, folding your arms. 

“you mean, other than watching you try to pretend you weren’t sporting a hard-on for half the event?”

the teasing grin on your lips was unmistakable, and his reaction was instant. toji’s expression flickered, a hint of surprise in his eyes, followed by an intense gleam as he chuckled under his breath. “oh, so you noticed that, huh?”

“noticed? please,” you scoffed, keeping up your confident front even as he closed the space between you with slow, measured steps. “how could i not? it was right there.”

“guess you were too busy looking at me to focus on anything else,” he replied smoothly, his voice dropping a little lower. he leaned in, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours, breath warm against your skin. “maybe i should’ve been paying more attention to you instead.”

your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t let it show. 

“well, now you know better,” you murmured back, voice challenging. “maybe you should’ve acted on it then, instead of waiting until now.”

he raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “oh, is that a challenge?”

“only if you can handle it,” you shot back, the thrill of the back-and-forth sparking something between you two.

his eyes darkened, and before you knew it, he had one hand on your waist, pulling you flush against him, his other hand braced against the wall by your head. 

“you think i can’t handle a little challenge from you?” he murmured, his lips so close they nearly brushed yours.

you swallowed, but kept your cool. “if you could, you wouldn’t be hesitating.”

“trust me, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and dangerously smooth, “when i’m done with you, you won’t be the one running your mouth.”

before you could come up with a retort, his lips were on yours, firm and demanding, as if he’d been waiting all night to finally do this. you couldn’t hold back a soft gasp as he kissed you deeper, his hand sliding up to cradle your face while his other gripped your waist tightly, pressing you up against the wall.

your hands instinctively found their way to his shoulders, clutching him as he took full control of the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours with a fierceness that left your head spinning. he groaned softly as he pressed his body closer, one hand sliding up the side of your thigh, fingers grazing over the soft fabric of your dress.

“you like getting me all worked up, don’t you?” he murmured against your lips, his voice laced with that smug edge that made you shiver. “can’t get enough of teasing me, huh?”

“maybe i do,” you shot back, though your voice wavered slightly as he bit down on your lower lip, sending a spark through you. “but it’s not my fault you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

he chuckled darkly, his hands sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing just beneath your ribs as he pressed his hips against yours. 

“yeah? what’re you gonna do about it?” he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips over the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

“you really think you’re in control here?” you asked, voice challenging even as he continued to press you into the wall. “because from where i’m standing, it looks like you’re the one who can’t resist me.”

“careful what you say,” he warned, his tone thick with restrained desire. “i’m this close to dragging you out of here and making you eat those words.”

your heart raced, and even though you were half-tempted to keep pushing him, you couldn’t deny the thrill of having him this close, his hands roaming over you, his lips brushing down your neck. you let out a breathless laugh, threading your fingers through his hair as you tugged him closer. 

“then maybe you should quit talking and show me what you’ve got.”

he didn’t need any further invitation. his grip tightened on you, his mouth covering yours in a heated, almost punishing kiss that left you breathless. his hands roamed over your body with a hunger that was practically palpable, every touch igniting a new spark. 

he was practically devouring you, his breath coming faster as he pressed you harder against the wall, his fingers digging into your waist as he kissed you deeply, thoroughly, like he wanted to leave his mark.

“god,” he murmured, voice husky, “you’re driving me insane.” he leaned back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze intense. “you really wanna keep pushing me, huh?”

you smirked, your own voice barely above a whisper. “maybe i just like seeing what you’ll do about it.”

on the outside, you were holding your ground. confident smirks, playful retorts, the whole act. but on the inside? 

you were freaking the fuck out. 

here you were, basically mimicking every female lead you’d ever written, pulling from their limitless reserve of sass and self-assuredness to somehow keep pace with toji's relentless flirting. each comeback, each smirk — it was like a mental pep talk to channel all those characters who’d never break a sweat in this situation.

but… oh god. what if things actually got hot and heavy? 

you were standing there, going toe-to-toe with toji of all people, and it hit you — you were completely out of your depth here. this was not your usual flirting, the teasing banter you’d half-heartedly perfected through fictional dialogue. 

this was real.

and suddenly the thought crept in like an alarm bell: you might actually have to… gn?

your eyes widened a fraction as you tried to keep your cool. 

gn. 

get naked, not even good night — although, maybe a good night after the get naked part, if you even made it that far without spontaneously combusting. 

your mind raced, frantically scrolling through every bedroom scene you’d ever written, but realizing none of them really prepared you for this. 

oh my god, you panicked inwardly, just because i write smut doesn’t mean i know what to do when i’m the one gripping the sheets!

“what, cat got your tongue?” toji’s voice interrupted your internal spiral, his smirk widening as he traced a thumb across your cheek, dipping dangerously close to your lips. “not so confident now, are ya?”

you forced a grin, cursing the tremble in your fingers as they clutched at his shirt. 

“oh, please, like i’m nervous,” you shot back, mentally crossing every finger and toe that your voice didn’t waver. 

inside, though, you were a swirling mess, praying he didn’t catch the slightest tremor. 

fake it till you make it, right? 

only problem was, the longer he looked at you, the more he seemed to see right through you.

his eyes narrowed just a little, his smirk shifting into something… softer, a touch more considerate. you wanted to think he’d be gracious, that he’d at least slow down, but no, there was something else in his gaze. maybe a flicker of understanding? 

no, that was too generous.

he was toji.

and as if he could sense your hesitation, he leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear. 

“relax, princess,” he whispered, his tone softer, maybe even gentle. “we can go as slow as you want. besides…” his lips quirked up into a teasing grin. 

“don’t think you’re getting out of this without admitting how much you’re enjoying it.”

relax? yeah, right. 

your heart was doing backflips, your mind racing through every possible move you’d probably never have the courage to pull off. he had you right where he wanted you, and you couldn’t stop the blush rising to your cheeks. 

oh god, you thought desperately, please don’t ask me to make the next move.

just as you were bracing yourself to somehow manage to keep up this charade of confidence, toji’s phone vibrated between you, cutting the tension with a blaring ringtone. and of all people, it had to be gojo. you glimpsed his name flashing on the screen right as toji picked up, rolling his eyes before pressing the phone to his ear.

“what, satoru?” toji sighed, clearly irritated at the interruption.

“toji! man, hurry up and get back here!” gojo’s voice screeched through the phone, loud enough for you to hear the dramatic urgency. “we’ve got a very, very depressed mr. geto here who’s having the existential crisis of the century. we need all hands on deck, and yes, that means you too. and preferably sober, mind you. no drinks this time! none.” 

gojo's voice dropped, muttering something about “banging y/n later if you have to,” but you both caught it.

toji gave you a side-eye smirk, shaking his head at gojo’s predictability, before letting out a sigh. 

“fine. but you owe me one, big time.” and with that, he ended the call, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

before you could even tease him about the abrupt change of plans, he leaned in and gave you a sharp smack! on the ass, grinning at the way you jumped. 

“guess we’ll have to put this on hold, princess. duty calls.” with a wink, he took your hand, leading you back toward the table.

it was gonna be a long night.

back at the table, the scene was…well, not what you’d expected. 

suguru looked rough. 

he sat slumped in his chair, swirling a glass of water (gojo had made sure of it) with a far-off stare that looked like he was seeing into another dimension. gojo and shoko were positioned on either side of him, each with their own ineffective tactics.

“c’mon, sugu, it’s not the end of the world,” gojo said, nudging him with a grin that looked a bit too forced. “i mean, i never liked her anyway. you deserve way better than —”

“she was amazing,” suguru cut him off, his voice flat but tinged with emotion. “you wouldn’t understand, satoru.”

shoko sighed, patting his shoulder. “she wasn’t that amazing. she had weird fashion taste.”

“and didn’t she correct you on every little thing? constantly?” gojo added, crossing his arms with a small smirk.

suguru gave them both a look, unamused. “i liked her fashion sense. and i didn’t mind the corrections.”

toji leaned back in his seat, giving you a subtle eye roll. 

this was what you’d come back for. 

he sighed, then leaned forward, slapping a hand on suguru’s shoulder. ��you know, sulking isn’t gonna help anything. maybe it’s time to get back out there, stop dwelling on someone who clearly didn’t value you.”

suguru let out a tired sigh, and gojo jumped in, eyes lighting up. “exactly! there are plenty of people who’d be thrilled to date the great suguru geto!” he gestured around the room as if a fan club might spontaneously form right then and there. 

“you’re smart, you’re talented —”

“and single,” shoko added dryly, sipping her drink with a shrug.

suguru slumped lower, clearly unconvinced. “i don’t want to be single,” he muttered. “i wanted her.”

you winced at the defeated tone in his voice, exchanging a helpless look with toji, who looked equally unsure what else they could say to help. 

gojo, though, was not one to give up. he clapped his hands, as if a brilliant idea had just struck him.

“okay! new plan,” he declared, leaning in with an almost manic enthusiasm. “you’re going to go out with us this weekend. all of us. no work, no responsibilities — just a wild time. we’ll find you a nice rebound —”

suguru glared. “no, thanks.”

shoko groaned, propping her chin on her hand. “well, i’m out of ideas. anyone else?”

you took a deep breath, deciding to give it one last shot. 

“maybe…you don’t have to forget her completely, but maybe you can focus on what made you happy outside of her. like, remember what you love doing?”

suguru looked at you, as if considering the thought, but then slumped back. “it’s not the same,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “it’s just…not the same.”

gojo groaned dramatically, throwing his head back. “i swear, you’re worse than me on my worst breakup day. someone call for reinforcements because i think we’re gonna need a miracle worker for this one.”

the table fell quiet, everyone glancing at suguru, who looked as defeated as ever, and it hit you that maybe tonight, there really wasn’t a solution.

one month later, the dreaded wedding invitation arrived, dropped unceremoniously on suguru’s desk. it was embossed in gold, the bride and groom’s names announced in elegant script, and just looking at it made his chest tighten. this was her wedding — the woman he’d once thought he’d spend his life with, now celebrating a future with someone else.

gojo’s reaction was immediate, bursting out in an exaggerated laugh when he saw the invite on suguru’s desk. 

“are you kidding me? she’s really inviting you? that’s low, even for her. come on, suguru, you’re not actually thinking about going, are you?”

suguru just gave a small smile, almost serene in the face of it all. “actually, i think i might.”

gojo gaped. “what?! dude, they’re practically rubbing it in your face! it’s like sending a ‘ha-ha, we’re in love, and you’re not’ postcard.” 

he crossed his arms, scowling at the offending piece of cardstock. “this is the most tasteless thing i’ve ever seen.”

shoko, who was nearby, raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-curious. “maybe she didn’t mean it that way, satoru. maybe it’s her way of being considerate, keeping suguru involved as a friend.”

gojo scoffed, rolling his eyes. “oh please, you don’t invite your ex to your wedding, especially if you broke his heart. she should be thrilled he’s not cursing her name in three different languages.”

but suguru only shook his head, calm as ever. “it’s not like that, satoru. we’ve both moved on, in our own ways. i don’t hold it against her. she chose what makes her happy, and if that’s someone else…well, then i wish her the best.” he shrugged lightly. “i don’t see any point in being bitter about it.”

gojo stared at him, as if seeing an entirely different person. “you’re joking, right? this is not you. the real suguru would’ve burned that thing or at least made a snarky comment about her dress being too ‘last season.’”

suguru laughed, an easy, relaxed sound that caught them all by surprise. “that’s exactly it, satoru. i don’t want to be that guy anymore. i’ve spent enough time with those feelings. they’re…exhausting. if going to this wedding gives me closure, then why not?”

gojo looked like he was about to combust. “closure? closure is just a fancy word for ‘let me put myself through hell for no reason.’ honestly, suguru, you’re giving her too much credit. she’s the one who ditched you, remember?”

suguru tilted his head, offering gojo a gentle but pointed look. “maybe it’s not about her anymore. maybe this is just about me.” his voice was calm, but there was a certain finality in it, as if he’d already come to terms with everything.

gojo, meanwhile, huffed and crossed his arms, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “well, i think it’s ridiculous. she doesn’t deserve any more of your attention.”

suguru sighed, but there was a faint smile on his lips, as if gojo’s dramatics were somehow endearing. 

“satoru, not everything is a personal insult. people make choices. sometimes they’re not the ones we wanted, but that doesn’t make them wrong.”

gojo let out a long, exaggerated groan. “you’re way too good for this world, suguru. like, way too mature. no one deserves you. i’d be sending her a glitter bomb or something, just for the hell of it.”

shoko chuckled, patting gojo on the back. “maybe you should take a lesson from suguru. not everyone has to nurse their ego through every breakup.”

gojo snorted, still glaring at the invitation like it had personally offended him. “fine, go ahead and be the bigger person, suguru. but if you even think about bringing me as your plus-one, i’m causing a scene.” 

he folded his arms defiantly. “i’m talking upstaging the bride type of scene.”

suguru’s smile widened, genuine and peaceful. “noted, satoru. but i think i’ll be alright.”

and in that moment, watching suguru handle what should have been a painful reminder with quiet dignity, even gojo’s bluster faded just a bit. sure, he might think suguru was handling it all wrong, but deep down, he couldn’t help but admire his friend’s strength.

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OPPOSITES - part II

⤷ JAMES B. “BUCKY” BARNES

ᯓ★ Pairing: James B. “Bucky” Barnes x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff, tiny bit of angst

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL multiverse

ᯓ★ Story type: short fanfic

ᯓ★ Part I

ᯓ★ Word count: 9k

ᯓ★ Summary: Bucky was right, your parents don't approve your relationship with him so you run away from home to stay with him, ready for the challenge that is getting used to his world.

ᯓ★ TW(s): mentions of guns,

ᯓ★ AU: 1920s Gangstares

ᯓ★ Request: oh my god i absolutely love this <33 a second part would be amazing (no pressure ofc) ( @one-lengthiness36 )

ᯓ★ Since request didn't spicy reader's gender I'll write it as a fem!reader, as I've said in the post

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ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests open)

ᯓ★ Masterlist

ᯓ★ If you are a Charles Xavier fan click on this link!

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language and this isn’t proof read

The evening is like a scene out of one of the novels you used to read in secret, back before Bucky’s presence filled the empty places in your life. The grand ballroom is swathed in soft lights, crystal chandeliers glinting above like starlight. Your parents, all too eager to show you off, parade you through introductions and polite conversation, proudly displaying their perfect, obedient daughter to the other families in attendance. But tonight, you can’t shake the feeling that everything is only half as bright as it could be. Everything feels dull because your mind is on him.

The moment you spot Bucky across the room, dressed in a dark, well-tailored suit that makes him look every inch the part of a man who could captivate a room, everything else melts away. He’s watching you, his gaze piercing even across the sea of elegantly dressed guests. He looks out of place, dangerous in the way he leans back against a wall, observing the crowd as though he’s assessing each person. You know he doesn’t come from a world like this. He doesn’t belong among these polished smiles and whispered judgments, yet he’s here, somehow making the room feel sharper, alive.

The evening’s polite conversation blurs around you, and as soon as the opportunity presents itself, you excuse yourself, slipping through the crowd and down a side hallway that leads to the garden. You barely reach the edge of the courtyard when you feel a presence behind you. A hand slides around your waist, tugging you into a secluded shadow where the soft glow of garden lights casts a warm halo over you both. Bucky pulls you against him, and the world falls away.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whisper, though there’s a smile tugging at your lips as you tilt your head to look at him.

“And miss seeing you in that dress?” He smirks, his eyes roving over you with a possessive heat. “Not a chance, doll.”

Your breath catches as his hand slides from your waist up to the small of your back, pressing you closer to him. You glance back at the house, watching for signs of anyone who might interrupt, but Bucky’s fingers tilt your chin back toward him, gently pulling you into his focus.

“Don’t worry about them,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing along your jawline. “They’ve got enough to gossip about for the night without us.”

You smile, heart pounding as his lips brush the corner of your mouth, his hand slipping up to your cheek, cradling your face as though you’re something delicate, precious. The kiss that follows is soft, unhurried, but with a simmering edge of hunger that makes your toes curl. When he pulls back, his thumb traces along your bottom lip.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, voice low and rough, as if the words themselves are too heavy to hold back.

Your heart skips, and you smile, placing a hand on his chest, feeling the steady, powerful beat beneath your palm. “You know, you being here is going to make it difficult for me to keep pretending,” you whisper. “I want to tell them, Bucky. I want to tell them about us.”

He stiffens slightly, his hand stilling against your cheek. His face softens as he looks down at you, but there’s a hint of a warning in his eyes. “That’s a terrible idea, sweetheart.”

“Why?” you challenge, the words barely above a whisper as you lift your face toward him. “Because you’re the boss of a gang? Because you think they’ll only see that and never see you for who you really are?”

Bucky’s lips quirk in a half-smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s exactly why.” His hand slips down to your waist, holding you close as he leans in, his lips trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your jaw, sending shivers down your spine. “They’d only see the reputation, the danger. Not… this.”

You close your eyes, feeling the warmth of his breath on your skin as he kisses his way to the sensitive spot just below your ear. “But this is what matters,” you murmur, voice breathless. “You’ve shown me who I am, who I can be. It’s not just about who you are, Bucky—it’s about who I am when I’m with you.”

His grip tightens on your waist, and he lets out a quiet groan, pulling you even closer against him. “God, you don’t make it easy, doll,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. “But they’ll never see it that way. They won’t understand.”

Your fingers drift up to the nape of his neck, threading through his hair as you look up at him. His blue eyes are darkened, focused intently on you as if you’re the only thing that exists in this moment. “Then let me make them understand,” you say, softly but firmly. “Let me show them how much you mean to me.”

Bucky sighs, his hand sliding down to rest on your lower back, his touch possessive as he holds you against him. “You have no idea how much I want that. How much I want to be with you—out in the open. But your father? Your family?” He shakes his head, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “They’d never forgive you. They’d never forgive us.”

You press a hand against his cheek, feeling the faint stubble under your fingers as you guide his face back to yours. “They don’t control me, Bucky. Not anymore. You taught me that.”

His expression shifts, softening as he studies you, his eyes filled with that raw intensity that never fails to make your heart race. “You’re something else, you know that?” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over yours as he speaks. “You’re everything I didn’t know I needed.”

You smile, feeling warmth spread through your chest as he closes the distance, capturing your lips in a deep, slow kiss. His hands roam over your back, pulling you as close as possible, as though he can’t bear to let even a sliver of space exist between you. The kiss grows heated, his lips moving against yours with an urgency that makes your knees feel weak. You lose yourself in him, in the feel of his touch, the taste of his lips, the way he murmurs your name like it’s a secret he wants to keep.

When he pulls back, you’re both breathless, his hands resting firmly on your hips, keeping you anchored to him. He watches you, his gaze soft but laced with a seriousness that makes you shiver.

“Listen to me, doll,” he says, his thumb tracing slow circles against your hip. “I want this, too. More than you know. But there’s no way your father would ever let us be together. You have a future mapped out, a life that doesn’t involve a man like me.”

You shake your head, pressing a finger to his lips. “But that’s not the life I want. Not anymore.” You look up at him, your voice softening. “You’re what I want, Bucky.”

His jaw clenches, and he seems to be fighting some internal battle. His eyes dart away for a moment, looking out into the garden as though he’s searching for an answer, before he looks back down at you, his gaze conflicted. “And what if I say no?” he challenges, though his voice is barely a whisper. “What if I say it’s too dangerous?”

“Then I’d tell you that you’re worth any danger,” you respond, matching his quiet intensity. “And I’m not afraid of what comes next, as long as I’m with you.”

A low groan escapes him, and he leans down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s as much an admission as it is a surrender. His hands slide up your sides, fingers grazing your skin as he holds you close, pouring everything he can’t say into that kiss. It’s a desperate, consuming embrace, one that leaves you breathless and dizzy, and when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing heavy.

“I can’t let them hurt you,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “And they would. If they found out about us, if they knew what I do, what I am…”

You touch his face, guiding his gaze back to yours. “Then I’ll tell them in my own way, on my own terms. We’ll figure it out, together.”

He studies you, a flicker of hope mingling with the doubt in his eyes. And slowly, as if unable to resist, he nods, brushing a tender kiss against your forehead. “Alright, sweetheart,” he whispers. “We’ll take it slow. We’ll find a way.”

You smile, leaning into him as his hands settle back around your waist, his touch firm and grounding. And there, in the quiet garden under the cover of night, you hold onto him, feeling the weight of his promises, the warmth of his presence. The world beyond may never understand, but you know in your heart that this is real, that whatever you and Bucky have is worth every risk.

With one last kiss, you turn back toward the lighted house, your heart thrumming with the thrill of what lies ahead.

A few days after the gala, you gather every ounce of courage Bucky has helped you discover and decide it’s time to tell your parents. You’ve been rehearsing the words over and over, trying to find a way to explain, to soften the news for them. But nothing prepares you for the reality of facing them, the tension thick in the air as they sit across from you in the parlor, looking so much like the people they want you to be: poised, elegant, and completely unyielding.

As you start to speak, their expressions quickly shift from polite interest to cold, rigid disapproval. You can barely finish explaining your love for Bucky, and the way he’s made you feel more alive, more yourself, before your father’s face darkens.

“Are you out of your mind?” he spits, his voice a low, simmering anger that makes you flinch. “That man is a criminal. I knew I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight that night.”

Your mother’s expression is no better. She’s silent, but her lips are pursed in a thin line, eyes fixed on you as if you’re someone she no longer recognizes.

“Father,” you say, trying to hold your ground, despite the wavering of your voice, “I know you don’t approve, but Bucky has shown me a side of myself I didn’t know existed. He—he treats me with respect, with kindness. He lets me be who I really am.”

Your father scoffs, his voice laced with disdain. “Who you really are? Who you really are, my dear, is a woman raised in one of the finest families in this city. And you think throwing that away for some… lowlife gangster is worth it?” He leans forward, his eyes dark. “You don’t know the kind of man he is. You’re just a silly girl, and he’s made you believe you’re someone you’re not.”

The words sting, slicing through you with a pain sharper than you imagined. Your vision blurs, and you look to your mother, hoping for a glimmer of support, some sign that she might understand.

But she only shakes her head, her gaze like cold steel. “You are to stop seeing him,” she says quietly but firmly. “Or we will have no choice but to arrange for you to stay with your aunt for the foreseeable future, away from this… corruption.”

The breath catches in your throat, panic rising like a tidal wave. “What? You can’t do that! I’m not a child anymore!”

“To us, you’re behaving like one,” your father snaps. “And you will obey us, or you’ll lose everything you know.”

Tears blur your vision, the realization settling like a stone in your chest. There’s no convincing them, no changing their minds. They’ll never see Bucky for who he is, never accept the person he’s helped you become. You flee from the parlor, your mother’s voice calling after you, but you don’t look back. You run up the grand staircase to your room, slamming the door behind you as the tears spill over, shaking with anger and heartbreak.

You sink down onto the floor, clutching your knees to your chest as sobs wrack your body. It feels like you’re losing everything: the life you thought you could build, the future you’ve just begun to imagine. But through the hurt and disappointment, one thing becomes clear—you can’t stay here, trapped under their rules, pretending to be someone you’re not. Not anymore.

The decision is sudden, fierce, and entirely certain. You wipe your tears, standing up on shaking legs as you grab a small bag from your closet. You pack only a few things—a dress, some undergarments, a handful of your favorite jewelry pieces—and slip a coat over your shoulders. You can still hear your parents’ voices downstairs, discussing you as if you’re a child who’s simply misbehaving, in need of reining in.

With your bag over your shoulder, you slip quietly down the back staircase, heart pounding in your chest as you make your way out the door. You don’t dare breathe until you’re outside, the cool night air hitting your skin and filling you with a strange exhilaration. For the first time in your life, you’re making a choice all on your own.

You head for Bucky’s place, your steps quick and determined. The streets are quieter now, and the dim lights of his neighborhood feel foreign yet somehow welcoming, as if beckoning you into a new life. By the time you reach his building, your cheeks are cold, and you’re trembling, but it’s not from the night air.

You knock softly, anxiety twisting in your gut as you wait. After a moment, the door opens, and there he stands, his face softening in surprise as he takes you in.

“Sweetheart?” His voice is gentle, his hand reaching for yours as he looks down at you, his concern written all over his face. “What happened?”

The moment you see him, the tears you thought you’d left behind return, and you step into his arms, clinging to him as the weight of the night finally catches up with you. Bucky’s arms wrap around you protectively, his hand stroking your back as he murmurs comforting words, letting you cry until the sobs turn into quiet sniffles.

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze. “I… I told them, Bucky. I told them about us.”

His face tightens, and he sighs, pressing his forehead to yours. “I told you, doll. I knew they wouldn’t understand.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “They said… they said they’d send me away, keep me away from you. I couldn’t stay there, Bucky. I couldn’t pretend anymore.”

He watches you carefully, his hands coming up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that linger on your cheeks. “So you came here?”

You nod again, your voice barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be. I want to be with you, Bucky. They don’t understand, but I do.”

His expression softens, something close to pride flickering in his eyes as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re here because you want to be?” he asks, his voice soft but thick with emotion.

“Yes,” you say firmly, your hand resting over his on your cheek. “This is where I belong.”

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as though anchoring himself to you. “You’re sure, doll? This isn’t an easy life, and it’s not what you’re used to. You know that, don’t you?”

You nod, looking up at him with conviction. “I don’t want easy. I want real. I want you.”

A small, soft smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapped around you protectively. “Then stay with me,” he murmurs. “Stay as long as you need. As long as you want.”

You feel a rush of relief as you lean into him, breathing in his familiar scent, feeling the warmth of his embrace. “Thank you,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out as he tightens his hold on you, letting you feel his silent promise to protect you, no matter what comes next.

He kisses you again, soft and lingering, his hands warm on your cheeks, grounding you. “We’ll figure this out, sweetheart. Together.”

And with that, you feel the weight of the past slipping away, the future opening up before you. You’re no longer bound by their rules, no longer caged by expectations. You’re free, here with Bucky, ready to carve out a life that’s truly yours.

Living with Bucky is an adventure—an unpredictable, exhilarating departure from the perfectly orchestrated life you’ve always known. The first few days are an intoxicating mix of quiet mornings with coffee shared over soft laughter and long, lingering evenings where you fall asleep wrapped in his arms, feeling as though you’ve finally found your place. It’s your first taste of real freedom, and the thrill of it is liberating.

But you soon discover that sharing a life with Bucky means confronting a world that’s nothing like the one you grew up in. The second week, you wake up one morning to the sound of deep voices drifting from Bucky’s office down the hall. Pulling on one of his old shirts, which falls almost to your knees, you pad softly down the hall, stopping just outside the office door, where it’s slightly ajar.

Bucky’s voice is unmistakable, calm and controlled as he speaks, “That shipment better be on time, understood? I’m not going to tolerate any delays.”

There’s a low murmur of assent from the men gathered inside, their voices respectful but wary. Curiosity piques as you lean a little closer, catching a glimpse of Bucky behind his desk, his usual warmth gone, replaced with an air of authority that’s almost intimidating. You realize that these men look at him the way others looked at your father—with respect, but also a hint of fear. It strikes you how different this is from the world you knew.

Before you can pull away, Bucky looks up, his sharp gaze softening immediately as he spots you. He nods, and the men around him quickly follow his line of sight, their eyes shifting to you with expressions that range from curious to wary. You straighten, suddenly feeling the weight of their stares. You’re not used to these kinds of men—rough around the edges, hardened by a life of survival and loyalty to Bucky.

Bucky stands, moving to the door, and the men’s gazes shift downward as he opens it wider. “Morning, doll,” he says with a small, reassuring smile, his hand slipping around your waist as he pulls you in for a quick kiss. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You shake your head, offering him a soft smile. “It’s alright. I just… heard voices.”

His gaze flicks over his shoulder at his men, his tone turning firm. “This is my girl. I want it understood that she’s off-limits to all of you, got it?”

A few murmurs of “Yes, sir,” echo from around the room, followed by respectful nods. One man, who you’ve only seen a few times in passing, speaks up, his voice low and respectful, “Anything happens, she’s got our protection, boss. You have our word.”

Bucky’s eyes flicker with something close to pride as he nods in approval. “Good. That’s exactly what I expect.”

Once they’re gone, you feel a weight lift, but a small unease lingers, a new awareness of the life Bucky leads. You glance back at him as he closes the office door, his hand slipping back around your waist, drawing you closer.

“Are you alright?” he asks softly, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your hip.

You nod slowly, glancing around at the office now empty of his men. The heavy scent of smoke and the distinct aroma of leather fill the room, along with a faint trace of cologne that reminds you of him. “It’s… different,” you admit quietly, looking down as you search for the words. “I’m still getting used to it, I guess.”

Bucky’s hand moves up to cup your face, tilting it so you’re looking at him. There’s a gentleness in his gaze, a contrast to the hard edge you just saw him display with his men. “I know it’s different,” he murmurs, his eyes softening as he brushes a thumb along your cheek. “This world isn’t what you’re used to. It’s rough, messy… but you have me. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

You place your hand over his, smiling faintly as you lean into his touch. “It’s not that I’m afraid,” you say quietly. “I just… I never realized just how much of a life you built outside of me. I think maybe I was… naive about it.”

He sighs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Maybe you were, but you’re adjusting faster than you think. You don’t flinch, don’t back down. You’re tougher than you give yourself credit for.”

That quiet confidence in his words warms you, and you give a small smile, letting him pull you closer. Life with Bucky might not be the fairytale romance of the novels you once read, but there’s something far richer in the intensity of it, in the way he makes you feel alive and protected in a way that no one else ever has.

Over the next few weeks, you settle into a rhythm. Bucky’s hours are unpredictable, often interrupted by meetings or calls at odd hours, and more than once, you wake in the middle of the night to find his side of the bed empty. But no matter how late he comes back, he’s always there by morning, slipping back under the covers to hold you close, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he murmurs, “Go back to sleep, doll. I’m here now.”

Some mornings, you watch him as he shaves, noting the quiet, focused way he moves, the small scars along his jawline that tell stories you haven’t heard yet. You help him button his shirt, fingers grazing over his skin as he watches you with a tender smile, his hand slipping around your waist to hold you close even in those small, stolen moments.

But one evening, as he walks through the door, his brow furrowed and jaw tight, you sense something is wrong. He doesn’t give you his usual greeting kiss, just strides to the bar in the corner, pouring himself a whiskey in silence. You approach him slowly, worry gnawing at you.

“Bucky?” you ask softly, touching his arm. “Is everything alright?”

He nods, but his eyes are distant, his jaw clenched as he takes a long sip of his drink. “Just some business. It’s… complicated.” He sighs, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ve been dealing with some trouble in the city. A rival family’s stepping on our territory.”

You feel a shiver at his words, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you place a hand over his, squeezing gently. “Is there anything I can do?”

He glances down at you, his expression softening as he brushes a thumb along your knuckles. “You’re doing it already,” he murmurs, pulling you close. “Just… keep being here. You’re the only thing that keeps all this from feeling like it’s gonna swallow me whole.”

As the days pass, you begin to understand Bucky’s world a little better. You learn to accept the constant presence of his men, the tension that sometimes fills the house when they discuss matters you don’t entirely understand. But through it all, Bucky is steadfast, grounding you with gentle touches, soft murmurs, and stolen moments of laughter that make the weight of his world seem almost bearable.

One evening, after dinner, he pulls you into his arms, swaying slowly to the soft hum of a jazz tune from the record player. His hand rests on your waist, his eyes warm as he looks down at you.

“Think you’re still up for this?” he asks quietly, searching your face.

You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’m right where I want to be,” you whisper, feeling the truth of those words settle deep in your chest. No matter how unfamiliar, how dangerous this life may seem, Bucky’s presence makes it feel like home.

Living with Bucky brings a cascade of new experiences, each a lesson in how to navigate his world. His men regard you with a mix of respect and wariness, giving you wide berth, yet always keeping a careful watch. As weeks turn into months, Bucky shows you the ropes of his world in small, deliberate steps. He insists on teaching you skills he says every woman in his life should know—things that make you feel stronger, more independent, and, if you’re honest, a little daring.

One evening, he leads you to a room in the back of the house that he keeps locked, and as he opens the door, you’re struck by the cold steel of the weapons glinting from the shelves. Handguns, revolvers, rifles—they’re all there, neatly organized. Your eyes widen, and you look up at him with a mix of surprise and nervous excitement.

“Bucky… you think I need to know how to use these?” you ask, your voice wavering as you step inside.

He nods, his face serious but warm, as he wraps his arm around your waist. “Yes, doll. This life, it’s unpredictable. I need to know you can defend yourself if something ever happens. I’d never forgive myself if you got hurt.”

His hand trails to a revolver on the nearest shelf, lifting it with practiced ease and placing it gently in your hands. It’s surprisingly heavy, cold against your palm. “It’s a .38 Special,” he explains, his voice a low rumble as he stands behind you, guiding your hands to hold it steady. “Good for close range, packs a punch without much kickback.”

Under his patient instruction, you learn how to load the revolver, align the sights, and control your breath as you pull the trigger. He takes you out to a private spot on the edge of town where you can practice firing without drawing attention, setting up makeshift targets and coaching you on how to aim. His arms are warm around you, his words a low, steady cadence in your ear as he whispers pointers and praises your progress.

The first time you hit a target square in the middle, he lets out a low whistle and wraps his arms around you, lifting you off your feet with pride. “Look at you,” he says, beaming. “Sharp as a tack, just like I knew you’d be.”

The next week, he starts showing you hand-to-hand defense moves, teaching you how to break a hold, how to twist out of a grasp, and where to strike in case you ever need to incapacitate an attacker. “You’re stronger than you think,” he murmurs after you manage to push him off balance, grinning as you catch your breath. “Keep that up, and no one will dare lay a hand on you.”

It’s during these lessons that you realize just how deep his care for you runs. He watches you carefully, keeping you close, his focus unwavering. To him, this isn’t just training; it’s a promise that he’s arming you with the tools to thrive in his world, to share in his life not just as his love but as his equal.

One evening, as he’s teaching you how to tuck a small pistol into the folds of a dress without making it obvious, he turns to you, his face lit with a mischievous grin. “What do you say we work on making a mark somewhere a little more… public?”

You tilt your head in curiosity, and he chuckles, gesturing toward the coat rack where his hat and coat are draped. “How would you like to redesign the bar?”

You laugh, but his face is serious, his eyes warm. “I mean it. That bar has seen the same wallpaper and fixtures for far too long. Do what you like. I’ll handle the finances.”

The idea lights a spark within you, and in the following days, you dive into plans for the bar’s transformation. Armed with Bucky’s unwavering support, you work with a designer to bring a fresh, sophisticated flair to the bar, capturing both elegance and subtle mystery, a reflection of his complex world. You choose sleek, dark wood for the bar counter, deep crimson velvet booths, and warm, ambient lighting that gives the place an intimate feel. Chandeliers cast a soft glow, adding a touch of glamor to the smoky atmosphere.

Bucky watches with a mixture of pride and amusement as you negotiate with suppliers, debate over wallpaper samples, and insist on the exact shade of red for the booths. He’s there with you every step of the way, his hand on your waist, whispering words of encouragement as you bring your vision to life. And when the renovation is finally complete, you both stand back, surveying the new look with a shared sense of accomplishment.

“This place has never looked so good,” he murmurs, pulling you close as he surveys the bar, his gaze soft. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

The bar becomes more than just his place of business; it’s now a part of you, a symbol of the life you’re building together. You visit often, and each time, Bucky’s men nod in recognition and respect, their murmurs of “Good evening, ma’am” making you feel as though you’re finally part of his world.

As the weeks pass, Bucky’s men begin to notice the change in you. You hold yourself with more confidence, unafraid to meet their eyes, and they, in turn, begin to look at you with a mix of respect and a bit of awe. They know you’re Bucky’s woman, and they also know that Bucky’s trust in you means they can trust you too.

One evening, as you’re seated at the bar, sipping a gin fizz while Bucky tends to a business discussion in his office, a young, scrappy-looking man approaches, tipping his hat with a shy nod. “Ma’am,” he says, his tone reverent. “Boss says you did a fine job with the place. Just wanted to say it looks real nice.”

The compliment catches you off guard, but you offer him a warm smile, nodding graciously. “Thank you,” you reply, feeling a sense of pride swell within you. “I’m glad you think so.”

Bucky joins you a little later, his hand possessive and reassuring as he places it on the small of your back, signaling to his men that you’re his. When you’re together, he’s never far, his gaze constantly checking for any sign of trouble, his fingers lightly grazing yours as though grounding himself in your presence.

One night, as you’re locking up after closing hours, he takes your hand, guiding you to one of the newly installed booths. “You know,” he begins, his voice low as he leans in, “watching you work on this place, the way you took charge… I’ve never felt more sure that you’re meant to be in my life.”

You smile, tracing the outline of his jaw with your fingers, savoring the way he leans into your touch. “I think I was always meant to be here,” you whisper, your voice soft. “Just took me a while to find my way.”

Bucky’s hand comes up, cupping your cheek as his eyes search yours, dark and intense. “And you’re not afraid?” he asks, his voice thick with emotion. “Not of me, or this life?”

You shake your head, lacing your fingers with his. “Not when I’m with you.”

He smiles, pressing his lips softly to yours, his hand cradling the back of your head as he kisses you, deeply and thoroughly. When he pulls away, his voice is a soft, reverent murmur against your skin. “Then you’re my queen, now and always.”

Together, you sit in the dim glow of the bar you’ve crafted, feeling more like partners than ever. You know this world isn’t easy, and you understand that there’s danger in every corner. But Bucky has taught you to stand tall, to defend yourself, and most importantly, to embrace who you are—brave, strong, and forever his.

The proposal comes in the most unassuming way, wrapped in a quiet evening as you and Bucky walk through the city under the soft glow of streetlights. You’re tucked under his arm, your fingers laced with his, listening to him talk about everything and nothing when he pauses, turning to face you.

“Doll,” he murmurs, his eyes intent, holding an edge of something you haven’t seen before. He takes your hand, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles as he speaks, “You’ve changed my life more than you know. I want you with me for all of it—for the long haul.”

Before you can respond, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small ring—a simple, understated band with a single diamond that catches the light just so, elegant and timeless. You gasp, feeling your heart hammer in your chest as he goes on, his voice quiet but firm. “Will you marry me, sweetheart? Just you and me, no fuss, no big to-do. Just us.”

The answer is a breathless, tearful “Yes,” and within a few days, the two of you find yourselves in a small chapel at the edge of town, where only the preacher and a few witnesses look on as you exchange vows. The simplicity of it all feels intimate, beautiful—just as you both wanted it. Bucky looks at you like you’re his whole world, his hand never letting go of yours as he speaks, each word holding the depth of his love and loyalty.

When he leans in to kiss you, sealing the vows you’ve made, his hands cradle your face, his touch soft and reverent. It’s the start of something that feels profound, and as you walk out of the chapel hand in hand, you know you’ve found a home with him that you’d never leave.

Married life with Bucky is as wild and beautiful as you expected, with Bucky’s fierce protection and deep loyalty extending now to you in every possible way. His men, though hardened and somewhat rough around the edges, respect the shift that comes with you now being their boss’s wife. Some of them even seem taken aback, perhaps not having expected Bucky to settle down, but they adjust quickly, understanding that you’re a part of their world now.

Your presence doesn’t go unnoticed, and you catch them watching you from the corner of their eyes, their expressions a mixture of admiration and curiosity. Bucky has made it clear that you’re his, but he’s also drilled it into them that you’re off-limits. Not only are they to respect you, but they’re to protect you with their lives, should anything happen.

One evening, you’re sitting in Bucky’s office, sorting through some paperwork to help him keep his records organized—a task that started as something you could do together but eventually became your little project. One of his lieutenants, a man named Red, comes to the door and knocks, glancing in with an air of hesitation. He’s got a few years on Bucky, graying hair and a hardened face marked by the years he’s spent in the trade.

“Ma’am,” he says with a respectful nod. “Boss around?”

You smile, nodding toward the main room. “He’s handling a few details out front, but he’ll be back in just a bit.”

Red shifts uncomfortably, but his gaze is sincere as he speaks, “Just wanted to thank you for the new setup in the bar. Been working here since it was falling apart. Nice to see it’s finally had a woman’s touch.”

There’s a roughness to his voice that’s softened by the genuine compliment, and you feel a small, pleased flush at his words. “Thank you, Red. I’m glad it’s been good for business.”

Red nods, glancing away as he adds, “Boss always did well by us, but since you came around, he’s… different. Happier, I’d say. Gives the rest of us some hope.”

The words linger, warm and honest, and you realize that Bucky’s men may be as loyal to him as they are because he’s given them more than just orders; he’s given them respect, a family, and maybe even a little hope. You nod back at Red, giving him a warm smile. “He’s done the same for me.”

A few of the younger men, though more rough-hewn than Red, begin to warm up to you as well, quickly growing protective of you in a way that surprises you. One afternoon, a few of them return to the house after a particularly rough day, bruised and tired but in good spirits, their banter filling the hall. You’re in the kitchen when you overhear them.

“Boss’s wife made some tea for us last time,” one of them—Jimmy—mutters with a half-smile. “Think she might be up for it again?”

You chuckle to yourself, preparing a tray of tea and a few snacks for them. When you bring it into the room, their eyes go wide with surprise and maybe a little embarrassment, but they’re grateful all the same, mumbling thanks and compliments as they tuck into the food. Their guarded attitudes soften gradually, each interaction building a bridge between you and them.

As the months go on, Bucky decides to show you more about his business dealings, explaining the basics of the operation, from shipments to negotiation tactics. He wants you to know the essentials, to understand what’s at stake if anything were to go wrong. Though you’re initially overwhelmed, Bucky’s calm and thorough explanations ground you, and soon, you’re able to follow along, asking questions and even offering ideas.

One night, as he’s going over the logistics of a particularly tricky deal, you suggest a more discreet route for his shipments, one that would minimize the chances of a police raid. He pauses, regarding you with admiration.

“That’s… clever,” he says, grinning as he pulls you closer. “You’re catching on fast.”

You smile, feeling a little thrill at the idea that you can help him. “Well, I figured if I’m going to be part of this life, I should understand it as best as I can.”

He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Smart and beautiful. I’ve got myself a hell of a wife.”

Living in Bucky’s world isn’t easy, but with him by your side, you find yourself adapting more every day. His men, once guarded and wary, now greet you with warm smiles and friendly nods. They even start calling you “Mrs. Barnes,” a title that sends a thrill through you each time you hear it. They respect you, not just as their boss’s wife, but as someone who’s proven herself resilient and unafraid, willing to stand by Bucky’s side in every sense.

One evening, as you and Bucky sit by the fire after a particularly busy day, he takes your hand, his gaze warm and full of pride.

“You’ve done more than just fit in,” he murmurs, tracing circles on the back of your hand. “You’re making this life better—for me, and for them. They’d walk through fire for you, you know.”

You smile, leaning into his embrace as you whisper, “I’d do the same for them. And for you.”

Bucky pulls you close, kissing you deeply, his touch filled with all the love and respect you’ve come to know. In this life, he’s given you a place, a purpose, and a family of sorts. And though it may be rough around the edges, it’s everything you never knew you wanted.

It’s a quiet evening in your home when you decide to tell Bucky. You’ve known for a few days now, caught between excitement and nervousness, wondering how he’ll take the news. The idea of Bucky, this fierce man with so much fire in him, as a father—it fills you with a kind of joy you can barely put into words. You can already picture him holding a little one with his protective grip and soft touch.

You find him in his office, going over some paperwork, his brow furrowed in that familiar way. When he sees you standing in the doorway, he smiles, putting his pen down and beckoning you over.

“Hey, doll. Everything all right?” he asks, his gaze warm.

You nod, a little flutter in your stomach as you sit down beside him. “More than all right,” you say, taking his hands in yours. “I have some news.”

He raises an eyebrow, his thumb brushing over your fingers. “News, huh? What’s got that look on your face?”

Taking a breath, you let the words tumble out. “I’m pregnant, Bucky. We’re going to have a baby.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his mouth parted slightly, as if he’s trying to comprehend what you’ve just said. Then, his face breaks into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen, and before you can react, he’s lifting you up off the chair, spinning you around as he lets out a loud, joyous laugh.

“You’re kidding,” he says, his voice thick with emotion as he pulls you into a tight embrace. “You’re not kidding, are you? We’re really going to have a baby?”

You laugh, tears in your eyes as you nod. “I’m not kidding, Bucky. You’re going to be a dad.”

He pulls back, cupping your face in his hands as he looks at you with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the world, you know that?” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “My girl… carrying our little one.”

From that moment on, Bucky is even more protective, if that’s even possible. He insists on accompanying you everywhere—walking you to the bar, the market, even down the street to visit friends. His arm stays wrapped around you, and he keeps a vigilant eye on everyone and everything, always hyper-aware of your surroundings.

His men catch wind of the news almost immediately—Bucky’s excitement is hard to contain, and soon it’s the talk of the whole operation. The older men, like Red, take on a near-brotherly protectiveness, fussing over you every time they see you. When you enter the bar, Red is the first to pull out a chair for you, insisting you sit down, rest your feet, and have a drink of water. He’ll even bring snacks, going on about how “a growing baby needs the right nourishment.”

“It’s just some crackers, Red,” you say with a chuckle one afternoon as he hands you a napkin with a few biscuits on it.

He huffs, shaking his head. “Crackers or not, it’s something. Boss says you need looking after, and by God, we’re all here to do it.”

The younger men, though, are even more amusing. They look at you now with a reverence that borders on idolization, like they’re seeing a saint. For them, the news of your pregnancy somehow cements you as a maternal figure—half of them treat you like a mother already, despite being barely younger than you.

One evening, you catch Jimmy and a couple of the other young guys following you at a short distance as you walk from the bar back to the house. When you turn around, hands on your hips, they come to a halt, shuffling their feet awkwardly.

“Are you… following me?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Jimmy scratches the back of his head, looking sheepish. “Uh, just, you know, keeping an eye out, ma’am. Making sure you’re safe.”

You bite back a smile, crossing your arms. “Bucky put you up to this?”

“Well,” Jimmy shrugs, looking to his buddies for help, “kinda. But we’re, uh, happy to do it. After all, you’re carrying the boss’s kid.”

The other young men nod earnestly, and you can’t help but laugh, touched by their earnest protectiveness. “You boys are something else,” you say, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine for the two blocks back to the house. Go on and get back to your posts.”

They look reluctant, but eventually they nod, tipping their hats before scurrying back down the street, casting looks over their shoulders just to be sure you’re all right.

But the most amusing situation happens one evening at the bar when you’re seated at your usual table, nursing a glass of water while Bucky wraps up a meeting. You see a group of young men hanging back by the door, glancing at you as if they’re unsure whether they should approach. Finally, one of them, a lanky kid named Tommy, gets a nudge from his friends and steps forward, clearing his throat.

“Mrs. Barnes?” he says, his face a little red.

“Yes, Tommy?”

“We… well, we just wanted to, uh, say that we’re here for you, you know? Anything you need, even if it’s something small, you can call on us.”

You smile warmly, touched by the sentiment. “Thank you, Tommy. I appreciate it.”

He nods, looking relieved, then turns back to his friends, giving them a thumbs-up. They all visibly relax, one of them even muttering, “Told you she wouldn’t bite.”

When Bucky returns and notices the young men lingering, he chuckles, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “What’s going on here? You boys causing trouble for my wife?”

Tommy quickly shakes his head. “No, Boss! We were just… making sure she’s taken care of.”

Bucky laughs, looking at you with pride. “Hear that, doll? You’ve got your own little entourage now.”

The protectiveness doesn’t end there. As your pregnancy progresses, Bucky’s men make it their mission to see you have everything you need. They show up with all sorts of things: blankets, pillows, snacks, even a few old baby trinkets from their own childhoods that they insist might bring you luck. Bucky can’t hide his amusement, shaking his head as each new offering arrives.

One afternoon, Red shows up with a hand-carved wooden cradle, rough around the edges but lovingly made. He clears his throat, looking a little embarrassed. “Made it myself, ma’am. Thought the little one might need it.”

You gasp, tears filling your eyes as you take in the beautiful, rustic cradle. “Red, this is incredible. Thank you.”

He grunts, shuffling his feet as he glances away. “Ah, well. Figured it’d be sturdy enough for the boss’s kid.”

Bucky squeezes your hand, beaming. “Look at that, doll. Already got a nursery started.”

By the time your due date draws near, you feel almost invincible, surrounded by Bucky and his fierce band of loyal men who’d go to the ends of the earth for you and the little life you’re carrying. And as you sit back one night, Bucky’s hand resting on your growing belly, you can’t help but feel grateful for this strange, wonderful family you’ve found yourself part of—rough around the edges but bound by a love as fierce as Bucky’s world itself.

The night your daughter is born is one of the most intense yet beautiful moments of your life. Labor stretches on through the evening, the pain fierce and unrelenting, but Bucky is right there, holding your hand, whispering words of encouragement. He’s a rock, his presence grounding you, his words calm and steady even when you can see the worry etched on his face.

When, finally, your daughter enters the world, she lets out a strong, piercing cry that fills the room. You’re exhausted, but as soon as she’s placed in your arms, a wave of overwhelming love washes over you, and nothing else matters. She’s tiny, with soft, dark hair and Bucky’s nose—a perfect blend of you both.

Bucky, watching from beside you, looks at her as if he’s seeing a miracle. He stares, his expression softened and filled with awe. He’s practically holding his breath as he takes in every detail, and then his hand reaches out, trembling slightly, to gently stroke her tiny fingers.

“Look at her,��� he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s… she’s perfect.”

You look up at him, tears in your eyes, and ask, “What should we call her?”

After a moment of thought, he murmurs, “Rosie. I think… she looks like a Rosie.”

You smile, looking down at the beautiful little girl in your arms. “Rosie Barnes,” you whisper, kissing her forehead. “It’s perfect.”

As the hours pass, Bucky holds her close, absolutely smitten. He’s careful and tender, his large hands dwarfing her tiny body as he cradles her against his chest. She settles there, soothed by the steady beat of his heart, and Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off her, as if afraid she might disappear if he does.

The next day, word of Rosie’s arrival spreads quickly, and before long, Bucky’s men begin arriving in groups, each eager to get a glimpse of the boss’s baby girl. They linger outside the house, trying to act casual, but their anticipation is obvious. When Bucky finally steps out, holding Rosie bundled in a soft blanket, they all fall silent, eyes wide as they take in the tiny baby nestled in his arms.

Red is the first to step forward, glancing between Bucky and you with an almost shy smile. He’s seen his fair share of the world, but the sight of his boss holding his newborn daughter seems to bring a sparkle to his eyes.

“Boss,” Red says, clearing his throat, “she’s… well, she’s just beautiful.”

Bucky beams with pride, his gaze flicking down to Rosie. “Yeah, isn’t she? Strong little thing, too. Just like her mom.”

The men gather around, each taking turns to offer congratulations and quietly marvel at Rosie. Jimmy, one of the youngest, looks utterly awestruck, his face softening as he whispers, “She’s so small. Boss, how’re you even holding her without breaking her?”

Bucky chuckles, shaking his head. “Carefully, Jimmy. You’d be surprised how tough she is.”

The men crowd around, the tougher among them looking a bit like kids as they lean in, captivated by the tiny face and the faint coos that escape her lips. One of the older men, Bruno, a giant of a guy with hands as big as dinner plates, seems almost afraid to look too closely. But when you offer to let him hold her, he stammers a bit before reluctantly accepting. His large hands are surprisingly gentle, and his face softens as he holds her, muttering, “Well, ain’t she just a little rosebud.”

Each of the men takes their turn holding Rosie, and as they do, their faces transform, hardened lines replaced by wide smiles and soft expressions. They each offer their own brand of affection, quietly promising to look after her and keep her safe.

“Boss, you can bet your life she’s got an army looking out for her,” Red says, his voice gruff with emotion. “Anybody even thinks about messing with Rosie, they’ll have us to answer to.”

Bucky’s face fills with gratitude, his arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders. “She’s got one hell of a family, that’s for sure.”

In the days that follow, Rosie becomes the unofficial darling of Bucky’s men. They treat her with a fierce loyalty, doting on her in ways that surprise even themselves. On nights when Bucky’s busy with business, some of the men stay at the house, watching over you and Rosie, always willing to lend a hand or sing a lullaby in gruff, off-key voices. It’s a strange sight—a group of hardened men cooing over a newborn—but they take to it naturally, each of them feeling a fierce need to protect this tiny life.

And as Rosie grows, you see how much she’s loved by this unlikely family. By the time she’s old enough to toddle around, she’s got each of Bucky’s men wrapped around her little finger. She even develops her own nicknames for them, each title bringing a proud smile to their faces.

“Uncle Red,” she chirps one day, tugging at Red’s sleeve to show him a flower she’s found in the garden. Red, whose heart might as well be on his sleeve when it comes to Rosie, kneels down and lets her place the flower in his graying hair.

“That’s a good look, kid,” Bucky teases, watching as Red, entirely unbothered, adjusts the flower to make sure it stays put.

Jimmy becomes “Jimmie-boy,” a nickname that sticks even when she’s older, and he loves it, wearing the title like a badge of honor. And every one of them takes her antics in stride, always willing to let her “play boss” when she totters around the bar or “inspects” the back office, clutching Bucky’s hand.

Rosie is a little sunshine in their world, a reminder of what they’re protecting, and they become even more devoted to their boss because of her. Each of them, from the youngest to the oldest, would lay down their life for her without a second thought.

But Bucky’s protection is something else entirely. He never lets her out of his sight if he can help it, always watching with a proud, fierce smile. And each night, as you watch Bucky tuck Rosie into bed, his touch gentle, his voice a soft murmur of love, you know that you and Rosie are his whole world.

As he closes the door to Rosie’s room one night, he turns to you, his eyes filled with emotion.

“You gave me a family I never thought I’d have,” he whispers, pulling you close. “Every day with you two… it’s more than I ever dreamed of.”

And as you rest in his embrace, listening to the quiet peace of your home, you know that you’ve built a life together that’s both beautiful and fierce—a life filled with love, loyalty, and the strength to face whatever may come.

me when soft men. if you liked the story don't forget to leave a like and a reblog, drop a follow if you want to read more! <3

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

Thank you for answering the question!

So, the idea I have for the request with the Trio + Greta is this:

You know how when Edouard was killed and his body was used to be turned into a night creature, and even though he was a night creature, still saved Annette?

How would the Trio + Greta react to going through that scenario like what happened between Annette and Edouard? As in, them taking the place of Annette while their friend taking the place of Edouard.

A/N: Sorry for taking forever to answer this, it's been months. Oh my god, time flies! Can someone please make it stop?! But back to the topic at hand, I have to say I went into Nocturne all hyped for Maria (and while I still love her so much, she’s best girl!), I also fell in love with Edouard’s character. He’s so sweet and sensitive, and I appreciate how he encouraged the others to be open and vulnerable to acknowledge/process their grief. I recall a tumblr post that was like these Nocturne characters’ are facing the same problems as their predecessors, but at least this time, their emotional IQs have gone way up! So *fingers crossed*, here’s hoping the main cast won’t get as traumatized this time around. (Oh, who am I kidding? It’s Castlevania. Of course, they’re all gonna end up traumatized.) 

Oh, and I wrote this in the third person as opposed to a first-person Reader-Insert, I hope that’s okay!

TW: Brief Mentions of Violence; Death; Heavy Angst (Reader Beware!)

The Trio + Greta React to Their GN! Friend Getting Turned Into a Night Creature: 

Trevor: 

In the heat of battle, he barely has time to register, much less process, his friend’s death. 

By the time the fight is over and he’s realized what’s happened, it feels like the wind has been knocked out of his chest, and he’s already begun to blame himself, regardless of whether or not it was his fault. 

He’s a Belmont, he should've known better. Simply by associating with them, he was practically digging his friends’ grave. He shouldn’t have let them come along, he should've scared them away. Fuck! Why didn’t he push them away like he did everyone else? Out of all of the people to stay and get put in danger, why did it have to be the one person he cared so much about?

So in his guilt and grief, Trevor does what he does best: drink. He drinks to excess the first night without his friend at his side. And as well as the second. And then the third. 

If he’s with Sypha and Alucard (and/or Greta in Village Belmont at the time of his friend’s death, this is the point where they'd step in and cut off his booze.) If Trevor’s alone, however, you can bet he spends a good week or so drunk as a skunk, and completely out of his mind. 

When the alcohol doesn’t numb the pain anymore, he tries to jump ahead to acceptance, telling himself that it was unavoidable, that his curse will always rob him of his happiness, of his friends and family in the end. Of course, like some sick twisted turn of fate, just as he accepts it was out of his hands, a familiar face re-enters his life. 

When Trevor first encounters his friend as a night creature, he doesn’t recognize that it’s them straight away. He’s a monster hunter and he attacks on autopilot— monsters’ appearances be damned. And when he does finally recognize that this night creature has been forged from the body of his deceased friend, he assumes, like all the other forged creatures he’s fought before, that it’s merely his friend’s corpse being used as a vessel for a damned soul. 

Then Trevor loses his footing as well as his weapon. But when his former friend turned night creature has a chance to deal Trevor a scathing blow, they hesitate, and instead choose to stare Trevor down rather than attack him. It’s at this moment, that Trevor realizes with a lurch of his stomach, that this isn’t a night creature in the body of his friend, but that this night creature is his friend. 

He thinks he’s going to be sick, but before that happens a separate night creature aims to attack. Trevor quickly crawls to retrieve his whip only to turn around to see that he doesn’t need it: his night creature friend turns on its fellow beasts and rips them apart limb by limb. 

The two of them sit in the deafening silence that follows, each one eyeing the other up, waiting for someone to finally break the spell of concentration and make their move. 

Trevor’s friend moves first, speaking in a rough, deep voice: “Tre..v..or,” it manages to get out. 

As much as it pains him, as much as he knows his next move will haunt him for the rest of his natural life, Trevor blinks away the tears threatening to fall from his eyes, and charges ever so quickly towards the creature. His former friend turned monster has no time to react to what’s happening by the time Trevor’s knife is piercing through their chest. 

“I’m sorry…” Trevor rasps out, guilt beginning to consume him once again. “‘S all my fault.” 

Trevor is the last Belmont alive. Belmonts were trained to find and kill monsters. At least, that’s what Trevor keeps telling himself as he looks down at the corpse of his friend for the second time. 

Belmonts hunt monsters, and they protect people. 

And yet, standing there, Trevor feels that’s never been more of a lie. 

Sypha: 

Sypha tries like hell to save her friend, she really does. She creates defensive ice shields, rings of fire, hell even an ice cube around her friend all in an attempt to keep them safe from harm during battle. 

But no matter what she tries, no matter how incredible she is at multitasking: it’s not enough. Something happens, something else gets her attention, someone else’s immediate safety takes precedence. Just for one moment, she turns her back on her friend, assuming they’d be alright for that long.

When Sypha returns to find her friend dying or dead, she lets out the most guttural scream, as icicles and fireballs rain down from the sky above her effectively squashing any remaining enemies. In her grief, her power surges through her, unstoppable like a nuclear reaction. She doesn’t just strike her enemies dead, she obliterates what remains of their corpses until they are nothing but ash and smoke.

Sypha, being from a large nomadic family, takes it upon herself to track down her friends' surviving relatives (if they have any) and bring their remains back to them. Being the kind of curious person Sypha is, she’s likely to know a fair amount about her friends' culture and religion. If there are specific burial rites she knows her friend would have liked observed, she wants them adhered to and she refuses to leave her friend's corpse until they’ve been officially put to rest. 

But on her journey back (either to her friend’s family or the cemetery outside of Village Belmont), she’s attacked on the road by rogue vampires. Luckily, she and her companions make it out unscathed. Unfortunately, however, it seems those monsters have taken her friends' corpses with them. 

Sypha mourns for a second time, not only the loss of her friend’s life but the loss of any closure she might have been hoping to create. Despite them no longer living, she feels as if she’s somehow managed to let them down a second time. 

The next time she’s defending a crowd of folks against hordes of night creatures, Sypha is extra cautious, her friend’s death still fresh on her mind. And as the cruel mistress fate would have it, the image of her friend becomes real in front of her. Only this time, they’ve changed. They’ve mutated into something beastly with scales, claws, and horns, leaving only their face— eyes, nose, and mouth— and voice unchanged. 

Initially, Sypha refuses to listen to this fraudulent night creature’s words, deeming their entire resemblance nothing more than a devilish trick. But when their former friend-turned-night-creature suddenly turns on its fellow beasts, tearing them apart before they can attack Sypha or her friends, Sypha is forced to confront the possibility that this creature still has her friend's soul trapped inside.

Sypha keeps up her defensive magic and ushers everyone else away. She makes it so it’s just her and her former friend left standing out on the battlefield. 

Keeping a flame in one hand, Sypha raises the other in greeting, her large eyes widening as the creature mirrors her movements. 

Sypha’s torn. On one hand, if her friend’s soul is still in there, they could be trapped and suffering, waiting for the release of either death or salvation to set them free, much like how her soul was trapped when she lost to the Cyclops. On the other hand, if her friend is still in there somewhere, maybe it’s only their form that’s changed, and their personality has not. Is it possible for a night creature to exist and not be violent?

It’s one hell of a risk to take, however. And Sypha knows she can’t risk the fate of Village Belmont, of all those orphan children, hell, of her children, because of a guilty conscience.

“Leave,” she says, advancing towards her former friend. “Do not return!” She sends a blast of fire in their general direction, herding them away. 

“Go!” She screams, sending even greater flames. 

The night creature frowns, backing up, confused. They cock their head to the side as if to ask why Sypha’s doing this. The confusion lasts only a moment before a hardened expression comes over them. They slowly nod before dragging their monstrous body far beyond the tree line, far away from Village Belmont. 

Through her teary blurred vision, Sypha watches her former friend-turned-monster leave, a look of sorrow on both their faces. 

Sypha makes a mental note to research ways of freeing her friend from their curse, should she come across them again. In the meantime, she hopes for their safety and asks that God (as much as he hates her) take mercy on her companion. 

Sypha feels their current existence is punishment enough. 

Alucard: 

Alucard is not there when his friend is killed, a fact that haunts him long after their demise. He was not present for his Mother’s death either, and due to the manner of her murder, he was left without a body to mourn. Alucard knows fate is a cruel mistress, but to repeat such a grief with his dear friend, it’s almost too much to bear. 

Still, Alucard’s not one to actively wallow, so he sulks for a short period before returning to his many duties as protector and curator of his father’s castle and the Belmont hold. He plays with the children, he and Greta teach the willing adults how to fight, and he even takes to cleaning up his old nursery to welcome Trevor’s and Sypha's incoming child. 

On all outside fronts, Alucard appears the same as he was, but on the inside, his chest aches, and his stomach weighs heavily in his gut. Internally, he’s full of ‘what-ifs’:

Perhaps, if he taught his friend more defensive techniques before the battle. Or if he had only encouraged them to run rather than fight, they might still be here within these cold castle walls. Sure, he and the others may have ended up teasing his friend for being cowardly, and Alucard’s certain that would embarrass them, but my god— what’d Alucard give for his friend to be alive and embarrassed rather than dead. 

After some time, Alucard finds his mind less and less occupied by his sorrow over his friend’s demise, and instead, begins to fill the space with fond memories. He recalls their first meeting, their first fight together, and their first night wandering the ruins of the Belmont hold. 

Their ill-fated reunion starts with an alert from one of the watchtowers, then a second yell from a guard, before Alucard finds himself running, magical blade drawn, into a horde of beastly night creatures. 

Aluccard’s on them before they can set upon the other guards. He makes quick work of two with his longsword and wounds a third with his claws. None of the night creatures' attacks are surprising, with every move they make, either Alucard or another fighter such as Greta can slice them down where they stand. 

All appears to be well in hand when a rough voice calls for help just beyond the tree line. Wasting no time, Alucard proceeds alone, instructing the others to hang back in the instance it’s a trap. 

To Alucard’s credit, it is a trap. Just not the one he was expecting. 

A night creature, more on the smaller side, emerges from the shadows on all fours. On its side a large wound gushes red, the mark appearing to be from another creature as opposed to a human blade. 

But that is not what catches Alucard’s attention. Rather, it is the voice of the night creature that sounds so similar. 

With rising horror, frozen in place Alucard watches as the twisted, tortured body of his former friend pulls itself closer and closer. The creature pleads with Alucard by name, begging for their friend to make the pain stop. 

It is not the first time Alucard has seen such magic. When the rebis reanimated in his childhood bedroom, he could see the souls of his parents struggling to house themselves within the rebis’ one body. It was such a horrifying sight, Alucard had to close his eyes and look away, but here, with his former friend’s clawed hand gripping his shin, no such possibility exists. 

Alucard knows what he must do, he knows it’s only fair to end his friend’s life, to prevent them from suffering any further torment. Then why can’t he do it? 

Alucard raises his blade using magic, preparing to slice his friend’s head off cleanly, when the creature lets out a final gurgle before falling still. 

The blade continues to hover in the air as Alucard falls to his knees weeping. Somehow every time he believes to be past this pain, even more befalls him. 

Alucard allows himself to grieve, hoping this time is the last. 

Greta: 

Greta’s no stranger to loss. She’s lost several men and villagers to the night creature attacks long before Alucard came into the picture. Being the Village Head, she’s found she’s left with little time to grieve, but perhaps, that is for the better. 

Once Village Belmont is established, and Alucard is reunited with his friends, Greta allows herself to mourn the loss of her villagers, showing their remains respect by burying them in the Village Belmont cemetery. Of course, not every one of her lost friends has a body to bury. 

In one of the night creature’s original attacks, they had taken the corpses of their victims as well as some folks still alive, presumably to eat or devour later. 

One of Greta’s dear friends was among them, and while she wishes more than anything she could have held their hand and comforted them as they bled out, as she did a handful of others, there’s no going back to change the past— what’s done is done. 

Greta takes a vote, and the villagers agree to put up a Gravemarker anyway, just as a way of honoring their memory.

It happens just as she exits the castle to give the good news of the arrival of Sypha and Trevor’s new baby. The many houses around Castlevania are lit up with merriment when a handful of stray monsters decide to attack. 

Greta takes the lead on the defense, holding her own until she finds herself accidentally backed into a corner one night by a creature that almost looks like an overgrown dog. She’s surprised she let herself be so foolish but she’s even more surprised by the beast’s refusal to strike. 

Confused, Greta analyzes the creature further, gasping in shock when she recognizes the pair of eyes that stare back at her. It couldn’t be. Could it? And if it is, what does this mean?

Greta thinks back to when she first met Alucard. Granted, she and her people knew he was not human, but his reputation as a savior preceded him. Perhaps, she considers, it is possible then, for a night creature to also go against its primal nature and choose the same.

She manages to push the creature back, calling for other armed members to surround it until Alucard can come and get a better look. Greta asks the dhampir what he thinks, if it’s possible this is her friend transformed, or if she’s letting sentiment get the better of her. 

Alucard admits that he’s read of certain necromancers and forge masters possessing the ability to maintain pre-existing souls when forging newly twisted monsters, however, this particular experience would be a first. It could very well be Greta’s friend, their soul in this body, but it could also just be their corpse. 

They decide to consult Trevor.

The three of them discuss back and forth as to what to do with this miniature night creature so long Sypha herself comes out, demanding to know why the hell she just left her newborn with a midwife to come get Trevor’s disappearing ass who said he’d be right back before walking out after the birth of their firstborn son?!

Everyone ends up at a loss.

Unphased by all the arguing, the night creature has since started to playfully catch sticks and stones, which some braver children have thrown at them. 

Sypha agrees to leash the night creature within a magic circle until they can figure out what to do with it. At this point, the night creature curls up into a ball of scales and fur and promptly falls asleep. 

“Well,” Greta says, “I suppose we didn’t need that Gravemarker after all.” 

A/N: Sorry for the sort of cop-out ending with Greta’s, I just couldn't bring myself to end hers on a sad note as well, so instead, she gets a night creature guard dog bff to accompany her around Village Belmont! Also, if I had to pick a Castlevania character to be surprisingly chill about their friend becoming a reanimated creature, it’d be her. (Well, Hector first and then Greta but you see my point.)  

As always, if you enjoyed this, please Like & REBLOG!

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[dee-writes-anime]

ehhh, i'm not sure if you do Platonic, but if you do, could i request Aizawa x (student)reader who sometimes struggles w Japanese? If you don't do platonic that's fine, i hope you have a great day nonetheless!! <33

It Just Takes Time

FEATURING Shota Aizawa x Reader (PLATONIC)

SUMMARY Turns out that learning Japanese is really hard. (thank you for the cute request, anon!)

CONTENT WARNINGS reader being self critical, academic struggles, reader comparing themself to others.

AUTHORS NOTE I think this ask is actually really fitting for how I'm currently feeling. So, for anyone else out there struggling, listen to daddy Aizawa and know that everyone learns and grows at their own pace, just keep on working hard and don't give up!

You sit at your desk, papers and textbooks scattered around you in a haphazard pile that hints at the hours you’ve spent struggling. The Japanese characters on the page blur together, no matter how hard you try to focus. It's like they’re taunting you, reminding you of every time the words haven’t come easily, every time you’ve stumbled or hesitated in class.

A familiar presence shifts beside you. You glance up, and there stands Aizawa, hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed but his gaze as sharp as ever. He regards you with that cool, assessing look he’s known for. “You look like you’re ready to snap your pencil in half,” he observes, and there’s a faint, almost teasing lilt to his tone.

You let out a sigh, feeling a hint of embarrassment. “It’s just… hard. Everyone else seems to understand so quickly. I feel like I’m always the last one to get it.”

Aizawa doesn’t reply right away. Instead, he pulls a chair next to yours and settles into it with a deliberate, calm ease. He waits a moment, as if he’s letting your frustration settle before responding. “Comparing yourself to others won’t help you learn,” he says, his tone firm but not unkind. “Each person has their own pace. Yours happens to be a bit different. That’s all.”

His words, as straightforward as they are, bring a strange comfort. You hadn’t expected him to sit down and tutor you directly, but now that he’s here, the pressure to be perfect seems to lighten.

He shifts his gaze to the paper in front of you, scanning the sentences you’ve been wrestling with. “Alright,” he says finally, his tone decisive. “Let’s go through this together. You read the first line, and I’ll help when you need it.”

You hesitate, feeling the weight of his attention as he watches you. Aizawa’s presence is intense but not intimidating; his patience seems infinite, like he’s willing to sit here as long as it takes for you to get it right. With a steadying breath, you begin to read, stumbling over a few characters.

He stops you gently, pointing to a specific word. “Let’s break this down. Each character has its own structure and meaning—if you can understand that, it’ll make more sense in context.” He explains the origin of each character, his voice low and even, helping you see beyond just the lines and strokes.

As he talks, you find yourself drawn into his explanations. He speaks with such clarity and purpose that the words start to come alive. His hand occasionally hovers over your paper, tracing a line or pointing out a radical, making the language feel less foreign, less impossible.

When you falter, his eyes remain steady on yours, grounding you. “Focus on one part at a time,” he advises, his voice a calming murmur that somehow cuts through the tension tightening your shoulders. “Learning a language isn’t about speed. It’s about understanding.”

Minutes turn to hours, and outside the window, the sun dips lower, casting the room in a warm, amber glow. You realize you’ve started to pick up on patterns in the characters you didn’t see before, small tricks and connections that make each word seem less intimidating. With Aizawa’s guidance, your confidence begins to grow, even if it’s just a flicker.

Eventually, he leans back slightly, his eyes never leaving you. “Try reading this line again,” he says, pointing to a sentence you struggled with earlier. “And don’t rush. Just… read.”

You take a deep breath and begin, carefully sounding out each word. This time, something clicks. The words come more easily, the characters less like strangers and more like acquaintances you’re beginning to understand. When you finish, you glance at Aizawa, half-expecting some kind of correction.

Instead, he gives a small nod of approval. “Good,” he says, his voice softer than usual. “You’re getting there. It may not feel like much, but that’s progress.”

You feel a warmth spread in your chest, a mixture of relief and gratitude. “Thank you, Aizawa-sensei,” you murmur, almost shyly. “I… I don’t think I could have gotten through this without you.”

He watches you with a look that’s hard to interpret, a quiet depth behind his eyes. “Don’t thank me for doing what you were already capable of,” he replies, his tone gentle but unwavering. “You put in the effort. I was just here to make sure you didn’t doubt yourself.”

A comfortable silence settles between you as you begin packing up your things, the weight of his words lingering. Aizawa’s encouragement isn’t effusive or loud—it’s grounded, like the support of a solid foundation. And though his words are few, each one is intentional, reminding you that you’re capable, that your pace is your own.

As you stand, he offers a parting piece of advice. “If you ever need help, don’t hesitate to ask. Language isn’t easy, but it’s worth learning.”

With a small, grateful smile, you nod. “I will, Sensei. Thanks… really.”

He nods back, his expression softening just slightly as he watches you leave. And as you step out of the classroom, you carry with you not only the knowledge he shared but also a newfound confidence, one that makes the challenge of learning feel just a bit lighter.

[chirpsythismorning]

Redditors and toxic milkvans: Why do you bylers keep insisting El’s arc is about independence? Nowhere has there been any signs that is the case—

Millie:

[blorbologist]

Y'know, I think I figured out why the Hells still feel like a new low-level party to me, even though they're level 13 and almost 100 episodes in.

I don't quite think it's the lack of conversations, or the fact half the party's plot hooks are big ties to past campaigns - though that definitely plays a part.

... Bell's Hells still primarily rely on quest givers.

Most of their goals are given to them and do not feel organic to the party, and constantly remind us that the Hells are pretty much never the most powerful people in the room. Which is usually something you see with a low-level party.

NPCs offering jobs is not a bad thing; it's a very common plot hook. Matt has been extremely skilled with using NPC quest givers in those two campaigns. Not only do they provide an obvious plot thread, but they can put the party in the path of others (say, the Nein running into the Iron Shepherds while doing a job for the Gentleman and everything that came of that). And the Hells had a solid start with it too - Eshteross was an excellent quest giver!

The problem is that Bell's Hells have never really not had a quest giver.

Maybe it's a byproduct of the more plot-heavy structure of this campaign? But while prior parties have felt like they decided on their course of action and what they prioritized, Bell's Hells feels less like level 13 (13! Level 13!) experienced adventurers and more like an MMO group clicking on the exclamation point over an NPC's head. Where does the plot demand we go next? Who do we report back to?

They're level 13.

At level 13, Vox Machina had just defeated a necromantic city-state to clear their name and Percy's conscience. And, you know, the Conclave just destroyed Emon. No one was explicitly telling the group to gather Vestiges and save the world (though Matt guided them there), and they were usually among the most powerful people in the room. They chose which Vestiges to prioritize, which dragons to tackle when, even if the over-all plot was pretty clear.

At level 13, the Mighty Nein were celebrating Traveler Con (another PC goal, I'll note) after brokering peace between two nations, accidentally becoming pirates and heroes of the Dynasty. The Nein regularly chose what to do based on personal goals, not grand ones. Though definitely smaller fish than Vox Machina at this level, they were very independent and gaining solid political clout.

While we're at it: level 13 is one level lower than the Ring of Brass, who had a huge amount of sway over Avalir. They ended the world, and also saved it, while in the grand scheme of things being only a smidge more powerful than Bell's Hells are now.

Can you really see the Hells wielding that amount of influence, when they're constantly being told what to do next?

The god-eater might be unleashed, so Bell's Hells have no time to do anything but what is asked of them. No time for therapy unless stolen from Feywild time, no travel on foot and late-night watches. They haven't even had time to grieve FCG. Percy was grieved in the middle of the Conclave arc. Molly was grieved when half the party was still in irons.

Matt is in the very unfortunate spot of not being able to give the Hells the same agency as the other two parties. Not only because of the world-ending plot introduced so early on; they are surrounded by characters they know (and the cast knows) are stronger and wiser than them - the familiarity of the past PCs and NPCs is to their disadvantage.

Why would the party reasonably ignore Keyleth's task that will help save the world and go off on a romp? Why would the cast when they know well Keyleth has to be sensible and with the best intentions in mind? The stakes are just too high.

It means that the Hells still feel like they're running errands instead of pursuing their own destiny. Their accomplishments are diminished as just being parts of a to-do list, and any stakes feel padded by several level 20 PCs/NPCs standing 5 steps away ready to catch them.

This isn't Bell's Hell's fault, nor is it Matt's. It could be amended, I think, if the Hells are really left to their own devices for a long period of time without support and shortcuts (like during the party split)... which would be really tricky to pull off at this point in the campaign.

They're level 13. They're big fish, but they're stuck in a pond full of friendly sharks, so they don't feel big at all.

[beatcroc]

there's no way the bathroom at peppino's pizza is actually that big but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . hey ummm anyway.... i care them...... anyway there's a lil ramble on my take on fake pep's like psyche or whatever in tags on the og post if ur into that kinda thing :y

hey! it's a series! fake peppino world tour: [noise] [noisette] [peppino]<- u are here [gustavo] [gerome] [noisette again]

[essektheylyss]

I don't understand how some folks, both people who like and don't like shadowgast, seem to still want me to believe that Liam "caved" to Caleb and Essek being in a relationship because of fandom pressure and continues to go along with it halfheartedly only because of that even though he secretly hates it.

And meanwhile we have entirely unprompted asides like "Imagine two wizards—" "I do. Often."

[siilvan]

i am once again disappointed but not surprised at the COD fandom only caring about “sensitivity” when it’s convenient for them

[shorthaltsjester]

as always with adaptation stuff i would truly love to get like . play by play on what was chosen to keep and what was chosen to change and the reasons why just because i’m curious and i have some thoughts both loving and critical (ba dum tiss) about the contents of the first three eps but i think i’ll prob hold off on my personal I Didn’t Like This Choice until there’s a full season to contextualize it just because a bunch of stuff that i’m feeling more :/ about . the back of brain is like generating innumerable situations where said choice is forgivable/less frustrating to me so i will simply wait and hope to be given reasons to forgive

[icewindandboringhorror]

Lineup of all of the characters that appear long enough to need a visual representation of them in the game lol

[musical-chick-13]

Regarding the previous post, I think the way I approach trying to evaluate a piece of art is asking "Do I think the positive things I get out of it outweigh the parts of it that I don't like?" And when I call something a "guilty pleasure" song/show/book/piece of media/etc. it's really more in the sense of, "Given who I am as a person, the flaws I've found in this should be complete dealbreakers for me, but somehow they aren't, and it makes me feel like I'm having an identity crisis."

[charlesleclerctv]

Read the book. It was terrible. And then I saw what they were doing with this movie and who they've cast and how the promo's going. Happy to be a hater of it and the author <3

(Like if you want to tell the story about escaping DV, make something up, don't adapt a book from someone who is defending their rapist son)

yes, exactly! they're All in the wrong but it bothers me how this zionist who decided to adapt the book in the first place is getting no heat whatsoever

[marciabrady]

Hi! I was surprised to see somewhere you mentioned you don't like Lily James's Cinderella. I'm not judging, just surprised bc she seems to be widely considered the best live action princess depiction. I do think her Ella is less spunky and interesting than OG Cinderella but what criticisms do you have? Do you think she's as bad as Rachel's Snow will probably be?

I don't think anyone will ever be as bad as Lily was in her film, not even Rachel. With Rachel, it's a difficult situation because people keep changing what she did depending on what the public reaction is to absolve her of any wrongdoing so the internet can baby her. If people are upset with her comments about disliking Snow White, everyone will rally to her defense and say, "But she DIDN'T say that- watch her interviews!" and if someone clips exactly what she said, the goalpost is changed to, "OK, but it's an 80 year old movie; she was right!" So there's no merit in any discussion regarding Rachel, though I do think it's an out and out shame to have one of the most influential films and characters of media history be seen through such a banal lens, with criticisms which don't even hold any weight and all likely originated by an apathetic dullard that had beef with their childhood and took it out on a Disney film, and those criticisms kept getting passed around decade by decade (like I don't think these people who parrot these things to attempt to be intellectually superior to whatever they perceive to be the dominant culture of the past realize that they're really just repeating misogynistic trite half the time; like at Lindsay Ellis' character arc on The Little Mermaid from the late 2000's to today). I don't think anyone who actually watches Snow White for themselves, Rachel included, would have the takes she touts to have if they had to use their own head to come up with those opinions. But that groupthink and monoculture is an entirely different story for another time (and we can see how it's evolved, from everyone agreeing with the things she said despite it not lining up to the movie, to then morphing to the point of actually trying to pretend that Rachel loves the character of Snow White; posting pictures of going to the parks near the character's merchandise after being cast as the character is something different entirely to showing an understanding and appreciation of it, both of which Rachel is completely lacking in. The only thing she admires about Snow White is her reflection in it, now that she's been cast).

With Lily specifically, I think it's much more heinous for so many reasons. Not to compare traumas, but Snow White goes through more than any other character- male or female- in the animated canon. So while she, too, suffers abuse in her lifetime, I think Cinderella's film is the one that's kinda become the posterchild for surviving abuse so I think Lily opening her uneducated mouth and cosigning on victim-blaming rhetoric was not only incredibly inane, detrimental, uncalled for, and harmful of her to do, but also just...incomprehensibly dense when she gave us someone that more closely aligned with the victim doormat she accused the original of being? To be pompous and as self aggrandizing as Lily is, going to movie premieres that are only possible because of the original production which was the labor of love for thousands of artists, and to put it all down and paint abuse victims in such a shallow, unintelligent light, lacking any perspective, and propping your version up as the "stronger," more "empowered" one, when she gave us one that was more centered around a man, objectively weaker in every possible way, less nuanced, and hyper-sexualized, pandering to the male gaze...to me, it's everything wrong with these Hollywood hypotheses today in a nutshell.

Ilene Woods' Cinderella is so multilayered and human. and with it being a realistic portrayal, it can be alienating- because it reflects life. Some people like you, some people don't. Ilene's Cinderella had limits and could be curt and struggled with her faith and resented her situation, but she also had a fighter's spirit and was resilient and had humor and courage. You got a sense that, this was someone who never had any resources of their own and became, to everyone else, what she never had for herself, which created a path toward her inevitable freedom and success. Lily's...smiled dully, communicated ineffectively, and was a mess from a characterization standpoint. All the ways they tried to make her "empowered" or "develop her" hurt the story. The film is called Cinderella- by trying to develop her relationship with the Prince by making them meet in the woods before the ball, they changed the motive for Cinderella going to the ball to meet the Prince again. That's a HUGE step back and more closely aligns with Lily's insane comments that the original "just waited for a Prince to save her." In the original, she didn't even think she'd ever see her dance partner again after she left the ball. Her fighting for her right to go to the ball was symbolic of her demanding to be seen as a person in the eyes of their society and refusing to be bypassed once more. She didn't come for a Prince- you can see that by the way she showed up to the ball by herself and journeys through the Castle, admiring the architecture, while everyone else- including Anastasia and Drizella- are lined up to meet the Prince. Never once does she mention a man or love in any way until after he approaches her at the ball. She even leaves the Prince at midnight and doesn't know until the next morning who he is or that he's looking for her. That's a long step away from Lily's portrayal, 65 years later.

They try to give Lily more "snappy" moments to prove that she can assert herself (which original Cinderella had no issue doing) but they do it in a way that's largely ineffective. She challenges the Prince, but that's the only person and the way she does it...oof. When he asks her about her family, she passively whispers, "they treat me as well as they are able." But she's comfortable yelling at a stranger with weapons about hunting??? How is this the same person???? When she speaks back in French to her family, but the audience doesn't know what she said and neither does her stepfamily- and after it, she just runs along and does their bidding anyway? There's so many more examples. And, of course, her spinning around in circles and singing out-loud in the attic is the most obviously heinous example of her characterization. I swear, it's crazy to me that these real people half a century after the animated films, that accuse the originals of having shallow and regressive characters, give us just that. It's also funny to me that Lily James went on a press tour bashing the original Cinderella and looking ignorant as it pertains to abuse and feminism, and then got offended when reporters asked if her waist was photoshopped and she had the gall to reference the fact that we should be in a time where women support women. Lily's production of Cinderella reinforces Eurocentric beauty standards more than the original- the stepsisters, Lady Tremaine, and the Fairy Godmother all fit a very similar type of conventional beauty- young, hyperfeminine, white with VERY similar features, and stylized. They're completely monolithic in terms of body type and appearance, and took away the diversity of age ranges, body types, and physical features in the original. Then for Lily to gape about people asking her about her diet, after she spent an hour bashing the original female character as being "passive." Lily even openly admitted to being laced within an inch of her life, naturally being thin with a small waist but having to go on a liquid diet because she couldn't fit into her clothing otherwise. She laughed about having to belch in the Prince's face over and over again because she was so tightly laced and her stomach hurt from only being able to drink liquids and not eat...idk she just lacks in any intelligence or charm to me. I think it's also harmful because it's become the favored version, with Disney writing it into the original's novelization in contemporary books, with people think Lily's character was what the original one was and forgetting their differences, ugh I could go on about this forever. Just know I think Lily's performance in this film is the worst in cinema history lol

[biblicalhorror]

Thinking about my Rook hours </3

[starlooove]

Realizing the adultification and demonization of Duke and Damian is just. Not gonna stop. El oh el