#roller screens for windows

[jamesvince9898]

Enhance Your Property's Security and Aesthetic Appeal with Premium Window Roller Shutters

Introduction: In today’s world, securing your home or business is of utmost importance. The need for reliable, durable, and stylish solutions to safeguard property while enhancing its appearance has never been greater. Window roller shutters, shop front roller shutter, and security doors and screens are not just functional but also provide an aesthetic touch to both residential and commercial properties. Whether you're looking to boost security or add elegance, these solutions offer a perfect blend of form and function. In this article, we will delve into the various benefits and types of shutters, including plantation shutters, alfresco blinds, and security doors, to help you make the right decision for your space.

Window Roller Shutters: The Ultimate Solution for Home and Business Protection

Window roller shutters are an essential addition to any property, providing top-tier security and privacy. These shutters are designed to fit seamlessly over your windows and can be rolled up or down as needed. Made from robust materials such as aluminum or steel, they offer excellent protection against potential break-ins, harsh weather conditions, and excessive noise.

Why Choose Window Roller Shutters?

Enhanced Security: One of the primary reasons homeowners and business owners opt for window roller shutters is security. These shutters act as a strong barrier, making it difficult for intruders to break in. They provide an additional layer of protection, making it harder for thieves to access your property.

Privacy and Protection from the Elements: Roller shutters not only protect against burglars but also provide a higher level of privacy. By simply closing the shutters, you can shield your interior from prying eyes. Additionally, window roller shutters offer protection against strong winds, storms, and the scorching heat, ensuring a comfortable indoor environment.

Energy Efficiency: By insulating your windows, window roller shutters can improve energy efficiency. In colder months, they help retain heat inside, while during summer, they reduce the amount of heat entering, thus lowering your air conditioning costs.

Noise Reduction: For properties located in busy areas, window roller shutters provide an excellent solution for noise reduction. They help block out external sounds, offering a peaceful and quiet indoor environment.

Shop Front Roller Shutters: Elevate Your Business’s Security and Curb Appeal

For business owners, security is a top priority, especially when it comes to shop fronts. A shop front roller shutter not only safeguards your store from potential break-ins but also adds an element of professionalism to your establishment. These shutters are designed to withstand the toughest conditions while giving your business a sleek and modern look.

Benefits of Shop Front Roller Shutters:

Protection Against Vandalism: Commercial properties are often targeted by vandals, and shop front roller shutters offer a powerful deterrent. When the shop is closed, these shutters act as a physical barrier, protecting your merchandise, windows, and overall establishment from damage.

24/7 Security: Shop front roller shutters provide continuous security, offering peace of mind even after business hours. Whether you run a retail store or a restaurant, you can trust these shutters to keep your property safe at all times.

Customizable Designs: Shop front roller shutters come in various designs, allowing you to choose a style that complements the exterior of your business. From perforated shutters to solid shutters, these options allow for both security and aesthetics.

Easy Operation: Shop front roller shutters are user-friendly, typically designed for easy manual or motorized operation. Whether you want to control the shutters via a remote control or with a simple switch, these shutters provide hassle-free security solutions.

Security Doors and Screens: The First Line of Defense for Your Property

In addition to window roller shutters, security doors and screens are essential for safeguarding your home or business. These doors are designed to be highly durable, ensuring that intruders are unable to gain entry easily. Available in a variety of materials, including steel, aluminum, and wrought iron, security doors offer superior protection while maintaining a stylish appearance.

Why Install Security Doors and Screens?

Durable Protection: Security doors are built to last and can withstand physical force. They act as an additional deterrent to intruders, making it more difficult for them to gain access to your property.

Enhanced Ventilation and Visibility: Unlike traditional doors, security doors and screens allow for improved airflow and visibility. This means you can keep your door open for ventilation while still enjoying the peace of mind that your property is secure.

Aesthetic Appeal: Security doors are available in various styles, allowing you to match them with the overall design of your home or business. Whether you prefer a sleek modern look or a more traditional design, you’ll find a security door that suits your tastes.

Long-Lasting Performance: High-quality security doors and screens require minimal maintenance and are built to withstand wear and tear. With the right care, they can last for many years, offering long-term protection for your property.

Plantation Shutters: Timeless Elegance for Your Home

Plantation shutters are a versatile and elegant window treatment option that can add both style and functionality to your home. These shutters are typically made from wood or high-quality synthetic materials, offering a sophisticated look that suits any interior design.

The Benefits of Plantation Shutters:

Timeless Appeal: Plantation shutters have a classic, timeless design that never goes out of style. Whether you’re designing a contemporary living room or a more traditional bedroom, plantation shutters complement any décor.

Light Control and Privacy: One of the standout features of plantation shutters is their adjustable slats, which allow you to control the amount of light entering your home. You can easily adjust the slats to create the perfect ambiance while ensuring privacy.

Energy Efficiency: Plantation shutters are excellent at insulating your home, keeping it cooler in summer and warmer in winter. This helps to reduce your energy bills, making them a great long-term investment.

Low Maintenance: Unlike curtains or blinds that require regular cleaning, plantation shutters are easy to maintain. A quick wipe down with a damp cloth is all that’s needed to keep them looking pristine.

Alfresco Blinds: Enjoy Outdoor Living in Comfort and Style

For homeowners who love outdoor living spaces, alfresco blinds are an excellent choice. These blinds are designed to provide shade and protection from the elements while allowing you to enjoy your alfresco dining or lounge area throughout the year.

Why Choose Alfresco Blinds?

Protection from the Elements: Alfresco blinds are designed to shield you from wind, rain, and the harsh sun, allowing you to enjoy your outdoor spaces no matter the weather conditions.

Increased Privacy: When installed around outdoor areas such as patios or verandas, alfresco blinds offer added privacy, preventing neighbors from overlooking your space.

Versatile Designs: Alfresco blinds are available in a wide range of materials and colors, making it easy to find the perfect match for your outdoor décor. You can opt for motorized blinds for added convenience or manual options for a more traditional approach.

Increased Property Value: By enhancing your outdoor spaces, alfresco blinds can significantly improve the value of your property. They provide a functional and stylish solution that appeals to potential buyers.

[spectrablinds01]

5 Reasons Roller Door Screens Are Ideal for Indian Homes

When it comes to enhancing the comfort and aesthetics of a home, small yet functional additions can make a big difference. One such practical and stylish solution is Roller Door Screens. These versatile screens are gaining popularity in Indian homes for good reasons. Here are five compelling reasons why roller door screens are an ideal choice for Indian households.

1. Protection from Insects and Dust

India’s diverse climate often brings with it a fair share of mosquitoes, flies, and other insects, especially during the monsoon season. Roller door screens act as a protective barrier, keeping unwanted pests out while allowing fresh air to circulate freely. They are also effective in reducing the amount of dust entering your home, a common issue in urban areas.

Unlike traditional netting solutions, roller door screens are designed to be sleek and easy to use. You can roll them up or down as needed, offering flexibility without compromising on protection.

2. Space-Saving and Convenient Design

One of the key advantages of roller door screens is their space-saving design. Unlike bulky doors or fixed mesh panels, these screens can be neatly rolled up when not in use. This feature makes them ideal for homes with limited space or for doorways that require occasional access.

Similarly, Window Roller Blinds are a perfect solution for windows. They take up minimal space while offering excellent functionality. Whether you want to block out sunlight or enjoy privacy, window roller blinds are both stylish and practical.

3. Energy Efficiency

Indian summers can be scorching, and keeping your home cool often leads to high electricity bills. Roller door screens and Window Roller Blinds can help mitigate this issue. By allowing natural ventilation, roller door screens reduce the need for air conditioning, thus saving energy.

Window roller blinds, on the other hand, help regulate indoor temperatures by blocking out harsh sunlight. When used together, these two solutions can significantly improve the energy efficiency of your home.

4. Enhanced Aesthetic Appeal

Modern roller door screens and window roller blinds come in a variety of designs, colors, and materials, making it easy to match them with your home’s decor. Whether you prefer a minimalist look or a vibrant design, there are plenty of options to choose from.

For instance, roller door screens with sleek frames and subtle colors can seamlessly blend with any doorframe, enhancing the overall look of your interiors. Similarly, window roller blinds can add a touch of elegance to your windows, making them a focal point in any room.

5. Durability and Low Maintenance

Made from high-quality materials, roller door screens are built to withstand daily wear and tear. They are resistant to rust, corrosion, and weather changes, making them a durable choice for Indian homes. Cleaning these screens is also simple; a quick wipe with a damp cloth is usually enough to keep them looking as good as new.

The same goes for window roller blinds. Their robust build ensures long-term use, and they require minimal maintenance compared to traditional curtains. This durability makes them a cost-effective investment in the long run.

Why Choose Roller Door Screens for Your Home?

If you’re looking for a solution that combines functionality, style, and convenience, roller door screens are an excellent choice. They cater to the unique needs of Indian households, from keeping insects at bay to enhancing the aesthetic value of your living spaces.

Pairing them with Window Roller Blinds further elevates the comfort and style of your home. Together, these additions create a harmonious balance of practicality and elegance, making them a must-have for modern Indian homes.

Conclusion

Roller door screens and window roller blinds are not just accessories; they’re transformative solutions for a better living experience. By investing in these products, you can enjoy a more comfortable, energy-efficient, and visually appealing home. Whether you’re renovating or building a new home, consider incorporating roller door screens and window roller blinds for a smarter and more stylish living space.

[anand07723]

Elevate Your Space with SliderPro: Premier Sliding Door and Window Repair Service

In the realm of home aesthetics and functionality, SliderPro Doors and Window Service stands as a beacon of excellence. With a commitment to quality craftsmanship and impeccable service, we specialize in enhancing the beauty and efficiency of your living spaces. From repairing sliding doors to rejuvenating windows, SliderPro is your trusted partner in maintaining the integrity of your home.

Unlocking Smooth Functionality: Sliding Door Repair

Sliding doors are not just entryways; they are gateways to seamless indoor-outdoor living experiences. However, wear and tear can compromise their functionality over time. SliderPro specializes in expert sliding door repair services, addressing issues such as jammed doors, faulty tracks, and misaligned panels. Our skilled technicians meticulously diagnose and resolve these issues, restoring your sliding doors to their optimal performance.

Smooth Gliding Every Time: Sliding Door Roller Repair

The rollers are the unsung heroes of sliding doors, facilitating smooth gliding motion with every open and close. However, worn-out or damaged rollers can hinder this functionality, causing friction and difficulty in operation. SliderPro offers professional sliding door roller repair services, replacing worn-out rollers with high-quality replacements. With our expertise, you can enjoy effortless operation and silent gliding for years to come.

Clarity and Durability: Sliding Glass Door Repair

Sliding glass doors serve as elegant focal points in any home, inviting natural light and showcasing outdoor views. However, cracked glass, damaged frames, or malfunctioning mechanisms can detract from their beauty and functionality. SliderPro specializes in comprehensive sliding glass door repair, addressing issues ranging from minor glass scratches to major structural damage. Our meticulous attention to detail ensures that your sliding glass doors are restored to their pristine condition, enhancing both aesthetics and durability.

Efficient Performance: Sliding Door Roller Replacement

The rollers are the backbone of sliding doors, bearing the weight and facilitating smooth operation. Over time, these rollers may wear out or become damaged, compromising the door's functionality. SliderPro offers professional sliding door roller replacement services, using premium-quality rollers to ensure efficient performance and longevity. With our expert replacement services, you can bid farewell to squeaky, jammed, or misaligned sliding doors and embrace smooth, hassle-free operation.

Seamless Outdoor Living: Sliding Screen Repair

Sliding screens offer a perfect balance of ventilation and protection, allowing you to enjoy the outdoors without compromising comfort or security. However, tears, holes, or damaged frames can diminish their effectiveness. SliderPro specializes in expert sliding screen repair services, addressing issues such as torn screens, bent frames, or malfunctioning rollers. Our skilled technicians restore your sliding screens to their original condition, allowing you to enjoy uninterrupted outdoor living experiences.

Preserving Panoramic Views: Window Repair

Windows are more than just openings; they are portals to the world outside, framing picturesque views and inviting natural light into your home. However, damaged frames, foggy glass, or malfunctioning mechanisms can detract from their beauty and functionality. SliderPro offers comprehensive window repair services, addressing issues ranging from minor scratches to major structural damage. Our skilled technicians utilize advanced techniques and high-quality materials to restore your windows to their optimal condition, preserving their aesthetic appeal and energy efficiency.

In conclusion, SliderPro Doors and Window Service is your premier destination for expert sliding door and window repair solutions. With our commitment to quality craftsmanship, attention to detail, and customer satisfaction, we ensure that your home maintains its beauty, functionality, and efficiency for years to come. Contact SliderPro today to experience the difference firsthand and elevate your living spaces to new heights of excellence.

[alygator77]

ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 6 ᰔᩚ

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

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

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, some triggers of domestic abuse (emotional abuse but it can be a bit suggestive/interpreted as physical, from naoya not satoru) » 【note, this chapter contains explicit sexual content (dry humping, grinding)】

ꨄ words: 14.4k

ꨄ a/n. hello my lovelies!! :) life has been a roller coaster to say the least, but i'm so excited to share this chapter with ya'll. i'll see you at the bottom with my thoughts ♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

♬ playlist

series masterlist ꨄ︎ previous chapter ꨄ︎ next chapter →

ch 6 // drenched in truth

The gala was a night that promised perfection, elegance and ease…but the storm on the horizon had other plans for you.

As murmurs of conversation hum throughout the grand ballroom, it’s easy to forget the world outside—that is, until you hear the first distant rumble of thunder.

Before you know it, the once clear starry evening, slowly gives way to ominous clouds gathering the horizon, with the first raindrops of the evening arriving barely noticed beneath the layers of music and chatter—tapping against the expansive windows like an impatient guest requesting entry.

But the gentle taps soon evolve into a steady, insistent drumming, making the rain’s presence impossible to ignore as the water streams down the glass windows in rivulets—distorting the view outside and making the world beyond seem distant and blurred.

It’s getting late…

You subtly glance down at your phone to check the time, and as the screen illuminates, a picture of you and Haru at the park flashes across the display. What a bright and sunny memory—completely different from the now impossible to ignore presence of this unforgiving rain.

As the storm outside grows, your thoughts immediately shift to Haru. Is she okay?

The last time there was such a storm, Haru had been terrified of the thunder—each crack making her small frame shake, eyes filled with tears and voice trembling as she whispered mama, seeking comfort in your embrace.

Is the nanny capable of soothing her?

The sudden concern that she might be scared and inconsolable gnaws at you, making it hard to focus on anything else as you navigate the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with people whose names you’ll forget by morning.

The opulence of the gala, the sparkling chandeliers, the elegant music—it all feels suffocating, a gilded cage keeping you from where you truly need to be. Home. That’s where you should be, holding Haru close, comforting her through the storm, not trapped in this endless sea of strangers and small talk.

You glance at Satoru beside you—a picture of calm, hand resting in his pocket as he engages in light-hearted conversation with a group of guests, smiling and laughing. It’s all so natural, so effortless as their chatter seems to exist in a world far removed from the storm—both outside and within you.

As you stand there, nodding along to the conversation without truly listening, your eyes begin to drift across the room and you notice a few other couples discreetly making their way towards the exit, coats draped over their arms—if only you could do the same.

You find yourself fidgeting with the hem of your dress—you really want to go home.

Glancing up at Satoru again, you wait for a brief lull in his conversation where the chatter dies down just enough for you to discreetly speak to him without interrupting.

Once the opportunity arises with the laughter fading and the conversation shifting to another topic, you seize your moment. Leaning in close to Satoru, your shoulder brushes against his arm as you softly whisper under your breath.

“Hey… it’s getting late and with this storm, maybe we should think about heading out soon?”

Your words are careful, quiet, meant to blend into the background noise of the gala so that no one else notices your request, and Satoru’s gaze flickers to you, his expression softening as he takes in your concern. But then he sighs quietly, his hand gently brushing against your arm, a small gesture of reassurance.

“I know,” he murmurs, “but there’s just one more obligation I have to fulfill for the event—a quick thank-you speech to the sponsors. I promise, we’ll leave right after that.”

He begins to turn back to the conversation, the group’s voices already beginning to rise again, but just as he starts to pull away, a low rumble of thunder reverberates through the room, and your gaze instinctively flickers to the windows, where the rain beats against the glass with increasing ferocity, the relentless sheets of water streaking down like tears.

Without thinking, your hand reaches out, lightly touching Satoru’s arm—a small, almost hesitant gesture. As your fingers brush against the fabric of his sleeve, your subtle plea for his attention makes him pause and turn back towards you, concern flickering in his eyes.

“Satoru…I’m really worried about Haru,” you confess, keeping your voice low to avoid drawing the attention of those around you. “She hates storms… she’s terrified of thunder.”

Before you can say more, he shifts slightly, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you gently into his side. You are met immediately with the warmth of his body, the subtle scent of his cologne and the steady rhythm of his breath. His hand moves in slow, comforting motions up and down your arm, as if trying to transfer some of his calm to you.

He tilts his chin down towards you and he speaks in a low gentle murmur, meant only for you.

“Haru has the nanny. She’s safe. I’ll make sure she’s okay, and this won’t take long—I’ll be quick, I promise.”

His words, paired with the comforting rhythm of his hand, are meant to ease your worries, to reassure you that everything will be alright, but for some reason they land with a dull thud in your chest.

You know Haru has the nanny…but you can’t shake the feeling that it might not be enough for her. You’ve been Haru’s rock throughout everything—Naoya was never there for her, and she hasn’t had anyone else.

“I know, but…” you glance towards the windows again as another rumble of thunder reverberates through the room. “Haru gets so scared. Last time, she cried for hours and couldn’t sleep without me.”

Satoru’s eyes flicker between you and the group of guests nearby, a momentary glance that betrays the tug-of-war happening within him.

“I get it. I do,” his tone is still gentle but with an edge of urgency now. His eyes lock onto yours, pleading for understanding even as they flit once more to the gathering around you. “This is important, though. I made a commitment to be here, and it’s crucial that I see it through. But I’ll make it quick, I promise. We’ll leave as soon as I’m done, and we’ll be home before you know it.”

A mix of frustration and helplessness begin to bubble through you as you watch his gaze. There is a sense of sincerity, yet it feels divided—part of him here with you, with another part already back in the spotlight, where the murmurs of the gala grow louder.

You know he’s committed to the cause, that his presence here holds weight—it’s not that you don’t understand—it’s just that… does that really matter right now when Haru might need you?

“Alright…” you say reluctantly, the word heavy on your tongue. “Just… don’t take too long, please.”

ꨄ︎

Perhaps this storm isn’t just weather—it’s a harbinger.

Your attention shifts between watching Satoru on stage, giving his speech to the sponsors, to the large windows lining the ballroom. Outside the once vibrant red carpet is now a sodden strip of fabric, abandoned to the elements.

The storm has worsened, intensifying with each passing minute, and with it, your sense of dread. Your fingers tap idly against the polished surface of the round dinner table as the wind howls like it wants to be let in, the rain lashing against the glass with a ferocity that seems malevolent.

You try to focus on Satoru’s words, but a movement out of the corner of your eye catches your attention. A man, tall and imposing with raven hair, weaves his way through the crowd, his presence almost too casual for an event like this. He’s dressed well enough to blend in, but there’s something about him—something in the way he carries himself, the scar upon his lips—he feels out of place.

He's somewhat…intimidating—like a predator stalking its prey.

Once the man approaches your table, you stiffen slightly, instinctively pulling your shawl tighter around your shoulders. He’s close now, close enough that you can make out the sharpness in his features, the cold glint in his eyes.

But…why is there an air of familiarity about him? You can’t quite place it. He stops just short of your chair, a smile curling his lips, though is doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Mind if I sit?” he asks—and he doesn’t wait for your answer before pulling out the chair beside you.

Caught off guard, you nod slowly.

“Sure…”

Settling into the seat with a casual ease there's a small, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. A subtle tension radiates from him as his gaze flickers to you.

“Enjoying the event?” he asks, voice smooth, almost too smooth, like oil on water.

Great. This is really not what you need right now. It’s hard enough playing your part when you have Satoru’s support, but now, you’re by yourself. What if you slip up and say something wrong?

Unease bubbles inside you, making it difficult to muster more than a faint smile upon your lips.

“Yes, it’s been lovely,” you nod politely.

“Mm… quite the storm out there though,” he comments. “But then again, a little chaos never hurt anyone, right?”

His tone sends a cool shiver down your spine. This guy gives you the creeps, but you force a polite smile, unsure of what to make of him.

“I suppose not…”

He leans back in his chair, his gaze shifting to Satoru on stage before flicking back to you.

“You must be proud, seeing him up there,” he remarks. “It’s not every day you get to stand beside someone so… influential.”

His words, though innocuous on the surface, feel laden with meaning—like there’s something he’s not saying, something he’s implying, and you feel a chill that has nothing to do with the storm outside.

Who is this man, and why does he seem so familiar?

He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

“It’s important to keep an eye on those you care about, wouldn’t you agree? Sometimes… things aren’t always as they seem.”

The statement hangs in the air, heavy with implication, but before you can respond, he straightens up, his gaze flickering to the stage again where Satoru is now wrapping up his speech. The unsettling smile returns to his face—a smile that carries a shadow passing over his expression.

“Well, I won’t keep you,” he stands from the chair. “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” and he turns on his heel, disappearing back into the crowd as quickly as he appeared.

But the chill he leaves behind lingers, gnawing at the edges of your mind.

Weird…what a creep.

You shake off the lingering sense of unease as Satoru beings to step down from the podium, exchanging pleasantries and goodbyes with a few lingering guests.

His eyes flicker to you, and then towards the window, catching a glimpse of lightning as it illuminates the darkened sky, and for just a second, you notice a shift in his expression as he takes in the worsening weather.

Excusing himself from the crowd, Satoru steps to the side discreetly with practiced ease and pulls out his phone. You watch as he dials, his back turned slightly from the attendees, and although you can’t hear his words, you know what he’s doing—a rush of relief washes over you as you realize he’s calling the driver to come pick you up.

Finally.

The thought of being on your way home, of holding Haru close and reassuring her, makes the wait almost unbearable.

Satoru’s conversation is brief, but you watch it with growing anticipation, and once he slips his phone back into his pocket, he meets your gaze from across the room again.

Wait…there is something in his expression…an unease that wasn’t there before. Concern.

He weaves through the crowd with purposeful strides, and your heart sinks—it slowly becomes more apparent that something isn’t right, and the chatter in the ballroom grows quiet as guests murmur about the worsening weather.

Once Satoru reaches you, he doesn’t speak immediately. Instead, he pulls out the seat beside you, flipping it around so that the back of the chair presses against his chest as he sits, arms folded across the top of it. The movement is casual in appearance, but the way his fingers tighten around the wood, his knuckles whitening just slightly, betrays the calm facade he’s trying to maintain.

“So…” he leans in a little closer, voice low, almost reluctant. “We’ve got a bit of a situation.”

“What’s wrong?” anxiety builds inside you.

He hesitates, just for a moment, his eyes flicking to the side as if searching for the right words, before meeting your gaze head-on.

“There’s been an accident on the main road leading out of the city… it’s caused a major blockage, and with all this rain, the roads are practically flooded. My driver’s stuck on the other side and won’t be able to reach us for hours… maybe not until morning.”

Oh, you see red.

The storm outside suddenly feels like a mirror to the one brewing inside you—fierce, relentless, and impossible to contain.

If only you had left sooner, if only Satoru hadn’t insisted on staying for that last part of the gala—if only he had understood the urgency you felt—you wouldn’t be in this mess.

And now, Haru is alone at home, frightened and vulnerable, and you’re stuck here, trapped by circumstances beyond your control.

The thought makes your blood boil.

“So, what do we do?” The words escape your lips with a sharpness that even you didn’t anticipate, cutting through the air like a knife.

Satoru’s eyes widen and he runs a hand through his hair, a rare display of uncertainty flickering across his usually composed demeanor. His eyes shift away from you, scanning the room as if searching for a solution hidden in the lavish surroundings.

“…let me figure this out. Wait here,” he murmurs as he pushes back his chair and stands.

Watching his tall frame cut through the crowd, suddenly the sound of the rain beating against the glass now seems almost accusatory—a relentless reminder of this absurd situation you are now stuck in.

This night suddenly feels like it’s teetering on the edge of disaster—the thin veneer of control slipping from you with each passing second. But there are faces around you, and although they blur into a sea of indifference and hallow chatters, you are acutely aware that people are still watching.

You take a deep breath attempting to calm your frustration. There must be something Satoru can do. He has money and power—there must be some sort of solution he can find to this. Haru needs you.

Suddenly, you catch sight of Satoru weaving his way back towards you, his stride purposeful and his expression carrying a hint of relief. For a brief moment, hope flutters in your chest—perhaps he’s found a way out of this mess.

When he reaches you, he shoves his hands into his pockets, leans in slightly and speaks with a sense of accomplishment.

“So… good news. I spoke with the event coordinator. Given the circumstances, the hotel has offered us one of their VIP suites for the night. It’s just upstairs, fully equipped with everything we need until the roads clear up.”

Yeah…that’s not the solution you wanted.

A suite? He wants you to stay overnight? When Haru is at home, probably terrified, clinging to her blankets with wide, tear-filled eyes? Does he really think that’s what you wanted to hear?

“That’s considerate of them, but what about Haru?”

The words escape your lips before you can temper them, clipped and laced with the sharp edge of your rising aggravation. As they slice through the air, the flicker of surprise that crosses Satoru’s face is immediate.

Fuck.

You’re still in public, at this stupid gala. You have to stay composed; you can’t afford to lose control—not here.

Your eyes scan the room for any prying eyes, anyone who might have caught the slight outburst. It doesn’t seem like anyone noticed… thankfully. The last thing you need is for your moment of panic to become another piece of gossip for the night.

Taking a long deep breath, you attempt to regain some semblance of composure, but as you lower your voice, the tension still coils tight in your words.

“She’s back home, we can’t just leave her alone.”

“But she’s not alone,” he counters, tone firm but gentle. “Haru’s in good hands with the nanny, she’s safe. I’ll make sure everything is handled. I’ll compensate the nanny for staying overnight with Haru.”

He is clearly not on the same page as you—he doesn’t understand. Safe? Maybe. But comforted? No. Compensation won’t calm Haru’s fears; money can’t replace the warmth and reassurance of her mother’s arms when she’s trembling in fear.

But you can’t say that here—you don’t trust yourself to soften the words, not with the eyes of the gala on you, prying, ready to dissect any sign of discord between you and Satoru. So instead, you grasp for something, anything—another solution, another way out of this mess.

“Isn’t there something else we can do? Another route we can take?” you press, the desperation seeping through despite your efforts to keep it contained.

Satoru’s shoulders tense ever so slightly, a subtle shift that only someone who knows him as well as you do would notice. There is a flicker of frustration in his eyes as they narrow, and you watch him take a moment to briefly weigh his words.

“Y/n this is the best solution I can come up with,” there’s an undercurrent of firmness that brooks no argument. “It’s not safe for us to leave right now. The roads are flooded, and I can’t risk us getting caught out there.”

For a moment, the two of you are locked in a silent standoff, each of you grappling with the weight of the situation, the reality pressing down like the storm outside. He’s right—you know he is—but that doesn’t make the situation any easier to swallow. The knowledge sits heavy in your chest, a bitter pill that refuses to go down smoothly.

Why couldn’t Satoru just listen to you when you suggested you leave early?

The thought fuels your frustration simmering just beneath the surface. You should have been more persistent. But now, here you are, trapped in this gilded cage while your daughter is home, scared and needing you.

Satoru exhales softly, the tension in his shoulders easing and the hard edges of his demeanor softening just slightly as he steps closer to you—he’s trying to bridge the growing chasm between you.

His hand reaches out, and you want to pull back, but you are in public, you can’t. There’s a softness in his touch, a quiet desperation to connect, but you can feel the gap widening under the weight of everything left unsaid.

He tilts his head, caressing your hand as his gaze searches yours.

“It’s just one night,” he murmurs, and there’s a tenderness there, an unspoken plea for you to understand, to see that he’s trying to make the best of a bad situation. But to you, the words feel hollow, like they’re echoing in a void that’s too vast to bridge with simple reassurances. “We’ll be back first thing in the morning before Haru even wakes up.”

But will she be okay?

The question burns in your throat but you keep it to yourself—it wouldn’t come out nice anyway.

You are trapped—trapped by the storm, trapped by this situation, trapped by the need to maintain this perfect, unblemished image for everyone around you.

So instead, you force a tight-lipped smile, one that doesn’t reach your eyes. It’s the best you can manage, a fragile mask to hide the storm inside.

“Guess we don’t have a choice….”

“I know…we’ll get through this though. Just one night,” he echoes, as if saying it again will make it more true, but the repetition feels like an empty promise.

You nod, the motion stiff and reluctant.

“I understand,” the words taste like ash. “Let’s go upstairs then,” you rise from your seat, not waiting for him to respond.

ꨄ︎

As the elevator doors slide open with a quiet ding, you step inside with clipped precision, your movements sharp and purposeful. The elevator is empty—thank God.

The last thing you need right now is to plaster on a fake smile and pretend that everything is fine when you’re anything but. You don’t have the energy to pretend—not in front of strangers, and certainly not in front of Satoru.

You barely acknowledge him as he steps in behind you, your focus narrowing on the glowing buttons as you swiftly press the number for your floor. Once the door closes with a soft thud, instinctively, you gravitate to the far side of the elevator, creating as much distance between you and Satoru as the small space allows.

There’s a brief pause as Satoru hesitates, his eyes flickering over to you before he pulls out his phone, and the soft glow of the screen casts a muted light over his features, highlighting the tension in his brow.

As the elevator hums quietly, beginning its ascent, you catch sight of Satoru dialing the nanny’s number from the corner of your eye, lifting the phone to his ear.

“Hey, listen… there’s been a situation with the roads—they’re flooded, and we won’t be able to make it back tonight. Can you stay with Haru until morning?”

He pauses, listening intently to the nanny’s response, and although you can’t make out her words, you see the way Satoru's brow furrows, the lines of tension etching themselves deeper into his features.

The muffled sound of the nanny’s voice filters through the phone, indistinct and far away—until another sound reaches your ears, clear and unmistakable.

Haru.

Her small, trembling voice carries through the phone, quivering with fear as she calls for you, confirming the gnawing dread that had been eating away at you all night. You were right, of course, but there’s no satisfaction in that—not when your daughter is scared and crying for you, and you’re trapped miles away, helpless to do anything about it.

Satoru’s jaw tightens. “Haru’s okay, right?” tone softer now, almost hesitant.

There’s a pause, a heavy silence that stretches out as Satoru listens, and you watch as something in his posture shifts—his shoulders slump ever so slightly, a small, almost imperceptible movement, but enough to tell you that the news isn’t good. He closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling quietly.

“Tell her that her Mama will be home in the morning… and I’ll make sure everything’s okay. Just... stay with her, please.”

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Satoru fixes his gaze on the floor, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to meet your eyes. He offers no words of comfort, no apology. And you, in turn, make no effort to break the silence either.

Maybe it’s for the best—because right now, the storm raging inside you is just as fierce as the one outside, and you’re not sure you can contain it much longer. The lid holding down your frustration is teetering dangerously on the edge, threatening to spill over, and as the pressure builds, your emotions coil tight like a spring ready to snap.

If you open your mouth now, the floodgates will burst.

So, you’ll wait—you’ll discuss this with Satoru when you’re more level-headed. Right now, all you want to do is crawl into bed—away from Satoru, away from this night, away from everything that feels so suffocatingly wrong.

The silence stretches on, thick and unbearable, and once the elevator finally reaches your floor with a soft chime, without a word, you step out, your heels clicking against the polished floor, with Satoru following a step behind—silent and distant, the space between you feeling wider than ever.

ꨄ︎

The moment you step into the VIP suite, the first thing that strikes you is the sheer size of the room—it’s more like a luxurious apartment than a mere hotel room. The high ceilings are adorned with intricate chandeliers, rich furnishings and artwork that probably costs more than what your entire apartment had cost.

The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the city below, and there is a beautiful patio overlooking the city with the lights twinkling against the stormy backdrop, but instead of feeling awe, it’s only a reminder of how trapped you are.

In the common room, a plush, oversized sofa commands the space, flanked by elegant armchairs and a coffee table that looks more like a piece of art than something meant for everyday use. You set your purse and shawl down on the polished surface and begin to explore the room.

Your gaze wanders to a nearby dining area, where a table is set for two, the fine china and crystal glasses gleaming under the soft light. Beyond that, a sleek bar catches your eye, stocked with an assortment of premium spirits. At the center, a bottle of champagne chills in a gleaming silver bucket, waiting to be uncorked—a celebration you’re far from feeling.

Curious, you open the first door you come across, but it’s just a closet. Moving onto the next, you’re half-expecting to find a bedroom, but instead, the door reveals a marble-clad bathroom, which is more of a private spa than anything else, with a deep soaking tub and a rain shower that beckons with promises of relaxation.

Finally, you reach the last door, and as you push it open, your breath catches in your throat. The bedroom is vast, with high ceilings and draped curtains, but amidst all the space, the luxury, the sheer grandeur…

There is only one bed.

It’s massive, adorned in rich, inviting linens that seem to promise the best sleep of your life. The headboard is a work of art, appearing as if it was carved by hand, its craftsmanship impeccable. But despite all its luxury, one glaring fact stands out—it’s a single bed.

A bed meant for two.

You stop in your tracks, staring at the bed in disbelief. Your mind races, trying to make sense of the situation. Did you miss a door? Could there be another bedroom somewhere in the suite?

Without thinking, you begin to backtrack, your footsteps hurried and purposeful. You retrace your steps through the suite, opening doors you’ve already been through, peering inside with a growing sense of urgency.

The bathroom—no, just the spa-like marble bath and rain shower. The closet—no, just storage. The living area—no, just the oversized sofa and elegant chairs. The dining area—no, just the table set for two and the sleek bar.

Where’s the other bedroom? There has to be another one, right? How can a suite this big, only have one bed?

Is this a cruel joke? A final twist of the knife in an already unbearable night? Is the universe pushing you further out of your comfort zone, testing the limits of your patience, your composure, and your control?

Your movements grow more frantic as you circle back, convinced you must have overlooked something, anything. But there’s nothing else. It’s just that one, luxurious bed, waiting for the two of you.

Scanning the suite one last time, you notice Satoru sitting nonchalantly on the plush couch, leaning back with one arm draped casually over the back of the sofa. He loosens his tie as he tilts his head, watching you with a mixture of confusion and mild amusement.

“What are you looking for?”

You stop dead in your tracks, your breath hitching as you stare at him in disbelief.

“There’s only one bed.”

Perhaps vocalizing the absurdity of this precarious situation might somehow conjure a second bed out of thin air.

Oh, you wish.

Satoru blinks and raises an eyebrow. Without a word, he slowly rises from the couch and walks towards the bedroom. Once he steps inside, he takes in the sight of the massive bed and the luxurious linens—staring at it for a moment as the situation sits in.

Then, he turns to you, with an exaggerated shrug.

“Huh. Looks like the hotel’s playing matchmaker tonight.”

…

You narrow your eyes at him, not speaking, letting the flicker of annoyance smolder into a flame. The corners of your mouth tighten, and your arms cross defensively over your chest.

Satoru matches your silence, watching you with an unreadable expression, and then he shrugs again, the movement casual, almost dismissive.

“What?” carrying a note of faux innocence. “They probably figured we wouldn’t mind getting cozy. We are husband and wife, after all. Of course they wouldn’t think we’d need separate beds.”

He’s not making this any better for you right now…

You shake your head, rubbing your eyes in exasperation as if trying to rub away the absurdity of the situation. It’s all too much—the storm, the delay, the night that refuses to end. You can feel the weight of it pressing down on you, and each word from Satoru just seems to add another layer to the frustration.

“Wow…this is unbelievable,” you huff.

“Mm, you know what they say, nothing like sharing a bed to break the tension,” Satoru quips, plopping down at the edge of the bed as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He bounces slightly, testing the mattress, and glances up at you with a glint in his eye. “Well, I suppose this is where we’re supposed to start arguing over who gets the left side?”

…

Is he serious right now?

You can hardly believe it—the casualness of his demeanor, the way he seems completely unconcerned about the reality of this situation. It is almost infuriating.

“This is not happening…I am not sharing a bed with you,” you say, more to yourself than to him, a whispered mix of disbelief and determination. You cross your arms tightly over your chest.

But Satoru just leans back on his hands, completely unbothered, his relaxed posture a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you. Tilting his head slightly, he flashes you an easy grin.

“Hey, it could be worse,” he says with a nonchalant shrug, patting the space beside him. “At least it’s a king-size. I mean, we could practically build a wall down the middle if you want.”

You stare at him, incredulous.

How can he be so flippant about this? So completely unconcerned, so utterly unaffected by everything that’s happened tonight?

Every word that comes out of his mouth further makes your patience slip through your fingers.

“…are you serious right now?” there is a tremble in your voice as you attempt to keep your frustration in check, but it’s a losing battle.

“Yup,” he shrugs, completely unfazed. “Looks like it’s just you, me, and this king-sized dilemma.”

Wow. You’re standing in the middle of a situation that has gone from bad to worse, and he’s making jokes? The disbelief turns into something hotter, something sharper, as you feel the last remnants of your composure start to crumble.

“Are you kidding me, Satoru?” you snap and the frustration you’ve been holding back all night finally spills over. “You are absolutely unbelievable. This isn’t funny! None of this is fucking funny! We’re stuck here, and you’re making jokes?”

The playful smirk that had been dancing on Satoru's lips vanishes instantly, replaced by a look of irritation. He leans forward, fixing you with a hard stare, and the lightheartedness drains from his posture as his elbows rest on his knees.

“Oh, okay, I’m sorry,” he retorts, a sharp edge to his voice. “Y’know, I was just trying to lighten the mood. Didn’t realize you were going to blow up at me for trying to make the best out of a bad situation.”

“Lighten the mood?” you echo, your voice rising in disbelief. “Do you really think that’s what I need right now?”

A scoff escapes your lips as all your frustration bubbles to the surface. The weight of everything finally presses down on you, and his indifference feels like a slap in the face.

You can’t even look at him right now.

With a dismissive shake of your head, you turn away, briskly stepping towards the living room.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” you mutter under your breath, the words more to yourself than to him, but loud enough that you know he can hear.

“What don’t I get?” Satoru challenges, his voice growing sharper as he pushes off the bed and follows after you. His footsteps are clipped as he closes the distance between you, not willing to let the conversation drop. “What don’t I get, y/n? Tell me.”

You whirl around to face him, your heart pounding in your chest, the tension crackling like electricity.

“Satoru—Haru needs me, and we’re stuck here, miles away, in some fancy hotel suite. But you don’t even care.”

The accusation slips out and you can no longer hide the mix of anger and hurt that laces your voice. Satoru’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching as he tries to rein in his own frustration.

“You think I don’t care?” his voice is sharp, insistent, almost incredulous as he steps closer. “You think I’m not worried about Haru too? y/n we literally had this conversation in the limo earlier. Jesus, just because I don’t show my emotions like you it doesn’t mean I don’t care. I hate this situation just as much as you do, but it’s not like I can control the weather or the roads!”

The intensity of his words strikes you, but the anger simmering beneath your skin refuses to let you back down.

“Yeah, well, if you really cared, we would have left as soon as the storm started, like I wanted! Then we wouldn’t even be in this situation!” your trembling voice increases an octave and you throw your hands up in exasperation. “But no—you had to stay for that last part of the gala, didn’t you?”

Satoru’s reaction is immediate. He runs a hand through his hair, the movement rough and frustrated while a bitter laugh escapes his lips, one that sends a chill down your spine. His eyes flash with something darker as he glares at you.

“Oh, so now it’s my fault that we’re stuck here? Because I stayed for the speech? I had obligations, y/n! I couldn’t just leave!”

“Obligations?” the word drips with sarcasm as it leaves your lips, your voice thick with disbelief and a touch of something more, something wounded. You narrow your eyes and the anger within flares hotter as you shoot a glare back at him. “We could’ve left earlier, but instead you just had to be the perfect ‘Satoru Gojo.’ Your precious image, your obligations—everything always comes first, doesn’t it?”

A flash of anger sparks within the depths of Satoru’s eyes, and his voice drops lower, more measured, with an edge that makes your heart jump.

“You knew what you were signing up for,” the words are clipped and his tone is cold and biting. “I told you there would be expectations, that there would be obligations that came with this agreement. Don’t act like this is some surprise to you.”

His words hit their mark, the truth in them sinking in like a stone dropping into a deep well. The realization settles over you, heavy and cold.

Oh…this truly is just a business arrangement, nothing more.

This is…what you agreed to…isn’t it?

For a brief moment, you had almost forgotten that this marriage—this life you’ve been trying to build—wasn’t real. It was never based on love or trust or any of the things you’d once dreamed of. It has always been a contract, an arrangement, and you were just another piece in the game he was playing.

You feel the sharp, unmistakable sting of hurt, a wound that cuts deeper than you anticipated. And with that hurt comes regret—regret for allowing yourself to believe, even for a second, that he might be willing to take a leap of faith for you, for Haru.

You should have known better.

He’s Satoru Gojo, after all, the man who holds his obligations and his image above everything else. The man who never allows himself to be vulnerable, to be anything other than perfect in the eyes of the world.

“So that’s it, then?” the words slip out with a quiet tremor, your voice breaking slightly under the crushing weight of your emotions “You’ll always put your commitments first, no matter what? No matter how it affects us? No matter how it affects Haru?”

For the briefest of moments, Satoru’s expression softens, a flicker of regret passing through his eyes, as if he’s momentarily aware of the pain his words have caused.

You can feel the tears burning at the back of your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to let them fall. You won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his words have cut you, how deeply the reminder of your place in his life stings.

Instead, you draw in a shaky breath, steeling yourself, and forcing your voice to steady. It takes every ounce of strength you have to keep your composure, to keep from breaking in front of him.

“It’s always about your image…isn’t it?” you whisper, the words barely audible, but they carry the weight of your realization, heavy and bitter. “I thought… maybe just once, you’d be willing to choose something else. Someone else. Guess I was wrong.”

The silence that follows is suffocating, thick with the tension that has built up between you. Satoru opens his mouth to respond, his expression shifting as if he’s searching for the right words, but you’ve already had enough. The frustration, the anger, the hurt—it’s all too much, too overwhelming, and honestly, you don’t think you can take the weight of his inevitable rejection right now.

Before he can say anything, before he can shatter whatever fragile composure you have left, you turn on your heel and stride towards the suite’s balcony.

ꨄ︎

The moment you step out onto the balcony, the cold night air wraps around you, but you welcome its icy embrace, and as the heavy door slides shut behind you with a dull thud, it seals off any lingering warmth from the hotel suite, leaving you alone with the elements.

The balcony, partially sheltered by a gazebo, offers little protection from the fierce wind driving the rain sideways. But as the droplets hit your skin, cold and sharp, you don’t flinch. Instead, you let the rain wash over you, soaking into your dress and chilling you to the bone, as if the cold might somehow numb the emotional turmoil raging inside you.

Gripping the railing, you stare out at the city below, the wind whipping around you, tugging at your dress as the storm batters you from all sides. But the physical discomfort barely registers—it's nothing compared to the storm brewing within. Because now, the anger that had fueled your argument with Satoru begins to ebb, giving way to a deep, aching sadness that you can no longer hold back.

You sink down onto one of the chairs, ignoring the fact that the cushion is already soaked through. The wet fabric clings to your skin as you huddle there, pulling your knees up to your chest, and as you take in the downpour, you allow the rain to mingle with the tears that finally begin to slip down your cheeks.

If only the howling wind was loud enough to drown the thoughts swirling in your mind.

But it’s not.

The first thing you hear is Naoya’s words, echoing in your ears. His cruel taunts, sharp and insidious, have haunted you ever since your encounter at the coffee shop—a seed of doubt planted deep within you.

And now, those seeds have taken root, growing in the shadows of your heart, feeding off your insecurities until they’ve become impossible to ignore. Maybe he was right all along… you don’t belong beside Satoru. This life you agreed to—this carefully crafted facade—it has always been a deal, nothing more. A deal struck for reasons that now seem distant and blurred.

And then there’s Satoru.

The man you’ve grown closer to, despite everything. The man who, on occasion, looks at you with a softness that seems almost out of place, a trust that makes your heart ache under the weight of your own secrets… and your own growing feelings. But tonight, you saw the bitter reality of who he truly is—a reality that you’ve always known, yet somehow tried to push aside. It’s a reality that places duty and obligation above all else, that keeps his heart locked away behind walls you know you’ll never breach.

You understand it, you really do. But understanding doesn’t make it any easier to bear. It doesn’t make the hurt go away.

You think about Haru—your sweet, innocent child, who’s at home right now, likely scared and alone, flinching with every crash of thunder.

The thought of her, small and frightened, tugs at your heart, and the guilt twists inside you, sharper than any blade. It cuts through your defenses until all that remains is the raw, unrelenting pain of a mother’s worry, a mother’s fear. You should be there with her, holding her close, whispering reassurances that everything is going to be okay, that the storm will pass.

But you’re not.

You’re here, drenched on a balcony, struggling to hold yourself together while everything around you falls apart. And that reality—knowing you’ve left her to face the storm alone—makes the tears fall harder now.

They stream down your face, mixing with the rain, until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. The sobs come, wracking your body with their intensity, as you bury your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking with the force of your grief.

It’s all too much—the pressure, the expectations, the lies, the fear.

And then there’s the love.

The love that’s beginning to bloom for Satoru, despite the circumstances…and it only makes it more complicated, more painful. It’s a love that you know you shouldn’t feel, that you’re terrified to acknowledge—and it wraps itself around your heart like a thorny vine, beautiful yet painful, tightening its grip with every passing day.

And your worries never end—the contract, the obligations, the appearances you have to maintain. This agreement that had once seemed so clear, so necessary, but now feels like a chain around your neck, binding you to a life that’s growing more and more suffocating by the day.

You didn’t sign up for this, not really.

You didn’t sign up for the way your heart had started to beat in sync with Satoru’s, for the way his touch lingers on your skin long after he’s gone, or the way his voice is capable of soothing the deepest parts of your soul.

But here you are—trapped, ensnared by duty and honor, by a love that’s growing despite the walls you’ve tried to build around it. A love for a man who might never fully understand the depth of the sacrifice you’re making.

A man who will never love you back the way you wish he would, or put you first.

You continue to cry as the storm proceeds to rage against you, both inside and out—but you hope that maybe this rain will wash away some of the pain, some of the doubts, some of the fear.

Ah… but you know better. Because once this storm passes, the reality of your situation will still be there, waiting for you.

The contract, the expectations, the life you’ve chosen, and the choices you must make—none of it will disappear, no matter how much you wish it could. And despite how much you long to rid yourself of this burden, the love you’re beginning to feel for Satoru…that too, will remain, complicating everything in ways you’re not sure you’re ready to face.

The sound of the sliding door opening barely registers in your mind, lost in the cacophony of the storm as you remain huddled on the chair, lost in your thoughts. You don’t look up, not even when you sense his presence behind you—the presence of that familiar warmth, one that has the potential to cut through the cold that’s seeped into your bones.

Why is he here? You can’t bear it.

He stands there for a moment, silently taking in the sight of you curled up on the chair, small and vulnerable against the fury of the storm, and then, with a resolve that seems almost fragile, he steps forward.

The rain immediately begins to soak through his clothes, just as it did yours, and slowly, he kneels beside you, his movements careful, almost hesitant, as if he’s afraid that any sudden motion might shatter what little composure you have left.

“y/n,” he says softly, voice almost lost in the storm, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

You can’t bring yourself to respond—the words are trapped in your throat, tangled in the rush of emotions his apology stirs within you. Confusion, sorrow, a desperate yearning for things to be different—they all swirl within you, too intense, too raw to process.

The pain is overwhelming, and right now, you can’t even bring yourself to look at him. You’re terrified of what you might see in his eyes. What would you feel if you looked at him now?

You’re too scared to find out.

Satoru seems to sense your hesitation, your fear. His hand reaches out, and you feel the gentle pressure of his fingers on your shoulder, tentative and light, as if he’s afraid you might pull away. But you don’t. There’s a warmth in his touch, something that defies the cold rain soaking through both of you—a warmth that, despite everything, makes you want to lean into it, to draw strength from it.

“y/n, please…” his voice drops quieter, almost pleading. “Look at me.”

His request hangs in the air, and for a moment, you feel as if time has stopped.

Why is this so hard? Why can’t you accept that this is nothing more than a contract, an arrangement born out of necessity rather than love?

His touch fills you with a bittersweetness that is almost unbearable—a longing that you know is not realistic, that you know you shouldn’t entertain. But the plea in his voice, the vulnerability you hear in those simple words, chips away at your resolve.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, you lift your tear-streaked face to meet his gaze. The rain has flattened his usually neat hair against his forehead, and his clothes are drenched, clinging to him, but it’s his eyes that hold you captive. Because once your eyes finally connect, the world around you seems to fade into the background, the storm reduced to a distant hum.

His usually composed, confident expression is different now—eyes, softened by regret, vulnerability, and that same softness that has been tearing you apart since the moment he became deeply intertwined in your life.

It's that same softness you’ve tried to ignore, that you’ve convinced yourself was nothing more than an illusion, but that still holds an undeniable power over you.

“I’m sorry…” he repeats, voice trembling with an underlying thickness, as if he’s struggling to keep his emotions in check. “I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I never wanted to make you feel like Haru doesn’t matter to me, like you don’t matter.”

Your head shakes almost involuntarily, tears continuing to fall, mingling with the rain. Denial wraps around your heart like a protective shield, reminding you that this man doesn’t love you, that you cannot—will not—get your hopes up. You’ve been down this road before, and you know better than to believe in things that aren’t real.

But Satoru’s eyes soften even more as he reads the pain in your expression, and without a word, his other hand comes up to cup your cheek. His touch is warm against your cold, rain-soaked skin, and he gently brushes away the tears that mingle with the rain on your face—a touch so tender that it almost breaks you all over again.

“I really fucked up tonight…” he sighs, his breath hitching slightly as the words escape him. “I’m so sorry for that. Please… let me make things right.”

You can feel the conflict within you, your heart warring with your mind, urging you to push him away, to protect yourself from the pain that seems inevitable. You can’t afford to give yourself hope—not when the risk of being shattered again looms so large, so close.

“Look… I’m really not good at this. I’m not used to… letting people in,” he admits, his voice faltering slightly as he grapples with his own vulnerability and inadequacy. “But with you, I want to try. That’s why…”

He pauses, taking a deep breath, the sound shaky as he gathers the courage to say what’s weighing on his heart.

“I need you to know that everything I said during the interview tonight… it wasn’t just for show. I wasn’t saying what I thought people wanted to hear.”

Your breath catches at his words and your heart pounds furiously within your chest. The weight of his words and the sincerity in his eyes makes it impossible to look away.

“Those were my real feelings, y/n. When they asked me what drew me to you… I meant every word.”

Your body begins to tremble, a shuddering wave of emotion crashing over you like the relentless storm around you, threatening to pull you under. The tears begin welling up again and you feel yourself unraveling at the seams.

“Don’t do this, Satoru,” you plead, voice cracking with the weight of your fear. You bring your hands up instinctively, as if to shield yourself from the intensity of his words, to create some distance between you. “Don’t say these things… I can’t… I can’t handle being hurt again.”

For a moment, Satoru hesitates, his eyes searching yours, but then, with a gentle yet determined motion, he takes your trembling hands into his own and the warmth of his touch seeps into your cold skin. Slowly, he lowers your hands onto your lap, his grip firm but tender.

“No, let me say this,” he insists, his voice steadying, becoming more resolute, though it’s still laced with a gentleness. “You deserve to hear it. You deserve to know how I really feel.”

His thumb begins to stroke the back of your hand and his gaze softens as he searches your face. There is an earnest tenderness within the depths of his expression, and it makes your heart ache.

“You’ve brought something into my life that I didn’t even know I was missing,” Satoru continues, “You’ve made me feel… grounded, in a way that I’ve never felt before.”

There is a raw honesty in his eyes, one that begins to erode the walls you’ve built around your heart. You feel your resolve crumbling, piece by piece, as his words chip away at the fear and doubt that has kept you from fully opening up to him.

“I’m not perfect,” his voice wavers slightly and his hand tightens around yours, seeking reassurance even as he offers it. “Far from it… but you’ve made me realize that’s okay. And now, because of you, I want to do better, to be better… not just for you, but for Haru too. And for myself.”

What is he saying?

Your breath hitches, a small, involuntary gasp escaping your lips as you process his words.

“I’m… confused,” you whisper, your mind racing to catch up with your heart. “Isn’t this… just a contract?”

“Yeah…well…” a wry smile tugs at the corner of his lips, though his eyes remain serious. “Guess I broke the clause, huh? So much for no emotional entanglements…”

Your breath catches again, this time in realization.

Wait… he feels the same way? This is really happening?

The realization hits you like a wave—the truth of it crashing over you, leaving you breathless, and you can’t stop the fresh surge of tears from falling down your face.

Satoru’s brow furrows with worry, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features as he watches you cry. Leaning in closer, he rests his forehead gently against yours. His eyes search yours, desperate for some kind of response, some kind of reassurance that his words have reached you, that he hasn’t misread the situation.

“Please… don’t cry,” he whispers with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. He closes his eyes, breath warm as it fans across your face, and his hand, still holding yours, gives a gentle squeeze, as if to remind you that he’s here, that he’s not going anywhere.

“I… I want to believe you, Satoru,” you manage, voice trembling with the weight of your fears and doubts. “Believe everything you’re saying, but I’m so scared. What if I’m not enough? I don’t think I could survive that kind of heartbreak again…”

Satoru’s eyes open slowly, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

“You are enough, y/n. You’ve always been enough.”

There is a firmness in his resolve, as if he’s trying to engrave the words into your very being.

His free hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away another tear that had escaped.

“And honestly… I’m scared too.” His voice drops even lower, almost a whisper now. “Trust is something I’ve never given lightly. But with you… I want to trust. I need to trust. And… I need you to trust me too.”

Trust—there’s that word again.

It lingers in the air between you, heavy with meaning, with all the complexities and the promises it holds.

Trust—It’s such a simple word, yet it carries the weight of a thousand unsaid things, a thousand fears, a thousand hopes. It’s the foundation of everything, isn’t it? The one thing you’ve always struggled with, the one thing that has kept you from fully letting go, from fully giving yourself to him—or to anyone, for that matter.

Trust—It’s what you’ve been afraid to place in someone else’s hands, for fear that they might not handle it with care. And why would they? After everything you’ve been through, after all the disappointments, the betrayals, the moments when you’ve been left to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart, why would you ever trust again?

But… maybe trust isn’t about being certain, about knowing for sure that everything will turn out alright. Maybe… it’s about taking that leap of faith, about being willing to risk the hurt because the potential for something real, something meaningful, is worth it.

You look at him, really look at him—his usually confident demeanor is stripped away, leaving only the man beneath, exposed and uncertain, yet somehow more real than you’ve ever seen him.

This is… Satoru.

In that moment, something shifts within you.

Ah… perhaps trust isn’t something you just give; it’s something you build, together, piece by piece, moment by moment. And maybe… as terrifying as it is, you’re ready to start building that with him.

The realization hits you like a warm rush, spreading through your chest and making your heart ache in a way that’s both painful and beautiful. You want to tell him, to find the words that will let him know that you want this too. But the emotions are too overwhelming, too all-consuming, and you find yourself at a loss, unable to articulate the flood of feelings coursing through you.

So instead, you do the only thing you can—you decide to show him.

Your hands move on their own, driven by an urgency you can’t contain. Grasping the collar of his shirt, your fingers curl into the wet fabric, pulling him closer with a force that leaves no room for hesitation. The distance between you disappears in one desperate, crashing motion as you bring your lips to his.

It’s a fierce kiss, filled with a force that’s as much an admission as it is an apology—an admission of your own feelings, of the vulnerabilities you’ve tried so hard to hide, and an apology for every moment you’ve tried to protect yourself by pushing him away.

The intensity of your need is met by Satoru’s immediate response, his arms wrapping around you with a fervency that matches the storm raging around you, pulling you flush against him as if he’s afraid you might slip away.

The rain soaks through your clothes, but all you can focus on is the heat of his skin, the way his mouth moves against yours with a need that’s as insistent as it is consuming. You swallow the low, desperate moan that escapes from him, the sound vibrating through you, sending a shiver down your spine.

God, you wanted this.

His tongue grazes your lower lip, seeking entry, and without hesitation, you part your lips for him, allowing him to deepen the kiss even further, kissing you as though you’re the very air he needs to breathe. Once his tongue meets yours, the sensation is electric, sending sparks of pleasure through your entire body.

God, he wanted this.

He’s losing himself in the kiss, like he’s been holding back for far too long, and now that he’s tasted you, he can’t get enough. And you let him, wrapping your legs around him and allowing him to lift you up with ease as you thread your fingers through his damp hair. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t falter, as he carries you toward the balcony door, sure and driven by a need that can no longer be contained.

With a swift motion, he presses you against the glass door. The cold rain continues to hammer down, but you’re barely aware of it—there is a fire that seems to burn hotter with every second your lips remain locked, and you are lost in the sensation of his hands gripping into the plush of your thighs, holding you firmly in place.

“Satoru…” you gasp between kisses, and the sound of your breathless voice drives him further into the depths of his desire.

“Fuck… could get used to hearing you say m’ name like that,” he groans, mouth dropping to your neck, lips tracing the line of your jaw before pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your throat.

You arch your back and tilt your head, allowing him access, but the sudden sensation of his hips pressing against your core causes a whimper to escape your lips.

Fuck. You now realize just how much he wanted this. The hardness pressed against you is unmistakable and that alone heightens your own desire, making a tingling heat begin to pool in between your legs.

Your hands slide down his back, nails digging slightly into his skin beneath the wet fabric of his shirt, and you press your hips forward, seeking more of that friction, and he responds with a low growl rumbling from deep within his chest as he begins to grind against you.

“Fucking hell…” he rasps, voice thick with desperation, “you have no idea,” he whimpers, breath hitching as his lips brush against your ear, “no fucking idea…” he grinds harder, with renewed intensity, “how much I’ve wanted this…” his eyes flutter shut, lost in the sensation, “how much I want you…”

Every nerve ignites as an intense heat courses through you.

Fuck. This is bad. This is really bad.

You’re losing any trace of reasoning; you’re lacking any semblance of control. How can you think straight when he talks to you like that? When he touches you like this?

You can’t. It’s impossible.

This is moving really fast, and every coherent thought is slipping away, replaced by the overwhelming need for him, the need to feel every inch of him against you, inside you. You’re losing yourself in the way his body moves against yours, in the way his voice trembles with need.

“Satoru… I—” you start, but the words catch in your throat, choked off by that delicious sensation of him shifting his hips, pressing harder against you in just that right spot. “I can’t… fuck. I can’t think when you’re like this…”

“Don’t think,” he murmurs against your skin. “Just feel… let me take care of you…”

And then he’s kissing you again, his mouth claiming yours with a hunger that makes your head spin. Oh, fuck it, you don’t care. You don’t care about anything else in this moment.

In one swift motion, without breaking the kiss, he carries you away from the rain, and into the warmth of the suite. His steps are quick and determined until he reaches the bedroom, and once he sets you down your feet barely touch the floor before his hands are on you again.

The urgency in his touch is undeniable, frantic as his hands begin to work at the wet fabric of your dress, peeling it away with determination.

Oh god, this is really moving fast.

The realization hits you like a wave, but it’s quickly drowned out by the sight of him shrugging off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. And once you catch sight of his toned muscles, the way they flex beneath his skin, how can you think straight?

You can’t.

Your hands move instinctively, reaching for him, running over his chest, savoring the warmth, the strength beneath your fingertips, and his hands are equally on you, exploring your body with a reverence while his mouth moves against yours with fervor.

“You’re so fucking pretty, so beautiful…” he breaks the kiss, “I can’t get enough of you…” and then his mouth is on yours again, desperate and hungry, leaving you breathless.

He guides you towards the bed, and once the back of your knees hit the edge of it, he gives you a gentle but insistent push. His body follows and once the mattress dips slightly under your combined weight, you’re suddenly hyperaware of everything—the way his hands are sliding down your sides, the way his lips are tracing a path from your collarbone to the swell of your breasts, the way he settles between your legs.

This is moving way…way too fast.

You need a moment to think, but your mind is constantly drowned out by the feel of his body against yours.

“Satoru…” you murmur against his lips, “Please I—” But before you can finish, he’s kissing you again, his mouth claiming yours with a fierceness that makes your heart skip a beat.

Your breath hitches as he begins to rock his hips against your clothed core, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through you while you gasp into his mouth. Before you realize what you’re doing, your legs are wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer, deepening the connection between you.

Damnit, that delicious friction is all-consuming, and you can’t stop yourself from arching into him.

“Ever since that night at the gala…” he murmurs against your skin, his lips trailing down the curve of your neck, “After we kissed, I haven’t been able to think about anything else… anyone else… just you.”

His words send a shiver down your spine. Fucking hell, he’s not making this easy. The way his breath hitches as he presses kisses along your collarbone, it’s clear he’s barely holding on to his own control. And you? You’re already starting to lose yours.

Fuck, he will ruin you.

“All I could think about was how it felt to kiss you… how much I wanted to do it again… how much I wanted more…” his breath hot against your skin as his hands grip your hips, pulling you even closer.

“I can’t… I need… oh god…” the words slip out, a desperate plea mixed with a moan as the sensation of him rolling his length against that sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs becomes almost unbearable.

Fuck… the pleasure is so intense, so overwhelming, that your vision blurs, your world narrowing to nothing but the feel of him, the heat of his body, the way he’s moving against you.

You’re seeing stars.

“What is it?” he whispers against the shell of your ear, and oh he sounds so fucking undone by you, as if he’s on the verge of losing control. “Tell me… tell me what you need baby.”

His words are like gasoline on the fire burning inside you. Damnit, you need him. But you also need time to process everything that is happening. As much as you want to give in, as much as your body is screaming for more of him, a tiny voice in the back of your mind is telling you to slow down, to think.

There is still so much that has been left unsaid…things you need to get off your chest.

“Satoru…” you whisper, your voice shaky as you thread your fingers through his hair, gently pulling him back just enough to look into his eyes. His gaze is intense, dark with desire, and it takes every ounce of your self-control not to lose yourself in it. “Can we… can we take it slow?”

His body stills, and for a moment, the intensity in his eyes softens. He’s still breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling, but he nods slowly, as if he’s trying to rein in his own overwhelming need.

He leans in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, his hands sliding from your hips to cradle your face gently. The kiss is different now, less urgent but still filled with an undeniable passion that leaves you breathless. It’s a slow burn, a simmering heat that makes your skin tingle as his lips move tenderly against yours, savoring every moment.

The kiss tapers off naturally, his lips lingering on yours as if he’s reluctant to let go. When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t move far, his nose brushing against yours in a tender nuzzle that makes you smile.

“Yeah… okay…” he breathes out, voice rough and tinged with longing. “We can slow down… whatever you need…”

His fingers trace the line of your jaw, moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch light, almost reverent.

“Sorry it’s just…” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your lower lip before leaning in to press a soft kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. Each kiss is gentle. He pulls back slightly, his lips ghosting over yours as he whispers, “You don’t know what you do to me…”

Your heart swells at his words, and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “I think I’m starting to figure it out,” you softly chuckle.

Satoru mirrors your smile and lets out a soft laugh.

“Well... it’s about damn time you caught on.”

He plops down beside you, pulling you into his arms with an ease that makes your heart flutter. as if being this close to you is the most natural thing in the world. He buries his face into the nape of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply, a content hum leaving his lips as he wraps himself around you, tangling his legs with yours and pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. The warmth of his body seeps into yours, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against you.

“Was starting to think I’d have to spell it out for you,” he murmurs, breath fanning your skin, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

A light and airy laugh escapes your lips as you become engrossed in his warmth.

 “Well, I mean... you’ve always been a bit of a mystery,” you tease, your fingers tracing idle patterns on the back of his hand where it rests against your stomach.

“Hmm, a mystery, huh?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, sending a ripple of warmth through you. “Maybe… but I think you’ve always had the key, even if you didn’t know it.”

You turn slightly in his arms, bringing a hand up to gently run your fingers through his hair, the soft strands slipping through your fingers like silk as you gaze into his eyes. Your heart swells at the way he leans into your touch, as if he savors each trace of you, and there’s a tenderness in the way his eyes hold yours.

And then, his lips curl into a wry smile, mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Mm… told you you’d fall for my charm. Though I will say, you were a tough one to crack.”

You try to fight the smile threatening to break free as a warmth spreads across your face. It’s crazy to think this man was once the bane of your very existence.

“Tch…you have a way of growing on people, y’know that?” The grin on his face widens at your admission, making the heat in your own face intensify. You huff, rolling your eyes as you nudge him lightly with your elbow. “You’re like a persistent, overly confident weed.”

Satoru laughs. “A weed, huh? That’s a new one,” he sounds mock-offended, though his smirk tells you he’s anything but. His hand shifts, trailing up and down your arm tenderly as his fingers lightly brush your skin. “Mmm let's see…I think I’m more like a rare, exotic flower.”

“Oh please,” you scoff, eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’re more like those persistent kind of weeds that pops up in the cracks of the sidewalk, no matter how many times you try to get rid of them.”

“Persistent, huh? Well I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment,” his tone softens as his hand trails down your arm, the warmth of his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake until his fingers find yours, threading them together as he interlocks your hands in a gentle, but secure grasp.

“Guess I’ll just have to keep growing on you until you can’t imagine your life without me,” he murmurs—thumb gently stroking the back of your hand—and your breath hitches at the sincerity in his words.

Satoru treats you like a treasure, something to be cherished and protected.

How did you get so lucky?

He’s everything Naoya isn’t—everything you’ve ever wanted but were too afraid to hope for.

But even as the realization crosses your mind, a pang of guilt twists in your chest. You’ve been keeping something from him, something important, something that could change everything. Naoya’s scheme, his attempts to ruin Satoru’s reputation… it’s been eating away at you, gnawing at your conscience every time Satoru looks at you with those warm, trusting eyes.

But the thought terrifies you—what if it changes everything? What if it drives a wedge between you?

You need to tell him. He deserves to know.

No secrets.

You can’t keep hiding the truth. Not if you want to move forward, not if you want to build something real with him.

“Hey,” you begin softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you pull back slightly to look into his eyes. The tenderness in his gaze gives you the strength to continue. “There’s something I need to tell you… something important.”

Satoru’s expression shifts immediately from the seriousness of your tone, his brow knitting together in concern as his eyes dim.

“What is it?”

Oh fuck. This is it. No backing down now.

You take a deep breath, and though your heart pounds in your chest, Satoru’s gentle grip tightens on your hand, offering you the silent support to continue.

“It’s about Naoya…” you begin, voice trembling slightly as you hesitantly hold his gaze.

The tension in Satoru's face is subtle but unmistakable. You briefly catch sight of his jaw tightening, a muscle jumping beneath the skin at the mere mention of Naoya’s name. Swallowing hard, your throat constricts with effort as you struggle to find the right words.

“There’s… something I’ve been keeping from you… and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I was scared. I didn’t know what to do.”

Satoru’s eyes widen just a fraction, his brows drawing together slightly in concern, but he remains silent—he doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t demand an explanation. Instead, he watches you intently, his gaze locked onto yours, a silent encouragement to continue.

But that intensity in his focus only makes your heart pound harder in your chest, each beat a drum of anxiety.

Here goes nothing.

“He’s been… blackmailing me,” you confess, eyes falling to the side, unable to hold his gaze. “He’s trying to ruin your reputation, to drag your name through the mud…and if I don’t do what he says…”

The words die on your lips as you trail off.

Fuck this is overwhelming.

This entire night has been a rollercoaster, and you’re reaching the breaking point of your own emotional endurance. You expect Satoru to say something, but the silence that follows is deafening.

Each beat of your heart is like a hammer in your chest, and your mind is racing with a thousand different fears.

Is he angry? Is he waiting for you to look at him? Is this it? Is this the moment everything falls apart?

Summoning every ounce of courage you have left, you will yourself to look up, to meet Satoru’s eyes. And yes, there’s anger simmering in the depths of his gaze, a dangerous edge to it, but there’s something else too—something softer.

“What will happen if you don’t do what he says?” he asks, voice gentle yet firm. His thumb brushes soothing circles on the back of your hand with a tenderness, urging you to continue. “What exactly is he threatening you with?”

You take a deep, shaky breath, feeling the lump in your throat swell as you struggle to push the words out.

“He’s trying to take Haru away from me… he’s threatening to file for full custody if I don’t cooperate.”

The impact of your words is immediate—Satoru’s entire demeanor changing in an instant.

His expression hardens, the fury in his eyes flaring to life, unmistakable and searing, and his entire body tenses beside you. A shiver rakes down your spine when you hear the low and dangerous promise slip through his lips.  

“He’s going to regret this.”

Before you can even process his words, he pulls you onto his chest, wrapping his arms around you with a fierce protectiveness that catches you off guard. It is almost startling how the gentle way he holds you is juxtaposed with the anger simmering just beneath the surface, and as his fingers begin to thread through your hair while he cradles you close to him, you feel he is shielding you from the very world that threatens to tear you apart.

“He’s not taking Haru from you,” Satoru vows, voice unwavering, a promise etched in steel. “Not over my dead body.”

Ah…the conviction in his voice—the words you needed to hear—it is your breaking point. Finally, everything crashes down on you. The fear, the guilt, the overwhelming relief that you’re no longer carrying this burden alone—it all hits you at once, and you can’t hold back the quiet sob that escapes your lips.

Satoru tightens his hold on you, one hand gently stroking your hair, the other trailing up and down your trembling frame as he whispers reassurances.

“Hey, it’s okay… we’re going to get through this.”

His heartbeat is a steady and comforting rhythm beneath your ear. You nod weakly as a shaky breath escapes your lips, the sound muffled against his chest, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head, lips lingering for a moment.

“When did this all begin?” he whispers, fingers gently massaging your scalp.

“Two days ago…” you murmur, “right before you agreed to watch Haru for me.”

There’s a moment of silence, a brief pause as Satoru processes your words. You feel the subtle hitch in his breath, the soft exhale that follows as he tries to contain the emotions swirling inside him. He pulls back just enough to look at you, and your heart drops at his expression.

“y/n…” he breathes out, low and thick with emotion as his jaw clenches with tension. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

The ache in your chest is unbearable, and the tears begin to prick at your eyes again. Unable to face the underlying look of his own disappointment, you instinctively look away.

“I was scared and confused… I didn’t think you felt the same way about me,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “And I kept thinking about our contract…about your condition…”

Satoru’s body softens underneath you as he gently tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, and what you find there isn’t disappointment, but understanding—a deep, unwavering understanding that cuts through your doubts like a beacon of light in the darkness.

“y/n, there is no contract when it comes to how I feel about you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing away a lingering tear that slipped down your cheek. “That contract… it was just a piece of paper. Besides, it’s void now because I broke the clause.” His lips curve into a soft, reassuring smile. “What I feel for you… it’s real. And it’s not something that can be defined by a contract.”

His words are like a balm to your wounded heart, soothing the fear that had been gnawing at you.

Why did you doubt him so much? Is it because this is a love you have only hoped for? But now it’s real—it’s yours.

A shaky exhale escapes your lips as you rest your forehead against his.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I should have told you sooner.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Satoru soothes, his hands moving up to cradle your face. “I understand why you were scared. But we’re in this together, okay? Naoya’s not going to win.”

His hands gently tilt your face upwards, and before you can respond, he leans in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. His lips move slowly, languidly against yours, savoring the moment, and you melt into the kiss, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your fingertips.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours once more, and you linger there in the aftermath, letting the warmth of his breath fan across your lips, the closeness between you wrapping around you like a cocoon. A content sigh escapes your lips as the tension from everything slowly ebbs away, and you lower yourself onto his chest as Satoru’s fingers gently trail up and down your back.

Finally, everything has been laid bare. No secrets. Just the two of you, connected in a way that feels unbreakable.

But then, Satoru shifts slightly beneath you, “You’re shivering,” he murmurs, voice laced with concern as his hand moves to gently rub your arm, trying to warm you up. “We were out in the rain for too long…”

You hadn’t even noticed—your focus had been so consumed by everything else. Now that the adrenaline of the moment has begun to fade, you realize how cold you are, and how you’re both still in your underwear. The chill from the rain has started to seep into your bones.

“You should take a warm bath, get comfortable,” Satoru suggests, loving but insistent as he brushes a few stray strands of wet hair away from your face, tucking them gently behind your ear. “It’s been a long day, and we have to wake up early to get home to Haru. You can go first. Go on, I’ll wait for you here.”

You nod, reluctantly pulling away from the warmth of his embrace as you make your way to the bathroom.

The hot water feels like a balm against your chilled skin, and you take your time, letting the warmth seep into your bones and soothe the lingering tension in your muscles. It’s a quiet, reflective moment—an opportunity to process everything that’s happened. As the steam rises around you, you feel the weight of the day slowly lift from your shoulders.

After finishing your bath, you slip into the comfortable pajamas the hotel provided and find yourself wrapped up cozily under the blankets in the bed, waiting for Satoru as he takes his turn getting cleaned up next. The room is quiet—the rain outside has finally settled down as the once insistent pattering is now reduced to a soft, comforting drum against the window. You let your eyes drift closed for a moment, savoring the tranquility and the subtle scent of Satoru that lingers on the pillow beside you.

Tonight, has been exhausting—so much has happened, and it’s a lot to take in.

When Satoru finally emerges from the bathroom, he is dressed in the comfortable hotel linens, hair slightly damp and tousled. He flashes you a tender smile, one that makes your heart skip a beat, and you can’t help but smile back, warmth spreading through you.

But instead of joining you in the bed as you would expect, you watch with growing curiosity as he makes his way towards the closet. Propping yourself up on your elbow, you tilt your head slightly, your brows knitting together in confusion.

“What are you doing?” you observe him gather extra blankets and pillows, tucking them under his arm.

Satoru glances over his shoulder, offering you a small, almost apologetic smile.

“I’m, uh… gonna sleep on the couch tonight,” he says casually, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You blink, taken aback by his words, and a frown tugs at your lips.

“Why? You don’t have to do that. The bed’s big enough for both of us.”

He hesitates, as if weighing his words carefully.

“Y/n,” he begins, low and rough, “Believe me, I really want to,” he lets out a sigh and scratches the back of his head. “You have… too much of an effect on me. I meant it when I said we could take things slow, but if I’m lying next to you, I don’t know if I can control myself.”

His admission sends a warm flush to your face, your heart skipping a beat at the honesty in his words. You see the tension in his shoulders, the way he’s struggling to do what he thinks is right, even though it’s clearly not what he wants.

“Satoru…” you begin, your voice softening as you start to sit up, but he shakes his head gently, cutting you off before you can say more.

“If you want to take it slow, it’s probably for the best I give us some space to figure things out without making it harder than it already is.”

Damnit, he is too cute for his own good.

For a moment, you’re tempted to tell him to stay, to ignore the rules you’ve set for yourself, to just give in to the pull between you. The warmth of his presence, the comfort of his touch—it’s all so inviting. But you can also see how much he’s trying to do right by you, to honor your wishes, even if it means sacrificing what he wants.

“Okay,” you say softly, your teeth gently grazing your bottom lip as you consider your next words, “but just know that although I want to go slow, it doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t mind… doing things with you.”

Satoru lets out a groan, closing his eyes briefly as if battling with himself.

“You’re not making this easy, you know that?”

“Mm… never said I would,” you challenge, a playful glint flickering in your eyes as a crooked grin tugs at your lips.

He chuckles, tinged with both amusement and exasperation.

“I swear you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly, but the smile that accompanies his words is soft, filled with affection.

The two of you share a quiet laugh, soft and intimate, like a shared secret. As the laughter fades, a comfortable silence settles over you both. His gaze locks with yours, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. The intensity in his eyes, the way they darken with something deeper, makes your breath hitch.

“Goodnight, Satoru,” you murmur as you settle yourself back into the pillows.

“Goodnight, y/n,” his smile widens as his gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before he turns to leave the room. “If you need anything,” he adds, pausing at the door, “you know where to find me.”

As the door softly clicks shut behind him, you’re left alone in the dimly lit room—left to your thoughts.

Tomorrow holds so much for the both of you—decisions to be made, obstacles to overcome, and a new chapter in your lives to navigate together.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel alone. The burden isn’t yours to carry anymore. The thought brings a sense of peace, a calm that wraps around you as you pull the blankets closer, cocooning yourself in their warmth.

There’s still so much left unresolved, and the threat of Naoya looms large. But tonight, as you drift off to sleep, all you can think about is the way Satoru looked at you, the promise in his eyes that you’ll face whatever comes next together.

And somehow, that alone makes everything seem a little less daunting.

hi hi, thank you all so much for your kind words with this fic and for sticking around. this chapter was a lot for me to write, and i really kept second guessing it tbh. i think bc it's such a pivotal point in the story and it's pretty emotional, so i really wanna thank my lovely beta readers for helping me 💕 (@strychnynegirl & @gojoslefttoenail) hmm... who is this mysterious man that approached y/n at the gala? 🤔 i wonder if you guys can take a guess based on the description 😉 also of COURSE there is only ✨one bed✨ how can there NOT be? 🤭 i had a lot of fun writing their steamy kiss 😩 as much as i wanted them to do more i also wanna reiterate how much the slow burn in this story means to me. idk, with everything going on in y/n's life it didn't feel right for her to be like "cool lets fuck." especially since she still needed to tell satoru the truth, plus she is a mom with a kid and has been through a really shitty relationship. trust isn't something that just POOF appears yk? thanks for all your kind words and for reading!! school has been picking up for me, so again my updates will likely be longer in between. love you all 🥹 -aly 💕 → onto the next chapter ꨄ

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[ckret2]

Chapter 41 of human Bill Cipher being really sick of being the Mystery Shack's prisoner: after absolutely terrorizing Gideon for projecting used car ads into Bill's dreams, tries to blackmail Gideon into working for him again.

But not before showing some unexpected sympathy for the plight of a child psychic on whose shoulders the family's financial future rests.

####

Dipper and Mabel were in the middle of a race on a roller coaster track when Bill wandered back downstairs. He sat on the couch armrest next to Mabel and precariously balanced as he crossed his legs. "So I've been thinking over this whole thing," Bill said. "I think I should apologize to Gideon."

"Work that out all by yourself?" Dipper glanced at the clock. "Wow. And it only took you half an hour."

Mabel finished a lap. While the roller coaster track slowly lifted her car to the top of the hill to start the next lap, she turned to give Bill an appraising look, ready to assess his work. "Apologize for what?"

"For terrorizing him! Is this a trick question?"

She nodded slowly—a little skeptical, but so far so good—but had to look away as she regained control of her car. "What's your angle?"

"I'm equilateral, work it out."

"Shut uuup, I'm serious."

"Why do I need to have an angle? Maybe I want to practice some of the apology lessons they're teaching on Color Critters! Aren't you the one who wanted me to be a decent person? You should be thrilled. You are thrilled."

"Bill."

"Okay fine, I want you to stop looking at me like I'm evil incarnate over a silly little prank letter." He nudged Mabel's head with his elbow. She smacked his arm away. "Isn't that the only reason anyone apologizes? To stop people from getting mad at them?" He lifted his eyepatch and squinted at the screen. "Goose in the left barrel."

Mabel swerved left. "Yes! Eat tail feathers, Dipper!"

"No no no no—!" His anguished groan mingled with angry honks. He tossed down his controller as Mabel sailed past his disabled car. "I'm not playing with Bill in the room."

Mabel laughed. "You're a sore loser!"

"I'll be out of your matted hair in a few minutes," Bill said. "You're cranky, go get a juice."

Dipper stomped from the room, grumbling. "Whatever, I'm getting a snack." He pointed at Bill, "Not because you told me to! I'm just hungry! It's got nothing to do with you!"

"Sure." Bill nudged Mabel again. "C'mon, let me use my training. Don't think I haven't noticed you're trying to mold me into a model citizen. Why bother if I never get a chance to act like one?"

Mabel looked at him thoughtfully. "You know what? Okay. I guess not wanting people to be mad at you is a good enough reason to apologize." She'd been hoping he'd land on genuine remorse, but she'd take what she could get.

"Great! Fisherman's out, Questiony's working, Sixer's gonna be in his cave til dinner, Dolores doesn't care—" Bill gestured toward the door, "so let's get the bracelets and get to the kid's house while the adults are distracted."

Mabel grimaced. "Oough. Right. We have to actually visit him."

"Unless you want me to mail an apology letter—"

"Definitely not." She sighed. "Well, if it's for the greater good... put on something other than a hoodie and let's go."

"You got it." Bill hopped off the couch and swung with one hand around the doorframe as he headed to the stairs.

####

Dipper tried to protest, but he'd missed his window to talk Mabel out of it; and so Bill and Mabel headed out, with Bill in a loose smiley face-covered Hawaiian shirt—Mabel approved of the friendly message—an undershirt, the leggings that looked like jeans, and his dress shoes. In other words, about as disarmingly unthreateningly un-Bill-like as he could get. He seemed to get bouncier and more energetic the longer they walked outside, until by the time they were turning onto Gideon's street he was cartwheeling up the sidewalk.

Bill waited for Mabel to open the gate in front of Gideon's house; but while Bill blithely passed through, Mabel lingered behind a few steps. Bill paused and glanced back. "Hey. All good, star girl?"

"Yeah." Mabel laughed nervously and caught up. "Just... haven't been to his house since before he got weird. Kinda gives me the willies now."

"Can't blame you. This is the guy who agreed to be my sheriff in exchange for custody of your bubble key."

Mabel cringed. "Did he really?"

"Oh yeah. Think he was planning to visit you in there until he wooed you? I never asked him. I didn't want the details."

"Ugh." Mabel shuddered.

Bill paused. "Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned that ten feet from his front door."

"It's... it's fine." She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. "Greater good. Right?"

He didn't answer immediately, tapping a foot as he thought. "Listen. Once we're in there, do you want me to go somewhere private to talk with him? So you don't have to worry about him leering at you the whole time?"

"Would you?" Mabel's shoulders slumped as a little tension eased up, relief obvious on her face. "But how will I know if you've apologized properly?"

"That little tattle will tell you if I do an awful job." Bill laughed. "Come on! I don't need you grading me on a rubric! Gimme a chance to prove I can say 'I'm sorry' without my life coach telling me how to behave."

"Thanks, Bill." She gave him a quick hug.

"Sure, any time kid. I'm not about to let any creeps get to you on my watch." Bill stretched his arms out, fingers laced together. "Ready?" When Mabel nodded, Bill knocked on the door.

After a long moment, a worried-looking, gray-haired woman opened the door. "Hello?"

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Gleeful!" Bill offered a partial bow. "We're here to visit Gideon, he should be expecting us. Would you let him know we're here?"

"Oh. Yes, of course." Her voice was a hushed murmur, as though she were talking to herself—or perpetually concerned about being overheard. She didn't raise her voice much as she called into the house, "Gideon? You have visitors."

Voice muffled, Gideon shouted from upstairs, "Who is it!"

Joy glanced over Bill and Mabel, but her gaze lingered on Mabel's face. "Oh. Aren't you that girl he...?"

"It's Mabel."

Joy said, "It's Mabel, and—"

Gideon let out an alarmed squawk. "Ohmygoodness. JUST A MINUUUTE! Where did I leave my cologne—"

Joy watched the ceiling nervously, listening to the subtle thuds.

Bill glanced her up and down, as though sizing up what he had to work with; and then he smiled brightly and said, "Well, I'm sure the little star's preparing a big entrance! Shall we wait inside?"

Joy started a little. "Oh—yes, of course. Please, come in." She pulled the door open wider and gestured to the sitting area.

Bill and Mabel took a seat on the couch. Bill crossed one ankle over his knee in a casual figure 4, and gestured to the armchair as though he were the host giving his guest permission to sit. Joy hesitated, but took the seat, sitting straight up without touching the back of the seat, feet together and hands laced over her knees.

"And how has Gideon been lately?" Bill asked. "We haven't had a chance to catch up since last summer!"

"Oh—I'm sure he's probably fine," Joy said, eyes darting around—to the clean carpet, to the framed pictures hanging straight on the wall, to the doorway into the kitchen.

"'Probably'?" Bill echoed.

"Well. He's really closer to his father, you see..."

"Nonsense." Bill lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I trust a woman's intuition on this sort of thing." He paused. "I'd wink here, but uh..." He gestured at his eye patch and shrugged with a helpless grin.

Joy curled her lips into her mouth and, for the first time since she'd opened the door, for a fraction of a second, nearly almost smiled. But it faded quickly; and when she spoke, her voice was low enough that Mabel had to lean halfway across the coffee table to hear her. (Bill didn't even move.) "You should probably know before you see him: he... has seemed a little bit cranky, recently."

"Oh?" Bill prompted.

(Mabel mumbled, "'Recently'?" and Bill nudged her.)

"Nothing like he was when he—" Joy faltered and quickly course corrected, "before his arrest. But, a bit. But then he's going through so much—reintegrating into life on the outside, trying to make friends at school..."

"Say, that's nice to hear! Has he made many?"

Joy hesitated. "He's always been... such a precocious child. It makes it hard for him to relate to other... And honestly, I think most of the children are jealous of his talents."

Bill nodded sympathetically. "I'm sure they are. Kids can be so cruel when they notice someone special. The nail that sticks out gets hammered down."

Joy nodded. "Yes—exactly. And he's so... sensitive."

Bill gave Mabel a warning glance. She pursed her lips tightly and puffed out her cheeks. Satisfied she wasn't about to weigh in on why Gideon wasn't making friends, Bill turned back to Joy. "Do you think that's what's been bothering him lately?"

"Well, yes, there's that."

Voice a tad lower, Bill prompted, "And...?"

Joy paused. She twisted her hands together. "And—I think he might be concerned about his father's business."

"Oh, the auto dealership?" Bill sat up a little. "I hope it hasn't been struggling lately?"

"It's... been a slow few months," Joy said. "It must be weighing on him—"

"He doesn't feel responsible, does he?"

Joy quickly shook her head. "Of course not. It isn't his fault. But he's just a little boy, there's not much he can do to help. Besides perform in a commercial, maybe—and he doesn't like that, we don't make him do that anymore—or..." She trailed off. "Well. Not knowing how to help or what to do... I can imagine he must feel... guilty." She stared down at her hands as she spoke.

Bill's gaze never wavered from her face. He nodded slowly. "I'm sure the business must be weighing on the whole family. It can't be easy for you, Joy—keeping a household running during such a difficult time." He gave her a reassuring smile. "I'll see what I can do to help you all."

Joy stared at his face, eyes shining. "I'm, sorry—did I catch your name?"

"Mr. Locke is fine, thanks. I was in business talks with your son before his incarceration."

Mabel leaned against Bill and whispered, "You mean he hired you to invade my grunkle's brain—"

Bill elbowed her.

Footsteps scurried down the stairs. "I'm coming!" Gideon rushed into the room, tugging his sleeves down his wrists, all gussied up and reeking of three separate hair products. "Hi Mabel my honey pie! What a pleasant surprise, what brings you by so s—" His gaze fixed on Bill, and his sweet smile twisted into fury. "You!"

Joy quickly stood up. "I should be—vacuuming the dining room." She hurried from the room, giving Gideon a wide berth as she went. The sound of vacuuming quickly filled the house.

Gideon never looked away from Bill. "Just what do you think y—"

Bill was on his feet and sweeping across the room before Gideon could get more out. "Hello again! I don't think we were properly introduced. The name's Goldie Locke." He blinked. "Wink."

Gideon grimaced. "You serious? Goldilocks? That's the best you could do?"

"I thought it was funny!"

Mabel scooted up onto the arm of the sofa, took a leap off, and landed next to Bill. "I came up with it!"

Gideon smiled uncomfortably. "Oh—sure, sure. Real cute."

"We came by so Goldie here," Mabel poked Bill's arm with both hands, "could give you a proper apology for his... 'prank.'" She got behind Bill and poked him in the back, directing him toward the stairs. "So you two go off somewhere private and do that! Go! Go on!"

"Wh— private?" Gideon leaned around Bill to give Mabel a pleading look. "M-Mabel, aren't you coming too?"

Mabel laughed nervously. "No, definitely not. I'm staying right here."

"But—but—"

"It's fine! If he tries any—" her voice dropped to a whisper, "—weird space demon magic—you can just scream. But he's basically harmless! I promise."

"But... I don't wanna be alone with..."

Bill put a hand on Gideon's back, turned him around, and practically dragged him toward the stairs. "And she doesn't want to be alone with you, and I'm going to respect her wishes."

Gideon hissed at Bill. He wasn't quite sure what to do when Bill hissed back. No one had ever done that before.

"You've got nothing to worry about," Bill said, giving Gideon a very worrying smile. "I just want an opportunity to show you the sincerity of my remorse. A little heart-to-heart! And anyway, you and I have a lot of catching up to do."

####

The moment Gideon's bedroom door shut, Bill said, in an exaggeratedly innocent golly-gee-whiz voice, "'Well, Mabel, the thing is, I was just cranky because I haven't gotten a decent night's sleep in days, because Gideon's been broadcasting mind control dreams to the town multiple times a week! Yeah, you know how you've been waking up feeling hypnotically compelled to buy a car? Good ol' Gideon! But you're right, bullying isn't the solution! I should have just asked him to cast his brainwashing spell a little further from the Mystery Shack—'" Bill cut off with a laugh. "I take it you get the picture! Your flesh is as white as your hair! It's—it's creepy. Stop it."

Gideon was already on the far side of the room, holding a floating arm desk lamp toward Bill like a sword. Voice shaking, he asked, "How do you know about that spell? H-how are you even alive? And here like... like this?"

"Does it matter?" Bill meandered around the room, looking at Gideon's matching nightstands, his TV, the floppy teddy bear on his bed. "Here's the only important question: what's it worth to you for me not to spill the beans to your sweetheart?"

Gideon swallowed hard.

As Bill rounded the bed, Gideon backed away from him until his back was pressed against the wall between his vanity and his dresser. Bill leaned over to look under the bed and nudged a rolled-up tarp with his foot. It unrolled across the floor, revealing Gideon's magic circle. "Uh-huh."

"Please stop looking around my room."

"Relax, I just want to see what's changed! This is hardly the first time I've seen your room." He glanced down at the subtle depiction of his face woven into the pattern on Gideon's carpet. "I've had eyes in here since you were a baby." 

He leaned over Gideon's bed, studying his knit zodiac blanket. "Although this eye is new. You went with red, white, and blue? How patriotic." He tugged at the blanket's edges, straightening it out. "Lots of pilling on the yarn, this thing's been very well loved. Does it still smell like Shooting Star, you cretin?"

"You keep your hands off of Mabel's blanket, you—!" Gideon swung his lamp toward Bill. It missed by a foot.

Bill didn't even flinch. "You're very lucky that you missed." For a moment, his voice was inhumanly low.

Gideon's blood ran cold. He clutched the lamp against his chest. "W-what do you want from me? I'm sorry I disturbed your sleep, all right? Is that what you want to hear?!"

"It's a good start!" Bill sat on Gideon's bed and made himself comfortable, propping himself up on his elbows, ankles crossed casually, resting in the center of his own zodiac. "Now, promise you'll stop advertising in people's dreams, and everything's forgiven!"

"I..." Gideon bit his lip.

Bill grinned a little wider. "What's the problem, kid? It's not like your daddy needs you running his advertising campaign! The family finances aren't resting on your shoulders!" He laughed.

Gideon just bit his lip harder. 

"Oh wait. Maybe they are. Are they?"

He looked down at the tarp. "Mrrng."

Bill sat up, leaning forward until he caught Gideon's gaze again. "So sorry, Star Boy! I didn't realize how serious your situation is!" His wicked smile said otherwise. "Wow, that must be so hard for you—the family breadwinner, at such a young age. Knowing your family needs you to keep them afloat. And it's not like you can just go out and get a job! So what can you do, except... well, whatever it is you already know how to do? Putting on a good show, right?"

"It's not like that," Gideon snapped, ignoring the weight in the pit of his stomach. He looked down at his lamp weapon and tugged anxiously at one of his sleeves. "It—it's not as though we're broke! We just... might have to tighten our belts a little bit, that's all. It's normal, most businesses have their ups and downs."

"Of course. Just no big shopping trips for a while! Pity you're about to need a whole new wardrobe, though."  Bill casually pushed himself off Gideon's bed, taking a step closer. "Hey, wanna know when your next growth spurt starts?"

Gideon shrank down. "No."

"It costs a lot to keep a growing kid clothed. And fed, and stocked with school supplies... If father asks for a little help, how can you refuse? If you don't, you could lose the business, lose your house, lose everything... all that, plus knowing it'd be your fault for not doing what you can? It's heartbreaking."

Bill leaned over Gideon, propping himself up with a hand on his dresser, trapping him in his shadow. Gideon cringed; but Bill asked, voice unexpectedly low and almost gentle, "You're so important. There's a helplessness that comes from wielding that kind of power, isn't there?"

The weight in Gideon's stomach grew heavier. Bill must have been watching his life ever since last fall; that was the only way he could have understood what Gideon was feeling so well. And yet—hearing someone else put it into words was a strange relief. He'd cut to the bleeding core of the issue. Gideon was the only one with the power to do anything, so he had to do something. It was a helplessness.

"Yeah." Gideon put his lamp back on his dresser, defeated. "Yeah, there is."

Bill crouched in front of Gideon, meeting him at eye level. "It just so happens that I'm sympathetic to your situation, kid. I get it." It was hard to read the mood in Bill's alien gaze; but for a moment, Gideon was sure he really did see a glimmer of sympathy in his slit pupil. "So how about this: I could help you out. Make some calls, pull some strings... give the family business a little boost," he said. "If you do me a couple small favors first."

Outraged, Gideon shouted, "You're blackmailing me into working for you again?! You—!" With a furious grunt, Gideon shoved Bill away from him.

To his surprise (and immediate horror), Bill lost balance, toppling onto his back with a yelp. But he just rolled onto his side and hopped back to his feet, laughing. "No no no! I'm blackmailing you into knocking off the annoying dream spell. That's all! Cut it out, or I'm telling Mabel. And—heck, how about the police while I'm at it?"

"You wouldn't—"

"I am pals with the sheriff and the mayor. Mind control happens to already be illegal in Gravity Falls, you can thank Quentin Trembley for that—such a forward thinker! I don't think there are any state-level laws yet, but I bet they'll wriiite ooone just for yoo-oou." The last sentence came out as a singsong taunt. "Anyway: drop the mind control. That's all I'm asking for. Okay?"

Gideon had circled around Bill to his bed, where he pulled off his zodiac blanket and bundled it against his chest. He wasn't sure which sounded worse. Prison probably should, but the thought of giving Mabel a fresh reason to hate him... He looked down at the blanket, and heaved a shaky sigh. "Okay."

"So? We're agreed? No more dream advertisements?"

"No more dream advertisements. You win."

"Great!" Bill beamed at Gideon. "But then, completely separately, if you want help saving the family business... well, offer's on the table! In fact, I'd happily offer to help without asking anything in return—"

"—you should, it's mostly your fault—"

"—except that, with my own situation being like it is, what with the limited access to my usual resources... I need you to help me help you." He spread his hands apologetically. "Nothing I can do about it."

Gideon pressed his lips together, looking down at his zodiac blanket. A fold in the fabric displayed part of the ripped heart. Gideon plucked out the blanket until he could glimpse the top of the shooting star.

He swallowed hard. "No. Absolutely not."

Bill blinked. "'Scuse me?"

"I can't accept your help," Gideon said. "I lead a support group of ex-cons—the very same ones I stupidly led into battle for you—and what would they say if they heard I was working for you again?"

The indulgent smile on Bill's face vanished. Rage flashed in his eye. "What would they say if they learned you're the first among them to reoffend?" He pointed at Gideon's magic circle. "Wouldn't they be disappointed. Aren't they your followers these days?"

Gideon squirmed under Bill's glare, backing away until he bumped into one of his nightstands. "F... 'followers'?"

"Your devotees—now that your Tent of Telepathy audience has abandoned you." The new smile that twisted across Bill's face now was hard and cruel, and his eye fixed like a prison searchlight on Gideon made Bill seem much closer than he was. "Isn't being worshiped sublime, Star Boy? That unconditional love? A worshiper will always be more reliable than some girl's fickle heart. But even the most 'unconditional' love always comes with fine print. How far are you willing to go to remain worthy of their love?"

Bill pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket and waved it in the air. "We both know you'll help your daddy's business. The only question is if you'll do it your way, or mine." He placed the paper on Gideon's dresser and tapped it with his finger. "My way doesn't even involve breaking the law."

Gideon shook his head. "I won't..."

"I'll leave it with you anyway."

Bill strolled around the bed. "Well! I think we're finished here, how about you?" He stopped in front of the door.

He turned back. "Gideon, you're gonna have to get the door, I can't..."

"What?" Gideon asked. "Y'can't what?"

Bill huffed. "I'm sort of under this curse? So. If you could just—"

Gideon burst out laughing in disbelief. "The Amnesia Limina curse? You can't open doors?! Are you kidding me!"

"I can still ruin the rest of your embarrassingly short mortal life, you twit. Just—just get over here—"

Still laughing, Gideon crossed the room and got the door.

"Yeah. Thanks. Great."

As they came downstairs, Mabel hopped off the sofa. "Sooo? How'd the apology go?"

"Great!" Bill got in front before Gideon had a chance to speak. "I think we really understand each other better. Isn't that right, Gideon?"

Gideon grumped, "I think it's the worst 'apology' I've ever heard."

Bill gave him a dirty look powerful enough to kill a skittish horse; but he flinched under the weight of Mabel's disappointed frown. He laughed nervously, "Okay, so I still need some practice with my delivery! Human tones are finicky." He stared at Gideon. "But you accept the overall content of it, right?"

Bill was giving Gideon the creepiest smile he'd ever seen. But Mabel, on the other hand, was giving him this hopeful look—like she wanted this to go well so badly, and only Gideon could make or ruin her day. There's a helplessness that comes with wielding that kind of power.

In the world Gideon had been raised in, if someone who has transgressed against you apologizes, you don't have the right to withhold their forgiveness—it makes you as bad as the transgressor. The only way he could refuse was if he told Mabel he hadn't even gotten any apology; but there was no way to say that without admitting what they'd really discussed. "Yeah," Gideon muttered at his shoes. "I s'pose I accept it."

"Yes!" Mabel pumped a fist in the air so enthusiastically she lifted a few inches off the floor. "Great work! Happy face stickers for everybody!" She smacked a sticker on Bill's shirt and Gideon's lapel.

They tugged out their clothes to inspect their stickers. Bill's had a giant yellow smiley face over the words "Good job!" Gideon's had a smiling whale surrounded by the words "WHALE DONE". They were both disproportionately elated by their prizes.

"So can we go now?" Mabel whispered, "I feel like Mr. Gleeful's new clown painting is staring at me."

"Just one second. I should have a word with the missus of the house." Bill waved back at the kids as he trotted from the room. "Be right back!"

Mabel eyed Gideon warily.

Gideon smiled winningly. "So, Mabel. As long as you're already over here, would you like to stay for dinner—?"

"Nuh-uh." She turned and headed for the door. "Goodbye forever!"

"Aw."

Bill followed the sound of vacuuming through the kitchen into the dining room, and rapped on the doorframe. "Knock knock."

Joy flinched and spun around. "Oh." She turned off her vacuum. "Yes, Mr. Locke?"

"Just wanted to thank you for your hospitality before we leave!"

"Oh—yes, of course. You're welcome."

He lowered his voice, "And I also wanted to tell you not to worry about a thing. I'm sure everything will turn out fine for your family—and for you." He flashed her a winning smile.

She hesitantly nodded. "Thank you."

####

As they walked to the gate around the Gleeful property, Mabel said, "You weren't just all talk with Gideon's mom, were you? You actually are planning to help her."

Bill gave her a surprised look. "Something like that. How'd you know?"

"You told her to call you Mister. That means you mean business!"

A crooked smile stretched across his face. "Hey! No fair, you know too much. You're figuring out all my secrets."

Out on the sidewalk, Bill did a cartwheel, attempted to turn it into a handstand, and fell on the sidewalk. He brushed off a scraped elbow with a grumble and got back up. Well, it matched his burn on the other side.

"4 out of 10."

"I didn't ask."

Mabel snickered. "You know—your conversation with Gideon might not have gone perfectly. But you realized you did something wrong, you apologized for it, and you're gonna do better." She patted his arm. "I'm really proud of you, Bill. That's some serious growth."

"Really?"

"Really."

He beamed. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had been proud of him. (Granted, he didn't generally tolerate relationships in which somebody felt like they had enough superiority over him to feel "pride" toward his actions. Generally "awe" or "admiration" were more common.) He was basking in the praise. He was over the moon. He was euphoric. He was the best person to ever exist.

The fact that the praise was horribly misplaced didn't faze him in the least.

####

Gideon had spent the past minute picking peas out of his pot pie and scooting them to the edge of his plate.

Bud cleared his throat. "Son, you really ought to eat your vegetables. And they'll taste better mixed in with the rest of your food than all by themselves."

"I don't want my peas."

"But they're good for you! Don't you want to grow up big and strong—?"

Gideon flinched. He pounded the table. "I said I don't WANT my peas!"

"All right, okay, that's fine! Just thought I'd suggest it."

Gideon grumpily scooped up a forkful of chicken, carrots, and corn, eyed the carrots skeptically, and took a bite. It was fine. "So, father. How was work?"

Bud sighed. "Oh, it would've made more sense just to close for the day. At least then I wouldn't be wasting money on air conditioning the office."

"Oh." Gideon stabbed at a lone piece of corn with his fork. "Maybe we oughta... stop with the nighttime ads. It doesn't sound like they're helping."

"Ahh, you might be right."

Gideon heaved a sigh of relief.

"I just don't know what else to try." Bud shook his head. "I've tried newspaper ads, TV ads, radio ads, billboards, fliers, sales, cutting brake lines..." He settled his hand near Gideon's spot at the table. "Son, you know I know you're doing the best you can to help our family, and it means more to me than I can say. But, if there's anything else you can think of...?"

Gideon tried to avoid his father's gaze—and instead, spotted his mother. She usually kept to herself during dinner, wholly focused on her own plate when she wasn't setting out dishes or cleaning them up. But tonight, she was looking right at Gideon. Like she expected something out of him, too.

He shrank into his seat. "Well. I've got one other idea I could try."

####

Gideon shut the door to his room—and, just to be safe, stuck his chair under the doorknob. Then he gingerly picked up the paper on the dresser and unfolded it.

The same tall, thin handwriting as on the letter he'd received—but even more cramped, cramming as much text on one torn-out book page as possible. A terse paragraph of instructions, a phone number, a numbered list of questions, a prepared statement.

Gideon got his mobile phone and a notebook, set up to take notes at his vanity, took a deep breath, let it out, and dialed the number. As the phone rang, he looked at himself in the mirror and muttered, "Heaven help me if I'm facilitating the start of Armageddon."

Then someone picked up, and he held the phone up to his ear. "Hello? Oh, right, er—" He read off the paper Bill had given him, "'But rises gold over the pyramid.' ... Yes. Mhm, I'm calling on behalf of... of Bill Cipher. ... My name's not important, I'm just the messenger—oh, oh you recognize my voice! Haha!" He mopped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. "A-always nice to meet a fan! Yeah, we know each other. Small world. N... no, he didn't give me my... I was—was psychic before I met him, actually. Sorry, I didn't catch your name—who'm I speaking to?"

Gideon looked at Bill's list of questions, wrote a 1. in his notebook, and beside it wrote "Sue Blime." One question down. "I have a message to pass on."

####

He pushed harder.

Her skin fractured and peeled off, strand after strand. It filled the spaces between his fingertips, wrapped up his arms. He could shut his eye but he still saw it through his eyelid, still felt it tickling at the corners of his mouth. He let out an angry, hysterical, broken laugh.

And then he laughed louder, and louder—higher, shriller, echoing all the way to the distant stars. "What am I doing?" He opened his eye and looked at his hands, tangled with gold threads and soaked in blood. He laughed again, gleeful. "What am I doing! None of this is real! This is a dream! We're in my dreamscape. None of this matters! I control all of you!"

Bill controlled all of them.

He effortlessly peeled his arm off the plane of his dimension into the third, still tangled in gore, and spun his finger. The golden shreds of skin let go of his hand, rotating around his hand in a loose tornado. Cackling again, he rose up into space, looping like a paper airplane on a breeze, telekinetically twirling the countless golden shreds with him like he was doing a ribbon dance. And wasn't it beautiful? He was changing their color—yellow green blue violet red orange yellow—he was melting them down to floating drops of liquid gold, he was making them vanish into thin air. There was no blood on his hands. There never had been. He had never killed. His mother did not exist.

He glanced toward the stars. "Am I gonna have any meddling from you? Want to sell me any cars tonight?"

The stars didn't answer. Good. He didn't want his show interrupted by a commercial break.

"I control you," Bill announced to the crowd of assembled worshipers below, numb and thoughtless and unmoving while the god of this dream had no use for them to live. "You answer to me!" He jabbed his thumb against his golden face—not the internal organs exposed to the third dimension the rest of the shapes had, but the exoskeleton he wouldn't start wearing until centuries after this memory. "The only life you have is in my head! All of you, all of you have been burned away for a trillion years!" He paused, then flashed two finger guns at a red hexagon in the crowd. "All except you, Hect. Always great to see a long-time fan!"

In the field of frozen shapes, Bill's memory of Hectorgon hesitantly waved.

"But..." Beneath Bill, still as aghast as he'd been so many eons ago, still playing his part to move this dream along, his father said, "But... what are we going to tell your followers?"

"Ugh, you're such a downer. Give it a rest, you old square!" Bill did something no prisoner of the second dimension had ever been capable of doing: he snapped his fingers. His father silently dissolved into origami butterflies and fluttered into space. "You barely even liked her."

He floated back down to the plane, lacing his fingers together to stretch his arms in front of him. "I don't need you," he muttered. "I've got this handled. I've always been the one who had this handled. Now let's end this dream the right way."

Time to sucker his suckers.

He swooped through the open doors to speak to his assembled worshipers as effortlessly as though he'd been doing this a trillion years: "My beautiful, loving believers! I have wonderful news. Your high priestess—my mother—has passed on; but, you should be celebrating! Because she hasn't abandoned us! Her spirit's just ascended—not up, but out of our dimension and into the third, where the spirits of all departed shapes live on! Her spirit's formed a bridge from there to me, and through me to you! She's revealed the true nature of the third dimension—a sublime realm of color and life—and I'll reveal it to you, too!"

The black starry void of the third dimension above Bill mutated as he spoke; now, it was raucous colors, beams of light, and glittery gold. Faraway neon-colored shapes danced deliriously through nebulas and clouds.

"I'll teach you the secrets passed down to us from the enlightened third-dimensional spirits; I'll show you how to see it all for yourself... and if you follow me, if you devote yourself entirely to my teachings, if you trust me blindly—blindly, for I can see what others can't—then I'll guide you INTO the third dimension! I will be your teacher, your divine guide, your muse! So tell me: do you trust me?"

The worshipers cheered.

"Do you worship me?!"

The worshipers screamed.

"Do you love me!"

The worshipers howled, mad with love for Bill, ripping each other apart in a spontaneous outpouring of zealotry.

Bill's shrieking laughter rose up above the roar of his imaginary crowd.

####

For the first time since his death, Bill woke fully rested. Dawn streamed in through the attic window, shining golden on the cloud of curly hair dangling in front of his eyes. And wasn't it beautiful? He ran his fingers through his hair, smoothed it back, and pushed it into the right shape.

He checked to make sure no humans were coming for a while, slid Journal 4 out of its hiding place, and flipped to the page where he'd stuck his "Good Job!" sticker. He'd used his stolen half-dried marker to blacken the sides of the yellow smiley face, turning it from a circle into a triangle, draining the last of its ink in the process. He wasted four pages with every detail he could recollect from this dream, going on and on about how easy it had been to assert his rightful control, how effortless to control time and space. If he ever found the human who wrote that lucid dreaming guide, he was giving 'em a planet.

At the end, he wrote in English, "You'll regret turning me down as your teacher, Stanford. You can't even imagine how many people would have committed murder to get that kind of attention. But I gave it to you."

He tried to remember how that sermon had really gone.

What did he need to remember the truth for? It must have gone something like that. He wouldn't still be here if it hadn't, would he?

####

(Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, I'd appreciate a comment!! Next week we kick off with more of Bill's history—and then start ramping up for the biggest, longest plot arc so far.)

[utterlyotterlyx]

Hi!!! I can request a modern!azriel x reader in which he likes her, but all his attempts to get close to her have been thwarted because they got off on the wrong foot. Then someone tells him that she's part of a book club and he starts joining just to get closer to her and the rest is up to you :)

Ooooooo I love this! x

New Pages

Modern!Az x Reader

Warnings - swearing, angst, pining, fluff, cutie Az

I have not proof read this so I apologise in advance for any mistakes x

And in that moment, I swear we were infinite.

The background of your phone screen harmonised with the words inscribed on the flesh of your arm. You were bundled under blankets, pillows cushioning your back, and your eyes scanned the plethora of words in front of you, your tea long forgotten on the window ledge.

Your sorority house was teaming with girlish laughter, the quick padding down the hallways and the dull melodic thump of Nesta's bass told you one thing, the house party Mor had insisted on throwing for Feyre's birthday was going to start soon, and you hadn't even thought about getting ready.

Would they realise if you didn't go? It was completely possible to throw your earbuds in and lock your bedroom door...

That train of thought was interrupted when the said birthday girl sprang through your door, "You're not ready?!" Feyre squeaked, large rollers were pinned in her hair and she stood at the foot of your bed with fake eyelashes in one hand and a small vial of glue in the other.

"I lost track of time," you told her, curling your legs underneath you and laying your book down open on the bed so that you could pick up right where you left off, "Also, have you ever heard of knocking?"

"We don't knock," she quipped, throwing herself down on the bed and sighing, "This doesn't have anything to do with him does it?"

"With who?"

"Oh, come on, Y/N. You know who," she prodded your side and you groaned, folding your arms over your chest whilst Feyre applied glue to the thin onyx lash line, "If it helps, I really don't think he knew you were behind that door," she blew lightly on the lash, party drying the glue and used your mirror to fix it to her right eye.

You winced at the memory, your fingers ghosting over the bridge of your nose that had only days before returned to its normal hue, "I've only just gotten rid of that bruise, all the concealer in the world couldn't hide that mess."

"Still," she blinked, "I really don't think he did it on purpose. Rhys said he felt really bad."

"Like he felt bad after the time he ran over my foot on that stupid motorcycle? I missed the Van Gogh exhibit because of that bullshit."

"Y/N..." Feyre drawled, exasperated with you and your excuses, "Please just get dressed," she had applied the other eyelash to her left eye and pushed them into place before turning to you with a smirk, "Before I let Mor in here."

"Okay, I'm up."

All of the entangled grinding bodies did little to soothe your anxiety.

You'd never been much of a party girl, and you had only joined the sorority because Mor and Feyre had insisted upon it. Lights strobed against the pale pink glittery banners and balloons that Elain had spent all day carefully throwing up whilst Nesta enlisted Cassian to get all of the booze.

The seating area in the centre of the room was brimming with all of the faces that you knew, Rhys with Feyre sat on his lap adorning a pathetic plastic tiara on the crown of her head, Mor wedged next to them with her legs strung over Emerie's thighs, Amren chatting away to Elain and Lucien on the far sofa, Nesta making sex eyes at Cassian, and then there was him.

Azriel.

The lights reflected off his smooth skin, tussled onyx short hair that looked somewhat windswept, hazel eyes and his strong jaw ticking as he searched the room before his eyes landed on you, finding you in the ocean of bodies surrounding where they all sat.

"Y/N!" A voice shouted to you over the crowd, red wine hair and amber eyes, she held her hand out to you and you clutched onto it, allowing her to pull you through into a small clearing by the stairs.

"Thanks, Bryce," she smirked over her shoulder at you, plucking two drinks from Hunt's hands and placing one in your grip.

Bryce was one of Nesta's friends that you had met when she had joined your art history class after a timetable mix up, you'd been pretty close since, you studied with Bryce in the library and Hunt occasionally joined as did Bryce's brother, Ruhn.

"Don't mention it," she clinked her glass against yours and you both downed half of the liquid, clearly you had some catching up to do from taking as long as possible to get ready, only joining the party when Nesta had sent you a snappy text about kicking your ass down the stairs if you didn't show your face in the next five minutes.

"Hey Athalar," he grinned at you, muttering a hello as he gave you a side hug. Hunt liked you a lot, you were good for Bryce, you were gentle and timid, but had a thunderous passion for the things you loved. Bryce was one of those things.

Bryce gave you a once over. A sleek white dress clung to your figure, every curve accentuated perfectly by the clean cut fabric that reached just below you ass, giving a perfect view of your legs. Black heeled boots were laced onto your feet, hair styled into effortless waves, and your makeup was simple and natural, highlighting your cheekbones and lips. Bryce approved.

Bryce smirked, noticing the pair of violet eyes that crept up behind you, they wrapped their arms around your waist and hoisted you in the air, placing you over their shoulder and twirling you around, chuckling as you squeaked in surprise, "Put me down, Ruhn!" With a light tap on your ass, Ruhn obliged and put you back on your feet.

Ruhn always looked good, long hair pulled back into a low messy bun, the sides always shaved, tattoos flowing up and down his arms, tan skin, taut muscle, tank top and cargo jeans. So good.

"Can't help myself," he slid an arm around your shoulder and pressed a kiss to your temple, "You look beautiful."

The elder sibling had always pined after you, he would wait in the courtyard outside of the art building to walk you back to the house, he'd bring you breakfast on a Sunday, he'd even taken you to your first football game.

"Thank you, Ruhn," you leaned into him and smiled, tuning back into the conversation between Bryce and Hunt, and the newly arrived Tristan Flynn, paying little attention to the burning hot hazel gaze that branded into your back.

There had been too many times where Az had fucked up.

Running over your foot was an accident that led to the spiralling mess that was your relationship, and every time he had tried to make up for it, it just kept on getting worse. Chocolates? Turns out you were allergic to nuts and blew up like a balloon. Coffee? He'd spilt the oat chai latte all over your brand new summer dress and ruined it. The movies? He had miscounted the group and forgot to get yours, and by then there were no tickets left. And then the door. That stupid fucking door. Azriel was so busy talking to Feyre about you that he didn't see you on the other side and smashed it right into your face.

Every time Azriel tried to talk to you, to voice how sorry he was and how stupidly in love with you he was, he fucked it up.

So yeah, he didn't blame you for hating him.

"Wanna stare a little harder, Az?"

Azriel turned his head slightly, forcing himself to look away from Ruhn's arm around you and his lips by your ear, whispering who knows what to you. At least the bruises under your eyes and around your nose had cleared, enough that you no longer winced when you smiled.

"She seems a little off today," he said to no one in particular, letting his words float into the air in hope someone would tell him why.

Azriel had spent a good amount of time studying you and your little quips, the face you'd make when you were concentrating, how many cups of tea you'd make after leaving them somewhere and forgetting about them, even your morning routines on your way to class.

Mor threw herself down beside him, the sofa cushion hissing out under her weight, "She missed book club tonight, she loves book club," Mor's eyes were glazed over, a sloppy smirk pulled at her lips.

"Book club?" Azriel asked, he knew you loved reading, but he never knew that you went to an actual book club.

"Yeah, you know, a place where people talk about the books they've been reading?," Nesta scoffed when Azriel flipped her off, she continued, "This week was meant to be the first session about The Perks of Being a Wallflower, it's her favourite," Nesta stirred her drink with her straw, "Just in case you wanted to make a gesture."

Azriel nodded, his eyes finding you again, "Thanks, Nes."

Azriel was fiddling idly with his fingers as people began to file into the room clutching copies of the book you loved so much, the same book that he had rushed out to get the morning after Feyre's party so that he could read it in time to talk to you about it.

Walls of books lined the room, dainty oak tables and arm chairs scattered around in a circle with blankets folded neatly over the arms. Warm fairy lights lit the ceiling, and Azriel understood why you must have been sad to have missed the last session.

He heard your laugh before he saw you, he saw the edges of your skirt that kissed the floorboards and allowed his sight to roam upward until he found your eyes wide and full of surprise, stuck in the doorway. You soon shook off the surprise and took a seat at the other side of the circle, looking to him occasionally with confusion.

"What quote resonated with you the most, Azriel? There are a lot to choose from."

You had looked to him then, really looked at him, not with hatred or any form of disgust, but with pure curiosity, bright shiny curiosity.

"It's much easier to not know things sometimes. Things change and friends leave. And life doesn't stop for anybody. I wanted to laugh. Or maybe get mad. Or maybe shrug at how strange everybody was, especially me. I think the idea is that every person has to live for his or her own life and then make the choice to share it with other people. You can't just sit their and put everybody's lives ahead of yours and think that counts as love. You just can't. You have to do things. I'm going to do what I want to do. I'm going to be who I really am. And I'm going to figure out what that is. And we could all sit around and wonder and feel bad about each other and blame a lot of people for what they did or didn't do or what they didn't know. I don't know. I guess there could always be someone to blame. It's just different. Maybe it's good to put things in perspective, but sometimes, I think that the only perspective is to really be there. Because it's okay to feel things. I was really there. And that was enough to make me feel infinite. I feel infinite."

Azriel had recited the passage perfectly, he didn't even need to open the book and turn to the page. He just knew it. His voice was so deep and spoke emotion into every word, like he was in a trance.

The session had wrapped up and you had kept your distance during the breaks, seemingly lost in a world of thought, so Azriel thought it would be best to leave you alone. If the baby step in your relationship simply was having you look at him with anything but hatred, then he'd take it, he didn't want to push it.

"Azriel, wait!" Your voice called to him and he froze on the grass outside of the art building, turning slowly to face you as you jogged across the plain toward him, your skirt flowing in the wind behind you.

You looked pretty, you always did, but in the moonlight, with your hair tied back and loose threads falling over your face, with the two sizes too big jumper drowning your figure, he thought you looked ethereal.

"I didn't know you liked reading," you had said once you stopped in front of him, holding your favourite book to your chest.

"I don't talk about it."

"Right, it's just Feyre never mentioned it," you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and smiled up at him with a tilted head, examining him.

Azriel took a step toward you, one hand in his pocket and another holding onto his own copy, "Why would Feyre mention it?"

"I, I don't know actually," you mumbled, slightly flustered, you were adorable when you were flustered, "Is that your first time reading it?"

"Yeah, it was great. I see why it's your favourite."

"How do you know that?" A smirk tugged at your lips, ones that he wished he could taste, just once, so that he could tell the devil he had been to heaven without ever stepping foot there.

"Nesta may have said something."

"Ah," you kicked the air, shivering at the cold breeze that brushed past you, "Would you like to borrow my copy? I left notes in the margins that you might like."

Azriel glanced at your outstretched hand, he looked at the book with the dented spine from the countless times it had been explored, the frayed edges and the faint hue of blue ink that peeked out from one of the pages. He took it from you with a smile, "Can I, uh, walk you back?"

A moment of silence beat its heart and you hummed, "I think I'd like that."

"Right, great," he told you as you began to walk off, quickening his pace to fall in line with you.

You smelt of summer rain of freshly cut grass, of jasmine and orchid, a mind altering scent, "You know that I never meant to run over your foot last year right?"

"Or spill coffee over my dress? Or smack my face with that door?"

"Yeah, I haven't been very smooth," you laughed, actually laughed at him, with him, and it was an intoxicating sound, one of pure joy and happiness, "I never meant to hurt you."

"I believe you," the stars shone in the sky and you looked up at them, a smile ghosting at your lips, "I'm ready to turn a new page if you are?"

"I'm all about turning new pages."

You leaned into him, nudging him softly with your elbow, "Let's see what you've got then, Shadowsinger."

Authors Note

I really hope this is what you were wanting!

[ay4tou]

window neighbor | suna rintarou x reader

summary: it's hard gaining peace in a big world like this. especially when gaming. (un)fortunately, your insomniac neighbor doesn't keep his windows closed.

author's note: finally filling my haikyuu agenda (´ ε ` ) hehehe this took me a bit longer than i expected it to be (i was inspired by this) | masterlist

It’s 3 a.m. again. Your gaming chair is creaking as you lean back, groaning at your monitor. The match was supposed to be easy. An easy solo queue before bed.

But no. Your team decided to collectively forget how to play, and now you’re stuck babysitting four digital liabilities.

“Who the hell even runs into the enemy ult?” you mutter, smashing the keyboard with enough aggression to scare your poor keys. “What the fuck, man?! I swear, if I get matched with them again, I’m deleting this damn game.”

Your teammate dies (again), and you groan, turning your chair toward the kitchen for a midnight snack. But just as you stand up, you catch a familiar flicker of light from the window across the street.

There he is. Su...Sinu? Sina? Sona?

What was his name again?

He's also in his kitchen right now, of course. Your kitchen and room windows are directly across from each other, and they somehow always manage to be awake at the same ungodly hour as you. It also doesn't help that your neighbor has huge windows.

You squint. Tonight, he's hunched over a laptop, casually eating a bowl of cereal. You try to ignore the man, opening the fridge and grabbing a soda. But as you crack it open, you glance up again, just to check if he's noticed you.

He did.

Suna glances up lazily from their laptop, spoon halfway to their mouth. He meets your gaze, raises an eyebrow, and then smirks.

"Who the hell smirks in this situation?" You muttered to yourself.

You narrow your eyes and point at him accusingly through the window, mouthing, Why are you always awake?

He shrugs, as if to say, Why are you always awake?

The first time you noticed him, he was sitting in the kitchen at 2 a.m., wearing headphones and yelling at their screen.

Someone else raging at online games in the dead of night, just like you.

You thought it was hilarious.

But then you started noticing him every night. And not just gaming, he was always up to something ridiculous. You've even seen him build a gaming setup on the kitchen counter one night.

You weren’t proud of how often you found yourself glancing at his window. But in your defense, he started it. He'd catch your eye mid-game, smirk, and go back to the game like nothing happened.

Finally, one night, you’ve had enough.

Instead of grabbing your usual notebook for yet another passive-aggressive window message, you decide to try something new. You march into your bedroom, grab a neon sticky note, and write:

“Tired of staring? Join the game.”

You slap it onto the window and stepped back, arms crossed. Across the street, he notices immediately. He blinks at the note, squints to read it, and then gives you a thumbs-up.

You wait. You were unsure that he was serious until you see him disappear from his kitchen. A moment later, a notification comes up from your laptop. It’s a friend request. Finally.

[37/50] SunaRin wants to be friends.

Oh. His name was Suna.

You stare at the screen, heart thumping, before accepting. A message pops up almost instantly:

SunaRin: sup

SunaRin: wow r u a whale

SunaRin: ok lets see if ure as good as you pretend to be

Oh, it’s on.

The first game is chaos.

He’s reckless, diving headfirst into the 1v1, and somehow always coming out on top. Meanwhile, you’re scrambling to keep up, muttering curses under your breath as he racks up points.

y/n: can you like stop for a sec holy shit

SunaRin: lol not when im winning you loser

y/n: ???

You groan audibly, but when you glance out the window, you can’t help but notice the smug grin he flashes your way.

It just makes your blood boil.

The few days you've been playing with each other has been a roller coaster of anger, victory, and way too much caffeine.

But one day, your neighbor's usual antics suddenly stop.

You’re mid-game when his usual banter stops. He goes quiet, and his character stands still. You glance out the window to see him leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling with a frustrated expression.

y/n: whats your deal

SunaRin: im bored

SunaRin: lets do something else

y/n: wdym something else

A second later, your phone buzzes. It’s a message from him.

“I’m tired of staring at your kitchen window. Meet me outside in 10.”

Your first instinct is to ignore it. This is weird. This is out of bounds. But curiosity... and maybe something else you don’t want to admit wins out.

Ten minutes later, you’re standing awkwardly in front of your building, wondering if you’ve been pranked. But then you see him walking toward you, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, looking as weird as ever.

“Wow,” he says, stopping in front of you. “You actually showed up. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

You cross your arms. “What’s this about? I was about to win that match, by the way.”

“Sure you were.” He grins, and for the first time, it doesn’t look smug. It looks nice.

“I figured we’ve spent so much time trash-talking each other, we might as well do it in person.”

“What? You dragged me outside just to insult me face-to-face?” you say, but there’s no real bite in your tone.

“Hmm, pretty much." he replies. “That, and I figured it’s about time I got to know my favorite neighbor.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. But don’t think this means I’m buying coffee.”

“Oh, you’ll be buying it eventually,” he says, already walking toward the café down the street. “I’m just giving you a head start before I destroy you in tomorrow’s rematch.”

You follow, shaking your head but laughing under your breath. Turns out, losing a little sleep isn’t so bad when a new friend makes it worthwhile.

[californiablinds]

How to Choose the Right Window Treatment for Your Home in Los Angeles

Introduction

Your home’s windows do more than just provide a view of the outside world; they also influence your home’s comfort, privacy, and energy efficiency. Finding the right window treatment in Los Angeles can transform your living space while complementing your interior decor. It might be daunting to choose the finest option when there are so many to choose from. Whether you are looking for window blinds, custom drapes, shutters, or motorized window shades, this guide will help you make an informed decision.

Why Window Treatments Matter

Enhancing Aesthetics

Window treatments contribute significantly to your home’s decor, creating a polished and refined look. The right window blinds in Los Angeles can complement any style, from modern to traditional.

Providing Privacy

If your home is in a busy neighborhood, privacy is crucial. The right window coverings in Los Angeles ensure that your home remains a sanctuary while allowing you to control visibility.

Improving Energy Efficiency

Properly selected window treatments can help regulate indoor temperatures by blocking excessive sunlight in the summer and retaining heat during winter.

Increasing Home Value

Upgrading to custom window shutters in Los Angeles can add a touch of luxury, increasing your home’s resale value.

Types of Window Treatments

1. Window Blinds

Blinds are a versatile and practical choice for homeowners looking for a balance between style and function.

Vertical blinds work well for sliding doors and wide windows.

Horizontal Blinds – Perfect for standard-sized windows, offering precise light control.

Motorized Window Blinds – A high-tech option for convenience and ease of use.

2. Drapery and Curtains

Custom drapery in Los Angeles can add elegance to any space, with a variety of fabric and design options available.

Sheer curtains provide a certain amount of privacy while letting in natural light.

Blackout Drapes – Ideal for bedrooms and home theaters where complete darkness is preferred.

3. Window Shades

Shades provide a clean and sleek look while offering different levels of light filtration.

Roller Screens in Los Angeles – A modern and minimalistic choice for UV protection.

Motorized Window Shades – A great option for hard-to-reach windows or smart home integration.

Roman Shades – Bring a touch of sophistication with soft, folded fabric.

4. Custom Window Shutters

For a classic and durable option, custom wooden shutters in Los Angeles provide excellent insulation and a timeless aesthetic.

Interior Shutters – Custom-fit for a snug and elegant look.

Exterior Shutters – Great for enhancing curb appeal while adding extra protection.

Factors to Consider When Choosing Window Treatments

Budget

If affordability is a concern, budget blinds in Los Angeles offer an economical yet stylish solution.

Light Control Needs

Consider how much natural light you want in each room. Roll-up window screens and motorized window shades can help you adjust light levels effortlessly.

Privacy Requirements

For maximum privacy, custom drapes or blackout shades are the best choices.

Ease of Maintenance

Some materials require more upkeep than others. For low-maintenance options, go for roller screens or faux wood blinds.

Integration with Smart Home Systems

Motorized window treatments offer convenience and automation, perfect for modern homes.

Why Choose a Professional Window Blinds Company?

A reputable window blinds company can help you navigate through the many choices, ensuring you get high-quality, customized solutions that fit your needs.

Conclusion

Selecting the right window treatment in Los Angeles depends on your aesthetic preferences, functional needs, and budget. Whether you choose custom window shutters, motorized shades, or elegant drapery, the right decision will enhance your home’s style and comfort. To find the best options, consider working with a trusted window blinds company that can provide expert guidance and high-quality products.

[justlookfrightened]

Old dogs and new tricks

Prompt fill from @goddess47: MooMaw comes to visit Jack and Bitty

Lorraine Phelps settled back into her seat and sighed.

She was on the plane. The first part of her journey was done.

It hadn’t been so bad, really. Suzanne had driven her to the airport in Atlanta, parked and walked her into the airport, made sure her new suitcase got checked, escorted her all the way to the security line.

“I wish you’d let me get a gate pass so I could stay with you,” Suzanne fussed. “Or arranged a wheelchair.”

“I’ll be fine,” Lorraine had rejoined. “I’m not a child, and I’m not decrepit.”

Not yet, anyway.

This trip to Providence was an adventure for Lorraine, her first time in years on an airplane, her first time ever flying by herself.

When Dicky had traveled to Madison for her “surprise” 75th birthday party, the gift had been a huge box, a box that turned out to contain a new suitcase, one of the ones with wheels on the bottom and a smaller bag inside, and a picture of an airplane.

“Well, this is lovely,” Lorraine had said to her favorite grandson. Yes, he was her favorite, not that she’d ever admit it to anyone. But all those hours they’d spent in the kitchen together … it was like their own flavors melded and complemented one another. “But I don’t know —”

And Dicky had cut her off, because of course he knew what she was going to say.

“The suitcase isn’t the present, Moomaw,” he’d said. “The present is … me ’n’ Jack want you to come to Providence to visit. We didn’t get flights yet, because we have to decide when is the best time and all, but we want you to come stay with us. And this way you can’t say that you don’t have a bag to pack.”

“As if I would!” Lorraine had said.

But truth be told, she might have.

She knew plenty of people traveled all the time, flew all over the country, all over the world even. Jack with his team — he must be flying two, three, even four times a week. Even Dicky had flown back and forth from college after the first year, for breaks too, and Suzanne and Rick flew to visit him even now.

They all knew how to do it, though, with their tickets on their phones and showing identification in the security lines, and understanding what to leave in their bags and take out before they went through the machine.

She shouldn’t have worried.

Dicky had sent videos showing what the screening area was like at Hartsfield, and all kinds of explanations.

“If you’re 75, you don’t have to take your shoes off, and you can leave your sweater on to go through the metal detector,” he’d said in an email. “You don’t have to worry about a laptop or tablet, so just make sure you don’t have anything liquid in your carryon. We can get any toiletries you need here, and you can put your makeup in your checked bag. Otherwise, liquids need to be in small containers and fit in one small plastic bag, which you might or might not have to take out of your carryon.”

As it turned out, Lorraine didn’t even need a carryon. Her purse was large enough for her wallet and phone, a magazine, a paperback book, lipstick and some chewing gum (recommended by Dicky for takeoff and landing).

And it turned out that being a 5-foot-nothing grandmother type with a cloud of white hair meant that the security people wanted nothing more than to help her on her way, with one even coming over to her after she collected her bag to point her towards the correct gate.

Then the first-class (first class!) ticket Dicky and Jack sent meant that she was escorted aboard the flight early, and all she had to do was sit and look out the window and sip the water they gave her.

She texted Dicky: On the plane! Everything is lovely! See you when I get there!

Coach passengers, most of them laden down with roller bags or backpacks and food and pillows and whatnot, were still shuffling past her seat when Dicky replied, “Great! I’ll be at baggage claim when you get here!”

Lorraine carefully put her phone into airplane mode — she’d never had to do that before — before tucking it into her purse and pulling out the magazine. She was too excited to focus on her book.

She spent the flight alternating between reading and looking out the window, enjoying a quite tasty smoked chicken salad. They didn’t have sweet tea; Lorraine toyed with the idea of having a glass of wine, but decided it wouldn’t be a good idea. There was too much she had to pay attention to today. But she did indulge in a Coke.

When the plane landed, she waited while most of the people behind her on the plane bumped and jostled their way out. Once she got her phone reconnected, she found a text from Dicky telling her what baggage carousel to look for.

On my way! she texted back, then stood to wait for a break in the traffic in the aisle.

“Can I help you?” the nice flight attendant asked. “Is there someone meeting you at the gate?”

“No, my grandson is at baggage claim,” Lorraine said. “I’ll be fine. Just follow the signs, right?”

It turned out to be as simple as following the people. Dicky was standing at the bottom of the escalator, all but vibrating as he craned his neck to look for her. As soon as he caught sight of her, Dicky gave her a broad smile and a little wave.

“How was your flight?” he asked as soon as the escalator deposited her on the ground floor. “No trouble? You don’t have anything besides your purse?”

“My suitcase should be coming,” she said.

“I mean, besides that? Do you want to sit down while I wait for it? I know what it looks like.”

“I can wait with you,” Lorraine said. “It feels good to stand after sitting on the plane.”

When the purple case came, Dicky picked it up and rolled it towards the exit.

“I’m not parked too far away,” he said.

The ride in Dicky’s little red car started with a long time in a tunnel, then a long time on an interstate through suburban subdivisions and then finally some woodland and fields. It could have been driving out of Atlanta, except the dirt was a different color, and the leaves were different.

Before she would have thought it possible, they were back in suburbs, then getting off the interstate onto city streets.

The whole time, Bitty prattled about everything they could do in the week Lorraine was spending in Providence. He was full of museums and restaurants and farmer’s markets and parks in a way that sounded, frankly, exhausting.

“So,” Dicky finally said, turning the car into a driveway that led to a garage under a high-rise, “any of that sound good to you?”

“It all sounds wonderful,” Lorraine said. “But I didn’t come to see Providence. I came to see you. And, of course, Jack.”

“He’s home by now,” Dicky said. “He had a meeting this morning about some sponsorship things.”

Dicky pulled into a numbered spot and once again took Lorraine’s suitcase, leading her towards an elevator where he pressed the button for the top floor.

“Wait until you see the view,” he said.

Lorraine smiled, because she already had the view she wanted.

Jack, as promised, was in the condo, all solicitousness.

“Bits made some sweet tea this morning,” he said as soon as she was fairly in the door. “Can I pour you a glass? Are you hungry?”

“I ate just fine on the plane,” Lorraine said. “But yes, some sweet tea would be lovely. Let me go freshen up, then some tea, And then maybe a rest?”

“Of course,” Dicky said. “I’m sorry — I should have thought. The bathroom is here —” he opened the first door in the hallway off the kitchen “ — and your room is right next door. I’ll put your suitcase in there.”

Once the door closed on her in the bathroom, Lorraine let out a deep sigh. This was the first time since Suzanne picked her up that she’d been alone, truly alone, and it was a relief. But she knew she only had a couple of minutes before Dicky would get worried about her in here.

That was one of the things no one ever warned you about when you got old. She’d lived alone for years now, and quite liked her own company. Suzanne called most days, of course, and Judy came around, and Lorraine had an active social life, what with church and her book group, but most of the time she saw other people on her own terms.

But then when she did spend time with family, they worried if she spent too long in the bathroom or wanted to go off on her own for a while.

She couldn’t blame them, really. She’d lost Walker years ago now, and no one had expected him to pass when he did. They worried over her. And she did have more aches and pains, not that she complained.

Lorraine washed her hands and refreshed her lipstick before going back to the main living area, able to appreciate the wide windows with a view over the city. Dicky and Jack were in the kitchen, a large tiled area that was separated from the dining room by a counter with high chairs. The dining room wasn’t really separated at all from the living room, except by the furniture that made the use of each area obvious.

Dicky and Jack were speaking in low voices, and Dicky stopped as soon as he saw her. Jack offered her the glass of tea he’d poured while Dicky picked up a plate of cookies and gestured towards the sofa.

“How’s everyone in Madison?” he asked as they settled in.

Lorraine passed along news and greetings — Judy’s oldest boy’s wife was pregnant, and the younger one had dropped out of Georgia Tech and started working as a mechanic, and gotten engaged to his high school sweetheart.

“Your Aunt Judy isn’t thrilled, I can tell you that,” she said. “But she is going on about what a lovely wedding it will be, especially in front of your mother.”

“MooMaw, you know Jack and I are getting married up here,” Dicky said. “I know Mama wants a wedding in Georgia, but that would be a huge mess. Everyone is nice to my face when I’m there, but I know they’re still talking behind my back about me marrying Jack, and why would I want to do that to myself? Never mind that Jack’s folks are in Montreal, and most of our friends are here.”

“Oh, I don’t disagree,” MooMaw said. “I think you made the right decision. I just wanted to let you know.”

“So I wouldn’t be surprised when Mama brings it up again?” Dicky asked. “I do think that this way the only relatives who’ll come will be the ones who really want to. You’re coming, right?”

“You couldn’t keep me away,” MooMaw said. “Especially now that I know how easy the flight is. I suppose I’ll have to travel with your mother and father.”

“I was thinking you would,” Bitty said. “You don’t want to?”

“To tell you the truth, I kind of like first class,” MooMaw said. “Even though you shouldn’t have.”

“Of course we should have,” Jack said. “We can fly you all up first-class for the wedding.”

“Jack —” Dicky said.

“What?” Jack said. “It’s not that much. We could charter a private plane for your relatives if you want —”

“Jack. We are not chartering a private plane.”

Lorraine hid her smile behind a cookie. Her Dicky had found a good one. What was it her mother had told her when she brought Walker home? It would be just as easy to fall in love with a rich man?

Walker had never been rich, but they’d done all right. They’d both taught school, Lorraine in the primary grades and Walker at the high school, until the girls came along, and then Lorraine stayed home. Walker had worked a series of second jobs in the summer and side jobs all year, and they’d never wanted for anything.

Now Suzanne’s Rick made near as much as the high school principal as the football coach, so they were fine. But it wasn’t “we’ll just charter a plane” money. Or “top-floor condo with a view of the city money” either.

Still, Jack didn’t strike her as spoiled. He had a good head on his shoulders, and he loved Dicky. That was obvious from the first time she saw the two of them together.

“So,” Dicky said, obviously changing the subject. “Do you want to go out for dinner tonight? Or go do anything this afternoon?”

“I think I’d like to have a lie-down,” Lorraine said. “For at least a while. If y’all don’t want to cook, we could go out — but maybe just for a bite? And then tomorrow, if you’re not busy, Dicky, you could show me around the neighborhood?”

“We don’t mind cooking,” Jack answered. “We have some steaks and some chicken we can grill, if that sounds all right to you?”

“And tomorrow we’ll hit up the market,” Dicky said. “You don’t mind being a special guest on my vlog? But maybe after we go to the farmer’s market Saturday. Jack has meetings tomorrow, but he’s free Friday — we thought we’d go to Newport and maybe take the ferry to Jamestown or Block Island?”

“That all sounds fine,” Lorraine said.

Jack stood as she got to her feet, and she smiled at the manners his parents had clearly instilled in him.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Just a little worn out.”

The visit proceeded more or less as Lorraine expected, with Dicky planning daily outings and events, which Lorraine enjoyed immensely — especially ones like the ferry, where she could sit down — and Jack joining them when he was able.

She and Dicky also baked and cooked together, both on camera and off; she sampled foods including stuffed clams and lobster rolls; and she and Jack started an ongoing penny-a-point series of gin rummy games, mostly out on the terrace while Dicky was busy on the computer.

Jack turned out to be a worthy competitor.

The surprise of the visit, and a pleasant one, was the way Jack warmed up to her. She’d obviously liked the boy from the beginning for his devotion to Dicky if nothing else. Now that they had more time together, she came to like his sly sense of humor, the way he observed the world and even the way he helped Dicky moderate his impulses to try to do everything all at once.

Dicky had told her that Jack suffered from anxiety and sometimes had panic attacks, although she didn’t see anything like that during her week in Rhode Island. She hoped that meant he was comfortable with her. He was comfortable enough, at any rate, to mention going to therapy, which she supposed was a good thing.

Would probably be a good thing for Dicky too, if she was honest. God knew the boy had a rough enough time growing up, and he always had been a bit of a whirlwind. Maybe those two things weren’t related, but you never knew.

“So,” Dicky said, when he drove her to the airport for her flight home. “When do you want to come back? If you come during the season I can bring you to one of Jack’s games — I can send you the schedule and maybe you want to pick out a weekend with a day game?”

“I couldn’t ask for —”

“You’re not asking, I’m inviting,” Dicky said. “Actually, it was Jack’s idea. If you want Mama and Coach to come with you, I can try —”

“No, that’s fine,” Lorraine said. “I’d like very much to come.”

After all, she thought, as she got in the line for security, this was something she knew how to do now.

[anand07723]

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[kitakashi]

Cats (2)

Featuring: Sawamura, Matsukawa, Hanamaki, Kozume, Futakuchi, Ushijima, Bokuto, Ojirō, Sakusa…

Part 1

Sawamura Daichi loves to dress up your cat with small articles of clothing. Bow ties, little vests, and his favorite a mini police officer cap. He even keeps a small picture of Officer Meow with him for the occasions that he has to deal with small children. Your cat is an honorary member of the police force with their own miniature plaque.

Your poor cat is teased by Matsukawa Issei. Gently tugging their tail, putting his finger in their mouth when they yawn, and his personal favorite the laser light. Don’t worry though, your cat gets revenge by using his long legs as a scratching post, laying down with their butt in his face, and running off with his bedroom slippers.

Hanamaki Takahiro is a stay at home cat dad. Of course that’s not all he is, but that’s what he cheekily tells people. He even designed a whole cat room with shelves on the walls for your cat to run across. Once he started posting videos online of his interior cat design, he started getting paid requests for tutorials. You two and your fur baby have a very comfortable life all thanks to your kitty.

Your cat is a regular on Kozume Kenma’s channel. He even has a special cat bed next to his set up on his desk with a special camera so people can watch your kitty’s reactions. Your cat follows his avatar on screen and will meow demands. His followers enjoy interpreting those instructions for your man to follow. Even if your cat just sleeps, they still steal the show.

Futakuchi Kenji and your cat judge people together. Their favorite perch is a seat by the window where either your cat sits in his lap while he scrolls social media making snarky comments or they stare at your neighbors. You’ve had a few complaints that it’s disturbing but it’s worth it to come home and see both their faces looking out the window. It’s both hilarious and endearing.

Ushijima Wakatoshi has trained your cat to do simple tricks. He even took a video of your cat obeying simple commands like sit, and roll over to show his teammates when they didn’t believe him. Now your cat is a hot conversation topic for the Adlers. You aren’t sure if your kitty will jump through hoops like he wants, but it’s adorable to see your giant of a man try to bribe your fur baby.

Bokuto Kōtarō meows back at your cat. You have no idea what they’re saying but it’s a frequent occurrence to enter a room where the two are holding a conversation in cat language. Apparently, your cat informed him when their birthday is so now you can celebrate it. The two of them are adorable wearing tiny party hats.

Ojiro Aran and your cat work out together. He lets your cat choose his music by holding out his phone with various playlists on screen and they listen to whatever the cat touches. Your cat’s favorite is sit up’s, kitty perched on his knees and gets a little nose boop every time. He even got a little harness to take your kitty running with him. Your fur baby ends up being carried but it’s still cute.

Sakusa Kiyoomi has always had a thing for lint rollers. That only exemplified after you two got together. Yet, he treats your cat like an actual baby. Always brushing your kitty, trimming nails, wiping eyes, giving baths (to your fur baby’s chagrin), and kissing their little head. Of course, every cuddle session is followed by him furiously attacking himself with aforementioned lint roller. Your kitty has the best hygiene of any cat ever.

[ohcoffeedragon]

I was about to give my own take on the album in the tags of @bisonaari's post but seeing the wall of text on my screen I decided to make it a separate post instead, and then I ended up making a graph.

I love how the album takes you on a ride and plants themes that keep evolving. It gets very dark at times, but you never lose that sense of forward motion.

Ready to Go is about getting your big chance, believing in yourself and going all in. It has an inspirational quality to it, but in the lyrics you already get a hint of the problems to come, and you already have two of the running themes: an inability to set boundaries + the impact of getting reduced to a one dimensional character, to the point where people want to see you fail for their entertainment.

Cha Cha Cha of course is about a lot of things, but in the context of the album the classic story beat here is the "point of no return". It's an emotional high: rising to the challenge, overcoming insecurities and difficulties, experiencing a triumph, but at the same time it's the point where normal life goes out the window. This is the point where you get the letter from Hogwarts or step through the wardrobe into a bizarro world.

Takavoltti marks the beginning of the downward spiral. K still has energy in abundance, we find the same attitude of going all in and pushing through difficulties that was first introduced in Ready to Go, but in Takavoltti the pushing just never stops. He is pushed further and further, and once again you can sense that the people pushing him don't really see him as a person. They just want to see how far he will go, it's all about the entertainment value.

Ruoska and Kot Kot go one step further. In Takavoltti K is already acting on command, he has no more agency of his own, but there is still an eagerness to surprise and please an audience. That eagerness is gone in the two following songs, it's all coping, reacting and surviving. Autiomaa is the darkest point but there is a fair amount of darkness in the other songs as well.

Around Autiomaa on both sides you have songs about coping. Kot Kot, Ruoska and Sex=Money, while being fun, are about coping strategies that come dangerously close to self harm (drinking, leaning into the pain/getting hurt but still asking for more, giving people what they want because you can't feel anything so you might as well).

Sex=Money marks an evolution because he is trying to reclaim the narrative and take his own decisions, but he is still lost in the numbness and doesn't really know which way to go.

It's only with Bananas, HHH and ICIP that we are finally emerging into a different mindset. The problems are still there but he is learning to roll with the punches. The numbness is gone and he is able to enjoy the moment again. Feelings of joy and love shine through even when things are frantic and full of uncertainty.

Then we have People's champion as the perfect ending, looking back at the roller coaster, stopping to take it all in, appreciating what a journey it's been, being grateful for it all and letting the positive feelings take over.

I find this album insanely well made. It's heartbreaking and uplifting at the same time, while simultaneously being pure fun, never missing a beat.

And I'm still at a loss about how the HS critic was unable to see this. How could he possibly not see the coherence of a narrative that follows the beats of a traditional story arc?

[mjonthetrack]

Early Morning — Living Room

The house was dim and quiet, the kind of silence that only came when everyone was still asleep or bone-tired. A horror movie they’d half-watched the night before played on mute as Jacob leaned back on the couch, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone, Solo halfway dozing next to him.

Imani’s phone, still on the corner table, buzzed softly. A single ping.

Jacob glanced over. He wasn’t the nosy type, but the lock screen lit up and read clear as day:

"Happy Birthday, Lovebug."

From someone labeled simply: Aunt Mel.

He sat up straighter, frowning slightly. “Y’all… y’all know what today is?”

Josh, still nursing a cup of coffee in the kitchen, looked up. “What?”

Jacob picked up the phone and turned it so they could all see. “It’s Imani’s birthday.”

The silence that hit after that was thick as old honey.

Josh blinked. “She ain’t say a word…”

Solo looked at Jimmy. “She ain’t tell you?”

Jimmy shook his head, eyes a little wide. “She was actin’ normal last night… chillin’. Made that fire, damn near passed out in Josh’s lap.”

Roman let out a low whistle. “That’s cold. She really just… wasn’t gon’ say nothin’.”

Josh stared at the phone like it offended him. His jaw worked, tension crawling across his shoulders. “She ain’t wanna make it a thing.”

Jacob raised an eyebrow. “Or she didn’t expect any of us to give a damn.”

That hit. Hard.

Josh set his mug down, fast. “Aight—nah. We not lettin’ that slide.”

Solo sat up now too. “What we doin’? What we got in the house?”

Jimmy was already on his feet. “We makin’ somethin’ happen. Ain’t no way she finna wake up and feel unseen.”

Roman grinned wide. “I got a Bluetooth speaker and a playlist that’d make her shimmy.”

Jacob smirked, standing. “Bet. Somebody start on food—whoever can cook. Somebody else decorate. Josh… you go wake her when it’s time.”

Josh didn’t say anything for a moment. Just nodded, slow. He looked toward the hallway where the bedrooms were. His jaw softened.

“I got her.”

———-

Later That Morning – Family Home

The whole damn house had shifted.

Balloons were taped neatly along the archways—none of that dollar store neon mess, but soft-toned pastels and golds, the kind that felt like grown woman joy. A banner hung crookedly but proudly above the back doors: “Happy Birthday, Imani.” The letters sparkled in cursive glitter.

The dining table was covered. Not just with food—but her kind of food. Shrimp and grits. Smoked salmon. Fluffy waffles. Big-ass bowl of fruit, cut up proper. Fresh squeezed orange juice. Jimmy even managed to bake something that looked edible, bless his heart.

Near the window sat a small stack of gifts. Each one wrapped differently—carefully, intentionally.

A set of acrylics in her favorite colorway with a note from Jacob: “Figured you might want your claws back.”

A hardbound, leather journal from Roman: “For the thoughts you don’t always say out loud.”

A pair of rose gold hoop earrings Solo swore he hunted down on foot.

And then Josh's… box wasn’t even wrapped, just tied with a single ribbon. Inside: a pair of fresh Nike slides, a roller perfume oil she ran out of weeks ago, and a laminated photo—one she thought she lost—of her brother as a teenager. On the back in Josh’s messy scrawl: “Told you I see you.”

The boys stood back, proud and awkward and a little sweaty.

“She gon’ cry,” Jimmy whispered.

“She gon’ swing,” Roman corrected with a grin.

Josh rolled his neck once, cracked his knuckles. “Alright,” he said low, pulling his shirt down as he stepped toward the hallway. “Act normal. Don’t blow the shit.”

They all nodded, immediately breaking into nervous laughter like kids.

Josh – Hallway to Bedroom

He walked slow. Not like he was sneaking—but like the weight of it all was real.

He pushed the cracked door open with his knuckle.

The room was dim, but sunlight spilled through the slats. She was still curled on her side, hair like a crown on the pillow, one leg draped out from the blanket. Peaceful. Vulnerable.

Josh stood there for a second, jaw ticking.

He took a slow breath and dropped down onto the edge of the bed, gently placing a hand on her ankle, rubbing slow.

“Ma…” His voice was soft. “Time to get up.”

She groaned, flipped the pillow over her face. “Five more minutes. It’s Sunday. Y’all be aight.”

He chuckled. “Come on. We bout to eat. You know they can’t wait long before they start burnin’ shit.”

She sighed, voice muffled under the pillow. “Y’all act like I’m y’all damn mama.”

Josh leaned down closer, voice brushing just behind her ear. “Don’t gotta be. But I like you up in the mix.”

She finally peeked out, one eye squinting. “Why you sound suspiciously sweet?”

He raised a brow. “Damn, can’t a man be soft with his…?” He caught himself, smiled slow. “...with his people?”

She blinked at him, sleep still in her face. “You alright?”

Josh just stood, offered her a hand. “Come on, Love. We got you a plate.”

Cut to — Living Room

As soon as she stepped around the corner, bare feet sliding slightly on the wood floors, her brain short-circuited. It was everything. Everything.

The smell of cinnamon and smoked meat. The faint hum of Jill Scott playing low from the speaker. The gold banner.

She froze.

Nobody said a word. They just watched her take it in.

Imani’s eyes swept across the table, the decorations, the gifts—landed last on the boys, all pretending they weren’t watching her like hawks. Her lips parted. Her voice caught.

“What… what is all this?”

Roman was the first to break, grinning wide. “Happy birthday, girl.”

Then Solo. “You really thought we ain’t know?”

Jimmy was already holding a plate. “We made your favorite, shawty. Ain’t no stressin’ today.”

And Josh… he didn’t say anything.

He just stood behind her, hands in his pockets, watching as her eyes got glassy and her lip trembled before she sucked it in and gave them all the flattest, fakest eye roll she could manage.

“Y’all got me lookin’ soft,” she muttered.

Roman barked a laugh. “Good. Bout damn time.”

Josh leaned down by her ear again, low and only for her: “Told you I see you.”

—————

Dining Room – Later That Morning

Imani sat cross-legged at the table, a plate in front of her stacked with everything she didn’t even realize she was craving. She bit into a piece of chicken sausage, eyes wide as she pointed her fork at Jimmy.

“You made this?”

Jimmy threw a towel over his shoulder, smug. “Don’t do too much—yes, ma’am.”

She gave a slow nod, chewing. “I didn’t even know y’all could function in a kitchen. Y’all really out here cheffing and whatnot.”

Roman sipped his juice with a smirk. “We got layers, baby girl.”

Solo tossed a grape at him. “Man shut up, you cut strawberries and dipped.”

Imani laughed, full belly, bright, eyes dancing as she leaned back in her chair, arms stretching. For a moment, there was peace on her face. Real peace.

Josh watched her from across the table, eyes warm. He hadn’t even touched his food. Just took her in like the sight was more nourishing than anything else.

Living Room – Gift Time

Imani plopped onto the couch, still licking icing off her finger from the cinnamon rolls. “Alright, let’s see what this is. Y’all ain’t put no prank in here, right? Cuz I promise—”

“We grown now,” Roman said with a wink. “Kinda.”

She smirked and started with the smallest gift. The acrylic set. She paused. Her mouth fell open just slightly.

“Jacob…”

He shrugged. “You been talkin’ about it, I just paid attention.”

Then came Solo’s. The hoops. “Boy…” she whispered, holding them up to her ears. “Y’all gon’ have me out here dangerous.”

Roman’s journal made her go quiet. She traced the leather with her thumb. “You didn’t…”

“I did,” Roman nodded. “You always got stuff on your chest. Now you got somewhere to put it.”

And finally, Josh’s box.

She opened it and smiled at the slides, even gave a teasing “About damn time.” The perfume made her pause—he remembered. But then she pulled out the photo. Her breath hitched. The world slowed.

It was her brother. Young, bright-eyed, with his arm thrown casually around her skinny teenaged shoulders. The edges of the photo were curled and frayed from age.

On the back: Told you I see you.

Imani clutched the photo to her chest as her shoulders trembled. Her lip quivered, fat tears rolling down her cheeks without permission.

Her voice came out small, honest, a tremble riding her words: “I never… I never had a birthday party before.”

The room froze.

She swallowed, still staring at the photo. “Never had anybody do somethin’ like this for me. Not even when I was a kid.”

No one moved. The air hung heavy and soft.

She pulled the photo close, whispered into the quiet, just barely audible: “I’m okay now. You don’t have to worry about me no more.”

And they heard it.

Roman stood suddenly, sniffing like the air was dusty. “Aight, we uh—we gon’ go outside, give you a lil moment.”

“Yeah yeah,” Jimmy said, voice gruff. “Get some air. Sunlight or whatever.”

Solo smacked his shoulder. “You sound stupid.”

The door closed behind them.

Front Porch – A Few Minutes Later

They stood on the porch, leaning against railings, arms crossed or hands in pockets, each of them quiet in their own way.

Roman was the first to speak. “That girl got more strength in her pinky than I got in my whole damn chest.”

Jimmy nodded. “She ain't even flinch when she pulled that trigger. But a birthday party?”

Solo shook his head, brows low. “Shit hit different.”

Josh sat on the steps, hands clasped in front of him, staring out at the yard they had run around in as kids again because she brought that to them. His jaw flexed. He hadn’t said a word.

Roman looked at him. “You good?”

Josh nodded once. Still didn’t speak.

Jacob leaned against the rail. “I ain’t gon’ lie, cuz. That wasn’t just a birthday party. That was somethin’ else.”

Roman added, softer this time, “You saw what it did to her. What it meant.”

Josh exhaled deeply. “Yeah.”

They let the silence sit again.

And then, Roman said it—casual but intentional, knowing he was replanting the same seed,a little smirk in the corner of his voice:

“I mean… if it were me? After all that? I couldn’t be runnin’ around being no little boyfriend. I’d be her old man. The only man.”

Josh didn’t respond.

Not right away.

But his head tilted ever so slightly like he’d just made a decision he wasn’t ready to say out loud yet.

———

Storm

The house was silent, save for the hum of the old AC unit and the occasional chirp of summer birds outside. Imani sat on the floor, legs pulled in tight, the photo of her brother still clutched in her hands. Her eyes were red, cheeks stained with tears she hadn't tried to stop. The kind of tears that had waited years to fall. Her chest rose and fell in deep, uneven breaths, like she was finally letting herself feel the weight she carried without apology.

She wiped her face, breathed out hard, and gave herself a minute more. Just a minute. Then she stood, slow but sure, and fixed her face.

Front Porch – Midday Sunlight

The boys were still posted up. Jimmy had his feet kicked up on the railing, Solo chewing sunflower seeds, Roman pacing with a toothpick in his mouth, and Josh—still seated on the steps, arms braced on his knees, eyes distant.

Then the screen door creaked open behind them.

They all turned.

Imani stepped out, eyes still glassy, but her whole posture was different. Lighter. She walked straight to them and without hesitation—hugged Jacob first.

“You the reason they even knew,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

Then she moved down the line, hugging each of them. Roman blinked like he didn’t know what to do with his hands at first, but he hugged her back tighter than expected. Jimmy gave her that firm, brotherly squeeze. Solo gave her two hugs like he forgot how much she meant.

And Josh—Josh stood without a word, arms already out. She walked into his chest and rested there a moment. No words passed between them, just something understood.

When she pulled back, she looked at them all, hands on her hips as her eyes swept the porch.

“I’ll never forget this. None of it. Y’all didn’t just make a birthday... You gave me somethin’ I thought I missed my chance at.”

The fellas were quiet again, heads a little lower, hearts a little fuller.

Imani cleared her throat—more to steady her voice than anything else—wiping the corner of her eye with the back of her hand before she broke the moment with her usual blunt sweetness:

“So… who cookin’ dinner? I ain't tryna cry on an empty stomach.”

Laughter cracked the air like a warm summer breeze.

Jimmy stood up, hand raised. “I got the grill.”

Roman cracked his neck. “I’ll season. But I ain’t chopping no onions.”

“I’ll prep,” Solo offered, already heading inside.

Josh waited a beat, watching her, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

She glanced back at him. “You helping?”

“Only if I get to stay close,” he said low, just for her.

Imani smirked, her lip twitching. “Fine. But you do the dishes.”

Josh followed her inside without hesitation.

————-

Later That Night – Back Porch, Under the String Lights

Dinner had long passed. The house was calm now, humming with leftovers being wrapped and sleepy shuffles up the stairs. Laughter had faded into low murmurs, some music still faint from someone’s speaker left on inside. The boys had slowly peeled off one by one, full bellies and full hearts putting them out early.

Imani was on the back porch, barefoot, legs curled beneath her on a cushioned chair, a soft throw blanket over her lap. The stars were out, lazy and scattered across the dark sky. She held a warm mug of tea, not drinking it much—just holding it, letting the warmth settle into her fingers. Her hair was still out, flowing in soft waves, crown free, just as she’d let it be all day.

The screen door opened behind her, quietly.

Josh stepped out, wearing just some sweats and a hoodie, barefoot like her. He didn’t say anything at first—just eased down into the chair beside her, close enough that their knees brushed.

Imani glanced his way, then looked back out at the sky.

“You not tired?” she asked, voice soft, almost a whisper.

Josh shook his head slowly. “Nah... I ain’t tryna sleep just yet. Mind won’t let me.”

She hummed like she understood, because she did.

Silence passed again, but this time it was comfortable. The kind that says everything even when nothing is said.

He looked over at her again. “You good?”

Imani’s shoulders rose and fell in a deep breath. “Yeah. Today… was somethin’ else. Ain’t never had a birthday like that. Hell, ain’t never had a day like that.”

Josh nodded, gaze lingering on her face. “You deserve days like that every year. Every month, even.”

She scoffed a little. “Don’t start getting sweet on me, Fatu.”

He smiled. “Too late.”

She sipped her tea, finally. “You been quiet since the cake. What’s on your mind?”

Josh rubbed the back of his neck, glanced down at his hands.

“You just… you did a lot for us. All this time, since Detroit. Since the woods. You didn’t have to. But you did. And not just for me. For all of us.”

Her eyes softened, but she didn’t interrupt.

“And I been thinking… I don’t want this to just be survival for you no more. Or for me. I want this to be peace. Something better. And I know I don’t always say the right thing or move the way I should, but—” he looked at her fully now, “—I see you, Imani.”

A beat passed, and her throat bobbed as she swallowed, surprised by how full her chest suddenly felt.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I don’t just want to be around you. I want to build with you. Really build. Not just hide and protect and survive. You gave me space to be a man… and I want to give you space to be soft. Safe.”

Imani’s lip quivered just slightly before she looked away. “You gon’ make me cry again, boy.”

Josh reached over, hand covering hers where it gripped the mug.

“Then cry. Ain’t no shame in it.”

And she did. Just a few tears this time, falling soft and slow. She didn’t hide them. Didn’t mask it with sarcasm. She just let him hold her hand while they watched the stars.

When her head leaned against his shoulder, he didn’t say anything.

He just held her there.

Still. Quiet. Present.

Home.

——————

[henrioo]

°•*⁀➷ MORNING SICKNESS: SHANKS

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : "Being pregnant with Luffy, your first child with your husband Shanks, is a dream come true... But that doesn't make it any easier to deal with the recurring nausea."

꒰ WARNINGS ꒱ : TRANS MASC! Reader, TRANS MALE! reader, FTM reader, pregnant men, he/his pronouns, gay relationship, gay marriage, two daddies being happy, Shanks is an over-the-top father and husband, Luffy is your son's name, Shanks calls himself Daddy and calls you Papa (revenge against fan fiction with the reader being called Mama) Nausea due to pregnancy, Shanks is a very worried father and husband

꒰ WC ꒱ : 676

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : I've been on a roller coaster these last few weeks and I had decided to post on Saturday thanks to Bibi, but I almost changed my mind, I decided to be strong and post even though I was feeling like shit. I'm kind of excited but also extremely unsure about entering the world of imagines male, well we'll see how it goes

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And just like the last few nights you were abruptly woken from your not-so-peaceful sleep by the incredible need to throw up all your dinner. Your body was sweaty and hot even though you were sleeping wearing just a huge shirt from Shanks — one that he bought the wrong size and it was big even on him so it was huge on you — and your kitten print underwear that you got from a joke of Shanks in a Christmas prank.

The bedroom window was open, now with a mosquito screen since your husband was paranoid about you being bitten by an insect and dying since your pregnancy announcement, and you took advantage of the light breeze to sit on the bed and calm down a little to see if the nausea went away. There was a humidifier running, the curtains swayed slightly, and there was a child's light in the room that Shanks had bought in fear of you tripping when you got up in the dark and hurting yourself.

Sometimes you questioned whether Shanks knew that you weren't that fragile just because you were pregnant, after all you were proud of all your strength and masculine muscles... But you wouldn't deny that his extra care calmed your heart a lot. The bed was also huge, the redhead wanted to buy a bigger one after reading news about parents crushing their children for sleeping together in small beds, of course there was no point in explaining to him that this was sensational news since before you could argue he had already ordered it and paid for the new furniture.

A kick in the stomach and your dinner turning around as it climbed up your throat made you stop remembering how careful your sleeping husband was, you quickly got out of the soft covers and ran to the bedroom's bathroom. You quickly knelt on the rug in front of the toilet and it wasn't long before you were vomiting again, you loved your baby and you loved being pregnant, but you would also love to stop vomiting everything you tried to swallow.

“huh, he woke up early today” Shanks yawned as he awkwardly entered the bathroom, luckily the room was big enough for both of you.

“I shouldn’t have had dinner” you mumbled nauseously as you rested your head on the cold part of the white ceramic.

“You always say that but you always have dinner… Honestly you haven't stopped eating since you got pregnant” Shanks laughed and sat next to you, taking a towel from the cupboard and slowly wiping your face.

“It’s not me… It’s Luffy… He’s hungry like you” you teased Shanks.

“Of course… Hungry like his daddy and hyperactive like his papa” Shanks responded to the provocation and you knew he was right. If your unborn child was hungry because of the redhead, then he was also hyperactive because of you. Since, as everyone always said, you had extreme difficulty sitting around doing nothing, always looking for something to do and have fun.

“The perfect combination” you laughed tiredly as you felt the nausea slowly going away.

“Completely perfect… But look, this kid will find himself with me when he's born, making my husband vomit everything I cook for him” Shanks snorted, pretending to be irritated “He's thinking that money falls on trees so I can spend it on food and he can make you put it out?!”

You laughed but soon felt some light kicks in your stomach that made you both gasp.

“I think that was Lu telling you to go all out and he’s going to kick your old ass” you laughed, rubbing your stomach affectionately.

“Brat… Stubborn like his papa” the redhead laughed and gave you a wink “Okay, let's get you off the ground and put you in front of the window… And get you a glass of water too” the man smiled as he stood up ready to help you.

Maybe pregnancy wouldn't be so terrible if you had a husband who was so worried about you…

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[chaoticbuggybitchboy]

Not a glass door, not a screen door, not a door with a window. A fully solid, obviously shut door.

Also this pertains to the general multiverse of killjoys not to my endangered gays fic specifically