#sorry if this is a little long for a post

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 10

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen, We have apparently now reached the time where I also bash Ferrari. I am sure they are super nice in real life too. They are not in this. Labour.

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Chapter 10 of 12!

“Breathe,” Victoria kept insisting.

“You are doing so well, Choupinette,” her mother cooed.

Colette was quite certain that she was going to die. 

At least it felt like it.

The pain was overwhelming. It didn’t feel like her body could take any more of it. The contractions were so strong and the pain was blinding in its intensity. She wasn’t certain if she could do this anymore.

“I can’t do this,” Colette choked out.

“Yes, you can,” Victoria insisted. Her voice was firm and steady. “You absolutely can do this. You’re already so far along, you just have to push. You can do this.”

"Just breathe," her mother said soothingly, stroking back her hair. "You are doing so well."

But she wasn’t doing well. 

She wanted Max. No, she needed Max.

She needed him so badly. She didn’t want to do this by herself. 

Colette cried out in pain as another very strong contraction hit her, clenching her teeth through it. "Max," she sobbed. "I need Max."

"I know," Victoria said, stroking her hand. "I know you do. But you can do this. Just a little bit longer, okay? It won’t be long now."

She didn’t want to do this without him. But what other choice did she have?

A strangled sob escaped her throat as she clutched her mother’s hand desperately as another contraction hit.

“We’re going to need you to push now,” the doctor said firmly. “You need to start pushing with the contractions.”

Colette cried out in pain as she tried her very best to push like they were telling her to. The pain was blinding in its intensity. But it hurt. Gods, it hurt more than anything that she had ever experienced. It was like her body was about to rip itself in half.

"You’re doing so well," her mother cooed.

"Keep Pushing."

Another strangled scream escaped her. "Max," she sobbed. "I need Max. I need him. I can’t do this.”

Victoria stroked her hair. "It’s almost over, Colette. It’s almost over. Just a little bit more," Vic promised her. 

Colette wanted to give up, she wanted to give in. She wanted the pain to end. But more than anything else, she just wanted Max.

Another scream was torn from her, a ragged cry of pain as a particularly severe contraction tore through her. She was certain that she wasn’t going to survive this. The pain was too severe.

"Keep Pushing."

"Keep Pushing."

"Push, Push, Push"

She didn’t understand how they expected her to keep going. She could feel herself flagging, she was so exhausted.

The room was a blur around her, dark spots dancing at the corner of her vision. The sound of her own screams echoed in her ears, the pain almost overwhelming. She thought she was going to pass out.

She heard the door open.

A small part of the pain-hazed part of her mind registered the sound. She thought she was hallucinating. Surely that wasn’t the sound of the door opening. Surely she was just losing her mind under the excruciating strain.

“That took you too fucking long,” Victoria snapped. Colette would have smiled, if she hadn’t been currently in the middle of pushing. Max's familiar voice echoed in her ears, and for one sweet second, the pain all but vanished.

And then he was there.  Her heart jumped and a small sob escaped her. Max. It was really Max. He was there. He was right beside her.

Dry lips pressed against her sweat slick forehead. “Liefje.“

He was there. He was really there. 

"Max," she sobbed out. "You’re here. You’re really here."

"Of course I am," he said shakily. He pushed back her sweaty hair from her forehead. "You didn’t think I was going to let you do this without me, do you?"

She wanted to tell him that, in all honesty, she had thought exactly that. If he hadn’t shown up, she would have had to do this without him. But she was too exhausted, and in too much pain to form the words. All she could do was clutch at his hand, desperately clinging onto him like a lifeline.

Max immediately threaded his fingers through hers, holding her hand tightly. "I’m right here," he soothed. "I’m not going anywhere.” He was giving her something solid to hang onto. 

“Another push,” the doctor encouraged.

With Max holding her hand, Colette gave one last, desperate push.

She was certain that she was going to pass out. She didn’t understand how she was still conscious. The pain was mind-numbing in its intensity. "Once more,” the doctor said firmly. “I can see the head. Just one more push.”

Colette whimpered, her breath coming in short sharp sobs. "I can’t,” she cried in exhaustion. "I can’t."

"You can,” Max said fiercely. “You are the strongest goddamn person I know, and if anyone can do this, it’s you. Just one more push, come on, liefje."

His grip on her hand was so tight, it was almost painful, but that brief moment of pain was worth it. Feeling Max's presence beside her, holding onto her so desperately with his fingers threaded firmly through hers, it was the only thing that gave her the last little bit of strength that she needed.

With a long, ragged scream, she gave one last push, pouring everything she had into it.

She could hear Max beside her, talking to her soothingly, but the words were all blending together. Her senses were slowly fading. "Push, you can do it, you’re almost done." The words were coming at her from all sides now, swirling and echoing amongst the darkness of her hazy vision, and it was all she could do to grip Max’s hand, and listen to the sound of his voice.

And then it was over.

The searing pain suddenly stopped. 

For just a moment, everything was quiet. 

A cry cut through the sudden silence

The sound echoed around them, small and shrill and so very loud in the stillness of the room. A choked gasp of relief escaped Colette as she slumped back against the pillows, utterly exhausted.

"There you go," Max murmured, gently wiping back the hair from her forehead. "It’s over, it’s over now. You did so well, liefje. You’ve done it."

She wanted to speak, to say something to him in return, but her tongue was so heavy in her mouth it would hardly form words. Her mind was still a blur of exhaustion, relief and adrenaline. All she could muster was a small whimper as she felt his hand gently stroking her hair.

The sound of the infant’s cries rang out again, more strongly this time. “Here,” the doctor said, sounding a little amused. “Let’s get that little girl on maman’s chest.”

Through the haze, Colette felt an immense amount of exhausted relief, as the doctor carefully placed a small, wiggling bundle on her chest.

The baby was beautiful. Small and new and perfect, and Colette felt like the very breath had been knocked out of her. All the exhaustion and the pain was suddenly entirely worth it as she cradled the tiny baby in her arms.

"Hello, bébé," she breathed softly, the words coming out as a whisper. “I thought you were going to be a boy,” she choked 

A broad smile covered her face as she gently stroked the downy soft tufts of dark hair covering the baby’s head. The small, tiny, perfect little fingers wrapped around her own, and Colette’s heart felt so full it felt like it was going to burst.

"I was right," Max said, the words somewhat choked. His voice sounded almost strangled, and she didn’t need to look to know that there were tears running down his face.

Colette looked up at him then, taking in with a mixture of affection and amusement how utterly awestruck he looked. He was crying openly, tears running unashamedly down his cheeks.

“We did it,” she told Max.

“We did,” He said, his voice still choked with emotion. “She’s so beautiful.” Max sounded utterly wrecked.

Colette couldn’t help but share his feelings as she looked back down at the baby in her arms. The small infant had opened her eyes for a brief moment, revealing the most vividly blue eyes that Colette had ever seen. “She got your eyes.”

“And your hair,” Max said, reaching out a hesitant hand to touch the soft dark locks on the baby’s head.

The baby gave a little gurgle, waving her tiny hand as if to reach out for his fingers. “Hello, mooi meisje,” he said softly, his voice still sounding a little choked, as the baby tried to wrap her fingers around his own.

"She's absolutely perfect," Colette whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from the tiny, perfect bundle of joy in her arms.

"Just like her mother," Max said, his voice hoarse. He stroked his finger down the baby's soft cheek, the most gentle of touches.

***

In the end…he made it with minutes to spare.

He couldn’t describe the relief that he felt when he finally burst through the door, to find Colette in the midst of giving birth. He had been so terrified that he wouldn’t make it in time.

And now here he was, sitting beside her on the bed, their daughter in her arms, safe and sound and utterly, utterly perfect.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of them both. Colette was beautiful, despite looking utterly exhausted. Her face was pale and slick with sweat, but she had never look more lovely.

And their daughter… Their daughter was perfect. Tiny, and new, the sweetest thing that Max had ever seen. He gently ran his finger down her soft, plump cheek, marveling at the sheer fragility of her.

And he couldn't stop crying. This was his family. His.

They had hoped so desperately for so long, and now there was their little girl. And she had been worth it. Worth all the heartbreak.

His eyes stung and his throat was constricting, but he couldn't help it. He knew he must look a mess, tears running unashamedly down his face and throat choked up, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered. They were here, and safe, and together.

He looked down at the baby’s tiny, perfect face, her closed eyes, her nose. She had Colette’s hair, and his eyes, and Max thought that if it was possible to die of love, he was dangerously close to that moment right there.

He reached out a shaking hand to touch his daughter’s tiny fist, his own hand dwarfing hers. She opened her eyes again for a brief second, and he could have sworn that she smiled at him for just an instant.

The tears ran more freely down his face now at that thought. His daughter, his little girl, his precious perfect baby, smiled at him. It might have just been a trick of his own overjoyed emotional state, but right then, Max was convinced that it had been a real smile.

"She's perfect, liefje," he whispered, his words coming out a little choked. "She's so damn perfect.”

"Dad, you want to cut the cord?" the doctor asked him.

The question seemed to take a moment to register in his hazy emotional state, but when it did, Max’s breath caught in his chest for a moment. And then just as quickly, he nodded mutely.

In a daze, he reached for the small pair of scissors that the midwife handed over to him, cutting the umbilical cord under her careful supervision.

He was in a daze, even when they took his daughter from Colette to check her over and bath her. "Stay with her," Colette told him softly. "Go on."

Max nodded, unable to find the words to answer to her. He stood up on slightly shaky legs, watching as the midwife took his daughter over to the small bassinet and started to check her over.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of his baby, tiny and perfect and theirs. All the years of trying, all the hope and the heartbreaks, and now there was their little girl, safe and sound.

He got to watch her be bathed and then swaddled right into a soft pink swaddle that he knew he himself had bought because Colette kept insisting that it was a boy...and then he finally got to hold her in his arms and cry some more, because she was perfect.

He cradled her small, tiny form in his arms, his fingers trembling a little as he gently touched the soft downy skin of her cheek. Her weight was barely anything at all in his arms, and for a moment, terror gripped his heart. Was he holding her too hard? What if he hurt her?

"You aren't going to hurt her," Victoria said suddenly and he stared at his sister that sat down next to her. "You aren't. I promise you. Babies aren't as breakable as they look," she teased him softly. "Congrats, Maxie."

Max nodded, a little startled. He had honestly forgotten that his sister was even there, the arrival of his baby girl had taken up most of his attention.

"Thanks, Vic," he managed, his voice still choked. 

He looked down at the baby in his arms again. They had wrapped her tightly in the pink swaddle that he himself had insisted on months ago. He had been so sure that the baby was a girl. And he had been right.

He wouldn't have cared either way, but...he had been right.

"She's perfect," he whispered, his eyes burning.

Victoria smiled, watching him with a softness in her eyes that Max wasn't sure he had seen before. “You’re a father,” she said simply. “How does it feel?”

“Like my heart’s going to explode with pure happiness,” Max admitted, looking back down at his daughter in his arms. “Like I can’t breathe. Like I’m dreaming. I don’t…I don’t know how to describe it.”

"Welcome to the sleep deprivation community that is parenthood," Vic joked softly. "You are going to be the best father," she told him.

It made him choke up. That absolute certainty with which his little sister said that, a hand on his shoulder. "You are going to be the best father to her," Victoria promised him fiercely.

Fresh tears welled up in his eyes as he looked up at his sister. “I’ll do my best,” he managed to say, his voice a little choked. “I’ll do absolutely anything for her, for both of them. Anything in the world.”

They didn't often talk about their childhood...about all the things that had gone down...the long drawn out screaming matches they could remember before their parents had divorced and the separation that came afterwards...

They didn’t like to talk about it. It was one of those things that they usually just skirted around, because when they brought it up, old feelings and emotions came up with it. And the fights weren’t pleasant to remember...

But in that moment, Max felt a profound sense of relief. For the first time, he was glad those fights had happened, because if they hadn’t…he and Vic wouldn’t have the relationship they had now, and he wouldn’t have learned, from all of the pain and heartbreak of those fights, what not to do. He never wanted his daughter to grow up like that. He never wanted her to feel the pain of a broken family like they had.

And he knew that he would do absolutely everything in his power to prevent that from happening. He and Colette would keep their family tightly together and protect and love their little girl with everything that they had.

No matter what.

A fresh wave of tears welled up in his eyes at the thought of that. "I don't ever want her to grow up like we did, Vic," he managed to say, the words still a little choked. "I don't ever want her to feel like we did."

"She won't," Vic assured him, her voice still soft. "Because you're going to be a great father. She'll grow up feeling loved and wanted and safe. I know that, Maxie."

His throat felt as if it was slowly closing up. "Thanks, bink," he managed to say, his voice cracking. "It means a lot. I..." His eyes stung, and he swallowed hard. "I couldn't ever thank you enough for being here. For being with us."

For coming even when he handn’t asked…for somehow knowing without being told what they needed.

His sister just smiled at him, her blue eyes, so similar to his own, sparkling. "She’s my niece," she reminded him. "You're not getting rid of me. I'm going to spoil her rotten, you know that?"

"You are going to have fierce competition, Victoria" Pascale said softly.

He looked up to where Colette's mother was tucking her own daughter back into the bed, fussing over her. Colette looked better than she had before, freshly showered, still exhausted, but no longer...no longer looking like she was going to faint any minute.

Colette was already sitting up, even though she would be in pain for a while, a testament to her usual stubbornness.

"Maxie." Colette didn't need to say more than that, as he stood and crossed the room, safely putting their daughter back on her mother's chest.

He sat on the edge of her bed, careful not to jostle her too much. "Hey," he said softly, wrapping an arm gently around her shoulders. "How are you feeling, liefje?"

"I'm okay," she said softly, resting her head weakly against him. "Sore. Tired. Happy. Went through 6 hours of labour, only to give birth to your and Charles' clone," she said drily, making her mother laugh.

Max smiled faintly, resting his head against hers. “Charles?” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"She does look awfully similiar," Pascale agreed.

Max gave a small laugh, glancing back down at the baby. He supposed there was a resemblance, if one knew what to look for. “She’s not a clone,” he countered, a note of mock offense in his voice. “She’s a perfect mix of us.”

"With what I am pretty certain is Charles' nose," Colette said drily.

Max laughed faintly, reaching out to gently touch the baby’s tiny nose with his finger. It narrowed just so at the tip… “Maybe,” he conceded thoughtfully. 

His daughter stirred faintly at the contact, a small noise coming from her mouth that sounded a bit like a grumble. Max smiled at the sound. 

“And I’m pretty sure she’s just as stubborn as her mother,” he teased Colette.

She reached up to lightly smack his hand, but her smile was fond. “Like you aren’t just as stubborn,” she retorted.

Their daughter took that moment to complain loudly for once and Colette shifted her slightly, unbuttoning her pyjama top.  At least one thing went down with absolutely no fuss whatsoever. A few minutes later, their daughter had greedily nursed, burped and was back to slumbering quietly. 

"Are the three musketeers still outside?" Colette asked.

“They are,” Max confirmed, brushing a strand of hair back from Colette’s face. He had all but forgotten about Colette’s brothers.

"Get them," Colette said softly.

Max smiled. "All of them?" he teased. He knew that was exactly what she had meant."All of them," she nodded.

[paddockletters]

redeemed | lando norris

summary: After a messy breakup, Lando’s fans blame his best friend for ruining his relationship. request: yes! sorry took me too long :(( tbh, this had been sitting in drafts for a while because i wasn’t entirely convinced about it (still not 100%, to be fair), but i thought, “Well, maybe they’ll like it,” so here it issss

landonorris

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landonorris: Another race weekend!

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user1: I want to be Y/N so baaaad🤧 lando’sgf: love you so muchhhh!!!❤️ user2: Y/N made it again in Lando’s post, love them! user3: I’d love a friendship like Lando and Y/N’s 😭😭😭

yourusername: Great weekend, miss you alredy muppet 🤧❤️

landonorris: It was! When are you coming to visit again?

user4: Lando replied to Y/N but not his gf…💀💀 user5: THE fit, THE smile, THE overtakes 😭 user6: She really needs to back off from Lando and Alice user7: Photo 3 >>> everything else 🫠

lando’sgf posted a story.

yourusername

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yourusername: About last month 💗

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carlossainz55: Feeling special for being in your post 🤧

yourusername: You should, cos it won’t happen again 💀

user8: Lando’s smile in the 3rd photo? how do I sign up for your life? 😭 user9: She can’t post without Lando or some driver in it 🤮

user10: True that, she’s all about the fame

user11: living my dream life AND looking flawless while doing it?❤️😭 user12: always getting in the way of Lando and Alice, proper messing with them 🙄

user13: what are you on about? Lando and Y/N have been friends for yearsss 🤡

user14: well, why didn’t anyone know about her till now? she just wants Lando for the fame, no doubt

landonorris posted a story

lando’s gf posted a story.

lando’s gf

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lando’s gf: ❤️❤️

landonorris

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landonorris: Free time when I’m not driving a F1 car around the world

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user15: Lando— HAHAHA

user16: where’s Alice???

user17: y'all are obsessed with his gf, mind your own business ffs

user18: Bet Y/N’s asking Lando not to take Alice 🙄

user19: giiiirl, touch some grass! Alice has been back in her country

user20: Y/N’s always with Lando, so he’s footing the bill for everything

user21: Everything, mate—GP trips, holidays, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s got him paying her rent too 🤮

user22: I wouldn’t want to be Alice, seeing Y/N everywhere around Lando 💀

landonorris just posted a story.

yourusername posted a story

yourusername

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yourusername: [No caption]

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user23: an unexpected crossover user24: Oh, so the gold-digger’s moved on to someone else now? user25: Hope you’re proud of yourself for ruining Lando and Alice’s relationship, biTCH user26: Hope you die

carlossainz55: should I feel proud because you went to a Real Madrid match or bad for "L" because you went out with someone from that team???

carlossainz55: nah, estoy orgulloso

user27: stay away from Lando, you slut

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lando’sex-girlfriend

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lando’sex-girlfriend: A little miracle is on the way, and we couldn’t be more excited. 👼

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user28: Nearly had a heart attack, thought Lando was going to be a dad 😭😭😭 user29: No way, she was the one who cheated 💀 user30: 💀

landonorris

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landonorris:  I lost the best thing in my life because of all of you.

Because of your words, your hate, your accusations. You turned her into the villain when all she ever was, was my best friend.

You all tore us apart, pushed me to let go of the one person who truly mattered, all because you couldn’t mind your own business.

And now, seven months later, I see the truth—she was never the problem. I was. I should’ve fought for her. But instead, I let you win.

I’ll never forgive myself for that. I lost her because of you.

—Lando

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user31: lando, you did what you thought was best at the time. We’re all human, and nobody should have been attacking her like that

user32: we judged her without knowing the full story 🤧

user33: can’t believe we believed the lies

user 34: I feel so bad now

danielricciardo: Lando, I’ve got your back. It’s crazy how people act like they know your life when they don’t 🤛

user35: It’s hard to see things clearly when the pressure is on you. Glad you’re speaking out now, nobody deserves that kind of hate, especially someone as good

user36: It’s obvious she meant a lot to you but the media and fans never understood that

user37: We were too quick to judge her

maxverstappen1: People love to talk without knowing the full story. Stay strong, mate, always here if you need to talk 🤜🤜

time skip

landonorris

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landonorris: I don’t think there’s anyone who deserves this more than her. From being the absolute boss she is in everything she touches to owning this year’s CEO of the Year award (seriously, she’s amazing), I couldn’t be prouder I of course I’m the best wag

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user38: YOUR WIFE?!?!? 😱 i can’t even process it. Lando, what’s happening?!

user39: wait, I thought you were single?? How did we miss this??

user40: no… I THOUGHT THE WERE FRIENDSS????

user41: wait a damn minute—Lando’s married??!! And she’s holding CEO of the year??? I need answers 😭

user42: OH MY GODDD She’s literally living the dream!! And Lando, we all knew you were the best, but now you’ve just confirmed it

user43: HE’S MARRIED?!? And she’s CEO OF THE YEAR?!?! You guys are literally goals

user44: i’m happy for you but also I’m crying in my room so… mixed emotions 🫠🧡

user45: Y/N is literally TOO perfect and it’s offensive to the rest of us 😭😭😭

user46: No hate, but also… I’m fighting for my life over here while Y/N is living my dream 😭

user47: @/yourusername you wake up every day and think, ‘how can I flex on everyone today?’ Because wow 💀

[chuulyssa]

୨・──── ALL I WANT IS LOVE THAT LASTS, IS ALL I WANT TOO MUCH TO ASK ? ────・୧

link to part i

pairing ⸺ satoru gojo x reader

teaser ⸺ trying to mend your broken bond with gojo satoru becomes difficult at the entrance of a rival, a distinct memory from your past. torn between love that aches and love that heals, you are left to pick up the remnants of what could have been and lay to arrange what will be. choices hold the power to break or mend, and satoru meets your guarded heart that threatens to either tear you apart or weave you back together. will satoru be able to win you back in time — or will the scars of yesterday refuse to tie you to a love that was never meant to be?

content ⸺ fluff, mostly f!reader, heavy angst, misunderstandings, mutual pining, slowburn, hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending, love triangle, shitty choices, implied abuse, jealousy, implied torture, implied slavery, mentions of grape, death, massacre, murder, royal!au, magic!au, historic!au

count ⸺ 22k + 2k

author’s note ⸺ so this marks the end of the series with gojo! watch out for ones with other characters <3 this came out way later than i had expected it to, oof. sorry to keep all of you waiting! for some reason tumblr is not letting me post the whole thing, so if you want to read what happens after 22k words, i’m leaving the ao3 and wattpad links as well.

🎧 ao3 wattpad

Three years had passed since that incident. You were now twenty years old, working a respectable job at Jujutsu High as a teacher. It was nice to utilize the knowledge you had gained back at the School of Royalty. Jujutsu High, as a school, was similar to the one you used to attend as a child, except the children here were far more humble.

You preferred this over anything else though. You wouldn’t want to spend the rest of your time around spoiled kids who had never heard the word ‘no’ in their lives.

It wasn’t necessarily the kids of the nobility that you despised, but rather the ideologies they carried with them. You still cringed remembering Kamo Alina babble about traditions “back at her kingdom”. Perhaps you had hatred against all noble clans, except your own, the Gojo clan, of course. The rest seemed too hollow and self-absorbed, and their kids seemed either too coddled or too burdened.

You were in charge of the first years at the school. You had few students, but they were all the best ones you could ask for: Maki Zenin, Toge Inumaki and Panda.

Maki was from the Zenin clan, whom you knew to be cunning and sly. She was very different from what the papers said about her lineage though — Maki had a knack for being good at fighting and war skills, whereas her clan was famous for running with their tails in between their legs from their opponents. You had caught the little girl staring at you more than once during your training sessions with Utahime. It was nice to have her watch; perhaps it was best that way for her to learn the things you did as well.

Toge was from the Inumaki clan, and used to speak in only food ingredients to not accidentally curse those around him. And finally, Panda was the ‘son’ of Principal Yaga, and a cursed corpse.

Here, you were glad you weren’t in charge of shaping heirs of stupid clans in a factory. Rather, you were to train and enhance those who were willing to learn. And in this humble, quiet school, you had found something even the nobility, who looked down upon the place as often as they could, could never offer to you: peace.

Things back at home… weren’t the best. Satoru was almost always away for ‘missions’ with Suguru, and it had been a long time since the two of you had even seen each other, let alone talk. You couldn’t recall the last time you both even sat together in the same room alone. He never told you where he was going, and you never asked — what was the point after all? He wouldn’t say even if you screamed at the top of your voice.

His mother had quite a few times tried to fix the situation between you two, but it never worked. Satoru had developed a strained relationship with his mother as well. After all, she had a hand in keeping the secret of your engagement from him, so how could he trust her again? Every time she tried to help, the gap between the entire family seemed to widen even more. It didn’t help that his father had stopped talking completely to his mother as well. There were rumours around the clan that the leaders were sleeping in separate rooms after that incident with the Kamo clan. You would have felt bad for her, if you didn’t feel worse for yourself.

Shoko had decided to pursue her medical education in a different kingdom. There was a void from where she had left, and although you were happy for her that she was able to live her dreams, the emptiness you felt whenever you reread your old letters made you feel sorry for yourself.

Utahime had been the only one to stay back with you. When you told her about your plans to teach at Jujutsu High, she immediately dropped her own things and joined the same school. You would often feel guilty for leading her to a different path than she had originally intended, but she would constantly reassure you that she would never have it any other way. At the school, the two of you would fool around with each other a lot, but the hollow space left by the old memories of the others would always nag at your brain the second you were by yourself.

Dinnertime at the table became a quiet affair. Oftentimes, while playing with the food on your plate, you missed the old banters between Satoru and his father. It almost felt like a distant memory from a whole other timeline, as if those little moments never happened at all. You usually ate your dinner alone in your room now, since it wasn’t worth coming all the way to the dining room anymore. Satoru’s father ate out every day, and his mother used to be the only one to eat at the table. If it weren’t for her, you wondered if you would be eating at all.

This night seemed like any other night when you had decided to eat at the table. Yet you couldn’t look up at your mother’s face and into her eyes. She looked paler than ever as if she was sick. Her eyes seemed hollow and dark, and if it weren’t for the tight grip she had on her chopsticks, you would have wondered if she had any strength in her left at all. After finishing your food quietly, you set your chopsticks down, and were about to stand up to bow and leave, when she stopped you.

“Stay,” she said this one word softly, and it took everything in you not to collapse in her arms at the sound of her weak voice. She didn’t look at you directly, but rather somewhere on the table, and she looked as if she was lost in thought, though you knew she had become this way ever since that night.

You sat back down, and stared at her as her grip on her chopsticks tightened ever so slightly. She opened a quivering lip to speak. “My son... my Satoru... He’s never been this upset… at me.”

You swallowed. He had never been this upset at you either. He had never been upset at all. You used to wonder if Satoru Gojo even had the word ‘upset’ in his dictionary. And now that was all you could see.

“I just hope…” she trembled slightly, “... that you can find it in your hearts to… to forgive me.” She looked up, and you looked away, for you knew the sight in front of you wouldn’t let you breathe another moment. You knew she was holding back tears. You were too.

“There is nothing to forgive,” you croaked out, hoping what you were saying was making sense. “I just wonder if this is worth going about if he isn’t happy with it.”

“It’s not, you’re right,” she murmured, looking back down to her plate. “I was a princess. I was told I could never be wrong. Yet here I am, hoping I am not, even though every cell of my body tells me I am.” Then she looked right into your eyes, and something in your heart broke again at her state. “Would you want to marry someone who was not him?”

You stopped. No. No, of course not. No, you would never, ever even dream of marrying someone that wasn’t him. But what could you do now? What could be done? If he did not want it, then how could you? How could you do something like this to him against his will? So slowly, you nodded. “Perhaps I could think about it. But not now.”

“I understand. Goodnight to you.”

“Goodnight, mother.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

“Good morning, Miss!”

“Good morning, Miss.”

“Salmon.”

“Yes, yes, good morning to all of you. Hurry up now, the first class starts in 15 minutes,” you said swiftly, waving at the kids. You turned to Utahime, who was staring at the parents dropping their kids off to catch some hot single dad she, or rather you, could have a chance with. “What class do you have first, Miss Transfiguration?”

“The annoying third-years,” she grumbled. “How about you, Miss Charms?”

“My first years. I’m charmed.”

“Sure, you are.”

You watched the carriage Maki had stepped out of. It was rather modest for someone of Zenin lineage. But what really caught Utahime’s attention wasn’t the car — it was the man who stepped out to escort Maki.

He was tall, with dyed blond hair that shimmered under the morning light, and striking brown eyes. Utahime froze.

“Wow.”

“What?”

“Wow. Is that… him?” she whispered, gripping your arm.

“Him?” you asked.

“The guy! From years ago!” she hissed as if that explained everything.

You raised an eyebrow, watching as the man exchanged a brief word with Maki before returning to his carriage. “Iori, you’re not making any sense.”

Utahime pulled out her wand and immediately began tapping it on her temple at a rapid pace. “Don’t you remember when those exchange students introduced themselves? In the hall? That cactus transfiguration kid? This is him. Look.”

A floating picture hovered in your hands. It was slightly blurry, moving up and down serenely, but you could make out the younger version of the man fixing his carriage in front of the school gates clearly. You blinked at the picture, then at Utahime.

“You… remember him enough to produce this complicated magic?” you asked, though you didn’t know whether to be amused or alarmed.

Utahime shrugged unapologetically. “You gotta do what you gotta do.”

You sighed, shaking your head in disbelief. “‘hime, you’re a stalker.”

She grinned, utterly unbothered. “A resourceful stalker, I’d say. Anyway, don’t you think he’s—”

“Don’t say it,” you warned, already seeing where this was going.

“—handsome?” she finished, her grin widening mischievously.

You groaned, covering your face. “Utahime, he’s Maki’s guardian. You make it sound like I’m ready to adopt her or something. That’s weird.”

She waved off your protest, nudging you playfully. “Come on, he’s single. Uh, probably. And if he’s not, well, that’s just unfortunate for him.”

“Why are we even talking about this?” you muttered.

“Because,” she said with mock seriousness, “you’ve been single for far too long, and this is an opportunity. So…” She leaned closer. “Why don’t you try flirting with him?”

You stared at her like she’d grown another head. “Preposterous. Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” she teased, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

You glanced at the man who was now pulling away in the carriage looking like a war hero, and then back at Utahime. “Because I don’t feel like dying today. You know, the Zenin clan and all of that?”

She laughed, throwing an arm around your shoulders as you both headed back inside. “Suit yourself, but just know — I’m rooting for you!”

“Utahime,” you sighed, “you’re impossible.”

But her laughter was infectious, and you couldn’t help it.

You smiled.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The staffroom was unusually quiet, save for the faint scratch of your quill against parchment as you graded the first-years’ essays. Utahime, however, was anything but quiet. She had perched herself on the edge of your desk, her hands gripping the back of your chair as she swung it gently back and forth.

“Flirt with him,” she said.

“No,” you replied flatly, not looking up from the parchment.

“Come on, just a little?” she coaxed, leaning over your shoulder and nearly smudging the ink you’d just scrawled across a particularly poor attempt at a levitation charm essay.

You leaned back slightly, giving her a deadpan look. “Utahime, I am trying to work.”

“And I am trying to help you!” she shot back, as if her nagging about your love life was an act of selfless charity.

You sighed, putting down the quill and crossing your arms. “For the last time, I am not flirting with Maki’s guardian. That’s weird.”

“It’s not weird. It’s romantic,” she argued, dragging out the last word like it was a persuasive spell. “You’re single. He’s single—”

“We don’t know that he’s single,” you interjected, but Utahime waved you off.

“Semantics,” she said. “The point is, he’s clearly into you. Did you not see the way he looked at you yesterday?”

“The reason he even looked at me was because you shoved me in front of him like a sacrificial lamb,” you retorted.

“Details,” she said breezily, now swiveling your chair side to side. “But seriously, what’s the harm in a little bit of flirting? He’s charming, dashing, hot, and you’re… uh, you…?”

“Wow, thanks,” you said dryly, though you couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

She grinned. “See? You’re already warming up to the idea,” she leaned in close to your face.

The door swung open. There he was, the same man both of you had just been talking about. He took one look inside the room and raised an eyebrow. Your eyes widened, because of course, without any context it looked like you and Utahime were just about to kiss. You shrieked and pushed her away and she laughed at you, though she stopped when she saw the man judging her silently. Maki face-palmed behind the man.

“Excuse me if I am interrupting something intimate,” he looked at you. “We had an appointment regarding Maki’s performance, yes?”

“Ho ho ho! Yes you did!” Utahime giggled and left the room, and it seemed like she had taken all the comfort out of it too, leaving you, him and Maki standing in it, staring at each other awkwardly. Maki coughed loudly and excused herself, and you made a mental note to reduce some points on her essay.

You cleared your throat as Naoya took a seat across from you. His presence seemed to shrink the staffroom. He leaned back in the chair as if he owned the room. You focused on the stack of papers in front of you, determined to act professional. In your mind, you could hear Utahime’s voice still echoing: Flirt with him!

He folded his hands on the desk and his gaze flickered briefly to the papers in your hands before locking onto your face.

“I have to ask,” he began casually. “Are you and that colleague of yours… together?”

You froze mid-flip of Maki’s report card, staring at him as if he’d just asked you to duel. “What?”

He leaned back slightly with a faint smirk. “You and that woman. The way you two were before. It crossed my mind that you might be…” He trailed off.

“I’m not— she’s— what? No!” you sputtered, feeling your cheeks burn.

“Ah,” he said softly, as if the weight of the world had just been lifted off his shoulders. “Thank heavens. I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself if you were.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

His smirk softened into something more playful. “Well, I’d have had to rethink all my plans, for starters.”

“Plans?” you echoed, your voice coming out higher-pitched than you had intended it to be.

“Mhm,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Plans like how to win your favour, of course. You can imagine how devastating it would’ve been to learn I stood no chance from the start.”

You could feel your brain short-circuiting. Was he flirting? Or was this just his sense of humor?

“I— uh— Maki!” you stammered, blurting out her name like it was a life saver. It technically was. “We’re supposed to be talking about Maki’s progress!”

“Of course,” he said smoothly. “Her progress is paramount. But forgive me — I’m a man of focus, and right now, my focus seems to have shifted.”

“Let’s have it shift back to Maki then,” you insisted.

He chuckled softly, leaning forward just enough to close the space between you ever so slightly. “As you wish. But if I may, just one more thing.”

You hesitated warily. “…What now?”

“You have the most fascinating reactions,” he said. “I could watch you get flustered all day.”

Your hands gripped the papers tightly, and you let out an exasperated sigh. “Mr Zenin, do you ever stop talking?”

His grin widened. “Not when I’m talking to someone this delightful. And it’s Naoya, to you, darling.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

For the school’s 107th anniversary, you and the other teachers had decided to plan a surprise event for the students, guardians and even the principal. But as you stared at the chairs lying askew everywhere, and the food stall looking like it had undergone a raid, you sighed. Who would have to clean everything up in the end? The teachers, of course.

You bent down to pick a random flask up from the ground, and you looked up to see Naoya standing at the entrance of the schoolgates. You watched as he shooed away the carriage with Maki and their driver in it, and walked towards you.

You got up quickly and panicked, eyes darting everywhere to see if he really was walking to you or not. Naoya stopped in front of you, and suddenly the flask in your hands seemed too heavy. You dropped it, but he caught the tin, lips curving into a smile at your surprise.

“Astonishing reflexes, hm?” You nodded at his words and he laughed. “That was quite the show, I believe. You handle large crowds really well.”

You half-laughed at the compliment, looking down at your shaking hands. Why were you so nervous?

“Yeah, well, the crowd has departed now, and this is the tough bit.”

“I can help,” he smiled at you, and you blinked in surprise.

“Ah, you don’t have to. Besides, we can’t make guardians work for us.”

“I insist.” He pulled the sleeves of his shirt up and put his hands on his hips. “Where are the inconveniences that have you so troubled? I shall fight them.”

You snickered a bit. His dramatic actions reminded you of someone.

A certain someone.

Maybe that’s why you liked his company.

You snapped out of your thoughts when you saw him staring at the upturned tables with dread. “Has there been a call of war here?”

“Close enough. The seller had mochis on his bill of fare.”

“That sums it up. But you can’t possibly expect me to dirty my hands with this. A nobleman shouldn’t be doing manual labor,” he shook his head and sighed.

You raised an eyebrow at that. “You’re the one who insisted on staying to help.”

Naoya grinned. “Well, I can’t leave my favorite teacher to fend for herself. Besides…” He picked up two chairs effortlessly with one hand, and turned around to see if you were still watching. “It’s a chance to show off.”

Maybe it won’t be as boring with him around after all.

You had found yourself in this lonely teahouse far more than you could admit for someone of your status. It usually buzzed with the chatter of lonely workers, gossiping seamstresses and little children. But it was better, far better than what was going on at home anyway. You stared at your chawan, and put your fingers around it to drink. But the vessel was hot, and you hissed as you withdrew your hand back, the tea inside seemingly hissing back menacingly.

“Careful, darling,” a voice said from behind you and you jumped. “I said, careful,” he taunted, rubbing the top of your head affectionately. You looked up to meet Naoya’s eyes, your own widening when you saw him.

“Naoya!”

“Fancy meeting you here. I didn’t think I’d find you in such a quaint little spot.”

“Me neither. Isn’t this place,” you waved around at the dull walls of the room, “below your usual standards, Mr Zenin?”

He crossed your table to pull out a chair in front of you and sat down. “I could say the same about you. Or perhaps,” he brushed his fingers on your lips to wipe the wetness of tea from earlier, “we were led here by fate.”

You choked on air at his action. “Fate? We’re just at a teahouse. It’s not exactly a meeting of the stars.”

Naoya grinned at your fluster, and leaned forward playfully. “Ah, but you see, fate works in mysterious ways. And right now, it’s working to bring me closer to the most captivating woman in the room.”

“Ha, ha,” you mumbled, staring into your vessel to avoid meeting his eyes. “You talk too much.”

He laughed softly. The server arrived with a platter of sweets, and bowed, “For the lovely couple.”

You spat the tea you had just sipped out. “We— we’re not—”

“Thank you, miss,” Naoya interrupted you swiftly, and nodded at the server, who immediately straightened up to take his leave.

You stared at him, aghast. “Naoya, we’re not—”

“Not yet, at least. But I’m not opposed to the idea. How about we take the first step?” He leaned in closer and planted a teasing kiss on your cheek.

Your jaw dropped — from embarrassment or at his audacity, you did not know. “What—?”

“There. Now we’re official.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

You clutched your bag tightly. Great, another rainy day. And you had refused the umbrella your maid had offered to you as well. Sighing, you looked at the sky. The downpour didn’t look like it was going to stop anytime soon. If only a miracle happened that would escort you back home safely.

“Stranded, are we?” Naoya’s voice broke through the rain. You turned to see him standing with a pristine black umbrella, grinning at you as if he was not surprised at all to meet you here.

“Yeah. You stayed back? Where’s Maki?”

“Oh, I left her to go home in the carriage,” he shifted the handle of his umbrella to one shoulder. “Need me?”

“I’ll manage,” you replied, not wanting to disturb him. Though part of you wondered whether he would be here if you hadn’t been stuck here as well.

“Let’s not ruin such a lovely sight with such a disaster. Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

“I’ll be fine, really. You don’t have to—”

“I insist. Or would you prefer I let you catch a cold? Then you’d have no choice but to rely on me to nurse you back to health.”

You groaned. “You’re impossible.” Realizing you had no way home without his help, you stood under his umbrella. He grinned at you, tilting the umbrella more towards you to shield you from the harsh rain.

“You’re getting wet,” you pointed out.

“It’s a small price to pay.” He glanced at you with a sly smile. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about me.”

“I’m not,” you scoff slightly.

“Good. I’d hate for you to think I’m fragile.”

The walk ahead was comfortable, although you didn’t think that was the case for Naoya. By the time you had reached the entrance of the clan, you could see Naoya’s sleeves were drenched. But he didn’t seem to mind at all. His eyes followed something ahead that you coulldn’t see through the fog that covered the atmosphere.

“Naoya? What are you looking at?” You asked, and he huffed in irritation — more so at the thing he had seen than at you.

He wrapped an arm around your waist and you involuntarily sucked your stomach in at it. He led you to the figure.

White hair… Lovely blue eyes…

Your fiance who refused to be yours.

Gojo Satoru.

He was leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed in front of him, staring at you two through his sunglasses as if he would rather be looking at anything else than at the fingers curling around your waist.

Naoya, much to your horror, approached Satoru with you still in his arms. “Greetings,” he said pleasantly. “We’ve met before, yes?”

“Yes,” Satoru replied coolly. Then he addressed you, though his eyes didn’t quite meet yours. “Who’s he?”

You started. Fuck. What was he to you? An acquaintance? The guardian of one of your students? An associate—?

“Her boyfriend,” Naoya stepped in before you could respond, and you watched Satoru’s eyes lose what little warmth they had earlier. He turned to you as if expecting you to deny the claim.

“What? I mean, I guess…? Maybe? But I’m not sure—”

Satoru arched an eyebrow, and let out a single syllable that made your heart break into pieces all over again. “Oh.” He looked at you with an expression you couldn’t understand at all. His lips were twitched, but he wasn’t happy. His eyebrows were furrowed, but he wasn’t confused. You felt like he was toying with your brain on purpose with all the failed hints his face gave.

Naoya grinned smugly. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave her in your care now, brother.” He was clearly enjoying himself.

Your eyes widened.

Look… I’ve never thought of you that way before, okay? You’re… you’re pretty, but you’re like a sister to me. That’s how I’ve always seen you.

Satoru’s eyes darkened, and he shoved his hands in his pockets, taking a step back. “Great. Fantastic,” he mocked you. “I’m so glad you’re being taken care of, my little sister.”

A few more minutes passed, though they were so awkward you did not have the courage to relive them. Naoya had left with a smirk and a wave, and Satoru had followed you inside the estate when all you wanted to do was get away from him.

“You’re… back, haha,” you mumbled, and he nodded. The rain patted against the windowsill softly, and each drop felt like it rained in your heart.

“Is he really your boyfriend?” He blurted out.

“Huh?” You were caught off guard. “Oh, um… I don’t know? He took me out for coffee once. Does that count?”

“No, absolutely not,” Satoru scoffed.

You paused. And then you let out a laugh. He stared at you and let out a bark of laughter as well.

“Him? Your boyfriend,” he wiped the tears off from his eyes. “The audacity!”

“Typical of him, I suppose,” you chortled.

“What did he even ask you for the coffee thing?”

“He said he wanted to talk about Maki’s essays,” you snickered, and he cackled.

“Essays?”

“Yeah!”

“You know, you should probably go on a real date sometime. Just so you can tell the difference between a parent-teacher conference and, y’know, an actual date,” he rolled his eyes.

“Oh, yeah? And who’s going to take me out on this ‘real date’? You?” You teased.

Satoru froze. He opened his mouth as if to respond, then quickly closed it, his gaze flickering away from you.

You felt the awkwardness returning from earlier. Forcing out a laugh, you waved your hand dismissively. “I’m kidding! Obviously. Haha. Anyway, I should, uh, go now. Busy day tomorrow and all that. So, um, goodnight!”

You practically bolted from the room, leaving Satoru standing there, staring at where you had just been. His hand twitched as if he wanted to stop you, but he stayed silent, his jaw tightening as he watched you retreat.

You locked your door, hoping you weren’t being wishful as always when you heard the faint murmur of his voice.

“Maybe I would.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

The next morning, you stepped out of your house, adjusting your bag of supplies on your shoulder. Rejecting your driver who had offered you a ride in the luxurious carriage, you walked on, greeting the little children of the various families of your clan. Crossing the gate of the main estate, you found Satoru leaning casually against a nearby carriage, waiting for something — or rather, someone. 

“Morning,” he said, grinning like he had been there for hours. His sunglasses reflected the surprise in your eyes under the morning light.

“Uh… good morning?” You blinked in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged at you. “Thought you might need a ride.”

“Don’t you have work?” You asked sceptically. He had had missions and trips to be on all this time, so why was he here now?

He shrugged again, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Not yet. Free morning.”

“Oh,” you frowned at his excuse. “Well, I usually just walk to work. Sorry.”

“Ah, well, no problem then,” he straightened up, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves. “I’ll walk with you.”

“What? No, it’s alright—”

Satoru waved the driver of the carriage off and waltzed over to you. “Too late. I’m committed now.”

You sighed in defeat, letting him walk with you. Silence loomed over you, the kind that made you hyper aware of every crunch the leaves under your feet made, every chirp the birds on nearby trees let out, and even every breath you didn’t know you kept holding.

“It’s a nice morning, huh?” He finally broke the tense silence, though the strain in his voice made it even more awkward.

“Yeah it is,” you glanced and nodded at him briefly.

Another long stretch of silence. When did you two become this way? Nevermind, you remembered the day it all had started a bit too clearly for your liking. But this seemed too delicate, too much. How was your walk with the arrogant Naoya Zenin more comfortable than one with the person you had spent nearly all your life with?

“So,” he started again, clearing his throat, “you walk this route every day?”

“It’s not that far,” you nodded.

“It’s been a while since I walked anywhere,” he chuckled softly to himself.

You risked a small smile in the midst of the unpleasant stillness. “Yeah, I remember. You always complained if the carriage wasn’t ready, or if you were sent to meet other clans on foot.”

“I was spoiled,” he grinned proudly. “Still am, probably.”

Despite yourself, you laughed softly. But it was fleeting, and the silence returned to keep reminding you of how much everything has changed. By the time you reached the gates of Jujutsu High, the sun was higher in the sky. Satoru stopped a few stops short of the massive gateway.

“Well, here you are,” he turned to look at you with softened eyes.

You nodded and adjusted your bag. “Thanks for walking with me.”

“Anytime,” he smiled. Faint as it was, it still didn’t reach his eyes.

In the faculty lounge at Jujutsu High, you sat with Utahime after she had barked at the other teachers to let her have some “alone time” with you. It seemed as if although she was trying her best to get you and Naoya together, she was hardly denying the rumours between you and her.

 She suddenly perked up mid-cursing at an answer paper of one of the third-years. “Oh, right! Did you hear? There’s a new recruit for a teaching position. Principal Yaga told me yesterday.”

“Oh, cool,” you snapped out of your own thoughts about the weird tension Naoya had landed you in. “Who’s interviewing them?”

“You, duh.” You groaned audibly and she laughed. 

“Hopefully it’s not another Ijichi,” you grumbled, wincing as you remembered the interview you had with him a few months ago.

“Be nice,” she said, though she snickered at the memory. “He was just nervous!”

“Nervous?” You huffed loudly. “Utahime, the man tripped over his own feet before he even sat down. And I wasn’t even intimidating!”

“You? Not intimidating?” She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, definitely. Tell that to the first-years.”

“I’m a delight,” you shrugged, batting your eyelashes innocently. “Ijichi, on the other hand… couldn’t even make eye contact during the interview. I had to repeat my question three times before he answered.”

“Maybe this one will be better,” she got excited, and you knew what she was thinking of before it even came out of her mouth. “Who knows? They might even impress you—”

“No,” you snapped, and she giggled.

You were in enough of what your teenage self would have called “boy troubles” already to have a third one enter your life. First Satoru, then Naoya, and now Satoru again. You sighed. Shouldn’t you be flattered that a guy like Naoya shows interest in you? He’s rich, a noble (although the Gojo clan wouldn’t care about status either way), handsome and romantic. What more could you want? But on the other hand, Satoru is… well… him? You hardly think anyone would be able to compete with the Satoru you knew.

Utahime set down her papers and held your hand, as if determined to show you how a real man should hold you. “Alright, what’s wrong?” She asked gently. “You’ve been off for days. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

You hesitated. “Satoru,” you muttered.

“Of course,” she sighed. She inhaled loudly before— “That insufferable, pompous cretin! A walking disgrace to his lineage! I’ve met noble horses with more grace and tact! A royal pain, in every possible way. That walking definition of idiocy needs to be knocked off his pedestal, preferably into a pile of mud.”

You blinked rapidly. You’d be lying if you understood a single word that she just said.

“What does that even mean?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she waved a hand dismissively, fuming with rage. “The point is, he’s an idiot. The biggest idiot. And if he’s making you feel like this, then I’m going to—”

“Okay, okay!” You smiled faintly at her ambitious attempt to choke thin air with her hands as if grabbing his throat. “But it’s not just him.”

“There’s more? It’s alright, I can fight—”

“Not for fighting!” You added quickly, alarmed. “It’s Naoya.”

“What did he do?” She stopped her antics.

“I just feel like I’m stuck between those two,” you palmed your face. You were utterly distraught. “Satoru keeps walking me to work, like he’s trying to fix things, but then Naoya, he’s been kind, attentive, and all of the good stuff you keep babbling about. I don’t know what to do if it ever came down to choosing between them.”

She leaned forward seriously, and forced your chin upwards to meet her eyes like your second mother. “Listen. Ask yourself two questions. First: Who sees you for you? Not the ‘I’m-strong-enough-to-not-need-anyone-else’ image you’ve been trying to put up, not the teacher you’ve become, but just… you. The good and the bad.”

“And the second?” You frowned thoughtfully.

“Who makes you feel safe?” She said simply. “Not just physically, but emotionally as well. Who can you trust with your heart, knowing they’ll look after it like the finest treasure?”

Like the finest treasure? The answer was simple.

But not the one you wanted.

Not who you craved.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Utahime gave you a small smile. “Just don’t settle for less than you deserve, okay?”

You nodded gratefully. “You’re way better at this than you seem like, you know.”

“I’m a delight,” she echoed your words from earlier, giggling.

──── ୨ৎ ────

It had been almost a month since the walks with Satoru had begun. You had hoped as time went by you would’ve gotten more used to the tension it carried, but each day seemed to offer a new, worse one. The quietness lingered heavily between you, just like it had been all this while.

“So,” he started, glancing at you, “am I annoying you?”

“What?” You cross-questioned, startled at the insecurity in his voice. “No, why would you think that?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged, trying his best to be nonchalant, but you knew him too well to know it was an act. “It’s been over a month of me tagging along, and you haven’t said much. I thought maybe you’d prefer walking with someone else. Like Naoya,” he mumbled the last part.

“No,” you said firmly. “You’re not annoying—”

“I just hoped,” he cut you off, “you’d think this was better than with him. That’s all.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you just hummed, looking away at a nearby tree and counting the number of leaves on it.

“Yeah,” Satoru chuckled quietly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thought so.”

You couldn’t reply to that.

“Here we are,” he murmured, opening the schoolgates for you just to find something to do. But when he followed behind you inside, you raised an eyebrow.

“You’re coming all the way in? Don’t worry, Naoya won’t step inside the school.”

“Good to know,” he adjusted his sunglasses, “but I’m not worried about Naoya.”

“Then?”

He closed the gates and turned to face you, beaming despite his earlier demeanour. “I’m a candidate for the teaching post.”

“What?!”

“What? You didn’t know?” He tilted his head, acting innocent. “Thought I’d apply for the position. Figured it was about time I contributed my immense knowledge to the next generation.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You? A teacher?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment even though it’s meaningless that way,” he pouted at you. He then pushed past you to the hallway. “You’re the one interviewing me, hopefully? Race you!”

“What the— Satoru, come back!” But he was already running to whatever empty classroom he could find. Talk about professionalism.

You marched off to Principal Yaga’s office and burst in, resulting in him nearly stabbing his own finger with a sewing needle. “Sir! I can’t do this.

“It’s 8 in the morning,” he sighed wearily. “And what is it that you can’t do?

“I cannot interview that man.”

“Why not?”

You gestured wildly at the hall, from where audible noises of furniture being dragged around could be heard. “Because it’s Gojo Satoru.”

“I see.” Yaga leaned back in his chair, staring at the hall with a transfixed look. “Well, if it’s such a problem, I’ll just have Utahime handle it.”

Uh oh.

“No, no. She’ll kill him. Literally.” And you didn’t feel like cleaning up a crime scene today.

“With killer questions?” He remarked thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. “Then it’s settled. She’ll—”

“No, sir! I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to.”

“Yes I do,” you gritted your teeth. 

You had finally found the man after looking through twenty three whole classrooms spinning rapidly on a chair. You coughed loudly and he jumped, though he sighed in relief when he saw that it was just you.

“Thought I’d get fired if the Principal saw me this way,” he said as you sat on the chair in front of him. “And I haven’t even been hired yet. Imagine that!”

“You know I could reject you as a candidate as well, right?” You rolled your eyes.

“What? No, you wouldn’t!” He shouted indignantly. “I knew I shouldn’t have eaten your last mochi.”

“What? You ate my last mochi?”

Satoru gulped, and you groaned.

You clutched your clipboard, already regretting your decision. “Alright, Mr. Gojo. Let’s begin.”

He grinned. “Of course, Mrs. Gojo. Don’t let me distract you.”

“Let’s start with the basics,” you tried to sound as professional as you could. “What experience do you have working with students?”

“Well, I’ve been mentoring the younger sorcerers unofficially,” he leaned back in his chair with a lazy smile. “Does being charming count?”

“No.”

“Really?” He tilted his head. “Because I think it’s working on you.”

You paused. “This isn’t a date,” you glared at him. “It’s an interview.”

“So you do know what a date is,” his grin widened in size. “Guess Naoya didn’t ruin you completely.”

“Why do you want this position?” You gritted your teeth.

“Figured I’d spend more time with you.”

“How do you handle indiscipline in the classroom?” You deadpanned.

“Depends,” he tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Are we talking about kids or you?”

Fucking—

“Do you even want this job?”

“I do,” he said simply.

You slammed your clipboard on the table in annoyance and stood up. “You’re following me, aren’t you?” You pointed an accusing finger at his face.

He looked at you incredulously. “What? No. Why would I—” He stopped, and his tone softened. “I’m here because I’m sick of the nobility and their entitlement.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me.” He stood up as well, crossing his arms and speaking more earnestly than you had ever heard from him. “Kids from those circles? You can’t change them — they’re too far gone. But here? The students come from humble families. They still have a shot at thinking for themselves, at doing things for the right reasons. I want to make sure they don’t grow up like us.”

You were stunned into silence, but before you could respond, a voice came from the doorway.

“Congratulations, Satoru Gojo. You’re hired,” said Principal Yaga, sparing one glance into the room and then leaving again.

Satoru’s expression changed again, and he was beaming like he hadn’t just bared his soul out to you a few moments ago. “Looks like you’re stuck with me, huh?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “…Great.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

“This,” you gestured to a nearby door, “is the main classroom. It’s where first-years have their lessons. It’s equipped with barriers for live combat simulations, so the—”

“You know, you’ve got a really soothing voice,” Satoru cut in. “Ever think of switching to narration?”

“Shut up,” you shot him a glare. “Are you just here to waste my time?”

“Can’t I appreciate you a little?” He pouted, but when your look refused to soften, his shoulder sank and head drooped, and he trailed behind you like a small puppy.

So cute.

No, fuck, what the fuck are you thinking?

You walked on ahead, and the whispers from all those years ago that had remained in your thoughts seemed to bloom louder again.

You don’t even belong in this house!

We’re not kids forever, you know.

The two people I trust the most in this world!

Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Are you oka—?”

“Why are you here, Satoru?”

His smirk faltered. “I told you. I want to help shape the next generation—”

“And you’re telling me it has nothing to do with me?”

His gaze softened. “Would it be so bad if it did?”

You bit your lip, trying to shut out all the voices echoing in your head. “After what you said to me all those years ago? Because if you think that can be fixed then—”

“Stop.”

You did.

“I don’t know how old you think I was then, but it’s not like you were any older than me at that time. I want you to understand that,” he spun you around to face him, “I want to change. I want to show you how much I regret raising my voice at you that way.”

“Is that all you regret?” You asked.

He paused a bit, then fixed his sunglasses to cover his eyes completely. “No. I regret saying that—”

“Hey there!” chirped in a voice you almost didn’t recognize from how much you were focussing on Satoru’s words. Satoru’s face hardened when he saw the person waving at you from behind. You turned to look at him.

“Naoya?”

“Yes, missed me? I dropped Maki with the driver earlier than usual for you,” Naoya strode up to you, and hooked his arm with yours, snatching you away from Satoru’s grip. “Let’s walk you home, darling.”

“You know, Naoya, for someone who talks a lot about class, you’re pretty shameless when it comes to interrupting private conversations,” Satoru spat venomously, making the latter turn around to face him sneering.

“Private? Oh, forgive me,” Naoya snickered. “I didn’t realize you were finally learning how to talk to a woman. But could you get a different one? This one’s taken.”

“Oh, shut up. Isn’t it past your bedtime, Zenin? Shouldn’t you be off practicing your bowing skills or groveling to your clan?”

“Groveling?” Naoya smirked, clearly unbothered. “Not my style, Gojo. That’s more your speed, isn’t it? Or did you think running off to teach would make people forget how much of a disappointment you are?”

“Uh, okay,” you tried to interrupt. “I don’t think—” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Satoru cut you off, leaning forward with mock curiosity. “Must be hard living in a world where your only personality trait is kissing your elders’ feet.”

“Says the man who threw away everything his clan worked for,” Naoya mocked back. “Couldn’t handle the pressure of actually being useful?”

“Useful?” Satoru laughed maniacally, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. “Is that what you call wagging your tail for every decision the Zenin fossils make?”

“Enough! Please. You two are acting like kids—” You stepped in between them and raised your hands.

“Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing, Gojo,” Naoya chided. “Trying to fix what you broke, crawling back like the desperate little rat you are.”

“Desperate, huh? And what are you? You’re just a carbon copy of every other one of your morons. Must be boring living without a spine.”

“Better a spine than whatever it is you call yourself. A disgrace to the Gojo clan. No wonder they’ve been so quiet about you. They’re probably embarrassed.”

“Okay, enough! I don’t have time for this,” you shouted.

Naoya immediately shut up. “Are we overwhelming you, darling? I can always walk you home. Gojo here,” his expression soured again, “can find his own way back.”

Satoru’s jaw tightened. “Funny, I was about to say the same thing about you.”

“Yeah? Then why don’t you just let her choose?”

“Of course.”

Both of them turned to you simultaneously, and you made a mental note to never interrupt their conversations ever again. Before things could escalate further, however, a sharp voice cut in.

“What in the name of all things holy, proper, appropriate, virtuous, demure, and absolutely not Utahime Iori is going on here?”

“Wow, did you just compare yourself to a holy being?” Satoru snickered, and earned a slap on the back of his head by her.

“I said ‘absolutely not’, you white-haired freak.”

“Utahime!” You sighed in relief, running to hug her around the waist, and she patted your head pitifully.

“There, there. You were stuck in this pissing contest between manchildren, weren’t you? You poor, poor soul.”

“Woman,” Naoya curled his lip, “don’t you have better things to do than stick your nose where it doesn’t belong?”

“Like you’re doing right now?” Utahime replied coolly. “We’re leaving,” she yanked you away from them with her.

“Wait—” Naoya protested.

“Hey—” Satoru stepped forward.

“No. Bye,” Utahime turned around with her nose high in the air, and you gave a meek wave to both of them. They did cancel their plans to walk you home, but god did you feel grateful to be dragged away from their fights about winning you like an object.

──── ୨ৎ ────

Life had taken a strange, twisting turn ever since Satoru had re-entered your world. The once awkward silences during his walks with you were replaced by lively conversations now. He was speaking to you more now. He would sometimes do or say things that reminded you of how he was, but it wasn’t quite the same. He still hadn’t joined you for dinner again, despite the seat you subconsciously left empty every night at the table.

Meanwhile, Naoya was relentless in his pursuit — walking you to school, picking you up, showing up at your door with every excuse in the book, Impress to Repress: A Noble’s Guide to Obtain the Perfect Wife. Funnily enough, you didn’t suppose it would be too far-fetched to think he had that book somewhere in his room with the way he would speak with you.

“I thought you might need help carrying your books,” he’d say, flashing you that perfect smile as though you couldn’t see past the charm. Or: “A lady shouldn’t walk alone in the evening.” And his favorite: “I dropped Maki off early for you.”

It wasn’t entirely unwelcome, though. Naoya was charming and thoughtful in a way that had its appeal, but it also left you feeling like you were being swooped away too far, like he was a strong tide made to sweep you off your feet. But when the tide receded, you found yourself glancing over your shoulder, wondering if Satoru had noticed.

Just who should you love?

Naoya was kind — kinder than you’d expected him to be. He knew how to make you laugh, smile, blush all the same. But his ego often left you bristling. He would decide for you even though you wanted to do it yourself, and part of you wondered if he was just like the Kamo servants and nobles you had seen earlier.

And then there was Satoru. He’d shattered your heart three years ago with careless words. The memory still burned like a fresh wound, but there were moments now when you saw something different in him. Something softer. Something that almost made you believe he could fix what he’d broken. But it was too toxic to linger on.

You reached the teacher’s lounge and found it empty except for Utahime, who was leaning against a desk, flipping through a stack of papers. She glanced up as you entered.

“Finally decided to get a break?”

“Yeah. Did you bully all the other teachers out again?”

“Thank me for that,” she poked her tongue out as you sat down laughing.

“Actually, I came here to ask you something,” you hesitated.

“Hm?”

“Why—” you huffed. “Why did you step in that day? You know, with both of them. You were supposed to let me… choose.”

Utahime set her pen down with a soft sigh. “Because you weren’t ready.”

“What do you mean?” You frowned. “I could’ve—”

“Could you, though?” She wondered loudly. “I’ve known you long enough to recognize when you’re drowning in your own head. You’re still holding onto pieces of your past with Satoru while Naoya’s practically dragging you into his future. And you? You’re just standing there, caught in the middle, hoping someone else will make the choice for you.”

You spluttered at how accurately she described your situation. “But you said—”

“I said ‘take your time’, didn’t I?”

“You did,” you sighed. “But what if it’s too late?”

“If it is, then a choice will be made for you,” her eyes darkened. “You know what clans are like. The Kamo clan even set up a proposal for Satoru, and he was just seventeen at the time.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but what could you say? If it wasn’t for your mother that day, Satoru would’ve been married off at the mere age of seventeen. The Kamo clan’s elder daughter had been married off at a young age as well, from what you had heard from their maids. Who’s to say that won’t be the case for you as well? How long could your mother shelter you after all?

Utahime softened slightly. “I stepped in that day because you needed time. But don’t think for a second that I’m going to keep doing it. This is your life. Your future. And you’re the only one who gets to decide who’s in it. So stop running in circles.”

“But I’m scared,” you croaked out.

“Scared?”

“What if I make the wrong choice?” You said quietly, looking down at your own hands.

Utahime leaned back with a small smile. “Then you deal with it, just like everyone else. But at least it’ll be your choice, not theirs.”

You nodded slightly.

“Oh, and one more thing — next time, don’t let two grown men fight over you in public. It’s embarrassing.”

You sat there, chewing on your own nail and wondering if you should laugh, cry, or start packing your bags to run away from both Satoru and Naoya entirely.

──── ୨ৎ ────

On Utahime’s advice, you had prepared two separate diaries to recount heart-fluttering scenarios you had with each man to help you ‘decide’ between them. As much as you found the whole idea ridiculous, you figured trying it won’t hurt. You had asked both Naoya and Satoru to buy you a diary each just to see how differing the outcomes would be.

Now, you picked a diary that looked posh and had a sophisticated-looking leather twine to strap it shut. The cover looked menacing, and the pages were eerily white. You did not have to second-guess to know who bought this one.

“Naoya,” you muttered, scribbling his name along the first page. You then turned to the next page, and began writing.

1. Cafe dates... he always ordered my drink without asking. Polite, attentive, charming... but also predictable.

2. Parent-teacher meeting dates? Oh god, does that even count? It’s just like what Satoru said.

You paused. Were you supposed to add Satoru’s name while writing in Naoya’s diary? Scoffing, you continued.

He made sure my notes were perfect, held doors open, smiled at every passing teacher like he was running for class president.

3. Dinner at the estate — ugh. The way he spoke to mother, like he was auditioning to be the next clan leader. Why is he so flawless?

You groaned aloud.

“Is he just too perfect or am I just being unfair?”

Annoyed, and also running out of romantic scenarios to write for Naoya’s diary, you picked up Satoru’s diary. It was like the old one you had maintained when you were thirteen. You giggled a little remembering how much you had to plan and strategize on the diary’s hidden location to keep it away from him. You couldn’t be caught dead with him knowing what was in it.

The first thing he had said when you had asked for a new diary was, “Why, is my charm too much for you that you have to pen it down so you don’t overflow?” And god, was he right.

You ran your fingers on the spine of the diary. It was your favourite colour — you wondered how he still remembered that. Did he have his own secret diary you had to find soon? You opened it and began writing.

“Where do I even start with you, you pumpkin?” You giggled at the words you had just scribbled.

1. The staff room date. Well, if you can even call it a date. You barged in uninvited, stole half my lunch, and started criticizing my handwriting like you were some literary genius. Just like you used to. What did you call it when we were kids? A calligraphy competition on every page, huh?

You remembered the scenario all too well.

The staffroom was peaceful for once, the only sounds coming from the ticking clock and the low murmur of the other teachers quietly going about their breaks. You were tucked into the corner by the windows, your lunch spread in front of you, savoring the rare moment.

And of course, it was then that the door flung open with an obnoxious swing.

Satoru Gojo.

You didn’t even have to look up.

“Well, well, look who’s having lunch all alone! No invite for me? Rude.” he smirked, sliding into the chair opposite you like he belonged there. Without waiting for your response, he reached over and casually snatched a piece of your lunch.

You sighed. “I didn’t invite you because I didn’t want you here.”

“Fair enough. Lucky for you, I’m here to grace you with my presence anyway.” He gobbled up your lunch. “Hmm, not bad. You didn’t cook this yourself, did you?”

You snatched your box away from him. “Can you not? This is my lunch.”

Satoru leaned back with a huff. “Whatever.” He noticed your open notebook. “What’s this? Lesson plans? Don’t tell me you’ve been taking this teaching thing seriously.”

“Don’t touch that!”

But he did. And he held it out of reach, flipping through the pages. “Relax, I’m just taking a look. Whoa. Your handwriting hasn’t changed a bit.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, it looks like you’re trying to win an award for best handwriting or something.”

You flushed. “I just like making it neat!”

“Neat? Are you kidding? I remember trying to copy your style once when we were kids, and mom thought I was possessed.”

You snorted. “Maybe you were just bad at writing.”

“Oh, absolutely. I gave up halfway and just stuck to my chicken scratch.”

2. The sparring match. I hated you for pairing up with me for what? “Showing the kids how it’s done”? What does that even mean? And what kind of lunatic goes easy for three rounds and then wipes the floor with you in the fourth? But afterward, you stayed to help me fix my form. You didn’t have to... but you did.

In the grounds, you stood with your wand in your hand, and across from you stood Satoru, smirking confidently, his wand poised like an extension of his arm.

“Showing off, huh?”

“Shut up, you’re the one who needed my help in ‘teaching these kiddos’,” you shot back. “And besides, I don’t need you to show off in front of them."

“Who said I’m showing off?” He grinned. “Just here to make sure you don’t embarrass yourself.”

He flicked his wand, sending light spells your way. You blocked them as best as you could, but he was always one step ahead.

“You’re not even trying!” You shouted.

“Of course not, I’m just giving you a chance.”

But then, without warning, he shifted his stance and cast a powerful spell that knocked your wand from your hand.

“What the—?”

“Language.”

“—hell”

“Just showing you how it’s done,” he shrugged, and you gritted your teeth.

He stepped closer, handing you your wand. Reluctantly, you took your wand.

“Since when did you become better than me at this?” You asked him.

“Since you forgot your old self among your new troubles,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye.

3. The stargazing. God, Satoru, you’re insufferable. Who even points out constellations while lying on the grass and makes up fake names for them just to make someone laugh?

You laid on the grass, watching the night sky stretch endlessly above you. Satoru was beside you, dramatically pointing at every star he could set his eyes on.

“You see that one? That’s the Satoru constellation. Handsome, charming, and clearly the best in the sky.”

“I don’t think that’s a real constellation,” you giggled.

“It is if I say it is,” he pulled a face.

“Alright, alright,” you shook your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are. Lying next to me, staring at my constellation.”

You stayed quiet, watching as his expression softened. He turned to you, lifting his head with the palm of his hand and looking right into your eyes with his bright blue ones.

“You know,” he whispered. “Stars are kind of overrated.”

You turned to look at him. “Why’s that?”

He spared half a glance at the sky before leaning in to nuzzle into your neck, but he stopped short, barely a few inches away from your skin. “Because I’ve been staring at something brighter all night.”

Your breath hitched, but before you could respond, he turned back to the sky, his usual grin breaking the moment. “I’m just a chill guy, just thinking, you know.”

“About what?” You asked curiously.

“How someone as brilliant as you still gets stars in her eyes every time she looks up.”

“Wow, that’s surprisingly poetic of you.”

“Right?” He gushed over himself. “Don’t get used to it though. I have a reputation to maintain.”

“There it is,” you smiled.

“But seriously,” he laid his head down on the grass right next to your chest. “I don’t mind the stars. I just think the view’s better when you’re in it.”

You turned away, pretending to admire the flowers, but the heat in your cheeks might have given you away.

Why did you look at me like that, like I was the only star that mattered?

──── ୨ৎ ────

Maki leaned against your desk, watching you intently. “So... what's going on with you and Naoya?”

You widened your eyes. She had insisted on staying back to help you rearrange the chairs after class, yet here she was now, asking you questions about your personal life. 

“Why does that matter?” You asked, sounding more defensive than you had intended to be.

“He’s from my clan,” she said, as if that was enough of a reason for you to talk about the weird love triangle you had landed yourself in. She sat on your desk, swinging her legs up and down.

“Look, I... I don’t really know. I mean, it’s definitely more than what I expected, but I’m not sure where it’s going.”

Maki raised an eyebrow, her lips pressing into a thin line as if she was considering something. She seemed rather skeptical.

“Alright, just don’t martyr yourself for him.”

Your stomach twisted at her words. Did she even realize what she was saying? You looked up at her, trying to read her expression, but it was hard to tell what she was really thinking.

“What does that even mean?” You asked incredulously.

Maki sighed, pushing herself off from the desk. She walked a few steps towards you. “He’s not worth it,” she said, and then she left the classroom just like that.

What the hell?

You’d known all this while the Zenin clan was among the more orthodox and conservative ones, and you considered yourself lucky to be part of the Gojo clan, one of the more lenient ones. But seeing a young girl, a student you had been teaching for a while nonetheless, voice out a cryptic message, or rather a plea for help from misogynistic fucks, perhaps, made you second-guess the whole idea all over again.

Just what has this girl been through?

Later that day, you spotted Maki and Naoya leaving together, and felt the pit in your stomach deepen.

Something was not right.

──── ୨ৎ ────

Your ears had perked up when you had been told by your mother that there was another meeting of the clans of the nobility, but that wasn’t what had you interested. It was the fact that all the clans would be present, and that included the Ieri, Iori and Geto clans. As much as you were sure your friends would hate to attend this stupid meeting, Satoru’s suggestion of sneaking out made you far more excited than you should be.

So here you were, writing letters to Shoko and Suguru to attend the meeting at all costs after barking Utahime’s ear off to do so as well. You crumpled your parchment up and threw it in a corner for the fifth time.

What were you even supposed to write to friends you’ve grown apart from?

You huffed and began scribbling on fresh parchment once more.

Dear Shoko,

I can already picture you rolling your eyes at this letter. “What is she up to now after not keeping contact for ages?” you’re probably thinking. Well, for once, it’s not mischief, or boy troubles, or even weird investigations cough cough.

It’s been so long since we last saw each other, and I’ve missed you more than words can say. Remember when we used to sneak out of classes just to sit under the old tree and complain about literally everyone? Things have changed so much since then — we’ve changed so much. But I think a part of me still hopes that when I see you, it’ll feel like no time has passed at all.

There’s a clan meeting coming up (ugh, I know), and I heard your clan will be attending. Please tell me you’re coming. I’ll even tolerate your sarcasm if it means we can catch up properly. Bring your flask, too — I have a feeling we’ll need it. Oak tree, Iori Estate, don’t forget.

I can’t wait to see you again. Write back if you have the time, or just show up and surprise me. Either way, I’ll be waiting.

With love and exasperation, Your favourite patient

Good enough, you thought, but Shoko probably won’t even read all of that. Eh well it didn’t matter anyway.

Dear Suguru,

How have you been? Really been? I’ve missed having someone to talk to who actually listens. I’m sure your clan keeps you busy, but I hope you’ve found a moment or two to breathe.

There’s a clan meeting coming up, and I heard the Geto Clan will be attending. Just the thought of seeing you again after all these years makes me... well, nervous, if I’m honest. Not because of anything bad, but because there’s so much I want to say, so much I’ve wanted to ask you.

Do you remember the last time we all sat together, back when things were simpler? I miss that. I miss us. Maybe this meeting will give us a chance to find that again — at least a little.

I hope you’ll be there. No pressure, of course, but if you come, we’ll be waiting under the oak tree out back in the Iori estate. We’d really like to see you.

Take care of yourself, Suguru. And don’t overthink this letter as much as I overthought writing it.

Yours, Your favourite troublemaker

──── ୨ৎ ────

You sat across from Satoru in the carriage to the meeting in silence. His eyes were fixed on the passing scenery outside, but you could tell from the way his fingers fidgeted against his knee that his mind was elsewhere — most likely at the fact that both his mother and father were in another carriage together.

Over the years, their relationship had grown even more strained than it had become on that unfortunate day. You couldn’t imagine what it would be like for either of them to be forced to act like a healthy couple for the sake of a few hours in front of thousands of other people.

“Satoru?” You called softly, and he snapped out of his thoughts.

“Hm?”

You patted his knee. “They’ll be fine.”

He huffed a short laugh, turning his head just enough to glance at you. “You’re too optimistic. What if they explode at each other in the middle of the meeting? Or worse, drag the entire Gojo name through the mud?”

“Then you can just blame me,” you shrugged, trying to lighten the mood. “Say I tripped and caused a distraction, or spilled tea on someone important, or whatever it is that nobles dislike.”

“Oh? And they would believe that? Miss perfect student?” He cracked a small smile.

“I’m not a student anymore,” you stuck your tongue out at him, and he laughed.

“Yeah, but I don’t think that would really improve things.”

“It might. Chaos is a great way to bond people. Just look at us!”

He turned fully to face you now in amusement. “That’s your big plan? Turn the meeting into a comedy night?”

“If it gets you to stop worrying for five seconds, then yes,” you smiled.

He leaned back in his seat, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Maybe. But ridiculous is what you need right now.”

He held your gaze for a moment, the storm in his eyes quieting just a little. “Thanks… for, you know, trying.”

“Trying?” You gasped as if offended. “I excel at this. Just wait — by the end of this night, you’ll owe me for single-handedly saving the Gojo name.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

You tiptoed through the dimly lit corridor, Satoru trailing behind you with his usual cocky grin. He wasn’t exactly stealthy, but he was trying his best, even if his ‘best’ meant occasionally tripping over his own feet and knocking random armours on the way.

“This is dumb,” he whispered to you. “We should just portal her out.”

“No! Tha’ll make it too obvious,” you whisper-shouted. “We’re supposed to be discreet.”

“You’re whispering like a toddler playing hide-and-seek,” he snorted and you shushed him. “That’s the opposite of discreet.”

“Shut up. Now where’s the oak tree?”

“Out?”

“Obviously, genius, but where’s ‘out’?”

“Uhhhh,” he dragged out his response before pointing to a very clear exit. “There? You didn’t see that yet?”

You chose not to dignify that jab with a response, pushing open the door to where Shoko and Suguru were supposed to wait for you as per your letters.

“Fuck, it’s dark in here,” your voice echoed for some reason.

“Careful, princess. Wouldn’t want you to be caught swearing like you’re not from a noble clan,” Satoru snickered, and you wanted to whack him on the head like Utahime had done the other day.

“About time,” a bored voice said, making the two of you jump and turn in horror, staring at the darkness to make out the figures that were inching closer and closer to you. “We thought you chickened out from what you said in the letter.”

“Sh-Shoko?”

“Duh.”

“Shoko!” You ran up to her as she came into the light of the estate, hugging her like your life depended on it. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” she patted your shoulder. “Did you two get lost, or were you off making out in a broom closet or something?”

“What?” You deadpanned. “I haven’t seen you in years, and this is how you greet me?”

Suguru grinned from beside her. “I mean, she’s not entirely wrong,” he gave a light punch on the chest to Satoru. “You’re a little flushed.”

“See?” Satoru smirked. “I told you we should’ve taken the broom closet route. Much more efficient.”

You groaned. “Leave that! Utahime’s stuck in some ridiculous ceremony, and we need a plan to get her out.”

“How bad could it be?” Shoko said. “Light some incense, wave your hands, maybe sacrifice a virgin or two, chant a bit, and she’s done, right?”

“You’ve clearly never been to an Iori ritual,” Suguru replied. “They’re like a cult, but boring.”

“Oh, they’re worse than boring,” said Satoru. “They make you kneel for hours, bowing and chanting. And if you screw up, they start over. It’s like boot camp for spiritualists.”

“Exactly,” you said, sighing. “So, we need a distraction. Something big enough to pull her out but small enough not to get us executed by her clan.”

“I say we fake an emergency,” suggested Suguru. “Like, ‘Oh no, a curse is loose!’ Then she’s got to leave.”

“Too obvious,” Shoko lit a cigarette. “They’ll know it’s fake when Satoru doesn’t stop the ‘curse’ immediately.”

“How about an eating contest?” proposed Satoru, immediately earning an actual punch from Shoko.

“What if we convince them that Utahime has to perform an exorcism somewhere else?” asked Suguru. “Like, say, the riverside.”

You snapped your fingers at his brilliance. “Yes! Perfect! We’ll say her ‘spiritual energy’ is needed for a very urgent ritual. Shoko, you’ll pretend to be an elder. Suguru, you’re the messenger. Satoru, just— stand there and look important.”

“Excuse me? I am always important.”

“Anyway—” Shoko interrupted, taking a long drag. “I bought props just because.” She pulled out her bag and unzipped it. Out came tumbling fake moustaches, eyebrows, caps, cloaks and god knows what.

“What the—” you were stunned. “Why did you get this stuff?”

“Told you, just because,” she shrugged. “It’s a stupid clan union meeting. Thought we’d need some entertainment.”

“Shoko, you’re a genius.”

The four of you tried to find the ritual hall amongst the many rooms of the estate. After bullying a random security guard and having him lead you to the hall, Satoru dramatically banged the door open. The elders of the Iori clan all turned to look at the four of you, and Utahime, who was kneeling in the center surrounded by them, glanced up and immediately put her head back down with curses disguised as a cough.

The air was thick with incense and your eyes were burning. Shoko scratched her fake beard, and stepped forward to speak in a loud, rumbling voice. “Elders of the Iori clan!” She lifted her hands up and flailed her arms around wildly to address them. “There has been a disturbance under your watch,” she thundered, “in the northern woods, of which none can speak.”

“A disturbance?” A grandma squeaked. “What kind, Master Yoo?”

You had no idea who Master Yoo was, but if this plan was working, you didn’t care either.

“It shall remain classified,” Suguru stepped forward slowly with a hunchback and a stick. “None can speak of it without endangering  everyone else.”

“It is the kind,” you bowed to them, “that only the heir of a true princess born to a clan as unique as yours, in the shadow of an oak as old as yours and for a purpose as grave as this may resolve.”

“Us?” An old man exclaimed. “So you have chosen us?”

“Your heir, to be exact,” Suguru clarified.

“Ah, well, then, we shall send the boy—”

“The girl, please,” you deadpanned.

The elders blinked. “Why the girl?”

“Her energy is unique and, uh, mesmerizing,” Shoko boomed, making them fall to their knees. She dramatically walked to the squeaking grandma and grabbed her by both collars of her kimono. “Your heiress has been chosen by the spirits of the longgone.”

“Chosen, you say?” She squeaked in response. “Why wasn’t this revealed earlier?”

Satoru sighed dramatically while you lifted Utahime up. “Do you always question the will of the spirits? No wonder they never bless this place.”

The elders were flustered. They waved Utahime away. She rose stiffly and, still muttering long strings of curses, followed you all out.

Minutes later, the five of you were lounging by the riverside, the cool night breeze rustling the trees. A bottle of sake was being passed between you, the props of earlier long discarded.

“A divine mission? Really?” Utahime was exasperated. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

You laughed, and Shoko said, “Well, it worked, that’s all that matters.”

“You’re welcome by the way,” Satoru grinned. My ‘important face’ is the only thing that made the whole act believable.”

“That’s because you’re aging,” you sighed. “Aging enough to be one of those elders by now.”

“Owie, that hurt.”

“Your face is important for comedy, not authority, Satoru,” said Suguru. Then, he raised his drink. “To divine missions, friendships, and chaos wherever we go.”

“Cheers!”

The moon was still high, and you wondered how long it would take for your clans to realize that all of you were missing from the main event. The air was filled with the faint sounds of laughter and clinking bottles as your friends enjoyed themselves nearby. Satoru, however, had wandered off to the water’s edge. He crouched, plucking smooth stones from the shore and skipping them across the surface with surprising precision.

You hesitated for a moment, then walked over, unable to resist teasing him.

“What’s this?” You asked playfully. “The Gojo Satoru, retreating from the crowd to have a quiet moment with his thoughts? I thought you thrived on attention.”

Satoru did not look back at you. “Oh, I do,” he half-chuckled. “But I also thrive on balance. Can’t be too perfect all the time — it makes people insecure.”

You snorted. “How generous of you to consider the feelings of the peasants.”

He glanced back at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “See? You get it.”

“Oh, I get it. You’re just here to keep the river from feeling too plain without your dazzling presence.”

He laughed, straightening up and brushing his hands on his pants. “Alright, you caught me. I was giving them all a break from my charm. But what’s your excuse? Couldn’t handle the drinking game?”

“More like I couldn’t handle Suguru trying to explain his ‘philosophical approach’ to sake. What did he say again? ‘Is the sake good because you’re dreaming, or are you dreaming because you’re drinking good sake?’ My brain was melting.”

“Fair point. His monologues can be,” he grinned, “intense.”

You stood beside him now, staring out at the water. He tossed another stone, this one skipping three times before sinking. “Is this what you do when no one’s watching? Brood by the river and play with rocks?”

“First of all, it’s called skipping stones, not playing with rocks. Second, brooding? Me? That’s your job.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re the one standing there like the protagonist of a tragic romance novel, sighing at the stars. Very dramatic.”

You nudged his arm, rolling your eyes.

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

There was a comfortable silence over both of you. The night felt quieter now, the laughter from the group fading into the background. You shifted, suddenly aware of how close you were standing.

“...You okay?” You asked softly.

He turned to you, his usual grin faltering just slightly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. Just feels like there’s something on your mind.”

He held your gaze for a moment, then looked back at the water. “Maybe. But nothing a little stone-skipping and your terrible jokes can’t fix.”

“Terrible?” You grinned. “I’ll have you know I’m the funniest person you love.”

“You’re the only person I love.”

Your smile faded a bit as you looked into his eyes, and he did the same. Suddenly, everything you did was making you feel embarrassed — your breathing, blinking, shaking hands… until he grasped your fingers and put them on his chest.

“Do you feel that?”

Yes.

I feel the love.

You nodded, and he smiled a little. He tipped your chin up to meet your gaze. “How about we ditch the ditching of our super important clan meeting?”

“There’s nothing I wanna do more,” you breathed.

You and Satoru were sneaking back toward the main hall, your laughter still echoing softly as you wiped imaginary dust off his shoulder.

“I can’t believe you slipped on that rock,” you poked your tongue out at him. “All that talk about being graceful—”

“It was one rock, and it was slippery,” he cut you off. “Besides, I saved it. You’re the one who almost fell in the river trying not to laugh.”

“Saved it? You looked like a baby seal trying to ice skate.”

His mock-offended gasp earned another burst of laughter from you. But as you approached the entrance to the meeting hall, your mirth faded. Standing just outside the large carved doors was Satoru’s mother, speaking to a few people. But then she turned around, and her piercing eyes narrowed as they landed on the two of you.

“You two,” she said sharply, and you winced in unison. “How fortunate you both decided to rejoin us.”

“Fortunate?” Satoru was unfazed. “Or just impeccable timing, Mother? You know I always aim to impress.”

“Your absence was noted.” She ignored him completely and turned to look at you. The subtle scrutiny in her eyes made you feel like you’d been caught sneaking sweets from the pantry.

“We just needed some air after all the formalities,” you added hastily.

“Then I trust you’ve had enough of it.”

Without waiting for a reply, Satoru’s mother coolly turned and swept back into the hall. Satoru let out a dramatic sigh. “Well, that was fun.”

Shaking your head, you followed him into the hall. The hum of conversation and clinking glasses immediately engulfed you. The room was grand, the walls lined with banners representing the noble clans in attendance. You recognized faces from the Kamo and Iori clans, along with a handful of others. The two of you slid into unoccupied chairs near the back, just out of your parents’ immediate line of sight.

“Let me guess,” Satoru whispered to you. “Five minutes in here, and you’ll be begging to sneak out again.”

“Ten minutes. I’m trying to behave.”

“You? Behave? That’s new.”

True to his prediction, boredom set in quickly though. The speeches droned on about alliances and tradition, and Satoru began fidgeting. At one point, he caught your eye and mouthed, ‘Let’s go.’

Before you could answer, he grabbed your hand and led you toward the balcony doors. He tugged you through the crowd, weaving around clan leaders and dignitaries with the ease of someone who knew exactly how untouchable they were. You barely managed to stifle a laugh at the old nosy lady he had pushed as he pushed them open and pulled you into the cool night air.

“Satoru — people are watching!”

“Good. They can admire how stunning you look while I steal you away.”

You stood against the railing, the city lights below shimmering like scattered stars, though none of them could light you up like the man in front of you did. Satoru leaned beside you, his elbow brushing against yours.

“Do you ever wonder why they even bother with these meetings? It’s just a bunch of old people pretending they’re still important.”

“Careful,” you smiled. “Those ‘old people’ include your parents.”

“Apologies. Allow me to rephrase: a bunch of old people... and my extraordinarily distinguished parents.”

You laughed softly. “It’s not like you and me here are any better. What is to guarantee that I won’t be bored here?

“Bored? Here, with me? I’m hurt. My company is way more exciting than whatever that was,” he gestured wildly towards the hall. He leaned against the railing, his silver hair catching the moonlight like it was showing itself  off. “And besides, you’re the one who kept looking at me like you wanted to escape. Don’t deny it.”

You crossed your arms, raising a brow. “Oh, I was looking at you? Pretty sure it was the other way around, Gojo.”

His grin widened, his eyes narrowing in mock challenge. “Caught me. Can you blame me, though? You’re kind of hard not to stare at.”

The way he said it — too casual, too confident — made your heart skip a beat. Just like it always would when he was around. Just like always.

“Do you ever get tired of flirting?”

Without missing a beat, he replied, “Do you ever get tired of pretending you don’t like it?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but nothing came out. He tilted his head, watching you with an expression that was both smug and softer than usual. “Speechless? That’s a first. I’ll take it — and your blushing face — as a win. See, you like my balcony adventures!”

You sputtered, trying to deny it, but he only laughed, the sound low and warm in the quiet night.

“Maybe I just like the view.”

“Flirting back now?” said Satoru, and you furrowed your brows at him. “I knew you’d cave eventually.”

“That is not what I meant.”

“Too late now,” he grabbed your hand for a second time that night. “I think I like this better,” he leaned in.

The space between you felt smaller. His voice was quieter as he added, “I meant what I said near the riverside. I always will.”

A hand wrapped around your waist, and you couldn’t care less about the number of people that could walk in on you at this exact moment. You inched closer to him, too shy to ask for what you wanted. But he did so as well, granting you the permission you needed.

You closed your eyes, parting your lips.

A sister.

No, that was a lie.

He loved you.

Your lips brushed against each other’s for half a second before—

“Oh, there you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

You both jumped slightly, and Satoru pulled back, his expression immediately darkening. You turned to see Naoya strolling toward you with his usual smug smile.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” he bowed in front of you, kissing the back of your hand like he owned it. “Care to join me for a dance?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but Satoru stepped forward, his hand still lightly brushing your other one. “Actually, we were in the middle of something—”

“I’m sure it can wait. After all, a Zenin doesn’t ask twice.”

You glanced between them, and with a resigned sigh, you forced a polite smile and stepped toward Naoya, your heart sinking as you felt Satoru’s hand fall away.

“...I’ll be back,” you said to Satoru.

His only response was a tight nod. As Naoya led you back inside, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder. Satoru stood there on the balcony, his hands in his pockets, watching as you disappeared into the crowd.

Naoya led you onto the dance floor with confident strides. “You’re light on your feet. A perfect match for me, wouldn’t you agree?”

You bit back a retort, focusing instead on the music and not the way his hand lingered just a little too long on your waist. You still weren’t sure whether the tingling on your hand was because of Naoya’s little kiss or due to Satoru’s touches earlier. And you didn’t get a chance to ponder on it either.

Naoya twirled you out dramatically, and when he pulled you back in, his lips brushed your knuckles in a gesture too showy to be sincere.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Satoru leaning against a pillar stiffly. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. His jaw was tightened as he watched Naoya spin you across the floor.

“Unbelievable,” you read his lips.

But if he had a problem, he’d say something, you thought. Or was he too much of a coward to do so?

Naoya dipped you — dramatically, of course — and you couldn’t miss the way Satoru’s expression darkened, his knuckles whitening as his hands clenched into fists. Finally, he pushed off the pillar, striding toward the two of you.

“Mind if I take over?” He said smoothly. “The lady looks like she’s had enough of your theatrics.”

“Is that so?” He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t hear her complaining.”

“You didn’t ask,” you said flatly.

Naoya’s smirk faltered just enough to give you a flicker of satisfaction before Satoru stepped between you. “Thanks for warming her up for me, man.”

Without waiting for a response, Satoru took your hand and placed his other hand on your waist, effortlessly guiding you into the next step.

“Jealous much?” You teased him.

“Jealous? Nah. Just couldn’t stand watching him butcher a perfectly good waltz.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. At first, the dance felt awkward. His hand was just a little too tight on your waist, and your steps were slightly out of sync.

“For someone so full of himself, you’re surprisingly bad at this,” you said.

“Excuse me?” He replied, mock-offended. “I’m amazing at this. You’re just distracted by how good I look.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that.”

But as the music slowed, and the crowd dispersed, his teasing grin softened. His hand on your waist relaxed as his thumb brushed against the fabric of your dress.

“You didn’t answer me earlier.”

That caught you off guard. You looked up, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, the noise of the room faded into the background.

“You didn't ask.”

The corners of his mouth lifted, not in his usual cocky smirk, but in something gentler, more genuine.

“Well, then, I will. Do you still… you know?”

“You know what?”

“Love me like you did?”

Your feet stopped.

Did you?

Or more than that, should you?

“Is it bad if I do?”

“No, not bad at all,” he smiled.

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“Why did you? That day. Why?” You asked him softly the one question you had been dying to ask for three whole years.

“I… Fuck. Naoya, him, I couldn’t—” his hands dropped from your waist, and you flinched a little, moving a few feet back, realizing that your question might have messed your moment up. “Angel—”

“Attention, please,” Naoya clinked a glass loudly. “I have an announcement I’d like to make here.”

The hum of conversation in the room died down as all eyes turned toward him. You and Satoru both turned to look at him.

“This is a moment I’ve been looking forward to all of tonight. All my life, I have wanted nothing more than to serve the woman of my dreams, and tonight, I wish to solidify not only the bonds between our families but also the bond I share with this remarkable woman.”

He turned to you, his smile widening as he reached into his pocket. He strutted towards you. Your blood ran cold as he pulled out a velvet box, dropping to one knee in one fluid motion. Naoya opened the box, revealing a glittering ring) “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife, Ms Gojo?”

The room erupted into soft gasps and murmurs of approval, particularly from the Zenin elders. You stood frozen, every pair of eyes in the room drilling into you. All of them, all their stares and expectations felt suffocating.

Your eyes looked at Satoru’s and he seemed like he wanted you to say no. You looked at the elders and they all wanted you to say yes. You looked at your mother, and her eyes were glossy, yet you would take that more than anything else at this moment. Because they didn’t have your answer ready for you in them. They wanted to let you choose. 

“I… I don’t—” you were barely audible. Could everyone just look away from you?

The words stuck in your throat. The weight of Naoya’s proposal, the stares—

“I don’t know.”

The collective murmurs grew louder and confused. For a split second, Naoya’s expression flickered. He looked irritated with your answer. But just as quickly, he smoothed it over, standing and pulling you into a light embrace.

He laughed softly and brushed his lips against your cheek. “She’s overwhelmed. It’s a lot to take in, I understand. These things can’t be rushed, can they?” He turned to the crowd, his tone light and reassuring. “She’s just shy, that’s all. I’ll give her all the time she needs.”

Polite applause broke out, and the pressure in the room became unbearable. Naoya’s hand settled on the small of your back, guiding you toward a quieter corner, and you wanted to wrench it away from your body.

But you couldn’t. Your eyes darted to Satoru. He hadn’t moved. His icy gaze was locked on Naoya, his jaw tense, his entire body screaming for you. And yet, beneath the frustration in his expression, there was something else — something raw and unspoken.

Something you recall seeing in your own eyes.

Three years ago.

You finally cornered Satoru in the training courtyard after quite a while of him dodging your presence for the rest of the night. He was leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, staring at a fountain in the middle of the gardens.

“Satoru.” You stepped closer to him. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

He didn’t even glance at you, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance. “I’ve been busy.”

“That’s a lie and you know it. You’ve been avoiding me like I’m some kind of plague.”

Satoru finally turned to you, and said with a bitter laugh, “What do you want me to say? That everything’s fine? That I’m thrilled about everything that’s happening?”

“You could at least tell me the truth! I don’t understand why you’re acting like this.”

His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You don’t understand? Fine. Do you know how hard it is for me to see you with him?” His voice cracked slightly, the anger giving way to something new. “To know he gets to touch you? To see you smile at him like that?”

You froze, the weight of his words hitting you like a tidal wave. “Satoru…”

But he didn’t let you finish. He took a step back from you. “You didn’t even reject him. You stood there, and you let him—”

He stopped himself, his voice breaking off. He looked away, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“I didn’t know what to do! Everyone was watching, and I—”

“You should’ve said no!” He shouted. The silence that followed was deafening. He stared at you, his chest rising and falling as he tried to rein in his emotions. Then, he whispered quietly, as if about to cry any second. “You should’ve said no.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

The Gojo estate was eerily quiet as you made your way to Satoru’s mother’s quarters. Your heart pounded in your chest. You knocked softly, and her calm voice invited you inside.

Satoru’s mother was seated by a low table, a cup of tea in hand. She looked up, her eyes softening as she took in your disheveled state. “Darling, what’s the matter?”

You sat across from her, your hands trembling as you tried to form the words. You choked a sob. “Did I make a mistake?”

“Mistake?”

“By not saying no to Naoya right away?”

Her expression didn’t waver, but she leaned forward, placing a comforting hand over yours. “You were caught off guard,” she said gently. “Anyone would’ve been overwhelmed in that situation."

Tears welled in your eyes again, and you shook your head. “But now I’ve hurt Satoru. He… he’s so angry with me. I don’t even know how to fix this.”

She sighed softly, her grip on your hand tightening slightly. “Listen to me, dear. Voicing your uncertainty was not a mistake. It’s far better to be honest about your feelings than to make a choice you might regret.”

You wiped at your tears. Her words were comforting, but they were not enough to ease the ache in your chest.

“But what if I choose wrong? What if I lose everything?”

She stood then, moving to sit beside you. She wrapped an arm around your shoulders, holding you, and you took this moment to let it all out. You cried on her shoulder, staining her dress, but she didn’t care. She merely held you and let you cry and scream all you wanted.

“If you choose to marry into the Zenin clan, I won’t stop you. But make sure it’s truly what you want. Not what they want, not what Naoya wants. What you want.” You clung to her, your tears soaking into her sleeve. “As for Satoru…” she smiled faintly. “He’s stubborn, but he’ll come around. He just needs to be reminded that he’s not losing you.”

The school courtyard was quiet that morning. The winter night had forced most of the kids to stay indoors, and the chilly effect of the weather had perhaps drowned out their usual noise. You were lost in thought, replaying the events of the previous evening, when Maki appeared in front of you.

Her stance was confident as always, but her eyes betrayed her. They were rimmed with red, and her face was pale with exhaustion.

“We need to talk.”

“What?”

“I said we need to talk.”

You shrugged and nodded, signalling her to begin speaking.

She took a deep breath in. “Don’t do it. Don’t marry into the Zenin family.” The words came out in a desperate rush.

“Maki, I—”

“You don’t understand. They’ll destroy you. They’ll take everything good about you and crush it until there’s nothing left.”

Her hands were clenched into fists, trembling at her sides. You reached out to touch her arm, but she pulled away.

“I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. The way they treat women, like we’re nothing but tools. They’ll smile to your face and stab you in the back the moment you’re no longer useful.” Her voice cracked, and she stopped, her back to you.

You called her gently. “Maki…”

She turned to face you, tears spilling down her cheeks despite her obvious effort to hold them back. “You’re stronger than me, I know that. But they’ll find a way to break you too. Please… don’t let them.”

The raw emotion in her voice shattered something inside you. You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around her, holding her tightly as she cried into your shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Maki,” you whispered to her. “For everything they’ve done to you."

She clung to you for a moment before pulling back, wiping at her tears furiously. “Just promise me you’ll think about it. Don’t let them win.”

You nodded, your throat too tight to speak. As you watched her walk away, shoulders hunched against the weight of her past, you couldn’t help but wonder what horrors this brave girl had endured — and what kind of future awaited her if she stayed under the Zenin family’s thumb.

──── ୨ৎ ────

“What the hell are they doing here?” you whisper-screamed to your  mother. Your voice was trembling despite your attempt to sound composed.

The last time the Kamo clan had graced the Gojo estate with their presence, it ended disastrously. More than that, he was here — the face of your nightmares, the man who had haunted your memories for over a decade.

You clenched your hands in your lap, nails biting into your palms as you stared down at the tatami mat, praying for this to be over. But no prayer could save you now. Not when you were practically being forced to bow in front of Kamo Daijiro, the man who had shattered your childhood before it had even begun.

Kamo Daijiro grinned wickedly as he took his seat, his wife Lady Akane and his daughter trailing behind like his shadows. His voice was oily and smug as he broke the silence.

“Ah, the Gojo family. Always full of surprises, aren’t we?” He said mockingly. “First, a marriage proposal with my daughter, Alina, rejected outright by your mother. What a waste of time, huh?”

The room seemed to blur around you. His words faded, replaced by the echoes of the past: the cold stone walls of the basement, the suffocating darkness, the metallic clink of chains binding your wrists.

“Stay quiet,” his voice whispered in your memory. You could feel his hand gripping your arm, dragging you down those steps into hell. Your chest tightened. You blinked rapidly, trying to ground yourself, but his next words yanked you back into the present.

“And now, of course, the Zenin proposal with you.” His gaze landed on you sharply his lips twisting into a cruel smirk. “Two rejected proposals. Not every family is lucky enough to fail so spectacularly, hmm?”

Your heart pounded painfully, the edges of your vision going white. The scars on your fingertips throbbed — perhaps from the rough stones you had used to carve evidences of your torture on the walls of the Kamo estate.

“Sell her,” his voice echoed in your mind. “She’ll fetch a good price.”

The memory hit you like a punch to the gut. You were three years old, crying for your mother, and he was laughing. Laughing as strangers examined you like a product, bartering for your life.

Why did you remember the worst moments of your life?

Satoru’s — no, your mother’s voice broke through the haze. “Speak something sensible or leave, Kamo.” Her words were firm, but you could hear the strain in her voice. She was trying to protect you, but she seemed to realize that even she couldn’t erase the ghosts of the past from your mind.

Kamo Daijiro tilted his head, feigning politeness as he bowed slightly. “Ah, but you should be made aware of what you’ve caused, Lady Gojo. Two lives ruined because of a stupid fantasy between your kids.”

“Enough, Daijiro,” said Satoru’s father.

You blinked, startled by the unexpected intervention. Satoru’s father rarely spoke, let alone in defense of his family. Wasn’t he the one hellbent on getting Satoru married just a few years ago? Perhaps his time in isolation in his room made him realize his mistake. 

“Let me remind you that the Gojo family does not bend to the whims of the Kamo Clan. We never have and never will. So whatever you think, we do not care. Yet you cannot stand here under our roof and speak that way about us, Kamo. Leave.”

Daijiro’s smirk faltered,. The confidence in his posture waned for a fraction of a second. But that moment was enough for you to breathe again. Your mother’s hand slipped over yours under the table, grounding you back to reality, your present away from the horrors of your past.

As Daijiro stood to leave, he glanced at you one last time. His eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction.

“You’ll never escape me, little one.”

Beat.

Did he know?

The Kamo family took their leave, but one pair of eyes lingered. Kamo Alina.

She hadn’t said a word throughout her father’s tirade, but now her gaze bore into you, there was something haunted in her expression, something that wasn’t there three years ago when she had tried to charm Satoru out from under your nose.

You didn’t trust it one bit.

You found yourself alone in the garden after the fiasco from earlier. The crisp air nipped at your skin, but it wasn’t enough to shake the phantom memories of The Kamos’ voices echoing in your mind.

A soft rustle behind you made you turn. Alina stood there, her posture hesitant. That was new — gone was the confident, smug girl who used to mock you mercilessly as a child.

“You don’t have the Gojo surname.”

It wasn’t a question. Her tone was quiet, almost confused.

You stiffened, your fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeves. “Why does it matter?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she stepped closer, her hands wringing nervously. “It’s just... strange. You’ve lived with them for so long, haven’t you? And you were even engaged to… you know. Shouldn’t you have their name by now?”

The words cut deeper than you expected. You knew why you didn’t have their name. Why Lady Gojo had never officially adopted you despite raising you like her own. Because your past was a stain that no amount of time could wash away, and your future a fate you wanted to live.

But you didn’t say that. Not to Alina. Not to anyone.

Instead, you crossed your arms, forcing a smirk. “Why do you care? Planning to make fun of me again, like when we were kids?”

Her expression faltered, and for the first time, you saw something genuine in her eyes. Regret. “I…” she paused. “I’m not here to make fun of you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by her tone. It wasn’t what you expected, and that unsettled you more than anything else.

“I just... I don’t understand. Why aren’t you proud to be a Gojo? To have a family like that?”

Because I’m not one of them.

Not yet, anyway, a voice in your head hoped.

But you didn’t say that either. Instead, you looked away, your voice colder than you intended. “You wouldn’t understand.”

She flinched like you had just yelled at her, and her hands dropped to her sides.

Yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that she might understand, more than you gave her credit for. Because for all her faults, she wasn’t Kamo Daijiro. Or Kamo Akane. Or those auctioners. She wasn’t the one who had abandoned you, sold you off, abused you like you were a piece of meat.

And then it hit you. The thought that had been nagging at the back of your mind ever since you saw her face.

Kamo Akane’s daughter. That was who Alina was. Which made her...

Your half-sister.

The realization made your stomach drop. Your eyes widened at nothing in particular, and your fingers began shaking.

Sister?

All this time, you never gave a thought about it. But it was so obvious, so clear.

Your blood.

The Kamo blood.

You gulped. No, never. Never the Kamo blood. You didn’t want to be associated with the Kamo clan, not in any way.

“I guess you won’t tell me, will you?” Her voice broke the silence, and you glanced back at her. There was no malice in her expression, no smugness, just confusion.

“No. I won’t,” you responded firmly.

She nodded slowly, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Maybe I deserve that.”

She turned to leave, and for a moment, you almost stopped her.

Almost.

The Gojo estate was unusually quiet that week since the chaos of the Kamo family’s visit was finally behind you. Yet, you couldn’t sleep at all at night. So you did what you always do. You wandered the halls aimlessly, walking from door to door in search of sleep.

You paused outside the study, hearing low voices.

“...I know I failed you, Satoru.”

Your breath caught. That was Satoru’s father.

“I was so focused on the family, on tradition,” his father continued with regret. “I thought I was protecting you, ensuring our legacy would thrive. But all I did was push you toward a life you didn’t want. A life you didn’t deserve.”

Satoru’s response was softer than usual. “You didn’t just push me — you forced my hand. That engagement with Alina... I didn’t even have a say.”

There was a heavy silence.

“I know,” his father finally admitted. “And when your mother stood there and defied me... I hated myself for it. Because deep down, I knew she was right.”

You inched closer to the door. You know you shouldn’t be eavesdropping on this intimate conversation between a father and a son, but you knew you would have stayed awake for a couple more hours if you didn’t hear this completely.

His father sighed with a sound that was weary and old. “I wanted to say this to you for a long time. I’m proud of you, Satoru. Not because of what you are, but because of who you are. Strong, stubborn, and a lot like your mother.”

There was a soft chuckle from Satoru, tinged with disbelief. “Like mother? That’s a first.”

His father continued. “I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness. But I want you to know, I’ll never stand in your way again. Whatever you choose for yourself, for your future... I’ll support it.”

You could hear the emotion in Satoru’s voice, even as he tried to hide it. “That’s all I ever wanted, Dad.”

Another pause, this one heavy with unspoken words.

“I’m sorry it took me this long to figure it out,” his father admitted.

There was the faint sound of movement, and you imagined Satoru standing. “Thanks, old man.”

You pushed open the door to Satoru’s room a few minutes later. You didn’t expect him to be present there, obviously. He might still be with his father, and you didn’t wish to eavesdrop on their conversation anymore.

Satoru’s room was empty, eerily quiet. His desk was tidy, his bed neatly made. Everything was in its place, except him. You sighed, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

For days, the memory of his half-finished confession had haunted you. The way he’d almost spoken, almost revealed just why he had told you those harsh words all those years ago. Almost. Before Naoya cut him off, of course. Why did he do that? Why did he say that? Why had he pushed you away? You clenched your fists, planning to stay there and wait all night if you had to, just to get the answers of those questions that had haunted you all this time.

The sound of the door creaking open jolted you from your thoughts. Relief flooded you, only to freeze when you realized it wasn’t Satoru standing there.

“Who are you?” You immediately asked.

It was a young woman. She was dressed as if she was a servant of the Gojo clan, but you didn’t recognize her.

“I–It’s me, Princess!”

“Tomoko?” you asked, frowning at the maid’s pale, trembling figure. “From the Kamo clan?” Your eyes widened in realization. “What are you doing here?”

“I... I need to tell you something, Princess,” she stammered. Her eyes darted nervously around the room. Her fingers fidgeted with each other. She couldn’t even look you in the eye. What was she hiding? Why was she here anyway? Something was wrong — terribly wrong.

“What is it?” you asked cautiously, standing up.

Tomoko wrung her hands, tears brimming in her eyes. “I... I poisoned Gojo-sama,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Your father, your highness.”

“What?” The word burst from you like a gunshot. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Tomoko flinched, but she continued, her voice shaking. “I didn’t want to do it. I swear on your greatness, Princess! But I was ordered to — by my clan… The Kamo clan.”

The Kamo clan?

Of course, it’s them.

It’s always them.

Your knees felt weak, and you stumbled, grabbing the bedpost for support. “What poison? How long — how long does he have?”

“It’s a rare poison,” Tomoko said, her voice cracking. “They got it from somewhere and had me— had me seal it in his wine. There is no cure. He has days left. A week, at most, Princess.”

The room spun, and anger surged through you. “You poisoned him, and you’re only telling me now?”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Tomoko wailed, falling to her knees. “They threatened my family. And— and me too! If I didn’t do it, they said they’d kill us. I— I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Your voice rose, trembling with fury. “Oh, you’re sorry? And what the fuck do you expect me to say?” She gasped at your choice of words. “You expect me to forgive you for poisoning someone? For poisoning my fucking father?”

“I didn’t know what else to do!” she sobbed, her hands clutching at her chest. “Please, I can’t live with this guilt.”

You stared at her, your hands shaking, your mind racing. Satoru’s father, the man who had finally begun to reconcile with his son, finally, finally begun to relive and make up for all the wasted time, was dying.

And the Kamo clan was behind it.

They had already torn your life apart when you were a child. And now they were doing it again.

Why couldn’t they just leave you alone?

“Get out,” you said, your voice low trembling with barely contained rage.

Tomoko looked up at you, startled. “But—”

“Get out,” you repeated, louder this time. “And don’t ever show your face here again.”

“Please, I—”

“Leave!” you screamed, your voice breaking. “You will only get killed here — by my soldiers or by my hands!”

Tomoko scrambled to her feet, stumbling toward the door. She hesitated for a moment, as if she wanted to say something else, but the fury in your eyes made her think better of it. She fled the room. The door slammed shut behind her.

For a moment, you just stood there, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. Then, slowly, you sank onto the bed, burying your face in your hands. Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not yet. Not until you figured out what to do.

Because another piece of your newfound life was tearing, and no amount of rage or despair could change that.

──── ୨ৎ ────

Ever since that night, you had been hoping, praying even, that whatever Tomoko had said that day was false. That your father was perfectly healthy, and he’d live a long life. But Satoru noticed how his father would stumble on his steps at times. Your mother noticed her husband’s loss of appetite. And overtime, as this worsened, you couldn’t deny it anymore.

Your father was dying.

And that was going to break you.

You hadn’t spoken a word about it to anyone. You should, you knew that. But how? Mother was always too busy fussing over him. Satoru had been avoiding you since that night with Naoya. How were you supposed to say a word?

The hallway outside Satoru’s parents’ room was dimly lit. They had begun sharing rooms again, and you wanted to be happy for them. But this would only go on for about five days longer, you thought ominously. You stood awkwardly near the door, waiting for your mother to emerge. Inside, you could hear her fussing over her husband tenderly.

“Stay in bed, please. The tea is still warm — I’ll bring it to you.” “I’m fine, love,” he replied weakly. “You’re the one who needs rest.”

There was a muffled sound of her setting something on a table, and then footsteps. she opened the door, stepping out into the hallway. She startled slightly at the sight of you, but her face quickly softened when she realized it was you.

“Are you waiting for Satoru? He’s not back yet,” she said, smoothing her sleeves. “No, I—” Your throat felt tight, and you took a moment to gather your courage. “Mother, I need to tell you something.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly in concern, and she gestured for you to follow her into the small sitting room across the hall. She sat gracefully, folding her hands in her lap. You tumbled into your seat, taking a deep breath.

“It’s about Father,” you begin hesitantly.

“What about him?”

“I… I know what happened to him,” you said cryptically. She raised an eyebrow at you, gesturing for you to continue. “One of the Kamo maids, Tomoko… She stayed back after the leaders had left and disguised herself as one of ours. And she told me. That she had poiso—”

“Enough,” she held up a hand to stop you, and you flinched. For a moment, her expression didn’t change. Then she closed her eyes and let out a long, quiet sigh. “I know,” she said softly.

The admission took you aback. “You... you know?”

She nodded, her fingers tightening briefly around the fabric of her kimono. “He told me as soon as he realized. In the past two days, we’ve consulted every healer, every remedy. There’s nothing… nothing that can be done now.” Her voice trembled just slightly, and she pressed her lips together to steady herself.

“Mother,” you whisper.

She waved a hand dismissively, but her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I should apologize to you for allowing the Kamo clan to enter our lives. I couldn’t protect my family as I should have. I’m a terrible mother.”

You shook your head vehemently. “You’re the best. The best mother and the best leader. And everything else you are.”

“Thank you, darling.” You could see the strain in the smile she gave you, and she looked older in the candlelight.

“But what do we do now?”

Lady Gojo exhaled, leaning back slightly. “Now, my only concern is making his last days as peaceful as possible. If Satoru were to find out...” Her voice broke for a moment, and she looked away as if to compose herself. “It would destroy him,” she continued. “He’s been through too much already. I won’t let this pain touch him — not yet.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat at her last words. “What can I do?”

She smiled faintly, though it didn't reach her eyes. “Just be there for him. When the time comes, he’ll need you more than ever.”

You were pacing outside the garden. Every step crunched against the gravel path. Your thoughts were swirling with your mother’s confession, and her desire to keep it a secret from Satoru. But the last time you had kept something a secret from him, it had resulted in the loss of three years from your life. You couldn’t let that happen again.

But could you disobey your mother? So you had been doing the best thing you could possibly do in that situation — avoiding Satoru all day. But apparently, that wasn’t enough.

“Hey,” his voice startled you as he appeared seemingly out of nowhere. “What’s going on with you?”

You whirled around, clutching your chest. “W-What do you mean?”

He squinted at you, crossing his arms. “This!” He said, as if that explained everything. “You’ve been acting weird. Stuttering, avoiding eye contact, mumbling when you talk to me. That’s not like you at all.”

You forced out a laugh, waving your hand dismissively. “Oh, come on. You’re imagining things.”

Satoru took a step closer. “Don’t lie to me.”

You panicked and shouted. “I’m not lying!”

He narrowed his eyes in frustration. “You can’t even say that without stuttering.” Then he sighed. “Alright, tell me. What’s going on?”

“If you think of me as your sister were all the moments we spent together false or am I overthinking?” You blurted out.

Satoru froze, caught off guard. For a moment, the only sound between the two of you was the rustling of leaves in the evening breeze.

“What?”

“Three years ago,” you pressed, your voice trembling slightly. “At the Kamo meeting. You called me your sister after they had brought up—”

“I know what I said,” he cut you off, his jaw tightening. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“Then… why?” you whispered, stepping closer. “Why would you say that? Why would you—”

“Naoya,” he spat venomously.

You blinked, utterly confused. “Naoya?”

He let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “That bastard. He...” Satoru trailed off, his expression darkening.

“What about Naoya?”

Satoru hesitated, as if weighing whether or not to tell you. Finally, he exhaled sharply. “He said... things. About you. About what he’d… do to you if we, you know, got closer to each other. And I couldn’t let that happen. He was older, definitely experienced and all of that. I didn’t feel like the strongest anymore when I saw him say that.”

Your breath caught, and a cold chill ran down your spine. “Satoru. When did this happen? What did he say to you?”

“Don’t make me say it,” he snapped, but his anger seemed to be directed more towards Naoya than at you. “It happened right around the time you got detention, I still remember. He had told me he didn’t like how we were with each other. And how I was nothing, pathetic. How I could never protect you from… from him. And he had struck a deal with me that day — that he would stop it all if I was able to convince everyone that we couldn’t... that we didn’t...”

“That we didn’t what?” you whispered.

Satoru met your gaze with guilt. “That we didn’t belong together. That you were like a sister to me.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. But he continued.

“And then that day I had found out we were engaged. I was so happy, but also devastated. If that guy didn’t like us then, how would he like it if we got married? So I tried to stop it. Tried to break your heart. Like a coward. Like a fool.”

“Stop it!” You staggered back. “You’re not a coward!”

“Yes I am,” he shook his head. “You don’t understand. I got scared. He was older than me. He knew more. What if he whipped out some charm I didn’t recognize and killed you or something? I’d never be able to forgive myself. Not that I can now either.”

“Satoru—”

“I didn’t deserve the tears you spent on me that time. I didn’t deserve to see you break down. All those times your eyes would brim, my heart would claw at me to stop itself.”

“You don’t mean—” Your eyes widened, and he merely nodded, not looking at you at all.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he said quietly, his shoulders slumping. “But it doesn’t matter now. None of it matters now.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

Satoru’s father’s funeral was held on a chilly afternoon. The air was thick with unspoken grief. The Gojo estate, usually buzzing with life, was eerily quiet. Even the wind seemed reluctant to disturb the solemn atmosphere. The bare branches of trees trembled like fragile fingers.

A sea of black-clad mourners gathered, their heads bowed in respect, but it all felt hollow to you. Each condolence, every whispered prayer, was a reminder of the man who was no longer here, and you couldn’t shake the gnawing guilt in your chest.

You stood off to the side, your hands clasped tightly in front of you, staring at the pristine white casket adorned with lilies. The sight blurred as tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them away, unwilling to cry in front of so many people. Your grief felt undeserved, selfish even, given the weight of your secret.

You had known about the poison. You knew about the slow and inevitable death of Satoru’s father. You knew, yet you had done nothing, just let it all happen. Could you have stopped it? Could you have saved him? The questions circled in your mind like vultures.

Satoru stood at the front, his back straight. His face seemed like it had been carved from stone. The usual spark in his eyes was gone. It was replaced by a cold emptiness that made your stomach churn. He hadn’t cried, not even once, as far as you knew. You wished he would. You wished that he would let himself grieve, scream, do anything to release the agony he must be feeling. But he was silent, like a statue among the living, and it broke your heart.

The ceremony dragged on. Each passing moment felt heavier than the last. When it finally ended, the crowd began to disperse, murmuring their condolences to Satoru’s mother, who stood like a ghost beside her son. You watched her, too, feeling a pang of sadness at how frail she seemed. 

You wanted to approach Satoru, to say something, anything. But your feet felt rooted to the ground. What could you possibly say that wouldn’t sound as numb as you were feeling? The guilt in your chest tightened its grip, and you turned away, unable to face him.

Back at the estate, the house felt colder than ever. Dinner was a silent affair, just as it had been a few months ago. Because just as the lively chatter had begun to replace the clinking of utensils and the occasional sniffle, it had been snatched away from you.

Satoru’s mother tried to maintain some semblance of normalcy, asking if anyone needed seconds or more tea, but her voice was brittle, and no one answered her with more than a shake of their head. You couldn’t bring yourself to eat, pushing the food around on your plate as you stole glances at Satoru.

He sat across from you, staring blankly at his untouched meal. The shadows under his eyes were darker than ever, and his usually flawless posture was slightly slouched. It was as if the weight of his father’s death had physically pressed down on him. You wanted to reach out, to say something, but the words died in your throat. Instead, you watched in silence as he eventually stood, his chair scraping against the floor, and left the room without a word.

You couldn’t sleep that night. The house was too quiet, the kind of quiet that made every creak of the floorboards and every whisper of the wind feel deafening. You found yourself wandering the halls, your feet carrying you to the room that had once belonged to Satoru’s father. It was untouched, as if he might walk back in at any moment. The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air, and it made your chest ache.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into the emptiness, tears streaming down your face. “I’m so, so sorry.”

The days following the funeral were no easier. The once lively Gojo household felt like a mausoleum. Meals were eaten in near silence, and the air was heavy with unspoken grief. You found yourself avoiding Satoru more and more, not because you didn’t want to comfort him, but because you didn’t know how.

One evening, you found yourself in the library, hoping to distract yourself with a book. But the words on the page blurred together, and you couldn’t focus. The guilt was a constant, gnawing presence, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake it. The image of Satoru’s father lying in his coffin haunted you, and you couldn’t help but wonder if things would have been different if you had acted sooner.

“What are you doing in here?”

You jumped, the book slipping from your hands as you turned to see Satoru standing in the doorway. His hair was slightly disheveled, and his expression was unreadable. You quickly wiped at your eyes, hoping he hadn’t noticed the tears.

“I just needed some quiet,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He walked into the room, his footsteps soft against the carpet. He picked up the book you had dropped, glancing at the cover before handing it back to you. “Mother’s calling you,” he said, his tone carefully neutral.

“For?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

“Dinner,” he said bluntly. “You haven’t been eating at all.”

You nodded, and he stood up and left without saying another word.

Dinner that night was a solemn affair. The dining room was heavy with silence, broken only by the occasional clinking of chopsticks against plates. Satoru’s face was blank, his appetite long gone. His mother sat at the head of the table. Her posture was perfectly composed. You sat beside her, feeling like an interloper in this world of quiet mourning. A seat was left empty, for whom, you didn’t have to guess.

The ache in your chest was unbearable, but guilt magnified it tenfold. You had been the one to discover the truth, the one who knew about the poison before anyone else. And yet, you had done nothing.

A soft knock on the door broke the oppressive quiet. One of the maids entered, bowing deeply as she held out a folded piece of paper. “Lady Gojo—” she glanced at her, unsure of how to approach her in her desensitized state — “we found this while cleaning the late master’s study. It’s addressed to you, Princess,” she bowed to you.

The maid extended the letter to you, and you accepted it hesitantly. Your heart immediately sank at the sight of your name scrawled in bold, deliberate handwriting. Satoru’s mother nodded at the maid to dismiss her, then at you.

“Read it,” she said softly. “Whatever he’s written, it’s meant for you to hear.”

You unfolded the paper carefully, your hands shaking as you smoothed it out. The opening lines confirmed your suspicion.

“To my dearest child,

If you are reading this, then it means I am no longer among the living. There are matters I could not speak of while alive, and so I leave them here, trusting you to read with an open heart.”

Your voice wavered as you read aloud. Satoru and his mother both watched you intently. 

“In my absence, I leave behind all that I have built, not as burdens, but as tools for you to continue shaping our legacy.

To my wife, the pillar of my strength, I entrust our estate and all its affairs. She has always been my compass, and I know she will guide our family with the same wisdom and grace she has always shown. To my son, Satoru, I leave my knowledge, my pride, and my unwavering belief in your potential. He is destined for greatness, and though I may not be there to see it, I know he will honor the Gojo name with dignity and strength. So I shall also leave our ancestral blade, a symbol of our family’s strength and honor, along with the records of our techniques and histories.”

To you, my dear daughter, I bequeath the east wing of the estate, yours to claim as a sanctuary and a symbol of your place among us. Furthermore, I leave a yearly stipend from the family’s accounts, ensuring you will always have the means to build a life of stability and comfort.”

But then your voice caught, the words ahead freezing in your throat.

The second paragraph shifted abruptly, no longer a formal testament but a recounting of events that made your blood run cold.

“The past few years I had spent alone were ones spent to find the roots of your journey home, here. I know the pain you carry, and the secrets you keep. I know how you came into this world. Kamo Akane, your mother—”

You stopped reading it aloud, and instead your eyes began darting back and forth the lines as you read it in your head.

Kamo Akane, your mother, made the impossible choice to keep you despite everything she endured. She bore you with strength, but her circumstances were cruel. Kamo Daijiro never accepted you, and he made sure she couldn’t either. When you were only three years old, they both agreed to sell you to the traders of Mizuho.

Your breath hitched. The paper in your hands crinkled as your grip tightened. You couldn’t read further. The memories you had buried deep threatened to overwhelm you. The cold basement. The chains. The voices. The pain.

“What is it?” Satoru asked with concern. “Why did you stop?”

You shook your head, unable to meet his gaze. “It’s nothing.”

“That’s a lie,” he said flatly.

You tried to fold the letter, to hide it away, but your trembling hands betrayed you. Satoru reached out, his fingers brushing against yours as he snatched the paper. “If you won’t read it, I will.”

“No!” you protested, but it was too late. His eyes scanned the words quickly, his expression darkening with each passing second. He reached the part about the traders, and his jaw clenched. His hands shook, but he didn’t stop until he reached the final lines.

I knew about the poison. I knew what the Kamo clan had done to me. But this is not a burden you should carry. You have suffered enough, and I do not want you to feel guilt for something beyond your control.

And Satoru.

Satoru’s eyes flicked to you briefly before continuing.

I know you’re reading this as well. You won’t listen even if I told you this letter is meant for her alone. Satoru, please do not fight.

But the word “fight” was blotched with ink. A tear had smudged the letters. Satoru’s hand hovered over the page, and you realized with a sinking heart that the tear was his own.

He folded the letter carefully, setting it down on the table. His movements were unnaturally calm, but you knew better. The storm was brewing.

“Satoru,” you said hesitantly. “Please don’t—”

He stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Mother.” His voice was tight, barely restrained. “May I have your permission?”

“Satoru!”

Satoru’s mother regarded him for a long moment. Her gaze flicked to you, then back to her son. Finally, she nodded. “Do what you must. But remember, no harm is to come to the Gojo clan’s reputation.”

He bowed deeply, his fists clenched at his sides. “Thank you.”

“What?” You stood, panic rising. “You can’t just let him go! This isn’t—”

Satoru’s mother silenced you with a look. “He deserves his revenge.”

You stared at her, incredulous. “Revenge won’t bring him back! It won’t fix anything!”

Satoru didn’t wait to hear more. He left the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall. You called after him, your voice breaking, but he didn’t look back. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving you and his mother alone in suffocating silence.

“How can you…?” you began, your voice trembling with anger and disbelief. “How can you let him do this?”

Her expression softened, but her resolve remained. “Because I know my son. And I know he won’t find peace until he has faced this head-on.”

You sank back into your chair, your hands clutching at your chest as though to hold your breaking heart together. The letter lay between you and Lady Gojo, as if to remind you of everything you had both lost and everything that was yet to come.

──── ୨ৎ ────

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[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 The Girl Next Door.

Spencer Reid x Neighbor!reader

series masterlist

Summary: If Spencer thought being secretly in love with you was hard, having to avoid you in the hallway was even worse.

Words: 4,8k.

Warnings & Tags: this is part of a series, check the masterlist to make sure you are in the correct chapter. mention of jail. painter!reader. post prison reid. spencer’s pov. lack of communication. the reader has a cat. angst, so much angst. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I struggled a lot writing this because it's a roller coaster, so sorry in advance.

“How long? It's not a problem to take care of everything, but I'd like to know if you'll be okay or—” Your voice almost cracked for a moment, your eyes still trying to adjust to the sunlight streaming in through the bedroom window. Spencer's sheets were still wrapped around your body, and you felt so connected to them that the thought of getting up while still watching him toss and turn looking for his shoes was too much.

“I don't think more than a day or two, I'll be fine.” He stopped his chaotic steps for a second and stared at you as if to make a promise. He paused, glancing away as if to compose himself before adding, “I have some work in Mexico. It came up last minute, or I’d have told you earlier.” His voice faltered, almost imperceptibly, and the words sounded rehearsed, like he was repeating something he’d practiced.

You frowned slightly, confusion flickering across your face. “Work in Mexico?” you echoed. “Since when do they send you out of the country for cases?”

“It’s not that kind of work,” he said quickly, his tone just a little too smooth, a little too practiced. “It’s…consulting. A conference on forensic advancements, some behavioral workshops—things like that.” He kept his gaze on the floor as he spoke, as if afraid to meet your eyes. “I won’t be gone long.”

You didn’t question him further. Why would you? Spencer wasn’t the type to lie, and the way his brows knit together, the way his voice softened with the promise, “I’ll be back soon,” made you believe him. But something about the way he shifted his weight, the way he avoided looking directly at you, left a faint unease in your chest.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t have dinner with you yesterday. And breakfast now. I’ll make it up to you when I get back,” he added, his words tumbling out in a rush, as if trying to fill the silence.

You tightened the sheets around yourself, curling into their warmth, feeling the lingering heat from the side of the bed where he had been only moments before. It felt like he had never really left, the space around you still filled with the faint echo of his presence. Watching him now, his movements a little frantic, his gaze flickering toward the clock every so often, made you feel like he was slipping away too quickly. A part of you, small and selfish, wanted to ask him to stay. To sit back down, to let the world and his trip wait just a little longer.

But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you whispered, barely above a breath, as if afraid to disturb the fragile moment, “Promise?”

Spencer’s gaze softened even further, a tenderness washing over his features as he moved closer to you. His lips curled into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite touch his eyes but was filled with something that made your chest tighten. “Promise,” he replied, his voice firm but gentle, as though sealing a pact between the two of you. He leaned down, his warm breath brushing your forehead before his lips followed, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your skin. The kiss was tender, quiet, and almost reluctant, as though he didn’t want to pull away from this moment either. For a moment, his forehead rested against yours, the space between you vanishing entirely. It felt like the world had narrowed to just this—just the two of you—and all the invisible lines you had drawn between friendship and something more blurred into nothing.

But before you could do something stupid, he pulled back, with his eyes lingering on you, still filled with a softness that made your heart flutter. “Have you seen my shoe?” he asked, his voice playful yet tinged with the usual frustration of his misplaced belongings.

You let out a small laugh, still wrapped in the sheets, the warmth from them mingling with the warmth of the moment. “Oh, you’re a mess, little boy,” you teased, your voice light and affectionate, the fondness for him slipping out in every word.

“Mittens take it again?” Spencer asked, his eyes glinting with playful exasperation. He had grown accustomed to your cat’s antics, and he could hardly be surprised at this point.

You nodded, grinning as you pointed to the underside of the bed. “Ding ding, genius,” you replied, your voice light and teasing as his gaze followed your finger. Sure enough, there it was, tucked under the bed—another casualty of your mischievous cat’s nightly adventures.

He grumbled good-naturedly, but a soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips, as if the chaos of the morning didn't matter when you were here with him and everything felt so domestic. As he bent down to pick up his shoe, you couldn't help but watch, your heart swelling at the sight of the man you were so in love with, even in his messiest moments. There was something about him—something in that moment—that made him feel so good, as if everything else could wait and the obvious fact that he didn't feel the same way about you didn't matter. Anyone outside the room generally didn't matter. For now, it was just the two of you, tangled in sheets and laughter, clinging to a piece of time that was all yours and would be the only thing you'd have left when he was gone.

“She loves you, that’s why she does it…I guess she wants your attention,” you said, your voice trailing off, and the taste of the words felt sour in your mouth. It sounded too much like you were talking about yourself rather than your pet, and the realization hit you like a cold wave. It made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t explain, and you immediately wished you could take the words back. But you didn’t.

He glanced at you, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. “I read something about that,” he said, his voice light, but you could tell he didn’t entirely understand the weight behind your words. It didn’t matter. You were used to it by now.

“You read about everything.” You gave him a small, rueful smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes, the bitterness of the moment creeping into your voice. You were fine with it, you told yourself. Fine with everything.

He glanced at the clock, a quiet sigh escaping him. “I have to go…it’s late,” he said, and you could hear the quiet resignation in his voice. The moment, it seemed, had reached its inevitable end.

“Okay.” The word slipped out of your mouth more dryly than you intended, and you hated the way it sounded. You didn’t want him to leave. You didn’t want the moment to end. But it was already slipping away, and you knew it. “But before you go…come here.”

He hesitated, looking at you with uncertainty in his eyes. But then, slowly, he took a step toward you, his face softening when you reached out to touch his cheek. The moment your fingers brushed against his skin, he shivered, and your heart skipped a beat at the contact.

“Is…is something wrong?” he asked, his voice softer now, as if sensing the shift between you.

“No, I just want to say goodbye properly.” You shifted closer, your heart hammering as you moved toward him, your lips hovering near his. The temptation to close the distance, to kiss him, burned inside you. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

“Take care and come back,” you whispered, the words carrying more weight than you meant. You kissed his forehead gently, your fingers instinctively smoothing his hair down as you did. “Now it’s like you have my blessing,” you added with a faint smile.

He smiled at you, the warmth in his expression a bittersweet thing that made your heart ache. “Thank you, and good luck tomorrow with my godchildren’s.” His voice was soft, but the moment was already passing, slipping away, and with it, the space between you both. He gathered his things, gave you one last lingering look, and then turned toward the door.

You stood there, watching him go, the weight of what you didn’t say crashing down on you. The door clicked shut behind him, and you felt a hollow ache in your chest, a longing you couldn’t quite name.

God, you really wanted kissed him.

God, he really wanted you kissed him.

When Spencer opened his eyes for the first time in a cell and felt a sickening jolt of disorientation. The dirty walls and a rickety bench stared back at him, mocking the comforting image of his organized room and, more painfully, the thought of you. The absence of your laughter, your touch, your presence—everything that had once grounded him—hit him like a freight train. He knew something was wrong.

As the days blurred together and the evidence piled against him, he clung to the belief that this nightmare wasn’t real. Every hearing, every damning piece of evidence that chipped away at his freedom, felt surreal. Even when the judge handed down his sentence, condemning him to months behind bars, the finality of it didn’t register. What shattered him was the moment he filled out his visitation schedule and consciously omitted your name. He hadn’t wanted you to see him like that. He didn’t ask anyone to explain, didn’t try to soften the blow of his absence. That, he thought, was the point of no return—the moment he lost everything.

But Spencer was so wrong. The true breaking point came when he walked out of that hellhole, finally free, and climbed the stairs to his apartment. Each step was a physical ache, the pain in his chest sharper and heavier with every step. His hands trembled as he reached for his keys, the jangling sound unnervingly loud in the empty hallway. His gaze fell on your door, just a few steps away. The familiar sight sent his stomach into knots.

For the first time, he wished you wouldn’t be there.

The thought was alien, unnatural. You had always been there, and he had always wanted you there. When he was too drained to cook, you’d suggest their usual coffee spot, your smile lighting up the grayest of mornings. When his back ached from long nights bent over case files, you’d massage his shoulders, insisting scented candles could fix his bad posture and his bad days. When his mother’s health took a downturn, and he felt his world crumbling, you’d hold him, stroke his back, and promise that everything would be okay. And when his social battery was drained at reunions, you’d step in with your bad jokes or your art facts, making the world feel manageable again.

Now, standing in front of his own door, his fingers clumsy with the lock, all he could hope for was silence. He didn’t know how to face you, didn’t know if he could explain the broken pieces of himself.

His door creaked open, and he was greeted by the familiar scent of the home he had only dreamed of for the last while. It was overwhelming: clean clothes, slightly sweet candles, and something undeniably yours. The apartment was exactly as he remembered it, as if time had stopped the moment he left three months ago and never returned until now. His heart shrank as he took it all in: the blanket you insisted on leaving on the couch, the pile of books you always meant to return to his library but never did, his fish swimming around as if nothing had happened, and even the plants by the window, thriving despite his absence because you had surely watered them without fail.

And then there were the little details, things that told him that you had not moved away from this place, from him. The plate you always left for his cup of coffee, the one you gave him last Christmas, was still on the counter. His favorite cardigan, the one he thought he had misplaced, was folded neatly on the back of the chair and smelled of the baby softener you liked to use. His books were exactly where he had left them, although one of them had a bookmark you had made, a telltale sign that he had read it and was waiting for him to come back to comment on it, as you always did.

But he hadn’t returned.

Not then. And maybe not now at all.

Suddenly, the phone in his pocket rang, its shrill tone slicing through the heavy silence like a sharp reminder of reality. The vibration against his skin startled him, his body tensing as he pulled the device out. His gaze flickered down to the screen, and the name that appeared caused a knot to form in his stomach: JJ. His thumb hovered over the screen, his mind racing, unsure if he was ready for the conversation he knew would follow. But deep down, he knew there was no avoiding her. Jennifer wouldn’t let him slip away unnoticed, and if he didn’t answer, she might show up at his door, demanding answers he wasn’t sure he had.

With a resigned sigh, he swiped the screen and lifted the phone to his ear. “Is everything okay?”

The concern in his own voice surprised him. Maybe it was instinct, or maybe he was just desperate to shift the focus away from himself.

“Everything’s fine,” JJ replied, her voice steady but laced with something deeper. “I just wanted to check in. You’ve been…quiet.”

He exhaled slowly, staring out the window, the city lights stretching before him and the memories cutting deep. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low. “Just trying to catch up on things. All good here.”

“Okay,” she said softly, and there was a pause—a hesitation that made his pulse quicken. He could almost hear her thinking, weighing her next words. Then she cleared her throat, the sound small but deliberate. “Have you seen…her?”

The question hit him like a physical blow, stealing the air from his lungs. He turned away from the window abruptly, pacing the length of the apartment as if motion could somehow ease the tension coiling tighter and tighter in his chest. “No,” he said quickly, too quickly. His jaw clenched, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I don’t know if I want to.”

The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, and he wasn’t sure if he believed it himself. How could he say that when every thought of you still made his heart ache? When the idea of you haunted him, so vivid and constant it felt like you were in every shadow of his empty apartment?

Jennifer’s sigh crackled over the line, heavy and filled with the weight of unspoken truths. “She’s been asking about you,” she said softly, her voice tinged with that unshakable sadness she tried so hard to hide. “Every time I see her. I think…” She hesitated again, and Spencer could hear her swallow hard, choosing her next words carefully. “I think you owe her an explanation.”

He swallowed saliva and tightened his fingers around the phone. JJ was right, of course. She always had been. But the idea of facing you, of trying to explain everything without drowning in tears, seemed impossible. How could he tell you the truth? How could he look you in the eye and admit that he had spent the last three months in jail, paying for a crime he had not committed? That he had done things that he deeply regretted, that made him sick and a horrible person?

You deserved better. You always had.

You were a blessing to anyone who had you around, and he knew that better than anyone. That's why he recommended you as a babysitter for JJ's kids, that's why he insisted that you come out to the bar with him and the team several times, that's why he told his mother about you, and that's why he gave you unlimited access to every single part of his life and told you things he'd never told anyone else. You were the one he thought of during those long, sleepless nights behind bars when JJ brought drawings from her boys. He imagined you there with them, sitting cross-legged on the floor, helping Henry with his homework or letting Michael pile blocks on your lap. It was silly—heartbreaking, even—but the thought of you, of your warmth and your kindness, had kept him going.

“I have to go…clean some things,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, so desperate to run away from the topic.

“Okay,” JJ replied softly, her voice tinged with sadness. “Tell me if you need anything.”

Before Spencer could find the strength to speak, the line fell silent. The hum of the apartment filled the space around him, oppressive in its quiet, and he stood there, phone still clenched in his hand. The weight of it, the weight of everything, settled deeper into his chest, making it hard to breathe. He stared at the counter as if it could offer him some sort of escape from the quiet agony that had overtaken him. With a long exhale, he dropped the phone, his fingers lingering on it for a second longer than necessary, before pulling away with a heavy sense of finality.

Just as he was about to move, his mind already drowning in the whirlpool of thoughts he was so desperate to escape, a soft, muted thud broke the oppressive stillness of the apartment. The noise was faint, almost imperceptible, but in the suffocating quiet, it reverberated like a crack of thunder. His breath caught, his heart skipping a beat as his body went rigid. Slowly, he turned his head toward the source of the sound, his eyes locking onto the open balcony door.

A sleek black shape emerged from the shadows, moving with a practiced elegance that seemed almost ethereal in the dim light. Mittens.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice breaking on the single syllable, hoarse and unsteady as if even addressing his might shatter the fragile thread of control he was clinging to.

The cat paused for a moment, her head tilting slightly as if considering him, her eyes gleaming in the dim light. Then, without a second thought, she padded over, her steps confident and unhurried, the soft click of her claws against the floor the only sound in the room. She jumped lightly onto the couch, then onto the small table beside him, her movements fluid and practiced. As she reached him, Mittens sniffed his hand delicately, then nuzzled it gently, her warm, soft fur brushing against his fingertips. The familiar rumble of her purring filled the air, a soothing, almost hypnotic sound that cut through the tension and wrapped around him like a blanket.

Spencer let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet of the apartment. He hesitated, his fingers brushing the soft fur of her head, unable to stop himself from reaching out.

Mittens leaned into his touch, her purr intensifying as her little body pressed against his hand, seeking warmth, some affection. She didn't care about the months she hadn't seen him or just heard his name spoken a thousand times by you. To her, he was still Spencer, the same one who had fed her, played with her, and cared for her whenever he could. That was enough. She was very happy.

“You still remember me,” he murmured, a faint, fragile smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was the first time he’d smiled in what felt like an eternity.

The cat blinked up at him, her green eyes half-lidded with contentment, as if to say, Of course I do.

For a long moment, he just stood there, his hand resting on her soft fur, letting her purring fill the empty spaces inside him. It was such a small thing, her presence, but it reminded him of you—of the life he’d left behind, the warmth he hadn’t realized he’d needed so desperately until now.

But the calm didn’t last, and Spencer’s heart nearly stopped when he heard a soft knock on the door. His gaze snapped up from the cat, who was now lazily sprawled across the arm of the couch, her purring uninterrupted. The knock came again, this time paired with a voice that sent a jolt through his chest.

“Mittens?”

The voice was muffled through the door, but he knew it instantly. It was you.

Another knock followed, gentle but insistent. “Are you here, baby?”

He froze, every muscle in his body tightening as he registered the sound of your voice. You were here, in his apartment—or at least on the threshold of it. The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready to see you again.

The cat, oblivious to the tension that suddenly filled the room, stretched lazily before hopping down from the couch. Her tail flicked behind her as she padded toward the door, her movements casual, as if she belonged here. Her eyes were fixed on you as you stepped through the open door, your figure partially silhouetted by the light from the outside.

“There you are,” you said softly, your voice brimming with relief. The warmth in your tone hit him like a physical blow, and he had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to stifle the sound threatening to escape.

You crouched down to scoop the cat into your arms, your movements gentle and practiced. “You scared me,” you murmured, cradling her against your chest. Your voice softened, carrying that familiar tenderness he’d missed so desperately. “You’ve been running off so much lately.”

Spencer pressed himself against the shadowed wall, willing himself to disappear. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t even look at you for fear his body might betray him. The apartment was dark enough to hide him, but he knew the signs of his presence were everywhere—his phone abandoned on the counter, the faint indentation on the couch, the way the air seemed to shift with the weight of him being there.

You didn’t notice. Your focus was entirely on Mittens as you stroked her soft fur, your touch so gentle it made Spencer ache. “I know you miss him,” you murmured, the words falling from your lips so quietly they almost didn’t reach him. “I do too.”

The confession tore through him like a blade, sharp and unrelenting. His chest tightened, and he bit down hard on his lip, tasting the faint metallic tang of blood. Tears burned in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

You lingered for a moment, your gaze sweeping over the apartment as if you could feel his presence, even if you didn’t see him. Then, with a soft sigh, you turned back toward the door.

“Let’s go home, baby,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Mittens’ head before stepping into the night.

The door closed with a quiet click, and Spencer was left alone once more. His knees buckled, and he sank onto the couch, his hand trembling as it pressed against his face. The silence was deafening, a hollow, aching void that swallowed him whole.

Maybe it was for the best. Maybe fate didn’t want you to see him again—at least, not yet.

But then, the next morning, it happened.

You were returning to your apartment, groceries in hand, when you saw him.

He was standing at the end of the hallway with his back to you, as if he was leaving his apartment. As soon as you saw him, your heart skipped a beat and all your rational thoughts vanished. It seemed like an eternity since you had seen him, even though it had only been a few months. Your first instinct was to run to him, throw yourself into his arms, and demand an explanation, but something about his posture made you hesitate. He was stiff, distant, almost sad. His usual warmth was nowhere to be seen. And yet there was something different about him: his long hair, now a bit wilder and more unruly, framed his face in a way you had never seen before. Some curls fell over his eyes, and his beard had grown thicker and darker. The change in his appearance was shocking.

Without thinking, you dropped your groceries at your door and hurried toward him. “Spencer!” you called, your voice trembling with a rush of emotions you had bottled up for months.

He turned slowly, and for a split second, his eyes locked with yours. There was something in his gaze—a flicker of recognition, maybe guilt, but it quickly faded, replaced by a cool distance you had never seen in him before, at least not with you. Before you could stop yourself, you reached out and pulled him into a tight hug. It was instinct, more than anything, to wrap your arms around him like you always used to do. The warmth of his body felt like home, like everything you had missed was right there in your arms. You held on tightly, breathing him in as if this would somehow make up for the absence. You’d been so lonely without him, and this, just holding him again, felt like it would fix everything that has been wrong lately.

But to your surprise, Spencer didn’t move an inch. This time his body was rigid, unyielding, as if he didn’t feel you or want you around. He did not return your hug. He didn’t even seem to acknowledge it or really want it. His arms remained stiff at his sides, and you could feel his breath hitching against your neck, but he didn’t respond. It was like hugging a stranger, someone you once knew but no longer recognized.

“God, I missed you…” You pulled back slightly, looking up at him, trying to gauge his expression, but his face was unreadable. His long hair now brushed against the collar of his shirt, the unruly beard framing his jawline. But his eyes were the only thing that stayed the same—cold and distant, void of the tenderness they once held. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer immediately. The silence hung between you, thick and oppressive, before he finally spoke, his voice flat. “Sorry, I…I don’t think I’m the best person for that right now.”

Your heart sank, the warmth of the hug and reunion evaporating into a hollow chill. “What happened?” you whispered, feeling the pain creep into your voice. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you say anything? I was so worried for you and JJ don’t say so much.”

He didn’t smile. He didn’t even look like Spencer, not the one you had known—kind, warm, and always ready to offer comfort. His face was hard, closed off, and distant. He seemed…different, almost cold. “I’m sorry, I needed to get to…work,” he said, his voice clipped and curt. “I didn’t think you’d be awake at this hour.”

You felt a pang of confusion and hurt at his words. “What do you mean? You didn’t want to see me? You haven’t been here in months,” you said, the bitterness creeping into your voice. “You just disappear, and then you show up here, like nothing happened? You sleep here? I came to your apartment last night, and you weren’t there.”

He didn’t react. No apology, no acknowledgment of the pain he’d caused. He just stood there, cold, distant. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words almost sounding like an afterthought. “I had work to do. It’s…complicated.”

“Complicated?” The word tasted bitter on your tongue. “That’s all you’ve got after disappearing for three months?”

Finally, his eyes met yours again, but there was no warmth in them. No tenderness, no familiarity. His gaze was hard, as cold as his words. “I don’t owe you an explanation,” he said sharply, his tone final, cutting through the air like a knife.

It felt like a punch to the gut. The warmth that had once filled your heart whenever Spencer entered a room, the gentle care he had shown you, was now replaced by something colder. It was as if the person you had known—the person who had been your friend, your confidant—had vanished along with the man who used to leave you sweet notes and show up with your favorite food after a rough day.

“You…you don’t owe me anything?” you whispered, your heart breaking with each word.

The silence stretched between you again, suffocating. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “I’m sorry.”

But it was hollow, empty. A formality. Not an apology that meant anything.

And then, just as quickly as he had appeared, he turned, walking away. “I have to go,” he said, his voice softer now, but still detached.

Before you could say anything else, he turned, leaving as quickly as he had appeared. And just like that, he was gone again—leaving you alone with the deafening silence and a heart full of questions.

Just like your worst fear: Spencer was avoiding you in the hallway.

[celestialgalaxyglow]

Batfam and Danny, Part 3

After Danny and Damian's sparring match

Bruce: Danny come over here.

Danny: Hi Bruce.

Bruce: Good job during that fight, not everyone can avoid Damian's sword attacks like that.

Damian: Indeed, you are skilled nephew.

Bruce: And while I question that whole "if there's no blood, it's no fun" thing you and Jason seem to have going on, I see no immediate harm in it, as long as you two stay safe.

Danny: Don't worry it's mostly a joke.

Bruce (laughs): Good to know. No can you follow me to the batcomputer. Before you head out to your first patrol as a formal part of the family I need to give you a chip so we can monitor your vitals and track your location. Speaking of which is the chip going to be a problem with your powers?

Danny: Most likely, my intangibility will cause it to fall out, but if I infuse the chip with some ectoplasm, it should go intangible when I do.

Bruce: Ectoplasm?

Danny: It's basically ghost energy, and don't worry it shouldn't interfere with the chip's ability to collect or transmit data.

Bruce: Ok, then let's get that chip.

Bruce walked Danny to the batcomputer and gave Danny the chip which he infused with ectoplasm and gave back to Bruce who inserted it into Danny's shoulder.

Bruce: Hmm, that's not right, according to this, your body temperature is 80°F, your pulse is 25 beats per minute, and your blood oxygen level is 90%. Stupid thing is broken. Sorry Danny I'll have to remove it and give you a new one.

Danny: It's not wrong.

Bruce: What?

Danny: Given my half-death status my vitals are also half-dead.

Bruce: I see.

Danny: Those are my normal vitals now. But I can manipulate them to normal human levels, but that takes active concentration.

Bruce: Don't worry I can just program your specific chip to your regular vitals.

Danny: Great, but also keep in mind that if I get a little too comfortable while sleeping all of that will just stop, as in my vitals will show that I'm medically dead.

Bruce (concerned): I see... Ok then I'll make a note of that, you can go back to training.

Danny: Alright, bye Bruce.

(Master Post)

[zepskies]

Omg really? Wow, thank you so much. That's honestly amazing to me, considering this was one of the hardest for me to write in Smoke Eater. 💞

(But after reading your wonderful review, thank you for making me cry. 🥹💗💗)

First of all, please don't apologize for the heartfelt thoughts you want to share with me. No matter how long or short, I love hearing what you think about my writing, and this is genuinely one of the best reviews I've ever received, because I can tell it came from the heart.

What's crazy is my mom and I also used to watch Chicago Fire together when she was trying to recover from surgery (where she had terrible complications and wasn't well for a long time). It became her comfort show, and I was happy to introduce it to her/have that bonding time where it kept her from thinking about her pain. But I'm so glad you thought to come here to perk yourself up after a rewatch.

honestly I have so many thoughts for each wonderful chapter but I would feel super guilty for spamming :’) this chapter in particular though, hits me harder than anything i’ve ever read before — not in a bad way!🤍

lol girl that's the best kind of spamming. I'd never be upset with that! 😂 Oh good, I'm glad it doesn't hit in a bad way. I was concerned about that for readers when I was first posting this part of the story. 💙

my mom had epilepsy, and I was her caretaker pretty much my entire life. I connect so much with this story because it, feels like i’m reading a mirror, if that makes any sense at all. with all the doctors and the worrying, it’s written so authentically, which is understandable after reading your author’s note. i’m so sorry you’ve experienced such difficult hardships and losses yourself honey, I offer my sincere condolences. and i’m sending you the biggest hugs 🫂🤍🤍

I'm sending you the biggest hugs right back, friend. I'm so sorry about what your mom went through, and what you went through too. Being a caretaker is not easy. I've seen it enough in my family that that's what I drew from in order to write this, so I'm glad it felt authentic to your experience. 🫂💞

now these lines/parts specifically had me crying like a baby lol. december of 2021, my mom had to have surgery at the start of the month. her recovery was going a little slow, but well. however she passed away overnight, 2 days after christmas, completely unexpected. the day before she had been doing so well too— she had more energy and was more mobile without needing as much assistance. came to find out later that’s something nurses call a surge? :/ either way, those moments in particular really tugged at my heartstrings ❤️‍🩹

I'm so sorry for your loss, my friend. It is blind sighting when it comes so unexpected like that. I haven't shared this publicly, but something similar happened with my grandfather this past December. His health declined suddenly, to the point we had to take him to the hospital. After seeming to get better after a few days, he went downhill even harder, and he passed away in mid-December. It's not the same thing as your situation, but I understand the feeling of "why did this happen like this?" But now he's at peace with my grandma. And your mom is free from her pain and discomfort too. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

this line too. I felt this way for so long after my mom died. I didn’t get the final cause for a while since she passed at home and not at a hospital, and to this day I wish I could go back. wish I could’ve done something different. but SUDEP (or, sudden unexpected death in epilepsy) is completely unpreventable so far. I just find it so cruel that this illness I spent my whole life helping her with, ended up taking her anyway and nothing I did mattered in the end. so reading that line, how she broke down, and everything she had been holding in, it really made my heart ache but I also felt less alone in a way.

And I'm sure you did everything you possibly could, just like the reader in this story. 💞 I didn't know about SUDEP, but I have a family member who takes medication for his epilepsy, so I'm going to be reading up on that. I'm so glad that this simple line made you feel less alone in any small way -- I also thought when I was writing that it not only fit what the character was going through, but that other people who've been caretakers for a family member like this would be able to identify with this feeling as well.

everything that followed, it’s like reading a reflection. I shutdown and just went through the motions afterwards too, but ohhh how nice it would’ve been to have a dean ❤️ his support, how he takes care of her, it’s so heartwarming. and it’s really comforting to read. <3

It's that awful "autopilot" thing that somehow allows us to get through the aftermath, in a way, right? If only we could all have a Dean to support us in those moments. Somehow, reading hurt/comfort fics help me feel better too though. 💓💓

a lot of my family distanced themselves afterwards which, it is what it is. that being said, the sentiment in this story of family isn’t always blood resonates with me a lot. my support system is really small, but they chose to be there for me unlike my blood relatives so, that theme in this story means so much — the way dean’s chosen family shows up for her as well, it’s so sweet. 💖

Ugh really? I'm sorry to hear that. 💙💙 But thank you for pointing that out -- that is the overarching theme of this story, a la SPN style. 🥹 Your chosen family can be just as powerful, if not more, than your blood family. And in this story, Dean's family is basically "adopting" the reader/you into it. 💕

I guess the gist of what i’m trying to say, is I wholeheartedly adore this series and it truly means so much to me 🤍 I appreciate your work so much, and I love the unique feeling each piece of your writing brings 💗💗 I know I may sound like a broken record but truly I don’t think I can ever put into words how much I love your blog. you are an absolute sweetheart, truly a light peeking out between cloudy skies 💞

Wow, I really did tear up of happiness. Thank you. 🥹🥹 I appreciate you right back for reading this story and connecting with it like you did. And I'm so glad that you enjoy my blog!! I've only been here on Tumblr for about 2 years actively, but connecting with people like you is what's keeping me here, and honestly gives me energy to write and express myself when I'm going through hard times.

This chapter specifically was very difficult for me to write for multiple reasons, as you saw in my AN, but again it makes me all the more grateful that this is the chapter you connect with the most. I'm very sorry for your loss though. I'm really touched that this story can give you some small comfort. 💞

(And no it's not too much. Thank YOU for taking the time to share this with me.)

Smoke Eater - Part 11

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,400 Tags/Warnings: Major angst warning. But also major hurt/comfort.

Part 11: “Heart of the Home”

You sat very still.

Your hands were gripped together in your lap when the doctor entered. He was tall and lean and blonde, and he would’ve reminded you of your boss, except this man had a kinder face.

You were sitting on the edge of your grandfather’s bed, hoping the doctor would say the bloodwork and scans came back fine. That they wouldn’t need to admit George into the hospital for further testing. That he could go home in the morning.

But your life had never been quite that easy.

“Okay, George. I’m sorry, but we need to admit you,” said the doctor.

He explained that while the malignant tumor of his cancer had been removed last year, the scans that had been done last month hadn’t been able to detect the bright spots now formed on George’s lungs and lymph nodes.

The oncologist would have to confirm, but you all knew where this was headed. Likely those “bright spots” were tumors.

George nodded slowly at first, taking it all in. He asked what his options were, as far as treatment.

“Your oncologist will go over those options with you,” the doctor replied. “We’re going to move you up to Oncology shortly.”

George thanked him.

And you sat very still. 

A hand fell on your arm, finally earning your gaze. George’s face was oddly calm, though the worry in his eyes was for you. You realized that he’d gently called your name, though you hadn’t heard him. Your ears were ringing.

His mouth parted to tell you something, but nothing came out. So instead, he tugged you into his arms, and he heaved a long sigh.

“I guess we’re here again,” he admitted. He let out a chuckle. “The Lord does like his tests…but maybe that car accident was a blessing in disguise, huh?”

You heard his voice, but your mind was buzzing—mainly with the doctor’s words, and with a bone-deep feeling that threatened to consume you.

Your car, your fault. Options, again. Here again.

Your fault.

When you didn’t answer, George pulled away a bit to give you a questioning look.

“Sweetheart?” he tried. You laid a hand on his arm.

“You still haven’t eaten dinner, have you?” you asked. Neither had you, for that matter. “I’ll get us something that isn’t rubbery turkey.”

George blinked at you, confused, with a growing edge of worry.

“Isn’t Dean getting your meds? Why don’t you wait for him to—”

“I’m fine,” you said, already getting up to grab your purse. “I’ll be back.”

George called your name again, but the ringing in your ears was now pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

You made your way down the hall to the lobby at a brusque clip, even with your neck brace on. You didn’t see Dean, but he certainly saw you as he was walking back into the hospital. Frowning, he followed and called out to you.

You slowed when you saw him, and he soon caught up with you. He rested a hand on your back.

“Hey, where you goin’?" he asked.

“We haven’t eaten in a while. I’m going to the cafeteria,” you said. Though you seemed distracted, your eyes meeting his only briefly. It triggered a small spidey sense running up Dean’s spine.

He gave you your prescription pain medication, which you took with a small “thank you.”

“Everything okay?” he asked. “How’s George doing?”

“Fine. He’s resting,” you said. And by the look of you, that seemed to be true. But he spotted the tremble in your hands when you took the pill bottle package from him. It made him stop you when you tried to keep walking down to the cafeteria.

“Okay, you wanna run that by me again?” Dean asked.

You frowned, and your brows knit together. “What?”

“Is there something going on?” he pressed.

You sighed, but you didn’t answer him. You looked exhausted, and like you’d rather swallow your own tongue than speak. You shook your head and laid a hand on his wrist.

“I’m fine. Dean, thank you for everything you did tonight, but you still have to work tomorrow. Go home, get some rest,” you said.

You turned from him again. That was your first mistake. He reached out and grasped your hand to stop you.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he said.

“What?” you said in irritation. Your second mistake was not being able to look at him.

Dean was frowning in earnest now. Worry clawed in his gut, which was also telling him not to let you walk away from him. His grip shifted to hold both of your arms and move directly in front of you. He dipped his chin, trying to get you to meet his eyes.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I need you to talk to me.”

You inhaled a shuddering breath. A wave was rising inside you, threatening to pull you into its undertow. Your eyes burned, red and shining. Dean finally saw it when you raised your head, what little you could. Your mouth began to quiver, looking into his eyes. And it was done.

You could no longer be still.

Dean held you when you fell apart in the hallway.

Dean called out of work the next day to stay with you and George. Gordon would be acting Lieutenant until his next shift, and Dean was sure the man would take full enjoyment out of it.

He couldn’t care about that right now though. He felt that his place was here, being your quiet wall of support while you and George and the oncologist talked about treatment options.

“Normally, at the stage we’re in, I would be recommending chemotherapy,” said Dr. Benton.

“Normally?” you echoed.

“At the rate this is progressing, the treatment would have to be aggressive,” he said. His gaze focused on George. “However, at your age, and the current state of your overall health…at this point, I don’t think the rigors of treatment would be worth diminishing your quality of life.”

“What are you saying?” you asked. Your voice cut like a whip, earning the other men’s gazes.

George was the first one to lay a hand on your arm. “You know what it means, honey…he’s saying it ain’t worth it.”

“Of course, it’s worth it,” you retorted. With your brows furrowed and lips pursed, your eyes went from him to the doctor. “Just because he’s older, we shouldn’t even try? Is that what you’re saying, doctor?”

At that, even Dean drew closer to lay a hand on your back. Meanwhile, George squeezed your arm.

Benton shook his head gravely. “That’s certainly not what I’m saying.”

“How much time would I get, if I started treatment,” George asked, before you could volley further with the doctor.

Benton met the other man’s gaze.

“I’m going to be honest with you, George. You may get a few more weeks, or even a few months. But that is a best-case scenario.”

Dean drove you all home that day, after George decided to formally waive treatment. Both men knew you were angry in your silence, but neither one wanted to press you. Dean was too wary, and George was too tired.

Once he was settled in bed, you hadn’t even left his room yet before you grabbed a notepad off his desk and wandered into the hall. You started to make a list of things you still needed from the grocery store, among other things. Dean took that piece of paper out of your hands.

“Good. I’ll handle this,” he said. “Meanwhile, you can get upstairs, take a shower, take your meds, and get some sleep.” 

You frowned at him. “You haven’t slept either, Dean.”

“I’m used to it,” he said, giving you a wink and a slight smile. Overnight shifts could be a bitch at a firehouse, but Dean was no stranger to having his sleep interrupted.

“Listen to him, honey. He’s speaking sense,” George called from inside his room. The bedroom door was still open. He was settling into his bed while trying to stifle a cough. He sipped at a cup of water you’d brought for him.

Still, you looked reluctant. Dean held your arms and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Come on,” he said. “You were in an accident yesterday. You’ve had one hell of a night. You need your rest, or you’ll be no good to anyone.”

And if you pushed yourself much more, he worried that he’d have to take you right back to the hospital. Dean would rather not have that scare so close to the last one.

He brushed your cheek with gentle fingers. With the limited mobility your neck brace provided, you did your best to look up at him. Your eyes were softer.

“Okay,” you breathed.

“Okay? All right, good,” Dean said. You held onto his jacket for a moment, leaning against him.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You felt the burn of tears behind your closed eyelids. A few of them squeezed past and slipped down your cheeks. Dean held your face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs.

“Hey, I’m here, all right? Just let me help you,” he said. “You can lean on me when you need to.”

“I haven’t had that in a long time,” you admitted. “Part of me doesn’t know how to lean.”

“I get that,” Dean said. But you both knew that there was a long and difficult road ahead. He knew he didn’t have to remind you of it. “Whatever you need, you just tell me, okay? If nothing else, I’ve got a strong pair of shoulders.”

Somehow, you smiled. You pressed your forehead against his chest and inhaled deeply, to steady yourself.

“That you do, Lieutenant.”

You left for your room soon after, but not before you brought him down to you for one more tearful kiss.

Dean then watched you climb up the stairs to your room and nearly went up to help you, but he heard George call his name. Dean ventured back into George’s room and heeded his beckoning hand.

“You hungry? I can scramble some eggs or something before I hit the store. I think I saw two more left in the carton,” Dean said. George shook his head.

“Come ‘ere a sec.”

Dean took the hint and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I just wanna thank you for everything you did yesterday. Everything you’re still doing for us,” George said. He looked exhausted, but whatever he wanted to say was important enough to fight off sleep. He clasped a hand on Dean’s arm.

“You don’t have to,” Dean replied.

George huffed. A smile made his eyes gleam brighter.

“I knew you were a special one, Dean Winchester. Knew it the night I met ya, on your very first date with her.”

Dean blinked, but his pause drifted into a reserved smile.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Well, I’ll be honest. When I heard that black Chevy rumble like hell’s wheels onto the driveway, I thought I might have to worry about you,” George chuckled.

Dean’s lips quirked.

“But no, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the pretty flowers, or our mutual love of killer sharks,” George quipped, making Dean’s smile more genuine. “It isn’t your job either, or the fact that you saved her. I just believe that you can see a man’s mettle in his eyes…and I saw it in you when I shook your hand that night.”

Dean took that in for a moment. His hand flexed over his knee. Then he met George’s gaze, though he didn’t know what to say. Sometimes though, honestly was the best bet.

“I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” he said at last. “I can’t imagine…”

George let out a breath through his nose. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

He pointed to a picture frame on his bedside. It was of him and his wife, Sophie, when they were around your age and Dean’s. The couple were sitting on a pier that hung over the edge of the lake in their hometown.

She held him from behind, with her arms wrapped around his neck. Her long hair was being carried by the wind, getting swept into George’s eyes. He was smiling too hard to care.

“I’m ready to smile like that again,” he said. He had tears in his eyes, but he was already lighter at the thought. “I know it’s selfish…but I think I’ve missed her long enough.”

Dean paused. Then he cleared his throat past a small well of something he couldn’t name. He wondered if his dad ever had thoughts like that.

“Well, I’ll let you get your rest,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

George nodded and gave Dean’s arm a squeeze. “All right. Drive safe. Don’t hit any goddamn trees.”

He shot Dean a knowing wink, and it almost had the younger man laughing. George’s sense of humor was something else.

Dean then left George to rest. He made sure he had his wallet, keys, and your grocery list before he left your house and went back to the car. He checked his phone and saw a missed call…from Cas.

Dean was reminded again about Azazel, the kingpin who might’ve ordered a hit on his family. Along with the recent murders and arsons, and the connection from one of the victims to your company, Savage & Co.

Dean returned the call as he climbed into the Impala.

“Dean. Everything all right?” Cas asked. “Sam filled me in about the accident.”

“Yeah, everyone’s okay…well, not really. I’ll explain later,” Dean replied. “Listen, about what we talked about at the bar.”

“Yes.” Cas said gravely. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go to your father about this yet.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” Dean sighed. “My girl just got some real bad news. I know you gotta keep digging into Savage & Co., but can you keep her out of it?”

“Is she all right?”

“Yeah, more or less…it’s her grandfather.”

“Ah, I see,” Cas said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks, man. I’d rather her just focus on what she needs to do right now, you know?”

“I get it. And believe me, we’re keeping the investigation of Nick Savage quiet for now,” Cas said. “But if we find something, or worse, if I can’t…I’ll likely need to question her. She works directly with Savage, and from what I can tell, she’s instrumental in bringing in and maintaining several of his major accounts.”

Dean stopped at a red light and took a moment to rub a hand over his tired face, rubbing his eyes. “You don’t really think she’s got any idea of what that asshole’s into.”

“I’m not saying she does. But in working so closely with him, perhaps she’s noticed things about her boss, and the company. Things she’s kept to herself, out of self-preservation.”

Dean frowned. He didn’t want to think about shit like that. It made his stomach churn at the thought of you working for someone who might be doing business with a crime lord, let alone Azazel.

“Well, when that day comes, give me a heads up, okay?”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

Dean offered to take another day off to help you, but you wouldn’t let him. He needed to go back to work, and you were able to arrange working from home for the next few weeks.

Even Nick couldn’t refuse to accommodate you in a situation like this. He knew very well that if he pushed you too hard, you’d go directly to HR.

So he backed off, and told you to take as much time at home as you needed. It allowed you to put him, and that afternoon in his office, away from your mind to focus on taking care of your grandfather.

Though you called your best friend the day you got home from the hospital, Andréa didn’t come by your house to see you and George until the end of the week. She cited mounting projects at work and some kind of tiff with her cousin Meg, but it all sounded like excuses to you.

However, she was gracious enough to bring dinner for the three of you on a Friday night. She cut up with George like normal, and even got him laughing, until a coughing fit forced him to stop. It also took most of the joy out of the rest of the evening.

While George went up to his room to rest, Andréa later joined you in the kitchen. You were washing the dishes, trying to focus on what you were doing. But your mind was buzzing continuously with future tasks and worries. Always, tasks and worries.

“How are you holding up?” Andréa asked. She rubbed your back, and you gave her a slight smile.

“All I can do is make him comfortable, for as long as possible,” you replied. There were tears in your friend’s eyes, but she dabbed them away with the back of her hand.

“What do you need? Anything, you just tell me,” she said.

It was a little easier for you to contemplate leaning on Andréa. You had been friends with her for years, and she was like another daughter to George.

On the other hand, asking Dean for help always made you hesitate. What you two had was still so new. You worried that this was too much for your relationship, too fast. 

“Well,” you sighed as you wiped your hands dry on a kitchen towel. You didn’t exactly want to talk about it, but there were things you had to start planning, even if you didn’t know the exact timeframe.

However, as soon as you opened your mouth to reply, Andréa’s cell phone rang. She held up a finger to you and checked it. To your surprise, she actually answered it.

“Hey, babe,” she replied with a smile. You heard Benny’s deep voice on the line, asking a question. “Yeah, I’m still here. I’m probably leaving soon though.”

She continued her conversation for a few more minutes, but you didn’t hear anything after that. A tension headache was sharp behind your eyes, while anger (yes, anger) rolled hot under your skin. Your lips pursed. You busied yourself with straightening up the kitchen until she continued her call for another few minutes.

“Sorry about that,” she said, finally turning her attention back to you. “So what do you need?”

You put away the last dry dish and turned to her coolly.

“Nothing.”

Andréa frowned. She knew there was something off with you, but her furrowed brows betrayed her confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you repeated. “Don’t you need to head out, anyway?”

“No, I was just…what’s up with you?” she asked.

“What’s up with me is my grandfather’s dying!” you snapped. You left her in the kitchen, precisely so that she’d follow you out. You grabbed her purse for her and went to the front door, where you stepped out.

Andréa was dismayed and confused as she followed you out onto the porch. She raised her brows at you when you shut the door and crossed your arms at her.

“I know you, and this isn’t just about that. What’s the problem?” she asked.

“You can’t seem to detach from your boyfriend for more than five minutes to just be my friend. That’s the problem,” you replied. “But why should I be surprised? Like always, you’re too wrapped up in yourself to consider anyone else.”

Her brows knitted together; she looked hurt by your words, but also defensive.

“How can you say that when you’ve been exactly the same way?” she accused. “Since you met Dean, I’d be lucky to see you once a week—”

“I call you every week,” you began, counting the list with your fingers. “You’re always busy, but you never give me a day that works for you. And when we do make plans, you usually cancel. Why? Because you’re going sailing with Benny. You’re going to a restaurant, hours away, just to try the new sushi bar beer garden, or whatever the hell. Or you’re going on an impromptu road trip, or you’re planning a summer trip to Greece. Give me fucking break, Dre.”

By now she was frowning angrily, her arms crossed. “You’re mad at me because I have a life?”

“No. I’m happy for you that you found someone. I really am,” you said. “But we clearly live in two different versions of reality. I just don’t have the time or the energy to entertain yours.”

You knew you were being too harsh. You felt incredible guilt as soon as it all left your mouth…but part of you also felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest. The problem was, you still felt heavy. Just in a different way.

Both of you were crying when Andréa left your house.

All too soon, a week became a month. In that time, Dean called you every day to check on you. He spent most of his evenings with you and George when he wasn’t on shift. And when he was, sometimes Meg would drop in.

She understood your argument with Andréa, and she respected you for taking a stand when you needed to. She even confided you that she’d had similar frustrations with her cousin lately.

But Meg wasn’t your only visitor. Ellen had come a few times to bring you lunch and dinner, even breakfast, though you hadn’t asked her to. You realized then how close Dean must be to his friends at the firehouse, along with the Harvelles; Ellen also refused to take any money from you for the food.

By the end of the month, George mainly spent his days sleeping. Pain medication made his days nearly painless, but not without struggle. You were doing your best to care for him while continuing to work full-time from home. You were also exhausted, though you refused to admit it.

Today was a better day, however, because George was awake. He was also more aware of his surroundings than usual.

He stopped you from adjusting his pillow so you would sit down on the edge of his bed. He took your hand in his, brushing a thumb over the back of it.

“I’m okay with this, you know,” he said. You pursed your lips, but he stopped you from whatever you were going to say. “I don’t want to leave you. You know that…but I’m so damn proud of you. Your Gram was, and still is…”

Your lower lip wobbled as you tried and failed to keep your tears at bay. They stung in your eyes and slipped past your defenses, down your face.

“The house is yours. But if that’s too hard for you, just sell it,” he said, heaving a deep breath. “It’s just the bones. You’re the heart. And you always have been.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but not a sound would come out. You held his hand with both of yours and stared down at them. Until his voice once again commanded your attention.

“I always thought…moving to the city ruined my daughter. That we should’ve stayed in Lebanon. That maybe I gave her too much freedom, and I failed her somehow along the way,” George said. His eyes were heavy with old heartache. And yet, they soon began to lighten.

“But the day we lost a daughter, we gained one too,” he said. Then, he chuckled a little. “And I know I never failed with you, sweetheart.”

That proved to be too much for you. He pulled you into his arms like you were still a child, and he held you for a long time while you cried yourself out.

Though he eventually spotted Dean hesitating in the doorway. He’d probably let himself in with the spare key you’d given him.

George raised a hand from your back and silently beckoned Dean inside his room. He was getting tired, drifting off thanks to the morphine.

“Hey, lookie there. The boyfriend’s here,” George whispered with a bit of cheek. You sucked in a breath and raised your head, wiping at your eyes before you turned around. Dean met you with an attempt at a smile and a gentle hand on your back.

“Just got out of work?” you asked. He’d been on a 24-hour shift, and you’d missed him. You stood and stepped into his welcoming embrace. He dropped a kiss on your forehead.

“Yeah. I’ve got the next couple of days off,” Dean said. He greeted George next and asked him if he needed anything.

“Just some water,” the older man replied.

“I’ll get it,” you said with a sniff. “Need to start dinner too.”

“I already brought some food. You like Italian, right?” Dean said, with a subtle smile. It earned your sigh and a grateful smile. He knew very well that it was now one of your favorites. Italian meatballs always reminded you both of your first date.

“Thank you,” you said, grasping his hand. He squeezed yours with a nod, before he let you go.

When you were out of earshot, George cleared his throat past a wet cough. Dean reached over and grabbed him a tissue. George took it with a nod. Again, he encouraged Dean to come closer.

“I’m not worried,” George said, between deep breaths. “You know why?”

Dean just stared back for a moment. He genuinely had no idea what the man might say next.

“Tell me,” he said.

“My granddaughter’s strong. Always has been, because she had to be,” said George. “But you’re gonna be there when she’s not.”

Dean considered the weight of that charge. The anxiety in his chest felt familiar; like the day he got his badge at the Fire Academy, knowing then the responsibility he held in his hands.

That’s a lot to put on just three months of knowing this girl, came a more selfish thought. It sounded a lot like the guy he used to be, not too long before he met you.

But when Dean thought about you, and what you’d begun to mean to him…

He realized that he only had one answer.

“Yes, sir. I am,” said Dean.

George gave a tired smile. “Good man.”

And that night, an agreement was made. 

In the morning, your grandfather was gone.

Dean held you through what he thought was the worst of your heartbreak. But after that dour morning, it was like a switch flipped inside you.

In the days after George’s death, your shutters came up. You threw yourself into checklists and task after task—in funeral arrangements and planning and contacting distant relatives and friends.

This was your failsafe. Your version of “autopilot.” And these things needed to get done, after all.

But Dean worried when he no longer saw the softer side of you. Like your heart had been wrung dry. 

He inevitably had to go back to work, but in between the demanding hours of his schedule, he tried to get you to slow down. He saw the warning signs of you running yourself into the ground. He just didn’t know how to help you land.

So Dean picked up slack where he saw it, often without you asking him to. He began fixing the house, one section at a time. He enlisted Benny’s help, since he actually had a small construction business. Dean even paid for the materials himself without you knowing.

And one sunny afternoon, he took a break from repaving part of the cracked and uneven driveway to grab a beer inside. You were sitting at the kitchen table with stacks of papers all around you, your cellphone on speaker as some kind of elevator music continued to ring on a loop.

“Can you believe I’ve been on hold with the funeral director for 20 minutes?” you told him in irritation. But you didn’t truly take sight of him until he came back from the kitchen.

He wore a familiar ensemble of jeans and black undershirt with a plaid shirt, rolled up to his elbows. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat, and his hands were dusty and stained from his work on the driveway. Dean looked tired, and that made you feel guilty.

Meanwhile, he frowned and popped open a beer. “You want one of these? Looks like you could use one.”

You shook your head. With a sigh, you hung up the phone. You’d try calling again later. Instead, you focused on the next item of your checklist for today.

“Food. Because we’re gonna need to eat after the service,” you inclined your head. “Okay, still need to come up with a list of caterers, because I don’t think I can cook for that many people.”

Dean nodded at that. “Let me talk to Ellen. She’ll give you a good price, and her food is good.”

You looked up from your notepad and considered him thoughtfully. You wouldn’t have thought to cater from a bar, but he was right. Ellen had great food at the Roadhouse.

“Okay, I’ll call her,” you said.

“No, I’ll call her,” Dean insisted. He set down the beer on the table and leaned his palms flat on its surface. “Sweetheart, I told you I’d help you with all this. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”

“Dean, you’ve done enough,” you replied. Your brows drew together stubbornly. “You’re paving my driveway right now, for God’s sake! This is my responsibility, not yours.”

Dean frowned, making you sigh. You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms.

“Look, we’ve only been dating for three months,” you said. And in your mind, a good chunk of that time had been spent in the worst hell of your life. “This right here? It’s a lot. I’m not expecting you to deal with all this…”

You bit your lip, and your gaze fell away from his as your insecurities took hold. The thoughts that had been plaguing you every night since this all began, on the night of the car accident.

“And…if you’d rather take a break from us for a while, I’d understand,” you said.

Your voice was more collected than you felt. But that didn’t make it any easier when Dean stared back at you, mostly incredulous. You even thought you saw a thread of hurt there, and it made your heartache worsen.

Dean came around to your side of the table. He dragged a chair back and sunk into it, facing you directly.

“You think that’s the kind of guy I am?” he asked.

You immediately shook your head. You weren’t trying to upset him, or imply that he wasn’t reliable, or trustworthy, or whatever was running through his head. You were just trying to be realistic.

You’re so pragmatic it hurts, as Andréa had often told you.

“Dean, it’s not that…” you began, a bit helplessly. “I just—”

“Just, nothin’.” His chair scraped toward you as he reached out for your hand. He made sure you looked him in the eyes when he said this next part. 

“I’m not leaving you with this.”

Your gaze met his, though you desperately tried to keep your heart from rising into your throat. 

“I’m not leaving you,” Dean said. His tone, his eyes, his hold on your hand was firm.

For a moment, you stared at him, unblinking, even as tears swam in your eyes. 

He’s not leaving you. 

Not like everyone else in your life.

You were grateful. Too grateful, even, for words.

When you finally broke down into tears, Dean realized what an idiot he’d been. Your wall of stoicism had been just that—a flimsy wall. Now it was shattered, and so were you.

It scared him just how much, as he gathered you onto his lap and into his arms. You didn’t seem to care that he was dirty and covered with sweat. You clung to him strong, and he held you back just as tightly.

“No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough,” you confessed. “You save people all the time. I couldn’t save anyone in my life.”

Dean frowned. He cupped the back of your head, and he felt your tears sliding down his neck. His voice was thick with emotion when he was able to reply.

“Oh, baby. It’s not your fault.”

“I can’t…I can’t do anything. Anything that matters.” Your voice was a broken whisper. It damn near broke his heart. 

“Now you know that’s not true,” he said. “I’m not gonna let you lie to yourself like that.”

You trembled and heaved with sobs, and he continued to hold you.

Just be there, Sam had told him, when Dean had called him from the hospital. Sam reminded him again last week, when George finally passed.

Is that all I’m supposed to do? Dean thought. His brows furrowed, but he tried to hide his frustration.

He was used to people depending on him. He led a team. Before then, he’d looked out for Sam all his life. Dean had never had to help someone get through this kind of grief though. He just wanted to help you, in whatever way he could.

Because he was worrying, just like you. That whatever he did, it wouldn’t be enough.

But he couldn’t leave you. 

I can’t, and I won’t, he thought. So he took a breath, and he said the first true thing that came to mind.

“You’re the strongest woman I know, you know that?” Dean said. He spoke low and steady, but with the conviction he felt. “And that’s a tall order, considering some of the badass ladies I’ve got in my life.”

A smile tugged at his lips when he considered people like Ellen and Jo, Jody and Donna. He might’ve lost his mom, but he and Sam hadn’t lacked when it came to influential women in their lives.

“But I saw it the day we met. I see it every time we’re together,” he continued. “You work hard as hell. You take care of everyone around you…”

You were still quiet, trying to stifle your crying.

Dean let out a breath. “Man, if you only knew how much you’ve been helping me. Keeping my damn feet on the ground with this whole…arsonist mess my dad’s been investigating. Digging up the past, my mom, the whole damn thing.”

With a sniffle, you uncurled from him, just enough to reveal your face. Your grip on his shirt loosened, your palm flattening on his chest. He held your hand there and turned his lips to your forehead. He sensed that you were calming down. That you were listening.

“That matters to me,” he told you.

You nodded and tightened your hand on his. “Me too.”

Your voice was still shaky, but it sounded a little stronger.

“See? You might as well face it.” Dean grinned. “You’re a badass chick with a big heart.”

You snorted in response. Your lips even twitched at a smile. He spied it when he looked down at you. And you rested easier against him as your tears subsided.

“Thank you,” you whispered. He dried your cheek with a brush of his hand. 

“For what?” he asked.

“For staying.”

AN: So first off, I'm sorry for the gritty "reality" of this one. It's just where the story took me, though it serves a purpose narratively and for both the reader and Dean's character development.

But also, I think this has just been on my mind, since both my grandmother and great uncle (brother and sister) died within a year of one another due to different forms of cancer. My great uncle passed in May of this year, and my grandmother two years this past October.

Again, I'm sorry if this one was too heavy, but art does imitate life and this was probably my brain trying to express those emotions I couldn't fully make sense of at the time. George will be missed, but will still be felt in the rest of this story, as I'm sure any of you who've lost close family members will understand. 💙

Next Time:

The identity of Azazel will finally be revealed in Part 12. But first...

You nodded. “By the way, it was nice of Sam and Eileen to come. And Meg and Cas.” 

Dean smiled.

“They can be your people too,” he said. “If you want ‘em to be.”

You couldn’t help it. Your tears brewed and bubbled over. And you moved slowly across the couch to twine your arms around his neck. Dean’s lips tugged at a smile, and he welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.

Both of you were still wearing the same clothes you’d been wearing all day; you in your black dress and Dean in his slacks and white buttoned-down shirt, though by now without the jacket, and the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

You were infinitely exhausted. But one thing had become clear to you over the past few weeks.

“Thank you. Thank you for today, and for every day since we met,” you said shakily.

Keep Reading: PART 12

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann814 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

[7ndipity]

Their Love Languages

Ot7 x Reader

Summary: What the members main love languages are(both giving and receiving)

Warning: none, I think

A/N: First off, I'm so sorry for not posting much the past few weeks, I'm really hoping to get back to posting regularly again, but thank you all for your patience and understanding. A big thanks to @universal-travel-er for requesting this, I hope you like it!

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Jin: Giving: I think it’s a mix of Gifts and Quality Time. He seems to take a lot of delight in giving the members gifts, however odd some of them might seem(gold toilet brush lol). He also understands the importance of being with the people that matter most, so he definitely makes spending time together top priority(He literally planned a entire event at Lotte world so he could hang out with Army for the day)

Receiving: Quality Time and Words of Affirmation. He’s an introvert at his core, but spending time with the select people that he feels most comfortable with means the world to him. Even if you’re doing separate things, just being able to spend time existing in each other's proximity makes him happy. Also, I just feel like his constant plays for complements(I look handsome, right?” “Whaa! Have you ever seen someone play this well?!”) aren’t entirely for the joke. He really does crave them, they give him an instant boost of confidence like nothing else

Yoongi: Giving, there’s no question that his main love language is Acts of Service, we’ve seen it from him making food/snacks for his members, checking in on trainees, even just playing along with little requests from fans during livestreams. It warms his heart like nothing else to be of service to those around him. I also think he’s really big on words of affirmation. He’s always praising others in his soft, gentle way.

Receiving: I think it’s the same two, plus Quality Time. He appreciates acknowledgement of his efforts and someone who’ll look out for him as much as he does for them. He also values his free time greatly, and so someone making a conscious effort to dedicate time for him means a lot to him. Similar to Jin, you don’t even have to necessarily be doing the same thing, so long as you’re together(all those fics about hanging in his studio are onto something, tho I think he avoids working when he’s with his S/o)

Hobi: Giving: Gifts! He loves treating his members and loved ones to little surprises, whether that's with a simple coffee/dinner or some super elaborate gift(like when he made Jimin a physical copy of his song ‘Promise’ with a proper album booklet and everything). It makes him so happy to be able to provide for his loved one in some way, and he really loves finding special, unique things to show that he cares.

Receiving: He seems to really glow from Words of Affirmation, he loves having his efforts acknowledged and receiving praise. Acts of Service also seems to be a big one for him, The way he gets soo excited whenever one of the members comes by during a mv shoot or helps him with something(Jimin killing the bug for him during In The Soop lol), it makes him so happy to know that people actually want to help him too, not just the other way around.

Joon: He’s mentioned before that one of his love languages is Words of affirmation, both giving and receiving. He really values verbal expressions of affection and encouragement, and so he tries to give that back to those around him. Another big one for him as well is Quality Time. He’s very much an extrovert and knows the importance of spending time around those that you love, so he definitely makes an effort to be there for them as much as possible.

Receiving: Same as above. Having someone to just sit and talk with him about whatever soothes his heart like nothing else. It doesn’t matter if it’s a super deep topic or not(though knowing him, it’ll inevitably turn philosophical lol), just having someone spend time with him means the world to him. And that goes hand in hand with Words of Affirmation. As I said before, he really values verbal connection and encouragement, so genuine compliments or words of positivity makes his heart so happy

Jimin: For Giving, it’s definitely Acts of Service and Words of Affirmation. He’s very much a care-er, everyone who spends more than two minutes with him talks about how helpful and generous he is. He’s always making sure those around him are taken care of and encouraged in whatever it is they’re doing, or giving comfort if he sees someone struggling. Even in the military, other soldiers have shared how he treats them to food or gives up his phone time for them. He just wants to make sure everyone’s looked after and taken care of.

Receiving: Words of Affirmation and Physical Touch. We’ve all seen how physically affectionate he is with the members and his friends, he takes an immense amount of joy and comfort in physical contact, even if it's just a simple touch on his hand or shoulder. He also absolutely lights up whenever he receives praise, and really cherishes every piece of encouragement that he receives.

Taehyung: Giving: Words of Affirmation, He thrives on praise, and he also gives the same out to those around him happily. He’s always giving words of encouragement to the people around him. I’m reminded of him cheering on the crew in the middle of a sandstorm during the Yet To Come video shoot, and when a fan mentioned how she was joining the military because she wanted to help her family, and he told her that she was already helpful and valuable just by existing. He loves to lift up and encourage those around him through his words

Receiving: It should come as a shock to no one that his main languages are Words of Affirmation and Physical Touch. Look at the way that boy’s face lights up when someone compliments and try to argue with me. He absolutely thrives on praise. He’s talked about how he would work extra hard on choreo because he wanted praise from Hobi. He is also one of the biggest cuddle bugs I’ve ever seen, he’s always seeking out hugs and physical contact from the members or his friends, and this would only become more intense with his S/o.

Jungkook: Giving: Quality Time and Words of Affirmation. He seems to really put high priority on spending time with his loved ones as a way of making them feel seen and appreciated(yes, I’m still crying over his surprise weverse live, don’t touch me😭). He’s also always more than ready to give out compliments and words of encouragement to anyone around him, especially if he notices someone having a tough time.

Receiving: Quality Time, Words of Affirmation, and Physical Touch. Tbh I could’ve put all five languages for Kookie, he thrives on all forms of love and affection. The members have mentioned how easily sad he gets if he’s not included in things, he’s at his happiest when he’s with his people. He tends to be rather hard on himself, so he really relies on and takes a lot of comfort from praise and words of encouragement. He’s also mentioned how he really craves Physical Touch as a way to feel connected to his loved ones.

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @feminympho @classicalelephant @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @bo0ghol @seleneacyoflove @k4ngelz @universal-travel-er

[knightforflowers]

Drawing something for every episode of Ethersea - Episode 8 (prev - next)

Nothing bad ever happened in a giant clam !

[unknownati]

xii. never lose me

a/n: (i lost the ask so sorry to that anon, hope u still find this 💀 but the ask was like: can you make a fic based off never lose me by flo milli? with smut)

happy new year my loves!

sorry this took so long im such a slow writer. plus im braindead asf. ik i said i had to proofread this in my last post but i lied i didnt 😬

nooobody ask me where he got all this money cuz baby idk. i hope some of this stuff is correct bc i am not rich 😭

warnings/tags: smut 👻, fem!black!reader, no use of y/n, no desc of reader's physical features BUT reader dresses feminine (think aliyahsinterlude), modern!ekko, boat sex yay, semi-public(?), risky, backshots 🎉, oral (e! recieving), reader getting spoiled, soft dom!ekko, so loosely inspired by the song, not proofread. raw vibe

_______________________________________________

ekko goes above and beyond treating you right.

anything you want, all yours. that new purse? check your mailbox. you need your nails done? here's $300, keep the change, don't worry about it. he always makes sure you're pleased, even if you don't ask. he knows everything about you by heart. favorite flowers, favorite foods, plus your usual orders, so it's not uncommon to come home to food on the table with a fresh vase of florals seated next to it.

of course, nothing about this relationship was ever one sided. there is no one who prances around announcing that ekko is your man quite like you do. you make sure ekko knows that if he ever needs you, no matter what, you're there.

in return, you get whatever you want.

"ekko," you sing, putting your phone down in the cup holder. your hand rests over ekko's, which has a gentle grip on your thigh. crickets chirp outside, veiled beneath the dark sky and lack of light. you're speeding down an empty backroad on your way back home from a little shopping spree at a mall an hour and some change away. "i wanna go somewhere."

he hums. "where were you thinking?"

"dunno yet," you lean your weight onto the center console, maybe somewhere in asia."

"yeah?" he asks, squeezing the fat of your thigh. you smile wide. "sure. let me know when you decide."

"i will, thanks baby," you chirp, gently pulling his hand up your thigh and closer to your center. his fingers catch on the hem, pushing your denim skirt up and gently pressing his thumb into your clit. he's rubbing featherlight circles into it, running over the lacy underwear he bought for you a while back. your gasp is barely heard beneath the music.

the engine whirrs, and you see the speedometer shoot up.

so impatient.

.:*☆

it truly didn't take long for ekko to book that flight. you said the place, and about 30 minutes later everything was set in stone.

excitement rushed through your body as you packed, making sure to tuck your matching sets beneath your clothes. he deserved some type of reward, right?

when you finally arrived at your hotel, late into the night, jet-lagged to all hell, you couldn't help but ask ekko if he needed some help. he did everything, all you did was walk around, complain about your feet hurting a bit, and cling to his arm. regardless, he insisted you worried about nothing and just got comfy for the night because he had something big planned tomorrow.

never would you have ever guessed that you'd end up on a cruiser yacht.

he had you blindfolded after you returned to the hotel from eating and shopping, promising that you'd love it and that you just needed to be patient and trust him. you did; no hesitation there.

and once he slipped it off after your minor freak-out wondering what you're stepping onto that has to be so wobbly, it took your breath away.

the sun sinks below the horizon, yellow rays glittering off of the water. your hands met his, perched on your hips, looking back to find his prideful grin.

"ekko..." you pout.

"iii know, i'm a great boyfriend, you love me, i know," he jokes, chuckling as you walk around the cockpit, marveling the fact that you're on one. "it'll leave soon, there's a cooler with drinks, and i can take pictures for you."

you smile wide. "my personal photographer. in fact, take some of me right now before the sun sets," you rush to hand him your phone, quickly posing yourself in front of the scene.

ekko took taking photos for you so seriously, genuinely telling you how to switch your posing and expression, and without missing a beat always hyping you up to the third degree.

so when you heard nothing from ekko, no 'oooh's or 'mhm's, you turned to him.

"ekko?"

"sorry, you're just..." he laughs sheepishly, avoiding your gaze as if he wasn't the key to your heart. "so pretty."

you roll your eyes. "you're so corny."

the tone of your voice completely betrayed your words, honeyed and bashful. he catches it, shaking his head and raising the camera again.

"right—okay, let's try this again."

.:*☆

the pictures came out great. you wanted to wait until you got home to pick your favorites to post, but all of them were so good that you didn't know which one to pick.

you leaned against the railing, staring out into deep night, city lights twinkling in the distance. the cool sea breeze rushes against your skin, the salty scent of the ocean flooding around you. it was too good of an opportunity to not take more.

"ekko, take a few more for me?"

he hums, not a moment of protest, finding your phone and settling into the seat opposite of you.

you take your seat as well, your torso twisted and legs crossed. his mouth opens—'move your leg a little' rests on his tongue, until he inspects your gaze through the phone. you weren't quite looking at the camera, but rather...behind it.

"you okay?"

you nod. "yeah...you look good as fuck over there."

he fumbles over his words for a moment, looking down at his attire. "in my spiderman shirt?"

"mhm, especially in your spiderman shirt," you look him up and down, eyes sliding over his muscles. "come back over here real quick?"

he's surprised he didn't trip from how quickly he scrambled over to you, sitting in the seat beside you. his smile is poorly hidden as you crawl into his lap. his hands find your waist, pulling you closer.

you direct his face up, fingers gently pushing at his chin, leaning down to lock your lips together.

his hands roam your body—clearly too impatient—fingers pushing beneath your shirt, pulling up and revealing your bra. intricate lace, almost in a floral pattern, dyed a dusty pink that was barely visible under the moonlight. the cups had a deep cut, plunging down from your collar bone to the bottom of your sternum with a dainty little decorative bow.

you literally feel him getting hard. he looks up, fingers running along the band. "this for me?"

"sure is." you nod, reaching down to tug your skirt down. the hem of your matching panties peek out. "you like 'em?"

"do i?" he glances above the short barrier at the captain, who isn't paying an ounce of attention. just humming in his own world, only focused on the path they were going on. perfect.

"shit..." his lips reconnect with yours before trailing down, sucking hickies into your skin, tightly squeezing your thighs, brows furrowing.

you can already tell he's going to find a way to seat you right on his face so you stop him—not because you don't want that, but you've been spoiled enough for one day—pushing his shoulders back and getting off of him.

he looked like a kicked puppy when you separated from him and you just roll your eyes, sinking down onto your knees with a wide smile. it all connects for him and he relaxes against the seat, lips parting as you quickly unbutton his pants, your nail hooking at the band of his trunks. you tug, down, down, down, until his dick springs free and lightly taps his naval.

you waste no time, your lips meeting the base, then parting to let your tongue run up a vein that lead you to the sensitive tip.

ekko shivers, eyes shifting from the arch in your back to your lips, leaving glossy stamps all along his length.

you, on the other hand, kept your eyes locked onto his. he kept averting his gaze. for what, you weren't sure. but you tapped his tip against your tongue, capturing his attention. finally, his eyes meet yours. now you feel like you can continue.

you kiss the tip again, smiling up at him as you allow it to breach your lips, sliding into your mouth agonizingly slow.

"fuuuck," he drags, watching you slowly sink down, taking almost all of it yet stopping where your lips met your fingers.

you get acquainted with the feeling, adjusting your tongue to press against the skin. your cheeks hollow, your head slowly falling into a bobbing movement, stroking him alongside your movements.

he struggles to not thrust straight up into your mouth, gripping the edge of the leather cushions. one hand meets the back of your head but doesn't push or pull, just rests there.

his hips twitch, torso relaxing against the back of the seat, growing rigid whenever your tongue ran across just the right spot. his chest rises and falls rapidly, quickly drawing in breaths then moaning them right out.

your jaw already started to ache, but looking up at him as he falls apart from just your mouth is beyond worth it. he shakes his head, eyes leaving yours, squeezing shut, and you can tell he's already close.

his hand leaves your head, forearm laying against his forehead. you tap him, a reminder. look at me. he peeks down, a breathy chuckle pushing through.

"doin' so good for me, yeah? 'm close—" he warns you—you nod in acknowledgment.

you unhinge your jaw, sticking your tongue out so he can watch his cum spill all over it,

he sucks air in through his teeth, and before you know it you're bent over the seat, looking out onto the horizon. you start to speak and he just shushes you, tugging your skirt up and pulling your panties to the side. soaked.

maybe you were just too impatient, because before he could even get comfortable you were reaching back to put it in. his laugh rings behind you, shooing your hand away so he can finish sinking all the way inside you.

his pelvis meets your ass and you almost caught a glimpse of the back of your skull. he started slow, gripping your waist and bringing you back to meet his strokes.

you're squeezing around him so tight, and all he can do is stare in awe at it. his length glistens, coated in your juices. then he couldn't take it, his pace quickening, watching the fat of your ass recoil against his movements.

it feels euphoric, almost unreal. staring out into the night sky, stars twinkling above you, ocean swaying below you, and ekko thrusting into your heat, moaning behind you—it was overwhelming, it had your flesh running hot.

"feels good?" he questions, though your gasps and mewls answer loud and clear.

"fuck, yes."

"mhm, you're mine, right?"

"a-all yours." you nod.

"all mine?" he asks, and it's rhetorical. not like you could reply anyway, because your moans caught in your throat, rendering any chance you had at words useless.

your noises drowned beneath the whirring of the motor paired with the water swaying beneath you, which you're endlessly grateful for. you're lucky that driver pays almost no attention to what's happening behind him.

you were especially loud, and it only got worse as you felt your orgasm building. ekko knew it too, the way your voice shook, the way you tightened around him, the way you begged him not to stop—it was pushing him over the edge too.

"fuck, that's it. just like that. i got you, okay? good."

your cries overlap ekko's softer groans as you came, your form trembling, jolts of pleasure coursing throughout your body as he fucked you through it.

he had to hold back from coming inside you, letting you ride out your high before pulling out to release all over your back.

he gives you no time to recover, immediately diving in for another round, intoxicated with the way you gasps caught in your throat, holding onto the seat for dear life.

he leans down, his lips meeting your shoulder, his brows furrowed. it did not take long for the two of you to get close again, still sensitive from your previous release. within a few minutes, your juices coat his length and another load lands on your back, seeping down and settling into the dip of your spine.

you're both catching your breath, ekko presses a kiss to the shell of your ear, and you have to stop him from kissing you more. "we're almost there," you hiss, and he huffs, lifting off of you to get himself together,

thank god there were paper towels on board. he cleans his release off of your back and skirt, managing to get the both of your appearances together by the time the yacht met the docks.

the moment the captain comes back to thank you for riding with him, ekko's giving him the quickest thank you possible along with his tip and rushing you off of the boat.

"let's get back to the room? i just wanna see that set you have on a little better."

you know that the second that door closes behind you in the hotel, there is not a chance you'll be stopping.

__________________________________________

pssst!: not the most confident in this one.,. i will make up for this one i swear 😔 locking in!

maybe a part 2 with what happens at the hotel cough cough

[stxneflxwers]

I saw your post and came running 👀 I've been thinking about this since the end of December bc I really did not get into the holiday spirit until after it was over lmao BUT for any characters you want to write for: what are they like during the holidays? What traditions do they like to do? What gifts do they give you?

(Extra ideas you can take or leave if it helps your inspiration at all — How does Aventurine feel when you tell him you don't need any of those expensive gifts, just time with him? How does Sunday react when you sit him down to tell him he's stressing himself out too hard trying to find a perfect gift for you and that all you want is for him to be happy? How does Dan Heng respond when you tell him that the only gift you want for the holidays is him?)

^ I've just been rotating the hsr boys in my head all day at work lol so I have a lot of Thoughts™

gift of love.

summary. the greatest gift of all is his love.

a/n. tysm for the request!!! i decided to settle with gift-giving ideas you offered, since it sounded interesting and cute!! im just gonna stick with aven and sunday for this tho... i wanna test how sunday writes for me.

characters. aventurine. sunday.

cw. first time writing for sunday (this is more of a test with how much i enjoy writing him, sry for any OOC-ness). gift-giving. all lowercase. established relationship(s). PLS NOTE THAT I HAVEN'T DONE THE NEW TRAILBLAZE MISSION STILL CUZ I'M A LAZY MFER...SORRY.

aventurine.

tries to be soooo sneaky about figuring out what you like as gifts. he wants all of his gifts to be a surprise, after all! it doesn't work. you see right through his game plan. he's a smidgen disappointed (with himself), and might be a bit surprised depending on the kind of person you are.

he still ends up showering you in expensive gifts of things you enjoy. he tries to find the most expensive edition of any of those things even though he, of all people, should know that expensive ≠ well-made. you have to tell him to chill out.

he immediately believes you're angry with him (why wouldn't you be?). but you're not, and you can see the panic flash in his eyes for the tiniest of moments. you sigh softly with a wary smile. you briefly give him some space before talking to him about it.

you tell him that all the most expensive gifts in the world are nothing in comparison to quality time together. you remain patient with an open-mind and a listening ear – you know he needs a wealth of both. you make sure to tell him you miss him.

his mouth hangs open in silence when you tell him that, for once he's at a loss for words. his mouth closes and he smiles. he takes you into a soft hug and whispers, "i miss you too."

he makes an evident effort to be around you more often when he does have the time. you know, instead of wasting half of it out in the casino.

and it makes all the difference.

sunday.

the most perfectionist to ever perfectionist. stop him before he literally keels over from stress.

thankfully, you notice how weary he's been. and you ask him what's wrong. because at this point – everyone knows, everyone notices how he's been stuck in his head (more than usual). he frets over little things, as usual. but now he seems almost snippy. birdie is cranky.

when he eventually gives in and confesses that he cannot find the "right" gift for you, you're smiling and shaking your head. you give him a very long moment of silence, testing him – seeing if he catches on what you'll say next.

he doesn't catch on "quick enough", much to his dismay. perhaps he hasn't adjusted to your praises and reassurances...yet.

you tell him that the greatest gift of all would be for him to be happy. to be relaxed. to be in the moment. you throw in a little whisper, "maybe by my side, too."

he's silent – his mind running amok with what to say next. he settles for an awkward yet genuinely affectionate, "thank you..."

and then he asks for your forgiveness once he collects himself. you laugh softly and forgive him, you've gotten used to him asking for your forgiveness rather often. only yours, though.

at some point, you're going to need to tell him that forgiving himself is far more important.

[pomefioredove]

Hi, can I have a sugar cookie, #16, with chocolate drizzle?

o7

order #16, sugar with chocolate drizzle

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ it'll pass

tropes: exes to lovers characters: leona additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu, post-nrc, a little bittersweet, for those thinking they wouldn't forgive him and would marry rook instead, I understand, yes this is a fleabag reference <3

That question, that bitter uncertainty that had caged itself in your chest, behind your ribs, by your heart, had not passed.

It will pass, you had said, your friends had said, even he had said it himself.

It'll pass.

And then, the question. But what if it doesn't?

What if you never forget Leona Kingscholar?

What will you do with this love, now that there's no one to give it to?

It becomes grief, and pain. Bitterness, anger, resentment, longing, desire.

It becomes a secret, it becomes a question.

But what if it doesn't?

You had, at first, slept too much; but then that reminded you of him, and you stopped sleeping altogether.

You began writing, not fiction, nor letters, but your thoughts, if only to get them on paper and out of your head.

Most days, they were nonsense. A procession of words and feelings with no meaning, nor sense, nor relationship between one another.

Bird, television, cold, knocking, tired, tired, tired...

It always ended with that.

And it always began with Why? Why, what? Why did he leave you? Why didn't you stop him? Why can't you move on? Why any of these things?

It was strange.

You were the one destined to leave. When you and Leona fell in love, in your years at Night Raven College, that threat loomed over you both.

One day, you would leave.

Leona still became yours. He was the one constant in your life, the only person you could really rely on. He cared about you, more than he'd ever admit.

Likewise, he had never said that he wanted you to stay, but you knew he did.

It didn't matter. Crowley never found a way home, or perhaps he did, and didn't tell you, but again, it didn't matter. You graduated NRC, and went to Leona.

You were happy, too.

And then he was suddenly betrothed to a duchess, to have a family he never wanted, in a position he resented, and that was that.

It'll pass.

That's all he had said when you told him you loved him.

"I love you,"

"It'll pass,"

You wanted him to stay, like he did to you.

It'll pass.

You became despondent, sleepless. You found shelter and companionship in the form of an affluent Rook Hunt, when you had no one else to call.

But he, too, must leave. For months, the villa is empty, and it's only you and your disconnected words and your paper and the night.

One day, there's a letter for you.

Not for Rook, or for the household, but for you.

It has no name, no initials, no return address. It's not signed. It's typed. It says:

French, confused, nosy, prick, soft, missing, quiet.

So on, so forth. Hundreds of those words, meaningless and senseless and yet special, precious, worthy.

You hold the letter to your heart and the ink smudges on your sweaty hands.

There's another the next day. Quiet, manners, hate, missing, windows, dark.

And one more after that.

Boring, empty, doves, missing, water, spoon.

They come, one after the other, until Rook returns at the end of the month, freckled from the sun and tired from his work.

"Ah... an admirer?" he had asked, listening to you read the letters aloud.

"They aren't from you?"

"From me? Heh. I like to think my prose is a little more cohesive, non?"

You wake the next morning to breakfast, courtesy of Rook, and a letter, courtesy of the wind.

This one only has one word on it.

Sorry.

No more come after that.

The news that Prince Leona had broken off his engagement to the wealthy duchess reaches you in your remote room, through the sharp eyes and upturned lips of a certain Rook Hunt.

Unhappy, was the word, this time.

It was bitterly poetic. Unhappy. It reminded you of something you had written, but when you went looking for that, you were met with an empty sheet of stamps, and a drawer with no paper in it.

"You must forgive me," Rook had said, "I could not bear to see you both suffer so."

The mysterious letters, your "admirer", suddenly make sense.

The next day, another letter comes. But this one is special; it's attached to a hand, that of a certain Leona Kingscholar.

This one, too, has a full sentence.

I love you too.

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 12 - The End

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen, We have apparently now reached the time where I also bash Ferrari. I am sure they are super nice in real life too. They are not in this.

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Chapter 12 of 12!

They were alone. Just the three of them.

Colette had never felt so exhausted in her entire life. But she had also never been so happy. Charlie had been fed once more and had then fallen back asleep, curled up on her father’s chest. Colette herself could barely keep her eyes open.

And she should be sleeping, but she could only watch her daughter curled up against Max's chest.

"How did we manage to create something so perfect?" She asked him softly.

Max let out a tired little huff of laughter, not bothering to open his eyes. “She is perfect, isn’t she?” he murmured quietly.

Colette felt a smile tugging at her face. “Perfect and absolutely beautiful,” she agreed quietly, shifting a little to get a better look at the two of them. "So perfect it almost hurts to look at her."

Max smiled at her. "I...There is this thing you should know," he said hesitantly.

Something about his tone, the hesitance in his voice, made Colette pause. "What is it?" she asked curiously.

"I may have told the whole world about us? On Instagram?" he admitted with a grimace.

She could only snort at that. "I think your father made sure that that cat was out of the bag," she told him drily. "What did you say?"

"That we have been a couple for 15 years. That I couldn't be happier with you and our little family," he said simply. "I wanted everybody to hear our truth," Max said softly. "Not what other people write."

"There is a romantic inside you after all," Colette teased him softly.

"You aren't angry?" Max checked.

Colette sighed. "Not at you," she said simply. "I can't be angry at you. You just want people to know how happy we are together. We kept it quiet for years for me," Colette said, staring at her daughter. "Is it weird that it feels like she put everything into perspective?" she asked him, nodding towards Charlie. "I just...I don't care anymore,” she admitted.

Max stared at her, blue eyes wide, but Colette just shrugged. “I was terrified for so long what people were going to think about me once they knew about us...but now...I don't care. What does it matter?"

Max reached over and laced his fingers through hers. "It doesn't," he promised her. "I'll start screaming it from the rooftops tomorrow, if you'll let me."

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. "I think the media already knows," she teased, squeezing his hand. "We can just put my Instagram on public and let them eat their heart out," she suggested. It wasn’t meant seriously. Not really. 

But the more she thought about it, she wondered if that was what it was going to take. Opening up the digital scrapbook of her life. Letting anybody have a peek at their relationship. Hoping that finally they would understand.

"We'd break the internet," Max retorted, grinning at her.

Colette laughed. "We really, really would. Reason enough  to do it?" she teased him.

"And give my PR team a heart attack? Absolutely,” Max returned immediately. “Tell me when.” 

"I love you," she told him seriously. "And I am ready to love you in public too."

She had done it from the shadows for 15 years after all.

He stared at her. "Are...Are you sure?"

"I am very, very sure, mon coeur," Colette told him softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "The only opinion that matters to me is yours - and my family's. I don't care what anyone else thinks," she added, glancing down at Charlie again, who slept blissfully on, cuddled against Max's chest.

"If people want to call me an attention whore or a gold digger, they are welcome to it," Colette said quietly. "I don't care. I'm happy and you're happy and our baby is happy. Let them write whatever they want."

***

"Marry me," Max blurted out.

His words came out of his mouth before he had even realised what he was saying. The room suddenly became very quiet, as if all the oxygen had suddenly been sucked out of it, and Max suddenly realised that he had just blurted out the question he had been meaning to ask for months, at a time that couldn’t be further from ideal.

Colette was staring at him, her eyebrows raised and a look of surprise on her face. She seemed frozen and totally caught off guard by his question. And he didn’t blame her for that. She was exhausted, and had just given birth, and here he was, bombarding her with questions as if this was the perfect moment to do it.

But then she smiled at him. 

"Yes," Colette said simply. "Always yes. You know that.”

Relief surged through him so strongly, Max thought he might just about collapse. She had said yes.

Granted she had said yes the last time as well. 

He remembered that day like it had been yesterday…remembered coming home that May evening in 2016…Fuelled with adrenaline from his first “proper” win. Remembered the trophy that still had a place of pride in their living room…the bottle of champagne, the Pirelli cap…and the ring that he had bought after that race. The celebratory crepes for breakfast the next day where still a tradition they kept with. 

Max felt like he could have exploded there and then, just from happiness. He couldn’t believe that he had just asked her, that she had just said yes. It didn’t feel real. It felt like something out of a dream.

"Yes?" he repeated incredulously, just to make sure he hadn’t actually dreamt it. "You’ll marry me?"

"Properly this time," she teased him, with the most beautiful smile on her face, as she leane up to press a kiss against his lips. “I’ll marry you, Maxie.”

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing, the sound breathless. It wasn’t just exhaustion that made him sound like that, it was disbelief, a sort of giddy lightness.

"Properly this time," he echoed back to her, his words soft. "You’ll marry me properly."

He couldn’t actually believe she was saying yes. "I do have a ring," he assured her. "It's at home. I hid it in the trophy."

Colette laughed. "Of course, you hid it in the trophy," she repeated, her voice warm and amused."Of course you did."

Max gave her what he hoped was at least a resemblance of a sheepish look. “Where else would it be safe?” he said defensively. "And I know you wouldn't look there," he added.

"A perfect place to hide something you don't want me to find," Colette agreed.

Max grinned at her. "Exactly," he said happily, gently brushing her hair from her face.

"Which trophy?" she asked him seriously.

"Spain 2016," he answered honestly. His first one. The one. 

"You hid it in the 2016 trophy?" Colette repeated, her smile widening into a grin. "Really?"

"Just felt appropriate,” he answered honestly. He still remembered handing it to Colette for the first time, the ring that he had bought clanging around in the bottom of it. 

"It is," she agreed softly, leaning up to press a kiss against his lips.

Max smiled against her mouth, his arms tightening around her, pulling her a little closer. He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. He couldn’t believe he had just blurted out the one question he had been wanting to ask for ages, and she had actually just said yes.

"You’re really going to marry me," he mumbled against her mouth, unable to help the words. "You’re actually going to marry me."

"I had your baby, but this is what shocks you?" Colette asked him with a laugh. 

He laughed, pulling her closer again and nuzzling his face into her shoulder, her words causing him to blush faintly. “I love you,” he mumbled against her skin quietly.

"I love you too," she echoed back quietly. "And yes, I will marry you. As many times as you’ll ask."

"I am the luckiest man in the whole world," he said softly.

"No, I’m the luckiest," she told him gently, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close again. "To have you, and this, and Charlie, and all of it. It’s everything I ever wanted.”

[a-most-beloved-fool]

If Spock and Jim merged into one being (no euphemism here lol) like Tuvix, what do you think the personality of the new being would be like? What impact do you think that would have had on the lives of both of them after they separated again? I love your headcanons, thanks for the answers!

thanks for the question!! <3

Hmmm... I think they would work pretty well as one being, actually. I'm thinking about all of those quotes from Roddenberry about how Kirk and Spock were supposed to represent two halves of a whole person, so I have to assume that they would be quite content. Though, disclaimer as I continue: I have not yet seen any of Voyager - there might be aspects of Tuvix's combination that I don't take into account because I don't know they exist. If so, uh, sorry. My bad.

For the sake of avoiding confusion, I'll call the merge Kirok (after the name Kirk chose when he lost his memories in The Paradise Syndrome). (Also, I fear that calling him "Kock" would have... deleterious effects on the readability of this post... for no reason at all...)

I do think that Kirok would, overall, have the best parts of Kirk and Spock. Combined, they are tactically fearsome. With Kirk's intuition and understanding of people and Spock's knowledge of statistics and science, Kirok is brilliant. However, I do think that Kirok would be a worse captain in practice than if Kirk and Spock simply had a mental bond. Part of the brilliance of Kirk and Spock as a command team is that, while they very much respect one another and take the other's opinion into account, they do also. regularly ignore each other's advice. And this is usually to their benefit! They each take risks that the other wouldn't, and, often, it saves them (in part because they always back each other up, even when doing things they don't agree with. Spock will be like "this is unwise" and Kirk will say "maybe, but I'm doing it anyways" and Spock will just... go with it.). But, if they were one person, I think that impulsiveness would be tempered. The Kirk part would have a brilliant idea, the Spock part would say "wait, there is too much risk, we can make a better plan," and then Kirok would lose his chance to act. When they're separate people Spock is ride-or-die for all of Kirk's decisions, but when they're one person, the Spock half won't always allow those decisions to be made at all (and also won't necessarily be able to tell when he does need to rein things in a bit). (Also Kirk and Spock both tend to be reckless, and then rely on the other to save them - as Kirok, who would back him up when he needed it? Bones would, but he's a medical officer. He simply can't do everything they would have. And, no matter how good of a first officer Kirok got (probably Sulu?), they couldn't be that good.)

I also think that Kirok wouldn't be quite as at ease with his position on the ship as Spock and Kirk individually were. The Spock part of him loves science far too much to just abandon it. He wants to spend time in the labs! He wants to make discoveries! Likewise the Kirk part of him can't truly be anything but a Captain. So, Kirok stays a captain, but he's less passionate about it (or, rather, more passionate about things that aren't it). This doesn't actually affect Kirok's satisfaction - it just affects his performance and relationships with others. He might spend off-duty time working on science experiments (which he can no longer do during shift, due to captaining) and neglect forming bonds with his crew, and he might place more focus than usual on scientific discovery missions.

As for the crew... Well, it's not as weird of a change as they expected. As expected, Kirok is less outwardly friendly than Kirk, and more outwardly friendly than Spock, but he's - cohesive. He still feels like their commanding officers. His humor tends to be a bit drier than Kirk's was, but he's a very compassionate and reasonable captain. (Tbh I tend to think that Kirk is actually more of a hardass than Spock (people just assume Spock is worse due to being Vulcan), so some crewmembers are surprised when Kirok is more lenient about certain things than Kirk would have been. Not lenient about cruelty or anything genuinely important to the safety of the ship, but about other things.) But, he's still not as good at making personal connections as Kirk was, and he's still inclined to spend too much time in the labs, so things aren't perfect.

Really, I think that the person having the worst time of things would be Bones, lmao. He'd have to deal with his Best Friend suddenly being the same person as The Guy He Affectionately Antagonizes (totally not a friend no how could you even think that). I think he'd be more lost than anyone else about how to address Kirok. Is this Kirk, his old friend, who he can be truly comfortable with, or is this Spock, who he snipes at and who snipes at him in turn? Who can he turn to, when the man he normally approaches for comfort is now the same being as one he doesn't want to seem too weak in front of? Does he turn to anyone else, in the meantime, or does he weather it alone?

Kirok himself, though, is actually pretty okay with the change. The different parts of himself simply - mesh well together. It's very satisfying for him, if not for his career and those around him. There's some minor bits of tension, especially regarding changes in biology and telepathic status, but, for the most part, he's doing well. The things you might expect to be major points of tension somehow... aren't. They compromise remarkably easily. (No meat, yes logic, no emotional suppression, yes casual touching, no casual relationships, yes meditation, etc.) And the Kirk and Spock parts of him both enjoy the closeness, the sense of knowing they now have for one another. They're one person, and know themself completely as they've always longed to know each other completely. (he does miss playing chess against someone who could beat him, though!)

Now, because I am Spirk-brained, I also think there's potential for Kirok to have Very Confused Feelings about discovering that the two parts of himself each had secret feelings for the other prior to the merge. There could be this odd sense of loss - like, yes, they are now technically one with one another, but they also completely missed out on their shot at a romantic relationship. They mourn what they could have had. The Spock part, especially, mourns the potentially for a telepathic bond (because with how smoothly they've integrated with one another, it surely would have been a strong one). So, as much as Kirok does enjoy existing as Kirok, I think he might be more willing to attempt separating back into two parts than I believe Tuvix was.

And, when they're two separate people again, they both feel like they're missing some part of themself, even once they've begun their new romantic relationship - but quickly discover that a mental link between them fills that hole. (And then, of course, because they are hopeless and in love, the "medicinal mental link" very quickly just becomes a marriage bond. They're like "well, we've already been one person and liked that well enough... a marriage bond is hardly anything different!" To Spock's endless pleasure, they are highly compatible and have a remarkably strong bond.) The mental link also allows them to have the same quick reaction times and combined brilliance of Kirok without the negative side effects of their own individual strengths being tempered. (they're also like. annoyingly codependent for a bit after Kirok's separation. oh boy are they always touching. "it gives them emotional security." bones looks at them in disgust (he loves it).)

Or, if we wanted to be McSpirk-brained... I'm enjoying the imagery of Kirok (who both had crushes on Bones as well as on one another) just directing all of that missed romantic potential onto Bones, who is... like, he's not not into it (Kirk was hot, Spock was hot, ergo Kirok is hot), but he also misses and loved his Original friends, and so he is very torn between accepting Kirok's advances and trying to find a way to split them apart again. (Flustered Bones, flustered Bones!! I do love flustered Bones!! He is blushing and stammering and having multiple ethical crises all at once. They never covered this in Starfleet Medical...) He also doesn't quite know whether Kirok's feelings truly belonged to both Kirk and Spock or not, and doesn't think that Kirk or Spock would truly act on it if they were in their normal state, so a small selfish part of him wonders if that's the only chance he has to be with them (even if it's not quite the same 'them' he fell in love with). And then, of course, there's the fear that trying to get back the original Kirk and Spock will actually just kill them! Yeah, poor Bones has a rough time of things. But, when everything is fixed, he does still wind up getting two boyfriends out of it. It all works out in the end?

[robynlilyblack]

Perfect

Sirius Black x fem! insecure! reader

Summary: Sirius comforts his girlfriend when she’s feeling insecure

Warnings/tags: swearing, mentions of weight gain, body dysphoria, insecurities, eating, nudity and sex, established relationship, best friends to lovers, Sirius black is the best boyfriend, muggleborn! reader

A/n: 3.8k words, thank you so much for the request, it didn’t trigger me don't worry lovely, i poured a lot of myself into this one, this won’t be everyone's experience but it has been mine post 'recovery', enjoy xxxx

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The soft jostling of the front door pulls you from your thoughts, the reality of the last couple of hours falling upon you as you look around yourself. There was no point in moving now, nor did you honestly think you would be able to bring yourself to. Sitting in nothing but your underwear at the edge of the bed, surrounded by piles of clothing that lay scattered like fallen soldiers after your battle for the ‘perfect’ outfit. A ridiculous notion wasn’t it? ‘The perfect outfit’? The consequence and impact of such a notion remains less ridiculous though, as you hold the latest victim to your stomach, hiding yourself away for when that door finally opens

After a short eternity, the latch clicks, and the hallway illuminates the land outside your bedroom for a brief moment before it recedes “Hi darling! Just me!” Sirius’ calls out from the darkness, slight jingle following it as he locks the door behind him

He sounds so happy, you think at his chipper tone, your lips quirking up at the sound despite it all before they fall once more, he’s going to be so disappointed 

There's anticipation in the silence that follows his footsteps, he must wonder where you are, if you’re even in or have popped to the shops, maybe he’s searching the fridge for a note. The electric hum of your record player gives it away in the end, even you jump a little as you had forgotten about it, watching it turn before the needle softly falls, the hum becoming a symphony once more

His footsteps approach the bedroom, a curious look at his head pops into frame before the rest of him, most likely expecting you to be dancing, or maybe finishing your hair, anything he can sneakily admire like he normally does. Instead you watch his expression soften into concern, eyes darting around the room. Your bedroom was normally a little messy, but today it was like someone had ransacked your wardrobe… that someone being you. 

When his eyes find you again you wonder what you look like. He must catch the tear stains on your cheeks and puffy eyes, but is your hair as frizzy and frazzled as you feel after all the quick changes? Does he see you the way you see yourself should you dare to glance in a nearby mirror?

“Hi” you impress yourself with how steady your voice is

“Hi” he smile softly at you, voice gentle as he makes his way over to the bed, kneeling down in front of you, hand coming up to brush against your cheek before falling and resting on your knee, tracing soothing circles 

You manage a weak smile back, trying to push away the embarrassment as he has to shift a little to the side due to the buttons of one of your shirts “I’m sorry about the mess” you apologise, keeping one hand on your jumper while the other finds his, fingers intertwining 

He lets out a breathy laugh “Mess? Darlin we both know this is cleaner that my flat has very been” he teases lightly, but then his eyes turn glassy “Oh darling” he coos, wiping away a stray tear you had missed

You never wanted him to see you like this. You’d known each other for years, but he never knew the depth of your struggle, nor how much worse it had gotten now you and he had finally taken your relationship to the next level. No, this was something you had kept to yourself, a battle until now you thought you had under control, thought you were long past

“I’m not doing so great today Siri” you confess, voice small as you lean into his touch

You hold your breath a little as his eyes fall upon the clutched fabric around your stomach. Little did you know he’d noticed this behaviour before when you thought he was asleep. He recalls last week when he woke to find you in front of his mirror, shirt hiked up as you poked and prodded, scrutinising the reflection. He didn’t say anything then, just made sure to show you later how much he adored every inch of you

But now seeing you like this, so defeated, he wishes he had done more

“Yeah?” his tone inflects and you give him a little nod “There’s nothing I can say that's going to make this better is there? Not really?” he wonders, not mad, nor judging you, he’s just him and he understood even if it did hurt 

When he and Remus had dated back at Hogwarts, Sirius had gone about trying to help him in all the wrong ways. Being the hot head he was, sprinkled with youthful arrogance, he used to get so upset at how his boyfriend had spoken of himself. Over the years, and after the relationship has blossomed back into friendship, he and Remus had more productive chats about it all, apologies were said, and Sirius learned more about the thought process that went through his friends head in those moments.

You were different from Remus of course, Sirius didn’t know what drove your insecurities but he knew he would be patient with them, help you in anyway he could, and that started by listening to you

“No” you answer honestly “I wish there was though. A magic word or sentence that could make it all disappear” you confess “But everytime I look in the mirror all I can see is what’s wrong”

“And what is wrong?” he encourages you to continue as he lifts himself up, being careful of your clothes as he joins you on the bed

Your legs fall from their crossed position, head falling onto his shoulder as your knee shifts to touch his “Everything” you admit, tightening your grip on the jumper, while Sirius' arm slips around your back, fingers gliding across your bare skin “No matter what I try on, it never feels…right. Even outfits I was excited about. I take one too many glances in the mirror and poof…” you shrug, throwing your hands up “...suddenly all I can see is my stomach” you look up at him through your eyelashes, nervous of what he’ll think, but instead he wears that fond smile he always did when he looks at you

“Keep going” he nods, leaning down to kiss your forehead 

Your heart swells at the gesture, a tiny downturned smile grazing your features as tears prick your eyes “Why are you being so sweet with me?” you ask, even though you already know the answer, that little girl inside still needs to hear it aloud

His movements never stop on your back and his other hand finds the side of your face, gently caressing your hairline, endlessly tucking that little piece of hair behind your ear “Because I care about you. You’re my best friend” he answers simply “There’s no one else that comes close anymore”

“Not even Prongs?” you ask, eyes lighting up with a tiny smile that always sends his heart into a tizzy

“Not even Prongs” he confirms with a chuckle, tapping your nose, adoring the little scrunch it makes “So” he shifts the subject back “What happened today?”

“Remember last week when we couldn’t sleep, so we watched movies all night?” you prop yourself up

Sirius’ smile widens at the memory “Course, we watched the one that was like us but way less cool and then…ugh i can’t remember but I do remember what we did when the movies got boring” he flirts, wiggling his eyebrows, making you giggle and playful poke his side causing him to yip “You little…”

“Siri!” your giggles turn into laughter as he starts tickling you, hopping onto his knees as you fall back onto the plush of the duvet, squirming under his sweet torture “I yield! I yield!” you squeal, holding your hands up 

He relents “Sorry darlin', I couldn’t resist” he tells you, kicking off his shoes before falling onto the bed beside you, propping himself up on his elbow while his other hand finds your hip, eyes lost in admiration for a moment before they find yours “What were we talking about again…” he looks off to the side, avoiding your hips as not to lose his train of thought once more “...ugh…tickles…getting bored…movies!” he celebrates "The movie" he gets serious again, lips pressing together in a way that tells you he wishes he could say sorry, even though you both know he doesn't need to

You place a sweet kiss to his lips, letting him know it’s okay before shifting onto your side, mirroring him “I couldn’t stop thinking about how cool the outfit the girl wore in the first movie was, so I wanted to try and recreate it for drinks tonight” you explain, eyes widening as you realise the time “Drinks…oh, we’re going to be so late” you sigh, head collapsing into the mattress beside him 

Sirius rubs your back “Darling when are we not late” he chuckles, making you peak out at him 

“I’m still sorry” you needlessly apologise, feeling awful 

“We don’t have to go, you know?” he assures you, his hand sliding up to your head, giving your scalp gentle scratches 

You tilt your head back, humming into his touch “I do want to go” your eyes flick back to his “I just…don’t stop!” you pout at him in mock anger, he really should have known better

He chuckles “Sorry darling” he apologises, placing a quick peck to your forehead before resuming his movements

“Good boy” you can’t help the grin, watching as he shakes his head slightly, now it’s you who should know better about what those words do to him...but then your smile drops “I just wish I could magic myself there without having to choose, like I need to look a certain way” 

“What kind of way?” 

“Honestly?” you shrug, shaking your head “I don’t know anymore. All I know is whatever I try on it never looks or feels right. Like back at Hogwarts, I didn’t tuck in my jumpers because it looked cute. I tucked them in because I thought I looked frumpy with them out” you confess, pit swelling in your stomach

You hated yourself for your thought process, for the years of walking into rooms,and having your night made or ruined based on how your body measured up against others

“That sounds really hard” he says softly while his fingers graze your hairline

Your body relaxes at the validation 

“Why haven’t you ever talked to me about this?” he asks, no pressure behind his words only care

“I didn’t really tell anyone, mostly because I never realised everything I felt and did wasn’t normal until a couple years after we left. I worked hard on it and I thought my days of this…” you gesture to the mess “...was over” you let out a sad sigh

“What happened?” 

Sirius’ heart drops a little bit, this was the part he most worried about, had he brought this back? Had he said something that accidentally had a double meaning for you? 

“A couple weeks ago I found the pair of jeans I wore on our first real date.” your eyes drop to the duvet, hands playing with the slight frill in the material as you recall the memory “They don’t fit anymore Siri” you scrunch your nose attempting to suppress the tears “Nothing fits I’ve…I’m…I don’t like it” you finally get out 

“Oh honey, come ‘ere’” he hithers, holding out his arms

It doesn’t take long for you to fall into his embrace, head nuzzling into his chest as his arms come protectively around you

“I know it’s silly-” you sniffle into him, but he cuts you off sweetly with a soft tut

“It’s not darling and you’re not either” he cups the back of your head, bringing you gaze to his to hone in his latter statement “I don’t think it’s silly at all, I think this is really hard and I wish you didn’t have to go through it all alone” he smiles sadly, pain evident in his eyes 

“Did you notice?” you feel like you already know the answer

He caresses your cheek, eyes a little glassy “Little bit bub” he confesses “I noticed something' was off, but I didn’t want to push it until you were ready”

“Really?” he nods

“Darlin…” his demeanour turns from playful to sincere “...no matter what size or shape you come in, I’m always going to love you. I didn't fall for you because you looked a certain way. I fell for you because you made me feel like I was worth a damn, not just for a night but everyday. You believed in me every time I couldn’t, you put up with me forgetting everything every two seconds, not to mention my grumpy side when I have to wake up early…” you both chuckle together “...and above all you make me feel like the most special person in the entire world every day”

“Because you are special” you say simply to which he taps your nose with his own

“And so are you. So until you believe the version of yourself I see, I will, and I'll help anyway I can…starting…” he grins, uncoupling himself from you and getting off the bed ”...right now!” he gestures for you to join him “Come on love lets see ya” you do as he says, a nervous yet happy smile across your face as you stand near bare before him, no jumper protecting you now “Well whatever you wear has to match the underwear…good godric woman”

His hands find his hips, shaking his head as his eyes track across your frame, drinking you in like man that's been lost in the desert

“Flirt” you smile up at him

“Only for you” he throws you a wink, relishing in your slight fluster before turning to the rest of the room “Okay…let's try something simple” he suggests, scanning the pile of discarded clothes "How about the outfit you wore that day we went to the...aww what's it called, it's one the funny muggle picture places but with the cars"

"The drive-in cinema?" you decipher with a laugh, it was easy to forget Sirius wasn't brought up the same way you were

"That's it!" he cheeses at you "Yeah the sin-e-ma...you wore an outfit kinda similar to her in the movie but way more you"

As Sirius starts raking through one of the piles, you take a moment, glancing in the mirror closest to you, you could only really see your head and tips of your shoulders in this one thankfully, but in your gaze you realise you were right to be worried about the fizz, the many different shirts and jumpers had wreaked their havoc. You move closer, unaware of Sirius finding the clothes you wore that day, nor his adorable struggle to turn one of the legs back from being inside out. 

He soon joins you at the mirror, placing the clothing on the dresser beside you “You know love…I might be a little bias but I think it looks great, it’s messy in a good way…” he smirks earning an eye roll from yourself as you know exactly what kind of messy he's referring to “...though if you're worried about it being too sexy lets..." he grabs a clip and hair tie from your pile, moving behind you and gently gathers the top half of your hair, letting some parts fall to frame face before he secures it with the tie and hides it with the clip "...pin half of it up, that way I can see your pretty face much easier” he kisses your cheek before spinning you around you around, admiring his work as he fixes the front pieces “Perfection” he says to himself with pride

“Siri?” 

“Yeah? Oh…is it too tight?” his movements stop, resting gently at the base of your jaw

“No, it’s perfect” you smile, glowing under his care “It’s just you probably should have done that after I put my clothes on” 

Sirius laughs as he realises, then shrugs “Ahh well if it falls out I’ll do it again, here I’ll help ya” he moves around you, holding the collar of the top and helping guide it down, avoiding the clip to protect his masterful work

“Hey that worked” you extend the first word, hand going up to check your hair was still in place

“Hey now, my plans always work! Maybe not always as intended but they al…wait no there was that time with Filch's cat…but that was an accident so it doesn’t count” he argues to himself

“Tell that to the cat! Poor girl was bald for months!” you try to counter but end up having to cover your mouth a little as you can't help the giggles 

“Her fur grew back” he hands you some bottoms “Besides, you were the one that mixed the potion darling so if we are casting blame here…” he trails off as does his eyes but you don’t notice that part just yet

“Siri, you…he’s gone isn't he” you say to yourself, shifting your weight from side to side as he admires you shamelessly “Siri” you gently hit him with the fabric in you hands

“Sorry darlin” he scratches the back of his head “Thighs” he shrugs like it was the most forgivable answer in the world

“You’re silly” you giggle before turning around, deciding to hiking up your jumper a little and give him a little show as you slide into your bottoms 

“I love you” he says simply, leaning against the wardrobe beside him as he admires your extra wiggles that are only for his benefit and his heart swells a little with pride as he’s helped you to momentarily forget your worries

When you turn around you find him wearing your favourite smile. The one reserved only for you, both now as two silly adults, and back when you were silly teenagers. You both should have realised far sooner your affections and feelings were more than what they were, but in the end both of you were always happy with the way your story planned out. You both needed that time to become the people you were now, to grow, to become this. 

“I love you more” you challenge sweetly

“Not possible…” he moves closer, finding your hips as he slides his fingers up and under your jumper “...and if you say one more word we really will be late as we won’t be going at all” his fingers find the loops of your trousers, tucking you flush against him

You squeal a little “Fine…you win for now cause we don’t have time…well” you nod your head back and forth considering it before turning back to Sirius “…no no we don’t have time” you shake your thoughts away, causing the man before you to chuckle

Sirius helps you finish off your outfit, picking out some boots that just so happened to be one's your boyfriend was partial to, ones with some lift that he says makes you easier to kiss and your arse look even better, but really he loves them because when you take them off later tonight he gets to pat your head and tease you about being a little shorty. You grab a belt that matches your shoes, along with some other bits of jewellery, particularly the necklace Sirius had gifted you for your birthday after seeing your reaction to it in a vintage store a few months prior. The same gift that led to your first kiss all those months ago, there wasn’t a day you hadn’t worn it since.

Just as you’re admiring the locket Sirius wraps the exact jacket you were thinking of around your shoulders, but before you can say anything he just winks “Can’t reveal all my secrets darling, need to keep up that sexy mystery you fell in love with”

You just give him a small look though the mounted mirror but all he returns with is a pity pout and you concede “You are very sexy and mysterious love” 

He smirks then, all proud of himself that his puppy eyes still work, but as you move to the floor length mirror near the door of your room to check the rest of yourself he stop you

“Nope” he steps in front, obscuring your view of the mirror

“Why?” you tilt your head, confused

“Do you trust me?” he asks

“Always” 

He takes a moment to smile at the ease of your answer before guiding you out of the bedroom “Then come on we’re gonna try something, a little experiment if you will”

You allow him to lead you towards the front door, watching him quietly as he gathers your things, placing them into the bag you had chosen before slipping it onto your frame and fixing the collar of your jacket 

“How do you feel right now in this moment?” he wonders, reaching out to intertwine your hands

“I feel…good” you answer honestly, you felt nice, you had only seen your hair and makeup, things that you could control and for the first time in a while you felt at peace leaving your apartment “I also feel pretty when you look at me like that” you add shyly under his gaze as you watch his eyes slowly drink in your appearance

“Good” he nods “Because you are, ya know, you are so beautiful” he says the words slowly, making sure you know he means them completely before he leans down, placing a soft lingering kiss to your lips “Now, lets go and watch our friends fail miserable at karaoke” he breaks away, smiling at your attempt to chase his lips before he turns away

“Sirius” you come to a slow stop

“Yeah?” he turns back, the softest most natural smile adoring his face

“Thank you, for everything” 

His eyelashes kiss his cheeks. He doesn’t reply, instead he thanks you with a kiss to your cheek…and then one to the other…then your nose...and lips...and well safe to say you were a little late in the end after all

Thank you for reading ♡

[cherie-doll]

Hi I just read your "They waited for you" headcannons and my heart is broken 😭. It was beautifully written but I'm a sucker for a happy ending, so how do you think they'd react if they got home to find you still alive having either been missing or faking your own death?

aw thanks! yeah a couple others requested a happy ending to this hc as well so here it is! (sorry i was supposed to post this hours ago but i fell asleep...)

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: They Waited For You (Happy/Good Alternate Ending)

౨ৎ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price

He had felt immense guilt for losing you, if only he could have kept you tucked away better, he knew your corpse was likely out there somewhere, so against the advice and warnings of others he set out to at least find your body and give you a proper burial

He covered the entire area you had last been seen in and no sign of you, he found tracks leading away and traced them for a couple of days until by what seemed like a miracle he found you, still alive, you had managed to make a little nook in a pocket of forest

Blinking, he stood aghast a moment before running towards you, there were deep scars across your face, bruises and wounds but you had managed to hold up, he was surprised to see how you had survived despite your injuries

After taking a step back to look at you, he assessed your injuries, you quivered as his hands cupped your face, it was the first time you had felt his sincere touch in what felt like an eternity, he meekly traces the scars running from your temple down to your cheek, "I knew you'd make it" was all he whispered before taking you home

Ghost

No one had seen him since the news of you being KIA had been delivered, he had felt the emptiness growing within him, consuming his being until he was sure to be left only a walking skeleton of mindlessness

Oh, his poor heart was numb, nothing could make a ripple of effect, it was as if the centerpiece of his being had been removed and he no longer was able to function, he didn't want to go out there and be met by more disappointment, he'd get over it, eventually, or try to forget you, but it'd never be the same

Imagine the shock that nearly overwhelmed his heart who hadn't felt a tinge of emotion when you knocked on the front door, the surge of emotions was like a tidal wave, he didn't hesitate to hold you again

He didn't notice the blood, the bandages or the way your features furrowed, wincing in pain, not at first, not until he got a good look at you and saw the damage you went through, a flicker of your eyes and he knew it'd be a long story, one you weren't ready to tell yet, and he would respect that, for now he was at peace again, let him bask in it

Soap

A dream forever encased in his mind; was his situation so dire that he felt the need to resort to replaying your happiest moments together? The gleam in your eyes that he took for granted, he wanted that spark back, you were a star, his star, his sun in the sky to warm his heart with the most exhilarating of feelings

He thought he had finally lost it when he dreamt you showing up to his doorstep, with arms reaching for him, pulling him into you, it'd always end with him almost reaching you, his fingertips grazing your skin until he would wake up

It was an unexpected feeling when one day his fingers clasped yours, he was able to fully wrap his arms around you and inhale your familiar scent, he thought it was a little cruel that this dream was far too realistic, when he would wake up he'd feel cold again

But it wasn't, it wasn't a dream, his reality was no longer bleak or grim, the cause of his happiness had resurged and it was here to stay for a long time, you were no longer a burning memory

Gaz

People noticed he wasn't the same anymore, the shine in his eyes was gone and the hands that usually transmitted tenderness and security were now hesitant and wavering, he wasn't steady in his emotions nor thoughts, as much as he tried to reassure others that he was fine it was clear the toll it had taken on him

When he felt the pain of your loss spreading over his body, he prepared for it to overtake him, until you appeared like a healer to ease his pain and restore him to what he was before, it was such a surprise to him

His eyes stared into yours for what seemed like an eternity, taking in that you had really come back, once he really processed that you were before him he pulled you into him, remembering how much he had missed holding you safe in his arms and placing kisses on your temple and lips

He was quick to take in your pains and try his best to erase them, he wanted them treated with the best care possible, you had survived even when they had told him you surely died, he wasn't about to let you do anything but be next to him for a long time

Roach

The pain hadn't left him for a moment, he didn't have the chance of peace for fear of forgetting you, he missed resting in your arms, the steady rhythm of your breathing, he missed you beyond more than he could bear

Seeing you barrage into his life again, standing motionless in the doorway, he didn't understand why you needed to fake your death or why you went so long without contacting him, all he needed in that moment was to get to you

He clung onto you, tightly securing his arms around you and letting the hot tears spill down his cheeks, he had felt so lonely, so lost without you he didn't say anything else for now, the both of you silently swayed together, finally, his voice barely above a whisper, with so much softness of heart in his words, he told you to promise him to never leave his side ever again

Alejandro

An explosion of emotions overtook him, he was confused most of all, and he hated confusion, not knowing how one moment you're declared dead then he's mourning for you and the next you're in the flesh before him

He wanted to ask a million question but saved them the moment his eyes landed on the blood seeping through the patched bandages, the way you gingerly held your bandaged arm close to you, the dimmed look in your eyes, you had been broken but managed to come back

He gathered you in his arms, the answers would come later, all in his mind right now was to make you feel at home and nurse you back to health, when you were soundly sleeping, he laid next to you and observed you rest, he felt immediate guilt for wanting to question your disappearance right away

It must've been so hard for you to find your way back, but you had done it all by yourself, you managed to survive and still you thought of crawling back to him

Rudy

He wasn't at all fine with the so called "closure" they had tried to give him when you were KIA, was that it? Would he have to spend the rest of his days trying to be content with only sighing and looking back at the past occasionally?

A pause extended and he found himself unable to do anything with the time he had previously spent with you, there was time on his hands but no one to spend it on, he simply couldn't shake away his thoughts of longing

Until news of your unexpected return came to him, he was the one to rush to you, for your injuries were far too great to be able to make it anywhere outside the hospital, you weakly smiled up at him from the hospital bed, pain ringing in your ears but that passed to being background noise the moment you saw him

The immense relief he felt in his heart that eased the shadow looming over him, he observed your face for any other signs of pain, tell him anything you need he assured, but you only wanted him next to you, you'll heal well if you're with him

Phillip Graves

He failed to ever compose himself, he just couldn't bring himself to get over you, not his job, nor those around him to attempted to provide some comfort, he felt rage at those who tried to distract him from you, they didn't understand he didn't want to forget you, not caring about the pain

The last messages you had sent him were still there on his phone, on some days he'd stare at the screen, wanting to believe the last sentence you had typed out, that it wouldn't be long before you were there by his side again

On other days he didn't want to hear any notification from his phone knowing you wouldn't be able to call or message him ever again, his phone would be on silent for days, until one day he turned it on to see missed calls from you

He thought he had been dreaming, rubbing sleep from his eyes he focused on the incoming call again, your name was flashing on the screen, it was as if his heart jumpstarted again hearing your voice come in, he nearly cried but was able to know you were waiting for him, wanting to come to him

And it was like he learned to smile again, a gentle smiling on his lips, tears glossing over his pretty blue eyes as he was able to hold you securely in his arms

Makarov

Through too many bitter days he had to keep living, and that was such a cruel punishment he couldn't withstand, he couldn't live day by day in ignorance until his death, he hated how early you had to part ways, it was much worse than a breakup, for you were still very much in need of one another

He had no one else to tell his sorrows to, not that he was willing to open up, he only had regrets, wishing he was able to rewind time and prevent you from going on that mission, he'd do anything to get you back

Fortunately, you showed up at his door before he was able to start a war, he saw your wounds and it was another bullet to his heart, something as dear to him as you should remain unscathed, but with your head on his chest you calmed him, telling him you were here after all

And for now he'd have to focus on keeping you safe, protecting these never-changing memories for as long as he could

Keegan

He held remnants of that pitiful hope that you were somehow still alive, although each day the chances dwindled, each time he went out he had to come to face the reality that you weren't there to do the things you used to always do together

He did have to wait a long time before he was able to see you again, by then he had almost given up the hope of you being gone forever, but there were just things he knew were off about your "death"

Still, he had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming when he saw you, you were across the street and the moment your eyes met he instantly knew it was you, you smiled gently at him it seemed like a dream underneath the sky

And he did do exactly as he hoped, took care of you even if most of your injuries had been treated, there was still a scar mentally and he did not hold back from caring for you

König

You had skipped the hospital, instead making your way straight to him, you could hold out a little longer but what if he couldn't? He wouldn't be able to wait long if he didn't see you, as soon as your saw him you collapsed into his arms, as if all this time you weren't safe until you felt him

His wishes were granted and he was to reflect on the blessing he had received, his thumb caressed your cheek but it was him who nearly spilled the tears brimming in his eyes, he didn't want to let go, he just wanted to hold you and look at you for as long as he could, he missed the sight of you

He was afraid to let go and that you would fade away again, as if a dream, you had to reassure him many times it wasn't a figment of his imagination but that you were here, his eyes noticed the wounds when you peeled off your clothing and he had to hold back from gasping at the sight of your bruises, most of them just needed time to heal

Horangi

It was such a beautiful sigh to see you again, even if you were hurt he looked beyond that and he no longer had to think about how grim the future would be without you

He had lost hope and regained it again, how was he to ever make up for this? You two gazed at one another, simply content with being in one another's company again, he didn't want you to do anything strenuous, just being by your side while you recuperated

He would no longer have to resort to past thoughts of you, now he could focus on keeping you by his side and preventing from danger taking you away from him

It had felt like such a long time since he was able to say your name, and now he could call out to you and you'd answer, knowing you didn't stop existing for a moment in his universe

Nikto

The reunion was quiet, you were both tired, you were on the brink of death, thinking you weren't going to make it, but you were a stubborn one, you had been determined to make it back to him, you loved the man

The darkness and static started to fade away and tune out in his mind, he was able to take in his surroundings once again just rest with you, his mind had gone through too much trying to cope with the grief

He didn't have to ask, he just knew you had resolve, too many times he went through the same situation himself only to still come out alive even if it was with a few new scars, but that was before he had met you, you had done it all on the act of wanting to see him again, to not leave him alone in this world

He would rather focus on healing your physical wounds than acting hurt from his mental wounds, it had been a long time since either of you had slept well, now the rest would be plentiful

[markleessodalite]

You Called Me Baby: l.jn

You Called Me Baby: Lee Jeno drabble

Content: Jeno and reader are grossly in love but painfully shy, and a particular word is accidentally thrown around, causing Jeno's brain to implode. No warnings to note

A/N: this isn't my best but i just wanna post something since its going to be a few days before i can post something better/ more in depth

Its been painfully long since you’ve heard from Jeno. You know he’s not the most talkative guy, not much of a texter, and when you do get a response from him, he’s a little dry. But he’d at least make an effort to appear, to let you know he’s listening to you. To reply to your message as quickly as possible, to return a call that he missed. To hold your gaze with his own as you tell him stories about you, your life, your past, and your hopes for the future. He didn’t need to talk that much for you to understand him. He didn’t need to say anything at all. The way he’d look into your eyes with a peaceful smile, the way his hand would inch ever closer to yours begging to be held, the way he’d always manage to focus solely on you in a room full of all your friends’ excited chatter and laughter. He didn’t say a word, but he made it obvious he felt the same way that you do– completely and foolishly head over heels.

It was obvious in the darkness of last night, when the two of you were alone after everyone else had gone home, sitting on the couch side by side. As close as possible without actually being wrapped around each other. Not close enough to feel his heartbeat, but close enough to feel the sparks between you. Shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm, and finally, hand in hand. His hand was calloused and rough, but the warmth radiating off of him, that you were sure was coming directly from his heart, made his palms feel like plush cashmere.

And then it slips out. You didn’t mean to say it. You didn’t even realize you called him such a sweet word until he stiffened. Then chuckled. Took on that smile that you know only appears when he’s uncomfortable. Then you feel cashmere slipping out of your hand. Before you can address the sudden tension, he’s excusing himself and closing your door behind him.

Now, the morning after, you lay in your bed, staring at your phone, unsure whether to hate yourself for being so reckless with your words or to hate Jeno for just up and leaving without uttering any words at all.

Just as you’re about to throw your phone onto the nightstand and force yourself back to sleep (its the only thing you can think of to avoid crying), you get a call. Perhaps if you had thought for a second longer, you'd reject it out of spiteful heartbreak. But before you can think that far ahead, as soon as you see who it is, you answer as if its second nature.

“I’m sorry I left. I was nervous. It just surprised me when you called me ‘baby’ and I didn't know how to respond. I’m sorry. But I do really like you. Can we meet up today?”