#the hands - all the work with the hands 🫠🫠🫠

[mischievouslittlecreature]

@brummiereader Ahhh! Amazing work as always, Brummie! 🖤 I wanna grab Tommy and shake him 😂

Reader's whole ritual of getting ready, her considering her wedding rings, and finding Tommy's shirt in the closest, was all so good. There was such a layer of melancholy to the whole thing. I really felt like I could feel how Reader was missing the time before things all fell apart between them. That line, about her still being a kept woman, was such a gut punch.

Elsie is such a sweetheart! Her telling her mama that she looks pretty nearly melted me 🫠. And I can really feel how much Reader loves her.

Ada being so supportive of Reader! Yes! I adore her so much. I found the parallel between her and Frances's reactions to Reader's choices really interesting, and they showcase just how far Tommy's reach really is. Even if they don't agree with him, they can tell when something Reader does is going to upset him.

Reader's onslaught of self-inflicted insults was so sad to see! 😭This poor girl, I can really see how Tommy's influence seems to have chipped away at her bit by bit over time.

And the worst thing about it all, about the whole fucking ordeal...you still loved him. Still, hopelessly in love with him. Pathetic, a hand shook your arm as your head cast down, remembering the cascade of decisions that had everything fall apart.

Oh, honey...I just wanna give her a hug! The way you describe Tommy as slowly tightening his hold on her over time in reaction to her gaining more independence is horrifying, but also feels very realistic for someone from that time.

Maybe she was right after all. Submit to your husband. The only sensible, optional choice. Right?

No! She's not right, Reader! Stick to your guns, girl! 😤 I love the contrast between her and Linda, with Linda being more willing to submit to her husband than Reader is.

Tommy's POV really continues to fascinate me. I love you've interwoven these moments of more self awareness between his bouts of paranoia. It makes him feel more real, in a lot of ways.

Ugh, Tommy 🤦🏻‍♀️. Of course he would throw an absolute fit over something as simple as a cup of tea.

Eep! I'm so scared for Reader regarding both her planned drinks with her new employer, and Tommy's anger about the tea! 🫣

Binding Love (Part Two/Dark!Tommy)

Summary: After a morning of relentless mulling over your fractured marriage and place in the world, you make a quick dash out the front door before Tommy learns of your plans for the day. But when your daughter's inquisitive mind reveals your intentions, Tommy's paranoia turns its ugly head.

Warnings: Dark!Tommy, language, violence, psychological mind games, controlling behaviour, toxic relationship, manipulative behaviour, psychological abuse, mutual pining.

Word Count: 3.5K

[Masterlist] [Previous Part] [Trailer]

" Thank you, Frances" you smiled to your housekeeper in the mirror of your vanity, fingers cradling the cold mug of ginger tea cupped within your hands, you hoped would help you sleep the night before as she finished placing the last of the spindly wired pins in your hair.

" Mam" she laid the small leafed dish of jewellery in front of you as you placed each precious gem to your skin, when the faint clanging of the last piece rattled against the ceramic plate with a brush of your fingers.

" Oh..." your eyes drifted down to your wedding ring sitting lonesome along the ridges of the handmade keepsake. The corners of your lips turning down in sadness at the ache the circular band still managed to pull within your chest.

Something so small, so simple, yet it held the weight of a decade's worth of memories. And although your husband's hand was still adorned with the gold band of vows you had made, yours wasn't. Only the lingering indent of where it once sat remained, embedded into your skin as a reminder of who you'd forever be bound to through the years of your youth you had spent together.

" Right" you rose from your seat, brushing the tear that had settled within the curls of your lashes as you made your way over to your wardrobe.

Hands brushing along the dozens of gowns hand-sewn with lace and sequins, your eyes drifted to a lone shirt of Tommy's nestled between the fabric of your clothes that had gone unnoticed when separating your belongings.

Fuck sake, you sighed to yourself at the constant reminder of his presence, releasing a stifled cry when the lasting notes of his cologne drifted towards you as you pulled it out from within your wardrobe, tightly clutching the cuffs of its arms within the palms of your hands.

You could have moved to one of the many guest rooms. But Tommy had insisted. Was it his way of making you remember, making sure you didn't forget?, your own paranoia began to nag you about the room that suffocated you every night with the reminder of the love that was shared in it, the passionate nights that once filled it.

" This one will do" you abruptly shoved it to the back of the cupboard in favour of a blouse, pulling yourself from recounting the blissful moments you found yourself gazing at through rose-tinted glasses, forgetting the reality of how dire things had become.

Happy times had been replaced with a darkened mood, an unpredictable temper that would sway back and forth to the sound of the pendulum in your foyer to whatever had displeased its owner. For when Tommy's mood was good, it was good. And when it was bad, it was very, fucking, bad.

Deciding to no longer be the kept woman, the woman that had barely a thought to herself her husband hadn't invaded, you had come to the realisation that it would be your responsibility to pull yourself out of the limbo Tommy was intent on keeping you in.

"It's quite chilly outside, Mam. Perhaps something a little warmer?" Frances voiced as her hurried steps raced towards you in a panic after noting the sheerness of the top you had chosen, sheer enough to see a peak of thrills from your brassiere.

" They say it will be mild later today" you shrugged off your gown into a bundle of fabric on the floor as you caught the worrying concern in her eyes.

" Perhaps, perhaps a cardigan then, if it gets too...cold" you relented, watching the relief wash over her as she eagerly searched behind you for a wooly garment that would cover you enough to get you through the front door without your husbands raging jealously making itself known to all those unfortunate enough to be within close vicinity.

" That's better" Frances adjusted the back of your fleecy shawl as you looked at the reflection of yourself in the weathered glass of your bedroom window, pulling the buttoned clothing around the curves of your chest.

Still, a kept woman.

" Elsie, come on! We're going to be late!" you called up the stairs, furiously tugging at the prickling fabric of your cardigan, itching the back of your neck as you paced the foyer. Eager to get going before the sound of your husband's phone call ended, and he learnt of your day's plans.

" Where's my pony? I can't find it!" You heard an avalanche of toys being tossed onto the wooden floors of her bedroom as she searched for her most cherished of toys.

Come on, come on, your body began to panic as you rolled forward from your heel to your toes to see the back of your husband drifting left and right between the crack in the door, receiver still in hand as he gave his orders to the poor soul on the opposite end of the line.

" Elsie!" You called after your six-year-old for a second time, perching on the bottom step of Arrow Houses's grand staircase as your head craned up to see what was taking her so long, when her bouncing curls and plump cheeks suddenly appeared, hopping down each wooden slab with her treasured horse in hand.

" Go, go, go" you ushered her along, simultaneously attempting to tie her hair into a plated braid with each skipping step of her booted feet along the marble floor as your eyes nervously darted to Tommy's office that had now, suddenly gone quiet.

" Ow Mummy, you're hurting me!" Her hand flew to her head in protest as you tried to twist the band around to keep her hair in place.

" I'm sorry darling, but we'll be late for the bus and Mummy's interview if we don't get moving" you winced as the skin of your fingers dragged along the tight elastic, finally pulling the last of her locks through.

" Daddy!" She screeched, turning her head and feet to the sight of Tommy appearing from behind his office door.

Shit.

" Morning princess" a smile grew on his face as she bounded into him, squeezing her little arms around his waist as he shuffled forward from foot to foot until he reached you, inches from making it out the door before the interrogations began.

" Sweetheart" he pressed a longing kiss to the side of your head, hand threading into the locks of your hair as you shrugged away from the charade of a happily married couple he was adamant on maintaining in front of your daughter.

" Car's waiting outside" he said as his fingers settled on Elsie's shoulders stood behind her, her petite hands clutching onto his as his eyes roamed over your choice of outfit.

"But mummy said we're taking the bus" your daughter pouted up to the frown of confusion creasing on Tommy's forehead.

" The bus?" Your husband's eyes darted up to you as you adjusted the bag in your hand, feeling the familiar heat of his piercing stare begin to burn your face.

" I thought you were meeting Linda and Ada to go over her wedding plans?" Tommy's frown stayed firmly knitted between his brows as he watched your fumbling fingers pull out your small silver pocket mirror, wiping the corners of your ruby-stained lips.

"Well, won't you need the car for that?" You heard a heavy sigh of irritation follow his questions at your silence. The small brown haired barrier between you both, stopping him from letting his annoyance slip and forcefully demanding it from you instead. " Y/N?"

" I have somewhere to be first" you snapped the mirror shut as you cleared your throat, when the innocence of your daughter's curious mind revealed your true plans for the day.

" What's an interview?"

Double shit.

"You have a job interview?" Tommy scoffed a stifled laugh of disbelief, shaking his head as his veiny hands straining with annoyance came up to brush down his mouth.

" Something Mummy has no business in doing, Elsie" the tone of his voice deepened, scolding you through his reply to your daughter's inquisitive mind.

You were slipping further away from him with each passing day. Why wasn't he told about this? He was slacking, his men slacking, Tommy thought to himself as his breath became heavy, his shoulders tensing with anger as you continued to ignore his questions to pat the creases that had already begun to appear in your daughter's school dress when Tommy's eyes suddenly darted to the blouse you had chosen, peaking through the open button of your cardigan that had slipped through its hole.

" An interview" he quietly mumbled with a breathy exhale of suspicion as you quickly pulled the front of your top around your chest.

Rising to your feet, your eyes caught sight of his glaring anger in the silence that weighed heavy between you. A stare intent enough to have you believe that it was you, who had done something so atrocious, that it deserved his sour reaction.

" Elsie, what do you think of Mummy's new...clothes?" Tommy broke the tension as his eyes stayed firmly fixed on you, using your daughter to have his displeasure with your outfit made known.

" Pretty" she grinned a toothy smile as her hands reached out to feel the soft fabric. " Like the feather dancers at Uncle Arthur's work" she blushed shyly at the beauty her mother radiated and the many sparkling jewels that adorned your skin she dreamed you'd one day let her wear.

" Thank you, my sweet girl" you stepped forward, brushing your fingers through the locks of her hair when your eyes cast up to the protruding bone of your husband's jaw inches from your face, his heavy breath fanning across your lips.

" Go get your school bag, love" Tommy let go of your daughter's shoulders as she merrily skipped away from the gap he was closing between you.

" Feather dancers. So a whore, then?" He mumbled through gritted teeth as he pulled the front of your cardigan to the side, fingers sweeping under the top of your exposed lingerie. " You gonna whore yourself out for this job too, eh?" He cocked a brow as you pushed past him.

" It's just fabric, Tommy" you straightened your clothes as you waited on your daughter.

" Elsie, come on, let's go" you urgently reached your hand out for her to take as she fumbled with her coat when Tommy abruptly pulled you back into his body.

" What happened to you, hm? I don't even fucking recognise you anymore" you felt his grip tighten around your arm as he quietly voiced his opinion on what he believed was a change in your personality.

"What I wear is no longer your concern, now is it Tommy?" You responded in a hushed voice as you pulled away to your daughter patiently waiting by the door.

"I'll race you there" you smiled down at your dimpled cheeked child as she eagerly nodded her head.

" We have a whole fleet of cars, Y/N. Y/N!" He called after you, hands on hips as he stood at the bottom of the winding stairs. Watching you jog off with your giggling six- year-old before his eyes flew up to the second floor and the paranoia he needed to settle.

" You're late" Linda clicked her tongue, patting the seat beside her as you arrived in a tangled mess of hair, slipping garments and rolling eyes at the soon-to-be Shelby members' orderly manner.

" First, let's go over the itinerary" she pulled out a floral notebook, her fingers scrolling down the many pages or arrangements she had already made for her big day.

" Goodness Linda, can we not have some tea, or perhaps something a little stronger to get us through this joyous occasion" Ada sent you a playful wink as you shrugged off your bag, settling into the chair between them.

" How are you?" Your sister-in-law probed, quickly noting the deep bags of exhaustion under your eyes and the heavy sigh accompanying them. " Let me guess, my dear brother?"

" He went and pulled a Tommy special again, Ada" your hand trembled up to your brow, pinching the six months worth of stress you couldn't seem to rid yourself of.

Shakey hands, sleepless nights, you thought to yourself, burying your fingers under your legs to hide your rattling nerves. Was it all worth it?

" Yes, I did hear about that" she sent you a sympathetic smile of understanding. Knowing the lengths her brother would go to make his point, as he continued to stubbornly dig his heels in.

" I think the whole of Birmingham did" a sudden wave of shame reddened your cheeks with the learnt knowledge that every living soul in the fogged city was now aware of your and Tommy's strained relationship.

"It's been postponed, the...divorce that is" you mumbled, barely able to mutter the catalyst that caused said blaring row. The word alone, causing your stomach to twist into an unbearable ache for the love that was still there for him.

"And your interview, this morning?" Ada's attempt to change the heavy topic of conversation was gratefully welcomed when a smile began to dimple into your cheeks. For your trusted sister-in-law had seen the stress the separation had put on you, been at the brunt end of her brother's phone calls as he accused her of spurring on your decision to end the marriage.

"I got the job" you scooted your hands from their numbing position, fingers brushing a lock of hair behind your ear as she matched the excited grin on your lips.

" I'm meeting him, my boss, for drinks later. To go over the finer details, and in celebration for his newly hired typist...me" you giggled as a surge of confidence bubbled in your stomach at your first step into becoming an independent woman when Ada's smile suddenly dropped.

" Him...drinks?" her eyes began to widen, darting to the side of your cheery smile at the young peaked cap man sat a couple of tables behind, tipping his hat before slipping away.

"Y/N perhaps drinks are not..."

" Ephesians chapter five, verse two..." Linda interjected into the conversation her rosey notebook had taken all her attention with.

" Ada, what is it?" your brow creased, ignoring the beginnings of Linda's religious lecture, her eyes snapping back to you as she swiftly clutched her fingers around your hand.

"Ada?" You quietly mouthed when your gaze drifted over the concern filling her sapphire eyes, the same concern you saw in France's that very morning, the realisation your giddy stupidity had clouded, suddenly hitting you.

It was just a drink to celebrate, he didn't have to know? And if he found out, surely he'd understand? It was a new job, you couldn't turn the offer down, it would be impolite. You were separated...you and Tommy separated.

" Wives, submit to your own husband. As to the lord..." Linda's ill-timed words of advice drifted to you as you released your hand from Ada's clutches.

As the continued martial counsel buzzed relentlessly in your ear, you let your body slump into the cushioned fabric of your chair until the drowning religious verses muffled with the sounds of twirling spoons tapping against their porcelain tea cups, scrapping knives cutting freshly baked cakes until nothingness, complete silence.

How could you have been so stupid? So naive to have thought you could support your daughter on a mere typist's wage? That Tommy wouldn't move heaven and earth before he'd see the likes of you working so closely with another man? That word wouldn't get back to him about your planned drinks?, you thought to yourself as the distant sound of Ada calling your name echoed through each delayed blink of your welling eyes.

Divorce, another one of your stupid ideas, from your stupid list of stupid things you thought you could achieve, you continued your onslaught of self-inflicted insults as a tear rolled down the slope of your cheek.

And the worst thing about it all, about the whole fucking ordeal...you still loved him. Still, hopelessly in love with him. Pathetic, a hand shook your arm as your head cast down, remembering the cascade of decisions that had everything fall apart.

For when you no longer needed the guiding hand of your husband, his opinions nor protection as you began to blossom into a woman and spread your wings, came Tommy's paranoia. Fear of losing you to life's wonders, to another man, your husband's clutches began to tighten to the unbearable point where every waking breath wasn't without him looming behind you.

And yet you soldiered through, the thought of separation too torturous to contemplate as he continued to tighten his chains around you until he pushed you to the point where a tearful outburst had you asking for the dreaded seven letter word, an outburst that finally had you seeing the man your husband had kept in the shadows. The real, Thomas Shelby.

" Flowers. A dozen red roses on each side of the altar. Like the ones my Artie picks for me" Linda's voice suddenly snapped you from your thoughts, her insufferable happiness searing through the stained memories you shared with Tommy.

Maybe she was right after all. Submit to your husband. The only sensible, optional choice. Right?

Bolting two steps at a time to your once shared bedroom, Tommy threw open the door, eyes wide as he scanned the room.

You were seeing someone, fucking someone, he told his raging paranoia as he began to wade through your belongings, pulling your cupboard draws out one by one in search of something, anything that would confirm his suspicions.

" Fuck!" His hand slammed the last drawer shut, finding nothing that would give him the justification to interrupt your days plans and confront you about your lies.

What the fuck was he doing?, he perched himself on the edge of your vanity, fingers threading through his hair as a heavy sigh of exhaustion left his lips. He was losing you, he told himself, burying his head in his hands as he swallowed down the nagging guilt of his own making creeping up his throat.

You loved him, needed him. You were just...Tommy refused to believe otherwise, refused to accept your separation as he pulled a cigarette from within his suit jacket when a smack of reality hit him with the winking shine of your gold wedding ring catching the corner of his eye.

Puffing a cloud of smoke from his lips, Tommy rubbed the small band between his fingers, lifting it to his face to see his engraved initials entwined with yours inside of its metal frame.

Was that when you began to distance yourself from him? After your wedding? When you no longer sought out his advice, cared to sit and watch him work, choosing rather to meet new people, go new places without him? To... modernise? he cleared the bitter taste of resentment from his throat, clutching the lone piece of jewellery within his hand, clutching onto the remnants of your marriage for dear life before tossing it onto the table for all to see like you had your marriage.

" Just what are you up to, hm?" Tommy's distrust quickly returned, feeling hurt by the sight of your wedding ring laid cold on its ornate tray as he picked up the small photo frame of you and Elsie he had taken on a trip to Brighton many moons ago.

" You better not be lying to me darling. You know what happens when..." Tommy's eyes drifted from your portrait to the mug of cold tea sat on your vanity. It's distinct smell, awakening his senses and anger in one quick, sweeping moment.

Ginger.

Commonly used for insomnia. But also consumed in regular doses as a form of contraception. A tea Tommy would tease you about in your early years of dating with it's uselessness as you refused to rely on his preferred, and most notoriously unreliable method of, pulling out.

It had been many months since you and Tommy had shared your martial bed, many months since you basked in the warmth of each other's bodies.

You weren't fucking him. So who were you sleeping with?, Tommy seethed at the idea of another man touching you that wasn't him, all logical thinking swiftly taken over by a blazing fury behind the viscous storm brewing behind his eyes at the lies he was convinced you had told him. Lies he'd get to the bottom of before the day was over.

" My car, now!"

Next Part coming soon!

Tag list: @peakyswritings @justrainandcoffee @garrison-girl-08 @meadows5 @lavender-haze-01

@strangeobsessed @ttae-yong @lemonwithstupidity @lindsay00000 @mischievouslittlecreature

@jbrownta @lau219 @whereismymindnow

[dustykneed]

--Really, Doctor?

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Robbie Taylor Hunt will probably go mostly under the radar but he needs and deserves all the props and praise for his work on Red white and royal blue.

intimacy coordinators deserve so much credit and he did an outstanding job with this film!!!

[httpiastri]

i'm having several thoughts rn 😵‍💫😵‍💫

this picture 🫠🫠🫠🫠 ahaaaaaaa i’m totally fine

[witchywithwhiskey]

been eager to dive back into this story and it's finally time!!!

i love foreboding the vibes of this story. the sense that there's so much more going on just makes me want to know MORE. i want to know EVERYTHING!!!

that said, i'm very happy we get a fun little Yelena diversion. i love writing Yelena into fics because she's such a cheeky character, and i think you captured that part of her very well!!

"Oh, I have many words for it, but 'intensity' is the polite one."

like this!! it's such a snarky, little sister comment and i love that. even in this very professional setting in front of someone the Foundation is trying to woo, Yelena is going to be herself.

though i did wonder how much of Yelena and Natasha's banter was for reader's benefit to put her at ease 👀 i feel like we know Natasha has scheduled the whole day perfectly and i'm so curious about just how deep that goes.

"looking like a very patriotic drowned rat"

🤣 this had me cackling. i could absolutely see Yelena describing Steve this way—meanwhile, i'd be picturing Steve's wet clothes plastered to his chest 🫠🫠🫠 i'm sure he'd make a very handsome patriotic drowned rat.

As you carefully pull the book from the shelf, you feel a slight vibration, almost like a pulse of energy, and you pull your hand away immediately.

i can't remember if i've mentioned this before—and i've tried really hard not to spoil myself with the later chapters—but is there a supernatural element to this???? (don't tell me!!!) i do enjoy the lack of knowing. there's so much hidden beneath the surface of this story and it all makes me feel like i'm on the back foot. which i think is how i'm supposed to feel, and it makes me all the more curious to see what's next.

and now reader has accepted the position, when she doesn't even know what she's going to be doing!!! although, if she accepted an in-person interview at their estate in the country after already suspecting they might be a cult, that sounds about right. but i get it, financial stability is important!

but i still have one question, because i don't feel like Natasha was completely forthright: WHY was reader chosen to work with Bucky??? do we find out later??? i'm assuming we find out later—don't tell me!!

as you can probably tell, i enjoyed this a lot, Aspen. i'm so drawn in by the world you've created and the story you're telling. i'm eager to get to the smutty bits but i'm really having fun with the slow buildup. and i can't wait to read more!!

Chosen, Part 3: Consideration

Characters/Pairings: eventual Bucky x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Natasha Romanoff, Yelena Belova Word Count: 4.4k Summary: You have quite a lot to consider over the course of the afternoon as Natasha wants you to decide whether or not you'll accept an offer with the Foundation. An unexpected discussion with someone you trust helps you sort out some of your thoughts.

SERIES Content Warnings: SOFT!DARK STORY, cult themes, explicit smut, dubious consent and enthusiastic consent, veiled truths, gaslighting

CHAPTER Content Warnings: hints of manipulation - flattery

Notes: New and familiar faces, and a line of insight into at least part of why you may consider accepting a very mysterious offer to join The Winged Heritage Foundation.

Previous: Lunch | Series List

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Back on the move and without Natasha’s piercing gaze on you, you still can't shake the continual feeling that you're venturing into something far more complex and mysterious than you'd initially imagined.

Stepping back into the grand foyer, you’re approached by a young woman as impeccably dressed as Natasha, with blonde hair styled into an intricate braid that’s pulled over her shoulder. Although her stance is official - a tablet in her hands, seemingly waiting for the two of you - her expression is playful, a mix of warmth and sarcasm, if sarcasm could be deemed an actual facial expression.

"Ah, perfect timing,” Natasha says, then turns to you. “Allow me to introduce you to Yelena Belova, one of our HR liaisons and your escort for the afternoon."

“And her adopted sister,” Yelena adds, stepping forward and extending her hand with a spirited grin. "Nice to meet you," she says, her voice a melodic blend of Russian and American accents. "I hope Natasha hasn't scared you off yet with all her intensity."

Natasha rolls her eyes, but there's a fondness in her expression. "Yelena will be taking over from here. I think you could use a break from my – as Yelena put it – intensity."

Yelena's grin widens. "Oh, I have many words for it, but 'intensity' is the polite one."

You can't help but laugh.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Natasha says, “and I’ll see you again for afternoon tea.”

As Natasha excuses herself, Yelena gestures for you to follow her upstairs. You feel instantly at ease, Yelena’s playful demeanor a refreshing change of pace after the first half of the day. You ascend the sweeping staircase, your footsteps muffled by the plush carpet runner. The upper floor is just as impressive as the ground level, with high ceilings adorned with intricate moldings and chandeliers that sparkle like cascading diamonds.

Yelena leads you down a hallway, passing doors of rich, dark wood with brass handles polished to a mirror shine. She regales you with amusing anecdotes about life at the Foundation as you go.

"You wouldn't believe the things that happen around here," she says, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Last week, Tony Stark accidentally set off the sprinkler system in the east wing while testing some new gadget. You should have seen Roger’s face when he walked in, soaked to the bone, looking like a very patriotic drowned rat."

Yelena's stories have you laughing as she leads you to a door at the end of the hallway. She opens it, revealing a cozy sitting room that takes your breath away – yet another thing that’s done so today.

The room is circular, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a panoramic view of the estate's grounds. Plush armchairs and sofas in rich jewel tones are arranged around a central fireplace, its mantle adorned with intricate carvings of flowers and vines. Bookshelves line the walls between the windows, filled with leather-bound tomes that look ancient and valuable. It seems to be an oasis away from the larger library you saw this morning.

"This is the Starlight Room," Yelena explains, gesturing around. "It's one of my favorite spots in the whole mansion. You've got about twenty minutes to relax before the first of your afternoon meetings. There’s a powder room attached to this sitting room,” she points to the corner, “so I’ll leave you to yourself, but if you need anything, I’ll be just down the hall.”

You thank Yelena and sink into one of the plush armchairs, taking a moment to absorb the stunning view and process everything you've experienced so far. The room is peaceful, with soft classical music playing from hidden speakers. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the gentle melody wash over you, relishing the moment of quiet after the whirlwind of the day so far.

When you open your eyes again, your gaze is drawn to the bookshelves, and you can’t resist the opportunity to explore freely. Rising from your seat, you approach the nearest shelf, running your fingers gently along the spines of the ancient-looking tomes. The titles are in various languages, some you recognize and others you don't. One book in particular catches your eye – a slim volume bound in midnight blue leather with silver lettering that seems to shimmer as you look at it.

As you carefully pull the book from the shelf, you feel a slight vibration, almost like a pulse of energy, and you pull your hand away immediately.

You shake your head and take a deep breath, urging yourself to pull it together. Your mind is getting caught up in the shrouded secrecy of the day. There’s nothing magical in this library, you think.

You reach for the book again, and there’s another surge of vibration, but you laugh, feeling both relieved and a little silly when you realize it’s coming from your phone in your pocket.

It’s a text from your best friend saying she hopes things are going well and that she’s wishing you the best possible outcome.

You smile, and then hit dial on her contact.

She picks up almost immediately. “Hello?” her voice is clearly excited and surprised.

“Hi,” you breathe, feeling relief at hearing her voice on the other end of the line.

“Is everything okay?” she asks immediately.

“Yes! Yes,” you reassure her instantly. “I just have a break, and you apparently have perfect timing, so I thought I’d call. Are you good to talk for a few minutes?”

“Sure,” she replies. “I’m just having toilet time in the company bathroom.”

You gasp. “And you took a call? Isn’t that against your code of ethics for what happens in a public bathroom?” you mock.

She laughs. “I make exceptions for best friends who are on insane day trips for big time interviews. Besides, no one else is in here right now. Now spill! How’s the day been so far?”

“I had to sign an NDA-”

“An NDA?” she exclaims, then sighs. “Of course they had you sign an NDA.”

“-but I’ll try and tell you as much as I can.” You launch into a rundown of how gorgeous the house and grounds are, that most of the morning was spent touring the facility, and you say that the work is fascinating and impressive - though you can’t go into more detail than that. You mention that you met some very interesting personnel - one with a lot of personality, even though you can’t mention it’s Tony. You can’t expound in much detail what you discussed over lunch with Steve and Natasha, but you paint broad strokes. Since they are the Executive Director and the Chief Recruitment Officer and that knowledge is publicly available on their website, you do feel you’re safe to at least say who you had lunch with. Your best friend reminds you she has a huge crush on the Natasha, having looked up as much as she could about the Winged Heritage Foundation as well, and ultimately finding little more than you had, but falling down a rabbit hole of a thirst trap for the redhead.

“So, I know you can’t tell me what is it that they do there, but do you feel like you know what they do and what do they want you to do?” she asks when you reach a pause in your recounting of the day.

You sink down into one of the armchairs next to the window and pinch the bridge of your nose.

Apparently you’re silent too long, because your friend nudges you from the other end of the line, prompting you earnestly with your name.

You sigh. “I still don’t know,” you confess.

This time your name is exclaimed in disbelief on the other end of the line.

“I know! Trust me, I know.”

“You’ve been there for hours, had a massive tour, spent time with their top executives, and you still don’t know?”

“I know a lot more, and I have meetings set up this afternoon with more people – basically informal interviews, me getting to talk to them, and them getting to know me, and they’ll probably report back their impressions in the final notes that will be considered, but…” you trail off, hesitant to say more.

“But what?” she presses.

You don’t know if sharing this detail will put you in breach of the NDA, and you’re also wary of the reaction it will get, but this will directly affect your life, so you decide to tell her anyway.

“But Natasha said she essentially wants me to commit to whether or not I’ll accept an offer by the end of the afternoon.”

“What? That’s insane!”

She can’t see it, but you grimace all the same.

“I swear to god,” she continues, “the only thing keeping this from being a straight up cult is that they’ve been transparent in offering you a compensation package and at least gave you time to consider that. This is like some Goldman Sachs level secrecy.”

“Yeah,” you agree.

“And I’m still not thoroughly convinced they’re not a cult.”

You huff.

“They’re probably not a cult though,” she backtracks slightly. “You’re the one who’s there, trust your gut. You have good instincts.”

You sigh, leaning back in the plush armchair. "You're right, I need to trust my instincts. It's just there's so much mystery here. I feel like I'm only seeing the surface and I know there’s so many things that go so much deeper."

"Well, what does your gut tell you?" your friend asks.

You pause, considering. "Honestly? It's telling me that this is an incredible opportunity. The people I've met are brilliant and passionate. The work they're doing, even if I don't fully understand it yet, feels important. And there's this energy here, this sense of purpose that's hard to explain."

"But?" Your friend prompts, sensing your hesitation.

"But there's also this underlying current of,” you are pinning down the question marks in what you’re seeing as you speak to your best friend, as you so often do, “I don't know, secrecy? Power? It's kind of thrilling and but also a little unnerving."

Your friend is quiet for a moment. "Look," she finally says, “you’re a trooper, you try not to let things get you down, but I know you’ve been pretty unhappy lately with work. For a long time now. You’ve been looking for a new job for a while, so if you feel like this could be it, take it. No job will ever be perfect, but the wardrobe allowance they want to give alone - hell, the fact that there is a wardrobe allowance - is worth putting up with any number of sins! And if it’s god awful, either you’ll complain about it to me and I’ll continue to make jokes about them being a cult or you stay long enough to have the nest egg you need to quit, and then we find you something else.”

You laugh. “Thank you,” you say, sincerely. “I needed that.”

“You’re my clever best friend and you can do no wrong in this world ever,” she gushes in a rush.

“Not true! Bye!”

“Bye!” she laughs as you cut the call.

You check the time and see that you have just a few minutes to refresh in the powder room. You use the toilet, straighten your clothes, touch up your hair, and make sure nothing is in your teeth from lunch. Returning to the Starlight Room proper, you have just enough time to rub some lotion onto your hands and pop a mint into your mouth, before there’s a soft but brief knock on the door.

Before you can answer, Yelena bursts into the room with what appears to be her characteristic energy, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. "Ready for round two?" she asks, her eyes twinkling.

You nod, feeling a renewed sense of purpose after your phone conversation. "Absolutely," you reply with a confident smile.

"Excellent," Yelena says, gesturing for you to follow her. "As you know, we've got a series of meetings lined up for you this afternoon. Think of them as informal chats rather than interviews. We want you to get a feel for the different aspects of our work here and the broader culture of the team at large."

This confirms almost exactly what you surmised over the phone.

You walk with Yelena down the hallway, and she continues, "First up is Dr. Bruce Banner. He heads our research division. Brilliant mind, a bit intense at times. Don't worry if he gets a little caught up in the science - it's his passion."

“If Dr. Banner is head of research, what’s Tony’s role?” you ask.

“Head of development,” Yelena explains. “As a pair, Tony pushes Bruce, and Bruce reigns Tony in.”

You laugh softly, eager to meet the personality Tony would respect enough to find scientific and philosophical balance with.

The afternoon passes in a whirlwind of meetings and introductions. You speak with department heads, researchers, and other key personnel. Each conversation provides tantalizing glimpses into the Foundation's work. While you still feel like you're only in the shallow end, you reason that you’re an outsider and the meetings are fairly brief, so there’s neither the time nor sound reason for them to go too deep with you. Plus, they each have questions of their own for you to answer that take up their own portion of each appointment.

Yelena shepherds you around dutifully, managing to time all your meetings and travel time from area to area with precision. She’s also irresistibly engaging herself as she speaks with you during each break, and you can easily see yourself grabbing lunch with her or drinks after work. She’s exuberant, but she seems naturally attuned to reign in her energy to the level that makes others feel comfortable, and you appreciate that.

As the day winds down, Yelena finally leads you back to the Starlight Room, where you find Natasha is waiting. The late afternoon sun casts a warm glow through the windows, bathing the room in golden light. A tea service has been set up on a small table between you, the delicate China cups and saucers another relic of the past to contrast with the high-tech facilities you've seen throughout the day.

Natasha pours the tea with simplistic grace, the aromatic steam rising between you. "So," she says, her green eyes studying you intently, "what are your thoughts after this afternoon’s meetings?"

You cradle the warm teacup in your hands. "It's been illuminating," you begin carefully. "Everyone I've met has been incredibly passionate about their work. The scope of what the Foundation does is impressive, to say the least."

Natasha nods, taking a sip of her tea. "And do you feel you have a clearer picture of what we do here?"

"In some ways, yes. I have a better sense of the different departments and the general areas of focus.” You pause, considering your words. “I feel I’ve gotten a great sense of the people here, and they’re all extremely passionate about their roles. But there's clearly so much more going on beneath what I've been shown."

A small smile plays at the corners of Natasha's lips. "You're right – there is much more to our work than what we can reveal in a single day. And as we said earlier, some aspects of what we do require… discretion."

You nod, taking a sip of your own tea. The flavor is complex and soothing, with notes of bergamot and something else you can't quite place. "I understand the need for discretion," you say. "But I still feel like there's so much I don't know. About the Foundation, about what my role would be here. It's a big decision to make on such short notice and with gaps in knowledge like that."

Natasha sets down her teacup, her gaze intense. "I understand your hesitancy. Once you’ve officially accepted, I will be able to tell you so much more. So, ask the questions you need to make a decision.”

You frown, knowing you won’t be given answers to your most burning question, but you try and set that aside. In your previous jobs, you hadn’t drilled down to their core philosophies, and you weren’t giving your soul to the organization, so you could reframe what you needed to make this decision.

“In the compensation package, it lists that a housing benefit is available on the premises. What does that entail, and it says ‘available,’ but is that expected, or…?”

This was one of the points that set off your best friend initially to the cult theory.

“Great question. Key roles in the Foundation are offered accommodations here at the estate in one of two wings that we did not see during our tour today - and that was only to respect the privacy of anyone who may have been in their living quarters. There are shared rooms, single rooms, and some small suites for a few positions at the top. If you forego the housing benefit, there isn’t a payout, but a number of our team stay here during the week and then return to their personal residences over the weekends or holidays.”

“Oh,” you’re pleasantly surprised at this explanation. It seems perfectly reasonable.

“Living on site also allows for a flexible work schedule, with some people working a few hours on, a few hours off, and then heading back in - typically with our researchers and scientists who benefit from taking true mental breaks between putting in concentrated work on their projects.”

“In that context, it makes a lot of sense,” you say.

“And then some people just appreciate not having to make the commute every day, we as an employer feel like we’re doing a little something to cut down on commuter emissions, et cetera.”

You laugh, and she smiles.

“What else?”

“This morning you said you were considering me for two opportunities. Do you know now which one you want to see me in?”

Natasha sets down her teacup. “You will be working directly with our founder, James Buchanan Barnes.”

Your jaw drops, but you quickly pick it up. “I – I only applied for an entry-level admin position. I can’t possibly–”

“I train my team to keep their eyes open for certain qualities and alert me to candidates who may seem to have them. You were passed to me with multiple indicators. This is your fourth interview, and an extensive one at that. I couldn’t be more sure I have the right candidate sitting in front of me.”

“But shouldn’t I know what the Foundation does, or, at the very least, have met the founder before I work with him?” you ask, your query perfectly serious, but also tinged with a bit of shock and sarcasm that you can’t stamp out in your current headspace.

The smile on Natasha’s face only grows, and she arches one eyebrow. “If you accept, you’ll meet him tonight, and I’ll work with you so you know everything you need to know and are completely prepared to meet him.”

“How can you be sure I’m the right fit?” you can’t help asking.

She tilts her head slightly. “You met how many of our people today? I know potential when I see it, and I do my homework when I have a hunch. I put that team together, and I’m damn good at what I do. Why would my instincts be off with you?”

You purse your lips together, but her words settle over you in a way nothing else has so far in the weeks this process has taken place from the beginning to now.

Maybe that was the only question you had needed to hear the answer to all along.

You had applied in the first place because you were feeling boxed in at work, hardly noticed, definitely not appreciated – at least not until extra projects or extra work needed to be taken care of, only then did you seem invaluable.

But not here.

Here, it seemed, you would matter.

You’re quiet for another moment, relishing the total calm that has finally settled in your gut. Then you say the two simple words that will alter your future. “I accept.”

Natasha's face lights up, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Excellent," she says, her voice warm with approval. "Welcome to the Winged Heritage Foundation. I'm thrilled you’ve accepted our offer."

She reaches across the table, grasping your hand in both of hers. Her touch is warm and surprisingly gentle, yet you can feel the strength beneath her soft skin. "I have no doubt you'll be an invaluable asset to us, and to Mr. Barnes specifically."

The late afternoon sun streaming through the windows seems to grow brighter, casting a golden glow over the room. The air feels charged with possibility, as if the very atmosphere is celebrating your decision.

"Now," Natasha continues, her voice taking on a note of anticipation, "as Steve and I mentioned earlier, we have a special event taking place this evening. It's not often that we extend invitations for this specific event to anyone outside of the Foundation, but now that you’re officially joining our ranks, that includes you.”

You grin, but then your face falls. “I don’t have anything to wear for a special occasion.”

Natasha stands and tuts at you, “I said I’d make sure you were completely prepared for tonight. Do you think I haven’t already thought of what you’ll be wearing?”

Heat rushes up your neck, and she chuckles, standing up. “Now let’s go. I’ll show you to your living quarters and you can rest and relax for a couple of hours while I take care of some things with our event and sort out final details on your contract.”

You follow Natasha out of the Starlight Room, your mind reeling with excitement and anticipation. The hallways of the mansion seem to glow with a new vibrancy as you pass through them, as if the very building is welcoming you as one of its own.

Natasha leads you to a different wing of the mansion, one you hadn't explored during your earlier tour. The decor here is slightly more modern, though still in keeping with the overall aesthetic of the estate. She stops in front of a door and produces a key.

"This will be your quarters," she says, inserting the key into the lock and opening the door. "At least for tonight, and possibly longer if you choose to take advantage of our housing benefit."

You step inside and your breath catches. It’s a corner room, and it’s spacious and beautifully outfitted, with a large four-poster bed, a sitting area, and floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides. The room is bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the polished hardwood floors. The decor is a perfect blend of classic elegance and modern comfort – antique furniture paired with state-of-the-art electronics. Plush rugs cover the hardwood, inviting armchairs and a couch flank a small fireplace, and a sleek desk sits in front of one of the windows, offering a stunning view of the estate grounds.

"This is gorgeous," you breathe, turning slowly to take it all in.

Natasha smiles, clearly pleased by your reaction. "I'm glad you like it. The bathroom is through that door," she gestures to your left, "and the closet is here." She opens a door to reveal a walk-in closet that's larger than most of the bedrooms you've had in the past.

"Now," she continues, her tone becoming more businesslike, "I suggest you take some time to rest and refresh yourself. The evening's events can run quite late and be… intense, to say the least. You'll want to be at your best."

Natasha walks over to the windows, her slender fingers tracing the intricate patterns on the heavy velvet curtains. With a fluid motion, she draws them closed, plunging the room into a soft twilight. The sudden dimness makes the room feel cozy and intimate.

"These curtains are specially designed to block out all light," she explains, turning back to you. "You'll find they're excellent for getting quality sleep, even during the day."

She moves to the bedside table and picks up a small remote. With a click, soft, ambient lighting comes to life around the room, casting a warm, golden glow that's easy on the eyes.

Natasha sets the remote down and turns to face you, her expression a mix of excitement and something else you can't quite place. "Tonight is the full moon," she says, her voice low and rich with anticipation, "and that always makes our gatherings extraordinary."

"For tonight's event, I've selected something I think will suit you perfectly, but don’t worry about that until later. For now, I really do suggest you try and sleep. I’ll be back in a few hours – enough time that legal should have your contract sorted, so I’ll bring that for you to sign, and then we will focus on getting you prepared for tonight.”

You nod, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you as the adrenaline of the day begins to fade. "Thank you, Natasha. For everything."

She gives you a warm smile. "It's my pleasure. I have a good feeling about you." With that, she turns and heads for the door. Just before she exits, she pauses and looks back at you. "Oh, and one more thing – try not to overthink things. Tonight is about new beginnings."

With those cryptic words, she's gone, closing the door softly behind her. You're left alone in the dimly lit room, the silence enveloping you.

You take a moment to explore your new quarters, running your hands over the soft fabrics of the curtains and bedding. The bathroom is a marvel of marble and black chrome, with a large soaking tub that looks incredibly inviting. But the pull of sleep is too strong to resist.

You slip off your shoes and lie down on the bed, sinking into the plush mattress. The sheets are cool and silky against your skin. As you close your eyes, you take a deep breath, tying to process everything that’s happened – the grand tour, the mysterious conversations, sealing your fate by accepting the position, and now this enigmatic evening event ahead – but before you can think for long, you’re overtaken by sleep.

...CURIOSER AND CURIOSER!

Did you make the right decision?! Too good to be true?

GUESS YOU'LL FIND OUT MORE ON THURSDAY!

NEXT PART: SEMANTICS

[l8tof1]

.

[fingertipsmp3]

Took the day off to clean my room and now I have NO clothes

[respectfulrebel]

^^ Me the entire time reading this chapter 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

I can’t put into words how special this story is to me. I already can’t wait to reread it, if you ever decide to publish it I can’t wait to buy it and have it on my nightstand so I can read it over and over and I then read it to my children if I ever have any or my cats if I don’t ever have children.

It was always a little surreal to see them grown up, these two who had shared so much, tethered by a bond she had always sensed. To her, they were still the children who'd once sought refuge in her kitchen after school, where she would braid Lia's hair and smile at Noah's pleas to grow his hair long like hers, that little girl with torn clothes and that boy who used to escape the struggles of his family by playing guitar.

Like this part already made me want to go back and reread from the beginning. It hasn’t even started yet and I’m already emotional.

Hana grabbed whatever was inside with such care that Noah and Lia's curiosity and confusion just increased. A moment later, she placed something in the palm of her other hand and extended it towards them, revealing a piece of red string.

I knew it 😭😭😭😭 Hundreds of hours of consuming fiction in all forms has conditioned me to be suspicious of seemingly unimportant details and it finally paid off 😭 Your mind is brilliant for planting a seed in literally the first chapter and seeing it through to have such a massive payoff 😭😭😭

"What?" she uttered before shaking her head. "How could that-? I don't own red socks."

"You did," Noah corrected her as he snapped his head up to look her in the eye, "when you were six."

CHILLS! LITERAL CHILLS!

"I thought it needed to be sewn back or something. I got worried you wouldn't have any more socks or that those would fray."

He worried 😭 that she wouldn’t have😭 any more 😭 socks 😭 or that those 😭would fray 😭😭😭 at 7 years of age? 😭😭😭 oh sweet boy 😭😭😭😭😭😭

"There was something..." Grandma went on. "It was't just the string. There was something else, a feeling around the two of you, as if the world itself was telling me your place was with each other. When I look back, I'm convinced it all started the moment Noah first saw you, Lia. The thread may have existed long before, but the day your sock got caught on the pedal of his bike... it might have been a sign—a signal from some higher power that didn't want you straying away from each other. I never wanted to interfere, to disturb the natural flow of things... so I did the only thing I could. I held onto this little piece of rope, believing somehow it would help keep you two together. I was afraid the thread might snap or get lost-that something would come between you and your relationship would strain." She looked intently at them for a while. "I've never seen anything as beautiful and intense as what you two have. I said some people are meant to be but they never find their way to each other," she looked directly at Noah, "but you, my dear child, you never left her side." Not even when the thread threatened to break, when there were circumstances that hinted at a separation such as when Lia moved on her own, or when other people came between them-every one night stand, every girlfriend and boyfriend, Mitch, the night they slept together when alcohol was running through their veins.

I’m crying, literally 😭😭😭 He never left her side 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 my heart

And in that moment, her life changed.

Noah saved her.

Stooooooooooop 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

"We've been waiting months for this, Grandma. We need to know. Please."

Literally me though, I needed to know 🫠🫠🫠

"I'm so scared of losing you one day," she whispered, her words barely audible against his ear.

FELT THAT 😭😭😭

"I told you. You've always been mine, Lia."

Still crying. Forever crying for those two 😭😭😭

This was an emotional one for me. The amount of love, work, research and planning you’ve put into this story really shows and I can’t tell you how appreciative I am and how lucky I feel to be able to read this and talk to you about it 🥺🥺

I love you and your brilliant mind so much 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

zutto — chapter eleven | wc: 5.9k | series masterpost | prev. chapter

Chapter summary: Noah and Lia get answers from Noah's Grandma to all the questions they've had since Koi No Yokan.

Reading time: 25mins aprox.

Tags and trigger warnings: established relationship, slight angst, japanese folklore*, chinese folklore*, magical realism, fluff, a few tears, therapy, mentions/allusions to everything that has happened until now, including lia and noah's troubled childhood, lia's abusive relationship with mitch, and the time noah and lia slept together when they were drunk. Answers to all the mysteries that happened in Koi No Yokan.

General trigger warnings: this work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction, abuse, & violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised. +18

The house welcomed them with the earthy, lingering fragrance of incense. It was a scent neither Lia nor Noah could identify yet, for it was unfamiliar—perhaps it was woven from cedarwood. Perhaps sandalwood. Nevertheless, the scent and warmth of the house wrapped them in a sense of home despite knowing they were far from their own. It was an odd mix of comfort and respectful distance; they knew they were guests in a house where every detail was arranged with thoughtful care by someone else, and yet, it felt like being home in a way. But it wasn’t the place which gave them that feeling, no. 

It was Grandma. 

They slipped off their shoes at the entrance, following tradition, and as Lia wiped her eyes, Noah leaned into a hug to envelop his grandmother, a gentle but steady wrapping of arms that worked as a reminder of everything she had quietly done for him. As a boy, he had been unaware of it all, but now, as a grown man, he was aware and full of gratitude and admiration. 

“Why don’t you let Emi take your things upstairs?” Hana suggested, a familiar sparkle in her eye that meant she felt very joyful at having them home, finally. “I’ll prepare some tea, and we can sit in the tea room.”

At that, they both turned to see Emi, who had appeared with graceful timing at the entrance. She was a woman with short black hair in her late forties who had been assisting Hana for years. Noah and Lia knew her from their previous visits, and once again, as she stood with her hands neatly clasped and she nodded politely in their direction, her expression remained the same as always: serene and carrying a formality that made her seem both close and reserved at once. Though Hana managed the house alone, Emi’s help had become essential as of lately. The house was spacious and slightly too big for a woman alone. There were countless small details to tend to, and Hana, with her body aging with every passing day—that pain in her right leg, the backache—found herself struggling with certain tasks. Emi was there to lend her hands, as she had likely done for others throughout her life.

Emi’s presence had taken on a near-reverent quality since the moment she was hired, and that attitude applied not only to Hana but also to any guests arriving at the house. Her English was very poor, and that had led to some awkward exchanges between her and Noah and Lia in the past. Once, Lia had tried to bridge the gap and she’d asked Emi to sit with them at the tea table. But Emi, polite and respectful as ever, had simply smiled, bowed, and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Lia feeling guilty at the thought that, while they were indulging in pastries and warm teas, the woman was cleaning the kitchen. Perhaps it was a cultural legacy of deep-seated respect, rooted in the tradition of servitude where service was considered a quiet honor, but it still didn’t sit too well with neither Lia and Noah. Hana told them, after a few times, there was nothing they could do and they had to accept the way she was, and so they never really said much else, not even when they felt a tinge of guilt.  

Noah thanked Emi gently, shaking his head when she made to lift one of their heavy suitcases. There was no way he was going to let that woman carry those heavy bags upstairs. But as expected, Emi insisted, saying something in Japanese and bending down. Noah exchanged a look with Lia, as if asking for a help she couldn’t provide. Emi attempted again to lift one of the bags, her intent clear even without words and ignoring Noah’s hands. 

“Can you tell her I’ll take care of it?” Noah asked Hana. “They’re too heavy. She’ll hurt her back. I can manage.” 

Hana nodded, understanding, and with a sweet voice but reverence in her tone, indicated to Emi—in Japanese, of course—to leave the task to Noah. Emi listened to Hana with more will than she had listened to Noah, for she nodded in understanding immediately and retreated after offering Noah another nodding and a smile that he tried to weirdly reciprocate. 

Lia trailed behind Noah as he took both suitcases upstairs at once, her carrying their backpacks, and once they reached the top of the stairs, she paused in front of the guest room door where she had always stayed. 

Noah kept walking towards his room until he noticed Lia standing far from him.

“You don’t think we’re sleeping in separate beds, let alone in separate rooms, do you?”

“No,” she replied, shaking her head, but her voice softened as she glanced toward the stairs. “I just don’t want to be inconsiderate. Maybe we should talk to Grandma about it first.”

After a brief pause, Noah nodded.

“Yeah. Sure. We’ll talk to her.” He extended a hand to her, and he waited until Lia took it to lead her into his room, sliding the doors open. 

The room was bigger than the guest room, square in shape, with a big futon laying on a wooden tatami, clean soft bedding drapped over it and an array of pillows. There was a small desk next to the door, facing the bed, and two more sliding doors on one side that led to a cozy balcony overlooking the distant mountains. Noah had never really stopped to appreciate how cozy the room was, but now he imagined how much warmer it would feel, having Lia lying in his bed. 

Noah set the suitcases in one side and Lia placed their backpacks on the desk. 

After spending a few minutes sorting through her toiletries and hanging up some clothes in the wardrobe, Lia slipped away to the bathroom for a quick break. Just then, a knock on the door startled Noah, causing him to turn around. He found Emi by the threshold, carrying more pillows in her arms and two colorful blankets. A sigh escaped him; he couldn’t find a way to explain they didn’t need so many, and he didn’t want to discharge her and offend her, so he simply stowed the extras in the wardrobe, thanking her.

Lia came back from the bathroom with her hair gathered in a comfy bun, and both headed downstairs. 

Grandma was in the kitchen, a space that carried the comforting smell of teas being prepared and food being cooked. Hana was placing an iron kettle on a tray and arranging three delicate porcelain cups beside a plate of traditional sweets when both stepped into the room. 

As Hana looked up, her eyes softened, the faint creases at their edges deepening. She paused, noticing the way Noah and Lia lingered at the door as if feeling shy about something. 

Before she focused on that, a surge of disbelief spread through her. It was always a little surreal to see them grown up, these two who had shared so much, tethered by a bond she had always sensed. To her, they were still the children who’d once sought refuge in her kitchen after school, where she would braid Lia’s hair and smile at Noah’s pleas to grow his hair long like hers, that little girl with torn clothes and that boy who used to escape the struggles of his family by playing guitar.

“Is everything to your liking?” Hana asked, her gaze soft but searching.

“Yes,” Lia replied quickly. Noah nodded in agreement, but then Lia glanced at him before adding, a hint of hesitation in her voice, “We were wondering if… if Noah and I could… share a room?”

Hana’s attention drifted downward, catching the subtle movement between their bodies. Noah’s fingers reached for Lia’s, and she quietly laced hers with his. Hana’s eyes lingered on their joined hands for a moment, before her lips curved into an understanding smile.

With a quiet satisfaction that neither Noah nor Lia fully comprehended, Hana lifted the tea tray and moved gracefully around the kitchen island, gesturing for them to follow without saying a word. Despite her petite frame, there was an elegance and authority in her movements.

Noah and Lia exchanged a look, then followed her into the tea room.

Hana’s tea room was minimal yet spacious, containing a square wooden table in the center surrounded by floor cushions. A single cabinet along the wall held a modest assortment of teacups and plates and a bouquet of dry flowers that had been there since she moved into the house, crafted by Lia, of course. On the left, the panneled windows made of washi paper let in the soft, diffused light from the garden at the back of the house. The room had always felt like a sacred space. 

Noah and Lia sat side by side, waiting in a reverent silence as Hana kneeled down in front of them across the table and poured the tea, the steam unfurling in delicate wisps that mingled with the scent of sencha. Lia wrapped her hands around the warm mug only to be warned by Hana. 

“It’s hot, dear. Be careful.”

It was always the same warning, and yet, Lia never seemed to care about it. Hana would always say the same, and Lia would always keep her hands around the mug because instead of burning her hands, the heat brought a sense of grounding to her that spread from her hands to the rest of her body. 

Next to her, Noah, normally patient, was growing a bit restless. He was expecting an answer. Yes. No. It had been a simple question, right? Can we share a room? Can Lia sleep in my bed?  He just needed a simple “yes” or “no” —a “yes” better than the other option because truth was, he didn’t know what he would do if Hana said he wanted them to keep distance while in the house. But Hana had to be so cryptic. She had to draw things out and keep him on this toes. 

As if sensing his thoughts, Hana’s old but wise eyes met his just as she finished pouring herself tea. Her expression was one almost… mischievous. There was softness in it, but she had a knowing smile on her lips that hinted at secrets only she knew. 

Just as Noah opened his mouth to speak, she said, “There’s something I want to show you.”

She started to rise, and instinctively, Noah made a move to help, but she waved him off. 

“No need, my dear. Just give me a moment.”

She dissappeared down the hall, her footsteps a soft patter that didn’t quite fade entirely as she retrieved what she went looking for in a nearby room. She returned moments later. In her wrinkled hands, she held a small, dark wooden box. She settled back onto the cushions. 

“Is that where you’ve been keeping my old baby teeth?” Noah joked, gesturing to the box with a smirk. Beside him, Lia chuckled, but Hana’s silence—her smile still serene—quickly quieted them. 

“Not quite,” was her reply. 

Hana placed the box on the table, facing her. Her own cup of tea steamed right next to it. She slowly opened it, but the attached lid created a barrier that made it impossible for Lia and Noah to see what was inside. Lia shifted, hands on her knees, lifting herself slightly and stretching her neck to catch a glimpse of whatever that was. 

Hana grabbed whatever was inside with such care that Noah and Lia’s curiosity and confusion just increased. A moment later, she placed something in the palm of her other hand and extended it towards them, revealing a piece of red string. 

The string lay delicate and faded in Hana’s palm. It was fraying slightly at the edges where time had worn it thin. Once bright red, it had softened to a muted, dusty crimson. Unbeknownst to the young couple in the room, it had stubbornly survived, first wash after wash, and then travel after travel until it was kept safe in the box that now lay on the table. 

“What’s that?” Lia asked, her eyes jumping to Hana’s, for she couldn’t make sense of the mystery that a tiny worn string could hold. 

She hadn’t noticed Noah going stiff, his eyes frozen over the piece of red laying in Hana’s hand. 

“That’s…” Noah began. He blinked, frowning a little as if he was trying to put the pieces together. He extended an arm and as gently as Hana had done, he took the string in his palm. “That’s a lose string from one of Lia’s socks,” he responded, more to himself than to Lia or Hana. 

Lia’s confusion only deepened at Noah’s words and at his reaction. He kept staring at the string in his palm as if it was made of gold. 

“What?” she uttered before shaking her head. “How could that—? I don’t own red socks.”

“You did,” Noah corrected her as he snapped his head up to look her in the eye, “when you were six.”

Lia wasn’t following. Noah continued.

“It got stuck on the pedal of my bike the first day we met, when I let you ride it. I gave it to Grandma right after I went back home. I thought…” The memories hit him, one after another. He nearly chuckled at his innocence back then. “I thought it needed to be sewn back or something. I got worried you wouldn’t have any more socks or that those would fray.”

Lia’s gaze flickered between the delicate string and the grandmother’s wise, knowing expression. She understood why little Noah, with his big heart and innocent worries, would have been anxious over the lost string. But Grandma? Why had she kept it for so many years? Why had she held on to it so reverently?

Unsure of what to say or feel, Lia found herself at a loss for words. She glanced at Noah, who was just as silent, both of them looking to Grandma.

“Have you heard about the red string of fate?” Hana asked then. 

Noah’s brow furrowed, and he nodded slowly. “I think I might’ve heard something about it… Isn’t that Chinese folklore?”

Grandma gave a gentle nod with an understanding smile. “Yes, it is. But that doesn’t mean it applies only to that region.”

Lia held her tea cup close, her fingers tracing the warmth that seeped into her palms. She took a slow sip, her eyes never leaving Grandma’s face as she waited.

“According to the myth,” Grandma continued, “the string of fate is an invisible red thread tied around the fingers of those destined to meet, especially soulmates or true loves. The ones connected by this thread are bound to find each other, no matter the distance, time, or obstacles. Though the cord may stretch or become tangled, it is said to never break, symbolizing a bond that is unbreakable and meant to be.”

“Folklore,” Lia concluded, a tinge of dubiety in her tone.

“Folklore, indeed,” Grandma agreed with a tilt of her head. “Life is not that simple, or beautiful. Some people are meant to be, but they never find their way to each other. However, sometimes they do. Sometimes they find each other at the strangest of times; sometimes when they are old, carrying the weight of their lives with them, and sometimes… when they are merely kids, with everything still ahead of them.”

“This is a broken string, Grandma,” Noah pointed out, extending his open palm as if trying to prove a point.

“And I said the red thread is invisible,” she replied with a soft smile touching her lips. “When you came home with that string in your hand, I kept it in a drawer for days, just because you were so concerned about Lia’s socks. But weeks later, when I found it again, I remembered the old myth, the one that had traveled from family to family, village to village, weaving its way across countries. By then, you and Lia were already inseparable, and I couldn’t help but wonder…” She trailed off, tilting her head as she looked at the thread as though it might reveal a hidden truth, as if it held the memories of years gone by. “I wondered if there was something to it. So, I kept it, out of curiosity. And as I watched you both grow—the more time you spent with each other, the more obvious it became.”

“What was obvious?” Lia asked, quietly. 

Hana’s smile deepened.

“That you were soulmates.”

Noah and Lia didn’t say a thing as they absorbed her words in quiet wonder and daze.

“When you moved in with Noah on your eighteenth birthday, I remember Noah calling to let me know that you’d settled in. There was something different in his voice—a blend of joy, contentment, and peace I’d never heard from him before. And then, the day you graduated, the look on his face when you came down the stairs in that beautiful dress, with those shoes you didn’t want to wear… Do you remember that, Lia?”

“I remember,” she replied as the memories flooded back. 

She recalled dancing with a classmate whose name had long since slipped her mind. She recalled Jolly telling her he was suspicious that Noah liked a girl. She remembered sneaking vodka shots with her friends in the restroom, and later that night, Noah giving her a piggyback ride to her room. And yes, she remembered the way he looked at her before any of that—a look she had assumed was the fond gaze of a best friend to whom you mean the world. Nothing more.

She turned her head to look at Noah. He was focused on Grandma, though there was a faint blush coloring his cheeks.  

“There was something…” Grandma went on. “It was’t just the string. There was something else, a feeling around the two of you, as if the world itself was telling me your place was with each other. When I look back, I’m convinced it all started the moment Noah first saw you, Lia. The thread may have existed long before, but the day your sock got caught on the pedal of his bike… it might have been a sign—a signal from some higher power that didn’t want you straying away from each other. I never wanted to interfere, to disturb the natural flow of things… so I did the only thing I could. I held onto this little piece of rope, believing somehow it would help keep you two together. I was afraid the thread might snap or get lost—that something would come between you and your relationship would strain.” She looked intently at them for a while. “I’ve never seen anything as beautiful and intense as what you two have. I said some people are meant to be but they never find their way to each other,” she looked directly at Noah, “but you, my dear child, you never left her side.” Not even when the thread threatened to break, when there were circumstances that hinted at a separation such as when Lia moved on her own, or when other people came between them—every one night stand, every girlfriend and boyfriend, Mitch, the night they slept together when alcohol was running through their veins. 

Be that as it may, Noah had always remained close to her. She had, too, in her own way and despite trying to push him away.  

“So,” Noah ventured, “you’re saying that we’ve always been meant to be together?”

“Yes. Lia has always been meant for you, and you for her. That’s what I believe, even if it sounds unreasonable, fantastical—you have every right to feel that way,” her voice flattered as her gaze drifted to a spot on the floor, unfocused. Lost in thought, her expression softened, and tears welled in her eyes. “But you’re here now. You’ve come back to me, together,” she continued, a smile breaking through the weight of years past, “after everything you’ve been through, all the struggles my children have faced so far away from me… I can only imagine how difficult it’s been, and I’m so sorry I couldn’t do anything for you. But now, you’re finally here, as you were always meant to be.”

Seeing Grandma’s silent tears trail down her cheeks was almost too much for them to bear. Even with the joy in this moment, the pain she’d carried across the years was evident, stretching from L.A. to this quiet town in Japan. She had watched, powerless, from afar as Noah and Lia overcame struggle after struggle—every little and not so little thing that threated to keep them apart. She’d been alone, helpless against the silent ache that crossed oceans—the butterfly effect.  

Lia resisted the impulse to react to Hana’s tears, instead setting her cup of tea down quietly on the table. Without a word, she reached over and took the string from Noah’s hands, holding it with a calm resolve.

The moment the fabric touched her skin, she was pulled back to that morning, twenty-one years ago. 

She remembered waking up alone in a crumbling house, piecing together a small breakfast from what she could find in the kitchen. She’d dressed in clothes that had piled up at the foot of her bed, unsure of how to wash them or make the machine downstairs work. Hoping to give them a different smell, she’d played in the garden among the flowers until her clothes smelled of lavender and thyme. Inside, she’d lost herself in her sketching and coloring, hours slipping by in a quiet solitude she barely noticed anymore. When hunger crept in, she’d scavenged an apple from the fridge, slicing away the bruised parts and eating what was left. Eventually, she’d perched by the window, watching the world pass outside, dogs barking in the distance, occasional cars rumbling by. Finally, she climbed the stairs back to her room to put on some red socks and boots. She’d opened the house door, stepped outside, and settled herself on the concrete. A while later, Noah had appeared.

And in that moment, her life changed. 

Noah saved her. 

With the back of her hand, Lia wiped a stray tear as she blinked. She rubbed the string between her fingers, its fibers stiff but delicate, like a fragile relic of the past that carried the memory of those early days—painful and sweet at the same time. 

Both Hana and Noah waited for her to speak. It took a moment, but finally, she opened her mouth, her voice quivering as she looked at Hana, eyes glassy. 

“Can I keep it?”

Noah half-expected Hana to hesitate. After guarding this small piece of their past—of their beginning— for so many years, he thought she might be reluctant to let go, fearing that releasing it might somehow weaken the bond between them. But Hana’s response was instant. Her smile brightened as she nodded.

“You can keep it, darling.”

Maybe, Noah thought, seeing them together after all these years had finally soothed Hana’s fears, rather than fueling them. He was still taking it all in, not so much the fact that she’d kept this string for over two decades, but the meaning behind it. 

But it made sense.

Every little thing made sense. 

And if he was honest, it was exactly how he wanted it. 

He’d wanted Lia since that Saturday morning when she was six and he was seven, in one way or another. 

He watched her fingers play with the red string, as if she were trying to understand if it was just a scrap of her old sock or a sign of something greater. It might have been nothing more than a forgotten string. Or perhaps it was indeed the physical proof of a bond that had been with them since childhood.

His tea sat untouched, forgotten as he focused solely on Lia, watching the worry etched into her expression. He couldn’t look away. He whispered her name, hoping to see if she was all right or if all of this was becoming too much. Her big brown eyes met his, unguarded and glassy with emotion. She didn’t smile, didn’t speak, just looked at him, and then, her concern shifted toward him. Just as he was about to tell her he was fine, she turned to Hana.

“What happened to Noah?” Lia’s voice was steady but edged with urgency. “The coughing. The fever. All those flowers.”

Hana’s gaze softened, though her expression remained unreadable. 

“We can talk about it tomorrow,” she replied, sensing Lia’s growing distress.

But Lia shook her head. “No. Now. We need to know.”

Hana hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. 

“Lia, my darling,” she began gently, “you just got here. Maybe one story is enough for today.”

“We’re fine,” Noah interjected, his tone resolute. He rested a hand on Lia’s knee, squeezing it lightly. “We’ve been waiting months for this, Grandma. We need to know. Please.”

For a moment, Hana’s shoulders slumped as though she were carrying the weight of something long-buried. She took a slow breath, then nodded, her gaze drifting somewhere beyond the walls of the room, as if she were looking back into a distant memory.

“When you were little, Noah,” she began, “I used to tell you folklore stories… so many you probably couldn’t keep track of them all.” She offered a bittersweet smile, her voice tinged with nostalgia. “Do you remember any those?”

“Some. You even got me a compillation book one Christmas.”

Hana nodded. “Yes, I did. And you’d beg me to read them, even when you should’ve been fast asleep.” She paused, eyes unfocused as if seeing the past replay in her mind. “There was one story—the tale of a boy and a girl. This girl loved the boy, loved him so much that it seemed to consume her. But the boy…” Her voice trailed off. “He didn’t feel the same way. It was a one-sided love, and because of that… she fell ill.”

Lia’s brow furrowed. “Ill?”

“Yes. In our culture, we call it Hanahaki disease. It begins with a feeling, a weight in the chest, but then it grows. Flowers begin to bloom inside you, filling your lungs with every unreturned feeling. And the more the love festers, the worse it gets.”

Noah frowned, his mind racing. The name felt vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t recall ever hearing the full story. 

“That’s not exactly what happened to me,” Noah intervened, lowering his voice. “I got sick every time Lia was physically away. But got better when she was around. And then one day, all of a sudden, the entire thing disappeared. On top of that, it was never a non-reciprocal feeling, so it cannot be the reason why I was coughing up flowers.”

“Not everything happens as its written in the books, my dear. As for the cough stopping one day and never coming back, maybe Lia can tell you more about that.”

Noah turned to Lia, surprised to see something in her expression he hadn’t expected—a trace of guilt, a hint of something she’d held back. She had listened intently, but now it was as if Hana’s words had pulled a thread that led to a long-kept secret. Her gaze met his, a small crease forming between her brows, her face shadowed by a reluctant admission.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Hana said, her voice gentle but decisive.

Both Noah and Lia looked up, startled.

“But we just sat down,” Lia protested. “The tea…”

“Don’t worry about the tea,” Hana replied, already rising with her cup in hand. She smiled warmly at them both before turning, and with a gentle slide of the door, left them in the quiet intimacy of the tearoom.

Noah turned back to Lia with a deeper frown, a look of weariness in his eyes that said he was done with so much overwhelming. There were still questions in the air and he wanted answer for all of them. Now.

“What was that about?” he asked, his voice edged with frustration. 

Lia took a steadying breath, sipped her tea, and set the cup down beside the string as she searched for the right words. 

“I think she’s right,” she started. “I know I brushed off all those times you mentioned Grandma’s theories—that being close to you somehow made you feel better. But after hearing about this string, that story, how long she’s held onto it… maybe there really are things beyond what we can explain and understand. Maybe this strange flower-coughing disease is one of them.” 

“I’m with you on that,” Noah replied, his gaze holding hers. “But it wasn’t one-sided when I fell head over heels for you, Lia.” 

“No, it wasn’t,” she said, meeting his eyes. “But it took me months to realize it myself and then, accept it.”

Noah’s eyes—and mind—were clouded with confusion. Sensing his need for clarity, Lia took a deep breath and tried to lay it all out, piece by piece. 

She’d been in love with him for longer she could admit. Deep inside, her heart had always belonged to him, but over and over, she had refused to believe it, to accept such a thing. She couldn’t jeopardize this near-perfect friendship they shared—that meant everything to her. And they had made a promise. So, she buried those feelings, ignored her heart, told herself over and over that whatever she felt was just a passing infatuation and that it would go away in time. She lied to herself because she hadn’t been willing to admit to herself, let alone to Noah, that she was in love with him. 

In the end, it was her denial that made him sick. It wasn’t that his love for her wasn’t reciprocated; it was that she couldn’t bring herself to believe in her own love for him as more than just a friend. Yet, despite her efforts to bury it, her love always found a way to surface—whenever she made him laugh, whenever she comforted him, whenever she showed up at his door just to be with him. Somehow, Noah’s heart had always known that hers belonged to him, and that was why, whenever she pulled away or tried to distance herself, his sickness would worsen. 

Only after countless hours spent in therapy did Lia finally begin to admit the truth that her own heart, her own body, had been trying to show her all along. She remembered that session vividly: 

“No.”

“Lia—” Dr. Reynolds insisted. 

“That’s not how it is,” she assured nearly through gritted teeth. Her voice was tight with resistance.

“It is, and you know it. You’ve known it for a long time, but you refuse to accept it. For me to help you, you must acknowledge it. You have to say it out loud and accept it. I know you’re scared, but you have to admit what you feel.”

Lia felt the words crawling up her throat, her heart racing, her palms damp as she gripped the arms of the chair. Her breathing grew shallow, and she looked at the doctor with wide, glassy eyes, the truth trembling on her lips. 

“Lia,” Dr. Reynolds pressed, “you are in love with your best friend, Noah. Say it.”

Her heartbeat was rapid and erratic, each beat hammering against her ribcage. She was terrified—terrified of what admitting it would mean, what it would change. But perhaps the only way to stop the ache was to finally speak the words aloud.

“I’m…” Her voice wavered, barely above a whisper. She took a shaky breath, her nails digging into the armrests of the chair as she steadied herself. “I’m in love with Noah.”

Back in the tearoom, Lia took a deep breath, her gaze landing on the steaming cup of tea. Noah's hand was no longer on her knee, and she missed the warmth it’d provided.  

“The day after meeting her,” Lia continued, “Jesse called me. He said you were worried something had happened to me.”

“That was the day the coughing stopped,” Noah acknowledged. “The day before had been Hell. I’d been so fucking sick, and then… from night to morning, I woke up and felt fine.”

“It was because I admitted to myself what I’d been refusing for so long—that I loved you. You were sick all those times because of me.” 

Noah hesitated, his lips parting slightly as he processed the rising panic in Lia’s voice. He shifted to face her, still seated in a lotus position on the cushions 

“That’s—” After a moment’s deliberation, he shook his head and squared his shoulders, feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down on them. They could continue down this path, but it would only lead them to the painful memories of the past, and that was no longer what mattered. “It doesn’t matter now. That’s all in the past, Lia,” he concluded, his voice steady yet tender. They had endured so much together. Neither had been at their best; they had made mistakes and harbored regrets. How could they have paid heed to some whimsical folklore tale—much less the reality of it manifesting in their lives? Considering everything, there was no sense in revisiting those moments or blaming each other for every obstacle they had placed in one another’s way. “We got the answers we wanted, and what matters is that we’re here, and we’re real, right now.”

Lia blinked back tears, but a few slipped free despite her efforts. She brushed them away. When another tear fell, Noah reached over and caught it with his thumb. Before she could think, she climbed onto his lap, wrapping her arms around him, clutching him tightly. He quickly wrapped her in his arms and held her close, resting his cheek against her hair, and she felt his steady breath as he nuzzled into her neck. The weight of her in his lap felt so nice and natural, and the way his arms encircled her made her feel safe, almost fragile but in a good way, because she knew she was out of danger with him. Would always be. 

“I’m so scared of losing you one day,” she whispered, her words barely audible against his ear.

Noah pulled back just enough to look at her. Glancing at the small, coiled red string on the table beside them, he reached for it and held out his hand to Lia. 

“Give me your pinky finger,” he ordered. 

She looked at him questioningly but placed her hand in his. He laid his own pinky alongside hers and began to wind the red string around them. 

“Help me with this?” he asked, giving her a soft smile.

She did. When they finished the knot, their pinkies were tied together with the thin red thread. He tugged gently to make sure it held, then grinned. 

“Now we’re really tied together. See? Problem solved.”

Lia’s laugh came out, light and clear, the tension in her shoulders easing as she looked down at their fingers entwined by the string. The sound was so full of life, of relief, that Noah couldn’t stop the warmth spreading through his chest. He lifted his hand to her face, cupping her chin with two fingers, and leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, savoring the way her smile lingered against his own.

When he finally pulled back, he whispered, 

“I told you. You’ve always been mine, Lia.”

— prev. chapter | chapter twelve 🌶️

Author's note: 100 points for those who guessed it was the red string 🤭 You can reread about that moment in Chapter 1 of Ikigai (literally the beginning of the story). It's no more than a couple of paragraphs, if I don't recall wrong, right at the end, but it was a very important detail for the future. Thank you once again for reading and being with me in this journey :)

*I've done some changes to the original folklore stories mentioned in this chapter to adapt it to Noah and Lia's romance story. I hope everything was more or less clear regarding all those weird things happening in Koi No Yokan. I never had this story planned in detail before I started writing, so it got tricky at some points, but I think I managed to make everything fit reasonably within its flow.

🔖 Taglist:

@somebodyels3 | @respectfulrebel | @thecoyotescry | @bluestdai | @lma1986

@sweetwombatpizza | @missduffsblog | @shilohrosechicken | @jilliemiw86 | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare

@chey-h | @ferduttini

[crabbrangoon]

Ugh so I think I may have had a small immune reaction to the steroid injections I had to get in my knee, I definitely didn’t react this way the first time I got knee injections :( kinda worried but it’s hasn’t even been 2 days so let’s hope for the best!

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Does anyone else in the whump community watch Brave Wilderness, or….

[tkbrokkoli]

been thinking abt... following... less ppl

[romantically-yours]

I desire romantically doing makeup with somebody

[ahumoki0]

Running on fumes of less then 4 hours of sleep, I managed to get most of the work done.

There's still two parts left, and using Revit always takes longer then I think, but I hope I can get this ready by Wednesday without another all nighter

[raeathnos]

.

[oreo-creampie]

“𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐲𝐚, 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥!”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! Breeding (with the intentions of knocking you up), creampie, window sex, leash-collar, praise/degradation/humiliation/condescending, overstimulation/mind-break, slapping your ass, we are making him our baby daddy in this one so it's only fitting we call him daddy, daddy/mama

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧! 🥵 I want make gojou a daddy 🫣🫠🫣

𝟏𝟑𝐤 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

fey; i saw this felt this and ran with it

Satoru crouches behind you whilst you’re bent over, soft tits pressed to the cold glass. Spreading your cunt apart, “I’m getting hard seeing your pretty cunt dripping cum.” Stuffing his long fingers making your soaking wet cunt squelch.

He groans and slaps your cheek. “I think she’s asking for more cum, what about you?” Nudges another finger in massaging your sweet spot making your toes curl and your thighs trembles. “Can my pretty slutty princess handle some more?”

“I can handle it! Please! Lemme make you a daddy!” He glides his fingers out, kissing your cum filled cunt before roughly slapping your ass.

Lining his cock up, softly nudging his head between your wet lips taunting you. “I didn’t hear that last part, you wanna make me a what?” He pulls away when you push your hips back trying to take his cock.

You plead, “Wanna make you my baby daddy! Please cum in me again!” Lining himself up and yanks on the leash, rutting his hips forward filling your sensitive sloppy wet cunt up with his long, hard cock.

Satoru croons, “Again? Aren’t you needy?” Using the leash to bind your wrist behind your back. “I wonder who can see what a needy slut my baby mama is.” You cunt clenches and cheeks burn from the arousing humiliation.

He roughly smacks both cheeks twice, squeezing a handful and spreading them apart. Watching your soft cunt tug as he pulls his cock out, “Whose a whore for her baby daddy?” He spits on your ass gliding his thumb in.

You whine, “I am! Imma pervert who likes it when her baby daddy whores her out!” He slowly pumps his thumb, playing with your asshole whilst steadily fucking some of his cum deeper into your sloppy wet cunt.

“Then show me this is your cock and cum on me, be a messy little whore and cum on your daddy’s cock.” He groans, “You’re going to look so hot with your soft tits getting bigger, mmm it's gonna be hard to stay away when they start dripping milk.”

all works

[ink-n-shadow]

Being knotted in John’s lap as he mumbles that he’s gonna breed you full of his babies right here in his office

(Or literally any of them bc 🫠🫠)

Or your boys rubbing their faces in your neck before they go to work in the morning bc they’ll be damned if they don’t go to work smelling like you

the second idea is so adorable heLLO???

SCENTING

𝜗𝜚 the one about how the pack!141 scents you (almost) every day

𝜗𝜚 pairing: packforce!141 x omega!reader 𝜗𝜚 cw: slight smut at the end (minors—DNI), scenting, kissing/sucking scent glands, fingering (reader!receiving), allusions to threesome at the end

it would become so routine and mundane for the five of you, something that came almost as natural to you as breathing.

the routine would begin at around 4 in the morning when john begins stirring in bed, mumbling out your name as his hands pat around the mattress and other bodies for you. once he found you (which was curled up with johnny, most of the time), he’d tug you against him, instinctively burying his face into the side of your throat and nudging your scent gland with the tip of his nose. he would lap at it, give it a bite or two, smother it in soft almost feathery kisses, anything to make your sugary sweet scent stick to his skin.

and once john’s had his fill and gets out of bed to amble downstairs for coffee and a cigar, simon’s coming up from behind, tugging your back against his chest and holding your throat in the palm of his hand as he immediately attaches himself to your gland. he’s more primal in his movements than john is, taking long (almost lewd) drawn out sniffs from your neck as he rubs his stubbled cheeks in the smell of you. (he may or may not dip his fingers beneath the waistband of your underwear, sliding through the wetness there before bringing his fingers up to lap at hungrily. but hey! at least he makes you come!)

seeing you whimpering and slack across the mattress is what makes kyle move over in bed, gathering your now jellied form into his arms and pushing your head into the crook of his neck. because kyle’s a beta, there is no scent gland for you to nuzzle into, but the smell of soap and lotion on his skin is enough to have you further relaxing in his arms, head still spinning and clit still throbbing beneath your underwear.

johnny only scoots over in the bed and cuddles up with you from behind when he notices the lack of body heat against him, making him whine sleepily and paw at the mattress until he finds you against kyle. by now, you’re drowning in the different scents covering your skin, not to mention the new scent of arousal and slick festering between your thighs. johnny finds comfort in them all, which immediately has his brain feeling dumbed and his cock twitching to attention.

if it’s not too late, johnny will let you ride him, with kyle in front of you and guiding your movements with his large hands pawing at your hips. if it is too late, then kyle’s drawing johnny out of bed with promises of a blowie in the shower

©️ ink-n-shadow 2024

do not copy, plagiarize, steal, borrow, or repost any of my work without my expressed permission