#new form of expression and design

[alisfelia]

vienna secession

The Vienna Secession was an art movement founded in 1897 by a group of Austrian artists, including Gustav Klimt, Josef Hoffmann, and Koloman Moser, among others. They aimed to break away from traditional academic art and established their own exhibition space known as the Secession Building. The movement embraced a variety of styles, from Symbolism to Art Nouveau, and played a pivotal role in the development of modern art and design in Austria. The Secessionists prioritized artistic freedom and innovation, often incorporating decorative and symbolic elements into their works.

judith and the head of holofernes by gustav klimt

[scificrows]

The feed ID doesn’t need to say anything other than what everyone else’s says, just name, gender, and…” She trailed off. She was looking at me and I was looking at her. - Martha Wells, Fugitive Telemetry (The Murderbot art I used is the official cover art from the French edition of ASR)

[bastart13]

Do you have a schedule or smth like that for the updates or will you update whenever you have time? (I don't wanna pressure you or anything I'm just curious😭)

No certain update schedule right now. I'm doing this in my free time outside of work. Currently, I'm designing and drawing the sprites for characters and outfits that appear in season 2 :D

I know Bayard doesn't show up in season 2 but I wanted to draw him anyway

[jessamine-rose]

*lovingly tackles Aine*

Read my Yandere! Pierro longfics first ♪( ´▽｀)

Last week, my beloved mutual @ainescribe surprised me with Savior! Darling fan art and AHAI9232@2-!/! CRYING SCREAMING I WANT TO LOOK AT THIS ART AND WORSHIP YOUR VERSION OF SAVIOR THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR BLESSING ME WITH YOUR ART—

*clears throat* Anyway, now that I finally have the time to properly sit down and comment on the fan art, I’ll do just that. Feedback will be in the tags and it will be unhinged. Once again, thank you so much to Aine for drawing this <3

[jcmarchi]

Scientists Create Novel Technique to Form Human Artificial Chromosomes - Technology Org

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/scientists-create-novel-technique-to-form-human-artificial-chromosomes-technology-org/

Scientists Create Novel Technique to Form Human Artificial Chromosomes - Technology Org

Human artificial chromosomes (HACs) capable of working within human cells could power advanced gene therapies, including those addressing some cancers, along with many laboratory applications, though serious technical obstacles have hindered their development. Now a team led by researchers at the Perelman School of Medicine at the University of Pennsylvania has made a significant breakthrough in this field that effectively bypasses a common stumbling block.

In a study published in Science, the researchers explained how they devised an efficient technique for making HACs from single, long constructs of designer DNA. Prior methods for making HACs have been limited by the fact that the DNA constructs used to make them tend to join together—“multimerize”—in unpredictably long series and with unpredictable rearrangements. The new method allows HACs to be crafted more quickly and precisely, which, in turn, will directly speed up the rate at which DNA research can be done. In time, with an effective delivery system, this technique could lead to better engineered cell therapies for diseases like cancer.

“Essentially, we did a complete overhaul of the old approach to HAC design and delivery,” said Ben Black, PhD, the Eldridge Reeves Johnson Foundation Professor of Biochemistry and Biophysics at Penn. “The HAC we built is very attractive for eventual deployment in biotechnology applications, for instance, where large scale genetic engineering of cells is desired. A bonus is that they exist alongside natural chromosomes without having to alter the natural chromosomes in the cell.”

The first HACs were developed 25 years ago, and artificial chromosome technology is already well advanced for the smaller, simpler chromosomes of lower organisms such as bacteria and yeast. Human chromosomes are another matter, due largely to their greater sizes and more complex centromeres, the central region where X-shaped chromosomes’ arms are joined. Researchers have been able to get small artificial human chromosomes to form from self-linking lengths of DNA added to cells, but these lengths of DNA multimerize with unpredictable organizations and copy numbers—complicating their therapeutic or scientific use—and the resulting HACs sometimes even end up incorporating bits of natural chromosomes from their host cells, making edits to them unreliable.

In their study, the Penn Medicine researchers devised improved HACs with multiple innovations: These included larger initial DNA constructs containing larger and more complex centromeres, which allow HACs to form from single copies of these constructs. For delivery to cells, they used a yeast-cell-based delivery system capable of carrying larger cargoes.

“Instead of trying to inhibit multimerization, for example, we just bypassed the problem by increasing the size of the input DNA construct so that it naturally tended to remain in predictable single-copy form,” said Black.

The researchers showed that their method was much more efficient at forming viable HACs compared to standard methods, and yielded HACs that could reproduce themselves during cell division.

The potential advantages of artificial chromosomes—assuming they can be delivered easily to cells and operate like natural chromosomes—are many. They would offer safer, more productive, and more durable platforms for expressing therapeutic genes, in contrast to virus-based gene-delivery systems which can trigger immune reactions and involve harmful viral insertion into natural chromosomes. Normal gene expression in cells also requires many local and distant regulatory factors, which are virtually impossible to reproduce artificially outside of a chromosome-like context. Moreover, artificial chromosomes, unlike relatively cramped viral vectors, would permit the expression of large, cooperative ensembles of genes, for example to construct complex protein machines.

Black expects that the same broad approach his group took in this study will be useful in making artificial chromosomes for other higher organisms, including plants for agricultural applications such as pest-resistant, high-yield crops.

Source: University of Pennsylvania

You can offer your link to a page which is relevant to the topic of this post.

[hoonsluvr]

CHERRY

박성훈 ꒰ park sunghoon ꒱ — genre; summer au, best friend’s older brother, forbidden romance, smut, a bit of fluff, angst ୨ৎ cw; p in v, unprotected sex, spit, choking, gagging, oral f.rec, mating press, edging MDNI. ⟡ synopsis; you never thought that an unexpected obsession formed during your trip to southern italy would teach you one life’s cruelest lessons — never fuck your bestfriend’s brother ୨ৎ wc; 4.8k — library ⭑.ᐟ

inspired by; cherry - lana del rey

isla yaps; hii, this is my first work so i’m a bit nervous!! lmk what you think of the layout and feedback in general is appreciated! :)

Was it wrong that you felt happy when your parents announced they wanted to take a vacation alone this year?

You sit opposite them at the dining table, your mom explaining herself for the hundredth time over. Clearly she felt guilty about it but you didn't mind. “You know its our anniversary during that time darling and I hope you understand that we love having you with us, of course we do, but 50th anniversaries are rather special and we’re booking a honeymoon resort.”

You feign a look of sadness to act like you’re listening but your mind is already elsewhere. It wasn’t that you didn’t like spending time with your parents, that wasn’t the problem at all, but now that a family vacation was out of the picture, joining Stella’s family in Italy was back in the conversation.

Soojin, or Stella as she liked to be called was your best friend, your ride or die. Years ago, when you moved to a new town, the Park family were your next door neighbours and you and Stella quickly became close, bonding over your hatred for the town and its people. You two had always felt suffocated in its environment, the way everyone knew everyone’s drama, everyone’s problems, everyone’s secrets. You promised each other that one day you would escape and explore the world together for that very reason.

You were over at her house so much that you were basically a part of the family. You had your thumbprint on their security system, the password to the garage door, and even your own designated chair at the dining table. Her mom used to jokingly call you two sisters, but honestly, that didn’t feel far off. You and Stella had grown up together, seen all of each other’s phases too. The cringe phase, the boy-obsessed phase, oh god- the emo phase, and yet your friendship was still going strong. From weekend sleepovers where you giggled and gossiped all night long to crying on each other’s shoulders after not feeling accepted in school, to smoking your first blunt together, you two had been through every whirlwind experience together. After all these years, you still struggled to express just how much admiration you held for her.

And now, it had come. This was the last summer you had left with her. In 3 months you were going to head North to New York City, to pursue a degree in arts while Stella would remain in your hometown. When you broke the news, you expected her to be angry at you because of the promise you made to travel together forever, but she simply smiled and told you she was proud of you and that she always knew you would make it far.

You felt a pit in your stomach thinking about being apart, you had never really imagined life without her, so imagine your relief and excitement when she proposed that you join her family on their vacation to Italy this summer. One last chance to have the time of your life with your best friend while you were both still young? No one could catch you dead saying no.

-

“Mom, please.” You beg, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from frustration. You sit across from her on the kitchen island, sipping on a mango smoothie as she prepped dinner for tonight. At this point, the conversation had been going on for far too long and both of you were running thin on patience. “I just don’t understand why you won’t let me go.” You huffed, used to getting your way.

Your mother sighs. “Sweetie, I’ve explained this to you. The Parks have done so much for you, your entire life! I just don’t want you to be a burden on them when they’re trying to have a family vacation. They're extremely sweet for offering but it’s a tough situation.”

“Ugh!” You exclaim and your mother shoots you a don’t-be-so-dramatic look. “They offered to have me! And besides, with you and daddy going to Mexico and Stella going to Italy, I’m going to be alone this summer. My last summer before college is going to be spent wasting away. It’ll be years before I see Stella again!” You pout, your eyes sparkling with hope as you see her expression soften, triumphant that you clearly struck a soft spot.

“We’ll see about it darling.” She sighs.

Even with her weary expression, all the tell-tale signs were there. She had been convinced. You stand up, satisfied as you go to text Stella the news.

And that’s how you find yourself going to the South of Italy for three weeks with the Parks: Stella, her mother and father, and her older brother Sunghoon.

Sunghoon had always been a little shy and introverted making him hard to talk to, your four year age gap not doing much to help create a relationship either. Despite that, Sunghoon had always tried being sweet to you. After many attempts of trying to talk to him over the years, you finally managed to break his shell the one time he rescued your prized possession, a teddy bear plush named Ben, from a tree branch. You still remember the warm hug he gave you when you cried over Ben’s stitching being torn and ever since that day, although you wouldn’t call yourself friends, the relationship shifted. It changed from nods of acknowledgement to smiles, from waves of greeting to hugs.

During your last years of middle school, you even developed a small crush on him but you never once told Stella, knowing she would have killed you. Once you turned fourteen, Sunghoon left to go for college and you hadn’t seen him since then. You had no idea what he was like now, his personality, his likes and dislikes, his interests. Honestly, the thought worried you a little. You just decided you would try sticking to Stella on the trip, hoping that things wouldn’t be awkward.

Only if you knew. Only if you knew what was about to happen, you never would’ve chosen to go on that godforsaken trip.

-

The last minute nature of your decision to join the vacation meant that tickets weren’t available on the same flight as the Parks, so you booked one for a flight that arrived in Italy just two days later. You didn’t mind however, you were just excited to spend time with Stella.

And so you arrive in the quaint beach town of Taormina, located on the shorelines of the island of Sicily. The drive from the airport to your location spans over rugged hills overlooking the Loian sea. You maintain small talk with the barely english speaking driver, chatting about what to do in town and what beaches to visit. A gasp leaves your mouth as the taxi comes to a halt outside a stunning Italian villa style Airbnb. You know the Parks aren’t exactly middle class, neither were you, but you weren’t expecting this much grandeur.

Cobblestone bricks line the pathway to the house, leaning up against the ivy covered walls. Heaps of colorful potted flowers are placed at the entrance and a wooden gazebo in the corner catches your eye. Stella is sitting in the gazebo, sipping tea. When she sees you, she jumps up in excitement and rushes over.

“You’re here!” She squeals and twirls you around as you both laugh excitedly. You hear claps of joy from the back as Shin-ah, Stella’s mom steps out of the front door, her husband, Ji-hun in close pursuit. You quickly wish the driver goodbye and thank him before hugging them both fondly.

“Gosh, we only just saw you a month ago and you’ve already become prettier!” Shin-ah exclaims, making you blush and immediately resort to your usual ‘humble’ deflections that you recited out like a poem whenever she complimented you.

You lean to the side, getting up onto your tip-toes to get a glimpse of the dark haired boy who just stepped out of the door. Sunghoon. His short black hair was now grown out into a mullet and he no longer held the smiley expression that his face once always used to carry. You glance at his arms, his thin tank top showing off his muscles, a striking difference to his previously scrawny build. He looks so different. He’s grown now and more confident, no longer the sweet, shy boy you used to crush on. Theres no doubt, Sunghoon Park has matured. He’s a man now. A fucking gorgeous man, that too.

Sunghoon murmurs a half-hearted greeting towards you, reminiscent of the way he used to speak to you before you two became comfortable. You’re not surprised-it had been years since you’d seen him. Traces of your previous dynamics were long gone by now. You return the soft greeting as Shin-ah ushers you into the house, Stella following behind, wheeling your luggage in.

“You must be hungry, come, we’ve already set the table.” And sure enough, the intricately carved wooden dining table was all set up with dishes, cutlery and a large pizza in the centre. Dinner with the Parks is comfortable as you go back and forth with them, discussing the trip’s itinerary, recent stories and more.

Shin-ah glances at Sunghoon before turning back to you. “So, you and Sunghoon haven’t seen each other in a while. He’s been asking what you’ve been up to.” It was horribly obvious that Sunghoon couldn’t care less about what you’d been up to. His mouth opens in annoyance at his mother’s words. “What? No I—" But he’s cut off by a sharp nudge from his father who scowls at him. Embarrassment pools inside of you and you laugh awkwardly before Shin-ah nods encouragingly for you to continue.

“Well uh— I’m going to NYU after this summer. I’m going to be studying art history and I’m hoping to get an internship with a local gallery this summer, after the trip of course. But yeah…” You trail off awkwardly as Sunghoon pretends to be interested. An awkward atmosphere settles over the table and you finish in silence.

After dinner, you head up to your room that you’ll be sharing with Stella. You’re sitting on the floor, unpacking your suitcase while she removes her makeup.

“Hey,” she turns to you, “I’m sorry about what happened with Hoon earlier. I don’t know why he’s acting like that.”

You wave it off. “No, don’t worry about it at all, it’s all good. I’m sure it’ll settle down in a while.”

She nods comfortingly but deep down you feel a little hurt. You knew that it wasn’t going to be the same but you didn’t expect him to be so cold.

-

After a few chaotic days of what felt like never-ending sightseeing and cold shoulders from Sunghoon, you finally collapse onto a picnic blanket out in the back-garden, your white sundress pooling around your knees. You roll over onto your stomach, kicking your legs into the air as you grab your book, the pages soft between your hands as you slowly flip through, trying to find where you left off. Pop. The sound of plastic popping as you open the box of glowing red cherries next to you. Your favorite.

You're a few pages in when a soft voice calls from behind you. “Hey.” You glance behind to see him standing there in a loose white shirt and khaki shorts, holding a book. He laughs softly as you scramble to straighten yourself. “No need for that, you can sit however you want.”

“No, no it's okay,” you shake your head, sitting up straight now, confused at his cheerful demeanour “what do you need?”

“I was wondering if I could join you,” he tilted his head, “you seem to be having fun.”

You squeeze internally. Something about Sunghoon was making you nervous right now but you plaster on a sweet smile nonetheless, “of course.”

You’re hyperaware of his every movement as he approaches and sits down next to you on the blanket. He holds up the book he had and it takes you a second to realise that both of you had gotten the same book to read, ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’. You smile at him, “that’s funny.”

“It is, isn’t it?” He hums. “How’s Ben doing?”

You laugh, the anxious feeling in your stomach fading a little. There’s no need to be nervous in the first place, it’s just Sunghoon. “He’s doing okay. No more accidents since the last.”

The two of you fall into silence. He coughs. "Listen... I uh— I didn't mean to act that way when you first came."

You nod almost immediately. "You don't have to explain yourself, I get it, it's fine."

"No, I was acting like a jerk for no reason. I mean- you know how I am with people at first and I hadn't seen you in a while, it just took me a while to get used to. That's not an excuse for how I acted though, I'm sorry."

You peer at him. "I get it, I figured that's the reason you were acting distant. It's okay. I'm glad we can be pause normal again." You both look at each other and for a second you feel him glance at your lips but his eyes move away so fast, it's impossible to tell. He smiles softly at you.

-

Your legs are crossed as you lounge lazily on a chair on the balcony, taking in the view of the salty sea, waves lapping against the rocks. Once again, a box of perfectly round Italian cherries lay on the table behind you. You couldn't seem to get enough of them.

“You must really like these.” Sunghoon murmurs from behind you, pointing at the box of the sweet fruit. You smile lazily at him, not surprised by his interruption. Somehow, he had been finding you in all sorts of odd places recently, almost as if he was looking for you from the second you disappeared from view. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Sunghoon thought you were pretty. You realised fairly quickly from the way his eyes flicked up and down whenever he saw you, resting on your tits for just a second more.

“They’re my favorite.” You nod, grabbing one and popping it into your mouth as he watches. Maybe it's the way he’s staring at you hungrily but a newfound confidence takes over you. You reach for another cherry but this time, you make sure to hold eye contact with him, looking up with big bambi eyes as your tongue swirls around the sweet fruit. You bite into it and the red juice dribbles down your chin, your eyes glinting. His finger instinctively reaches down, a millimetre away from your chin before you nod to give him permission.

He swipes at the juice on your chin, before pulling his finger back, licking it slowly. Your throat suddenly feels like it’s constricting. You should not be doing this— holy shit you should not be doing this. You stand abruptly, coughing slightly. He doesn’t react much but a slight smirk plays on his face. Pause. “I should go,” you stutter as you rush into the house, heart hammering in your chest.

You try your best to ignore him for the next few days because you had no idea what possessed you to do that. Your mind constantly replayed the moment. The way he stared at you. The way he touched you. The way he licked his finger. God you were so fucked. Every time you saw Stella, you couldn’t help but feel guilty but then you tried comforting yourself. It wasn’t like you had done anything wrong, nothing actually happened.

You didn’t even notice what you were doing at first, your actions seemingly innocent in your mind. You just wanted to make the most of the summer clothes you owned and the heat in Taormina was intense, right? But your skirts were growing shorter and shorter by the day, your bikinis became skimpier and skimpier. That, accompanied by the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when he came around, batted your eyelashes at him, knowing it made him crazy-you hadn’t even realised but that little incident between the two of you had made you develop a little obsession with Sunghoon Park, just like the one you had all those years ago. And you were desperate for his attention now.

Right from your shiny olive skin that glistened in the Italian sun to your long hair that swayed as you walked, Sunghoon Park knew you were gorgeous, even more so now that you were making it painfully obvious. He knew. He knew you were doing all of this entirely on purpose but that didn’t mask his staring as you lather on sunscreen, resting beside him in the sand in a floral pink bikini.

You know you have him.

"Hey can you help me with this?" You ask softly, holding out the bottle of sunscreen towards him. His jaw ticks but he takes the bottle from your hand.

"Actually," you smile sweetly, "on second thought, I think I'm done, what do you think?"

If looks could kill, you would strike dead at this very moment from the way he was looking at you. “What’s your game?”

You stare at him, not expecting him to say those words so soon. “What do you mean?” You pout, pretending to be oblivious, a little upset that you didn't get to have that much fun with him before he called you out.

He scoffs. “You know exactly what I mean. Don’t play dumb. You like teasing me and then pulling away at the last moment, don’t you?” When you don’t respond, his expression hardens. “You’re trying to win a game you don’t even know how to play.”

Before you get the chance to respond, the two of you are interrupted as Stella runs to you, laughing.

“Hey are you having fun?” Stella smiles down at you.

“I’m having a great time, thanks.”

She nods as she moves to sit down on the sand, between you and Sunghoon.

Theres a moment of silence before you speak. “Hey Stells, thank you for letting me come. I appreciate it a lot. I would’ve had a terrible summer without you and I’m just really glad we get to spend time together before … you know …”

She smiles at you again. A genuine smile. “I’m gonna miss you. A lot. And I know you’re worried but i’m not, because I know we’ll always be friends. We’ve been through everything together and stupid New York isn’t going to change that.” As she pulls you in for a hug, you feel a pang in your heart. You love your friend and the last thing you want is for her older brother to come between you. But you just can’t help yourself.

You glance up at Sunghoon who's watching you two hug with an emotion in his eyes that you can't quite place. He meets your eyes and you shut yours, unable to look at him any longer. You hold onto Stella tighter, suddenly feeling disgusted with yourself. You're sickening. Sickening and selfish.

-

Your phone screen shows 4:36AM and sleep wasn’t coming. You sit up, rubbing your eyes as you glance at Stella snoring beside you. You get out of bed slowly, the wood creaking beneath you. You desperately needed a walk to clear your mind. Stepping into your fuzzy slippers, you leave the room, entering the narrow corridor outside. Sunghoon’s door stands tall in front of your face, which you would have normally ignored, except today, streaks of light peek out of the crack at the bottom. Why is he awake?

You know you shouldn’t. You know you really shouldn’t but you do it anyways. You knock softly. A few moments pass and you think he might not come. Right as you’re about to leave, the door clicks open and he stands there in grey sweats, shirtless. You choke a little but he doesn’t notice, neither does he seem surprised to see you.

He looks you up and down and you realise what you’re wearing—a tiny pink lace-trim nightgown, barely covering anything. He’s smirking now. “Come in.”

“Uh I—“ You start to say as you begin to regret your decision but you’re cut off by his harsh tone, his smirk now faded, replaced with a hardened expression.

“That wasn't a question. Come. In.”

You swallow nervously as you follow him into the room and shut the door behind you. Sunghoon sits on the edge of the bed, motioning for you to stand in front of him. You do as he asks and now you're staring down at his face, your silky hair hanging loosely, brushing against his cheeks. He starts to grab harshly at your waist and you gasp slightly.

"You think this is funny huh? Playing all these games? Do you have any idea what you're doing at all?" When you don't respond he starts again. “What? Cat got your tongue? Are you all nervous now? Don't be, you started this after all."

You breathe out shakily, hands finding his neck. "Please—"

"Please what?" His smirk is back, he likes that he's finally the one in control. "Say you want me."

"God I want you, I do." You whine pathetically. And whatever little power you may have had over him was gone, he had claimed it back. His dark eyes glint sinisterly as he stands, picking you up by the waist and placing you down onto the bed. Your legs are raised, being held up by his hands as he presses kisses on your left ankle. He slowly makes his way down, nuzzling his nose into your inner thighs. His teeth lock onto your panties and you gasp as he drags them off, discarding them on the floor, leaving you exposed.

"Fuck you're beautiful."

He dives in again, his nose pressing against your clit as he laps harshly at your folds. You throw your head back, a jerk reaction to the sudden sensitivity. You cry out and feel him immediately stop what he was doing. You whine softly in annoyance. "Wow baby, it seems like you really want my sister to know I'm fucking you right now." You swallow harshly as his eyes shoot daggers at you. "Keep. Quiet."

He's looking at your pussy now. You wait, burning to see what he would do. And he spits on it. You gasp, biting your lip to stop the moan. He spits right on your pussy, using his fingers to spread his saliva around your messy area. He begins to lick up your folds again, pressing his tongue down on your clit.

You can't handle it. It's pathetic but you already feel a knot building up in your stomach. "Hoon— I'm going to—"

"Not yet," he spits out, coming up.

You moan weakly in protest but he doesn't seem to care. "You don't deserve to cum yet. You've not been a very good girl have you?" You shake your head.

His hands reach for his pants now, pulling them down in one quick move and you could see how painfully hard he is. Your eyes widen as he pulls out his cock. It was big. Too big. Bigger than you'd ever had before and you didn't know if you would be able to handle it. He laughs, looking at your expression. "Don't worry baby, we'll make it fit."

He pushes your legs up all the way and you were practically bent in half in front of him, your knees blurrily shifting in and out of your peripheral vision. He lines his cock up with your entrance and rubs the tip across your wet folds, groaning softly as his eyes shut. Without warning, he pushes it in and you shriek in surprise, causing him to shove his fingers into your throat. You're choking around his fingers now as he thrusts into you, quickening the pace. Tears stream down your face as you gag, you're close again, you can feel it, but so can he. Just as you're about to reach your high, he stops his motion again and you lean back into the bed, panting hard. You're desperate for release now but as you stare up at his fucked out face through your lashes, smirking down at you, you know he's not going to give you that release anytime soon.

So you go four more rounds. Four more rounds of chasing that desperate high that he pulls away from you at the last moment. You're fucked up now, sweating and panting, your hair splayed across your face as you cried and cried, begging him. The sun had risen now and it pooled in through the window, enveloping you in a warm glow, making your tan skin look golden.

"God baby, you look so fucking sexy right now." Sunghoon reaches an arm towards the desk nearby, where a small pile of digital cameras lay. Stella's digital cameras. The one's she had excitedly bought for the trip, wanting to capture every memory. He points the lens of one of them at you and you don't even have enough energy to protest. Click. And just like that, a picture of you in one of your most fucked up moments was captured forever. He tosses the camera aside, turning his attention back to you.

"You up for one more?"

Strings of gibberish come out from your mouth and he chuckles as he pushes into you once again. He thrusts in and out and you're moaning loudly this time but neither of you cared anymore. You're so sensitive at this point that it doesn't take long for that familiar feeling to arise again. This time, Sunghoon lets you have it. You let out a strangled moan as you feel your orgasm wash over you. Pure fucking euphoria. He collapses on top of you after cumming as well. You reach out, your hands tangling in his hair, stroking his face gently.

You realise you haven't kissed yet. You lean down, placing a gentle kiss on his pink lips. He kisses you back immediately but there is no lust behind it. "You're a goddess, you know that?" He speaks, muffled against your arm. You laugh this time, reaching for the camera next to you. Click. Another picture. But this one is much cuter, the two of you staring into the camera, laughing as your arms are wrapped around him. Click. And another. He's kissing you and you just want to stay in this moment forever.

-

The remainder of the vacation is spent stealing glances and kisses with Sunghoon as you two sneak away at random times together. You visited his room every night, sometimes it was sex and sometimes you just wanted to cuddle.

If there was one thing you were sure of by the end of the vacation, it's that you were madly, madly in love with him. And he was in love with you too.

-

1 month later

You step into your room, flopping onto the bed, exhausted from your shift at the gallery. You pull out your phone to texts from both Stella and Sunghoon. Sunghoon's reads 'see you tomorrow :)' while Stella had texted to cancel your bar plans for the night, wanting to hang out at home instead. You almost feel relieved, too tired to even think of going to the bar. Instead, you quickly change your clothes and head over to the house next door. Shin-ah opens the door and she's delighted to see you as ever.

After exchanging some small talk, you head upstairs to Stella's room, briefly glancing at Sunghoon's door.

"Hey Ste—“ You stop. She isn't there.

You look around, confused for a moment before realising she's sitting outside on the balcony.

"Hey, what's up?" You smile at her as you take the seat beside her.

She doesn't respond, staring straight ahead into the pink sky. She's holding an envelope, nothing too special, just a plain white envelope.

"Do you know what this is?" She speaks for the first time, holding the envelope up, still refusing to look at you.

Your eyebrows furrow. "No?"

She breathes out, finally turning to meet your eyes. You recoil slightly when you see the wild anger looking straight at you. She opens the envelope slowly, almost teasingly. "You know..." She trails, "I recently sent in the film from the trip to be developed."

Your stomach drops.

She knows.

The envelope is finally open and she pulls out three photos. The first one of you laid down on the bed, fucked out with his cock still inside you, then you and Sunghoon are hugging naked, then you're kissing.

You're going to throw up.

"Look at me." She speaks softly, gently, but her voice is full of venom.

You look up to meet her eyes but you just can't do it. Your world is spinning.

"I want you to go to New York," her voice drops to a whisper, "and never come back. I never want to see you again. I never want you to see my brother ever again. Do you understand?"

You're nodding now, pleading silently, tears streaming down your face but you know it's not going to do anything.

She takes your nod as a yes. "Good, then we're clear."

[whosashan]

Hello! I had a super fluffy idea for LADS. Mc who always tries to laugh politely until one day one thing or the other happens and they just. Cackle. A full body wheezing laugh, snorts, the works. The boys just being absolutely smitten with this new side of Mc and I just— AGH.

Anyways, I hope you have a nice day!

Oops..!

PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x reader (reader is implied to be the MC in Caleb's part)

SYNOPSIS: Caught in the tide of the moment, you let your true laugh escape—unfiltered, unguarded—for the first time in their presence.

A/N: That was such a cute request, thank you! Hope you enjoy :]

The dim glow of your phone screen flickered against the walls, casting soft shadows across the room. Outside, the rain pattered steadily against the window, the rhythmic sound blending with the low hum of the heater. It was one of those nights—quiet, intimate, where the world outside felt distant, leaving only the two of you in your little cocoon of warmth.

You sat nestled against your lover on the couch, his arms draped lazily over your shoulders, pulling you against his chest. The scent of him—familiar, grounding—filled your senses, an anchor you didn’t quite realize you needed. His slow, steady breaths brushed against your hair, lulling you further into comfort.

You had been together for a few months now. Long enough to settle into a routine, to share soft touches and quiet nights, but there was still a part of you that held back. A quiet restraint. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him—God, you did—but you still wanted to maintain that polished image, the one that made you feel… presentable. Safe.

So, even now, as you scrolled through your phone, watching video after video designed to squeeze laughter from you, you kept your reactions measured. A gentle giggle here, a muffled chuckle there, a hand pressed delicately over your mouth. Meanwhile, your lover, equally engrossed, would occasionally let out a low chuckle or murmur some offhand comment about whatever played on the screen.

Then it happened.

Something he said—so completely unexpected, perfectly timed, effortlessly hilarious—struck you like a bolt of lightning.

The laughter ripped out of you before you could stop it.

Not the soft, practiced giggles you had so carefully maintained, but a full-bodied, unrestrained, reckless sound. Your head tilted back, body shaking as you gasped for air between uncontrollable wheezes. A slap to your thigh, followed by another, and then—oh, God—a snort. A loud, undignified one.

Mortification slammed into you.

Xavier

When Xavier heard it—really heard it—he swore he could feel his heart melting.

How could you have hidden this from him? That sound—so unfiltered, so raw—hit him like a warm wave, wrapping around him and pulling him under before he even had a chance to react. It wasn’t just a laugh; it was you, in your purest form, and it made his chest ache in the best way possible.

Sure, he always thought you were silly, but never in a way he’d tease you for. No—this was different. It was the kind of silly he wanted to keep forever, the kind that made him think, I want to hear this sound for the rest of my life.

His own laughter bubbled up before he could stop it, carried away by the sheer joy of you. It was contagious, impossible to resist. But when he saw your mortified expression—the way your eyes widened, hands flying up to cover your mouth—he sobered just enough to reassure you. A warm smile curved his lips as he cupped your cheek, thumb brushing gently against your heated skin.

"Never hide your true self from me again, okay?" His voice was softer than usual, but there was something new in it—a tenderness that settled deep in his tone, something reverent, as if he were committing this moment to memory.

You looked away, embarrassed, your face flushed all the way to the tips of your ears. His words, so effortless yet so intentional, made your heart stutter. And the fact that he was acting so casual about it only made it worse.

"...It’s embarrassing," you mumbled, barely above a whisper.

Xavier let out a quiet huff of amusement before tilting your chin back toward him. Then, without warning, he squeezed your cheeks between his hands, molding your face into a ridiculous shape. His expression, however, remained perfectly serious.

"Absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about," he stated, his grip tightening just slightly for emphasis.

Your words came out muffled against his hold. "Alright, alright—!" You swatted weakly at his hands, surrendering with a breathless chuckle.

And then, just as quickly as the moment had come, your laughter returned—softer this time, but no less genuine. Xavier let go, only to watch in satisfaction as that small, easy smile took its place.

You never had anything to be worried about, after all.

Zayne

Zayne hadn't expected it. Not the sound of your laughter—unrestrained, unfiltered, so unlike the polite chuckles you usually allowed yourself. And certainly not the way it affected him.

It was foolish, really, how something so simple could send an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest, how his carefully composed demeanor fractured in the wake of your joy. But there he was, caught in the moment, lips curling into a rare, unbidden smile.

His sharp, refined features softened, betraying something unspoken—something close to reverence. This wasn’t just amusement to him; it was trust, a glimpse of something so deeply you that it left him spellbound.

But then, just as quickly, you withdrew.

"I'm so sorry, I don’t know what came over me..." You rushed out, voice tinged with panic, fingers tightening around the fabric of your sleeve as if grounding yourself.

His expression darkened—not in anger, but something dangerously close to disappointment.

"Why would you apologize?"

Before you could shrink further into yourself, he reached for you, his touch deliberate as he smoothed a hand over your shoulder. His movements were slow, calculated, meant to ease the tension in your frame.

“Do not diminish something so precious,” he murmured, his voice velvet-soft yet laced with quiet intensity. “It just so happens that the sound of your laughter may be my new favorite thing about you. And rest assured, my dear, I intend to hear it again.”

The certainty in his words sent heat rushing to your cheeks, your earlier embarrassment now replaced with something far sweeter, far more dangerous.

You hesitated before speaking, your lips curving into something playful despite the lingering warmth in your chest.

"Well then, Dr. Zayne..." You drew out his name, reaching up to pinch his cheek in a teasing display of defiance. “I’ll make sure you get sick of it.”

His gaze darkened—not in displeasure, but in something richer, something indulgent.

He caught your wrist, turning it over in his grasp with a featherlight touch, then pressed a lingering kiss to your palm.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” he whispered against your skin, before leaning in to place a final, impossibly tender kiss to your forehead.

Rafayel

“Oh my god—did you just snort?”

Rafayel’s voice rang out, rich with amusement, his deep chuckle reverberating through the dimly lit room. The golden glow of the floor lamp cast shadows along the sharp angles of his face, his blue-pink eyes glinting with something unreadable—something between adoration and mischief.

He wasn’t laughing at you. No, the thought never even crossed his mind. He was laughing because it was you, because this moment, so unguarded and raw, was unexpectedly perfect.

But you didn’t see it that way.

A mortified groan left your lips as you shrank into the plush couch cushions, turning your face away from him, heat rushing up your neck. “...So what?” you mumbled, voice muffled, fingers curling into your sleeves as if that would somehow make you disappear.

For once, Rafayel didn’t push. Didn’t lean into his usual brand of relentless teasing. No sly remarks, no playful taunts—just silence, thoughtful and heavy, as he observed you with an expression far softer than before.

And then, before you could protest, he pulled you into his arms.

His grip was firm, grounding, the warmth of his body seeping into yours as he buried his face into your hair. A slow inhale, as if he was memorizing your scent, as if this was something fragile, something precious.

“Aww, cutie, no need to be embarrassed,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple.

You tensed, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he shifted, his fingers finding yours, tracing slow, absentminded circles along your knuckles. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its usual teasing lilt, replaced by something quieter, something real.

“I’ve never heard anything like that before,” he admitted, a rare sincerity lacing his tone. “It was unexpected, sure—but it was you. And that means it was perfect.”

Your chest tightened at his words, at the way his arms remained around you, unwavering, patient.

“You’re just saying that because you’re my boyfriend,” you muttered, voice small, but your resolve was already beginning to crack.

He hummed, tilting your chin up with a single finger, forcing you to meet his gaze. The playfulness was still there—of course, it was Rafayel—but beneath it lay something deeper, something unshakable.

“Well, that, but also…” He leaned in, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “I truly mean it. Laugh around me more, okay?”

You narrowed your eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

Rafayel gasped, clutching his chest in feigned betrayal before dramatically pinching your nose between two fingers, making you yelp. “Don’t you dare hide such a treasure from me!”

You groaned, swatting at him, but the fight had already left you. Because even through the teasing, the mischief, the absurd dramatics—you knew.

You knew that to Rafayel, every part of you was something worth cherishing.

Sylus

Mortification coiled tight in your chest, making it impossible to meet Sylus’s gaze. You trusted him, of course—you knew he wouldn’t judge you—but that didn’t stop the nagging insecurity gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. Sylus was always so composed, so effortlessly refined, his words always carefully chosen, his every move exuding an unshakable grace. And here you were, sinking further into the plush couch, burning with embarrassment over something as ridiculous as a misplaced snort.

What must he think of you now?

A deep chuckle rumbled from beside you, rich and velvety, carrying an almost amused warmth. “I knew you had it in you, sweetie.”

The gentle teasing in his voice made you peek up at him, brows furrowed in uncertainty. His expression was unreadable at first—calm, as always, but softened at the edges by something far more tender. You searched his gaze, those sharp crimson eyes gleaming with a quiet affection that made your stomach twist in ways you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

His fingers wove through your hair, slow and deliberate, the touch featherlight. “I understand you may feel slightly… embarrassed,” he mused, his voice a soothing hum against the quiet of the dimly lit room. His hand slid down, fingertips tracing your cheek before his thumb brushed over the heated skin. “But I assure you—I've never heard a sound so beautiful.”

You sucked in a breath, warmth blooming across your face. Of course, he would flirt his way out of this. Of course.

And yet… you didn’t mind.

The tension in your shoulders eased, replaced by something lighter, something almost intoxicating. You let out a quiet sigh, shaking your head. “I can’t believe I just snorted in front of the leader of Onychinus…” you muttered, rubbing your temple in exasperation. But despite your words, a smile had already begun to tug at your lips.

Sylus only chuckled, tilting his head ever so slightly before reaching up to pinch your cheek—not hard, just enough to make you look at him again. His smirk was entirely too pleased.

“The leader of Onychinus,” he repeated, voice dripping with amusement, “knows how to appreciate true beauty when he sees it.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a murmur. “And you, darling, are nothing short of a masterpiece.”

Flustered beyond reason, you let out a groan before landing a light punch against his arm, making him laugh.

Maybe Sylus wasn’t as intimidating as you thought. Or maybe—just maybe—he was far more dangerous in an entirely different way.

Caleb

Caleb was no stranger to your laughter—the wild, unrestrained kind that always came from deep within your chest, the one that had haunted your teenage years with its sheer unpredictability. He had heard it countless times before, back when things were simpler, when you were nothing more than an impulsive, wide-eyed girl who never cared how she sounded or looked.

But now? Now things were different.

You weren’t that reckless teenager anymore. You had grown, refined yourself, learned to move with grace and carry yourself with poise. You wanted Caleb to see you as a woman—not the clumsy girl he used to tease mercilessly, not some silly childhood memory.

And yet, all of that crumbled the moment the sound left you.

A full, shameless snort.

Mortification hit like a wave, heat flooding your face as you turned to him, your eyes narrowing in a silent dare, challenging him to say anything.

But Caleb—damn him—only laughed, a rich, familiar chuckle that sent warmth curling through your chest in a way you weren’t ready to admit. “There it is!” he said, grinning as he reached out to ruffle your hair, the same way he used to when you were kids.

You groaned, swatting his hand away. “You are insufferable.”

His hand lingered for a moment before falling away, his gaze softening as he looked at you—really looked at you. To him, that laugh wasn’t something to be hidden or tamed. It was a sound he had carried with him through years of change and distance, something that had always felt like home.

And now that he had heard it again, he wasn’t going to let it slip away so easily.

“That’s the last time you’re hearing it,” you mumbled, turning away, trying desperately to compose yourself. But you couldn’t will away the flush creeping up your neck, nor the way your heart hammered against your ribs.

“No way, pipsqueak,” he murmured, moving in closer, his breath warm against your cheek.

You stiffened. His voice had dropped just slightly—low, teasing, but with an undeniable weight to it. A promise.

“Now that I’ve heard it again,” he continued, dangerously close now, “I won’t stop until it’s the only sound you make.”

You barely had a second to react before his hands were at your sides, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. Then—pure chaos.

A startled shriek left you as he tickled you mercilessly, his movements swift, relentless. You thrashed against him, laughter bubbling up from your chest, unrestrained and wild, that same shameless snort slipping through again.

But this time, you weren’t embarrassed.

Somewhere between the helpless gasps for breath and the way his laughter mixed with yours, something shifted.

You felt… at peace. Like maybe, just maybe, hiding yourself had never been worth it in the first place.

"You're so gonna regret this!" you gasped between fits of laughter, half a threat, half a plea.

Caleb only grinned, utterly triumphant. “Doubt it, sweetheart.”

[rulerofstars]

autumn whispers

oneshot: in the space between being a public hero and a private man, between the chaos of saving the world and the peace of your shared sanctuary, lies the most profound truth—that even after facing the darkness of the void, bucky barnes still finds his way home to you.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

tags: fluff, fluff... more fluff. thunderbolts. bucky barnes. 1.9k words.

The warm studio lights beamed down on the polished hardwood floor of the talk show set. Outside, autumn leaves danced in the crisp October air, but inside, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation as the audience quieted down. A montage of explosive battle footage played on the large screen behind the host's desk: scenes of the Thunderbolts fighting side by side against the latest world-ending threat.

"And we're back with our very special guest tonight," the host, Marissa, announced with practiced enthusiasm as the camera panned to her and her guest. "The man who went from war hero, to villain, to hero again, to congressman, and now back to saving the world—Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes!"

The audience erupted into applause as the camera focused on Bucky. You couldn't help but lean closer to your television screen, heart fluttering despite yourself. There he was, Bucky Barnes, looking almost unfairly handsome in a navy blue button-down that brought out the steel blue of his eyes. His brown hair, now grown out to just below his chin, was tucked behind his ears with a few rebellious strands falling across his forehead.

He smiled politely, the expression warm but reserved in that way only Bucky could manage. The past decade had smoothed some of the harder edges from his face, but the slight furrow between his brows, the one that appeared whenever he was in the spotlight, remained.

"Thank you for having me, Marissa," he replied, his voice carrying that gentle gravel that always sent shivers down your spine.

"So, Congressman Barnes, or should I call you Sergeant Barnes again?" Marissa asked with a flirtatious edge to her voice, leaning slightly toward him.

"James is fine," he answered with a small, practiced smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"James," she echoed, clearly delighted. "After three years representing New York's 14th district in Congress, many were surprised when you answered the call to rejoin the Avengers for this latest crisis. Tell us about that decision."

Bucky shifted in his seat, his vibranium hand, now sleekly designed with Wakandan tech that allowed it to appear almost indistinguishable from his right except for a subtle metallic sheen, rested comfortably on his knee.

"Well, when you've been fighting as long as I have, you learn that duty comes in many forms," he started, his voice thoughtful. "For the past few years, I thought my duty was best served in Congress, fighting for veterans' rights and rehabilitation programs for enhanced individuals. But when the call came that the Thunderbolts needed backup..." He paused, a shadow of something deeper crossing his features. "Some battles need to be fought on different fronts."

You smiled at the television, remembering the late-night conversations that had preceded his decision. The worry in his eyes, the way he'd held you close as if trying to memorize the feel of you in his arms before leaving.

"And what a battle it was!" Marissa exclaimed. "The footage we've seen is just incredible. Working alongside the Thunderbolts again after your own time on the team—how did that feel?"

Bucky's expression softened slightly. "Like coming home, in some ways. That team—we've been through a lot together. There's a trust that develops when you've fought side by side with people who've also known what it's like to seek redemption."

"Speaking of coming home," Marissa segued smoothly, her tone shifting to something more personal as she leaned even closer, "one thing our viewers are dying to know, is there someone special waiting for you when you return from saving the world? The Internet has been abuzz with speculation about Congressman Barnes' love life."

The camera zoomed in slightly on Bucky's face, catching the nearly imperceptible tightening around his eyes. You held your breath, knowing what was coming.

"No comment on that front," he replied diplomatically. "I prefer to keep my personal life private."

Marissa wasn't deterred. "So you're saying you're single and available?" she pressed, her smile widening.

A flash of amusement crossed Bucky's face, there and gone in an instant that most viewers would miss. But you knew that look, he was thinking of you.

"I'm saying that some parts of life are sacred enough to keep away from the spotlight," he countered gently but firmly. "I learned that lesson the hard way over many decades."

"Fair enough," Marissa conceded, though she looked slightly disappointed. "Well, I'm sure there are plenty of viewers who'll be happy to hear there might still be a chance with the heroic congressman."

Bucky gave a noncommittal smile as the conversation shifted to policies he had championed in Congress and how his perspective as both a veteran and an enhanced individual had shaped his legislative priorities.

You switched off the television with a fond shake of your head. He'd handled that perfectly, as always. The agreement you'd both come to early in your relationship, to keep your love life completely separate from his public persona had served you well. No reporters camped outside your door, no intrusive questions about your past, no scrutiny of every aspect of your relationship.

Just the two of you, living your quiet life together between his more public responsibilities.

You glanced at the clock, he'd be home soon. The interview had been pre-recorded three days ago, before he'd returned from Washington. With a smile, you headed to the kitchen to finish preparing his favorite autumn meal.

The door clicked open quietly just as you were pulling the apple cider from the stove. The familiar sound of Bucky's footsteps—always lighter than you'd expect from a man his size—made your heart leap.

"Something smells amazing," his voice called from the entryway.

You turned to see him standing in the doorway of your small but cozy kitchen, jacket already hung by the door, boots removed. His hair was slightly tousled from the autumn wind, cheeks tinged pink from the cold. The sight of him, not Congressman Barnes, not the Winter Soldier, not even Avenger Bucky, but just your Bucky—made warmth spread through your chest.

"Welcome home," you said, setting down the pot and crossing the room to him. "Just in time. I saw your interview."

His arms encircled your waist as he pulled you against his chest, burying his face in your neck and inhaling deeply as if drawing strength from your scent. "Yeah? How'd I do?"

"Mmm, very diplomatic," you murmured as his lips found the sensitive spot below your ear. "Marissa was really trying her best, wasn't she?"

Bucky chuckled against your skin, the sound reverberating through you. "Didn't even notice," he mumbled. "Was too busy thinking about coming home to you."

You pulled back slightly to look at his face, reaching up to tuck a strand of that soft brown hair behind his ear. His eyes, those incredible blue-gray eyes that had seen nearly a century of history—looked at you with such tenderness it made your breath catch.

"Missed you," he whispered, his voice dropping to that intimate tone reserved only for you.

"It was only three days this time," you reminded him with a smile, though you'd felt every hour of his absence.

"Three days too many," he countered, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. "Congress, Avengers, interviews... none of it compares to this. To you. To us."

Your fingers traced the line of his jaw, still amazed after all this time that this man—this complicated, beautiful, heroic man—had chosen a quiet life with you when he could have had anything or anyone.

"I made something special for you," you said, gesturing toward the kitchen where delicious aromas wafted through the apartment.

His eyes lit up with simple pleasure. "You spoil me, doll."

"You deserve to be spoiled," you replied easily. "Now go wash up. Dinner's almost ready."

He stole a quick kiss before heading to the bathroom, and you returned to the stove with a smile playing on your lips. The routine was familiar, comforting, a pocket of normalcy carved out of extraordinary circumstances.

The small dining table in your apartment was already set, candles waiting to be lit. Outside your window, the trees on your quiet Brooklyn street displayed their autumn finery, reds, golds, and oranges creating a fiery tapestry against the darkening evening sky. You'd chosen this apartment together three years ago, when Bucky had first run for Congress, close enough to his district office but far enough from the heart of the city to give you both room to breathe.

Bucky returned, changed into a soft henley and comfortable pants, his hair damp and combed back from his face. The scent of his cologne, subtle notes of cedar and bergamot—filled your senses as he moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, helping you bring the food to the table, lighting the candles, pouring the cider into the ceramic mugs you'd bought together at a craft fair last autumn. As he passed behind you, his hand brushed against the small of your back, a gentle touch that sent pleasant shivers up your spine.

"So," you began as you settled into your seats, Bucky choosing to sit close beside you rather than across the table. He casually rested his hand on your thigh, thumb making small, gentle circles against the fabric of your pants. The warmth of his touch radiated through you as you leaned slightly into him. "How did the debriefing go? The real one, not the TV-friendly version."

Bucky took a bite of the food, closing his eyes briefly in appreciation before answering. His face was so close to yours that you could feel the gentle warmth of his breath, inhale the intoxicating blend of his natural musk and subtle cologne. "Better than expected. Bob says hi, by the way. Wants to know when we're coming over for dinner."

"Tell him anytime he's willing to cook," you teased.

Bucky smiled, a genuine one that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Will do." He took another bite, then added more softly, "It felt good, being back in the field. Different than Congress. More immediate. In Congress, you fight for change that might take years to see. Out there, you know right away if you've made a difference."

You nodded, understanding the complex relationship he had with his dual roles. "You make a difference either way, Buck. Different battles, like you said in the interview."

"Speaking of the interview," he said, a mischievous glint entering his eyes, "sorry about the 'single' implication. You know how it goes."

You waved a dismissive hand. "Please. I knew what I was signing up for." You took a sip of cider, the warm spices dancing on your tongue. "Besides, I kind of enjoy being your best-kept secret, Congressman Barnes."

His expression softened as he turned to face you, his hand sliding up from your thigh to cup your cheek. The candlelight caught the subtle gleam of his vibranium fingers against your skin as he leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. He tasted of cider and something uniquely him, a taste that never failed to make your heart race. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with your own.

"Not a secret," he corrected gently. "Just private. There's a difference."

"I know," you assured him. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

The decision to keep your relationship out of the public eye had been mutual from the beginning. After everything Bucky had been through, decades of having his choices taken away, years of fighting to reclaim his identity—privacy had become sacred to him. And you, having seen the media circus that surrounded other Avengers' relationships, had readily agreed.

It wasn't hiding; it was preserving something precious.

After dinner, you moved to the small living room, settling onto the worn but comfortable couch that faced the electric fireplace. Outside, rain had begun to fall, pattering gently against the windows. Bucky pulled the handmade quilt, a gift from Wanda, over both of you as you curled against his side.

"Want to watch something?" you asked, though you already knew the answer.

Bucky shook his head, his arm tightening around you. "Just want to be here. With you. No screens, no cameras, no reporters. Just us."

You nestled closer, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your cheek. His vibranium arm, always slightly cooler than his flesh one, curved protectively around your waist.

"Tell me something good that happened while I was gone," he murmured into your hair.

This was another ritual, finding moments of simple joy to share with each other, a practice that had helped Bucky learn to recognize the good in his life after decades of darkness.

"Mrs. Kapoor from downstairs brought up some homemade samosas yesterday," you told him. "Said they were a thank you for helping her grandson with his history project. I saved you some—they're in the fridge."

"She makes the best samosas in Brooklyn," Bucky said appreciatively. "What else?"

"The maple tree in the park has turned completely red now. It happened almost overnight. And I finished that book you recommended, the one about the lighthouse keeper. You were right, the ending was worth the slow middle."

He smiled against your temple. "I've been reading books long enough to know a good payoff when I see one coming."

"Your turn," you prompted, looking up at him. "Something good from your trip."

Bucky was quiet for a moment, his fingers absently tracing patterns on your arm. "There was this kid at the hospital we visited after the battle. Couldn't have been more than eight. Lost his arm in an accident last year." His voice softened. "He showed me his prosthetic—nothing fancy, but he'd decorated it with Avengers stickers. Had Steve's Captain America mask right at the top."

Your heart squeezed. "Bucky..."

"I showed him some of the basic maintenance I do on mine," he continued. "Simple stuff, things his parents could help with. But the way he looked at me, doll..." Bucky shook his head slightly. "Like having one arm didn't make him less. Like it made him special. Connected to something bigger."

You reached for his metal hand, bringing it to your lips and kissing the palm gently. "You changed how he sees himself."

"Maybe," Bucky acknowledged. "That's worth all the congressional hearings and PR interviews combined."

The rain grew heavier outside, drumming a soothing rhythm on the roof. The warm glow from the fireplace cast dancing shadows across Bucky's face, highlighting the contours you'd memorized with your fingertips on countless nights like this one.

"You know," you said thoughtfully, "if Marissa knew what she was missing: quiet nights, pot roast, and rainstorms—she might have tried even harder to get that dating confirmation."

Bucky laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Not a chance. This isn't for sharing." His expression grew more serious as he gazed down at you. "Sometimes I think about how different my life could have been. All those years as the Winter Soldier, then the fighting, the pardons, the political career... None of it prepared me for this."

"For what?" you asked softly.

"For how it would feel to come home to someone who knows all of me—every part, every history, every name I've ever had—and loves me anyway." His voice dropped to a whisper. "For how simple and yet impossible it seemed that I could have this kind of peace."

You shifted to face him fully, cupping his face between your hands. "James Buchanan Barnes, are you getting sentimental on me?"

A slow smile spread across his face. "Might be. Happens every autumn. Something about the changing leaves makes a century-old man reflective."

"Well, this century-old man better save some of that reflection for tomorrow," you teased. "We promised to help Yori rake his yard, remember?"

Bucky groaned dramatically. "Why did I agree to that? I was just in a battle to save the world."

"Because he promised to make us sushi afterward," you reminded him. "And because you're a good friend, even when you pretend to be grumpy about it."

He sighed in mock resignation, then suddenly moved, pulling you into his lap in one fluid motion that reminded you of the superhuman strength he usually kept carefully controlled. "Fine. But that means we should make the most of tonight."

Your breath caught as his hands settled on your waist, warm and secure. "Any specific ideas, Congressman?"

His eyes darkened slightly as he leaned closer. "Several. None of which I'll be sharing on national television."

As his lips found yours, gentle at first and then with growing intensity, you smiled against his mouth. Outside, the autumn storm continued, leaves swirling in the wind, the world rushing by with all its complexities and dangers. It was an ordinary moment. And yet, as you padded across the room to join him underneath the sheets, accepting every kiss, every touch, every bit of his being— you knew this was everything neither of you had dared to dream possible.

Congressman, Avenger, Thunderbolt, Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes, the world knew him by many names. But in the gentle warmth of a Brooklyn sunset, he was simply yours, and you were his, and that was the greatest truth of all.

[bywons]

WHEN HE WALKS IN, I AM LOVED 𖥔 HUSBAND!ENHYPEN HYUNG LINE

𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬──── 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒’𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽

❪ 𝖠𝖬𝖮𝖱𝖤 𝖬𝒾𝖮 ❫ ｡ 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽!𝖾𝗇𝗁𝖺 & 𝖿!𝗋 1682wc 𖥔 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 ── 𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 愛 ／ 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒

する ܃ they can slide in a diamond on my ring finger anytime :3 ( and then i wake up... )

reb𝑙ogs ꪆৎ 𝑓eedbacks

HUSBAND!HEESEUNG who comes home late at night— at that hour when the ongoing web series becomes background noise for you, and you feel your eyelids closing shut on the couch. “y/n?” his whisper is barely audible as he approaches your sleeping figure, heart wrenching as he sees you on the couch in that form, probably waiting for him. slowly, he lifts you up so as to not wake you, and carries you to the bedroom. heeseung carefully places you on the bed, tucking the blanket around you with practiced gentleness. his hand brushes a strand of hair from your face as he leans in, his lips ghosting over your forehead. “you make it hard not to love you even more,” he whispers to you, giggling, he finally presses one final kiss on your cheeks before entering the shower.

HUSBAND!HEESEUNG who nevers forgets to bring you flowers everyday. it varies everyday as well— sometimes it’s pink roses, or tulips or baby breaths or lilies. your beauty reminds you of flowers, and so you receive this gift from your lovely husband everyday. today it’s a bouquet of daisies, tied neatly with a pale yellow ribbon. he steps into the house with the bouquet behind his back, with a playful smile on his face. “for my pretty lady,” he brings the flowers forward to you, chuckling upon seeing your pleased expression. “you're too much sometimes,” you giggle, but the way your cheeks flush betrays how much you love it. heeseung grins, pulling you close. “too much? or just the right amount?”

HUSBAND!HEESEUNG who has made it a ritual to dance with you on the kitchen floors. he loves to just play jazz, pull you close and sway to the music with the love of his life. without a word, he gently takes the spoon from your hand, places it on the counter, and turns you around to face him. “what are you doing?” you ask, a laugh escaping as his hands slid to your waist. “dancing with my wife,” he says simply, pulling you closer. the cut tomatoes are long forgotten on the cutting board, as he stares into your eyes with utmost adoration and love. he finally leans in for a kiss, his softly lips touching yours and moving in sync with your dance and the music, his hands crep up and pull you closer by the waist, another hand cups your face as if he has no time. “you’re the best part of my day,” he whispers as he pulls back, out of breath but full of love for you.

HUSBAND!JONGSEONG who always makes sure that you’re pampered and spoiled by him— he wants his beautiful wife to have everything in this world. from designer brands to quality time, you just have to ask jongseong and he will have it by your feet. every day, jongseong made sure you never had to lift a finger for anything. when you mention wanting a new bag, a designer one, the next day, there it is—delivered right to your doorstep, with a sweet note attached: “for my beautiful wife, because you deserve the best.” but it isn't just about the material things. he often surprises you with romantic dinners, planning spontaneous getaways, and always carving out time from his busy schedule to spend with you. you never have to ask twice. he seems to read your mind, anticipating your every need.

HUSBAND!JONGSEONG who cooks your favourite meals for you. it’s a ritual for him to cook dinner right after he gets home, he can’t see his pretty wife overworking, besides, you love his cooking— and that's enough motivation for him to cook for you everyday. the aroma of your adored dish wafts from the kitchen as your husband appears from it soon, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up with him carrying the dish on a plate, a satisfied smile on his face. as soon as jongseong puts the plate down, you take a bite, your eyes lighting up at the familiar, comforting flavors. “it’s perfect!,” you said, voice muffled by the food. jongseong chuckles, wiping a bit of sauce from the corner of your lips with his thumb. “i learned from the best, you,” he sighs, kissing the corner of your lips.

HUSBAND!JONGSEONG who always creeps up behind you, wrapping his hands around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulders. it doesn’t matter if you’re busy with your work, if you’re baking a cake or if you’re simply standing by the window, jongseong loves back hugs, he enjoys the warmth of your body in this way. “you smell so good,” he says, burying his face in the nape of your neck while his hands snake in around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “it’s your perfume!” you sigh, lowly giggling as you return to your work on your laptop. a shiver runs down your spine as he snuggles in face further in, before lifting it to press kisses on your neck and shoulder. “it suits you best,” he hums.

HUSBAND!JAEYUN who listens intently to you, every word that occurs from your mouth, jaeyun is gulping those up. no matter if they’re the smallest rants about your day or the huge drama at your workplace, jaeyun always gets lost in your words and angelic face when you go on talking— he wishes you won’t stop so he can stare a little bit longer at you. “and then— jaeyun, are you even listening to me?” you sigh, plopping down beside him on the couch when you realise he hasn’t uttered a word since you started talking, he’s just staring at your face. “yeah, of course i am!” jaeyun defends himself, sitting up straight, “you said how your coworker had the audacity? well yeah, i hate her too,” he rolls his eyes in a playful manner, making you giggle and fall into his lap, and jaeyun immediately pulls you in, relishing the moment.

HUSBAND!JAEYUN who always notices the slightest shiver you make when the winter wind bites at your skin. you both stroll through the park, the cold air nipping at your cheeks. despite your thick scarf and gloves, you cant help but rub your arms for warmth. without a word, jaeyun stops, slipping off his coat. “jaeyun, you’ll freeze!” you protest as he drapes it over your shoulders. “i’d rather be cold than see you shiver,” he says softly, pulling the coat snug around you. his hands lingers on your arms, rubbing them gently to warm you further. your heart melts at the gesture, the oversized coat practically swallowing you whole. “you’re too sweet,” you murmur, leaning into his touch. jaeyun grins, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your nose. “only for my lovely wife.”

HUSBAND!JAEYUN who remembers the smallest details about you— to your regular coffee order to how much cheese you like in your toast, he treats everything about you like an important event. he never fails to flutter your heart when it comes to these, ever so alert about your habits. “i picked up your favorite chocolate chip cookies,” he says casually, holding out a plate to you. your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “how did you—” “i remember you told me last week how much you’ve been craving them,” he grins, watching you take a bite, your face lighting up at the taste. you smile, your heart swelling with affection. “you always know how to make me feel loved, jae.” he chuckles, sitting beside you and pulling you close. “it’s easy when someone as wonderful as you is in my life.”

HUSBAND!SUNGHOON who always offers to help you relax, by massaging your head or your legs. you deserve the ultimate care, and he’s more than willing to be a helping hand. you’re curled up on the couch, a sigh escaping your lips as you massage your sore feet, the exhaustion from work settling in. without a word, Sunghoon kneels in front of you, his hands gently taking your feet into his lap. “let me help,” he says softly, his voice calm and soothing. you lean back, surprised by his tenderness as he carefully starts massaging your feet, his touch firm but gentle. “i don’t deserve this,” you murmur, closing your eyes. “you do,” he replies, his hands moving expertly, kneading the tension out of your muscles. “you work so hard, and i want you to feel cared for.”

HUSBAND!SUNGHOON who instantly becomes a nurse when you’re sick. he’s in utmost tension and cancels all his meetings and makes sure everything at home is taken care of, from your medicine to the softest blankets, ensuring you’re always comfortable. throughout the day, sunghoon prepares warm soups with his own hands, making sure each one is exactly to your liking. he checks your temperature regularly, offering gentle reassurance whenever you feel a little colder than usual. sunghoon is always there to brush hair away from your face, hold your hand in his, presses kisses to your face and provide reassurance that everything is going to be just fine, as long as he is here.

HUSBAND!SUNGHOON who notices the smallest things that stress you out, like when your phone charger starts to fray or when your car tire looks a little low. one afternoon, you come home to find him tinkering with your phone charger, his focused expression making you smile. “hey, what are you up to?” you ask, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. he looks up, a soft grin on his face. “just fixing your charger. i know how annoying it can be when it stops working right when you need it.” you roll your eyes playfully. “you’re spoiling me, you know that?” sunghoon chuckles, setting the charger down once he's done. “anything for you. you work hard enough; let me take care of the small stuff.” you walk over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “i’m lucky to have you.” he smiles, pulling you into a hug. “and im lucky to take care of my wife.”

© BYWONS, 2025 / do not copy or repost without permission . div ctto

taglist────open tags in the reblogs ! network tag. @/k-labels @k-films @k-nets CLICK ME

[beloveds-embrace]

(more of omegaverse 141 x reader who has no designation)

It had been a long day, but the warmth of the common area beckoned you like a sanctuary. You stepped in quietly, cradling a mug of tea in your hands, your oversized sweater slipping slightly off one shoulder. The room was dimly lit, bathed in the soft golden glow of a lamp.

Price was seated at the small table, pretending to read reports but glancing up the moment you entered. Soap was sprawled on the couch, his legs thrown over one armrest, while Gaz sat in the corner with a book in hand. Ghost lingered near the far wall, cleaning a blade with slow, deliberate movements. As you entered, you gave them a simple, silent nod.

You didn’t notice the way their gazes softened at the sight of you, their focus shifting entirely to you without hesitation.

(more of omegaverse 141 x reader who has no designation)

You sank into the armchair nearest the couch, tucking your legs up underneath you like a contented cat. The sweater sleeves slipped down over your hands, and you tugged them back absentmindedly, cupping the mug close to your chest to warm your fingers.

They all noticed.

Price’s jaw tightened as he set the report aside, his eyes flicking over your form like he was assessing something unspoken. Soap sat up slightly, his usual grin replaced by a softer, almost yearning expression. Gaz closed his book without a word, while Ghost stilled entirely, his dark gaze fixed on you.

With each passing day, they became more and more attuned to you.

“You alright, love?” Price asked finally, his voice quiet but steady.

You looked up, blinking as though pulled from a dream. “Hm? Oh, yeah. I’m fine.”

“You look tired,” Gaz said gently, leaning forward towards you, an unseen force keeping him entirely in your orbit.

You shrugged, blowing softly on your tea before taking a sip. “Long day. Nothing new.”

That wasn’t the answer they wanted. Something about you today-your sweater, your quiet presence, the way you seemed to fold into yourself like you were smaller than you were- made their instincts surge. You looked soft, warm, and… alone.

It was unbearable.

Soap broke the silence first. “You ever been in a nest before, lass?” he asked casually, though his eyes betrayed his careful intent.

You paused mid-sip, lowering the mug to your lap. “No.” you said, tone carefully neutral, but something flickered in your eyes.

Gaz frowned, tilting his head. “Never?”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening around the mug. “Not really. My parents… didn’t let me.”

You could hear a pin drop in the sudden silence that fell.

“Why not?” Ghost’s voice was low, a dangerous edge beneath the calm.

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “I wasn’t… like my siblings. They all had proper designations. I didn’t. My parents said it wouldn’t feel… natural for me to join them.”

The words were delivered so matter-of-factly, but the way your shoulders tensed gave you away.

Price’s fists clenched on the table, his knuckles white. “That’s rubbish.” he said, tight with restrained anger on your behalf.

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, not wanting to dwell on it. “I didn’t mind. It wasn’t like I really needed to-”

“You did,” Gaz cut in, his voice firmer than usual. “Everyone needs that. It’s not just for designated people.”

Soap let out a long, slow breath, running a hand through his hair. “Bloody hell, lass. You’ve been missin’ out.”

“It’s not a big deal, never been.” you insisted, though your voice was quieter now.

Price stood abruptly, his chair scraping back. “It is a big deal,” he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. “And we’re fixing it. Now.”

“Fixing it?” you asked, confused.

“You’re coming with us.” Ghost said, his tone leaving no room for argument. An order that he simply expected you to follow.

“What? Where?”

“To the nest,” Gaz was already standing and holding out a hand to you. “You need it.”

You looked between them, your mug still clutched in your hands. “I don’t… I mean, I’m not sure I’d…”

Soap crouched down in front of you, his blue eyes soft but insistent. “Trust us, bonnie. You’re gonna love it.”

The nest was in their shared quarters, a carefully crafted space that spoke of warmth and safety; it reminded you of your parents', on the few occasions you'd been allowed to look at it. It was larger than you expected, layered with blankets of different textures and colors, plush pillows arranged in a way that made it seem both chaotic and deliberate. You could even smell it; earthy, rich, and grounding, so they must spend a lot of time here, so much so it has taken on such subtle (to you) scents.

They guided you in gently, as though afraid you might bolt. Ghost was the first to settle in, reclining against the far edge of the nest, able to see all of the room, and watching you closely. Gaz and Soap coaxed you to sit between them, their movements light and careful, while Price lingered by the door for a moment, eyes softening before he joined.

You sat stiffly at first, unsure of where to put your hands or how to position yourself. The space felt too intimate, too sacred for someone like you.

“You don’t have to sit like you’re at attention, love,” Price said gently, easing down beside you. He grabbed one of the blankets, draping it over your lap and fussing with it until he deemed it perfect. His voice was rumbly, satisfied. “Relax.”

Soap leaned back against a pillow, nudging your leg with his. “This is your space too, lass. We’re not shovin’ you out anytime soon.”

Slowly, tentatively, you allowed yourself to relax. You leaned back against the cushions, your body sinking into the softness.

“There,” Ghost murmured, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “That’s better.”

For a while, no one spoke. The silence was filled with the quiet hum of their presence, the steady rhythm of their breathing- their soft purrs and rumbles you'd normally not notice that easily.

“Feels… nice,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you."

Price smiled, his hand resting lightly on your knee. “Told you it would.”

“You deserve this, love,” Gaz said, his voice warm and earnest. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Ghost leaned closer, his broad frame enveloping the space around you. “Anyone tries to take this from you,” he said quietly, “they’ll answer to us.”

And for the first time in a long while, you felt truly welcomed.

[sabxynsweet]

i'm so invested already.. how did mattheo and yn meet? did she freak out when she first saw him?

sweetheart!reader and mattheo meet for the first time

The first time you saw Mattheo was not the first time you met him.

It was orientation day at the very beginning of the semester for your sixth year in Hogwarts when he first came into your sight.

He was sitting a few rows away from you, a cold (bored) look on his face. It was something about his hair or his eyes, maybe, you weren’t sure but in that moment you decided you had to have him.

You had heard of Mattheo Riddle - who hadn’t. He transferred in third year but you somehow never crossed pasts until now.

The daydreams you had in class were now centred around one thing, a plan: How to get Mattheo Riddle’s attention.

The first time you met Mattheo - properly - came a few months later.

You were transferred to a more advanced potions class for your second term due to an improvement of your grades.

When you walked into the classroom for your first day, you cheerfully floated over to Pansy - barely noticing who was around her.

“Mattheo, Blaise; have you met yn?” She asked, your heart stopped at the mention of his name before it started again (very quickly) when you saw him behind her.

“Oh, I don’t think we’ve met yet.” You said nonchalantly, like you haven't spent countless 11:11’s wishing for him to notice you.

Blaise introduces himself while Mattheo simply nods. You’d have to work just a little bit harder for him, you guessed.

Professor Snape walked in and you quickly glanced at Pansy with wide, scared eyes.

“Scary.” You mouthed.

“A little.” Pansy confirmed, mouthing back.

Your very first assignment for the new year was amortentia.

Pansy turns to you with an apologetic look, speaking in a hushed voice. “I really don’t want to ditch you for your first class but please let me pair with Blaise. It’s amortentia!”

You laughed, “No, totally. Go ahead, I’ll be fine.”

She squealed, thanking you and blowing you a kiss before rushing to her boyfriend.

You turned to Mattheo, a silent agreement forming. You gathered the ingredients together, you talked a lot about everything while he simply listened (you hoped) quietly.

After your potion was mixed, you immediately caught the smell: cigarettes, cologne, something metallic? Blood, you presumed. You weren't even surprised that the scent of the amortentia was your favourite infatuation.

“I don’t smell anything!” You declared, quickly. You hoped he believed your lie.

“I don’t smell anything, either.” Mattheo said.

Well, typical, of course he wasn’t interested in anyone.

“We must’ve made a mistake, oh well!” You said frantically, “live, laugh, love, I suppose!”

He raised an eyebrow at you.

“What? Have you never heard of that expression.” You asked with genuine concern in your eyes.

He laughed. “No, I have. I’ve just never heard anyone use it besides people who design divorced women’s throw pillows, I suppose.”

“Well, now I’m feeling very judged.”

He shook his head. “Don’t. It’s cute.” He pauses, “very… you.”

You squealed inwardly at the sort-of-compliment but kept calm outwardly, smiling at him.

The bell rang, you put the cauldron of the “failed” amortentia potion to the side before packing your things away.

“Bye, Mattheo!” You smiled, waving your hand before making your way to the next class.

You turn your back so quickly you didn't see Mattheo’s lips quirking into a small smirk.

He leaned in closer to the cauldron of amortentia you created and inhaled: vanilla, raspberries and cinnamon - pure sweetness, all of which were notes of the perfume you’ve worn since third year.

The year that Mattheo first noticed you.

thank you for the ask angel! i'm so happy you're invested because i am as well. here's when evenmoredownbad!mattheo comes out !

[e-vay]

NEW AURORA BIO!✨💜

[I made a bio for Aurora ages ago, but I figured it was time to post a new one since I've altered/developed her character a lot more since then. I'll probably make changes to this as my stories progress]

Name: Aurora the Hedgehog (Legal name: Aurora Rose)

Nicknames: Tiny, Rory, Light, Lightning Bug

Parents: Sonic the Hedgehog (Father) and Amy Rose (Mother)

Birthday: March 13 | Sign: Pisces

Identity/Orientation: Cishet | Pronouns: She/Her

Personality: Bubbly, Playful, Optimistic, Excitable, Caring, Silly

Powers: Photokinesis (Light Manipulation); Minor precognitive dreaming (abstract premonitions in the form of dreams)

Weaknesses: Low self-esteem; Speaks before thinking; Fear of disappointing others

Type: Speed (About the same level as Amy)

Best Friend: Sage Robotnik

Love Interest: Shadow the Hedgehog

Occupation: (Early Career) Counselor for Young Heroes Program | (Later Career) Pop-Singer

Hobbies: Singing, dancing, swimming, writing

Favorite Color: Green

Favorite Food(s): Tamales, Green Chile, sweets | Least Favorite Food: Olives

Favorite Aesthetics: Colorful Maximalism, Eclectic, Eccentric

Dream Voice Actor: Mandy Moore

Physical traits: Aurora has the same pink colored fur as her mother, with sand-colored markings (the same color as her father) on her muzzle, arms, belly and inside her ears. Her eyes are the same shade of lime green as her father. Aurora has voluminous, "wavy" quills and (unlike Amy who straightens hers) styles them "natural," letting the bottom locks and some of her "bangs" curl upwards naturally. She also has back quills, which she is extremely self-conscious about. She is shorter than average which earned her the nickname "Tiny." She doesn't consider herself fashionable, but if she had to describe her style it would be "Maximal," wearing bright colors and many layers. She always wears "light inhibitors" that her Uncle Tails designed for her to help keep her photokinesis under control. The neutral color for her light inhibitors is lime green but changes depending on extreme emotions.

Personality: Aurora is energetic, playful, enthusiastic and optimistic. She gets excited very easily and isn't shy when it comes to expressing herself. She has a habit of blurting out her thoughts before thinking about how they might be perceived, which can sometimes come off as rude (though not intentionally). Nothing makes her happier than making someone smile or laugh, so she is always eager to lend a helping hand or engage in silly pranks if it means it will lift others' spirits. That being said, she can be impatient if someone's being a sourpuss for seemingly no reason. Having such incredible 'superpowered' family members who have traveled across worlds fighting for freedom while she's lived a sheltered, relatively-quiet life makes her feel inadequate and weak by comparison, though she keeps that information to herself. Despite that, she will never hesitate to protect her loved ones. She has a habit of idolizing others, whether that be celebrities or her own friends/family.

Abridged Biography:

Aurora is the only child of Sonic the Hedgehog and Amy Rose. One of Eggman's evil schemes caused a pregnant Amy to go into labor early, and since then, Sonic has been extremely protective of Aurora, to an (unintentionally) detrimental extent. For much of Aurora's childhood, Amy worked multiple jobs and Sonic served as the primary caretaker which made Sonic and Aurora have a very close bond. Though she always had fun with her family, having to stick close within Sonic's orbit and never being allowed to venture out into the world on her own lead to some self-esteem issues and a repressed longing for adventure.

Apart from having Sage Robotnik as her best friend, Aurora has always had a hard time making friends. Her unusual physical traits, her quirky interests and her world-famous family made her a target for bullies or left her ostracized from groups entirely. After a constant barrage of bullying, Aurora's light powers begin to manifest as a form of defense. Afterwards, she slowly gets better at defending herself and gains a bit more confidence.

Aurora joins the Young Heroes Program as a child and stays until she ages out of the program. She was hoping to begin her worldly adventures and her pursuit to help others as soon as she 'graduated,' but Sonic talks her in to staying on as a counselor where she could "do plenty of good close to home." Not wanting to disappoint him, she agrees. Aurora constantly grapples with feeling like she's not doing enough with her life while simultaneously thinking she's not skilled enough to make a difference, leaving her "stuck in place" continuing through adulthood.

When Shadow the Hedgehog returns to Earth after a decades-long mission in space, he and Aurora meet and strike up an unlikely friendship. That friendship quickly blossoms into romance, initially causing friction within the Rose Family. However, the relationship is mutually beneficial, with Shadow encouraging Aurora to take pride in her abilities and inspiring her to explore the world like she's always wanted to, and Aurora having a more positive, calming influence on Shadow. When he learns that she's been considering becoming a professional singer, he encourages her to pursue a career in music which quickly takes off. Her goal is for her music to speak to others and lift them up and show them they're not alone. She also uses her platform to educate and raise money for nonprofits and charities (like anti-bullying organizations). After some years and perilous adventures together (including a journey where Aurora had to travel back in time to save Shadow under an alias), and with the long-awaited approval from Sonic and Amy, Shadow and Aurora get married. Aurora continues her musical career for several years before she and Shadow decide to start a family. They eventually have three litters, consisting of the triplets Piper, Zane & Nova, twins Aster & Blitz, and triplets Cinder, Diamond & Boon.

[silverspectre51]

Summoning the Boy King

Darkseid was rampaging through Metropolis, Superman was injured, and the Justice League was desperate. As the League hid between fallen skyscrapers, John Constantine prepared a last-ditch effort to save the Earth.

The Hellblazer drew an intricate sigil on the ground; its circular design stretching over six feet in diameter. Most of the symbols within were space-related, while the others were themed to royalty. Batman, one of the few heroes in-the-know, grunted.

"Are you sure this king ghost can help?"

Constantine sighed and pinched his nose.

"He's the High King of the Infinite Realms, Bats, an' he's bloody powerful. He'll stop Darkseid, alright, but what he does afterward is anyone's guess. Believe me, I wouldn't be doin' this if we had a choice."

Batman sighed and glanced at the smoke-filled horizon.

"Alright, get on with it, then. We're running out of time."

Constantine nodded and placed a single offering in the center of the sigil: a squishmallow of Disney's iconic blue alien, Stitch.

"I beg your finest pardon," Batman sputtered, "What on Earth is that?"

Constantine sighed again as he took his position at the edge of the sigil.

"Mate, the book was very specific. Unlike his predecessor, the new king requires a single offering of space or alien theme that is suitable for children. It's bloody strange, but beggars can't be choosers."

Batman just shook his head and looked on. Constantine raised his hands and started the summoning chant. An eerie, green glow spread across the sigil, and light fog gathered above it. Little white orbs floated up from the ground and spiraled together, forming the slowly spinning visage of a spiral galaxy.

"Incredible..." Zatanna gasped, "This summoning is on a level all its own. This king of yours is on the level of Gods."

Finally, something began to form over the small galaxy. Batman's expression quickly softened, much to the surprise of his teammates. It was mere seconds before they understood, as a black blob full of white stars formed into the shape of a boy. The blob had spiky 'bangs' if you could call them that and eerie, glowing green eyes.

The squishmallow floated into the boy's arms and he squeezed it excitedly. At the same time, he took on a far more human form, with pale skin and snowy white hair. His eyes had whites now but still glowed green. He was dressed in black and white, royal attire with green accents, a black crown floating in a green aurora, and a black ring with a green stone. A black cape flowed down his back, its underside looking as if it were cut from a clear night sky.

"Awesome offering, dude! What can I do for ya?"

The voice was a reedy tenor in the throes of puberty, and its owner was more than a little geeky. The boy's smile was infectious, or it would have been were it not for the specific circumstance.

"How old are you?" Batman asked, his tone soft, "We weren't expecting a child."

The boy waved him off like it was nothing.

"No one ever does. And, um... technically I'm fifteen. I know, I don't look it."

Constantine cut in, clearly out of patience.

"Look, this monster Darkseid is destroying our world. We need you to stop him."

The boy turned in the air and took in the destruction around him. Somehow, he seemed to understand the situation immediately.

"Okay, but I gotta get permission first. This'll take a lot of power." He paused, taking a breath, and then yelled in a strange language. "Mom!"

Constantine paled and the other heroes shrank back as a green portal tore into existence. A young woman, barely an adult herself, floated out. She had waist-length blue hair and the same glowing, green eyes. She wore a royal outfit in white and maroon, complete with a glittering, silver tiara studded with rubies.

"What's the matter, Danny? Are you okay?"

Danny nodded.

"Mhmm! These guys need me to take out this Darkseid guy, though. Can I use my full power?"

Constantine snuck a drink from his flask. He did not sign up to deal with the fucking Queen Mother of the Infinite Realms, nor had he known she existed. God, he needed a smoke...

The Queen Mother smiled softly and pressed a kiss to her son's forehead. She spoke whilst taking his new plush.

"Yes, Danny, you may. Let me hold onto this for you so it doesn't get dirty."

Danny nodded and turned away.

"Okay, thanks mom!"

The Queen Mother vanished through and with the portal she had created. Moments later, Danny shot off into the city, with the remaining able-bodied heroes hot on his trail. The young king reached Darkseid rather quickly, engaging him while the Leaguers looked on from cover. Darkseid was foolishly amused.

"A child dares oppose me? Flee, whelp."

Batman tensed as Darkseid unleashed his Omega Effect. Two red beams shot from his eyes, and yet the young king floated firm. Two eerie, green beams shot from his own eyes and, to the shock of everyone, overpowered his foe's. Darkseid shattered into many tiny pieces which then vanished into thin air.

"Man, he really wasn't smart!" Danny grinned, "Who fires a death beam at the king of the dead?"

He received no response, as the heroes were too stunned to speak. Smiling, he saluted the group before tearing open another portal.

"Oh well; villain gone, carry on. Later guys!"

Batman glared at Constantine, but the Brit had already absconded. Heaving a sigh, he resigned himself to this new reality. Darkseid was gone, but there was an incredible new power to worry about.

(Note: My only source of information is DP canon, DP fanon, and the Justice League cartoons from the early '00s. I apologize for any inaccuracies with Batman's or Constantine's behavior.)

[viorel-lette]

More designs and headcanons for the SUGARCOATED AU!

Big credits to these two awesome people who made the Fount of Knowledge and Pre-corrupted Mystic Flour sprites that I used above!! Their original post is linked along with their @ if you wanna check them out :D!

Fount of Knowledge Sprite by @frog-of-the-blog Transcend Flour Cookie by @modcroissant

Similar to Eternal Sugar's post (<- in which you can find a very small breakdown of her outfit design and a few headcanons) Below the cut is a few design details I made for Shmilk (BM) and Mysty (WPF) and a few more ideas for how this crossover AU will go!

The cut may not appear for others so I guess if you're one of them you can try to maybe scroll down really fast if you haven't yet played or watched a playthrough or summary of the game OMORI and don't wanna get spoiled of the game's horrors which for me, is one of its best parts! I would know cuz it took me a week to recover :D. 💯 percent would recommend if you just love to put yourself in undescribable emotional pain ^^💕.

But big chunky trigger warning for those who are sensitive to things like depictions of depression, anxiety, suicide, flashing lights and a bunch of other stuff!— it's pretty expected from a psychological horror game, but please don't be pressured to play or watch it!

Added Eternal Sugar's design thingy along since I wanted to change her weapon. Her U-shaped harp matched her angel form more, so I replaced it with the harp from her legendary costume! Suits her even better since both designs are more fairy like.

Anyways NOTES and HEADCANONS:

Really wanna lean in to the way how Sugar seems to slightly not belong with the rest like how Omori is with his monotone expression and colors. I mentioned before in her own design post how she's the only character in some sort of sleep ware, a few other differences I added here is that shes the only one based on her beast form and also the only one named after it, everyone else's design look more, and are named, like their virtues.

Each of them have fantasy-adventure-group-roles! Blueberry Milk being the wizard or mage and Pastry Flour being the healer. Not sure about everyone else's tho.

I really like the idea of Blueberry, being the "Basil" of this AU and giving everyone insects to represent them!! Mentioned how this has definitely been done before (Omoriposa AU by madnopost :D!) But it just suits so well especially since their beta designs are already based on insects so I'm kinda thinking of really adding it

And on the topic of being "Basil", I hc before that Bspice would be the sporty but actually artsy type— which would be a really fun characteristic to give to him but I feel like giving it to Shmilk instead. He would make doodles of their times together to parallel with the way Sunny remembered the truth through Basil's photographs

And speaking of hobbies, in the real world, Sugar loves to bake! Which is why everyone is named after some sort of ingredient (minus Elder Faerie?) and why her happyspace is almost filled to the brim with desserts and sweets. Keyword 'almost' as it seems that if things are not going so well eyes, teeth, and organs seem to be growing more apparent here and there (just like in Sugar's actual garden in game). Also her weapon irl is a cake slicer.

Other than that, Shmilk likes to read and with the new head canon, draw, and is one of those too-smart-kids-for-their-age, meanwhile Mystic loves to embroider and crochet in her free time! Hence why, other than Shmilk's insect assigning, in Sugar's imaginary happyspace she's portrayed as a spider.

K, that's all for now. *Ascends to a different plane of existence*

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader

synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 15.9k

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation

a/n: was gonna post another sneak peek, but thought the entire chapter would be better :) as always, pls let me know of any typos

series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter < spotify playlist

It’s a nice, warm morning. The sun’s out, there’s birds chirping, and a small breeze that feels lovely against the skin. And the best part of it all is that Hana called in sick today. Her now boyfriend, Naoya, reassured her everything would be alright and that he had an entire day planned out for just them two. Being taken care of by another person was a new feeling to Hana, one she hadn’t experienced since her last boyfriend. 

She’s never been with a rich man before. And she’s especially never been to an upscale golf course, wearing a tight, sleeveless top with an even tighter little skirt. Naoya is in his stance a few feet in front of her, club in hand as he readies his shot. She can’t help but feel slightly out of place.  

The brightness of the day feels almost surreal to Hana, like she’s stumbled into someone else’s life. The manicured grass stretches endlessly before her, the trees swaying gently in the breeze. The scent of freshly cut greens, mixed with faint hints of expensive cologne, clings to the air. She fiddles with the hem of her skirt, feeling self-conscious even though Naoya hadn’t once looked at her with anything less than approval since they arrived.

Naoya stands confidently, the sunlight catching the sleek fabric of his polo as he lines up his shot. His form is perfect, practiced—a natural at this, just like everything else in his life. He’s effortless in a way that makes Hana’s chest ache with something she can’t name. Admiration, maybe. Longing. Envy. She doesn’t know.

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, trying not to stick out like a sore thumb. The outfit he bought her might make her look the part, but internally, she feels worlds apart from the other women here. Women with polished nails, designer sunglasses, and easy smiles born from years of moving through places like this without a second thought. Hana crosses her arms, squinting against the sun. She watches Naoya swing, sending the ball sailing with a crisp, clean sound that echoes across the open course. He turns back toward her with a wide, satisfied smile, the cockiness in his expression unmistakable.

“You’re up, babe,” he calls out, motioning her forward.

Babe.

The word feels strange, too, curling around her heart like a new pair of shoes she hasn’t broken in yet. It’s sweet, almost nauseatingly so, and it makes her feel dizzy, like maybe she could get used to this if she let herself.

Gathering her nerves, she steps forward, clumsily taking the club he offers her. Their fingers brush, and Naoya chuckles under his breath, stepping closer to adjust her grip. His hands are warm, firm, guiding her in a way that’s both helpful and possessive.

“Relax,” he murmurs near her ear. “You’re too stiff. Golf’s supposed to be fun.”

Easy for you to say. Everything about today, about him, about this life, feels so far out of reach for someone like her. But she forces a smile, tightens her fingers around the club, and lets him guide her swing. Even if she feels completely out of place, there’s a small, stubborn part of her that wants to fit. To belong.

Maybe, if she fakes it long enough, she eventually will.

“Ah, so close,” Naoya sighs, watching the tiny white ball miss its hole, veering way off to the right. “You would think you’d be a little better after watching me all this time.”

“I—sorry.” She scratches the back of her neck. 

“Don’t worry about it.” He waves her off, calling down the cart girl. Hana follows him as they approach the wide selection of cooled drinks, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic.

“Hi, Naoya. What can I get for ‘ya today?” The blonde woman manning the cart asks, a smile on her pink lips. She tilts her head, regarding him with familiarity. 

Naoya barely spares her a glance, his attention more focused on the line of bottles glistening under the sun. “The usual,” he says smoothly, reaching for his wallet without hesitation.

The cart girl giggles, a light, practiced sound that makes Hana’s stomach twist ever so slightly. She’s seen that look before, the way the girl leans just a little closer than necessary, the way her hand lingers when she passes Naoya the drink. It’s casual. Too casual.

Hana steps back instinctively, feeling like she’s intruding on something she wasn’t invited to witness. She folds her arms loosely across her chest, trying not to fidget, trying not to let the sudden sourness in her mouth show on her face.

“You’re looking good today,” the cart girl adds with a wink, handing Naoya a cold can.

He finally looks at her, flashing a charming smirk, the same one Hana had thought was just for her. “Yeah? Must be the company.” He says it without thinking, tossing a glance over his shoulder at Hana, almost like an afterthought.

The cart girl’s eyes follow his, her smile faltering for just a second when she realizes Hana’s standing there. Her gaze flicks back and forth between them, assessing, judging, maybe even pitying. Hana isn’t sure which would be worse.

Naoya tosses some cash onto the cart’s counter, far more than necessary for just a drink, and motions for Hana to follow him again. She does, but the small crack left behind by the encounter digs deep into her chest. As they climb back into his own golf cart, Naoya takes a swig of his drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Don’t mind her,” he says casually, like he can sense her unease. “She flirts with everyone who’s got money. It’s nothing personal.”

Hana forces a small laugh, nodding like she believes him.

But deep down, a quiet voice whispers:

It’s not nothing to you, though.

And that’s what matters.

Naoya revs the cart up again, speeding toward the next hole, completely unaware—or maybe just uncaring of the way Hana sits a little stiffer beside him now, the sun suddenly feeling a little too hot on her skin.

“So,” he speaks up, causing Hana’s head to turn toward him. “You and bestie still not speaking?”

The mention of you causes her to stiffen, a frown forming on her lips. She scoffs. “No. And I don’t plan on it.”

“Shame, thought you said you guys were good friends.”

“We were, until she started changing when that…that asshole came in her life.” 

Naoya hums, stopping the cart at the next destination. He doesn’t get out immediately, instead letting the engine idle while he leans back lazily against the seat, his hand casually resting on the steering wheel. His eyes, however, are sharp and calculating as he watches Hana’s face carefully.

 “Guess that’s what money and status do to people, huh?” he says, a little too lightheartedly. “Especially when it’s someone like Satoru Gojo.” He taps his fingers against the steering wheel, a slow, rhythmic beat. “Big name. Big wallet. Big ego.”

Hana huffs, crossing her arms and looking away toward the sprawling green of the course. “He ruined her,” she mutters bitterly. “She’s not the same person anymore. Everything’s about him now, about his life, his rules. Like she doesn’t even think for herself anymore.”

Naoya lets her words hang between them for a moment, pretending to be focused on something off in the distance. When he speaks again, his tone is almost lazy, casual almost. “You know…” he starts, drawing out the thought like it just occurred to him, “people like him… they don’t change for anyone. And they don’t really let anyone get close unless there’s something they can use.”

Hana furrows her brows, turning to look at him again.

Naoya catches her glance and shrugs innocently. “Just saying,” he continues. “Wouldn’t be surprised if she’s caught up in something way bigger than she realizes. Maybe even something that could end badly for her if she’s not careful.” He gives a small, knowing smirk, like he’s letting her in on some forbidden secret,  like he’s doing her a favor. “Guess it’s a good thing you’re not mixed up in all that,” he adds smoothly. “But…” He trails off, feigning hesitation before flashing her a boyish grin. “You probably know more about what’s going on with them than anyone else, huh? Even if you’re not talking to her anymore.”

Hana shifts uncomfortably. She does know a lot, or at least, she used to.

And despite the way things ended between you two, there’s a bitter part of her that still wants to talk about it. Wants to air out the injustice she feels. Wants someone—anyone—to understand how wrong it all was. Naoya picks up on her hesitation immediately and presses just a little further, voice dropping to something more coaxing.

“Come on, Hana. You can trust me. You know I’m on your side.” He leans in slightly, eyes locking with hers, that charming smile never once faltering. “I’m just curious,” he murmurs, “about how deep she is with the Gojo group. About what Satoru’s really after. That’s all.”

He says it so sweetly, like it’s harmless. Like it’s just friendly concern. But beneath it all, Hana can’t shake the feeling that there’s a lot more riding on her answer than he’s letting on.

“I…I don’t know.” She admits, shrugging lightly. “I mean, they have a kid. I don’t see why else they’d still need to be close. She used to tell me when I first met her that she’d never go back to her ex, but that was before I knew who he was.”

Naoya listens intently, his expression carefully neutral, but his mind is already calculating the information. He nods slowly, leaning back slightly as if he’s processing her words, but really, he’s already piecing everything together. “Hm.” He hums thoughtfully, tapping his fingers on the cart. “I guess when you throw a kid into the mix, things change. But… I don’t know, Hana. That just sounds a little too clean, don’t you think?” He tilts his head slightly, feigning curiosity. “The way she acted before, all that ‘never going back’ talk… Do you really believe she’d just… forget about him, that easily? People like Satoru, they don’t let things go so easily. Not when they have so much to gain.”

He watches her closely, gauging her reaction to the way he phrases it.

“You sure she’s not just… saying that? Or maybe she’s in deeper than she lets on?”

Hana shifts slightly, clearly torn. She’s not sure if she should give him more, but something about the way Naoya talks makes her feel like he already knows more than she does, as if he’s playing her like a pawn and she’s too distracted by her anger to realize it. “I don’t know,” she says again, voice quieter this time, her uncertainty growing. “I mean, you’re right. I’m not sure. She told me everything was over, but she… she’s always been so secretive about him. Like there’s something she’s hiding. I don’t think it’s just the kid, you know? There’s more. But she wouldn’t talk about it.”

Naoya’s eyes glint with barely-contained satisfaction, his hand moving casually to pick up his drink from the cup holder. He takes a slow sip before speaking again, voice smooth and coaxing. “Right, that makes sense. There’s always something people like her hide. But…” He pauses, letting the words linger. “If you really want to help her—if you care about her at all—you should let me know what’s going on. People like Satoru don’t play fair, and your friend might be in way deeper than she thinks. I’m not trying to pressure you, but if you know anything that could help… It could keep her out of something she can’t get out of.”

The words are wrapped in a thin layer of concern, but the underlying message is clear: if she doesn’t give him more, he might just find another way to get it. Hana feels a slight shiver of unease crawling up her spine, but she doesn’t know why, not completely. Part of her still wants to trust Naoya, but the other part is beginning to feel like there’s something more to this conversation than meets the eye.

“So, what do you think?” Naoya presses, his smile gentle but determined. “Think you could tell me a little more? For her sake, of course.”

She racks her mind, biting at her lip in thought. Scratching her head. Pulled between two sides of wanting to keep her friend’s privacy, but also wanting to please the man who’s been giving her so much and more. Sure, he has his mistakes, but so does she. So does everyone. So do you. 

“I…I don’t know.” She mutters. 

Naoya’s smile falters, assessing her for a few silent seconds before humming and getting out of the cart. He stretches lazily, the sun casting a soft glow over his sharp features as he plants the club into the ground and leans on it. His stance is casual, almost careless, but Hana can feel the shift in his energy, a subtle coolness creeping into the air between them.

“That’s alright.” Naoya shrugs, tossing a look over his shoulder at her. “Take your time. Not like I’m in a rush.”

But his tone says otherwise, the underlying warning barely concealed. He straightens up, walking a few steps to the edge of the green, surveying the course as if the conversation hadn’t just taken a turn. Hana stays seated in the cart, her hands worrying the hem of her little skirt, heart thudding against her chest. She knows better. She knows she shouldn’t be entertaining this. She shouldn’t even be thinking about sharing anything about you. You were her friend first—her best friend.

But then she thinks about the nights Naoya spoils her with expensive dinners. About the shopping trips. The way he says she’s beautiful, special, that he sees something in her that no one else does.

Maybe it’s not so bad to share a little.

Maybe it’s just harmless.

And maybe… just maybe… you deserved a little karma anyway, after abandoning her.

She steps out of the cart, heels clicking lightly on the concrete path as she makes her way toward him. Naoya glances back, smiling a little, patient, expectant. “I…I really think it’s more of a custody thing. That’s just my speculation.”

Naoya lets out a small, amused hum, twirling the golf club between his fingers before planting it back down again, leaning into it with casual grace. “Custody, huh?” he echoes, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “Interesting.”

His words are light, but Hana can feel the weight behind them. The air shifts again, the easygoing summer breeze suddenly feeling less refreshing and more suffocating.

She nods quickly, as if to justify herself. “Y-Yeah. I mean… it makes sense, doesn’t it? They had a kid young. There’s probably no formal agreement. She hid him for years. She would always vent to me about stuff like her rent, paying for food, and clothes for Koji. Stuff like that.”

Naoya nods thoughtfully, the club tapping lightly against the grass as he watches the horizon. But Hana knows he’s really paying close attention to her every word. “Hm. Sounds like she didn’t have much support,” he muses casually. “Even though she had family money. Or… used to, right?”

Hana shifts uncomfortably, casting her eyes down at her feet. She shouldn’t be saying anything. She knows it. And yet—

“She doesn’t really… talk to her family anymore,” she mutters. “Or, I guess, they don’t talk to her.”

Naoya finally turns fully toward her now, the sun catching in his sharp eyes. He smiles, soft and indulgent, but Hana can sense the calculation behind it. “She sounds like someone who’s good at burning bridges,” he says lightly, almost jokingly. “Even the ones she might need later.”

Hana shrinks a little under the remark, guilt coiling in her stomach. Still, she doesn’t correct him. Maybe because some bitter part of her agrees. Or because it feels easier than defending someone who left her behind.

“You said she hid the kid for years?” Naoya presses, like he’s just casually connecting dots. “Why do you think she finally told him?”

Hana hesitates, nervously twisting her fingers in the fabric of her skirt again. “I don’t know,” she says honestly. “She didn’t tell me how exactly he found out, either. But maybe she needed help? I mean… being a single mom is expensive. Maybe she got desperate. Or maybe he found out and forced her hand. I don’t know.”

Naoya’s smile widens a fraction, so small it’s almost imperceptible. “Right,” he says smoothly. “Makes sense. Desperation’ll make people do funny things.” He straightens, brushing invisible dust off his tailored pants, the polished image of someone who already has everything he wants, or knows exactly how to get it.

Hana looks at him, feeling small and a little stupid under the weight of what she’s just admitted, but Naoya only chuckles, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Relax, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice soft. “You’re not betraying anyone. You’re just telling me what you already know.”

And Hana, desperately wanting to believe it, lets herself relax as Naoya pulls her closer, delivering a soft kiss to her cheek. “C’mon, let’s finish up here. We can get some lunch, hit up the mall, buy something pretty for you. You like that?”

And Hana nods, smiling shyly. “Yeah, I like that.”

“I don’t know if I trust your parents picking Koji up.” 

Satoru glances at you as he finds a parking spot, brows knitting before he reverses back. “Why not? You’ll be in the interview and I have to run some stuff back ahh the office. They said they’d do it.”

Nerves fill your stomach, anxious about the interview you have with Carlisle & Harlow. Wearing your most sophisticated, fitted black button-up with the same color slacks to go with it. 

You let out a slow breath, trying to calm yourself as you straighten the collar of your shirt. The sharp black fabric feels comforting against your skin, almost like armor, but it doesn’t ease the tightness in your chest. The weight of the interview looming over you is enough to make everything feel more intense. “I know you trust them, but I don’t think I’m ready to put Koji in their care. I don’t trust them, not after everything.” You glance out the window. “What if something happens and I’m not there? What if they treat him differently… like they treated me?” Your voice quivers slightly, betraying the vulnerability you’ve been trying to keep hidden.

He parks the car, turning to look at you. “Hey,” he gently speaks, gaining your attention. “I know it’s hard. You have every right not to trust them. Hell, sometimes I don’t. But I’ve talked with them, okay? And I promise you—I promise—that nothing bad will happen to Koji. I’ll protect him and you with all I can. And I’ll be damned if my parents have something to say about it.”

Your breath hitches slightly as you hold his gaze, his eyes a mixture of reassurance and determination. The sincerity in his voice tugs at your heart, but you can’t quite shake the gnawing feeling in your gut. “You say that now, but you’ve never been in my shoes,” you murmur, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. “I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t get to choose how they treated me. And if they treat him the same way, I… I can’t handle that. Not again. Not with Koji.”

Satoru sighs, his fingers drumming softly on the steering wheel, his gaze flickering between you and the parking lot outside. “I get it. I do. But you can’t shield him from everything. You’re not alone in this anymore.” He leans in, placing a hand over yours. The warmth of his touch is grounding. “You’ve been carrying this weight by yourself for too long. Let me help you carry it.”

You swallow hard, the uncertainty and fear bubbling up inside you. “It's just…it’s hard. Letting go, trusting people—especially them—it’s not easy for me.”

He nods, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I get it. You’ve had a lot of time to build walls around yourself. But this… this is different. Koji deserves a chance at family, at love. And that means we need to trust, even if it’s hard. Not just for us, but for him.”

You look at him again, his expression serious yet tender, and for a moment, the weight of the world feels a little lighter. He’s not asking you to forget what happened or pretend everything’s okay. He’s just asking you to trust him.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as you finally allow yourself to soften just a little. “But if anything goes wrong, I won’t hesitate to step in.”

Satoru’s smile is small but full of warmth. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ve got your back. Always.” He leans in, as if about to press a kiss to your forehead before you turn to the door. 

You awkwardly clear your throat, grab your purse, and ignore the urge to look back at his face. “Right. I—I’m going to go in now. Good luck at work. Your parents have my number, right? They’ll text us if anything happens?”

A hand scrubs over his neck, settling back in his seat. “Um…yeah, yeah. Of course.”

“Great. I’ll take the bus back.”

“Are you su—”

“Thank you for driving me, bye now.”

You close the door before hearing what he has to say next. Forcibly brushing off this weird limbo you two are in, and instead, focusing on the now. This interview. Yourself. Your future. That’s what matters most. It’s a tall building situated within the nicer, more metropolitan area of Tokyo. One you’re still finding yourself getting used to. You don’t miss your shitty neighborhood, you won’t. But there’s still a small voice inside your mind that tells you this kind of environment, just living a city life, is not for you. Maybe one day, you can own a piece of property out in butt-fuck nowhere. Some cows, maybe chickens, and at least one chestnut horse. Ah, the thought is a nice one. If all goes well with this gig, that future may actually be a possibility. 

Entering the lobby, important-looking people pass by. Some on the phone, discussing whatever deals are on the line, others rushing about, seemingly in a hurry to get from one place to the next. It’s a little chaotic, if you’re being honest. But why wouldn’t it be? Everyone’s dressed to impress, you can tell by the pristine, dark fabric of one guy’s suit. There’s a receptionist desk further down; that’s where you head. Straightening up and dusting off the imaginary particles on your shoulder, you make your way over. A subtle confidence is what you try to exude, smiling politely at the younger woman seated behind the desk. “Hi, excuse me?”

“One moment, please.” She holds a single finger up, talking on the phone while simultaneously clicking away at something on her monitor. 

You nod quickly, stepping back just a bit to give her space, hands smoothing down your slacks as you glance around the lobby again—more a reflex than anything else. The walls are glass and concrete, modern and intimidating, and the clean, minimalist aesthetic makes you feel a little out of place no matter how well you dressed today. Still, you keep your chin up.

The receptionist finishes her call a moment later, setting the phone down with a practiced smile. “Hi there, sorry about that. Do you have an appointment?”

“Yes,” you reply, clearing your throat gently. “I’m here for an interview with Ms. Carlisle at eight-thirty.”

“Oh, Ms. Carlisle hasn’t come into the office yet.” The receptionist replies, head tilting. “Are you sure your interview with her was today?”

Your expression dampens slightly, hands fiddling. “Oh, um…yes, I’m sure. She said today.”

“Hmm, well that’s interesting.” Once again, the receptionist clicks and scrolls away on her monitor for a few seconds. You almost begin to think it’s a sign from the universe that it was all too good to be true, that maybe Evelyn even forgot she scheduled a meeting with you today in the first place. You’re about to lose all hope, but the girl speaks up again. “Well, you’re more than welcome to wait for her in her office. She’s up on the last floor. Once you’re out of the elevators, take a right, then another right, then a left, keep walking down, and you’ll see it. It’s not hard to miss.”

You thank her with a polite nod, trying to ignore the tightening in your stomach as you step toward the elevators. Maybe it was just a simple scheduling mix-up, or maybe this is what it’s like working in a place where everyone’s too busy to worry about being on time. Either way, you’re here now—and you’ll wait if you have to. You're not about to let something like this shake you. The elevator dings open with a soft chime, sleek and metallic inside, and you press the button for the top floor, which is the twenty-first. As the doors close, you catch your reflection in the mirrored panel—sharp collar, clean lines, confident-enough face—and you give yourself the smallest of nods. You can do this. 

The ride up is smooth and quiet, faced with the beautiful skyline of a bright Tokyo morning. When the doors finally slide open, you’re met with the hushed luxury of the executive floor. It’s quieter up here—less of the bustling chaos from the lobby. The air feels cooler, more sterile, with plush carpeting and abstract art lining the walls. Probably the higher up you go, the more important the people are, and the more hushed it is. 

Following the receptionist’s directions, you navigate the hallway, counting your turns. Right. Another right. Then left. And just like she said, there it is—Carlisle etched on the frosted glass door in neat serif lettering. It’s large, imposing, and framed by dark wood with a gold handle that gleams faintly in the soft overhead lighting. You pause just before reaching for it, taking another deep breath to center yourself.

This interview could change everything. Not just your job. Not just your income. But your whole future.

You knock twice, then slowly push the door open.

No one is inside, as you expected, but it still felt respectful enough to knock. There’s a dark mahogany desk in the center, a reclining seat behind it, with two chairs on the opposite side. Two monitors with a landline and piles of paperwork stacked on top. To the right is a plush, black leather couch. The walls have some paintings, you could only assume cost way too much for such simplicity. Carefully, you walk inside, plopping down onto one of the two chairs. Hands folded in your lap as the silence envelopes you, head swivelling around as you continue to take in the atmosphere. It’s not too large of an office, but still bigger than your normal supervisor's one. You almost question how similar this one looks to someone like Satoru’s, someone who has a high ranking in such a noteworthy company. Not that you’ve ever seen his. 

Boredom begins to strike as you wait for her to arrive. You check your watch. 8:36. If there’s one thing you hate most in your life, it’s late people. Your finger taps against your knuckles, your foot against the floor as time ticks. When you glance at Evelyn’s desk again, you notice that she has a framed picture. It’s the only thing on her mess of a desk that seems like a personal artifact. You lean closer in your seat, head tilting to the side and just barely nudging the frame so you can have a better look.

One more month until we meet you, Baby Jeanie. 

Evelyn is wearing a white dress, with a very obvious bump beneath it. Beside her stands her late husband, Noah Harlow, his blonde hair reflecting the sunlight. Her head is leaning on his shoulder, and each of their hands is placed on top of the life they’ve created. Genuine smiles painted their faces. He’s wearing a clean, tan button-up, with light slacks to match. The day looks perfect, the picture beautifully representing what it must’ve felt like for the expecting couple. A small twist forms at your heart, lip curving down. 

“Three years today.”

You jolt with a gasp, quickly settling back in your seat, forcing your slouched position away. 

Evelyn’s voice is calm but laced with a grief you recognize immediately. Her heels click softly against the floor as she walks into the office, setting her bag down on the desk with practiced ease. She doesn’t look at the photo—she doesn’t have to. Her gaze is distant, almost unreadable, but you see the heaviness behind her eyes.

“I didn’t mean to—” you start, flustered, guilt blooming in your chest as you sit up straighter, “I wasn’t trying to snoop, I just—”

She lifts a hand, gently waving it off. “It’s alright.” Her voice is quiet, steady. “I keep it there because I want people to see it. It reminds me why I do what I do.” A pause. “And who I’ve done it for.”

You nod, unsure what else to say. Your fingers nervously clutch the edge of your slacks.

Evelyn takes her seat behind the desk and leans back in her chair, studying you with sharp, blue, observant eyes that don’t quite match the soft sorrow of her earlier tone. She taps the edge of her keyboard before finally breaking the silence again. “You’re early. I like that.”

“I—I wasn’t sure about traffic,” you manage, forcing a small, professional smile. “Figured it’s better than being late.”

“Smart. And rare,” she replies, and though her tone is cool, there’s something vaguely warm beneath it. “Let’s not waste time, then.”

She flips open a leather-bound folder, scanning your resume briefly. You can feel the shift—how she seems to pull herself together quickly, brushing her personal grief behind some invisible barrier to focus on the task at hand. “You did bring your resume, correct?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” You nod, reaching down to pull a folder out of your purse. You open it and hand her a straight, white sheet of paper stapled together. “

She takes it, head tilting as she analyzes it quietly. She hums. “Quite a lengthy list of employment.”

“I’ve been working since I was barely a teenager,” you nod. 

Evelyn doesn’t look up at first, eyes scanning the page with the kind of thorough attention that makes your pulse tick faster in your throat. Her fingers rest at the corner of the paper, unmoving, like she’s weighing something much heavier than a resume. Finally, she speaks again.

“And not a single job lasted more than…ten months.” Her gaze lifts, sharp and assessing. “Why is that?”

You hesitate, the air suddenly feeling too thick in your lungs. There it is—that dreaded question. Not unexpected, but still difficult to explain in a way that doesn’t sound like you’re making excuses. You fold your hands in your lap, straighten your spine once more, and meet her eyes. “Most of them were out of necessity,” you say honestly. “Temporary work, short-term contracts, jobs I took to keep a roof over our heads. It wasn’t about building a career at the time. It was survival.”

There’s a pause. Evelyn leans back slightly, arms folding across her chest. She watches you in silence for a moment longer before her tone softens—just a fraction.

“And now?”

Your throat feels tight, but you manage to hold steady. “Now, I’m not just trying to survive anymore. I want something stable. I want something I can grow in, something that’s mine. For me. And for my son. I want us both to have security.”

Evelyn’s brow twitches faintly at the mention of your child, though she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she sets your resume down and steeples her fingers. The grief you saw earlier remains behind her eyes, like a shadow, but something shifts. “You’re not the most qualified person on paper,” she says bluntly. “But I’ve made decisions from instinct before—and they’ve served me well.”

Another pause.

“Tell me why I should take that chance on you.”

You falter a bit, and a part of you almost blurts out, Well, you came up to me at my job, you sought me out, but you hold it back. “Well, I’m a very…hard worker. I’m passionate, and I’m very dependable. I believe that I have a lot of years' worth of experience, and  I can be a great addition to this company. I’ve never been a personal secretary before, but I’m diligent, I’m…great at conflict management. And I get my work done.”

“You and…many other people, Y/N.” She murmurs, leaning back in her seat, one leg crossing over the other. “Give me more. What makes you stand out?”

God, you hate questions like these. You rack your brain for a bit, coming up with the most generic answer. “I’m a very determined person. I’m adaptable.”

“And that makes you, what?”

You swallow the lump rising in your throat. Her tone isn’t cruel, but it is pointed, like she’s testing you, pushing to see if there’s anything beyond the surface. And maybe she has every right to. This is the kind of job people fight for, the kind you don’t just walk into from a string of restaurant gigs and hourly jobs. But you’ve fought too hard to shrink now. So, you breathe in, let your shoulders settle, and drop the polite, rehearsed version of yourself.

“It makes me someone who doesn’t give up when things get hard,” you say, voice calmer now, more grounded. “Someone who keeps showing up. Even when I’m scared. Even when I’ve got every reason to quit. I’ve worked through grief, through debt, through raising a child by myself. And I still found a way to keep going. I may not have a polished resume, and I might not look perfect on paper, but I learn fast, and I don’t need hand-holding. You won’t have to babysit me. I can take a hit and keep moving.”

Your voice quiets, but your gaze stays steady on hers.

“I know what it means to build from nothing. And I’m not afraid to start again, even here.”

The silence that follows is thicker this time, but not uncomfortable. Not exactly. Evelyn studies you with a different kind of stillness now. Not dismissive. Not uninterested. Just…watching. Measuring. Then, she speaks. “How old is your child?”

“He’s five now.”

“Going to school?”

“He is.”

Evelyn nods slowly, fingers steepled beneath her chin as she regards you with something unreadable—less like an employer sizing up a candidate, and more like a woman pulling apart a story that hits too close to home. “You’ll have to leave early sometimes. Sick days. School closures. Emergencies.” Her voice is even, neutral.

You nod. “I try to plan for those things ahead of time. But yes, sometimes they’re unavoidable.”

Another beat of silence. Then, she leans back slightly, eyes narrowing, but not unkindly, with intent. “Being a personal secretary isn’t just phones and calendars. It’s long hours. Emotional labor. You’ll be expected to run interference, manage people’s moods, anticipate needs before they’re spoken. My assistant before you quit because the pressure bled into her marriage.”

She lets that sink in. Not as a threat, but as a truth.

“I’m not trying to scare you. I’m just telling you—you’ll be expected to carry a lot. Are you ready for that, Y/N? Not just for the job. But for what it takes from you?”

Your lips purse, fingers curling into your palms. Every question from her feels like a test. A reminder that this job, although presented to you, is not one for the weak. Well, luckily for you, you’re not married like the last girl. And, unluckily for Eveleyn, she may wish you were. 

You huff a small breath through your nostrils before speaking with conviction. “I’m ready. I’ve made the necessary steps to get to where I am for my son and for me. I can push and push, and I can take just as much. I…I have more to fight for now.”

Evelyn’s eyes flicker slightly, just a subtle change in the way she regards you, but it’s enough to let you know she heard you. She shifts in her seat, elbows resting on the arms of her chair, hands folding neatly in her lap. There’s a glimmer of something—approval or maybe just curiosity—as she leans forward just enough to study you. “I see,” she murmurs. Her voice is softer now, less challenging. “You’re driven. That’s clear.”

You meet her gaze, holding it steady, feeling the weight of her scrutiny but refusing to flinch. This interview, this moment, it feels like one more battle you’ve got to win, and you’re determined to prove that you're capable of fighting for what you want, even if it’s a battle she doesn't yet fully understand. She taps her pen lightly against her desk, contemplating. “Alright, Y/N. I’ll be honest. I’ve had my doubts about taking on someone with little experience in this specific role. But you’ve shown me something I wasn’t expecting. I’ll need to run this by my team, but you’ll hear back from me soon. If all goes well, I’ll put you through a trial month. That’s all I can promise for now.”

You nod, the tension in your shoulders loosening just slightly. The worst of it is over. Or so you hope. “Thank you,” you say, standing up with a calmness you didn’t feel five minutes ago. You offer her a polite smile. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

Evelyn gives you a small nod, standing as well. “Good luck, Y/N. I think you’ll need it.”

As you leave the office, your heart is still racing, but now it’s not from nerves. It’s from knowing you’ve fought for this. And maybe, just maybe, it’ll be enough. A smile makes its way onto your face. That wasn’t half bad and not nearly as long as you thought it would be. Of course, you would’ve loved to have been hired on the spot, but it makes sense that she needs to consult first. 

Still, it wasn’t rejection. 

You lightly chuckle, turning one of the first corners, when suddenly, you collide with someone. You gasp, stumbling back a little before catching your footing. “Oh, I—I’m so sorry. That was an accident.” 

Locking eyes with the person you’ve just come into contact with, you see it’s an older man. His grey hair is styled sleekly back, with hints of crows feet around the outer edges of his hazel eyes. He’s dressed like every other man here. Nice, fancy, pristine. He dusts off his right shoulder, straightening his blazer out. “Don’t worry, simple mistake.” His voice is clean and smooth, slightly rough at the edges, which makes it obvious he was or still is a smoker.

You quickly step back, feeling a slight wave of embarrassment. The man’s eyes soften as he gives a short hum. “It happens.” He gestures to the hallway behind him with a brief nod. You step aside, offering another apology. His eyes just very briefly scan you up and down, lingering on a couple of features of your face, specifically your nose and eyebrows, before transferring quickly to your ears. 

“Have a nice day,” you mutter awkwardly. 

“Mhm,” is all he says before walking past you. Once he’s gone, your body feels lighter, as if this stranger’s presence made you all wacky from the inside. You cast a small look around the corner, making it just in time to notice Evelyn’s door closing with a click.

You swallow, shaking off the lingering feeling that man left behind. His presence, the way his eyes skimmed over you, there was something strange about it, but you can’t put your finger on what. You chalk it up to nerves from the interview and move on. It’s not like you’ll ever see him again, right? Besides, it’s Evelyn’s opinion that matters now. You keep walking, feeling that mix of relief and uncertainty creeping back into your chest. It’s a good thing the interview went well, but the weight of waiting for a callback still lingers heavily. As you approach the elevator, you check your phone, noticing a message from Satoru.

Satoru: "How’d it go?"

You smile a little, despite everything. You type out a quick reply:

You: "Better than I expected. No decision yet, but I didn’t bomb it."

You hit send, stepping into the elevator, your mind still buzzing. A moment later, the door closes, and the hum of the elevator fills the silence. You rest against the metal wall, letting your thoughts wander back to the interview, to what could come next.

It could be the start of something bigger.

“My, this…neighborhood,” Akane comments, laced with disgust. Her face wrinkles slightly at the trash that leaks out of the garbage can, obviously not being taken care of, the sketchy-looking liquor stores that seem too close together, but must be an alcoholic’s dream. The car stops at the elementary school, she looks over at her husband. “Are you sure this is the boy’s school?”

“That’s what the damn GPS is telling me. That’s what Satoru said.” Yamato huffs, grabbing his phone, pointer finger jabbing at the bright screen, and pulling down the glasses onto the bridge of his nose. 

Akane sighs, straightening out her dress. 

“C’mon, Satoru said his class should have already been let out, let’s go find the room.” Yamato pushes his hair back, sighing as he gets out his Rolls-Royce Cullinan. Rounding the car to open the passenger door for his wife. They link hands and head toward the front doors of Koji’s school. 

“I hope we don’t get mugged,” Akane mutters under her breath. 

“Oh, quiet. We’re only here for the kid.” Yamato easily replies, eyes rolling. 

The inside of the school isn’t much better. The walls are faded, bulletin boards cluttered with crumpled flyers, hand-drawn posters, and outdated announcements. The linoleum under their feet squeaks with every step, and the fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead. Akane grimaces as a child runs past them with a juice-stained shirt, followed by another with untied shoes and an uncovered sneeze.

“This place smells like glue and poverty,” she mutters, pulling her handbag closer to her side.

Yamato doesn’t respond this time. He’s focused on the numbers above each door, squinting until they finally stop in front of Room 2B. Children’s laughter and the low hum of a teacher’s voice filter through the door. Akane frowns, eyes narrowing at the chipped paint on the doorframe.

Yamato raises his hand to knock, hesitates for a moment, and then glances at his wife. “Just…behave, alright?”

“I always do,” Akane answers with a sugary edge, smoothing her hair back and lifting her chin as he knocks.

The noise inside dips for a second as a voice— the teacher’s—calls out, “Come in!”

And just like that, the Gojo parents step into a room that’s far too small, far too loud, and far too beneath them—only, they’re not here for any of that.

They’re here for Koji.

Yamato presents a small smile. “Hello, we’re here for our…” grandson? Should he say grandson? Technically, he is, but it doesn’t really feel that way. “Koji. We’re his grandparents.”

“Ah! Right!” The teacher, an older lady with brown hair and a stained apron, nods. “His mother said he would be getting picked up by you two.” She turns her head over her shoulder, and the other kids who haven’t been picked up by their parents yet either. “Koji! Your grandparents are here, come get your backpack and jacket.”

Koji looks up from the little table where he’s been coloring with a few other kids. Crayons clatter as he quickly slides out of his chair, eyes wide and uncertain as he stares at the unfamiliar older couple standing at the door. He doesn’t move right away. His teacher encourages him with a soft pat on the back. “It’s okay, sweetie, go on.”

He walks slowly, dragging his feet just a little as he clutches his drawing in one hand. When he reaches them, he stops just a few feet away, looking up. His face is unreadable—neither shy nor excited, just…quiet. Observing. His blue eyes flick from Yamato’s trimmed goatee to Akane’s sharp heels.

A slightly awkward affair as the three leave the room, his teacher ensuring to tell Yamato to tell Koji’s mother about his homework left in his backpack. He nods, hand hesitantly hovering above the boy’s small shoulder as they walk back down the hallway. Yamato and Akane share a knowing, quiet glance. 

Once they get outside, Akane clears her throat, looking down at Koji. “Koji, do you remember us?”

“Um…only a little bit,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck as he mentally recounts the day he first saw the two who call themselves his grandparents. Luckily, you and Satoru were with him that day, but now he’s all alone. 

They get to the car, with Yamato opening the backseat. Koji’s eyes widened slightly in awe at the sleek, black car presented in front of him. “Papa’s car is cool too…” he offhandedly comments. 

Akane arches a brow. “I’m sure it is,” she replies curtly, helping him into the car with a practiced grace that still feels stiff, unfamiliar. Koji slides into his booster seat, hands lightly grazing the armrest before clutching his backpack in his lap. Yamato shuts the door and exchanges another glance with his wife before circling back to the driver’s side. The moment he starts the engine, the car hums to life with silent power, and for a while, none of them speak.

Koji, ever perceptive, clutches his drawing a little tighter.

Akane breaks the silence first. “So… what were you drawing back there?”

Koji hesitates. “Me and Mama. At the park.”

“Hmm,” she hums, gaze forward. “No Papa?”

Koji’s lips press together. “He wasn’t there that day.”

Yamato’s knuckles tighten slightly on the wheel. Akane doesn’t respond, but the weight of her silence is as cutting as her tone. After a few more seconds, Yamato clears his throat, glancing at Koji through the rearview mirror. “We were thinking we could take you out for something to eat. Anywhere you like.”

Koji blinks. “Like… McDonald’s?”

Akane’s lips curl into something halfway between a smile and a wince. “If that’s what you want.”

“Can I get a toy?” Koji asks, almost hopefully now.

“Yes,” Yamato answers, firm but not unkind. “You can get whatever you want.”

There’s a beat of calm. Then, very softly, Koji says, “Mama doesn’t have a car like this.”

Yamato exhales quietly. “I know.”

Akane folds her hands in her lap, casting a sideways glance out the window. “That’s why we’re here.”

The ride to McDonald’s isn’t as painfully quiet. Yamato turns the radio on, volume in the middle. Koji swings his legs back and forth, looking out the tinted window as the streets blur past him. His head tilts when they pass the McDonald’s. “We missed McDonald’s,” he says, looking at the older couple with a confused gaze. 

Yamato meets his eyes through the rear-view mirror momentarily. “There’s another McDonald’s closer to our house.”

“Your house?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m going to your house?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why not my house?”

God, he forgot just how questioning children are. Akane answers this time. “Because your mother and father will meet us there later. Until then, you’ll stay at our house.”

Koji is silent for a minute, processing the information. He looks down at his drawing, hands smoothing out the paper. “Is your house big?” He questions. 

Akane gives a soft hum, like she’s debating how much to say. “Yes. It’s quite big. There’s a garden and a fountain in the front. We have a piano, too.”

“A piano?” Koji repeats, eyes lighting up just a bit as he looks up from his drawing. “Do you play it?”

“I used to,” she replies, her voice a little softer now. “Maybe I’ll show you.”

Yamato glances at her, surprised by the gentle tone, but doesn’t comment. He switches lanes with ease, and they pass through the quiet, wealthier side of the city. The roads get smoother. Cleaner. Koji notices the change, too.

“Are there kids in your neighborhood?”

“A few,” Yamato answers. “Most are older, though. Teenagers.”

“Oh.” Koji pauses again, then looks back out the window. “Mama says big houses get quiet.”

Akane’s lips press together tightly. “That’s true. But sometimes quiet can be peaceful.”

Koji doesn’t respond. He just tucks his drawing back into his backpack and rests his chin in his hand, blinking slowly at the soft-spoken world outside the window—one that doesn’t look like his. One that doesn’t feel like his. 

Yamato parks in the McDonald’s parking lot, unbuckling. Akane and Koji do the same, waiting for the man to open their doors. Koji hops out as Akane does. Koji, ever excited, begins to briskly walk to the front doors of his favorite place. Yamato and Akane’s eyes widen, quickly following. 

Akane’s hand awkwardly juts out, as if she’s about to grab his hand, before stopping. She instead clears her throat. “Walk slower, now.”

Koji slows down, glancing up at her with wide, innocent eyes. “Sorry,” he mumbles, scuffing his shoes against the concrete as he adjusts his pace. He waits beside her, though there’s a slight fidget in his steps. He’s not used to slowing down for anyone but his mom.

Inside, the McDonald’s smells like fries and melted cheese. A kid screams with glee somewhere near the play area, and Koji visibly relaxes at the familiar chaos. Yamato leads them to the counter, where a bored-looking teenager takes their order. Koji clutches the edge of the counter, peering up as he declares confidently, “I want a Happy Meal. With the dinosaur toy. And apple slices, not fries. And orange soda!”

Yamato raises a brow but doesn’t argue. “Happy Meal. Dinosaur toy. Apple slices. Orange soda,” he repeats to the cashier, who nods with a shrug.

Akane watches Koji from the side, eyes tracing how easily he fits here—how his energy might be too big for their cold, cavernous home. She adjusts the pearl bracelet on her wrist, a little unsettled. 

Once they get the food, they sit at a clean booth near the window. Yamato and Akane both sit across from Koji. Koji munches on his food contentedly, his legs swinging again. He pulls the toy from the box, a green triceratops, and sets it beside his apple slices. “He looks mad,” he says, turning it toward them.

Yamato checks his watch. “Maybe he doesn’t like apple slices.”

Koji giggles slightly at the dry humor of his grandfather. Yamato clears his throat, looking up and leaning back in the booth. The older couple watch in quietness as Koji happily devours his food, occasionally stopping to move his toy dinosaur and mimic a small roar. 

It’s strange for them. They’re grandparents, and yet they know close to nothing about this boy. All that they do is he’s a carbon copy of their son, but his mannerisms closely match yours. 

Akane finds herself watching Koji more than she eats. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, just like you do when you’re distracted. His laughter comes in bursts, quick and bright, like a firecracker going off in a still room. And when he talks about his toy, he looks up at them with expectant eyes, seeking some kind of shared interest neither of them really knows how to give yet.

Yamato studies him too, arms crossed now, food half-finished. The boy’s smart. He doesn’t fidget aimlessly; he thinks before he speaks. He absorbs everything. Just like Satoru did. Maybe more.

Koji finishes his apple slices, downs the rest of his orange soda, and then sits back and smiles at them. “Do you have toys at your house?”

“No,” Akane answers honestly. “But we can get some.”

“Cool,” he says, simple and trusting. “Papa gets me a lot of toys.”

Akane hums lowly. “Do you like your toys?”

“I do!” He chews on his last chicken nugget. 

“What’s your favorite toy?” She asks, arms on the table as she leans forward. 

Koji doesn’t answer right away. He swallows his food, then looks up at her with that same wide-eyed honesty he always has when asked something serious. His fingers toy with the edge of the Happy Meal box. “I like my robot dog,” he finally says. “Papa gave it to me when I was sick. He said it could bark and dance, but it only spins in circles now. I think I broke it.” He pauses, thoughtful. “But I still like it.”

Akane tilts her head slightly, a quiet softness tugging at her features. “Even though it doesn’t work right?”

Koji shrugs. “Yeah. Because Papa said it’s mine. So it’s special.”

She studies him—how simple his logic is. How unwavering his sense of loyalty already seems to be. Her fingers tighten ever so slightly around the edge of the table. “I see,” she murmurs. “That makes sense.”

Yamato glances at her, then down at his phone.

Koji sits up straighter. “Do you have toys from when you were little?”

Akane chuckles under her breath, caught off guard. “Not anymore. I didn’t keep many things.”

“Why not?”

She hesitates, then smiles faintly. “I guess I didn’t think I’d need them.”

Koji stares at her for a second, then looks at his dinosaur toy. “You can have this one if you want,” he offers, sliding it across the table toward her. “So you have a toy again.”

Akane freezes.

Even Yamato lifts his eyes from his phone, blinking in surprise.

“O-oh, well, um—” she clears her throat, hesitantly taking the toy in her hand. “Well…that’s very…nice. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Mama says sharing is caring.” He shrugs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Akane’s eyebrow lifts. Seems you’ve taught your boy some good manners. At least. 

She turns the toy over in her hands, the little green dinosaur staring back at her with its molded plastic scowl. Something in her expression softens further, an unspoken crack in her perfectly composed exterior. It’s clear she hasn’t been offered something so small yet so sincere in a very long time.

“Well,” she says carefully, “I’ll take very good care of him.”

Koji beams, nodding. “Good. He doesn’t like being alone.”

Akane offers a small, almost reluctant smile. “Neither do I.”

Yamato watches quietly, lips pressed together, a crease forming between his brows—not because of disapproval, but something closer to discomfort. Like watching something unfamiliar begin to unfold in front of him. Just then, Koji reaches for his drink, slurping the last of his orange soda loudly. He sighs, satisfied, then stretches his arms out wide. “When are Mama and Papa coming?”

Akane and Yamato share a quick look. She reaches for her clutch, already checking her phone. 

“They’ll meet us back at the house later,” Yamato says, standing up slowly. “Let’s get going before traffic gets bad.”

Koji jumps to his feet with a little bounce. “Okay!”

Akane hesitates just a moment longer, placing the dinosaur into her purse beside her wallet and keys, treating it more carefully than she expected she would.

The entire bus ride to your ex’s parents’ house was spent in utter anxiety. You fiddle with your hands, foot tapping, and looking out the window. You haven’t seen them since that one day a couple of months back. You wish things were just easy enough so that you could have at least a semblance of a relationship with them. Especially if this co-parenting works out, it’s going to be inevitable you’ll be seeing them. You sigh, head resting back against your seat, eyes closing. 

.

.

.

.

“Satoru not bringing you food anymore?”

You gasp and jolt, whirling around quickly. The kitchen light flips on, caught right in the act of stealing a couple of pastries from the pantry, as well as a carton of orange juice. 

Akane stands in a nightgown, arms crossed, with a strong expression. Her eyes move up and down your figure, scoffing audibly. Her chin tilts up, silently commanding you to explain yourself. 

You swallow the current food in your mouth, wiping it with your hand. “I…um…I—well, I can explain.”

“Explain?” She steps forward. “Explain why my son’s good-for-nothing girlfriend has not only been staying in our guesthouse, but stealing our food? Go on, then. Explain.”

Her belittling tone makes you want to curl up into a ball and disappear. God damn it, Satoru. Where the hell are you?! “I…um…there’s—there’s just some stuff going on at home. Satoru said I could stay here until things clear up.”

“And he didn’t even bother to tell me or his father.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to over—”

“Why are you here?”

“I—I needed a place to stay. I’m sorry. I won’t be here for long.”

Akane stares at you for a long, unbearable second. Her jaw clenches. You can tell she’s holding back something sharp. Maybe it’s restraint, or maybe it’s just another judgment she wants to hurl your way. “I should’ve known,” she says quietly. “Satoru always did have a soft spot for broken things.”

That one stings more than you’d like to admit. Your throat tightens. You look down, ashamed, both hands still wrapped around the cold carton of juice. “I’m not trying to cause trouble,” you whisper. “I just needed a couple weeks. That’s all.”

Akane stares you down in silence for what feels like a full minute. The ticking clock above the stove echoes between you, and your heart hammers louder with each passing second. Her eyes narrow, not with confusion, but calculation. “Let me guess,” she says finally, her voice quiet but sharp enough to cut glass. “You got into a fight with your mother again. Or maybe Satoru ran his mouth and scared you off?”

You shake your head quickly. “It’s not like that.”

“No? Then tell me. Because all I see is a girl too proud to ask for help and too stupid to leave when she should’ve.” Her arms drop, but her words are no less harsh. “You’ve been sneaking around this house like a rodent. Do you know how humiliating it is to find out from the housekeeper that someone’s been using the shower and leaving dishes in the sink?”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. You can feel your throat tighten.

Akane sighs—long, exhausted, and judgmental. “You girls think just because someone like Satoru gives you attention, you’ve made it. But you don’t know the first thing about surviving in this family.”

Your knuckles whiten around the orange juice. The ache in your chest is unbearable, but you force yourself to speak. “I didn’t ask to be here. Satoru said it wouldn’t be permanent. He’s helping me. And I’ve been trying to stay out of everyone’s way.”

“You failed.” Her reply is quick and cutting. “Do you know how hard his father and I work to keep his name clean? To keep distractions away while he was studying, preparing to inherit everything? And now look at him—sneaking you in like a dirty secret.”

The word “distraction” lingers in the air like poison. You blink rapidly, biting your tongue until you taste metal. “I’m not trying to ruin his life.”

Akane steps closer now. She isn’t yelling. She doesn’t need to. “Then leave before you do.”

Akane snatches the food and juice from your arms, giving you a brief jut of her chin. “Go back into the guesthouse. I’m not dealing with you anymore tonight.”

You blink, holding back tears. Wordlessly, you bite your lip, turn on your heel, and exit through the back door into the cool night air. Tears sting your eyes as you enter the guesthouse, closing the door with a shut before making your way to the bed. 

You sit on the edge of the bed for a long while, still in the dark, clutching the hem of your shirt like it’s the only thing tethering you to the ground. The burn in your throat won’t ease, no matter how hard you swallow. You press your palms to your eyes, trying not to let the sob crawl out of you.

She doesn’t know.

She doesn’t know.

You repeat this tiny mantra to yourself, willing your brain not to go into overdrive for what will be the millionth time this week. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Satoru promised. He said they wouldn’t even have to know you were here. Just a few weeks, just until you guys figured out what to do, until you started feeling better, until you could afford that studio apartment in Setagaya. But it’s already been four nights since you found out, and you’re still waking up at three in the morning, stomach twisted in knots, half from nausea and half from sorrow. 

And he still hasn’t answered your texts. 

.

.

.

.

You stir awake from your small nap as the bus gets to your stop, rubbing your eyes and getting off. His parents’ place shouldn’t be too far from here, if memory serves you right. You sigh and begin walking, just trying to think about being able to see your little boy in a little bit, not come face to face with them. 

You hug your coat tighter around you as you walk, the cool afternoon air nipping at your cheeks. The streets are too clean here. Too quiet. You hate how familiar it still feels, the ivy-lined walls, the sharp turns of the hedges, the cold elegance of it all. You used to think it was beautiful. Now it just feels heavy.

Your feet move on instinct, carrying you past the old stone wall you remember scraping your knees on one time, the bakery where Satoru used to buy you those strawberry mochi on Fridays. Everything is the same, but so different. 

You pause as you get to the intercom at the gate surrounding the Gojo Estate. Pressing the button. A small buzz sounds out, a man’s voice you recognize coming in. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Y/N.”

There’s a tiny silence before you hear another buzz, the wide gates slowly opening. Taking a deep breath, you start up the long driveway, hands shoved in the pockets of your coat. Eyes focused on the two white grand doors. Once you get there, the doors open, revealing Yamato. 

You purse your lips awkwardly. “Um…hi.”

He nods briefly before stepping aside. The moment you enter, a wave of nostalgia washes over your entire being. You force yourself not to book it out of there. 

“Satoru said he’d be here in twenty minutes,” Yamato utters.

You nod, looking around. “And Koji?”

“Come,” he motions with his hand, turning to walk down the hallway towards the large living space. You follow a few steps behind, passing by a few family memorabilia on the way. You stop when he does. You blink, head tilting slightly. 

In front of you, your son and Satoru’s mother with their backs turned to you. They sit on the seat of the piano.

The scene before you feels surreal, like stepping into a memory that doesn’t belong to you, yet it does. Koji, perched on the piano bench, his tiny fingers brushing over the ivory keys, a look of intense concentration on his face. And Akane, beside him, her back straight and her hands poised delicately over the keys as she guides him. The quiet, peaceful moment is almost too perfect.

“She’s been teaching him for the last hour, he’s very curious.” Yamato comments, arms crossing. He side-glances at you, noticing your quietness. 

“Oh, well…that’s good. He’s never seen one in person before,” you mumble, awkwardly shifting on your feet. You can faintly hear Akane mutter a direction to your son, followed by his nod. Your stomach turns, unsure of how to feel about all this. “He’s been behaving?” You decide to ask. 

Yamato nods, meeting your eyes. “Quite so.” He says nothing for a few more seconds before sighing and angling his body towards you. “Look, this is new for all of us. I didn’t expect him to be so open towards us.”

“Because I taught him to be kind to everyone,” you cooly reply, looking up at him. “No matter what.”

Yamato gets the silent message, jaw ticking just barely. “I know you may have resentment towards us, but we’re not your enemy,” he finishes, voice steady, but laced with something heavier.

You blink, swallowing thickly as your fingers curl inside your pockets. Enemy. You weren’t expecting that word, but maybe it fits more than you’d like to admit. Your silence stretches too long, and you know he’s waiting for you to snap, to throw all your pent-up frustration in his face.

But you don’t. Instead, you let out a small exhale, glancing back at Koji and Akane. “I don’t resent anyone,” you say, voice quiet. “I just don’t forget.”

Yamato says nothing, but the pause between you sharpens. Then he gives a small nod, almost as if conceding to something unspoken.

You walk past him.

As your feet carry you toward the piano room, Koji glances over his shoulder again. “Mama!” he beams, hopping off the bench and running into your arms. 

You catch him easily, hugging him tight, letting his little arms wrap around your neck like ivy. “Hey, baby,” you murmur into his hair, inhaling the warm scent of shampoo and sunshine. When you lift your gaze again, Akane is standing. Her expression is cool and composed as always, hands clasped neatly in front of her. She doesn’t say anything, but the look in her eyes says enough.

She sees you. 

“Thank you for teaching him,” you offer, voice strained but civil.

Akane tilts her head slightly. “He’s a fast learner,” she replies. “Takes after his father.”

You don’t comment on that, resisting the urge to say his mother, too. 

“Would you like to hear what he’s learned?” she adds, tone perfectly poised.

You blink in surprise. For a moment, you wonder if this is some sort of trap, but Koji pulls back, eyes shining with excitement. “Can I show her, Grandma?”

Akane gives a small nod. “Of course.”

He runs back to the piano. You follow more slowly, sitting beside him this time. Your eyes flicker to Akane. She doesn’t sit, but she watches, hands folded, body rigid in that ever-disapproving way. Or maybe that’s just what she’s forever used to. 

And still, as Koji presses the keys with tiny, proud fingers, all you can do is wonder:

Is this her trying?

Or is this just her performance?

You never know with these people. 

Koji plays a small, four-key symphony. You smile softly, watching his tiny fingers move around the white keys before looking up at you with an expectant smile. “Oh, you’re so good. That sounded so wonderful,” you kiss his cheek, wrapping an arm around his shoulder to bring him into your side.

He giggles, kissing your cheek back. “Grandma said I’m a puh—poo—umm…a pr—”

“Prodigy,” Akane finishes for him.

Koji nods quickly. “Yeah! That! A prodigy!”

You can’t help the way your lips twitch at the corners, though you keep your tone even. “Is that so?”

Akane finally moves, just enough to step closer. “I wouldn’t say it lightly,” she murmurs. “He has an ear for rhythm. Muscle memory. Coordination. His age group typically struggles with that.”

You glance at her sideways. “He’s always been observant. Picks up things quickly.”

Akane nods once. “Yes. He’s sharp.”

There’s something there—a flicker of approval, rare and unfamiliar. It lands oddly. Not unwelcome, but not quite comforting either. Still, it lingers longer than you expect. And for the first time since arriving, her words feel… not like a dismissal. Not like judgment. More like an assessment.

You exhale slowly. “Well… as long as he’s enjoying it.”

Koji beams between you both. “I wanna be really good. Like the people on Papa’s phone!”

You blink. “What people?”

“He showed me a video of a man playing piano with his eyes closed. Really fast!” Koji’s eyes go wide. “I wanna do that.”

“Sounds ambitious,” you murmur, brushing his hair back gently.

“It’s possible,” Akane says, arms crossing. “With discipline and the right environment.”

Your jaw tightens, but you keep your expression neutral. “He’s five.”

Akane’s gaze doesn’t waver. “So was Satoru when he started.”

The comparison between Koji and Satoru is one you expected, but that doesn’t make you any less frustrated. You look back at Koji, his joy too pure, too focused, to let the weight of that conversation reach him. He starts playing again, a slower, clumsier version of the earlier song, tongue poking out in concentration. “Well, he’s not Satoru. He’s Koji.”

“He can still learn how Satoru did.”

“Or he can learn what he wants, when he wants. And if I allow it,” you calmly reply, standing up from the bench and taking your son into your arms. He’s already growing big enough to the point where picking him up hurts your back even more. However, you still want to cherish whatever strands of dependency you can with your son, even if that means suffering a backache.

Akane’s lips press into a thin line, not quite disapproving—but not agreeing either. You can see the tension in her posture, in the way her hands shift slightly as if she wants to say more but is holding back. “He’s yours,” she finally says. “That much is clear.”

You hold Koji tighter. “He always has been.”

Yamato clears his throat, hoping to die down the growing tension as he stands beside his wife. “Why don’t you two wait for Satoru in the dining room?”

You don’t need to be told twice, turning on your heel and walking out of the room, practically feeling their eyes burn holes in the back of your head. Once you’re gone, Akane sighs heavily, foot tapping against the ground. “That girl hasn’t changed.”

“I’m not in the mood to break up a fight right now, Akane.”

“I’m not fighting,” she snaps, glaring up at Yamato. “I’m observing. Simply. It’s not my fault she dislikes us.”

“It doesn’t matter if she does or does not, I don’t care enough to worry about that. But at least try to act civil in the presence of a child, yes?” Yamato asks in exasperation, eyebrow lifting. 

She scoffs. “I am acting civil. Do you see me raising my voice and throwing a tantrum?”

“No, but it’s your tone.”

“And how is my tone?”

“Jesus Christ, just be nice for one goddamn minute. I’m too old for this crap,” Yamato huffs deeply, hand running through his hair. His lips are set into a creased frown, and he waves his hand up. “Just try to make her feel somewhat comfortable, okay. Got it?” 

Akane opens her mouth. “But she—”

“I said, got it?” He asks again, giving his wife a look she’s familiar with. One that says he won’t tolerate her disobedience any longer.

Akane’s jaw tightens at the silent command, but she doesn’t argue this time. She just presses her lips together, gaze flicking toward the doorway you disappeared through. “…Got it,” she says eventually, her voice clipped.

Yamato sighs through his nose, the tension leaving his shoulders just slightly. He doesn’t say anything else as he steps out, leaving his wife behind in the piano room. She lingers for a moment, her eyes drifting toward the bench where Koji had been sitting—small hands, wide eyes, laughter like Satoru’s when he was little. She swallows something bitter before turning on her heel and following after her husband.

In the dining room, you sit Koji down on the edge of one of the long chairs, pulling his little hoodie off his head and smoothing his hair. He swings his feet as he sits, talking excitedly about the keys, the sounds, how Akane let him press the pedal even though he “wasn’t supposed to.” You smile and nod in all the right places, but your mind is elsewhere, your eyes flicking to the large windows, the too-white walls, the marble floors. It’s like being dropped into someone else’s memory.

You hear their footsteps before you see them. Yamato enters first, his face unreadable as always, though there’s a tiredness behind his eyes. Akane follows after, her posture still regal, but her expression more composed. Less… cutting.

She doesn’t look at you as she sits on the opposite side of the table.

Yamato clears his throat and glances between you both. “Would either of you like tea while we wait?”

“I’m okay,” you mutter.

“Um…juice?” he asks Koji, his voice a tad bit gentler.

“Apple?” Koji grins.

Yamato nods. “Coming right up.”

As he heads to the side kitchen, silence settles between you and Akane again. You keep your attention on Koji, who starts humming some made-up song to himself. 

Then, after a beat, Akane speaks.

“I didn’t mean to undermine you,” she says, tone low and careful, like each word has been weighed a dozen times before being spoken. “I only meant to point out potential.”

You glance at her. Her gaze is steady.

“He’s your son,” she says. “But he’s Satoru’s, too. You can’t expect the world not to notice what’s in his blood.”

You lean forward, resting your arms on the table. “I don’t mind the world noticing. I mind when people try to turn him into someone he’s not.”

She sighs. “All I did was suggest he has greater potential.”

Akane’s words hang between you like an unresolved chord. The flicker in her eye, curiosity, perhaps hope, maybe even defensiveness—doesn’t go unnoticed. 

You tilt your head. “I’m not against potential. I’m against projection.”

Her lips twitch at the corner. “You think I’m trying to mold him or something?”

“I think you don’t realize how easy it is to mistake admiration for control,” you say calmly. “And I’m not going to let him grow up thinking love has conditions attached to it.”

Akane stiffens slightly at that, her hands tightening over her lap. “You assume the worst in us.”

“No,” you reply softly. “I remember the worst. That’s not the same.”

Another pause. This time, it’s her gaze that flickers away, settling on the far end of the table where Koji now softly drums his fingers, looking between you and her. She decides not to push it; the longer the discussion grows, the more curious he might become. She looks up as Yamato holds out a juice box for Koji to take. 

Just as he does so, Satoru walks into the room. His two top buttons unbuttoned, eyes glancing between his mother and you, silently trying to determine the comfort level of the current situation. “Hey,” he says, coming over to stand beside you. A quick look at your expression says everything. 

“Papa!”

“Hey, buddy.” Satoru smiles, welcoming Koji into his arms, adjusting the small boy against his chest. He gives him a small kiss on the top of his head. “How was school?”

“Okay, I’m gonna miss my friends.” He admits, looking down with a small frown. 

“Aw, buddy. I’m sure you are, but you’ll make even more friends at your new school.”

Koji childishly sighs, arms wrapping around his father’s neck and putting his face into the crook of it. 

Satoru pats his back lightly, now focusing on his mother and you. His first question is directed towards you. “Everything good?”

You nod, though it’s a small, half-hearted gesture. “Peachy,” you murmur, not quite sarcastic, but not fully honest either.

His hand remains on Koji’s back, rubbing in slow, thoughtful circles. He glances at Akane, who has returned to her perfect stillness, eyes calmly watching the exchange as if it’s all part of a silent evaluation.

“She was just making observations,” you say before he can ask. “About Koji’s potential. About blood. About you at five.”

Satoru raises a brow, slowly lowering Koji to the chair beside him. “Mom,” he says, voice calm but edged, “We talked about this.”

Akane doesn’t flinch. “And I was careful. I said nothing out of line.”

“You never do,” he replies smoothly. But the look he gives her carries more weight than his tone. It’s the look of a son who’s lived too long parsing praise from performance. Yamato goes to his seat beside Akane with a grunt, muttering something about needing a stronger drink. You focus on Koji again, standing up to wipe juice from the side of his mouth as he slurps through the straw.

Then, Satoru shifts slightly closer to you, brushing your arm. “We don’t have to stay long,” he says low, for your ears only. “We can head out now, yeah?”

You glance at Koji, who’s swinging his legs, and you nod.

But it’s Akane who speaks next.

“You’re always leaving,” she says, tone bitter.

Satoru exhales through his nose. “And you’re always making it easy to.”

“The cooks will be making some shrimp tacos,” she says, standing as well. Her arms cross, looking between the two of you. “Maybe the boy can—”

“Koji is fine,” you cut in, fixing her with a firm gaze. “He’s a picky eater.”

Her lips purse tightly, restrained disapproval lurking behind her eyes. As if she is holding back a sharper comment.  Her posture doesn’t waver, but the chill in the room thickens.

“He’ll learn to adjust,” she finally says, looking at you. “Children do. Especially in families like ours.” 

Families like ours.

The words cling, sticky, and unpleasant. Satoru’s jaw tightens. You don’t miss the way his fingers twitch at his side, the smallest urge to step in, to shield, to lash back. But instead, he smiles, tight, impersonal. “Koji isn’t some soldier in training, Mom.”

Akane lifts her chin. “And he shouldn’t be raised like a normal civilian, either.”

Yamato scoffs again, leaning back in his chair. “Here we go.”

Satoru ignores his father, eyes still on his mother. “He’s five,” he says flatly. “He likes dinosaur nuggets and cartoons that scream too loudly. He doesn’t need to know what it means to be part of this family yet.”

“And he doesn’t need to,” you add on. 

She huffs dryly. “So you both plan on, what? Never allowing him to come over? To stay over?”

“Nobody is saying that, Mom.” Satoru exhales through his nostrils. “That is not at all what we said. Stop putting words in our mouths.”

“But that’s what I’m hearing.” Her voice rises, Koji just barely flinching in Satoru’s arms. You both notice, and your expression darkens. Satoru holds him closer, hand moving to his pearly white strands of hair to weave through in a calming manner. As if noticing the way she snapped, she blinks. For a moment, it looks like she might apologize. 

But neither of you cares enough to stay to hear it. 

“We’re leaving now.” You state, not leaving room for even more of whatever pathetic argument she might try to throw. Satoru and you turn, walking to the door. 

Yamato side glances at Akane. Her eyebrows are furrowed, biting hard on her lip. And if he didn’t know any better, he’d say she looks regretful. 

“Wait,” Koji says, looking over Satoru’s shoulder at the older couple. “Can I say bye to Grandma and Grandpa?” 

Satoru pauses at the door, one hand on the knob, the other under Koji’s legs as the boy leans back slightly in his arms. You glance at him, silent, weighing the moment. Akane straightens. Yamato says nothing.

“Of course you can,” Satoru says finally, setting Koji gently down. “Go ahead.”

Koji pads back into the room, small feet quiet against the polished floor. He stops in front of Akane first, looking up at her with hesitant eyes. She meets them, unsure for once. There’s a flicker of something unfamiliar—a tender softness she doesn’t wear often enough, one she hasn’t had to wear in years. 

“Bye, Grandma,” he says politely, giving a little wave.

Akane stares at him for a beat too long. Then slowly, she lowers herself to one knee, smoothing down her skirt. “Bye, Koji,” she replies, her voice quieter. “Thank you for coming.”

He smiles, just a little. She doesn’t hug him. But she brushes a piece of lint from his sleeve, like it’s the closest she knows how to get.

Next, he turns to Yamato. “Bye, Grandpa.”

Yamato grunts. “Be good, kid.”

Koji nods solemnly, then trots back to Satoru, who scoops him up with practiced ease. The tension hasn’t left the room, but the mood has shifted slightly, a tilt of something that might eventually become understanding. Or not. You don’t count on it.

Satoru looks over his shoulder. “We’ll be in touch.”

Akane nods once, lips pressed tight.

You don’t say anything else. The door closes behind you with a quiet click. As you walk down the hallway, Koji resting his head on Satoru’s shoulder, you murmur, “Thanks for not letting that go on any longer.”

He nods. “You looked like you were about two seconds away from throwing a glass at her.”

You snort, the sound small but real. “I still might.”

He holds open the front door. “Next time, we do neutral territory. Like a park. Or the moon.”

Koji yawns. “Only if there’s nuggets on the moon.”

You smile, despite it all. “We’ll make it happen.”

.

.

Akane sits back quietly in her seat, eyes laser-focused on the door you two just left. Her husband rubs his face. “I swear, if it’s not me one day, it’s you. And you said I’m driving him away.”

Akane doesn’t respond immediately. Her gaze is still fixed on the door, her fingers tense around the armrest of the chair as though she’s trying to steady herself. Her jaw clenches, her silence a loud statement in the room. Yamato shakes his head, muttering under his breath as he leans back in his chair. “I’m getting too old for this.” He exhales heavily, rubbing his face with both hands, a look of both frustration and resignation settling on him. “Every damn time, Akane. Every time.”

Finally, Akane shifts slightly, her posture still stiff, but her eyes now narrowing as she shifts her eyes to her husband. “I don’t need your lectures right now, Yamato.”

“I’m not lecturing you, Akane,” he says, his voice sharp but tired. “I’m trying to understand where the hell we went wrong with him.”

Akane’s lips twist, the muscle in her cheek twitching slightly. “Where we went wrong? What about you? You think I don’t see how you’ve handled him? I’m not the only one pushing him away. He’s a grown man now, and he’s made his choices. Don’t you dare act like it’s all on me.”

Yamato’s eyes flick to the door again, his expression exasperated. “I don’t particularly favor either her or the boy, yes. But at least I can fake it in front of them. You preach how I’m ruining this family and how I care more about our legacy, but you’re the reason our son left our house angry, again.”

Akane’s gaze hardens as her husband’s words sink in, but she doesn’t respond right away. The silence between them thickens, heavy with the weight of old arguments and unspoken truths. Her fingers twitch tighter. Her posture remains rigid, every muscle seemingly on alert, and for a moment, Yamato wonders if she’s just waiting for the right moment to tear into him.

But instead, she takes a slow, deliberate breath, her voice quiet but icy when she finally speaks. “You want to talk about our son’s choices? Fine. But I’m not the one who hid behind his work, his pride, and a hundred excuses to avoid facing the truth.”

Yamato glares at her, the sharp edge of his frustration showing. “And what truth is that? That you’re right? That everything I’ve done to protect this family, to secure our future, was a mistake?”

Akane’s lips curl into a tight, bitter smile. “No. The truth is that we’ve been playing this game for too long, Yamato. For decades. You think Satoru’s leaving this house—this family—is his fault? You’ve built this perfect little empire on the backs of people like him, forcing them to believe they owe you everything. You taught him to put legacy before everything else, before loyalty, before love, before family.”

Her words cut deep, and Yamato feels his chest tighten. He leans forward, staring at his wife for a long, painful moment. “And what? You think you’ve been a perfect mother? You think you’ve done everything right? You think Satoru’s supposed to just bend to your every whim because you said so?” He scoffs bitterly. “You’ve been so busy trying to mold him into something he could never be. You haven’t seen him, Akane. Not really. You’re just as shitty as I am.”

Akane’s eyes flash with something, either anger or regret, or maybe both, but she’s quick to mask it with a calm veneer. “I’ve seen him. I’ve seen exactly who he is, and that’s what I’m trying to protect. This family doesn’t have the luxury of softness, Yamato. Not when it comes to survival.”

Yamato laughs, a hollow, humorless sound. “Survival? Is that what you think this is? You think we’re still fighting to survive?”

For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of their breathing filling the silence. It’s as if both are trying to hold on to the shards of a family that, in truth, has already splintered. Yamato’s gaze falls back on the door, his voice softer now, tinged with weariness. “I don’t know anymore, Akane. I don’t know what’s left of this family.” 

Akane’s expression softens, just slightly, but her voice remains firm. “Then maybe it’s time you figured it out.” She gets up and storms out the room. 

Yamato leans back in his chair, finally letting his eyes close for a moment, as though trying to block out the heavy weight of the conversation and everything that’s still left unsaid between them. 

God, can we just be a normal family for once?

.

.

.

.

“He barely even let me come over to his parents.” Himari scoffs, teeth gritting. She’s leaned over the middle console from the back, eyes narrowed into slits as she watches the car housing her used-to-be-boyfriend, his annoying wrench of an ex, and some useless kid drive off. 

Haruka sits beside her, wearing a white fur coat and dramatic, huge sunglasses that cover her eyes. She nudges beside Himari’s side, causing the other woman to grumble, in an attempt to get a look herself before the car makes a turn. Emi sits in the passenger seat, while Kenji is in the driver’s seat. The tint of their blacked-out vehicle keeping their presence obscured from outside view. 

Himari huffs again, tapping her fingers impatiently against the window. “I don’t get it. He just let her waltz in and take over, like it was nothing. Like I wasn’t even there.”

Haruka, ever the faux composed figure she is, brushes a strand of hair out of her face and sighs dramatically. “Men are always like that, darling. So quick to give away what doesn’t belong to them.”

Emi leans forward, her voice laced with mild amusement. “It’s not just about what belongs to him. It’s about what she thinks she deserves. And she clearly thinks she deserves him.”

“So, what now?” Himari crosses her arms, looking at her parents, then at Haruka. “I’m confused how this old hag will help.”

“Huh?! What did you—”

“She’s here to reclaim her daughter and drag her out the clutches of Satoru, Himari.” Emi sighs, looking over her shoulder at her daughter. “Just ignore her, she’s only an accessory.” 

“Excuse me!—”

“Approach her again,” Kenji finally speaks, effectively quieting down the car. He lights a cigar. “His father has been sending a representative to meet with me instead of himself. Seems cowards run in the family.”

“And then what? What if she doesn’t help?” Himari argues back. 

“I can help,” Haruka starts, lip curled into a scowl. “I’m not a useless brat like you. God, your generation knows nothing of respect.”

“I respect people who are on my same level. You? You’re like my pair of 2016 Versace pumps.” She flips her hair back. 

“Oh, you little—”

“I have reinforcements. When the time is right,” he lets out a puff of smoke. “They’ll start playing too.”

Himari groans loudly, running her hands through her hair. 

Haruka glares at Himari, her lips tightening into a practiced, poisonous smile. “I see Emi’s been raising her like a spoiled show dog. Pretty enough, but all bark, no bite.”

Emi chuckles softly, her tone dismissive. “And yet she’s the one he was with until your daughter came crawling out of the shadows, looking for scraps.”

“Crawling?” Haruka lets out a bitter laugh, the fur collar of her coat brushing her jaw as she turns to face Emi more fully. “Please. She doesn’t crawl—he has to have come looking. Don’t confuse desperation with effort. If anything, your Himari was the warm-up act.”

Himari scoffs, insulted, but Kenji speaks before she can bite back again. “Enough,” he says, cold and unamused. “This isn’t a fashion spat at a luncheon. This is about leverage. And right now, we don’t have it.”

The silence that follows is tense, thick. Himari bites the inside of her cheek, her nails tapping faster now.

“What do you want me to do then?” she asks, frustrated. “Just wait around while she plays happy family with him? With that child?”

Emi snorts. “If you had done your job properly the first time, we wouldn’t be here. But now…” she tilts her head, a calculating gleam lurking in her eyes, “we take advantage of what she loves.”

“And what’s that?” Himari asks, venom on her tongue.

Kenji answers instead, calm and deliberate. “Her son.”

That shuts everyone up.

The silence hangs for a second too long, and then Emi, always the tactful one, breaks it with a smooth, almost bored, “You don’t touch the boy. You use the boy. It’s simple, really.” Haruka’s lips twist into a knowing smile. “Now that’s strategy.”

“I’ll accept as low as 730,000 yen,” Mei-Mei cooly states, leaning back leisurely in her chair. Legs crossed with a coy smile. “Last time, you low-balled me a bit. And it ended up causing quite a stir. I’m sure this will be even double that, so the lowest is 730,000.”

Across from the table sits an older man. Tapping his cane against the ground, his wrinkled face set into a constant grim expression. His eyes so dark, they look like hollows in his face. Bushy white brow just barely lifting as he hears her offer. 

“Quite the offer for an audio tape,” Gakuganji expresses grimly. 

Mei Mei’s smile doesn’t falter. In fact, it grows just slightly, thin, polished, dangerous. “It’s not just an audio tape,” she purrs. “It’s leverage. Undeniable. Unedited. The kind of thing that makes people resign overnight, or mysteriously disappear.” She leans forward, fingers lacing together on the table, her voice lowering but still smooth as silk. “730,000 is the price of convenience. Of silence. And I’m being generous.”

Gakuganji’s tapping stops. His cane stills, and his knuckles tighten around the curved handle. “You’re young,” he says, voice dry as gravel. “Too bold for your own good.”

“And you’re old,” she replies sweetly. “Too used to being feared to realize when someone’s already won.”

A long beat passes before Gakuganji chuckles under his breath, no humor in the sound. “You’ll learn the consequences eventually.”

Mei Mei’s eyes narrow, her tone still velvet. “I already have. That’s why I charge before I hand things over. And besides, you’ll learn too, won’t you? Considering I’ve been doing your dirty work for you for a few months now.”

“My hands are not dirty, yours are.”

“And so are my ears.” She easily adds. “Unfortunately for you, I haven’t been able to ear-hustle on much. Other people with higher bids have my attention more than you and your mysterious vendetta against the Gojo Group.”

“It’s not mysterious.”

“Then why them?”

Gakuganji’s eyes glint, though his expression remains carved from stone. “Because they’ve forgotten what it means to answer to someone.”

Mei Mei hums, unimpressed, brushing invisible lint from her lap. “You mean you.”

“I mean structure,” he grits out. “Power has rules. Lineage has purpose. And Satoru Gojo—” he leans in, voice dropping to a growl, “—spits on both. Just like his father before him. Just like his mother did in silence.”

She tilts her head, amused now. “So this is about old grudges? Bloodlines and bruised egos?”

He says nothing. Mei Mei lets out a light, airy laugh, reclining again. “Fascinating. And here I thought it was about money. Or maybe land. You’re boring when it’s personal, Gakuganji.”

His knuckles twitch again around the cane. “When it’s personal, Mei Mei, it’s permanent.”

She smiles again, cold and brilliant. “Then you’ll have to pay extra for permanence. I’m not cheap, and I don’t do charity for bitter old men.”

“This is a necessary execution. They believe they are worth more than everyone else. Especially Yamato’s devil spawn. He disrupts balance itself. Privileged, spoiled rotten, wealthy, and unfortunately…very smooth talking. Everyone bends to his will just because of his name.” Gakuganji gruffs out.

She lets out a quiet, amused hum. “Necessary and personal usually go hand in hand, old man. I just like to know who’s paying for what. There’s always something more beneath the price tag.”

His lips curl in distaste. “And there’s always someone like you, digging for the bones after the war.”

She smiles again, dazzling and cold. “Better than dying in it. So.” She taps her manicured nail against the table. “730,000. Or I hand the audio to someone with less of a vendetta and more imagination.”

Gakuganji’s eye twitches.

“Fine,” he mutters.

Mei Mei holds out her hand. “Pleasure doing business with you. Again.”

a/n: i’ll be releasing the first chapter of the levi fic after this. everyone who has commented to be on the taglist, u have been noted lol (i swear im not ignoring). anyway, hope u guys enjoyedddd :)

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[shouyuus]

sfw; in which popstar!reader buys vi some jackets

─── Ⅵ THE STORE IS CHIC, sharp collection of white-cut marble and black leather, the clothing racks all uniformly hung from the ceilings with industrial metal piping, the hangers themselves cast in thick, transparent acrylic.

"hello! welcome to our -- oh --"

you give the wide-eyed store clerk a camera-ready smile, tugging vi along behind you, fingers laced, even as she stares at the pristine store front with a mute incomprehension, as if she can't quite wrap her head around where the hell this is and what exactly you're doing there.

"hi! we're here to look at some jackets," you say loftily, casting vi a glance before nudging her forward. her head swivels towards you, an expression of incredulity eclipsing her shock as she registers your words.

"o-of course! and i just have to say -- i'm a huge fan --" the store clerk adjusts her sleek black-rimmed glasses, her hands clasped in front of her chest as you giggle, pursing your lips with an almost demure smile.

"aww... thanks!" but you leave it at that, turning back towards vi, giving her hand a squeeze, "you said you wanted a new jacket, right?"

"yeah..." vi answers slowly, still looking around as if she's not sure what that has to do with anything. a moment later, she turns back to you.

"so... let's look at some jackets!" you smile brightly before turning the full force of your charm back towards the store clerk, who nearly trips over herself trying to show the pair of you the season's latest designs.

vi follows behind you as if in a daze, barely registering the words the clerk is saying before she asks a question and you turn, waiting for vi to answer.

"uh... sorry, what?"

the clerk smiles and repeats, "was there any particular style you were interested in seeing today?"

vi blinks, her gaze flickering to you for a second before slingshotting back to the clerk, "no?"

"alright then..." the clerk licks her lips, "then shall i pull some pieces for you to try? and then maybe we'll see what you like from there?"

you nod, swinging yours and vi's hands between you, "anything cropped is good -- but a good quality leather. oh! and these studs are nice too --" you run a hand along a jacket with a row of silver studs along the collar.

"oh yes! and we have a few sample pieces from the next collection upstairs -- i can grab them for you --" the clerk scurries off, pulling a few things from the racks, disappearing into a room in the back, leaving you and vi alone in the cavernous shop.

vi bites her lips.

"you -- you don't have to do this for me."

you cock your head, "sure. but i want to. like i said, someone's gotta spoil you rotten."

vi's lips twitch before she breaks into a lopsided grin, her expression softening as she tugs you in to press a kiss to your cheek.

"i put a few in the fitting room for you," the clerk comes back, her cheeks flushed as she looks between you and vi, motioning towards the back. you give vi a tiny nudge before following along, running your fingers lightly over the silken sleeves of a white shirt.

but when vi slips on the first jacket, you can see the change it wrights in her almost immediately -- the way her shoulders pull back, her eyebrows shooting up as she looks herself over in the mirror, her toned stomach flexing as she grins at you from her reflection.

"whoa. this is nice."

you settle into a large chaise lounge tucked against the wall of the changing room, nodding as you drink in the view. and what a view it is. you'll never quite get over how startlingly attractive vi is -- her body a shrine to her strength, the delicacy of her features off-set by the sturdiness of her form.

and really, leather looks good on her. you lick your lips, clearing your throat as you tear your gaze away from the way the jacket hugs her biceps and cuts just above the bend of her waist, showing off her figure.

"yep! and they source only the highest quality leather, so it'll only get softer over time."

vi rubs her thumbs over the buttery material of the sleeves, looking over the silver detailing at the cuffs, the weight of the zipper that runs up the front.

"yeah... it feels... really good."

she frowns down at the price tag, and a second later, lets out a choked noise as she scrambles to take the jacket off.

"holy shit -- that's -- that's more zero's than i've ever seen in my entire life!"

you sigh, pushing up out of the chair and coming up behind vi to tug the jacket back onto her shoulders, turning her back towards the mirror. she frowns at you from the reflected image, her shoulders hunched up, her jaw locked tight.

"vi. don't think about the price, just... tell me if you like it."

vi sighs, crinkling her nose as she looks herself over.

"yeah, i do but --"

you shake your head, "then that's all i need to know!"

she chews on her bottom lip, her cheeks darkening beneath her scatter of freckles. she puffs out a helpless breath.

"it's just... it'll be the nicest thing anyone's ever given to me and --"

"then i'll get you something nicer, and then something nicer after that," you smile at her, tugging her around so you can push up to kiss her. she melts into your touch, a soft groan vibrating against your lips as your fingers dig into the soft leather lapel of the jacket.

you pull back, grinning cheshire-wide as you lilt your head, catching the fractured, wanting look in her eyes as she smiles down at you.

a soft knock comes at the door.

"how're things going in there? we have other sizes as well if things aren't fitting correctly."

you bite back a laugh as vi shrugs, mouthing a soft oops as the pair of you turn back to the suit of jackets hung up still for vi to try.

"we're good!" you sing-song, even as vi crinkles her nose and tugs off the first jacket to try on the next.

after a good thirty minutes of trying on all the jackets, of posing and vi pulling steadily more ridiculous poses just to make you laugh, she's caught between two -- one in plain black, and the other with a flurry of red-velvet patches, the sleeves and collar silver-studded.

you push open the door of the changing room and point at the two jackets.

"we'll take both."

"amazing!" the clerk claps, reaching out to take the hangers but vi jerks them back.

"wait -- what? i thought we were just getting one?"

you shrug, "you like them both. so we'll get both."

"b-but --" she sputters, fingers going slack as you tug the jackets from her and press them firmly into the store clerk's hands. she looks between the pair of you for a second longer before turning to ring both items up at the cash register.

"i don't need both jackets --"

you sigh, shaking your head, "and i don't need 37 pairs of heels either, but that's not the point here, is it?"

vi pauses, "you have 37 pairs of heels?"

"mm. just the pink ones." she flash her cheeky grin, turning back to the clerk and tugging a tiny cheque-book from your bag. you scribble something on a slip of pink parchment before tearing it out and pushing it towards her.

"send a pneuma-tube to the vault-keeper there. he'll settle up the payment for you."

"just the pink -- where'dyou even keep them? i've never seen --"

you cut her off with a daring look, "one of these days, i'll show you my closet floor. and it will be an adventure indeed, i promise." you turn back to the clerk with a gracious grin as she hands over a large bag with vi's new jackets.

"wait, how much --"

but you cut vi off by pressing the large bag into her chest.

"not nearly as much as i'd like to spend on you in the next place."

"the next place?" vi sputters, letting you shepherd her from the store, you tossing a quick wave over your should at the store clerk, who seems to be furiously texting on her phone.

you let out a dramatic grown, "come on vi, did you really think we'd stop after hitting just one shop? it's called a shopping spree for a reason. now -- lets get you some new pants -- there's a store down here that does custom fittings --"

"wait, princess."

you allow yourself to be tugged back, pausing to stare at her, the way she seems caught between two opposing urges. you sigh, placing your palms flat on her chest; her hand (the one not holding the shopping bag) settles at the bend of your waist like it's second nature.

"what?"

"it's just --" she chews over her words, and you can see the doubt flickering behind her eyes, hear the uncertainty laced like stitches between the spaces of all her words, "i -- i'm not used to this -- it's -- don't get me wrong, princess, i'm flattered you want to spoil me but... it's all just... so much. and i don't... i don't know if i deserve it."

her voice trails off into softer and softer words until she's almost mumbling. and it takes you a second to parse them out. but when you do, you're the one that cups her cheeks between your palms, giving them a tiny squeeze.

"violet, look at me."

she lifts her gaze to meet yours and not for the first time, she feels her breath still inside her chest at the way you're looking at her. like she's someone you've waited for for lifetimes. like a sailor might look at lost treasure -- something to be searched for across the breadth of entire oceans.

"you deserve all this and more. and i know you're not used to it... so we can take it slow if you want. maybe we can cap the shopping trip here and go get something to eat -- or just go window-shopping or something like that. but... i've always thought... that people like us -- people who grew up without the nice, expensive things can appreciate them more, right? you don't know how truly luxurious silk sheets feel on your skin if you hadn't slept in a mix-match quilt made from old window curtains. and champagne tastes that much better when you grew up on shitty beer --"

"hey, i happen to love shitty beer."

but vi's smiling, and so are you, mirroring her grin back up at her as she takes a breath and you feel her shoulders loosen.

"i know. i'm not saying that you have to let go of shitty beer," you say, rolling your eyes, giggling as vi leans down to bump your nose with hers, "i'm just asking you to let yourself be pampered occasionally."

"with insanely expensive clothes and champagne?"

"yes," you nod, laughing as she grazes her lips over yours, tugging you closer as you try to squirm away, "you don't have to toss out all your old clothes. we're just adding some nicer, new ones."

"fine, fine," she lets out an exaggerated breath before planting a soft kiss on your forehead, "thanks for the jackets, princess. they're really... really nice."

you tug playfully on a longer strand of her hair, twisting the end around one of your fingers.

"and you look really, really nice in them. so, it's a win for us both."

vi's grin goes crooked as she hikes an eyebrow.

"oh yeah? wanna tell me more about how good i looked in them?"

you lick your lips, "maybe later. after dinner tonight. i made reservations at my favorite place."

vi blinks, and for a second, you think she's going to protest again. then, she softens, her voice low and sweet as she reaches down to lace your fingers once more.

"yeah? and is there champagne at this favorite place of yours?"

"yep," you say, letting your lips pop over the 'p', turning down the street towards your next destination. you shoot her a glance and a cheeky smile over your shoulder.

"but don't worry. i'm sure they'll source you shitty beer if you ask very, very nicely."