#why is chapter 4 taking forever?

[callmem-8614]

what are they arguing abt???

wrong answers only

[sometimeswritingsometimesdying]

i need to write this stupid draft but it's truly kicking my ass

[kurtsascot]

also u know how ive been uploading like 3 chapters of klueless at a time….well… what if i said that the next two are the size of the last update and they arent even done yet….what if i said that next update will only be two chapters long 👀👀👀👀 is that okay….

[bugdotpng]

gabapentin-percocet combo is the best headspace to be in to write a character having an incomprehensible and completely irrational breakdown because i have the opposite of the expected side effects to both these meds in that my brain runs a thousand miles a minute instead of getting sleepy. it's like if a neurotypical took stimulants

[nonbinary-sticks-the-badger]

once i finish dr ch 4 i might play escaped chasm

[pillbuggs]

the gutsby collection

after @gutsby 's recent disappearance, i decided to compile all of her fics that i could find, originally for my own reading purposes because i, too, loved her fics. in light of all of the distraught posts and comments that have followed, i have decided to create and post this list for easy access (through compiling already existing findable reblogs, i haven't copied, downloaded, or reposted anything, i'm just putting everything in one place). discovering that you're suddenly unable to reach a favorite blog or never got to finish a well written fic sucks, so i hope y'all are able to find what you're looking for here. if you have any fics of hers reblogged that i've missed feel free to send them my way so i can add them here.

please note these might only be expandable/readable on desktop.

Waiting Game: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Extras More Extras Even More Extras Another Extra

chapters 1-8 can also be found on her ao3 which is still up!

Make It Stick: Prequel Part 1 Part 2 More Old!Joel Even More Another

🌸 Seeing Pink: "Joel steals more of your innocence every day. Fortunately, you love to give as much as he loves to take."

📺 My Body, His Choice: "After a long day, Joel just needs some relief."

🌡️ Cabin Fever: "Joel saves your life, but help comes at a price."

💧 Brighter Times: "You've always been Joel's favorite. Always."

🚸 Love Tap: "Old habits die hard with your husband–touching you at inappropriate times is one of them."

📚 Wants and Needs: "Bills are high; your dad's boss wants to help. How you pay him stays between you and him–for now."

🍼 Cry, Baby: "Joel fucks you to the point of tears. That's all."

🧺 Who's Your Daddy?: "You get stuck in the washing machine. Thankfully, your stepdad is around to help you out."

🍑 Just Peachy: "Joel's got a jealous streak and a bold idea."

🍺 Cowboy Killers: "On a mission to find–and fight–your best friend's lying, cheating boyfriend at the bar, you end up throwing your drink in the wrong face and landing in a sticky situation with Joel Miller, who never plays fair."

💵 Easy to Please: "Months pass, and you can't make rent–again. You find another way to pay your sleazy landlord. Again."

🍍 If You Like Piña Coladas: "You secretly make Joel a profile on Hinge. Then he shows you exactly why he doesn't need one."

⚾️ Heavy Hitter: "A kick in the dick is a strange way to get a man's attention, but Coach Miller doesn't mind at all."

🎬 Too Close for Comfort: "You've been babysitting Sarah Miller forever. One day, you're surfing the web on her dad's computer, and you find some...unusual things in his search history."

🇺🇸 Bigger in Texas: "Joel won't fit."

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Babylon The Great Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for canon-typical violence, swearing, severe mental health issues, self-harm and suicidal ideation, mentions of rape/non-con, and sexual content.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, eventual happy ending.

Series Summary

There's something wrong with you that's not wrong with other people. You're a hunter, and a damn good one, but you might be a monster.

There might be something in you that needs to be put down. Something broken that can't be fixed.

It's why you've had one rule your whole life. The only thing your father has ever made clear is that, no matter what, you need to stay away from John Winchester. He can't even know you exist, or he'll kill you and never blink.

And when your paths cross a hunt, you should've run, but you didn't. You couldn't. Because you looked at Dean Winchester, and something changed inside of you. Something called you to him, and you can't figure out what it was, but you know it's strong. And you know that, whatever Dean's doing to you, you don't really care to fight it. Things are broken in you, just as much is broken in him, and you fit perfectly together in a way you'll never be able to describe.

But it's more complicated than that, though. The world pulls you and Dean apart again and again.

And you find your way back, again and again.

Author's Note

This story is non-canon compliant rewrite, but primarily plot wise. Think of it as we're cooking with all the same ingredients (i.e lore, characters, setting, and backstory) but with one change (you) that gets us to a drastically different ending.

What the means is that there will be a lot of similar plot points to Supernatural, but the further we go through the story the more it will diverge. I've also take some creative labor with the reader, adding lore that's defiantly not a part of canon, but crucial to this story.

If you have any questions about this, feel free to ask! If not, I hope you enjoy the story!

Chapter List

Chapter 1 - In My Brain and In My Blood Chapter 2 - Under My Skin Chapter 3 - I Get A Little Dizzy Chapter 4 - You Bleed Like Me Chapter 5 - If You Let Me Chapter 6 - All The Noise Chapter 7 - Something I Can See Chapter 8 - Keep Us Far Apart Chapter 9 - Does The Feeling Haunt You Chapter 10 - Look and See Chapter 11 - You Might Drown Chapter 12 - Watch You Work The Room Chapter 13 - You'll Have to Believe It Chapter 14 - Water Is Forever Chapter 15 - Before It Falls Apart Chapter 16 - Try to Catch It Chapter 17 - You Come Back Chapter 18 - You Can Start to Make It Better Chapter 19 - That's Nothing New Chapter 20 - Wait for Me Chapter 21 - If You Want To Survive Chapter 22 - I'd Go Black And Blue Chapter 23 - You've Been Waiting to Break Chapter 24 - Just Hold On Chapter 25 - And It Was Written Chapter 26 - Worth the Fight Chapter 27 - When You Go (7/3)

Pslams (In-Series Bonus Chapters)

Can You Hear Me - You sit on the roof of your car. Takes place a month after Chapter 15. I'll Keep On Waiting - Dean watches you, and Jo shares some thoughts. Takes place after Chapter 19. So Go On - Sam Chapter! Takes place after Chapter 20. Spinning Around - You, Dean, and allegedly Sam go to the movies. Takes place between Chapter 19 and Chapter 20. Just Pretend - You and Dean have some dreams. Takes place almost any time after Chapter 20. On My Way - Dean looks at some fruits. Takes place around Chapter 23.

Extras From Me

Listen to the Playlist! Memes!

Stuff By You Guys!!! (Art, Memes, and Anything more)

Meme Art by @dammbi Dean Art by @dammbi Memes 1, and 2, by @dammbi Soul Art by @youdontknowe Princess Art by @youdontknowe Language Art by @imnotmentallyst4ble Princess Moodboard by @deans-yn Playlist by @imnotmentallyst4ble Series Moodboard by @dammbi Journal Spread by @imnotmentallyst4ble Memes by @brtodd Princess and Dean Art by @youdontknowe Princess Marilyn Monroe Art by @youdontknowe Princess Art by @youdontknowe Knife and Blade Art by @youdontknowe

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | masterlist!

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"God loves you but not enough to save you,"

summary: In the small town near Austin, Texas, you are trapped in a life of rigid expectations and silent suffering. As the preacher's daughter, you endure the mental and physical abuse of your father while your mother, bound by obedience, offers quiet love. Your longing for a father's warmth finds an unexpected solace in Joel Miller, your father's best friend and neighbor. In Joel's presence, you discover a forbidden sanctuary, where your yearning heart is met with a gentle strength you've never known.

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡

❝ to my love, Joel.

,...found you just to tell you that I made it real far, i never blamed you for loving me the way that you did.

while you were torn apart, i would still wait with you there.

don't think about it too hard, honey. or you'll never sleep a wink at night again.

and don't worry about me and these green eyes,

baby, just know that i love you. and i'll see you when you get here.

i love you forever, Joel... ❞

THE PLAYLIST! (on spotify)👰🏼‍♀️

the preacher's daughter ▪️ dbf! joel miller

MASTERLIST!🐇

Chapter 1: "But I always knew in the end, no one was coming to save me,"

Chapter 2: "Because that's how my daddy raised me,"

Chapter 3: "I watched him show his love through shades of black and blue"

Chapter 4: "He looks like he works with his hands, and smells like Marlboro reds,"

Chapter 5: "Because for the first time since I was a child, I could see a man who wasn't angry,"

Chapter 6: "Let him make a woman out of me,"

Chapter 7: "You wanna fuck me right now?"

Chapter 8: "The fates already fucked me sideways,"

Chapter 9: "Christ, forgive these bones I'm hiding,"

Chapter 10: "and that's why I could never go back home,"

Chapter 11: "I don't care where as long as you're with me,"

Chapter 12: "If it's meant to be, then it will be."

Chapter 13: "Beautiful people, beautiful problems."

Chapter 14: "You put your hands into your head, and then smile cover your hearts."

Chapter 15: "Something's bad is 'bout to happen to me,"

Chapter 16: "Tag, you're it."

Chapter 17: "If he's a serial killer then what's the worst that could happen to a girl who's already hurt?"

Chapter 18: "He's cold-blooded so it takes more time to bleed"

Chapter 19: "Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise,"

Chapter 20: "You poor thing, sweet, mourning lamb. There's nothing you can do."

Chapter 21: "If we die tonight, I'd died yours."

Chapter 22: "I'm always going to be right here, no one's going anywhere"

-THE END-

read it on wattpad!

the preacher's daughter by babyvenoms

ENJOY! and if you guys have any like visuals to this, or art that you made for this I would love to put it here, just let me know! thank you!! 🩵

[izzih22]

Masterlist PT. 1

Paige x Azzi

Everything and More

Nowhere but Here

Home in You Part 1 Part 2

Can’t Look Away

Warm Water, Warmer Hands

First Time

Safe in Your Arms

Truth be Told

Simp City

Power Couple Vibes

Ink of Victory

A Final Play

Clumsy Love

You Don’t Have to be The Hero Today

City Lights

Your Gonna be The Death of Me

Your my Favorite Medicine

The Best Win of All

Drunk in Love… Literally

My Sisters Gay— and She’s Awesome

Heaven Sent

One Last Dance

The Strength of Us

Caught in The Act

Someday, Together

Just Missed You

The Rivalry

Flight Risk (Of Love)

Baby On Board

Your So Whipped

The Calm Before The Draft

Your So Pretty

In Sickness And In Health And In Payback

Too Many Athletes, Not Enough Chill

Breathe, Baby — I’ve Got You

Yours.

The Air Between Us

In The Quiet Chapter 1: USA Basketball

Chapter 2: Something in the Air

Chapter 3: Just Say You Need Me

Chapter 4: Like We’ve Always Been

Chapter 5: Yours Without Asking

Chapter 6: Almost

Chapter 7: The Space Between

Chapter 8: Like Gravity

Chapter 9: Ours

Epilogue: Ours, Out Loud

She’s Already Got Me

Braver With You

Left on Read

Everything She’s Ever Wanted

Come Back Home

Safe With You

You Scared Me

Just Let It Out

Team Azzi (Forever)

So Whipped

When It’s You

Wrapped Around You

Wrapped Around Her Finger

Let Me Take Care Of You

Can’t Hide From You

Go Away (Don’t Actually)

Kiss Me, Maybe?

Don’t Touch Her

This Is Why We Close The Door

Only You Know

Bench Behavior

Everything You’re Not Saying

Just Five More Minutes

Whose Side Are You On?

Don’t Let Go

Settle, Baby

Leave the Hat On

The Worst Way To Love You

For Everything We Dreamed

All the Quiet Things

What Breaks and What Holds

Always You

Winner Takes All

Say That Again

Wipe Out

Valerie

Two States, One Heart

Earned

Inside Voice, Outside World

The Bueckers Bundle

You Came/ You Called

Family Business

Hormones And Huskies

Written in Ink

The Only One

Right Beside You

I’m Not Mad… I Just Miss You

Whatever You Want

Built Different

I Just Need You

Just Us

Breathe, Babe

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: Joel’s jealousy gets harder to handle knowing the history you and Tommy had.]

PART 4, the other parts are linked below this chapter.

“You watchin’ my girl undress?” Joel turned to him, the thought of his brother or any man trying to take a look at you this way made him feel…territorial.

It had been a month now since the truth came out. A month since Tommy learned you had cheated on him with Joel, and as much as Tommy tried to act like the understanding brother that knew Joel was in love with you, there was a lingering anger brewing inside him.

Of course there was, Tommy felt Joel didn’t deserve you to give him a chance, he felt he was the better choice and you failed to see it. It felt strange having a relationship with Joel after the way things happened, you avoided seeing Tommy as much as possible. Even after apolgizing to him you didn’t have the face to be with Joel in front of him in his house.

It was plain wrong.

Joel knew his brother was still upset at the situation but he didn’t know just how much of a grudge he was holding. Watching you and Joel outside the window every morning, being affectionate, kissing him, talking with him as if nothing happened, it wasn’t fair. But Tommy knew how he could get his revenge, see only he knew just how much of a jealous side Joel had. Although Joel tried to move along with you these past few weeks, he knew damn well that Joel couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that you slept with Tommy at all. You knew Joel must’ve thought about it, although, he promised you he would never bring it up.

Joel kissed you by your front door before heading off to work. He could feel you softly push him away as his tongue swirled around yours.

“Ok, ok..not here”

He sighed as he took a step back.

“Tommy can come out any minute” you whispered softly brushing your hand up his chest.

“I know but we can’t stay hidden forever, he knows we’re together” Joel attempted to argue but simply by the look on your face he tightened his lips. You knew he didn’t like it, he felt he should be able to freely show his woman how much he wanted her without worrying about his brother. He wasn’t proud about how things had gone down, but Tommy admitted to him he didn’t love you, he insisted for his brother to go on with his life…but he wasn’t honest to himself.

Tommy had kept silent about you as much as he could but it was getting harder for him to stay that way. Driving the truck to work, Tommy looked over at his brother eager to start up a conversation. Easy to find a way to speak of you.

“So how’s y/n doin’?”

Joel hesitantly looked over at his brother, not expecting to hear your name from his mouth.

“She’s fine”

“Guess that pill worked huh?” A sarcastic tone played with a smile, Joel’s brows furrowed.

“S’cuse me?” He knew damn well what pill Tommy was referring to. That damn after pill that Joel had secretly hoped wouldn’t work.

“Ya know, her plan B or whatever-“

“I know what the hell youre talkin’ about, why are ya speakin of it?” Joel snapped. Tommy shrugged with a light laugh.

“Just sayin’”

Later that day at work with a few other men, Joel overheard one of the guys speaking on what their wife was into. From afar he shook his head hearing the men get lost in their stories until Tommy began to share his.

“This last girl I was into, she liked it real rough” he smirked as he continued to work, he knew Joel would be listening in. The second Tommy began bragging about a sexual encounter, he looked up from the corner of his eyes, lips pressed tightly wondering if he was speaking of you. It had to be.

“Don’t they all” one of the guys interrupted with a laugh.

“Na this one was somethin’ else man. She melted into a damn puddle the second I’d wrap my hand around her throat” he looked over to see Joel biting his inner cheek, attempting to block out the conversation, keeping himself busy but he knew damn well he was listening.

“Oh she sounds like a wild ride” another man responded with excitement.

“It was a one time ride I wouldn’t mind testin’ out again” Joel instantly looked up hearing the two men laugh.

“What’s so funny?” He stopped what he was doing walking towards them.

“Just a story he was tellin’ me bout some broad” the guy responded with a laugh.

“How about we get back to work and stop the damn chit chat, maybe then we’d get home in time for dinner” the men stood silent as Joel turned back to where he was.

The drive home was silent until Joel’s beeper went off. Tommy looked over seeing Joel adjust himself in his seat.

“You in a rush to be somewhere?”

“Got plans”

Tommy smirked knowing those plans were with you, especially having Sarah stay at her friend’s house tonight.

“Whatchu guys doin’ tonight? Just some fun or-“

“None of your damn business”

“Hey, Joel relax. We’re brothers, we’re good, we can talk about this”

“No, no we can’t” he looked at the road ahead in silence thinking over what he overheard at work. A part of him aching to confront him about it, while the other half fought to ignore it. He promised you he wouldn’t let it get to him. But Tommy could see it, the tension on him as he stared at the road ahead of what he had heard but he wouldn’t give in.

“Aren’t cha gonna ask me?” Tommy peaked over at him as he drove

“Ask ya what?” Joel responded low.

“If I was talkin’ bout ya girl before”

“Stop while you’re ahead” he warned just as Tommy pulled up into the driveway.

“Look it’s nothin’ personal, sometimes we talk about the women we’ve had and-“ Joel stepped out of the car slamming the door shut.

You heard Joel’s truck just outside your window. The excitement you felt whenever you knew he returned home, excitedly you walked out the front door to see him walking towards your front yard. But your smile instantly dropped when you saw his face, you knew something was wrong.

“Oh come on, Joel. It ain’t that serious” you looked over to see Tommy by the truck calling out to him. Awkwardly you stood there when you and Tommy locked eyes. The second Joel saw him staring at you he walked faster towards you.

“Come on, get inside” he whispered, his hands finding your waist gently pushing you back into the door.

“What happened?” You whispered looking up at him.

“Nothin’, just get inside” you did as he asked hearing him slam the door shut behind him after you both walked in. He looked agitated, even if he didn’t want to admit it, you knew him very well.

“Baby, what’s wrong” you whispered gently caressing his face, he looked down at you for a moment silently. You could tell he was thinking something but he wouldn’t say what. In that moment Joel was having intrusive thoughts, thoughts bought upon his brother. The thought of his brother touching you in ways he was only ever meant to. His mind once again thinking of that night that he walked in to the house with your moans echoing down the hall. Now, thanks to Tommy with more visuals. Joel knew you loved him but his jealousy was tearing into him deeper and deeper. How rough was Tommy with you? Did you want him to be more rough with you?

Joel suddenly grabbed your face and kissed you in a way he never had. You squealed stumbling backwards before feeling his hand on your lower back pulling you against him.

“Joel..” you whispered a bit confused as he kissed your neck. He moved aggressively, abruptly picking you up and sitting you on your desk.

“Joel wait-“ his hand grabbing a chunk of your hair, tugging at it harder than he ever had. You gasped as he held your head in place, his lips parting from yours, he stopped and looked down at you for just a moment.

“Is this how ya like it?” He whispered as you stared up at him confused.

“I-“

“Tell me” he demanded. You didn’t understand where this was coming from.

“Is this what had you screamin’ in that room with him?” His brows furrowed as you abruptly pushed him back making him let go of your hair.

“Excuse me?!” You jumped down from the desk walking towards him.

“Is that what this is about?!”

“What, from what I hear you like it a little rough” it was as if he wasn’t himself speaking to you. Anger in his eyes he let his emotions get the best of him.

“You promised you’d never-“

“Yeah I know” he cut you off coldly.

“Get out” you whispered looking away. Embarrassed by the whole situation, never had you regretted something so much. He didn’t move for a moment, for just a second he felt guilt. He didn’t like speaking to you this way, he hated seeing you upset.

“Get out!” You screamed.

Joel more angry at himself than anything walked out slamming the door shut.

“Hey you’re back early” Tommy grinned as Joel walked in.

“Get outta my way” Joel uttered under his breath before walking past him angrily and into his room. Tommy raised his brows wondering what happened, apart of him pleased to see some kind of tension between you two.

Tommy went to his room, enjoying his drink he began looking for one of his magazines he always loved to take a look at after a long day until he looked past his window. Taking a double look, he realized he could see you walking into your bedroom. You seemed upset but quickly brushed away any tears. Curiously he continued to watch and that’s when you began to take off your clothes. Tommy took a step closer, he watched as you walked around the bedroom in your bra, a smirk on his face when Joel suddenly opened the door. Tommy’s face instantly dropping the second Joel appeared. Joel instantly noticing the smirk on Tommy’s face just a second before.

“You don’t knock?” Tommy turned away from the window casually walking to his desk.

“What were ya lookin’ at?” Joel furrowed his brows knowing damn well what was outside of his window.

“Nothin’ man just-“ Joel walked into the room, his boots loudly hitting the floor when he noticed you, clear as day through your window. Taking your ear rings off and letting your hair loose, he could see you in your bra not having a clue you were being watched.

Tommy began to laugh nervously.

“Look, Joel.. it ain’t my fault-“

“You watchin’ my girl undress?” Joel turned to him, the thought of his brother or any man trying to take a look at you this way made him feel…territorial. Tommy stood silent, he knew that look his brother had..he knew exactly what it meant.

“Joel, I ain’t see nothin’” he walked backwards as Joel slowly walked towards him. Built up resentment he could no longer hold inside.

“Come on, man, if we’re being real….its not like it’s nothing I haven’t already seen” and with that, Joel blacked out.

After changing out of your clothes and putting on a robe you suddenly heard your doorbell going off.

“What the hell?” You came running down the stairs to see Joel through the window.

“What the hell is wrong with you-“ you opened the door ready to scream, ready to argue when you noticed a bloody lip and raw knuckles.

“Joel” you whispered he stared down at you out of breath.

“Look, I’m sorry for what I said. I’m sorry for hating the idea of any man having had you let alone…my damn brother-“ you could hear the desperation in his voice.

“You’re mine and-“ he shook his head as if he was trying to find the right words to say.

“I can’t stand the idea of anyone else touchin’ ya, dammit. If that makes me a jerk then I’m sorry” you couldn’t help but attempt to hold back a smile.

“The hell ya smilin’ at?”

“I’m sorry, it’s not funny. I just-wow…I didn’t know you could be this jealous. Listen, I’m really sorry about all of this, Joel. It’s a tricky situation” you gently took hold of his arm and pulled him in the house.

“I don’t wanna fight” you whispered.

“Neither do I” he assured you.

“Look at you” you thumb gently going over his bloody lip.

“Yeah that was-“ he looked away ashamed.

“Tommy and his damn mouth”

“Ignore him”

“Kinda hard to do that, especially with you and ya damn blinds being open-“

“What?” You looked up at him confused.

“He saw you in your bra-“

“Oh shit!” You shook your head.

“I completely forgot I took my wooden blinds off to buy new ones. I was suppose to get them today”

“I’ll get em and have em up for ya, tomorrow”

You could tell Joel wasn’t gonna take no for an answer and simply nodded.

“Got it” you smiled and took him to the kitchen to help clean him up.

“Well…is he ok?” You hesitated to ask as you put a bag of ice to his lip.

“Didn’t leave him to bad, we’re fine though…just needed to-“

“Let it out?” You raised a brow. Joel took a deep breath with a nod before you gently took his face and kissed him softly on his forehead.

Sorry about the tags, for some reason it gave me an issue to tag anyone here.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch6. the in-laws

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 6/x

ᰔ words. 12.6k

a/n. hiii my ihm lovelies!! hope you all had a great holiday season. i wanted to get this chapter out as a christmas gift but i failed and then i wanted to get it out as a new years post but failed and then i got food poisoning yesterday and while i was rotting in bed i ended up finishing the chapter LOL. it seems i can only write when i'm under duress? but anywho. hope you enjoy haha and see you at the bottom!

nav. masterlist

“Alright, let’s head out,” you hear Gojo say from the bottom of the staircase, followed by the sound of dress shoes on the hardwood floor, and you glance over to see him clad in a navy suit with a white button up shirt that had one singular button undone. He’s messing with the cuffs of his suit jacket as he makes his way over to you. You catch the scent of his cologne, and it’s alarming how familiar it’s become to you.

Days go by shorter lately, mainly because it’s winter, and so the sun has almost fully set by 6pm. The sky outside is a dark hue of purple, seen past the windows of Gojo’s house, and the warm, dim lighting inside makes you feel strangely nostalgic. Like in a way that feels like home.

You tirelessly tousle with your hair at the mirror hanging above the foyer table that was snug up against the wall at the front entrance. Your hair wasn’t cooperating. You attempted to curl it, for the first time in forever given you can’t remember the last time you had enough time to do your hair, so you were out of practice. It was obvious, given the way some strands were curled outwards from your face, some inwards, some straighter than others, some curlier than others, and you were about to have a full blown mental breakdown before you remember your grounding exercises– 1, 2, 3, 4.

You turn to face Gojo, who you saw in the mirror was standing behind you and watching you with amusement, and you breathe in deep. “How do I look?” you ask, petting down the fabric of your dress as you face him. The thought occurs to you–why do you give so much of a fuck how you look right now? It’s just Gojo’s family. It’s not like they’re actually your in-laws. And from what Gojo’s mother had told you, it was just an intimate little get-together with Sana’s family. It’s really not a big deal. Yet the necessity to impress still consumes you.

Gojo threads his hands into the pockets of his pants and tilts his head to assess your appearance, and you watch his gaze trace the frame of you. “Nice,” he says, “you look nice.”

“That’s it? Just nice?”

“Well, I tried to call you hot earlier, but it got me yelled at.”

You roll your eyes and grab your purse off the foyer table, “okay, whatever, I’ll take it.” And then you head towards the front door. You hear the jingle of car keys from behind you as they’re shoved into a pocket.

The outside air is chilly in a way that’s almost sobering. Gojo opens the door for you to get inside his car and the warmth of your peach cobbler in your lap comforts some of the nerves you felt. By the time Gojo clicks his seatbelt into place in the driver seat, you realize you’ve never been in his car before, or driven anywhere by him before.

The interior smells of pine and something more familiar too, with sleek leather seats that are so comfortable they make you feel like you’re floating. You know it’s a Benz, you’re just not sure what year or model, and you’d usually ask most people out of a friendly curiosity, but for some reason your pride always got the best of you when it came to him.

“I seriously can’t wait to eat that thing you made,” Gojo comments after he’s backed out of the driveway, “it looks really nice.”

“Do you have a sweet tooth?” you ask him, glancing over at him, and you try not to stare at the strong one-handed grip he has on the steering wheel as he corrects it. 

“Oh yeah,” he answers, “big time.”

“You don’t seem like it,” you mindlessly say, turning your head to glance out into the dim street, passing by houses that idly sit in this neighborhood.

“Why’s that?” he asks.

“You seem to maintain a steady weight,” you politely comment.

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Is that the closest I’ll ever get to a compliment from you?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s just science. Hard to maintain a build if you eat a lot of sugar.”

He turns onto the mainroad, and you keep your gaze plastered to the outside. “I seem to manage.”

“It’s because you're tall. Tall people get to eat whatever they want.”

You see him nod his head once in your periphery, and you take it as some form of dismissal. “Sure.”

It doesn’t take terribly long to get to Gojo’s parents’ house, just a thirty-five minute drive without traffic. He kept surprisingly silent throughout most of it, and the few moments you did glance at his face, you could even say he looked like he was deep in thought. With a creased brow, a grip on the steering wheel that sometimes faltered, sometimes strengthened, but rarely fully eased. It was all so different from his usual impulse to talk. You know that you often wish for Gojo to shut the fuck up sometimes, but the silence seemed unsettling today.

His parents’ house is large, maybe twice the size of the homes in your neighborhood, but it’s tucked away in a slightly remote area, where the next closest house is about a quarter of a mile down the road. The driveway is long and runs downhill, so you stumble a little on the high heel of your shoe when you step down onto the pebbled pavement, but Gojo holds your elbow so you don’t fall onto your face. And also so you don’t drop the peach cobbler he so desperately wants to try. You’re not sure which of the two was the bigger priority for him.

As you two walk up the driveway towards the front entrance, you hear him sigh behind you. “Just so you know, my mom doesn’t really have any sense of boundaries.”

“Ah,” you comment, “nice to know where you get it from.”

He gives you an irritated look, seen in the corner of your eye, and it’s hard to fight the small amused smile that makes its way onto your face.

He sighs again as you two make it to the top of the steps. “Seriously, though. Chances of you wanting to leave me after this dinner are high.”

“Why? You’ve got a hot older brother I don’t know about or something?”

“I am the hot older brother,” he tells you.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, and then face him fully. “You’re not the first guy that’s warned me about his parents, okay? I’ll handle my own. What good is life if your in-laws–er, fake in-laws–aren’t at least a little strange?”

He lifts his finger to the doorbell, and just before pressing it, he says, “alright, then.”

It only takes twelve seconds for the door to swing open, the aroma of fresh herbs and something more sultry like vetiver arouse your senses, along with a warmth beckoning you from the inside of the home. 

Gojo’s mother stands at the doorway, surrounded by a halo of warm lighting, and her face instantly morphs into one of delightful glee.

“Oh! My dear, you’ve made it!” she exclaims happily, and just when you think she’s about to pull Gojo in for a hug, she pulls you in for one first instead, which startles you. “How lovely!”

“Oh—” you stutter, stumbling slightly as your nose becomes buried in the fluff of her silk pressed hair, but the delicate fragrance of lilac is somehow comforting.

She pulls you away to hold you by your shoulders. “You poor thing, you’re shivering! Come inside.” She hastily ushers you inside and you can feel the heat from Gojo’s body as he follows closely on your tail.

When his mother closes the door behind you, you find yourself surrounded by the kind of warmth only a house could provide. 

You take a small look around the foyer, noticing that it’s large with tones of deep wood and a bright white and golden chandelier that hangs daintily above in the cavity of the high ceilings. Leather, wood, velvet, silk, these are the textures that you see as you look around. It’s an old-fashioned taste, with a polished grand piano off to the right in the hall and display cases of vintage dolls and porcelain plates. So very different from modern, but it’s comforting. Like a wave of nostalgia, but from something you’ve never experienced before.

“What’s this?” Mrs. Gojo asks with curiosity lilting her voice as she walks up to you and points at the casserole dish you were holding.

“Oh, it’s peach cobbler,” you say, holding it up slightly with a small smile adorning your face, “for dessert.”

“How sweet! You’re an angel,” she coos, then twists her torso towards the kitchen, “honey! Come here, will you?”

Shuffling down the hallway from the heart of the house is, who you presume to be, Mr. Gojo. He’s tall, with his shoulders slightly curved forward as he approaches you all, and you note that he looks more aged than his missus.

“Ah, this must be my new daughter-in-law,” he says, his voice gruff and crackly from years of use. You smell the faintest hint of smoke from his clothing.

You glance at Gojo, who is watching you interact with his parents, an unreadable expression on his face as his hands remain shoved into the pocket of his suit pants.

Mr. Gojo takes the peach cobbler from you and gives you a curt smile before taking it back towards the kitchen.

“Darling, I must say, you have a lovely figure—” Gojo’s mother begins to say, reaching her hand out to hover it over the curve of your waist, but just at that moment, Gojo comes up to stand in between the two of you.

“Alright, what time’s dinner?” he asks.

Mrs. Gojo glances up at him, her face immediately twisting into a frown. “Nevermind that. I want to take y/n with me back to the kitchen to help braise the chicken,” she says, grabbing a hold of your wrist and tugging you towards her.

“Oh—” you stumble slightly.

“Nope,” you hear Gojo say from beside you, and suddenly there’s a strong arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you back to his side, “she stays with me for the night.” You’d remember to blush at the feeling of being pressed flush up against him, but the shock overshadowed.

“Satoru!” Mrs. Gojo exclaims, rather loudly, and she lets out a hmph noise before placing her hands on her hips. “You’re no fun!”

“I’m not gonna let you indoctrinate her into whatever multi-level marketing scheme you’ve fallen victim to this month,” he says, his hold on your waist tightening.

“How petulant!” she says, trying to manage a stern look but Gojo doesn’t seem fazed by it, “quit acting like I’m going to corrupt her! I’m not some witch.”

“Your track record would prove otherwise,” he comments.

“Oh please, the only other time was when you brought—”

She suddenly stops speaking, her eyes going wide, and she glances at you. You cluelessly tilt your head at her.

Ah. The other woman. This mysterious ex-wife. Would you be the other woman in this case? Seeing as to how his entire family seems to walk on eggshells about the subject around you. And they all seem to think that any mention of her would devastate you, when really, you and Gojo aren’t even actually lovers.

But there’s a small part of you,

A teeny tiny part,

Revealed from the way your heart sank at the realization of who his mother was referring to,

That actually does feel some type of way about it.

You want to know who this woman was to him. Does he still think of her? Does he still love her? What happened between them? Was she the one that got away? And how does he feel about the fact that he’s now here with you?

You shake your head vigorously to get those thoughts out of your head.

It was like method acting. You stepped into the role of wife this evening, and now you feel the way that they expect you to feel at the mention of your husband’s ex-lover.

That must be the reason, right?

You slowly push yourself out of Gojo’s hold, and you try not to become hyper aware of his eyes on you as you smooth out the fabric of your dress, then you glance at his mother.

“I’d love to help you braise the chicken,” you say.

There’s a brief silence as you find your voice in this house, and then Mrs. Gojo flashes you a grin.

“Come with me, honey,” she says before wrapping a delicate hand around your wrist and pulling you towards the heart of the house.

There are pictures hung up on the walls as you brush past every hallway, along with peeling wallpaper that is peppered with florals and striped prints, sanded off from years of shoulders brushing against their surfaces in a way that creates an old, dated charm. You learn quickly that Gojo has always been pretty tall, judging from the photo of him standing with, whom you assume are his middle school friends, out on a boat, holding a bass the size of a small child. 

There’s photos of the four of them together, like one professionally taken photo where Gojo and Sana are knelt in front of their parents, and your gaze fixates on the strong grip Mr. Gojo has on his son’s shoulder, digging deep in the bone, creasing the fabric, almost desperately. Gojo looks young in the photo, maybe a recent high school graduate, and his smile is bright but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

And, God, the trophies. The trophies that adorned the surfaces of aged cedar wood dressers, seemingly random in the order they are sprawled across the display yet you know there was intention behind it too. Ballet, soccer, tennis, spelling bee, FRC, even dragon boat racing. 

“Feel free to take any of those home,” Mrs. Gojo says with a teasing tone, “you eventually get tired of staring at them.”

You wouldn’t know. Your mother never had much extra cash hanging around to take you to tennis lessons, or ballet lessons, or SAT prep, or whatever. You were lucky enough that you got into college with the cards you were dealt, but you sometimes wonder what your potential could’ve been if you had parents like Gojo did. Maybe the house you live in would be your own, and not something that your mother has spent the past forty years of her life trying to pay off. Maybe you’d have a freshly renovated kitchen and a pretty boat out on the street. But throwing a pity party for yourself right now wasn’t exactly going to get you through the evening.

Mrs. Gojo finally leads you into the kitchen, and the aroma of fresh herbs overwhelms your senses. 

“Smells wonderful,” you comment.

“I know,” she cheekily comments, “will you turn the meat please?”

You grab a pair of tongs and attempt to sear the cuts that were sizzling on the stove.

“Sooooo,” she coos, wasting no time to playfully bump her hip to yours, “how is married life?”

“Nice,” you respond, your cheeks warming slightly, “it’s nice.”

“It won’t always be that way, you know,” she muses with some underlying sense of sincerity that isn’t lost on you.

When you remain quiet, concentrating on the searing sizzling noises coming from the pan, she decides to keep speaking.

“Eventually, you two will settle in a little too much…start to care less about your bodies…and then, oh gosh, when kids come into the picture, forget about having any time for yourselves,” she continues, “some days you’ll resent him, others you’ll feel like it’s the first time all over again.” She sighs. “Marriage is a funny thing—”

“Mrs. Gojo,” you interrupt her, turning to face her, “I—…I really appreciate you, I do, but, um, I’ve already learned a lot already about marriage from my own parents. Things are fine between Satoru and me.” You look into her widened eyes. “And…if something does happen down the line, and we choose not to be together anymore, then that’s okay too.”

After all, you had to prepare her.

“But that’s the thing!” she chirps, “your generation is too—…too impatient. Unwilling to work anything out! A marriage is supposed to be hard, but also it’s something you aren’t supposed to give up on so easily.”

It’s your turn to meet her with widened eyes in response to her preaching, and her posture immediately deflates before she holds you gently by your arm.

“I’m sorry, honey…I know it’s too early to be saying all these things to you,” she says, managing a small smile, “I always forget that I’m too old to be doting on my children like this anymore.”

Your expression softens and you wrap your palm over her bony knuckles, feeling the thinness of the skin that stretches over them. In a brief glimpse, you see your own mother in Mrs. Gojo’s eyes, something familiar, a universal expression of the love a parent has for their child.

“Well…” you say after clearing your throat, “for what it’s worth, you have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Gojo.” You try to manage a small smile. “I’m—…I’m really happy with your son.”

It was hard to lie to someone like this, especially from the way there’s relief that floods her irises, a genuine feeling that is so hard to come by in these days of false niceties. You often wonder how far a single white lie can stretch before it shatters against its own resistance.

“That’s a relief,” she says, managing her own prim smile, “I’m so glad.”

The two of you finish up in the kitchen, and when you circle around back into the hall, you see Sana standing in the warmly lit family room with Gojo and their dad.

Sana catches your eye, and you purse your lips together hesitantly before walking up to her.

“Hey,” you say softly and she returns the small smile you give her.

“Hi,” she says back to you.

“Um, where’s Juno?” you ask, looking around.

“Oh, she has a sleepover at her friend’s house tonight,” Sana says, “Jun’s dropping her off, and then he’ll come by here later.”

“Ah, I see,” you comment, itching at your elbow from the awkwardness.

“Well,” Mr. Gojo says, gesturing towards the dining room, “let’s eat, shall we?”

The three of you nod at him.

It’s fascinating to watch how the family falls naturally into their chairs, an assigned seating pattern that stays consistent among all dining halls and rooms and tables in the world, one that every family has. Mr. Gojo sits at the head of the table, his wife to his left, his son to his right. Sana sits quaintly to her mother’s left, and you sit across from her to Gojo’s left. The one empty seat is left for the presence of Jun.

“Food looks wonderful, darling,” Mr. Gojo says before leaning over to place a kiss on her bashful cheek.

Your heart does something weird at the sight. A simultaneous twinge paired with a warmer feeling that follows. You hardly witnessed any affection within your household growing up, not between your parents at least, probably because you were young when they got divorced and so the turmoils and tribulations started long before you had any higher order of cognitive discernment beyond the childish interest in Disney princesses and The Backyardigans. For you, the only memories that last of your parents’ marriage are those that feel like nothing more than the frigidity of a business arrangement. Ironically similar to the one you were currently in with Gojo. Except at least yours hadn’t been initially built on a foundation of love and a promise to be there for one another until death did you two apart.

Death was knocking on your mother’s doorstep now. But your father was nowhere to be found. So much for a vow.

Mr. Gojo pours his son a glass of whiskey, single malt as read on the label. Mrs. Gojo pours you and Sana a glass of red wine, and you try to hide the grimace, because you would’ve much rather had the whiskey.

“To y/n,” Mr. Gojo says, raising his glass up into the air, “for being our newest addition to the family.”

You all clink your glasses together, then in a variety of pairings, the last one being the tap of Gojo’s glass against yours, before you all take a drink.

“So…” Mrs. Gojo speaks up, “exactly how long have the two of you been married?”

You glance at Gojo for help, which isn’t exactly an unsuspecting thing to do.

“Four weeks,” he says.

You watch Mrs. Gojo’s eyes twitch. You can understand. Her own son gets married and doesn’t tell her anything about it for four weeks after the wedding. Well, in your case, a courthouse arrangement.

“Where did you two go for your honeymoon?” she asks, and Mr. Gojo clears his throat.

You look at Gojo for help again, and mentally pinch yourself for not being more discreet about how fake this whole thing is.

But Gojo surprisingly looks at ease. “Greece,” he says, and leaves it at that.

Mrs. Gojo’s body language turns to you, clearly irritated by her son’s short and curt answers. “Did you have a fun time, dear?”

“Oh! Yes, it was a very fun time. Definitely did all the newly wed stuff. Just as normal newlyweds do, you know. Because we are newlyweds,” you say through an awkward cough.

“Like…?” Mrs. Gojo pushes, and you can tell that she’s asking out of a genuine curiosity over the itinerary you two had allegedly carried out, but you crack under the pressure.

“W—…We made love,” you say, “we made lots and lots of love.”

The sound of silverware clanking onto ceramic plates startles you out of the blissful ignorance you had to the words that you had just said. Like you were so caught up in your mind about wanting to seem like an actual real life couple to his parents that you almost forgot about the number one social rule when meeting your (fake) significant other’s parents: no references to copulation. 

You glance up to find Mrs. Gojo’s eyes are wide, a slight tinge of pink to her cheeks. The width of Mr. Gojo’s eyes match his wife’s except his expression is also duly accompanied by a furrowed, perplexed brow. Sana looks visibly uncomfortable, shifting in her seat and trying hard to put on a poker face as she pretends like she didn’t just hear what you said.

You finally glance at Gojo, who’s looking at you with the most what the fuck? face you’ve ever seen someone make, and there’s concern on there somewhere too, like he’s not even fully convinced that you’re mentally sane at the moment because why on God’s green Earth would you say something like that at a family dinner table.

Trying your best to laugh it off, you say, “ah…ahaha, d-did I say make love? I meant–I meant that we–”

“Just–” Gojo interrupts you. “Just stop.”

Everyone are still stunned silent and the flush to your cheeks grows warmer. While clearing your throat, you set your lap napkin up on the table and clumsily scootch yourself out of your chair.

“Ex…cuse…me...” you mumble under your breath, knocking the table with your knee on accident, your wine glass almost toppling all over the pretty linen tablecloth but your reflexes catch the stem to steady it. “I need to…use the restroom.” And then you head straight down the hallway without sparing them another glance.

“Use the upstairs one!” Mrs. Gojo calls out to you, “the guest bathroom is under renovation.”

“Of fucking course it is,” you mutter under your breath, but flash them a polite smile before rounding the staircase pillar and then briskly walking up the stairs.

You quickly realize there’s more personality to the house upstairs, with some clutter in the theater loft and mismatching decorations that don’t reveal the careful deliberation of an indoor designer. The master bedroom is directly to the right of the top of the staircase and you glance across the loft at a narrow hallway that leads into the three bedrooms tucked away into the heart of the house.

One foot after the other, you float in that direction as if some force were compelling you towards it. Some trance of curiosity that no human being could ever resist. It’s fine. You didn’t actually need to piss anyways.

The first bedroom you walk past is rather boring, with beige tones all around. Beige bed sheets, beige wall paint, beige lamp shade, beige curtains. But the air smells crisp, and you notice there’s a shelf that has about half a dozen plants lined up in a variety of artistic pots. Similar to the set-up Gojo has in his house at home. You walk inside and brush your fingers across the dresser surface, rubbing fine dust over the pads of your fingers, and with your next inhale, you sneeze.

A guest bedroom, you think to yourself.

The next bedroom you walk past is sweeter, kinder, warmer. There’s pink hues scattered across, the most obvious one being the pillow covers, and there are some shades of a baby blue as well. But the furniture looks modern, sleek, and new. There were two identities at war in the room, like that of a little girl and a grown woman. Neither able to find its voice among the chaos of friendship bracelets sprawled across the desk and the Louis Vuitton purse resting at the foot of the bed. 

Sana’s room, you think to yourself. 

Childhood bedrooms are like time capsules if left untouched for very long. You’ve lived in your room at home for as long as you can remember, only recently having shifted to the master bedroom. The room grew up with you. It had no chance to become some entity of its own. 

The next bedroom you walk by feels familiar, even before you walk inside. There’s a comforting feeling that envelopes just from the lighting alone. You push the door open with a gentle palm.

The culprit of any young man’s room–navy blue sheets. Stretched taut against a made-up bed that has some sort of feminine flair to it, like it wasn’t set by Gojo, but rather his mother passing by his room one day to sit in his absence, only to needlessly mess with the sheets because it gave her a sense of purpose. You go eighteen years pouring blood, sweat, and tears into raising a child, protecting them, nurturing them, being the one they lean on for all of life’s woes, only for them to pack up and leave one day. You suppose that if you were a parent, you would find melancholy in that loss of responsibility too. 

His desk is a large expanse of cedar wood with a desktop monitor and some bookshelf speakers set up on it. The PC itself has collected dust over the years but there’s a small mechanical whirring noise you hear somewhere within. The rest of the desk is mostly empty except for some unopened mail tucked away with some books, the spines creased at the last few hundred pages, but never to the end. 

You pick one of the books up, flipping the pages open, and see sticky notes on some of them. Like English literature notes one would take in class, with studious words that over exaggerate the significance of the prose just to make a teacher happy. Who cares if the curtains were blue? Maybe the author just wanted them to be blue. Why does everything in life have to have meaning?

Setting the book back down with a sigh, you walk over to the bookshelf. There are some more trophies, some sets of comic books, some strange robotic-looking figurines. Small picture frames of foreign scenery are set up in different corners wherever there is empty space, like an afterthought. 

“Hmm…” you hum to yourself, tilting your head to the side to read the vertical spine of a thick black book that was tucked flush up against the shelf's side. 

West Valley High School. Class of 2007.

With your index finger hooking the spine, you slowly pull the book out from its comfy corner. It’s heavy in your hands and you notice that there are ink smudges across the tips of your fingers.

When you open the cover, you’re met with a page filled with a variety of colors and handwriting, and you realize they’re signatures. And to no one’s surprise, most of them are feminine. With hearts, some merely outlines, some shaded in with ink, scattered across the page. Bubbly handwriting, neat handwriting, cursive handwriting, a lot of it in pinks and purples and reds. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was like those Valentine’s Day cards all the girls would sign in grade school to pass onto their crush, except imagine if all of them were intended for just one guy.

You roll your eyes as you flip the pages, seeing no end in sight to the signed ink. I mean, come on, how many signature pages does a yearbook even need? This was excessive. And, no, you aren’t bitter simply because your high school yearbook has maybe a max of fifteen signatures (four of which were from your teachers). It’s just frustrating. And confusing. Why does everyone on this planet adore Gojo except you? Is there something wrong with you? Are you the problem?

There are some signatures from boys too, most likely his friends. Otherwise, you’re not sure what random fleeting classmate you’ve only spoken to a couple times would be brazen enough to draw pictures of penises squirting in whatever empty space they could find in your yearbook, if not for his high school friends. These boys are probably in their mid thirties now, just as Gojo is, maybe with wives and kids they’re now responsible for. You wonder if they’d still find the drawings funny all the same today.

You flip the pages more, taking in image after image after image of smiling portraits. ABC…DE…F…ah, G. Hmm, there. There it was. 

Gojo Satoru.

Seems like his high school didn’t allow yearbook quotes, but you try to imagine what his would be. Probably something corny and lame, like See kids? I told you I was sexy in high school.

He looks cute though. With his hair fluffy, boyishly ruffled to pair with a charming smile that’s at ease. He just looks a little younger, that’s all. Not that much different. Perhaps a bit more scrawny, a bit more mischievous-looking. As opposed to his adult self, who appears sturdy. More serious. But you realize that cheeky part of him that comes out every now and then when he’s teasing you or pissing you off is that boy within him that looks exactly like the portrait in this yearbook that you trace with the pad of your finger. 

You close the book, suddenly a little out of breath, and then slip it back into place. Your eyes catch the shimmer of the trophy at the top of the shelf. It was shaped like a baseball glove mitt, and in the palm cup, there is an actual baseball in there with a black ink signature. You gently pick it up and turn it in your palm to try and read the ink.

Ichiro.

Your dad used to watch baseball. You’re familiar. Seattle Mariners, Ichiro Suzuki. The first Japanese player to ever make it to the Major Leagues. Ten time all-star, and tenth member of the Mariners hall of fame. He retired when you were just a little girl, but you still remember the look of awe in your father’s eyes as he stared at the box TV in the living room of your house when Ichiro took his last stand at the plate.

Gojo was also a boy at that time. Living in this house. Maybe his old man was watching that game at the same time. And maybe Gojo was watching the look on his father’s face, too. It’s the romance of life–you look up at the moon in the sky, and you know that there is someone else out there, someone that you’ll meet some day, maybe even someone that will mean the world to you someday, who’s looking at it too. But you just don’t know it yet.

Lost in endless, rather fruitless thought, you continue to turn the baseball in your hand to pointlessly assess the seams, but it slips out of your hand and onto the carpeted floor with a loud hollow thud that startles you, and when you attempt to bend down and pick it up, you accidentally push it with your toe and it rolls underneath the bed.

“Shit,” you mumble, getting down onto your hands and knees to look underneath the bed.

You see the ball rolled a few feet away, and when you reach for it, it becomes clear that you don’t have the arm span to grab it. You struggle and you struggle, the tips of your fingers barely tickling its seam, and the frustration makes you sweat a little.

“Come…here…you…stupid…thing,” you mutter. You’re sure your hair is a static mess now, too. 

You finally manage to roll it towards you a couple inches and then your palm wraps around it before pulling it to your shoulder, but not without something collateral that’s dragged along with it.

A photograph. Printed out, vintage. You pinch the corner between your two fingers and stand back up onto your two feet in order to better assess the image under the light of the floor lamp.

The first person you notice in the photo is Gojo. He looks younger than in the yearbook, but he’s wearing a suit and a tie. It’s a little big on him, ill-fitting as most teenage boys should look in a suit, like a rite of passage. His smile is less warm than the one in the yearbook too, more prim and stretched into a thin line that’s only slightly curved upwards. It’s only then when you notice the slender fingers sprawled across his chest near the collar of his undershirt, black nail polish blending in with the fabric of the suit. Your eyes trail the dainty hand, and your heart skips a beat when you see a girl standing next to him, pressed up against him, her smile much brighter than his. Pink braces line her teeth and her hair is that classic mid-2000s side-swept bang mess, but she’s pretty. Dressed in a pink-ish purple gown that almost looks like a bridesmaids dress, and you finally see the banner stretched across behind the both of them in the picture that reads Homecoming 2005. 

It’s hard to explain it, but you can just feel it somehow. That this person is important to him. Not just some last-minute date to Homecoming, or an old high school girlfriend he’s long since lost touch with. It seems larger than that, somehow. Unlike penises drawn on yearbook paper, this feels like something a person never outgrows.

Of course, people have lived fully-fledged lives before you’ve met them. Just as you have as well. But you’re overtaken by the insane curiosity to want to learn every single detail about this past life that Gojo has lived. Where did he and his friends hang out after school? When did he learn how to drive? When was the first time he got shit-faced drunk? When was the first time he snuck out of the house? And who was this girl in the picture? 

“Find what you’re lookin’ for yet?” a voice calls out, entirely startling you to where you almost jolt out of your skin, and you swiftly turn on your heel towards the entrance of the room. 

You see Gojo standing in the door frame, leaning against it with his arms crossed as he levels his gaze at you. He has a blank expression on his face, although you would say it’s more serious than playful. 

“What–...I–” you stutter, shuffling the picture you were holding behind your back so he doesn’t see. 

His eyes don’t flit to the movement. “You don’t have to tear the room apart to find my illicit drugs. You could’ve just asked.”

 You roll your eyes. “As if you would do drugs.”

“You say that like it’s an insult.”

“It is.”

“So, then, if you’re not looking for drugs, what are you looking for?”

Your cheeks are warm. “I don’t know. Petty cash? Human body parts? Playboy?”

He snorts. “Playboy? Who still has a subscription to Playboy?”

“Maybe your teenage self did.”

“I’m not that old,” he says, “I was watching porn like the rest of my peers.”

“Ew, you freak,” you say, and you grab one of his pillows and throw it at him.

He lets out a laugh before catching the pillow with ease, and then walks up to you, placing the pillow on top of your head. You half-glare, half-pout at him.

“C’mon,” he probes, “tell me why you’re hiding away up here.”

“I embarrassed myself,” you confide in him with a sulk of your shoulders. “I mean. Seriously. What the fuck was that? What a humiliating thing to say in front of your parents. I just feel so weird pretending like this.”

His expression softens. “Sorry,” he says, “for dragging you into this dinner.”

“No,” you sigh, “I’m the one that did. I forgot you can’t necessarily fake a marriage without…doing the typical couple things.”

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” he hums as his gaze flits towards the bed, “doing the typical couple things, you say?”

You roll your eyes. “In your dreams.”

“Oh, in my dreams alright,” he says with a grin.

“And if I strangled you? What then?”

“I like that. It’s kinky.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you don’t have magazines lying around?”

“Brown box underneath the bed. You didn’t look hard enough.”

You give him a disgusted look. He laughs.

“I’m joking,” he says, pushing his hands into his pockets.

“I’m not convinced,” you say, turning your body away from him slightly to keep the photo hidden behind your back.

He tilts his head at you, gaze flickering down to your other hand. Your heart skips a beat. “I could’ve guessed that.” 

His hand reaches out and you flinch ever so slightly, something he thankfully doesn’t notice, and then he’s grabbing the baseball out of your palm.

“I always thought I could sell this thing for major money,” he muses, throwing the ball up into the air to catch it. And then doing so again a couple times.

“It’s authentic?” you ask with genuine curiosity.

“Oh yeah. I caught it. First ball game my old man ever took me to, and it happened to be Ichiro’s last.”

Your eyes widen. Gojo was at that game. He wasn’t just watching it from home on some TV like you did with your dad. He was living in it.

“Wow,” you say, “must’ve been quite the game.”

“Don’t really remember too much about it to be honest, other than how stoked I was to just be there with my dad.”

“Mm,” you hum, “I’ll have to ask Mr. Gojo more about it when we get downstairs.”

His expression falters slightly, his smile dropping in the most subtle way that you wouldn’t have even noticed if you hadn’t been intently staring at his face. 

“Yeah,” he says, “maybe.”

Gojo continues to stare at the ball in his palm as he rotates it in inspection. There’s an awkward silence that settles between the two of you, and you feel the burden of conversation has suddenly fallen on you. 

“My, um. My dad was a fan too,” you say.

His eyes glance up to meet yours. “How come I’ve never met him?”

The question catches you off guard. “Wh–...I’m sorry, what?”

“Your dad,” he says, as if it was something so casual. 

“That–...well, he’s–...I don’t know, I haven’t seen him in years,” you admit, “not since…not since my mother was diagnosed with cancer.”

He stares at you earnestly, studying your expression, before he decides on saying nothing else except, “I’m sorry about that.”

You sigh. “Satoru, I–” you start, keen on the way his body stiffens slightly when you say his name, “I really don’t have the capacity for much else tonight. I mean, the questions. And the lies. And walking on eggshells around your mom.” 

“Well. I was sent up here to get you,” he says, “and I can’t exactly go downstairs empty handed.”

“Fine. Let’s just get this dinner over with as fast as possible.”

“Sure,” he easily agrees, “I’m with you on that one.”

You take a step forward to head towards the door, but then suck in a sharp gasp when you remember what was being held behind your back.

“Wait,” you say, “look away.”

“...huh?” he huffs, a puzzled look on his face.

“Just look away for a second.”

His eyebrows furrow before he lifts one in a questioning manner. But he acquiesces and turns on his heel to face away from you. “Have I ever told you how strange you are?”

“No,” you say while discretely crouching down, playing along in an attempt to distract him, “you haven’t.” You flinch a little from the sound of your hip popping, but he doesn’t seem to notice and so you bend your wrist in preparation of flinging the photo back to the abyss underneath his bed.

But you stop.

And you take one more glance at the photo.

And your stomach flips the same way it did the first time you saw it.

If you asked, would he tell you?

But the more pressing question is,

Why are you so scared to find out?

You shake your head vigorously to get rid of all your pestering intrusive thoughts. It was the stress, you played it off. A hyperactive mind leads to hyperactive ruminations. And besides, it’s just silly. Sure, there’s your gut feeling that suggests otherwise. But this girl in the photo could really just be an old friend or girlfriend that had no significant impact on the trajectory of his life. Why be the crazy one and lose sleep over this? You’ve lost sleep over plenty of other things in your life, but not stuff like this. It’s just not like you.

You fling the photo across underneath the bed and then stand up just in time for when Gojo turns around to look at you out of curiosity.

“Alright,” you say, dusting your hands off, “let’s go.”

You walk over to where he stands by the doorframe, a slight warmth to your cheeks when he doesn’t move out of your way like he usually does, but instead he leans towards you slightly as you brush past him, and your heart jumps a beat in your chest when you feel his hand gently fall to the small of your back, softly urging you forward ahead of him. A feather of a touch, yet intentional, almost naturally so, like a curious test of the boundary between you two that he’s been dying to understand a bit better. And the fact you don’t turn on your heel to face him with that same undeserved and petty rage that you always do, and instead slightly shudder at the feel of his touch, means that somewhere along the way, you’ve moved the line a little closer.

He’s hot on your trail as you walk down the stairs slowly and when you turn around the post at the bottom then make your way back to the dining room, you see his family staring at you with wide eyes.

His mother stands up. “y/n! Come sit back down, dear.”

You nod meekly, and Gojo pulls your chair out for you to take a seat before he resumes his seat next to you.

The food is slightly cold by the time you finally get to pick at it. It’s not very seasoned, either. Not enough salt for your taste. But somehow Mrs. Gojo having a phobia of sodium is a study of character that makes perfect sense in your head.

Eventually, the awkward silence is too much for you to bear, and you set your fork and knife down on your napkin with a slight bit more force than you probably should’ve.

Everyone looks at you.

You sigh. “I’m sorry for earlier,” you say, “I’m…uh, I’m just not really used to these sorts of dinners…I don’t have much family here in this town, and it’s always just sort of been my mom and me. And I—…I guess I’m just a little nervous.”

Wide eyes blink at you. Mr. Gojo shifts a little uncomfortably in his seat while Mrs. Gojo blinks her long lashes at you. Sana tilts her head, and you have no interest in seeing what Gojo’s expression looks like. You fear it’s the one you’d remember the most.

You were just being honest with how you felt. And it doesn’t take you long to realize something you probably should’ve realized earlier walking into a home like this where everything was perfect and on display with no evidence of the way a true family can crumble on the inside—a house like this does not value honesty. Your mother couldn’t afford you many luxuries in life, but you never felt like you couldn’t be honest in front of her. 

You glimpse up at Sana, and there is some knowing expression on her face. It’s almost sympathetic. As if you two were on the same page about something right now. When you glance at Gojo, you see him staring down at his plate with his brow slightly furrowed.

“It…it’s quite alright, dear,” his mother says through a prim voice, and in an attempt to change the subject, she says, “I do hope you are enjoying the chicken.”

“Ah,” you exhale, “yes. I am.”

“So!” Mrs. Gojo chimes in again as she dabs her mouth to a linen napkin. “Tell me about what you do for fun.”

You blink at her. “Oh, umm…binge watch TV? Occasionally I’ll go for a walk.”

“Ahh interesting! What about reading? Do you enjoy reading?”

“Well, the last book I purchased was a picture book about North Korean missiles…so.”

She lets out a laugh. “And where do you see yourself in five years?”

You hear Gojo sigh beside you before he reluctantly sets down his silverware and then he turns to Mrs. Gojo. “Mom. C’mon. This isn’t a job interview. Just let her eat.”

There’s a slight tinge of pink to the tips of her ears from the interrogation interruption as she glances between the two of you. She looks over at Sana for help but finds nothing other than a gaze tipped down towards a plate full of picked-at food. Mr. Gojo folds a hand over her frail knuckles as if to silently communicate, but Mrs. Gojo retreats her hands to fold in her lap underneath the table.

Feeling somewhat bad for the two of them, you turn the face Gojo’s dad. “Um…Mr. Gojo, Satoru was telling me about how you were a big baseball fan and a big Ichiro fan…do you still keep up with the Mariners?”

The man’s eyes grow wide with a visible confusion and you swear you hear Gojo clear his throat beside you.

“Ah…that’s–” he starts before the sound of the doorbell ringing startles you.

Sana immediately stands up without a word of excusal or a glance in anyone’s direction and she heads straight for the door.

You all look around at one another before Mrs. Gojo says, “must be Jun.”

You were at least glad to find you would not be the only “in-law” at the table full of a tension-laced family dinner, especially given the fact that in most of the cases where you’ve met Jun, his penchant to talk overshadows any other energy.

“What’s up, y/n!” Jun shouts when he waltzes into the dining hall, a few steps ahead of Sana. He throws his jacket over the first surface he finds, body language matching that of someone twenty years younger than he actually is. You can’t tell if it’s overcompensation for something, or if he just genuinely believes he’s still in his twenties. 

To your surprise, he opens his arms out for you to greet him with a hug, and you hesitate before standing up slightly to give him a well-meaning wrap of your arms around him, but it lacks any warmth of familiarity.

“Welcome to the fam!” he jovially exclaims before patting your arm. He then hugs Mr. Gojo, then Mrs. Gojo (paired with those cheek kisses that the French do in greeting), then daps up Gojo (to which you notice Gojo is less than enthusiastic about) before he finally kisses Sana on the cheek and then takes his seat at the other end of the table. Your eyes are keen on Sana now, watching her intently, but she remains staring at the food on her plate. You had a feeling there was someone in this room that didn’t want to be at this dinner even more than you did.

“How was traffic, Jun?” Mr. Gojo asks.

“Oh it was nothing. Took a shortcut. Backroute off of Lake City Way. Full of pot holes though.”

Sana turns to him and scowls. “While you were taking Juno to her sleepover?!”

He lifts an eyebrow at her. “Yeah? We were running late.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to take that route to get into the city! Those pot holes are so dangerous.”

“Honey. Chill. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Just last week I saw news of three plot holes on the Mercer Street intersection opened up. Three people were injured, including a young boy.”

“Okay well if I also believed everything I saw on the news was going to personally happen to me too then we’d have never gotten this far in life.”

“Jun,” Sana deadpans.

“W-Why don’t I fix you a plate, Jun? You must be tired.” Mrs. Gojo chimes in. 

Sana breathes in deep and exhales slowly before slumping down into her chair. 

“Thanks,” Jun says, easing his brow as he sits back in his chair nonchalantly, before he turns to Gojo and starts to talk about mundane things like the stock market, the recent election, something about a new bowling record, and this one Thai restaurant he really wants to try on the other end of town, all within the span of time it takes Mrs. Gojo to set a plate down in front of him.

Mr. Gojo jumps in on conversation from time to time. Mrs. Gojo listens idly, sometimes placing a laugh where she feels appropriate. Jun gets particularly animated about this incident he ran into earlier last week when he was dropping Juno off at school, a story that you notice everyone at the table is for some reason entirely intrigued by, but you suppose it’s the most interesting topic of conversation you’ve all had tonight thus far. At certain critical points of the story, Sana jumps in with a that’s not what happened, Jun and you find yourself finally settling in somewhat to the evening.

Just as Jun’s story is ending, you glance up to Mrs. Gojo and find that she’s staring at you with a smile on her face. It makes you jump in your seat a little, luckily unnoticed by the rest of the table because of Jun’s engaging theatrical hand gestures as he attempts to keep his wife, his brother-in-law and his father-in-law engaged. You would’ve expected Mrs. Gojo to avert her gaze the second yours locked with hers, but she doesn’t. She just continues to look at you with a soft smile on her face and a slight tilt to her head, like she’s getting used to the sight of seeing you at this table.

Her gaze flits downwards slightly and you follow her line of gaze, tracing it to the ring that was adorning your left hand. 

Your eyes widen slightly.

“Oh–” you stutter, the words already getting caught in your throat, “I–...I forgot to say, it’s an honor to wear your ring, Mrs. Gojo.” The table suddenly goes quiet, and you can’t tell if it’s because of you, or if it’s because there was no more story left to tell. “It’s beautiful.”

It truly felt like for every two steps you took forward, it was ten steps backwards. Because you watch the way that soft smile of hers entirely drops, her expression replaced with one of confusion, brows knitted together as she looks at you like you’ve just spoken in a language no one on Earth can speak. 

She glances at Gojo, and you don’t have to look at him  to tell that he’s stiff in his seat. You could’ve felt the tension from a mile away. 

Mrs. Gojo looks at you again. “Oh honey, that–” She glances between you and Gojo. “That’s not my ring…”

Your eyes widen, cheeks already flush from whatever’s to come.

But suddenly, and to your surprise, Sana speaks up. “It was our mother’s ring.”

You look at her with confusion. And then you glance at Gojo. And then you glance back at Sana. And then at Mr. & Mrs. Gojo.

“But…” you trail off.

“Sumiko and Daichi are our aunt and uncle,” Sana says with a strained voice, “our real parents died in a house fire when we were younger.”

You blink at her in shock.

“He didn’t tell you?” Mr. Gojo asks.

“I–” You glance at Gojo and see that he’s poking his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the glass of scotch he was twirling around in his hand.

“Of course he didn’t,” Sana interrupts, the bitterness in her voice matching the attitude she’s since displayed this entire evening. Her gaze is locked onto her brother’s face, and when his gaze flickers up to meet her eye contact, his expression is set with a tense jaw. “He never wants to mention them. He never wants to acknowledge their life. He never wants to honor them. He just wants to pretend like they never existed.”

“Sana,” he cuts her off, and a chill gets sent down your spine from the seriousness and rigidity in his voice. “Now’s not the time for this.”

“When is the fucking time?!” she spats at him, the simmering tension brewing over. Ah. Yes. The moment you had been expecting. After all, what family does not have its baggage? Sana abruptly stands up from the table, startling everyone with the clanking of silverware and ceramic from the motion. “When is the fucking time for you to admit that you never gave a shit about mom and dad dying? When is the fucking time for you to admit that we moved on to live with these people so fast? When is the fucking time for you to admit how wrong it was for you to force me to call the people here my mom and dad my whole life when they aren’t?” Her voice cracks near the end.

You glance at Mr. & Mrs. Gojo, who both look shocked, hurt, even embarrassed as they gaze down at their food. Your heart stalls in your chest for them.

When you glance back at Gojo, you see that his gaze is hardened even further now. “You’re being rude,” he says, in as steady of a voice as he can manage from the way his brow is creased with disappointment. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Sana says as she wipes at the tears with her sleeves, and you notice that she looks young like this. Younger than the usual prim and proper self that she portrays. Too young to be a mom, too young to be a wife, too young to be an adult. Like someone propelled into a life that she never wanted. “That’s always what you say, isn’t it? No answers, you just claim that I’m being childish and rude.” Jun tries to reach out to hold her hand but she snatches it away from him. Under her breath she says, “I didn’t want to come here. I should’ve just stayed home.” And with a rough swipe of her sleeve across both of her cheeks, she suddenly storms off somewhere deep into the house. Jun immediately stands up to follow her, leaving the four of you here with stale, cold food.

The timer in the oven goes off, the sound heard in the distance like a lifeline, and Mrs. Gojo immediately stands up. “Ah, must be…the roasted potatoes. I’ll be right back,” she fusses, and you avert your gaze from her face so she doesn’t feel embarrassed over the streak of a tear you saw streaming down her face.

“Let me help you,” Mr. Gojo says in a small sheepish mumble before following his wife into the kitchen.

And then there were two.

You only have a moment to process the dramatic outburst and subsequent fall-through before you turn in your chair to face Gojo, your face narrowing in contempt. You see him running a hand through his hair, entirely ruffling out any sort of neatness he had combed it into earlier, and he undoes the top button of his shirt with an impatient thumb like he was letting go of whatever image he had been trying to keep up for tonight, because after what just happened, there was no use. 

“So when were you going to tell me that they aren’t actually your real parents???” you hiss at him.

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “They’ve raised us since Sana was just three years old. I didn’t think it mattered.” 

“Okay well if I had known then I wouldn’t have mentioned the ring??? Now everyone’s left the table because of me.”

“It’s not because of you,” he quickly corrects you, “it’s because of years of unnecessary drama of which I’ve still got no fucking clue why it still gets brough up at every. family. dinner. If you didn’t bring it up, then they would’ve figured out a way to bring it up somehow anyways.”

You blink at him, a little taken aback by how dejected he was by this entire conversation.

“Are you going to go check on Sana?” you ask him.

“No,” he says without hesitation, “she’ll calm down soon enough.”

You press your lips into a thin line, contemplating his dismissal, before you let out a huff of disappointment and disapproval. You pull your napkin off of your lap, setting it up on the table, and slip out of your chair to head into the house in the direction you saw Sana storm off into, leaving Gojo to himself at the table.

As you walk down the hallway, all those pictures you saw hung up on the walls, those photos of illusion that painted this pretty picture of a nuclear family fall apart in the narrow space, those firm smiles and hesitant postures making much more sense to you now. They aren’t even his real parents. Baseball and wedding rings. Those details belonged to a life he never intended on sharing with you. 

You walk past the kitchen, stopping briefly just beyond the entrance before backtracking and you find Sana standing near the sink with her arm across her chest as her other hand wipes at her cheeks. The soft sound of a sniffle echoes in the room and you’re surprised to see that Jun left her alone.

Tentatively, you shuffle your feet across the wooden floor. She seems to make note of you in her periphery but refuses to glance up. 

“Hey…” you start when you finally make it to the space in front of her, your hip leaning against the edge of the sink counter in parallel with hers as you face her.

“I—” she starts, shuffling her palms across her cheeks again. “I am so severely embarrassed.”

Your eyes widen slightly at the honesty. “Don’t be. It’s just family.”

“No but that’s the point,” she says through a crack in her voice, “I’m thirty-one, I’m married, I’m a mom, but they’ll always just see me as some immature little brat because I always behave like this.”

You don’t know what to say. You suppose if you were a therapist, or a priest, or a mentor, or a mom yourself, or any other person with an emotional IQ higher than yourself, you would know the right thing to say to her right now. But you don’t. So silence is all that you can offer her, and you hope that it’s enough.

It seems to work in it’s own magical way, as she slowly opens herself up to you within the next passing sixty seconds. A fleeting glance up to your face. The halt of pointless fidgeting with the fabric of her sleeve. The way she stands up straighter, her hip no longer leaning against the kitchen counter, and you find that you mirror the same movement.

She clears her throat, rubbing her nose with the knuckle of her index finger, her eyes no longer glistening with tears but the corners of them look puffy.

You glance down at your feet for a moment before inhaling deep and making eye contact with her. “Hey, listen…” you say, “I’m—…I’m really sorry…about earlier today. For overstepping about the bullying. Juno’s your daughter, and I really shouldn’t have given her advice before at least running it by you beforehand. Especially for something so sensitive.”

The delicate muscles of her brow lift in surprise at your words, lids fluttering slowly as she processes your words, and the wave of melancholy is contagious as it washes through you as well.

“I’m sorry too,” she says, “for how angry I got with you. It’s just—” she hesitates, and you see that semblance of her that you’re more familiar with. Strict, stern, rough around the edges but for a noble reason. “Y’know, with kids…we tend to get overprotective over them.” Her gaze drops to somewhere beneath yourselves as if she suddenly lost confidence in her train of thought. “I’m just trying to do the right thing for her.”

A silence settles between the two of you before you realize you ought to respond to her.

“I get it,” you finally say. “I mean—…I don’t. Because I’m not a mom. But…I’m sure that when I am one some day, I’d understand.”

She finally offers you a smile in return to your words, polite but genuine nonetheless. And a soft remnant sniffle makes her ruffle her nose.

Her expression softens, and she stares straight ahead to your collarbone rather than your eyes. “She really likes you, you know?” Sana glances up at you now. “Hasn’t stopped talking about your ‘blubbery’ pancakes since last week.”

“Aww.”

There’s a sad glint in her eyes when she turns her torso away from you slightly in resignation before some hint of optimism flashes by in her face and she turns to you again.

“Do you…think you could give me the recipe?”

You want to ask her if everything is okay. But instead, you say, “sure.”

The sound of footsteps approaching is heard near the kitchen entrance and the two of you glance in that direction to see Jun walking in. He offers you a fleeting glance before taking his place beside Sana, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling him towards her before placing a kiss on her temple and saying, “hey honey.” 

You watch as she averts her gaze down to the tips of her toes.

“Feeling better?” he asks her but there’s this lack of warmth you cannot quite discern.

“Yes,” she responds, scratching at her cheek as a discreet way of getting rid of the last remaining wetness that had streamed down her face earlier.

He rubs her arm soothingly and then looks at you with a smile pressed into a firm line. “Doing alright?”

You blink at him. “Wh—…yes.”

“Say, y/n, how’s your mom doing by the way?” he asks.

“She’s…better. She’s in hospice now.”

“Palliative?”

“Well—” you say, “I guess. It’s just temporary.”

He shuffles inside the pocket of his coat and takes out something. A small card with finely printed black ink on it. He hands it to you.

“I can’t imagine how expensive that all must be,” he says, and you glance down at the card.

Carevest Capital est. 2024

Invest in a healthier you!

You glance up at Jun. Sana’s gaze has now shifted to the inside of the sink.

“I started this business,” he says, “where we’re revolutionizing the way healthcare costs are managed. In our platform, we basically invest our clients’ money into the stock market, leveraging our high-reward algorithm to maximize returns. But here’s the unique part: we partner with leading healthcare CEOs who match a portion of the profits as an incentive for stock purchases. Together, these funds go directly toward paying off hospital bills and easing related financial burdens.”

Your eyes widen at his words. The speech was practiced, one you can only assume he has pitched to many potential clientele. But there’s a hint of personable grace to it as well.

“I’m telling you, y/n, we’ve had clients who have overcome six figures of medical debt in just six months,” he says, “and you’ll only need a couple thousand dollars to start yourself up.”

You purse your lips together, your finger pinching the corner of the card. “That’s amazing, Jun.”

He smiles at you, releasing Sana’s waist. “Sorry if this kinda came out of nowhere, but I heard through the grapevine that things have been rough.”

Oh, like how your card has declined publicly at the grocery store multiple times, or how you haven’t been able to afford your insurance deductible to get that chipped off part of your bumper fixed, or the fact you haven’t paid your landscapers in over three months so your lawn now looks like a swamp? It was a small town. And people’s finances were always a topic of interest for most.

“I just wanted to offer any help I can,” Jun says.

“Thanks,” you say, returning his smile, “I’ll, um, I’ll look into it.” You push the card into your pocket.

He offers you that same firm smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before he pulls Sana to him again, placing another kiss along her hairline and the PDA seems like overcompensation on some front from the way Sana is entirely frigid to his touch. 

Maybe it was a woman’s intuition,

But you felt like something was wrong.

“Kids,” you hear Mr. Gojo’s crackly voice say as he stands leaning against the doorframe near the kitchen entrance, “let’s finish dinner?”

The three of you exchange glances before nodding and heading back towards the hall.

Your peach cobbler was apparently very good, the only thing that seemed to cut through the tension of the night. But that was the thing with family, right? You can yell and scream and cry and lecture and mope and roll your eyes at each other all you want but at the end of the day, they’re still family. Sana still seems slightly dejected though, and you can see Gojo in the corner of your eye at the table glancing up at her every other minute or so. His own way of making sure she’s doing okay, you think to yourself. Sana refuses to meet anyone’s line of sight except yours, however, which makes you feel some slight burdensome responsibility of sisterhood you had never signed up for. Nonetheless, you try to offer her a soothing smile whenever she looks up at you, and it seems to put her at ease.

The news of Sana and Jun moving seemed slightly anticlimactic, as Mrs. Gojo mentioned that they had already had an inkling that Jun and Sana would be moving closer to the city. You briefly wonder if Mrs. Gojo knew all along, but decided to make the announcement into some big affair just so that she could see her niece and nephew over a meal.

You make no more embarrassing comments. Conversation dulls into anything and everything unpersonal to you all, such as the news and weather and gossip of other people. And somewhere along the night, you relax your knee, the ball of it pressing into Gojo’s thigh underneath the table. It was wordless, innocent contact that occurs when two people become more comfortable with one another. Only excusable due to the slight buzz you felt in your veins from the wine. He’s kissed you before, yet somehow the press of his thigh against yours feels even more searing. There’s a point along the night where you tip your head to the right slightly, daringly close to resting your head on his shoulder due to the tipsy dizziness weighing in your head, and it would certainly put on a convincing show of newlywed affection for his aunt and uncle, but you manage to catch yourself. And subsequently refuse any more glasses of wine.

“Thanks for having me,” you say to Mrs. Gojo at the front entrance before she pulls you in for a hug.

“Oh, anytime dear,” she says as she gently pats your back, “please.”

When she pulls away from the hug, she holds you by your shoulders before her eyes glance down towards your left hand and the shimmering diamond that sat on the ring finger. She holds your hand in hers and lifts it to examine the twinkle underneath the lights of the chandelier.

“It really is a pretty ring,” she says, her eyes glossing over. “It looked beautiful on my sister, and it looks beautiful on you too.”

Your breath hitches slightly in your throat. “Thank you, Mrs. Gojo.”

“Please,” she says in response to the title, “Sumiko is fine.” But in less of a way in which she’s relaxing formalities, but rather in a way that acknowledges she never had the sovereignty to be called that in the first place.

You hear masculine voices approaching down the hallway as the three men make their way towards the front entrance as well. Gojo glances at you in the midst of their conversation, and he leaves the two of them to make his way over to you.

“Alright,” Gojo says, turning to face the rest of them as he stands beside you. “We’ll head out now.”

Sumiko pulls him in for a hug, then his uncle, and then obnoxiously by Jun as well. Sana fidgets with her fingers as she remains at the end of the line, and you catch a glimpse of surprise on her face when Gojo pulls her in for a hug too. You see him whisper something to her, and it’s only after she hears what he said that she returns the hug and wraps her arms around him as well.

You’re jolted out of your people-watching trance when Gojo walks up to you and takes your hand in his, shoving his other in his pocket. You glance down at the sight, the way his large hand engulfs your own. It’s warm in a firm hold, delicately squeezing your hand once right before you feel the cold air behind you when his uncle opens the door.

Well, you survived. That’s what you think to yourself as you sit in the passenger seat of Gojo’s car, watching the city lights twinkle as you two drive by. You don’t know what you were expecting. Drama? Ease? Tension? For a piece of the sky to fall and land on the roof? There was a part of you that wanted to impress. You want to be one of those daughter-in-laws that the in-laws just adore. You know, where they’re like, god am I so happy that she’s a part of the family now! The one that the mother-in-law is just so ecstatic to know that her son managed to hold down such a catch.

But any expectations and pressure dissolve with the reminder that this is all fake. Fake, fake, fake. And you’d do really well to remind yourself of that reality whenever you spent time with Gojo. Whenever you find yourself acclimating into his life for even a moment, just remember that it’s fake. Can you have a little fun here and there? Sure. Will you probably find yourself in even stranger situations going forward? Yes, because, well, that’s how life is. But it’s just fake. No obligations, no responsibility, nothing. Nada. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

But as you walk through the front door, staring straight ahead into the dark house at Gojo’s back as he sets down the keys by the foyer table, and even as you follow him further into the house towards the kitchen, that feeling inside you surges. 

A woman's intuition.

That something between Jun and Sana was wrong.

Not just routine marital issues,

Or the occasional argument,

Something worse. Something dangerous.

And it’s not something you would ever expect a man to pick up on, even Gojo.

Because it was from the way Sana’s eyes silently communicated with you from across the table,

Something so subtle, a silent plea across a shared dimension,

That she needed help.

“Hey…” you speak up softly, standing in front of the fridge. 

Gojo glances over his shoulder at you from the other side of the kitchen island, barely illuminated by the moonlight through the windows. He turns to face you. “What’s up?”

You blink at him. 

“Um, I really don’t want to overstep again, but—”

There’s a sobering thought that flashes through your mind when you recall that you have never seen yourself as the hero in anyone’s story.

Simply because you could never, ever, ever trust yourself.

You could never trust your feelings or your decisions.

Because you cosigned on hundreds of thousands of dollars of medical loans. Because you stuck around for five years with a man that didn’t love you anymore. Because you still feel naive enough to believe that your best friend who betrayed you still misses you somehow. Because you still foolishly believe your mother will be around to hold her grandchildren someday.

Because you thought that your best bet in order to pull yourself out of hell was to fake marry a man,

And then act as if it’s all real when his aunt looks you in the eye with bittersweet tears as you now wear her bereaved sister’s ring in honor, entirely unaware it was actually being worn in vain.

How could you ever trust your judgement when you behave this way? 

Never the hero. If anything, the villain.

“What is it?” Gojo repeats when he sees that you’ve been silent for too long. He tilts his head at you, his hair falling over his forehead haphazardly and he runs a hand through it to try to get it out of his face. Even in the dim light, his eyes shine a breathtaking blue.

You swallow hard.

“Um,” you say, and then glance down at the wetness you find at your heel. “The, um, the fridge is leaking again.”

He blinks at you for a solid ten seconds, and then the tension in his shoulders drops when he sulks and closes his eyes with exhaustion and defeat.

“Fuck. Okay.”

.

.

.

[end of chapter 6]

a/n. looool i really keep thinking i can post shorter chapters and them bam they be 10k+ words. but i swearrr it's just cuz i be yapping :(( anywho hope you enjoyed this chapter!! a lot of characters were kinda introduced and mm given a bit more depth in this chapter. sorry there wasn't as much romance or anything in this one though haha there will be more in the next one :0 big big thank you to my lovely ihm beta readers ayelin, jules, leni & mirl for helping me out w this chapter!! i believe i may have mentioned this before but i STRUGGLLEEEE with multi-character scenes (i'm much more comfy writing scenes that just have back n forth between two characters) so this chapter was challenginggg esp the whole dinner sequences and there were also a lot of complicated feelings at play, descriptions, stuff i wasn't sure if it was coming off the right way (and tbh am still not sure haha) but they really helped me work my thoughts out n gave wonderful suggestions too so tysm :'') much loveee!! hope to see you all in the next one <3 - ellie

➸ take me to chapter seven!

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[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Don’t Prove I’m Right - [Part 4]

♥ prev

♥ series masterlist | main masterlist

♥ pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

♥ series synopsis: you didn't think twice about the dj you hooked up with until you found out you were pregnant. turns out the man wasn't just some dj but a famous formula 1 driver.

♥ chapter synopsis: after his reckless decisions, lando attempts to make it up to you. it took some convincing from oscar but you eventually gave in and had a conversation with him.

♥ smau + written - fc: girls on pinterest - none of the pictures are mine

♥ warnings: swearing !!!

♥ a/n: its been MONTHS since the last chapter I am so sorry lovelies!

liked by logansargeant, lilyzneimer, lilymhe, and 120,538 more

yourusername ever since @/logansargeant and @/oscarpiastri got camila these plushies she’s been obsessed with them

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yourbestfriend please don’t tell me the deer is being replaced 😔

yourusername camila would never

lilyzneimer shes just too cute to not spoil

user1 haven’t seen lando in any of her posts recently 😕

user3 they did JUST get back to Monaco so I wouldn't be worried

user6 they're not dating either so I don't see why he would be

user4 we need a godfather reveal

logansargeant it’s me

oscarpiastri its me

carlossainz55 … it’s probably not me 😕

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

It had been a couple of days since your last conversation with Lando and a knock on your door drew your attention away from your phone.

A giant box was sitting on the doorstep alone with no sender information. You hesitantly brought it into the living room and grabbed a pocket knife to cut through the clear strip of tape. The box quickly burst open from the pressure of the deeply packed objects—about a dozen jellycats and an apology note placed on top. 

It was clear to you that this package was from Lando, and it was a very sweet gesture. He’d clearly seen the post you made the previous day and was trying his best to make up for his mistakes. You sighed and folded the note up, setting it on your couch. You pulled out a soft pink bunny from the box causing Camila to squeal and hold her arms open. 

You still hadn’t checked your texts from Lando, but Oscar was right. You couldn’t ignore him forever. Lily offered to take you out for the night in order to clear your head. You were extremely grateful for Lily’s support and generosity ever since you met her. She had truly become one of your best friends throughout this experience.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by lilymhe, carmenmundt,, and 102,843 more 102,473 more

yourusername girls night

tagged; @/lilyzneimer

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lilyzneimer <3

user1 we love a self care queen

user2 she’s so pretty

alexandrasaintmleux we should all hang out together <3

francisca.cgomes i second that

yourusername i’m so there

user7 i love that the wags include her 🥹

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

You sat next to Lily with a glass of white wine in your hand, conflicted. Of course you were. Like Oscar said, you had to confront him at some point, but it was going to take a lot for you to trust Lando again. You pulled your phone out of your purse.

You got the response pretty much immediately.

You sighed and turned to Lily, "I'm gonna go talk to Lando."

"Good luck," she said with a smile, and took another sip of her drink.

You picked Camila up off the couch and bundled her up in a small yellow blanket.

-

You were at his apartment in about twenty minutes. You knocked hesitantly, tapping your nails on the case of your phone and jangling your keys in attempt to reduce your anxiety. Lando opened the door in silence, letting you into the room. He sat back down on his couch and you followed, cradling your daughter in your arms and choosing to stand up as you spoke.

“Listen Y/n, I know what I did was-“

"I'm not going to take your child away from you,” you stated, cutting him off. “You said you want to be in her life, but you have to keep that promise."

He nodded and ran his hands across his face. You wanted to get straight to the point with no excuses. You had heard all of his apologies already.

"Lily talked to Kmag and found her a babysitter, so we're good on that end. But, you still have to earn back my trust to be alone with her and if anything like this happens again I won't be nice."

He looked back up at you, “It won’t ever happen again, I swear. It shouldn’t have happened in the first place.

”I agree.”

There was some awkward silence as you gently sat on the arm rest of the couch.

You looked down at your daughter, “She may not fully get it yet, but you’re her dad and she loves you,” you locked eyes with Lando again. “You chose to raise her with me, so you need to take responsibility.”

He nodded, “I understand.”

"Good," you responded, standing back up and stepping towards the front door. You paused without turning your head back towards him, "Good luck in Imola.”

With that you were gone.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

end notes: this was short, I am aware! there was originally supposed to be more to this chapter but I decided to turn it into its own whole part lol :) I've already started working on it so stay tuned!

taglist; @hc-dutch, @papaya-twinks, @2pagenumb, @formulaal, @erin-odonnell04, @drunkinthemiddleoftheday, | @kissesandmartinis, @ironmaiden1313, @six-call, @wolflover384, @tremendousstarlighttragedy, | @ilivbullyingjeongin, @celestialend, @silentreader128, @wolflover384, @ellesssssxzxz | @clowngirlsstuff, @ln4smiamitrophy, @whoneedsgeorge, @chezmardybum, @warlike-morning, | @gigicisneros, @hard4ndsoft, @eveninggstar, @jolixtreesunn, @acesofspadess,| @formulaonebuff, @notpeachybby, @shesmugirl, @mxdi0, @ririyulife, | @kravitzwhore, @bellinghambby22, @helaenatargaryensfavoritebug, @maplesyrupsainz, @harrysdimple05, | @pippyth3hippy, @noneofyourfbusinessworld, @littlegrapejuice, | @majx00, | @si1ver06 | @weekendlusting | @landossainz,

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@harrysdimple05, @toriiez, @theonottsbxtch, @fastfactory

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

wicked game

chapter 4 - the bet

synopsis: y/n is sarah’s roommate and the embodiment of sunshine. rafe, on the other hand, is her complete opposite. when the boys place a bet that he can't win her over, rafe takes the challenge without hesitation. after all, he never backs down from a dare. the closer rafe gets to y/n, he finds himself drawn to her warmth in a way he never expected, and for the first time, he wants to be more than just the guy with a bad reputation.

but secrets don’t stay hidden for long, and when y/n finds out the truth, rafe is left to face the consequences. now, he has to prove that somewhere along the way, the bet stopped mattering, because losing her was never part of the plan.

masterlist

cw: language, alcohol

you groaned and turned over in your bed, last nights events flashing through your head. you had fun for the most part, but all you could think of was rafe's annoying voice running circles in your brain.

you got up to the kitchen and saw sarah making herself a coffee, "good morning sarah."

she grumbled in response, clearly not feeling her best. "never. drinking. again." she muttered.

you laughed at her, "that's what they all say."

"no i am serious this time. watch me." she said straight faced.

"we'll see how long that lasts." you looked down to see two new notifications on your phone. "the fuck?"

"what is it?" sarah's attention now peaked.

"why did topper and kelce just follow me on instagram. who even is kelce?"

"ughhhh," she groaned, "another one of rafe's minions."

"you're got to be kidding me. why have they just followed me." confusion taking over.

"i'm not sure. i wouldn't worry about it though, they follow everyone." she reassured you.

"ok good."

sarah sipped her coffee, watching you scroll through your phone with narrowed eyes. "they didn’t message you did they?"

you shook your head. "nope. just the follow."

"good. let’s keep it that way." she sighed, "kelce and top are basically rafe’s bithces. if they’re paying attention to you, it’s because rafe is."

you scoffed, rolling your eyes. "lucky me."

sarah smirked. "hey, maybe he’s just mad that you didn’t fall at his feet like every other girl at that party."

you snorted in response, "yeah, because i’m sure rafe cameron loses sleep over girls not liking him."

sarah just shrugged. "stranger things have happened."

you brushed it off, chalking it up to nothing. after all, what reason could rafe possibly have to care about you?

sarah's eyes flickering between you and her phone. "so… did you have fun? you know, aside from my asshole brother?"

you smiled. "yeah, actually. it was fun. kie and cleo were great. jj's insane."

sarah laughed. "yeah, he’s a lot, but in the best way."

you poured yourself a cup of coffee, "and john b huh?"

sarah nearly choked on her drink. "what about him?"

"i think someone might have a crush on him," you grinned."

"what?! who?"

"you, you dumbass." you said laughing.

sarah’s face turned bright red as she sputtered, "oh my god, shut up."

you just smirked, sipping your coffee. "im just saying… the tension was there last night.”

she rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. "please. john b and i have known each other forever."

you raised an eyebrow. "and?"

sarah covered her face with her hands. "and… i don’t know. he’s just- ugh, can we not do this right now?"

you laughed, nudging her with your elbow. "fine, fine. i’ll let it go. for now."

sarah muttered something under her breath but couldn’t hide the small, knowing smile tugging at her lips.

just then, your phone buzzed with a notification. you glanced down, expecting something normal, a text from kie or your boyfriend.

instead, your screen flashed with something much worse.

rafecameron followed you

a/n: ah finally the bet is in PLACE! missed u guys

🏷️: @heartzshiftamy @hoefordrewstarkey @luvrclub @yesterdaysproblemm @leleee3 @yktayy9669 @miumiuestmoi @anacamofficial @cokewithcameron @bloodofadoll @shorttandsweett @mysticbby2009 @emmiesummers @wintercrows @drewrry @starkeyxcameron @xxbirkindoll2 @stoned-writer @drewstarkeyslover @hannieskzzz @verycherryblossomhideout @letstryagaintomorrow @@jjsbbg7 @mariamadison6-blog @laniirackssss @xeneasworld @countryclubwhore @drewsphswife @mattyskies @moonywhisp3rs @starkeygirls @lmaolmaos @thereallifebambi @emeloyy @vcnillafairy @rafecameronswhoore @st8rkey @angeldiaryy @therealfairybatman @drewsephrry @vanessa-rafesgirl @dreamybabbyy @pogueprincesa @happy-mushrooms @hannaa20002000 @whoismxtti

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 22

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

We are wrapping up loose plot threads so: Hungary 2024, WHICH I FIXED (kinda). My questionable understanding of racing strategy? Crocheting.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Radio Transcript – Hungarian GP 2024 Driver: Lando Norris (#4, McLaren) Lap: Mid-race, after McLaren undercuts Oscar Piastri

RACE ENGINEER (Will Joseph): “Lando, box this lap. Box, box.”

Lando: “…You’re kidding. You’re actually kidding.”

Will: “Lando, we need to cover the undercut. Box now.”

Lando: “Yeah, I bet we do.”

[Lando enters the pits, swaps to fresh tires, and rejoins ahead of Oscar Piastri.]

Will: “So, uh, we’re seriously doing this? We’re actually undercutting Oscar?”

Will: “Affirm. We need to consolidate track position.”

Lando: “Oh yeah? That’s what we’re calling it? Consolidating?”

Will: “Lando, we’ll discuss later. Focus on your out-lap.”

Lando: “No. I want you to tell me right now why we did that. Because Oscar was ahead. Oscar was faster. So tell me why we just screwed him over. 

Will: “It was the best call for the team.”

Lando: “Oh, was it? Because last I checked, ‘the team’ includes Oscar, and you just threw him under the bus. And for what? Because from where I’m sitting, you just played us against each other for no reason.”

Will: “Lando, we need to manage the race. We’ll discuss later.”

Lando: “No, we’ll discuss now. Because Oscar went to bat for me when it mattered. He stood up when you lot wouldn’t. And this is how you pay him back? By screwing him on strategy?”

Will: “Lando—”

Lando: “I’m giving it back.”

Will: “Lando, we need you to maintain position.”

Lando: “Like hell I do. Tell Oscar I’m lifting into Turn 1.”

Will: “…Understood.”

Lando: Oscar— (lifts off the throttle, lets Oscar pass him back easily before Turn 1) —deserves better than whatever the hell that was.

Will: Lando, we didn’t ask you to do that.

Lando: Yeah? Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you made me the bad guy.

Will: This isn’t necessary—

Lando: No, what wasn’t necessary was playing stupid games with two drivers who actually trust each other. Fix your priorities.

***

Lando Norris – Post-Race Interview | 2024 Hungarian Grand Prix

Interviewer: Lando, P2 today after a tough fight with Lewis Hamilton. It was an intense battle right to the end—how are you feeling?

Lando: Yeah, I feel great! It was a proper race, a hard fight from start to finish, and I loved every second of it. I mean, Lewis is one of the best to ever do it, so going wheel-to-wheel with him like that, having to really work for that P2—it’s what racing is all about. I think we put on a good show today.

Interviewer: We heard some interesting radio messages during the race, especially around the swap with Oscar. Can you talk us through that situation?

Lando: Honestly, I just want to talk about how incredible Oscar was today. He’s been mega all weekend. He got pole, he had insane pace, and to take his first win—it’s so well deserved. I’ve been saying it forever: Oscar is that guy. He’s quick, he’s consistent, and I’m just really happy for him. It’s a huge moment.

Interviewer: Of course, but just to clarify on the swap—there was some tension on the radio. Did that impact your race at all?

Lando: Not really. My focus was on getting the best result for the team and making sure we maximized what we could. At the end of the day, Oscar won fair and square. I had my own battle with Lewis, and that’s where my head was. We went at it for a good chunk of the race, pushing each other to the limit, and I managed to come out on top. That’s what I care about—proper racing on track. That’s what people should be talking about.

Interviewer: Still, there were some discussions about team orders—

Lando: Listen, I’m not interested in making a big deal out of radio messages or politics. What matters is the racing. And today, we had an incredible race. Oscar got his first win, McLaren got a 1-2, I had a great fight with Lewis, and we showed what we’re capable of. That’s what people should be focusing on. That’s what matters.

Interviewer: Fair enough! A brilliant result today. Congratulations, Lando!

Lando: Cheers, mate!

Comments: 

@/F1Fanatic99: Lando just straight-up refusing to engage in drama and instead hyping up Oscar and talking about racing? That’s my driver. 🧡 @/HamiltonGOAT44: Lando vs. Lewis was the battle we all deserved! Absolute class from both of them. @/NorrisNation: Lewis made him work for it, but Lando held his own. That was racing at its finest. @/PiastriP1: Lando literally said “I’m here to race, not talk” and I respect that so much. @/WDCOscar: We should be talking about how good Oscar was today, not team orders drama. Lando gets it. @/DriveToThrive: Lando dodging those drama-baiting questions like he's defending P2 against Lewis Hamilton. @/TeamOrdersSkeptic: I mean, it’s cool that Lando’s focusing on the positives, but McLaren kinda did him dirty, no? @/NotABot23: Maybe, but Lando said he didn’t want a free pass. He’d rather earn his position. @/OscarWins: At the end of the day, Oscar won fair and square. Even Lando said it. @/F1Conspiracies: He’s dodging the team orders talk because he doesn’t want to cause problems, but let’s be real—McLaren needs to sort their priorities. @/AntiTeamOrders: Lando acting like nothing happened when McLaren literally screwed him over lol. @/JustHereForDrama: He’s so media-trained. Wish he would just say what he actually thinks. ↳ @/McLarenStan: Or maybe he actually thinks Oscar deserved the win and doesn’t care about the radio stuff? @/HungaryGP2024: The real headline should be "Lando Norris beats Lewis Hamilton in an on-track battle," not whatever drama people are trying to stir up.

@/GridGossip: “He stood up when you lot wouldn’t.” 👀 Lando, bestie, you can’t just drop that and move on like it’s nothing. ↳ @/McLarenMafia: WHO didn’t have your back, Lando? Say names. ↳ @/F1Conspiracies: I wonder what that is about…and I have the bad feeling it’s the whole Lizzie situation… @/OversteerAndTea: So we’re all just supposed to ignore that Lando basically said McLaren didn’t back him up, huh? @/FormulaWhispers: What was going on behind the scenes that made Lando say that??? ↳ @/InsideThePaddock: Oscar has more backbone than people realize. Him going to bat for Lando is NOT nothing. @/F1InsiderTea: McLaren’s PR team is SWEATING right now. ↳ @/OrangeDrama: Like, are they just hoping we all move on??? Because I have QUESTIONS. @/PitWallMess: Oscar and Lando are such ride-or-dies for each other. It’s everyone else I’m side-eyeing. ↳ @/McLarenMasterplan: We need the full story. Spill, Lando. Spill. @/TeaAndTelemetry: Lando is never that blunt unless something seriously pissed him off. ↳ @/DataDorkF1: Oscar was the only one on his side and Lando made sure we knew it. That says A LOT.

@/DTSWriters: This better be a whole episode in the next Drive to Survive season because I NEED DETAILS.

@/OscarPiastriUpdates: This is the first time in history a driver has voluntarily unfucked a team’s strategy mid-race. Historic behavior.

@/TireDegEnthusiast: McLaren really thought they could manipulate their drivers like chess pieces and Lando just said ‘no ❤️’

@/F1TeaSpiller: This isn’t just about the race. That “Oscar stood up for me this week” line? Oh, Lando’s making a STATEMENT.

@/PurpleSectorStan: The way McLaren’s radio was DEAD SILENT after Lando gave Oscar the place back. They knew they fumbled.

****

The apartment was dimly lit when Lando stepped inside, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. He set his bag down by the door, stretching out his shoulders as he made his way toward the living room. Lizzie was curled up on the couch, her laptop open in front of her, but her fingers weren’t moving across the keyboard. Instead, she was watching him.

"Hey," he said, offering a weary smile as he settled down beside her. Her gaze trailed over him from head to toe, taking in every little detail. He'd never quite appreciated how perceptive she was before.

“Hey,” she said softly.

He leaned back into the couch, closing his eyes and exhaling. For a few moments, silence filled the space between them. He could hear the hum of the laptop’s fan, the distant sound of cars from outside, the sound of their breathing.

Finally, Lizzie spoke. “You were brilliant this weekend.”

He cracked an eye open, looking over at her. She was watching him with something akin to awe, her expression almost reverent. He wasn’t quite sure what he did to warrant that look. “Was I?” he asked, trying for nonchalance but lacking even half of the energy to pull it off.

"McLaren 1-2," she told him softly, one hand reaching out to cup his jaw and he leant into her touch.

Yes. McLaren 1-2.

Not thanks to the team.

"I watched everything," Lizzie admitted quietly. "The radio. The interviews."

Lando inhaled sharply but sighed. "Figured you would," he told her.

She ran her thumb over his cheekbone, a simple touch that made his exhaustion recede just a fraction. "You were incredible," she repeated softly. "Even when you were getting screwed over on strategy and had every reason to be angry, you just..." She exhaled. "You handled it so well. You were incredible."

She hesitated for a moment. "Did...McLaren didn't have your back." It wasn't a question.

It shouldn't surprise him and it didn't. Liz was too smart for her own good. Of course, she would pick up on that. Just like the press had picked up on it, even when he hadn't outright said what it was, that had happened...people weren't dumb. They would put together the pieces into something resembling the truth.

Still.

Lando sighed, running a hand down his face. "Liz-"

She shook her head. "I thought...I don't know, that maybe they just wanted to take their time to handle things after Silverstone. But that's not what happened, is it?" she asked him softly.

Lando clenched his jaw, looking away. He didn't know how to explain it without making her feel worse.

Lizzie’s voice was quieter when she spoke again. “Did they… did they try to stop you from saying anything?”

He swallowed, trying to figure out how to answer. “I-” he stopped, biting his lip. Honesty was the best option, wasn’t it? He took a deep breath.

“They tried. It was...it was a bit of a clusterfuck.”

Lizzie’s breath hitched slightly. “And Oscar?”

Lando huffed a small, almost amused breath. “He blackmailed them.”

Lizzie blinked. “What?”

"He told them that if they didn't release a statement condemning the abuse, he'd go back to tweeting like he did for Alpine," he recounted with a snort.

Lizzie stared at him before bursting into a fit of giggles. She covered her mouth, trying to keep herself from laughing. Her laugh was like music to his ears and some of the tension left him.

He grinned at her. “Yeah. And you know the funniest part?”

Lizzie shook her head, biting down on the edge of her hand to suppress a laugh. She looked adorable like that, her cheeks flushed from her little bout of giggles, and he was struck with the sudden urge to wrap her up in a tight hug. So he did.

She melted into his arms, burying her face against his shoulder, her giggles muffled. It took her a moment to regain her composure, and she gave a little sigh, pulling back just enough to look at him. “What's the funniest part?”

Lando grinned, shaking his head a little. “It worked.”

Lizzie stared at him, mouth parted.

“He actually threatened a multimillionaire team with Twitter,” Lando snickered. “He threatened to unleash an online world war and they caved like that.” He snapped his fingers, making her laugh again.

Lizzie ducked her head, her shoulders shaking with suppressed snickers. “Oh my God.”

Lando laughed helplessly, pulling her back toward him, wrapping his arms around her waist. She was warm, her body pressed flush against his. He took a deep breath, the scent of her filling his nostrils.

Lizzie grew quieter and looked at him. "Did...did they...was it because of me?"

Lando felt something twist in his chest. “What?”

She swallowed. “Did all of this—did they hesitate because of me? Because I’m the one people were targeting?”

Lando immediately reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly. “No. No, Liz, don’t do that. Don’t make this your fault.”

She looked down at their intertwined fingers. “It just… feels like I made everything harder for you.”

Lando’s grip tightened. “You didn’t. They did. The people who went after you, the ones who treated you like shit—they’re the problem. Not you. Never you.”

Lizzie let out a shaky breath. “I just… I didn’t want this to be a thing. I didn’t want you to have to put out a statement or make it worse—”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Lando interrupted, his voice firmer now. “You shouldn’t have to explain yourself, or justify your existence, or convince people that you’re worthy of basic human decency. That’s not your job.”

Lizzie bit her lip, still looking uncertain.

Lando exhaled. “Liz, Oscar didn’t do that because of you. He did it because it was the right thing to do. Just like I spoke up because it was the right thing to do. And if McLaren didn’t have our backs, then that’s on them. Not on you.”

Lizzie nodded slowly, eyes shining. “I just hate that you had to fight for it.”

Lando lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I’d do it again if I had to.”

Lizzie let out a shaky laugh. “You’re stubborn.”

“You love it.”

She sighed. “I really, really do.”

He shifted a bit, pulling her onto his lap without thinking about it. She came without a second thought, settling on his thighs with ease. He wrapped his arms around her waist lightly, feeling the warmth of her seep into his skin.

She let out another shaky exhale, letting her head drop against his collarbone. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, wanting to soothe the worry out of her.

She felt so small in his arms. It made him want to cling to her, to shield her from the world and all of its bullshit. The urge to protect her was almost overwhelming.

"I made something while you were gone," she admitted, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

Lando quirked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Lizzie hesitated for a second before reaching behind one of the couch cushions. When she turned back, she was holding something small in her hands—something that made Lando blink in surprise before bursting into laughter.

It was a tiny crochet version of Oscar Piastri.

Complete with a McLaren race suit and a little black and orange Pirelli cap.

Lando took the tiny Oscar from her hands, holding it up to inspect it. “No way.”

Lizzie grinned, a little sheepish. “I was stress-crocheting. And, well… given everything, I thought it was fitting.”

Lando laughed again, shaking his head as he turned the little figure in his hands. “He’s gonna lose his mind when he sees this.”

Lizzie smirked. “You think?”

“Oh, definitely,” Lando said. “He’ll pretend he doesn’t care, but he’ll be secretly obsessed with it.”

Liz looked pleased with herself. She leaned in to get a better look at the little figure in his hand. "I think it might be my best one yet," she told him with a smile.

Lando grinned, gently placing the little crochet Oscar on the coffee table before pulling her close again. Lizzie went easily. She draped her arms around his shoulders, her legs resting on either side of his. She draped herself against him like she always does, her body melting into his.

It had been a long few weeks. But somehow, sitting there with Lizzie—holding something she made with care, thinking about the people who had stood by them—it didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

***

Lando should have realised that it was going to happen one of these days.

So he wasn't that surprised, when the door to the McLaren Sim room swung open, and Oscar stepped in with a purpose. He barely acknowledged the engineers outside, his usual easygoing demeanor absent. The door clicked shut behind him, and the air in the room felt heavier.

Lando spun around in his seat, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. Oscar’s eyes pinned him to the spot, laser-focused on his every move. Lando couldn’t quite read the expression on his face, but there was something serious in the set of his jaw and the gleam in his gaze.

“Hey,” Lando said cautiously. “What’s up?”

Oscar folded his arms, leaning against the wall. "I heard the radio."

Lando shifted in his seat, feeling the back of his neck prickle. “Yeah. That.”

Oscar didn't say anything, just watched him with a hawk-like gaze. It was making Lando’s nerves itch.

He cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice even. "So you heard all of it then, huh?"

Oscar nodded, his eyes never leaving Lando’s face. "Yeah. Every word."

Silence fell between them, thick and heavy. Lando fidgeted with the hem of his hoodie, his fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against the fabric. He knew Oscar was waiting for him to say something, but the words felt stuck in his throat.

Lando ran a hand down his face. “Look, mate—”

“I didn’t do anything special.”

Lando blinked, caught off guard by how bluntly Oscar said it. “What?”

Oscar pushed off the wall, shaking his head. “You made it sound like I did something extraordinary, like backing you and Lizzie was some massive thing. But it wasn’t, Lando. It was just the right thing to do.”

Lando didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stared at the dashboard of the sim rig, feeling the weight of the last few weeks pressing on his shoulders. “Look,” he finally said, “whether you think it was special or not, you had my back. And I need you to know that I’d do the same for you. Always.”

Oscar scoffed, almost amused. “I know that.”

“No, I mean it,” Lando insisted, standing up. “What happened in Hungary? That’s not how I want to race you. If I gain a position on you, I want it to be because I overtook you—not because the team screwed you over.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a small smirk. “Are you worried you won’t be able to overtake me without a little help?” he asked, a mocking tone in his voice.

Lando shot him a look. “You know that’s not what I mean, you muppet.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. "You know, It wasn’t exactly hard. Lizzie’s great. And you…” Oscar hesitated before adding, “You’re my teammate. That means something.”

Lando swallowed, something settling in his chest. “Yeah. It does.”

A moment passed, quiet but not tense. Then Lando leaned over, rummaging in his bag. “Anyway, I got you something.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “If this is some weird way to thank me, I swear—”

Lando pulled out a red-and-white packet and tossed it over.

Oscar caught it, glancing down. Tim Tams. His eyes immediately lit up. “No way.”

Lando grinned. “Figured your maiden win deserved a proper celebration.”

Oscar inspected the packet like it was the best gift he’d ever received. “Alright. You’re forgiven for embarrassing me on the radio.”

Lando smirked. “Knew that’d do the trick.”

Oscar was already tucking the Tim Tams under his arm when Lando pulled out something else.

“Oh, and—Lizzie made you this.”

He handed over a tiny crochet Oscar, decked out in a McLaren race suit with a perfectly detailed little Pirelli cap.

Oscar stared at it. “She made this?”

Lando nodded. “Yeah. She crochets when she’s stressed. Said she needed something to focus on.”

Oscar turned the tiny figure over in his hands, running a thumb over the stitches. It was absurdly detailed—clearly made with care.

“She really didn’t have to,” he muttered.

Lando shrugged. “You didn’t have to either. But here we are.”

Oscar glanced up, expression unreadable, before slipping the crochet figure into his pocket. “Well,” he said, smirking slightly, “at least I got Tim Tams out of it.”

Lando rolled his eyes. “Never doing anything nice for you again.”

Oscar tore open the packet, popping a biscuit into his mouth. “Sure, mate. Whatever you say.”

***

YouTube Transcript - Belgian Grand Prix Fan Stage 

Interviewer: "Lando, Oscar, after Hungary, there was a lot of speculation about your dynamic, especially with the radio messages and post-race comments. Can you clarify—was there any tension?"

Lando: [shrugging] "We talked. We’re fine."

Oscar: [grinning] "Yeah, Lando even got me Tim Tams and a tiny crochet Oscar, so I think that settles it."

Interviewer: [laughing] "A tiny crochet Oscar?"

Lando: [smirking] "Yeah. Well, technically, Liz got it for him. She crochets when she’s stressed, and I guess Hungary was stressful."

Oscar: [holding up a hand] "For the record, it’s actually very impressive craftsmanship. It even has little details on the race suit."

Lando: [mock serious] "Yeah, she put more effort into it than McLaren did into our strategy."

Oscar: [choking on a laugh] "Jesus, Lando."

Interviewer: [laughing] "Okay, so no hard feelings?"

Lando: [firmly] "Oscar deserved that win."

Oscar: [grinning] "And now I have a tiny yarn version of myself to prove it."

Interviewer: "Alright, good to know things are all settled!"

Comments: 

@/F1Fanatic99: Crochet Oscar is probably better at strategy calls than McLaren. Just saying.

@/GridGossip: Someone better crochet a tiny Lando next so they can be besties IRL and in yarn form.

@/WheelToWheel: If Oscar doesn’t start bringing Crochet Oscar to every race, we’re gonna have a problem.

@/McLarenUpdates: Crochet Oscar is just proof that Lizzie is the best thing to ever happen to the McLaren garage.

@/EpilepsyAwareness: Imagine explaining to someone in 2018 that F1 Fandom would one day be obsessed with a crocheted version of Oscar Piastri.

@/SilverstoneStan: Crochet Oscar is a cultural reset. Every driver needs a tiny yarn version of themselves.

@/SpeedDemon19: New F1 tradition: every race winner gets a crochet version of themselves. Make it happen, FIA.

@/McLarenSuperFan: The fact that Lizzie made that is so cute. She really said 'supporting my boyfriend and his bestie through yarn.

@/MaxsOrangeArmy: Oscar got a trophy AND a tiny crochet version of himself? Peak career moment.

@/PitStopChaos: Lando’s next merch drop better include tiny crochet drivers or I’m rioting.

@/ChaosInTurn1: Lizzie is out here supporting Oscar more than McLaren did. Queen behavior.

@/F1Wifey: McLaren strategists should fear the WAGs, they have more team loyalty than half the pit wall.

@/WheelToWheelGirl: The fact that Lizzie crocheted through the McLaren strategy disaster is sending me. How much yarn do you think she used during Hungary?

@/RacingLogic: Oscar acting like a proud dad over his little crochet Oscar is the most wholesome thing to come out of this entire mess.

@/ToxicMcLarenFan: I NEED TO SEE THE TINY CROCHET OSCAR, PLEASE, OSCAR, I AM BEGGING.

@/SilverstoneElite: McLaren PR scrambling to figure out how to monetize Crochet Oscar as we speak.

@/PaddockInsider: Not Lando shading McLaren’s strategy while handing out handcrafted emotional support Oscars.

@/PitLaneDrama: The way Oscar is so proud of his tiny crochet self… we need a picture IMMEDIATELY.

@/FIAConspiracyTheories: Okay but McLaren better start strategizing as well as Lizzie crochets.

@/FastAndFearless: Petition for Lizzie to start selling crochet F1 drivers because I NEED ONE. @/McLarenPanicDepartment: Lando: ‘She crochets when she’s stressed.’ How much yarn does she go through dating him???@/MaraForPresident: LIZZIE MADE OSCAR A TINY CROCHET OSCAR??? SHE’S THE REAL MVP.

[glowettee]

From Burnout to Glowing: Finding Motivation Again

✨ Burnout happens to the best of us, queen. It’s a sign you’ve been working hard, but it’s also your mind and body saying, “Hold up—we need a reset.” Let’s flip this energy and find your motivation again.

1. Permission to Pause

First things first: Rest is productive. Burnout doesn’t mean you’re weak; it means you’ve been running too long without refueling.

Give yourself permission to take a break—watch your favorite comfort movie, journal your feelings, or take a long walk.

2. Reconnect with Your “Why”

Ask yourself: Why are you doing this? Whether it’s a dream school, personal growth, or even just proving to yourself that you can, reconnecting with your “why” is like reigniting a candle.

Write your goals down. Visualize them. Feel the pride of your future self.

3. Reset Your Study Space

Burnout can make your desk feel like a prison. Transform it into a haven—clean it, add some fresh flowers, switch out your stationery for pastel vibes, and light a candle.

A new environment = a new mindset.

4. Small Wins, Big Motivation

Start small. Instead of diving into hours of work, set a 10-minute timer and focus on one task. Small victories build momentum.

Reward yourself for progress (a face mask, your fave snack, or a cozy nap).

5. The Glowettee Affirmation Method

Use these affirmations daily to rebuild your motivation:

“I am capable, even on hard days.”

“Rest is a part of success, not the opposite of it.”

“I am proud of my effort, no matter how small.”

✨ Remember, burnout isn’t forever. This is just a chapter in your story, and you’re about to turn the page to something incredible. Take it one soft step at a time—you’ve got this.

💌 What’s your favorite way to reset? Reblog and share your glow-up tips! 🌸

[imagine-you]

If I Open the Door To Heaven Or Hell 4/? [Wally Clark/Reader]

Summary: You confront your scar. Word Count: 2k Author's Note: This chapter contains bullying and how reader died as a result of that bullying. Read On AO3 // Fic Masterlist

You hesitated once you stepped into the bathroom, keeping your back pressed to the closed door behind you. Everything was washed in a red glow that lent an eeriness to the scene before you.  

You gripped your jacket tight in your hands before slipping it on. You figured you didn't want to risk dropping it even if it would make things harder on you later. You took a deep breath and forced yourself forward.  

The smell of cigarette smoke stopped you in your tracks.  

"What are you doing in here, freak?"  

You closed your eyes, taking a moment to try to center yourself. You hadn't heard that voice since you were alive.  

"Well? You going to stand there all day with that stupid look on your face?" 

You shook your head, taking another step into the bathroom. It gave you a better view of her. The one who had killed you. The one who had ripped everything away from you, leaving you to haunt the school forever. 

You knew how this was all going to play out. The girl who had bullied you mercilessly for years would end up being your downfall. You should have never stepped foot in this bathroom.  

She was leaning against the wall by the window. She had managed to crack it open and was letting smoke drift outside. It did nothing to cover the smell.  

"God, look at you. What a fucking idiot," she sneered before tapping her cigarette against the windowsill.  

You could feel panic building inside you. Your hands were shaking and you felt like you were frozen to the spot.  

After you died, she had been expelled. You never had to see her again. But now here she was, ready to kill you all over again.  

"You're such a waste of space, you know that? It'd be better if you never existed."  

You didn't know how to react to the words. Those weren't the same ones she spat at you the day you died. She was going off-script, which terrified you even more. Anything could happen now. 

"You can't even speak, huh?" She asked, finally dropping her cigarette to the floor and crushing it beneath her boot heel. "Got nothing to say to me?" 

You didn't know how to speak. All you could think about was where this confrontation was heading and you didn't want to experience it all over again. You had been stupid to let your jealousy and insecurity drive you into this.  

She started approaching you and you felt like you were going to throw up.  

"Y/N!" You heard a faint voice call your name. "Can you hear me?" 

You briefly turned towards the bathroom door, shocked to hear the muffled voice of Wally. He sounded far away and not like he was right on the other side of the door. But you could still hear him.  

Turning your attention away from her had been a mistake. Before you knew it, there was a harsh grip on your arm and you were being backed up into the wall beside the sinks.  

"I think," she started before popping a piece of gum into her mouth. "That this place would be a lot better without you here." She reached out and gripped your face tight, leaving the sting of her nails biting into your skin. She smacked her gum and grinned at you. "You got anything to say to that, freak? Or are you just going to stare at me?" 

You wanted to say or do anything, but you felt like you were frozen with fear.  

"Y/N, get out of there! Just come on. Please," you heard Wally beg.  

"You paying attention to me?" She wondered, pulling her hand back and slapping you.  

It jarred you out of your daze, leaving you to bring a hand up to cover your cheek.  

"I don't know why you wanted to do this, but please just come out. I'm right here for you. I'm not going anywhere." 

"You're so pathetic. No one's ever going to want such a freak, you know that, right? You're gonna be alone forever." 

"Please, babe," Wally pleaded, his voice wavering. "You don't need to do this. You don't need to relive it." 

You couldn't help but think about how Wally only pulled out the 'babe' pet name when he was really stressed about something.  

Another slap before she gripped your chin again, forcing you to look at her.  

"I should have made you eat that cigarette. Got a light? Maybe I can put this one out on that stupid jacket you love so much." 

You could hear someone pounding on the door now. It sounded as if someone was throwing themselves against it, attempting to break it down. 

"Whatever's going on in there, it's not real. You are real. You don't deserve whatever's happening," Wally continued to try to get through to you. He was out there doing his damnedest to break into your scar just to save you. You didn't know how you could have ever thought that Wally didn't want you anymore.   

"Or maybe," she continued, voice low, "I can stick it in your eye. Maybe that way you won't have to see how much we all hate you." 

You felt stuck between her disdain and Wally's desperation. It wasn't until you noticed her reaching for her pocket and slipping out a cigarette that you knew things were about to get worse.  

Suddenly, all you wanted was Wally and the promise of safety he offered. You used her distraction of lighting up again to rush past her, making for the bathroom door.  

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" She growled before you felt a hand tuck into the back collar of your jacket and pull.  

You knew what happened next, but you still weren't prepared for the fall. It felt endless as you struggled to stay upright, helpless against the pull of gravity. And then your head connected with the edge of the sink and you were on the floor.  

You stared up at the ceiling in a daze, because you didn't make it this far the first time. It was over before you could even hit the tiles. This was new territory and you didn’t know how to continue from here.  

You managed to push yourself to your feet and glanced down.  

Your body was on the floor. You were staring up at the ceiling, but you weren't blinking. You weren't even moving. There was a pool of blood forming beneath your head and your neck was bent at an unnatural angle and you couldn't take it anymore.  

You felt like there was something sharp twisting in your gut. You had never thought about what you might have looked like on that bathroom floor. Dead. Unresponsive. Gone forever.  

"What are you doing in here, freak?" She asked again and when you looked up, she was back over by the window, smoking.  

You glanced down at the floor, but your body was still there. The scene had reset, but the reminder of how all of this played out was staring sightlessly up at you.  

"Babe? Babe!" Wally was calling, still trying to break down the door.  

You felt a sob catch in your throat before you were throwing yourself at the bathroom door. You were so sure she was chasing you, intent on dragging you back down into the depths of your personal hell, but you didn't dare look back. You managed to open the door and slam it closed behind you.  

Wally was standing just in front of you. You weren't sure what he saw on your face, but the way his expression twisted from concern to horror had you feeling like someone had reached right inside your chest and was trying to tear out your heart. You ripped your denim jacket off and flung it down the hallway, never wanting to see it again.  

You threw yourself at Wally, taking both of you down to the floor. Wally had managed to sit up and you clung to him like he was your own personal savior. Your face was pressed to the crook of his neck and your arms were wrapped tight around his waist.  

He brought a hand up and smoothed it down your back.  

"I'm here," he promised. "I'm not going anywhere. You're safe. You're out." 

You weren't sure how long you sat there on the floor with Wally. At some point, he had begun to gently rock the both of you from side to side, his touch attempting to calm you as he whispered soothing words in your ear. His lips were brushing the shell of your ear and his hands were running along your back and sides and any part of you he could reach like he was trying to convince himself you were really there.  

"It was horrible," you finally muttered into his skin. "I was so stupid." 

"You're not stupid," Wally argued. "But why did you do that? You know how terrified I was seeing you walk in there?" 

"So stupid," you repeated before finally pulling away enough to meet Wally's eyes. "I saw you and Maddie in the pool." 

Wally's brow furrowed in confusion. "And that made you want to visit your scar?" 

"I thought you and Maddie...," you trailed off, not knowing how to continue. "I was jealous," you finally confessed. "And hurt. And stupid," you reiterated.  

"Oh," Wally said before he seemed to realize what you weren't saying. "Oh," he breathed. "Maddie and I were just goofing off. She needed a friend and I was being a friend. I didn’t mean it any other way." 

"I think I get that now," you sheepishly admitted. Wally had been trying to break into your scar just to drag you out. He was holding on to you now like you were the most important person to him and he was afraid you were going to slip away again. He looked at you like you were his everything.  

"No, look," he insisted, bringing his hands up to frame your face in them. You nearly flinched, thinking about the last person who had held your face. She had only touched you with malice, but Wally’s touch only made you feel loved. "I'm sorry if I hurt you. I would never in a million years ever want that and what we have is nothing like what I've got going on with Maddie or any of the others. You're the only one I've been kissing," he promised, his lips ticking up in a grin.  

"Okay," you agreed with a small nod of your head. 

"And I never want you to ever have to go back in there," he continued, glancing briefly at the bathroom door just over your shoulder.  

“Even if it helps Maddie?” You couldn’t help but check.  

“Never again,” Wally insisted, shaking his head. “You don’t know what that did to me. Seeing you walk in there. God, babe, I was so scared.” 

Wally was looking at you like he thought you had died all over again. In some ways, you supposed that was true.  

"I'm never going back in there," you promised him, hoping it was true. "It was--," you stopped before starting again. "And she--," you cut yourself off again. "It hurt," you finally settled on. It had also put things into perspective for you.  

"It'll get better," Wally promised. "I'm here for you and our friends are here for you too. I'm not saying you won't ever think about it again, but I'll do my best to distract you." 

You let your forehead rest against Wally's, taking a moment to simply look at him. The whole night had been a real rollercoaster of emotion and now you felt exhausted. There was really only one thing you wanted at the moment and that was Wally.  

So, you moved to stand up, reaching down to help him to his feet.  

"Want to pay another visit to the tech booth?" You asked, hoping he knew what you were really asking.  

The tech booth offered privacy and a comfortable couch and a place to revisit better memories. All it needed now was you and Wally.  

Wally grinned before placing a brief kiss to your lips.  

"Hell yeah," he agreed, reaching down and taking your hand in his. "I go where you go. Let's get the hell out of here."  Taglist: @morallygrayboys @loudtalehologram @hey-its-roseaurum @doves1120 @benjiiiisstuff

Author's Note: So, the next chapter is already written! It's this chapter but from Wally's POV, because I wanted to show what he was going through during this. It'll be posted next Wednesday or Thursday! If you want to be tagged, just let me know!