#Learning through Real-Life Purchases

[kidsinnowadays]

6 Ways to Instill Strong Money Management Skills in Your Children

Discover effective methods to teach your kids the value of money and equip them with essential financial skills for a successful future. #FinancialResponsibility #MoneyManagementSkills #ParentingTips #TeachingKidsAboutMoney

Teaching children about money management is a crucial life skill that sets the foundation for financial well-being in adulthood. By instilling strong money management skills early on, parents can empower their children to make informed financial decisions and develop healthy financial habits. This article outlines six effective ways to help your children develop sound money management skills. 1.…

[crispycreambacon]

Cut Through The Noise

Even as the strike ends, the Palestinian genocide has not.

Now more than ever, there are so many conflicting voices. People with their own self-serving, hateful motivations speak over us, and sometimes our own voices can turn against us. We may feel like our voice isn't enough or we aren't doing enough.

This is why it's so important to learn to shut down that noise. No matter how much people scream that what we're doing is useless or a waste of time, keep talking. Keep talking about Palestine. Keep talking about Palestine for as long as this goes on, both online and in real life. If Israel won't end their genocide, we won't end our protest.

Below is a list of what you can do and the poem transcript.

Check and spread this post which contains a comprehensive list on how to help Palestine.

Learn about the history of Palestine and how the displacement and eventual genocide of Palestinians started in 1948.

Learn more about Palestine, the myths surrounding it and the arguments debunking it.

Boycott companies who are either directly or indirectly supporting and finding Palestine's genocide.

Click a button to raise funds for UNRWA – an organisation aiding Palestinian refugees.

Attend a protest.

Help Gazans stay connected by purchasing eSims for them.

Donate to the following organizations – any amount, no matter how small, goes a long way:

UNWRA

Care for Gaza

Medical Aid for Palestinians

Palestine Children's Relief Fund

Islamic Relief

Here's another post detailing more charities you can donate to

And most importantly of all: Don't Stop Talking About Palestine! However you interpret it as – creating art, talking to the people in your life, emailing and calling your representatives, even reblogging and making posts – make your voice loud and clear!

— Poem Transcript —

There's a lot of noise right now

Screams dehumanizing poor souls

Groans from those in willful ignorance

People digging deeper and deeper holes

And it's overwhelming, it really is

I do not blame you

Sometimes you feel that your voice is too small

I feel that way too

But despite that, I urge you to keep going

And demand for what's right

Even it sounds like a whimper

You're still joining in the fight

And soon the rest of us will join

We can stand together here

We can cut through the white noise

And make our message clear

[solarpunkwarlock]

Ways to Live in Direct Opposition to Capitalism

I am by no means an expert in any of these things I’m gonna talk about, so keep that in mind! I am just making a compilation of things I know of that we can do to lessen the stranglehold the capitalist lifestyle has on us while enriching our lives, our surroundings, and the lives of others. Please add anything I miss or correct anything I may be getting wrong! Anyway here goes!

Use what you have, fix what’s you can, make what you can, accept from others, thrift what you can, and finally purchase as a last resort.

This is advice I have seen float around here a couple of times that can apply to a lot of things including clothing, furniture, food, and more besides. It’s meant to be done roughly in that order as it applies to what you’re wanting/needing/doing. It’s about preventing waste, promoting self-capability, having a heightened reliance on your community, and consciously rejecting the ingrained habit many of us have to just purchase things or services.

Here’s where you can read about growing an indoor garden!

Here’s where you can read about sewing things yourself!

Here’s an online site for giving and receiving items for free!

Here is where you can find a local Mutual Aid to get things from, learn skills from, give do, volunteer for, etc. (in the U.S.)

Be politically active! (from a U.S. perspective)

Vote for every election. Know your representatives and those who will be competing in the next election. Vote without ignorance and without falling for unfounded claims. While operating within the system that actively oppresses us will not bring about the future we want, it can serve as damage control (preventing worse candidates from taking office) and it can potentially create a national atmosphere more open to change.

Here’s a good article about getting more involved in the U.S. political process.

Here’s a site that will show you how to register to vote, when and where elections are held, and more!

Here’s good advice on finding protests in your city!

Here’s some readings on unionizing! It’s your legal right to unionize!

Here’s a more user friendly site for learning about unions!

Be active within your community!

Developing strong, motivated, capable, knowledgeable, and inclusive communities is the ultimate way to combat the relentless and bleak present and future. When you’ve worked on the things above and have gotten good at it (or even if you haven’t gotten good at it yet), start spreading what you know and what you can do with others!

Give your neighbors, coworkers, and friends some of the vegetables you’ve grown.

Invite your community members to volunteer events.

Talk to folks about how to vote, when you’re doing it, etc.

Take part in Mutual Aids to teach what you’ve learned or whatever you may be an expert in! Invite neighbors, friends, and coworkers when you take part in the Mutual Aid!

Accept your community. Take them for who and what they are. Discrimination is the enemy of cooperation. You have much more in common with everyone in your community than a single billionaire or corporation. We’re all passengers on this spaceship earth.

Do it one step at a time!

Obviously we can’t do all of these things at once. Do what you can when you can, and you’ll start to notice real change in your life!

Our online communities where we talk about our visions and hopes are fantastic, but they have little impact if we don’t actually get up and do the real work that change requires.

Want to be better, and keep hope for the future!

Harbor and nourish that desire to be a better person and to be the change you want to see in the world. You need to be hungry for a better future if you plan to make it through the rough times when everything feels pointless and without hope. Reach out to others when you’re down, and be someone others can lean on when their lives get hard.

That’s it! Please interact with this, spread it to others, and add your own thoughts and ideas! It’s important that we do the real work to get the change we crave!

[tyrantisterror]

A Flight of Dragons, I Command It! A FLIGHT! OF! DRAGONS!

doom DOOM DOOM

Hey fuckers, it's February and my Seasonal Affective Disorder is at its fucking PEAK, so it's gonna get REAL weird around here for a while. Luckily, my old ass has spent the last thirty-some years figuring out how to deal with this particular recurring problem, and one of the many tools and tricks I've learned is an age old classic:

I gotta treat myself.

So, ok, I work at a daycare, and one of the things that's very popular with the kids these days are 3-D printed dragons. They're inexpensive, customizable, and pretty easy to transport and store, so it's no wonder kids like them. But, you know, I'm something of a child at heart myself, and I love dragons, so when I saw my kids bringing all these 3-D printed dragons to the center... well, I got a bit envious. And, well... when you're an adult with disposable income... there's no one STOPPING you from buying a 3-D printed dragon for yourself.

Or two.

Or three.

Or... lots. Lots and lots. Because you're an adult and they don't cost much money and you've always loved having swarms/herds/big families of creatures ever since you were a kid, and because it was January when this idea struck you and looking at the estimated time of arrival on etsy for these things you realized most of them would arrive by February, when you might NEED the serotonin provided by having a big ol' flight of dragons.

So let's go on a journey, fuckers. A journey of excess, a journey into imagination, a journey through the marvelous world of people with 3-D printers making a quick buck on etsy. Let's look at some fucking dragons.

I'm going to go ahead and link the store pages for each dragon I purchased, in case you too are deranged and need some dragons in your life, and because I want to give some form of credit to the artists who made these. Granted, that won't always be possible - while a few of these seemed to be unique to the shops I bought them from, many of them could be found from NUMEROUS sellers, which makes it difficult if not impossible to figure out who originally programmed the project files for them to be 3-D printed from.

Case in point is The Crystal Dragon here, which can be found in SO MANY etsy stores. Most of the 3-D printed dragons my students at the daycare had were of this variety, in fact, so it seems to be a very popular pattern for 3-D printing. It's definitely a cute and pretty little thing, and sort of sets the standard bar for a 3-D printed dragon. I wish the face was a bit more detailed, but the rough, angular nature of it does help convey the idea that this thing is made of crystals.

The second most common design, as far as I can tell anyway, is this Chinese Dragon/Loong (oh hey, they used my favorite English spelling!). I really like the face of this guy, and it seems like an excellent rendition of the standard East Asian dragon design - there's even tiny holes under its nostrils where you could insert a wire or thread to serve as its barbells, though most sellers (including the one I bought from) don't make use of it.

While most of the dragons I bought are "realistic," there were some cartoony/more stylized ones for sale that I decided to partake in. This little guy is one such dragon, and I think he's probably the best one to get if you're buying for a kid - the smoother body and smaller, nubbier horns makes it less likely to break, and just a bit more fun to play with in your hands. These things are often marketed as fidgets, after all, so the tactile feel of them is something to take into account.

While on the surface just a variation of the fidgets we've seen so far, this dragon has one particularly clever feat of engineering: because of the way the spikes on its neck are set up, you can get its head in a nice "snake rearing up to strike" position, which, combined with its distinctive short-snouted face, goes a long way to giving it an extra bit of character among the 3-D printed dragons.

While most of the dragons I found seemed to have the same simple color options to choose from, a few sellers seemed to have their own custom ones that were unique to their shop. This mix of bronze and olive greens was unique to this particular dragon, which, along with its painted eyes, really helps its stand out! I will note that the joints of this dragon tend to stick a bit more than my other dragons - perhaps a result of using different plastic colors than is standard? - but if you let gravity do its work they'll sort themselves out, and it's worth it to have such a striking little fellow.

Since this particular style of toy really suits serpentine creatures better than all else, I decided to look for some explicitly marine dragons to add to the group. I really like this sea serpent I found, which comes is very basic crayola-ish plain colors, but has just enough personality in its sculpt (and eyes and teeth in different colors) to stand out.

If you're looking for sea dragons on etsy, though, you're much more likely to encounter this fellow, which almost every store selling it calls Jormungandr and/or the Midgard Serpent. It's got these vaguely Nordic runes carved into it, as well as grooves in its tail designed to fit its prominent fangs so it can make an ouroboros, which makes the Jormungandr connection feel pretty intentional. It's a really distinct design, but I do think it's a little funny that it's far from the beefiest of my dragons. I wonder if there's a shop that sells an upsized model...

While not notable in terms of engineering, paint work, or plastic color options, this dragon IS notable in having heads based on a statue of Quetzalcoatl, who is in turn one of my favorite mythological figures, so I had to get it.

Of course, I also wanted a Quetzalcoatl-style feathered serpent that had the classic "winged snake" look, and this one fit the bill well enough. It originally came with little hair clips attached to its underside, allowing it to cling to your head and/or clothes, which I thought was really clever... but I also didn't like the clips sticking out from under the little thing so I took them off. A lovely little dragon either way, though.

So, ok, I'd been going relatively cheap at this point, but as I shopped I was struck with a sort of passing fancy, an idle thought... what was the most elaborate, fanciest 3-D printed dragon I could get? It's not this one, mind you, but this was very much the start of that rabbit hole. While mechanically it's not significantly different than the dragons we've seen till now, the amount of colors it's printed in immediately make it stand out as a higher quality dragon.

The same store that sold the dragon above also sold this fellow, which may well be my favorite of the many East Asian dragons I found on this little quest. Just look at that wonderfully monstrous face! And he's got a pearl, the little devil!

While the color of the plastic and the engineering of this sea dragon may not seem particularly notable, what has to be taken into account here is the sheer SIZE of this lass. This is one of the biggest dragons of my lot, not only in length but in sheer girth and weight of its joints. The Midgar Serpent needs to move over, this is the REAL leviathan of my 3-D printed dragon collection.

Of course, if you know me, you know I'm a basic bitch who loves the European "four legs and two wings" style of dragon the most of all, so my search for fancy 3-D printed dragons started to focus on finding some that fit this description. I can't actually find the store page for this guy anymore (it's not in my past purchases on etsy for some reason), but it's a pretty solid low budget take on the concept. But we can do better - and we will...

But first, a detour to some wyverns! This little guy is really cute, with a head based on the Peter Jackson Herbit movie's design for Smaug, and a feathery little body that makes it looks like a fantastical archeopteryx.

The same shop makes a more reptile-ish dragon, with leathery wings and scaly skin, which I got in a larger size because, well, you know my preferences. It's like the perfect size to perch on your shoulder, though I'd want something to hold it in place because I'm pretty sure falling off from that height onto a hardwood floor would be the end of it.

There's no shop link for this one or the next because it was a freebie - which is to say I didn't actually order this dragon, but found it in one of my packages as a free gift from the seller. That's the nice thing about shopping on places like etsy and ebay - sometimes the people on the other side of the screen are really solid and decide to give you an extra little treat. This is clearly a Games of Throne-style wyvern specifically, based on the proportions and the shape of the head, and that's pretty cool. The dragons are one of the only things that made it out of that show still looking cool.

The second freebie dragons I got were these little toys of Toothless and Girl Toothless from How to Train Your Dragon. Look at them, they're so cute!

But now... now it's time for the answer to the question:

What

Is the most Deluxe 3-D Printed Dragon

I can get?

The Bronze Medal goes to this marvelous dragon here, which feels like it flew right off of some medieval coat of arms and into my own flesh and blood ones. It's solid, beautifully sculpted, and full of articulation points. However, the method in which it's articulated makes it a bit frustrating to pose, as some of these joints end up bending and twisting in ways you don't want them too. Still an excellent dragon, mind you, but outdone by the next two...

The Silver Medal goes to this marvelous wyvern, which has much tighter joints that are a lot less frustrating to pose. Its wings are a mixture of cloth and plastic, allowing them to flex and bend into a variety of poses (though admittedly the weight of the wings keeps them from holding most of those poses very well). Also, look at that regal face, that sleek sculpt, and those elegant proportions! It's almost a perfect dragon for me. Almost.

My one and only gripe with the previous dragon is that, well, I'm a basic bitch who likes dragons with four legs and two wings the best! And what do you know, they made one of those too! And god, does this dragon look magnificent in person, sporting all of the elegance of the dragon above but with magnificent grasping hands! HANDS! Hands that you'll have to be careful with because the joints are a little loose and like to pop off when you play with them, but still, HANDS!

This is a high enough point to end off on, but there's one more 3-D printed gift I'd like to cover here. My favorite one.

Well, ones I guess. This all started with my students, and well, some of them noted my interest in the 3-D printed dragons they were bringing to school. And a couple of them actually ended up getting 3-D printers of their own (well, their parents' own, ayway) and decided to print off a dragon and a crocodile for me - smaller than all the other dragons here (except the Toothless keycains), but no less dear for it. I guess one of the pros about taking an active interest in the things your students like and letting them gush about it is that they might give you a 3-D printed dragon or crocodile out of the kindness in their little hearts.

[beuxwhoyouare]

Imprisoned

Griffin Anders sat in the cold, sterile cell, his mind still obsessing with the thoughts of the broken system that had brought him here. The hum of the technologically advanced rehabilitation system echoed through the prison, a constant reminder of the tech he had once believed in. Griffin, a once promising prodigy, had dedicated his life to developing a company creating advanced VR systems, only to find himself wrongfully framed and trapped in a program using the very technology he had helped create. His former business partner stole the technology and sold it to for-profit systems, but not before framing Griffin for embezzlement.

Today was different, though. Today, as Griffin was being escorted by guards to the VR chamber where he would undergo another session designed to "reform" his behavior, he felt like maybe this could be a good day. Griffin knew better than to trust the system, but he played along, hoping to find a way to prove his innocence.

The Better Days Protocol was meant for entertainment at first, but Griffin's former partner whored it out and sold it to anyone to help them fulfill their demented dreams. A life-like VR experience created a sandbox for users to create their wildest fantasies. The prison system capitalized on it and used to help reform prisoners to get ready for the real world...assuming they were ever released.

Per his charges, Griffin was in the financial crimes reform group. Since these criminals weren't violent offenders, it was one of the few that civilian volunteers could take part in. Icarus University was known for their Football program but often a few troublemakers made their way on the team and instead of getting arrested for DUI's and other petty crimes, the team bartered a deal to get their athletes volunteering at the jail. It's like scared straight except to many athletes it was just seen as a nuisance.

As the VR headset descended over his eyes, Griffin took a deep breath and prepared for the simulation. The world around him dissolved into a digital landscape, a meticulously crafted environment meant to challenge and change him.

Griffin was doing virtual shopkeeping. He had to be a VR cashier for a certain amount of hours to knock time off his sentence, that's when Icarus U's star running back Emmanuel walked in. Not only was Emmanuel the teams shining star, he was the son of his former partner.

Opportunity fell into the geniuses lap and he was shocked in the moment. He knew he couldn't let this moment pass him. He stopped Emmanuel for small talk, aiming to learn more.

"So what brings you to the shop dude?" Griffin tried to play off as if he wasn't analyzing the spawn of his mortal enemy.

"Uh I don't know what to say. I'm just here to finish my hours dude. Can you just pretend to scan this and I can go." the towering athlete snarked back.

"Well how many hours do you have left? The simulation only lets you do 4 hour increments." the scientist said knowing that would shock Emmanuel.

"Bro what? I have like 26 hours?! I thought I could just do like 3 long days? That's going to take me like weeks."

Clearly numbers weren't Emmanuel's strength, Griffin thought to himself. But now he knew he had some time to work on his plan. He dismissed the young man as he quickly devised the next steps.

The Better Days Protocol was Griffin's baby and he knew it like the back of his palm. He began working on code in his head that he would go in and tweak every time he was inside, in anticipation for the next time Emmanuel walked in.

Days passed before thee day arrived. Emmanuel giddily walked into the virtual shop. He told the shopkeeper that today was finally going to be his last working in the simulation. If he only knew. Griffin sold him the virtual drink he asked to purchase but with a special twist. As he clicked it open and fake guzzled down the drink it hopefully worked as Griffin hoped. The tech wiz knew he was good at programming but was he good enough to stage my escape? We're about to find out.

The prisoner shift was ending before Emmanuel's log out which was the only way this would have worked. Griffin's log out screen popped up and began glitching...this is it....rerouting his exit port Griffin slammed the log out button and held his eyes shut eager but wary to have his new truth confirmed by his eyes.

He began to lift the VR headset from his head. As he looked down, he found himself in an unfamiliar body, surrounded by the bustling energy of a college campus. He looked down at his hands, now darker, strong and athletic. He realized he was no longer in his own body. The former white aging programming engineer gamed the system to exit the Better Days Protocol in a different host body. It was the perfect karma to get back at his former business partner.

Griffin revelled at the many ways he could potentially get back at his partner. Could he frame his now father? Could he just pretend to be Emmanuel and that be satisfaction enough knowing he had robbed him of the son he loved and raised? As he continued thinking about ways to extract revenge he walked out of the room he was in to realize he was in the IU locker room. A mirror awaited his new reflection in front of him. So many thoughts ran through the nerds head but his giddiness fueled him to begin stripping regardless of who was nearby.

Peeling off the t-shirt, Griffin revealed an insanely muscled torso. If he wasn't driving the ship, he would have thought this physique was only achievable through balloons. Everything looked so inflated he had never been so close to so much muscle he kept poking and prodding each of the new muscles gracing his frame. This went from soft when relaxed to hard as stone when he braced.

The virility of his new body felt overwhelming. He just wanted to rub one out or also rub every single muscle as he explored this massive new body. Jesus everything's big he realized as he kept stripping, before realizing he was in a semi-public place still. He gathered his clothes and put them on, deciding against putting his shirt back on as he riffled through his new wallet searching for his home address.

Emmanuel spent his days reading and coding through all nighters for years. This was the complete opposite of his life experience. Someone who spent nearly every waking hour working out in a gym, doing drills, eating pounds and pounds of protein.

Griffin fumbled into the house that opened with his new keys as he began taking off his clothes once again.

A mirror in one bedroom helped him capture just how commanding his new physique really was. Griffin decided he had waited long enough and took off the tiny underwear hiding his new python....He could feel the blood rushing to it and needed to know just how it felt to take hold.

"Je-sus Unhh." he gasped as he quickly grunted and took both hands rocking his hips back and forth. In his previous life this would have been a quick and relatively demure affair, but not in this body. He lost track of time as he just kept pumping and pumping. The endurance he now possessed felt almost...selfish to not share. Instead of finishing, he downloaded an app and began his hunt to find the nearest twink to share his new gifts with...for science of course.

[mahmoudna]

“I Need Your Support to Continue My Studies and Build My Future from Gaza🍉🍉

My name is Mahmoud Naeem Abu Hatab, from Gaza.

I am a university student majoring in Software and Databases at Al-Azhar University. Since the beginning of my academic journey, I have been passionate about User Experience (UX) and User Interface (UI) design, as well as website development. These fields inspire me, and I dream of advancing my skills and building a professional career in them.

Unfortunately, during the recent war, I lost my laptop, which was essential for both my studies and work. I was forced to flee my home and relocate to southern Gaza due to the difficult circumstances. Despite my efforts to replace my laptop, the financial situation has made it impossible to afford a new one.

Without a laptop, continuing my studies or seeking job opportunities in programming and design has become extremely challenging. This directly affects my academic progress and future career.

Today, I am reaching out to ask for your support to help me purchase a new laptop. Having a laptop would allow me to resume my studies and work on programming and design projects that are crucial for improving my skills. It is a vital step towards completing my education and pursuing my dream of becoming a professional in programming and UX/UI design.

I know that the situation in Gaza is difficult, but I believe education is the only path to building a better future for myself and my family. If you are able to contribute any amount to help me get a new laptop, it would be a real opportunity for me to get back on track academically and professionally.

I am determined to keep learning and working despite the challenges, but I need your support to achieve this goal. Every donation or act of help, no matter how small, will make a significant difference in my life.

If you’d like to support me, you can donate through:

GoFundMe

OR

USDT

If you can assist in any way, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me.

Thank you for your support and kindness! 🌿

@gaza-evacuation-funds @appsa @nabulsi27 @palestinegenocide @orblesbian @palebluebutler @pallasisme @fallahifag-deactivated20240722 @vakarians-babe @sayruq @ @plomegranate @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @queerstudiesnatural @tamamita @apollos-boyfriend @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @queerstudiesnatural @palestinegenocide @sar-soor @akajustmerry @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @feluka @marnosc @flower-tea-fairies @flower-tea-fairies @tsaricides @tsaricides @belleandsaintsebastian @ear-motif @brutaliakent @raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish @4ft10tvlandfangirl @90-ghost @paper-mario-wiki @nabulsi @prisonhannibal @beepiesheepie @walcutt @schoolhater98 @commissions4aid-international @sar-soor @zigcarnivorous@tododeku-or-bust@turtletoria @brutaliakhoa @flower-tea-fairies @schoolhater @baby-girl-aaron-dessner @sayruq @omiteo777 @malcriada @neptunerings @bat-luun @kaneverse @nightowlssleep @staretes @friendshapedplant @soon-palestine @aria-ashryver @heritageposts @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness-blog @khangerinedreams @kordeliiius @mazzikah @feluka @dlxxv-vetted-donations @girlinafairytale @a-shade-of-blue @vakarians-babe @babygoatsandfriends @self-hating-zionist @mangocheesecakes @dlxxv-vetted-donations @gazaboovintage @gazavetters @wellwaterhysteria @sar-soor @applebunch @irhabiya @sayruq @xxx-sparkydemon-xxx @junglejim4322 @reptilianspecies @dr-lapdance @tamamita @cantsayidont @fairweathermyth @dear-indies @eruthiawenluin @katealot @lenasai @stalinistqueens @ayeshjourney @gaza-evacuation-funda @el-shab-hussein @irhabiya @nabulsi @ibtisams @dlxxv-vetted-donations @tododeku @a-shade-of-blue @gaza-relief-fund @catnapdreams @northgazaupdates @buttercuparry @stuckinapril

[echantedtoon]

Unforseen Part 1

Your entire town was haunted, that's why barely anyone lived in the district and those whom did rarely left their homes unless it was absolutely necessary. You never believed in spirits until you started encountering them outside your home and one in particular kept following you around. 

(Homicipher au where the Ghost Apartment residents are spirits haunting a town and Y/n isn't a killer. Will include stuff not cannon to the game. Including none cannon guesses to some of the characters backstories.

Warnings for blood, death mentioned, and reader cutting her hand on a rock by accident.)

Have you ever heard of the phrase 'if its too good to be true then it probably isn't'?

That phrase exists because often when something does sound too good to be true it almost always is the case. However sometimes we had to learn that important life lesson the hard way, and you were one of those people who learnt first had you shouldn't take everything at face value while also never taking anything for granted. 

Even now as you attempted to ignore the figure peeping over the other side of your desk, dark hair cascading from a pale grey head without any eyes to be seen. The figure being only barely lit up by the light of your laptop as you attempted to do some online courses and not pay attention to the curious figure that blended into the shadows perfectly. 

Key word being tried because of the fact you couldn't ignore him when a hand curious reached out across the desk and snatched away your mouse quickly vanishing back into the darkness before your hand could stop him. Instead your hand smacked down onto the hardwood with a thud.

"Hey!" F/c orbs glared harshly into the darkness beyond the lit screen. "Give that back!"

"HEHEHEHE!!" A high pitched laughter was your only playful response from the blackness.

A sigh escaped your lips. It wasn't always like this. It had only started when you had moved to this quiet town in the middle of nowhere. You needed a place to stay after rent had gotten too high and your ex roommates decided to bail on you without a warning. So facing homelessness and struggling with money, you did what anyone in your shoes did. Look online for the cheapest place you could find. Your desperate search for any cheap apartments, anyone who was renting a room, ANYTHING! That's when you came across what seemed to be a miracle.

A small house in a town you never heard of just a few miles away from where you currently worked. It was a cheap house. For what you were renting the apartment for two years you could pay and completely own your own house fully. Something like that was like a god send, but you were HIGHLY SUSPICIOUS. This had to be a trick. A scam. There's no way that anyone would sell a house this cheap without it being a scam of some kind. There just HAD to be a catch. But you were very desperate, and you decided to contact the number listed for the real estate agent. What the heck? There was no harm in talking to the guy and checking out the place. At worst it'd just be another dead end. 

The man seemed very professional over the phone and answered all your questions politely just like the realtor that you rented your old apartment from. So really there wasn't any red flags then. You took that as a go ahead to set a date for a walkthrough of the house and see if you really wanted to go through with the purchase however... Something still didn't seem quite right. You looked up the realtor's name and found him to be a legit business man in that profession so it wasn't likely it was a scam but the off feeling didn't go away so you opted to bring along your dad on the day in question to go see the house.

"Gosh. The place sure is in the middle of nowhere isn't it?"

That was your dad's first comment about the area you were in. Following the location given to you leading you to a whole town in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by thick woods and old roads. Perhaps that was the second red flag seeing an entire town so empty. So.. abandoned like this. It doesn't make much sense. Maybe this was a scam trying to sell old houses in the middle of nowhere. You felt better having brought along your father but still something felt off. Eventually you found the house, and the realtor man waiting for you on the porch in front of said house. Everything seemed normal. He greeted you both, shook your hands, and after a few icebreaker sentences asked if you'd like to look at the inside of the house.

From the outside it looked completely normal. Maybe a bit run down and old and the lawn needed some mowing, but nothing that screamed red flags. The guy was as normal, polite, and professional as he had been on the phone as he walked both yourself and your dad throughout the house and spoke about when it was built, how long the last owners had lived there, and the few repairs made to it. Both of you went through the usual testing the lights, and turning on the kitchen sink to check the running water. Everything seemed to be working. By the cheap price you were expecting to find a real fixer upper here. 

"Doesn't anyone else live in this town?," you eventually asked the man curiosity finally getting the better of you.

"Oh yes. Mostly older folks and their carers but there's two of three families too and some caretakers for the houses until they can be sold," he confirmed.

"Then why does it look like the entire town is empty."

It was finally then that the realtor looked worried about something. "Well a lot of people prefer to live closer to the nearest town with active businesses, but I will be honest. Most people pass over here because of the rumors surrounding the area."

"Rumors?"

"Yes. I'm afraid that many people seem to believe that the town and surrounding woods are haunted. I don't believe that of course but superstition can scare away a lot of people."

Ah. So that was the entire reason why the house was dirty cheap. No one in their right mind would want to buy a haunted house in the middle of no where miles from the nearest town with any stores. That'd be pretty inconvenient for a lot of people but desperation and fear of homelessness was a powerful factor in your decision to make the purchase, signing on the papers and moving everything you owned with your parents' help into your new house. And everything seemed to be perfectly fine the first few weeks. 

They mostly consisted of you cleaning out your house and fixing up the lawn to get things in order. Moving your furniture around for for own needs. Fixing up an Internet connection for online classes. Things such as that. It really wasn't very exciting but nothing bothered you.

But something still felt off about the silence.

It wasn't the peaceful nature silence that you would experience on nature hikes or drives through the country, it was more of the creepy silence you'd seen in way too many horror movies when all the animals went silent when the monster was getting closer and closer. Even though you saw nothing wrong with anything. The unusual silence was creepy as was the unusual emptiness of the town but you concluded it was still better than being homeless. For a roof over your head with working water and electricity, you'd put up with the silence for now. Besides you could always move again once you graduated college and saved up enough money to move again.

However you did encounter one of the locals at last. The only working store just outside of town, mostly used as a pitstop by others just driving through but sometimes you'd stop for snacks before making the hours long run to the next town over for groceries. He was an odd older man whom looked the same age as your grandfather. He eyed you from the window before you made your way inside and began digging in your pockets for your credit card to pay for gas. 

"Just gas?" He grunted out.

You nodded pulling out the card. "Yep. Just gas."

"Good. It's not a good idea to stay in this area after dark." He just watched you swipe your card. "Take my advice and don't stop until you reach the next town over."

"Oh. I'm not passing through, I live here," you clarified making him raise a brow, "I just moved in a few weeks ago."

He grunted. "Then they decided to not make themselves known to you yet. Or they haven't noticed that fresh prey came right in."

You looked at him blinking. "Excuse me?"

"The spirits of course!", he clarified with narrowed eyes, leaning forward to make you lean back. "They roam these parts you know."

"Uh .So I heard."

"You don't believe me." He scoffed rolling his eyes. "The non-believers are always the first ones to go first. The fact you hadn't seen them yet means you're either lucky or they're planning on doing something big for you."

"Uh..." You weren't sure what to say to that but leaned back when he leaned over the register beckoning you to come forward.

"Let me give you some advice for how to survive around here. There's certain rules to follow if you want to avoid trouble. Firstly, never go out after dark. That's when they're most active but they can still come out during the day as well so keep your eyes open at all times too. However if you must go out at night then make it brief and always keep at least one light on. They absolutely love the dark."

You took a step back to avoid the way he was almost in your face however that didn't stop him from holding up his hand with two fingers.

"Don't look them directly in the eyes and ignore them all times if you absolutely can. If you initiate contact then they'll take that as an invitation to continue contact." A third finger. "There's a lot of them around here but most of them are harmless and just long lost spirits still roaming around such as that poor Bride of the man who was in the bad fires years ago. However there's quite a few of them that's quite dangerous."

"Danger..ous?"

He slowly nodded. "Yep! The first ones that come to mind is that one that looks crazy and carries around the giant machete. Cross him the wrong way and you might join the spirits but he usually wonders the woods and doesn't come into town too often so I wouldn't worry too much about him. It's Scartella that I'm more worried about."

"Scarletella??" You were very confused as he nodded. "Who's he?"

"He gets his name from the bright red clothes and hair he sports, and the rather unusual red umbrella he always seems to carry around. He only shows up when it rains but by fair he's the most deadly. If he approaches you and ask for your name do not under any circumstances answer him! He'll steal your soul away!"

"Uh...right." This guy was crazy and watched way too many horror movies! Slowly you tucked your card back into your pocket since it was paid. "I'm going to go now-"

"Then there's the fellow who just likes to creep in gaps and crevices and ask for organs. He's completely harmless after all as long as you say no. He'll pout but he'll leave you be. Then there's the fellow who's always helping that disembodied head. He's mostly harmless but has taken some corpses for his morbid research. Just don't try harming the head and he'll be ok with you-"

"I best be going!", you proclaimed loudly before turning on your heel and walking towards the door. "Thanks for the gas but I REALLY better get going." And get away from this crazy guy.

"Don't say that I didn't warn you!", you heard him call after you as the bell chimed above the door.

You didn't look back. Just got into your car and drove all the way home feeling your hair stand on end from the creepy encounter. That was definitely spooky but you chose to ignore it in favor of getting home. Out of curiosity you decided to look up the area on Guggle just to see what would pop up and was surprised to find so many urban legends surrounding the area. There was TONS of them. From the tragic tale of a bride dying on her wedding day long ago to someone being executed by having their head chopped off to even sightings of a strange person in a wheelchair said to have been a patient whom died in a hospital that once stood here. 

However you didn't find any legitimate records anywhere to back up these legends. The only confirmed death registered for this area was a camper who got lost in the woods and was later found deceased from a tree having fallen and crushing him and that was two years ago. There wasn't any urban legends of a deceased camper around to add to the mix. After scrolling through the pages and pages of legends you called it quits convinced they were nothing but what they were.

Just urban legends without any truth to back them up.

That all would change one fateful night. You had driven hours to the nearby town to shop and visit family, so you got home late. Everything was fine. The sun had just set as you stepped out of your car bag of groceries in one hand and house keys in the other as you approached the front door. Nothing but silence was all the streets offered you as you fiddled with the lock and letting the door creak open a bit as you went to go put the key back into your pocket-

"Give finger?"

You snapped up at the sudden voice only to find a face in the gap of the door staring at you-

You screamed bloody murder. You screech echoing out through the streets and the bag falling from your hands. Bread and apples went thudding along the porch as you turned to run back to your car in a panic. The sounds of a car door slamming behind you echoed down the streets as you fumbled with the keys to your car. The rippling sounds of a revving engine and screeching tires was the only things left behind in the darkness. You didn't stop out of fear until you got to the little gas station where you fumbled with shaking hands to call the police.

"Hello? Police! I need help! Someone broke into my house!"

I took hours for a squad car to get to where you were at which point you gave a statement before leading them back to your house. The door was still slightly sharp and your groceries were still scattered about the porch where they were dropped. You stayed right across the street watching with shaking hands as they entered your home and lights turned on as you saw their figures watching through your home. After a while they came back out without anyone in cuffs. 

"There's no signs of anyone being inside the home, and no forcibly entry."

"But there WAS something there! I saw him in the doorway!!"

No matter what you said the police had nothing else and left leaving you standing there in the streets in front of your house. You couldn't get yourself to go inside opting to sleep in your locked car that night before going on the next morning with a tire iron from the trunk in search of the guy you saw checking every closet, under your bed, and even in the kitchen cabinets but found no one. It was both relieving and weirded you out. 

You know you saw someone last night! He was right there! Was it just a hallucination? You had been pretty swamped with work and homework so maybe all the lack of sleep combined with hearing those ghost stories all the time we're starting to get to you. Yeah. That must've been it.

You would've just been satisfied to go on with pretending to have never seen him before if it wasn't the last time you had a paranormal encounter with a spirit. The second encounter you had was with a weird ghost that looked like a bloodied nurse. It was when you were outside really early one morning. You had gotten some flower seeds and wanted to make your house look less creepy by planting some flowers near it, however first you had to clear away some rocks where you wanted to plant them. It'd take a while to make a flower bed so you wanted to get started early. The sun was barely starting to come up when you started moving some of the rocks when you grabbed one and a moment later you were dropping it in pain.

"Ow!" Instinctively balling your hand into a fist and clutching it to your chest, you hissed in pain. Slowly you unclenched your hand to take a look at the cut upon your palm. "You gotta be kidding me. Well that's just great." A sizable cut was across your palm from the jagged edges of a rock and even in the dim light you could tell it was bleeding. "Ow, own, own. That hurts."

"Your hand?" 

You jumped at the feminine sounding voice next to you and when you turned...You froze. 

What you were met with was a woman covered in blood.

Or you assumed it had been a woman by the sound of the voice and the fact she wore a nurse's gown along with a hair net and medical mask. However you only froze meeting the black void like orbs that was in the place of eyes and the fact her entire outfit was covered in copper colored stains.

"Your hand?" She repeated holding up her own hands "injured? Sick?"

You couldn't say anything. Too frozen to speak or do anything as she produced a roll of bandages from no where and a few seconds later your entire hand was wrapped up. 

"Heal! Fix!", she exclaimed loudly satisfied with the care she gave before turning to walk away.

She walked across the lawn slowly disappearing into thin air and vanishing as if she had never existed as the sun slowly rose higher and higher. You stayed standing there frozen until the warmth of the sunlight made you flinch and finally move around.  You couldn't write it off as a freak hallucination from stress and lack of sleep this time. Perhaps if there was no proof of her ever being there you could've done that but there was NO way you could logically explain why your entire hand was wrapped up in old gauze. But BOY you tried! Tried to convince your terrified self that you were imagining things and you had wrapped up your own hand without remembering...

Yeah. That didn't work.

You couldn't step out of your house for a good while too afraid of what else you might witness and your lights were kept on nearly every night but that didn't stop the random hauntings you'd witness. One day you went out during the day a pair of muddy footsteps just walked down the sidewalk appeared on the ground next to you. You jumped back and watched in disbelief as they zoomed down the sidewalk and disappeared around the corner leaving behind muddy footsteps in plain daylight for anyone to see.

Another time you were just in the kitchen and you peered out of the window to look out only to scream and scramble back as a sheep's head popped up from under the windowsill. The child like entity giggled at their mischief before running away completely disappearing. Sometimes you didn't hear them at all but caught a glimpse of something peeking out at you from time to time from a crack in the doorway or an open drawer and one time under your bed. It might've been the same entity you saw the first time these things started and you started the habit of keeping everything closed. Sometimes you saw legitimate ghosts like out of the movies floating about randomly and one ghost stereotypically under a sheet dragging along the ground down the road.

It all was eventually too much and you decided now would be the perfect time to go stay with your parents for a long, long while. Packing just a suitcase, you got in your car and just drove out of town. Stopping only by the old gas station just outside of town to get gas for the long drive and maybe some snacks. The old man from before of course was there and the first thing he did seeing your frazzled frame was to throw his head back and howl in laughter!

"So I see they finally decided to come out to you, Young Lady! Tell me do you believe in the supernatural now?," he asked between laughs.

You only managed a deadpanned tired look. "Leave me alone. I just want some gas."

"Who was it? Mr. Gap?," he asked ignoring your words genuinely interested. "He's always usually the first one to show up and he's the most frequent fellow."

"Mr...What?"

"Mr. Gap," he repeated, "That's what locals around here call him because of the fact he appears whenever there's gaps between things. Almost every spook here has a nickname like it since no one knows their true names. Which ones did you see?" He sat back arms crossed amused eminencly. "I'll probably be able to tell you their names."

You weren't sure how to feel, what to think, or what to say...but you couldn't tell someone that you were seeing ghosts. Your family and everyone else would think you're crazy! Maybe you were but you were sane enough to know that you weren't seeing things and at least this man knew who you were talking about and believed in them..So you told him the few entities you've been seeing.

"That's Mr. Gap alright." He nodded along with your story. "Oh. So you met Ms. Nurse. She's helpful when she wants to be." He laughed again. "Hooded Child is always playing tricks on people." And then the ghosts- "Mr. Cloth is the only ghost I know of that wears a sheet over him."

"What do I do to make them stop?"

"Stop? This whole place was theirs way before you and I came along young lady! If anything you're trespassing on their home. They won't stop living how they've always lived, that's like telling a bird to stop chirping or a flower to not smell nice. They're not going to do it just because you find it inconvenient. I'm sure if you were a ghost you'd certainly be annoyed by people acting that way towards you."

"I wouldn't be haunting people and scaring the living daylights out of them!" You shook your head. "Can I just buy gas please?" 

He shrugged. "Sure. Just don't say that I didn't tell you so."

You bought the gas and filled up your car quickly and got back in. Only when you tried to turn it on...Nothing happened. You kept turning the key but nothing kept happening. Until you defeated got out of your car and slunk back into the station to the old man's surprise.

"Back already?"

"There's something wrong with my engine. C-Can you help me?"

"Sure! I've worked on cars before." He got up and you both went out to take a look under the hood. You watched as he hummed and fiddled around with a few things before looking at you. "How old is this car?"

You shrugged. "I-I don't know. It's preowned." You couldn't afford a new car on your college kid budget.

"Well that might be your problem." He closed the hood with a loud THUD. "The battery's dead."

You stared at him gobsmacked. "WHAT?! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO GET BACK?...Can you drive me?"

He shook his head. "I live in the connecting house and I own no car. Never needed one. The nearest mechanic is in the town over and they wouldn't be here until morning. You can either sleep in your car for the night or your welcome to sleep inside but you'd have to sleep on the floor."

"No thank you." No WAY you were staying with a stranger or sleeping in your car in the middle of nowhere. Looking up you noticed that the sign was only barely in the middle of the sky, that meant it was just almost noon. "If I start back now, I can probably make it back home before dark."

"You sure?"

You nodded. "Positive." You stepped back to walk back down the road where you came from. "I'll be fine. They don't show up a lot during the day anyways."

The older man hummed. "Alright but you be careful on your way back. Sometimes the woods can be more dangerous than the town."

***********

[yanderes-galore]

I gots more, can you do Yuji (and/or Gojo) with a darling from the real world? Or like he’s self aware?

My favorite way to write self-aware show characters is to write an entity that acts just like them. Similar to an Analog Horror I've seen (Forgot the name but if you want it, I can hunt it down) So for this, that's kinda the plot I'm working with if that's okay. So like... a Creepypasta-like thing if that's fine.

So, the plot is similar to something I've done in the past for both: You buy a DVD of JJK... but something isn't quite right as you soon learn. No plot spoilers here for JJK. Purely an AU.

Feedback is appreciated as long as it's constructive! I could probably do this with other characters if I was given ideas. Both ideas start the same but begin to differ later.

Yandere Self-Aware! Yuji Itadori + Satoru Gojo

(Analog AU - An Experimental Name?)

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, "Self-Aware" yandere, Analog AU (?), Stalking, Overprotective behavior, Unrequited feelings, Delusional behavior, Kidnapping, Possessive behavior, Forced relationship.

Yuji Itadori

Yuji Itadori is your favorite character from Jujutsu Kaisen.

There's just something about his resolve and ability to find happiness despite his situation that makes you fond of him.

It's all harmless fun for you, everyone has a favorite character after all.

Although... unlike most... it appears you've been caught in something you weren't expecting.

The DVD you bought off online didn't have the best packaging... but DVDs that aren't official tend to have bootleg packaging.

You just couldn't afford a streaming service and wanted to binge the two seasons of JJK they have out.

It seemed harmless enough, who hasn't pirated or purchased a pirated DVD at some point without knowing.

Even when you watched the DVD, everything seemed the same.

You were completely unaware of something lurking deep within.

This entity, now given the name Yuji Itadori, was awoken and given life when you used the DVD.

It could sense your fondness for the character and took the likeness of him.

Everything from appearance, personality, and mannerisms was copied as the entity took a new life.

Eventually they felt they were the character and felt every bit of fondness you had for them.

That's how "Yuji Itadori" came into being.

It's when this transfer is complete that things start to alter.

It's like the DVD opens an alternate universe, one where the events of JJK are part of their very own world.

Yuji originally believed everything was real.

This was his life... until he felt your presence.

At first he's in denial, not liking the idea of being trapped somewhere.

But then he sees you.

You are someone he can't reach, someone beyond a screen he can only look at.

While you watch the events of JJK play out on your little DVD, Yuji watches you.

It's a bit ironic, until he grows strong enough and more aware, the show character watches you just as invested as you are.

Yuji can't help but fall into a delusional sense of love and care for you.

He can't help but be excited whenever he catches glimpses of you.

His obsession is vague, as he is just now learning about his love for you.

He feels he wants to protect you, yet expresses frustration when he can only watch you from a clear barrier.

You can pick up on his self-aware behavior, things like glances, waves, and times where he says your name when other characters aren't looking.

The change is slow for him, but quick for you.

His feelings and growth continues through the episodes, the time feeling like months or years for him but hours for you.

Half way through the show you notice Yuji's behavior.

You're frightened at first, but maybe a morbid curiosity fills you?

This begins with you two properly communicating.

Certain plot points are paused or lengthened all so Yuji can speak with you.

It's so strange... like you're actually speaking to a human being.

Yuji is always very affectionate when speaking with you.

Often calling you nicknames, asking questions, and providing comfort after long days.

You see him as your little digital companion, while Yuji sees you as a lot more than that.

He's the only one aware of you, the other characters seem more like puppets to Yuji so he can play a story for you.

He likes seeing you happy and does whatever he can to make you smile.

Darker behavior manifests later as Yuji begins to realize he... isn't a big part of your life.

Through the screen he can see you have friends, family, everything.

You're the biggest part of his world, but he's the smallest part of yours.

As this DVD has supernatural capabilities (clearly), perhaps Yuji would pull you into his world once he fears he can lose you.

The next time you get to watch JJK, Yuji greets you.

"Hey! I've been preparing a surprise for you..."

Curious, you go to ask what it is...

Only to pass out.

By the time you wake up, you're not in your world anymore.

You wake up in a dorm, clearly not your room.

As you wake up, you jump back when you see Yuji kneeling beside you.

"Great! It did work!" He chirps happily, eyes closed with a smile on his face.

You go to ask what happened, only for Yuji to hold your hands.

"I brought you to my world! You mean a lot to me... plus, here I can shape this world to anything you want."

Yuji pulls you closer, closer to the point you can see a red glint in his eyes.

"I love you... and I just want to make you happy." Yuji vows, the confession innocent despite the situation.

"We'll make this our own little world."

"I want to go home!" You cry, confusing Yuji.

"Why would you ever want to leave...?"

Yuji asks, pulling you close.

"You'll be so happy here..." Yuji murmurs, eyes giving off a dull red glow.

"You won't ever want to leave... you won't ever leave me again."

From that point on, you live in an artificial world.

You and Yuji are the only ones "real" here.

Now he's the most important thing in your life, just like you are to him.

Satoru Gojo

Satoru Gojo is your favorite character from Jujutsu Kaisen.

There's just something about his playful/cocky attitude and perhaps even his looks that makes you fond of him.

It's all harmless fun for you, everyone has a favorite character after all.

Although... unlike most... it appears you've been caught in something you weren't expecting.

The DVD you bought online didn't have the best packaging... but DVDs that aren't official tend to have bootleg packaging.

You just couldn't afford a streaming service and wanted to binge the two seasons of JJK they have out.

It seemed harmless enough, who hasn't pirated or purchased a pirated DVD at some point without knowing.

Even when you watched the DVD, everything seemed the same.

You were completely unaware of something lurking deep within.

This entity, now given the name Satoru Gojo, was awoken and given life when you used the DVD.

It could sense your fondness for the character and took the likeness of him.

Everything from appearance, personality, and mannerisms was copied as the entity took a new life.

Eventually they felt they were the character and felt every bit of fondness you had for them.

That's how "Satoru Gojo" came into being.

It's when this transfer is complete that things start to alter.

It's like the DVD opens an alternate universe, one where the events of JJK are part of their very own world.

Due to how Gojo is, he'll probably learn that his world isn't real faster than Yuji.

He'll learn that things aren't as they seem, that those around him are merely puppets for him to use.

At first he's a bit hurt... yet now he's curious.

He only gets more intrigued when he learns of your presence.

While you watch him through the screen, he watches you.

You always look so happy when he plays his part on screen, playing his role through the events of his world.

Gojo still plays along, even as he grows increasingly obsessive about you.

He just knows you two are different.

It only annoys him when he's kept from you by a clear barrier, looking at you through your TV or monitor as you watch him.

He's strong... but not strong enough to have you, it seems.

To him, it feels like his obsession has gone on for years.

For you? It feels like hours.

You're just happy to watch one of your favorite shows...

Completely unaware of your favorite character fantasizing about finally meeting you.

That is until Gojo decides enough is enough... and makes his presence known.

"Oi! Can you hear me?"

He makes contact with you by pausing events in the story and waving to the screen.

Maybe similar to the Yuji portion you're overcome with morbid curiosity more than fear.

Which leads to you feeding into Gojo's obsession by speaking with him.

Due to having his world under his control, Gojo's capable of pausing or slowing down events in the story to speak with you.

He alters things to entertain you and often speaks to you.

You end up spending more time speaking to him than watching the show normally.

You learn that Gojo is very playful with you.

He often waves, makes heart shapes with his hands, and winks at you.

He likes to say your name to mess with you and does his best to press himself closer to the screen so you can touch it.

It disturbs you that the screen is often... warm when he touches it.

Gojo's usually always playful with you until he begins to realize the truth.

He loves you, more than anything he loves you.

His little world would feel lonely without you.

His whole purpose is to entertain you, to make a good story for you and keep you company.

He lives for you.

Yet he notices you have others around you...

You have friends, family, perhaps even a lover.

He's only a little part of your life... and it upsets him greatly.

Gojo tries to hide his hurt from you as he watches you chat with others.

He wants nothing more than to have you all to himself in this little world of his...

When he grows stronger... he can.

It's ironic for Gojo to need to be "stronger".

In his world, he's the strongest.

Yet he takes time to grow more in order to have you.

He won't have to worry about your lover or anyone afterwards.

"I have something to show you~!"

His voice is in a purr when you go to speak with him again.

"Here's my gift... you know I just want to make you happy..."

You begin to feel woozy, slumping over.

"You know I just want to make you mine."

By the time you wake up, you're in a room you don't recognize.

Only for Gojo to show up with a grin.

"Yo!" He chirps, ignoring the fear in your eyes. "I did pretty good, right? You're in my world now... but I can change anything I want to make it the best for you."

He's so giddy about having you beside him.

In here, he doesn't have to worry about those close to you.

He has everything under control... and you in his arms.

"What's with the look? Come on, where's my hug?" He pouts, pulling you against him even if you struggle.

"You'll get used to it..." Gojo whispers, a kiss placed on your forehead.

"I exist to please you..." Gojo whispers, kissing your cheek.

"This is our world now... I'll never let you leave me now that I've got you."

[thehighpriestess1]

Almost Mine: Chapter 1

In Diamond Hill, power comes dressed in silk and secrets. And for the chosen few? Survival isn't about grades— It's about who burns, and who learns how to set the fire. A new student, an exiled princes returns, unspoken confessions, old flames coming face to face. All this before the school has even begun. One might wonder what lies ahead for the elites of the Diamond hill.

Pairing: Gojo x y/n, Nanami x y/n

Theme: Drama

Taglist: Open

Ask box | fic masterlist | Other works

The soft hum of the car engine was the only sound Ayaka could focus on as Tokyo’s skyline came into view. The sprawling rice fields and sleepy villages of her hometown had long vanished in the rearview mirror, replaced by glittering skyscrapers, intricate overpasses, and buzzing streets teeming with life. She pressed her forehead gently against the window, eyes wide as the city unfolded around her like a scene from a futuristic novel.

Utahime’s invitation had come like a ripple across the surface of Ayaka’s otherwise quiet life. A cousin she’d only seen twice at distant family gatherings, now offering her a place to stay—and more than that, a new path entirely. “Come to Tokyo. Finish your schooling here,” Utahime had said. But what she hadn’t mentioned was the sheer scale of the life she was stepping into.

Ayaka's phone buzzed with a message—another update from the school registrar—but she barely glanced at it. Her hands tightened around the edge of her seat as the car veered off the city’s main roads and began its ascent toward a quieter, greener realm. The contrast was stark: the neon chaos of Tokyo fading behind, replaced by manicured hedges, stone-lined paths, and trees that looked too perfect to be natural.

“Diamond Hill,” the driver murmured, as if naming a myth.

Ayaka’s breath caught in her throat. She remembered reading about it during her research before the move. The stories seemed ridiculous at first—urban legends, surely. A billionaire once purchased the land here, paying entirely in raw diamonds. The tabloids had nicknamed it "Diamond Hill," and the name stuck, partly because it felt too outrageous not to.

Now, as they looped around the hill, Ayaka could believe every word. Each turn of the road revealed sprawling mansions tucked behind wrought-iron gates, their facades dripping in old money—columns, balconies, water fountains, and drives large enough to host a wedding.

The car finally slowed and turned into a wide driveway paved with slate-gray stones. A discreet gold plaque read: No. 20. 

Ayaka and her mother exchanged a glance before the driver opened their door. As they stepped out, the full scale of the mansion loomed before them—an elegant structure of white stone and pale wood, with tall arched windows and soft ivy trailing down one wing like lace. The scent of jasmine lingered in the air.

The front doors opened with perfect timing.

Utahime stood at the top of the steps in a flowing pastel blouse, her long black hair neatly tied back, and beside her was her mother, graceful and poised, the kind of woman whose presence filled a room even without saying a word.

“Ayaka! Oba-san! Welcome to Diamond Hill,” Utahime called out, descending the stairs with a warm smile.

Ayaka bowed politely, as did her mother. There was a brief exchange of greetings, hugs, and comments about how much Ayaka had grown, followed by Utahime’s mother ushering them inside with a hand placed lightly on Ayaka’s mother’s back.

Utahime turned to Ayaka and gestured with a playful tilt of her head. “Come on. Let me show you around.”

The moment they stepped inside, Ayaka’s senses were flooded. The entrance hall alone was larger than her entire living room back home. Marble floors glistened beneath a massive chandelier, and the walls were lined with art she could only guess was real. A grand staircase swept up in a spiral, and sunlight filtered in through ceiling-high windows, scattering rainbows across the floor.

As they walked, Ayaka tried not to gape, but every corner of the mansion felt like a museum or a dream—or both. Glass-paneled doors opened into rooms with velvet armchairs and hand-carved bookcases, while hallways seemed to stretch forever, each turn revealing something more ornate: an indoor koi pond, a private music room, a library with an actual ladder.

Finally, Utahime stopped in front of a double door and pushed it open.

“This is your room,” she said simply.

Ayaka stepped in and froze.

It was bigger than her entire house back home. A queen-sized bed sat in the center, framed by sheer curtains and soft gold linens. A writing desk faced the windows that looked out over the hill, and a walk-in wardrobe took up one whole wall. There were soft rugs underfoot, paintings on the walls, and a small balcony with potted plants swaying gently in the breeze.

“Is this... really mine?” Ayaka asked softly.

Utahime grinned. “Every bit of it. Welcome to your new life, Ayaka.”

Ayaka walked toward the window, fingers brushing the velvet curtain. The city shimmered far below like a sea of stars. She felt as though she’d stepped into a different universe—one of privilege, mystery, and unknown rules.

Ayaka sat gingerly on the edge of the plush bed, her fingers trailing along the soft gold stitching of the comforter. She still couldn’t believe this was her room—her life now. The quiet hum of city sounds far below was oddly calming, unlike the thick silence of the countryside. Utahime plopped down beside her with practiced ease, folding one leg beneath her and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” Utahime said, smiling gently.

Ayaka gave a small nod, still looking around the room like she was trying to memorize it. “I don’t even know how to act in a house like this,” she said with a half-laugh. “Back home, if I dropped something on the floor, it rolled into the next room.”

Utahime laughed, a warm, melodic sound. “Well, here it might roll into a chandelier.”

They sat in a comfortable pause, letting the last traces of the long journey settle. Then Utahime’s smile faded slightly, replaced by something softer.

“I’m really glad you’re here, Ayaka,” she said. “After… everything, I mean.”

Ayaka glanced down at her hands. “Yeah. Me too.”

Her father’s absence had followed her like a shadow ever since the funeral. Even now, six months later, there were moments when the grief hit like a wave she didn’t see coming. Her mother had done her best, but things had been tight—emotionally, financially, everything. When Utahime’s family offered to bring her to Tokyo, it was the only option that made sense, even if it felt like stepping into someone else’s life.

“Thank you… for this. I don’t think I ever really said it properly,” Ayaka said quietly. “Your family didn’t have to help. But you did.”

Utahime shook her head. “You’re family. That’s all that matters.”

She stood up suddenly and reached for her phone. “Okay, now—let me show you where we’re going to be spending most of our time. Elysian Hall.”

She tapped through her gallery and handed the phone to Ayaka.

Ayaka blinked. “It looks like a luxury resort.”

The photos showed sleek modern buildings with reflective glass panels, an Olympic-sized pool, gardens with cherry blossoms in full bloom, a multi-level library with glass floors, and a theatre hall that rivaled any professional stage she’d seen on TV.

“It’s one of the top private academies in the country,” Utahime said with a hint of pride. “Most of the students are… well, kids of the one-percenters. Politicians, tech billionaires, foreign diplomats. The uniforms have designers. The cafeteria has a sushi chef. And don’t even get me started on the robotics lab.”

Ayaka’s eyes widened. “Do we… do we need to like, pay the chef to make lunch?”

Utahime burst into laughter. “No, no! But don’t be surprised if your lunch comes with a side of caviar.”

“Great,” Ayaka grinned. “Sound like a lot”.

“You’ll be fine. Besides,” Utahime added, nudging her lightly, “you’re one of us now.”

“How far is… our school?” she asked, still getting used to the way our sounded.

“Just on the other side of the hill,” Utahime replied, standing and walking toward the balcony. “It’s a ten-minute drive. Fifteen if there’s traffic—though traffic doesn’t really exist on Diamond Hill. Everyone’s too rich to be late.”

“Does it ever get… too perfect?” Ayaka asked after a beat.

Utahime tilted her head. “Sometimes. There’s a lot of pressure here. Image. Reputation. Some of the kids— they’re brilliant but always performing.”

She turned to Ayaka. “That’s why I’m glad you’re here. You’re real. This place needs more of that.”

Ayaka smiled. She felt a little less like an outsider then. The mansion, the school, the unfamiliar glitter of wealth—it still felt like a dream. But here, sitting beside Utahime with the cool breeze brushing her face and the city l far below, it also felt like maybe… just maybe, she could belong.

The setting sun filtered through sheer curtains, casting golden shadows across Ayaka’s new room. Half-unpacked suitcases lay open on the floor, her hands neatly folding her favorite sweater when there was a soft knock on the door.

As she tucked away her sweaters in a wardrobe that felt too nice for her clothes she went over Utahime’s words. A deep feeling pooled in her stomach but she didn’t know what to call it yet. Sure it was quite generous of her family to take her in after everything, but she wondered why now? Her family had struggled in the past. She remembered hearing her parents talk in hushed tones when her father lost his lucrative job at the law firm. Utahime’s family didn’t help them then. Why now? 

Ayaka sighed as she sat cross legged on the floor. She wasn’t exactly poor. She had seen money before and had lost everything. All this felt like a slap of a reminder of things she had lost. Her pity party was broken by a soft knock on the door,

“Come in,” Ayaka called.

Utahime strolled in, holding two glasses of iced tea, her ponytail bouncing slightly with every step. “Figured you could use a break,” she said, handing one to Ayaka. She flopped onto the velvet armchair near the window. “So, how’s the unpacking going?”

Ayaka laughed. “Slower than expected. I think your closet is bigger than my entire old bedroom.”

Utahime smirked. “It probably is.”

There was a pause as they sipped their tea, then Utahime tilted her head curiously. “So… what was your old school like? You know, before all this?”

Ayaka sat cross-legged on the bed. “Pretty normal, I guess. Public school. Uniforms that never fit right, a courtyard that turned into a swamp during monsoon season. Nothing remotely like Elysian Hall.”

“Ever have a boyfriend?” Utahime asked casually, but there was a glint in her eye that didn’t quite match her tone.

Ayaka raised an eyebrow and smiled. “No, not really. I mean, I had a crush on a guy in third year who played guitar, but he barely knew my name.”

Utahime laughed softly. “Classic.”

Ayaka shot her a curious glance. “And what about you? What’s your school life been like? Are the students… nice?”

“Nice?” Utahime echoed, grinning. “Some are. Most are… complicated.”

She pulled out her phone. “Here, let me show you some of the people you’ll be seeing every day.”

She scrolled for a moment, then turned the screen to Ayaka. “This is Hana, and that’s Rika. We’ve been in the same class since year seven.”

Ayaka took the phone. Both girls were stunning, their feeds curated with magazine-worthy selfies, designer handbags, vacation shots, and gym mirror pics. The kind of girls who looked like they belonged on billboards.

“Wow,” Ayaka muttered. “They look like influencers.”

“They kind of are,” Utahime said. “But don’t worry, not everyone is all filters and Fendi.”

Ayaka handed the phone back. “Are there cliques? Like… mean girl groups?”

Utahime gave a dry laugh. “Oh, absolutely. Elysian Hall thrives on cliques. They don’t officially exist, but everyone knows where the lines are.”

She scrolled again. “Speaking of lines… here.”

She flipped the screen around, showing a boy with messy white hair, striking blue eyes, and a smile that looked like it had broken more than a few hearts.

Ayaka blinked. “Who is that?”

“Gojo Satoru,” Utahime said with a soft sight. “He’s… well, he’s like the king of Elysian Hall.”

Ayaka stared at the screen. Gojo was posing in front of a private jet, grinning with sunglasses pushed up into his hair. In another post, he leaned back casually on the deck of a yacht, looking like he belonged on the cover of a luxury lifestyle magazine.

“His great-great-grandfather bought Diamond Hill,” Utahime added. “With diamonds. Literally.”

Ayaka’s mouth hung open. “So that’s real.”

“Oh, it’s very real.” Utahime nodded with a smile. She continued, “His best friend is Geto Suguru. His entire family are lawyers—they own Takashima & Partners. Biggest law firm in the country.”

Ayaka nodded slowly, her father’s law firm ,taking it all in. “They sound… intense.”

“They are. But also charming, rich, and terrifyingly well-connected.”

Ayaka stared at the screen, wondering how she’d ever fit into a place like this. “How is he …so …”, Ayaka trailed off as she scrolled further.

“Rich?”utahime asked, sipping her ice tea. “Well his family owns almost..everything. Retail stores, real estate, banks..you name it and they probably own it”.

“So Gojo is the king,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “Who’s the queen, then?”, She asked jokingly

Utahime’s smile faltered. Her grip on the phone tightened before she finally tapped a name and handed it to Ayaka again, her voice sharp. “There is no ‘official’ queen but this…. this is Y/N.”

The screen loaded a profile with thousands of followers. Y/N’s posts were polished and glossy—designer fashion, weekend getaways, luxury galas, rooftop dinners. Ayaka scrolled slowly, her eyes wide. “She’s gorgeous,” she murmured. “And her life…”

“She’s untouchable,” Utahime said flatly. “Her family owns more than half of the telecom network in the country. Towers, satellites, everything.”

Ayaka flipped through more posts—photos on yachts, candlelit dinners, and a snapshot from Monaco. Gojo and Geto were beside Y/N, both in linen shirts and sunglasses, drinks in hand. “She seems…nice”.

“It’s all pretend”.

“Really?”, Ayaka's eyes widened.

“Of course! No one is that nice when they are that rich! She probably doesn’t even know anyone outside her own group. She is… she is just.. Not nice okay?”.

“Wow. You really seem to dislike her”.

“We have had our differences in the past but it’s irrelevant to you”. Utahime flashes a tight lip smile.

“Who’s the other girl in this photo?” Ayaka asked, pointing at a girl with warm eyes and long brown hair, leaning back against the railing.

“Shoko Ieiri,” Utahime replied. “Her family owns Sakura Health Group—they run the biggest hospital chain in the country.”

Ayaka’s jaw dropped. “Sakura General? That’s where I was born!”

Utahime nodded. “Of course you were. That’s where everyone’s born—if they can afford it.”

Ayaka put the phone down slowly, her thoughts spinning. These people weren’t just rich—they were legacy-rich. Their names meant something. Their last names opened doors.

She leaned back on the bed, exhaling softly. “This is going to be… a whole different world.”

Utahime looked at her thoughtfully. “Yeah. But you don’t have to change who you are. Just… learn to play the game.”

Ayaka met her cousin’s eyes. “And who taught you how to play it?”

Utahime smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I might not be as old money but I am smart and I pay attention. You have a month until school starts so start prepping”. Utahime winked.

She continued to scroll through Y/N’s Instagram feed, each photo more extravagant than the last—high-fashion photoshoots in Paris, summer yacht parties in the Amalfi Coast, a New Year’s Eve gala in what looked like an actual castle. The captions were minimal, the comments flooded with emojis and hearts. It was the kind of life Ayaka had only ever seen on glossy magazine covers.

“She looks like she belongs on the front of Vogue,” Ayaka murmured, entranced. “And she travels so much…”

Utahime, standing beside her, folded her arms and watched quietly. “Her family has their own jet. She probably wakes up and decides whether she wants to do brunch in Tokyo or Milan.”

As Ayaka continued scrolling, she landed on a photo from a year ago—Y/N in a backless emerald dress, laughing mid-spin on a balcony overlooking Monaco’s coastline. Gojo and Geto were in the background, caught in a candid moment, drinks in hand.

The image was perfect. Ayaka’s finger hovered just a second too long.

Double tap.

A soft heart bloomed beneath the photo.

A beat of silence.

Then—Ayaka screamed.

“OH NO NO NO—”

Utahime lunged forward. “WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

“I liked it—I liked a photo from A YEAR AGO!!”

“GIVE ME THAT!” Utahime snatched the phone and furiously tapped at the screen. “Oh my god. Did she see? Did it register? Please—ugh—unliked it—there. Okay. Crisis… maybe avoided.”

Ayaka covered her face with both hands, mortified. “I was just scrolling! I didn’t mean to!”

Utahime exhaled sharply, pacing the floor once before sitting down with a thud in the armchair. “You cannot afford to make mistakes like that here, Ayaka.”

Ayaka peeked through her fingers. “It was just a like—”

“Not in this world, it’s not,” Utahime cut in, voice calmer now, but edged with seriousness. “These people notice everything. A wrong glance, a bad repost, a stray comment—hell, even the way you tie your hair can get dissected in someone’s group chat.”

Ayaka sat up straighter, the weight of her cousin’s words slowly settling in.

Utahime continued, “You’ve got one shot here, Ayaka. One. People like us? We don’t come from family empires or private islands. But if you play your cards right… if you pay attention… you can rise. You can make a life that’s untouchable.”

The air grew still.

Utahime stood, smoothing out her skirt and avoiding Ayaka’s eyes. “I’m not trying to scare you,” she added, her tone softer. “But this place—Elysian Hall, Diamond Hill—it’s not just school or home. It’s… the first rung of a very, very tall ladder.”

Ayaka didn’t say anything.

Utahime gave a faint smile. “Dinner’s at seven. I’ll send someone to show you around the house before that.”

She turned and walked toward the door, pausing just briefly before exiting. “Oh, and Ayaka?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re smart. Just… be smart quietly. At least for now.”

Then she was gone.

Ayaka was left sitting in silence, still holding the phone like it might burn her. She glanced down at the screen again. The photo was still there—Y/N, radiant in emerald, surrounded by the untouchable.

Ayaka leaned back slowly, her thoughts churning.

Was this how it started?

Notebooks replaced by designer bags. Popularity measured by engagement rates. Success was based on who you knew rather than what you could do.

She had come here with a suitcase and hope. They had come with surnames that carried weight like currency.

Ayaka stared up at the ceiling, her heart beating a little faster than before.

What does it take to belong here? she wondered.

And more importantly—

What would it cost?

She stared at herself in the full length mirror in the corner, her straight black hair formed a perfect line right below her shoulder, there was nothing impressive about them. Even her slender frame was average. Everything about her was just…average. How can she ever get noticed in the world of perfection?

Nanami groaned as he dropped heavily onto the bed, the mattress giving way beneath him with a soft creak. He stared blankly at the ceiling — the same ceiling he’d memorized on countless sleepless nights, tracing the faint cracks like constellations. And now, here he was again. Back in this house. Back in this room. Back against his will.

A gentle knock tapped at the door.

“Master Kento,” came a soft, familiar voice from just beyond the frame.

“Come in, Albert,” Nanami replied, sitting up with a tired grunt. He rubbed his face, trying to wipe away the weight of the flight and the years in one motion.

The door opened quietly, and Albert stepped in, as proper as ever, carrying a silver tray with a single glass of orange juice resting at its center. The butler’s expression was warm, almost apologetic.

“Welcome back, young master.” Albert approached the bedside table and set the tray down with practiced grace. “How is your jet lag?”

“Not too bad,” Nanami said, more out of politeness than truth. He reached for the glass and drained it in one long gulp. The cold citrus bit at his throat, but it helped. A little. “Where’s Father?”

“He mentioned he would join you for dinner this evening.”

Nanami’s jaw clenched. “Mother?”

“She’s at the charity event” Albert said gently, folding his hands in front of him. “She plans to return after lunch.”

A bitter laugh escaped Nanami’s lips before he could stop it. Of course. He had returned after seven years — seven years without so much as a proper visit — and they couldn’t even be bothered to be home.

“I’d like to sleep,” he said flatly, placing the empty glass back on the tray. “Wake me before dinner.”

Albert gave a small, respectful bow. “As you wish, Master Kento.” Then he quietly turned and left, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Nanami let out a long breath and stretched his arms over his head, feeling the stiffness in his shoulders. He glanced around the room — untouched, preserved like a museum exhibit. The same books on the shelves. The same posters on the wall. The same trophies. A snapshot of a boy who’d never been allowed to grow roots.

He remembered the last time he stood in this room. His father had barged in without warning, handed him a sleek envelope containing a one-way business-class ticket to Switzerland, and left without a word of explanation. That night, he lay awake, staring at the same ceiling, wondering what he’d done wrong.

Seven years. Seven Christmases spent in a boarding school nestled in the Swiss Alps. Every year he asked if he could come home, and every year, his father denied him. They traveled, sure — the Maldives, Monaco, Marrakech — but those weren’t home. Resorts were not home. He wanted this room. This house. His family.

By the third  Christmas, he stopped asking.

And just when life in Switzerland had finally begun to feel stable — friends, routines, a version of belonging — the email came. Another one-way ticket, this time to Tokyo. No discussion. No warning. Just a command.

He remembered sitting in his dorm room, staring at the screen as reality sank in. His chest felt hollow. Once again, he had no choice.

Now he was here. Transferred to Elysian Hall, a place filled with polished students who had grown up together, who shared secrets and summer memories he couldn’t access. He was a stranger again. A transplant with no soil.

Nanami lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, exhaustion pressing down like gravity. But sleep wouldn’t come easy. It never did,not in this house.

The air was thick with humidity as Nanami laced up his sneakers and stepped outside. The morning sun was veiled behind drifting clouds, casting soft, dappled shadows over the stone path that curved away from House No. 15, Diamond Hill — his family’s estate. The mansion stood tall and immaculate, untouched by time, but it felt as foreign to him as a stranger’s house.

He didn’t really have a plan — just the restless weight in his chest and the urgent need to move. To breathe something that wasn’t filtered air and expectation.

He jogged through the private gates and onto the wide, tree-lined boulevard. The trail that looped around Diamond Hill was surrounded by manicured greenery and old oaks that whispered in the breeze. It was beautiful — pristine, even — but sterile in the way all expensive things tend to be.

As his feet fell into rhythm on the pavement, his thoughts slipped back into the same old spiral.

Starting over. Again.Another school. Another cafeteria full of polished students with shared inside jokes. Another stretch of hallways where he’d be just a name on a class roster. They'd know of him, sure — the only heir to the Reiji industry. But they wouldn’t know him.

He didn’t remember much but he remembered you.

You weren’t best friends but you were close. You'd share space — not just physical space in classrooms or school corridors, but emotional space. The quiet, comfortable kind. You had once lent him a book when no one else noticed he hadn’t brought one. You never asked questions, and he never explained. But it stayed with him. He wondered if you’d remember him. After everything.

Now, jogging through this polished world that had never felt like his, Nanami wondered how you were. If you still went to Elysian Hall. If you even remembered him at all.

He had cut everyone off on purpose before he left. Deleted every contact. It felt easier — cleaner. Like erasing a version of himself that didn’t belong anywhere. But now… maybe that had been a mistake.

Just then, the sharp purr of an engine snapped him from his thoughts. A Bugatti Chiron Super Sport coasted past him with effortless arrogance — sleek, matte graphite, and gleaming in the sun. It turned down a side road toward another mansion, another fortress of glass and marble.

Nanami slowed to a walk and scoffed under his breath.

This was his new world. Where the cars cost more than people made in a year. Where the houses had names, not addresses. And yet, even though he had been born here — in House No. 15, no less — he had never really fit.

He wiped his brow with the sleeve of his hoodie, taking in a long, steadying breath as the clouds above began to shift, parting just enough to let the light break through.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone. The screen lit up, cold and empty.

Maybe… maybe it was time to look into people he would be studying with.

Geto Suguru stepped out of his Bugatti Chiron Super Sport, the low hum of the engine fading as he tossed the keys to the valet with the easy confidence of someone who’d been chauffeured in Bentleys before he could walk. The Gojo mansion loomed before him in all its brutalist-meets-neoclassical glory—white stone, steel accents, and glass panels catching the soft blush of the setting sun.

He adjusted the sleeves of his Berluti double-breasted jacket, the fine wool framing his lean silhouette. Beneath it, a charcoal cashmere turtleneck and slim-cut black trousers finished the look. His black leather Chelsea boots clicked neatly against the stone steps. Everything about him—his walk, his clothes, even the way he tilted his head at the butler—spoke of old money, new edge.

The staff greeted him by name. Of course they did. He'd been a permanent fixture here since he was three. He and Satoru Gojo had been raised in the same circles—ski parties in Switzerland, summer in South of France, polite smirks passed across crowded charity galas.

“Satoru!” he called out, walking into the expansive sitting room like it was his own. He dropped onto the cloud-like linen sofa, one leg draped lazily over the other as he scrolled through his phone.

“You’re late,” Gojo announced, hurrying down the grand staircase two steps at a time, a trace of exasperation in his voice. “Y/N’s going to kill me if I show up late again.”

Gojo was dressed immaculately in a blue Ralph Lauren sweater with sleeves rolled to his elbows and navy pants . His platinum-white hair was neatly styled.

Geto smirked. “Why are you so terrified of her?”

“She’s scary,” Gojo muttered, pausing to glance at his reflection in the hallway mirror, subtly fixing a flyaway strand of hair. “Scarier than my mother.”

“Who’s scarier than me?” came a cool, poised voice.

Mrs. Gojo entered with the grace of a woman who sat on six philanthropic boards and had turned down an ambassadorship for being “too public.” Her cream Prada suit hugged her tall frame, the sharp pleats offset by the softness of her classic Mikimoto pearls. Her heels—Manolo Blahniks, clicked elegantly across the polished marble.

Geto gave her a respectful nod, barely hiding his amusement. “Satoru says Y/N’s more intimidating than you.”

She narrowed her eyes and walked up to her son, giving his ear a small but pointed tug. “You should be afraid of her. A lady’s time is valuable. Don’t keep her waiting.”

“Ow—okay, okay, Mom!” Gojo pulled away with a sheepish grin.

She smoothed the lapel of his blazer. “And don’t forget the Orientation Gala is in three days. I expect both of you to have your suits pressed and ready. I’m not calling another designer at the last minute because you suddenly ‘don’t vibe’ with charcoal grey again.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Geto replied with a practiced bow, linking arms with Gojo as he steered him toward the exit. “We’ll behave. Promise.”

“Bye boys!” Mrs. Gojo called after them, watching with a small smile as the pair vanished through the front door, already bickering like brothers. “They grow up so quickly,” she sighed, “and not nearly enough.”

Outside, Geto veered toward his Bugatti but stopped when he noticed Gojo striding confidently toward a gleaming new Ferrari 296 GTB, painted in a rich Rosso Corsa red, the finish gleaming under the twilight.

“What now?” Geto asked.

“I want to take the new car,” Gojo said simply, running a hand over the smooth curve of the hood.

“I’m not coming back here to get mine,” Geto groaned, arms crossed.

“I’ll send a driver,” Gojo said smugly, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Y/N said my mom would never let me get this car. I have to prove her wrong.”

Geto raised a brow as he circled to the passenger side. “And did she?”

Gojo buckled his seatbelt, then paused. “…No. My dad did.”

“So she was right.”

Gojo gave him a side glance. “You own a law firm, Suguru. You're not a lawyer. Stop cross-examining me.”

The engine roared to life, and the Ferrari peeled out of the estate gates—opulent, fast-paced, and just chaotic enough to be fun.

The Ferrari purred smoothly as it glided through the private road out of the Gojo estate, the city skyline beginning to flicker to life in the distance.

Geto leaned back in the passenger seat, long legs stretched out, scrolling lazily through his phone. After a beat, he said, “Pretty sure I saw Nanami Kento on the way here.”

Gojo’s eyes stayed on the road, but his brows furrowed behind his sunglasses. “Who the hell is Nanami Kento?”

Geto smirked. “You don’t remember? Formal dance.”

Gojo tilted his head slightly, trying to place the name. “Still nothing.”

“He asked y/n to the dance and she agreed then you got mad,” Geto continued, clearly enjoying the buildup. “Stormed out of third period maths and punched him square in the face. Gave him a black eye. His dad was called. He moved away soon after that”

There was a pause. Then Gojo’s lips twitched.

“Ohh—that fat kid?” he said with a low chuckle. “Little buzz cut, khaki pants pulled up to his chest? Always smelled like chalk?”

Geto gave him a sidelong glance, grinning. “Yeah. Except he doesn’t look fat anymore.”

Gojo’s head whipped slightly in his direction, sunglasses sliding just a hair down the bridge of his nose.

“Come again?”

Geto kept his face neutral, but his tone was loaded. “I’m telling you. Dude looked… decent. Clean cut. Still serious as hell, probably still does math in his head for fun—but not the same kid.”

Gojo scoffed. “Well, good for him. I guess puberty finally RSVP’d.”

“Mm,” Geto hummed, fingers tapping idly against the center console. “Or maybe he heard you were still around and started working out of sheer trauma.”

Gojo snorted, turning a corner with one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting the volume of whatever soft jazz remix was playing through the speakers.

“Well, as long as he knows better than to ask Y/N out again,” he muttered.

Geto raised a brow, amused. “Still holding a grudge?”

“I don’t hold grudges,” Gojo said casually. “I bury them in expensive silk and make sure they never resurface.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“It is,” Gojo replied with a grin. “But only if Nanami still has the audacity to think he can talk to her.”

Geto laughed, shaking his head. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“Rich, hot, and insufferable,” Gojo corrected,. “And not remotely sorry about it.”

Nanami Kento kept a steady pace, earbuds in, sweat darkening the collar of his faded athletic tee. His usual route circled around the quieter back streets of Diamond Hill, far from the weekend brunch chaos.

He was mid-stride near the gated entrance of the Diamond Hill Club when the low purr of a luxury car eased to a stop beside him. Nanami slowed, brows knitting slightly as he tugged out an earbud.

The tinted window on the passenger side rolled down smoothly.

“Nanami Kento?” a familiar voice called.

He turned to face it, expression calm but puzzled. A woman sat behind the wheel, chic sunglasses perched atop her head, her expression open and bright.

“Yes,” he said, voice low but polite. “That’s me.”

The woman beamed. “Oh wow! You’re back!”

Nanami offered a small, polite smile—one he often used when someone remembered him but he didn’t quite return the favor.

She seemed to catch the hesitation in his eyes and gestured behind her. “This is my cousin, Ayaka.”

She leaned back slightly, and from the passenger side in the back seat, a girl with glossy black hair and soft features leaned forward and waved with a small smile. “Hi,” she said.

Nanami nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

“We’re heading to the club for coffee,” Utahime said breezily. “Want to join us?”

Nanami glanced down at himself—grey joggers, running shoes, and a moisture-wicking tee that clung to his chest. “I’m not remotely dressed for the club.”

Utahime laughed. “You live on Diamond Hill. It doesn’t matter how you're dressed. You could walk in wearing a towel and no one would blink.”

Nanami hesitated, about to politely decline, until a thought crossed his mind. It was Saturday… and if memory served, you tended to spend late mornings at the Diamond Hill Club café, reading or sketching or sipping those outrageously overpriced lattes.

He opened the door and got in. “Alright. Why not.”

Utahime smiled, pulling away smoothly from the curb.

“Ayaka just moved here last week,” she said as the car climbed the hill toward the club. “She’ll be joining us at Elysian Hall.”

“That’s nice,” Nanami replied, glancing into the rearview mirror to offer Ayaka a quick smile. “Welcome to the chaos.”

Ayaka laughed softly. “Thank you. Everyone keeps saying that.”

Utahime looked over. “So are you back for good? Or just visiting your parents?”

“I’m back,” Nanami said, settling into the leather seat. “Returning to Elysian Hall.”

Utahime looked pleasantly surprised. “Oh…Wow. After all these years?”

Nanami nodded. “It felt… unfinished.”

She didn’t press, just hummed thoughtfully as the car wound up the hill. Ayaka glanced between them, sensing there was more to that sentence than Nanami was willing to say out loud.

The terrace of the Diamond Hill Club was washed in soft morning light overlooking the entrance on one side and the sprawling lawn on the other, the air tinged with the scent of citrus trees and freshly baked croissants. A few tables away, someone’s golden retriever lounged under a shaded bench, its owner reading The Financial Times.

Nanami sat across from Utahime and Ayaka at a small marble table tucked into a corner of the terrace. He cradled a plain black coffee between his palms—no sugar, no milk, just strong and clean. In contrast, Utahime and Ayaka each sipped vibrant matcha lattes, the kind topped with delicate foam art and garnished with dried rose petals.

Utahime had removed her sunglasses now, her eyes animated as she talked about changes at Elysian Hall—the new faculty, the expanded music wing, the sudden disappearance of uniforms on Fridays. Ayaka mostly listened, chiming in here and there, curious but clearly still adjusting to the social choreography of the place.

Nanami nodded occasionally, his responses thoughtful but brief. He wasn’t one for small talk, but he didn’t mind listening. Somewhere between Ayaka's story about her awkward first day at the hill and Utahime laughing about how the old library still smelled like varnished guilt, something clicked.

He looked at Utahime again. The cadence of her voice. That dry, slightly sarcastic edge. The way she gestured with her fingers, like she was sketching mid-air. He remembered her.

A quiet girl. Friendly, but overlooked. Not loud enough to be popular. Smart enough to be underestimated. He recalled her sitting near the window in history class, always with a pencil behind her ear and doodles in the margins of her notebook.

She had once offered him a pen when his’ broke during a test. He never forgot things like that. Nanami didn’t mention any of it. He just gave a small nod to himself and sipped his coffee.

Just then, from the corner of his eye, he saw movement near the entrance. A Ferrari glided to a smooth halt, and seconds later, Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru stepped onto the patio like they owned the damn place.

A fleet of staff—host, manager, two waiters—appeared almost instantly. One took the keys, another whisked away imaginary dust from the table reserved under the shaded pergola. Their drink orders were probably already in. Someone brought a cold towel. The whole thing looked choreographed. Nanami scoffed quietly and took another sip of his coffee.

Utahime followed his gaze. “Ah,” she said, her tone neutral but knowing. “The elites of Elysian Hall.”

Ayaka looked curious. Finally the man whose instagram she stalked religiously over the past week was in front of her in flesh and blood. He was even more handsome in real life and photos didn’t do any justice to his sharp features and towering frame. “Should we go say hi?”.

Utahime shot her a sharp look, “No. We can’t”.

“Why not?”. Ayaka asked. “We are going to be in the same class”. An innocent comment made by the lack of knowledge about social ladder.

“We can’t”. Utahime didn’t expand further. She didn’t have the heart to tell Ayaka yet that she wasn’t in the elite circle. For Ayaka Utahime was a princess with a perfect life  of popularity and opulence and Utahime didn’t want to pop that bubble just yet.

Nanami didn’t say anything. He watched Gojo remove his sunglasses with an unnecessary flourish, while Geto—dressed like he’d walked out of a Milan runway show—grinned at something he whispered to a passing waitress.

Nanami leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable.

“Pretentious,” he muttered, barely loud enough to register.

Utahime raised an eyebrow, amused. “You knew them, right?”

“Knew of them,” Nanami replied coolly. “You don’t exactly know people like that. You just... observe them from a safe distance and make sure they don’t get in your way.”

Utahime smirked into her cup. “Spoken like someone who’s seen them get in a few.”

Nanami didn’t answer. He just looked out over the club’s sun-drenched lawn—and wondered, not for the first time since returning, what the hell he’d walked back into.

“They’re late,” Gojo smirked as he removed his sunglasses and placed them on the table with a soft clink. He glanced out over the trimmed lawn, then leaned back in his chair, arms stretching above his head like a cat in the sun.

“Yeah, well,” Geto replied, sipping his water, “they can be late. We can’t.”

Gojo let out a low chuckle. “See? You’re also scared.”

“I am not scared of anyone!” Geto shot back, placing his glass down a little too hard.

“Then what’s the rush?” Gojo grinned, arms now folded across his chest. “You sound like you’re reporting to your parole officer.”

Geto rolled his eyes. “I just don’t want to deal with the hassle.”

“Hassle of what?” Gojo tilted his head, smug.

“You know...” Geto waved a hand vaguely. “Having to explain why we were late. Again. Especially to Y/N. She has that look.”

Gojo snorted. “The one where she doesn’t yell, but you still feel like you’ve disappointed all of humanity?”

“Exactly.” Geto pointed a finger at Gojo, eyes narrowed, then paused like he was weighing a secret on his tongue. “I—uh—I have something to tell you. But you cannot tell Y/n. I’m serious. Sho will actually murder me.”

Gojo’s brows furrowed, suspicious but intrigued. “What is it?”

Geto glanced around, even though they were alone in the common room. He leaned in. “Y/n had a little… situation while she was on vacation. A fling. With some guy. Son of a hotelier or something.”

Gojo sat up straighter. “The fuck? When did this happen?”

“A couple weeks ago. Italy. Or was it Nice? I don’t know, somewhere coastal”

Gojo already had his phone out. “Name.”

Geto exhaled. “Louis Marchand.”

Gojo typed fast, and within seconds, he was on Louis’s profile. “This him?” he asked, turning the screen to Geto.

Geto glanced. “Yeah, that’s the guy.”

Gojo stared. There was Louis, all tanned skin and champagne smiles, shirt unbuttoned too far, lounging on decks that cost more than most people's annual salaries.

“This guy?” Gojo scoffed. “You’re kidding me. He looks like a cologne ad no one asked for. Why’s his shirt open in every photo like he’s allergic to buttons?”

Geto shrugged, already amused. “French, rich, probably overcompensating.”

“He’s not even hot,” Gojo muttered. “He’s like… budget Timothée Chalamet with daddy’s credit card.”

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Satoru.”. Ghetto smirked

“I’m not jealous,” Gojo snapped, still scrolling. “I’m insulted.”

Then he froze. One of Louis’s latest posts: a scenic shot of some coastal view—captioned “Wish you were here.” You liked it.

Gojo’s thumb hovered. He switched to your account and then he scrolled further. A solo post of you on a balcony overlooking the sea. A familiar name in the comment section caught his eye. “Miss the view… and maybe you ;)” Gojo stared at it like it was a personal attack. “This motherfucker is still commenting on her stuff?”

“Oh,” Geto blinked, leaning in. “That’s recent.”

Gojo’s jaw flexed. “I’ll break his phone.”

“Dude—”

“I’m serious. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Flirting in her comments like it’s his goddamn runway. It’s embarrassing.”

Geto bit back a grin. “Why does it bother you this much? You two are just friends, right?”

Gojo didn’t answer.

Instead, he clicked on Louis’s story. Y/n was tagged—just once, at a beach bar. The tag was small. Almost hidden. In the corner a small text read, Miss the view, miss the company more.

Gojo muttered, “I’ll kill him.”

“Wow. Okay. Let’s not commit homicide over an Instagram story—”

“He tagged her,” Gojo growled. “Low. As. Fuck.”

“You’re really spiraling.”

Gojo turned to him, voice low and sharp. “He had his hands on her, Suguru. You get that? She was alone with him. He probably thought he had a chance. And now he’s still hovering like he’s waiting for her to circle back.”

Geto watched him carefully, tone sobering. “But she didn’t. She backed out. She came home.”

Gojo said nothing.

“Maybe you should stop pretending you don’t care,” Geto added.

Gojo’s grip on his phone tightened. His eyes flicked back to your most recent photo—your smile, your hair caught in the wind.

And right beneath it, Louis Marchand: “Still the prettiest view.”

Gojo’s thumb hovered over the comment.

Report. Block. Message.

He didn’t tap anything.

But his next words were low and lethal.

“If he ever touches her again,” he said, “he won’t be able to post with that hand.”

Outside the Diamond Hill Club, a sleek sakura pink Porsche 911 Carrera rolled to a stop in front of the grand stone entrance. The afternoon sun glinted off its polished surface, turning heads even in a place where wealth was the baseline. The valet straightened instinctively, smoothing his jacket as you opened the driver’s door yourself — a small, confident gesture — and stepped out with effortless grace.

Your cream Zimmermann sundress was the picture of soft luxury — linen and lace, tailored to slim the waist and flare just slightly above the knee. A single string of tiny seed pearls circled your neck, and your pale pink Lady Dior bag was slung lightly over your wrist like an afterthought. Even your heels — black patent Mary Janes — had that demure, expensive glint that didn’t scream wealth, but whispered it.

Shoko exited the passenger side with a yawn, dressed in her usual blend of quiet rebellion and subtle affluence — an oversized ivory cashmere cardigan from The Row, Ralph Lauren navy pleated skirt, and Prada loafers. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy bun, and her sunglasses slid slightly down her nose as she scrolled idly through her phone. She didn’t even glance at the valet as she tossed him the keys.

You nodded warmly at the staff, greeting the doorman by name. “Good afternoon, Bernard,” you said with a small smile, and he gave you a respectful bow in return.

“Welcome back, Miss,” he replied, stepping aside as you and Shoko made your entrance.

The inside of the Diamond Hill Club smelled faintly of polished oak and citrus blossoms. Golden afternoon light streamed through the tall French windows, catching the gleam of glassware and the hush of clinking cutlery. A soft classical piano tune drifted through the space from a live quartet set up near the rear conservatory.

Shoko, true to habit, walked ahead toward your usual table near the arched windows. But you paused.

You had noticed someone.

Nanami Kento.

He was seated at a nearby table, clean-cut as always in a pressed navy athletic tee and shorts, sipping his black coffee like it was part of a quiet ritual. With him were Utahime — visibly startled by your presence — and a girl you didn’t recognize.

You hesitated for only a moment before turning toward their table. Your steps were light but sure, your poise untouched by the weight of so many eyes that now subtly turned to watch. A few murmurs followed your wake — not gossip, but the kind of admiration reserved for someone who always managed to appear just a little more refined than everyone else in the room.

At the table, Utahime’s back stiffened as she noticed you approaching. She turned quickly to the girl beside her. “Fix your posture,” she muttered under her breath.

Nanami looked up just as your shadow stretched across their table.

“Kento?…Nanami Kento?” you said, your voice a soft lilt, your head tilted with pleasant surprise.

He stood immediately, placing his coffee down with quiet precision. “Yes,” he replied, his expression flickering with recognition. “It’s… good to see you again.”

“I can’t believe it’s you..”,You offered a smile that made hearts skip a beat — the kind reserved for old acquaintances. “You’re here…wow…Are you back at the school?”

Nanami smiled and nodded, “Yes. I am”.

Your first instinct was to hug him like an old friend but you held yourself back. “That’s amazing! Oh wow I can’t believe it. You just…disappeared”.

“I had to go,” he answered simply.

You didn’t push. You never did. “We should get coffee sometime,” you said instead, brushing a wisp of hair behind your ear. “Catch up.”

Nanami nodded. “I’d like that.”

You turned to Utahime next and smiled. “Utahime. It’s been a while.”

She stood quickly, half-bowing. “Yes. It’s… good to see you.”

“How was your vacation?”. You asked in a sweet polished voice.

Utahime chuckled, “It was good. Not too bad”.

“And you are?” you asked politely, glancing toward the girl who had been silently observing you like she’d seen a goddess walk out of a dream.

“I’m Ayaka,” she stammered, standing clumsily and extending her hand. “I’ll be joining Elysian hall coming term”.

You took it gently, smiling. “Welcome to Elysian Hall, Ayaka. I hope you have a good time here. Where did you move from?.”

“Hakone”. Ayala spoke gingerly. Overtaken by your presence. “It’s..”.

“Oh I know. It has some of the best host springs resorts”.

“Yes!”. Ayaka smiled. “It does”.

“That explains your beautiful skin”. You smiled.

Nanami realized he couldn’t stop smiling. He looked down to hide the flush in his cheeks. 

Ayaka opened her mouth to reply, but all she could manage was a quiet “Thank you.” Her cheeks were slightly flushed, her mind racing to absorb everything — your voice, your scent, the subtle way your fingers moved when you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Well Ayaka, I am sure Utahime is taking good care of you but if you need anything then please let me know. First day at a new school can be scary”.

“Yes..”. Ayaka stammered. “Yeah I will”.

You turned to Nanami and tilted your head playfully, “I am sure you wouldn’t need any help Kento”.

Nanami laughed. “I am good y/n”.

You shook your head with a smile, “I’ll let you guys enjoy your coffee. See you around”. You smiled. As you turned to leave, you paused, and turned once again. “Are you all coming to the orientation gala?”

Utahime and Ayaka exchanged a glance, slightly panicked.

“I didn’t know there was one,” Nanami admitted, stepping in.

You smiled again — a little softer this time. “Tuesday night. Formal. I’ll send the invite… to all of you”

“Thank you”. Utahime gleamed. 

“And..Utahime, if you’re free tomorrow, do you want to have a coffee? Ayaka you too. I would love to get to know you more”

Ayaka looked at Utahime for instructions but Utahime clasped her hands in front of her and nodded, “Absolutely. We would love that!”.

“Great then. See you tomorrow” And with that, you turned, your heels clicking softly against the marble floor as you made your way toward the other end of the patio.

Ayaka watched you go, her eyes fixed on the delicate sway of your skirt, the quiet confidence of your walk. She couldn’t believe you were real. You were kind. Soft. Warm. Yet unreachable.

Out on the patio, Gojo stood when he saw you approaching. He pulled out your chair without a word, and you let your fingers graze his briefly in thanks as you sat. He leaned in to murmur something only you could hear, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as you laughed — quiet and genuine.

Back at the table, Ayaka’s heart pinched watching the exchange.

A breeze teased the white linen table-cloth as your little circle settled back into a fragile equilibrium. The piano inside drifted into a Cole Porter standard; glasses were refreshed without anyone having to ask.

“Who were you talking to?” Gojo asked, glancing back at the other table—only to lock eyes with a stranger, unfamiliar and unreadable.

You smiled behind your coffee cup. “Nanami Kento.”

Gojo froze mid-turn, his gaze still lingering on the now-empty seat. Geto raised a brow, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he followed Gojo’s line of sight.

“So he’s back, huh?” Gojo said, tone unreadable.

“Yeah. Looks like it. Utahime and her cousin were with him. I invited them to the Tuesday formal.”

Shoko choked on her drink, coughing into her sleeve before whipping her head toward you. “You what? Your dad is going to lose his mind.”

You shrugged casually, reaching over to pat Gojo on the back. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a scapegoat ready.”

“What?! No way,” Gojo snapped. “I would never invite them.”

“Then it’s good that I did,” you said with a grin.

Geto leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “So why’d you really invite them?”

You hesitated, swirling your coffee absentmindedly. “I just... don’t think it’s fair for the orientation gala to be so exclusive. We all go to the same school, right? Everyone should be invited.”

“But you didn’t invite everyone, did you?” Geto pressed, eyes sharp with amusement. “You invited Nanami Kento.”

“And Utahime!” you shot back.

Shoko raised an eyebrow. “Utahime has lived here for years. You’ve barely said two words to her.”

You sighed, fingers tightening around the coffee cup. “Fine. I wanted to invite Kento.”

“Why?” Gojo asked, his voice quieter now, but no less intense.

You looked around at your friends—too perceptive, too smug—and exhaled.

“Because he left,” you said softly. “We were friends, and he didn’t even say goodbye. One day he was there, and the next... he wasn’t. And no one even talked about it. So yeah, I wanted to see him again. I wanted to ask why. Not that it matters now.”

Your shoulders sagged slightly, the bravado slipping.

Shoko sipped her drink with a smirk. “Sounds like someone still has a little crush.”

“Oh, stop it, Sho,” you groaned.

“Crush?!” Gojo repeated, incredulous. “You had a crush on him?”

“No!”

“She totally did,” Shoko added with a grin. “Back in second year. Remember the library?”

“I was a kid,” you muttered.

Geto chuckled. “You had a crush on khaki pants? Seriously?”

“He was smart! And kind!” you snapped. “Not that you'd understand.”

Gojo didn’t respond. His jaw tightened as he looked away, biting the inside of his cheek. “I don’t want to waste this morning talking about Nanami Kento.”

“Thank you,” you huffed, leaning back in your chair, drained from the interrogation.

But out of the corner of your eye, you caught Gojo’s hand curling into a fist beneath the table.

Geto cleared his throat, seizing the lull. “Shoko, did the Sports Committee confirm our slot on the main field next week?” he asked, tapping a knuckle against his sparkling-water glass.

Shoko pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, phone finally forgotten. “Mostly. The junior boys wouldn’t budge on Saturday morning, so women’s soccer has the pitch at 1 p.m. Men’s at 3. That work?”

Geto frowned, thinking it through. “It’s tight, but I’ll take it. I still need to run try-outs for the first-years. You’re set with a full roster already, right?”

Shoko’s lips curved in a half-smirk. “Please. I lost four seniors and still have a deeper bench than you. Maybe ask your midfield to stop treating tactics like an optional philosophy course.”

Geto threw a mock-wounded hand to his heart. “Ouch. Just remember who signed off on your new travel kit.”

“You signed the form,” Shoko countered, “because I drafted the budget. Don’t get delusional, Suguru.”

Your laugh slipped out before you could stop it, soft but unmistakably pleased. The banter felt…normal, welcoming after a month of attending formal galas in the guise of vacation.

Gojo lifted an eyebrow, joining the fray while still watching you from the corner of his eye. “Enough domestic squabbling. As incoming school captain, I’d rather not preside over a civil war between my two soccer captains.”

He said it lightly, but you could hear the pride tucked beneath the words. Everyone on campus already knew the results; the formal announcement would drop soon. Gojo Satoru and—you—would share the school-captain duties for the year. Legacy and diplomacy in tandem, the Board had called it.

Geto arched a brow. “Right, Captain. Are you planning to attend any of our morning practices, or will you be too busy shaking hands and cutting ribbons?”

Gojo leaned back, crossing one ankle over a knee. “Delegation is a skill, Suguru. I expect my brilliant vice-captains to run a tight ship while I focus on…vision.”

Shoko snorted. “Vision. Translation: he’ll show up for the team photo and any match with a photographer present.”

You sipped your coffee, amusement playing at the corner of your mouth. “Play nice. Remember, half my new captaincy remit is student well-being. I can start mandatory mindfulness circles if you’d like.”

Geto groaned theatrically. “Please don’t. We’ll be coloring gratitude mandalas before kick-off.”

Gojo finally smiled—genuine, if a touch rueful—and let his gaze settle on you. “If you’re leading it, I doubt anyone will complain.” His fingertips drummed the table again, slower this time, the earlier edge fading but not gone.

A waiter appeared with a silver tray of petits fours you hadn’t ordered. Perks of being who you were. You selected a lemon macaron, breaking it neatly in two. Without thinking, you offered one half to Gojo. He accepted, brushing your fingers for the briefest instant. The touch felt like the smallest treaty ever signed.

Across the table, Shoko clocked the exchange, then turned to Geto with a pointed look that said see? Geto only shrugged, the ghost of a grin on his lips.

Conversation shifted to committee minutiae—funding for new turf lights, a charity scrimmage you’d proposed, logistics for the Orientation Formal’s after-party—but the real current ran quieter beneath it all: Gojo’s simmering jealousy, your quiet resolve to bend the gilded rules, and everyone else’s calculations about what those tensions might mean for the year ahead.

The double doors burst open with a dramatic gust of wind as Utahime all but sprints through the marble foyer of her family's estate. Her heels click frantically on the polished floor, the hem of her pleated skirt swishing as she bypasses a confused housekeeper and yells over her shoulder:

“I need to see Mother—now!”

She doesn't wait for a response. Her manicured fingers push open the tall doors of her mother’s home office, a study wrapped in dark oak, modern art, and ancestral portraits. The scent of peonies and sandalwood diffuses through the air.

Utahime's mother, elegant in a navy Roland Mouret dress, looked up from a stack of papers and removed her reading glasses. “Utahime? What on earth—”

“I have news,” Utahime breathed finally, trying not to sound too breathless. “We’ve been invited to the Orientation Formal.”

Her mother froze then slowly set her pen down. “The Orientation Formal… Elysian Hall’s gala?”

Utahime noded rapidly, trying to contain her excitement. “Yes. She invited us. Y/N. She came over to our table at the Diamond Hill Club and personally asked if we were attending. When we said we hadn’t heard of it, she said she’d send the invite.”

A long pause followed. Then she asked with a heavy sigh, “Are you sure it’s not like the last-”.

“No! It’s not! Please! I need a dress!”. Utahime exclaimed. 

Ayaka silently watched the frantic exchange but mentally took a note to find out what happened last time.

“Get me your father. Now.”

Utahime doesn’t hesitate. She grabbed the ivory phone on the sideboard and dials, tapping her foot impatiently as it rings.

“Darling,” Mrs. Iujiri says calmly once the line connects, “We’ve just received an invitation to Elysian Hall’s Orientation Formal. From Y/N herself. Yes. Her. I don’t know how. Utahime says they spoke at the club.”

There’s silence as she listens, eyes narrowing with sudden clarity.

Ayaka finally asked, voice unsure, “I’m sorry… what’s the big deal?”

Utahime turned to her cousin, face lit up like a chandelier. “Ayaka, you don’t understand. That gala—it’s not just some school event. That’s where next year’s board interns are decided. Heirs get pre-picked for succession. Designers line up to dress the guest list for free. Last year, two hedge fund acquisitions were confirmed at the afterparty.”

She clasped her cousin’s shoulders with intensity. “This… this means we’re being seen. We have to look the part. We have—what—two days? We need to find something vintage but not cliché, bold but still heritage-aligned. I can wear Dior. Shit. Valentino? Khaite? No, Khaite’s too casual—”

Mrs. Iujiri hung up the phone and spoke with steel in her voice. “Call Etsuko. Tell her we need fittings tonight. No ready-to-wear, custom only. If Utahime and Ayaka are entering that ballroom, they will look like they’ve always belonged there.”

“Oh and y/n invited us over for coffee tomorrow.” Utahime added.

Her mother hummed and stared blankly at her. “Well this is a good opportunity. You girls need to go shopping. I doubt Ayaka has anything suitable to wear”.

“Yes! We will go right away”.

Ayaka swallowed harshly. Her heart beat strangely. She didn’t know a fifteen-minute brunch could change everything. And she definitely didn’t know one girl could cause so much movement with just a smile and a handshake.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she replayed the image of you walking toward Gojo, laughing, the pearls at your throat catching the sun. How he stood up without even thinking, pulled out your chair, and looked at you like the rest of the world was a fog.

“Why is she so important?” Ayaka whispered to herself.

Utahime, already on her second phone call, looked up sharply. “She’s the reason half the continent watches what Elysian Hall does. And we just got a seat at her table.”

A little ahead of house No.20 on the Diamond hill the scene was much different….

The Nanami dining room was steeped in quiet opulence—clean lines, warm walnut panels, a Murano glass chandelier above the long table. Everything was precise, much like his father himself, who sat at the head of the table slicing into his duck breast like he was dissecting a business proposition.

Across from him, Nanami Kento, still slightly jet-lagged, sat straight-backed in a crisp button-down, chewing slowly and politely. His mother, graceful and soft-spoken, sat beside his father, delicately sipping from a thin crystal glass.

“How was your flight?” his father asked, not looking up from his plate.

“On time. Comfortable,” Nanami replied with formality, folding his napkin neatly on his lap. “Thank you for arranging the car.”

Mr. Nanami nodded, finally glancing up. “Good. We need to start grounding you here. You’ll be working in Tokyo, after all. International exposure is fine—but it’s useless if it doesn’t translate to Tokyo business etiquette.”

Nanami’s jaw tightened. He kept his gaze down as he cut into his fish. “Maybe I don’t want to work in Tokyo,” he muttered under his breath, almost too quiet to be heard.

But his father heard it. He slammed his palm on the table making the vase rattle. The table jumped. Nanami’s water glass rattled in place. “You will take over this company, Kento. That’s not a negotiation,” his father said sharply. “You were born into this. You will honor it.”

Nanami said nothing. The silence that followed was heavy. His knuckles whitened as he gripped his fork, but he didn’t speak. Years of practice taught him how to hold his tongue in a room like this.

His mother cleared her throat softly, cutting the tension like lace. “What did you do today, Kento?”

Nanami finally looked up. His tone was even, measured. “I went to the Diamond Hill Brunch Club. With Utahime and her cousin.”

His mother raised a brow, delicately dabbing the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “Utahime Iujiri?”

He nodded. 

“Be mindful of who you spend time with,” she said gently. “You’re back now. That comes with expectations.”

Nanami only nodded once. Then spoke with disregard, “I’ll need to be fitted for a suit.”

His father paused, knife in mid-air. “Why?”

Nanami looked directly at him. “I was invited to the Orientation Formal.”

The silence was immediate.

His mother turned her head. His father put his utensils down altogether. “The Orientation Formal?” his father repeated, incredulous. “You were invited?”

Nanami nodded. “I bumped into Y/N today. She personally invited me.”

A long pause. Then Mr. Nanami leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised with sudden delight. The tension from earlier melted into something startlingly close to pride. “Well. Well. My son—first day back and already moving in the right circles.”

He looked at his wife, smiling for the first time that evening. “You see? I told you he had it in him. Making connections already. With her, no less.”

Nanami remained quiet, staring at the remains of his food. He hadn’t done it for his father. He didn’t even know why he said yes. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was you.

But he didn’t correct his father. “I’ll arrange for the tailor to come first thing tomorrow,” he said, taking a sip of wine like a deal had just been struck. “We’ll have something custom made. Proper. You need to represent the family well.”

Nanami nodded, quietly. Then excused himself before dessert. He shut the door behind him, loosened his collar, and sat on the edge of the bed. His gaze drifted to the city skyline, glittering beyond the tall glass windows. Tokyo.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, fingers laced. “What am I doing here…”

But even as he whispered it, he could still see your smile in his mind—bright and warm and effortless—as you said his name like you remembered exactly who he was.

He took his phone out and searched for your name on instagram, he found it sooner than expected. He scrolled through your page looking at places you’ve been. To his surprise, you were at the same place he was around the same time on more than one occasion. Yet you never crossed paths. He wondered had he stayed, would he have joined you on your vacation. Then his eyes drifted to the blue eyed man in the background. No chance.

The iron gates groaned open with a slow elegance, revealing a sprawling estate that looked more like a palace than a home. As the car glided up the curved driveway lined with trimmed cypress trees and marble statues, Ayaka’s breath caught in her throat.

“This is… her house?” she whispered, clutching the soft fabric of her new Elie Saab dress—something Utahime had insisted was “middle-tier luxury and appropriate for the visit.” But now, looking out at the sweeping fountain and the grand château beyond, Ayaka felt like she was playing dress-up in someone else’s fairytale.

Utahime, seated beside her, adjusted her sunglasses coolly. “It’s a house. Just big,” she said with a tight smile, clearly suppressing her own awe. She smoothed the lapels of her Max Mara blazer and added quickly, “Don’t stare. And don’t talk about the dress unless she brings it up.”

The car pulled to a halt in front of the arched entryway. A uniformed butler was already waiting. He bowed slightly as he opened the door for them. “Welcome, Ms. Iori. Ms. Ayaka. Miss Y/N is expecting you.”

They stepped out, and Ayaka immediately felt the weight of a hundred invisible eyes—of portraits from the windows, of silent standards of grace and pedigree. The façade of the house was carved with classical reliefs, crowned with ornate balconies and tall, slate-blue roofs. Ivy curled along the white stone walls like time itself had chosen to adorn the estate.

Inside, the atmosphere was no less staggering. High ceilings held antique crystal chandeliers, and the parquet floors beneath their feet gleamed. The scent of lilies and polished wood filled the air. Gold-framed paintings lined the hallway walls, and somewhere faintly, classical music played.

The butler led them past a formal drawing room and through French doors that opened into a vast garden. On one side, a perfectly manicured tennis court lay empty under the afternoon sun. On the other, a modern glasshouse sparkled—inside, the azure shimmer of a full-length swimming pool refracted light onto the marble tiles.

“I didn’t even know private indoor pools were a thing,” Ayaka whispered to Utahime.

“They are, if you don’t want tan lines,” Utahime said crisply, though she herself was glancing at the structure with quiet envy.

They turned a corner, and the butler gestured to a grand side entrance framed by climbing roses. “Miss Y/N’s wing,” he announced. “She will host you here today.”

Wing? She has a whole wing? Ayaka blinked rapidly.

The room they entered was brighter, more intimate—but no less regal. Tall windows lined the far wall, opening onto a marble balcony that overlooked an intricate maze garden below. The room was soft with pastels and creamy textures, antique furnishings balanced with fresh flowers and rare books. It was the kind of beauty that didn’t beg to be noticed—it simply existed, unquestioned.

You were already waiting there, poised like something from a painting. A soft floral Zimmerman dress flowed around your frame, subtle and perfect. A thin diamond bracelet shimmered as you reached for your teacup, and the matching diamond studs on your ears caught the late light.

“Welcome,” you said with a warm smile, rising. “It’s so lovely to have you here.”

Ayaka forgot to respond. She was still trying to understand how someone her age could look so effortless in a place like this—like you were born to command rooms like this, as naturally as she had learned to blend into them.

Utahime stepped forward, her tone suddenly sweeter. “Thank you for having us, Y/N”

Ayaka tried to curtsy—why had she curtsied?!—and ended up mumbling something about the garden being “so green.”

You laughed gently, and the tension in the room loosened just slightly. Still, Ayaka couldn’t shake the chill in her spine.

This wasn’t just a different lifestyle. This was a different world.

“Please, have a seat.” Your voice was gentle but practiced, like the clink of fine china—polished, unwavering. You gestured toward the two cream-upholstered chairs across from you, already seated on a high-back Louis XVI settee, legs crossed elegantly beneath your floral dress.

Both Utahime and Ayaka sat down with polite smiles, the delicate rustle of fabric barely audible in the stillness of the room.

“Your house is beautiful,” Ayaka said after a beat, eyes drifting once more to the ornate ceiling molding and the way the sunlight spilled through the tall French windows.

“Thank you,” you replied with a soft nod. “How are you finding everything here? I know the hill can be… a daunting place.”

“Not too bad,” Ayaka said, leaning into her chair with an unconscious slouch. The words had barely left her mouth before Utahime cleared her throat sharply. Ayaka straightened so quickly it almost looked rehearsed. “Utahime has been showing me around and everything seems… lovely.”

At that moment, three butlers entered in perfect sync, each carrying a silver tray adorned with delicate pastries: rosewater madeleines, gold-dusted croissants, and miniature eclairs topped with sugared violets. They placed the trays neatly onto a rolling tea cart and bowed in unison before exiting.

Ayaka’s eyes followed their every movement, stunned by the quiet precision of it all. But you, untouched by the spectacle, reached casually for a cup of chamomile tea, as if pastries appearing out of thin air was simply the rhythm of life.

“Are you excited for the new term?” you asked, turning your gaze to Utahime with genuine warmth.

“Yes,” she replied quickly, sitting up taller. “I’m sure you’re excited too… especially with the school captainship.”

You gave a light, polished laugh—effortless and practiced. “Yes. But it’s not without pressure. I’ll be relying on your support.”

“Of course!” Utahime’s voice was bright, almost too eager. She shot a side glance at Ayaka, reminding her to keep up.

You turned toward the quieter cousin. “So Ayaka, what extracurricular activities interest you?”

Ayaka reached for her napkin and dabbed at her mouth, her fingers brushing against the soft silk. “Umm… back in my old school, I was the captain for the food drive.”

“Food drive?” Your brow arched slightly.

“We… cooked and packed meals for the… homeless people.” Her voice grew quieter with each word, like a secret she hadn’t meant to share.

Utahime’s smile froze. She nudged Ayaka under the table—a sharp, silent correction.

You tilted your head, intrigued but not unkind. “That sounds interesting. Are you drawn to social impact work?”

Ayaka hesitated. Words scattered like leaves in her head, every one weighed down by the rules she’d been given. “Yeah… I guess you can say that.”

“That’s so fascinating!” you said brightly, leaning forward slightly. “Utahime, do you remember when we did the beach cleanup? About two years ago?”

“Oh, yes! I do. It was… quite fun,” Utahime said, voice strained but smiling.

“I’ve actually been thinking,” you continued, eyes sparkling, “we should start a Social Impact Club at school. Ayaka, would you be willing to help me?” You reached out and gently placed your hand over hers.

Ayaka blinked at your hand. The bracelet around your wrist—an elegant stream of diamonds—glinted in the sun. It felt like another reminder of the world she’d stumbled into.

“Yeah… I’d love to help,” she said, her voice soft but sincere.

“Wonderful! It’s decided then.” You pulled your hand back with a graceful smile. “So, what else do you like?”

Ayaka opened her mouth to speak, but Utahime cut in first, “She loves horses.”

Ayaka turned to her cousin, confused, her brow slightly furrowed. “I do?”

But you lit up at the mention. “That’s perfect! We have a fantastic equestrian club. You’ll adore it. Do you miss your horse?”

Ayaka hesitated for only a moment, then let out a small, awkward laugh. “Yeah. I miss my horse. Her name is… Silver.”

“I completely understand. When I went on exchange to France, I missed Princess, my horse, terribly.” You paused, then added generously, “Let me know if you'd like me to arrange for Silver to be brought here.”

Before Ayaka could say anything, Utahime spoke up quickly. “No need. Silver was old. She needed to retire anyway.”

“I see,” you said with a measured smile. But your gaze lingered just a second longer on Ayaka—thoughtful, perhaps aware of the quiet unraveling beneath the surface.

“How was your vacation?”. Utahime asked, gracefully picking up her cup. 

“It was quite good. Satoru, sho, Suguru and I just hung out on an island for the first few weeks and then vacationed with our parents. So it was quite relaxing”.

“An island? Like Jeju?”. Ayaka asked.

You chuckled, “Ummm yes and no. It was more of a private island”.

“I see”. Ayaka smiled. “Are you part of any school clubs?”.

“I used to be but this year I am hoping to be school captain so it would be unfair of me to be part of any school clubs. I am actively on the lookout for new club presidents. Speaking of which, Utahime, would you be interested in taking over as the chair for school paper? We will need to find a co-chair but I have someone in mind already”.

Utahime smiled ear to ear, “I would love that!”.

“Great, then I will nominate you”. You smiled.

“We’ve been working on some curriculum changes this term,” you said, sipping your tea. “They’re planning to restructure how leadership points are tracked. Honestly, it’s a mess.”

“Really?” Utahime leaned in, her brows drawing together. “That’s going to affect a lot of people aiming for council next year.”

You nodded. “Exactly. It’s why I’ve been thinking—maybe it’s time we push for a few more student-led initiatives. Things that are actually meaningful.”

“That makes sense,” Ayaka added, though her voice was quieter, her fingers still fidgeting with the napkin in her lap.

Just then, the large double doors at the far end of the room swung open. Ayaka’s heart skipped a beat so hard it nearly jolted her out of her chair.

Gojo Satoru stepped in—tall, broad-shouldered, his dark navy blazer hanging open over a crisp white shirt, silver cufflinks glinting at his wrists. His sunglasses stayed firmly in place as he walked in like he owned the air, but his expression wasn’t playful—it was… agitated.

“You haven’t been picking up my calls,” he said without preamble, eyes locked on you like no one else existed.

Both Utahime and Ayaka stood instinctively, Utahime with near-military precision and Ayaka a beat late, scrambling to follow. But Gojo didn’t even glance at them. His attention was pinned solely to you.

You gestured lightly toward your guests. “I have company.”

Only then did he turn, slowly removing his sunglasses with a lazy flick of his fingers. Pale blue eyes flicked to Utahime, then Ayaka, pausing on her just long enough for her breath to catch—but not long enough for her to tell whether he recognized her or not.

“Oh,” he said flatly, before turning back to you.

You smiled with that effortless poise again. “Sit. You might as well join us.”

Gojo dropped down beside you without protest, stretching one long arm across the backrest of your chair, fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. Ayaka wasn’t sure if it was intentional. She was too focused on the fact that he was sitting directly across from her—the same boy whose photos she’d zoomed in on more times than she would ever admit, the boy who’d once casually posted a story from Milan Fashion Week with the caption: “bored but dressed well.”

“Gojo,” you said, casually tilting your head toward Ayaka, “we were just discussing the idea of starting a Social Impact Club. Ayaka here might lead it.”

Gojo blinked slowly, then turned his gaze toward Ayaka as if seeing her properly for the first time. “Social Impact Club?”

Ayaka swallowed hard. “Um… it’s about giving back to the community. Maybe food drives, or volunteering, things like that.”

Gojo looked genuinely confused. “Wait. Where would we even find homeless people here?”

Utahime’s eyes went wide, and she opened her mouth to step in, but you gently waved her off with a little laugh.

“It’s not just about that,” you said calmly. “It’s about awareness. Doing something outside ourselves for once. I think it could be good for the school.”

Gojo studied you for a long second, then leaned back, his expression softening. “You think so?” He shrugged.

“We will need to workout the budget but that shouldn’t be a problem”. You smiled.

Ayala opened her mouth and thought for a second, “How are the clubs funded?”.

You looked at Utahime for a brief second and then at Ayaka, “Families voluntarily donate money to the student foundation and we use that to run club activities. However we need to draft a budget approval to the chair of the foundation committee for approval”.

“Who is the chair of the foundation?”. Ayaka asked.

“My mother and my future mother-in-law”. Gojo grinned.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head at the casual remark but Ayaka’s heart sank. Were these things decided already?

“But are you sure it aligns with our goal?”. Gojo asked, looking at Ayaka. “All our clubs are designed to suit the needs and interests of students”.

“Umm– yes–I don’t-”. Ayaka struggled to get the words out now that he was talking directly with her.

“I think it’s a great idea”. You added. “It can bring a good cultural change and maybe some humility into people”

Gojo hummed, “Alright. If you think it’s a good idea then sure”.

Ayaka felt her knees go a little weak beneath the table. He had agreed just like that. And all because you had said so.

Gojo leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees as he turned his full attention to Ayaka. “So, Ayaka... where are you from?”

Ayaka straightened a bit, trying not to fidget under his gaze. “I’m from Hakone. Moved here about a week ago to join Elysian Hall.”

“Hakone?” Gojo echoed, brows lifting slightly. “Nice. That's an onsen country, right?” He flashed a lazy grin. “Do you miss it?”

Before Ayaka could respond, Utahime interjected quickly, her tone breezy. “Her family’s from Hakone, yes. But Ayaka actually did most of her schooling in the U.S.”

Gojo hummed, gaze sharpening ever so subtly as he scanned Ayaka again—though it wasn’t unkind. “Interesting. Yet you don’t have the accent”

Ayaka gave a small, nervous smile and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then shifted her attention away from his piercing blue stare. “Your bracelet is beautiful,” she said suddenly, turning to you. “Where’s it from?”

You were about to answer when Gojo let out a soft laugh, low and amused, clearly anticipating what was coming. You rolled your eyes and reached out to swat his knee lightly with the back of your hand.

“Satoru gave it to me last year,” you said with a fond smile. “He asked me to the Orientation Ball with it.”

Ayaka’s eyes widened slightly, and Utahime blinked. “Wait—you got that as a way of asking someone to a dance?”.

You shook your head gently, still smiling. “It’s not required, obviously. Satoru just likes to be... extra.”

“Overkill is the baseline,” Gojo chimed in with a smirk.

“Do we need to have a date for the ball?”. Utahime asked.

“No. It’s not required”. You shook you head. “Satoru just like the.. Formality of it all”.

“Speaking of formality”, Gojo straightened up and pointed with his brows to your bracelet, “It looks old. Maybe I should get you a new one”.

You scoffed, “Who said I will be going with you? Maybe I will ask Ayaka to be my date”. You winked mischievously at Ayaka. “Besides I have too many bracelets anyway”.

Gojo smiled and stared at you for a second and then turned to Utahime, “You should ask Nanami to be your date. I saw you at the club yesterday with him”.

You didn’t say anything, but your posture shifted—just slightly. Barely perceptible, but to someone like Gojo, it said everything. You stiffened. And that was all it took for something to twist in his chest. Jealousy flared hot and fast.

“Oh no. We are not that close”.

You kept your cup down decisively and looked at Utahime, your smile gone, “How did you end up with Kento in the club then?”.

“I just.. Ran into him on the way. He was on a run and I recognized him”.

“I see”.

Utahime glanced at the antique grandfather clock in the corner, the soft chime of the quarter-hour catching her attention. She stood, smoothing the front of her dress with practiced grace. “We should get going,” she said with a polite smile. “We don’t want to take up more of your afternoon.”

You stood as well, offering a graceful nod. “Of course. It was lovely having you both here.”

Ayaka followed suit, pushing back her chair, but hesitated for a second before speaking. “Um… would it be alright if we took a photo together?”

Utahime’s eyes widened just slightly. “Ayaka—”

But you were already smiling gently. “Of course.”

Ayaka beamed, quickly walking over to stand on your right side. Utahime, clearly trying to maintain composure, stepped to your left. You felt her posture shift ever so slightly—rigid, almost protective. 

“Satoru?” you asked, turning to him without needing to look.

He was already reaching for your phone from the side table. “On it,” he said, sounding far too pleased with himself. He took the phone from Ayaka and walked in front.

He held up the phone, angling it just right to capture the stately backdrop of your private wing’s drawing room—the cream-paneled walls, the sheer drapes fluttering in the breeze from the balcony, the polished parquet floors gleaming under the filtered afternoon light.

“Say, cheese,” he teased.

Ayaka laughed nervously. Utahime didn’t.

The shutter clicked.

“One more, just in case,” Gojo said, clearly taking his time with the second shot. Then a third, just because he could.

“Got it,” he finally said, handing the phone back to Ayaka. “Though I think this lighting flatters me more than any of you.”

You rolled your eyes, tucking the phone away. “Thank you.”

Utahime gave a quick bow. “Thank you for having us. The pastries were delicious.”

Ayaka, still glowing from the photo, gave a grateful nod. “And thank you for the social impact club. It was… really cool to know that you care.”

You smiled warmly, and with a final wave, you watched the two girls disappear down the corridor, trailed discreetly by the butler.

Gojo, still seated, leaned back with his arms stretched again, eyes trained on the door. “You’re collecting new admirers now?”

You turned to him, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “I am allowed to have friends, am I not?”

He looked at you sideways, the tension still lingering in his jaw. “Of course. Is Nanami a friend?”

“He was always a friend”. You remarked passing by him.

“Just a friend?”. Gojo asked, trying his best to not come off too strong. Your silence was all the answer he needed.

The black sedan glided down the hill, its polished frame reflecting the golden afternoon light. Inside, the silence between Utahime and Ayaka was thick, broken only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional crunch of gravel under the tires.

Ayaka clutched her phone, still looking at the photo Gojo had taken. A small smile played on her lips, but it vanished the second she glanced over and caught the tight line of Utahime’s jaw.

“...What?” she asked quietly.

Utahime didn’t respond right away. She inhaled slowly, then turned her head sharply. “What were you thinking?”

Ayaka blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Utahime said, voice clipped, “asking to take a photo with her like she’s some kind of celebrity. In front of Gojo. You put me in such an awkward position.”

“I— I just wanted to have a memory, that’s all.”

“It’s not about that,” Utahime snapped, then lowered her voice, remembering the driver. “It’s about perception. About how you carry yourself. You don’t ask her for a photo. She’s not your favorite pop star, Ayaka. She’s our peer. Technically.”

Ayaka’s shoulders slumped. “Sorry…”

“And don’t even get me started on that food drive nonsense.”

“What was wrong with that?”

Utahime shot her a look. “Everything. The way you brought it up, the way you explained it… Do you know how naïve it sounded? ‘Meals for the homeless’? You made it sound like some charity pamphlet. I had to rescue the conversation.”

“I didn’t mean it like that…”

“I told you to be careful about what you share. You’re not back in Hakone. These people grew up differently. Their idea of ‘giving back’ is sponsoring a wing at a hospital, not handing out soup in Tupperware.”

Ayaka looked down at her lap, her fingers tightening around the hem of her dress. “I was just trying to be myself…”

Utahime sighed, rubbing her temples. “And that’s fine. But being yourself doesn't mean being careless. You complimented her bracelet, Ayaka. At that moment? In front of Gojo? Do you know how transparent that looked?”

Ayaka’s cheeks flushed. “It was beautiful…”

“It was a winston. I’m guessing you didn’t even recognize it,” Utahime muttered, shaking her head. “You can’t keep acting like a tourist in their world. Not if you want to survive Elysian Hall. Geez! You looked like a girl desperate to know the brand, to calculate the price, to make a social climb. That world? They sense that kind of thing. You looked gauche, Ayaka. I told you to observe quietly, not start taking notes like it was a field trip.”

Ayaka turned to the window, watching the trees blur past, her throat tight. “Maybe I don’t belong in their world.”

“Then start acting like you do,” Utahime said sharply. “Because I didn’t pull strings to get you into Elysian Hall just so you could embarrass me on day one.”

“Why do you care so much?”. An innocent question.

Utahime sighed, “because– it’s the only way to make it. Do you think I was born into this? No. I saw my father work his way to the top and my mom supported him. You wanna know how we ended up at Diamond hill?”.

“How?”.

Utahime scoffed, “My mother befriended someone who used to live in our current house. An old couple. We had to rent clothes and attend parties as friends of guests. But speaking with the right kind of people gave us the opportunity to be here. When the Woman died she left the estate to my mother and her Husband moved to Osaka handing his company over to my father. Without their help it would have taken us generations to get here”.

“I– I didn’t know that”.

Utahime turned to her, “Remember when you went to private school in Hakone? When- you know your father still had his job?”.

“Yes. But that was a long time ago”.

“Regardless, do you remember the social pressure to do good in school?”.

Ayaka nodded.

“Multiply it by thousands, that’s how serious it is here. You have a good opportunity. Don’t waste it”.

“But y/n was kind. I think she liked me”.

Utahime scoffed, “Ayaka why do you think she invited us?”.

“Because…you’re friends?”.

“No! Because she knew that we didn’t belong to the upper echelon. She knew I had never been to the formal. This was the first time she invited me and she was giving us talking points so we don’t embarrass ourselves at the gala”.

“What?”. Ayaka chuckled.

“Yes. All the talk about clubs and leadership were talking points. This is what I meant when I told you to be observant”

The car lapsed into silence again. Outside, the iron gates of the estate faded into the distance, but the weight of everything Ayaka had just learned clung to her like a second skin.

While the families in the middle echelon busied themselves with preparations—polishing shoes, rehearsing lines, and dressing their children like prized possessions for the spectacle ahead—life at the top operated on an entirely different frequency. There, no one needed to prove anything.

Ironically, the house numbers stopped at five. Not because the street ended, but because beyond that point, numbers were irrelevant. Everyone knew who lived beyond the curve—the top four families existed in a category of their own, beyond labels and beyond needing directions.

Two palatial estates stood side by side on the hill's crest, their grand silhouettes crowned by sweeping terraces, private tennis courts, and twin pools that shimmered like mirrors in the sun. “Mansion” was too modest a word—these were compounds, sanctuaries of old power that gazed down over the valley and the city below like watchful sovereigns.

The L/N, Gojo, Geto, and Sho families had been entwined for generations, their histories braided together like the strands of an unbreakable cord. Every deal was shared, every major investment discussed at long oak tables or during slow walks through private gardens. Transparency wasn’t just a value—it was a necessity. In that elevated world, secrets were too dangerous to keep. And so, none existed.

The informal dining room in your house was still more refined than most hotel ballrooms—chandeliers dimmed to a warm glow, French porcelain plates resting on fine bone-colored placemats, and the faint scent of bergamot wafting from the centerpiece of freshly trimmed flowers. The long walnut table seated just three tonight—your father at the head, your mother at the side closest to the glass doors, and you at your usual seat to the left.

Your father set his wine glass down, glancing at the slim portfolio to his right.

“The Takanashi merger looks promising. If we get them on board at the orientation formal, it might unlock Kyoto’s northern district. Seijuro is interested in it as well” His voice was clipped, businesslike.

Your mother nodded, dabbing her mouth delicately with her napkin. “I already arranged for their executive assistant to be seated next to the Keigo heiress. With any luck, a conversation starts.”

You stabbed your asparagus slowly, listening but not contributing. You were too tired for this—another dinner about power plays dressed in foie gras and etiquette.

“I’ve invited some friends to the ball,” you said abruptly, breaking the rhythm of silver on porcelain.

The conversation halted. Your mother glanced up first, then your father.

“Which friends?” he asked, voice deceptively neutral.

You swallowed.

“Nanami Kento. Utahime. And her cousin.”

There was a beat of silence. Then your father set his fork down with a sharp clink and looked at you directly, expression cool.

“On whose authority did you invite them?”

Your posture didn’t shift, though your stomach turned. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you did it so you used your scapegoat, “Satoru suggested,” you replied calmly. “Since he and I are going to be school captains, he thought we should… seem more relatable. Grounded.”

Your father’s frown softened slightly at the mention of Gojo’s name. A flicker of approval passed over his face, the rare kind he only ever reserved for people he respected.

“Hm. Fine. If it was Satoru’s idea.” He picked up his fork again. “But don’t forget your place, Y/N. We are not here to appease. We lead. Your brother was a school captain, won the business case competition and the EH scholarship. Don’t lose sight of your goal”

“Yes, Father.” You sucked in a sharp breath. “May I be excused? I don’t feel too well”.

“Yes darling”. Your mother smiled before returning to her conversation

You slipped through your bedroom doors, closing them softly behind you like you were sealing away the world.

The room was a symphony of soft neutrals and delicate textures. Cream-paneled walls framed antique paintings. A four-poster bed draped in layers of silk and embroidered linen stood like a crown jewel in the center. Pale golden light from the bedside sconces made the room feel like a still moment inside a snow globe.

You walked through the French doors to your balcony, stepping barefoot on the marble-tiled terrace that overlooked the estate gardens below.

You sat back on the love seat, your arms wrapped loosely around your knees, chin resting on your arms. The night air was cool but still carried the faint scent of the lemon trees that lined the edge of the estate. Somewhere far below, one of the gardeners must have left a light on in the tool shed. A soft yellow glow blinked against the trimmed hedges.

A message lit your phone screen: Gojo – “Look down.”

You blinked, then stood slowly, the silk hem of your dress brushing against your ankles. You leaned over the cool marble of the balcony rail, the moonlight casting soft reflections on your skin like scattered pearls.

There he was.

Grinning up at you like a delinquent prince sneaking into a royal estate, completely out of place yet utterly at home. Satoru Gojo. Dressed in an open-collar navy shirt that caught the wind like sails on a summer yacht, and crisp blue trousers that should’ve made him look formal—if not for the messily rolled cuffs and that impossibly smug expression.

His silver hair was tousled by the breeze, the strands catching moonlight like frost under glass.

You felt your lips lift before you even meant to. “Come up,” you whispered, voice barely louder than the wind.

But he didn’t move toward the stairs.

Of course not.

Instead, he strode over to the ivy-covered column that clung to the side of the house like time itself. Without hesitation—without even looking around—he gripped the stone ledge and began scaling it. Just like he had when you were thirteen, and he’d forgotten his speech notes but still climbed up to your room like a reckless knight who didn’t believe in front doors.

You stepped back instinctively, hands hovering near the railing as he climbed higher, muscles moving with ridiculous ease. He grunted once—not from effort, but to be dramatic—before hoisting himself over the balustrade.

With a soft thud, he landed beside you, brushing non-existent dust from his shirt with a flourish.

You crossed your arms. “Why can’t you just take the stairs like a normal person?”

“This is faster,” he replied, like it was the most logical answer in the world. A crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t stay.

The city was quieter at night, the usual hum softened by distance. Your balcony, dimly lit by the glow from your room and the moonlight overhead, felt like a little escape from the polished chaos of your lives.

You were curled up on the love seat with a blanket wrapped around your legs, a mug of something warm in your hands. Gojo sat next to you, white hair catching the silver of the moon like a halo. He looked like he belonged in a dream—too casually beautiful to be real.

But he was real. And he was unusually quiet.

"You good?" you asked gently, tilting your head.

He glanced over his shoulder at you, a slow, crooked smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. Just… haven’t been here in a while. Feels different without you."

You blinked. "I have only been gone two weeks."

"Exactly," he said, turning fully now. He came over and dropped into the seat beside you, knee brushing yours. “You were gone forever.”

You laughed into your mug. “You’re so dramatic.”

He leaned back, gaze flicking up to the sky before he said, “I missed you.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

Gojo Satoru didn’t say things like that often—not seriously, anyway.

“Like… more than usual,” he added, quieter this time. “I know you were just off doing your own thing, but this place felt kind of... flat without you.”

You smiled faintly, heart warming. “You mean no one was here to mock your cereal choices and steal your hoodies.”

“That too,” he said, chuckling. “But mostly—” he hesitated, then looked at you, voice softening. “I missed talking to you at night. This. Right here. You always know how to take the edge off the day. No one else does that.”

You felt your chest tighten, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. "I missed you too, Satoru."

He turned to face you more fully, one arm resting along the back of the seat, close enough for your shoulders to touch if you shifted just an inch.

“I tried to act cool about it,” he said. “Kept busy, trained a bit, annoyed Geto for sport. But I kept wondering where you were, what you were doing. If you were thinking about me even half as much as I was thinking about you.”

You opened your mouth, but the words caught.

He smiled, a little sheepishly. “See? Told you I’d get soft one day.”

You laughed, leaning your head on his shoulder. “It suits you.”

The breeze curled gently around the two of you, warm against your skin despite the late hour. You stayed like that for a while—your head on his shoulder, his resting against yours, breathing in sync.

Then Gojo shifted slightly, like he was debating something.

You leaned back a little to look at him. “What?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just reached into the pocket of his jacket.

“You know how I said I missed you?” he asked, voice a little too casual now.

You narrowed your eyes. “Yeah?”

“Well,” he said, pulling out a small, velvet box, “I had time to think while you were away.”

You blinked. “Satoru—”

He opened the box slowly. Inside was a necklace—delicate white gold with a teardrop-cut diamond in the center, nestled like it had been waiting for you.

Your breath caught.

“I figured,” he said, watching you carefully, “if I was going to ask you to the orientation formal, I might as well do it properly. Our way”

You stared at him. Then at the necklace. Then back at him.

“Satoru—this is... insane.”

“It’s our ritual”, He reached out and gently pulled the necklace from the box, holding it between his fingers. “Come with me,” he said, softer now. “To the formal. Not as co-captains, not as the girl I always annoy before econ class. As you and me.”

Your heart thudded hard against your ribs.

“And the necklace?” you whispered.

He leaned in, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath. “That’s just because you said you had too many bracelets.”

You didn’t move, not for a beat. Then you turned, swept your hair aside. “Put it on me, then.”

Gojo’s hands moved gently, his usual playfulness gone, replaced by something more reverent. When the clasp clicked shut at the nape of your neck, his fingertips brushed your skin.

You turned back to face him.

“So... is that a yes?” he asked, voice lower now.

You smiled. “It’s a yes.”

His grin widened. “Good. Because I already bought the tie to match your dress.”

You were still smiling down at the necklace when Gojo suddenly stepped back and extended his hand with exaggerated elegance, like he was on stage at an opera.

“Now that you’ve agreed,” he said, bowing low, “may I have this dance, m’lady?”

You snorted. “You are so dramatic.”

“Only for you.” He wiggled his fingers, hand still outstretched. “Come on. You need to practice. The last thing I want is for us to be the hot mess couple spinning in circles.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Says the man who once tripped walking onto a stage.”

“That curtain was an ambush,” he said flatly. “And I was distracted. Anyway—” He pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, and suddenly soft piano music filtered out, the notes slow and glowing like candlelight. “No more stalling.”

You laughed again but stood. “Fine. One dance.”

As you took his hand, his grin softened into something far more sincere. He pulled you gently toward him, one hand slipping to your waist, the other holding yours with surprising delicacy. 

You glanced up at him. “You’re getting too tall.”

Gojo shrugged. “What can I say? Girls dig it.”

You chuckled, but then he shifted just slightly closer, and the sound caught in your throat. The air between you changed.

There was no ballroom here—just your little balcony, the quiet hum of the city below, and the two of you swaying slowly beneath the stars.

Gojo’s hand at your waist was firm but warm. He wasn’t leading with flair like you expected. No spins, no dips. Just a slow, intimate rhythm. The kind that made it hard to tell whether time was passing at all.

You felt his eyes on you—soft, unreadable. You looked up, and he didn’t look away.

“I thought I was going to be fine while you were gone,” he murmured. “I wasn’t.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty in his tone.

“I kept checking my phone like an idiot,” he went on, voice lower now. “Waiting for your name to light up. Even when I knew you were out of range or busy or just… choosing not to think about ..I don’t know.”

You swallowed. “I did think about you”

His grip on your hand tightened just slightly. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Almost every night. The time difference really killed me”

A pause. Just long enough to make your pulse spike. Then Gojo smiled—not the teasing grin, not the smug smirk. This one was small. Gentle. Like it was just for you. “Why didn’t you call?”.

“I got busy”

You stayed close, your bodies moving slowly to the soft rhythm playing from his phone. There wasn’t much space between you now—just the thinnest sliver of restraint. Gojo’s hand rested warm and steady at the small of your back, and your fingers were still curled lightly against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of each breath like it mattered.

And it did. He hadn’t taken his eyes off you.

“I didn’t like it,” he said suddenly, voice low and rough like it had been waiting at the back of his throat for too long.

You looked up. “Didn’t like what?”

He exhaled once through his nose, like he didn’t want to say it—but he said it anyway. “Seeing other men post stories with you while you were away.”

Your lips parted, caught off guard not by the words, but by the fact that he said them out loud. “You mean… Louis?”

“I mean anyone,” he muttered. “Louis, the guy from the boat, that bar scene in Amalfi—don’t act like I didn’t see it. I saw all of it.”

You blinked. “Were you… watching his stories?”

“I watched everything,” he admitted, gaze locked on yours. “Every post. Every photo. Every comment that didn’t have my name under it.”

Your breath caught. He wasn’t even trying to play it cool anymore.

“I told myself I was being stupid,” he continued. “That you were just living your life. That you didn’t owe me anything. But it didn’t stop the way it felt.”

“Which was?” you asked quietly.

“Like I couldn’t breathe.”

The music kept playing, but it was just background now—an echo to the tension humming between your bodies. You weren’t dancing anymore, not really. You were just holding each other. Moving because stillness might’ve made the truth come out too fast.

“You could’ve said something,” you whispered.

“And said what?” he replied, his voice softer now. “That I wanted to crawl through my phone and rip some French guy off your feed? That I hated seeing you smile at a table that didn’t have me at it?”

You were quiet. Wondering where this was coming from.

“It was just a kiss,” you said. 

His jaw tightened. “Just a kiss?”.

“Ugh fine. We made out but that’s it”.

His grip on your hand tightened and you felt your breath hitched. You pressed your hand flat against his chest. “That night, I left early. I went back to the hotel alone”.

“Was he any good?”. He asked in a tone that made you feel he wanted a specific answer.

“I guess. Yeah”.

“The best?”.

“Oh my god. It was just a kiss.But yeah it was pretty good”.

Gojo hummed. 

“If you missed me just say it”. You smiled.

Gojo swallowed hard. His voice was barely above a whisper now. “I didn’t just miss you.”He tilted his head just slightly, enough that your foreheads almost touched. “I wanted you here,” he breathed, “With me. Not with some french douche holding your waist like he owns you”.

“I’m going to kill Sho for ratting me out”. 

“Why? Why can’t I know?”. Gojo asked with a teasing smile.

“Ugh because I knew you’d react this way”. 

You tried to move away but Gojo pulled you into him. “And you never questioned why?”.

“If it makes you feel any better, I am going to call things off with him”.

Gojo stopped moving, his expressions changed to something so dark that even the moon hid behind the clouds, “You’re still seeing him?”.

“Against my will. He is just hard to break up with. Every time I’ve tried he just refuses to accept. On top of it all my dad has invited his family as guests to the ball.”.

Gojo smirked, “And yet you’re going with me?”.

You looked at him, a teasing smile on your face, “Would you rather I go with him?”.

“Over my dead body”

You smirked, your voice light but teasing. “You had your fair share of flings too, didn’t you?”

Gojo chuckled, leaning back slightly but not letting go of your waist. “If you can call women hitting on me against my will a ‘fling,’ then sure.”

“Oh, please.” You rolled your eyes. “I know everything. Sylvia? Ring a bell?”

He groaned dramatically. “You mean the girl who tried to force-feed me strawberries dipped in champagne while calling me mon amour in a fake French accent?”

You raised a brow. “And yet you didn’t leave.”

“I was trapped, thank you very much. She blocked the exit and threatened to cry.”

You snorted. “Oh, the horror. Gojo Satoru, helpless in the face of a crying girl.”

“I didn’t even kiss her,” he said, a little too quickly. “If anything, I should get a medal for resisting that level of aggressive flirting.I blocked her before I reached my hotel”

You gave him a knowing look. “Mmm. But you didn’t block her fast enough to stop her from licking your neck at that gallery opening.”

Gojo’s mouth dropped open. “Okay, wow. Who’s feeding you this intel?”

“I have spies,” you said proudly. “You forget I’m very well-connected.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re dangerously smug right now.”

“I’m just saying,” you added playfully, stepping back with a grin, “you’ve had options, Satoru.”

He moved with you, closing the distance in two lazy strides. “And yet…” His voice dropped just slightly, teasing but not unserious. “…I’m here.”. He pulled you closer until your bodies were flush against each other, like it was the most natural thing to do.

You laughed, and his mouth twitched with it—like he couldn’t help but be a little enchanted by the way you sounded when you were teasing him.

The song faded into silence, but neither of you moved. The stillness stretched between you, humming with the weight of everything unsaid. Gojo’s hand remained at your waist, the heat of his palm seeping through the fabric like a brand. His breath, shallow and steady, was the only thing that told you time hadn’t stopped entirely.

He looked at you—really looked. And whatever line existed between memory and now, he stepped over it without hesitation. You have changed.

No more pigtails, no awkward grins, no childish laughter echoing across a playground. That girl was gone. In her place stood a woman with fire behind her eyes and softness he wanted to touch just to see if it burned.

His gaze drifted, slow and deliberate—your eyes, your nose, your lips.

So delicate. Like a glass petal. Something he wanted to cradle in his palm... and crush between his fingers just to see if you'd come back together again.

The curve of your body pressed against him, and his fingers curled just slightly at your side—whether it was to hold you tighter or stop himself from doing something reckless, even he didn’t know.

And you? You weren’t doing any better.

You stared up at him, drinking him in like you hadn’t seen him in years—not really. His shoulder was broader now, more solid beneath your touch. His frame, tall and commanding, wrapped around you like a promise he wasn’t ready to make but couldn’t stop hinting at.

He held you like a man who didn’t ask permission. And some part of you—treacherous, breathless—didn’t want him to let go. Your hand slid up to rest against his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat betraying the calm on his face.

“You know,” you said, a teasing smile playing on your lips, “you’ve got everyone fooled with your whole ‘too dangerous to love’ routine…”

You took a slow step forward, letting your fingers ghost just barely along the hem of his shirt, like a challenge.

“…but I see through it.”

Gojo’s expression didn’t flicker. Not right away. He just stared at you, head tilted slightly, lips parted in something between a smirk and something much more dangerous.

“You think so?” he asked, voice like velvet stretched over something sharp.

You nodded, eyes glinting. “I know so. You deflect when you feel too much. You joke. You disappear. But you watch people too closely to be detached. You care more than you’ll admit—”

He cut you off with a soft laugh, low and bitter. “You talk like you’ve figured me out.”

Your breath hitched as his hand circled your waist—slowly, firmly, like he was daring you to stop him.

“I’ve watched you,” he said, eyes burning into yours now. “Walk into rooms like you don’t know what you do to people. Touch someone like it means nothing. Smile like it doesn’t drive me insane.”

His grip tightened. “You think I play aloof because I don’t care?” he whispered, brushing his lips near your cheek, not quite touching. “No. I stay away because I don’t want to ruin this.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. You couldn’t move. You didn’t want to.

“Say something,” he breathed. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I don’t see the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching.”

You swallowed hard. “Satoru—”

“I’m right here,” he cut in, eyes locked on your mouth now. “So stop pretending you want anyone else.”

He paused. Just for a breath. “Because I won’t share. Not you. Not ever.”

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

cat got your tongue - Cole Caufield

Word Count - 3k

Requested - Yes a mutual dared me weeks ago to write a entire fic only about Cole Caufield's tongue.

Author's Note - thank you as always for reading. 💞🫶🏻 This literally took me forever to write because writers block is very real even when you love an idea, also I got this request back in the middle of July before anyone wants to come into my asks. I'm not sure if I like this ending, but that might just be me being my biggest critic.

Warnings - oral receiving but I think that's kind of obvious given the title of this fic. 🤣

Summary - Cole finally convinces you to come to one of his games, but what happens when all you can focus on is the way he sticks his tongue out during a celly.

Tonight was the first time that Cole has finally convinced you to come to one of his games. To be fair you did just meet the guy a month ago in a bar. Unlike Cole, you did not know everything when it came to hockey which could have been one of the reasons that you weren’t pressed on going as soon as Cole brought up the idea. But his constant insisting that turned into begging which was kind of hot finally got you here. In the back of a shared Uber with your friend who actually knows hockey and said she would tag along to explain what the fuck everyone is doing on the ice. At the end of the day trying to learn all the rules of a sport you never even watched was hard. 

Just to mess with Cole a little, you did purchase one of his jerseys which granted a lot of money. But your friend who came along with you to the game, insisted to “do it for the plot.” So here you both are, you in his jersey, entering the arena. Due to the amount of time it took to get through security, you weren’t able to be in your seat until after warm ups had already started. Your seat was center ice but a few rows back purely because you told Cole if he thought your ass was sitting front row at your first ever NHL game, you would simply walk out because you didn’t wanna accidentally end up caught on TV looking like someone who had no idea what was happening around her. 

As soon as Cole saw you, he skated over to the bench although you couldn’t see what he was doing talking to one of the trainers you assumed. He then skated over and started bouncing what looked like the nearest puck on his stick as many times as he could and then passing it over the glass. A fan tried to take it, but he shook his head no and pointed at you. Then he threw another one over for the little boy who was a couple seats down from you, before skating off continuing on with warmups. 

“Why was that kind of hot?” you whispered to your friend. 

“Wow who knew a basic white boy would have you down this bad?” she teased.

“Bitch shut up.” you said before you finally looked down at the puck. Cole must have asked the trainer for a marker and signed the puck before coming over. 

You look hot with my name on you. Meet me in the tunnels after the game. 

Deciding not to tell your friend about the message you look up to see Cole sitting on the bench now making direct eye contact with you as he watches you read his message. Nodding your head yes and mouthing ‘okay’, even from the other side of the arena the smile that spreads across his face is seen clearly from your seat. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cole was literally playing like his life depended on it tonight. Now granted you might not understand all the little detailed rules when it comes to hockey. But you knew an assist was a good thing, in period one alone Cole had 2 assists and something about the way that he got one knee skating for a celly with his tongue slightly sticking out. Something that is so simple, made you feel your stomach drop, getting more and more turned the second time he did it. 

During intermission, you and your friend went to the bathroom and maybe it was the 3 beers you consumed but somehow you both started joking around about what your friend calls “your new fetish Cole’s tongue.” Jokingly you stuck your tongue out ever so slightly. Not realizing in that millisecond your friend took a mirror selfie, your side to the mirror the famous ‘22’ on display with Caulfeild, sticking your tongue out ever so slightly with your butt teasingly pushed up. Honestly, you kind of looked hot in the picture and made a mental note to ask your friend to send the picture to you later. 

As the first intermission was about to end you just made it back to your seat. Cole was able to pull off another assist during the second period. Your friend who has been a fan of the Hubs her entire life told you that you're never allowed to miss a game again because if this was how the rest of the season was gonna go they might make it to the playoffs. All you could do was chuckle at her superstitious behavior. But stopped when the fans around her were agreeing with her when she told them this was your first ever game, Cole invited you and this is how he was playing. 

“Oh my god please stop. I don’t want my life to end on twitter. Y/B/F/N.” you begged, taking your hand and covering her mouth. She drunkenly agreed to stop and both of you turned your attention back to the game. Even when he wasn’t on the ice, your eyes couldn’t leave Cole. Every once in a while he would catch you staring at him and making a teasing face back at you, pecking his lips, or sticking his tongue out extra far in order to get an air sip of his water. Every time he did all you could think about was his tongue wrapping around the clit or lapping your pussy like it was on display right now for thousands to see. Every time he was on the bench and went to lick his lips you found yourself squirming in your seat. All your friend could do was roll her eyes at your behavior. 

Somehow you made it to the third period, but that’s when Cole scored a goal. You swear it was just to tease you, he skated past your section sticking his tongue out and wiggling it. “Fuck” you mumble to yourself. 

“Y/N there are children around. Stop ya nasty!” your friend says as she can’t help the laugh that escapes her. Your mind couldn’t stop thinking about sitting on top of Cole’s face or him on his knees with one of your legs over his shoulders. As you rolled your hips against his tongue dragged. - 

Suddenly your brain was brought back to real time as the final buzzer went off. Everyone around you cheered as the Habs won a shutout - which your friend just told you is what it’s called when the other team doesn’t score a single goal during a game. But to be perfectly honest you weren’t really paying attention to your friend explaining any more slang hockey terms, your eyes focused on Cole as he skated around the ice with his teammates celebrating. The crowd was going crazy as it was the only shutout in what seemed like a lifetime, you could feel the energy of the crowd as you felt your body slightly move with all the jumping fans around you. Cole finally looked over at you from center ice and smiled. He titled his head towards the tunnels slightly reminding you of the puck and the note written on it, you nodded your head yes as you felt your cheeks heat up slightly from anticipation. 

Slowly the crowd started leaving once the boys were leaving the ice, finally there was enough room for you and your friend to make your way to the steps. 

“Hey thanks for coming by the way.” as you stop at the top of the steps. 

“It was fun. Are you ready to go?” 

“Actually Cole told me to meet him in the tunnels after the game.” you admit a light blush still painting your cheeks. 

“ooo okay have fun girly. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t. Text me when you get back to his place.” As she wraps her arms around you to hug you goodbye quickly. 

A laugh escapes your lips at your friend's words. “What do you mean ‘his place'?” Making a quotation sign with your hand. 

“Well we both know you aren’t going home tonight. You know you'll be busy with him, I’ll just check your location.” 

Before you could open your mouth she turned around and was gone. All you could do is laugh as you stood there and watched her walk away. Quickly you turned around and started walking towards the other side of the arena where the tunnels were. Somehow managing to find your way around, you pulled your phone out to text Cole that you were waiting outside of the locker room for him after being stopped by security, but thankfully the pass Cole gave you just in case came in handy. Standing against the wall scrolling Twitter while you waited for Cole to be done. 

Somehow the fan girls work faster than you could have ever imagined because someone made a gif of Cole’s tongue sticking out as he skated against the glass during his celly earlier tonight. Watching the gif over and over your breath caught in your throat as all your thoughts form earlier tonight just wanting to want Cole sink to his knees in front of you and eat you out came flooding back. Imagining your hand in his hair helping his face grind against using his tongue for nothing else except your own pleasure. Your mind was wandering and you could feel yourself dripping at the thought of making Cole sink to his knees, you refusing to pull his hair at first as punishment for teasing you all night. 

Lost in your own thoughts you didn’t even hear Cole leaving the locker room or coming up to you. Cole knew you were lost in your own world and decided to scare you by running up to you from behind wrapping his arms around you and leaving a wet kiss on your cheek. All that could be heard in the mostly quiet hallway now since he was one of the last players out was his laugh as you squirmed in his arms. “Ew Cole let me down.” you shirked in a high pitch voice he laughed in response spinning you around one more time before setting you down. 

“So how did you like watching me play?” he asked, finally facing you, still trying to hold you as close as possible. 

“It was good. It was actually kind of hot watching you play.” you admit with a smirk on your lips. 

Cole gives you a puzzling look as he questions, “oh yeah?” in a teasing tone. 

All you do is flash him a cheeky grin as you admit, “yeah watching you do your little celly on the ice was so hot, but I just kept watching you stick your tongue out all night.” Leaning up to his ear despite no one being around you whispered, “all I could think about was getting you to sink to your knees so I could ride your face, one leg over your shoulder, my back against the wall and not let you touch yourself as punishment for teasing me all night. My hands in your hair pulling and tugging as much as I wanted. All while your tongue is busy, so you can’t even beg me to let you touch yourself to give your hard cock some relief.” 

As you lean back only far away enough to see his face, his mouth is ajar in shock at your words. It’s as if he’s processing your words and for the first time in his life he’s quiet for more than a minute, you decide to further tease him while he stands there frozen. “What’s the matter baby boy, cat got your tongue?” A smirk on your lips as you watch him blink, as if his brain has finally caught up to the world around him. 

“No, not yet.” His voice is an octave deeper than before filled with lust. Suddenly he’s pulling you down the hallway towards the parking garage. “But it will be.” 

But just as you were about to exit the stadium to enter the connected parking garage, Cole made a sharp left turn down a separate hallway. “Where are we going?” you ask. 

“Oh, we're making your words reality mamas.” As he opens a door and suddenly you find yourself in some type of equipment storage closet. In the corner is an extra medical bed, and there are sticks everywhere along another wall. But you don’t have too much time to examine the room before you feel Cole behind you after he locks the door. “ Kissing down your neck, blowing air into your ear and all you can do is compliment him by sighing at the feeling. 

Quickly you regain your composure and turn around in his arms, finding his lips and kissing him hard. Fighting for dominance, and smirking when you slip your tongue into his mouth, he moans as a response and you can feel your underwear being damp from the sound he makes. Pushing him off of yourself quickly. You take a step back, you're against the wall now as you unbuckle your jeans. He says to you “have I told you how pretty you look with my name on your back.” 

Holding your hand up against his chest to stop him from getting any closer to you.”naw ah ah. Let’s put that tongue to good use, less yapping yeah?” Even though you phrase it as a question, your tone is stern and demanding. Taking your left hand that wasn’t on Cole’s chest you move it to his shoulder slightly pushing him down so he’s on his knees. The way he glances up to you with his now darker blue eyes could have made you come right there. Trying to take a breath without showing him how much control he really does have over you at the moment. Pulling your jeans down the rest of the way and stepping out of them, slipping your shoes so you can slip your skinny jeans off the rest of the way. 

Looking down at Cole in a full suit, suddenly deciding he’s in too much clothing as he kisses your exposed thighs in front of you. “Take. Off. Your. jacket.” 

“Yes Momas.” he says, taking his suit jacket, refusing to lose eye contact with you. He tosses the jacket somewhere behind him joining your jeans. He sticks his tongue out to tease you more as you throw your right leg over his shoulder. 

“Don’t even think about teasing Cole.” you grunt. He moves your underwear to the side swiping up and down your cunt in quick motions. “You wanna be a good boy right?” you ask as you tug slightly on his hair. 

“Hmm.” he moans as a yes on your clit, closing your eyes at the taste. Taking your hands you tug hard on his hair. 

“No, gotta keep your eyes open. I wanna see you while I grind on your face.” As you start to lightly roll your hips, Cole’s hands find the flesh of your ass and back of your thighs. He pulls you closer and starts kneading the soft flesh looking directly up to you as he moves his tongue down to your hole. Pushing in and out teasingly as his nose bumps his nose against your clit. “Fuck Cole.” you moan as you push your shoulders against the door, throwing your head back, closing your eyes at the feeling. Your hands go under the jersey finding your boobs squeezing them through your bra trying to play with your nipples. And then you feel Cole move his head so slightly causing a new angle as you roll your hips against his face even harder. “Fuck right there baby. Don’t stop.” you whine. So much for being in control but right now you couldn’t give a fuck with how good Cole was making you feel. 

Cole goes back up with his tongue to do circles over your clit driving so crazy. You don’t even realize one of his hands leaves your ass and his fingers find your hole abusing it even more than his tongue was a minute ago. “Fuck Cole I’m close.” you warn and that’s all you have time to grunt out before your vision blurs and you feel your legs shake, if it hadn’t been for Cole holding you upright you would have fell. He continues to eat you lapping up all your juices until your legs stop shaking and your breathing isn’t so ragged. 

Gently he removes his face from your pussy, careful to keep a steady grip on your legs so you stay up right. He slowly makes his way up to you, pulling you into a kiss so you can taste yourself and all you can do is moan in response. “Usually it takes more than a guy eating you out to feel this tired but holy shit Cole.” you mumble leaning your head on his shoulder closing your thighs. 

“Come on, let's get you dressed.” he says, reaching down for your jeans that were thrown away earlier. 

“No.” you whine. “ I’m not leaving you with this.” As you gently take one of your hands to slightly cup his bulge in his suit pants. He hisses in response. “See your in pain.” you complain.

“I’ll be fine. You just said your tired baby.” he argues. Looking back over at the medical examination bed in the corner of the room you get an idea. Slowly taking one of his hands you turn and walk backwards towards the bed guiding Cole with you. Letting go of his hand, you slip your underwear off the rest of the way and throw in his direction. He catches it on reflex sucking in a breath as feel the medical table behind you. Slowly you climb on and scoot all the way back. 

“I’m not too tired for you. Take what you need. Be good for me, make me cum again baby boy.” you beg as you lay down and spread your legs for Cole to have a perfect few of your still dripping pussy from your first orgasim. 

“Fuck. how did I get so lucky to get you.” he mumbles to himself as you watch him undress and make his way over to you.

[kimingyuslover]

Breath in your love

Synopsis : What if Jeonghan wishes of turn back time come true?

Word count : 3,231

Pairing : yoon jeonghan x fem!reader

Genre : time traveler!au, angst, fluff, lovers to exes to lovers, second chance romance

Warnings & note : TEARS, she has a daughter named Seok kyung, single mom!reader, slight of dad!Jeonghan at the end, time traveler!Jeonghan, mentions of food, lots of mentions of Seok kyung, kinda simp!Jeonghan, mentions of pregnancy, this fic does not represent his character in real life!

★ back with another angst story.... literally tearing up rn lolololol

☆ check out my other works > main masterlist

Life hasn't been easy for you, not even now, exhaustion evident on your face, you just want to go home and have a good rest on weekends like you always do.

Working under one of the big 3 companies was not easy, and you know it, yet you still work there and even achieve being their head of finance.

After you reach home, all your exhaustion goes through the window when you see your daughter waiting patiently with her nanny at your doorstep.

She's greeting you with a sweet smile plastered on her face with a piece of paper that she held proudly on her chest.

“Seok kyung!” You open your arms towards her. She reciprocates by running to you and wraps her tiny hands on your back.

“Did you be a good girl today? you're not causing a problem, are you?” she giggles between your questions and shakes her head no.

“I'm not mommy! Miss Jiwoo also said I'm good today and she gives me 5 stars!” She gave you her paper full of stars, you gasped at her answer, then smiled widely.

“really? My baby is so smart!” You take her inside while Seok kyung's nanny helps you by taking your bag and you mouth a ‘thank you’ to her as she smiles at you.

Having Seok kyung was not on your plan, at least until you found out that you're pregnant 5 years ago with her, and your pregnancy is seven weeks old.

When you first tell your boyfriend– now ex, Jeonghan, that you’re pregnant and you want to keep it, arguments start to happen.

He’s arguing that he's not yet ready to be a father and he doesn't want you to keep it, whereas you argue back that even though you're both not as ready as anyone else to be a parents, you still wants to keep it, you can learn together how to be a good parents, they done nothing wrong, so if you aborted them, wouldn't it be cruel?

Arguments keep happening since then, and it took you 3 days to finally break up with him, if he doesn't want the baby so be it, you're willing to give up on your 6 years relationship for your baby.

And now here you are, a single mother on the peak of your 30s with a daughter and a stable job that can give you more than enough money to live with your daughter.

There's so much purchase that you buy for your future, like a car, a house, maids, and even a nanny to take care of your daughter while you're working.

When you're on a business trip, though, you bring her with you because it makes you not worry too much about her.

“Sweetheart, mommy's having a business trip tomorrow. Do you want to come with me, or do you want to stay here with Uncle Joshua?” You asked Seok kyung after bathing with her and putting on clothes for both of you.

She makes the ‘think’ gesture first and answers you with excitement in her voice, “I want to go with mommy! Will we go with a plane again?” You lightly chuckles and stroke her hair softly.

“Yes, we will, baby. Let's pack up first, yeah?” She nods her head and runs towards your walk-in closet to take a big suitcase.

[ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ]

Now you're in the first class lounge, waiting for your airplane to open the gate for boarding.

Seok kyung playing games on her Ipad while you were reviewing the proposal your team has been working on for over a month.

After a couple minutes of waiting, your gate has finally opened for boarding, and you usher Seok kyung to get up from the couch and walk to the boarding gate.

On the other hand, Jeonghan thinks he might be dreaming when he sees you with a little girl on his plane boarding gate, smiles attached to your and her face while walking hand-in-hand.

It's been years since he last saw you, the last time was when he fucked up your relationship, feeding only his ego then at the end all of his mistake was the cause of your break up.

His first serious relationship that he cherished the most comes to an end, and it was not in a good way.

Jeonghan knew he was the wrong one, and the only one who can be blamed for your ruined relationship, you've done nothing wrong, but in his eyes that time, you've done more than the wrong things he imagined.

There’s a hard pang he feels in his heart when he sees you. He spent almost every hour in a day stalking your social media, and he always wanted to be the one who you'll always mention in your post.

He felt the hurt in his heart more when he saw your posting almost 5 years ago. It's a picture of one pair of tiny feet on your hand, but for him, it's not only a picture of a baby feets, it's a photo of his daughter, the one he left when you're only seven weeks pregnant.

When he got your notification, he almost immediately checked on his phone when he saw you updating your life with Seok kyung (he learned that was her name when one of your friends mentioned it in the comment section).

All of your updates have always been successful to bring a smile to his face.

Jeonghan always wondered what his life would be if he shortly apologised after the first argument, would Seok kyung love him? Will he be a good dad? Will you get married and live a happy life for the rest of your life just like you both had planned when your relationship entered 3 years?

The questions are always running on his mind 24/7, wanting no more than to run to you, holding both your hand and Seok kyung on his, kneeling in front of you and muttering apologise after apologise until you forgive him.

But that seems to be an impossible act. Before he knew it, he had already gotten on the plane and sat on his seat.

When he turns around, his body freezes upon seeing you and Seok kyung on your seats, playing like there's nobody else in the world.

After what feels like an eternity, the plane finally takes off, Jeonghan’s hoping that he won't be fast asleep because he wants to see you and your daughter– or rather, the daughter of his and yours.

A few hours have passed, and you are both fast asleep on your seat. Jeonghan called the air hostess to allow him to switch seats, luckily for him, it's not a full flight so there's a few seats left, he chooses the one who he can get closer to you, wanting to observe your little family a little bit more.

He can see the little detail on her face, he can see the manifestation of your and his love, she got your lips and eyes, meanwhile her nose and hair seems to be more likely to his.

Suddenly, tears started to brimming in his eyes. Why can't he accept his fate? Why can’t he do what a good fiancé will do when their fiancée says that she's pregnant? Why can't he seem to never be good enough to enroll in your life again?

Tears fell down from his eyes down his chin, then dropped to his lap.

oh, how he wished he could turn back time.

[ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ]

“baby? baby, you need to get up. Today is still thursday, and you have to get ready to work” Jeonghan can't believe what he's hearing, your sweet voice filling both of his ears.

Realising that it was, indeed, your voice, he immediately sat up from his sleep figure and started to look at you with disbelief prominent on his face.

He still didn't believe his eyes, and he went as far as holding your cheeks with his hands, and you gave him a puzzled look.

“Uh, baby? what's wrong?” You asked him while raising one of your eyebrows, puzzled by his unusual behavior.

Jeonghan said nothing and just pulled you on his chest. If this is a dream, he’s hoping he will never wake up and have to live his life with the same nightmare everyday.

“Just for your information, ten minutes has passed and it's now seven past five and you can always hug me again when you get home” You said with muffled voice, and there Jeonghan let go of you, to have a better look of your face, and then smiles which you reciprocated with the same.

“Okay then, I have to go shower even though I still want to cuddle with you, am i?” You nod at his words and get off the bed.

Jeonghan finally comes to his senses and gets off from the bed, heading towards the bathroom, a wide smile still attached to his face.

After he got out of the shower, his ironed work attire already sat on his bed. It's the daily activity you would do, preparing his work attire when he showers.

Jeonghan still remembers how you two would act like a married couple, like a husband and wife, even long before your engagement.

When he goes downstairs, he searches for you, and when he does get to see you, you're in your kitchen, cooking breakfast and preparing lunch for him.

He never eats in the office canteen because the lunch you made has already made his stomach full, and he makes sure to tell you everytime he gets home from work.

Jeonghan checks the dates and months on his phone, and when he opens it.

January 16th, 2021

30 days before you announce that you're pregnant, he hopes that he can be here forever so he can fix everything for both of you.

“Love? Eat your breakfast first, and here's your lunch” back in the day, Jeonghan never appreciated your dish like he should, he only said ‘thanks’ before eating it half and then got up and went to the basement of your Maisonette apartment.

Jeonghan eagerly sat on the dining table and started to dig into the breakfast that you made, which is kimchi fried rice with seaweed on the side.

You look at him confused because Jeonghan is usually not this enthusiastic with your dish, but of course, you're happy to see Jeonghan eating your dish like this.

When he's done, Jeonghan goes to the sink and washes his plate and eateries.

“The food is so good sweetheart, can't wait to eat my lunch that you packed for me. Thank you, angel” He said, then kissed the top of your head with love, and that made you let out giggles.

“You're welcome. You better get go on though, there's a little traffic on the way to your office when i opened the maps earlier”

And does he already mention that you're always checking the maps before him?

After bidding you a goodbye, Jeonghan closed the front door and went straight to the basement, ready for probably a long day at work.

In the modern day, Jeonghan is already the vice president of the marketing department, so it shouldn't be that hard now.

He knows you're working remotely, so he doesn't need to worry about you getting late to your office.

In a matter of hours, lunch and working hours have passed, it is now five past six, and Jeonghan hurriedly tidying his office desk to go home.

Unluckily for him, the traffic is worse than the previous one in the morning where he got one, which makes him get home 15 minutes late.

Now it's 5:45, and he made it home before it got dark, wanting no more than to throw himself on your hugs.

“I'm home!” he announces as he kicks his shoes and places them on the shoe racks.

His ears perked up when he heard your hurried footsteps, coming down from the second floor.

“Long traffic? I've seen the route from your office to here. You should probably go shower. What do you want for dinner? I’ll make it” you said as you practically ran after you got off the stairs to him.

Jeonghan smiled. He really missed your attention for the past years he’s not with you.

So he answers you with the meals you and him like, Kimchi stew and after that he brings your lips to his for a chaste kiss that makes you blush and slap his chest lightly and whine his name.

Jeonghan just chuckles lightly, and he runs towards your shared bedroom to have a shower.

Once he gets out of the shower, he rushes out to your dining rooms, excited for the Kimchi stew you make.

Until now, Jeonghan only likes the Kimchi stew made by his mom and yours because he found comfort in them. He already tried to like Kimchi stew from the restaurants, but it never beat yours nor his mother's.

He misses these moments, where you and he will eat together in your shared maisonette, eating with happy giggles always left on both your lips, and the satisfied feelings when he's eating your dishes again with you sitting on the opposite of his seat.

“I love the meal, angel. you're such a good cook, i know you're going to be a good mom someday” He knows you're a good mom, Seok kyung always looks so happy when she's with you.

His words make you blush, and you try to hide it by burying your face on your hands, Jeonghan laugh and get up from his seat to hug you from your back, “I mean it, you're good at cooking and will be a good mom to our kids” then he kisses the top of your head before getting your and his bowl to wash it.

[ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ]

February 15th, 2021

1 day before your announcement, everything goes more than well. He just has to stick with his plan, and he hopes he can change his future with you.

Jeonghan sometimes sees you when you're throwing up in your bathroom and always asks if you want him to go to the pharmacy nearby, but you always shake your heads no.

He tried to build a happy relationship with you. He wants to treat you with the treatments you deserve. He wants to love you like he should before the downfall.

He wants Seok kyung to have a life like the other kids, having a mother and father figure.

Jeonghan was living his old life, like usual, going to work 9 to 5, going out with you every weekend, and telling you how much he loves you everytime he could.

He just got off from work. When you suddenly started to put distance between you, he furrowed his eyebrows, creating creases on his forehead.

He vividly remembers that this was not in his memory.

Did he do something wrong? Why are you putting distance towards him? Does his plan not work? Do you want to get off of him? His thoughts are running hundreds of miles per hour, thinking of the worst scenario in his head.

The next day comes fast. Last night, Jeonghan had already emailed his boss that he’s taking 2 weeks off and requested to do work from home because his fiancée is pregnant. His boss doesn't waste another single time as she reads it. She accepts Jeonghan's request.

Jeonghan’s nervous. Could he really change the future?

“Jeonghan,” There is it, your voice calling his name, it means you will have a serious conversation with him.

You look so afraid that you couldn't see him in the eyes, your eyes attached to the ground beneath you, Jeonghan can see that you're trembling, so initiated to take you by your shoulders and told you to sit in front of him.

“What's wrong, honey?” Jeonghan asks, worried plastered on his face.

“I'm pregnant with your child. It's seven weeks old” you said hurriedly while giving him the test, the ultrasounds, and the doctor's examination letter.

In the past timeline, Jeonghan already cuts you off when you said you're pregnant with his child, never letting you finish your words.

“I want to keep the baby” you said again while fiddling with your hands on your lap.

Jeonghan couldn't be happier than he is now, Seok kyung will recognize him as her father, not a stranger.

“Okay, keep the baby. We both know that we have a minimal knowledge to be parents, but we will learn together” Jeonghan answered you, with his tear-filled eyes he held your chin up, so your eyes were at the same level as him.

You looked at him in disbelief. Jeonghan can see your tears already spilling from your eyes, so he wipes your tears from your cheeks with his thumbs.

The distance between you both grows smaller, Jeonghan wastes no time to crush your lips together and give you a long, chaste kiss.

He pulled out first, giving you and him a room for air, “Thank you, baby, thank you” He connects your foreheads, smiling as he looks at you.

That night was spent with you on the held of Jeonghan's hand, sleeping after watching a few videos of how to be a good parent and early pregnancy care.

Jeonghan doesn't want anything other than this, having his life with you in it.

[ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ]

Jeonghan eyes shoot open when he hears the sound of a film beside him. He remembers that he was sitting alone, wait–

when he turns his head to the right, there's a window, ‘no no no no no’ he thought to himself.

If he's in the present time, that means everything he sees, he feels, is it only his dream? but he dared to turn his head to the other side, wanting to see who was sat beside him.

He can't buy what he's seeing right now, Seok kyung is sat beside him while you're sat beside her.

Seok kyung looked at her side when she felt something was moving, “Mommy! daddy's already wake up!” her eyes light up when she speaks with you.

“Got a nice dream, huh? you passed out for like, 10 hours of our flight, we're landing in 30 minutes” you say with a teasing smile on your face, Jeonghan's confused, trying to regain his mind.

Then it clicks, he was not dreaming, he really changed his future, Seok kyung known him as her father, not a stranger.

When he sees his right hand, there's a wedding ring, so this is the ending he gets. He really gets his happy ending, with Seok kyung, and most importantly, you.

“Love, you're okay?” You ask with cautiousness, Jeonghan seems unusual after his 10 hours sleep.

He then answers you hurriedly, “yes, i'm fine, i'm just zoning out” Jeonghan answers, and in a split seconds, he pulls you both for a long hug.

You and Seok kyung chuckles when Jeonghan doesn't want to let both of you go, and when he did, he leaned in to kiss you on the lips.

This is resulting in his daughter whines ‘i want to be kissed too!’ That, of course, Jeonghan accomplished, giving his beloved kisses on her cheeks, forehead, and lips.

Jeonghan can finally live his life with goods waiting for him. He starts to forget his life before this trip, how he wanted to pray every single day to thank god.

He lives a happy life with you and Seok kyung. He will never let you go again.

His little family consisted of Yoon Jeonghan, Yoon Seok kyung, and Yoon Y/n.

[thevoidscreams]

Hi!! I'm a recent lurker and love how u write stuff. Hope I'm on time for the mating press march (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

You're a perpetual who had been accidentally stuck inside the Warp until one day u manage to see a bunch of babies getting yeeted through the Warp (wtf?). U aren't evil so of course u aren't going to leave a bunch of cute babies getting hauled and probably corrupted by the 4 freaks that reside in that awful place. U go collecting kiddos as if they were pokemons (u only manage to get a few of them, not all) and decide to rise them because why the fuck no? Fast forward, some asshole comes claming to be the father of your sons and that he will take them. A fight breaks at first but somehow you both end up fucking to an inch of your life and this emperor guy has decided that the best solution to this problem is that you become his consort... You're actually pretty okay with that.

Have a wonderful day! ♡⁠(⁠Ӧ⁠ｖ⁠Ӧ⁠｡⁠)

I had a few ideas for this but I'm only doing one so, I hope it pleases the masses. Reader is a perpetual from the modern day and there are references to such. Also I wanted this one to have some bits of comedy as it just helped the story flow a bit better. Also this WILL have some grim dark elements.

Smut isn't the focus of this piece.

Day 28 Year 2: Warnings: Descriptions of injuries, implied cannibalism, violence, implied sex Word count: 5599

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to piss off a minor warp god in college? Sure it'd been funny, really fucking funny, but now you were here, and here wasn't where you wanted to be.

Here was the warp, and your ass was spending eternity in it because of a rickroll gone wrong. Lesson learned though, don't bong a fifth and do stupid rituals written in tomes bound in suspicious leather in the woods.

You'd made it out in considerably better shape then your friends. That part did still haunt you. The crackling of bones, and the wet tearing of flesh.

Not that you thought any of that bullshit was real until then.

Well, hindsight is 20/20 as they say.

The worst part of being trapped in.. hell? Purgatory? The warp? It didn't matter this place sucked wholesale ass, but the worst part aside from the boredom was the things that skittered about out here. You'd gotten pretty good at dodging them and figuring out how to move around in this place. But it was like the deep trenches of the oceans on earth. One minute, nothing, the next second? Boom giant ass squid, ready to eat your face and nibble the bones.

If only you could find a way out. There was a terrible crack, like thunder but longer and deeper.

Then lights erupted in the distance, subtle at first but then brighter and hotter as they drew closer. Some instinctual part of you knew that you had to get to them. To catch the pods as they rocketed towards you. Creatures like living nightmares clawed at the capsules, trying to pry free whatever prize was inside the metal and glass.

Deamons. That did it. You swam through the currents faster than you ever had. your body collided with one. The many limb form was jarred loose, claws screeching as it scrambled for purchase, its grotesque from falling free. A second slithered around the side only to be met with a foot to the face. As it leapt from the capsule you finally had a chance to glance down through the frost caked glass and into the eyes of a tiny person. A child. You pushed the capsule through the tides, knocking into two more, crushing one of the daemons and sending the others hurtling from the smooth metal surfaces. The three you'd pushed together were sadly the only ones you'd managed. The others had been pulled away by other currents and had vanished. There was a pulling, almost sucking sensation on your skin as the waters of the immaterial plane parted and suddenly you were weightless in a new way. And deathly cold, colder than you ever had been. The zero pressure of space around you was a pain you had never known, not before and hopefully never again.

Then you were falling. Holding onto the capsule you fell down down down, through the atmosphere of a world, your skin popped and boiled on reentry, cooking part of your back. Then it was mercifully over, until it wasn't. You woke up in a fresh set of clothes, clean and alive. What remained of your old body was a half cooked, half splattered mess. "Yeesh." You groaned to no one in particular, then it all came back to you. The pods. The kids. You ran for what looked like the crash sight. The earth around them was badly damaged. But you hurried through the debris to find them. The first you found was the one you'd been riding. On it's front the Roman numerals XII. Twelve, you realized, How ever many of the pods there had been this one was number twelve. You searched for a way to open it, but you didn't need to. It opened with a hiss of freezing air and out stumbled the boy. BArely more than a toddler, yet he stood with purpose. A compossure and understanding of what was around him to an almost unnerving degree. "Hello." You spoke softly, taking a knee before him. You pulled off your light over coat and laced it around him to cover his naked form. 'Oh god please let him be a Superman and not a Zod.' You worried, looking at the pod he'd been in. "You got siblings?" You asked and he turned looking in the direction of what appeared to be another crash. He began to toddle that way and you walked beside him, offering him your hand. He took it and you walked together to the two other crash sights. There you gathered, number four and number fourteen. You were glad your weird ability allowed you to come back with your clothes, or else you would have had to trek around with three naked babies. And that wasn't ideal.

"Okay you three... now what?" You looked up to the darkening sky. Damn did you really not pay attention in astronomy class or what? The stars here looked all wrong and your sense of direction was totally fucked.

So you headed for what looked like a mountain. With no signs of civilization in sight you would just have to find somewhere and hope that the night wasn't too cold. WIth a cave located you settled the boys down. Using branches and some kind of moss to make makeshift beds. "Okay, you all stay here. I am going to go grab some of that fire out there, and hopefully bring it in here." They looked at you and nodded. Well they understood you and that was good. The trip back down the shallow slope wasn't too hard, but it might become harder the longer you're here. Finding fire wasn't the hard part. The impact has set trees on fire and they still smoldered. The problem was getting it back to the cave. You found a good stick, setting it into the flames only half way till it burned with fire at the end. "Nice." You trekked back up the mountain using the impromptu torch to light the way. When you got back however, the three were sitting around a fire. They turned to look as you approached. "Oh..okay." You came closer to them and set the large branch into the flames. "So more fire for the fire I guess." You sat a few feet away from it looking at the odd children. They looked at you expectantly. You felt responsible for them, and there was something clearly unique about the boys. You needed to take care of them. How you would do that you weren't sure. But you'd have to get it figured out. The press of small warm bodies startled you for a moment, they were all pressed against you, and you opened your arms to let them in closer. First things first you supposed they'd need names.That first week went by in a blur and the kids were already bigger. Perturabo, as he'd taken to calling himself, was already analyzing the world around him as if he had been alive for centuries longer than he had. Maybe it was the fact that you'd cut yourself and they all gathered around to sample your blood which had freaked you out terribly. Yet that was when they'd begun to speak in fragmented sentences.

Though the fact that they could speak more didn't shock you, it was how fast they were growing. Food on the mountain side was scarce, small rodent animals skittered among the crags and stones but they were far too fast to catch by hand. If only the girl scouts taught rope tying like the boy scouts you thought wistfully. Maybe you could have made a snare.

Perturabo had also begun calling his brothers by new names. Given that none you tried felt right for these clearly non average humans.

Mortarion had brought back plants. "Eat these." You took them, placing them on a stone by the fire. "Thank you Mortarion, you did a good job finding these." You praised and he smiled. "Thank you mama." He darted off to look for more before you could correct him, did you even want to correct him?

A week later the first storm hit. The kids were as tall as your waist in height. And seemingly

growing by the minute. A thick layer of snow washed over the mountain. You shivered, the cold could kill, but the fire wood gathered did help. Angron pressed his face into your side. Every time he touched you it seemed that some ache or pain evaporated and your worries eased. The plants you'd gathered were running out. There was enough for a day, but with how hungry they were, it would be hard to keep them satisfied. You looked down at your own hands. Then to the knife of flint Perturabo had made you. They looked hungry.. you would come back, with more clothes and.. and you were a sizable chunk of calories. They looked at you, and the twisted knowledge of what you had to do for your boys set in. You would come back.

You knelt before them on their now remade 'beds'. "Boys, I have to do something, and I know it will be upsetting to see, but I need you to trust me." The storm howled outside the cave. It hadn't let up. "You're going to hurt yourself." Perturabo surmised and you nodded. His face scrunched and there was a look of quiet grief in his eyes. "I won't be gone long. I promise." You stood and Mortarion took your hand, then Angron. "No." they whispered quietly. You smiled sadly. "We need to eat." It was all you said before pulling away and heading for the back of the cave. They should have to see this. You tossed some of the bones onto the fire. They popped and crackled as the water in them evaporated. You still felt shaky about the meat incident as you called it. But your boys looked full and they had energy. You took the old clothes and tried as best as you could to outfit their ever growing bodies. It wouldn't be enough. The winds died down first and the sun came out for the first time in over two weeks. Many more bones piled in the cave, and your skulls had made for fine cups to melt the snow into water. It had been a month and the boys who had started as hardly more than infants were now old enough to be squabbling. "Boys, that's enough. We need to go. Gather your stuff." They did as you bid, hurrying to gather what few belongings they had. Perturabo was at the front. "The south is that way." He pointed. You let him take the front, as he seemed to know where he was going. Occasionally he'd look up to the sky and mutter but you never saw anything. After hours of hiking you stopped. They looked at you and you shook your head. "Rest." You told them. It was mid afternoon by the look of the sun. The woods around you were coming alive. It was full of alien bird song and despite the snow. It was lovely. You rested your head back against a tree and Angron hugged you. You wrapped an arm around him. They were calm, listening and then there was a snuffling. You picked up your head but the boys were already alert. Facing the sound. An animal, something like a boar but with longer legs strolled from the snowy brush. It turned its eyes in your direction. Parting jaws full of conical teeth. It seemed to find the idea of you worth the trouble. It charged. You were ready to bolt, but sweet Mortarion was the first to move. He fisted a rock up from the ground and brought it down right over the animal's eye. It wheeled, screaming as it made to charge him. Angron came in next. Swinging his clenched fist into the knee of its back left leg. It went down with a hearty crunch and another high pitched whistling scream. Perturabo joined the fray, the flint blade he'd made cutting down through its neck and it dropped. The boys shouted, hooting and whooping as they stood over the slain beast. You were staring in shock. They were only children.. but they weren't only human. You remembered. Mortarion and Angron seemed the most delighted. "Look mama, we killed it. Now you won't have to hurt yourself so we can eat. It's okay."

The boy's words were like a hot knife to the gut. Tears stung your eyes and they all looked confused. They came to you, arms open to embrace you. "It's okay boys I'm okay. You all did such a good job, I'm proud of you." In truth you weren't and hadn't been for a long time, but that didn't matter now. You had your boys and that was enough, you would care for them no matter what. The pig thing lasted only two days. Your kids were still growing. Soon the clothes you'd provided wouldn't be big enough.

It was then you found salvation. A town, sizable to be sure. There would be things here for you to better dress your boys. But.. you didn't have money.

The words you read on posters looked so frustratingly familiar but there was nothing you understood. Perturabo stepped up beside you, seeming to get that it was a job board. He knew that from the memories he had of your life before. He and his brothers had come to understand your life up until now after consuming so much of you, including your brain. You stayed staring at the board as if it would give up its secrets to you. Perturabo gathered Angron and Mortarion. "We need money but none of us speak this language. I can read it, kind of, but mom cannot." "What do you suggest?" Mortarion asked his brother. "We need to learn this language." It was all he said, but the understanding was immediate.

When you turned with a frustrated sigh you expected to see your boys. But all that met you was an empty alleyway and the quiet of the night. "Boys?" You called softly, surely they had to be nearby. Panic gripped your heart as the only reply you got was silence and more darkness. "Boys!?" You called again and began to search frantically. The three could hear you and it hurt to ignore your call. They took the opportunity to find someone suitable. Someone no one would miss. And they found it in the form of a ganger alone in an alleyway, nothing to light his figure in the dark but the burning of a foul smelling stick between his lips. You nearly collapsed with relief when you saw Mortarion and grabbed him. He looked upset about something but you just knelt by him and held his face in your hands. "Mortarion, where were you? Where are the others?" Tears streaked down your cheeks and warm arms embraced you from behind, Angron was hugging you. "We're sorry mama. It won't happen again." Perturabo was the last to appear. You hugged them all so tight.

"Don't ever run off like that again, okay?" They nodded. And you found a tavern that seemed to have rooms. Mortarion put a wad of something in your hand and you gasped. It was money. "Did you steal this?" You asked him and he nodded. "You shouldn't steal." You told him but he didn't feel as remorseful as he pretended to be.

"Still it should get us a room.. I hope." You pushed through the doors. It was like some odd blend between a tavern of old and a motel. The bartender? Clerk? Looked up at you then down at your clothes and then to the three children with you all dressed the same.

He said something but you didn't understand it. Perturabo took your hand. "He wants to know if he can help us with something." At this point you didn't question it. "Yes. We need a room. And I would like to know if he's got any positions open for work. Just until we can get our feet under us."

Perturabo relayed the message and the clerk looked at a screen typing something. He spoke to Perturabo who nodded.

You stepped up to the counter and the man looked you over. You must look terrible. "He says they need a general cleaner and that you may work for room and board. But if we want to stay longer than that he knows a better place to do so." "How about we just start with a room for tonight. And the job tomorrow."

The bar clerk, as you took to calling him, got you a key to a room with a few beds and he took what cash you owed him. Which wasn't as much of your cash stash as you assumed. The first thing you did was bathe and instructed the boys to do so as well. Then you slept. Like a rock. With all three of your boys piled on your bed. When you woke the next afternoon you stumbled down to the lobby and found that the man from the night before had been replaced by an older woman. She had a motherly sense about her and she smiled. She motioned you forward and took out a box of old clothes for the boys. And a few pieces for you as well. Perturabo translated that they were 'hand me downs' from her own sons including the one you'd met the night before. And the woman's clothes were from her daughter who no longer wanted the pieces.

It was such a thoughtful gift you teared up and she shushed you and gave the four of you breakfast.

That was the first of many that you would have in that inn. It was also unfortunately the first day you would understand the problem of living in a town or city. The 'Tax Collectors' were petty thugs working for the government. They came through the towns outside the cities regularly and took what they wanted, often taking more than was needed and pocketing the excess. The innkeeper and her children seemed to just let it happen. So worn down by the constant abuse that it seemed normal. Your sons watched, a deep anger in their eyes as they observed the cruelty. "Just stay behind the counter, don't want a repeat of your husband. Awful soon to make your children orphans wouldn't you say?" He lazily gestured what looked like a flintlock pistol at the elderly mother and your hands clenched into fists. You hadn't understood what he'd said but the look you saw from the three was absolutely murderous. And they intended to do something about it. The assault had only taken a minute, maybe less, but the five men sent to scour the town and her people of their valuables for their governor were piles of bloody rags and meat on the floor. The inn keeper had fainted at the show and you laid her down on a few throw pillows until she woke up. It wasn't a pretty sight and the four of you set about cleaning it up. Little did you know this would become a common occurrence. Five months down the line and the three looked like nearly full grown men. The innkeeper took your explanation of them being your sons with a grain of salt. But she was glad for the peace their presence brought to the town. Maybe you would tell her one day the whole truth. It was also from her, though you were still gathering the language, that you had been correct in your assumptions that this was not earth. That part did confuse you. And there was no way to know how long you had been disconnected from reality until you contacted someone from the wider universe, if anyone was still out there.

"This won't stand. I won't allow tyrants to rule this world and her people." You overheard Mortarion say it. His conviction is clear as day. "I agree, we allow our town to live in relative peace but others do not know such a luxury. And the men they keep sending are getting better armed and more numerous." Angron added. Perturabo listened and stood from the makeshift forge he'd set up outback of the inn. "We will arm ourselves, and take the fight to its source." You trembled at the thought. Of your boys going off to fight some terrible army of gangsters and blood thirsty law enforcement. They noticed as you rounded the corner a look of concern in your eyes. "Hey kiddos." You were pulled into a hug by all three. "We must do this. To keep this world and you free and safe." You tried to understand but it still didn't make it easier. "This is our purpose, what we were made for."

Has it really been only half a year since the pods? It felt like a lifetime. "You protected us, now let us protect you." They headed off the week after, with weapons and armor forged by the hands of your 'oldest'. Then they were gone, for three months you fretted, cleaning the inn from top to bottom over and over until there wasn't a single nook or cranny you hadn't scrubbed twice over.

You helped ease your mind by making up fake yelp reviews in your heads about it. Four stars, the place was so clean but the cleaning lady did the dishes while our breakfast was still on them. Otherwise a great stay and friendly staff. You were giggling to yourself about it when the front doors blew open. Three towering figures crouched in and you nearly fell off your ladder from where you were changing the candles. Angron grabbed you first, hugging you tight. "MA!" He laughed and the others soon joined. Even the relatively dour Perturabo. "Oh my boys!" You cried and hugged them, kissing their foreheads, even if they were bigger than you now. They told all, not leaving a single detail blank, from the day they left to the day the took the capital. "There's a place for you there mama." Mortarion said, hugging you. "A fine manor where you will be safe and where we can take care of you now." "There's also labs with technology beyond what we have here. We can go, and find a way back to your world, or to find others like us." You nodded. "Let's not leave tonight. We'll leave in the morning."

The staff was sad to see you go. But the town at large was celebrating, the heros who'd freed them from the tyrants and allowed them to live in peace.

It had never been more apparent then when you looked at them now that they weren't humans. Not like you.The capital looked more like cities you remembered. Cities of metal and stone and glass. You didn't get attached to the place, you didn't think you'd be there long enough.

Perturabo was completing one of his first ships from old schematics he found in the labs. Improving it where he could. You helped Angron and Mortarion in their attempts to rework the government. You colossal sons seemed to have a hard time in talking to regular humans as they all trembled before them, in both fear and awe. It took entirely too long to get it figured out. Months in fact.

But it did get done. Men and women from every major town and city came together as a sort of united governing body. Elected by their towns own smaller councils.

You felt good about it by the time you left. What you didn't feel good about was traveling in space. It made you think too much of the warp and its horrors. But your sons would keep you safe and you would keep them safe in turn. Helping them learn to navigate their own more human aspects. Helping guide them to settle petty disagreements and squabbles. They still insisted on sleeping in the room with you. Having grumbles about how they could barely sleep when they were away to liberate the world. You let them. You loved them after all, they’re your boys.

The world you came to first was one called barbarous. Its toxic atmosphere and earth made for a terrible death world. You had to wear a mask the whole time and even then it left your skin feeling itchy and irritated. The humans here lived in more fear than they did on the one you'd left behind. It took even more months to free this world, from the terrible claws of the oppression brought by the overlords. You'd patched them all up more times then you could count but their bodies didn't need as much time to heal. They handled the fumes and violence better. Mortarion seemed to feel a deeper connection to it. "I can't explain it, but it was like I was meant to be here." You heart-fully disagreed. But it was his own feelings on the matter and you didn't push.

The people were set up, made to rule themselves as you had done before.It went similarly for another world called Nuceria. Angron seemed to shiver at the feeling of being there. His hearts beat with rage as he saw men, women and children enslaved in the fighting pits.

This one was harder to topple, the people had to be brought up. Given the purpose and desire to fight. You were there over a year, almost two. The barbarians had ancient technologies that Perturabo fashioned into weapons. The conflict was bloody, but your sons took the day, Mortarion was glad to see more tyrants brought to heel and Angron became well loved by the people of the fighting pits. Even tasking his brother to find a way to remove the nails hammering into their skulls. He did, and the healing began as it did on Barbarus.

They upgraded their armor and weapons as you went. The ship Perturabo had made, became larger and more advanced. There seemed to be a deep need in him, a calling he could not deny.

It came about when you left the warp again in the orbit of a world called Olympia.

You immediately didn't like it. The world was fine, but the people, they were users, self involved and greedy. They looked at your boys and saw tools. You didn't want to stay, but Perturabo did, he wanted to see more of the world. Its city states were always warring, and Perturabo sought to see peace reign, and you gave in with a sigh. "Okay, if it will make you happy, Pert." You kissed his forehead and let him go about his business. His brothers helped, and in a matter of months the world was under the rule of one city. You didn't like the people, but there was one girl, the daughter of the city's leader, and you and her got on well. Maybe this place wasn't so bad if you avoided the asshats who wanted to get to know you to get closer to your sons. It was oddly enough here that your life would change again, and maybe for the best. You couldn't be sure. You'd been in the city with your three when at the top of the nearby mountain there was an incredible light. Your sons were drawn to it. Needing to know where it was coming from. You followed. He was radiant beyond belief, the man on the mountain. Your sons fell to their knees in awe of him. You had to resist harder than you ever had to resist anything not to also succumb. "My sons. I have looked for you, on many worlds. I heard tales of your great deeds." "Hold on!" You interjected. "Who are you?" You demanded, and the man seemed to consider you. Your sons reached for you to try and calm you. "I am known by many titles, but to most I am the emperor of mankind. And these," He gestured to the three men who you'd loved and raised, "are my sons. I thank you for bringing them together, but their destinies lie beyond here, they are my generals, and they have sons of their own to lead, armies made in their image for them to lead and bring the universe back under the banner of humanity. You have seen them do this, here and on other worlds." He was going to take them away. You could feel it and the anger bubbled up in you, it didn't matter if this being was so much greater than you. These were YOUR sons, who YOU had raised and loved and all of hell would freeze over before you let this stranger take them. "So what, you're just gonna take them and make them work for you?" You interjected." "Yes. And you will stay here, or on the world where you found them." He spoke with such finality that you felt your anger rise higher. "They're my sons." You growled, "You won't be taking them from me." Your eyes blazed, and the golden figure reached for you. His hand closed around your throat. The clatter of metal behind you told you that your sons were on their feet now. "Put her down." Angron's low rumble came, demanding. The emperor looked from you to them. In their eyes he saw loyalty, love and devotion. "I see. This is very interesting then." He hadn't expected to find them all here but it seemed as if you were the common factor.

He made a motion with his hand and you found yourself away from the surface. The room around you was dim, the walls gold. It seemed to be personal chambers. "You will tell me everything." He touched your forehead with one bare finger and you felt him push into your mind. Every memory scrutinized, every laugh, and trial, everything that you had sacrificed for the children you loved. Giving your own body to them to eat, teaching them how to interact with the world around them and each other. Even the fight in the warp. You'd brought three of his sons together, and they were raised as brothers as his other sons never got to. He felt your love, so deep and maternal. You writhed in his hands and he drew his finger away. You had done more for them than most had. "You are indeed their mother." You looked him in his eyes and he did something that shocked you, he set you down. Knelt before you and bowed his head in gratitude. "Thank you." He spoke as the blinding aura around him dimmed and you saw him properly, so it seemed, for the first time. He touched your cheek but you didn't recoil, and a soft stream of memories played in your mind, the theft of his sons, the anguish, the search for them, finding other that you did not know, but more than anything, finding the worlds where you had been, listening to stories and seeing their progress with such pride, the happiness at finally landing on the world of Olympia to find them.

Then and softest of all, the pleasure of seeing your memories and knowing that unlike some of his sons, these three had been loved so fully and cared for. "Thank you." He spoke again, his lips pressed to yours and your brain went haywire. Holy hell, how long has it been since you were kissed? Or touched in any other other than platonic. You'd accepted that your sons' clingy need to sleep by you likely meant you'd not have a love life for a long time if ever, but oh fuck it felt nice. You pulled away and he let you. Your brain swam with less than wholesome ideas. "You will come with us." He said, and you nodded, mind still swimming. "Okay." You agreed and he swept you up into the bed. His mouth on your neck as he kissed marks down your flesh to seal the deal. You had no idea how long it took. But by the end you were a sweating, panting mess, naked under him as he put another load in you. "I have been lonely these past years, very lonely. And I know that my sons who did not have others to love them would benefit from your care." He rolled onto his side and you were amazed at how quick you went from mad to okay with all of this. "We should probably tell our kids then." You sat up thinking about the three left planet side. "They have already been brought aboard." He explained. You nodded but before you could get up the man pulled you back down. "You are a perpetual." You shrugged. "I guess, if by that you mean I can't die like others then yeah."

He nodded. "That is good, it means I will have you for longer and that my sons will not have to mourn your passing as they would a regular human." You felt his warm seed leak from you and then you realized. He didn't use protection, your cheeks flushed a deep red. He sensed your sudden realization and laughed warmly. "Well you already love three of my sons. I'm sure you could love more."

You huffed. What an asshole. But you kissed him again…for your sons’ sake.

[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Two

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : PG

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] This whole story will deal with dark and smutty themes. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 4.3k

A/N : Spoiler warning for anyone who hasn't read The Picture of Dorian Gray (though can I really spoil a book that's over 130 years old? idk).

CHAPTER ONE

Chapter Two

This is going to be fun.

That was what he’d told you, and you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since. You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. 

As you laid in bed that night, you wondered where he was, you wondered what he was doing. What had he meant when he told you that he liked you? Did you even want to be liked by him? The more you thought about it, the more you realised just how strange the conversation had been. At the time it felt like he was taking a measure of you, trying to understand you, but not necessarily trying to know you.

At the time you’d felt like you were on the back foot, too shocked by his sudden appearance to really learn anything about him.

But, again, you had to wonder if that was something you really wanted. After all, he was a vampire and there was still so much that you didn’t know about their world and the way that they lived.

You fell asleep that night thinking about his dark eyes and the way he’d looked as he’d sipped your blood.

The next morning you woke with a start, realising that you'd forgotten to set an alarm the night before and you’d overslept. Not that you had any reason to wake up before midday, but you were certain that if you didn’t find a way to keep some sort of structure in your life over the next year, you were going to lose your mind.

So, you got up and got breakfast before spending half an hour on the treadmill, taking a slow walk, imagining you were on your way to the Met. Every day you were going to imagine a new place you’d be able to see in the city once your contract was over. After your walk and a quick shower, you got dressed and headed out into the main penthouse. 

You weren’t surprised that he wasn’t out there - because, of course he wasn’t, it was the middle of the afternoon - but you still felt... something. Disappointment? No, loneliness. 

For a few seconds your eyes caught on his door before you headed into the library.

The next few hours were spent going through his books and his record collection, looking for something, anything, that might tell you a little more about him. But you didn’t know what you were looking for, and there was no way of telling which of the books, if any, held any real sort of value to him. Dorian Gray, you guessed, had to mean something because he’d noticed it was missing from the shelf, but there was everything from the classics to more recent books, spanning almost every genre you could think to name.

(Though you did have to wonder if he’d purchased Dracula before or after being turned.)

Your search for clues seemed fruitless; you couldn’t even begin to guess his age from his record collection. There was everything from classical music to records that you knew were only released last year. Everything was too eclectic. Normally eclectic was something that you liked, you hated the idea of being stuck with only one genre or type or music or book, but it was frustrating how little you’d been able to discover.   

What made it worse, you came to realise, was that he’d been able to read you as easily as he might read one of his books. He’d only had to look at you to understand that you’d taken this job to get away from something.

But you weren’t going to let your mind wander to thoughts of home.

That evening you sat and waited on the sofa realising for the first time that you could get an amazing view of the sun setting over Central Park and the city from there. You’d brought the battered copy of Dorian Gray with you, but every time you tried to focus on it, you found yourself distracted by the view.

To your disappointment, the clock struck 9pm and Mr Russo still hadn’t appeared, so you made your way back to your room.

It was silly to feel disappointed, but you weren’t used to feeling so completely alone. Back home there had always been someone around, even when you wanted nothing more than to be alone. And, the rest of the time, you’d had social media to slake your thirst for connection and companionship. Now there was nothing but the walls of the penthouse, TV and Mr Russo’s collection of books.

The next day passed similarly; you got up, you had a little walk on the treadmill before showering, then you picked out your outfit for the day.Then you headed to the library and started to make you through Mr Russo’s vinyl collection, listening to some of the albums that grabbed your attention, keeping the volume down in case the vampire was sleeping in his rooms.

That was the thing that was really starting to bother you - you didn’t even know if he was home. There was no way of telling if he was just beyond the door to his room, or if he was even in the city. Not knowing just made the loneliness more acute.

That evening, after you’d eaten and drawn blood, you found yourself on the sofa again watching the sunset, his book on your lap and a couple of the muffins you’d made, sitting on a plate on the table. Sugar seemed to help after drawing blood, though you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to it.

“Making yourself at home, I see,” his voice pierced the silence so suddenly that you started.

You turned from the window quickly, to find him standing by his door, smiling and very obviously impressed with himself.

“How long have you been stood there?” Not even trying to disguise the shock or annoyance in your tone. 

He didn’t answer, instead he started towards the kitchen, grabbing himself a glass before retrieving today’s blood from the fridge. 

“It’s quite the view,” he stated, his back to you, “I suppose someone should appreciate it.”

“You mean you don’t?” Curious. Why bother having a penthouse like this if he didn’t care about the view?

“Looking at the sunset isn’t exactly enjoyable for vampires,” he shrugged, turning and making his way towards the sofa.

“I thought the windows made the sunlight safe for you?” Or maybe you were just being stupid. You hated how little you know, how little you’d learned before taking the job. And, now, without the internet, you couldn’t even try to learn about it.

“They make it safe, yes,” he stated, sitting down, not directly next to you, but much closer than he had been the first time you met. “But seeing the sun and knowing that I’ll never feel its warmth on my face again, makes it a little unbearable.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t expect that to get a laugh.

“You apologise a lot for someone who hasn’t done anything wrong yet.”

Yet? You weren’t sure what that meant, but you didn’t think it wise to ask. As far as you were concerned, you weren’t going to do anything wrong while you were there.

“It’s just how I was raised, I guess,” you shrugged, your gaze dropping to his glass, to your blood.

Mr Russo gave a hum, his gaze still fixed on you, looking right through you. It was enough to make your heart beat a little faster, even though Lissa had warned you about such things, but controlling it was easier said than done. 

“Are you still settling in?” He asked. “I know that all of this can take a while to adjust to.”

“It’s -” you started and stopped, wondering if it was wise to be honest about it, “- a little lonely. I’m not used to going for days without someone to talk to. Normally I’d at least have the dog, but...” you trailed into a sigh, reminding yourself that this was what you agreed to. 

“I see,” he nodded, face offering the slightest slither of sympathy. “I’ll do what I can to help with that.”

Silence fell for a few moments before his eyes dropped to your lap, to the book that you’d started to tightly grip at some point after his sudden appearance. 

“Are you enjoying the book?” He asked and you looked down, noticing how white your knuckles were.

“Yes,” your cheeks started to warm, “very much.”

Your fingers flexed, releasing your grip on the book and, instead, you pressed your hands flat on your lap.

“Have you read it before?”

“No, it’s not -” you paused for a second, trying to think of the best way to explain it to him, “- it’s not the sort of book that was deemed acceptable where I’m from.”

“Ah,” he nodded, still looking very amused by everything, by you. “And you’re reading it now as - what? An act of rebellion against the way you were raised? Or are you just curious to see how bad it is?”

“No, it’s not that,” you answered without hesitation, shrugging, “I always thought it was a stupid rule. People should be allowed to read what they want and draw their own conclusions. That’s the point of art; it means something different to everyone that views it. And I don’t like being told how to feel about things.”

The amusement on his face slowly started to turn to something a little more genuine, something a little more interested. 

“What part are you up to?”

“He’s going to ask Sybil to marry him.”

He gave the slightest of nods. “And what do you think about that?”

It was a strange question, but perhaps that was because you weren’t used to people wanting to know your thoughts or opinions on things. You took a slow breath and he didn’t pressure you, giving you a moment to get your thoughts in order.

“I think it’s a bit soon. He hasn’t really known her very long and he seems more infatuated with who she is when she’s on stage than her as a person, but...”

“But?” He prompted gently.

“If he loves her half as much as he thinks he does, then maybe they could be happy together? It seems like he needs someone who’ll love him, someone who he can love more than himself, and someone who’ll get him away from Lord Henry.” Even though you were perfectly happy with your opinion, you still felt your cheeks warming again.

“You think he needs love?” Another unexpected question.

“Well... doesn’t everyone?”

“Do you think he really deserves it?”

“Does anyone?”

He paused for a second, looking ready to say something before obviously changing his mind. “So, do you believe in love at first sight? Like Dorian falling for Sybil?”

“I -” you faltered, looking down at the book on your lap, trying to escape the dark depths of his eyes for a moment, “- I don’t know. I find it hard to believe in anything I’ve not experienced myself.”

“You’ve never been in love?”

“I’ve never felt love at first sight,” you avoided the question, forcing yourself to look back up. “Have you?”

“No, not at first sight.”

At that, he seemed to relent, falling silent and letting his gaze drift towards the window again, lifting his glass and taking a sip. You reached for a muffin, almost gasping as his cold fingers suddenly wrapped around your wrist and pulled your arm towards him. Your lips parted, ready to ask the obvious question, but it fell dead on your tongue when his thumb ran over the bruising at the crook of your arm from drawing blood. He stared at it for a second before his eyes returned to yours.

“Do I need Lissa to come and help you draw blood in future?” He asked, and you couldn’t tell if he was concerned or annoyed.

“No, it’s fine,” you gave a gentle tug against his grip, but he didn’t let go. “I just bruise easily. I didn’t even notice it.” 

His fingers tightened a fraction.

“While you’re here, you’re my responsibility. I hope you understand that.”

“That’s not -” but he wasn’t finished.

“If anything was to happen to you, it would be my fault. I need to know that you’ll be more careful in future.” There was an edge to his words, something that made your stomach knot. Did he think that you were incompetent, that you couldn’t do the job? Or was he just worried  that he’d be blamed if something happened to you?

“I’ll be more careful,” you told him but, still, he kept hold of your arm, thumb hovering just above the bruising, a ghost of a touch that made your heart race.

“I might be your employer, but you should understand just how much power you have in this arrangement,” his voice turned almost soft as he let you go. Before you could even think to ask what he meant, he’d drained his glass, placed it down on the coffee table and was heading towards the elevator. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mr Russo,” the words tumbled out of your mouth almost automatically, not sure what else you were supposed to say.

“You can call me Billy,” he told you as the elevator doors slid open and he stepped inside.

And, then, he was gone.

Again, he’d left you with more questions than you ever thought you’d get answers to. You wanted to feel frustrated, annoyed even, at the way he breezed in and out of conversations, as if you were a plaything, just there for him when he was bored, but all you could think about was his touch.

His hand had been so cold, like death’s icy grip and, when you looked down, you found your arm was covered in goosebumps.

Tomorrow, he’d said. He was going to see you again tomorrow. (Probably because you’d complained about being lonely.) Perhaps you’d be able to learn a little bit more about him, perhaps you’d be able to ask him what he meant when he told you that you had power here.

Before returning to your rooms for the night, you took a moment to move his empty glass from the table, rinsing it out in the sink and returning it to the cupboard where it belonged. The rest of the evening was spent trying to concentrate on reading, in part because you were invested in the book, but mostly because you wanted to have something to talk with him about tomorrow.

But, again, you found yourself distracted; by the conversation you’d had, by the things he’d said and the way he’d looked when he said them and, most of all, by the way his touch had felt on your arm.

It was silly. Ridiculous. You put it down to being trapped indoors for the last ten days and you having spoken to all of two people in that time. It wasn’t him. He could have been anyone and you’d no doubt have felt the same way. You were just starved for human contact.

(Only Billy Russo wasn’t human, was he?)

You kept thinking about his dark eyes and the way he laughed, the subtle way his lips curled up when he found something you said amusing. There was no shame in admitting that he was pretty. 

Pretty in a way that would never fade or alter. Just like Dorian Gray.

Though, as you continued to read, you realised that that comparison certainly wasn’t flattering.

The next day passed much the same as the days before it and, as the hours ticked by, you found yourself almost looking forward to seeing him. Though you didn’t allow yourself to feel excitement, in case he disappointed you by not appearing. You stayed in your rooms until it was almost sunset.

He was already there waiting for you when you stepped out into the penthouse proper, today's blood in one hand, a pack of cookies in the other, and the book wedged under your arm.

“Oh,” you stopped so abruptly you almost fell over your own feet.

“Good evening,” he grinned.

“Good evening, Mr Russo,” you replied, still not moving.

“Billy,” he reminded you. “If we’re going to be living together for a year, you might as well call me Billy.”

“Billy,” you repeated, nodding before looking down. “I have your - I mean, I’ve got today’s -” you struggled, eyes fixed on the sealed bottle of blood in your hand, fresh and still warm.

You could feel your cheeks start to heat, not sure what the protocol was in this situation.

“I’ll take that now,” he said but didn’t move.

For a moment more, you remained frozen, feeling utterly ridiculous - and you were certain that he was enjoying watching your confusion.

“Okay, I’ll - I’ll put this in a glass for you,” he didn’t object, so you made your way to the kitchen and set about pouring him a drink.

It was hard not to feel a little horrified - this seemed as close to offering him a vein as you ever hoped to get - but you forced down the discomfort.

“I hope the long sleeves aren’t to cover up more bruises,” he said softly when you finally approached the sofa and took a seat, near him but with enough space that another person would have fit between you.

“No, Mr - Billy. It’s just been cold today.”

“Oh, I can’t say that I noticed...” because of course he hadn’t. “The thermostat is in the library, change the temperature whenever you need to.”

You handed him the glass, a shudder running up your spine when his cold fingers seemed to deliberately graze yours. Your breath caught as you watched him lift the glass to his lips, his eyes closed as your blood touched his lips and you heard the softest sound from the back of his throat. Butterflies filled your stomach and your eyes fixed on the window, watching the sky slowly turn from blue to a progressively darkening pinkish-orange hue.

Billy lowered his glass and remained silent, his eyes following yours to the window, allowing the silence to linger until you chose to break it.

“I thought you didn’t like watching the sunset?” You asked, not daring to look his way.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen one and even longer since I had someone to watch it with,” he shrugged. “I thought I’d give it another go.”

“So, the others, the ones before me -”

“I don’t think they cared to notice it,” he cut you off. There was something clipped about his tone, something that told you he didn’t want to talk about them. His attention turned to the book and the packet of cookies resting on your lap. “Were you planning on reading?”

“Yes, or - I don’t know, maybe..." you sighed, finally allowing yourself to look at him. He gave you a questioning look, wanting you to elaborate. “You didn’t warn me about Sybil.”

“I didn’t want to spoil it for you,” a hint of amusement slipped into his tone. “Are you disappointed that they didn’t get their happily-ever-after?”

You looked at him for a moment and quickly found yourself feeling a little annoyed at the implication that you had expected it to be that easy, that you were some hopeless romantic looking for a happy ending in the most ridiculous of places.

“I’m not some naive child. I don’t know what I expected - not a happily-ever-after, but I definitely didn’t expect that,” you tried to explain. “I didn’t expect him to be so... so cruel to her.”

“She let him down, embarrassed him in front of his friends,” Billy offered, almost like he was defending it, “he was disappointed.”

“Disappointed that she no longer needed to act to feel wanted and loved, because she thought she’d finally found that with him?” You answer back, unable to keep yourself from noticing the way the glow of the sunset made his features seem softer. “He showed her what real love could feel like, then he snatched it away from her. It was cruel.”

“You’re right,” he conceded before hesitating a moment. “Maybe I should warn you that he doesn’t get any better. There is no redemption for Dorian Gray.”

“Oh,” At that you felt yourself deflate a little, an odd feeling of disappointment gnawing at your guts. While you’d told him that you weren’t some naive child, hearing that Dorian wasn’t going to get better made you almost want to give up entirely.

Again, he seemed to find some enjoyment in your simple disappointment - something that was starting to get to you.

“I take it you’re used to reading... happier stories?” He asked and you offered a shrug. “Heroes and romance and happily ever afters?”

“Books have always been an escape for me. So, yeah, I like things that I know will end well.” You answered and, for a second, you could have sworn his smile turned a little softer. “Why do you even like this book?” You dared to ask, wanting to understand why anyone could find enjoyment in such misery.

“I think you’d need to finish the book before we could have that conversation,” was all he offered before lifting his glass and, again, you heard that soft sound as he drank. Your heart started to beat a little faster. Billy carefully licked his lips, like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting a single drop go to waste. The corner of his mouth curled with amusement again. “Are you sure I’m not your first vampire?”

Your lips parted and, for a moment you couldn’t force the words past the lump in your throat. You couldn’t tell if he was teasing or if he really wanted to know, just like you couldn’t tell if it was his intention to make you feel small. But he did make you feel small, he made you feel like you didn’t understand the world you’d found yourself in; like you didn’t understand vampires or the job you’d agreed to, and like you were too naive to understand his taste in literature.

“No. You’re not,” you answered tersely, trying to hold back your annoyance. “You’re just the first one that I’ve let drink my blood.”

“Good,” he replied without hesitation, seeming to completely ignore your change of demeanour.  

“Good?” What was that supposed to mean?

He shifted, turning so he could face you properly, his foot knocking against yours as he did. 

“Good,” he repeated, the corners of his lips still pulling upwards. “If anyone else had tasted your blood, I doubt they would have been willing to let you go so easily.” He licked his lips and your heart continued to stutter in your chest. His eyes closed for a moment, concentrating on the sound before muttering; “like a hummingbird...”

You didn’t dare move, even though every fibre of your being was screaming at you to pull away when his hand reached for you, fingertips ghosting down your cheek to your neck coming to rest above your rapidly pulsing carotid artery. Frozen, you sat there, his hand on your neck and his dark eyes seeming to stare right into your soul.

Does my blood really taste that good? You wondered.

“It does,” he answered and you realised that you’d spoken the question aloud. 

Something prickled in the back of your mind, a warning you’d been given a long time ago, about how some vampires could trick you and control you, how they could bend you to their will. But, you couldn’t tell if that was what this was, or if you were allowing this because you wanted it, because you wanted to understand. Regardless, you didn’t move. Even as he licked his lips. Even as he leaned closer. 

“What does it taste like?” You heard the question but it took you a few seconds to realise that it had come from your mouth.

“Like sunlight and innocence,” he muttered softly, “sweet, like warm honey. Like life...”

Closer and closer, the cold press of his fingers on your neck sending a shiver down your spine, and a heat in your belly. Your thighs gently pressed together. He made it sound so wonderful, so romantic, like it wasn’t some strange and sordid thing. He made you feel special, made you feel things that you weren’t sure you’d ever felt before.

Before you could even consider the possibilities of what might happen next, he was pulling away from you, and you very quickly returned to your senses, taking an uncomfortable breath.

“What -” you started to ask, needing to know if he’d done something to you, if he’d been trying to control you, but he was already on his feet draining the last of your blood from the glass.

“I’m afraid I won’t have time for one of our little talks tomorrow. I have a meeting just after sunset,” he explained and your eyes followed him as he first moved to the kitchen to put his glass in the sink, then started towards the elevator. He paused once he’d hit the call button. “Keep reading the book. I’m intrigued to know what you’ll think of the ending.”

“Yes, Mr Russo,” the words tumbled clumsily from your mouth, an automatic response to the man who was your employer, wanting to regain some sense of propriety.

“Billy,” he countered. “Goodnight, little hummingbird.”

The doors slid shut and you were alone again.

You didn’t move for at least a minute, your head spinning. A hand rose to your neck touching where he had touched you, your skin still feeling cold and prickled with goosebumps. Looking down, you realised that your thighs were still clenched together.

Gathering the book and the untouched packet of cookies, you quickly made your way back to your bedroom, locking the door behind you.

End Note : Thank you so much for the wonderful response to the first chapter of this story! I hope this lives up to expectations. I'm already really enjoying writing this one. Also, sorry as always that I'm constantly so slow at responding to comments, I'm trying to get better at that

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt.

Tag List:

@lincerad @vxnity713 @readerinsertsaremyguiltypleasure @dreadfulxives18 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @vaguekayla @thdcre @rensolodriver @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @snowkestrel @danzer8705 @noortsshift @aoi-targaryen @tortilla-chips-and-allioli

[cyberghouleo]

bodyguard! simon riley x celebrity! reader

To the displeasure of everyone I know, I got cod brain rot.

Inspired by: Celebrity by Slayyyter

When your manager suggested you hire a new bodyguard after your old one quit, you were not expecting a masked man with an accent to walk through your doors. 

At first, he sees you as a spoiled brat. He’s not used to being a bodyguard for someone famous, he is used to being hired as a hitman in more dangerous situations. He only accepted this job as the pay was good and his last job was nearby, but now he feels as if he's being toted around like a puppy, trailing behind you as you go along your normal day to day life.

Everything was a culture shift to him, he wasn’t used to following his clients while they shop or getting asked if you should purchase something, to which he always responded with “if that’s what you like.” He’s not used to sitting at lunch at a nearby table as your friends drill you with questions about him, questions about the mask and why he looked so differently than your previous guards. He was used to being in stressful situations, spending hours researching his client's attacker while being on alert 24/7, now he was just following you around with no immediate threats happening to you. 

While you're doing interviews or getting your makeup done before a photoshoot, he is sitting across from you in a chair with his arms crossed. He keeps his balaclava on and hardly speaks unless someone tries to deny him access behind the scenes with you. He speaks before you can, “I’m ‘er guard.” he grunts out as he keeps walking past them, following behind you. 

Trying to get to know him felt like pulling teeth, he’s standoffish and when he does answer questions, it's always short answers, even refusing to tell you his real name after you asked. You knew almost nothing about him, but that all changed once you’re alerted that your P.O box is being sent threatening letters, claiming to have a hit out on you. Ghost instructs that you are both to not leave the house until he can gather enough info about your threatener, leaving the two of you alone for several weeks.

These weeks alone cause him to slowly start opening up to you as the two of you have nothing else to do or talk about. You learn about his past clients, how this is his first high status bodyguard job, and his time in the military. He tells you bits at a time, not willing to spill too much at one time, almost testing to see how you respond to each bit of new information you learn about him. During dinner one night, he randomly speaks up. “Simon.” 

“What?”

“My name. Simon.”

It only takes a few weeks for him to track and find the person sending you the threats, and he reassures you that everything will be fine now. He doesn’t show any proof, but you trust him enough to believe him. The weeks you spent together did lead to some tension between the two of you, you are able to see a human side of him that you weren’t expecting, and you could feel yourself getting intrigued by what else you could learn about him. You scolded yourself for thinking this way towards a bodyguard, someone trying to do his job, but you also couldn’t deny the way you were starting to feel when you caught glimpses of his arms flexing underneath the tight black shirts he wore often. 

He slowly starts warming up to you and seeing you in a different light once he spends a few months inside your house. You aren’t as bratty or snobby as he expected. He tries to brush away any lingering thoughts as you ask him to help you zip up your dress, noticing how small your shoulders look under his gaze. Or when you ask him to help you put on a necklace, comparing how small your hands are to his when you hand him the necklace. 

The tension finally breaks when you are in a dressing room alone, waiting around as the photographer goes over the photos one final time before you could leave. You can feel him eyeing you up and down while you aren’t paying attention, his eyes studying the dress you were getting paid to wear and the way it hugged you. One offhand comment from you leads to him lifting you up onto the vanity counter, his mask pulled above his nose as his mouth finds yours, soft moans escaping you. Your panties are pulled to the side as his tongue circles around your clit, one hand pressed against your mouth to quiet you, so the staff doesn’t hear you cumming against his tongue. 

When in large crowds, one of his hands is always pressed against the small of your back as he guides you through the masses, the feeling of his touch lingering on your back even after he pulls away. His other hand resting close to the concealed gun he keeps at his hip, staying alert as his eyes scan through the faces to assess any threats. Crowds will naturally part once they notice how big he is and the way he towers over most of the fans.

The paparazzi gets a photo of you two together, Simon holding a few shopping bags as he trails behind you. The photo is captioned as if he was your secret boyfriend and your fans go crazy, tweeting how cute the two of you are together and how mysterious he was.

“Look, everyone thinks we are dating.” You say as you shove your phone in his face. His eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the photo, reading a comment on how good of a couple the two of you are. He only hums a response and rolls his eyes. He expects you to have a different reaction, shocked that you didn’t find it annoying but almost enduring. The idea of you being okay with the two of you being in a relationship and not just fuckbuddies ignites something deep in his stomach. 

You definitely talk him into taking a few photos of you for Instagram, instructing him on how to frame the photo as he stares blankly at the phone. When you post the photos, comments flood in asking if your mystery bodyguard was the one who took them. You often post stories with him lingering around in the background, only fueling the relationship speculation as fans talk about him living with you.

After the media starts to report more on the two of you, Ghost starts getting more offers from other celebrities to become their bodyguard. He gives them no second thought as he denies them. He will get approached with offers to pay him triple and he still waves them off, he plans on staying loyal as a bodyguard to you and you only, no matter how much they offer him.

Simon decides to make the two of you official by gifting you a necklace with his initial, something you wear and post about often, sending your fans into a bigger spiral. He finds the fans both amusing and slightly disturbing, showing how much love they have for you, yet you only get to call him yours. 

[muiitoloko]

Daddy’s Little Shopper

Summary: Frank, the doting shopkeeper, learns the art of compromise as Emma turns her pretend purchases into a heartwarming family memory.

Pairing: Frank Benson × Fem! Reader & OC

Warnings: None

Also read on Ao3

The soft afternoon light filtered through the curtains as you leaned against the doorframe, watching your husband, Frank, play with your two-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Emma. The sight warmed your heart. Frank, who always carried an air of authority and poise in his professional life, had transformed into a patient and doting father, fully immersed in their shared game of supermarket.

Seated cross-legged behind a tiny toy cash register, Frank adjusted his posture with exaggerated seriousness, his chubby frame looking almost comically out of place behind the miniature setup. His white hair glowed in the light, and his hazel eyes twinkled with amusement as he scanned an invisible barcode on a pretend can of beans.

“That’ll be £2.50, Miss Emma,” Frank said in his rich baritone voice, adopting a mock-professional tone.

Emma, clutching her little toy shopping basket filled with a mix of plush vegetables, plastic bottles, and random items from her toy box, tilted her head in consideration. “Two pounds fifty?” she repeated, her small brows furrowing as she processed the information.

“That’s correct,” Frank replied with a small smirk, watching her intense little face. “Quite the bargain, don’t you think?”

Emma shook her head decisively. “No, Daddy. That’s too expensive. I’m not buying it.”

Frank chuckled, his hooked nose flaring slightly as he leaned forward. “Ah, but you see, this is the best can of beans in all of the land,” he countered, holding the imaginary item up as though it were a precious artifact. “Imported directly from… erm… the magical fields of Bean-topia. Worth every penny.”

Emma pursed her lips, clearly unconvinced. “Still too ‘spensive,” she declared, putting the can back in her basket. “What about this?” She held up a stuffed carrot, its orange fabric faded from use.

“Ah, the carrot,” Frank mused, inspecting it with exaggerated gravity. “For you, my most loyal customer, it’s just 50p.”

Emma beamed. “Okay, I’ll buy it!” She reached into her tiny purse, pulling out a handful of imaginary coins, which she carefully placed in Frank’s outstretched palm.

Frank made a show of counting them, pretending to frown as he held one up to the light. “Hmm, this coin is a bit… suspicious,” he teased, raising an eyebrow. “Are you paying me in chocolate coins again?”

Emma giggled, her laughter like music. “No, Daddy! It’s real money.”

“Ah, my mistake,” Frank said solemnly, handing her the carrot. “Here you go, madam. One premium carrot. Enjoy.”

Emma placed it delicately back into her basket and moved to her next purchase, this time a plastic carton of milk. “How much is this?” she asked, her voice full of curiosity.

Frank tapped the register with dramatic flair. “For you, the milk is on sale today. Only £1.”

Emma gasped as though it were a miracle. “Wow! That’s not ‘spensive. I’ll take it.”

You couldn’t help but smile, your heart swelling as you observed their playful banter. It was these moments—so ordinary, yet so precious—that reminded you of the deep love and connection within your little family.

Frank glanced up, catching you watching them, and his smirk softened into a warm smile. “We’ve got quite the savvy shopper here,” he said, his baritone voice full of pride. “She’s already haggling better than most adults.”

Emma turned to you, holding up her basket triumphantly. “Look, Mommy! I bought a carrot and milk.”

“You’re a very smart shopper, sweetheart,” you praised, stepping into the room to crouch beside her. “Daddy doesn’t stand a chance against your negotiating skills.”

Frank let out a low chuckle. “I’ll have you know I’m running a legitimate business here,” he said, pretending to look offended. “And I’ll not be outwitted by a two-year-old.”

Emma giggled, placing another item on the counter. “How much for this, Daddy?”

Frank looked at the toy apple and leaned forward conspiratorially. “For you, my darling Emma? It’s free.”

Emma squealed in delight, clapping her hands. “Yay! Thank you, Daddy!”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to Frank’s cheek. “Looks like the shopkeeper has a soft spot for his favorite customer.”

Frank turned to you, his hazel eyes sparkling. “Always,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around your waist as Emma giggled and continued her shopping spree.

[bethanydelleman]

Hello there, friend! Firstly, I just wanted to say that I love coming by your answers to asks on the P&P tag. (All hilarious and so informative). Getting back into the groove of revisiting Austen (after being entrenched in WW2 history), and I'm sure this has been asked of you before, but would you have any book recommendations that can help jump me off on the historiography of Austen's works or perhaps some of your fave covering the early 17th century?

So sorry, I know I can definitely Google this, but I really just love reading through your analysis of things and would love to peek into the things you read to supplement your Austen obsession! <3 Any thoughts are greatly appreciated. <3

Hi and thank you!

I have read some specifically Jane Austen history books and some more general ones, here they are:

Jane Austen and the Navy by Brian Southam (published by the National Maritime Museum). I purchased this book because I was writing fan fiction about Captain Wentworth. The first half covers naval history and the real life Austen family (two brothers became admirals), the second half explores all naval references in Jane Austen's novels.

Fashionable Goodness: Christianity in Jane Austen's England by Brenda S. Cox (here are some posts from it) This is an independently published and researched book that gives an overview of the Church of England (primarily) during Austen's lifetime. It explains a lot of what is found in the novels around clergymen.

The Annotated Pride & Prejudice by David M. Shapard - Not the best literature analysis, but I find they have good history notes. I only own one because they are expensive.

What Jane Austen Ate and Charles Dickens Knew by Daniel Pool - this one is a bit surface-level, but it did have some very good information about the law

The Time Traveller's Guide to Regency Britain by Ian Mortimer (a post) - I found this very informative and it gets into spicy bits, which as a fan fiction writer I loved and needed.

Also, this amazing thesis about economics and Jane Austen:

“ABOVE VULGAR ECONOMY:” JANE AUSTEN AND MONEY by Sheryl Bonar Craig, which you can find here. Post about it. Learn within that Hertfordshire (Elizabeth Bennet) was the poorest shire in Austen's time and Derbyshire (Mr. Darcy) was the richest! But honestly, so much good information and very well sourced.

For literary analysis, the best one (in my opinion) is: What Matters in Jane Austen: Twenty Crucial Puzzles Solved by John Mullan. I disagree with him on one or two points (he's very anti-Mary Crawford), but in general this is an amazing book and gives a lot of historical context as well

To avoid

As for online articles, I always try to approach things like a scientist. I look for citations because a lot of people write history references for fan fiction without any sources. So reader be aware!