#SPOIL ME AND BE FELLED BY MY BLADE

[merrigel]

(high-pitched and excited voice) RENAAAA

Been watching NezumiVA's absolutely fantastic Higurashi streams lately, and since we're starting her question arc, I wanted to do a little something for this sweet sweet babygirl who has never done a single thing wrong in her life, and who definitely isn't already making me so so so sad oh god

Go do your best honey!! Oyashiro-sama wills it!!

[nebularsung]

⭑ you're jeno's favourite gift ﹙+18﹚

all that could be heard from that bedroom was soft, breathless whines, muffled moans, the sharp rhythm of skin meeting skin, and the sound of jeno’s voice—low, sweet, and full of reverent praise.

it was jeno’s birthday, and—true to the quiet, homebody heart he had—he wanted nothing more than to stay where he felt most at peace: at home, wrapped in your arms, spoiled by your attention, and fed by your hands. you had made his favorite dishes, laughed with him over wine, curled up in his lap while the candles burned low… but as night fell, his desire shifted.

he wanted his favorite gift of all.

you.

and how could you possibly deny him?

“fuck, baby…” he groaned, voice dropping deeper as he watched the way your body gave in to him. his fingers pressed tighter into the curve of your hips, guiding you back to meet his every thrust, relentless and hungry. “so fuckin’ good to me… always ready for me… mine.”

your face was buried in the pillows, your ass arched high in the air—just how he liked it. the angle let him hit that perfect spot over and over again, and your moans were so high and sweet they came out broken and muffled into the sheets. he’d be smug about it if he weren’t so utterly ruined by the way your body gripped him like a vice, so warm and wet and perfect just for him.

you were going for the fourth round already, but jeno didn’t seem any near to finish what he had started.

he leaned over you, his chest flush against your back for a moment as he kissed your shoulder, then your spine. “can’t believe i get to have you like this…” he whispered, almost to himself. “you make me feel like the luckiest man alive.”

you let out a choked sob of pleasure, and jeno only chuckled softly, hand sliding along your waist, gripping you tighter. “that feel good, baby? you’re doing so well… taking me so good, just like i knew you would. such a good girl for me, even on my birthday…”

you nodded desperately into the pillow, fingers clutching at the sheets as he kept rocking into you with deep, measured strokes now—less frantic, more intense, like he wanted to feel every second of it, draw it out. worship you.

“wanna hear you,” he muttered. “just a little. let me hear my pretty girl.”

you turned your head, gasping, your voice breathy and wrecked. “jeno—feels so good—i love you, love you so much—”

“yeah?” he breathed, hips stuttering slightly at the sound of your voice. “love you too, angel. gonna make you cum so hard. gonna have you creaming all over my cock, just the way i like it.”

and you did.

with a loud, trembling moan of his name, your body tensed beneath him, walls clenching, thighs shaking as the orgasm tore through you. jeno cursed under his breath, hips losing rhythm as he chased his own release, groaning into your back when he finally buried himself deep and filled you up, both of you panting and trembling, tangled in each other’s warmth.

he stayed inside you for a moment longer, letting your bodies breathe in sync, your skin slick and flushed, your heartbeats loud in your ears. then, with a soft kiss between your shoulder blades, he slowly pulled out—watching his seed leaking from you from the previous orgasms—grabbing a warm towel from the nearby dresser to clean you up with the same tender care he always showed.

you whimpered softly, still sensitive, and he murmured a quiet, “sorry, baby,” as he wiped your thighs gently. his hands lingered longer than necessary, though—you could feel how much he loved touching you, even in the smallest ways.

you weren’t sure how long you laid there in jeno’s arms, your limbs tangled, hearts still fluttering from everything you’d just shared. his warmth surrounded you, grounding and intoxicating all at once. you could’ve fallen asleep like that—completely satisfied, safe.

but then you felt it.

a subtle shift in his breathing. the way his hand, which had been resting innocently on your waist, slowly trailed downward, fingers stroking lazy patterns across your hip. his lips were brushing against your shoulder again, softer this time, more tender—like he was savoring every inch of your skin.

you stirred gently, turning in his arms to face him. the look in his eyes made your breath hitch.

“still hungry, birthday boy?” you teased, voice barely above a whisper.

he chuckled, low and warm, but there was heat behind his smile now. “i can’t help it,” he murmured, brushing your hair behind your ear. “you make it impossible to get enough of you…”

before you could respond, his lips were on yours again—slow and unhurried, like he wanted to memorize your taste. he kissed you with reverence, taking his time, tongues barely brushing, the heat building all over again with every slow pull of your lips.

his hand found your thigh, slipping beneath the covers, tracing up until his fingers were skimming the sensitive skin between your legs. you were still warm, still wet, and his breath caught at the feel of you.

“so ready for me,” he whispered, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “even after all that…”

you nodded, heart thudding. “only for you, jen.”

that’s all he needed to hear.

he guided you onto your back, kissing down your collarbone, then your chest—worshipping every part of you with gentle bites and licks, his name whispered from your lips like a prayer. his hand stayed between your thighs, slowly working you open again, fingers curling just enough to make you gasp.

“you’re perfect,” he breathed against your breast, flicking his tongue over your nipple. “i could do this forever. just touch you, taste you… make you feel good.”

you whimpered softly, arching into his touch, hips rolling instinctively into his hand. “please… want you again.”

he looked up at you from between your breasts, hair slightly messy, lips kiss-swollen. “then take me, baby,” he said, voice thick with affection. “i’m all yours.”

and he meant it.

he slid into you with a deep, slow stroke—your legs wrapped around his waist instantly, pulling him as close as he could possibly get. this wasn’t like the last round. this time, he moved slow, savoring the way your body clenched around him. every roll of his hips was steady, deep, his forehead pressed to yours as he whispered praise between kisses.

“so beautiful… god, you feel so good around me…”

“you’re doing so good for me… fuck, i love being inside you…”

“you were made for me, weren’t you?”

each thrust drew soft moans from your lips, your fingers tangled in his hair, nails grazing down his back. the tension built gradually—less explosive, more consuming. it spread like fire under your skin, until you were trembling beneath him, whispering his name like a promise.

jeno’s hands gripped yours, fingers laced tight as he stared down at you, flushed and breathless. “cum for me again,” he murmured. “just one more, baby. wanna feel you around me one more time.”

you couldn’t even respond. you were already there.

your body locked up beneath him, waves of pleasure crashing through your core as you cried out his name, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming emotion of it all. jeno kissed them away, hips stuttering, then slowing as he came with a deep, ragged moan, burying himself inside you completely, like he needed to mark every inch of you as his.

he didn’t pull away immediately.

instead, he stayed nestled against you, his body heavy and warm, his breath evening out against your neck. your fingers traced along his spine, feeling his heart still racing.

“that,” he mumbled, voice hoarse but full of affection, “was the best birthday gift i’ve ever gotten.”

you smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple. “i’m happy i’m the one who can give you the best gift ever.” he let out a soft laugh, nuzzling his face onto your neck. “happy birthday, baby. i love you.”

he pulled away, looking up at you, soft and glowing, like you’d hung the stars for him.

“i love you too,” he whispered. “so much.”

｜ 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌 𖹭 have i ever said how much i love jen and how much i fucking wanna sit on his nose??? like, respectfully, but how is this man built like that?? his body proportions are insane and his face fuckk his face man..........

★ @lyvhie @spacejip @zhapire

[cxvii666]

hanta sero - boyfriend headcanons:

- i think that out of all his friends, hanta definitely gets a girlfriend first and your relationship lasts the longest

- friends to lovers, will they won't they, everyone knows but them, because he's an idiot, he definitely fell first and fell harder,

- but once you're actually together, once you're his girlfriend, hanta never shuts up about you. "if my girl was here, she could-" "well my girl knows how to-" "my girl is so cool, she-"

- big fan of laying between your thighs after a smoke for a nap!!! you stopped getting high with hanta before watching movies because every time you guys smoke together he dozes off for hours and snores like a fucking tractor

- brings you EVERYWHERE. he's that one homeboy that's always like "can my girl come with us? 🥺"

like that one time when their friend group was going out for jirou's birthday. it was 'emo night' or something equally ridiculous at one of the clubs downtown. denki had suggested they all go for a laugh, free entry before 11pm, and if it was shit they could bounce. so hanta had been at mina's place pre-gaming when he'd gotten a very emoji filled text from his girlfriend. your two friends who are the worst with cancelling plans, had cancelled on you, again. hanta rolls his eyes at your dramatics but a soft smile tugs at his lips and he stops mid way through typing 'i told you so', when he sees the "idc bout that tho 😵🙄 i jus misss youuuu☹️🥹" from you. he doesn't even think twice before calling out to his friends.

"yo guys, can my girl come with?"

- likes when you yell at him. obviously he doesn't seriously piss you off on purpose, but you're easy to tease, and he knows all the right buttons to push. so why wouldn't he, 'forget' to pick up the shit you needed, and when you get all up in his face, fire burning in your eyes, as you cuss him out, yeah, it makes his dick twitch, just a little.

- you take him shopping with you all the time because he gives you his honest opinion on everything, regardless of whether you like it or not. he gets super up in your personal space and says the most ridiculously accurate bullshit right in your ear, " don't get the purple, you're gonna look like a grape", "you like this one? kinda smells like caca- ouch."

- always calling your phone!!!!! like this man does not let you breathe. and its always to talk about nothing.

"hanta, i'm at work?"

"are you not on break...? you just sent me a tiktok."

"that's not the point-"

"- well, i saw the cutest little cat earlier, reminded me of that cat we saw at...."

- he lets you bite him.

the first time you did it, you had no idea what came over you. you were both curled up on your couch, legs entwined, him little spooning, the side of your face resting on his left shoulder blade, both enraptured in whatever episode of rick and morty. and its like pure animal instinct when you lean down and gently bite the exposed area of his bicep. its less of a bite, more you just lightly sinking your teeth into your boyfriend's soft skin. but its enough to make him sit up slightly and angle his head towards you with narrow eyes. "freaky 'lil shit."

- ceo and founding father of the broke boyfriend pose. notice how i put pose, cos he does spoil you and most times you buy something, it's on his card, but the pose! yknow that one when the guy stands with his arms wrapped around his girl when she's paying for something.... yeah

- that's as far as blatant pda goes for him tho, i think he's more into handholding ORRR,,,, when you're out walking on the busy streets and you grab onto his bicep >>

- huge user of "nah missus says no" "wife's not letting me out, yknow how it is" and "my girl said i cant go" this is a hundred percent false btw!!! he's just too lazy to find a better excuse, and he'd rather spend his time with you

- hanta's a big fan of ordering for you, more because you hate it, unless you're getting boba, then he just stands awkwardly in the shop one hand resting on the small of your back, the other tapping away at some dumb mobile game, while you order for two

- also a big fan of "whatever you need baby." as in whatever,,,, not just material things or physically, maybe it's because he comes from a big family but he has this desire to provide for you, time, love, effort, emotional support, "y'know you can call me whenever." and he always picks up, drops everything.

like that one time, still a fresh month into your relationship, you had cancelled on your brunch date because your period had started and you felt ugly and in pain. and hanta dropped by later in the afternoon with your favourite takeout and some sweet treats and a blunt, when you almost bursted into tears, he had just opened his arms out and you both laid down on the couch to watch whatever shit reality tv you had been watching.

- speaking of tv, he's also big into watching shows together, so you've been going through your netflix list together. when you go to his on a thursday night and you watch the new ep of your anime together, and when he stays over at yours for the weekend you binge your other shows together

- calls you bro and dude sometimes gang

- randomly bursts into song

- randomly starts freestyling, "babe gimme a beat-"

[charliemwrites]

Part 5 of Obsessive!johnny

(CW: extremely dubious consent; I’d go so far as to say straight non-con. No violence. Please be safe, beans! 💕)

It’s your own fault - or no. That’s a dangerous way of thinking it not your fault. But you got complacent. Got desensitized to that looming sense of danger, the threat hiding in the shadow of his eyes. That little voice in the back of your head became background noise, not the guide it used to be.

All it took was a slip of your carefully crafted mask understanding Johnny’s “love” for you. Just one careless comment, a tone too honest.

You don’t even remember what you said now. Just that the feverish light in his eyes changed instantly. Like a shift in sunlight through colored glass. What frightened you was how his expression changed, shut down hard. His jaw tensing, brows going deceptively smooth.

“Is all this not enough for you?” he asks, taking big, measured steps towards you.

You start backing up, heart tripping over itself. “That’s not-“

“How many ways do you need me to prove it, hm?” he asks. “I’ve apologized a hundred times, bonnie, haven’t I? Is that not enough for you? I’m still not worth it to you?”

You put your hands up, all your carefully crafted and scripted responses fleeing in the face of this new, unfamiliar Johnny. He’s - he’s angry at you. Not because of you, or for you, but at you.

“I’ve been patient, haven’t I?” he continues, low voice wavering with something frightening. “Do you know how hard it is, seeing you cry for a life that wasn’t good enough for you? Do you have any idea how hard I’ve been trying?”

You swallow thickly, try to rally your scrambled thoughts. He just working himself up more and more and that voice that fell so quiet is screaming now. So loud it’s hard to make your mouth work.

“I-I know. I’m sorry,” you manage. “Im just… I lost my temper and said something I didn’t mean…”

His eyes narrow. “Oh, no, hen. I think you meant it.”

He up close to you now, barely a centimeter of space between your bodies. The heat of him is suffocating. You’ve never been so aware of how much bigger than you he is. It thrilled you when he’d loom over you at the bar, cocky confidence and easy smiles.

You meet his eyes.

And for a moment, he softens. You have the briefest golden flicker of hope.

And then he sighs. Deep and resigned. Your stomach flips.

“It’s my fault,” he mutters finally, shaking his head. “Haven’t been treating you right, have I?”

You don’t dare answer.

“Treating you like you’re one thing when you’re really everything.”

You open your mouth, try to speak, to reason with him. He just shushes you with a hand on your cheek, thumb pressing your lips closed.

“Always spoiling you like the princess you are, when sometimes you need to be treated like a slut.”

He jerk’s you around and shoves you onto the bed, plants a big hand between your shoulder blades and presses.

“Soap!”

“Hush up, baby, it’s alright. You don’t have to pretend to be all prim and proper,” he soothes, knocking your feet apart. “I don’t think any less of you for needing cock. Only natural.”

Your underwear rips like wet paper, accompanied by your high-pitched squeal of alarm. He makes a low, rough noise. Pure, animal lust. The fabric of his pants chafes against the backs of your thighs.

“Oh, there she is,” he purrs, “just like I thought.”

You cry out as rough fingers drag through your slit, gathering the slick you can’t believe is leaking from you.

“I’ve been so bad to you, bonnie, not treating you the way you need. No wonder you got all fussy and snappy.” The hazy thought that he might not he talking to you at all anymore burns through you. When you shift, trying to close your legs self-consciously, a sharp slap to your clit collapses your knees.

“We’re gonna set you right, babygirl,” he growls. “Won’t be able to worry your pretty little head anymore.”

He plunges two fingers into you without preamble. The stretch is vicious, but it doesn’t hurt. Not really. You’re too wet. Still, you scream - because Johnny’s spent so many hours playing with you, learning you, that he knows exactly where to press and curl and rub his fingers.

“Wait, wait,” you gasp, tears already collecting in your eyes because he’s being mean about it, twisting to grind his thumb against your clit. It’s too much, you’re not ready no matter what your body says. “Soap, don’t- ngh!”

“Gonna show you why you’re better off here. Right here. Gonna give this pretty cunt what it needs.”

The third finger is a stretch. You try to get away, try to crawl onto the bed to run, but he stomps a boot onto the chain around your ankle and flattens you to the mattress.

“Keep pretending if you want, baby,” he murmurs, “I know what you really need now.”

He’s withdrawing his fingers while you’re still pleading and babbling. You’re horrified to realize you don’t know if you want them back. It doesn’t matter though. Because Johnny’s cock is splitting you open before you can decide, thicker and longer than you’ve ever taken. He curses and groans as he pushes into you, inch by hot inch. Until you feel the fat leaking head tap at your cervix and he grinds, balls kissing your clit.

“T-too much!” you sob. “‘S too much!! Johnny, Johnny, please!”

Heat floods you as he shudders, hips jerking hard and rough. By your head, his fist is white-knuckled in the sheets.

“Did… did you just…?”

“Say my name again,” he snarls.

You blink wetly. “W-wha…?”

“Say. It. Again.” Each word punctuated by a brutal thrust. Something drips down your thigh.

“J-Johnny,” you keen, trying to beg for mercy.

“Jus’ like that.” He’s still hard. Still so fucking hard it’s like you’ve been edging him for hours. Like he didn’t just flood your poor pussy with cum.

“Been dreaming of you saying my name. Haven’t all this time,” he pants, rocking into you hard and fast. Any semblance of restraint is long gone. “Now I know why. Finally fuckin’ earned it. Gonna keep earnin’ it from now on.”

He fucks you so hard the bed leaves dents in the wall. Forces a hand beneath your pelvis to pinch your clit between two fingers and hurtles you shrieking into an orgasm. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t pause for a single beat. Just hitches your knee up onto the mattress and somehow fucks into your harder, faster, deeper. His fingers rub cruel circles into your oversensitive clit and you burn.

“No, no, wait, Johnny- ah! No, I’m gonna - it feels like-”

Wet heat gushes from you, spilling down your thighs, all over the bed and floor. You - you -

“Fuck, you squirted everywhere, good fuckin’ girl, princess.” He slows just a bit, presumably to appreciate the mess you’ve made. You’re too far gone on shock and awful pleasure to do more than sniffle and hiccup pathetically.

And then a death sentence.

“Do it again.”

[ticifics]

Bittersweet Smoke

Tangerine x f!reader

Summary: You had known each other for a few years. You were always the intermediary between them and the clients, the bridge between the service and the payment. You looked like a doll—too perfect, too unattainable. And Tangerine had never wanted so badly to put his hands on something he knew he shouldn't touch.

Warnings: suggestive, language, smoke (don't smoke, it's bad), no use of y/n

A/N: request from my GREAT love @gingerteafairy and the first time I dare to write something with Tangerine, so I'm a little nervous

The park was always the meeting place. Public, busy, safe enough that no one would suspect anything. You insisted on scheduling meetings there, surrounded by the distant sound of children's laughter and the coming and going of strangers, as if the open environment could keep things under control.

But today, things would be different.

Today, Lemon wouldn't be here to serve as a buffer.

Tangerine had received the message minutes earlier, short and direct: You'll have to go alone. Behave.

He scoffed, running his tongue over his teeth in an irritated tic. Not because he couldn't handle a simple conversation, but because handling you, alone, was another story.

So, he did the only logical thing. He lit a cigarette.

The smoke spread through the crisp morning air as he waited, leaning against the iron railing of a flower bed. The dark velvet of his coat was immaculate, just like the brown curls that fell with calculated carelessness over his forehead. Tangerine was a man of presence, he always had been, but when it came to you…

Something in him became unhinged.

You had known each other for a few years. You were always the intermediary between them and the clients, the bridge between the service and the payment. Rational, precise, immaculately professional. But with him? Oh, with him, it had never been simple. From the first meeting, the barbs were constant, sharp as a blade. He thought you were bossy. You thought he was unbearable. He said you were too spoiled for this job. You replied that he was a rabid dog in an expensive suit.

And yet, you kept on like this—circling each other, orbiting, exchanging glances that lasted too long, provoking and irritating, as if waiting to see who would lose control first.

That was why he took a deep drag before seeing you. And that was why, despite expecting you, when you finally arrived, something in him stalled.

Your walk was always the same—confident, precise. Of course, you were beautiful. Mary Jane shoes touching the stone softly, pretty socks climbing up legs he tried not to stare at and failed miserably. You looked like a doll—too perfect, too unattainable. And Tangerine had never wanted so badly to put his hands on something he knew he shouldn't touch.

And it was driving him crazy.

"That's going to kill you."

Your voice cut through the silence, sweet and sharp, and Tangerine exhaled the smoke slowly, one corner of his mouth lifting.

"Hm? What's going to kill me?"

"That," you gestured toward the cigarette with your chin. "Smoking."

He chuckled low. "You talk like you care, doll."

The pet name made your expression harden for a second. But there was something else today, something different. He noticed it in the gleam in your eyes, in the way your fingers absentmindedly smoothed the seam of your skirt, in how your breathing adjusted as he watched you. Something was wrong—not that he dared to ask what.

"Maybe you should take a drag."

The words came out lower, slower, laced with something you pretended not to notice.

But you did.

Tangerine knew because he saw your throat move in a dry swallow, saw you hesitate a second longer than you should have.

"I don't smoke," you shot back. But you didn’t turn away, didn’t change the subject.

He brought the cigarette to his lips again, taking a slow drag, letting the smoke spread into the space between you. "There's a first time for everything."

You hesitated. Tangerine saw it. A blink too many, a swallow too hard. But instead of refusing, your fingers moved—delicate, hesitant—until they reached for him.

Oh.

A slow smile formed on his lips. Taking his time, he turned his hand, holding the cigarette between his fingers for you to take.

The touch was brief, but enough. Your skin met his for an instant—warm, soft. Tangerine watched, fascinated, as you brought the cigarette to your lips.

Ah, hell.

The same mouth that had said so many sharp things to him was now touching the same cigarette he had just smoked.

Then, you inhaled.

And choked.

The cough came hard, unexpected, and you quickly pulled the cigarette away, bringing your hand to your mouth as you leaned slightly to the side, trying to catch your breath.

Tangerine blinked, first surprised—then, chuckled lowly.

"Fuck," he muttered, genuine amusement in his voice. "Slow down, doll. That’s not how you do it."

You shot him a sharp glare, your eyes gleaming with irritation. "Don’t laugh."

He raised his hands, theatrically innocent, but the smile was still there, tugging at one corner of his mouth. "I’m not laughing."

You cleared your throat, regaining composure, your fingers still holding the cigarette, hesitant. Tangerine tilted his head slightly, his gaze drifting from your eyes to your lips, then to the curve of your neck—where a faint hint of color was rising, subtle.

"Hold it like this," he said, his voice lower now, reaching out to adjust the way you held the cigarette. His fingers brushed against yours again—a brief, warm touch—before he pulled away. "And when you inhale, do it slowly. Let the smoke in, then release it. No need to swallow it like you're desperate."

You narrowed your eyes at him, clearly suspicious. But instead of answering, you brought the cigarette back to your lips. This time, slowly.

And Tangerine had to hold his breath.

He felt it. He felt the exact moment his mouth went dry, the moment the tension in the air thickened. Because now that you knew how to do it, you did it right. Your lips parted slightly, your lashes lowered just a bit, and the smoke came out slow, smooth.

And hell, he shouldn't have been staring so much.

But he was.

"Good girl," he murmured, almost without thinking.

Your gaze met his for an instant, sharp, as if the words had poked at something deep inside you. But instead of responding, you simply extended your hand, returning the cigarette.

Tangerine blinked, surprised for a second, before accepting it. His fingers brushed against yours again, lingering just a little longer than they should before he brought the cigarette back to his lips.

And then he saw it.

The soft stain of lipstick on the filter.

A mark of yours, right there.

He took a deep drag, more than he needed, the familiar taste now mixed with something new—something he wanted to taste more of. Smoke filled his lungs, dense, warm, as his mind drifted for a moment.

And it was inevitable.

The thought.

The absurd, uncontrollable desire to see your perfect composure unravel.

To see you reduced to sighs in his bed, your pretty clothes disheveled, your sweet voice turned into something more urgent. To have your stockings pulled down, your lips parted, saying his name in a way he hadn’t heard yet.

The cigarette burned down to the filter. Tangerine flicked it away, crushing it against the ground with the tip of his shoe, a muscle in his jaw tightening for a second.

Oh, he was going to ruin you.

Not today. Not here. But someday.

You reached into your bag, pulling out a slim envelope before placing it in his hand. “New contract,” you muttered, back to business. “Straightforward. Should be easy enough.”

Tangerine tucked it into his coat. “Sure. You know me, sweetheart. Always smooth, always professional.”

You rolled your eyes, already turning to leave. But before he could step away, your voice reached him again—softer this time.

“Be careful.”

The phrase was small, tossed into the air as if it meant nothing. But Tangerine felt it.

He felt it in the way your voice came out softer. In how you avoided looking directly at him this time. In the meaning you tried to hide beneath the simplicity of the words.

And that was exactly why he smiled.

Slow. Teasing. Something drawn-out and amused.

"Aww," he murmured, tilting his head, "you care, love?"

Your expression soured instantly. “I don’t.”

“‘Course not,” he drawled, utterly entertained.

You huffed in irritation, spinning on your heel and walking away, muttering something under your breath. Tangerine watched you go, the corner of his mouth twitching up.

Oh, he loved pissing you off.

And when he got back from this job?

He was going to ask you out.

[xoblondie]

Dark!Mattheo Riddle Headcannons 💋

TW: 18+, stalker, Kidnapping and non-con content

Dark Mattheo who…

Switches up so quickly. One moment he's the soft and loving boy you fell for in hogwarts. The next he's tossing you aside like your a cigarette bud, and stomping you out.

"You're so gorgeous my love." In soft, playful whispers when you wake up in his arms.

To "Get out of my sight you disgusting bitch." Over the tiniest of mistakes.

If you ever try to leave him, he'll make sure you can't ever leave him. Locking you up in his manor, wandless and afraid. And if you ever escaped...

He would have Theo, and his friends on your tail within minutes. His death eaters would have no shame tearing you away from muggle establishments and would dispose of whatever and whoever got in their way. All adorned in those lifeless silver masks, that often haunt your dreams at night. A power move on Mattheo’s part to spread more fear into you.

Or he would catch up to you with ease, taking matters into his own hands when you’ve especially pissed him off. Pinned to the forest floor, with his dirty death eater boot on your throat, threatening your ability to breathe. The old blood caked on them displayed like a portrait of sins, to your struggling eyes.

Yet he’d spoil you any chance he got, with jewelry, new dresses and lacey garments. All to doll you up and show you off to his friends and lower-class men. After all you are his most prized possession and such beauty must be shared with the world.

Dark Mattheo that would stalk your every move, watching you when your out with your friends, not letting you get any “ideas” of leaving him from them. Or letting you talk with any guys that weren’t his group of friends.

Dark Mattheo that would hold a blade to your throat, ignoring your tears and pleas, if you ever disobeyed him. Threatening to harm you if you didn't listen to him and comply with us demands. Who would carve his name into your soft skin, so that no one but him would ever be able to claim you. You were his.

(Omg the power difference!!)

You were never a star pupil at hogwarts, and you had always struggled with wandless magic making it easy for Mattheo to leave you powerless. So Mattheo often wouldn't let you carry your wand with you while in the manor.

"You're much too clumsy my dear, nothing in here would require you to use magic when the house elves can do it for you. I'll keep it safe for you though." When in reality he didn't want you to be able to escape his grasp. Or potentially overpower him.

Dark!Mattheo who makes you sit in on all his meetings, presenting you as a trophy of his. Watching as death eaters eye you up and boats about his prize to them. If anyone spills information you were never supposed to hear, he wouldn’t hesitate to obliviate you. Who cares if it left your brain fuzzy, you were to pretty to use it anyways!

There would be Wards and Spells on the manor that shift your perspective on its layout. Never letting you plan a way out or be able to leave the grounds without Mattheo going with you. The forest around would be worse, a labyrinth designed to trap you if you were to ever escape.

And though he was possessive and manipulative, he was still the same boy he was at hogwarts. Just hidden under the weight of his father’s legacy.

He was often still intimate however, letting you cuddle with him, shower together and share passionate moments. He would take you on romantic dates and treat you like a princess when he knew he had gone too far. (Rather than apologize…)

Sex is either the most passionate and loving experience, or purely hateful. On his good nights, he treats you like you were carved by the gods and put on this earth by them specifically for him. He’d focus solely on you and your needs, worshipping you for hours and just watching you cum over and over again.

“Fuck baby, you’re doing so good for me”

“that’s it baby, just a bit more”

But on his bad nights, he's rough and unforgiving, not caring for your needs or even if you wanted this in the first place. He would tie you down just so you’d stop pushing him away and lick your tears from your face as he forced himself into you.

“You wanna act like a slut then I’ll fucking treat you like a slut.”

“You wanna show off in front of my death eaters, but can’t handle being used by one?”

But in the end, you can’t help but to love his boyish grin or the way his eyes soften as he looks at you. Or the whispered promises of how he’ll marry you one day and leave all of this death eater stuff behind.

A/N: omg enjoy y’all <3 I’m editing this myself so ignore any typos or grammar issues! Also I’m super rusty so send me writing ideas (plz and Ty, I will love you forever)

[antinousletmehit]

Bad ending

This is NOT the cannon/current ending of Aphrodites gamble.

One of my friends asked me about the bad ending my series was originally supposed to have and asked for me to post something about it, I know that we’re kinda far from the ending but it really doesn’t spoil anything because none of this happens in Aphrodites gamble.

WARNINGS!!: murder, depression, antinous is a major asshole in this

The moon hung high over Ithaca’s palace, its pale light streaming through the windows and illuminating the once grand hall now filled with suitors. Laughter and the clinking of goblets echoed off the stone walls, but it was the murmur of hushed voices from the far corner that caught her attention. She crept closer, her bare feet silent against the cold floor. Antinous’s voice was unmistakable—smooth, commanding, and laced with malice. Her heart dropped as she strained to hear what he was saying.

“…We wait for his ship to return,” Antinous said, his tone calm but deadly. “We’ll ambush him before he even sets foot on Ithacan soil. With Telemachus gone, the queen will have no choice but to choose one of us. And once I’m king, the rest will fall in line.”

Her breath hitched. No…

Telemachus. The man she loved, who had stolen her heart with his quiet strength and kind eyes, who had trusted her with his dreams of a better Ithaca. And now her own brother was planning to kill him. She took a step back, her mind racing. She had to warn Telemachus. Somehow, she had to stop this. But as she turned to leave, the floor creaked beneath her foot.

The low murmur of voices stopped abruptly. She froze, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Who’s there?” Antinous’s sharp voice cut through the air like a blade. She tried to run, but before she could take another step, a strong hand grabbed her wrist. She spun around, only to come face to face with her brother. His expression was unreadable, but his grip was like iron.

“Eavesdropping, little sister?” he said softly, though his voice held no warmth.

“Antinous, please,” she begged, her voice trembling. “Don’t do this. Telemachus—he’s—”

Antinous’s jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened. “You shouldn’t have heard that.” He dragged her through the hall, past the other suitors who watched with raised eyebrows and amused smirks. She thrashed against his hold, tears streaming down her face, but he was unyielding.

“Antinous, let me go!” she cried. “You can’t kill him! Please, I love him! Don’t do this!”

Her words seemed to cut through him for a moment, and he hesitated, but the cold resolve returned to his eyes almost immediately. “You don’t understand, N/N. This isn’t about you or your feelings. It’s about power. About Ithaca.”

“It’s about your pride!” she shouted. “You’re so blinded by your ambition that you’re willing to destroy everything! Please, Antinous, I’m begging you, don’t kill him.” He didn’t respond, only tightening his grip as he dragged her to his room. Once inside, he grabbed a length of rope from his belongings and tied her hands together, ignoring her cries and struggles. He pushed her onto a chair and knelt in front of her, his face inches from hers.

“You’re staying here,” he said firmly. “You’re not running off to warn anyone.”

Her tears fell freely now, and her voice cracked as she whispered, “Antinous… please…”

For a moment, his expression softened, and she thought she saw a flicker of regret in his eyes. But then he straightened, his face hardening once more. “I have to do this,” he said quietly. “You’ll understand one day, you’ll see it’s for the better.”

With that, he turned and left the room, the door slamming shut behind him. She was left alone, her heart shattered and her tears falling onto the cold floor, praying that somehow, some way, she could stop the storm her brother was about to unleash.

——

The door creaked open, and she looked up with tear streaked cheeks. The sight that greeted her froze her heart in place.

Antinous stood in the doorway, his tunic torn and stained with crimson. Blood smeared his hands and face, and his usually composed expression was grim, hollow. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and he looked as though the weight of the world had crushed him.

“Antinous…” she whispered, her voice trembling. She knew before he even opened his mouth, but part of her still clung to hope. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a heavy thud. His dark eyes met hers, guilt flickering across them, but his lips set into a hard line.

“It’s done,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “The prince is dead.”

The words hit her like a blade to the chest. Her breath hitched, and for a moment, the room spun. “No,” she choked out, shaking her head violently. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” Antinous said flatly, stepping closer. “It had to be done.”

Her stomach dropped, and a guttural cry ripped from her throat. “No! No, you didn’t have to—” She dissolved into sobs, curling into herself as though the pain was too much to bear. Her love, her Telemachus, was gone. Snuffed out by the one person she thought would never betray her in such a way.

Antinous’s jaw clenched, and he took another step forward, reaching out to her. “Sister, please—”

“Don’t!” she screamed, jerking away from him. “Don’t touch me!”

He froze, his hand hovering mid air. She looked up at him, her face streaked with tears and twisted in anguish. “You killed him,” she whispered, venom dripping from her voice. “You killed him, Antinous! You’ve taken everything from me.”

His face contorted with a mix of guilt and frustration. “I did this for us. For Ithaca. Don’t you understand—”

“Understand?” she snapped, her voice rising with each word. “I understand that you’re a monster! I’ll never forgive you for this, Antinous. Never.”

The words cut deeper than any blade, and for a moment, he faltered, the proud suitor reduced to a man burdened by his choices. “I didn’t want it to be this way,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “I—I thought you’d—“

“You thought I’d what?” she spat, glaring at him through her tears. “Approve of you murdering the man I love? Go back to plotting with the others like none of this matters? You’re delusional, Antinous.”

He knelt before her, desperate now, his bloodstained hands trembling as he clasped them together. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking.

She turned her head away, her body trembling as she sobbed into her hands. “Get out,” she whispered.

“Sister, please—”

“GET OUT!” she screamed, her voice echoing in the small room.

Antinous flinched, his shoulders sagging under the weight of her rejection. He stood slowly, staring at her for a moment longer before turning and leaving the room without another word.

As the door closed behind him, she crumbled to the floor, her sobs the only sound in the suffocating silence.

The days passed in a haze of cold dread. The once lively halls of Ithaca’s palace now echoed with an oppressive stillness. Antinous had claimed the throne, the suitors his loyal council, and the entire kingdom had bent beneath their control. And her life, once filled with freedom and love, was now a gilded cage.

Everywhere she turned, Antinous was there—watching, waiting. If not him, then one of the suitors, all eager to please their new king by keeping an eye on his sister. She couldn’t take a single step without feeling their eyes boring into her, her every movement scrutinized.

At meals, Antinous would sit at the head of the table, regal in his new robes, the crown perched arrogantly on his head. She sat to his right, silent and withdrawn, while the suitors laughed and toasted to their newfound power. Antinous’s gaze would flick to her every so often, as if ensuring she was still there, still under his control.

“Eat,” he ordered one evening, noticing the untouched plate before her.

She didn’t respond, her eyes fixed on the table.

“Sister,” he said, his voice quieter but no less commanding. “You need to eat.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes hollow and rimmed with dark circles. “I’m not hungry.”

Antinous’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing more. Instead, he turned his attention back to the suitors, though his sharp gaze never fully left her. When she wandered the palace gardens, searching for a moment of peace, Antinous was never far behind. Sometimes he followed her himself, his heavy footsteps echoing behind her. Other times, one of his lackeys would shadow her, keeping a careful distance but always close enough to intervene should she try to flee.

“Don’t think about running,” Antinous had warned her one night when he found her staring longingly at the horizon from the palace balcony. His tone was casual, almost soft, but the threat beneath it was clear. “You won’t get far, it’s too dangerous out there.”

One afternoon, she was sitting by the fountain in the garden, her fingers trailing through the water as she tried to block out the oppressive weight of her brother’s rule. A shadow fell over her, and she looked up to find Antinous standing there, his arms crossed. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice weary.

“To talk,” he said simply, sitting down beside her.

She turned away, refusing to meet his gaze. “I have nothing to say to you.”

Antinous sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know you hate me.”

She didn’t respond, and he continued. “But everything I’ve done, I’ve done for us. For Ithaca.”

“For Ithaca?” she snapped, finally looking at him. Her eyes burned with anger and pain. “You’ve destroyed everything Ithaca stood for. You’ve turned this kingdom into a nightmare.” Antinous’s expression hardened, but there was a flicker of something softer in his eyes. “I’m keeping you safe,” he said. “That’s all that matters to me.”

“I don’t need your protection,” she said, her voice trembling. “I needed you to let me live my life. I needed you to let me love him.” His face darkened at the mention of Telemachus, and he stood abruptly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his tone cold. “You’ll thank me one day.”

Before she could respond, he turned and walked away, leaving her alone by the fountain, her heart heavy with grief and anger.

The days dragged on, each one more suffocating than the last. Antinous’s watchful eyes never wavered, and her every move was dictated by his paranoia. She felt like a bird trapped in a cage, her wings clipped, her song silenced. And though Antinous claimed he had done it all for her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that his so called love was nothing more than another chain binding her to his suffocating ideals.

[thehighpriestess1]

Make a wish: Confession

Warning: Strong themes. Mentions self harm. Angst

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

Word count: 18k

Ask box | Previous chapter | fic masterlist | Other works

The sound of the zipper on your suitcase cut through the heavy silence of the bedroom. You shoved another handful of clothes inside, your movements stiff and jerky, fueled by frustration, heartbreak, and exhaustion. Your hands trembled as you folded a sweater—one of Gojo’s that you had stolen and worn to sleep countless times. Now, the fabric felt foreign in your grasp. You dropped it into the suitcase without a second thought.

The door creaked open behind you. Gojo’s voice was casual, almost amused. “Going somewhere?”

You didn’t answer. You just grabbed another stack of clothes and kept packing. You felt him move closer, his presence like static in the air. “Y/N.” His tone darkened. “Where the hell are you going?”

Still, you didn’t reply.

That was when he grabbed your wrist—not forcefully, but firm enough to make you pause. “I asked you a question.”

You yanked your arm away and finally turned to face him, your eyes burning with unshed tears. “I’m leaving, Gojo.”

A flicker of something unreadable passed through his expression, but it was gone before you could grasp it. “The hell you are.”

You let out a sharp breath. “I’m done.”

His lips curled into a smirk, but there was no real humor behind it. “Oh, you’re done, huh? And where exactly do you think you’re gonna go?”

“Kyoto.”

His face fell. “You’re running back to your mother?”

“At least she gives a damn about me.”

Gojo scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, come on. What is this even about, Y/N? You’re really this pissed because I’ve been busy?”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “Busy? That’s what we’re calling it now? Disappearing for days without a single message? Coming home at three in the morning, reeking of alcohol and someone else’s perfume? You think I don’t fucking notice?”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re being paranoid.”

You took a step closer, voice shaking. “I’m being ignored.”

Gojo clenched his jaw, his usual carefree demeanor slipping. “You knew what you were signing up for, Y/N. My life doesn’t revolve around you.”

Your breath hitched, but you refused to let him see how much that hurt. “Yeah, I got that loud and clear.” You gestured around the room. “This—whatever this is—has become a joke, Gojo. I spend my nights alone, wondering if you’ll even come home. I wait, and wait, and all I get is silence. I’m tired of being a fucking afterthought.”

Gojo’s eyes flashed with something dangerous. “You’re acting like a spoiled brat.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. “And you’re acting like a selfish bastard”

The words hung between you like a blade. Gojo inhaled sharply, stepping back as if you had physically struck him. He tilted his head, his expression unreadable. Then, with an eerie calmness, he exhaled and said, “So, what? You’re just gonna leave? Just like that?”

Your throat tightened. “You left first.”

Gojo remained silent for a few seconds and then walked out. You continued shoving things in your bag wanting to get out as soon as possible. It took you 1 hour to pack 2 years of your existence. You deliberately left out everything Gojo had got for you. All the expensive bags and shoes were kept neatly in the walk-in. You didn’t want to carry any part of him with you.

As you walked out of the bedroom and made your way to the main door you saw Gojo sitting on the couch but you didn’t bother saying anything. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken words, until your phone rang. You flinched at the sudden noise, fishing it out of your pocket. Mom.

You swallowed hard and picked up. “Mom?” Your voice wavered, the exhaustion seeping into your tone.

“Y/N.” Her voice was sharp, laced with disappointment. “What the hell are you thinking?”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

“Gojo just called me. He told me you were leaving.”

Your fingers curled around the phone and you turned to him. “Yeah. I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

You frowned. “Mom—”

“Do you have any idea what that man has done for you?” she snapped. “For us? He paid for your brother’s college tuition. He made sure you were safe when you moved to Tokyo. He gave you everything, and this is how you repay him? You abandon him when things get tough? That’s not how relationships work”

The floor beneath you felt like it was crumbling. “I didn’t ask for any of that.”

“No, but he did it anyway, because he loves you, Y/N.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you tried to make sense of her words. “I’ll explain everything when I get home.”

Her response came like a knife to the chest. “Don’t. Fix things with Gojo.”

Your heart stopped. The call ended. You stood there, phone still clutched in your shaking hands, unable to breathe. There was no home to go back to. Slowly, you turned, vision blurry with tears. Gojo was still standing there, watching you, arms crossed, face unreadable.

The weight of everything crashed down on you all at once. “You called my mother.”

Gojo shrugged. “Had to make sure you didn’t do something stupid.”

Your chest ached, your voice cracked, “You had no right.”

“I had every right,” he shot back. “You’re mine, Y/N. And I’m not letting you walk out just because you’re throwing a tantrum.”

You sucked in a sharp breath. “A tantrum?”

Gojo sighed, rubbing his temple. “Listen, I get it. I’ve been busy, I’ve been distant, whatever. But you knew what this was. You knew what I was.”

Your bottom lip trembled. “I wanted you, Gojo. Just you. Not your money, not your influence, just you. But you never gave me a chance.”

His expression finally cracked, something raw flickering across his face. But before he could respond, he exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “Since you have your bag ready anyway, let’s make good use of it”

You blinked. “What?”

He sighed. “We’re leaving.”

Your brows furrowed. “Leaving?”

Gojo grabbed his coat and tossed you yours. “We need a vacation. Just us.”

Your heart twisted. “Gojo—”

“You want my attention? Fine. You’ve got it. Let’s go.”

You stared at him, trying to figure out if this was some twisted attempt at making things right, or just another way for him to avoid the real issue.

You sat quietly on the steps of your house, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. The night air was cool, but it did little to soothe the ache in your chest. Your mother was resting inside, and Gojo—ever persistent—had offered to stay and help, but you refused. You couldn’t risk having him around her. The memories were too raw. He had once effortlessly charmed her, made himself at home in your life, and then, just as easily, you had lost everything. While you lingered between the future and present a familiar voice brought you back,

"Y/N."

Your head snapped up, wiping away stray tears. "Kento?" Nanami stood at the gate, his expression unreadable under the dim streetlights. "What are you doing here?" you asked, forcing a smile as you unlocked the gate.

"I was out for a walk. What about you? Why are you sitting outside this late?"

"Just getting some fresh air."

Nanami didn’t buy it. His sharp gaze flickered over your face, taking in the dark circles, the tired red eyes. "Are you okay? Do you want to talk?"

You sat together on the porch steps, a comfortable silence stretching between you before you finally exhaled. "It’s been hard—work, home, everything."

"Why don’t you hire a personal nurse?"

You let out a dry chuckle. "It’s not that I can’t. I’m saving for Ren’s college."

Nanami nodded in understanding. "I can help—cook, clean—whatever you need."

You shook your head with a quiet laugh. "That’s sweet, but… I’m weirdly possessive about my mom. I don’t want anyone else taking care of her."

Nanami didn’t push, sensing there was more to it than you were willing to share. Instead, he offered something you hadn’t even considered. "Let me take care of you then. I can move you to the pro bono project. It’s remote, won’t affect your pay or promotion. You’d have more time at home."

You hesitated. You hated admitting weakness. But Nanami wasn’t offering out of pity—just quiet, unwavering support.

"...Okay," you whispered. "Thank you, Kento."

"Please, it's the least I can do". Nanami smiled warmly.

His warm smile and unwavering support ave you the strength you needed in this moment. "I am so grateful to have you Kenot".

"Likewise y/n".

Unbeknownst to you, Gojo stood in the shadows, fingers tightening around the bento box in his hands. He had convinced himself this was just coincidence, just him checking in, but now, as he watched you smile at Nanami, something inside him cracked.

Jealousy burned hot in his veins. You had pushed him away, yet here you were sitting next to Nanami, leaning your head on his shoulders. Had you reached out to him first? Had you confided in Nanami instead of him? The thought made his stomach churn.

He wanted to march over, to demand answers, to remind you that he was the one who knew you best, the one who should be sitting beside you. But he hesitated. What if you looked indifferent? What if you didn’t care?

His heart twisted painfully, and before he could stop himself, he turned on his heel and walked away. The bento box and flowers he had brought now felt ridiculous, useless. He tossed them onto the passenger seat, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

What reason did you have to call Nanami and not him?

The alarm buzzed at 5 AM, and you groggily turned it off, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Another day, another routine. You swung your legs over the bed and stood, stretching for a moment before heading to the kitchen. The house was still dark, the only sound was the soft hum of the refrigerator.

Quietly, you got to work—eggs sizzling in the pan, toast popping up, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. You moved with practiced efficiency, flipping pancakes while keeping an eye on the boiling water for tea. By the time the sun peeked over the horizon, you had already prepped lunch, leaving it neatly packed on the counter.

Your mother would wake up soon, and you’d be back in your room, headset on, lost in spreadsheets and emails. Work consumed the day. Calls, reports, presentations—it was all a blur. But even when the clock hit five, there was no rest. The house needed tidying, dinner had to be made, and exhaustion settled into your bones like a weight you had grown used to carrying.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, your phone vibrated. Gojo. Again.

Gojo: Hey, dinner tonight? Just us. Gojo: I’ll even let you pick the place. That’s how desperate I am, babe. Gojo: Don’t leave me on read, c’monnnn.

You sighed, typing a quick response.

You: Not tonight. Long day.

You could practically feel his pout through the screen.

Gojo: You ALWAYS have a long day. I’m starting to think you don’t miss me at all 🥺

You hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The truth was, you did miss him. But you were exhausted. Some days, you barely had the energy to exist, let alone be present for someone else. And other days... other days, you just needed space.

You: I’m just really tired.

No response. That wasn’t like him. Normally, Gojo would send a string of exaggerated gifs or something ridiculous to make you laugh. But this time, nothing.

That night, as you finished washing dishes, your phone rang. His name lit up the screen. You sighed, answering. "Gojo, I told you—"

"Open the door."

Your heart stopped. You turned, staring at the entrance as if he might magically appear. "You didn't."

"I did." His voice was light, teasing, but there was something underneath it—something almost nervous. "Are you gonna let me in, or should I start reciting poetry from the hallway?"

You hesitated. You wanted to see him, but...

"Please." The word was softer than usual, and it made you exhale sharply.

Slowly, you walked to the door and pulled it open.

And there he was. Tall, impossibly bright even in the dim light, his usual cocky grin subdued. He studied you, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to memorize every tired line.

"Hey," he murmured.

You swallowed. "Hey.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, with an almost resigned sigh, Gojo reached out and pulled you into his arms. You stiffened at first—but then the exhaustion hit you all at once, and before you knew it, you were sinking into his warmth. His arms tightened around you, one hand gently cradling the back of your head as he rested his chin atop it. "You don’t have to do everything alone, you know," he whispered against your hair.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, clinging to the fabric as your shoulders sagged. You hadn’t realized just how much you’d been holding in until now.

"I know," you whispered back, though a part of you still wasn’t sure how to let go of the habit.

Gojo pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands cupping your face. His thumbs brushed gently over the dark circles under your eyes, and his lips twisted into a soft frown. "You're overworking yourself again, aren’t you?"

You looked away. "I’m fine, Gojo."

Gojo nodded, “I don’t know what have I done but please let me help you. It’s my duty”.

It’s not what you have done, it’s what you’re capable of doing, You thought to yourself. “I– I am really fine”. You forced a smile.

Gojo cupped your face and gently tilted it up, “You don’t look fine. I– I saw Nanami and you a few days ago. I just wanted to stop by and then I –”.

You sighed, “It’s not what you think. He just stopped by. Much like you right now”.

“I–”, Gojo hesitated at first, “Why didn’t you want me here?”. 

You pressed your lips together. You had no answer. “Well because mom would have felt guilty about you being here and helping me. I didn’t want to trouble her”.

Gojo studied your face for a minute. Your sunken cheeks and heavy eyes stopped him from pushing further. “I see. It’s okay. Just know that I am just a call away”.

“I know”. You smiled at him but the smile didn’t reach your eyes.

You stood on one side of the doorway while he remained outside. Both of you, just close enough to embrace each other. Gojo,hesitant to step in your world, and you, scared of crossing the boundary to meet him in his world. Maybe that’s how it was going to be like this time, reaching for each other, aching for each other, from two different worlds. For now sitting on the front steps and discussing your day was enough.

“Satoru, are you sure about this?”Geto asked, rubbing his temple.

“Not entirely but how else would you explain everything?”. Gojo turned to look at Shoko and Geto. 

Shoko sighed. Her and Geto had flown down to Kyoto as soon as they could. Gojo was going insane over the fact that you had come back from the past. She tried to recall anything that you had told her in your brief encounter.According to Gojo she was supposed to be like a sister to you and yet you felt so foreign. The brief coffee exchange was semi-formal at best. If you had truly come back then you would have been warmer to her. But could you be pretending? Protecting yourself? A part of her felt compelled to help you. But in order to reach you she needed to be in your life and help Gojo. He raked her brain for any subtle hint that she might have missed. .“Aha!”. She screamed, making both the men turn to her. “That night when I met y/n in the bar, when I basically spilled your secret”, She pointed to Gojo with her cigarette, “Umm she was saying something about–”. Shoko groaned, “Oh god I just remembered it”.

Gojo moved in an instant and was by her side, “What did she say? Come one try! Please!”. He begged.

“She–”, Shoko trailed of replaying the moment in her head, “We were talking about her feelings for Nanami and–”, Shoko bit the inside of he cheek, “ She said she wasn’t sure if she liked Nanami or if she was trying to forget someone else!”. She blurted in one breath. “Right! She was trying to forget someone!”.

Gojo and Geto exchanged confused looks but Shoko was onto something. “Okay!”, She turned to Geto, “When was her last relationship?!”

Geto flipped through the file he had only you, “Umm in college. She dated some guy for 4 months”.

Shoko turned to Gojo, “Why would she still be trying to forget someone she dated in college and only for 4 months?!”

“You mean–”, Gojo trailed off and looked at Geto. “Are you sure she hasn’t had any other relationships since? Not even flings or crushes?”.

“I don’t know about crushes but definitely no relationships or flings”. He spoke with certainty. 

“It’s unlikely that she would have a crush so bad that she is still hung up on”. Shoko added. 

“No no no”. Gojo ran his hand through his hair. “We have to consider it a possibility. I– We can’t just simply believe that she has come back as well. We need to be absolutely sure”.

“But, why does it matter?”, Shoko asked, “Will your feelings change if you know-”.

“No”. Gojo cut her off. “I will have to be really careful if she has indeed come back like I did. ‘Cause that would mean she doesn’t see me as a new man. She sees me as the same man who hurt her”.

“What other clues do we have?”. Shoko asked, tying her hair back. She was surprised by her interest in this. She wanted to help her friend but also find out why this happened in the first place. “Satoru, you be the for side and Suguru”, She pointed at the man in the bun, “You be against. We are going to argue our way out of this. Satoru what is the first clue, shoot”.

Gojo swallowed and looked at the two of them, “She knew that her mother was going to get a stroke”.

Geto continued, “She didn’t know. She had a feeling and asked the doctor to keep her under observation. It is natural to think of the worst when it is a family member especially if something runs in the family”.

“But heart disease doesn’t run in her family. She took her mom to a cardiology hospital which was 15 minutes away from her home instead of the general hospital which was 10 minutes away”.

“People don’t think straight when they are panicking”.

“But she wasn’t panicking. She seemed extremely calm. Her mother had fainted and she didn’t shed a tear. She knew it was going to happen. When the nurse told her about the stroke she didn’t seem shocked, she seemed… determined”.

“Again, if she knew her mother was at a high risk then-”.

“Her mother was not a high risk patient. I saw her records. She was absolutely fine before the stroke. I went to her house yesterday, the table in the kitchen had moved to another place. You are telling me she moved the table for no reason, which by the way prevented her mother from hitting her head. She borrowed Maya’s car to move furniture but there was no new furniture in the house. She just happened to have a car ready? Her mother fainted at 6:30 AM. She was in the hospital by 6:50 AM. That includes the 15 minute drive. No time wasted. She just happened to be in the room at the same time?”.

Geto shrugged, “It was breakfast time?”.

Gojo turned on his heels sharply and pointed at Geto with a marker, “No. Y/n has breakfast at 8:00 AM. She was up early that day. She didn’t waste any time getting ready. She didn’t waste any time thinking what to do. She didn’t waste any time even checking if her mother needed water or anything?”.

Shoko hummed. “The timing is just too- perfect. Usually in such cases family members take at least 10 minutes to get their bearings. Even if they act immediately”.

Geto shook his head, “There is no other rebuttal. I agree that even I think she knew this was going to happen”.

Shoko clapped her hands and walked over to the board where they had been noting facts and wrote down the conclusion under this clue. Positive. “Next clue?”. She asked, looking around the room.

Gojo stared at the board, “In my office, when we had the slowing things down conversation, She said she doesn’t want to fall head first like last time. What did she mean last time?”

“Her previous relationship?”. Shoko asked and turned to Geto.

Geto shook his head, “No. In her last relationship they only officially started dating after 2 months of going out. And she wasn’t that serious according to her then friends”.

Shoko wrote positive under the clue. 

Gojo sat back, arms crossed, the weight of the evidence settling over him.“She remembers,” he murmured.

Geto exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Then we need to figure out why she came back.”

Gojo didn’t answer. He just stared at the board, lips pressed into a thin line. Because if you had come back in time, that meant there was something you needed to change. And deep down, he was terrified that he was the reason why.

“We need more indicators”.

Shoko threw her hands in the air, “How are we going to get more indicators?”.

Gojo didn’t know how. He stared blankly at the board. Geto quipped, “We can recreate some scenarios and see how she reacts”.

“What?”. Gojo asked.

“If she has come back from the future then it means she is a different person to what she would have been at this point in time. We recreate some scenarios that have happened in the past and didn’t go her way. If she has not come back from the future then things won’t go her way. But if she has then she will try to change things. But the situation needs to be important enough for her to care”

Shoko turned to Gojo, tapping the cap of the marker on her lips, “Can you think of anything?”.

A slow smile appeared on Gojo’s face, “A deal. A very bad deal”. Gojo turned to Geto, “In the past, Naoya Zenin approached us with a business proposal. I worked with y/n on the proposal. She was confident that it was a good deal. Really confident. We went ahead with the deal and ended up losing a lot of money. People had to be fired, including her friends”.

“That’s perfect!”. Shoko added. “She would not want her friends to get fired so she will be against the deal this time. If we present all the facts accurately then she should agree with the proposal”.

It had been your first full week back at the office since your mother’s recovery. The past few months had been exhausting—waking up before dawn, caring for her, managing the house, barely keeping up with work from home. But now that things were finally stable, you had walked into the office expecting a slow reintegration.

Instead, Gojo had called you into a meeting the moment you stepped in. You weren’t surprised.What did surprise you was seeing Geto seated across from Gojo at the long conference table, a thick files already waiting at your usual spot. His dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, steady and unreadable.

“Nice to meet you again,” he said evenly.

You nodded, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. “Nice to meet you too”.

Then there was Gojo, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head with a slow, knowing grin.“Alright,” he drawled. “Let’s get down to business. You’re just in time for something big.”

You slid into your chair, flipping open your notebook. “What is it?”

Gojo grabbed the file in front of him and pushed it toward you. “Naoya Zenin,” he said, his usual lightheartedness gone. “He’s offering us a deal.”

Your breath hitched, fingers hovering just above the file. Zenin. The name alone sent a prickle down your spine. Even if you hadn’t lived through this before, you would have been wary. But you had lived through this. The last time you had seen this file, you had been excited. You had believed in this deal and it had cost you everything. You remembered the look on your friends face as they got laid off. You swallowed hard and forced yourself to open the file, eyes skimming over the contents—projected profits, expansion plans, contractual details. On paper, it was perfect.

“We’d be securing an exclusive contract with the Zenin Group,” Geto explained smoothly. “Five years. High margins. Minimal risk.”

Minimal risk. That was what you had thought before. That was what everyone had thought.

Gojo leaned forward slightly. “This could put us in a dominant position,” he said. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

“Can we call in Kento?”, You asked. “I think– I want his input as well”. You smiled formally.

Gojo and Geto exchanged looks and Gojo picked up his phone to call Nanami. “Y/n wants your input on a deal. Come to my office”. He cut the call without waiting to hear anything further. “Why do you want him here?”

“Because it’s his company?”.

“Not anymore”. Gojo replied. “It’s with us now”.

For some reason you didn’t like the tone of his answer. It was unfair to have Nanami out of an important conversation. He founded Golden Ratio. You didn’t care what Gojo thought, you didn’t want to go behind Nanami’s back.

Nanami walked in a few minutes later, adjusting his tie. “Sorry to keep you waiting. What’s going on?”. He asked as he sat down next to you. 

“There is a deal that has come our way”, You spoke, sliding the file over to Nanami, “From the Zenin group. Five years, high margins, minimal risk, exclusive contract”.

Nanami hummed as he flipped through the pages, “I see, what do you think about it?”. He asked, looking at Gojo.

“I think it’s a good opportunity. One worth exploring. What do you think y/n?”. Gojo was watching you. Waiting. If this was truly your first time seeing this deal, you would be excited. You would already be thinking of ways to move forward. 

But you hesitated. “I don’t know,” you murmured, tapping your fingers lightly against the table. “Something about this doesn’t sit right with me.”

Geto barely reacted, but Gojo? Gojo’s lips twitched, his fingers drumming once against the table before he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Really?” he said, tilting his head. “But the numbers are solid. You were always big on numbers.”

You swallowed, flipping a page. “Numbers don’t always tell the full story.”

Geto quirked a brow. “They do a pretty good job, though.”

You shook your head. “What about contingencies? What’s our risk assessment?”. 

“There’s no major risk,” Gojo said smoothly. “Zenin’s contract locks in long-term security, and we have an escape clause after the second year. If anything shifts, we’ll have time to pivot.”

You exhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. “And if it collapses within those first two years?”

“It won’t.”

“It can”. Nanami added. “How are you so sure that it won’t?”. He looked at Gojo and then at Geto.

It will. You thought to yourself. “I agree with Nanami,This looks lucrative. If all goes well then this could be a major step for the firm. But maybe we should evaluate it more. I can run a scenario analysis”.

Geto hummed to himself. You were being careful. He had made up his mind but he wanted to see how far you'll go if push comes to shove. “We conducted a scenario analysis and it’s all in the file in front of you. Have a look”. Geto was in no mood to entertain Nanami.

You opened the file and started going through the numbers and projections. They had covered everything except one scenario. One scenario in which this deal could be detrimental, will be detrimental. But can you reveal it to them? How will you explain having this information? What will you do if they question you? You bit your lip as you kept on flipping through the pages.

“What are your thoughts?”. Gojo asked.

“I–”, You took a deep breath, fuck it, “Can I see the Zenin group’s financials?”. 

“Sure”, Gojo replied and slid another file your way. 

It would have taken you days to analyse this had you not known where to look already. You flipped to the very end and read the note and smiled to yourself. “Zinoya,”, You said as you marked a note, “It seems like a shell company. Lots of funds are being transferred from Zenin group to Zinoya, Additionally Zinoya holds 10% shares in Zenin group. However I have not heard of this company before. Have you?”.

Geto smiled, “No”. You were good. Very good. “But how does that affect our deal?”.

“If it is a shell company then post this deal we would not be paying to Zenin group. We will be paying Zinoya. There is a high chance that this could get us in hot waters with regulators resulting in a multi million dollar lawsuit. People could lose their jobs”.

“Why would people lose their jobs?” Geto raised a brow, “Given what you’re saying is right”.

You gulped and bit your lip, “Because.. Golden ratio is the least profitable of all the companies under Gojo group. If we are paying out millions of dollars in lawsuits then we will have to save that cost somewhere. For Domain Dynamic, golden ratio is a minor acquisition. Naturally the best place to lay people off under the pretext of a company not making enough money. Domain will save face and money”.

“You’re smart”. Geto said, smiling at you.

“Not really. I just got lucky”. You smiled back.

Nanami observed you and then smiled to himself, “If y/n is not confident about the deal then we are not going ahead with it”.

But Gojo didn’t have anything to say. His intuition was right. Suddenly you weren’t his wide eyed girlfriend anymore, you were his fiance who had become a shell of a human. He could see the pain right through your mask. You have come back from the future. To escape him and his cruelty, to escape the pain he has caused you.

“No way!”. Shoko exclaimed as Geto gave her the rundown of the entire meeting. She looked at Gojo who was awfully quiet. “What are you brooding about?”

Gojo didn’t look at her. His eyes fixed on a distant point. “Why did she agree to go out with me?”.

Shoko scoffed, “because in her eyes you are not the same Satoru who had hurt her. You are different. You proved that you are not the same when you went against your dad and became the head of the family”.

“Sho is right”. Geto quipped lighting a cigarette. “You have a clean state. You have an advantage. You know her fears, insecurity, pain, all her buttons. Use it”.

Gojo let out a strangled groan, dragging both hands through his hair, gripping at the roots like he could rip the frustration out of his skull. “Fuck!—Fuck, fuck, fuck!” His voice cracked, raw and unsteady, as he staggered back, barely able to keep himself upright. His breath came in short, uneven gasps, his chest rising and falling like he was suffocating under the weight of his own thoughts. “She wanted to escape from me…”

Shoko and Geto exchanged a glance, their usual snark buried beneath the thick, suffocating air of the room. They didn’t speak. For once, there were no jokes, no teasing remarks—only quiet understanding as they watched the strongest man they knew unravel before them.

Gojo’s shoulders trembled as he struggled to find the words, but they stuck to the roof of his mouth like they were never meant to be spoken. His fingers curled into tight fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms. “I was so—She chose—” His breath hitched, and when he finally forced the words out, they were nothing more than a broken whisper. “She chose to come back rather than stay with me. She chose death over being with me.”

His knees buckled slightly, and he caught himself on the edge of the table, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely. His usually bright, untouchable eyes were clouded, glassy with unshed tears, the weight of his own thoughts pressing down on him like an unbearable force. “Do I even deserve her?” His voice wavered, barely audible. “Am I even worthy?”

Shoko exhaled sharply, rubbing at her temples as if that alone could ward off the crushing weight of Gojo’s words. She had never seen him like this—not even when everything had first fallen apart. This was different. This was despair settling into his bones, poisoning his thoughts, twisting the very essence of him into something unrecognizable.

“She didn’t choose death, Satoru.” Her voice was quiet, but firm, a sharp contrast to the way his own was unraveling. “She chose what she thought would save her.”

Gojo let out a bitter, breathless laugh, tilting his head back as if the ceiling had all the answers he so desperately sought. “And I wasn’t it.”

Geto exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his eyes shadowed, unreadable. “No, you weren’t,” he admitted. The truth cut, but there was no point in dressing it up. “But you are now, aren’t you? You can be, right?”

Gojo’s hands trembled against the table, his grip so tight that his knuckles turned a stark white. He hated this. The not knowing. The way his mind kept looping around the same painful thought—if she had to choose again, would she still leave? Would she still run?

Would she still think the world was kinder without him in it?

Shoko swallowed, stepping closer, hesitant. “You can’t rewrite the past, Gojo. You can’t take back the things you did, the things you said… but you can’t let them drown you either.” She nudged his shoulder, forcing him to look at her. “You think she sees you as someone different? Then stop looking at yourself like you’re the same damn person who lost her in the first place.”

His breath was uneven, ragged. “And if I mess it up again?”

Geto tapped his cigarette against the ashtray, his gaze heavy. “Then you lose her for good.”

The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating, pressing down on him like a weight he wasn’t sure he could bear. Gojo squeezed his eyes shut, his throat tight, his pulse pounding against his ribs. He had power. He had influence. He could tear the world apart if he wanted to. But none of it mattered if, at the end of it all, he still ended up alone.

“A trip?!” you echoed, blinking up at him in disbelief.

Gojo and you were halfway through one of your usual evening walks, your breaths visible in the crisp winter air. The sky had already deepened into navy, stars blinking to life above the soft hum of the city. You’d been mid-sentence about a ridiculous client email when he just… dropped it.

“Yeah,” he replied with that maddening, effortless grin, as though he were asking if you wanted dessert—not to uproot your whole week. Maybe your whole heart.

Before you could bury your cold fingers into your coat, he reached out and caught them, tucking both your hands into the deep pocket of his coat like it was second nature. His palm was warm—so warm it made your chest tighten—and he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Just the two of us.”

You hesitated, staring at the ground as your boots crunched softly against the gravel path. “I can’t just take a trip, Satoru. There’s work, and home, and—”

He groaned, exaggerated and loud, throwing his head back like the very idea of responsibility physically pained him. “There will always be work and home. But we rarely get time to just be. You and me. No phones ringing. No stupid finance reports. No one interrupting every five seconds.”

You raised a brow at him. “We’re spending time together right now, aren’t we?”

He looked at you like you’d just said the sky was green.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “but this—this is crumbs. You know how much I want the whole damn cake.”

You couldn’t help the snort that escaped. “You want cake now?”

He gave you a look. “Metaphorically. But now that you mention it…”

You shook your head with a smile, trying to brush it off, but he wasn’t done.

“I’m serious. Do you even realize how little I get to see you? We spend what—three hours and five minutes together in the office? Then maybe an hour or two of walking. A late-night call if we’re lucky and not too tired. That’s five or six hours a day, max. It’s not enough.”

“Six hours a day is too little for you?” you murmured, half-teasing, half-afraid of the answer.

Gojo stopped walking then, pulling you gently to a halt beside him. His grip inside the pocket tightened—just a fraction, but you felt it. Like he thought you might disappear if he let go.

“It’s too little,” he said quietly. “Because none of it is… really ours. Not all the way. I just want time with you that doesn’t come with a clock ticking down.”

His words wrapped around you like fog—soft, persistent, hard to ignore. You looked away, focusing on the way the streetlight lit the frost on the tree branches. You wanted that too. You just didn’t know if you could handle what came with it.

He must have seen something shift in your expression, because his voice dropped lower. “Just trust me on this one. No expectations. No pressure. Just… come with me. Let’s hit pause for a few days. You deserve it.”

You sighed, long and slow, clouding the air between you both. The part of you that still kept score—the cautious, scarred part—whispered that nothing with Gojo was ever just anything. And yet…

“Fine,” you muttered. “Let’s take a trip. Where do you want to go?”

His face lit up like a kid at a fireworks show. “Norway.”

You blinked. “Norway? Why?”

He rocked on his heels, face all mischief and chill like he wasn’t dropping bombs every few seconds. “It’s quiet. It has mountains. And fjords. And I don’t know—moose?”

You gave him a skeptical look. “It’s too far.”

“It’ll be fine.” He leaned closer. “Come on. Snowy nights, no one around. Just you and me and enough blankets to build a fortress.”

You hesitated, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Norway had been on your list for years. The northern lights. The silence. The stillness. It sounded… perfect.

You nodded, slowly. “Okay. I’ll check flights—”

“Why?” he interrupted, grinning. “We’re taking my jet.”

You stopped walking again. “Your jet?”

He blinked like you were the one being weird. “Uh, yeah? It’s faster. And comfier.”

You pulled your hands free from the shared pocket, crossing your arms. “No. If we’re doing this, I’m paying for my own flight. And hotel. Everything.”

He stilled. The wind rustled past, catching a strand of white hair that had fallen across his forehead. His smile slipped—just slightly—but it was enough. He didn’t tease, didn’t argue. He just stood there, quiet.

“I get it,” he said finally. “You need that line..”

You swallowed hard, heart squeezing at the guilt creeping in. You weren’t trying to punish him. But it was the only way you knew to protect yourself. To stay you when he had the ability to pull you under with just a look.

“I’ll have Miwa send you a few flight and hotel options,” he added, his voice softer now. “No pressure.”

You watched him, uncertain. He looked unreadable, which was rare for Gojo. There was a flicker of something else behind his expression—something almost… tired. You hated that. Hated that your walls didn’t just keep him out—they hurt him, too.

After a long pause, you nodded. “Sounds good.”

He nodded back, stuffing his hands deeper into his coat as you both resumed walking, the silence this time gentler than before. There was still so much unsaid between you, so much waiting to be unpacked. But maybe—just maybe—you could start somewhere. Even if it was as far away as Norway.

The airport was loud, a constant hum of voices, announcements, and the rolling of suitcases against polished floors. You stood in line at Starbucks, staring blankly at the overhead menu, though you already knew what you wanted. The barista’s voice crackled through the speaker, calling out orders one after another, but your mind was elsewhere.

It was stupid, really, how something as simple as booking a flight could stir up so much inside you. Miwa had arranged everything—Kyoto to Tokyo, Tokyo to Oslo with a layover in Helsinki. The ticket price had almost made you laugh. It was absurdly cheap for an international flight, even more so considering the routes. You weren’t naïve; you knew Gojo had something to do with it. You had fought Miwa over flying economy, and she had relented after much back and forth.

A part of you hated this. Hated that you had to put this invisible wall between yourself and him, that you had to be so deliberate about creating space.

In another life—one that now felt like a hazy dream—you would have taken his jet without hesitation. You wouldn’t have thought about cost, about fairness, about keeping things balanced between you. You would have let him handle everything, let yourself fall into the ease of being with him. Because that’s who Gojo was—reckless and all-consuming in his love, leaving no room for hesitation. But that version of you was dead and buried.

You exhaled, shaking off the thought as you grabbed your coffee, the warmth seeping into your palms. There was no point lingering in past lives. You had a sixteen-hour flight ahead of you, and you needed all the mental preparation you could get. The boarding process was long, as expected. You shuffled forward with the line, coffee in one hand, book tucked under your arm, fingers fidgeting against the cover. Once inside the plane, you settled into your seat, pushing your bag under the seat in front of you, letting out a slow breath.

You pulled out your phone, fingers hovering over the keyboard before typing:

Boarded the flight. I’ll text when I land in Helsinki.

You hit send and waited. No reply. You stared at the screen for a moment, irritation creeping in. It wasn’t like him to leave a message unanswered, not when it came to you. But whatever. It didn’t matter. You slipped the phone into your pocket, flipping open your book instead, trying to focus on the words in front of you.

The plane filled up, passengers shuffling to their seats, murmured conversations filling the cabin. You barely paid attention—until the voice came.

"Are you traveling alone?"

Your head snapped up at the familiarity, your pulse stuttering. There, settling into the seat beside you, was Gojo Satoru. Your brain short-circuited. "What the—What are you doing here?"

He grinned, adjusting himself in the cramped space, his knees already pressing against the seat in front of him. "I’m traveling with the love of my life."

You let out a startled laugh,cheeks heating and shaking your head. "Satoru, what—? Have you ever flown economy before?"

His grin widened. "Nope."

You blinked, waiting for him to continue, for the inevitable complaint about legroom, about the lack of in-flight service, about how he was so above this. But instead, he just shrugged. "Doesn’t matter. I just want to be with you."

You stared at him, at the sincerity in his words, at the ease with which he said them, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Something about it unsettled you. You glanced down at his legs, long and awkwardly folded, his broad shoulders taking up more than his allotted space. He looked ridiculous, cramped and uncomfortable, and yet—he didn’t complain. A strange feeling crawled up your spine, something dangerously close to admiration.

You sighed, shaking your head. "You should upgrade to business class. It’s a thirteen-hour flight to Helsinki.This is not funny. I am being serious"

Gojo simply grabbed your hand, threading his fingers through yours. "I’m good right here."

You hated the way your heart clenched at that. “Suit yourself”. You scoffed and leaned back.

The flight dragged on, stretching into hours. You fell asleep at some point, head leaning against Gojo’s shoulder, the warmth of him seeping through the fabric of his hoodie. When you stirred awake, it was to the dim glow of overhead lights and the smell of in-flight meals being passed around. 

Gojo handed you your tray without a word, his own already open in front of him. The food was mediocre at best—dry chicken, bland rice, a sad excuse for a side salad. You poked at it with your fork before glancing at him.

"You okay with this?" you asked, half-expecting him to be scowling.

He looked up, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. "Yeah, why?"

You stared at him incredulously. "I– It’s not your usual food."

Gojo chuckled, setting his fork down. "I’m good"

You weren’t sure if he meant it as a joke or not, but the weight of those words settled deep in your chest.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you both ate in comfortable silence, the quiet hum of the plane surrounding you. Movies played on the small screen in front of you, but neither of you really paid attention. You talked about everything and nothing, filling the hours with soft conversations and stolen laughter.

At some point, Gojo shifted in his seat, wincing slightly as he tried to stretch his legs. You watched as he maneuvered awkwardly, trying to squeeze his way out to the aisle. He bumped into a few passengers, murmuring quick apologies before disappearing toward the bathroom.

When he returned, you raised a brow. "Still no complaints?"

He smirked, slipping back into his seat. "Nope. Just happy to be here."

You didn’t know what to do with that.

The flight dragged on in a haze of naps, shifting positions, and quiet moments. And then, finally—

Helsinki.

The plane touched down smoothly, the soft jolt of landing pulling you from half-sleep. You stretched, shaking off the stiffness, watching as Gojo did the same beside you. His movements were slower, wearier, a small grimace flashing across his face as he rolled his shoulders.

You could tell his body was sore. You could tell he was exhausted. But still—he didn’t complain.

You walked through the airport together, fingers laced, navigating through the terminals until you reached your next gate. The layover was brief, just enough time to grab coffee and breathe before the next leg of your journey.

Gojo leaned against the railing, sipping his drink, eyes half-lidded with fatigue. You nudged him lightly. "You tired?"

He smiled, a lazy, lopsided thing. "Maybe a little."

And yet, despite the exhaustion, despite the discomfort—he was here. With you. “Just an hour more of travelling and we’ll be in Oslo”.

Gojo nodded and carried your bag and his’ and walked to the boarding gate.

“Satoru wait!”. You called out.

Gojo turned back, “hmm? All okay?”.

You sighed and ran your hands through your hair. “Yes!....Well no! Why– why are you doing this? Why did you put yourself through all that? I told you that I would see you in Oslo right? Then why? I’m not stupid. I know what this is doing to you. I can see that you are exhausted! What are you even trying to prove?! Are you trying to punish me for-- not taking your jet?! ”.

Gojo smiled, “Life is long y/n. It won’t always be a bed of roses but I want you to know that I am with you. I will be next to you. If you had decided to walk all the way to Norway then I would have walked with you. This– this is not a punishment. Why is it so hard to accept that I just want to be with you?”.

Your shoulders dropped. No matter how hard you tried to build the wall around you, Gojo broke it down brick by brick. “Why? Why why wh-”.

Gojo cut you off by pressing his lips onto yours. And just like that, all the tiredness evaporated. All the pain is gone. All your questions answered. When he pulled back you looked into his eyes and a heavy realization dawned, he was not the same Gojo Satoru. Maybe on the outside. But on the inside he was different. Maybe your choice to stay in Kyoto shifted something in the universe and granted you your wish. Your breath hitched as you finally realized that your wish was not to be away from him. It was to escape the hurt. The pain.To be loved in a way that didn’t demand your obedience but just your presence .Maybe you were fated to be with him. Here he was, different. Loving you the way you had always wanted to be loved. Caring for you how you had always wanted to be cared for. How could you ever tell him that you had come back? How will he react? Will he believe you? Should you tell him? Should you punish him for mistakes he hasn’t even made? .The world around you disappeared. It was just you and him.

As the plane descended, you stirred awake, blinking against the soft glow of the early morning light filtering through the window. The view outside was breathtaking—rolling hills dusted with snow, dark green forests stretching endlessly beneath a pale blue sky. Oslo looked serene, untouched, like something out of a painting. A small smile tugged at your lips. This trip is going to be good.

Beside you, Gojo groaned, shifting in his seat as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His long legs stretched as much as they could in the cramped space, and he winced slightly, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shake off the stiffness of the long flight.

“Morning,” you murmured, turning to him with a smile.

He took a deep breath, stretching his arms over his head before turning to you with a lazy grin. “Morning.” His voice was rough from sleep, his white lashes still heavy over tired eyes. Without a second thought, he leaned over and pressed a lingering kiss to the side of your head, his lips warm against your temple.

You laughed softly, reaching for your bag. “I am so excited for this trip!” You practically beamed at him, the exhaustion from travel momentarily forgotten. “I researched everything. We can book a cab from the exit, and that wo—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Gojo interrupted, his tone casual as he yawned and stretched.

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

Undoing his seatbelt with a soft click, he turned to you with a sleepy grin. “I had forgotten that we own a hotel here.” He shrugged like it was the most normal thing in the world. “The car is waiting for us.”

You blinked, staring at him blankly. “Really?”

Gojo chuckled, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Come on, Y/N. I swear I’m not lying. Why pay for a hotel when you own one? And don’t even think about offering to pay,” he added quickly, seeing the argument forming on your lips. “I know you wanted to handle the logistics, but it doesn’t make sense now. Since you’re technically an employee of the group, it’s free for you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, still processing the information. “Really?” you asked again, as if repeating it would make it more believable.

“Yes,” he sighed, voice softening. “Now, please, don’t fight me on this.” He turned those tired, pleading eyes on you, and damn it, you felt your resolve cracking. “Just this once.”

You exhaled slowly, glancing down at his cramped legs and the slight stiffness in his posture. He had just endured a thirteen-hour flight in economy—for you. Maybe this was his way of balancing things out.

“…Fine,” you muttered, shaking your head.

A victorious smile spread across his face as he reached for your hand, pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles. “Of course I am.”

As soon as the sleek black car rolled to a stop in front of The Aesir Grand, a five-star luxury hotel perched on the edge of Oslo’s stunning fjords, you barely had time to step out before a swarm of uniformed employees descended upon you. The valet rushed forward to open your door, another to take your bags, while a third hurried to roll out an immaculate red carpet—literally.

Your brows shot up. “Satoru…” you whispered, glancing at him. “Is this really necessary?”

Gojo grinned, effortlessly stepping out of the car as if he owned the place—which, technically, he did. “What? You think I’d let my girl check into a hotel like some regular tourist?” He winked before tucking your hand into his. “Besides, they’re just excited.”

The excitement was palpable. The hotel manager, an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and an expensive-looking suit, stood at the entrance, holding a grand bouquet of deep red roses. His expression was warm, eager. “Mr. Gojo! Welcome back to The Aesir Grand,” he greeted, bowing slightly before turning his attention to you. “And this must be your beautiful partner. We are absolutely honored to have you both staying with us.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the grand reception. “Oh—thank you,” you said, accepting the bouquet hesitantly.

“We’ve prepared the finest suite for you,” the manager continued. “If you’ll follow me.”

As you stepped into the lobby, your breath hitched. The space was pure opulence. A massive glass chandelier, dripping with golden accents, hung from the high ceiling, casting soft, warm light over the pristine marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a breathtaking view of the fjord, where the sun was just beginning to set, painting the sky in hues of lavender and gold. Guests milled about, some stealing glances at Gojo, recognizing him even here.

The manager led you to the private elevator, which required a keycard to access the uppermost floor. As the doors slid shut, Gojo turned to you with a smug smile. “What do you think so far?”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “I think I might have underestimated just how obnoxiously rich you are.”

He laughed. “You have seen nothing yet”

The elevator dinged, and as the doors opened, you stepped into the Valhalla Suite—and your breath left you entirely.

The suite was a masterpiece. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the space, offering a panoramic view of the Oslo skyline and the fjord beyond. The living area was decorated in sleek Scandinavian design—plush velvet sofas in deep midnight blue, a crackling modern fireplace, and gold accents that added just the right touch of extravagance. A grand piano sat in one corner, bathed in the soft glow of ambient lighting.

Through an open doorway, you could see the bedroom—an impossibly large king-sized bed, draped in the finest linen, with a skylight directly above it, allowing a perfect view of the stars at night. A private balcony stretched along the entire suite, complete with an infinity hot tub overlooking the water.

Your eyes widened. “Satoru, this isn’t a hotel suite. This is a damn penthouse.”

He smirked, tossing his coat onto the sofa. “Only the best for us”

You turned to him, arms crossed, trying to suppress the warmth creeping up your face. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

Gojo shrugged, stepping closer until he was right in front of you, tilting his head down. “Maybe. But you didn’t exactly fight me on it.” His fingers brushed against your cheek, and despite yourself, you melted just a little.

You rolled your eyes. “I– I told you that I wa-”

Gojo immediately grabbed both of your hands in his’. “I know and I didn’t do this to undermine you. I just– I just want you to relax and have a good time. I could see that you had been so busy with your mom and work that you didn’t have time to take care of yourself so please please please let me do it. I am begging you y/n please”.

You pressed your lips and nodded. “Fine. I guess I owe you this after the hellish flight”.

You sighed as you unzipped your suitcase, neatly folding your clothes into the pristine white oak wardrobe of The Valhalla Suite. The scent of fresh linen and subtle hints of vanilla and cedar filled the air, the faint crackle of the modern fireplace adding to the warmth of the space. It should have been relaxing—should have been—but as you reached for your wallet, your heart suddenly dropped.

It wasn’t there.

You rummaged through your bag, then your coat pockets, then your suitcase again, fingers shaking slightly as panic started to rise. Had you dropped it at the airport? In the car? Was it gone?

"Satoru!" you called out, your voice sharp with urgency as you rushed into the living area.

Gojo was sprawled across the plush sofa, long legs stretched out, scrolling lazily through his phone. He immediately sat up at the sound of your distress, his sharp blue eyes locking onto yours. “What? What happened?”

“My wallet—it’s gone,” you said breathlessly, still patting your pockets as if it would magically appear.

For a split second, Gojo looked genuinely concerned. Then, to your complete and utter disbelief, he leaned back with a slow, satisfied smirk and pulled something out of his pocket.

Your wallet.

Your jaw dropped. “Satoru—”

“I stole it,” he admitted with zero shame, flipping it open and inspecting the contents like it was his new favorite toy. “For the rest of the trip, this is mine.”

You gaped at him. “Are you serious?” You lunged for it, but he effortlessly dodged, holding it above his head like a mischievous child.

He laughed, catching your wrist mid-air and pulling you down onto his lap. “Y/n,” he said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “I love that you’re independent. But just for this trip, let me take care of you. No worrying, no planning, no overthinking. Just focus on me.” His voice was gentle, but firm—laced with something deeper, something that made your stomach twist. You opened your mouth to argue, but he placed a finger against your lips. “Nope,” he said cheerfully. “Not having it.”

You exhaled, defeated. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, you love me.” He grinned, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before standing up and stretching. “Now, come on. We have a massage appointment in fifteen minutes.”

The spa at The Aesir Grand was nothing short of a dream. The moment you stepped inside, the stress that had been weighing on your shoulders began to melt away. The scent of eucalyptus and lavender wrapped around you like a warm embrace, the soft notes of an instrumental melody drifting through the air. The room was dimly lit with golden flickering candlelight, and a gentle warmth radiated from the heated massage beds. It was the kind of place designed to lull even the most restless souls into tranquility.

And yet, you could still feel the tension in your chest. You had told yourself to keep your distance, to not let Gojo get too close. And yet, here you were, letting him whisk you away on a trip that was already proving to be overwhelmingly indulgent. You sighed, shaking your head slightly as you slid onto the massage bed, the plush softness conforming perfectly to your body.

Gojo, of course, was already making himself comfortable on the bed beside you, stretching his long limbs before resting his head on the cushioned headrest. He turned to you, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “Excited?” he asked, voice laced with amusement.

You gave him a side-eye. “It’s a massage, Satoru. Not a roller coaster ride.”

He chuckled, shifting slightly. “It’s our massage. And I intend for it to be an experience you’ll never forget.”

Before you could respond, the masseuses entered the room, offering a polite smile before beginning their work. You exhaled softly as skilled hands began kneading the tension from your shoulders, working their way down your back with precise movements.

Gojo let out a low groan beside you, melting into the touch almost immediately. “Ohhhh, this is what I needed.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You sound ridiculous.”

“I sound like a man who is in absolute bliss,” he corrected, shifting slightly under the firm pressure of the massage. “Mmm. I think I’m going to buy a spa.”

You snorted. “You are not buying a spa.”

“Why not? Then we could get massages together every day. Just picture it, y/n—waking up to the beautiful Oslo view and, getting a five-star breakfast, then strolling down to our private spa for a massage.”

You rolled your eyes. “I am not moving to Norway just so you can have daily massages.”

Gojo sighed dramatically. “Fine. But I am giving these people a massive tip.”

You shook your head, hiding the small smile that tugged at your lips. He’s impossible. The room lapsed into a comfortable silence, the rhythmic pressure against your muscles making you feel weightless. Your thoughts started to drift, but no matter how much you tried to keep them at bay, they always found their way back to the man lying beside you. Satoru Gojo.

You hated how easy it was with him. How effortless it felt to just sink into his world. He had always been like this—charming, relentless, and impossibly devoted. But this… this was different. This trip wasn’t just some extravagant whim. It was intentional. Thoughtful.

You turned your head slightly, stealing a glance at him through lidded eyes. His white lashes fluttered against his cheek, his lips parted slightly as he exhaled in contentment. Even here, in the most relaxed state you’d ever seen him, there was something in his expression—something deep, something intense.

Gojo cracked one eye open, catching you in the act. A slow, knowing smirk spread across his lips. “Like what you see?”

You scoffed, turning your face away. “Hardly.”

He chuckled, but there was something smug in the sound. Something that told you he knew exactly what was going through your mind.

A moment passed before he spoke again, his voice quieter, more serious. “You’re thinking too much.”

Your fingers curled slightly against the sheets. “I am not.”

“You are.” He sighed, his voice softer now. “You’re always thinking too much. About work, about responsibilities, about keeping your distance from me.”

You stiffened slightly. Gojo turned his head toward you, resting his cheek against the headrest. “Just let me have this, y/n. Let us have this.”

Your heart clenched. I can’t. But you didn’t say that. Instead, you let out a slow breath and closed your eyes. For now—for just this moment—you let yourself sink into his world. Gojo smiled to himself, watching the subtle shift in your expression. He had won this round. And he wasn’t done yet.

By the time you returned to the suite, the exhaustion of travel and jet lag was starting to weigh on you. But as you stepped inside, all thoughts of sleep momentarily vanished. The dining area had been transformed into a feast fit for royalty. A beautifully set table held an array of gourmet dishes—grilled salmon with lemon butter sauce, steaming bowls of creamy soup, delicate plates of cheese and fruits, and a fresh selection of cured meats. A bottle of deep red wine sat chilling in a glass bucket beside the table.

Your eyes widened. “Satoru, what the—”

Gojo smirked, pulling out a chair for you. “Lunch is served.”

You gave him an exasperated look but sat down anyway, your stomach betraying you with a growl. The food was rich and flavorful, and despite your initial protests, you found yourself savoring every bite. Gojo watched you with a satisfied smile, sipping his wine as he nudged more food onto your plate.

As the meal ended, the exhaustion returned in waves. The fireplace cast a golden glow across the room, and the wine left a pleasant warmth in your chest. You barely registered Gojo’s voice murmuring something before you found yourself pulled into his arms, your cheek resting against his chest.

“Sleepy?” he murmured, his hand lazily running through your hair.

You hummed in response, eyes already fluttering shut.

Gojo chuckled, shifting you both onto the bed, his arms still wrapped securely around you. “Guess I win,” he murmured against your temple, his voice laced with amusement and something softer—something almost tender. But you were too far gone to hear it, already slipping into the most peaceful sleep you’d had in a long time.

The drive to Trolltunga was nothing short of magical.Fourteen hours of sleep had brought both of you back to your element and now you were enjoying the beautiful drive to one of your bucket list hikes .The winding roads cut through valleys of emerald green, where waterfalls cascaded down rugged cliffs, their mist catching the golden sunlight. A deep blue fjord stretched into the horizon, framed by snow-capped peaks that stood tall like ancient guardians. You rolled down the window, letting the crisp mountain air whip through your hair, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth.

Gojo, behind the wheel, stole glances at you between turns. You had your feet propped up on the dashboard, scrolling through your playlist with a soft hum. The second you found the right song, your face lit up, and before he knew it, you were singing along, completely lost in the melody. Gojo didn’t know the song, nor did he care. He was too busy admiring you. The way your fingers tapped the rhythm on your knee, the slight crinkle of your nose when you hit a high note—everything about you was mesmerizing.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly. How did I get so lucky? He had spent years surrounded by chaos, yet somehow, here you were—his calm in the storm, his favorite distraction. This is the woman he fell in love with and dimmed her fire, crushed her soul. But not anymore. He was not the same man. He was not going to make the same mistakes.

“You’re staring,” you teased, glancing at him with a knowing smirk.

Gojo chuckled, unfazed. “Can you blame me? My girlfriend is an international pop star, apparently.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up and sing with me.”

“I would, but I don’t want to ruin the magic.”

You laughed, tossing a crumpled napkin at him, which he dodged effortlessly. The rest of the ride was filled with more singing, playful bickering, and Gojo sneaking in as many stolen glances as possible.

By the time you reached the trailhead, the sun had risen higher, casting golden rays across the rocky terrain. The path wound its way through forests of birch and spruce, with patches of wildflowers peeking through the mossy undergrowth. The air smelled of damp earth and fresh pine, and every breath felt like pure energy.

Gojo reached for your hand without a second thought. “You ready?”

You laced your fingers with his, giving him a squeeze. “Let’s do this.”

The hike was challenging but exhilarating. You stopped every so often to take pictures—some of the landscape, others of Gojo making ridiculous poses next to random rocks. In retaliation, he took countless candid shots of you, claiming he was capturing “the essence of your struggle.”

“You do realize this is blackmail, right?” you said, flipping through the pictures.

Gojo grinned. “Oh, absolutely. I’ll be using these as reaction memes for years. Maya would love this!”

You huffed but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. When you finally reached the summit, the sight before you stole your breath away. Trolltunga jutted out over the fjord like a stone tongue, suspended in midair with nothing but sky and water below. The fjord shimmered beneath you, an endless stretch of deep blue, flanked by cliffs that rose like giants from the depths. It was the kind of beauty that made words feel inadequate.

You stepped forward, hands on your hips, taking in the view. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Gojo murmured, but he wasn’t looking at the scenery.

He was looking at you. You, with your wind-kissed cheeks, eyes reflecting the sky, standing there as if you belonged to the wild, untamed beauty of this place. Gojo took a deep breath, his fingers brushing against the small velvet box in his pocket. He could feel the weight of it pressing against him, heavier than before. This was it. This was the moment.

Before he could stop himself, he dropped to one knee. You turned at the movement, eyes widening as you took in the sight of him. “Satoru.” Your voice held amusement, but also something wary.

He looked up at you, blue eyes filled with something unreadable.

“I swear to God,” you said, crossing your arms. “I hope you’re not doing what it looks like you’re doing.”

Gojo’s lips twitched, realization sinking in. You weren’t ready. He could see it in the way your posture stiffened, the way your breath hitched just slightly. He let out a laugh, playful and easy, as if he hadn’t just been about to put his heart in your hands. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m just tying my shoelaces.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Right….”

“Yeah right..” he waved off, standing up with a dramatic stretch.

You exhaled, shaking your head with a chuckle. “Don’t scare me like that, Gojo.”

He smiled, but his hand slipped back into his pocket, fingers brushing against the unopened box. The ring inside remained unseen, but its weight lingered.

Not yet.

He could wait. He would wait. Because if there was one thing he was certain of, it was this—he wasn’t going anywhere. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. For now, he settled for wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you both looked out over the breathtaking view. And if he held you just a little tighter, you didn’t question it.

The morning air was crisp as you slipped on your jacket, excitement bubbling in your chest at the thought of exploring the quaint little town of Fjellvika on your own.The hike was fantastic, the massage was fantastic, but you wanted to create your own memories now. Just in case if everything falls through again .The hotel’s grandeur had been breathtaking, but there was something about wandering through quiet streets, discovering hidden gems, and blending in with locals that thrilled you.

Gojo, on the other hand, was far from thrilled. “You’re really going alone?” He sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, watching you lace up your shoes. His lips were pressed into a pout, his bright blue eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite name.

“Yes, Satoru. I want to explore on my own,” you said firmly. “I promise I won’t get lost.”

“I don’t like this.”

“I know,” you sighed, holding out your hand. “Wallet, please.”

With a dramatic groan, he reached into his pocket and pulled it out, placing it in your palm like he was handing over something sacred. “Fine. But only because I love you.”

You rolled your eyes at his theatrics, slipping the wallet into your bag before kissing his cheek. “I’ll be fine.”

As soon as you stepped out of the suite, the hotel manager, a tall, well-dressed man with a name tag of Henrik, hurried towards you. “Miss Y/N! Do you require anything?”

“Oh, no, I’m just heading out to explore the town,” you said with a smile.

Henrik’s brow creased with concern. “Shall I arrange for the chauffeur and car?”

You shook your head. “I rented a bike. It’ll be more fun that way.”

His concern deepened. “Miss Y/N, is there something wrong with the service? If you’re displeased—”

“No, no! Everything has been wonderful.” You paused, tilting your head. “Why are you so worried?”

Henrik hesitated before finally saying, “I would hate to disappoint Mr. Gojo’s guest.”

You sighed, smiling gently. “I promise, I’m very happy with everything.” With that, you walked past him, eager to finally explore.

The bike ride to the town center was nothing short of magical. The winding road took you through breathtaking scenery—rolling green hills speckled with wildflowers, towering pine trees swaying gently in the breeze, and glimpses of deep blue fjords shimmering under the morning sun. The air smelled of fresh pine and crisp mountain air, the peacefulness making you feel like you were in another world.

When you finally reached the town square, you parked your bike and made your way to a cozy little café with warm wooden interiors and a delightful scent of cinnamon and freshly brewed coffee. Ordering a cappuccino, you reached for your wallet, but the barista shook her head firmly.

“Oh, no, Mrs. Gojo, we couldn’t possibly accept payment from you.”

Your heart clenched at the name, memories flooding back in waves—some warm, some painful. For a second, your grip on the wallet tightened.  “I’m not Mrs. Gojo,” you said, forcing a polite smile. “And I insist on paying.”

The barista looked hesitant. “But—”

“No ‘buts.’ I want to support local businesses, and that means paying for my coffee like everyone else.”

The barista hesitantly accepted the money and looked down. You could see the disappointment on her face and felt bad. “How did you–” You bit the inside of your cheek, “How did you know I was here with– Gojo Satoru?”.

“Oh everyone knows. He is like a celebrity”.

“Huh… Really?”. You scoffed as you put the change back in your wallet.

“Yes. We are all very thankful to the Gojo family”. She smiled politely.

“If I may ask– why?”. You squinted.

The barista let out a soft breath, wiping her hands on a towel as she leaned on the counter. “A few years back, this town was really struggling. Most tourists just passed through, heading to the bigger cities like Oslo. But then the Gojo family opened that hotel, and everything shifted. It put us on the map, brought in jobs, tourists... even a school for the workers’ kids. Totally changed the energy here.”

You nodded, genuinely impressed. “That’s amazing. What’s your name?”

“Signeria,” she said with a warm smile.

“I’m Y/N.” You offered your hand, and she shook it gently.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, then paused, her eyes drifting to your wallet as you reached to tuck your phone away. “That’s a beautiful wallet, by the way.”

You smiled, glancing down at the worn, delicate design. “Thanks. It’s a traditional Japanese women’s wallet. My mom gave it to me years ago—kind of my lucky charm now.”. You scrunched your nose as you wiggled the wallet next to your face.

“Oh, I love that,” she said, leaning in a little. “I’ve always wanted to visit Japan. Actually, I’ve been saving up so I can backpack around Asia for a few months. It’s kind of my dream trip.”

You felt a flicker of excitement at that. There was something refreshing about her—earnest and open, full of quiet hope. Without thinking much, you slipped a small piece of paper from your wallet and scribbled your number on it.

“When you make it to Japan—especially Kyoto—call me,” you said, handing it to her. “I’d be happy to show you around.”

Her eyes widened, and then she smiled, the kind of smile that sticks with you. “Really? That would be amazing. Thank you.”

“Of course,” you said with a grin. “Any good traveler deserves a local guide.”

She laughed, then gestured toward the street. “There’s a little artisan shop two blocks down—handmade stuff, really charming. Tell them Signeria sent you.”

“Will do,” you said, tucking the paper back into your wallet with a little more care than before.

Unsurprisingly the same thing happened at a quaint little souvenir shop where you bought intricately carved wooden figurines, traditional wool scarves, and hand-painted ceramic mugs. The shopkeeper, an elderly woman, beamed at you but refused to take your money.

“Mrs. Gojo, it’s an honor to have you here,” she said warmly.

“Please, just Y/N. And I insist, really. Signeria suggested so I cam here but you have to accept my payment. Please I insist”

The woman sighed as she accepted the money. “You are just as kind as they say.”

By the time the same thing happened at a bookstore, you gave up correcting them. Apparently, in Fjellvika, you were Mrs. Gojo, and there was no arguing otherwise.

While you were on your little miss independent shopping trip, Gojo was checking his watch every five minutes. Why did he plan this entire trip if he had to be alone? He shrugged off that thought. He was going to savour every second he got with you.  But the boredom got the best of him and he started going through every drawer in the suite to explore. To his surprise he found something he had seen before, a long long long time ago. A light brown diary with a red ribbon. It was your diary. He hesitated for a bit and then checked his watch. You’d still be out for another hour or so. He knew he shouldn’t invade your personal space, he knew you’d be mad. But curiosity got the best of him. 

He flipped through the pages, not knowing where to start. Right, he will start from the time you got back. January. Gojo sat at the foot of the bed reading through every line carefully. As expected you had confessed to coming back. His heart clenched at how excited you were when you had joined Golden Ratio. How happy you were to work with Nanami. And how shocked you were to see him in the office. 

Seeing him again brought back everything I had tried to escape. Why did he have to be here? Is everything in my life fated to be ruined by him? Can I not have a life without him?

Gojo swallowed thickly as he flipped the page. You hated him. Rightfully. Jealousy and hatred coursed through his veins when he read about your kiss with Nanami and how you wanted something more but Nanami drew a harsh line. “Idiot”. Gojo Murmured under his breath as he flipped the page. 5th March, the date was circled. The letters were smudged with something that he assumed were tears. 

Happy birthday, my dear Kai.

I don’t know if you can hear me, if these words will ever reach you, but I need to say them. I owe you that much. I am sorry. I am so, so sorry for giving up on you. For letting you go. For making a choice I can never take back. But Mom is back in time again, and I swear, if fate grants me even the smallest chance, I will not let you slip through my fingers this time. I will fight for you. No matter what it takes, I will rewrite destiny if I must. Please, my sweet boy, forgive me.

I told myself I had no choice. That I couldn’t bring you into a world where I was drowning, where I had no home, no name, no future. A world that would have refused to recognize you, just as it refused to recognize me. What kind of mother would I have been, broken and wandering, unable to offer you even the simplest comforts of stability? I was a coward. I chose the easy way out, convincing myself it was for your sake. But the truth is, I was afraid. Afraid of what you would have meant for my already fragile existence.

And Satoru… how could I blame him when he never even knew? When I never gave him the chance to know? He barely accepted me. How could I have expected him to accept you? It’s almost laughable—how blind he was, how easy it was for him to move forward, completely unaware of the life I carried, the life I lost. Did he ever once look at me and wonder? Did he ever feel even the faintest echo of what I felt? No, of course not. He never noticed. And why would he? Losing you made me realize how empty my life was. How meaningless everything became without you. And yet here I am, still trapped in this endless cycle, still in love with the same man who took everything from me. But is he even the same anymore? Or am I just clinging to the ghost of someone who never truly existed?

I will give Satoru one last chance. Just one. If he fails me—if he shatters what little is left of my hope—then I will come find you, Kai. We will be together again, and this time, nothing will take you from me. No gods, no fate, no cruel twists of time. Just you and me, in a place where sorrow cannot touch us.

Thank you, my love, for the moments you gave me, for the whispers of your presence that kept me breathing when I wanted to stop. Thank you for listening when no one else did, for letting me believe, even for a fleeting instant, that I wasn’t completely alone. Happy birthday, my darling Kai.

I will always love you.

His chest constricted painfully, a sob clawing its way up his throat. His vision blurred as hot tears spilled down his cheeks, staining the pages. His hands trembled as he clutched the diary to his heart, his body curling in on itself as if to shield himself from the unbearable agony tearing through him. He had a son. Had. Past tense.You never told him. You bore this pain alone. You lost him alone. You suffered alone. And Gojo—idiot that he was—never even noticed.

His pain escaped in broken sobs, raw and unfiltered. He thought he had known grief before, but this? This was unbearable. He wanted to rewind time, to go back and fix everything, to be there for you the way he should have been. But it was too late. He had failed you. He had failed him.

The weight of his own ignorance crushed him. He buried his face into his hands, his shoulders shaking violently. This trip was supposed to be a fresh start, a chance to heal. But now, he wasn’t sure how to move forward knowing what he had lost.

Gojo gathered himself and flipped through more pages with trembling hasty fingers as tears rolled down his cheeks to his chin leaving little droplets on the same page where you had shed your heart. He wanted to know more, he had to know more.

Even though I am back, even though things are good—at least on the surface—a part of me is still trapped in the past. No matter how much I try to move forward, the shadows of what I lost cling to me like a second skin. The scars from that life are bleeding into this one, tainting every tender moment with a sharp, unbearable ache.

I have, against all logic, once again fallen in love with Satoru. I tried not to. I told myself I wouldn’t. But here I am, caring for him, yearning for him in ways I have no right to. And at the same time, it hurts. Loving him has always hurt. It’s a slow, searing kind of pain that settles deep in my bones. Some days, it’s a dull ache—manageable, ignorable. Other days, it’s unbearable, suffocating, ripping through me like an old wound torn open again and again.

I can’t tell him the truth. I can’t let him see how fractured my love for him has become. Because despite all the warmth he gives me, despite the way he looks at me like I’m his whole world, my heart refuses to believe in it. It rejects his love as if it’s something foreign, something dangerous. How can I subject him to a love that is half-hearted, tainted by fear and grief? How can I let him give me everything when I am constantly preparing for the moment he takes it all away?

Every time he promises me forever, I silently brace myself for the day he leaves. Every time he reaches for my hand, I wonder how long before he lets go. I plan for a backup for everything he does—because I’ve learned the hard way that nothing in this world is certain. Not love. Not happiness. Not even life itself.

But it’s not his fault. He doesn’t know. He can’t possibly understand the weight I carry, the scars I hide beneath careful smiles and unspoken words. And maybe that’s for the best. Maybe it’s better this way. This life… this love… it is cursed. So I pray. I pray that in the next life, I find him again—without the scars, without the pain. That I get to love him with all my heart, freely, wholly. That I get to receive his love without fear. That, for once, our love doesn’t have to hurt.

Gojo sat against the footboard, his body heavy with an exhaustion he had never felt before. His head tilted back, eyes unseeing as they fixated on the ceiling, but all he could truly see were the words burned into his mind. Words that had been scrawled onto fragile pages, pressed deep into ink-stained paper, carrying the weight of a pain he had never known existed. He had messed up.

He had known it before, in small ways, in fleeting thoughts that he quickly brushed aside. But now, the full force of his mistakes had come crashing down on him, swallowing him whole. He should have never forced his way back into your life. He should have left you alone, let you rebuild without his presence poisoning everything you touched. You had been healing, carving out a world for yourself where he didn’t exist, and then—just like always—he had inserted himself into it, taking and taking without ever thinking about what it cost you.

His chest ached, but the pain didn’t stay there. It spread like wildfire, creeping into his limbs, curling around his throat, tightening like an invisible hand threatening to choke him. His fingers twitched against the smooth leather of the diary cover, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white. He wanted to throw it across the room, to fling it out the window and pretend he had never seen it, never read it—but he couldn’t. Because this was the truth. Your truth. The truth he had been too blind, too selfish, too fucking stupid to see. He had a son. Or at least, he almost did.

Gojo sucked in a sharp breath, but it didn’t fill his lungs the way it should have. It felt hollow, useless. His stomach twisted painfully as the words replayed in his mind, the ink smudged with tears. Your words rang clearly in his ears.

"Happy birthday, my dear Kai."

His heart clenched violently, his entire body tensing as if recoiling from a physical blow.

"I am sorry to have given up on you."

A fresh wave of guilt crashed over him, so overwhelming it nearly sent him to his knees. You had carried this grief alone. You had mourned alone. You had made an impossible decision—alone. And where had he been? Living his life in blissful ignorance, too self-absorbed to even consider that there might have been more to your story than what he had chosen to believe.

"I didn’t want you to be born into a world where I was unhappy, a world that wouldn’t have recognized you as the legitimate son."

His breath hitched. The words carved themselves into his ribs, each one slicing deeper, rawer.

You had been alone, fighting battles he had never even known existed. You had been carrying the weight of something far greater than him, far greater than the petty heartbreaks and stupid games he had played. You had lost something so irreplaceable, so monumental, and he hadn’t even known.

And now, what? Was he supposed to just go on like nothing had changed? Was he supposed to pretend he hadn’t read those words, hadn’t felt his entire world shatter in the span of a few pages? His hands trembled as he closed the diary, his fingers pressing against the cover as if trying to absorb some piece of you, some fragment of the pain he had caused. He wanted to take it all back. Every moment of doubt he had ever made you feel, every cruel word, every time he had pushed you away instead of pulling you close.

But it was too late. Gojo let out a breathless, broken laugh, though it felt more like a sob caught in his throat. He had spent his whole life believing himself to be untouchable. The strongest. The invincible. But right now, he felt powerless. More powerless than he had ever felt in his entire existence. Because this? This wasn’t a fight he could win. This wasn’t an enemy he could defeat. This was the past. And the past was already written.

His son was gone. A child he had never even had the chance to know. A child he had lost before he ever knew he existed. And worst of all? He hadn't even noticed. He hadn’t seen the pain in your eyes, hadn’t questioned the sadness in your voice, hadn’t cared enough to look deeper. He had failed you. And he had failed Kai.

A sharp knock on the door made him jolt. You were back. Panic surged through him instantly, his fingers tightening around the diary as if he could somehow make it disappear. His heart pounded so loudly it drowned out everything else, his pulse thrumming in his ears. He barely had the presence of mind to shove the diary back into the drawer, his hands shaking so violently he nearly dropped it.

What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to look at you now? How was he supposed to pretend he didn’t know? The door handle turned. He barely had a second to wipe at his face, to push down the lump in his throat, to force his expression into something neutral—something that wouldn’t betray the absolute wreckage inside of him. He sucked in a sharp breath to cure the pain in his throat.

The moment you walked through the door, your voice filled the suite, breaking the suffocating silence that had been pressing down on Gojo’s chest.

"You're not gonna believe what just happened," you huffed, setting your shopping bags down with an exaggerated sigh. "I had to practically fight my way through town just to get people to take my money. Everywhere I went, they kept calling me Mrs. Gojo—the barista at the café, the souvenir shop owner, even the guy at the bookstore! It was ridiculous. I had to convince them I wasn’t actually your wife."

Gojo watched you from where he sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. He barely processed your words. He saw your lips moving, heard the rise and fall of your voice, the frustration laced in your words, but his mind was still drowning in the ink of your diary, in the weight of the grief that now sat like a lead ball in his stomach.

You were here. Standing right in front of him. Breathing, laughing, alive. After everything you had been through, after everything he had unknowingly put you through, you were still here. And he didn't deserve that. God, he didn’t deserve you.

You had given so much—loved so deeply, sacrificed in ways he couldn't even begin to fathom. And what had he done? Taken. Taken and taken until there was nothing left. And yet, despite it all, here you were, standing in the middle of the suite, ranting about the town’s obsession with calling you his wife.

He should say something. React. Laugh it off like he normally would. Tease you, poke fun, call you Mrs. Gojo just to see you roll your eyes. But he couldn't. Not yet. Because the image of those tear-streaked words in your diary was still burned into the back of his eyelids.

"Happy birthday, my dear Kai."

A life you had lost. A life he had never known. A life you had been forced to give up because he had been too blind, too selfish, too caught up in his own world to see yours crumbling.

"Are you even listening to me?" you asked, frowning as you stepped closer, waving a hand in front of his face.

Gojo blinked, snapping himself out of the trance he had fallen into. His fingers twitched against his thigh before he forced himself to stretch, arms rising above his head in a lazy, exaggerated motion. He pasted on a smile—his mask, the one that had never felt heavier than it did now.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he drawled, his usual cocky tone slipping into place like armor. "I was just imagining how good Mrs. Gojo sounds. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?"

You groaned loudly, throwing your head back. "Not you too!"

He chuckled, feigning amusement, though his stomach churned violently beneath the surface. He needed to focus. Needed to steer the conversation away from the turmoil raging inside of him. Because the truth was, he couldn't peer himself away from reality. Not after everything he had read. Not after knowing the pain you had carried in silence, the loneliness you had endured, the sacrifices you had made. You had every right to hate him. Every right to leave him behind, to never let him back in. And yet, somehow—miraculously—you were still here. Gojo let out a soft breath, his smirk faltering just for a fraction of a second. God, he loved you and he didn’t know how to live with the fact that he had failed you so completely.

The chalet you were staying at for the night was nothing short of a dream. A secluded A-frame cabin nestled deep in the snow-covered wilderness, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering an unobstructed view of the frozen lake beyond. Inside, the fire crackled softly, casting flickering golden light over plush cashmere blankets and a polished wood dining table set with imported chocolates and wine. Gojo had gone all out, ensuring that every detail was perfect, from the private chef who prepared steaming bowls of stew to the luxurious hot tub on the deck.

He wanted this trip to be unforgettable. But no matter how much effort he put in, no matter how many extravagant details he arranged, nothing could quiet the voice in his head screaming that he had already failed you.

The air was crisp, sharp against your skin, but the cold didn’t bother you much. Not when you were bundled up in the finest snow gear Gojo had arranged—a sleek, insulated white coat lined with the softest fur, thick black gloves that hugged your fingers, and waterproof boots that sunk lightly into the fresh powder. Gojo, of course, looked like he had stepped straight out of a luxury winter catalog. His deep navy jacket was tailored perfectly to his tall frame, his gloves a smooth black leather, and his white scarf loosely wrapped around his neck, tufts of his silver hair peeking out from under the custom-lined hood. He had even gotten you matching ski pants, ensuring that you were as warm and comfortable as possible.

He walked beside you now, hands tucked into his coat pockets, following the guide up a small hill where the best view of the Northern Lights awaited. The guide was talking, explaining the science behind the celestial phenomenon—something about charged particles colliding in the atmosphere, about electrons and protons creating the vivid green and violet hues that painted the sky. But Gojo wasn’t listening. He barely looked at the lights at all. His gaze was fixed on you.

Your face, turned upwards in quiet wonder, bathed in the ethereal glow of the aurora. The vibrant greens reflected in your eyes, but even beneath the beauty, even beneath the smile you wore, he saw it. The pain. The exhaustion. The weight of something unsaid lingering just beneath the surface. How had he not noticed before? How many times had you smiled at him like this, while carrying burdens he had been too blind to see?

The guide paused and grinned. "Would you like a photo?"

"Yes!" You answered enthusiastically before Gojo could respond.

He moved beside you, his arm casually draping over your shoulder as the guide lifted the camera. You turned to face the lens, smile bright, eyes crinkling at the corners. But Gojo… Gojo didn’t look at the camera. He looked at you.

And when the shutter clicked, when the image was frozen in time, it captured the truth neither of you could say out loud. That you were looking ahead—into the world, into the moment. And he was looking at you—like you were the only thing that mattered.

The guide handed the camera back, murmuring something about how lucky you both were, before stepping aside to give you a moment of privacy. You and Gojo sat together on the snow-covered hill, silent under the endless sky. The aurora swirled above, colors shifting and dancing in the vast emptiness of the night.

Finally, Gojo spoke, voice quiet but firm. "Are you happy with me?"

The question hung in the cold air between you. You turned slightly, surprised. "Gojo—"

"Just answer me," he interrupted, his voice softer now, almost pleading.

You hesitated. For the briefest moment, your mask slipped. Gojo saw it—the flicker of hesitation, the shadow of doubt, the past that still haunted you. But then, you took a deep breath, forcing a small smile onto your lips. "Yes," you said. "I am."

Gojo swallowed hard. "And… do you think you would have been happier without me in your life?"

Another pause. Another hesitation. Your breath misted in the cold air as you exhaled. "There’s no point in thinking about what could have been," you said finally. " I get to decide who I want to be happy with. Happiness isn’t something we’re given—it’s something we create."

Gojo’s fingers curled into fists inside his pockets. He had spent years believing that as long as you were beside him, everything would be okay. That as long as he could make you smile, nothing else mattered. But he knew now—it wasn’t that simple. He couldn’t erase what had happened. He couldn’t undo the choices that had led you here.

But he could do something else. He could promise. "I’ll keep you happy," he murmured. "And I’ll keep you safe."

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. "Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Gojo."

But he wasn’t laughing. Because he knew what you really meant. That happiness was fragile. That safety was never guaranteed. That life had already taken too much from you, and you no longer believed in forever. But Gojo…Gojo had never been one to accept fate.And as he sat there, watching you stare up at the lights, he swore that no matter what it took, no matter what he had to do he would never let the world take you from him again.

The sky above shimmered in ribbons of green and pink, the aurora swirling like brushstrokes on an endless canvas. You let out a slow breath, watching it dissolve into the cold night air. The beauty of it was almost cruel—a stark contrast to the weight in your chest. Life was precious, and yet, for so long, you had treated it as if it were disposable.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. His gaze was fixed on the sky, but you could tell his mind was elsewhere. He had that distant look, as if he was staring into something only he could see. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself truly look at him. Once, you had loved him so deeply it swallowed you whole. You had lived for the smallest fragments of his attention, bending yourself into something softer, more palatable, just to be seen. And now—now you didn’t have to try. It was like he was an entirely different person.

It hurt, knowing he was capable of love, of devotion, of wanting something so completely. So why now? Why were you suddenly worthy of it? A memory surfaced, unbidden. I came here for you. His words rang in your ears, and your fingers curled into your coat. Did he come to Kyoto just to find me? The thought made your stomach twist.

“Satoru…” The name left your lips barely above a whisper.

Gojo turned immediately, his attention snapping to you. “Yes, love?”

You hesitated, staring at the space between you. “Why did you come to Kyoto?”

A gust of wind whistled through the quiet, rustling the trees around you. Gojo sniffled slightly, the cold nipping at his nose. He opened his mouth, then closed it, as if debating whether or not to tell you the truth. Finally, he exhaled.

“I—” He ran a hand through his hair, eyes flickering away. “I saw your resume. And I felt… drawn to it.” He shook his head, frustrated, as if words weren’t enough. “It doesn’t make sense, I know. But after I saw your name, I couldn’t sleep. My mind was just… full of you. And I didn’t even know you.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “But I knew I had to find you.”

You blinked at him. “That sounds incredibly cheesy.”

Gojo laughed, a soft, breathy sound. “Maybe. But it’s the truth.” He shrugged. “Ask Geto or Shoko. I was a mess. They thought I’d lost it. But the moment I saw you, it was like—” He let out a small sigh. “Like everything finally made sense.”

Your lips twitched. “So, what? You think we’re destined to be together?”

“Maybe,” he murmured. “But that’s not why I love you.”

Something in your chest tightened. You forced yourself to meet his gaze. “Then why?”

Gojo hummed, tilting his head as if he had a thousand answers and didn’t know where to start. “Where do I even begin?” He chuckled under his breath. “You are breathtaking. Your eyes—I swear, I could stare into them and find the meaning of life.” His fingers curled slightly, as if resisting the urge to reach for you. “The way you fight for what you believe in, how fiercely you care, how brilliant and passionate you are. God, I love how stubborn you are.” He swallowed, his voice quieter now. “And how strong.”

You felt your breath hitch.

“I saw it,” he continued. “When your mom was in the hospital. When everything felt like it was slipping through your fingers. You held on.” His expression faltered for a moment, something raw surfacing beneath it. “Even after everything you’ve been through. With your father, with your family… You were still the perfect daughter. The perfect sister. The perfect friend. And it made me want to be perfect for you.”

Your stomach twisted into knots. Because every piece of you that he loved had been shaped by pain. By loss. By him. If you hadn’t suffered, if you hadn’t endured, would he still have loved you? If you had been a different version of yourself—the one from before—would he have even noticed you at all?

Gojo must have seen the shift in your expression, because his hand twitched, and before you could spiral, he leaned in, his voice quieter now. “Above all—” He exhaled, his breath warm against the cold air. “Even if you weren’t strong. Even if you weren’t independent. Even if you were selfish, or reckless, or weak. Even if you shot me right in the chest” He let out a dry laugh. “I’d still love you.”

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Gojo took a shaky breath. “I love you against all logic. Against reason. I just… I know that I do.I know it in my heart, I– loving you is like breathing. It’s the most obvious thing to do”

A slow smile crept onto your lips, your chest aching with something you couldn’t name. “You’re so corny.”

Gojo shrugged, “Maybe I am. Why do you love me y/n?”. His question didn’t have any undertone of tease. He asked like he genuinely wanted to know why after everything why did you choose to love him.

Your shoulder dropped. You had asked yourself the same question night after night. “I– I don’t know”, You chuckled. “You– you just came into my life like a storm and everything changed”. Your eyes fixed above on the aurora, “I– I had strong reasons to not join Domain. Yet, you came to Kyoto and it felt like fate was playing a cruel joke on me. You remember the camping trip when I snapped at you?”.

“Mmhmm”. Gojo hummed as he played with the ends of his scarf.

“I was so angry. So so so angry. I–”, You gulped harshly, “I had this image of you. You were ruthless. Arrogant. Self centered. Selfish. And I didn’t want to accept that maybe you were different. Our lives are so different and I didn’t want to leave mine to fit into yours. But you just, you went ahead and cancelled your marriage, possibly affecting your relations with your clan, and I just– I was proven wrong”.

“Why did you have that image of me?”. Gojo asked, brows pinched together and still playing with the ends of his scarf. Praying and yet dreading the confession he was prompting.

“Where do I even begin with that”, You scoffed, “It’s a long story”.

“I’m listening”.

You pressed your lips tightly, “I– it’s stupid. You won’t believe it”.

“Try me”. He replied immediately with absolute resolution. Scared that any second wasted on futile reactions would pull you away from him.

You bit the inside of your cheeks and looked the other way to gently wipe the tears from the corner of your eyes. You knew this day would come. You knew you had to be honest if you were to give him another chance. “This– this isn’t the first time I-- we are together”.

Gojo’s breath hitched. "What do you mean?"

“I– I don’t even know how to explain it but I know I have to tell you. I- Oh god! I can't even believe I am saying this", You took in a deep breath, "I- I have come back from the future". You studied his face, expecting him to burst laughing any minute. But he remained stoic so you continued, “In my… in our other life, we were together. But that relationship brought me pain. So much pain. My mom abandoned me. Shoko—yes, I knew Shoko—we were best friends. Sisters, almost. And I lost her too. You took them both from me, not with force, no… you were too clever for that. You twisted things slowly, silently. You whispered doubts into their ears, made them question me, my sanity, my intentions, until they were looking at me like I was some stranger, like I was the problem. I remember standing in the kitchen, my hands shaking, phone clenched tight in my fist as my mom said "you home is not in kyoto" Shoko stopped returning my calls.”, you took a deep breath and wiped your tears.

Gojo bit his lips and held your hand, “You don’t have to-”.

“I need to. If I want us to have an honest chance at this then I have to tell you”. You took in  a deep breath and continued, “You told me you loved me but never told your family. Said it was better that way. Said they wouldn't understand, but I knew the truth. You wanted the clan’s respect, their approval, their power—and I didn’t fit into that picture. I was a liability. An inconvenience. I asked you once if you were ashamed of me and you just smiled like it was a silly question. That smile… it haunted me. You made me feel like I was asking too much just by existing beside you. I started looking through your phone when you weren’t around. I hated myself for it, but I had to know. And what I found… perfume I didn’t wear on your collar, texts that ended in hearts, meetings that didn’t make sense. You never admitted it. Of course, you didn’t. But I knew. I knew. one day, I just... broke. I thought about how peaceful it might be to just... let go. No more pain. No more pretending I was okay. No more waking up with your ghost next to me. I made the decision. I followed through. Or at least I thought I did.

And then—just like that—I woke up. Back in my room in Kyoto. Same posters on the wall, same books stacked by the window, same curtains. My heart was still heavy, the memories still sharp, but I was alive. I had a second chance in a world where maybe, just maybe, I could choose myself this time. But that past… our past… it still lives in me.”

“Y/n I–”.

“I know Satoru". You cut him off.

Gojo's heart skipped a beat. Did you know about him?, "Wh-"

"You are not the same man. It is unreasonable of me to punish you for things you haven't done. You are different from the Satoru I once knew and that's why-- I love you. You don’t have to believe me. I know this sounds stupid and made up but this is the reason I am so protective of my mom and family”. You looked at him pleadingly, searching his face for any ounce of doubt.

Gojo brought your hands up and kissed your knuckles. “I believe you. I knew there was something tying us together”, he smiled, “I had dreams of you before I even knew you and this explains everything. We are meant to be together y/n. This time I will fix everything. If you feel, at any point, that I am the same old bastard then leave me. Your happiness matters more to me than anything in the world”.

You smiled and pulled Gojo in an embrace. You felt a thousand times lighter. This was the right thing to do.

The office was deathly silent, save for the low, mechanical hum of the air conditioning. The sterile glow of the monitor bathed the room in a sickly light, throwing long, jagged shadows against the walls. Nanami sat motionless at his desk, fingers curled tight against each other, his knuckles pale. His gaze remained locked on the message displayed before him, the words searing into his mind, carving themselves into the hollow spaces of his thoughts.

Outside, the city had long since succumbed to the quiet grip of midnight, but in this room, the air was thick—suffocating. The weight of what lay ahead pressed down on his chest like a lead slab. He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face before pinching the bridge of his nose. Then—three deliberate knocks. His pulse didn't quicken. He already knew who it was. For a moment, he allowed the silence to stretch, to settle like dust in an abandoned house. Then, finally— “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and Utahime stepped inside first, her smirk razor-sharp, eyes glinting with something unreadable beneath the dim light. The air shifted behind her, an unspoken presence slithering into the room. Naoya Zenin followed, his steps slow and deliberate, like a predator assessing its territory.

Nanami’s grip on the desk tightened. The scent of expensive cologne and something darker—something rotten beneath the surface—filled the space between them.

No one spoke at first. They didn’t need to.

Utahime settled into a chair, her movements languid, like a cat stretching before the hunt. “Kento,” she murmured, her voice laced with something that sounded like amusement.

Naoya’s gaze swept the office, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Not bad. Lacks taste, but not bad.”

Nanami didn’t look at him. “Nice to meet you too.”

“Oh, come on, Keto,” Naoya scoffed, his voice oozing condescension. “If only I had acquired this company first, I’d have burned this wallpaper down the moment I walked in.”

Utahime chuckled, a low, mocking sound. “What can I say? You snooze, you lose.”

Naoya’s smirk flickered, his expression twisting into something sharper, colder. He hated being spoken down to—especially by a woman. His eyes gleamed with something ugly as he leaned forward. “Right. Your fiancé—oh, sorry, ex-fiancé—bribed the board to take this from me. All for a lowborn. How does it feel, Iori? To be discarded for someone who still lives in a shoebox apartment with her mother? hmm?” The room dropped a degree colder.

Before Utahime could open her mouth, Nanami’s palm slammed against the desk with a sharp crack. The sound cut through the air like a gunshot, vibrating through the wooden surface. “Enough.” His voice was steel, edged with something that warned against testing him. “We are not here to take each other down.” He adjusted his glasses, his expression slipping into one of perfect, practiced indifference. “We need to focus. Each of us wants something. Utahime, you want y/n gone from Gojo's life. Naoya, you want—?”

Naoya’s grin stretched wider, his fingers playing against the cold surface of the table. “I want Golden Ratio. I don't want any presence of Gojo group in Kyoto. I want to ruin Gojo Satoru.”

Nanami cleared his throat, nodding once. “Fine"

A beat of silence passed before Utahime tilted her head, watching him like a cat eyeing a caged bird. “And you, Kento?” she asked, resting her chin on her knuckles. “What do you want?”

Nanami exhaled, slow and measured. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “I want Y/N.” The truth was far uglier than those three words. If everything went according to plan, the two idiots in front of him would be dead in a ditch before they ever realized they had been played. And he—he would be far away. A private island, maybe. Somewhere warm, untouched. And you would be there too. A trophy wife. A sugar baby. A prisoner. The title didn’t matter. Not yet.

@commandertorindhepard @inlove-maze @starlightanyaaa @missybrat @lem-hhn @valleydoli @definetlythinkimanalien @luckyangelballoon @sheep-infog @gojoprincesss @kanaojacksonofc @bubera974 @ginginha @mari-ho14 @mashtura @concretewishes

[fridaysmind]

Skybound!Starcream x Yandere!reader

I love him so much. wanna just...ok, dont mind... !Skybound spoilers!

He was beautiful.

He marveled at his dazzling beauty when he first appeared. His eyes burned like wildfire, his every movement was so precise, so light, his flight through the sky seemed like a dance, if only he hadn't grinded human bodies in his huge metal palms with that very lightness. Not that this brutality spoiled him in any way. The splattering of people's blood seemed to freeze in the air as if in slow motion, and it seemed as if the petals of red roses were flying all around him. The monstrous screams of real terror of the crowd and deafening gun shots paled before his voice, his maniacal laughter. He appeared before mankind as a true angel of death.

He remained something unimaginable even after the betrayal of his brothers, a small, quick, and extremely violent rebellion. The other grouping had not had time to clean up the robot's unconscious body, and now he hung on chains, in a secret base underground, away from the prying eyes of others. Hanging without legs and one optic, with a haggard look, so defenseless he was still deadly at the same time.

It wasn't easy to bring the fighter to its senses, it couldn't be handled like a normal machine, but the effort was worth it. Of course, for the sake of general safety, his vision is limited and the chains are pulled tighter around, causing him to cling to even more attention. How cute he is, waking up in an unknown place, seeing nothing and unable to move. Adorable. Then shouts and a wave of questions, demands, assurances, threats. Everything but a hint of neutral, not even kind, words came out of his mouth. Like a sharpened blade, always ready to plunge into another's flesh. He'd promised to contact his own, but it was worth reminding him, oh, sweet warrior, who left you in this condition? Would they not come here just to finish their business? And the rage was replaced by a much quieter anger. Is it possible to wait long enough to speak of its beauty? Perhaps this task is easy for those ignorant enough to fail to recognize art. How dare they attack you after your labors and patience? How could they betray and mob you and tear you apart like a stranger? And even after that, you got up from your knees, said you dared not surrender, even offered compromises, but you did not run away, stood your ground and fell so honorably. You were perfect.

His wings twitch, trying to move, but patting the wall behind him with a clatter. Fantastic. A proud creature. Forgetting revenge and anger, he praises himself without the slightest bit of embarrassment and says his name in passing, along with words of power and conquest. Beautiful, sonorous, pleasing to the ear and tongue.

Starscream.

He doesn't think to stop, continues in his blinded and shackled state to utter insults in the direction of all those who dare to be against him, almost tearing his voice from his tirade about the unworthy and weak that have only miraculously lived millions of years on par with all the powerful individuals of their faction.

Millions of years, one wonders… and for such creatures to live so long, the luck for a human to live a hundred years is no more than a joke, a blink of an eye. And is it possible that at least the long decades of loyalty and patience for humans would one day be allowed to freely approach and leave a fleeting kiss on those lips that love to stretch in a cruel grin? It's a senseless and utterly stupid idea for sure, but for the sake of a ghostly chance one is willing to take a risk. To save him, to fix him, to help spread his wings again. And kiss.

Oh, Lord, if you hear my prayer, grant me the opportunity for just one fleeting kiss.

[helloitstsyu]

Daylight | Tom Cruise

Fantasize Series Part 5 | previous part | Fantasize Masterlist

FLASHBACK

"My daughter's coming back next week."

It had seemed harmless then. A casual line tossed into a late-night script meeting, both of them half-laughing, minds soft with fatigue.

"Ah, she finished... what did she take again? Business at Harvard, was it?"

"Yeah, MBA. Right after three years in Finance. God knows what else she'll take — law, engineering..." Her father waved a hand like her ambition was a mild headache, not something to be proud of.

Tom chuckled, eyes on the script. Not really listening. Not seeing it yet.

"Isn't that great?"

"I'm proud of her—don't get me wrong. But she's… she's starting a makeup brand. I’ve built her an empire, a legacy—and she’s making lipstick. Can you believe that?"

Tom smiled politely. Dismissively.

He didn’t care then.

He didn’t know she would be the very thing he wouldn't stop craving.

That the girl he hadn’t met would come to haunt every breath.

Tom's eyes went back to the script. Focused on what mattered then to him.

"Tom," her father had said, grinning like he’d thought of something clever. "I'd like you to meet her. My daughter."

"...Okay. Where's this going?"

"I want you to convince her to take over my company. Introduce her to showbiz."

Convince her?

He'd pictured a spoiled, Harvard-polished—nerd. Stiff cold, entitled, all calculation and no soul. Someone he wouldn't think would be fun to be around—let alone convince to move out from her passion.

"I don't know..." Tom hedged. "From what you’ve said, she doesn’t seem interested. And if she’s building her own thing—"

"Please! It won’t last. Your my brother, help me out. No one says no to that face."

He should’ve said no.

God. He should’ve said no.

PRESENT

Tom grips the bathroom sink, knuckles white, shoulders caved in like the ceiling fell in on him.

He doesn’t recognize the man staring back at him. The man staring back is pale-faced, trembling like a coward, losing his self-control over a girl he met few weeks ago.

What the hell have I done.

The words beat inside his skull like a war drum.

Her eyes. Her mouth. Her breathless, shattered moan in his ear. He can still feel her—writhing beneath his hand, his name trembling off her lips.

He knows it deep down:

That janitor’s closet wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t just lust.

It was a scar. And it was burning.

He squeezes his eyes shut— compelling himself to forget her, but she's still there.

Her voice.

Her laugh.

FLASHBACK – The Polo Match. First time.

Sunlight caught her radiant skin, breeze tugging at the softness of her hair. She’d looked like a breath of fresh air—like freedom.

She moved through the crowd like it split for her. But not in a showy way. It was her presence. Something magnetic, something warm.

When she extended her hand confidently to him—he realized

She was nothing like the picture her father painted. Nothing like his mind painted.

Not some nerd, socially awkward girl.

She was dazzling, confident, poised. A stunning woman.

She's the color in a black and white world.

And then, what caught him off guard. "Not the fun part though,"

Not just any dazzling woman. She's daring.

She wasn’t the girl he was warned about.

Her father failed to mentioned that flicker in her eyes. The one imprinted every night on his mind.

And when Tom accidentally heard her moan in the parking lot. Find her sprawled in the backseat, skin flushed from orgasm. He was doomed from that moment on.

PRESENT

Tom walks back upstairs. Tries to breathe.

His heart’s still racing. Twenty minutes ago, her body was pressed to his, their breathing tangled, desire between them sharp as a blade.

Now? The armor is back on. The performance resumes. Although he tries to hide his trembling hand, the sign of his mask failing.

Her father looks up from a conversation.

"Where were you?"

Tom stiffens.

"Picked up a call. My publicist."

Lie. Easy. Practiced.

Before the moment can stretch—

"Tom, meet Hanks!" her father grins, pulling an older man into the circle. "He used to co-produce with me,"

"Ah, Hollywood legend himself!" Hanks offers a firm handshake. "Think I saw you at the charity event last month."

Crack.

The mask slips.

Her father looks back to Tom. "I thought you were in London that weekend," her father narrows his eyes.

Tom fumbles.

"I was… I made a quick stop. Caught a meeting. Saw Y/N during her speech then left"

Another lie. He did not left

"Hm." the stare from her father makes Tom anxious.

"She didn’t mention it." The man’s eyes squints.

Tom gulps.

Of course she didn’t.

What would she say?

'Dad, Tom Cruise watched me come undone and then left me breathless in the private lounge.'

Tom’s stomach turns.

He remembers that charity event all too well—

FLASHBACK – Charity event. Her touch. His undoing.

For weeks he had dreams of her. Even before his eyes closed, he'd seen her, laying next to him, heard her moan like it was real.

The torment was unbearable. So he jumped back to his jet. Flying across continent to see her.

She'd glowed that day—blue sundress clinging to her skin, passion in her voice, pride shining in her eyes as she spoke about the foundation.

He knew then, the girl had so much more than just an alluring look.

A face. A brain. A heart.

All desires gathered in one woman.

The one he shouldn’t have this feeling to, yet still she's the object of all his desire.

He couldn't resisted the pull—like a moth to a flame, helpless. And stupidly agaisnt his control he toyed with her. "Care to company me playing with the stick?"

She was mortified. He was thrilled.

Saying yes to her help and following her to the private lounge was his first mistake. Because that girl burned with a fire that dared him to come closer.

And Tom? He’s never been the kind of man to walk away from a fire—no matter how badly it might burn him. So foolishly he said: "I'd like to watch you touch yourself again"

He nearly fell apart. But reality slapped him back to life. The moment his foot stepped out from that lounge, part of his soul never came back.

PRESENT

“Must've slipped her mind." Tom retorts, throwing a smile that feels too heavy to form.

"I’ll grab some drinks, excuse me” he mutters, escaping to the bar.

His hand shakes as he takes a glass of cold water. He downs it in one go. Even after years of being sober, he feels like he needs alcohol to help wash out the guilt, the feeling, the picture of her.

"Tom" her father follows to the bar. "Are you alright? You look off"

He couldn't lie anymore. He couldn't bear to wear the mask anymore.

Then— “Vogue just made a deal with me for Fashion Week!”

Her voice cuts through the noise. Bright. Triumphant.

He turns before he can stop himself.

And there she is. Alive with joy. Glowing with her own light.

And it hits him.

Her joy is his triumph.

Her success—his greatest pride.

She’s not mere temptation.

She’s everything.

"Oh... Doesn't mean you'll move there though, right?" her father said.

"Oh dad, don't go there again," she rolls her eyes. Her eyes accidentally catches Tom's.

They lock eyes. Only a second.

But the pull is strong.

The feeling is deep.

Her father follows the gaze.

“What was that?” he asks sharply. “What’s that look?”

Tom blinks. “W-What look?”

“That look—you’re hiding something.”

Tom stumbles over a laugh, trying to hide his stutters. “N-No, nothing—”

“Did she say anything about New York?”

Relief rushes through him that her father didn't suspect anything. Not that. Anything but that.

FLASHBACK – Her breakdown. The kiss.

“You don’t know what it’s like...” she’d whispered, voice cracking. “Carrying someone’s name and always being a shadow of it. Everyone expecting you not to mess up, act right, all dolled up— perfect.... No one would even care if I broke.” The words sliced him.

And then—she broke.

Lips colliding. That desperate kiss.

Her hand trembled as she gripped on his shirt.

He felt her need to be seen.

“Please. Just let me mess up for this time. Just once.”

He should’ve pulled away. Should’ve saved her from himself.

But her pain called to his own. And in the ruin of that kiss, he tasted salvation and sin alike.

He thought he was letting that kiss to honor her.

To let her know he saw her. Understood her.

And in letting her fall,

He fell too. Deeper.

PRESENT

“Nothing,” Tom says, voice hoarse. “Maybe cut her some slack... she’s smart. Her business is good. She doesn’t need Hollywood.”

Her father eyes him, quiet for a beat.

“She told you that?”

Tom hesitates. Too long.

“She did said something, huh?” her father says.

A pause. Then a soft smile.

“I don't know how you got her to talk. She barely come home to me, and you.. a stranger she met weeks ago," he couldn't finish and just chuckle. "I considered you my own brother. Watch her for me, Tom.” he follows.

And that really hits.

My own brother.

Watch her.

The words land like a knife.

If only he knew—

He wasn’t the guardian.

He was the reason she needed one.

Tom forces a smile. Nods.

“I will.”

But inside—

He’s falling apart.

She’s his undoing.

His forbidden.

His only.

And from the downstairs, her laughter echoes again—

a melody he’s dying to forget, but can’t.

Because he’s already drowning in her. And she—

She’s already gone. Untouchable. A fever he’ll never break.

———

Taglist:

@katluke25

@anima-patronos

@tom-cruiseisalegend

@sdrose93

[aventurineswife]

So, in one of episodes of Spy x Family, during one of Yor's missions, her butt was shot which resulted in her being constantly grumpy from pain, she couldn't tell her husband Loid about it and husband himself couldn't figure out.

So, my request, some group of people tried to attack reader (either to catch her, during one of the missions or attempt to assassinate), they managed to destroy a group, but one of still alive members attempted to kill them, but shoots in the reader's butt instead, which results to them being in pain and constantly refusing to sit down, but they didn't want to confess as it's too embarrassing for them. Request for Kafka, Jing Yuan, Aventurine, Blade, Feixiao, Silver Wolf and Firefly. (Can be read as platonic or romantic)

Through Pain, We Laugh

Tags: Kafka x Reader, Blade x Reader, Silver Wolf x Reader, Firefly x Reader, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Team Dynamics, Embarrassment, Found Family, Mild Injuries, Light Angst, Banter.

Warnings: Minor injury description, mild language, brief mentions of gunfire and violence.

Kafka always carried herself with poise, even in the face of danger. When a group of mercenaries ambushed you during a mission, her calm, calculated demeanor turned the chaos into a graceful symphony of destruction. She took down most of the attackers, making them drop their weapons and stand like obedient puppets.

But as you finished off the last assailant, a desperate grunt hidden among the rubble fired one last shot. The bullet hit its mark: your rear. The sharp pain made you yelp, but you quickly covered it with a cough, unwilling to let Kafka see you falter.

She turned to you, her eyes narrowing. "Are you alright, darling? You’re limping a bit."

You waved her off, refusing to meet her gaze. "Just a scratch. Let’s move."

Kafka smirked knowingly but didn’t press further. Yet, as the mission progressed, you found yourself increasingly irritable. The throbbing pain made sitting impossible, and standing still was no better. During a stakeout, Kafka finally addressed the elephant in the room.

"You’ve been pacing for the past ten minutes. What’s wrong?" she asked, leaning against the wall with her signature grace.

You froze. "Nothing. Just restless."

Her smile widened, a teasing glint in her eyes. "You’re a terrible liar. Did one of those grunts actually manage to hurt you?"

"N-no!" you blurted, too quickly.

She stepped closer, her voice a silky whisper. "Oh, I see. You’re too embarrassed to admit it, aren’t you? Let me guess—lower body, perhaps?"

Your flushed silence was answer enough. Kafka chuckled, a rich, amused sound. "I won’t press you further, but next time, don’t let pride get in the way of your health. We wouldn’t want you too sore to enjoy the spoils of victory."

Her wink made your cheeks burn hotter than the bullet wound, but you knew she’d keep your secret—for now.

Blade was no stranger to danger. He was always the first to step into a fight, his cracked sword cleaving through enemies with precision. During the ambush, he moved like a shadow, dispatching attackers before they even realized he was there.

You held your own, but one assailant got lucky. The moment you turned your back, a gunshot rang out, and sharp pain bloomed in your backside. You stumbled but quickly straightened, refusing to show weakness.

Blade noticed your wince but said nothing, his eyes briefly flicking to you before returning to the battlefield. Once the last enemy fell, he sheathed his sword and walked over.

"You’re hurt," he said bluntly, his gaze piercing.

"It’s nothing," you replied through gritted teeth.

He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "You’re favoring your left side. What happened?"

"I said it’s fine," you snapped, your irritation fueled by both pain and embarrassment.

Blade’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes softened—just slightly. "If you’re injured, it’s better to address it now. Pride won’t stop infection."

You bit back a groan as the pain flared again. "It’s... not serious. Just leave it."

To your surprise, Blade didn’t push further. Instead, he turned and started walking. "Suit yourself. But if you collapse later, don’t expect sympathy."

His dry tone was infuriating, but the slight smirk you caught as he turned away told you he knew exactly what had happened—and he wasn’t letting you off the hook.

Silver Wolf treated every mission like a level in her favorite game. This one had been particularly fun—an ambush filled with “noobs” who underestimated her hacking skills and combat prowess. With her “aether editing” ability, she turned the tide easily, and you were right there beside her, holding your own.

That is, until a stray bullet hit you square in the rear. You bit your tongue to keep from crying out, your pride refusing to let Silver Wolf see your pain.

When the dust settled, she turned to you, grinning. "That was sick! You okay, though? You’re walking funny."

"Fine," you muttered, trying to play it cool.

She tilted her head, her purple glasses catching the light. "Really? 'Cause it looks like you’re trying not to sit on a spike."

"I’m fine," you repeated, more forcefully this time.

Silver Wolf raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Alright, whatever. But if you’re gonna keep standing during our post-mission chill time, I’m definitely gonna roast you for it."

You grumbled under your breath, refusing to meet her gaze as you leaned awkwardly against a wall. As she pulled out her game console and plopped onto the ground, she smirked up at you.

"By the way," she said casually, not looking up from her screen, "next time you take a bullet to the butt, just say so. I could’ve hacked their aim, y’know."

Your face turned beet red, and Silver Wolf’s laughter echoed through the room.

The ambush had been swift and chaotic, leaving you and Firefly back-to-back in a flurry of gunfire and explosions. The Stellaron Hunter’s sharp instincts saved you both more than once, her hair catching the light as she darted through the battlefield like a ghost.

The last attacker, desperate and cornered, aimed his weapon recklessly. Firefly moved to block, but the bullet veered off course, striking you in the most humiliating place imaginable.

You hissed in pain, staggering. Firefly turned immediately, her eyes filled with concern. “Are you hurt?”

“No!” you blurted, too quickly. “It’s nothing! Let’s just… move on.”

Firefly’s brow furrowed, but she nodded, respecting your privacy. However, as the mission progressed, your behavior became impossible to ignore. You avoided sitting, leaned against walls in odd positions, and grimaced every time you took a step.

“Okay,” Firefly said finally, crossing her arms. “What’s wrong? Don’t say ‘nothing.’ I’ve seen you dodge Swarm projectiles more gracefully than this.”

You sighed, heat rising to your cheeks. “It’s… personal.”

Firefly’s gaze softened. “You don’t have to tell me, but if it’s serious, we should get it treated. I won’t judge.”

Her sincerity caught you off guard. While you still couldn’t bring yourself to admit the truth, her support made the pain a little more bearable.

Later, as you limped off to find a private place to rest, Firefly called out, her voice tinged with humor. “Just don’t make it worse, okay? The Hunters can’t afford to lose someone as stubborn as you.”

Her teasing smile reminded you that even in embarrassment, you weren’t alone.

[doiliedaze]

My Valentine

Warnings: just sweet love

Genre: fluff

A/n: I wanted to just write something cute for the holiday and I miss my wife I haven’t wrote for her in so long😭 and I have so many cool fics planned, I’m gonna try to release them before my birthday!!

───────┈ · ·

Growing up in Zaun love wasn’t something achievable whether it be familiar or romantic, everyone was out to use everyone. You thought this until you met her.

You quite literally fell for Sevika as you were a waitress at The Last Drop. Some jackass tripped you because he was losing and you and the drinks you were carrying covered her. She would’ve been pissed immediately if she was enchanted by you.

Instead she channeled her energy into making sure we’re okay and beating that guys ass.

Sevika can be awkward when she has a crush since her last girlfriend was in the first grade.

So when she finally approached with her feelings after the two of you spent the last eight months getting to know each other she was pleased to find you felt the same. As if you could feel otherwise!

Sevika is someone you care for dearly and you know she hasn’t experience much affection so with Valentine’s Day being today you decide to surprise her!

You went through the whole nine yards. You got the ballons, her favorite chocolates (you maybe stole from piltover), you crocheted a teddy bear and you bought her a switch blade she’s been talking about. The basket was red and you filled it to the brim with some miscellaneous stuff as well like little hearts.

Sneakily you hauled ass to Sevika’s apartment to surprise her in the morning. Cooking is one of your strong suits and you wanted to give her breakfast in bed. Only problem Sevika was awake and was wrapping a box.

The two of you froze and stared at each other and you swiftly placed the basket behind your back.

“What’s that?” Sevika ask as she walks towards you, “nothing Sev, omg how did I get here? Am I sleepwalking? So glad it’s to your place and not somewhere horrible!” You ramble as you back up.

“Cute, now lemme see.” She outstretches her hand and curls two fingers in a come-hither motion.

This lead to Sevika chasing you across the apartment because she always spoils your surprises!

“Let me surprise you damn!”

“I just want to see it, a little peek!” Sevika argues as she moves the couch to get to you.

By the time the two of you are done it’s 11 am and you are in your respective corners.

Silence fell over the room till she said, “y’know I love you right?”

“I love you too” you whisper with a smile mirroring hers.

As exhaustive as the day has been…even though it just started you’d never trade it for anything else.

───────┈ · ·

A/n: i just wanted to write something short and sweet for the day; happy valentines dolls!

Taglist: @manfuckthisimout @bambishaven @femme-historian @furrytaesss @milanyas @highnfemme @5seos

Dividers- @dollywons

[vodika-vibes]

Hey I was wondering if you could write a crosshair x reader where they have a lazy morning maybe with batcher too.

Lazy Morning

Summary: You decide to sleep in on your day off. It leads to a very relaxing day with the love of your life.

Pairing: TBB Crosshair x F!Reader

Word Count: 1087

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I started writing this ages ago and then put it on pause, before continuing it today and I have no idea where I was originally going with the story, so I'm sorry if the vibes changes midstory. The only problem now is that I want to lounge by the pool. Alas, there is no pool.

It’s early, though not so early that the sun isn’t high in the sky, and you groan in annoyance when the bright morning sun hits your face, waking you from your very nice sleep.

Wait.

You’re fairly certain that you shut the curtain before you fell asleep last night.

You crack open a singular eye just as something large and heavy lands on the bed, and then you yelp as the solid mass of muscle flops next to you. “Batcher-?”

The lurca hound releases a happy little noise and buries her head under your pillows and blankets. 

You groan and roll onto your back, flinging your arm over your eyes, “Crosshair? Why is your dog in my bed?”

“I’m fairly certain it’s our bed, angel.” Crosshair replies from somewhere on the other side of the room, near the door. He’s probably the one who opened the curtain too.

“You don’t live here, leech.” You counter without any heat in your voice.

“Rude, and I went through all of the trouble of making caf and breakfast for you. But, since you aren’t interested-”

“I hate you. What did you make?” You ask as you slowly sit up and squint at the man leaning against the door frame, “And how’d you get in anyway?”

“I made a quiche-” You shoot him a look, and he rolls his eyes, “Believe it or not, I am capable of following instructions from a recipe.”

“Yeah, but normally people start with, like, pancakes. They don’t tend to jump to quiches.” You reply as you swing your legs off the bed and stretch your arms over your head, “And you didn’t answer how you got in the house.”

“I picked the lock.”

“Cross!”

“Hey, you don’t want me to pick the lock, then give me a key.”

“Ugh, I haven’t had a copy made yet. I’m working on it.” You pad over to him, yawning widely, and then you thump your head against his chest, “Why’re you and Batcher over here anyway.”

“My brothers are annoying.” Crosshair replies as he sets his hand between your shoulder blades, “I needed some quiet.”

“Mm,” You slide your arms around his waist, “And you decided to make breakfast for me while enjoying the quiet?”

You feel him shrug, “You deserve to be spoiled. Maybe.” He says, his hand sliding up to rest lightly at the back of your neck. 

“Maybe?” You ask with a laugh.

“I do have a reputation, kitten.”

“Yeah, yeah. I remember.” You rub your nose against his chest, allowing the sharp scent of Crosshair to fill your lungs, and then you pull back slightly, “Thank you for making breakfast, I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” He lightly rubs the back of your neck with his thumb, a small, slightly crooked, smile on his lips. “It still needs to cook for a bit, so you have time enough to shower and wake up.”

You hum thoughtfully, “Yeah, I might do that.” You lean in to brush your lips against his jaw, only to giggle as he ducks his head to kiss you properly. You lightly trail your fingers against his jawline, “Good morning, Crosshair.”

“Mm, it is a good morning now,” He murmurs, before he drops one more kiss against your lips, “Go take your shower, I’m going back to the kitchen. Batcher, off!” The dog whines but jumps off your bed, dragging your comforter with her.

You sigh, and Crosshair chuckles, “I’ll handle it, kitten. I’m planning on spending the day lounging by your pool, so maybe grab a swimsuit.”

“You just want to watch me parade around for you in a bikini.”

“Yeah, of course.”

You huff, though there’s no heat, and you lightly kiss him one more time before you meander over to your dresser to dig out your swimsuit, “Why do you want to use the pool when we live on an island?”

“Uh, there are people at the beach, and there aren’t people here. Besides, you’re the one who owns a pool in spite of living on a tropical island.”

You scowl at him as you pull out your bathing suit, “I didn’t build the pool, the house came with it.”

“You still bought it.”

“Inherited it.”

“Same difference.” He walks over to you and tugs your bikini out of your hands, before pulling a different one out of your dresser, “Wear this one.”

“...this is white.”

“I know what I’m about, kitten.”

“You’re such a man sometimes,” You take the bikini though and turn towards the bathroom, “I’ll be down shortly.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Fifteen minutes later, you step into the kitchen, clad in the white bikini and a sarong hung low around your hips. Crosshair offers you an appreciative whistle, before he tosses a ball out the back door for Batcher to chase.

“Prettier than a sunset,” He praises, a small smirk on his lips.

“Only because I’m wearing this thing,” You counter as you walk over to him and lightly pluck his toothpick out of his mouth.

“You could take it off, I won’t complain.” He drawls with an appreciative drag of his eyes down your body.

You point at him with his toothpick, “Pervert.”

“Guilty as charged.” He pushes your hand away and stands so he’s able to catch your lips in a kiss, “I opened the umbrella and put your breakfast on the table outside already. I also put out towels for us, as well as the sunblock.”

“Well, you have everything in hand, don’t you?”

“All that’s left to finish the perfect morning, is you sprawled out in the sun.” Crosshair replies.

You laugh softly, “Well then, who am I to deny you?” His arms snake around your waist and he tugs at the knot holding the sarong in place.

“You’re not going to need this, kitten. It’ll just get dirty.”

“And I’m sure it has nothing to do with wanting to see my legs.”

“Of course not.”

“Uh-huh.” You slide your hands up his chest and then wrap your arms around his neck, “It’s a good thing that I actually like your attention.”

“Oh, how much do you like my attention?” Crosshair asks as he bumps his forehead against yours.

“Enough that I’m considering inviting you to spend the night.”

He chuckles, “Well then, I’d better behave so you don’t change your mind.”

And you laugh one more time, before you pull him down into a kiss, leaning your weight against him. He’s right about one thing, this is definitely the perfect morning.

[wufflesvetinari]

ok fine, wyllstarion rec list

the demons bade me write this. i have a lot of Thoughts and Feelings and a fabulous bookmarks list. come with me....and you'll be.......in a world of pure wyllstarion nation

note that this is like. an intermediate/advanced, 201-level list. i am trusting you, and assume you've already read asidian's body of work. you've read nothing is safe. you're reading Nothing Like the Sun &etc. Really anything that appears on the first two pages when sorting by bookmarks/kudos is disqualified due to pre-recognized excellence. (you could, however, go read them again)

are you back? good. now read:

"We Happy Few" - @geometea. listen to me. listen. i am looking deeply into your eyes. read this fucking fic. it's hard to shill without spoiling anything, BUT: wyll is a still-pacted grand duke. he used to have a bunch of unresolved romantic tension with astarion and now hasn't spoken to him for 15 years. now take that premise and add body horror, beautiful ominous surreal images, and SURPRISE BIG EMOTIONS. just trust me on this one, guys

"Crossed Blades" - @rebelontherocks. this is a...i think i have to call this a cozy sex romp. wyll and astarion are married, wyll is a busy duke, astarion needs more enrichment, astarion invents a very silly sex game by roleplaying teenage-wyll's smut books. wyll is So Deeply Into It. i love this fic for its characterization, its banter, and its commitment to paralleling character psychology to what sounds like an absolutely wild in-universe smut series (that is sketched with an impressive amount of detail and care tbh??).

"Comfort" - @acephalouscreature. short and sweet. wyll is injured and everyone expects astarion to take care of him. luckily, astarion has a dastardly plan to fake feelings for wyll by thinking about his feelings for wyll. you sure fooled them, astarion!! also featuring: astarion trying to figure out how to comfort someone by thinking about horses

"False Compare" - @jellyfishline. i'd recommend checking out their work generally, but i fell in love with this one first. wyll writes a sonnet! astarion is mean about it until he isn't! deeply in-character with an emphasis on how each of them communicates affection. gorgeous prose

"how to escape the torment nexus" - @ushauz. this series is incredibly unique, set in a fucked-up bad end where wyll is a lemure, astarion is still on the run from cazador, and almost everyone else is dead. where this really shines imo is wyll's POV: he's been through literal hell, doesn't remember his life, and is wading through his unconscious attachment to astarion like a foreign language. (side note also read Heart of Stone for a great lae'zel character piece)

"An Acorn in the Moonlight" - @anonyhex. this is one of the first wyllstarion fics i ever read and it has a special place in my heart!! it's particularly cathartic to read for Wyll reasons, including him actually getting to Have Emotions about what Ulder put him through. and they are so sweet with each other!!

"temporal displacement" - @purplecatghostposts. ok this came out like. yesterday but listen, i LOVE outsider pov of an astarion who's learned to show affection somewhat, seen from the eyes of someone who doesn't know his history and has no reason to suspect All Of That. and when that "outsider" is a dying 20-year-old wyll who just saw astarion step out of a time portal. well.

"nothing to make a song about" - @grey-wardens. for when you want something meaty and casefic-adjacent, set in a post-canon where wyll is the blade and not the duke (for once). contains bonding on the road, getting romantically snowed in together, and Symbolic Fetch-Quests.

i am also watching closely: "One of Those Prince-Types" by @lesbianralzarek and "sigh no more" by @tomorrowsrain. both are one chapter in and promise to be meaty, with execution that already feels very very promising

SPECIAL MENTION TO "Like Death (or Birth)" by The_Dancing_Walrus, which has some fraught implied background wyllstarion and is just generally completely baller. astarion kind-of sort-of accidentally adopts yenna, who got fucked up by her time as a potential sacrifice to bhaal. it works! i promise it works

EDIT 1/12/25: now with part 2!

[emositecc]

God I fucking hate Victoria the crybaby so fucking much holy shit. Holy shit, every page she's in, every scene, every fanart, every comic, she's got this painfully vacant, stupid as shit, fuckass personality on her stupid green face. Absolutely no part of her ugly as sin piece of shit character design is endearing. Her stupid fucking dress? Who the hell wears a dress like that. Her dumb fucking lizard tail? Her shitty, annoying bastard attitude ? The three thousand percent dumbass shitass fucking haircut that no woman has EVER FUCKING SHITTY HAIR DESING HAD IN THE HISTORY OF GOD'S GREEN FUCKING EARTH? God, I hate her. I hate her so much. So FUCKING much. Every time I see a comic or a fanart of her, it ignites my primal rage response and I'm overcome by the need to punt this shitty little homunculus into the fucking sun. "Boo hoo, I'm Bitchtoria the fuckshit whiny ass woman, woe is me. PITY ME 😢😢😢😢". Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. You look like shrek but if shrek was written by vivziepop. Your dumb fucking hair makes your whole shitty head look like a hairy skin tag. I hate your dumb fucking dress and your stupid, empty googly eyes and your over-the-top shitty ass upbeat asshole personality. Any scene she's sad it invokes all the wrath and fury of a spoiled child having a meltdown over a chocolate bar in a walmart checkout line. And I know its irrational. That's the worst part. I know she's just a shitty fucking sad woman in a stupid fucking fan comic, I know it doesn't matter, I know I shouldn't care. But that's part of the problem. The part where no matter the might and fury of my hatred, the locus of my homicidal intent is alltogether inconsequential. I find myself laying awake in the dark in the early hours of the morning consumed by the spirit of Wrath itself, all the force and might of a flaming hurricane directed at a bottle of piss in a ditch by the highway. The absurdity of it all burns me to my core. What better things could this energy be directed towards? And yet my disdain for this stupid, useless, insubstantial failure of endearing character design utterly eclipses the intrigue of all other pursuits. I hate her. I hate hier on a level of my mind reserved for the worst of the world's array of sinners, and I can't even begin to justify it. Shitstick the bitch wife is, for all intents and purposes, the animated corpse of all of humanity's saccharine pretenses- every condescending, passive-aggressive statement of meaningless upper middle class suburban drama distilled into a single, hateable form. The fucking. Fuck. I have no words. There is no cuss or epithet in any language that can encapsulate the height of the emotions I am experiencing. God, I hate her so much. I hate her so, so fucking much. I want to light her ugly little dumpster body on fire. I want to graphically beat her to death with her own stupid fucking punchable face. I want to punch her to death. I want to bash her brains out. You know that weird feeling you get, when you see a picture of something so cute you find yourself overcome with the bizarre, inexplicable urge to squeeze it? It's EXACTLY like that, except instead of cuteness it's disgust. The wordless knowledge that her existence as a fictional work is evidence of all the failures of mankind. I find myself possessed by the will of a Holy Angel gone rogue with the belief that God has made a mistake, and I alone must correct it. This is the trial by which Samael himself fell from grace. This wild, meaningless rage. A thousand blades of shining steel cast with inhuman force in the direction of a plastic grocery bag floating on a breeze. What horrors must I have committed in a past life to be plagued by this torment now? I must Unmake this fictional woman

you've gone on sending me these kinds of messages in my ask box everytime i've updated my comic, even mentioning r*pe in your latest ones. At first I thought this is a bit, but now i honestly dont know. I think you need help and for your own good and mine, I'm going to be blocking you.

This probably wont stop you from reading my comic in other platforms but if you still do, please refrain from messaging me or whatnot because I will just block you again.

okay, thank you.

^ and that's not even ALL of it.

there's like 50+ more

get help.

[akbrain]

Fankids with Choco Drizzle Cookie & Green Tea Mousse Cookie! (Inspired by @brittle-doughie's fankid content)

Some Cookies may be a bit shocked at the thought of Choco Drizzle Cookie doing a baby proposal, but you been by her side all this time, fighting in the Grand Cookie Games side by side, which, despite her stoic and cold demeanor, softened her up to the point where she wants to have a child with you!

Choco Drizzle Cookie: Y/N Cookie, I've been considering having a child someday, and if there is anyone that I want to be the partner, that would be you. The Master will be pleased about this.

Choco Drizzle Cookie + Y/N Cookie = Ganache Cookie

(He/Him)

Ganache Cookie has the silent, cold personality of Choco Drizzle & the wise, charming personality of Y/N Cookie. He seeks to fulfill the missions served by the Master, just like his mother. He wields a blade that was gifted to him by the Master, and anyone who dares to look into the darkness will be quickly chopped down. However, when off the battlefield, he does have a soft side for nature, going outside for walks in the forest daily. You and Choco Drizzle Cookie are really proud of him and his accomplishments!

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Green Tea Mousse Cookie fell for you from the start. There hasn't been one time you've haven't been exchanging hugs, kisses, & cuddles! Now she's fallen in love with you to the point where she wants to have a child with you!

Green Tea Mousse Cookie: My dearest, aren't you the sweetest cookie? We should have a child together! Our kid will be such a cutie, and will be getting lots of snuggles! They'll be ooooooours, and we'll cherish them with all our heart!

Green Tea Mousse Cookie + Y/N Cookie = Genmaicha Green Tea Cookie

(She/Her)

Genmaicha Green Tea Cookie, with the greed of Green Tea Mousse and the charm of Y/N Cookie, was indeed cute. But like her mother, she had an greed for riches. And a big one. She was spoiled ROTTEN by her mom, and she is a BIG kleptomaniac, stealing anything she can get her hands on. Despite this, she is quite the romantic, and loves physical affection. She was gifted a green tea shield by the Master, and like her mom, she's quite strong, easily taking down even the strongest competitiors. You & Green Tea Mousse love her dearly and are so proud of her!

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Thank you for reading, this actually took me a really long time. If you guys wanted to make fanart of these two, then you can if you want! Just repost this and show the art! I would highly appreciate it! Anyways, thanks!! <3