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pucksandpower · 10 months ago

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Unfinished Business

Ghost!Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: you arrive in Monaco expecting a once-in-a-lifetime vacation and you certainly get one — a fairytale romance with a Monegasque Prince … from the late 19th century

The gentle hum of a luxury sedan fades as you and your three best friends step out onto the sun-drenched streets of Monaco. The air is thick with anticipation and the salty tang of the Mediterranean. Your eyes widen as they trace the elegant facade of the Palais Grimaldi, its pale stone walls gleaming in the afternoon light.

“I still can’t believe we’re actually here,” Mia breathes, her voice tinged with awe. “An all-expenses-paid trip to Monaco? It feels like a dream.”

You nod, unable to tear your gaze from the intricate architecture. “It’s even more beautiful than the pictures,” you murmur.

Zoe hefts her designer luggage. “Well, ladies, shall we see if the inside is as impressive as the outside?”

As your group approaches the grand entrance, a smartly dressed concierge greets you with a warm smile. “Welcome to the Palais Grimaldi. You must be our contest winners. We’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

“That’s us!” Olivia chirps, practically bouncing with excitement. “I’m Olivia, and these are Mia, Zoe, and Y/N.”

The concierge, whose name tag reads ‘Philippe,’ bows slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your suite.”

As you trail behind Philippe through opulent hallways adorned with priceless art and glittering chandeliers, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve stepped into another world — or perhaps another time. The weight of history presses in around you, whispering secrets from centuries past.

“The Palais Grimaldi has quite a storied past,” Philippe explains as he leads you up a sweeping marble staircase. “It’s been home to Monaco’s ruling family for over 700 years.”

“700 years?” You echo, your mind reeling at the concept. “That’s incredible. Has it been a hotel for long?”

Philippe chuckles. “Oh no, mademoiselle. The palace only opened its doors to the public a few years ago. It’s still used for official state functions, but the family decided to share its beauty with the world.”

Mia leans in close, her voice low. “I bet these walls have seen some scandalous things over the centuries.”

“More than you can imagine,” Philippe says with a wink. “If these walls could talk ...”

As you reach the top of the stairs, a long corridor stretches before you, lined with ornate doors. Philippe stops before one and produces an old-fashioned key with a flourish. “Your suite, ladies.”

The door swings open, revealing a space that takes your breath away. Soaring ceilings, silk wallpaper, and antique furnishings create an atmosphere of timeless luxury.

“Holy. Crap.” Zoe’s usual composure cracks as she takes in the opulence. “This is insane.”

Olivia immediately flops onto one of the plush sofas. “I’m never leaving. You’ll have to drag me out kicking and screaming when the week is up.”

You wander to one of the tall windows, mesmerized by the view of the sparkling Mediterranean. “I can’t believe we get to stay here for a whole week.”

Philippe clears his throat. “I’ll leave you to settle in. Your luggage will be brought up shortly. Please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything at all.”

As the door closes behind him, your friends erupt into excited chatter.

“Did you see the size of that bathroom?” Mia gushes. “The tub is practically a swimming pool!”

Zoe is already examining the ornate writing desk. “Look at this. It’s probably worth more than my entire apartment.”

You run your hand along the silk-covered walls, feeling a strange thrill as your fingers trace the intricate patterns. “It’s like stepping back in time,” you murmur.

Olivia bounces on the bed, giggling. “Well, I for one plan to enjoy every modern amenity this place has to offer. Who’s up for raiding the mini bar?”

The rest of the afternoon passes in a whirlwind of unpacking, exploring every nook and cranny of your suite, and planning your itinerary for the week ahead.

As evening falls, you find yourself drawn back to the window. The sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant hues of pink and gold. The principality below comes alive with twinkling lights, promising endless possibilities.

“Earth to Y/N!” Mia’s voice breaks through your reverie. “We’re thinking of heading down to the hotel restaurant for dinner. You in?”

You turn from the window, smiling at your friends. “Absolutely. Just let me freshen up a bit.”

In the bathroom, you splash some water on your face and reapply your lipstick. As you study your reflection in the ornate mirror, a strange sensation washes over you — almost as if someone is watching. You shake your head, dismissing the feeling as jetlag-induced imagination.

Rejoining your friends, you make your way down to the restaurant. The maître d’ leads you to a table with a stunning view of the moonlit gardens.

“I propose a toast,” Zoe says, raising her glass of champagne. “To friendship, adventure, and a week we’ll never forget!”

You clink glasses, the bubbles tickling your nose as you sip. As your friends chatter excitedly about their plans for tomorrow, your gaze drifts to the gardens below. For a moment, you could swear you see a figure in old-fashioned dress moving among the hedges. You blink, and the apparition vanishes.

“Y/N? Hello? Anyone home?” Olivia waves her hand in front of your face.

You snap back to attention. “Sorry, what?”

“I was asking what you wanted to do first tomorrow. Beach or shopping?”

You consider for a moment. “Actually, I was thinking about taking a tour of the palace. I’d love to learn more about its history.”

Mia grins. “Ooh, good call. Maybe we’ll run into a handsome prince.”

You laugh, but something in your chest flutters at the thought. “I don’t think that’s very likely.”

As the evening wears on and the wine flows freely, you find your thoughts continually drifting back to the palace and its centuries of secrets. By the time you return to your suite, a pleasant exhaustion has settled over you.

You bid your friends goodnight and curl up in your luxurious bed, the Egyptian cotton sheets cool against your skin. As you drift off to sleep, the last thing you see is the moonlight streaming through the window, casting ethereal shadows on the walls.

In your dreams, you wander the halls of the palace. Everything is hazy, like looking through frosted glass. You turn a corner and come face to face with a young man dressed in 19th-century finery. His eyes, a startling shade of green, seem to pierce right through you.

He opens his mouth as if to speak, but no sound comes out. A profound sadness radiates from him, tugging at your heart. You reach out, wanting to comfort him, but your hand passes through him like smoke.

You jolt awake, heart racing. The room is bathed in the soft glow of pre-dawn light. You sit up, running a hand through your tousled hair.

“What was that?” You whisper to the empty room.

As the sun begins to peek over the horizon, you can’t shake the feeling that your dream was more than just a product of your imagination. Something about this place, about that mysterious figure, calls to you in a way you can’t explain.

You slip out of bed and pad to the window, watching as Monaco comes to life below. Whatever secrets the Palais Grimaldi holds, you’re determined to uncover them. Little do you know, this is just the beginning of an adventure that will change your life forever.

***

The Monégasque sun beats down relentlessly as you and your friends lounge by the hotel’s exclusive rooftop pool. The glittering Mediterranean stretches out before you, a canvas of blue punctuated by gleaming white yachts.

“Now this is what I call a vacation,” Mia sighs contentedly, adjusting her oversized sunglasses.

Zoe nods in agreement, not looking up from her book. “I could get used to this kind of luxury.”

You smile and close your eyes, trying to focus on the warmth of the sun and the gentle lapping of the pool water. But there’s a nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach that you can’t shake off.

Olivia notices your furrowed brow. “Y/N, what’s up? You look like you’re solving world hunger over there.”

You hesitate, unsure how to explain the strange occurrences of the past few days. “It’s nothing, really. I just ... have you guys noticed anything weird happening in the palace?”

Mia perks up, always ready for gossip. “Weird how?”

“Well ...” you start, then falter. How can you describe the way your hairbrush moved across the dresser on its own? Or the whispers you heard in the empty library? “It’s going to sound crazy, but I think there might be something ... supernatural going on.”

There’s a moment of silence before Olivia bursts out laughing. “Supernatural? Come on, Y/N. I know you’ve always been into that ghost hunter stuff, but this is a five-star hotel, not a haunted house.”

Zoe looks up from her book, her expression skeptical. “Are you sure you’re not just jet-lagged? Or maybe it’s all that rich food we’ve been eating.”

You feel a flush creeping up your neck. “I know how it sounds, but I swear, strange things keep happening. Last night, I saw a man’s reflection in the mirror, but when I turned around, no one was there.”

Mia sits up, suddenly interested. “Ooh, was he hot?”

“Mia!” Zoe admonishes, but there’s a hint of amusement in her voice.

You sigh, realizing how ridiculous you must sound. “Never mind. You’re probably right, it’s just my imagination running wild.”

But as the day wears on, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched. Every shadow seems to hold a secret, every creaking floorboard a whispered message.

That night, as your friends snore softly in their beds, you find yourself wide awake, staring at the ornate ceiling. The moonlight filtering through the curtains casts eerie shadows on the walls, and the silence of the night seems to pulse with an otherworldly energy.

Unable to bear it any longer, you slip out of bed and into a robe. Your bare feet are silent on the plush carpet as you make your way to the door. You pause, hand on the doorknob, heart racing. Are you really going to do this?

Taking a deep breath, you step out into the dimly lit hallway. The palace is different at night, the opulence muted, shadows deepening the corners. You walk aimlessly, letting your instincts guide you through the maze-like corridors.

As you round a corner, a chill runs down your spine. At the end of the hallway, you see a figure. It’s only for a split second before it vanishes around the next bend, but you’re certain it was the same man you saw in the mirror.

“Wait!” You call out, breaking into a run. You turn the corner, but the hallway is empty.

Breathing heavily, you lean against the wall. “I’m losing my mind,” you mutter to yourself.

“I can assure you, mademoiselle, that your mind is quite intact.”

You whirl around, heart leaping into your throat. There, standing before you, is the man from your dreams and glimpses.

He’s of average height, with wavy dark hair and piercing green eyes. His clothes are old-fashioned — a tailored suit that wouldn’t look out of place in the late 19th century. But the most shocking thing is that you can see right through him to the painting on the wall behind.

You open your mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. The ghost — because what else could he be — holds up his hands in a placating gesture.

“Please, do not be afraid. I mean you no harm.”

His voice is gentle, with a slight accent you can’t quite place. Despite your terror, you find yourself oddly calmed by his presence.

“Who ... what are you?” You manage to whisper.

The ghost bows slightly. “I am Prince Charles of Monaco, at your service. Or at least, I was Prince Charles. Now, I’m not entirely sure what I am.”

You blink, trying to process this information. “Prince Charles? But that’s impossible. The current Prince of Monaco is Albert.”

Charles smiles sadly. “You are correct. I’m afraid my time as prince was cut rather short. I died in 1894.”

“1894,” you repeat, feeling light-headed. “So you’re ... a ghost?”

“It would appear so, yes.” Charles looks down at his translucent hands. “Though I prefer to think of myself as ... temporarily disembodied.”

Despite the absurdity of the situation, you feel a laugh bubbling up in your chest. “Temporarily disembodied? That’s one way to put it.”

Charles’ eyes crinkle with amusement. “I find a touch of humor helps in most situations, even death.”

You shake your head, still struggling to believe what’s happening. “Why can I see you? Why now?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Charles admits. “I’ve been bound to this palace since my death, unable to move on. Most of the time, I’m invisible to the living. But occasionally, someone comes along who can perceive me. You, mon chérie, seem to be one of those rare individuals.”

You take a step closer, fascinated despite your lingering fear. “So all those strange things that have been happening ...”

“My apologies,” Charles says, looking sheepish. “I’m afraid I got a bit ... overeager when I realized you could sense me. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Well, mission not accomplished,” you say dryly. “I’ve been terrified for days.”

Charles’ expression turns contrite. “I am truly sorry. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to interact with anyone. I forgot how alarming it might be.”

You study him closely. Now that the initial shock has worn off, you’re struck by how young he looks — no older than his mid-twenties. And there’s a sadness in his eyes that tugs at your heart.

“How did you die?” You ask softly.

Charles’ face clouds over. “That, I’m afraid, is a rather long and complicated story. One that I’m not entirely sure I understand myself.”

You’re about to press further when a noise down the hallway makes you jump. Charles holds a finger to his lips and gestures for you to follow him. He leads you to a hidden door behind a tapestry, revealing a narrow servants’ staircase.

“Quick, in here,” he whispers.

You hesitate for a moment before ducking into the passageway. Charles follows, closing the door behind you. In the dim light filtering through cracks in the wall, you can barely make out his ghostly form.

“Why are we hiding?” You whisper.

“The night guards,” Charles explains. “They wouldn’t take kindly to a guest wandering the halls at this hour. And I’d rather not have to explain why you’re talking to thin air.”

You nod, seeing the logic. “So ... what now?”

Charles gives you a mischievous smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “Well, since you’re already up and about, how would you like a private tour of the palace? I can show you things no living guide knows about.”

The sensible part of your brain is screaming that this is insane. You should go back to your room, crawl into bed, and pretend this was all a vivid dream. But the adventurous part of you, the part that’s always longed for magic and mystery, is practically buzzing with excitement.

“Lead the way, Your Highness,” you say with a grin.

Charles’ smile widens. “Please, call me Charles. I think we’re a bit beyond titles at this point.”

He starts up the narrow staircase, and you follow close behind. As you climb, Charles begins to speak in a low, melodious voice.

“This palace has been the heart of Monaco for centuries. Every stone, every timber holds a piece of history. There are secret passages like this one crisscrossing the entire building — escape routes, trysting spots for illicit lovers, hiding places for treasures.”

You emerge from the staircase into a small, circular room at the top of one of the palace towers. The view of Monaco at night is breathtaking, the city a glittering jewel box beneath a canopy of stars.

“Oh, wow,” you breathe, moving to the window.

Charles stands beside you, his presence cool but not unpleasant. “Beautiful, isn’t it? Even after all these years, it still takes my breath away. Well, metaphorically speaking.”

You turn to look at him, struck by the wistfulness in his voice. “It must be hard, watching the world change around you while you stay the same.”

Charles nods slowly. “It is ... challenging. But it has its compensations. I’ve witnessed history unfold, seen my beloved Monaco grow and flourish. And occasionally, I get to meet fascinating people like yourself.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks and are grateful for the darkness. “I’m hardly fascinating compared to a ghost prince.”

“I beg to differ,” Charles says softly. “You saw me when no one else could. You followed me up here without hesitation. That takes a special kind of courage and openness to the extraordinary.”

For a moment, you’re lost in his intense gaze. Then you remember that he’s, well, dead, and clear your throat awkwardly. “So, um, what else can you show me?”

Charles seems to shake himself out of a reverie. “Ah, yes. Follow me. There’s so much to see.”

The rest of the night passes in a blur of hidden rooms, secret passages, and Charles’ stories. He tells you about the palace’s construction, about the triumphs and tragedies of the Grimaldi family, about the small, everyday moments that history books never record.

As the sky begins to lighten with the first hints of dawn, you find yourself back in the hallway near your suite. You’re exhausted but exhilarated, your mind whirling with everything you’ve seen and learned.

“I suppose I should let you get some rest,” Charles says, a note of reluctance in his voice.

You stifle a yawn. “I suppose so. My friends will be wondering where I am if I’m not there when they wake up.”

Charles nods, then hesitates. “I ... I hope this won’t be our last conversation. It’s been so long since I’ve had someone to talk to.”

The vulnerability in his voice tugs at your heart. “Of course not. I still have so many questions. Like how you ended up ... you know.”

“Another time,” Charles promises. “For now, sleep well, Y/N.”

As you watch, his form begins to fade. Just before he disappears completely, you could swear you see him wink.

You slip back into your room, your mind racing. As you crawl into bed, you wonder how on earth you’re going to explain any of this to your friends. But one thing’s for certain — your vacation in Monaco just got a whole lot more interesting.

***

The sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant hues of orange and pink. You stand on the balcony of your suite, outwardly admiring the view, but your mind is elsewhere. Your friends’ voices drift out from the room behind you.

“Y/N? Y/N!” Mia calls. “Are you coming to dinner or what?”

You turn, plastering on a smile. “Actually, I think I’ll skip it tonight. I’m not feeling very hungry.”

Zoe frowns, concern etching her features. “Are you okay? You’ve been acting strange all week.”

“I’m fine,” you assure her quickly. “Just ... taking in all the history of this place, you know?”

Olivia rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Only you would come to Monaco and spend all your time geeking out over old buildings instead of hitting the beach.”

You laugh, but it sounds forced even to your own ears. “What can I say? I contain multitudes.”

As your friends file out of the room, Mia lingers behind. “Seriously, Y/N, is everything alright? You know you can talk to us about anything, right?”

For a moment, you’re tempted to spill everything. But how could you possibly explain Charles? “I’m fine, really,” you insist. “Go enjoy dinner. I’ll see you later.”

Once they’re gone, you wait a few minutes to ensure the coast is clear. Then you slip out into the hallway, your heart racing with anticipation.

You make your way to the library, which has become your usual meeting spot. As you enter, you see Charles materializing near the fireplace, a warm smile lighting up his translucent features.

“Good evening, Y/N,” he greets you, his voice as smooth and rich as aged whiskey. “I trust you’re well?”

You can’t help but smile back. “Better now,” you admit, then immediately feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “I mean, you know, because ... history and stuff.”

Charles chuckles, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Ah yes, the fascinating history and stuff. Shall we delve into more of it tonight?”

You nod eagerly. “What do you have in store for me this time?”

“I thought we might explore the east wing tonight,” Charles says, moving towards one of the bookshelves. “There’s a passage behind this Voltaire that leads to some rather interesting places.”

As he speaks, Charles reaches for the book, his hand passing right through it. A flicker of frustration crosses his face.

“Allow me,” you say softly, stepping forward to pull the book. The shelf swings open, revealing a narrow passageway.

Charles bows slightly. “After you, mademoiselle.”

You enter the passage, Charles’ cool presence right behind you. As you walk, he begins to speak, his voice low and melodious in the confined space.

“This passage was built during the reign of Prince Charles III — my grandfather,” he explains. “It was meant as an escape route in case of invasion. Monaco’s sovereignty was often threatened in those days.”

“But not anymore?” You ask, ducking under a low-hanging beam.

Charles sighs. “Monaco’s position is more secure now, but it wasn’t always so. In my time, we were constantly navigating a delicate balance between France and Italy, trying to maintain our independence.”

You emerge into a small, octagonal room with windows overlooking the sea. Moonlight streams in, casting everything in a silvery glow.

“This was my private study,” Charles says, a note of wistfulness in his voice. “I spent many hours here, dreaming of what Monaco could become.”

You turn to him, curious. “What kind of dreams?”

Charles’ eyes light up with passion. “I wanted to modernize Monaco, to bring it into the new century. We were so dependent on the casino for revenue — I wanted to diversify our economy, improve education, and implement new technologies.”

“That sounds incredibly progressive for the time,” you say, impressed.

Charles nods. “Some thought too progressive. There were those who resisted change, who wanted to cling to the old ways. But I believed — I still believe — that progress is essential for survival.”

As he speaks, you find yourself drawn in by his enthusiasm, his intelligence. This isn’t just some stuffy old royal — this is a man with vision, with dreams that were cut short far too soon.

“What stopped you?” You ask softly.

Charles’ expression clouds over. “Ah, well, dying tends to put a damper on one’s plans.”

You wince. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no,” Charles interrupts gently. “It’s alright. It was a long time ago.”

An awkward silence falls. You move to the window, looking out at the moonlit sea. “It must be hard,” you say eventually. “Watching the world change around you, unable to participate.”

You feel Charles move closer, his presence cool at your side. “It has its challenges,” he admits. “But it also has its joys. I’ve seen Monaco grow and flourish in ways I never could have imagined. And now ...” He trails off.

You turn to look at him. “And now?”

Charles’ gaze is intense, making your heart race. “And now I have the pleasure of sharing it all with you.”

You swallow hard, acutely aware of how close he is, ghost or not. “I ... I’m glad,” you manage to say. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Charles.”

He smiles, a touch of sadness in his eyes. “Nor I you, Y/N. In life or in death.”

The moment stretches between you, charged with unspoken emotions. Then Charles clears his throat (do ghosts need to clear their throats?) and steps back.

“Come,” he says, his tone lighter. “There’s much more to see.”

The rest of the night passes in a whirlwind of secret rooms and hidden treasures. Charles shows you a concealed vault where the crown jewels were once kept, a forgotten ballroom with faded frescoes on the ceiling, even the old dungeons deep beneath the palace.

Throughout it all, Charles regales you with stories — some historical, some personal. You learn about the political intrigues of 19th century Monaco, about Charles’ childhood pranks, about the hopes and fears he had for his country’s future.

As dawn begins to break, you find yourself back in the library, reluctant for the night to end.

“I suppose I should let you get some rest,” Charles says, echoing his words from your first meeting.

You stifle a yawn. “I suppose so. But I don’t want to go.”

Charles’ expression softens. “Nor do I want you to. But your friends will worry if you’re not there when they wake.”

You sigh, knowing he’s right. “Will I see you tomorrow night?”

“I’ll be here,” Charles promises. “I’m not going anywhere, after all.”

As you watch him fade away, you’re struck by a realization that both thrills and terrifies you. You’re falling in love with a ghost.

The next few days pass in a blur. During the day, you go through the motions with your friends, trying to show enthusiasm for the beaches, the shops, the nightlife. But your mind is always elsewhere, counting down the hours until you can see Charles again.

Your friends notice, of course. How could they not?

“Okay, spill,” Mia demands one afternoon as you all lounge by the pool. “Who is he?”

You nearly choke on your drink. “What? Who’s who?”

Olivia rolls her eyes. “The guy you’re obviously sneaking out to meet every night. Don’t think we haven’t noticed you coming back to the room at dawn.”

“I ... I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stammer.

Zoe puts a hand on your arm. “Y/N, we’re your friends. You can tell us anything. We’re just worried about you.”

You look at their concerned faces and feel a pang of guilt. You hate lying to them, but how can you possibly explain the truth?

“It’s not ... it’s not what you think,” you say finally. “I’ve just been exploring the palace at night. It’s quieter then, easier to imagine what it was like in the past.”

Your friends exchange skeptical looks.

“Right,” Mia says slowly. “And this has nothing to do with the ‘supernatural occurrences’ you were going on about earlier?”

You force a laugh. “Of course not. That was just my imagination running wild. I’ve just been ... really into the history of this place, that’s all.”

Olivia shakes her head. “If you say so. But Y/N, this is supposed to be a fun vacation. Don’t spend the whole time with your nose in a history book, okay?”

You nod, grateful they’re not pushing further. “You’re right. I’ll try to be more present.”

But that night, as your friends sleep, you find yourself slipping out once again, drawn to Charles like a moth to a flame.

He’s waiting for you in the library, a book hovering open in front of him. As you enter, he looks up with a smile that makes your heart flutter.

“Ah, Y/N,” he says warmly. “I was just refreshing my memory on some of Monaco’s more obscure laws. Did you know it’s technically illegal to wear stiletto heels in the palace?”

You laugh, some of the tension from earlier melting away. “Seriously? Why?”

Charles grins. “Apparently, they damage the floors. It was enacted in 1898, four years after my ... departure. I always wonder about the story behind laws like that. What outrageous incident prompted such a specific prohibition?”

You settle into a nearby armchair, tucking your legs underneath you. “Maybe a scorned lover stabbed someone with a stiletto?”

Charles’ eyebrows shoot up. “My, what a violent imagination you have. I was thinking more along the lines of a clumsy debutante wreaking havoc on the ballroom floor.”

“Boring,” you tease. “My version is much more exciting.”

Charles chuckles, the sound warming you from the inside out. “I suppose I can’t argue with that. Your mind is a constant source of fascination to me.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Oh? How so?”

Charles moves closer, his form shimmering slightly in the moonlight streaming through the windows. “You see the world in such a unique way. You’re not bound by the conventions and expectations of my time. It’s ... refreshing.”

“I could say the same about you,” you reply softly. “You’re nothing like I would have expected a 19th-century prince to be.”

Charles’ smile turns wry. “Ah, but I’ve had over a century to adapt and learn. Though I must admit, much of modern life still baffles me. Perhaps you could explain to me the appeal of this ‘Instagram’ your friends keep mentioning?”

You laugh, launching into an explanation of social media that leaves Charles looking both intrigued and mildly horrified. The conversation flows easily from there, jumping from topic to topic with the effortless rhythm you’ve come to cherish in your nightly meetings.

As the hours pass, you find yourself moving closer to Charles, drawn in by his warmth (metaphorical, of course — he’s actually quite cool to be near) and charm. You’re acutely aware of every movement, every fleeting expression that crosses his face.

At one point, Charles reaches out as if to touch your hand, then seems to catch himself, pulling back with a flicker of frustration crossing his features.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “Sometimes I forget ...”

You swallow hard, your heart aching. “It’s okay. I ... I wish you could too.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with unspoken longing. Charles’ eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the impossibility of your situation crashes over you like a wave.

“Y/N,” Charles begins, his voice rough with emotion. “I-”

But before he can finish, a noise in the hallway makes you both freeze. Footsteps are approaching the library.

“Quick,” Charles whispers urgently. “Hide behind the curtain.”

You scramble to conceal yourself just as the door opens. Through a gap in the heavy fabric, you see a security guard sweep his flashlight around the room.

Your heart pounds in your chest as the beam of light passes inches from your hiding spot. After what feels like an eternity, the guard seems satisfied and leaves, closing the door behind him.

You wait a few more moments before emerging, your legs shaky with leftover adrenaline.

“That was close,” you breathe.

Charles nods, his form flickering with agitation. “Too close. Y/N, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be putting you in these situations. If you were caught ...”

You shake your head vehemently. “No, don’t say that. I don’t care about the risk. Being with you, learning about you and your time — it’s worth it.”

Charles’ expression softens, a mix of affection and sorrow in his eyes. “You’re extraordinary, do you know that? But I fear ... I fear I’m being selfish, keeping you to myself like this.”

You take a step closer to him, wishing more than anything that you could take his hand. “You’re not keeping me anywhere I don’t want to be.”

The words hang between you, charged with meaning. Charles opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it again, conflict clear on his face.

Finally, he says, “It’s nearly dawn. You should go, before your friends wake.”

You nod reluctantly, knowing he’s right but hating to leave. As you reach the door, you turn back to look at him one last time.

“Charles,” you say softly. “I ... I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

He smiles, but there’s a sadness in it that tugs at your heart. “I’ll be here. I’m always here.”

As you make your way back to your room, your mind is a whirlwind of emotions. You’re falling hard and fast for a man who’s been dead for over a century.

It’s impossible, it’s insane, and yet ... you wouldn’t trade these moments with Charles for anything in the world.

But as you slip back into bed, the first rays of sunlight peeking through the curtains, a nagging doubt creeps in. How long can this go on? What happens when your vacation ends? And most troublingly of all — what aren’t you seeing in your infatuation with this charming ghost prince?

***

The musty scent of old books fills your nostrils as you hunch over a stack of historical tomes in the palace library. Sunlight streams through the tall windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. You’ve been here for hours, your friends long since departed for a day of sunbathing and shopping.

“Find anything interesting?” Charles’ voice makes you jump. You look up to see him materializing near the bookshelf, a curious expression on his translucent face.

You sigh, rubbing your tired eyes. “Nothing concrete yet. There’s frustratingly little information about your death in these official histories. It’s always just ‘Prince Charles died tragically young’ with no details.”

Charles moves closer, peering at the book you’re reading. “Ah, Gustave Saige’s ‘Monaco: Ses Origines et Son Histoire’. A rather dry read, if I recall correctly.”

You can’t help but chuckle. “You’re not wrong. But I thought it might have some clues.” You hesitate, then ask, “Charles, why don’t you just tell me what happened? How you ... died?”

A shadow passes over Charles’ face. “I wish I could. But the truth is, my memories of that time are ... fragmented. I remember tensions rising, arguments with the council, and then ... nothing. Just waking up like this, bound to the palace.”

You reach out instinctively to comfort him, your hand passing through his arm with a chill. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how frustrating that must be.”

Charles gives you a sad smile. “It’s been my reality for over a century now. But I must admit, your determination to uncover the truth has given me hope I haven’t felt in a very long time.”

Your heart swells at his words, even as a pang of guilt hits you. Are you really doing this for Charles, or for yourself? The thought of him finding peace and moving on fills you with a complicated mix of emotions you’re not ready to examine too closely.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you turn back to your research. “Well, if these books aren’t giving us answers, maybe we need to look elsewhere. You mentioned arguments with the council. Were there records kept of those meetings?”

Charles’ brow furrows in concentration. “Yes, there would have been. Minutes were always taken. But they would have been considered sensitive documents. Not something you’d find in the public library.”

You lean forward, excitement building. “So where would they be kept?”

“There’s an archive room,” Charles says slowly. “Hidden behind the throne room. It’s where the most confidential state papers were stored.”

You’re already on your feet, shoving books back onto shelves. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

Charles holds up a ghostly hand. “Not so fast, Y/N. That room has been sealed for decades. It’s not somewhere a tourist can just wander into.”

You deflate slightly, but your determination doesn’t waver. “Then we’ll have to find a way in after hours. You can get me there, right?”

Charles looks conflicted. “I could, but Y/N, if you were caught ...”

“I won’t be,” you insist. “Please, Charles. This might be our only chance to find out what really happened to you.”

For a long moment, Charles studies your face. Then he sighs, a sound tinged with both resignation and admiration. “Very well. Meet me here at midnight. I’ll show you the way.”

The hours crawl by as you wait for night to fall. You make a show of going to bed early, claiming a headache to avoid your friends’ plans for a night out. As the clock strikes twelve, you slip out of your room and make your way to the library.

Charles is waiting for you, his form glowing faintly in the moonlight. “Are you sure about this?” He asks one last time.

You nod firmly. “Let’s do it.”

Charles leads you through a maze of corridors and hidden passages. Your heart races with every creak of the floorboards, every shadow that might be a security guard. Finally, you arrive at an ornate door hidden behind a tapestry.

“This is it,” Charles whispers. “The archive room.”

You reach for the handle, but it’s locked. “Damn,” you mutter. “Any ideas?”

Charles frowns, concentrating. “There used to be a spare key ... ah!” He points to a small crevice in the intricate woodwork. “Try there.”

You feel around and, to your amazement, your fingers close around a small key. With trembling hands, you insert it into the lock. It turns with a satisfying click.

The door swings open, revealing a room packed floor to ceiling with shelves of documents. The air is thick with dust and the smell of old paper.

“Where do we even start?” You whisper, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information.

Charles moves to a section near the back. “The council records from my time should be here. Look for anything dated 1894.”

You begin sifting through stacks of yellowed papers, careful not to damage the fragile documents. Minutes pass in tense silence as you search.

Suddenly, Charles’ voice cuts through the quiet. “Y/N, over here. I think I’ve found something.”

You hurry to his side. He’s pointing at a leather-bound ledger. You carefully open it, coughing slightly at the dust it raises.

As you scan the pages, your eyes widen. “Charles, this ... this is incredible. It’s a record of council meetings leading up to your death. Look at this entry from two weeks before: ‘Prince Charles continues to push for radical reforms. Concerns raised about stability of the principality if plans proceed.’”

Charles leans in, his face a mix of emotions. “I remember that meeting. It was ... heated. Keep reading.”

You flip through more pages, your heart pounding as the story unfolds. “There’s more. ‘Prince’s proposed changes to casino regulations deemed unacceptable. Alternative measures must be considered.’ Charles, this sounds like ...”

“A conspiracy,” Charles finishes, his voice hollow. “They were plotting against me.”

You reach the final entry, dated the day before Charles’ death. Your blood runs cold as you read it aloud. “Situation untenable. Drastic action required to preserve Monaco’s interests. God forgive us.”

A heavy silence falls over the room as the implications sink in. Charles turns away, his form flickering with agitation.

“They killed me,” he says softly. “My own council ... they murdered me to stop my reforms.”

You feel tears pricking at your eyes. “Charles, I’m so sorry. This is ... it’s unthinkable.”

Charles is quiet for a long moment, then turns back to you with a determined expression. “We need to take this ledger. The truth needs to come out, even after all this time.”

You nod, carefully closing the book and tucking it into your bag. As you do, something catches your eye. “Wait, there’s something else here.”

Behind where the ledger was sitting, you spot a small leather pouch. You open it carefully, gasping as several folded papers and a small object fall out.

“What is it?” Charles asks, moving closer.

You unfold one of the papers with trembling hands. “It’s ... it’s a letter. From you.” You begin to read aloud:

“To whoever finds this, I fear my time may be short. I write this in haste, knowing that forces within Monaco seek to silence me. My efforts to modernize our beloved principality and free us from our dependence on gambling have made me enemies in powerful places. If anything should happen to me, know that it was not an accident. The proof of their treachery is contained within these documents and the vial of poison they intend to use. I pray this never sees the light of day, but if it does, may it bring justice and push Monaco towards the future I envisioned.”

You look up at Charles, tears now flowing freely down your cheeks. “You knew. You tried to protect yourself.”

Charles nods slowly, his own eyes shimmering with ghostly tears. “I ... I remember now. I wrote this the night before ... before it happened. I must have hidden it here, hoping someone would find it.”

You carefully gather up the documents and the small vial, adding them to your bag with the ledger. “We have to make this public, Charles. Your murder, the cover-up ... people need to know the truth.”

Charles looks at you with a mix of gratitude and sadness. “You’re right, of course. But Y/N, you must understand what this means. If the truth comes out, if justice is served ...”

“You might be able to move on,” you finish, your voice barely a whisper. The thought sends a dagger through your heart, but you force yourself to continue. “That’s ... that’s a good thing, right? It’s what you’ve been waiting for all this time.”

Charles moves closer, his hand hovering near your cheek as if he could wipe away your tears. “It is. But I find myself reluctant to leave, now that I’ve found something — someone — worth staying for.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “Charles, I ...”

Before you can finish, a noise in the hallway makes you both freeze. Footsteps are approaching.

“Quick,” Charles whispers urgently. “Behind that cabinet.”

You scramble to hide, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure it must be audible. The door to the archive room creaks open, and a beam of light sweeps across the space.

“Hello?” A gruff voice calls out. “Is someone in here?”

You hold your breath, pressing yourself further into the shadows. After what feels like an eternity, the guard seems satisfied and leaves, closing the door behind him.

You wait a few more moments before emerging from your hiding spot, legs shaky with adrenaline.

“That was too close,” Charles says, his form flickering with agitation. “We need to get you out of here.”

You nod, clutching your bag with its precious cargo close to your chest. “How do we get back?”

Charles leads you to a hidden panel in the wall. “This passage will take you directly to the guest wing. Hurry, before the guard comes back.”

As you step into the secret corridor, you turn back to look at Charles. “What happens now?” You ask softly.

Charles’ expression is a complex mix of emotions — hope, fear, sadness, and something that looks a lot like love. “Now, mon chérie, we bring the truth to light. Whatever comes after ... we’ll face it together.”

You nod, your throat tight with unshed tears. As you make your way back to your room, your mind races with the implications of what you’ve discovered. You’ve found the key to setting Charles free, to bringing him the peace he’s been denied for over a century.

But as you clutch the bag containing the proof of his murder, you can’t help but wonder: at what cost? The thought of losing Charles, of never seeing his smile or hearing his laugh again, fills you with a grief so profound it takes your breath away.

As you slip back into your bed, the first rays of dawn peeking through the curtains, you know that the hardest part of your journey is yet to come. You’ve uncovered the truth, but now you face an impossible choice: keep Charles with you in this half-life or set him free and lose him forever.

***

The golden light of a Monaco sunset streams through the windows of your hotel suite, casting long shadows across the room. You stand before the mirror, adjusting the elaborate 19th-century gown you’ve rented for the evening’s ball. Your fingers tremble slightly as you fasten a delicate necklace, your mind a whirlwind of emotions.

“You look absolutely stunning,” Charles’ voice comes from behind you. You turn to see him materializing near the balcony, his eyes wide with admiration.

“Thank you,” you say softly, your heart aching at the sight of him. “I wish you could really be there tonight, dancing with me.”

Charles moves closer, his form shimmering in the fading sunlight. “As do I, ma chérie. But I’ll be with you in spirit, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

You can’t help but laugh, even as tears prick at your eyes. “Always with the jokes, even now.”

“Well, one must maintain one’s sense of humor, even in the face of ... impending departure,” Charles says, his light tone belied by the sadness in his eyes.

The word hangs heavy between you. Departure. In just two days, you’ll be leaving Monaco, returning to your life back home. The thought fills you with a grief so profound it’s almost physical.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” you blurt out, the words escaping before you can stop them. “I could stay. I could find a job here, an apartment. We could-”

“Y/N,” Charles interrupts gently, “we’ve discussed this. You can’t put your life on hold for a ghost.”

You turn away, blinking back tears. “But what if I want to? What if being here, with you, is the life I want?”

Charles is quiet for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is thick with emotion. “My dearest Y/N, you cannot imagine how much I wish things could be different. But I am tied to this place, to this half-existence. You have a whole life ahead of you, full of possibilities and adventures. I won’t let you sacrifice that for me.”

You whirl back to face him, frustration bubbling up. “Shouldn’t that be my choice to make?”

“Perhaps,” Charles concedes. “But it is also my choice to refuse to be the anchor that holds you back. You deserve so much more than stolen moments with a specter.”

The truth of his words cuts deep, even as you want to rail against them. You slump onto the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling the weight of your elaborate costume.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you whisper.

Charles moves to sit beside you, the mattress not even dipping under his non-existent weight. “Nor I you. But perhaps ... perhaps this is why we found each other. Not for a lifetime, but for this moment. To bring truth to light, to right an old wrong, and to experience a love that transcends time itself.”

You look up at him, struck by the depth of emotion in his ghostly eyes. “When did you get so wise?”

Charles grins, a hint of his usual mischief returning. “Well, I have had over a century to work on my philosophical musings.”

You can’t help but laugh, even as a tear escapes down your cheek. Charles reaches out, his hand hovering just above your skin in a gesture of comfort.

“Come now,” he says gently. “Let’s not waste our last evening together in sorrow. You have a ball to attend, and I, for one, am eager to see how the modern world interprets the grandeur of my era.”

You nod, standing and giving yourself one last look in the mirror. “You’re right. Let’s make tonight a night to remember.”

As you make your way down to the grand ballroom, you can feel Charles’ presence beside you, a comforting coolness in the warm evening air. The sounds of music and laughter grow louder as you approach.

You pause at the entrance, taking in the transformed space. The ballroom has been decorated to recreate its 19th-century splendor, with crystal chandeliers, elaborate floral arrangements, and guests in period costumes whirling across the dance floor.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe.

“Indeed,” Charles agrees, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “Though I must say, some of these costumes are rather ... creative interpretations of the fashion of my time.”

You stifle a giggle as you spot a guest in what appears to be a mash-up of Victorian and Edwardian styles. “Well, not everyone can have a ghostly fashion consultant.”

You make your way into the crowd, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Your friends spot you and wave enthusiastically.

“Y/N! Over here!” Mia calls out. “You look amazing!”

You join them, smiling as you take in their costumes. “You all look great too. Are you enjoying the ball?”

Zoe nods enthusiastically. “It’s like stepping back in time. Can you imagine living in an era like this?”

You feel Charles’ amusement radiating beside you. “Oh, I don’t know,” you say airily. “I think it might have its charms.”

As the evening progresses, you find yourself swept up in the festivities. You dance with several partners, all the while acutely aware of Charles’ presence, watching from the sidelines.

During a lull in the music, you manage to slip away from the crowd, finding a secluded alcove near one of the large windows.

“Having fun?” Charles asks, materializing beside you.

You nod, a bit breathless from dancing. “It’s wonderful. But I wish ...”

“You wish I could truly be here,” Charles finishes for you. He holds out his hand in an old-fashioned gesture. “Well, my lady, may I have this dance?”

You glance around, making sure no one is watching, then place your hand over his incorporeal one. As the music starts up again, a slow, romantic waltz, you begin to move together.

It’s a strange sensation, dancing with a ghost. You can’t feel Charles’ hand on your waist or his fingers intertwined with yours, but somehow, you move in perfect synchronization. For a few precious moments, it’s as if the rest of the world fades away, leaving just the two of you, swaying to the music.

“I love you,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Charles’ eyes widen, then soften with an emotion so deep it takes your breath away. “And I love you, Y/N. More than I ever thought possible.”

As you gaze into each other’s eyes, lost in the moment, a sudden chill sweeps through the room. The lights flicker, and a murmur of confusion ripples through the crowd.

Charles stiffens, his form becoming more translucent. “Something’s wrong,” he mutters, looking around warily.

Before you can ask what he means, a commotion breaks out near the center of the ballroom. Guests are backing away from a spot on the dance floor, pointing and gasping in shock.

You push your way through the crowd, Charles right behind you. As you reach the cleared space, your blood runs cold. Three ghostly figures have appeared, dressed in outdated formal wear, their faces contorted with rage and fear.

“Impossible,” Charles breathes beside you. “It’s them. The council members who ... who murdered me.”

As if hearing his words, the three ghosts turn towards you. Their eyes widen in recognition as they spot Charles.

“You!” One of them snarls, his voice echoing unnaturally in the stunned silence of the ballroom. “How are you here?”

Charles steps forward, his own form becoming more visible to the shocked onlookers. “I could ask you the same question, Lord Beaumont. Or should I say, murderer?”

A collective gasp runs through the crowd. Hotel staff are rushing about, trying to maintain order, but everyone’s attention is fixed on the supernatural drama unfolding before them.

“We did what was necessary,” another ghost, a portly man with a walrus mustache, blusters. “You would have ruined Monaco with your radical ideas!”

“Ruined?” Charles’ voice rises in indignation. “I was trying to save our principality, to secure its future beyond the whims of fortune and gambling!”

The third ghost, a thin man with a pinched face, sneers. “And in doing so, you would have destroyed the very thing that made Monaco unique. We couldn’t allow it.”

You find your voice, anger overcoming your fear. “So you murdered him? Your own prince?”

The ghosts turn their baleful gazes on you. “And who are you to question the affairs of state from a century past?” Lord Beaumont demands.

“She,” Charles says, moving to stand beside you, “is the one who uncovered your treachery. The proof of your crimes has been found.”

A murmur runs through the crowd. You see hotel management huddled in a corner, speaking urgently into phones. In the distance, you can hear police sirens approaching.

“It doesn’t matter now,” the portly ghost says dismissively. “We’re long dead, beyond the reach of earthly justice.”

“Perhaps,” you counter, your voice stronger than you feel. “But the truth will be known. History will remember Prince Charles as the visionary he was, and you as the small-minded murderers who cut his life short.”

As you speak, a strange energy begins to build in the room. The three ghosts start to flicker, their forms becoming less substantial.

“What’s happening?” The thin ghost cries out, panic in his voice.

Charles steps forward, his expression a mix of pity and righteousness. “You’re facing judgment at last, gentlemen. Your unfinished business is complete. The truth is out.”

With a howl of despair, the three ghosts begin to fade away. In moments, they’ve vanished completely, leaving behind a stunned silence.

As the implications of what’s just happened sink in, chaos erupts in the ballroom. People are shouting, phones are out recording, and security is trying desperately to maintain order.

But you only have eyes for Charles. His form is starting to shimmer, becoming more translucent by the second.

“Charles,” you gasp, reaching for him. “What’s happening? Are you ...”

He looks down at his fading hands, then back up at you with a sad smile. “It seems my unfinished business is complete as well. The truth is out, justice, in some form, has been served.”

“No,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face. “Please, not yet. I’m not ready to say goodbye.”

Charles moves closer, his hand hovering just above your cheek. “My dearest Y/N, meeting you has been the greatest gift. You’ve brought light to my long darkness, and given me peace I never thought I’d find.”

“I don’t want you to go,” you sob, your heart breaking.

“Nor do I wish to leave you,” Charles says softly. “But perhaps this isn’t truly goodbye. I don’t know what lies beyond, but I do know this — a love like ours transcends time and death itself. Somehow, someway, I believe we’ll find each other again.”

You manage a watery smile. “You promise?”

“I swear it,” Charles vows. He leans in, and for the briefest moment, you swear you can feel the ghost of a kiss on your lips. “Until we meet again, mon amour.”

And with that, Charles fades away completely, leaving behind nothing but a lingering chill in the air and the memory of a love that defied all boundaries.

As the commotion swirls around you, police and hotel management trying to make sense of what’s happened, you stand still in the center of it all. Your heart is breaking, but there’s also a sense of peace, of completion.

You touch your lips, still feeling the echo of that impossible kiss, and whisper to the empty air, “Until we meet again, Charles.”

In that moment, surrounded by the trappings of a bygone era and the chaos of the present, you know that your life has been forever changed. Whatever comes next, you’ll face it with the strength and love Charles gave you, carrying his memory in your heart until, somehow, someway, you find each other once more.

***

The Mediterranean sun bathes Monaco in a warm glow as you climb the steps to the Palais Grimaldi. Five years have passed since that fateful summer, but your heart still quickens as you approach the familiar facade. You adjust the strap of your messenger bag, filled with research materials for your graduate thesis on 19th-century Monégasque politics.

As you enter the palace, now partly converted into a museum, you’re struck by how much has changed. Plaques and displays line the halls, detailing the history of the Grimaldi family. But your eyes are drawn to a new addition: a whole wing dedicated to Prince Charles and his progressive vision for Monaco.

You pause before a large portrait of Charles, your breath catching in your throat. The artist has captured his piercing green eyes perfectly, that hint of mischief in his smile that you remember so well.

“It’s remarkable, isn’t it?” A voice beside you says, startling you from your reverie. “How much history these walls have seen.”

You turn, a polite response on your lips, but the words die in your throat. Standing next to you is a young man who could be Charles’ twin. The same wavy dark hair, the same chiseled jawline, and most strikingly, those same intense green eyes.

For a moment, you forget how to breathe. “Charles?” You whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

The young man looks at you curiously, a small smile playing on his lips. “Well, yes, but I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. Have we met before?”

You blink rapidly, reality reasserting itself. Of course this isn’t your Charles. It can’t be. You clear your throat, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, you just ... you look remarkably like someone I used to know. I’m Y/N.”

The young man’s smile widens, and he holds out his hand. “Charles Leclerc. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

You shake his hand, trying to ignore the jolt of electricity that runs through you at his touch. “Leclerc? As in the Formula 1 driver?”

Charles nods, looking slightly sheepish. “The very same. Though today I’m just a tourist like anyone else, enjoying a bit of home between races.”

“Home?” You ask, intrigued despite yourself.

“Born and raised in Monaco,” Charles explains. “Though I admit, I haven’t spent as much time in the palace as I perhaps should have. It’s quite fascinating, especially this new exhibit.”

You nod, turning back to the portrait of Prince Charles. “It really is. The prince was quite a remarkable figure. His ideas were so ahead of their time.”

Charles steps closer, studying the portrait. “You seem to know a lot about him. Are you a historian?”

“A graduate student,” you explain. “I’m here on a research grant, studying 19th-century Monégasque politics at the International University of Monaco.”

Charles’ eyes light up with interest. “Really? That sounds fascinating. I’ve always been interested in history, especially the history of Monaco. It’s a small place, but it’s played such an outsized role in European affairs.”

You can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “It really has. Prince Charles, in particular, had some revolutionary ideas about diversifying Monaco’s economy beyond just gambling. If he hadn’t died so young, who knows how things might have turned out?”

A shadow passes over Charles’ face. “Yes, his death was quite tragic. And mysterious, from what I understand. Wasn’t there some recent discovery about the circumstances?”

You nod, your heart racing as you remember that night five years ago. “Yes, documents were found that suggested he was actually assassinated by members of his own council who opposed his reforms.”

Charles shakes his head, looking troubled. “How terrible. To be betrayed by those closest to you, all for wanting to make positive changes.”

“It was a different time,” you say softly. “Change is always frightening to those in power.”

Charles nods thoughtfully. “True, but it’s also necessary for growth. Monaco has come a long way since then, but I sometimes wonder if we couldn’t be doing more to realize Prince Charles’ vision.”

You look at him in surprise. “That’s ... that’s exactly what I’ve been thinking in my research. The prince had ideas about sustainable development and diversifying the economy that are still relevant today.”

Charles grins, and for a moment, the resemblance to your Charles is so strong it takes your breath away. “Great minds think alike, it seems. You know, I’ve been looking for ways to use my platform as an athlete to promote positive change in Monaco. Perhaps we could compare notes sometime?”

Your heart skips a beat. “I’d like that,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m always happy to discuss history with someone who’s genuinely interested.”

“Excellent,” Charles says, pulling out his phone. “Why don’t we exchange numbers? We could meet for coffee and continue this conversation.”

As you input your number into his phone, you can’t help but notice a small charm dangling from it — a miniature racing helmet. “That’s cute,” you comment.

Charles looks at it and chuckles. “Ah, yes. It was a gift from my mother. She says it’s for luck, but I think she just worries about me on the track.”

The casual mention of his mother sends a pang through your heart. This Charles is very much alive, with a family and a life of his own. You have to remind yourself that he’s not the same person you knew, no matter how similar he might seem.

“Well, it seems to be working,” you say lightly. “You’ve had quite a successful season so far. Won your home race, if I’m not mistaken.”

Charles looks pleased. “You follow Formula 1?”

You shake your head. “Not really, but it’s hard to miss the news when you’re living in Monaco. The Grand Prix is quite an event.”

“That it is,” Charles agrees. “You know, if you’re interested, I could give you a behind-the-scenes tour of the circuit sometime. It’s quite fascinating from a historical perspective as well. The race has been run on essentially the same streets since 1929.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Are you always this charming with strangers you meet in museums?”

Charles grins, a mischievous glint in his eye that’s achingly familiar. “Only the ones who can discuss 19th-century political reform with such passion.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Well, in that case, how can I refuse? A tour sounds lovely.”

As you continue to chat, moving through the exhibit, you’re struck by how easy it is to talk to Charles. He’s knowledgeable and curious, asking insightful questions about your research and offering his own perspectives on Monaco’s history and future.

At one point, you pause before a display showcasing some of Prince Charles’ personal effects. Among them is a small, ornate pocket watch.

“Beautiful craftsmanship,” Charles comments, leaning in for a closer look.

You nod, a lump forming in your throat as you remember your Charles checking a similar watch during your midnight explorations. “It’s a shame it’s not working anymore.”

Charles tilts his head, studying the watch intently. “Actually, I think it is. Look closely at the second hand.”

You peer into the display case, and to your amazement, you see the tiny hand ticking away steadily. “You’re right! How did you notice that?”

Charles shrugs, looking slightly embarrassed. “I’ve always had a thing for timepieces. Comes with the racing territory, I suppose. Hundreths of a second are everything on the track.”

You shake your head in wonder. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I try to keep things interesting,” Charles says with a wink. Then his expression turns more serious. “You know, it’s strange. Being here, learning about Prince Charles ... I feel an odd connection to him. Almost as if I knew him somehow.”

Your heart races at his words. Could it be possible? You push the thought away, reminding yourself that such things only happen in fairy tales. “Well, he is your ancestor, in a way. All Monégasques are connected to the Grimaldi family, aren’t they?”

Charles nods slowly. “True, but this feels different. When I look at his portrait, it’s almost like looking in a mirror. And his ideas, his passion for progress ... it resonates with me in a way I can’t quite explain.”

You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Maybe some things are just meant to be. Some connections transcend time.”

Charles looks at you intently, and for a moment, you swear you see a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “Perhaps you’re right. It’s a comforting thought, isn’t it? That the past isn’t really gone, just ... waiting to be rediscovered.”

You’re saved from having to respond by the chiming of the palace clock, signaling the approach of closing time.

“Oh, I didn’t realize it was so late,” you say, glancing at your watch. “I should probably get going. I have a meeting with my advisor in the morning.”

Charles nods, looking slightly disappointed. “Of course. But we’re still on for that coffee and circuit tour, right?”

You smile, feeling a warmth spreading through your chest. “Absolutely. I’m looking forward to it.”

As you gather your things and prepare to leave, Charles touches your arm lightly. “Y/N, I know this might sound strange, but ... I feel like we were meant to meet today. Like some force in the universe brought us together.”

You look into his eyes, so familiar and yet new, and feel a spark of hope ignite in your heart. “I know exactly what you mean.”

He smiles, and in that moment, you see not just the Charles of the present, but echoes of the Charles you knew and loved. “Until we meet again, then?”

The phrase, so similar to your Charles’ last words, sends a shiver down your spine. “Until then,” you agree softly.

As you walk out of the palace and into the warm Monaco evening, your mind is whirling. You can’t shake the feeling that something extraordinary has happened, that a promise made long ago is somehow being fulfilled.

You pause at the top of the steps, looking back at the palace that has played such a pivotal role in your life. As the setting sun gilds the stone facade, you allow yourself to imagine, just for a moment, that maybe, just maybe, some loves really are strong enough to transcend time and death itself.

With a smile on your face and hope in your heart, you descend the steps, ready to embrace whatever new adventure awaits. After all, in a world where ghosts can fall in love and centuries-old mysteries can be solved, anything seems possible.

And, as the promise of a new beginning beckons, you can’t help but feel that the best chapters of your story are yet to be written.

***

The sun-drenched streets of Monaco buzz with excitement as Sofia, a die-hard Scuderia Ferrari fan, makes her way towards the Palais Grimaldi. Her red Ferrari cap and matching team shirt make her stand out among the tourists, but she doesn’t mind. She’s here on a mission: to soak up every bit of Monaco’s rich racing history.

As Sofia enters the palace-turned-museum, her eyes widen in awe at the opulent surroundings. “Wow,” she breathes, spinning slowly to take it all in. “Talk about living like royalty.”

She wanders through the exhibits, pausing occasionally to read plaques or admire artifacts. But her mind keeps drifting to thoughts of sleek racing cars and the roar of engines. That is, until she rounds a corner and comes face to face with a large portrait that stops her in her tracks.

“No way,” Sofia mutters, stepping closer to the painting. Her brow furrows as she studies the face of the young prince depicted. “That’s ... that’s impossible.”

Just then, a tour group passes by, led by an enthusiastic guide. Sofia catches snippets of the commentary.

“... Prince Charles, one of Monaco’s most progressive rulers ...”

“... tragically died young under mysterious circumstances ...”

“... recent discoveries suggest he may have been assassinated ...”

Sofia’s head is spinning. She pulls out her phone, quickly pulling up a photo of Charles Leclerc, her favorite driver. She holds it up next to the portrait, her jaw dropping at the uncanny resemblance.

“Excuse me,” she says, tapping the tour guide on the shoulder. “This Prince Charles, when exactly did he live?”

The guide smiles, always happy to share historical tidbits. “Prince Charles ruled briefly in the late 19th century. He died in 1894 at the young age of 26.”

Sofia’s mind races. “And has anyone ever noticed how much he looks like Charles Leclerc? The F1 driver?”

The guide’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “Ah, you’re not the first to notice that similarity. It’s become quite a popular topic of discussion lately. Some even joke that Leclerc is the prince reincarnated.”

Sofia laughs nervously. “Right, of course. Just a coincidence, I’m sure.”

As the tour moves on, Sofia remains rooted to the spot, her eyes darting between her phone and the portrait. It’s more than just a passing resemblance. The shape of the eyes, the curve of the jaw, even the hint of a mischievous smile — it’s all pure Leclerc.

Lost in thought, she doesn’t notice someone approaching until a voice beside her says, “Fascinating portrait, isn’t it?”

Sofia jumps, turning to see a young woman standing next to her. The newcomer is dressed casually in a flowing sundress, a messenger bag slung over her shoulder.

“Oh, um, yes,” Sofia stammers. “It’s quite ... striking.”

The woman smiles knowingly. “Let me guess. You couldn’t help but notice the resemblance to a certain Formula 1 driver?”

Sofia’s eyes widen. “You see it too? I thought I was going crazy!”

The woman laughs, a warm, genuine sound. “Trust me, you’re not crazy. I’m Y/N, by the way. I’m doing some research here for my graduate thesis.”

“Sofia,” she replies, shaking your hand. “So, what’s the deal? Is Leclerc secretly a time-traveling prince or something?”

You chuckle, but there’s a strange look in your eyes that Sofia can’t quite decipher. “I’m afraid the explanation is probably much more mundane. Many Monégasques have some connection to the Grimaldi family. It’s likely just a case of strong genes persisting through the generations.”

Sofia nods, but she’s not entirely convinced. There’s something about the way you’re looking at the portrait, a mix of fondness and melancholy, that piques her curiosity.

“You seem to know a lot about this,” Sofia probes gently. “Are you a big history buff?”

You smile, turning away from the portrait. “You could say that. I’ve been studying Prince Charles and his era for my thesis. It’s a fascinating period in Monaco’s history.”

Sofia’s about to ask more when she notices someone approaching over your shoulder. Her eyes go wide, and she has to stifle a gasp.

You turn to see what’s caught her attention, and your face lights up. “Charles! I didn’t expect to see you here today.”

Sofia’s jaw drops as Charles Leclerc himself joins you, greeting you with a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek. He’s dressed casually in jeans and an oversized hoodie, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, but there’s no mistaking that face — especially not when it’s right next to the portrait of his doppelganger.

“I had some free time between meetings and thought I’d stop by,” Charles explains. “How’s the research going?”

You launch into an explanation of your latest findings, and Sofia watches in fascination as Charles listens intently, asking insightful questions and offering his own thoughts. It’s clear this is far from the first time they’ve discussed the topic.

Finally, Charles seems to notice Sofia’s presence. “Oh, I’m sorry, how rude of me. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Sofia manages to close her mouth, which had been hanging open in shock. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m Sofia. I’m a huge fan, Mr. Leclerc.”

Charles grins, shaking her hand. “Please, call me Charles. Always nice to meet a tifosa.”

Sofia gestures weakly to the portrait. “I was just ... I mean ... has anyone ever told you that you look exactly like ...”

Charles and you exchange a look that Sofia can’t quite interpret. Then Charles turns back to her with a wry smile. “Once or twice, yes. It’s quite the coincidence, isn’t it?”

Sofia nods, still feeling like she’s stepped into some kind of twilight zone. “Coincidence. Right.”

You clear your throat, seemingly eager to change the subject. “So, Sofia, are you here on vacation?”

Grateful for the change of topic, Sofia launches into an enthusiastic description of her plans for the next week. As they chat, she can’t help but notice the way Charles and you interact — the casual touches, the inside jokes, the way your eyes continually find each other. There’s clearly a deep connection there.

At one point, Charles excuses himself to take a phone call. As soon as he’s out of earshot, Sofia turns to you with wide eyes. “Okay, you have to tell me. What’s the real story here? How long have you two been together?”

You laugh, a slight blush coloring your cheeks. “Is it that obvious? We’ve been seeing each other for a few months now. We met right here, actually, in front of this very portrait.”

Sofia’s romantic heart melts a little at that. “That’s so sweet! But come on, you have to admit, the resemblance is freaky. And the way you two were talking about history ... it’s like he lived it or something.”

You get that strange look in your eyes again, a mix of secrecy and wonder. “Charles has always had a deep connection to Monaco’s past. It’s one of the things that drew us together.”

Sofia’s about to press for more details when Charles returns, slipping his arm around your waist with casual familiarity.

“I hate to cut this short,” he says apologetically, “but I’ve got to run to a sponsor meeting. Y/N, we’re still on for dinner tonight?”

You nod, smiling up at him. “Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll see you at eight.”

As Charles says his goodbyes and leaves, Sofia watches him go with a mix of admiration and lingering confusion. She turns back to you, determined to get to the bottom of this mystery.

“Okay, I know this is going to sound crazy,” Sofia starts, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “but is there any chance ... I mean, has anyone ever considered the possibility that Charles might be, I don’t know, the reincarnation of Prince Charles or something?”

You pause for a long moment, and Sofia holds her breath, half-expecting you to laugh in her face. But instead, you give her a small, enigmatic smile.

“The universe works in mysterious ways,” you say softly. “Sometimes, the past has a way of coming back to us in forms we least expect. Who’s to say what’s possible and what isn’t?”

Sofia’s mind reels at the implications. “So you’re saying ...”

You hold up a hand, your expression turning more serious. “I’m not saying anything definitively. But I will say this: getting to know Charles — the Charles of today — has been like rediscovering a part of history I thought was lost forever. Whether that’s due to reincarnation, cosmic coincidence, or just the magic of human connection, I can’t say for sure. But I do know that it feels like a second chance at something extraordinary.”

Sofia listens, enthralled. It’s like something out of a movie or a romance novel. “That’s ... wow. I don’t even know what to say.”

You laugh, the sound tinged with wonder. “Trust me, I know the feeling. Life has a way of surprising you when you least expect it.”

As you chat a bit more, Sofia can’t help but feel like she’s been let in on some grand secret. The way you talk about Charles, about history, about the strange twists of fate — it’s all so fantastical and yet, standing here in the shadow of that eerily familiar portrait, she can’t quite bring herself to disbelieve it entirely.

Finally, you glance at your watch and sigh. “I should get going. I’ve got to prepare for dinner soon. It was lovely meeting you, Sofia.”

Sofia nods, still feeling slightly dazed. “You too. And ... thanks. For sharing all of that. It’s given me a lot to think about.”

You smile warmly. “Just keep an open mind. You never know what kind of magic you might encounter, especially in a place like Monaco.”

As you leave, Sofia turns back to the portrait of Prince Charles. She studies it intently, trying to reconcile the historical figure with the modern-day race driver she admires so much.

“Second chances,” she murmurs to herself. “Who’d have thought?”

With one last look at the portrait, Sofia continues her tour of the museum. But now, every artifact seems to pulse with new significance. The weight of history feels more present than ever, intertwining with the present in ways she never could have imagined.

As she steps out of the museum and into the bright Monaco sunshine, Sofia finds herself looking at the city with new eyes. The sleek modern buildings and ancient narrow streets no longer seem at odds, but part of a continuous, living history.

She thinks of Charles Leclerc, of the mysterious Y/N, of a long-dead prince whose legacy seems to echo through time. And as she makes her way towards the harbor, where she knows the Monaco circuit snakes through the city streets, Sofia can’t help but feel that she’s stumbled upon a story far greater and more magical than any single victory.

With a smile on her face and a newfound appreciation for the mysteries of the universe, Sofia sets off to explore more of Monaco. After all, in a place where princes can become race drivers and love can transcend time itself, who knows what other wonders she might discover?

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reasonsforhope · 1 year ago

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"Chicago’s 82-story Aqua Tower appears to flutter with the wind. Its unusual, undulating facade has made it one of the most unique features of Chicago’s skyline, distinct from the many right-angled glass towers that surround it.

In designing it, the architect Jeanne Gang thought not only about how humans would see it, dancing against the sky, but also how it would look to the birds who fly past. The irregularity of the building’s face allows birds to see it more clearly and avoid fatal collisions. “It’s kind of designed to work for both humans and birds,” she said.

As many as 1 billion birds in the US die in building collisions each year. And Chicago, which sits along the Mississippi Flyway, one of the four major north-south migration routes, is among the riskiest places for birds. This year, at least 1,000 birds died in one day from colliding with a single glass-covered building. In New York, which lies along the Atlantic Flyway, hundreds of species traverse the skyline and tens of thousands die each year.

As awareness grows of the dangers posed by glistening towers and bright lights, architects are starting to reimagine city skylines to design buildings that are both aesthetically daring and bird-safe.

Pictured: Chicago's Aqua Tower was designed with birds in mind.

Some are experimenting with new types of patterned or coated glass that birds can see. Others are rethinking glass towers entirely, experimenting with exteriors that use wood, concrete or steel rods. Blurring lines between the indoors and outdoors, some architects are creating green roofs and facades, inviting birds to nest within the building.

“Many people think about bird-friendly design as yet another limitation on buildings, yet another requirement,” said Dan Piselli, director of sustainability at the New York-based architecture firm FXCollaborative. “But there are so many design-forward buildings that perfectly exemplify that this doesn’t have to limit your design, your freedom.”

How modern buildings put birds in danger

For Deborah Laurel, principal in the firm Prendergast Laurel Architects, the realization came a couple of decades ago. She was up for an award for her firm’s renovation of the Staten Island Children’s Museum when the museum’s director mentioned to her that a number of birds had been crashing into the new addition. “I was horrified,” she said.

She embarked on a frenzy of research to learn more about bird collisions. After several years of investigation, she found there was little in the way of practical tips for architects, and she teamed up with the conservation group NYC Audubon, to develop a bird-safe building guide.

The issue, she discovered, was that technological and architectural advancements over the last half-century had in some ways transformed New York City – and most other US skylines and suburbs – into death traps for birds...

At certain times of day, tall glass towers almost blend into the sky. At other times, windows appear so pristinely clear that they are imperceptible to birds, who might try to fly though them. During the day, trees and greenery reflected on shiny building facades can trick birds, whereas at night, brightly lit buildings can confuse and bewilder them...

Pictured: A green roof on the Javits Convention Center serves as a sanctuary for birds.

The changes that could save avian lives

About a decade ago, Piselli’s firm worked on a half-billion-dollar renovation of New York’s Jacob K Javits Convention Center, a gleaming glass-clad space frame structure that was killing 4,000-5,000 birds a year. “The building was this black Death Star in the urban landscape,” Piselli said.

To make it more bird friendly, FXCollaborative (which was then called FXFowle) reduced the amount of glass and replaced the rest of it with fritted glass, which has a ceramic pattern baked into it. Tiny, textured dots on the glass are barely perceptible to people – but birds can see them. The fritted glass can also help reduce heat from the sun, keeping the building cooler and lowering air conditioning costs. “This became kind of the poster child for bird-friendly design in the last decade,” Piselli said.

The renovation also included a green roof, monitored by the NYC Audubon. The roof now serves as a sanctuary for several species of birds, including a colony of herring gulls. Living roofs have since become popular in New York and other major cities, in an inversion of the decades-long practice of fortifying buildings with anti-bird spikes. In the Netherlands, the facade of the World Wildlife Fund headquarters, a futuristic structure that looks like an undulating blob of mercury, contains nest boxes and spaces for birds and bats to live.

The use of fritted glass has also become more common as a way to save the birds and energy.

Earlier this year, Azadeh Omidfar Sawyer, an assistant professor in building technology in the Carnegie Mellon School of Architecture, working with student researchers, used open-source software to help designers create bespoke, bird-friendly glass patterns. A book of 50 patterns that Sawyer published recently includes intricate geometric lattices and abstract arrays of lines and blobs. “Any architect can pick up this book and choose a pattern they like, or they can customize it,” she said.

Pictured: The fritted glass used in Studio Gang’s expansion of Kresge College at the University of California, Santa Cruz, depicts the animals in the local ecosystem.

Builders have also been experimenting with UV-printed patterns, which are invisible to humans but perceptible to most birds. At night, conservationists and architects are encouraging buildings turn off lights, especially during migration season, when the bright glow of a city skyline can disorient birds.

And architects are increasingly integrating screens or grates that provide shade as well as visibility for birds. The 52-floor New York Times building, for example, uses fritted glass clad with ceramic rods. The spacing between the rods increases toward the top of the building, to give the impression that the building is dissolving into the sky.

Gang’s work has incorporated structures that can also serve as blinds for birders, or perches from which to observe nature. A theater she designed in Glencoe, Illinois, for example, is surrounded by a walking path made of a wood lattice, where visitors can feel like they’re up in the canopy of trees.

Pictured: The Writers Theatre, designed by Studio Gang, includes a walking path encased in wood lattice.

Rejecting the idea of the iridescent, entirely mirrored-glass building, “where you can’t tell the difference between the habitat and the sky”, Gang aims for the opposite. “I always tried to make the buildings more visible with light and shadow and geometry, to have more of a solid presence,” she said.

Gang has been experimenting with adding bird feeders around her own home in an effort to reduce collisions with windows, and she encourages other homeowners to do the same.

“I’ve found that birds slow down and stop at feeders instead of trying to fly through the glass,” she said.

While high-rise buildings and massive urban projects receive the most attention, homes and low-rise buildings account for most bird collision deaths. “The huge challenge is that glass is everywhere.” said Christine Sheppard, who directs the glass collisions program at the American Bird Conservancy (ABC). “It’s hard to know what I know and not cringe when I look at it.”

Tips for improving your own home include using stained glass or patterned decals that can help birds see a window, she said. ABC has compiled a list of window treatments and materials, ranked by how bird-safe they are.

Whether they’re large or small, the challenge of designing buildings that are safe for birds can be “liberating”, said Gang, who has become an avid birdwatcher and now carries a pair of binoculars on her morning jogs. “It gives you another dimension to try to imagine.”"

-via The Guardian, December 27, 2023

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pedroscowgirl · 10 months ago

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summer secrets

hugh jackman x female!reader

part 1 /part 2 here (you can read it seperatly) MASTERLIST

Warnings: smut!! minors dni!

oral! f receiving, p in v , creampie (wrap it up), edging, age gap (reader is 20s hugh is 55), lmk if i forgot something

Summary: you and hugh are at a bbq organised by ryan and blake

words: 8.1k (yeah ... i went insane idk what to tell you)

A/N: can u believe it took me so long to find a good pic for this cuz he looks so young in all his pics. i tried to proofread as good as i can but it's 5am here so bear w me pls

You were thrilled to receive an invitation to Ryan and Blake's barbecue, an intimate gathering they were hosting at their home. The guest list was small, limited to a close-knit group of friends, including Hugh and a few other familiar faces. As you read the invitation, a mix of emotions washed over you. On the one hand, you were excited to spend time with Ryan and Blake, who had always treated you with warmth and kindness. They saw you as a close friend and respected colleague of Hugh, and they had no idea about the secret that you and Hugh were carefully guarding.

Your relationship with Hugh had grown deeper over time, evolving from a casual friendship into something much more meaningful and intense. Despite the undeniable connection between the two of you, you had decided to keep your relationship private. The significant age gap between you and Hugh was something you knew others might not easily accept or understand. This was especially true in the circles you moved in, where appearances and reputations were scrutinized closely.

As the day of the barbecue approached, you couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy. Being invited to this get-together felt strange because, on the surface, it was just a casual social event, but beneath it all, it carried the weight of your hidden relationship. You knew that keeping up the facade of being just friends in front of Ryan, Blake, and the others would be challenging, especially as you and Hugh had grown so close.

Still, you were determined to enjoy the day, focusing on the company of good friends and the relaxing atmosphere that Ryan and Blake were known for creating. You trusted that Hugh, ever composed and discreet, would help maintain the illusion of you just being friends. While it felt odd to be so near him yet unable to openly show your feelings, you reassured yourself that the secret was necessary, for now. After all, the bond you shared with Hugh was something precious, something worth protecting, even if it meant enduring a little discomfort at events like these.

The sun blazed overhead on what felt like one of the hottest days of summer, casting a golden glow over everything it touched. As you stood in front of your closet, you debated what to wear for Ryan and Blake’s barbecue. The air was thick with heat, making anything too heavy or restrictive out of the question. After a moment of consideration, you reached for a short, bodycon dress adorned with delicate floral patterns. The fabric was light and breathable, perfect for the weather, and the dress hugged your figure in all the right places, offering both comfort and a touch of elegance.

As you slipped into the dress, you couldn't help but smirk at the thought of Hugh’s reaction when he saw you. The dress, while chosen primarily for comfort, was also undeniably flattering, accentuating your curves and bringing out the vibrant colours of the floral design. You knew it would drive Hugh absolutely insane—his eyes would darken with that unmistakable mix of admiration and longing that always sent a thrill through you. But you were careful to keep this thought tucked away in the back of your mind. Today, you had to play it cool, keeping up the pretence of being just another guest at the barbecue.

You and Hugh had agreed to arrive at Ryan and Blake’s home separately, a necessary precaution to avoid drawing any unwanted attention to your relationship. Hugh had a closer bond with Ryan and Blake, having known them for years, and had offered to come early to help with the preparations. True to his nature, Hugh had slipped into the role of a perfect gentleman, lending a hand with the barbecue setup, arranging the seating, and making sure everything was in order before the other guests arrived.

By the time you arrived, the gathering was already in full swing. Laughter and the smell of grilling food filled the air, creating a warm, inviting atmosphere. You spotted Hugh across the yard, effortlessly charming everyone with his easy going nature and genuine smile. It was a scene you had witnessed countless times, yet it never failed to stir something deep within you.

Ryan and Blake’s kids were particularly fond of Hugh, and today was no exception. No sooner had you arrived than you noticed the children begging him to perform his famous routine from The Greatest Showman, a request he had apparently fulfilled countless times before. Without missing a beat, Hugh obliged, launching into his well-practiced performance with enthusiasm and flair. The kids gathered around the television, wide-eyed and mesmerized as Hugh sang and danced, bringing the movie to life once again.

It was a sight to behold, and you couldn’t help but feel a sting of affection as you watched him entertain the little ones for what must have been the hundredth time. The way he could effortlessly switch from being the life of the party to a beloved performer for the kids was one of the many things you admired about him. Yet, as you stood there in your floral dress, sipping on a cold drink and watching Hugh interact with everyone, you were acutely aware of the secret you were both hiding.

Throughout the afternoon, Hugh managed to steal subtle glances in your direction whenever he thought no one was looking. There were moments when his gaze would linger a little longer than necessary, a brief exchange of looks across the yard that spoke volumes without a single word being uttered. Occasionally, he would find a reason to drift closer to you, making casual conversation as if nothing were out of the ordinary. But despite these fleeting interactions, there was no opportunity for the two of you to be alone—not until everyone eventually settled at the long, wooden table set up in the shade for the meal.

As luck would have it, you ended up sitting next to Hugh. The air was thick with the mingled scents of grilled food, fresh flowers, and the tang of sunscreen, creating a heady atmosphere that only intensified the tension between the two of you. Your heart raced as you tried to focus on the casual conversations happening around the table, but all you could think about was how close he was, the warmth of his body just inches from yours.

At one point, Hugh leaned back in his chair, glancing around the table before he got up. "I need to grab something from the kitchen," he announced casually, but then he turned his gaze to you, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. "Do you want to join me?" he asked, his voice smooth and inviting.

You hesitated for only a fraction of a second before nodding. There was something in his eyes, a look that made it clear this was about more than just fetching something from the kitchen. As you followed him inside, your heart pounded in your chest, anticipation bubbling up as you wondered what was about to happen.

Once inside the cool, quiet kitchen, Hugh paused for a moment, glancing out the window to ensure no one was watching. Satisfied that you were alone, he turned to you with a sneaky look that made your breath catch. Before you could say a word, he reached out and grabbed your waist, pulling you close until your bodies were pressed together. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine.

"Gosh, you look so gorgeous in that dress," he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire. His eyes roamed over your figure, taking in the way the floral fabric clung to your curves. "It's almost too cute to rip it off your beautiful body."

His words sent a wave of heat through you, and you felt a familiar dampness growing between your legs. Your cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and excitement as your body was responding to the raw intensity of his gaze and the sultry promise in his voice. Before you could even process the full extent of your arousal, Hugh closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that was long and full of passion.

The kiss was everything you had been craving and more. His lips were firm and insistent against yours, moving with a hunger that matched your own. You melted into him, the world outside the kitchen fading away as your senses were overwhelmed by the taste of him, the scent of his cologne mingling with the heady aroma of summer. Hugh's big hand cradled the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss, tilting your head to the side to allow him better access.

Your hands found their way to his chest, clutching at his shirt as if to anchor yourself in the moment. The kiss seemed to go on forever, a perfect blend of urgency and tenderness, leaving you breathless and longing for more. The sensation of his lips moving against yours, the way he held you so possessively, made it clear just how much he had been holding back all day.

Finally, after what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, Hugh pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as you both caught your breath. His eyes were dark with desire, the usual calmness replaced by something much more primal.

"You're driving me crazy, you know that?" he whispered, his voice rough and barely above a murmur. You could see the effort it took for him to restrain himself, to not let things go any further in the middle of Ryan and Blake’s house. But the intensity of the moment, the unspoken promise in his gaze, told you that this was far from over.

With a final, lingering kiss on your lips, he reluctantly stepped back, his hand sliding away from your waist. He glanced out the window once more, ensuring that your absence hadn’t been noticed before giving you a mischievous grin. "We should probably head back out before anyone gets suspicious," he said, though the lingering heat in his voice hinted at how difficult it was for him to let go of you.

You nodded, still trying to steady your racing heart and the fluttering feeling in your stomach. As you both made your way back to the table, it was impossible to ignore the tingling sensation left by his touch or the way your body still hummed with the aftermath of that kiss. The rest of the world had returned, but the memory of what had just transpired in the kitchen was seared into your mind.

As you and Hugh made your way back to the table, the atmosphere between you was thick with the electricity of what had just happened. Your lips still tingled from his kiss, and your mind raced with thoughts of what it all meant. The brief interlude in the kitchen had only heightened the tension between you two, making it even more challenging to act normal in front of everyone else.

Hugh, ever the master of composure, seemed to slip effortlessly back into the role of charming guest as you both rejoined the gathering. He held the door open for you with a polite smile, his fingers lightly brushing your lower back as you walked past him, a subtle but deliberate touch that sent another shiver down your spine. You returned to your seat, trying to focus on the conversations around you, but the awareness of Hugh’s presence next to you made it almost impossible to concentrate.

As everyone began to dig into their plates, you caught Hugh stealing another glance at you, this one quick and loaded with meaning. His eyes held a promise of more to come, a silent acknowledgment that what had happened in the kitchen was only a prelude. You knew that he was just as affected as you were, despite the cool, collected exterior he presented to the others.

Ryan, ever the attentive host, began recounting a funny story from a recent project, his animated gestures drawing the group’s attention. The table erupted in laughter, and for a moment, you found yourself caught up in the light-heartedness of the scene, the warmth of the summer day, and the companionship shared among friends. But the laughter also provided a perfect cover for the way Hugh subtly leaned closer to you under the disguise of reaching for something on the table.

A few minutes passed as you tried to engage in small talk, but Hugh was far from done with you. Under the table, where no one could see, his knee brushed against yours again, this time with more purpose. You felt the familiar jolt of electricity shoot through your body, and you had to bite your lip to keep your reaction in check. It was a simple touch, yet it carried all the weight of the unspoken desire simmering between you.

As the conversation around the table continued, you felt Hugh’s hand slowly make its way to your thigh, his fingers ghosting over your skin with deliberate slowness. The heat of his palm seeped through the thin fabric of your dress, making it difficult to concentrate on anything else. Your breath hitched involuntarily as his hand inched higher, his fingertips tracing a path that left a trail of fire in their wake.

He leaned in closer, pretending to reach for something across the table, but his hand didn’t stop its upward journey. His fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, causing a shiver to run down your spine. You glanced around nervously, but everyone was still engrossed in their own conversations, oblivious to the secret touches happening beneath the table.

Hugh’s hand slid further up, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest as he reached the edge of your panties. You tried to maintain a steady expression, but when his fingers finally grazed your core, you couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped your lips. The fabric of your panties was already damp with arousal, and Hugh’s touch sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body.

He paused for a moment, just long enough for you to catch your breath, before he gently pressed his fingers against the soaked fabric. The pressure was light, almost teasing, but it was enough to make your hips involuntarily shift toward his hand, craving more.

Hugh’s breath was warm against your ear as he leaned in, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You’re so wet,” he murmured, his tone a mix of amusement and desire. “I knew that dress would drive you crazy, but I didn’t realize just how much.”

His words, spoken so close to your ear that only you could hear them, sent a rush of blood to your cheeks. You felt the heat pooling between your legs intensify as he continued to tease you with the slightest pressure of his fingers, still hidden from view beneath the table. Your breathing grew shallow, and it took every ounce of willpower not to react too obviously, not to let on that anything out of the ordinary was happening.

Hugh’s fingers began to move in slow, deliberate circles, rubbing against your core with just enough force to keep you on the edge of losing control. Your grip on the edge of the table tightened as you fought to maintain composure, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of his touch and the thrill of being so close to getting caught. Every nerve in your body was focused on the secret, sinful pleasure he was giving you, even as you struggled to keep up the pretence of casual conversation.

“Do you like this?” Hugh whispered, his voice low and filled with a dark, teasing edge. “I can feel how much you want it, how much you’re enjoying this.” His words were a wicked reminder of how exposed you were, how easily anyone could discover what he was doing to you, and that thought only heightened your arousal.

You swallowed hard, unable to form a coherent response, your mind fogged by the haze of desire. All you could manage was a slight nod, your breath coming in quick, shallow bursts as his fingers pressed harder against your aching core. The friction was maddeningly perfect, and you knew you were close to losing control entirely.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, Hugh’s fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your panties, finally touching your slick folds directly. The sensation was almost too much, and your entire body tensed in response. You bit down hard on your lip to stifle the moan that threatened to escape when suddenly , Hugh abruptly withdrew his fingers, leaving you breathless and aching with need.

Your eyes flew open in surprise, and you turned to look at him, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you tried to understand why he had stopped. The ghost of a smirk played on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of his control over your body and the pleasure he had just denied you. You bit back a frustrated whimper, trying to regain your composure even as your body throbbed with unfulfilled desire.

At that exact moment, Blake appeared from the kitchen, carrying a tray piled high with slices of her famous pies, topped with generous dollops of whipped cream. The children cheered in excitement as she set the tray down in the center of the table, oblivious to the charged atmosphere between you and Hugh.

As everyone eagerly reached for the desserts, you struggled to focus on anything other than the way your body still hummed with the need for release. You watched, heart pounding, as Hugh casually leaned forward, his demeanour cool and composed as he joined the others in serving himself a slice of pie. But then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he dipped his finger into a small dollop of whipped cream that had spilled onto the table.

Your breath hitched as you watched in stunned silence, realizing exactly what he was about to do. With a deliberate slowness that seemed designed to drive you wild, Hugh brought his finger to his lips, the very finger that had just been inside you, coated with both your arousal and the sweet cream from the dessert.

His eyes met yours as he slipped the finger into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it to savour the taste. The look in his eyes was dark, almost predatory, as he held your gaze, a silent reminder of the power he held over you. The sight of him licking your juices mixed with the whipped cream off his finger sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, and you had to press your thighs together under the table to keep from squirming.

The whole scene was over in a matter of seconds, but it felt like an eternity. No one else at the table seemed to notice the intimate, charged exchange happening between you two, too engrossed in their desserts and conversations. But you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Hugh, the knowledge that he had just tasted both the sweetness of the dessert and the evidence of your arousal making your pulse race.

Hugh finally withdrew his finger from his mouth with a satisfied hum, a wicked glint in his eyes as he reached for his fork to dig into his slice of pie. He was the picture of nonchalance, as if he hadn’t just left you trembling with desire under the table, your body aching for the release he had so cruelly withheld.

You attempted to collect your thoughts while reaching for your own dessert with hands that were slightly unsteady. But the taste of the pie was bland compared to the lingering heat in your body, the aching emptiness that only Hugh could fill. Every bite was a reminder of what had just happened, and what hadn’t, leaving you both frustrated and desperate for more.

As the evening wore on, the atmosphere became even more relaxed, with guests gradually drifting away from the dinner table and settling into comfortable spots around the house. Some gathered in the living room, chatting softly over glasses of wine, while others lingered on the patio, enjoying the cool evening air. The kids were tucked away in a separate room, lost in their own world as they watched a movie, their laughter and shouts of excitement occasionally filtering through the house.

The shift in the evening’s tone provided the perfect cover for you and Hugh. The subtle touches and heated glances exchanged throughout the night had built up an almost unbearable tension between you two. With everyone now scattered and deeply engaged in their own conversations, the opportunity to slip away unnoticed was too tempting to resist.

You caught Hugh’s eye across the room, and the silent understanding passed between you. He gave you a slight nod, and your heart skipped a beat in anticipation. With a casual stretch and a smile, you excused yourself from the group you were chatting with, mentioning something about needing a moment to yourself. No one paid you much mind as you walked through the house, your footsteps quiet on the hardwood floors.

Your pulse quickened as you headed towards a guest room at the far end of the hallway, a room that you knew would be empty and offer the privacy you both craved. The house was quiet here, the distant hum of conversation from the other rooms fading into the background as you reached for the door. You slipped inside, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves as you waited, the door clicking softly shut behind you.

The look in his eyes was intense, filled with the same desire that had been simmering between you all evening. Without a word, he crossed the room, his hands reaching for you the moment he was close enough.

In an instant, his lips were on yours, the kiss filled with all the passion and longing that had been building up between you. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you tightly against him as the kiss deepened, his body pressing into yours with a need that matched your own. The world outside that room ceased to exist. All that mattered was the feel of his lips, the heat of his body, and the way his hands roamed over your curves as if he couldn’t get enough.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” Hugh murmured against your lips, his voice husky with desire. “That dress... the way you looked at me... I’ve been counting the minutes until I could get you alone.”

You gasped as his hands slid down to your thighs, lifting the hem of your dress as he pressed his body even closer to yours. The heat between you was undeniable, the electricity in the air almost tangible as his touch sent shivers down your spine. His hands moved with purpose, sliding up your thighs, brushing against your hips, and finally slipping beneath your panties.

His fingers found you easily, the wetness there a clear sign of how much you had wanted this. You couldn’t stifle the small moan that escaped your lips as he teased you, his touch light and maddeningly slow. The sensation was almost too much, and you gripped his shoulders for support, your body trembling with the intensity of your need.

“Still so wet,” Hugh’s voice dropped to a husky whisper as he leaned in, his breath hot against the sensitive skin of your ear. His words sent a shiver down your spine, the promise they held making your pulse race. “I knew you’d be thinking about what we started.”

His fingers moved with a practiced skill, tracing delicate patterns that left your skin tingling with anticipation. The intensity of his touch heightened every sensation, your breath catching as he expertly drew you closer and closer to that sweet edge. Your heart pounded, and your body responded eagerly, arching into his touch, desperate for more.

But just as you felt the brink of release approaching, Hugh’s hand stilled again. He pulled away with infuriating calm, leaving you breathless and aching once more . A tear fell from your eye and a low moan of protest escaped your lips as the tension in your body remained agonizingly unfulfilled.

“Not yet,” he murmured, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest. The sound was thick with amusement and control, a clear indication that he was enjoying the power he held over your pleasure. His voice, smooth and taunting, sent another wave of heat coursing through you, only adding to the frustration and longing he had expertly built up within you.

Before you could even begin to voice your protest, Hugh stepped back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours, watching every flicker of emotion that played across your face. The intensity in his gaze was almost overwhelming—a dark hunger that matched the desire burning inside you. His eyes glittered with a primal need, yet there was a patience there, a determination to savour every moment, to make you wait until he decided it was time.

He leaned in once more, capturing your lips in a deep, searing kiss that stole your breath away. His lips were insistent, claiming you with a passion that made your knees weak. The kiss deepened, his tongue tangling with yours in a dance that left you dizzy with want. His hands were everywhere, tracing the curves of your body, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t stand the distance between you.

As he guided you towards the bed in the center of the room, everything else faded into the background. The distant murmur of the party, the music, and laughter were nothing but a muffled hum, a world away from the intoxicating bubble that had enveloped the two of you. It was as if time itself had slowed, every touch and every whispered word heightening your senses, making you crave him more with each passing second.

With a growl that reverberated deep in his chest, Hugh grabbed you, his hands firm as he effortlessly lifted you off the ground. His strength took your breath away, his movements rough yet controlled as he set you down on the edge of the dresser in the guest room. The force of it made something on the dresser topple over, the sharp sound of breaking glass cutting through the air as the vase shattered on the floor. But neither of you cared, too lost in the heat of the moment to spare even a glance at the mess you’d made.

“I’ll find an excuse for that,” Hugh murmured against your mouth, his voice rough with desire as he cupped your face, his thumb brushing against your lips. The proximity of his body, the scent of him, sent your mind spiraling into a haze of lust. As his hands moved down to grip your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh, you could feel the tension in his body, the barely restrained hunger that radiated off him in waves.

“Fuck, that dress is really too cute to rip off of you,” he muttered, his voice thick with both frustration and admiration. His eyes roved over your body, taking in every inch of you as you sat perched on the edge of the dresser, legs spread just enough to hint at what lay beneath the fabric of your dress. “And I can’t let you go out naked after this,” he added with a dark chuckle, his gaze flicking back up to meet yours, filled with a mix of amusement and raw desire.

You bit your lip, a shiver running through you at the way his words and his touch made your heart race. The anticipation was almost unbearable, the air around you crackling with the electricity of what was about to happen. Your fingers gripped the edge of the dresser, bracing yourself for whatever he had planned next.

Without warning, Hugh’s hands left your thighs, and he dropped to his knees before you. The sudden movement made your breath hitch, and before you could process what was happening, his hands were on you again, this time sliding up your legs, pushing your dress up higher and higher until it bunched around your waist. He took off your panties and the cool air of the room hit your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Hugh’s breath against your core.

He didn’t waste a second. As if he were a man starved, Hugh leaned in and latched onto you with a fervour that left you gasping. His tongue worked against you in long, deliberate strokes, his lips sealing around your most sensitive spot as he devoured you with a hunger that was both primal and relentless. Every movement of his mouth sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, your head falling back as your fingers instinctively tangled in his hair, gripping tight as you moaned his name.

Everything felt so right in that moment. It was just you and Hugh, the dresser beneath you, and the growing tension in your belly as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. Your legs trembled around him, your body shaking on the brink of release as the intensity of his actions overwhelmed your senses. Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, when you were right on the cusp of falling apart, Hugh’s mouth left your core, and in its place, you felt the sudden intrusion of his fingers.

Three of them, thick and skilled, plunged into you without warning, stretching you in a way that made you cry out, your back arching as your grip on the dresser tightened. The combination of his mouth and his fingers, the way he filled you and sucked on your clit, sent you spiralling into a release so intense it felt like your body was shattering into a million pieces. “Fuck!” you screamed, your voice echoing in the small room as you came hard, the pleasure ripping through you like a tidal wave.

Hugh didn’t let up, his mouth flew to you again, working you through your orgasm, drawing every last bit of pleasure from you until you were left trembling and breathless, slumped against the dresser as your body came down from the high. When he finally pulled back, your thighs were shaking, your skin flushed with the aftermath of your release.

He stood up, his chest heaving as he looked down at you, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “You’re not so quiet now, are you, baby girl?” he whispered, his voice low and teasing, the words sending another shiver down your spine. His face was still flushed, his hair tousled from where your fingers had gripped it, and his lips glistened with evidence of what he’d just done to you.

Your eyes, still wide with the aftershocks of pleasure, slowly travelled down his body, taking in the sight of him standing before you. When your gaze reached his pants, you noticed the way they strained against his obvious arousal, the fabric pulled tight over the hardness that pressed against it. The sight of it made your pulse quicken again, desire flaring back to life even as you struggled to catch your breath.

Hugh followed your gaze, a dark chuckle escaping him as he watched you take in the evidence of his need. “Seems like we’re just getting started,” he murmured, his voice thick with promise as he reached down to unbuckle his belt, the sound of the leather sliding through the loops making your heart skip a beat.

Hugh's belt came undone with a swift motion, the clink of the buckle loud in the quiet room, a stark contrast to the sounds of the party that were now a distant hum beyond the closed door. His eyes were locked on yours, dark with a need that mirrored the heat still simmering inside you. With each second that passed, the tension in the room grew, thick and palpable, as he slowly slid the belt from his pants, letting it drop to the floor with a soft thud.

The way he looked at you made your breath hitch, anticipation coiling tightly in your stomach. He took his time, every movement deliberate, as if he was savouring the moment, drawing out the anticipation until it was almost unbearable. His fingers worked at the button of his pants, the sound of the zipper being pulled down sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you.

Your heart raced as you watched him, your body still tingling from the aftershocks of your recent orgasm, but already, the fire within you was reigniting, fuelled by the sight of him standing before you, his desire for you barely contained. When he finally pushed his pants down, freeing himself from the confines of the fabric, your breath caught in your throat.

He was so hard, his length thick and pulsing with need, the sight of it making your mouth water and your core clench with anticipation. You bit your lip, the desire to feel him inside you, to be filled by him, overwhelming. But Hugh wasn’t in a hurry. He stood there for a moment, letting you take him in, the smirk on his lips growing as he saw the effect he had on you.

“Like what you see?” he asked, his voice dripping with confidence, yet there was a teasing edge to it, as if he already knew the answer.

You nodded, unable to tear your eyes away from him. “Yes,” you breathed, the word coming out more like a whimper, your body aching with the need to feel him against you, inside you.

You smirked to yourself as you slid off the dresser, your legs still shaky from the intensity of your climax. But there was still an edge of desire lingering, a hunger that hadn’t been fully sated. As you landed on your feet, you felt Hugh’s eyes on you, heavy with anticipation, wondering what you were planning next.

As you turned around, you reached down, gripping the hem of your dress and pulling it back up over your waist, exposing your bare ass to him. You could hear his breath hitch as you bent slightly, pushing your hips back, your wet cunt brushing against his still-hard cock. The sensation of his length pressing against you sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but moan softly, rocking your hips to increase the friction.

Hugh’s hands quickly found your hips again, his fingers gripping you firmly as he groaned, the sound deep and filled with renewed desire. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he held himself back, his self-control slipping with every second you teased him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice thick with lust as he let one hand slide down to cup your ass, squeezing it before trailing his fingers teasingly over your slick folds. The gentle touch was almost maddening, your body aching for more, for him to fill you again.

But just as you began to push back harder, desperate for him to take you, Hugh’s fingers stilled on your pussy. His other hand moved to your lower back, pressing you gently forward, making you arch your back even more, exposing yourself fully to him.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against the nape of your neck as he whispered, “Hmm, no, baby. Turn around. I wanna see your pretty face when I fuck you.”

The command in his voice sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your heart racing as you straightened up and turned to face him. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with desire as he watched you with a gaze that made you feel like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

You bit your lip, your body already responding to his words as you reached for him, your hands sliding up his chest before wrapping around his neck. Hugh’s hands found your waist again, pulling you flush against him, his cock brushing against your inner thigh, sending a jolt of anticipation through you.

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was hungry and possessive, his tongue claiming your mouth as his hands roamed over your body. The kiss deepened, becoming more intense, and when he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, his breathing heavy as he looked down at you.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice rough but filled with a softness that made your heart flutter.

Hugh picked you up again and as he set you down on the soft sheets, you felt the cool fabric against your back, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your skin. Hugh stood at the edge of the bed, his naked body on full display, the sight of him making your breath catch in your throat. His cock was still hard, throbbing with need, and the desire in his gaze was almost palpable as he looked down at you.

Your dress, still bunched around your waist, clung to you in a way that accentuated every curve. One of the thin straps had slipped off your shoulder, exposing one breast, the soft fabric clinging to the other as your chest heaved with each breath. Hugh’s eyes darkened with lust as he took in the sight, his gaze lingering on the way your nipple hardened under his scrutiny.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire as he climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and you couldn’t help but shiver in anticipation as he ran his hands up your thighs, spreading them wide.

Hugh leaned in, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck, down to your exposed breast. He took your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. You arched your back, a soft moan escaping your lips as you threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer.

His hands continued to roam over your body, one sliding up to cup your other breast, still covered by your dress, while the other slipped between your thighs, his fingers teasing your entrance, already slick and ready for him. He groaned against your skin, the sound vibrating through your chest as he felt how wet you were, his cock twitching in response.

“Hugh,” you breathed, your voice barely more than a whisper as you rocked your hips up, desperate to feel him inside you again.

“Patience, baby,” he murmured against your skin, his voice laced with a teasing edge as he pulled back slightly, his gaze meeting yours. “I want to take my time with you. Remember?”

But the need between you was too intense, too overwhelming, for either of you to wait any longer. With a growl of barely restrained desire, Hugh positioned himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock brushing against your slick folds. He looked into your eyes, his expression filled with raw hunger, and then he thrust into you in one smooth, powerful motion.

You gasped, your back arching off the bed as he filled you completely, the sensation of him stretching you almost too much, yet exactly what you craved. Hugh groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he began to move, each thrust deep and deliberate, the rhythm slow at first, as if he was savouring the feeling of being inside you.

One of your hands slid down his back, your nails digging into his skin as you urged him on, needing more, needing him to go faster, harder. “Please, Hugh,” you moaned, your voice trembling with the intensity of the pleasure building inside you.

He didn’t need to be told twice. With a low growl, he picked up the pace, his hips slamming into yours with a force that made the bed shake beneath you. Each thrust drove him deeper inside you, the headboard knocking rhythmically against the wall, but the sound was drowned out by the moans , gasps and sweet words that filled the room. “Gosh you are literally made for me” Hugh groaned as he threw his head back in pleasure.

One of the straps of your dress slipped further down your arm, fully exposing your other breast. Hugh’s eyes flickered with something dark and primal as he watched you writhe beneath him, your body completely at his mercy, the sight of your exposed chest only fuelling his desire.

“You look so fucking perfect like this,” he groaned, his voice rough and breathless as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth with the same intensity as his thrusts.

You kissed him back with equal fervour, your hands roaming over his body, feeling the muscles in his back tense with each powerful movement. The friction between your bodies, the way he filled you so completely, pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“Hugh,” you gasped against his mouth, your body trembling with the intensity of the pleasure building inside you. “I’m so close.”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze filled with a hunger that mirrored your own. “I want to see you come for me, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he angled his hips slightly, hitting that perfect spot inside you with each thrust.

That was all it took. With a cry of his name, you tumbled over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you with a force that left you breathless. Your body tightened around him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

Hugh groaned, his pace becoming erratic as he chased his own release, the feeling of you tightening around him pushing him closer and closer. With one final, powerful thrust, he came, his body tensing as he spilled inside you, a low growl escaping his lips as he rode out the waves of his orgasm.

For a moment, the two of you stayed like that, his body pressed against yours, both of you breathing hard as you came down from the high. Hugh’s forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin as he slowly regained his composure.

When he finally pulled back, he looked down at you with a satisfied smirk, his eyes still dark with the remnants of desire. The strap of your dress was still hanging off your shoulder, your chest rising and falling with each heavy breath, and the sight made his smirk widen.

“You’re absolutely stunning,” he whispered, his voice rough but filled with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips, his hands brushing over your skin as if committing every inch of you to memory.

You smiled up at him, your body still trembling slightly from the intensity of what had just happened. “So are you,” you whispered back, your voice laced with exhaustion but also with deep satisfaction.

Hugh chuckled softly, his hands sliding up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks. “We should do this more often,” he teased, his lips quirking up into a playful grin.

You laughed softly, the sound light and filled with contentment. “I wouldn’t mind that, it’s very thrilling” you admitted, leaning in to press another soft kiss to his lips.

As you and Hugh made your way back down the hallway, the sounds of the party grew louder, a stark contrast to the intimate moments you had just shared. Your pulse was still racing, your skin tingling from where his hands had been. Despite the flush in your cheeks, you couldn't help but tease him, a playful glint in your eyes.

“Do you think they would’ve noticed that we were gone?” you asked, your voice soft but filled with amusement as you looked up at him. Hugh smirked, his hand resting firmly on the small of your back, guiding you with a confidence that made your heart skip a beat.

“We did spend a long time in there,” he replied, his tone rich with a knowing edge that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. The memory of his hands on your body, the way he had claimed you with such fervour, was still vivid in your mind, and you bit your lip to keep a satisfied smile from spreading across your face.

As you reached the door leading back to the main living area, you paused for just a moment, your hand resting on the doorknob. The noise from the party, laughter, music, the clinking of glasses,reminded you that you'd have to face everyone again. You took a deep breath, hoping your slightly dishevelled appearance wouldn’t give away the passionate encounter you’d just shared.

When you finally opened the door and stepped back into the room, your eyes immediately met Blake’s across the crowded space. Her eyes were sharp, and a slight, knowing smirk played on her lips as she took in the sight of you and Hugh rejoining the group. Blake, ever perceptive, clearly had an idea of what had kept the two of you away for so long. The way her gaze lingered on you sent a flush of warmth to your cheeks, and you quickly looked away, busying yourself by smoothing down your dress.

Hugh’s hand gave your back a reassuring squeeze before he reluctantly stepped away, moving across the room to join Ryan, who was standing near the bar. You could feel Blake’s gaze still on you, her expression amused but understanding, almost as if she was silently saying, I won’t tell a soul, but I know.

You tried to shake off the feeling of being watched and focused on Hugh, who had reached Ryan and was immediately greeted with a hearty slap on the back.

“There he is!” Ryan exclaimed with a grin, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Where’d you disappear to, mate? We were starting to think you both got lost.” he said in his best Australian accent.

Hugh laughed, his expression easy and confident despite the tension you could see in his eyes. “Just needed a bit of fresh air,” he said smoothly, but the slight curve of his lips hinted at more. You could tell he was trying to play it cool, though there was a flicker of something else behind his smile.

Ryan wasn’t buying it, though. He narrowed his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he took a sip of his drink. But then his gaze shifted slightly, landing on you, and his eyes narrowed in on something at your neck.

“Hold on,” Ryan said, his voice laced with amusement as he set his glass down with a soft clink. His eyes locked onto the side of your neck, and a mischievous grin spread across his face. “Be honest, Hugh, did you do that, you beast?”

Confused, you instinctively reached up to touch your neck. The moment your fingers brushed over the tender spot, your heart sank. You remembered how Hugh’s mouth had lingered there, how he’d sucked on your skin until you moaned. The realization that he’d left a mark—a very visible hickey—made your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Hugh’s eyes widened slightly as he realized what Ryan was talking about, and for a split second, you saw the nervousness in his eyes. But then he let out a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at you with a guilty smile. “Uh… yeah, I might have gotten a little carried away,” he admitted, his tone both apologetic and playful.

Ryan burst out laughing, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “You’ve got some nerve, man,” he teased, clapping Hugh on the shoulder. “Next time, try not to leave evidence.”

Your face was on fire, and you quickly looked away, trying to hide your embarrassment. But Hugh, ever the charmer, quickly changed the subject, leaning in to say something to Ryan that made him chuckle and shift his attention away from you. But even as the two of them continued their banter, you couldn’t shake the awareness of the hickey on your neck, a physical reminder of the heated passion you and Hugh had shared just moments before.

The party continued on as if nothing had happened, with everyone else seemingly oblivious to the charged undercurrent between you and Hugh. But with every glance, every casual brush of his hand against yours, it was impossible to ignore the unspoken connection that lingered between you. The memory of what had just transpired was still fresh, the desire far from sated

taglist (dm if u wanna be added): @ermlady @elloredef @haytchee @melaninjoys @megangovier @blue2jay @hearts4suri @narniabusinessbitch @jadenlyday25 @getmeoutofhell @rockytheluver @stark-ironman

#hugh jackman #hugh jackman smut #wolverine #wolverine smut #marvel smut #wolverine and deadpool #logan howlett #logan howlett smut #marvel

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arc-hus · 2 years ago

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New School, Villorsonnens, Switzerland - TED’A Arquitectes & Rapin Saiz

http://tedaarquitectes.com/

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athenaismdb · 1 year ago

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paepaerest · 4 months ago

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doodle dump and human designs for a particular AU work in progress

These were made in our lord 2024 but only a few months ago, who knows if most of these designs have been revamped lol and here are some thoughts!

Dictatious - I wanted to edge-ify his design in the most simplest way and also make him look kinda endearing. I kept some of his troll form's features (ie: like his weirdly-shaped jawline, "stubble", hair,) and tried to replicate it in his human form in a way that would work, yet make him not look too trollish or too indistinguishable. Excessive piercings as a bonus and a frankenstein-hairdo, he's definitely a nosferatu freak and listens to type o negative/the cure.

Gunmar & Bular - Gunmar has two colored versions where he's in a yellow phase so he wears a yellow shirt and dyes his hair yellow, change his eye-contacts... Vice versa with blue, this change is very prominent and important to the plot but also, not going to lie Gunmar, it's a little gay. I couldn't imagine him with a lighter-skin tone or it would've looked a bit off (as well with the rest of his colours), so I managed to play around with his iconic troll colors while sticking true with how I wanted him to look like. Bular, oh my goodness I was reading The Secret History of Trollkind and there was a panel where Argh had done him some damage to his right upper lip, kinda badass. Had to add it onto his design, as it is very important to the storyline. If you've noticed, I tried to shape their hairstyles to look similar to their troll horns.

Ursuna - I'm a little bias towards her (you'll see a pattern with the others, lol) and she's not going down without feeling pretty. I wanted her beauty to balance with her charismatic 'leadership' and make her someone you'd least expect to be a villian, or already suspect she is one. Yes, she'll do drag. Yes, she is mother. No, I do not support her actions.

Angor Rot - His hair-do following the same inspiration from his troll form's horns, I imagine he'd style his own hairstyle and give himself braids. He's a true entrepreneur, and still is very magical! He carves voodoo stones etc etc, call him a false prophet or call out on his facade... nothing is going to happen, lol (Still, pack up & move out to a new country for good measure!) Someone put him in a retirement home, he is TIRED.

Gremlin - I spy with my little eye, the random french guy behind Gunmar & Bular. He is specifically the gremlin who draws a moustache onto his face while he trolls around with an alphabet kid's toy. (Yeah he has experienced death once)

NotEnrique/Rique - I don't know, I wanted to make him a normal guy. Who looks like a kid, but is actually almost in his 30's with a heavy boston-scottish accent ? he's a punk.

Draal - He has a new design now, but I thought it'd be nice to bring up his older design. Adidas pants, that says it all. Over-competitive and an over-achiever. He doesn't care about trends, just wears whatever is comfortable and it happens to be a brand clothing. I wanted to give him a fur-coat to resemble his troll form's spiky back, and keep his cool prosthetic arm. He's like the Costco guys with his dad but angrier

Kanjigar - A friend said he looked like he'd live in the suburbs. I see it. An arguably good father (that part seems to be controversial), I wanted to give him a Walter White vibe, while he is supposed to represent the Police.

Argh/Arthur - Big guy, build is a little wider and heavier, still has a muscular build, overall he's changed since. He used to have a slimmer, more muscular build when he was still working under Gunmar, call that an improvement. I got inspired by other people's human designs of Argh and HAD to design how I would see Argh. (I had an Argh/Blinky ao3 binge-reading phase, kiwibird being one of them aaah)

Vendel - A majestic wise old man, managed to keep his hair that long for over a decade. Gave him a skirt, he's kinda giving irish I think. In my defense, he had red-hair when he was younger. (Shown in The Secret History of Trollkind or The Felled !) Treatable hunchback and skin cancer, he and the hospital bill are opps. Does a lot of good for his community.

Speaking of fanfics, i plan to reread the one that heavily influenced me!!! and to know where I'm getting at please read below: the real thing

#paes art dump #paepaerest art #trollhunters #chit chat #I apologize for the long text post #I appreciate if you've read it all #Inspired by multiple fanfics under the same creator #i don't mean to water down the characters as i'm giving bullet points of my reasoning for the designs #for some reason my hyperfixation with these human designs is through the roof I can't help it GUH

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thehighpriestess1 · 4 months ago

Text

Make a wish: New beginnings

Genre: Angst, Fluff

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

Warnings: Angst, Mentions gun, Su!c!de mention

Ask Box | Previous Chapter | FIC Masterlist | Other works

A wide smile was plastered on your face as you pedaled through the streets, the wind playfully tousling your hair. The sun shone brilliantly overhead, casting golden hues on the pavement. You had always loved mornings like these—crisp air, a clear sky, and an exhilarating sense of new beginnings. Today was different, though. Today wasn’t just any morning; it was the start of a new chapter. The excitement coursing through your veins was undeniable, and nothing could have dampened your energy.

As you maneuvered through the familiar streets, you made sure to greet everyone you crossed paths with—a nod to the elderly woman tending to her potted plants, a cheerful wave to the café owner who was arranging fresh pastries in the window, and even a quick “Good morning!” to the jogger you always saw on your morning rides. It felt surreal to be here, to be moving forward after all those years stuck at Domain. That lingering “what if” that had haunted your thoughts was finally being answered. The uncertainty that had once held you back no longer had any power over you. Today, you were stepping into something new, something filled with potential.

You soon arrived at your destination, your heart beating with anticipation and excitement. As you parked your bike and took off your helmet, your eyes locked onto the building in front of you. It was breathtaking—modern yet distinctly Japanese-inspired, exuding both elegance and tranquility. The Golden Ratio logo was carved in gold, standing out against the dark wood facade, almost as if it were welcoming you into its world. Wooden slats were arranged in a structured yet artistic pattern, allowing glimpses of the warm, ambient lighting from within. The entrance walkway was lined with ginkgo trees and occasional black pine, their lush greenery blending harmoniously with the refined architecture. It felt like a place that had been designed not just for work, but for inspiration.

As you stood there, admiring the building and absorbing the reality of your new job, a movement caught your attention. A young man, dressed in a crisp white shirt and loose black-lined pants, approached you with a polite smile. His black lanyard bore the company’s logo, and dangling from it was his ID card. You quickly read his name—Hitoshi.

“Y/n?” he asked, his voice warm and respectful.

“Yes…” you replied, adjusting your bag strap.

“I am Hitoshi! I am here to escort you to the office. Nice to meet you!” He bowed slightly and extended his hand forward.

You returned the bow before shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you too. This is a… lovely place.”

Hitoshi chuckled nervously. “Yes. Nanami-san loves nature, and he was very adamant about maintaining this walkway.”

“I see,” you murmured, clasping your hands in front of you as you followed him through the large screen doors.

“I’m really happy you joined our firm,” Hitoshi continued as he walked beside you.

You giggled. “Me too.”

His enthusiasm seemed to grow as he spoke. “When I saw your portfolio, I knew I wanted to work with you! Your projects are so creative and witty. They make people think and create an emotional connection between the product and the customer. It’s so clever!”

“Oh… I’m glad you think I’m clever.” You chuckled, feeling both flattered and slightly amused at his excitement.

Hitoshi’s eyes practically sparkled as he went on, like a child who had just met their favorite superhero. “I asked Nanami-san to place me in your department. I will be your junior, and I have so much to learn from you! I’m just an undergraduate student, but this is my third summer internship with Golden Ratio. I’m determined to work here full-time one day. Please feel free to make me run around as much as you want—I am at your service!”

His sincerity made you smile. It was rare to see such enthusiasm so openly displayed, and it reminded you of when you first started out—brimming with ideas, eager to prove yourself, and ready to soak up every bit of knowledge you could find. It was endearing to see that kind of passion reflected in someone else.

“Well, Hitoshi,” you said, looking at him with amusement, “I hope you don’t regret saying that.”

He laughed. “Never! I mean it. I want to be useful, so please don’t hesitate to give me tasks.”

You nodded, appreciating his enthusiasm. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As you walked deeper into the building, the serene atmosphere embraced you. The scent of cedarwood lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of freshly brewed tea. The walls were adorned with minimalist art—subtle brush strokes that depicted landscapes and abstract designs. Everything about this place felt carefully curated, balancing modernity with tradition.

Hitoshi led you down a sleek hallway, stopping in front of a door with your nameplate already mounted on it. Seeing your name there, officially part of Golden Ratio, sent a thrill through you. This was real. This was happening.

“Here we are,” Hitoshi announced, opening the door for you.

You stepped inside, taking in the cozy yet professional space—large windows letting in natural light, a tidy desk waiting for you, and a small bookshelf already stocked with materials. A new beginning.

Turning to Hitoshi, you grinned. “Well then, let’s get to work.”

He beamed. “Yes! Let’s!”

And with that, your journey at Golden Ratio truly began.

His excitement made your laugh. It was pure innocent excitement to do something creative and it resonated with you. Hitoshi tapped his card and opened another screen door for you.

Compared to the facade, the interiors had modern design. However the decor was traditional Japanese and the common areas looked like a traditional tea house engulfed by a modern cafe.

“Where do I get my ID card from?”. You asked Hitoshi as the two of you entered the elevator.

“Oh yes! I have it ready for you in your cabin. I was so excited to meet you. I didn't want to waste time at the HR”. Hitoshi admitted and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Nanami-san is at a client meeting but he will meet you after lunch. He always makes time to meet each new employee. He is my idol! My final year design project is based on his design principle. Oh by the way, I am a product designer. Well a product design intern for now”.

You nodded and smiled. His childlike enthusiasm reminded you of your brother. “I am sure you are very talented!”.

The elevator doors opened to a courtyard surrounded by glass walls. The stone walkway was lined with tiny bonsai trees and koi ponds on either side.

Hitoshi pointed upwards,”The roofs of this open area are retractable. When it is too sunny or raining we bring them back up! And we can even adjust them to allow as much light as we want. Today is a pleasant day so even the fishes get to enjoy it”

“This is one the most beautiful offices I have ever seen!”. You admitted. The atmosphere throughout the office felt tranquil.

As you followed Hitoshi through different corridors you noticed the walls lined with framed awards and recognition. However you didn’t see a single photo with Nanami alone. It was always with a team and he was standing on the side.

“This is your office!”. Hitoshi opened a glass door and smiled widely at you.

You stepped inside and took a deep breath. This was a new start to your life.

The office itself was smaller than your older office, if you can even call it your previous office, But it was well lit and felt welcoming. The office cabin exuded a sense of tranquility and refined simplicity, blending traditional Japanese aesthetics with modern functionality. Bathed in warm, golden sunlight filtering through expansive shoji-style windows, the room felt open yet intimate. The wooden ceiling, adorned with exposed beams, added a rustic charm, while the polished wooden floor enhances the space’s elegance. At the heart of the room stood a sleek yet minimalist wooden desk, accompanied by a modern ergonomic chair. Above the desk, a delicate hanging lamp casted a soft glow, complementing the natural light.

To the left, a sliding wooden lattice door led to another section of the office, maintaining privacy while preserving the openness of the space. Against the far wall, a scroll featuring traditional Japanese ink painting hung gracefully, adding a touch of cultural depth. A carefully placed bonsai tree in the corner breathed life into the room, reinforcing the connection to nature.

As you made your way around the desk and ran your fingers along the edge of the chair you noticed that you could see the main lobby clearly from your chair. Hitoshi noticed your observation and walked over to the side of the desk, “If you want privacy then you can press this button and the glass door will become opaque”. He pressed a small button under the desk and the glass door became opaque in an instant.

“I see. This is beautiful”.

Hitosi pulled out a drawer and took out a docket. “This is your ID card”. He handed you the ID card with the same Lanyard as his. “You can wear it however you want but you will need it to access all the rooms in the office”.

You took the ID card and saw your smiling face with your employee ID, birth date, and a barcode on it. “Thank you”.

Hitoshi removed a sleek folder from the main docket and placed it on the desk. “This is a brief for the new Project. Nanami-san wanted to hear your thoughts on it later in the day. He said it is not a rush and you should take your time settling in”.

You nodded and picked up the brown file. “No worries. This would give me something to do today”. You smiled.

Hitoshi nodded happily. “This is your induction document. It has some forms that you need to fill for your emergency contact and insurance. It also has a brief overview of the firm and our past projects so feel free to go through that. I think you will find it interesting”.

“I see”.

Hitoshi placed the thicker document on the table and clapped his hands, “Well I will leave you to it. Oh and if you need anything then please call me”. Hitoshi extended his work card with both hands and you took it with a bow. “It has my mobile and office number so…call me on any. I am here to help you”.

“Okay”.

“Oh and this is your laptop, The login id and password are in your induction file. We all have lunch together in the cafeteria together at 12:30 PM sp please join us. You can meet the rest of the team!”.

“Sure I would love to!”.

“Great, then enjoy your day and explore!”. Hitoshi gave you a courteous bow and left your office.

You took a deep breath and plopped down the chair. As happy as you were you had an unsettling feeling that something was about to happen. You had erased the path that led you to Gojo but does this mean that you will never see him again? You tried hard to recollect what the man had told you, “Redo your fate…”. Did that mean that you could completely erase Gojo or did it mean something else.

By the time lunch time rolled around you had finished going through the project brief and finished your formalities. The firm was quite smaller compared to the domain with only 120 people working here. You even took a video of your new office and sent it to your mom who was in awe of how beautiful it was.

“y/n!!”. Hitoshi called out to you and waved his hand when he saw you walking through the doors of the cafeteria.

You made your way to the long wood table where everyone was sitting. “Hello everyone, I am y/n. Nice to meet you all”. You bowed as you introduced yourself.

Everyone bowed in return and welcomed you to sit with them. “This is maya”. Hitoshi pointed to a blue haired girl. “She handles our digital marketing so you will work closely with her”.

“Nice to meet you y/n-san! Hitoshi has said such good things about you. I look forward to working with you”.

“Nice to meet you Maya. Please call me y/n”.

“This is Juno,” Hitoshi pointed to a brown haired, spectacled guy in a crisp blue shirt. “He works in accounting”.

“Nice to meet you Juno”.

Juno smiled politely and bowed in return.

“He doesn’t talk much but he is really good with numbers!”. Hitoshi continued. “And he is dating Maya”.

Both Juno and Maya turned pink. “Congratulations!”. You smiled at the couple.

“This is Suzume,”Hitoshi pointed to the girl with a ponytail and rimless glasses. She handles appointments and office administrators. If you need anything, she will help you”.

“Nice to meet you Suzume”.

“Nice to meet you too y/n. I hope you didn’t have trouble settling in”.

“No. None at all. Hitoshi was very kind and gave me a tour of the office”.

She smiled, “If you ever need anything please reach out to me. I will be happy to help you”.

“Thank you”.

"Welcome to the gang!”. Hitohsi exclaimed with jazz hands.

The lunch was filled with chatter about office gossip and latest projects. But you didn’t feel left out at all. Everyone happily shared context to every gossip, sometimes even talking over one another. Juno was the quietest of the lot but everytime he spoke he sent everyone laughing till their stomachs hurt. You could tell that the group was very close but not exclusive. Their unique personalities blended well together and Hitoshi felt like the glue that held everyone together.

After lunch everyone went for coffee and a small stroll around the garden and it gave you an opportunity to get to know everyone individually. You exchanged numbers and social media id with everyone even Juno who had only two posts and both were with Maya, which was endearing. Suzume, though she looked stoic, loved to chat about anything and everything. Maya and Hitoshi were like siblings who were always bickering. Juno was a man of few words but he was not cold. He spoke about the office and how he met Maya, you could tell he was really warm and loving man.

As you made your way back to your office your phone buzzed in your pocket. It was an unknown number but it seemed familiar. Maybe it was someone from the group.

“Hello?”.

…..

“Hello? This is y/n..”

….

You frowned and stared at the number.

“Nanami-san?”

The person on the other side cut the call. You shrugged and put your phone back in your pocket.

You stood outside Nanami’s cabin staring at the plaque on the door. You were nervous about meeting him despite Hitoshi assuring you that he is a kind and generous person. You raised your fist and gently tapped on the wooden door.

“Come in”. A stern voice replied from the other end.

You turned the knob gently and walked in. “Hi, I am..”

“y/n. Yes. I am Kento Nanami. Nice to meet you finally”. Nanami got up and bowed at you.

“Hi. Nice to meet you too”. You smiled and relaxed.

He motioned towards the seat and you sat across from him.

“How was your first day?”.

“It was good. Hitoshi introduced me to some people and also gave me a tour”.

“Oh he is very excited about working with you. He is talented but talks a lot”. Nanami chuckled and his eyes glinted like a proud father teasing his child.

“Yes he did”. You felt a bit nervous now that you had gotten a good look at Nanami. He was exceptionally good looking. His crisp blue shirt clung to his well built torso. His blond hair shimmered in the light and was set very neatly on top of his head. He had a calming and respectful presence. Even his office was neatly organized and well kept.

“Are you settled in? There were some formalities for the HR”.

“Yes I submitted the forms right before coming here actually”.

“That’s great. How has your day been so far?”.

“Quite good. I went through the project brief that you had sent”. “Oh yes. But before we discuss that I would like to get to know you. What are your ambitions and dreams? And above all, what can my firm do to support you?”.

You were taken aback by his question. No one had ever asked you what you wanted let alone wanted to support you. “I..I just want to do meaningful and creative work. I want to ..help businesses grow through strategic creativity. I am not overly ambitious with respect to position and pay. As long as I can create value and support my family I am happy”.

Nanami pondered over your words for a while and the silence made you question your answer. But your anxiousness was soon washed away by his warm smile. “That is a refreshing answer. I have asked this question to many people and very few have ever given me a genuine answer. I look forward to working with you”.

You smiled widely. “Thank You”.

“So are you from Kyoto?”. Nanami asked.

“Yes and No. I was born and raised in Tokyo but moved to Kyoto 5 years ago for my family. But I love it here”.

“Oh I see. I am also not a native but moved here around the same time as you did”. He added.

“What brought you to Kyoto?”

Nanami leaned back in his chair and he thought about it for a while. He had spent so much time here that he had almost forgotten why he moved here. “For some peace and quiet. The firm I was working with in Tokyo was good and quite well paying but money isn’t everything. Once I had earned enough to move here I packed my bags and left the city”.

You nodded.”But why..Kyoto? If you don’t mind me asking”.

Nanami chuckled. “My Grandmother was from here and I remember visiting her as a child and falling in love with the culture and architecture. In some ways it inspired me to do what I am doing”.

“I can understand. Beauty of the architecture here is unmatched in my opinion. It compels me to take a step back and observe and be present but at the same time brings the creativity out of me”.

Nanami looked at you and gave a satisfying smile. “I couldn’t agree more”.

A light tap on the door broke the comfortable silence in the room.

“Come in”. Nanami said and sat up straight in his seat.

A petite girl with a bob cut peaked her head in through the gap, “Sorry to disturb you, but..Kasumi-san is on the phone”.

“I will take my leave”. You got up and bowed. “I hope to speak to you again”.

“Yes. Thank you for stopping by. If you need anything please reach out to me”. Nanami replied with a professional smile.

“Yes”.

You rode back home with a smile on your face. You felt content..mostly. These were good people. Honest people. You knew that not all days would be good but you would rather go through the bad days with good people than good days with the bad ones. But something was tugging at your heart and you couldn’t understand what. Maybe you were scared that all of this was a dream and when you woke up you would be back in the alley drunk and miserable. But this was real. The air on your face was real. The grip on your bike handle was real. The sight pain in your left shoulder was real. Nanami was real. Histoshi was real.

As you parked your bike near the garage, you could hear the chatter form the television inside and the light chatter between your mom and brother seeping through the walls. This was real.

“I am home!”. You announced as you took your shoes off and slipped into your house slipper.

“Welcome home! Dinner is almost ready! How was your first day?”. Your mother called from the kitchen.

You walked in the living room and saw your brother sitting in front of the television with his eyes glued. He looked up at you briefly and then back to the television. Were you the same as a teenager? So brooding.

“It was good”. You kept your bag on the couch and plopped down next to your brother.

“Did you make any new friends?”. Your mom asked as she made her way in the living room with a tray and gently put the glass of water on the table.

You chuckled. “Mom, I am not in school anymore. But, yes I did make new friends”.

Ren looked at you through the corner of his eyes, “Are they all nerdy like you?”.

You threw a cushion at him, “At least I have friends”.

“Enough you two! I washed these cushions today! y/n go wash up and come for dinner”.

As you sat down to eat dinner you felt grateful for the choice you had made. Seeing your mom and brother happy made it all worth it. “Mom, there are tomatoes in the curry!”. You whined.

“Oh god y/n. You should eat tomatoes. They are in season and good for you”.

“She is such a child”. Ren chuckled.

“Do you want that new game or not?”.

“You are the best sister in the world”. Ren bowed sarcastically, making you giggle.

You mom put her spoon down and looked at you trying to recollect something.

“What?”. You asked.

“Oh yes! Someone called for you today”.

“For me? Who?”.

“I don’t know. They asked whether you were home and I told them you were at work”.

“Did you ask for their name?”. You asked, eating a spoonful of rice.

“I did.. But they cut the call”.

You shrugged. “Must be the HR confirming my home number”.

“Yeah..but-”.

“Mom”. You tilted your head and looked at her reassuringly. Your mom had an affinity for fussing over these things. “It’s all good”.

“Are you sure?”.

“Yes. I am sure”. You turned to Ren, “How was school?”.

“Good”.

You stared at him prompting him to expand on his reply.

“What?”.

“You were supposed to get your test result today?”.

“Oh Yeah I did. I did alright”.

“Alright?”. You mom scoffed. “He scored the highest y/n! I am so happy!”.

“Oh wow. So there is a brain inside that skull!”. You and your mom giggled. “How about all of us go for a picnic to celebrate this weekend?”.

Ren shook his head. “I have a soccer match”.

“After the match?”. Your mom asked, raising her brows excitedly.

“Maybe..”.

You and your mom exchanged knowing looks as you mimicked his signature brooding expression, causing her to burst into laughter. The sound was warm and familiar, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. It filled your heart with joy, yet beneath the surface, a dull ache lingered. The memory of a conversation from what felt like a past life weighed on your mind. She was a kind woman—selfless, devoted. Was it truly wrong for her to have been ambitious? To have wanted more, after spending her entire life working tirelessly for her children? She was simple at heart, never asking for much. A flawed human, yes, but still the mother you loved with every fiber of your being.

Without a second thought, you crawled closer and wrapped your arms around her, burying your face into her shoulder. The warmth of her embrace was immediate as she instinctively draped an arm over you, her laughter fading into quiet concern.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” she asked, her voice gentle yet firm.

A lump formed in your throat, making it impossible to speak. You simply nodded, gripping the fabric of her sleeve a little tighter.

“Can you stop being so emo?” Ren deadpanned from across the table, breaking the silence.

A surprised giggle escaped your lips.

“Dick!” You shot back, sniffling as you leaned back onto your cushion.

“Language, Y/N!” your mom scolded, though there was no real bite to her words.

“Sorry… Dick-san,” you corrected yourself, purposefully avoiding her gaze.

Ren couldn’t hold it in anymore—his giggles burst forth, and soon, you joined him. Laughter rippled through the dining room, filling the space with warmth, momentarily washing away the heaviness in your chest.

You walked into your room with a smile on your face, a rare kind of lightness in your steps. The day had been kind to you, filling your chest with a warmth you hadn’t felt in a long time. You placed your bag on your study chair, its usual spot, and let your eyes drift to the blue paper lying on your desk. It was as if it had been waiting for you. You picked it up, running your fingers over the slightly crumpled edges before reading the three words printed on it—Make a wish. A soft sigh escaped your lips as you held it a little longer, as if hoping the words would whisper their magic into your heart.

Without another thought, you slipped the paper under your pillow and crawled into bed. The ceiling above blurred as tears welled up in your eyes, sliding down silently, tracing cold lines on your cheeks. It was only now, in the quiet solitude of your room, that you finally understood—why your heart felt both light and unbearably heavy at the same time. You were happy, yes, but not over him. The realization settled over you like a weight you didn’t know you were still carrying. A part of you despised him, resented the way he had left you tangled in memories you couldn’t escape. And yet, another part—one you wished you could silence—still longed for him. Still wondered why life had given you this moment of happiness but had refused to let you have him too.

A soft chuckle bubbled up through your throat, shaky and bitter, as more tears seeped into your pillow. How greedy of you to want it all. The fatal flaw of human nature—greed. Was that what this was? Wanting happiness and love at the same time, as if the universe hadn’t already decided what you could and couldn’t have? You took a deep, trembling breath, wiping your face as you reached for your phone.

His number. You still remembered it, every digit burned into your mind. Almost unconsciously, your fingers tapped it in, and you stared at the screen, at the sequence of numbers that once connected you to him. The thought crossed your mind like a whisper—If I call now, just to hear his voice… would he pick up? Would he hesitate? Would he sigh before answering? Would he want to talk to you, even now?

Doubt gnawed at you. Should I call? And if he answered… what would I even say?

Your thumb hovered over the call icon, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. It would take just a second, just one small movement to bridge the silence between you.

But before you could tap the screen, your phone vibrated in your hand. A notification flashed across the display.

It was from Nanami.

Nanami: Hello y/n. Sorry for messaging you so late. I apologize for cutting out conversation short today. I would like to continue it. Would you be available to discuss it over lunch sometime?

y/n: Hello. I look forward to continuing our conversation. Will you be out of office tomorrow?

Nanami: Yes. I am flying out tomorrow to meet with a client. I will be back in 2 weeks.

y/n: Good luck for your meeting :) Looking forward to our conversation :)

Nanami: That’s good to hear. I will see you tomorrow. Good Night.

Y/n: Good night.

You stretched your arms above your head as you woke up five minutes before your alarm rang. The soft glow of early morning light filtered through your curtains, casting gentle shadows across your room. Turning off the soon-to-ring alarm, you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before swinging your legs over the side of the bed. A cool breeze drifted in as you opened the window, carrying the crisp scent of the morning air. You took a deep breath, letting the fresh air fill your lungs, a simple but refreshing start to the day.

Over the past few days, you had come to a realization—you needed balance. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well. Life had been moving at a relentless pace, and you often found yourself dwelling on things that had already passed, replaying scenarios in your head that you had no control over anymore. But that had to stop. You had to accept that whatever had to happen, happened. It was in the past, and no amount of overthinking was going to change it. Moving forward, you wanted to be more intentional about your time, about how you took care of yourself.

With Maya’s help, you had finally found some skincare that suited your skin. It had been trial and error for a while, and you had never really paid much attention to it before. But now, cleansing your face and applying a light moisturizer every morning had become a part of your routine—something small, but something that makes you feel good. You also started attending yoga classes three days a week, incorporating morning meditation into your daily schedule. At first, sitting still and focusing on your breath felt unnatural, but as the days went by, you began to enjoy the sense of calm it brought you. It was a slow, grounding practice, a stark contrast to the chaos of daily life.

To be honest, you felt good about it. You had always been skeptical of the so-called "self-care" routines promoted all over social media. It all seemed like a marketing gimmick—just another way to sell overpriced products and push people towards overconsumption. But as you settled into your own routine, you realized that self-care wasn’t about buying things you didn’t need; it was about creating habits that made you feel like a better version of yourself. The clarity that came with a consistent routine was something you hadn’t expected, but you welcomed it.

On top of that, you had started taking a pottery class with Hitoshi. He was exceptionally good at it, his hands shaping the clay with ease, as if it were second nature to him. You, on the other hand, were still figuring things out. You had done some ceramics back in college, but nothing that compared to his skill level. Still, you were determined to keep going. There was something incredibly satisfying about working with your hands, molding something from nothing, watching it take shape. The imperfections didn’t bother you as much as they used to. It was a process, just like everything else in life.

Hobbies, routine, balance—they were all good for you. You were finally starting to understand that.

On the work front, things were looking good as well. Nanami was coming back to the office today, and you were excited to share your project progress with him and get his thoughts on items you were unsure about. His insight always brought a fresh perspective, and you were hoping for some clarity on the lingering issues in your report. So, you packed your bags and got dressed in a navy blue pleated skirt and a light blue sweater to beat the slight chill in the air. Your ever-trusted white sneakers were all ready and waiting at the door as you said your goodbye to your mom and hurriedly stepped out.

The streets looked especially busy today. Lots of black cars with tinted windows lined the roads, idling at the curbs, their drivers standing around, speaking into earpieces or quietly observing passersby. It was a little unusual, but you chalked it up to the trade summit happening in Kyoto this week. You had seen news reports about the influx of foreign delegations and the heightened security measures around the city, so it made sense that the streets were bustling with official-looking vehicles.

As you parked your bike in the usual spot, you noticed that a lot of similar cars were lined outside the office as well. That was strange. Usually, the client visits were low-key, nothing that warranted this level of presence.

“Morning, Y/N!” Maya chirped as she walked up to you, her coffee cup in hand. She was in her usual sleek business-casual attire, her blazer casually draped over her arm.

“Maya! Morning!” You smiled as you locked your bike. Maya and Juno shared an apartment close to the office and often walked in together, so you were surprised to see only Maya today.

“Where’s Juno?” You asked as the two of you began walking towards the office entrance, weaving between the neatly trimmed trees that lined the pathway.

Maya took a sip of her coffee before responding, “He had to come in early today to prepare for the meeting with the big client from Tokyo.”

“New client? I didn’t know about the new cliente.” Your brows furrowed as you pulled out your phone, scrolling through your emails in case you had missed an important announcement.

“Chill.” Maya laughed. “They’re just visiting today. Probably to start a new project in Kyoto, and apparently, they want to collaborate with us to get some street cred.” She giggled, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “You know Juno, he likes to triple-check everything, and the finance team has been lean for a while, so he has to do some extra work.”

“Aaah… I see.” You breathed a sigh of relief. “Looks like an important client, though. I saw a lot of those black cars on my way here. I thought they were here for the summit.”

“Me too!” Maya nodded. “But then Juno told me about this big-shot client. Between the two of us, it’s a multi-million-dollar project. Nanami-san has been trying to get this project for quite some time.”

“Really? What changed?” You asked, curiosity piqued.

Maya shrugged as she tapped her ID card to check in at the entrance. “No one knows. They’ve been rejecting our proposal for two years, and now they’re suddenly ready to move forward.”

You nodded thoughtfully. Even inside, the office was bustling. Employees were gathered in small groups, speaking in hushed tones, some looking over documents, others straightening their suits as if bracing for an important encounter. The energy was different—there was an air of anticipation.

As you walked in, you overheard snippets of conversation. Words like ‘contract finalization,’ ‘strict timeline,’ and ‘biggest deal of the year’ floated through the air. The excitement was palpable.

Juno rushed over, adjusting his tie and holding a tablet. “Y/N! You made it just in time.”

“For what?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“They want to see our project proposal,” Juno said, looking slightly out of breath. “Nanami-san asked if you could present some of your findings on the community project. Apparently, the client is particularly interested in that section.”

Your stomach did a little flip. Present? Today? To a client you didn’t even know was coming until this morning? “Wait, I thought this was just an initial visit,” you said cautiously.

Juno shook his head. “Things are moving fast. They might be signing today if all goes well.”

You exchanged a glance with Maya, who simply grinned and patted your shoulder. “Looks like you’re in the spotlight, Y/N.”

Taking a deep breath, you straightened up. “Alright. Let’s do this.” You were confident that you had done some really good work and hoped that you could make Nanami proud.

Whatever had changed the client’s mind, this was a major opportunity—and you were about to play a part in it.

“Oh I need to check some things with the IT so I will go ahead. Catch you at lunch?”. Maya raised an eyebrow.

“I might be having lunch with Nanami today”. You smiled.

Maya gave you a teasing look. The gang had been teasing you with Nanami ever since the two of you started talking on the phone and texting. You felt giddy but you knew it would take you some time to completely get over him. “It’s a work lunch!”. You added.

“Sure. I believe you!”. Maya rolled her eyes and waved you bye.

Walking up to the elevator you were excited to meet Nanami today. All the talking and texting on the phone over the past two weeks had made you feel a bit closer to him.Even if some conversations were about the analysis you were working on you felt closer to him .You were lost in your thoughts about Nanami when the elevator doors opened.

You looked up, and time stopped.

Standing in front of you, bathed in the soft morning light, was Gojo Satoru. His white hair caught the sun just right, making it glow like a halo, but the smirk tugging at his lips was anything but angelic. He wore his signature blue Zegna sweater and fitted trousers, effortlessly elegant yet impossibly relaxed. His gaze, hidden behind dark-tinted lenses, was trained on you—steady, unreadable, predatory in a way that made your breath hitch.

The elevator doors were about to close when he reached out, pressing a button without breaking eye contact. “Gettin’ in?” His voice was smooth, teasing, dripping with something that made your stomach tighten.

“I… yes.” You swallowed hard and stepped in, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

The doors slid shut, enclosing the two of you in a space suddenly too small, too warm. The silence crackled. You could feel his presence beside you—broad shoulders, lean frame, the faint scent of something expensive and clean, laced with an undertone of danger. His gaze was heavy, deliberate, traveling over you in a way that made your skin burn. You refused to look at him, but your body betrayed you, every nerve ending acutely aware of his proximity.

Your head was spinning so fast that when the elevator gave a tiny jolt, your balance wavered. Your breath hitched as you stumbled slightly only to be caught by firm hands.

One large palm splayed against your waist, the other curling gently around your wrist, steadying you with ease. His grip was firm, warm, the heat of his touch searing through the layers of your clothes. You sucked in a sharp breath, finally daring to look up.

Gojo was watching you, the usual playful smirk nowhere to be seen. Instead, something darker flickered across his face, something unreadable yet entirely consuming. His fingers flexed slightly before he let go, his touch lingering just a second too long.

"Careful," he murmured, voice softer now, but no less dangerous.

When the elevator chimed and the doors slid open to the top floor, you bolted, clutching your bag as if it were a lifeline. You barely registered where you were going, only stopping once you reached your office chair. Exhaling shakily, you forced yourself to focus—until you glanced up and saw him through the transparent door.

Gojo Satoru, still smirking, was walking towards Nanami’s office. But just before disappearing inside, he turned his head—locking eyes with you through the glass.

And this time, you couldn’t look away.

Only when he disappeared behind the door did you finally let out the breath you had been holding. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, heart pounding like a war drum. Beads of sweat rolled down your forehead, sliding down your neck, and your throat felt parched, as if you had swallowed dust. You could still feel the ghost of his touch burning on your waist, a brand that refused to fade. You knew what he was capable of. You knew the kind of power he wielded, the lines he had already crossed. And yet—the butterflies were back. A treacherous warmth spread through your body, leaving you weak at the knees.

Your vision blurred as you stumbled down the dimly lit L-shaped corridor toward the bathroom. A few people greeted you, their voices distant, but you barely managed a nod. Some gave you questioning looks, sensing something was wrong. You didn’t care. You just needed to get away.

The moment you locked the bathroom door behind you, you rushed to the sink. Cold water. That was all you could think about. You splashed it over your face again and again, until your cheeks stung, until strands of your hair were soaked, clinging to your skin. But you didn’t care. You needed to wake up. This had to be some kind of nightmare. Why was he here? What did he want? A thousand thoughts clashed in your mind, each one more terrifying than the last. You wiped the patch of skin he had touched so harshly that you almost gave yourself a rash.

You looked up, meeting your own reflection. The blood had drained from your face, leaving you ghostly pale. You looked like you had aged overnight.

Straightening up, you took a slow, deliberate breath. What were you so afraid of? He didn’t know you. He didn’t know anything about you. He did not exist in your reality.

All you had to do was stay out of his way. Yes, stay out of his way.

Not too hard.

You could do it.

Grabbing a paper towel, you wiped your face, inhaled deeply, and stepped out.

“y/n! Are you seeing this?” Hitoshi exclaimed as you walked into your office, his voice laced with urgency. Maya and Suzume sat on the love seat, looking nervous, their hands clasped together in silent tension.

“What happened?” You asked, your brows knitting together as you looked between them. You sniffled slightly, the remnants of a cold making your throat feel scratchy, before making your way to your chair. The air in the room felt thick, charged with unease.

“The chaos!” Suzume blurted out, her eyes darting towards the large glass windows. “They are everywhere.”

You exhaled, leaning back in your chair. “So what? It’s just a matter of a few days, and once the project is finalized, they will be out of here,” you said, trying to sound convincing, but your own words felt hollow even to you.

“Y/n,” Suzume called out, her voice unsteady. “This is not a project. Nobody brings this many people for a project.”

She was right. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably as you processed her words. It was unusual—no, it was more than that. It was downright alarming. And then there was him. His presence alone made this situation far more complicated.

“What are you implying?” you asked, your voice quieter this time, as if afraid to hear the answer.

Heavy silence hung over the room. No one wanted to voice what you all knew deep down. The truth was there, glaring and undeniable. Maya bit her nails nervously, her eyes refusing to meet yours. Finally, she whispered, “It’s an acquisition.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. You exchanged glances with your team, all of them reflecting the same fear. Change was coming, and not the kind you could easily maneuver around.

But you had to keep the morale up. “So what if it is?” You straighten your posture, forcing a confident tone. “We are the core team. Our jobs are secure. You guys don’t need to worry. And as far as all this chaos goes, an acquisition doesn’t necessarily mean that they will move here. That wouldn’t make sense. They can acquire and let us be as well.”

You saw their shoulders drop slightly, the tension easing just a fraction. “It’s going to be fine. We just need to make sure that we nail the presentation, and we’ll see where to go from there.”

“Can you please talk to Nanami-san?” Maya asked, her voice hopeful.

“Yes! Please, y/n!” Suzume added. “I… please, y/n.”

“Now?” you asked, your nerves kicking in.

“If possible,” Hitoshi said, his tone almost pleading. “You are the only one he will listen to! I know this! Please!”.

You bit your lip nervously, pulled out your phone, and began typing.

y/n: Hi, I know you must be busy, but can we please talk? It’s urgent.

You set your phone down, uncertain of when or if Nanami would reply. To your surprise, your phone buzzed almost immediately.

Nanami: Sure. You can come to my office.

“Okay. I will go and talk to him. Stay here!” You grabbed your phone and hurried to his office, hoping—praying—not to run into Gojo on the way.

You tapped on the door gently, your voice steady despite the nerves bubbling under your skin. “It’s me.”

“Come in,” Nanami replied, his calm voice providing the smallest sense of reassurance.

Stepping inside, a smile unconsciously formed on your face at the sight of him. But your smile faltered the moment another figure swiveled in his chair.

Gojo Satoru.

You felt the air shift as he turned, his signature grin in place, eyes sharp and knowing.

“Y/n, meet Gojo Satoru,” Nanami said, first looking at you, then at Gojo.

You swallowed, plastering on a polite smile. “Hi. Nice to meet you.” You gave a courteous bow, mentally chanting Fake it till you make it, y/n.

Gojo smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Nice to meet you… y/n,” he drawled, drawing out your name with an unsettling familiarity.

“Please, have a seat,” Nanami offered, gesturing to the chair next to Gojo.

Your pulse quickened. “Oh, it’s alright. I can come in later,” you said quickly, trying to keep your voice steady.

Nanami, ever perceptive, caught the nervousness in your expression. He exhaled softly before speaking. “Mr. Gojo, if you could excuse me, I have something to discuss with y/n, please excuse me” He stood, moving around his desk, and gently took your hand, guiding you towards the door.

The moment was brief but not unnoticed. You could feel Gojo’s eyes on you, his gaze lingering with keen interest as you stepped out with Nanami, the weight of the encounter pressing heavily on your shoulders.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”, Nanami asked with genuine curiosity as the two of you stood outside his office.

“Yes. Yes I am but..all this..what is going on?”. You fiddled with your phone in your hand.

“I know this is too sudden. I wish I could explain in detail but..”. Nanami looked at you like he was searching for the right word, “The truth is that we are being acquired”.

“What about-”.

“All jobs are safe y/n. I assure you. It was a key condition”.

“Will we have to move?”.

“No. We are not going anywhere”. Nanami smiled.

You breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much! Everyone was so nervous. I was so nervous.”.

Nanami smiled. “Don’t be. Nothing changes for us”. Nanami felt compelled to hold you but he couldn’t. Not now. Not here. Not yet. Instead he squeezed your hand gently to reassure you.

You nodded happily. “I will leave you to attend to..him”. You nudge your head towards the door.

Nanami smiled and went back in.

“Good news everyone!”. You announced as you walked into your office confidently. “Nothing changes for us. Our jobs are safe. We are not going anywhere”.

“Seriously?!”. Maya jumped from the couch and hugged you.

Suzume joined in, “Thank you, y/n! I was so scared”.

“Can I join in as well?”Hitoshi asked.

You all nodded and were soon in a group hug.

“But wait..”, Hitoshi was the first to pull away. “...If we are not going anywhere does it mean they are moving here?”.

You hadn’t thought about that possibility yet.

“Who cares if they move here? They are too uptight to survive here. As long as we have each other we should be fine right?”. Maya added happily.

“Yes”. Suzume spoke. “This is my office and this is my gang. No one messes with us!”.

You smiled painfully. Would he actually move here? No. He loves his Tokyo office too much. Everyone he loves and cares for is there. He will never move here.

The conference room was silent as you set up your presentation. The projector flickered to life, displaying your carefully prepared slides. Nanami sat at the head of the table, his arms crossed, his eyes sharp and attentive. Hitoshi tapped his pen against the table, looking eager yet tense. And then there was Gojo.

He lounged back in his chair, long legs stretched out, one arm lazily resting on the table as he watched you. His gaze was heavy, teasing, knowing. It made the air feel thick, your skin prickling under his attention.

You cleared your throat. "Good afternoon, everyone. I'll be walking you through our marketing strategy for the new community center." You clicked the remote, and the first slide appeared.

"Mmm, community engagement," Gojo murmured, "I do love getting involved."

Your fingers momentarily slipped on the remote. You shot him a sharp glance, but he merely grinned, tilting his head as if daring you to react.

Nanami cleared his throat. "Y/n, continue."

You steadied yourself. "Right. As I was saying, our goal is to position the community center as a cornerstone of social support and development. We've outlined a multi-tiered marketing approach to ensure maximum reach and engagement."

You advanced to the next slide, outlining key engagement strategies. "First, we plan to leverage digital marketing—social media campaigns, email outreach, and targeted ads. This will help us attract younger demographics while maintaining communication with existing community members."

Gojo hummed softly. "You think social media alone is enough? A few posts and hashtags, and suddenly people show up?"

You met his gaze, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened. "No, which is why we’re also implementing offline strategies, including community events, partnerships with local businesses, and promotional materials distributed across key locations."

Nanami nodded approvingly. "That’s a well-rounded approach. Have you considered potential barriers to engagement, such as accessibility or public perception?"

You smiled slightly, grateful for the constructive question. "Yes, accessibility is a key concern, so we're prioritizing inclusive events and transportation support. As for public perception, we’ve designed a community outreach program to build trust through transparency. Open house events and Q&A sessions will allow residents to voice their concerns and feel involved."

Nanami’s lips curled slightly upward. "Impressive. That level of detail will go a long way in securing support."

Your cheeks warmed at the compliment, and you looked down briefly before moving to the next slide.

A soft scoff came from Gojo. "Huh. Didn’t realize Nanami gave out compliments now. Must be a special occasion."

You glanced at him, but he was already looking away, his jaw tight. His fingers drummed against the table a little too firmly, his usual smirk nowhere to be seen.

You swallowed and continued. "Next, we have our timeline—broken down into three phases: awareness, engagement, and retention. In the awareness phase, we’ll generate buzz through teaser campaigns and influencer collaborations. Engagement will focus on community-driven events, and retention will involve long-term initiatives like membership programs and recurring events."

Gojo leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "And how do you plan to measure success?"

You hesitated for only a second before answering. "Through key performance indicators: attendance rates, social media analytics, membership sign-ups, and community feedback. By tracking these, we can adapt our strategy as needed."

Gojo smirked. "Smart. Adaptability is attractive."

Your breath hitched, and you fought to keep your expression neutral. Nanami, seemingly unfazed, ignored him. "What’s your budget allocation for these strategies?"

You exhaled, focusing back on the presentation. "We’ve broken the budget into three main categories: promotional materials, digital marketing, and event organization. The majority is allocated to events since direct community interaction is our primary goal."

Nanami nodded again, thoughtful. "That’s a sound distribution. Have you anticipated any risks?"

You moved to the next slide. "Yes. Low initial engagement, budget constraints, and potential resistance from the community. We’ve developed contingency plans, including alternative funding options and additional outreach efforts."

Gojo leaned in slightly, his voice softer. "And if something unexpected happens? What’s your personal approach when things don’t go as planned?"

You hesitated, feeling the intensity in his stare. "I adapt," you said finally. "Find solutions on the spot. Panic doesn’t solve problems."

Gojo’s smirk deepened. "Good answer."

Nanami shifted in his chair. "I think that covers everything. Well done, y/n. Your strategy is comprehensive and well-thought-out."

Your chest warmed at the praise, and you gave a small nod. "Thank you."

Gojo let out a breathy chuckle, tapping his fingers against the table. "Guess we’re lucky to have someone so capable."

Nanami stood. "We’ll move forward with the plan. I’ll arrange for a follow-up next week."

As the meeting ended, you began gathering your notes. Nanami reached over to hand you a stray document, his fingers grazing yours. "You really did a great job. This will set a solid foundation for our project."

You smiled, nodding. "I appreciate that, Nanami. I really do."

From the corner of your eye, you saw Gojo shift in his seat. His usual smug expression darkened slightly, his lips pressing together in a thin line.

Then, just as you turned, Gojo suddenly stood, stepping closer than necessary. His fingers brushed the small of your back, a light but unmistakable touch. "Careful, y/n," he murmured near your ear.

Your breath caught, and you turned your head slightly, only to find his gaze locked onto yours, a knowing glint in his eyes. The room felt too small, too charged. Was he seriously flirting with you? Here? Now? When he didn’t even know you? Dick!

Nanami cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "Let’s wrap up. We all have work to do."

Gojo exhaled dramatically. "Right, right. Work first."

As you gathered your things, Gojo lingered for just a second longer watching you attentively like a predator sizing up a prey.

The restaurant hums with quiet conversation, the soft clinking of silverware filling the space between you. It’s been two weeks since you last saw him—two weeks since you’ve felt this strange sense of steadiness that only seems to settle when Nanami is near.

You shouldn’t have missed him. You tell yourself it’s just the adjustment period—just the way work has been hectic. But sitting across from him now, watching as he carefully rolls up his sleeves, you realize how much you had noticed his absence.

Nanami sets his phone down, screen facing the table. His gestures are always deliberate, his presence as composed as ever, but there’s something almost hesitant about the way his gaze lingers on you before he speaks.

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

You shake your head. “Not at all. I just got here.”

He nods, glancing at your glass. “Not drinking?”

You glance at the untouched wine. “Didn’t feel like it.”

His eyes sharpen slightly, just for a second. “You seem tense.”

You exhale, leaning back slightly. “It’s just work.”

Nanami studies you for a moment, quiet and unreadable. Then, as if making a decision, he leans forward slightly, voice softer now.

“As long as I am here, you don’t need to worry about anything.”

The words settle deep in your chest, warm and certain.

You blink, caught off guard. “That’s… a bold statement.”

Nanami doesn’t look away. “It’s the truth.”

Something about the way he says it makes you believe him.

You look down at your plate, focusing on the way your fingers toy with the edge of your napkin. “You don’t have to look out for me.”

“I know,” he says simply. “But I will.”

A quiet moment stretches between you.

Nanami tells himself he shouldn’t have said that. That this is a work lunch, just a routine check-in, nothing more. But the way your shoulders relax ever so slightly, the way you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding—he knows he can’t take it back.

And worse, he doesn’t want to.

So he clears his throat, shifting the conversation back to safer territory. Work, deadlines, next week’s meetings. He keeps his voice even, his demeanor steady, but beneath the surface, he feels it—the way his restraint is beginning to fray at the edges.

Somewhere between discussing a client proposal and finishing your meal, he finds himself speaking before he can stop himself.

“You can call me Kento.”

You blink, looking up. “What?”

Nanami’s jaw tightens, like he’s already regretting it, but his voice remains steady. “Outside of work. In the office, we keep things professional. I’d rather not have people getting the wrong idea.”

“And what idea would that be?”, You asked hesitantly.

He holds your gaze, fingers tightening slightly around his glass. “That I favor you.”

The words come out firmer than he intends, laced with something he refuses to name.

You could tease him, lighten the moment with a joke. But instead, you let the words settle, something unreadable flickering in your own eyes before you nod.

“Alright,” you say softly. “Kento.”

Nanami exhales slowly, but he doesn’t allow himself to react. Not to the way his name sounds coming from you. Not to the way his pulse betrays him.

The plates have been cleared, the check untouched between you, but neither of you move to leave just yet.

And for now, that’s enough.

Gojo woke up sweating and panting, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. His heart pounded violently against his ribs as he frantically scanned his surroundings. The dim morning light filtered through the curtains of his penthouse bedroom, casting long shadows across the room. His sheets were tangled around his legs, damp with sweat. His fingers trembled as he reached for his phone on the nightstand, the bright screen forcing him to blink rapidly.

1st January 2021, 10:00 AM.

A sharp, throbbing pain coursed through his skull as he fell back onto his pillow, pressing his fingers against his temples in an attempt to dull the headache. His head felt like it was being split open, every pulse sending fresh waves of nausea through him. He gritted his teeth and let out a low groan, his body tense as he forced himself to take slow, deliberate breaths.

What the hell was going on? His mind raced, searching for an explanation. Was it just a nightmare? A lingering hallucination from the relentless drinking? The hazy remnants of some twisted memory? His throat was dry, and his body felt heavier than usual, like he was sinking into the mattress. Something was off—terribly off.

As he sat across from the new recruit, Gojo felt a bitterness seep into his heart, curling around his ribs like a vice. The poor girl was not at fault here—he knew that. But that didn’t stop him from despising her nonetheless.

He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back before half-heartedly picking up her resume. The paper crinkled slightly between his fingers, his grip unintentionally tight.

“Can I just say, sir, that I am so excited to work with you! I have dreamt of working for you—I mean, for Domain Dynamics—for such a long time, and now that I’m sitting here, I—”

“Did I ask?” Gojo interrupted, raising a brow as he leaned back in his chair, his tone flat, his expression unreadable.

“I… I’m sorry,” she stammered, her enthusiasm instantly deflating.

“Do you even know where your office is?”

“Uh… no,” she admitted, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

Gojo let out an exasperated sigh before pressing a button on his desk. “Miwa. In. Now.”

Within seconds, Miwa rushed in, her ever-efficient presence a stark contrast to the girl’s nervous energy. “Yes, sir.”

Gojo gestured vaguely in Sakura’s direction. “Can you show…” He paused, tilting his head slightly as if only now realizing he didn’t know her name. “What’s your name?”

“Sakura,” she replied, her voice quieter now.

“Yeah. Can you show Sakura her new… office and make sure she’s settled in?” His words were dismissive, as though she were an afterthought.

“Yes, sir!” Miwa chirped, already gesturing for the girl to follow.

“Oh, and Miwa,” Gojo added casually, just as they were about to leave. His lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. “Don’t move her into the office across from mine. Keep that one empty.”

Miwa hesitated. “But sir… that’s where—”

“I have a feeling it’ll be filled soon.” His smile widened, sharp and almost cruel.

Miwa nodded, understanding her cue. “Sure, sir. Sakura, please come with me.”

Sakura cast one last, uncertain glance at Gojo before trailing after Miwa, her earlier excitement all but gone.

With a sigh, he shifted in his seat, his foot bouncing against the floor in a restless rhythm. His fingers skimmed through the stack of resumes on his desk until they landed on one buried beneath Sakura’s. He pulled it free, lifting it to eye level.

The photo attached to the top corner caught his attention first. A smiling face, bright yet oddly familiar. His chest tightened—not with unease, but with something warmer, something steadier. It was rare for a simple photograph to evoke such a feeling.

But his moment of quiet curiosity was interrupted when his gaze dropped to the bottom of the page. A small, neatly printed note stood out against the crisp paper: Candidate withdrew.

His brows furrowed. Withdraw? Who in their right mind would turn down an offer at Domain Dynamics?

His fingers curled around the edges of the resume as he reached for his phone, his expression unreadable. He pressed a button, and the line connected almost instantly.

“I’m sending you a resume,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Find out everything about this person. Everything.”

A pause, then a sharp, efficient reply. “Yes, sir.”

Gojo exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around the paper as he glanced at the photo once more. This wasn’t over. Not yet.

It had been days, and he knew everything he needed to know about the mystery candidate. Every detail, every piece of information had been meticulously gathered, analyzed, and stored away in his mind. And yet, something was missing—pieces of the puzzle that refused to fit, gaps in the picture that made no sense. It gnawed at him, an itch he couldn’t scratch, a frustration that wouldn’t let go.

For the past week, sleep had eluded him. Every night, the same dream. Over and over. He was driving—no, running—through hazy, dimly lit streets, his pulse pounding, his breath ragged. Searching. Desperately looking for someone. But who? The answer was always just out of reach, slipping through his fingers like smoke. He woke up every morning with the same frustration, his mind clouded, his nerves frayed. It was affecting him more than he cared to admit. He could barely focus on anything else.

As he stepped into his penthouse, he loosened his tie roughly, exhaling sharply. The tension in his shoulders never seemed to leave these days. He had dismissed the security team for the night—he needed silence, space to think. His sanctuary, untouched and undisturbed. But the moment he walked through the heavy wooden doors, he knew something was off. A sound, faint but distinct, came from the kitchen.

He froze, muscles tensing.

“Hello?” His voice was sharp, edged with suspicion. “Who is there?”

Silence. No reply.

His jaw clenched as he moved towards the couch, reaching under it with practiced ease. His fingers wrapped around the cold steel of his hidden revolver. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled it out, steadying his grip before making his way toward the kitchen.

“Who is there?” he repeated, voice lower this time. Controlled. Dangerous.

He turned the corner, gun raised, finger steady on the trigger—only to be met with a sight that made him pause.

A man sat at the kitchen island, completely at ease, dressed in an expensive blue velvet coat. He was eating a bowl of cereal.

The man looked up, spoon mid-air, and grinned. “Hello!” he said cheerfully, as if this were a casual breakfast meet-up. “No need to get aggressive.”

Gojo didn’t lower the gun. His cerulean eyes narrowed. “Who the fuck are you, and what the hell are you doing here?”

The man sighed dramatically, putting his spoon down with deliberate slowness. Then, reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a silk handkerchief and dabbed his mouth. Every movement was calm. Unbothered.

“Come on, Satoru,” he said, tilting his head. “Forgot me already?”

Gojo’s grip on the gun tightened. His patience was wearing thin. “You have two minutes to explain yourself before I—”

“Before you what?” The man raised an eyebrow, amused. “Shoot me?” He leaned forward slightly. “Go ahead. But I should warn you… no bullet in the world can harm me.” His voice dropped, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “So, if you actually want some answers, I’d suggest you take a seat.” The man pointed at the seat opposite to him.

Gojo didn’t lower the gun, but after a long moment, he moved to the stool across from the man, his expression cold. “Continue.”

The man smirked. “Wow, straight to the point, huh?” He leaned back, stretching lazily. “Alright then… where should we start?”

“Who are you?” Gojo asked sternly, his grip tightening around the gun.

The man waved a hand dismissively, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “Irrelevant. Ask a better question.”

Gojo’s jaw clenched. His usual confidence wavered against the man’s unshaken composure. “How do you know me?”

The man chuckled, a deep, knowing laugh that sent a chill down Gojo’s spine. “I know everyone in this world,” he said simply, as if stating an undeniable fact. Then, with an exaggerated motion, he scooped another spoonful of food into his mouth.

The silence between them was thick, weighed down by unspoken tension. Only the sound of loud, deliberate crunching filled the space.

Gojo inhaled sharply. “Are you here to kill me?”

The man stopped chewing mid-bite. Slowly, he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Then, he leaned back against his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “Kill you?” he repeated, almost amused. “I saved your life, Satoru. From the same gun you’re holding right now.”

Gojo frowned, glancing down at the weapon in his hands.

“The bullet in the barrel,” the man continued, voice unwavering, “has your name written on it. Not mine.”

Gojo’s fingers flexed over the grip. “When?” he demanded, his voice barely above a whisper.

The man tilted his head, studying him carefully. “The dreams…” he mused, stroking his chin. “Satoru, are they really dreams? Or are they flashes of memories?”

Gojo stiffened. A sharp inhale.

“How do—”

“What do you want the most right now?” The man cut him off, his voice softer this time, almost hypnotic.

Gojo stared at him blankly. The question caught him off guard.

“Hmm?” The man leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “What do you want the most right now? At this moment. Money? Power? Answers?” His dark eyes glinted under the dim light. “I can grant you one wish. But first, you need to tell me… What do you want the most right now?”

“What do you mean?”. Gojo scoffed. “Who are you a magician?”.

“Funny huh?”. The man quipped. “How about I tell you about the dreams you have been having?”.

Gojo remained silent.

“So the dreams about wanting to save someone? Running through the dingy lanes? A bridge? A gun? Feeling lost and helpless?”.

Gojo stared at him silently. He had nothing to say. There was no way this guy knew about all of it. He hadn’t even shared it with Geto.

“Oh, only because Geto doesn’t know, I can’t know?”. He teased, leaving Gojo startled. “Look, I know everything. So what is it going to be? I can leave right now. I can make a meteor crash and destroy this earth. What do you want?”.

“Okay, even if you do know about…my dreams..how do I know that you can give me what I want?”. Gojo asked, still unsure.

“Hmmm, Interesting. Go ahead and ask for something instant. Try”.

“An apple”. He said.

With a poof an apple appeared in Gojo’s hand. “Go ahead and have a bite. It’s real”.

Gojo sniffed the apple and then took a bite and indeed it was real.

“A cat”. Gojo said.

The man rolled his eyes, “You are allergic to cats”.

Gojo didn’t respond immediately. His mind raced, trying to find footing in the spiraling confusion. He had fought countless enemies, faced death a thousand times over, but this—this was different.

The man waited patiently, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The air between them felt electric, charged with something unseen yet tangible.

Gojo parted his lips, but no words came out.

Because for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure what to say. Words had always come easily to him—sharp, clever, effortless. But now, standing in the vast emptiness, facing the man before him, he found himself lost. His lips parted slightly, but nothing coherent escaped. Only hesitation, only uncertainty.

“I…” Gojo’s voice barely made a sound. His eyes flickered between the man and the empty space between them, as if searching for an answer that wasn’t there. He felt the weight of something heavy, something that had been pressing on his chest for far too long. His throat tightened. He swallowed hard, but it did little to stop the burn behind his eyes.

And then, a single word. One word raced through his mind, over and over, beating in his skull like a relentless drum. A word that had haunted him since the start of the year, threading itself through every thought, every moment of solitude. A word so powerful it had rooted itself deep inside him, becoming a part of his very existence. A word that embodied his wants, his needs, his deepest desires.

“Y/n…”

The man before him smiled, pleased, as if he had been expecting this answer all along.

“That’s your wish?” he asked, voice calm, measured, almost teasing.

“Yes.” Gojo breathed. The moment the word left his lips, he felt it settle within him, as though confirming what he already knew in his bones. It wasn’t just a wish—it was a truth more certain than his own existence. That’s what he wanted. That’s what he needed. Whether this was all a trick or not, he had to take a chance and know who y/n is.

“Y/n.”

The man tilted his head, amused. “Do you even know who that is?”

Gojo’s fingers trembled as he slowly lowered the gun he had been holding, the weight of it suddenly insignificant. He knew everything about her and yet nothing at all.

“...no,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t know why he was drawn to her. Why her name clung to his mind like a stubborn ghost. Why, out of all the possibilities, she was the only one he could think of. But he knew—without reason, without explanation—that he needed to be drawn to her. That whoever she was, she was the answer, the missing piece, the key to something far greater than himself.

His happiness. His life.

The man leaned back, arms crossed, studying him with an expression that was unreadable.

“So let me get this straight,” he said. “You don’t know who she is, but you’re certain she’s what you want?”

“Yes.” Gojo didn’t waver this time. His voice was steady. Sure.

The man chuckled, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “I can give you everything, you know. Power beyond imagination. Wealth that no mortal could ever dream of. I could carve a place for you in history so grand, no man or god could ever erase it! I could make you untouchable!” His eyes gleamed with something dangerous. “And you’re telling me, out of all that, you still choose ….y/n? Someone you don’t even know”

Gojo met his gaze without hesitation. A slow, knowing smile spread across his lips, the kind of smile that carried the weight of certainty.

“Yes.”

The man let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as if entertained by the sheer absurdity of it all. “Good job, Satoru,” he murmured, his amusement clear.

But then, something shifted. The lightness in his tone faded, replaced by something far heavier, something more ominous.

His expression darkened.

“But tell me,” he said, voice dropping just slightly. “Are you sure you can handle what I’m about to show you?”

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken meaning.

Gojo nodded.

No hesitation. No second-guessing. Just certainty.

The man exhaled through his nose, eyes narrowing slightly before he finally smirked. “Alright, then.”

And with that, the world around them began to change.

After what felt like an eternity, Gojo opened his eyes and found himself sitting on his couch, his body trembling as if he had been drowning in the depths of his own mind. The air in the room felt heavy, suffocating, pressing down on his chest like an unbearable weight. Across from him, the man stood in eerie silence, watching him with an expression that held no sympathy ,only truth.

Tears streamed down Gojo’s cheeks, unchecked, raw, his breaths coming in uneven gasps. His fingers dug into his knees as he whispered, voice hoarse and broken, “I… I did that to her.”

The man gave him a slow, measured nod. “All of that.”

Gojo let out a shuddering exhale, his head hanging low as his vision blurred. His mind replayed every moment, every agonizing second he had been forced to relive. Every cruel word he had thrown at you, every time he had turned his back when all you needed was for him to stay. He saw the way your eyes had dimmed, the way your laughter had died in your throat. The moment you stopped reaching for him. And worst of all, the way you looked at him at the very end—broken, betrayed, as if he had torn out your very soul and crushed it beneath his heel.

His gut twisted violently. He thought he had been protecting you. He convinced himself that every decision he made had been for your own good. But no—it had never been about you, had it? It was his selfishness, his arrogance, his fear of losing you in ways he couldn’t control. He had let his love consume him, twist into something unrecognizable. And now, all of it—the pain, the regret, the love he had tried to push away—came rushing back with a force so intense it made him want to tear himself apart.

His nails dug into his palms. He had been ready to die. When he found out you were gone, that you had left this world with nothing but sorrow in your heart, he had walked to the edge of that bridge with every intention of following you. He hadn’t even seen you, hadn’t held your lifeless body, hadn’t been there to say goodbye. Just a hollow message, a whisper of finality.

Gone.

It didn’t seem real. He thought if he ended it right there, he could find you. Maybe in another life, maybe somewhere beyond this hell he created.

He had stood on that bridge, gun in hand, the barrel pressing against his temple as the wind howled around him. His heart was hollow, his mind filled with nothing but you—your scent, your voice, your smile, all the things he had taken for granted.

He couldn't exist in a world where you didn't. It was that simple.

But then, as his finger began to tighten around the trigger, a voice cut through the storm inside his head.

“That won’t bring her back.”

Gojo's breath hitched, his grip on the gun faltering as he turned his head slightly. The man stood there, calm, composed, unaffected by the sheer devastation radiating from him.

“What the hell do you know?” Gojo growled, his voice rough, unhinged.

The man stepped closer, gaze unwavering. “I know you don’t want to die. You want her back. And I can give you that chance.”

Gojo’s hands shook. He wanted to laugh, to scream, to tell this stranger to go to hell. But the weight of those words settled deep within him, a flicker of impossible hope threading through his grief-stricken mind.

He remembered the way he had hesitated, the way his hands had trembled as he lowered the gun. The wind had howled around him, a bitter, unforgiving force, but for the first time since hearing of your death, he had felt something else. A pull. A whisper of something he couldn’t ignore.

Now, sitting here on his couch, he exhaled sharply. He had been given a second chance. A miracle he didn’t deserve. But he wouldn’t waste it. He would find you. He would make things right. He would earn back the love he had shattered, no matter what it took. Even if he had to crawl through hell itself, he would not lose you again.

This time, he wouldn’t let you go.

You belonged to him. And he would make sure that this time, you knew it.

He looked up at the man, his eyes still red and had a look of determination. “I will redo my fate..for her”.

“Are you sure you can?”. The man smirked, “It won’t be easy”.

“I will do everything in my power to make her mine. This time I will …not mess it up!”.

"Do you love her or do you want her?". The man teased a little more.

Gojo scoffed, shaking his head, a twisted grin pulling at his lips—but there was no amusement in it. It was something darker, something raw, something that pulsed beneath his skin like a second heartbeat. His fingers flexed, nails biting into his palm as his breath came out unsteady, ragged.

“I love her,” he murmured, voice low, almost reverent. Then he laughed, but it was hollow, almost broken. “I love her.”

His chest ached with the weight of it, with the sheer force of what he felt, with the need that had rooted itself so deep inside him it had become part of his very being.

“I love her with every fiber of my existence,” he said again, more forcefully this time, like he was daring the universe to challenge him. “She is the air I need—the only thing that keeps me breathing, the only thing that makes sense. Without her, everything is suffocating. Everything is wrong!”

His voice wavered, but his eyes burned, fever-bright, manic.

“You dare ask me if I love her?", He threw his head back and laughed, "She is the blood in my veins,” he continued, his fingers twitching like he didn’t know what to do with his hands, like he wanted to tear them through his own skin just to prove it. “She’s inside me, running through me, keeping me alive even when I don’t want to be.”

His breath hitched, his expression twisting into something wrecked.

“She’s my bones,” he whispered, pressing his palm against his chest, as if he could feel her there, carved into his ribs, woven into his very structure. “My conscience. My clarity. My fucking ruin.”

His heart was hammering against his ribs now, erratic, frantic, desperate.

“She is my heart, my soul, mine.” His voice cracked, something on the verge of a plea, a demand, an obsession that had long since consumed him. His pupils were blown wide, his pulse wild beneath his skin.

“She is everything to me. Everything!”

His breathing was uneven now, his hands shaking. He squeezed his eyes shut, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands like he was trying to ground himself, like he was trying to stop the storm inside him.

But he couldn’t. He never could. Because she was the storm.

And he was drowning in her.

The two men exchanged deranged smiles. One knowing what was about to happen and the other determined to right his wrongs.

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

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