#trying to connect with his new son

[knight-of-the-graces]

Hey, um… with the whole “Bluejay!Jason” concept… has anybody ever considered it as an Inkheart reference instead of just a play off his name?

Follow me here, and sorry in advance, this turned into a ramble.

In the second book of the Inkheart trilogy, Inkspell, one of the main protagonists adopts a Robin Hood-esque approach to defeating the tyrant king, and adopts the name of ‘The Bluejay’ from famous folk legends and songs written by a beloved poet and often sung by travelling minstrels. He’s -Inkspell spoilers ahead, though this book is unironically older than I am- known for toppling said tyrant’s throne through the binding of a magic book (a recurring theme throughout the series, if you’ve never read it, which you should). He’s a champion among the Motley Folk, who were that world’s equivalent to a travelling circus and also regularly aid him in his quest to topple the Adderhead (the tyrant king mentioned above), and sought to help the poor and downtrodden. The Bluejay is aided and abetted by his family and friends, which include a shapeshifting wife, a daughter with the ability to make anything she reads come true, a fire-dancer who can speak to the flames, and a knife-throwing 'circus' prince with a black bear companion. (They're not called the Motley Folk for no reason, people!)

Now, consider for a moment: Little Jason Todd, in the local library, absolutely devouring the Inkheart series. It's everything a little kid could dream of in a fantasy book! And there's three of these fat books, what more could you possibly want? And he has an excuse to sit in a warm, safe building for a few hours.

Now imagine, Inkspell becomes his comfort book. Of course it does- every kid had one, and I can't imagine an orphan who grew up alone on the streets of Gotham picking anything other than a story about a strange man helping the opressed and downtrodden in a land he grows to call his own with the help of his family- and The Bluejay is an excellent father to his daughter, too, of course Jason pictured himself as part of that family, as whisked away into that world.

And of course, the rest of the series is wonderful too -Inkheart is where it all began, after all, and Inkdeath is the final triumph over evil!-, but Inkspell is a story about becoming. About learning to be more than you were born as- after all, if Mo the simple bookbinder could become the hero The Bluejay, what could Jason the street orphan become?

Maybe, instead of discovering this book in a library, he found it in the trash. And maybe he wondered, as he read it, why anyone would ever want to throw away the tale of Mo the Blujay, of Meggie the Silvertongue, of Resa the brave swift, of Dustfinger the loyal Fire-Dancer? (And maybe the last one took a while to get there, but he did get there! Eventually! And maybe Jason can understand why it took Dustfinger so long to truly come to trust someone again, because trust is a terribly dangerous thing to give to someone, because you can never really know what they'll do with it.) Maybe he read it through without knowing anything about Capricorn or The Shadow or why they feared the man named Basta, because they hadn't thrown away the first book, only the second. Maybe he wept for the death of Dustfinger, at the very end, because he didn't know that Death wouldn't keep him, because they hadn't thrown away the third book.

Maybe Inkspell found its place among his most treasured possessions. Maybe, when he met Batman and Bruce Wayne in one night and his life changed forever, Inkspell came with him, with its familiar story and characters and world and sorrows.

Maybe one of the first things Bruce did, upon seeing Jason reading that same battered old paperback, was to order Inkheart and Inkdeath and leave them in his room. Maybe that was when Jason started to realize that he wasn't going to leave forever.

(Maybe Jason and Dick would play Motley Folk together, because Dick was in the circus and could most certainly throw knives, even if it gave Bruce a heart attack every time he saw it.)

And maybe, after he could no longer have Robin, he remembered that old paperback book, that old story and that old world, and he thought of a new name for himself.

Bluejay, he thought, as he picked up the book that had been his constant companion for so many years. I'll be The Bluejay.

(I don't really know what this is. I saw some Bluejay!Jason art the other day and just started thinking of the Inkheart trilogy and the fact that Jason would absolutely have read it and probably loved it. And then it spiralled.)

[litrary-nath]

Ok, so in the beginning of Book 7 Lilia kinda tries to push Sebek to join the first years group right???

Now I'm imagining that Lilia was always planning to work on Sebek's prejudice through NRC. He knew what his old buddy was like, he knew Sebek had internalized this fucked up view on humans. So he was planning on slowly guiding him away from that kind of thoughts through the next few years.

But now he had to leave and he couldn't do that. He couldn't ask Silver or Malleus to do this either. So Lilia decided to try and have him connect with the troublesome first years who'd either prove Sebek wrong or beat the prejudice out of him.

[redrobin-detective]

“While dick is not acting like a doting parent but an f up 20-something year old” you’re brain is so big how does it feel to be so correct

Broke: Dick has Eldest Daughter Syndrome and feel personally responsible for all his younger siblings

Woke: His younger siblings have assigned Dick Eldest Daughter Syndrome

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve Harrington, who has a very “in name only” relationship with his parents, the people who claim they love him lots but have simply given him cash for his last six birthdays without bothering to send a card. 

Steven Harrington, who lost his connection to the only adults in his life who actually parented him when he had his final fight with Tommy and Carol-- not that they ever really did that much. Having an adult put a bandaid on his knee and complimenting him for being tough was plenty enough. 

Steve Harrington, who drove Dustin and co. to the Byers house that one Christmas and was told by Hopper not to come in; that Joyce was still mad at him about the ‘demodog in the fridge’ and figured his exclusion was fair--it wasn’t like Hopper actually liked him. Joyce certainly had no reason to. It wasn’t like he was doing anything for Christmas anyways. 

Steve Harrington, who is fairly certain Robin’s parents have clocked her as queer but who still treats him in that careful way many parents do when he’s hanging around their daughter. There’s a barrier there, in the way of firm handshakes and “get her back safe”’s that keep things formal. (It’s never bothered him before, and he swears it doesn’t bother him now.) 

Steve Harrington, whose relationships with adults are defined by words like “networking”, “proper connections”, “favors”, and “finances”, who has at best been treated like a miniature version of his father and at worst as a spoilt moron, who encounters Wayne Munson and has no idea what to do with the man. 

Wayne Munson, who asks him actual questions about his life. Who asks him to watch the game with him. Who calls him “boy” and “son” in ways that sound affectionate and not frustrated. Wayne, who shoos him away from the dishes and compliments his cooking, who has invited Steve over when Eddie isn’t even home.

Steve Harrington, who keeps apologizing to Eddie because “I’m not trying to steal your Uncle man, I promise.” and doesn’t believe Eddie when the latter just laughs at him.

(“You can’t steal Wayne, Steve.” Eddie says with a snicker, when he finally figures out what Steve is apologizing for.  The guy apologizes a lot for things that make no sense, it’s a bad habit Eddie’s working on him with. “Though I do believe he has been trying to steal you.” 

“Oh.” This does not relieve Steve. In fact, this seems to make him more nervous looking, which Eddie does not want. 

“I uh. I don’t want to come between you guys so I guess we can just hang at my house…?” The voice he trails off with is downright painful for Eddie to hear, and he’s already slashing his hand in the air in a wild ‘No’ before Steve can even finish speaking.

“Dude you’re fine. I’m glad you guys are getting along! Wayne needs someone to talk sportsball with and clearly so do you because you keep trying to talk about it to anyone who will listen.”

“I guess if you’re alright with it…”) 

Steve Harrington, who allows himself to be adopted by the Munsons much in the way a feral cat lets itself become domesticated, and who starts looking at Wayne like the man hung the moon. 

Wayne Munson, who is referred to by Steve as “Dad” exactly once, and feels so fucking happy about it he misses the panic attack Eddie has to talk Steve through. 

He also misses that that is the moment when Steve accidentally confesses his feelings to Eddie in the Munson’s (new) cramped bathroom, on grounds that “I can’t date you and also call Wayne dad like that, that’s weird! Isn’t that weird!? It feels weird!” 

(“Sweetheart,” Eddie says, trying not to smile and failing entirely. “I get what you’re saying, but I think in your panic you missed something kinda key, there.”) 

Steve Harrington, who gets himself an entire family in the end (and gets to both call Wayne “dad” and Eddie as his boyfriend, without issue, because “we’re not related babe, you can call your inlaw whatever you want.” 

“Now who's skipping steps? When did we get married?”

“The very second it’s legal, that’s when.”) 

--and has never been happier in his life.

[verekatt]

Inspired by @greenglowinspooks post

I love the Danny Phantom fandom's medical gore, but why not torture our DC blorbos too?

Lots of fics make Jason an underdeveloped halfa. Lots of fics make Danny basically unkillable because he's a halfa.

I'm going Maximum Angst Route on this one.

The Justice League buys the GIW's rhetoric. They hear about these dangerous energy imprints, these volatile mimicries of life that are hurting people. The GIW claim they've controlled it in the rest of America, but this one small town has a strong one that protects the rest and helps them attack. They ask for help stopping this one, assure them that once Phantom is neutralised, it'll be easy to deal with the rest. The JL agrees. The JL captures Phantom and hands him over to the GIW.

It takes months to capture most of the other ghosts, as they slowly trickle through the portal to find each other. The JL gains an appreciation for the GIW, having previously fought off entities like Skulker and Plasmius without hero help. They trust the GIW, and so when they ask to scan the heroes for any lingering radiation, they agree.

They're alarmed to find many heroes are mildly irradiated. The GIW removes the lingering ectoplasm from most of them, and they're drained afterwards, but they recover. Damian, who had much higher levels than most, seems almost sedated from his usual fury and violence. Cass privately notes that she can't read people as well anymore, and Damian's lethargy looks uncomfortable for him. She gets suspicious, but when no one listens to her concerns, she leaves for Hong Kong again. She's scared that if her levels get higher and they drain her again, she'll lose the ability to read people entirely. She doesn't want to lose such a fundamental part of how she interacts with the world.

When scanning, however, Batman gets pulled aside. They explain they've found a parasitic ghost in Red Hood, and removing it will be a much longer process. They show the ectoplasm levels, the scans with a visible core. Bruce connects this to the Pit Rage, and agrees to let them take Hood, hoping he will finally get his son back. Jason is cautious, but eventually agrees. This could be the cure he never thought he'd get.

The GIW is estatic. They've discovered a new halfa, and if they do this right, they'll be able to study halfa development. They have Phantom to tear apart to see what an actualised halfa looks like, but watching Hood grow and form? Trying to influence his development, maybe even weaponise him? This is an opportunity they have to make the most of. All they have to do is claim the parasite killed Hood before they could remove it, and they can keep him forever.

The second Jason is alone with the GIW, they sedate him. He wakes up in a cage too small to stand in, right next to the very Phantom he helped capture. The kid is asleep, curled on the floor, bleeding through loose stitches on an autopsy wound. He immediately realises they fucked up, and his rage/guilt/panic attack wakes Phantom up. He expected the kid to be angry, upset, even gleeful that Jason was caught too. He didn't expect the kid to look at him with sad pity, to calm him down and say he's sorry that Jason was mislead and betrayed like this. That yeah, shit's gonna suck now, but Danny (as he insisted) would be there for him for as long as their cages were kept together. That unlike Danny these past few months, Jason wouldn't be dealing with it alone.

The scientists slowly feed Jason ectoplasm, and cut him open daily to monitor how it affects him. Ironically, his Pit Rage is cured, but that doesn't make it any better. If anything, it's worse, because now he's fully cognizant and has no extra energy to fight with. He still does fight at first, even without the Pit, but he knows no one's coming to his rescue. Eventually, he joins Danny in his nihilistic snark and dead-eyed stare. And yeah, they joked about that pun.

Time becomes meaningless. They do whatever they can to escape the hopelessness. Horrifyingly morbid jokes, empty bets on what form of torture they'll endure next, whispered stories about the people they miss. They reach through electrified bars just to feel a hand that doesn't mean harm. They spill their guts, metaphorically and literally, exchanging their deepest fears and secrets until they know each other entirely. Their necessary codependency becomes actual love, because how can you go through this together and know each other so deeply and not love each other? Platonically or romantically or the secret third option that's just insanely codependent affection.

Not sure who ends up rescuing them, but I'm thinking either a) Tim gets suspicious, b) the Outlaws go hunting, or c) Cass realises they have Jason and immediately freaks out. Whoever, they meet up with Team Phantom. Tucker and Sam been on the run since Danny was caught, and Jazz could be in Arkham? Or dead, or on the run too. Team Phantom was only held back by their lack of muscle (that's usually Danny), and now that they have trained fighters on their side, they're able to break in and get their boys. Cue long healing journey and revenge time.

[yzzart]

Okay! Hear me out! Dante's s/o has angel lineage (bc if there's demons, there must be persons of purity right?) But is a fallen one unknowingly because they're in love and actively dating Dante, who's Sparda's son!

COME FROM WAY ABOVE... ── DANTE

୭˚. ᵎᵎ content warnings: F!reader, daughter of a fallen angel, mention of divine and demonic creatures and Sparda, Dante being a flirt, puns and pick-up lines, light content.

⭑.ᐟ No person had ever, under any circumstances, heard, witnessed or distinguished the factual — or safe, depending on who was telling it — story of your mother; and, not wanting to admit a banal, perhaps clichéd impact, you decided to continue the credibility in telling it.

⤷ Living, throughout your childhood, with the narrative that was handed to you in an institution, carried out by nuns, by a beautiful and unknown woman was enough to dispel any questioning.

⤷ But, how much longer, being extremely risky, could the truth about the woman who gave birth to you being an angel survive? — An angel, unknown to the tales of the human world; being kept only between the so-called paradise and the underworld. — Decreed to eternal suffering, alongside man, and being unable to even say goodbye, properly, to you.

⭑.ᐟ It wasn't something new, unprecedented for you — just some factors that contributed, negatively, and fatally, to you suffering persecution, threats and unlimited demonic attacks throughout your life. — It would be worse, much worse, if it were from DARKCOM, right? right.

⤷ The recent case — or attempted attack — coming from a creature, in your eyes considered a true horrifying and dark brute, fearsome knew how to corner your presence; as always, referring to you, with an altered voice, in complete exhaustion, as “daughter of a fallen one”. — What could you do with that title? — "creation of an irresponsible angel."

⤷ Before you could try to fight back, to question, just like previous occurrences, bullets began to pierce the damned demon; despairing and cutting the creature — The shots didn't stop, and you feared that you wouldn't be hit. — And, by the goodness of gods, that could exist, you weren't.

⤷ The half-demon and half-demon hunter, Dante. — Had practically saved your miserable life, during the ironic moment when, possibly, your past would come to light. — The white-haired man, so bold, killed the demon as if it were the most entertaining and relaxed thing in the world.

“So, ‘angel’, huh?” — He put his pistol in his waistband, kicking his dirty black boots against the ground as he crossed his arms. — “Funny, how did you stay so beautiful even when you fell from the heavens?” — Oh, you didn’t know whether to laugh, thank or punch him.

⭑.ᐟ Could it be considered ironic, — very ironic — biting and sounding like a clichéd and tasteless joke about the fact that the son of a demon and the daughter of an angel had created a bond and, possibly, a relationship? — It could, but it would be met with gunpowder and unfunny puns.

⤷ After the incident, you started meeting up, by pure coincidence — or it was just Dante, trying to bump into you, while trying to reach you — and you were always greeted by jokes, puns or pick-up lines that exposed the truth about your ancestry. — and, as time went by, occasional encounters turned into official ones.

⭑.ᐟ Dante never forced you to reveal, abruptly, or want any statement, about your mother; of course he was surprised, he had never heard anything like it. — He thought that, in the world of the “perfect”, it was not possible for it to happen. — And he always talked about the confidence about his father; you could not compare each other's situations but you knew how you felt about it.

⤷ That didn't stop you from approaching, trying to move some information and showing little knowledge about the hybrid connection; a naive manipulation of light between shadows, — reflecting the dark side of the fall — learning to establish a kind of energy field, something not yet certified. — Dante, most of the time, was a witness to your crucial attempts.

⤷ And, deep down, being unable to deny it, he knew that you could be exposed, more vulnerable, by creating a connection with the son of Sparda. — Adored by some human souls, hated by others and decreed a traitor by the demons. — But, that didn't mean he would give up on you.

⭑.ᐟ Well, losing count, considered mental, of how many times your boyfriend created those damn pick-up lines and puns for you; it was no secret that you liked them, more than you should. — It was a way of relaxing you, in an admirable way and in his own way, which Dante took very seriously.

⤷ And, unable to resist expressing a conspicuous, serious expression, your lips curved into an exultant smile, turning into a hilarious laugh. — Ensuring that Dante's mission was complete.

“If angels really do miracles…” — He put his feet on the old, dusty wooden table as he enjoyed the slice of pizza he had ordered for you and him — “you can only be living proof of that, pretty girl.” — The half-demon winked boldly, which you had learned to like, in your direction.

[overthinkinglotr]

The Two Towers film is actually really impressive for how it feels like a cohesive story despite being about three groups of characters whose plotlines almost never intersect during the film’s runtime (Frodo/sam, Merry/Pippin, and Aragorn/Legolas/Gimli.)

Because the Fellowship almost never interacts with each other during the main plot, the filmmakers instead had to connect the plotlines thematically. Frodo/Sam never actually talk to Aragorn, but their plotlines mirror each other.

The Two Towers film is structured so that each splinter group of the Fellowship ultimately struggles with the same goal: they need to convince a despairing grief-stricken ally to aid in the war against Sauron. Theoden, Treebeard, and Faramir are all people who have suffered some great loss in the past wars. As a result, they are all set in their ways out of grief, and refuse to listen to the Fellowship’s advice or agree with their plans. (Until the very end.)

This is also where the films depart a lot from the source material. The two towers was probably the biggest adaptational challenge of the entire series, because the original book is split into two parts that focus on the POV of two different groups of characters (A Three Hunters book, and a Sam/Frodo book) — and then ends on a horrible cliffhanger. This works in the books but would not have worked on film at all.

The filmmakers’ attempts to build a Structured Film Story led to them emphasizing the idea of the Fellowship recruiting reluctant allies, and emphasizing the thematic idea of people being trapped within grief and stasis. Elrond predicts that the worst fate for Arwen would be to “linger on, in darkness and in doubt,” permanently frozen in grief; and this is the state we find most of the new characters in. Film!Theoden is portrayed as far more hesitant and grief-stricken than he was in the book, film!Treebeard is more reluctant and afraid of what war means for the Forest, and film!Faramir is more overwhelmed by the pressure to be like Boromir… and all three of them are overall far more heavily swayed by the Fellowship’s presence. (Though I still have beef with the way Faramir’s plotline was handled—XD) Because they needed to build out a structure that could work on film, they found this thematic throughline and really emphasized it.

Theoden’s grief over the death of his son makes him refuse the Fellowship’s advice to reach out to his allies or ride out against Saruman’s forces; Treebeard’s grief over the waning of the forest makes him decide that “he is on nobody’s side because nobody is on his side,” and Faramir’s grief over the death of Boromir makes him unwilling to try a solution that isn’t “what he believes Boromir would have done.”

These characters all start the film in a state of hopelessness and stasis and avoidance; then they’re ultimately forced to confront the source of their grief, and end the film by aiding the Fellowship.

This is also connected to the journey that all the Fellowship members need to go on. Frodo and Sam are forced to confront the grief at the idea that Frodo is being consumed by the Ring; Merry and Pippin have to face that “there won’t be a Shire” after Sauron’s victory; and Aragorn’s relationship with the people of Rohan forces him to confront his own fears about becoming a king and leading people to their death.

The plotlines are also really well connected through the use of music— like the Last March of the Ents leitmotif being used for Theoden’s choice to ride out against the Uruk-Hai, emphasizing the parallel between the way both characters have hesitated to “ride out and meet” the source of their grief.

And then Sam’s final speech, where a variation on the Shire leitmotif — (a version of the same variation that played in the end of Fellowship of the Ring)— becomes the final moment that ties all the disparate plot threads together. The film is centered on characters being overwhelmed by grief, and entering a state of numbness or stasis where they cut themselves off from the world. When this happens to Frodo, Sam encourages him to believes that there is still goodness in the world that’s worth fighting for— a culmination of all the ideas that have been built up throughout the past three hours.

Despite its flaws the film feels so cohesive, and the end of the film feels like such a satisfying resolution? Which is easy to take for granted because like, there were so many different moving pieces, and without a really clear thematic focus the film could’ve easily ended up falling apart.

[mercvry-glow]

Where we fit

parings. jack abbot x wife!reader

warnings. none really! implied age gap, but not mentioned (jack late 40s, reader late 20s early 30s), they're parents, dogs, it's just really soft and sweet!

notes. technically a continuation of busy bee but can be read as a stand alone! I really loved it and thought they could all use a moment to themselves. as always enjoy and feedback is majorly appreciated and I love each and every one of you!

wc. 1400+

busy bee

There were very few things Jack Abbot liked to do with his free time. Truthfully, he barely knew what free time was—life as Trauma Attending had a way of swallowing hours whole. But when the stretch of days off did roll around, there was nothing he loved more than being with his wife and their five-year-old son, Lucas.

Especially at the park, with a brand new t-ball set, two excited dogs, and the kind of sunshine that made you forget the world could be dark at all.

“Alright, Lukey,” Jack said, kneeling beside his son in the grass, “feet apart, eyes on the ball, and don’t swing like you’re trying to launch it into orbit this time.”

Lucas grinned, missing both his front teeth, and adjusted his grip on the tiny bat with all the seriousness of a pro athlete. “I’m gonna hit it so far, Daddy.”

Your German Shepherd—Ranger—stood alert nearby, tail wagging like a metronome of anticipation. Your Bernese puppy, Riley, was happily chewing on one of the old ropes Jack had brought, completely uninterested in the game.

Jack glanced over his shoulder to where you were sitting on the blanket, hair loose and sunlit, watching the both of them with that warm, quiet smile that made him fall in love all over again. You raised your iced tea in a mock toast when you caught his eye.

“Ready!” Lucas shouted.

Jack stepped back with a mock-serious nod. “Let’s see what you’ve got, slugger.”

Lucas swung hard. Too hard. The bat whooshed above the tee and nearly sent the kid spinning in a circle. He stumbled, caught himself, and looked up with wide eyes.

Jack tried to keep a straight face, but failed miserably. “Okay, maybe orbit was a little ambitious.”

Lucas burst into laughter, running to reset the ball. Ranger barked in encouragement, waiting to chase after a ball.

Jack glanced back at you again—this little pocket of peace and joy the two of you had carved out of a chaotic world—and felt something deep in his chest.

Yeah. This? This was everything.

Eventually Lucas connected on his third swing, the ball sailing a solid ten feet before plopping into the grass. Ranger took off after it like it had been launched from a cannon, barking triumphantly. Riley followed behind, mostly just excited that everyone else was excited.

“That was a good one!” Jack called, clapping as Lucas threw his arms up in the air like he’d just hit a grand slam at the World Series.

“I did it, Mommy!” Lucas yelled, already sprinting back toward the blanket.

You reached out to pull him into your lap, laughing as he nearly knocked over the half full tea. “You crushed it, baby. Think you could show me how it’s done?”

Jack walked over and dropped beside the both of you, brushing his hand across the back of your bare shoulder as he sat. “I think we’ve got a future MVP on our hands.”

Lucas beamed and turned his attention to the dogs, who were now wrestling each other near the tree line, the t-ball forgotten. “Ranger’s not sharing,” he declared with authority, then ran off again to referee the two canines.

Jack leaned back on his hands and looked over toward you, soaking it all in—the quiet, the warmth, the way Lucas’s laughter carried across the breeze like music. “God, he’s getting big.”

“He really is,” you said, watching your son try to wrestle the ball out of Riley’s mouth. “It’s weird. Some days he still feels like our baby. And then other days I blink and swear I’m already seeing the teenager.”

Jack chuckled. “Please don’t say that. I’m not ready for puberty. Or girls. Or him learning sarcasm.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “He already has your sarcasm.”

“Not possible. I am the gold standard of maturity.”

You snorted into your drink and gave him a playful shove.

You both sat like that for a while—quiet, happy. Jack let the sun warm his face and watched his family, wondering how he’d gotten lucky enough to land here. The job, the shift work, the exhaustion—all of it faded in the presence of this moment.

No sirens. No beeping monitors. Just grass-stained knees, wagging tails, and his wife’s hand finding his, fingers lacing together like they belonged that way.

Because they did.

Not long after the sun began its slow dip toward the horizon, casting golden light across the grass and tinting everything in soft amber. Lucas was finally worn out—shirt rumpled, cheeks flushed, hands sticky from the popsicle Jack had gotten him from the ice cream truck that rolled by a few minutes earlier. He was lying on the blanket now, Riley curled up against his side like a warm, fuzzy pillow, her oversized paws twitching in sleep.

Ranger sat a little ways off, tongue out, eyes alert, watching the path like the loyal grump he was. The world felt quiet in a way that only parks at dusk can be—just the occasional bark in the distance, the rustle of wind through trees, and the whisper of Jack’s laugh as you carefully attempted to fold the picnic blanket with a five-year-old and two dogs trying to “help.”

“We really should start bringing an actual bag instead of stuffing everything in the backseat like college kids,” you said, raising an eyebrow at the pile of snacks, sunscreen, a half-bucket of baseballs, and two random socks that had somehow lost their mates.

Jack smirked and leaned down to grab a tangle of leashes and water bottles. “But that would require additional planning. And maturity. Two things I gave up when I decided to become a father.”

You let out a small laugh, light and tired in the best way. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Oh, I know,” he said, brushing past her to drop the stuff by the truck. “It’s basically all I’ve got going for me.”

You rolled her eyes, but the smile lingered. Turning back toward the blanket, you paused—Lucas was fast asleep now, lips parted, one chubby hand still clutching Riley’s paw. The puppy didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“I’ll get him,” Jack said, already moving before you had even thought to ask.

He crouched down the best he could, gathered his son into his arms with practiced ease, and cradled him against his chest. Lucas murmured something half-asleep and tucked his face into Jack’s shoulder.

“Smells like grass and juice,” Jack muttered with a grin. “Definitely mine.”

He carried Lucas to the truck, gently settling him into the booster seat and pulling the straps over his little shoulders without waking him. While you wrangled the dogs next—Riley, reluctantly giving up her spot beside Lucas, and Ranger, who jumped into the back with the energy of a dog half his age.

By the time they finished packing up, the sky had deepened to that rich, dusky blue, and the first few stars were peeking out.

You leaned against the passenger side door, arms crossed loosely, watching Jack close up the truck bed. He turned and caught your gaze—soft, tired eyes, full of that quiet kind of love that doesn’t need to be said out loud.

But he said it anyway. In his way.

“Days like this… they save me,” he said, voice low. “More than you know.”

You  stepped into him, arms sliding around his waist, resting your cheek against his chest. “I do know,” you whispered.

His arms came around you without hesitation, holding you close, swaying a little in the cool evening air. No rush. No urgency. Just the slow, steady beat of his heart against your ear and the peace of a day well spent.

He pressed a kiss into your hair. “Let’s do it again next weekend.”

“You always say that,” you said teasingly.

“And I always mean it,” Jack replied, voice full of something warm and unwavering.

You both  stayed like that for another beat, the kind of stillness that makes everything else feel far away.

Then the dogs barked from the backseat, clearly ready to go, and Lucas stirred with a tiny snore that made you both laugh quietly.

Jack opened the truck door for you, still holding your hand, and helped you up into the seat before walking around to the driver’s side.

The truck rumbled to life, and as you pulled away from the park, the dogs curled up in the back, and Lucas sleeping soundly, Jack reached over and let his fingers find yours again on the console.

Still, always, home.

mercvry-glow 2025

[girl-lostconnection]

For @nightunite. I actually came back with some Seal!Soap and some hurt/comfort of poly!141 x fruit bat!Reader. Hope this is satisfactory

Harbour seal!Soap who’s off the base whenever he can — getting back home as soon as possible, the favourite baby of his mama, the oldest son and pride of his family.

Harbour seal!Soap who has difficulty slotting into most teams, he’s not a pack hybrid, he’s not attuned to the thin threads of connection that wolves or bats or even cows can feel, he’s him and maybe that’s the problem?

Harbour seal!Soap who tries hard to blend in, because he is friendly, of course he is friendly, he’s the friendliest guy on base but whispers are that he smiles too wide, that his laugh is too strained, that his teeth are always out — sharp, menacing things.

Price takes one look at his file and thrusts the pup in Simon’s hands, hums to take care of the seal and Wolf!Simon isn’t even sure what the fuck is he supposed to do.

The lad is jumpy despite obvious brilliance, the lad is trying to smile so hard Simon’s wolf grumbles with the urge to paw at him, press cheeky pup in the ground, teach him some bloody manners. You don’t show your teeth off to the likes of Simon unless you want to have them knocked out.

But Soap wiggles his way in every conversation, eyes shiny and smiles wide up until Ghost corners him, looming like death himself — snarls that if he doesn’t want a big bad wolf to bite him, he’ll fucking stop.

Simon doesn’t know whether to act on his promise or laugh in disbelief when Johnny raises his head and grins wider, now showing off his own canine’s deliberately. Look at that, the pup can bite, can’t he?

Komodo dragon!Price just hums when he finds them tangled in each other and places a bite under Soap’s collar, teeth sinking in warm salty flesh, tongue licking off the blood.

Komodo dragons thrive on hierarchy, Price thrives on power — that’s the only thing he won’t compromise on.

Johnny grins and finds way in his arms as well. Too damn bad, captain, too damn bad. Harbour seals thrive on attention.

Their unit is all live wires and sparks and heavy heady tension — air so thick with perpetual hunger that they could carve their initials inside of a little heart.

It gets easier when Kyle arrives — he takes away some of the tension, he gets each of them, catching up on everything twice as fast as Soap did.

It scratches Johnny the wrong way, makes a sensitive small part of him whine that this is it, that Kyle will take his place because how can anyone not like Kyle? Kyle is handsome, Kyle is bright and so effortlessly charming Soap wants to whip out little notebook where sergeant speaks.

But at some point Gaz pecks a kiss to his temple and pulls him on the couch of the rec room. Warm, inviting, draping hand over his shoulders — draping wing over both of them.

Soap watches him — teeth sharp, jaws itching to try the pretty wings on the pretty Gaz, head plopping in his lap.

Kyle slots into their team like he always was there — fingers careful in Johnny’s hair, hands warm around Ghost’s shoulders, talons sharp on Price’s skin.

And then you arrive. Little bat with big eyes and big wings and some of the fluffiest hair Soap has ever seen.

You don’t slot in like Gaz, you are a little rougher around the edges, a little awkward with your approaches.

Bats are social creatures but not all of us take the best parts from our hybrid sides.

You are bloody amazing at what you do, your efficiency is not a concern but you don’t wiggle your way right in the team.

You hover on the outside, you eat your fruits alone (he isn’t even sure why you even eat them? Aren’t bats carnivores? Maybe you just like them) and in the dark, you watch them — always in the periphery of the vision. But never too close.

You remind Soap himself.

Small childish part of him wants to keep things that way, small childish part of him doesn’t like new people on the team, doesn’t like sharing attention.

But you don’t ask for any. You are just there.

It takes him month and a half and a stupid joke Ghost makes about vampires for you to reply that you are a) vegetarian b) a fruit bat and not a spectral bat for Soap to feel like someone kicked him in the face. Simon pauses, tilting head to the side, his tail stopping its friendly wag.

Your smile is too wide, your teeth are so sharp and you don’t try to fit in.

You try to stay away.

They don’t know you and you just let them know that they don’t. You just let them know that they haven’t tried to know you.

Soap spends the whole evening googling information about your species with Ghost hovering above his shoulder, dark eyes reading faster than Soap scrolls.

The next morning is the first time none of them comments on the amount of fruit you consume for breakfast.

Kyle slots in next to you, murmurs “gorgeous wings, love”, asks if you could help him with preening, offers you company for the morning drills.

Offer makes something in you flutter, sending spark of hope down your chest, your big eyes zeroing on warm friendly Kyle.

(Kyle will never admit how embarrassed he was to realise that you slipped through the cracks. Kyle will never admit that social “bird” part of him croaked with distress when he noticed that you are always a little behind. Never with them.)

Soap feels something in him clench when you glance in his direction and then shake your head at Kyle. Soap knows why you looked at him very very well.

He notices Price with your file in the afternoon, reading glasses on the tip of his nose, tail swaying in with something very similar to agitation. Price doesn’t know how to crack on you, you never fight for his right at the top of the food chain, you never contest his power. He has nothing to bite down on.

Soap isn’t sure you will give captain anything to hook on. Soap isn’t sure you feel like you can.

Johnny finds you late at night, ridiculously big bowl of fruit in your lap, his cheeks burning when your head snaps up at him and you put it away.

He and Ghost used to tease you about the amount of fruits and berries you consumed — you started eating less at dinners with them.

Soap’s throat bobs when he gulps and he shakes his head, plopping himself down on the carpet next to you.

He should have thought you’d find a way to catch up on your meals when no one looks.

When no one can make you feel wrong for eating what you like to eat.

Johnny extends his palm to you. You won’t eat while he’s here but he’d like you to. Maybe you will continue if he asks you to share.

Wikipedia page smacks his brain immediately, reminding that fruit bats eat alone and are very protective of their food.

Bloody awesome, Johnny, you might’ve as well tried to wrestle fruits out of your grip.

But before his panic forces him to hide his palm away you carefully place a date in his palm, your darker claws cool and pointy. Soap doesn’t know why but he stares, eyes gluing to him.

“Can do damage with these, eh?”, he attempts at having conversation, trying not to smile too wide. Not to show off too much teeth.

You hum out “depends” and in demonstration poke a piece of orange, skewing it on a thin claw.

Soap feels his brows arch, leaning closer, unbidden “how many can you stack on ‘em?” leaving his mouth before he thinks.

To his absolute delight you snicker and pass him the bowl.

He spends the rest of the hour stacking pieces of fruit and skewing berries on your claws and watching as you practically inhale them once he’s done.

When you two finish up the bowl, you both are covered in juice and are grinning like mad idiots but Soap never felt lighter.

He watches you grin back at him — wide and toothy — and feels something shifting.

Maybe he’s not the pack hybrid like Ghost or doesn’t have Kyle’s easy charm or even John’s acute understanding of dynamics within the team. But he is him and it seems like that’s exactly what you need.

Few months later Soap finds himself with you nuzzled in his neck, Kyle plastered over you two like he’s a big blanket, Simon reading something in the quiet low voice of his and John already crawling into den you call bed.

It’s warm and he’s squished by people who like him from every side and he finally belongs.

Soap presses a kiss to the top of your head and smiles wide when you raise it, giving him a slow sleepy blink. His smiles are wide and toothy.

His smiles are always welcomed with his team.

And so is he.

[midniqhtt]

james buchanan ‘bucky’ barnes

masterlist • marvel • 06/19/25

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs five

one two three four

𑣲 how to impress a 21st century girl I @brunchable

Sam had forced Bucky to use Tinder to solve his abysmal love life. Bucky tells himself that if third time isn't a charm, he will officially give up trying to find a partner.

𑣲 i don’t want you like a best friend pt2 I @/brunchable

Bucky can't decide if the universe loves him or hates him. Maybe it loves to hate him. Maybe it's mischievous. Because he’s in love. He’s madly, deeply, painfully in love with a girl that he knows he’ll never have. Because the heavens created arguably the most perfect creature in their repertoire, dangled you in front of him for his entire life, and chose to rip you away before he had the chance to tell you how he felt.

𑣲 the best worst day ever I @jobean12-blog

You're having a shit day but then you see a dog and things start looking up...

𑣲 game night I @mugglebornmarvelite

Steve’s mandatory game night takes a turn when you and Bucky are paired up.

𑣲 bleeding heart I @mournthebird

You're his assigned nurse.

𑣲 domestic ws / soldat hcs I @/mournthebird

𑣲 cold metal I @/mournthebird

Soldat's arm gets cold. You are the solution.

𑣲 shower suds I @/mournthebird

You give Soldat his first bath out of captivity.

𑣲 silver and garnet I @/mournthebird

Soldat hurts himself a lot.

𑣲 condition I @/mournthebird

Soldat refuses to sit down, you notice he's in pain.

𑣲 gentle hand I @/mournthebird

Soldat has a panic attack.

𑣲 stained I @/mournthebird

Soldat continues to have nightmares.

𑣲 apricot toast I @/mournthebird

Soldat doesn't understand care can be without price.

𑣲 knots I @/mournthebird

You help the soldier with some self care.

𑣲 honey girl I @violentdelightsandviolentends

The Universe shows you your soulmate when it feels like you need them most. When you least expect it, you're given yours - Bucky Barnes. Your Dad's best friend. You can try to refuse it all you like; but the Universe wants what it wants. There's no denying fate.

𑣲 bucky can’t stand you I @buckyalpine

𑣲 mob!bucky I @/buckyalpine

𑣲 easy I @jaggedamethyst

life with bucky is amazing…but it’s easy to feel like you’re not enough when your relationship is a secret.

𑣲 sugar and skin pt2 pt3 pt4 I @tteotlma

Bucky’s never been sure if normalcy is something he’s cut out for. But when he meets you—a baker with a pretty smile—he starts to think maybe he could try.

𑣲 toy soldier pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 I @vunblr

She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.

𑣲 to mend a soldier I @/vunblr

Pressed by a worried Sam, Bucky reluctantly agrees to try an alternative -and, if you ask him, weird- therapy program: rent-a-mom. What starts as an obligation soon turns into something far more meaningful than he ever expected.

𑣲 what if…? I @/vunblr

Bucky navigates his insecurities and guilt from his past as he grows closer to his new neighbor, a nurse.

𑣲 roots and branches pt2 pt3 pt4 I @/vunblr

Bucky has built a quiet life in the woods, content to keep the world at arm's length. But when a new neighbor moves to town, her presence ignites emotions he’s hesitant to face.

𑣲 foundations pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 I @/vunblr

Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

𑣲 plump and ripe I @/vunblr

On a routine visit to the fruit shop, Bucky ends up with more than his usual goodies.

𑣲 built to last I @/vunblr

Bucky took up carpentry to keep himself busy, but didn't expect a hardware clerk to make him want more.

𑣲 touched starved I @mrsbuckybarnes1917

You accidentally walk in on Bucky touching himself when he thinks he is alone. Turns out he is thinking about you.

𑣲 a quiet escape I @thebarneschronicles

During a holiday stay at Clint Barton’s home, you’ve been desperately trying to steal a moment alone with Bucky—your super-soldier boyfriend—but the Avengers are constantly interrupting. Between Clint’s kids, Steve’s “bromantic” grocery runs, and Nat pulling Bucky into sparring sessions, it feels like you’re constantly fighting for his attention. Frustration finally boils over when you confront Bucky about your lack of privacy, only to discover he’s just as eager for some alone time as you are - and willing to do anything to get it.

𑣲 deny me I @drewbarymore

In which you feel like Bucky’s ashamed of you.

𑣲 dreamscape I @wkemeup

When Bucky falls under the spell of a Djinn, the line between fantasy and reality blurs. In order to survive, he must fight his way back to the real world - even if it costs him everything he's ever wanted.

𑣲 someone’s calling my name (and it sounds like you) I @mellowsaturns

after a mission gone wrong, bucky finds himself on the brink of unconsciousness and then you show up which causes him to reveal his true feelings

𑣲 mine I @cherrypickertheory

A new recruit joins the team, and gets a little too close to you for Bucky’s liking.

𑣲 dial tone I @atlaese

𑣲 lessons in lovemaking pt2 pt3 pt4 I @artficlly

You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.

𑣲 bitter I @/artficlly

Bucky doesn't do relationships, but maybe you'll be the one to change him

𑣲 his girls I @/artficlly

alpine barely tolerates anyone but bucky, so when she curls up in your lap without a second thought, the team is left reeling—especially when it leads to the not-so-subtle revelation that you and bucky have been sneaking around for months.

𑣲 loverboy I @thevillainswhore

Bucky, a lovesick, pining super soldier, vows to keep his feelings for you a secret — no matter how obvious his crush may seem. Those plans are ruined between a meddling Sam, an embarrassing fall, and a visit to the medbay with you.

𑣲 revenge sweeter than honey I @/thevillainswhore

When Bucky’s professor unfairly grades his college assignment, ruining his perfect GPA, he finds a way to get revenge — And doesn’t his sweet little wife look delicious?

𑣲 do i even have a chance? I @noceurous

you’ve found him and he was sure he didn’t have a chance

𑣲 b.b. boy I @bucky-bucket-barnes

Bucky and you have been friends ever since he arrived that rainy at the Compound. Silently pining, you’d hope he would pick on the numerous hints you dropped. It’s not until a small miscommunication happens that he confronts his feelings for you.

𑣲 hooked on you I @elysium-library

𑣲 which avenger are you destined to date I @marvelettesassemblenow

When Natasha found out about the Quiz which showed which Avenger you should date, the Avengers decided they all should take the test and go on these dates.

𑣲 your touch I @/marvelettesassemblenow

Bucky hadn’t been long at the compound when he noticed that others sought you out to calm down. So slowly he started too and had to figure out his feelings for you

𑣲 the catalyst I @aquaticmercy

In this universe, you and Bucky are happy. In other universes, it might not be that simple.

𑣲 jackass I @/aquaticmercy

Everyone is horrified that Bucky is flirting with a married woman, but then they realise there's a reason why. 

𑣲 have we met before? I @/aquaticmercy

America Chavez says that you and Bucky are together in every universe. 

𑣲 laryngitis I @skaye44

You're super talkative and your fellow agents tease you, but you don't care. You always chat up the quiet hunky super soldier who always manages to spend some time around you. One day when you can't talk due to an illness, Bucky gets concerned and seeks you out to make sure you're ok. He ends up talking to you for once.

𑣲 arm pat I @/skaye44

You go on a date with Bucky and hit it off, or so you think, but it ends weirdly. Nat steps in and gets other agents involved to send you flowers and gifts to get Bucky's attention and make him jealous for screwing up.

𑣲 stuck in the middle I @helaintoloki

you come home from work to find the last person on earth you want to see cooking dinner in your kitchen

𑣲 somethin’ stupid I @/helaintoloki

a drunken confession spoils a perfectly good evening

𑣲 everybody loves somebody I @/helaintoloki

Thrown into a blind date against his will, Bucky does his best to prepare in the days leading up to Saturday night, a feat that proves to be much more difficult than expected thanks to his neighbor across the hall.

𑣲 back to you I @/helaintoloki

Yelena’s interest in y/n forces Bucky to confront his feelings for her as the Thunderbolts take refuge in her home

𑣲 a favor I @/helaintoloki

you pretend to be Bucky’s girlfriend in order to help his campaign despite your very real feelings for him

𑣲 misunderstanding I @/helaintoloki

you accept Bucky’s invitation to attend Tony’s charity gala as his date, but your night quickly turns sour when you find out about his bet with Natasha

𑣲 40s!bucky I @/helaintoloki

after accidentally sending yourself back in time, you run into a younger version of the man you loathe only to find yourself questioning your feelings for him

𑣲 it’s been calling me I @godmadeaterribleerror

You've had these… dreams. Strange, realistic, detailed dreams of the same man, almost your whole life. But they're just dreams. You've been so sure, for so long, that they're just dreams. So sure, until you're not.

𑣲 the time thor third wheeled I @mercurial-chuckles

𑣲 option two I @nev3rfound

after nightmares continue to haunt his nights, bucky knows there’s one person left who could potentially provide some form of comfort, but is she still willing to see him after all this time?

𑣲 shut up I @fandoms-writings

𑣲 his only contact I @cjsinkythoughts

𑣲 the soldier and his mission I @magical-reid

When a trigger sends Bucky back into the grip of the Winter Soldier, he shadows you with an unyielding protectiveness that leaves the team on edge, though he doesn't harm anyone. After days of tension and careful steps, Bucky finally breaks through the icy barrier, returning to himself in a quiet, tender moment, finding solace in your presence.

𑣲 from one perfect moment pt2 I @yikesdrama

bucky’s birthday is coming up soon and you just want to do something special for him, maybe even take a time travelling trip to see his maa….

𑣲 the third wheel I @writing-for-marvel

When Bucky finally asks you out on a date, the last thing you expect is for his high school crush Connie to also have been invited.

𑣲 in too deep pt2 I @marvelstoriesepic

After Bucky calls, and you come running, you end up locked in his bathroom, trying to get rid of the evidence that something hasn’t gone well this time.

𑣲 drabble I @eufezco

𑣲 drabble I @bcksbarnes

𑣲 echos I @brokenbarnes

Bucky's worst nightmare comes true. You come back to him after taking a turn in Hydra's electric chair.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧

Sylus

Part 2

Pairing: Sylus x f!Reader

Summary: You have to share some news with Sylus, you're just not sure how to tell him.

Warnings: Fluff, Pregnancy, Yes Sylus has a son but no worries girl dad agenda being pushed in the next part!

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

Sylus is past his prime, that he knows. He isn’t the same young handsome man that he once was. Even if you insist that he looks better with each passing day, he knows he doesn’t look like he once did. It’s not something he dwells on though. He likes getting older with you.

“You have to stop acting like you’re dying, Sylus! You’re turning 40.” You scold him as you finish frosting the cake that you’ve poured your heart and soul into. The man has never really cared for birthdays until he got to spend them with you– And they became a sweet tradition until Sylus realized just how old he’s getting.

Sure, 40 isn’t that old but when you’re watching someone else grow with you, it makes you feel ancient. Especially since Sylus watched this person be born, and now he’s too old to spend time with his father.

“Couldn’t he have the sleepover on a different day? Did he have to go away on my birthday?” Sylus asks, swirling the glass in his hand. He can’t bear to look up at you because he doesn’t want you to see how upset he is about this. 

“I know it sucks, but we slowly have to get used to this. He’s a teenager.” You tell him, and he scoffs. Teenager. Just yesterday the child was begging Sylus to teach him how to ride a bike, but now he doesn’t have the time to spend with his old man.

“Yeah. Whatever.” He rolls his eyes. “At least I don’t have to go through this again. It’s just one and done.”

“Right…” You awkwardly respond, and that gets his attention. He frowns, looking up at you as you continue making his cake.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Sylus questions, and you come to a stop. Maybe you should’ve kept your mouth shut.

“I just said right.” You try to play it off, a chuckle leaving your lips. Perhaps it would’ve worked back when you started to date (it wouldn’t) but it won’t work now that you’ve been married for– He can’t tell you, he’s lost track of time. 

“Right? In that tone?” He points out, and you bite down your lip. Sylus reaches over to get some of the frosting from his cake, and you slap his hand away. 

“Wait till it’s time to cut it.” You scold him, and he clicks his tongue. 

“Can’t we cut it now? It’s just going to be the two of us anyway.” He says, and you shake your head. You pull the cake closer to you, and Sylus sighs again. “Can’t have my son, can’t have my cake, can’t get anything I want.”

“You’re so dramatic.” You tell him, and he lets out a low chuckle. Maybe he is.

“You sly fox, you changed the topic.” He replies, and you hold back a laugh. He stands up, walking over to you until he towers behind you. You can’t run away now.

You feel his breath on your neck as he lowers his head. He whispers, “What are you hiding, kitten?” 

“I’m not–”

“You really think you can lie to me?” He cuts you off before you even get a chance to finish the thought. There’s no need, Sylus can read your mind– Well almost. 

“I don’t want to ruin the night.” You confess, words that worry him.

“Ruin the night? How would it ruin the night?” He questions, and you shut your eyes. You begin to get nauseous, and you try to take deep breaths to calm yourself down. “What exactly are you keeping from me?”

“So you remember Koen’s terrible threes where you said that you would never have another child, and we agreed that he was more than enough?” You bring up, and he has no idea where you’re leading with this. He simply hums in response. “And you remember a couple of months ago where we had a little more alcohol than we should’ve?”

“Kitten, get to the point.” The connection doesn’t immediately happen in his mind, and you sigh. You didn’t want to outright say it, but he doesn’t get it.

“I’m pregnant, Sylus.” You spit out, and you feel as your heart drops. You were going to wait a couple of days before telling him but he spoiled the surprise.

Then he’s silent. For the longest minute of your life, he’s silent. And just when you’re about to speak up, he kisses your cheek. You turn around to face him, and he cups your face before kissing you. He kisses you over and over again before asking, “How would that ruin my night?”

“We haven’t agreed to have more kids and since you’re so bummed out about being old and all… You know–” You begin, and he lets out a low laugh. 

It’s been on his mind lately since his son has completely left him behind, he just didn’t want to bring it up. The universe has granted his wish without even trying.

“And when the baby turns ten you’ll be fifty and–” You ramble, and Sylus wants to scold you for ruining the moment, but it’s impossible. He simply kisses you, overjoyed by the news.

He’s becoming a father again.

[saeun]

⟡ 𓂃 SAME OLD HABITS . . . SAME OLD LOVE. ex!nanami kento ⊹ female reader.

exes? somewhat: your relationship with nanami now is... complicated. you aren’t together, but you’re somehow always with each other. your son is a factor, yes, but you also can’t refuse nanami. same goes for him.

( ﹫note 2 self : dont fuck ur ex who’s also ur baby daddy! )

+ love, ‘un: results may vary if u try this at home with ur ex ⸝ fngering and f!receiving oral: mature content, 18↑ only! ⸝ son’s here for a bit (he's 3)

Text me when you’re finished.

You sighed at the pop-up notification, contemplating whether to reply or let it collect dust.

Your relationship with Kento withered throughout the years. The differences between you two were akin to the final pieces of a jigsaw puzzle: in theory the pieces snug together perfectly, fitting into the curves of each other, yet in practice both pieces weren’t for each other; edges colliding instead of interlocking.

Kento pursued you — it was a known fact to anyone who’s made connections with him. He wasn’t embarrassed to deliver bouquets during your working hours, he never hesitated to make reservations for the table awarded with the best view, he was never ashamed to show his devotion towards you. Chivalry’s embedded into Kento. He’s the textbook definition of a gentleman, be it to strangers or friends. It’s one of his qualities that drew you into him.

Kento was yours, proudly, and you were his. The time spent with him left an imprint on you. He witnessed your highs and lows, he took everything from you and gave it back in abundance. A part of you believes that Kento tied his soul to yours, stealing a piece of your own when he left. It had to be — it’s the only plausible explanation.

It was a “mutual” breakup, both agreeing on co-parenting and scheduled visits. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t colour Kento’s history with you black and build a new painting over it. There was a three-year-old boy tying you to him — not just in name, but in blood as well. He resembled his father in every way possible. He’s a respectful young lad, waving to passersby with a cheerful “hello!” wherever he goes. He was sociable — much more than Kento — it’s at least something he got from your side.

“Mommy, I want yogurt too.” Little Kento said, pointing at the iron man packaged yogurts in the chilled section.

“We’ll come back for it after mommy’s cleared her list, okay?” You reassure him, ruffling his hair.

You keep your eyes on the phone screen, extending a hand out to grab the closest bologna sausage. During the monthly restock you never leave your son home. Despite skyrocketing your bill with his unnecessary snacks, he helps keep your mind busy with constant chattering or ignoring his requests to be put down instead of sitting in the trolley.

Simply guiding a trolley through lanes and filling it with items costs you $500 — VAT excluded. Everytime you’re met with the consequences of not restocking until a month later you promise to never let it happen again. Deep down, you know it’s just a white lie to ease yourself.

Readjusting your handbag on your shoulder, you gather the handles of the plastic bags together, giving the lightest one to your son before you walk away from the cashier.

“Sweetie, come here,” you called out to him, halting your movements and placing all the bags down at your feet.

He listens without fail, copying what you did. However, standing still isn’t a child’s favourite thing. He fidgeted until he couldn’t — running in an oval shape around you to entertain himself while your fingers hovered over the screen, hesitating to press send.

Hey, we're finished. How long till you’re here?

Ten minutes. Wait at the front, I’ll be there soon.

Your eyebrows raised, you weren’t expecting Kento to reply within milliseconds. Shoving your phone into the back pocket, you bent down for the bags, lifting it up with an exhale. They’re heavy, but manageable.

“Let’s go, daddy’s coming.”

—

Kento’s used to picking you up after your errands. What he’s not used to is not being able to replace your name with a petname. It’s been 2 years yet his habit remains the same. You never corrected him, unsure of whether the action comforts you or not.

“Put him in the car seat, I’ll finish packing.” Kento says, swapping the bags from your hand to his. Due to the height of his vehicle, it’s a challenge for Little Kento to do it himself.

You obeyed, lifting the younger one into his carseat, securing the seatbelt before giving him a peck on both cheeks.

“Do you want anything before daddy closes the trunk?” You asked, tilting your head towards Kento’s position.

“No. I wanna watch Paw Patrol.” He indirectly demanded for your phone, even stretching his palm out for the device.

Sighing, you give in, switching YouTube to kids mode so he doesn’t accidentally stray far. Once Little Kento’s comfortable, you seat yourself in the front, immediately pulling the sun visor down from the windshield to do a quick check in the mirror attached.

Compared to when your son’s absent, the drive to yours isn’t silent. In terms of talking, no one’s talking but the radio and silence from you and Kento is overshadowed by a Paw Patrol marathon booming at max volume. It’s not awkward — you’ve spent years with Kento, but you also don’t feel like engaging in meaningless chitchats after a grocery run.

The only time you do talk with Kento is after you’ve settled in and packed the groceries where they belonged. Kento offered his assistance but you refused, urging him to check on Little Kento instead. Somewhere along the drive back he fell asleep, the Paw Patrol marathon being used as background noise to lull him to sleep.

“Finished already?” Kento questions, softly closing the door to the boy's room and planning his steps to stand beside you.

“Mhm,” you nod, stretching your arms upwards to relieve tension.

He remains silent, soaking in your physical appearance instead. Your eyebags are what his eyes remain on — the most obvious sign of exhaustion. You can’t lie your way out.

“You should get some rest.” He suggests.

“I don’t want to sleep yet.”

Kento deadpans. You’re denying the easiest way to get your energy back. Although you’ve both grown, you kept your old habits — something he’s secretly thankful for.

“Want me to help?” He offers his services, making eye contact with you.

Your mind runs into the past, remembering how Kento usually dealt with your stubbornness. You want to deny it, arguing that a shower would rejuvenate you, but an agreement already slipped past your lips without thought.

Kento’s quick on his feet, muttering a “jump,” so he can wrap your legs around his waist. Your hands clasped behind his neck, head laying on the crook of his neck while your fingers played with his hair.

Your house is relatively new, yet he’s already familiar with the layout. The walk to your bedroom came naturally, and so did the locking of your room door. Kento gently sits you down on the edge of the bed, placing his hands on your shoulders to lightly massage them. Your head leans slightly to the side, a content sigh being your only vocal response.

“Can I take this off?” His hand lowers to the hem of your shirt, slipping his thumbs underneath.

You nod, raising your arms to allow smooth sailing. Once off, he navigates behind your back, undoing the hooks of your bra to remove it. Kento eyes your body, making a mental note of how your bare upper half looks. It’s been several months since you’ve last fucked, his memory got a bit hazy.

“Lay down, sweetheart.” He orders, removing his glasses from his face and placing them near your face-down phone on the bedside table.

You somewhat obeyed, leaning back but propping yourself up with your elbows. Your eyes tracked Kento’s movements, landing on his not-so-hidden bulge.

“Already?” You tease, surprised at how easily he gets excited with you.

He doesn’t bother responding, instead sliding the sleeves of his sweater above his elbow before he kneels down in front of your dangling legs. You keep your eyes on him, pressing your cheek against your shoulder. Kento’s hand parts your legs wide enough for him to shuffle in between. He works his hands around the waistband of your jeans, pulling them completely off along with your underwear.

A chill runs through your body. You’re completely bare while he’s fully clothed; not to mention, you’re already wet. You attempt to press your thighs together, but Kento’s body prevents it.

He lifts a finger to press it on your clit, dragging it down until he reaches your hole. Slowly, he pushes it in until it’s halfway covered. You clench around his finger, sighing at the loss when he pulls it away. Eyeing his finger, Kento watches it glisten under the light, bringing it into his mouth shamelessly.

“You’re dirty.” Your eyes widen.

“You’re sweet.” He hums, moving one hand to lift your thigh onto his shoulder while the other faces its palm upwards before entering two digits. He argues the repositioning allows him to finger-fuck you deeper.

His eyes attach to your core, watching his digits disappear and reappear coated in your slick each pump. You couldn’t resist grabbing his arm, nails digging into the skin to ground yourself. His free hand moves from your thigh to your clit, rubbing gentle circles and synchronizing both hands to how you like it.

“K-kento, ‘m close.”

You didn’t need to voice out anything, Kento knows your body like it’s his own. From the way your eyes screwed shut, mouth slightly opened, and hips twitching upwards tells him that you’re nearing an orgasm.

Your thighs squeeze against his body, nails digging into your own palm and Kento’s arm simultaneously as you whimper the closer your orgasm comes. It’s not long before it dominates, your juices coating Kento’s hand, damping the bed sheets. Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, a desperate attempt to soften your moans. Kento kept thrusting his fingers in you slowly, urging you to ride out your orgasm but all it does is overstimulate.

“W-wait,” you say breathlessly, tapping on his bicep three times — the safe word (that’s not a word) you settled on.

Kento slides his fingers out, giving you some time to calm down from your high. He watches your chest rise and fall, guessing that you’re trying to stabilise your breathing — which you are. You’re also clenching around nothing in a rhythm similar to a pulse, already missing the feeling of his fingers filling you.

“Ready?” He softly asks, massaging your leg.

You hum in response, laying flat against the bed. The after effects of the high left you unable to keep yourself propped up on your elbows.

This time Kento places both your thighs on his shoulders, wrapping his arms around it and dragging you closer until you can feel his breath on your core.

A shaky breath leaves you, eyes closed and head turned to the side as you feel Kento’s tongue lick a long strip against your heat. Your hands wrinkle the bedsheet between your fingers when he latches onto your clit, sucking at the bundle of nerves like it’s his first meal within months.

Your hands find themselves on his head, fingers tangled in the strands of blond. Your back arches off the bed, a mewl of Kento’s name going into his hair and translating straight to this dick. This time he doesn’t allow you to move as you like, his arms tighten around your thigh, significantly stopping your squirming. Occasionally, his tongue slides into your hole to refresh the taste of you.

“Kento, Kento, Kento.” You chant his name, voice dripped in honey and bliss as you tug his hair, unsure if you’re trying to pull him away or push him closer.

Kento continues sucking on your clit, using his fingers to fuck you once more. The combination of him working on your clit like he’s making out with it and his fingers pumping in you, you couldn’t stabilise yourself. Your hips thrust pathetically into his mouth, chasing the euphoric feeling the faster your second orgasm builds up.

In seconds it washes over you, making your already sensitive body twitch violently. One hand moves to fist the sheet, then to grab Kento’s bicep, digging new crescents into his skin.

Your hand on his hair falls limp, eyes closed as you free your now bruised bottom lip from between your teeth. You try to catch your breath, ignoring your hair sticking to your forehead and the sides of your face due to sweat.

Kento removes your thighs from his shoulders, placing them down to grab the towel. With gentle swipes against your skin, he cleans your wetness from your thighs, the sweat from your face, then your slick from his own face. The sheets and clothes can be dealt with later. Once you’re cleaned up to his standard, he leans down to you, planting an arm at the side of your head.

“Should I run the bath,” he cuts himself off, caressing your cheek after he moves some of your hair behind your ear. “Or should we continue?”

“Huh?” His question falls deaf on your ears. You’re still recollecting yourself after two back-to-back orgasms.

Kento laughs, planting a kiss on your forehead, “Bath it is then.”

[cheriecoke]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ HOME COOKED MEAL — nanami kento

you bring itadori home for dinner & he gets to see a different side to kento

contents. aka you dig up some teenage photos of nanami, fem!reader, husband nanami, fluff, yuuji being your adopted son, i haven't watched the new ep (& i won't) but there is enough nanami angst so i am here to fix that — 1.7k

when you got ready to leave the school, your jacket on and bag tugged over your shoulder, you passed yuuji itadori in the halls, his expression suspiciously similar to a kicked puppy. 

yuuji perked up a bit as you walked by, offering you a small smile and a wave. and though you considered heading on home for the night, eager to see your husband, you slowed, hesitant to leave the poor kid all alone. 

“everything okay, yuuji?” you asked, frowning as he rested his elbows on his knees, studying a stain on the floor of the school. 

“hm?” the teenager glanced up, eyes bright and wide. his sweet smile was back on his face, so innocent and kind. for someone who had been through so much already, he was more caring than many people that you’d met in your life. “oh, everything’s fine. everyone’s just out on missions, so i feel a little…” he pulled up one shoulder in a shrug. “useless.” 

you knew it must have been hard for him, being a student that wasn’t quite like the others, having to train a little differently, adapt differently. but yuuji took it in stride, and he handled it better than any normal person would. 

with a nod, you secured your bag around your other shoulder, shifting your feet. “it’s just going to be you here tonight, then?” 

he hummed, sticking his hands in his pockets as he leaned back against the wall. “i think so. some of the others might be around, but they’re resting up.” 

“oh.” though you were certain yuuji had no qualms about spending an evening on his own, the thought of it made you feel like you were leaving a kitten out in the rain. almost pitiful. 

yuuji waved before you could say another word, smiling, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “have a good night! i’ll see you tomorrow.” 

the car ride was spent listening to yuuji tell you story after story, the boy opening up to you in a way that he hadn’t quite related to any of the other sorcerers, even gojo.

you smiled to yourself, enjoying his stories as you wondered how to tell kento that you were bringing your student home for dinner. 

there was still a bridge to cross between them, and though you knew they both liked the other more than they let on, kento hadn’t quite connected to the boy like he wanted to.

you hoped that by inviting him over, yuuji would see that kento, truly, wasn’t as intense as he let on. he was sweet, caring, and he did have a sense of humor… even if gojo didn’t really believe that. 

you led yuuji into the house, and stopped him when you heard the sound of kento in the kitchen. his mission had ended earlier than yours, and he’d offered to cook tonight; there would be more than enough food for the three of you. 

“i’ll be right back,” you said, tapping yuuji on the shoulder. “let me go tell kento you’re here.” 

you’d considered letting your husband know before you arrived, but you hadn’t wanted him to protest. kento would try to make a fuss of having a guest over, even if it was only yuuji, and he certainly didn’t care about formalities. 

your heart skipped when you reached kento, his back turned, finishing up the meal that was steaming on the stove. even just standing in the threshold of the kitchen, you were overwhelmed with all of your love for him. 

but it didn’t take much… it never had. you’d always been sickeningly in love with nanami kento. 

your footsteps were soft as you snuck up behind him. “kento,” you said, just above a whisper, snaking your arms around his waist. you kissed the muscles between his shoulder blades, listening to the steady thrum of blood pumping through his body. 

“hi, sweetheart.” he’d heard you approach, and he turned, eyes softening when he glanced at you over his shoulder. “everything okay at the school?”

you nodded, squeezing him tighter. even though you’d seen him just a few hours prior, it felt like a long time—time apart when you were battling curses always dragged as you worried for each other’s safety. “did your mission go okay?” you asked. 

he took your hands from around his waist, bringing them to his lips softly. “everything went fine. dinner’s almost ready so—” then, he noticed your guilty expression, one that you were clearly horrible at hiding. “is something wrong?” 

you smiled innocently. “no! i just… brought a guest.” 

kento’s eyebrows raised, his smiling falling quickly. “well, you could’ve told me before.” he sighed, shaking his head as he turned around to face you. 

“sorry, i thought i’d surprise you.” 

kento’s lips drew into a thinner line. “honey, please tell me gojo satoru is not in my house right now. he’s not welcome here anymore, because the last time he almost destroyed our fucki—” kento glanced up, his words falling away as he glanced over your shoulder. “itadori. hello. i didn’t realize you were there.” 

you turned, releasing kento as yuuji gawked back at you. he’d caught in such a loving embrace with kento. yuuji’s normally stoic teacher was in the middle of swearing, blonde hair tumbling over his forehead. kento had replaced his suit with casual wear, and his contacts had been taken out. in place of them were wire-rimmed glasses. 

“nanamin!” yuuji gasped. “you look so different.” 

“yes, well, i apologize for my apperance.” kento sighed, looking at you from the corner of his eye. “i wasn’t aware we were having guests.” 

“one guest. its just yuuji,” you said, poking him in the middle of the chest as his professional tone returned, so easily taking over. “i don’t think he cares what you’re wearing.” 

“no, i don’t!” yuuji backtracked, eyes wide as he shuffled forward. “no, you look cool, you don’t look so…” 

kento raised his eyebrows, amused, even if yuuji couldn’t detect the humor in his expression. “so what?” 

the boy’s cheeks turned pink, embarrassed as he rubbed the back of his neck. “um—”

“you don’t look like you’ve got a stick up your ass.” you said, voicing yuuji’s obvious thoughts as you kissed kento on the cheek with a short laugh. of course, it was only to embarrass him further in front of his student. 

kento feigned a scowl, but didn’t push you away, his gaze firmly planted on yuuji. “that’s because i try to keep my relationships at work strictly professional.” 

“really?” yuuji grinned, stuffing his hands back in his pockets, his posture relaxing as he grew more comfortable in your home. “not very professional to marry someone you work with, is it?” 

you laughed loudly, already caring so deeply for the boy that you’d known for such a short period of time. 

“that was certainly an accident,” kento muttered, but his fingers lingered on your spine, tracing each of the bones. “i’ll have you know we were not working together when we got together.” 

“really?” yuuji’s curiosity spiked. “how long have you been together, then?” 

you thought back to when you were teenagers, when kento had a haircut that he had since regretted, and smiled mischievously. reaching into your pocket, you pulled out your phone and scrolled through old photos, back from when you were just kids, the images grainy and of much lower quality than the ones from your recent vacation. 

“hey, don’t show him those!” kento protested. he reached for your phone, but you scrambled under his arm, stretching your hand out to give yuuji the device. “itadori, don’t—” kento’s voice held a hint of panic, his cheeks hot with embarrassment as he grabbed you around the waist, trying to stop you from giving yuuji the phone. 

but it was already in yuuji’s hands, and you laughed loudly, knowing that while you looked a little more awkward than you did now, your appearance had changed near as drastically as kento’s. 

yuuji squinted his eyes at a sixteen year old nanami, blond hair long enough to reach his eyes, dressed in an all black ensemble, an earbud in one ear. kento was hardly smiling, but you beamed next to him in the photo, dressed more childishly than you were now, but just as pretty. the image from when you still fumbled around each other, unsure how to admit that you were both in love. 

a roar of laughter left yuuji as kento’s expression fell, and he released you, snapping the phone out of itadori’s palm. “that’s you, nanamin? no way. how did you…” yuuji glanced between you, squinting his eyes. “well, i guess looking at you now it makes sense.” 

“i know,” you agreed, covering your smiles with your palms. “we looked a little silly together back then. i saw the potential in him, but satoru certainly loved to make fun of us, didn’t he, ken?” 

“i have absolutely no desire to relive those days.” 

yuuji laughed. “you were just like fushiguro, i bet!” 

“scarily similar,” you agreed, as kento rolled his eyes beside you, putting your phone in his pocket to keep you from scavenging any older photos to share with the kid. “and he still loves to listen to—”

“don’t finish that sentence or i’ll save this dinner all for myself.” 

yuuji eyes flew up to his hairline, but you just snorted, knowing that kento’s threats were about as scary as a puppy.

“he’s still sensitive about it,” you whispered to yuuji. “gojo and his friends made fun of him all the time.” 

“oh really. just me?” kento retorted under his breath.

“you must have been pretty popular, then!” yuuji grinned. “if you were friends with gojo. he said all the girls in school loved him!”

kento made an irritated sound, stirring the spoon roughly against the pot. “well, satoru is the last person you should listen to. he has an ego bigger than the sun. and my wife is leading you astray. she was not similar to satoru, she was painfully shy, and it took weeks for either of us to talk to each other.” kento took the pan off the stove, peering over his shoulder at you. “and she is very lucky i love her too much to dig up any embarrassing stories of her.” 

“well, stories about me aren’t that interesting anyway.” you laughed, pointedly turning your back to kento. “yuuji, the good news is, i’ve got some more photos in kento in the old photo books. let’s go see them!” 

[novelistwriter]

The Reformed King

DP x DC Prompt

Danny is done with his home dimension. His identity was revealed after the "Dan" incident, and he has been constantly on the run. The GIW, all the adults, his parents included, were hunting him down, and no one was helping him. He doesn't know that the GIW has captured basically his entire school and his sister to interrogate them all about him. So he hopped into a Natural Portal and left it for the Infinite Realms/Ghost Zone.

His half-life started going downhill after Pariah's attempt at conquering his dimension, as after that happened, Vlad was making more attempts to make him his son, which caused him to have arguments with his parents about Vlad. His Ghostly Rogues began to attack/play fight with him a lot more, which caused his grades to decline even more.

He freed Pariah again. But to fight the Tyrant in what's basically a suicide attempt, he's depressed because he thinks no one has his back and is against him.

The fight between the two lasted a long time, but eventually, the fight ended with both of them changed. Danny had managed to instill some changes within the Tyrant King during their fight because he was shouting at the King what he did to his life, and since Danny is basically a Ghost Baby, Pariah's Ghostly instincts won over his desire to battle. Things only escalated from there, as Danny became the son to Pariah, making him the Ghost Prince, and Pariah himself is going through some positive changes because of Danny, albeit slowly.

He managed to close the portal that his parents have after learning that the portal is connected to his core. He is now living with Pariah in their keep. The Observants tried to do anything to regain control of the power they lost when Pariah became Ghost King again and to try and make Danny lose his title of Ghost Prince. They instead lost almost all of their powers because of Pariah's new Royal decree on them when he learned of what they were going to do to his son.

It had been a few years, and Danny's human half began to affect his Ghost Half. He needs to take care of his human half, or he will cease to be. Pandora, his current fighting instructor, recommended her home dimension to Danny and Pariah to live in for a few years. The King and Prince went to the dimension, with a mortal body Clockwork had given Pariah to become a Halfa himself.

The Father and Son are living in a city called Gotham, which has enough ambient ectoplasm for them to survive. Occasionally, they will travel around the world when they have enough ectoplasm stored in the Thermos' Danny made for them. He made other things since he practically made most of the inventions his former parents used.

In their travels, the Father and Son have gotten the attention of three individuals, Bruce Wayne, Diana Prince, and Clark Kent, due to Danny's resemblance to Bruce and Clark, and the way Danny fights for Diana.

[chuluoyi]

࿐ ࿔ 🕰️ 「 07:02 A.M 」

based on an ask but i can't find the post :') and i'm working on remarried empress au i promise :'D so please make do with this first. anyways, more domestic dad!gojo and reader ahead~

a part of gojo's love entries

“mph, so cold...”

satoru was awoken by the chill biting at his whole body as he realized he was naked from the waist up, and saw that you, vast asleep, were hogging the whole blanket to cocoon yourself.

this is why i’m freezing! but eh...

and then he really saw you. curling up with messy hair, lips adorably pursed even in your sleep, and overall, you looked so soft and vulnerable in his eyes.

mine, all mine... satoru didn’t need to blink to see you better but he did anyway, and the sight brought a fond smile to his face. you were rightly exhausted after last night and he quietly snickered to himself, thinking of your mewls. out of cuteness aggression, he hugged you along with your blanket and planted kisses on your face.

“mm, ahh...” you groaned, and he dived in to suck your neck.

your smooth skin and soft pants... gods, he just wanted to gobble you all over again—

“go... awaay...” but then you flipped your body away from him, mumbling and hiding your head under the blanket altogether.

satoru was left reeling at the refusal, heartbrokenly pouting, but then he heard the pitter patter of tiny steps and immediately looked at the door to find his cute son curiously opening the door and peeking his head inside.

ah, another one of his great blessings.

“hey you.” satoru grinned immediately as his toddler’s round blue eyes widened in slight surprise. “why are you awake so early? come here.”

“yaaay!” the munchkin cheered at the invitation and was really about to jump into the bed when he sat up to stop him. “shh, don't be too loud!”

“—?” his boy looked at him with a sad frown as he picked him up and placed him on the bed next to him.

“oh no, don’t be sad. just let mama sleep longer, yeah? she’s tired.”

“mm, why?”

“why? well, she didn’t get enough sleep, that’s why.”

“but you sleep together...?”

“hmm~ we played a game a bit before sleeping and it ate all her energy.”

satoru mentally did a victory pose as his minion no longer questioned him, but then his clear eyes were transfixed on his bare body. “papa, you nakey...?”

your curious son was adorable in every way. he inherited your natural cuteness and satoru wanted nothing more than indulging him but...

he suddenly engulfed him in a bear hug and squeezed him tightly, making him almost squeal.

“yes! and now i’m cold so you’re my new heater!”

“waaaaa nooo!”

it was a morning just like any other day, with his baby and his wife, and yet satoru knew that surely today was going to be a good day.

“minion, you do know i love you and your mama veeeery much, don’t you?~”

epilogue

it happened during breakfast. you were sitting your son in his high chair and about to prepare simple omelet for the three of you to share when you heard it—

“mamaaa, what game did you and papa play? wanna play too!” your innocent boy asked with gummy smile, and you cocked your head in confusion.

“game...?”

“papa said you played a game together... at night!”

you honestly couldn’t connect the dots together, so you turned to your husband for help... but satoru merely awkwardly chuckled to himself.

“papa said... the game makes you tired and ate your energy!”

tired? ate energy? the gears in your head were turning and you came to a conclusion so quick as you shot a glare at satoru.

“well, it is a game your papa really enjoys,” you scathingly replied, not looking away from him as he inwardly gulped. but oho, you were in no forgiving mood this morning and so you wickedly smirked.

“let’s try to ask him about it. so, papa, what did we play again, hmm?”

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation wc: 17k spotify playlist series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

“What do you mean you’re just ‘giving up’?”

“Satoru, calm down.”

“Oh, calm down? You expect me to calm down when you’re just letting whoever threw all this shit on Y/N, my son just…free? You’re really not going to look harder?”

Satoru huffs in a frustrated manner, rubbing his hands through his hair, and messing up the silver locks. When he was called by his parents so early in the morning to come to their place, he thought he would’ve been greeted with good news. Any news. Not this. He not only feels immensely annoyed, but also thrown under the bus. But what else was supposed to expect from them? He’s pacing the living room, his parents standing off to the side and watching their only child try not to lose his shit. 

“Satoru, we’ve all looked into this. But whoever took that picture was smart, they knew how to stay hidden. We’ve done everything in power, son.” His mother tries to placate him, holding her hand out in an attempt to gently plant it on his forearm. 

He promptly pulls away before she makes contact, fixing his mother with an icy look, lip curled up slightly.

“How convenient,” Satoru snaps, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “The all-powerful Gojo family, with all its influence, resources, and connections, suddenly can’t find one person? Spare me.” His pacing becomes more erratic, his steps heavy as if each one is an outlet for his frustration. 

His father finally speaks, his tone sharp and commanding, “Enough, Satoru. You’re not the only one affected by this. We’ve handled the situation as best as we could without escalating it further. Do you even understand the damage control we’ve had to do?” 

“Damage control?” Satoru lets out a bitter laugh, stopping dead in his tracks to glare at his father. “You’re more worried about your reputation than your grandson’s safety, aren’t you? Or Y/N’s for that matter?” 

His father narrows his eyes, his voice lowering dangerously. “Watch your tone. You think we don’t care? Everything we’ve done has been to protect this family.” 

“Family?” Satoru scoffs, gesturing wildly. “If you cared so much about family, you wouldn’t just let this slide. You’d help me hunt them down, no matter what. But no, you’re just sweeping it under the rug like everything else, aren’t you?” 

His mother’s voice trembles slightly, though she tries to keep her composure. “Satoru, please try to understand—there’s only so much we can do without creating more chaos. We can’t act recklessly.”

“You mean I can’t act recklessly,” he mutters darkly, taking a step back from both of them. His jaw tightens as he looks between his parents, disgust and disappointment etched into his face. “You don’t get it. None of this is just about me anymore. It’s about Y/N and Koji. They didn’t ask for any of this, and now they’re the ones dealing with it.” 

His father sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What do you want us to do, Satoru? Tell me, what more can be done that hasn’t already been tried?” 

“I’ll handle it myself,” Satoru growls, the fire in his eyes blazing. “You won’t. Fine. But I will.” Without waiting for a response, he turns on his heel and storms toward the door. 

Yamato’s hand shoots out, gripping his son by the elbow and effectively holding him in place. Satoru turns his head over his shoulder, matching his father’s death glare with one of his own—only it looks…scarier. 

The silence is palpable—disturbing. Akane stands half way in the middle, unsure if she should stop this now or let Yamato deal with it—deal with their son. She worries her lip between her teeth, brows furrowed together. 

“Satoru,” Yamato’s voice is low, firm, but the underlying tension cuts through the room like a blade. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to.”

Satoru’s lips curl into a cold smirk, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. He doesn’t pull away, but his entire posture radiates defiance. “Oh, I know exactly who I’m talking to. The man who taught me that family comes second to pride. Let me go, Dad, before this gets uglier than it already is.”

Akane takes a hesitant step forward, her hands trembling slightly as she reaches out. “Yamato, please. Let him go. This isn’t the time to—”

“Stay out of this, Akane,” Yamato interrupts sharply, his focus never wavering from Satoru.

Satoru scoffs, the sound filled with disdain. “Of course. Can’t let Mom get in the way of the big, bad Gojo men, can we?” His tone drips with mockery, but his glare burns with genuine anger.

Yamato’s grip tightens, his knuckles white. “You think this is about me? About my pride? This is about you—your recklessness, your inability to see the bigger picture. You can’t solve everything with brute force, Satoru.”

Satoru’s smirk fades, replaced by a steely resolve. “And you can’t solve anything by sitting back and doing nothing.” He yanks his arm free with a sharp motion, the force of it making Yamato take a half-step back. “You’ve made it clear where your priorities lie. Don’t worry—I won’t let this ‘family legacy’ get in the way of protecting my family.”

Yamato’s jaw tightens, his expression unreadable. “Satoru, the boy is your family but not that woma—”

“Address her by name, Yamato.” Satoru steps closer to his father, the two at towering heights. Truly a frightening sight to an outsider’s perspective. “Or you and I are going to start having some serious problems.”

Yamato’s lips press into a thin line, his stoic demeanor cracking just enough to reveal a flicker of irritation. “You think threats will get you anywhere with me, boy?” His voice is sharp, controlled, but there’s a distinct edge that betrays his frustration. “She’s the reason this mess even exists. She’s—”

“Enough.” Satoru’s tone drops to something cold, lethal. His cerulean eyes blaze with an intensity that could freeze anyone in their tracks. “You don’t get to disrespect her. Not when you’ve done nothing to fix this so-called ‘mess.’ Not when she’s been doing everything she can to protect my son—your grandson.”

Yamato stiffens, his brows furrowing. “Watch your tone.”

“I’ve been watching my tone my whole damn life,” Satoru snaps, his composure finally breaking. “But not anymore. You don’t get to sit on your throne and act like you care about this family when all you care about is the Gojo name. Koji and Y/N are my family now. Whether you like it or not.”

“You two aren’t married,” Yamato reminds his son, for what must be the thousandth time now. 

Really, Satoru’s losing his mind here. He knows that. He knows you two aren’t married. But he still feels an obligation towards you—the magnetic pull to protect you from outside scrutiny that could potentially harm you and Koji. So sure, you guys aren’t married. But that doesn’t change the matter of fact here. “And what if we were?”

Akane gasps, Yamato’s eyes visibly widening in surprise before lowering down to their normal state. His jaw ticks. “Stop, don’t make jokes like that. You’ve been promised to Himari for a while now.”

Satoru’s laugh is sharp, humorless, slicing through the tense air. “Promised? What century are you living in? I’m not some pawn for you to move around, Yamato.” His tone drips with disdain as he steps closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over his father. “You think a promise to Himari means a damn thing to me? I’ll marry who I want, when I want.”

Yamato’s composure wavers for the briefest moment before he narrows his eyes. “You don’t understand the importance of this arrangement, Satoru. It’s not just about you—it’s about securing alliances, protecting the legacy—”

“Legacy, legacy, legacy,” Satoru mocks, rolling his eyes. “Is that all you care about? Your ‘legacy’? Not your grandson, not the fact that your son is trying to do what you never could—actually be there for his family?”

Akane’s hands tremble at her sides as she steps forward, voice tentative but pleading. “Satoru, please. We only want what’s best for you—”

“No,” Satoru interrupts sharply, turning his icy gaze to his mother. “You want what’s best for you. Don’t twist it.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair as if trying to physically shake off their words. “Koji doesn’t need your ‘legacy.’ He doesn’t need your politics or your alliances. He needs a father who puts him first.”

“And Y/N?” Yamato retorts, his tone scathing. “Do you think she’s above this? She could be using you, Satoru. She’s a liability, dragging you—us into scandal after scandal. And now, with the boy—”

“Enough!” Satoru’s voice booms, cutting through the room like a clap of thunder. He steps even closer to his father, their faces mere inches apart. “You don’t get to talk about her like that. She’s the mother of my child. She’s family. And I’ll defend her with everything I’ve got.” His voice drops, low and cold. “So go ahead. Keep pushing me. See what happens when I stop giving a damn about your ‘legacy.’”

Akane’s quiet, labored breathing breaks the tension, her hand fluttering to her mouth as she looks between the two men. The silence that follows feels deafening, and for a moment, Yamato looks like he might lash out—but then he takes a breath, regaining his composure.

“Fine, you’ve made your point clear,” Yamato finally says, his voice low and measured. “But don’t expect me to clean up the fallout when this all collapses around you.”

Satoru huffs a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I won’t. I’ve learned not to expect much from you anyway. A man who cares more about sealing business deals than the own well-being of his family.”

Yamato glares, his jaw tightening once more, but he doesn’t respond. The tension in the room is suffocating, a silent battle of wills playing out between father and son.

Satoru doesn’t wait for his father to break. Instead, he turns sharply, heading for the door. Before he leaves, he glances over his shoulder, his eyes steely. “You can take your promises, your alliances, and your legacy—and shove them. I’ll protect my family, with or without you.”

And with that, he slams the door behind him, leaving Akane and Yamato in stunned silence. The house rattles with Satoru’s exit. Akane slowly turns her head towards her husband, who is still staring at the spot their son once stood in. Her jaw clenches, French-tipped nails digging into her aged palms. “You…you’re breaking this family apart, Yamato.”

“It was already apart.”

That’s it. Nostrils flaring as she hastily stomps up to her husband and delivers a slap to his right cheek. His head shoots toward his left, unflinching. He doesn’t face his wife, even after he hears the sniffling come from her. 

The room hangs heavy with silence after the sharp crack of Akane’s hand meeting Yamato’s cheek. She stands there, trembling, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath. Tears well in her eyes, blurring the sight of her husband—unmoved, unshaken, and cold as stone. 

“You’re so blind,” Akane whispers, her voice quivering. “Blind to what really matters. Satoru…he’s slipping away from us, and you can’t see it because you’re too damn proud to admit you’ve failed him.”

Yamato remains still, his head turned, staring at nothing. “I’ve done what I had to do,” he replies, his voice devoid of emotion. “For this family. For its survival.”

“No,” Akane counters, her voice growing louder, cutting through the tense air like a blade. “You did it for yourself. You’ve always done it for yourself. The name, the power, the control—it’s all you care about. You don’t care about Satoru. You don’t care about Koji. And now…” Her voice cracks, and tears spill over her cheeks. “Now, you don’t even care about me.”

Finally, Yamato turns to face her. His expression is unreadable, a mask of stoicism, but there’s a flicker—just a flicker—of something in his eyes. Regret? Doubt? It’s gone before she can be sure.

“I care about this family,” he says, the words sounding rehearsed, hollow. “I’ve always cared.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Akane snaps, taking a step closer, her fists clenching at her sides. “If you cared, you’d see what you’re doing. You’d see that you’re driving Satoru away, driving us all away. You’d see that the ‘legacy’ you’re so desperate to protect isn’t worth a damn if there’s no one left to carry it. Aren’t you tired of this all?”

Yamato opens his mouth to respond, but the words die on his tongue. For a moment, he simply stands there, his towering frame somehow diminished by the weight of her words.

“You’ve lost him,” Akane whispers, her voice breaking. “And if you keep this up…you’ll lose me too.”

She turns and walks away, her heels clicking against the polished floor as she retreats, leaving Yamato alone in the echoing silence of the living room. He doesn’t call after her. Instead, he stands there, the faint sting of her slap lingering on his cheek, and for the first time in a long time, Yamato feels the weight of his choices pressing down on him.

Satoru’s driving faster than he should back home, inhaling deeply then letting it go. He stops at a red light, too close to the white line of pedestrians. His phone sits in the cup holder before being picked up once more, eyes narrowing at the article he was looking at before he stormed on the pedal home. 

“Satoru Gojo and girlfriend Himari Nakamura spotted with Y/N L/N! Trouble in Paradise? Is this an end to Hitoru?!”

He bitterly scoffs once more when he sees the idiotic title to the even more idiotic article. Once again, an intrusive element to his already asphyxiating life. He knew meeting up with you to drop off Koji’s jacket might have been pushing it already, but for some reason…he found himself wanting to see your face and hear your voice. Even if it was just for a few short minutes. He hadn’t expected Himari to find him so soon, which was why he knew he needed to cut it short and keep his cool before anything unsavory happened. 

Because of shit like this. 

Satoru’s grip tightens on the wheel as he glares at the screen, the words blurring as his anger mounts. His chest feels tight, like the very air around him is too thick to breathe. The headline taunts him—Hitoru—the mockery of it all, the never-ending reminders of the mess he’s in. Himari’s name keeps appearing in connection with his, like some knot he can’t untangle.

Hitoru—the name they gave him and Himari when they were pushed together by their families, the perfect picture of a relationship built on top of strict obligation, not love. His fingers tighten around his phone, the familiar buzzing of frustration building in his throat.

He snaps the phone shut with a sharp motion, tossing it back into the cupholder. But the damage is done. The images of you, of Himari, of the scrutiny that surrounds them, keep circling his mind. It’s suffocating. He doesn’t even want to think about it anymore—about how you’ve been dragged into this mess.

The light changes, and he slams his foot down on the accelerator, the engine roaring as he speeds toward home. But even as he drives, his mind races—faster than the car, faster than his thoughts can keep up. He can’t shake the image of his parents, the look in their eyes, the silence that followed his exit. And now this—this new intrusion. It’s like he’s always on the edge of losing something, something he can’t even define anymore.

He turns off the road onto a quieter street, his heart hammering in his chest as he parks in front of the familiar house. The world feels too loud, the air too thick, and all he wants is for it to stop—for it all to just stop.

He grabs his phone again, his thumb hovering over your name in his contacts. He pauses, staring at it, then pulls his hand away, staring at the water in front of him instead.

“Damn it,” he mutters to himself. There’s so much to fix, so many wrongs to right, but he doesn’t know where to start anymore. Throwing the phone onto the passenger seat, he knocks his forehead into the leather wheel. 

He wonders if you saw it already. Maybe you did, but maybe you didn’t. There’s a part of him that wants to text you to ask, and maybe even apologize. However, he’s not sure if that would be a good choice right now. He recognizes every little bit of you so easily, it’s startling. Maybe concerning?

The small downturn to your lips as you held back a frown and formed a smile, the pitch of your voice lowering in disappointment. The look in your eyes that glazed over with nothing but…betrayal? He cursed himself, eyes squeezing shut. 

You probably hate him even more now for not standing up for you as you would’ve liked—as he would’ve liked.  He’s starting to feel like his older self again, and he absolutely despises that. Fucking up and knowing it, but not fixing it up afterwards. He should’ve followed you back into your workplace and apologized for what Himari said to you, but he didn’t. He froze like a fucking idiot and in the end—chose another woman. 

Satoru’s forehead remains pressed against the steering wheel, the heat of it grounding him in the overwhelming rush of guilt and frustration. His thoughts swirl in chaos, a vortex of what-ifs and should-haves. Every moment he’d spent ignoring your pain, every opportunity to protect you he let slip by—it feels like he’s suffocating on the weight of it all. The truth is, he knows you too well. Better than anyone else ever could. And that makes it worse.

He can picture it so clearly: the way your lips had almost quivered before you plastered that smile, the way your eyes shifted, too tired to pretend anymore. He’s seen that look before, way more times than he’d like to admit. And it terrifies him now. Betrayal. Is that what he’d done? It was almost like he had carved a bigger wedge between you without realizing it, all because he couldn’t act fast enough, couldn’t be the man you needed. 

Did you still need him?

He slams his hand against the wheel in frustration, the sharp sound echoing in the otherwise quiet car. 

His phone buzzes on the seat beside him with a random notification, and instinctively, he grabs it, his thumb hovering over your name again. But no—he can’t. Not like this. Not when he’s this tangled up in his own mess.

What could he possibly say? 

He drags his hand over his face, muttering to himself. "God, what are you doing to yourself?"

Every time he tries to piece it together, another fragment of reality shatters in his mind. You’ve always been strong. You never asked for him to do more than what he could handle. But you’d been forced to handle so much already, and he... he’d let it all slip away.

Maybe you actually do hate me now.

He leans back against the seat, closing his eyes again, hoping for a moment of clarity. But the only thing he can hear now is the ringing silence in his head.

“Do you still love me?”

“…of course I do. I’d never stop.”

“Then why…why don’t I feel like you do anymore?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.”

“No, really. I’m—”

“Let’s go to sleep now.”

He actually feels like he’s going crazy. Snapping his eyes open. He’d never thought he’d be the person to hear voices from the past in his head, but now he’s starting to understand. His heart is beating faster than it should, mouth drying like the Sahara desert and his fingers are starting to feel fidgety. With a shaky, labored breath inward, he reaches for his glove compartment. Opening it and bringing out the picture frame you gifted him. 

It’s only been a few days, but Satoru has discovered that not just staring at his son, but at you, has calmed him down in his hardest of moments. 

Satoru’s fingers tremble as he holds the picture frame, his eyes drawn to the image of you. It’s a moment frozen in time, a snapshot of a time when everything was different. Your smile, your eyes full of a younger warmth and something more—something he wishes he could’ve seen in person. That smile, the one that always made his heart flutter despite the chaos surrounding them. 

It was just a small moment, a simple gesture—no grand speeches or dramatic declarations—but to him, it meant the world. And now, in the silence of his car, surrounded by the weight of everything he’d failed to protect, it’s the only thing that feels real.

He runs his thumb along the edge of the glass, his mind replaying the words from before—your words. His chest tightens.

“Why don’t I feel like you do anymore?”

It’s a question he still can’t answer. How could he? He was so far from being the man you needed him to be. He thought the love you shared was enough, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he’d let it wither, neglected it in favor of his own responsibilities, his own distractions, until it had slipped through his fingers like sand. But in a way, he saw the neglect. And again, he froze. And again, he chose to turn away from you, letting you walk away. 

“Satoru... I know you are.”

He flinches at the memory of your voice, still so clear, still so piercing in its sadness. He'd heard the pain in your words that night. The resignation. He should’ve comforted you more—should’ve tried harder to. It was your own understanding that whatever you two had left, he wasn’t offering it in a way that could keep you whole.

The picture frame shakes slightly in his grasp. The noise of it is almost deafening, drowning out the chaotic swirl of his thoughts. He closes his eyes, feeling the weight of guilt settle deep within his chest, heavier than anything he’s ever felt before.

I never wanted to hurt you. I’m so sorry.

His breath hitches. Maybe he wasn’t entirely lost. Maybe he could still fix this. 

With a shaky exhale, he sets the frame back on the seat, staring at it for just a second longer before slowly closing his eyes, and leaning back against the headrest, allowing the overwhelming weight of it all to settle over him. His heart rate evens out, his hands no longer jittering. His sweat has dried down and his shoulders feel lighter. 

Maybe he should apologize. For anything at this point, so long you know he’s regretful. 

He gets a ping at his phone again, one that has him reaching for it and unlocking it with quick ease. He’s set up a different notification sound for whenever you text him or call him—it separates you from the rest of the contacts. Also, it lets him know that your message or phone call is actually worth replying to. 

Y/N:

Can you watch Koji tonight, please? I’m going out with a friend. 

He hesitates, a wave of curiosity passing through him. What friend? Going where? He wants to ask, and he almost does. But logic wins over and he finds himself having better restraint than he would’ve expected. So, with a big inhale, he types back a simple ‘sure’. 

He blames it on the fact that he hasn’t seen you dressed up in a while. That’s why his mind has suddenly gone foggy, lips parted and eyebrows raised as if he’s on the very verge of saying something. “You look…” Edible. 

Clearing your throat, you stuff your hands into the pockets of the small black jacket you adorn to keep you semi-warm throughout the night. But it probably won’t do much considering your legs are on full display for everyone to see. Your white-painted toes peeking out from the black heels you wear. And not to mention, the red dress you’re wearing that’s almost too tight and short for his liking. You’re wearing a glossy red lip to match, hair down, and jewelry that stands out perfectly against your skin. If he inhales hard enough, he’ll smell the sweet scent of your floral, strawberry fragrance that always leaves him wanting—feining for more. 

“…nice.”

Nice? That’s all he could come up with? He mentally berates himself, though he’s not entirely sure if he wants to give you the satisfaction of knowing just how good you look. It’s not just the dress or the heels—it’s your unknowing confidence in your stance, the way you carry yourself. It’s infuriatingly captivating. 

“Thanks,” you reply, not meeting his gaze as you adjust the strap of your small purse. You’re not oblivious to the way his eyes linger, but you refuse to let it affect you. Not tonight, not anymore. “Koji’s already asleep, so you shouldn’t have any trouble.”

Satoru nods, leaning against the doorframe, his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Who’s the lucky guy?” he finally asks, his tone deliberately casual.

You pause mid-motion, glancing back at him with a raised brow. “Why does it matter?”

He shrugs, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Just curious. I mean, you haven't gone out much, so…”

“It’s a friend,” you say firmly, cutting him off before he can push further. “That’s all you need to know.”

His lips thin, looking briefly at his son’s closed door before back at your figure; watching you grab your keys. “Well…how are you getting there?” He asks, a hint of concern in his voice. 

“My friend and the guy she’s talking to are picking me up. We were going to meet him there, but he said he could pick us up instead.”

“What guy?” He can’t help but ask. “Is he a good driver? Do you know him well? Do I—”

“They’re picking me up,” you reiterate, cutting him off. Looking back at him, a plain emotion on your face. “I have it situated. Just worry about watching Koji, okay?”

The words sting more than he expects them to. He watches as you step out the door, your heels clicking against the pavement. “Please be safe,” he calls after you, his voice softer this time, almost hesitant.

You turn briefly, offering a small, polite smile. “I will.”

And just like that, you’re gone, leaving Satoru standing in the apartment, staring after you with a sinking feeling in his chest. The thought of you out there, dressed like that, with someone else—some other guy—makes his blood simmer. He knows he has no right to feel this way, but it doesn’t stop the jealousy from gnawing at him.

A few minutes and he decides to be nosy. Peeking out the window, looking down at the parking lot of the complex. He sees you getting into a car. Now, it’s not the fact that the entire car is blacked out so he can’t even see who’s in the car with you, or the fact that it has obnoxious lights on the rims. But solely the fact that it’s a Maybach. 

Since when do you know anyone who drives a Maybach?

Not that he’s trying to diss you or anything, but so far, he has no knowledge of you coming across any people who could afford that kind of car. Up until now. And that thought alone has him on edge. 

Or maybe it’s the signature, golden ‘Z’ emblem above the back license plate that he spots as the car drives off. His stomach turns. No. No. No. That couldn’t be. He’s just imagining that. 

No way you’re in a car with a Zenin right now. 

There’s just no way. 

“You look cute,” Hana comments, turning around in her seat. Smiling as she gives you a once-over. “Is that the dress we bought together that one time at the mall?”

“Yeah. You look great too,” you chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You glance over at Naoya who’s currently fixated on the road. “Thanks for the ride, by the way. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Naoya replies without taking his eyes off the road, his tone neutral but polite. “Hana insisted we pick you up anyway.”  

Hana grins, turning her attention back to you. “Of course I did! It’s been forever since we had a proper night out. You’ve been cooped up for too long, Y/N.” She gestures dramatically, earning a small laugh from you.  

“I guess I have,” you admit, glancing out the window as the city lights blur past. “It’s just been… a lot lately.”  

Hana’s smile softens, and she reaches back to give your hand a comforting squeeze. “Well, tonight’s about letting go of all that. We’ll have fun, I promise.”  

Naoya glances at you in the rearview mirror, his sharp gaze lingering for a moment before he focuses back on the road. “Just make sure you don’t let loose too much,” he says, his lips curving into a faint smirk.  

You look over, seeing the corner of his lips upturned into what must be his permanent grin. You catch his eyes meeting you through the rearview mirror for a minute and it makes you feel naked. Clearing your throat and looking back at your window with an awkward chuckle. 

“Naoya, the overprotective chauffeur,” Hana jokes, earning a laugh from Naoya as he puts his hand on her thigh.  

“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you two,” Naoya quips, his smirk widening as his fingers give Hana’s leg a light squeeze. “Especially when you’re dragging her along into whatever chaos you’ve planned.”

Hana rolls her eyes, brushing his hand off playfully. “Relax, Dad. We’re just going out for a few drinks and some dancing. Nothing too wild.” She winks at you. “Right, Y/N?”

You nod. “Right. I’m not exactly a party animal.”

Naoya hums, clearly unconvinced. “We’ll see about that.”

Hana waves him off.  He chortles a low, smooth sound that vibrates through the car. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just here to make sure my ladies get home in one piece.”

Your lips part in confusion, brows knitting together. You glance at him, but he doesn’t elaborate. Hana, ever the chatterbox, quickly fills the silence. “Well, lucky us, then! Who else gets a chauffeur who also cares about their well-being?” She leans over and plants a dramatic kiss on his cheek. “Thanks, honey.”

Naoya laughs, but he subtly turns his head to the side and grimaces, wiping his cheek as if offended. You notice. 

The dynamic between them is easy and light, and though you try to relax, you can’t shake the feeling of Naoya’s lingering gaze every time he catches your eye in the mirror. There’s something unnerving about the way he looks at you—like he knows something you don’t. 

For now, though, you push it aside. Tonight isn’t about overthinking—it’s about having a moment to breathe.

But you shake it off, plastering a smile on your face as the car pulls up to the club. Hana claps her hands excitedly, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Alright, let’s get this night started!”

Naoya puts it in park and rounds over to the other side of the car, opening Hana’s far and surprisingly yours as well. Giving him a small nod in thanks, you go to loop arms with Hana, but she’s already doing that with Naoya. 

You falter for a moment, your arm awkwardly dropping back to your side. Hana is too busy chatting animatedly with Naoya to notice, her laugh ringing out as they start walking ahead. You follow a step behind, trying not to feel out of place.

The entrance to the club glows with neon lights, and the steady thrum of bass greets you as you approach. Hana bounces on her heels, her excitement contagious as she tugs on Naoya’s arm. “Hurry up! We don’t want to miss the good music!”

Naoya glances back at you, his sharp eyes flickering with something unreadable. “You good back there?”

“Yeah,” you reply quickly, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”

Hana beams at you over her shoulder, oblivious to the moment. “Don’t let us leave you behind, Y/N! Tonight’s about you having fun too!”

“Right,” you murmur, falling into step beside them as the bouncer waves you three in instantly as soon as he sees Naoya’s with you. 

Inside, the club is alive with energy—flashing lights, pulsing music, and a crowd already losing themselves on the dance floor. 

In other words, it’s a sensory overload. The air is thick with the smell of perfume, sweat, and alcohol, and the floor vibrates underfoot with the heavy bass of the music that pulses from every corner. The dim, moody lighting casts long shadows across the room, but flashes of neon blues, purples, and pinks blink and fade in time with the beats, giving the space an electric, otherworldly glow.

To your left, a long, sleek bar stretches the length of the room, illuminated by LED lights embedded beneath the counter, giving it a cool, almost ethereal glow. Behind the bar, bartenders move with practiced efficiency, mixing colorful drinks, occasionally tossing bottles into the air as part of a flashy show to catch the attention of the crowd. The shelves of liquor gleam under the shifting lights, every bottle begging to be chosen.

The dance floor is alive with movement—a sea of people in various states of abandon, swaying, grinding, and throwing themselves into the beat. The DJ booth is elevated at the far end of the room, with an impressive setup of turntables, flashing screens, and a bright spotlight that shines down on the DJ as they command the crowd. Their hands are a blur as they adjust the controls, sending waves of sound crashing through the speakers, making the room feel alive with every drop.

Above, the ceiling is dark but dotted with small, moving lights that give the illusion of stars or distant galaxies, adding to the club’s otherworldly atmosphere. A few scattered tables sit around the edges of the room, reserved for VIP guests, and each one is surrounded by plush, velvet chairs and bottles of expensive liquor.

As you move through the crowd, you catch glimpses of people laughing, chatting, and flirting, but it all feels distant—like you’re part of the scene but not entirely involved. The club is packed, but there’s a strange sense of intimacy in the chaos as if everyone is trying to escape their real lives, if only for a few hours. The energy is intoxicating, but beneath it all, you can feel the weight of your own thoughts creeping back in, no matter how hard you try to let the music wash them away.

Naoya guides you two upstairs, which shocks you because you weren’t aware this spot has more than one floor. “C’mon, upstairs is where all the important people stay.” He says, his head tilting in the direction of where he’s referring. 

Hana giggles and practically bubbles with excitement. You on the other hand, not so much. Maybe it’s just the fact that you’re a very analytical person at heart, constantly checking and being sure of your surroundings. Of course, a few men pass you and Hana lingering stares, but none of them approach you. 

Naoya walks over to a small VIP booth that’s been blocked off, sitting leisurely down on the couch and bringing Hana down to his lap; her arms around his neck. You sit beside them, hands in your lap. Looking around, and yep, it definitely is a different vibe than downstairs. 

As you settle into the plush, velvet booth, the vibe upstairs feels even more exclusive. The lighting here is more subdued, with golden accents and low-hanging chandeliers casting a warm, luxurious glow over the space. The music from downstairs is muffled, replaced by a mix of smooth beats and more chill, electronic sounds, making the atmosphere feel like a blend of relaxation and quiet intensity. The view from the booth offers a perfect vantage point, allowing you to overlook the main floor, but with a sense of separation from the chaos. The air smells richer up here too—expensive cologne and the faint scent of cigars from the few people who seem to want a more private retreat from the crowd below. Glasses of wine and crystal-clear cocktails sit on the tables, adding to the upscale feel.

“All rounds on me. Let’s enjoy the night,” Naoya announces. 

“Thank you, babe!” Hana exclaims, nuzzling into his neck.  

Your eyes flicker to the other patrons in the booth with you. Some are laughing softly, holding drinks, while others sit in hushed conversations, the dim lighting making everything feel secretive and intimate. You can’t help but wonder if this is how the elite live all the time—an almost curated existence, designed for maximum enjoyment and minimal disruption.

A waitress arrives with a tray of drinks—various cocktails with elaborate garnishes, the scent of alcohol mingling with the floral air in the room. Naoya takes one without hesitation, handing it to Hana, who beams in delight. He looks over as if waiting for you to take one as well. You glance down at the assortment of drinks before finally picking up a glass, the amber liquid gleaming in the dim light. You take a small sip, the sharpness of the alcohol hitting your tongue as you try to keep your focus on the present moment, not letting your mind wander too far.

Naoya watches you with a raised brow, then leans back in his seat, his arm casually draped around Hana’s waist. He seems to enjoy the fact that you’re more reserved than the others. He chuckles lowly. “I wasn’t sure you’d be the type to go for the fancy drinks,” he remarks, his voice light but piercing as he studies your expression.

You give him a dry smile, shifting your attention toward the music pulsing through the speakers. “I’m not, but I figured it’s a good way to blend in,” you reply, trying to keep the conversation flowing without delving into anything personal.

Hana, always the life of the group, doesn’t seem to notice the tension hanging in the air. She’s already lost in the rhythm of the night, swaying her body slightly as she sips her drink. You, on the other hand, are a stranger in it all, unsure of your place here.

You’re don’t know how much time has passed, but it’s probably sooner than later when you’re nudging Hana over as Naoya is engaged in conversation with another man. “Hey, I thought we were going for the more…you know. Lively kind of night. Not a sit down and whiskey type.” You lace your words with a chuckle, though you speak the truth. You’d much rather be on the first floor, drinking expensive, but poorly made drinks and shaking your ass off on the dance floor with a bunch of strangers. 

“What’s wrong with being up here? Naoya said all the important people stay here.” She tilts her head, sipping from what must be her fifth drink already. She’s drunk, obviously. 

You’re teetering the line of tipsy and drunk. 

“Well, yeah, sure. But don’t you want to dance or something?” You ask back. 

Hana looks at you for a moment, her eyes softening with a thoughtful expression. She tilts her head, the buzz of the alcohol making her seem a little more carefree. “I mean, I guess, but I like the vibe up here more. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” Her words are a little slow.

You glance down at your feet for a moment, debating your options. The temptation to be more carefree is there, gnawing at the edges of your mind. But as the music and voices continue to swirl around you, you feel more and more out of place in this sterile, high-class VIP area. You can practically feel the weight of the high-heeled shoes digging into your feet, the tightness of your dress that’s become slightly uncomfortable as the night wears on.

You shoot a glance toward Naoya, who's deep in conversation with some well-dressed man. His posture is perfect, the kind of poised confidence only someone like him could exude, while you and Hana are caught up in your own corner of the booth, the alcohol clouding your judgment but not your awareness. It’s strange to be so close to people who are so at home here but yet feel so far away.

“I think I’m gonna go dance,” you say, suddenly making up your mind. “You don’t have to join me if you’re not feeling it.” You stand, brushing your dress down as you do. Your legs feel a little unsteady, but it’s manageable. You’re not a newbie to drinking, after all. 

Hana looks at you, her gaze blurry but her smile still wide. “Go for it, girl! I’m fine here.” She gives you a thumbs up, though she seems too drunk to be fully aware of what’s going on around her.

You nod, and make your way down the stairs back toward the first floor. The music is louder here, the bass thumping through your chest as you walk toward the crowd of people already dancing. Normally, Hana would never shy away from dancing with you—or straying away from you during a night out. So the fact that she’s suddenly willing to tonight makes you feel weird. But it’s probably just the alcohol. 

You shake off the momentary discomfort, the need to blend into this world of expensive drinks and quiet conversations. This is what you came for.

The crowd is exactly as you expected—a mixture of sweaty bodies, neon lights, and the pulsating energy of a hundred people trying to escape their realities, if only for a few hours. You take a deep breath, letting the beat of the music invade your senses. For a second, you feel a bit more free.

You grab a drink from one of the servers, not caring much about what it is, and make your way into the center of the dance floor. The drink is cool in your hand as you take a sip, feeling the sharp burn of the alcohol before you set it aside, letting yourself be carried away by the rhythm.

The night is finally starting to feel a bit more like it should.

As you lose yourself in the music, the bass vibrating through your bones, you feel the tension in your body start to melt away. For the first time tonight, you're not thinking about the drama, the men, or the uncomfortable constraints of the VIP booth. The club is full of people, all dancing, laughing, and letting go of whatever worries they might have had earlier. You let yourself blend into the crowd, moving fluidly to the beat, forgetting about everything except the thrum of the music and the freedom in the space around you.

It feels nice. Very nice, in fact. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been to a club, let alone go dancing. You forgot how freeing it feels. Of course, the alcohol plays a role in the freeing sensation, but it’s also the fact that you can let loose. You don’t have to think of anyone else but yourself at this moment. That realization makes your lips upturn, hips swaying and eyes closing in a euphoric blissfulness. 

You can tell it’s been a while since you’ve been down here by the way sweat beads at your forehead and the back of your neck. You don’t wipe it off, however. That’s the whole point. 

But as you move, you can suddenly feel eyes on you. At first, it's easy to dismiss the sensation, assuming it’s just the way the lights play across the room, making everyone appear to be watching. But the longer you dance, the more you realize that someone is actually watching, their gaze sharp and unwavering. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s Naoya.

His presence is unmistakable. Even amidst the blur of strangers, you can feel him like a weight in the air, his energy standing out amongst the crowd. He’s standing at the edge of the dance floor, his arms folded, his expression unreadable but clearly intent on you. You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to do. Something about the way he’s staring makes your stomach flip, though you can’t quite tell whether it’s from excitement or unease.

You try to ignore it, but the discomfort lingers. You dance a little harder, moving to the rhythm, hoping the feeling will pass. But Naoya doesn’t look away. In fact, his posture shifts slightly, and the subtle smirk that plays on his lips only deepens. 

At that moment, you feel an unexpected shift in the crowd around you. You glance over, expecting to see some stranger encroaching on your space, but instead, it’s just the pulse of the music getting more intense. Still, you can’t shake the feeling that Naoya is watching you with something more than curiosity. His gaze is intense, too intense for a simple night out. 

The realization starts to gnaw at you. He’s waiting for something. And it’s not just the usual flirtatious attention. There’s a deliberate energy in the air, a challenge almost. 

You swallow thickly, trying to push the tension away. But it’s getting harder to pretend like you’re not aware of him, especially as you move.

“Having fun?” Naoya’s voice cuts through the noise as he approaches you, standing dangerously close, almost too close. You freeze momentarily, caught off guard by his forced proximity. He towers over you, the heat from his body radiating towards you, his gaze locked onto yours like he’s studying you, dissecting you. 

You open your mouth to respond but nothing comes out, your mind scrambling for something to say, anything to break the intensity of the moment. Instead, your eyes dart toward the exit of the dance floor. You need space. But Naoya doesn’t give you the chance to retreat.

“You seem a little distracted tonight,” he murmurs, his voice low as if they’re the only two people in the room.

You know he’s not just talking about the music. A part of you wants to pull away, to tell him you’re fine, but another part feels caught in his web. 

He leans in slightly, his voice nearly lost in the music. “I thought you’d be enjoying yourself up there. Why the sudden change of heart?”

You tilt your head, forcing yourself to stay grounded. “I just needed a change of pace, that’s all.”

Naoya looks you over with a raised eyebrow, his posture leaning just a bit closer. “I see.” His voice drops to a teasing whisper. “You’re not trying to forget anything, are you?”

You glance at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He doesn’t answer right away, letting the question hang in the air for a second. Instead, he moves closer, his hand brushing against the small of your back. His touch is light, but there’s an intensity behind it, a pull that almost makes you lose focus. The air around you thickens, the moment stretching out longer than necessary.

“I’m just wondering how long you’re going to keep running away from what’s really bothering you,” Naoya murmurs, his smirk never faltering.

You can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. His words—casual, yet somehow pointed—cut through the haze of alcohol in your mind. It’s strange how Naoya can make you feel uncomfortably exposed even when he’s doing the least. That’s not normal. 

“I’m not running from anything,” you say, your voice steady but your heart suddenly a little heavier. “Just enjoying the night, like you said.”

Naoya chuckles softly, though there’s a sharpness to it now. “Sure, just enjoying the night. You do that.” He leans in closer, almost too close now, his breath brushing your ear. “But you should know, sometimes the thing you’re trying to forget ends up finding you, no matter how far you run.”

You tense, your pulse racing, and for a moment, you wonder if he knows something—something about you, about Satoru, or maybe even about your own deepest fears. His hands are on your hips before you know it, moving your body in a swaying motion to the beat of the music. 

And for some reason, you let him. Feeling the weight of his ominous words stay heavy on your mind, fixating on a random tile of the floor. You feel his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, unmoving. For a second, you feel yourself give in. Placing your hands atop his in a hesitant manner—testing out the waters. 

And instantly, you’re met with your answer, a nauseating pit forming in your gut. Lip curling into a tiny sneer. 

“W-where’s Hana?” You blurt out, pushing his hands away from you and turning around to face him. 

There’s a momentary look of shock on his face before he pulls it back down into his usual Cheshire grin, though you can tell it looks more forced than usual this time. His eyes narrowed. “Oh, Hana? She’s still upstairs.”

“And you left her there?” You huff with disbelief, your head shaking. You attempt to side-step past him, but he’s putting an arm around your shoulder before you can go. 

“Don’t worry, pretty. I can lead you to her.”

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol clouding your judgment or the lingering discomfort from his presence, but you find yourself stopping. His touch, warm but unnerving, keeps you in place as his arm wraps around you. His grip feels possessive in a way that makes your skin crawl, and for the briefest second, you almost feel trapped.

You glance up at him, his grin too wide, too knowing. There’s something in his eyes—something that doesn’t sit right with you. His words float in your mind like smoke: “The thing you’re trying to forget ends up finding you.”

Forcing a tight-lipped smile, you tilt your head toward the stairs, where you know Hana must be waiting. “I think I’ll find her myself,” you say, trying to keep your voice calm, and detached, though your pulse quickens.

Naoya’s eyes glint with something unreadable, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he tightens his arm around your shoulder, his touch more possessive than before, making it hard to breathe. “I’m just trying to help, sweetheart. What’s the harm in me escorting you?” His voice is low, almost coaxing like he’s trying to pull you into his orbit.

Before you know it, he’s taking you upstairs. All the while keeping his arm around you. You gulp down the lump in your throat, unsure if you should push him off and let him take you to your friend. Maybe you’re overthinking—overreacting. Once you two are upstairs, he’s walking past the booths. You glance at the booth you were once at, seeing no sight of your friend. 

Panic trickles in slowly as he takes you down a small hallway, turning to his right and opening the last door. 

You’re taking in everything. Women, men, glasses of alcohol. Some make out and others getting frisky with each other. The room feels even more suffocating than the second floor itself. But your eyes don’t just widen at what the others are doing, but what your friend is doing. 

She’s sitting beside some guys you don’t even know, white snowy lines laid out in front of them on the glass table. She’s leaning down, holding a finger to her nostril and just about to partake in the activity when you snatch her up by her arm. “Hana! W-what the hell are you doing?!”

Hana looks up at you, her face slightly flushed and her eyes glazed over, an uncharacteristic haze of confusion settling over her expression as she blinks a few times. The room is full of murmurs, laughter, and the sharp scent of something far stronger than alcohol. For a moment, Hana doesn’t seem to recognize you at all, or perhaps she’s just too far gone to care. The men around her don’t react immediately, their attention is divided between each other and whatever else is happening in the room.

“Hana!” you repeat, voice rising in panic, shaking her arm a little more forcefully. Your grip is tight, and you can feel the tremor in your hand as the weight of the situation starts to sink in.

She blinks again, then her gaze clears just enough to focus on you. “Y/N?” she slurs, a small frown forming as she rubs her nose absentmindedly. “What’s up? I was just… having fun.”

“This isn’t fun, Hana!” You pull her up from her seat, your voice trembling as you yank her away from the men. “This is dangerous—what are you thinking?”

Hana stumbles a little, her movements sluggish, and she doesn’t seem to fully grasp the seriousness of the moment. She laughs softly, her words laced with a slur that makes it hard for you to hear her clearly. “Come on, Y/N, chill out. It’s just a little fun. You’ve been so uptight lately... you need to loosen up, too.”

Your heart races as you glance back at Naoya, still standing in the doorway, his hand resting casually on the frame. His grin is gone, replaced by a coldness that seems to make the room feel even more stifling. You’re left standing there, breath shallow, with Hana still swaying slightly in your grip. You don’t know how long it takes for the fog of confusion to lift from her eyes, but when it does, her face falls.

Your stomach twists, both from the overwhelming sense of protectiveness and the lingering disgust at what she’d been about to do. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You’ve been friends for too long to just let this go. You can’t leave her here like this—not with those people, not in this situation.

You pull her closer, your voice softening. “We’re leaving, Hana. Now.”

A beat of silence hangs between you, and for a moment, you think she might actually listen, but then she looks at you with frustration, and then back at Naoya, who hasn’t moved an inch.

“Why are you always trying to control everything, Y/N?” she snaps, and it feels like a slap to the face. “I’m fine. Just let me do what I want for once.”

It’s the final straw. You can’t stand it anymore. You’re about to pull her out of the room, about to drag her away from this mess, but Naoya steps forward, a hand on your shoulder, forcing you to stop. “Maybe you should let her be, Y/N,” he says, voice calm but his grip tightening on you. “She’s not your responsibility tonight.”

Your anger flares, but your mind is spinning too fast to catch up. You want to scream. You want to slap him across the face, but you know better. You can feel the weight of the situation settling in, and something about being in this room with him, watching everything around you spiral out of control, is making you lose your footing.

And Hana—she’s still there, looking so lost, so far gone.

You feel the pressure of Naoya’s touch on your shoulder, almost like an invisible barrier, stopping you from moving. The walls feel like they’re closing in, the air heavy and thick with tension.

“Did you bring her in here? Did you force her to do things she couldn’t consent to?” You ask, forcing your drunken mess away for just a moment to deal with the situation at hand. 

His head tilts in faux innocence. “What? No. She said she wanted to meet my friends so I let her. I said I’d be back in a few minutes, I didn’t know she’d be doing anything like that.”

“But you still left her alone.” You grit. 

“So? She’s a grown woman. Besides, she’s not alone.” He gestures to the people inside. 

You can feel your heart racing, each word hanging in the air like a heavy weight, suffocating you more than the dense atmosphere of the room. Your chest tightens with anger and concern for your friend. The nerve of him—standing there, acting like he didn’t know what was happening. He knows exactly what’s going on, and now he’s just playing it off like it’s nothing.

“You still left her alone,” you repeat, voice sharper this time, forcing yourself to meet his eyes even though every instinct tells you to look away. “If you had any decency at all, you wouldn’t have let her get to this point.” 

Naoya shrugs, an almost bored expression on his face, like he’s done this too many times to count and knows exactly how to make people like you back down. “Decency? You want me to babysit her?” His lips curl into that smirk again, the one that sends a chill down your spine. “I’m not her keeper, Y/N. She made her own choices.”

Your hands shake, but you force them to remain steady. You glance at Hana again, who’s swaying, her mind clearly lost in whatever she was about to do, her gaze vacant. The sight makes your stomach churn, the reality of how deep she’s gotten into all this hitting you like a punch to the gut.

“Then why did you bring her here?” you ask, struggling to keep your voice from breaking. “Why even let her near this place if you knew what was going on?”

Naoya’s eyes narrow, and for a second, you think you might have actually caught him off guard. But then his expression hardens, and the slight tension in his jaw gives way to a shrug. “Because she wanted to be here. She asked to come. I didn’t make her.” His tone is colder now, more dismissive. “You know, Y/N, sometimes people just want to let loose. You can’t control everything. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

You flinch at his words, and that’s when you know—you’re not going to get anything else from him. He’s already too far gone into his own ego, into this sick game he’s playing. But you won’t stop. Not when Hana’s here, not when she’s clearly in over her head.

Taking a deep breath, you step forward, putting yourself between Naoya and Hana, your voice unwavering. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Naoya opens his mouth as if to argue, but you don’t give him the chance. You grab Hana’s arm again, more forcefully this time, pulling her away from the table. She resists at first, confused, but your grip is unyielding.

“Come on, Hana. We’re going.” You almost want to shout it, to get her out of there before anything else can happen, but instead, you keep your voice steady, calm, for her.

She blinks at you, her vision blurry. “But... Y/N... I... I’m fine, I just... I just wanted to try it...”

“No, Hana,” you snap, cutting her off before she can finish her sentence. “This is not you. You’re not fine.” 

The words hit her hard. You can see it in her eyes—the brief flash of clarity before the fog comes back over them. She sways, but you manage to keep her steady as you drag her out of the room, ignoring the stares and whispers of the people inside.

Naoya doesn’t try to stop you. He stands there, arms crossed, watching you leave with that same smirk plastered across his face.

You can hear him mutter under his breath. And you find that being your final straw again. 

You stop in your tracks, holding your friend to your side by her waist. Debating. “Hey.”

He barely has time to look over his shoulder before your fist makes contact with his cheek. He audibly yelps in a feminine manner, instantly holding the injured area. “Ow! W—hey!” 

His mouth is agape, eyebrows furrowed and glaring at you with looks to kill. You wring out your fist, glad you wore your favorite ring today. You can’t punch for shit, yet he’s acting like…

“You crazy woman!” He huffs out, the room going silent as he has his breakdown. Rushing over and pushing a couple of women out of the way to cheek his face in the mirror. He sees the red area, and his lip is busted. Whipping his head back over to you. “How dare you?! I’ll fucking sue you for this, you know?”

“Go ahead, I have nothing to give you.” You reply back, turning on your heel and walking out. Footsteps quick from the sheer adrenaline and small amount of fear that he’ll try to grab you from behind. He doesn’t, luckily. 

All that matters now is getting Hana out of this hellhole. As you make your way to the exit, you finally feel like you can breathe again. But just barely.

Once you’re outside, the cold air hits your skin, grounding you. Hana stumbles beside you, still out of it, but you’ve done what you came to do. You’ve pulled her from the edge.

But as you both stand there, the reality of what just happened settles in. You’ve confronted Naoya, punched him, and you’ve dragged your friend out of a situation she was too far gone to see. But now, as the adrenaline begins to fade, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re not done yet.

You look down at your shaky fist, seeing the red knuckles. “…shit…” you mumble under your breath, chest heaving up and down. You gasp and catch yourself on a light pole when Hana suddenly goes dead weight and almost brings you down to the concrete with her. It takes everything in you to hold her up.

Your vision feels wavy, feeling your feet stumble a bit to the right from your own inebriation before catching yourself mid-haze. “Okay, okay.” 

You’re bear-hugging her to your chest, holding your bodies up against the light pole. Breathing in and out heavily, eyes closing as you try to figure out a situation for this all. Your ride, gone. You didn’t even bring money for a taxi. And your friend is passed out drunk. You do a mental checklist of people who can haul you and Hana’s drunk asses back home. Only coming out with two viable options. And one of those is currently watching your son at home. 

Leaving only one other person. 

Satoru has been lounging around your place for a few hours now, bored out of his mind. He switches from laying on the couch, to rummaging through your cabinets and reading the expiration date on everything, to checking on his son. 

He sighs heavily, staring down at the familiar key he had gifted you that lies on the kitchen counter. Untouched. He still hasn’t asked about your confirmation of the place he bought for you two, he figures he can do that tomorrow. But the fact that you haven’t seemed to put much regard into it feels like a small dig to him, his frown deepening. Did you not care for it? Do you not like it? The fact that he went out of his way to buy you and his son a better place to live??

He needs to clear his mind. 

Walking over to Koji’s room, peeking in once more, everything is the same. His son still sleeps peacefully, snoring lightly and holding his Spider-Man close to his chest with his blankets thrown over him. The Spider-Man makes Satoru scowl again, forcing his eyes away and to the small hamper in the corner. 

He might as well do something productive now. 

Carefully, he walks in and grabs the hamper, walking back out with effortless silence. Going over to your washer and dryer, opening the two doors to reveal them. He already sees a full hamper on top of the washer and sighs. “C’mon, Y/N,” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head. 

Flipping the light switch on, he puts both hampers on the ground and it takes him a while to figure out how to work your washer. Afterward, he opens the lid and tosses on Koji’s small load, then yours. He tries not to hold onto your panties and bras for too long, not trying to be a perv. But he’s a man, after all. A man who may still have feelings for his ex. 

So when he sees a pair of blue, lace panties, he thinks he might get a hard on right then and there. You creep! He’s holding it in front of his face, admiring the dangling fabric. He’s surprised you still have this. He remembers the…day you got it, after all. Yep, he feels his pants tighten. 

The sick, twisted part of him tells him to give the panties a small sniff. What you don’t know won’t hurt you, right?

No, no. That’s disgusting of you, Satoru. 

He shakes his head, reminding himself that he can’t do this and that he has a girlfriend. And by the gods above, he quickly tosses it into the washer before he loses control. The rest of your clothes consist of pants, sweats, a jacket, a few shirts, and a….wait. 

…what’s this?

Getting to the bottom of your hamper, he comes across a shirt. One that’s too oversized to fit you. One that’s cotton. One that smells faintly like someone else he knows. One that he bought for his best friend two Christmases ago. 

Satoru stares at the shirt in his hands, his eyes narrowing as the realization hits him like a cold slap to the face. The fabric feels heavier in his grip than it should, and the faint scent clings to it—the unmistakable scent of someone else. Someone he knows. Someone who's apparently been a part of your life in ways that make him uncomfortable to even consider.

His stomach twists, a mix of anger and confusion flooding his thoughts. The shirt feels like a thread unraveling everything he’s been trying to convince himself of. He knows it’s irrational to feel the way he does, but in that moment, all he can think of is him. His best friend. The one who’s always been there. The one who seems too close to you. His grip tightens around the fabric, his stomach dropping. Gulping hard and forcing himself not to jump to conclusions. 

But that’s pretty fucking hard. 

Why the fuck do you have Suguru’s shirt? Why is it in your dirty clothes? Did he just put it there? Did he spend the night? Did you and him—

He tosses the shirt back into the hamper with more force than necessary, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s there. It’s his.  

Satoru runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. What is he supposed to do with this? He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but everything about this feels wrong. He glances over at the pile of clothes—your clothes. He sees everything but that damn shirt. But it's there now, in his mind, looming like a specter. 

Satoru grabs the rest of the clothes, hastily tossing them into the washer, but it’s hard to focus. His mind keeps returning to that one question. That one shirt. And the nagging thought that maybe, just maybe, there's something he's been missing.

He almost feels like gagging as he closes the two doors and turns the light off, head spinning. He places a hand to his forehead, blinking hard. 

His head whips over to the front door when he hears muffled chatter from outside. 

“Thank you for coming on short notice,” you mumble in embarrassment, focusing your eyes on your fiddling hands in your lap. 

“Don’t thank me, Y/N. I would’ve come either way.” Suguru responds, smiling briefly at you before focusing back on the road. 

You’re just dropped Hana off. The trip felt way easier since Suguru opted to carry her in and to her bed, with you grabbing her keys and unlocking her door. When you left, you made sure everything else was locked. He didn’t even question anything, simply doing as you asked. 

Of course his gaze is riddled with concern, confusion, and skepticism. You don’t miss the way he keeps looking down at your red knuckles that you hide, but with the way you haven’t mentioned anything about the night, he figures you won’t talk about it. 

“How much did you drink? I brought some water, it’s on the door.” He juts his head in your direction. 

You glance down and grab the bottle, thanking him as you down it. “Um…just a few drinks. I’m not entirely sober right now, still.”

Suguru nods slowly, not saying anything for a moment as the car hums along the quiet road. He doesn’t push you to talk, but he knows something’s off. You’ve been quieter than usual, and the tension in the air is palpable. He’s been around you long enough to sense when something isn’t right, but he’s trying not to pry—especially when you’re clearly trying to avoid the topic.

When you finish the water, he glances over at you, eyes softening. “I know you’re not ready to talk, Y/N. But you know I’m here, right? If you ever want to—”

You nod quickly, cutting him off, but not in a way that’s dismissive. It’s more like you’re trying to assure him. “I know. Thanks, Suguru.” The words hang between you both, neither of you fully comfortable in the silence. Guilt hits you, so you continue. “I just…tonight didn’t go as planned.”

He nods, stopping at a red light. Finally taking the chance to look at you fully once more. His lips thin in displeasure when he sees your current state. Shivering, flushed cheeks, hazy eyes, hair messy. He sighs and reaches in the backseat and brings out a warm, thick black jacket. Putting it over your shoulders. “Put that on, okay? Keep yourself warm and hydrated.”

Your lips part, but you nod and smile slightly. “…thank you,” you murmur, holding the jacket closer. 

“And don’t thank me anymore, okay?” He replies, hints of playfulness in his voice like he’s trying to ease the mood. When the light turns green, the car moves forward again and gets closer to your apartment complex. 

You let out a quiet breath, the warmth of his jacket enveloping you as you pull it tighter around your shoulders. The night feels like a blur now, too many conflicting emotions tangled together. Suguru’s steady presence is a welcome relief, but you can’t help but feel like you’ve lost control in some way. Tonight wasn’t just a mess—it was a wake-up call.

As he makes the final turn toward your apartment, you glance at him, still holding the jacket close. His eyes are on the road, but you can tell he’s trying to read you without being too obvious. There’s concern in the way his brows are furrowed, even though he’s doing his best to keep things light.

“I didn’t expect the night to turn out like this,” you admit, voice quieter than before. “I thought it’d just be a fun time with Hana, but… everything kind of spiraled.”

Suguru’s expression softens, though his gaze doesn’t stray from the road. “I know you wanted to have a good time, Y/N. Sometimes things just… happen. Doesn’t mean you can’t recover from it.”

You glance out the window, trying to focus on the passing scenery. The bright lights of the city feel like a distant memory compared to the emotional chaos inside your head. You force your stomach not to start twisting. “I know. It’s just hard. I never thought I’d have to deal with something like this.”

Suguru reaches for the wheel a bit tighter, but his voice is gentle as ever. “You don’t have to carry all of it alone, you know? Not everything is on your shoulders. Let yourself breathe a little.”

You bite your lip. I tried doing that tonight, look where that got me. You stay silent as he finds a space and parks, deciding he’s dealt with enough of your burdens. 

“I’ll walk you up,” he mutters, unbuckling and getting out of the car to come to your side. He helps you out wordlessly, closing the door behind you and locking his car. 

Your footsteps falter for a moment. “I-is it okay if I lean—”

“Of course,” he cuts you off, holding a steady arm around your waist and allowing you to use him as grounding for your leaning weight. He’s practically leading you, but you have no problem with it. Even as you two enter the elevator, the silence doesn’t feel bad. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable. If anything, you’re leaning more into him, the side of your head against his chest. 

He glances down at the top of your head, pulling you just a tad bit closer and twisting the urge to plant a kiss to your hair. His thumb rubs small, soothing circles around your hip, feeling you lean more and more against him. 

The doors open and he’s slowing his movements for you. “Still with me?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He smiles and looks forward. “Good, don’t go falling asleep. Get some water in you, maybe some bread.”

You can’t help but softly chuckle. “You know, you’ve been really nice to me, Suguru. Nicer than anyone else.”

Your words are getting quiet and more mumbled—slurred. But he can still faintly piece your words together. You feel the rumble in his chest from his coaxing laugh. “Yeah? I think I’m just acting how any other man would.”

“Not any other man.” You reply.

He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, getting a tiny idea of who you may be referring to. But he doesn’t want to ruin your night even more by saying his name. 

The quiet hum of the building is a comfort, a stark contrast to the chaos of earlier. You’re not sure how much of your surroundings you’re taking in; your thoughts are still clouded from the night’s events. The warmth of Suguru’s presence, his steady support, makes it easier to keep going. When you reach your door, he stops, giving you the space to find your keys in your pocket. You fumble a little, but Suguru doesn’t rush you. He stands patiently, his thumb still grazing the side of your hip. He’s careful not to crowd you too much, but there’s an undeniable sense of protectiveness in the way he stands close.

Finally, you manage to find your key. You glance up at Suguru, your eyes a little foggy. “Thank you… for everything.”

He smiles down at you, the warmth in his expression making your chest tighten a little. “It’s nothing, really. Just doing what’s right.”

You hesitate for a moment, not sure if you should say anything else, but the words slip out before you can stop them. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Suguru’s eyes widen slightly but his smile softenn. His hand traveling up to gently tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll always be around when you need me.”

There’s a quiet beat between you two, the silence saying more than words ever could. You swallow down the lump in your throat, trying to keep the emotions from overwhelming you. You gently bite your bottom lip, the action causing his eyes to flicker down towards it. “I just…I feel like I haven’t been having anyone on my side lately. I’m…I’m glad I have you.” 

His insides practically melt at your soft, drunken tone of voice and the way you’re gazing up at him. Suguru feels his heart shift, warmth pooling in his chest at your vulnerability. He’s never seen you quite like this, so open and raw, and it makes him want to protect you in a way that’s deeper than he expected. The softness in your voice, the way you lean into him—it all pulls him in closer, making his resolve weaken just a bit. He swallows hard, stepping a little closer to you, but trying to keep his distance, knowing that you’re vulnerable right now, not fully in control of your emotions.

“Y/N,” he says gently, his voice low but steady. He reaches for your hands, lifting them from where you were gripping the door, and holds them softly in his. “I'm not the only one, I promise. But I’m always going to have your back. You never have to feel alone, okay? We all go through tough times, but you’re not carrying it on your own.”

You nod slowly, eyes glimmering with a mix of gratitude and something else he can’t quite place. Your fingers curl around his as if you’re grounding yourself in his touch, a small comfort in the sea of uncertainty.

“You’re not like the others, Suguru,” you murmur, barely above a whisper. “You make me feel… safe.”

The words hang in the air, delicate and full of meaning. Suguru’s chest tightens again, but this time it’s not from concern or pity—it’s from something else. Something warm, something that feels a little dangerous, but right. He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing, as he registers the way you’re looking at him.

“You’re safe with me,” he says softly, his voice almost a promise. “You always will be.”

You both stand there in the quiet, the weight of everything between you—everything unsaid—lingering. Suguru’s hand reaches up, brushing your hair away from your face again, his fingers lingering a little longer than necessary, like he’s trying to convey something in that simple touch. 

You blink, breaking the moment just enough to step back. “I should go inside.”

Suguru nods, not forcing anything further. He understands. “Yeah, go get some rest. Drink that water, and don’t forget about the bread.”

You tiredly smile, looking back at your door and putting the key in its hole. But, you find yourself hesitating. Movements stilling as thoughts overwhelmed your already vulnerable brain. You’re looking back at him before you know it. 

His eyebrows raise. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head in response, your heart beating faster. He says nothing, just allowing the little staring contest to continue on. For some reason, it’s making you not want to face your reality. God, it’s the fact that you have no idea what you’re doing to him. How stuck he feels, how guilty he feels and how perfect it all feels at the same time. It’s almost not fair.

Maybe it’s just the fact that you’ve experienced more shit than you would’ve wanted to tonight—and of course, you’re a lightweight. Hence why you don’t really like drinking in the first place. But you’ve needed one recently. 

So yeah, your balance is not very steady, your head feels light but heavy at the same time, your lips are curved up into a smile on their own and your calculations are a little miscalculated. 

Because you could swear that with the way he’s looking at you now, his lids the slightest bit hooded that one could miss it, his tilted head, and the way he’s leaned in close enough that you can smell his intoxicating cologne…he’s looking tempted. 

And to be honest, so are you. 

The night air is suddenly quiet, you’ve been staring into his eyes for who knows how long now and your breathing feels shallower. It feels like a sappy romance movie you watched when you were a tween and wished upon a star that one day it would happen to you. Except it’s not the person you would’ve exactly wanted. But your body is still reacting all the same. 

What does that mean for you?

Your key is still lodged in the hole of your door, seemingly frozen—but awaiting. He leans in and your eyelids flutter. “I’m sorry.”

“F-for what…?”

“For being such a selfish man right now.” He places a steady hand to your waist as your body swayed backwards again. 

It’s just the alcohol talking. “I-it’s okay…”

“Is it?” He mutters, breath fanning your face. 

This time, you lean closer, practically moving up to your tip-toes. You notice the way his eyes have darkened, glancing down at your pink, parted lips. “Yeah, I think…I want to be selfish too.”

He smiles, matching your drunken one. Your right hand raises to his cheek, admiring the heat that wavers off of it. You think you want more of his magnetic heat. He doesn’t move, allowing you to do the work. Maneuvering your head up to close the rest of the distance. And you’re so close, so very close that you could practically lick his lips if you wanted.

His lips part, making space for your own to slot between them. Just when you’re about to—

Your door yanks open from the inside, jolting you back to reality. Eyes wide and looking over at the culprit.

Oh, fuck.

Satoru stands in your doorway, hair poking up at all different angles, jaw clenched and saccharine eyes darting around at the sight in front of him, of what he just interrupted. And it feels like you’ve just been burned, pulling back and away from Suguru like you’ve been caught cheating. Suguru matches your actions, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “S-Satoru…” you mutter, swallowing. 

“What’s this?” He asks, looking between you and his best friend. “He brought you home?”

“I—”

“She called me to pick her and her friend up, Satoru.” Suguru interrupts, meeting his friend with undeterred eye contact. 

However, that seems to be just the icing on top for Satoru. Turning his gaze towards you, looking up and down quickly. “…So…I’m watching our son while you go ahead and get yourself shitfaced, you’re gone for hours without any call or text to let me know you’re okay, and when you come back… you’re about to…kiss my fucking best friend?”

“Sato—”

“Shut the fuck up, Suguru.” He gives his friend a death glare, taking a step outside and forcing you to take a wobbly one back. Suguru doesn’t move. “Tell me, huh. You think I’m an idiot?”

“Satoru,” you reach out for his arm, but promptly pull back when he looks back at you. 

“And to think,” he scoffs, regarding you with an icy coldness that feels completely foreign to you. “I thought we had it okay for once. And now you’re fucking my best friend behind my back?”

“No! N-no, Suguru and I aren’t doing that.” You quickly protest. 

He simply scoffs and Suguru steps back in between you two. “Satoru, calm down, okay? We weren’t doing anything. Y/N’s been having a tough time and I’m just here to help her through that.”

“By what? Forcing yourself into her life? Into my son’s life? Who the hell do you think you are, Suguru?” He pushes the other man by his shoulder, to which Suguru does not fight back. 

You grimace, pulling back on his shirt. “Satoru, stop it, please. We aren’t doing anything like that.”

“Bullshit!” He snaps, throwing his arms up. “He gives you and Koji a present. I find his fucking shirt in your hamper, and now I just caught you two about to kiss. Did you fucking forget I was inside? Were you going to bring him inside and let him fuck you?”

Your mouth is agape, eyes blown wide at the accusations. The words hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless and unable to form a coherent thought. Satoru’s accusations sting, each one harsher than the last. His anger is palpable, the venom in his voice making it hard to breathe, and yet all you can do is stand there in stunned silence, feeling the weight of the situation crash down on you.

“No... Satoru, I—I didn’t—” You struggle to find the words, but nothing seems to come out right. How do you explain something that’s so far from the truth but also so complicated in its own way? 

Suguru, his expression tight with frustration, steps forward, clearly trying to keep the situation from spiraling even further. "Satoru, this isn’t the way to handle it. Y/N’s been through a lot, and I'm just trying to be there for her. That’s all it is."

“You think that makes a difference?” Satoru spits, turning back to Suguru with a glare that could burn. “You think you can just waltz in, playing hero, and it’s all fine? You don’t get to play the martyr here. Not with my family.”

You flinch at the mention of Koji, feeling the sting of his words even more sharply now. "Satoru, please," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "Don’t talk about him like that. You know I would never—" 

But Satoru cuts you off with a sharp gesture, his eyes dark with fury. "No, you don’t get to explain yourself anymore. I saw it. I know what was happening."

Your heart races as the silence hangs heavy between you, Suguru and Satoru locked in a tense standoff. You can feel the weight of the accusations pressing down on you, suffocating you.

“I’m sorry, okay?” you manage, the words coming out in a broken whisper. “I’m so sorry. But I swear, nothing was going to happen. Nothing. I just... I didn’t know what else to do.”

Satoru doesn’t respond, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches. Suguru looks between you both, his eyes softening just a fraction, but there’s nothing left to say. You’re standing at the edge of everything, and you don’t know how to fix this, how to make Satoru believe you.

“Satoru, Y/N’a a grown woman.” Suguru says. 

“Yeah? And what, that makes you a grown man?” 

Once more, Suguru is pushed by Satoru. You can see the growing irritability in Suguru’s expression, the way he’s doing his best to not give in and fight with his best friend. You’re torn, unsure of how you can stop this. Sure, you punched a man today, but he was a bitch. That doesn’t mean you can stop a possible  fight between two other men. “Please, don’t raise your voice, Satoru. I don’t want to wake Koji.”

“Oh, now you fucking care?” He huffs out. And that sentence alone puts a halt to you. Your mind momentarily freezes, going silent. He almost looks like he regrets the words as soon as they’re uttered, but it’s drowned out by his look of anger. 

Soon…you’re mirroring his fury. 

“What?” You quietly ask, letting out a deep huff. “What? What the fuck did you just say to me?”

This time, it’s you who pushes the pusher. He stumbles back barely, caught off guard by your suddenness before he’s planting himself in place. “Don’t touch me, Y/N.”

“Then don’t you ever say something like that! I’ve done everything I could for Koji and more. You had no idea what kind of shit I went through alone.” You grit out. 

“Because of you! Because of your own stupid decision to not let me in, let me help you!” He argues back. He's right. He's always right. And that’s why you two could never work together because while Satoru was always right, you were always wrong. They say opposites attract, when actually, opposites do nothing prove what the other could never be.

And after the events of tonight, you’re growing tired of holding back your explosion. Your drunken brain is telling you to fight fire with fire. 

“Because you were a fucking shitty person!” You shout back, aware of the fact that your loud voice may cause some of your neighbors to wake up. Koji to wake up. “And now you’re getting mad at me for trying to move on? For trying to live my life? Fuck you! You have a fucking girlfriend who treats me like shit and you let it happen!”

“You want to play that game, Y/N? Really?” Satoru replies, a dead firmness in his tone. 

Before you can respond, Suguru, ever the peacemaker, is cutting in again. “Y/N, stop it, okay? Go inside, you’re drunk. Satoru, don’t—”

He’s cut off by another push from Satoru. “Don’t tell me what to fucking do, Suguru. You’re trying to get with my ex behind my back, is that how low you’ve become?”

“Satoru,” he slowly exhales out, trying to calm himself. “I’m not doing that. Y/N and I aren’t getting together. I’m just being here for her.”

“By trying to get in bed with her?”

Suguru has begun to have enough. “Stop speaking like that, Satoru.” He gruffs out.

The atmosphere crackles with tension, and your pulse races as Satoru’s words hit harder than before, each one a slap in the face. You can feel the anger bubbling up inside you, pushing you past the point of control, past the point of regret. This argument feels like it’s never going to end—like it’s been building for years, simmering beneath the surface, only now it’s boiling over in a mess of accusations and past hurts.

Satoru’s sneer deepens as he stares you down. “You think I don’t know what’s going on? I’m not stupid, Y/N. Don’t think you can pull the wool over my eyes now. You think you’re going to move on with him after everything?”

You step closer to him, barely noticing the way your hands are trembling, your heart pounding in your chest and tears prickling at your eyes. “I’m not moving on with anyone. Not like you think. But you—” You pause, trying to steady your breath. “You’ve had no idea what I’ve been through. You’ve walked away at times when I needed you the most, Satoru. Don’t fucking act like I owe you anything now.”

Satoru’s expression darkens, his hands balling into fists, but you don’t flinch. “I’m sorry if you think I don’t care, but I’ve been in the fucking trenches with you, Y/N. Do you think it was easy for me too? To watch you shut me out? To watch you fucking struggle with everything while I—while I—tried to be there for you? But I was never enough, was I?” His voice cracks with a mix of frustration and disbelief, but it’s too much. It’s too late for apologies and explanations. You feel your vision blur with tears, and for a brief moment, you almost crumble under the weight of the argument, the hurt, the feeling of being misunderstood.

“You knew you could’ve tried hard enough. You knew that, you know that.” You argue, despite your shaky voice. 

His eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth to say something, but Suguru steps forward, intervening again, his voice low and firm, but there’s a warning in it. “Enough, Satoru. You’re not hearing her. This isn’t about you anymore.”

Satoru’s fists clench at his sides, his jaw tight with frustration. “It’s always been about me, Suguru. It’s always been about what I need, what I want. And now you want to play the hero? To take my place in my own fucking life?”

Suguru shakes his head, his expression hardening. “No, I’m not trying to take your place. But you’re blind if you don’t see how much she’s suffered. How much she’s going through. And how much you’re still hurting her by dragging all this up now.”

“Shut up,” Satoru snaps, and his voice is harsh enough to make you flinch. “I don’t need a lecture from you, not now.”

Suguru doesn’t back down, his eyes never leaving Satoru’s. “Then maybe you should take a fucking look at yourself first.”

For a moment, the three of you stand there in silence, the tension thick enough to slice through. Your heart is racing, your mind spinning with a mix of anger, hurt, and confusion. The words you’ve been holding back for so long feel too much to bear, too raw to say out loud, but now they’re there, sitting on your tongue, threatening to spill.

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but the weight of everything is overwhelming. Your hands tremble as you press them against your sides, eyes focusing on the ground to keep from breaking down. But the words, the truth you’ve been holding inside for so long, feel like they’re going to suffocate you if you don’t let them out.

“I didn’t mean for this, Satoru. I didn’t mean for any of it,” you finally say, your voice thick with emotion. Your chest tightens, your breath shaky as you look at him, the tears threatening to fall. “But now you’re standing here, making it worse, blaming me for everything. I’m always getting blamed, no matter what. For trying to find happiness. For surviving.” You swallow hard, your voice quieter but still filled with the weight of everything you’ve been holding back. “But you don’t get to make me feel bad about trying to heal, Satoru. You don’t get to make me feel like I’m the one who ruined everything when you were the one who stopped trying.”

Suguru’s gaze flickers to you, a flicker of concern flashing across his face, but it’s Satoru who you focus on. The silence stretches, suffocating, before he speaks again, his tone hard, bitter, but with a hint of something deeper—something vulnerable. “I never wanted to leave you,” he mutters, almost too quietly. “But you shut me out. You kept pushing me away like I didn’t matter.”

“You didn’t try hard enough to matter,” you shoot back, your voice a little stronger now. “You didn’t try to understand. You didn’t try to see me. You only saw what you wanted, what fit into your world. And I couldn’t do that anymore. I couldn’t just keep being this thing that existed to meet your needs, while I fell apart. I couldn’t.”

Satoru’s eyes flicker, and for a moment, you swear you see something break in him. But it’s gone just as quickly as it appears, replaced by the cold, hardened exterior he’s been wearing for so long. “You think this is easy for me?” he spits, voice laced with something that could be self-loathing. “You think it’s easy watching you—watching him—take over everything I thought was mine? That’s not fair either, Y/N.”

“You don’t own me, Satoru,” you whisper, the words coming out stronger than you expect. “You never did.”

Suguru steps forward again, his voice steady but firm. “Enough. This isn’t going anywhere. It’s just going to keep hurting both of you.”

But Satoru isn’t listening. His fists clench again, his jaw tight as he shakes his head, the hurt flashing in his eyes. “I don’t know how to fix this, Y/N. I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I ever could.”

The rawness in his voice catches you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. The anger and resentment still burn in your chest, but beneath it all, you realize that maybe, just maybe, there’s still something left. Something that isn’t as broken as you thought.

But it’s too late for that. It’s too late for him.

With a shaky breath, you look away, your heart heavy in your chest, and turn toward the door. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Satoru. It’s done.”

Suguru’s hand rests gently on your shoulder as you walk past, his silent support a comfort, even though the pain doesn’t fade. And Satoru stays there, his fists trembling at his sides, caught between regret and anger, as you step back into your home and shut the door behind you.

The tears overcoming your being once you’re locked inside, taking the jackets off haphazardly and tossing your purse onto the sofa. Holding a hand to your mouth to muffle your cries as you walk past Koji’s door and to your own room, silently shutting and locking it. 

You crumble into your bed, holding your pillow close, and making you feel like a little girl all over again. Letting your warm tears wash your makeup away and stain your white pillow. Feeling your body trembling from every sensation flowing through it right now. You feel your heart pick up way too fast for your liking and you’re almost sure you’re breathing at an erratic pace right now. 

You feel like no matter what, you can never do good in your life. You fucked up tonight by trying to kiss Suguru, you fucked up by keeping Koji a secret, you fucked up by even going out in the first place. 

Everything is crumbling down at you all at once and you think it’s about time you toss the rag in. Because everyone has their breaking point, you’re not sure if you hit yours yet, but it damn well feels like you have. And now you’ve probably broken up a years long friendship due to your own selfishness, to your own stupid intoxication. You’re wrong in every aspect. Everything is eating you alive right now, leaving just a hollow suit in its place. 

You wonder how things will look going forward. 

And you wonder if you’ve ruined any little chance at possibly having Satoru in your grasp again. 

A small knock pulls your attention, shifting your eyes open and looking over to the small head that peeks through. Oh god, this is the last thing you wanted. 

“Mama…” Koji’s small voice utters, slipping inside and coming over to your curled up form on the bed. “Mama, what’s wrong?”

You wish you had it in you to put on a poker face and dry your tears, giving him the usual lie. But tonight, you can’t. “…mama’s sad.” You whisper. 

His eyes widen, lip quivering down into a pout. Eyes glistening with his own onset of tears and he’s diving into your bed, scrambling up to your chest. Wrapping his tiny arms around your neck in such a fast way that it leaves you momentarily speechless. When he looks at you, you almost feel yourself wanting to cry harder at the sole fact that your son is seeing you like this, that he’s almost crying now too. “Please don’t cry, Mama. I don’t like you being sad.”

“I…I know.” You croak out, holding him close. “I know, Koji. And I’m…I’m so sorry. I can’t be strong today.”

He shakes his head furiously. “It’s okay! Because Papa told me that when I grow up, I’ll protect you. I’ll be strong and big like him. So…so maybe I can be strong today for you, Mama.”

Your heart shatters at his words, and despite the weight of everything that’s been crushing you, you hold him even tighter. The fragile little boy who’s trying so desperately to comfort you when he should be the one you’re protecting—it’s too much. You can’t hold back the flood of emotions anymore. You pull him into you, your arms trembling, but all you can do is let him in, letting his warmth and innocence wrap around your heart like a fragile balm.

“Oh, baby,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “You don’t have to be strong for me. You’re so strong already just by being you.” You bury your face in his hair, feeling his small body pressing against yours, his little heartbeat steady and comforting in a way nothing else can be. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this, Koji. I promise I’ll be okay.”

Koji’s small hands rub at your back, and his voice, though still a little quivery, carries the same hope and determination he always carries. “I’m gonna help you, Mama. I’ll make you smile again, okay? I promise.” His words, simple as they are, strike a chord deep inside, reminding you of everything you’ve fought for. You’ve fought to protect him, to give him a better life, to shield him from all the pain and hurt that came with being tied to Satoru, and now you’re breaking down in front of him. It feels so pathetic. 

But maybe you need to be broken in order to rebuild. Maybe it’s okay to let him see your fragility, so he knows it’s okay to feel and not bottle everything up. 

You breathe out a shaky laugh, lifting him slightly to kiss his forehead. “You’re my little hero, Koji. I’m so proud of you. I don’t deserve you.”

Koji, however, just shakes his head again, his small face scrunching up in determination. “No, Mama. I’m not a hero. You’re my hero. You always are.”

And somehow, in the midst of the mess you’ve found yourself in, his innocent words are the only thing grounding you. You’re not alone. You’re not broken beyond repair. You still have him. You still have him to fight for, to love, and to protect.

And right now, that’s all that matters. 

You hold him close, sinking deeper into your bed, feeling his small body curl up against you. The weight of the world still feels heavy on your shoulders, but for a brief moment, with Koji’s warmth surrounding you, you feel the tiniest flicker of hope. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe you’ll figure things out. 

But for now, you let yourself cry. You let yourself grieve. Because tomorrow is another day.

a/n: soo many things happeneddddd. hoped u all enjoyed :)

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