jerrythecrow

just call me jerry, 21 yr old crow, I zoom through fanfics and hyperfixations faster than the speed of light

[liahcharms]

𖥔 ݁ ˖─ not a lot, just forever.✦

The mission in space was every physics teacher's wet dream. And yet, when you found yourself alone on a spaceship, dread filled your mind. Fortunately, it turned out you weren’t quite alone. As a weird creature you’ve met by accident seemed to be quite happy in helping you finish a mission and keep a warm company.

𖥔 ݁ ˖pairing: ꒰ Alien!Gojo Satoru x Physics teacher!Reader ꒱

𖥔 ݁ ˖content/warnings: ꒰ MDNI 18+ : fluff, fluff, fluff : also a bit of angst : mutual masturbation : use of sex toys : happy ending : women in stem, doomed to never being able to touch each other : prepare some tissues : space : aliens : Satoru is a brat in every universe : alien's D : mates and mentions of mating ꒱

𖥔 ݁ ˖WC: ꒰ 15k ꒱

𖥔 ݁ ˖ notes: This story is based on the movie Project Hail Mary. Shoutout to @indiewritesxoxo whose story The One That Got Away inspired me to write a space-based fanfic!

dividers by @diviniyae art by daichichirou on tt

"Miss, what's the space like?" a little girl with round frames asked you once during the class.

What's the space like? You wondered for a moment, with similar glasses resting on your nose.

Little models of planets swirled under the ceiling, clashing against each other with warm beams of sunshine curling around their painted bodies. The classroom stilled with silence, heavy and curious, marked by a dozen little eyes glancing up your furrowed forehead.

"Unfathomed," slipped almost in a whisper. But the kids were too young to understand this word, so you tried again. "It's endless, deep, mesmerising, silent, like–"

"Like a night?" a boy from the first row asked, playing with the wooden spaceship, all the children in the class had just finished painting.

You chuckled, playing with your own little toy, brushing the little silver window with a thumb.

"Much, much quieter," the spaceship landed on your desk, right next to the little, soft ball painted like Earth. Your eyes shimmered as you looked around the class of a dozen munchkins. "What do you hear while sleeping?"

Something began to coil in their little Einstein heads, with soft foreheads furrowed in thought. A flicker of an idea – a spark, their young minds were yet to discover and nourish throughout their lives.

You watched them with a smile, something warm spreading beneath your chest. Not everyone was born to be a teacher, with the day-to-day tiring work of preparing materials for classes, conducting lessons and checking all the foolish assignments that neither you nor the children liked. The education system truly was a shit hole from the very first steps those young minds took.

"Miss, that's a silly question," a little girl without one front tooth giggled. "We can't hear anything while we're sleeping!"

You hummed softly as you picked up the small earth ball. It yielded gently beneath your fingers, and the woollen toy, crocheted by your mother herself, felt pleasantly soft against your skin.

The bell would ring soon, and the afternoon sun was high in the sky, creeping through the tall, clean windows into the small classroom. Summer break was almost here, and the sweltering heat lingered in the stuffy air, filled with children's coughs and soft breathing.

"Exactly," you said, sitting on the desk and tossing the ball into the air. "That's what space is like. You can't hear anything."

"But what if I close my ears?" another boy said, pressing his hands to them. "I can't hear anything now, miss!" he screamed, setting off a wave of sweet giggles from his classmates.

The small green ball flew his way, and the boy caught it in one hand, scowling. "Hey, miss, that's not fair!"

"That was not, I do admit," you slipped off the desk, walking around the classroom. All small pairs of eyes followed you like puppies. "But you see, in space, there would be no need to cover your ears, because there is no air or matter for sound to travel through. Even when you're sleeping, there's always something out there, right?" Your eyes met a few nodding Einsteins before drifting towards the window. "You can hear the crickets singing under your window and the wind swirling between the leaves. But in space, there's nothing. Simply an empty, endless realm stretching beyond our comprehension."

A few droplets of sweat coiled on your temple, and you quickly brushed them with a thumb. Glasses sat crookedly on your nose, hair slipped away from a pin-up, and so you pushed them behind your ear.

"Miss, the space sounds so scary," the girl with round frames sighed. "I don't want to be an astronaut anymore."

You chuckled, coming to the previous boy and stealing a soft lump of earth from his sticky fingers. "The space may feel lonesome if you're there alone. But now, astronauts usually go in groups." The ball landed back on your desk, brushing gently against the wooden spaceship. "But even if you were alone, I think the view would be worth the night spent in loneliness."

And as it would soon turn out, nothing was worth the years spent alone. On the huge spaceship, with endless darkness spreading across the little window and years spent somewhere doing God knows what.

"The sun is dying," the government envoy had said. "Can you help us save the world?"

She caught you right after one of the classes, with a half-empty cup of instant noodles and cheeks peppered with crimson chilli-oil kisses. She arrived with a tall, muscular man and a printout of the PhD dissertation, placing a copy on your messy desk.

Your forehead crinkled, eyes landed on a neat, Times New Roman formatted title, An Analysis of Water-Based Assumptions and Recalibration of Expectations.

"That's not mine," you mumbled, going back to the cup of noodles. You hadn't eaten anything for a whole day, and your stomach was already pressed against your spine, with hunger twisting your weary mind.

"That's your name, isn't it?" she said, pressing a neatly trimmed nail against the smaller letters beneath the title.

You didn't even spare her a glance and simply shook your head. "No, I think you've mistaken me for someone else."

Both she and the man sighed, rolling two small chairs from the children's desk to sit in front of yours. With eyes fixed on your face, grimacing in ignorance, and a few locks of hair slipping into the cup.

"I'm Yuki," she said, crossing her legs before looking at the man with the dullest, most bleary eyes you have ever seen. "And that's Choso. We're from a… well. Now you only need to know that we work for NASA."

And that meant one thing – trouble.

Seeing your utmost disinterest, she continued in a warm tone. "Listen, we know your dissertation was a fantastic breakthrough that the supervising committee didn't appreciate. But–"

"A small correction," you interrupted, with eyes still glued to an almost empty cup. "They did not not appreciate me, but completely failed me. My research was proven wrong, and I spent almost five years chasing something that was never there. So no, it wasn't a breakthrough or anything."

"Her long fingers clenched into a fist, and a tongue nervously filled a creamy cheek. "Listen, in our current world situation, we believe that your research wasn't pointless. The hypothesis that life can exist without water–"

"Which was ultimately proven that it cannot," slipped in a whisper, gaze still following anything but those two.

"Right," she sighed, staying shockingly patient. "But the thing is, it actually may."

And for the first time in the past five minutes, you finally looked at her. With eyes hidden behind librarian-like glasses, a white shirt neatly pressed against your body, and chilli oil still coating lower lip. You brushed it quickly with a tissue before clearing throat.

"You have five minutes."

But Yuki needed just a second.

"There are some… microbes, the nature of which we aren't yet sure, that are slowly eating the sun. If we don't do something, in thirty years the global temperature will drop enough to kill every life on Earth."

A long, heavy silence stretched between the three of you, though she was the one doing the talking. The man in a suit sat in silence. He was rather handsome, with dark hair falling long down his neck and purplish under-eye bags framing his deep, doe-like eyes.

Feeling your eyes fixed on his face, Choso wriggled in place. "We believe that you are one of the few scientists who can help in research on those microbes."

A deep sigh slipped past your lips as you took off your glasses and closed eyes. A pulsing headache was filling your mind, weighing down an already overstimulated brain. A few short strands of noodles clung to the bottom of the plastic cup, looking up at your weary eyes, pleading to go home.

You finally murmured, throwing the cup into the bin, "I don't see how that's my problem. I'm just a physics teacher, the academic environment pushed me away, and I believe there are many more qualified scientists for this role."

Yuki's forehead furrowed, lips pressed in a line. "Not your problem? The world is dying, and you think it's not your problem?"

You could almost see a grey smoke drifting above her head, eyes shining like two coffee beans. Golden hair brushed against her suit-covered breasts, with a few straight strands sticking to soft cheeks. She appeared magnificently commanding, exuding a dominant aura of someone beyond the law. Even sitting on a small children's chair, you felt goosebumps cover your bare shoulders.

You leaned back in a chair, the hard backrest digging into your spine. "I just don't understand why it should be me. This," you pointed at a three-hundred-page dissertation, "was just a foolish fantasy of my younger self. And trust me, I felt how stupid it was," your eyes fell to your fingers, playing with a soft, earthy ball. "No one treats me like a scientist anymore."

And then, Yuki stood up.

Suddenly, reaching over the desk right to your shirt, before pulling you closer with a single move. Eyes fixed on yours like a deadly viper, and a sweet note of heavy perfumes hit your nostrils.

"Try it," she gritted through her teeth. "Accept my offer till I'm still begging. I don't want things to get messy, but I really need your help on this one."

And so, feeling rather threatened, you nodded swiftly and followed the kind smile that lifted up her lips.

Now, three years later, reflecting on that time, you never felt as happy and alive as you did then. Surrounded by the world's most exceptional scientists, working on alien, new microbes – the freshest discoveries in current scientific research – spending days and nights fuelled by bitter coffee, sitting in the labs.

The time didn't matter, as long as you could work on your research. To once again feel like a valuable input to the academic environment and a student from your PhD days, when the world was most beautiful under the microscope and while collecting the newest data.

Your heart raced during the meetings as your fingers carefully noted each idea, each plan that other scientists put forward. The greatest minds in the world, flooding your own with plans and speculations you could've never thought of. Your brain fired multiple times a day, always running, always getting fed with new questions and solutions.

Why is the sun dying?

How can we stop it?

How to produce enough fuel to go all the way right to the sun?

Is that even possible?

But then it was revealed that an alien microbe was composed entirely of water, and your world collapsed. Because it finally confirmed the very point you've been secretly trying to reject for years, proving to you that cells cannot survive without water.

Your heart broke, and a wave of shame washed over your spine. The shame connected to your younger self, foolishly believing in a greatness of discovery no one has ever made. Something worth the international conferences, massive grants, Nobel Prize, and yet, you needed a single, alien cell, something not belonging to the human world, to finally prove those old geezers from your committee right.

The white, big lamp of the lab flickered; darkness spilt over the endless night. Nothing but a faint buzz of mosquitoes filled the lab, hitting the window again, and again, and again. Hungry and relentless, looking at your body hunched over the failed experiment and slightly trembling lip.

You haven't noticed someone else's presence until something cold and wet touched your cheek. Turning the head around, you noticed a can of soda and Choso's pale fingers wrapped around it.

"Thanks," escaped in a whisper, as you took the drink.

He nodded, sitting on the stool right next to you. Your lab partner, who's been through your highs and lows for the past few weeks. The biggest encouragement and life support, always reminding you to eat well and drink something other than a third coffee in a row. He was another government body, Yuki's closest friend, yet – you liked him.

He felt the most normal here, and thus, your head rested on his shoulder, while hair covered the slightly wet cheeks.

"Are you crying?" he asked quietly.

Your head shook, and a second later, a loud sniff rolled. Choso chuckled, offering a tissue.

"Thank you, Cho," you mumbled, trying to hide the streaming tears behind the wide glasses.

He nodded, waiting for you to calm down a bit. The white lamp buzzed quietly, and the screen of the computer shone bright with your PhD dissertation. The thick letters of the title, with your name written right below.

Three hundred pages of bullshit born from your silly dreams. The Nobel Prize? Dear heavens, you barely deserved to be part of the current team.

"That's not the end of the world, you know?" he said, then pressed his cheek with tongue. "Hm, no. It actually is."

You laughed disgustingly, with a snort slipping out of your nose and another wave of tears streaming down your face. "I'm sorry," slipped almost silently. "I'm sorry, I proved you all wrong."

Choso sighed, looking at your sorry state. He pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear and brushed away a single tear with a soft thumb. "No, you didn't. Now that we know what it's made of, you can think about another solution."

But there isn't another solution, you wanted to say, and instead bit down on your lower lip. The words bubbled in your throat, but a thin thread of hope still pulled at your heart. A faint wish that maybe this discovery wasn't a disaster. That the alien cell, made almost entirely of water, could somehow help with the mission.

That you could still prove yourself as a true scientist.

"Hey," Choso whispered, turning your face towards him. Deep, warm eyes shimmered with kindness as he offered a soft smile and gently pinched your cheek. "You are one of the smartest people I have ever met. I'm sure you can figure this out. Yuki believes in you. I believe in you." Staring into his eyes, you nodded with a pout. He chuckled and opened your soda with a quiet hiss. "Alright, let's call it a day and get back to it tomorrow. We still have time."

But the fact was that – you didn't.

And it was painfully obvious in how Yuki glanced into your lab every few days, asking about progress and results in halting the spread of alien microbes on the sun. Her neatly plucked eyebrows furrowed whenever you shook your head, and a short, stressed sigh escaped her rosy lips.

Try to hurry up, she would usually say, pulling a not-so-comforting smile.

Weeks went by, and everyone's stress increased. Yuki decided to set up a deadly mission, sending a team of astronauts to collect data personally.

The catch? They wouldn't return.

While there was enough fuel to reach the star teeming with alien microbes, there wasn't enough to return. Their goal was to collect the microbes, find a way to stop them from consuming the sun, and send all the data back to Earth.

The first time you heard about it, your knees almost buckled. It sounded outrageous, absolutely crazy, and the chance of finding someone mad and healthy enough to meet the requirements perfectly was already impossible.

And as it turned out, you were wrong.

The four astronauts were more than willing to sacrifice their lives for the greater good – to venture into the vast, endless space and perish there, in the company of strangers and eerie silence. To become saviours on a mission that could save the entire world.

Except, there was a risk the mission would fail.

Except, no one knew if they wouldn't lose their lives for nothing.

Because if that happened, if it turned out that all the money and sacrifices the government has invested in it would go to waste, the world would truly descend into shambles.

You stood against it from the very beginning, but You stood against it from the very beginning, but Yuki had already decided. And so there was nothing left to do but help the spaceship travel the twelve light-years towards the only star that was also dying, devoured by an alien microbe.

One hundred and thirteen trillion kilometres.

An unimaginably vast distance a simple mind could not grasp, yet you had to find a way to make it work. To figure out how to gather enough fuel to propel the massive, metal spaceship through every single kilometre.

And after a few weeks of getting yourself filled with coffee and nights spent outside the NASA base, gazing up into the endless darkness, you finally got it.

"The alien microbes possess unimaginable power," you said in one breath, looking like a madwoman. With hair twisted into a messy braid, hands shaking from too much caffeine, eyes glimmering as if possessed by Einstein himself. Your fingers gripped the black marker before drawing another black dot on the whiteboard. "You see, what we can do is allow the engines to feed the alien microbes into a reaction chamber and boil them to the point of natural breeding. This way, the cells will multiply and multiply, allowing us to use them in a much more efficient way," the black marker swooshed all over the board, drawing a crooked picture of the spaceship.

At least thirty pairs of eyes, seated in a conference room at NASA headquarters, stared into it with furrowed yet hopeful gazes. Yuki and Choso, among them, tried to understand the point you were making. The crazy discovery you had made mere hours earlier, before quickly asking for a meeting.

"Our ship doesn't need turbines, generators or heat exchangers, because there's no conventional fuel. It works as a sort of ship driven by light energy–"

"That's impossible," someone among the other scientists interrupted. "You cannot fuel a ship of such dimensions with light alone."

You nodded, whispering like a psycho under your breath, head buzzing with numbers. "Yes, you cannot do it with the sources we have here, on Earth. But," you turned back towards the whiteboard. "Our ship is not like the others, and the microbes allow us to actually use the light force as a fuel. Look, for every action there's an equal and opposite reaction. Newton's third law, we all know it, right?" A few heads nodded in unison. "Well, our ship will emit light in one direction, while Newton's law will push it in the other. I know it used to work only in theory, but with the amount of power packed into a single microbe, we can use it for our good. In short, the alien power goes into the ship, the light comes out, and we can move forward."

A long, heavy silence filled the room as you finished your little drawing. Black lines coated the board, crossing the black dots and twisting around the childishly drawn ship. You pushed your glasses up your nose and tucked a strand of hair back behind your ear.

That was it. Nothing else could've been done on your side. If none of the scientists and governmental bodies believed your crazy plan could work, there was no other way to put the ship on a direct course towards that star.

Yuki sighed and looked around nervously. While people whispered, shook their heads, or took notes, no one offered you a warm nod or made direct eye contact. But it also seemed that no one else had a better idea.

"Are you sure it can work?" "Are you sure it can work?" Yuki asked, a heavy gaze lingering as warmth crept up your cheeks. "It's over a hundred and thirteen trillion kilometres. Are you sure the ship can be fuelled only by this alien microbe?"

Something weighed on your heart. Fear, panic, years spent believing you weren't good enough to become a real scientist. Those snickers from the PhD commission stating your research was useless. The rejections from one scientific conference after another, as no one wanted to accept your proposals.

Days spent on crying and staring at your dissertation, as if looking at it long enough would suddenly make it all worth it.

And then, under the cold light of the conference room, with thirty heads staring at you in blank mimicry, you needed to make a decision.

The one that would soon turn into a weight on your life.

"Yes," finally slipped. Strong and confident, as you corrected glasses slipping off your nose. "I can make it work."

But then…

But then the catastrophe came.

The betrayal.

Yuki apologising with utmost sincerity. Choso sitting quietly in the corner of her office. Three men keeping your body down.

From the moment you saw the space crew, one thought kept lingering in your mind. You dismissed it with a casual "they'll figure it out" wave, ignoring the instinct that indicated something was off – something that should have been clear from the start.

Why didn't the space crew have the scientist?

And a day before the departure, you finally discovered why.

"I'm sorry, I'm really so so sorry," Yuki said, trying to calm your wriggling body. The man's hands dug deep into your spine, keeping the hands and knees in place, with a cheek pressed to a dirty carpet. "We don't have any choice, and you wouldn't agree if I asked–"

"Of course I wouldn't!" you screamed, trying to bite the soft hand that reached towards you. "It's a fucking suicide! I'm a simple teacher; I can't go to a fucking space–ah, can you be a bit more gentle?!" But the men's fingers were already wrapping your hands with a thick rope. "Yuki, you can't do it to me!"

The woman didn't say anything. She merely opened her office door and beckoned someone inside. Wearing a white robe and holding a syringe between their fingers.

Your mind raced, breathing became almost impossible, and your throat clenched as you fought the sudden urge to vomit on the carpet. You tried to meet Choso's gaze, but he sat in the corner with his head in his hands, avoiding your gaze since you entered the office.

"Choso," you cried, as the doctor came closer. Long, thin needle shimmered under the office's cold lamp, sending a shiver down your spine. "Choso, l-look at me. You fucking coward, you bastard!" Fat tears rolled down your cheeks as the man sat like a stone figure. "You knew about it from the beginning, right? How could you do this to me?!"

Deep, warm eyes that you spent days gazing into finally looked up. Slightly wet, a bit hazy, while taking in the miserable state you found yourself in. Your glasses slightly crooked, lying a bit away from teary face. A few strands of hair sticking to your cheeks, arms twisted painfully behind back.

His fingers dug into the leather chair, as if trying to force himself to stay back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't… I couldn't bring myself to tell you…"

"That I'm going for a fucking suicidal mission?!" you interrupted, still trying to kick the men off your body. "I thought we were friends! I trusted you! And you simply sold me away?"

Yuki shivered, her gaze shifting between coldness and heartbreaking warmth whenever she looked at your writhing body. She slipped her trembling hand into the pocket of her jeans before giving the doctor a small nod.

"N-No," you cried, when the man in white bent down. A sudden, sharp pain washed over your body, tickling the ends of your fingertips. "Please, I d-don't want to, I can't…"

And then, a weariness slowly filled your mind, lulling it into a deep sleep. Your body relaxed, eyes half-closed, as if weighted by the countless sleepless nights you had spent in labs.

The men lifted you up, keeping your head steady, but you didn't feel a thing. Your feet felt funny, light, as if blending into feathers. Some hushed voices started to argue, someone's warm hand brushed your cheek, and a heavy, musky smell filled your nostrils.

And before you lost consciousness, a silent save the earth sneaked into your ear.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

"Amazing," a low sigh slipped past your lips as you watched a massive ship slowly follow yours.

Monstrous, at least twenty times larger than the spaceship you called home for the past three years, which couldn't be contained within the small window you looked through. It appeared incredibly bright, almost as if it were made of glass, yet you couldn't see anything beyond the thick walls.

It's been shadowing you since yesterday, and it has been following you since yesterday, regardless of how long you travelled or how fast you went; it remained right there. Always in your line of sight from your window, constantly mirroring every move you make. 

It was… fascinating. To say at least.

A little frightening? Sure, as you were alone on a ship, with the crew long gone and drifting silently through the vast emptiness of space.

Bit still – fascinating. It marked the first time a human saw an object outside Earth. Majestic and otherworldly, it looked somewhat familiar yet vastly different. A faint cosmic glow shimmered on its diamond-like walls, casting short beams through your solitary window, as if attempting to communicate. As if the creature within tried to contact.

Still drifting slowly, you bit down on your lower lip. "Maybe I should stop?" you thought out loud, as another flicker of light hit your window. "What if they'll attack me?"

But at this point, already being alone on an impossible, suicidal mission, it seemed that an alien attack would be the least of your problems. In fact, maybe it would even sweeten your life a bit, and before meeting death, you would still have a chance to make the first human contact with life outside Earth.

"Okay," You took a deep sigh, pulling down the engine handle. "Let's see what you want from me."

Your ship stopped, and the monstrous glassed vehicle followed right away. With your forehead pressed to the window, you waited.

And waited, waited, till ten minutes passed and the ship stood still. Your tongue pressed against the soft cheek as you walked back and forth, awaiting any sign of activity. Yet, the vast galaxy outside remained tranquil, a gentle glow reflecting off the smooth, wall-like surface of the enormous ship. It lacked doors and windows, being just a glassy, shimmering exterior that–

"Oh no," your throat tightened as it drew closer. And closer, closer, swooshing towards you, something long slowly sliding out of the ship's tall wall. "Oh, that's bad, fuck."

A panic squeezed your heart, thoughts rushed through a tired mind, and there weren't enough cuticles on your nails to bite them all. The window was too small to see the thing clearly, but it seemed to be heading straight towards your ship's door. A long, shining tube swooshed closer and closer until your ship suddenly vibrated, as if gently brushing against a foreign object.

Your fingers fidgeted with the plush fabric of the shirt, while droplets of sweat made your glasses slide down your temple. With unsteady legs, you cautiously moved toward the astronaut's suit and started pulling it over your body. The zipper felt heavy under your touch, and the bubble-shaped helmet was more suffocating than usual. The oxygen backpack almost doubled your load as you headed toward the door, with heavy pounding in your chest.

Your heart was always perfectly healthy, and yet for the first time in your life, you tried to remember all the possible symptoms of a woman's heart attack.

Chest pain, severe shortness of breath, nausea, radiating pain in the neck and jaw, you counted in your mind, marking each and every sign in your current state.

"Fuck, okay," trembling, glove-coated hands squeezed the handle of the massive, metal door, before you pushed it. It opened with a low, soft creek, inviting you into the endless tunnel filled with darkness.

To your surprise, gravity worked here, and thus you dropped heavily onto the hard floor. A soft oh filled the helmet as you lifted the flashlight a bit higher. Something shimmered at the end of the darkness, yet you weren't sure what.

Your steps didn't echo from the thick walls as you slowly approached the entrance to the alien ship. Thoughts clashed painfully in your mind, questions rose one by one as you breathed with a squeezed chest under the weighty kilograms of a spacesuit.

How many of them were there?

What did they look like?

Were they friendly?

How quick and painful would your death be?

Your mind tried to ignore the last one, as the chance of a cardiac arrest before meeting an alien seemed much more likely. Fingers clutched the flashlight tighter, feet moved carefully, one step after another, sticking to the tunnel's crooked surface.

"Hello?" Your voice bounced off the walls, lined with terror. "Whoever you are, I come in peace!"

Oh, what a cheesy line, you thought, biting down on your lower lip.

After a few steps, the glimmering thing came fully into view, and only then did you notice it was a thick glass wall. Or at least something similar to glass, with a hard surface that stopped you from going any further.

Glove-clothed hand touched it, helmet bumped against it, as you tried to light the darkness spilling behind it.

"Hello?" slipped a bit louder, with your fist knocking on the glass. "Anyone there?"

A silence, dull and endless, filled an eerie tunnel. Looking back, you took a note that your spaceship was still there – safe and sound – and you let out a deep sigh. It's not as if it would suddenly float away, but–

A heavy thump suddenly shook the tunnel's floor.

Your head snapped back, breath hitched, fingers squeezed with a tremble around the flashlight.

"H-Hello?"

The light reflected off something towering and shimmering, slowly moving toward you in a relaxed, unhurried manner, nearly as tall as the tunnel itself. A bluish halo beamed off the creature's body, filling the dark space with a soft aura.

You stepped back, trying to direct a flickering beam straight at the thing coming your way, but your hand trembled too much. The heart was on the verge of stopping, and dread haunted the mind as it drew closer, revealing its height. At least two and a half metres, brushing the ceiling of the tunnel's crooked walls, filling the narrow space with its wide body.

And when the light caught on their face… oh.

The pale blue skin shimmered softly under a luminous glow. It appeared unnaturally smooth, soft, and a sudden, foolish wish to brush it with your thumb swirled inside your mind. White, snowy hair touched the handsome forehead, while nearly inhumanly pale-blue eyes gazed down at your spacesuit-covered body. You looked tiny and short in comparison, with a gloved hand once more resting on the glass wall.

The creature was dressed in a white suit, clinging tightly to its body and digging deep into the hard muscles bulging under its skin. Alien's head tilted, knees bent down, and within a second, it found itself on eye-level with you.

White lashes decorating endless, luminous blue fluttered, as if trying to take in the terror twisting your face.

"⊑⟒⌰⌰⍜," a low, manly voice crept past the glass.

Your eyes bulged like two porcelain plates, fingers pressed closer to the wall.

So he was a man.

Well, you could already figure that much based on his looks, but the warm tone slipping under your bubble helmet was evidence enough.

Your mind didn't register the language at first, but when his soft brow travelled up, and lips curled in a smile, you thought that maybe he was awaiting an answer.

"Oh, um," you took a step back, waving your hand clumsily. "Hello."

The creature's head tilted again, and he mimicked your gesture.

You blinked twice, still struggling to believe the situation you're in. "Uh, okay, what now?" you whispered. "I am..." You pointed at your head and said your name clearly and loudly. "What about you?"

"⊬⍜⎍ ☊⏃⋏ ⏚⍀⟒⏃⏁⊑ ⊑⟒⍀⟒," the creature said, and a wave of different sounds and tones once again hit your ears.

You sighed, pressing tongue against your cheek. "Right, it's not going to work."

He looked at you, and you looked at him. You, with a slightly furrowed forehead and your mind rushing through all the possible ways to communicate with the alien. He, with lips curled cheekily and pale eyes fixed on your face.

"I wouldn't mind your cooperation, you know?" you mumbled, but he tipped his head left and right, like a curious puppy.

"⊬⍜⎍ ☊⏃⋏ ⏚⍀⟒⏃⏁⊑⟒ ⊑⟒⍀⟒," the same sounds once again slipped past the glass wall.

His head was tipping and tilting, and a second had passed before you finally understood that he wanted to say something.

"What? I don't understand," you said, mimicking his movements.

And thus both of you were shaking and tilting your heads, going over and over the same ⊬⍜⎍ ☊⏃⋏ ⏚⍀⟒⏃⏁⊑⟒ ⊑⟒⍀⟒,and I don't understand.

His brows furrowed as if irritated, and large hand touched his chest. He took a deep breath – first and second – then pointed at his head and finally at yours.

Oh.

"You want me to..." you gestured as if removing the helmet. A quiet chuckle escaped him, and eyes glinted. "But I can't breathe here."

He didn't understand and thus pointed at your head once again. "⏁⏃☍⟒ ⟟⏁ ⍜⎎⎎."

Your head shook. "Whatever you say, I cannot take it off. Because I will…" Your hands slipped up to your throat before a wave of trembling convulsions bent your body. It wriggled, shook, before, with a theatrical cough, you fell down the crooked floor.

The creature was staring at you with a furrowed forehead and a gentle flicker of amusement coiling in his spectral eyes.

"Not the best first impression, I know," you muttered, swiftly standing up. "My point is, I can't breathe without it."

But it seemed he either didn't understand or was simply relentless in his pleadings. As the long fingers hit the glass wall, pointing right at your head. Another deep breath slipped past his lips, and he nodded, as if trying to say it was fine. Whatever he filled the tunnel with, you could breathe here.

And thus, the thought of what if slipped quietly into your mind.

What if he was right?

What if he really did fill your half of the tunnel with oxygen?

But what if he was wrong, and the moment the helmet would go off, you would die in inhumane suffering?

Light blue eyes shone with anticipation, lips curled into an encouraging smile, and a finger pressed harder into the glass wall.

You took a deep breath, feeling the droplets of sweat coiling at the nape of your neck. He seemed to be a highly intelligent creature, with the ability to communicate as well as you and a rather comprehensive understanding of the differences between your species. For some reason, trusting him felt almost natural, and the assuring look of his spectral gaze made you drop your head with a sigh.

When fingers hooked on the helmet's edges, your heart was nearing its death. Chest squeezed painfully, eyes closed till the eyelids dug deep into your balls. The sweat was now dripping down your spine, wetting the nape of your neck and shirt that clung to your body under the heavy spacesuit.

"Okay," you whispered, both to yourself and him, and it seemed that he was rather amused by the agony twisting your mind. When he chuckled, your brows furrowed. "Don't laugh. There's a rather big chance this air will burn me from the inside."

And so it happened – your fingers slowly unclasped the neck ring, allowing the pressurised seal to loosen with a soft puf. The bubble helmet was lifted unhurriedly, as if your lungs were still trying to grasp the rest of the oxygen swirling inside it.

With still closed eyes, you took the first breath. And the second, and the third, and then, looking back at the alien, a sweet, loud scoff slipped past your lips, and flushed cheeks.

"⌇⟒⟒, ⟟ ⏁⍜⌰⎅ ⊬⍜⎍," he chuckled, pressing his forehead to the glass wall.

Still in shock, you stepped closer, also touching the warm, crystal surface with your brows. "Sure, whatever you say."

You looked at each other for a while, with beaming smiles and foreheads almost brushing as you leaned in, a rather intimate gesture. It seemed that the first meeting with another species broke down some specific walls for both of you. The curiosity and fascination with one another blurred the lines of proper manners, breaching all the careful first steps you surely should think of.

His eyes flickered, suggesting a new idea had just come to him. He raised a finger and gestured for you to stay put. After your gentle nod, he vanished into the darkness of the tunnel, leaving you alone with your thoughts swirling in your mind.

Five minutes passed, then ten, and as you sat on the crooked floor and took off the heavy spacesuit, he finally came back, with something gripped by his hand.

You looked closer, noticing the collar-like device and a small earplug. He placed it inside his ear while wrapping the collar around the pale neck. A faint, crispy sound filled his side of the tunnel, and milky brows furrowed as he pressed onto the device in his ear.

And then, with a gesture, he asked you to say something.

"Um," your head tilted, and he sat right in front of you, waiting with a soft smile. "You are rather pretty for an alien."

His fingers still pressed the small device, and after a second, cheekiness flickered in his eyes. "Am I, question? You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."

To say you froze in shock would be an understatement.

Your lips parted, eyebrows nearly touching hairline, as body leaned forward before your hand pressed against the glass wall. You didn't know whether you were more surprised by either his ability to speak your language or the casual compliment that caused your cheeks to heat up.

"You can…" You shook your head, barely breathing. "But how is it…"

He pointed at his ear. "This device recognises your language," then gestured to his neck. "And connects with this. Whenever I speak in my language, this collar converts it into yours."

A soft ah slipped past your lips, eyes fixed on the thin, crystal band made of a sort of rubber material. Your finger brushed the glass wall, as if trying to feel the device beneath it.

Your brows furrowed when another issue started to bite into your curiosity. "But how do you know my language? How did you build this translator? Our species never made contact."

He sat closer, pressing his forehead to the glass again. At this point, you started to wonder whether it was a sort of typical signal from his species, carrying a special, unknown meaning. And when he beamed with joy, you noticed little white droplets shining faintly, sprinkled around his cheeks. Was this an equivalent of a blush?

"You didn't with us," he pressed a finger to yours, and only then did you see the true, monstrous size of his hand. "But the Reds had been studying you for years."

The reds…

"Oh gosh!" A gasp ripped out of your throat as you covered your mouth with a hand. His head tilted. "The Reds, you mean, Martians?"

"Why are you shocked, question?" he asked, carefully eyeing as you quickly stood up and started walking back and forth between the walls.

Your mind pulsed, trying to comprehend everything that had happened over the past hour. The strange spaceship, the first-ever human contact with life beyond Earth, the final confirmation that aliens did, in fact, kidnap people and conduct experiments on them.

"I'm shocked, because humans never made any contact with life outside our planet," you said, biting down on a fingernail. "How long have you known the Reds?"

A low hum slipped past his lips, and smooth, blue forehead creased. "Five hundred years, I say."

"What?!" Your knees buckled as you once again sat in front of him, with hands and forehead and breasts pressed tightly to a glass wall. "Five hundred years? How is that possible? Are your planets close to each other?"

His head shook, but forehead remained wrinkled. "Humans are very underdeveloped."

You chuckled softly, noticing small, adorable language mistakes the translator made here and there. It's still, robotic voice muffled the creature's deep tone, and something squeezed your heart, as you surprisingly discovered that the honeyed warmth of his tone wrapped your mind in a rather pleasing manner.

"Yes, it seems so." Your head turned, with flushed cheeks pressed to the wall. "But till now I had no idea how far behind we are."

He stayed quiet for a moment before tapping gently on the wall. Your eyes slipped back to his, noticing the droplets sprinkled across his face, radiating adorably like flickering stars.

"My name is Satoru," rolled quietly, as the shimmering dust coated his cheeks ever wider. "Your name, question?"

When you said it slowly, he nodded, still tapping on the surface. Right against your pressed hand. "That's a very beautiful name."

"Yours is not bad either."

He hummed, as if in agreement.

Your head grew heavier and heavier, and the warmth was gently trying to coax you into sleep. As you yawned, Satoru's ghostly eyes carefully followed the exhaustion clouding your forehead.

"Are you tired, question?"

His throat bobbed when you giggled. "You don't have to add a question at the end of each ask, you know?"

You assumed that, because of his grammar rules, he needed to emphasise the difference between normal sentences and inquiries. You've noticed that his language sounded much more melodic than yours, yet it lacked the upward pitch humans use.

"But I am tired, thank you for asking." Looking over your shoulder, you've noticed that your ship was, fortunately, still there. "How about I go to sleep, and we'll get back to our talk in a few hours?"

You slowly stood up and grabbed your heavy spacesuit. Glasses slipped off your nose, and hair stuck to still-warm cheeks, as you lifted up the flashlight and… oh.

It seemed that you missed the sudden sorrow deepening between Satoru's brows. Eyes widened in panic, big palms plastered to the wall with lips just slightly opened, as he looked with a fearful expression at your attempt to move away from the wall. From him.

"Satoru–"

"Can you please sleep here?" His voice trembled, although the translator's robotic tone remained unwavering.

You looked around the tunnel, feeling the crooked ground bending beneath your feet and the dark walls emitting a deep, earthy smell. "I don't think that's a good idea, Satoru." A warm smile lifted your lips as you turned towards your spaceship. "But don't worry, I'll be back. Sleep for a bit, and before you'll notice, I'll–"

"Please," the anxiety filling his shaken voice stabbed right through your heart. "Please let me watch you sleep."

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing him in the same position. With hands pressed against the wall and eyebrows furrowed deeply.

"Watch me sleep?"

He nodded. "I… I didn't watch my crew sleep. The crew died. Satoru has been alone for the past forty years." Your lips fell open, but he quickly added, as if afraid you'd refuse again. "I watch you sleep, you won't die."

Seeing his face – filled with anxiety, pure fear, and misery – you could only smile softly and nod. As the mere thought of this man spending over forty years in space all alone tore your heart apart in the most inhumanely painful way.

"Yes, okay," barely pushed past your lips, before you cleared your throat. "Just let me bring my stuff."

You quickly changed into pyjamas, gathered a few blankets, a pillow and enough water for the night, before going back to the warm tunnel.

And then, as you drew closer to the glassy wall, you noticed a slight change in its shape. As during the five minutes you were gone, Satoru had prepared a special shelf for your body to lie right next to him. With his own feather-like blanket, he lay on his side, waiting for you to slip into the long space and hug him.

You giggled, filling the space with your own things. "That's quite intimate, Satoru."

His body was much taller than the width of the tunnel, and thus, he curled his legs a bit before trying to get even closer to you. "What does intimate mean, question?"

With head hitting the soft pillow and blanket covering your body, you turned his way. Nothing but a thick crystal wall kept you away from brushing noses with each other.

"It means that you're trying to be romantic with someone," but then you thought he might also not understand what romantic means. "Hm, it's when you do nice things for a certain person that you wouldn't do for anyone else. For example, make a special bed to be closer to someone."

A soft crease wrinkled his forehead, and the peacefulness of his eyes told you that he was deeply thinking. "I wouldn't do it for anyone other than you."

The sincerity beaming from his eyes was enough to assure you of the innocent truthfulness of his words. So you sighed, nuzzling deep into the pillow, hoping he didn't notice the warmth on your cheeks.

"That's very romantic, you know? Something you would say to your special someone."

"To your mate, question?"

You hummed, softly closing eyes. His presence somehow made your body tingle with a pleasant warmth, allowing the sleep to haunt your mind in a much softer, calmer way. In a way, you didn't feel for a long, long time, spending days in loneliness and a maddening need to feel someone else's warmth again.

You couldn't feel Satoru's heat, yet your heart fluttered fondly as his gaze truly watched you sleep.

"Yes, although humans don't mate."

"Why, question?"

When you giggled – sweetly, kindly – droplets coating Satoru's cheeks lighted up. Solely for a second, but it was enough to make him slip closer, and closer, and closer, till the glass wall was digging painfully into his body, and his heart still rushed your way.

You bubbled something under your nose. An answer he could not hear. With your lips falling open and a crystal string of saliva dripping down the soft pillow.

His finger pressed against the glass, as if wishing to brush it away.

And when another five minutes passed, a soft snoring filled your side of the tunnel. Breath calmed down, and body drew closer to his. Trying to curl into his – big, burning hot, utterly dangerous for yours.

"I watch you sleep," he whispered, brushing the glass with your pressed cheek. "You never die."

𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

Satoru was much more intelligent than you expected.

It's not that you treated him as beneath you, but the true power of his mind exceeded your expectations.

And as it turned out, he was in the same situation as you – researching the alien microbes that were also eating his sun. Except that his species discovered the problem forty years before yours, and thus a wave of panic washed over your mind. Because if a creature like Satoru couldn't find the solution to the problem that apparently touched not just Earth but the whole universe, you wouldn't do it either.

One difference between you and Satoru was that, as an engineer, he could actually do things himself. Simply produce them, with all the glassed walls and tiny models of planets made from a strange, gluey substance that rolled off his fingers. He wasn't a scientist like you, so when he heard that you were the "brain" of the crew, his eyes flickered. 

"We can work together," he proposed, already considering the path to the only planet not consumed by alien microbes. Since it wasn't infected, it suggested there was something in its atmosphere that enabled it to withstand the lethal bacteria. "You will be the mastermind of the entire operation, I will develop the sources. Also, I have spent forty years here, so I know how to navigate."

His eyes were fixed on creating another little planet, rolling the gluey strings between his pads, moulding them into a ball and waiting until the substance dried into a crystal orb. After a few days, your glassy wall had advanced enough to have a small opening for a shelf where you could exchange little presents.

Although you forgot that Satoru's atmosphere was close to boiling lava in temperature, when your hands accidentally brushed, a nasty, red bump was left on the skin of your thumb.

He put the ball on the shelf and moved his hand away so you could grab it.

"Which planet is it?" you wondered, brushing the crystal surface.

He tsked – something he learnt from you mere hour ago – and mumbled. "The earth, of course."

A scoff escaped your lips, and warmth spilt over the heart. "We're not that small."

"I believe you are."

"And we have more greenery."

He wondered, this time building a small spaceship. Your spaceship. "I would like to see it."

Some things have become clearer after spending the past few days in Satoru's presence. His planet was one of the closest to the sun, wrapped in a dense atmosphere that protected its inhabitants from being burned alive. As Satoru said, the days merged with the nights, and it was always rather dark – hence the pale, almost spectral eyes he and other inhabitants had. There was little to no greenery, and the water system had long been sustained by technologies developed by engineers like him.

"A lot of sand", he once said, and you wondered whether it would look like anything close to the climate of Arab countries.

His head tilted then, and eyes flickered with curiosity. "How do Arab countries look, question?"

You tried to describe the endless desert plains, the crimson sun, the curling droplets of sweat on your neck, and the nights filled with beaming joy as best you could. The feel of warm sand under your feet, sea brushing the skin sweetly and fresh dates melting on your tongue in sugary pleasure.

He listened, with eyes following the curve of your lips and fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

"I would love to see it," he muttered, poking the glass wall with his finger. "It sounds beautiful."

You giggled, following the pale blue of his skin. Soft and shiny, it reminded you more of a region bitten by cold than of the merciless atmospheric temperature of over two hundred degrees Celsius.

"You're rather pale for someone living right next to the sun."

He scoffed, with fingers still creating the small spaceship. In the meantime, you leaned against the crooked tunnel's wall, with a laptop on your thighs, trying to plan the route towards the only "safe" planet.

"I'm not pale. I'm blue."

"That was a joke," you shoot him a glance, seeing the irritated squint of his eyes. "It means that the thing I say is supposed to be funny. You should laugh."

A low, awkward chuckle rolled off his lips, and you couldn't help but burst out laughing. Satoru knew how to express his joy, but it seemed he didn't quite possess the humour you did.

The moment has passed, and a comfortable silence stretched between the two of you. He was mapping the galaxy, while you tried to work out whether your ship still had enough fuel to travel that far. It would take you months to reach that planet, but there seemed to be no other choice. After that mission, the fuel will run out, and you, just as planned, will die here – somewhere in the embrace of endless space.

A low sigh slipped past your lips, catching Satoru's attention. "Are you tired, question?"

Your head shook, and a few strands of hair fell loosely from a pinup. "I would love to invite you to my ship. There's a room where we can watch movies and stuff. I'm sure I can find something about Egypt."

And so…

You've also learned over the past few days that Satoru took everything seriously.

In the most genuine and firm understanding of this word.

Two weeks have passed since your meeting. One morning, as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, dressed in nothing but panties and a loose shirt while brushing your teeth, a deep, gravelly rumble shook the entire spaceship.

Your heart leapt into your throat, eyes bulged, and you dashed out of the room with wet hair and bare feet. With all the prayers you've learnt as a child repeating in your mind over and over again, as you run towards the entrance of the ship.

Did you somehow get unsealed from the tunnel?

Did something hit the ship and cause the irreparable damage that would cost you your life?

Fuck, did–

But when you finally got into the room connected with an entrance, with toothpaste smeared all over your cheek and glasses falling crookedly off your nose, a low gasp slipped past your lips.

"Satoru?!"

Because the pale-bluish creature himself stood in the middle of your spaceship, locked in a…

"And you're in a ball?" Like a hamster, wanted to join, but he probably wouldn't know what a hamster is.

Standing right in front of you, fully upright, with long legs wrapped in a white suit and a muscular back bulging under the stretched material – he appeared even more monstrous than usual. A creature over two metres tall, looking all over your place with amusement shining in his eyes, his gaze following all your dirty panties spread across the floor.

"Yep, so I won't die in your atmosphere," long fingers knocked the crystal ball, before lips curved in a cheeky smile. "Can I smell it, question? I want to know how your body smells. Put it to the shel–"

A sudden warmth had hit your cheeks, and throat tightened around the remnants of the toothpaste. "Absolutely not! It's very not polite of you to ask such things."

He started walking around in a large ball that barely fit the corridors of your spaceship, its hard walls brushing against each and every machine, piece of furniture, and console on its way. He strolled freely, dropping different comments here and there, while you followed him and picked up all your clothes.

"So dirty," he snapped, pushing a loud scoff from your throat.

"I didn't expect the guests!"

But he ignored you, as your bedroom appeared somewhere within the line of his sight. Blue cheeks shone with crystal droplets, and white, fluffy hair almost stood on end with excitement. Before you could stop him, long legs swiftly moved towards your bedroom, taking in every little, dirty, detail – more panties, a small mattress, a few books lying scattered all over the floor.

"Is that our nest, question?" He looked around before parking his ball next to your mattress. He sat down, leaning against the floor, and finally shot you a look. "I like it."

With a deep, weariness-filled sigh, you returned to the bathroom, cleaned yourself, and re-entered the bedroom. Soft light reflected off the glistening droplets on his cheeks as he probed the fabric of your panties with his finger. Only then did you realise that the ball, despite being firm, was quite flexible, enabling him to slide his fingers through its surface, which was covered in a sticky, shimmering coating that shielded his skin from the oxygen.

You took the material away from his curious gaze and pushed it back into your bag.

"Satoru, what are you doing here?" slipped rather harshly as you sat down on your bed.

He seemed to be confused by your tone, tilting the fluffy head with a furrow. "Are you mad, question?"

You knew that getting angry with him, while he was still learning to recognise human emotions, was silly. Stupid, even, and you felt as if you were shouting at the poor puppy. Except that this puppy was much taller than you and probably weighed twice your weight.

With a sigh, you fell back on the mattress and covered your face with an arm. "Sorry, I'm not mad. Just… surprised. I didn't expect you would come up my ship."

He tried to roll closer, but the space was too small to allow him any other movements than going back and forth from the entrance to your mattress. So he stayed in place, trying to observe the expression on your face.

"I can't see you like that," he noted.

Another thing you've learnt about his species was how important contact and intimacy are. Not even sexual ones, but rather a simple need to always be with someone. To communicate while looking right into their eyes, to feel their skin on theirs, and to follow the movements of their lips. To feel the presence of another creature next to them, even if the only thing you did was sleep next to each other.

So another sorry slipped past your lips, and you sat again, showing Satoru your face. He slightly lightened up before pressing a hand to the crystal ball.

"You said, and I quote, I would love to invite you to my ship," he noted with utmost seriousness, and you rolled your eyes. "So I came."

Well, he was right. You did say that, and you did wish there were a way to bring him into your ship. Travelling together would be much easier if both of you were on one ship, so amidst the pure chaos and shock he caused, you quite enjoyed the fact that he could live here.

With you.

"Okay," your hand pressed to the ball, filling half of his palm. "But we need to set up some rules first. First, we don't sleep in the same bedroom–"

"But I must watch–"

"Satoru," you interrupted him, seeing the pale eyes slip into the sorrowfulness. "You have excellent hearing and even more excellent sight. I'm sure you can watch me sleep while staying next door." A grim twisted his face, and a low mumble filled his little bubble. Too quiet for the translator to catch, so you chuckled sweetly, seeing his brattiness surface. "Okay. The second rule – you can't sniff my panties. It's something… reserved only for mates."

And, well, if that didn't fire him up – with eyes suddenly beaming in excitement and droplets twinkling one by one, like a tiny mingling stars. You felt as if you had challenged him, and thus quickly added. "And because we are not mates, you cannot do it. It's too intimate."

"I want to be intimate."

A sudden flush hit your cheeks, and warmth spread beneath your chest. "No, Satoru, you don't understand. It's about sexual intimacy. Something you share while…" saying it out loud felt like giving a biology lesson to elementary school kids. "Mating… with your special someone. When you, well, have sex and stuff. Do you know–"

He chuckled low, a sly smile lifting his lips. "I know what mating is."

Something in your lower belly bubbled, seeing him like that. Tall and strong, spreading a slightly possessive and dominating aura. With eyes full of bratty cheekiness and something, something, slightly sensual dripping from his voice.

"Well, so you know that we can't do it," You moved back, taking your palm away from the crystal ball. "Let's work on our plan and try to find a way to save the world."

And with a slight dissatisfaction, Satoru finally agreed.

But the next months spent in his presence were… interesting. To say at least.

Every day brought new surprises, which sometimes ended with your body blushing from head to toes, sometimes him getting shy and flustered, while still trying to keep up the cocky demeanour.

He was nothing less than excellent when it came to engineering and helping with the travel itself, also being an amazing companion for the long, daring journey.

Soon he resigned from constant stay in a ball and filled the interior of your spaceship with long corridors of crystal, making himself at home. Whenever you were – he was right next. Be it a bedroom, control room, kitchen or…

"Satoru!" You quickly covered your breasts with your hands, seeing him walking into the bathroom with the most casual demeanour.

A plate of some weird substance, he was always eating for supper, and a white suit half unzipped, showing off his muscular, blue chest. He leaned against the door, spectral eyes slowly following your naked body. From legs up to hips, staying longer on the gentle swell of your ass and the mould of your pussy, before going up, and up, to the breasts covered by your trembling fingers. "Sweetheart is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."

"Sweetheart" because he really wished to call you something human pairs use for each other. Even though at least three times a week, you needed to remind him that you, in fact, were not a pair.

A muffled, surprised scoff escaped your lips. You pointed to the exit with one hand, forgetting it was clutching one of your breasts. When the silky swell smoothly slipped from your grasp, bouncing gently before his eyes, he moved closer, already pushing a finger through the stretching wall.

"Can I–"

You smacked it, once again showing the exit. "Satoru! You can't walk on me while I'm naked."

"Why, question?" he asked, relentlessly trying to get closer to your body. With a finger poking the wall, that unfortunately couldn't stretch enough to even brush your skin. "Come a bit closer."

Something in your belly bubbled, warmth spread across your chest, and a single, dirty thought of letting him touch you bloomed in your mind. After all, sexual needs and anatomy were among the things all researchers wished to know about foreign species. And because Satoru was of the same, curious kind as you…

"It's too early, out!"

His head tilted, and lips curved into a foxy smile. "It's eight in the evening."

"No, I mean, we're not close enough to do such stuff."

He knocked on the crystal wall. "Sweetheart, but I can't get closer."

Oh god.

You sighed, finally letting the other tit bounce softly too. Leaning against the small shelf, you glanced at him with a frown. He, however, looked anywhere but into your eyes. Rude.

"Our relationship is not on that level…" yet. "What you want to do is too intimate. Sexual." And then, a sudden curiosity spiked your mind. "Satoru, how does the… mate thing look like among your species?"

His eyes finally slipped up to yours. "We choose one mate for a whole life."

Well, that was rather clear.

"What about the, you know…" You gestured awkwardly, partially at your still naked body.

"The mating," he finished. But as if feeling the spike in your curiosity, with round eyes ogling his naked chest and slipping shyly towards his hips, he bubbled a low chuckle. "Come closer, and I will show you."

What a brat!

With the last tsk and a dirty look shot his way, you turned back towards the mirror and finished your quick, morning "shower". Even while using rinseless soap and water pouches to clean your body, you still felt Satoru's presence behind you.

Deep blue eyes following the curve of your body, back muscles working beneath the soft skin, and when you bent over to rinse your face, a sudden, sharp breath escaped his throat.

You didn't have to look back to know that he was looking straight at your pussy.

"It's wet," he mumbled, coming closer. And closer, until his finger once again tried to evade the stretching wall, too short to even brush the swell of your ass.

You hummed, trying to hide an embarrassed warmth kissing your neck. "It's a natural lubrication. It usually happens when a woman is…" oh fuck it. "Excited."

He seemed charmed, completely bewitched, and some part of you wished the temperature between your bodies wasn't over two hundred degrees Celsius. As the moment Satoru's hands touched your skin, you weren't sure whether calling it the third burn would be enough.

"Why is sweetheart excited, question?"

With your body leaning forward and hands resting on the shelf, you looked back, eyes slightly hazy, wetness dripping down your thigh. A silken droplet swirled down your leg, and Satoru's always oh-so-attentive eyes, of course didn't miss it.

"I want the taste," he mumbled, and only then did you notice a bulge, trying to rip free from beneath the white spacesuit covering his hips.

You took a deep breath, bending yourself lower and lower, till he could clearly see your cunt shining with silky wetness.

"I'm excited," you started, voice dripping with sensuality. "Because of you."

As if awaiting this exact answer, his eyes, for just a second, ripped themselves away from your soft pussy and looked up. To cross with yours – slightly teary, a bit too warm.

"I want to–"

You turned around, once again leaning against the shelf. A low groan escaped his throat, as he no longer could see your pussy in its fullness. The little pout twisting his lips made you giggle, but a tricky, dirty thought has slipped into your mind.

"How about this?" You took a step, then another, until you stood right in front of him. Much closer than before, but not close enough to let him brush your skin. "I will let you touch me. Watch me…" You coughed, feeling this wind of bravery leave your body as quickly as it had come. "Masturbate. And you'll let me do it too."

Satoru's lips fell open, eyes sparkled in excitement. "I thought the intimacy was only for mates. Are we mates then, question?"

"Let's call it friend with benefits."

His eyes narrowed. "We don't do such things with friends."

You scoffed, pushing your hip to the side and biting the inside of your cheek. "Well, we do, so you can either accept it or not."

And seeing that this time his bratty stubbornness wouldn't work, Satoru nodded.

A few minutes later, you found yourself in the most embarrassed, going-straight-to-the-grave position you could imagine. With elbows supporting your body on the bedroom's mattress, legs spread open, and pussy pressed against the crystal wall. The slippery juices coated the surface, making Satoru breathe much, much harder than before. With fingers wrapped around the biggest, most monstrous cock you've ever seen.

You needed a moment to take in the sight that sprang up in front of your eyes after he took off the rest of the suit. Massive, veiny shaft, with a swelled protrusion at his base, probably used while mating. The blue skin was peppered with similar droplets sprinkled on his cheeks, and shimmered faintly whenever he looked down at your cunt.

Small and fluttering, with your hole squeezing around nothing and clit swelled from excitement.

The penetrative gaze of his made you warm up even more. "Satoru, touch me," slipped like an order.

His long finger brushed the crystal wall and pushed – gently, carefully, till he felt a soft button under his pad and heard a low moan escape your lips.

He dreamed of feeling the gummy structure of your pussy. To roll the clit between his fingers, without any surface protecting his body. To lower himself down and smell, lick, taste the dripping cum that in his mind was sweeter than anything he had ever tried.

And it should be noted that he had quite refined taste buds.

His other hand pumped his massive cock in slow strokes, enjoying the sight spreading in front of him much more than the feeling of his fingers wrapped around the dripping shaft.

"Does it feel good, question?" He asked, hearing another moan fill the small bedroom.

"Y-yeah, ahh, try to make gentle circles," slipped faintly, as you started to roll nipples between your fingers.

His thumb pressed against your clit harder, making your feet curl and legs spread even wider. As if trying to invite his massive cock, that would surely rip you in half.

Maybe the fact that you couldn't touch each other wasn't that bad. Because if he somehow found a way to fuck you with this size, you sure would feel it up in your throat.

And thus you enjoyed the sight spreading in front of your eyes – his beefy thighs bulging whenever you jolted under his thumb, pearly cum dripping down the blue skin, long fingers squeezing the veiny meat as he still oh-so-carefully rubbed your clit.

"It's getting wetter," he noticed, biting the inside of his cheek. "I want to taste you."

His low voice made your body melt under his fingers, forcing your thighs to spread wider and wider, while chasing the pleasure bubbling in your belly. Your hole fluttered around nothing, and a sheer sight of his cock spun your mind in crazy wish to get yourself stretched around it. To feel every vein scratch your tight walls, till the drenched head would kiss your swelling womb.

"Fuck, wait, I have an idea," you backed out, crawling towards your bag.

Crazy, stupid, nasty plan slipped into your head, as you took out a mid-size, creamy dildo. With a sucking pad at the end, and a slightly curved head. It wasn't yours, as you somehow found it among the things… oh well, does it really matter? It was clean and had been bathed in antiseptic spray multiple times; thus, using it was not disgusting at all.

But when Satoru saw it, his breath hitched. Eyes slipped down to his cock, and forehead furrowed. "Why is it so small, question?"

You chuckled, sticking it to the crystal wall. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but that's the average size of a human's dick."

He followed your body as you once again spread your legs open and brushed the silicone cock through your folds a few times. Drenching it all in your juices, and Satoru, since learning the meaning of jealousy, felt something unpleasant bubble in his heart. Because he wished to be the one making your pussy flutter around his head and push it inside, till your sugary walls would clamp around his fat cock.

Your forehead furrowed, eyes glistened from prickling tears as his thumb once again landed on your clit. But this time, the pleasure was twice as intense. With a silicone dick stretching your tight pussy and his finger rubbing you in slow, maddening circles.

"I could make you feel better," he groaned, hearing another pitched moan slip past your lips. "This pathetic thing is now worthy to be inside my sweetheart."

With rising irritation, he pressed your clit harsher. Till a tremble washed over your body and back hit the mattress, as you rolled your cunt to feel the dildo go deeper. But Satoru was right – his cock would indeed make you feel better.

Your hands slipped up to your breasts, pinching the hard buds and chasing the maddening pleasure bubbling in your lower belly.

A deep frown creased Satoru's forehead, and he gently squeezed your clit. "I can't see your face."

"R-right, sorry–ahhh," A cry rolled off your tongue as you once again leaned on your elbows. "Satoru, it feels so good, mhmm."

His cock was more flushed than before, with a cherry tip spilling the heavy, thick droplets all over his hand. He pumped it madly, never once taking his eyes off your lovely face. With pleasure twisting your brows and teary eyes fixed upon his.

"S-Satoru, I, fuck, I'm going to cum," the silicone cock kissed your cervix, smooching it wetly with hefty, gluey cum sipping from your hole.

You tried to imagine getting split open on his cock. Being filled by his cum, with creamy saps stuffing your swelling womb and pumping your belly full. Getting manhandled by his muscular arms and wide back, as he would fold you into a mating press and push into the mattress. Till each and every spring would painfully dig into your spine.

So with a final cry, you came.

With a loud cry, spine arching into the sweetest curve, and a sprinkling of sweetness gushing all over his thumb, although it was a true pity that he couldn't feel it. Your body trembled and lips fell open, seeing a furrow cloud his forehead and fingers tightening around his cock.

And then, an idea slipped quietly into your mind.

"Wait a minute, don't cum yet," you muttered, taking a pair of panties lying on your bed. With a single, dirty move, you rubbed them against your drenched folds, gathering all the creamy cum and honeyed sweetness.

Satoru… dear heavens.

When a flimsy material landed inside the shelf, quite similar to the one he installed in a tunnel, Satoru's fingers snapped forward and snatched it. He brought it closer to his nose, lips, feeling your precious wetness and the rich flavour burst right onto his tongue, as a low, primal groan escaped his throat.

"Mhmm, s-so, ahh, tastes so sweet," a muffled cry was almost incomprehensible with your panties filling his mouth.

The head of his cock pulsed, massive balls constricted whenever his tongue took another lick of your fresh cum and eyes… oh, eyes stayed on you.

On your breasts coated in sheer sweat, thighs still spread open and a little, minx smile twisting your lips. Satoru was sure he could cum only at the sheer sight of your angelic face, and thus, after a few more harsh pumps and muffled cries, he came. Loud and heavy, with creamy ropes shooting all over his glimmering skin and fully emptying everything he has been keeping far too long.

What a waste, you both thought, wishing it landed somewhere far, far sweeter and warmer. Deep inside your womb, preferably.

A moment has passed, with a small bedroom filled with your heavy breaths and shy glances, looking everywhere but at your cum-coated bodies. With a faint cough, you finally closed your thighs and covered yourself with a blanket.

Blooming loveliness crept up your cheeks, and suddenly looking at Satoru required far more courage and calm than it had merely thirty minutes ago.

Before you could ask whether he needed a towel, his low voice spoke first. "Are we mates now, question?"

He said sheepishly, lifting your panties with a finger.

You groaned and fell on a mattress with his chuckle tickling your burning ears.

You didn't want to destroy this moment, even though you knew your mission would end with you dying in space. That he would go back to his planet safely, while you would float and float and float, while eventually dying of hunger.

And so, sharing this sweet moment of intimacy, with warmth spreading beneath your chest, you nodded. "Yes, Satoru. Let's become mates."

𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

The next few months were filled with nothing but joy.

With movies playing on repeat in the small, cinematic room, Satoru watches each of them with his lips agape. Enjoying the landscapes of Earth, you could project them into a closed space, with a blue sky spreading across the ceiling and tall Scottish plains stretching beneath your feet.

With the golden sand of Thai beaches shimmering in the sun and coconuts falling from the palms, the chirping of birds perched high in the lush trees of the Amazon Forest, and the endless plains of the Sahara Desert.

When you joked that the three pyramids in Giza you were just looking at were believed to have been built by aliens, he only hummed and nodded as if in agreement. A scoff rolled off your tongue, and his head snapped towards you.

"Why are you nodding? Of course they weren't!"

Plush, bluish lips curved in a sly smile. "Is sweetheart sure, question? It looks like something we have on our planet."

An unbelievable shock crossed your face as you stared at him, speechless. "No, you don't!"

"Yes, we do."

"You're fucking with me."

His head tilted. "I thought we can't fuck."

You rolled your eyes, resting your head against his shoulder. Or at least against the crystal surface he was pressed against. "Forget it."

"I can't, my memory is excellent."

And that was indeed true, as Satoru seemed to remember every single thing you said or did over the past few months. The plan you devised to obtain a sample of the planet's atmospheric gas to discover why it was immune to deadly microbes was etched into his mind with meticulous precision.

Truly mesmerising creature he was, especially as he also remembered which buttons to push, to make you cum faster.

What you had also discovered was that Satoru loved to talk about your future.

Particularly during the late nights, when you were curled up under the warm blanket, lying on a mattress in a dimly lit room, with him cuddled up against your side.

He couldn't brush your soft cheek pressed against the wall, but it was fine.

For the look of your lovely face, he watched with warmth blooming in his chest, was enough.

On such nights, when both of you longed for each other's warmth, he enjoyed dreaming. Of you returning with him to his planet, building you a small, private island with oxygen, and fulfilling all your wishes. You teaching the children of his species physics – as you did on Earth – and him continuing to serve as the most valued engineer on his planet.

Of you and him living together in a small seaside cottage, spending days loving each other and lying on the soft beach till darkness would spill over the ocean's horizon – the only his planet had, the one he was ready to fully give into your hands. Having sex all day and night, to which you responded with a sweet, faint giggle, as sleep slowly slipped into your eyes.

"And how would we do it, hm?" you mumbled, pressing against the crystal wall.

A soft furrow haunted your forehead, and he imagined calming it with a gentle roll of his thumb. "The atmosphere of my planet allows us to use a special technique," through the glass wall, he traced the curve of your lips. "It wraps my body in a thin barrier, but I would be able to touch you," soft lips touched to the point where your nose pressed. "And kiss you. And hug you, make love with you, although we wouldn't have children."

You understood why and giggled softly, slowly opening your sleepy eyes to meet the endless, pale blue. "You really want to get even closer, huh?"

It was a joke, and yet a warmth bloomed behind his spectral eyes, forcing your heart to skip a beat. His hand pressed to the part where your chest met the wall, before he leaned his forehead against "yours". "If I could, I would make you live inside me. So nothing in this universe would ever rip us apart."

A faint oh rolled past your lips as you bit on the soft inside of your cheek. "Satoru, I don't know how long your species live, but… I don't have as much time as you think."

A sudden panic swelled behind his eyes, and thumb slipped out of the crystal wall to brush your lower lip. "My best friends have been mates for the past hundred and sixty years. How many can you give me, question?"

Something ripped through your heart. Cut it with painful slashes, till a crease on your forehead deepened. "Not a lot, Satoru. Maybe seventy years?"

His thumb paused, an ache spreading across the vast, pale blue plains. "I've lived three hundred years without you," he said, warm lips pressing into the wrinkle between your "brows". "I won't survive another seventy."

But the endless honeymoon couldn't last long.

For there was a reason why both of you found yourselves in space. Why the mission was tagged as suicidal, and why there wasn't enough fuel to get you back to Earth. And while Satoru's dreams indeed sounded tempting, you knew that it simply wouldn't work out.

For you breathed oxygen, and he needed ammonia gas.

Your body stayed cool at thirty-six degrees Celsius, while his was burning up to over two hundred.

He was three hundred years old – you twenty-seven.

But he didn't have to know all of that. Over the past twenty-seven years, no one had made you laugh, enjoy, and love life as much as he did. Even if those brief moments of happiness were only meant to last a few months, they were enough.

After the mission, he could go back safely to his home, and you… well.

And you would need to watch him die.

It was truly unpredictable, and none of you could foresee how the situation would turn out. You finally arrived on the planet, prepared to collect the necessary samples of the antidote. You didn't know, however, how dense its atmosphere would be.

How the wind would violently hit your ship, tossing it sharply left and right as you stepped outside in your spacesuit and carried Satoru's sampling device back onto the ship.

He told you to leave it. When you almost fell off the ship, he begged you to come inside. Hit the wall with hands, screamed right into the speaker inside your helmet, pleaded to leave the sample and just come back.

But you simply couldn't do it. Because leaving it here, after Satoru spent decades in space trying to seek the solution, would be simply foolish. Egoistic, and thus, after a few harsh currents, you grabbed the box filled with antidote cells and went back to the ship.

But then, it started spinning. And spinning and spinning, wish wind smacking it in violent currents, and you found it almost impossible to get back onto the normal route. Every single light inside the control room shimmered red. Satoru tried to calm you down, but there was nothing he could truly do from behind the glass wall.

You pushed and flickered every button, every controller, but after one sudden, brutal tug of the ship, your face hit the console.

Eyes filled with red, a nasty crack came from the nose, and the gaze became a bit hazy. You tried to push one last button that would help the ship get away from the planet's strong current, but you were simply too weak. With blood slowly covering your whole face and belts still pinning you to the chair.

Satoru shouted something, but you couldn't hear him clearly. Was it because of the red lamps and an alarm filling the control room? Or maybe because of the sudden sleepiness that blanketed your eyelids?

His fists hit the glass wall, spreading the dull echo around the control room. A soft sweetheart sweetheart sweetheart rolled past his lips, but you simply had no energy to look up. As if you did, the sigh of his trembling, panicked face would rip your heart apart.

His large fists wanted to break through the wall, eyes looked at the blood dripping down your face, body filled with helplessness and desperation, trying everything in his power to get close to you.

With a single finger, you still strained to push that last red button. To get the ship back on track, at least allow Satoru to be safe, and finish the mission that would help save his planet. But your body couldn't handle the gravitational force caused by the spin, which pressed you into the console. The slow crushing of your lungs, mind filling with fogginess, throat crushed beneath the flickering buttons.

So with a soft, almost inaudible I'm sorry, your eyes closed.

A second has passed, a minute, with mind registering the crying alarm and… and a shatter of glass.

A sudden pain washed over your body – burning and stinging every nerve. Someone lifted you up, carefully, slowly, trying to wrap you in blankets and clothes, anything to keep you from the lethal touch.

Quiet, you'll live, sweetheart will live, sweetheart, sweetheart, keep your eyes open, amid violent waves of coughing and painful moans, filled the corridors of your spaceship. When your eyes opened a little, you saw nothing but thick steam evaporating from something. 

Someone.

"Satoru?" slipped out in a whisper as, from beneath the curling steam, a blue, familiar face looked down at you, wet-cheeked. "Satoru, no, y-you'll die–"

"Shhh, sweetheart, it's okay, it's okay, sweetheart will live," he repeated like a mantra, hugging your wrapped body closer to his.

Fiery skin burned through the thick layers of blankets, leaving burns all over your bloodstained skin. Your body hit something, and before you noticed, an automated medical care robot soon filled your vision. The mechanical arms pressed the oxygen mask to your face before an IV needle slipped beneath the skin of your arm.

"Satoru," you mumbled weakly, trying to find those familiar, pale eyes.

And he was right there, offering you the most painful, heart-tearing sight. Tears ran down his cheeks, white steam curled tortuously from his body, and gaze slowly grew weaker. He could barely breathe, yet still stood right there.

Over your barely warm body, making sure that you would live.

"I watch you–"

"No, S-Satoru," barely pushed through your squeezed throat. With crystal tears swirling in your eyes and fingers trying to push him away from the table. "Go back, p-please, or–"

"No, I watch you sleep." his fingers grabbed the hem of your shirt. "You won't die".

You were too weak to fight him. In too much pain, with your head pounding, skin burning from his touch and anaesthesia slowly kicking in.

And so, with a last look into the eyes your heart laughed for, you fell asleep.

There was no way to tell how much time had passed. How long you stayed under the mechanical clutches of the medical robot.

How long Satoru needed to suffer, to make sure you would be alive.

But when you finally woke up and ripped yourself away from the needles, he wasn't there.

He wasn't in your sight, but something else, something burned, marked the floor. Dark traces of blue dust led further inside the spaceship. Still weak, with the last traces of blood dried on your cheek, you followed them, your heart pounding. And a little grain of foolish hope bloomed inside your heart, fresh tears already swirling in the corners of eyes.

The ship was back on a normal route, carrying you through the galaxy at a slow, peaceful pace. Thanks to Satoru.

The blue dust led you through the control room, down into the basement, kitchen, bathroom, and finally to the bedroom, as if he tried to, for the last time, see every part of the ship. Just to make sure everything was working. That after waking up, you wouldn't have to bother yourself with anything.

And so another wave of crushing sob bubbled in your throat. A pain ripping you open as you entered your shared bedroom and saw him there – curled on the mattress, the upper part of his body already slipped inside his crystal corridor. As if he didn't have the strength to crawl in fully. Too busy watching you sleep.

"Oh, Satoru," a cry finally escaped your throat, as your knees bent beside his body. "You fool, so stupid, you're–oh!" A hysterical lament filled the small bedroom as you touched his cold body. "Satoru, how c-could you leave me alone?"

Face, always beaming with so much warmth and joy, lay in dead silence. With your loving, blue eyes closed behind the curtain of white lashes and lips more pale than usual.

Gathering every last ounce of strength still boiling in your body, you brought his ball back. In such a tight, ammonia-filled space, the chance of his recovery was much higher.

Opening it was almost impossible, so you cut a hole big enough to, with pain ripping through your muscles and sweat dripping down your spine, somehow push him inside. And then you glued the walls tight, with a prayer dripping off your lips, and your body cuddled into his crystal ball.

"I'll watch you sleep," you whispered, brushing the surface with his pressed cheek. "You won't die."

𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

The sun spilling through the curtain tickled your cheeks. The chirping of birds made you sigh deeply, and the gentle sea breeze coated your skin with soft kisses. The shoulder, the soft line of the spine, the slightly sweating neck, with a salty fragrance slipping sweetly into your nostrils.

You tried to stretch, waking up your stiff body from a deep slumber, but something locked you in place.

Something heavy and long, curling around your waist and pulling you closer to another stony wall.

Or, maybe you should say, stony chest.

Looking over your shoulder, you've met with a cheeky smile curling your husband's lips and still-sleepy, pale eyes. He pulled you closer, until your head found itself under his chin and your legs entangled with his.

"Good morning," you giggled, turning in his arms. "Did you sleep well?"

Satoru hummed, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. The thin barrier wrapping his body glimmered under the spilling sunlight. After years on his planet, you no longer needed a translator to understand his language. And so you kissed his blue neck, tracing the kisses up, and up, along his jaw and chin, until finally locking your lips with his.

"Apologies, I didn't watch you sleep."

You chuckled, biting gently on his lower lip. "Were you that tired after last night?"

"Mmm," a soft, satisfied hum escaped his throat when you felt something hard poking your belly. "Forgive your husband, he didn't realise he had a tigress and no wife at home."

You chuckled sweetly, forcing his lips to curl in a sly smile.

"Does my wife need anything? Do you want Suguru to lower the temperature?"

Tracing the sharpness of his jaw, up to the curve of his lips, your head shook. "No, it's warm enough. Maybe you can ask him to lower the birds' chirping a bit. I think they're a bit louder than yesterday."

He nodded, pulling you even closer. Till your bodies tangled in one, and a slow, peaceful pounding of his heart beat against your breasts. "Mhm, sure. But let's sleep a bit longer, and then you can jump on me as much as you want, hm?"

So with the last, soft kiss between your brows and heart swelling from feeling the heaviness of your body on his, Satoru allowed you to cuddle into his muscular chest and watch him slowly slip into a deep slumber.

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

I cried on this movie five times, 10/10, will never watch again.

[alygator77]

── off the record ၇୧

꒰ summary ꒱ when a misunderstanding leaves your family convinced you’re bringing a plus one to your cousin’s wedding in Japan, the last person you expect to volunteer for the role is your infuriatingly observant intern, Satoru. it’s supposed to be temporary. professional. strictly off the record. but with your mother already sold on the idea of your mystery boyfriend, and Satoru proving far too good at the role, pretending starts to feel a little too dangerous. also, why is your “intern” secretly the heir to gojo corporation?!

꒰ tags/warnings ꒱ fake dating ⚹︎ undercover ceo! satoru ⚹︎ accountant! reader ⚹︎ satoru is 29, reader is 26 ⚹︎ lots of family pressure. reader has a complicated relationship with her mom ⚹︎ forced proximity ⚹︎ one bed trope ⚹︎ slow burn ⚹︎ mutual pining ⚹︎ wedding chaos ⚹︎ angst and fluff ⚹︎ some suggestive content but no explicit smut ⚹︎

꒰ authors note ꒱ hi cuties! this is a commission piece, and it is about 12k total. this first part is just shy of 6k and the second part will be out next week. i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻 (art by @/hanamin_0123 on x)

"Oi. Boss lady."

“No.”

One problem at a time, and the spreadsheet in front of you wins by default. Because Column F is wrong. It’s been wrong for forty fucking minutes, and if it stays wrong for forty seconds longer, you may actually die here at your desk — hunched over, half-blind, and found by Shoko on a Monday morning with your face pressed into a pivot table like a cautionary tale.

"But… you don't even know what I was gonna—"

"—the answer is no, Satoru."

Unlike the human embodiment of a headache currently lingering on the other side of your desk, the spreadsheet in front of you is at least pretending to be important.

The chair beneath him creaks, and then comes the silence you know too well. It’s the one that comes right before he decides to be a problem on purpose. Attention is gasoline and Satoru is, structurally, a fire hazard. Still, your eyes flick up, and—

"No fair…” he huffs, that ridiculous pout tugging at his lips. “You didn't even let me finish the question."

Your eyes roll back down.

“Mhm.”

"And it was such a good question.”

You turn a page. "Really?”

“Yup.” He’s draped over the corner of your desk now, like gravity has wronged him, whining. “It was such a thoughtful… personal… deeply relevant… extremely genius level getting-to-know-you tier question that—”

You scowl. "—Satoru, enough. Just do your job."

It lands harder than expected. The sigh he lets out is deeply, theatrically offended. And when you glance up again, he’s sprawled over that same corner of your desk you made the mistake of clearing for him on day one because you’d thought, foolishly, that giving him a designated surface might contain him.

It had not.

Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.

Snowy white hair falls against his brow, sleeves rolled to his elbows; looking far too expensive and far too comfortable for someone whose official title is intern. His coffee is sweating beside your open planner — the one with a date next week circled in red: WEDDING, scrawled across the margin in your own handwriting. The condensation trails towards a stack of vendor invoices and—

…

Wait.

Are those the same vendor invoices you asked him to file yesterday?

Fucking great.

“Oh, c’monnn,” he grumbles, blinking at you over the rim of those absurdly expensive sunglasses he insists on wearing indoors. “One question. Just a tiiiiny one. It’s completely harmless. Humor me, yeah?”

You narrow your eyes.

“Satoru, you’ve been trying to ask one question for the last four months.”

“Yeah,” he says. “And you’ve been dodging it for four months. Imagine that.”

Technically… four months and four days. But who’s counting?

With an exhausted groan, your eyes fall shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. Noise drifts in from the hall — the elevator, the printer, a phone trilling somewhere nearby.  But when you look up again, it all seems to fall away.

He’s gone strangely still. The smug grin hasn’t disappeared, but it’s softened at the edges, hooked at one corner with his head tilted slightly. And those eyes…

Oh.

That’s — no. You’ve seen his eyes before. Obviously. Four months of them. But right now, with the morning light doing something cruel and unhelpful behind him, they catch in a way that makes you forget you were mid-thought. The kind of blue that doesn’t ask if you’re looking. It already knows.

Which means of course, you look away first. “Fine.” Your hand drops as you mutter. “One question. But if it’s stupid, I’m sending you back to HR.”

It’s not much of a threat. It’s his last day, after all, and for reasons you still don’t fully understand, Satoru has always seemed oddly immune to consequences — which, frankly, feels statistically improbable given the amount of shit he’s managed to pull in the few months of being here.

“One question?” his grin sharpens. You point your pen at him. “Don’t make me regret this.” Yet his pleased chuckle is already making you. “Awhh… look at you. Finally yielding.” His pen twirls between his fingers, nodding with false solemnity. “Okay. So, here’s the thing… throughout these four months working beside you, I’ve seen a lot—"

“—that’s not a question.” You deadpan.

But ignoring you, he reclines back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head.

“Liiiike… I’ve seen the exact face you make when Mei-Mei emails you,” he smirks. “Even noticed you work through lunch more than you should. And I’ve noticed that little line right here—” he gestures vaguely between his own brows “—every time the budget goes sideways.”

Lips parting, you blink.

…why is he so observant?!

For someone who acts like he doesn’t give a shit, he’s strangely attentive.

You clear your throat, huffing. “Okay… what’s your point?” Your hands straighten a stack of papers that doesn’t need straightening. “Is there a question in here somewhere, or are you just reciting my habits back to me for fun?”

His grin is far too pleased. “Relax. I’m getting there.” And leaning forward, his voice drops, like he’s unraveling a conspiracy. “I just find it interesting how you answer work calls before the second ring. Every damn day. Doesn’t matter who it is.” His head tilts with a smug grin. “But for whatever reason, for the past month, your personal phone’s been ringing off the hook, and you never pick up. Not once.”

Heat creeps up your neck. Not because he’s wrong — but because he’s right. And he said it like it was nothing. Like noticing the pattern of your avoidance was just something that happened to him between stamps.

Oh.

Way too observant.

Shit. He couldn't have settled on what's your favorite color!? Or, what superpower would you have!? No. Of course he had to go for the fucking jugular.

His eyes drop to the planner lying open beneath the invoices. The circled date: WEDDING. And his grin sharpens. “Ohoho… I get it now,” he whistles, leaning back in his chair and kicking one leg over the other. “What’d your fiancé do to screw up this bad? Is the wedding off?”

Your head jerks up. “F-Fiancé?!” And he rolls his eyes with a scoff, still grinning. “Knew it. God, he must be really in the doghouse. Or maybe he’s just clingy as hell to be calling that much.”

You blink.

Okay. Nevermind. He’s wrong. That is not even remotely what’s happening. The most committed relationship you’ve had is the one with your coffee machine. And yet… part of it feels almost cosmically cruel.

Because somehow, this is the second time in a month that someone had looked at the scattered pieces of your life and decided a man must be hiding inside them. Except the first time, you never even got the chance to correct it.

After all… how do you tell your mother she’s wrong?

Last month, you still answered her phone calls.

Not because you expected anything different. But because somewhere between the second ring and the third, there’s this gap — this stupid, paper-thin gap — where you still believe she might ask how you’re doing and actually wait for the answer.

Some habits taste like smoke. Some burn like liquor. But yours, unfortunately, had always looked a lot like hope.

Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.

“Oh—uh, hi mom!”

Your phone was wedged between your ear and shoulder while you stepped out of your car, juggling your purse and what was left of your sanity. You were already behind schedule, and your mother was calling — which meant the day had already made its intentions very clear.

“What’s up?” the door slammed shut with your hip. “I’m actually about to—”

“—Trish sent the venue photos,” she blurted, launching into a conversation like always.

Blinking, you shook the bitterness away. Striding toward the towering glass of Gojo Corporation. “That’s—yeah, that’s great,” you muttered, badge in hand as you pushed through the front doors. “But I’m actually heading into work right now? So—”

“—It’s such a beautiful venue,” she ignored you. “Very traditional, very grand. But you know the Zenin family—they never do anything small.” And as she sighed in awe, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

The rational part of your brain told you to let this go to voicemail. But the rational part of your brain has never once won this fight. Because…

Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.

"Mom, I'm sure it's lovely, really… but I'm kind of—um, excuse me…" you pivoted around a man in the bustling lobby with a sigh. “Sorry. I’m literally walking into the building right now? But maybe we can revisit this later and—"

"—have you booked your flight yet?"

Your mouth flattened.

Clearly, your half of this conversation is optional.

“No… not yet,” you mumbled, as patiently as you could manage, jabbing the up button harder than necessary. “It’s been a crazy ass week so I haven’t had a chance to, but—”

“—every week is a crazy week for you.” The huff she let out sounded almost offended by the inconvenience of your life. “Why can’t you just book it now while we’re talking? I mean, it literally takes five minutes.”

A miracle, really, that your blood pressure isn’t a medical emergency.

Every week is a crazy week?

Yeah. No shit.

Two managers resigned last quarter. Another got escorted out by security. And their work didn’t disappear. No. It landed on your desk. Because that’s how it goes. That’s how it’s always gone. Group projects. Internships. End-of-quarter disasters no one else wanted to touch. If something needed fixing, it found its way to you.

You’re the one people relied on.

Just… never the one people chose.

“Mother. I’m at work,” you said, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open, dropping your voice as you stabbed at floor fifteen. “Look—I’m about to walk into an eight a.m. meeting. But I’ll book it tonight, promise.”

“…eight a.m.?” she repeated slowly, before letting out a small, unbothered laugh. “Oh! Right. It’s eight p.m. here. Silly me. I keep forgetting.”

…

Keep forgetting?

She keeps forgetting that she’s ten thousand miles away? Forgetting that twenty years ago she abandoned you in another country to live abroad in Japan—handing you to your grandparents like a detail she'd get back to later?

How convenient that she forgot that.

The elevator slid shut, and you watched the numbers tick upward. “Um. Yeah…” you managed, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. “Anyways. I’ll book it tonight. After work. Okay?”

"Okay, okay. Sure. Sounds good. But are you bringing anyone?”

Squeezing the strap of your bag, you swallowed the lump in your throat. This again? The last thing you needed was to walk into your shitty eight a.m. meeting looking emotional.

No thanks.

“I… uh…” you cleared your throat. “I um—actually—haven’t decided yet. But anyways, I gotta go, so—”

“Waitwatiwait. Haven’t decided? Does that mean… you actually found someone?!”

Her voice pitched up so fast it almost startled you, and your mouth dropped so low it could’ve hit floor one.

Shit.

“I-I—I didn’t say—"

“—oh, thank God. This is incredible!!” she squealed. “We’ve been so worried. I mean—Trish is younger than you and she figured it out,” her tongue clicked. “People have been asking questions, you know. Your aunt Sara keeps bringing it up every time I see her and—”

“—Mom, I—"

“—It’s about time,” The laugh she let out was relieved, like a problem in her life had finally begun resolving itself. “You can’t keep putting love on hold forever, because men aren’t going to wait around forever. You’re already twenty-six—not getting any younger, dear.”

Love?!

Who has time for that?

And why the fuck is twenty-six the age a woman expires?!

“What’s his name?” she pressed, practically beaming through the phone. “What does he do? Is he from there, or—oh, is he Japanese? Your father would love that, he always said—”

And she was off.

Spinning an entire man out of thin air. An entire future, really. Building him in real time from a tiny slip up you had because you were too tired and cornered and desperate enough to answer the phone in the first place. And you stood there, letting her. Because interrupting her has never once worked in the history of your life.

“—actually, never mind,” she chirped a moment later, as if she was being considerate now. “You have work. I’ll call tomorrow and you can tell me everything, yes? Okay, bye-bye honey—”

Click!

And just like that, the elevator went quiet. You were left staring at your reflection in the metal doors, phone pressed to your ear, listening to the silence where your mother’s voice had been.

‘We’ve been so worried.’

…

If they were so worried… why had you spent most of your life learning to take care of yourself? And yet, the second there might be a man, suddenly you’re worth getting excited about?

Funny how that works.

Scoffing, you lowered the phone, shoving it into your bag just as the elevator chimed open. Itadori Yuji’s head snapped up behind the reception desk.

“Morning, boss,” he waved, radiating sunshine as you walked towards the conference room. “Kento’s asking if you’re still good for the budget review at eight… or if I should just tell him to panic.”

Your smile softened, burying the sting. “Yes… I’ll be right there.” And as you stepped through the polished glass doors, you played the role you’d always played.

The reliable one. Twenty-six years old, with two master’s degrees, a career at one of the most competitive corporations in the world, and a team of seven that would quietly fall apart without you.

But…

None of that glitters quite like a diamond ring, does it?

“Oi,” Satoru frowns. “You’re makin’ that face again.”

“Huh?”

Blinking out of your spiral, your eyes trace back to the man across from you. His chin is resting in his palm, those impossibly blue eyes fixed on you with a quiet stillness that makes something in your chest trip over itself — like a lock turning in a door you didn’t know was closed.

“Oh.” You clear your throat, forcing the pen back into motion. “…what face?”

“The one you make when something’s wrong,” he says quietly, gaze unmoving. “When you’re upset and trying to act like you’re not.”

For a second — one terrible, unguarded second — you don’t have a single thing to hide behind. It’s just him, looking at you like your well-being is something he’s been keeping track of in a column you didn’t even know existed.

But then the sarcasm kicks in, right on time. "Wow," you say, forcing your hands back to the papers in front of you. "So… now you read faces?"

“Mm... nah. Just yours, sweetheart.”

And that grin — god, that fucking grin — hooks at one corner like he knows exactly what just detonated inside your chest. You don’t acknowledge it. Acknowledging things have consequences, and consequences with this man are not something you can afford.

"…that’s highly inappropriate," you mutter, shoving it down. "Let’s maybe redirect some of that insight toward the invoices, yeah?"

“Sorry, sorry.” He leans back, hands up like he’s the picture of innocence. “Wouldn’t wanna start shit with your dear future husband.” His grin goes sharp as he twirls his sunglasses between two fingers. “Though, wow. Tough look for him. Whatever he did, he clearly fucked up bad.”

Why does he sound… bitter?

No. You must be imagining it. This is Satoru. Satoru, who treats everything like a joke until proven otherwise. Satoru, who doesn’t care enough about anything to sound bitter over a man who may or may not exist.

You scoff. "You’re making some wildly stupid assumptions right now…"

He perks up at that. "Oh?" With his grin hooking higher, almost hopeful. "Wait. So, there’s no fiancé, then?"

Your lips purse.

What does he care? He’s not your mother.

“I wish you’d be this interested in your actual job,” you sigh, arms crossing. “Those invoices have been sitting there all week.”

“Uh-huh.” He tips his head. “And yet somehow, I noticed you still didn’t answer me.”

You frown.

What the fuck are you supposed to say!?

Oh. Um. Actually, Satoru, there is no fiancé. That’s the problem, actually! My mother invented him the other morning and I haven't worked up the nerve to call her back.

Yeah. No. You'd rather die at this desk.

“Maybe because it’s none of your business.”

“But I—”

“Drop it.”

He stares at you for a beat, then he flops back in the chair with a dramatic huff, long legs kicking out in front of him, mouth dragging into a sulky pout.

“Well, damn,” he grumbles, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair, rolling his eyes. “No wonder you’re single if this is how you shut people down…”

The second the words leave his mouth, he blinks. His gaze flicks up to yours like he hears it too late — like he realizes, all at once, how shitty that sounded.And it only feels worse the moment he sees your face.

God.

Of all the places to hit.

“Oho… wow. Okay. This?” you say with a thin, self-deprecating laugh, chair scraping as you shove back from your seat. “Yeah. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have let you ask, Satoru.” You reach for your planner, your purse, anything to do with your hands besides let them shake.

He straightens, watching you scramble. “Whoa. Wait. I—"

“—because you don’t know when to stop!” The words come out louder than you mean, blinking at the sting behind your eyes. “You just keep pushing and pushing and pushing until you get what you want. Well good. I hope you’re happy.”

Before you can turn away, he’s on his feet. “Wait—” And the moment his hand catches yours, you freeze, breath snagging.

His voice is quieter now. His grip is firm yet gentle, and the air between you shifts, while something warm and uneasy twists low in your chest. The kind of feeling that makes you want to lean in and run in the same breath.

Though your eyes stay down. “Satoru… let go.”

“I didn’t…” he starts, then stops, gaze flicking to where his fingers still circle your wrist — before climbing back to your face, slower this time. “I’m… sorry. I just—” His mouth tightens. “I see how hard you work, okay? I see it. And every time that phone rings, you get this look on your face like it’s already ruined your day before you even touch it. And…” His brows pinch. “Fuck. I dunno why, but it pisses me off!”

Your gaze hesitantly drags to his, and the look in his eyes is softer than they have any right to be — all that blue, stripped of its usual sharpness, turned careful. Like he’s stepping toward something breakable and knows it. Like… if he asked once more, something in you might actually give.

“Satoru…” your breath hitches. “I-I—"

“Oh, finally.”

Shoko’s voice trails in, and your head snaps up so fast your neck almost goes with it. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, coffee in hand — looking like a woman who arrived exactly on time for something she's been expecting all week.

Her gaze flicks down to where he’s holding you, and the corner of her mouth twitches.

"Sooo… not to interrupt whatever this is," she says, taking a sip, "but Kento's one eye-twitch away from a medical event. He needs you to sign off on the variance line before he starts reconciling his own will and—"

You're already jerking your hand back. "Yup—coming!" And as you step away, heat floods your face, but you don't look back. Not once. Not even when you feel him still standing there, watching you go.

Because looking back would mean acknowledging that something just shifted. And you are not — not — doing that today.

Unlike those invoices, perhaps some things are better left… unfinished.

You’re gone in a blur of heels, nerves, and professional self-preservation, leaving Shoko trailing behind and Satoru staring at the empty doorway like maybe the conversation might wander back through it.

It doesn’t.

And it’s not long before his mouth is pulling into a slow, petulant pout—just before he flops back in the chair with all the elegance of a man personally betrayed by the universe.

Un-fucking-believable.

He’d almost had you! After four months and four days of being stonewalled, redirected, and professionally shut down, you’d finally looked like you might give him something. A crack. A sliver. And then Kento had to ruin it with his stupid reconciliation sheet, his stupid earnest face, and his stupidly impeccable timing.

…

He could fire Kento.

Should he fire Kento?

As tempting as that thought is, Satoru settles for glaring at the empty doorway a second longer before dragging a hand down his face and raking it back through his hair. There’s no point. This performance will end soon. Because by this time tomorrow, he’ll be on a flight back to Tokyo. Where he can resume the slow, agonizing process of preparing to inherit a company he didn't actually give a shit about.

'Grow up, Satoru.'

'Apply yourself, Satoru.'

'You have no idea what it takes to run something like this, Satoru.'

Right. Because apparently, the heir to a multinational corporation needed to learn humility. Alphabetize files. Sit in a cubicle. Fetch coffee like some goddamn spreadsheet slut with a trust fund and nowhere to put it.

Four years of business school, two years shadowing his father; and yet, this is what they had for him?!

He scoffs. And when his gaze drops to the wreckage of your desk, he’s pulling the stack of vendor invoices toward him with a sigh that sounds put-upon even to his own ears. You’ve been nagging him about filing them for the better part of the week and… the least he can do is clear one thing before he goes.

The stamp thuds against the first page. Then the next. Then the next. And with muscle memory taking over, his face goes blank in the way it always does when boredom finally wins. It’s mindless shit. Still, he’s used to it. So naturally, when the phone on your desk buzzes, he doesn’t think twice; snatching it up, tucking it between his ear and shoulder as he reaches for the next invoice.

It’s probably another budget nuisance. Or Mei. Or one of the other thousand little crises that seem magnetically drawn to your extension.

“Yo,” another stamp echoes. “Satoru speaking.”

There’s a sharp inhale. “…who?”

His brow lifts. “Uh… Satoru?” Another thud of ink slams against the paper and he huffs, annoyed. “What do y’need?”

The line goes quiet for a beat too long. Before the woman on the other end finally murmurs, “Satoru…” Sighing in awe. “What a lovely name. Is that Japanese?”

"Uh… yeah?” he snorts, flipping to the next page. “I mean. Last I checked.”

“Mm… I thought so!” She giggles. And her voice pitches like she's just unwrapped a present she didn't know she was getting. “So… Satoru. Why exactly are you the one answering her phone, hm?”

…

Why the hell does this woman sound so invested? And why is she asking questions that should be obvious?

Frowning down at the invoice, he stamps it harder.

“Because it rang?” He says it like it’s obvious. “And uh—sorry, but. Maybe because I’ve been with her for months, so… why the hell wouldn’t I?”

"Months?!” A soft gasp crackles, far too delighted. “You've—you've been with her for months?!"

"Mmm… four months and four days, technically."

He’s been her intern for that long.

That’s the question, right?

"—technically?!" she squeals, like the word personally seduced her. "Ohmygoodness—oh, this is perfect. Four months and four days—that is so specific.”

He blinks. But she doesn’t give him time to process.

“Look at you Mr. Devoted. Keeping track. I was starting to worry she’d never find someone like you. Every time I asked it's like pulling teeth. But I knew there had to be someone. I told her father—I said, there is a man, I can feel it.”

Pausing mid-stamp, the words slowly begin to catch up. Satoru straightens.

"…sorry. Who is thi—"

“—everyone is so excited to meet you at Trish’s wedding. I already reserved your seat and—"

Her voice keeps going… and going… and going. He pulls the phone away slowly as her voice echoes on the receiver, staring down at the phone in hand to see:

📞 Mom

Oh.

Oh, shit.

This is not your work phone. Your work phone is currently sitting at its dock twelve inches to his left. And it dawns on him that he accidentally just spent the last sixty seconds answering your personal phone like an absolute jackass and—

"Uh…” he backpedals. “Wait. I—"

"I told Sara, I said, we have to meet him and—”

"Stop. I-I really think—"

“—Satoru, what are you doing?’

His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, mouth dropping as he sees you standing at the doorway, eyes wide in horror.

Oh, fuck.

“Who is on the other end of that phone,” you hiss.

He winces, pulling the phone from his ear like it’s toxic — and you’re snatching it right out of his hand. He lets you have it without a fight, sinking back into the chair like he’s trying to physically dissociate from the situation he’s just created while you press the phone to your ear.

“And I mean…” she rambles. “I certainly was never one to wait around at twenty-six, believe me. But—"

"Mom."

"Oh! Honey!” She gasps. “Oh, my goodness, hi—I was just having the loveliest chat with—"

"I'm at work. Gotta go."

"—okay! I can't wait to meet Satoru, he—"

Click!

The phone sits in your hand like evidence.

And Satoru — to his credit — has the decency to look like a man standing in the blast radius of his own stupidity. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Like he’s rehearsing an apology in a language he hasn’t learned yet.

You stare at him.

He stares at you.

And somewhere ten thousand miles away, your mother is already calling your aunt Sara.

“Sooo… funny story…”

“—what did you do?!”

Satoru flinched, and now, the tears were already rolling down your cheeks — hot, fast, completely unauthorized. Not the kind you could disguise as allergies or blame on the air conditioning. No. The ugly kind.

Great. Fucking great.

You were standing in the middle of your own office, in the building where you work, crying in front of your intern. And Satoru felt the weight of it all at once. In the last four months, he had seen you in every flavor of workplace misery there was. Pissed off, stressed out, one spreadsheet away from actual murder.

But cry?

Never.

And this had his fingerprints all over it.

"Shit," he breathed, panic flashing across his face. "I—fuck. Okay. Please don't—I can fix this. I can—"

"Fix this?" A splintered laugh ripped out of you, and you hated how thin it was. "Fix what, Satoru? You just confirmed a boyfriend to my mother, a boyfriend that doesn't exist—and she is, at this very moment, probably already—"

Another break in your voice cracked, and you squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hand to your forehead hard like you could hold the tears in by sheer force. But it only made it worse, because now you could feel the wetness on your own face, the heat of it under your palm, and the mortification landed like a second wave.

God. How fucking humiliating.

"Hey, hey—it's okay,” his voice softened. “We'll just… call her back. Right? Tell her it was a misunderstanding. Easy."

“Easy?” you scoffed, the word coming out strangled. “Y-You don’t understand my mother, Satoru,” you managed, voice gone thin as thread. God, you sounded like a child. “If she thinks something is true, then it’s true. That’s it. That’s—there’s no correcting her, there’s no walking it back, she’s already told my aunt Sara by now and Sara’s told Trish and—oh, fuck—”

Another sob tumbled out, and your fingers dug harder into your temple.

God. Stop it.

Stop it stop it stop it.

Think.

Think logically. You're good at this. You solve problems for a living.

But every time you tried to grab onto a thought, it slipped — replaced by the echo of your mother's voice, high and delighted. The happiest she'd sounded talking to you in years. Maybe ever.

…what look will she give you when you show up alone?

"I can’t," you whispered, and the word came out waterlogged. "I-I'm supposed to get on a plane to Japan in a week and—do what? Tell them there's no one? Tell them I'm still—"

Single.

The word sat in your mouth like a stone. You didn’t realize you’d gone silent until the silence itself started ringing — your sniffling, the hum of fluorescent lights, the muffled life of the office continuing beyond the door like yours wasn’t actively coming apart at the seams.

And through all of it, you could feel Satoru looking at you. His stillness; holding you with an expression you'd never seen on him before and couldn't categorize if you tried.

"Um…” he looked down, scratching the back of his neck. “Soooo... the wedding's in Japan?"

You blinked. “What?” And as you wiped your face with the back of your hand, his gazed tentatively flicked back up. “The wedding…” he repeated, voice careful. “It’s in Japan?”

"Yes." Your brow furrowed, not understanding. "Why?"

He didn't answer right away. Just looked down at the floor for a second, jaw shifting, like he was turning something over in his head — something he hadn't fully assembled yet but could already feel the shape of.

"Huh… okay."

Okay what?

You watched his expression change in real time — from guilt to calculation to something else. "Right then!" He said, clapping his hands once, bright and sudden. "No biggie. I'll just go with you."

No biggie?

Your mouth dropped.

That wasn’t even an option, was it?

…is he crazy?

“You’re kidding,” your laugh was awkward and breathless. His eyes rolled with a smug grin. “Sweetheart, c’mon,” and he was gesturing between the two of you like the answer was sitting there in plain sight and you were the only person in the room committed to not seeing it. "Your family thinks you're bringing someone? Cool." A hand pressed to his chest with theatrical solemnity. "I'm someone."

You stared at him. Genuinely stared.

Oh. He wasn’t kidding.

Yup. He’s crazy.

"You are not 'someone,' Satoru. You are my intern."

“Yeah. For like… another six hours?"

He checked his watch with a shrug, and your lips flattened.

"…that is not the point."

“Mm… feels a little like the point."

He smirked, but it faded faster than usual, dimming at the edges as his blue eyes hesitated on yours. Something shifted in his posture; the performance pulling back, like a tide going out. "Um… look…" He pushed off the desk, stepping closer. "It’s really no hassle." He said, hands sliding into his pockets. "I already have a flight scheduled. My family's in Tokyo. And I was going back after this internship anyway, so… this just moves my timeline back a little."

He was shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t agreeing to fly across the world with you and walk straight into the disaster that was your family.

…

His family’s in Japan too?

You barely knew anything about him. He kept his life sealed off with the same practiced deflection you kept yours — jokes in place of answers, charm in place of honesty. You never bothered to ask, because asking meant caring and that was a door you never intended to walk through with anyone.

But…

"Just… let me come with you. I’ll be your boyfriend for the weekend. For the wedding. For… whatever you need,” he said. And this time, when he stepped closer, there was no grin to hide behind. "I can be useful. I caused this. So… let me fix it."

Heat creeped up your neck, and you scoffed, weakly.

"Okay… but you can't fix my mother."

"No…” he murmured, tilting his head. His hand came up and brushed a tear trailing down your cheek with a careful gentleness. “But… I can make sure you don't have to walk in there alone?"

Your breath hitched, and when your eyes finally lifted, the morning light was being cruel again — catching in that impossible blue and turning it soft. Like stained glass dipped in sunlight. Like something holy made dangerous by the simple fact that it was looking straight at you.

“Mhn. So, do I get the job, boss lady? Because that look you’re giving me…” a slow smirk curls up the corner of his mouth. “Very encouraging for my boyfriend résumé, by the way. Might get addicted to it and wanna make it a full-time gig.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, looking away too fast to be convincing.“That was not a look. I was just—” You grimace. “…never mind.”

He’s chuckling as you brush past him. And his words are what scared you the most. Which was bad. Very, very bad. Because your mother was one problem. Japan was another. But Satoru looking at you like that?

Shit…

That felt like the kind of complication that didn’t stay neatly contained. And you knew better than anyone. Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.

a/n: hehe. this has been fun to work on! i am excited to share the next part. clearly i love these fake dating/fake marriage tropes aha 🙂‍↕️ bc this is like... what—my third time doing it? soooo i tried to change things up and make it feel less standard/generic :) but anyways, like i said pt 2 will be out in a week, pls lmk if you wanna be tagged 💖

[everyday-cutephoto]

[celestialwyvern]

SOFT SPOT - Aerion Targaryen

SUMMARY - Having met as children and reuniting once you've grown into a woman, Aerion's previous suspicion of you grows into the softest spot imaginable.

CONTAINS - pure fluff, reader is extremely kind, aerion is only kind to reader, classic sunshine x grumpy

A/N - i personally couldn't stop giggling while writing the "pastry" scene. Ughh i need him

The blazing sun over Summerhall was unforgiving, but it did nothing to melt the sour disposition of Prince Aerion.

At barely ten name days old, the boy was already terror embodied. He sat on a smooth rock by the edge of the river, a fishing rod held tight in his small, tense hands.

His eyes glared at the water as if he could command the fish to bite by sheer noble decree.

“They won’t bite if you keep scowling at them,” a bright voice chimed from behind him.

Aerion stiffened, his jaw tightening. He turned his head sharply, expecting a person sent by his father to drag him back to his lessons.

Instead, he saw you.

You were the daughter of Maekar’s most trusted ally, having arrived only an hour ago.

While the adults spoke of their business, you had wandered out into the sun, your heavy skirts already trailing in the damp grass.

You looked entirely out of place among the solemn guards, a little burst of warmth against the grey stones of summerhall.

“Go away,” Aerion snapped, turning back to the water, “You’ll frighten them.”

“You’re the one frightening them,” you retorted easily, completely unbothered by the venom in his tone.

You marched right up to his rock, your slippers squelching in the mud, and plopped down beside him without asking. “My father says that fishes can sense when someone is angry. They don’t like the energy.”

“Your father is a fool, and so are you,” he hissed, expecting you to cry or perhaps run back to the castle.

But you didn’t seem bothered as you tilted your head, watching the bobber dance on the ripples. “You’re doing it wrong anyway. The bait is too high.”

Aerion opened his mouth to deliver a cutting remark—something about how a dragon did not take lessons from a silly girl—but before the words could leave his lips, your smaller, warmer hands brushed against his.

You reached out, bypassing his defensive posture, and gently adjusted his grip on the handle, lowering the tip of the rod so the bait sank properly into the water.

The prince froze. No one touched him without permission. No one dared.

Yet, as the silence stretched between you, the bobber suddenly dipped aggressively. A heavy tug yanked the line down, nearly pulling the rod from his hands.

“See!” you gasped, your face lighting up with a blinding grin. “Pull, Aerion! Pull!”

Forgetting his pride, Aerion yanked the rod back with all his boyhood strength. A massive trout broke the surface, thrashing wildly and splashing mud and lakewater directly across his pristine tunic, and right into your face.

Aerion braced himself for the screaming. Noble girls and boys always screamed when they got dirty.

But then a bright laughter echoed across the banks. “Look at the size of it! We caught it!”

Aerion looked from the wiggling fish to your mud splattered face. His lips twitched, fighting a smile before he forced his features back into a proud mask.

“I caught it,” he corrected, though his voice lacked any real bite. “You merely watched.”

“We caught it,” you insisted, bending down to take a closer look at the trout.

Your father’s visit ended shortly after, and the brief, strange kinship evaporated into memory as the years pulled you both down separate paths.

Years slipped by like water through fingers, and when you finally returned to court as a young woman, the boy by the lake had become a man feared by the entire realm.

Aerion was breathtakingly beautiful, and notoriously cruel. He walked through court with a sharp tongue and a sharper temper, but that did not faze you.

From afar, Aerion watched you navigate the treacherous nature of court. You were a vision of light, offering warm smiles to the guards, listening patiently to the older women, and showing unfaltering kindness to everyone you crossed.

To him, it was grating. All noble ladies were trained to be sweet, performing acts of grace to secure a good match or win the favour of higher lords.

He waited for you to finally lose your cool.

But the day never came. No, the reality of your kindness crashed directly into him one afternoon near the small council chamber.

You were walking down the corridor with a butterfly that had landed on your arm when the doors of the chamber burst open.

A flurry of lords tumbled out into the hall, fleeing in terror. Among them was the master of coin, frantically wiping dark ink from his doublet with his bleeding hands, his face pale as death.

“Seven hells,” one of the other lords whispered hoarsely, scurrying past you. “The prince has lost his mind entirely!”

You stopped, watching the chaotic retreat. Instead of turning back like any sensible person would, you set the butterfly on a nearby branch and stepped through the heavy doors.

An iron candelabra laid overturned on the floor, dark wax spilling across the polished wood, and an inkwell had been shattered against the wall.

Aerion stood by the high window, his back to you. His shoulders were incredibly tense, and his chest was rising and falling with heavy, angry breaths.

“I thought I made it clear,” Aerion growled without turning, “The next soul to disturb me will lose their tongue.”

“Then it is a good thing I am capable of writing. I do not need my tongue.” you responded lightly, closing the heavy door behind you.

Aerion went still. He turned slowly, his stormy eyes dark with lingering rage. When his gaze landed on you, he let out a harsh, bitter scoff.

“Come to play the saint for me too?” he sneered, maintaining his distance. “Save your sweet smiles for the lords in the hall. I have no patience for your endless charity.”

You took a few measured steps into the room, keeping a respectful distance yourself.

“I don't think they don’t understand how stressful it can be,” you said softly, ignoring his cruel words. “they whisper and push, expecting you to sit quietly while they try to manage your family’s rights. It makes sense that you’d lose your patience when they refuse to listen.”

He stared at you from across the room, his mind struggling to process what he was hearing. He had expected an admonishment, or at the very least, fear.

“They are parasites,” Aerion muttered, his posture unlocking just a fraction. “They look at me as if I am mad because I refuse to let them dictate my bloodline’s terms.”

“I can see that,” you replied gently, giving a small smile. “They may be stressed as well, but no one should have to bend to their whim.”

The room went silent before you spoke again.

“Whenever the court gets too loud for me, I find that walking around the gardens helps. The fresh air is always calming.. maybe it would help you too. It’s quiet out there.”

The fire in his eyes flickered, clearly caught off guard by the suggestion. He stared at your face, the lines of his memory remembering the specific curve of your smile.

A breathless laugh escaped him.

“The gardens?” Aerion repeated, his voice dropping the edge it possessed just moments ago.

He took a step forward, assessing your form. “You haven’t changed at all, have you? Years ago at Summerhall, you told me the fish wouldn’t bite because of my ‘anger.' Now you’re trying to herd me into the bushes to calm down.”

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, a soft laugh bubbling up. “You remember that?”

“I remember a girl pushing my hands around and getting me covered in mud,” he murmured.

He then let out a soft click of his tongue, turning to look at the doorway. “Fine. We will walk the gardens. But only because your previous method somehow worked.”

“Of course,” you smiled.

As the weeks progressed, a unique friendship blossomed between you.

Aerion still remained difficult as ever to the rest of the world, but your presence seemed to simmer that down.

The shift did not go unnoticed by the ladies of the court, leading to an afternoon that they wouldn’t stop gossiping about for days.

You were walking through the outer courtyard with a small retinue of noble ladies, the daughters of prominent lords from the Reach. They were talking endlessly, giggling as they spoke of whatever irrelevant topics crossed their minds.

“You must be careful, my dear,” one of the ladies said, leaning in closer to you. “Prince Aerion may be amused by your novelty but once he grows bored of playing with his new toy, you will be left with nothing but yourself.”

“He is a prince of the blood,” another lady chimed in, her voice tight. “They take what pleases them for a moment and cast it aside. Do not mistake a tyrant’s passing curiosity for actual regard.”

“Aerion simply values sincerity,” you replied, offering an unbothered smile. “There is no game being played.”

“You are far too gullible–” the former lady was cut when Aerion walked out from the room beside.

The ladies instantly adjusted their posture, immediately dropping to curtsies as he approached, each of them desperately hoping to catch the prince’s favour despite their previous warnings to you.

Aerion ignored them, his eyes locking firmly onto you.

Without a word of greeting, and completely disregarding decorum, he walked into the center of the group and stepped right into your space, his frame towering over you.

“You’re late,” his voice was low—meant strictly for you, though it carried across the hall.

“Late for what, my Prince?” you asked, tilting your head up to meet his gaze with your beaming expression.

“I am going to the cliffs, and you are coming with me,” he stated flatly.

Behind you, a collective intake of breath echoed from the ladies. Here he was, actively seeking you out, his attention consuming you and utterly shattering their spiteful claims that you were just a passing game.

You looked back at the girls, giving one last smile before parting from them. “Very well, my Prince, if you insist.”

“I do,” Aerion tilted his head, turning on his heel to fall into step right beside you, his side brushing against yours as he guided you out of the yard.

That would not be the first or last time the court would witness the two of you separating from the rest of the world.

During one evening, after failing in your search for Aerion through the whole castle, you found him alone in the secluded parts of the library.

He was sitting alone, staring dead at a massive volume of ancient Valyrian history.

“I am not in the mood for company,” he hissed out, “leave.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in worry before approaching and setting down a small plate of pastries on the corner of the table. You pulled out the empty chair beside him and sat down despite his request.

Reaching over the plate, you picked up a small pastry and held it right in front of his face, completely disregarding his brooding glare.

“Eat,” you insisted gently as Aerion still refused to acknowledge you. “You always go for these specific ones. I know you like them.”

His fingers that had been gripping the edge of the book twitched, and he finally turned his head to look at you.

The weight on his shoulders gradually disappeared as he looked at the pastry, then up at your fond expression.

Aerion didn’t move to take it from your hand. Keeping his intense gaze locked firmly onto yours, he leaned slightly forward.

Then, totally unprompted, he took a bite right out of the pastry while it was still held between your fingers.

A tiny giggle slipped past your lips, a bright warmth blooming all the way to the tips of your ears at the sheer intimacy of it.

You tried to bite your lip to hide your surprise, but your shoulders shook with quiet amusement as you looked into his smug face.

Aerion chewed slowly, the corners of his lips twitching at your giddy reaction.

“You are ridiculous,” he murmured as he swallowed.

“Maybe,” you agreed, your heart fluttering as you set the remaining half down onto the plate. “But it worked. You feel better already, don’t you?”

Aerion stared at you for a moment, drinking in your presence. He did feel better—the tight, suffocating knot in his chest had already unraveled. But it was certainly not because of the pastry.

Slowly, he hesitantly reached out across the small space between your chairs. With one deliberate movement, he dragged your chair until it hit his.

Then, his hand moved to flip over on the table with his palm facing up, his fingers sprawling open in a silent, stubborn invitation.

You, on the other hand, did not hesitate. You slid your hand into his palm, your fingers easily weaving through his.

Aerion squeezed your hand, his rings pressing firmly against your skin, though his touch was surprisingly careful.

However, the true demonstration of expanse that you two had built played out before the entire court during a grand feast, where Aerion’s attempt to maintain his reputation crumbled.

The feast was deafeningly loud.

You were seated next to Aerion by Prince Maekar.

Aerion had spent the first half of the feast interacting with other lords while you conversed with other ladies.

He was glaring at a group of lesser lords when he noticed your sudden silence. Just then, some of the lords he had been talking to earlier called out to him and he tried to force his eyes back on them.

Aerion was aware that you two were the topic of conversation as of late. He couldn’t let the people of court think he had gone soft. At least that was what his pride told him.

But the sight of your fragile form pulled at him like a physical anchor, shattering his resolve. His demeanor instantly changed.

He turned fully in his seat toward you, his cold stare evaporating.

“You’re pale,” Aerion murmured, voice stripped away of anything harsh. “What is it?”

“Just… a headache, Aerion,” you whispered softly, giving him a tired smile. “The noise is particularly loud tonight.”

Aerion didn’t waste a second as he gently used his hand to cradle the back of your head.

His fingers began combing through the loose parts of your hair, his thumb tracing circles down your temple to ease the pressure.

The chatter around the surrounding tables died down, dozens of eyes tracking his movements, yet no one dared to disrupt. They watched as Aerion paid no mind to everything else the moment you showed discomfort.

You leaned into his touch, a smile returning to your face. “Aerion… everyone is watching.”

Aerion let out a defeated sigh as he grinned. “Let them stare,” he concluded, his fingers tucking in a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ve broken me anyway.”

Shifting his broad shoulders, he blocked the rest of the room from view, shielding you from prying eyes.

“You are tired,” he paused, “if anyone breathes a word about that, I will have their heads.”

“You can’t murder the entire court,” you teased, lifting your head up for a moment.

A faint smile broke across his face. “Watch me,” he repeated, guiding your head to rest on his shoulder. “Now hold still and let me fix it.”

[ao3legendarium]

how the fuck does one achieve these heights

[wiserion]

The Prince and the Pauper

rich loverboy! gojo and fem! reader

summary: You had always heard a weird, mocking voice in the back of your head telling you that the things were going to end just like that between you and Satoru. The Prince and the Pauper. You were destined to eventually drift apart.

Or not?

tags: AU, angst to fluff, breaking and making up, classical disparities, insecurities, gojo is a certified loverboy and a yearner as usual. mdni! eventual smut, p in v sex, soft emotional sex. nobamaki cameo!

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT! PLEASE HAVE YOUR AGE IN YOUR BLOG!

word count: 13.9k

author's note: hi everyone!! this is not the oneshot i wanted to finish in may, but i had some ideas brewing for quite a long time, though the concept is not really original. happy ending won, soooo enjoy and let me know your thoughts! art in the banner by @/yamada_souko. dividers are mine.

Looking back, you realised you had never got it easy for Satoru.

The tale as old as time: the Princess and the Pauper. Or, in your case, the Prince and the Pauper.

And you couldn't put it in a better way.

Satoru Gojo — the Prince of the campus, the heir to the Gojo Enterprises, the man who would get the business world in the palm of his hand, the captain of the university basketball team, whose face was plastered all across the campus, the president of the Alpha Delta Nu, so on and so forth. You got the gist. The crowd parted before him, the Universe shifted itself to accommodate his presence: he walked in every room as if he owned it, which he pretty much did — ruling every place with a charming grin and a quick wit. Guys were wishing to be like him. Girls were dying to be beside him. He barely granted anyone more attention than needed — keeping people at arm's length, except for a couple of his friends. Of course, you didn't belong to them. Not like you desperately wanted to. You were well aware of the hierarchy of the university: people like Satoru Gojo rested at the top, eyeing the crowd down. People like you? Scrambling to get to the middle. If you were lucky enough.

One spring day, you realised that either Satoru Gojo didn't know about those unspoken rules or couldn't care less about them. Because you couldn't come up with a plausible explanation for why he suddenly started pestering you. Or, in his eyes, flirting.

It began rather innocent: him accidentally bumping into you, flashing an apologetic grin; asking for a vacant place at the cafetery at your usual table in the corner, the one where the noise cut down a little and you had a better view on the students — naturally, that place become the center of everyone's attention, because wherever Gojo was, the crowd followed; helping you to get a book from the highest shelves in the library and then crushing your study sessions; waiting for you after the classes just to walk you out to the next campus with an excuse that it was on his way (it didn't. Business majors classes were hold in the corpus 20 minutes away from yours).

At first, you politely declined every single invitation to a frat party or a match. Then you tried to ignore him, but your disinterest would even more pique Gojo's attention. After this, it turned into clipped, gritted-out "no's". You even attempted to talk to his friend, Shoko Ieiri, the girl you shared the Advanced Chemistry class with.

"I don't think there's something I can do," she would murmur, eyes firmly set on some sample through the microscope, when you turned to her as a last resort. The sigh that left your lips was truly desperate. Shoko's gaze softened a tad as she looked up finally, since your presence kept looming over her like a tiny, grumpy cloud. "Satoru can be pretty stubborn, unfortunately. Especially, when he's pretty set on something."

"Yeah," scoffing under your breath, you crossed your arms, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest. "Unfortunately for me. Am I another check mark on his to-do list? I just don't get it." The pencil in your hand almost snapped from the strength of your grip.

"Listen, I am not in a position to advice your something or anything," Shoko's lab chair screeched — the sound annoyingly loud in the tense silence of the lab — as she turned to face you fully. The irritation at her words flared up in you, but you forced yourself to listen to her. If not her, then who?! "But you might try to hear him out. He's not that bad of a guy."

Grimacing at her, you turned to return to your own table. "If he's not that bad, he would've taken a hint long ago."

An indifferent shrug was the only response you got.

After talking to Shoko, Gojo's pitiable attempts at "courting" you had weakened severely until coming to a complete halt. You couldn't believe your luck. But what annoyed you even more than Gojo himself was the way you would jump at seeing the familiar spark of frosty white hair in the crowd; the way your heart would do a little flip at the sound of his distant chuckles. The way the loneliness would engulf your usual table in the corner of the cafeteria without his company: you subconsciously craned your neck to see him, for all his persona and the impossible height were impossible to miss, and slumped in your seat, when he didn't happen to stroll in with a familiar effortless grace in his stride. In the quietness of the library, after the countless hours of studying, you could basically hear the grin in his voice as he handed you a couple of blueberry muffins and the bergamot tea from your favourite bakery — you didn't have the slightest idea how he managed to find out your usual order — and tapped on your nose, remarking that you actually should eat.

Somehow, Satoru Gojo annoyed you enough to...like him. Managed to creep under your skin like an itch you couldn't get rid of.

Or… didn't want to?

***

One basketball match changed everything.

"Sorry, sorry, oh— sorry again," you mumbled awkwardly, navigating through the crowd and somehow managing to balance two beer cups on your way to your seats.

"Geez, finally, where have you been?"

Rolling your eyes at Nobara, your bestie slash roommate slash the only person who made your university life not so miserable, you handed her the cup and tried to shout through the cheerladers' voices, the endless roaring of the crowd and the music coming loud from the speakers.

"There was a line!"

"Huh? What?"

"THERE WAS A FUCKING LINE!"

She took a sip from her cup with a satisfied nod and grimaced at you. "Don't scream at me."

Her audacity stole your voice, and you slumped down in your seat, huffing rather indignantly.

"Hey, don't pout. Sorry for that." Nobara lightly elbowed your side and opened a pack of salted peanuts, offering you a truce.

"Can't believe I agreed to go with you," a light grumpiness coloured your voice as you drank from your own cup.

"Aw, that's because I am awesome and you love me so, so much," she chirped gleefully and planted a kiss on your cheek. With her head on your shoulder, Nobara sighed dreamily at the sight of Maki Zenin — the manager of the university's basketball team. "She's so cute, isn't she?"

Meanwhile, Maki gestured widely, screaming something at her phone (not very pleasant as you might assume from your seat) and threw her bag at a guy in front of her. The guy followed her figure with puppy eyes.

Your lips twitched with a barely concealed smile that you hid behind another swig. "An angel, truly."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

Her words fell on deaf ears because at that moment, some airy melody rang from the speakers, followed by the joyful voice of the commentators to finally announce the start of the match.

Swallowing nervously, your eyes darted across the court, and the moment your gaze landed on the tall figure with stark white hair, your heart galloped at a racing speed.

"Who are you gawking at, huh?"

Gojo might've really had the eyes on the back of his head — he wasn't called Six Eyes for nothing, some weird sixth sense that you assumed related only to the basketball court — because that very moment he turned around and briefly scanned the audience. His eyes widened in surprise as he spotted you: the bright blue of his gaze and the joyous smile that broke on his face caught you so off guard you nearly dropped the cup. Like he was happy to see you there. Actually happy.

You offered Gojo a shy wave — a subtle move of your fingers — that only made his grin wider. Then, Suguru Geto tapped on his shoulder, and he quickly turned back.

Your hand fell limply to your side.

"Babe, what the hell was that?" Nobara hissed, jerking her chin towards the players gathered around for the last guides from the coach Yaga. "Have you just casually flirted with Satoru Gojo? Don't you hate his lungs?"

The next words came in a breathy voice. "I don't know anymore."

Your knowledge of basketball was rather... limited, but you dutifully roared along with the crowd the moment your university scored yet another point. The people's excitement was contagious, seeping right into you as well and lacing your voice with joy. You booed at the judge when he gave advantages to the rivals, screamed at the top of your lungs and held your breath at the last quarter. Your team went neck-and-neck with the other, and every point was crucial. You could see it in the way the player's uniform was drenched in sweat, their hair stuck to their temples, and laboured breathing. The stakes were too high.

The scorebox showed the fifteen seconds left — mere moments for you and the whole eternity for those at the court. Your eyes drifted to Gojo, as driven to him by some unknown force. His sharp gaze quickly darted from one teammate to another, calculating the last opportunities to score. And then...it found you amidst the sea of spectators. Cheeks flushed, hair a total mess, chest expanding with deep breaths. A small grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he took you in. Adorable.

But for you, the moment Gojo's gaze landed on you felt completely different — resembling more of a bolt of lightning that sent every nerve in your body on fire. You couldn't hear your own thoughts with the blood pounding at your temples.

Gojo barely tilted his head, nodding towards the basket and mouthed.

"This is for you."

He dodged one guy, then the other with perfect dribbling — you barely saw anyone in their element as much as Gojo was at the basketball court — and finally went for a shot.

Time seemed to stop moving in the gym of the Jujutsu University. The hundreds of eyes watched the ball cutting through the air with an impeccable trajectory.

Until it went through the net without hitting the rim and sealed the win.

You barely released a shuddering breath when Nobara crushed you in a hug, her beer mercilessly spilling on you both, but no one gave a damn. The crowd erupted with an ecstatic cheer and rose to their feet right then and there. The commentators were on the verge of crying, judging by their voices, but your world narrowed to one particular person. Gojo's teammates ruffled his hair, patted his back, and hugged him by the shoulders; someone even put him in a playful headlock, to which he responded with a wide grin.

A tight knot in your chest slowly seemed to loosen a bit.

Gojo found you later, at the party.

You stood a little away from the crowd, watching Nobara laughing with Maki Zenin near the bonfire. The light painted her auburn hair in copper tints every time she tilted her head, and judging by the way Maki's gaze lingered on her form, she noticed that too. A little smile curled your lips at the sight of lovey-doveys.

"Your friend has a crush on Maki, huh?"

Putting a can to your lips, you mumbled absent-mindedly, "She's pretty obvious."

"They both are, actually."

A light brush against your shoulder finally caught your attention. You lazily shifted your gaze, only to gulp at the sudden proximity to Satoru Gojo.

He stood beside you, hands tucked in his pockets, watching the rest of the party unfold with a faint smirk on his face. Standing there, existing, like he wasn't the one who flipped your world upside down a couple of hours earlier.

A forced smile made your cheeks hurt as you tumbled out nervously, hastily wiping your mouth, "I am— I, I mean, congratulations! You did so great! I don't understand much about basketball, but you—," your worried your bottom lip for a second before breathing out, "you were magnificent."

At your words, Gojo finally turned around. His grin softened into a gentle smile that showcased a pair of dimples on his pale cheeks. The firelight danced on his hair strands that seemed more ivory tinged now.

"You think so?"

"I do!" A sudden feeling of boldness flooded you as you stepped forward and reached for his arm to show how sincere you were. Or maybe it was just a beer.

Gojo immediately cast his gaze down and slowly wrapped his long fingers around your wrist. You gulped, but didn't look away from his face. The gods clearly spared nothing in sculpting it, otherwise you couldn't explain the sharpness of his jaw, the plumpness of his lips and the prominence of his cheekbones.

No one had a right to be that beautiful. Satoru Gojo wasn't aware of it.

His thumb pressed just a tad against your soft skin to feel an erratic pulse beneath it, but you did not attempt to pull your hand away. On the contrary, it felt strangely...natural.

"I am glad you were there." A gentle murmur hit you harder than expected.

Breath bated, you searched Gojo's face for any hint of the usual theatrics and grandeur until you saw none.

"You are?"

"Yeah".

The words about the last shot were on the tip of your tongue already, but they quickly died at the sight of shimmering blue in his eyes as Gojo finally looked up and released your hand from his grip.

You already missed its warmth.

"Listen, I knew I was a jerk towards you. Crowding and flirting and so on. I know, I know," a self-deprecating chuckle left his lips as the ironic roll of his eyes followed. You watched every expression, soaked it like Gojo was about to disappear again from your life. "I am not proud of this, I admit. I want to apologise to you for this."

You parted your lips to answer, but Gojo cut you off with a slight shake of his head.

"But I am not going to apologise for my feelings," his voice grew stronger, rising from the gentle murmur to the steady tone, eyes boring into you with an unsettling intensity that left you speechless. The people's cheerings fade into the background, and that chilly evening, thick with emotions so deep you couldn't name them, enveloped both of you in its bubble.

"I meant everything. I do like you. I like the way you smile when you finally grasp the concept you've been studying. The way your voice goes all that animated when you talk about the book you were reading. That little sparkle in your eyes when you saw the last cherry pie in the cafeteria...I love it all. And that shot was for you. I really meant it."

"I am gonna ask you just this once, and if you reject me, I will step back and never bother you again. You have my word," the weight of Gojo's promise would almost physically pin you to the ground, if not for the desperation lurking behind his gaze, darting between your eyes and your lips. He forcefully tore it away to glance right into your face. "Will you go out with me?"

You didn't believe what you were about to say. But hey, that day was already weird enough. You offered Gojo a crooked smile. "Yeah."

"Just one date, you won't — ", he blinked in surprise, a light frown crossing his handsome face. "Wait, what?"

You stifled a laugh and nodded, stepping closer, until you felt the hard planes of his chest. "I will go out with you."

A slow, almost dopey in its joy, grin curled Gojo's lips, until a small disbelieving chuckle left him. "You will? Just like that?"

Now you couldn't contain a smile either. "Just like that, Gojo."

A whoop full of happiness cut through the air and the noise of the party that slowly came to its eventual end as Gojo swept you off your feet and twirled you in a bone-crushing embrace. Your laugh was the prettiest sound Gojo had ever heard.

"Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I swear you won't regret it!"

Satoru Gojo kept his promise. And many others he whispered in the dead of the night to you beneath the star-spilt sky. His hand was a steady anchor amidst the stormy life that awaited both of you. His voice offered you peace of mind when the world was a little too harsh for you. His fingers traced reverently the silk of your skin every time he shared a night with you. His gaze was the first you searched for in every crowded room. His arms had become the safest place in the world.

Satoru memorised the way you organised your life, but you were more than happy when he eventually disrupted your usual order. Not because he was doing that on purpose. Rather, since that was Satoru: he was too big for your world, and you didn't want him to shrink himself into someone he wasn't. Dimming Satoru's light was the last thing you wished.

He had learnt by heart the things that even you didn't pay attention to: for example, your toothbrush always had to face the door — Satoru wordlessly turned it the way you preferred; your favourite plant was Zamioculcas that he made sure was always watered visiting you; you usually carried a few packs of wet cat food for the stray babies in your enormous bag — he ordered large boxes, so you wouldn't run out of them; your drink of choice was Margarita that you shared only while hanging with Nobara — Satoru learned on his way to pick you up; you hated the loud harsh sounds, and Satoru was the first one to whisper sweet nothings to you and rub soothing circles against the small of your back until you calm down. In other words, he made your life easier.

You, on the other hand, only added more difficulties to his. Satoru never told you that, not even mentioned in any way that you were somehow different from him. But some things didn't have to be pointed out to catch your eye.

Like his Prada glasses, which cost like your monthly rent or two. Satoru could leave them somewhere without batting an eye. Or the luxurious gifts he would get you out of nowhere just because you barely glanced at something while strolling. That warmed your heart, yes, but the cheque that Satoru couldn't care less about startled you. You stayed in the lab until you almost fainted from fatigue just to finish the project before the deadline to get an extra payment to spend on the gift, since you were adamant that the relationships were about taking and giving in equal measure. Not to mention the one social gathering he invited you to, just off-handedly, before the day it actually happened; you drained your bank account to look presentable by his side, and lived on the instant ramen the entire month after. Maybe if you had accepted Satoru's offer to live together, none of that would have happened, but you learned the hard way to rely only on yourself. Luckily, the iron argument sealed the deal: your tight schedules at the lab and his as a pro basketball player didn't match well.

The Gojo family was another... topic. While no one said anything directly to your face, you noticed the way their brows knitted in confusion for a fleeting second, eyeing you up and down. Sensed the baffled glances and fake, saccharine sweet smiles behind your back, questioning the fact of your presence. No. Your existence. The mere raise of the brow from one of Satoru's distant cousins at the sight of your shoes — the ones you borrowed from Nobara, who got them after the Fashion Week in Paris, albeit last year's Dior collection — had you doubting your entire life.

Complaining had never been on your list, though some thoughts did cross your mind. You made sure not to voice them, stoically listening to all the hushed whispers. Not once did your smile falter in front of them. It was the least you could do for Satoru. You knew he didn't have a lot of joy in standing up for you every single time, so, eventually, the gatherings got shorter, the invitations came rather rarely, and the calls, already small in number, would always leave him in a bad mood. The sound of your name appeared quite frankly between the gritted words and heated yells.

"Don't worry, baby," Satoru's lips always found the crown of your head in the reassuring kiss when you asked him what was going on. The bitterness in his voice poisoned your already tired, insecure mind even more. He was a master at hiding his emotions, but never from you. "I got this."

A strained smile — the corners of your lips lifting just barely — was your usual answer.

"Of course."

Satoru then offered you a quick grin that never reached his eyes. His large hands cradled your face in the gentle, trembling grip, and the faint murmur would twist yet another knife between your ribs. "I love you. I love you so much. You know that, right?"

Leaning into Satoru's palm like a kitten, seeking warmth, you bit inside of your cheek not to cry. Your hand came up to cradle his hand against your cheek just to memorise the way it perfectly engulfed your face.

"I love you."

Not to dwell on the way you voice cracked, akin to ice beneath one's feet, you simply moved forward to capture his lips in a kiss, until all you could taste were tears. Yours, his... Did it matter anymore?

And then, under the pale moonlight coming from the lone crescent peering right into the bedroom of his large penthouse, your gaze drifted unabashedly over Satoru's face, taking in every flutter of the long, snowy eyelashes. Every breath that left his lips. Every faint twitch in his expression, and even every tiny snore. Your finger tenderly traced the bridge of Satoru's nose, making its way to the perfectly sculpted mouth and down to the sharp cut of his collarbones. Committing each pale freckle and beauty mark to memory.

For you knew that night would be your last one.

Satoru loved you, and you loved him. He loved you fiercely, with the force so burning it could rival the Sun itself. It was only fair for you to step back and let him shine. Not to drive another wedge between him and his family. You loved Satoru enough not to burden him with your presence. He should soar up in the sky, not stay chained on the ground by the dead weight of you and waste his time knocking some sense into his parents.

A muffled sob escaped your throat as you pressed a small kiss between his collarbones. The next thing you felt was Satoru's strong arm curling around your waist to pull you against his strong chest. The faint smell of musk still clung to his skin, but you had never revelled in it as you did now.

"Why aren't you asleep, baby? Something's wrong?" Satoru's voice came in a deep, throaty tone that would usually have your toes curling.

The edge of the blade dug deeper into your heart, drawing blood.

"Nothing, love. Just some weird thoughts, that's all."

A boyish grin adorned his face — so handsome even in the middle of the night — as he lightly flicked your forehead.

"Your head will hurt from all the overthinking. Head so tiny, yet so many thoughts. Come here," Satoru let a shuddering yawn and tucked your head under his chin, nuzzling gently against your hair. "Better?"

Biting on your lip, you prayed to all the gods that Satoru wouldn't hear the tremble in your voice. The steady beat of his heart lulled you to sleep, but you knew you wouldn't close an eye that night. "Yes."

"Try to sleep, okay?" Satoru's finger came to play with a lone strand of your hair. The smile in his voice was evident. "And if you don't, just wake me up. We can talk or watch that documentary you mentioned earlier. I mean, did Tyra really not take any accountability?"

You gathered any ounce of your strength not to fall apart right then and there.

"Of course, Toru. Go to sleep now."

He sighed in mock exaggeration. "Always so bossy."

His chest rose steadily under your cheek. His skin felt warm under the weight of your palm. You registered it all subconsciously, clinging to every part of Satoru.

And only when his breath fully evened, you allowed yourself to whisper to the night.

"I love you. And I am so sorry."

***

You sincerely thought you were a nice girlfriend for scheduling your breakup over the weekend. Waited until Satoru finished showering and emerged all smiley and happy from the bathroom. Waited until he recalled all the TikToks he sent to you in the early morning, not even knowing you already had blocked him on all the socials. Waited until he dug in the last breakfast you cooked for him — fluffy pancakes with strawberry jam.

"Babe, this is so delicious," Satoru hummed, pointing a fork at you. "Are you sure you didn't wanna become a chief? I mean, this is the gift from the heavens."

"I think we should break up."

Satoru paused mid-way, mouth still open. He slowly closed it and heaved a hollowed chuckle, chewing on the pancake with more force than necessary. "Very funny, sweets. An excellent joke."

Straightening in the seat, you furrowed your brows in confusion. Weren't you clear enough?

"I said we should break up."

That time, Satoru finally stopped chewing and slowly lifted his gaze at you. The electric blue pierced deep in your soul as he pressed again, "And I said it was an excellent joke."

"Satoru," the movement of your throat was sharp as you fumbled with words. "I am not joking."

The desperate flex of his fingers caught your attention immediately when Satoru curled them into a fist before taking a deep breath. The smile that carved into his lips was as sharp as the knife.

"Care to explain why?"

A thousand thoughts twirled in your mind those days like a restless whirlpool, each of them seemingly worse than the previous: "I don't love you anymore", or "You suffocate me with your love", and the traitorous "I cheated on you."

All of them lie, of course.

So, you settled on offering Satoru the least you could do — the truth.

"We just don't work out, Satoru. It's better to break up before — "your voice was so tiny and fragile, Satoru thought he was hallucinating: his worst nightmare coming to reality, " — things get more serious."

The loud, screeching sound of the chair being pushed away, followed by a self-deprecating, disbelieving laugh, filled the room. You glanced up at Satoru only to find him pacing around like a caged animal. Your words punched him right in the gut.

"We don't 'work out?' Before 'things get too serious', huh? Sweets, that's gotta be a joke. The most shitty, not funny and cruel joke you have ever pulled on me, but okay," he nervously carded his fingers through the white hair, before walking to you. "Tell me this is it. Please."

You cast your gaze down, not able to see the way his eyes frantically searched your face for any hint of a joke and hear the crack in his voice, usually so steady and certain. A rock, a lighthouse in your stormy ocean.

The shake of his hands was violent as they came up to frame your face. You choked on a heavy sob, trembling like a leaf with the tears blurring your eyes so hard you couldn't see anything.

"But we were —, are working just fine. Have I done something wrong? Is it because of me? Just tell me what to do, I swear I'll fix everything!"

"It's not about you, Satoru. Never has been. It's about me."

His white brows furrowed in confusion. "You? What about you? But you are perfect for me," he chuckled almost tenderly — a small sound frayed around the edges — that only ripped your heart out. "You listen to all my stupid jokes, know how many sugar cubes I put in my coffee, and put the curtains down because you know how sensitive my eyes are. You stayed with me at the hospital after the injury and cheered for me the loudest." His voice rose just a tad to coax a smile from you. "You have never told me how to be someone I am not. Always seen me, not the Gojo heir. Not the star player. How can it be about you? No one in the world knows me as well as you do. Like —," his gaze swept across the room like something might've helped him to talk you out, "like your last Christmas gift, huh? That premium card you swore you just stumbled upon in the store, but I knew better how much it — Wait."

Satoru's smile slowly died as the realisation downed at him like a wicked joke of fate. "No, no, no, no. That can't be it. Is that because of money? My status? I told you countless times that it doesn't matter to me! What I have is yours." His voice dipped into the fragile, almost sacred warmth that he reserved only for you. "All I have is yours."

You couldn't do that anymore. Not even in the wildest thoughts did it occur to you that breaking up with Satoru would hurt that badly. It rather resembled a never-ending torture.

He never understood it. Growing up in a family that barely made ends meet. Pouring your blood, sweat and tears into studies to get a tuition fee waiver, because there wasn't any other option for you to get into the university. Scraping by taking double shifts at the cafe. Fighting tooth and nail over the place in the chemistry lab.

And never would.

Pushing Satoru away, you closed your eyes in defeat before forcing yourself to look back at him. He didn't dare to mutter a word, watching your face twist with pain as you shouted.

"It matters to me! It matters to me, Satoru, how fucking inferior I feel next to you!"

Something in his gaze faded away. He didn't recognise his voice when it came in a short, fractured breath, devoid of all strength.

"What?"

A violent sob rattled your frame as you hid your face in your palms. You cried and cried and cried until your chest tightened with pain, and you managed to utter hoarsely. "Every time I get into your home, or every time someone sees me besides you, I want to run and disappear into the cave. Don't you see that, To — Satoru?" No. He wasn't your Toru anymore. "I am like, dunno, a disastrous glob of ink on Monet's painting. A patch of dirt on the Versace gown. A bling-bling amidst Graff's and Harry Winston's. Well, you get it. Something to wipe away or hide in the closet. Someone who doesn't deserve to stand by your side."

"I don't get it," Satoru dragged his hands over his face and shook his head, letting out a humourless laugh. His eyes flashed with a weird gleam. "Did my parents or anyone at that point say something to you? Because if they did, I fucking swear —"

"No one said anything to me, Satoru! It doesn't matter. Because they say it to you —"

"And as I said, I don't care — "

"BUT I DO!" The rise of your voice to a frenzied cry startled both of you. Satoru stared at you with a gaze so desperate that a kiss of the gun would've been more merciful. You fiercely wiped your snotty nose — hell, you must've looked so ugly — and walked over to cup his face. He watched your every move as if you were about to disappear. In a way, you were going to.

"I do not want anyone to say something about me to you. I do not want you to fight with your family over me. I want you to be happy. Do not be torn between me and the world you belonged to."

Satoru wanted to shake you by the shoulders just to knock some sense into your head, scream and shout what a total bullshit your words were, but instead, he got rooted to the spot by your doe eyes. His stomach twisted at your next words.

"You'll meet a beautiful, smart, and kind girl, who wears pearls that cost more than I will ever be able to make, plays Brahms at the family gatherings, and who doesn't turn red in the face, while asked about favourite Japanese modern artists. Well, now I know plenty." You couldn't help but huff a tiny chuckle. Nothing twitched in Satoru's face. "And you will fall in love with her, and your whole family will like her. Everything will be just fine."

Satoru couldn't believe what was happening. Nothing in his life could ever prepare him for the pain that would follow with your leaving him. It didn't feel real. Probably, never would.

He slowly tilted his head down and rested his forehead against yours, whispering, barely audible. Like every word cost him a fortune. "Please, baby, please. I swear on my life, I will do everything. Just don't leave me. I don't —," Satoru's hands slip up your face as well, but you closed your eyes in defeat. Any ounce of strength left in your body evaporated. His arms fell to his sides as he croaked out helplessly. "I don't know who I am without you."

"You are you, Satoru. Always have been and always will be. A brilliant, wonderful, kind boy with a golden heart. And I..I am just me," you pressed your lips in a thin line before forcing a smile. "But I will work on it. As I said, it's all because of me."

"You don't get it." Somehow, Satoru's lifeless whisper hit you harder than any scream would. Because Satoru never raised his voice at you. Even now. There was a hunch to his shoulders that you rarely saw, if ever, as he turned from you and gripped the edge of the table. "I want to marry you. To become your family. But guess that doesn't matter anymore. Before things get too serious, huh?"

The room spun around you as you knitted your brows together, slumping in the nearest chair. Marrying… you?

But, on the other hand, it didn't change anything. You were still miles away from each other, standing on opposite sides of the societal hierarchy.

"I am so sorry, Satoru," words clawed up your throat as you shook your head.

Satoru finally turned around, and the dimmed, utterly devastated blue of his gaze tore you apart at the seams. "You are not sorry. If you were, you won't be leaving me now."

You didn't have enough in you to counter this. Words seemed meaningless, slipping like sand through your fingers.

"Please, Satoru. Let us go. It is for the better."

You had never seen an expression that hopeless and defeated on his handsome face.

"Is that what you want?"

"No," you wanted to scream, to shout, to cry out loud. "How can I possibly want to leave you? I have to. For both of us."

The silence stretched thin between you for so long, Satoru sincerely thought you didn't hear him. He stepped forward only to see you giving a short nod, almost cruel in its curtness.

After all, he never denied you everything. Even that. Even if it killed him from the inside.

Standing by the door with your bag, you couldn't help but steal a last glance at him. You parted your lips to say goodbye, but nothing even remotely plausible came to your mind. Satoru sat on the couch, shoulders slumped and gaze fixed on the floor. His name left your lips for the last time.

"Satoru."

His head snapped up as if he had been waiting for it that entire time. Maybe you changed your mind?

"Yes?"

That fragile hope in his tone twisted your insides.

"I love you."

Before he could answer, you slipped out of his apartments. And his life.

***

These months, the four agonising months, marked by Satoru's absence in your life, had sucked. Mildly put.

You sincerely thought you were doing the right thing — well, still were — breaking up, sparing his life from your presence, but it didn't mean it hurt any less. In a way, it was the opposite.

Pushing the love of your life away and then grovelling in the silence of your small apartment after putting on a brave face and assuring everyone that you were okay sucked. Crying yourself to sleep sucked. Feeling your heart breaking to pieces each time your gaze stumbled upon something that instantly reminded you of Satoru — like a photo on the fridge, his note with a smiley, kissy face between the pages of your comfort book and the tome of the manga he was reading — sucked. Walking around the places you used to hang out sucked.

What sucked even more was the fact that Satoru's presence seemed to linger everywhere. His laugh haunted you while you were lounging on the couch. The look of pure happiness on his face was ingrained in your mind while you were walking in a familiar park. And when your eye caught sight of a ball? Didn't even mention it. Perhaps that was your punishment. Now you were subjected to a lifetime of loneliness.

Still, you tried to do the thing you promised Satoru the final time you saw him. Attempted to go out of your shell. Took on some hobbies. Had a lot, a lot of time for self-reflection (given that you were free most of the evenings when you didn't throw yourself into work). And took small steps to discover what made you whole.

What and not who. That realisation sank on you with the force of a tidal wave. Kept you awake in three of the morning. Occupied all your thoughts until you finally, finally, were getting used to it. Still, there was a lot to be done. You only wished for Satoru by your side, though. Were you allowed to think about him, after all?

The revelation, of course, only made your mind drift to Satoru even more. How was he? Was his injury getting better? Did his father officially appoint him as the next CEO?

Gods. You sure had no right to worry about him anymore. Not after breaking both of your hearts. An utterly desperate and lifeless look on his face flashed every time before your eyes when you closed them.

You dragged your feet back from the nearest combini: Friday had finally marked the end of a long, exhausting week (not like you had many left, huh) and you treated yourself with sushi and a bottle of wine. There was nothing you wanted more than to run a bath and put Sex and the City on, rotting under the blanket. It would've been thousands of times better if Satoru were there, but alas...

A few raindrops fell on the asphalt, successfully putting the train of your miserable thoughts to a halt, and you hurried to the entrance of your block. Quickly fishing a pair of keys, you glanced up from your bag as something caught your attention in the periphery, and you got immediately rooted to the spot.

You would recognise the set of those shoulders, now slightly hunched, everywhere. A grey hoodie did nothing to hide his figure. White tufts fell over his forehead under the hood, and something twisted viciously in your chest at the sight. Your fingers twitched with the urge to feel the silk of that hair under your touch.

You took a deep breath, trying to take a rein over your hammering heart, and stepped closer, calling the man out softly. Rather hesitantly.

"Satoru? What are you doing here?"

Satoru went rigid for a moment at your voice. His shoulders tensed even more. Your throat clogged up.

But then he turned around and smiled. A tiny, almost pathetic lift of his lips, and he offered you a small wave. Just like the one you gave him at that basketball match.

"Hi, ba —" Satoru immediately corrected himself, wincing just for a second. His smile wavered, as did your composure. "Hi."

The effort that took you not to drop your things right then and run into his arms was only between you and the gods.

"Hello to you too." Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stepped forward. That totally wasn't the way you imagined that meeting would go.

"What are you doing here?" You prompted again, trying not to sound either harsh or desperate. Desperate to hear his voice. See his eyes. Look at his face.

"Just... was going around. Stumbled at your place. You still live here." Satoru lifted one shoulder in a nervous shrug, and his little smile morphed into a quick, uneasy grimace.

You didn't question those stalker-ish tendencies, but the doubt was clearly evident in an arch of your brow, because Satoru instantly raised his hands in surrender.

"No, really. I guess my legs just carried me there. Some memory, you know," he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, but then sighed, seeing your suspicion. "Come on, sweets. If I had been stalking you all that time, I would've done it way more discreetly."

That brought you some relief. "Guess you would've."

His Adam's apple bobbed with an effort. "Can we, uhm, talk?"

Something in your guts was telling you had a pretty good sense of the way this talk would go. You weren't sure it was the right time and way.

Casting your gaze down, you worried on your bottom lip before breathing out, "I'm — I'm not sure this is a good idea, Satoru."

"Please", his voice took on a pleading edge. You closed your eyes for a brief moment. "I just want to know how you are. That's all."

He was lying. And he knew you were well aware of it.

But, in the end, wasn't that what you wanted?  To see him, at least? Well, here Satoru was.

Thunder roared somewhere in the distance, and you were pretty sure that soon you both would be drenched to the bone.

"Besides, you don't want to get me standing under the rain, do you?" An amusement curled Satoru's lips before he let a humourless chuckle. "Have some mercy on your ex-boyfriend."

That sounded like a slur coming from Satoru. You glared at him. His smile turned even sharper.

Torn between the current state of your... relationship, and the fact that Satoru was standing right in front of you, you completely didn't know what to do. You didn't part your ways that badly. And you had never wanted to be that person who would resent his ex and scowl at every mention of them.

Because that was never true. You loved Satoru. And, judging by the yearning lacing his gaze and the nervous flex of his hands as he awaited your response, he still loved you, too.

After minutes of debating, with the rain intensifying, you finally gave in and nodded towards the entrance.

"Get in."

Satoru's wide smile now resembled more of a child's on Christmas.

"Yes, ma'am."

The weight of Satoru's gaze, burning a hole in your back, felt rather physical. The tension in your kitchen threatened to suffocate you both, while you busied yourself with making tea and a gigantic cup of hot cocoa for Satoru.

You placed the drink in front of him, and Satoru shot you a small, curious grin.

"Whoa, marshmallows."

"Yeah," you still absent-mindedly bought them at the grocery store. Habit. "You know, three years of always getting your marshmallows weren't in vain."

Satoru looked at you as if he seriously considered offering himself as a sacrifice at your altar.

Damn those puppy eyes.

Rubbing your palms up and down your thighs, you cleared your throat and offered an awkward smile. God, you wanted the ground to swallow you. "So, uhm, how have you been, To — Satoru?"

He pressed his lips together and leaned back in his seat, right hand on the back of it, like he was incapable of sitting straight. Well, some things never changed.

Satoru didn't look at you, instead glancing out of the window at the heavy rain, drumming against the windows.

"Not so good."

You immediately dropped your gaze, hugging the cup with sea ​​buckthorn tea. The scorching liquid might've burnt your hands a little, but it was nothing in comparison with the sharp pain in your chest.

Licking your lips, you forced yourself to look up at Satoru. He was still staring at the rain like it held something only visible to him. The muscle in his jaw jumped.

"I am sorry, but —"

Satoru released a long sigh and turned to you. You almost flinched at the sight of his eyes — usually so bright blue, flashing with mirth and charm, now reduced to the lifeless, dull grey. Under the better light, you also noticed the dark bags under Satoru's eyes, the hollow in his cheeks and even the light stubble. You had never seen him like it. Like he aged ten years or more in those months.

That was all because of you, right?

Tears filled your eyes so fast you couldn't even blink them away, when you felt salt on your lips.

You wanted to apologise once again, but then Satoru leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, feverishly running his fingers through the white strands. Were you a little crazy, or even his hair seemed more…ashy?

"I am not gonna lie, I have never felt more awful and pathetic and miserable — well, you get it, in my entire fucking life," he waved his hand dismissively, and you closed your eyes just for a fleeting second, because you couldn't afford even a moment of not looking at him. That talk went even worse than you imagined. "But after you left, something has…changed."

You sat upright and drawled hesitantly, "Like…what?"

He huffed a humourless chuckle, and his eyes flashed with a weird, almost malicious glint. Your insides went cold.

"Well, I just told my father that he can suck my dick —"

You slowly covered your face with one hand. That was not good. Very, very bad, actually.

" — if he even for a moment thinks I was going to marry one of the girls he and my grandfather suggested. And then he started threatening to cut my trust fund off, blah blah, blah. Like I've ever given a single fuck about it."

Something in his tone was telling you that wasn't everything that had changed.

Satoru's voice sharpened in a way that could cut even the hardest steel.

"That was okay. Nothing I've heard before. But when he started talking about you," his voice dropped to a whisper and dangerously cracked. You couldn't hear it anymore. "That's where I draw the line. He knows that. Now everyone knows that."

A loud groan left you as you dropped your head in your hands.

"What have you done, Satoru?"

He just rolled his eyes. Harsh and sharp. "What I should have done, obviously. A long time ago. Tell all of them to fuck off."

"Oh —"

"Mildly put," Satoru scratched his head with a mild grimace. "And then got kicked out of the house. Trust fund cut off, obviously."

You couldn't believe what you had just heard. Satoru might've thought that his words would somehow soften you, so you could coo at him or whatever. But never did he expect you to slam your fist against the table and grit throught your teeth.

"Have you fucking lost your mind?"

Satoru blinked in shock, watching you suddenly stand up and turn from him, your hands curled into fists by your sides.

"What?"

Taking a deep breath, you tore your gaze from the windows and threw your hands in the air.

"Are you an idiot?"

Well, that kind of hurt. "I don't understand."

"Satoru." Oh no, he knew that tone. That only meant you were seething with rage. There were no means of escape, especially as you loomed over him. "So let me get it straight. You fought with your entire family, they kicked you out of the house and left you with no money."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"All because of me!?"

Satoru didn't like the way you said "me". As if you were something not even worth mentioning. The dirt beneath his feet.

"Satoru, we are not together! I am not your girlfriend anymore, I am not even in your life! We don't even talk! You can't throw your life away because of me! That's stupid!"

"Well, maybe I am stupid, hasn't it occurred to you?"

"Satoru," your voice trembled on the edge of tears. Why didn't he understand you?! "I am serious. This is serious. This is your life! This is all you have— had, especially given you can't damn play with your injury now!"

Satoru didn't answer you. You only saw the way he swallowed with effort, and the look of utter longing on his face told you everything.

You helplessly slumped back in your chair and hid your face in your palms for a small eternity. Satoru didn't dare to interrupt. He just watched you, soaking up every feature as if you were about to kick him out of your apartment forever. That was an option. You were pretty pissed.

He attempted to soothe you, "But there's something good."

You slowly glanced up, and Satoru almost snorted at the look of total disbelief in your eyes. "Such as?"

Satoru quickly stood up and kneeled between your chair, taking your hands in his. Cold as usual. Absent-mindedly, he rubbed your palms with his thumbs. As usual.

"I mean, you said it yourself, sweets. That is all I have known for my whole life. Rich kid, golden youth, spoilt guy born with a silver spoon in his mouth, all that stuff. I thought maybe it was it? My chance to find myself, huh? I don't want to be their toy to boss around all because of money."

Something crawled up your skin and twisted sharply in your chest as you breathed out, "What do you mean?"

Was he serious? So you both were doing the same thing all that time?

Satoru squeezed your hand harder and gave you a crooked smile.

"Just been here and there. Doing…some stuff."

You tilted your head in a silent question. He chuckled breathlessly and shook his head.

"Don't laugh, okay? I am teaching some kids basketball at school."

"Oh," your lips curled up in a tender smile as something warm bloomed in your chest. "That's really nice. You like it?"

"Yeah," Satoru's answer was immediate. And for the first time that evening, you saw a familiar spark in his eyes. "Kids can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but they are really cute. Listen to me, call me Gojo-sensei. Kinda gets in your head, you know."

A small snort escaped you, and the wide grin broke on his face. Oh, how he missed that precious sound.

"Where do you live now?"

"Crashing Suguru. He's not particularly happy when I drown my misery in another pint of strawberry ice-cream — "

Your smile slowly disappeared.

" — when he brings in some girl, but I bribe him with dark chocolate. You know he can't live without it."

"That he can," you uttered in a strained voice. Satoru's grin wavered as well, and he hesitantly reached to tuck the lone strand of your hair behind your ear. His hand trembled a little.

"What about you? There are boxes everywhere," he leaned back with a soft murmur, glancing around your apartment with packed staff around. "Moving out?"

Your heart suddenly felt twice its size, thumping violently against your ribs. "Uhm, yeah. Moving out."

"Where?"

Well, that was it. You squirmed in your seat, and Satoru's hand slowly fell to his side. He just waited.

"Eh…France."

He pinched his brows together with a slight frown and repeated incredulously, "You are moving to France?"

Satoru's sharp blue gaze seemed to pierce through you. Unable to meet it, you looked away.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Sighing deeply, you stood up and leaned against a kitchen counter, hugging yourself. Satoru immediately rose to his feet.

"That was a pretty much hard time for me too. Not delving into details, but…yeah. I felt like shit. Everyone was dating someone, or building a successful career, or, I don't know, just doing something meaningful," you gestured vaguely and combed your hair with a shaky hand. Satoru just stared at you like a lone, kicked puppy. "While I willingly kept fucking my own life over. Cooped yourself in that place. Left the love of my life."

Something in your face softened at the last words. Satoru forgot how to breathe.

"And that certainly shouldn't be…in vain, whatever. I told you I was going to work on myself, and I kind of do. Step by step, but I am going there."

"I still don't understand. I am happy for you, really am, but why are you leaving Japan? What about your mother, your job?"

What about me?

"My department's had its financing cut. My presence is not required anymore, as they said. I am just working the last two weeks, and that's it."

"Oh. I am..I am sorry to hear it."

"As for my mom," you didn't seem to hear Satoru's words at all, staring somewhere past him. "You know, she's never really cared that much about me anyway. She'll survive."

As cruel as your words might've seemed, you were right. Your mother was an…interesting woman indeed.

Satoru desperately cling to anything that could make you stay here like a lifeline.

"What about Nobara?"

Surely, you couldn't leave her. You two had been together from the first time he saw you at the university campus.

"Actually, she was the one who offered me that."

"Huh?!"

"She's recently been promoted at her job to the French edition of their magazine. Fashion weeks, runways, photoshoots… You know her, she's been ecstatic about it. So, when she asked me about it…I said I would give it a thought. I mean, it will be a nice fresh start, won't it? I don't have anything left here, so…why not? Gotta take risks, something like that."

Satoru couldn't believe his own ears. That would've been his nightmare coming true, if not for the fact that his worst one already was real. No. He wouldn't let you go that time. That was the stupidest thing he had done in his life, and if he had to beg…well.

The worst thing that you seemed pretty confident about it. But looking closely, he saw your hands trembled a little by your side, and your gaze darted nervously around. So, there still was some chance.

He ran his fingers through his hair. The gears seemed to work nonstop in his mind as he glanced around for any clue or sight for support. Until…

He weakly breathed out, "I am going with you."

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "You what!?"

Satisfied with your reaction and his genius mind, Satoru smirked lazily, "I am going to France with you."

Did you stare in The Office or something? Was there a hidden camera to look at?

Helplessly blinking, you finally managed to utter, "Excuse me? You going to France? With me?"

"I know, I know what you are thinking. He's crazy, an idiot, proper name, last name, backstory stuff, but hear me out!" Satoru walked to you and squeezed your shoulders, his eyes frantically searching your face for a hint of understanding. You still stared at him as if he had just announced he was going to fly to the Moon, no less. "You broke up with me because, citing "you felt inferior to me," right?

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you gave him a flat look. "Correct."

"But I am not superior in any way to you now! You're discovering yourself, me too, so why don't we do that together? Start everything from scratch? Including," his Adam's apple bobbed with effort as his hands slowly slid down your figure to rest on the dip of your waist. Your skin tingled at the contact. "Including us."

Blood defeaningly roared at your temples, and your heart jumped right into your throat. Wouldn't it be strange and weird? Getting back together after you pushed him away? After breaking both of you?

One of Satoru's hands drifted upwards to cradle your face, while the other pulled your figure closer to him. Your head spun at the sudden proximity. His thumb delicately traced the line of your jaw and settled on the apple of your cheek.

"How is that stupid and weird, if I love you?" Shit, had you been musing aloud? "And you love me."

You parted your lips to answer, but then Satoru tilted his head down just a bit, and it was enough to feel the faintest brush of his lips against yours. With knees slightly trembling, your hand flew up and twisted the fabric of his hoodie for support. Your tongue darted out to lick your lip for a mere second; it was enough for Satoru's gaze to flick there and stare at your mouth as if hypnotised.

"Or you don't?" You almost leaned in for a kiss when he suddenly pulled away, despite being a breath away from devouring you. You gulped and lifted a pleading gaze at him — and not like the look on Satoru's face was any better. A strange kind of bitterness settled in your chest at the shakiness of his voice: he really doubted it. Well, you gave him a good reason to, didn't you?

It baffled you. No. Weirded out in the worst way possible.

So, instead of answering, you simply stood on your tiptoes and pressed your lips against his. A feathery, almost invisible, but it was enough for Satoru to release a groan and kiss your back.

You forgot how to breathe. The room spun around you, and if not for Satoru's hand holding at your waist, you would've collapsed for sure. The familiar sense of heat shot through you as you boldly slid your hand up Satoru's toned shoulder, grazed his undercut — wait, did he actually whimper at that or what — and ran your fingers through the silky white hair. The months of raw longing, poured in that kiss, laced every brush of your tongues, stifled moan and impatient tug with desperate want. Damn, you almost forgot his lips slotting perfectly against yours, his gently nipping at your bottom lip, and his hot, raspy breath fanning over your cheek when you pulled away before delving in again and again.

Blinking away dizziness, you managed to gather your bearings together just to mumble, "Does it count as an answer?"

Satoru's chest rose up and down as if he had just run a marathon, and he slowly shook his hand in response before tilting your chin up. His eyes resembled more of a stormy ocean than a breezy sea, but his hold was as tender as always.

"I love you, Satoru. Still am and always have been. I told you the same when —," you swallowed the lump in your throat, "— when I left you." Voice sinking into a small, almost miserable whisper, you went on, "And I am sorry for that, so damn sorry, you didn't deserve it."

"No, no, no, baby, stop it," now both his hands cradled your face as his gaze gently caressed every twitch in it, every shift, every freckle and mole. "You did what you felt right to. I accepted that, even though it was the hardest thing in my life. Believe me or not, I felt so stupid and shitty and miserable for letting you go, but I had to respect that. I only wish I had noticed you feeling that way sooner," he ended with a small, bitter smile, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose before gently nuzzling it. "Missed you so, so much."

As much as you wanted to lean into Satoru's touch again with no care in the world, you felt the need to apologise for once again, "No, Satoru, but — Maybe if I told you that instead of going away, we wouldn't be apart these months. I am sorry."

"Stop that," his voice cut you off, not firmly but enough to shut you up. "Really, stop. I am not mad at you. I could never be mad at you. And maybe I need that too. Shook me good to realise what things really mattered in life."

A sad sigh left your lips when you remembered what happened between Satoru and his family. Yes, they were jerks, but you never wanted to be the reason for the wedge between them.

"But hey, now we're two psychos together, trying to figure out what to do with their life! Together, right?" Satoru's gaze carefully searched yours, and as you nodded enthusiastically, his face broke into the brightest grin possible. Maybe only rivalling the one he gave you when you agreed to go out with him at that bonfire party.

"Love you, love you, love you," you murmured between kisses, nuzzling against his jaw, eliciting shaky moans. Your hands slid under his hoodie to feel the hot skin under your palms, but the sudden roaring of the thunder made you jump.

"Oh, fuck."

Satoru wanted to tease you at first, but he quickly bit his tongue, remembering that noises like that still scared you. You mindlessly gripped his hoodie tighter, pressing your frame against his for comfort. His hand cradled the back of your head, and he tucked it under his chin, whispering soothing words.

"Maybe you wanna lie down or something?" Whispering into your hair, Satoru pressed his lips against the crown of your head as another tremble shook your body at the particularly frightening sound. His gaze briefly flicked at the sky through the windows. "Yeah, not getting better soon."

Without further ado, you sighed in response and gripped his hand to walk to your bedroom. In every other situation, his hands would've been on you in a second, but not now. Especially given that you had just gotten back together.

Your bedroom hadn't really changed: your favourite stuffed plush bear sat over the sheets, guarding your sleep; a stupid lava lamp that Satoru once gifted you was still on the bedside table, not to mention the horde of houseplants (he sadly noticed the absence of some) at the windowsill. You hadn't packed the bedroom stuff yet, though a couple of boxes obediently waited in the corner.

After all those months, Satoru's presence felt kind of weird in your bedroom, but now, with his hands enveloping you in an embrace, you had never felt happier.

You both stayed up the whole night: gods, you almost forgot how easy it was to talk to Satoru. He told you more about the kids he was teaching, the school, and that he tried to do some modelling photoshoots. It turned out pretty good. "Might be a nice gig," he shrugged nonchalantly, but you noticed his eyes sparkling with mirth.

You filled him in on the work drama, places you visited in your attempts to go out of your shell, hobbies you tried — his eyes widened at the mention of drawing and pottery, and he demanded to see your works the first thing in the morning.

You snorted quietly. "I don't think they are anywhere as good as your photos."

Satoru huffed under his breath and lightly nudged your shoulder. You both lie face to face now, smiling and giggling like a pair of students you once were. You felt as if you were floating in happiness.

"Come on, baby, don't be shy. I am positive they are nice."

"No, Toru, they are not. Believe me, my first flowerpot was disastrous." You turned a bit and waved at the deformed blob of clay, hiding in the corner. Satoru followed your move: his lips pressed into a thin line at the sight of a poor thing.

"Uhm…well, it's not that bad." His shoulders shook with a barely suppressed laugh, and you rolled your eyes good-naturedly.

"It's okay, you can laugh."

The laugh he let was truly thunderous, and even you, the mighty creator, couldn't help but laugh alone.

"Babe, I am sorry, it's just looking at me like I have to end its suffering," after some time, Satoru finally wept some tears and breathed out weakly with his hand on his stomach. You both looked at the hopeless blob. "Why do you keep it, anyway?"

Sighing in response, you murmured, "Dunno. I can't bring myself to throw it away."

Satoru just hummed in response and settled back against the pillows. "Will you take it to France?"

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention, and you just shrugged indecisively. The light mood you had slowly evaporated. After some minutes, you rolled back to face Satoru again, only to find him already watching you closely.

"Were you serious?"

He tilted his head in question; his hand came up to brush a hair strand behind your ear. "About what?"

The next words came in a hesitant whisper.

"Moving with me to France."

Satoru's thumb traced your bottom lip before he dropped his arm to the side. Shrugging casually, he lifted a steady gaze on you. "Are you still thinking about moving there?"

You swallowed nervously before nodding. "Yeah."

"Then I was serious too. We're dating again, it's only logical then."

You couldn't fight with that argument.

"Guess it is. I just…," you lifted one shoulder, still doubtful. "Can't believe you do that for me."

And he couldn't believe you questioned it. But instead, Satoru just blinked at you and muttered in the most serious tone possible.

"I told you I was going to marry you. Yes, I still want to. I wasn't joking and trying to hold you back in the heat of the moment —"

You wordlessly glanced at him.

" — okay, I did, but I was serious. And still am. Hell, baby," the mattress dipped under his weight as Satoru scooted closer. "You're the only thing — not a thing, person, I mean, you're the most serious I've ever been about anything and anyone in my life. I swear. Where you go, I follow."

His voice cracked at the last words, and you let a shuddering breath, cupping his face.

"Are you sure? What will your family say? Job? Suguru?"

Satoru lifted a corner of his lips in a small grin, recalling the same arguments he used to talk you out of moving.

"I am pretty sure I can find something there. Isn't this a part of discovering yourself, too? It could be pretty fun. Who knows, maybe I have some secret talent for pastries. Not just eating. Baking! Plus, I know French," he beamed at you like the Sun. You couldn't help but grin back. "It's a little rusty, though."

You both snorted, but then a frown crossed Satoru's face, and his tone turned more serious.

"Suguru…he'll understand. We still will be talking, right? Not as we used to, but…hey, now I will have an excuse to send him even more stupid memes."

"I am sure he will be ecstatic about it."

"He won't have any choice, heh. And my family…honestly? I don't really care. We both said everything we wanted to each other. I do not see any sense in bowing and scraping."

Your face crumpled in a grimace as you recalled that you were one of the reasons that entire thing happened, and hunched your shoulders. "Still sorry about it."

"And I am still saying you shouldn't be."

Minutes passed between you in a relative silence, interrupted only by the car noises and distant humming of the refrigerator as you stared at the ceiling. Finally, you turned to look at Satoru. Moonlight painted his features in an even more breathtaking way, highlighting the sharp jawline and illuminating the blue of his eyes.

"So…we are really going to France."

Satoru smiled at you — the gentle one he saved only for you — and reached for your hand to interlace your fingers slowly.

"We really are."

***

The morning sun crept through the blinds, bathing a bedroom in a soft, ethereal light, and its beams lazily caressed your face in feathery kisses. As your nose twitched at the sensation, begrudgingly, very begrudgingly, you blinked and reached for your phone. It came to life with a faint buzz; you tried to focus your bleary gaze on the time and sighed in relief as you still had half an hour before the alarm.

A careful attempt to sink back into the sheets didn't go unnoticed by the whole mountain of heat and muscle beside you. Satoru's arm snaked around your waist with an energy too restless for a sleepy man.

"Where are you going to, huh?" His voice, still deep and thick with sleep, felt like a pure sin against your nape. A shudder ran through your body as he gently nuzzled the soft skin there and pressed his lips against the point that shouldn't drive you crazy like it did. "Morning, ma choute."

Amusement curled your tone as you breathed out a chuckle, "Your favourite word, huh?"

Instead of answering, Satoru hummed something unintelligible against the curve of your neck, nosing it, while his lips found your pulse point.

"Can't help it. Not my fault if it fits you perfectly. So sweet," his head went into a dizzy, hazy state at the whiff of your chocolate shower gel and something so uniquely yours. "So soft." The hand that rested leisurely on your belly lazily drifted upwards to cup the tender swell of your breasts. Your breath caught in your throat as you arched into Satoru's touch with a quiet, sleepy moan.

"Ah, Satoru…"

When your voice dipped into that syrupy bedroom voice, laced with so much want, Satoru never could help himself. His hips bucked involuntarily, eliciting a surprised gasp from you, as you felt the throbbing of his length against your backside.

Your hair fanned over a pillow like a halo, catching the bright light, and Satoru's heart skipped a beat. He gently bit down on your pulse point, and as your gasp rose in a tone, he quickly soothed it with a lick of his tongue.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful. So, so beautiful. Can't believe you're mine." The heat crept up your body all the way to your cheeks, not only at the way Satoru rolled your nipple between his fingers, palming at the soft skin there, but at the bewilderment in his voice. As if he were actually shocked.

Another moan left your lips as you closed your eyes in the utter pleasure, coursing through your body and tightening your insides into the sweet knot. Subconsiously, you pushed your trembling thighs back against his front, to which Satoru responded with a low hiss.

"You're in a teasing mood today, huh?"

A sharp pang of disappointment shot through your body when his hand left your chest.

"Satoru…"

"Shh, patience, baby. Good things come to those who wait, don't they?" You almost whined at the loss of the contact, but then his hand — god, that hand — wrapped around your throat with a light grip, just enough to turn your face and capture your lips in a lazy, unhurried kiss. He licked at the seam of your mouth, and you immediately opened it, granting Satoru access. Your tongues lazily tangled, exploring each other; you slid your free hand down his toned pecs, sharp abs and wrapped it around the already hard cock. Giving it a few unhurried pumps, you heard Satoru moaning unbashfully against your mouth.

"Oh, fuck, yeah, keep going, love. Just like —, oh, just like that."

You fondled his balls with a sly smirk, to which he responded with a sharp, almost desperate cry, and…stopped.

"Hey, baby," the pout was evident in his voice, "That's not fair. Like totally not fair."

With a smirk widening, you turned just a tad to see his half-lidded gaze darkening with lust. "Haven't you just preached to me about patience, Toru?"

Satoru's head hit your shoulder as he let a groan, followed by a disbelieving laugh. "Vixen. You drive me crazy, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah, yet you're still not inside me." After rolling your eyes impatiently, you finally heard the sheets rustling. Your insides clenched in anticipation.

Laughing quietly, Satoru kissed your shoulder, pulling you closer against his front. His hand slid under your hip, lifting it for better access, and hoisted it over his own. You almost whimpered as the thick head of his cock nudged your already wet entrance.

"Look at tha-a-a-t," the heat flooded your body even more at the cocky tilt in his voice and the way his fingers lightly grazed your folds. "For someone so soaked, you have a pretty big mouth running, ma chérie."

You attempted to glare at Satoru, but it ended rather poorly with the way your eyes were glazed with desire. Giving you a smirk, not even trying to hide his arrogance and smugness, he hastily fisted his cock and aligned it with your entrance, slowly yet surely filling you up inch by inch.

"F-fuck, you're so tight," Satoru's hot whisper fanned over your jawline as he pressed heated kisses up to your mouth. "So warm, so good, so p-perfect — babe, don't clench me like that, f-for me."

Your lips parted, forming almost a perfect "O" in its shape at the burn of the stretch, and the first loud moan tore from your chest, when Satoru finally gave you a shallow roll of his hips.

"Sa-Satoru, yeah…"

With no hesitation, you reached behind and tugged at the soft white tufts above Satoru's undercut, pressing his head into your nape to seek even more contact until your bodies fused in a messy, unintelligible tangle of limbs, needy touches and wanton moans. His hips built a slow, languid rhythm, moulding your insides into the shape of his cock; each thick vein and ridge of him against your velvet walls made your mind swim in pleasure, so overwhelming it drowned every coherent thought. One of his hands snaked up to squeeze your breasts, eliciting more shaky whimpers from you.

"Love you, love you so fucking much, you don't even, ngh, under-understand, shit, y-yes," Satoru slurred against your cheek after yet another sloppy kiss, his tongue darting to taste the salty skin as you literally cried in ecstasy when he hit that sweet spot inside. You were completely sure he would never let you forget this. His moves gradually lost their rhythm, giving in to a raw, primal desire. A string of desperate whimpers spilt from your lips, and you turned your head to muffle these cries in the pillow.

Wrong move.

Seeing it, Satoru's lips curled into a sharp smirk. He quickly wetted his fingers and dragged them down to press quick, tight circles on your clit, and with all the stimulation, your body jolted in pleasure. Heat, shameless and urgent, built at the base of your spine, coursed through your veins and lit every part on fire. His cock twitched inside you at the way you breathed out his name with such desperation that put all the prayers to shame.

"Give it to me, baby. Be a good girl, yeah? Cum for me."

Your thighs shook violently, which was a telling sign that you were close; he feverishly rutted against yours, rubbing your clit in quick motions, panting against the curve of your neck. His eyes rolled in pleasure as your cunt fluttered around him, coating his shaft in juices, and with a shameless guttural groan, he cummed too.

The sound of your name, spilling from Satoru's lips like it was the only word he knew, brought tears to your eyes. Of love, of longing, or devotion, you weren't even sure.

Satoru was still in you, behind you, wrapping you in his arms and scent, when you awkwardly tried to turn around. He lazily blinked at you — the blue of his eyes resembled the glimmering waves of the Mediterranean Sea, which lapped the shores of the city that had become your home. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you lean in to press a quick, almost chaste kiss on the corner of his lips. They twitched with a soft grin.

"Someone's awfully sweet. Good morning, I guess. Really good, that time. What if — "

Before Satoru finished, your hands framed his face, and you kissed him again, taking your time. He released a quiet, unexpected sigh and melted into it immediately, giving you all the reins. Sweet and soft, your tongue swept over his plump lips and explored his mouth, until you both pulled away to catch your breath. Resting your forehead against his, you muttered quietly.

"I love you."

Satoru didn't answer you right away; instead, he cupped your cheek, his thumb grazed the soft skin under your eyes, and he murmured back.

"I love you more."

You didn't want to delve into the endless fight of who loved whom more, so you just settled against his chest with a soft sigh. Satoru tucked your head under his chin and gently ran his fingers up and down your spine.

"How are you feeling? Wanna cuddle a little or go showering?"

"I wish we could cuddle more, but Nobara and Maki are coming in…very soon, actually."

Satoru stilled for a moment and released a groan, reluctant to let you go and leave that bed, jutting his bottom lip in the biggest pout known to the Universe.

"Is it today? Do we have to go with them, baby?"

"Yes. Toru, we promised them to show the Fine Arts Museum. Maki didn't visit it last time they were in Marseille because it was shut for some renovation. Apparently."

"Geez, I was hoping for a round two. And maybe three in the shower. Besides, we were there with Suguru last summer." His hand slid down to squeeze your butt in the last attempt to persuade you, but you stood your ground. With great effort.

"Satoru, no. We don't see them often. Get up."

Saoru's hand that reached to pinch your side as you hopped off to get to the shower, limply fell to his side. He groaned as his head hit the pillow, but as the sounds of water running filled the space, he enthusiastically got up and padded to the bathroom. He could be pretty…convincing when he wanted to.

Indeed, an hour later, Nobara suspiciously eyed both of you up and down — your hair told her everything she needed to know. Satoru didn't even try to hide a big dopey grin that screamed "I just got laid by the most gorgeous woman in the world". You elbowed him. Hard. His smile got even wider, so you sent him to help Maki with their suitcases.

"You know, I am so happy for you." You gave Nobara a cup of scorching latte, just the way she preferred. Her lips curled into an amusing yet soft grin. "No, really. You both look radiant."

She laughed heartily, nodding in gratitude; however, her gaze was fixed on your front yard. You followed the direction and chuckled as well, seeing Satoru and Maki trying to coax Nobara's cat — a fluffy, totally spoilt Persian named Lady — out of the carrier. She only hissed in response.

"Yeah. Me too. She's…I don't know how to explain it. But I am so happy she agreed to move here. The same is for you, by the way. Provence does wonders for both of you. Even Gojo."

You rested your elbows on the table with a melancholic sigh. Yes, the start of your journey in France was quite turbulent: a total mess with language, documents, fighting with landlords over the rent, and taking up any gigs for money…It only helped that you had some of it saved. Endless hours of work, tears and efforts poured into building your new life finally got its fruits: at one of the fashion shows, Nobara introduced you to the famous photographer, who instantly fell in love with your works. And Satoru…

"Phew, finally," the front door opened, revealing beaming Satoru with Lady in his arms, who…purred in content. Nobara's eyes widened in shock.

"Lady, what? He's a man! Have some dignity!"

"Can't help it if I am that charming," he scratched the kitty under her chin. "Even cats know that."

"That's, unfortunately, true." You squeaked in delight at Maki's tired voice and jumped into her arms. After a few solid minutes of hugging, you finally released her as she begged you to show her the bathroom.

"So, Gojo," Nobara drawled in a voice too casual. Satoru exchanged brief yet pointed glances with you. Lady cracked one eye open and yawned, staring at her catmom. "Do you have, by any chance, some calissons left?"

In Nobara's language, that meant she had been dying to taste them, but she would never admit it to Satoru. "Don't tell him, or his ego would grow even bigger!"

So you just happened to drop that you wanted to have those candies, and of course, Satoru whipped some up: they just waited to be baked. Judging by his cocky smirk, he already figured both of you out.

"Why do you call me Gojo? She's a Gojo too, you know?" The oven beeped a couple of times when Satoru put the tray with callisons inside. Nobara only rolled her eyes and hugged you with a grin.

And Satoru once decided to try his hand at the things that he loved the most in the world (after you, of course): sweets. In particular, pastries. To put it concisely, baking. It took a lot, a lot of time and years of learning in culinary academies under the guidance of chiefs, before he could finally name himself the one.

Marseille greeted you with arms open, the fresh scent of pastries lingering in the air, mesmerising views and the centuries of history ingrained in its walls. You left Paris after you realised it was high time to move forward, and since you mentioned a couple of times that you wanted to live in Provence for some time, Satoru started to look for a home and a place for his own bakery. His own thing. That he built only by himself, with no family barking and ordering him around. He and you. And Satoru could've never been happier for it.

You indeed had never made it easy for him. But now, seeing you laugh with your friends, among the paintings, with the sun casting a soft, almost amber glow on your figure, Satoru realised he would rather have things difficult with you than easy with anyone else. Because you were worth it.

You were worth everything.

© wiserion. do not modify my work in any way (copying, translating, ai feeding, etc.)

[dragon-in-a-fez]

jellyfish have to be kept in a round tank because if they're in a tank with corners they'll get stuck in them. I think that's beautiful. god's stupidest little plastic bags (affectionate)

[tectonicarthur]

Also when being bred in captivity(this is done at my work and my job is to teach people about it) to get them to reproduce from the polyp stage of life, we have to intentionally cause them enough stress to reproduce but not enough to harm them. Lately we’ve done that by cleaning their habitat extra well, makes them think the word is ending

[ratantics]

I needed to see this today.

[exposenature]

[bees-with-swords]

"Do you ever dream of land?" The whale asks the tuna.

"No." Says the tuna, "Do you?"

"I have never seen it." Says the whale, "but deep in my body, I remember it."

"Why do you care," says the tuna, "if you will never see it."

"There are bones in my body built to walk through the forests and the mountains." Says the whale.

"They will disappear." Says the tuna, "one day, your body will forget the forests and the mountains."

"Maybe I don't want to forget," Says the whale, "The forests were once my home."

"I have seen the forests." Whispers the salmon, almost to itself.

"Tell me what you have seen," says the whale.

"The forests spawned me." Says the salmon. "They sent me to the ocean to grow. When I am fat with the bounty of the ocean, I will bring it home."

"Why would the forests seek the bounty of the oceans?" Asks the whale. "They have bounty of their own."

"You forget," says the salmon, "That the oceans were once their home."

[hearnoweevil]

Last year I finally had an excuse to illustrate this simple little Tumblr story I've had bookmarked forever for class.

I hope you like it :]

[pommegf]

hottest day of the year so far

[i-am-a-fish]

please do not look up to me. I am 1 inch tall. I'm down here. if you look up you won't see me

[breezey-with-an-e-art]

but what if i.....

[i-am-a-fish]

I REALLY LIKE THIS ART THIS IS SO CUTE I'M BEING HELD UP

[superkursunaskr]

[shadowtriovibes]

it's a sign of the times

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Rating: PG

Word Count: 3.2K

Summary: request [paraphrased]: "Rivals-to-lovers Sebastian and MC use a Time-Turner to travel to the future with Ominis in search for a cure for Anne. Instead they find a girl who's the spitting image of MC trying to sneak into the Restricted Section in the 1910s, only she has freckles like Sebastian..."

the 'verse continues in "the train ain't even left the station" [AO3]

“Anne-Marie Sallow!” she calls out. “Just where do you think you’re going?” At once, the three of you freeze. “Did she say ‘Sallow?’” hisses Ominis. “Did I hear that right?” “I – no. No,” Sebastian stammers. “There’s no way that’s what she said.”

“Can you please remind me again why I’m even a part of this harebrained scheme?” you ask for at least the third time.

You’re crouched around a small table in one of the far corners of the upper section of the Library. It’s well past curfew, but since you aren’t technically breaking any rules by avoiding the Restricted Section, you’re currently getting away with your loitering, as do most students who are caught studying after hours this close to final exams.

Only, you’re not studying. You’ve been summoned there by Ominis, who despite being your closest friend at Hogwarts is also a conniving, duplicitous liar who neglected to tell you that this whole thing is Sebastian’s idea.

You watch warily as he turns over a contraband Time-Turner in his hands, inspecting its impossibly small dials and knobs. The golden sands inside the hourglass hypnotically shift back and forth while he reads over its inscriptions and consults the guidebook he’d smuggled out of the Restricted Section earlier that same day.

You have no idea where he managed to get the device – perhaps in one of those vaults along the coast in Cragcroftshire that he’d been exploring during the summer term. However, now he’s got it in his head that perhaps the reason you haven’t been able to heal Anne is that the cure to her curse simply hasn’t been invented yet. Therefore, a quick jaunt several years into the future ought to reveal a way to rid Anne of her illness (and maybe even earn his way back into her good graces).

It’s not the first ludicrous and impractical idea he’s had in the past year, nor will it be the last, but it’s certainly one of the more radical ones.

“Merlin’s beard, I’ve already told you,” Sebastian sighs. “Since we’re going forward in time rather than back, this is an unauthorized use, and in case we get stuck in the future, we might need your ancient magic.”

“So I’m an insurance policy?!” you demand.

“Not so much for Sebastian as for me,” Ominis answers plainly. “He thinks he’s got it all sorted out, but I’m not as sure.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Sebastian interjects.

You huff and roll your eyes. “Need I remind you that using a Time-Turner to go forward is expressly forbidden by the Ministry? It’s only to go back.”

“Loads of people have done it, though,” he argues. “I’ve been reading all about it, it’s well-documented.”

“And they’ve all come back to the present?” you demand.

“Yes,” he snaps. “...For the most part.”

You scoff. Unbelievable.

“Do you two honestly think my magic is just an unlimited get-out-of-Azkaban-free pass?” you hiss. “I have no idea how to manipulate time and space. If we get stuck there, we’re stuck there.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out like you always do,” Sebastian mutters distractedly as he fiddles with the Time-Turner.

You glance at Ominis pleadingly and he just shrugs.

“You know we can’t let him go alone, we’ll never get him back,” Ominis reasons.

“Is that such a bad thing?” you grumble.

Sebastian shoots you a warning look before he holds up the Time-Turner for the both of you to inspect.

“I have it set to jump forward twenty years,” he explains. “We’ll have to get cozy before we go, as we’ve all got to be wearing it. Physically, we’ll land precisely where we are now, at the same time of day.”

“What if the layout of the Library changes?” you ask skeptically.

“The castle hasn’t changed in centuries,” Ominis points out. “Compared to its history, two decades is indeed quite short.”

“...Fine,” you finally mumble. “Go on, then. Let’s get this over with.”

The three of you stand in a tight circle in a spot tucked away behind some shelves, hoping to remain hidden there after you make the jump forward in time. Sebastian drapes the thin gold chain connected to the Time-Turner around the three of you; it even seems to stretch and extend in length to fit. Then he murmurs a brief incantation to the enchanted timepiece and spins the innermost piece a whopping twenty times.

Your stomach lurches while it turns over and the world around you seems to spin out of control, almost like one of those Muggle carousel rides you saw once as a child. You can barely make out years and years of students and professors walking around you – through you, even – and countless books sliding on and off the shelves until everything comes to a sudden halt and you fall straight to the floor.

Ominis and Sebastian tumble with you, winded.

“That felt bizarre,” Ominis wheezes. “Where are we? Did we travel anywhere?”

“N-no,” Sebastian breathes. “Everything else just… traveled around us.”

You glance around the Library and see that as Ominis had suggested, it looks largely the same. There are some newer books among those you recognize on the shelves, their spines less creased and dyed with more vibrant colors than those of your time.

One title jumps out at you: Advances in Practical Conjuring, 1900-1910

We’re in the 1910s, you think bewilderedly. We’re in a new century.

Mercifully, the layout of the library seems to be largely unchanged. Rows and rows of dimly lit stacks stretch along the length of the grand room with two winding spiral staircases leading down to the lower level.

Once you catch your breath, the three of you cast Disillusionment on yourselves and huddle together to make your way downstairs to the Restricted Section. Ominis leads the way with his wand extended to search for any lingering students or restless ghosts, having long since proven that his spatial awareness bests both yours and Sebastian’s even without his sight.

Your trio makes it downstairs and past the first row of shelves before Ominis stops in his tracks. Sebastian collides with him and then you knock into Sebastian, causing you both to hiss some choice words at each other.

“What’s going on?” you demand in a whisper.

“Someone just came in,” Ominis explains. “The librarian is at the desk and she hasn’t noticed, but a student is coming down the stairs.”

Sure enough, across the room you see a faint flicker of light and can just barely make out the outline of a small student sneaking down the main stairs – must be a young one, you think, no more than thirteen.

“I think it’s a girl,” you offer. “I can see her just over there.”

“What’s she doing?” Sebastian whispers.

“I’m not sure yet,” Ominis says carefully. “She’s past the desk, the librarian didn’t see – oh, for Merlin’s sake.”

“What is it?” you breathe.

“She’s going straight for the Restricted Section,” Ominis mutters. “Just our luck, I suppose.”

The three of you remain crouched behind the shelf while you watch the girl creep ever closer to your hiding spot. You’re panicking inside your head, wondering what possible seams of the universe might immediately be torn to shreds if she were to spot the three of you, but thankfully she seems single-minded in her mission to gain access to the locked collection of books across the room from you.

“She’s tiny,” Sebastian snorts. “I suppose the young ones are even more bold in the future.”

“Weren’t you about her age when you first started to sneak into the Restricted Section?” Ominis reminds him.

Sebastian insists, “No, I was fourteen. I didn’t go in until Anne was attacked. She’s got to be twelve at most, maybe even a first year.”

“Will you two be quiet?” you hiss. “She’s going to hear you!”

Across the room, the Disillusioned girl pulls a key out of the pocket of her robes and starts to insert it into the lock. A girl her age wouldn’t have mastered Alohomora yet, you think, nor would it be effective on this kind of lock. You have no idea how she managed to get a copy of the key, however.

“Do you suppose we could just go in after her?” Sebastian proposes. “She’s nearly got it open, we should take advantage of that.”

“Are you mad?” you scoff. “We can’t be in there at the same time, we’ll get caught!”

“So what if some little girl from the future sees us?” Sebastian argues. “Why wouldn’t she believe we’re just students from her time doing our own research?”

But before you can further explain to Sebastian how astonishingly stupid that idea is, the girl across the room gasps softly and drops her key to the floor. In front of her, the lock is glowing red as if it’s searing hot.

That’s a new security development from your time, you think. It’s rather lucky the three of you didn’t discover that the hard way.

Immediately, the young librarian leaps from her seat and hustles across the room to the Restricted Section’s gated entrance much faster than Madam Scribner ever would have.

“Hang on…” you say under your breath. “Is that – that’s Sophronia!”

“Who?” Ominis asks.

“Sophronia Franklin, she’s a fourth-year in our time,” you explain distractedly. “She’s always lingering in the library, of course she takes over for Scribner once we finish school.”

“I know her,” Sebastian chimes in. “Tried to get me to play a game of trivia in exchange for returning a book on curse breaking I’d been waiting for. Rather precocious, I thought.”

You glare at Sebastian and he merely rolls his eyes.

“I didn’t mean it in a flirtatious way, I was referring to her choice in books,” he grumbles. “Merlin, you’re protective of her.”

“She’s a sweet girl,” you murmur, appreciative of the fact that Sebastian can’t see you blushing. Truthfully, you don’t think much about Sophronia these days, other than that she absolutely cannot catch the three of you in her Library as she’ll easily understand what you’re up to.

Before you can try to convince the boys to call it quits and return to the present, Sophronia rounds the corner and the girl’s Disillusionment charm melts away in surprise.

“Anne-Marie Sallow!” she calls out. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

At once, the three of you freeze.

“Did she say ‘Sallow?’” hisses Ominis. “Did I hear that right?”

“I – no. No,” Sebastian stammers. “There’s no way that’s what she said.”

“Apologies, Madam,” you hear the girl say with a cheeky lilt to her voice. “I was just looking for a book for my aunt, that’s all.”

Just then, Sophronia leans down to pick up the dropped key and all three of you catch a glimpse of the young girl’s face. She’s probably around twelve, like Sebastian had guessed, but her face… Merlin, she could be your younger sister.

Her slightly-upturned nose is nearly identical to yours, only she’s got a small smattering of freckles across hers. Then there’s her chin, which juts out just a bit like yours does, and you’re too far away to make out the color of her eyes but you’re positive that they’re almond-shaped just like your own.

Now that you think about it, her hair is tied back like you always did with yours when you were younger – braided with a green bow at the end, only her hair is a rich, warm brown color.

“...Is that you?” Sebastian asks softly. “How. How are you doing this?”

“That’s not me, I’m right here,” you remind him.

“Hold on, what am I missing?” Ominis whispers.

“That girl looks exactly like this one,” Sebastian insists. “She’s got her nose, her eyes, her face shape. It’s like there’s a second-year version of her, standing right across from us.”

“We’re twenty years into the future,” Ominis reminds you both. “...What if she’s your daughter?”

You feel like the room is starting to spin around you again, and you find yourself pitching to the side before Sebastian quickly tugs on your arm and pulls you back behind the shelf.

“Do not go daft on us now,” he mutters. “I don’t care if that is your daughter–”

“She’s your daughter too, you know,” Ominis chimes in. “In case you were wondering.”

“Wh… What?” Sebastian stutters, and Ominis gestures for the two of you to listen in.

“Goodness, Miss Sallow,” Sophronia sighs. “You really are so much like your father, always sneaking into the Restricted Section.”

You watch as the girl puffs up her chest proudly, a mischievous smirk on her face that doesn’t strike you as particularly like you at all – but rather Sebastian.

“I’ll gladly take that as a compliment, Madam Franklin,” Anne-Marie says.

“While I respect that you are both voracious consumers of knowledge, he, like you, had little respect for the rules of the Restricted Section,” Sophronia continues. “I’ll have to ask you to leave until you get permission from a professor for relevant research or turn fifteen.”

Anne-Marie is still arguing with the librarian as she’s being escorted out. “Perhaps if you would just let me borrow the book for a while–”

“I’m afraid I’ll also have to give you detention this time,” Sophronia interjects. “I can’t keep looking the other way simply because I owe your mother a favor. This is the third time this term!”

Anne-Marie huffs and folds her arms. “But my godfather–”

“Your godfather is a very busy man who would undoubtedly appreciate it if you spent more time staying out of trouble,” Sophronia finishes, “than trying to emulate your father. In fact, I think Ominis would agree with me that one Sebastian Sallow in this world is quite enough!”

Well, that certainly clears things up.

Sophoronia marches Anne-Marie up the stairs and out of the library. The three of you, having already forgotten your original mission, put your heads together without a word so Sebastian can drape the Time-Turner around your necks and return you to the present.

You collapse in a heap on the library floor, but this time it’s fully empty – even the librarian’s desk light is extinguished. You sit in silence for a few moments, and you and Sebastian don’t dare look at each other. Eventually you force yourself to stand and offer Ominis a hand up, steadfastly ignoring the other boy.

“So,” Ominis finally says, barely concealing his smile. “When exactly is it, do you suppose, that the two of you fall hopelessly in love with each other?”

You both curse at him at the same time, and Ominis throws back his head and laughs.

“Shout at me all you want, but that little girl is proof that the two of you are destined for each other,” he crows. “Oh, how brilliant!”

“Come now, Ominis,” Sebastian says with a nervous laugh. “You don’t seriously think that girl is, what… our child or something?”

“That’s precisely what I think,” Ominous answers, smirking. “You said it yourself, she looks exactly like her mother.”

“Stop!” you interject. “I’m not anyone’s mother, in case you forgot.”

“Perhaps not yet,” Ominis agrees primly. “I imagine it will be several more years before Sebastian makes you one.”

Sebastian goes deeply red while you sputter indignantly.

“Thats – that’s foul, Ominis,” you insist. “It’s untoward to even be talking about this!”

Sebastian folds his arms and raises an eyebrow. “Really? You’re that offended by the very idea of us having a child together? I’m hurt.”

“W-well, I just meant that we shouldn’t talk about things that haven’t yet come to pass,” you explain nervously. “Besides, all that is years away. Decades, even.”

Sebastian glances sidelong at you, and you wonder if you’re imagining the way he looks you up and down.

“Right,” he says slowly. “It’s not like we know anything for sure, obviously.”

“Of course,” you agree. “...I don’t suppose you have any other family members named Sebastian? Distant relatives, perhaps?”

“Why?” he drawls. “Looking to snag a cousin of mine so I won’t be the one to father your children?”

You shove him right into one of the bookshelves, but he laughs like he doesn’t regret it one bit.

“Now now,” Ominis murmurs. “You ought to be kind to your future husband, you don’t want to damage his virility.”

“I have half a mind to put a dent in Sebastian’s virility right here and now to save me some trouble later,” you reply, casually aiming your wand at his groin.

“Have you gone mad?!” he stammers as he takes several steps backward. “Put that thing away!”

“Oh, will you please relax?” you sigh. “We just saw one of your descendants, your ability to procreate is in no danger.”

“You could still put me in the Hospital Wing,” he sulks. “Besides, it’s not just procreation that I use it for.”

Ominis snorts. “Unfortunately, I am intimately aware of that.”

You make a face while Sebastian grins cheekily, offering no apology.

The three of you start to make your way toward the exit into Central Hall, ignoring the weak protests of the prefects stationed outside. As you make your way back toward the Slytherin common room, you all fall silent again, lost in your thoughts.

You aren’t sure how you’re supposed to forget what you saw, you think. In the future, you have a daughter. Her father is Sebastian Sallow, and… and she’s brilliant. Beautiful, courageous, more than a bit headstrong, and as determined as you both are if not more so.

You catch yourself actually grinning, and when you glance over at Sebastian, you see the same expression on his face.

“Anything you care to share?” you ask him.

“I know we probably shouldn’t talk about it,” he starts, “but there is one thing that girl said that I won’t soon forget.”

“What’s that?” you ask.

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he admits, “I heard her say she’s looking for a book for her aunt, and you haven’t got any sisters.”

You smile softly and reach for Sebastian’s hand. “No, I don’t.”

He lets you take his hand in his to give a reassuring squeeze.

“She’s still alive,” Sebastian says quietly. “She… she’s still sick, probably. But she’s still alive in the future. She meets my daughter, and she knows her.”

“She does,” you say. “And – and maybe we don’t quite know how that happens yet, but you can have a little faith, Sebastian. Things will work out the way they’re supposed to, and Anne will be with us for a long, long time. There’s still plenty of time to make things right again.”

He nods wordlessly but doesn’t drop your hand.

Just before you arrive at your common room, Ominis stops in his tracks.

“Hang on… Her name, Anne-Marie?” he asks you. “That sounds like something Sebastian would have picked. How generous of you.”

“Aww,” Sebastian laughs. “You must be so in love with me by then to let me pick the name.”

You grit your teeth and ignore them as you murmur the password to the giant stone snake guarding the door, hoping to get some well-earned rest and be rid of these boys for the night.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Sebastian says as he ducks around you and slips inside the door. “I’ll let you pick the name for the second one, and we can duel for rights to the third.”

You go running off after Sebastian and holler, “You bastard Sebastian Sallow, how many damn children are you expecting?!”

Ominis quickly pulls the door shut behind him and shakes his head.

“Godfather,” he mutters to himself. “I’ll never know peace, will I?”

---

[Get to know more of the Sallow kiddos in "the train ain't even left the station" ❤️]

[bark-barkley]

I WANT TO LOOK AT THINGS MADE BY HUMAN BEINGS

[softwetmoss]

And also occasionally by pufferfish

[redheadedhogwartswriter]

Heroine of Hogwarts, Ch. 1

First chapter of my story! I'm really liking it so far. I'm writing it as I'm replaying HL, so it is pretty fun!

Gryffindor F!Reader x Garreth Weasley

Word count: 3.7K

Warnings: slight jealousy? mdni (nothing in this chapter, just putting for the future)

Other chapters/parts!: Ch2

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Starting Hogwarts as a fifth-year student was very uncommon, and you were made increasingly aware of it. After you and Professor Fig’s near escape from Ranrok at Gringott’s, you had the inclination to think that maybe the next two years you spent at this school would be filled with quite a lot of excitement.

As you entered the Great Hall—late—for the Sorting Ceremony, you felt hundreds of eyes glued to you. Everyone had heard rumors of a new fifth-year joining the school, and every whisper had been confirmed. The students could tell that you were not a first-year; your slightly more curved figure gave that away. Some mouths fell agape when you sat on the stool, awaiting your placement in the house that would define you for the next two years. Whispered buzzed across the crowded cafeteria, and you were able to hear your name more than a few times. Finally, that old rugged hat yelled out “better be… GRYFFINDOR,” and a whole table jumped up and cheered as you joined the midst, further expanding the sea of red. Everyone rushed to meet you, to touch you—even if it was simply a shake of your hand. It seemed you were the new excitement of the castle.

Professor Weasley was very kind in showing you to your dormitory. Eyes were still glued to you as you walked up the stairs to put your things in your room and settle in for the night. A certain redheaded gentleman's eyes dragged upon you for a long time, watching your every move until you were out of sight.

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“Starting as a fifth-year? Black must’ve gone absolutely mad.” Garreth paced his dormitory, ranting to his roommate and friend, Leander Prewitt. “I mean, she’ll hardly have the time to catch up with her studies. And being placed into Gryffindor? Dumb, old hat. She’ll cost the entire house all of our points for her stupidity, I just know it. There goes the House Cup this year.”

“Oh, lighten up, Weasley. It seems as if you’ve stricken her as a contest for your popularity,” Leander chuckled and instinctively dodged as the young Weasley sent a book flying towards his face.

“Leadner, if you call me Weasley one more time, I swear to Merlin I will hex you.” Garreth sat on the edge of his bed, shoving his palms to his face. “Reminds me too much of my aunt,” he groaned into his hands, the sound muffled.

Leander curled up into his bed, eager for a new year at Hogwarts to begin. “Well I think she’s lovely so far—and quite the looker.” He winked at his roommate. Garreth laughed and tucked himself under the covers.

“Sleep well, Leander. Don’t get too excited for all of our classes tomorrow.”

“You sleep well, too. And don’t let the new heroine bite.” Leander again dodged a pillow hurled at his head. He had lived with Garreth for far too long.

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You awoke to an empty room, all of your roommates had left. You sleepily slipped on your uniform and robes, and headed downstairs to the common room. As Professor Weasley escorted you to your dormitory, she said it might be a good idea to get familiar with some of your peers. Exhaling lightly, you began your descent to the common room, already hearing lapped conversations and frantic chaos unfolding in the light of a new day.

“Must be—different—starting Hogwarts in your fifth year…” one student remarked as you passed her. Groaning under your breath, you couldn’t help but wonder if that was all you were going to hear on your first day of classes. Sure, it was different, but you had been accepted and you had surely put in the studies and the work to begin to catch up; you knew you had to prove yourself, not just to your professors, but to your peers if you ever wanted to even have the chance of having a social life.

“It’s that new fifth-year.”

“Can’t imagine starting a new school this late.”

“A little room, everyone! Let her through.”

You did your very best to ignore the comments and gasps from other people as you strolled up to unfamiliar faces. Luckily, there was one girl in the center of the common room taking up loads of attention. My personal savior, you thought to yourself as you strolled up to the hearth. 

She jumped off of the hearth, right in front of you. “Why is everyone so high strung?” she laughed. “Don’t mind me. I find it helpful to change my point of view now and again. Put things…in perspective. Once I made it to the top of Gryffindor Tower. From the outside. Without a broom.”

You chuckled at her bragging of her feat. She seemed like just the right person to take some of the attention off of yourself just for a moment or so. “Goodness!” you remarked.

She did not stop for a second, much to your relief. “I’m Nellie, by the way. Nellie Oggspire. I’ve heard rumors about what happened to you on your way to Hogwarts. Is it true? About the dragon?”

Something twisted in your gut about Nellie’s question. Fig’s words about keeping it between the two of you rang in your ears. However, you couldn’t deny a little bit of a bragging point. Plus, if everyone had already heard about only the dragon, there was no use in denying it. 

“It is true. But I-,” you caught yourself before you sounded too conceited with the victory. “We handled it very well.”

Nellie laughed at your words, brushing a strand of hair behind her ears. “I’ll say. I think you’ve already earned a reputation for fearlessness. Anyway, you’ve certainly brought some much-needed excitement to Gryffindor…and Hogwarts, for that matter.”

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Garreth scoffed at Nellie’s words. He couldn’t help but eavesdrop. Some much needed excitement to Gryffindor. And what was he, a pile of rubbish? He watched as you walked in the opposite direction of him, straight up to Cressida. Great, he thought, just out of earshot. He grumbled and busied himself again with trying to convince his peers to try his latest brew.

“It’ll be the next Butterbeer!” Garreth pried at Leander, but his roommate simply walked away. He then turned to the crowd around him. “Sure you don’t want to try it? Brewed it myself.” Disappointment settled in his chest as his peers began to walk away. Just then, however, he looked up and realized that the new heroine (as he and his roommate had been calling you) was strolling straight up to him. Though he had not fully come to terms with you, he was very excited to meet you (in typical Weasley fashion).

“Hello. You’re the new fifth-year,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Garreth Weasley.” He saw your eyebrow twitch up when he said his surname, but decided to continue on with his (very planned) speech. “Heard about your travels here. Can’t believe it! Glad you and Fig are all right. Is it true that someone from the Ministry was with you in the carriage?”

You hesitated a second before answering. “Oh. Uh…yes. A friend of Professor Fig’s.” Your eyes didn’t quite reach his, and he could see a wave of sorrow cross your face. Great job, Weasley. You’ve made her first day the worst, he thought.

“Oh, didn’t mean to pry. Nasty business, dragons. Again, very glad you’re here.” A sly smirk crept onto his face as he watched the tiniest bit of blush creep just above your collar. Maybe she has a thing for redheads?

You cleared your throat before speaking again. “Thank you, Garreth. So am I. Are you related to Professor Weasley?”

“I am. She’s my aunt.”

You chuckled slightly at the annoyed emphasis on the word aunt. “Does having your aunt here make things difficult?”

Garreth’s eyebrows shot up in excitement. Finally someone who didn’t only think of the benefits of having family in high places. “More than you’d think,” he answered. “Most people assume I can’t get into trouble or be given detention, but…they’re wrong. Aunt Matilda tends to treat me as if I’m a first-year. Keeps too close an eye on me. It’s all a bit suffocating, to be honest.” He sighed, deciding that he shouldn’t only bad-mouth this close family member of his. “Still, she means well. And she’s an incredibly powerful witch. She’ll have your back.”

Garreth thought the conversation was over, just as it quickly was with Nellie and Cressida, but you pried him about the “butterbeer” in his mug. “Hm? Oh, no. I’ve been perfecting a recipe I came up with over the summer. I’m almost there. Based on some reactions, it may need a bit more work.”

“Seems you enjoy brewing. Might I assume that you’ve a talent for potions of all sorts?”

Now it was Garreth’s turn to blush at your prying. It seems you had taken an interest in his hobbies, not that he minded. “Well, as I see it, there’s little difference, fundamentally, between brewing a modification to Butterbeer and a Wiggenweld Potion.” He didn’t know if you knew what that was already, and he hadn’t meant to make you feel any less knowledgeable (despite his concerns about it last night). However, when you nodded in agreement, he let out a little sigh of relief, continuing to indulge you in your wonders. “Though, I’m not certain Professor Sharp would make the connection. He doesn’t appreciate my, er, creativity, as much as you might think.” His hand rubbed the back of his neck as you laughed at his remark. Underneath the hair on your forehead, he noticed a scar. Just as he was about to inquire, he heard his best friend’s voice bellowing with quite unfortunate timing; “New Gryffindor! Professor Weasley’s waiting for you outside the common room.”

You inhaled slightly as you politely said goodbye, turning and walking out the exit. Garreth shot a look at Leander.

“What? She told me to tell her.”

“New Gryffindor?” Garreth scoffed. “She has a name y’know.”

Leander smirked a bit. “Someone’s a bit fond of the newbie, huh?” Garreth turned and hastily walked away, only making his roommate laugh harder.

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As Garreth exited the library, picking up a book that he completely forgot he needed for class, he noticed you talking to his aunt. He quickly ducked behind the fountain and listened to your conversation.

“My suspicion is that there’s more to the story than a search for belongings and an extended trip up to the castle,” Professor Weasley inquired. She perched up one eyebrow and leaned in closer to you, expecting an explanation.

Garreth studied you as you answered. There was a glint of mischief in your eye; “I’m sorry, Professor, but I’m afraid that’s all there is to it.” He watched as you talked with your arms, deliberately deceivingly. By Merlin, maybe this girl should’ve been placed in Hogwarts, he thought as he snuck just into your sight. You caught his eye and flashed him a quick smile accompanied by a wink before you returned your gaze to his aunt, and soon Professor Fig. You turned to him, and your guard seemed to drop completely. “It’s good to see you, Professor.” You smiled with each word you spoke, making the young Weasley slightly blush himself for reasons unbeknownst to him.

“And you,” replied Fig. “I was hoping our paths would cross today before you immersed yourself in studies.” The professor stepped closer and looked side to side to make sure no one was listening. Your eyes dragged over to Garreth. Fig must have noticed your slight hinting, so you both took a few steps further to be out of his earshot.

Blast it, Garreth said to himself. He waited until Fig had finished conversing with you before hopping out of his hiding place behind the fountain, stopping you before you could walk away.

“Let me hear your conversation with my aunt but not with Professor Fig? You’re quite mysterious, I do have to say.”

You laughed at his remark. “I figured you had much experience eavesdropping on her anyways. No matter how much distance I put between us, you would have been able to hear her voice, I’m certain of it. Now, either let go or walk me to Charms; I’m nearly late.”

Garreth looked down at his hand, not realizing that he had lightly taken a hold of your elbow. He promptly let go, but stated that he would show you to your Charms class, despite the fact that he was almost certain you were able to get there by yourself.

As you two walked alongside each other, he spoke to break the tense silence. “My Aunt Matilda is making the professors give you more assignments? And she wants to see you after classes? Looks like you falling behind shouldn’t be of any concern at all.”

You spun on your heels to face him, and his eyes went wide in shock in realizing what he said. “You thought I would fall behind? That I’m stupid?” Your eyebrows furrowed together. Despite the fact that he knew you were angry with him, he thought the face you were making was rather cute.

“I, er, I mean yes it was a concern initially. Before I knew you at all, I mean. Well, not that I know you now. Very well, that is. It’s just-”

You cut him off. “Thank you very much for your escort, Garreth, but I think I will be able to hold my own. I’m aware Charms is just right up these stairs. Good day to you.” Before another word left his lips, you turned and walked away briskly. 

Garreth slapped a hand to his forehead, muttering insults to himself. He found his friend Leander and jogged up to him. “Leander! I have the biggest favor to ask of you.”

Leander rolled his eyes and turned to face his roommate. “What is it this time, Weasley?”

Garreth ignored the cheeky use of his last name and asked his favor of Leander, who agreed. Then he glanced at his watch and sprinted off to his class that he was definitely going to be late to.

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Every Monday, Garreth had a standing appointment in his aunt’s office to clean out her old papers and run her errands. He hated Mondays because of this, but he decided years ago that it was better than a detention every time he caused a ruckus in the school (which was quite often. Mind you, he is in fact a Weasley). He was going through an old stack of papers listening to their house elf Deek and his Aunt Matilda talk on and on about a “Room of Requirement” (whatever that was, he had no idea nor any interest in it). 

Suddenly, the door to her office opened. He glanced over his shoulder and spotted you. Your hair was not as tightly knit into your bun as it was this morning, undoubtedly because of your exciting day of classes that had been rumored about. Your eyes had small, barely noticeable, bags under them. He could see how tired you were from the change in the way you carried yourself. You had a giant book tucked under your left arm, while your right arm carried your wand haphazardly. Despite your clear exhaustion, though, your eyes shone with excitement.

His Aunt Matilda rose from her chair, stepping towards you; “Ah! There you are. I trust your first classes went well?”

Garreth simply couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you answered her. Your smile was beaming ear to ear, genuine excitement in your voice. “They did, Professor.”

Professor Weasley continued on with a strange tone of voice, one only detectable by her nephew who was constantly getting into trouble; she wanted to know what the young student was hiding. “I heard as much from Professors Hecat and Ronen. Seems Professor Fig taught you quite a bit before you arrived…I’d wager there’s a good deal more to your travels here than what you’ve told me, isn’t there?”

Your eyes shone with mischief yet again, smile never fading. “Nothing more, Professor.”

His aunt sighed with disappointment; “I see. Like trying to get a sonnet from a Streeler. Regardless, you must continue to build upon what you’ve learned.” She spoke with you about extra assignments that were to be completed out of class time (Great Merlin, she’ll be exhausted, Garreth thought). He only tuned back in to the conversation when a rather important subject (one of his favorites) was uttered out of the mouth of his redheaded relative:

“...trip to Hogsmeade I mentioned earlier.”

He perked up at the mention of the word. Boy, did he love Hogsmeade. Any excuse to get Butterbeer at the famed Three Broomsticks was a good one. His aunt continued on discussing the trip with you, while he slyly listened from the corner of her office.

“I’d like you to make your first visit to the village with a classmate. Help you get your bearings. Perhaps Sebastian Sallow or Natsai Onai? I’ve noticed you spending time with them.”

Garreth’s blood ran cold. Sebastian Sallow? Not only was it bad that his aunt had not even mentioned him as a possibility to accompany you (she did her very best not to be biased toward her nephew), but she saw that you and Sallow had been spending time together? How much time? Why were you so close already on the first day of classes? And most importantly, why was it bothering him so much that you even had the possibility of choosing Sebastian as an escort to Hogsmeade. Before he thought any better of it, he stepped forward from his little corner to speak up. He locked eyes with you as your gaze widened, unaware that he had been there. Professor Weasley turned around and spotted her young nephew, standing tall and proud in his corner.

“How rude of me, I do apologize greatly. Garreth? Would you please go speak to Professor Ronen and get those papers that he should have ready for me?”

Garreth stood there for a moment more, wanting to protest. Wanting to say, “No! I’ll take her to Hogsmeade, and I’ll take excellent care of her!” Instead, he found his feet shuffling against his will out of the classroom. He closed the door before he could hear what you said, who you chose. The thought of you that close to Sallow ruined his mood for the evening.

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After he had finished all of his aunt’s tasks, Garreth was headed off to work. He had an internship at J. Pippin’s Potions, as he wanted to own a potion shop of his own one day. Mr. Pippin wasn’t exactly admirable for his character, but a job that paid was better than nothing. Leander accompanied him to Hogsmeade, as he often did. However, Garreth was completely unaware of the poor attempts at conversation that Leander was giving, his mind busied with thoughts of you and Sallow hand-in-hand at all the different Hogsmeade shops. It made him fume with anger, and he didn’t know why.

“And then Sallow nearly dropped it on my head!” Leander exclaimed. Garreth snapped back to reality.

“You said Sallow? As in, Sebastian Sallow?” Garreth prodded.

Leander rolled his eyes. “No, I meant the other Sallow that goes to our school. Yes of course it’s Sebastian you nimwit.”

Garreth glared at the mention of his name. Sensing that he had struck a nerve, Leander cleared his throat and changed the subject. “About that…favor…you asked of me.”

His shaggy-haired roommate perked up. “Yes, Leander! Do tell me. Report everything. You had Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts with her, right? Both of them?”

Leander nodded. “Let me tell you, she’s incredible, that heroine. In Charms, she beat Natsai in Summoner’s Court with a perfect score. And in Hecat’s, she defeated Sallow in a duel! She didn’t get hit by his castings not once. Both Hecat and Sallow seemed impressed, Sallow especially. He talked to her after class awfully quietly. It looked secretive. I tried getting close enough to listen, but I couldn’t hear a peep without looking suspicious.”

Merlin, Garreth thought, she definitely chose to go with Sallow. 

“Anyways,” Leander said, drawing out the vowels, “you owe me…how many Butterbeers now? Right, that’s four with all the favors you keep asking of me.”

Garreth laughed, squeezing his friend’s shoulders tight. “Count on it this weekend. I’ll get you in such a horrible state you won’t even be able to Floo home; I’ll have to carry you in my strong arms,” he said, jokingly flexing both of his biceps, which were remarkably in shape because of his ongoing training for Quidditch (though the season had been cancelled by Headmaster Black just the day earlier).

As the two kept strolling along, suddenly two girls went running past them, both in crimson detailed robes. The first turned around, and revealed herself to be Natsai. “Oi! Look, it’s Garreth and Leander!” Garreth watched as the second girl turned around, and it was his favorite heroine. “Oh, hi!” Both of you went running up to the pair of boys.

Garreth could feel himself turning into a shade of crimson as you and Natsai talked quickly about your days and how exciting it is to be back at Hogwarts (or, in your case, at Hogwarts for the first time). You slightly drew back to hang by Garreth’s side for a minute. Looking at the ground, you quietly said “I’m sorry for snapping at you this morning. All of this is just a bit…” your voice trailed off as you looked off to the side at the Forbidden Forest. “Overwhelming,” was the word you settled on. Before he could answer, you beamed your smile up at Garreth and went running straight ahead, yelling behind you, “I bet I can beat you to Hogsmeade, Natty!” Natsai didn’t wait another beat before taking off after you. And just like that, the two of you were gone.

Leander turned to the side and noticed that his roommate’s whole complexion had gone red. Before he could say a word, Garreth muttered “if you don’t say a word, you can count that five Butterbeers this weekend.”

The two walked the rest of the way in silence.

[andorsdoll]

The First Night || Cassian Andor x Reader

⌞Short One Shot⌝

— summary: your first night as parents. or: you're exhausted and healing while cassian stays close like it's his last mission left.

✮ pairing: male/female. rating: fluff, non-explicit.

✮ warnings: post-partum/childbirth, a very tender cassian *sobs*, a lil silly at the end, etc.

✮ word count: ~1,150

author's note: hi all! i've been in a rut lately and can't really write fully fleshed out one shots/chapters as of late but i found this lil draft & thought it was cute (the thought of cass so tender like this.. hhhnh)

ps- iykyk: ironically enough, this 'concept' was written months ago in my journal. 🥲

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸·

The room is dim while machines hum low as they monitor with soft, steady beeps. There's a faint smell of antiseptic and fabric softener lingering in the air. The quiet in the medcenter room is not one of tension or waiting, but one that feels like serenity and security.

Half-dozing off, you're propped up on a few pillows, hair damp from the sweat that wouldn’t stop hours ago. You’re wearing one of Cassian’s shirts now because the hospital gown made you feel like a patient instead of a person. Your newborn baby is asleep on your chest, impossibly small and impossibly real.

Cassian leans on the edge of the armchair nearby. He hasn't taken his eyes off you in.. he doesn’t know how long. Time stopped feeling real the moment your baby's cry broke through the air for the first time.

He's worn out from today too but refuses to sleep. Instead, he just watches protectively over the two of you. His eyes land on you first. In your half asleep state with your mouth slightly parted, wearing his shirt. Then at her, the tiny rise and fall of his daughter's breaths against your chest.

You look like a dream, like something he never thought he’d deserve. He still couldn't believe this wasn't a chapter of a story from someone else’s life.

You shift again and whimper quietly from the soreness and pain radiating throughout your body.

Cassian is on his feet before he even realizes it. He crosses the room, hands hovering before they land. One softly carressing your cheek while the other cradles the baby's head. Carefully, he eases the baby from your chest, gently shushing under his breath like it's muscle memory. “It’s okay, love. I’ve got her. You sleep.”

Your brows twitch as if you might protest, but your body's exhaustion immediately gives in, leading you into a soft slumber. He rocks side to side with the baby now cradled in his arms. She's tiny, warm, red-faced, squishy and a part of you, a part of him.

His.

He swallows down the knot in his throat and an emotion that feels too big to name, his heart swelling at the reality of it all. He carries her over to the armchair he’s been using as a perch all day before sitting down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Then another to the tiny bit of hair that’s still drying from earlier.

She makes a face in her sleep. One that looks like a pout, like the one you always make when you're tired. Cassian melts.

“I know,” he whispers, voice hoarse from everything. “It’s a lot. You had a big day, hm?” His hand cups her back while his thumbs rub tiny, careful circles.

“I’ve done a lot of things in my life,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “But this... this is the only one that made me feel… new. Like I get to start over."

Then, there's a little noise that escapes your lips as you shuffle in your sleep—a half-moan that makes his eyes shift to you instantly, protective as always. Your head turns slightly, and your lashes flutter. He waits with his breath held.

There's a pause.

You settle back into sleep.

He softly exhales before coming back to you with the baby in his arms. He carefully climbs beside you into the narrow medcenter bed, maneuvering slowly like he’s defusing a bomb.

He finally manages to lay the baby back onto his chest comfortably and places his arm onto her back. You let out the tiniest sigh and nuzzle into his shoulder, your hand finding his thigh under the blanket.

“You can keep sleeping, love.” he murmurs. “I’ve got you both.”

Cassian is still tired but doesn’t sleep, not that'd he even want to.

He just watches the way his daughter's tiny chest rises with his. And he watches the way your body curls instinctively around him and the new life between you.

It’s the safest he’s ever felt.

He kisses the top of your head, one hand still steady on the baby’s back while the other tugs absently at the edge of her swaddle.

After a moment, he whispers:

“Thank you. For her. For you. For this.”

Cassian closes his eyes for just a moment as he let's it all sink in. There’s nothing left to chase—he’s home.

[end]

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

꩜ BONUS:

It's around midnight when you’re half-dozing off again, shortly after having fed your daughter who's now tucked on your chest. But it's then when you feel a tiny squirm.

You groan. “Cass…”

Cassian’s halfway into a nap beside you, but immediately sits up like someone screamed. “What? What’s wrong—what is it?”

“She peed. I think. Maybe worse.”

Cassian blinks. Processes. “I can do it.”

You blink back at him. “…You can?”

He’s already standing. “Yes. Of course. It’s a diaper. I’ve done worse.”

“You’ve hotwired Imperial transports under fire.”

“Exactly,” he says, scooping her up like a soldier on a mission. “How hard can it be?”

Answer? Very. Very hard.

You watch from the bed as he carefully lays her on the changing pad. He opens the supply bag the nurse stocked for you and squints at its contents like he’s about to interrogate them.

“Okay,” he mutters, taking a deep breath.

You stifle a giggle as he untapes the diaper slowly, then freezes.

You peek with one eye closed. “Is it bad?”

“It’s… fine.”

It's not fine. The moment the diaper opens, she starts kicking, hard. Her feet are flailing like she's trying to start a fight with Cassian. Her little heel smacks right into the dirty diaper and smears it across her own thigh.

He recoils. “I had a plan,” he huffs, fumbling for wipes. “She ambushed me.”

“She’s a baby, Cass!"

“She’s a saboteur.”

Your daughter who's still squirming lets out a high-pitched squawk as he cleans her off thoroughly.

He looks personally betrayed. “She’s slippery,” he grumbles, grabbing a fresh diaper and fumbling with the flaps.

But finally, he gets the new diaper on. It’s a little lopsided but it fits securely over her as she fusses between tiny grunts and whines.

Cassian scoops her back into his arms, looking half-wild and flushed with sweat, before crossing the room toward you with the most defeated expression you’ve ever seen on him.

“She did that on purpose,” he mutters, placing her gently back in your arms. “She waited until I was overconfident.”

You smile up at him while he huffs. Though, you don't let him sulk for long before you guide him back down beside you again. He curls up quickly, tugging the blanket up, one arm already across your waist, eyes trained on the baby like she might attack again.

She yawns, big and gurly before stretching one tiny arm in Cassian’s direction. He can't help but melt. Again.

“…She’s trying to apologize, Cass" you say, softly.

“Mhm. That’s what the gurgle meant.” he answers, stifling a smile before pressing a kiss to your temple.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Late into the night, when the sky's dark blue glow leaks in through the window, you hazily wake up when you feel the bed shift. Cassian is easing back beside you, daughter in his arms, cradling her like she's a constellation he somehow caught with both hands.

She lets out a sleepy grunt with one tiny fist stretching sharply across his collarbone. Cassian winces for a second.

“She’s plotting again,” he mutters, not expecting a reply.

You grin, eyes still closed. “She gets that from you.”

He huffs a laugh, settling in beside you both.

“Lucky me,” he murmurs.