#'depression and anxiety' echo the voices in the back of my mind

[mclacedes]

A Fading Echo (LH44)

CHAPTER II: Going Home

a/n: this is NOT PROOF READ

warnings: breakup, abu dhabi ‘21, rude!lewis, depression, gaslighting, fighting

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“For a moment, he wanted to break down and beg Willem not to leave. Don't go, he wanted to tell him. Stay here with me. I'm scared to be alone.”

- Hanya Yanagihara, "A Little Life"

He remembers your final battle—the fight that ended it all; the decision-maker, the deal-breaker.

Four years. You had been together for four beautiful, though turbulent, years. The kind of love story that felt unshakable, weathering the storms life hurled your way. You had your own career, pursuing the dreams you’d cherished since you were a kid. You were finally at a stage in life where everything felt like it fit perfectly. And with him by your side, it seemed like nothing could go wrong.

By 2020—your third year together—things had grown serious, the kind of serious that made people whisper about rings and forever.

You still remember the phone call in March 2020, just as the world began to crumble under the weight of a pandemic, when asked you the question, his voice calm but carrying a thread of anticipation.

“Quarantine with me. In the UK,” he said, his words slicing through the static.

You froze, caught completely off guard. The emotions hit you all at once—joy, anxiety, disbelief—so quickly that you couldn’t string a coherent thought together.

“Y/n?” His voice softened. “You still there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” you stammered, your mind still reeling. “I’m just… a little unprepared for that question.”

The pandemic was spiraling into chaos. Quarantine was the new normal, with no end in sight. Weeks? Months? Years? No one knew. There was no vaccine, no cure, just endless uncertainty. The thought of being confined in one place for so long felt suffocating.

“It's just… That's not my house, I don't know if I’ll…” he had this unbearable habit of cutting you off in the middle of a sentence.

“I know, but we can make it home,” you could tell he was beaming with pride for coming up with that sentence. “Home is wherever you are.”

It sounded like a promise. Like he was for real.

“Besides, there won’t be any races for a while. Things will be peaceful, quiet… just us. I think we can make it fun at home, huh?”

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket. Despite the fear and uncertainty, the thought of being with him—just him—was comforting.

You took a deep breath, letting the idea sink in. “Okay, it sounds nice,” and you smiled.

And it was nice. More than nice, really. Those weeks together were filled with laughter and quiet moments, a bubble of peace in a chaotic world.

Eventually, though, he had to leave again. Racing had resumed, and his life called him back to the track. You went to as many races as you could, though he always worried.

“I don’t want you catching that thing,” he’d say, his protective nature shining through.

You’d laugh it off, but you knew he meant it. Those months felt like a rhythm you could get used to—brief separations and joyous reunions. You thought you had found your balance.

But cracks have a way of forming when you least expect them—because people talk. They speculate. They conspire. Perched on the edges of lives they don’t know, they wait for their chance to unravel something beautiful.

Your relationship became a sweet treat for an internet starved for the meanest way to make somebody seem interesting, a spectacle to devour and distort—somebody had to feed those vultures.

By mid-2021, Twitter was buzzing with talk of rings, cradles and bibs. People dissected your (and his) every move, searching for signs of the next big step. But while the world fantasized about your future, Lewis was consumed by a fight of his own—that year's championship; the toughest battle since 2016, since Nico.

You knew his career had always been his first love, the thing that made his heart pump and his eyes shine long before they settled on you. Just as you had your own dreams to chase, he had his. And in 2021, those dreams demanded everything from him—his time, his attention, his softness, and, it seemed, his love for you.

By late 2021, the cracks in your once unshakable foundation had grown too wide to ignore. The championship consumed him, pulling him further away, and you—desperately holding on—began to feel more like an obligation than a partner.

It started with the little things: unanswered texts, “I was catching up on data”, missed calls, conversations cut short with a distracted “Sorry, I’ll call you later”. Later never came thought. Even when you were physically together, his mind was elsewhere, a thousand miles ahead, already focused on the next race, the next strategy meeting, the next battle on track.

You tried to understand. You reminded yourself of his passion, his drive, the fire that had drawn you to him in the first place. But understanding didn’t make the loneliness any easier to bear.

Then it crumbled. December, after Abu Dhabi. It was like everything started to shut down, like multiple organ failure—there’s no surgery to save your relationship. The worst part is that you knew it—you both. The even worse part was that you let it go so easily.

The fallout from that race was cataclysmic, not just for him but for you too. He came home shattered—a man stripped of everything he’d worked for, everything he believed in. You wanted to be there for him, to help him rebuild, but he wouldn’t let you in. He was silent, withdrawn, a ghost of the man who had once made you feel like the center of his universe.

“I’m here if you wanna talk,” you had reassured him once, your voice soft, during a quietly bitter dinner.

“I don’t want to,” he replied sharply, his tone cold and clipped, not even looking up from his plate.

“I know, but what I mean is that—”

“I know what you mean, Y/N,” he interrupted, his voice laced with impatience. “Please, can we just eat?”

The finality in his words stung, sharp and unforgiving. Recessive and heartbroken, you nodded, lowering your gaze to the plate of food you had poured your heart into making—a meal that now tasted like ash in your mouth.

The days dragged on after that, each one heavier than the last. Conversations became sparse, filled only with superficial pleasantries or curt exchanges. The man who used to pull you into his arms and make you laugh until your sides ached now felt like a stranger in your own home.

And then came the day he told you he was leaving.

“I’m going over to my parents,” he said one evening, his voice flat, drained of its usual warmth, as the chill of December crept into the Monaco air.

You blinked, still sitting on the couch surrounded by a scattering of holiday cards you’d been addressing. The weight of his words took a moment to settle.

“Didn’t know they’d spend Christmas with us,” you said, absent-minded, not understanding what he meant yet.

“No,” he clarified, his tone cool and detached. “I’m going home.”

The room seemed to close in around you, the once-welcoming space now feeling alien and far too empty. “Okay… I’ll pack my bags,” you said quickly, standing up abruptly, as if to act like nothing had changed. “How long are we staying there? I hope you’re aware that I’m going home for New Year’s—”

“No, Y/N.” He cut you off, his words sharp enough to slice through the air. “I need to go by myself. Just me and my parents for once.”

Your breath hitched as you processed his words. “Oh. Umm… Okay,” you managed to say, your throat tightening, tears threatening to spill. “It’s just that we… we had planned this. We were supposed to—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. “Plans changed.”

The dismissal stung, sharp and biting, like a slap to the face. And then, the silence.

“What happened, Lewis?” you asked, the crack in your voice betraying the storm brewing inside.

“How is that even a question?” he snapped, his brow furrowed, disbelief coloring his words. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration leaking from his every pore. “It’s right in front of you, Y/N. It’s been right in front of you.”

“No, it hasn’t!” you shot back, the words tumbling out in a mix of anger and desperation. “You’ve been shutting me out for months. I don’t know what’s going on with you anymore because you won’t talk to me! You won’t let me in!”

“Oh, so now this is my fault?” he retorted, his voice rising, defensive. “I’m the bad guy for not wanting to drown you in my shit? For needing space to deal with the fact that my career—my legacy—was torn apart in front of the entire world?” He turned his back on you, heading toward the hallway that led to your shared bedroom.

“That’s not what I’m saying, Lewis!” you shouted, following him, the frustration boiling over. “The thing is, you made me believe we were a team. We’d face things together. And now, when it matters most, you’re shutting me out!”

But he didn’t listen. His steps were heavy, his mind already elsewhere.

“You said you’re going home!” You screamed, and this time, he finally stopped, his body tensing.

He turned around, his face a storm of frustration. “I am going home, Y/N. What’s so hard to understand about that?”

“What happened to ‘home is wherever you are, Y/N’?” you repeated, your voice shaking with raw emotion. “This isn’t your home anymore? After everything we’ve built together, I’m not your home?”

He scoffed, a cruel sound that sliced through the air. “You’re twisting my words.”

“No, I’m not!” you retorted, your heart pounding, desperate to be heard. “I’m just trying to understand why you think running back to the UK and shutting me out is the answer to anything. You barely even look at me anymore, Lewis. Do you even want me here?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” His eyes narrowed, his tone sharp, though still defensive.

“It means you’ve kept me on the edge for so long. You’re here, but not really. And when you’re gone, we don’t talk. You disappear. I’m not even a part of your life anymore!” You could feel the tears in your throat, but you fought them back. “You dismiss everything we talked about—marriage, kids, a future. Like none of it matters to you anymore. Like you don’t want me in your life at all. It feels like you hate me!”

“Argh, here you go again,” he snarled, his fists clenching. “Shit, you always do this,” he snapped, his voice rising. “Always making it about you,” his index pointed straight at you.

“Because it is about us!” you cried, your voice breaking. “It’s about me too, isn’t it? I’m not some option you can just turn off when you don’t feel like dealing with me!”

“Well, I’m the one dealing with shit right now,” he shot back, his eyes flashing with anger. “And instead of supporting me, you’re interrogating me, saying I don’t care about you. You think that talking about babies and rings is going to fix anything? You don’t get it, Y/N! You’re so focused on your timeline, on what you think I should be giving you, that you can’t see that I’m falling apart!”

You stood frozen, the sting of his words slicing through you like ice. “That’s not fair, Lewis. I’ve been supporting you—”

“Have you?” he interrupted coldly, his voice full of bitterness. “Because all I hear is how you feel. I’m the one who’s lost everything, but somehow, I’m the one to blame. You’ve made this all about you.”

“You keep saying you’ve lost everything, but no,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears now spilling. “You haven’t lost everything. Your legacy is still there. You’re a legend. It’s always going to be remembered. But you’re so lost in your own darkness that you can’t see what’s still in front of you. You’ve lost a championship, so what?”

Lewis’s face twisted with rage, his eyes seething as he glared at you. “So what?” he echoed bitterly. “You think it’s just about a damn race? It’s not just the championship, Y/N. It’s everything. They took it from me. They stole it from me, right in front of everyone’s eyes. And all you can do is lecture me like I’m being unreasonable? You’re standing here talking about legacy and what I’ve achieved, but none of that matters if it’s all been ripped away. What’s left of me when they’ve taken everything?” he said, forcing himself to maintain his composure.

“Yeah, and what's left of us, Lewis?”

The words hit him harder than you expected, and for a moment, he was silent, his jaw tightening. His chest heaved, and his eyes locked onto yours, a mix of pain and frustration swirling in them.

“What do you mean, what's left of us?” he asked, his voice shaking slightly, as though he was trying to understand.

“We,” you repeated, your voice quieter now, barely above a whisper. “What’s left of us when you shut me out like this? When you push me away every time I try to help you, every time I try to understand? What happens when you keep giving them, the media, more than you give to this relationship?”

“I don’t think I have the mindspace to dwell on that anymore, Y/N,” He stood there, seemingly distant, his eyes avoiding yours now. The air between you both felt colder, thicker, like an impenetrable wall had risen between the two of you.

“See? That's what I’m talking about! You’ll just run away, packing it up and not talking to me. You can’t just not think about it, Lewis,” you said, frustration creeping into your voice. “You can’t just shut everything out because it’s easier than facing it. This relationship—us—it’s not a convenience, it’s not something you can just leave behind when it doesn’t fit your narrative anymore.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as if he were searching for a retort but couldn’t find the words. Finally, he said, “I can’t give you what you need right now, Y/N. I can’t be the person you want me to be.”

“I don’t need you to be perfect, Lewis,” you said, stepping closer to him. “I just need you to let me in. I need you to trust me enough to share the weight.”

He shook his head, looking away as if he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is!” you insisted, the tears you’d been holding back spilling over now. “You’re choosing to leave me out. You’re actively choosing to push me away. That’s not about the championship or your career—that’s about us. And it’s killing me, Lewis.”

For a moment, he just stood there, his eyes locked on yours, his face a blank mask. And then, in a voice so quiet, so small, it shattered your heart, he said, “Maybe we were never as strong as we thought we were.”

The words slammed into you like a punch to the gut, leaving you gasping for air. “You don’t mean that,” you pleaded, your voice trembling, cracking under the weight of the truth you didn’t want to face.

Time seemed to slow as he reached for his house keys, his car keys, and the packed handbag—each movement like a dagger slowly twisting deeper into your chest.

“Lewis, no,” you begged, your voice raw, desperation flooding your veins. “No, please, don’t do this. Please stay…”

But he didn’t look back. He didn’t even flinch at your broken cries.

“I’ll see you around,” he muttered, his words empty, hollow. His tone was void of everything that once mattered. Without another word, he walked out, the door slamming shut behind him with a deafening finality.

The silence that followed was suffocating, the sound of the door’s closure ringing in your ears like a death knell. You were left standing there, frozen, in a sea of devastation. Alone. Lost. And questioning everything that had once been so sure.

Nothing was ever the same after that.

For him, that wasn’t just the loss of a championship—it was the loss of himself. Of everything he thought he could hold onto.

You watched helplessly as he sought solace in everything else—the noise, the distractions, the empty comforts—anything but you. Everyone else seemed to understand the depths of his pain, the weight of his loss, except for you. And that fact stung worse than anything he’d said.

That night, you let yourself slip into a crying spiral, tears falling uncontrollably, each one a reflection of the pain that had consumed you. You didn't know how long it lasted, but it felt like hours, your chest tight and raw. Eventually, exhaustion dragged you into a restless sleep, the emptiness settling around you.

A few weeks later, after trying to collect yourself and make sense of the pain, you sent one text.

you: i’ve taken my thing out of your house in Monaco. i’m breaking up with you.

You stared at the message for a long moment, your thumb hovering over the send button, as though giving yourself a moment to breathe before the finality of it.

With a shaky exhale, you pressed send. The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of everything that had built up, everything that had been left unsaid. The knot in your chest didn’t loosen. It didn’t change anything. But it was done. And as you stared at the screen, the absence of a reply was just another confirmation that it was over.

[strnilolover]

.✦ ── Moonlight Tears ── ✦.

♡ Sweet!Bf!Matt x Sad!Gf!Reader

⚠︎ Warnings : some crying, reader in their head too much, other than that it’s fluff

♡ wc : 637

♡ A/N : I literally need Matt to just hold me at least once while I’m crying. I feel like he would be so sweet and understanding and so comforting because he hates seeing his girl cry.

It was way past the time you normally were asleep by. Tossing and turning in bed while Matt slept soundly next to you, your movement not causing him to stir much.

As you flopped over one last time, you read the clock. 3:15am. You sighed turning over onto your back, staring at the ceiling as you felt your mind move rapidly through many different thoughts.

Normally you would’ve been asleep by now, cuddling up against Matt as your soft snores echoed in the room. But tonight was not that night. Your stressed mind caused you to stay awake, dark thoughts swirling in your brain as you tried your best to shut them down.

Sighing, you felt your face begin to grow hot as your throat closed. Tears rolling down your face as you turned over to face away from Matt, muffling your sobs as to not alarm him.

To no avail, Matt stirred. His body shifting as he groaned softly, head lifting from the pillow to figure out why you were so far away from him on the bed. And that’s when he saw the light shakes of your body.

He frowned, turning to face you fully in bed on his side. Scooting closer, his arm wrapped around your middle, pulling your back closer to his frame as your tears continued to roll down your cheeks. “Sweetheart, what’s the matter?” He questioned, hand rubbing soothingly over your stomach.

You shook your head, trying to escape his grasp but he wouldn’t let go. “I-I’m just — having a h-hard time sleeping.” You choked out quietly, “too many t-thoughts.”

Matt knew that you struggled with depression, anxiety too. Your mind keeping you from enjoying so many things that you once enjoyed. His hand on your stomach moved to your hip, slowly turning you over to face him now.

His other hand came up to your face, stroking his thumb along your cheek, wiping the tears. “Everything will be okay angel, just focus on my heartbeat, okay?” He whispered, pulling your head against his chest as he rubbed soothing motions on your back.

Your face buried in his chest, your cries slowed, only slight sniffles being heard. His heart was slow, the rhythmic thumps soothing your whirlwind of a mind. He whispered sweet nothings in your ear, encouraging you to breath, talking to you as if you were such a fragile being.

You didn’t mind. Eyes closed as your mind started to calm itself, arms wrapping around matt in return. You took a deep breath, body going lax against his as he continued to whisper calming words to you.

Once you felt you were okay enough, you pulled back slightly, tilting your head up to look at him. His blue eyes already looking down at you, you smiled weakly. “Thank you Matt — m’sorry for waking you.” Your voice was quiet as you mumbled the words past your lips.

He shook his head, “no, no we’re not Gonna do that,” he said firmly but gentle, his hand coming up to cup your face. “I’m always here for you. You could wake me up even if I’m fucking exhausted, and I wouldn’t hesitate to help you.” He deadpanned, a smile tugging at his lips.

You smiled back, nodding your head in understanding because you knew he was right, despite how much you wanted to argue back.

“Good.” He whispered, pulling you back into his chest. “Now get some sleep okay? I’ll be right here in the morning. M’not letting you go.” He mumbled, head coming to rest on top of your own.

You nodded, tipping your head up quickly to peck his neck before snuggling deep into his chest. Your eyes growing heavy as you were finally able to fall asleep, Matt’s arms feeling like a safe haven — like your own comfort home.

© strnilolover

[mononijikayu]

loml — gojo satoru and geto suguru.

Satoru, leaning back with a gentle sigh, broke the silence. "I think... I’ve fallen in love with them." he confessed, his voice soft, almost vulnerable. He looked at Suguru. “Gen–senpai.” Suguru turned his head slightly, his dark purple eyes finding Satoru’s, a hint of surprise flickering across his features. He didn’t speak right away, but then, slowly, a quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest. He smiled against his shoulder. “Yeah… I have too.”

WARNING/S: pre-hidden inventory arc, post hidden inventory arc, domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

WORDS: 12.5k words.

NOTE: i ended up thinking about this for a while. i think i wanted something that's satosugu focused that is related to the main story of us and them. and i think it was way more perfect like this. i think that's just how it is with stories in between us and them coded, you know??? anyway, i hope you enjoy it anyway. i just wanted to get it off my mind!!!! i love you all, see you in the next story <3

masterlist

u s and t h e m

if you want to, tip! <3

YOU WERE READY. The air around you crackled with cursed energy, thick and oppressive as it swirled between the high-rise buildings of Tokyo. The cursed spirit looming before you was grotesque, a monstrous thing with far too many eyes and limbs jutting out at unnatural angles. Its twisted form made your skin crawl, its movements erratic as it lashed out, causing havoc in the streets.

You shifted your stance, preparing for the next strike, your eyes scanning the chaos around you. Despite the carnage, your focus wasn’t just on the spirit. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted someone standing a few feet away.

He looked… off. His usually neat, smooth hair was fraying at the ends, loose strands sticking out from the messy bun he usually wore. His dark blue Jujutsu uniform was tattered and streaked with dirt, his face marked with fatigue. There was a haunted, weary look in his eyes.

He wasn’t his usual self, that much was clear. The "I've been through some stuff" energy radiated from him like a second skin. You could see the wear of battle etched into his features, the faint tremor in his hands as he stood, catching his breath. This wasn’t someone you remembered.

Ah, he was a first year student.

"Alright, first year." you called out, adjusting your grip on your yari spear. "Looks like I’ll finish this off."

You lunged forward, aiming for the cursed spirit’s core, when—

"Wait! Stop! " Suguru suddenly yelled, nearly tripping over himself to get in front of you, arms flailing.

You skidded to a stop just before the spear tip met cursed flesh. Blinking in confusion, you watched as the first year frantically gestured for you to back off. "I have to consume it."

"...Consume it?"

"Yeah." He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "It's kinda my thing."

You stared at him. This guy was the new first-year? Your kouhai? "Alright... I guess that’s something." You lowered your spear reluctantly, watching the younger boy as he took a deep breath, about to do his curse-consumption thing.

Before he could make a move, though, a familiar voice echoed from behind. "Uncool, Suguru. So uncool."

You didn’t even need to turn to know who it was. Gojo Satoru, in all his flashy glory, strolled into view. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his sunglasses sitting lazily on his face, and a smirk that screamed I-know-everything-better-than-you plastered across his features. Ah, this one you remembered too well. 

The younger boy, Suguru,  groaned, his expression dropping faster than the cursed spirit could regenerate its limbs. "Satoru, not now."

"Oh no, now's the perfect time!" Gojo said, waving dramatically. "Imagine it! Big, heroic finish, and then boom! You, standing there... eating the curse? So uncool, dude. Eat it later!"

Suguru pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's not like I have a choice. It’s literally my technique."

"Yeah, but couldn’t you, like, exorcise it or something first? Make it cooler?" Gojo shrugged, shooting you a thumbs-up like you were both in on some inside joke. "You get what I mean, right?"

You glanced at Suguru, then at Gojo, back at Suguru—who, despite his calm demeanor, looked like he wanted to punch Gojo in his perfect teeth. "Uh, sure." you offered, trying not to laugh. "You could at least add some flair to it?"

"See?" Gojo said triumphantly. "The senpai agrees with me!"

Suguru groaned louder this time, side-eyeing you with an "I-can't-believe-this" look. "You’re not helping."

"Just saying!" Gojo continued, "if I were you, I'd finish it with style. Maybe spin around, give a little dramatic speech, then eat the curse."

Suguru ignored him, clearly over the theatrics, and raised his hand, muttering something under his breath. The cursed spirit let out one final, unsettling screech before being sucked into his palm in an anticlimactic puff.

"See?" Gojo chimed in again, arms spread wide. "Boring."

"Shut. Up." Suguru shot back, though his face was starting to crack into a small smile despite himself.

You couldn't help it anymore—you burst out snickered. "You two are something else."

Gojo grinned, basking in the chaos he’d created, while Suguru shook his head, walking off with a quiet sigh, muttering about how he "should’ve stayed home today."

"Hey, wait up!" Gojo yelled after him. "Let’s grab ramen! You can cry into your bowl about how uncool you are!"

You glanced at your yari, wondering why you ever thought cursed spirits were the hardest thing to deal with today.

THIS WASN’T THE USUAL WAY YOU WOULD BE HERE. You usually ate alone. So it was quite a surprise from the ramen house that you asked for a table of four. The familiar scent of ramen wafted through the small shop, warm and inviting as you took your usual seat near the window. 

It had been a long day, but the evening promised something interesting—meeting the new first-year students of Tokyo Jujutsu High. Special-grade sorcerers, at that. You had already been briefed that they were joining the ranks alongside you and Yuki Tsukumo, which was a rarity in itself. It was only fitting to see who these up-and-coming powerhouses were. You called Yuki about it and she raved about wanting to see you more than the younger ones. But you supposed it's just because she missed you. 

You heard them before you saw them.

"I’m telling you, you don’t need to use that technique so recklessly!" came a voice that could only belong to someone with zero filter—Gojo Satoru, if you remembered correctly.

"And I’m telling you, you don’t need to be so reckless in general." another voice retorted—Geto Suguru, calm but undeniably exasperated.

The door swung open, and in they came. Gojo Satoru, all energy and loud confidence, sauntered in first with that infamous swagger, followed closely by Geto Suguru, who looked as though he'd spent the entire walk here contemplating how to silence Gojo for good. Behind them was Ieiri Shoko, who was a bit quiet and composed, giving them both the same look you often gave people who were trying too hard. They had gone back to their accommodation and changed clothes first. 

You couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia. Watching Gojo and Geto bicker reminded you so much of Namie and Kaiko. The way they would argue over the smallest details, turning even a simple walk into a battlefield of egos, was something you had long learned to endure. And here they were, in front of you, a new generation—but the dynamic was eerily familiar.

Shoko, on the other hand, seemed calm in the storm, much like yourself. She had that air of detachment, a stillness that balanced out the chaos around her. For a brief moment, you wondered if these three would get along with Namie and Kaiko. Gojo and Geto certainly matched their energy, and Shoko would probably enjoy some quiet conversation amidst the madness. The thought brought a small smile to your face.

“Oi, senpai!” Gojo’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. He had already claimed the seat next to you, throwing an arm over the back of his chair like he owned the place. “We’re not late, are we? You didn’t order without us, right?”

Geto frowned. “Satoru, that’s rude! You shouldn’t be so informal with Zenin–senpai!”

“No, it’s fine. Don’t worry. You also don’t have to call me Zenin–senpai.”

“Then….”

“Just use Gen–senpai. Or whatever. I don’t really particularly care about hierarchy.”

Gojo grinned. “Then can I call you Gen, then?”

“Feel free.” You tell him, with a small smile.

“Aha! Then I will!”

“You also aren’t late, don’t worry.” you replied, holding back a chuckle. “And I was just thinking how the three of you remind me of some old friends.”

“Oh? I’m flattered.” Gojo leaned back, grinning smugly. “Must’ve been quite the group if they were anything like me.”

Geto rolled his eyes as he took the seat across from you. “I’m guessing they were probably nothing like you, Satoru.”

“See?” You chuckled, glancing between the two of them. Suguru noticed a small sliver of sadness in your eyes. “That’s exactly what I mean. You remind me of them too well.”

Gojo’s curiosity was piqued. “Oh, they sound like fun. Were they good-looking? Maybe I’ve got some competition.”

“Yeah.” you deadpanned for a bit. “Well….except they didn’t spend their entire day thinking about how cool they were.”

Suguru snorted at that, and even Shoko cracked a tiny smile as she took her seat.

“So, how’s it feel being special-grade sorcerers?” you asked, steering the conversation back on track, looking at Suguru and Satoru. 

“Amazing!” Gojo replied without hesitation, flipping his sunglasses up to rest on his head. “But that’s just my natural state.”

Geto shot him a sideways glance. “Humility was never an option, was it?”

“Look who’s talking, Mr. 'I-can-consume-anything.’” Gojo grinned, waggling his fingers in mock imitation of Geto’s technique.

Shoko sighed, taking a slow sip of water. “It’s like babysitting.”

You smiled again, a strange warmth settling in your chest. These three were so young, and yet there was already something special about them—a camaraderie that, despite the constant bickering, spoke of deep bonds being forged. You could see them going far, together, just as you and your friends once had.

For a brief moment, the thought of Namie and Kaiko sitting around this very table, throwing playful jabs at each other, floated through your mind. You could almost hear their laughter mixing with the voices of Gojo, Geto, and Shoko. It was a fleeting but comforting image.

“They’d like you, I think.” you said softly, more to yourself than to anyone else.

“Huh? Who would?” Gojo asked, eyebrows raised.

“Old friends, the ones I was talking about.” you replied with a shrug, letting the nostalgia slip away. “You remind me of them. And I think you three would get along well.”

Suguru tilted his head slightly, catching the faint note of wistfulness in your voice, but didn’t press further. Gojo, of course, was already distracted by the arrival of his ramen, declaring it to be “the best in Tokyo, hands down!”

As the bowls of ramen arrived and the conversation continued, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. You had a feeling that these three would bring a whirlwind of change—just like the generation before them. And as chaotic as they seemed now, you knew they had something special, something that would take them far.

It was going to be an interesting journey ahead.

The steaming bowls of ramen were placed in front of each of you, and for a brief moment, the chatter paused as everyone seemed to savor the smell. You watched as Gojo Satoru practically dove into his bowl, using his chopsticks with a level of enthusiasm that was almost theatrical. 

Geto Suguru, on the other hand, ate calmly, every movement deliberate, as though he were analyzing the flavors. Ieiri Shoko picked at hers lazily, more interested in observing the antics of her companions than actually eating. You couldn’t eat that much, you weren’t that hungry.

"Best in Tokyo, hands down!" Gojo proclaimed between slurps, noodles half-hanging from his mouth. "You really know your spots, Gen."

“Satoru, call them senpai, Gen–senpai.”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Huh, what do you mean, nuh–uh?”

You smirked, taking a more modest sip of your broth. "I’ve been around. Knew you’d appreciate this place, though."

Geto raised an eyebrow, still focused on his bowl. "Appreciate it? I’m surprised he hasn’t asked to marry the chef yet."

Gojo leaned back, wiping his mouth with a dramatic flourish. "Who says I haven’t? Ramen this good deserves a lifelong commitment."

Shoko let out a quiet snort, her lips twitching into the ghost of a smile. "Pretty sure you wouldn’t last a week in a marriage. Too many noodle-related distractions."

"Hey, I’m capable of multi-tasking, Shoko." Gojo shot back, wagging his chopsticks in Shoko’s direction. "I could juggle ramen and romance. Watch me."

You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Watching the way they interacted, their personalities bouncing off each other like well-practiced banter, it was clear that, despite the joking and teasing, there was a connection here. Something deeper than the surface-level bickering. The kind of bond that would only strengthen over time.

Geto finished his bowl and set his chopsticks down with a soft sigh. "You’re ridiculous, Satoru."

"Ridiculously awesome, you mean." Gojo corrected, leaning back with a satisfied grin, clearly proud of himself.

"You know….." you started, leaning back in your chair as well. "It's good to see this. You three, I mean."

Gojo raised an eyebrow, now curious. "Good to see us?"

"Yeah." You nodded, glancing between the three of them. "Special-grade sorcerers, the strongest of your generation, yet here you are, acting like normal students. It’s nice to see the kids in you still be kids. It pleases me.”

Geto smiled, a little softer now. "We’re not always this... chaotic. Just when Satoru’s around."

Gojo held up a hand in mock protest. "I’m not the chaotic one! You guys are just too boring to keep up."

"Right, right…." Shoko muttered, taking another sip of her water. "Because you’re the epitome of normalcy."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Trust me, I’ve seen worse. But seeing you three like this reminds me of the old days. Back when my friends and I thought we were invincible too."

There was a brief pause, a fleeting moment of introspection that settled over the table. Gojo tilted his head, his usual playful expression giving way to something a bit more thoughtful. "Were you?"

"In a way, yeah," you admitted. "Or at least, we thought we were. Until….." You stopped.

Suguru’s gaze sharpened slightly, as if he understood where the conversation was heading. "You lost someone, didn’t you?"

You nodded, feeling the weight of those memories resurface. "We all did, eventually. It’s part of this life."

Gojo looked unusually quiet now, his chopsticks twirling between his fingers. "But you kept going, huh?"

"Had to. Have to." you replied with a faint smile. "Just like you will."

The heaviness lingered for a second longer before Gojo, in typical fashion, broke the silence. "Well, we’re not going anywhere anytime soon. I’m too good-looking to die young, you know?"

Suguru rolled his eyes, and Shoko’s deadpan expression returned. "That’s one way to look at it."

"Hey, I’m just keeping things light, Suguru!" Gojo grinned, his usual cockiness back in full force. "Besides, I’ve got big plans. No way am I letting a cursed spirit mess up this face."

You laughed, but the truth of the matter was still clear. These three—Gojo, Geto, and Ieiri���were in for a long road ahead. And even though they didn’t fully grasp it yet, they would one day understand the weight of their roles as sorcerers. They would carry their own losses, just as you and Yuki had. But for now, it was good to see them like this, carefree, in the moment, enjoying a simple bowl of ramen without the looming threat of the world crashing down on them.

As the meal wound down, the conversation drifted back into lighter territory. Gojo made exaggerated claims about his future as the “greatest sorcerer ever.” Suguru countered with dry remarks, and Shoko threw in the occasional sarcastic comment that kept them both in check.

You paid the bill and stood up, stretching your arms as you prepared to leave. "Well, I’ll see you all soon." you said, nodding toward the three of them. "Try not to kill each other before then."

"No promises, Gen!" Gojo grinned, already halfway out the door, Suguru groaning in tow.

Shoko offered you a small wave as she followed them out, her calm demeanor as steady as ever.

Watching them go, you couldn't help but smile again. They were a lot like you and your old friends once were—full of potential, full of life. You only hoped they’d find a way to hold onto that as long as they could.

And for a brief moment, you found yourself thinking, Yeah, they would’ve gotten along just fine.

HE WONDERS WHO YOU TRULY WERE. Suguru Geto had heard whispers about you long before he ever saw your face. The rumors circled like an ever-present breeze, spoken in quiet tones by those who thought no one was listening.

His father, who worked as a window for your mother’s family, often mentioned you in passing—a name that carried weight, history, and an air of mystery. 

The whispers painted a picture of someone who was more than just another sorcerer. You were part of an ancient clan, one of those distant, elusive families that even the higher-ups at Jujutsu High regarded with a level of reverence. And yet, despite the importance of your lineage, there was something different about you.

When Gojo Satoru spoke of you, it was always with a casual fondness, even if he had just met you the other day. It didn’t take Suguru long to piece together why. You and Satoru were very distant relatives, after all.

And your life was always going to be a part of that tangled web of sorcerer families that had been interwoven for centuries. But Satoru’s interest in you wasn’t just out of obligation, Suguru knew that much was obvious. 

There was something else there. Something about the way his normally cocky tone softened whenever your name came up, even if only slightly. He was interested in you, Suguru knows. Satoru thinks it's because you were just that good of a sorcerer.

 And your father being Zenin Naoki, it was a big deal. If they saw more of your technique, then Satoru would end up raving about it. But you weren’t around as much to show it. And with how good you were with cursed tools, Suguru doubted you ever needed to use your cursed technique.

Suguru had been curious, of course. How could he not be? Special-grade sorcerers weren’t exactly common, and from the rumors he had heard, you were even more active in the field than Yuki Tsukumo herself. That alone was enough to make anyone stand out. But it wasn’t just your power—it was the sheer volume of reports that came in after every mission you completed. 

From the bustling streets of Tokyo to the more traditional grounds of Kyoto Jujutsu High, your name seemed to pop up everywhere. And not in small ways, either. The curses you dealt with were of a caliber that even seasoned sorcerers hesitated to face. Yet you faced them head-on, time and time again.

Suguru leaned back in his chair, gazing up at the ceiling of his dorm room as he thought about it. He had never met someone so relentlessly active in the field. It was like you didn’t know how to slow down. Missions from one end of the country to the other, reports coming in almost daily… Did you even sleep? 

He frowned, the thought lingering in his mind. Even Tsukumo Yuki, at least what people whispered about her, as restless as she was, had her quiet moments of reflection, her times of retreat from the world. But you?

He hadn't even met you properly yet, but it was starting to feel like you were some kind of living legend, the sort of person who operated on a different plane of existence entirely.

“You think too much, Suguru!” came Satoru’s voice, snapping him out of his thoughts. Gojo was lounging on the bed across the room, balancing a ball of cursed energy on the tip of his finger, a bored expression on his face.

“Am I?” Suguru shot back, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Yeah, you’re always brooding.” Satoru replied, letting the ball of cursed energy dissipate. “You’ve been thinking about them, haven’t you?”

Suguru raised an eyebrow. "Them?"

Satoru grinned, almost like he was amused by the very thought. “You know, them. The one everyone keeps talking about. My oh-so-talented distant distant distant distant distant distant relative.”

Suguru crossed his arms, his curiosity now fully piqued. “I’ve heard the stories, sure. But it’s hard to believe someone is that active without collapsing from exhaustion at some point.”

Satoru laughed, loud and carefree. “Yeah, I’ve thought that too! But I saw them in action the other day. It’s wild. They’ve got this… I don’t know, this energy. Like they’re always moving, always thinking five steps ahead. It’s kinda scary, honestly.”

Suguru frowned, thinking back to the rumors. “I’ve seen the mission reports. They’re everywhere—Tokyo, Kyoto, even some out in the countryside. You’d think they’d take a break at some point.”

“Maybe they’re just a robot, you know?” Satoru said, half-joking. “A cursed spirit-fighting machine, programmed to never sleep.”

“Doubtful.” Suguru muttered, though the mental image was amusing. “But it’s strange. There’s something more to it. They’re not likeTsukumo–senpai, you know? Tsukumo–senpai’s off on her own things half the time, but you can tell she’s always thinking, always observing. From what I’ve heard, Gen–senpai just… goes. Like they’re on autopilot.”

Satoru shrugged, not seeming too concerned. “Eh, maybe it’s just their style. You’ll know more about them soon enough. Besides…..” he added with a teasing grin. “Gen–Senpai’s probably just like that. They’re probably just that good, like me!”

Suguru rolled his eyes. "That's not exactly comforting."

“You worry too much, Suguru. If they’re handling all these missions, that’s a good thing. It means less work for us.” Satoru shot him a thumbs up, clearly pleased with this logic.

Suguru sighed, glancing out the window. The sun was setting, casting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Somewhere out there, you were probably on another mission, dealing with a curse that would make most sorcerers hesitate. And here he was, wondering just what kind of person could keep that pace up without burning out.

“I just hope they know when to slow down.” Suguru muttered, almost to himself.

Satoru smirked, catching the comment. “I’m sure that Gen–senpai knows to pace themselves. They’re more senior than us, you know? Trust the process!”

HE COULDN’T SLEEP. The cold mountain air greeted Suguru as he entered the small convenience store tucked away in the hills. He had been on a mission with Satoru and Shoko, but after hours of trekking through the wilderness and dealing with a minor cursed spirit, his stomach had started to complain loudly. As he wandered the aisles, looking for something that could pass for a meal, he caught a glimpse of someone familiar.

It was you.

Standing near the refrigerated section, you were calmly perusing the drinks. Suguru blinked, a bit surprised, but then it made sense. You were always on the move, tackling missions in places most sorcerers wouldn’t bother with. This isolated mountain range seemed right up your alley.

He offered a nod of acknowledgment, and you returned it, your expression neutral but not unfriendly. Suguru didn’t expect much conversation—after all, you were both here on business—but as he grabbed a rice ball and some instant noodles, he found himself wandering closer to where you stood.

"Didn't expect to see you here, Gen–senpai." Suguru said casually, placing his items in his basket. “Thought you’d be halfway across the country, based on the reports I’ve seen.”

You gave a small, almost imperceptible smile as you grabbed a bottle of green tea. “I was asked by a nearby temple to help strengthen their barrier defenses.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued. “A temple, huh? So even the local monks know who to call when things get tough?”

You shrugged lightly, as if it were no big deal. “It’s a small place, but they’ve had problems with cursed spirits slipping through their wards recently. I figured I’d take care of it.”

“Sounds like a fun assignment.” Suguru smirked, grabbing a few more snacks from the shelf. "How long have you been here?"

“Just a couple of days.” you replied, your tone calm, as though discussing something routine. “Should be done by tomorrow.”

Suguru glanced at you, curious. “And after that? Another mission?”

You paused for a moment, as if considering your answer. “Most likely. There’s always something else.”

Suguru chuckled. “You really don’t stop, do you?”

“Neither do you, don’t you?” you countered, meeting his gaze with a knowing look. You smiled. “I blinked and suddenly a second year.”

He couldn’t help but smile at that. You had a point. "True, but I’m not out here fixing temple barriers in the middle of nowhere."

You tilted your head, a faint flicker of amusement in your eyes. “Someone has to.”

Suguru nodded, understanding the unspoken weight behind your words. The life of a sorcerer wasn’t exactly predictable, and while you handled more than your fair share of missions, you did it because you knew it was necessary.

“Well, if you ever need a break, we’re staying nearby. Satoru’s probably driving Shoko crazy by now. Seeing you would probably save her.” Suguru said with a grin, imagining his two teammates bickering back at their base.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” you said, though it was hard to tell whether you were serious or just humoring him. “If I finish fast, then I’ll contact you.”

Suguru gave a slight wave as he made his way to the checkout, his basket filled with enough food to get him through the night. As he left the store, he glanced back at you one more time. You were always moving, always working.

He wondered if you ever let yourself take a moment to breathe, but somehow, he doubted it. Still, for now, you were just two sorcerers in a convenience store, sharing a quiet moment amidst the chaos of your lives.

Suguru stood by the checkout counter, glancing at you with an expression somewhere between disbelief and confusion. He was sure you had a mission scheduled far from this remote mountain village. There had been reports—he knew the kind. It seemed like you were constantly juggling assignments from all over the country.

“You’re supposed to be somewhere else, right?” Suguru asked as you both placed your items on the counter.

“I know.” you replied, unfazed. “But I won't turn down a job.” Your tone was as steady as always, like this was just another day for you.

Suguru shook his head slightly, half impressed, half exasperated. You were relentless, never one to back down from work. He had heard plenty about how you balanced multiple missions in different regions. But there was something different about seeing it up close.

As the cashier rang up your items, Suguru reached into his pocket to pull out his wallet. But before he could hand over any cash, you placed a hand on his wrist and shook your head.

“Put it away, Geto–kun.” you said with a small, amused smile. “I can’t let a kouhai pay for things.”

Suguru blinked, slightly taken aback but not entirely surprised. You had an air of authority about you, not just in your skills but in how you carried yourself. He sighed, reluctantly slipping his wallet back into his coat.

“You sure?” he asked, though he already knew what your answer would be.

“I’m sure.” you replied smoothly as you handed the cashier the money for both your purchases. “I know you get paid as much as a minister like me, but it's better to keep that money for yourself. I’m not letting a kouhai pay.”

As you left the store, bags in hand, the cool evening air settled around the two of you. The path you were taking happened to lead in the same direction, toward both the shrine you were tasked with protecting and Suguru’s temporary accommodations. You fell into step beside each other, the quiet of the mountain enveloping the conversation.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, you spoke up. “Geto–kun…. Why did you decide to become a sorcerer?”

Suguru glanced at you, puzzled by the sudden question. “Huh?”

You kept your gaze forward, the faint sound of your footsteps mingling with the rustling of the wind. “I’m just curious. Some people ignore the call. They choose to live normal lives. So… what’s your reason?”

Suguru blinked, surprised by the depth of your question. For a moment, he wasn’t sure how to answer. Most people didn’t bother asking why someone became a sorcerer. It was just assumed that if you had the ability, you used it. But you weren’t like most people.

He thought for a moment, his usual confidence dimmed slightly as he reflected on your question. “I guess… I wanted to protect those who can’t protect themselves.” he said eventually, his voice steady but sincere. “It sounds cliché, but that’s the truth. I want to be honorable in that duty.”

You looked at him, studying his expression. “Honorable, huh?”

He nodded, feeling a little more certain now. “Yeah. There’s a lot of bad out there, and I guess I just want to be someone who stands in the way of that.”

A faint smile touched your lips. “That’s a good answer, Geto–kun.”

He chuckled lightly, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah? Well, it’s the only one I’ve got.”

You both continued walking, the temple drawing closer in the distance. Suguru found himself thinking more about your question, wondering if maybe you had asked him because of your own reasons—your own constant, relentless drive to take on mission after mission. But he didn’t press. Not yet.

“Why do you ask?” he ventured, curiosity getting the better of him.

You shrugged. “Just wondered what keeps you going.”

Suguru smiled softly. “Same thing that keeps you going, I guess. We’re both too stubborn to quit.”

You smiled slightly as you listened to Suguru's answer, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. "That’s not a bad reason, Geto–kun." you said, your tone warm but thoughtful.

Suguru shook his head with a faint grin. "Maybe not. But Satoru thinks differently. He says it’s naive.”

That earned a snicker from you, and you glanced at him with an amused glint in your eyes. "Gojo–kun knows too much about jujutsu society. That’s why he’s cynical. It's hard not to be when you're aware of all the ugliness." You paused for a moment, considering your words before speaking again, a little more seriously this time. “But your dreams, Geto–kun….they’re beautiful. You want to protect people. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Suguru blinked, a little surprised by the genuine compliment. He hadn’t expected to hear that from you—someone who was always so grounded, so focused on the realities of the world. For a moment, it felt like his idealism wasn’t something to be ashamed of.

But then your expression shifted, more serious now. "Just don’t bear it too heavily, okay?" you warned softly. “It’ll hurt you if you do.”

Suguru frowned slightly, sensing the weight behind your words. “What do you mean?”

You exhaled, your gaze fixed on the path ahead. “Being a jujutsu sorcerer is proportionality, Geto–kun. There’s a balance in what we do. If you shoulder too much—if you put everyone else ahead of yourself—it’ll tear you apart. I’ve seen it happen.”

Suguru listened carefully, taking in your words. He had always admired your strength and resolve, but there was something about the way you spoke now, as though you had learned these lessons the hard way. "I get what you’re saying, but... if I don’t do it, who will?"

You gave him a smile, as if you knew that line of thinking all too well. “You don’t have to bear it alone. That’s what I’m saying. Keep yourself in check. You’re still young. You have Gojo–kun, don’t you? He’s your person. Talk to him when things get too heavy.”

Suguru felt a warmth creep up his neck as your words settled in. He was caught off guard, an unexpected blush rising to his cheeks. “Uh… I mean, yeah, Satoru is definitely—” His voice trailed off as he searched for the right words, suddenly aware of how closely you were watching him. There was something undeniably comforting in your gaze, and it made his heart race.

You smiled at him, a soft and encouraging expression that felt like a warm blanket on a chilly day. “I had someone like that too, you know? So I speak from experience.”

Suguru’s eyes widened in surprise, his curiosity piqued. “You did?”

“Of course! Everyone needs a Gojo–kun in their life,” you said, your tone teasing but affectionate. “Someone to share the burden with, even if they annoy you half the time.”

Suguru couldn’t help but chuckle at that, a lightness filling the air between you. “That sounds like him.”

“Right?” you replied, laughter dancing in your voice. “But really, it’s more than just sharing the burdens. It’s about the support. They’re there to lift you up when you feel like you’re sinking.” You paused, looking away for a moment as if reflecting on your own experiences. “And to keep you from doing something really stupid.”

He tilted his head, a playful smirk forming. “Like what? Getting into trouble?”

You met his gaze, your smile transforming into something a bit more mischievous. “Oh, you know. Like trying to fight a curse way out of your league without backup.” You winked at him, and Suguru’s heart skipped a beat. The easy banter felt effortless, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift.

“I would never do something like that.” he protested, crossing his arms in mock indignation. “I’m far too responsible.”

“Responsible, huh?” You raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “I’ve seen the way you and him bicker. If that isn’t a recipe for trouble, I don’t know what is. Yaga must suffer having to deal with the two of you often, doesn’t he?”

Suguru laughed, shaking his head. “Alright, fair point. But you still have to admit that Satoru can be a handful.”

“True enough, I suppose.” you conceded with a playful grin. “But that’s what makes him so much fun. And it’s nice knowing that someone’s got your back, even if they’re a little ridiculous sometimes.”

Suguru’s heart warmed at your words, a feeling of camaraderie blossoming between you. “You’re right. I guess it’s nice knowing I can lean on him, even if he doesn’t always act like it.”

“Exactly!” you said, your enthusiasm infectious. “And you can lean on me too, you know. Just because I’m older doesn’t mean I have all the answers.”

Suguru smiled, a genuine warmth spreading through him. “Thanks. That means a lot.” He paused, hesitating for a moment before speaking again. “So, who was your ‘person’?”

You looked away, your expression turning thoughtful as you seemed to reflect on a memory that danced just out of reach. The shift was subtle, but he noticed how the light in your eyes dimmed slightly, as if the joy of the moment had been overshadowed by something unspoken.

“Let’s just say… life doesn’t always work out the way you expect.” you replied softly, the weight of your past hanging in the air. “And it didn’t work with that person.”

Suguru’s heart ached for you, sensing that there was more to your story than you let on. But before he could press for details, you turned back to him, the sparkle in your eyes returning as if you were determined to lighten the mood. “But enough about me! Let’s focus on your beautiful dreams of saving the world. I mean, someone has to keep Gojo–kun in check, right?”

His laughter filled the space between you, dispelling the heaviness that had crept in for just a moment. “Yeah, that sounds like a full-time job!”

“Then I suggest you get plenty of rest, then.” you said, your tone teasing but genuine. “You’ll need all the energy you can get if you plan to take on both Gojo–kun and the curses. Don’t get injured too much too. Ieiri–chan deserves better than to suffer so much of you.”

Suguru nodded, feeling buoyed by the conversation. He didn’t quite know how to express it, but he felt a deeper connection with you—something that transcended the usual mentor-mentee relationship. You understood him in a way that was comforting and invigorating all at once.

As you both continued walking, the setting sun painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, he couldn’t help but feel grateful. “Thanks for talking, really. It helps to know I’m not alone in all of this, Gen–senpai.”

You smiled back at him, a soft, genuine expression that made his heart skip again. “Anytime, Geto–kun. Remember, you’ve got more support than you think. Call me when you need me.”

“Y–yes, Gen–senpai.”

You gave him a small nod, though your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Then I’ll be off. You worked hard today, Geto–kun. You should get some sleep.”

With that, you turned and began walking away, your footsteps steady yet purposeful. Geto Suguru hesitated for a moment, but he knew you had other matters to take care of. For the first time in a while, he thinks he doesn’t want you to go.

HE DOESN’T KNOW IF THIS WAS BOUND TO HAPPEN. But this is what happened as time went on. Geto Suguru walked along the winding path, the fading light of dusk casting long shadows behind him.

As he pondered the warmth of your recent conversation, a thought flickered in the back of his mind, growing more insistent with each passing moment. Could his heart grow bigger?

He had always felt love for Satoru and every day, it seemed to grow fonder, wanting, fiery; it was a bond forged through shared struggles, laughter, and an unspoken understanding that went deeper than words.

But now, as he reflected on all the times you had been there for him—guiding him through his studies, sharing your insights on cursed techniques, and even demonstrating how to wield cursed objects—he realized that his feelings for you had blossomed into something unexpected.

Every time Suguru sought your advice, you responded without a moment’s hesitation. Whether it was late at night, after exhausting missions, or in the quiet spaces between battles, you always made time for him.

You never wavered, never hesitated to share your knowledge, your insight. It was more than just advice; you offered your kindness, your quiet strength, in a way that left him feeling both deeply grateful and, at times, overwhelmed by the depth of your care.

He had never been good at asking for help. Even back then, pride had been one of his most stubborn traits. Yet with you, it felt different. He didn’t need to ask twice. You were always there—an unwavering presence amidst the chaos of their lives as sorcerers. You were someone who believed in him, even on the days when he struggled to believe in himself.

"How do you do it?" Suguru asked one evening after a particularly grueling mission. His voice was softer than usual, his usual sharp edge dulled by exhaustion and something heavier, more introspective. The two of you were sitting on the steps of Jujutsu High, the weight of the day’s battle settling in your bones, the moon casting a faint glow over the courtyard.

"Do what?" you asked, turning to face him, a gentle smile tugging at your lips. Your eyes sparkled with that same warmth he had come to rely on, the one that could lighten the weight of the world in a single glance.

"Stay... so steady." he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck, almost embarrassed by the vulnerability in his question. "No matter what happens, no matter how heavy it all gets… you never falter. How do you keep going?"

You looked at him for a long moment, as if considering your answer, before your smile deepened. "Because it’s not just about me, Geto–kun. It’s about the people I care about. People like you, Gojo—kun…..my friends. That’s what keeps me steady. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard."

Suguru’s throat tightened, and he looked away, his gaze drifting toward the darkened horizon. He wasn’t used to hearing those kinds of words—not directed at him. Not with such sincerity. "You make it sound so easy, senpai." he said, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips. "But sometimes it’s hard to keep going when everything feels like it’s falling apart."

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you reached out and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, the warmth of your touch grounding him in the moment. "It’s not easy. But you don’t have to carry it all by yourself, Geto–kun. You don’t have to face it alone."

He glanced at you then, his dark eyes meeting yours, searching for something in your gaze. You had always been there, always offering him that unwavering support, that steady presence he had come to admire so much.

It wasn’t just your strength as a sorcerer that left him in awe, though you were undeniably powerful. It was your heart. The way you cared, the way you saw through his defenses and believed in him—even when he didn’t deserve it.

"You’re always saying stuff like that." he said, his voice quieter now, more introspective. "Like it’s no big deal, like it’s just… who you are."

You tilted your head slightly, your smile softening. "Because it is who I am, Geto–kun. And who I’ll always be."

For a long time, neither of you spoke. Suguru felt the weight of those words, the sincerity in them wrapping around him like a balm to his weary soul. He admired you, more than he could ever put into words.

It wasn’t just your strength or your skills as a sorcerer that left him in awe; it was this—your unshakable kindness, your ability to see through the darkness and offer him light, no matter how heavy things became.

Suguru let those words settle over him, the warmth of your presence easing the ache in his chest, even if only for a little while. And in that moment, he realized that no matter how heavy the burdens became, no matter how far he fell—he’d always have this. He’d always have you, a constant light in his life, even when everything else seemed to crumble.

But he couldn’t help wondering, deep down, if he’d ever be able to hold onto it. Or if the darkness inside him would eventually swallow it whole.

He exhaled slowly, leaning back on his elbows, gazing up at the sky. "You know….." he said after a while, "it’s not just Satoru I stay for. You’re… you’re part of the reason too, Gen–senpai."

Your smile wavered, just for a moment, your gaze softening as you studied him. "I’m glad to hear that." you said quietly. "I’m really glad, Geto–kun.”

“Suguru.”

“Hm?”

“Senpai, you can call me Suguru too.” He whispers as he looks at you. “You call Satoru and Shoko by their names now. You don’t have to call me so…so formally.”

“Oh.” You say and then you smile. “Have I made you feel distant? I’m sorry, Suguru–kun.”

“N–no….it’s okay, senpai.”

“I’ll make it up to you, Suguru–kun.” You say, pulling at his hand and grinned. “Come on, I’ll get us both some chocolate milk in the vending machine.”

“Senpai—”

You giggled. “Come, Suguru–kun!”

Amid this warm affection, uncertainty gnawed at him. Would you ever return such feelings? Did you even see him in that light? And then there was Satoru—his best friend, his other half. How could he possibly explain these newfound feelings? Would Satoru understand, or would he see it as a betrayal?

Suguru sighed, his heart heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions. Burying these feelings felt like the only option. It was better to keep them hidden, to preserve the relationships he cherished rather than risk losing them all.

After all, love was complicated enough in their world, full of curses and dangers; why complicate it further with feelings that might never see the light of day?

He glanced up at the sky, the first stars twinkling into view. As much as he wanted to be honest with you, the fear of rejection held him back. It was safer to keep his heart guarded, to let the affection remain a quiet ember in the depths of his soul rather than a blazing fire that might scorch everything he held dear.

As he walked, he couldn’t help but think of you, the way your laughter lit up the dullest of days, the kindness in your voice that made everything seem possible. You were someone worth cherishing, someone who had woven your way into the fabric of his life without him even realizing it.

Suguru led you into his room, a cozy space filled with posters of various bands and an impressive collection of CDs lining the shelves. He smiled sheepishly, his fingers brushing against the cases as he gestured for you to take a closer look.

But for now, he would remain silent, allowing his heart to hold onto those feelings, tucking them away in a corner where they wouldn’t threaten to disrupt the fragile balance of his relationships.

It was a bittersweet decision, one that left him feeling both relieved and sorrowful as he continued down the path, the shadows of the mountains rising around him like an embrace—dark, protective, and filled with the weight of unspoken love.

“Uh, so this is my collection. You told me that you like this sort of music.” he said, a hint of pride lacing his words, though his cheeks flushed slightly as he glanced at you. “I’ve been collecting for a while now.”

You stepped closer, examining the colorful album covers and their eclectic mix of genres. “Wow, Suguru! This is impressive! I didn’t know you were such a music aficionado.” you remarked, genuinely intrigued.

His bashfulness intensified at the compliment, and he scratched the back of his neck, a shy grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, well, it’s just something I really enjoy. It helps me focus when I’m training, you know?”

You nodded, picking up a CD with a vibrant cover. “I can see why! Your taste is really good! I mean, look at this—Queen, Bowie? They’re amazing! How did you even discover them?”

Suguru’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink, and he shrugged, trying to downplay your praise. “Oh, I just… stumbled upon them a while back. They have a unique sound that I like.”

You laughed softly, putting the CD back on the shelf and meeting his gaze. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. Seriously, these choices are fantastic. You’ve got a great ear for music!”

His bashful smile widened, and he felt a warm flutter in his chest. “Thanks. I just like to find music that speaks to me.” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think anyone would really notice.”

“Of course, I notice! Music has a way of bringing people together, and I think it’s awesome that you have such a passion for it.” you encouraged, leaning against the shelf and crossing your arms, your smile encouraging. “You should share it more often!”

Suguru fidgeted slightly, glancing down at the CDs as if they held the answers to his swirling emotions. “Maybe... I just never thought it was a big deal, senpai.” he mumbled, his gaze drifting back to you, a flicker of hope sparking in his chest.

“Well, I think it is.” you said firmly, your eyes sparkling with sincerity. “I’d love to hear your favorites sometime. Maybe we could listen together? Bring Satoru–kun and Shoko–chan. I’m sure Yu–kun and Kento–kun. I’m sure we’ll have fun together, don’t you think?”

His heart raced at the idea, and he nodded slowly, a smile breaking through his bashfulness. “Yeah, that sounds great. I’d like that, senpai.” he replied, his voice steadying as he felt a new sense of confidence in your presence. “On your next day off, I suppose.”

You grinned, feeling a warmth spread between you. “It’s a deal, then! Just warn me if you’re about to play something super embarrassing.”

Suguru chuckled, the tension easing. “I’ll do my best, but no promises. I have a few guilty pleasures.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Suguru-kun.” you teased, your laughter filling the room and making Suguru feel a little more at ease, his heart buoyed by the connection growing between you.

HE THINKS HE FEELS WHOLE WHEN HE’S WITH SATORU. But even as Suguru grappled with his thoughts, a flicker of hope ignited within him. He often found himself wondering if he would feel even more complete when he, you, and Satoru were together. The notion that the three of you could create something beautiful filled him with a warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time.

It was in the quiet moments he treasured the most—the laughter shared over late-night snacks, the easy camaraderie that unfolded when you all trained together, pushing one another to be better.

The way your eyes sparkled with mischief when you planned pranks on Satoru or the way Satoru’s laughter rang out like music, brightening the air around you both. Suguru couldn’t shake the feeling that these moments, filled with laughter and love, would fill the empty spaces inside him, the ones he hadn’t known were there until you came into his life.

He had seen the dynamic unfold before him. You and Satoru, with your effortless chemistry, often made him feel like an outsider looking in, yet there was a part of him that ached for that connection. The thought of you all laughing together, of sharing joy and camaraderie, tugged at his heartstrings. It was a simple dream, but one that seemed almost unattainable.

In his more vulnerable moments, he’d fantasized about the three of you taking on missions together. “Can you imagine?” he’d whispered to you one evening, the stars glittering overhead. “Just the three of us, fighting side by side. I think we could take on anything.”

You had chuckled softly, your eyes shining with warmth. “We’d be unstoppable!” you replied, your tone light yet filled with genuine belief. “We’d have fun too, and maybe even find a way to make it all bearable.”

Suguru nodded, savoring the idea. But there was still an ache in his heart, a worry that he might ruin it somehow, that he might overshadow the happiness you shared with Satoru.

The darkness that he often felt creeping at the edges of his mind made him question if he could truly be a part of that happiness. Would he be an anchor weighing you down, or could he learn to fly alongside you both?

As he watched you and Satoru interact, he often found himself captivated by the way you lit up around each other. The way you made each other laugh, the shared glances filled with unspoken understanding. 

He could see the joy radiating from you both, and it stirred something deep within him—a longing for connection, for belonging. Suguru had never considered himself a jealous person, but witnessing the bond between you and Satoru often left him with a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

But there was also a growing realization: he didn’t have to fit into the mold of either of you. He could bring his own light to the trio, his own flavor to the friendship. Each of you had your strengths and weaknesses, and together, you could create something beautiful—a tapestry woven from laughter, shared struggles, and undeniable bonds.

He let himself imagine those scenarios, the three of you exploring the city at night, catching dinner at your favorite spot, or the three of you sprawled out on the floor, playing video games until dawn. Geto Suguru envisioned the sound of your laughter ringing through the air, the feeling of camaraderie that would surround you like a warm embrace.

In those fleeting moments of hope, he realized that he could be happy. You had already shown him that he could find joy again, even amidst the shadows. If he could just allow himself to take the leap, to embrace the uncertainty, maybe he would find himself even fuller—more vibrant—when you, Satoru, and he were together.

Suguru knew it wouldn’t be easy. He had demons to battle, insecurities that needed confronting, but with you and Satoru by his side, perhaps he could learn to navigate those turbulent waters. And as he caught your gaze across the room one day, that hopeful warmth bloomed in his chest, pushing away the lingering doubts that had clouded his mind.

Maybe he thought. We really could have fun together. Maybe we could create something that would light up the darkest corners of our hearts. 

And for the first time in a long time, the possibility of a brighter future seemed within reach, one filled with laughter, love, and unbreakable bonds.

Satoru and Suguru sat down in his bed for a long while after a night spent tangled in each other's arms. The moonlight filtered softly through the windows, casting a silver glow over their quiet breaths. Their bodies still thrummed with the lingering heat, but in the calm that followed, there was space for something deeper. 

Satoru, leaning back with a gentle sigh, broke the silence. "I think... I’ve fallen in love with them." he confessed, his voice soft, almost vulnerable. He looked at Suguru. “Gen–senpai.”

Suguru turned his head slightly, his dark purple eyes finding Satoru’s, a hint of surprise flickering across his features. He didn’t speak right away, but then, slowly, a quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest. He smiled against his shoulder. “Yeah… I have too.”

The corner of Satoru’s lips quivered into a warm smile, eyes soft as he looked at Suguru. “It doesn’t make me love you any less, you know.” he said, sincerity coloring every word.

Suguru’s laughter bubbled up again, deeper this time, as he shook his head. “I know that.” he replied, eyes twinkling. “It just means we’ve both grown a bigger heart, doesn’t it?”

Satoru nodded, reaching out to brush a lock of hair away from Suguru’s face. “I want to make them happy. I want to protect them from the world, the way I do you. I want us to be happy together.”

Suguru leaned into Satoru’s touch, his own smile softening. “I want the same thing.” His voice held the weight of a promise, one made in the stillness of the night, where only truth lingered between them.

AND YET, NOTHING EVER GOES TO HUMAN WISHES. The world had shattered when Amanai Riko died, a blow so devastating it left an unfillable void. The trauma of loss, grief, and anguish twisted within Geto Suguru like a storm he could no longer control. 

He had always been strong, holding the weight of so many expectations, but that moment—the senseless death of someone they were meant to protect—was the catalyst that began his unraveling.

You had been furious. Suguru had seen it, felt it in the way your energy crackled with righteous anger on their behalf. You had stormed into arguments with Yaga and Gakuganji, your voice sharp with frustration. 

You called them out, unrelenting, accusing them of failing Suguru and Satoru, of putting too much on their shoulders. You offered to take on their missions, as if sacrificing yourself would shield them from the horrors of this world. Suguru had appreciated your fierce loyalty, but he also saw through the mask you wore.

He saw the weariness in your eyes, the deep, bone-deep fatigue that mirrored his own. You were just as tired, just as broken by this life as he was, and yet you clung to hope—for them, if not for yourself. But hope wasn't enough to keep the darkness at bay.

Over time, the distance between them grew like a slow tear in fabric—once so tightly knit, now fraying at the edges. Suguru and Satoru, the strongest, the unbreakable pair, were drifting apart. The burdens neither of them could fully share weighed heavier with each passing day. 

Satoru, with all his strength, was consumed by his own responsibilities, the guilt over Riko’s death haunting him like a shadow. He was there, but only in the physical sense, his heart and mind distant, somewhere beyond reach.

And you—you were caught in the middle, silently holding together Suguru’s burdens on top of your own. You were trying to hold everything together, the glue between the cracks that had begun to form. You had always been the one to fight for them, to step into the line of fire if it meant protecting them from pain. But this pain was different. It was insidious, creeping into every corner of your life, until it weighed so heavy you could hardly breathe.

"Are you okay?" Suguru had asked you one evening, his voice soft but lined with concern. His eyes searched yours, as if trying to find the answer you wouldn’t say.

You had smiled, that same practiced, hollow smile that had become second nature. "I’m fine, Suguru–kun." you replied, your voice steady but empty.

Suguru frowned, his brow furrowing as he leaned forward, his hand reaching for yours. "You don’t have to be fine all the time. Not with me."

"I am fine." you repeated, pulling your hand away gently, your heart heavy with the lie. You wanted to believe it, for his sake and your own. But you weren’t fine. Not at all.

You were just as broken as he was. Maybe more.

Then Haibara died.

It wasn’t just another loss—it was the breaking point. Haibara was one of the brightest lights in their dark world, a beacon of hope, of goodness. His death wasn’t just tragic—it was devastating, senseless, another reminder of how cruel and indifferent the world was.

That night, Suguru came to you, his face pale, eyes hollow with grief. He didn’t say anything for a long time. He just stood in your doorway, the weight of everything that had happened hanging in the air like a fog. You could feel the walls closing in around both of you, the suffocating pressure of everything you had tried so hard to ignore.

"I can’t do this anymore, Gen–senpai." Suguru finally said, his voice raw, barely above a whisper. He stepped into the room, his movements slow, deliberate, like he was carrying the world on his shoulders. "I can’t watch this happen over and over again."

You swallowed the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. "Suguru…"

"No, no." he cut you off, shaking his head as he sat down beside you. "I’m done pretending. I’m done lying to myself that we’re doing something good here. That this means anything."

You looked at him, your heart aching at the defeat in his voice. "It does mean something," you said, though even as the words left your mouth, they felt empty. How many times had you told yourself that same thing, hoping it would be enough to keep you going?

Suguru’s gaze met yours, and in his eyes, you saw it—the breaking. The man you once knew, the one who had carried the weight of others without hesitation, was falling apart. He let out a bitter laugh, one that sent a shiver down your spine. 

"Does it? Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it anymore. I’ve watched too many people die. Too many good people. And for what? So the next mission can take the next person? So we can lose more friends, more lives, and call it ‘necessary’?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. Because deep down, you agreed. Haibara’s death had been a tipping point for you, too. You were so tired—so tired. Of fighting, of losing, of trying to keep it all together. And Satoru… He had been slipping further and further away, lost in his own world of guilt and self-reproach, leaving you to carry the pieces of what was left.

"I wanted to save people." Suguru continued, his voice cracking as his hands balled into fists. "But I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t save Haibara. I can’t save anyone. Not anymore."

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with something dark, something final. "It’s broken, and I don’t know how to fix it anymore."

You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. "You don’t have to fix it, Suguru–kun. We’ll get through this. We always do."

He gave you a sad smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. "I don’t think I can do that anymore."

And then, in the stillness of the night, something in Suguru snapped. You could see it—the cold, detached resolve settling over him like a heavy cloak. The next thing you knew, he had left, and when he came back, it was with blood on his hands.

He had murdered that village. And the man you knew, the man who had once fought so hard to protect, was gone.

The weight of the sorrow, the anger, the pain. All of it became too much to bear. He saw the world for what it was: a place full of suffering that would never stop unless someone made it stop. 

And so, in the dead of night, he walked into that village, his heart cold, his mind set on a singular purpose. He slaughtered them all—men, women, children as if purging the world of that one village might somehow ease the weight in his chest.

It didn’t.

But it was the moment Geto Suguru stopped trying to be the person he once was. And it was the night he fully embraced the path that would lead him to become something else—someone who no longer fought for the world, but against it.

The first person he came to see after it all happened was you.

Suguru stood in your doorway, still dressed in his bloodstained uniform, his face unreadable beneath the coldness that had settled in his eyes. The moonlight cast pale shadows across his face, but you weren’t stunned by his presence. 

You had already known—felt it the moment it happened. What he had done. It was like that night with Kaiko all over again, when she had shown up before you, her hands dripping with blood, her eyes empty of remorse.

You stared at him, your expression calm, though your heart weighed heavy in your chest. "Why are you here, Suguru?" you asked, your voice soft, almost tired. You had been waiting for this.

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes flickered across your face, searching for something—understanding, maybe. Forgiveness, perhaps. He stepped into your space, his presence filling the room, but the warmth that once came with him was gone.

"I’m building something new." he said quietly. "A world where we don’t have to suffer anymore. Where we’re free from this endless cycle of death and pain." His voice was steady, but there was something hollow in it, something broken that couldn’t be fixed. "I came to ask if you’d come with me."

You blinked, his words hanging in the air between you like a heavy fog. "Why me?" you asked, your eyes meeting him, searching for something in the depths of his darkness. "Why not ask Satoru?"

Suguru flinched, just barely, but enough for you to notice. His jaw clenched, and he didn’t answer. He looked away, as if the mention of Satoru’s name was too much, too painful. It said everything you needed to know without him having to say a word.

You sighed softly, sadness curling in your chest like a quiet ache. You smiled at him then, a soft, bittersweet smile, filled with the weight of everything left unsaid. You deeply adored him, cared for him, just as you do with Satoru, but this wasn’t the path you could walk. Not this.

"I’m sorry, Suguru." you whispered, your voice trembling at the edges.

His eyes met yours again, and for a moment—just a fleeting second—you saw the man you once knew. The man who cared, who wanted to save people, who carried the world with you. But it was gone just as quickly as it came, swallowed by the void he had fallen into.

He nodded, his expression hardening once more. He didn’t say anything as he turned to leave, but the silence between you was louder than words. You watched him go, knowing that the Suguru you once knew had already walked away long before he came to you tonight.

And all you could do was whisper to the emptiness left in his wake, "I’m sorry."

epilogue

YOU NEVER EXPECTED IT. It was 2014, the first time you had seen him in years. You were in Hida, nestled in the tranquility of the forest, resting after Satoshi’s birth. The crisp mountain air surrounded you, the soft rustle of leaves above matching the rhythm of your quiet hum as you cradled your son in your arms.

Leaning against the broad trunk of a tree, you let the peacefulness of the moment wrap around you, the soft melody filling the air as Satoshi dozed in your embrace.

You sensed him before you saw him—Suguru. His presence had always been familiar, a deep current of energy that used to pull you in, but now it was different, muted somehow. When you finally looked up, there he was, standing just a few feet away, watching you with the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Is that the same song you used to hum to me when you brushed my hair?” he asked, his voice low, carrying the weight of memories with it.

Your fingers stilled for a moment in Satoshi’s soft hair, and you turned your gaze back to your son, trying to keep the ache in your chest at bay. "What are you doing here, Suguru?" you asked quietly, your eyes focused on the peaceful rise and fall of Satoshi’s breathing, trying to steady your own.

He stepped closer, moving with that same graceful ease you remembered. "I wanted to visit you," he said, the smile widening just a fraction. It wasn’t the smile you remembered—the warmth had long since faded from it, replaced with something distant, something unreadable.

You didn’t look up as he sat down beside you, close but not touching, the space between you now more than just physical distance. You hummed softly in response, acknowledging his presence but keeping your focus on Satoshi. "You’ve gotten better at hiding your cursed scent." you remarked, your tone light, though the words carried a quiet truth.

Suguru hummed back, leaning against the tree beside you, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Thank you for the compliment."

For a moment, there was silence between you, the only sounds were the soft rustling of leaves and the faint cooing of Satoshi. The years that had passed felt like lifetimes, like different worlds had formed between you. And yet, in that quiet moment, it felt almost like before. Almost.

But not quite.

"Things change." Suguru said after a while, his voice soft, almost contemplative. You didn’t respond, just continued humming the tune you once sang to him all those years ago, when the world was different, when you were different. He listened quietly, the weight of his presence beside you both a comfort and a reminder of the distance that could never fully be bridged.

You didn’t need to ask why he was really there. You already knew. He wasn’t just visiting. He was mourning you, mourning Satoru. Mourning this life. Right in front of you.

You glanced at him, the man you hadn’t seen in so long, the ghost of someone you once knew. “How have you been, Suguru?” you asked softly, not sure if you wanted to hear the answer, or if it even mattered after all this time.

He smiled, a shadow of the one you remembered from years ago. “I’ve been well,” he said, though the weight in his voice suggested otherwise. He was never one to reveal his heart so easily, especially now, when the chasm between you both felt endless.

You nodded, accepting the answer for what it was. Then, after a moment, you asked, “Do you know Satoru’s coming to visit me?”

Suguru didn’t hesitate, his smile turning a touch wry. “I know, I know.” he said, his tone laced with familiarity. “I can smell Satoru from miles away.”

You hummed in response, a quiet acknowledgment of the strange and complicated bond they still shared. The tension between them had always been palpable, the kind that came from loving someone too deeply, from sharing too much history and heartache.

At that moment, Satoshi stirred in your arms, his tiny fists unclenching as his eyes slowly fluttered open. He blinked up at Suguru, his deep blue eyes—the same piercing shade as Satoru’s—curious and bright.

Suguru looked at him for a long moment, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. “He reminds me of Satoru.” he murmured, his voice softened, the edge gone. There was a warmth in his gaze that was almost foreign to you now.

You smiled softly, nodding. “He should. I married Satoru, and Satoshi is our son.”

For a brief moment, Suguru’s eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite name—an echo of something long gone, something distant and unreachable. You wondered if it was regret. Regret for the life he could have had, for the choices he made that led him away from this quiet happiness.

You couldn’t help but think of what could have been—how different things would be if he had stayed. If you had been together, building a life, raising Satoshi together. It would have been a beautiful life, you thought, with him in it.

Suguru reached out, his fingers gentle as they traced the soft curve of Satoshi’s cheek. His touch was delicate, almost reverent. He whispered a blessing under his breath, a prayer for a long, happy life, his voice barely audible but filled with a tenderness that tugged at your heart.

You watched him, your chest tightening with the weight of everything left unsaid. “Suguru…” you whispered, your voice trembling, almost heartbroken. The reality of the moment pressed in on you, the finality of it.

He looked at you then, his eyes soft but distant, as if he had already begun to slip away. “I have to go now.” he said quietly, standing up, his movements slow, deliberate. “Satoru grows near.”

You couldn’t stop him, though a part of you wanted to reach out, to pull him back into your life, to ask him to stay, to find some way to heal what had been broken. But you knew it was too late for that.

But that life was not yours to live. Not anymore.

As Suguru stood up to leave, the words spilled from your lips before you could stop them. "If Kaiko was the light of my life, and Satoru the love of my life…." you said, your voice barely a whisper, trembling with emotion. "Then you, Suguru… you are the loss of my life."

For a moment, he paused, his back still turned to you. The silence stretched between you, heavy with the weight of everything that had been broken, of everything that could never be repaired. Slowly, Suguru turned to face you, and when he did, there was that smile again—so soft, so sad, it made your heart ache.

"I know." he whispered, his voice gentle but lined with sorrow. His dark eyes met yours, filled with the kind of understanding that only comes with time, with regret. "You and Satoru were mine."

The truth of it hung between you, raw and painful. Your heart clenched, and the tears you had been holding back finally broke free. You bit your lip, trying to stifle the sobs, but the grief you had carried for so long, the grief of losing him, of losing what you all could have been, spilled out like a wound reopening.

Satoshi stirred in your arms, his little face scrunching in concern. Noticing your tears, he reached up with his tiny baby hands, clumsily trying to wipe them away. His touch was soft, innocent, and it only made your heart ache more. You held him close, your tears falling onto his soft hair, as you tried to compose yourself.

Suguru watched for a moment, his expression unreadable, as if he were memorizing this final image of you and Satoshi, this life he had chosen to walk away from. And then, without another word, he turned and left.

You watched him go, your vision blurred by tears, your heart breaking with each step he took away from you. This was the end—the last goodbye. The loss you had always feared would come, finally settling into your bones, leaving behind a hollow, aching space that would never be filled.

Satoshi cooed softly, still reaching for your face, his small hands warm against your skin. You held him close, feeling the bittersweet weight of your love for him, for Satoru, for Suguru—all of it tangled together in a web of memories and emotions that would never fully fade.

Suguru was gone, and with him, the last piece of a life you once dreamed of.

Gojo Satoru arrived not long after, his familiar presence filling the quiet space of the forest as he approached. You looked up from where you sat, still holding Satoshi close. The moment his eyes met yours, you saw the flicker of concern cross his face. He noticed, of course. He always did.

"Hey." he said softly, crouching down beside you, his voice gentle as the breeze. His gaze lingered on your face, taking in the remnants of the tears you had wiped away.

You smiled at him, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, but one you hoped would be enough. “I cried because Satoshi’s just so adorable, Satoru.” you said, your voice light, almost playful, as you nuzzled your son’s soft hair. “Our son’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

Satoru looked at you, and even though you knew he didn’t believe you, he didn’t press. His blue eyes searched yours for a moment longer before his lips quivered into a knowing, sad smile. “Is that so?” he murmured, tilting his head as if playing along. 

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his warmth grounding you in a way only he could. Then, with the same tenderness, he kissed Satoshi’s little head, making your son giggle softly in your arms.

But you knew he could sense it—Suguru’s lingering presence in the air, in the space you all once shared. Satoru’s bond with Suguru was something words could never fully capture, and even if they hadn’t spoken in years, he could feel that he had been here. You could see it in the way his shoulders tensed ever so slightly, the way his smile faltered for a split second before he steadied himself.

And you knew, in that quiet, unspoken way between the two of you, that Satoru was mourning too. Not just for Suguru’s absence in his life, but for the life that could have been—what you all could have had if things had been different.

But like always, Satoru didn’t say anything about it. He just stayed there, next to you, his presence a comfort as Satoshi began to babble happily, oblivious to the undercurrent of sadness hanging in the air. You leaned into Satoru, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, as the quiet settled between you.

Together, you mourned for Suguru in the silence. You didn’t need to say it. He didn’t need to ask. You both understood the ache that would always remain for the one who had been lost to you both.

[yoonkinii]

Argument with Sukuna

Warning(s): cursing, heated arguments, name calling, insults, mentions of being depressed, self doubt. (If I am missing any, let me know ASAP) Requested by this request Requests open! (only for this AU) Masterlist (check for more AU content) Note(s): I am so sorry it took me literally forever to upload this. I got slammed with midterms and my new job so it took me a while to get around to editing this part.

Doubt- a creeping, insidious emotion that sinks its claws into your chest, digging deeper with each passing moment. It’s the very thing that has wrapped itself around you now, slowly consuming you from the inside out as you spiral deeper into the sluggish pit of overthinking. It gnaws at your thoughts, festering in your mind, even as you stand before the familiar doorway, dressed in a white dress, the soft fabric contrasting with the roughness of the leather jacket draped over your shoulders- his leather jacket.

Your fingers tighten around your phone, the screen’s bright glow illuminating your face as you bite your bottom lip, the sensation a poor distraction from the unease bubbling within you. Your eyes scan the messages again and again, searching for clarity in the words that now feel heavy with doubt. 

Nothing. Hours had passed since his lunch break, and still, there was no reply. Each time you texted, a small hope flickered, only to be extinguished by the silence that followed. With each unanswered message, the doubt that had been simmering beneath the surface grew stronger, tightening its grip on you. You knew the risk of being annoying, yet the gnawing feeling inside pushed you to  reach out again, and again- only to be met with more nothingness. 

With a sigh, you slipped your phone into your purse and rapped your knuckles against the door. Silence greeted you. Just as you raised your hand to knock again, the door cracked open, revealing a pair of familiar brown eyes. 

“Y/n! I didn’t know you were coming over,” he says cheerfully, his voice carrying the usual warmth. 

A sharp pain of anxiety hit you at his innocent comment, the unease twisting in your gut. “You didn’t?” you muttered, brow furrowing as Yuji leads you into the kitchen. 

A pang of anxiety shot through you at his innocent comment. Your brows narrow as Yuji leads you into the kitchen. “You didn’t?”

He shakes his head casually, already reaching into the fridge and pulling out a gallon of milk. Without hesitation, he uncapped it and took a long drink, oblivious to your growing concern. 

“Where’s Sukuna?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, though your mind was racing with a hundred different possibilities. The hope that Sukuna was just busy, still getting ready, lingered desperately. 

Yuji wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, waving off the question as he set the milk down. “He’s in his room, asleep. Came home all moody- said something about needing a nap and just shut himself in there. Hasn’t come out since,” he replied, nonchalant as he ranted about his uncle, completely unaware of the storm brewing in your chest. 

Your heart sank, a heavy weight settling in your chest as you swallowed hard. Offering Yuji a quiet thank you, you turned and followed the familiar path to Sukuna’s bedroom. Your mind was a whirlwind of disbelief and frustration, unable to comprehend that he’d actually do this- again. With each step, dread gnawed at you, but it was anger that simmered beneath the surface, flaring as you reached his door. 

You didn’t bother to be gentle. Swinging the door open, you flicked on the lights, flooding the room in a harsh, luminescent glow. Sukuna’s reaction was immediate.

“Fuckin’ hell, Yuji. I’m trying to sleep,” he groaned, his arm instinctively covering his eyes to block the sudden brightness. 

“Oh, I am so sorry to disturb your royal slumber, Lord Sukuna,” you snapped, sarcasm dripping from your words as your annoyance echoed in the room. 

Sukuna shifted, squinting past the light to get a look at you. The sight of you standing there, arms crossed and clearly fuming, made him sight deeply, frustration creeping into his voice. “Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand over his face.

“Are you kidding me, Sukuna?” you start, your voice rising with every word as you plant your hands firmly on your hips. “This is the third time you’ve blown me off. What is your deal?” You raised three fingers to punctuate your frustration, your tone sharp with irritation. 

He rolls his eyes, scoffing as he sits up. “It’s not a big deal, doll. We can hang out another time.”

“Not a big deal?” you repeat, your voice going up an octave as you stared at him in disbelief. “Not a big deal? Are you fucking serious? You’ve said that exact same thing the last three  times you’ve bailed.” You glare at him, anger radiating off of you. 

Sukuna met your glare with a harsher one, his expression hardening as if your anger was completely unjustified, as though you had no right to be upset.

“Oh my God, you are so damn needy,” he spat, his voice laced with venom. “Sorry that I can’t drop everything for you. I have a job that’s more important than going on dates all the time. Damn, you’re such a nuisance.” His words were sharp, slicing through the air with a brutal finality as he stared you down from where he lay. 

The world stops for you. His words replaying in your mind over and over again. It’s not just his words anymore. The dam inside your mind finally breaks, your mind filling with the comments you’ve ignored so far. 

For a moment, the world seems to stop. His words echo in your mind, replaying like a broken record, growing louder and more painful with each repetition. But it wasn’t just his words now. It was every cruel comment, every sneer, and every judgment you had ignored until now. 

“Look at her. She’s just after his money.”

“What is she wearing? Doesn’t she know the attire is supposed to be business classy, not-hang-your-tits out.”

“It’s cute how she thinks Ryomen actually cares about her.”

“What a whore, can’t she survive for two seconds without clinging to him?”

The dam inside your mind broke. Every ounce of doubt, sadness, and frustration you’d suppressed surged forth all at once, overwhelming you. Tears of anger and hurt welled up, spilling from your eyes as your fists clench at your sides. 

“Fuck you, Ryomen.”

His last name, spoken with such finality, snapped his attention back to you. His eyes widened briefly at the sight of your tears, but his frown only deepened. 

“Seriously, you’re crying?” he scoffs, the corner of his mouth curling in disbelief, as though your emotions were an inconvenience to him. He sits up in the bed, the blanket falling to his wasit, exposing his tattooed chest. With his arms crossed, he tilted his head at you, the condescension in his gaze unmistakable.

“God…you’re insufferable sometimes. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Oh? Well, I’m sorry for wanting to spend time with my own damn  boyfriend,” you snap, your voice trembling with emotion. A white-hot anger flared inside you, making your chest burn as you pointed a trembling finger at him. “You are such a dick, Sukuna! I understand you’re busy, but you’re not even trying to see me.”

“I don’t fucking want to,” he growls, nostrils flaring as his anger matches your own. His gaze bore into you like you were insignificant, something beneath him. “I don’t want to spend every second with you. It’s suffocating. Don’t you get that?”

Your face falls, the fire in your chest extinguished in an instant, leaving only a hollow ache behind. The room seemed to freeze, thick with an eerie silence as the harsh lights threw long, jagged shadows across the walls. Your hands drop to your sides, nails digging into your palms. Trembling slightly, your eyes fixed on the floor, unable to meet his gaze. 

Noticing the shift in your demeanor, Sukuna lets out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair through his hair in frustration, “Y/n-”

But he doesn’t get the chance to finish. You turn on your heel and walk out of his room, the movement quick, decisive. Something inside him snapps at the sight of you leaving, and his voice erupts after you, echoing through the halls. “Fuck you then!”

Grumbling under his breath, Sukuna stands from his bed, the sudden absence of your presence unnerving him more than he’d care to admit. He stomped towards the door, grabbing the edge to slam it shut. But as he moved to close it, he froze.

Yuji stood at the end of the hallway, staring at him with an unreadable expression. Gone was the boy’s usual bright smile, replaced by a cold, unwavering gaze. 

“You’re a dick,” Yuji said, his voice calm, yet heavy with disappointment. 

Three simple words, but they hit Sukuna harder than he’d expect, cutting through his defenses like a blade. His lips curled into a snarl, masking the sharp sting of Yuji’s comment. With a sharp flick of his wrists, he slams the door, the sound reverberating through the room. 

Sukuna leaned his forehead against the door, relishing the cool touch of the wood against his heated skin. 

She doesn’t understand him at all. 

-

He doesn’t understand at all. 

Time has dragged on painfully these past few days, each second stretching into an eternity. The world around him seems muted, painted in dull shades of gray and blue. Nothing shines the way it used to; everything irritates him. People, places- everything feels wrong, like clothes that don’t fit. And he’s left grasping at an explanation, yet understanding nothing. 

In the dark of his bedroom, the only light comes from the dim glow of his phone screen, casting eerie shadows on his face. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and flashes of lightning briefly illuminate the room, breaking through the oppressive gloom. His eyes scan the messages on his screen- dozen of texts sent to you, one after another, each more desperate than the last. 

A week.

An entire week without your smile, your laugh, your touch, or your kiss. Time has slowed to a crawl without you, every minute dragging him further into the suffocating void of your absence. At first, he didn’t care that you were ignoring him. It was your issue for getting upset- at least that’s what he told himself. But as the days beld together, something shifts. The weight of what he’d lost settled into his bones, and he began to understand the hollowness you must’ve felt- the same emptiness now consuming him. 

It’s unbearable. Each second stretched out in the silence, thick with a loneliness he never noticed before you came into his life. Now, it’s all he can feel- this aching void. And he knows, deep down, he messed up. He sees it in the way Yuji looks at him, the silent judgment behind those eyes every time they cross paths. It cuts deeper than Sukuna thought possible, slicing him in two with each glance. 

Another flash of lightning, and he’s up. Without thinking, without even grabbing his jacket, he’s out of his bed, storming out of the house before the rational part of his mind could stop him. He can’t take it anymore- this hollow, gnawing ache that’s been clawing at him. He needs to see you. Now. 

-

The relentless patter of rain against your window muffles the found from you TV, the show playing fading into a distant hum. You can’t even remember the name of the program or what it was about. Your half-lidded eyes stare blankly at the flickering screen, knees pulled close to your chest. The cool night air slips through the slightly open window, chilling your skin and raising goosebump across every inch of you. The hoodie- his hoodie- offers little warmth, but you don’t care. The cold is the furthest thing from your mind.

These past few days, you haven’t been able to focus on anything- school, work, even the most mundane tasks seem distant and irrelevant. Your thoughts drift aimlessly during class as lectures drag on and on, or while you mindlessly restock shelves. Even Shokok noticed something was off. She poked your side during class, slipping you a note with a simple, loaded question

‘Are you okay?’

A question you still don’t know how to answer.

Sukuna’s words left a deep scar, one that feels impossible to heal simply by ignoring him. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cried, the sting of his voice and the cruel whispers of others replaying in your head like a vicious cycle. His name lights up your phone screen more than once, and every time you choose to ignore it. Call it petty, but you want him to feel some of the hurt you felt when he brushed you off like you didn’t matter. Yet as the days stretch on and your phone continues to vibrate, you begin to wonder if this silent war is worth it. 

Even now, your eyes sting from the tears you’ve shed. You know you shouldn’t be crying this much, that you should be stronger, more resilient like those girls who don’t care what others think. But you’re not like that- you care deeply, too much sometimes. Yes, you’re angry at Sukuna, but beneath that anger lies an overwhelming sadness you can’t seem to shake. 

The TV flashes as a commercial for some love-themed product plays, the word “love: glowing brightly on the screen. A bitter frown tugs at your lips- how ironic. You lean forward to grab the remote from the coffee table, ready to change the channel, when a knock echoes from the door. The student noise startles you, cutting through the rain and the murmur of the TV, sending a jolt of fear through your body. 

You freeze, eyes locked on the door, unsure if you’d actually heard anything. A second knock comes, more urgent this time, breaking the silence. Slowly, you make your way toward the door, hesitation pulling at every step. It’s late, the rain pounds against the windows, and you weren’t expecting anything. The thought of ignoring it crosses your mind, but the knock persists, louder, more frantic. 

With a sigh, you unlock the door and crack it open, only to swing it wide in shock at the sight before you. 

Sukuna stood there, drenched from head to toe. His soaked hair clung to his forehead, water dripping down his face as his chest heaves, clearly out of breath, like he had run all the way here. Judging by his disheveled appearance, he probably did. He was dressed in nothing but pajama pants and a white tank top, both utterly soaked, the thin fabric of his shirt sticking to his muscular frame like a second skin. 

Your heart stutters in your chest, wide eyes scanning him up and down, trying to comprehend why he was here- why now- when he was the one so furious with you. His presence felt surreal. Sukuna, your sharp-tongued, blunt boyfriend, looked utterly defeated. The usual fire in his eyes had dimmed, replaced with something distant and heavy. His brows were drawn together, casting faint lines across his forehead, and his mouth- so often curved in a smirk or scowl- was set in a hard, straight line, lips pressed tightly. His whole expression was steeped in sorrow, a quiet, aching weight that made him look so unlike himself. 

“Y/n…” He whispered your name as if it were the only thing holding him together, his voice laced with disbelief. 

You swallowed hard, biting the inside of your cheek as your mind raced. Before you could react, Sukuna moved, stepping inside and pulling you into a fierce embrace. His arms wrapped tightly around you, and though your body instinctively tensed at his touch, the warmth of his closeness stirred a whirlwind of emotions. 

“Please,” he murmured into the crook of your neck, his breath warm and desperate against your skin. “Be angry with me, hate me if you have to- but don’t stay away. I can’t do this anymore.” his voice cracked, raw with emotions, his large frame curling into you as though he could make himself smaller, more vulnerable. 

Shock ripples through you, his words shaking you to your core. Sukuna has never been like this. Harsh, yes. Guarded, certainly. But this? This openness, this need- this was something you’d never seen in him before. The façade he always wore, that untouchable exterior, had finally cracked, and you could see the raw, unguarded person beneath it. 

Slowly, almost hesitantly, your hands found their way around his torso, returning the embrace. “You’re getting my floors all wet,” you teased softly, the tension easing so slightly from your chest as you spoke. 

He let out a low hum, tightening his hold on you. “Sorry,” he whispers, his voice low and rough. “I’m so sorry…for everything.” his words were muffled against your hair, but the weight of them hung heavily in the air. The sincerity in his apology palpable, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt the tightness in your chest beginning to lift, if only just a little. 

-

Tendrils of steam drift from the bathroom as Sukuna emerges, a towel draped loosely over his shoulder, catching the last few drops of water from his damp hair. He grunts as he drops onto the couch, his presence immediately filling the room. 

From the kitchen, you eye him, raising a brow at his casual appearance. “You do know I gave you a shirt to wear, right?” you say, stepping closer and handing him a steaming cup of tea. His hands cradle the cup, his eyes fixating on the liquid inside as if it might hold the answers to his thoughts. 

“And you know I don’t like wearing shirts to bed,” he counters, a lopsided smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

Humming, you lean your cheek on the back of the couch- your legs tucking themselves close to your chest again. 

You hum softly in response, resting your cheek against the back of the couch, your legs instinctively curling up to your chest. The silence between you grows heavy, and though his smile remains, you can’t shake the lingering weight of what had happened. 

“I’m still angry at you,” you say, your voice softer but firm. 

Sukuna’s eyes remain on the mug for a moment longer before he speaks, his voice low. “I know.”

“What you did,” you begin, your gaze fixed on him, “was really messed up, I can’t believe you spoke to me like that.”

He finally lifts his gaze, meeting yours. His lips pressed into a thin line, and there’s something in his eyes- something softer, almost regretful. “I know,” he repeats, the words filled with quiet acknowledgment. 

Your frown deepens, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Is that all you’re going to say?” you ask, irritation, creeping into your tone at his lack of explanation. 

Sukuna watches you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “There’s nothing I can say to undo what happened,” he begins, voice steady but laced with a rare vulnerability. “What I did- it was bad. Really bad. I didn’t understand why you were so upset.”

Your teeth clench at his choice of words, and you shoot him a sharp glare. “You’re terrible at apologizing,” you mutter through gritted teeth. 

He lets out a small, rueful laugh. “I know,” he admits, his fingers brushing softly against your cheek, the gesture almost tender. “I got angry because I didn’t understand. And I can’t say anything to excuse what I did. But I am…truly sorry.”

His voice softens at the end, the weight of his apology hanging in the air between you both. It isn’t perfect, but it’s honest, and for someone like Sukuna, that means more than words ever could. 

With a soft sigh, you inch closer to him. He tenses, casting you a wary glance as you lift his arm, guiding it over your shoulder. For a moment, his arm hovers in the air, unsure, before he slowly lowers it, wrapping it around you in a gesture that feels both hesitant and protective. 

“I appreciate the apology,” you murmur, your cheek suppressed against the warmth of his bare chest. His skin, always radiating heat, feels more like a personal heater. “But I don’t know if I can forgive you just yet.”

Without a word, he places the mug on the coffee table and shifts his position, pulling you down with him until you’re both lying on the couch, your body draped over his. He lets out a deep, content sigh, his arms tightening around you as if afraid you might slip away. On instinct, your legs entwine with his, the closeness both familiar and comforting. His voice, a low rumble, vibrates through his chest as he speaks. 

“That’s alright. I didn’t expect you to forgive me right away,” he says quietly, his breath stirring your hair. “But I’m going to do everything I can to earn it”

Propping your chin on his chest, your eyes meet his as a playful smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “I’m going to make you work like a dog to get it back.”

A deep chuckle escapes him, the sound reverberating through his body. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” he replies, his eyes softening with affection. 

Bonus:

“Damn, my back’s killing me,” Sukuna grumbled as he dropped into one of the dining chairs, his face twisting with discomfort. 

Rolling your eyes, you set a plate of breakfast down in front of him. “That’s what you get for sleeping on the couch… and for being old.” 

He shoots a glare in your direction, stabbing his fork into the eggs with more force than necessary. “Ha-ha, hilarious.” 

You settle across from him, your own plate in hand, watching as he eats. The room was quiet except for the sound of clinking cutlery and his occasional grunt when a movement aggravated his back. You simply observed, a content silence falling over you as you ate your meal. 

He had hurt you, deeply, with his words. They’d cut through you like a blade, but right now, in this moment, it didn’t feel as heavy. You could set aside the hurtful comments whispered behind your back and deal with them later. What mattered was now- this quiet morning,watching your boyfriend clear his plate, his eyes occasionally flicking up to meet yours. 

“What?” His piercings caught the morning light, glinting as he gave you a curious look. 

“Sure,” he says with a suspicious glance, getting up and taking his plate to the sink. He rinses it off, the sound of running water filling the small space. “I’ll need to head back to my place soon.”

A pang of disappointment hits you, but you mask it with a short nod. “Okay. Your shirt should be dry now.”

“He glances over his shoulder. “Be ready when I come back later.”

You blink, caught off guard your fork pausing mid-bite. “Wait, why?”

His lips tug into a small smirk. “Didn’t you want to go to that stupid musical in town?”

Before you could stop yourself, you’re standing, hands pressed flat against the table. Excitement surging through you. “The one I mentioned weeks ago? About Odysseus? That musical?!”

Question after question tumbles from your mouth, your heart racing. Sukuna looks at you, brow arches, clearly confused by your outburst. “Yeah,” he drew out the word, eyes narrowing slightly, “that one. Why are you so worked up?”

With a squeal, you dart over to him, grabbing his cheeks between your hands and squishing them together. He scowls, his lips puckering in protest. “Thank you, Kuna!you exclaim, leaning in to press a sloppy kiss against his squished lips. He grunts but returns the kiss as soon as your lips meet his. 

Pulling away, he peels your hands off his face. “It’s the least I could do. You did say you wanted to go.”

You smile up at him, your heart still fluttering with excitement as he pulls you closer, his hands finding their place on your waist. “Yes, but I only mentioned it in passing. I didn’t think you’d remember.”

He shrugs, squeezing your hips lightly. “I listen sometimes.”

You hum, your arms lopping around his neck. “Yeah, sometimes.”

-

Taglist (open): @kalulakunundrum , @fushipurro , @sad-darksoul , @cupcaketeddybehr

[calicoheartz]

hi could u pls write about Paige comforting and helping reader who tries but can’t get her grades up and just feels overwhelmed due to some friendship issues too pls ? You could do different parts or a fic abt this would be rlly nice pls 💐💐

Whispers of Comfort ; Paige Bueckers

꣑୧ — summary | just paige comforting you with your personal struggles 💌💐❤️‍🩹

wc ; 900

— warnings | tw mentions of depression , anxiety , mental health , angst (has a happy ending dw!!)

my master list ㇀♡

a/n : this is somewhat similar to one of my other fics that you can read here , so I tried to add a different spin on it! Enjoy :)

The fluorescent lights of the university library cast a harsh glow over the hunched figure buried in textbooks and notes. That figure was you, desperately trying to make sense of the chaos of academics that seemed determined to swallow you whole. Yet, despite your best efforts, the numbers on your latest exam paper stared back at you with cruel finality—another failure in a long line of disappointments.

Your heart sank in remembrance of the unfortunate outcome of the test you studied hours for, the test you dedicated to studying for almost 3 weeks in advance. Your heart sank as the weight of inadequacy settled in your chest, suffocating you with each labored breath. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you struggled to hold back the overwhelming tide of despair threatening to consume you whole.

“Hey, mind if I join you?”

You quickly recognized the sweet and gentle voice, startled, you looked up to find your girlfriend standing right before you, with a concerned look marring her brow. Her presence alone was enough to ease the tightness in your chest, offering a small glimmer of hope amidst the uneasiness and darkness that threatened to swallow you whole.

“Paige..” you managed to stutter out, your voice echoing with emotion. “I didn’t expect to see you here, I thought you were at home?”

A sympathetic smile graced the blondes lips, as she took the seat opposite of you, as her eyes filled with genuine concern.

“You weren’t answering any of my texts, so I figured you’d be here. I couldn’t help but wonder what was on your mind.” she said softly, her voice laced with sincerity. “Is everything okay?”

Paige knew you had struggled this year academically, but she never knew to what extent. You were ashamed to ask her for help, I mean compared to her you’re only a fraction of her success. While she’s an all american academic, juggling both sports and her studies, you were even struggling to pass a simple quiz or project. Which in term made it very difficult to ask her for help, afraid she would realize that you weren’t worth her time.

It’s almost as if the floodgates collapsed, the weight of your burdens spilling out a torrent of pent-up emotions. You poured your heart out to Paige, confessing the struggles that had plagued you for weeks - the sleepless nights spent studying, the countless hours wasted in a fruitless pursuit of academic perfection, the forgotten and skipped meals, everything seeming to slowly creep up onto you all seemingly at once.

Paige listened intently, offering words of comfort and trying to understand as you bared your soul into her. In her presence, the walls you had built around your heart began to crumble, revealing the vulnerable soul that lay beneath the facade of strength you had so carefully constructed.

"I just don't know what to do anymore," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to get my grades up. And on top of that, I'm having issues with my friends..."

Your words trailed off, a sense of helplessness washing over you as you struggled to articulate the depth of your despair. Paige reached out, her hand intertwining between yours in a gesture of solidarity that sent warmth spreading through your veins.

"You're not alone, you know," she said gently, her voice a soothing balm to the wounds of self-doubt that had long plagued your spirit. "We all face challenges in life, but it's how we confront them that defines who we are. You're doing the best you can, and that's all anyone can ask for."

Her words resonated with you, striking a chord deep within your soul as you looked into her eyes and saw the unwavering belief reflected there. In Paige's presence, you found the strength to confront the demons that had held you captive for so long, emboldened by the knowledge that you were not alone in your struggles.

Together, you and Paige embarked on a journey of self-discovery, navigating the treacherous waters of academia and interpersonal relationships with unwavering determination. With each passing day, you found solace in each other's company, drawing strength from the unbreakable bond that had formed between you.

As the weeks turned into months, you began to see glimpses of progress—small victories that served as a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. With Paige by your side, you faced each challenge head-on, armed with the unwavering belief that together, you could overcome anything life threw your way.

And in the quiet moments shared between late-night study sessions and heartfelt conversations, you discovered something far more precious than academic success or fleeting friendships. You found solace in each other, a bond forged in the crucible of adversity, bound by the unbreakable ties of love and understanding.

In Paige's arms, you found refuge from the storm raging within, a sanctuary where the burdens of the world melted away in the warmth of her embrace. And as you leaned into her, basking in the glow of her unwavering affection, you knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, you would face them together, united in a love that transcended the boundaries of time and space.

For in the midst of chaos, you had found peace, and with the love of your life Paige, you had found home.

we love good girlfriend Paige !! i want a paige in my life 🥴😞 as always , thank you for reading !!

psa ! if u are struggling w mental health my dms are always open 💗 rmb that ur so loved by me and so many others

[salemshotspot]

SECRET

CM Punk x Little!Reader

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

DESC: After a stressful day y/n reveals to Phil that they're a little

Gender Neutral Reader [They/Them]

WARNINGS: SFW Age Regression//Not Proof Read//Implied Anxiety//Overstimulation//Alcohol Mentions//Mentions Of Drunk People//Mentions Of Stress//Crying//Characters Probably Acting Out Of Character//Generic Pet Names

A/N >> This is my first time writing for a little reader so apologies if it's not great, I've been thinking about writing for other wrestlers with a little reader [as well as more Punk!] So hopefully this isn't that awful no one wants to read any other stuff from me lmao

TAGS: @seasonal-depression-of-punk

Enjoy!

——————————————————————————

The entirety of the wrestling roster were more than familiar with and accepting of age regression due to how open The Judgement Day were about Dominick's age regression; however this didn't stop y/n from keeping their regression a secret from everybody. They had gone as far as trying to avoid The Judgement Day while they were caring for a small Dominick as y/n found themself slipping into a regressed state whenever they were around other regressed people and their caregivers. This is why when y/n felt themself slowly slip into a regressed state they wanted nothing more than to go home for the evening so they could do so without any fear of being seen.

After a successful episode of Monday Night Raw a handful of wrestlers decided to go out for a drink to celebrate, y/n couldn't think of a worse situation for themself right now; they were exhausted, they were anxious and going to loud, packed bar wasn't going to help them at all.

'Hey y/n a few of us are going out to celebrate, do you want to come with us?' Phil's voice echoing through y/n's dressing room, pulling them from their thoughts. Y/n forced a smile to paint their features, Phil always made sure to involve y/n in everyone's plans as he knew they tended to go unnoticed due to their quiet, self-reserved nature. 'I think I'll give this one a miss Phil, I'm not really feeling up to it' y/n softly replied to which Phil jokingly rolled his eyes; 'come on y/n' he began, 'It'll help to take your mind off of things and plus, it won't be the same without you' he softly pleaded. Despite the anxiety slowly filling y/n as well as the difficulty to not fall into a regressed state slowly becoming greater y/n couldn't bring themself to disappoint Phil so, after letting out a subtle sigh, y/n replied; 'alright Phil, I'll come out, just for a while though ok?' Phil's eyes practically lit up, completely unable to hide his excitement; 'awesome!' he exclaimed, 'we'll see you there.'

Once y/n arrived at the bar their eyes tiredly scanned the building until their eyes landed on Phil, Drew, Becky and Seth who simultaneously waved to y/n, signalling for them to come over to the area of bar which they were sat at; 'Y/N!' Drew shouted, his voice laced with intoxication 'you made it', wrapped in Seth's arms, Becky reiterated what Drew was trying to relay; 'we're really glad you're here y/n.' Before y/n could reply, Phil playfully patted the empty seat next to him signalling for them to take a seat next to him, to which they agreed, instantly feeling at ease from Phil's presence alone.

Around half an hour had passed and it was becoming increasingly more difficult for y/n to stay focused on their surroundings despite the grounding feeling they got from Phil's presence; they couldn't take it anymore, it was so loud, every decibel of sound infiltrating y/n's body, attacking their senses. As their head began to pound, y/n silently and abruptly shot up from their seat and rushed outside to their car, haphazardly pulling the door open, crawling onto the back seat and locking the door. Y/n wanted nothing more than to go home, they wanted nothing more than to have all of their comfort items so they could comfortably regress but instead they were stuck in the back of their car, completely overwhelmed. As their stress and desire to go home grew y/n found themself unable to stop themself from finally slipping into little space, inadvertently meaning that they were officially stuck in their car as operating a car whilst not only overwhelmed but also in a regressed state was definitely not a good idea.

Y/n did the only thing they could in their situation; they curled up on the backseat of their car and allowed tears to cloud their vision. Suddenly y/n was pulled back into reality by a gentle yet prominent knock on the car window, as their eyes shot up they met with the concerned and unwavering eyes of Phil who motioned for y/n to roll the car window down so he could speak to them. Y/n was reluctant to roll the window down, secretly hoping if they didn’t do so then it’d mean Phil never caught them in the state they were in, however they couldn’t bring themself to ignore Phil, he had a look of concern in his eyes which was impossible to ignore. Once the window was rolled down Phil leaned into the car so that he could speak to y/n without raising his voice, sure that speaking loudly right now would distress y/n. Softly he requested; ‘can I come in sweetheart?’ Sweetheart? Phil had never uttered such a name to y/n, surely he was just trying to provide comfort and right now comfort was all a little y/n needed right now.

With a subtle nod y/n unlocked the car door allowing Phil to climb in, once he was seated, y/n couldn’t contain themself, they instinctively crawled over to Phil, laying their head on his lap. As y/n lay down Phil took his calloused hand and began gently running it through y/n’s hair before softly speaking; ‘can you tell me what’s gotten you so upset sweetheart?’ Mumbling into his lap, hiccuping from the tears still pouring from their eyes y/n replied; ‘want home.’ Phil lightly chucked, ‘well there’s a very simple solution, you can go home, there’s no need to cry is there?’ He said in a tone which he intended to be playful but came across as mean-spirited, causing y/n to cry further. Realising his tone, Phil spoke once more; ‘shh y/n I’m sorry, why aren’t you going home hmm? Is everything ok?’

Y/n froze for a moment, slowly realising that the secret they were so desperate to keep from everyone was moments from coming out. Phil, growing anxious himself from y/n’s change in demeanour, gently rubbed circles into y/n’s shoulder with his thumb, silently encouraging y/n to speak. Further burying their face into Phil’s lap in order to muffle their words, y/n muttered out ‘I'm like Dom’ secretly hoping that Phil wouldn't hear them. 'I can't hear you sweetheart' Phil spoke out to which y/n repeated themself at the same register. Warmly smiling down at the person on his lap, unable to find their shy nature anything short of amusing, Phil took his large hands and placed them on y/n's shoulders, pulling them into an upright position. 'I can't understand you when you're hiding that face of yours y/n' he lightly chuckled, 'can you repeat yourself one more time?' After a moment of thought filled silence y/n let out an anxious sigh and repeated themself for a final time; 'I'm like Dom' they said lowering their head.

Phil admittedly wasn't the smartest man but once y/n uttered those words he instantly understood what was going on; 'and do you have somebody to look after you like Dom does?' Phil asked anxiously, the thought of y/n not having a caregiver to keep an eye on them while regressed worried Phil more than he'd ever like to admit. Y/n quickly shook their head, they had been without a caregiver for as long as they can remember, pulling them into a sympathetic embrace Phil planted a soft kiss on the top of their head before suggesting something tempting to y/n. 'How about we get you home hmm? What kind of a guy would I be if I didn't make sure you were all looked after?' Y/n giggled softly and nodded at the prospect of having a caregiver, and Phil of all people? They couldn't help but feel excitement well in their chest.

With that, Phil climbed into the front of the car, sure to keep a hand spare to drape around to the back of the car for y/n to hold onto for comfort. Once they had arrived home y/n retrieved all of their comfort items before joining Phil on the sofa. Tomorrow they would discuss Phil becoming a more permanent member of y/n's life, possibly becoming their caregiver but right now all y/n needed was to feel safe so they could finally sleep and out the stress of the day behind them.

——————————————————————————

A/N >> I'm sorry this isn't great but if anyone wants to give my writing a second chance drop requests in my inbox lmao and lmk if you'd like to be tagged in any future fics

[tainsan]

misfits IX

⇥ pairing: ot8 ateez x fem! reader

⇥ warnings: physical fights, anxiety, depression, mentions of suicide, mentions of blood, character death, suicidal thoughts and intentions

⇥ word count: 7.2k

⇥ a/n: in this chapter it may be very triggering to those who have gone through abusive, suicidal, life threatning situations. read with care please. i love you all!

⇢ masterlist ⇠

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--- THIS IS AN 18+ FANFICTION MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ---

Making your way towards school, a sense of unease settles within you, noticing that the usually bustling entrance appears strangely vacant. Only a few faces pass by, and a heavy silence hangs in the air, contrasting starkly with the usual lively atmosphere. Your footsteps echo in the quiet corridor as you head towards your classroom, a knot of anticipation forming in your stomach. Suddenly, a group of girls rush past you, their voices filled with excitement and urgency. Initially, you try to ignore their chatter, focusing on reaching your destination. However, a particular snippet of conversation seizes your attention, causing your heart to skip a beat. The words spoken are like a thunderclap in your ears, freezing you in your tracks. Unable to resist, you strain your ears, desperate to catch any further information. Their voices carry a mix of shock and speculation, creating an unsettling tension in the air. The words they speak seem to hang in the silence, seeping into your consciousness and intensifying your growing sense of dread. Your heart pounds in your chest, a combination of fear and curiosity gripping you.

“Apparently the whole friend group was being vicious to her, her brother just found out and is going to sort that piece of shit out.”

Your world threatens to crumble around you, the words of the girl echoing in your mind, panic surges through your veins, propelling you into action. Without a second thought, you sprint in the direction where the two people vanished, your heart pounding in your chest. With each stride, your determination intensifies, fuelled by a mix of fear and concern for your dear friend's well-being. Rounding a corner, you are met with a disturbing sight—a crowd of people gathered in a tight circle, their collective energy palpable. Anxiety grips your entire being as you push your way through the throng, desperately trying to reach the centre of attention.

Amidst the sea of faces, you hear a heart-wrenching cry, instantly recognizing it as Hwa's voice. Panic tightens its grip around you, urging you to hasten your steps. Finally, at the front of the crowd, you witness the harrowing scene before you, a confrontation between Hwa and another student named Dae. Hwa lies on the ground, blood trickling from his broken lip, while Dae stands over him, seething with anger.

Protective instincts kicking in, overwhelming your senses as you attempt to break through the circle of onlookers. Determination fuels your efforts, urging you to reach Hwa, to shield him from further harm, and to remove him from this dangerous situation. But just as you're about to reach him, a restraining hand grips your shoulder, digging into your skin, effectively holding you back.

Turning to face your captor, you recognize him as one of Dae's friends, a knot of frustration and anger forming in your chest. Desperation fills your voice as you plead with him to let go, to release you so you can help your injured friend. The intensity of the moment heightens, with emotions swirling in a tumultuous mix of fear, anger, and the unwavering desire to ensure Hwa's safety.

“You are a piece of trash, Park.” Dae speaks, his voice echoing around the hallway.

“Leave me alone, please.” Hwa’s voice is broken and trembling, causing tears to fall from your eyes, still urgently trying to free yourself from the grip you are being held in.

“Did you and your friends really think you could get away with hurting my baby sister?” Dae growls, his anger evident as he grabs Hwa by the collar of his shirt, pulling him up to meet his face.

“Please, I don’t know what you are talking about.” Hwa exclaims, his voice still as soft as it has always been, tears falling from his eyes.

“Look at you playing dumb.” In a harrowing display of cruelty, Dae continues to taunt and assault Hwa, revelling in the encouragement of the cheering crowd. Horror overtakes you as you witness the repeated acts of violence, unable to bear the sight of your friend being subjected to such brutality.

A primal scream escapes your throat, a desperate plea for the torment to cease. The sound reverberates through the air, carrying with it the depth of your anguish and the plea for mercy. Every inch of your being is consumed with the need to protect Hwa, to shield him from further harm. Summoning all your strength, you manage to break free from the grip that had held you back, propelled by a surge of adrenaline. Falling to your knees at Hwa's side, you cradle his head in your trembling hands, tears streaming down your face in anguish and disbelief.

In that moment, time seems to stand still as you take in the sight before you; one of your closest friends, someone you have grown to love, now bearing the physical scars of this vicious assault. The weight of the situation settles heavily upon you, powering a mix of anger, sorrow, and an unwavering determination to protect and support Hwa in any way possible.

Gently, you caress his bruised face, your touch an offering of comfort and reassurance amidst the chaos. Your voice trembles as you speak softly, vowing to be there for him, to stand by his side through the pain and the healing process. Unconditional love and unwavering loyalty radiate from your every word and touch, as you silently vow to do whatever it takes to ensure Hwa's well-being and seek justice for the injustice inflicted upon him.

“___.” Hwa exclaims, anxious as to why you have appeared here, involving yourself in his drama, wanting you to get as far away as possible from here.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“What have we here?” Dae questions, confused as to why you of all people would come to Hwa’s rescue.

Gaze lifting towards Dae, a surge of anger courses through your veins, fuelling a fierce determination to confront the source of your friend's suffering. The sight of him, callously laughing at Hwa's pain, ignites a burning rage within you.

“Fuck off Dae.” Your voice is bitter, threatening the man to stay away.

The laughter echoing around you intensifies the flames of fury within you, driving an indignant rage that propels you forward. The collective amusement of the crowd only strengthens your resolve to shield Hwa from any further harm. With a surge of determination, you crouch down beside Hwa, carefully slipping your arms underneath his shoulders. Your touch is gentle yet firm, as you lift him off the cold ground, cradling him in your embrace. Every movement is executed with utmost care, your focus solely on safeguarding him from any additional pain. The weight of Hwa's body against yours serves as a reminder of the vulnerability and fragility of the person you hold dear. Your protective instincts surge forth, serving as a shield against the cruelty that surrounds you.

Burning with a commitment to defend and nurture, you cast a defiant glance towards those who have found amusement in Hwa's suffering. The fury in your eyes mirrors the flames of indignation that rage within your heart. With determination etched upon your face, you steadily navigate through the crowd, disregarding the laughter and jeers that continue to echo in the air. Your focus remains solely on Hwa, your every movement calculated to ensure his safety and well-being.

“So, the mute girl finally decided to speak up. It’s a shame you are such a bitch, you are actually quite pretty.” Dae taunts you, his disgusting eyes scanning you up and down as if he is checking you out, making you feel utterly gross.

“Fuck off.” You repeat, pulling Hwa with you, away from the crowd.

“You are not going anywhere, sweet cheeks.” Dae exclaims, walking behind you and pulling on your hair harshly, causing you to topple backwards, Hwa falling with you, yet he manages to keep standing.

Your body collides with the unforgiving concrete floor, a sharp pain courses through your back, causing you to wince in agony. The impact steals your breath away, leaving you momentarily stunned and vulnerable. Yet, amidst the throbbing ache, the sound of Hwa's concerned voice calling out your name breaks through the haze. His worry for you fills the air, intertwining with the growing fury that consumes his being. Ignoring the pain that reverberates through his own body, Hwa crouches down towards you, taking your body into his grip, offering support and a lifeline in this moment of despair. With a grateful nod, you reach out to accept his hold, the touch of his warm skin bringing a sense of solace and reassurance.

“I’m okay.” You manage to whisper, Hwa helping you to your feet, you groan, your back extremely painful from the impact of the flooring.

“Look at this cute couple, guys.” Dae exclaims to the crowd, causing the crowd to erupt with noise. Satisfied with the reaction, Dae turns back to you and Hwa, who is fuming with anger.

“Why do you look so angry, Hwa?” Dae mocks the nickname you so tenderly call him, causing the boy who you call your closest friend, to see fiery red.

Before one can fully grasp the unfolding events, Hwa swiftly delivers a powerful punch directly to Dae's jaw. As a result, Dae finds himself sprawled on the floor, teetering on the brink of unconsciousness, and struggling fruitlessly to regain his composure. Hwa, on the other hand, displays remarkable composure, seemingly unfazed by the barrage of punches aimed at him. However, the moment the focus shifts to even the slightest concern for someone else, an overwhelming surge of rage consumes Hwa, overpowering his entire being.

"Let's get out of here," Hwa whispers urgently, his voice barely audible amidst the chaos. His grip tightens around your hand as he swiftly navigates through the frantic crowd, leading you towards the school's exit with a determined stride. Together, you sprint relentlessly, propelled by adrenaline and the instinct to seek refuge.

The clamour gradually fades away as you finally reach the entrance of the familiar warehouse you've frequented all too often lately. Your chests heave with exertion, breaths coming in ragged gasps, as you find relief in leaning against the sturdy door. The coolness of its surface against your clammy skin provides a momentary respite, offering a soothing contrast to the intensity of your pounding heart. Caught between physical exhaustion and a whirlwind of emotions, you struggle to discern the source of your frenetic heartbeat. Is it the aftermath of the sprint, the adrenaline coursing through your veins, or the lingering fear and anxiety from the harrowing fight you just narrowly escaped? The answer eludes you, blending seamlessly into the complex tapestry of sensations enveloping your trembling body.

“Are you okay?” Hwa questions, turning towards you, extremely concerned about you, wishing you had never got involved. Yet, he is tremendously thankful for you in this moment, for saving him from the horrific situation.

Concern etches itself into your voice as you exclaim, "Are you alright, Hwa?" Your hand instinctively reaches up, cradling his face in your grasp, delicately tracing the contours of his wounded lip and cheek. The injury, crimson and inflamed, accentuates the intensity of the moment. Time momentarily halts for Hwa as your tender touch lands upon his cheek. A rush of warmth floods his face, his cheeks flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and exhilaration. His heart skips a beat, entangled in a chaotic symphony of emotions, as the focused attention from you amplifies the intensity of his feelings.

“What were you thinking, throwing yourself in there?” Hwa exclaims, getting slightly angry at you for involving yourself in something so dangerous, and getting hurt in the meantime. However, the second he sees you flinch at his tone, he relaxes a little, taking your hand in his, trying to calm the storm in his head. Gently, he pulls you towards him, resting his forehead against yours as he caresses the back of your hand, the action causing your entire body to flare up in intense heat.

“It was dangerous, ___.” Hwa sighs, disappointed in you, yet also relieved for your defensive actions.

“You’re my friend, Hwa. I would do it again just to keep you safe.” You admit, eyebrows furrowed, worrying deeply still about the cuts adorning the man’s face in front of you.

Before you can utter another word, the comforting strength of Hwa's arms envelops your waist, securing you in a protective embrace. His voice, laced with vulnerability, reaches your ears as he confesses, "I was terrified they would hurt you, angel."

The endearing nickname, coupled with the sudden intimacy of his hug, weakens your knees, and sends a surge of electricity through your veins. Your heart, already racing, defies logic by quickening its pace even further.

Reluctantly, Hwa withdraws from the embrace, his gaze locked onto yours. In the depths of his eyes, a plea resonates as he implores, "Please promise me you won't put yourself in danger like that again. I can't control myself when it involves you." Once more, Hwa pulls your body closer to his, melding you together in a warm and tender embrace that emanates comfort and security.

“Let’s get you home.”

The journey to your house unfolds in a serene tranquillity, accompanied by the gentle rhythm of footsteps. Hwa, against your repeated protests, politely takes charge of your backpack, cradling it as if it were a precious burden. You can't help but steal glances at his side profile, where the remnants of the recent altercation have left their mark. Anger courses through your veins, directed at Dae for daring to tarnish Hwa's ethereal innocence with intentional harm.

As you near your street, you inform Hwa that you can manage from here, urging him to attend to his own injuries. Reluctantly, he relinquishes the bag, his eyes brimming with concern and adoration. A radiant smile illuminates his face as he salutes you playfully, a display of unwavering loyalty and obedience. He assures you with firm determination that he will follow your instructions, his promise hanging in the air like a tender pledge. With a mixture of longing and regret, he begins to retreat, heading back towards the familiar warehouse where his trusted friends await. Your gaze remains fixed on his diminishing figure, his silhouette merging with the shadows as he disappears around a distant corner. A sense of joy lingers within you, replaying the cherished moments etched in your mind—from the embrace that enveloped you in warmth to the tender words that danced upon his lips. It leaves you feeling both exhilarated and flustered, the blush of anticipation gracing your neck and cheeks.

Approaching your house, the remnants of your elation dissipate, usurped by a sudden shift in atmosphere. The front door, usually a barrier between the outside world and your home, reveals itself to be slightly ajar. A sense of unease settles deep within you, coiling around your heart. Despite the flicker of apprehension, you summon courage, attributing the cracked entrance to your mother's recent onset forgetfulness. The familiarity of the surroundings tries to lull your concerns, offering a fragile shield against the encroaching shadows. With cautious steps, you enter the threshold, the weight of uncertainty bearing down upon your shoulders, overshadowing the comfort of the familiar walls.

Traversing the long hallway, flashes of bittersweet memories dart through your consciousness, stirring a whirlwind of emotions that have always remained disturbing. These fragments of the past merge with the present, clouding your thoughts and leaving you in a state of introspection. With a determined stride, you make your way towards the living room, driven by the anticipation of reuniting with your mother, who likely seeks solace within those walls.

Her absence from the world, outside her locked bedroom has persisted for weeks, a sorrow-laden isolation that followed the tragic loss of your younger brother a few months ago. The weight of grief has clung to her spirit, rending her heart and soul, leaving her shattered and desolate. It's with a mix of excitement and trepidation that you approach the living room, knowing that beyond its threshold, you might find your mother, either silently engrossed in the flickering glow of the television or consumed by tears as she clings to a photograph of your departed sibling.

A sense of hope swells within you, lifted by the faint sound of her cherished soap opera resonating through the closed door. It reverberates louder than usual, yet its amplified volume fails to stir any concern within you. Instead, a profound contentment washes over you, your heart brimming with the simple joy of being able to witness your mother's face once more. With a smile adorning your features and an unmistakable sense of anticipation fuelling your every movement, your hand reaches for the cool touch of the metal doorknob. You turn it, unlocking the gateway to a reunion that holds the promise of comfort and the potential for healing.

“Mom, I missed you…” You voice trails off as you take in the scene in front of you, falling to your knees, your life feeling like it’s being ripped out of your body, a shriek ripples from your throat as you crawl towards the body of you mother, hot tears starting to stream out of your eyes like a waterfall.

“Mom, this isn’t funny, wake up. Please, I need you.”

---

On the day of your mother’s funeral, you barely make it out of bed, let alone to the shower where you spend almost an hour in, just sitting on the cold tiles, your knees brought to your chest as you let the scorching hot water cascade down your body, not even paying attention to the way it tingles and pains your soft skin.

Looking into the mirror in front of you, you see how pale and lean you have gotten, your cheekbones starting to become prominent on your features, your eyebags incredibly noticeable due to the extreme lack of sleep. Nothing some concealer cannot fix.

The ceremony is long and tedious, your heart heavy with grief and your spirit fractured by loss. It's your mother's funeral, a day that should have been filled with support and unity, yet you find yourself standing alone, abandoned by the one person who should have been there. The one person who should have shared this painful moment with you, gone. Anger wells up inside, a flood of emotions threatening to spill over. How could your own father not bother to show up? The absence feels like a betrayal, a harsh reminder of the fractured relationships that have haunted your life the past few months. With each passing minute, your anger intensifies, fuelled by the profound disappointment that you carry in your heart. Yet, amidst the rage, a quiet determination takes hold, a vow to honour your mother's memory. Even if it means doing it without your father.

Standing there, your eyes transfixed on the sight of your mother's coffin being slowly lowered into the earth, a numbness envelops you, seeping into the depths of your being. The world around you begins to blur, as if a fog has descended, obscuring everything except the weight of loss that hangs heavily upon your shoulders. It feels as though the ground beneath your feet has vanished, leaving you suspended in a void of sorrow. Every ounce of energy seems to have been drained from your body, leaving you devoid of purpose.

The thought of attending school, completing exams, once a mundane routine, now feels impossible. The weight of grief renders you incapable of leaving your bed, the covers becoming a reserve for your shattered spirit. The outside world seems too vibrant, too demanding, as you struggle to find the strength to face each day.

The days blur together, spent in the quiet solitude of your room, where tears mingle with memories, and sorrow becomes the only companion that seems to understand your pain. You feel your entire body, soul, spirit breaking into thousands of pieces as reality truly dawns on you. You are alone. No matter how hard you try, she cannot escape the haunting image etched into your mind, the lifeless body of your mother, forever frozen in time. It lingers in the depths of your thoughts, an unwelcome presence that refuses to leave.

Every blink of your eyes replays the scene, as if you are trapped in an endless loop of agony. The image haunts her waking hours and infiltrates her dreams. Each time you close your eyes, the vivid details resurface, the stillness of your mother's form, the paleness of her skin, the emptiness in her eyes. The weight of this image, like an anchor to your soul, threatens to drown you in a sea of despair.

You have not seen your eight friends since the fateful day of the fight in school. In the midst of uncertainty, you find yourself hovering on the edge of anxiety, not knowing if your new friends are thoroughly searching for you. Your mind becomes a whirlwind of questions and doubts, each thought spinning faster than the next. Are they frantically combing the city streets, calling out your name in desperation? Or have they been caught up in their own lives, oblivious to your absence? You yearn for a sign, a glimmer of reassurance that they are actively searching for you, that they haven't forgotten you amidst the chaos of their daily lives, the rumours starting to claw at their backs. The nagging uncertainty tugs at your heart, and you begin to wonder if you truly hold a place in their thoughts, or if you are slowly fading into the backdrop of their existence, just how it always seems to happen.

After hearing nothing from you for almost two weeks, it’s then when they conclude that you must have heard the horrendous rumours and for some reason, believed them. It broke them harder than it did when the rumours first came out. You are leaving them, even though you promised to stay by their side, crushing their entire souls. Not being able to come up with any other solution, they decide it must be because of the deadly rumours. The conversation Yunho had with you the night it all started, rings like an anthem in the tall boy’s head, “We will get this sorted, Yuyu.” As Yunho stands in the empty warehouse, his heart shatters into countless pieces, and he struggles to comprehend the sudden disappearance of the person who had captured his soul. The pain bites at him, seeping through every fibre of his skin.

In the wake of your absence, his once soft heart transforms into a frigid block of ice, encased in an impenetrable wall. The warmth and tenderness that once explained him now give way to walls that rise, brick by brick, shielding him from the pain of vulnerability. He retreats into himself, wary of letting anyone come close enough to inflict further wounds upon his already battered spirit. The echoes of your absence reverberate within, as he navigates through the world with a guarded heart, vowing never to allow himself to be hurt in such a profound way again. You are not who you said you were.

----

In the hushed darkness of the night, the city streets unfold before you as an uncharted path. Grief etches deep lines of sorrow on your face, your footsteps heavy with the weight of loss. Fresh from your mother's funeral, the ache in your heart resonates with every breath you take. You walk aimlessly, your tear-filled eyes fixed on the cold pavement, a sudden movement catches your attention. A young child, full of innocence and joy, frolics, and giggles in carefree abandon. But life's capricious nature intervenes, the child stumbles, tumbling to the ground with a startled cry. From the shadows emerges his mother, her arms outstretched in swift reflex. She cradles the fallen child, comforting him with gentle whispers and soothing caresses. The tenderness of the moment pierces your already fragile heart, intensifying your grief as you realise you no longer have anyone to rely on when you fall. A wave of anguish crashes over you, overwhelming you in a storm of sorrow. The stark contrast between the warmth of a mother's love and the void that now engulfs your existence feels unbearable. It magnifies your loss, leaving you feeling adrift in a world that once held such a vibrant life.

Darkness cloaks your spirit as you continue your solitary journey through the city. Each step deepens the ache within, a constant reminder of the irreparable void that has fractured your world. Within the twinkling city lights, tears blend with the shadows. Carrying the weight of your mourning soul, longing for comfort in the midst of the deep emptiness that envelops you. The city becomes a silent witness to your pain, as you navigate the night, seeking relief in a world that seems barren of such comfort.

Finding yourself walking up the endless flights of stairs, there is determination in your steps. Of course, the elevators are out of service, you grumble under your breath, but not finding it in yourself to get angry. It’s when you reach the top floor that your true intentions dawn on you, and for some reason, you aren’t even upset at your decision. Opening the door, you are met with the cold winter air of the outside, tickling and numbing your nose. Snuggling deeper into your coat, you slowly trudge your way onto the large rooftop, the view showing the entirety of the city. If you weren’t so emotionless, perhaps you would find the view beautiful.

You know your intentions. You intend to carry out the raging thoughts in your head. However, you let your mind be silent at this moment. Allowing your mind to truly see the view. At least your last view is a beautiful one. The lights of the city and surrounding buildings illuminates the rooftop in many colours, almost making rainbows around you. Strolling closer to the ledge, you rest your hands on the railing, it being icy to the touch, letting it cool down your burning hands.

This is it. This is all it took. Finally, the endless torment from the universe got to you. You thought you were stronger than this, truly, yet you must have overestimated yourself.

Just as you lift your leg to climb past the railing, you hear a sob sound from your left. Whipping your head to the left, your gaze locks onto a man standing perilously close to the ledge, a mere twenty metres away. Panic courses through your veins, electrifying your senses as you witness the man lift his leg, poised to climb over the railing. Instinct takes hold, overriding rational thought, propelling you into action.

With an adrenaline-fueled burst of speed, you sprint towards him, your footsteps resounding with urgency. Each stride is propelled by a desperate determination to reach him in time. As you draw closer, your hand reaches out, gripping his arm with a fierce strength, forcefully pulling him away from the ledge. The intensity of the moment disrupts your balance, and you both tumble to the ground with a resounding thud. As you gather your bearings, you cast a worried glance at the man beside you, relieved to see him on his knees, away from the precipice. A heavy sigh escapes your lips, momentarily easing the grip of fear that had held your heart captive. However, as your gaze settles upon his face, a chill of dread sweeps over you, causing fresh tears to spill from your eyes. In that heart-wrenching moment, a torrent of emotions crashes over you as you recognise the boy in front of you.

“Hwa? What the hell are you doing up here?”

Hwa's emotions ripple across his face, a spectrum of fury, realisation, and hurt unfolds before you, each expression chipping away at the innocence that once defined him. Your heart shatters, the pieces scattering like fragile glass, as you witness the profound transformation that has gripped him. The radiant glow that drew you so close to him has disappeared, leaving only fragments of its former shine. His features, usually animated and vibrant, now resemble a mask of emptiness. His gaze, locked on you, conveys disbelief and disbelief, struggling to comprehend that you stand before him, having just witnessed his desperate attempt to end his own life. Tears stain his face, tracing trails on his reddened cheeks, while his eyes remain bloodshot and swollen from the storm of emotions within him. It is a devastating sight, one that pierces your very core.

In that moment, the strength that once buoyed you crumbles, reducing you to a sobbing mess. The weight of the situation bears down upon you, threatening to drown you in a sea of sorrow. Your heart aches with a fierce empathy, as you see the depths of Hwa's pain laid bare before you.

Recognizing the anguish in his eyes, you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. The tremors coursing through his body reverberates through your own, a testament to the intensity of his suffering.

“Leave me alone,”

“I’m not leaving you, never.”

“You already have ___.” Hwa cries out, his heart searing even more from the pain of having you next to him, seeing him so vulnerable.

“I never left you, I am here Hwa. Please tell me what is going on.”

“It was my dad. He paid Ryu to tell everyone that we hurt her. Because of me, my friends are going through hell, this is all my fault.” Hwa’s voice is muffled by the skin of your neck, his tone choppy and fast, stuttering on his words, the air not able to reach his lungs. Trembling, Hwa attempts to speak once again, his voice quivering with raw emotion as he strives to articulate the depths of his devastation. However, the weight of his suffering proves overwhelming, constricting his throat and stifling his words. He gasps for air, a desperate, guttural wail escaping from deep within him. You find no room for anger, for your attention is wholly devoted to your friend, cradling his fragile form within your embrace.

“Why would he do that, Hwa?” You pry him for answers, anything so you are able to comfort him, to know what has his entire soul breaking down.

“Because I chose my mom over him. I hate the way he treated my mother and he can't bear that his only son, the heir to his dumb company, refused to take his position. All because of me, he is ruining our lives.” 

The mere thought that Hwa's own father could inflict such cruelty and depravity upon his own child sears through your consciousness. It awakens a violent stream of rage, yet you suppress it, knowing that your immediate priority lies in comforting and supporting Hwa in this extremely vulnerable moment. With unwavering determination, you hold him close, his body seemingly devoid of strength as you envelop him in the warmth of your presence.

“Shh,” you stroke the back of the man’s head, trying all you can to calm him down, knowing all too well how extreme and messy his emotions are right now, the smallest things being able to set him off into another fit of sobs.

“I’m sorry, ___, I should have never involved you with us.” The grip Hwa has on your clothes is strong, as if he is trying to ground himself.

“Hwa, it’s okay. You have given me a family; you have made me the happiest I have felt in a while.”

“Please don’t leave me. I thought, we thought you had left us.”

“I’m sorry, Hwa. I won’t leave you ever again, I promise.” Your embrace around the man tightens as you bring him closer to your own body, needing the comfort just as much as he does. Gently pulling away, you look Hwa in the eyes once again, “please don’t leave me, you cannot die Hwa. You have so many people here who care so much about you. You have so much to live for.”

Reluctantly, Hwa nods his head, tears still falling down his swollen, red cheeks. Again, you pull him towards you, this time he is able to fully reciprocate the hug, his arms wrapping strongly around your waist, resting his head onto your shoulder, silent cries falling from his drained lips. For what feels like hours, you allow Hwa to weep into you, allowing him to let all his emotions out, the bitter winter air freezing the two of you, yet your body feels like it is on fire. The thoughts of your own demise, slowly seeping from your mind, your focus only able to be on the person held in your tender embrace. As you speak, you notice the subtle change in Hwa's demeanour. The tension in his shoulders easing, and his breathing becoming less laboured. You can see a flicker of light, a glimmer of hope, begin to illuminate his tear-stained face.

Time seems to stand still as the two of you remain locked in the intimate bubble, shielded from the outside world. In that sacred space, you vow to be his anchor, his sanctuary amidst the chaos. Gently wiping away his tears, you brush away the remnants of sorrow that cling to Hwa’s cheeks. With every touch, every caress, you intend to fill his brokenness with warmth and tenderness. Slowly but surely, Hwa begins to respond to your affection. His grip on despair loosens, and a twinkle of gratitude dances in his eyes. Sitting together, enveloped in a cocoon of shared vulnerability, your hearts beating in sync, amidst the shattered fragments of Hwa's anguish, you feel your bond growing stronger than ever before.

The situation feels almost surreal, like a poignant twist of fate. Here you are, providing comfort and solace to someone who was on the brink of ending their own life, even though you yourself had come to the rooftop with the same haunting intention. The irony isn't lost on you, and in this juxtaposition of emotions, you find a glimmer of understanding.

You offer your words and support, a profound realisation washes over you, a sense that perhaps the universe has a hand in this moment. It's as if it's gently nudging you, reminding you of the value of your own existence. With this realisation comes a newfound determination to embrace life, regardless of the hardships it may present.

You make a promise to yourself right then and there, a vow to keep living, to persevere through even the darkest of times. The weight of your decisions becomes palpable, and you internalise the significance of taking control over your own life. This is your journey, your path to navigate, and you're resolved to make choices that reflect your will to live.

Amidst the gravity of the situation, the exchange of comfort and support takes on a profound meaning. The connection you share with the person you're comforting underscores the intricate web of human experiences, reminding you of the complex nature of life's struggles and triumphs. As you extend a lifeline to someone else, you inadvertently extend it to yourself as well, reaffirming the powerful impact of compassion and empathy in the face of life's challenges.

---

The next day, you went to the warehouse, knowing the group would be there around this time. Desperately needing to clarify to the eight why it is you suddenly disappeared. They deserve an explanation, you know it wasn’t right of you to suddenly vanish, but you have a feeling they would understand if you gave them the true reason for your childish behaviour. Chuckling slightly, you know the captain of the group would scold you for calling your actions immature, knowing he will tell you that people can deal with anguish in many bizarre, different ways.

With a mix of curiosity and hope, you gingerly push against the creaky, metal door, revealing a dimly lit interior that holds countless secrets. A flickering ray of sunlight pierces through the cracks in the worn-out roof, rays of light to beam onto the dusty concrete floor. The air carries a faint scent of aged wood and memories.

Your eyes adjust to the gloom, you expect to find the familiar sight of your companions gathered in their usual meeting spot. But as you step deeper into the vast space, your eager smile begins to fade. The echoes of your own footsteps being the only sounds that reach your ears, creating an eerie backdrop to your growing unease. The once vibrant walls, now marked by time and neglect, stood as silent witnesses to the absence that fills the room.

Darting your gaze around, searching for any trace of your friends. The chairs and couch where you had shared heartfelt conversations and wild laughter stood empty, their positions untouched since the last encounter. The remnants of forgotten games and unfinished projects lay scattered across the floor, a bittersweet reminder of your bond. Yet, your friends are nowhere to be found.

Panic mingles with confusion as you comb through the deserted warehouse, your heart sinking with each unanswered question. Did they leave in a hurry? Was there something you had missed? Your mind races, questions bounding around your head, desperately trying to work out the mystery that lies before you. Examining every corner, every shadow, desperately hoping to catch even a glimpse of your friends, to hear their familiar voices or see a glimmer of their presence.

However, the emptiness persists, only amplifying your loneliness. It feels as though time has frozen within these walls, leaving you suspended in a world that has suddenly grown cold and desolate. The warehouse, once a beacon of friendship and shared adventures, now serves as a persistent reminder of her friends' mysterious disappearance.

Just like that, they disappeared without a trace. You searched everywhere you could for them, the skatepark you heard Woo talk about, the record store their captain had bragged about almost every day, the specific part of the park with white flowers that Yeo liked to bring you to, the ice cream shop which they all went to almost every single day. There was not a single trace of them. The only memory being the beaten-up brown couch in the abandoned warehouse, which now appears to be officially abandoned.

---

After a long and tiring day at school, you wearily walk through the bustling streets, your mind preoccupied with the usual worries and trivial concerns.

Since the boys mysteriously disappeared from your life, the torment you endured at school escalated to vast heights. The once-familiar hallways transformed into a battleground of constant jeering and merciless bullying. Day after day, the piercing insults and hurtful taunts relentlessly rained down upon you, leaving wounds that ran deeper than you ever imagined possible. Each cutting remark, every malicious laugh, further numbed your spirit, suffocating any remaining ember of joy within you. The weight of the cruelty you faced settled upon your shoulders like an unbearable burden, crushing your spirit and leaving you questioning your worth. As the days turned into weeks, the pain only grew, carving a ravine within your heart that seemed impossible to bridge. The constant onslaught of humiliation chipped away at your resilience, leaving you more vulnerable and isolated than ever before. The vibrant colours of life dulled as you retreated into a shell of self-preservation, shielded from the outside world by a thick armour of numbness.

In the midst of this relentless storm, you found yourself sinking deeper into the depths of despair, your emotions gradually numbed by the unending cruelty. The once-bright spark of hope that had illuminated your days dimmed, overshadowed by the darkness of your daily torment. Yet you remember the promise you made yourself.

Lost in your thoughts, you are suddenly jolted from your trance as a stranger appears before you, an unexpected intrusion into your world. Instantly, a primal instinct surge within you, gripping your heart with fear. Taking an instinctual step back, your eyes narrow warily, as your body tenses in self-defence.

But as your gaze scrutinises the stranger, a peculiar realisation washes over you. There is an undeniable gentleness emanating from him, a warmth that belies his unfamiliar presence. His eyes, though unfamiliar, carry a glimmer of understanding, as if he holds some secret knowledge. Cautiously intrigued, you find yourself leaning in, allowing curiosity to momentarily overshadow your initial apprehension.

“It’s ___, right?” The stranger's voice, when it finally reaches your ears, bears an uncanny familiarity and you find yourself wondering as to how he knows your name.

“My name is Bumjoong, I know your friends…”He speaks of your eight friends, their tender nicknames rolling off his tongue with an intimate familiarity that sends shivers cascading down your spine. A chill dances along your skin as the realisation dawns upon you – this stranger knows them, knows the depth of your connection, and knows your place within their intertwined lives.

With a mixture of trepidation and longing, you listen intently as the stranger, now revealing himself as a relative of ‘Captain’, begins to unfold a heart-wrenching truth. 

“I am not quite sure how to break this to you, but they have passed away.” He delicately confesses that your friends have passed away, their spirits departing from this earthly realm. 

A surge of desperation engulfs you, as you plead with the stranger, your voice laced with a mixture of hope and despair, yearning for answers that might provide solace or healing.

“What? What do you mean? What happened?” your voice is desperate as you plead for one answer, anything.

However, the stranger, though understanding the turmoil within you, stands resolute in his silence. Your pleas fall upon closed lips, his reasons for withholding the details shrouded in mystery. 

“I’m sorry ___, truly. You’re going to be okay.” Is all he says before slowly fading from your presence, leaving you alone with the weight of his revelation, a tempest of emotions rages within you.

“It's not true.” You say to yourself, over and over, tears falling freely from your face. 

For months on end, you wage a war against the harrowing news you received. Denial becomes your refuge, a desperate attempt to cling to the belief that your friends are still alive, that their laughter and shared moments have not been extinguished. It becomes a battle fought within the depths of your own mind, as you fiercely defend the hope that they will one day return, that this cruel reality can somehow be undone.

Yet, as the relentless passage of time weaves its threads, your resistance begins to fray. The fortress of denial that you have so painstakingly built crumbles, unable to withstand the unyielding weight of truth. Slowly, hesitantly, you open yourself up to the possibility that your beloved friends have truly departed from this world. The bittersweet tendrils of acceptance seep into your consciousness, searing your heart with an indescribable ache, as you embark on a gruelling journey through the depths of grief. With each passing day, you learn to navigate the relentless waves of sorrow, gradually embracing the harsh reality that your cherished friends are no longer with you, their presence forever etched in your memories and the ache of their absence ever present in your soul.

They are gone.

⇢ taglist: @lilactangerine @plutoneu @abby-grace @sunkissed725 @lixiel0ver @acciocriativity @hyukssunflower @sunukissed @khjcoo @stopeatread @meginthebuilding27 @mychickentendou @sunnyhokyu @rxnexxi @croa-yevon @arabelleum @randomness7198 @dysftopia @lucymultistan @sookacc @starillusion13 @daceydeath @theamazinggrace-000 @smilingtokki @hasgalore @pytssamworld @just-a-really-bored-kpop-fan @satsuri3su

@theonesoldtoonedirection @wooya1224 @deadpoetsandhoney @skztrophy @kunhengie @tinyelfperson @l0vetiny @simplyalfie @doggopepper @seungily @dino-teezerr @silentcry329 @formulateez @senpai-of-doom @aaaaajonghooooo @ijwsbdinp ​@liniiiaa @channiespup @heyitstacy @eightmakesonebraincell @araknoid @itsmeregan @rynmlk @kazuhateez @galaxypox @chermonroe @babyhailey819 @euphoricdeni @wooya1224 @matzbear @h-nji @tunaasan @send-me-places @llynx7 @solstramaii @mlink64 @purple-bell @punkhazardlaw

[elysianightsss]

Limerence | Eight

C H A P T E R E I G H T

limerence / lim-ê-rêns / (noun)

“Obsessive romantic attraction towards another person”

Summary: In which the owners of Jujutsu Incorporated, the Ôgami brothers, are suddenly interested in you.

Pairing: Alpha!Sukuna x reader, Alpha!Itadori x reader, Alpha!Gojo x reader, Alpha!Geto x reader, Alpha!Nanami x reader, Alpha!Kenjaku x reader

Status: Ongoing.

Genre: werewolf au, soulmate, polyamory relationship, angst, fluff, omegaverse, a/b/o dynamics.

Warnings: smut, violence, mentions of knotting, heats, ruts, insecurities, some descriptions of reader’s body, mention of possible ED, omegaspace, domdrop, swearing, blood, depression, suicidal thoughts, possessiveness, obsessive thoughts, Alpha tendencies.

Chapter Warnings: smut ahead, reader goes into sporadic heat, Kento being the top alpha, knotting, alpha/omega dynamics, feral omega, mentions of bruises, mentions of anxiety.

Masterlist | Chapter Seven | Chapter Nine

Taglist: @better-imagination-9 @tiredjuniper @jjkz @honeybeeboobaa @cherryblossomdelusion @dependsonthedream @alluresenses @qardasngan @imcamboaf @ondragonhonour @misscaller06 @itsberrydreemurstuff @queen-luna-007 @elleflying07 @xxemmarldxx @thepeachesclub @heartless-tate @victoria1676 @dremerys @openup-yourmind @topmeyelena @your-favourite-god @neptunieesworld @canary58143 @lucilles-witchery @thoughtfulbananaduckcroissant

Taglist is open.

————————————————————————

It burned. Like pure lava running through your veins, like poison was consuming you with every breath you took. You felt heavy, no matter how much you wanted to writhe and wriggle in pain you physically couldn’t move your limbs.

Weighed down under the pressure. Pressure of anxiety, pressure of the pain, pressure of your dormant omega pushing you to mate. Pushing you to let her take over. You fight her hard, not wanting to give in while you cry on Kenjaku’s bed.

But all too soon it becomes too much, and the soothingly soft voice whispering to let go is the only comfort you have right now. Your alphas. Yes, your alphas were all standing around watching you. Doing nothing. Nothing.

Let go, it will feel so good. The voice echos in your mind. Your voice, but sultry and sickly sweet. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel yourself slipping away into the back of your mind, a hungry feral omega slipping into place.

Kento had only ever read about it, never seen it in person. His eyes widened as yours began to glow golden, hands grabbing and pulling at the clothes on your body. Claws beginning to grow and tear at the soft cotton that Kenjaku had only dressed you in less than five minutes ago.

Speaking of, his willpower was hedging with every moment that slowly passed by. The way his half mast cerulean eyes raked over you, a prize to be earned. The smell of you was intoxicating, your scent wrapped in a heady heat, the sweetest decadence.

“How sad,” you cooed, your voice different. Deeper and sultry, a wickedly sweet voice rising in your throat, you didn’t even know you could sound like this, “My big strong Alphas not even touching their omega.”

A smirk plastered on your face when you hear the gut wrenching growls that erupted in room. The air around you freezing compared to the gut wrenching fever burning you from the inside out.

You’re consumed by their scent, it’s almost enough to stop the inferno rising in your throat. It’s currently sating the thin layer of hot sweat that’s trying to take place on your body.

“Pathetic.” Your upper lip curls with a snarl of your own, a certifiable giggle pushing itself out. You’re too deep to care if you look crazy, your mind swirling with all the possibilities of what your alphas could do to you. They curl around you making you feel all fuzzy.

“Okay we need to decide who stays with her. The rest of us are gonna have to leave.” Sukuna spoke up, saying the obvious.

“Leave the room?” Yuji asks with malcontent clear in his longing tone.

“Leave the house. She’s not in a state to handle all of us. Her omega has taken over and if we all tried to mate with her right now she could distress. So it’s gotta be one of us.” Sukuna spoke fast and efficiently. He wanted to be the one to stay, they all did.

“Rock paper scissors?” Suguru asked, and honestly the rest of the pack couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

“No. I’m pack alpha. It needs to be me.” The five brothers all nodded, agreeing but disappointed nonetheless. Each of the brothers slowly left the room, Kento listened for the front door and not long after it slammed shut.

His eyes were honed in on you, god you were such a pretty thing. Makes him almost surprised his brother left so easily but they couldn’t argue with their pack alpha even if they tried.

Sweat trickles down your forehead, strands of hair sticking to your hot skin. For a fleeting second you falter at the images flashing behind your eyes, a twist of lime and ginger injected into your scent that has the Alpha outside your nest inhaling deeply, his own eyes glowing golden as his wolf claws its way to the surface.

He pushed his wolf away hoping to hold onto the last few threads of control, you hadn’t met his Alpha yet and right now is a very bad time for the meet and greet to take place.

“You just gonna stand there.” You huff, an almost drunk feeling pumps through your viens, it has you whimpering, deliriousness intent on consuming you.

“Omega.” You find your resolve weakening at the cavernous growl from the now agitated werewolf hovering over you. The confidence filled chuckle is harsh and belittling as his Alpha presents. His eyes glowing so bright you thought they might blind you.

Then you’re against his body in a tight hold that made it very clear, you weren’t going anywhere. Kento’s nose wrinkles when it presses against your scent gland, the smell he caught a glimpse of earlier was back and strong this time. Lime and ginger, a hint of vanilla in there too.

Heat claws it’s way up your body, from your toes to your legs to your torso until your eyes glaze over and all you want is him. All you need is his cock inside your spasming walls until you’re so high on bliss it’s impossible to talk back.

Your Alpha’s darkening gaze watches the change in you as he towers over your very needy form. His mind reeling with thoughts of you taking every thick inch of him until the pleasure wracking through your body is so intense you can’t even form a coherent thought.

“Oh I’m gonna take care of you pretty omega.” Kento grins, pulled off every stitch that covered him.

“Alpha.” It was breathless and god it tempted him in a way you could never imagine, coming up with a thousand different ways to ruin you. Kento more beast than man, ripped each item of clothing off of you feeling jealous that they were touching you and he wasn’t.

His chest puffed out in pride as his eyes slid across over your figure, pupils zeroing in on the shudder in your breath. He manhandled you so easily into the position he wanted you in. Your face pressed against the soft sheets of the bed as your ass was raised in the air.

A low and soft, oh falling from his lips. One could mistake it for a groan and you whimpered feeling it. Because fuck did you feel it, the werewolf now on his knees behind you watching your slick trickle down your thigh quick to lick it up not letting any go to waste.

It’s as if that one drop transformed him to a starving man who had a three course meal laid out in front of him and oh fuck yes,your eyes rolled back, sinful moans echoing in the room.

He moved his tongue like he was possessed, licking into your clenching hole as if he was digging for something before closing his lips around your clit and sucking it so hard you swear it will be bruised tomorrow. His harsh and continuous actions on your cunt had your fists clenched around the sheets, your back arching as you started a slow grind on his tongue.

“Your scent, fuck, you’re so intoxicating. I can never get enough.” He hums into your weeping entrance, but you’re so focused on the feeling of euphoria coursing through your veins you don’t hear him, all your senses being taken over and before you know it you’re on your back, darkening brown piercing your soul the longer he stared into your eyes.

A dark possessiveness shadows his face, something you’d never seen before on anyone. It frightens you, sours your scent just a little but your body doesn’t care. Your cunt producing more slick, pushing out the pheromones that made Kento’s knot start to swell.

You jut your hips out, bucking them with desperation. Kento’s blonde hair falls forward, his tanned skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. With one roll of his hips he’s inside you and not giving you a second to comprehend it. No he’s already pulling back and slamming into you over and over again watching as you arch your body into his.

His large hand slides up over your throat to your mouth, two thick fingers slipping inside letting you moan and whine around them, saliva dribbling down your cheeks. Neither of you care so engrossed in the feeling of being fucked so thoroughly.

“I’m gunna cum in this pretty pussy so many times there’s no way you won’t be round with my pups by the end of the week.”

The words blur together with others like full, knot and perfection. He mumbles them and you try your hardest to reply only coming out with incoherent noises.

“I know sweetheart, it’s too much isn’t it? Is my thick cock too much for such a tight pussy, omega?” He doesn’t expect an answer he knows you’re gone, knows by the look he saw in your eyes before they rolled back into your skull just as your arms gave out.

Kento’s knot swells tighter and tighter with each thrust, he’s heaving as he bucks against you. You’re not any better, body exhausted, slick completely covering the lower part of your body while you dribbled around your Alpha’s fingers. The same fingers he slides down your body, rubbing circles over your clit tighter and tighter like a coil tightening.

Until it snaps.

And it did snap. Your body convulsed with rivets of pleasure washing over you wave after wave. It was unlike anything you’d ever experienced, your omega purring with satisfaction. She begins to slip back into the corner of your mind bringing you forward just as Kento moans into the cold air, his knot locking into place as he cums.

Ropes of it, hot and sticky. Filling you up as your body collapses completely onto the bed. “It’s okay sweetheart. The first parts over.” Kento coos wiping the sweat away from his forehead before he lays down, gently adjusting you until you’re both laid side by side. Him behind you, him inside you.

His large hands petting over every part of you, watching as you twitch and gasp at the sensations of his cum pouring into you more and more each second. “You did so good for me omega,” Kento’s lips pressed into your hair, whispering more praises there.

You whimper starting to feel uncomfortably full, “You’re okay sweetheart, sleep now. It won’t be long until the pain starts again, you need as much rest as you can get.” He tells you though you’re too delirious to comprehend each word. “When my knot goes down I’ll grab some snacks and fluids. Don’t worry about a thing omega, Alpha is gonna take care of you.”

And he does. Over the two days your heat lasts Kento does an amazing job of taking care of you. He knots you when you need it even when it started to get sore towards the end. He fed you and made sure you were drinking as much as he could make you.

After everything was over, after the blazing heat had gone you were in pain in a way you’d never known. Everything hurt. Your limbs felt like they had been battered, your head felt heavy and pulsed every time you blinked and your vagina was so bruised you told Kento you’d bite his hand off when he tried to run the wash cloth over in in the bath.

The bath, this was your third one now and you still weren’t feeling any better. It’d been four days since you’d last seen the rest of the pack. You wonder when they will come back but you don’t ask Kento, too afraid he might say never.

“No better?” Kento asks and you hate to squish the hope that is present in his voice but you don’t want to lie. You shake your head no. “Maybe we should call in a doctor. Omegas are supposed to start recovering the moment the heat is over. It’s been two days since then and you’re not feeling any better and I’m not seeing any improvements on your bruising either.”

“No!” You panic gripping onto his arm tightly from where you were sat in the warm bath. Kento frowns in concern coming closing to the edge of the bath, his full attention on you as you speak. “No doctors. I’m not comfortable since J-Jade.” You internally curse that you stutter her name but it wouldn’t have mattered, Kento can see the fear shining in your eyes.

He sighs but nods. The alpha helps you get out of the bath and get dried as he thinks of a solution to the problem. Carrying you over to what Kento keeps calling your bed, he places you down and pulls the covers over your tired body. “What if I call the boys back. Is that okay sweetheart?” He asks as if this isn’t his house. As if it’s yours, as if you pay the bills and your name is on the mortgage.

“Omega?” He questions seeing you started to pick at your nails, anxiety seeping in. Before it happens he stops it, distracts you. “Are you feeling up for that?”

You simply nod because what are you supposed to say? Admit that you have been missing them monumentally and want nothing more than for all your Alphas to be together with you. The pack as one.

“Okay sweetheart, I’ll give them a call while I heat up some soup for you. Try and get some sleep while I do yeah?” He kisses your forehead, brown eyes so full of love it would send you spiralling into a panic attack but you’re too tired for that. You let your eyes slip close as he turns on the rose gold fairy lights above your bed, turning the main light off he leaves the door open and heads downstairs to call the boys.

Maybe when they return you’re start to heal. Only one way to find out.

[erebusbabylon]

'90 millennial here with a request if you have the time

I'm struggling w overstimulation and depression and anxiety today (ok, tbh it's most days) and would love to read about Celebrimbor helping his love deal with such issues

Also 你的中文怎么样？

Yay! A fellow not quite elder, not quite younger, Millennial!

I am in the same boat most days as well! I live in a perpetual state of overstimulation. Living in China as a foreigner is not for the faint of heart. I looooved writing this! It was very therapeutic for me haha! Thanks for the idea! I hope you like it <3

我的中文还可以。我在中国已经六年了。我���要多学习!

Calm Within the Chaos (RoP! Celebrimbor x F! Wife)

Celebrimbor sat at his desk, poring over dispatches from other Elven lords. The papers were filled with updates on the affairs of Middle-earth, but his mind wandered far from the matters at hand. He sensed a heaviness in the atmosphere of their home, one that had settled over the past few weeks. His wife, once vibrant and filled with laughter, had grown quieter, her spirit dimmed by an unseen weight.

As he turned his focus back to his work, he cast a glance toward her. She was curled up in a corner of the room, lost in her thoughts, her gaze distant. The gentle flicker of the lanterns illuminated her features, but Celebrimbor could see the shadows lurking in her eyes.

“Beloved,” he called softly, setting his quill aside. “Would you join me for a moment?”

She looked up, her expression a mix of surprise and reluctance. “I— I’m fine,” she replied, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

“Please,” he urged gently. “Come. Sit.” he said patting his lap.

She quietly approached and settled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. The warmth of his presence brought a small comfort, but she was still tense. He set the dispatches aside, turning his full attention to her. “You don’t have to carry this alone,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Talk to me.”

She hesitated, her eyes flickering to the floor. “It’s just everything… I feel overwhelmed. The endless flow of meetings, the tasks, people always requiring more of my time… I can’t seem to find peace.”

Celebrimbor nodded, his heart aching for her. “Oh, my darling! Being the Lady of Eregion is a demanding position, and you take on more than your fair share of duties while I work in the forge. You deserve rest."

He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her tightly. “Let’s find a way to lighten the load. You deserve moments of quiet, of joy—away from all the responsibilities.”

She looked up at him, her expression softening. “I want that, but it feels impossible sometimes. Even now, I can hear the echoes of the forge and the voices of our people.”

“Let us escape the noise together. What if we took a walk down to the river? The beauty of nature often brings peace, and I would love to spend that time with you.”

A small smile began to break through her worries. “That sounds lovely. But what about your work?”

“Let it wait,” he replied firmly, his gaze steady. “You are my priority. The dispatches can wait until tomorrow. Right now, I want to focus on you.”

As they walked hand in hand down the winding path toward the river, the soothing sounds of nature enveloped them. The air was filled with the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant song of birds, a welcome contrast to the tension that had clouded her spirit.

However, their peaceful moment was interrupted when a herald approached, his expression serious as he bowed slightly. “My Lord, My Lady,” he said, breathless from his hurried pace. “I have urgent letters that require your attention.” he said looking at her.

Celebrimbor’s brow furrowed, and he stepped protectively in front of his wife. “Leave them in my study,” he replied firmly. “I will take care of them.”

The herald hesitated, glancing at her. “But, My Lord, these letters are specifically for the Lady of Eregion.”

With a raised eyebrow and a hint of sass, Celebrimbor crossed his arms. “I am the Lord of Eregion, and whoever is demanding her time will have to go through me first to get it.” His tone was light, but the protectiveness in his posture was unmistakable.

The herald looked taken aback but quickly regained his composure. “Yes, My Lord. I will leave them in your study.”

“Thank you,” Celebrimbor said, waving the messenger away. As the herald retreated, he turned back to his wife, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “See? You are not to be burdened with such trivialities today.”

She chuckled softly, appreciating his fierce loyalty.

As they continued walking, the gentle sound of flowing water grew louder, promising a moment of tranquility that they both desperately needed.

As they reached the riverbank, the gentle flow of water sparkled under the warm sunlight. Celebrimbor scanned the area, searching for the perfect spot. He spotted a patch of soft grass nestled beneath the shade of a willow tree, its branches swaying lightly in the breeze.

“This looks perfect,” he said, guiding her toward it. They settled down, and she immediately lay her head in his lap, feeling the coolness of the grass beneath her and the warm sun above.

Celebrimbor smiled down at her, his fingers instinctively finding their way into her hair. He began to play with it gently, weaving his fingers through the strands, creating soothing patterns. The rhythmic motion felt like a balm against the worries that had plagued her.

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to sink into the moment. The warmth of the sun kissed her skin, and she focused on the sensations—the gentle tug of his fingers in her hair, the soft rustle of the willow branches, and the distant songs of birds flitting about.

In that serene space, the weight of her responsibilities began to fade, replaced by a profound sense of peace. “This is perfect,” she murmured, a small smile gracing her lips.

Celebrimbor looked down at her, his heart swelling with affection. “I could stay here forever,” he replied softly. “Just you and me, away from all the demands of the world.”

Celebrimbor leaned down, his lips brushing softly against her forehead before lingering there for a moment. The warmth of his kiss enveloped her, and she felt a surge of comfort wash over her.

“Whenever you feel overwhelmed,” he whispered, pulling back slightly to look into her eyes, “come to me. No matter what I’m doing, I promise I will stop everything to care for you. You are more important to me than anything else in this world.”

His gaze was earnest, filled with a depth of love that made her heart swell. “You don’t have to carry your burdens alone. I’m here for you, always.”

She smiled, feeling a sense of safety in his words. “Thank you, my love. That means more to me than you know.”

[bagopucks]

C. Caufield - Linear Progress

✄————————————

Cole Caufield x Fem!reader

Requested✨

Word Count: 3.3k

Warning(s): anxiety, mention of depressive episode, sad!cole

These upcoming fics are all things from my notes app from last season, doctored and given a finish so I could post! Some of these are so long it’d be a shame to just delete.

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His smile barely reached his eyes. His laughter was distant and distracted. Cole, so used to keeping good posture to feel like he measured up to those around him, stood about as poorly as a pregnant mother. His gloved hands clasped in front of himself as he shifted his weight from skate to skate.

I couldn’t take pictures of him like that. People would never notice the vulnerable state he was in, but I did. He looked so nervous. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but on the ice. And I knew that’s exactly what was going through his mind, because he’d pulled all the stops that morning trying to get me to call off for him. He’d tried saying he didn’t feel good, then he tried saying he just wanted to lay in bed. Then he tried faking a headache, and he tried tricking me into thinking he had gone back to bed. By the time I got him into the car, Cole’s attitude had done a complete switch. All of a sudden it was like work was the best place on earth. We had parted ways to do our separate things, but when I came down to the ice with my camera, I could sense Cole’s discomfort from a mile away.

“You wanna hit something other than the glass, Coley?” I watched Cole through the lens of my camera. Watched the way he brushed off the chirp with a quiet chuckle and a nod. He just wanted to stay home. I should have let him. Practice was only an hour, but it certainly felt longer. Between everybody’s endless digs on the blonde, and the occasional glances in Cole’s direction from coaches, I could see his facade cracking and fading.

I didn’t capture near as many photos as I would have liked, but my boss would just have to use what the other photographers got. Surely we’d have more than enough. I tucked my camera back into its bag by the time practice ended, watching the boys leave the ice, and eventually walking toward the visitors tunnel. I stopped short though, when I heard a puck slam off the glass. I turned back to the ice, my heart sinking in my chest at the frustration on Cole’s face.

“Fucking empty net.” His voice carried through the empty arena.

This had nothing to do with the empty net in the present. It had to do with the empty net he missed one week prior. That seemed to have started his scoring drought.

“Fuck.” He spat out. My brow furrowed as he skated toward the bench, my body tensing in anticipation as he raised his stick, clearly ready to slam it off the top of the bench wall until it broke. Before he could even bring the stick down, his entire body relaxed. He found reason within his anger. Or maybe he had simply given up. I watched Cole throw the stick aside in the bench instead, saying, ‘fuck it,’ before he stomped down the tunnel toward the locker room.

He had just returned from an injury. Adjusting was normal. Relearning some things was normal. But Cole wasn’t patient with himself. He never was. I carried my camera down the separate hall, half tempted to retrieve Cole’s stick, but ultimately deciding against it. He’d be embarrassed if he knew I’d watched him lash out like that. He hated when people saw any side of him that wasn’t the usual giggly and fun side.

I stole away to my office to finish a few things before I received a message from him, trying to speed up the process of downloading photos to my computer as Cole’s face popped up on my phone screen. I quickly answered the call.

“Hey, babe-“

“I wanna go home.” So much for pleasantries, but I hadn’t expected them in the first place.

“Give me maybe.. fifteen minutes, okay?” Silence followed my request for time.

“Please.” I heard his voice echo, my brow furrowing as I glanced toward my phone.

“Are you in the bathroom?”

“I just wanna go home.” I could have sworn I heard Cole’s voice quiver.

“You can come sit in my office while you wait.”

“I’m okay.” I wanted to pinch my nose. To grab him by the shoulders and shake the stubbornness out of him.

“Why don’t you go wait in the car then?” I bit my lip as I looked back at my computer.

“‘Kay. But.. just fifteen minutes, right?”

My eyes lit up when the photos finally loaded onto the computer.

“Less than fifteen.” I answered, “I’ll be fast.”

I tried to stay true to my word, but when my boss stopped me in the hall, I knew it would be far longer than fifteen minutes. A half an hour longer to be exact. When I got out of her office, I ran as quickly as I could through the building to get to the parking lot. I felt horrible when I noticed Cole’s head lift. Our car the only one left in the players lot.

I tossed my camera in the back and climbed into the passenger seat without so much as a word. I wasn’t in trouble, but I knew Cole wasn’t thrilled.

“You said fifteen minutes.” Cole hadn’t wasted much time getting the car started and pulling out of the lot.

“I’m sorry. My boss stopped me, and- god you know how she is.”

“Talks for hours, yeah.” Cole tried to muster a chuckle. He looked so apathetic. So careless. But not in a freeing or jovial way. He simply looked drained and tired.

“What do you wanna do when we get home?” I asked, glancing out the window at the passing scenery. Christmas was just around the corner. Snow covered sidewalks and streets, and Christmas decor was up everywhere.

“I just wanna lay down.” Cole shook his head. I turned my attention to him.

“You could use a hair cut.”

“Not today.”

“Might feel good.” Laying around and doing nothing in the midst of a funk never helped anybody. As easy as it was to laze around, it usually only made one’s mental health worse.

“You can lay with me.” He was stuck on this idea. Too bad I was stuck on my own as well.

“I’ll lay with you if you let me cut your hair.”

Cole didn’t reply. He bit his lip and ignored the proposal. “I have stuff to do today anyway.” I shrugged. I wanted to be there, but if Cole didn’t let me in, there wasn’t much I could do. So if he insisted on laying around all day, I’d busy myself with cleaning, straightening up the few decorations we had yet to put out, working on Christmas cards. Anything to busy myself while he stayed miserable.

“‘Mkay.”

It was the end of our conversation until we got back to our apartment. I carried my things inside behind Cole, who kicked his shoes off and headed straight for our bedroom. I had to stop myself from following after him. Instead, I dropped my camera bag on the love seat and wandered into the dining room to grab my laptop,

He’d come around eventually. It was what I kept telling myself as I turned on some Christmas music and put the few finishing touches on our customized Christmas cards. I sang along quietly, and set my laptop aside when I finished the cards. I saved the design to show to Cole when he felt better, and shot up from the couch to make a glass of hot chocolate.

I ended up making two, and against my better judgement, I carried one down the hall for my lover.

“Cole?” I toed our bedroom door open, spotting his still body curled up under a mess of blankets. His back was turned to the door, but I could tell he had the comforter pulled over half of his face. I sighed, resting the mug on his nightstand before I placed a hand on his arm.

“Made you some hot chocolate.” I whispered, leaning over to kiss his shoulder. I didn’t know if Cole was awake or not, but the affection was needed nonetheless. I tiptoed out of our room and pulled the door shut behind myself, only to return to my own world of lonely Christmas preparation.

I spent close to two hours putting up the last of the decorations and cleaning. I saved the tiny statues of Hermey and Rudolph for the tv mantle, where they always went, but Cole loved being the one to put them up. I stared down at the statues on the coffee table, placing my hands on my hips as I’ll Be Home For Christmas came on from my laptop on the couch. The cozy atmosphere was almost perfect. I just wished Cole didn’t feel so horrible. He deserved to enjoy his holidays. Not worry them away.

I glanced back toward the hall, hearing an ear splitting shatter as if on cue.

“Cole?” I shouted, panic seizing my chest as I took off through the hallway, making a sharp turn to push our bedroom door open. Cole was out of bed, wearing nothing but boxers, holding an arm out toward the door.

“It’s fine! I’m fine! I got it!” I looked toward the floor to see the mug I’d set on his dresser in pieces. I grimaced. His favorite mug. Hot chocolate ran across the floor, and I was quick to jog into the bathroom to grab a towel.

“Here.” When I returned, I tossed the towel on the floor, covering the small puddle of liquid. “I’ll go grab something to wipe the floor down.. you start picking up glass.” I left the bedroom, going to rummage through the kitchen for my floor cleaner. When I found it, I grabbed a few paper towels as well, returning in record time.

Cole was knelt on the floor, the towel from the bathroom pushed aside as he collected glass from the floor. I noticed the sporadic and heavy rise and fall of his back, the way his chest heaved. His hair covered his eyes, and despite not being able to see his face, I knew he was upset.

“Coley.” I made my way over and knelt next to him.

“I’m almost done.” Cole’s voice quivered. I set the items in my hands down, gently resting my hand on his cheek, turning his head to face me. Cole’s eyes were wet with tears, his cheeks flushed and stained by the tracks of tears that had already fallen.

“Oh, Cole.” I kissed his forehead, shaken by the sob that escaped his lips as he set the collected glass down atop a paper towel. I sat down on the floor and pulled him in. He’d been kneeling before, but he barely thought twice about it when his body fell into my own, back pressed into my chest while I held onto him tightly.

“I’m sorry.” The words came out through broken cries, but I merely shook my head and rubbed his side with one of my hands.

“It’s okay.. everything is gonna be okay.” Cole didn’t have days like these often. Where everything bubbled over and became too much to bear. He was good at keeping himself in check. In fact, he was usually the one taking care of me on days like these. But I never missed an opportunity to assure him I was there in moments when he felt he couldn’t function. When the dark cloud looming over was simply too much to bear. I rested my chin on Cole’s shoulder, pressing occasional kisses to his body to help distract and ease his mind.

“Cole,” I whispered as he started to calm down. He wiped the tears from his cheeks and slowly turned to look at me. “Let’s fix this mess, okay? Then we can relax.” He seemed reluctant to get up, and I knew he’d sit there all day if I didn’t take initiative. “C’mon.” I directed his attention back to the glass, helping him retrieve the last few pieces before he got up to throw them away. I made quick work of cleaning the floor, wiping down any sticky spots before I had stood up to put the towel in the hamper, and throw the paper towels away. When Cole returned, he stood in the doorway, hugging himself for warmth, or maybe still out of discomfort. I turned to look at him, flashing a sad smile.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to..” as if I didn’t know that. As if he hadn’t already apologized. I crossed the floor to meet him in the doorway, wrapping my arms around his body. I gently rubbed his back, taking note of the tight muscles.

“It was an accident. It’s okay.” I whispered, “you wanna talk about what’s been going on?” I looked up at him, earning a quiet ‘no,’ in response.

“Cole, you were just crying. It might help some.” I tucked a lock of his long blonde hair behind his ear, then trailed my hand down his face, following his jaw.

“I just wanna lay back down.”

There it was. That constant avoidance.

“At least lay with me on the couch. All the decorations in the living room are set out.” I rubbed the small of his back, earning a careful nod. “I’m gonna grab a sweatshirt first. It’s a little cold.” I moved my arms around to his stomach, nodding and pressing a kiss to his shoulder before I slipped out of the bedroom.

There was no promise that Cole wouldn’t lay back down in our bed, but I had to trust him a little.

When I got back into the living room, I shut the lights out and plugged the Christmas tree in. I grabbed one of our Christmas blankets and laid it out on the couch, waiting for him as I placed a throw pillow at one end. I laid down and pushed the blanket aside so I could pull it over us later. I grabbed the tv remote and started sifting through channels, smiling at Cole when he finally came through the hall. He still didn’t have pants on, but his sweatshirt sleeves were pulled over his hands, and he had the plastic end of one of the strings in his mouth. As cozy as he could get. I parted my legs for him to lay down between them, and he did with little to no hesitation. Cole’s back rested against my chest, his head finding a home near my shoulder. I wrapped my legs around his own and swiftly covered up with the blanket.

“You finished decorating without me?” I heard him sniff quietly, still recovering from the crying fit he had minutes ago.

“It had to get done.” I rested a hand on his head, gently combing my fingers through his hair. “I left Rudolph for you.” I gestured toward the coffee table with my free hand.

“Are we still visiting my family over Christmas?”

“Absolutely, Cole.” I smiled. “You’ve been looking forward to that since November.” When the silence settled between us, I moved my free hand to rest atop one of his own. I dragged my thumb across his knuckles, traced the lines in his hand, flipped it over to massage his palm.

“I just want it to be over.. ya know?” Cole’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“What do you want to be over?” I matched his volume, continuing to rub his hand and play with his hair. One little change might throw him off.

“I just wanna be good again.” He sighed, turning his head against my shoulder to look up at the ceiling.

“At hockey?”

“Yeah. I can’t even hit the net.” Cole closed his eyes, trying to hide his frustrations.

“Give it time, Cole. It’s all a part of recovery. It’s not a linear thing.” I whispered. “And we’re gonna go visit your family in a week. You should be focused on that. I know you wanna be back on the ice, but if you rush you could hurt yourself.”

“What if they don’t resign me?” My movement halted. I lifted my head from the pillow to peek down at him.

“Why would they do that?”

“Because I can’t play.”

“Cole.” I squeezed his hand. “You’re gonna recover. You’ll get back to playing hockey. Your skill hasn’t just gone away.” I could understand his concerns to a degree, but I knew these worries were all in his head. “If they decide to ship you off it’s because they’re morons. It’ll have nothing to do with your recovery. Injuries happen, and you can’t control them.” His silence was deafening. Sometimes I hated how hard Cole thought about things.

“I really like it in Montreal.”

“Cole.” A tension accompanied my tone. One that made his eyes fall toward the opposite end of the couch. “You can’t trap yourself in this endless cycle of negative thoughts.” I began to play with his hair once again. “What if they do want you? What if you recover so well that they decide to sign you for more years? What if you get a better contract than the last? What if this injury turns you into a superstar?” Cole shifted against me, clearly displeasured by the combative tactic I was using.

“Okay?”

“Cole. Anything can happen. Good or bad. You can’t control it.. so let’s just not think about it. It’s tearing you apart.”

“Because it’s my future! Don’t you get it?” Cole sat up, careful not to hurt me. I was quick to sit up as well, folding my legs criss-crossed on the couch as I watched his head fall into his hands. His once calm breathing began to pick up once again.

“The future isn’t going to sneak up on you Cole! The future is a second from now. A day, three days. It’s a fucking week or a month. It’s not going to come and assault you in an alleyway one day. You’re thinking too much. The physician, physical therapist, your coaches, they’re all working with you. They’re all making sure you get back on the ice. And they’ve been telling you that you’re recovering well. You’re doing great! Why don’t you see that?” I was impatient as I waited for an answer. Waited for Cole to look at me, or show some sign of understanding.

“I don’t know.” His voice quivered again. His chest heaved with a deep and quiet cry. He desperately needed that week off. He needed that week with his family. With his mother and his dog. Olive was the best at cheering Cole up.

I slid across the couch, draping one of my arms over his back as Cole cried quietly.

“It’s okay to be worried,” I whispered, resting my other hand on his thigh. “But you can’t let it consume you. You have to talk to people.” I didn’t know how we got there, but I knew it was because of his own stubborn behaviors. If he simply would have spoken to me before, we could have worked this out. And even despite knowing that, I couldn’t be mad. I couldn’t blame Cole for whatever reason he chose not to communicate, because I knew he didn’t do it to spite me or hurt me for not understanding. “You can’t let yourself get here, Cole. This constant state of panic won’t help anything.” I pressed a kiss to his head. “Things are going to turn out okay, but you need to allow yourself to see that. Please… let me help you see that.” I felt his body lean into my own, and I wrapped my arms around him once again. “There’s nothing to worry about.” I whispered, “take it one day at a time.”

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

[theetherealbloom]

AS GOOD A REASON - CH. 3 | OBERYN MARTELL

Chapter Three: There Will Be No Glory

Summary: You, who has made it her life's work to get retribution on those who mistreated and harassed you when you were a child. The scars on your body are a physical reminder of the suffering you endured at the hands of abusers, and they also provide the fuel for your years-long quest for retribution.

Paring: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, MINORS GO AWAY, GoT is full of serious and harmful topics, mentions of SA, Rape (not the reader), Murder, Violence, Gore, War, Poison, Scars, Burns, Scratching, Su!c!de, AU, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Blood, War, Religion References, Nudity, Domestic Abuse, Incest, Prostitution, Weapons, Fire, Horror, Character Deaths, Rewrite Alternate Universe, Sex, Alcohol, Revenge, 

Word Count: 8.4k

A/N: I swear I’m cookin’ back here. I've been writing this series non-stop for days lmao. Idk what hit me?? I actually have the next chapter ready to post too lmao. Hope everyone is doing well!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: hunter by Paris Paloma

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KING'S LANDING, THE SEPT OF BAELOR — EARLY MORNING

The Sept of Baelor was alive with a flurry of activity. Servants moved swiftly, preparing for the grand wedding of Joffrey Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell. Every corner of the grand sept was being scrubbed, every flower meticulously placed, every banner hung with precision. The sun had barely risen, casting a golden hue over the stained-glass windows, but already the heat of the day was making the air feel thick and heavy.

You were in the midst of it all, arranging the delicate floral garlands along the altar. The scent of the flowers was overwhelming, mingling with the incense that filled the Sept. Your hands moved mechanically, arranging the blooms with precision, though your mind was elsewhere. The headache that had been gnawing at the edges of your consciousness all morning now pulsed with a vengeance, a searing pain behind your eyes. It was getting harder to focus, and the heat didn’t help.

Voices echoed through the Sept as people hurried by, servants calling to one another in preparation, but it was all a dull hum in your ears. You pressed a hand to your temple, closing your eyes for a moment as the migraine intensified. The world seemed to blur at the edges, the weight of your own thoughts pressing down on you, mingling with the physical pain. 

Then, suddenly, a firm hand gripped your arm. You gasped, eyes snapping open as you were pulled away from your work, your feet stumbling beneath you. The world spun as you were dragged through the corridors, away from the main hall. 

Your first instinct was to fight back. You kicked, struggled, your heart pounding with panic. But the grip was unyielding, dragging you into a darkened alcove, hidden away from prying eyes. 

“What are you—? Let go of me!” you hissed, your voice strained with fear and frustration as you fought against your captor, kicking and trying to free yourself.

Then, in the dim light, you saw him. Oberyn Martell. His eyes gleamed with amusement, but there was something else in them—a hunger, a dangerous edge. He didn’t release you, instead pressing you further into the shadows, the cool stone wall biting against your back.

“You—” you began, breathless, still trying to regain control of the situation, but Oberyn leaned closer, cutting off your words with the intensity of his gaze. 

“Shh," he whispered, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. "I’ve been looking for you.”

His words hung between you like a dangerous secret. His body pressed against yours, firm and unyielding, his hands bracing on either side of your head, caging you in. Your heart raced as you realized there was no escaping him now. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, determined to maintain your composure despite the sudden surge of heat that flushed your skin. 

“What are you doing?” you demanded, your voice shaky but defiant. “We shouldn’t be here—”

Oberyn’s smile widened, the corner of his lips curving into a wicked smirk. “Shouldn’t we?” His tone was teasing, but his eyes were dark, intense. His face was so close, his breath warm against your skin. “You’ve been avoiding me. I’ve noticed.”

“I’m working,” you replied, trying to maintain control of your voice, trying to keep your heart from pounding so loudly in your chest. “And you should be—”

But Oberyn interrupted you, his hand brushing lightly against your arm, sending sparks shooting up your spine. "You carry yourself with grace, more like a lady of the court than a servant.” His gaze trailed over you, studying you, watching the way you tried to hide the tremor in your breath. “It makes me wonder… who are you really?”

Your throat tightened. The question cut too close to the truth. You had worked so hard to blend in, to be unnoticed, yet Oberyn’s gaze seemed to peel back the layers you had carefully built. He was too perceptive, too sharp.

“I’m no one,” you lied, your voice steadier than you felt. “Just a servant.”

Oberyn chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it. He leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. “A servant who speaks with such eloquence, who watches others like a hawk, as if you’re calculating their every move.” His breath was hot against your skin, his presence overwhelming as he whispered, “You’re planning something, aren’t you?”

Your pulse quickened. His words were dangerous, far too close to what you had been so careful to hide. Oberyn was watching you with an intensity that made your skin burn, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. He saw through you in a way no one else had. The facade you wore was slipping under his gaze, and you weren’t sure if you could hold it up any longer.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Oberyn tilted his head, his dark eyes searching yours, reading the fear and the defiance in equal measure. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re a good liar,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. “But I’ve spent my life around liars. And you... you are no ordinary servant.”

You swallowed hard, your back pressed firmly against the cold stone as Oberyn’s presence enveloped you. His fingers brushed lightly against your jaw, tracing the line of your face as he studied you. "There's something about you," he said, his voice soft but dangerous. "Something... familiar."

Your breath caught in your throat. He was getting too close, too close to the truth you had buried so deeply. You had to regain control, had to push him away before he uncovered everything.

“Let me go,” you whispered, though your voice lacked the strength you intended. 

Oberyn’s eyes glimmered with something unreadable as he held you there, trapped between him and the wall. He leaned in, his lips hovering near yours, the tension between you crackling like wildfire. “Not yet,” he whispered, his voice a promise, a warning. 

And in that moment, you realized you were caught.

Oberyn stood so close, his presence overwhelming, his eyes filled with that dangerous blend of curiosity and something more primal. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the air between you thick with tension, as if the entire world had fallen away, leaving just the two of you in this darkened corner of the Sept.

His voice, low and smooth, broke the silence, sending a shiver down your spine. “My sister used to write to me, you know,” he began, his lips curling into a small, almost bittersweet smile. “Princess Elia. We were always apart, but her letters kept me close to her.” He paused, watching you closely, as though he could see right through the facade you’d carefully built over the years. 

You stiffened at the mention of Elia, your heart clenching painfully. You hadn’t heard that name spoken so intimately in years. You were only a child then, but you remembered her well—kind, gentle, her presence like a soft light amidst the darkness that surrounded the Red Keep. Your hands trembled slightly, but you quickly clenched them into fists, trying to maintain your composure as Oberyn continued.

“There was one letter,” he mused, his voice softening as if recalling a distant memory. His fingers lightly traced the air, as if mimicking the act of writing. “She wrote about a servant. A girl, a child really, whose parents had given her away. She never mentioned the girl’s name, but she always said how kind she was. How strong, despite everything.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You knew he was talking about you. Elia had been the only one who had shown you kindness, who had given you a place to belong when the world had taken everything from you. But you couldn’t let him know that. You couldn’t let anyone know who you truly were. The weight of your past was a burden you had carried alone, and it had to stay that way.

Oberyn stepped closer, his eyes searching yours, as though he could find the truth hidden behind your carefully guarded expression. “I wonder…” he whispered, his lips hovering near your ear. “Was that girl you?”

You swallowed hard, every instinct screaming at you to run, to get away, but Oberyn’s presence held you in place. His gaze was relentless, burning into you, waiting for an answer you couldn’t give.

“I—” You struggled to find the words, your mind racing, but your throat felt tight, your heart hammering in your chest. You had spent years building this mask, this life as a mere servant, someone no one would look at twice. But now, in the span of moments, Oberyn was threatening to tear it all away.

His hand lifted, fingers grazing the side of your face, and the world seemed to narrow down to that single point of contact. “Who are you, truly?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, but there was no mistaking the intensity in his tone.

The question hung in the air, suffocating. His proximity, the way his body loomed over yours, the way his eyes pinned you in place—it was all too much. The pressure, the closeness, the danger of being exposed—it all came crashing down on you, and suddenly, something snapped inside you.

Without warning, you moved.

Your knee shot up, connecting with Oberyn’s side, hard enough to knock the wind out of him, but not enough to cause real harm. He staggered back, his expression briefly shifting to one of surprise before it morphed into something almost amused. But you didn’t give him time to recover. You slipped out from under his arm, using his momentary lapse to dart past him, your body moving with an agility you hadn’t shown before. 

He chuckled, low and dangerous, clearly not expecting the sudden resistance. “I see,” he murmured, rubbing his side where you’d struck him, his eyes gleaming with something far more dangerous than before. “You’re full of surprises.”

But you didn’t stop to listen. You were already moving, slipping back into the main hall of the Sept where the other servants were still bustling about, preparing for the wedding. The light from the stained-glass windows bathed the room in a kaleidoscope of colors, but you barely noticed. Your heart was pounding in your chest, adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you forced yourself to keep walking, blending back into the crowd of workers.

No one seemed to notice your disheveled state, the faint tremor in your hands as you returned to your duties. You grabbed a bouquet of flowers, your fingers working mechanically as you set them in place, your mind racing with the encounter you had just escaped.

Oberyn had been close—too close. You had no idea how much he truly knew or how much he suspected, but it was clear he wasn’t going to let this go. You could still feel his eyes on you, the way he had studied you as if he could unravel all your secrets.

But you wouldn’t let him. You had survived this long by keeping your past hidden, and you wouldn’t let anyone—no matter how charming, how dangerous—pull you back into that life. 

As you worked, your mind kept replaying his words, the way he had looked at you with that knowing gaze. You could feel the danger closing in, but you had no choice but to press on. The game was far from over, and you would have to be even more careful from now on.

But one thing was clear—Oberyn Martell was not a man easily fooled.

KING'S LANDING, THE SEPT OF BAELOR — DAY

You lingered in the cool shadows of the Sept, hidden from view, just another servant who wasn’t meant to be seen. You weren’t supposed to be part of the grand ceremony at all. Your role, after all, was to prepare for the feast that would follow this extravagant display—a celebration meant to rival even the greatest of royal unions.

But something compelled you to stay.

The air was thick with the scent of incense, and the sound of hushed murmurs echoed off the high stone walls as nobles and lords gathered to witness the joining of Houses Tyrell and Lannister. It was all falling into place, every step of this elaborate plan leading to this moment. The tension in the room crackled like lightning before a storm.

You stood, your heart pounding, as Margaery Tyrell, radiant in her flowing gown, walked down the aisle on the arm of her father, Mace Tyrell. Her golden hair shimmered in the light of the stained-glass windows, and her face was calm—serene even—as though she had been preparing for this her entire life. You watched closely, your gaze sharp, dissecting every movement, every flicker of emotion. The entire event was a spectacle, a symbol of power, of politics. It was all theater. 

Mace Tyrell paused at the base of the steps, his expression proud as he handed his daughter to the waiting king. Joffrey stood at the top, his grin smug, cruel even, as he accepted Margaery’s hand. For a brief moment, your eyes lingered on the boy king, revulsion curling in your stomach. His reign had been a reign of terror and madness, and yet, in this moment, he stood like a conqueror, basking in the adulation of his subjects. 

Margaery, ever poised, ascended the steps with him, her head held high as she moved beside Joffrey. The High Septon awaited them, his voice booming through the Sept as he began the sacred rites. You felt a strange sense of detachment, as if watching the scene unfold from a great distance. Yet, there was a thrill beneath your skin—a deep, quiet satisfaction. Everything was in motion now, and there was no turning back.

The High Septon’s voice echoed through the hall, reverberating off the stone walls: 

"Let it be known that Margaery of House Tyrell and Joffrey of the Houses Lannister and Baratheon are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."

As the words filled the air, you couldn’t help but smirk slightly to yourself, hidden in the shadows. Cursed, indeed. The irony of it all, the pageantry, the vows, the promise of unity, knowing what was to come—it was almost poetic.

You watched as Joffrey, in all his arrogance, turned to Margaery, taking her hands in his. "With this kiss, I pledge my love," he declared, loud enough for all to hear. His voice carried the same venomous self-importance it always had, as if he truly believed himself a benevolent ruler.

The crowd erupted in applause as their lips met in a kiss that was supposed to symbolize the unity of two great houses. You watched with an unreadable expression as Margaery played her part flawlessly, the perfect bride, while Joffrey basked in the adulation.

From your vantage point, you caught a glimpse of Sansa Stark, her face pale as she leaned toward Tyrion Lannister. Her eyes were dark, her lips pressed into a thin line as she whispered, "We have a new queen."

Tyrion, ever the cynic, barely glanced at her as he muttered under his breath, “Better her than you.”

You felt a surge of something—was it pity?—for Sansa, trapped in this viper’s nest with no escape. But this wasn’t your concern, not today. Today, the wheels were turning, and soon, this entire charade would unravel. You could feel it in the air, the undercurrent of tension beneath the applause and celebration. It was almost time.

The ceremony concluded, and the newly crowned queen and her king descended the steps together, the picture of royal power. The applause grew louder, the lords and ladies of Westeros rising to their feet in celebration of this union. But all you could focus on was the bitter truth behind it all. 

Your migraine throbbed in your temples, the dull ache intensifying as you stood there, watching the farce unfold before you. But you smiled, knowing that by the end of this day, Joffrey would no longer be king. The poison had already been set in motion, and the pieces on the board were exactly where you needed them to be.

For now, you would watch. The storm was coming, and you would be ready to strike when the time was right.

THE WEDDING RECEPTION 

KING'S LANDING GARDEN, RED KEEP — DAY

The garden was a riot of color and sound. Banners of crimson and gold fluttered in the warm breeze, the sigils of House Lannister emblazoned on every surface. Long tables stretched across the lush greenery, laden with golden platters of roasted meats, fruit, and delicate pastries. Lords and ladies of every great house in Westeros mingled, their voices a hum of excitement, laughter, and gossip, all gathered to celebrate the union of Joffrey Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell.

Jugglers tossed brightly colored balls high into the air while fire-breathers sent plumes of flames into the sky. Their movements were smooth and practiced, as if the entire performance were just another part of the show that was the king’s wedding. Some even walked on stilts, towering over the crowd, while musicians played lively tunes in the background, the melodies weaving in and out of the general din. 

You stood back, observing from the edge of the gardens, the soft perfume of roses mingling with the smoky scent of roasted meats. The spectacle of it all, the opulence, the grandeur—it was enough to make anyone feel insignificant in its shadow. You glanced down at your own hands, trembling slightly as you worked to keep them busy, adjusting a garland of flowers, though your task had long since been finished.  

The whole scene was a display of power, the ruling elite flaunting their wealth for all to see. Each lord and lady wore their finest silks, their jewels glinting in the midday sun as they danced, laughed, and raised their goblets in celebration. But beneath the surface, there was an undercurrent of tension. It lingered in the air, a brewing tempest on the horizon.

As your eyes drifted over the crowd, you spotted Bronn, Tyrion, and Podrick making their way through the guests. Tyrion’s face was hard to read, his usual wit tempered by the weight of the moment. He and Bronn exchanged quiet words, but even from a distance, you could see the unease in Tyrion’s posture. He didn’t want to be here, that much was clear.

And then, from across the garden, your gaze landed on Oberyn Martell. He and Ellaria Sand were seated near the fountain, utterly captivated by a contortionist performing impossible bends and twists before them. Ellaria laughed softly, her eyes alight with amusement, while Oberyn watched the performance with a more measured gaze. 

For a fleeting moment, his eyes found yours.

The world seemed to slow as the intensity of his gaze sent a jolt through your body. His dark eyes, filled with a mix of curiosity and something deeper, locked onto yours, as though he could see through every wall you had carefully constructed. Your heart quickened, and an unexpected warmth spread through your chest. The moment stretched between you, silent and loaded with meaning.

But you couldn’t hold it. Your pulse raced, your palms dampening with sweat as you quickly tore your gaze away, focusing on the flowers at your feet. You forced yourself to breathe, but the weight of his attention lingered on your skin, like a touch that burned long after it was gone.

You busied yourself again, rearranging the flowers though they didn’t need rearranging, anything to distract yourself from the flutter of nerves in your stomach. What was it about him? The way he looked at you wasn’t like the others. It was as if he knew something—something about you that no one else did. 

Your hands shook as you tried to steady your breath. You weren’t supposed to stand out here, in this garden full of lords and ladies, and yet… here you were, caught in the eyes of a man who seemed to see too much.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Ellaria lean in closer to Oberyn, whispering something into his ear, her hand resting lightly on his arm. Her eyes flicked briefly in your direction, curiosity burning behind them. The same possessive glint you had seen before was there, but now it was tempered by a different kind of intrigue.

Your heart pounded in your chest. You weren’t sure if you were relieved or unnerved by the brief reprieve from Oberyn’s gaze. Either way, you knew one thing: nothing at this wedding was what it seemed.

The air was thick with revelry, the laughter of lords and ladies mingling with the melody of flutes and the clink of goblets. Everywhere you looked, you saw power—power flaunted by those who had it, and coveted by those who didn’t. But you played your role, dutifully present, a servant watching a play unfold.

At the head table, Olenna Tyrell moved with a deliberate grace, her hand trailing through Sansa Stark’s carefully braided hair before lingering on the stones of her necklace. The movement was subtle, her fingers deft, plucking at the polished purple gems with a kind of ease that only someone of her station could manage. It was easy to miss if one wasn’t paying attention—but you were always paying attention.

Your eyes narrowed, recognizing the faint gleam in Olenna’s fingers as she discreetly palmed something. The strangler. A crystalline form of poison, almost impossible to detect once dissolved in wine. Your heart beat faster, but outwardly, you remained composed, blending into the background of the celebration.

No one else seemed to notice. Not Sansa, lost in her sorrow, nor Tyrion, pouring himself another goblet of wine as he approached the table. Olenna’s conspiratorial smile went unnoticed by the rest, except you. You stepped closer, pretending to busy yourself with the trays of wine, ready to serve at a moment’s notice, but your ears were sharply tuned to their conversation.

You heard the last bit of Olenna’s words as she turned to Sansa, her voice low but pointed. "Perhaps if your pauper husband were to sell his mule and his last pair of shoes, he might afford to bring you to Highgarden for a visit. Now that peace has come and all is right with the world, it would do you good to see some of it." Olenna cast a glance toward Tyrion, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “You must excuse me. It's time I ate some of this food I paid for.”

Tyrion smirked, but the bitterness in his eyes was unmistakable. He raised his goblet in a mock toast, the weight of his station pressing heavily on his shoulders.

As Olenna moved away, the music changed. The musicians struck up a familiar tune, the one they always played for the Lannisters—a song of lions, of power.

"A coat of gold, or a coat of red, a lion still has claws..."

Margaery seemed to be enjoying the performance, her laughter light and genuine. But Joffrey, ever the restless king, was bored. He stood abruptly, tossing coins at the musicians as if they were little more than beggars. "Very good. Very good. Off you go," he said dismissively. The musicians scrambled to collect the coins, bowing as they backed away from the table, desperate to avoid the king’s wrath.

From where you stood, the entire spectacle felt sickening. You clenched your jaw, your hands hidden beneath your sleeves as you forced yourself to remain composed. It was all a game to them. A game of politics, of power, of lies. The poorest in King’s Landing would never see the remnants of this feast, no matter what Margaery or Joffrey decreed. You knew the truth. People like you—those without titles, lands, or coin—were little more than pawns to be sacrificed in their endless struggle for dominance.

You watched Margaery lean toward Joffrey, her hand resting on his arm as she tried to soothe his restlessness. "My love, why don't we make the announcement?" she said, her voice soft, almost coaxing. Joffrey banged his goblet against the table, the sharp clang silencing the crowd as he stood.

"Everyone!" he called out, his voice booming over the garden. "The queen would like to say a few words."

The crowd cheered, applauding the queen they had already accepted as their own. Margaery stood gracefully, her smile serene as she addressed the crowd. "We are so fortunate to enjoy this marvelous food and drink. Not all among us are so lucky. To thank the gods for bringing the recent war to a just end, King Joffrey has decreed that the leftovers from our feast be given to the poorest in his city."

More applause followed, and Joffrey beamed, soaking in the adoration of the crowd. Cersei, ever watchful, approached Margaery with a forced smile. "You're an example to us all," she said, placing a kiss on each of Margaery’s cheeks. The queen mother’s jealousy was palpable, her eyes glinting with barely concealed disdain.

You stood there, watching it all with clenched fists beneath your sleeves, your breath coming in slow, measured draws. The words, the gestures, the smiles—it was all smoke and mirrors. They paraded their generosity, their wealth, their power as if it were a gift to the realm, but you knew better. This peace was fragile, built on the bodies of the innocent, and it could shatter at any moment.

Your fingers dug into the fabric of your dress, a habit you had developed over the years. You scratched at the skin beneath, the pressure grounding you as memories flashed before your eyes—memories of pain, of cruelty, of the Mountain. The heat of the branding iron. The smell of burning flesh. Your own screams ringing in your ears until the world went dark.

You bit down hard on your lip, forcing the memories to retreat back into the dark corners of your mind. But the tension remained, a heavy knot in your chest, coiled tight like a viper ready to strike. Everything around you—the laughter, the opulence, the false smiles of lords and ladies—was part of this never-ending cycle of power. A gamble played at the expense of lives like yours.

Standing at a distance, you felt Oberyn’s eyes on you again. He lounged with casual arrogance, a wicked smile playing on his lips as Ellaria sat on his lap, delicately feeding him a grape. His gaze lingered on you, his expression one of amusement, as if he found your presence there tantalizing. His nod in your direction was slow, deliberate, and the smirk he gave you only made your pulse race. You quickly turned away, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing the effect he had on you.

Your focus shifted, catching Cersei out of the corner of your eye as she exchanged curt words with Brienne of Tarth. Whatever was said made Brienne visibly uncomfortable, and she soon excused herself, walking away with her usual brisk pace. You weren’t close enough to hear their exchange, but the look on Cersei’s face said it all—disdain, irritation, and a certain dangerous pleasure in making the taller woman feel out of place.

Just as you were about to step away, something else caught your attention. Pycelle, with his hunched posture and greasy fingers, had cornered a young maid—Serena, you realized with a scowl. Inwardly, you cursed. Pycelle was one of those men you despised most at court, his pretense of wisdom nothing more than a shield for his lechery. You moved closer, keeping your head down, pretending to adjust your serving tray as you eavesdropped on their conversation.

Pycelle’s voice was low, his tone sickeningly paternal as he said, "No, no, come to my chambers and I will examine you personally."

Your stomach churned at his words, but before you could intervene, Cersei’s voice cut through the air like a dagger.

"She’ll do no such thing."

Pycelle jumped, his greasy face paling as he turned to see the queen standing there, her expression cold and unyielding.

"Oh, Your Grace," Pycelle stammered, his voice trembling slightly. "Yes, well, this young lady sought my advice..."

Cersei’s smile was sharp and cruel. "You should see Qyburn. He’s quite good."

The maid, eyes wide with relief, quickly dipped her head. "Your Grace," she murmured, then hurried away, escaping Pycelle’s grasp.

Pycelle’s face contorted into an expression of disgust. "Qyburn? Deplorable man. Brought shame on the Citadel with his repugnant experiments."

Cersei tilted her head, her smile never wavering. "More repugnant than your gnarled fingers on that girl’s thighs?"

Pycelle stiffened, his eyes darting around nervously. "Your Grace, I am a man of learning."

Cersei’s eyes gleamed with dangerous amusement. "My little brother had you sent to the Black Cells when you annoyed him. What do you think I could do to you if you annoyed me?"

Pycelle’s face turned ashen. "I never meant to annoy anyone," he mumbled, his voice now a pathetic whimper.

"But you are," Cersei said softly, stepping closer, her gaze boring into him. "You annoy me right now. Every breath you draw in my presence annoys me. So here’s what I want you to do: I want you to leave my presence. Leave this wedding right now. Go to the kitchens and instruct them that all the leftovers from the feast will be brought to the kennels."

Pycelle’s mouth opened in protest, but Cersei cut him off sharply. "The queen is telling you the leftovers will feed the dogs, or you will."

For a moment, the old man seemed to consider arguing, but one look at Cersei’s smile—a cruel, dangerous curve of her lips—and he thought better of it. With a shaky bow, he muttered, "Yes, Your Grace," and scuttled away like the coward he was.

Cersei smiled after him, pleased with herself.

What a bold-faced cunt, you thought bitterly, watching her bask in her small victory. Everything about her was venomous—her beauty, her power, her cruelty. She wielded them all with deadly precision, and you hated her for it.

With a steadying breath, you made your way back toward the head table, slipping seamlessly into your role. You refilled goblets, offered plates, your presence unnoticed among the nobles. But beneath your mask of calm, your mind churned. Every move, every word, every gesture at this wedding was a lie—a careful façade constructed to conceal the rot beneath.

The clamor of the wedding feast carried on, a haze of laughter, clinking goblets, and the gleam of gold and silk that shone in the late afternoon sun. The Lannisters and Tyrells reveled in their temporary triumph, their smugness saturating the air like a sickly perfume. But you knew better than most how quickly fortunes could turn in a place like King’s Landing. The city was a pit of snakes, and the shift of power could change in an instant.

From where you stood, just close enough to watch but far enough to remain unnoticed, your eyes followed King Joffrey. He sat at the head of the grand table, restless and bored, his twisted amusement turning toward the fool juggling before him. Margaery, ever the dutiful queen, smiled gracefully at his side, playing her part flawlessly. 

But Joffrey… he was never satisfied.

You saw the glint of cruelty in his eyes before he even stood. The familiar spark that made your skin crawl and your stomach twist. His voice cut through the air, sharp and mocking.

"A gold dragon to whoever knocks my fool’s hat off," Joffrey declared, his sneer stretching wide as he stood, scanning the crowd like a predator ready to pounce.

The fool, a trembling man in motley, barely had time to react before the guests joined in. Laughter echoed as food—chunks of bread, slices of fruit, and bits of meat—were hurled at him. You could see the fear in his eyes, how his smile wavered as he danced awkwardly to avoid the barrage. 

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. The sight of it—how quickly cruelty had become sport—set your blood boiling. You knew this game, too well. You had seen it before. You had lived it.

Joffrey’s laughter rang loud, ringing in your ears like a taunt. 

You couldn’t take it anymore.

With a sharp inhale, you turned on your heel, walking briskly away from the spectacle. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, the fury bubbling beneath the surface, the memories threatening to overtake you. The jeers, the screams, the sound of flesh meeting stone… all of it haunted you still, and this—this senseless cruelty—stirred it back to life.

The clamor of the feast swirled around you, a whirlwind of laughter, clinking goblets, and hushed conversations. Your hands moved mechanically as you helped arrange the giant feast table, replenishing trays of roasted meats and lavish platters of fruits. Yet your mind remained a storm of its own, the anger still simmering beneath the surface from what you'd just witnessed.

This court—its twisted bets, the cruelty woven into every interaction—was a festering rot, and you couldn’t allow yourself to forget that. Not for a moment. Not here, where forgetting meant losing yourself to the madness.

As you moved to refill goblets of wine, you saw Cersei and Tywin strolling past, their expressions as cold and imperious as ever. You kept your head down, but their voices reached your ears, low and murmured.

Tywin’s tone was calm, almost bemused. “You’re in rather a good mood.”

“I suppose I am,” Cersei replied, her voice holding a faint, bitter edge.

“I won’t ask why,” Tywin remarked, his gaze never faltering as they passed by.

“Small pleasures,” Cersei added, a sharpness in her words that hinted at something more, something dark beneath the surface.

You busied yourself with the table, arranging goblets when you caught movement from the corner of your eye. Oberyn and Ellaria had entered, gliding through the crowd with a grace that seemed to draw every eye. Their presence commanded attention, not unlike the very snakes that represented their house.

Oberyn's deep, silken voice cut through the air as he greeted them. "Your Grace. Lord Tywin."

Tywin turned to face them, his expression as stony as ever. "Prince Oberyn."

"I don't believe you have met Ellaria," Oberyn continued smoothly, gesturing to the woman at his side. "This is the Lord Hand Tywin Lannister and Cersei Lannister, the Queen Regent. Or, I suppose it is former Queen Regent now." The jab was subtle but unmistakable. "Lord Hand and Lady Cersei, this is Ellaria Sand."

Ellaria stepped forward, her dark eyes gleaming as she curtsied. "My lord. My lady."

Tywin offered a curt nod, the barest flicker of acknowledgement. "Charmed."

Cersei, however, let her gaze linger on Ellaria for a moment too long. “Can’t say I’ve ever met a Sand before,” she said, her words dripping with disdain.

You stole a glance at Ellaria, whose demeanor had shifted, a spark of fierceness flashing in her eyes. Her voice was like steel wrapped in silk. “We are everywhere in Dorne. I have ten thousand brothers and sisters.”

Oberyn’s lips curled into a smirk. “Bastards are born of passion, aren't they? We don’t despise them in Dorne.”

The corner of your mouth twitched, nearly betraying a smile at Oberyn’s thinly veiled jab. You bit your lip, forcing yourself to remain composed, knowing how easily any sign of amusement could draw unwanted attention.

Cersei, however, did not miss a beat. “No? How tolerant of you.”

Oberyn leaned in ever so slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. “I expect it is a relief, Lady Cersei, giving up your regal responsibilities. Wearing the crown for so many years must have left your neck a bit crooked.”

His words were a dagger, sharp and cutting. And as he spoke, his eyes flicked to you for the briefest moment, a knowing glance that sent a shiver down your spine. He knew. He had known the entire time you were standing there, silently witnessing the exchange.

Cersei’s smile faltered, if only for a heartbeat, before she recovered. “I suppose you’ll never know, Prince Oberyn. It’s a shame your older brother couldn’t attend the wedding.”

Tywin chimed in, his voice as cold as ever. “Please give him our regards. With any luck, the gout will abate with time, and he will be able to walk again.”

“They call it the rich man’s disease,” Oberyn shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “A wonder you don’t have it.”

You almost choked on your own breath at the boldness of his words, gripping the tray of food tighter to maintain your composure. Every word he spoke was a calculated strike, each one landing with precision, and you admired his audacity.

Tywin’s expression remained impassive. “Noblemen in my part of the country don’t enjoy the same lifestyle as our counterparts in Dorne.”

Oberyn’s gaze darkened, the air between them thick with tension. “People everywhere have their differences. In some places, the highborn frown upon those of low birth. In other places, the rape and murder of women and children is considered distasteful. What a fortunate thing for you, former Queen Regent, that your daughter Myrcella has been sent to live in the latter sort of place.”

Your grip tightened on the tray as Oberyn’s words struck like a whip, slicing through the false pleasantries of court. You admired him for it—for his boldness, his refusal to bend to their rules, their cruelty.

But you also knew that such boldness could come at a cost.

Without another glance, you quietly moved away, slipping back into the sea of nobles and servants. You busied yourself with pouring wine and serving food, but your thoughts lingered on the dangerous dance unfolding before you. The court was a place where words were as deadly as swords, and you could only hope that Oberyn’s sharp tongue wouldn’t cut too deep.

Yet, as you glanced back at him, standing tall and unyielding, a part of you knew that he wouldn’t be so easily broken.

The air was thick with tension, festivity clashing with the cruelty lurking just beneath the surface. You stood near the head table, your place behind Sansa Stark’s chair, a silent observer in the midst of the spectacle. And Joffrey, the cruel little tyrant, loved his games.

From the center of the garden, you heard the familiar tap tap of Joffrey’s goblet. He rose from his seat, commanding attention as if the entire world existed solely for his amusement. His voice rang out, high and grating.

“Everyone, silence! Clear the floor,” Joffrey called, smirking as his gaze swept over the gathered crowd. “There’s been too much amusement here today. A royal wedding is not an amusement. A royal wedding is history.”

You could feel the unease ripple through the crowd as Cersei and Tywin returned to their seats. Their expressions remained impassive, but there was a shared sense of something darker brewing beneath the surface. You, too, felt the shift, your body tensing as you braced for what was to come.

“The time has come for all of us to contemplate our history,” Joffrey continued, his voice dripping with arrogance. “My lords... my ladies…”

A lever was pulled, and from the gaping mouth of a giant lion, a red carpet unfurled, rolling down the middle of the floor. The crowd leaned in, curious, and you felt your stomach twist.

“I give you... King Joffrey... Renly, Stannis, Robb Stark, Balon Greyjoy. The War of the Five Kings.”

From the lion’s mouth, five dwarves emerged, each dressed to mock the fallen kings of Westeros. They paraded around the floor with exaggerated movements and comic glee, drawing laughter and applause from the nobles. But you could feel the weight of it—the insult, the cruelty embedded in the display.

The dwarves pranced around, playing their parts. One, dressed as Renly Baratheon, twirled about the center with an exaggerated flourish. Another, playing Robb Stark, shouted, “I am the King in the North!” His wolf-head helmet bobbed comically as he danced. The Joffrey dwarf stood at the center of it all, reveling in the absurdity, while the real Joffrey watched, his face alight with sadistic glee.

You saw Tyrion’s face, stoic yet darkened with distaste, and you shared in his disgust. Every part of you was braced for the inevitable humiliation, the way Joffrey delighted in belittling those who had fought and died with honor. The scene continued, with the dwarves mocking and prancing, their movements a grotesque parody of real battle. 

“Let the war begin!” the Joffrey dwarf cried, and the chaos of the mock battle began. Robb Stark’s dwarf clashed with the others, while the Balon Greyjoy dwarf pretended to drown in an invisible sea, his gurgling cries echoing through the hall.

You glanced at Sansa. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with shock as she watched the dwarf dressed as her brother fall to the ground, his wolf helmet tumbling off. Joffrey laughed, his high-pitched cackle reverberating through the room. “Your head!” he cried, pointing at the fallen wolf.

Your fingers curled into fists, nails digging into your palms. You sneered, your lip twitching as you barely restrained the anger rising within you. You wanted nothing more than to lash out, to put an end to Joffrey’s twisted plans. But you couldn’t. Not here. Not now.

The crowd cheered, applauding the spectacle as Joffrey stood, a cruel smile on his face. “Well fought! Well fought!” he exclaimed, his voice brimming with satisfaction. “Here you are—champion’s purse. Though you’re not the champion yet, are you? A true champion defeats all challengers. Surely there are others out there who still dare to challenge my reign.”

His gaze landed on Tyrion. “Uncle. How about you? I’m sure they have a spare costume.”

The crowd erupted into laughter. You clenched your jaw, biting down on the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted blood. Every fiber of your being screamed treason. Never had you wanted more to defy a king than in that moment.

Tyrion rose slowly, his expression unreadable. “One taste of combat was enough for me, Your Grace,” he said, his voice steady. “I would like to keep what remains of my face.”

You almost smiled at the subtle barb, but it was quickly followed by another.

“I think you should fight him,” Tyrion continued. “This was but a poor imitation of your own bravery on the field of battle. I speak as a firsthand witness. Climb down from the high table with your new Valyrian sword and show everyone how a true king wins his throne. Be careful, though. This one is clearly mad with lust. It would be a tragedy for the king to lose his virtue hours before his wedding night.”

The crowd went still, the tension palpable. You could feel it, the shift in the air as Joffrey’s expression twisted into anger. He marched over to Tyrion and, without warning, poured the contents of his goblet over his uncle’s head.

You bit back a gasp as wine trickled down Tyrion’s face, his hands clenched at his sides. His voice remained calm, but you could see the fury in his eyes. “A fine vintage. Shame that it spilled.”

Joffrey, ever the petulant child, sneered. “It did not spill.”

Margaery, sensing the rising tension, tried to intervene. “My love, come back to me,” she called, her voice sweet yet pleading. “It’s time for my father’s toast.”

But Joffrey was far from finished with his torment. “How does he expect me to toast without wine? Uncle, you can be my cupbearer since you’re too cowardly to fight.”

You watched in disbelief as Joffrey dropped his goblet, forcing Tyrion to kneel and retrieve it. Your own anger mirrored the look on Tyrion’s face, your nails biting deeper into your palms as he knelt to retrieve the goblet, only for Joffrey to kick it away. The humiliation was complete.

Sansa kindly retrieved the goblet for Tyrion, silently nodding in acknowledgment. He turned to hand Joffrey the cup but sneered, “What good is an empty cup? Fill it.”

Tyrion pours wine for Joffrey in front of Cersei and hands it to him.

“Kneel,” Joffrey hissed. “Kneel before your king.”

Tyrion did not move.

Joffrey’s voice rose, venomous. “I said… kneel!”

Before things could escalate further, Margaery stood. “Look—the pie!”

The crowd’s attention shifted to the giant pie being carried in. Joffrey turned his gaze toward it, temporarily distracted. He strode forward, hacking at the pie with his sword. Doves burst forth, fluttering into the air.

But you weren’t watching the birds. No. You saw Olenna, her hand quick and deft as she slipped something into Joffrey’s goblet. A stone. A strangler stone that she took from Sansa’s necklace.

Your breath hitched in your throat, but you did not react. You acted enraptured, like the rest of the crowd. You helped serve the pie, your movements mechanical, your mind racing. Sansa turned to Tyrion, her voice a whisper.

“Can we leave now?”

Tyrion’s response was measured. “Let’s find out.”

As you continued serving, your eyes flicked back to the head table, watching as Joffrey took his goblet and drank deeply. A small smile tugged at your lips as he swallowed.

The end was coming. You could feel it.

“Mm, good,” Joffrey muttered. “Needs washing down.”

He took another gulp, arrogant and unaware, until it hit him. The first sign was the subtle hitch in his breath, almost laughable at first—until it wasn't. The coughing came next, sharp and violent, ripping through him like a wild beast gnawing at his throat. His regal posture crumbled, hands clawing at his neck as if to tear the poison from his skin. His face twisted, contorted, morphing from haughty superiority into sheer terror.

The hall shifted with his agony, the murmurs turning into gasps, the gasps into cries of panic. Chaos rippled through the crowd like wildfire, nobles scrambling, eyes wide, horrified. But you did not move. Your body remained still, a statue amidst the storm of panic, unmoved by the sight of the boy-king choking on his own hubris.

Joffrey’s sputtering, retching—every grotesque, gurgling sound—echoed through the hall, yet all you could hear was the pounding of your own heartbeat. Slow. Steady. A contrast to the pandemonium erupting around you. It was a symphony of suffering, and you reveled in the silence that enveloped your mind. His pain meant nothing to you. 

Your eyes drifted across the garden, over the faces twisted in fear, horror, and confusion, and then... there was him. Oberyn. His dark, probing gaze locked onto yours from across the hall. His brows furrowed, lips parting ever so slightly. Surprise? No, curiosity, perhaps even confusion, flickered in his eyes as he searched your face for something—anything—but found nothing. No flicker of emotion, no sympathy, no shock. Just the cold, hollow indifference that had settled into your bones like an old companion. 

You didn’t flinch, didn’t waver. Why would you? This was one of the moments you had been waiting for. The reckoning. All of Joffrey's cruelty, all of his venom, had finally come back to devour him whole. His pitiful gasping, the frantic clawing at his throat, was a fitting end for the boy who thought himself untouchable.

Joffrey gurgled, his face now a deep shade of purple, eyes bulging, lips frothing. The people around him scrambled in vain, trying to save a life that was already slipping away. You remained still, cold as ice, watching it unfold with detached precision. The world could burn around you, and you would not care.

Oberyn’s eyes lingered on you longer than they should have, as if he were trying to understand the enigma standing before him. He didn’t. He couldn't. No one could. There was no more humanity left in you for him to grasp.

Joffrey’s choking grew louder, more desperate. His hands flailed, reaching for his mother, for someone to save him from the inevitable, but no one could stop what was coming. No one could stop you from witnessing the justice you had longed for.

Margaery rushed to Joffrey’s side. “He’s choking!”

Olenna, ever the actress, called out, “Help the poor boy!”

But there would be no help. No saving the king. You watched, unmoved, as Joffrey staggered, his face turning purple, vomit spilling from his lips. Jaime rushed to him, but it was futile. Joffrey was dying.

And all you could think of was how fitting it was. There would be no glory for Joffrey Baratheon. No legacy. Only pain. Only death.

“My son. He’s gone. My son!”

Around you, the world screamed and wailed. Cersei’s frantic cries cut through the air like a knife, but you barely registered them. You were detached, distant. Untouchable. 

It was strange—the numbness. The apathy was a shield you had forged long ago, layer by layer, through every injustice, every cruelty, every wound. You were unbreakable now, untouchable by Joffrey's suffering or anyone else’s. There was a quiet power in that, a dark satisfaction, as you watched the boy-king's life wither before your eyes. 

His torment did not sway you. Not a muscle in your body flinched. Your fingers, relaxed at your sides, held no tension. You didn't care. Not anymore.

“He did this. He poisoned my son, your king. Take him. Take him! Take him! Take him!”

Cersei, her screams filled the hall, but you felt nothing. The king was dead. And soon, the unraveling of this court, this rot, would begin.

TAGLIST:

@christinamadsen

[sweetspidergirl]

A Tangled Web (Spider HRT Story)

Chapter 1

“This is stupid. Why am I doing this?”

This question echoed in my head as I sat in the sterile waiting room of the doctor's office, accompanied by the sound of the clock ticking away in the background. Besides me and the receptionist behind the counter, there was no one else in the room. That made sense. With it being a few days before Christmas, who would willingly want to spend any amount of that time in such a depressing location?

A twenty-five year old woman dissatisfied with her life and seeking a new one, apparently.

As I sat there waiting for permission to see the doctor, my mind drifted back to how I got here. It was half a year ago where I first vented frustration over my life to my best friend Elisa, and she mentioned how I might be going through species dysphoria. She then sent me some articles and links and suggested I look into humanity removal therapy, or HRT.

I had been vaguely aware of humanity removal therapy, often referred to as therian HRT, for a few months by that point. It functioned mostly like hormone replacement therapy, only it would gradually change the patient into a human/animal hybrid, or therian. It was a recent development, only having been available to the public for a little over five years, and still had quite a bit of controversy associated with it from various political groups. Despite that, based on the testimonials I read and the various pictures I saw, the people who have gone through therian HRT seemed to be happier now than they ever had as humans. Maybe it would be worth it if I gave the whole thing a shot. Maybe being in another body might help me be happy again.

I glanced down at the blank screen of my phone, looking over myself in annoyance. I noted the long, messy brown hair that I barely made look presentable. I noted the pale skin caused by a lack of social interaction and preferring the light of a screen over the sun. I noted the oval-shaped glasses and casual hoodie and sweatpants that hid as much of me as possible. I was another drop of water in the ocean that was humanity. Even my blue eyes, once bright and full of hope, had started to appear dim and non-descript as of late.

“Taylor Thompson?”

I snapped out of my thoughts as the doctor called my name. Turning my head in his direction, I got a good look at the man who would be deciding my future. He was an older gentleman, probably in his 50s or 60s, with a grey receding hairline and mustache. His thick, round glasses made it hard for me to see his eyes. Grabbing my belongings, I quietly followed the doctor as he guided me to his office. The office was what I expected to see: a small, plain white room with a desk, degrees on the wall, and bookshelves full of books that I would be too dumb to properly understand. On the desk was a small nameplate that read “Dr. T. H. Erian, Species Dysphoria Specialist” in large, clean letters. I set my bag beside me and took my seat, my heart beating like a drum in my chest. I swallowed the lump of anxiety that was forming in my throat. There was no turning back now.

“So, Miss Thompson, what brings you here today?” Dr. Erian asked in a stern voice. One sentence in and I was already having flashbacks to my high school principal. The main difference here, however, was that my answers actually mattered for more than avoiding detention.

“I, um, was hoping to be prescribed therian HRT. Specifically spider HRT.” I answered, trying to remain calm and collected.

“I see… and why a spider, if I may ask?” The doctor questioned as he began writing something on a piece of paper in front of him.

“Well, I think spiders are a lot like me. Most people are scared of them, but in reality they’re mostly just nervous, adorable little beans.” I explained with a bit of blush on my face.

“Any preferred species of spiders?”

“I was hoping to be a tarantula. They're cute and fluffy, and I think I'd look just as good as one.”

“May I ask why you wish to undergo humanity removal therapy?”

I took a deep breath and exhaled. “I've been unhappy with myself lately. My diet's been awful, I rarely go outside and interact, and in general I just hate everything about myself. My best friend, Elisa Andrews, thinks I might be going through species dysphoria. She works with therians and otherkin daily, so I assume she's right.” I explained to Dr. Erian. I then handed him a folder that contained the paperwork Elisa told me I'd need before being prescribed therian HRT: a medical examination, two psychological evaluations, written support from her and my father. I even spiced the folder up with doodles of webs and cartoon spiders in hopes that it would help my case.

Dr. Erian looked through the paperwork I gave him. I was unable to get a good idea of what he was thinking. His flat, emotionless voice was hard to read, and thanks to those glasses I couldn't tell whether he was impressed by work or annoyed at me wasting his time. I was hoping it was the former.

“Miss Thompson, before we continue, I'd like to ask an important question.” Dr. Erian spoke as he set the folder down in front of him on the desk. “How much do you know about therians?”

“How much do I know?” I asked curiously. “I mean, my best friend’s a physical therapist that works with therians, and I'm kinda aware of some of the legislature that's been passed recently-”

“That's not what I am referring to.” Dr. Erian interrupted. “I want to know if you understand what therians go through, what the process of going through humanity removal therapy is like and how you'll have to adapt. You are aware that I recommend patients spend some time living as their desired species before I prescribe them HRT, correct?”

“I-I mean… if it helps I have a few spider plushies.” I said sheepishly. I could already feel my luck running out.

Dr. Erian sighed and gently rubbed at his forehead before speaking again. “Miss Thompson, this is a serious life-changing procedure. Once you start therian HRT, your DNA will be rewritten to match your chosen species. You'll never be human again, even if you stop early into your therapy. I cannot prescribe it to just anyone who steps foot into my office.”

I sunk into my seat slightly, bringing my knees just under my chin as I almost curled up to feel safe and protected. “B-but… I was told you can help people with this kind of stuff.”

“I can, and I do. However, not everyone needs HRT. What you may think is species dysphoria could very well just be depression, and what you may need is something far simpler than a complete genetic rewrite.” The doctor explained.

I sat there in silence, barely listening to the doctor's words. He was saying so much when it all boiled down to one word: “no.” No, I couldn't get humanity removal treatment. No, I couldn't have happiness. No, I was doomed to hate myself for the rest of my miserable life. Tears started to creep their way out of my eyes, stinging slightly as they worked their way down my cheeks.

Just as I was about ready to give up and head home, I glanced up and noticed Dr. Erian looking through my papers once more. I was expecting him to scold me again. I hid my face against my knees and closed my eyes, bracing myself for his harsh words to wound my heart further.

“...are you sure becoming a tarantula will make you happy?”

I slowly brought my eyes up to look at Dr. Erian, not fully emerging from my self-made cocoon as I processed his question. What was making him change his mind? Did he believe that I'm suffering from species dysphoria after all, or was he simply taking pity on me? Regardless of the answer, I couldn't let this opportunity slip by my fingers.

“Y-yes… yes it will, doctor.” I responded, almost forcing myself to do so. A tense silence hung in the air for what felt like hours as Dr. Erian stared at me, almost examining me. I gripped the sides of my legs, waiting anxiously for either him to continue lecturing me or for me to have the courage to speak again.

“Well, if that is your answer, then I will approve you for tarantula HRT.” Dr. Erian said, writing on the piece of paper some more. “Considering it's the holiday season, it's likely your pharmacy won't receive your first dosage until after the new year, though.”

My heart almost skipped a beat at the news. I was… actually going to be a tarantula?! “Wait, really? You're… approving me for the HRT?” I asked, nearly jumping out of my seat. “Oh thank you Doc! Thank you very, very much!”

Dr. Erian sighed, writing some more information down on the paper. “As I explained, transitioning to a different species won't be easy. There will be some side effects to expect as your body changes.” He explained, making sure I had calmed down a bit before he continued. “Not all therians will experience the same side effects. Not all side effects will be present at once. Some will show up at different stages of your transition. At the earliest stages of spider HRT, I would primarily expect to see itchy skin as your hair grows in, as well as weight gain to provide material for your additional body parts to develop. Beyond that, you may experience headaches, nausea, dizziness, fatigue, and possible body pain.”

After making sure I understood the side effects I might encounter during my transition, Dr. Erian started digging through a drawer in his desk, and from there pulled out two items. The first was a pamphlet that had “Welcome to your Humanity Removal Therapy” written on the cover, alongside “Species: Spider” and a minimalist illustration of him. “This pamphlet will help guide you through your transition, Miss Thompson. It provides details on a recommended meal plan, the type of environment you should live in, a rough timeline of what changes you should expect and when you should expect them, a full list of potential side effects, and more.” The doctor explained. “I would make sure to give this a thorough read if I were you. I'll also be sending you a digital copy after our meeting. If you have any questions, feel free to ask me and I will provide an answer at the earliest convenience.”

I took the pamphlet in my hands, almost crushing it in excitement. “Of course Doc. I'll definitely give it a read once I get home.”

Just as I was about to get up and leave, Dr. Erian cleared his throat. “There is one other thing I must discuss with you before we conclude here, Miss Thompson.” He said, causing me to sit back down in my seat. “I still disapprove of you not doing any research on therian culture prior to our meeting. So… I'd like for you to interact with other therians while you're taking HRT. It's not mandatory, but I do feel it will not only help you learn about your new lifestyle but also potentially help with your mood.”

As Dr. Erian said that, he handed another item. I took it in my hands and looked it over. Instead of another pamphlet, it was a flyer detailing a therian support group that was close to where I lived. It detailed that it was bi-weekly, and that it was open to those on HRT, regardless of stage, as well as those questioning.

“I'll keep that all in mind. Thank you so much for all of this, Doc.” I said, stuffing the papers in my bag. After discussing insurance and other important information to get my prescription set in stone, I left the office and gave a heavy exhale as soon as I was outside. That was probably the most stressful talk I've ever had, but it was done and over with. While I stood outside and caught my breath, my phone started buzzing. Pulling it out, I saw that I was getting a call from Elisa.

“So, how'd it go?” Elisa asked, sounding exceedingly curious. Looking at the time on my phone, I hadn't realized she had just finished with work by the time I finished my meeting.

“Well, I managed to get the prescription, so that's good. You didn't tell me he was gonna be so scary though.” I answered back with a tiny bit of irritation in my voice.

“Hey I never met the guy personally. Besides, you still got the HRT in the end, so it all worked out.” Elisa answered back. “So how long before you start spinning webs and crawling up walls?”

“Well, my first dosage won't arrive until after the new year. Beyond that, well…” I trailed off a bit, glancing back at my bag and the papers inside of it. “I have some homework to do.”

---

NEXT:

Welcome everyone! This is the start of a (hopefully) long-term project I intend to work on. This is the story of Taylor Thompson, a 25-year-old woman seeking a change in life through humanity removal therapy. In the process of transitioning from human to spider, she'll learn more about the world of therians, as well as learn more about herself and what she wants out of life.

I want to thank @ayviedoesthings, @welldrawnfish, @entroart, @bubbleverseart, @nyxisart, @prettiestplatypus, @deadeyedfae, @kaylasartwork, and anyone else I may have forgotten (there's a lot of people I'm so sorry ><) for creating the world of therian HRT and creating such a community, as well as my fiancé for showing them to me and for inspiring me to give my own version a try. I can't say when the second chapter will be done, so just keep your eyes open, and I hope you all will join me on this long, wild ride.

Thank you so much in advance.

[mononijikayu]

marutsuke — gojo satoru.

You smiled back, though it was small and fleeting. "You could start now, you know." Satoru let out a soft laugh, the sound almost bitter, but there was a hint of something lighter underneath it. He took another sip of his drink, shaking his head slightly. "You’re asking a lot of me right now, Gen–senpai. You know that?" "I’m just asking you to be human, Gojo–kun." you replied softly. “Just be yourself.”

WARNING/S: post-hidden inventory (2006-onwards), domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

WORDS: 5.3k words.

NOTE: i wrote this a long long while ago and to celebrate jjk ending, i would like to give this as a humble offering. i've been a fan of jjk since 2019, when my friend introduced it to me. jjk means the world to me. it was there for me as much as bts was in my harsh and painful years. i am most grateful to share and continue to share the joy of it here in my little corner of the world. thank you guys for sharing the love of jjk with me. you guys are amazing. i love you guys so much. let's continue to be fans together for a long time!!! also the song is from given. its a lovely song <3

masterlist

u s and t h e m

if you want to, tip! <3

YOU HATED THIS FEELING, YOU HATED REPETITION LIKE THIS. You stood in the dimly lit hallway, fists clenched, your eyes burning with fury as you learned what had happened to the first years. The mission had gone horribly wrong, and Haibara—kind, hopeful Haibara—was dead. Nanami barely made it back. You trembled with rage, unable to process the incompetence that had led to this.

It was just like this when it was Namie.

Your mind flashed back to the past, to the same helplessness, the same sickening weight that had crushed your chest when Namie, your dear friend, had been sent out on a mission with faulty intelligence. They hadn’t even gotten her body back. You remembered the emptiness, the cold fury that took root inside you ever since.

And then there was Amanai Riko. Another loss, another innocent life extinguished because of their arrogance, their reckless disregard for the lives they swore to protect. Your nails bit into your palms as you fought back the wave of grief and anger.

And now... now Haibara.

Another young life, snuffed out before it could even truly begin. Your breath came in short, ragged bursts as the memories collided with the present, your fury building to a boiling point. You had warned them. You had fought, had demanded better, and yet nothing had changed.

"How many more?" you whispered to yourself, your voice trembling with fury. "How many more have to die before they open their eyes?"

"They had faulty intelligence," you spat, your voice laced with venom. "Faulty intelligence, and they sent them in blind. Blind!"

Your words echoed down the empty corridor, but it wasn’t enough to release the fury simmering inside you. You stormed forward, your footsteps heavy with the weight of your anger, the hallway dim and suffocating as you advanced. The rage that coursed through your veins was more than just anger—it was righteous fury, the kind that demanded answers, demanded justice for those who had fallen.

You didn’t care about decorum or procedure. Not now. Not when another life had been so carelessly thrown away.

The sight of the mission manager at the end of the hall, sitting casually at his desk, only fueled the fire inside you. He looked up, his expression one of mild surprise as you approached—indifferent, as if the death of a student was nothing more than an inconvenience, a casualty of duty.

Indifference. That look—the one that dismissed Haibara as just another statistic, another name on a growing list of losses. It ignited something in you that was barely contained.

"You!" you hissed, your voice trembling with the intensity of your rage. The air around you seemed to crackle with tension as you marched up to the manager’s desk, eyes blazing. "You sent them in blind! Faulty intelligence, and you signed off on it like it didn’t matter! Haibara is dead because of you!"

The manager blinked, clearly taken aback by your outburst, but his calm exterior didn’t waver. He leaned back in his chair, hands folded calmly in his lap, as if he was used to this—used to the accusations, used to the aftermath. He probably expected you to eventually calm down, to accept that this was just the way things were.

But you weren’t going to calm down. Not this time.

“You think this is acceptable?" you seethed, leaning over his desk. "You think sending kids in with faulty information is just part of the job? You didn’t care about what would happen to them—you cared about following protocol, making sure you checked off the boxes so you could wipe your hands clean when it went wrong."

The manager gave a slight sigh, adjusting his glasses as if the whole situation was an inconvenience. "These missions come with risks, you know that. It’s unfortunate, but we—"

"Unfortunate?" your voice rose, fury spilling over. "You think this is just 'unfortunate'? Haibara’s dead because of your incompetence, and all you can say is that it’s unfortunate?"

The manager’s lips thinned, his calm demeanor wavering for just a moment. "We did the best we could with the information we had. It’s not always perfect—"

You slammed your hands down on the desk, silencing him immediately. Your face was inches from his now, your voice low and lethal. "No. You didn’t do the best you could. You cut corners, and you sent them in knowing it wasn’t safe. You sat behind this desk while they went out there, while they—" Your voice caught for a moment, thinking of Haibara, of Namie, of Riko. "You have no idea what it’s like to lose someone because of your arrogance."

The manager didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. His silence was answer enough.

Your fists clenched again, your whole body trembling with the effort to contain your rage. You wanted to scream, to tear this entire building apart, but all you could do was stare at the man who had signed Haibara’s death warrant with his negligence. The worst part was you knew it would happen again. As long as people like him kept making decisions, more lives would be lost.

“That’s enough.” That familiar voice. You stopped.

“You piece of shit!” you snarled, your energy crackling dangerously. You lunged, but before you could strike, Yaga intervened, gripping your arms to hold you back.

You whipped around, your rage now directed at Yaga. “You! I warned you. I fucking warned you! But you listened to those old farts, didn’t you? You think it’s okay to send them in, even blindly.” Your voice cracked with fury, your eyes burning into Yaga’s. “And now, you’re stuck having to explain to Haibara’s parents why their son isn’t alive! That blood is on your hands!”

Yaga’s grip remained firm, but his expression darkened as you pressed on.

“My father would be ashamed of you,” you said, your voice low, bitter. “You’ve become exactly what he stood against.”

Yaga’s eyes hardened at your words, but he didn’t let go. He knew your anger wasn’t just at him—it was at the system, at the higher-ups, at the entire broken system that cost Haibara his life. But your words cut deep. Mentioning your father, a man Yaga once respected, felt like a blade twisted into his gut.

"Genmei," Yaga said, his voice steady but tense, "I didn't want this. You think I don’t care? You think I don’t feel the weight of it? I never wanted to send them in like that."

"Then why did you?" you snapped, stepping closer, your face inches from his, rage seething in every word. "You could’ve stopped it. You had the authority! Instead, you caved to those senile cowards who sit behind desks, making decisions they’ll never face the consequences of."

Yaga's jaw clenched, his voice growing colder. "You think I had a choice? You think I didn’t fight back? The orders came from the top, Genmei! From people I can’t defy."

You shook your head, trembling with disbelief. "So that’s it? You just roll over and let it happen? You tell them it’s fine to send kids like Haibara to their deaths? You and those spineless managers let them go out there—for nothing."

Yaga's grip on your arms tightened slightly, but his voice remained calm. "I know you’re angry. I know this isn’t fair. But it wasn’t blind. They were prepared."

“Prepared?!” Your laughter was bitter and sharp. “You call this prepared? Haibara is dead! Nanami is broken. And now you have to look those parents in the eye and tell them their son is never coming home."

Yaga’s silence spoke louder than anything. The weight of what you said settled in, his posture stiffening with the responsibility he bore. He hadn’t spoken to Haibara’s parents yet, but he would have to. And the thought of it, the unbearable weight of it, gnawed at him.

"Every single student is my responsibility, you know that." Yaga finally said, his voice quieter now, though no less strained. "I carry that burden every day. You think I don’t feel it? That it doesn’t tear me apart? But I don’t have the luxury of rage. I have to keep moving, keep fighting—for the ones who are still here."

Your hands fell to your sides, anger simmering down to a bitter ache. You looked at Yaga, your voice softer but no less furious. "They trusted you. We trusted you. And now we’re left with nothing but grief. Don’t you dare try to justify this."

Yaga looked away, his jaw clenched. "I’m not trying to justify it. There’s no justification for it. But you think I haven’t warned them, too? We both know how they operate. But my hands—"

"Don’t tell me about your hands being tied." you interrupted, your voice sharp. "You had more than just orders. You had a choice. And Haibara Yu’s blood is on all of us for not stopping it. And I'm sure....too sure. That there will be many more. All because you can't fight against those old farts."

Silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating. Yaga’s grip on your arms loosened, his expression still hardened by guilt and responsibility. He knew it too well, he knew that it was also his fault. And perhaps, in truth, you didn't blame him that much. You knew there was nothing a teacher can do against the whole of Jujutsu society. But you can't help but be angry. Just like at your father's funeral. And that too, Yaga blames himself.

“I’m going to make them pay for this.” you said in a low, deadly voice, your anger no longer explosive but cold and resolute. “The ones responsible, the ones who allowed this to happen—they’ll know exactly what they’ve one.”

Yaga met your eyes, his voice quiet but firm. "Don’t let your anger consume you. Your father would say the same thing. This world is already full of enough darkness."

Your expression didn’t change, unfazed. "Maybe it needs a little more darkness before it can see the light. My father also knew about that."

YOU WANTED TO HAVE A SMOKE. But you were sure that the sprinklers would alert people. So you went against it. You stormed out of the manager’s office, your fury barely contained as you made your way down the empty corridor.

The cold, sterile walls felt suffocating, your mind clouded with the weight of it all—Haibara’s death, Nanami’s devastation, the recklessness of the higher-ups. You needed to see him, to confront the harsh reality of what their negligence had wrought.

The morgue was dimly lit, its stillness heavy with the presence of death. You moved quietly, but your footsteps faltered as you approached. Standing just outside, you heard voices—low, tense. You stopped.

"Why not let Gojo take care of everything?" a bitter voice sneered. It was Nanami Kento.

Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized that tone. Nanami’s words were sharp, laced with exhaustion and frustration, and just as the retort began to form on your lips, another voice cut through—calm, but strained.

"Nanami, that’s enough," Geto Suguru’s voice was tired, a weariness that weighed down each syllable. "This isn’t about Satoru. Don’t take your anger out on him just because you feel helpless. We all do."

Helpless.

The word hit you like a punch to the gut. Your body froze as Nanami’s bitter words echoed in your ears, triggering a flood of memories you had buried deep. You could still see the way Kaiko had looked at you after Namie’s death, the sharp, accusatory words that came spilling out, venomous and cruel.

"Why not let Genmei take care of everything, huh? She’s always so sure of herself, isn’t she?" Kamo Kaiko had sneered, the pain of loss warping into something uglier, something that wanted to hurt others. The same helplessness Nanami was drowning in now.

You had seen the look in Kaiko’s eyes—the same bitterness, the same exhaustion, the same desperation to place the blame somewhere, anywhere, other than the black void of grief you were all struggling to survive. And you had tried to calm Kaiko down, tried to reason with her, but the pain had been too raw, too fresh. It had escalated. Words had become fists, and by the time it was over, you were both broken in different ways. You never spoke again after that fight.

Now, hearing Nanami’s voice, the echoes of Kaiko’s bitterness in every word, your heart clenched. You couldn’t let this spiral the same way.

You stepped forward, your presence quiet but commanding. The shadows shifted as you moved, your eyes falling on Nanami, who stood rigid, his face a mask of exhaustion and grief. Geto Suguru leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his own weariness mirrored in his posture. He looked over Haibara’s body, as though he was in a trance. He was shell–shocked, you think.

"That’s enough." you said, your voice calm but firm, the weight of your past mixing with the present. You couldn’t watch this play out the same way it had before. "This isn’t about blame. None of this is about whose responsibility it is to fix things."

Nanami flinched slightly at the sound of your voice, his jaw tightening as he avoided your gaze. But you knew what he was feeling because you had been there. You had stood in his shoes, grappling with the same rage, the same helplessness, when you lost Namie.

"It’s not Gojo–kun’s fault, you know that." you continued, stepping closer, your voice softer now. "And it’s not yours. Haibara’s death wasn’t something you could have prevented. Not under these circumstances."

Nanami's fists clenched at his sides, the tension in his body radiating outwards. "I could have, senpai." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I should have."

"No." you said firmly, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "This wasn’t on you. Don’t let the guilt consume you, Nanami. I’ve seen it before, and I know where it leads."

The memories of Kaiko haunted you, the way grief had hollowed her out, leaving her with nothing but resentment and bitterness. You couldn’t let that happen to Nanami. Not again. This doesn’t have to continue. No one else has to suffer.

"Listen to Geto–kun, okay?" you added, your gaze softening as you looked at him. "We all feel helpless. But turning against each other won’t bring Haibara back."

Nanami’s shoulders slumped slightly, the tension in his body giving way to something closer to defeat. He didn’t respond, but you knew your words had reached him. Turning away from them, you took a breath and steel yourself. You still had one last thing to do, no matter how much it hurt.

You had to say goodbye to Haibara.

You walked out of the room, the heaviness of the conversation weighing on your shoulders. You pushed open the door and stepped into the hallway, your emotions a turbulent storm beneath the surface. Your eyes immediately caught sight of Satoru, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed.

You knew, just by the way he stood, that he had heard everything. There was no need for words. His expression wasn’t the usual carefree mask he wore—it was more serious, though his eyes were still bright behind his dark shades, silently watching you.

You sighed, your frustration and exhaustion bubbling up. Without a word, you stepped closer to him and gently placed your hands over his ears, your palms lightly cupping the sides of his head. The sudden movement caught him off guard, and his eyes widened, blinking in surprise. He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to understand what you were doing.

Don’t listen, you mouthed, your lips forming the words slowly and deliberately, knowing he would understand.

For a moment, Satoru just stared at you, his gaze flickering between confusion and something softer, almost curious. His lips pressed into a flat line, and after a heartbeat of silence, he nodded, an unspoken agreement passing between you.

He wasn’t going to argue. Not this time.

You let your hands fall from his ears, giving him a weary look. There was nothing more to say. You both knew the weight of everything that had happened, and for once, Satoru didn’t push. He just stood there, understanding what you couldn’t put into words. The hallway stretched ahead of you, quiet and still, but the heaviness lingered in the air.

You let your hands fall from Satoru's ears, giving him a weary look. There was nothing more to say. You both knew the weight of everything that had happened, and for once, Satoru didn’t push. He just stood there, understanding what you couldn’t put into words. The hallway stretched ahead, quiet and still, but the heaviness lingered in the air.

The two of you wandered outside in silence, the weight of recent events hanging heavily between you. The cold night air bit at your skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of the emotions you both carried. You led the way toward the vending machines just outside the building, the quiet hum of them the only sound in the stillness.

You didn’t need to look at Satoru to know he was thinking about everything that had happened. It was rare for him to be this quiet, this subdued. You pressed the buttons on the machine without a word, watching the drinks tumble down with a soft thud. You handed one to him, the cold condensation clinging to your fingers as you took your own.

Satoru cracked open the can, the fizz breaking the silence between you. You took a slow sip of your drink before finally speaking.

“It’s not your fault, you know.” you said quietly, your voice steady but carrying the weight of someone who had seen this all before. "You can’t blame yourself for what happened."

Satoru didn’t respond right away. He took a long drink, his gaze fixed on the horizon, the usual brightness in his eyes dimmed by something heavier, more complex. He leaned against the vending machine, one hand loosely holding the can, the other shoved in his pocket. His shades were off now, dangling from his collar.

“I think it is, Genmei–senpai.” he finally said, his voice low, almost resigned. His gaze drifted down to the ground. “If I were just a little stronger, a little faster... if I had trained them better, maybe… maybe they wouldn’t be dead.”

Your chest tightened. You had heard these words before, a thousand times in different voices. From yourself, from others who had lost people they cared about. It was the familiar cycle of grief and guilt. Gojo Satoru doesn’t easily fuss over his feelings. This was the first time truly, you think, that he’d willingly told you what he felt. Without you having to ask. In a way, you think that has reminded you of yourself, even for a little bit.

"You can't control everything, Gojo–kun." you replied softly, stepping beside him. "Not even you. It wasn’t your decision to send them on that mission. You weren’t the one who messed up the intel. And you’re not the one who could have stopped it from going wrong."

He clenched his jaw, clearly wrestling with the weight of his own thoughts. Gojo Satoru—the strongest sorcerer alive, the one who always acted like nothing could touch him—was grappling with the very human feeling of failure. It was a rare sight, one that he kept hidden behind his usual bravado. But here, in the quiet, there was no mask to hide behind.

"Being strong doesn’t mean being able to protect everyone. That’s impossible." you added, your voice quiet but firm. "Trust me, I know. We all do."

Satoru stared at his drink, the carbonation slowly rising to the surface. He let out a long breath, his fingers tightening around the can as if holding on to something he couldn’t quite grasp.

"I don’t know if I can ever believe that, you know?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "If I’m not strong enough to protect them, then what’s the point of being the strongest?"

You didn’t answer right away. You let his words hang in the air, knowing that there was no simple reply that could ease his burden. The truth was, you understood. You had felt the same way when your precious Namie died, when Amanai Riko  was killed. The strength to protect felt meaningless when it failed you.

But you also knew that blaming yourself for every loss would only eat away at you, piece by piece. And you knew better than to wallow in it all. You wouldn’t be able to get up from your bed if it's all that consumes you. You didn’t want your dreams. You wanted to be awake. In your dreams, it was regret. In your reality, it was moving forward. And you’d choose a thousand cigarettes then see Namie’s eyes look at you like that again. You’d choose days awake rather than seeing Kaiko take her last breaths right in front of you again.

"The point, Gojo–kun," you finally said, your voice softer now, "is that you’re human. No matter how strong you are, no matter what kind of power you have, you’re still human, Gojo–kun. And that means sometimes... you’ll fail. It doesn’t make you any less strong. It just makes you... you."

He looked at you then, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his bright cerulean eyes—an acknowledgment, maybe. He didn’t argue, didn’t dismiss your words like he normally would. Instead, he just took another sip of his drink and nodded slightly.

“Maybe……” he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

You stood there in the quiet, the weight of your conversation lingering in the cold night air. For once, there were no easy answers, no quick fixes. Just two people, sharing a drink, carrying the same burden of loss.

You tilted your head back slightly, looking up at the night sky. The stars were faint tonight, dimmed by the city lights, much like how everything felt dulled in the aftermath of grief. You took another sip from your drink, letting the cool liquid ground you in the present, away from the spiraling thoughts of what could have been.

After a long silence, you spoke again, your tone quieter, almost contemplative. "You know, you don’t always have to carry everything by yourself, Gojo–kun."

He glanced at you, but didn’t respond immediately, his eyes still clouded with that familiar weight.

"I know you feel like it’s all on you, Gojo–kun." you continued, turning your gaze to him. "Like you're responsible for every life, every outcome. But you're not. And it’s okay to feel... this way. To feel like you’ve failed. But that doesn’t mean you have."

Satoru stared at the ground, the quiet stretching on for a few heartbeats. Then, without looking at you, he spoke, his voice softer than before. “You say that like you don’t carry it, too.”

Your grip on the can tightened slightly. You felt the truth of his words settle uncomfortably in your chest. You did carry it—always had. The weight of those you couldn’t save, the memories of missions gone wrong, the faces of the dead. You carried them all, and sometimes it felt like too much. But that wasn’t something you would admit to easily.

"You’re right. Your senpai’s a hypocrite." you said after a pause, your voice barely above a whisper. A weary smile on your lips. "I do, don’t I? But I’m learning how to let some of it go. To not let it destroy me…..I have to learn, as you do.”

Satoru finally looked at you, his gaze searching, as if he was trying to understand something he couldn’t quite grasp. There was a vulnerability in his expression, one that he rarely let show. You know that you knew the answer. And so does he. But it was easy to ignore, when you’re given the world to carry.

"How?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

You looked away, your eyes drifting back up to the sky. "By realizing that it’s not all on me. That I’m not the only one who’s hurting. And by letting people in, even when I don’t want to. It’s not easy, and I’m still figuring it out... but I’m trying."

Satoru was silent, processing your words. You knew how hard it was for him to let people in, to show any weakness. He had built walls so high that even those closest to him struggled to see through them. But here, in this quiet moment, you could feel those walls cracking, if only just a little.

“I guess I’ll have to try that sometime.” he muttered, his lips curling into a faint, tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You smiled back, though it was small and fleeting. "You could start now, you know."

Satoru let out a soft laugh, the sound almost bitter, but there was a hint of something lighter underneath it. He took another sip of his drink, shaking his head slightly. "You’re asking a lot of me right now, Gen–senpai. You know that?"

"I’m just asking you to be human, Gojo–kun." you replied softly. “Just be yourself.”

The silence that followed wasn’t as heavy as before. It was the kind of quiet that settled between people who understood each other, who didn’t need to fill the space with empty words.

After a while, Gojo Satoru straightened up, his usual mask of nonchalance slipping back into place. But something had changed, even if just a little. He glanced at you, a glimmer of his old self returning to his eyes.

"Alright." he said, pushing off from the vending machine. "I’ll try not to carry everything on my back... but don’t expect me to go soft, okay? Can’t have everyone thinking I’m losing my touch."

You rolled your eyes, but there was a small smile tugging at your lips. "Wouldn’t dream of it, Gojo–kun."

He chuckled, tossing his empty can into the recycling bin with a casual flick of his wrist. “Good. Now, how about we get out of here? There’s only so much doom and gloom a guy can take. I wanna go and eat some burgers! Oh, oh and have a milkshake. Come on Gen-senpai! Don't be such a slow poke!”

You watched as he started walking away, his usual swagger returning to his step. Despite everything, despite the grief and the guilt, he was still Satoru Gojo. And that, in its own way, was comforting. You lingered for a moment, finishing off your drink before following him. The weight of the night hadn’t disappeared, but somehow, it felt a little easier to bear now.

epilogue

The afternoon sun bathed the park in a warm, golden glow, casting everything in a soft light that made the moment feel almost timeless. It was a day without expectations or duties—a rare occasion for you and Satoru, a time when neither of you needed to be the strongest sorcerers alive. Instead, you were just yourselves, surrounded by the warmth of your little family.

You sat on a bench under the shade of a sprawling tree, the leaves swaying gently in the breeze. From your seat, you watched Tsumiki and Megumi, their carefree laughter ringing out as they chased each other across the grass.

Fushiguro Megumi’s small smile hinted at how much he enjoyed these quiet moments with his sister, even though he pretended to let her win. His protectiveness over Tsumiki was subtle but undeniable, and you couldn’t help but smile as you watched their innocent game unfold.

Beside you, Satoru was sprawled out lazily on the bench, his sunglasses resting atop his head, soaking in the warmth of the sun. Satoshi, your energetic bundle of joy, was clinging to his father’s arm, trying to climb him like he was a human jungle gym. The sight of Satoru—so relaxed and utterly at ease—was a rare one, a moment where he let down his guard completely.

“Baby!” Satoru said, glancing over at you with a mischievous grin. “I think our son’s trying to take me down. Think he’s got the makings of a future jujutsu sorcerer?”

You chuckled, brushing a few strands of Satoshi’s hair out of his eyes. “Maybe he’s just training to be strong like you, don’t you think?” you teased, giving Satoru a playful look. “You’ll have to watch out—he might surpass you one day.”

Satoru sat up dramatically, hoisting Satoshi into his lap. “Surpass me? Oh no, not on my watch!” He declared, tickling your son until Satoshi was giggling uncontrollably. “Satoshi, my little dawn, promise me you won’t steal my title as the strongest!”

Gojo Satoshi, between fits of laughter, batted at his father’s chest. “Papa! No tickle!”

The sound of your son’s pure joy, Satoru’s playful antics, and the peace of this moment filled your heart. For once, there was no looming threat, no mission pulling you away. It was just the simple beauty of a family enjoying a sunny day.

Megumi, a little winded from chasing his sister, wandered over with his usual stoic expression, though you could see the faintest trace of a smile. You couldn’t resist teasing him. “Are you done showing off?”

Megumi shrugged, his tone as nonchalant as ever. “I wasn’t showing off. Tsumiki just needed to win.”

Satoru reached out and ruffled Megumi’s hair affectionately. “Such a gentleman. You’re really going soft on your sister, huh?”

Though Megumi swatted Satoru’s hand away, his eyes softened. “......She deserves it” he mumbled, trying to keep his fondness for Tsumiki hidden.

Tsumiki, noticing the conversation, ran over, her cheeks flushed from the chase. She flopped down onto the grass beside Megumi, leaning against him with a contented sigh. The two siblings sat close together, exchanging quiet smiles. You could see how much they meant to each other—the bond that had formed between them was one of the most precious things in your life.

Satoru stretched out his legs, balancing Satoshi on his knee. “You know, I think this is nice.” he said, his tone suddenly thoughtful. “We should do this more often.”

You turned to look at him, curious. “Do what? Actually relax?”

He chuckled softly. “Yeah. I like this better—just us. Just our little family, you know? No titles, no missions. Just being.”

There was something so genuine in the way he said it. You leaned into him slightly, reaching for his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours. “I like this too, you know?” you said softly, squeezing his hand.

He smiles back at you with the most beautiful, warm gaze. He squeezes your hand back. “I know.”

Megumi and Tsumiki sat quietly, watching your interaction with curiosity but not interrupting. You could tell they were starting to understand the unspoken bond you and Satoru shared—the love that transcended the roles you played in the world.

Satoru let out a soft sigh, leaning back against the bench, tugging you closer. Satoshi, who had grown tired from all the excitement, settled comfortably in his father’s lap, his small hands gripping Satoru’s shirt. The park, bathed in the soft afternoon light, seemed to wrap you all in a blanket of calm.

“If you weren’t around to keep me sane…..” Satoru mused, glancing over at you. “I might’ve forgotten what a day off even feels like.”

You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder. “Oh, I’m sure you’d figure it out. You’ve always been good at pretending the world’s problems don’t exist.”

Satoru grinned, though there was a softness to his voice. “Maybe. But this…” He looked down at Satoshi, then over at Megumi and Tsumiki, who were now engrossed in their own conversation. “This is real. This is what matters.”

His words struck a chord in you. For so long, your lives had revolved around the constant threat of danger, the weight of responsibility. But here, at this moment, it was just the four of you—your makeshift family—enjoying a quiet afternoon in the park.

Leaning into Satoru’s warmth, you whispered, “Yeah, this is what it’s all about.”

The park’s hum continued around you: the distant laughter of children, the rustling leaves, and the occasional chirp of birds. But in your little bubble, time seemed to slow down. For a moment, there was no past, no future—just the present, where everything felt exactly as it should.

You rested your head on Satoru’s shoulder, Satoshi nestled between you both, and Megumi and Tsumiki chatting softly beside you. In this quiet, peaceful moment, you realized that despite the chaos of your lives, these simple, precious moments made all the struggles worth it.

And for now, that was more than enough.

[builtbybrokenbells]

Melodic Memories | Track 5: If You Gotta Go, Go Now - Bob Dylan

In a tattered old box shoved deep down in the corner of an overfilled closet, a lifetimes worth of memories lie dormant at the bottom waiting to be rediscovered.

Masterlist

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 11k

Warnings: angst, crying, heartbreak, high school breakups, estranged parent/strained parental relationship, depression, high school drama, anxiety, mentions of drinking, drinking, mentions of hookups/one night stands, unrequited love, very brief mention of suicidal thoughts/ideation, PTSD mentions/explanations of reactions and behaviours due to PTSD, mentions of addiction/drugs, smoking, swearing, best friend fluff, sorry if i miss any!

Hi everyone!! Sorry this took so long—took a much needed break from life for a few days. Finally had some time to write this weekend. I hope you guys like it!! 🤍 as always, be kind, enjoy, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes!

Also a special shout-out to @gretavangroupie and @gretavanmoon for always keeping me on track, putting up with my craziness, and for the unwavering support and encouragement 🤍 melodic memories wouldn’t be what it is without you 😌

Her POV

“Listen to me, baby

There’s something you must see

I want to be with you, gal

If you want to be with me.”

“Jake, please turn that off. I can’t stand it.” You laughed, covering your ears as you tried your best to disappear under the pile of blankets on his bed.

“What?” Jake asked, freezing in place as the words reached his ears. Slowly, he turned from the record player sitting atop his desk, his eyes landing on you with an unfamiliar expression on his face. “Did you really just say that?” His voice was low, challenging you to see if you would say it again, or if he misheard completely.

“Yes.” You groaned, pushing your head further back into the fluffy pillow as you tried your best to avoid his gaze. “I’m sorry, I love you, but I can’t stand Bob Dylan.” You stood your ground, knowing it would cut deep but unable to hide it any longer.

“Are you insane?” Jake’s eyes were wide, his mouth agape with shock as he processed your unruly confession. “How can you not love Dylan? Are you deaf?”

“No, but right now I wish I was.” You mumbled, tuning out the grating harmonica echoing through the room. The crackling of the needle in the groove paired with the irritating pitch of the instrument was making your head ache, and even if you loved him more than anything, you didn’t love him enough to suffer through another song.

“Y/N, I-I… I can’t believe you.” He laughed, his tone airy and uncomfortable as he cranked the volume knob down a little bit. “Sunshine, he’s one of the greats—a literary genius, a folk-rock icon, a fuckin’ mastermind. How can you even say that?”

“I dunno, guess it just isn’t for me. Never really liked him.”

“You’re breaking my heart, baby.” His lips turned down into a frown, his eyes glancing at the vinyl record spinning as he debated turning it off. “You know what? No, I won’t take that as an answer.” He shook his head, turning the knob up again so the sound of the harmonica could be heard clearly again.

“Jake.” You groaned, wishing he would heed your request to change the record. He restarted the song, a hand on his hip as he observed the needle glide over a divot in the old vinyl. Then, after a particularly intense scratching sound, the song started from the beginning again.

As the lyrics began, he started to hum along, ploppping down on the bed beside you. His company made the song a touch more bearable, and staring at his face made it easier to ignore the noise he was trying to pass off as music.

“Seriously, sunshine? None of it?” He asked, still trying to wrap his head around your dislike for the musician.

“It just isn’t for me. Is that a crime?” You giggled, finding his overbearing approach entertaining.

“Usually no, but in this case, absolutely.” He laughed. “Only thing worse than that is if you said you hated B.B. King… or Hendrix, maybe.”

“Okay, well I don’t hate B.B. King, or Hendrix. You can’t let this one slide?” You grinned, shimmying down on the bed to be closer to him. He almost gave in to the temptation, forgetting the topic at hand momentarily as he reached out to brush the hair from your face. Then, he snapped out of the lovestruck trance and remembered why he was sitting next to you in the first place.

“If I let this slide, what’s next? You’ll tell me you hate rock, or blues, or worse, music all together?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly teasing but still very petty over your dislike of the artist.

“Okay, bug, you’re being ridiculous.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for his hand and lacing your fingers with his in another attempt to distract him.

“I’m being ridiculous?” He repeated your words, his tone accusatory yet still playful. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

“Okay, I get it. Dylan is great and I’m crazy. Is that what you want to hear?” You leaned forward, your hand connecting with his bicep as you gave him a gentle shove. He barely moved from his position, his brown eyes sparkling as he looked over your face.

“No, that’s not what I want to hear, because I know you’re lying.” He said, his thumb drifting over the back of your hand. “What about I Shall Be Released? That’s a great song by him.” Your cheeks tinted red in embarrassment as you averted your gaze.

“Don’t think I’ve heard it.” You whispered, unsure how he would take it.

“Okay…” he hummed, raising his free hand to his chin, running his fingers over his skin as he thought. “No, that’s good. I can show it to you, and you’ll like it.” He deducted. “Like a Rolling Stone?”

“That one’s okay.” You emphasized the word, ensuring he understood it was bearable, not enjoyable to you.

“Tangled Up In Blue?” He tried again, met with another blank stare as he listed off a song you didn’t know. He let out a huff, nodding as he made a mental note to show you that one, too. “Alright, then. Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door?”

“Yeah, but I’d much rather listen to the Guns n’—“

“No, I’m going to stop you there.” Jake cut you off, forcing a smile on his lips. “Not sure I want to hear the rest of that.” A silence fell upon the two of you, leaving him to ponder all of the information you had given him. After a while, your stomach was twisted in a knot, worried you’d driven a stake between you because of a simple dislike of the artist.

“So, what now? I don’t like Dylan, which is clearly troubling for you. Is that it for us?” You were joking, even if there was a slight hint of genuine concern behind your question. He looked at you, appalled that you would even suggest such a thing.

“Are you crazy, woman? F’course not.” He replied, a frown tugging at his lips just from the thought alone.

“Been called that once or twice… few times today, actually.” You grinned, easing the tension between you.

“I’d never break up with you over that, sunshine.” All of the humor in his tone disappeared, assuring you that leaving was not something that ever crossed his mind. “But, I won’t quit until you’re a fan. Lots of opportunities here, babe. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be his biggest fan.” You rolled your eyes ever so slightly, but nodded along with his words, knowing he would try even if you objected. Arguably, the worst thought was not hours of listening to Bob Dylan, but the idea of him ever being ‘done’ with you, in any sense of the word.

“Y/N, that is enough.” Mel snipped, rushing into your bedroom with a cloud of dust trailing behind her. In two quick strides, she was beside you, reaching over you to smash the pause button on the CD player. “It’s been three days—I’m done watching you cry, I’m done sitting in silence, and I’m done listening to this fucking Bob Dylan song.” As much as she cared for you, everyone had a breaking point, and she was undoubtedly long past hers. If you were less miserable, you would have recognized how insufferable your actions were, but you were too busy drowning in tears to care about how anyone else felt. “I’m one more bottle of wine away from an intervention, and I’m sure that’s the last thing you want right now.”

“God, why can’t you just let me suffer in peace?” You groaned, burying your aching head in your knees as you sunk further into the leather desk chair.

“I’ve been letting you suffer, dumbass.” She reminded you, plopping down on the edge of your bed. “But I’d hardly call it peaceful.” She continued, placing her hand on the arm of the chair and spinning you to face her. “You’re a mess. You’ve been drunk since two, you haven’t eaten, you’ve barely slept, and you look like shit.”

“Thanks for the words of encouragement.” You muttered, reaching for the wine bottle on your desk to finish off the last of the strawberry flavored heartbreak medication. Before you could place the bottle to your lips, Mel snatched it from your hands and placed it on the floor just out of reach.

“You smell like a distillery. Think you’ve had enough.” She chirped, her expression stern and her voice curt. You scoffed a reply, irritated at the world as you reached over to press play so you could listen to the same harmonica melody that had become an anthem of your sorrow once again. “Stop.” She pulled your chair a little closer to her so you couldn’t reach the desk. “I love you, but I cannot listen to that song again. I can’t fucking stand Bob Dylan.”

“What?” You hissed, whipping your head in her direction. Finally, an emotion other than sadness plagued you; instead, you were filled with anger that she could say such a thing. “Bob Dylan is a great musician, one who wrote absolute masterpieces. Watch what you fuckin’ say.” A slight slur followed your words, making you realize you were much more intoxicated than you previously believed.

You weren’t sure if you actually grew to like Bob Dylan and his music, or if the fondness happened because of the boy who was so adamant about changing your mind on the matter.

“God, you’re impossible.” She seethed, frustrated with your behavior and even more upset that she couldn’t break through the wall you built up.

Mel had spent years perfecting the craft of being your best friend; you were a confusing, closed off vessel of constant anxiety. You hated talking about your feelings, unless it was over a mixed drink or a shared blunt, and you were your own worst enemy. You second-guessed every decision, talked yourself down from taking leaps that would better you in exchange for mundane familiarity, and you loved routine. Despite that, you loved deeply and with a fervor not many could understand, which ultimately always seemed to leave you with a broken heart when nobody could match the same energy.

In six years, she climbed mountains not many would ever venture. She memorized your quirks and habits, just the same as you had done for her. More than anything, she put it to good use and learned how to help when you couldn’t find it within you to help yourself. Every wall you built up, every deflection and every distraction was never a match for her counterpoints, and she had never faced a situation where she felt helpless.

Never, until three days ago, when you returned from your date with Jake Kiszka more heartbroken and miserable than ever before.

In six years, she learned everything she could about you, but she never understood why. Once she stepped foot in Michigan, learning about a life you’d sworn to keep a secret forever, it all began to make sense.

Days before she met you, you faced the biggest obstacle of your entire life, and you left your heart in the back pocket of someone you never expected to see again. You didn’t talk about your problems because you knew they could never amount to the struggle of leaving Jake, and because you got through that on your own, you believed you could do everything by yourself. Not only that, but you kept your feelings locked up in fear all of it would come out, including those in which you swore to never speak aloud. You closed yourself off from everything because you couldn’t bear the thought of getting hurt like that again, and routine was favored over risk-taking because your last risky decision left you near death and you never fully recovered.

Though, no matter how hard you tried, you could never love less than what you were programmed for, and it was biting you in the ass as you sat and forced yourself to listen to a song you couldn’t bear to hear again.

When you stormed through the front door, twenty bucks down from the cab ride and suffocating on your own misery, you had intent to tend to your wounds silently, to slap a band-aid over the largest injury you’d ever sustained and move on as if it never happened at all. You’d done it once before, and you trusted in yourself to do it again, but six years of suffering in silence had taken its toll and you were beginning to crack under the weight of your mistakes.

Difference was, this time, there was someone there to catch you before the fall, someone who was committed to your wellbeing and a voice of reason you never had before.

At first, Mel took a step back, understanding that whatever happened wasn’t good, and you needed time to process it before you spoke of it. If not, you would explode, and neither of you wanted to clean up that mess. So she did; she sat by and watched you nurse a bottle of wine as you listened to the mixtape that started (and ended?) it all, waiting until you had enough courage to speak. When you dozed off for an hour or two of broken sleep in the desk chair you drank yourself to oblivion in, you woke up and started all over again.

The next day, she thought that maybe you would have come to terms with it enough to at least tell her something, but she received nothing. Well, nothing except for the same Dylan song played on loop and a few more empty bottles of strawberry wine you’d silently left the house to buy. When you refused dinner, she started to really worry, and when you neglected to sleep for a second night in a row, she began to stress. In the early morning, she started to gently coax you into telling her what happened, which was met with a blank stare and a rude hand gesture. Before noon, she pried a little further, to no avail. At lunchtime, she was frustrated, and now after dinner, she was long past the point of no return.

Coddling you clearly wasn’t an option you were open to, so instead she settled on tough love, which would either break through to you or ruin your friendship entirely.

She was distraught enough to take the risk, and loved you enough to work through the consequences.

“Tell me what happened, or I’ll call him and ask him myself.” Mel warned, unrelenting as she continued to try and force the truth from you.

“Don’t you dare.” You warned, tears pooling your eyes at the simple thought of someone speaking to Jake, someone who was not you. “Just let it go, Mel. It’s over—don’t have to talk about it, don’t have to think about it. It’s over.” You repeated the word, feeling a separate stab in your chest each time the word passed through your lips.

After everything the two of you went through, how could it just be over? How could the time still not be right?

“No, you don’t have to talk about it, but clearly you’re thinking about it.” She countered, her lips pursed as they dipped down into a frown. “And you won’t stop thinking about it unless you talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You grumbled, feeling the pressure behind your eyes increase tenfold as you spoke. Your throat was dry, scratchy despite the constant flow of liquid into your mouth. You were dehydrated, the effects in full force as your eyes throbbed and your stomach twisted with nausea. You were a mess, and you weren’t sure how to clean yourself up this time. “After all the pain, after all of the hope and the luck, it meant fucking nothing. I guess it just isn’t meant for us, and I have to get over it.”

“What happened, Y/N?” Mel pried, wondering what could have caused the state you were in, especially after spending all night with him.

“What happened?” You scoffed, a sour taste in your mouth from her words. “What happened was that I spent six years dedicated to moving on, to forgetting and letting go, to heal from the worst pain I’ve ever experienced. I spent weeks thinking it was luck, that the stars alligned perfectly for us to end up together again, but I was fucking stupid. I let you convince me to open myself up again, and I got hurt worse than I did the first time.” You spat, vindictive and angry at her despite it being nobody’s fault but your own.

“Woah,” Mel straightened up, defensive and ready to correct you on the matter. “Whatever happened, is not my fault. You can be sad, or angry, or whatever the hell you are, but you cannot blame it on me.” The two of you shared another bout of silence, fuming with stony expressions as you awaited the other's next move. “Are you going to be an adult, or do you want to keep acting like a baby? Completely up to you.”

“You wouldn’t get it, anyway.” You brushed her off, turning to face the CD player as you resumed the music once more. She let out a huff of annoyance, knowing she was bluffing as she sat and listened to the intro of the same song for the millionth time, refusing to leave until you gave her something other than blame.

“What, did he end it? Not what he wanted after all?” In a lapse of judgment and slightly hurt feelings, she retaliated with something that would bruise your already aching heart even further. Deep down, she understood Jake was not the one who put the relationship on pause, and she knew you well enough to recognize the guilt embedded in your tired features. You ended it, and you swore yourself to silence so you could beat yourself up over it.

“Oh, fuck you.” You shot back, slinking further down into your seat as tears stung your eyes. “You really think I’d be this upset if I knew he was okay? You think I’d be this miserable if he was happy?”

There it was; the admission of truth she’d been so patiently waiting for. With that, she had more ground to stand on, this time without a fear of falling.

“Why’d you leave, babe?” Her voice was softer, but still erring on the side of caution and defense.

“What else was I supposed to do?!” You exploded, the gates crashing open as the flood of emotion you’d been guarding so hard finally escaped you. “Leaving is the only way I can make sure he won’t throw away everything he’s worked so hard for! He can’t be what he wants if I'm there—or here, holding him back!”

“Okay,” Mel whispered, reaching out and placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Start from the beginning.” She continued, utilizing the briefest moment of time you allowed yourself to be vulnerable to get the full story from you.

You let out an exasperated huff, feeling sick from what you tried to pin on the liquor whilst knowing that it had everything to do with your broken heart. She was your person, just trying her best to help while you did all you could to be miserable and impossible to be around, and you knew that you needn’t be so cruel towards her. Even so, the hurt that only ever seemed to grow larger made you want to be cruel to everyone and everything, convincing you that you could never be happy or feel good again. Projecting it outwards was your best way of showing how you felt on the inside, especially when words seemed impossible to come by.

You felt like you were drowning, whether it be from your tears, your sorrow, or the excessive alcohol consumption, you did not know. What you did know was that everything hurt, every breath, every blink, and every single beat of your heart led you to believe it would be your last, yet you somehow persevered through the process another time, wondering if it would be easier to give in to the pain and let it all go.

You did all you could to protect yourself, keeping your distance for so long because you knew how it ended, yet you fell into the same situation you faced when you were barely eighteen and still naive. You were listening to living proof of your greatest heartbreak—hell, it was the very thing to convince you to take another chance along with the woman sitting across from you. Why did you ever think that it could be different, that it could be so easy, that you deserved anything Jake could give you?

You were so angry, so cynical that it was making your head spin, and you couldn’t get any of it to make sense. In lieu of a better option, you swallowed your pride and prepared yourself to confess to your mistakes. Even if it was the last thing you wanted to do, it was better than letting the pain get the best of you. Six years ago, you survived it on your own, but it had left you completely depleted of any kind of energy, and you knew you could not do it a second time.

“It was perfect. Everything he did, everything he said, everything he planned. It was like he fit three whole years of dating into one night—or at least the best parts of it, I guess.” Your tone was weaker than before, more defeated as you let the misery seep through the walls of defense you’d built so high. “Got dinner at the same spot we had our first date, ate in the park where he asked me to be his girlfriend, went to the bar we snuck into on one of our last nights together. He played our song on the jukebox, and we went back to his hotel. It was perfect, Mel. So perfect that I think it scared me.”

“Why did it scare you?” She softened up too, less intense now that you were cooperating. She had a wicked need for control, a wicked desire to help, and it made the two of you bump heads sometimes, especially with your abrasive nature.

“When he was far away, it was so easy to pretend that this was all lighthearted, that it was as simple as old high school sweethearts rekindling, just to see where we were at in life. It was easier to swallow back those feelings, to pretend he didn’t mean that much to me anymore. When I saw him, there was no more pretending, and when he did all of his sweet little gestures, it was harder to ignore the fact that he felt the same way I did.” You explained, low and slow as you turned down the volume knob so she could hear you better. With every word you spoke, your eyes brimmed with tears threatening to spill onto your cheeks. “For a while, I lived in this bubble of happiness that nothing could touch. Six years of misery finally ended, and I was okay again, I could breathe again, without the weight of the entire fucking world sitting on my shoulders.”

“What popped your bubble?” Mel asked, growing more comfortable with the conversation as she kicked her legs up on the bed and leaned against the wall behind her. You couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at her words, knowing nothing was funny but still able to find humor in the childlike question.

“Reality.” You responded, your lips dipping into a frown. “Nothing changed, Mel. The reasons we broke up are still just as prevalent, and I was so high on his company that I almost forgot all about it.” She was quiet for a moment, taking in your half-told story as she waited for you to continue, but you didn’t. You felt as though your point was clearly across despite never actually getting into it.

“What popped your bubble, Y/N?” She repeated, her eyes trained to your face as she pressed a little further. You swallowed hard, knowing that what you did was wrong and unwilling to divulge into it. Eventually, her stare became impossible to ignore, and she silently forced your hand on the matter.

“I went through his phone.” You rushed out, your eyes closing as the last syllable left your lips, knowing you were bound to be chastised because of your invasion of privacy.

“Nosy, much?” She raised an eyebrow, a small smirk on her lips. You expected much worse—no, you wanted much worse. You wanted someone to hold you accountable, to be as angry at yourself as you were, because what you did was wrong.

“Am I crazy for wanting you to yell at me?” You asked, leaning your head back on the chair in defeat.

“No.” She shook her head, giving the honest answer. “You know it was wrong, but you’re beating yourself up enough for the both of us. I don’t need to make it any worse.”

“I guess I didn’t really snoop, per se.” You felt a small smile cross your face, the only joyous expression you’d adorned since leaving Jake’s hotel room. “I looked through his notifications. I didn’t go through all his texts, or anything.” You defended yourself, less so because you were trying to justify your behavior and more so she knew what really happened.

“Clearly you found something. Does he have a secret family, or whatever?” She was trying her best to sound disinterested, but you knew she was itching for an answer.

Leaving Mel in silence for three days was equal to torture, and you feared she genuinely might go crazy if she was left in the dark for any longer. Mel was overbearing, annoyingly so at times, but it was always with the best intentions. She was your person, even if you tried to fight it, and she was the only one in the whole world that could help. Whether you were open to her advice or not, she always had at least a single good idea to give. If not an idea, then always some food for thought.

“I wish.” You gave a solemn smile. “I think if I hated him, it would be so much easier to get over him.”

“So what is it?”

“Exactly what I thought he would do six years ago; dropped his entire life for me. Moved meetings, rescheduled photoshoots, canceled interviews… completely neglected every responsibility just to drive to Michigan to take me on a date. Then I saw a weird but not super incriminating message from a girl named Amelie.” You pronounced her name with a poor French accent, a bitter taste on your tongue at the thought of her meaning anything at all to Jake.

“Okay.” Mel breathed, giving a curt nod. “Let’s start with the easy part. This Amelie… you said Jake’s not the type, so what do you think it is?”

“Sounds like a beautiful French woman he met on tour that I can’t begin to compare to.” You grumbled, swallowing back a lump in your throat as you confessed to the fear.

But Jake’s not like that.

He had never been the type to entertain two women at once—he had never been one to lie.

Why would he say all of those things, the romantic and emotional tellings of his heart that were all directed at you, if he did not mean them in the truest and most genuine ways?

Why would he wait six years just to break your heart?

“Right,” Mel hummed, not agreeing with your statement but instead trying to gauge whether you were ready for her input or not. Your eyes flickered to her, silently telling her you needed her input, that you needed her to confirm you were crazy for believing so. “Want to hear what I think?”

‘Yes, please. God yes, tell me I’m wrong.’ You thought to yourself, your lips staying shut as your eyes continued to bore into her. Behind the rigid exterior, she could see it—she could feel your desperation for help.

“You’re going to tell me anyway, so why not?” God, what was wrong with you? Why had you always taken the defense, never letting yourself show too much and never giving up on your own stubbornness? Why couldn’t you just be truthful, tell her you needed her and you couldn’t do this on your own?

“I think Amelie was the excuse you were waiting for.” She said, her voice quiet as she treaded carefully. Never faltering in your physical form, you felt everything inside of you spiral into one, horrible pit of despair. “You don’t think Jake is fucking her, and you don’t think he’s in a relationship. You just wanted an excuse to run, to feel justified in leaving.”

You wanted her to tell you that you were wrong, but now you were pissed off because she called you out. More than that, you were pissed off because she was right.

“So what?” You snapped, your gaze falling back to your hands crossed on your lap. “Even if that’s the case, it doesn’t change the rest of it.”

“It does, though.” She corrected, already privy to your innermost struggles. “You’re scared to have that conversation, to tell him how much it hurt the first time. You’re scared to open up, and you’re scared of hurting him. You don’t want to go through the same thing all over again, so you think that by walking away, you’re avoiding it.” She explained. “Amelie was your excuse to run before you had to tell him all of that.”

“Stop that.” You recoiled at her statement, choking on the words she was shoving into your mouth.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N. Open your eyes.” She implored you to digest the information rather than throw it away.

“Get out of my head!” You argued, angry not because she was missing the mark, but rather because she seemed to pluck the thoughts straight from your head and put them on display for everyone to see. “I hate it when you do that! You trick me into talking just so you can solve it all for me.”

“If I didn’t, who the hell would?” She snapped back, her eyebrows furrowed as she navigated your rebuttal. “You?”

Silence hovered over you again, uncomfortable and thick as it weighed you down. Breathing was hard, the strength of her stare mixed with the heaviness of your sadness combining into one, lethal force.

Of course you wouldn’t fix it; you weren’t a fixer—you were an ignore-er. It was your best trait, the only reason you’d survived the bulk of your life’s misery. You would shove it so far down that you would forget it existed, then carry on as if it never happened at all.

“He didn’t drop everything to go on some pathetic little date with you. He didn’t abandon responsibilities for a meaningless one night stand. He rearranged his schedule to find time to rekindle the relationship with the love of his life—with you. Those are two drastically different things, and you need to get your head out of your ass. He waited six years, Y/N. Six years for you to come back, six years of hoping and praying that you would change your mind. I know you like to be right, that you think you get to call all of the shots because you think you know what’s best for everyone, but you don’t get to decide this. You don’t get to make decisions for him.”

“I’m not making decisions for him—I’m making decisions for me, for what’s best for both of us.” Your argument was weak, and you knew she had you beat, but you never went down without a fight.

“If that was true, you think maybe you would be happy? Or at least okay?” She forced you to think about it again, to reconsider your thoughts and look inwards from a new perspective. She was right; if it were for the best, you wouldn’t be so miserable. Worse still, he wouldn’t be miserable, and you knew he was. The pile of unanswered texts told you he was anything but happy with your choice. “Was he happy when you left? Did he want this, too?”

“No, he didn’t.” You swallowed hard, your head throbbing as you thought back to his pain stricken face. Reliving the moments before you left, both times, was agonizing, yet they seemed to be the only memories you could think of as of recent.

“See?” She leaned forward on the bed, forcing you to look at her. “You know I’m right.”

“I just… fuck, Mel! I don’t know where I’m going, I don’t know what I’m doing. I thought I had my life figured out, but I never did. I don’t have a job, I don’t have a place to live yet. I can’t subject him to that. I can’t force him to put up with all of this. It’s better if we’re friends, at least while I get everything figured out, but it’s not as easy as you say it is.”

“Do you love him?” She asked, ignoring every point you made. You caught her gaze, your stomach twisting with anxiety as the word echoed through the room. It bounced against every corner of your skull, furthering the migraine and making your palms break out into a sweat.

“Yes.” Finally, you breathed the response, relieved to finally confess it to her. “I love him more than anything else in the world. I always have. I never stopped.”

“Then nothing else matters.” She hummed, the sweet tone easing the ache in your chest. Damn her for always knowing what to say, and damn her for always making you feel better. Most of all, damn her for not being able to mind her own business. “I’ve never seen you so happy. Nobody else has ever made you feel like that, not since I’ve known you, and I’m sure even way before that. If you still feel this way after so long, it means something, Y/N. Don’t throw it away because you’re scared. If he loves you like this too, you can make anything work.”

“I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for him, Mel. Want to see him happy, see him succeed, and I can’t get over the thought of me being the reason he doesn’t.” You confessed, your mouth dry as the truth scratched your throat raw. “That’s why I left the first time. That’s why I left this time. Our lives aren’t that different than they were back then, and the reasons we broke up are still very much alive.”

“You’re not the same, and neither is he. Stop thinking you’re still eighteen and stupid. You’ve grown up, you’ve lived life without him, and you came back. No matter how pressing those reasons were, clearly they weren’t strong enough to keep you away for good.”

“I hate you, you know.” You muttered, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“No, you don’t.” She chuckled. “You hate being wrong.”

“I’m not wrong.” You huffed, still believing your reasoning was correct.

“You sure as hell ain’t right.” Mel laughed, the sound uplifting and refreshing compared to the misery you had been stuck in. “Try, Y/N. Said it before, and I’ll say it again. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t. If, in the end, I turn out to be wrong, we’ll take it as it comes, but you don’t know that’s how it’ll end. You can’t live your life always wishing you ended up with someone you wouldn’t let yourself have.”

Instead of responding, you reached out, pausing the Dylan song amidst a particularly intense bout of harmonica. In an instant, your blinding headache eased and your sick stomach rumbled with hunger. In a moment of clarity, you finally let yourself feel what you’d been holding back for so long; the largest, most pressing issue of the entire ordeal.

“I fucking hate Bob Dylan.” It felt like a million pounds were lifted off your chest as the words passed over your tongue.

“Thank god.” Mel fell backwards onto the mattress, utterly exhausted from pretending to tolerate the song.

Funny how missing Jake blinded you enough to believe you enjoyed it, like it was your last, desperate attempt at feeling close to him. You didn’t need to pretend, and you didn’t need to look at things from the same perspective all of the time. Life wasn’t black and white—it was a million different colors all at once, some so beautiful you couldn’t even begin to comprehend them. You could hate Bob Dylan and still love Jake the same, just the same as you could feel close to him without clinging to the time-worn memory of him. You didn’t have to view everything through a single lense, because sometimes things had to be looked at differently every time you encountered them.

You and Jake, were in fact, something that needed to be taken from every different angle possible. The twists and turns you took to get where you were, the surplus of emotion and the lack of action, the abundance of love despite there being no reason for it could not be justified from one single point or train of thought. You were everything all at once, and after six years and a damned mixtape later, you weren’t destined to end the same way all over again.

There had to be something else for you—it had to be different. After all this time, your commitment to his heart had to be worth it, rather than a painful bump in the road to remind you and make you relive your worst failures.

You were confused, nervous, and frustrated. You wanted it to make sense, for the answer to splay itself in front of you, so obvious you would trip over it and become one with it, but you knew it could never be so easy. You had to force yourself to learn how to take a step back, to stop being so close to a situation that it skewed your perception of what was in front of you. You needed to learn how to see it from Mel’s eyes, and most importantly, Jake’s.

You didn’t know anything, nor how to do it, but the fire under your ass was forcing you to figure it out. You couldn’t live the rest of your life this miserable, and you knew misery was the only thing in store for you if you forced yourself away from Jake.

Facts made sense to you, so you had to look at it logically; you had to learn, to understand, which had always been your favorite thing to do.

It wouldn’t be that hard, right?

You hoped not, because feeling so out of touch with reality was ruining you, and not knowing was killing you. No matter how hard it was, you had to do it, you had to know for certain.

Though, no matter what you did, you were certain one thing would always remain true; you would never, not in a million years, grow to love Bob Dylan, even if the man you loved most was his biggest fan.

And now that the song had finally come to a long overdue halt, Ozz found it within himself to join the two of you in your bedroom, free to keep you company amidst your sadness without being scared off by the high pitched harmonica on loop.

Jake’s POV

“God, you are a fuckin’ mess.” Your hotel door swung open, a voice ringing through the empty air after a brief moment of calm. You closed your eyes, not responding to the noise in hopes he would take the hint and walk away. For the first time ever, not even Josh could make the hurt ease. For the first time ever, you believed he had no advice to give you.

The whole world was burning, but you were so caught up in it that not even a hand to hold could reassure you, and he could not talk you through it.

If anything, you feared talking would only make it burn so much worse.

“Jesus, Jacob. Have you even gotten out of bed yet?” He was by your bedside, peering down at you with a mix of concern and disgust on his face. You were shirtless, the sheets strewn messily across your lower half as you prayed for the mattress to open up and swallow you whole. “Hello?” Josh spoke again, his lips decorated with a frown as he awaited a response.

“Fuck, what do you want?” You groaned, running a hand over your face. You wished he would take the hint, but you felt ridiculous for even thinking he might. In your long lifetime spent with him by your side, you noticed that Josh had never once acknowledged a hint, let alone taken one.

“I don’t know, maybe a ‘hello’? That would be a good start. Or, better yet, an explanation as to why I haven’t heard or seen you since I was here yesterday, when you were in the same position?” He had a hand on his hip, his stare accusatory as he refused to back down.

“Never should have given you that damn spare key.” You grumbled, pushing your messy hair away from your face. Your eyes were burning, puffy from crying, and even if he could clearly see the state you were in, you would never admit it to him.

“Well, you did, so get the fuck over it and tell me what your issue is.” He brushed off your snide comment, sitting next to you in the bed despite his lack of invitation. “Been three days, brother. Something happened—just waiting for you to tell me what.”

“Do you know how to mind your own business, or is that completely lost on you?” You huffed, still tipsy off the whiskey bottle you nursed to completion the night before.

“If you haven’t noticed, you are my business, asshole.” He snipped back, unscathed from your harsh words. He knew you, and all too well; this behaviour was nothing new, and even he knew what it was about, but he wanted to hear it from you instead of assuming. “I’ve only ever seen you like this once before. Trouble in paradise… again?”

“Do you have to try and be so condescending, or does that come naturally?” Your eyes shot open, more energy coursing through you now as you made a move to sit upright. As you did, your head throbbed from the grievous hangover, but you pushed it to the side as you focused on your irritation with Josh.

“Sorry I’m late—lost my fuckin’ key. Went to find Daniel for the spare, and he lost that one, too! Go figure…” Sam joined the crowd, ranting about his days minor inconvenience as he kicked the door shut behind him. He didn’t seem to notice the disarray you found yourself in, nor was he able to read the emotion hanging heavily in the room.

“You really outdid yourself, Josh.” You rolled your eyes, half tempted to roll out of bed and dress yourself just so you could run away from the awkward encounter. “What is this, a brotherly intervention?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s an intervention,” Josh shot you down, tapping his fingers against his khaki-clad leg. “More like a concerned conversation?” He offered an alternative, trying to explain himself before you jumped to conclusions.

“You said intervention in the text.” Sam countered, confused and adding little to Josh’s efforts. You raised a hand, motioning to Sam as you turned your head towards your twin. With a raised eyebrow, you waited for the confirmation you wanted, even if all it would do was drive you further away.

“Sam—ugh, you know what? Fine. Intervention, as the two of you would have it.” Josh threw his arms up, shooting the youngest of the group a glare.

“Right.” You muttered, throwing the sheets off of you and straightening the band of your sweatpants as you climbed out of bed. Your joints ached from days of lazing in the same position and your eyes hurt as you faced the sunlight pooling in through the sheer curtains. “Good thing I don’t need an intervention. In fact, don’t need anything. I’m fine.” You slipped a shirt over your head, stepping towards the door with hopes of escaping the burgeoning intensity of their stares. “‘Preciate the concern, but you’re wasting your energy.”

Josh sent a pointed look at Sam, silently commanding him to step in front of the door before you could leave. This time, he understood the hidden message that Josh was desperately trying to convey, and he took a step backwards to block the exit. You let out a huff of frustration, closing your eyes as you raised your thumb and middle finger to your temples, gently massaging away the migraine the two were causing.

“Sam, please.” You breathed, wasting little effort in speaking as you tried to focus it all on standing upright. You could smell the alcohol on you, seeping through your pores as your liver tried to recover from the previous night's binge. You were a mess, and they were right, but you did not want to talk about it.

“Sorry, brother.” Sam shrugged, leaning back against the wood grain as he shot you a sympathetic smile.

“So what, we’re leaving Daniel out of this? Pretty poor intervention if you ask me, ‘specially if the panel is ran by two idiots.” You felt your fuse reach the end, your temper getting the best of you as the frustration pulsed underneath your skin and behind your eyes.

“Jake, man, I love you.” Sam reasoned, pressing his palms together in front of his torso as the tips of his fingers pointed in your direction. “But could we lose the attitude? Just this once, could you grow up and be an adult about this? About her?”

“Don’t you dare—“ you seethed, cutting yourself off as a prickling sensation filling your entire body from the mere thought of him speaking about her. He had no right to speak her name, no business talking about her or placing his own notions and judgements on the situation. She was your sunshine, your entire world, and right now you were hurt enough to know that if he spoke ill of her, you wouldn’t be able to swallow your words. “Don’t talk about her, Sam. It’s not your place.”

“Okay, he’s right.” Josh nodded, standing and taking a hesitant step towards the two of you, not quite between you but ready to be if the situation warranted intervention. “No sunshine talk, Sammy boy. We’re here to talk about Jake.” Josh sent a careful glance at Sam, speaking with only his eyes. You were a ticking time bomb the two had faced explosion from many times in their life, and this instance happened to be one they were overly familiar with. To them, it seemed the fuse was the shortest when it had anything to do with her.

“Yeah, okay.” Sam cleared his throat, taking the step back and getting a handle on his own frustrations. “Let’s talk about you, Jake.” A twitch of anger contorted your expression at his tone of voice, but you took a deep breath instead of letting it slip into something bigger.

Why did it seem that the two people you loved most were always the ones who made you the angriest version of yourself?

“What about me, Sam?”

“Well, Jake… we’re concerned about your wellbeing, considering you’ve spent the last three days locked in your hotel room. Any reason why, or just making the most out of our vacation?” You squeezed your eyes shut, your teeth clenched tightly together as you listened to his words.

“Okaaayy—good start!” Josh chimed, trying his best to ease the lingering tension. “We are concerned, Jake. Thank you for starting us off, Sam.”

“You two are insufferable, you know.” You gave a tight lipped smile, ignoring the main topic at hand as if it were no big deal.

“‘Cause we love you. That’s all.” Josh shrugged, imploring you to understand where they were coming from. You let out a sigh, knowing they did love you, but it was not even enough to take away the ache in your heart. Nobody could love you enough to take that away.

Well, nobody except for her.

“Fine, you want to know what happened?” You asked, running your fingers through your tangled hair. “Date went great—better than I thought it would. Came back here, spent the night together, she said she loved me, and she fucking left! Again!” At that, your fist slammed down on the high end wooden desk beside you, the legs shaking under the pressure and your bones aching from the contact.

Your two brothers, dumbfounded and worried, stared at you with wide eyes, unbelieving that you found yourself in the same situation all over again. Why, after reaching out in the first place, would she leave you again without hesitation? Why would she let it go so far?

Confused and less than angry, Josh was in search of an answer.

“Why?” He asked, his face softening as he understood the torment you were enduring.

“Same thing as last time. She doesn’t want to stand in the way of anything, doesn’t want to distract me, or whatever the fuck—“ you felt your chest constrict at the thought, the pain coming back in an entirely new fashion as it tore through your entire body. When your brothers stormed in, they pissed you off enough to distract you from it, which means they served some sort of purpose. Now that you were talking, more specifically about her, it was back with a vengeance. “She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand that this doesn’t mean anything if she’s not here with me. Christ, I did the damn thing because of her! She was the whole reason I had the courage to try, a-and she thinks that she’s a nuisance? A hindrance? To a dream that only came true because she loved me?”

Josh stepped forward, a gentle hand extended in your direction. Softly, carefully, cautiously, it landed on your shoulder, a silent reassurance that he was here and he was listening. Sam approached, less annoyance on his face as he stood beside his eldest brother.

For some reason that you could not explain, the simple contact between you and your twin, the unspoken support and solidarity from both of them made the murky skies clear and allowed for fresh air to fill your lungs. It didn’t feel so heavy, so overwhelming.

“She said she loved you?” Sam asked, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his ass resting against the edge of the wooden desk you’d assaulted only moments before. Even though it just happened, it seemed blurry, hazy as you tried to recall it. Everything was so messed up, so much more confusing now that she closed the door on the two of you.

Although painful, the last few years of your life did not feel as haunting as the last three days had. You tried to blame it on the wound reopening, but in truth, it had little to do with that. Every day, each grueling hour and every painstaking second of the last six years, beneath all of the misery, one thing remained true; hope.

Although time passed, and the longer it dragged on the harder it became to remain optimistic, you never gave up hope that she would come back, that the two of you weren’t finished. Deep down, there was a guttural sense of expectation that led you to believe she would show up, walk through the door with that awe-inspiring smile on her face and love in her heart for you.

Finally, after six fucking years, she did.

Then, she tore it away from you in an instant, without even thinking twice about it, with a measly promise of friendship that both of you knew only added insult to injury.

You were willing to settle, to be friends so you never had to live a life without her in it again, but she couldn’t even hold up that end of the deal. She left, storming out of your hotel room the instant the cab driver parked in front of the entrance, barely looking back over her shoulder as she held her heels in her hands and blinked away tears pooling in her eyes. You heard the door slam, but you were somewhere completely different—a dark abyss in your mind you’d only visited once before, when she drove down the long winding road set out for UPenn, never even glancing at you through the rear view mirror.

Then she disappeared.

Every call went to voicemail, every text went unanswered, the bold letters of the word ‘delivered’ taunting you every time you closed your eyes.

She was gone, and this time, so was all hope.

Why did you let her leave? Why did you let her jump to that conclusion, to run before she got the full story? Why didn’t you run after her?

You were stupid, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway—she made up her mind, and she wouldn’t fucking listen. She never did, and you knew it would be a waste of breath.

“Sure did.” You cleared your throat after you spoke, your words raspy and sorrowful. You hated looking like such a mess in front of the two, but it was nothing they hadn’t seen before. In fact, it was the only thing they’d seen in the recent years that had come to pass. It only changed that fateful day in Europe, when her name graced your screen and the seemingly permanent cloud of misery finally floated away.

They enjoyed it for the few short weeks it lasted—it had been a long time since they saw that version of you. Happy, carefree, comfortable.

You only ever felt that way when she was around. The world only felt right with her by your side.

Now you had no idea where to go or what to do. The world didn’t end, the days still passed by in one never ending, haunting cycle of despair, and the sun was still in the sky, albeit it could never compare to her. You didn’t die when she walked away, although part of you felt like it did. You survived it once, and you could again. You had plenty to look forward to, so much to accomplish still, but it lost its sparkle knowing that you couldn’t share it with her.

So, no. The world did not end, but it definitely became colder, darker, without her light to shine upon you.

“Wonder if she meant it, or if it just felt right in the moment.” You scoffed the words out, sickened at the idea of her saying them but not truly meaning them. When you said it to her, it was the most sacred statement to ever leave your lips, the most genuine and soulful of words, and the only thing in the world that would forever remain true.

“Jacob,” Josh rolled his eyes, knowing exactly where your head was at. “Stop that. Take a second and get out of your own head. Let’s look at it through her eyes, together.” He offered. The muscle in your jaw tightened, your teeth pressed together with enough strength to cause an ache in your head.

From her eyes.

Her beautiful, alluring, calming eyes that always saw the world differently than anyone else could.

Why didn’t you do that before?

Maybe it was too painful for you, or impossible to see a different perspective without someone else to guide you through it. As of late, you had a knack for overthinking, jumping to conclusions that weren’t even genuine possibilities. Josh was always the one to guide you through it, and maybe you needed him more than you realized. He brushed you off, trying to get you to find your own conclusions when it came to her, but it was because you were asking for help in the romance aspect. In truth, you’d never needed much help there, especially when it came to her. Over the past few weeks, you just needed a pat on the back and reassurance that you could do it. Now, you needed help, you needed it to make sense.

“Now I know it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Y/N, but I have never known her to be a liar. I’ve never known her as anything other than selfless and sincere, and for you Jake, she’s all that and more.” You swallowed hard, his statement hitting you with force and knocking the air from your lungs. He was right, and you were so heartbroken it managed to taint your view of her.

She meant that she loved you, so why did she leave?

None of it made sense, and it all fucking hurt. You wished to have the level headed outlook that Josh had, but it failed you every time her name was brought up. The feelings she evoked within you, the intoxicating effects of her company and even just her memory was enough to drive you mad. You were completely smitten for the woman, and she never even had to try. You knew that nothing could ever compare, nobody could come close, and you were near insanity just imagining a life without her.

“There was this brief moment, the smallest amount of time where everything felt right, like it was supposed to all along. It felt like she felt it too, like we were on the same page, but I walked away for a second, and it all changed.” You let out a shaky breath, your eyes bloodshot and stinging with tears.

“Something must have set her off, right?” Sam offered, hand on his chin as he found himself lost in thought. Yours and Josh’s eyes turned to him, curious about his input.

Josh was a shoulder to cry on, sharing words of wisdom to help you see a different perspective, but Sam? Sam was critical, always finding an answer even when it seemed impossible, always piecing it together when there were seemingly no pieces in sight. Josh was wise, but Sam was a fixer, and you needed this fixed.

“Like what?” You asked, beating yourself up as you heard the same breath of hope in your tone as you had once before.

“Well, I don’t know.” Sam fought back an eye roll, knowing you were hurting but frustrated by how obtuse you could be. “You said you walked away—did you leave her alone in here, or was that metaphorical?”

“No, I literally walked away.” You confirmed. “We were laying in bed, not really talking, but so comfortable that it didn’t matter. I thought for sure it was it, that we were gonna talk it out and work it out, but then I went to the bathroom. When I came back, she was so different. There was that look in her eye, like when she left the first time.”

Sam was silent for a moment, his gaze drifting towards the bed that you’d left in a mess. Thoughtfully, his eyes scanned the scene, as if he could see it in front of him, like it was happening in real time. His eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, his lips parted as he sucked in a sharp breath. Then, his arm raised and his index finger extended outwards, pulling the two of you in the same direction he was going. He was pointing at your phone on the bed, screen facing upwards and lit up with incoming notifications that were insignificant to you.

To you, though.

To him, it was more than insightful.

“You always leave your phone like that?” Sam asked, his eyes flickering to you as he awaited a response.

“Yeah? Fuck does it matter?” You grumbled, unable to correlate the two. He bit his tongue as he breathed a long sigh of annoyance through his nose, stepping towards the bed and snatching the phone off the mattress.

“It matters because you’re an idiot with no passcode, and anyone can see any notifications as soon as they come.” He snapped, tapping the screen to light it up.

“So?” You couldn’t find the same wavelength he was on, unsure if it was because you were too upset or he was being too vague. Maybe, it was a combination of both. “Nothing incriminating on there. Would have let her look through it if she asked.”

“To you.” Sam clarified. “You said she felt like she was holding you back, that you were still in the same situation as last time. Where do you think that came from?” Sam implored you to think a little further, scrolling down the notification bar you never bothered to clear.

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“She saw your notifications.” Sam stressed his point, his eyes reading over all of the worrisome details that likely sent her running. “Outlook: meeting canceled. Outlook: request for rescheduling. Aaron said: sent you the outline for the interview we put on pause. If you get a chance, please look it over in advance.” Sam listed off, flashing the screen towards you so you could see for yourself. “There’s about twenty more just like it.”

“Fuck sakes.” You groaned, placing a palm to your forehead as you let your eyes fall shut. Of course she saw it, and of course she took it personally. Had you realized it sooner, maybe you wouldn’t be where you are now, maybe you could have explained.

“I’m sorry, Jake.” Josh shifted uncomfortably on his feet, clearly feeling guilty on behalf of the situation. “Did you tell her it was my idea? That I was the one who canceled everything?”

It was true; coming to Michigan, coming home to her was Josh’s idea. He handled the scheduling conflicts, assuring you that this was much more important than another interview that would pertain to the same fifteen questions you’d been asked since the very beginning.

“F’course not—I didn’t know that’s why she got cold feet.” You mumbled, your eyes flickering towards the floor. “Besides, wouldn’t blame that on you, anyway. Doesn’t seem fair since it was because of me in the first place.”

“That’s not the point.” Josh urged, shaking his head at your stupidity. “If she knew it was me… if she knew how badly we all wanted to see you two together, maybe she’d get it. You have to tell her, Jake. This is all probably super overwhelming for her, to be back with you and to think that you cancelled everything to be with her. No doubt she loves you, but no doubt she’s terrified of messing things up for you. She’s always been afraid of that—she was there since the beginning, when all this was just a dream. She doesn’t see what we see. Make her see it, Jake.”

“Yeah, and maybe you should also tell her Amelie is our photographer, cause this message does seem a little bit flirty taken out of context.” Sam said, clicking on the text and showing you. Confused, you grabbed the phone from his hand and read over the words for what seemed like an eternity, noticing she’d attached four pictures of your last show, ones that you’d been begging her to share. You couldn’t see them from the notification bar, which would have made it seem all the more worrisome to her.

“Great timing, huh?” You grumbled, tossing your phone on the bed as you tried to process all of the new information. “Didn’t budge for a week, but finally sent them at the perfect time.” The sarcasm was dripping from your tone, your stomach upset as you understood how much those series of events would have bothered her.

You were so cruel, believing she did so because she didn’t care, because she wanted an excuse. It wasn’t true, and she did what she did because she cared so much, more than anyone ever had, and more than anyone else ever would. She took the burden of heartbreak because she cared more about your happiness than her sadness. If the roles were reversed, you would have felt the same way, maybe even worse. She loved you so wholly and completely that she would rather let you go than stand in your way.

Josh was right, she was a selfless, kindhearted person who would do and be anything for you, even if the best for you meant she had to be nothing. You were an idiot, and you accused her of lacking love when in reality, she was suffocating on the abundance of love she held for you.

You had to fix it. You had to make it right, to show her that no matter where you were or what you were doing, she was the very thing that made it possible to do it. You needed to tell her that she was all you ever wanted, that the life you lived was good, but only fantastic when she was there to stand by your side.

You needed to fight, to chase after her instead of letting her walk away. She meant too much to you to let her go. You couldn’t waste another six years hoping the situation would fix itself. This time, you were older, wiser, albeit still stupid, but you knew that she was worth it.

“I have to make it right.” You announced, looking between the two.

“You have to tell her the truth. Don’t let her go, Jake.” Sam agreed.

“After all this time, she’s still yours. Don’t take it for granted.” Josh added.

“Okay.” You breathed, giving one curt nod. “I have an idea, but I can’t do it by myself.”

“Whatever you need, brother.” Josh assured you, knowing just as well as you did that she was the one. They couldn’t bear to see you lose her for good. Sam nodded in agreement, a silent show of solidarity without a second thought.

A small smile graced your lips, and a breath of hope filled your lungs. It wasn’t over, and you would make sure of it. When it came to her, you would never let it be over. You would work until your last dying breath, committed to her and her alone. She was everything, the whole world and more. She was your sunshine, lighting up the darkest days and making the brightest ones better.

Six years ago, you gave her eight songs to show her how much you would miss her, how sad you were about letting her go.

This time, maybe all she needed was eight songs to tell her exactly why you needed her to stay.

TAGLIST: @anythingforjtk @highway-tuna @klarxtr @hollyco @thetroublegetssoloud71 @ageofbajabule @dannys-dream @raceb14 @watchingover-hypegirl @starshine-gvf @do-it-jakey-baby @gretavansara @jakesbeloved @woyayaofdreams @jakeyt @kiszkas-canvas @gracev0609 @josh-iamyour-mama @musicspeaks @gretavangroupie @gretavanmoon @gvfmarge @takenbythemadness @fleetingjake

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

COD Men with a mentally ill/disordered S/O

Requested: No

Warnings: OCD, ADHD, Anxiety, and Depression, Panic attacks

A/N: I cried while writing this so enjoy the fruit of my tears

Ghost - OCD

Ghost can’t say that he understands your need for cleanliness, in your home and in your mind, the way you think just doesn’t make sense to him. He knows that, logically, you checking the knob of the front door exactly 3 times in a row, doing your goodnight chant at the exact same pitch and volume every night as you back into your room, checking every single thing in your area before you can even think of touching the bed, does not influence anything but your mind. But he knows that you not doing it will only put you into a frenzy, practically hyperventilating about how much everything would go wrong because you didn’t do it right. Because now everything is filthy because you broke the pattern. You never say it aloud, afraid he’d think you as crazy as you already think of yourself, but he already knows. It’s written all across your face, the tears in your eyes, the way you look like you want to claw your skin off just to get to the filth that you know is underneath.

filthy filthy filthy FILTHY

No, you never have to say a word. But Ghost will always know, and he’ll always try to help, even if it’s entirely in vain as you sink deeper and deeper into your head, giving in to the voices. He’ll always be there for you, your medicine in one hand and a drink in the other, always.

Soap - ADHD

Soap thinks a lot of your little habits are cute at first. Sure you do some pretty strange things but he doesn’t think it’s anything drastic. You’re just his strange little goofball. But that changes when he gets to know you better and sees all the negative ways you are affected. The way you struggle with time, how you often have trouble remembering even important things, and your inability to properly communicate with people who aren’t in your day to day life. Not to mention your guilt on top of all those things and how it affects your self worth.

Soap can’t help with many of those things but something he can help with is the executive dysfunction. Bringing you food and drinks when you get so absorbed into a task that everything else just falls away and you don’t even notice your stomach’s rumbling until it hurts. Subtly snapping you out of your daydreams when you unintentionally start zoning out during something important. Helping you manage impulse control, starting boring or difficult tasks, or keeping your attention on something important when you get distracted for the umpteenth time.

He’ll always be there for you, ready to assist you however he can, even if he can’t always be a great help.

König - Anxiety

Ah yes, an experience that König is all too familiar with. Although he does find it all kinds of strange to be seeing his own mannerisms from the outside instead of just experiencing them. The way you shrink in on yourself when someone approaches you about something serious, or how you look like you’re on the verge of a panic attack when you have to go into a crowd or to the store during busy hours. And unfortunately a lifetime of living with the same mental illness does not help him comfort you at all. He can try his best but your anxiety feeds into his own, making him teary eyed.

But that doesn’t stop him. König doesn't want to just sit by and watch you delve further into panic. So he worked on being braver, on withstanding his own panic so he could help you through yours. It wasn’t easy, his legs practically jelly as he tried to talk you through an anxiety attack, helping you get your breathing steady again, his voice echoing in your ears as he tries to soothe away all the voices in your head. He knows it’s not going to help all that much, but he hopes it at least helps some.

He just wants to help you feel better, Little Majestät.

Alejandro - Depression

Alejandro is no stranger to the absolute messes that people can become when their inner demons take control. He’s seen his fair share of soldiers lose themselves to PTSD and the like, drowning in their sorrows. It’s not something he’d wish upon anyone, let alone you. Someone he cherishes so much, so close to his heart that seeing you upset makes him almost physically ill. And this level of pain you are in, unable to move from your bed, just staring at the wall like some hallowed husk of the person he loves, it hurts him so badly.

He will do his best for you, gently encouraging you to drink water or to eat something, bringing these things to you if you truly cannot convince you to come out of bed with him. He’ll whisper to you how much he loves you, words of encouragement and praise for everything you manage to do, even if it’s as simple as getting out of bed to perform basic hygiene or throwing out a piece of trash. His smile will be so big when you finally do manage to get out of bed, pressing sweet kisses to your face as he asks you quietly if you’d like to join him in the living room for a bit. Trying to encourage you while not pushing you too far.

Alejandro would kill, just to see you out of your bed and even just the slightest bit happier.

[captain039]

PART 3 Wolf and the Rabbit

Logan Howlett x reader

Warnings: Age gap, Sex club AU, sexual, smut, BDSM, daddy dom/little girl, first times, pet names, dirty talk, very NSFW, swearing, plus size reader, reader has depression and anxiety and self esteem issues. Readers hair can be put in a pony tail

Previous part <-

After your first session you swear you’ll never go back. His words echoing in your mind the pictures you see of his teeth marking your skin and flesh as he claims you. It’s so wrong but so right, you’ve orgasmed off it every single night for the last four days now, his big hands his cologne his deep velvet words it’s too much and not enough. Next Thursday you’re led to room 10 again seeing the same chairs and table and sleek black couch.

“Sit” he says simply and you frown but do as he sits in his fresh suit his cologne briefly hitting your nose.

“Is something wrong?” You ask him as he keeps his eyes at the table before they move to you. His gaze always feels intense but there’s something behind it this time, something you can’t place.

“This place isn’t right for you” he says bluntly and you make a face that shows mixed emotions.

“How the hell do you know?” You’re defending yourself but somehow you know he’s right. After you left despite the buzz the orgasms you had you hated it. The way you felt dirty the way you had a half an hour long shower for letting a stranger touch you. The way you cried softly one night thinking to yourself this isn’t what you want, these things come with trust and more than an hour with a man. It’s not the lifestyle you wanted.

“The look you’re giving me right now says I’m right” he says tilting his head ever so slightly to the side and you sigh face going neutral and a little upset.

“What gave it away?” You mutter.

“You didn’t relax once while I was touching you, you were a stick, an unwilling puppet” that kinda hurts but the truth hurts.

“When you left you ran out the door” he nods and you go to fight it but you did in fact run out the door, he had left to let you get changed and you didn’t even stay like requested to talk you left.

“What is it you want? Really want?” He asks crossing his arms over his chest biceps bulging as he does. It feels strange someone asking you what you want nobody ever asks.

“I want-“ you trail off.

“I want a particular relationship” you say looking down to your hands. Sure you’ve told your therapist and maybe traumatised her but you’ve never told anyone else besides your best friend.

“One that includes the Dominant/submissive lifestyle mixed with the daddy/little girl” you say half expecting him to make a disgusted face but he doesn’t he just nods expecting you to continue.

“I want it built on trust I want to give myself completely over to my dom so he can take care of me in the way I need” you glance to him see him tense see his hand flex on his thigh.

“But I need that parental guidance sometimes too, I don’t want the dominant/submissive to be fully 24/7 I’m still independent, just sometimes I hate it and don’t want to be an adult, but I’m not a child I don’t need you to change my diaper or something” you trail off staring at your hands again. You don’t judge people who do those sorts of things you just don’t do it, you want that parental love from your dominant.

“I just can’t seem to find that anywhere not that I’ve bothered looking I just know it won’t be there and I’ve accepted that sort of” you say sadly feeling like you might cry in front of the man now. You look to him anxiety rocketing seeing his overly tense form and you feel like you’ve crossed a line.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to cross a line or over share” he holds his hand up and you silence instantly at the gesture.

“You haven’t crossed any line and I asked” he says voice still smooth but there’s a hint of gentleness in it that makes your insides go like jelly. Your shoulders sag softly and you nod.

Jesus Christ he’s going to hell. You’re so perfect he can’t keep himself together. The soft blush across your chubby cheeks the embarrassment in your eyes and vulnerableness. The light trust you’ve given him to tell him your desires makes him want to purr. It’s taking a lot of restraint to not pick you up and sit you in his lap and whisper in your ear that he’s got you, that daddy’s got you. He think he knows what you need but he doesn’t, not truely, you’ve given him an overview but he doesn’t know you nor does he deserve to do that comfort as if he were your dom. His body is so tense he feels the material strain, he needs to speak to ease the anxiety he can see building, he’s done this so many years seen so many women like you, but this is different somehow. He’s been constantly battling a semi from images of you on the couch in the lingerie that fit so perfectly against your round rolled figure.

“I’m sorry I wasted your time” your words hit him like a slap and he frowns looking to you again.

“You didn’t waste my time, sweetheart” he knows he shouldn’t have let the name slip but the shiver he sees go up your spine makes it worth it. He digs in his pocket and pulls out a card he’s written his number on and leans forward.

“Are you free tomorrow?” He asks as you frown and look at the card before taking it. You nod to his question and he leans back.

“Dinner at 6?” He asks and you stare at him like he’s grown a second head, your cheeks go redder and you just nod. It makes him fist his hand again at the quiet submissiveness, he doesn’t deserve it, you probably don’t even realise you’re doing it.

“Text me your address when you’re ready and still want too” he stands straightens out his suit watching you stand also in response. You grip the card in your hands tightly he watches your knuckles go white. He steps over to you his hand coming up to rest on your neck and shoulder pressing his lips to your forehead. He feels you tense in shock before relaxing pressing your head closer to his lips before he pulls away and leaves.

You think you’ve died. Truely died and gone into heaven or hell. This man is taking you out dinner after you explained what you wanted and it makes you giddy. The nickname sweetheart went straight to your panties and the forehead kiss made you melt like butter. You go home in a sort of daze, staring out the taxi window before going to your apartment and lying on your bed the card in your hands. The number is hand written on there at the bottom of the name Eden in the middle of the card which you assume is a business card. You have anxiety for the whole night and day before you get ready. You shower thoroughly, get dressed in a dress this time a simple light purple ankle length dress with some small silver heels and accessories. You do light makeup again and put your hair up so you don’t get too hot and sweaty. You’re already sweating, you lie under the fan glance at the time and hover your hand above the send button. You haven’t told your best friend, you feel bad for telling her you would try the club out fully and now you’re not instead you’re going out to dinner with the owner. You hit send staring at your phone screen before he replies back.

I’m leaving now

It’s such a short reply and you try not to overthink as you did only said. I’m ready my address is this. You pace your room back and forth before a knock comes to the door and your anxiety shoots through the roof. You open the door and there he stands in his glory, a fresh grey suit and black tie his hair is combed this time and not spiky his beard is a little shorter too.

“Hi” you manage heart in your throat as he gives you a long up and down look.

“Evening” he says his eyes finding their way back to yours.

“You look beautiful” he says and you feel your body heat up quickly.

“Thank you, you do too” you reply and freeze.

“Handsome! You look handsome” you correct and see a slight twitch in his lip before he goes serious.

“Shall we?” He asks and you nod locking your door and closing it behind before following him to the elevator. God he smells so good again, it should be illegal for a man to smell and look as good as him. He leads you to the apartment complex carpark and leads you to a sleek black Mercedes that looks like it cost a lung and kidney. He opens the door for you and you thank him sitting in the comfortable leather seats before he closes your door softly and slides into the drivers seat. He starts the car up a low rumble that sounds nice before he reverses and pulls out into the street.

“Do you need air?” He asks and you frown before you realise what he meant.

“Up to you I don’t mind” you shrug as he switches the air on. You frown as cool air hits your ass and back.

“The seats are lined with small fans” he says reading your mind.

“That’s so cool” you mutter geez if your dad was here he’d be all over this thing. It’s refreshing and cooling down your sweaty back and thighs, gosh you hope you don’t leave a mark on his seat you would literally rather die. He drives further into the city before pulling into a carpark area beside a fancy restaurant. You didn’t catch the name but it looked expensive. He parks and gets out the car as you do too, you see him frown a bit as you open the door and get out.

“Oh- sorry” you mutter closing the door softly realising he was a very old fashioned man.

“It’s alright” he rumbles out offering you his arm instead. You take it placing your hand in the crook of his arm as he leads you to the fancy restaurant. The host greets you politely before leading you to your table. You feel out of place here the fancy thin women in there fancy dresses expensive jewellery and expensive husbands. You grip Logan’s arm a little tighter as the host seats you. Logan holds your chair out like a gentleman before pushing you in and you thank him.

“Do you drink?” Logan asks and you shake your head.

“No, sorry, you can though I don’t mind” you offer a smile and he nods ordering a wine with a fancy name you’re not gonna try and repeat. You order a juice thinking it safest and not cheap like fizzy drink. Logan hands you a menu and you thank him looking over it feeling like a hundred stares are on you. You glance around catching the glimpse of an older woman her scowl present you try not to take offence thinking that her partner may have just pissed her off. You look back to the menu not know what any of these names mean. Logan closes the menu before you and you’re still struggling on what the hell that word actually says.

“Is something the matter?” He asks and you shake your head forcing a smile.

“So many choices” you chuckle nervously.

“Can you understand them?” He asks and you sag shaking your head.

“No” you deflate lying your menu down.

“What do you like?” He asks and you tell him what you prefer meal wise he nods before pointing to something on the menu you struggle to say before he repeats it with grace.

“Evening, Sir, Miss. How can we get you started?” The waiter smiles as Logan orders his food and you point to the item on the menu and Logan repeats it again and you nod. The waiter leaves and you sigh quietly.

“That was embarrassing I’m sorry” you say.

“This restaurant is based in Italy there foods are hard to pronounce” he says but it doesn’t really help. Your drinks arrive interrupting your thoughts and you thank the waiter taking a small sip almost moaning at the delicious taste.

“Good?” Logan asks swishing his wine a bit and you nod taking another sip as he does the same with his wine.

“Good?” You ask him repeating his question.

“Vintage red” he says.

“I’ll take your word for it” you chuckle seeing his lip twitch upward again. Suddenly you wonder if he ever smiled and suddenly you’re determined to make him smile.

Notes: I know this is not where people were thinking it was gonna go I promise it’ll get good xD

Next part ->