#Angst | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rizzanon · 16 hours ago

Text

04 | UNTIL IT’S NOT

m.list | prev | next

“What?” You froze, her words barely registering at first. Your heart dropped into your stomach. “Caitlyn, what do you mean? What happened?”

“I—he—” Caitlyn’s voice trembled, her words coming out in a flurry. “I don’t know exactly! His parents called mine early this morning—he was rushed to the hospital, something happened last night—I don’t—” She sucked in a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. “He’s not okay, (Name). They said he’s in critical condition.”

The blood drained from your face. Your phone felt heavy in your grip as you sat on your bed, stunned, Caitlyn’s voice a distant hum in the background.

Adrien. In the hospital.

Critical condition.

Caitlyn kept talking, her panic spilling over, but you couldn’t process anything else she was saying. The words circled in your head, loud and deafening.

Why? Why’s Adrien in the hospital? You don’t remember this happening back in your first life.

Why?

Why did this happen?

“(Name)? Are you still there?” Caitlyn’s voice broke through, desperate for an answer.

“I—yeah,” you managed, though your voice sounded distant, hollow. “I’m here.”

“You have to come. Please.”

“…I–I know—I’m coming right now, send me the location of the hospital,” you managed to choke out, though your body felt frozen in place.

As Caitlyn’s frantic breathing filled the silence, your mind raced. Adrien. One of your closest friends—someone you thought was safe.

And now he wasn’t.

The call ended, but you didn’t even realize it at first. You sat there in the dim light of your room, staring at your phone, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Adrien’s in the hospital.

He’s in critical condition.

This didn’t happen before.

This shouldn’t have happened.

You scrambled out of bed, phone clutched tightly in your hand as your mind raced. Adrien’s in the hospital. Critical condition. You couldn’t stop the words from repeating in your head, pounding with every heartbeat.

You didn’t bother changing. Your sleepwear—a pair of loose sweatpants and an oversized shirt—was good enough. Grabbing your phone and wallet, you shoved them into your pockets, your hands trembling as you threw open your bedroom door. You didn’t even bother turning on the lights as you stumbled down the halls of Wayne Manor, adrenaline and fear propelling you forward.

You turned a corner sharply, only to collide with something—or someone—solid.

“Miss (Name)?” Alfred’s voice, steady and composed as always, was the first thing you registered. You blinked up at him, disoriented. He was already up, wearing his pristine suit as if the day had already begun. He must’ve been starting his morning duties.

“Where are you off to so early, child?” Alfred asked, concern flickering in his gaze as he took in your appearance—the disheveled hair, your bare feet, and the look of absolute panic on your face.

“I—I…” You tried to answer, but the words caught in your throat. Your chest tightened, and you gasped for air as your hands shook.

He’s in the hospital.

Critical.

The more you tried to explain, the more the words tangled and refused to come out.

“Miss (Name)?” Alfred’s voice softened, his brows knitting together as he stepped closer. “What’s happened? Please, take a breath.”

You shook your head rapidly, clutching at your hoodie. You couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t you breathe? Adrien’s face flashed in your mind—his smile, his laugh, the stupid jokes he told when he knew you were down. And now—now—

“Adrien—” you finally choked out, your voice trembling, tears burning at the edges of your eyes. “He’s—he’s in the hospital. I—critical—”

Alfred froze, his usually calm expression shifting as worry etched deep lines across his face. “Adrien?” he repeated softly, his voice steady but tinged with concern.

You gripped his arms suddenly, your fingers clutching the fabric of his suit, desperation pouring out of you. “Alfred, I—I need to go—now! Please. I need to go see him!” Your voice cracked, breaths coming in short, panicked gasps.

Alfred gently placed his hands on your shoulders, trying to steady you. “Miss (Name), you must calm yourself. You’ll only make yourself ill if you continue like this.”

“No!” you almost shouted, shaking your head violently. “I don’t have time for that! He—he’s—” You stumbled over your words again, your chest heaving as you fought to calm down. “I have to go, Alfred. Please.”

The pleading in your voice finally seemed to register. Alfred’s gaze softened, though his concern didn’t waver. He nodded, his voice low and reassuring. “Very well. I’ll take you there.”

Your hands loosened their grip on his arms, and you exhaled shakily, a mix of relief and urgency pushing you forward.

“Let’s get you to the car,” Alfred said firmly, guiding you toward the door. “I’ll have you there in no time.”

You nodded silently, following him as he grabbed the keys and led you out to the car. The cool morning air hit you as you stepped outside, but you barely felt it. All you could think about was Adrien—lying in some hospital bed, fighting for his life.

This didn’t happen before. Not in your first life.

Your hands curled into fists in your lap as Alfred started the engine, his steady driving the only sound filling the silence. You stared blankly out the window, the familiar streets of Gotham blurring past.

Alfred glanced at you through the rearview mirror, his voice gentle. “We’ll be there soon, Miss (Name).”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The weight of everything sat heavy on your chest. Hold on, Adrien.

Please.

The car hadn’t even fully stopped before you flung the door open and stumbled out onto the pavement, adrenaline carrying you forward. The hospital loomed in front of you, the stark white of its walls and harsh fluorescent lights far too sterile for the storm of emotions crashing inside of you. You barely registered Alfred following close behind as you rushed through the glass doors, your breath shallow, heart pounding in your chest.

You practically skidded to a stop in the hallway, eyes darting around in a frenzy until you spotted her—Caitlyn. She was sitting in one of the waiting chairs, her head bowed, shoulders shaking. Next to her stood her older brother, his hand resting protectively on her back. Further down the hall, Adrien’s parents were speaking quietly to a doctor, their faces pale and drawn with worry.

“Caitlyn!” Your voice broke as you called out to her, and her head snapped up at the sound. The second she saw you, she was up on her feet, rushing toward you. You met her halfway, and she threw her arms around you, her sobs muffled against your shoulder as you clung to her.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she choked out, her voice shaking. “I—I don’t know what to do. I just…”

You tightened your arms around her, trying to steady her even though your own hands were trembling. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Alfred quietly approaching, his presence a steady anchor even in moments like this.

“What happened?” you managed to ask, your voice uneven as you pulled back to look Caitlyn in the eyes. Her face was pale, tear tracks streaking her cheeks, and her lip quivered as she tried to explain.

“Adrien…” She took a shaky breath, gripping your arm as if afraid you might disappear. “His parents called mine early this morning. There was—there was a bombing.”

Your heart stopped. What?

“The Riddler.” Caitlyn swallowed thickly, her voice strained. “One of his bombs went off, and it caused a few buildings to collapse—including Adrien’s apartment block.”

What?

“He was home alone. His parents weren’t there last night, so Adrien—he got caught in the debris when the building fell. The doctors said he was lucky to even be pulled out alive…” Her voice cracked. “A lot of people got hurt. Luckily no one died, but Adrien—he’s one of the ones who were seriously injured. They said he hit his head in the collapse. He hasn’t woken up since.”

You stared at her, the world suddenly muffled and distorted as if you were underwater. Caitlyn’s words echoed in your head, but it didn’t make sense. A bombing? Buildings collapsed? No. That shouldn’t have happened. In your first life, you remembered this incident—you were there. You knew the Riddler’s patterns, the locations of his bombs. And not a single one had detonated. Your family dealt with all the bombs before they detonated. Batman dealt with all the bombs before they detonated.

So why had a bomb gone off this time?

Your pulse roared in your ears, your mind racing to piece together fragments that refused to fit.

What changed?

Surely it can’t be because—

You tried to breathe, to ground yourself, but the floor beneath you felt unsteady.

No. It can’t. You made things worse before when you went ahead and tried to help. But no one got hurt then—

A noise pulled you from your spiral—footsteps. The heavy sound of a door swinging open. You turned, your eyes snapping to a doctor emerging from down the hall. It was the same door Adrien’s parents had been pacing near.

Everyone froze. The doctor removed his surgical mask, his expression carefully measured, though there was a flicker of weariness in his eyes. Adrien’s parents rushed forward, and Caitlyn gripped your hand tightly as you both waited, holding your breath.

“How’s my son?” Adrien’s mother demanded, her voice strained, her hands clutched together in front of her chest.

The doctor offered a small, cautious nod. “We’ve managed to stabilize him. He’s out of critical condition.”

Relief flooded the small group like a breaking dam. Adrien’s mother let out a small, broken sob, her husband catching her shoulders to steady her. Caitlyn’s grip on your hand relaxed slightly, though she didn’t let go.

“But,” the doctor continued, and the word sent a fresh wave of tension through the air. “He’s still unconscious. There was some head trauma from the collapse, and we’ll need to monitor him closely for the next 24 hours. Right now, it’s too early to say when he’ll wake up, but the worst seems to have passed.”

The worst seemed to have passed.

Those words rang hollow in your ears as you stared blankly at the doctor. Adrien was alive—for now. He was out of danger—for now. But it didn’t feel right. Nothing about this felt right.

The bombing. The destruction. Adrien’s injuries. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

You barely heard Caitlyn whispering, “Thank God,” beside you, or the murmured reassurances exchanged between Adrien’s parents and the doctor. Your mind was miles away, replaying the facts over and over again as if looking for cracks.

Because something had changed. And you didn’t know why.

Or worse—what it meant.

Alfred Pennyworth had seen many things in his time—far too many for a lifetime, truth be told—but watching you now, standing tall as you comforted Caitlyn and Adrien’s parents, stirred something deep and conflicted within him. You were calm, composed, and steady, offering gentle reassurances to Adrien’s mother while quietly squeezing Caitlyn’s hand when her voice trembled. To anyone else, you would appear unshaken, a pillar of support in the chaos.

But Alfred knew better.

His sharp, observant gaze hadn’t missed the way your hands trembled ever so slightly when no one was looking, how you clenched your jaw just a bit too tightly when Adrien’s condition was discussed. He couldn’t forget the sight of you earlier that morning, wide-eyed and shaking as you struggled to form words. That desperation, that fear—it had been raw, unguarded, and entirely unlike you. It unsettled him deeply to see you bottling it all up now, setting aside your own fear and grief for the sake of others.

And Alfred—loyal, caring Alfred—wanted to step forward. He wanted to remind you that you didn’t always have to be the strong one, that you too had the right to feel scared, to cry, to crumble if you needed to. You were still just a child in his eyes, no matter what life had thrown at you. But before he could take that step, the distinct vibration of his phone pulled him back.

He fished it out of his pocket, glancing at the caller ID.

Bruce.

Alfred exhaled softly through his nose, stepping to the side of the waiting area as he answered the call. “Master Bruce.”

“What happened?” Bruce’s voice was sharp and direct, though there was something else buried beneath it—something tight, almost concerned. “Where did you take her, Alfred?”

Alfred blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the question. “You saw us leave?”

“I did. From my study.” Bruce’s tone left little room for evasion. “Where did you take her?”

There was a moment of hesitation before Alfred sighed, his voice lowering as he said, “I brought her to the hospital, sir.”

The line went quiet. Alfred could hear Bruce’s breath hitch on the other end.

“Is she hurt?” Bruce’s voice was quieter now, strained.

“No, sir.” Alfred quickly reassured him. “She’s alright. Physically, at least.” He paused, glancing back at you where you still stood, gently rubbing Caitlyn’s back as she cried softly. “One of her friends, I’m afraid, got injured. A boy named Adrien.”

“…What happened?” Bruce asked after a beat, his voice carrying the faint edge of something heavy and unspoken.

Alfred relayed the situation succinctly, his tone measured and professional despite the somber nature of his words. “The boy was caught in the aftermath of last night’s bombing. His apartment block was one of the few that collapsed. He’s out of critical condition now, but he remains unconscious. The doctors are monitoring him closely.”

Silence stretched on the line, and for a moment Alfred wondered if Bruce had disconnected.

Then Bruce spoke, his voice low and firm. “What’s the hospital’s name and room details?”

Alfred furrowed his brow slightly, confused. “Why do you ask, sir?”

“I’ll ensure his treatment isn’t lacking,” Bruce replied simply, but Alfred could hear the underlying intent. “I’ll upgrade his care—better equipment, the best specialists, whatever they need. I’ll make sure he gets through this.”

Alfred blinked, momentarily stunned. Even after all these years, Bruce still had a way of surprising him.

“Very well, sir.”

Regaining his composure, Alfred quietly supplied the hospital’s name and Adrien’s room number, his voice softer now.

There was a brief pause before Bruce added, almost as an afterthought but with unmistakable weight, “Make sure she gets home safely, Alfred.”

Alfred allowed himself a small, reassuring hum. “Of course, sir. I’ll see to it personally.”

Bruce said nothing more before the call clicked off, leaving Alfred staring down at the phone in his hand for a moment longer. Upgrade his care, Bruce had said. Alfred knew Bruce’s methods—he would leave no expense spared. Adrien would have the best Gotham’s medical resources could offer, a quiet gesture of concern through Bruce’s ever-practical means.

But the question is, why? Why was he doing this? Was it out of guilt because he was unable to prevent the events that happened? Or was it because of you..?

Slipping the phone back into his pocket, Alfred turned his attention back to you. You were still standing with Caitlyn, your hand resting on her shoulder as you murmured soft words of comfort.

And though Alfred didn’t say anything, he resolved, then and there, to keep a closer eye on you. Because while Bruce would ensure Adrien was cared for, Alfred would ensure you didn’t carry this weight alone.

Bruce sat in his study, the phone still gripped tightly in his hand long after the call with Alfred had ended. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside, but his mind was anything but still. Instead, it replayed the events of the night before—the chaos, the explosion, the terrified screams of civilians.

His jaw tightened as he leaned back in his chair, the weight of it all pressing down on him. He’d failed. Again. He wasn’t fast enough. He wasn’t quick enough.

The Riddler’s attacks had been calculated, vicious. And though he had managed to subdue him in the end, Bruce couldn’t shake the fact that it hadn’t been clean. Civilians had been caught in the aftermath—innocent people whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. No lives had been lost, thank god, but injuries… the injuries were still on him. Their blood might not have stained his hands, but their pain still sat heavy on his shoulders.

Bruce rubbed a hand over his face, the exhaustion catching up to him. How could he have let this happen? He was supposed to be better than this—always ten steps ahead, always anticipating every possible outcome. That’s what he prided himself on. Yet last night, he’d miscalculated. He missed out a bomb. And because of that, people got hurt. Adrien, an innocent boy who had nothing to do with Gotham’s darkness, had paid the price.

But what rattled him even more was you.

He exhaled slowly, his thoughts shifting to the scene he’d caught through the window earlier—Alfred ushering you into the car, your movements frantic, your posture tense and rigid with fear. Bruce hadn’t been able to make out what was said, but he didn’t need to. He’d seen enough. Your hands were shaking, your breathing uneven, panic rolling off you in waves. It was like watching a dam break—something he hadn’t wanted to see from you.

That terrified him.

Bruce leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk as his fingers steepled under his chin. Was this why you quit? Was this what drove you to leave behind the life you’d built alongside him and the others? To leave the Batgirl mantle behind? Or was there something else he was missing?

You’d always been resilient. Stubborn, even. You fought to be Batgirl and he gave it to you. He’d seen you face horrors most adults wouldn’t survive and come out the other side unscathed. Or at least, that’s what he’d believed. Now, though… now he wasn’t so sure.

Was this too much for you? Bruce had thought you wanted to stand alongside him, to carry the weight of the Bat symbol as much as he did. But maybe… maybe he hadn’t considered what that weight did to you. To your life.

And now this boy. Adrien. Someone close to you, someone you cared about, had been hurt. Because of Gotham. Because of him. He pinched the bridge of his nose as a wave of guilt rolled through him. Was this what finally made you want to quit? The fear of seeing the people you cared about dragged into the dark, hurt simply for being a part of your life?

The thought hit him harder than he cared to admit.

Bruce let his hands fall to the desk, the soft thud breaking the silence of the room. He glanced at a framed photograph sitting just out of arm’s reach—a rare picture of the family taken during a quieter time, years ago, when things felt simpler, almost normal.

Almost.

You were there, smiling brightly as you tugged Jason and Dick into the frame. Bruce hadn’t smiled, but even he couldn’t deny the fondness in his expression. You were about 8, or 9 in the picture? He can’t recall.

But now, the photograph mocked him.

What was he doing?

What had he done?

What hadn’t he done?

Bruce slumped back in his chair, his eyes heavy with the weight of his own failures. He could handle the cost of this life when it came to himself. He’d made that choice long ago, and he bore its consequences without hesitation. But when it came to you, or any of his children—his family—it was different. And somehow, in his stubbornness, in his mission-driven focus, he’d lost sight of that. He’d lost sight of you.

Bruce’s gaze fell to his hands. Strong hands. Calloused hands. Hands capable of so much. But incapable, it seemed, of protecting the people he loved most.

Last night’s events was a cruel reminder that no matter how hard he tried, Gotham’s darkness would always bleed into their lives. It was inescapable. It tainted everything.

And now Bruce couldn’t help but think of you, sitting in that hospital, holding strong for others. Just like he would. He hated that. Hated that he’d let you shoulder that kind of weight. Hated that he was one of the reasons you had to go through that pain.

He knew what Alfred would say—that you were stronger than you gave yourself credit for. And that was true. But even the strongest people had limits, and Bruce feared you’d reached yours long before he noticed.

Bruce inhaled deeply, straightening slightly in his chair. Your friend would get the best care Gotham had to offer; he’d make sure of it. It was the least he could do.

But this?

You..?

It was a good thing that you decided to quit this life of fighting crime.

But what does this mean for you and him?

The room lit only by the faint glow of the fire crackling in the hearth. The shadows stretched across the walls, mirroring the thoughts that gnawed at the edges of his mind. The silence was heavy, suffocating.

He’d told himself that this was what you needed—to leave the life of Batgirl behind. To be free of the darkness, of the violence, of him. It was what any father would want for their child, wasn’t it? A normal life, a safe life. Something better than the path he walked every night.

It was what he wanted for you. But you didn’t want that. At least, not until now.

But now… he sees you pulling further and further away.

You were slipping through his fingers, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

What was he supposed to do?

What could he do?

Bruce knew he needed to fix this. Needed to find a way to reach you. To pull you back in before you closed yourself off entirely.

But did he have the right?

Bruce knows he hadn’t always been the best father he could be for you. But he tried. Keeping you at a distance had been his way of protecting you. Or so he told himself.

Now, he wasn’t so sure.

For now, though, all Bruce could do was wait—and hope that when you finally came home, he’d know what to say.

Would he know what to say?

He wasn’t sure.

It’s been three days. Three days since the bombing, since Adrien had been pulled from the rubble.

Yet, he still hasn’t woken up.

Your hand gripped the strap of your bag tightly, your nails pressing into the skin of your palm as you fought to keep your breathing even.

Why is this happening?

It wasn’t the first time you’d asked yourself that question, but today, the weight of it felt suffocating. The answer clawed at the edges of your mind, a whisper you’d been trying to ignore: It’s because of you.

You swallowed hard, trying to push it down, but the thoughts wouldn’t stop.

If you hadn’t quit, if you hadn’t chosen to abandon your role as Batgirl, maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe you could’ve helped prevent the attack, maybe you could’ve been there to stop the bomb from exploding before Adrien got hurt. But you had quit, and because of that—

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut. No. That couldn’t be true. You didn’t plant the bomb. You didn’t cause the building to collapse. Logically, you knew this. But still, the guilt sat heavy in your chest, an unbearable ache you couldn’t escape.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

In your first life, your family had dealt with all the bombs even though you intervened and accidentally caused more mess for them to clean up.

But now, you’ve changed something—you quit being Batgirl, and that somehow shifted the timeline. It altered events—and now changed the outcome of the future you once thought you knew. Because of that, people you cared about were paying the price.

Things took a turn when you learned Adrien had been moved to a better room in the hospital. A room with state-of-the-art care, better equipment, and a team of top-tier specialists monitoring him around the clock. When Caitlyn told you, her voice shaky but relieved, you didn’t quite understand what she meant—until Adrien’s parents pulled you aside.

“We can’t thank you enough,” his mother had said, her voice breaking as she gripped your hands. “We heard it was your father who arranged all of this. Without him, I don’t know what we would have done.”

Your heart had dropped into your stomach. “My father?” you’d echoed dumbly, the words barely audible.

“Yes, he’s been so generous,” Adrien’s father added. “We’re truly grateful.”

You’d managed a weak smile, nodding at their words, but you weren’t hearing them anymore. Your mind spiraled, their voices distant and muffled as though you were underwater. Bruce did this?

It had to have been Alfred who told him.

There was no other explanation.

And yet, you couldn’t figure out why. Did he feel guilty? Did he think he was responsible for what happened to Adrien, or was this his way of making up for something he couldn’t fix?

Whatever his reasons, it left you even more conflicted. And as the days stretched on and Adrien remained unconscious, that conflict turned into a heavy silence you couldn’t shake.

You kept to yourself more. When Caitlyn asked if you were okay, you’d nod and insist you were fine. When Alfred gently prodded, offering you tea or trying to draw you into light conversation, you brushed it off with polite refusals. “I’m alright, Alfred,” you’d say, forcing a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “Really, I am.”

You visited the hospital with Caitlyn every day, sitting quietly at Adrien’s bedside. You’d watch the slow rise and fall of his chest, hoping—praying—for any sign that he would wake up soon. Caitlyn would talk to him softly, telling him stories or complaining about school, her voice filling the quiet room. You mostly listened, offering small smiles and half-hearted reassurances, though your thoughts were always elsewhere.

Damian was trying to avoid you. Trying being the key word here.

Avoiding you was supposed to be easy. Simple, really. After the argument days ago, Damian Wayne had decided he didn’t want to deal with you—at all. You were emotional, irrational, and completely insufferable. That was his reasoning.

And yet, for some reason, whenever he tried to avoid you, he ended up seeing you everywhere.

Somehow, every time he turned a corner, you were there. Sitting in the library with a book you didn’t seem to be reading. Wandering the halls aimlessly, shoulders slouched. Staring out the window like you were waiting for something—or someone—who wasn’t coming. Every time he spotted you, his stomach twisted with a frustration he couldn’t name, and he’d quickly duck out of sight before you noticed him.

But avoiding you didn’t mean he didn’t see.

You were moping around. For days. He didn’t know why that irritated him so much. It shouldn’t, he told himself, but it did. Truth be told, after Jon came over and, like an insufferable optimist, suggested that he should make up with you, Damian had actually considered it. He’d thought about approaching you—begrudgingly, of course—and try to settle things after your argument.

That was until he saw you pat Jon’s head.

It was as if something short-circuited in his brain at that moment. The fond way you ruffled Jon’s hair, the soft smile you gave him—why had you never smiled at him like that? Why show it to some half-Kryptonian idiot when clearly he, Damian Wayne, was far superior in every measurable way?

He scoffed at the memory, gritting his teeth as he stalked through the manor. “Whatever. If she’s not going to beg me for forgiveness, then why should I?” His voice echoed off the empty walls, and he immediately regretted muttering it out loud. He wasn’t being petty. Definitely not.

But still, the image of you looking miserable stuck in his head like a splinter he couldn’t dig out.

He needed to talk to someone about this. Logically, he reasoned, that was the next step.

His father? No, he was tied up with League business and had been away for days. Richard? He’s in Blüdhaven—there was no way he was going all the way there to have this conversation. Timothy? Cooped up in the Cave being useless as usual.

Which is how Damian found himself breaking into Todd’s apartment.

Jason was lounging on his couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, when Damian casually strolled in through the window like he owned the place. Jason didn’t even flinch, though his eyebrows did twitch slightly at the intrusion.

“You know,” Jason said, deadpan, “the front door exists for a reason.”

Damian ignored him entirely, stepping into the apartment like he belonged there and inspecting a nearby bookshelf. “You read?”

Jason sighed and sat up, placing his coffee mug down. “What do you want, Damian? Lemme guess—got into it with Bruce, so now you’re here sulking?”

“No,” Damian replied tersely, shooting him a glare.

Jason blinked, frowning slightly. “Huh.” His tone was flat, but there was a note of curiosity underneath. “Then why the hell are you here?”

Damian’s posture stiffened, his voice slightly defensive. “I need to ask you something.”

Jason raised a brow. “About what?”

“…. (Name).”

Jason froze, his expression unreadable as he processed the answer. Then, he groaned loudly, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re here because of her? Seriously? Out of all the people in Gotham, I’m the one you came to??”

Damian didn’t so much as blink. “You were the most logical choice. Father is unavailable, Grayson is in Bludhaven, Cain and Pennyworth are busy, and Drake is…” He waved his hand vaguely.

“Being Drake. So it’s a perfectly good reason to be here.”

Jason deadpanned. “No. It’s really not.” He shifted on his couch to face the younger boy.

Silence hung between them for a beat before Jason’s curiosity got the better of him. “So what do you want to know about her?”

Damian shifted, his eyes narrowing. “You were close to her once, no?”

Jason blinked, a muscle in his jaw tightening. “Why are you asking me? You’re the one who practically lives in the same house with her. Why don’t you ask Alfred or Bruce?”

“I’m asking you because you were actually close to her.”

Jason scoffed, leaning back against the couch, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “No I wasn’t. If anything, you should be asking Dickhead about her.”

“You’re lying,” Damian countered, crossing his arms. “I’ve seen the photos. The two of you were close.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “….What photos?”

Damian smirked slightly, like he’d caught Jason in a trap. “The ones in the Manor. And the ones she keeps in her room. You were always together when you were younger. It doesn’t take a detective to see it.

Jason scoffed. “That was then. Not now. And for the record, you need to mind your own damn business.”

Damian, of course, wasn’t about to let it drop. He moved closer, relentless as ever. “Why aren’t you close anymore?”

Jason groaned again, louder this time, as if the sheer volume might scare Damian off. It didn’t. He shot him an irritated look. “Why do you even care?”

Damian froze for half a second, caught off guard by the question. His face betrayed nothing, but Jason saw the falter in the boy’s gaze, the tension in his shoulders. “I don’t. I’m simply curious.”

Jason barked a short, humourless laugh, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah. Sure. Totally believable.”

Damian glared at him, clearly irritated now. “Tt. You’re avoiding the question.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” Jason shot back, pointing a finger at him. “Why do you care what happened between me and her?”

Damian scoffed, cheeks faintly pink, though he masked it well. “Don’t deflect, Todd.”

Jason exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. He stared at Damian for a long moment, debating whether to shut him out entirely or give him something—anything—to make him leave. “Fine! You want to know why we’re not close anymore? It’s becaude she’s in over her damn head.”

Damian frowned, clearly unsatisfied with that answer. “Explain.”

Jason’s eyes darkened, his voice hard. “When she decided to pick up the Batgirl mantle, she didn’t think it through. You think this life is all capes and heroics? It’s not. It’s hell. I know what it does to people. What it did to me. And yet she just threw herself into it like it wouldn’t chew her up and spit her out.” He gestured vaguely toward the window. “I couldn’t watch that happen. I couldn’t…” His voice trailed off, the words dying in his throat.

Damian tilted his head slightly, his tone cutting. “You don’t get to decide what she does or doesn’t do with her life. She’s capable of making her own decisions.”

Jason’s gaze snapped to him, irritation flashing in his eyes. “You don’t get it, kid. I’m not gonna stand there and watch her throw herself into this crap like it won’t destroy her. I’ve seen it happen. I lived it.”

Damian didn’t back down, his voice steady but sharp. “She’s not you, Todd.”

Jason barked a humorless laugh. “You sound just like Bruce.”

“Perhaps he’s right,” Damian retorted. “You don’t get to decide what she wants to do. You don’t get to control her life just because you’re scared of what might happen.”

Jason stared at him for a long moment, anger flickering across his face before it faded into something more tired. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “You really don’t understand.”

Damian scoffed. “Maybe I don’t. But at least I’m trying to understand. What are you doing? Nothing, that’s what.”

Jason froze, his jaw clenching as Damian’s words hung heavy in the air. Ok, that really ticked him off. Neither of them spoke for a long beat, the tension thick between them. Finally, Jason let out a long sigh, slumping back against the couch.

“You’re relentless, you know that?”

“Of course,” Damian replied smugly, the ghost of a smirk on his face.

Jason waved him off with an irritated glare. “Go bother someone else, brat. I’m done talking.”

Damian didn’t argue, though he didn’t seem entirely satisfied either. Damian turned to leave, his cape swishing as he headed for the window. Just before he climbed out, he glanced back at Jason, his expression serious. “You were close once. Maybe you should try fixing that.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Jason alone with his thoughts.

“Stupid kid.”

Jason let out a long, slow exhale, the kind that seemed to drag the weight of the room with it. His gaze fell to the old photo sitting on his bookshelf—the one Damian had no doubt found evidence of. He hadn’t meant to keep it out in the open. Hell, he hadn’t meant to keep it at all.

But there it was.

Jason stood up, as though pulled by an invisible string, and walked over to the photo. He picked it up, holding it carefully in his hand, the edges worn from years of handling. The image was faded, but it was clear enough—him and you, younger, smiling like idiots. You couldn’t have been more than ten, wearing that ridiculous oversized jumper that used to belong to Dick no doubt, sleeves practically swallowing your hands. And him? He’d had one arm slung over your shoulder, his grin cocky and confident, though it softened just a little in the way his gaze turned toward you.

Jason felt something twist in his chest, that familiar ache that clawed its way up whenever he thought about you. He used to cherish this photo. He still did. He used to look at it and remember a time when things were simple—when the world wasn’t so goddamn broken. Back when you looked at him like he was invincible. Like he was your hero.

“This is stupid…” he muttered again, though his voice had lost its bitterness, softening into something heavy and tired. He ran his thumb along the edge of the frame, the ghost of a memory clawing at the back of his mind.

You’d always been clinging to him back then. Always trailing after him no matter what. Back then, he didn’t mind. He never minded. He’d liked being the one you looked up to, the big brother you trusted most. He let you tag along, let you sit in on his antics because—deep down—it felt nice to have someone who looked at him like that. With so much admiration and joy.

But then Ethiopia happened.

He died.

And when he came back, everything had shifted.

You’d still tried. You still looked at him like you believed there was something good in him. There wasn’t. And for a while, he’d let himself believe that too—that maybe he could still be the big brother you needed. That maybe you wouldn’t look at him like everyone else did—like a disappointment. Like a maniac running loose.

But then he found out you’d picked up the Batgirl mantle.

Jason’s grip on the frame tightened as the memories blurred together, anger mixing with guilt until he couldn’t tell the difference. He hadn’t been able to stomach it—seeing you put on that suit, throwing yourself into this life like it wouldn’t chew you up and spit you out the same way it had done to him. To all of them. You were smarter than that, weren’t you? But no, you were stubborn. And he couldn’t stand that.

Couldn’t stand how much you reminded him of himself.

So, he’d pushed you away.

He had to.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Jason sat back down on the couch, the photo still clutched in his hand. He stared at it for a long moment before letting out a bitter laugh under his breath. “What the hell am I doing…?”

Why was he so worked up over this?

Admitting that this was what he had to do felt wrong. Like the words were jagged shards cutting into his throat. But it was the truth. You reminded him too much of himself—of the kid he used to be before his death, before everything went to hell. And the thought of watching you get hurt, of losing you to the same path that tore him apart, made his stomach churn.

But now…..

Now you had quit. You left the mantle behind. What does that mean for him? What does that mean for everyone?

You weren’t that same kid he knew anymore, the one who tripped over your own shoelaces and laughed like that fall didn’t hurt. You’d grown up. And he? He hadn’t been there to see it. He was dead for the most part, and when he did come back, he’d pushed you away, shut the door between you because he thought he was protecting you.

And now, here he was, talking to a photograph like it could fix the mess he’d made. Bridge the divide he caused.

Jason stared at the image for another long moment before setting it face-down on the table. He didn’t want to look at it anymore. Didn’t want to see what he’d let slip away.

“Stupid kid,” he said one last time, though now it was hard to tell who he was talking about—you, or himself.

The hospital’s fluorescent lights felt too bright as you sprinted down the hall, Caitlyn’s text echoing in your head. You barely processed the directions to the room, you barely paid attention to the nurses or other visitors around you, your legs just carried you as fast as they could.

You skidded to a stop outside the door, your heart pounding against your ribcage. For a second, you couldn’t bring yourself to open it. What if Caitlyn had gotten it wrong? What if—

You shoved the door open before your thoughts could spiral further.

And there he was.

Adrien was sitting up in bed, his light hair a tousled mess, the familiar spark of life in his eyes as he talked with Caitlyn. His parents were beside him, his mother gripping his hand tightly, his father resting a hand on his shoulder. It was real. He was here. He was awake.

“…What’re you standing there for?” Adrien’s voice cut through your shock, his teasing tone so familiar it sent a rush of relief flooding through you.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you bolted forward, crossing the room in two strides and throwing your arms around him. Adrien laughed, though the sound came out scratchy and hoarse. “Whoa, whoa! I just got out of a coma, try not to break me.”

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled into his shoulder, your voice thick with emotion. “A complete idiot.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, his tone softer now as he hugged you back. “Missed you too.”

You pulled back reluctantly, giving him a quick once-over. He looked… well, not great, but better than the last time you’d seen him, lying pale and motionless in this very bed. The relief in your chest was overwhelming.

“See? I told you,” Caitlyn chimed in, grinning. “He’s too stubborn to die.”

Adrien rolled his eyes but smirked. “Guess I couldn’t leave you two alone, huh? Who else is gonna keep you out of trouble?”

“Oh, please,” Caitlyn said, leaning back in her chair. “We’d be fine without you.”

Adrien raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Would you, though?”

“Don’t be fooled. She cried just as much as I did.” You pointed out, crossing your arms.

“(Name)!! You weren’t supposed to call me out like that..!!”

Adrien and you just laughed, the boy shaking his head. “Thought so.”

You sat down in the chair opposite Caitlyn, the tension in your shoulders finally easing. “How’re you feeling?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

Adrien shrugged, wincing slightly at the motion. “Like I got hit by a truck. But, y’know, alive. So that’s a plus.”

“Understatement of the year,” Caitlyn muttered, earning a weak laugh from Adrien.

His parents stood then, his mom brushing her hand over his hair. “We’re going to speak with the doctors for a moment. We’ll be right back, okay?”

Adrien nodded, giving them a reassuring smile. “Yeah, sure. Take your time.”

As the door closed behind them, a comfortable silence settled over the three of you. Caitlyn broke it first.

“So, Adrien,” she started casually, “how does it feel to cheat death?”

Damn.

Adrien snorted, shooting her a dry look. “Fantastic. You should try it sometime.”

“Hard pass,” Caitlyn replied, smirking. “So, you’re stuck here for how long?”

Adrien groaned, tilting his head back. “Probably a couple more days. They’re all freaked out about my concussion or whatever. Something about observation.”

Caitlyn snorted. “Guess you’re stuck eating Jell-O and pudding for a while.”

“Don’t remind me,” Adrien grumbled, though he couldn’t quite hide the grin tugging at his lips.

You shook your head, smiling faintly as you listened to them banter. For a moment, it felt like everything was normal again. But then the image of Adrien’s unconscious form from that night crept back into your mind, and your stomach tightened.

“What happened, Adrien? How—” You faltered. “How did you make it out?”

Adrien’s face softened, his usual joking demeanor giving way to something quieter. “It was… close,” he admitted, his voice low. “Honestly, I thought—I didn’t think I was gonna make it.”

Caitlyn shifted uncomfortably, her smirk fading. “Yeah, well… you scared the hell out of us.”

Adrien gave her a faint smile before turning his attention to you. “But then Robin showed up.”

You blinked, the name catching you off guard. “Robin?”

“Yeah,” Adrien said, his tone tinged with awe. “He got me out of there. I don’t even know how he did it, but one second I’m stuck under some rubble, and the next he’s pulling me out like it’s nothing. If it weren’t for him…”

Your heart skipped a beat. Robin. Damian.

Caitlyn let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “Damn, the little guy came through, huh?” she said, leaning back in her chair. “Guess he’s more than just Batman’s sidekick.”

Adrien chuckled, nodding. “Way more. He’s the reason I’m still here.”

Caitlyn leaned back, shaking her head in disbelief. “Well, color me surprised. Thought he’d be too busy sulking on a rooftop somewhere.”

But you weren’t laughing, you barely heard her. Your mind was racing, the pieces clicking into place.

Robin. Damian.

Damian had saved Adrien. Damian.

The same Damian you’d been at odds with just days ago. The same Damian you’d snapped at.

The realization hit you like a freight train, leaving you stunned. You owed him. Damian Wayne, the one person who always seemed to get under your skin, was the reason Adrien was alive.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. How were you supposed to face him after this? What were you supposed to say?

But one thing was certain: you had to at least thank him.

You pushed open the heavy door of Wayne Manor, the familiar creak echoing through the grand entryway as you stepped inside. The weight of the hospital visit lingered on your shoulders, but it was lighter now—your chest no longer tight with worry. Adrien was awake. Adrien was okay.

You exhaled a deep breath, shutting the door behind you before making your way toward the stairs. But as you turned the corner, you collided with a solid figure.

“Watch where you’re—oh.” Damian Wayne, in all his brooding glory, stood in front of you, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he looked you over. His usual scowl was firmly in place, though there was a flicker of surprise beneath it.

You blinked at him, equally startled. “Damian?”

He crossed his arms, as if trying to reassert his usual air of annoyance. “What are you doing here?” he asked, as though it weren’t painfully obvious that you both lived under the same roof.

You raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure I live here. What’s your excuse?”

“Tt.” He scoffed, looking like he was already regretting bumping into you. “I don’t have time for this.” He turned on his heel, clearly intending to stalk off, but before he could, you reached out and grabbed his sleeve.

“Wait.”

Damian froze, his head tilting slightly as if he couldn’t believe you’d stopped him. “What is it now?” he asked, his tone sharp but not as biting as usual.

You hesitated for a second, your grip on his sleeve loosening. Then, you spoke. “Thank you.”

He blinked, his composure slipping for a fraction of a second. “…What?”

“Thank you,” you repeated, your voice steadier this time. “For saving Adrien.”

Damian turned fully to face you now, his expression briefly betraying his surprise before he covered it with his usual scowl.

“Who?”

Oh right, he probably doesn’t know who Adrien is.

“My friend. He told me what you did.”

Damian’s eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. His posture tensed, though he didn’t pull away from you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, though the faintest hint of color touched his cheeks.

“Don’t play dumb, Damian,” you said, crossing your arms. “Adrien told me what happened. You saved him. During the whole, Riddler bombing situation.”

The younger boy’s gaze softened slightly, recognition briefly passing through his eyes, before he scoffed, glancing to the side. “Tt. It was nothing. I would’ve done the same for anyone.”

“Maybe,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But it wasn’t just anyone. It was my friend. And because of you, he’s alive.” Your tone softened, the sincerity in your voice clear. “So… thank you.”

Damian’s gaze flickered back to you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and you wondered if he was even going to acknowledge your words. But then he spoke, his voice quieter than usual.

“I didn’t do it for you,” he said, though there was no malice in his tone.

You huffed a quiet laugh. “I know. You did it because you’re a hero, even if you’d never admit it.”

Damian bristled at that, his cheeks darkening just slightly. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Damian stood there, his eyes fixed on yours in a way that was almost unnerving. The silence stretched between you, heavy and awkward, until it felt like you had to say something—anything—to break it.

You cleared your throat, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Look… I’ve been meaning to say this.”

Damian tilted his head, his expression unreadable but still sharp. “What?”

“I…” You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. “About the other day, when I snapped at you in my room—I shouldn’t have. I was frustrated, yeah, but it doesn’t mean I should’ve—”

“Stop.”

His voice was quiet but firm, cutting you off mid-sentence. You blinked, looking up at him. Damian’s gaze was softer now, though his brows were still furrowed.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Damian cut in, his voice stiff. He looked uncomfortable, as though the words he was about to say were physically painful to him. “I was… out of line. I shouldn’t have said the things I did.”

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise. Damian Wayne, apologizing? You never thought you’d see the day. But the sincerity in his voice was unmistakable, and you felt your chest ache slightly at the vulnerability he was trying so hard to mask.

“I was… wrong,” Damian mumbled, his voice barely above a grumble. His cheeks flushed faintly, and he avoided your gaze entirely, staring determinedly at the floor instead. “That’s all I wanted to say.”

You blinked at him, stunned into silence.

You couldn’t help it—you just stared at him. “Oh wow,” you said, your voice teasing. “So you can apologize.”

Damian’s head snapped up. “Don’t make it a big deal!” he snapped, clearly flustered. “I’m just being… reasonable.”

“Right, reasonable,” you repeated, biting back a grin. “Noted.”

Damian stiffened, his cheeks darkening just slightly. “You’re insufferable.”

“Me?” you shot back, crossing your arms. “You’re the one acting like this is the most painful thing you’ve ever done.”

“I simply don’t see why this needs to be drawn out into some… melodramatic moment,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze.

You snorted. “Right. Because you never make anything dramatic.”

Damian glared at you, though the faint blush on his face betrayed his usual cool demeanor. “I don’t know why I even bother with you,” he muttered under his breath.

“Because deep down, you actually like me,” you said, smirking as you stepped closer.

“Incorrect,” Damian shot back immediately, though he took a small step back, clearly flustered.

You let out another laugh, shaking your head. Without thinking, you reached up and ruffled his hair. “Don’t sweat it, Damian.”

His eyes widened, and he batted your hand away almost immediately. “Hey! Stop treating me like a child!”

“Aw, but you are a child,” you teased, grinning at his indignant expression.

“I am not,” Damian huffed, his voice dripping with irritation. But he didn’t storm off like he usually might have. Instead, he lingered for a moment, his hand brushing over his hair where you’d ruffled it.

“You keep telling yourself that,” you said with a wink before turning to head up the stairs.

Damian stayed where he was, watching you go with an unreadable expression. Finally, he muttered under his breath, “Ridiculous.”

But despite his best efforts, the corner of his mouth twitched upward, just a little.

The Batcave hummed with the sound of Tim’s furious typing, the clatter of keys echoing through the cavernous space. Monitors surrounded him, each displaying fragments of information from the Riddler’s last attack: building schematics, bomb blueprints, maps of Gotham. His face was set in a hard line, his jaw tight, his eyes bloodshot from hours of obsessive work.

He couldn’t shake it—the image of the buildings destroyed, the civilians being pulled from the wreckage. All because he’d missed one.

One bomb.

It shouldn’t have happened. If he’d been sharper, more thorough, more focused, those people wouldn’t have been hurt.

His fists clenched against the keyboard. Bruce hadn’t berated him, not exactly. But being “grounded” from fieldwork and told to “reflect” felt worse than a lecture.

Why had he been distracted?

Because of you.

Tim scowled, his typing slowing as his thoughts spiraled. Stephanie had said you just needed time, but time hadn’t fixed anything. You hadn’t returned to being Batgirl yet. The passion you’d once shown, the drive you had—it was like it had vanished. He couldn’t understand it. Why weren’t you fighting to come back?

Why weren’t you acting like you again?

“Tim.”

The soft voice broke through his storm of thoughts. He turned, startled, to see Cassandra standing behind him, her arms crossed, her dark eyes unreadable.

“Cass,” he said, his voice a little hoarse from disuse. “What are you doing here?”

She walked closer, her footsteps quiet as ever, and stopped beside him. “What are you doing?”

Tim frowned. “Working.”

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze steady. “More like punishing yourself.”

“I’m not—” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. “I just… I missed something. People got hurt. I can’t let that happen again.”

“No one died,” Cass said simply, but her tone wasn’t dismissive. It was calm, grounded, like she was trying to anchor him.

“But they could have,” Tim snapped, his frustration spilling over. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. “I failed. I can’t afford to fail like that again. Ever.”

The cave was silent, but from the corner of his eye, Tim could see Cass’ lips curving into a faint, knowing smile.

“You’re just like Bruce.”

Tim froze, her words hitting him like a punch. His eyes widened as he turned to look at her. “I—no, I’m not.”

“Sure,” Cass said, her smile growing.

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Please don’t say that.”

She chuckled softly, patting his shoulder. “Come on. Get some fresh air.”

“I don’t need—”

She didn’t wait for him to finish, grabbing his wrist and tugging him toward the staircase.

“Cass,” he protested weakly, but he didn’t resist. She was undeniably stronger than he was, and, honestly, he was too tired to fight her.

As they emerged from the cave and into the manor’s main hallway, Tim rubbed the back of his neck. “This is stupid. I should—”

“Shh.” Cass held up a hand, her attention drawn to the corner ahead.

Tim followed her gaze, his brows furrowing. He was about to ask what she was looking at when he heard voices—your voice, accompanied by a quieter, gruffer one.

Curious, Cass crept closer, pulling Tim along with her. They peeked around the corner, and what they saw made Tim freeze.

You were standing there with Damian.

Talking.

Like, actually talking.

Tim blinked, his brain short-circuiting. Damian, who had been avoiding you like you carried the plague, was now… engaging in a conversation? And you weren’t just tolerating him. You were smiling. Fondly.

As if that wasn’t shocking enough, you reached out and ruffled Damian’s hair.

Tim’s jaw dropped.

Cass tilted her head slightly, watching the interaction unfold. You and Damian were… comfortable? The thought made her brows pinch together in faint confusion. The last she remembered, the two of you weren’t exactly at ease with each other. And yet, here you were, smiling like you weren’t at each other’s throats days ago.

Cass didn’t know if the scene tugged at her heart in a good way or a bad way, but it did tug.

Meanwhile, Tim was outright flabbergasted. His mouth opened and closed, no words forming, as his brain tried to piece together the impossibility in front of him.

You. Damian. Talking normally.

Not only that, but you’d smiled at him—fondly, as if he hadn’t been the same brat who’d made your life hell since the day he arrived. And Damian… Damian was letting it happen. Not scoffing or sniding, but actually standing there. Engaging.

And then you reached up and ruffled Damian’s hair.

Tim’s jaw unhinged.

“What?” he whispered under his breath. “What… what?”

Tim’s heart skipped a beat. He could’ve sworn he imagined it, but no. For the briefest moment, as you walked away and Damian watched you go, he saw it.

A smile.

Not the smug, cocky smirk Damian loved to wear when he thought he’d gotten the upper hand. Not the sarcastic quirk of his lips when he made one of his snide comments.

A genuine, soft smile.

“What the fu—”

“Language,” Cass interrupted softly, cutting him off before he could finish.

Tim turned to her, eyes practically bulging out of his skull. “Cass.” He grabbed her arm and dragged her behind another wall, further from where Damian could hear. “What was that?”

Cass tilted her head at him, her expression calm. “What was what?”

“That!” Tim gestured wildly in the direction of where you and Damian had been. “Damian smiled. Did you see that? He smiled.”

Cass shrugged. “Yes.”

“Yes?” Tim repeated, incredulous. “That’s all you’re going to say? Yes?”

“Why are you overreacting?” Cass asked, her voice as measured as always.

Tim froze. “Overreacting? Me? No. I’m just… concerned.”

Cass raised an eyebrow. “Concerned about a smile?”

“It wasn’t just the smile!” Tim hissed, lowering his voice when he realized he was getting loud. “It was the whole thing! They’re talking! Like normal people! You saw it! And she—she patted his head!”

Cass tilted her head, her lips twitching as if she was trying not to smile. “Is that a problem?”

Tim threw his hands up. “Of course it’s a problem! This is Damian we’re talking about. Damian. When has he ever been this… this…”

“Obedient?” Cass supplied, amused.

“Exactly!” Tim said, then paused. “…Wait, no. That’s not the point. The point is—what even happened? Last I checked, they weren’t on speaking terms. Now they’re all… sibling-y?”

“Isn’t that normal?” Cass asked, her tone still maddeningly calm. “For siblings to act like that? Even if they fight?”

Tim opened his mouth to argue, but the words caught in his throat. He froze, staring at her, his brain scrambling to process her question.

Normal. Siblings.

He’d never thought of it that way.

Sure, they were all technically siblings, but Tim couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually tried to build that kind of bond with you. Sure, you were his sister by name. But did he even know what that was supposed to feel like? He knew what his bond with Dick is like, what his bond with Cassandra is like. Hell. he even knew what his bond with Jason and Damian is like. But what about you?

Cass studied his silence, her expression softening. “It’s okay,” she said quietly.

Tim shook himself out of his thoughts. “No, but—wait—this still doesn’t explain how they’re suddenly on good terms. Last time I checked, Dick said they had some huge argument.”

Cass smiled faintly. “People change.”

Tim ran a hand down his face, exasperated. “What the hell happened while I was cooped up in the cave?”

Cass didn’t answer, simply grabbing his wrist again. “Come. Let’s go.”

“What? Wh—”

“Food,” she said simply, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Tim sighed, letting her drag him along to the kitchen. He couldn’t even focus on the fact that he was hungry. His thoughts were too tangled, replaying what he’d just witnessed.

Damian. Smiling.

You. Smiling fondly back at him.

Have you ever smiled at him that way?

He swore he wasn’t confused jealous. Definitely not.

…Right?

dw i’m definitely not killing off people this early 🫣🤭 have this fluff instead 😇🫶🫶 (definitely not planning for anything worse)

taglist (1/2): @tricksters-maze @dusk-muse @quethekillerqueen @silverklaus @isupportorbitalbombardment @nxdxsworld @vanessa-boo @coffeeaddictxd @moonsbluekingdom @yuya-bubbly @percythebitchwitch @anonymousdisco @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @redsakura101 @what-0-life @idkwhattoputhete @secretyouthcomputer @witch-waycult @allycat4458 @dazed-lavender @eclecticfurylady @wizzerreblogs @marsmabe @daddysfangirls-dc @hoeinthehouse @beeweensblog @ilxandra @agent-nobody-knows @thethingwiththefeathers @mochiivqi @pix-stuff @narration-ator @nebulousmoon3990 @delias-stuff @froggy-voidd @jjsmeowthie @kore-of-the-underworld @nen-nyy @juthesillylesbain @vikkus-main @emilylouise123 @blueiones @horror-lover-69 @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wassupbroski55555 @reallyromealone @plsfckmedxddy @sea-glasses @203moonysello @luvly-writer @dovey-quacks2332 @love-theangel-blog @hotdinoankles @vebbiewuzhere @animegirlfromvietnam @estreiiuh @simply-lovely78 @twismare @ssak-i @g4bbi3xx @alor-thes | ask to be added <3 (idk why i can’t tag some of y’all, must be your settings i think 😓)

461 notes · View notes

questions-about-blorbos · 2 days ago

Text

This request was sent to us and we made a poll in response to it. Send any Blorbo-related question you want to our inbox and we’ll make a poll on which people can vote with their own Blorbos in minds

449 notes · View notes

yvesntul · 2 days ago

Text

pornstar vi

cw. angst minors dni

vi loves you so much. it hurts her so fucking much to go out and fuck other girls..she's cheating that's all she thinks while shes there entertaining the media with another girls pussy. sucking her up, cumming all over her with a camera to show all the good stuff. but it's her job. it's how she lives. it's how she can manage to support you too.

she comes home guilty, and tired. showers the dirtiness that really never leaves and then goes and lays in bed with you, she often wonders if you think of it as an audacity.

she knows it hurts you. you hide it very well, but it comes out in sighs when she's too tired to pleasure you. it comes out in whimpers she can hear coming from you under the sheets, pretending to be asleep. but you still smile at her and kiss her good morning.

you're perfect. beautiful, smart, loving, everything she could ever want. so why are you with her ? you're obviously not okay with what she's doing, hell, she's not okay with what she's doing. but you still stay around.

today vi had sex with another woman. a camera pointing at her fingers sliding in and out of her pussy..eventually her strap, but..fuck she was beautiful, i mean— all the girls she's with are pretty but dammit shes gorgeous, ethereal even. probably, no, she could say the most beautiful girl she's ever seen—...what ? what the fuck did she just say ? no fucking way. you're the most beautiful girl she's ever laid her eyes on, you're the most loving, caring, amazing girl she's ever been with..

so why is she enjoying this ? why isn't she faking moans ? why is she messing up her lines to say different ones she usually says to you ?

why was she having sex with this woman?

vi’s cheating.

her hair was shoulder length. blue. blue eyes she was making roll into her skull. pink lips with a pink clit and moans like it's all she can do.

she gave the blue haired girl her number, lips twisting as she confesses that all those moans were real, confessed she thought she was gorgeous. vi gave the note to her manager, letting her know she wanted to work with her again and went home. went home to see you.

she walked in and immediately got hit with the smell of dinner and your arms around her, lips on hers that she reached for comfort but now was wondering if you could taste the cupcake of the girls chapstick.

she loved you so much. it hurts her so fucking much that she is slowly fading from you, slowly pushing herself away as fans gawk and love the duo of vi and caitlyn, making more and more pornos of them come out. I'm cheating. that's all she knows as her intercourse is 100% intimate with cait. sucking her up, cumming all over her without a camera to show all the good stuff, her eyes is all she needs.

she knows you're catching on. vi can only hope that you find out soon, slap her, cry and scream at her because it's what she deserves. she knows it. she aches for it. but not as much as she aches for caitlyn.

masterlist

𓊆ྀི󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠⠀ׁ⠀ㅤ  𝐲𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐥, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 . ⠀ ༊·˚ 𓊇ྀི

#vi x reader #arcane #league of legends #wlw #lesbian #angst

427 notes · View notes

ch3rrybbie · 2 days ago

Note

hii since you're taking requests could you write something with azriel? maybe something where reader is bonding with Lucien over unrequited mates (except azriel doesn't know they're mates, it has only snapped for her) and she thinks he wouldn't want her but he totally does and is super jealous and then happy ending lol. thanks!

Afterglow

Warnings: angst, reader is depressed?, mentions of canon violence

Note from author: tysm for the request, uni is being uni atm so struggling to write so quick lol but I hope you love itttttt will try get other request and next Randall part out heheh.

———

Lucien had to take you to the great open of the spring court. He was desperate to console you. His worry was etched across his face and yet you felt nothing.

So he sat beside you and waited.

———

You started off into the vastness of the green. Breathe. If you squinted a little the scenery grew blander and reminded you of the mortal lands.You thought back to how this pain had grown.

Your mother had always warned you love made you weak. She saw how deeply you loved Feyre at such a young age, you’d go tripping over branches just to be near her. She saw that if that was how much you loved a friend , to truly love someone would almost certainly destroy you. And human turned fae you felt how much the bond was too heavy to carry.

Your love for Feyre took you north of the border, you were by her side through every fight. Fists clenched and teeth bared. She was your sister and you fought like it. You’d seen every turn of leaf with her and you were so ecstatic to see her reunited with her blood sisters with a baby on the way truly, finally happy.

Yet you were in despair.

———

You, Feyre and Lucien had an instant bond. You rode all over the spring courts, ate, danced and laughed together. Tamlin however, your lip curled at the thought of him.

After being whisked away to the house of wind you remember the exact day you met the cause of all this hurt.

You’d suddenly felt a presence coming, you turned to Rhysand and demanded to know who was here. Both Feyre and Rhysand were stunned as you were still human. Then he approached alongside Cassian and you could barely tear your eyes away. Your heart knew him, your soul , your very being.

And yet he was nothing but sterile towards you only relinquishing a firm nod. Cassian on the other hand swept you up like a mighty warm wave telling you he’d heard lots about you.

———

Months later when your mission to Hybern went disastrously wrong the pain of seeing Azriel broken and dying on the hard stone floor made you want to sweep him up into your arms. All splashing and screaming from Nesta and Elaine had been tuned out you couldn’t help but stare at him breathing cinched. You tried shouting down whatever feeling you had but nothing. Your eyes urged him to get up, look up anything.

“Bring her”, the king lazily waved his hand at you. His men dragged you by your hair, you writhed and screamed.Closer and closer they dragged you level with Azriel and the others. The great hall span and they slammed your head against the stone, chaos ensued with Feyre screaming and Elaine wailing.

In your blurred state you opened your eyes to see shadows and a scarred hand straining your way.

You awoke the freezing water. The cauldron was somehow ice and fire it burned and cooled. It was life and death itself. You prepared yourself to accept the latter.

The mother lent down and kissed your eyes,she bound her blood to yours and gave you a gift.

You didn’t remember much after that.

———

You were in a coma for many moons, Feyre and Rhys sent for healers across the land mostly because your gift from the mother had shown itself. Your longing for home had caused the room they rested you in to be flourishing. It was a sight to behold even Nesta admitted.

Great roots twined around the bedposts, ivy curled around the door, moss and wiry grass shot up from the carpets and flowers bloomed. Elaine took to maintaining your garden, Nesta read to you and Feyre wept over you and stroked your hair. When Lucien had arrived to court he ran straight to your room and shadows seemed to watch over you in everyone’s absence.

Everyone did their part in looking after you, everyone but Azriel.

Throughout your sleep, the flowers rustled, grass weaved its way up to you and roots kept watch. All whispered the events around you, another odd gift of the Mother.

The day you awoke you wasted no time in searching for Azriel, the last you remembered he was dying. You followed the great rope in your soul that had replaced the string that previously tugged you to him.

The study was still and beautiful as you remembered, more so in his presence. His wings grew taught as he sensed your presence. “I’m awake” you couldn’t help but proclaim.

He turned, “I can see that” he coldly threw back.

Your world crumbled, even as fae he couldn’t love you or even feel more than indifference.

He brushed past you, “I shall alert the others”.

You shoulders sank, and yet your heart warmed at the thought of seeing everyone. After an hour of being grabbed, hugged and kissed. You’d all shed as much tears as you could. Feyre and Lucien offered to walk you to your room.

Before you slipped into your room you couldn’t help but ask, “Is he okay?l”. They didn’t even need to ask who, Luciens face softened and Feyres grew taught.

“The past few months have been hard for him Y/N”, Feyre gently lay a hand on your shoulder.

You attempted to be sympathetic before losing control of your temper, “And it wasn’t hard for me?! The least he could’ve done was visit once!” You threw the great oak door to your room open and slammed it in their faces uncaring of how juvenile you were being.

“Y/N” Feyre pleaded, you heard Lucien pull her gently away stating you needed space.

You allowed your anger to flow out of you, translating into great black ropes of thorns growing everywhere and they bowed out of the way of no one but you. That’s not to say everyone didn’t try. One by one they knocked and burst in, only to be defeated by thorns which was entertaining for awhile until you realised yet again everyone came but him.

You send crawling ivy about the house searching for him. It found him in the garden with Elaine, you let it shrivel and die there. You didn’t care who saw anymore.

The thorns grew sharper.

———

Lucien burst in one afternoon he didn’t speak a word, he barelled straight to you. Strands of his fiery hair and drops of blood left in his wake. He grabbed your wrist dragging you out of the fetal position. He winnowed you to the only place he had ever truly seen you happy.

Spring court.

———

“She’s gone!” Feyre cried panicked as she burst into the study. Rhys rushed to her as Cassian and Azriel shared a confused glance.

“Who?” Rhys questioned.

“Y/N, Lucien went up to try coax her out and they’re gone”

Rhys and Cassian froze anticipating Az’s reaction.

Azriel stormed out the room with Cassian not far behind.

“Az where in the cauldrons name are you going we don’t know where she is yet”

“I don’t need to know” he spat back

Cassian gripped his shoulder, “Don’t be stupid” he chastised

“What if it was Ness”

Cassian let him go stunned into silence.

Rhys informed Az mentally you were in the spring court offering to winnow him but he was gone and soaring towards his heart.

———

Lucien carefully started to talk from beside you.

“We were so happy here so I just- , I don’t know I thought I could force that joy back” he looked at your mournful gaze and sighed.

“He’s your mate isn’t he?”

Your head snapped towards him, Lucien could’ve sworn the grass did too.

“Elaine is mine”

The wind stopped and the grass stood still.

You said nothing crawling closer and laying your head on his shoulder, you felt at home.

You felt like a child again.

Tears blurred your vision and you let them slip.

The wind resumed, grass swaying peacefully.

“You know I’ll always love you Lucien no matter what, I mean not like that but you know”

He roared with laughter making you jump and burst out laughing.

You both calmed and watched the vast fields you could’ve sworn you heard the roars of Tamlin in the distance. He stayed away nonetheless.

You rested your head back on Lucien’s shoulder and your tears swelled again.

“What do we do?” you mournfully asked him.

You felt him breathe in sharply before cutting out

“I don’t know” a pause, “but I know you can’t do what you were doing we’re worried about you and rightfully so, I mean you’re been down right lazy. And so cliche, come on thorns-“

You cut him off shoving him over, you never would get used to the new strength you had.

You saw the playful glint in his eye and lept to your feet sprinting away he gave chase and you were back to where you started running around fields being chased by one of the platonic loves of your life. You wished Feyre could happily be here again.

But you finally felt happy again.

Truly.

———

Azriel no longer had to sense your presence he heard your giggles from afar. What he saw made his fists curl. Lucien had grabbed you and started spinning you around. His fury pushed him to land with an earth shattering crack.

He advanced on Lucien as he dropped you in confusion.

“Azriel what are you doing-“

Lucien fell to the ground as Azriel shoved him with thankfully not all of his might.

You surged forward to come between the two. Azriel felt as though the reedy grass was wrapping around his legs.

“What in the cauldron are you doing?!” You yelled, fury sounding across the clearing.

Lucien’s eye squinted as he assessed the situation a slow smile crept onto his face, “I’ll leave you two to it”.

He disappeared.

Azriel still seemed furious, “You can’t just disappear like that Y/N you scared us half to Hybern and back”

Your rage was once again summoned , “Do not delude yourself into thinking you care for me Azriel”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He spat back

You felt your hands start to shake with anger coursing through you, all this time he disregards and runs from you and NOW he wanted to play possessive.

“You do not get to turn up and demand me to stay at your beck and call when half the time you fly out any room I enter! Shouldn’t you be guarding Elaine or finding places to hide from me”.

Shame finally dared cross his face and he turned from you. His shadows grew more agitated. They retracted from being near you, their proximity startling you.

You turned on your heel and marched into the woods, you needed to get away from him. Before your rage turned into a confession.

“Y/N” you heard him mutter.

You fell into a soft march that was further percussioned by his footfall.

Great knarled trees lining the meadow attempted to stop him from entering the dense forest but he pushed through his shadows staying a whisper away from you.

His shadows didn’t bother reporting back to him.

He knew where you were.

Hunched over the pool of starlight he could’ve sworn you’d crawled out of it,the softening sun cast a glow through the dense trees, a fallen star had come and somehow stolen his heart.

He didn’t even want it back.

———

The pool transfixes you, Feyre had shown it to you during your time there and it soon became your private diary. Little whispers you’d let skim across the surface and lift the weight from your shoulders. When you met the inner circle and came to know Velaris you were so sure you were home. That the stars had listened. You were now sure they must’ve forsaken you, ripped out your heart and replaced it with a dying star.

You paid no mind to the crunch of leaves, you’d already felt him follow you there was no need for him the make his presence known.

“Go home” you spat coldly eyes not lifting from the pool of starlight.

“Come home with me” he gently offered.

“My home is closer to here than I ever thought it could be in Velaris” you muttered.

His hurt was palpable.

Good.

As Lucien just did he relented and came and sat next to you in silence.

The dying star inside you was getting darker with the realisation you’d always feel like way about him and you couldn’t have a mortal lifespan this would be generations of hurt.

So you spoke.

“Why Azriel, why are you here who sent you” you muttered dejected.

“No one. I-….” He trailed off lost thought, jaw clenched with the unspoken.

“Tell the truth” you sighed.

“Please just for once in all the time you’ve known me give me something” you begged.

He looked back over to you, wind brushing over you how he longed to.

He steeled himself, guard finally dropping.

“I was so afraid watching you that day”.

Silence as your brow furrowed.

“Your human body was so fragile, tossed around like blown sand.” Eyes tearful and locked on you.

“And I had to lie there dying and watch you almost die and that was a greater anguish than anything they could’ve unleashed on me”. He sighed as he saw you squint at him.

You stood angrily finger pointed at him as Nesta did. He couldn’t help his lip twitching,you really were one of them.

“If this is some ploy to bring me back to Velaris you will find you’re sorely mistaken in its use.” A great seething hiss of air spat at him.

He couldn’t help but laugh, only you could take a confession with suspicion. From almost crying to the woman he loves to laughing in her face, could this day get any worse?

“You jest?! I laid in wait of you for seven moons Azriel and you were nowhere to be seen! Lusting after Elaine I suppose” A dry laugh cut from your mouth.

All humour abandons him

“Is that what you suppose?” He huffed.

He rounded on you and stood towering, gathering the patience he needed to confess.

Patience found he continued.

“I couldn’t bear to see you laid there unmoving” he breathed deeply he looked furious. “I’d only just recovered so I sent my shadows although I suspected they were already watching when I couldn’t”.

Your face softens. Shoulders sagging.

He continues, breaking those walls you so flimsily held against him.

“For that I apologise, I should’ve been there no matter how much it hurt. I was with Elaine because her gardening reminded me of you the most” he smiles “after you so spontaneously decided to decorate it was the closest thing I had to you, the only thing of you I could touch”

Your lips part in want.

“I have wanted you from the moment I smelt you, and when I saw you my fate was sealed” he smirks at your lust struck face, hand going to cup it.

“Why not tell me?”

“I saw how well Elaine and Lucien’s discovery went” he smoothed his fingers against your lips.

You seized his hand, “I felt it when I was human, I felt you when I was human and I always will”.

Tension was strung like the fireflies now floating above you as dusk encroached.

He smiled and crushed his lips to yours in what felt like a thousand years of longing.

You both drew back just staring at each other,relief blatant.

“Let’s go home” his eyes pleaded.

“Sure” you smile

“I’ll cook” you smooth hair behind his ear as his eyes widen.

“Are you sure?” He asks warily.

“I tell you I’ve known you were my mate when I was human and you question me?” You laugh heartily.

“Now move it bat boy” you march off with a smirk.

He has no choice but to follow his heart.

And come up with an apology and thank you for Lucien.

411 notes · View notes

anachronismstellar · 7 hours ago

Text

...... I wanna write but it's been a while and I need to get back on the mood so send me some prompts pls? 🥺

dialogue prompts for ~injury~

!!please credit/tag me!!

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, c’mere.”

“Someone get the medic. Get the medic!”

“Hey, hey, shhhh. Shhhh. You’re okay.”

“You did so good. Don’t worry, you-you did so good.”

“Here, lean on me. I can carry you.”

“We’re gonna fix you up, brand new. I promise.”

“No. No, stop. Stop talking like that. You’re gonna be fine.”

“Okay. Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do—fuck.”

“I know, I know it hurts.”

"I don't care. I'm not leaving you."

“I’m going to lift you up, okay? Tell me if it hurts.”

“Where are they? Where are they?!”

"I would believe that you're fine, but you have a goddamn knife sticking out of your leg, so."

"You just watched them die."

"This is going to hurt, okay?"

"God, I'm so sorry, it'll be over soon, I promise."

"How many fingers am I holding up? ... I don't have six fingers."

"Stop. No. Wake up. Wake up! I said wake up!"

"I came as soon as I heard."

“Get away! You’re hurting them!”

“Please be okay. Please be okay, please be okay—”

“Shit. Shit, that’s a lot of blood.”

“You dumbass. Don’t do that. Ever again.”

"Help them! Please!"

"You scared us all back there. I... Including me."

"[name]? [name], this isn't funny. Stop... please..."

"Breathe... breathe. Look at the stars, kid."

"It was supposed to be me... please, no, [name], please..."

"Tell me where it hurts, and be specific."

“You’ll be fine.” *silence* “You’ll be fine. Hey! Wake up! Please. Please wake up…”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

#random stuff #me #scum villian self saving system #svsss #writing prompts #prompt list #angst #I promise to do my best to make it hurt/comfort #but ngl I'm in a weird mood lol

10K notes · View notes

yugenskyart · 1 day ago

Text

“Blue stars are known for their short life span….from burning through their fuel too quickly.” Oh Touya </3

243 notes · View notes

questions-about-blorbos · 2 days ago

Text

422 notes · View notes

daymarenightdream1 · 2 days ago

Text

JJK Men Try to Ask You Out on a Date but it’s Too Late (c:) Part 2

(masterlist)

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤/𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕤: fem!reader, a lot more swearing, pining, begging, shady behaviour from one of the dates (nanami’s smau), mentions of sùicidé (gojo’s smau), some very choice words from toji (he needs to learn how to treat a girl.). ANGST

𝔸𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣’𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: Enjoy my darlings!!! i might make one more part.

Part 1

Gojo Gojo talking to Geto

Gojo talking to y/n

Geto

Nanami

Fushiguro

191 notes · View notes

rokonrrc2 · 2 days ago

Text

Learn More

Emotional intelligence au ❤️‍🩹

3K notes · View notes

potatoplace · 2 days ago

Text

this is me trying

ACOTAR x Archeron!Reader

The Afterthought: Chapter 3 | series masterlist

part 2 | part 4 | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: The day after your birthday is spent shopping for Solstice presents and a surprisingly pleasant conversation with one of your sisters. Winter Solstice proves to be a pleasant affair for you this year.

Warnings: self worth issues, discovering bisexuality, honestly there's not much here, it's a fairly fluffy chapter, lemme know if I missed something

Words: ~8.2k

Author's Note: here it is! It's only like... half of what I wanted to cover in this chapter, but I'm happy with what I've written. I hope you all like it! It's a bit nicer of a chapter, mainly fluff-ish with very little angst imo. (It's a lot nicer than I'd planned to be... lol) enjoooyyyy 🫶

18+ only pls

🤍🤍💝🤍🤍

You woke when the sky was still dark, the house beneath you quiet. Your body was still aching, the sharp pains having woken you from your dream of the cabin and your father.

Forcing yourself from the tub, you pulled your bedding back to its rightful place and drew a bath. The steaming hot water was the perfect remedy along with your fingers rubbing gentle circles over your lower abdomen.

The sky was just beginning to lighten when you dragged yourself from the bath and dressed, resolving to do you skincare when you returned from your mission.

Shopping for Feyre's birthday and Solstice was your one true goal for the day, and then you could hibernate for the two days before Solstice.

Your eyes roved over the stack of presents on your desk, catching on something you hadn't expected.

A plate with a piece of white chocolate raspberrry cake, a single candle sticking out of the slice. Along with it was a matchbook and a note. You tried to read it, but only got as far as deciphering who it was from- Feyre, from the signature at the bottom. Most likely an apology of some sort, but you could wait to have someone read it for you.

You turned your eyes to the cookbooks your sisters had gifted you. A sigh escaped your lips, and you walked over to look at them once more. The dessert book Elain had gifted you would be helpful for your gifting ideas- you wanted to give each couple, Mor and Azriel a box full of their favorite cookies and sweets.

Personal gifts would only be for Feyre, Mor and Azriel, seeing as it was Feyre's birthday, and Mor and Azriel had picked out more personal gifts for your own birthday. And of course Nuala and Cerridwen, you had always appreciated their willingness to share some of the cooking duties with you.

Mind settling back on the cookbook that Elain had given you, you flipped through it, attempting to identify everyone's favorites by the drawings accompanying the recipes.

Your head was starting to hurt.

A shake of your head and you closed the book, opting instead to tug on your coat and a hat, grabbing the cookbook before leaving your room, shutting the door behind you quietly.

Before you set out into the wintery city, you stopped by Nuala and Cerridwen's room, a soft knock on their door enough to have Nuala opening it.

"Could I come in?" You asked softly, trying to avoid waking those sleeping down the hall.

"Of course, Y/N," Nuala said with a smile, opening the door wider to let you slip inside, eyes catching sight of the book in your hands. "Did you need help reading a recipe?"

"Not quite, well... Yes, but I would also really appreciate if the two of you could help me find the recipes I need for Solstice presents, if you wouldn't mind?"

"Oh, I'd love to!" Cerridwen said once she had emerged from the bathroom, a towel still wrapped in her hair to dry. "Oo, a book of Solar Court desserts! I haven't seen this one before," the wraith said excitedly once she looked over the cover of the book. "Did you have anything particular in mind?"

"I was hoping we could find recipes for everyone's favorites, I'd like for all of them to have something they like. And maybe sugar cookies too, that could be decorated for Solstice."

"Ah, a challenge," Nuala smirked, a glimmer in her eyes. "Did you happen to want a little *help* making all of this?" She asked hopefully.

"If the two of you wouldn't mind, that would be lovely. But don't feel like you have to, please."

"Anything to help you out and spend a bit more time with you Y/N, it's been lonely cooking without you recently," Cerridwen reassured you, a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Now, let's get to finding those recipes, and Nuala and I will go shopping for any ingredients we'll need tomorrow if that's okay with you?"

You beamed at the twins, happy that they weren't upset at you disappearing on them for three weeks. "I would be so grateful to the two of you if you could help out. Thank you so much!"

The three of you sat down on Nuala's bed, flicking through the cookbook and marking each page that had a recipe you would need.

For Nesta, you would make thumbprint cookies with a blackberry jam- a dessert she had enjoyed since childhood, one that she had stared at hungrily for so long while your family had been impoverished. And for her mate, Cassian, you would bake lemon bars. He had absolutely devoured some at the Summer Solstice celebration this year, only leaving a few for everyone else.

Elain you would give chocolate dipped lacy cookies, her favorite treat to have with tea. Lucien would be receiving snickerdoodles, his favorite cookie and the first thing that Elain had baked for him.

Feyre absolutely adored thin lemon-ginger cookies, and with any possible morning sickness or nausea they could be a simple enough treat for her to have. For Rhys you would be making chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, made from his mother's recipe which Cerridwen had carefully tucked a copy of into the back of the cookbook for you to hold on to.

Mor would be getting lavender and pistachio macarons, snickerdoodles, and peanut butter fudge- the last you recipe you had stumbled across in the back of the book, and you knew it would be perfect for Azriel as well. For him you would be making the peanut butter fudge as well as a mint chocolate fudge, lemon bars, and peanut butter cookies. You hadn't seen him eat many sweets, but when he did they seemed to be either peanut butter, lemon, or mint, and you wanted to cover your bases.

And for everyone, and to give the three of you something to decorate, you would be making sugar cookies, hopefully in shapes resembling trees, ornaments, snowmen- really anything that would scream winter.

With the recipes picked out, the book left in the their care, and the twins' promise to gather the supplies, you set out for the Rainbow, in search of a present for Feyre.

The streets were quiet as you walked past rows of houses and apartments, the snow on the ground muffling everything.

It was easy to find the store you needed for the present you had in mind, the wood and paint scented air greeting you when you stepped inside. You glanced around, trying to familiarize yourself with the shop.

On your left was a wall of easels and canvases, the right taken up by every color of paint imaginable. You went to the left first after picking up a basket, setting nine small, square canvases inside before turning your eyes to look for rope and fasteners to connect all of them together. Your idea was for her to be able to paint one square per month of pregnancy, something to remember how she felt carrying her child.

"Did you need help finding something, love?" A female voice asked from the back of the shop, startling you out of your thoughts. You whipped around, eyes met with the sight of a beautiful fae, her skin shimmering in the light, constantly changing between the colors of the rainbow as she moved beneath it.

You managed to catch yourself from staring at her, your manners kicking in as you met her eyes- bright orange now, but you had a feeling that they would also change hue in different settings, the color shifting from a light sunrise to a burnt orange already.

"I was hoping to find some kind of rope to connect all of these, and something to fasten them to the actual canvas, if you have them," you replied shyly, your heart rate picking up as she came closer to you.

She was so pretty. You felt like you had months ago, staring at Cassian. But that was-

"I certainly do, love! They're on the other end of the shop, come with me," the fae said, her cool hand grasping yours and gently tugging you along with her. "What pattern were you wanting to put them in?"

"Uhm..." You tried to restart you brain, repeating the question in your head until you found its answer. "A three by three grid, I think."

She picked out several pieces of rope, as well as a small bag filled with pronged pieces of metal. "This should be enough of both, but if you need more you know where to find them now!" You nodded and followed her as she made her way to the counter in the back. "My name is Irina, by the way," she said as she bagged your items and wrote out a receipt.

"I'm Y/N." Just introducing yourself made your face flush, your mind replaying her name as you watched her fingers write.

"Oh, Feyre's sister?" Irina asked you, her eyes flicking up to meet yours once again. You nodded in confirmation, and she smiled. "I was wondering when I might happen across the youngest, I've already met your other sisters as well. Feyre's studio is just a few buildings down, and she comes in quite often for supplies. How has Velaris treated you so far?"

"Oh, uhm... It's a lovely city, truly. How... How much do I owe you?" You asked, trying to steer the conversation to a more pleasant topic.

"Eight gold marks, but I've already charged the account on file for you, Y/N."

You gave her a grateful smile. "Thank you, Irina. You have a beautiful shop here, I can see why Feyre comes in."

"Why thank you, Y/N! I'm very proud of it, and even more proud that our High Lady chooses my paints to use for her masterpieces," Irina sighed happily. "I hope the rest of your shopping goes well, love."

"I'm sure it will, thank you," you said with a smile before turning and slowly exiting her shop, your heart still racing from her presence.

You walked lazily through the Rainbow, eyes glossing over beautiful paintings and woven tapestries. You had nearly reached the end of it, almost in the Palace of Hoof and Leaf when you saw a stall that truly caught you eye.

Hairpins.

As children, the one purely material thing that you and Feyre had yearned for were hairpins. A woman in the village had made them by hand, delicate sticks with delicately crafted flowers attached to one end, sometimes with small gems dangling on short chains. They were far out of your price range while destitute, and you had almost entirely forgotten about your desire for one after your family had regained their fortune.

The ones from the village paled in comparison to these absolute works of art, lifelike flowers made of gems with matching petals dripping from them, secured only by small metal chains. Some had strings of pearls falling from them, others with a chain of sparkling diamonds.

You approached the stall, fingers hovering over the beautiful hairpins, but you were too afraid to touch them.

"Hello," the female behind the stall said, her silver skin shining, even shaded from the winter sun that had started shining brightly while you had been in Irina's shop. "Were you looking to buy a hairpin today?"

You smiled bashfully at her. "I might be, I'm not sure yet. They are absolutely beautiful, though."

The female beamed at you. "Thank you very much. They also double as a dagger, if needed," she said, pulling a thin sheath off of one of the hairpins, revealing a thin, sharp piece of ash wood. "They only open for the person it belongs to, so long as you place a small dot of blood on the sheath, it will appear as a simple hairpin. They're rather handy, for us females to keep around..." she trailed off.

Having something... Something to protect you could be nice, even if it wouldn't be much help in the end. But for peace of mind... And it could be nice for Feyre to have one, in case her magic is drained from her somehow...

Your eyes trailed back down to the hairpin that had drawn you to the stall.

A silver sheath with pink hydrangeas on the end, tiny flowers dripping down a short chain, tinier diamonds filling in the spaces between them. It was absolute perfection.

Another silver hairpin drew your eyes, this one with crescent moon at the end, a large sapphire hanging between its edges. Dangling from its bottom edge were two chains that met an inch down to continue as one, covered in small sapphires and glittering diamonds. Very Feyre.

"I'll take the both of these, please," you said as you lightly tapped both of them, not quite trusting yourself to hold them and not drop them.

"Ah, those are two lovely picks. May I ask who they are for?"

"The flowers are for me, the moon for my sister," you answered, watching as she carefully placed each in a velvet bag.

"What account would you like to credit it to?" She asked once she had tied off the bags, opening up the thick ledger next to her.

"Uh... Y/N Archeron, I suppose?"

"Ahh, the High Lady's human sister! If the crescent pin is for her, you chose perfectly," she said with a wink as she handed the hairpins to you.

Your nose scrunched as you smiled, "It is, and I thought so as well. Thank you so much...?"

"Opal. I'm always happy to sell my work to appreciative eyes," she said with a sparkle in her eyes.

"I may be back for another, at some point. Have a happy Solstice," you said cheerily as you left her stall, walking carefully after you spotted a patch of gleaming ice.

"The same to you, Y/N!"

The Palace of Hoof and Leaf proved perfect for finding tins for the sweets you would be baking, with an entire store dedicated to gift boxes.

Nesta and Cassian would be receiving one with a scene of the Illyrian mountains, a blazing bonfire the centerpiece, flanked by said mountains in the distance. For Elain and Lucien you picked a scene reminiscent of spring, a pond surrounded by trees with a clearing in front of it. In the clearing is a small, brown bunny, watched from bushes by a red fox. Very fitting, considering how Feyre always called Lucien a fox.

Rhys and Feyre would be getting a box decorated with the three peaks of Ramiel in the dead of night, a bright silver moon and speckles of stars lighting the sky. Perfect for the High Lord and Lady of Night.

Mor is receiving a tin with the view of Velaris at night from the House of Wind, what she had told you was her favorite view of the city.

And for Azriel, you chose one covered by a view of the sea from the cliffs of Velaris, late into a sunset.

You were satisfied with your choices, and left the Palace to cross the river and enter the Palace of Thread and Jewels.

Here, you found most everything else that you needed.

For Nuala, you got a new set of embroidery hoops as you had noticed hers were a bit worn, and truly she could never have enough seeing how many projects she had going at all times. In the same shop you picked out a variety of threads, including a selection of metal threads as she had mentioned a month or two ago that she wanted to try using them.

Before you left, you picked up a few skeins of soft yarn in jewel shades for Cerridwen, as well as a pair of knitting needles that were charmed to not lose any stitches if you accidentally dropped them.

You wandered further into the Palace, eyes grazing over beautiful gowns and spools of fabrics before they caught on something.

Red leather thigh high boots, a pair of matching gloves displayed in the same window.

That was a perfect present for Mor. You had even seen her in a pair of similar boots in black, so you knew they were her style.

And red. Her absolute favorite.

The boots and gloves were purchased quickly, tucked into a bag that you slung over you arm with the other two. You continued your journey, looking now for something for Azriel.

Quickly though, you found another present for the twins. A nice apron for both of them, one in a pale golden color with a silver moon and stars embroidered along the chest for Nuala, and a midnight blue apron, with similar silver stitching for Cerridwen. A nice apron always made you happy, and these ones seemed cute enough and close enough to each twin's typical color palette that they might wear them.

You ended up finding a nicely bound pale blue diary, almost the exact shade of Feyre's eyes.

If she was going to document her pregnancy in paint, she may as well have the option to document it in writing.

You explored the last few buildings of the Palace before giving up on a gift for Azriel from the shops it contained. You'd rarely seen him in anything but his Illyrian leathers, so you couldn't pick out a piece of clothing that you knew he would like. And he seemed to have all the gloves he would need, nearly always having a pair on hand.

The only thing you could think of...

Perfect!

You made your way back across the Sidra, through the Palace of Hoof and Leaf, and passed through the Rainbow before landing in the Palace of Flame and Steel.

You were searching for a dagger.

The Shadowsinger always had a dagger on him, if not an entire belt of them. Surely he could always use one more?

Twenty minutes spent wandering through the Palace had you shivering and slightly frustrated. Nothing seemed right for him, the hilts either entirely plain or completely encrusted in jewels.

While you were sure the plain would be just fine, you wanted something that seemed like him.

Not that you knew him very well.

You frowned as you entered a shop, its display window filled with knives, swords, and axes. Warm air rushed over you, smoothing your smile into a neutral expression as you took in the overwhelming amount of weapons inside.

An entire side of the shop was dedicated to knives and short swords, which you immediately gravitated towards.

There was some of the same fare you had seen outside, yes, but most of the knives had subtly decorated hilts, a good middle ground in your opinion.

You picked over them carefully with your eyes, trying to find one that Azriel may actually like to have. It was difficult, but you finally found one that you thought he might like. Fairly simple, a five inch blade with a black leather hilt, a small sapphire crescent moon on both ends of it. The gems matched his many siphons, and the knife came with a plain black leather sheath, a metal clip on one end so he could attach it to a belt if he wanted.

Your final purchase completed, you trudged back to the River House, taking as long as you could. You knew at this point that people would be awake and buzzing about, and you hardly wanted to speak with any of them. All you wanted was to put your Solstice presents away, make some tea in the new pot Azriel had gifted you, and eat the slice of cake that had been brought to your room some time last night.

Still, you dragged yourself back inside, shaking the snow off of your boots before you shut the door behind you. Quiet chatter was coming from the living room, but you paid it no mind as you snuck upstairs, shutting the door behind you softly.

The bags of presents were slid underneath the bed for safekeeping and to be away from any prying eyes. The only thing you kept out was your hairpin, the velvet bag soft as sin beneath your fingertips.

Should you...? Yes.

You shrugged off your hat and put it back in its spot, then your coat and replaced it on its hanger, leaving you in your dark blue wool dress and winter boots. Those were next, changed instead to your warm and fuzzy pink slippers.

Gently, you used the inside of the hairpin to prick your finger, and after replacing the sheath placed a drop of blood onto the metal, which sunk into it a moment later.

You went into the bathroom, your brand new hairpin in hand, and brushed out your hair. It took a couple of tries, but soon enough you had your hair secured in a bun, hairpin stuck through the middle. The petal chain hung down, and the sight of it in your hair made you tear up a bit.

Leaving the bathroom and going to your desk, you picked out a tea from the sampler that Azriel had gifted you, this one a strawberry green tea. You then pulled your new teapot and cups out of their box and braved the walk downstairs to the kitchen with all the items you needed for your relaxing afternoon, hopefully followed by a restful sleep.

When you entered the kitchen, it was blissfully empty, the rest of your family seemingly chatting in the living room, the buzz of which you could just barely hear.

Water was set to boil and you quickly washed the teapot and cups, a dish towel drying them just before the water began to boil. Tea leaves were poured into the strainer, hot water poured slowly and evenly over them.

It could almost be an art, you think.

"Oh, Y/N," Feyre said from behind you, just as you set the kettle back on the stove. "Could we- could I join you for tea? In your room I would guess?"

Lip between your teeth, you thought on it. As far as you could tell, Feyre hadn't wanted your birthday to turn into her pregnancy celebration. She had noticed you hadn't had cake...

"I suppose. For a cup," you replied, attempting to set a boundary with her.

Feyre nodded her head in agreement, a soft smile on her face as she watched you place two cups on a tray, the other two finding a place together in a cupboard. You waited another minute before removing the leaves, emptying the strainer and washing it. Once the pot of tea was on the tray, the two of you went up the stairs and into your room.

The tray went on your dresser, and you gestured for Feyre to take the squishy armchair in the corner of the room as you poured tea for the both of you. You passed Feyre her cup before pulling the chair at your desk over to her and sitting, your own cup of tea in hand. A cramp rippled through you, but you forced down any discomfort so that you could get this conversation out of the way.

"How are you feeling? Any morning sickness at all?" You asked Feyre, blowing on your tea after.

"A bit, but I've been having some ginger tea as soon as I wake up, and that seems to have helped." Feyre paused, taking a sip of her tea. "Mm, I like this one. Is it one that Azriel got you?" You nodded, taking your own sip. It was good. "And the tea set he got you is really pretty. I... I really didn't want for your birthday to end that way, Y/N. We tried to hide my scent but I guess something went wrong or... I don't know, but I feel so bad that we ignored you again," Feyre said tearily. "I really didn't want that to happen, I swear."

You sighed as you looked at her. You had already suspected it, but it still hurts. "I know you didn't Feyre, but it's still... It wasn't fair to me."

"I know it wasn't. I'm so sorry, I don't... I don't know how to make it up to you," she said quietly. "I... We're all going up to the cabin the day before Solstice, and staying through the night of Solstice. Did you... Did you want to come? Or you could stay here, if you'd prefer. I know last year was... Well, Nesta..."

Your mouth fell into a straight line as you thought back on last Solstice.

An absolute nightmare.

Nesta had been overly aggressive to you, still fully controlled by her rage and new mating bond. And just, overall, you had felt so out of place and unwelcome in the otherwise cozy cabin.

And on your cycle? Contained to an even smaller area?

"I'd rather not, if that's... If it's alright with you, Feyre," you said hesitantly, taking a nervous sip of tea after you finished speaking.

Feyre nodded her head in understanding. "I thought you might not, so I have one small ask: Would you be willing to have lunch with me on Solstice? I still want to see you, and spend time with you, if you'd like?"

The request was something you hadn't expected from your sister. Lunch?

"I think... I think that would be nice, Feyre. I'd like that."

Feyre's expression lightened at your acceptance, though her eyes still held unshed tears. "Really? Oh, thank you Y/N, I'm so excited to spend some one on one time with you!" Feyre said, as close to a squeal as you thought she would ever get. "And I do have a Solstice present for you too, I wanted to make sure you were celebrated then too." Feyre finished off her cup of tea and stood, placing it on the tray before standing in front of you. "Could I... Have a hug?"

A small smile played on your lips from the hesitant way she asked. You simply stood from your chair and set down your teacup before pushing yourself into her arms, savoring the warmth of her as you held each other.

"I'm looking forward to it too, Feyre. And I have a few presents for you too, so we can do a little exchange," you said once you pulled away from her. You looked at her- really looked at her. Your smile grew. "You're pregnant!"

Feyre was grinning as the tears finally fell from her eyes. "I am! I never thought- I never thought I would find a man that I would actually like enough, Y/N," she confessed through her tears.

"I know you didn't, Fey. I'm so happy you found Rhys."

The two of you embraced again, this time in joy of her expected child.

"Well, I should get back to work, I think. I've been planning an after-Solstice revel for the Hewn City as a way of breaking some of the barriers between us, but dealing with Kier..." Feyre sighed. "He's such a pain, but I don't truly have anything against the other citizens, so I'm pushing through. You're welcome to come, if you'd like?"

You instantly shook your head. "No, the one time I went I was so uncomfortable, I think I'd rather hear about any drama after, please."

Feyre's head bobbed. "I thought that might be the case. No worries there, sissy, but... You will come to Starfall, yes?"

"I'll be at Starfall, Fey, don't worry," you reassured her as the two of you made your way to your bedroom door. "Good luck with the planning, from what Mor has said about Keir he's... kind of the worst, right?"

Feyre chuckled. "He definitely is, Y/N. I'll see you later."

"See you later, Fey," you said, watching as she walked down the hallway. Your door shut softly, and you returned to your tray of tea.

One more cup, and you would do your skincare. And a bit of cake, as well.

🤍🤍💝🤍🤍

Two days later and the Inner Circle was departing for the winter wonderland of a cabin Rhys had, and you were in the living room seeing them off with Nuala and Cerridwen.

"Have a good time!" You said cheerily, mainly to Feyre and Mor.

"Oh, I'm sure we will," Feyre laughed, sending a mischievous look to her mate before turning back to you. "I'll see you tomorrow at noon, right?"

You nodded in agreement. "Definitely, Fey."

"Good! Have a good day here, you two take care of her, alright?" Feyre asked the twins, who nodded enthusiastically. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

She and Rhys winnowed off, taking Cassian and Nesta with them, along with their bags.

"Y/N, I had an idea, if you're up for it?" Mor asked once they had left, taking Feyre's previous spot in front of you.

"Depends on what it is, Mor."

"Well, I thought that I could come back ahead of everyone else tomorrow night, and the two of us could have a cozy little sleepover! Lots of hot cocoa, chocolate, staying up all night talking. How does that sound?"

You grinned at her, so happy to have her as a friend. "I would love that Mor!"

"Perfect! I'll most likely be back before dinner, but I will send a note if I'm going to be late." Mor's expression matched your own as she turned to leave, taking Elain, Lucien, and Azriel with her as she winnowed.

And then you were alone with the twins in the River House, much quieter than it had been all morning.

"So... Are you two fine with starting to bake now?" You asked both of them.

"That sounds perfect, Y/N!" Nuala said, clapping her hands together.

"We do have a Solstice present that we'd like to give you early, though," Cerridwen offered.

You thought back to the aprons you had gotten for the two of them. "In that case, I have one for each of you as well."

"Meet in the kitchen in five minutes?" Nuala asked.

"That sounds fine," you said, already rushing over to the stairs.

As promised, the three of you reconvened in the kitchen a few minutes later, all of you holding presents behind your backs.

You passed the two gift bags over to them, and they both handed you a small box.

They insisted that you go first, so you carefully opened the wrapping paper, then the boxes, met with your own set of pink measuring cups and spoons, their size engraved into the handles in the first box. In the second was something that looked similar to a magnifying glass, but the twins showed you its use quickly by having it hover over the recipe book Elain had gifted you.

The glass read out the title, "Decadent Desserts of the Solar Courts of Prythian," and tears filled your eyes.

"It will help you read recipes, or notes, anything really, if the two of us aren't available. We thought it would be a nice gift, seeing how your family has forgotten to teach you to read. This way, you can teach yourself," Nuala explained softly as she passed the glass back to you.

"Not that we wouldn't love to teach you, but... I don't think your feelings about that have changed yet, right?" Cerridwen asked.

You wiped the tears from your eyes as you nodded. "Yes, but this is... This is such a fantastic gift, thank you both so much." You wrapped your arms around the two of them, feeling like you were embracing sisters. "Go ahead and open your presents, I know they aren't much-"

"Oh nonsense!" Nuala interrupted you as she pulled out her apron, running her shadowy fingers over the golden fabric. "This is beautiful, Y/N!"

"I love it, oh, look! They have matching embroidery, Nuala!" Cerridwen said excitedly, running her fingers over the stitching. "These are just perfect, Y/N, thank you." It was your turn to be embraced by them, and you gladly soaked in their kind words and true enjoyment of the present you had gotten them.

"Now that we have presents done, should we get to baking?" You asked, already moving to pull out mixing bowls.

"There's no time like the present," Nuala said, and the two of them sprung into action, grabbing necessary ingredients and cookie sheets.

Baking with the two of them was a wonderful experience, as it always was, but today felt a bit different.

It felt like you were finally having the family holiday time you had craved, baking for Solstice with both of the twins.

The time flew by, and by the end of the day the three of you had made nearly everything you had wanted for tomorrow, the only sweet left unfinished was the sugar cookies. The dough for those was left in the cold box, and all of the other sweets were left on the counters overnight.

Together, the three of you made and enjoyed a hot meal, and ended the night sipping tea and eating a few of the goodies you had made earlier.

The next morning was easy, pleasant as you cut out little trees, ornaments, stockings. You all giggled over your attempts to make an Illyrian cookie, which turned out more like winged blobs.

While they were cooling, Nuala and Cerridwen made frostings in every color possible, and you packed up the tins of sweets for your family members.

Nuala helped you write out little notes of well wishes for each couple, and an extra one for Mor and Azriel stating that you had an extra Solstice present for them that you would give them in person.

And with the presents out of the way, the three of you decorated sugar cookies for the rest of the morning, the color schemes and designs getting more and more questionable as time went on.

That's how Feyre found you at noon, walking into the kitchen after winnowing back from the cabin.

"Feyre!" You exclaimed, dashing around the counter to pull her into your arms. "Happy birthday! Do you feel any older yet?"

"Thank you Y/N," Feyre giggled, squeezing you back. "Not yet, I still feel like a baby."

"Well, you are a baby still, Fey. At least compared to most of Velaris," you said cheekily, smiling when she swatted your shoulder gently.

"Yes well... This baby and my baby are hungry, are you ready to leave for lunch?"

You nodded. "Let me get my coat and boots on, and then we can go."

"Okay, I'll be here," Feyre smiled, and then her eyes locked on the cookies. "Can I have one?"

"Of course you can have one Fey, you're the birthday girl after all!" You said before you left the room, hurrying up the stairs to grab your outerwear.

By the time you returned to the kitchen, Feyre was sitting on a stool, decorating a cookie with precise strokes, turning one of the blobby cookies into something that resembled Rhys.

"That's a pretty cookie, Fey."

Feyre's head snapped up from where she had been entirely focused on her decorating. A light blush dusted her cheeks as she said, "Thank you, sissy. The girls told me you all tried to make Illyrians, and I thought they were just too cute to not do one of Rhysie."

"Well, you did a lovely job. Shall we go?"

Feyre nodded and stood from her stool, licking a small bit of frosting off of her thumb. "You made some really good cookies, Y/N. Are all of the tins filled with them?"

You shook your head. "No, they're filled with everyone's favorites, the sugar cookies were more for everyone. When you go back to the cabin, would you be able to take them with you? If not, I can give them out tomorrow."

The two of you walked to the front door, you opening it for Feyre and shutting it behind you. "I should be able to manage that just fine, sissy. Now, I was thinking we could go to Arlina's, I feel like pasta."

"Pasta sounds nice," you replied, letting Feyre lead you at a leisurely pace, locked arm in arm as the two of you took in the snow covered city.

Arlina's was a cozy little bistro only a few blocks away from the River House, tucked between some apartment buildings. You had been there once before, a few months after you had been brought to Velaris.

Once the two of you were seated across from each other in a booth, you pretended to look over the menu, but you already knew you would be getting the same thing you had last time. It had been very good, and you also wouldn't have to ask for help reading the menu...

The food was as good as you remembered, and your and Feyre's conversation stayed light, mainly focused on Feyre's duties and her hopes for her future, now that she has a little one on the way. You preferred talking about her, talking about your life right now... Would be a bit of a mood killer. And today was about Feyre.

During dessert- a delicious crème brûlée that you and Feyre shared- Feyre started to fidget.

Not much, but enough that you noticed.

"Yes, Fey?"

Feyre sighed at being caught. "You know how Starfall is coming up?" She asked.

Your narrowed your eyes in suspicion. "Yes?"

"I was hoping that you would go dress shopping with me- us," she corrected. "I want you to feel included, and it would be really nice to go dress shopping as sisters, like we were never able to."

Your first instinct was to say no, but this was Feyre. Feyre, who was sitting across from you and giving you her best puppy dog eyes.

You sighed. "Fine, but can you tell the two of them to behave again? I know that they have... Issues with me, but I would like to feel comfortable in a room with them again at some point."

"Oh, I've already told them to behave. Honestly I should have done it so long ago, it's not fair to you. From now on I'll do my best to make sure you can feel comfortable in the family again, okay?" Feyre said honestly, and you finally believed her.

"Okay. What day were you thinking about going?"

"I was thinking in two days time, I have a few meetings tomorrow, and that revel I was telling you about, so most of us will be busy then."

You nodded your head. Two days. You could prepare yourself for Nesta and Elain's inevitable scrutiny over two days. Especially with your evening plans with Mor tonight. "That sounds fine to me, Fey."

Feyre smiled at you widely before taking another bite of dessert.

🤍💝🩵💝🤍

The rest of your afternoon with Feyre flew by, your short walk back to the River House led to presents.

You had given her her gifts first, soaking in the absolute joy in her eyes when she realized that you had gotten her two gifts for her pregnancy journey, already telling you about what she wanted to paint for the first month. And the hairpin she absolutely adored, promising to wear it tomorrow night to the revel after sealing it with her own drop of blood, as you had with yours.

She had nervously handed over your own Solstice present, an apron that she had made for you. It was in a light pink, with slightly clumsily sown stitching, but you loved it so much. Something that she had made, just for you.

You had bid her goodbye after the two of you decorate a few more cookies, her arms now loaded with two bags, filled with tins of sweets.

You made Nuala and Cerridwen rest while you cleaned up, taking care to get every last bit of dough or sugar off of the counters and each dish cleaned.

After, you retired for your room for a while, a bit of light cramping having you in the bath again, soaking in the heat.

Just a few minutes after you had finished getting dressed, you heard Mor yelling something from downstairs.

With your slippers on, you exited your room and went downstairs, happy to see an excited looking Mor sitting in the living room, a couple of gift bags sitting on the coffee table in front of her.

"Happy Solstice!" The blonde said brightly, bouncing out of her seat to wrap you in her arms.

"Happy Solstice to you too, Mor," you giggled after she let you go, air returning to your lungs. "Did you want to do presents now?" You asked, gesturing to the bags on the table.

"If you'd like, or we could wait a little bit. I'm fine with either!"

"I'll go get yours, then," you said, and did exactly that, returning a few moments later, excitedly shoving a bag into her arms. "Open it!"

Mor did so, gasping when she pulled the boots out, and squealing when she saw the matching gloves. "Oh mother Y/N, these are perfect! Thank you so much!" The blonde exclaimed, pulling you into a hug. A playful look crossed her face, a smirk on her lips as she said, "Do you know what these would be perfect for?" You shook your head. "That stupid revel tomorrow! I'm already wearing this tiny little black dress, and these would look stunning with it."

"That does sound like a good time to debut them, it'll probably drive Keir up the wall," you joked.

"Yes it will," Mor sighed happily. "Now, open your gifts! Honestly I should have given them to you earlier, now that I think about it, but they'll still be useful."

Mor had given you several pairs of underwear, these specifically spelled with cycles in mind, making it so there was no noticeable scent, and also designed to come clean with no staining every time. In the same bag was a square herb filled pack, designed to be heated and kept against your skin as a way of minimizing the pain of cycles. Both were such thoughtful gifts, but you were most excited for the underwear. That meant less scathing looks from your judgmental sisters.

The second bag contained a large assortment of bath products, from bubble bath soap to deliciously scented bar soaps, to salt mixes that were supposed to help with aching muscles. She had managed to fit in a bath pillow, one that's able to get wet without being ruined, as well as a few face masks that appeared to lay over your face.

"Mor, these are such wonderful presents, thank you," you said gratefully, pulling her into a hug.

"I thought you might like them," Mor chuckled. "After all, you can never have too many self-care products in my humble opinion."

"Mhm. Humble," you giggled at her. "Did you have anything specific planned for tonight, or are we winging it?"

"Well, I thought we could do some extra skincare, I've already got an order of food in at Sevenda's- I got you curry." You nodded in approval. "And we can talk about how amazing those macarons you made were!"

You blushed under her gaze. "Nuala and Cerridwen helped..."

"Oh, it was all you, Y/N. I'm sure they helped a bit but you are such a wizard with baking!"

You almost went to deny her praise again, but thought better of it when she narrowed her eyes playfully at you.

"Skincare?"

"Skincare," Mor smiled, and let you lead her up the stairs and to your room.

The evening you spent with Mor was great, the two of you eating your takeout in your bed once it arrived, clay masks on your faces. You talked about the last couple days, Mor complaining about how the citizens of the Hewn City treat her, you opening up about how hurt you were over your sisters' gifts.

"I can't believe they forgot, though, Y/N. That's not something small, and I'm shocked that they haven't attempted to teach you yet..." Mor said disapprovingly. "I could help you, if you'd like?"

You shook your head immediately. "No, I'll be able to teach myself now, with a gift the twins got for me. It reads out the words it passes over, isn't that neat?" You asked, hoping she would understand that you'd rather not speak about the subject much.

"That was very thoughtful of them, I wish I'd thought of it!" Mor sighed. "I do hope that you feel more welcome here, now? Than a few weeks ago, I mean."

You glanced at her, seeing the emotion in her face. "I am, Mor. You've been a big part of it, I hope you know," you said softly.

"Good, I'm glad I can help. And you're just such a lovely person, it's hard not to want to spend time with you."

You blushed once more under her gaze. "Thank you, Mor."

"Any time, love."

The endearment she used had a pretty face flashing in your mind, a question on your tongue.

"Is it..." you trailed off, unsure if you wanted to ask the question.

"Is it... what?"

"Is it... normal...? To... to uhm..." you started nervously. "Is it normal to like girls...?" You asked Mor quietly, half hoping she would ignore your question.

"Like... To like girls as friends, or... To like girls like boys?" Mor asked cautiously.

"The... uhm... Boys."

Mor sighed, but not one of disapproval. You didn't think...

"Of course it's normal to like girls in that way, sweets. Maybe not for everyone, but I know that... I know that I do," Mor answered softly.

You turned your face to her, finding her cheeks pink, maybe for the first time since you had known her. "Really?"

"Yes, I've known for a couple of centuries, now. I still like boys some, but... I do find girls much more interesting." Relief flooded your heart at her words. "Can I... Ask what brought this on?"

"Oh, well... When I went shopping for Solstice presents, I met this really pretty shop owner, Irina? And I... I felt how I used to feel around... Cassian," you admitted.

"Well, Irina is very pretty," Mor said wistfully. "You have good taste," she joked as she nudged you gently with her elbow, getting you to smile.

"I do, don't I?" You giggled, feeling lighter with how accepting and calm she had been. The two of you sat in silence for a minute, before you had an idea. You looked over at Mor, a glint in your eyes. "What do you say to eating far too many cookies and passing out from so much sugar?"

Mor's eyes shined brightly in the candlelight of your room. "I say yes."

The two of you snuck downstairs, even though you didn't need to, it just felt right with the copious amounts of sugar you were about to consume.

You set to making a pot of tea while Mor grabbed a sinful amount of cookies and set them on the tray. She carried everything up to your room, you trailing behind her.

Mor had grabbed all of the sugar cookies that you and the twins had decorated all silly, including several deformed Illyrians that the three of you had attempted to make look like the three in the Inner Circle. Plus one of the ornaments that Cerridwen had written swear words on, claiming that she 'couldn't fit any other words on them.'

After a bit more talking, and all cookies eaten, Mor left your room so the both of you could change, and returned a few minutes later with hot chocolate for the both of you, a mound of whipped cream nearly overflowing from the mug.

"I'm really glad you suggested this, Mor," you said quietly once the two of you had laid down in your bed, all candles extinguished. "It's been really nice."

"I'm glad I did too, Y/N. This is a lot more fun than the bickering that I'm sure happened tonight at the cabin, that lot can never go too long in a confined space without arguing about something," Mor complained lightheartedly.

"You included, Miss Morrigan." Mor scoffed at the implication. "Tell me that you don't enjoy the drama a little, hmm?" She remained silent, and you giggled. "That's what I thought."

"Well, it's not my fault that they're so easy to bicker with..." Mor said sulkily before yawning. "Alright, I'm exhausted. Who knew eating cookies and takeout could be so tiring?"

"Not me," you said, yawning a moment after. "I guess that's our cue to try and sleep," you laughed.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Mor said quietly, her breathing evening out a bit as she tried to sleep.

You tried to do the same, but it took a while, with the now unfamiliar noise of someone sleeping near you. But soon enough, you had drifted off into a peaceful sleep, cushioned comfortably for the first time in months.

🤍💝❤️💝🤍

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao

Series Taglist: @darkbloodsly @angelbunny222 @uniquedreamsblog @romantasyreader28 @that-one-bibliophole @idkmyoldonewasembarassing @deathtopistachios @saltedcoffeescotch @sleepylunarwolf @babypeapoddd @kingshitonly @bravo-delta-eccho @bluebries81 @liahaslosthermind @deepestmentalitypersona @historygeekqueen @hermajestysworld @marina468 @esposamultifandom @astrokitty18 @larissa01-blog2 @acourtofbatboydreams @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @thelov3lybookworm @weekendlusting @dxjaaaa @thejediprincess56 @casiiopea2

#the afterthought #this is me trying #acotar x reader #acotar x you #toxic inner circle #morrigan #feyre archeron #angst #fluff #winter solstice #feyre #acotar fic #acotar #archeron!reader #acotar fanfic #acotar x reader fluff #acotar x reader angst #acotar x reader series #tato writes

197 notes · View notes

alllgator-blood · 2 days ago

Text

'YOU AIN'T AS YOUNG AS YOU USED TO BE'

(part 2/6)

ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS LAY IN THE DAMN BED, HEKET!! At least she did a sweet portal backflip to disobey orders in style. Tbf I would also have trouble laying in bed for an extended amount of time if my brain was like "wow you're resting? You're literally just like your sibling who's been dying in bed for 200 years" the second my head hits the pillow

I didn't get to do much with witness bathin in this comic but in my head, she's a very well meaning and sweet person who will accidentally offend you on a psychological level because she wants to be helpful even in situations beyond her understanding. I hope to do more with the witnesses when I'm feeling better because I have an idea of what 3/4 of them are like, but none of them have gotten a chance to do their thing just yet

The other parts are gonna take quite a while to finish, like I said this full comic won't get done before the year wraps up so I'm hoping to at least get 4 parts done. I really need to stop doing comics with full color and backgrounds tbh I can't keep up....

also I have this poorly drawn but relevant comic I drew months ago but never posted, cannot remember the context but I'll have you know it was drawn while "1 hour of silence occasionally interrupted by the opening riff to 'bad to the bone' " was playing.....

#cult of the lamb #cotl bishops #heket #witness bathin #angst #comic

244 notes · View notes

chosok-amo · 16 hours ago

Text

PLAY HOUSE? DON’T BE JOKING : TOJI FUSHIGURO

he wasn’t going to calm down, his world fell apart in his own hands, and yet. . . he can’t do anything. he doesn’t know how to stay tender with so much blood in his hands.

warning. angst no comfort, fem! reader, breaking up, little megs, infertile reader.

the warmth of his tiny body pressed against yours was both comforting and heartbreaking. megumi clung to you, his small frame curled into your chest as if you were the only anchor keeping him safe. even in his half-asleep state, he refused to let go, his fragile grip on your shirt tightening now and then, as though the thought of losing you haunted his dreams. you held him close, your arms wrapped protectively around him, but the ache in your heart was undeniable.

you lay on his small bed, the mattress far too short for your grown frame, your legs awkwardly bent to fit. his blanket, soft but barely large enough, draped over the two of you. it was a poor attempt to shield you both from the chill in the room, but you didn’t care about your own discomfort. your focus was entirely on him—megumi fushiguro, a child who bore no resemblance to you yet had somehow burrowed his way into your heart. his fever-flushed cheeks glowed faintly in the dim light, his long, dark lashes brushing against the delicate skin as his eyes fluttered between wakefulness and sleep.

he looked so much like his father, toji—his sharp features softened only by the hints of his mother. his mother, you reminded yourself bitterly. not you. you had no claim to him, no blood tie that made him yours, yet here you were, cradling him as if he were your own. the thought tore at you, a sharp pang of longing and sadness intertwining with the love you felt for him.

a faint whimper escaped him as he shifted closer, seeking comfort in your warmth. his little hand clutched at your shirt, desperate and fragile, and your breath hitched. you wanted to be everything for him—his shelter, his solace—but no matter how much you loved him, you weren’t his mother. that truth weighed on you like a stone, each beat of your heart a cruel reminder of the line you couldn’t cross.

you brushed a hand gently through his dark, messy hair, soothing him even as your chest ached. he didn’t understand why he felt the way he did, why he clung to you with such desperation. but you understood. you were a stand-in for someone who wasn’t here, someone who should’ve been here. and as much as you cherished being his safe place, it hurt to know you’d never truly be enough.

megumi’s breathing slowed, his tiny body relaxing slightly as sleep began to claim him. yet, even in slumber, his grip on you remained firm. you closed your eyes, willing yourself not to cry, not to let your sadness seep into this tender moment. it wasn’t his fault. none of it was. he was just a child—one who needed love, stability, and someone to hold onto when the world felt too big and frightening.

you pressed a soft kiss to his feverish forehead, whispering words he wouldn’t hear. “i’m here, baby. i won’t leave you.” and though the promise felt hollow, you meant it with every fiber of your being. even if he wasn’t yours, you’d stay as long as he needed you.

the night stretched on, inching closer to exhaustion, yet sleep refused to claim you. the hours seemed to drag, each one heavier than the last, and the weight of your heart grew unbearable. you sat in the dimly lit room, every creak of the house and every rustle of the wind outside pulling your attention, hoping—praying—that the next sound would be him.

toji had been gone for days now, and the silence of his absence gnawed at you. you didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. was he safe? was he hurt? the questions circled endlessly in your mind, each one darker than the last, until they became an oppressive cloud you couldn’t escape. your imagination ran wild, conjuring scenarios of danger, of injuries he wouldn’t admit to, of him lying somewhere, unable to return to you, or maybe he wouldn’t, just yet..

you tried to tell yourself this was normal. toji was a man who came and went as he pleased, his life one of constant unpredictability. he rarely shared the details of where he was going or what his plans entailed. yet, no matter how often this happened, the uncertainty never got easier to bear. each absence left you restless, each unanswered question a weight that settled deep in your chest.

the clock ticked steadily in the background, its monotonous rhythm a cruel reminder of how slowly time was passing. you wrapped your arms around yourself, seeking comfort in the empty room, but it was a poor substitute for his presence. the house felt too quiet, too still, without him there to fill the void.

you glanced at the door for what felt like the hundredth time, half expecting it to swing open and reveal his familiar figure, but it remained closed. the anticipation was unbearable, every second a tug-of-war between hope and dread. you wanted to be angry, to scold him for leaving without telling you anything. yet, beneath that frustration was an ache you couldn’t ignore—a longing for him to walk through that door, safe and whole, so you could finally breathe again.

with a sigh, you leaned back, your eyes drifting to the ceiling as your thoughts spiraled further. “where are you, toji?” you whispered into the emptiness. the question lingered in the air, unanswered, as the night wore on.

he was an assassin— a fact that was never unfamiliar to you, even from the beginning. his work, his lifestyle, the danger that followed him like a shadow, none of it was a secret. but familiarity didn’t make it any easier to accept, and it certainly didn’t stop it from being the source of so many arguments between you.

you often pleaded with him to find a real job, something stable, something safe. you wanted him to have work that didn’t demand he risk his life, something that wouldn’t force him to disappear for days at a time, leaving you and megumi behind with no word, no reassurance, nothing but the empty ache of waiting. “find something better,” you’d tell him, desperation slipping into your voice. “something that doesn’t put you in danger, toji. something that doesn’t leave us alone like this.”

but those conversations always spiraled into fights. they never ended well, always exploding into shouting matches filled with anger and frustration on both sides. toji would accuse you of not understanding, and you would accuse him of not caring enough about what his absences did to you or to megumi. and then he would leave—storming out the door without another word, disappearing for days, sometimes even weeks. when he eventually returned, it was always the same. no apologies, no explanations. he would act like nothing had happened, like the wounds from the argument weren’t still raw, as if you were supposed to just move on without question. maybe you isn’t enough for him to stay’ sometimes, you think.

it was exhausting. the cycle of fights, his departures, the waiting, and the uncertainty—it all wore you down more than you ever let him see. but what hurt the most wasn’t your own pain; it was the quiet toll it took on megumi. he was so little, too young to say anything, too young to ask for what he needed. but you could see it in the way his eyes lingered on the door when toji was gone. he never asked about his father, never said anything out loud, but you knew he missed him, and wondering.

he missed him in the way he clung to you at night, seeking comfort in your embrace because his father wasn’t there to give it. he missed him in the silence, in the unspoken ache that filled the room when the two of you sat together. and it broke your heart because no matter how much love you gave him, no matter how hard you tried to make up for toji’s absence, you couldn’t fill that void. he needed his father, even if he didn’t know how to say it.

and yet, toji’s job always came first. it always pulled him away, always left you wondering if this time would be the last time he walked out the door. you hated the job, hated the danger, hated the man you saw in him when he chose it over his family. but more than anything, you hated how much you still loved him despite it all. you hated how much it hurt to see megumi wait for someone who might never truly be there for him. and still, you stayed, clinging to the hope that one day, something might change.

it’s two in the morning, and you’ve just managed to put megumi to sleep. finally, his tiny body is at rest, though his fever is still alarmingly high. you stayed by his side for hours, wiping his sweat-soaked forehead, whispering soft reassurances, and hoping that somehow, your presence alone could ease his discomfort. but through it all, he never cried, never fussed, not even a whimper.

it made your chest ache in ways you couldn’t describe. he was only two years old—too young to understand the burden of resilience, yet somehow, he carried it like someone far older. he should’ve been crying, clinging to you, seeking comfort in the way most children would. but megumi wasn’t like most children. his quiet maturity only deepened your guilt, a sharp reminder of the life he was born into—a life he didn’t deserve.

now, you sit at the small dining table under the dim, flickering light of the kitchen. a half-empty bottle of cheap alcohol rests in your hand, the bitter taste lingering on your tongue as you let your thoughts spiral. the silence in the apartment is suffocating, broken only by the soft hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the floorboards. you feel the weight of exhaustion pulling at you, but sleep is the last thing on your mind.

the faint click of the door jolts you from your thoughts. you sit up slightly, straining to listen as heavy, familiar footsteps make their way through the apartment. your heart tightens, and you know exactly who it is before he even steps into the kitchen.

toji.

he pauses in the doorway, his broad figure cast in shadows from the dim light. his sharp eyes sweep over you, taking in the sight of you sitting alone with a drink in your hand, your shoulders slumped with exhaustion. for a moment, neither of you speaks. the air feels heavy, the unspoken tension between you hanging thick.

his deep voice breaks the silence, low and rumbling as he asks, “why aren’t you asleep?” the question is straightforward, but there’s a softness to his tone, an edge of concern that he rarely lets show.

before you can answer, he crosses the room, his footsteps slow but deliberate. he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead—a gesture so brief yet so tender it takes you by surprise. your eyes flutter shut for a moment, a quiet sigh escaping your lips as his warmth lingers against your skin. then, just as quickly, he pulls away, making his way to the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

you watch him in silence before he disappears behind you, chest tight with a mix of emotions you can’t quite untangle. there’s relief in seeing him safe, frustration at his absence, and a lingering sadness you don’t have the strength to confront. he doesn’t say anything else, and neither do you. instead, you sit there, staring at the cheap bottle in your hand, wishing the gap between you wasn’t so wide. wishing you didn’t feel so alone, even with him standing just a few feet away.

toji leaned against the counter, the cold granite biting into his skin, a sharp reminder of the divide that stretched between you. the glass of water in his hand felt heavier than it should, yet he took a slow sip, his eyes fixed on you. you sat hunched in the corner, half-shrouded in shadows, your silhouette a fragile, aching thing. even in the dim light, he could see the exhaustion etched into your every movement—the slump of your shoulders, the quiet defeat in the curve of your spine. it wasn’t just weariness; it was something deeper, something that made his chest tighten and his throat dry.

his gaze dropped briefly to the half-empty bottle in your hand, the liquid inside catching the faint light. it wasn’t the first one tonight—he could tell—and the sight of it twisted his gut with worry and something heavier, something he couldn’t name. he took another sip of his water, but it didn’t help. nothing did. the silence between you pressed in like a weight, thick and suffocating, filled with all the things neither of you could bring yourselves to say.

the soft clink of his bottle meeting the counter broke the stillness as he set it down, his movements slow, deliberate. he pushed away from the counter, his steps hesitant as he approached you, each one feeling like a gamble. you looked so small, so distant, even though you were right there. he studied your face, searching for something—anger, resentment, anything—but all he found was exhaustion. it was a quiet kind of pain, one that sat in your eyes and clung to your posture, and it left him feeling utterly helpless.

he pulled out the chair beside you, the scrape of wood against the floor loud and jarring in the stillness. he lowered himself into it, his broad frame suddenly feeling out of place, too big, too heavy in the fragile space between you. for a long moment, he simply sat there, his eyes tracing the shadows under your eyes, the tension in your jaw, the hollow sadness that seemed to hang around you like a cloud. you looked like you were carrying the weight of the world, and he hated himself for being part of what had put it there.

he wanted to reach out. god, he wanted to reach out. to close the distance, to take your hands in his and pull you into him, to hold you against his chest and remind you that you weren’t alone, that he was still here. he wanted to feel your heartbeat against his, to reassure himself that you hadn’t slipped away entirely, even if it felt like you had.

but he didn’t. he couldn’t.

he sat frozen, his fists clenched tightly in his lap, the frustration and self-loathing building inside him. he knew the cracks in your relationship were his doing—his silences, his failures, the way he never seemed to say or do the right thing. every unspoken word, every withheld apology, weighed on him like chains, and now, sitting here beside you, they felt insurmountable.

he could feel the distance between you like a chasm, vast and unbridgeable, even though you were close enough for him to hear your soft, uneven breaths. he clenched his jaw, the words he wanted to say choking him, stuck somewhere between his heart and his throat. apologies felt useless, explanations even more so. how could they compare to the pain in your eyes, the quiet devastation that he knew he’d put there?

so, he stayed silent, his presence heavy and uncertain, his gaze locked on you like a man staring at something slipping through his fingers. the ache in his chest deepened as the moments stretched on, and all he could do was sit there, knowing that even his closeness wasn’t enough to bridge the distance that had grown between you.

your reaction was hesitant, almost fragile, like a thread stretched too thin. for a long moment, you stayed still, staring down at the bottle in your hand as if it held the answers to questions you were too tired to ask. the room felt suffocating, the silence pressing in on your chest, making it harder to breathe. you didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to see the worry in his eyes or the guilt etched into his features. it would only remind you of how far apart you’d drifted, how the gap between you felt insurmountable, even now.

but something in the way he sat there—so close yet so tentative—drew your gaze to his. your eyes met his green irises, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to really see him. the sharpness that once defined him was gone, replaced by a dullness that mirrored your own. he looked tired, almost as tired as you felt, and the sight made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with anger. it was sadness, heavy and unrelenting, wrapping around you like a shroud.

his hand reached out slowly, gently, as if he were afraid you might pull away. he took the bottle from your grasp, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment. the touch was warm, grounding, and you felt the tiniest flicker of something you thought you’d lost—a fragile, fleeting hope. he set the bottle on the table with care, the soft clink of glass breaking the oppressive quiet.

your body moved before your mind caught up, driven by an instinct you couldn’t suppress. your arms found their way around his neck, and you buried yourself in him, seeking solace in the steady, unyielding strength of his presence. your body folded into his lap, trembling as you clung to him like he was the only solid thing in a world that felt like it was crumbling beneath you.

you didn’t cry. the tears that should have come remained locked inside, caught somewhere deep in the hollow ache that had taken root in your chest. instead, you held him tighter, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, desperate for the warmth he offered. your head rested against his shoulder, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the strong, warm arms that wrapped around you in return.

the moment you moved into his lap, his arms went around you on instinct, pulling you tighter against him— it was as though the weight you carried began to crack and crumble, piece by piece. . the familiar feel of your body in his arms, the scent of you, somehow still so sweet and faintly floral despite the weariness that stained your skin—it hit him like a punch to the stomach. the realization of how desperately he’d missed this, how deeply he��d longed for this closeness but had done nothing to repair what had been broken, hit him like a freight train.

he held you there, one hand running slowly up and down your spine in a soothing rhythm, the other buried in your hair as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. he steady, grounding pressure of his palm gliding along your spine, the way his fingers tangled in your hair like he was anchoring himself to you—it was almost too much. his breath, warm and uneven against your neck, sent a shiver through you, and you closed your eyes, trying to steady the storm that swirled inside you.

there were words he wanted to say, words that clawed at the back of his throat— “i’m sorry,” “i missed you,” “don’t leave” —but they all felt wrong, too small and insufficient. he pressed his lips to the pulse point on your neck, feeling the rapid thrum of your heart against his mouth.

you feel it— no, you missed it— the gently kiss against the hollow of your neck, soft and tentative, like he was afraid you might vanish if he held on too tight. that simple touch, so full of longing, sent a ripple through your chest, a sigh slipping from your lips before you could stop it. it wasn’t relief, not fully, but it was something close—like a door opening just wide enough to let the smallest ray of light in. your hand moved without thought, trailing down to his chest, where you could feel the strength of him beneath your palm—the steady, unyielding beat of his heart. but even now, even with all that strength, he felt fragile. weak. like a man caught in the wreckage of something he couldn’t fix.

you pulled back slowly, reluctant but needing to see him, to look into the green eyes that had once felt like home. your forehead rested against his, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. the faint stubble on his cheek prickled beneath your fingertips as you cupped his face, your thumb moving in slow, deliberate strokes over his skin. it felt rough, unkempt, like the rest of him—a man unraveling, his edges frayed and worn.

you studied him in the dim light, your gaze tracing the lines of exhaustion etched into his face, the heaviness that clung to him like a shadow. this close, you could see it all—the regrets he carried, the guilt that weighed him down, the cracks in the armor he tried so hard to wear. and you hated how much it mirrored your own reflection, how you could feel the pull of him drawing you in even as the words in your chest begged to push him away.

your voice came softly, trembling but resolute, breaking the silence that had stretched too far for too long. “i will leave.”

the words hung between you, sharp and heavy, slicing through the air with a finality you didn’t know you were capable of. his breath hitched against yours, his hands tightening on your waist as though he could hold you in place, as though sheer willpower could keep you tethered to him. but you didn’t say anything more, didn’t elaborate or soften the blow. instead, you let the weight of those words settle over both of you, the truth undeniable.

your mind spun with the possibilities, the what-ifs and could-bes that clawed at the edges of your resolve. what would it look like, a life without him? would you be freer, lighter, or would the absence of him feel like a gaping wound that would never fully heal? and what about megumi? the boy who had grown to look at you like a constant, like something steady and safe in a world that had taken so much from him already? how would he understand the choice you were on the brink of making?

your chest tightened with the weight of it all, the enormity of what leaving meant. but the thought of staying, of continuing this cycle of hurt and silence, felt just as unbearable. so you stayed like that, forehead pressed to his, your fingers trembling as they traced the curve of his jaw, memorizing every detail of him as if this moment might be your last.

“you’re a mess,” you whispered finally, your voice breaking on the words. there was no malice in them, only a deep, aching sadness. “we both are.”

he didn’t respond, couldn’t seem to find the words, but his eyes—those tired, dulled green eyes—bore into yours with a desperation that threatened to undo you entirely. you could feel his heart racing beneath your palm, a frantic rhythm that echoed the chaos in your own chest. it was as if he was trying to say everything he couldn’t put into words, begging you to stay, to give him one more chance, even as he seemed to know that the cracks between you might already be too wide to bridge.

for a moment, you considered it—letting yourself fall into him, letting his arms hold you together even as you both came undone. but the pain of the past lingered too close, a reminder of all the times you’d tried and failed, of the nights spent wondering if love was supposed to hurt this much.

so instead, you stayed silent, too, letting the closeness of him fill the void between you for just a little while longer, knowing it might be the last time.

toji’s body was tensed beneath you, his chest rising and falling with each unsteady breath he took. he didn’t say a word, didn’t move, but he was a coiled wire, taut and ready to snap at any moment. the air between you felt charged, thick with the weight of words unspoken, of questions asked yet left unanswered, of apologies and pleas that remained stuck in both of your throats.

the silence felt suffocating, a crushing weight that pressed in on your lungs, making it harder to breathe, harder to think. but still, neither of you spoke. his silence felt deafening, a stark contrast to the maelstrom of his thoughts. he wanted to reach out, to pull you to him, to fix whatever was broken between you. but he was frozen.

he couldn’t tell you what stopped him, the memories of past arguments, the fear of causing more hurt, the knowledge that words alone couldn’t stitch together the torn edges of what was left of your relationship. the only thing he could do was sit there, his body taut against you, his heart hammering in his chest.

his eyes were fixed on your face, studying every feature, as if he was trying to memorize them. he could see the way your brow was furrowed, the way your lips were pressed together, the way your fingers continued to trace over his skin. and he wondered if you could feel the way his pulse was racing, the way his heart was lurching in his chest.

“please,” he finally managed, his voice raspy and unsteady, almost like a man drowning. the words hung in the air, pleading yet resigned, a last-ditch effort to keep you from slipping though his fingers.

he reached up, his fingers trailing along your collarbone, the touch so light it was almost reverent. his eyes flickered over your face, tracing the lines he’d come to know so well, the curves and planes of you as familiar as his own reflection. “don’t leave. not yet.”

not yet.

your breath hitched at his words, the rawness in his voice cutting through the walls you’d built around yourself. please. it was a small word, but the weight of it was staggering, heavy with a kind of desperation that made your chest ache. his fingers brushed against your collarbone, featherlight, almost trembling, as though he was afraid that even the slightest pressure might shatter what was left between you. his gaze burned into yours, searching, pleading, memorizing every inch of you as if he was afraid you’d vanish before his eyes, just like his late wife.

your lips curved into a smile, soft and bittersweet, a fragile thing that seemed to carry the weight of your exhaustion. it wasn’t happiness—not even close. it was the kind of smile you wore when you knew something was over, when the pain was too deep to cry anymore. your hands lifted to cup his face, your thumbs brushing over the roughness of his stubble, the sharp angles of his jaw. his skin felt warm beneath your touch, grounding, and for a fleeting moment, you let yourself forget the inevitability of it all.

“yeah,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “i will.” the words felt like a betrayal even as they left your lips. you saw the way they landed, how they rippled through him like a physical blow, and you hated yourself for it. but this was the truth, the only truth you could offer, and you hoped that somehow, deep down, he understood.

you leaned in slowly, your movements deliberate, as if you were giving him time to pull away—but he didn’t. he stayed rooted in place, his breath shallow and uneven as you closed the distance between you. your lips brushed against the scar on his mouth, a touch so soft it felt like it might break you both. you lingered there, your breath mingling with his, the intimacy of it so fragile, so fleeting.

when you finally pulled back, your eyes fluttered open to meet his, and you saw the pain there, raw and unguarded. it mirrored your own.

he didn’t pull away. instead, his hands moved to your waist, gripping you with a desperation that made it hard to breathe, like he was trying to etch the feel of you into his memory. his grip on you tightened, desperate, trembling with the need to hold on, to keep you there just a moment longer. his fingers dug into the fabric of your clothes, clutching at you as if you were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

then, without giving yourself time to second-guess, you kissed him fully. your lips pressed to his in a way that was soft but resolute, like a thread unraveling one final time. it wasn’t passionate or hurried; it wasn’t a plea to stay or to change. it was gentle, quiet, and achingly painful—a goodbye masquerading as a kiss.

his breath came in shallow, broken gasps, his chest heaving as he fought to find words. but they eluded him, caught in the raw agony swelling in his throat. every thought, every feeling, twisted into a silent scream he couldn’t release. his lips found yours— kissing you back. and he kissed you with everything he had left—despair, love, a futile plea that tasted of salt and sorrow. it was a kiss laced with the echoes of goodbye, with all the things he couldn’t bring himself to say. but there was a hesitance to it, a kind of fear that came from knowing this wasn’t the beginning of something—it was the end.

when you pulled back, your forehead rested against his, your breaths mingling in the stillness of the room. your hands slid from his face to his shoulders, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as though you were trying to hold onto him for just a moment longer. but even as you stayed close, you could feel the distance growing, the inevitability of your choice settling in like a storm on the horizon.

your voice broke as you whispered, “i’ll always love you, toji.”

for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. your words, soft yet heavy with finality, lingered in the air like the toll of a mournful bell, resonating deep within him. your hands clung to his shirt, your foreheads pressed together still, as if you could will time to stop, as if your closeness could delay the inevitable.

the ache in your voice cut deep, sharper than the words themselves. it was the resignation, the quiet certainty that this was the end—the end he had always feared but never prepared for—that shattered him. it was not just the loss but the cruel, unyielding finality of it that left him hollow.

“please,” he whispered, his voice breaking, barely more than a breath. a single word, fragile and aching, hung in the space between you, a final plea to stop the inevitable. but even as it passed his lips, he knew it was hopeless. your decision had been made, and your resolve, as much as it pained you, would not falter.

he opened his eyes, searching yours with a desperation that burned. and there you were, looking back at him with a strength that seemed unbearable, a strength that masked your own heartache. he saw the exhaustion in your features, the brittleness in your stance, like glass held together by sheer will. yet your gaze was unwavering, unyielding. you were a mountain, immovable in your choice, and he was the storm, battering against you in futility.

his chest tightened as a wave of helplessness surged over him, dragging him under. he wanted to scream at the injustice of it all, to rage against the cruel twist of fate that had brought him here, to demand that you stay. but the fight within him ebbed, replaced by a hollow acceptance that settled like ash in his soul. anger would change nothing; it could not rewrite the truth.

he took a trembling breath, his heart a cacophony of pain, and looked at you like a drowning man gazes at the surface—longing, desperate, and full of grief. the threads that had bound you together unraveled with every second, slipping from his grasp like water, no matter how tightly he tried to hold on. and in that moment, he understood that love was not always enough to keep someone by your side. sometimes, love meant letting go, even when it broke you beyond repair.

your forehead rested against the side of his head, your hand cradling the back of his neck with a tenderness that felt cruel in its finality. his hair, dark and slightly unruly, brushed against your fingertips, and for a moment, you let yourself stay there, suspended in a fleeting fragment of closeness. your breath hitched, your lips slightly parted, and the tremble in your chest betrayed the storm inside you.

your voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. fragile. raw. “you know i can’t stay. it’s unfair to me.”

the words quivered in the air between you, heavy and sharp like broken glass, and you felt him tense beneath your touch. his breathing faltered, the steady rhythm you once found solace in now uneven, jagged. your eyes burned with unshed tears, but you refused to let them fall, even as your chest heaved with the weight of it all. you’ve cried enough, you told yourself, but your body betrayed you, trembling as you inhaled a shuddering breath.

“toji, baby,” you murmured, his name breaking on your lips like a prayer turned curse. “i can’t do this anymore. i can’t keep waiting… hoping… starving for something you never give. god, i was starving,” your voice cracked, the pain pouring out despite your efforts to keep it contained. “you come and go like the tide, leaving me behind to wither while you do whatever you want. you disappear for days, weeks… and i sit here, waiting, aching, drowning in this emptiness you leave behind. it’s killing me.”

the confession spilled from you, unfiltered and raw, as if the dam you’d so carefully built had finally shattered. the words tumbled out, each one slicing through the air, heavy with the pain you’d carried in silence for far too long.

you closed your eyes, pressing your forehead more firmly against his temple, as though the proximity could ease the ache. it couldn’t. nothing could. your hand tightened against the back of his neck, your fingers digging into his skin, desperate to hold onto something tangible even as everything else unraveled.

“i love you,” you admitted, your voice barely audible now, a quiet confession meant only for the space between you. “i love you so much it hurts. but i can’t keep sacrificing pieces of myself for a love that leaves me empty. i deserve more than this, toji. more than the crumbs you give me when you decide to come back.”

your tears, unbidden and unwanted, finally escaped, trailing hot and fast down your cheeks. you tilted your head, pulling back just enough to look at him, your gaze meeting his. the pain in his eyes mirrored your own, but you couldn’t let it sway you. you couldn’t let his sorrow chain you to a love that had become your prison.

“i can’t keep breaking myself apart to keep us whole,” you whispered, your voice trembling as the finality of your words settled over both of you. “i need to let go… before there’s nothing left of me.” your words were a dagger, each one finding its mark with painful precision. the air felt thick, heavy with the weight of all that was left unsaid, all that he knew you had been holding inside all this time.

he didn’t say anything at first, his mind reeling, trying to process the torrent of everything. his eyes never left yours, taking in every flicker of emotion that played across your face. the tears, the pain, the acceptance, all of it hit him like a gut punch. he reached up, his hand closing over yours on the back of his neck. his grip was firm, holding your wrist with a quiet strength, preventing you from pulling away just yet. he needed to look at you, to hold onto this moment, even as it burned through his heart.

“i…” he began, but the words got stuck in his throat, lodged there like a lump he couldn’t swallow around. he tried again, his voice hoarse and shaky.

“i’m sorry,” he finally managed, his eyes not leaving yours. and he meant it. he was sorry, sorry for everything. sorry for the pain he’d caused you, sorry that he was too broken to be who you needed he closed his eyes, his fingers tightening around your wrist, feeling the rapid pulse beneath your skin. each beat felt like a countdown, a reminder that you were leaving, that this was the end.

your gaze softened, though the ache in your chest only deepened as you watched the cracks in him grow wider, his remorse spilling out like water from a shattered vessel. his fingers, firm yet trembling around your wrist, felt heavier than they should, like they were tethering you to a moment you could no longer stay in.

“i’m sorry i couldn’t give you what you need,” he continued, opening his eyes to look at you again. “i’m sorry i’m such a colossal screw-up.” each word felt like a confession, an admittance of failing you, of failing both of you. it was a hard truth, one he’d avoided for too long. a soft hum escaped you, unsteady and fragile, like the faintest echo of comfort in the middle of a storm. it was a sound that carried all the weight of your sorrow, an acknowledgment of his pain even as your own threatened to drown you.

“it’s okay,” you whispered, though your voice was brittle and uneven, the words trembling as they fell from your lips. but they weren’t okay, not really—not for either of you. and yet, you said them anyway, because what else was there to say?

“it’s not okay,” he shot back, the words a harsh whisper. his eyes searched yours, desperate for some flicker of understanding, some hint that you weren’t just going through the motions of saying goodbye.

“it’s not okay ‘cause you’re leaving,” he added, his voice cracking. “i… i don’t want you to leave.” his grip on your wrist tightened, the tremors running through his muscles mirroring the tremors in his voice. he swallowed, his throat feeling too tight for words, but he pushed through, needing to get it all out while he still could.

“i know i’m a mess, okay?” he rasped out, his eyes fixed on yours. “i know i’m not husband or boyfriend of the year material. i know i’m not the kinda guy you take home to meet your parents or anything. i know all of that.” he paused, his breath coming in unsteady gasps, like he was fighting for control, for one last moment of vulnerability before the walls slammed back up again.

“but i love you,” he said, the words so quiet they almost got lost in the air between you. “i love you so goddamn much. that’s gotta count for something, right?”

you shifted slightly in his lap, creating just enough space to tilt your head back and meet his gaze. his words hung between you like fragile glass, their weight pressing down on your chest, threatening to shatter the last remnants of resolve you clung to. your hands found their way to his cheeks once more, the warmth of his skin grounding you in a moment that felt far too fleeting.

your hum was soft, barely audible, a sound that trembled with hesitation and sorrow. “maybe,” you whispered, your voice as delicate as a thread unraveling in the quiet air. the word carried the faintest flicker of possibility, though even you knew it wasn’t real. it was a fleeting comfort, an acknowledgment of his love that couldn’t undo the damage done.

your thumb traced the sharp angles of his face, the faint stubble that tickled your fingertips, as though memorizing the contours of him for the last time. “but,” you added, your voice breaking slightly, “the count wasn’t enough.”

his hands, suddenly desperate, shot up to cover yours, trapping them against his cheeks as if he could keep you there indefinitely if he just held on tight enough. “not enough,” he echoed, his voice a strangled whisper. “it’s not enough…”

his eyes searched yours, searching for something, anything. a hint that he could change your mind, a promise that this wasn’t really it. his fingers curled around yours, pressing your palms against his skin like he was trying to tattoo the feel of your touch into his flesh. “then what is enough?” he asked, the words a broken plea. “what do you need from me?”

he leaned forward, his forehead coming to rest against yours for once more, the proximity forcing your breaths to mingle. his body trembled, the tremors running through him like an earthquake. “i’ll give it to you,” he promised. “whatever it is. just tell me what you need.”

your fingers slipped into the strands of his hair at the nape of his neck, idly curling and uncurling them as if the motion could steady the tremor in your chest. his desperation weighed on you, heavier than his arms around your waist or the intensity of his gaze, pinning you in place. you looked at him for a moment, long and silent, as though memorizing every detail—the lines etched by pain and time, the shadows in his eyes that never seemed to leave, the scar that tugged at his lip even as it trembled.

you didn’t speak right away, the quiet stretching between you like a string pulled taut, ready to snap. your hand drifted upward, brushing the edge of his jaw, then falling away again as though even that small contact might tether you too tightly to him. when you finally whispered, it was soft and breathless, like the words hurt to say, but you needed to let them out before they suffocated you.

“marry me.”

the air seemed to leave the room, sucked into a silence that felt deafening. his eyes widened, and for a moment, his breath hitched. you felt the tremor in his body still as though the words had struck him frozen, their weight sinking in too deep to ignore.

you didn’t elaborate. you didn’t plead or justify or explain. because you knew.

you knew what you were asking wasn’t fair, that it was a wound you shouldn’t press on, a ghost you shouldn’t summon. you knew the memories of his wife still haunted the spaces between you, that her absence shaped him more than her presence ever had. and you knew, deep down, that no matter how much he loved you, he didn’t have the courage to give you what you needed.

but still, you had to ask. because if this was the end, you needed to hear the answer you already knew, needed him to face the truth neither of you had been brave enough to say out loud.

his mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound came out. his grip on your hands faltered, loosening just enough for you to pull away, though you didn’t. his forehead pressed against yours again, his eyes shutting tight as though he could will the moment away, as though he could keep your words from echoing in his head.

you waited, your heart pounding in your chest, even though you already knew the answer. his silence was louder than anything he could have said, a confirmation of the doubts you’d been holding all this time. he was silent, his mind reeling. he’d been ready to promise anything, to say he’d change, to do better, to be better, but this... this he wasn’t prepared for.

he’d buried the possibility of a future together under the wreckage of his past, and here you were, exhuming it, offering it to him like a fragile thing. he swallowed, his throat bobbing with the effort, but words still didn’t come. he was lost in the storm of his thoughts, his heart and mind at war.

marriage, with all its complexities and risks, was a chasm he’d avoided for years. it was an admission of permanence, the final nail in the coffin of his lost love. and yet, hearing the word from your lips, the weight of it hung in the air, undeniable. he loved you, god, he did. but the thought of being married again, standing at the altar and promising forever, felt like staring down the barrel of a gun.

“i...” he started, his voice catching in his throat. “i can’t....” he couldn’t finish, the words refusing to form. he could see the hurt flicker across your face, the disappointment in your eyes. he hated it, hated disappointing you, but he couldn’t give you what you wanted. he could give you anything else, everything else, but that one thing, that one thing he couldn’t stomach.

he drew in a shuddering breath, his hands grasping yours more tightly, as though begging you to understand. “please,” he whispered, the word a ragged plea. “please, don’t ask me for that.” your smile was small, fragile, like glass held together by trembling hands, threatening to shatter at any moment. the corners of your lips wavered as you let out a shaky hum, the sound catching in your throat. you nodded, slowly, over and over, as though convincing yourself more than him.

“it’s okay,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of the lie. “it’s okay.”

the words came again, softer, more broken, tumbling out like a mantra you needed to believe. “it’s okay, it’s okay…”

but it wasn’t okay. not really.

your hands slipped out of his grasp, his warmth lingering on your skin even as you pulled away. you felt the tears brimming, threatening to spill, but you held them back with sheer willpower, your chest heaving with the effort. you couldn’t cry—not now, not in front of him.

you glanced at him, your gaze meeting his for a fleeting second, and the look in his eyes nearly undid you. he was desperate, broken, his pain as raw as your own. you knew he wasn’t choosing this to hurt you. he just… couldn’t.

he watched as you pulled away, the loss of your touch feeling like a wound in his chest. he wanted to reach out, to pull you back, to hold you tight against him and never let go. but he couldn’t. it felt like there was an invisible wall between them, one he didn’t know how to scale. the silence that settled felt heavy, filled with all the things they weren’t saying.

he watched as you kept nodding, your words a soft, hollow reassurance. he hated it, hated the resignation in your voice, the acceptance that he couldn’t seem to offer. his eyes never left yours, drinking in every flutter of your lashes, every tremble of your lips. he saw the struggle, the fight within you, and it tore at his heart. his fingers flexed at his side, as if they ached to reach out for you.

he wanted to be what you needed. he tried hard, he did. but he’d built his life around what he couldn’t do, not what he could. marriage, that sacred promise of forever, was not something he was capable of giving. it had been stolen along with his wife.

your movements were slow, deliberate, as though the weight of your decision had settled into your very bones. you pushed yourself off his lap, your hands lingering for a second longer than they should have, your touch burning into his skin as you stood before him. “i’m going to pack my things,” you said quietly, the words steady but hollow, as though you had rehearsed them in your mind countless times. your eyes stayed fixed on the floor, unable to meet his. if you looked at him now—at the way his hands were clenching into fists, the way his lips were pressed into a thin, trembling line—you knew you wouldn’t be able to follow through.

the bedroom was cloaked in a suffocating silence, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric and the occasional, uneven breath that escaped from your lips. the air was heavy, dense with the weight of unspoken words and lingering regrets.

toji sat on the edge of the bed, his broad shoulders hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees. his hands dangled uselessly between his legs, fingers twitching every so often like they wanted to reach for something—for you—but didn’t know how. his gaze was fixed on the floor, on a stray thread of the rug, as if it could provide him the answers he didn’t have.

you sat on the floor in front of the wardrobe, knees bent and body folded in on itself, your fingers trembling as they carefully, methodically folded your clothes. each piece felt like a small goodbye, a memory slipping through your hands as you placed it into the open suitcase. the suitcase itself looked like a wound, wide open and gaping, the contents spilling out like the remnants of a life shared and now divided.

the tears had long since dried on your cheeks, leaving behind a raw, burning ache. your eyes stung from crying, your head throbbed from the hours of grief. but nothing compared to the hollow ache in your chest, the way your heart seemed to squeeze with every breath you took. you moved slowly, painfully, each motion deliberate as though the act of packing was draining the last bits of strength you had. a sweater slipped from your grasp and landed limply on the floor. you stared at it for a moment, your fingers frozen mid-air, before picking it up again and folding it with trembling hands.

toji’s head tilted slightly, his dark eyes flickering to you, but he said nothing. he didn’t know what to say. the sight of you on the floor, hunched and fragile, sent a sharp pain through his chest. he wanted to call out to you, to tell you to stop, to tell you to stay. but his throat felt tight, his voice trapped beneath the weight of his guilt.

the night stretched on, cold and endless. the walls seemed to close in, the room once filled with warmth now unbearably hollow. the moonlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting pale shadows across the floor. the glow touched your hair, your face, and he thought you looked like something fleeting, like something he’d already lost.

“you don’t have to do this,” he finally muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, the words rough and uneven, as if dragged from the depths of his chest. your hands stilled, gripping a shirt tightly, but you didn’t turn to face him. instead, you closed your eyes, took a shaky breath, and let the silence answer for you.

he ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration, his jaw clenching so hard it ached. “please,” he tried again, his voice cracking, “just… just stay. we can figure this out.” his words hung in the air, fragile and desperate, but you didn’t move. instead, you placed the shirt in the suitcase, smoothing it down as though you hadn’t heard him.

toji felt the weight of his failures pressing down on him, suffocating him. his hands clenched into fists as he looked at you, his chest burning with the helplessness of it all. he wanted to get on his knees, to beg you not to go. but he knew—he’d always known—that this moment was inevitable.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, the words so soft they almost didn’t reach you. but they did, and you paused again, your hands trembling as you gripped the edge of the suitcase. you didn’t turn, didn’t look at him, but your voice, quiet and tired, finally broke the silence. “sorry doesn’t change anything, baby.”

his chest tightened with every word you spoke, each one cutting through him like a blade. they mirrored the ache already festering in his soul, a deep, unrelenting hurt he could no longer ignore. he knew you were right—sorry was just a word, a feeble attempt to patch the gaping wound he had inflicted.

he wanted to fight it, to protest, to swear on everything he had that he’d do better, that he’d fix what was broken. but the promises felt hollow, brittle things that couldn’t bear the weight of the pain between you. his guilt loomed over him like a thundercloud, heavy and oppressive, choking the words in his throat before they could form.

he swallowed hard, the lump in his throat almost unbearable. the silence that followed your words was suffocating, pressing in on him from all sides, stealing the air from his lungs. it was the kind of silence that left no room for hope—just a void where something beautiful used to be.

“where will you go?” he rasped at last, his voice barely above a whisper, rough and frayed from holding back the storm inside him. the question lingered in the air, fragile and trembling, like a ghost of all the things he wished he could say. he knew you had thought this through, planned every step with a careful precision that broke his heart all over again. but he wasn’t ready to hear it, to have the finality of it spoken aloud.

his gaze never left you, drinking in every detail like it was the last time he’d see you. the way your shoulders sagged under the weight of it all, the faint tremor in your hands as you folded your clothes with a quiet, mechanical detachment—it was unbearable. each movement of yours felt like another step away, another piece of you slipping from his grasp.

he ached to reach for you, to close the distance and feel your warmth beneath his fingertips, to remind himself that you were still here. but he couldn’t. the chasm between you was too wide, carved out by every mistake he’d made, every unspoken word, every moment of silence when you needed him most.

he sat there, paralyzed, watching as you drifted further away, knowing that no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t stop you from leaving. he couldn’t undo what had been done, couldn’t bridge the unrelenting void between your hearts. and it shattered him.

the weight of his question hung in the air, suffocating and unanswered. you didn’t look at him, couldn’t. your hands moved on autopilot, folding clothes and tucking them away into the suitcase, but your mind was far from the task. his voice had cracked when he asked, and the sound of it had carved another wound into your chest.

you didn’t respond. not because you hadn’t thought about where you’d go—god knows you had. you’d spent nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking of everything and nothing all at once. but now, with his question hanging in the stillness, the answer felt like a tether, something that might pull him toward you when you couldn’t afford to let him get close.

maybe it was because you didn’t trust yourself. if he showed up, if he found you, you weren’t sure you’d have the strength to stay away. you didn’t think you could withstand the gravity of him, the pull of his broken promises and desperate pleas. you weren’t sure you could stop yourself from falling into his arms all over again.

so instead, you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, “one day... one day, i’ll take megumi with me.” the words felt like a fragile thread, unraveling between the two of you. they weren’t meant to hurt him, but you knew they would. and they did.

toji flinched like you’d struck him, his hands clenching into fists against his thighs. his head snapped up, his dark eyes locking onto yours, wide with something between shock and desperation. “you’d take him?” he asked, his voice barely audible, trembling with a mixture of fear and anger.

you hummed softly, the sound so quiet it was almost swallowed by the heavy silence in the room. it wasn’t meant to be cruel, but the truth of it hung in the air, sharp and unforgiving. your hands stilled for a moment, clutching a folded shirt before you placed it carefully into the suitcase, as if the act could ground you.

“megumi deserves a better life,” you murmured, your voice steady but hollow, like the words were coming from somewhere deep, unreachable. you kept your gaze on the suitcase, unwilling to meet his eyes and see the anguish you knew would be there. “better everything… better than this.”

the last word caught in your throat, but you pushed forward, the weight of what you had to say pressing down on you. “better dad.”

the words left your lips like a whisper, soft and deliberate, but they landed with the force of a sledgehammer. you didn’t mean it to be an attack, but you couldn’t hold back the truth any longer. it wasn’t just about you—it was about megumi, about the kind of man and father he needed.

his heart fractured under the weight of your words, splintering into countless shards that cut him from the inside out. his lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came, only the quiet gasp of a man brought to his knees by the truth. his eyes stayed fixed on yours, pain swirling in their depths like a storm he couldn’t escape.

your words stung, sharp and unyielding, wounding his pride and stripping bare the fragile veneer of his ego. but beneath the sting, he couldn’t deny the truth they carried. he had failed—not just as a father, but as someone you could rely on. he had failed both of you.

his jaw tightened, muscles clenching until his teeth ached, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “how dare you,” he muttered, his voice rough, scraping against the silence. anger ignited in his chest, quick and consuming, burning like dry kindling caught in a blaze. It was easier to give in to that anger, to use it as a shield, than to confront the overwhelming weight of his guilt. He wanted to refute you, to insist he was trying, that he cared more than you could understand. But the words tangled in his throat, heavy and useless, strangled by his own inadequacy.

with a sharp motion, he stood, the scrape of the chair loud against the floor. his movements were stiff, his body rigid as though holding himself together by sheer will alone. he stepped closer to you, his presence a forceful weight, his dark eyes clouded with emotions too raw to name—hurt, regret, defiance.

“you don’t get to decide what’s best for him,” he growled, his voice low and unsteady, the edges frayed by a desperation he couldn’t hide. the words came out rough, jagged, as if they were torn from him against his will, the only defense he could muster against the truth you’d laid bare. and yet, even as he spoke, the hollowness in his chest deepened, a chasm opening wide as he realized how little power he had left to keep either of you close.

you paused, your hands stilling over the suitcase as his words cut through the air, sharp and heated. slowly, you turned to face him, your gaze calm but piercing, steady even as the storm of his anger loomed over you.

toji stood before you, his tall, imposing frame trembling with tension, fists clenched at his sides. his eyes, dark and wild, bore into yours, but you didn’t flinch. instead, you tilted your head slightly, studying him like he was a puzzle you’d long since solved.

“do you even know,” you began, your voice quiet, controlled, “that megumi is sick right now?”

the question hit him like a punch to the gut. his brows furrowed, and for a moment, he looked genuinely lost. “what are you talking about?” he demanded, his voice still rough, but the fire in it flickered, uncertainty creeping in. you let out a soft, humorless laugh, the sound filled with exhaustion rather than mirth. “exactly,” you whispered, the weight of your words pressing down like a heavy stone.

you pushed yourself up from the floor, standing to meet him eye to eye, though his towering figure still loomed over you. “he’s had a fever for two days,” you continued, your voice steady but edged with pain. “he’s been coughing, barely eating, and clinging to me because he doesn’t know where his father is.”

his anger deflated in an instant, replaced by a cold realization that hit him like a freight train. the color drained from his face, eyes widening in a mix of shock and disbelief.

he’d been so wrapped up in his own guilt, his own shortcomings, that he hadn’t even noticed his own son was sick. the reality of it felt like a dagger to the heart. he took a step back, away from you, as if to distance himself from the truth. “i... i didn’t know,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of the confession.

you let out a bitter laugh, sharp and cutting, the sound bouncing off the walls like a cruel echo. it wasn’t loud, but it sliced through the air with more force than any shout could. shaking your head, you turned back to the suitcase, resuming your task with trembling hands. “you never know, toji,” you said, your voice low but trembling with restrained anger. “never there.”

for what felt like the hundredth time that night, his heart sank, heavy and aching, beneath the weight of your words. they struck with a bluntness that left no room for denial, carving through him with their unrelenting truth. the sting of them burned, sharp and unforgiving, and he felt the urge to fight back, to argue, to plead his case. he wanted to shout that he was trying, that he cared, that he’d been there in the ways he could. but the excuses lodged in his throat, crumbling to ash before they could take shape.

his eyes flickered to your hands, trembling as they folded the fabric in front of you with methodical precision. every movement betrayed the pain you held back, the frustration, the hurt that lingered unspoken. your voice, though steady, carried the weight of all the words you hadn’t said, words that would have gutted him even more.

he stepped back, the distance between you widening with every moment, and raked a hand through his hair, his frustration spilling over in jagged waves. “i’m... i’m trying, goddamnit,” he choked out, his voice raw and unsteady, like a desperate man grasping at straws. but even as the words left his lips, they felt hollow, a frail echo of the truth he wished he could give you.

you didn’t look up, didn’t pause, didn’t waver. your hands moved steadily, folding each piece of clothing with a care that belied the storm brewing in your chest. his words—i’m trying—hung in the air, but they felt hollow, an echo of promises that had long since lost their meaning. “let’s not lie to ourselves, toji,” you said quietly, your voice devoid of the anger it held moments before. now it was just tired, resigned, as if you’d given up on expecting more from him. “we both know it’s not true.”

the weight of your words settled in the room like a thick fog, heavy and suffocating. you didn’t bother to glance at him, your focus entirely on the task at hand. the suitcase was nearly full now, the sight of it both a relief and a heartache.

“i hope,” you began, your voice soft but firm, “you can keep megumi safe. just for a year or two. take care of him while i’m gone.” you paused, fingers smoothing out a small wrinkle in one of megumi’s shirts. “then i’ll come back for him.” the words cut deeper than anything else you’d said. they weren’t laced with anger or bitterness. they were just the truth, laid bare, unflinching and cold.

toji felt like the air had been knocked out of him. his fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he watched you. gone. you were going to leave, to walk away from him, from this. the thought of it was unbearable, but the way you spoke of megumi—calm, certain, like you’d already planned your exit—shattered something inside him, and it anger him.

in your heart, you knew how furious toji was, even if he didn’t show it the way he usually did—with raised voices or slammed doors. this was a quiet, simmering anger, the kind that vibrated in the air between you, heavy and tense. and you understood why. you knew it wasn’t just your words that had stung—it was the truth behind them. megumi was his son, his flesh and blood, his responsibility. not yours. he had every right to be angry, to feel the weight of your accusation. but that didn’t make it any less true.

toji was mad, indeed. you could feel it in the way he stood rigidly by the bed, his broad frame tense, his fists clenched as if trying to physically hold himself together. but you also knew he wasn’t just mad at you.

he was mad at himself.

he was mad because deep down, he knew you were right. he was a deadbeat dad, and it wasn’t something he could argue against, no matter how much he wanted to. the reality of it stung worse than anything you could have said. but maybe that wasn’t the only reason for his anger. maybe it was because megumi was the last thing he had left of her—his late wife, the woman he’d loved so fiercely and lost so tragically. every time he looked at his son, he saw her in the curve of his smile, in the brightness of his eyes.

or maybe it wasn’t even that. maybe it was because, somewhere along the way, he’d started to see megumi in the moments you shared with him—the way you hugged him, laughed with him, cared for him in a way that toji couldn’t.

megumi was a reminder. a painful one. of everything toji had lost, everything he could never get back, and everything he didn’t deserve. and now, here you were, talking about taking him away.

it was too much.

toji’s jaw tightened, his chest rising and falling with the effort to keep himself from exploding. he turned his face away from you, his dark eyes shadowed with an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

his voice broke through the heavy silence, sharp and trembling with anger, his words cutting through the tension like a blade. “how dare you,” he growled, his tone low and dangerous, yet tinged with something deeper—pain, fear, desperation. “how dare you say something like that. take my kid? my kid that isn’t even yours?”

you stopped folding mid-motion, your hands frozen over the fabric as his words hung in the air. they hit you like a slap, stinging and raw, but you didn’t let it show. you stayed still for a moment, your shoulders stiff, before slowly placing the shirt into the suitcase.

your chest burned, your throat tight as you swallowed the lump threatening to rise. you didn’t look at him as you spoke, your voice eerily calm, soft but firm, the way you might talk to someone teetering on the edge of reason.

“yes, he’s your kid,” you said, still focused on the task at hand. “but tell me, toji, where were you when he needed his father? when he was sick and crying for someone to hold him, where were you?”

you finally looked up at him then, your eyes meeting his with a steady, unwavering gaze. the words that followed weren’t meant to be cruel, but they came out with an edge nonetheless. “being a father isn’t just about blood. it’s about showing up. and you? you haven’t been there.”

toji’s anger flickered in his eyes, a sharp contrast to your steady calm. your words hit a nerve he didn’t know he had, but you pushed on, your voice cool and measured, even as your heart ached at the truth behind it. “yeah, i wasn’t there,” he snarled, his voice hoarse with anger and something that almost felt like shame. “i wasn’t there. so what? that doesn’t give you the right to just take him away. you think you can just come in and take him from me?” he finally spat, his voice louder now, rising with the heat of his emotions. “what gives you the right?”

your lips pressed into a thin line, the fire in his voice igniting something deep inside you. you stood, the weight of his accusations forcing you to meet him on equal ground. “i don’t want to take him from you,” you said, your voice rising now, matching his intensity. “but someone has to make sure he’s okay! someone has to love him, to care for him, to actually be there for him. if you can’t do that, then yes, toji, i’ll take him. because he deserves better than this!”

the room seemed to vibrate with the force of your words, the air between you crackling with tension. toji’s chest rose and fell as he stared at you, his dark eyes flickering with a mix of anger, guilt, and something softer—something vulnerable that he tried desperately to hide. toji’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles almost white. your words hit him like a punch, but they also struck a chord deep within him, one he wasn’t willing to admit.

“you think i don’t know that?” he growled, his voice hoarse, a slight waver in it betraying the anger that rolled off him like a wave. “you think i don’t know he deserves better? i’m his father.” he took a step forward, closing the gap between you. he loomed over you, trying to use his size to intimidate you, but you stood your ground, refusing to be cowed. you lifted your chin, your eyes meeting his straight on, refusing to back down.

“then act like it,” you snapped, your voice still steady despite the turmoil in your chest. “don’t just stand there making excuses. do something, toji. be a father.” there was a pause, a moment of silence between you. toji’s jaw clenching, his eyes glittering with a mixture of anger and something else you couldn’t quite place.

when he spoke again, his voice had softened, his words tinged with a hint of defeat. “it’s not that simple.”

you held his gaze, studying him, trying to see past the defensiveness to the heart of him. “then make it simple,” you said, your tone firm yet gentle. “find a way.” toji visibly hesitated, the fight slowly seeping out of him. he looked away, his shoulders slumping as he ran a hand through his hair. the silence stretched between you, filled with the weight of his uncertainty.

toji’s jaw clenched as he stared at you, his chest heaving with the effort of keeping his anger in check. the way you said it, like it was so simple—as if he could just wave a hand and fix everything—it grated against every raw nerve he had left. he scoffed, a bitter sound that held no humor, his dark eyes narrowing on you. “you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he spat, his voice low and sharp, dripping with frustration.

“you don’t know anything about being a parent,” he spat, his eyes dark and accusing. “you can’t even have a child.” the moment the words left his mouth, the air in the room changed. it was as if time itself froze, the weight of his statement hanging heavy in the silence. his voice had been sharp, cutting, but it wasn’t just anger that colored his tone—it was desperation, shame, and the bitter need to lash out, to deflect his own failings onto you.

you stared at him, your hands falling still, the fabric slipping through your fingers as if the weight of his words had drained all strength from you. your breath hitched, your chest tightening painfully as his accusation sunk in. he regretted them. but it was too late. they hung in the air between you like a knife, sharp and unforgiving, and toji could see the way they sliced through you. the way your hands stilled, the way your breath caught, your lips parting in a silent gasp.

he hated himself in that moment. hated the way he’d let his anger and pride control him, the way he’d reached for the lowest blow just to protect himself from the shame, the guilt of knowing you were right.

but he couldn’t take it back. and maybe, deep down, some part of him didn’t want to. some bitter, broken part of him had wanted to lash out, to make you feel even a fraction of the pain he carried every day. and now he watched as his words hit you, as they crushed you, and it felt like he’d just taken a knife to his own chest. your face didn’t crumble, didn’t break like he thought it would. no, you just stared at him, your eyes wide and glassy, like you were holding back the tidal wave of emotions threatening to drown you.

toji couldn’t move. couldn’t speak. his fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as if the pain might wake him up from this nightmare he’d created. he wanted to take it back, to say anything else, to tell you he didn’t mean it.

you couldn’t believe it, couldn’t wrap your mind around the cruelty of his words as they echoed in the silence between you. your hands froze mid-motion, the fabric slipping from your grasp like it had lost all meaning. it felt like the air had been sucked from the room, leaving you gasping, suffocating on the weight of his accusation.

you looked at him, disbelief painted across your face, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision. he knew. he knew. your legs felt weak as you slowly pushed yourself to your feet, every motion deliberate, like moving through water. your hand trembled as it found his cheek—not in anger, not in violence, but in an aching, desperate need to ground yourself in the reality of what he had just said.

“how dare you,” you whispered, your voice breaking under the strain of holding yourself together. your chest heaved as you struggled to breathe, as though the pain of his words had physically struck you.

your fist found his shoulder—not with force, but with the raw weight of your anguish, the emotion pouring out of you in waves. tears spilled freely down your cheeks now, hot and relentless, carving paths down your skin like they were trying to etch the pain into your very being.

“how dare you,” you repeated, your voice cracking, the words barely above a whisper but heavy, so heavy. the phrase tumbled from your lips over and over again, each time weaker, more broken, as though the weight of it was too much for you to carry.

you gasped, your breath hitching as your body trembled under the strain of your emotions. you hit him again, and again, tears spilling down your cheeks as you repeated the words like a broken mantra. “how dare you,” you choked, the phrase splintering in your throat as your fist faltered, falling uselessly against him. “how dare you...”

he was there. he knew. he’d been there the day your world collapsed, the day the doctor delivered the words that turned your dreams to ash. he was the one who held you as you screamed into his chest, the one who stroked your hair when you cried yourself to sleep night after night. to hear him—to hear the man who had once wiped your tears, who had once told you it didn’t matter, that you were enough—use it against you... it felt like a blade, twisting slowly, cruelly.

toji stayed still as you hit him, his body taut as a bowstring, the blow of your accusation and your raw, desperate words striking deeper than any blow you could have given him physically. his eyes, dark and hard, watched you, a maelstrom of emotions raging in their depths. he let you hit him, his face stoic, his body unmoving. he wanted to reach out, to pull you into his arms and hold you tight. but the words he had spoken hung in the air between you like a barrier he couldn't breach.

but as you repeated the words like a litany of pain, something in toji broke— each one spilling from your lips like a prayer for mercy, toji’s insides twisted painfully. it was like you had taken the sharpest blade and twisted it into his chest, the weight of your anguish crushing every ounce of him. he had been the cause of it all, the one who had driven you to this raw, desperate place, and in that realization, something inside him fractured. he couldn’t bear to see you like this, to hear the anguish in your voice, and know that he was the cause. with a sharp intake of breath, he reached for you, his hands closing around your wrists, stopping you from continuing your onslaught.

he couldn’t look at you any longer. he couldn’t stand the hurt in your eyes, the way you were so vulnerable, so broken before him. it wasn’t just the sting of your words that cut deep, it was the way you had so carefully peeled back his walls, exposing everything he had buried. the thought of losing his son, of you taking megumi away, it was like a sickening twist in his gut. and the thought of you leaving him—abandoning him—wrecked something far more delicate inside him. megumi, his reminder of everything that could be lost, hung heavily in his chest, a cruel echo that threatened to drown him.

and yet, even though the pain inside him was unbearable, there was something else—a defense mechanism. a cold, jagged shield that he pulled over himself as he stared at you, his green irises darkening to almost black. the words formed in his throat like acid, burning and bitter, but they didn’t stop. he couldn’t stop them. he clenched his teeth to stave off the flood of guilt threatening to rise within him.

you stood before him, a shattered shell of the person he once knew, and still, all he could think of was the hurt, the betrayal that was eating him alive. so, he said it. his grip tightened on your wrists, his fingers digging into your skin as though that could somehow stop the torrent of pain he was drowning in.

“marry you?” he spat, his voice rough with venom, with the desperation to push you away. “play house and family with you? you’re not even good enough to be a wife. what? a mother? don’t be joking.”

there was no other way to hurt you more. he knew it, and he said it anyway, as though those words could silence the storm raging inside him. they were meant to cut, to break you as much as you had broken him. he saw the way your face fell, the tremble in your hands, the way your breath caught painfully in your throat, and a twisted satisfaction curled in his chest. it was poison—poison that tasted worse with every passing second, but he didn’t stop. he couldn’t stop.

he released your wrists abruptly, as though you had burned him. the sound of his breath came harsh and shallow, his heart pounding like a drumbeat in his ears. without looking back, he turned and stormed out of the bedroom, the door slamming behind him with a force that shook the house to its foundation. the noise echoed down the empty hallways like a warning bell, and toji couldn’t help but feel the weight of it, the finality in the sound.

he didn’t dare turn around. not now. not after what he had said. the shame was too thick, the guilt too suffocating. toji fushiguro had been a coward. he had said the most terrible things to you, knowing how they would land, knowing how they would shatter you. but in the moment, his pride, his fear, his own suffocating pain had all been louder than the love he had for you. and he couldn’t take it back. no, he wouldn’t.

he walked down the hallway, each step heavier than the last, until he reached megumi’s room. the door was slightly ajar, and for a fleeting moment, toji paused, his heart lurching at the thought of his son—his son, who still believed in him, who still loved him despite everything. he could almost feel the weight of the boy’s presence, the innocence of his sleep, and it brought a rush of guilt over him.

he pushed the door open slowly, silently, and found megumi sleeping soundly in his bed, the peaceful rise and fall of his chest a stark contrast to the chaos that churned in toji’s soul. the boy’s small, serene face was untouched by the darkness that had plagued his father for so long. and for a moment, just a fleeting moment, toji thought of how easy it could be to be like him—untouched, unburdened, innocent.

but that thought was gone almost as soon as it had appeared. he was a failure—a coward—a man too broken to protect the things he loved.

without a sound, he sat down on the edge of the bed, watching his son sleep. the room was quiet, but the silence between him and everything that was wrong with his life felt suffocating. toji ran a hand through his hair, rubbing his temples as though trying to erase the weight of the words he had spoken, trying to push them out of his mind. but it was no use. they would stay with him, hanging in the air like smoke, suffocating him from the inside out.

he thought of you. he thought of how he had hurt you, how he had used your deepest wound against you, and how he couldn’t take it back. and he hated himself for it. he hated himself more than he had ever hated anyone or anything before. but that self-loathing was buried beneath a thick layer of pride, of fear, of pain. and so, he sat there, next to his son, hoping for something—anything—that would make it all right again. but there was nothing. there was only silence.

and as the hours passed, toji found that the longer he sat there, the more the guilt became unbearable. but he couldn’t move. he couldn’t leave. he was stuck in the very prison he had built for himself, trapped by his own weakness, and no matter how hard he tried to escape, he could not.

it was winter, and the snow fell gently, dusting the world outside with its soft, white touch. the coldness pressed against the window of the car, the small flakes drifting down like feathers in the quiet of the evening. inside, however, there was warmth—warmth that had little to do with the heater and everything to do with the presence beside you. your eyes wandered out the window, catching the view of an alley you knew too well, a path you had walked through countless times in your life. the alley, though ordinary to most, was a place of memories for you. its cracked pavement, the dim light from the streetlamps that had once seemed so far away—it had seen the darkest parts of your life and now, somehow, it felt different. it was like the alley had softened, just like you had.

despite the cold of the world outside, you felt a strange warmth curling within you, wrapping you in comfort. there was a fullness to your heart now, an unspoken happiness that you had longed for. hunger, both physical and emotional, had faded into something distant, as if the universe itself had conspired to fill the spaces you once thought empty. and as you sat there, in the car, with the soft snowfall outside and the quiet hum of the engine, you realized that you were no longer alone. not in the way you once were. there was someone beside you now, someone whose presence filled every corner of your soul.

a hand, strong yet gentle, brushed against yours, the touch warm against the cold air. the sensation made your chest tighten, but in the best way, like the world had finally decided to be kind to you. his thumb rubbed softly against your skin, an action so tender it almost made you forget to breathe. you flickered your eyes, caught in the unexpected warmth, and then turned to your left. your heart skipped a beat when your gaze met his. there, right beside you, were eyes the color of the sky on the brightest of days, a blue so deep it felt like you were gazing into the soul of the world itself.

his hair, almost as white as the snow outside, framed his face like an ethereal halo. the sight of him made everything around you seem to fade away—time, space, even the cold. his smile, warm and effortless, was a mix of boyish charm and cheeky confidence, like he had always known how to make you smile without even trying. it was a smile that spoke of history, of shared moments, of promises kept and futures built. it was the smile that had saved you countless times, the one that always made you feel like no matter what happened, everything would be alright.

he leaned closer, and the familiar warmth of his presence surrounded you. his hand, large and strong, slid to your hair, brushing it away from your face, tucking it behind your ear with a softness that belied his usual confidence. his touch was gentle, deliberate, as though he was savoring the moment just as much as you were. his eyes never left yours, the sincerity in his gaze a quiet promise, an unspoken truth.

“are you ready?” his voice was soft, but there was something in it, something deeper, like he was asking more than just whether you were ready to step out of the car.

you hum softly, a smile tugging at your lips as you meet his gaze. there’s something in the way he looks at you, something that makes the whole world seem right. you nod, the smile growing a little wider, more genuine. “yeah,” you whisper, almost to yourself. “i’m ready.”

with a slight shift, you feel the warmth of his hand on your waist, pulling you closer, grounding you in his presence. his touch is familiar, comforting, like a steady anchor in a world that once felt so uncertain. and as his fingers press gently against your side, you know that this is where you’re meant to be. not just here, but with him—his warmth, his strength, his confidence. it’s all-consuming, filling the emptiness that once clung to your heart. with gojo satoru, you feel full. loved. whole. in a way that toji never could offer you, no matter how many times you tried.

you step out of the car, your shoes crunching softly against the snow as you move beside him. every step feels like a promise, and the weight of it doesn’t scare you—not when he’s right there, guiding you forward, keeping you steady. you don't have to look back. you don’t have to think about toji or the past. because with gojo, there’s only the present. there’s only now, and in that moment, now feels perfect.

when you finally stop in front of the house, the sight of it hits you like a punch to the gut. it’s just as it was before, dull, gray, like a shadow of the life you once had here. the memories, so vivid, crash into you—laughs shared, tears spilled, promises made, and then broken. your hands tighten into fists at your sides, and for a moment, you’re unsure if it’s the cold or something else that makes your chest tighten. you wonder if this place still holds the ghosts of your past, the ones that haunt every corner, every crack in the walls.

you glance up at the house, trying to picture it differently. trying to picture it as the home it was meant to be. but instead, your mind wanders to megumi. how tall is he now? you wonder. has he changed? the little things that once made him him—have they stayed the same? and then, your thoughts shift, dark and unspoken. you wonder if toji has been kind to him. you wonder if he’s been taking good care of his son.

the doubts swirl in your mind, almost suffocating, and for a second, you feel the weight of everything—past mistakes, lost time, the fear of what might have been. but then gojo’s presence pulls you back, steadying you. his hand still rests on your waist, a silent reminder that, no matter what happens, you’re not alone.

with a deep breath, you push the thoughts aside, focusing on the present, on the here and now. it’s time to pick up megumi.

beneath the ancient tree, buried in the soft silence of snow, he watches you. unseen, as he has been for years, he stands in the shadows, a ghost of what he once was, bound by the chains of his own mistakes.

you are radiant, bathed in winter’s light, your laughter spilling into the air like a song he can no longer hear. you’re playing family, your hands cradling a boy he knows is his but feels like yours. your son, your life. the man beside you, your husband, is everything he was too broken to be. he knows this, and still, it cuts deeper than the cold that seeps into his skin.

the snow around you glitters with a brightness that feels cruel. he almost imagines the soft hum of Christmas carols spilling from your home, the jingle of bells echoing faintly in his mind. he can see megumi, eyes wide with wonder, rushing toward the tree, his tiny hands tearing into brightly wrapped presents. toji knows he hasn’t given him even one in years.

and then, for the first time, he notices something unfamiliar, something almost foreign—those faint, delicate wrinkles around megumi’s eyes when he smiles, a smile so pure, so whole, it steals the breath from his chest. he watches as his son gazes up at you, small fingers wrapped tightly around yours, his little eyes filled with love so boundless it feels like a knife twisting in his gut.

he almost doesn’t recognize that smile, and it hits him like a tidal wave—he’s forgotten what it looks like. after you left, there was no more laughter, no light. his home became a hollow shell, filled with nothing but heavy silences and echoes of what could have been. none of the smiles reached their eyes—megumi’s or his.

he swallows hard, but the lump in his throat only grows heavier, bitter like the regret he’s carried for years. the weight of it presses down on him now, unbearable, inescapable. it’s not your fault, nor your husband’s, not even megumi’s. the blame lies squarely with him—his reckless hands, his selfish choices. he ruined it all, crushed his life beneath his own fists like a man desperate to destroy what he didn’t believe he deserved.

and as he stands there, watching you, his son, your family—his family—he feels the ache of it all, sharp and unrelenting. the life he lost unfolds before him like a distant dream, close enough to see but too far to touch. the snow falls heavier now, wrapping the world in white, but no amount of winter’s beauty can hide the hollowness in his chest.

he watches, and he wonders, if somewhere deep in his son’s smile, there is a piece of him left—or if it’s all gone, just like you. and if there is none, he understands.

he sold megumi, after all.

#toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji angst #toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen angst #anime angst #jjk angst #angst #jjk fanfiction #jjk fics

234 notes · View notes