#This reminds me -- she is so naturally instinctively understanding of him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cryb4byem · 16 days ago

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Purgatorium Part II

Kyojuro Rengoku x ArrangedMarriage! Reader

cw: 14.1k words, canon typical violence/injury, alcoholism, mild parental abuse/neglect

part one here

Every cell. Every fiber felt like it was trying to break free from your body. You had no idea what you were about to learn, and your implosion felt inevitable if you didn’t find out.

The head of the Butterfly Mansion, the Insect Hashira, greeted you at the door. “Thank you for coming so swiftly, and by yourself. I am aware of your father-in-law's condition as well as how young your brother-in-law is.” She slid on a pair of white linen gloves before continuing.

“I’m sure you would like to know why my crow alerted you so suddenly.” If you weren’t wracked with panic, you would’ve admired her graceful, natural beauty. It seemed her almost enigmatic equanimity was the only thing keeping those around her, including you from spiraling.

Her measured countenance and calm voice couldn’t have contrasted more with the state of the room around her. Three kakushi were slumped over each other, their faces to the wall quietly crying. Meanwhile other small girls with similar butterfly hair clips went in and out of the room beyond her with a controlled franticness.

“Please listen to me carefully.” Her amethyst eyes pierced yours with a seriousness that was frankly, unsettling. “There was a confrontation between the Flame Pillar and the 3rd most powerful demon of Kibutsuji’s ranks about an hour ago.” Your breath catches in your throat, at the words. The 3rd most powerful demon?

“He sustained severe transfixion trauma to his epigastric region. We moved quickly, and kept the demon’s limb in place as long as we could, and in that time he was able to stop most of the blood loss using a breathing technique.” Your hand shakily covers your mouth, the savagery of the attack, and the horror of such an injury were almost too much for you.

“The amount of pain he is managing while conscious is unnatural, and quite concerning. We have been trying to sedate him since he arrived, but he begged to wait until you got here.” Her sharp gaze left you finally, shifting to the floor. “Despite his state, he was quite stubborn, and resisted our attempts to give it to him anyway.”

You speak in a tensed whisper, “C-can I see him?” Each syllable was dragged from the pit of your body, you needed every bit of strength to not lose all composure.

“Yes, quickly please. I trust you understand the criticality of this situation.” Shinobu looked over her shoulder to a young girl with bright blue eyes and pigtails as she turned into the room that seemed to be at the heart of the commotion in the Butterfly Mansion.

“Aoi… please pull up the sheet on the Flame Pillar.” The girl’s brow furrowed in concentration, releases as she sees you, expression softening as she nods to Shinobu before disappearing behind the room’s entryway.

“You can go ahead now.” Shinobu tells you finally. Upon her permission you begin hurrying into the room Aoi just turned into. “I just want to remind you we are doing all we can, and he is relatively stable for now… but… just be prepared…”

You look over your shoulder back at Shinobu, words failing you before going in. The air hung heavy beyond the doorway, three little girls stood to the back wall awaiting orders while the slightly older girl, Aoi lighty ran a damp cloth over Kyojuro’s forehead. Delusionally, you imagined it was due to his warmth, the perpetual warmth emanating from his body everywhere he went, and not the onset of a stress induced fever and intense pain.

He laid, left eye wrapped in layers of bandage wrapping around his head, the thin hospital bed linens drawn to the base of his neck. Each of his labored inhale and exhale audible, a testament to his will actively clinging him to consciousness and keeping the looming threat of bleeding out at bay.

His right eye fluttered open at your presence even without saying a word, the keen instincts of a warrior sharp as ever.

“My flam-ACK.” He jumped to sit up, only for a guttural cough to send an abrupt jolt through his body, putting him onto his back. Laying immobilized once again, his breathing intensifying.

“Rengoku-sama! Your wound! Shinobu-san told you not to move!” The little voice of one of the young girls behind you calls out her voice cracking, riddled with fear.

His face contorts in discomfort, straining to utter “My apologies…” The words tumble out almost as if he doesn’t even know who he is saying it to; the little girls, you, himself, or maybe someone not even there.

You look deeply into his uninjured eye, the bright golden orb that even now was completely free of clouds. You kneel at his bedside, feeling tears beginning to burn in the corners of your own eyes, you try to keep your tone as reassuring as possible and not let on how terrified you are. “Everything is going to be ok, alright?”

His lips curl into a soft smile, his gaze softens, melting into yours like a stream of amber. You waited anxiously for a response, any response.

“Are you in pain?” His gentle expression remains unchanged as if he had just awoken from an afternoon nap, looking back at you.

“Not anymore… If you’re here, I won’t feel a thing. I am fine, please do not worry.” His eye clamps shut as another searing pain courses through his body, making his breathing stutter again with a curt strangled groan. Despite what he said, it was clear he was in agony.

“Kyojuro…” Your brow furrows with concern as your eyes rake over his battered form. You look deeply into his eye intently trying to imprint every detail into your mind, as if the light may drain from it at any moment.

You didn’t even hear Shinobu’s delicate footsteps on the wooden floors or notice her until you looked up to see her at his opposite bedside, you were taken aback by her sudden presence. You shouldn’t be surprised, she is a hashira after all.

“I’m sorry. We cannot wait any longer for the sedative. The more time goes without it…” She spoke solemnly, as though she knew what she needed to do, but almost didn’t have the heart to do it, almost.

You felt one of the three small girls try to pull you back by your arm, “Ma’am please! Shinobu-san needs to work, you need to leave this room!” The words don’t even faze you, unmoving from your spot at his bedside. Making it clear to the entire Butterfly Mansion your stubbornness was only matched by Kyojuro’s himself.

“Please don’t take him from me, not now. Please don't let someone else abandon me.”

The words echo in your mind, like a cacophony of a lifetime of anxiety thrust to the surface all at once.

“She can stay. I’ll allow it.” Shinobu spoke, not taking her focus from the vial as she filled it with a solution, flicking it firmly to disperse any air bubbles.

You feel the small girl release your arm going back to stand with the other two. You kept looking at Kyojuro, scared to look away, as if it was the last time you would ever bask in the warmth of his gaze.

“My flame, let me tell you a few things.” His voice was steady but strained, each word laced with sincerity.

“You don’t need to say anything… just save your strength.” You felt as though you were pleading with him at this point.

“You’ve done enough, just rest.”

You want to say to him, but you could see the seriousness on his face. Every man deserves to do with their last moments what they wish, and if these were just that, you would not be the one to deny him that.

“Please, I want you to tell Senjuro he ought to follow the path he knows to be true, whatever path that may be. Remind my father to take care of his body.”

You look at Shinobu, almost as if to ask if there should be more witnesses to what could be the last words of the Flame Hashira, but she continued working, not even glancing down at you as she began administering the vial.

“And I want you to know that I love you.”

The tears you held in your eyes finally began to escape, your vision was cloaked in obscurity, but what did it even matter? As if anything was truly clear right now.

“I love you too.” That was clear to you if nothing else. What were otherwise the three most beautiful words one could utter to another, felt like they were just another deep wound you both inflicted each other with. Had he even heard what you said? Knowing him, he would feel personally responsible for the notion that another person would be agonizing over his condition.

The onslaught of emotion finally manifests in a strangled sob, wiping the tears from your eyes with the back of your sleeve. Seeing his golden iris enveloped beneath his closed eyelid and breathing softened, it is obvious the vial Shinobu gave him had already taken effect.

Pressing the back of two fingers to his forehead, the only thing that you can use to ground yourself is that same unyielding warmth he radiated.

—————————————

You aren’t sure how many hours you’d been in the room. Time didn’t feel like it was passing. Maybe a part of you thought that if you kept looking at him long enough, you could pretend maybe he was finally getting the rest he deserved and not in a catatonic, forced respite from the wound that should have taken his life.

“You should go home. I’ll keep an eye on him personally.” Shinobu's voice was lighter than the chirp of a sparrow. “Trust me, the best recovery is sleep. Sometimes slayers sleep for months here, regaining their strength.”

You cock your head over your shoulder to look at her, eyes wide and mouth agape. She raised a pointed finger, she was like a doll the way a perpetual contentment was painted to her face, it was a bit uncanny.

“Not that I’m saying this will happen here. I induced the comatose state he is in, so everything is controlled, I made the compound so that he would naturally awaken when his body is in better condition.”

This woman was truly a genius apothecarist, how did she even learn to make such a solution?

“I see…” You didn’t want to stand yet; you craved just a moment more in his presence. You try to smile at her genuinely, but you knew it must have looked just as contrived as hers did. You didn’t have Kyojuro’s gift—the ability to smile authentically and joyfully, no matter how bleak things appeared.

“Before you go, can I give you his personal effects?” Your eyes moved from the floor to meet hers, nodding with the same polite smile still plastered on.

Shinobu took a package that couldn’t have contained more than a couple items from one of the youngest girls that helped around the Butterfly Mansion, transferring it into your grasp.

Removing the thread and paper encasing the items, Shinobu stood unmoving before you, her eyes following your hands. Despite the smile she armed herself with, her gaze deepened, like this was something she understood all too well.

Seeing the familiar kaen pattern, you stroked the back of your hand across the sturdy fabric of the Flame Hashira haori. Only to freeze as you feel something solid wrapped inside of it. Without hesitation, you reached within the white accented garment to pull out a rectangular box.

Could it be? Sliding the lid from the basin of the firm container to see delicate metal and crystal intertwined to make a plum blossom hairpin, the same kind that had saved your life not long ago. Your hands tremble uncontrollably as you remove it from its resting place.

“We found it in his pocket, even with the aftermath of the battle and the panic as he was rushed in, he implored us to be gentle in handling it…”

After your first hairpin broke he must’ve planned to bring a new one for you that morning. Even with a gaping wound, he was concerning himself with being able to offer you an undamaged gift to replace the one he initially gave you when you arrived.

You clutched the package as if it was sacred, like maybe that if you didn’t, it would all slip through your grasp and cease to be like everything seemed to at the moment.

“Thank you for everything…” You finally broke the silence, your voice barely above a whisper. You lower yourself to bow to Shinobu, before leaving, perhaps leaving a part of yourself behind as you do.

—————————————

There was a general malaise of silence at the house in contrast to the mid morning light, seemingly blanketing the grounds as if it was just another day. Something felt wrong about returning here alone from the Butterfly Estate. You scoured for the younger Rengoku, no doubt wanting– needing an update on the state of his older brother.

You finally found him sitting alone in a room holding a sheathed sword in his lap. His head lowered as if in surrender, he was trembling as if terrified of what laid beneath the sheath.

You didn’t even know Senjuro owned a blade, it seemed ornamental at best. It looked as though it had never used a day since it was forged.

Upon seeing you, his hazed and shaky expression was replaced with a mix of worry. Before he could ask you the burning question that had no doubt been haunting him, you notice a patch of tender skin on his cheek, an abrasion that looked as though it would bruise.

“What happened to your face?” You lean lower yourself next to him to inspect, running your thumb over the skin, flushed red and running warm from the inflammation.

He turned his face to conceal the sore cheek from your view, putting his own hand over it. “One of the other swordsmen that joined brother on the mission came by the house…” His gaze faltered, shifting to looking at the ground. “He wanted to apologize… he was ashamed, for not being able to do more in that battle.”

“Father began insulting my brother, then suddenly was enraged by the slayer. Things began escalating. I tried to protect the slayer, and Father hit me…”

You couldn’t believe the words you heard. You were sickened to your core. Beyond the scope of a Hashira, the scope of a patriarch, how could a father act this way?

Words are one thing, as merciless as they were, especially to a man fighting for his life, but to strike someone so much smaller and weaker was despicable. Both were so egregious, it was impossible to even say which was worse.

Taking a moment, you calmed yourself down, grounding your thoughts before responding. “Are you ok?”

Senjuro kept his face angled down and the evidence of the violence that had occurred in your own home while you were out.

“I’m fine… this is nothing.” He dragged his sleeve across his eyes with a soft sniffle, you could see how hard he worked to hide his emotions coming to the surface, there was something more important to him. “My brother… is he…?”

“He’s… sleeping, that’s all. They’re doing everything they can… ” You feel a lump forming in your throat at the words. You didn’t want to acknowledge what you were both thinking just as much as Senjuro didn’t want to.

“I-I see.” His gaze stayed low to the ground, even as his fists balled at his sides with resolve. “Maybe… it will work now. It has to.”

Senjuro shakily removed the blade from its cover, sticking it straight in the air, looking up at it with anticipation. The sword quivered in the trembling hands of the boy. He looked up at it as if it was a beacon with the ability to connect him to a higher power. He stared up, waiting for something, anything to happen. Releasing a resigned exhale, his head dropped as the tears he had desperately held back began to flow freely.

“I really don’t have any talent at all.” He looked up at you, dejection etched into every one of his features, “I prayed this day would never come, I knew I wouldn’t ever be able to carry on the Flame Hashira. This time, more than ever, my nichirin sword needed to change color. But even now, it refuses to. All because I simply don’t have what it takes.”

He set the sword down, his palms face up on his knees, silently sitting on the tatami floors. You wrap your arms around him, feeling him starting to shudder against you punctuating each sharp sob.

“Do you want to know what your brother told me to tell you before he fell asleep?” You lower your voice to a murmur.

“Wh-What did he say?” he stuttered, his lips pursed and voice trembling, but there remained a glint of hope evident as he stared at you, waiting intently to hear.

You spoke steadily, trying to fully encapsulate the sincerity of Kyojuro’s words, hoping if he could hear his brother’s voice through you, maybe it would comfort him in ways you never could. “‘Walk the path you know to be true, whatever path that may be.’”

He looked up at you, his glassy eyes widened, you could see him absorbing every syllable as if it was from a holy text leading him into enlightenment when the shoji door flew open to both of your shock.

“Senjuro! What did I tell you about the blubbering? I can hear your pathetic crying from across the house! As if Kyojuro hadn’t done enough, you had to show that Sun Breather how weak you are too! As if our family couldn’t be any more humiliated!”

Senjuro’s face drained of color, his pupils trembling at the intimidating figure in the doorway.

“You’re the eldest son of this family now, so learn something from your fool of a brother!” He gritted his teeth, now speaking to no one in particular. “Trying to supplement his own inferiority, trying to make up for our insignificant bloodline, I have no doubt he used that cursed form to try to salvage a battle he was doomed to lose from the start. He should’ve never even picked up a sword to begin with!”

Cursed form? Sun Breather? Did he mean the boy with the earrings that Senjuro spoke of? You had learned to ignore most of what Shinjuro said; these ravings were likely just another temper tantrum fueled by the stuporous overindulgence he found at the bottom of several bottles.

The discomfort hung like a chill in the air, filling the space between the fragmented inanities of the harsh words echoing through the room. Shinjuro finally lumbered away, the jug still tied around his wrist. You sat in the silence left in his wake, almost envisioning Kyojuro in that hospital bed, each breath he took and each pound within his chest a cry of hope.

You close your eyes for a moment before speaking in a hushed voice to Senjuro, “Your brother believes in you, always has. He’s fighting so he can be sure to come home and remind you of that himself.”

—————————————

“This hurts like hell!” The Sound Hashira grumbled to no one in particular. Kyojuro could only watch as his fellow Hashira limped from the doorway into the hospital bed the Butterfly Mansion staff had apathetically pointed to.

The young nurses reassuring him that the Insect Hashira would be there “when she gets the chance” to treat his injuries. The adrenaline from battle must’ve finally dissipated by the time he reached the Butterfly Mansion.

After settling in with a few labored breaths, the man finally turned to his side, noticing Kyojuro in the bed beside him.“Rengoku? How long have you been up? Why are you still here?”

“A few hours. Kocho has been keeping a close eye before she discharges me, but I should be good to go by now. Nevermind that though, what happened to you?” He had never seen the Sound Pillar as battered and bloody as he appeared before him now.

“Remember how I was organizing some infiltration into the Entertainment District? Looking for an upper rank?” Kyojuro nodded intently, he was well aware of the operation in the Sound Pillar’s sector before he even boarded the train.

“Well, we found it. The district is leveled, but we defeated the threat. And look, the two of us are matching now, and I even got one up on you.” The man gestured to his own covered eye before waving his left arm, permanently disfigured.

Even in this state, Uzui always had something to say to lighten the mood. Kyojuro always respected that trait in him, it was one of the primary reasons they got along as well as they did.

“You didn’t…” Kyojuro searched for the right word to describe the Sound Pillar's hobbled gait as he made his way from the entrance to the cot where he was now confined, as respectfully as possible. “Ambulate… yourself all the way from Yoshiwara I hope?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” The Sound Hashira shook his head with pride. “My wives were there for me, of course. But Kocho said they couldn’t help me inside. Something about a very strict rule with spouses not being allowed to enter the Butterfly Mansion for any reason.”

Uzui spoke with restlessness, trying to get comfortable in the hospital bed clearly not befitting his frame before trying to read the face of the Flame Pillar beside him. “Did she tell you about that too?”

Kyojuro’s eyebrows knit together. “I was not aware of such a policy…” He said slowly, as if he was trying to figure out what his fellow pillar was referring to with each word. He affixed his gaze upon his comrade’s arm, bandaged shoddily in the heat of battle, severed at the wrist.

“As a dual wielder…” His lips pursed as he analyzed the sight before him. “You may have to adapt your swordsmanship.”

Kyojuro chuckled before resting his hand lightly on the covered wound punctured into his abdomen, “I was quite concerned for myself, but fortunately recovery is an option for me as well. It’s all of no matter, we will just have to train harder and get back to where we were!”

Uzui studied the face of the Flame Hashira looking for any shred of sarcasm. “A-are you serious?” His eyes widened with shock, glancing down at the tightly wrapped bandages over Kyojuro’s chest.

“Of course I am, what are you trying to say?” Kyojuro looked at the Sound Pillar inquisitively.

The Sound Hashira exhaled sharply, lowering his eyes resolutely with a soft smile, “I’m stepping down. I’m done fighting.” Upon processing the rest of what Kyojuro confidently announced to him his head jerked to face him in disbelief. “You aren’t actually considering going back are you?”

“But as pillars-” Kyojuro was cut off mid sentence, his curiosity now only building with what his friend was telling him.

“I like to think I’m Lord Uzui Tengen before I’m the Sound Pillar.” He declared matter of factly, before his tone devolved back into its characteristic quippiness. “You’ve always blurred that line, but most bastards lucky enough to take a hole in the chest and live would see themselves the same.”

Kyojuro tried to think back to the exact moment of impact, the demonic fist piercing his flesh, in the face of what could only be described as certain death had he drawn a distinction between the two?

Kyojuro’s ponderance was interrupted by the petite form of the Insect Pillar shadowed by the younger girl with blue eyes and pigtails coming in the doorway seemingly with no urgency at all. “Thank gods!” Uzui exclaimed, the exasperation ripe in his voice. “I thought you all forgot about me!”

Kocho spoke her voice sweet and light as ever complimented by the poignant, contented countenance she always had. “Oh dear! Of course not!” She gestured to the three youngest Butterfly Mansion girls to bring her a tray with some instruments and antiseptics.

Tears formed in the corner of their eyes as they approached the Sound Hashira’s bedside to hand it off to their master, clinging to each other and hurrying away once they did as they were instructed.

“Hey Kocho, do you have any painkillers or anything before you stitch me up?” Uzui spoke with a tinge of desperation, one he was clearly trying to suppress in the presence of others.

“Unfortunately, I don't recall we have anything strong enough for you here.” The Insect Pillar spoke with a curt sharpness.

The blue-eyed nurse with pigtails was much easier to read than her master. Even with the grimace she typically bore while concentrating on work, there was a particular scorn in her eyes that seemed to run deep. She stared daggers at the Sound Pillar, it was truly a distaste only unpleasant familiarity can foster.

The Insect Pillar worked, doing little to prepare her patient for her next action, hastily attending to the injuries of her fellow Hashira. Her doll-like smile unchanging as heavy handedly she doused his deep lacerations with antiseptic before stitching them shut with fresh bandages.

Upon finishing, she walked away without another word or so much as a check in to ask how the Sound Pillar was feeling now, even though she hadn’t seemed to be rushing to another bedside as she retreated without a second glance

Uzui released the grit of his teeth following his treatment, sincerity filling his tone. “About your injury, sorry I didn’t come see you. I had my crow watch closely; it told me you were stable in Kocho’s care, although maybe that should’ve been something that worried me more than it did.” He squirmed in place momentarily, no doubt feeling some residual discomfort in the absence of anything to ease his pain before being treated.

Kyojuro shook his head “No, the staff here is the picture of gentleness and care for its patients, Kocho and all her sisters treated me with the utmost kindness and consideration.”

Uzui looked out the doorway to see the three youngest Butterfly Sisters looking at him with aversion, still on the verge of tears, while the blue-eyed pigtailed nurse’s contemptuous stare only intensified in her master’s absence.

The Sound Hashira chuckled to himself blithely. “Huh. You don’t say.”

His gaze moved from the main room beyond the doorway back to Kyojuro in the hospital bed beside him. “I just couldn’t bring myself to leave the district once I stopped getting updates from my girls.” A playful smirk crossed his face again as his solemn tone brightened, “I figured mere Upper Three wouldn’t be enough to take you out. I trust you understand.”

Kyojuro looked at him knowingly with a reassuring smile, “Of course. No need to explain any further.”

“You know, the kids that were on the train with you volunteered to come to the district with me. The Kamado boy in particular gushed on and on, don’t be surprised if you start getting fan mail from him.”

A warm smile crept across Kyojuro’s features at the mention. Hearing they had all recovered quickly and been assigned another mission while he had been out, made every drop of blood shed feel all the more worth it. He really had been able to protect them as he was expected to after the train incident, even if he in the end failed to finish off the upper rank.

“Ah yes, young Kamado. Truly good natured. I’m sure he would speak fondly of anyone who fought by his side.” He folded his arms across his chest assuredly as he always seemed to when he felt idle.

The Sound Pillar moved his one good arm casually behind his head. “I don’t think just ‘anyone’ could have done what you did in the first place.”

Uzui sighed. “You’ve done good, Mister Flame Pillar. I think you deserve to just be Rengoku now.” Kyojuro tried to hide the thoughtful pensivity welling behind his eyes before spreading across his face. Kyojuro knew he had always been able to read like a book, trying as he might to hide how he felt.

“Ugh. No need to do the Tomioka face.” The Sound Hashira said less than affectionately, He feigned annoyance, but his genuine concern was evident. “It’s up to you of course, but I think you should take a cue from me and go home to your wife now. Give my best to your mini-me.”

—————————————

By the time Kocho had let him leave the Butterfly Mansion, she wrapped his bandages extra taught, surely expecting he would have removed them the minute he was out of her sight. She was not wrong, he had definitely contemplated tearing them off before he returned to his home.

But he knew he ought to leave them for now. Show the bare wound? Too disturbing. An eyepatch felt too drastic, permanent. Even though he was told to be cautiously optimistic at best on recovering his sight in that eye, bandages gave the hopeful impression to both his family and himself that regaining his vision was not out of the realm of possibility just yet.

And there was the matter of crutches. He’d declined the nurses’ offer without a second thought. He wasn’t above using them, of course—he had used crutches before when it was necessary.

But this time felt different. This time, he had come closer to death than he ever had before, closer than he had ever imagined. The weight of that knowledge was still fresh, he liked to think that was to blame for the piercing sensation beneath his ribs rather than the obvious.

Turning the corner into his ancestral home, he was not surprised to see his brother doing his daily chores per usual. Senjuro swept the entryway with a thousand yard stare. His gaze was unfocused, the bristles haphazardly brushing over the floor as if he wasn’t truly seeing it beneath him. He seemed to move mechanically as if the incessant noise in his head left him catatonic.

As much as he wished Senjuro would let others help him, he knew productivity usually brought him peace of mind. Likely now more than ever thanks to his extended stay at the Butterfly Mansion riddling them all with uncertainty.

Upon seeing him, Senjuro dropped his broom, his hazed expression replaced with overjoy. He ran over stopping himself in his tracks before jumping into his still recovering older brother’s arms.

Senjuro’s smile faltered as he took a small, hesitant step back, his gaze flickering down to Kyojuro’s chest, then back up to his face. He looked scared to get any closer, as if Kyojuro was made of glass and the slightest touch would make him shatter before his eyes. Kyojuro slowly opened his arms, donning his iconic smile brimming with warmth and familiarity. A simple reassurance.

That was all needed for Senjuro’s momentary unease to be erased. Without a second thought, Senjuro closed the distance, throwing his arms around his elder brother in a tight embrace.

He let out a slight hmph slightly faltering backward for a moment. The pressure against his abdomen was not exactly comfortable, but that did not stop him from tightening his own arms around his little brother.

“Thank gods Kanroji-san brought some sweet potato and sakura mochi earlier! I would’ve made more if we had gotten a crow you were discharged!”

Kyojuro did not have the heart to tell Senjuro he had been living off extra salted miso soups and herbal tea since awakening, and was told to continue doing so until breathing was more comfortable.

Kocho had mentioned that at least three times as he left the manor. She must’ve correctly suspected yet again his own appetite was a potential hazard to his recovery. Even castella cake was too solid and dense for him to consume in his condition.

“I will have to thank my former tsuguko for her thoughtfulness when I see her next!” He tried to remain as lighthearted as possible as he declared what no one ever believed they would live to hear him say. “As delicious as that sounds, I am not hungry at the moment!”

“Not hungry?” Senjuro repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You?” His eyes raked over his elder brother searching for the cause of such an anomaly.

Just as Senjuro inspected the state of him, Kyojuro noticed the dark circles beneath his brother’s eyes, and the complexion of his face paler than he remembered.

“I am simply so full of energy and vitality I have no need for anything to eat! Why don’t you off from your chores for the rest of the day, Senjuro!”

“A-are you sure?” Senjuro swiftly took his broom back into his hands as if to prove he had no reason to not continue as he was.

Kyojuro put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, a gesture that always seemed to make Senjuro feel more at ease. “Certainly, you look as though you could use rest. I will take over for you”

Not being deterred in the slightest Senjuro replied, “No I can do it I promise!” Senjuro swiftly took his broom back into his hands as if to prove he had no reason to not continue as he was before Kyojuro came.

“She’s doing the laundry for me already outside. So at least let me do the rest of the chores!” The younger Rengoku boy seemed almost frantic as he tried to prove that he was still more than capable of carrying out his perceived responsibilities.

Kyojuro was momentarily taken aback looking into the fuzzy silhouette of a reflection of himself, one that went deeper than their appearance.

He had spent the better part of his life encouraging and reassuring his brother, for this exact reason. He had foolishly believed that maybe that would be enough for Senjuro to ignore the example that had been before him since their mother had died nearly a decade ago.

There were many things he was capable of protecting him from, however there remained some things he could only try to ward off. He was more than happy to act as a human shield to all the unpleasantness of the world he had dealt with himself.

That was not to say his brother was delicate. Senjuro’s meek and sensitive exterior was not beguiling of his fiercely loyal and indomitable spirit. His patience was seemingly boundless, while being the most empathetic person Kyojuro had ever met. Senjuro’s maturity was indeed far beyond his years.

In spite of all of this, Kyojuro wanted him to have had a normal and carefree childhood. Maybe if they were another family under different circumstances, in some kind of a perfect world, Senjuro would not be confined to doing household work all day. He would have a plethora of friends to enjoy the blissful innocence of juvenility, with two loving parents at home, and no perceived expectations he was forced to inherit or self-condemnate over.

Most of all he would not feel the need to fight for the validation of others, or establish his worth in his actions. While he could not protect him from loss or neglect, surely he could do that much even now.

There was no use grieving over what could have been, the reality was Senjuro had begun to take after his own tendencies. Something he could never forgive himself for being the cause of if it went too far. His own resolve was still strong, but he could at least try to set an example of self preservation when Senjuro was watching.

He took the broom from Senjuro’s hands once again, leaning it against the wall beside them.”Why don’t we both take some time off today!” He proclaimed as confidently as possible. Senjuro’s shoulders, which had been taut with unease, dropped and with them Kyojuro breathed his own sigh of relief.

He no longer protested his elder brother’s suggestion to get some rest. Kyojuro walked his little brother to his room. As he followed, the younger boy barely lifted his head, his gaze still unfocused, lost in the exhaustion that clung to him.

Tucking him into his futon, Kyojuro adjusted the pillow beneath his brother’s head, fluffing it gently, even though he knew Senjuro wouldn’t mind either way. He moved deliberately, his smile unchanged despite his mind spinning. He couldn’t help but hope that his little brother wouldn’t notice the subtle shift in Kyojuro’s actions today—the slight urgency in his insistence.

Perhaps fatigue dulled Senjuro’s emotional intelligence enough that he failed to detect the thinly veiled half-heartedness behind him emphasizing they deserve to both call it for the day. He had been home for moments, and on bedrest before that while Senjuro had been beside himself with worry, maintaining their home. Kyojuro felt dread pool in his stomach, the thought nearly sickened him.

Once making sure his little brother was comfortable in his futon, he rose from his crouched position to his feet again, clamping his eyes shut with a sharp exhale at the shooting pain through his abdomen at the sudden movement.

Luckily, Senjuro had succumbed to exhaustion the moment his head touched the pillow, sparing him any more anxiety over his big brother’s condition.

He was embarrassed at how rapidly even the simplest tasks; walking, standing, really had exhausted him. Kocho had not necessarily given him advice on activity now that he was no longer in critical condition, she just reiterated not putting “undue strain” on the body. As vague as that was, he figured he must be experiencing some version of that as his breath became more labored as he walked through the corridors of his own home.

Almost as if moving against his will, he lowered himself into his futon. He hoped maybe he could get some sleep as soundly as Senjuro, his head barely made contact with the pillow before he drifted off even with rays of early evening daybreak still illuminating the sky.

He was happy he had managed to soothe the terrifying thoughts eating his little brother from the inside while he was recovering at the Butterfly Mansion.

Hopefully, Senjuro genuinely believed things were right in the world again, and that he had no need to prove himself to those around him any further. If he did genuinely believe that, Kyojuro envied it.

—————————————

The laundry had kept you busy from the late afternoon until the sun hung low in the sky, and you were grateful for the long days of summer, which offered a grace period of a few more hours of safety outside.

You must have looked strange in your tsumugi woven silk kimono, churning laundry by the creek. You wiped a bead of sweat from your brow, before brushing your hands over your hair to ensure the hairpin was still in place. You refocused on the task at hand, gripping the sentakubō with both hands once again.

The water stirring and forming small whirlpools as you plunge the wooden paddle into the melange of soaking garments with a slosh. You raise the paddle up before submerging it again, fabric swirling in the sekken infused water.

These were the ancient methods Senjuro had told you had been used for centuries in the family.

“Drinkable well water is too precious to be used on clothes, there is flowing mountain water just beyond the gates by a small grove of wisteria trees. That’s where we have done laundry for as far back as I know of.”

The fatigue evident in his every motion momentarily ceased for him to give you particular instructions before you handle the household laundry on your own for the first time.

In Tokyo, you heard some families had found ways to pump water into their homes. No access to wells or streams necessary. You were unsure whether to be skeptical or amazed at the Western innovations being integrated at breakneck speed into the capital, but the Rengoku family seemed utterly disinterested and unimpressed by anything that brought them away from the techniques of the past.

Regardless of the flow of time, the Rengoku family had yet to betray the techniques of their ancestors that had never failed them before.

Perhaps they felt both indebted and venerated by the practices that had upheld their name through generations of Flame Pillars and centuries of war against man-eating evil. Each Hashira over the ages living long enough to pass on every aspect, no matter how trivial, of traditional lifestyle to their children and then their children’s children.

Proof of demons and time alike being unable to erode them into nothing more than history, a bloodline persisting even today, against all odds.

Your nose prickled at the herbal scent of the laundry solution you had handled for the past few hours soaking, scrubbing the items against the ridges of a washboard before draping each clean textile over a clothesline to dry in the tepid air.

It was dull, tedious, and somewhat exhausting work, but anything to take your mind and a piece of your heart from the Butterfly Mansion was a welcome distraction.

As you carried out mundane household chores as of late, you had made it more engaging by picturing Kyojuro watching you with pride, a glint of familiar affection in his eye.

It only pushed you harder to put your all into everything you did, regardless of how unremarkable it may seem to others. That was what he would no doubt do in your shoes.

—————————————

You had expected Senjuro to be milling about getting things done for the same reason when you arrived back at the estate.The broom leaned against the wall of the engawa was telling enough to you he must’ve finished his daily tasks up and retired into the house for the time being. It might have been slightly unusual, but not anything provoking much cause for concern otherwise.

You looked forward to idleness for the remainder of the evening. Slipping into fresh clothes, you made your way to your room, eager to lie down and rest.

As you walk the corridor, a blur of fiery colors ignites in your peripheral vision beyond the sliding door of a room that had sat empty as of late. Was that? You freeze in disbelief.

“Kyojuro?” The name slips from your lips before you can stop it, even though you know the chances of him hearing you from this distance without even seeing your lips were low, but it doesn’t stop your heart from leaping in your chest nevertheless.

Eventually he must sense your presence, his unwrapped eye meeting yours, and in that instant, it feels like everything else fades away. He shifts from his reclined position to sit upright. Even just sitting up in his futon, you notice the subtle tension in his body, the familiar way his arms instinctively cross in front of him—, a pose you know he adopts when idle, as idle as he was capable of being anyway.

You had seen him like this before, when he was always on guard, always ready for battle. The weight of responsibility had never left him, even when he wasn’t fighting. But now, in this quiet moment, it felt almost surreal. You felt a wave of relief flood over you—he was here. He was home.

You didn’t know whether to run over to him, break down into tears, fall to your knees thanking every god and spirit that was looking out for him, or all three at the same time. He watches you with that familiar intensity in his eyes, but there's something softer now, an unspoken heaviness in his gaze

“You were resting… I’m sorry for the disruption.” You did something you hadn’t done since you arrived at the house, lowering your head into a bow. It simply felt appropriate, the least you could do was show your respect, as unnatural as it felt. Kyojuro blinked, taken aback by your gesture, his brows clenching together in confusion as he watched you.

There was a moment where his eyes seemed to search yours, as if uncertain how to respond, had a distance that great grown between you? You raised from your bow before he could tell you it was ‘not necessary for the likes of him,’ your grasp taking hold of the edge of the shoji door to drag it shut.

“I’ll let you enjoy some peace and quiet.” Your words felt inauthentic as you spoke, it wasn’t what you wanted, but it felt like what you deserved. You wished you knew what to say to him, but how could you? You could do nothing but watch helplessly while he writhed in pain waiting for you at the Butterfly Mansion.

Standing by watching the sparks fade his eyes, feeling the room grow colder and colder still. Was that really all you could do?

Every night since then, you had hoped for a miracle, that you would wake up and he would be back. Now here he was and all you could do was grapple with the futility of your every effort against the inevitable, one that would have come to pass with or without your consent. Like almost all else in his life, he overcame this on his own.

He tilted his head to the side trying to catch your downturned gaze with a soft smile, “You know” He paused until your glassy eyes met his. “I’ve had enough ‘peace and quiet’ for this lifetime.”

He hesitated for a heartbeat, there was an almost imperceptible urgency in his tone, as though the simple request held more than he could express. “I would enjoy your companionship…” His eye locked onto yours, and you could hear him telling you what he truly felt, but couldn’t bring himself to say, “Please don’t leave me alone…”

Your fists closed around your sleeves as you looked on from the doorway.

“Could I lay beside you?” You meant to ask gracefully, but a tremble caught itself at the end of your words. In spite of you both being wedded, something ignited embarrassment within you at your own request. You weren’t quite sure what his experience with such things were, but you certainly had none to speak of.

You had been confident everything would be ok, but a part of you filled with dread at every crow that flew overhead. Terrified, one of them was Shinobu-san informing you regrettably that they had failed, and he was gone. You just wanted to be close to him, close enough to hold onto and hope he wouldn’t come so close to slipping away from you again.

“Absolutely!” His boyish excitement quickly commanding sincerity, his voice lowering to just above a breathy whisper “I mean… you do not need to ask. I am yours after all.”

If anything was capable of soothing the apprehension you felt, it was hearing him deliver an enthusiastic exclamation. You studied him, your eyes drifted down again to his arms crossed on top of his chest. Whether be a barrage of responsibility or self doubt, he always carried a tension palpable in every fiber.

In a gentler world that asked for less of someone like him, maybe he wouldn’t need to. But even if he was not of that world, you could create a piece of it for him to dwell in. A place both his weary body and mind could be at ease.

You lowered yourself into the futon, trying to not focus on your heart, beginning to quicken, as the sound of his breath became audible each inhale and following exhale affirming to you he was alive, and he was yours.

“Am I making you nervous?” You asked genuinely, seeing his shoulders tighten and arms stitch together more tautly and a rouge flush across his cheeks even in the low light.

He conveniently subverted your inquiry, rebounding it back to you.“You are not nervous, are you, my flame?” His tone seemed to waver in its usual certainty.

“Not with you…” Even the intoxicating stillness, you cannot help but notice his strained comportment. “You’re so stiff…”

He spoke no doubt a bit louder than even he anticipated, “Not stiff!” His sudden surge in volume took you back, the abruptness of his response leaving you momentarily unsettled. But as his words settled into the space between you, you quickly found yourself adjusting again into comfort.

“Just a habit, I assure you.” His voice was softer this time, a hint of something more raw slipping through his usual certainty. “I have been trained to be vigilant, at all times. I suppose it’s just how I’ve learned to exist.”

“Hm. I see…” Your brow furrowed, pursing your lips together almost imperceivably. You extend your arms to place one hand on each of his shoulders, meeting his gaze you search the embers of his unbandaged iris for any sign of discomfort before cupping your hands.

You, for only a moment, feel the heat of his gaze rake over, consuming each inch of your form. It was enough to make your skin prickle under its blistering intensity. Being used as its fuel, a slow burn ignited in your chest, radiating outward in waves, trailing sparks down to your fingertips and toes. You pry your eyes from your own hands back to his blistering stare to catch his lashes flutter briefly, clenching his eyes shut as if mentally reprimanding himself.

Your palms take in the dense sinews forming sharp lines and curved ridges beneath your palms, before you push them down from their contraction. His arms finally dropping from their cross to his sides. You try to cut through the tension imparting a squeeze in a circular motion to the corded muscle between your thumb and fingers.

As the pressure deepened, a soft, involuntary shudder rippled through him, a sudden tremor that surged from his shoulders down to his spine. It caused him to partially heave forward, his posture faltering as his head tilted to the side. A strangled sound—somewhere between a gasp and a whimper—escaped his lips.

You pull back your hands instinctively. “I-I didn’t mean…”

He shifted slightly, avoiding your gaze for a brief moment, the blush deepening down to his neck. “I... I think I made a rather odd sound just now... My sincerest apologies” He spoke just above a murmur, his tone uncharacteristically timid, and pupils blown wide. “I must have broken my Total Concentration Breathing. I-I just… did not expect that to feel so good.”

After a moment, his voice came again, a little more vulnerable than usual, almost tentative. “May I hold you?” For a man so often brimming with confidence and conviction, this sudden bashfulness was endearing, almost disarming.

You echoed the words that had made your heart flutter since you heard them, “I am yours after all.” As the moments stretched on, the world outside began to blur, your breaths falling in sync with his. His hand trailed absentmindedly through your hair, his touch lulling you closer to sleep. Just before the haze of slumber overtook you, you felt him press the lightest kiss to your temple, his lips lingering as though committing the moment to memory.

And so, wrapped in his embrace, safe within the steady glow of his presence, you drifted off. For even in sleep, you knew you were wholly his, and he, yours.

—————————————

Kyojuro found himself restless with the first breaks of light, the flecks of dawn slowly spreading from the base of the horizon as the sky remained inked with the deep indigo of night.

He sat up, given the opaque darkness of the sky it was hard to believe that golden rays of light would cut through the boundless pitch black expanse above him.

Since he had awoken, he had begun to be enchanted by things he had never paid much mind to before. The way the dawn happened to bleed into night, if there was nothing else you could rely on in this world, there was solace to be found in the consistency of daybreak.

No matter how empty the void of night seemed, the dawn would overcome it anyway, illuminating the heavens without fail. Admirable. It was truly admirable.

Turning his gaze toward you, his heart softened even further. You lay curled beside him, your expression serene in the half-light, your hair tousled from sleep. Kyojuro couldn’t help but smile—bright and warm, though he kept it quiet, not wanting to disturb you. He leaned down and pressed a feather-light kiss to the crest of your hairline, lingering for a moment as if to savor the touch.

"Rest well," he whispered, his voice low and affectionate. Carefully, he slipped from the futon, each movement deliberate and gentle so as not to disturb the stillness that wrapped around you like a cocoon.

While cooking was outside his expertise, he was more than capable of boiling water in a hagama with tea leaves.

As he entered the main room to prepare it, he noticed his father already seated with his gaze fixed on the sky. Kyojuro’s instincts made him want to turn around and recede right then and there, before stopping himself.

“You are up early, Father.” Kyojuro shifted his head to the side almost as if to hide his face. He could hardly bring himself to face the former Flame Hashira. In his father's eyes, the cold sweat on his brow and the ghostly pallor of his skin would no doubt serve as a (half) living testament to the very words he had insisted upon to Kyojuro for years.

His hand quivered as he sprinkled a spoonful of the tea leaves into water before beginning to boil them together on the wood stove.

Shinjuro hardly acknowledged the presence of another behind him more than a quick glance over the shoulder. His expression was as equally austere and annoyed as usual.

Similar to how Shinjuro kept his eyes firmly locked onto the slow ascent of the sun, Kyojuro relegated his own gaze to the kettle on the stove, barely looking away as the silence was intermittently broken by the sound of chimes swaying in the breeze.

When the water adopted the greenish hue from the tea leaves, he removed the hagama from the heat.

“Uh... tea, Father?” Kyojuro said as he set out two cups just in case. It was unusual enough his father was awake at dawn, and out of his room. He rarely saw Shinjuro eat or drink much, usually sleeping or drinking the day away, it would be even more unusual for him to break that pattern. But, he felt obliged to ask him anyway.

Shinjuro spoke, his voice gruff as it had been as long as Kyojuro could remember. “Sure.” He paused for a long time before adding, “Thank you…”

Kyojuro looked up with shock, but only to look at the back of Shinjuro’s head once again. He poured the liquid into the cups, curls of steam wafting from each one with an earthy aroma.

With one in each hand he brought it over to where his father sat at the edge of the room, the sky fading from nox to a peach tone as the apex of the sun became visible over the horizon line.

He lowered his head as he placed the cup on the ground, Shinjuro’s scarred hand wrapping around it where it sat. Kyojuro slowly backed away from where he resided to leave him be.

“You can sit, son.” Shinjuro said, finally turning over his shoulder to meet Kyojuro’s gaze. Kyojuro moved closer again trepidatiously before lowering himself to the ground with a sharp exhale, the pressure on his wound making his face twist momentarily as he did so.

Kyojuro could not help but notice the thick, pungent smell of sake—a scent that had been a constant companion to his father for as long as he could remember—was completely absent this morning.

“In nearly 20 years as a pillar, I used that damned form three times.” Shinjuro spoke, his eyes not leaving the sky as he took a sip of the tea in his hand. “You’ve used it twice that I know of, but it’s been more times than that, right?”

Kyojuro did not even want to reply to his father’s probing, it would not matter anyway, they both knew the answer to the question.

The former pillar’s jaw clenched in grim recognition of Kyojuro's telling silence. However, the response was not angered, but seemed shackled with the heaviness of frustration.

Kyojuro took a long drink of the cup of tea in his hand, it was easier than thinking of the right thing to say.

Shinjuro continued, his voice steady but carrying a hint of weariness. “I practically memorized each word of the chronicles. The Breath of Flames like every other breath will always be derivative. Yet our swordsmen are the only ones who refuse to believe that. Neither the chosen ones nor those blissfully content with their own mediocrity use anything as foolish or self destructive as that damn 9th form.”

Kyojuro knows the destruction he spoke of all too well. The gelatinous cartilage protecting the shoulders, knees, elbows, hip flexors, ankles, spine, it was all fickle.

Once the body has worn it down, usually through decades upon decades of usage the grating discomfort of bone on bone friction rarely goes away, in many cases it can leave one chair bound from the intensity of every joint aching.

While all such an affliction can happen naturally with the flow of time, but the amount of power emitted from the 9th form was anything but natural.

The records of the ways of Flame Breathing made this clear to the user. Even by the standard of breath forms, which already amplify the body beyond its innate threshold, the concentration of power in the 9th form of Flame Breathing was exceptionally great.

The amount of strain on the body by the 9th form was more than some could handle. Some Flame Pillars of the past did not have the composition to use it more than once or twice at absolute most. The immense pressure on the body had a way of hastening degeneration. The form was strictly a last resort when facing a foe that needed to be defeated at all costs.

The brighter and hotter a flame burns, the sooner it flickers out. Yet each time he was left with no other option but to use it, he did so without hesitation.

He had always fought to save lives with his body as little more than collateral in the grand scheme of his duty, so what did a few adverse side effects matter if it allowed him to prevail against a powerful demon that could go on to devour dozens?

Shinjuro muttered under his breath bitterly as if trying to suppress a visceral growl gathering in his lungs at the words alone. “The Breath of Flames, the Flame Hashira mantle, all of it, who gives a damn about a line of talentless fools breaking themselves just to end up average. It’s just a pitiful tale, nothing more. I’ve asked myself over and over why anyone would want to pass that on to the next generations.”

He shook his head slowly with an exhale, his knuckles becoming lighter as he gripped his cup more tightly before releasing it again. “I knew I should’ve destroyed the infernal pages of the Flame Hashira Chronicles a long time ago.”

Kyojuro’s tone became calmer than even he knew it to be, almost as if unconsciously imitating the softness of how his own mother spoke to him all those years ago. “Whether it is pitiful or not, it memorializes their will. Their triumph, their struggle, none of it will go unnoticed, and they will be remembered fondly for their bravery and their role in our history.”

Shinjuro was quiet for a moment, his gaze distant still settled on the peach streaks as they became gold across the sky. “Did you ever read about my predecessor?” He grumbled with narrowed eyes.

Kyojuro’s brow furrowed into thought before replying. “Our grandfather, yes of course. I read about every Flame Hashira. It is a shame Senjuro and I never met him.”

“Trust me, you’re lucky you only ever read about him.” Shinjuro let out a forced chuckle before taking another sip. “Obsessed with the family legacy, he’d probably have carved ‘Flame Hashira’ into my chest the day I was born if he thought it would keep me from forgetting who I was meant to be. And just my luck—I happened to be the bastard’s only child. That meant all his expectations, all his delusions about immortality through legacy, fell squarely on my shoulders.”

Kyojuro heard a pain in his father’s voice that he had only caught a handful of times before—a rare, almost fleeting vulnerability that Shinjuro rarely allowed anyone to see. His mind drifted back to faded, gilded memories. When his father’s smile had been constant, his pride unwavering. He could still recall the way his father’s eyes would light up as he passed down his sword skills to him and Senjuro, enthusiastic and patient.

Those memories were growing hazy with time, as though they were trapped in the mist of nostalgia, but the warmth they stirred within him was unmistakable. It was the kind of warmth that invigorated him—like the very ichorous blood of the Flame Hashira flowed through his veins, and he was destined for greatness.

“Perhaps…” Kyojuro murmured, his voice wistful, “Perhaps… He must have seen potential in you… " His eyes fell to the ground, his chest felt hollow as if the air was being drawn from it. "And that was the reason he pushed you so hard and did not ever give up on you...”

Shinjuro’s lips pressed together into a firm line. “Potential? No. He didn’t see me. Not as a person. I was a tool, a means to an end—a way to keep the Rengoku name alive, to make himself feel like he mattered.”

Shinjuro's voice held calm, but kept carrying the crushing weight of resignation.“Part of me wanted to show him I would be the last Flame Breathing user,” His eyes stayed distant, unblinking.

“Just let our name die out, fade into oblivion as a fragment of history. Just so my miserable old man’s last thought would be regret. That nothing he tried his damndest to maintain would last after one generation. I refused to be another cog in the perpetual machine.”

Kyojuro looked down at the swirls of green fluid in the cup as he held it in his lap. His voice curious as he looked over, as though trying to understand a piece of the past he had never been allowed to see. “What changed your mind?”

“Your mother…” Shinjuro’s lips twisted slightly, but not with anger—more like a quiet bitterness that he no longer had the energy to hide under anger or indifference. “But just like everything else, it was all futile, just a beautiful dream she was kind enough to let me believe in. Even for just a little while.”

Kyojuro’s eyes flickered, a quiet understanding passing between them at her mention.

Shinjuro let out a long sigh, setting his cup down with a soft clink, though his movements remained languid. “I don’t know if she fell victim to the suffering fate has ordained for us by becoming my bride. Maybe she stood a chance before then. But not us, if you’re born into it, you don’t have a choice, it's your cross to bear whether you want it or not. That’s the cruel joke. That’s the purgatory we’re bound to.”

The sun was higher now, and the colors in the sky deepened, casting a warm glow over everything.

Shinjuro’s voice broke the stillness again, his voice softer now than Kyojuro had known in so long. “I never wanted to be the kind of man to force a son to swing a sword until he vomited and his hands were torn open and bleeding. I should’ve never let either of you boys touch a blade. Just let the cycle end and be free. But you and Senjuro... you were always drawn to it. Always. I could see it in your eyes.”

His gaze turned, albeit reluctantly, to Kyojuro, meeting his gaze in earnest. “We can’t help it, can we? It's in our blood I suppose.”

The sun was fully risen now, casting a golden glow over the room, spilling warmth across the tatami floor. Shinjuro, still staring out at the horizon, sighed deeply, a silent self condemnation. “I wasn’t capable of protecting Ruka, or the many junior swordsmen, or countless civilians, but I once hoped even a good for nothing father could protect his own children if nothing else.”

Kyojuro’s eyes lingered on his father, the warmth of the rising sun casting a gentle light on the hard lines of Shinjuro’s face. He didn’t know what he could possibly say.

Kyojuro sat in the silence that followed his father's words, the weight of Shinjuro’s rare admission lingering in the air. He could feel the old, familiar tension between them, but it was softer now—more fragile, like the delicate balance of the morning light spilling across the floor.

Shinjuro’s voice was both steady and solemn. "Kyojuro, you are a better man than I. You and your brother both. A strong man can learn from a weaker one how to become even stronger."

The words were unexpected, catching Kyojuro off guard. He glanced up at his father, his eyes searching the features of Shinjuro’s face for some sign that this wasn’t just another passing moment of wistful resignation. But there was no mistaking the sincerity in his tone. Kyojuro’s chest tightened, though he didn’t fully know why.

Shinjuro took a breath, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, a faraway look in his eyes. “Just remember, you have a whole life ahead of you. It’s yours to do with what you wish.”

There was something in Shinjuro’s words that stirred in Kyojuro—a faint flicker of hope, like a spark in the dark. He wanted to say something, to respond, but the weight of the moment was so heavy, so rare, that all he could do was nod.

Shinjuro shifted slightly, the moment passing as quickly as it had come. He stood slowly, his movements deliberate, before leaving on heavy footsteps.

Shinjuro shifted slightly, the moment passing as quickly as it had come. He stood slowly, his movements deliberate, as though the weight of his own body was a burden he carried with resignation.

He gave Kyojuro one last look, something softer than usual in his eyes, before he turned toward the door. "I’m going to go check on Senjuro. He’s been having nightmares lately."

Kyojuro’s gaze lingered on his father’s retreating back. The room felt quieter now, the silence settling between them like something solid. He wanted to speak—wanted to say something that could erase the years of distance between them, and his father’s regrets.

The warmth of the sun seemed to spill into his very bones, filling the hollow places with a kind of quiet understanding. It wasn't a resolution. It wasn’t a grand moment of reconciliation. But it was something.

A rare crack in the wall that had always stood between them. And for the first time in a long while, Kyojuro thought maybe, just maybe, it was a step toward something else. Something better.

—————————————

He awoke to start the day as he had nearly every day for the past. Getting ready at dawn as he always did, cautious not to awaken you in the room beyond the thin panel walls. Donning his corps uniform kaen haori, against Kocho’s advice to receive help.

Moving deliberately he raised his arms to twist the thick honey blonde layers of his hair, he felt a sharp pang in his abdomen. He froze in place, his eyes widened before clenching shut. The pain forcing him to grip the edge of the nearest furniture for support.

His hand moved from his chest back to his sides as he opened his eyes slowly, a hint of embarrassment creeping over him. It was as if he feared that when his eyelids lifted, he would find disappointed faces gazing back at him.

He continued the routine that made him worthy of the rank of Hashira. His resolve only strengthened, it would not matter so long as he could prove to himself, he was still strong, the capable protector of others.

The sun’s early light casting across his face, he moved with purpose across the same grounds that he and generations of Flame Pillars before him honed their skills in the heart of the ancestral estate. The ground beneath him was packed earth, worn smooth from endless footfalls.

Unsheathing his katana, he took a deep breath, grip tightening on the handle of his garnet nichirin sword. But the blade that was once a weightless extension of himself felt heavier, more cumbersome.

Performing the stances he had forged into his very bones with the years. His fluidity between each form was lacking. Even in total concentration he found himself sputtering if his chest expanded too much on the inhale. Beads of sweat rolled down his temple in the Summer sun, the brine making the unhealed gash across his eye socket sting lightly.

He was not blessed with the near supernatural acuteness of sense others possessed. Some of his comrades had such heightened perception, blindness itself was not even a burden. But he was quite the opposite, since the mission he lost most of his hearing, he had learned to instead rely on his vision to be fully aware of his surroundings at all times.

In the line of duty, he even had trained himself to reduce the frequency of blinking so as to not let his own inability to perceive his surroundings with his other senses create an opening for an enemy to strike.

Each swing and subsequent sharp ache in his abdomen was a reminder that not long ago, a demon had punched straight through his body as if he were hollow. A lifetime of working towards becoming a paragon of invincibility rendered worthless in an instant.

He had spent his life mastering control over every part of his own body. Every fiber, every nerve ending. The idea he was spared by chance was nauseating. By chance, the blow didn’t destroy any vital organs, killing him instantly. By chance, the kakushi were able to move him quickly enough. By chance, he managed to wake up from Kocho’s induced sleep at all.

Kyojuro shifted into the next stance, forcing his body to remember the rhythm of each fiery surge of power. He longed for the zone he could so easily slip into. When each cell of his body felt as though it burned with the intensity of his soul, no amount of pain or exhaustion could dampen it.

The searing tenacity, the flow. Wiping his brow he found the warm flow he desired, albeit in a drastically different form. A crimson streak across the back of his hand was the last thing he saw before sanguine blood obscured the vision in his left eye once again. Pressing the heel of his hand against his eye once again in an attempt to stop the seep from the wound.

—————————————

You were well aware of Kyojuro’s routine, if he was off bed rest chances are he would go back to it even against the better judgment of others, and probably himself too.

So when you saw him sitting with his back to the house, cross legged in the middle of the training field, his katana sheathed on his right side a change from it usually placed on his left. Stranger than that, you had rarely seen him take breaks much less fully sit down on the grass.

“Are you alr-You’re bleeding!” Once you were within his earshot, you

He looked over his shoulder with his right eye anxiously following your exclamatory reaction. He assured you with a forced cheerfulness, though the flicker of uncertainty in his voice betrayed the bravado. “Although,” he continued, his tone lowering slightly, “I fear if Senjuro sees me like this, he might go into a panic…”

As much as you wanted to scold him for neglecting his own wellbeing for the sake of others yet again, he had a point. Senjuro had just been in a state of shock wondering if he would ever see his brother again. The last thing he needed was to see Kyojuro hurt yet again.

“Yes! I-I’ll get some first aid!”

You moved briskly back to the house to retrieve some standard medical supplies. Coming out to sit on his left side in the grass, mimicking his seated position with his back to the home. From the way you angled yourself, legs folding to your side, if Senjuro happened to walk by, perhaps he would just figure you both were basking in the sun on a nice day and nothing more.

You slowly shake your head as you begin to wet the clean cloth with rubbing alcohol. “You are an exceptionally lucky man, you know that?”

He chuckled lightly, a glowing smile spreading across his face. “I suppose I am if a beautiful lady is willing to take care of me.”

You sigh, glancing down for a moment fighting back a grin that will no doubt spread to you like a contagion. “Look up please.” As you asked, his irises shifted upwards as you moved the cloth in your hand toward him, the laceration across his left eye freshly reopened on full display, stretching clear across his eyelid and nearly severing his eyebrow.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Kyojuro Rengoku. You know what I mean.” You can’t help but smile through the scoff you force out, your attempts to remain stern and impress upon him seriousness foiled.

Holding the damp cloth with a steady grip, you approach his eye with utmost caution, ensuring you don’t accidentally brush against his ink-black lashes. You carefully touch the rag to his face, disinfecting the length of the wound, your movements deliberate and gentle.

“No! I am merely speaking the truth you are-” His proclamation was halted by a wince at the sting from the antiseptic’s contact with the raw wound.

“I’m sorry if that hurts.” Your brow furrows as you pull the cloth away, necessary as it was to do, it pained you to be the cause of any further bodily discomfort for him.

You take a minute to find the most appropriate way to say what you mean, for both of your sakes. “First they weren’t sure you would…”

You meet his gaze tacitly before continuing. “Then Shinobu-san tells you the chances of retaining sight in your left eye was nonexistent, and here you are breathing and seeing and yet you still keep pushing yourself to the point of coming apart at the seams.” You try to mask your unease, seeing him continue working himself beyond his limits, when he is already so fragile at the moment.

“At least wear the eyepatch the Butterfly Mansion issued you!” You implore with something of a half smile. The sheer stubbornness with which he dismissed every injury, no matter how serious, would be humorous if it wasn’t so deeply concerning.

“Oh please, I need no such thing! I’m doing nothing I cannot handle, I assure you.” That authoritative voice, brimming with optimism. It was so easy to hear it, and blindly take each word as fact. But you know better by now, you could’ve told him every bone in his body was broken beyond repair and he would probably still respond that way. Even so, you want to trust him to stay within his means.

“Ok, ok you’re ‘fine.’ I understand.” You reply resignedly speaking on your exhale. “Just please just take care of your eye. You’ve always had the most lovely eyes…” You say looking deeply into the golden rimmed eyes of the man before you.

Usually, when those spoke of the Rengoku family, they used the word "powerful" to describe their distinctive features—sharp cheekbones, avian-esque orbs, blazing hair, and the aura of intensity that seemed to radiate from them. They served as yet another irrefutable motif that connected each Flame Pillar to the long legacy of unrivaled swordsmen bearing the Rengoku name.

“Powerful” was no doubt a compliment. He had always taken pride in the honor of possessing the iconic visage of his courageous ancestors. “Lovely” was different though. It felt intimate, a word that captured a softness. One rarely used when likening the fierce warriors of the Rengoku lineage with description, or him by that association.

“If you like them, then I am only more excited by the prospect of passing them onto our children one day!” He exclaimed, the ever present ember burning behind his gaze billowing into a roaring inferno with joyous fervor.

Your cheeks flushed like a watercolor canvas, rosy hues blooming across your complexion. He could only surmise in that moment the evident dilation of your pupils to be a product of shock, at worse maybe even discomfort.

He had gotten overzealous again, it was all too easy for him to put his foot in his mouth and take someone aback when he felt impassioned enthusiasm overflowing from him. However, you didn’t seem jarred or off put by his sudden pronouncement. You gaze warmed, softly smiling back at him.

“Yes, me too.” Your voice on the gentle breeze was as steady and sincere.

But for a moment, it all fell away. The corps, his family legacy, the pillars, all of it. Holding her knees gently on the grassy Earth beside him, looking back at him. Rays of light catching against her skin, wrapping around her like a golden embrace, illuminating her form with a radiance that seemed almost otherworldly. Her hair danced in the breeze, tousling it to frame her face with an effervescent allure.

He felt warmth creeping up his cheeks, just as it had for her moments ago. He desperately tried to suppress the flush as he turned his gaze downward, focusing intently on the ground.

Death or disablement. Kyojuro knew these to be the only two circumstances in which a pillar could honorably resign from their post. Here he was, neither dead nor maimed. The verdict ought to be clear as day. He was more than aware of the inevitable weakness that all humans must experience in time.

But to face that inevitability when he could still do so much? If he could swing a katana, he had a duty to serve. Right? His father should have continued serving as the Flame Hashira until he lost his sharpness to age.

But the day Mother passed, something died in Father, or maybe something already dead within him had begun to fester. Kyojuro always told himself that he would not succumb to the same fate, despair would not be the death of him, certainly not if even an Upper Rank wasn’t.

“I have… a friend… who is thinking about their future as a Hashira.” Kyojuro spoke with an uncharacteristic softness, fingers fidgeting with the hilt of his sword.

You looked at him inquisitively before having what you believe to be a revelation. “You mean the Sound Pillar?”

“Oh… right, yes. Uzui, of course.” Kyojuro's words stumbled out, a nervous smile flickering on his lips, eyes darting away, as if relieved to hear you identify the former Hashira, already settled on retirement.

“If he decides to retire, does it mean he has lost his passion? Or maybe he is running away?” His voice raised closer to its usual vivacity, but the typical enthusiasm felt infected with an air of apprehension. His fingers tightened around the sword’s hilt, outlining the flame insignia swordguard with a deliberate motion of his thumb.

Before you could even think to answer, he pressed on with another question, his urgency palpable.

“What if…” He paused, lightly clearing his throat adding the aforementioned yet again, his cadence returning to its equilibrium. “My friend…”

He looked deeply into your eyes, the bright vermillion honeycomb pools poured into yours like a gentle ray of sunlight at dawn, adorning everything within with its warmth. His words regained their normal directness in earnest. “Is worried the person he loves might not want him anymore, if he isn’t strong?”

You tilt your head, your gaze previously riddled with intrigue tempered tacitly at his probing, you understood now. “I’m certain the people in his life value him for more than something as superficial as his strength.”

You put your palms flat behind you on the tufts of grass leaning back to feel the sun warm your face.

“I don’t think of ‘strong’ as a person, I think of it as a state of being. We are all allowed to be weak and rely on the strength of others, and when others are weak we can give them our strength. No one person has to be strong all the time.”

More importantly, you saw through the electric personality of the natural born leader to all and the brave exterior of the warrior. You saw the man beneath it all. The kind of soul that was as tender as it was resiliently fortuitous.

Hanging on every word you notice the intertwine of his arms, crossed against his chest as he clung on your every word with rapt attentiveness. You straighten your posture leaning toward him, interlocking your fingers to the corded sinews of his forearms, pulling them from their interwoven tensed state as you had done before.

You took his worn hands in your own. “Well I hope you tell ‘your friend’ as much. Although, I would like to ask you something now if you would allow me.”

“Of course my flame, anything.” he replied, his voice filled with earnestness, a bright smile spreading across his face.

“Did you remember what I told you in the Butterfly Mansion? The last thing I said to you before you lost consciousness?”

His eyes narrowed as they trailed off into thought. He racked his brain for the last moment of light before his eyelids fell heavily as the sounds around him dissipated into silence. Before the oblivion of the serum he was injected with took effect, only muffled words cut by sobs come to mind.

“Please forgive me, I cannot recall.” He bowed his head remorsefully before meeting you again with a hopeful countenance. “Would you tell me again, my flame?”

A rosy hue rouges your cheeks as you fidget from side to side where you sat, part of you didn’t want to tear your gaze from the safety of the trodden Earth . But you couldn’t stand the idea of missing a moment basking in the bright eyes of the man you nearly lost.

“I told you that I loved you...” Your voice was a murmur, barely above a whisper, and as your heart skipped a beat in your chest. “I love you. I meant it, I love who you are. That will not be changed by what you are.”

“I have never found many things in life that I could not bring myself to love, or so I thought.” “What a fool I was. I did not even know what that word meant back then. What a truly lucky man I am.”

You would’ve liked to sappily argue that it was, in fact, you who was the lucky one. However, you knew the endless back-and-forth that would’ve followed if you did.

So instead, you let both your body and heart bask in warmth from two separate suns—one worlds away, and one right beside you. You let the moment linger between you, content in the quiet truth that you didn’t need to say it aloud for him to know you felt the same.

To be continued...

Taglist: @rift-and-rise @leannathespacewerewolf @hellscampcounselor @hauntedaugust @obsidianlive @oh1boy @chocolatebannana2 @erexart @vaelzz @kalypsoox @jiy-une @mayyhaps @shinykidhumanoidclam

#kyojuro rengoku x reader #rengoku x reader #rengoku kyojuro #kny x reader #kyojuro rengoku #kyojuro x reader #rengoku kyoujurou #rengoku kyoujurou x reader #kyojuro rengoku x you #demon slayer x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #demon slayer x you #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #rengoku x you #kimestu no yaiba

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lostfracturess · 7 months ago

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remedies and reasons | ch. 01

pairing — professor geto x law student reader

summary — this wasn’t supposed to happen. not that miserable internship at the law firm you hated, not him becoming your doctor, and definitely not that drunken night at the bar. but he helped, and god, you needed a friend. and he did too. except it's never just friendship with him, is it? it could be perfect—messy, complicated, but perfect. if only his heart wasn’t already taken.

important — this story is a spin-off of symptoms and causes, starting right after chapter twelve. while it can be read as a standalone, reading the original story first will give you a better understanding of the characters and story.

word count — 10.3 k

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, age difference (10 years), doctor-patient relationship, fwb, smoking, mature themes, angst, and depictions of illness (will update as the story progresses). reader discretion is advised.

author's note — hey friends !!! i'm so thrilled to share this new story with you, even though i said i wouldn't write two stories at the same time (oops!). this chapter covers mostly chapter twelve of symptoms and causes from suguru's pov, then introduces our new reader protagonist. if you haven't read the original story, some dynamics might be confusing initially, but i hope you'll get the hang of it. remember, you're the law reader here. at the start, there's a different reader (the protagonist from symptoms and causes). i'll note at the beginning of each scene to clarify. now, i'm so excited to hear your thoughts !! reblogs and comments are love <33

masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

next chapter ->

(note: s&c reader)

"You okay?" I asked, cutting through the tense quiet of the operating room.

Her eyes snapped to mine, the usual focus returning. "I'm fine," she said, gaze drifting away as a small frown creased her brow. "Sorry."

I watched her for a moment longer, unable to tear my eyes away. The soft curve of her cheek, the tender worry in her eyes — a painful reminder of what I could never have.

I wondered what she was thinking about. What occupied her mind like this. What could distract her from a surgery she normally loved with her whole being. But deep down, I knew the answer.

I hate the answer.

The familiar ache in my chest tightened as I steadied my hands, focusing back on the aneurysm pulsating beneath my fingertips. The world shrunk down to the surgical field, the beeping monitor and harsh lights fading away. Just me, her, and the delicate dance of our hands.

"Want to continue?"

She blinked, clearly taken aback. "You want me to clip it?"

"It's a gift," I replied.

"Gift? From who?"

I merely arched an eyebrow.

I didn't really need to say it aloud, did I? She knew.

She hesitated, her gaze dropping to her gloved hands. I could see her biting her lip, even beneath the mask. Doubt clouded her eyes, a flicker of insecurity that I rarely saw.

Stupid girl.

Of course you can do it. You've done it before. Don't lose your focus now.

"And because I trust you," I added, my voice softening. "I wouldn't offer if I didn't."

Her focus snapped back to the exposed aneurysm with an almost palpable intensity. Her jaw set. "Okay," she said simply.

There she was. That's the woman I knew.

I moved to stand just behind her shoulder, close enough to monitor her every movement yet giving her the space she needed to work. She slid seamlessly into position at the microscope, her hands sure as they picked up the instruments.

"Focus," I whispered. "You've got this."

Watching her work was a bittersweet torture.

Her hands moved with a grace and precision that belied the complexity of the procedure, each movement precise yet unhurried. She was brilliant — a natural talent with an instinct few could match.

Except, perhaps, one person.

As she prepared to guide the clip into place around the bulging aneurysm, I couldn't help but feel proud. She was incredible and she didn't even seem to realize it.

"Do you ever think I'm... reckless?"

Her question, barely a whisper, caught me off guard.

I flinched, gaze snapping to study her profile. Her hands didn't falter, her focus unwavering. But I could see the question linger in her eyes.

Why would she ask that? Had Satoru put that doubt in her mind?

"Should I be worried that you're pondering this while inches deep in someone's brain?"

"Forget it," she muttered. "Just a fleeting thought."

With a small, dull click, the clip snapped shut. She had done it, and flawlessly at that.

As I knew she would.

I let out a slow breath, not realizing until that moment how tightly wound with tension I had been. No matter how routine, those high-stakes seconds before clipping always gripped me.

"Well done," I said, watching the tension drain from her shoulders.

She glanced up at me, a genuine smile lighting up her eyes in a way that clenched at my heart. "Thanks, Suguru."

Oh, those eyes.

It pains me that it was him she was looking at with those soft, adoring eyes.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

(note: s&c reader)

The water stung, colder than usual.

I scrubbed my hands next to her, glancing at her from the corner of my eye. Lost in thought again. I could tell. Her movements were mechanical, detached, her hands pale under the harsh fluorescent light.

She was a mere shadow of her former self.

Damn it, Satoru. What did you do to her to get her this hollowed out? I wanted to put my fist through his face for the worry he constantly caused her. And the worst part was, she didn't even know the half of it.

I should tell her, right?

It was the right thing to do, to warn her about his failing liver, his addiction slowly eating him alive. She deserved to know, to be prepared.

But I couldn't. I'd made a promise. And he'd promised to get his shit together. But how much were those promises worth, really?

I know how this story will end.

I'd seen it play out too many times.

I cleared my throat, pushing the thoughts away. "I'm proud of you," I said, trying to break the silence.

"Huh?" She looked at me, confusion clouding her eyes.

"How far you've come," I clarified, trying to get the words out right, but they still sounded hollow. How could I tell her how damn proud I was of the incredible woman she'd become? "Really, you're doing a great job. With the surgery, the research—you have a great future ahead of you."

She gave me a weak smile, then turned her gaze back to her reddened hands.

She was trying to hold it together, I could see that. And it killed me to see her like this, struggling while I felt powerless to help shoulder her burdens. I wished she'd just open up, tell me what was wrong. But again, I knew the answer.

I hate the answer.

"How are you doing?" I asked gently. "Really?"

"Holding up. Somehow."

I observed her closely. Even without her looking at me, I could feel the weight of her struggles pressing down on her. She was always so strong, so confident, but this was different. I'd never seen her so—broken. It was like the life had drained out of her. And it damn hurt.

"New semester treating you okay?"

Stupid question, I know.

"Bit stressful," she admitted. "I have to retake a few exams."

Yeah, and whose goddamn fault is that?

God, I'm repeating myself, but I knew the answer.

I hate the answer.

I hate it so damn much.

"Listen, if you need any help—" I began, wanting desperately to ease her burden.

"Thank you, Suguru," she cut me off, shutting off the faucet with a harsh twist. "But unless you're offering to take my tests for me, I'm afraid this is on me."

She turned and reached for a towel, the action more frantic than usual. I watched her, frustration and helplessness twisting in my gut. I wanted to do more, to be more for her, but how could I when the one she really needed was — not me.

Truth was a bitter pill I had to swallow every damn day.

As she dried her hands, I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. I turned off the water. "I'm sorry things turned out like this for you," I said, the words almost painful. "But it's for the best, for him and for you. We did what we had to."

"Wait, what do you mean?"

I grabbed a towel. "Hm?"

"What do you mean with, 'we'?"

Shit.

I froze mid-movement, my jaw tightening involuntarily. Damn it, I hadn't meant for that to slip out.

Her eyes bore into me, demanding answers. "What did you and Satoru talk about that night? The night before the hearing? I know he was with you."

I remembered it all too well.

Satoru showing up at my door in the middle of the night, shaking, sweating, barely holding onto his sanity. The ethics committee wanting to see him bleed, the guilt eating him alive over dragging her down with him, his addiction — it all become too much.

He didn't know what to do, what the right thing was. And I helped him see reason.

Or at least, that's what I told myself.

"It's nothing important. He was confused, and I helped him clear his head."

"What does that mean? What did you say to him?"

Her hands gripped the edge of the sink until her knuckles showed bone-white through the skin. She wasn't going to let this go.

Damn it, how could I get out of this?

She deserved the truth, I knew that. But I'd sworn to Satoru I wouldn't tell. My mind raced, searching for an explanation, but the truth was, there wasn't one.

Damn it, Satoru. Why do I always have to clean up your messes?

"Tell me what the fuck you said to him!"

And then I saw it. A flash of hurt in her eyes, a vulnerability I'd never seen before. It shattered me. She was so hurt. My beautiful, strong girl was so hurt and there was not a damn thing I could do to ease her suffering.

Because she was with him.

And I was on the sidelines, forced to watch Satoru tear her apart piece by piece — until there was nothing left.

I hated it. Hated Satoru for causing her so much pain.

I couldn't take it anymore. Sorry, Satoru, but screw you and your lies. This was different, because she was different.

"Isn't it obvious?" I snapped, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "I told him to end this. That it would destroy you, and that he should take responsibility for once!"

She flinched, her eyebrows drawing together as she mutely shook her head. "You had no right. You had no fucking right to do that!"

No right?

Oh pretty, I know that better than anyone. But how could I stand by and watch her get dragged down with him? No. Not anymore. I refused.

"No right?" My voice matched hers. I hated how this entire wretched situation had me losing control, lashing out at her when Satoru was the one who deserved it. "And watch you both go down? Satoru was a ticking time bomb! It was better this way—better him destroyed than you dragged down with him."

"I had him, Suguru!" she shouted. "I almost had him trusting me enough, trusting us enough, to let me help him, damn it!"

I almost laughed, but it stuck in my throat. It hurt too much to see the hope still clinging to her eyes. "You're delusional. He can't change. You know that. It would always have ended like this."

"My god, I can't believe your audacity! You ruined everything!"

I ruined everything?

Maybe it wasn't fair of me, maybe my own feelings were clouding my judgment, but damn it, I couldn't watch this anymore. Not when I could still taste the embers in my mouth each time I saw the deadened look in her eyes.

I stepped closer, my jaw clenched. She flinched back, but I kept going. I'd watched Satoru hurt her too many times. I couldn't stand by any longer.

I had to shatter her delusion.

"You know how many times I've seen this play out? The promises to change? I've seen it too often. He won't get better, and I won't let him drag you under with him. Not you."

Her back hit the sink. I stepped closer, until I felt the sudden searing burn of her warmth radiating against me, the intoxicating floral notes of her scent filling my senses until I thought I might lose it from proximity alone.

My hand twitched, moving before my mind could catch up. I wanted to pull back, but I couldn't.

Fingertip traced the delicate line of her jaw, trembling slightly at the contact I craved so much. I fought the urge to let my touch linger, to commit every precious dove-soft plane and angle to memory while I still could.

"This is for the best," I rasped out. "You're young, brilliant. This—relationship with Satoru, it would have ruined you."

"Don't you dare," she hissed, eyes blazing as she swatted my hand away. "You have no right to decide what's best for me."

"Yes, I do. Because I was the one who got you here in the first place, it was my doing, and I—" My voice caught in my throat. "I don't want to see you hurt."

The silence that followed was deafening.

I couldn't look at her, couldn't bear to see the pain I'd caused reflected in her eyes. I'd done what I thought was right, what I believed was necessary to protect her. But in doing so, I had become the very thing I despised—a barrier between her and the happiness she deserved.

Perhaps I'd just screwed everything up even more. And it was killing me.

"Why are you saying this now?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

I wanted to tell her everything.

I wanted to confess the depth of my feelings, the months of silent longing that felt like a steadily tightening noose around my neck whenever I witnessed her happiness with him, the aching, hollow pit that seemed to consume more of me with every smile, every tender caress between them that I wasn't the recipient of, the gut-wrenching jealousy that flayed me from the inside out whenever she looked at him with those devastatingly soft, adoring eyes that held nothing but indifference for me, the—

Sorry.

I'll stop now.

It didn't matter anyway, did it?

The words wouldn't come.

I couldn't, wouldn't allow myself to cross that line.

All I could do was look at her, my heart splitting apart from the violence of my want with every beat. The urge to reach out, to pull her against me, was almost overwhelming. But I held back, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. I'd already done enough damage.

Then, my damned gaze flickered down.

Those lips. God, those lips.

Soft, slightly parted, the bottom one bearing the faint imprint of her teeth—a nervous habit I'd caught myself watching, savoring, hating myself for noticing.

How many times had Satoru kissed those worry marks away? How many times had I wanted to?

I'd lost count of the nights I'd lain awake, imagining her mouth on mine, her lips parting to gasp my name—not his. It was torture, this constant craving to know their texture, their heat, their taste.

It was wrong, so fucking wrong, to think about her that way.

But there I was, night after night, picturing those lips forming my name in a way friends never do. Dreaming of tasting them, feeling them, knowing them in every way I shouldn't.

And it hurt.

I sucked in a hard breath.

Sorry, Satoru. I can't keep this to myself anymore.

"You know damn well why."

I couldn't say it out loud, couldn't bring myself to admit aloud what she patently refused to see with her own eyes. No. I simply couldn't.

"No," she breathed. "You can't—"

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. "Yeah, I know. You don't have to tell me that."

I already know that painful truth, pretty. It was a wound that refused to heal. I'd lived with that realization for far too long.

Suddenly, my pager blared, shattering the moment. Damn it. I cursed under my breath, pulling out the device. My face went taut as I read the message.

Yaga: Office. Now. Bring the student too.

That bastard. Why the hell did he want to see me now? And why her? Was it something Satoru screwed up again? Or something else? Did Satoru get the same message?

This couldn't have come at a worse time.

"What is it?" she asked, her eyes searching mine. I couldn't meet her gaze. Not after I'd betrayed not only her, but Satoru too, with my stupid, selfish feelings.

"Yaga," I choked out. "Wants to see us. Now."

Our eyes finally met, hers filled with questions I've longed so much to answer.

"Why?"

"I...I don't know. But we should go. Come on."

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

(note: s&c reader)

My foot tapped a nervous beat on the scuffed wooden floor.

Why was I so damn nervous? I knew Yaga's games, been through them a thousand times. But this felt different. Because she was here. And she shouldn't be.

A knot tightened in my gut.

He wouldn't bring up that topic again, would he?

I glared at Yaga, willing him to just spit it out already. My eyes flicked to her, sitting stiffly beside me. Her face was a mask. I wondered what she was thinking about. Was she thinking about what I said? Or about—no, I didn't even want to think about that.

I know, I know, I'm repeating myself.

I knew the answer.

I hate the answer.

"So, shall we begin?" Yaga's voice finally cut through the silence, like he'd been enjoying our discomfort. Damn old bastard. "I've called you here to discuss a research project that I want you to redo."

He slid a folder across the desk towards her.

No name, just a mess of loose papers threatening to spill out. She picked it up, her brow furrowing as she opened it. Then her grip tightened on the file. I leaned closer to see what had her so tense, and my stomach dropped.

I knew that title.

Knew it better than anyone, except maybe the one person who'd written it.

"You want me to redo a study that was completely pointless?" she asked, her voice sharp.

"Yes," Yaga said simply.

"The results were inconclusive. A dead end."

"Your research held promise. Dr. Geto never failed to remind me." Yaga's eyes flickered to me. "Now, you have better resources, better support. You can refine it, perfect it."

Damn it. I should've kept my mouth shut.

Regret gnawed at my insides like acid. Regretted telling him what a brilliant mind she had, how much she deserved to be here—among the best.

Because she did.

She was a natural, something I'd rarely seen before, maybe only in Satoru. Hell, it was like watching a younger Satoru at work. And it hurt. It was painful to see so many parallels between them, knowing that I could never measure up to him in her eyes.

I'd brought her here because I believed in her. Because I wanted her on my research team, because I wanted to work with her. But now, I wasn't so sure.

Had I screwed up? Was I the reason she was in this mess? Had I brought her here only to watch her world fall apart?

I didn't want to admit it. Couldn't bear to be the cause of her pain.

I glanced at her, catching her eye. Frustration and confusion were written all over her face.

Shame washed over me.

It was stupid, I know. I shouldn't feel ashamed for recognizing her talent, for bringing her here where she belonged. She deserved it all. But I couldn't shake the feeling that without me, she would've been better off.

Without me and Satoru.

Her knuckles turned white as bone as she gripped the file tighter, then slammed it shut.

"That's not the point," she said. "My CAR-T Therapy research was theoretical, a mathematical model that was inherently flawed. All the best equipment in the world won't change that. It's a black hole."

Yaga leaned forward. "Listen, we have a generous donor. I think you met her at the conference? She took quite a liking to you. Her husband recently succumbed to this very type of tumor."

I knew it.

Yaga, the greedy bastard, never changed his stripes.

The silence was heavy, the only sound the insistent ticking of the clock on the wall. Her mind was racing, I could feel it. So was mine.

I must have spaced out for a second, because the next thing I knew, she was speaking again, her voice dangerously low. "You want to use me to exploit a grieving woman just to line your pockets?"

Yaga's mouth hung open, the smug look wiped clean off his face.

In any other situation, I would have laughed. She, a mere student, had managed to stun the all-powerful Yaga into silence. But the situation was anything but funny. Still, I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. She was something else.

Suddenly, the door slammed open. I didn't even need to turn my head to know who it was.

"What the hell is going on here?" Satoru's voice boomed through the room.

Yaga's face hardened. "Dr. Gojo, what a... surprise. Here I thought you might have finally bothered to read your emails."

"Cut the bullshit, Yaga," Satoru spat. "This is a new low, even for you. Forcing a student, exploiting a grieving widow—have you no shame?"

Yaga rubbed his temples, his voice dripping with annoyance. "Dr. Gojo, your dramatics are exhausting. Do you understand the costs your actions have inflicted on this institution? A shred of gratitude, a willingness to shoulder some responsibility, might be a welcome change."

"Responsibility? You want to talk about responsibility? You're exploiting a woman in the depths of grief, using one of my students as a bargaining chip. What the hell happened to you, Yaga?"

The two of them went at it, their words flying back and forth faster than my eyes could follow.

Yeah, Satoru sure knew how to make an entrance. Not a trait that was always helpful in situations like this, because something in Yaga snapped at his words.

Yaga stood up so abruptly his chair screeched against the floor. "Happened to me? Dr. Gojo, have you considered the consequences of your reckless behavior? You're the one spiraling, and frankly, it's becoming unbearable."

Damn, these two were about to kill each other. Satoru should know better than to provoke Yaga like that. The old man was stubborn as hell. But so was Satoru.

I closed my eyes briefly, then stepped between them, forcing myself to sound calm. "Director Yaga, please. She's a student, her focus should be on her studies."

"Of course, which is why you and Dr. Gojo will provide your expertise. Your old lab is free to use, funds are secured, equipment at your disposal. You have free rein."

Huh?

I narrowed my eyes. As if that made it any better.

Satoru let out a bitter laugh. "Free rein? Or free rein to do as you please? Despicable, Yaga. Truly despicable." He leaned back, folding his arms. "And wasn't I suspended? Investigations and all that? But I suppose principles go out the window when money enters the picture."

"You have no right to dictate what happens here, Gojo," Yaga snapped, his composure slipping. "You answer to me. This research holds immense potential, not just for the university, but for the field itself. You will do it. End of discussion."

"Potential? Or is that just fancy code for fattening your wallet, Yaga?"

"Don't play dumb, Gojo. You, of all people, know exactly how the game is played."

"Don't. Do. This." Satoru leaned forward, his chest brushing against my hand as I tried to hold him back. "Involve her in your schemes, and I swear—Leave her out of this. Suguru and I can do the damned research, but let her focus on her studies."

"You're in no position to bargain. I can make things incredibly difficult for you, Gojo. Throw away all that potential, all that talent... it would be a shame, wouldn't it? But I am more than willing to do so if you prove uncooperative."

Smug bastard was really pushing it today.

He was nothing without us, and he knew it. This whole place would crumble without Satoru and me. We were the ones who brought in the grants, the prestige, the groundbreaking research. And yet, he treated us like we were disposable.

I pushed Satoru back, stepping up to confront Yaga directly. The urge to wipe that smugness from his face with my fists was nearly overwhelming, but I forced control over my rage. One hothead was more than enough for today.

Still, my words came out in a tone of barely restrained menace. "Director. Dr. Gojo has a point. This research will be a massive distraction. Her studies should be her priority."

"Yes," Yaga drawled. "I heard about her recent... setbacks." Yaga sank back in his chair and opened his laptop. "A failed practical exam, a theoretical test barely passed. And this isn't the first time, is it?"

He turned the screen towards her, her failing grades a glaring red on the display. "Tell me, which subject would you like to miraculously pass? A click of my fingers, and it's done."

Before I could say anything, Satoru exploded.

"You blackmailing piece of shit!"

"Blackmail?" Yaga said. "No, blackmail would be threatening to cut her scholarship, endangering her entire future here... which, thankfully, our generous donor would be more than happy to preserve."

This was too much.

Now he had two pissed-off neurosurgeons on his hands. I braced my hands on the desk, leaning towards him. "Yaga, this is beyond the pale! This blatant manipulation—"

Suddenly, her voice cut through the tension. "I'll do it. I'll work on the research."

The room fell silent.

Satoru and I both whipped around to look at her. Her gaze was fixed on Yaga, not flinching. There was something defeated about her, something I wasn't used to seeing. It chilled me to the bone. She wouldn't give in like that. I knew her better than that.

But what had changed?

"Someone finally sees reason," Yaga said, breaking the silence. "You start this week—"

"No," Satoru interrupted. "That's not up for debate. We start next week."

"This week," Yaga repeated, his voice firm.

Leaning in, Satoru's voice took on a dangerous edge. "Next week. Or I walk out that door and you can find yourself a new star surgeon."

Huh?

Why did the start date matter so much to him?

Was that the real issue here?

"Dr. Gojo, you are exceedingly close to losing my goodwill," Yaga ground out. "Fine. Next week."

Satoru backed off and started to pace the room. I glanced at her, who was still sitting silently in her chair. She looked so small, lost in the shadows of Yaga's office. I wanted to wrap her in a hug, tell her it would all be okay.

But it wasn't my place. I knew the answer—

Sorry.

I'll not repeat myself yet again.

My gaze shifted back to Yaga. "And if we find nothing? Months, years, wasted on a dead-end?"

"You'll continue as long as the funding lasts."

"Of course," Satoru spat from across the room.

"Well, look at the bright side, Gojo," Yaga said, adjusting his glasses and focusing on some papers on his desk. "I just approved that fancy new CT scanner for the ER. Isn't that what you've been whining about? Finally found some spare change in the budget, did we?."

"You fucking bastard," Satoru hissed.

Yaga merely shrugged. "Everyone has to play their role, Gojo."

I watched the exchange with a growing sense of disgust. Yaga's power plays were nothing new, but this — this was something else. Exploiting a grieving widow's generosity, using my student's academic struggles as leverage. It was sickening.

I'd always known Yaga was ruthless, but this level of manipulation left a sour taste in my mouth. He was like a parasite, feeding off the brilliance and drive of others, all while masquerading as an advocate for the institution's best interests.

I clenched my jaw.

How could I continue to work for a man who treated his students and staff as mere commodities to be exploited?

Suddenly, I heard a shaky breath behind me.

I turned to see her staring blankly ahead, her body trembling ever so slightly. "If you'll excuse me," she whispered, then abruptly stood up and practically fled the room.

"Wait—" I started, but she was already gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

"Fuck you, Yaga!" Satoru shouted, slamming his fist against the wall hard enough to leave a mark. "This is your fault, your doing!" With that, he stormed out after her.

And I couldn't follow.

All I could do was try to clean up the mess that was left behind.

As soon as they were gone, I turned back to Yaga, who seemed to think the conversation was over. Oh, but it wasn't. Not by a long shot.

"You know about them," I said, not bothering to phrase it as a question.

"It's obvious even to a blind man, Dr. Geto," Yaga replied, his eyes glued to the papers on his desk.

"And you're just going to ignore it?"

He looked up, a cold glint in his eyes. "I finally found Gojo's weakness. Why would I let that go? At long last, I have a way to make him obey me."

I scoffed. In one swift motion, I swept the papers off his desk, scattering them across the floor. I leaned forward, my hands braced on his desk, glaring at him.

"This crosses a line, Yaga. You've gone too far."

His eyes narrowed. "Watch your tone, Dr. Geto. You're treading on dangerous ground."

"No, you are!" I shot back, my voice rising. "You're exploiting her, using her for your own gain. You think you can manipulate everyone, but you're wrong."

"Control? Greed? Those are harsh words coming from you," Yaga retorted, standing up to face me. "And here I thought you, of all people, would understand."

"Understand your greed? Not a chance."

"I don't care if you like my choices or not. This is how things work. You can play by the rules, or be replaced. Don't delude yourself into thinking you're irreplaceable, Dr. Geto."

"Your arrogance is going to cost you another surgeon if you don't watch it. You drove Sukuna away, and now you're halfway there with Gojo and me."

"Sukuna was a different story!" Yaga snapped, his face contorted with a rage I couldn't quite comprehend. He quickly regained his composure, but the outburst had left an uneasy silence in its wake.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen and saw Shoko's name. Frowning, I answered the call. "Shoko? What is it?"

"Suguru, there's a patient here who insists on seeing Satoru. She says it's really important, but he isn't answering his phone, and she won't leave.“

"Why can't you see her yourself?"

"I need a neurologist's assessment," she replied. "And she specifically asked for Satoru. They had an appointment scheduled, and she's adamant about seeing him."

I sighed, rubbing my temples. "There are other neurologists on staff right now."

I could hear her sigh on the other end of the line. "She's never seen anyone else here, Suguru. I'm pretty sure there's a reason she's so insistent on Satoru. Just look at her, do me a favor."

"Alright, I'll be there soon," I conceded. "Bring her to my office."

I ended the call and turned back to Yaga. I took a deep breath, trying to quell the rage that threatened to consume me. "This isn't over. Not by a damn sight."

"Yeah, yeah, Dr. Geto, as always," he dismissed me, already back at his papers. "By the way, there's a legal consult regarding this research coming up for you and Gojo. We don't want a repeat of past indiscretions, now do we?" He looked up at me.

I wanted to smash his smug face in.

I turned and stormed out of his office, slamming the door behind me. My blood was boiling, my fists clenched tight. I hated this whole damn situation. Hated Yaga, hated his manipulative tactics, hated how he was using her. But most of all, I hated feeling so goddamn powerless.

As I walked down the corridor, my anger slowly hardening into resolve. Yaga might think he was in control, but he was wrong. I wouldn't let him manipulate her, or Satoru, or anyone else.

Not this time. Not ever again.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

(note: r&r reader)

I made my way to the hospital.

A damn patient was really the last thing on my mind. I had more important things to do than deal with a hysterical patient. What was it even about? Why did it have to be Satoru she wanted to see? Some relative of his?

I tried to take a deep breath and calm myself, but the downpour between the parking lot and the main entrance made it damn near impossible. By the time I got inside, I was soaked to the bone. No umbrella in sight, of course.

My office door was slightly open. I pushed it in, expecting to find some old lady or something. Instead, a young woman sat in the chair across from my desk. Mid twenties, maybe, with a delicate, almost fragile look about her. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap.

The office was dark, the lights off, which struck me as odd given the gloomy weather outside. But the light from the window beside her illuminated her face, and I had to admit — she was beautiful.

I must have hesitated overlong in the doorway, because her gaze suddenly snapped up to meet mine, those stunning eyes of hers holding me captive. "You are not Dr. Gojo."

"I'm Dr. Geto," I managed, clearing my throat against the strange tension. "You not fond of light, are you?" I asked pointing towards the light switch.

"I like it a bit dimmed," she said, and I didn't question it further.

I stepped into the room, glancing down at my clothes. Not exactly the most professional look for a doctor, standing there soaked through in front of a patient. I threw on my white coat, but it did little to hide my damp appearance.

"You were here for Dr. Gojo, right?" I said as I sat down behind my desk.

"Yes," she said, her eyes following my every move.

"I'm sorry, but he isn't available right now. But I'm a neurologist as well. Perhaps I can help you instead?"

She slid a piece of paper across my desk, her hand still resting on it. "I just need a signature here."

"A signature?" I leaned forward, water dripping from my hair onto the form. I quickly pushed my wet strands back. "This is a health screening form."

"Yes." Her eyes darted nervously to mine. "I need it for my job."

"Can I take a look at it?" I made to take the paper, but her hand remained firmly in place.

"Just the signature, please. Then I'll be out of your hair."

I raised an eyebrow. "I can't sign something without knowing what I'm signing."

Her brow furrowed, and she snatched the form back. "Sorry to have wasted your time," she muttered, starting to get up.

"Wait," I said, stopping her mid-motion. What was it about this woman? What did Satoru have to do with any of this?

"Tell me." I leaned back in my chair. "What did you and Gojo agree on regarding this?"

She hesitated, biting her lip. "Dr. Gojo agreed to sign it without asking too many questions."

Something didn't add up. Satoru might be an addict, but he wasn't reckless with patients.

"I swear, I'll give you the signature you need if you'd just let me take a look at it first."

Reluctantly, she slid the form back across the desk, avoiding my eyes. I scanned it quickly, my brow furrowing as I saw the long list of medications, mostly anticonvulsants.

That explained the lights being off.

"You have epilepsy." I looked up at her. Why would she think either of us would sign this without checking it out first?

"Yes."

"And you're currently taking all these meds?" I gestured to the list.

"Yes."

I leaned back, studying her face. "And Gojo knew about this?"

"Yes."

"Do you have any other words in your vocabulary besides 'yes'?"

Her brow furrowed, and a flicker of defiance flashed in her eyes.

I sighed. "Come on, sit down."

Reluctantly, she settled back into the chair.

I studied her face, looking for any signs of her epilepsy — a slight tremor in her hands from the Topiramate, maybe. But there was nothing. She was perfectly still. Satoru must have found the right dosage.

The silence stretched on. I waited for an explanation, and she knew it. I could practically see the gears turning in her head.

"He's been treating me for a while," she finally said.

"I see. And he agreed to sign this health screening form for you?"

"Yes—"

I raised an eyebrow.

"Look, Dr. Geto, I really need this for my internship," she pleaded. "It's really important to me."

I glanced back down at the form. "Nishimura and Asahi, huh? That's a big deal. You're a law intern?"

"Yes, I am. I'll be working there for the next semester."

I skimmed the papers again, test results, MRI scans. "So, you're almost done with your studies?" I asked, not looking up.

"I do my second state examination after my internship, yes, then I'm done."

"Hmm." I looked up from the papers, the rain drumming against the windows, the only sound in the otherwise silent office. She stared at me, unwavering.

"So you're preparing for your final exams while working the internship? Sounds stressful," I tried to broach the subject carefully.

"Please, Dr. Geto," she said. "I just need a signature on this paper, and I'm out of here."

I sighed. "I understand. But I can't just sign this without checking in on you first. I need to run some tests, make sure you're fit for work."

My eyes scanned the papers again. Blood tests and medication checks were recent, but the MRI scans were outdated. Even Satoru wouldn't have let her slide with that.

"Look, we can make this quick," I offered. "Your MRI scans are old. We take new ones, and then—"

"No," she blurted out, her voice rising in panic. "I mean, isn't there another way?"

"Another way to look into your brain?" I raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid not."

She bit her lip, her hands clenching and unclenching in her lap, saying nothing.

"Look, it's crucial for me to get a clear picture of your brain activity," I explained. "It's the only way I can make sure you're safe and healthy. Otherwise, I can't sign that form."

She looked up at me again. "I... I can't do MRIs. I'm not really comfortable with enclosed spaces."

Huh?

Was that the problem?

I ran a hand through my damp hair, looking back at her scans. "Your last scans were done by Dr. Gojo too, right?"

"Yes."

She was a woman of few words, it seemed.

"Was there something special Dr. Gojo did that made you feel more comfortable in the MRI? Did he give you any medication? Vistaril? Valium?" I knew it wasn't that, though. Those drugs would interact badly with her other meds.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, looking like she might throw up any second. "He... held my hand."

Ha?

My eyebrows shot up. "He held your hand?"

She lifted her chin and looked away. "It... it helped."

I can only imagine the dumbfounded look that must have settled on my features as I processed her words. I couldn't picture Satoru, who rather had his patients in and out in mere seconds, being so patient and caring with anyone. Let alone holding their hand through a brain scan.

She crossed her arms, a stubborn look on her face. "I swear, nothing weird happened. He just held my hand, that's all."

I couldn't help but laugh.

"It's not funny," she protested, her cheeks flushing. "It was really embarrassing."

"Oh, I'm sure it was," I teased, enjoying her flustered reaction. "But it's also quite cute."

She huffed, turning her head away. "It's not cute. It's just... something he did."

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk. "And would you like me to do the same?"

Her eyes narrowed, a spark of challenge in them. "His hands were really soft."

"Is that so?" I leaned back in my chair. I could see the wheels turning in her head, her stubbornness a thinly veiled attempt to stall for time.

"And warm."

"Aha."

"And he had this way of holding my hand," she started, demonstrating with her own hands. My eyebrows shot up even higher as she mimicked Satoru's thumb stroking her knuckles. "Like this."

Somewhere in the middle of her demonstration, she must have realized how ridiculous this was, because she abruptly stopped.

"Don't laugh!" she warned, and I realized I was indeed grinning like an idiot.

Before she could object, I reached out and took her hand in mine.

Her skin was soft, her fingers delicate. I held her gaze, challenging her silently. Not sure what I was trying to prove, but the warmth of her hand in mine felt... good. I knew I was crossing a line here, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

"See? Not so bad, is it?"

She didn't say anything, but her grip tightened a bit. I held her gaze for a few more seconds, then my thumb brushed against the back of her hand in a soothing gesture. She seemed to relax slightly under my touch.

Her eyes darted around the room as if searching for an escape route. "I... I suppose."

I couldn't help but let the moment linger, our hands still intertwined. I noticed a slight tremor in her fingers, and my thumb instinctively smoothed over her skin again.

She suddenly gasped. "That's... quite weird."

"And with Gojo it wasn't weird?"

She shook her head, eyes glued to our hands. "No. I just realized it's weird in general."

I smiled. "Well, then it's settled. We'll schedule your MRI for tomorrow morning."

"You're not like other doctors."

"Perhaps not," I said, finally letting go of her hand. "But you're not exactly your average patient either."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she gestured towards my soaked shirt. "You're the doctor who's completely drenched. I can practically see your skin underneath. Not very professional, is it?"

I glanced down at my sopping clothes. I hadn't even realized how see-through my shirt was. "For someone who's afraid of an MRI machine, you sure have a big mouth."

She crossed her arms. "And for someone who just held a patient's hand without their explicit consent, you sure have a lot of nerve. That's a violation of medical ethics, you know. I could report you for that."

"A law student, are we?" I raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at my lips. "Perhaps you should focus on passing your exams before you start threatening lawsuits."

"Yeah, well, I'd need that signature before I can do that, wouldn't I?"

"Fair enough." I stood up, keys in hand. "Until tomorrow then. Try not to sue me in your sleep."

I turned to leave, but her voice stopped me. "Just so you know, Dr. Geto. I'm not afraid of MRI machines. I just don't like them."

I turned back, a grin spreading across my face. "We'll see about that tomorrow, Attorney," I challenged. "We'll see about that."

The hallway was empty, the silence broken only by the steady drip of water from my clothes. As I walked, the adrenaline of the encounter faded, replaced by the familiar weight of the day's earlier events. The tense confrontation with Yaga, the lingering ache for her — it all came back, a dull throb in the background of my thoughts.

Her face.

Her eyes.

That damn smile.

I ran a hand through my hair.

Fuck.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

(note: r&r reader)

I held my promise.

Her fingers were cold and clammy, her pulse racing beneath my touch. My thumb traced the back of her hand, hoping to convey some sense of comfort. The MRI machine's steady thrum filled the room, but beneath it, I could still hear her shallow breaths.

How the hell did I end up here? Holding hands with a patient during a goddamn brain scan was definitely not in my job description.

"Can you tell me something?" she asked. "Dr. Gojo always talked to me while I was in here."

"What do you want to know?"

"How did you and Dr. Gojo meet?"

I hesitated, slightly irritated by the personal question.

"We've known each other our whole lives. Kindergarten, elementary school, high school... we didn't always get along. He can be a real pain in the ass. But somewhere along the way, we just clicked. Been stuck together ever since. Same university, now working together."

"So you've never been apart?"

"Not really," I said, continuing to soothe her hand with my thumb. "I think the longest we were separated was when he did a semester abroad. Six months, maybe."

"Wow. Sounds like you're an old married couple."

I huffed. "Yeah, somehow we were that."

"Were?"

I looked up, realizing I'd slipped into past tense.

There was a long silence as I thought about it. We used to be so close, inseparable. There was nothing we didn't share, nothing that could ever come between us. But lately, it felt like we were drifting apart.

Maybe I was only realizing it now.

"Oh, I..." I trailed off. I rested my chin on my free hand, looking away from her. "I guess it's only natural. People drift apart. Life happens."

What the hell was I doing?

This was some random patient of Satoru's, a complete stranger. I should've stuck to small talk, the weather, anything but my personal life. But maybe, with everything going on, I just needed to talk about it — to anyone. Because I sure as hell couldn't talk to Satoru about it.

But she wouldn't understand, would she? She was just a stranger.

She wouldn't understand the sleepless nights, the endless tossing and turning, the hollow ache in my chest that wouldn't go away.

"Hmm," she murmured, her grip on my hand tightening slightly. "Was it a woman?"

"Huh?" I looked at her, or at least the part of her face that wasn't hidden by the MRI machine.

"The reason you parted, I mean?"

"No. It wasn't a woman."

The silence hung in the air as the MRI hummed and clicked. She didn't say anything.

I took a deep breath. "It was a woman. But not in the way you think."

"It's never what it seems, is it?"

I hesitated, not sure how much to share. But something in her voice, a softness, made me want to go on. "They share a bond... a deep one. I've never seen anything like that. It's like they're the very air the other breathes."

Her grip on my hand tightened, as if she understood the depth of my pain, even without knowing the full story. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"It's alright," I said, trying to shrug it off, but the pain was still raw. "I knew from the start that they were made for each other."

The truth sliced through me, sharp and cold.

They were too similar, both bordering on insanity to be fair, but similar. Yet, they were so stubborn, so unwilling to admit their need for each other, that they'd rather tear each other down.

It was a damn tragedy.

Even more of a tragedy to get caught up in their destruction, to have these stupid feelings I'd rather not have.

I stayed silent, unsure if I wanted to say anything more. It hurt too much to talk about it, the wound still too fresh. But then, her voice cut through the silence again.

"The law firm is hell."

"Huh?" I was pulled back to the present. "What do you mean?"

"The corporate types are all so stiff and judgmental," she complained. "And the other law students... so ambitious, always trying to one-up each other. I hate it."

My lips twitched into a light smile. "Yeah, law students were always ambitious, even back in my day."

"They are. Everyone's so focused on being the best, even if it means stepping on others. I'm not sure I have that kind of ambition."

"But you got an internship at one of the top law firms in the city," I pointed out. "That must mean you're pretty ambitious yourself."

There was a pause, then she almost whispered, "Yeah, but at what cost..."

Hm?

I barely caught her words, but before I could ask her to repeat herself, a sudden beep from the MRI machine cut through the air. The machine whirred to a stop, the sudden silence almost unsettling. The scan was complete.

The table slowly slid out, bringing her back into full view. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the light. "That's it?" she asked, sounding surprised. "It's over?"

"All done, Attorney," I said with a reassuring smile. "You did great."

As she started to sit up, I realized I was still holding her hand. She glanced down at our intertwined fingers. "You can let go now, Dr. Geto."

I blinked, snapping back to reality. I quickly released her hand. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she said, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "I tend to have that effect on men."

"Again, for someone who's afraid of MRIs, you've got a pretty big mouth."

"Again, I'm not afraid of them. I just don't like them."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, helping her off the table. My hand brushed against hers again. "Now let's take a look at those scans."

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

(note: r&r reader)

As the images flickered onto the screen, my focus sharpened, my eyes scanning the intricate patterns of her brain. The room was quiet, broken only by the soft hum of the computer and the rhythmic beeping of the nearby monitors.

"Everything looks good, Attorney," I said. "No signs of any abnormalities or lesions."

She leaned forward, her eyes wide with interest as she studied the images. "So, I'm all clear?"

"As far as I can tell. Your epilepsy seems to be well-controlled with your current medication."

"Thanks, Dr. Geto, I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome," I replied, grabbing the form from my desk. "Now, about that signature..." I quickly filled it out, my pen scratching across the paper. With a final flourish, I signed my name at the bottom.

"Here you go," I said, handing it over. "All set."

She took it, her eyes scanning the document quickly. "Thank you. You've been a lifesaver."

"Just doing my job." I waved away her thanks. "Now, go out there and conquer the legal world."

She looked up from the paper and met my gaze with a boldness that caught me off guard. "Would you like to go out for drinks this weekend?"

I blinked, my mind scrambling to process her words. "I... what?" I stammered, completely taken aback. "Are you—asking me out?"

"No, no, that's not it at all!" She quickly waved her hands in front of her face. "I mean, not like a date or anything. I could really use a friend, someone to show me around and... you know, just hang out with."

I stared at her, amused and bewildered at the same time. "Attorney, I'm at least ten years older than you."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Ha? How old are you?"

"How old are you?"

"Didn't you read my medical history, doctor?"

Right. Now I remembered. Twenty-six. Yeah, ten years older. I leaned against the desk, not quite sure what to make of her proposition.

"I'm your doctor," I said, reminding her of the obvious.

"Technically, I'm Dr. Gojo's patient."

"Even so, you realize how this could be perceived, right?"

"It's not like I'm asking for your kidney. Just a few drinks." She shrugged, unfazed. "Besides, you seem like a nice guy."

"That's all it takes for you?"

"Come on, don't make it so hard for me," she said, pouting playfully.

"I'm not sure I'm the best person to show you around town. I'm a bit of a workaholic. Socializing isn't exactly my forte."

She tilted her head, studying me with a curious gaze. "So you're saying you don't have any friends?" she asked, a playful challenge in her voice. "Are you a loner, Dr. Geto?"

I hesitated, thrown off by her directness. "Do you always speak your mind so bluntly?"

She shrugged. "Only when I'm talking to heartbroken doctors who seem a little lonely."

I couldn't help but be intrigued by her persistence.

She was unlike any patient I'd ever met — bold, witty, and surprisingly insightful. And despite the age difference, there was some sort of strange understanding between us. I couldn't quite tell if she was doing this for herself or for me, but I found myself wanting to find out.

"Alright, Attorney," I said. "You win. I'll show you around town. But don't expect any wild nights out. I'm more of a quiet bar and good conversation kind of guy."

Her face lit up with a genuine smile. "Sounds perfect. Just promise me you won't try to diagnose me with anything while we're out."

"Why, is there more to diagnose?"

"Nothing major," she said with a chuckle. "Just the usual existential angst, quarter-life crisis, questioning my entire career path kind of stuff."

"Don't worry. I won't diagnose anything outside this hospital."

"Great." She grinned, extending her hand. "Then it's a deal."

As our hands clasped together, I returned her smile. "Deal."

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

(note: s&c reader)

Satoru's call woke me up, telling me to get my ass to the lab. It was my day off, damn it, but when he mentioned she wanted to meet us. I dragged myself out of bed.

By the time I got to our old lab — now ours again, apparently — Satoru was already mapping out the entire research study on the whiteboard. He must have been there for hours.

Good thing I'd brought two coffees. I knew this was coming.

Hours passed in a blur of caffeine and whiteboard markers. Satoru and I argued over every damn strategy, our approaches clashing like always. He wanted to go one way, I wanted to go another. Every idea we had was met with immediate criticism and erased within minutes.

New idea, erase, repeat.

But we kept going, trying to find a plan that would work, not just for us, but for her. We both wanted to take some of the burden off her shoulders.

Then the lab door opened. I turned, surprised to see anyone before the afternoon. My heart stuttered in my chest.

It was her.

She walked over to us, her expression unreadable. It was the first time I'd seen her since Yaga's office, since I'd almost let those three damning words slip past my guard. Since I'd seen the confusion in her eyes when she realized what I was about to confess.

God, what had I been thinking?

That she'd what, return my feelings?

Foolish.

"What are you doing here?" Satoru asked. "Don't you have a lecture right now?"

"Yuta's covering for me. It's fine."

"That's not how this research will work. You won't jeopardize your studies for this," Satoru said, his voice firm.

"Last time I checked, this was my research. Remember?" she retorted, her tone just as sharp.

Satoru merely huffed. She shifted under his gaze, looking uncomfortable. And tired. No, tired was an understatement. She looked like she hadn't slept in a week. Her cheeks were hollow, her skin pale. I hated seeing her like this.

"You look exhausted," I observed quietly. "Are you sure you're up for this?"

"I'm fine," she said, but it was a blatant lie.

I glanced at Satoru, who was already looking at me with a frown. He thought the same thing I did.

"Look, I have an idea," she said suddenly, walking over to the whiteboard and snatching the marker from my hand. Before I could react, she erased our notes with a few harsh strokes.

Ouch.

"My original approach was too theoretical—too cautious," she began, drawing on the whiteboard. "I wanted to use CAR-T therapy to treat brain tumors like blood diseases, but that's not enough. What if we combine CAR-T with targeted antibodies?"

I took a seat next to Satoru, my eyes following hers as she scribbled diagrams and equations on the board. I took a sip of my coffee, already cold. "Antibodies... what kind?"

"T-cell engagers," she said without missing a beat. "We can engineer them to bridge the gap between the CAR-T cells and the tumor."

"That's never been tested before," Satoru chimed in.

"That's why we'll be the first," she retorted. “We'll modify the CAR-T cells to specifically target the glioblastoma's antigen fingerprint. But we need to combine them with T-cell engagers, designed to simultaneously bind the EGFR protein. This way, we can maximize tumor cell destruction."

It was hard to keep up. Her words were spilling out a mile a minute, as if she was afraid they otherwise might slip her mind, the drawings on the board barely legible.

Then, she spun around. "And we'll inject them directly into the brain."

Silence.

Satoru and I stared at her, trying to process what she'd just laid out. Even as seasoned neurosurgeons, we were struggling to keep up. This was on a whole other level than anything we'd considered.

We were looking for something that would work and be safe.

She just wanted to find a way to make it work, damn the risks it seemed. The lack of sleep was clearly messing with her head, but in a twisted way, it made sense. Still, we couldn't actually go through with this, could we?

Her gaze flitted between us, waiting for a response.

God, I need a cigarette.

"That's," I paused, searching for the right word, "—bold."

"More like insane," Satoru countered. "When was the last time you actually slept?"

"Ha? Tell me this doesn't make sense."

I leaned back, drumming my fingers on the armrest as I thought it over. "It does. Theoretically, it could work."

"Combining CAR-T with antibodies? Direct brain injection? We don't have preclinical data, not even hypothetical models to support something this radical," Satoru countered.

"So?" she challenged. "Isn't that what groundbreaking research is about? Taking risks, pushing boundaries?" She gestured to the whiteboard. "This—this is worth the risk."

I stood up and started pacing, rubbing my chin as I thought it through. I walked back over to the board, took the marker from her hand, and started scribbling.

"She's right," I said, my mind racing. "Direct injection cuts through the blood-brain barrier issue. And targeted antibodies... that opens up possibilities we haven't even considered."

But there were still so many obstacles. "The potential for cytokine release syndrome—" I mused aloud. "If the T-cells overreact, we could trigger an inflammatory response."

She leaned closer, her eyes focused on the board. "We can manage that. Steroids, anti-IL-6... strict monitoring protocols."

Hmm, maybe. But there was still more to consider. I kept writing. "And what about the target itself? EGFRvIII is notoriously heterogeneous. We need robust evidence that our antibodies won't miss their mark—"

"Is it just me, or am I the only sane person in this room right now?" Satoru interrupted, his arms crossed as he glared at us from his chair. "We're not talking about hypothetical models here. We're talking about messing with someone's brain. Someone's life."

"I'm well aware of the risks, Satoru," she shot back.

"Aware and reckless aren't the same thing," he retorted.

"Coming from you, that's rich."

God, I need two cigarettes now.

"Look, you've barely slept for a week, and now you're proposing—what, supercharged T-cells?" He gestured towards our chaotic notes on the whiteboard. "Have you both lost your goddamn minds?" His gaze flickered between the two of us.

I was surprised he was so hesitant. Satoru was usually the first to jump into the deep end. Somehow, I had the feeling he changed. He wasn't as risky as I used to know him. Must be her influence.

She took a step forward, her eyes locked on Satoru's. "This could work, Satoru. Or are you too much of a coward to even try?"

"Ha?"

She leaned in, her hands gripping the arms of his chair. "Tell me, do these supercharged T-cells unnerve you? Make you uncomfortable with yourself?"

I had to look away. The sight of them so close together made my stomach churn. I didn't want to see whatever was about to happen. She whispered something I couldn't make out, but the intensity in her eyes was clear. A wave of irritation, of jealousy, washed over me.

My phone buzzed, a welcome distraction. I pulled it out, annoyance flaring when I saw the caller ID.

"Damn it." I answered the call. "Shoko, what is it?"

"Hey Suguru, look, we have an emergency here and the other neurologist is out sick. We need someone to jump in, can you come?"

I rubbed my temple. "Alright, I'm on my way."

I turned back to them, already gathering my things. "We'll pick this up later. There's a situation at the hospital." I looked at her, concern replacing my irritation. "Get some rest. You look like hell."

The words were out before I could stop them, harsher than I intended. But I was already halfway out the door.

Later, as I was scrubbing into surgery, my own words echoed in my mind.

And I felt awful.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

(note: s&c reader)

Sharp autumn air stung my lungs with each greedy drag on my cigarette.

Across the table, Satoru's fingers tapped an impatient rhythm on the worn table that set my teeth on edge. I had to resist the urge to reach over and grab his wrist to make him stop. His eyes were glued to his phone. Overhead, the sky was a bruise-colored canvas, the sun barely visible.

Forgotten coffee grew cold between us.

I took another long drag from my cigarette. Satoru shifted opposite of me, his leg bouncing with nervous energy. He hadn't looked away from his phone in minutes, his fingers twitching as if itching to type a message.

We sat like this for a while at the campus outdoor cafeteria. Students hurried past. Neither of us said a word.

"Sorry for ditching you with my patient the other day," he finally said. "How'd it go?"

I exhaled a plume of smoke and watched it vanish into the leaden sky. "Everything's fine. Medication's good, MRI was clean."

"That's good news," he said, already back to his phone, unlocking and locking it in a nervous tic. "Knew you'd take care of her." He glanced up with a smirk. "So she actually went through with the MRI? How'd that go?"

I let out a dry laugh. "Let's not talk about it." I stubbed out my cigarette butt in the grimy ashtray and immediately lit another. "Didn't know you were so soft with your patients."

"I'm not a monster, you know." He shrugged, gaze dropping back to his phone. "I do what's best for them, even if it means bending the rules a bit." He paused, a smirk once again forming on his lips. "She's pretty straightforward, huh?"

"Did you sleep with her?" I asked bluntly.

Satoru's head snapped up, eyebrows raised. "What, you think I'm screwing every student that walks through my door?"

"You seem familiar."

"She's nice. I was nice in return. That's all." His attention was already drifting back to the bright screen. "Besides, she works with Higurama. He asked me to keep an eye on her."

I exhaled slowly, the smoke a grey ghost against the darkening sky.

"She's doing okay, by the way," he offered without looking up.

My blood ran cold.

I knew who he was talking about. We both did.

Satoru's gaze met mine, his smirk gone. "I know you want to ask."

Silence fell. I wondered if he could sense the fever-pitch of my pulse, if he knew about my feelings for her. Because the way he looked at me now, I had a sinking feeling he did. My fingers tightened around my coffee cup.

"It's not easy for her," I said, trying to sound indifferent.

"Yeah." Satoru's expression hardened. "I should kill Yaga over this whole mess."

"Still, her plan might actually work. It's a good one."

"Yeah, but at what cost?" His leg started its anxious bouncing again under the table. "She's pushing herself too damn hard."

He paused, then blurted, "We should leave this university."

"Like we talked about before you backed out?"

"You know why." He unlocked his phone again, only to lock it a second later with a sigh. "I can't leave her alone with these maniacs."

"The whole staying away from her thing isn't really working out, huh?"

"Of course not," Satoru scoffed with a weary sigh. "I should've known better."

I took a sip of the coffee gone cold and bitter minutes ago, watching him over the rim. He raked a hand through his hair, then tugged at the strands, his leg still bouncing under the table. Something was eating at him.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Yeah, fine," he replied curtly.

I watched him for a beat longer. He was clearly anything but fine. But I knew better than to push it. He wouldn't tell me anyway. Satoru always kept that shit bottled up tight.

But there was another issue too, wasn't there?

"How's the medication treating you?" I asked instead. "We should get your liver enzymes checked soon."

"Huh?" He looked up from his phone, clearly surprised by the question — as if he'd forgotten about his failing liver.

Just then, Zenin Maki and her friends strolled past our table. Okkotsu gave us a quick wave as they passed, and I returned a faint smile.

It was strange. She wasn't with them.

Come to think of it, I hadn't seen her around campus at all since we last crossed paths in the lab.

Satoru's gaze followed them as they scanned the outdoor seating area for a table. His eyes widened, then he quickly stood up. "Sorry, Suguru, I have to go," he said hastily, not giving me any explanation. But I should be used to this by now.

It wasn't the first time.

He was already gone, leaving his coffee cold and abandoned in his wake. I took another long drag of my cigarette, stubbed it out in the overflowing ashtray, and reached for my phone.

[12:15 PM] Me: So, Saturday at 9pm? Know a good sports bar if you're into that.

[12:16 PM] Attorney: Sounds good, love sports. Send me the address.

next chapter ->

author's note: i'm so thrilled to hear your thoughts on geto's pov! he's really struggling with gojo and s&c reader being the mess that they are and his feelings in all of it, but don't worry, he'll get his happy ending (with you) too hehe <33

i hope it wasn't too confusing though. this is my first time writing a spin-off, so if you haven't read symptoms and causes, it must be quite confusing at times. but the next chapters will focus less on the s&c reader and more on geto and the r&r reader of course. but i love how i can provide background info for s&c through this story and vice versa :)) & lastly, thank you so much for reading !! your support truly means the world. hope u all have a great day !! <3

pls comment on the masterlist for the taglist. or consider subscribing to the story on AO3, if you'd like to stay updated on future chapters.

🏷️ @nanamis-baker @whereflowerswenttodie @certainlysyko @ri-sa20 @biancaness

@roseified @rixo-19 @madaqueue @starmapz @alwaysfreakingout

@gojoluvs @totallytatum @shervinss

#remedies and reasons #suguru geto #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #suguru geto fanfiction #geto fanfic #geto fanficiton #geto suguru #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk fanfiction #jjk fanfic #suguru geto x reader

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dissapointu · 29 days ago

Text

How to Rile Up the Characters of Arcane

(anger wise perverts)

These headcanons explore what irks, flusters, or provokes each character in a way that makes their reactions as entertaining as they are educational for anyone seeking to test their limits. Use at your own risk!

Jinx

1. Messing with her inventions

• Jinx is incredibly protective of her gadgets and explosives. Poking around her workspace or suggesting her designs could be improved will get you an immediate, fiery reaction.

• “Improved?! They’re perfect, you total nimrod!”

2. Stealing attention

• Jinx craves recognition, especially from figures she admires (like Silco or her friends). Ignoring her or praising someone else more can push her into an erratic, over-the-top display to reclaim the spotlight.

3. Underestimating her

• Comments like “Are you sure you can handle this?” or “Maybe you should sit this one out” will ignite her fury and determination to prove you wrong—usually in the loudest way possible.

1. Mocking her strength

• Vi prides herself on her physical prowess. Any teasing about losing an arm-wrestling match or struggling with a task will have her insisting on proving you wrong immediately.

• “Alright, tough guy. Let’s see if you can back that up.”

2. Disrespecting Powder/Jinx

• Bringing up Jinx in a negative light or blaming Vi for what happened between them is a surefire way to strike a nerve. Her guilt and protectiveness will flare up in equal measure.

3. Challenging her leadership

• Vi naturally takes charge, so questioning her decisions or suggesting someone else lead will have her bristling. “You think you can do it better? Be my guest.”

Sevika

1. Criticizing her loyalty to Silco

• She’s fiercely loyal, and any remarks suggesting she’s blindly following orders or dependent on Silco’s authority will make her defensive—possibly in an intimidating way.

• “I’d watch what you say next if I were you.”

2. Messing with her arm

• Joking about her mechanical arm or tampering with it is a fast way to get her glaring at you—or worse.

• “Touch it again, and you’ll see how well it works up close.”

3. Calling her soft

• Sevika has a tough exterior, and any insinuation that she might have a soft side will annoy her. Push too far, and she’ll feel compelled to prove just how “not soft” she is.

Silco

1. Interrupting his plans

• Silco is meticulous and hates disruptions. Questioning his methods or derailing his carefully laid schemes will earn you a cold, cutting remark—or a deadly glare.

• “Do you think you could do better, or is this just idle foolishness?”

2. Challenging his authority

• Silco thrives on control, and anyone who undermines or questions his leadership will quickly find themselves on his bad side.

• “I’d advise against testing me further.”

3. Mentioning Vander

• Bringing up Vander’s betrayal or suggesting Silco is living in his shadow will strike a deeply personal nerve, though he’ll hide his emotions behind his chilling composure.

Vander

1. Endangering his family

• Vander’s protective instincts are unmatched. Any threat—real or perceived—to his children or those he considers family will have him stepping into action.

• “If you so much as look at them the wrong way, you’ll regret it.”

2. Mentioning his past violence

• Vander is deeply remorseful about his history as the “Hound of the Underground.” Reminders of his brutal past will make him uncharacteristically curt or defensive.

• “I’m not that person anymore. Let it go.”

3. Disrespecting Zaun

• Vander’s love for Zaun runs deep. Insulting his city or its people will get him fired up—and ready to defend it, fists clenched.

Ekko

1. Treating him like a kid

• Ekko is mature beyond his years, and any patronizing behavior or comments like “You wouldn’t understand” will annoy him to no end.

• “Say that again, and I’ll show you who doesn’t understand.”

2. Messing with the Firelights

• The Firelights are Ekko’s pride and joy. Damaging their hideout, criticizing their mission, or mocking their cause will ignite his protective side.

3. Being overly pessimistic

• Ekko is an optimist, and negativity frustrates him. If you’re constantly dismissive of change or improvement, he’ll passionately argue with you about why hope matters.

Jayce

1. Insulting his intelligence

• Jayce is proud of his work as a scientist and inventor. Any comment suggesting his ideas are impractical or undeserving of recognition will hit him hard.

• “Let me remind you who brought Hextech to Piltover.”

2. Calling him a sellout

• He walks a fine line between invention and politics. Accusations that he’s abandoned his ideals or sold out for power will immediately put him on the defensive.

• “I’m doing what’s best for Piltover. You don’t understand the pressure I’m under.”

3. Undermining his authority

• Jayce takes his leadership role seriously. Any hint that he’s unqualified or incapable of handling the responsibility will make him overly defensive.

Viktor

1. Interrupting his work

• Viktor is hyper-focused on his research, and distractions—whether they’re intentional or accidental—irritate him.

• “Could you not see that I was in the middle of something important?”

2. Dismissing his ideas

• Viktor has faced constant dismissal throughout his life, so belittling his contributions or questioning his vision will strike a nerve.

• “You lack the foresight to understand, clearly.”

3. Criticizing his background

• Insulting Viktor’s roots in Zaun or using it as a way to undermine his accomplishments will get under his skin, though he’ll respond with cold indifference to hide the sting.

Caitlyn

1. Disrespecting her position

• Caitlyn is deeply committed to her role as a law enforcer. Suggesting she doesn’t deserve her rank or that she got there through privilege will earn a sharp rebuttal.

• “I worked harder than you’ll ever know to get here.”

2. Mocking her by-the-book nature

• Caitlyn’s dedication to justice and procedure is central to her identity. Teasing her for being “too rigid” or overly disciplined will irk her, even if she tries to laugh it off.

• “Someone has to uphold the rules around here.”

3. Bringing up her family’s wealth

• Caitlyn is sensitive about her affluent upbringing and works hard to prove she’s more than just her family name. Dismissing her as “just another rich kid” will immediately put her on edge.

#x reader #arcane imagine #arcane x reader #arcane headcanon #arcane vi #ekko arcane #arcane jayce #vi arcane #jinx arcane #arcane caitlyn #arcane sevika #silco x reader #arcane silco #sevika

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charliedawn · 2 months ago

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Hi hi!

It's been a while since over requested anything but I've been keeping track of your posts and I am still in love with your writing style!!

I was wondering if I could have the slashers with a nurse wo already has 5 kids but is a single mom?

When it comes to her kids safety she turns into a complete animal like mama bear style....

Her children are smart in their own ways and are very close nit, but they always look out for their mother.

Thanks if you do this!

❤️ anon

P.s please take care of yourself! And drink lots of water and eat healthy meals!!!

Jason would be quietly protective, his natural instinct to shield others kicking in as he watched the kids play. He might not say much, but he’d be the first to step in if any danger appeared. He’d probably even enjoy the occasional moments when one of the kids quietly sits beside him, without fear, just being present.

But…Jason is afraid of children. He knows they can be cruel. So he wouldn’t approach the kids if he can help it. He would first need reassurance that they are good kids who wouldn’t be mean to him. I think your kids would be safe with him, but be careful as Jason is still a kid in his head and kids usually do not realise what they are doing until it is too late…

He might get scared.

Bo would put on his usual tough front, pretending that he’s unfazed by all the noise and mess. But over time, you’d notice him helping fix things around the house without asking, muttering under his breath that he’s “just keeping the place from falling apart.” And you might catch him joking with the older kids, giving them advice like an older brother might. He would eventually warm up to the kids. (And they would watch Cars together cause duh…cars. 🤣)

Your kids wouldn’t necessarily see him as a threat cause they know his true love is cars.

Pennywise and Penny would likely be the most chaotic around the kids, trying to keep them entertained in their unique way. They’d take turns clowning around (literally), teasing and laughing, but always making sure the kids were safe. Pennywise might grumble about all the work, but deep down, he’d appreciate the chaos that reminds him of his bond with Penny. Also, they would create illusions and Penny would even turn himself into a poney to have some fun with the kids. They would hence learn to be more friendly and to care for your family—as much as they care about you.

Freddy Krueger might pretend to be too cool to care at first, but he’d surprise you by keeping the nightmares at bay for your little ones. He’d even show them how to stand up for themselves, all while cracking jokes and making a game out of it. He’d never admit it, but being part of a family dynamic might soften him a little, especially when he sees how much he’s grown fond of the little monsters. 😆

Freddy *takes one of the kids and smiles* : "If you think you can just bat your eyes at me and pout and get me to do whatever the hell you want…you got another thing coming, kiddo."

All your kids start doing it and he pretends to get shot and fall.

"Aaaah ! Curse y’all for ganging up against me !"

Vincent Sinclair and Jason would be silently helpful, stepping in to create art for the kids or fix broken toys. They’d rarely speak, but their actions would show how much they’ve come to care for both you and your family. Both their gentle side would emerge more often when they’re with your younger children, especially if they showed interest in their work.

Michael Myers would be a constant presence, quietly observing and occasionally stepping in when needed. He might bond with one of the quieter kids, appreciating their silence and the way they understand each other without needing to talk. He’d be fiercely protective of your family, seeing you and the children as his own responsibility. He would also organise cooking or baking sessions for the kids—managing to make them all participate and teach them a thing or two—in case you do not have the time to cook for them.

And Brahms Heelshire—though not used to such a lively household—would probably hover around you, trying to be helpful while also seeking attention. He’d keep a close eye on everything, particularly the younger kids, and would often look to you for reassurance, wanting to be part of this new family.

Once approval give though ? He’d quickly share his many toys and board games with the kids—eager to make some new friends. He would also be happy if they invited him to play with them and end up missing them when they have to leave. He’s also be happy to receive hugs from the kids and beg you repeatedly to bring them back.

#fandoms #imagine #fanfic #pennywise 1990 #pennywise 2017 #slashers #pennywise x reader #michael myers x reader #freddy krueger x reader #jason voorhees x reader #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #slashers au

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skiiyoomin · 1 year ago

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i beg you to write some tobias eaton jealousy smut where he gets all possesive and shit

⤑Back to navigation

Content: SMUT CONTENT, possessiveness, swearing, fem reader, slight tease Tobias, dirty talk? little tiny bit of degradation (he calls you a slut)

Summary: Tobias had to show exactly who you belong to

a/n possesive tobias makes me feralll, also the plot is boring as hell but i geniuenly couldnt come up with something else

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

ღNeed | Tobias Eaton

You're beatiful, that's a fact. Tobias knew it, everyone at Dauntless did. He always felt lucky and greatful to have ended up with you, and he always made sure to remind you of that fact.

However, like everything, there was a downside. People at Dauntless had a tendency for....boldness. Of course that was a given, I mean, it's literally their nature to be bold. But there were times Tobias wished people weren't so bold.

Often times he'd catch people staring at you a little longer than necessary. Other times they'd straight up attempt to flirt with you, but you quickly shut down their advances. However, there's always going to be some idiot who doesn't understand what no means. Like right now.

You were at a party and of course, as expected of Dauntless, everything was absolutely wild. You were having a great time and, surprisingly, so was Tobias. As expected, you had caught the eyes of many in your black silk dress that night and while he felt slightly uneasy at this, who were they to blame really, you did look stunning after all.

At one point, he unwrapped his arm from your waist and excused himself to the bathroom. When he came back, what he saw had him clenching his jaw and curling his hands into fists. A random guy was towering over you, leaning a bit too close for comfort, your face clearly showed discomfort, which had Tobias immediately coming to your side.

"Are you ok darling? Is he bothering you?" He glared at the man as he asked the question, his gaze softening when he glanced back down at you. You meekly nodded, wanting nothing more than to be left alone with your lover.

"Oh come one babygirl don't play hard to get, we were having fun" The man reeked of alcohol making his nose twitch in disgust. His grip on your waist tightened. "She's clearly taken, so I would back off if I were you"

The man merely glanced at him before he drifted his attention back to you, continuing his advances. Tobias stepped in front of you, pushing a finger into the mans chest. "I said back off" He seethed.

Before he could answer, Tobias grabbed your hand and walked towards the door with a fast pace, leaving you no choice but to follow. Once you were walking down the empty hallways of the compound, you reached up to place your hand on his tense shoulders. Hesitantly, you called out to him.

"..Tobias?"

You were answered with silence, and while you questioned the unusual behaviour, you decided to keep quiet, not wanting to cause further tension.

Before you knew it, you were at the door of your shared apartment. As soon as the door closed, Tobias had you pressed up against the wall, his lips kissing yours in fervour. You were absolutely breathless, your mind going blank at the feeling of his hands roaming your body.

He seperated from your lips, though only a mere centimeters. He gazed deep into your eyes, his own half lidded ones holding a dark lustful gaze. "You're mine" He growled. His low tone sent shivers down your spine, your breath hitching in your throat.

He picked you up with ease, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he manuvered with ease through the house and to your bed. Gently he plopped you down and crawled on top of you, his toned arms caging you under him. His lips were back on yours, the tension rising as his hands roam your curves. Your shirt rode up with the movements and in one swift movement it was off, leaving you in your bra. His lips began to move down, leaving lingering kisses on your jaw and neck. You let out a breathy moan when he kisses the crevice of your neck. When he pulled back, he admired the series of hickeys decorating your neck.

With expertise, he unclipped your bra, throwing it to the side. Similarly to your neck, he began to spread hickeys wherever he could. Your back arched when his warm mouth enveloped your sensitive nipple, the other teased between his thumbs. "Mmm Tobias" You breathed out, your hands on the back of his head, messing up his brown locks. He continued giving his attetion to your chest, switching between one nipple and the other until you were writhing underneath him.

"Please Tobias, I need it"

You whined, but he only seemed to want to tease you.

"Need what baby? Use your words"

"Fuck please, i- i need your cock"

That's all he needed to hear for him to remove the rest of your clothes as well as his own onto the pile on the floor. He placed his hands under your knees, spreading your legs until you were wide open for him. The sight of your wet cunt made his dick twitch, a groan errupting from his throat at the sight. "Fuck baby you're already so wet for me, can't wait for this cock to fill you up hm?"

You nodded frantically, wanting to be filled up to the brim. You grinded your hips, needing to feel friction on your throbbing pussy. He leaned forward, pressing your legs to your chest as he lined up with your needy hole. Without any warning, he slammed into you, causing a loud moan to rip from you.

"I'm gonna show everyone who you belong to, who fucks you so hard you can't walk properly like a needy little slut"

You whined at the filthy words, but before you could even react, he was already slamming his hips into your ass, the dirty sounds of squelching filling the room.

He lifted your hips a little bit, allowing him to reach places you didn't know existed. Your head fell back onto the mattress, your jaw hung open while the most pornographic mewls left your mouth. He grunted at the feeling of your walls tightening around his dick, your nails scratching his back adding to the feeling of pleasure.

Soon enough your back arched, your moans rising in pitch and your words turned into gibberish as you felt your orgasm reach its peak. Tobias quickened his pace, feeling his own release coming close.

"o-ooh my god f-fuck i'm gonna cum"

"cum for me baby"

With a couple more thrusts you were cumming all over his cock, your body jerked uncontrollably. Not long after he released his seed inside you, using your overstimulated hole to chase his high.

When you finally caught your breath, you pressed a sweet kiss to his lips "That was good"

He pressed kisses all over your face before looking at you with a smirk "Don't think I'm done with you"

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princesscait26 · 7 months ago

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An Unlikely Friendship: 2

Summary: The two rivals wives are caught (I’m really bad at summaries)

Alastor x reader, Vox x unnamed wife, Vox’s wife x reader Platonic!

Part 1

At the Hazbin Hotel, Y/n sat at her vanity, meticulously getting ready for the day. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the soft glow of the vanity bulbs. She was applying her lipstick when she noticed a familiar shadow in the mirror's reflection. Without turning, she spoke with a slight smile curving her now red lips, “I know you’re here.”

The shadow shifted, and in its place stood the Radio Demon himself. Alastor’s crimson eyes and broad smile fixed on his wife with a blend of curiosity and suspicion. “Where are you going today, my darling? It’s still only the morning,” he inquired, his tone deceptively casual.

Alastor was known throughout Hell for his malevolence, but in the presence of his wife, he was softened, almost vulnerable. Her absence left him feeling incomplete, a sensation he loathed.

Y/n turned, meeting his intense gaze with practiced ease. Avoiding his question, she picked up her purse and leaned in to plant a light kiss on his cheek. “I’m going out. I’ll be back before you know it. Don’t forget you have a meeting with Charlie today, dear!”

Before Alastor could react, she slipped past him, the reminder of his meeting momentarily distracting him. She made her way to the door, her heart pounding as she sensed his gaze burning into her back.

The moment the door clicked shut, Alastor’s smile twitched, replaced by a look of steely determination. His possessiveness gnawed at him. Where was his wife off to, and what was she doing? His mind raced with possibilities, none of which he liked.

He could not simply let it go. Summoning his shadow, he issued a silent command. "Follow her. Report back to me."

As Y/n exited the hotel and stepped into the bustling streets of Hell, she felt a chill, a whisper of unease that she couldn't quite shake. She knew Alastor's nature all too well, knew he wouldn’t take her abrupt departure lightly. Yet, she couldn’t let him control every aspect of her life.

Back at the hotel, Alastor paced his room, the meeting with Charlie all but forgotten. His thoughts were consumed by his wife’s mysterious outings. Though he trusted her, his darker instincts drove him to ensure her safety and loyalty.

———————————————————————

Y/n was blissfully unaware of Alastor's shadow trailing her as she made her way to the café. Believing she had successfully slipped away, she pushed open the door and was immediately enveloped by the comforting aroma of coffee and pastries. The gentle hum of conversation filled the air.

“Y/n!” a familiar voice called out. She turned to see Vox's wife, waving enthusiastically from a corner table. Y/n smiled and waved back, weaving her way through the tables to join her friend.

"I ordered your usual," she said with a warm smile as Y/n sat down. "Late again, I see. Did Alastor give you a hard time leaving?" She laughed, the sound bright and infectious.

Y/n giggled, sharing in the inside joke that both women held—how their husbands never made it easy for them to leave. "You know him too well," she replied with a chuckle. "It’s like trying to escape a shadow."

Vox’s wife’s eyes twinkled. "Well, we manage. It’s nice having these moments to ourselves."

Y/n sighed contentedly, her expression softening. "I enjoy your company so much. It’s rare to find someone who truly understands. You’re a great friend."

"You're too sweet," Vox’s wife replied, her smile widening. "If only our husbands knew how much they actually had in common."

The two women laughed, their voices mingling with the ambient sounds of the café. They reveled in their shared moments, finding solace and camaraderie in each other's presence.

Unbeknownst to them, Alastor's shadow had witnessed the entire encounter. It slipped away, returning swiftly to its master. Alastor listened intently to the shadow's report, his expression shifting from curiosity to shock, then to anger. How dare his wife meet with Vox’s wife, of all people!

On the other side of the city, Vox had grown suspicious as well and decided to follow his wife. When he arrived at the café, he was surprised and annoyed to see Alastor approaching from the opposite direction. Their eyes locked, and both men bristled at the sight of the other.

"What are you doing here?" Vox demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Alastor sneered. "I might ask you the same thing. I have every right to be here."

"As do I," Vox retorted, stepping closer. "However, it seems we have a more pressing matter at hand."

Their attention turned toward the café’s interior, where Y/n and Vox’s wife were laughing and chatting, oblivious to the storm brewing outside.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Alastor's tone is dripping with amusement, but his eyes betray a flicker of something darker. He stands at the entrance, his silhouette casting an imposing shadow over their table. Next to him, Vox's eyes blaze with barely contained rage, his screen flickering.

The café falls silent, the patrons' eyes darting between the two imposing figures and the women. Y/n's heart skips a beat as she locks eyes with Alastor, his usually warm gaze to her now cold and penetrating.

"Alastor," Y/n starts, attempting to keep her voice steady, "This isn't what it looks like."

Vox's wife stands up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Vox, I—"

But Vox cuts her off, his voice low and seething. "You think I wouldn't find out? That you could hide this from me?" His words hang heavily in the air, his fists clenching at his sides.

Alastor steps closer, his smile never wavering but his eyes darkening. "My dear, I am not so easily deceived. And to think, you two have been meeting behind our backs. It seems our rivalry has taken a rather... unexpected turn."

Y/n can see the hurt beneath Alastor's facade. Despite his charm and confidence, there is a sting of betrayal in his eyes. She takes a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Alastor, we just wanted a break from the constant fighting. It was never meant to hurt you two. To be with someone who understands."

Vox's wife nods in agreement, her eyes pleading with her husband. "Vox, please understand. We needed to escape the endless cycle of your battles. We needed each other."

But Vox, his pride wounded, steps forward towards the two women, his voice cold. "You think I care about your excuses? This betrayal is unacceptable. You think sneaking behind our backs was a good solution" He glares at Alastor, as if blaming him for this newfound alliance between their wives.

Alastor, ever the performer, turns his attention back to Y/n, putting a hand up stopping Vox from getting closer to Y/n. His smile returning but now tinged with bitterness. "It seems we have more in common than we thought, Vox. Betrayed by those closest to us."

Vox scoffs, his gaze never leaving his wife. "Don't lump me in with you, Alastor. This changes nothing between us. If anything, it intensifies our rivalry."

Y/n steps forward, her voice firm. "Enough. Both of you. This isn't about your rivalry. It's about us, your wives, who have had enough of your childish antics. We wanted peace, but it seems that's too much to ask for."

Vox's wife joins her, her voice soft but determined. "We love you both, but we can't keep living like this. It’s exhausting. All of your time goes to your fight with him, Vox. Something has to change."

The tension in the café is palpable, the silence deafening as Alastor and Vox process their wives' words. Finally, Alastor speaks, his voice softer but still edged with frustration. "Perhaps we do need to reassess our priorities."

Vox, his anger simmering down to a low boil, nods in agreement. "For once, I agree with Alastor. This isn't over, but maybe it's a wake-up call."

Alastor's eyes flicked to Vox, surprise flickering across his face. "You're suggesting we... call a truce?"

"Temporary," Vox clarified, his tone grudging. "For the sake of our marriages."

Alastor considered this, then nodded slowly. "Agreed. Temporary."

Relief washed over Y/n and Vox’s wife as the tension in the air finally began to ease. The initial shock and anger on Alastor and Vox's faces had subsided into something more manageable, though still simmering beneath the surface.

Alastor, ever the gentleman, extended a hand to Y/n. “Come, my dear,” he said softly, though his eyes still held a hint of possessiveness. “Let’s return home. We have much to discuss.”

Y/n took his hand, squeezing it gently. “Of course, darling,” she replied, casting a reassuring smile over her shoulder at Vox’s wife.

Vox, meanwhile, wrapped a protective arm around his wife’s shoulders. “We’re leaving,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “We need to talk as well.”

She nodded, leaning into him slightly. “Alright, Vox,” she murmured, her eyes meeting Y/n’s with a mixture of amusement and solidarity.

As the two couples moved in opposite directions, the two women turned back to each other, sharing a silent understanding. Their eyes met, and both broke into large, conspiratorial smiles. They waved goodbye, their hands lingering in the air as long as they could see each other.

“Until next time,” Y/n mouthed, her smile warm and genuine.

“Definitely,” she mouthed back, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

The café doors closed behind them, separating the two women physically but not in spirit. As Alastor and Vox led their wives away, the men’s grips firm yet gentle, the women’s thoughts lingered on their cherished friendship, silently vowing that this unexpected encounter wouldn’t be their last.

In the bustling streets of Hell, amidst the chaos and constant noise, two friendships stood resilient, bound by shared experiences and a mutual understanding of the complicated men they loved. For now, at least, the truce was a step toward peace—a fragile, tentative step, but a step nonetheless.

———————————————————————-

Taglist

@that-dumb-bitch

@alastorthirsty

@generalthirsty

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venussaidso · 2 months ago

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𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘'𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 — Vedic Astrology Observation (based on shows/films part 7)

The lyrics of the song suggest a deep yearning for connection or depth, describing a sense of distance or separation. Something can be fading away, like a memory you can’t quite grasp. Something is lost and obscured.

The character Dorian Gray is the most perfect example of the negative influence of Ketu, in the way that he has a corrupting influence of those around him due to his extreme yet effortless magnetism. In the recent part of this series, I explored a less chaotic manifestation of this using the main character from the kdrama "Nevertheless". You will understand how this extends to Dorian Gray.

This character's magnetism works quite like a void, sucking others in, promising fulfillment, but he is fundamentally empty -- again, like a void. He is known to be a depthless, yet mystifying being. Ketu is still an illusory planet, and we are reminded of this from the way he draws people in as if he possesses something profound to give, only for this perception of depth to turn out to be an illusion. Because, ultimately, Dorian is devoid of true substance. Yet there is no denying the subconscious effect he has on people; so strong, in fact, he unintentionally sends them to madness. He always seems to leave behind a trace of chaos wherever he goes.

His entire being works like a gravitational force. The modern iterations of this character usually being portrayed by Ketuvians, we see him absorb everything he effortlessly magnetizes. The admiration, unlimited energy, and desires of others, pulling them into his orbit. His beauty is mistaken for substance, his allure for depth. Yet, as people draw closer, that's when they start to lose something of themselves. As we know, Ketu drains and destroys. He quite literally functions like a blackhole. His influence is so extreme on a subconscious level that it shoves people to abandoning their convictions, indulge in their darker instincts, and stray from their true selves. This is because Dorian, though vibrant in appearance, is a hollow shell that paradoxically creates a vacuum around him as he consumes the life and energy of those who fall under his spell.

It comes as no surprise that the version we know him as is played by the double Ketu native Ben Barnes. Mula native Stuart Townsend also played him. And a version of Dorian Gray in "Penny Dreadful" is played by Ashwini native Reeve Carney.

On that note, Reeve Carney's Dorian Gray was tangled up with a double Ketu native in Penny Dreadful in an intoxicating affair. As usual, Ketu people are mutually drawn to each other immediately. In Penny Dreadful, Dorian is captivated by Vanessa Ives, who is played by Ashwini Moon, Magha ASC Eva Green. He is taken in by her mysterious intense nature, seeing in her a reflection of the dark beauty he already embodies. And Vanessa is drawn in by Dorian’s undeniable charm and darkness, a darkness she feels within herself too.

youtube

In my recent post, I edited and added more (fictional) Ketu-Ketu interactions in the media. There is always mutual recognition between Ketuvians, their attraction always feeling fated yet so short-lived by either 8H circumstances or extreme unfulfillment (in this case for Vanessa and Dorian, who are different manifestations of Ketu. Vanessa, who has inner turmoil, seeks spiritual depth. Dorian, who is internally empty, lives to absorb worldly things and people, sucking everything around him dry).

Although it turned out he'd never felt for anyone as he did for Vanessa (to the point of seeking her out, something she could only capture as he became magnetized by her Ketu force), in the end, their relationship is one more moment in his endless cycle of shallow, unfulfilling experiences. This exploration of his Ketu influence also reminds me just how similar it is to Rahu because, to some extent, Rahu deals with these same themes too. My vampirism exploration for the nodes validates just how illusory and consuming these shadow planets are.

As some of you know, I'm of the unpopular opinion that Tom Hiddleston is a likely Ashwini Moon. I wanted to use his character in "Crimson Peak" as addition to this observation.

Thomas Sharpe's magnetism is predatory, having a rather vampiric quality as he embodies this tense nodal energy. Though he has more depth than Dorian Gray, in the end he is still nothing more than a beautiful illusion with darkness surrounding him. Typical as he consumes those who become ensnared in his web, draining their spirit. Unlike Dorian, he deliberately devours the resources and life force of his victims. Another nod to this theme of Ketuvians who, intentionally or unconsciously, function like black holes themselves. Leaving those who become sucked in to ruin.

In the film, the female lead embodies the final girl nakshatra trope, being his only victim to get away. She is portrayed by Magha Moon Mia Wasikowska. Ketu-Ketu pairing gone wrong.

Also, Ketuvians are often seen playing ghosts or are casted in projects that have this supernatural element! Moon nakshatras come second in the horror genre, too.

The main stars of the film either have Ketu Moons or a Moon nakshatra in their lunar mansion.

The film is literally written & directed by Hasta Sun Guillermo del Toro.

You will often see Moon nakshatra natives working with Ketu nakshatra natives. I see these pairings in friendships and other forms of relationships a lot; [Tate x Violet from AHS].

Ashwini Moon Tom Hiddleston portrayed Thomas Sharpe's ghost.

Magha Sun Patrick Swayze in the film "Ghost".

Mula Moon, Magha Sun Taissa Farmiga and Hasta Moon Evan Peters as ghosts in American Horror Story.

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muiitoloko · 7 months ago

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Hi, could you write something a bit different for Turpin, less harsh like if his girl is in pain with his period (yes in fact I am currently in pain with my period 🙄) and he takes care of her though he his still the death judge but for his wife, he his a better version version of himself because she is his special one.

Title: Husband's duty.

Summary: It is a husband's duty to care for and love his wife, and Turpin takes this duty seriously.

Pairing: Judge Turpin × Fem! Reader

Warnings: none

Author's Notes: Hey there! Oof, sorry to hear about the period pain, I feel you on that one! 😩 But hey, let's switch gears and imagine a softer side to Turpin, shall we? Wishing you a speedy recovery and sending lots of good vibes your way! 💕

Also read on Ao3

First, Second and Third part here.

As you gradually awaken to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, you feel the familiar ache of menstrual pains coursing through your body. Turpin, your beloved husband, stirs beside you, his arm instinctively wrapping around your waist, drawing you closer to him. You can sense his arousal pressing against your backside, a common occurrence in the intimacy of the morning.

However, today, the pain is too intense to ignore, and you gently push him away, wincing at the discomfort that courses through you. Turpin grumbles softly, his deep baritone voice tinged with irritation. "What's troubling you, woman?" he murmurs, his brows furrowed in concern.

You try to convey your distress through soft words, knowing his temperamental nature all too well. "I'm not feeling well," you whisper, hoping he'll understand the severity of your discomfort.

Turpin's eyes narrow slightly as he takes in your pained expression. Despite his reputation for cruelty and a demeanor that often strikes fear into others, he has always been different with you. His hooked nose and stern features soften ever so slightly as he shifts to sit up, his hand moving to gently brush a strand of hair from your face.

"What ails you, my love?" he asks, his voice losing its edge and becoming tender. The contrast between his usual harshness and the way he treats you never ceases to amaze you.

"It's... it's my time of the month," you admit, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "The pain is quite severe today."

Turpin sighs, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. Not at you, but at the situation. "I see," he mutters, his fingers tracing soothing circles on your abdomen, as if trying to will the pain away. "Why did you not wake me sooner, [Your Name]?"

You offer him a weak smile, touched by his concern. "I did not want to trouble you, Richard. You have enough burdens to bear."

"Nonsense," he replies gruffly, though there is a softness in his tone. "Your well-being is my foremost concern."

He stands up from the bed, his tall frame casting a shadow over you. You watch as he moves to the dresser, pulling out a small vial of laudanum, the tincture he keeps for such occasions. He returns to you, uncorking the bottle and carefully measuring out a dose. "Here," he says, holding it to your lips. "This will help ease the pain."

You take the laudanum gratefully, the bitter taste a small price to pay for the relief it promises. As you lie back down, Turpin sits beside you, his hand returning to your waist. "Rest now," he murmurs, his fingers stroking your hair gently.

You nod, feeling the laudanum begin to take effect. The pain starts to dull, replaced by a comforting warmth. "Thank you, Richard," you whisper, your eyes fluttering closed.

"Think nothing of it," he replies, his voice soft and tender. "I am your husband. It is my duty to care for you."

In the quiet of the morning, you drift back into a more restful sleep, the pain receding under Turpin's watchful gaze. He remains by your side, his stern exterior a shield he uses against the world, but never against you. In this moment, you are reminded of the complex man he is: cruel to others, yet tender and protective of you.

As you sleep, Turpin's mind drifts to the day ahead. His duties are many, and his temper short, but with you, he finds a sanctuary from the harshness of his existence. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, a silent vow of his enduring love and protection.

After ensuring you were comfortable and drifting back into a peaceful slumber, Turpin gently slipped out of bed, his movements calculated and precise. His mind was already occupied with the tasks of the day, but he couldn't shake off the concern for your well-being.

Padding down the creaking wooden staircase of their grand estate, Turpin's presence seemed to command the attention of the household servants. He didn't have to raise his voice to be heard; the mere weight of his gaze was enough to instill fear in those around him.

"Where is that lazy Beadle?" Turpin barked, his baritone voice echoing through the hallways. "Summon him at once!"

The servants scurried to obey, knowing better than to incur their master's wrath. One of them darted off to find the Beadle, while another rushed to prepare a cup of tea for you, following Turpin's orders with trembling hands.

Turpin's patience wore thin as he waited for the servants to carry out his commands. "Hurry up, you fools!" he snapped, his voice laced with contempt. "Do you want me to do everything myself?"

The servants hastened their steps, fearing the consequences of any further delay. They knew all too well the price of crossing their master, and none dared to risk it.

Finally, the tea was prepared, and a servant timidly approached Turpin, offering him the cup on a silver tray. "For Madame," the servant murmured, her eyes downcast.

Turpin snatched the tray from her hands, his hooked nose wrinkling in disdain. "About time," he muttered, striding back up the stairs to the bedroom.

Entering the room, Turpin found you still sleeping peacefully, the lines of pain on your face softened by the laudanum. He set the tray down on the bedside table, his gaze lingering on your serene expression for a moment before turning around to get ready for the day.

When he was ready, Turpin went downstairs again, and his mood worsened once more. The servants scattered before him like leaves in the wind, but their fear only fueled his frustration.

"Useless lot," he muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with disdain. "If I had my way, I'd replace the lot of you with machines."

The servants dared not respond, their heads bowed in submission as they went about their tasks. They knew better than to challenge Turpin's authority; in his presence, they were nothing but mere pawns in his game of power and control.

With a final glance back at the bedroom where you slept, Turpin steeled himself for the challenges that lay ahead. He was a man of many faces: cruel to his enemies, tender to you, and merciless to those who dared to defy him. And as he stepped out into the morning light, the world trembled beneath the weight of his presence, knowing that Richard Turpin was a force to be reckoned with.

When Turpin returned home from the court, weary from a day spent dispensing justice with his characteristic severity, he went straight to his bedroom. Pushing the door open quietly, he found you still curled up in bed, your form barely stirring under the layers of blankets. He approached the bed with a tenderness reserved solely for you, his footsteps measured and careful.

"My love," Turpin murmured softly, his deep voice echoing in the quiet room. He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair away from your forehead. "I'm home."

You stirred at his touch, blinking sleepily as you gradually woke up. A small smile graced your lips as you saw Turpin's familiar face hovering above you.

"Richard," you murmured, your voice still thick with sleep. "You're back."

He nodded, his hooked nose catching the light as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Yes, my dear," he replied, his voice softer than usual. "I've been thinking about you all day."

You reached out to him, your fingers finding his hand and squeezing it gently. "I missed you," you admitted, your eyes searching his face.

Turpin's expression softened even more, a rare vulnerability in his stern features. "And I, you," he confessed quietly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "How are you feeling now? Has the pain eased?"

You nodded, grateful for his concern. "The laudanum helped," you replied, your voice still tinged with drowsiness. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"It's my duty," Turpin said, his voice firm but filled with warmth. "You're my wife, and I will always care for you."

He gently lifted the blankets, carefully sliding into bed beside you. His large frame enveloped you as he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

"Rest now, my love," Turpin murmured against your hair, his breath warm against your skin. "I'll stay with you."

You snuggled into Turpin's embrace, finding solace in the warmth he offered. His day had been tiring, with countless cases to judge and the weight of his judicial responsibilities bearing down on him. As you asked him about his day, his expression softened, a rare glimpse of vulnerability crossing his stern features.

"It was a day like any other," Turpin sighed, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "So many cases, so many lives affected. The burden of justice weighs heavily on my shoulders."

You listened attentively, your hand gently rubbing his arm in a soothing gesture. "You carry the weight of the world, my love," you murmured sympathetically. "But you always come home to me. Let me help you."

A faint smile crossed Turpin's lips as he met your gaze. "You already do, my dear," he replied, his voice softening. "Your presence alone brings me comfort."

As you settled more comfortably into his embrace, Turpin's warmth eased the lingering pain from your menstrual cramps. You sighed contentedly, feeling grateful for his care and love. But there was something that was bothering you, something you hadn't been able to get out of your mind since you woke up that morning.

"Richard," you began softly, hesitating slightly, "do you ever wonder if we will have a child?"

Turpin's brow furrowed slightly at your question, his thoughts drifting to the future. "I do," he admitted, his voice tinged with concern. "We have tried so hard, my dear. But I am certain it will happen soon."

You sighed, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. "What if... what if it doesn't happen?" you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Turpin's expression softened, his hand gently cupping your cheek. "Then we will face that together," he assured you, his voice unwavering. "But I am confident it will. You will make a wonderful mother, [Your Name]. I believe that with all my heart."

You nodded, comforted by his words but still troubled by the lingering doubts. "I just worry," you admitted, your voice wavering slightly. "What if I cannot bear children? Would you still... want me?"

Turpin's eyes softened, his fingers gently wiping away a tear that had escaped down your cheek. "Oh, my dear," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You are everything to me. More than a child, more than an heir. You are my heart, my love."

You swallowed hard, overwhelmed by his declaration. "But the Turpin line..." you began, your voice trembling. "You need an heir."

Turpin's expression turned pained, his hand moving to gently caress your abdomen. "Yes, I do," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I cannot bear the thought of losing you, [Your Name]. I would rather the Turpin line die with me than lose you."

His words hung in the air, the weight of them sinking into your heart. You had never seen this side of Turpin before, this vulnerability that he rarely showed to anyone. Despite his ruthless reputation, in this moment, he was just a man deeply in love, torn between his duty and his heart.

You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. "Richard," you whispered, your voice filled with love and understanding. "I love you. And I want nothing more than to give you an heir. But I need to know... if I cannot..."

Turpin's thumb gently traced circles on the back of your hand. "I will choose you," he said firmly, his eyes meeting yours with unwavering determination. "Every time, my dear. I would choose you over everything."

Tears welled up in your eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of his love for you. "Oh, Richard," you breathed, pulling him close. "I love you too. More than anything."

Turpin held you tightly, his embrace a silent promise of his devotion. "We will face whatever comes together," he murmured against your hair. "I swear it."

In that moment, as you clung to each other, you knew that no matter what the future held, you and Turpin would face it together. His love for you transcended duty and lineage; it was a love that would endure, no matter the trials ahead. And as the day faded into evening, you found solace in the knowledge that you had each other, and that was enough.

#alan rickman #judge turpin #alan rickman x reader #sweeney todd

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spectres-n-soap · 11 months ago

Text

Yet the Rain Comes Anyway - Soap x Reader x Ghost

Content warnings - Death, dead body, grief, pregnancy, afab body, afab reader, angst, medical stuff, panic attack, MW3 is canon, I remind you again that SOAP IS DEAD

Series Masterlist

Blog Masterlist

A/N - My childhood cat is being put down this week so brace yourselves for the angst that will be unleashed from my heart when he passes.

You're tapping your foot against the tile floor rapidly. The unnatural smell of a sterilized hospital made the hairs on your arm stand up. Safe to say, you hate the hospital.

You stood in the morgue. It's strange, you had never been in one before. The lights were all turned on but there was no natural lighting to clear up the uneasy feeling you felt. You had asked for this, to see him before they turned him into ash. You could back out, the workers wouldn't judge you. Death wasn't an easy thing to stare down even if you work in a field where death is always right around the corner.

You steeled your resolve. You wanted to see him, you wanted to see your John just one more time. You nodded to the morgue worker and they opened the little cabinet. Was John ever afraid of tight spaces? They slide out the tray he was laid on and your entire body goes cold. He was pale, his wound patched up to the best of the morgue's ability and his eyes closed.

You remembered the way on TV the eyes would go glassy and gray. You're glad his eyes aren't open, you wanted his electric blue eyes filled to the brim with life and mischief to be the only version you know. "Oh John." You muttered as you traced the features of his face with your eyes. "I'm so sorry."

A nurse walks into the waiting room and calls out your last time. You try to stand, it's getting more and more difficult, you think bitterly to yourself. Still you swat away Simon's hand out of habit and stand up by yourself and toddle towards the nurse, hand on your stomach. The nurse glances at Simon, the look she has on her face obscured by the mask.

"He's with me, don't worry." You assure her and she begins to walk, leading the two of you to the hospital room where you'll likely spend the next hour or so. Bless her heart, your nurse, as she goes through the checklist of symptoms to make sure the pregnancy isn't going sideways. She keeps glancing at Simon in what you now understand is apprehension. You smack him and whisper, "Did you have to wear your balaclava?" You hiss.

"I was out of face masks." He replies swiftly. You lift up your shirt on instinct when the nurse moves to the ultrasound machine. This song and dance has been done more times then you would like but, you glance at your stomach and place a hand on it again, feeling the baby kick against you in response. It was for them.

The nurse spreads the gel across your stomach and uses her tool to show you them. The baby, Johnny's baby. "Their looking healthy Mum." The nurse says with what you assume is a smile. "Would you like to know their gender?"

"No." You swiftly respond and Simon glances at you. You didn't want to know if it would be a boy or a girl, it just felt like another weight on your shoulders.

"Alrighty." The nurse says, "Would you like a print out of the ultrasounds?"

"Yes." Simon replies for you and the nurse nods. She tells the both of you that the doctor will be in soon to discuss your labor plan. That comment gets another look from Simon, this time you return the look. The moment the nurse leaves the room, Simon is asking questions. "Why don't you have a birth plan yet?" At least he isn't asking why I don't want to know the gender, you think thankfully.

"I just, I lost track of time." You mutter. Between everything going on within the months of your pregnancy, trying to get out of bed each day. Trying to live with the fact that he isn't here and you're doing this alone.

Simon sighs your name and shakes his head, "Well, then we'll just start planning now."

You're sitting in his truck and looking at the contact for John's mum. She had given it to you, telling you to contact her if you need her. You've been staring at it for minutes, thumb hovering over the message option.

"Would you really come with me?"

Simon looks over at you for a second, "Of course, I promised I would." He says with no hesitation.

You look at the message option and press down on it and begin to type out of the message.

"I'm sorry I didn't get into contact with you sooner and I'm sorry this is the reason why I am. Your son and I slept together a few weeks before he was MIA. I'm pregnant by your son, I didn't sleep with anyone else so I promise this child is your grandchild. I'm 30 weeks pregnant and on leave if you want to meet up."

You turn your phone off, place it face down after sending the message and try to ignore the fast beating of your heart.

Your phone dings while you are sitting at the dining table picking at your dinner. Simon looks at you, raising his eyebrows when you don't pick it up to see the message. You ignore his looks and try to focus even harder on stabbing your mashed potatoes.

"You gonna see what she said?" He asks and you close your eyes.You place down your fork and hide your hands under the table before you lose control of your tremors. Silence hangs in the air until he speaks again, "Would you like me to see what she said?"

You think about his offer for a moment before you slowly let out a breath, "No. I'll do it." You look at your phone, almost wishing it would disappear, then you pick it up.

"Do you still have my address? Let me know if you don't, I'd like you to come here."

You say nothing and show Simon the text. "Do you still have her address?" You nod. "When do you want to go?" You shrug and keep your head down. You wish she hadn't been so vague? Is she going to yell at you? Tell you she doesn't believe you?

Simon rushes over to you when he sees your breathing start to pick up. He kneels next to you, "Can I hold you?" He whispers and you nodded frantically. He takes your hand in his and rubs his thumb over your knuckles as tears begin to drip down your cheeks.

"What if she hates me?" You asked and Simon shakes her head.

"She gave you her phone number, I'm sure she knew something about the relationship between you and Johnny."

You pick up your phone with shaky hands and send a single text.

"Tomorrow?"

She responds with a thumbs up emoji and you set the phone down, looking down at Simon who nods his head at you.

"Don't worry. I'll be with you the whole way." He reassures you and slowly lets go of your hand.

You laid in bed, limbs too heavy to move as you stared at the ceiling. It was odd to no longer have Soap visiting you at night just to share a bed for a few hours. You know he's in the morgue, cold and lifeless, yet you still wait to hear that knock on your door.

You blinked. "He's not going to knock." You said to yourself in the dark, eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Yet you waited and waited until your closed your eyes too long. The grief counselor was unimpressed by your late showing and seemingly even less impressed by your clear lies that you were fine and handling the passing well.

Didn't help that you couldn't even look him in the eyes.

That night you stood in front of his barracks doors just staring at the door. I could go in. No one is here, it hasn't been reassigned yet. I could go in. For a moment, you thought you wouldn't. You took a step back but quickly moved forward and opened the door.

His shirts still hung in the closet, his bed still made to military standard. His desk was covered in a mixture of paperwork and doodles on stray pieces of paper. His second pair of boots sat next to the door. You slowly walked over to his closet and pressed a shirt to your nose.

It still smelt like him. Gunpowder and fresh rain with just a hint of his musk that told you he hadn't washed this shirt quiet yet. He is so weird. You thought to yourself. Why is his dirty shirt hung up?

You walked over to his bed and slowly laid down on it before you turned your head to inhale whatever smell was still on his pillow. It smelt like a generic mans brand you would buy at a dollar store but it was his smell nonetheless.

Your chest began to ache the longer you stayed in his room. The relief you sought here was nowhere to be found, it just felt like each second you stayed hollowed out your chest further. Still, you laid in his bed for hours.

#john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #soap #call of duty #john soap mctavish x you #cod #ghost x reader #mw3 spoilers #simon ghost riley #THYH #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you

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immediatebreakfast · 2 months ago

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Suddenly she sat up, and, as she opened her eyes, said sweetly:— "Would none of you like a cup of tea? You must all be so tired!" We could only make her happy, and so acquiesced.

This is one of the creepiest moments in the whole story for me, up there with Lucy and Mina finding about Mr. Swales' death, and Jonathan realizing that he is effectively trapped in castle Dracula.

It implies everything that could go wrong in their travel, or worse what had already went wrong without anyone having actual power to stop it. Is it Mina despeartely trying to retain any sense of normalcy after such horrifying experience? Or... Is it Dracula who struck a moment of luck to plant terror inside the minds of our crew?

The ambiguous nature of the dialogue, and the fake cheerful tone of it is a grim reminder of the liminal feel of this travel. The same liminal ambiance that Dracula was so atuned with in Transylvania to the point of him making reality look like a dream. Moreover, I would dare to speculate that this is the purpose of such ambiguous yet chilling sequence of events to see a small glimpse of the reactions of the men if the dreaded possibilty of Mina turning into a vampire was fulfilled.

Van Helsing and I looked at each other with understanding. Quincey raised his eyebrows slightly and looked at her intently, whilst Harker's hand instinctively closed round the hilt of his Kukri.

It is not only the words, but how Mina copied the movements of rising from a coffin just at the moment of sunset, and leaving after giving a new report after days of repeating the same words over, and over without avail.

I do wonder, if this moment left such fearful impression on the crew, it would not be an exaggerating thing to claim that Mina must feel like hell is breathing just behind her neck.

#Which moments are the creepiest in your opinion?#But yes it's truly chilling to think of the Count somehow bypassing the hypnosis and straight up controlling Mina like a puppet #dracula daily #dracula #mina harker #mina murray

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hypostatic-oath · 8 months ago

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Hi there! How do you think a team composition of Raiden, Diluc/Yelan (depending on the day), Kaeya and Kazuha would work? Especially in SAGAU terms.

I headcannon that Ei once referred to Kaeya as "son of Khaenri'ah" and Diluc has been defensive ever since.

Forgive me if I get Yelan's characterization wrong - she's one of the few characters I don't have, the most I've seen of her was the story quest, the Chasm event with Itto and Yanfei, and that she apparently stole a coat Pantalone wanted to give to the Tsaritsa, which honestly would immediately put her in Diluc's good books.

That being said - for Diluc and Yelan, I think the switching would work out really well. I mean, they're both busy businesspeople with probably tightly packed schedules, so I reckon your usual antics might even start a close partnership between the two, even if only on a personal level, i.e. each updating the other on what was done during their turn as that day's chosen vessel, or asking the other to potentially cover for them on a day where they just really really couldn't make it. They'd be grateful for the on and off schedule, it gives them time.

Yelan and Kaeya look like they'd be the kind of fast friends that are friendly only on the surface, because they are both distrustful of each other since they're equally sneaky, but I see them growing accustomed to each other as you take them out together. Hydro and Cryo work well naturally, and I can see them having an easier time working in synergy the more they begin to understand one another. It's not openness - neither of them is going to share their innermost workings with someone like that - but it is a form of comraderie that they both end up being thankful for. I'd wager Yelan reminds Kaeya of Rosaria somewhat, and that on downtimes, the two have gone out for drinks and perhaps some gambling.

As for himself and Diluc, Kaeya finds himself even more thankful for the opportunity. The chance for their bond to truly heal from what happened on the day of Crepus's death had not yet surfaced. He knew Diluc still cared - but in a different, silent, far more distant way than before. Kaeya did miss having his brother have his back, and doing the same for him. The first months were difficult - packed with "This meams nothing" and "I am following the Overseer's will, that is all", with Diluc ditching the place as soon as you tabbed out. Kaeya's teasing feels sharp, Diluc is almost cold, and the two can bicker back and forth so often that one would forget they are not the only ones on the team. The teasing never truly goes away. Diluc never truly lowers his guard. But the moment anyone or anything gets in the way of one, the other will lend a hand almost on instinct.

Diluc justifies it as doing it for you. You placed them together, and you rely on both of them, and it is very clear that you like them both enough to place them on your main team. You surely don't want any of them hurt, right? They both use the same argument to justify not sparring - a suggestion brought up by the Shogun, who was genuinely trying to help. Of course it's not because deep down both of them want the best for one another - it is simply because you want the best for both of them. Of course.

But if that were the reason, why would Diluc place himself between his brother and the Archon every time since he heard that one casual remark? He didn't know what bothered him so much about it - it was accurate, wasn't it? Son of Khaenri'ah. There was a time, once, when Diluc would've called it preposterous - Kaeya was a son of Crepus, just like he was. Regardless of his birth parents, he'd been raised a Ragnvindr.

But... was that really true? Had it ever been?

Being placed on the same team as Kaeya, Diluc finds himself grappling with thoughts he had back when everything came to light. For the vast majority of his life, Kaeya had been, indeed, just as much a child of Khaenri'ah as Diluc was a child of Mondstadt. But a man's future is not defined by his past - instead, his present. Kaeya is as much of a sneaky bastard as Diluc is used to him being... but the more the two work together, the more he realises that Kaeya has become more of a Mondstadter than he himself is aware of. He may have been a child of Khaenri'ah once, but the man he's grown into is as much of his brother as he thought him to be as children.

He does not, however, say this out loud. Ever.

The Shogun has since stopped reffering to him as that - it very clearly makes both of them incredibly uncomfortable, and though it is nice to get a break from the bickering, she was not actually looking to offend anybody. So far she's taken to reffering to Kaeya by title instead, adressing him as Captain. She doesn't strike me as the type to jump directly to being on a first name basis with people, and would want to maintain that distance.

Her and Diluc interact very little - she much prefers the Yelan days now, if only due to the fact that she knows there's still some lingering tension from that little incident. I could see the two getting along somewhat well before, but the relationship definitely soured in that awkward quiet way that never leads to an actual confrontation. But then again, I can see this being a very, VERY tense team. Like seriously the only person here that has no beef at all is Yelan.

Because while the brothers' antics take the main stage - their bickering is dramatic and explosive and their jabs at each other end up taking the attention from othet issues, which is quite thr relief - there is also the strained feelings between Kazuha and the Shogun.

Oh yes.

You and the Traveler may have gotten through to the Archon, shown her the power of people's hopes and dreams, and helped repel the Vision Hunt Decree. Inazuma may now be open again, and the Nation of Electro may be slowly rebuilding itself and its foreign relations after the civil war. The Shogun had her redemption arc, and joined you as a Vessel, and so far she has been nothing but helpful and reliable on the field of combat.

But Kazuha's friend is not any less dead.

Kazuha himself says that he's thought about it, and that he holds no resentment towards the Shogun. His friend died in an honorable duel, and that's that. But not resenting someone doesn't automatically mean a close or good relationship, nor does it mean that what was done has been forgotten. Kazuha supposes he'll trust your judgement, and that the Shogun is there to help - but there's still that lingering fear, that cold sweat when he wakes up and that shiver running down his back, because the aftermath of a war is never easy, and though she's on their side now, what if one day she isn't. Were it not for the brothers' antics - and possibly Kaeya, let us be honest here, he's the one who talks - the team would be... very, very silent.

From either angle, your team is PACKED with tension, but hopefully they'll be able to slowly grow to rely on each other, and maybe mend what was broken along the way.

With a bit of luck they go out for drinks and dango. I think they deserve it.

#sagau #genshin sagau #cube.answers #sagau overseer #sagau team comps #this one is LATE oof I'm sorry #going through the ask box now that I'm relativelh getting back into it

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misguidedasgardian · 2 years ago

Text

The Winter Sun (16)

16. The God's wood

MASTERLIST

Summary: A child born in Winter was a good omen

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Fem!Targaryen Reader

Warnings: Cursing, medieval and asoiaf customs, AGE GAP, Cregan is 12 years OLDER than reader), arranged marriage, birth of a baby (nothing described), fluff, talk about death and miscarriages, talk about childbirth, and death in childbirth, breastfeeding, might miss some warnings

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 3.3 k

Notes: I don’t really like how I name the baby BUT that is canon! Cregan’s first child is name like that so… anyways IT'S HAPPENNING PEOPLE THIS IS NOT A DRILL I REPEAT THIS IS NOT A DRILL

Cregan was stunned… he couldn’t find you anywhere, he was also becoming scared, but the alarms didn’t go off so he doubted something bad had befell you. He looked for you in the battlements, and nothing, you were not in your rooms, not in the library, nor in the Kitchens, not the room that had turned into yours and Sara’s sewing room, and you were not with the Maester. He finally had the courage to scout the Godswood, but you weren’t that either.

So he started to ask around if people had seen you, and the path took him to the kitchens again.

“Yes, she and Sara are down the earth, in the hot springs”, said Thelma, as she whisked the batter for a pie Sara had requested of her. Cregan looked at the woman incredulously

“Couldn’t you just tell me that earlier?”, he asked, and she looked at him and chuckled

“Made you look!”, she teased, and he chuckled darkly, and left the kitchens

So you where in the Hotsprings below the castle

He was not surprised, but he tried to suppress his anger, those hot springs had a very high temperature, specially in your state, but he had to remind himself that one, Targaryens did prefer the heat, it had been proven by maesters that you had a higher tolerances for higher temperatures than normal people, and two, that you had good instincts you had learned to follow, so if you were in the Hot Springs, it meant you really felt the need to go, that you really believe it could do you good.

He had to dispose of his cape, his vest and his boots before he went down the stairs, because he was already sweating, the steam that came from down below was hitting him strongly.

The set of old stone stairs opened to a wide cave, that looked like a pavilion, a huge bath house for the natural hot springs that had been here since the beginning of time, and the reason Winterfell was built where it was

You were lying down in the edge of the hot pool, on your side, your big belly between your hugging arms, Sara was by your side, half of her body in the waters, you were both dressed in short light dresses, that were completely soaked. You were conversing happily, giggling like two little girls, Cregan stopped on his tracks and just watched the scene, amused.

How did he get so lucky?

Fate had brought his sister to Winterfell’s doors, and he loved her dearly, a dragon had brought you to Winterfell’s gates… you both, you three… were everything to him

“Cregan!”, greeted Sara, you turned around with a smile on your face

“My love”

“Hello you two, can I join you?”

“Well of course!”, you said, patting the palace right by your side, where he took a seat, placing his feet under the hot, almost boiling water.

But it was relaxing nonetheless once you get used to it.

You went into the waters and floated around happily Cregan soon joined you, taking you in his arms

“this is the only place that gives me comfort”, you whined, smiling, “I feel so heavy all the time, floating around soothes me”

“I understand that”, he kissed your wet temple, as you floated around happily

“I don’t understand why we don’t come to this place more often”, muttered Sara with a shy smile, “it is so relaxing”

“It is”, said Cregan

“Agreed”, you giggled, “if it was enough my dragon could be happy here”

“Speaking of dragons, how is Dragonstone?”, she asked you both

“It is one of the greatest things I have ever seen”, Cregan muttered, “The whole island rests on Dragon glass, and the castle itself seems to be carved right off the stone, dragons sculpted everywhere, a great fortress, it is breathtaking”

“Did you see the dragons?”, she asked, amazed

“Only flying from afar”, he said, “it is very dangerous to get close to them”, you added

“One day we will take you”, promised Cregan, and you nodded enthusiastically

Perhaps, when Rhaenyra is Queen, you could ask her to proclaim Sara legitimate, you haven't spoken about it with Cregan or Sara, but it is something you wanted so badly for her. Perhaps when it’s done…

“When winter is over, you could travel through the kingdoms on dragonback!”, you said happily

“You know Vhaelar actually likes me!”, Sara offered, “Well, she hasn't thrown fire at me, so I’m guessing it’s a good sign!”, she giggled

“That is indeed a good beginning”, you giggled

You spend the rest of the afternoon in the Hot Springs, until Cregan dragged you both out, saying it was too much, your baby moved around in your belly, restless. So Cregan took you to the kitchens, to feed you both.

The pie Thelma had cooked for you was ready, so you enjoyed it together in the great hall

“I have to go to the woods to hunt”, Cregan told you, “a group of stags had been spotted near the river, It would be good to have some extra meat if needed”, he explained

“I wish you luck husband”, you whispered with a shy smile

“It shouldn’t be more than a couple of days”, he said simply, grabbing your hand over the table

Cregan left the very next morning and came back in two days, as promised, tired and freezing, but with fresh meat to eat.

You celebrated with roast deer those coming days.

So you kept navigating through winter, Cregan was exchanging letters with his friend Ben, of how much he wanted to see him, you haven{t met him yet, but Cregan had told you many stories about him, how he was his closest friend, he had even send you a present for your unborn child, and you couldn’t wait to meet him.

You also couldn’t wait to meet your child, you were growing heavier by the day, so uncomfortable, your feet hurt at the end of each day, your belly button had begun to pop, and according to the servants and the midwife it was a sign that the birth was near. And you were happy for it.

Cregan had been occupied most day, making preparation, he covered every window in your rooms with a plank of wood and furs except for one, so you could still watch over Winter’s Town

You were over a moon shy of finally having him in your arms.

It was the middle of the morning and still, there was darkness everywhere. The presence of the Lord of Winterfell was required in Winter’s Town, a problem between lords, and cattle to take meat, so he had to go to settle the quarrel. It was easily resolved by throwing a few coins at the problem.

The snow and cold had taken hold of his body, but still, you were nearing the end of the pregnancy, so the freezing cold did not deter Cregan, who had grabbed an oil lamp and ventured himself deep in the Godswood, with the Heart tree being the only destiny in his mind.

With the ghostly face in front of him, he fell to his knees and placed his hands together in prayer. And with one last look towards that carved face, he closed his eyes in concentration.

“Gods”, he called, “Gods of the streams, the forests, the rocks, Gods of beasts, of men, of children, I beseech you”, he spoke with a trembling voice, begging, “You who whisper when the winds blows and when the birds sing, all of you who linger in the winter, who bring life in the midst of death…”, he opened his eyes again, looking at those eyes who were looking right back at him, “I beg of you, protect my wife”, he said gently, “protect her and my unborn child, let her live to see our baby grow big and strong, she is a good and kind woman, please protect her….”

Only silence was his answer, but he felt at peace when he heard the wind blows through the trees

After everything he had lived through and everyone he lost he found himself constantly feeling this horrible sensation, of that the same fate as his first two wives might befall you, his young wife and mother to their unborn child.

And he couldn’t bear it, not again, if he loses you, he might as well die right by your side, he was going to do everything in his power to prevent it

But there was this moment where he felt content, even if he followed the Old Gods and their traditions, he wasn’t quite devote, so he really hoped his prayers were answered, and for a second he believed they were, he heard the rustling of the leaves, a soft whisper in the air, and far, far away, the howling of Autumn deep in the Wolf’s wood

It was so peaceful

“CREGAN!”, and now the screech of his sister, “CREGAN!”, She called again and he turned, alarmed, he could not see her, so he stood up, grabbing the lamp and he started running towards the entrance of the God’s Wood

“WHAT IS HAPPENING?”, he asked, alarmed

“You fool! Where were you? I have been looking for you everywhere!”, she cried, grabbing into his arms, “it’s time! She is in labor! she had been for hours!”, she said with a wide smile

“I am going to be a father?”, he asked, his eyes shiny, and Sara nodded enthusiastically

“YES! NOW GO YOU IDIOT!”, he passed by her running, dropping the lamp that broke against the ground, but he couldn’t care less

He was going to be a father!

He thought fleetingly that he had never run so fast in his life, everything around him going by in a blur. He almost jumped the short steps towards the entrance of the castle and he shoved every person on his way screaming how sorry he was, he found the stairs and ran even faster, when he finally reached the last floor of the castle, where his rooms were, he heard your screams. They were like screams of someone fighting for their life, screams of war and battle… He stopped in his tracks, scared out of his mind, not wanting to go in.

What if something went badly?

What if you perished afterwards?

What if his babe…?, he didn’t even want to think about it.

And then, there was calm, silence, you had stopped your screams, and he decided, really, he didn’t decide anything, his feet took him to venture inside the room, he ran, opened the door widely, just as the cries of his first born child reached his ears.

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath, not until he let out all the air in his lungs, and you found his eyes and you smiled, widely, you were sweaty, bloody, messy, and you never looked more beautiful

“It’s a boy!”, screamed the midwife, with a crying, bloodied bundle in her arms

“Cregan!”, you called, and he ran to your side

“I was not here!”, he lamented, kissing your face, your sweaty forehead, taking your hands in his, “my love I’m so sorry!”, he cried

“It was so fast!”, you chuckled tiredly, “it came very quickly, you do not need to be sorry”

“Two pushes and he was out my lord!”, cheered a maid that had helped you through the whole delivery

“Here he is!”, the midwife said, “cleaned and ready to meet his parents! a healthy baby boy”, your babe was crying softly, his little hands above the fabrics searching for something, or someone.

She placed it gently in your arms, and you looked down at his little reddened face, you accommodated him against your chest, and his cries stopped, he tried to open his eyes but he barely could, he was so small, and chubby, his hair dark just like his father’s

Cregan fell to his knees by your side, to look at him, you didn’t even realize you were crying happy tears, relieved tears

“Our baby!”, he cried as well, placing hand on it’s head, so small in comparison, “look at him”, he said, enamored, “he is so perfect”, he whispered

“He is kind of small isn’t he?”, you asked, “it’s a little red…”, you were not quite convinced, and you were weary and scared, if something was wrong you wouldn’t know how to tell

“It is normal my lady”, giggled the midwife, “I shall fetch the maester, to have a look at him”, you nodded. “You did not had any reapings, so you should have make a quick recovery, no blood was lost, either way, I will fetch the maester”

You look at your son and you couldn’t believe you had him in your arms, it felt surreal, you knew why they called them “bundles of joy”, you felt so happy, a warmth in your chest that took a hold on you whole, you felt joyous, you felt like you could explode with love for this little person that you held so comfortably against you, like he belonged there, like he was created to fit perfectly in your arms and against you chest. You whined in happiness, still happy tears rolled down your eyes

You looked up at Cregan and he was looking down at you with suck love and wonder in his gray eyes like you had never seen before

“Would you like to hold him?”, you asked Cregan, and he nodded. You passed on the baby to him, and he held it in his arms carefully. Once he was safe in his father’s arms, the maids and the midwife cleaned you, took the afterbirth with them, and left you with cleaned sheets, and then they left.

“We must tell the happy news to everyone!”, one said, and the left you in the comfort of your rooms

Your still nameless child had fallen asleep in Cregan’s arms, and you sighed, tired. Childbirth brought you a pain you had never felt before, a crippling pain, and then when you finally expelled it from your body you felt an incredible relief, a soothing sensation washing over you, but now, that adrenaline has passed, the pain has returned, and also, you felt so tired…

“How are you feeling my love?”, he asked softly

“I feel like I’ve been trampled by a herd of wild horses”, you said with a tired smile, “but I will be alright”

“If something happens to you I swear…” he sighed heavily against your temple, “I’ll die right with you”

“I’m fine”, you assured him, and he smiled, “we have to name our child”, you said with a tired smile.

He laid down by your side, your sleeping baby in his arms, you both looked at him

“How shall we name him?”, he asked then

“Should we name him like your father?”, you asked, “Rickon?”, he looked at you wide eyed

“Would you like that? Name him as my father?”

“I love that name”, you whispered. “It’s a northmen name”, you said happily, so he nodded

“Then it’s Rickon Stark”, he said

The maester showed up shortly after, with a shy smile. He entered the room after knocking

“The old gods had blessed you, my lord!”, he said, “they brought you a son!”

“They did”, he said gently

“Would you let me examine him?”, you begrudgingly agreed and let him take Rickon, he placed him gently at the foot of the bed and he undressed him, his little chubby arms and legs moved desperately

“It’s cold!”, you complained, but Cregan only chuckled

“10 toes”, the old man said, tickling his small feet, “10 fingers”, he said then, and he touched him in his belly, he grabbed his arms gently, and his legs, he examined him, then he placed his finger in front of his little face and move it around, he hummed, contented, “he has your eyes princess”, he said, then looking at you, “the eyes of old Valyria”, you sighed happily, “he is a healthy baby boy”, he placed him back into your arms, covered in a small fox fur

“You can tell the people of Winter’s town”, Cregan said, proud, “Winterfell has it’s heir, is a boy named Rickon, like my father before me”

“A strong winter child”, he said, “the people will be happy”, he gave you sips of milk of the poppy and then he left your small family again

“Are you proud?”, you asked, your eyes filled with hope and wonder

“Proud?”, he asked, raising his gaze from the babe in his arms to look at you

“I want you to be proud of me, and our little family”, you explained gently

“I’m not only proud, but I’m possibly the happiest men on the world right now”, he said, “look at our child, look at what you give to me”, he said gently, “I love you, and I couldn’t be prouder”

With that in mind you dozed off, thanks to the milk of the poppy, and relying on Cregan’s body for support

“We have a big bed wife, one day we will be all squeezed up with all the children we are going to have”, you heard faintly before falling asleep.

You woke up a couple of hours later, with the cries of RIckon, you jumped out of bed to find him crying in Cregan’s armas, who looked kind of desperate and once you were awake, he looked guilty for awakening you

“I think he might be hungry”, you whispered. The midwife had come close to you the last moon, to talk to you about this kind of thing, cares for your babe, you had insist you wanted to breastfeed him yourself, you reached at Cregan and with a wide smile, he placed Rickon back into your arms

“There you are little one”, you greeted gently, you released one of your breasts from your night shirt, and palace him near your nipple, he latched on immediately, and it tickle you when he started to suck, it felt so strange

Cregan held you in his arms as you fed Rickon, dropping comfort kisses on your shoulder, and he caressed your arms.

There was no need for words, you only shared this intimate moment, with your newborn in your arms, and your husband by your side.

Rickon fell asleep soon after, and you giggled, Cregan grabbed him and placed him in the crib that you had placed specially for this moment, a beautiful wooden crib, carves with beautiful Northerner designs, sent by one of Cregan’s closest friends, Ben Tallhart, Lord of Torrhen’s square.

He look through the window and gasped in surprise, he then looked back at you

“Look” he said softly, you reached for him and he helped you raise from the bed with difficulty, and then walk towards the window with a view of winter’s town, you gasped, amazed, all around town big torches had been lit up, pires all around, it looked like the town itself was aflame, but the reflection of the snow made it wonderful, “do you know what it is?”, he said, amazed, “the people of the town lit fires in your honor, their fire lady, in celebration of the birth of our son”, he said proudly

“Really?”, you asked, tears in your eyes

“Really”, he assured you, he hugged you kissing the top of your head, “thank you my love”

“For what?”, you giggled

“For everything”, he said, kissing the side of your face

. . .

What you did not know is that as your baby boy drew his first breath, King Viserys, in King’s landing, drew his last.

More notes!: I wanted to make the birth swift and quickly... because she will have more children and just didn't want to make it very dramatic...

ANYWAYS como se dice en espanol... ya va llegando gente al baile! hahaha

Taglist! ❤️

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@lyannesworldrld @arujee @kamisunshine @mss-nthng @partypoison00 @grimistangel @elleclairez @may-machin @prettykinkysoul @justagurlwithships @champomiel

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#misguidedwinter #cregan #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #cregan stark #hbo house of the dragon #house of the dragon #house targaryen #house stark #targaryen!reader #targaryen!oc

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