#To reach for another soul in hopes to remind that all is not lost

[theanonymousninja247]

I hope to be as honest and real as this one day 🧡

keep going

[logaenhowlett]

MY MISTAKES WERE MADE FOR YOU - L.H.

Summary: You lost him. He lost you. What if there's a universe where you find each other?

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut 18+ only, Angst (with happy ending), Hurt/Comfort, Touch starved Logan, Unprotected sex (with major feelings), Emotional intimacy (we all know how much he needs this)

A/N: Starting the year off with some good ol' angst. Worst!Logan is such an intricately complex character, I know that man would just crumble at the slightest bit of affection. Hope you enjoy (aka shed some tears)! Title creds to The Last Shadow Puppets.

MASTERLIST

"Do you think we're together in every universe?"

The late afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, striping the rumpled sheets with gold. Logan held you close, his arm an anchor across your waist, fingertips just barely tracing the curve of your body. Dust motes danced lazily in the beams, the light warming the sculpted planes of his chest beneath your cheek.

"There's more than one?" he murmured back.

"You have claws coming out your hands, but you don't believe there's another world just like ours?"

Your fingers found his beard, all silver and entirely Logan. He'd once fretted over the greying strands, scowling whenever he caught his reflection. But your loving reassurance - along with some lighthearted teasing - had eased his worries; he never frowned at the sight of it again. It belonged to him, just as you belonged to him.

"Never thought about it." His whisper, gentle as a caress, lingered in the space between matching heartbeats and entwined limbs. "Everythin' I love's right here."

The clouds weep the tears you hold back. Rain slicks the granite of his headstone, chilling your fingers as you trace the etched letters of his name. Logan Howlett.

Today marks another year. Another year without his warmth, without his quiet affection, without him. Yet he remains everywhere and nowhere, a mere ghost in the hollowness of your soul.

You were the calmness to his storm; and he, the mighty current that held you steady. Where your heart was an open book, Logan's was a fortress. The world had hardened him, leaving him wary and guarded. And somehow, you found a way inside - not by battering down his walls, but with patience and unwavering devotion.

He'd lived a life where kindness was a forgotten language, where vulnerability was a fatal flaw. Yet he let you in. As naturally as the sun rises each morning, as inevitably as the moon draws the ocean's breath, he let you in. His love wasn't often spoken, but it was lived.

It was his calloused hand, scarred and strong, that held your chin as he leaned in to kiss you. His gruff voice that softened with a deep reverence when he breathed your name. And his rare, almost shy smile that revealed a sense of peace he found only in you.

Lost in these memories, you barely register the shift in the air. A shadow falls across the inscription on his headstone and you feel the familiar pull of his presence - yet it's wrong. So terribly, and heartbreakingly wrong. The scent of cigar smoke, the rough texture of his leather jacket, the weariness of his posture - it's all there, a cruel reminder of the man you loved. But they're not the same.

"Not now, Logan," you choke out, eyes squeezing shut against the sudden rush of tears.

His gaze, heavy with a sorrow that mirrors your own, cuts through the pouring rain. The need to reach out and offer comfort becomes a searing ache in his chest, a tightening in his throat that swallows him whole. He knew you'd be here; Wade had told him what today was. But the thought of you alone, braving the crushing weight of your loss, was unbearable. "It's late. Storm's comin' in," he whispers.

"I don't care."

The streetlamp above flickers weakly, its light a trembling finger pointing to the raw pain that pools in your eyes. He doesn't try to argue. Grief is a dear enemy; he's wrestled with its suffocating weight and understood the desire to remain tethered to the echoes of a life now lost.

So, he stays. A silent companion beside you, sharing the cold rain that soaks your clothes, the thunder that cracks overhead, and the loneliness that binds you together in this desolate moment.

It hurts you, overwhelmingly so. He looks just like him - the same rugged lines, the same weathered hands, the same slump to his shoulders. But he's a phantom limb, a missing note in a melody, a haunting reminder of a touch you'll never feel again. It's almost enough to make you laugh, a hollow, broken sound that doesn't quite reach your lips.

When Wade first broke the news, it felt like a punchline to some sick joke. "Another Logan?" you scoffed, rolling your eyes as he remained uncharacteristically serious. "This one's different," he said quietly, "He lost his... well, he lost his you."

You hadn't believed him, not until Logan cautiously stepped out of the bedroom, and the absurd reality of Wade's words struck you hard. The impact was immediate: a sharp, stabbing pain that reopened old wounds. Since then, you both walked a careful tightrope around each other. Much like two ships passing in the night, swept by the same tides, yet forever separated by the vast ocean of heartache.

The heavy silence holds its breath as your sob breaks free. And another, and another, until you're shaking from the force of it all. It's then, seeing you so utterly distraught, that he can no longer resist. The barriers, the invisible walls that had kept you at a distance, vanish like a mirage.

Hesitantly, he gathers you in his arms, your heartbeat thumping wildly against his chest. With slow, measured steps, he carries you home - a bittersweet ache settling deep within. He never got to hold her like this. His you.

The door closes behind him, the relentless downpour waning to a hushed murmur. Logan doesn't release you immediately, selfishly holding on a second longer before lowering you onto the couch. Moving quickly, he returns with a towel, carefully draping it around your shivering form.

His hand lingers, almost of its own volition, a feather-light brush against your cheek as he tucks away a stray hair. He regards you fondly, his gaze kind and searching as he murmurs, "It'll get easier, I promise."

The air crackles with an unspoken longing. Sighing softly, you savour the heat of his touch. And in the stillness of the moment, the question you'd been burning to ask, the one that had been clawing at your mind since you laid eyes on him, simply slips out. "How did you lose her?"

Logan exhales wearily. The memory is a healing scar, one he still prods at in the darkest hours of the night. Guilt, thick and suffocating, flares in his throat. He'd spent years lost in a haze of anger and alcohol, trying to outrun the shame until he finally stopped. The running ceased, the chase ended, and in the aftermath, he found a fragile peace, slowly mending the broken pieces within.

As he speaks, the sheer extent of his agony draws you closer. Instinctively, you grasp his hand, fingers intertwining with ease. "They took her away from me. She–" he trails off, taking a deep breath. "She didn't know how much I loved her."

How could she not have known? you wonder. Love simply radiates from him. It reminds you so much of your own Logan, of the same fire roaring beneath the surface. All intense and bright without uttering a single word. "She knew," you offer quietly.

He doesn't know who initiates the movement, a nearly imperceptible lean. Perhaps it's a silent understanding between two souls craving solace in the face of immense loss. Or perhaps it's something else entirely.

Whatever the catalyst, your lips meet.

The taste of salt and sorrow floods his senses. The first touch is hesitant, a tentative kiss that sends a jolt of unexpected electricity through his very being. It's wrong. He knows it's wrong. But logic falters, crumbling beneath the soft siege of your affections, a yearning he's powerless to fight.

Over time, the need for genuine connection had become a faded photograph in the back of his mind. The colours muted, the edges frayed. But this? The feeling of you against his mouth, all eager and urgent, is a revelation. And your fingers, raking through his hair, loosen the tight coils of tension he'd so long forgotten.

Logan breaks away, only momentarily, before guiding you onto his lap. He tilts forward, reconnecting with your lips. This time much, much slower. It's sweet, achingly so, imbued with a hope that maybe - just maybe, you'll be okay. This is okay.

His hands, still resting on your waist, begin to wander beneath your clothes. Heat from your skin presses against his cheek as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his breath ghosting over your pulse point. Leaning back slightly, he traces the line of your jaw, urging you to meet his gaze.

A question hangs in his eyes, a seeking of permission, one that you answer with a nod. Then, inch by inch, he eases your sweater over your shoulders, kissing along each newly exposed area. He smiles as you unbutton his shirt in turn, nipping his bicep playfully.

There's no rush; it's all a gentle unfolding, a deliberate exploration of one another. When skin finally meets skin, it's with a sigh of shared relief, a feeling of coming home.

His arousal is painstakingly clear, the tip of his cock teasing your entrance. Logan watches as you lower yourself onto him, barely sinking onto his length before a moan spills from your mouth, a mixture of pleasure and a sharp, fleeting sting.

He can tell it hurts, the slight wince in your expression not escaping his notice. Concern knots in his stomach and he immediately stills, hands gripping your hips, as if to pull you back.

"Easy, darlin'," he mumbles, "Tell me if it's too much, okay? We don't have to–"

A growl tears through his mouth, raw and involuntary, as you fully take him in. The tightness around his cock is undeniably satisfying and utterly profound. He clenches his jaw, fighting back another groan, the intensity almost too much to bear.

Then you begin to move. Carefully shifting your hips, a rocking motion that draws him deeper as you thrust in and out. Friction builds with each movement and Logan can't resist the impulse to fuck up into you, his body responding with a desire to be closer.

The rhythm quickens, becoming more insistent, the earlier tenderness giving way to a more fiery, more visceral need. He matches your pace, then takes the lead in an almost demanding fashion.

And then he feels it - a dampness on his shoulder, the subtle hitch of your breath as you seek refuge in the curve of his neck. The tremble of your sighs, his name a choked plea from your lips, tells him everything.

He slows down, his movements gentle. With a light sweep of his thumb, he wipes away the tears trailing down your cheek. "I know, sweet girl, I know," he speaks softly, whispering apologies and sweet nothings as he kisses your temple, "'m here for you. Just let go for me, baby."

The tension drains from your muscles, Logan smiles as you respond to him again. A newfound energy pumps through his body, he thrusts once, then twice, cursing as your gasps grow louder.

The sound of your pleasure is intoxicating. He can feel you squeezing around him, your breath coming in short bursts, each exhale a hot rush against his skin. He's so close, he can almost taste it, a dizzying swell waiting to consume you both. "Fuck, darlin'. Could get used to this," he spits out.

With his free hand, he reaches down, finding the throbbing nub of your clit. The faint pressure, the circling motion of his fingertips, is the final push that sends you tumbling over the edge. A strangled cry breaks free as your body arches towards him, your muscles clenching and releasing in waves, drawing thick ropes of his cum deeper inside you.

Logan pulls out, the warmth of your presence still heavy in his mind. He doesn't speak, not wanting to fracture the delicate intimacy of the moment, instead studying you in awe. The rise and fall of your chest, the curve of your lips, the sheen of sweat on your forehead - it all seems impossibly perfect.

Maybe this wasn't a mistake. Maybe this was the first step towards healing. A journey taken together, hand in hand, through the wreckage of your past, towards a future that feels a little less bleak. The thought settles in his heart, a quiet promise that perhaps, together, you can find your way back to the light.

[igotanidea]

Almost there: Anthony Bridgerton x reader

part 1: Too much

part 2 : Not enough

***

„One of those days you will get us both in trouble, Eloise.”

Due to some miracle, Y/N and her second-in-age sister in law managed to escape the watchful gaze of all, lady Danburry, Violet and Daphne, and rushed forward on the promenade. It was generally frowned upon, that the married lady strolled in the presence of a girl, who wasn’t even a débutante yet, but neither of those two seemed to take much interest in ton’s opinion.

“Trouble from merely speaking the truth?”

“Shall I remind you that this virtue is long forgotten in the society full of hypocrisy and deceit?” Y/N whispered taking Eloise’s arm to at least keep the pretences of being discreet. It would be unwise to let anyone else eavesdrop on the little exchange of words between close friends.

“It’s almost like you don’t trust me, my dear sister-in-law.” Eloise chuckled feigning the pompous tone.

“Please don’t ever call me like that again. You were my friend before you were my family. Don’t put the distance between us now. ”

“If anything I’d dare say I’m the reason you met with Anthony and –“ the sentence was cut out abruptly, as Eloise realised that Y/N was currently in the middle of a heavy argument with her husband. An argument that made her flee the house and turned out on the doorstep on the other Bridgerton’s house announced, in search for a friendly soul to talk to. And now she actually realised that all that may have been her fault from the beginning. If Y/N and Anthony have never met, they never would have fought and never—

“Stop overthinking it, dear.” The current viscountess chuckled observing her friend’s slightly hazy gaze and recognising it instantly. Clearly Eloise was getting lost in her own head.

‘Do not call me that!” the girl’s eyes became sharp and conscious again “I can hardly stand being called that affectionately by my mother, let alone by you.”

“Worked just as planned though.”

“Well, my biggest congratulations on being effective in the matter. You are almost as good at me with it.” 

“Oh, almost? From what I can recollect I taught you most of those tricks.” Y/N smiled brightly.

“Really?” Eloise raised an eyebrow “I can’t remember. Hey what do you say we run away from our chaperones and have a proper, meaningful discussion on what’s troubling you?”

“I wish it was that easy. But I’m a wife now and apparently –“

“Viscountess Bridgerton!” a sudden voice came from in front of them and Y/N felt like actually taking Eloise advice and rushing off. It was almost like the whole world decided to prey on her misery on that particular day. First lady Danburry, now lady Featherington. “How lovely to see you! Marriage serves you well. You are beaming, dear.”

Y/N gritted her teeth in hardly hidden annoyance at such obvious show of nosiness and lack of tact. She knew instantly that she had to cut the conversation short before another wave of unwanted questions about her blessed (or not) state would come.

‘Lady Featherington. Pleasure to see you there. Are your daughters accompanying you or are they occupied with their upcoming prenuptial agreements? I surely hope they would be as fortunate with their future husbands as I am with mine. And speaking of which, if you excuse me, I need to discuss a very urgent matter on the subject with my family.”She put an emphasis on two last word and not waiting for response, abandoning all the rules of the lady behaviour, tried to drag Eloise away almost sighing deeply in frustration.

„Oh, but viscountess, once Penelope weds Colin, we will be a family.” lady Featherington stopped both girls in their tracks before they managed to escape.

„I beg your pardon, what now?”

‘Oh, you didn’t know, viscountess? Your brother-in-law is about to marry my youngest daughter. By some miracle, clearly, since Penelope--” Portia started rambling without a care in the world.

„Oh I know about that part.” Y/N faked a smile that didn’t reach her eyes „I merely have the deep conviction that us becoming family is rather an improbable claim.”

„But--”

„Dearest lady Featherington, do not push my hand here. I would rather stay in amity with you. A very fragile alliance shall you pry into my private matters. I dare say you have a certain interest in using those bold statements? ”

„I beg your pardon?”

„The viscount, is still in the charge of his famliy’s - our family’s finances. And that shall include the future fortune of Colin. Shall you insist on intruding me during my leisure time I might have a word with my husband.”

„You truly do not  disgrace yourself with being modest, do you, Y/N? Has social advancement changed you so much? I clearly remember you being a scrawny child with no aspiration and position and look at you now. A snake in a sparkish dress.”

„She can at least choose the colour that highlights her beauty and doesn't make her look like--”

„Thank you Eloise.” Y/N cut her off before she could cause some more havoc. Lady Featherington was an onerousness but her gossiping nature was something Y/N did not need in the current situation. „I shall believe lady Portia will keep our little conversation in mind for the future purposes. Hers and her daughter’s.

„Actually if the viscount is around --”

„Unfortunately, matters of utmost importance kept him at home today.” Y/N responded with the most patience she could gather at the moment. There was always a possibility of farewelling the unwanted company, but as previously stated - there was no need of spreading the rumours of some discrepancies between the newlyweds. This hydra had to be beheaded immediately before the news spread throughout London.

„Such a shame you were left to tend for yourself then viscountess.”

„I shall believe I’d receive the most warm welcome back once my husband free himself of all the duties and occupations.”

***

While Y/N was having a lively discussion with indefatigable Portia Featherington, someone was observing her closely from behind the tree, staying unnoticed themselves.

 “Are you spying on her now?”

“I’m not spying!”

“Oh really? Then tell me brother, why on Earth would you hide in the bush instead of accompanying your wife on the promenade? If I were you –“

“Good thing you are not.” Anthony muttered grumpily keeping his eyes fixed on his wife’s silhouette. Even with her cheeks reddened from the indignation and eyes sparkling with cunning intelligence she was the most beautiful woman he has ever laid his eyes on. If anything, those characteristic may have only been adding to her charm.

he viscount may not have heard all the words exchanged between two ladies, but the way Y/N was keeping lady Portia at bay, standing her own ground and not wavering in the slightest was admirable and worthy of a viscountess. Serving as a reminder that his wife was not a fragile bird who was - in his opinion- in dire need of his protection and care, but rather  a capable, strong woman, who would survive on her own.

Which brought him to another conclusion - that she didn’t rely on him as much as he expected her to. That she was proud enough to get the audacity to leave his home, leave him and decided (solely by herself!) to pay a visit to his sister.

“If I were you—“ Benedict grinned mischievously “I would run and drag Y/N away from Eloise before those two officially call you an idiot and make a plan for Y/N to leave you for good.” apparently the second son was capable of reading his older brother’s mind and pointing out all the worries that were already inside viscount’s head

“She would never.”

“I am unaware of the scope of your failure, but given the fact your wife rushed to Eloise, out of all the people must have been immense.”

“That’s it!’ Anthony hissed, almost crawling out from behind the tree, ready to clear this misunderstanding immediately.

***

„Oh, my dear!” Lady Featherington placed her hands on her hips as if she wanted to emphasize her higher position and knowledge of male-female relations. „Do not occupy yourself with the romance fantasies. Courtship is gone once the knot is tied. And after a child is born--” her gaze landed on Y/N’s stomach „you put all the efforts into keeping the family afloat and secure the future of the offspring.”

„I believe--”

„Viscountess, you are so young. So naive and innocent. Fed on the novels and stories.”

„Most of which cover the topic of history, literature and medicine rather than Shakespeare plays.” now the young woman was getting angry her cheeks flushing  „topics which I boldly presume are far from your interest.”

„I beg your-”

„I kindly forgive you, lady Featherington. Now if you excuse us - I shall wish you a good day.”

„I am not--”

„Lady Featherington.”

The sudden deep voice coming from behind made all the ladies turn around at once.

„Viscount.” Portia bowed slightly „I was just having a little chat with your wife.”

„Educating her on the specificity of marital relations?”

„Giving her some of the knowledge that her prematurely deceased mother - God rest her soul - did not have the opportunity to teach her”

„How kind of you.” Anthony almost smirked and Y/N had to muffle the chuckle forming in the back of her throat looking down. It was like she saw the old him. „However I suppose that once I am here, you shall be free of your educative duties?”

„I--”

„do not preoccupy yourself my lady. My wife shall not lack the company from now on.” having said that, Antony walked right to Y/N offering her an arm and - a sight truly unexpected - bid the older lady goodbye while leading the viscountess away.

„I didn’t need you to save me.”

„such a shame I happened to be around then.”

„My undoing indeed.”

„Unforunate event that you might have to keep the externals for the duration of a stroll.” Anthony held her tighter and closer to him while nodding head to the acquaintance.

***

„Did you gather some intel on the current situation of our brother and his lovely wife?” Benedict, who followed the two of them without any hesitation, asked Eloise.

„I am Y/N’s confidante, I shall never-”

„You cannot trick me sister.”

„Anthony is an idiot.”

„I had quite a feeling you would say something like that. Now- shall we interfere or remain passive observers as Antony makes a fool of himself begging for her forgiveness?”

Eloise smirked as they continued their following.

She and Benedict always understood each other without words.

Edit: part 4 Stuck

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[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Remade (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you nurse Sauron back into his physical form, eager to be reunited with your great love once more

Warnings: I somehow managed to write fluff with goo!Sauron, I guess? You hold and kiss goo!Sauron. You suffer a minor injury by goo!Sauron. You get animals and one person killed to feed goo!Sauron. Heavy make out and implied smut (with non-goo!Sauron). Can you tell I love writing the words ‘goo!Sauron’?

Note: Yet another Sauron x evil!reader fic cause I can’t stop apparently. Can be read as a prequel to the others or as a stand alone.

“Oh, my love,” you breathe out, “what have they done to you?”

What have they done indeed. For you are speaking with the one that is your love, your husband, your very soul—but if he hears, or even understands, he cannot show it. What’s left of him has no mouth no speak, no arms to wrap around you at long last, after an eternity of separation. What your tearful eyes are looking at is a black, amorphous mass, no larger than the heart hammering within your chest, writhing helplessly on the ground.

But it is him. Of that, you are certain.

When you felt his presence again, it was so faint you thought you were dreaming it. Nothing but a glimmer of darkness in the back of your mind, weakly calling out in agony. But as you searched your feelings, reaching out with every sliver of power you could muster, you found that it was real.

You found him.

Long had you travelled since, guided by the unseen thread connecting you to him. Until at last, it had led you into the heart of a mountain where his presence was so strong, it felt as though his skin was beneath your fingertips.

And yet, he was nowhere to be seen. Not until a sharp squeal had caught your ear, and you had found the source of it to be a rat being devoured into the blackness of a small, but lethal predator. At once, you had understood, and nearly fallen into despair. But in the end, you reminded yourself—he has endured. You have been reunited. That is all that matters.

Slowly, you kneel at his side. The mass ripples like the surface of water under a light breeze, and it gives you hope that, somehow, your presence is known to him. A sole rivulet of him begins to slip towards you, painfully slow. No wonder he has been in this state for so long, helpless to nourish himself lest some unfortunate creature stumbles upon him in the dark.

“I am here,” you whisper as you reach out. “I am—”

The moment your fingertips touch his cold, viscous form, black tendrils of him latch onto your hand, greedily clawing at your wrist. You gasp at the unexpected force of it, the searing sting where the liquid-like matter solidifies to dig sharp needles into your skin. Beads of your blood emerge, and he swallows them into himself with hunger.

You stare in awe as he grows ever so slightly larger. A twisted part of you is elated to be the object of his craving once more, even if he is trying to devour you whole. Especially then.

Unfortunately, that would not do in the long-term.

You shush him gently, caressing him with your free hand as though he were a purring kitten. Instantly, a tendril of him latches to one of your fingers, but you give him a firm squeeze.

“Shh!” you say sharply, fingers sinking into the soft surface of him as you reach out with your mind as well, nudging at his. “Easy, love,” you coo. “Easy. You know this hand. You know me.”

His mind is a mess—mad with hunger, alight with rage, lost to despair. But you keep caressing it with yours, tenderly bringing to the surface his memories of you. His love. His wife.

His grip on you weakens then. He deflates, withdrawing himself from your wounds, and you are left with a soft, pliant mass, which you delicately scoop into the palm of your hands. He rocks slightly against your skin, almost as if caressing it—and through your bond, the ghost of his regret reaches out to you.

“Do not fret, my love,” you murmur, smiling gently. “All will be well now.”

And so you go to dwell in the forest. At first, you bring him small things, no larger than he is himself—insects and rats, the occasional snake. The venomous ones seem to be quite nourishing, aiding in his growth more visibly than the other animals you feed him. Still, the progress is slow, and could not be endured without a great deal of patience and love. Fortunately, you lack neither.

Days turn to weeks, perhaps months. You don’t keep count, nor do you miss the comforts of the Elven realm where you had dwelt for years, waiting on the day your husband might return. A tent and your skills are more than enough when you finally have your love by your side, even if he is... temporarily different. You always keep him close, cradling him protectively at night and speaking loving words to him throughout the day. And in his own way, with ripples of his form and distant echoes of his slowly recovering mind, he holds onto you.

Eventually, he grows large enough for you to embrace at night, and develops a certain manner of breathing that feels as though you’re resting your head upon his chest. Its rise and fall is odd, ragged and irregular, but it brings you great joy nonetheless. With time, you bring him larger game, watching with grim amazement as deers and wild boars are slowly devoured into the beloved black mass that still is your husband. After a time, he grows nearly limb-like extensions, allowing him to more easily crawl around or reach out, and you often wake to find yourself in the closest thing to an embrace he can manage in this state. It never fails to make your heart soar, and he shudders as you press loving kisses to the parts of his surface closest to you.

So the days pass, until it’s time. Between your own instinct and the shape of his thoughts, not quite spoken but slightly more focused through your bond, you know he’s strong enough to finally regain himself completely.

But for that, he will need something more than an animal.

It’s easy enough to stop the first wagon you see passing by, acting confused and lost and asking for direction. The woman at the reins, though half-drunk, is even gracious enough to offer that she give you a ride to the closest village. You decline, of course. Your purpose was never to climb into the wagon yourself.

It was to halt it long enough for your husband to slither inside from the back.

It’s barely a few seconds after the woman has bid you a good journey and gone on her way that the wagon halts yet again—this time, with a piercing scream from its occupant. The wagon shakes, its horse breaking loose and galloping away.

Then, silence settles. From your angle, you can’t see inside. Your feet are glued in place, your breath barely there as you watch and wait. You’ve been waiting so long that now, so close to the end of your suffering, each moment feels neverending.

Finally—finally—a man emerges from the back of the wagon. He takes his time putting one bare foot, then the other, down onto the snow-covered ground. He takes in his surroundings, as though opening his eyes to the world for the first time. Then his gaze lands on you, and his lips curl into a smile filled with relief.

And you know, you’ve always known, but it feels as though you only then realize that this is not a man. Or an Elf, or a Dwarf, or any other being of less than godly nature. It is him. Remade into a form with eyes, and hands, and flesh, same as your own.

Your feet carry you towards him blindly as you stare and stare, almost unable to believe that you are finally standing close enough to touch once more.

“I would not blame you,” he says, his unfamiliar voice rough from lack of use, “if it was you who failed to recognize me now.”

But you know it’s absurd. His appearance may not be as it used to—his hair is shorter, darker, his cheeks covered in stubble, his features nothing like the ones you knew—but there is no form he could take you would not recognize, not as long as your mind still served you. His had been broken, unamde, when he had begun to feed on you as he would any other stranger. None of that matters now.

“This is... different,” you murmur, greedily taking in every inch of him that isn’t covered by the rags he’s wearing. His chest is partially bared to your eyes, and both of your breaths shudder as you lay your hand over his new heart, the smattering of hair there delightfully rough beneath your fingertips. You gaze there for a moment, mesmerized by the sight, then lift your eyes to meet his. The curls that fall in his face are so endearing your chest aches as you brush one aside.

“I love it,” you breathe out. “I love you.”

A dam that had been built over years of longing shatters at your words, and your lips meet his furiously in a long-awaited kiss. His looks may have changed, but his taste is the same, and so is the desire that overwhelms you to the point of insanity. You’re falling into each other, clawing at each other, crumbling to the ground in an unceremonious tangle of limbs. The snow is cold against your back, but your husband is warm and solid above you, and your world becomes reduced to him and him alone.

You whimper when he suddenly pulls away, chest heaving as he gazes down at you with raw yearning.

“You came for me,” he says, breathless with elation.

“Of course I did,” you retort, nearly indignated. As if you would do anything but. He goes to kiss you again, but you wrap a hand around his throat and hold him back. Mischief dances in your eyes as he glares and you scold, “And in return, you nearly ate me.”

His eyes darken, and you almost moan at the sight alone.

“I still wish to,” he growls, prying your hand away from his neck and diving in to devour yours instead. “All those years I hungered...” he speaks between ravenous licks and bites of your skin, making you writhe and whimper beneath him, “to feel you once more... even when I could no longer remember... what it was I hungered for...” He lifts his head, wild eyes boring into yours as he lays his hand upon your chest, relishing your heartbeat as you had done his before. “My love,” he pleads, voice trembling with need, “join me in flesh. Let me feast upon yours. Devour mine. Remind me what it is... to feel.”

The last time you felt such unbridled joy was so long ago, you can’t even remember it. And either way, you doubt it held a candle to the bliss bursting within your soul in this moment. This is all you ever wanted. This makes every single moment of torment, past or future, worth it.

“Feel me, love,” you offer most sweetly, your lips brushing his with the last words you speak before you consume each other whole, “Feel everything.”

Next fic with same reader -> Tides of fate

[lethalhades]

The sins of one were the sins of all

(Honestly I wrote this because my girl just needs a fucking hug and IM TIRED😭🙏🏾)

Themes: jinx x fem reader, hurt and comfort, we braiding her hair twin.

Didn’t proof read this or nothing I just cooked.

Navigating the dim, twisting pathways of the underground wasn’t how you planned to spend your day, but finding Jinx was all that mattered now. As you searched, a place suddenly came to mind. a spot she’d likely retreat to, a familiar hideaway.

Without hesitation, you picked up the pace, heading straight for the Last Drop and slipping in through the back door.

Your footsteps reverberated off the walls as you climbed the narrow staircase toward Silco’s office. In the past, just approaching this door would have made your skin crawl, the weight of his presence heavy and unsettling. But now… that feeling was gone, vanished with him the night he was killed.

All that remained was an empty silence behind the door, where his shadow used to linger.

Your fingertips lightly grazed the door before you pushed it open, the creak echoing in the empty room, confirming what you already suspected…Silco’s office was vacant.

You’d hoped to find Jinx here, but a part of you knew it was a long shot. Still, as you stepped inside, your eyes fell on the desk, where a map lay scattered with Jinx’s chaotic scribbles, a sign she’d been here recently.

Almost on instinct, you reached for the map, lifting it carefully with both hands, including the hexcore-tainted one. You usually kept it hidden beneath your cloak, the sight of it stirring a mix of frustration and shame. Someday, you knew, you’d have to accept it. but for now, it stayed mostly in shadow, a reminder of what you’d become.

“This is the first time I’ve seen your hand in years.” The voice jolted you, and before you knew it, you’d hurled a dagger in her direction, missing the blue-haired woman by barely an inch.

Catching your breath, you glared. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you, and now you decide to show up?” Annoyance laced your words. She slid smoothly off the beam, landing on the desk. That’s when you noticed her long hair was loose, spilling over her shoulders and onto the desk—no braids, just a cascade of untamed blue.

She caught you staring and raised an eyebrow. “I was trying to braid it back, but… Silco always did that for me.” Her raspy voice betrayed no hint of vulnerability; it was like a wall she always kept up around you.

You hesitated, almost tempted to ask why she kept her walls up in the first place, but you knew better than to press her boundaries.

Jinx stared at the ground, her eyes shadowed and distant, tracking your movements as you stepped behind the desk and eased into the old, creaking chair. When your fingers brushed her hair, she flinched, jerking back just slightly. You couldn’t help but wonder if, beneath that tough exterior, she was still afraid.

You’d known each other since she went by “Powder,” before the undercity had forced both of you to grow hard and cold.

You’d come to Zaun after being cast out of Piltover, your family’s sins leaving you no choice. You weren’t like them, but in Piltover, the sins of one were the sins of all. Survival in the undercity was brutal, especially for a kid, and you still remembered how close you’d come to losing your life again and again.

But then, like a spark in the dark, she had come barreling into your life. small but fierce, her blue hair a shock of color in the dim streets. Powder, a kid with more guts than anyone you’d ever known. And on that night, she’d been your savior. A little bomb in her hand, tossed without hesitation, scattering the men who meant to hurt you.

That tiny blast had done more than drive them off. it had bound you and Powder together, two lost souls in the chaos of Zaun.

Back then, she was just another lost kid who had found purpose under Silco’s wing. The pain in her eyes had been unmistakable, a pain you recognized all too well. It was the same haunted look your mother had worn the day she brought ruin upon your family.

If you were being honest with yourself, you’d only decided to toughen up that day because you couldn’t stand the idea of being outdone by someone younger, someone with less to lose. She was three years your junior, but her boldness had sparked something in you, forcing you to swallow your fear and find strength you didn’t know you had. Unlike her, though, you’d never bent the knee to some ruthless leader. You carved your own path, becoming a gun for hire, bound to nothing and no one.

Over the years, you’d killed without hesitation, Piltover elites and undercity rogues alike. Survival demanded sacrifice, and you were willing to make it.

Every now and then, your paths would cross, and you’d catch glimpses of the girl who once called herself “Powder,” now transformed into Silco’s weapon. Meanwhile, you had grown too, honing your skills and eventually joining the Firelights, giving your life a new sense of direction.

Now, with the undercity on the brink, chaos breaking loose at every turn, you looked up from your thoughts to find jinx’s back facing you, her head slightly turned seeing her violet eyes sharp and curious. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice carrying an edge of suspicion.

“Braiding your hair, if you’d just sit still,” you replied, fingers deftly weaving through her loose blue strands. Her hair, soft but tangled, For a moment, she held still. watching you work with an expression you couldn’t quite read, letting you bring order to just one small piece of her wildness. You were lucky you still had some skill in this, after all the times you’d braided the younger kids’ hair back in the Firelights’ hideout. Your hands knew how to be gentle, even if the rest of you had learned to be anything but.

As you worked, Jinx’s voice broke the silence. “Every day, he had me making something for him. Or doing that stupid eye thing of his, even though he could’ve done it himself,” she muttered, bitterness edging her words as she thought about all the things she’d done for Silco.

You could see the weight of his lies on her, the way they’d sunk deep. She’d believed him completely—why wouldn’t she?

“My mother expected perfection from me,” you said softly, finding a rare thread of common ground. “One slip, one failure, and I was nothing but a disappointment to her.” For a moment, it felt like you and Jinx were standing on the same edge, each of you marked by different scars but both shaped by people who’d held you to impossible standards.

Both of you had been praised for your minds, raised to rise above, only to lose it all. And when you needed someone most, they had all turned away.

“You were just some Piltover rat. You don’t know a damn thing about what it takes to survive down here.”

You met her gaze, the old anger simmering beneath your words. “I know more than you think,” you replied, voice steady and unyielding. “I lost everything before I even got the chance to hold it,” you added, memories of that day, of watching your family fall apart, still as raw as ever.

Jinx scoffed, crossing her arms. “Why are you telling me this? You think I care?”

“No,” you said, fingers deftly weaving the last of her braids. “But I thought you’d understand.” You secured her signature pigtails, then took a step back, crossing your arms as you faced her. “You followed him because you had nowhere else to turn, no one else to show you the way. But he’s gone now, Jinx. And yet, you’re still clinging to his ghost, acting like he’s still here.”

She bristled, eyes flashing. “I’m not mourning him! That’s the last thing I’d ever do for him.”

“Then prove it,” you challenged, voice calm but firm. “Find something real to fight for. Not for a man who only wanted control and used your loyalty to his advantage.”

Jinx took a step forward, her violet eyes sharp and angry as she glared up at you, defiance sparking between you like a fuse ready to ignite. You held her gaze, searching for the truth hidden beneath her rage. In those eyes, you saw things she would never say aloud.

confusion, anger, the scars of betrayal.

It reminded you of that night at the Last Drop, the night you’d tried to pull her away from Silco’s grip and convince her to join the Firelights. She’d laughed it off, but you’d seen the hesitation, the crack in her armor. That night, things nearly went south between you. one wrong word, and a bullet could’ve ended it all. Now, standing here again, that same tension lingered in the air, fragile and sharp, like the calm before a storm.

“Why do you keep acting like you know me?” Jinx’s voice was sharp, bitter, violet blue eyes wild with frustration as she shoved you. “Like you have any clue what I’ve been through!” She pushed you again, harder this time, her finger jabbing into your chest. “You don’t know anything!”

Her anger flared, and she kept pushing, shoving you back again and again until you finally reached out and caught her wrist.

She tried to pull away, struggling against your hold, but you pulled her closer, wrapping your arms around her, holding her tightly. Her fists came down hard on your back, each punch sharp with anger and pain. It hurt, but you didn’t let go, not even as her punches weakened, not even as her shoulders slumped against you.

The room grew quiet, save for the small, choked sobs that broke free as she stopped fighting and finally gave in. Her fingers gripped the back of your cloak, holding on like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

Her cries were raw, almost hollow, filled with a pain you knew she rarely allowed herself to show.

You just held her, steady and silent, giving her the space to release what she’d been holding back. You didn’t hate her, not for her choices, not for her mistakes. Somehow, despite everything, all you’d ever wanted was to help her find her way back from the darkness.

As her breathing slowed, she didn’t say a word, but her quiet acceptance in your arms told you everything. In that fragile silence, you knew that, at least for this moment.

you were exactly where you needed to be.

[dark-and-kawaii]

─ ⊹ ⊱ Heart's Delight ⊰ ⊹ ─

Summary: What happens when Mephistopheles comes knocking at Raphael's door and is greeted by a little mouse? Well, surely nothing delightful. In the eerie silence of The House Hope, you lay broken and bloodied, your child stripped away…

♡ Pairing: Raphael x F!Tav/Reader - Slight Haarlep x F!Tav/Reader

♡ Content: Dadphael - Implied noncon - Hurt/Comfort - Soft Raphael - Angst

The House of Hope stood eerily silent, its grand halls echoing with an unsettling stillness. The souls that usually paraded about now cowered in corners in fear as the candles flickers danced along the walls.

In one of these dimly lit corridors, a figure lay crumpled on the cold stone floor, your breath shallow and ragged. 

It was Haarlep who first stumbled upon you. His brow arched as he watches how you lay brutalized and broken. Your clothes torn, stained with your own blood, a pool of it forming around you. Your inner thighs were coated in your fluids, and from the looks of it another milky white delightful looking substance... That already beautiful face of yours was now painted with blood, saliva and your tears. Those lips he tasted so many times now split and swollen from another other than either him or Raphael…

The creature might have relished in the sight more, drinking up how utterly pitiful you looked, if it wasn't for the fact that you were barely clinging to life… 

He could feel it. The moment slipping away from you as the seconds passed. His usual smirk was replaced by a look of genuine concern as he knelt beside you… These marks -his fingers traced the bruises, the marks that marred your flesh- were they…?

A sound, something like a pained groan, escaped your lips as his fingers brushed over a particularly deep gash in your arm.

“My my, aren’t you in a sorry state.” Haarlep murmured, his voice soft yet tinged with an edge of humor that never quite left him. Carefully, he gathered you into his arms, careful not to aggravate your wounds further. As he carried you towards the healing bath, his sharps eyes had caught the absence of a certain babe- his eyes narrowing in the direction of the crib. 

The little pup, yours and Raphael’s infant was no longer there.

Haarlep’s brow remained arched as his eyes fell back down to the bite wounds that riddled your body… He moved his tail to help keep you propped in his arms as his hand left you to graze a scar that decorated his collar bone.

Ah. Now he knew why those bites looked so familiar.

His grip tightened around you…

Mephistopheles. 

All the pain, all the suffering he had endured at the hands of the archdevil was suddenly brought to the forefront of his mind. For a moment, he could almost feel himself being held down, feeling the fangs and claws sink into his flesh…

It wasn't just the memory of pain that plagued the creature's mind. Haarlep looked down at you, his eyes filled- mixed with something like pity, sadness, and amusement. He had a feeling he knew what the Devil was going to do with the child... “what a pity~” he murmured, “And to think, I had wanted to make a meal out of you both~”

His words, while teasing, were not lost on you. You whimpered softly as he carried you away, your heart sinking as you felt Haarlep carrying you further and further away from where your child slept not long ago. Your eyes, glazed with pain and exhaustion, flickered briefly in the direction of the empty cradle before falling back to the floor. Even though you were too weak to struggle, your hand twitched and curled against Haarlep's chest as he cradled you…

As the incubus reached the healing bath, he stepped inch by inch into the warm water. A low hiss escaping your lips, your body tensing as the water burned against your open wounds.

“I know.” He hummed, his voice low and soft, “But the burn feels so delicious does it not, my dove~? It reminds me of the first time we played together~” His hand, which was wrapped around your back, trailed slowly down your spine while lowering you into the bath. The water rose quickly, swallowing you, and stinging every cut, gash, and bruise. 

Your body shuddered, but you were far too weak to try and escape it, “H-haarlep…”

Haarlep smirked, a chuckle vibrating through him, “Oh, don't tell me you are already begging~” he mused, a single claw tracing up the line of your jaw.

A faint, barely perceptible smirk graced your lips as your eyes finally shut, succumbing to exhaustion... Your daughter is the last thing on your mind before the darkness takes…

The waters healing kiss washing over you, knitting your wounds together, soothing your pains as you sat in Haarlep's lap. 

“Sleep, my dove.” The incubus said, a small smile spreading across his lips before pressing a tender kiss no one would have ever expected to come from him to your forehead. 

When Raphael emerged, the air crackled with ash and swirling embers, as if two ancient dragons had clashed in a furious storm. His wings spread wide, and he stood with a clenched fist... His face, filled with a punishing rage Haarlep had yet to ever see. 

“Where... Is she!!” The cambion snapped, the words hissed through clenched teeth. 

Ever the provocateur, Haarlep let the question linger in the air. One of his eyebrows crept upwards in amusement as he watched Raphael, who was so desperate to know where you- or daughter was. Twisting his body, Haarlep revealed you, stroking your hair, “It's a good thing I found her when I did~ Otherwise, she would have ble-”

“You insufferable creature!” Raphael’s brow furrowing deeply, “Do not dare toy with me! Where is my daughter” The underlying fury in his voice was barely contained, betrayed only by the tightening of his jaw.

The incubus chuckled, his fingers running through your hair as his free hand reached down into the bath, gently pulling your ragged gown up. The silky fabric floated above your thighs, revealing the unhealed bites and claw marks that littered your flesh, “It would seem your dear old father decided to come knocking on your door, and your little mouse was the one to greet him.” He smirked, his hand sliding over the curve of your thigh, “I can only imagine what came of your little pup-”

Raphael's ears were deaf to the creature's words. His eyes focused only on you and the way your body hung limp in Haarlep's lap. The way you looked so fragile and frail, like a moth's wing. And your heart's delight, yours and his daughter stripped away... 

His jaw clenched, his hand lifting to his face, his fingers ready to snap,  “No…” he growled, his eyes flashing as he snapped and vanished, leaving nothing but the smell of burning ash.

Time passed slowly, but when he returned, Haarlep saw how Raphael's back was turned, his wings drawn tightly around him. His head bowed low as his on e slick back hair now framed his face in disarray, those opulent clothes he wore now mirrored yours, his body sharing similar wounds as the ones you had worn hours ago.

He moved to where you now lay, your body surrounded by the warmth of his satin sheets. Raphael could see how your face was stained with freshly shed tears, and even though Haarlep had taken the utmost care with you, you had yet to wake. Gently, he placed his infant into your arms and watched as you subconsciously pulled her close. Your lips curling into a soft, content smile as your daughter nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

Haarlep watched from the small couch near his master's bed, one eye opened, curious at how the half breed Raphael managed to hold his daughter once more... “What did he want with the little p-”

Raphael looked up at Haarlep, an unspoken warning in his eyes. 

... “-The little bundle of joy.”

The cambion settled into a chair across from the bed, snapping his fingers to summon a bottle of his finest wine and a glass. As he poured, his eyes opened slowly, the fires within them banked but not extinguished, “A bargaining chip,” he said, taking a sip from his glass.

Haarlep chuckled, a quick retort on his lips, “Well, you should have left the little tyke-”

“Do not push your luck, incubus.” Raphael growled, his tone low and dangerous.

“...- Do tell me though~ What sort of contract did your dear father want to make? Surely it was something tasty~ Considering how you look like that little mouse of yours when i found her~”

Raphael's eyes narrowed as his hand clenched the glass, a hair away from shattering it…

“Ah~ But silence speaks volumes, doesn't it?” Haarlep mused, swirling his fingers around the couches fabric, “The way your hand trembles, the fire in your eyes ever so slowly extinguishing~ You have lost something. Something important...~”

Raphael said nothing, every muscle in his body tightening, a silent testament to the fact that the incubus' words rang true. Instead, he stood up and slowly removed his stained clothing. His eyes flickering to the bed, and then back to his smug sex toy, “You have a job.” He said, his voice flat, emotionless, “You are to remain by their side every waking moment that I am absent. Is that understood?" As he moved to your side, his hands grazed over the unhealed bite marks Mephistopheles left on your skin.

Haarlep could see Raphael's body tense as his eyes swept over the damage done, how the healing pool couldn't quite heal everything... Nor take away the touch of Mephistopheles… “Now leave.” Raphael commanded before crawling in beside you and his daughter, his body and wings curling around yours protectively…

“And incubus…”

“Hm~?”

“Should you disappoint me, I will ensure that your very soul and all your innards are dispersed throughout the most desolate reaches of the hells.”

The subtle shift in the air hinted something far more sinister than mere words could convey. Whatever contract Raphael had signed, it was a dark pact, one that bound him to an unwritten fate,  one that loomed over him like a specter.

[jessamine-rose]

⋆˚♱ଘ Annular Eclipse ଓ♱˚⋆

A long time ago, I binge-watched The Ancient Magus’ Bride and that decision came back to haunt me in my Church AU…… *evil laugh*

As always, thank you to @diodellet for beta-reading this piece!! And to my dear mutuals, I hope you all suffer enjoy the sinful story of Cartaphilus! Pierro x Angel! Darling ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭

Tw:: yandere, blood, violence, death, suicidal ideation, religious abuse, MDNI

Note:: fictional depictions of religion

♡ 5.7k words under the cut ♡

♡ Among God’s creations, His favorite is granted a special fate. Though all lives end in death, only humanity is blessed with salvation and afterlife. Those who live righteously may thus ascend to Heaven, whereas sinners are condemned to eternal suffering in Hell. There is, however, one exception—a fragment of humanity whose sins may never be forgiven.

♡ Legends speak of Khaenri’ah, the nation of sinners. Once the pride of humankind, its citizens challenged God through their creations in alchemy and technology—and the entire nation was subsequently destroyed in a sea of flames. In the wake of the Cataclysm, pollen from the Tree of Life rained down upon the survivors, afflicting them with their final punishment, immortality.

♡ Since then, Khaenri’ahns have roamed the mortal plane in a perpetual state of living. Denied a place in Heaven and Hell, they are cursed to live forever no matter what harm befalls their body and psyche. Due to their wicked reputation, they must also live in fear of their once-fellow humans, lest they face persecution. For this reason, eternity differs among Khaenri’ahns, with a unique fate reserved for the one who goes by the name of Pierro.

♡ After the Cataclysm, Pierro led a group of survivors to Snezhnaya where they established a new home. For three centuries, it was a peaceful haven hidden from the divine gaze of God and the Church…until it was exposed by a traitor and destroyed with manmade flames. In the ensuing chaos, Pierro was the sole ��survivor” in the sense that he managed to escape. The rest were critically wounded, buried alive, and left to suffer for all eternity.

♡ Having lost his second home, Pierro began a search for other Khaenri’ahns, only to be further disillusioned. Many communities had also fallen to ruin, if not from persecution but by their own madness. Others, blinded by dreams of death, had resorted to violence and witchcraft in their fruitless attempts to break the curse. And several individuals had embarked on quests for the Tree of Life, only to disappear far away from their homeland. In two more centuries, Khaenri’ah was reduced to a forgotten myth, and Pierro had lost all hope for his people.

♡ So when he gets into an accident, he sees no point in saving himself. If he were younger, he’d be horrified at the thought of falling off a cliff. At best, he’d end up with more scars albeit another permanent reminder of his tragic fate. As for the worst-case scenario, he’d become paralyzed, trapped below the cliff, doomed to eternity as a living corpse. But now, hanging off the edge by his fingertips, he considers the possibility that his head takes the brunt of the impact. A coma would be the closest thing to a reprieve from his waking hell.

♡ Just as his grip weakens, a hand reaches out and catches his wrist. The action is so sudden, so forceful, that Pierro has no time to think before he is pulled up and his back hits the grass. Above him, eclipsing his view of the sun, is the face of a stranger. A tearful expression. A kind gaze that seems to pierce through his soul.

“Are you hurt? Why didn’t you call for help?! You poor thing, I’m sorry for only seeing you now.”

“I am…” He averts your gaze and instead focuses on the sky. It is the color of twilight—a harmony of blues, oranges, and reds that pale in comparison to the crimson skies of his nightmares. “...fine. Thank you for your kindness.”

♡ Once the shock wears off, Pierro takes a careful look at his savior. You have the appearance of a typical human, roughly the same age as he was when his body stopped aging. Definitely not a Khaenri’ahn, given your lack of cursed marks and star-shaped pupils. Neither are there any religious symbols on your clothing, which is a relief. As for your tears shed on his behalf…he’ll chalk it up to pity.

♡ At your insistence, you treat him to a meal at the nearest inn. When Pierro introduces himself as an ordinary traveler, you make a similar claim and suggest journeying together. It is a tempting offer—the both of you are alone with no destination in mind, and you seem harmless. So against his better judgment, Pierro accepts your proposal.

♡ Over time, he warms up to his new companion. You are kind, competent, a bright presence in his life. Traveling with you is like seeing the world with new eyes—you lead him to bustling cities, picturesque forests, places teeming with life. The only downside is your visits to the Church for prayers and chats with the local priests, but you at least seem to be an open-minded believer. You always tell Pierro that he doesn’t need to follow along but he does so anyway, if only to evade suspicion and admire the religious art with you.

♡ Other than that, you don’t reveal much about yourself. But you aren’t one to pry into Pierro’s past so he gives you the same courtesy. At times, he finds himself looking at you fondly, feeling a spark of physical attraction, dreaming of a happy future with you. But those delusions are always dashed by the fact of your humanity, so he instead resolves to cherish what little time you have left before death claims your soul.

♡ That was his goal until he begins to notice certain…oddities. It’s common for the two of you to share a tent, a room, sometimes even a bed. Neither of you are fazed by it, especially when Pierro’s main concern is concealing his cursed marks with makeup. But a few months into your travels, he makes a quiet realization: In those nights of shared slumber, not once has he fallen asleep without feeling your gaze on him.

♡ At first, he assumes that you merely sleep later and wake up earlier than him. But every time Pierro wakes up in the middle of the night, you immediately sit up and tend to him, acting as energetic as usual. Neither do you appear lethargic after nights when it is difficult to sleep. So he puts it to the test by regularly chatting with you late into the night; you always follow along, not once sounding tired nor in want of sleep. Once, he talks to you all night long and in the morning, while Pierro is plagued with fatigue, you look perfectly awake. And only when he subtly points it out do you yawn and go back to bed.

♡ Other mysteries follow. There is the time the two of you trekked through a barren wasteland and ran out of food. It took you two days to reach civilization and while Pierro was starving, you never complained about hunger. If anything, you still managed to walk and fight off beasts at your usual energy levels. And on the rare chance that Pierro is injured, you are the one who treats his wounds…and they always heal at an unnaturally fast pace.

♡ A year into your travels, he decides to look for answers. One night, he shares a bed with you and feigns sleep. For the next few hours, he just lies there and takes note of your unnatural way of sleeping—no slowed breaths, no involuntary movements, yet the persistent feeling that he is still being watched. Shortly after midnight, he pulls out a dagger from under his pillow and aims it at you.

♡ It was only a test to see if you’d react quickly and reveal your ruse. Which is exactly what you do, eyes fluttering open and your hand catching the dagger before Pierro can stop short of stabbing your chest. The look on your face is calm, utterly devoid of fear, and you make no move to leave the bed. You just stare at him with the same piercing gaze.

“Good morning,” you tell him. “Are you going to explain the sudden wakeup call? I don’t believe this is rooted in any Khaenri’ahn practices.”

At the mention of his homeland, Pierro’s grip on the dagger tightens. “So it appears that my suspicions were not unfounded. Answer me, are you a spy of the Church?”

Your answer is a benevolent smile. A soft light shines from your body as a halo—silver, pierced with nails—appears behind your head, followed by a wispy veil. Luminous wings emerge from your back, caging Pierro in a feathery embrace.

Your hand, marked with a bloodstained scar, wraps around his wrist.

“I’m your guardian angel,” you whisper.

♡ Technically, your statement is untrue. In a calm voice, you explain that Khaenri’ahns can’t be assigned guardian angels due to their immortality. Moreover, most angels harbor contempt for his kind though you are a rare exception, having taken pity on Pierro and chosen to become his unofficial guardian. The last part triggers an offended response—are you mocking him?

♡ As for your true nature, you’re the leader of the Archangels. As an angel of the Third Sphere, you are one of the closest to humanity, a divine messenger with the additional tasks of providing blessings and guiding humans towards the path of righteousness. Only, you’re currently on a ten-year “break;” it just so happened that you noticed Pierro at the start of your sabbatical.

♡ Once he is confident that you won’t smite him in cold blood, he goes to sleep—it’s been a long night and fatigue will only dull his senses. When he wakes up, he can almost believe that last night’s events were a dream…until you loom over him in your true form, wishing him a good morning. After a long conversation, he decides to continue traveling with you. That way, he can keep a close eye on you and gain some useful knowledge.

♡ Thus resumes your journey. In addition to Pierro’s distrust, there are major changes to your dynamic. You still travel in your human guise but you switch to your true form when it’s just the two of you. Since angels don’t need food or sleep to sustain themselves, you stop eating with him unless you’re in public. At night, only one bed is needed and you simply watch over Pierro, wishing him a peaceful slumber. Your gentle gaze is always the last thing he sees each day, though it takes months before he can fall asleep comfortably.

♡ He also learns about your nightly pastimes. As it turns out, while Pierro is asleep, you like to fly around the city to help lost souls. Just small acts of kindness in your human form…and if needed, divine interventions in the Church. It explains why he often wakes up to news about corrupt priests who experienced “visions of an angel” and publicly confessed their sins.

♡ Along your journey, you also stop by the homes of the humans previously assigned to you. At the beginning of each visit, you go to the cemetery and speak to their grave. Afterwards, you bring Pierro to their favorite places and reminisce about their lives. When he asks why you can’t simply see them in Heaven, you give him a sad smile and explain that the deceased reside in a realm beyond the jurisdiction of angels. In a paradise where every soul is purged of sin, what use is there for an angel’s guidance?

♡ You mourn the lives of angels as well. It comes as a shock to Pierro, the idea that even an angel is susceptible to death. To which you explain that many of your divine siblings were killed by demons. And because afterlife does not exist for spiritual beings, both species simply cease to exist once their lives have ended. As for your former brethren, they cut all ties with you after their descent.

♡ Slowly, Pierro grows to trust you again. It helps that you were able to prove yourself a year later by saving him from your own kind. Granted, he could suspect that it was merely an act but the sight of a Principality cowering before you, their cassock staked to the floor by silver nails, is quite convincing. Not to mention your cold gaze overflowing with wrath.

“So tell me. Why exactly did you attack my dear human?”

The room is silent, save for the younger angel’s whimpers. To think that a few minutes ago, Pierro had been sleeping peacefully. Now he stands beside you, blood trickling from a cut under his scarred eye, still gripping his unused sword.

“I…” Despite being a rank above you, his attacker is clearly terrified. “But ______, that man…he is one of the accursed sinners! He—”

“Now, now.” You kneel to their level but all kindness is lost in your tone. More nails appear out of thin air, all pointing towards the angel’s body. “Look me in the eye when I am talking to you.”

♡ In the end, the angel kneels before Pierro and begs for forgiveness. He accepts their apology, but not without harsh words and a swipe of his sword against their face. After they leave, you worriedly turn to Pierro and heal his injuries. Thanks to your powers, all of his wounds close up without a trace. Still, when you take your hand off his face, what he sees in the mirror is not his healed cheek but the cursed marks exclusive to Khaenri’ahns.

*✧･ﾟ

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Despite the nature of the attack, you are the one acting emotional. A tear rolls down your cheek as you trace the cursed side of Pierro’s face.

“You need not apologize on behalf of your brethren,” he mutters. He glances at his right arm, sleeve pulled up to reveal a similar pattern of blue veins and blackened skin. “...or your Heavenly Father. And I believe I’ve told you countless times not to waste your tears on me.”

“Still.” Shaking your head, you look him in the eye. “How can I not cry every time I gaze into your soul? I wish I could save you, put an end to your suffering…but it’s beyond my capability.”

“So why do you still devote yourself to me, ______?”

______. It is the false name you go by in the human realm, spoken by every person who has known you as their guardian angel. As for your true name, it remains a mystery to Pierro.

Still, he’d like to believe that he is the human who knows you best. He knows that you are the First Archangel, one of the oldest beings in existence. He knows that you were opposed to the Cataclysm but powerless in stopping it. He knows that your decade of rest was caused by an accumulation of stress, an endless cycle of giving and saving and sacrificing which will only continue in a few years’ time.

And what then? At the end of your journey, will you still have time for him? Or is he truly cursed to drift aimlessly in eternal solitude?

His half-mask rests on a nearby drawer, a relic from his second home. He picks it up, thumb pressed against a painted gold tear.

“You astound me,” he continues. “You, of all people, know that salvation is forever beyond my grasp. And yet you continue to spare me absolute grace. Anyone else would have deemed me a lost cause.”

“That is because I love you.”

At that, Pierro nearly drops his mask. He turns to you, starry eyes wide with wonder. “Can you kindly repeat that?”

But the moment he sees your face, he realizes his folly.

“I love you,” you tell him, a soft look in your eyes, “as I love all humans.”

Has kindness ever sounded so cruel?

“...I understand.” He puts down his mask, pride shattered. “Such is to be expected from a being for whom the love for humanity is inherent.”

A love which he and his compatriots are no longer beholden to.

“But of course.” At that, your countenance turns reverent. Your wings fold inwards, and you place a bloodstained hand over your chest. “An angel’s purpose is to serve God and to save His creations. Beyond that, there is no other point to our existence.”

Silence. This time, Pierro doesn’t bother to hide his judgment.

“Well, that is our initial reason,” you add, noticing his expression. “After all, what’s not to love when your kind is capable of so many wonderful things? Really, you never fail to surprise us.”

“How so?”

“I’ll confess, many of us angels were once in awe of Khaenri’ah,” you admit. “Think of it: Your people found a way to create life, sorcery, powers that were once exclusive to God. Had I met you during your days as a royal mage, I surely would have been impressed.”

Hard to say. Despite his previous status, Pierro hasn’t practiced Khaenri’ahn sorcery in years. It’s likely that his powers have eroded alongside his spirit.

“Then only a century after the Cataclysm, there was the Angel-Killer who performed miracles using our flesh. As a matter of fact…I made the mistake of assigning his first victim to him.”

Your grief isn’t lost on him. The bed creaks as you take a seat next to Pierro, adjusting the chain of mourning lockets around your waist. It bears mementos of both humans and angels.

“Thirteen angels lost their lives to him, including two of my dearest siblings. Needless to say, we were all relieved when Il Dottore finally died, though I had to be given a century’s worth of rest to recover from grief. Sohreh, Pasithea, Oizys…I still think of them to this day.”

Il Dottore. He is an infamous figure in history, a priest whose sins rivaled those of Khaenri’ah. And yet even he was granted the mercy of death.

 “And there are the humans I was blessed to watch over,” you tell him, eyes shining with tears. “I remember all of their names, their smiles, every achievement they made in their short lives. And I’m sure that there will be more in the future.”

That is the final nail in the coffin.

“You are right.” With that, Pierro leaves the bed. “As such, there is no need for you to dwell on how the world is now. I have no doubt that many souls owe their salvation to you, ______, and anyone would be a fool to dismiss your efforts.”

“...Thank you. It means a lot.”

You don’t let him leave, however. A hand around his wrist is all it takes for Pierro to stop, to yield to your embrace. In the dim room, you are the only source of light, an idol of unparalleled benevolence. Divine, beautiful, yet never within his reach.

“Eight more years,” you tell him. In your eyes, his reflection has never looked more hopeful. “That is the amount of time we have left. And until then, I will never leave your side.”

*✧･ﾟ

♡ The next eight years are content. More travels. Deep conversations. Peaceful nights. Another angelic encounter, in which a subordinate merely reported to you and avoided Pierro’s gaze. At one point, you reveal to him that the Tree of Life is no longer in the human realm, eliminating any hope of breaking the curse. His devastation is softened by your comfort, and he can only imagine the reactions of his compatriots if they knew this truth.

♡ Not that he has anyone to share it with. In the Church of Fontaine, Pierro is surprised to recognize the head priest as a Khaenri’ahn. She is only a descendant and thus spared from the curse—a blessing for Arlecchino, a tragedy for her ancestor who likely mourned the generations between them. After their chat, Pierro leaves without divulging her lineage. It’s enough to know that one of his kind is leading a fulfilling life, though he finds it ironic that a Church ended up in a Khaenri’ahn’s hands.

♡ Other than her, there is the familiar face he spotted in Inazuma. Blond hair, blue eyes with star-shaped pupils, a distinctive half-mask…but before Pierro can approach Dainsleif, you grip his wrist and enable him to see the eagle-winged demon clinging to his former comrade. In a fearful whisper, you explain that she is one of Hell’s strongest demons, the slayer of countless angels. And when she turns in your direction, Pierro feels the weight of her crimson-gold glare. In the end, the two of you walk past them, preventing what could have been a bloody reunion.

♡ As your sabbatical reaches its end, Pierro finds himself making the most of your remaining time together. He smiles at you, holds your hand first, asks you more personal questions. Your travels also end in a surprise destination—a forest near Snezhnaya, concealed with divine mist. Leading the way, you explain that it was a meeting place for you and your closest siblings until they all perished, including the Virtue who created it. And when you turn to Pierro, asking if the area suits him…he accepts the gift with full gratitude.

♡ The last year is spent constructing a humble house in the heart of the forest. On the day of your departure, the two of you enjoy a final meal together. It’s bittersweet with recollections of your travels, though the mood dampens when Pierro asks about your angelic duties. With a sad smile, you tell him that you have a lot of work to do. At some point in your journey, you even laid eyes on a young human and applied for a position as their guardian angel.

♡ At midnight, Pierro goes to bed and you wish him good night for the last time. He only closes his eyes when you disappear, when he no longer feels your gaze on him, when the residual warmth of your embrace has been chilled by the night air. When he wakes up in the morning, you are nowhere to be found.

♡ In the following months, Pierro develops a new routine in the forest. Hunting, foraging, visiting the neighboring cities, admiring the aurora-colored sky, even practicing his Khaenri’ahn sorcery. He doesn’t see you again but there are hints of your visits—a luminous white feather, seeds for fauna exclusive to Mondstadt, a wound that healed overnight. Eventually, he gets used to sleeping in solitude again.

♡ One day, he decides to visit his old home. He knows it is futile to seek out his people; after two centuries, their bodies must’ve fully decayed and mixed with the soil. Still, he might as well see what the Church did with the area…and if he can take revenge on the traitor. So he packs his bags, leaves the forest, and travels to the other side of Snezhnaya.

♡ …There’s nothing left. When he reaches his destination, he finds a glorious city built over the mass grave of his people. Only the cold of eternal winter welcomes him back, but the entire city—the devout Snezhnayans, the stories of the city’s origins, the magnificent church in place of his old house—is unfamiliar. Not even the traitor remains. Perhaps they, too, were given a coffin, forever trapped below layers of ice and concrete.

♡ He gets an answer on his way back to the forest. Near the border of Snezhnaya, Pierro is ambushed by a group of heretics…and when he demands an explanation, their leader holds up a preserved eye, the pupil shaped like a four-pointed star. As their fight continues, Pierro deduces their motives—to achieve immortality using the flesh of Khaenri’ahns. It’s pure mockery to hear those fools refer to his curse as a blessing, but his warnings fall on deaf ears as he is outnumbered.

♡ Just as he is about to lose hope, a bright light shines above him. It’s you, in all of your angelic glory, commanding the heretics to let him go. Most of his attackers fall to their knees, in awe of your divine presence, but their leader interprets it as a sign that Pierro is truly the person they’re after. They swing their sword at him…only for their entire group to be impaled by your nails.

♡ It’s a bloody sight. But once your wrath has subsided, you fly down to Pierro and check his condition. You’re incoherent, healing his wounds with trembling hands, apologizing for your late arrival. He assures you that he is fine, only to be interrupted by a sudden ray of light. But this one is blindingly bright, coming from the sky, the same holy light which shone upon Khaenri’ah during the Cataclysm.

♡ It hits him just then: In harming those humans for his sake, you’d violated one of God’s orders. Yet in the midst of His divine wrath, you muster a false smile and tell Pierro to go home. Then you fly up into the sky, disappearing above the clouds along with the holy light. He does as he is told, but not without killing all of the heretics to ensure that they won’t come after him or more Khaenri’ahns. As for the traitor…he doesn’t bother to ask for their location.

♡ The forest is the same when he returns. The next few hours pass by in a blur—unpacking,  checking the animal traps, cooking dinner, and so on. The whole time, he can’t stop worrying about you. He doesn’t know if God would listen to his prayers but he tries, anyway; it’s not like he can help you in any other way.

♡ He goes to bed early, only to jolt awake when a flash of light illuminates the bedroom. When he rushes to the window, it’s just in time to see a falling star. It shoots through the sky, outshining the auroras, a beautiful sight if not for the fact that it seems to be drawing closer to him. It disappears from his range of vision, followed by a deafening sound and a severe earthquake. Then the world falls silent, returning to its tranquil state.

♡ After a few minutes, Pierro leaves his house to investigate. Seeing how the meteor bypassed the divine barrier of the forest, he doubts it was a natural phenomenon. You once told him that the Fourth Order of angels, the Dominions, are in charge of the celestial bodies—could they have been ordered to destroy his third home?

♡ Thankfully, the destruction is limited to a crater at the edge of the forest. But instead of a meteor, he finds you curled up in pain. Fragments of your halo pierce your body. Your right wing is gone; all that remains of it are clipped feathers and sawed bone. Most prominent are the curved horns jutting from your head, covered in a mix of blood and torn skin. You became a demon.

♡ Your half-conscious cries prompt him into action. Carefully, Pierro carries you to his house and treats your wounds. When he notices your hand on your stomach, he remembers what you said about demons needing food and sleep to survive. So he heats up some soup and feeds it to you; and once your hunger has subsided, he tucks you in bed. In your delirium, you can only muster a single sentence before falling asleep.

“Pierro? I’m sorry…it’s my fault, not yours.”

“Silence. We may talk tomorrow. But tonight, you must rest.”

♡ That night, you sleep for the first time. Pierro watches you all night, checking your pulse every so often. When you wake up, the sun is high above the sky and Pierro has already cooked lunch. You’re more coherent now, able to feed yourself, though you wince in pain every so often. And when Pierro asks about your descent, your expression darkens.

♡ In a shaky voice, you explain that the heretics’ ambush had been a test from God. It was fated to occur at the same time as an important event in Heaven, the decennial meeting between God and the leaders from all Nine Orders. As soon as Pierro’s name was brought up, you were quick to defend him. And when you were informed of the attack, you stormed out of the meeting to save him, fully aware that it would bring about your downfall.

♡ And despite it all, you’re the one apologizing to him—for your late arrival, for the danger he was put through, for the “burden” of taking care of you. At the last part, Pierro finally finds the words to chastise you, to say that you won’t achieve anything by wasting your tears on Heaven.

“I wish you would not think so lowly of me. After all these years, do you truly believe that I would harbor anything but gratitude towards you?”

♡ That shuts you up. For the next few weeks, you meekly accept Pierro’s care—he cooks for you, dresses your wounds, lets you sleep in his bed. There is only one problem: Your body refuses to heal. Blood continues to seep from your wounds, and you’re in a perpetual state of pain. Still, he faithfully tends to you day and night. It’s the least he can do for you.

♡ One day, he leaves the house to pick fruit and comes back to find a dark silhouette in his bedroom window. He rushes inside, armed with a weapon, to find a demon. Only, they’re kneeling by the bed, holding your hands, shedding tears of joy. That is when he notices the bloodstained scars on their hands, their tattered veil, your kind words for them…they, too, are a fallen Archangel.

♡ All peace, however, is dashed when your former subordinate tells Pierro that they are bringing you “home,” in other words Hell. As for the matter of your health, they claim that while your divine punishment is unheard of, they should be able to find a cure…from Il Dottore of all people. And despite your conflicted expression, it’s clear that you are seriously considering their invitation. Only for Pierro to take that choice away from you.

“And what makes you believe that I would allow ______ to leave our home?”

♡ Prior to you, Pierro never would’ve dared to challenge a spiritual being. But now, after all he’s been through, he takes a step forward and tells the demon to leave. It doesn’t take long for their argument to turn physical. But before the demon can smite him, Pierro defends himself with his Khaenri’ahn sorcery. They’re a formidable opponent, however, and the fight continues until he aims a galaxy-like aura at their heart. Quickly, you protect your former subordinate with a shield of rusty nails, only for the element to refract and hit you instead.

♡ Much to everyone’s relief, however, it has a different effect on you. Your feathers take on a black tint and a deep blue iridescence. The same thing happens to your horns. Most importantly, all of your wounds close up, leaving scars identical to Pierro’s cursed marks. And when he rushes to your side, asking if you are all right, you breathily tell him that you feel so much better.

♡ That is what convinces the demon to leave, but not without promising to return once they’ve informed the Devil. With peace restored in your home, the two of you go downstairs for lunch. You still need Pierro to support you, but it’s the first time you’ve managed to walk in your new form. And your appetite is bigger, healthier compared to your previous portions.

♡ After a few days however, the effect wears off. Your body loses its blue luster, your feathers fade to their original color, your pain returns. Once you’ve fully reverted to your original state, Pierro decides to try out his Khaenri’ahn sorcery again. This time, he holds your wrist and carefully channels his power into you…and it produces the same healing effect.

♡ For the sorcery which doomed his nation to save the life of his beloved…the irony leaves him at a loss of words, on the verge of laughing. But it does explain why you landed in Pierro’s home instead of Hell, and why God allowed the two of you to reunite. The knowledge brings a dark smile to his face. You’re at his mercy now, dependent on him for all eternity.

♡ When he faces you, he can tell that you’ve reached the same conclusion. Still, you entertain the thought of moving to Hell—surely, there must be a way for you to live without forcing Pierro to expend his energy on you. That is when he grips your hands, pulls you towards him, and tells you that you aren’t leaving him. If the two of you are truly fated to suffer, then it is only right that he returns all of the love you have given him.

♡ It’s easy to persuade you. After all you’ve experienced, you’re tired so you just nod and lean into his embrace. And in the following days, you slowly adjust to your new life. You help Pierro around the forest. A new bed is built, to fit two people. At night, the two of you engage in your usual bedtime conversations but you’re the one who falls asleep first.

♡ When your former subordinate returns, Pierro stands his ground. With you asleep, he is able to fight them outside and easily subdue them; he even had the wisdom to enhance his weapons with blood from your used bandages. And with his argument that any attempt on his life is equal to risking yours, they have no choice but to accept your situation.

♡ You’re still asleep when he returns to your shared bedroom. Careful not to wake you, he changes out of his bloody clothes and leaves his sword on the table, next to his old mask. Then he takes off his glove and traces your features with his cursed hand. And when you open your eyes, the look he gives you is one of pure hope.

“Pierro? What time is it?” you mumble.

“Far too early,” he replies. “Go back to sleep. I will join you shortly, ______.”

“...All right.” Yawning, you snuggle into the pillow and close your eyes. “Can you wake me up later? I don’t want to oversleep again.”

He smiles, caressing your cheek. “If you wish.”

It doesn’t take long for you to return to the world of dreams. Your sleeping face is truly a wonder to behold—an expression so tranquil, well-rested, vulnerable to his kiss.

“And when you awake, I want you to tell me your true name.”

♡

More Church AU here!! Dottore ๑ Capitano ๑ Arlecchino ๑ Pantalone ๑ Dainsleif

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving characters or dynamics not included in my masterlist.

..…Don’t ask me how Pierro ended up with the highest word count in this AU. All I can say is that it was very cathartic to make him suffer, which is a recurring theme in his fics. If y’all enjoyed his story, do let me know (๑･̑◡･̑๑)

Also, soft launch for the next couple + story!! I’m rlly excited to write for Dainsleif, and just know that he’s in for a lot of surprises <3

Tag a Pierro enjoyer!! @leftdestiny-posts @beloved-blaiddyd @naraven @euniveve @stickyspeckledlight @harmonysanreads @oofasleep @mistymem0ryy @lazyroseart @teabutmakeitazure

[mehiwilldoitlater]

Journey to the Rent

You sniffed again, your eyes glued to the streetlamp; the light trembled here and there, a few moths attracted by its light.

You lost track of time; how long were you sitting on that half-wet bench? The Clouds i. The sky covered the moon, and you needed to turn off your phone. You didn't want to hear It rang; you didn't want to talk or be found right now. Your luggage near you reminded you about your long-lost happiness, wishing that you never had to take the planet back in this city that now, more than ever, felt so big and cold.

Yes, cold, you felt cold... well, you were in the middle of a park at night, of course. It was cold now. This thought, luckily, was able to take you away from the reason why you couldn't go back to your apartment...

Yes, at that right moment you were currently homeless. To be fair, you had all the rights in the world to stay in your home, but the idea now... It made you sick. You felt like a coward even, why weren't you fighting back?

Because you felt that it was coming...

No, no distractions. You straighten your back, now focusing on your important task: not dying on a cold November night. You rose up, taking your backpack and your luggage, slowly walking away from the small playground, hoping to find in the meantime a good idea.

Calling your parents was out of the question; they lived far away, and you didn't have any energy left for another trip. You could have asked your friends to stay the night, but you didn't want to involve them in your drama. You all went on vacation to help Nicole tò get over her divorce. After a single One year of marriage, which was ALREADY enough for her. And, the most important part, was that he knew all these people, he had their number, and he could have easily found you.

At least for that night, you wanted to be invisible, disappear, and not exist.

Maybe you could book a room in a motel? Yeah, no pass. The idea of freezing to death was more appealing than passing it inside one of those places...Maybe an hotel? It seemed the most rational idea! But you didn't know how long you would have stayed there, and that was pretty much money drying. Not to mention that, right now, you have zero idea how many hotels near your workplace are available.

You started to contemplate going to a shelter for the homeless when a small glint caught your eye. It was a small gleam, for only a second; if it wasn't for that car passing by near the gate of the park, you would have surely missed it. A notice board, one of those people put photos of lost pets, a number for reps for school, a job advertisement, and all of those staff. Some people preferred a more direct approach than using some apps, and those noticed board were pretty usefull sometimes.

There, tacked over the other, a golden piece of plastic paper. The writings were in a darker shade of red, and by the looks of the ink, it seemed that they made it by hand, and that was the first, if not the only, of that advertiser made it in that way.

At first glance, you would have found It was quite tacky for its presentation, arrogant even, since it covered all the other papers but dismissed everything when you noticed what the paint strokes were saying.

Thunderclap apartments. 

Bilocals ready To immediate use: car parking, functional elevators,

and a private pool for the residents. 

A refuge for the mind and the soul!

Alongside that, an address and a few phone numbers, from the owner probably.

In other situations you would certainly have avoided something so tempting like this one, since it was probably a scam. And yet, you took the golden, plastified paper, looking at the phone number, desperate enough to try everything that you could find.

When you reached the nearest phone cabin, you had a few second thoughts about this idea, but as soon as you inserted the coin and typed the number, you felt more adamant about it.

A few minutes passed, and there was no response. Maybe it was really a scam; maybe no one was behind that number... maybe coming back wasn't such a

"Hello?"

The voice of A man came from the other side. It felt like the voice of someone that could break your back in two with an Hug and yet seemed nice by the tone he used.

"H-hello?" Your voice trembled a little, whether from the cold or from the nervousness you didn't know. "Is this Thunderclap Apartments number?"

"Wujing, it's dinner time!" An acute voice came from the background; you had a little more conscience on what time it was now.

"Yes, yes, it's me! Well, I AM one of the owners, of course! You can call me Sha Wujing! Can I help you?" A shuffle, he must have stood up from his seat. Yes, he was really helpful now.

"Oh, hello! My name Is Y/n F/n and...I found the announcement for the apartment, and I was—" you heard a rumble in the sky—"more than interested!"

"Oh! Oh yes, the announcement! Yes, of course! We can set up a meeting tomorrow after-"

"N-no, Mr.... ehm, Wujing... I wonder if the immediate means...like now..."

"Now?...now now?"

"....yes..."

While the silence and the small murmur in the background kept going for a minute or two, your anxiety kept on growing in your belly. It wasn't about the possible rejection; that you know was more than just justified; you literally asked to get a roof over your head pronto. No, what you feared was that the only option there was to go back to face the inevitable.

"Are you in some big trouble, uh?"

"...well, not troubles like police and stuff, but... yeah..."

He sighed; you prayed for a quick no, swift and painless.

"Well, I can't turn down a request for help. How long till you're here?"

The surprise of the respond was enough to make you speechless. Really? Just like that?! Wait, maybe that was really a scam! Maybe they were—

"Miss? Miss, are you there?"

Okay, no, no more questioning!

"Ah! Yes! Yes, I'll be there as soon as I can!"

"Good! Later than!"

"YES! Thank you, thank you so much!"

You had to hang up, and... you felt a wave of relief washing over you. You had to give yourself a few slaps on your cheeks, enough to believe that you really resolved your problem in such a short time... there was still the chance that it wasn't safe at all and you were literally giving yourself to a bunch of criminals, but you wanted to push this small moment of luck that you had found.

It was when some cold drops of rain and some more thunders reminded you that you needed to find a taxi, and so you sprinted out from the park.

///

As soon as you reached the place, it was now raining hard. You even had some trouble seeing through the old glass of the car, but, from the lack of lights and buildings, the complex must have been built a little far from the center of the city.

It wasn't such a bad thing, especially in your actual situation. You'll have to find a way to go to work, but you had time for that. Maybe it wasn't so bad that the bad weather forced you and your friends to come back sooner...

At least you found out ...

Before you could go back to your spiral of thoughts, the cranky voice of the driver got you back to reality.

"We're here..."

You paid with the little cash you had with you, forsaking the fact that you had brought everything with you EXCEPT for an umbrella. The driver didn't have anything left from other customers, so you had just the option to walk under the pouring rain.

The Rain made It hard to see the palace, even if the lights were lit up, but what you could see was that it was quite big. By the iron fence, the lamps that decorated the pavement from the main gate to the entrance and the lights from the structure, it seemed like an old place that was renowned.

The main gate, a big old-fashioned kind of metal one, was left open. Maybe it was supposed to be that way, maybe left for you; you didn't care. Your worries now were to run as fast as you could under the rain, protecting your laptop in your backpack, which your friends had made fun of you for since you had brought it on a holiday, and the few important items that you wanted to be dry.

You found refuge from the rain under the patio that preceded the door. It was an old type, made of wood, and the center decorated with stained glass, a fancy design with several flowers and plants. The only contemporary object was the intercom on the right of the door, and after a small research of the right button, you called inside, waiting for a response.

Between the sound of the raging door and the heavy drops camping from your now soaked form, the intercom lightened up, showing a sign of life from It. Before you could hear any sound from it, the light from the other side of the door had turned on, showing some movements from the other side and a staircase, which you weren't sure was an actual one until two figures had moved quickly on it.

Strange, you thought, then a long beep emitted from the intercom.

"Hello? Miss Y/n?" It was the calm and understanding voice of Wujing.

"Yes, it's me!"

"Ah! Good! Please come in!"

A small click from the door and a good push, that was all you needed to get in. It was an old door, but it seems that the owners decided to install all the security in it! And, speaking of the owners...

When you heard the voice, your first thought was that this Sha Wujing was some kind of big man; what you couldn't understand was that he was quite REALLY a big man! The two first features that caught your attention were the fact that he was almost near 2 meters in height and large like a bear and his vibrant hair and beard, colored in a vibrant red. Tied up in a high bun, they almost looked fake by the color they showed, since it was almost impossible to exist such a color in nature! His eyes were dark, and, despite his oriental name, they were quite big and round. He almost reminded you of a fish by those curious traits.

He seemed like the kind of man that you REALLY didn't want to have against you in a fight, because by the looks of it, he was really strong, maybe able to crush a skull between his thighs, covered in a pair of thick jeans. And yet, despite his looks, his face showed a kind and patient smile. Honestly, if you had to guess a possible second work aside from being an apartment owner, you could guess between a bodyguard or a teacher, since he had that kind of smile that could make every kid behave.

"Finally, it's nice to have a face on the voice!" he said between a small chuckle, ignoring the dripping water on the carpet that you were leaving. "And by the look of it, the rabbi found you first..."

"Yeah..." you scratched your head a little, posing down your backpack."So, umm... nice to meet you! I'm Y/n...Y/N F/n...I'm... I'm so grateful for your kindness!"

"Oh please! You're not the first one to ask for such a thing! It's our duty to help the ones in need!"

Wow, so they did this thing often? They didn't care about records or stuff? You started to wonder about the other tenets of that place and were a little worried since you'll have to stay there for who knows how long. You noticed then that he was looking at you with a strange anticipation...like waiting for something.

A minute passed; you cleared your throat, waiting for him to show you the house, and he just looked around, feeling your same nervousness.

"You know... You can take it off!" He exclaimed, moving his hands.

You raised your eyebrow, looking at him in a mix of confusion and disbelief. You touched your wet hoodie, the only warmth you had from it now gone with the freezing rain.

"...My...hoodie?"

"Come on, darling! I'm sure you're ADORABLE!"

The second voice came from the stairs, where the two figures that you spotted from outside were. Leaning from the railing on the stairhead, just in front in what you supposed was the elevator, the one who spoke was a large man; the muscles were not as prominent as the one of Wujing, but he still gave you the idea of strength in him. He had the kind of face of the men that you met in a disco, who try so hard to woo you for hours and don't take a hint even if it's splatted on their face. It seemed like an offense, but...his face reminded you...a pig... He had a large nose, decorated with a large nose piercing, his eyes still large but like Wujing ones. His hair, black like ink, was tied in a low ponytail. 

The second one...honestly, you couldn't look at him for so long. It wasn't the fact that you couldn't even get one inch of their feature; guilty, the sweatshirt they wore, it was his...aura. You never had believed in that staff, but in the moment that you really tried to focus on that second figure, you felt his eyes on you, and you had to divert your eyes from them, and, with the corner of your eyes, you almost believed that they were glowing for a second. You couldn't describe it, but you believed that that was the same sensation that a prey feels in front of the predator, or like when you're in front of something so big that you have to take a step back.

You felt small, and you really wished that Wujing could just take you away; instead, he just shushed the first one. 

"I understand; you don't feel comfortable! Here, I'll do it first!"

"You... want to take off your tank top?" Oh no, please, not a nudist club!

You really started to panic when a voice thundered from the stairs.

"Wujing, she's NOT..." His voice was... you couldn't describe it, but it seemed like a snarl from the tone. Wujing looked at him for a few seconds, then his eyes came back to you.

"...You're not... OH... OH GODS!" It was his turn to panic and to feel mortified for the terrible idea that he had and the first impression with you. You just looked at him, more confused and awkwardly since you were still there trying to understand what he was talking about. You noticed that the second man had the same expression as him, less mortified and more embarrassed. The third one... seemed to not care at all.

"Oh no, I was assuming...the advertiser... Wait, you're dripping wet!" He had noticed just now? "You need a towel or you're going to catch a cold! Don't move, stay here!" And he disappeared behind a door that you noticed just now, behind a large vase, an Asian one by the looks of it, where a series of some small version of a bamboo grew. The silence fell again when the door slammed for his strength, leaving you there with the mysterious duo.

"...I'm not...what?" You finally were able to speak again.

"Um...a lawyer." The large man received what you supposed was a dirty look from the other, but what you saw was just a movement with his hands that was supposed to be Are you serious?" Wow, you weren't one to judge, but his fingernails were...long and sharp...nice.

"Because..." the large one continued, "Lawyers don't...go around...during a storm...."

"...I guess?" No, they weren't nudist; they were crazy. Well, better crazy than criminals, right?

Honestly, what was wrong with them?! Firstly, they act all nice and dandy, like you were some old friend coming to take a visit in town, and now they act all strange and worried? That wasn't a real criminal kind of way to act, but it seemed like they were expecting something from you, which you didn't know what it was, honestly. When the door opened up again, Wujing was holding a ...pink fluffy towel. Really not something that you expected, but you couldn't guess much when he was literally drying you like you were a toddler.

"You... you don't have to!" You tried to smutter up while he was creating fire with the many strokes he gave you.

"No, no, I left you here in the cold... gods, what a night..."

"You...could say that..." you sighed, finally free from his grasp and the towel around your neck. 

His look, still worried for something that you didn't know what, looked at you for a few seconds, and there, you started to wonder if there was some sort of problem with you. He clicked his tongue, searching for the right words.

"Y/n... can I call you Y/n, right? No matter um..." He clearly didn't know how to explain whatever he needed to do; maybe it was too complicated to explain? "You...you are...a normal person, right?"

"Normal...OH!" You felt a rush of fear crossing you; he was having second thoughts?! So much to help someone in need! "OH! Oh yes! Please, please, I need to stay here! Here! I have my laptop; we can check my bank account together. I just need—" You were already opening your backpack when his hand stopped you, trying to calm you down.

"No, no, I believe you! You don't need to show me anything, but... um... you said you found the golden paper, right?"

"Uh...yes, in the park. I have It right here, see?" You took out from your pocket the plastic paper, opening up in front of his quite surprised eyes. He looked at it, then at the two on the stairs, to which they responded with a shrug from them.

It seemed like they were confused about the fact that you actually had that thing in your hands, which did worry a little your stressed mind further. But, before something else could happen, Wujing just turned back to you, a tired smile on his face.

"Well, I guess it is what it is!" Welcome to Thunderclap apartments, Missy!"

...Wow, everything turned back to normal? Well, sort of at least. Before you could react, he took your luggage from the ground, holding it like it wasn't weighing a thing.

"All right, let's take the elevator. We have a good place for you on the first floor, but we can take it in this case."

You wondered how tired you looked, or pathetic and desperate, but at that moment it wasn't the first of your worries. You just wanted to collapse on a bed and try to sleep...

The two men looked at you from the stair, now with a punch of curiosity in this new presence in the building. You felt again that heavy feeling on your shoulder every time the one in the hoodie watched you; this time you even noticed something off with his face ... It seemed like his nose was... flat? And he had a pair of long teeth. For the nose, you weren't sure, but for the teeth and his looks, maybe he was one of those wannabe vampires.

Finally, the door of the elevator closed up, and you breathed normally.

"So," the almost normal member of the owners spoke, "I don't want to dig in your business, but... you really look..."

"Like SHIT?"

"Your words, not mine!" You chuckled a little.

"I... well, let's just say I had a hell of a day. I'm sorry to be a trouble, anyway."

"Nah, you just surprised us, that's all! You looked like you were running away!" He wasn't lying, though...

"I had just returned from a peaceful holiday, and now I'm on the street, not a runaway, I swear."

"Ish, from Heaven to hell, huh?"

This time, you actually laughed. Despite all the strangeness that they showed, this Wujing seemed like a pretty decent guy. He was nice, understandable, and kind enough to not pry too much into your current situation. He was quite nice and the complete opposite of what usually house owners are described as, giving a sense of relief and the feeling of being lucky once in a while.

Once you reached the floor, another small ping came from the elevator, and you both exited the small cabin. In front of you, two doors faced each other with 3 meters of separation by the landing. Wujing reached for the One at your left, opening with One of the many keys hanging from a keychain, a strange metal thing, it seemed like a small stick with a crescent moon on one side... He must had liked Sailor Moon.

Once he opened the door, you were able to look inside and... It wasn't bad at all.

The living room wasn't too big or too small but just enough to put some furniture here and there. The most interesting thing was the big window that faced towards the road, giving you the idea that once under the sun, that place was made to be bright.

"Wow, I have lights and electricity?"

"Yeah, we decided to give you an extra because of the rush. It seemed like we were right, uh?"

The kitchen and the living room faced each other; an island made of wood was the only object that separated the two. It was a good idea of someone wanting to throw a dinner since it was easy to transform the living room into a dining room. The kitchen had what every kitchen needed: a few shelves, a pantry, and the stoves.

"This is the bathroom! We renovated the apartments, but we decided to just give a refresh to the bathrooms for the Styles. My mast—I mean, my co-owner—believed that taking away their original design was a sin!"

And you couldn't agree more! The color of the times was a soft shade of honey tones, and Just in the middle there was a series of ones that reminded you of some seaweed by the designs. The bathtub, a large One with Lion paws, was near the stained-glass Windows, wich reminded you of the feont door! Then a sink, some shelves...but something's missing.

"Uh...what about the washing machine?"

"Oh..." he scratched his head with an apologetic tone. "Well... yeah, we had a few... issues with our laundry area..."

"You have a laundry area?" There wasn't anything about it in the advertiser..."

"We...didn't put it...because of the issues!" 

"...What kind of issues?"

"Pff... some... tube issues... do not worry too much! We're working on it! For now, there is a good laundry shop not far from here!"

It sounded more like an excuse, but he said that it was something temporary...so maybe they were just using it for some drugs or staff; who were you to judge?

And finally...the bedroom. A spacious room, an old bed with a mattress that, despite the place, seemed quite clean, and a balcony that led to the other side of the building. Simple, no furniture... But it seemed quite lovely, just like the rest of the house.

"So...that's it! It's not that big, but quite nice as a flat. The price is 600 dollars monthly, bills excluded. You can use the free Wi-Fi of the condo, but I suggest you buy a Wi-Fi as soon as possible!"

Honestly, with that price, you felt like they were literally gifting you this place! Maybe staying wasn't such a bad idea after all! He gave you the key, and you led him to the door, listening to the last information that you needed.

"I leave you alone now; you look like you need sleep. Tomorrow we'll fix the last small details."

"Seriously, you're a lifesaver..."

"And, as I said, you're not the first one. We do this all the time... Are you sure you don't need any blankets?"

"Nah, got my staff...thank you..."

"Eh, you're welcome... night!"

When the door clicked, you felt the strength in your legs start to fade away. You touched your hair, feeling the dampness of the towel...ah, you forgot to give it back...another small thing to do in the morning. You could have just changed, taken the pajamas in your luggage, and cleaned a little yourself, but you didn't have any strength to do that. You found yourself removing everything except that old t-shirt that you had inherited from your dad, a stupid thing with a fish coming out from a tunnel and the ominous writing soon on it.

You allowed your body to collapse on that mattress, ignoring the possibility of getting some bedbugs on you. In all honesty, you didn't care at all; you just turned off the light and started looking at the ceiling, rethinking many life choices and many things that happened in the few hours.

You left your house... your shared house... you left your boyfriend there... him alone... with that girl that he had told you to not worry about. A girl that you saw plenty of times at the theater, that you wanted to believe was just too friendly.

He had cheated you while you were away... You came back sooner, and you found him red-handed... and you ran away. You did nothing, just ran away...

All the tears that you kept in you finally started to come out. And, between sobs and sighs, you found yourself crying yourself to sleep.

///

 Blasting music came from a car, one of those that really rich kids can even manage to possess. He fixed his long hair out from his electric blue jacket, laughing and jumping out from the vehicle. A girl laughed alongside a few of her friends while talking about the douchebag that was flirting with her all night. The rider, a boy with a huge grin on his face, looked at the one that was still saying goodbye to his friends.

"Yo, same time next week?"

"Please, please, please, you have to come, Lie! It's not fun if you're not around!"

"You heard the lady, big man!"

He laughed, splashing some puddles with his expensive and far too colored sneakers, while slowly reaching for the complex while the light lamps started to open up. "All right, all right! You babies always act as brats! I'll accompany you again, but you have to behave, alright?!"

And with more laughs and taunts, the groups drove off, the music slowly disappearing, letting the music of the night come back to the area. When Bai Long walked towards the door, he imagined the disappointed look of his master, questioning him about his whereabouts of the night; instead, he found himself alone in the entrance hall. Everyone must have been asleep, he thought, but hearing a few smacks from the stairs and some ominous little lights, floating here and there, making the place more freezing than it was supposed to be, he must retake his own words.

Since he hated doing his own business, he decided to follow the sounds and the creepy lights, only to find his old brother, staff in his hand, sitting with his back on a door, smacking a few of those evil spirits away. A yawn from him was enough to understand that he didn't exactly want to be there; who knows what he had done this time?

"Oh! Did you make Master angry again?"

"You're late again, "the cranky voice spoke."Had fun?"

"As always!" said Bai Long, sitting next to his brother, while a long and scaly tail came from him, smacking another of those little things."You should come one of these days; it would be a change of air at least!"

"Nah. I don't like that blasty stuff you hear at those clubs that you like."

Bai Long laughed a little; he knew his brother far too well, and he loved messing around with him a little. Then, his attention came back to those spirits, trying to get to that door it seemed.

"Quite feisty this night, huh? What's inside this flat anyway? Wasn't it empty?"

"A girl came..."

"A demon one?"

"Nope, a mortal one." Bai Long gave him a look like asking him if he was joking. "Yeah, I know...crazy, right? Master asked him to guard her for this night. He plans to do something tomorrow...some mantra or staff to protect her..."

"Wait...how does a mortal find this place anyway?"

"She found the golden sigil..." Bai Long gasped, "Yup... I know..."

A silence has fallen between the two, now two objects smacking the spirits away from the door or just smashing them. It wasn't the first time a mortal found that place, but it was abnormal that the golden sigil led them there. It was made for... non-mortal people.

"I don't know what's wrong with her, but she had cried herself to sleep."

"Oh...a runaway maybe?"

"Like I care..." And again with the attitude of the cold-hearted one... If he really didn't care, he would not have guarded that door even. It was a master order, but he would have found a way to sneak around the job, and he even listened to her cries... Well, it wasn't his problem, but he would have used that against him one day.

"...We need to fix the laundry problem," said Bai Long, smacking another spirit. "These things are starting to get on my nerves."

"That old lady loves sneaking through the tubes, you know that..."

"Yeah, but it was you the one that had trapped her in the washing machine, remember?" Bai Long's old brother decided to stay silent.

[pinklotushere]

Direct continuation of this

14th Century, The Wedding

The chapel was quiet, the flickering candlelight casting golden hues over the stone walls. Dick grinned as he clasped Dan’s hands, his voice soft but full of playful energy.

“Do you think the gods will bless us?” dick asked.

Dan raised a brow, his stoicism barely hiding a hint of a smile. “If they don’t, I’ll have a word with them myself.”

“For once, you’re not brooding,” dick laughed “I could get used to this.”

Dan smirked faintly. “You have a talent for unsettling me.”

As they exchanged vows, Dan felt something he rarely allowed himself to feel: hope.

It was short-lived.

When dick fell ill years later and succumbed to the plague, Dan begged the gods to take him too. Instead, they cursed him, forcing him to live with his grief.

---

Dan wandered through centuries, haunted by dick's absence. Time didn’t dull the ache; instead, it sharpened it, leaving him restless and yearning for the impossible.

16th-Century venise

The courtesan was beautiful, with dark hair and a sharp wit that reminded Dan of dick. He found himself drawn to her, lavishing her with gifts and stolen moments.

“You seem sad,” she said one night, tracing a finger along his jaw. “You’re always looking at me like you expect me to say something I haven’t.”

Dan forced a smile. “You remind me of someone I lost.”

She kissed him softly, but it felt hollow. No one could match the fire that dick had carried in his soul.

---

17th-Century England

The lively marketplace bustled with activity as Dan passed through, blending into the crowd. A merchant’s voice caught his attention, cutting through the noise with its cheeky charm.

“Careful, sir, you’ll scare the quills if you stare any harder.”

Dan’s gaze snapped to the stall, and his breath caught. The merchant’s auburn hair and bright smile were eerily familiar. He bought a quill just to linger, his heart aching with an unnamed longing.

“You remind me of someone,” Dan murmured.

“Lucky him,” the merchant teased.

Dan left, the stranger’s laughter echoing in his mind.

---

The Napoleonic Wars (19th Century)

The young soldier, Henri, had dick's cheeky grin and quick tongue. They met during a brutal campaign, bonding over shared hardships.

“You’re too quiet, Dan,” Henri said one night by the fire. “You’ve got stories, I can tell.”

Dan chuckled softly. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Henri laughed and leaned closer, his gaze lingering. Dan kissed him, hoping the heat would drown out the emptiness. It didn’t. Henri was kind, but he wasn’t him.

---

19th-Century Paris

The bookshop was warm and dimly lit, a haven from the cold Parisian streets. Dan browsed aimlessly, distracted by the shopkeeper’s lively chatter with another customer.

“You’ve got a serious look about you,” the shopkeeper said, noticing Dan. “Let me guess—love lost?”

Dan stiffened. The man’s blue eyes and teasing smile felt too familiar. He handed Dan a slim volume of poetry. “This one’s good for broken hearts. I’d know.”

Dan nodded curtly, paying without a word. As he left, the shopkeeper’s parting words lingered: “Come back if you need more stories.”

It was sweet, but Dan already knew he wouldn't be coming back

---

20th Century A Bar

In a smoky speakeasy in New York, Dan nursed a drink while watching the barmaid move through the crowd. She had dick's charm and confidence, her laughter cutting through the haze of jazz and cigarette smoke.

She leaned against the bar, grinning at him. “You’ve been staring all night. Care to explain?"

“You remind me of someone,” Dan admitted, his voice low.

“Lucky her,” she teased, pouring him another drink.

Dan smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He tried to convince himself that these fleeting connections were enough, but the truth gnawed at him: they weren’t.

---

20th-Century New York

The train station buzzed with energy as soldiers boarded. Dan leaned against a pillar, watching a young man in uniform charm a group of women nearby.

“Not boarding?” the soldier asked, his grin infectious.

“No,” Dan replied.

“Suit yourself.” The soldier extended a hand. “Rick.”

Dan hesitated before shaking it. “Dan.”

As the conductor called for final boarding, Rick tipped his hat. “See you around, Dan.”

Dan watched him go, the ache in his chest a reminder of something he couldn’t quite place.

Dick grayson’s life had always felt... incomplete. He couldn’t explain the strange dreams that plagued him—visions of a medieval chapel, a bustling market, a quiet bookshop. He dismissed them as nothing more than fantasies.

As Nightwing, Gotham demanded his focus. Yet, during a battle with a rogue magician, something changed.

A spell struck him mid-air, throwing him to the ground. Pain rippled through his body, but so did something else—a torrent of memories flooding his mind.

Dan, he mind whispered to him

Oh.

Oh.

Dick spent months tracking Dan down, piecing together clues from his fragmented memories and his skills as Nightwing.

He chased whispers of a man who never seemed to age, stories of someone who disappeared when connections grew too close.

In every lead, dick saw glimpses of Dan’s regret—an unfinished painting left behind in a French chateau, a carefully preserved diary in a London museum, a love letter hidden in the pages of an old book.

Each discovery hardened Dick's resolve. “You won’t run from me this time,” he muttered as he packed his gear.

Dan was sitting in his apartment, staring at the same photograph. The weight of centuries pressed down on him, his guilt and longing a constant ache.

The knock at his door startled him. He wasn’t expecting anyone. When he opened it, his breath caught.

Dick stood there, rain dripping from his hair, his eyes blazing with determination.

“How many lifetimes will it take before you see me for who I am?” dick demanded, stepping into the room without waiting for an invitation.

Dan took a step back, his mind racing. “dick?”

“Yes, Dan,” dick said, his voice firm. “It’s me. It’s always been me. And you—” his voice broke slightly, “you’ve been running from this for centuries.”

Dan sank into a chair, unable to meet dick's gaze. “I thought I was protecting you,” he whispered.

Dick crouched in front of him, gripping his hands. “You thought you were protecting yourself,” he said, his tone softer now. “But I’m here, Dan. I’ve always been here. And I remember everything,i remember you”

Dan’s eyes filled with tears. “I wanted to save you from this... from me.”

“You’re not saving me by leaving me behind,” dick said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re breaking us both.”

The room was quiet, and Dan hesitated before reaching out, his fingers brushing against dick's cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” Dan murmured, his voice cracking.

Dick leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. “Then stop running. Stop hiding. Be with me this time. For real.”

Dan nodded, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve everything,” dick said fiercely. “But you have to let yourself believe it.”

---

Months later, Dan and dick walked along the Gotham waterfront, the city alive with its usual chaos. But for the first time in centuries, Dan didn’t feel haunted.

“You’re awfully quiet,” dick said, bumping Dan’s shoulder. “Regretting your decision already?”

Dan chuckled, a rare sound that made dick grin. “Hardly. I’m just... grateful.”

Dick smirked. “Good. Because I’m not letting you off the hook this time. You owe me centuries of explanations, love letters, and... well, everything.”

Dan stopped walking, turning to face him. “You have my eternity."

Dick's grin softened, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to Dan’s lips. For the first time, they were finally whole.

[shintin]

Forbidden Flames

↳ Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

One-shot

Summary: Satoru Gojo receives a letter, inviting him to a secluded cottage in the forest. Is it a trap by curse users or a haunting memory trying to scratch his wounds?

Or a story about how You and Satoru Gojo fucked after years.

Word count: +11 k.

Genre: explicit smut, romance, angst (Jujutsu Kaisen au).

Warnings/Tags: +18, NSFW, reader-insert, no Y/N, post-breakup, soft Satoru Gojo, curse user reader, no death, too much fluff and kissing, cunnilingus, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex (c’mon! we all want this), multiple orgasms, hair pulling, tear licking, emotional trauma, emotional sex, no manga spoilers.

Notes: Hey there! I wrote this because Gege Akutami left an emotional mark on me. So, you know...

You can read the "Disclaimers" at the end.

Song Recommendation: Forbidden Flames Playlist

You can read my fics on AO3. If you have any questions, don’t be shy and ASK.

Back to masterlist

As the afternoon sun cast long shadows through the dense foliage, a mysterious man with stark white hair and a black blindfold stepped into the heart of the desolate wilderness. Satoru Gojo. The air hung heavy with the earthy scent of wet soil mingling with the musty aroma of decaying leaves, a reminder of the rainstorm that had visited the night before.

Every step he took got lost between the giggles and hisses of harmless curses hiding behind the trees with fear. The ground beneath his feet was carpeted with a mosaic of fallen leaves, their vibrant red, orange, and gold colors now muted and lifeless, as if drained of all vitality. Some of them, with still a breath to take, crunched beneath his weight, the sound of a heartrending dirge that reverberated through the desolation.

Tall, gnarled trees stood sentinel on either side, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers as if yearning to trap the unwary. Their towering forms were shrouded in darkness, their essence reduced to withered remnants. They whispered mournful laments in the wind, their voices carrying tales of forgotten sorrows.

The forest, once flourishing and thriving, now seemed like a tragic tableau frozen in time. The canopy above formed a suffocating barrier that only got disturbed by the man's ethereal presence. Wild ferns brushed against his legs, leaving behind a trace of dew upon his black trousers. The moist ground yielded beneath his every step as if reluctant to release its grip from his boots' footprints.

As he pressed further into the jungle, the darkness deepened, the path twisting and turning like a labyrinth of despair. The shadows grew longer, stretching out like grasping tendrils as if eager to ensnare his soul. The silence became oppressive, broken only by the occasional painful cry of a distant creature.

The cottage he had received its address stood as a solitary figure amidst the gloomy jungle, a crumbling monument to forgotten dreams. Its dilapidated walls whispered of lost hopes and shattered promises, its windows veiled with white curtains.

With his hands casually tucked into his pockets, he watched the scene before him, a twisted smile playing upon his lips. He thought it was a perfect place, a trap waiting to spring him. But who would be foolhardy enough to challenge the strongest of all times?

But wait!

He couldn't feel any cursed energy! His six eyes were dumb. There was only one who could blind their watchful gaze.

So, when Satoru Gojo approached the house, his heart quickened after a long time, anticipation and anxiety coursing through his veins. The stage was set, the elements conspiring to test his resolve. Would he emerge from this shadowed encounter unscathed, or would the jungle claim yet another victim, lost to the depths of its sorrow-laden clutches?

Satoru's focus fixated on the doorknob, a slight gulp revealing his hesitation. Taking a deep breath, he turned and pushed open the door. The scent of something sweet enveloped his nostrils, a reminiscent embrace that momentarily distracted his senses. However, as his eyes met the sight that awaited him, an unexpected revelation struck him with a force that resurfaced long-forgotten memories.

The inside resembled an aged hideout, with wooden walls and colorful chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting warm, dappled patterns on the worn tatami floor. In the center of the room, a round table took its place, adorned with a vase of delicate forget-me-not flowers. Flanking the table were two chairs. And then, in the small kitchen stood the person who had left a void in his heart.

"You're late," your voice rang out in a cheerful tone, beckoning him forward. "Come inside. It's chilly out." With your back facing the door, you stood at the counter, appearing preoccupied with unwrapping something.

Caught in a maelstrom of emotions, Satoru's thoughts fragmented like scattered puzzle pieces, their intended purpose obscured by the inner turmoil. His hand held the doorknob tightly, trapped in a state of ambiguity, unable to release its grip.

Was this a mirage? How could it be that when you seemed precisely the way he had traced the outline of your body in the air while lying in bed, unable to sleep?

Yes, of course, there were nights when the desire to run his fingers through your hair filled his dreams. It was inevitable; your scent permeated everything, even riding on the breeze. There were days fatigue misled him, mistaking weariness for the embrace, he craved, only to discover the hollowness within his very bones. Your body was no longer curled around him, no comfort, and in your absence, each day left him icy, with lips turning blue and hands yearning for the warmth of your touch. He felt adrift in a blizzard, seeking the faint flicker of a fire you had extinguished.

What the fuck is wrong with you, Satoru? Think! Is this a manipulation technique?

And then, as if compelled by an unseen power, you turned your head, causing his heart to skip a beat—countless beats. You were undeniably real.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Seeing you was akin to being hit in the knee with a bullet. Satoru's legs nearly gave way, his heart raced, and his hands turned clammy, almost causing him to collapse. He had never felt this urge to tear off his blindfold before, as your departure had happened so abruptly that he didn't have a chance to see you. Although he had committed every detail of you to memory, but this…this… witnessing it in person was an entirely different experience.

He stepped back, feeling the heaviness of the past, necessitating some distance. The harsh truths loomed, threatening to engulf him as he wrestled with the profound effect of your presence. Yet, he couldn't tear his gaze away from you, his mind struggling to comprehend the unfolding situation. The reality was so surreal, making it difficult for him to grasp that it was really occurring.

"Why are you just standing there?" you asked, holding a pack of his beloved Kikufuku mochis in your hands. A radiant smile graced your face, illuminating the damp room with its brightness.

He couldn't give two fucks about mochis when your face had that effect on him, always causing him to lose track of where he was, who he was, and what he might say or do. And that familiar smile, it killed him a little. His gaze remained there, lingering for too long, his concealed eyes giving away his thoughts. "Why do you have that look on your face?" you asked, tilting your head with curiosity and stepping closer to him.

As you stood before him, the closeness amplified the wave of emotions within him. Joy and disbelief raced through his veins. The fragrance that surrounded you, so hauntingly acquainted, sparked a rush of nostalgia.

Satoru Gojo was born with a specific purpose, a set of perfect eyes, and the weight of his lineage on his shoulders. He was reserved and calculated. When he mastered the Limitless technique, he concluded that infinite solitude was the only way to survive. Because how he could describe the experience of seeing everything, for when you see everything, you see nothing. An excess of color turns into pure black, an infinite void.

Yes, he was born with those six eyes. People never let him forget. But to you, his eyes were simply eyes. He recalled the first time you teased him about them and how his heart caught in his chest because he had never seen someone as vibrant and colorful as you.

It wasn't exactly love at first sight, but it was something like that. The first time he saw you, he felt it. An ache. Like a little electric burn. He felt his life changed.

Gradually, his loneliness began to dissipate. He found a place for himself in this chaotic world. With you, he could laugh, cry, joke around, and even be a brat. It was something no one could genuinely grasp—the feeling of finally being alive as a person. Before you, he felt he hadn't truly existed, merely scattered atoms in an indifferent universe following a predetermined path. But you changed everything. You dismantled and rebuilt him anew. You molded him, nurtured him, and despite him being the strongest, you kept him safe.

Without a noble title or material wealth, you were everything that went against the expectations of the Clan Elders. Yet, you stood faithfully by his side, precisely where he believed you belonged. Or at least, that's what he presumed.

Then, on that fateful day, the day he desperately wished was nothing more than a dreadful nightmare, reality unfolded before him. How could it be real? He stood there, confronted by the lifeless bodies of two Higher Ups and their protectors, with you covered in their blood. It was inconceivable. He couldn't accept that you were responsible for such a gruesome scene. Yet, you showed no remorse. You firmly believed it was the only solution, fed up with their destructive actions that brought ruin upon sorcerers deemed insignificant. You had accepted the notion that a problem without a remedy should be eradicated like an unwelcome weed.

On that day, he considered shaking your shoulders and demanding that you deny it all. He even contemplated going against everyone because what was the fucking point of wielding such power if he couldn't safeguard the woman he loved? The thought of quitting and escaping with you crossed his mind, too. He was willing to sacrifice everything: power, wealth, status, even his own life. However, you didn't desire any of those things.

His friend, Suguru Geto, once posed a question: Was he Satoru Gojo because he was the strongest, or was he the strongest because he was Satoru Gojo? At that time, he had no answer. A 17-year-old couldn't possibly find a response to such a profound question. However, when you entered his life, everything changed. Being the strongest lost its significance. He was just Satoru Gojo, and he was who he was because you loved him. His existence held meaning because you touched his life. He saw because he needed to gaze upon you. He spoke because he longed to hear your voice.

And then, similar to his best friend, after causing a bloodbath, you also walked out of his life. Yet, this time, it wasn't solely loneliness that engulfed him. It felt like one of his lungs had been taken away, and he heavied without you by his side through each passing moment. He became nothing once more. There was a hole in his life where you used to fit perfectly, and no matter what he did to try and fill it, nothing worked.

It was a strange anguish, a pain he never anticipated or conceived of. It consumed him from within, setting him ablaze with a profound emptiness. Then, defying the assumption that someone as formidable as him could experience sorrow, he was burdened with the task of erasing you. It was as if you were deemed nothing more than a blemish, a dishonor.

"What... what look?" he struggled to say, his voice tinged with a desperate yearning. Regret lingered in his tone as his words fell short. With a touch of vulnerability, he shut his eyes beneath the comforting confines of his blindfold, seeking refuge in the veil of darkness. Taking a deep breath, he consciously filled his lungs, using them as an anchor amidst the swirling storm of sensations enveloping him.

"That look," you remarked, your voice carrying a mischievous tone that floated in the atmosphere. "It's as if you don't trust me," you added teasingly. A few playful strands of hair escaped their intended position and delicately framed your face, casting a bewitching allure. An irresistible urge welled within him, compelling him to extend his hand and tuck those strands behind your ear—stupid muscle memory. However, he restrained himself, his hand suspended mid-air, resolute in resisting the magnetic pull of his desires.

"Why did you invite me here?" Satoru voiced, his grip on the doorknob loosening as the impact of reality settled upon him. The initial shock transformed into a lucid understanding. He wasn't oblivious. He knew that you were aware of his assignment to eliminate you. So, why? Was it because you recognized your unstoppable nature? Was it because you had realized that the blackhole existed within you, devouring everything you once held dear unless someone intervened?

"You could have refused to come, yet here you are," you whimsically remarked, a devilish glint in your eyes as you punctuated your words with a wink. You strolled over to the weathered table and set the pocket upon its aged surface.

"Cut it out!" Satoru snapped, his frustration mounting. "You know, I had no idea it was you!" His heart thumped in his chest, urging his feet to move forward, even as his mind screamed at him to flee. A sense of unease gripped him, acknowledging the futility of engaging in a battle he felt ill-prepared to win.

You turned towards him, a hint of a smile gracing your lips as your hands stayed concealed behind your back. Leaning against the chair, you arched an eyebrow, your eyes locked on him. "I have a feeling you knew it was me as soon as you arrived at the house," you declared, a jovial tone lacing your words. "After all, I'm the only one capable of concealing my cursed energy from you."

"We both know that I shouldn't be here. I—" Satoru's sentence dissolved, left unfinished, as your hand reached out, bridging the gap between you with a gentle touch. Infinity never worked with you. Even the very essence of the cursed energy recognized that you posed no threat to him. Furthermore, he would gladly provide you with any justification to touch him.

Lost in his reverie, Satoru suddenly became acutely aware of your presence. The magnitude of his longing and the depth of his yearning surged within him. In that instant, he recognized the immense emptiness you had left and how much he had missed you. Emotions swirled together, blending past and present, uncertainty and desire, in a delicate dance that would shape your fates.

"Why are you here, then?" you inquired, and his eyes met yours, reflecting the same yearning that dwelled in his heart. "Tell me, did you come in to kill me?" With a deliberate movement, you folded his fingers, molding them into the shape he would use to unleash his hollow purple. Bringing his hand close to your heart, you held it there. Despite the gravity of the situation, a soft smile adorned your lips.

He couldn't do this.

Taken aback by your unexpected gesture, Satoru swiftly withdrew his hand from your grasp. Anger and heartbreak swirled within him, entwining in a tumultuous storm. The realization hit him like a relentless wave, crashing against the shores of his consciousness. How had you drifted so far apart? When had the divergence between your paths become so profound that he failed to notice? The weight of your choice, to embrace the life of a curse user, to tread a road stained with blood, bore down upon him with a heavy burden. The pain on his face mirrored the fracture within his heart, a sense of loss mingling with a flicker of betrayal.

He wished he could say something. He wished he could start yelling, expressing all the thoughts and desires he had harbored since then—whether shouting, pouring out his heart, or expressing frustration. However, he adhered to the predetermined script you anticipated because he loved you unconditionally, unable to deny you anything.

"I didn't think so," you murmured, closing the gap between you, pressing your lips against his in a way that effortlessly eroded his resistance.

You tilted his face down, your hand caught somewhere behind his neck and the base of his jaw, and you kissed him softly and slowly, heat filling his blood with dangerous speed.

One of his hands naturally found its way to the back of your waist, holding you with a gentle yet possessive grasp, while the other securely clasped your arm, pulling you closer.

He felt incredible against you, your bodies fitting perfectly. Nothing ever came easier than kissing you. Every thought and worry wicked away, replaced by the feel of his mouth against your skin, his hand claiming your body.

In that moment, his eyes, his legacy, his clan's name, and the orders given about you faded away. This was his true purpose.

As your tongues entwined, a surge of electricity coursed through his veins, his body responding to the intoxicating enchantment of your touch. Your fingers traced the outline of his blindfold while others clung to his uniform as if he were your sole fulcrum in a world spinning out of control. Your back arched, and he embraced you tighter, his grip firm yet tender, his long fingers leaving an indelible mark upon your skin.

Breathless, as if you had just completed a marathon, you reluctantly pulled back from the heated exchange. Drawing him nearer, he yielded willingly, allowing you to guide him wherever you desired because wherever you led was where he believed to be his destination.

"Take this off," you beseeched, desperation and sorrow permeating your words as your forefinger lifted his blindfold and let it fall to the floor. His tousled hair cascaded softly over his forehead, unable to hide the azure eyes that had once captivated your heart.

In his eyes, tragedy and beauty could be seen, a stoicism that wouldn't be shaken, and childlike joy that couldn't help but flow.

He swallowed, and you shifted your hand to his ear, lightly grazing his earlobe with your pinkie before tracing down his jawline. There was no rejection, yet no clear confirmation either. Your hand brushed against his undercut as you continued.

"There you are," you whispered, your voice laden with kindness. Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes, a solitary droplet making its way down your cheek as you gently cradled his face in your hands. He looked down at you, counting each tear on your lovely cheeks.

He clasped your hand, kissing your palm before guiding it to rest upon his heart. It was the same foolish heart, steadfastly beating for you, never having faltered. Through teary eyes, you looked at him, and he remained struck by the sheer beauty that not even your tears could diminish.

As your bottom lip quivered beneath his touch, quickly, with a light sweep of his hand, he wiped away the tears that stained your stunning eyes. You missed him too, didn't you? Was it painful for you, too? Silly girl! You couldn't maintain your carefully constructed facades for more than ten minutes when it came to him.

The realization washed over him, dispelling any remaining doubts.

Without a second thought, he effortlessly lifted you, your legs encircling his waist while your hands secured around his neck. Engrossed in a fervent kiss, both of you surrendered to the moment as he clasped your back firmly, pulling you closer to himself, relishing the flavor of your lips.

Letting go wasn't an option when every fiber of his being had missed you.

Determined and resolute, he carried you out to a room he presumed to be the bedroom, even though it didn't matter whether there was a bed or a simple mattress; what mattered was the way your touch kindled a blazing fire within him, and he had no intention of bearing that flame alone.

Keeping you securely nestled in his arms, he forcefully kicked open the door and lowered you onto the welcoming comfort of the bed. The urgency to discard his black jacket left no room for delay. At the same time, your nimble hands deftly undid the buckle of your pants, but before you could remove them entirely, his hands moved with an instinctual hunger, swiftly stripping you of the garment and casting it aside as if propelled by an untamed fervor. The passion between you burned fiercely, filling the room with an all-encompassing energy that eclipsed any other thoughts or worries.

With a quick movement, he discarded his black t-shirt, revealing the well-defined curves of his chest that shimmered with a touch of sweat. His desire was tangible, his lust unmistakable as he straddled between your parted legs, his hands grasping your nape.

The taste of his lips met yours, initiating a sequence of fervent kisses that persisted without pause, each delving deeper than the last. The world around you lost its significance as your breaths synchronized in rhythm, the heat between your bodies escalating.

In the meantime, your hands moved swiftly, deftly unbuttoning your shirt.

As his lips briefly separated from yours, he uttered a whispered confession. "I hate how bad I want you," he admitted, his voice carrying a raw sincerity. However, before you could reply, his attention shifted to your neck, where his teeth gently grazed your sensitive flesh, leaving behind tracks of tantalizing nibbles and passionate kisses.

You couldn't help but release a gasp as pleasure and a twinge of pain electrified your senses, sending delightful shivers coursing down your spine. In the throes of passion, your hand curled into a fistful of his hair, a silent request for more. Call it masochist, but he loved it when you did this. He tenderly pulled at your hair in response, tilting your head back ever so slightly, baring more of your vulnerable neck to his hungry mouth.

Then, you did what came naturally to you. With a voice brimming with longing and ecstasy, you spoke his name, "Satoru," the sound slipping from your lips like a hushed prayer.

His actions came to an abrupt pause. His lips separated from your skin, and his grasp on your hair loosened as if a sudden realization had hit him like a splash of icy water. It was ironic how you still possessed this power over him, a power that could both thrill and unsettle him.

The sound of his name on your lips had become something he treasured, and damn it, he had missed hearing it again. Just like every fucking tiny thing he had missed about you.

With a sudden movement, he withdrew his head from the crook of your neck and brought his forehead close to yours. His hands found solace in brushing back strands of your hair with comforting strokes.

He shut his eyes, and in a whisper, his voice carried a hint of fragility, a rawness that tugged at your heartstrings. "Say it again," he pleaded, his voice breaking under the pressure of unexpressed sentiments. It was as if that simple word held immense significance, a lifeline to his heart that he desperately craved.

Without hesitation, you took a steadying breath, the name forming on your lips.

"Satoru."

"S-Say it kinder."

"Satoru."

"Say it slower."

"Satoru."

"Say it gentler."

"Satoru."

"Say it louder."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you wanna tell me you miss me."

"Satoru…"

"Say it as if you're annoyed that I eat so many sweets."

"Satoru!"

"Is this why you made the trip to Sendai just to get me those mochis?"

…

"Say it."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you ever cared, spared a single thought for me."

"SATORU."

"Say it as if when you lied in bed, you remembered something I once said."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if it hurt you too when someone said my name with yours."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if every time a door opened, you too expected me to walk out of it, that every time you cooked, you hummed my favorite songs."

"S-Satoru…"

"Say it as if you need me."

"Satoru."

"Say it again."

"Satoru."

"Again."

"…Satoru."

"Say it as if you want to tell me something important."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you want me to know you won't stay."

"Toru."

"No. Not like this."

"Satoru?"

"Please."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you want me to know you're gonna run away again."

"Satoru…"

"Huh. Better. Now say it as if you wanna tell that you slept badly without me, that you only dreamed of me, and in the morning, you woke up exhausted without having any desire to live."

"Satoru."

"You don't have a line, do you? No remorse. No regret. Not even a single thought for the man you left behind like a walking ghost. And you won't ever stop."

"Satoru."

"Once you were gone, they gathered all your belongings as evidence. See this hair tie on my wrist?" He lifted his hand. "This and your sweatshirt, which no longer carries your scent, are the only things I have left. Say it as if you still have that shirt of mine."

…

"Say it!"

"Sa-to-ru."

"Did you know that I actually thought if I messed myself up, went all self-destructive, and threw a massive tantrum, you'd come back? I mean, why should I bother taking care of myself? That was supposed to be your job, right?"

"Sa…toru."

"Oh, by the way, I completely wrecked that bench on the hill where you used to sit. And then I went ahead and destroyed the whole damn place, then just sat right there amidst the wreckage. I mean, why should I even give a damn when you stopped caring about me? Say it as if you get where I'm coming from."

"Satoru…"

"Yet you know what's funny? Ask me if I still love you like the first day?"

"Satoru?"

"It can't be just me, right? You can't be done with me. Tell me you love me."

…

…

…

"Okay. It's—"

"Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru…"

Everything he thought he knew flew right out the window. He had noticed the tremor in your breath and the shake in your voice, but the desperate murmurs of his name caused his eyes to flutter open. Your face was marked with the faint traces of tears, glistening in the light.

You blinked, revealing a spectrum of sadness and beauty unlike anything he'd seen before. The ability to convey so much with just a glance caught him entirely off guard.

Without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed his lips against the curve of your cheeks, softly caressing them. Nuzzling his nose against your skin, he lovingly kissed away the salty tears, his tongue delicately brushing your face with a soothing touch. Each tender movement provided a comforting solace during your emotional moment.

As he lovingly attended to your tears, you reached behind your back and unclasped your bra. He paused, eyes widening in surprise. However, before any words could escape, you leaned in and kissed him. In that single gesture, you conveyed your desires, and he, in turn, found his answer within the depths of that passionate kiss.

As soon as his palms glided over your smooth skin, delicately capturing your erect nipple between his fingers, the bra was tossed somewhere amidst the bedding.

"Lie back," Satoru instructed. He then crawled onto you, your bare chests meeting. He supported himself with his arms on either side of your head to ensure he didn't crush you under his weight.

He positioned himself atop you, overwhelmed by the yearning that had built up in your absence. The thirst to have you beneath him had grown insurmountable. He had craved the sight of your body begging him to take you, the undeniable desire radiating from you.

He locked eyes with you, keeping you in his gaze as he absorbed every aspect of your beauty. The polished planes of your face shimmered with fresh tears, adding a new layer to the bliss. Your eyes were rimmed with redness, solely for him, and this sight rendered him speechless.

Because what if he accidentally stumbled upon the wrong words, and the magic vanished, snatching you away once more, leaving him with nothing but a pumpkin carriage and a single pair of shoes?

He didn't want his arms to be deprived of your warmth. Your touch. Your lips. God, your lips. Your mouth on his neck. Your body wrapped around his. He couldn't bear losing you again, and the realization was like a pendulum the size of the moon. It wouldn't stop slamming into him.

Blinking his white lashes, he swallowed back the fear building in his throat.

What an irony!

The strongest wasn't fearless.

With his knee between your thighs and his body pressing closer, he realized he was paying attention to nothing but the dandelions blowing wishes in his lungs.

"When we were together, I became you," he stated. "You became the reflection I saw in the mirror, and I liked it more. So, I stopped being myself. It was fine because I had you. But when you left, I lost myself along with you."

"Satoru," you called, your voice soft, so soft. He wasn't unfamiliar with the touch of women, but yours were gentler, yet deadlier than them all. "I'm sorry for bringing us to this point." You drew his form closer. The resonating beats of your heart were audible, pulsing deeply within your chest. "Will you ever forgive me?"

Your words unleashed a tumult of feelings within him. Goddammit. He wasn't lost before he met you, but he found himself after having you, only to get lost more after losing you.

Satoru's tears stung as they fell backward down his throat, burning as they went. "Kiss me, and I'll forget everything," he uttered.

And you complied. You kissed him as if swimming through rivers of honey, as if being dipped in pure gold, like diving into an ocean of bliss, and he didn't realize you two were drowning because he was too caught up in the current to notice. Nothing held significance anymore—neither rules, nor the room, nor even the entire fucking Jujutsu society.

All that mattered was this.

This.

This very moment. These lips. This delicate body pressed against his, and these warm hands always discovering new ways to hold his heart.

Oh, My!

He wanted so much more of you. He wanted every part of you. And he kissed you back. Like a mild breeze. Like cherry blossoms. Like a blue spring.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Satoru drew away. It remained a secret, but piecing himself back together hurt just as much as falling apart. It felt like an ache that needed to be soothed.

You were the cure, so his finger lightly grazed the corner of your mouth, tracing its shape, curves, and subtle crevices. As he kissed the corner of your eyebrow, he whispered your name. His lips brushed over the shell of your ear, causing a slight squirm in your body. He planted a kiss on your neck, just beneath your earlobe, and you tilted your head, inviting him in. Perhaps you resisted the urge to plead for more, for a faster pace.

You used to love this, remember?

His lips moved down the expanse of your neck, delicately tracing the sensitive skin of your collarbones. Not content to be passive, your hands ran down his back, roaming over his broad shoulders, pressing into his back dimples, and clutching his hips. With a handful of his hair, you pulled him closer, leaving small kisses on his neck, arms, and chest.

It was incredible. Being with you, touching you, having you like this. The adrenaline rush was so powerful and euphoric that it made everything feel within reach.

He muttered your name, his lips mouthing the letters, barely speaking.

He pressed his lips against your upper lip.

He ran his tongue along your lower lip.

He planted kisses beneath your chin, on the tip of your nose, along your forehead, temples, and cheeks across your jawline. Then he moved to your neck, behind your ears, and the space between your breasts. Delicately, he nibbled on your sensitive nipples, leaving a trail of kisses all the way down to your belly button until his entire form moved down your figure, disappearing as he shifted downward, and suddenly, his chest was hovering above your hips.

As his lips descended towards the hem of your underwear, he lifted his head right before crossing that boundary, locking eyes with you. His gaze carried a mix of intense reverence and a silent question.

You met his gaze, the unspoken understanding passing between you. Your nod conveyed an affirmation, a wordless permission to continue. With your approval, he lowered his head once again. Before you knew it, he skillfully used his teeth to remove that small piece of fabric while the captivating scent drove him wild with desire.

Having removed your panties, his lips continued exploring, leaving heated kisses and lingering caresses from your toes to your thighs. Firmly holding your calves, he parted your legs, creating just enough space for his head to fit between them.

Your thighs were lifted, obscuring him from your sight. All you could see was the top of his head, the curve of his shoulders, and the unsteady rise and fall of his back as he breathed. Eventually, even that view vanished as his lips closed around your clit, causing your head to fall back and muffled moans to escape your lips.

Satoru's large hands trailed down and up your exposed upper thighs and ribs, tightly gripping your hips to keep you in place. He delighted in how you squirmed each time his hair brushed against your groin, until his tongue slipped into your hole, and the taste of you made fireworks explode in the back of his head.

With his right hand pressed against your stomach, his tongue danced and teased, evoking ecstatic cries from your lips. His mouth explored the known territories you had never witnessed, yet he remembered them intimately.

While fully engrossed in eating you, he suddenly and intentionally slipped his middle finger inside, and his mouth fervently sought to suck the soul out of your essence as if seeking retribution for all the times he had jerked off thinking about you creaming around his shaft. That's why he left you on the precipice of climax, working his way up your body. Satoru was never cruel enough to deny you the release you craved, so his fingers remained ready.

With an eagerness to witness the pleasure etched across your face, he slowly ascended your body, his touch kindling a burning anticipation within you. Continuing his exploration, his adept fingers navigated their way to your most intimate region, gently pressing against the delicate entrance.

"Let me know if it hurts, alright?" he whispered, his nose caressing the skin of your stomach, placing sporadic kisses around your breasts and collarbones to alleviate any tension. His disheveled hair and moist lips were evidence of the indulgence in your sweet taste.

"Take it easy— ahhh!"

He wore a satisfied smile as two of his large fingers effortlessly slid into your slit. Your nails dug into the sheets, whimpers escaping your lips as his hand rhythmically moved up and down within your tight walls.

Your mouth opened in a soundless moan, and he peppered you with kisses all around. Tears glistened in your eyes, and tiny strands of hair clung to your sweaty forehead. When his thumb rubbed, and the fingers hit all the right spots, your throat wailed in frustration.

You firmly grasped his free arm and tugged him towards you, bringing him closer until he was on top of you. You might have turned into a cold-blooded curse user, left dead bodies behind, or broken his heart apart, but you were still the same girl beneath him. The girl who would laugh with joy and steal his treats. The girl who would fiercely fight by his side and protect him. The girl who would easily surrender and moan in his ear.

He pressed his lips against yours, a reminder of the residual sweetness on his tongue. Just like in the old days, a soft moan escaped your lips as soon as you felt your own taste. If this gesture could convince you to stay with him, why not revel in it? He willingly opened his lips, inviting you to delve deeper, your tongues intertwining and brushing against his teeth.

The stinging bitterness of the past was long gone. He had forgotten everything. Although there was something he knew he shouldn't forget, he couldn't recall why or what it was. With his hard length suffering in his boxers and his digits thrusting backward and forward, paying attention to anything else was hard.

Seeing your desperation for his touch proved to be his downfall. He could die from this, he decided. From wanting you, from the pleasure of being with you.

He wore a smile as you locked eyes and reciprocated with your smile. He pressed his forehead against yours, his skin flushed with heat. With his other hand, he held your head steady while your hands clutched his neck, your palms gliding over the area just above his neckline, and your fingertips tenaciously pressing against his undercut.

"Sato..." you managed to utter, your voice quivering with pleasure as the orgasm washed over you, consuming your senses. Waves of euphoria rippled across your body, inducing uncontrollable tremors. Amidst your release, a single tear broke free, tracing a glistening path down your cheek, much like the cascade of emotions that flowed within you.

While he remained atop you, his voice reached your ears, his lips near your earlobe. "Can you sit up?" he whispered, burying his face in the curve of your neck, allowing your ragged breaths to brush against his shoulder.

Still struggling to catch your breath, you managed to mumble, "Yeah, but..." However, before you could complete your sentence, the bedding beneath you shifted as Satoru pulled you into his arms, clutching you tight.

He exhaled and looked at you, but this time, there were stories in his eyes, thoughts, whispers, and feelings of things he had never told you. He looked like he was hanging on his sanity by a fraying thread—you.

He touched your flushed cheeks as if uncertain of your tangible presence. His four fingers caressed the side of your face with tenderness before sliding behind your neck, caught in that in-between spot below your ear, and his thumb brushed the apple of your cheek, then grazing your bottom lip.

He pondered the countless things your lips had done. They had touched, kissed, and pressed against sensitive areas of his skin. They had spoken lies and made promises, and the words they had formed, the shapes and sounds they had shaped, he yearned for them all.

Satoru inched closer, cradling you like you were made of precious crystals. Holding you and looking at his own hands as if he couldn't believe you were real and truly there.

"I'm right here, baby. Look at me," you whispered, grasping his hands and kissing them.

All six of his eyes obeyed and stared at you. Gone was the curse user targeting Higher Ups. This woman before him had never done anything wrong. You were perfect and kind, untouched by the horrors of death.

He took hold of your hands and pressed your palms against his face, reclaiming the tears you had bestowed upon him. With an eternity of love, he whispered your name in the softest of whispers.

What if this was a dream?

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

He shook, shuddered, splintered into teardrops, and you embraced him like no one had before. Overwhelmed by the intensity, he struggled to contain himself, but seeing you cling to him as you might never let go stirred something within him. It was a heady sensation, knowing that you were there, caring for him, desiring him, needing him in this way. It made him believe that this was indeed real.

Gently, you stroked his silvery locks of hair and placed a kiss on his forehead. Gradually, your arms became the arms around his neck; your lips became the lips pressed against his, your body the warmth he felt. Funny how the moment he felt your touch, it burned a hole right through his head and pulled all his thoughts out.

He wasn't even breathing, but he was alive, and he was kissing you. Deeply, desperately. His hands fervently caressed the small of your back as he lifted you onto his lap, and instinctively, your legs wrapped around his hips.

Then, it was your turn to reciprocate. You planted kisses all over him—his cheeks, eyelids, chin, the tip of his nose, and the space between his eyebrows. You trailed along his forehead and traced his jawline, covering every inch of his face. These kisses conveyed more than words ever could.

And you took your time.

As your mouth moved down his neck, he let out a gasp. It was a moment to relish. Your tongue continued to worship the hills and valleys of his well-defined arms, tracing the graceful curves of his collarbones. Inhaling the intoxicating scent of his skin, you savored his taste. Your hands explored his abs, tracing along his navel and the delicate trails of hair beneath.

He broke apart with your small licks here and there, breathing hard, and stared at you dumbfounded. His mind remained hazy, unable to fully comprehend how your fingers toyed with the waistband of his boxer briefs.

Tilting your head to a side, you pressed your lips against his again, seeking him with a burning need, a new kind of desperation. Your other hand threaded in his hair, your lips so soft, so urgent against his, like fire and cinnamon exploding in his mouth.

Satoru nibbled your bottom lip in a flash before pulling back slightly. You were flooding his body with so much heat and desire. You parted your lips to sigh in his mouth, and that slight sound of pleasure drove him to the edge of madness.

Just as he was about to bring his mouth to your nipples, your hand suddenly slipped into his underwear and encircled his erectness pressing against your groin.

Oh.

Well.

He clenched his teeth, suppressing a groan. Oh God! He had fucking missed you holding his member in your palm. But you didn't stop at that. He gasped as you began to rub the tip with your thumb. His body ached everywhere as he tasted the colors and sounds that existed nowhere else. Your forehead rested against his chin as you continued to stroke his hardness up and down beneath his boxers. You were untamed, cruel, yet remarkably gentle.

"Take it off, Satoru," you whispered in his ear, your breath ragged. "I want you in me. Deep. Right. Now. Please."

He was beyond the reach of rational thoughts. Beyond words, beyond comprehension. The world was beyond understanding because nothing could ever compare with this. Nothing could ever capture the way he was feeling right now. He was left with only this very moment: You on his lap, your warmth against his hands, and your lustful eyes fixed upon him, making him absolutely insane.

Satoru held onto your waist with a firm grip, lifting you slightly, and in the blink of an eye, his briefs glided down his long legs until their whereabouts became irrelevant in the heat of the moment.

The wetness between your thighs was no longer a hidden secret, just as his hardness was revealed when you surrounded each other everywhere.

He watched as you reached down and guided his erection against your slippery entrance, making a few strokes to ensure the perfect alignment. His racing pulse could probably be felt in your palm and soon inside you.

Using both hands, he gripped your hips and pulled you downward, drawing you closer to him. A gasp escaped your lips as he entered you, always surprised about his size. He intended to allow you time to adjust, but you fervently clung to his neck, hitching your legs around his waist, urging him to penetrate you completely. A scream escaped your lips as you bit into his shoulder blade, but he remained composed, relishing the sensation of stretching you. He cherished the feeling of your inner walls squeezing him and the weight of your body against his balls. To be honest, he would stay like this forever.

Feeling your readiness, his hold tightened, and he started moving your body up and down. You cried out as you nestled your cheek into the curve of his neck, and he felt like dying and somehow being brought back to life in the exact moment, in the same breath.

Fuck! You were full of him.

He raised your thighs, stifling a groan that threatened to rip his throat as your lips met his. It left him bewildered, pondering why he hadn't perished, burst into flames, or snapped in half.

The room was consumed by silence, punctuated only by the sound of your heavy breaths. Your chests pressed against each other, colliding with the rhythm of your pulses.

As he sensed your arms tightening around him, he reciprocated with heightened strength, lifting and thrusting you with an intensity that transcended the bounds of restraint. Each movement struck the place he knew too well.

His teeth captured your bottom lip, eliciting a momentary jolt of pleasure. Your nails pressed into his shoulder as his fingers ran through your hair, pulling you nearer, immersing you in the fervent abyss of his mouth. The taste of you was a captivating fusion of sweetness and passion, an intoxicating blend that left both of you craving for more.

He kept trying to say your name, but he found himself unable even to catch his breath, let alone speak a single word.

The pace increased slightly; each thrust was hard, deliberate, wringing gasps, whimpers, and long, rolling moans from you.

Your eyes tingled with tears, falling fast down and traveling quietly down your cheeks. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs two parentheses in your mouth, touching your tongue and the saliva within. It was as if he had discovered an oasis in the vast expanse of a desert, gazing at you with eyes ablaze like fire reflected in water.

"I love you," he whispered over and over, his voice fragile and uneven. His lips covered yours in a tender kiss. He kissed you and tasted your tears, the lasting essence of pleasure in your mouth. He kissed you and kissed you until time toppled over, and your heads spun into a blissful oblivion.

Your head rested against his, and as you delicately nipped at his earlobe, he felt stripped down to his very core, just as he had unraveled you from within. Your sweet little tongue was frantic when you whispered, "I'm yours to love."

Something inside him melted. Hearing your words, he held still for moments, sucking in the air because he felt almost dizzy with satisfaction, running his hands over your thighs.

You. You belonged to him. You didn't erase the pain you had caused. You didn't fix everything you'd broken, but that wasn't what he needed anyway. All he needed was you, and with you, everything would be alright.

He firmly grasped your buttocks, burying his face against your shoulder as he sped up. He was shattered to pieces, but with you, he got put back together differently, better, and more himself than he ever could have been. Gritting his teeth, he succumbed to the impending climax. His hands glided along your back as you shuddered, your inner walls pulsating around him so hard that he couldn't hold back his release. With a growl, he thrust wildly, once, twice, until everything around you both turned to a world of vibrant colors and radiant light, where the sun shone, oceans sparkled, and Sakura trees bloomed.

*

Both of you were lying on a pillow, breathless and sweaty. Satoru's face was buried in the crook of your neck.

Your hand had delicately weaved its way into his hair, fingers stroking the silky strands as you both sought to ground yourself in the aftermath of your orgasms.

You rested your cheek against his head, your voice carrying a hint of breathlessness as you began to speak. "How is Shoko doing?

"She's probably smoking even more now," he murmured, his lips grazing against your shoulder as he pulled you closer. Despite the physical closeness, a deep ache echoed within him, yearning for an even deeper connection that felt just beyond his grasp. The desire to merge both body and soul, to be completely intertwined with you, was tangible in his touch.

His arms tightened around you as if attempting to bridge an unseen gap that couldn't be seen, but he could feel it. Each hug and touch was an attempt to mend the distance that pained him. The depth of his need reverberated through his being. It was visible in the depths of his eyes. It sucked to be this close yet feel so far from someone. But he didn't want to worry. As long as you were together, he believed nothing terrible could happen.

"Why probably so?" you asked, your curiosity piqued as you turned your head towards him. Your lips touched his soft, silky white hair. "Is it because of the numerous missions you're taking?"

"You seem to know every detail of my life," he remarked, turning his head towards you, the closeness so intimate that your noses nearly touched. His hand found its way to your arm, his finger tracing a path down its length, lost in contemplation.

"I've always kept tabs on you. I'm not even ashamed of it," you declared, your attention fixed on his ocean-blue eyes.

He let out a shaky sigh. "There's no longer a reason for me to stay in Tokyo like I used to," he whispered, his voice hinting at wistfulness. The words floated in the air, pregnant with unspoken meanings. As he locked eyes with you, his gaze transformed into a sea of emotions, reflecting a profound depth of feelings that transcended mere words.

"What about your students?"

"They're doing well even without me," Satoru said, his voice filled with fondness and melancholy. As his hand gracefully slid into your hair, he tucked back the strands that obscured your face, revealing the beauty of your features.

His thumb stroked your cheek in a soothing gesture. "Megumi came close to expanding his domain," Satoru continued, his voice filled with a hint of excitement. "Yuji would be thrilled to—"

"No, Satoru!" you interjected, your voice resolute. Your firm interruption halted his sentence as your face displayed a frown, your eyebrows furrowing with determination. "The answer is no!"

Satoru's hand dropped weakly onto the sheets, his fingers losing their previous touch. When his gaze met yours, a deep sadness flooded his eyes, turning the serene ocean within them into a turbulent storm.

He struggled to find the right words to make his case but couldn't resist trying to reason with you. "Come back with me. I have enough power and privilege to protect you—"

"I don't want your protection!" you exclaimed, your voice carrying a sharp edge that cut through his being. The words resounded with a harshness reminiscent of the day you decided to leave, which had left an indelible mark on both of you. It was a day that Satoru had always blamed himself for, haunted by the belief that he had failed to notice you drifting away.

His eyes, filled with sorrow, locked onto yours, silently begging for understanding as he summoned the bravery to express his deepest desires. "Don't you want a life with me?" he questioned, his voice brimming with the dreams and aspirations he had envisioned for both of you. "What about living in a house with blue shutters, windows overlooking the ocean, and—"

"How are you still such a wide-eyed, dreamy little boy, Satoru?" you remarked, your voice tinged with tenderness and sadness. As you spoke, your hand extended, interlocking your fingers with his. "Stop living in a fantasy world," you urged. The words pleaded for him to accept reality and let go of dreams no longer aligned with his chosen path. "Even if I had the chance to go back, I wouldn't want to," you continued. "The Jujutsu society is a broken bone that won't set right, and no matter how much you try to mend it, it won't work. I started hunting Higher Ups because I have a purpose. I can't be by your side."

As you raised your head, a glimmer of compassion and understanding shimmered in your eyes. The pain etched on Satoru's face was evident to you. In a gentle tone, you encouraged him, saying, "We've made different choices. Don't judge me because I never questioned why you didn't follow me. Our approaches may differ, but we share the same dream of creating a better world. So, I don't regret leaving, but if there's anything I regret, it's not cherishing every moment I had with you. But I'm doing it right this time. I'm memorizing every detail, so I have something to hold onto."

Your words bounced around in the fog of his head, blurring his senses, misting his eyes, and muddling his logic. In his bones, there was just ice. His entire being wanted to vomit. Reality slapped him in the face, punched him in the jaw, and dumped him into the ocean.

Until today, he thought he had fully come to terms with everything. He believed he had adapted to living with your absence, like a disabled person learning to avoid putting weight on his injured leg. However, deep down, he knew he was living on eggshells, always wondering when something would break, when everything would crumble.

But with your answer, stacks of sorrow grew inside him, settling on his bones as if a cable had twisted around his neck, a worm crawling across his stomach. It was the night, midnight, and the twilight of indecision. Too many pains to bear.

He realized how foolish he had been to believe he could simply blend in and lead an ordinary life.

Satoru.

Satoru Gojo.

Satoru Gojo, The Strongest.

The mere thought of it filled him with mortification.

He shook his head, coughing as his lungs were tormented, heaving strange, horrible gasps until his whole body spasmed into submission. His head was spinning, thoughts knocking into one another. With clenched fists, he fought against the misery, forcing it back down. Not again. Not again. Not again.

"Satoru?" you called out to him, and a thousand pieces of feeling stabbed you in the heart. Realizing how deeply he loved you kept hitting him in the face, the skull, and the spine. He ran a hand across his face and through his hair, displaying signs of wanting to scream, to break something, as if he was on the verge of losing his sanity.

You hugged him, bridging the gap between your bodies and leaning your cheek against his rock-hard chest. Your hands caressed his stomach as your lips left random pecks here and there.

"It's not just your shirt that I have," you expressed. "I also have our shared blanket from our room and a collection of photographs I'm too afraid to look at. I fear that if I see them, I'll go right back to you and beg your forgiveness."

You dropped a kiss on his chin. Then, on the curve of his shoulder and his shoulder blades. Five kisses down his throat, each softer than the last. You kissed his cheeks, hands, and eyelids for every moment of loneliness he had ever endured.

You continued, "My body hasn't realized we are no longer together. It calls out for you at night, unaccustomed to not having you tightly enveloping me like a second layer of skin."

He closed his eyes and breathed heavily, trying to gain control of himself. "Why are you putting me through this?" he asked, his hand caught in his hair. "Why are you scratching my wounds?"

"Because I want to remake you again, Satoru. You should get broken apart and rebuild in a way that won't cause you pain anymore." You kissed the hand covering his mouth, not holding back. Keeping your head there, you leaned against his heart.

"It's not as straightforward as a simple yes or no," you said, your voice cracking as you spoke. "Let's just enjoy this moment together..."

A sudden searing heat flashed behind his eyes, and his heart leaped at your response. His hand trembled, and his eyes were willing and wanting but filled with sadness.

He shifted his gaze towards you, his eyes open, jaw clenched tightly, and muscles tense. Breathing heavily, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. The ache in his chest had grown more assertive, more painful.

You lifted your head and reached up to stroke his cheek. "Love is the most twisted curse," you murmured as you tilted his chin toward your mouth. He blinked rapidly. Words were whispered upon his lips that no one had ever spelled out for him. "And we are the most cursed of all, aren't we?" you told him, watching the movement in his throat and his effort to keep it together. It didn't take you long to kiss him again. Tenderly.

Unable to find the right words, he relied on the language of touch, pressing his lips against yours. A sigh escaped into your shared kiss, and you responded by kissing him even more passionately, almost desperately, as if trying to pass over your breaths to him. The taste of salt lingered on your tongues. The wet drops falling on your cheeks made his flesh burn. Unsure of whose tears they were, he continued to cling to you, even if it was almost for the final time.

The saddest world in this whole wide world was "almost." You almost came back to him. He almost had you. You two almost made it.

*

You woke up with a smile, feeling a pleasant warmth enveloping your skin, remnants of the memories from the previous night. The room was filled with a fresh ambiance, hinted at by the open window that welcomed a gentle breeze. The scent of damp earth filled the air, evidence of the rain that had visited during the night.

Letting out a sigh, you brushed your face against the pillow. Your hand instinctively reached out to where Satoru was supposed to be, but a pang of emptiness washed over you. He wasn't there, and your eyes flew open, a sourness clouding their once-serene gaze. Something felt wrong.

Suddenly, sitting up, a sense of panic pulsed through your veins. The realization dawned upon you—Satoru had left the bed, and his absence spoke volumes. Your glance darted around the room, searching for any signs of his presence, but his clothes were nowhere to be seen.

An agonizing grip took hold of your heart. Conflicting emotions wrestled inside you. You had voiced your decision to part ways, to not be by his side, yet the depth of your desire for him remained steadfast. The pain and the desperate desire for his warmth was a stark reminder that not wanting to be with him didn't mean you were prepared to let go of him completely.

The bitter yet undeniable truth surfaced: as much as you and Satoru were meant to be, fate had not deemed you to last.

You could still feel the lasting presence of Satoru's cursed energy, an invisible thread you could identify even blind. Simply by scent, you would recognize it. It was a power that transcends physical senses, one that would recognize it in death, at the end of the world.

You swiftly snatched your robe and hastened out of the room. And there he was, Satoru, fully dressed, his blindfold tightly secured, sitting still in a chair, facing the untouched mochis. The hair tie was also on the table, indicating that he had removed it from his wrist. You couldn't determine whether it hurt you deeply to see him letting go of a part of you or noticing that he had left his beloved treats untouched.

He wasn't looking at you, so you had time to observe things you hadn't noticed yesterday. He had visibly lost weight. His hair showed signs of splitting and thinning, probably due to stress. Nightmares didn't let him sleep. His uniform appeared wrinkled, and his breaths were unsteady. You knew it wasn't your place to worry about him anymore, but you couldn't help it. Taking care of him had become a habit. He appeared weary, displaying the same profound exhaustion you experienced, filling you with fear.

His shoulders quivered up and down, and you could tell he was crying even though he was silent as a corpse. Your heart quickened as you approached him. With trembling hands, you reached for his blindfold, a desperate attempt because, goddammit, you fucking loved his eyes.

"What are you—" you started to inquire, your voice fading as you recognized that your touch couldn't reach him. He had activated his Infinity. Manually. Deliberately. A wave of profound sadness washed over you, tears welling up in your eyes, yet you swallowed them back, resolved to keep your composure. Your hand hung suspended, mere inches away from him, a symbol of the unbridgeable gap that had grown between you.

Then, in a sudden movement, Satoru stood before you, donning a black jacket that draped his figure. His voice emerged raspy, filled with a raw intensity that conveyed the turmoil within his heart.

"I can't handle this anymore. I can't continue being whatever I am to you," he admitted, his words heavy with a sense of resignation. The understanding that the current situation was no longer viable had taken hold of him. "If you want things to remain this way, I can't ignore the fact that we are enemies at the end of the day." He subtly avoided meeting your gaze, averting his eyes from your messy hair and the persistent sadness in your eyes.

"Can you honestly believe that?" you questioned, your voice brimming with incredulity. You took a step forward, narrowing the physical gap between you. It was essential for him to grasp the magnitude of your anguish and directly witness the toll your choice inflicted upon your heart.

Satoru took a step back, his brows furrowing beneath the blindfold that veiled his eyes. "It doesn't matter what I believe," he declared.

Despite the barrier that prevented physical touch, you closed your eyes, driven by the overwhelming desire to bridge the divide. Ignoring the protective shield of his Infinity, you leaned in, your lips seeking his in a desperate act of defiance. Tears streamed down your closed eyes as he relinquished the barrier that kept you apart. You pressed your lush mouth against his. It never took him long to respond, to part his lips. He kissed you back, holding your head steady with his hand while his other embraced you tightly. He had your heart, and you loved him quite horribly, too. This fact always smacked you over the head so hard you felt dizzy.

You held each other tightly, his arms enveloping you as his fingers intertwined with your hair. In that stolen moment, you caught a glimpse of the life you longed for—a life filled with love. Having this every day was within reach, but the harsh reality of the jujutsu world loomed, casting a shadow over your fragile dreams. The awareness that he would be exploited until his final breath burdened you deeply. Unable to witness his suffering, you knew you couldn't change your decisions. You had to reset this Jujutsu World. For him. For his students. For the happiness you owed yourself.

As your lips reluctantly separated, a bittersweet trace of saliva remained between you. Satoru gripped your shoulders, and as you glanced up, you noticed his blindfold was damp, indicating the tears he had shed.

You lowered your head. "I wish you had never crossed paths with me," you murmured, keeping your gaze fixed on the ground until he reached out and lifted your chin.

"I wouldn't take that chance. Not in a million infinities. Because there was love, even if it didn't change anything, even if it made the pain worse, love was there," he said, staring at your mouth. "I'll love you in this life. I'll love you in death and in whatever lies after. And likely even beyond that," he whispered. The words did something to you. They burned something inside of you. You swallowed hard. A fire consumed your mind. "No matter what, I'll always love you," he declared, and pain filled your veins. You could feel it in your blood.

"Satoru," you whispered. Your eyes fogged up, but you blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears away. You couldn't let a second of this be blurry. You couldn't afford to allow any of this to slip away. His absence felt like a missing limb, and his longing for you was a bullet in the head. How could he still love you? How could he find relief in your touch?

"But if we meet again," he said, his thumb brushing against your earlobe. "Just kill me. Because I'll be forced to kill you, and it's the same thing." As if the longer he held you, the more he would want you, he let go of you.

The enormity of his duty and the unyielding constraints of the jujutsu world, forcing him to make an unbearable choice, hit you like a cold gust of wind, leaving you feeling isolated and abandoned. The chill of that moment seeped into your bones, and you couldn't help but wonder if he had felt this same frigid loneliness when you had left him behind.

Satoru walked towards the door, each step carrying the finality of his decision that settled upon the room. Pausing at the threshold, a silent plea lingered in his words. "So, please, I beg you to stay away from me." With those words, he severed the last thread that had linked you, leaving you with a deep sense of loss.

The door closed behind him, leaving you in an empty and heavy space with unspoken regret. You were alone again, bereft without him, half dead without him. You opened your mouth and screamed. You screamed and screamed until your voice cracked beneath the pressure. Until you feared your throat would shred from the force. You wanted to crawl outside of your body so desperately so that you could escape this feeling.

No one ever warned you how men with such pretty eyes, who smelled like vanilla, tasted like rain, and talked like silver, were the reason behind tear-soaked pillows, half-finished poems, and so many sad dreams.

One last shout ripped out of your throat, this one so full of pain that brought you to your knees. You crumbled. The raw sound tapered off, fading into a hoarse, staccato cry. You sucked in a deep breath, filling your lungs with oxygen you didn't want, but you were too lost in your grief to scream like you wanted to.

It seemed like Satoru Gojo's story had peaked, and anything that followed wouldn't hold the same significance to him. Because for him, there was before you, and there was during you. For some reason, he never thought there would be an after you. But there was, and he was in it. He would be in it forever.

Moving forward, he silently implored his bones to remain firm, to support him for the remainder of the day and beyond. He ventured through the forest, his steps disturbing the mud and leaves as his footprints gradually faded away until there was nothing but the empty silence of a long, lonely dusk.

Tag list: @istanuwow @anime-lover1234 @rentaldarling @enchantedforest-network

 Disclaimers:

This creation draws significant inspiration from the incredible artistry of @animaybi (TikTok) and features quotes from the captivating writings of @starlightonthewaves (TikTok). Both of these talented artists deserve immense praise for their remarkable contributions.

Art is created by me.

Are you cursing me for writing this? :D

[papiliotao]

・❥・BEAUTY AMIDST AN ENDLESS NIGHT

♡ — Reader: GN

♡ — Characters: Albedo, Alhaitham, Kazuha, Scaramouche, Thoma, Tighnari, Venti, Xiao, Zhongli

♡ — Synopsis: on days where you feel as though the world is against you, your lover is there to cheer you up.

♡ — Content: fluff, modern AU, established relationship, generally soft

♡ — Word Count: around 200 per a character

♡ — A/N: the fact that I wrote this solely because I get sad for no reason sometimes. I'm sure there are people out there who can relate though. For anyone going through tough times, stay strong and keep going! I hope this fic will be able to cheer you up a little. (P.S. the parts for each character are arranged in alphabetical order if you're looking for anyone specific)

As your boyfriend, it is both ALBEDO’s duty and pleasure to remind you how much you mean to him whenever melancholic feelings of dread weigh your heart down. You watch as he flips through the pages of a worn sketchbook sitting in his small art studio within your shared home. It is filled with the most wondrous portraits of landscapes, wildfires, and even people. However, Albedo completely disregards those works. Instead, he opts to point out particularly detailed drawings strewn throughout the sketchbook. Intersecting lines form picturesque depictions of the memories you share with Albedo. On one page, your first date. On another, your first night together. But it is the final page he shows you that causes you to raise an eyebrow at him. It seems to resemble a rather average day in your life. In the sketch, you and Albedo are conversing in a mundane setting; there’s really nothing special to be seen. When you ask your boyfriend about it, he allows a gentle laugh to escape the confines of his lips. Then, he points out all the finer complexities of the work. From the lovestruck expression on his face to the way he flawlessly replicated your every feature, you begin to realize how much Albedo thinks about you on a daily basis. Upon reaching this epiphany, the feelings of insecurity and bitter frustration that have been permeating every inch of your mind dissipate ever so slightly, and it’s all thanks to Albedo’s love.

On days where it feels as though you’re drowning in a sea of your own sadness, you are thankful for your lover’s relaxed demeanour. ALHAITHAM’s voice is the only sound that cuts through the tangible silence permeating the air of your living room. He recites complicated words adorning the pages of one of his rather verbose books as you sit beside him, leaning against his muscular figure. Although you can’t understand half the phrases that leave his lips, you feel at ease. His calm voice lulls you into a dreamlike trance, acting as a temporary ailment to the negative emotions that threaten to overwhelm you. So instead of paying heed to the disturbing feelings of deep melancholy that plague your fragile heart, you direct all your attention to the alluring sound of your loving speaking and the feeling of his body pressed against your own, allowing yourself to get lost in every single intricacy of his mannerisms — the very subtleties that you love him for.

Everything about today has felt rather off. Happiness eludes you, avoiding you like an ancient plague, causing feelings of unadulterated sorrow to bubble up within the depths of your soul. Although you’re trying to conceal all your woes behind a carefully-crafted mask of smiles and feigned lighthearted laughter, your facade is akin to porcelain — delicate and fragile, cracking under the slightest pressure. And to no one’s surprise, KAZUHA is able to see through your meticulously-designed illusion of exuberance instantaneously. The subtle sighs and breaks in your expression prompt him to drag you to bed as soon as you’re finished with your daily tasks under the guise that he wants to cuddle. In reality, he knows that you’re having a rather difficult time, and he wants nothing more than to hold you and kiss the pain away, so as of now, you are wrapped in his warm embrace as he continuously presses his soft lips to the back of your neck. His snowy hair tickles your skin as he comforts you, and between each chaste kiss, he whispers sweet nothings into your ear, assuring you that tomorrow, the sun will rise again, giving way to a brighter day full of ecstasy and warmth.

Some days you can’t help but feel as though the world has been obscured by veils of endless blue. Everything feels mundane, and you just can’t bring yourself to smile. Thankfully, even in moments as perturbed as these, you are able to seek a small bit of solace by confiding in SCARAMOUCHE. To others, he seems brash and insensitive, but when it comes to you, he is attentive beyond measure. So when signs of melancholy begin to show through the cracks in your demeanour, your lover drops what he is doing and turns his focus to you. He insists on taking you out to a mysterious location, and although skepticism floods your thoughts, you eventually give in, agreeing to trust Scaramouche despite his enigmatic musings. Your boyfriend drives you to a quaint location situated in the middle of nowhere by the light of the setting sun. As you exit his car, you are greeted by the scent of the evening air, refreshing and cool, just what you need after a long day of feeling down. Scaramouche intertwines his fingers with yours, grasping onto you like a lifeline. He pulls you through a sparse line of trees, and although the darkness of the night obscures your vision, you trust your lover to guide you. When you clear the grove of vegetation, you are met with a sight that causes your breath to catch in your throat. Scaramouche has brought you to a cliff in a secluded area overlooking the city. Millions of stars adorn the velvety royal blue of the night sky, illuminating the world below, and the lights that glitter from the distant urban area fill you with a sensation of nostalgic ease. As you sit down on the soft grass beside Scaramouche, a sense of calm washes over you. Here, beside your lover and under the watchful gaze of the luminous celestial bodies up above, you finally feel at peace.

Amidst restless hours filled with uncertainty and unwanted negativity, THOMA is like an effulgent light piercing through the darkness that clouds your mind. He caters to your every need, doing anything your heart desires in order to remedy your pain even the slightest bit. Right now, he is standing in front of the stove, his back to you as he attentively prepares a meal. A mouthwatering fragrance drifts through the air as he cooks, and the warmth that fills the kitchen from the stove melts the icy cage of sadness surrounding your heart ever-so-slightly. When Thoma finally finishes, he plates the food in a meticulous manner and then shifts all his attention to you. The steam from the fresh meal caresses your cold cheeks as your lover peers deep into your eyes, displaying to you a wondrous sea full of olive green lights as you lock gazes. Before you can thank him for making dinner, Thoma leans over the table and presses a tender kiss against your cheek — one filled with all the gentleness and comfort of the sun on hazy winter days, making even the harshest of stinging winds just a little more bearable.

Whenever the world seems grey, shrouded in the gloominess plaguing your heart, TIGHNARI never fails to restore the beauty of the vibrant hues around you by bringing you bright bouquets of delicate flowers. Vivacious translucent petals tickle your nose as you breathe in the floral scent of the blossoms you are holding in your hands. The perfumed aroma that fills the air causes the tension in your shoulders to relieve slightly. A sigh of contentment escapes your lips as Tighnari takes the flowers from you and places them in a vase. His fingertips brush against your hands, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. In a hushed voice, he begins to explain the symbolism behind each plant in the bouquet. From blush pink azaleas to the fragile and pure lily of the valley, your lover knows of the meanings behind each floret, listing them off one by one. You know that the only reason he’s rambling on and on is to distract you from the thoughts that wrack your restless mind, and for that, you are beyond thankful.

When VENTI first proposes the idea of going on a picnic, hesitance overtakes you. You know he’s just trying to cheer you up, but you’re not quite sure if you’re in the mood to go out. Nonetheless, he manages to convince you that leaving the confines of your house to breathe in the crisp, late spring air and surround yourself with the viridescent foliage of the outdoors will work wonders for your mood, so you allow him to drag you to the park, albeit somewhat begrudgingly. When you arrive at your destination, Venti sets a blanket down on the lush grass, and atop the checkered quilt, he places a weaved basket. Upon opening the basket, you discover that it is filled with all your favourite delectable treats, so despite the bitterness of the day, a small smile settles on your face. As you begin to grin, Venti sings you a song, imbuing each lyric with softness and tenderness, conveying to you that even in the darkest of hours, he will always be by your side. The wind tousles your hair as the sound of leaves rustling in a gentle zephyr rings out like a backing track to Venti’s angelic voice. For the first time that day, you feel a sense of ease settle over you.

XIAO isn’t great at comforting people, but each time he sees your empty expression, he feels his heart shattering into countless fractured crystal shards. Despite knowing that he’s not the most qualified to help you deal with your worries, you still decide to go to him to seek consolation, so in spite of the fact that he is rather inexperienced, Xiao tries his best. He tells you to rest and immediately tucks you into bed with a sweet yet endearingly shy kiss on the forehead. Before he leaves the room, he whispers a few honeyed words in a voice that somehow feels softer than usual, reassuring you that everything will be alright, and when he finally exits, he sets himself to work on all the unfinished chores around the house. He works diligently while you relax under the silky covers of your bed, and although it takes a while, when Xiao finishes with your trivial tasks, he joins you in bed, wrapping an arm around you and allowing you to bury your head in his chest, breathing in his comforting scent as you feel yourself drifting off into a blissful realm of alluring slumber.

On days where joy evades you, ZHONGLI never fails to find a way to comfort you. His presence alone is calming, but when coupled with his actions, you feel as though you can almost continue with your daily routine as usual. At the moment, you are sitting with Zhongli in your living room as your hands are wrapped around a teacup. Condensation graces your palms, and it would be unpleasant if not for the warmth seeping into your body through the delicate porcelain of the cup. As you take a sip of the drink, you allow an airy sigh of contentment to slip through your lips. It’s absolutely divine, reminiscent of the finest ambrosia, something straight out of the tales your lover is currently recounting. Your mind feels as though it is clinging onto his voice, hanging onto his every syllable to regain a sense of stability despite the fog that clouds your thoughts. He spins stories of downfalls and triumphs, some tales downcast while others inspirational, and in the midst of his narration, you find yourself transported to a different world full of fantasies — an oasis of reprieve hidden away from the monotonous and lamentable reality facing you.

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, then reblogs and comments would be appreciated!

[readychilledwine]

Bound by Fate pt 8

Summary - When Kaylee Archeron meets Azriel, her world turns upside down. Between balancing her trauma, new powers, a mating bond, and war looming over her new home, Kaylee learns that everything is not as little as it once seemed.

Warnings - Violence, a tiny dragon, Elain being mean, sappy batboys trying to get their Kaylee home

A/n - Sheeeeees baaaaaack. I cut this into a part 8 and part 9 because I felt the ending was dramatic enough alone. Also, I am hoping I got all of you on the taglist, but please let me know if you want to be added or if I missed you. I am hitting my tag limit with this story, so I apologize for the reblog that's about to come.

Also, thank you @sarawritestories for cheering me on through my love hate relationship with this chapter

Series Masterlist ✨️ Azriel Masterlist ✨️ Master Masterlist

Azriel had never felt more broken than he did right now.

She was lonely.

His mate was lonely.

He moved to her slowly, kneeling before her and stroking her cheek. “Let me take you home, Kaylee. It's going to get too cold here. You hate being cold.”

Kaylee wouldn't look at him. She didn't move from his touch, but she didn't acknowledge him either. It stung him to his core to see her like this. “Kaylee, starlight, please, come home. I will bring you back tomorrow if I must, just please come home.”

“Did you do it?” 

Azriel knew immediately what she meant. His stomach dropped as he got closer, finally feeling her soft skin under his. “No. I never touched her. You are mine, Kaylee. I am yours." He took her chin in his hand, forcing her face to his. "You are the only female I will ever want. I've waited over 500 years for you.”

And those long years wishing to the lost souls during Starfall and to every twinkling piece of starlight felt so miniscule now. What was 500 years compared to the eternity he was fated to have with Kaylee. Beautiful, kind, and innocent Kaylee. “I would never risk losing you.”  He almost jumped as the drake huffed, golden brown eyes opening to stare at the 3 males before snuggling into Kaylee. 

Azriel tentatively reached out, patting the nose of the beast resting his head in Kaylee's lap. “He is fairly attached to you already.” 

“Can you blame him?” Cassian took a small step towards Kaylee, gently tilting her head up. “Have you ever met someone like our Kaylee?”

Rhysand then moved closer to. “Such pure souls are rare. And it appears we all made a mistake while dealing with this one.” His hand brushed her golden hair back. “Come home, little sister.”

She shook her head, eyes watering as she snuggled into the drake's snoot and kissed it. “He is so lonely.” Another soft huff came. Then, the scent of magic. Where a large drake once laid, a small one now sat in Kaylee's hands. Wide blue eyes turned to Rhysand, a pout already forming and triggering a distant memory he didn't dare linger on for too long. “Can we keep him?” 

An otter, a drake, a rabbit, a fox. Azriel had lost track of the animals sneaking into Kaylee's room to join her as she slept soundly in his arms. She had never said she forgave him, never asked for more of an explanation, but she knew she did not want him to leave again. She knew she wanted him in her bed, even if a small scaled creature now shared her pillow. 

He pulled her close, breathing in her freshly cleaned hair. The scent of strawberries was clinging to her, but it was not her. Her natural scent had started to change, and Azriel could not complain. It now reminded him of a soft rain mixing with lilac, as if she was becoming nature itself.

He smiled as she turned over, hooking her leg over his. He pulled her closer, sighing softly at the same time she did. For the first time since she left with Lucien, Azriel found himself drifting off to sleep. Even if a creature he should have feared was currently crawling onto his mate and curling up on her side near him. 

Kaylee hated mornings, but she especially hated waking up alone after asking her mate to stay. As if he knew, Azriel walked into the room a tray in his hands as gray pants rested low on his hips. “Good morning,” he sent a small plate on the floor, watching as the unnamed drake went to the raw meat. His attention was then solely on her as he set the tray down and offered her his arm, leading her to the sitting area of her lavish room. 

Rhys had decorated it with pillows and throw blankets. She remembered him sparkling with pride as the mix of deep blues and golds, as if decorating so simply was a difficult task. She has praised him nonetheless, cherishing the budding relationship with her new big brother, and somehow sensing he needed a little sister to tell him how fantastic he truly was. She did just notice, though, how they matched Azriel's siphons. “This doesn't count as accepting the bond, right?”

Azriel chuckled softly as he gave Kaylee oatmeal and fruits, “Not unless you plan on feeding or serving me. Do you want to talk now or eat first?” They both jumped as the sound of blowing fire filled the room before a heavy munching noise. “Well that answers that question.”

He watched her as she ate. He memorized little things. How she swayed when she ate. How her nose would crinkle, smile going wide when she tasted something she was really enjoying. How her mouth would twitch when she smelled things. “You understand now why we wouldn't eat your food?”

Kaylee smiled as she rolled her eyes, “I cooked that meal.”

He clocked her nose twitch, noting it for later. “You did? Is that a preview of my future? Because if it is, I will prepare my own mating meal and just have you serve it."

Her jaw fell open before she threw a grape at him. “You are so mean.” 

“Tasted like shit.”

“Then I guess it's good I didn't actually make it.”

“Thank the Mother. I was concerned for my stomach." Kaylee smiled before leaning in to kiss bis cheek. "

Your nose twitches when you lie.” He watched her face fall slightly. “I noticed it when you told Feyre you would be okay after that first dinner. Then again, when she left after the first meeting. You also dance when you eat. When you sleep, your legs move until you find the perfect spot for them.”

Kaylee felt herself flushing, hearing all his little observations of her smallest habits, and Azriel smirked before he continued. “You whisper when you read, sounding out each word until you know you're correct. That's how we realized you couldn't read. You braid your hair when you get nervous. Rhys found that one for me as he was teaching you. You do all these simple little things that make me believe you are the most beautiful precious thing.” 

He grabbed her hands, holding them in his own. “I am sorry.” She nodded, brows raising to indicate to continue. He noted that as well, predicted this would not be his last apology to his mate. “I allowed myself to put duty before you, and it put us in a situation where you felt I was someone you could no longer trust. Rhysand and I have discussed his part in this, and he will apologize later, but my part hurt you more.” 

Kaylee felt herself losing her will to hold on to what little anger she had as he moved, kneeling before her. “I am sorry I was ever in her room. I am sorry I was too shocked to leave. I am sorry I did not speak with you right away that morning.”

“It's okay.” She could hardly blink before he kneeled for her. “Az-”

“It's not okay, Kaylee.” He listened to her heart as he touched her lower thighs. “I hurt you. I failed to protect you. I failed you as your mate.”

“Azriel-”

“Let me finish.” He brushed the tears falling on her face and sighed. “My job as your mate is to ensure you feel loved, that you are safe, and that you know we are equals in everything. I have allowed myself to be pulled away from you, and you needed me much more than your sisters did, didn't you?”

Kaylee looked to the ceiling, the door, anywhere but the male who she knew could feel every raw emotion she had. He squeezed her thighs softly, bringing her back to him. “Your silence is enough of an answer for me to know I have failed you. If you believe I am worthy of a third chance, I will not fail you again. I will be a male worthy of your love.” She was silent, too stunned to speak. “Kaylee, my love, please.”

Kaylee had to admit, Azriel looked pretty on his knees. He looked pretty begging for forgiveness over something that he didn't do. Over something she was learned was planned by her own sisters. 

Azriel kissed her palms, holding her hands so tightly it was as if he feared she'd disappear like the wind. "Whatever I have to do, whatever you need me to be, whatever you need. I will do anything to be worthy of holding you again. Kaylee, please." 

Kaylee just sighed, cupping his cheek as she did and stared into those desperate hazel eyes. “We have two weeks to put a strong united front.” He nodded in agreement, but his brows knit in confusion over the statement. “I want to also have a better relationship with you within two weeks. Just to shove it to Eris. But that also means you have to allow me to do something first.” He jumped her without hesitation, crashing her lips to his and delighting in her laughter. 

He would give Kaylee the world, live and breathe solely for the purpose of her happiness, and now he had to prove it.

Dinner that night was silent as Kaylee watched Elain watching Azriel. He had not left Kaylee's side since long slow kisses were shared in her room. They had only stopped when Rhys and Feyre came, knocking on the door after their late breakfast. The Lord and Lady laughed as Kaylee answered the door, hair a tangled mess from Azriel's hands while he laid panting on her bed in a state of bliss. 

He had not even left her as Rhysand trained her powers, watching as she called forth every beast and creature in her collection and communicated with them. Her powers had grown quickly, almost too quickly. The warning was still visible on her discolored fingers.

Kaylee had access to levels of magic that had not been granted since the first fae, levels that were hand given out by the Gods to their chosen few and carrying along those bloodlines in the rarest form. Lucien's warning rang in his and Rhysand's head, a warning of the former tamer who turned more beast than fae before walking off into the forest to never been seen again. 

It festered in the thoughts of both males as they communicated silently, involving Amren as they all looked to the youngest sister's discolored fingertips. It's as if the magic I'd eating at her body, Amren was studying her like a hawk. I will look into the Books.

Kaylee cut into her potato, smiling slightly as Azriel traded her steamed vegetables for the serving of meat she had not touched. “Kaylee, we're going to have to find a way to supplement proteins in your diet.”

Nesta shook her head and spoke softly, “She will get over it.” Nesta had been Kaylee's first fight since learning the truth. Her oldest sister had folded immediately. All cattiness out of her body as soon as they were alone together. Broken together.

And Nesta was broken. A simple fact Kaylee had known for a while. Her oldest sister had not thought of the consequences. She had just wanted Kaylee to hurt as much as she was, and watching her thrive, watching her grow, it had been too much. Kaylee allowed Nesta to hold her to whisper each apology. An apology for not protecting her, for what happened to them, for failing as a sister, and Kaylee accepted each one. It was a side of Nesta reserved only for Kaylee. The side of Nesta she told Cassian about and prayed had not been stolen from them. 

Nesta smiled to Kaylee, “She did this even when we were-” the sentence trailed off with the fond memory. “Azriel, the earring you bought Kaylee are lovely.”

“They are, aren't they?” Rhys moved to brush blonde hair behind a pointed ear. “They work well with the sapphires.” Small diamond twinkled next to the earring Azriel had given her before the Cauldron, sparkling in the light and showing off her newest piercing. 

Azriel maintained his mask, but moved a hand to her thigh under the table. “Only the best for my mate.” 

“And if she doesn't actually want you?” The question hung in the air. “Or if you don't truly want her? You two are forced together. Do you not deserve a choice, Azriel?"

“Elain,” Lucien's warning was a whisper. “Thread carefully.”

Lucien watched as the young Archeron put her silverware down. He watched her take out those mentioned earrings as everything paused as Feyre moved closer to Rhysand and away from Elain. 

“Mother fuck!” Cassian jumped back as Kaylee jumped Elain and chaos ensued. Nesta was the first to her two younger sisters, trying to pull the small wild animal that had taken Kaylee's place off of Elain as Mor and Amren watched with amused smiles. Rhys was next, touching Nesta's shoulder, stating he would handle it, only to be met with a well placed elbow from the now smirking eldest sister.

Azriel and Lucien stared at each other, both rapidly motioning for the other to do something as Kaylee landed a solid punch on Elain's shoulder. "You first. I insist," Lucien motioned towards them. "I already am missing one eye. I would like to keep the other." It was instantly noted by all in the room how the youngest sister was refusing to truly hurt Elain, to damage her more as tears of frustration and anger poured down Kaylee's face.

It was Cassian who finally took the youngest, throwing her over her shoulder and leaving the room with her. Kaylee watched each of his graceful steps, knowing where they were going as she clung to his leathers crying. He sunk her into the training ring, stepping back a few feet before getting into a stance and nodding. 

He braced himself for her sloppy attacks, knowing more than anything to cover his face, but knowing this was nothing. This was nothing compared to her anger when she first woke up. The only difference between the Kaylee before him and the one who begged to be trained was precision. He saw his opening, grabbing her by her waist and pulling her back to his chest. “Breathe, Kaylee.” He kissed the back of her head as her thrashing stopped. “Just breathe.” 

She could not see Cassian as the sobs slowed. She could not see the concern on his face as he looked to the skies.

Flying there in its full glory, circling above them like a predator searching for prey, was her drake, and Cassian was just hoping he, and no one in Velaris, was about to be it's next meal.

@impossibelle @luvmoo @wallacewillow0773638 @nightless

Bound by Fate:

@cat-or-kitten @knmendiola @holb32

@mis-lil-red @minakay @whatsupb18 @deeshag @justdreamstars @pyrostatic @acourtofmarvels @no1massassin @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @acourtofbatboydreams @mich0731 @thelov3lybookworm @going-through-shit

@coralseacourt @snoopyspace @tothestarsandwhateverend @st4r-girl-official @brieflyclassymortal @nickishadow139 @julesofvolterra @isa1b2h3 @awkward-mystic-beauty @12358 @throneofsmut @inloveallthetime @throneofsapphics @hnnybee0 @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @vermillionwinter @mybestfriendmademe @mrstepes @darling006 @mich0731 @wallacewillow0773638 @hnyclover

[ms-snape]

Hi, i see that request are open.

What if Severus survived the war but didn't tell anyone. He moved far away, to another country (maybe Italy). But at home, his wife was waiting for him and she was his biggest support during the war. She refused to believe he is dead. And a few years later she would find out by accident when she bumped into him on the street hand in hand with someone else. Lots of angst. I mean….. lots of angst. 🙂

Title: Moving On

Request: Finally a request I've been waiting for one for like days.... REQUESTS ARE OPENED

Summary: I don't think I can give a better summary than the request so...

Warning: angst.... sad ending...

Word Count: 2305

Masterlist

---

In the heart of Italy, where the sun-drenched landscapes mingled with the whisper of ancient cobblestone streets, YN felt a certain heaviness. It was a weight she carried not just in her suitcase, filled with clothes and hopes for a brighter future, but in her heart, where the memory of Severus Snape lingered like a ghost. The world believed him dead, a casualty of a war that had torn apart the very fabric of their lives, but YN had never accepted that finality. She could not bring herself to mourn him as everyone else had; instead, she clung to the thread of hope that wove through her despair.

YN had been broken when the news of his death reached her—a jagged dagger that pierced her soul and left her hollow. The days that followed were a blur of grief and longing. She had wandered through her life like a specter, lost in the memories of their time together, each moment spent with Severus replaying in her mind like a shattered record. She remembered his quiet intensity, the way his dark eyes would soften when he looked at her, the sound of his voice as he spoke of potions and spells, of love and loss. It was as if he had taken a part of her with him when he vanished from the world.

Ella, her best friend, had insisted on this trip—an attempt to pull YN from the depths of her sorrow. They ventured to the quaint coastal town of Positano, with its colorful cliffside houses and azure waters, where laughter echoed around them like a distant memory. But even in the midst of beauty, YN felt numb. The sun could not warm the chill that resided in her heart. Every breathtaking view of the Italian coast felt tainted by the absence of the one person she could not forget.

As Ella tried to engage YN in conversation, pointing out the charm of the local markets and the deliciousness of the gelato, YN’s mind drifted elsewhere. She found herself staring out at the sea, imagining it was Severus standing there, his silhouette framed against the horizon, waiting for her to join him. The thought was both comforting and torturous, a bittersweet reminder of love that once was.

“YN, you can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Ella said one evening as they sat on a balcony overlooking the sunset. “You need to let him go. It’s been years.He's gone and you need to accept it”

But how could she? How could she dismiss the love they had shared, the promises whispered in the dark? Each time YN closed her eyes, she could see Severus—his furrowed brow, the way his lips curled into a half-smile when she teased him. The memories were too vivid, too real. They were the only thing that anchored her to the world, the only thing that kept the shadows at bay.

The days passed, and YN felt the ache in her heart deepen. She wandered through the streets of Positano, searching for something she could not name. Perhaps it was closure, or maybe just a sign that Severus was still alive. She explored the narrow alleys, the vibrant shops, and the azure beaches, all while carrying the weight of her unyielding hope.

Then, on a seemingly ordinary afternoon, everything changed. YN had taken to wandering alone, her heart heavy with the memories that haunted her. She meandered through the bustling market square, the colors and sounds swirling around her like a kaleidoscope of life. She paused by a stall selling handmade jewelry, absentmindedly running her fingers over the delicate pieces. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden hue over everything, and for a moment, she allowed herself to breathe.

But then, as she turned to leave the stall, she collided with someone. The force of the impact sent her stumbling back, and she looked up, ready to apologize to the stranger. But then time seemed to freeze. There, standing before her, was Severus Snape—alive, breathing, and somehow more real than the memories she had clung to for so long.

Her heart raced, a wild tempest of disbelief and hope. But as her eyes traveled down to his hand, the world shattered around her. He was holding the hand of another woman—a stunning brunette with an easy smile and laughter that danced in the air between them. YN felt her heart plummet, the fragile thread of hope she had carried for years snapping in an instant.

Severus looked at her, confusion etched across his features. The moment stretched, the bustling market fading into silence. YN’s breath hitched in her throat, a mix of joy and agony tearing her apart. She wanted to rush into his arms, to feel his warmth envelop her again, but the sight of the other woman kept her rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the pain of betrayal.

“Severus?” The word slipped from her lips like a prayer, a desperate plea for him to explain, to make sense of the scene before her.

The smile faded from his face, replaced by a flicker of guilt. “YN… I—”

But she couldn’t hear him. The world felt as if it were collapsing around her. She had spent years believing he was dead, clinging to the hope that he would one day return to her, and now here he was, a living ghost of her past, with another woman at his side. The anger bubbled within her, mingling with the heartbreak that consumed her.

“Is this why you never came back?” YN’s voice trembled, laced with a hurt that cut deeper than any spell. “You were alive all this time and didn't even come back to me, you wife? Did you choose to leave me behind?”

Severus’s eyes darkened with regret, but YN couldn’t bear to see it. The anguish she felt was all-consuming, a tidal wave of emotions crashing against the fragile dam she had built around her heart. “I waited for you, Severus. I never stopped believing you were out there, that you would come back to me. And now… this?”

“YN, please, it’s not what you think,” he said, stepping toward her, but she recoiled, the distance between them stretching like an unbridgeable chasm.

“Not what I think?” The bitterness in her voice cut through the air, sharp and biting. “You were supposed to be dead! I mourned you! I grieved for the life we could have had, for the love we shared. And now you’re here, holding her hand like I never existed?”

The woman beside him looked between them, confusion evident in her eyes, but YN couldn’t spare her a glance. Her world had narrowed to just Severus, the man she had loved with every fiber of her being, the man who had shattered her heart without a word.

“YN, I had my reasons—”

“Reasons?” She interrupted, her anger boiling over. “Was it worth it? Was it worth leaving me in the dark while you built a new life without me? I thought you loved me.”

“I did love you!” Severus’s voice rose, desperation lacing his words. “And I never stopped loving you or thinking about you, but I had to survive. The war… it changed everything. I thought you were safe, that you could move on without me.”

“Move on?” YN’s laugh was hollow, devoid of humor. “You think I could just forget? You think I could just pretend that you didn’t mean the world to me? You left me with nothing but the ghosts of what we could have been, and now you stand here, alive, with someone else?”

The bitterness spilled from her lips, a torrent of pain that had been building for years. She felt raw and exposed, like a wound that had never healed, and now it was laid bare for him to see. The anguish in her heart felt like a physical weight, pressing down on her chest, suffocating her.

Severus’s expression twisted with regret, his dark eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I never wanted to hurt you. I thought you’d be better off without me. I thought I was protecting you.”

“Protecting me?” YN’s voice cracked, the pain evident in every syllable. “You didn’t protect me; you abandoned me. I was left to pick up the pieces of my shattered heart while you… you moved on.You found someone else...”

The silence that followed was deafening. Around them, the world continued to buzz with life—laughter, music, the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore—but for YN, everything had come to a standstill. She felt as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice, staring down into an abyss of despair.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the noise. “I thought I had lost you forever.”

“And I thought you moved on,” Severus replied, his voice heavy with regret. “I never meant for this to happen.”

“But it did happen, Severus.” The tears she had held back for so long began to spill over, a torrent of grief and rage. “You’re here, with.... her, while I was left to drown in my sorrow. You can’t just waltz back into my life and expect me to forget the pain you caused.”

Severus’s expression faltered, a mixture of guilt and longing etched across his features. The woman beside him shifted uncomfortably, the weight of the moment pressing down on them. YN felt the heat of anger mixing with the chill of betrayal, a volatile concoction that threatened to consume her.

“I can’t change the past,” he said, his voice low, almost pleading. “But please, YN, don’t push me away. I still care for you. I always have.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken promises and memories that felt like a lifetime ago. YN looked at him, at the man she had loved fiercely, and felt the ache in her heart deepen. She wanted to believe him, to reach out and bridge the gap that had grown between them. But the reality was too painful, too raw.

“And what about her?” YN’s voice trembled, the bitterness creeping back in. “What am I supposed to do with that? You’ve built a life without me, Severus. It feels impossible to reconcile that with the love we once shared.”

“I never meant for any of this to happen,” he said, anguish etched in every line of his face. “I was lost, and I thought I was doing what was best for you and me.”

YN shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You think abandoning me was what was best? You think I wanted to live in a world where you weren’t there? I was lost too, Severus. I was lost without you.We made a vow, we promised to laways be there for each other, but apparently it meant nothing to you”

The hurt between them was palpable, a chasm that felt insurmountable. YN’s heart ached with the weight of memories that threatened to drown her. She wanted to scream, to rage against the universe that had torn them apart, but all she could do was stand there, feeling the walls close in around her.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the cobblestones, YN felt the flicker of hope extinguish. The world around her was beautiful, but in that moment, it felt like a cruel joke. She had come to Italy seeking solace, but instead, she found herself face-to-face with the man who had become both her salvation and her tormentor.

“I can’t do this,” YN whispered, her voice breaking. “I can’t pretend that everything’s okay when it’s not. I loved you more than anything, but I have to let you go. I have to move on, even if it breaks me... I wish you a really happy life... perhaps better than the one you once had with me....”

With that, she turned away, an instinctive reaction to shield herself from the pain. She couldn’t bear to see him with her, the woman who had become the embodiment of all her fears. It felt like a betrayal—a cruel twist of fate that had stolen her love and replaced it with a bitter reminder of what she had lost.

As she walked away, the tears streamed down her face, each step feeling heavier than the last. The streets of Positano, once vibrant and full of life, felt suffocating, closing in around her as she retreated from the scene that had shattered her world anew.

Behind her, Severus called her name, desperation lacing his voice, but YN didn’t look back. She couldn’t. She had given him everything, only to be left with nothing but the echoes of what once was. The colors of Italy faded into a blur, and as she walked away from the man she had loved, she felt the weight of her heart breaking all over again.

As she reached the edge of the market, the sounds of laughter and joy faded away, replaced by the haunting silence that had become her constant companion. YN had come to Italy to escape her pain, to find a semblance of peace, but instead, she was reminded of the love she had lost and the life that would never be.

In that moment, as she stood alone in a foreign land, she realized that some shadows lingered long after the light had faded. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world into darkness, YN felt the weight of her despair settle heavily upon her shoulders, an unshakeable burden that would follow her wherever she went. She was lost, and the echoes of Severus Snape would forever haunt her heart, a bittersweet reminder of a love that had been both her greatest joy and her deepest sorrow.

[animehideout]

LOVE IS THE MOST TWISTED CURSE OF THEM ALL

PART 10

Gojo Satoru x Fem! Reader

check out part 11 here ✨🆕

W.c: 3.4K+

not proofread ⚠️

a/n : Hi everyone, I'm back with another part yaaay, I hope you enjoy it. I need a good cry so I wrote this, where are my Angst enthusiasts at? this part is for you, but no worries I'll make it up for you I promise 😭🩵.

Music Suggestion 🎧 I highly recommend The Neighborhood - Softcore to match the sadness 🥲

You gradually regained your consciousness; you felt a dull throb in your head. You blinked slowly, struggling to focus, your surroundings initially a blur of shapes and colors that gradually sharpened into clarity.

You tried to move, to rub your temples but your heart beats quickened when you realized you were bound to a chair, your limbs securely tied with coarse ropes. Panic surged through your veins, your eyes widening as you struggled against your restrains, each tug to break free was met with resistance. Ropes tightly wrapped around your wrists and legs, a burning sensation, only serving to deepen your sense of helplessness.

“Fuck, fuck” you muttered.

Breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling in wild rhythm. You scanned the dimly lit room, searching for any sign of escape. But there was none, and you found yourself trapped in a nightmare worse than your reality.

Suddenly, a deep voice cut through the silence, coming from behind. A tone that sent shivers down your spine,

“No need to struggle princess”

The words dripped with menace. You were too scared to look behind not knowing what to face. You bit your lips that were quivering. From the shadow, he emerged. With hesitation you looked up to see the tall figure that concealed the dim light from you. His muscles taut beneath his shirt, a sly, dirty smirk tugged at the corners of his scarred lips. His dark black hair fell on his face gracefully, looking directly at your soul with his narrowed eyes. for a split second, you thought it was a more aggressive version of Megumi.

His presence, the way he stood in front of you, looking down at you sent a chill to your whole nervous system, making your breath hitch up.

“W-who are you? What am I doing here?”

He reached to grab your chin with his long fingers, forcing your head up to look at him.

“Shh-hh, don’t ask questions! Lemme introduce myself first” he paused, bringing another chair and sat right in front of you. “I’m sure you’ve heard about me…they probably warned you, I’m-”

“You’re Toji Zenin?!” you interrupted him

With a mocking tone, he leaned forward and said,

“I go by Fushiguro now! So don’t say Zenin ever again…so? Did you sleep well”

You stayed frozen in place, each inhale felt like shards of glass scraping down your throat. Consumed by fear, realizing that the man who’s been searching for you all around Tokyo, just to take your life away finally found you and was comfortably sitting in front of you. Your world narrowed, maybe it’s the end.

*flash back*

With a heavy weight in your heart, you left Jujutsu High in the dread of the night. Spending the night stargazing in the balcony wasn’t enough; you wanted to get completely detached so you left for some fresh air away, far away from Gojo.  The echo of what Gojo said to you still ringing in your ears. “you failed your family and now you’re failing everyone else in Jujutsu High” those words never left your mind.

“He’s right..I even failed myself” you muttered to yourself.

You walked through the streets, each step was a painful reminder that you’ve got nowhere to go, completely lost, nowhere and no one to turn to, feeling that you don’t belong anywhere. The darkness of the night enveloped you like a cloak. Your feet carried you to an unexpected place, standing in front of the big wooden door, you didn’t dare to knock, you just stood there in front of your parent’s house, memories flooding your mind. Maybe your parents were right for keeping you locked inside. Maybe someone like you was never meant to leave the safety of their house, maybe your parents knew that you would get hurt. But your family, who spent their life keeping you in the darkness of your room pushed you to marry a stranger, a man you never knew, never met; Gojo Satoru, just because of his good reputation, because he’s the strongest, maybe your parents thought he would keep you safe and will protect you, but he ended up slit opening a deep wound within you, once again awakening your trauma that you worked hard to learn how to live with.

“I was only a burden to everyone” you said to yourself,

You heard giggles so you stepped closer, peeking through the window. Your heart sank as you saw your family again, after so long. You didn’t know whether to feel happy or sad at their sight. Your parents and siblings, gathered together in the warm glow of the light. Carefree and content, laugher filling the air, a bittersweet melody to your ears. Their faces illuminated by smiles as they talked together.

You stood there, a silent observer on the outside looking in. A tear rolled down your cheek , a broken smile drawn on your face,

“They look happy without me”

You felt a sting in your chest,  loneliness washing over you again and again, it actually never left, loneliness was the only companion you had. It was as if you were peering into a world you had once knew, yet now felt completely disconnected.

History repeating itself, once again your family managed to make you feel like an outsider, a complete stranger. You felt as if you were a completely forgotten fragment of their life, a faded memory lost in the depth of time, as if you never been a part of their past.

Tears welled in your eyes as you turned away from the window, unable to bear the ache of being invisible to them your whole life. As you turned, you were met with a pair of glowing eyes looking directly at you, a tall masked figure that made you gasp , but before you could react, you got hit on your head with a metal bar…falling unconscious.

*End of flashback*

“Was that your parents house?” asked Toji

But you completely ignored his question, looking away from his intense gaze,

“What do you want from me?”

“Kill you, obviously… now answer my question..Was that your parents’ house?”

“Why does it matter to you?”

“As you can see, I feed on other’s suffering .. so it would be nice to learn more about your miserable past”

You frowned your brows in confusion,

“I had a normal, not miserable past" you lied, keeping your traumas to yourself,

“Oh hoho, let me guess, abused? Discriminated? No no ignored? That’s the right word… no one ever recognized you right? No one made you feel welcomed cuz you were different and people are scared of things that are different” he started

How did he know that? How did he know about your past? How could he describe what you've felt so accurately?

“N-no!” you lied again

“Come on don’t lie to me.. I know very well the face of someone who’s been discriminated their entire life for being  different”

“Have you met someone like that to judge so confidently?”

“No, but I look in the mirror everyday”

You looked at him in disbelief, you didn’t dare to say a word. Whatever he was trying to do, was successfully making you feel uncomfortable. Is he trying to torture you before taking your last breath away? But you already gave up, there’s no way you can escape this place, tied hands and legs, him sitting right across you., and probably no one would look for you.

“If you’re gonna kill me then do it already, and spare me from talking about the past”

“Woah, so you give up already? Who pushed you to your limits to the point that you greet death as an old friend?” he asked

“No one, just do it. This is what you captured me for.. SO DO IT” you yelled.

“Hm, interesting! I think I know where all of this is coming from..Gojo Satoru? Did your husband add to your trauma?”

“enough” you whispered weakly

“What? It must be hard to live with him; especially that he’s the strongest. Lemme guess! He made you feel weak at any given chance, reminding you again and again that you’re nothing” he said offensively pushing you to your edge.

“St-op”

“That’s what sorcerers do, they claim they protect the normal, oh I’m sorry the monkeys like us, but in reality they use their power to belittle us…and you’ll soon be like them, soon you’ll turn into your real form; a sorcerer with an immaculate power but ugly usage..and this is my chance to spare the world of the normal from your ugliness”

“What are you talking about? I’m no turning into a sorcerer-”

“What?”

“It’s been weeks and nothing happened, that prophecy they talked about was nothing but a big lie”

“But your curse-”

“Fate is my only curse” you said, your eyes blankly staring at him, completely worn out.

*Back at Jujutsu High*

Satoru’s eyes blazed with fury as he walked towards Mei Mei and grabbed her by the arm, his grip tight and violent. He yanked her aside aggressively,

“You! You’re the reason she’s gone” he spat with anger.

Mei Mei’s face etched with annoyance, narrowing her eyes at him,

“Don’t you dare blame me for this! It’s  your fault Gojo not mine” she fought back.

“You did that on purpose didn’t you? Leading me to your room cuz you know Y/n will be there, you’re trying your best to have me, but you can’t and you never will” he spoke through gritted teeth.

“You started this in the first place. You asked for my help to push Y/n away, and when I succeeded in giving you what you wanted, you started blaming me? Is this your way to say thank you?”

“I already told you to stop, I said that I no longer in need of your help that you got paid for, but you kept pushing, you wanted more than pushing Y/n away, you wanted me to be yours, but too bad for you, I don’t want you Mei Mei _ and if something happens to y/n I’ll end you! Do you understand ?” he threatened and turned his back to leave.

“Do you love her?” asked Mei Mei making Gojo stop in his track. “There’s only explanation for this, you fell for her Gojo: you fell for Y/n!”

A moment of silence washed over the place, making a hundred of thoughts flow in Gojo’s head. But he ignored her; he doesn’t have time to think about his feelings, when the one he has feelings for is missing because of him. So he started walking away to join the others and start their mission to find you.

…..

“We’ll split into three groups and cover as much ground as possible” suggested Gojo and all of them nodded in agreement.

“Megumi and Maki come with me” he added

“I’ll take Yuji-kun  and Panda” said Nanami

“Inumaki and Nobara you’ll go with principal Yaga” ordered Satoru

“What about Mei Mei, where is she? Isn’t she coming with us to look for Y/n-sensei?” asked Maki with suspicion, she never liked her anyway.

“I’ll go with you” said Mei Mei as she joined them in the common room, “Let’s find y/n”

Satoru ignored her presence and left the room, the rest of them walked outside. Spreading across Tokyo streets, searching everywhere for a glimpse of you. Ready for any possible encounter with Toji Zenin.

Satoru walked with powerful step, determined to find Toji’s hideout and save you from his deadly grasp.

“We’ll find her..don’t worry Y/n is strong, she can definitely handle it” said Megumi in a comforting tone, after noticing how stressed Satoru was.

“I know… she’s strong” he finally admitted.

Hours stretched on into the night, Gojo and the other sorcerers students and teachers combed through each and every corner of the city.. every alleyway, every secluded spot that Toji could possibly use desperate to find her, but for nothing.

Despite their exhaustive efforts, the outcome remained unchanged; you’re nowhere to be found.

With heavy hearts and weary bodies they got back to Jujutsu High as principal Yaga called off the search.

*2 days later*

“The higher ups called for an urgent meeting” said Principal Yaga

“We’ll join the meeting!” said Yuji

“No it’s only for the teachers”

“NO! we care for Y/n-sensei, and maybe more than all of you! If this is about Y/n-sensei then we’re joining” said Yuji with a sad tone

With a sigh, principal Yaga nodded, guiding all of them to the meeting room.

*At the meeting room*

Tension hung in the air, faces drawn and expressions grim as they waited for one of the higher ups to speak,

“Any clue? Any hint? Any progress?” asked one of them.

All of them shook their heads in defeat, their silence spoke volumes, conveying their helplessness and the frustration of their failure.

“We expected nothing less from Toji Zenin, it’s already crystal clear-” he added coldly, his words cutting through the silence once again.

“We won’t give up! We’ll go back tomorrow and this time we bring her home and bring Toji to his trial again” said Gojo in fraustartion, his words dripping with venom.

“You’ve been looking for two days but for vain, there’s no point in wasting any more time and effort, once she’s captured by Toji we knew she’s already gone, she’s already dead” said one of the higher ups.

“SHE’S NOT DEAD” yelled Satoru slamming his fist on the wooden table,

all heads turned at his direction at his sudden rage.

“I know it’s hard to swallow, but it’s your fault for letting her wander outside without keeping an eye on her, it’s your fa-”

“YOU THINK IM NOT AWARE OF IT? YES YOU’RE RIGHT IT’S MY FUCKING FAULT FOR LETTING HER GO, IT’S MY FAULT FOR PUSHING HER AWAY FROM ME, IT’S MY DAMN FAULT MY HURTING HER SO MUCH TO THE POINT THAT SHE FAVORED FACING DANGER OUTSIDE THEN STAYING BESIDE ME…stop blaming me because I know, I messed up, I fucked up and I admit it…but you can’t ask me to give up on my wife-” said Gojo his voice cracking.

Without further words, he left the room. Nanami followed him trying to help him,

“Gojo stop…hey stop” said Nanami “Where are you going?”

“To find her”

“Gojo you know you won’t find her…” said Nanami apologetically

“You once told me to treat her as a real wife, so here I am doing , let me for once care for her like a real wife”

“Gojo don’t do this to yourself, I know you still have hope, we all do but the higher ups won’t allow it”

“Well fuck them the higher ups..I won’t rest till I bring my wife home”

“Alright I’ll come with you”

*At Toji Zenin’s hideout*

“Wakey wakey…” said Toji splashing cold water on your head

You gasped for air, completely startled, completely drenched

“W-what the hell!!” you exclaimed

“Someone wants to meet you”

Confusion clouded your thoughts as you glanced towards the door in anticipation. Who could possibly come to meet you? Is there someone else in the dirty game that Toji is playing?

Your heart skipped a beat as the door creaked open, revealing a familiar silhouette that slowly emerged from the shadow to the light.

“M-Mei Mei?” you said in shock

Your mind raced trying to make sense of the whole situation, your eyes didn’t leave hers as she looked down at you. But the smirk on Mei Mei’s face offered no answer,

“I hope you had fun these two days here with Toji”  

“W-what?” your voice almost inaudible.

“Did you think I’d let you win huh? Poor Y/n!”

“You!- you did all of this? What’s your problem with me huh?” you asked your voice trembling with anger.

“The thing is, you are the problem Y/n! I won’t let you have Gojo, I won’t let you turn into a sorcerer and become the strongest..I won’t let that prophecy come true”

“You’re insane!” you shook your head in disbelief

“Well call it whatever you like, but I won’t let you steal my dreams away”

“So you think that stealing my life away is the right thing to do?”

“YES YES” she leaned forward “I can’t bear to see Gojo look at you with much love in his eyes, I can’t bear to see him giving his heart to you-”

“What are you blabbering about? You know well what kind of relationship I have with Gojo, I already know that both of you have an affair”

Suddenly she started laughing hysterically,

“That’s what I wanted but that dick didn’t want me and never did, since you’re going to die so yeah lemme tell you truth, I got paid to do what I’ve done, he never touched me…it was all lie, all of them, I made that up to push you out of the frame, he wanted that at first but then he started to push ME out of the frame, maybe he’s got a liking into you, a liking that I didn’t like, when I noticed the way his heart started to beat for you, when a spark was born I had to intervene, I couldn’t help but release Toji out of prison, pay him a big amount of money  to abduct you and kill you”

“I’ve never thought you’ll get to this level of low” you spat

“Now you’re out of the frame, I succeeded, you’ll die.. Toji will kill you and I’ll work on making Gojo forget about you, I’ll comfort him when he mourns your death, I’ll be the shoulder he cries on and that’s how I’ll win his heart…to the higher ups you’re already considered dead and shortly you’ll truly be” she said happily, playing with her hair

Disbelief washed over you like a tidal wave, leaving you disoriented. You struggled to voice your thoughts, lost in the overwhelming emotions so you started screaming at her,

“I’LL KILL YOU MEI MEI, I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU”

You struggled to break free from the ties that restricted your movement to a minimum, completely going crazy, you hair falling on your face. With each tug and desperate lurch you felt your anger growing more and more, your heart hammering against your chest, redoubling your efforts, till you crashed on the ground, the chair toppled over with a resounding thud, hitting your head on the hard concrete. You laid there, disoriented and dazed, pain pulsed through your skull, world spinning around you. If you managed to break free you’ll make Mei Mei vanish from existence.

You saw in slow mo how Mei Mei was walking towards the door leaving the room, Toji crouched down, brushing strands of hair off your face, placing it behind your ear,

“It’s okay, it won’t be painful…but before I kill you, I’ll do terrible thing to you that will make you beg me to kill you”

You were too weak to answer him, you can feel yourself fading into the background, into the nothingness…losing touch  with what’s real. As you closed your eyes, seeking solace in the silence. His face emerged, Gojo’s features etched in your mind with crystalline clarity. Amidst the chaos, the threat, you were somehow happy and relieved that he did not cheat on you, that hadn’t touched Mei Mei  and that all what she said before was a lie to offend you that’s all. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips, with each passing moment, your thoughts dived deeper and deeper in the memories shared between both of you, the closeness of your faces when both of you bickered, the way he was sleeping  next you but disturbed by his night terrors, you wished that you be there for him, comfort him and put him back to sleep in your arms, maybe you’ll be his dream and replace that ugly nightmare that haunts him every night. Maybe you can try again and be a real husband and wife.

You realized in that moment that you needed him, that you have already fell for him but that feeling needed something to be noticed, and this something is being far away from him. But is there a way back? A tear run on your cheek, a weak smile drawn on your tired face, fate is indeed your curse.

“It’s too late…I’m already gone”

With that you closed your eyes, drifting to sleep, your dream filled with visions of Gojo is your only companion.  

….

“Are you sure about this Maki?” asked Nobara

“I don’t know, but she’s been acting really suspicious, maybe we can find something?”

“You sure we won’t get caught?”

“No…but I’ll do it, if you’re not sure about this you can go I’ll handle it alone!”

“No I’ll be here, I’ll guard the place”

Both of them walked through the dark corridor like ghosts, gently turning the door knob, sneaking into Mei Mei’s room.

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[nejibaby]

lost

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x gn!reader

“It’s been eight days since his return. Eight days since he was successfully saved in Marineford. Eight days since you’ve had him back in your life, in your arms, on your bed.”

Word count: 0.6k

When the sun is down and the sea is calm, it’s easy to lull pirates to sleep. It’s easy to succumb to the blanket of security that the evening offers.

But for the afflicted souls, it poses a bit of a challenge.

The sunset only serves as a reminder of what is to come — another night with troubled sleep and if unlucky, perhaps another bout of unshed tears.

It’s been 46 days since Ace left the ship against the crew’s wishes, and 33 days since you’ve started getting nightmares. So much time has passed to the point where you’ve somewhat established a routine after the nightly recurrence of your night terrors.

It starts with you waking up with a gasp, a hand automatically going to where your heart is, and the other gripping your flimsy sheets. Your head instinctively turns to Ace’s side of the bed and your chest constricts with the realization that he’s not there. You then stare at the weird bean-shaped dent on the wall Ace happened to create in one of his very vivid dreams. And you lose track of time doing just that until your head starts to ache. You take this as a signal that it’s time to get up and go about your day.

At least it’s easier to get lost through the motions during the day. You could fool yourself into thinking that Ace is just on a mission to rescue an ally or that he’s just on the other side of the ship, dilly dallying with the other Commanders while you’re doing your daily chores.

But even then, you’ve grown quite numb without his presence. You couldn’t find it in you to smile genuinely or to chuckle halfheartedly to jokes. And not just that, tears seem to evade you as well.

His absence has drained every emotion out of you — reduced you to a being almost incapable of feeling.

Almost.

Only in the dead of the night do you find yourself overwhelmed with everything that was, is, and could be.

But now, it’s been eight days since his return. Eight days since he was successfully saved in Marineford. Eight days since you’ve had him back in your life, in your arms, on your bed.

You’ve always thought that having him beside you again would equate to going back to the good old days where you’d bicker like an old married couple or play pranks on random crew members or simply talk about nonsensical things. There’d be no point in worrying about nightmares. You won’t have to reach out on his side of the bed because you’re sure he’d now be there.

You’ve hoped that with him back, you’d get a fraction of your old self back.

You suppose now that that’s just wishful thinking. Ace’s absence has changed you in more ways than one. It altered the chemistry in your brain. It threw you out of orbit. It shifted something in you.

You’ve modified your life to revolve around a world without him. And while this reality is much more miserable and pathetic, you’re uncertain of how to turn back.

You lost yourself when you lost him.

And now that he’s back, how can you even find your old self again when the times have changed you so much?

It makes you wonder, will all those godforsaken nights you spent trying to get over all the pain be for nothing? Will it just be thrown under the rug for his sake?

Because it probably shouldn’t matter, right? What’s important is that Ace is back, and he’s safe and sound. That’s all that matters, right?

Or is it?

i haven’t written anything in so longggg, i’m not sure if i did it right? pls lmk what you think 🥺

[cruel-seduction]

Bungou Stray Dogs

Fyodor Dostoevsky

Heyy! I hope this isn't a bother, but I'm absolutely craving some Fyodor x Reader! Sooo, imagine this—Fyodor was your husband in a past life, and now he finds you again in Yokohama, working for either the ADA or PM. Obviously, he can't just let his *wife* be with someone else, right? I’d love to see more of that whole 'immortal x mortal' vibe, ahh! And to keep it true to his character, he calls Reader 'Anna' even though they have a new name now. Hope you have a great day/night! 😊

(headcanon, fic, lines, wtv u prefer! I'm just craving for Fyodor ‼️🙏🏻)

Sorry, it took long. But I had test this whole month and I still have to give a test saturday. But I wrote what came in my mind.

The Ghost of His Heart

Content Warnings:

Summary:

In a world where fate binds souls across lifetimes, Fyodor Dostoevsky finds the one he’s been waiting for—his wife from a past life, reborn and unaware of their shared history. Consumed by an eternal love, he is determined to remind her of the connection they once had, while she struggles to reconcile her current reality with the strange pull she feels toward him. As their paths intertwine, emotions run high, and the lines between devotion and destiny blur.

Themes of obsession and possessiveness

Past life/reincarnation dynamics

Emotional intensity and angst

Mild cursing

Subtle manipulation (non-toxic but deeply intense interactions)

GLIMPSE - “Are you crazy?” you whispered, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

His gaze softened further, and for the first time, there was no trace of his usual composure. He looked at you with a vulnerability so raw it made your chest ache.

“For you? Yes,” he said simply. “A thousand times yes.”

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

The air in Yokohama was heavy with a tension that couldn’t quite be named. It wasn’t the usual weight of humidity, nor the pulse of city traffic. No, this was something different—something darker that seemed to thicken the very air the moment you stepped into the room.

Anna.

The name, like a whisper in his mind, cut through the veil of time with the precision of a blade. Even in this new life, with all its contradictions and chaotic intricacies, Fyodor Dostoevsky couldn’t forget you. His wife, his beloved Anna, whom he had lost so many lifetimes ago—yet here you were, returned.

Not as you once were, but as you now were. You didn’t remember him. You didn’t even know him.

He watched you, hidden in the shadows of the ADA headquarters, his obsidian eyes following your every movement. You were here now, part of the Agency, fighting against the very forces he was using to manipulate this world. To control it. You didn’t recognize the mark of your shared past, but he could feel the connection. It burned like a flame beneath his chest, an ache he could never escape.

Anna, though—you didn’t even acknowledge him.

You walked past him without a second glance, busy with your tasks. Your eyes were clear and focused, the same spark of determination he remembered, yet they weren’t directed at him. They were for others, for missions, for this life you were creating, one without him.

It was an ironic, cruel fate: to love someone so deeply and to be utterly forgotten.

He knew why you couldn’t remember. The human mind, fragile as it was, could not withstand the weight of eternity. You had moved on. You had lived without him for however many years it had been since your last meeting in another life. And he had been patient, waiting. It was a sickness in his heart, a poison that burned through his veins every day he was away from you.

But now, with a single glance, you had returned to him. He had only to reach out, to remind you of everything you once were. But that was where the dilemma lay.

If he reminded you, you would resist. Your heart would rebel against the truth he would show you. But that was not the most painful part. No, the most painful part was this: you didn’t want him. You weren’t looking for him. Your heart beat for the tasks before you, for your duty to the Agency, to the people you fought beside. And worse—there were others who saw you, others who thought you belonged to them.

He couldn’t allow that.

You brushed past him once more, and this time, your shoulder brushed against his.

A fleeting, soft contact. He didn’t even need to touch you to feel the surge of energy between you. The electric charge that snapped through his body, a violent, desperate pulse of recognition. His heart tightened painfully in his chest.

And yet, you didn’t pause. You didn’t stop. You didn’t even look up from the stack of papers in your hands, the files you were carrying.

Fyodor inhaled deeply, his expression cold, unreadable. His mind worked furiously, plotting his next move. His next step.

His hand clenched into a fist.

Later that evening, he appeared in the shadows outside your apartment. He was not supposed to be there, not in this life, not in this world where he had to hide his true self beneath layers of deception. But tonight, the need to be close to you was overpowering.

You were in your apartment, oblivious to his presence. You had closed the blinds, preparing for an evening of rest after the chaotic day at the Agency.

But he couldn’t allow you to rest. He couldn’t let you forget.

A soft tap at the door. Just enough to catch your attention, yet gentle enough to be mistaken for the wind. He knew you would come. You always did, no matter how much you resisted, no matter how much you ignored him.

The door creaked open, and there you stood—wearing the soft, loose-fitting clothes you often wore when you thought no one was watching. Your hair was slightly disheveled from the long day. You looked tired. Tired, yet still as breathtaking as ever. The kind of beauty that made him ache.

Your eyes were wary when they met his, cautious. “Can I help you?” you asked, your voice gentle but firm. The same tone you used with the others at the Agency.

His breath caught in his throat. His gaze locked onto yours, and he allowed the silence to stretch between you. He could see the flicker of recognition behind your eyes—only a moment, but it was enough.

“Anna,” he said, his voice low, coated in that familiar, almost musical cadence.

“Who are you?” you demanded, your gaze narrowing. “I don’t know you. You must be mistaken. I am not Anna. So, why don’t you let it go, sir?” You laughed at your own poor joke. 

Fyodor’s lips curled into a thin smile. The mask of calm, collected indifference he wore was in place. But beneath it, something darker simmered. His eyes darkened with a possessive fire.

“I am not mistaken, Anna,” he replied softly. “You may not remember me, but I remember you. I always have.”

His words hung in the air like a noose, tightening slowly around you. You didn’t know what to make of him, this man who claimed to know you so intimately, yet his presence unnerved you. There was something too intense about the way he looked at you, as though he could see through your very soul.

He took a step forward, his gaze unwavering. “You are my Anna,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with an almost unbearable weight. “And I am your Fyodor.”

Your breath hitched at his words, a strange shiver running down your spine. It wasn’t fear—not exactly—but something dark and intense. You took a step back instinctively, not understanding why his presence made your pulse quicken in such an unfamiliar way.

“I don’t know who you think I am,” you said, your voice slightly shaking. “But I’m not... whoever you’re looking for. N O A N N A, sir. My name is Y/N.”

Fyodor tilted his head, his expression one of eerie patience. “No, you are. You are Anna. And no one can take you from me.”

And with that, he stepped closer, the distance between you shrinking as he closed the door behind him, trapping you in the silence of the room. There was nowhere to run now. He knew that—he wanted you to know there was nowhere to go.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you backed away, your eyes widening as you searched his face for any sign of a lie, any hint of his true intentions.

But there was none. Only the cold, implacable certainty of a man who had lived far too long, who had waited far too long, to let you slip away again.

The door clicked softly as it shut behind him, sealing you in the room with a man whose presence seemed to fill every corner, every breath of air. Your pulse quickened, and though you kept your composure, you could feel your resolve wavering under the weight of his gaze.

He stood perfectly still, his tall frame casting an elongated shadow in the dim light of your apartment. The faintest smile played on his lips—not smug, not cruel, but knowing.

“Do not be afraid,” he said softly, his voice like a lullaby laced with moonlight. “I would never harm you.”

“I’m not afraid,” you replied, lifting your chin in defiance, crossing your arms over your chest. “But you need to leave. I don’t know you.”

Fyodor’s eyes flickered with something indescribable, a storm that passed too quickly to be named. He exhaled slowly, his head tilting as if considering your words carefully, as though you’d just told him something patently untrue.

“You may not know me now,” he said, taking a deliberate step forward, “but your soul does.”

Your heart skipped a beat, though you refused to let it show. The strange pull you felt toward him, the way his words resonated in a place you didn’t understand, unsettled you. But you weren’t about to let yourself fall prey to whatever delusion he seemed to believe.

“My name is not Anna,” you said firmly, meeting his gaze. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not her. And what the fuck. Like, what do you mean, ‘my soul knows you?’ No, it doesn’t, and neither does it want to know you, creep.”

For the briefest moment, his eyes darkened, a hint of anger flickering in his violet gaze. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the calm confidence that seemed to radiate from him like an aura.

“You are right,” he murmured. “Anna is not your name now. But names are fleeting, aren’t they? A mortal convention. What matters is what lies beneath—the essence of who you are. That… has not changed. And your soul does know me, baby.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words caught in your throat as he stepped closer. He was close enough now that you could see the fine details of his face—the sharp lines, the pale smoothness of his skin, the way his dark hair framed his intense, hauntingly beautiful eyes.

“Stop,” you said, taking a step back, your voice wavering despite your best efforts. “You can’t just show up and decide who I am to you. I have my own life, my own choices.”

“You do,” he agreed, his tone maddeningly calm. “And yet, every choice you’ve made has led you back to me.”

Your eyes narrowed, judging him harshly, every fiber of your being screaming skepticism.

“You don’t remember,” he continued, his voice softening. “But I do. Every moment, every word, every promise we made to each other… it has stayed with me, even as lifetimes have passed. And now, you are here. Do you think that is a coincidence?”

You clenched your fists, willing yourself to punch him in his nose if he uttered one more word. But logic warned you against it; if he was dangerous, that could provoke him. So instead, you tried to reason with him.

“I don’t believe in fate,” you said quietly, though even as you spoke, the words felt hollow.

Fyodor smiled faintly, a bittersweet curve of his lips. “You don’t have to. I believe enough for the both of us.”

The room fell silent, save for the faint hum of the city outside. You could feel the weight of his presence pressing against you—not in a threatening way, but in a way that made your chest tighten with an emotion you couldn’t name.

“Are you crazy?” you whispered, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

His gaze softened further, and for the first time, there was no trace of his usual composure. He looked at you with a vulnerability so raw it made your chest ache.

“For you? Yes,” he said simply. “A thousand times yes.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. His words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity, and you found yourself unable to meet his gaze. You turned away, crossing your arms over your chest as if to shield yourself from the intensity of his confession.

“I can’t be what you want me to be,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know you, and I can’t be her.”

Fyodor took a step closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he were approaching something fragile.

“I don’t expect you to remember,” he said. “And I will not force you to. But that does not change what is true. You are mine, and I am yours. Whether you know it or not, whether you accept it or not, that is the reality of our existence.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. There was no malice in his tone, no threat—only an unshakable certainty that terrified and intrigued you in equal measure.

“I don’t belong to anyone,” you said firmly, turning back to face him.

He smiled again, a small, almost wistful smile. “No,” he agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. “You are not a possession. You belong only to yourself. But your heart… your soul… they have always been tied to mine.”

The room felt unbearably still. You could hear your own heartbeat, loud and erratic in the silence. Fyodor stood before you, his presence overwhelming yet strangely comforting, like a dark cloud that promised rain but not a storm.

“I will not hurt you,” he said softly, taking another step forward. “I will never hurt you. But I cannot—will not—allow anyone else to take what is mine. You are my light, my salvation, my reason for enduring this endless cycle of time. And now that I’ve found you again, I will not let you slip away.”

His voice cracked slightly at the last word, and the sound tugged at something deep within you. Against your better judgment, you found yourself wanting to believe him, wanting to understand this strange, otherworldly bond he seemed so certain of.

But you couldn’t. You weren’t some helpless girl who let herself be drawn into something she didn’t understand, especially not by a man who seemed carved from shadow.

“Leave,” you said quietly, your voice trembling. “Please.”

Fyodor’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes shifted. Slowly, he stepped back, his hands falling to his sides in a gesture of reluctant surrender.

“As you wish,” he said, his voice soft and steady. “For now.”

With one last lingering glance, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving you alone in the oppressive silence of your apartment.

But even as the door clicked shut, you could still feel his presence, like a ghost lingering at the edges of your mind.

And for the first time, you wondered if he might be right.